#((this information brought to you by Wikipedia

[queersette]

Calling myself Halcyon absolutely big brain move hours HOWEVER non ho più un onomastico

[thevalicemultiverse]

Dad, in countries like Britain, the Day after Christmas is called Boxing Day. What’s Boxing Day?

Victor: Er -- well, it kind of started as a holiday where people gave gifts to tradesmen and other people who rendered services, via Christmas boxes with money. It was also a day where rich people would give their servants leave to visit their families, bearing boxes with gifts and leftover food and such in it. These days, though, it's a bit more of a shopping holiday -- you know how there's Black Friday after Thanksgiving? It's similar to that except there's less dramatic fighting and more queuing.

Christopher: It's why we stay home and watch holiday specials instead of going out.

[anshelsgendercrisis]

Hello! I've noticed some things going on in this Wikipedia talk page:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Talk:Jewish_exodus_from_the_Muslim_world

Which is probably where everyone uninformed is going to be getting their information if Mizrahi Jews are ever brought up. There's been edit warring over articles already, and certain articles have pretty stark tonal differences from their pre-oct 7 counterparts, so it does seem like this one might be caught up in it eventually.

Two comments i'm wondering about are the last one by Gamalny, which mirrors a lot of comments you'll hear if Jews in Arab countries is ever brought up, and the response to the name change by Onceinawhile.

Those two seem to be the common sentiment and directly contradicts what I've heard basically every Jew with Mizrahi ancestry say about their ancestors experience, but word of mouth/blogs don't really account for too much. Do you happen to have anything to push back against it? If Gamalnys comment is any indicator, its going to be really damn annoying if that gets picked up to turbo boost the colonizer narrative.

i’m speechless. this is. horrific.

i’m gonna respond with more info tomorrow when i have time to collect some solid sources but i’m posting it now in case anyone has any sources to recommend or anything to say abt this. quite frankly evil comment. like sorry but this is on the same level as holocaust denial to me. this is disgusting and i hope this person never has to suffer any of the horrific things they’re denying happened to sephardi and maghrebi and mizrahi jews.

[fairyysoup]

the devil i know

chapter eight: back in hell at least it's comfortable

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: Rabbit Season Duck Season ft. your demon boyfriend who doesn't want you to google him.

cw: explicit, smut, monsterfucking (no monstery stuff comes up but he is still a demon), blowjob, ball play, facial, making a deal with a demon (eddie's version), lover's spat but in the most hilarious way don't worry, sacrificial computer killed by fire, death mention, trauma, bullying mention, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, horror, witch!reader, reader is 21+ in modern day, eddie is immortal, sex pact, marking, possessive behavior, animal death, trauma, reader is ostracized by her very religious hometown, dark comedy, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

So. You’ve been at war with Eddie for two days now. 

It started as a joke. You got curious– you didn’t really mean anything by it. Maybe you knew you were poking a hornet's nest, but you don’t recall him giving you any specific instructions not to. And what were the odds that this demon, in his wisdom, gave you his real, full name in a moment of crisis? What were the odds that you would actually find something about him?

You googled the name Eddie Munson. 

At first, you did it on your phone, in bed, and your google search was limited to your IP address location. You got a ping for an Eddie Munson from one town over, who apparently bombed a car or something a few years back. The articles were bleak and didn’t include a lot of information. But otherwise, nothing from around Eastwick. 

Then you widened your search parameters. Demons are supernatural, paranormal beings, right? Eddie said he used to be human, so you figured you should treat it like trying to find a ghost. And you didn’t know how old Eddie was– he could have lived at any point, from the last 60 years to the last 6,000 years. Although, for some reason you had a hard time picturing him living in 4,000 BCE. 

You searched Eddie Munson folklore. 

What are you doing? 

You jumped at the sound of Eddie’s voice in your ear, locking your phone and throwing it across the bed. “Uhhh, nothing?”

Riiiight. 

“What’re you– did I call you again?”

Yeah. You do it a lot, you know. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to.”

Mm. Go to sleep, sweetheart. 

And you heard nothing about it. Until the next morning, when you unlocked your phone again and saw Eddie Munson folklore had brought up a few strange results. 

Eddie Munson Serial Killer

Eddie Munson Satanic Panic

Eddie Munson Cult of Hawkins

You stared at the different search results with your morning coffee poised in the air, completely halted in place. You weighed your options, wondering what on earth you were going to find, should you click on any of them. 

Was it really him? Was this even worth the effort and the possible janky links to a Subreddit you didn’t need to be scouring through?

You clicked on Eddie Munson Serial Killer, just to see what would come up, if there was a Wikipedia article with the guy’s face that you could honestly identify as Not Your Eddie. 

And your phone died. 

You scowled, and set down your coffee so that you could try turning it on again, but all you got was a dim low battery notification. Down by your knees, Dante whined and bumped his nose against your leg to get you to pay attention to him.

“Sorry, baby,” you cooed, shoving your phone onto a charger and forgetting about it. You stooped to scratch Dante behind the ears, and kissed him on his little hellhound head. “Let’s get you some food, yeah?”

You didn’t try again until much later, when you sat down with your computer in your living room. Now it was a little bit more serious, less of a joke. Even if this ‘Eddie Munson Serial Killer’ wasn’t your Eddie Munson, you’d never heard of the guy before. And you genuinely thought you were pretty checked out on various serial killers throughout history, with your penchant for true crime podcasts.

You picked at your nails for a moment, your hands hovering over the keyboard as you weighed your options. Then, you typed the words quickly into the search bar, and hit enter.

And your fucking computer glitched, blue screened, and died.

You stared at the black screen in front of you with a feeling of exasperation that bordered on irritation. You looked up, and made eye contact with Dante, laying on your floor in a patch of sunlight. The Rottweiler gazed back at you with eyes that glowed a little bit red in the sunlight, almost knowingly.

“Eddie, what the fuck is this about?” you asked the empty air.

No answer.

“Eddie?”

Radio silence. Dante yawned and rolled onto his side. The clock in the kitchen ticked on ominously. You waited for something– Eddie’s voice in your ear, or a footstep behind you, alerting you of his presence. Nothing came.

You stared into thin air, thinking over your options. You figured you could just be looking too deeply into things. You reached forward, and tried to turn your computer back on.

The screen popped once, like there was a power surge, and then the keyboard started smoking.

“Eddie!” you screeched, flinging the computer away from your lap. Flames burst from it just as it hit the floor. Dante leapt up and barked excitedly at it. “What kind of Looney Tunes bullshit–” 

The burning computer’s screen blinked on, and from behind the crackling flames, a video started playing. Off-key, jazzy fanfare blasted from the burning speakers, sounding a bit screechy and tinny, and then Porky Pig appeared from within a red circle. 

“That’s all, folks!”

“Oh, I see.” You chuckled, slowly nodding in indignation. “This is war, you little shit.” 

So, that brings you here. The Eastwick Public Library is a tiny, one story unit in the town plaza’s main strip mall. Situated at the end of the building, it boasts a row of about fifteen bookshelves, half of which house the ‘religion’ genre, and maybe six computers. Seven, if you count the one behind the librarian’s desk.

You keep your head down as you log into one of the public access computers. It’s been ages since you set foot in the library, and you highly doubt any of your beloved neighbors would like to see you in here, looking up obscure serial killers. You can almost imagine their lack of surprise.

You type in your keyword search for a third time, and wait for the computer to spontaneously combust. It doesn’t. Instead, a few images pop up, followed by a Wikipedia article, followed by a few newspaper links. 

It’s him. It’s your Eddie. 

“Edward ‘Eddie’ Munson was an alleged American serial killer. He is the only known suspect of the Cunningham-Benson-Mckinney murders of Hawkins, Indiana in the Spring of 1986, and was presumed dead after the fatal 1986 Indiana Earthquake.”

The first image that shows up is obviously a yearbook photo– the typical blue background, a close up headshot of the grin that you know and love. The second photo is in black and white, a missing persons poster. And the third photo is yet another yearbook photo, but this time it’s a group shot. A bunch of teenage boys all lined up against a brick wall, under a banner that says Hellfire Club.

“No way,” you mutter incredulously, clicking on the photo and zooming in to find Eddie in the corner, sticking out his tongue and using his fingers to create a pair of devil horns over his head. 

The link for the photo is for a yearbook pdf from Hawkins. The title of it reads HAWKINS HIGH DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS HELLFIRE CLUB, 1985-86.

You press your lips together, feeling yourself gearing up to grin. Quietly, and with the most affectionate tone of voice you have ever used in your life, you croon, “You were in a D&D club?”

One by one, each computer along the row you sit at pops and fizzles with sparks before shorting out. You pull your hands away, giggling and watching the sparks come down the line until they reach your computer, and then it goes dead.

And so does the rest of the power in the building. 

You let out a blast of laughter, clapping your hands over your mouth while a group of teenage girls in the back corner scream bloody murder. The library has gone dark, and the cranky librarian at the front desk is simultaneously shushing the screaming girls and herding them out the door. You’re still giggling when you get up, and you have to hide the smile on your face when you duck past the librarian on your way out. 

“Don’t.” Eddie materializes in your entryway when you get back home. Melting out of the woodwork, a shadow that forms into his pouting visage. He shakes his head at the floor, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t say anything, I’ll–”

“What?” you ask him, tilting your head. You bite your lip to stop yourself from giggling again; it had been so hard to stop your fit on the way home. He looks sheepishly away from you, a bright pink blush coloring his cheeks. “You’ll what, Eddie?”

He tries to look severe, but he can’t hide the smile beginning to wobble its way onto his lips. “I’ll Looney your Tunes so fucking hard–”

“You can’t Looney my Tunes motherfucker, I’ll Looney your Tunes.” You point an accusatory finger at him. “You owe me a goddamn computer!” 

You’re not actually that mad about the computer, it was a piece of shit anyways. But Eddie surprises you by producing a new one from behind his back, and holds it out to you.

You give a placated hum as you take it from him. “So. That was you, huh?”

“No, it’s not– not technically–”

“Did you think I was gonna… gonna judge you, or something?” 

Eddie doesn’t say anything in response, his eyes flicking from yours, to the computer in your hands, and back.

“You’re a demon. I made a deal with you, I sold my soul.” You screw up your face. “You’ve offered to kill someone for me like… what, three times now?”

Eddie sucks on his teeth and looks away.

“I think I’m past the point of judgment, honey.”

“It’s not that simple.” His brow furrows, and he chews on his bottom lip, stripping chapped skin from it with his teeth. “Believe me, I wouldn’t– I wouldn’t care, except that shit… the shit you read, that’s not the truth. I swear.”

“Then what is the truth?” You ask him mildly. “Were you a serial killer?”

“No.”

“But you were in a D&D club.” 

He heaves a sigh, rocking back on his heels and tilting his head up towards the ceiling. You stare at him for a moment, watching him squirm a little bit like he’s looking for a way out of the conversation. Then, he grumbles, “Yeah…”

“You are so fucking cute.” Eddie’s cheeks turn bright red, and he spins away like he’s going to walk back through your bedroom door and disappear. You leap forward and grab his arm, giggling, “Nonono, don’t go. Come back here. So you’re a nerd, it’s okay. I’m a nerd. We’re nerds of a feather.”

“Sure.” Eddie snorts loudly, pulling you into a hug. His smoke surrounds you, as comforting and warm as his embrace. He buries his face in your hair, nuzzling against the side of your head. “M’gonna give you the truth, okay? The whole truth. And you have to promise not to run away.”

“Okay, Eddie.” You sigh and close your eyes as he lifts his hand and cups the side of your face. You lean into his touch. “I’m not running. I promise.”

