#I would have rather lost all the speeches than any of the songs

[rebekahgaveup]

Honestly as much as I loved the movie last night I'm just like...really really disappointed? Nobody danced, nobody dressed up, nobody but me and the girl next to me/the girls behind me sang, and I made 22 friendship bracelets but only ended up trading 5, and most of those were with employees. Like it was just....not the vibe. I would have rather watched from my TV at home.

[aziraphales-library]

Do you have any deaf/mute/blind Aziraphale fics?

I’ve found some fanfics where Gabriel punishes Aziraphale and takes his vision or hearing away (temporarily). But I have already read all of them and I can’t seem to find anything else.

Here are some blind Aziraphale fics along with one where he's mute and one where he's deaf...

Ringing Clear by Adoring_Eggsy (G)

Over the past 500 years, Aziraphale had noticed that his hearing was changing. At first it had been subtle, missing little snippets of conversation, and then people turned muffled, their words mumbling together to Aziraphale, like their speech was foggy mist. At age 6052, Aziraphale lost his hearing for good.

Beauty is in the Ear of the Listener by Sani86 (M)

Aziraphale would always remember the first time he heard the music, tendrils of song winding through the night air like a droplet of ink spilled into water, gently reaching out, probing, spreading until it seemed to fill the entire world. He followed its beckoning call.

How Love Feels by Coxy77 (M)

In the early 1860's, young Aziraphale, who has always been blind, comes in to his inheritance, a bookshop. However, rather than just being an ironic twist of fate, he finds love there and with the introduction of a new way of reading, the help he needs to unlock all the stories he can find and the means to bring his love of stories to others in his situation.

Love is Blind (Seeing Eye Snake) by Bfly1225 (G)

Had Aziraphale, for a second, had any brain power to spare, he’d have been entirely furious with himself. Though one doesn’t have much brain power to spare when all of it is being used to wallow in despair, this is a thought worth sharing. ALSO KNOWN AS Aziraphale meets an unfortunate accident in which he is rendered blind, but he is terrified of Crowley seeing the result, and hides from him instead.

When the morning stars sang by hapax (M)

As an immortal child of Typhon and Echidne, monstrous rebels against the rule of Olympos, Crawley didn’t need to eat, or drink, or sleep, or even breathe, not really. And some things they simply couldn’t do. Like love. Or cry. Or … Crawley pulled a stray serpent out of the corner of their mouth and tucked it behind their ear and hissed at the square white sail framed against the dawn. Or be left alone. Crawley, a self-exiled gorgon, couldn't imagine how their life would change when a ship-wrecked Aziraphale washes up on their island. But both harbor painful and dangerous secrets; and there is nowhere to hide from the cruel caprices of the gods.

A Quiet Place by NightValeian (T)

Once upon a time, a silent angel and an outspoken demon met on a wall. Over time, they manage to find some common ground.

- Mod D

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: Broken Crown Fandom: Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous Rating: G Status: One-Shot Main Characters: Knight-Commander Piper Chanterelle, Queen Galfrey Additional Notes: Angst Word Count: 880 Summary: Piper thinks she's done a rather good job of leading the Crusade. But that's not really what this is about, is it?

read below or here on ao3

Piper knew this would happen.

She barely hears the queen’s words, the reasons for her sudden interrogation. She doesn’t need to. It really all comes down to one thing, the same thing as always:

We don’t trust you.

The funniest part is, this time around Piper has done nothing to warrant suspicion. In fact, she’d go so far as to say she’s vastly exceeded all expectations with the command she was given. She may not have hundreds of years of experience in war, but she’s managed to retake Drezen and turn it into a force to be reckoned with. She’s inspired her armies with speech and song. She’s actually helped people for once in her life. For all of her faults- and yes, she has many, she has never denied that- she has been a damned good leader.

Has all that work really been for nothing?

Piper does not bother offering any arguments, only a stoic glare as Galfrey outlines her judgements. Eventually, however, the queen’s attention shifts away from Piper to land on Arueshalae. Under that heavy gaze, Arueshalae flinches back, her eyes turned towards the ground as she attempts to shrink into herself, and that is what finally sends Piper’s resignation boiling over to a burning anger.

“Enough.”

Piper steps defensively between Galfrey and Arueshalae, steadfast and defiant as she stares down the queen. Galfrey blinks in surprise but does not back down, and Piper only wishes the butterflies circling her head could turn to hornets.

“Inviting a succubus-”

“Arueshalae has done nothing but help us.” Piper’s words come out like daggers, sharp and hard and aimed straight for the throat. “Unlike much of the ‘help’ that you have sent my way. Or are you not the one who told me to rely on Nurah? The one who drove Staunton into the demons’ arms? You have lost any right to question me on my choice of allies.”

Galfrey’s only answer is stony silence, and Piper suddenly understands that her successes are not actually points in her favor, but rather the nails in her coffin. Because how dare a common, untrained tiefling plucked off the street by fate and circumstance succeed in all the places where the Queen, the icon of the Crusades, has failed for so many years?

But of course the queen cannot state this so openly. Whether she knows this entire ‘judgement’ is a farce or she believes her own petty reasoning, Piper cannot say. But her words do appear to have struck a nerve, and Galfrey seems to be using every last bit of her restraint as she gathers herself enough to speak once more. Finally, in a cold voice, the queen says, “I am not attempting to deny my own faults. But even discounting this matter, there are many other serious concerns.”

Piper scoffs and turns away, the words once again falling on deaf ears. At this point it doesn’t matter what she does or what she says. People like her- people with horns and demonic blood and shady pasts- will never be good enough for righteous people like Galfrey. And the idea that she may be even more than 'good enough'- that she may actually be better? That is an idea that simply cannot stand. There's no point in fighting that.

Instead, Piper looks to Arueshalae, and offers a quiet nod of support. It takes a moment for Arueshalae to respond, but she does, giving a small, shaky smile in return. Good- the last thing Arueshalae needs is to be made to doubt herself by the very woman about to throw her into the Abyss.