HAWKINS, 1984

There are a few things Eddie Munson hates in this world. He has an abundance of annoyances, yes, but only a few things that he despises more than anything else. One of them is bullies- no matter where they come from. School, law enforcement, employers, whatever. It’s something he can’t deal with, and oftentimes out of his own propensity for self preservation, he spends his time avoiding them. He’s never been a fighter. He’s never been tough enough to defend himself, but running away is usually just as effective. 

The second thing that he hates is loneliness. He likes to tell himself that, had he known that living in Hawkins would make him lonelier than anything, he’d have chosen to go live in Indianapolis with his Great Aunt Shirley instead of Uncle Wayne. But that’s not true at all– he loves Wayne, whenever he crosses paths with him.

But he’s being held back. Senior year of high school, and he’s not fucking graduating, and he doesn’t know if he can stand another year of bullshit from the assholes in town who can’t fucking stand him. 

“You’re the only student we have who isn’t attending graduation this year,” Principal Higgins had told him, with his nose endearingly turned up in disdain. “You should feel lucky that we even offered to allow you to repeat the grade, considering your… track record.”

And so, thanks to his own irresponsibility and bad habits, he’ll be subjected to more loneliness. More bullying. More of the things he hates.

Unless.

Eddie’s done stupider things. His copper item is a… fucking moscow mule cup. Old and tarnished, but properly made of copper. He’ll get a new one for Wayne at some point, but he hasn’t seen his Uncle touch it in all the years that he’s lived with him. Eddie dirties his hands as he buries it in the wet earth, where the creek that runs through the woods behind Forest Hills trailer park splits in two. Eventually they converge again, somewhere down by Lover’s Lake, but here they create a fork.

He didn’t bother casting a circle. He doesn’t even know how the fuck that’s supposed to work.

His shoes are wet. He stands in ankle deep water, and he splashes around uncomfortably. “Hey, uh. I don’t know what I’m doing, but um. I’m– I’m here to make a deal. I guess.”

“Who’s the genius who uses a river as a crossroads?” says a woman’s voice, startling Eddie out of his wits. 

Eddie jumps and loses his balance turning around in place, toppling down in the water. He looks around, hoping that he isn’t hearing things at the ripe old age of 18.

“Over here,” the voice says again, and Eddie catches a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye. When he follows it, he finds a lady waving at him, crouched down beside a tree on the outer bank of the creek. Her dark hair hangs in her face, but she has a vaguely golden aura about her that makes her stand out in the night.

When she gets a good look at him, her sarcastic smile turns into a laugh. “Well, what do you know? It’s Jim Morrison.”

Eddie frowns. “I’m not Jim Morrison.”

“Obviously,” she says blandly. “Could’a fooled me, though.” She pauses, and then looks at him curiously. “What are you doing down there?”

Eddie glances down, at where he sits up to his waist in the water. He throws his hands up in defeat. “My delicates.”

She laughs and raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Yes.” He struggles up, dripping water all the way. “Y’know this is a sacred river? It was the birthplace of a love goddess or something.” He looks over at her again, and motions generally at her. “I can see the myth was true.” 

The lady giggles, standing up from her crouched position. She wears a long green skirt that brushes the ground when she walks, and a crocheted shawl over some kind of halter top-looking doohickey. He tilts his head, being reminded of an old record that migrated to the back of his collection. Woodstock, ‘69. Grace Slick of Jefferson Airplane. 

Grace Slick– or, at least, the demon who looks an awful lot like her, considering Grace Slick is definitely still alive– grins wickedly. “Oh, a charmer. Are you flirting with me?”

Eddie cracks a smile. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

The lady hums, standing directly across the water from him. “You wanted to make a deal. I’m here to make it with you, so if you don’t mind. What is it that you want?”

“How about being the greatest guitarist who ever lived?” Eddie gestures vaguely around at his general being. Ankle deep in water, soggy and probably looking very pathetic. “I figure maybe it’ll make things easier in the meantime. What does school matter to a rockstar, y’know? Maybe it’ll help me get the fuck out of town, for starters.”

The lady tilts her head. “And you’re not Jim Morrison, huh?”

“Was Jim Morrison a guitarist?” He rocks on his feet, nearly losing his balance again as he splashes around a bit. He plods awkwardly across the water, shoes squelching and pocket chains jingling. “What do I have to do, huh? Beg on my hands and knees? I’m already out here, soaking wet, in the middle of the night–” 

“You’ll be a guitarist,” the lady tells him, her voice a bit sterner now. She regards him closely, her dark eyes narrowed at him. “The greatest who ever was and ever will be. I can see why your petition came to me.”

“My… what?” 

“Your request for a demon to make a deal with. It came to me, because I favor musicians and performers.” Shortly, she produces a small, spiraled notepad that has a bunch of messily scrawled words on it. “I’ll give you your greatness. In return, you give me blood each full moon. A few drops on a tissue will do. Burn it in a dish on your window sill.” 

“Is that normal?” Eddie asks, “Y’know, considering you’re also getting my soul, and everything.”

“It’s what I ask of you for veneration. Each demon asks for something different. I just find it easier than asking for a sex rite.”

“Excuse me?”

“After you die, you’ll become one of us,” she continues. “A demon of the crossroads. I don’t keep your soul. But I get power for securing it.” She snatches his arm, as he reaches towards her notebook. “Is that a yes?”

Eddie blinks, flushing pink from the cold and the woman’s grip, burning his skin. Her hand is unbearably hot, almost enough for him to jerk away. “Yes.”

The woman smiles with unnervingly sharp, pointed teeth. “Good.”

It takes a second for the pain to register; when it does, the notebook in the demon’s hand is already splashed with Eddie’s blood. He gives a pained whimper as he recognizes the pain of the wound on his arm, and begins hyperventilating the longer it grows, reaching up his arm, slicing into his muscle. His body tenses up and starts to shake, her grip on his arm disturbingly strong.

When she lets go, he curses and glances down to find a new mark on his arm. A black inked tattoo of a swarm of bats.

“So… you fought the forces of evil by playing Metallica?”  

“Well, it made sense at the time.”

Teeth dug into the plush skin of your bottom lip, you suppress another giggle as you sweep your fingers through Eddie’s hair, pushing his bangs back away from his face and letting them stick up into the air as you release them. He has a tiny scar on his forehead, just shy of his hairline, which you never noticed before now. You want to kiss it.

Instead, you trace it with your fingers. Eddie’s chin rests on your stomach, his eyes dark and wanting as they gaze up at your face. He has the prettiest eyelashes you think you’ve ever seen, and he bats them at you like he means to use them for your demise.

He lays between your legs on the couch. You’d moved there naturally, with his hands coaxing you and yours pulling him like a life raft. It isn’t easy, having the contents of someone’s life– two years’ worth of it– dumped into your head all at once. When he said he was going to give you the truth, he quite literally gave it to you. Directly. Into your brain.

He gave you everything, from the time that he made his deal, all the way up to his death. You saw him forming the Hellfire Club only a few months after the deal was initially made, and watched as it evolved into a gaggle of friends that he cared for and loved. And you saw the way that he protected them until the very end, when he played the greatest rock concert ever given. 

“You were so sweet, baby,” you whisper, with a tightness in your throat that tries to constrict the flow of air from getting out. 

“Wonder what happened.” You bop him on the shoulder with your palm and watch his lips quirk up into a smirk. “Hey, I mean. You don’t sit through torture seminars in Hell without getting a little bit screwy on your way out.”

“They have seminars there?”

“Are you kidding?” Eddie snorts, his eyes lighting up briefly with a little bit of fire. “There’s a whole circle of Hell that’s just one big long TimeShares seminar. I’ve been to it. Probably the most horrible thing I had to experience before I could go off and start making deals. They use it as training.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“It is fucked up. It’s Hell, and I’m a salesman. Arthur Miller should have written something about that.”  

“So… does God exist?”

“Oh, sure. Lots of gods. My favorite one is Hades. Cool guy. He runs Hell– the Underworld. Same thing. Persephone is kind of intimidating, though. Don’t get on her bad side.” Eddie tilts his head at you. “Pretty much any mythological figure you can think of exists on some plane of the Otherworld. Think of… gods and angels as my coworkers, in different departments. Maybe I don’t like all of them, but I work with them.”

“The Otherworld is a department store?”

“Precisely.”

Your fingers fumble with the collar of his shirt and hook around the metal chain he wears around his neck. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

His eyes bore into yours. “Anything you want.”

“How many, um–” Your eyes flutter when he shifts, and your fingers dip beneath the collar of his shirt just enough to feel the burn of his skin there– “how many deals have you made?” 

“Including you,” he says, heaving a sigh that you can feel expand in his chest, “three. There was Charlotte, in ‘91, and then Adrian, in ‘99. Neither of them held up their end of the deal.”

“The… the full moon?” You can’t imagine how it could be that much of a sacrifice, being required to sleep with him once a month. You’re so pent up, so eager to do it already that the notion that someone wouldn’t seems absurd to you.

Eddie nods. “You don’t hold up your end of the deal… the contract is up. And then Hell comes to collect.”

You let that information hang in the air between you. You stare at it, the empty space over his head, as you try to process it in the silence that follows. “Quick way to an early grave?”

“Happened to me,” he mutters. “Forgot to prick my finger and rub it on a napkin during all that mess, fighting for my life. If you can believe it.”

There’s an unspoken air of heaviness in the room– the knowledge that he died far too young, protecting his friends with the talent he sold his soul to have. Far too quickly to make selling his soul even worth it in the long run. It weighs on you, pressing down on your lungs at the same time as Eddie’s weight presses in between your hips.

Your own rite looms over you, just a few days away. Something in your gut tells you that Eddie is giving you this– the honest truth– so you know what you’re in for. You promised him you wouldn’t run away. 

You sold your soul and promised that you’d meet his demands if he met yours; you never expected that it would get to this point. That you’d be lying here, with him curled between your legs, and you’d have to accept that the attraction you feel towards him isn’t just due to the terms of the deal anymore. 

You know him, now. Or, at least, you know him a fair bit better than you did.

You tilt your head, realizing something out of the blue. “You didn’t have to make my deal include the sex.”

“I never claimed to not be a pervert, sweetheart.” He flashes you a sharp grin. “I am your average horny little devil, you know.”

“And you didn’t have to mark me with your name,” you point out, with a note of curiosity in your voice. “Your demon didn’t.”

Eddie chuckles. “Yeah, but that’s ‘cause I’m disgustingly obsessed with you and need you to be all mine, so.”

Your heart flutters at that, singing along to the tune of some stupid love song you haven’t heard in a long time. You hum, holding Eddie’s face in your hands. His eyes flick down to your lips, and then back up to meet your gaze. 

“I still think you’re sweet,” you tell him earnestly.

“You think I’m sweet?” He parrots, his hand sliding up the curve of your thigh and over your hip, his fingers curling into the hem of your shirt. He looks incredulous, like he doesn’t really believe you.

“I mean, sweet like a feral dog I have on a leash who’s out for everyone’s blood except mine. Y’know.”

He grins wickedly, a deadly twinkle in his eye as he shifts further down, his head lowering toward where your shirt bunches up around your waist, exposing a sliver of your stomach. You shudder as his hot breath hits your skin. “Is this sweet?” 

Eddie presses a lingering kiss onto the soft skin just above your navel. You sigh, your fingers sliding through his hair and gripping at the roots, and he pauses. His breath hitches in his throat at the feeling of your hands in his hair, his eyes flicking up to meet yours as he hovers there, with his lips pressed softly to your stomach.

He puffs out his cheeks and blows a raspberry.