And they are being thrown into the Abyss, that much is clear. Piper has been stripped of her command and her title alike. That’s fine, she tells herself; she never asked for any of it, anyway. And now, she no longer owes the queen any cordiality.

Piper turns to the portal without another word, motioning for the others to come with her. Arueshalae follows, soft and silent and comforting at Piper’s side. Seelah pauses to stare hard at the queen, as if she’s seeing her for the first time, before finally tearing her gaze away and following suit. Daeran’s jaw and fists are both clenched as he glares in dark silence at his cousin, while Woljif throws out indignant shouts about the injustice and underhandedness of it all. Piper simply strides past them both, pausing only long enough to tell them, “Let’s not waste any more time here. She’s made up her mind.”

(If any of her companions had asked to stay behind, Piper would have let them. She will not force anyone to march to their death. But they don’t, and even in the midst of her anger, she hopes they know that she loves them for it.)

The last thing Piper sees of Golarion is Galfrey, her face a mask of hard resolve. Piper does not allow herself to feel disappointment, nor regret. Once, she may have hoped that they could understand each other- two people, flung in the middle of a conflict bigger than either of them, from incredibly different places yet united in their goals. But that hope was never truly real, was it?

Piper knows who she is, and she always knew this would happen.

[mapsofnonexistentplaces]

7, 22, and 23 for ulises !

7 favorite animal? why?

she’s a horse girl through and through it’s like. might be a niche experience but you know those people who have like a huge phase of getting into cat breeds and genetics as a kid. yeah she’s like that but she can tell you all about specific horse colourations and shit like that. i think it was just kind of an arbitrary animal she latched into in all honesty but maybe she had like some experience with horseback riding as a child that endeared her to them greatly hah….

she also likes most dogs, especially ones on the bigger side :+) similarly to the potential horse thing but actually textual is that she had like a border collie as a kid. definitely fond of those kinds of ‘herding dogs’

22 do they sleep well at night?

hmm she has a very tilted sleep schedule wherein for the longest time she just relied on random naps throughout the day to keep her going, which was maintained until she noticed demeter was often uncomfortable at night, thenceforth deciding to return to a more uniform composition of rest to both be there for them and “set a good example” for them…. i imagine that’s contributed positively to her overall liveliness and attentiveness in conversation but earnestly she was very used to pulling allnighters and utilising things like coffee to stay afloat. so her choice to sleep a bit better was entirely done to support her partner rather than arising out of any major problems with exhaustion or whatnot….

23 how would you describe their voice? can they sing?

most important facets of ulises' voice to me are 1) very nasally, kind of has a lighter 'layer' of speech under a coarser one 2) pace varies a lot but tends to be quite quick, occasionally taking awkward pauses before launching into a lot of really fast wordage as if making up for lost time hah. in the past ive also described her voice as being the type thats like. "good for telling a campfire story" like when she's very focused on what she's saying she can really use pacing and timing to add effect to her speech....

i think ive also made it canonical that her singing voice is kind of awful but shes very enthusiastic HAH she can sing things that are like. about midrange fine but if a song goes really high or low her voice starts wobbling a lot

[dollarbin]

Shakey Sundays #21:

Time Fades Away, Part 2

So. I headed north as promised last night, straight into L.A., Neil's very own uptight city in the smog (city in the smog), to see my famous brother make some very grown up music.

It was amazing and upsetting. Amazing in that Prairewolf are, for our current moment, what Booker T and the MG's were for 1967.

But it was upsetting in that my famous brother and his almost as famous bandmates did not obey my directive and perform Neil Young's Yonder Stands the Sinner with a generous dollop of their own wordless cosmic white man cowboy jazz funk slathered on top. Rather they played songs from their first two records.

I made some videos but have no idea how to paste them in here. If I could figure it out, you'd hear me grooving and hollering and jostling about as everyone in the room blissfully lost their minds amidst the rowdy crowd action and psychedelic vibes.

Naw, it wasn't really that kinda show. Even though Dr. Demento himself was allegedly in the room everyone just sat and nodded with appreciative thoughtfulness while they played. My buddy Greg points out that we probably looked a lot like the studious white folks in the Booker T clip. The band made no speeches and pensively sipped at their Tecates. The projected images behind them swirled and danced in time with my brother's patient yet nimble fretwork. I was filled with intensely mellow joy. Then I drove home.

It was awesome.

And yet, because Prairiewolf didn't bust out a single Time Fades Away cover, I do need to issue the following apology: yesterday's post had nothing whatsoever to do with Neil Young's reckless live album of entirely new songs from 73. Please accept my humble apologies and send all your angry feedback to my famous brother at doomandgloomfromthetomb.

I didn't understand Time Fades Away on any level as a teenager. Neil sounded cranky throughout; the pace was frantic until it was dull; there were no noticeable guitar solos (somehow I didn't notice the fairly groovy interludes on Last Dance); and even at the tender age of 16 I wanted to find David Crosby and punch him squarely in the nose for smugly interrupting the record to announce that what followed would be "a little experimental".

For reasons that are not well-founded or clear I've always associated Crosby with my middle school woodshop teacher Mr Halferty: he would not let us touch any wood in his classroom. Rather, we made keychains and sugar scoopers (as if any of had sugar barrels at home that needed accessing a la Laura Ingall's Farmer Boy) outta plastic and he drove an El Camino. On the last day of school we surreptitiously placed all our finished projects around the wheels of his sweet ride gleefully figuring that as soon as he peeled out there'd be shattered plastic everywhere.

The plan was to hide in the bushes and watch it all go down. I don't think we followed through on that part of the plan. But I felt it then and I feel it now: neither Mr. Halferty nor Crosby have any business on a Neil Young record of any kind post Deja Vu (unless they're glowing unobtrusively in the background as in Through in My Sails).

And so I didn't dig Time Fades Away as a kid.

But it's over 30 years later and I now carry Neil's cranky frantic energy on the record around with me just about everywhere I go. I berate my 11th grade students whenever they enter the classroom more than 6 seconds late or act like their phones are their friends. I drive either way too fast or way too slow. I dream of punching Donald Trump, not David Crosby or poor old Mr. Halferty, squarely in the nose.

So, these days Time Fades Away is right up my alley.

Let me count the ways:

The title track sounds like it's played by angry, drunk monkeys. I mistakenly had my turntable turned up to 45 rpm this weekend when I first dropped the needle; aside from the fact that Neil sounds like a bubbly chipmunk at that speed the song sounds basically the same: terrifying, and good.

Neil must have issued 48 different live versions of Journey Through the Past in the last decade and a half. They're all good. But on Time Fades Away's original take Neil is more plastered than on all the other versions combined.

And you know what they say when it comes to Shakey and Freezermen concerts at Vassar College in 01: the drunker, the better.

As Neil works towards and through the last chorus I feel the room spin wildly around him. It's terrifying, drunk and bleak; it's awesome.

Yonder Stands the Sinner is one of the most unhinged tracks in Young's entire oeuvre. It does not sound experimental, David Crosby; rather it sounds wonderfully insane. At 16 years old I just scratched my head and thought about playing The Joshua Tree or something else instead. Today I feel like Neil is reading the words inscribed on my very soul:

Neil Young: he calls my name without a sound.

Up next we've got L.A. I grew up there. It was alright. But this song is way better: Neil borrows much of the hook from Come on Baby Let's Go Downtown and slows it way the hell down. He's already finding his Tonight's The Night sound and groove here with Ben Keith alongside him, the steel guitar throwing shadows on every available wall of the theater. This is probably my favorite song on the record.

Love in Mind, like The Bridge on Side 2, is just lovely. Neil could nail a ballad like no one else at this point. Everything is fragile and quavering. You want to give the poor guy a hug and recommend a good therapist.

My nearly 80 year old mother talked after the show last night about how seeing her son on stage in Prairiewolf was the opposite of all the Kris Kristofferson shows she saw around LA before Kris became a household name. Seeing her drunk, vulnerable, potentially doomed and beloved cousin play live was utterly stressful. She saw that Kris was not well but that he simply had to make earnest art anyway.

I think it would have been similarly stressful to have been an alive and well Neil Young fan in 1972/3. (I was born in 76 and encountered Young as he entered his 90's heyday.) Fans on the Time Fades Away tour must have worried about whether he was even gonna make it through the show without keeling over.

Folks my age and younger have never been properly stressed out by any of Neil's Ditch era; we encountered all that wonderful music with the knowledge that he survived it all; indeed, we knew that he spun the whole era on its head and made it the foundation for his greatness rather than the soundtrack for his demise.

When it comes to great art like this record, time doesn't fade away. It morphs, it swells and it alters perspectives. Kinda like the lights and sounds I saw on stage in LA last night... And check it out: I figured out how to put in a video of it all which captures... almost nothing. But take my word for it, it was awesome!

[juniaships]

As much as I want to ignore Shrek the Turd I think it's a lot rewarding to address its flaws than take the easy way out. So here us a list of what I would've changed had I wrote the movie.

Harold's death

- the choice of song is rather out of place

- only serves to push a dramatic moment/shove Artie into the plot

- I actually like Harold :/

How to fix it:

- Harold doesn't die. Instead he gets an old man crisis & Lillian decides to take him on vacation to recuperate; naturally leaving Fiona and Shrek in charge

- Harold does die but the moment is treated with actual respect.

- Harold doesn't die BUT there is a death: Artie's father. The Royal Family go to Camelot for the funeral and meets Uther's estranged son Artie. That way Artie's daddy issues has more purpose in the story bc he truly can't reconcile with his dad, and Shrek a more sympathetic reason to steps up as a father figure.

- Alternatively, Artie's mom dies and he is sent to live in FFW bc his father doesn't want custody. So Shrek AND Fiona has to deal with a teenager and both have fear of parenthood byt still wants to give Artie the best. This also allows Fiona and Artie to interact with each other

Artie

Problem: suffers what I call Chicken Little Syndrome, he's kinda bland and we don't know much about him. Also his bullied nerd background Only serves to make him sympathetic cuz everyone is so mean to him! Beyond being kind and kinda dramatic Artie doesn't have much else

How to fix it:

- Everyone has beef with Artie because of his father's reputation. Perhaps Uther had a bad spending habit which left Camelot in financial ruin or his habit of flirting with women left a lot of illegitimate children now they're all fighting over rightful inheritance and puts down Artie bc he's the youngest/weakest

- Camelot has a very warrior like society but Artie is more diplomatic/soft, which makes him look weak in the eyes of everyone else. Eventually his softness saves Camelot

- Artie has a legitimate flaw (his trust issues) which makes him unable to properly communicate with others.

- Artie has a few true friends who are outcasts like him. But their support drives him to pursue a career in politics so he can help them and ppl like them (giving his speech more credibility)

The Princesses

Problem: most of them were boring at best, unlikable at worst.

How to fix it:

- Give the princesses more likable personalities: say they WERE strong and capable but got so caught up in glamor bc they don't want to remember the painful past

Problem: Charming and Rapunzel

- Comes right out of nowhere

- doesnt make since given Charming's arc is all abput becoming villain why would he date ANOTHER princess?

How to fix it

- Rapunzel's new motivation is she doesn't want an ogre on the throne, or she got tired of the princesses bullying her for her baldness. Or that she's jealous the princesses still have their princes yet Rapunzel lost hers. Or maybe Charming DID save her and she's working with him as a favor.

- However she discovers Charming is not as cool as she thought bc he still treats her (and any princess) like objects and not their own person

- Keep Rapunzel in the princess group and create a new character from scratch

- this new OC is a part of the villains not because she is one herself but because they're the only ones who accepted her for one reason or another. This makes her a foil for Charming and Godmother's relationship. She's wants to help them & save the Poison Apple from closing.

- however Charming is very bad at being evil so she teaches him how to be more assertive and this sets up a romance.