“Eddie!” you squeal, trying to get away from him as he cackles, holding you hostage to his assault. You kick your legs and manage to squirm until you throw the both of you off of the couch, rolling with him onto the floor. 

Dante gets up from his spot at the end of the couch and disappears through the wall like an apparition. He tends to disappear off into the aether at random times, only to reappear later, whenever he’s hungry or if you call him. You guess that life as a hellhound is busy work. Or, maybe he’s just sick of you and Eddie being revoltingly touchy-feely in front of him.

“I take it back! I take it back, you little fuck–” 

“Can’t take it back!” He rolls with you gripping onto your kicking legs until you come to a stop beside the coffee table, straddling his hips. You sit back on your heels to glare down at him, but he’s still chuckling. His eyes twinkle in the low light of your living room. “No takesies-backsies.”

This position is… too familiar. It’s intimate– it’s like you’re two normal lovers on an autumn afternoon, kicking around and doing stupid shit and just enjoying each other’s company. 

Something is changing. No matter how sexually charged the relationship has been until now, something feels different. It’s in the way he looks up at you like you hung the moon. It’s in the way you lean forward and trace his lower lip with the tip of your finger, humming to yourself all the while.

Eddie stares directly into your eyes as he slowly opens his mouth and takes your finger between his teeth, his lips curving up into a mischievous smile. 

“No,” you sing at him, soft but stern like he’s a misbehaving pet. “Open.” 

He blinks, and releases your finger with a curious expression. You lean further down, nearly nudging your nose with his as your fingertip strokes gently down his extended tongue, his hot breath coming out gift wrapped with a sigh. Eddie snakes his arms around your waist as you replace your finger with your own tongue, sealing your mouth against his.

Handsy. You guess that’s what you can call him– you haven’t kissed him like this before, soft and sensual and unrushed. While his tongue works against yours in a way that has your mind reeling, his hands wander down to cup your ass and squeeze, until you squeak against his mouth and lurch against his touch. 

The thing about this is… well. You’re not entirely sure where you stand with him anymore. Is he your patron demon? Is he your boyfriend? Infernal demon boyfriend with a sweet streak that only you get to see? 

Every nerve in your body is on fire, and he’s seemingly happy to drive you crazy while you try your best not to grind down onto him. It’s all a little bit too much for you to process right now– with the way things are going, you’re wondering if you’re set for life. Who the fuck is going to compare to a demon, now that you have one? What human person will ever match up? 

“I think you’ve ruined me for everyone else,” you whisper conspiratorially, letting your lips drag against his.

“Tell you a secret?” Eddie’s voice is warm in the back of his throat. He peers at you through his lashes, eyes heavy-lidded and twinkling with the barest flicker of a flame in his deep brown irises. “That was my plan all along.”

“You monster.”  

“You got me all figured out.” He snickers once, dimples indenting rosy cheeks that are much too pretty to belong to a demon, but you’re starting to suspend your disbelief. Eddie’s laughter dies in his chest when your mouth attaches to his neck; a hollow noise takes its place, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows it down.

Hands hiking his t-shirt up over his stomach, you’re inching your way down his body like you have a plan, and Eddie’s frozen beneath you like he’s trying to figure out what it is. It takes him just a couple seconds, until your tongue connects with the trail of hair running down his stomach, and then he smirks knowingly.

“Oh, I see,” he hums, his eyebrows raising as you lick your way down toward his belt. “You’re a keen little thing, aren’t you? Don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“Shut up, Eddie.” It doesn’t come out as sharp as you intend for it to, because your hands are fiddling with his belt. You pull it free from his jeans and fling it over the coffee table with more force than necessary.

“Buy my silence,” he mutters sarcastically with a shit-eating grin. A playful glimmer sparkles in his eye as you curl your fingers into his waistband and tear at them, but he doesn’t move to help you at all. “Nine ninety-nine a month, with tax. Quick, before the rates go up.”  

You’re shaking your head, shooting him a caustic glare as your mouth finds the soft skin just beneath his waistline. You just want to get his pants off however you can– if you have to rip them off of him, so be it. 

“Oop– ten ninety-nine a month. Better think fast, baby.”

You yank them down his hips, just low enough that you can nuzzle and lick into the thick patch of hair over his groin. You breathe in the scent of his skin, lingering just beneath all his usual smoke. Warmth and salt, as though he’s real and not just the corporeal manifestation of a spirit. 

“...E-eleven– ninety-ni– hmm.” Eddie’s giddy voice dies as a purr in his throat, his head rocking back against the floor. He gasps when drool rolls off of your parted lips, wetting the skin of his hip just before you suck a hickey there. He squirms. “Fuck it. You get it for free.”

“Just wanna suck you off,” you whisper, a little more slack jawed and unhinged than you were before. You suck in a deep breath and lave your tongue over the base of his cock, as it peeks out over the waist of his jeans. “Wanna taste you everywhere, baby.”

“Christ– M’not gonna stop you. Go ahead, take what you want, sweetheart.” 

Eddie hisses through his teeth, his hips jumping when you lift his cock out of his pants. Warmth settles in the pit of your stomach, pulsing between your legs when you wrap your fingers around it. It’s so much better than in your dream– it’s thicker, massive, the vein along the bottom pulsing in your hand. 

You spit onto it, mixing your saliva with the bead of precum gathered on the head. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Eddie.”

He gasps, kicks his hips up into your fist. “Y–you’re so fucki– hhng–”

You shush him, and look up as you trail your tongue along his shaft, feeling him twitch against you. Mouthing kisses along it, wet and soft, you suck just a bit with each one to watch his chest leap with his breath. “I wanna take you to pieces.”

“Shit–” Eddie lifts his head to gaze down at you, eyes glassy, lips red and parted as he pants. “You’re gorgeous. Oh, honey…”

Eddie moans when you slide his head into your mouth, letting your tongue glide gently over his slit. His hand flies down, tangling into your hair, the metal of his rings digging into your scalp.

You open your mouth and take him in as far as he’ll go, until he hits the back of your throat and you choke. 

“Such a good fucking girl for me,” Eddie breathes, his hand on the back of your head grounding you like an anchor. “Just look at you, baby. So fuckin’ perfect, god.”  

Actually, you feel like a mess, with spit dribbling down your chin and eyes watering when he hits the back of your throat. Sniffling from the tears and the lack of air, gagging on his cock. Drunk on sin and the taste of his flesh.

You imagine that’s probably what he considers perfection, though.

He stiffens when you swallow around him, your hands wrapping around his hips in an attempt to hold him down. Eddie makes a soft sound in his throat– something you might mistake as submissive, if his hand in your hair weren’t pushing you harder down onto his cock, forcing you to gag on him. The tightening of your throat around him is enough to make him twitch in your mouth. 

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Fuck–”  

Lips dripping saliva, your throat flexes just before you pull off with a wet gasping noise that makes Eddie curse and tighten his fist in your hair. You can’t be coy, can’t pretend like you aren’t fucking wrecked; you’re a mess of spit and tears, the salt of his precum on your tongue and in the back of your throat. 

Dipping your head, you nuzzle down to suck at his balls. Slick lips latching onto soft skin, suckling just enough to make him howl and buck his hips up against your hold. You lap at him with your tongue, hearing his moan crackle in his throat with a prideful grin. 

You gaze up at him with glassy eyes when he reaches down with one big hand to fist his swollen cock. Rings glint in the light and catch on his skin with a sharp edge, contrasting your light touch on his balls, making him flex his hips up into his own hand. 

You’re mesmerized, watching his hand work in front of your face, with your spit and his fluids spilling over his knuckles. It kicks up a sticky, wet sound that makes something deep in your gut flutter.

“Open your mouth,” Eddie grits out, in such a commanding tone that you don’t even think to question him. You just do.

The muscles of his stomach tightens when he cums, his breath hitching on the inhale. Ropes of white spurt from his tip while he groans so loud it could rattle the ceiling. Some of it gets in your mouth, but most gets on your face– large drops on your cheeks, clinging to your lips and your chin. You moan when you lick the excess from your lips before you swallow, your eyes fluttering shut. 

“Fuckin– filthy little girl, aren’t you?” Eddie murmurs, and reaches forward to snatch your face with his wet fingers. His rings dig into your messy cheeks, smearing his cum across your skin. 

You gasp, your eyes flying open to meet his, as he grins evilly down at you. It makes you shudder, a moan caught in your throat. Your face burns. The mark on your wrist throbs in the shape of his name.

“Yeah, sweetheart. My dirty girl, all covered in my cum like that.” His thumb pets your cheek, sticky on your skin as he plays with it. “What a pretty fuckin’ painting.”

You whine as he pulls you upwards, clambering over his body. Your cunt throbs between your legs, and it turns worse when he yanks you toward his face. 

Eddie’s tongue drags up your cheek, licking his cum off of your face. It makes the blood rush beneath your skin, makes your body heat up with just how filthy it all truly is. He hums low, licking your mouth and letting the tip of his tongue catch on your teeth, leaving your skin wet and stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Hm,” he grunts after a moment, tilting his head as he looks at you. Your cheeks are pinched between his fingers, your lips puckered in a way that you’re sure isn’t very sexy, but he doesn’t seem deterred by it. Eddie cracks a grin and says, “No, I don’t think I’m very sweet. Tastes more umami.”

“Oh my god.” You bark a laugh, ripping your face away from his grip so you can roll off of him. 

Eddie snatches you before you can get away, pulling you down so that he can playfully bite at your cheek, giggling along with you. “No, don’t go baby, I gotta clean you up–”

“You’re obnoxious,” you cackle at him, letting him roll with you across the floor, feeling a sort of obsessive delight consume your voice. 

He smushes his face against yours, and you can feel his teeth as he grins, scraping your skin. There’s an undertone to your thoughts as he does, which makes your heart pound in your chest when you acknowledge it for what it is.

You love him. You love him. You love him.

[3liza]

the other thing about duvets is i dont like that theyre a big pillowcase. this is more trouble than its worth imo. i think duvet covers should actually be two separate pieces, or one long piece in a taco format, and you just spread it out on the bed or floor, spread out the duvet on top, and THEN fasten the top of the duvet cover closed with either buttons or a concealed zipper along the edge. zipper texture unpleasantness could easily be tucked inside a padded border so it doesnt scratch you at night.

duvet covers were introduced to the usa in the 1960s as a part of the "scandinavian" interior decor movement during midcentury modern (they were brought from Sweden, so not actually scnadinavian, but americans dont know the difference and we dont care [edit: i am being informed sweden is actually considered part of scandinavia, i had been previously misinformed]), apparently from the Habitat store in London. i thought Biba was involved for some reason but I may be confusing a bit of documentary i watched with something else. in the documentary, the older lady they were interviewing who used to work at the department store that she claimed popularized the duvwet (either Habitat or Biba) talked about how the sales girls were trained to "demonstrate" the "convenience" of the duvet vs the traditional British method of quilt+sheets, and she remarked she got so good at it she could put the duvet in the cover in about 30 seconds. however when she tried to demonstrate for the presenter she got completely flummoxed by the damned thing. it was at that point i knew duvets were a mistake

anyway im finding some interesting gadgets for securing duvets rn, the one that looks least ugly is a thing that looks like a fabric-covered button that snaps into another button using a tack that pierces the duvet and cover layers. the other solutions also seem fine but are all ugly plastic doohickeys that would bother me on an aesthetic basis. the tack would probably damage the fabric but if you're not using your nice linens i bet it doesn't matter much, especially if the duvet cover is a rustic textile of some kind

the wikipedia article about the duvet is very interesting. i especially liked the part about how previous attempts to introduce it to england were failures

one of the other home bedding issues in the usa is that home washers and dryers and apartment washers and dryers are generally not big enough to effectively wash a down duvet or a quilt thats larger than about a Full, depending on thickness. this bothers me. feather down is especially irritating in this respect because it will get mildewy instantly if it isnt bone dry immediately after laundering. mentioning Sweden yet again, a friend showed me her shared laundry facilities in her Swedish apartment once and they DID have large, industrial machines that could easily take a duvet. she said this was typical. america continues to be difficult to live in for no good reason. its like literalyl everything you do here is 160% harder and more expensive than any other "comparable" country

[kanasmusings]

[Masterpost] Tsukino Picatrix Pamphlet Translations

Hello, hello~! It has been a really long time since Picatrix released, and translating the pamphlet took a lot more time than usual ^^;

Tsukino Picatrix was their prompt/theme last year, and it's a world of magic, wizards, fantasy, and mysteries~

It's an interesting and magical take with strong astrological themes and influences, if I'm being honest, but the lore and world-building is solid as always!