Issue: Arthurian myth

Problem: Aside from being retooled as a school campus, the Arthurian mythos doesn't have much prominence in the story

How to fix it:

-change the main goal to finding Excalibur or the Holy Grail (kiddie Monty Python)

- or have it where Camelot is in a crisis of succession so an election or tournament is held to decide the new king. Noblemen from all over participate (introducing us to the Princesses). Shrek and Fiona helps Artie while Charming joins so he can finally get his own kingdom

- Artie turns out to have magic instead of Merlin (who is just a wacky alchemist/scientist) but he lacks confidence

- At the end have it where Artie forms the knights of the round table (with some of the characters and villains as members)

- Maybe make Charming "Lancelot"

Girl Power Message

Problems: They were sidelined most of the movie, preventing Fiona from truly delving into her responsibilities as Queen. Also most of the girl characters like the Princesses & Guinevere were portrayed as shallow b*tches or not having much relevance

How to fix:

- Make Fiona the focus character this time and her story is juggling queenly duties and her trauma in the tower

- Have the princesses be an underground guerilla force they help her take out Charming during the movie

- or have it where the tower was actually a school to train princesses-to-be and Fiona's Kiss was part of a sceret test of character to see if she really is fit to be Queen; accepting her ogress form means she accepts EVERYONE, so she passed the test

- Fiona demonstrates her leadership skills by planning and carrying out targeted attacks, & taking care of civilians

- MAKE ARTIE A GIRL it makes a cool twist fitting for a franchise like Shrek. Or give Artie a female companion/love interest who accompanies him on his quest (perhaps Guinevere or a new character)

- instead of Merlin they meet Nimue/Lady of the Lake who takes the role of the kooky mentor

- Like I mentioned, explore why Rapunzel betrayed the team; perhaps make her have a change of heart and help her ex friends escape.

- Or like giving Charming a new love interest one who is a caricature of the Evil Sexy Villainess or YA Novel Girlboss Protagonist (have her learn it's okay to be vulnerable)

- have Shrek puss and Donkey be the ones in danger and fiona and her princesses are the ones to go on a journey to save them

Puss and Donkey's subplot

Problem: it doesn't do much to serve the story but for cheap comic relief. Donkey is a father himself but doesn't seem to do much to help Shrek and Artie

How to fix it:

- make Puss absent of stay with the princesses to help them

- Donkey talks with Shrek about his experiences as a father

- Remove the body switch entirely

- or have a subplot where Donkey and Puss still aren't getting along and Merlin switches them so they can learn to see from a new perspective.

- Maybe have Puss admit he doesn't have a good relationship with his own dad or something, or is actually great with kids (stunning Shrek and Donkey)

Shrek's arc

- Issue: we don't delve much into his backstory, he only wants to shirk his royal duties instead of doing the smart thing and actually confronting them

How to fix:

- introduce more Ogres or Shrek's dad. Have it be a family reunion or Shrek's dad finds out he married into royalty and that sets up the overall conflict

- Have the babies born before the movie and the plot is spent with him being a stay at home dad or caring for them while in Camelot while Fiona is tbe working parent

- also sets up an arc where Fiona struggles to balance mother hood and her job

- artie gets more used to ogre (children) leading to a realisation he has to step up to make a better future for their sake (again a more sympathetic reasoning)

The Villains

Issue: Charming is just Farquad 2.0, the rest seem to be props in their own story, Rapunzel

How to fix

- Make a new character who represents the villain side we get an intimate look at how society treats outcasts

- Give the villains more screentime like say we follow a group of them during theur trip to capture Shrek. They eventually have a confrontation and in the fray Artie ends up helping a villain much to their shock. They realise Artie isn't a threat. Or have it set at the play

- give Hook or Doris a prominent role

- or a new major villain; make it Charming's dad who takes him under his wing under the guise of wanting to help his son but is just manipulating him for the throne

- Make Charming struggle how ti adapt to being a villain due to his upbringing

- make some of the villains less open to wanting him in his group or have it where they try to help him be more evil (setting up potential jokes)

- Have Charming and Fiona have an actual moment with Fiona pointing out she did dream of a prince but is happy with Shrek and warns Charming that he still wouldn't be happy even if he did get everything

- Give Charming an actual villain love interest as a foil to Shrek and Fiona

- Don't include Charming at all (marry him off to Doris even lol) and create a new villain inspired by Arthurian lore. Maybe the Black Knight? Mordred? Morgan le Fay?

- Or even Artie himself! he wants to use his new position to enact revenge on his bullies

- Instead of the villains taking over it's the other fairytale heroes led by a jilted Charming and Shrek teams up with the villains to save FFW

- Make Uther the main villain

[grandhotelabyss]

Thoughts on the Justin E. H. Smith/Justin Smith-Ruiu Generation X essay in Harper's?

Generations must be real, because, though I'm "old" too, I didn't relate to most of it, except for a few inarguable points (e.g., his denunciation of the tech monopolies for their threat to free speech). I think it's credulous to cite the 1960s as he does:

My own grievance against the boomers is that they betrayed their earliest intuitions, that they went and corporatized rock music, that they stopped believing in the revelatory power of the visions they had while on drugs, that they stopped defending the libido. My grievance against the millennials and younger is that they don’t seem to know, or care, that for a brief moment in the mid-to-late twentieth century these forces seemed to be delivering on the long-held hope—a hope held ever since the Ranters began ranting and the Quakers began quaking and all kinds of utopians went and founded their communes and got naked and dreamt, with Charles Fourier, of someday being able to play the piano with our feet—the long-held hope, I was saying, for human liberation.

This well oversells the drugs and the libido and the music as socially emancipatory forces rather than radically individualizing ones, for worse and for better. It might be an overcorrection to adopt the too-paranoid Weird Scenes Inside the Canyon view—taken to its Pynchonian-Lynchian apogee in that famous scene from the otherwise rather forgettable Under the Silver Lake—but what about Joan Didion?

Such utopianism leads him to a still-Adornian over-pessimism about the present as absolute dystopia, even though he seems to think he's outgrown Adorno. Nobody ever would have heard of lower-middle-classers like either him or me without present communications technology; for this reason alone, I can't endorse nostalgia for the broadcast era in any of its cultural phases. And is there really more philistinism now than there ever was? Or is it just more visible because it's invaded previously commanding institutions like the Ivy League and the New York Times at the very moment when they've lost some of their prestige?

A big shift away from the moralism he cites as destroying art is already underway, as evidenced, among other things, by his essay's being published as the cover story of Harper's. He should talk to some Zoomers. For example, he mentions Crumb. The first time I ever taught Crumb, in 2014, there was almost a riot in the classroom. The last time I taught Crumb, in 2020, the students told me "the previous generation" (they meant my own) thought he was offensive, but they just found him intriguingly odd.

I despise Crumb, by the way. My own petit-bourgeois bêtise manifests itself not as all-encompassing negativity toward the great world but rather as a tacky cubic-zirconia overvaluation of the superficially lovely. In other words, I don't like ugly art, no matter the sophisticated theoretical justification. I never went through any phase when I would have a said a word against Rumours, which I found as a kid in my parents' record collection, just as Smith found it in his. Adolescent Smith deprecated Nirvana as too easy, but they were always a bit rough for me. I couldn't appreciate the generational anthem "Smells Like Teen Spirit" until I heard Tori Amos's cover: there was the structure of it, beautiful as anything, but I needed the blatant ornamentation of the piano before I could see it. ("That song was not written on distorted guitar," according to the aforementioned Under the Silver Lake.) Anyway, here's the crux of the matter dividing us:

We were inspired by Theodor Adorno’s idea that if music is to be considered art, and is to be a veracious witness to its era, it must ipso facto be difficult. We ordered CDs from labels in Maastricht and Berlin that promised us “clicks and cuts,” “sonic rhizomes,” and something they called “glitches,” which were for a while hailed as the equivalent to turntable scratches, but unlike scratching vinyl, which made early hip-hop continuous with the deconstructive aesthetics of the cut-up, the manipulation of a damaged compact disc sounds like nothing but an error, like a new technology that has gotten stuck. It is hard to say when exactly this haughty farce came to an end and my current sensibility set in, a sensibility that declares, quite simply, that all music, insofar as it is music, is good. Nirvana is good, Santana is good, and Kylie Minogue is good when you’re in the back of a taxi at night in Baku (for example). It’s all good, for it all comes down to us from a higher world.

See? Too negative and too positive. Good music is good insofar as it's good, not insofar as it's music, and comes down to us from a higher power—I believe this too—also only insofar as it's good. And if he really means this, then why's he so mad? If all music—all art—is good, then what could "philistinism" even mean? Best to keep a lookout for what's good and try not to be too consumed by what's bad. Even identifying and attacking the bad—a necessary task, like taking out the trash—should be approached as a constructive activity: a way of clearing a space for the good to flourish. But then I would say that, wouldn't I? I am a Millennial. Oh well, whatever, never mind.

[windofmist]

I agree that Athena's interference influenced Odysseus to turn back to the cyclops, and if she hadn't Odysseus would have continued on his way, but I think that rather than out of spite, his speech to the cyclops is more Odysseus' typical MO for defeated foes and her words just made it occur to him to talk about mercy (as he was already doing so anyway with her). As he also makes a long speech and 'teaches' the sirens their mistake in Different Beast as he did with the cyclops in Remember Them.

Whether or not Athena knew who the cyclops had connections to isn't really stated one way or another so it is possible, but it's also possible that she didn't (and there is no way to know every single person who knows a person who knows a person that's powerful). I think it's understandable for Athena to have emotional reactions or act the way she did, but with regards to what she could have done- if she wanted to (which she didn't then) I don't think she would have any qualms about working against Poseidon, considering the gods often do so in greek mythology, especially with regards to heroes, and especially because she and the other gods were working in opposing goals recently in the trojan war.

I agree that in the long run, Odysseus loses much more than she does, but I was speaking only of that point in the song. The song also specifically says 'this day you lost it all' and even if we don't account for any time happening between Remember Me and Storm, there's a full nine days in just Keep Your Friends Closer. Unless she has future vision, she would not know about what else he would lose, and because it's not confirmed that she knows about the cyclop's connections, based only on the songs, I don't think it can be taken into account because it can't be argued either way as it isn't textually referenced. And my main point of loss for Athena was not ten years, but in her mission vs Odysseus' mission, their attitudes towards it (at that point).

In terms of the conflict between Odysseus and Athena in My Goodbye

Athena is correct in the assessment that Odysseus turning back to the cyclops and revealing who he is was reckless

'that's not a teaching of mine' so abandoning the student you've mentored and helped that you've invested more than ten years into, your stated singular mission, in a moment of anger and disappointment is... not being reckless, I guess

Odysseus 'growing soft' has nothing to do with his friends being killed (at this moment). None of his friends died when he lead with peace, and none of them died until part way through the battle when the cyclops started using a weapon instead of his bare hands. If Odysseus had immediately jumped to fighting the cyclops, then he just gets to the part where he loses his friends faster. If Odysseus hadn't trusted the lotus eaters and raided them, they would end up with a lot of lotuses, and without the lotus' information, he wouldn't find any safe food on this island for his starving men. *

Put your emotions aside, she says emotionally

'This way, when all is over you'll keep yours and I'll keep mine'/'This day, you lost it all' Technically, as of this point, Odysseus still has his main mission and is on route to completing it, whereas she lost her strongest lead on completing hers so... not from her own perspective, but from my perspective she lost more

*the only thing he could have done for better results is if he had asked the lotus eaters more questions about it, ie what is this food exactly, does it have any effects, is it dangerous, are there inhabitants there, if so what are the inhabitants like, etc. and been more prepared/had a thorough plan going in. Which, it would have been being more cautious, but it doesn't have anything to do having or not having a heart

[thefirstknife]

Since a lot of people have been talking about possible antisemitism and racism in Bungie's writing I wanted to add something that always bothered me.

I think that Saint-14 as a character is at least influenced by some pretty anti Slavic stereotypes. He's the only major character of Slavic origin (accent) and he just so happen to embody the stereotype of "Slavic brute". He's strong and kills hordes of enemies not showing almost any remorse. And the Season of the Splicer even managed make it worse! Even when he's portrayed as having some deeper thoughts and agency he's still constructed as being unable to be subtle with his words (despise speaking English)

I really like Saint as a character but it's unpleasant to see that he's clearly created as a stereotype

I respectfully disagree. I've seen this line of thinking around A LOT, especially during Splicer, and I don't understand where it comes from outside of people being unable to treat non-native English speakers right. Source: I am Slavic. Not American with Slavic heritage, I am a Slavic person living in a Slavic country and English is not my native language.