It still leaves a lot open to interpretation for the sake of letting the fans be creative about it. You gotta love how much TsukiPro spoils us with these AUs~

With Fujiwara leaving the creative board, I'm afraid that things in the fandom have been slow, and it's been difficult to stay locked in to it, but TsukiPika slowly brought me back down that deep, deep swamp.

(o^▽^o)

I do hope we get to see Tsukino Picatrix adapted on stage one of these days! I'd love to see SQS's take on it, that's for sure~

I hope that you enjoy the world as much as I did!

Which Guardian Planet would you choose for yourself, I wonder~

Thank you to Rakuen for helping me get my copy~!

Notes, and masterpost under the cut, enjoy~!

A few notes:

A lot of the technical information stuff in the pamphlet were taken from Wikipedia (like the planetary information). The blank map I used for a portion of the translations was taken from Wikipedia.

All character pictures and designs are property of TsukiPro. I do not claim ownership of them whatsoever. I only did the translations.

[TSUKINO PICATRIX]

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

Tsukino Picatrix Worldview and Glossary

Planets in Astrology

First Interlude

Apostles: Six Gravity

Apostles: Procellarum

Second Interlude

Apostles: SOARA

Apostles: Growth

Apostles: SolidS

Apostles: QUELL

Third Interlude

Apostles: infinit0

Fourth Interlude

Apostles: VAZZY

Apostles: ROCK DOWN

Fifth Interlude

General Interlude

Tsukino Picatrix Ending and Colophon

※ Please don’t re-post and re-translate these without permission!!!

If you enjoyed this, please consider buying me a ko-fi here to support my work! It’ll be a really big help. (o^▽^o)Thank you!!

[greenwitchcrafts]

Mugwort

Artemisia Vulgaris

Known as: Artemis herb, artemisia, artemisia herb, cingulum sancti johannis, felon herb, muggons, naughty man, old man, old uncle Henry, sailor's tobacco & St.John plant

Related plants: A member of the daisy family Asteraceae that consists of over 32,000 known species of flowering plants in over 1,900 genera within it such as chamomile, coneflowers, dahlia, daisy, dandelion, goldenrod, lettuce, marigold & sunflower

Parts used: Leaves & flowers

Habitat & cultivation: Common mugwort is native to Europe and Eastern Asia. Mugwort was brought into North America as early as the 1600’s for medicinal purposes. It spread throughout the Northeastern U.S. as a contaminant on ships and nurseries.

Plant type: Perennial

Region: 3-8

Harvest: The flowering tops of mugwort should be collected once they bloom or right before the blooms open. The leaves of mugwort plants should be collected before the plant flowers. Older leaves & flowers are significantly more bitter

Planting tips: Mugwort seeds can benefit from a special 1 to 2 week treatment called cold moist stratification prior to planting them & need cold weather to break down germination inhibitors. The seeds require light to germinate, so be careful not to cover them when planting. Mugwort does not like to be overwatered & is very drought tolerant. It is also an invasive weed & best kept in a container.

Medicinal information: Historically mugwort has been used in traditional systems of medicine in different parts of the world. Today, mugwort taken orally is promoted for digestive problems, irregular menstruation, and high blood pressure. It is also promoted as a sedative, laxative, anti-inflammatory & liver tonic. Mugwort lotion applied topically can aid in itching caused by hypertrophic scars & When being smoked, it exhibits mild intoxicating properties & strong relaxing properties.

Cautions: Mugwort should not be taken by pregnant people because it may start menstruation and cause the uterus to contract. Little is known about whether it’s safe to use mugwort while chestfeeding. Mugwort might cause an allergic reaction in people with pollen sensitivities

Magickal Properties

Gender: Feminine

Planet: Venus & Neptune

Element: Earth

Deities: Aida Wedo, Artemis, Diana, Isis, Lakshimi & St.John

Magickal uses:

•Place under your pillow to bringing peaceful sleep, prophetic dreams & aid in astral travel

• Add to incense for cleansing and clearing energy

• Place around scrying tools to increase their energy

• Add to herbal smoke blends to stimulate lucid dreaming, astral travel & visualization

• Make an infusion of mugwort to wash magic mirrors and crystal balls to aid in physic workings

• Burn with Sandalwood or wormwood for scrying rituals

• Carry in a satchets for protection and increasing lust, fertility & preventing back pain

• Throw mugwort in a fire during Midsummer for protection for the following year

• Keep under your doorstep to keep annoying visitors away

• Use in tea before bed to encourage lucid dreaming

• Hang mugwort over or on a door to keep unwelcome energies from passing through

• During a storm or when your life feels threatened by impending dangers, toss into your hearth fire or cauldron to keep you safe

•Wash your hands with a mugwort infusion to increase energy flow before tarot or pendulum readings

Sources:

Farmersalmanac.com

The Herbal Alchemist Handbook by Karen Harrison

The Book of Flower Spells by Cheralyn Darcey

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

The Encyclopedia of Natural Magic by John Michael Greer

Wild Witchcraft by Rebecca Beyer

Plant Witchery by Juliet Diaz

A Compendium of Herbal Magick by Paul Beyerl

Wikipedia

[dnpbeats]

hey besties going to say something parasocial and also very morbid so apologies in advance. with things like phil's recent health scare, i wonder if that brought up talks of a legit official hard launch* or in some way expedited the talks (assuming a hard launch was already being planned). because like God forbid anything actually happened to either of them. but let's say something did happen to one of them... i am assuming at that point the other would stop gal palling it up when talking about their relationship, like for obvious reasons lmao. but like imagine how awful that would be, to be going through literally the worst thing in your life and you're trying to be honest with how much the person meant to you and then you have to inevitably deal with people reacting to the fact that you are confirming a relationship. and i'm not even talking about people being like "omg phan is real 🤪" in an insensitive way (though that would unfortunately happen), like i think it would also probably suck coming from people who are just factually giving information as in "this is the first time their relationship was explicitly confirmed" yk? like I'm not in any way trying to say that gay ppl need to come out asap in case they die tomorrow, and also ik phil said he was trying not to explore "what if" scenarios so idk maybe they actually didn't have any talks at all. but it's something I wonder if they've thought about and what conclusion they might've come to

*imo they have confirmed they are a couple more than once but y'all know what I mean. the kind of hard launch where it counts as a reliable source on wikipedia

[morganbritton132]

obsessed w this new saga with David and the other teachers.... perhaps them either coming over again for a small party - "it's mostly family!!" Hence being even more confused when even MORE famous people show up (THAT'S brony Erica???)

I’m picturing the same cookout from this post.

There are three new eighth grade teachers this year. Including David, there is Marissa and Jordan. Then there is Kathy, who has been at the school for two years. They are all trying to figure out what is going on with Steve Harrington.

The man is a complete mystery.

He’s a walking contradiction in a math pun sweatshirt and he is often the topic of conversation when the four of them are alone in the breakroom. Jordan describes him as ‘onion-like’ because he has many layers and Marissa always replies with, ‘yeah, a fucked up alien onion where each new layer is weirder than the last.’

It’s a bit cruel but also, they found an article about Starcourt Mall.

Who is just in a fire? Who saves a bunch of children from a structure fire that collapsed on top of them and doesn’t make it their whole personality for the rest of forever? Who just never mentions it ever?

Steve Harrington, apparently.

After David (and Kathy) left Steve’s house more confused about the mild-mannered math teacher than ever, he went home and googled ‘Eddie Harrington.’ All he found was a link to a Facebook page for some dentist.

So, like, who the hell is he even married to, right? The guy has a Grammy but not a Wikipedia page? What’s up with that?

All David knows is that when Anita (the teacher that’s probably closest to Steve) invites everybody over for a cookout and says that your partners are more than welcomed, he’s going. When Steve asks if it’d be okay if Erica stopped by on her way to the airport and Anita said yes, he’s definitely going.

He is not going to miss the opportunity to see the kid that gave her dad psychic damage by introducing him to the fucked up parts of the My Little Pony fandom. No way.

Kathy informs everybody that she will NOT be bringing her husband, but she will bring booze.

David arrives too early and ends up helping in the kitchen. He’s slicing up tomatoes with the world’s dullest knife when Steve gets there. He can’t see the front door, but he can hear Anita ask, “Oh, where’s your service doggie?”

“It’s his day off,” He hears Steve joke, “Brought the human instead.”

And then David hears the man of mystery’s man of mystery himself because Eddie says with 100% impulsive thinking and 0% brain-to-mouth filter, “Yeah, he brought his service top instead.”

David just knows that Steve is giving Eddie the same dead-eyed look of unbelievable that is reserved for students that mix their chocolate milk with peas and dare each other to drink it in the silence that follows. Anita, bless her heart, replies as happy and clueless as can be, “Oh, that’s cute. Because you provide a top-notch service.”

“Never had any compl- ow!”

The first time David gets a good look at them, Eddie’s pressed up against Steve’s back, looking over his shoulder at the pictures of Anita’s grandkids she has on her phone. One of his hands is wrapped loosely around his waist and Steve is holding the other one, fiddling with the rings on it. They look so casual, like they’re always standing that close together.

David watches as Anita points in the direction of the drinks cooler and Eddie slips away with a kiss to the side of Steve’s neck and then another to his cheek. They hold hands until they absolutely have to let go. It’s cute. Marissa, next to him, scoffs and says, “Gag me with a spoon, they’re fucking adorable.”

Eddie returns to Steve with two beers and a Smirnoff Ice for Anita, gets another kiss and clearly calls Steve ‘sweetie’ when he clinks their bottles together. Steve throws his arm across Eddie’s shoulders and Eddie tucks his hand into Steve’s back pocket like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

David loses track of Steve and Eddie for a while, catching them in his peripheral as he mingles with everybody. He seems them steal a kiss. He sees them laughing at something Kathy says. He sees them holding hands as Eddie looks utterly lost during a discussion of the baseball season.

At one point, he sees Eddie stand up on the bench of the picnic table and get yanked down by Steve. They’re both laughing and Steve gives him a kiss that is not exactly chaste.

Cindy rolls her eyes at them and says that they’re always like that.

Him and Jordan are playing cornhole against Steve and Eddie. He’s almost positive that Eddie is not as bad at the game as he’s pretending to be, but just likes when ‘Stevie baby’ guides him through how to throw the beanbags. If it wasn’t for Steve excusing himself than he probably wouldn’t have noticed the big SUV parked in the driveway.

His first thought when he sees Erica is ‘oh, she must be adopted’ followed immediately by ‘wait, duh’ and then by ‘hey, wait a minute.’

Steve gets stopped by her bodyguard before he can hug her with a big threatening hand on his shoulder. David’s still trying to figure out why she looks so familiar when Erica says to the bodyguard, “Uh, excuse you. Do not touch him. He was my first bodyguard, have some respect.”