Saint is as far away from a brute as possible. Ever since he's settled down in the City, he is dedicated to protecting, not attacking. He feeds birds and sings songs with the children of the City. He dedicated his time to learn to bake cookies for the Eliksni and was considerate to find a recipe that is specifically for Eliksni. He fights when he has to, but has largely settled down and would rather plough fields and plug holes in the wall than fight. He is incredibly emotional and emotionally intelligent and understanding. He is aware of his own and other people's emotions and he's open about it unapologetically.

He is so non-aggressive to the point of many in the community, including big lore youtubers, wishing for Osiris to DIE, just so they can see Saint being angry and aggressive enough to go on another bloody rampage. Because Saint is too tame for them. Too passive, too peaceful. Where is he a brute right now?

Saint has been "brutish" before Season of Dawn, because we never saw him anywhere outside of a couple of lines. He essentially didn't exist as a character until Season of Dawn and the only thing we knew about him was that he was a legendary Titan who went on a crusade against the Eliksni and killed many of them. That's definitely brutish!

When we met him in Dawn, we met him in the middle of his crusade, at the time where he lost countless innocent people to Eliksni in the middle of the horrible conditions of the Dark Age. He is... rough, and angry. Reasonably. He just got to Mercury to save civilians and he lost them and he almost died. He thinks in black and white terms; Eliksni bad, humans good. He is harsh and lost.

But, that's when we find him in a bad position and when he's yelling on comms because he's under fire. He also speaks in broken English and with an accent. People are prejudiced when they hear it and immediately assume less subtlety and less eloquence. That's not on Bungie. That's on the prejudiced audience.

In written text, he speaks perfectly fine. Observe this and this. The issue arises when he speaks out loud (with an accent) or when he's talking to friends casually or when he's making jokes. I don't know why people expect him to speak like he's giving a speech at all times. He can speak perfectly fine, but for non-native speakers, that can be exhausting. He is allowed to drop the eloquence in a more relaxed situation.

Pointing out Splicer is incredibly strange to me because in Splicer he made the biggest possible turning point when he was confronted with how other people see him as a brute. The cutscene where Mithrax tells a story about how the Eliksni view him as a monster shook him to his core. He has been on a path of redemption ever since and dedicated his time to gently protecting Eliksni. He even started learning their language and culture.

I would understand saying that Saint started off as a brute, because he did. But Bungie pulled the biggest flip of a switch on us when they showed us that Saint is actually a huge softie, a gentle man who was pushed to war only to protect, someone who lives for peace and quiet. He is good-natured, trusting, perceptive, kind and empathic.

How is this man a brute (this is just a small selection of his idle lines):

Food reserves are dwindling. New land must be ploughed. I can do this! / Everyone is so accommodating, I- I will think of ways to give back to them. / Shaxx, ugh. Glory is for the selfish. We fight to end the fighting. / To hear the children laughing. This is the peace we fight for. / The city breathes, ships flow through its veins. There is life here, and it is thriving. / I walked the City walls, plugged holes. Every small act brings us closer to peace. / The Traveller teaches us in these quiet moments. We are not defined by our scars. / The Light does not make us heroes, friend. Power is only good when it is used for good. / I am glad to see birds still nest in these old walls. / This life can take its toll. Come to me if you need to talk. / Yesterday, a child came to me. He carried a painted shield of paper. I turned to him and he threw the shield at my head! A young Titan, I love it! [laughing]

Saint-14 is the gentlest man in the whole damn setting. Bungie said "fuck toxic masculinity in particular" when they decided to treat us to a Saint so kind that people in-universe are surprised to learn that's THE Saint-14, the one who fought at Six Fronts and led a crusade against Eliksni. Eva's assessment of this:

"That's right," he said, spreading a little more birdseed. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Eva."

We sat a little longer together, watching the pigeons and the clouds, before I finally had to excuse myself to go back to my work.

As I said, I'd heard the legend of Saint-14 before. Many legends of remarkable Guardians make them seem like mythical figures, so far removed from anything the civilians of the City will ever see or experience. The legendary Saint-14 does not seem that way to me at all.

In fact, I think he is a very nice young man.

Saint is deeply ashamed and regretful of his violent past. Because he DID have a violent past, much like pretty much every Lightbearer. Saint and Shaxx discuss this, as well as Shaxx and Mithrax. But as much as he fought and as powerful he is, Saint does NOT enjoy war or fighting. He endures it because he knows that sometimes you must take up arms to protect those who can't protect themselves, but if he had the option to be sure that the City will stay safe without his aid, he would hang up his armour forever.

I've talked a lot about how much I appreciate that Bungie took a big powerful manly man who went on rampaging crusade before and presented him to us as a gentle and kind person who loves children and birds, who prefers domestic tasks over war and who is deeply emotional and thrives on kindness. It's quite strange to see people saying that he's a "Slavic brute stereotype." He is literally the opposite of it.

If there are specific instances in lore that someone thinks are stereotypical and brutish, I would love to see them so I can address them in context. I'm also not sure what "subtle with his words" means exactly, but if there are examples of this that you'd like addressed, I'm happy to investigate. Bungie is obviously not perfect so there could be instances where they messed up, though I can't currently recall any in regards to Saint and the fact that he's Slavic.

[mountswhore]

𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭 — mason mount

if you have any requests, just ask! i’m all ears. if you wanna know who i write for, check this post.

admiration (what do they absolutely adore about you?)

Mason adores everything about you. But to be particular, he adores your compassion. Even before you guys had gotten together, and were just friends of friends at a party, he’d watch you take care of some of his teammates who’d had a little too much to drink. You’d be jumping between getting to know Mason and assisting someone to the bathroom to throw up. It was hard for him to hold back a giggle as he saw you take your heels off, excuse yourself politely and run after a drunken Grealish.

body (what is their favorite part of your body?)

Again, he loves everything about you. But if he had to choose, it’d be your eyes. They’re the first things he notices when he comes home from an away game, full to the brim with tears as you shout out how much you missed him. In the middle of a sleepless night, when the outside lighting makes your shiny eyes visible, he’d get lost in them. During a match, whether it be for the National team or Chelsea, the second he is on the pitch he would notice you close to the goal, in perfect view to watch him score. They’re what he looks into just before he kisses you, and he melts watching your eyes as you speak to a friend or family member, seeing them talk with your mouth.

cuddling (how do they like to cuddle?)

Mason’s favourite pastime is cuddling, outside of his career, of course. He’ll get home from training and you’ll be cozied up on the couch, practically inviting him into your warmth. He enjoys the cuddles with you on top of him, your head in his neck and his arms tightly around your back. But he loves laying his head on your stomach, smoothing his hand over your thighs as you massage his shoulders lightly. He loves cuddling you, but he’s a sucker for being cuddled. It’s a trick to get him to doze off pretty quickly, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

dates (what does their ideal date with you look like?)

He’s a busy man, but when it came down to seeing you and wanting you, he made time. He wanted only the best for you, so it was a fancy restaurant, being driven around in his nice sports car, treating you to whatever you wanted. He’d soon come to realise that both of yours ideal date is ordering a Chinese, playing a few fifa matches, and watching a comedy together.

emotions (how do they express emotion around you?)

Due to your compassion, you’d often spot when Mason was feeling down, angry, or just upset. So keeping it from you rendered useless. Now, if he’s ever in a shit mood, for any reason, he’ll find you and talk to you about it. You always end up making him feel better too, and giving him a different perspective on it. He couldn’t ask for a better girlfriend.

family (do they want one? If they do, when?)

If there was one thing Mason will not shut up about, it’s having children. Even his mates tell him to have a day off. You secretly find it cute, that he’s so ready to become a father and thinks of you as a suitable mother to his children. But Mason knows you’re not ready, with his career at the height it is right now and your age, you think kids aren’t on the cards right now, but you’re definitely wanting a few. Mason is absolutely okay with waiting for you, as he always mentions that there’s nobody else he’d rather do it with.

gifts (how do they feel about gift giving? What are their habits when it comes to this?)

Mason gets a bit too excited when it comes to your birthday. He’ll go all out on gifts every year, topping the one before, and dotting them around the house in places you don’t look. Like the boot of his car, the electrical cupboard, the back garden shed, he’s thought about it strategically. And his giddy attitude is never something you question, you usually pass it as his excitement for an upcoming match or just that fact it’s your birthday soon. It would take everything in him to keep it a secret, almost spilling a few of your gifts. He’d accidentally asked you to grab his cleats from the boot of his car, immediately stopping you once the door was open. And you were none the wiser.

holding hands (when/how do they like to hold hands?)

Whenever you’re both out with yours or his family, it is quite a large group, which usually meant a large outing. And being significantly shorter than him, he likes to hold you close. As you walk down a busy street, he won’t let you out of his sight, even if you’re talking to his mum, he’ll hold your hand tightly or have an arm around your shoulder. His family always thought it was cute, questioning why he does it. And he always responds with a joke, to hide his sloppiness. Something like, “she’s too short, can’t let her get lost.”

injury (how would they act if you got hurt?)

If you came home through the front door limping, he’d be all over you. Carrying you to the kitchen, observing the injury, calling the shots on what you need to do for the evening. Which usually consists of having a bath, resting in bed, texting him if you needed him. It was adorable, despite it being just a twisted ankle from the gym or something.

But on a serious scale, if you came home bawling your eyes out after an awful encounter, that’s when Mason loses all of his silliness and smiles. He’s cradling you on the floor of the living room, talking over what just happened and how you felt. He wouldn’t leave you for the rest of the evening, always making sure you’re feeling better and giving you tight squeezes before he goes to get you anything.

jokes (do they like to joke around with or prank you? how?)

Being an avid tiktok user, you’ve seen quite the pranks on there. And mason not yet having a tiktok, made it perfect to carry these out. You’d often spend hours on the phone with Declan, another avid tiktok user, sending prank ideas back and forth. Mason was quite the gullible person, either that or you were a brilliant actress, so your pranks were always going smoothly. And posting it to tiktok, you’d read through the flood of comments together, laughing about how deflated he looked when you swerved him from a kiss, or how in shock he looked when you told him the tower of Pisa had finally fallen over. It was a laugh you had every day.

kisses (how do they like to kiss you?)

It varies. If Mason is tired from training, the kisses would be soft and almost non-existent, it would just be Mason’s face incredibly close to yours and then moving away a few seconds later. In any good moments, he’s always reaching for a kiss. The second he sees you after a win, his lips are on yours and aren’t leaving any time soon. Mason’s favourite type of kiss is the kiss you give him every night. It doesn’t lead anywhere that often. But it’s a deep kiss, it’s saying you love him without actually saying it. It always leaves Mason in a haze, going to bed with a love struck smile on his face.

love (how do they show you they love you?)

Mason shows he loves you in many ways. His love language is acts of service. So waking you up in the morning before work with a tea, bringing you into the shower and washing your hair for you. Attempting to make you breakfast, driving you to work, letting you choose dinner and he pays, driving to the local supermarket if you’re in dire need of something. He couldn’t do this everyday with his schedule, but whenever he could, he did.

memory (favorite memory together?)

By far, his favourite memory of the both of you was your first time at Wembley. You were shaking in your shoes at the amount of people in the stadium, but Mason managed to get you the closest seats to the pitch with your family. It was the game he scored two goals in, rushing straight over to your side and blowing you kisses. You soon settled in to the crowd, cheering with everyone else. He’d rush over at half time, giving you a quick kiss before leaving you again. And Mason brought you back to the changing rooms to meet the team, keeping you close to him at all times.

nightmare (what is their worst fear?)