Steve scoffs, “I was your babysitter.”

“I’m sorry,” Erica says, full of sass. Eddie is a couple steps back, grinning ear to ear. He loves when Erica and Steve get into it. “Did you bleed for me? Did you fight for me? Did you, Steve Harrington, get tortured so I made it out safe? I think so. Bodyguard.”

Eddie finally greets her with a bow, “Lady Applejack.”

Erica gives him a flat look and tells her bodyguard, “You can tase that one.”

David is still reeling from the words ‘babysitter’ and ‘torture’ that he probably would’ve missed Marissa in his ear if she wasn’t so goddamn loud, “Holy shit, that’s a fucking US Senator.”

Jordan is quieter when she mutters, “Language.”

Later in the evening when the sun is starting to set and they should all really go home and prep their lesson plans for next week, Anita’s husband lights a bonfire. David is sitting across from the fire from Steve and Eddie and he so tempted to ask what Eddie does for a living when Steve whispers something to him and then stands up quickly.

He can’t even ask what that was about because Eddie gets up and follows him, almost matching Steve’s quick steps into the house. They’re gone for a while, long enough that David gets up to check on Steve. He looked pretty pale when he rushed out of here.

He’s halfway up the stairs when he hears them, and he stops. Steve sounds tired but reassuring as he repeats, “I’m fine. I’m okay. I’m fine now.”

He hears Eddie respond with, “I know, baby. I know, but rest with me for a minute, kay?”

When he pokes his head around the turn in the staircase, he can see the bottom of Steve’s Nikes hanging over the top landing. He can also see the bottom of Eddie’s boots where he’s crouched over Steve. His first reaction is to think he stumbled on them in a compromising position, but he can’t bring himself to move just yet.

“You just had a seizure, take your time getting your bearings, sweetheart. Do you wanna go home?” Eddie asks in a cacophony of jingling metal rings and chains. Steve makes a noise that Eddie interprets, “Okay, do you want me to give you space?”

“No, come –“ The sound of metal clinking together doesn’t get louder, just more and when David pokes his head around the corner again, Eddie is straddled across Steve’s lap. Steve’s hands are on his hips and then higher, pushing up Eddie’s shirt clumsily just feeling him. “Feel floaty.”

“I’ll keep you grounded, baby.”

David knows he should leave, or at least looks away, but he stuck frozen to the floor at the sight of the scar tissue running up Eddie’s sides and back. They’re deep and jagged, and old. It looks like he was torn open and sewed back shut, and it takes David a long time to get his feet to go back down the stairs.

He goes back out to the fire a little dazed and later, it’s only Eddie that returns. He whispers something to Anita and then disappears into the night.

When Cindy makes a comment about Steve leaving without a proper goodbye, David tells her to shut up.

[sealpup9]

Internet Archive Live Hearing happens tomorrow: March 20, 2023

Here's a link to the Internet Archive's page, describing how you can participate and listen to oral arguments on Monday March 20th at 1pm ET

You may know the Internet Archive because of the Wayback Machine!!

The court case Hachette v Internet Archive is being brought to court and threatens to tear down the Internet Archive as we know it.

"The Internet Archive is a nonprofit digital library, preserving and providing access to cultural artifacts of all kinds in electronic form. CDL allows people to check out digital copies of books for two weeks or less, and only permits patrons to check out as many copies as the Archive and its partner libraries physically own. That means that if the Archive and its partner libraries have only one copy of a book, then only one patron can borrow it at a time, just like any other library. Through CDL, the Internet Archive is helping to foster research and learning by helping its patrons access books and by keeping books in circulation when their publishers have lost interest in them."

This is so important because not only does the Internet Archive provide books that are long out of circulation and copies for people to borrow, they are also used as sources for things like Wikipedia articles! Imagine if suddenly, no one could access sources that someone cites for their information! Having access to information digitally today is a very important thing, and with all of the paywalls people face nowadays for news, imagine if you suddenly had to pay for access to any books. Websites like Amazon already are attempting to replace any sort of ebook rentals with paid services, when we have the right to borrow books online just as we do physically. The Internet Archive is extremely important and one of our rights- access to information- is actively being fought against.

REMEMBER: This will not JUST affect the internet archive. This could change how libraries in general work, and could threaten public access to information. Imagine how many youtube video essay sources would be null and void, imagine just trying to research an obscure topic at 3am-- If all of that was behind a paywall, only those with money would be able to access them! The harder it is for libraries to share books and archive information, the more the public suffers!

Please show your support! Read more about the case here: https://www.eff.org/cases/hachette-v-internet-archive

https://www.battleforlibraries.com/

I'm not sure how quick Tumblr will work on approving this blazed post but if the day/time has passed, please know that you can actively look into more information on this case and other info on the Internet Archive Blogs. You can also add your name to a list of supporters of Battle for Libraries Here.

Let's work together on making sure we have access to information! In this digital age, we deserve to access just as much online as we do offline!

[1tbls]

some rambling thoughts on shivers (red bolding mine throughout):

so shivers says this to harry after he has a dance-induced seizure in the church, right:

YOU - But who am *I*? Why are you talking to me?

SHIVERS - YOU ARE AN OFFICER OF THE CITIZENS MILITIA. *AGENTES IN REBUS*, WHEN YOU WEAR YOUR COAT, YOU WEAR MY SOUL.

SHIVERS - YOU MOVE THROUGH MY STREETS FREELY IN MOTOR CARRIAGES AND ON FOOT. YOU HAVE ACCESS TO THE HIDDEN PLACES. YOU ALSO CIRCULATE AMONG THOSE WHO ARE HIDDEN.

here's wikipedia on "agentes in rebus":

"The agentes in rebus were the late Roman imperial and Byzantine courier service and general agents of the central government from the 4th to the 7th centuries."

"Being outside the control of the provincial governors, some agentes ... were appointed as inspectors ... for which they gained a reputation as a secret police force. As their routine assignments brought them into contact with matters of great concern to the court, and as they reported back to the court on everything they saw or heard on their varied missions, the agentes can be seen to have had an intelligence function ... This role, as well as their extraordinary power, made them feared: the 4th-century philosopher Libanius accused them of gross misconduct, terrorizing and extorting the provincials, "sheep-dogs who had joined the wolf pack". Nevertheless, the vast majority operated quite openly, and the claims of the agentes operating as a modern-day secret police are certainly exaggerated."

hey shivers. why are you invoking the RCM as your secret police, via a term not just associated with collection of information, but with corruption and manipulation of power.

and, if you fuck up the dance check and call kim a slur, she says:

"SHIVERS - BY THE WAY, APOLOGIZE TO YOUR PARTNER AT ONCE. UNITY AMONG THE RANKS IS PARAMOUNT."

which sticks out to me, because earlier we have this encyclopedia check with noid:

NOID - "A life is true if it's free from fear and internal division among oneself. And others -- mankind has seeds of greatness in it. A germinal will come, a return to trueness. It will be hard core."

YOU - "How would you go about *returning* to this true life?"

NOID - "Beats and bright lights to shatter falsehoods. Nerve impulses for the collective body. We are very much alike in basic structure. A hard enough beat would awaken everyone to a truer calling -- in unity!"

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Rejection of the right-left axis, emphasis on *unity*, appreciation of some primordial mode of being -- what does that remind you of?

YOU - "Sort of like fascism then?"

now, i don't think either noid or shivers are outright fascist :p but i do think the purpose of this encyclopedia line is to highlight how those criteria are flawed and damaging, how they are red flags, whatever the intention.

some comparisons:

1. return to trueness. le retour. the return of... what? in both cases, truly quite vague except for the idea of some dramatic upheaval of the current order, the idea of "returning" to some idealized past state or event.

2. nerve impulses. shivers. "appeal to nature" type fallacy, appeal to a baser instinct... invocation of physical reactions as metaphor for political reactionism, perhaps?

3. unity. on the surface, shivers telling harry to make things right with kim is touching, certainly. but specifically "unity among the ranks" is an interesting framing 🤨 as though the crucial thing is that their forces are not divided for what's to come, regardless of kim's feelings, regardless of harry's potential racism.

likewise, noid's call for unity addresses... nothing at all. simply that everyone would be awoken from their petty, false divisions into unity. neither this nor his criticisms of left vs. right acknowledge that the division is not equal, that one side in most social power conflicts is invested in stripping the rights of the other... because that is simply not on the radar when the priority is unity above all else. in its way, unity is authoritarian where it does not abide difference or dissent in the interest of the of the stasis/power of the institution.

this is all to say. hey. let's talk about the inherent nationalist nature of la revacholiere, my problematic wife ♥️

[valentoru]

|| Limitless ||

[CHAPTER 8]

SYNOPSIS: Gojo Satoru, a big time artist, who’s known for leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake wherever he goes. And you, the lead guitarist of an upcoming band, who’s absolutely certain that no one will ever love you. Through an accident in which you happened to kiss Gojo in a frantic state, you both decide, via convenience alone—and zero regard for both of your managers—to pull a fake dating stunt what could go wrong? Any press is good press…right?

PREVIOUS : MASTERLIST : NEXT

Three days later you found yourself stood in front of Gojo’s office again.

You’d never been there before three days ago, but once again you had no problem finding it. The staff scurrying out of it with misty eyes and a terrified expression was a dead give away. Not to mention that Gojo’s was the only one in the hallway completely void of pictures of kids, pets or significant others. Not even a copy of his album cover with the hit song that had won him a Grammy. You knew about all the awards he’d won from a quick google search you’d done the previous day. Just dark brown wood with a metal plaque that read; Satoru Gojo.

You had felt a bit like a creep the night before, scrolling through his Wikipedia page and going through as much information you could find out about him. Unlucky for you, he was reserved and didn’t let the press know much about him. Still you’d quashed yourself the feelings, telling yourself that a thorough background check could be considered mandatory before embarking on a fake-dating relationship.

You took a deep breath before knocking and then another between Satoru’s “Come in” and the moment you finally managed to force yourself to open the door. When you entered the offices he didn’t immediately look up and continued to type on his PC. “My office hours were over five minutes ago, so—“

“It’s me.”

His hands halted, hovering and inch or so above the keyboards then he turned his chair towards you. “Y/N.”

There was something about the way he talked. Maybe it was an accent, maybe it was just the quality of his voice. You didn’t quite know what, but it’s was there, in the way he said your name. Precise. Careful. Feel. Unlike anyone else. Familiar—impossibly so.

“What did you say to her?” You asked, trying not to care about how Satoru Gojo spoke. “The woman who ran out crying.”

It took him a moment to remember that less than sixty seconds ago there had been someone in the office—someone whom he clearly made cry. “I just gave her feedback on something she wrote.”

You nodded, silently thanking all the gods you were not a member of his staff team and never would be, and studied your surroundings.

He had a corner office, of course. Two windows that together must total who knows how many square metered of glass, and so much light, just standing in the middle of the room would cure twenty people’s seasonal depression. It made sense. With all the money he brought in, along with the prestige, that he’d be given a nice space. You on the other hand, didn’t even have your own office or filming booth, you just went where you were told and nine times out of ten the booths would smell of sweat and the offices would be with other people you didn’t know.

“I was going to email you. I talked to my publicity manager.” Satoru told you, and you looked back at him.

He was gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. You pulled it back and took a seat.

“About you.”

“Oh.” You stomach dropped. You’d much rather his publicity manager didn’t know about your existence. Then again, you’d also rather not be in this rooms with Satoru Gojo, have to go to shows, have climate change be a thing. And yet.

“Well, about us,” he amended. “And social media regulations.”

“What did they say?”

“There’s nothing against us dating—though they don’t recommend it—and we are free to keep it a secret. Unless of course it’s gets out then we don’t have a choice.”

A mix of panic and relief flooded through you.

“However there are some issues to consider. Any of the members of staff in this building could sell us out. Equally, if we get spotted, press may sell us out, which means we simply have to be cautious.”

You nodded. “Fair enough.”

“And I absolutely cannot collaborate with you until this is over.”

You huffed put a laugh. “That won’t be an issue. I wasn’t planning on asking you to collaborate with my band anyway.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why not? Your band does the same music as I do.”

“Yeah.”

“Then we would collaborate perfectly.”

“Yeah we may, but we don’t plan on collaborating any time soon. Plus, there are millions of people who do our genre music, and if we were going collaborate, I’d argue against it being with you. I’d like to finish the song ideally without crying in the bathroom after every meeting.”

He glared at you.

You shrugged. “No offence. I’m a simple girl, with simple needs.”

To that he lowered his gaze onto the desk but not before you could see the corners of his mouth twitch. When he looked up again, his expression was serious. “So, have you decided?”

You pressed your lips together as he watched you calmly. You took a deep breath before saying, “Yes. Yes I…I want to do it. It’s a good idea actually.”

For so many reasons. It would get Maki and Yuta off your back, but also…also everyone else. It was as if since the rumour had begun to spread, people had been too intimidated by you to give you the usual shit. The staff had quit trying switch the bands nice 2pm sessions with their nasty, horrible, life-sucking 8pm ones. People had stopped cutting in front of you at the coffee shop next door. And two different staff members had been trying to get ahold of you to potential work under your band as well. It felt a little unfair to exploit this hugged misunderstanding, but this was lawless territory and your life had been nothing but miserable for the past two years. You had learnt to get away with whatever you could. And if some—okay most staff looked at you suspiciously because you were dating Satoru Gojo so be it. You friends seemed to be largely fine with this, if a little bemused.

Except for Megumi. He’d been avoiding you like you had the pox for three solid days. But Megumi was Megumi—he’d come around.

“Very well then.” He we completely expressionless—almost too expressionless.

Like it was no big deal and he didn’t care either way; like if you’d said no, it wouldn’t have changed a thing for him.

“Though, I’ve been thinking about this a lot.”

He waited for you to continue.

“And I think that I would be best if we lay down some ground rules, before starting.”

“Ground rules?”

“Yes. You know. What are we allowed and not allowed to do. What we can expect from this arrangement. I think that’s pretty standard protocol, before embarking on a fake-dating relationship.”

He tilted his head. “Standard protocol?”

“Yup.”

“How many times have you done this?”

“Zero. But I’m familiar with the trope.”

“The…what?” He blinked at you, confused.

You ignored him. “Okay.” You inhaled deeply and lifted your index finger. “First of all, this should be a strictly in the work place agreement. Not that I think you’d want to meet me out of work but I’m worried about the press. And just incase you were planning to kill two birds with one stone and being home a date for Christmas—”

“I wasn’t.”

“Huh?”

“I wasn’t planning to ask you to celebrate Christmas with me. But also my family don’t really celebrate.”

“Oh.” You pondered it for a moment. “That’s something a fake girlfriend should probably know.”

The ghost of a smile appeared on his mouth, but he said nothing.

“Okay. Second rule. Actually it could be interpreted as an extension of the first rule. But—” You bit into your lip, willing yourself to bring it up—“no sex.”

For several moments he simply didn’t move. Not even a millimetre. Then his lips parted, but no sound came out, and that’s when you realised you had just rendered Satoru Gojo speechless. Which would have been funny any other day, but the fact that he seemed dumbfounded by you not wanting to include sex in your fake-dating relationship made your stomach sink.

Had he assumed you would? Was it something you’d said? Should you explain you’d had very little sex in your life? That for years you’d wondered whether you were asexual and you had only recently realised you might be able to experience sexual attraction, but only with people you trusted deeply? That if for some inexplicable reason Satoru wanted to have sex with you, you weren’t going to be able to go through with it?

“Listen”— you made to stand from the chair, panic rising in your throat—“I’m sorry, but if one of the reasons you offered to fake-date is that your thought we would—”

“No.” The word half exploded out of him. He looked genuinely appalled. “I’m shocked that you’d even feel the need to bring it up.”

“Oh.” Your cheeks heating at the indignation in his voice. Right. Of course he didn’t expect that. Or even want that, with you. Look at him—why would he? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume—”

“No, it makes sense to be up-front. I was just surprised.”

“I know.” You nodded. Honestly, you were a little surprised too. That you were sitting in Satoru Gojo’s office, talking about sex—not only the meiosis kind of sex, but potential sexual intercourse between the two of you. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

“It’s okay. This whole thing is weird.” The silence between you stretched, and you noticed that he was blushing faintly. Just a dust of red, but he looked so…you couldn’t stop staring.

“No sex,” he confirmed with a nod.

You had to clear your throat to shake yourself out of inspecting the shape and colour of his cheekbones.

“No sex.” You repeated clearing your throat. “Okay. Third. It’s not really a rule, but here goes: I won’t date anyone else. As in real dating. It would be messy and complicated and everyone and…” You hesitated. Should you tell him? Was it too much information? Did he need to know? Oh, well. Why not, at this point? It wasn’t like you hadn’t kissed the man, or brought up sec in his place of work. “I don’t date, anyway. Yuta was an exception. I’ve never…I’ve never dated seriously before, and it’s probably for the best. This job is stressful enough, and I have my friends, and my music, and honestly there’s better things to use my time for.” The last few words came out like more defensively than you’d intended.

Satoru simply stared, saying nothing.

“But you can, of course,” you added hastily. “Thought I’d appreciate if you could avoid telling people in the—well anyone—just so I don’t look like and idiot and you don’t look like your cheating on me and rumours don’t balloon out of control. It would benefit you, too, since you’re trying to look like you’re in a committed relationship—”

“I won’t.”

“Okay. Great. Thanks. I know lying by omission can be a pain, but—”

“I mean, I won’t date someone else.”

There was a certainty, a finality in his tone that took you by surprise. You could only nod even though you wanted to protest that he couldn’t possibly do that, even though a million questions surfaced in your mind. Ninety-nine percent of them were inappropriate and not your business, so you shooed them away.

“Okay. Fourth. We obviously can’t keep on doing this forever, so we should give ourselves a deadline.”

He pressed his lips together. “When would that be?”

“Im not sure. A month or so would probably be enough to convince Maki that I’m firmly over Yuta. But it might not be enough on your end, so…you tell me.”

He mulled it. Then nodded once. “May twenty-ninth.”

It was a little over a month from now. But also… “that’s a weirdly specific date.” You racked your head, trying to figure out why it could be meaningful. The only thing that came to mind was that you’d be in Boston that week for a charity show.

“It’s the day after my contract is reviewed. They will be deciding whether they are going to renew it or terminate it.”

“I see. Well, then, let’s agree that in May twenty-ninth we part ways. I’ll tell Maki that our breakup was amicable but that I’m a little sad about it because I still have a bit of a crush on you.” You grinned at him. “Just so she won’t suspect that I’m still hung up in Yuta. Okay.” You took a deep breath. “Fifth and last.”

This was the tricky one. The one you were afraid he would object to. You noticed that you were wringing your hands and placed them firmly in your lap.

“For this to work we should probably…do things together. Every once in a while?”

“Things?”

“Things. Stuff.”

“Stuff,” he repeated dubiously.

“Yep. Stuff. What do you do for fun?” He was probably into something atrocious, like cow-tipping excursions or Japanese beetle fighting. Maybe he collected porcelain dolls. Maybe he was an avid geocacher. Maybe he frequented vaping conventions. Oh God.

“Fun?” He repeated, like he’s never heard the word before.

“Yeah. What do you do when you’re not at work.”

The length of the time that passed between your question and his answer was alarming. “Sometimes I work at home, too. And I work out. And I sleep.”

You had to actively stop yourself from face-palming. “Um, great. Anything else?”

“What do you do for fun?” He asked, somewhat defensively.

“Plenty of things. I…” Go to the movies. Thought you hadn’t been since the last time Megumi had dragged you. Play board games. But every single one of your friends was too busy lately so not that, either. You’d participated in a volleyball tournament, but it had been over a year ago.

“Um. I work out?” You would have loved to wipe that sumg expression off his face. So much. “Whatever. We should do something together on a regular basis. I don’t know, maybe get coffee? Like, once a week? Just for ten minutes at a place where people, not the press but people we know, could easily see us. I know it sounds annoying and a waste of time, but it’ll be super short, and it would makes the fake dating more credible, and—“

“Sure.”

Oh.

You thought it would take more convincing. A lot more. Then again, this was in his interest too. He needed his contractors to believe in their relationship if he was to cajole them into renewing his contract.

“Okay. Um..” you forced yourself to stop wondering why he was being so accommodating and tried to visualise your schedule. “How about Thursday?”

He angled his chair to face his computer and pulled up a calendar app. It was so fully of colourful boxes and your felt a surge of vicarious anxiety.

“It works before eleven a.m. and after seven p.m.”

“Ten?”

He turned back to you. “Ten’s good.”

“Okay.” You waited for him to type it in, but he made no move to. “Aren’t you going to add it to your calendar?”

“I’ll remember.” He told you evenly.

“Okay, then.” You made and effort to smile, and it felt relatively sincere. Way more sincere than any smile you’d ever thought you’d been able to muster in Satoru Gojo’s presence. “Great. Fake-dating Thursday it is.”

A line appeared between his eyebrows, “why do you keep saying that?”

“Saying what?”

“‘Fake dating.’ like it’s a thing.”

“Because it is. Do you not watch rom-coms?”

He stared at you with a puzzled expression, until you cleared your throat and looked down at your knees. “Right.” God, you had nothing in common. You’d never find anything to talk about. Your ten minute coffee-breaks we’re going to be the most painful, awkward parts of your already painful, awkward weeks.

But Maki was going to have her beautiful love story, and you wouldn’t have to wait ages to finally do a Cancer Awareness Campaign. That was all that mattered.

You stood and thrust your hand out to him, figuring that every fake-dating arrangement deserved at lead a handshake. Satoru studied it hesitantly for a couple seconds. Then he stood, clasped your fingers. He stared at your joined hands before meeting your eyes. And you ordered yourself not to notice the softness of his skin, or how tall he was, or…anything else about him. When he finally let go, you had to make a conscious effort not to inspect your hand.

Had he done something to you? It sure felt like it. Your flesh was tingling.

“When do you want to start?”

“How about next week?” It was Friday. Which meant that you had fewer days than seven to psychologically prepare for the experience of getting coffee with Satoru Gojo. You knew that you could do this—if you had worked your way up to being in a band and kicking your stage fright in the ass, you could do anything, or as good as—but it still seemed like a horrible idea.

“Sounds good.”

It was happening. Oh God. “Let’s meet in the downstairs coffee shop. It’s where most of the staff and well—anyone who comes here at all—goes to get coffee. Someone’s bound to spot us.” You headed for the door, pausing to glance back at Gojo. “I guess I’ll see you for fake-dating Thursday, then?”

He was still standing behind his desk, arms crossed in his chest. Looking at you. Looking entirely less irritated by this mess than you’d ever had expecting. Looking…nice. “See you, Y/N.”

TAGLIST(25/50): @bbmsxlene @lunavelha @satoryaa @tranzumaki @k-kkiana @luvkvni @lysaray @kalulakunundrum @arysbruv @r4veeen @stillnotherapy @catobsessedlady @colortheoryrocks @minzxec @dazqa @packsvlog @luvvmae @simplysm1le @mintfyi @fushism @angstmuncher @fackeraccount @astro-stars @lavender-hvze @miizuzu @rayrayline @kanaojacksonofc @letsmyy

AN:

I have so much in store for this fic I’m genuinely debating making a discord server so that I can pester you guys with spoilers and talk to you guys about stuff bc there’s literally SO MUCH to tell

ANYWAYYY aurkurad chapter🔥 Y/N WHY WOUKD YOU SAY THAT GIRL

© valentoru all rights reserved- do not publish my work on other platforms, plagiarise or translate.

[jellyfishoreo1206]

hey dude! really like ur work lol :3 can you write a tf2 medic with a fem or gn reader who is alternative (like punk/goth?) it can be headcannons or a drabble or whatever u want :) thanks bud!

Medic with an Alt! Reader (gender-neutral)

Notes: Of course! Again, I'm sorry if it seems like I ignored your ask! For that, I'll attempt to make it extra long :3 Please correct me if I get anything wrong about the history of Alternative fashion/music, I mostly referenced Wikipedia, but I don't think there was enough information for me to go on. I didn't know if you wanted this to be a romantic pairing or just platonic, so I'm doing both!

So coming back to this, I realized that the first half of this is talking about Alt Reader, but then the next half it's literally just romance head cannons that have nothing to do with the ask. I've been carried away by the amount of ideas that have been flooding my brain at night that I completely forgot what I was doing in the first place. At this point, I'm just rolling with it, I'm sorry Anon

Warning(s): Medic being medic, cussing, mentions of reader smoking, slight spoilers for the TF2 Comics.

M/C = Merc Class

---

Platonic

Considering that this is the late 60's (and alt becoming a thing somewhere in the 1970's or 80's), Medic would take a keen interest in you.

Whether you take interest in Emo, Goth, Hip-Hop (which apparently is a form of Alt fashion! Good to know), Punk, Rocker or Grunge fashion; all of them have a few things in common, they all stand out from the mainstream fashion going on in that time, some are more artistic and attention-grabbing, and some coming to be as a break from beliefs.

I'm not going to lie to you, at first he thought it was some type of disorder

"I want to find out what's wrong with them" That's what's going through his mind 😭

He's so curious, you're going to be his new subject of interest until he has studied every inch of you

Whether that be operating on you or studying how you behave from afar.

---

Several days have passed since you've joined the mercenaries. You seem to be adjusting well enough to the team, getting along semi-okay with your teammates (if you ignore how the on your first day Soldier nearly killed you because he mistook you as a demon, shouting absolute nonsense). Engineer has been one of the most welcoming out of your teammates, offering to show you around and letting you know what to watch out for.

But there is one teammate that you can't even bring yourself to being around. The Medic.

God, you would think that the Engineer would at least warn you about him and his behavior, dude is seriously all kinds of creepy.

Ever since you got here, he's been watching you like a hawk. Always seeing him out of the corner of your eye, conveniently always being in the same room as you; Hell! Even following you out in the battle field. You even think you woke up to him crouching menacingly in the corner of your room, watching as you slept with a creepy smile on his face and an insane look in those eyes of his. (Desperately wishing that it was some kind of paranoia-filled nightmare and praying to whatever god that is up there that it wasn't real.)

"I swear! Was it something I did??" You decided to express your concerns to the Engineer, considering he is one of the more reasonable one's out of the mercs, and being the first person you hit it off with when you first arrived. He hummed in thought—putting down the sentry gun that he was tinkering with—turning to face you as he pushes his hard-hat back into place.

"Medic is a strange fella, I know tha'. But I don' think I've ever heard him act like this..." His response only seemed to add on to your distress, sitting yourself on the floor of his workshop with a loud groan. Great, so even he doesn't know what's going on either. "I'll hafta talk with him la'er, see wha's up with 'im."

"I appreciate it, Engineer."

"Please, call me Engie."

---

When the Engineer brought up the Medic's behavior to him, he just laughed it off

"Oh Herr Engineer, you must know as a man of science that this is simply an observation!" "...What exactly are ya' observin'?" "Haven't you noticed? How they dress! Is it a form of trauma? Or a type of disorder! I must find out!" *Cue him holding a bloody hand saw in the most menacing way possible* "Then..why don'tcha jus' ask them up front?" "I like my methods better."

Yeahhhh, he has a really bad case of autism

When Engie told you what the Medic told him, you just got even more confused.

What would the way you dress have anything to do with your mental state?

I mean, yeah, you've turned heads whenever you went out to do mundane tasks back home (such as picking something up from the store or returning something to a friend), and you had several people tell you that'll they will pray for you, but you've never had someone assume that it was straight up a disorder??

The thought itself just confuses you

Engie was right about him being weird..

---

A month has passed, and it seems like the Medic's behavior has calmed down a bit. Emphasis on a bit.

He stopped following you around out in the battlefield as much and seems to be getting back into his regular schedule of being the medic for the team; but you're starting to notice something else...

It seems he's attempting to talk to you! The whole entire time you've been here at the base, you two never actually had a proper conversation (mainly it was because you were attempting to avoid him as much as possible at the start, and Medic because he just saw you as another subject). The first time it happened was late at night, almost the early hours of the morning. You were in the kitchen, making some coffee for yourself and the Engineer (who has yet to go to sleep). You were pretty sure it was only the two of you awake at this time, since you didn't hear anything else other than the distant clinging and clanking of the engineer's machinery.

With both hands occupied with a mug of hot coffee, you were about to make your way out of the kitchen when you felt your heart drop. Jesus FUCKING CHRIST, HOW LONG WAS HE STANDING THERE????

Might as well be called The SPY instead with how fucking quiet he was.

You both made awkward eye-contact—awkward for you anyway—he seemed tired, but that didn't stop him from smiling at you—teeth and all.

"Ach, guten morgen!" He offers a small wave, his voice cheery despite his obvious exhaustion.

You didn't say anything, you bolted out of there.

Nope nope nope nope nopenopenope-!

---

The Medic didn't seem to take that reaction personally

If anything, it made him more curious

So he attempts to strike up another conversation, but this time with company around, since he was scolded by the engineer the very next day

Whether it was during dinner-time, before a match, or even game-nights (as chaotic as they can be); he always attempts to strike up conversations, whether you don't respond or you give one-word responses.

Going on to long rants about any topic that comes to mind, whether you want to listen or not; most of them are usually about the human biology or his previous experiments

You wish you could erase the memory when he told you he got a man pregnant with baboons.

When you asked why he wanted to talk to you, he merely gave a shrug and a almost sheepish smile

His response?

"Oh for no reason, I just got bored when I realized there were no results in my observations."

Yeah

You kept your distance as much as possible, still feeling a bit uncomfortable around the man

Though it eventually started to slowly fade away when he kept attempting to talk with you, a big part of it was also due to his birds perching themselves on you whenever you needed something from the medbay, cuddling up to you in a mass of feathers

You actually started to enjoy the conversations when he asked why you dressed the way you did

---

"Let me give you a brief summary," You start, sitting on the worn-out couch with the Medic on the far-end, a freshly lit cigarette in-between your fingers, "-there's a small community of us, people who also dress like me. But like I said, small community, not many of us." Taking the first drag of your cigarette, you see from the corner of your vision Medic holding a scolding look, eyeing the cigarette in your hand with disgust.

Blowing the smoke out in small puffs, you continued, "But, the reason why we dress the way we do, there's several and it varies from person to person."

"It could be a way of self-expression, a break from the mainstream style, or...damnit, I always forget the last one's. But there's many reasons why is what I'm trying to get at."

"What was your reasoning?" The Medic finally spoke, crossing his legs as he (un)discreetly takes out a notepad, writing down the information that you have just stated. The question processes in your brain, taking a long drag, repeating it over and over until an answer formed.

"Mm, nearly everyone dresses the same, no variety in their fashion." Finishing the last of the cigarette, you put it out in the ash tray atop the coffee table, leaning back into the couch with a stretch. "Everyone is always expected to dress the same. I wanted something different."

"Interesting..."

---

Romantic

Now for the romantic part of the relationship, it would take him FOREVER to figure out that he likes you

YEARS if nobody brings it up

He would just brush it off as excess adrenaline from the battles (even if there was a ceasefire)

He would also began to show a certain type of favoritism towards you (his birds especially)

Whether that be storing a jar of lollipops in his office for you to take from (and only you), telling you a in-depth explanation/step-by-step of his experiments before anybody else, scolding you whenever you do something that's unhealthy, or just treating you like a normal doctor whenever it comes time for the yearly check-ups (like not experimenting on you/doing a random surgery or injecting random chemicals into your body to see what effects it'll have on the battlefield.)

---

"Aye, doc! How come you only give M/N loli's!" For what seemed to have been the tenth time that day that Scout has complained about the same thing—over and over again—it was starting to get on the doctors nerves as he attempted (emphasis on attempted) to rescue his beloved bird that has somehow snuck his way inside of the scout and got himself tangled in the intestines while the Medic was preforming surgery.

"And for the last time, Scout." A sharp snap fills the tiled-room, a small piece of the Scout's rib cage in-between the Medic's gloved fingers, throwing it somewhere behind him without much concern for it as he continues with his current task at hand, "They aren't such a nuisance, unlike you."

---

That's his only excuse whenever someone asks really :/

He always seems to enjoy your company the most out of all the mercs and is seen with you more times than anybody else on the team

It's until one of the mercs bring up his favoritism from another point of view that he begins to think...differently

Not a bad differently, but a "What do I do" differently

Like that's the moment when he begins to realize his affections for you

Personally, I believe that man has never been in a romantic relationship/had romantic feelings for someone

So him being in love for possibly the first time in his life, he's stumped

Like what does he even do in a predicament like this???

Would probably go to Engie or Heavy about this predicament for some sort of guidance.

His behavior around you would change a bit

He would still act like his regular self

But with you around he could be seen fidgeting with whatever he has in his hands and stumbling over his words more often, maybe even calling you pet-names in German

There will be times where he'll have a red flush seen on his normally pale face whenever you do something he sees as attractive/adorable (whether that be ruthlessly killing the other team, laughing at something one of the mercs did, cooing at Archimedes, etc.)

Like, flushed to the tips of his ears down to the nape of his neck type of blushing

You can tell he's blushing whenever his glasses fog up <3

---

"Who's a pretty bird? You're a pretty bird!" Said blood-covered dove cooed at the various praise he was receiving from you, flapping his wings in a joyful matter. You came to the medbay to ask Medic for something that the Engineer needed but quickly got sidetracked when a certain dove flew down from his perch and decided to greet you.

Bringing a finger up to the dove, you give him small gentle scratches atop his head, continuing to coo at the bird with a big smile stretched across your lips.

Medic watches as the whole thing happens from his desk, a look of adoration in his eyes as he watches the on-going interaction between you and his bird. A feeling of warmth began spreading across his face, the beating of his heart increasing just from the sight alone.

He's absolutely clueless on what to do—the well-composed Medic, the man who has made a deal with the Devil and tricked him, sowing 8 souls to his very own, and has done many experiments that should be impossible to achieve—is confused on how he should proceed with his arising feelings for someone he considered a colleague and friend.

What a very troublesome situation.

---

He would probably be a bit straightforward when he decides to confess to you, probably in a private space like in the Medbay or when it's late at night so nobody is awake to walk in on the two of you

When I say "a bit straightforward", I mean like he'll beat around the bush for a brief few seconds before just going for it, and keeps eye-contact throughout the whole thing

If you accept his feelings; he's ecstatic! But he doesn't know how to act, to say.

'What do couples do??' 'How does one act when they are in a relationship?' Mainly the questions that are going through his mind

If you reject his feelings; he'll become quiet and distant around you. He might even be a bit mad at himself, whenever he's by his lonesome; staring at his reflection on his bone-saw as his birds attempt to comfort him

Like, you guys will still talk, but it'll just be awkward—a tension between the two of you

Okay moving on.

Once entering a relationship with the Medic, it's best if you take things slow; discuss boundaries with one another, what to do and what not to do, etc,.

Would probably become a bit more touchy? Like, small brushes against your hand or one of your limbs, holding you hand or just linking pinkies with you whenever the two of you are alone

Like those kind of touches, soft.

Kisses would probably start off small too; small kiss to your knuckles or a kiss to the palm of his hand to bring a flush out of him (Though he prefers both of these in private)

Would absolute want to attempt to do your hair and make-up

I feel like he's either the kind of person to keep his love life private, but also not? Like, he would drops hints that he's in a relationship with you, but they are so subtle they fly over a few of the mercs heads

---

Again, Anon, I'm sorry for going off-topic

[octomae]

okay

so i saw a post about Lemuria Hub and the Deepsea Metro having ties to each other, and i have a conspiracy theory that's been rotting in my brain ever since i saw the Deepsea Metro map in Lemuria Hub

here's all your proof of that:

plus, the eye posters from Kamabo Co. being present in Lemuria Hub as well. it's pretty obvious from these that Lemuria and Kamabo are tied together.

we all know and remember Tartar's goal: bring back humanity. but the name "Lemuria" holds a lot more weight than most casual splatoon players might realize.

because i am a nerd, i looked it up.

From the Wikipedia page:

Lemuria, or Limuria, was a continent proposed in 1864 by zoologist Philip Sclater, theorized to have sunk beneath the Indian Ocean, later appropriated by occultists in supposed accounts of human origins. (...)

The hypothesis was proposed as an explanation for the presence of lemur fossils on Madagascar and the Indian subcontinent but not in continental Africa or the Middle East. Biologist Ernst Haeckel's suggestion in 1870 that Lemuria could be the ancestral home of humans caused the hypothesis to move beyond the scope of geology and zoogeography, ensuring its popularity outside of the framework of the scientific community. (...)

The theory was discredited with the discovery of plate tectonics and continental drift in the 20th century.

this (now disproven) theory ties in pretty neatly with Tartar's goal. "Bring back humanity". the implications of Lemuria Hub being tied to Kamabo Co. very likely means that Tartar's hypothetical new age of humans would have originated from Lemuria. Splatoon 3 seems to like a focus on origins, because we also get the origins of marinekind in its storymode, Alterna and the Return of the Mammalians.

but there's something else that caught my eye too.

SashiMori.

with the release of Lemuria Hub, nintendo brought back the fictional band, SashiMori! which is great and fantastic, but im pretty damn sure that they didn't bring any other bands back from Splatoon 1 or 2 completely unchanged for Splatoon 3. sure, OTH was brought back for multi-player OSTs, but in the form of Damp Socks. (and the idols are a sort of special case anyways.) Squid Squad returned only as Front Roe. Yoko from Ink Theory returned only in Yoko and the Gold Bazookas.

but nintendo didn't change SashiMori's presentation at all. the only thing that did change, and was notably very mentioned, was the fact that SashiMori's DJ Paul was older now. that's it. (nintendo also didn't change Acht. this is an important detail, but ill get to them in a minute).

Paul is pretty interesting when you look at him. there's very little information, but what we do have about him ties in pretty nicely with Kamabo Co., Tartar's association with humanity, and Lemuria Hub. for starters, Paul's DJ mixing for SashiMori is hailed as unique in universe, for incorporating human voices into SashiMori tracks.

From the Splatoon Wiki page on SashiMori:

Paul is the band's DJ, an Octoling. He is 10 years old in Splatoon 2 and 16 years old in Splatoon 3, and his favorite foods are kelp and biscuits. He remixes from sources including DJ Real Sole, DJ Octavio, and various ancient records, and is surprisingly talented for his age. Originally, SashiMori had a traditional vocalist, but they were replaced due to their self-centered personality, after which Paul was recruited through a tweet. According to the Japanese Family vs. Friends dialogue, he is friends with Marina.

(...) This music has vocals but no vocalist! Through the genius of DJ Paul, all the vocals have been sampled from a collection of ancient vinyl.

so, Paul and SashiMori are associated with humanity because they literally use human voices in their tracks.

here's the final nail in coffin to make it all tie together. it's a pretty popular theory that Paul and Acht "Dedf1sh" (who was sanitized by Commander Tartar and composed all the Octo Expansion soundtracks) are blood relatives.

Here's their designs from Splatoon 2 and Splatoon 3:

Acht and Paul have the same symbols on their hats. their ink color even matches (from before Acht was sanitized). Acht has blue tentacles and red tips, Paul has red tentacles and blue tips.

even from the wiki trivia section of SashiMori's page:

In-universe, Paul and Acht are speculated to be blood relatives. They notably have the same symbol appearing on their hats, wear black clothing, with Paul wearing black T-shirts in both album artwork and Acht wearing a black dress, have three tentacles for their hair, and Paul's ink color looks similar to Acht's ink color before they were sanitized.

so what does this have to do with Lemuria Hub?

following nintendo's trend of splatoon artist releases with each season, they bring back an old artist and repurpose them into a new band or presentation. for Sizzle Season 2024, the band they brought back was SashiMori, but completely unchanged. (tangentially related, for the release of Side Order, they brought back Dedf1sh, also completely unchanged.)

the return of SashiMori completely unchanged breaks nintendo's pattern. alongside that, the stage released this time was only Lemuria Hub, and no other stage. (with the exception of Drizzle Season 2024, which released only Marlin Airport,) the trend has been to release two stages per season. this time, it's only one stage.

TLDR:

Kamabo Co.'s goal was to bring back humanity via testing and blending marinekind through the deepsea metro. Acht "Dedf1sh" was the musician of Kamabo Co., and sanitized in the name of this goal. Paul from SashiMori uses human voices in his tracks. Acht and Paul are very likely related. Lemuria Hub has Kamabo Co. posters and its deepsea metro map on display. the name "Lemuria" is associated with the origins of humanity via a (now disproven) theory. SashiMori's new music was released alongside Lemuria Hub.

SashiMori's new songs, with human voices mixed in them, playing over the train station of Lemuria Hub, which was likely an access point of some kind or tied in to Kamabo Co. somehow, is an EXTREMELY POWERFUL AND INTERESTING IMAGE. Lemuria Hub is hearing human voices for the first time via SashiMori's new songs, and it's been taken over for the one thing Tartar hated the most about marinekind: Turf War. (in a twisted way, Lemuria Hub hearing human voices is probably what Tartar wanted, but I doubt it wanted it like this. very ironic, i approve.)

so what does all of this mean? well... we can only speculate at this point. the themes of humanity in Splatoon 3 are matched in quantity only by Salmon Run lore (but, that's a whole other essay post, i won't get into it here). i personally think it means that we're going to see some kind of connection to humanity, OR salmonid development/lore in the next game. and with the FinalFest theme for Splatoon 3 being "Past, Present, or Future", im REALLY excited to see what it could mean. maybe Tartar's alive somehow, or maybe we'll get to look back at the evolution and development of marinekind, or maybe Lil Judd will finally snap since he's taken over Grizzco and the salmonids will have their apocalypse.

(as a final ending note: there's also a TON of association from all of this... with Off The Hook. OTH is associated with nearly everything here; its speculated Pearl was SashiMori's original vocalist before they got Paul, Marina is friends with Paul, OTH helped 8 break out of Kamabo Co., Pearl herself murdered Tartar with her voice; Off The Hook changed the world with Chaos vs Order, and Off The Hook is representing "the present" in the FinalFest. coincidence? maybe. who knows?)

[sasterisk]

Do you want to be an archivist for the OSC?

Come check out the Object Show Community Project on Fanlore!

Fanlore is a wikipedia-style archive for all things fandom. Since object shows have been banned from regular wikipedia, and with various issues being brought up with using FANDOM for communities (I know we all hate the ads and the random videos that pop up…) this seems like a good alternative for us to archive fan events of the community! I’ve been single handedly setting the groundwork for fans like you to come add information, tidbits, and rambles on whatever Object-Show-Related thing you’d like!

LINKS:

Fanlore New Visitor Portal (Click Here First!) 

Object Show Community Page

Thank you for reading! Reblogging or otherwise sharing this message would be very helpful in getting fresh eyes onto it! 

[alliepretends]

Since I posted one of my Dimension 20 hot takes, and didn't literally explode. I think I'll post the other one that really matters to me.

The discourse around aroace Riz is really hard for me. And I find it really hard to be empathic toward people who think about it differently than I do. And I think it's important to put that lack of empathy in context. Fandom (and by this I mean the broader fandom culture, not D20 fandom specifically) has generally been an extremely hostile space for aromantic people. Shipping is the central pillar of fandom engagement and dialogue. And a romantic lens is typically the very first lens applied to the source material when it is brought into fandom spaces. By that I don't just mean it's what people think about first, I mean analysis tends to pass first through the lens of romance, and then only things the romantic lens can't lay claim to are left for other kinds of analysis. Even for aromantic people like me, who very much enjoy romance when it exists in the realm of fiction, it's hard not to feel like there's a message in that. "Characters, and the fiction they exist in, are only valuable when seen through the lens of romance. Regardless of the genre of the source material. That's because romance is unquestionably the most important and defining feature of life. Unless it's sex." This can get pretty extreme if you become a fan of something with an especially strong central ship (like a Supernatural), where it can feel like literally all analysis of any aspect of the work has to tie back to the ship. In my experience, the sub-culture of fandom, for all its trappings of queer acceptance, is far more arophobic and aro-hostile than any other culture or sub-culture I participate in. Not because fans are actively making anti-aro posts or hate aro people, but because romance is elevated as the primary element of human experience. The only one really worth talking about and exploring. The only one worth writing fics about or dedicating massive posts to. It is worth noting that the Dimension 20 fandom (and, based on my experience, actual play in general) seems to be less romance-focused than other fandoms. There's lots of gen fic. There's lots of discussion that doesn't focus on romance. But that doesn't mean the Dimension 20 fandom somehow exists separately from overall fandom culture. The baggage of that larger culture still informs this fandom.

And that's why the way Riz gets talked about feels like such a slap in the face. He is the first example I (and I expect many others) have encountered of a heavily-coded aromantic character popular with fandom. And yet, that hasn't freed him from the fandom scramble to read him through the lens of romance. I'll admit to being a bit of an extremist on this. I know that for many aromantic people having a single qpr that fills many of the needs of romance is really an important part of their experience. Many of my aromantic/aspec friends feel this way. But I don't even like qpr Fabriz. Because even though that is an authentic and important part of aromanticism to represent. With a character like Riz, whose fears are explicitly based around the lack of access he has to coupledom, qpr Riz still feels like an attempt by romance-oriented fandom to jam the first aromantic character the sub-culture gets its hands on into something that looks enough like traditional coupledom that no one has to change their romance-oriented outlook. The myth of the OTP can live on if you just change some of the verbiage. I know there are arospec people that would also feel excluded if fandom fell in line with my perspective and kept Riz as far away as possible from anything resembling romance. I don't actually know what the right solution to these problems is. We got thrown one bone and there's a bit of a desire to fight over it (Wikipedia's list of aromantic characters has 18 characters, and while that's not all of them, it's a decent percentage). But I did want to put this out in the world. Because I feel like there's a lot of context and baggage missing from this discourse. And all I really want is to have fandom still be able to treat an aromantic character as valuable even when they can't neatly pair him off