Mason’s worst fear is losing everything he has now. He’d be happy to admit he has everything he wants in life, an amazing career, a lovely list of family and friends, as well as someone he will soon have as a wife. He’s had a nightmare that he’d lost you before, the police broke the news to him and he woke up crying, holding you close for the rest of the night.

oddity (what is one quirk they have?)

It’s not so much of a thing now, but it definitely still happens. Before you were together, and Mason was still in the wooing stage, every time he spoke to you, he’d stutter. You found it adorable and took your time with him. You’d never rush him or look away bored, you’d just look into his eyes with a small smile and it’d make it worse. He’d trip on all of his words, trying to compliment you or ask you out. Even now, sometimes if you’re looking extra pretty or he’s just in a really lovey mood, he’ll slip up on his speech every now and then.

pet names (what do they like to call you?)

His go to pet names for you were baby, honey, and sweets. They just randomly caught on one day and never disappeared. But they make your stomach do flips every time you hear them.

quality time (how do they like to spend time with you?)

Being in your company was enough for him. But it’s the mundane things he loves the most. It’s a weird one, but food shopping. For you, it’s an hour of stress. Manoeuvring past other shoppers, trying to find everything on your list, do your back in as you put everything on the belt, and pack in in record time. But for Mason, he’s following you round in a haze. Like a cartoon character in love. Asking if he can get some stuff, which you always agree to, and seeing you in conversation with random shoppers. Finally getting back to the car with the shopping littered in the boot and back seat, Mason’s hand stays in yours as you rest in the passenger seat.

rhythm (what song reminds you of each other?)

You have a shared song, and Mason vows for it to be your wedding song. Easy by Ella Mai. It’s slow, it’s something you both slow danced to when you were drunk out of your minds in your own living room. The party was over and the song just randomly started playing, a frown on your face as you look up at your boyfriend. It wasn’t his usual taste, which is why it was so random. He told you, “I heard it for the first time the day after I met you. And I thought it was so good. So now it reminds me of you.

secrets (how open are they with you?)

The only thing he keeps from you are your birthday gifts, or big surprises for you. And even then, he’s so eager to just tell you. But he shares even the littlest things with you — like Declan falling over at training, about how he shooed away a bunch of girls when he went to buy dinner. You both trust each other and Mason will tell you every last detail about his day if he could.

time (how long did it take you to get together?)

Mason knew almost instantly you’d be his girlfriend, even joking to Chilly that you’d be his wife someday. And you were an oblivious person, so you were none the wiser to his plays, which is why it took a few months to get together. Mason always comments that if you actually noticed he was flirting, you’d have been together within a few weeks. But now you laugh it off after having been together for so long.

upset (how do they act when you’re upset?)

He drops everything to help you when you’re upset. A bad day at work, an argument with a friend or family member, or even just a day where the world is against you. He can usually tell by your quiet demeanour, giving him tired answers, and not wanting to cry around him. He’d catch you in the bedroom, flopped onto the bed and huffing. He’d join you, rubbing your back as you go off about your day. He’d listen to it for hours if it meant you were okay, but he’d just run you a bath and tell you he’d be back with dinner shortly.

vaunt (what are they proud of? Do they like to show you off?)

1000%. He’s the one to tell your family that he’s surprised he bagged you. He’s always saying you’re out of his league, posting you on his Instagram all the time. Showing you off to his friends and family, sending them pictures of the two of you dressed up nice. They all find it adorable — and they know just how much Mason loves you.

warrior (how do they feel about you fighting? Would they fight for you, beside you, etc?)

It’s on sight. If another man does so much as graze your shoulder, he’ll be on it for you. On the pitch, he’s okay with some confrontation, but anything regarding you, he’s not having it. You’re his and he would beat anyone who questioned it.

Usually, if it’s just a quarrel with a friend, he’ll listen to your side of things and give you some words of encouragement. But if it’s really nasty, he’ll be stepping in and having words. He has a lot of patience, but won’t let you be stood on.

x-ray (how well are they able to read you?)

Like a book, now. But when you were first dating, you hid your emotions well. At least, you thought you did. All it took was one touch from mason, and you were crying like a baby in his arms about your horrible shift. You thought you held up a tough front, but staring up at his eyes, as he looked back at you with concern laced among his features, it told him how you really felt. Now he knows the telltale signs, and he’s there to help.

yes (how would they propose to you?)

Mason thinks about this question a lot. He wonders it in the shower, making you your morning tea, during his downtime at training. He’s even scrolled endlessly through a bunch of rings, asking the opinions of his mum and sister. The question had come up between the two of you, and you’d said how you’d felt about marriage. You wanted it, but big events for a proposal were detested by you.

If it was up to Mase, he’d take you on holiday. Buy you a gorgeous summer dress, take you to the beach and declare his undying love for you. But he’d take a small proposal in bed at 2am, too.

zen (what makes them feel calm?)

As mentioned before, Mason was a sucker for domestic things. Watching you do the shopping as he trails behind you was his idea of spending good time together. But getting home from a long day of training, and smelling whatever dinner you’d concocted for the evening. It was as if your front door was the very gates of Heaven. No matter what happened during the day, the second he smells his dinner and greets you happily, nothing is ruining his mood.

if you guys want me to turn some of these into longer requests, just ask! i’m in the mood to write for mase🥺

[its-all-just-ink-man]

I am pleased to announce that I officially have a new Bendy oc!

Behold Soulless Alice. Look upon her, and run for your life.

why yes i did take inspiration from Borkis from BATDS why do u ask

Cw: this gets kinda gruesome

She is a ruthless killer who can't be reasoned with. A bit twisted, she enjoys games of cat and mouse that end with her killing whatever or whoever she's been chasing. She prefers to eat the bones of whatever she kills but she'll take organs every now and then, so she doesn't often go for searchers and prefers to pursue anything that clearly has a skeletal structure. Lost Ones, Borises, the Butcher Gang, the occasional human that wanders in... But even she knows better than to pursue the Ink Demon. She won't try to attack him because her instincts tell her he can easily kick her ass, but she does like to mess with him by trying to get him to chase her and then hiding from him. She's like a cat in that she clearly lacks humanity of any sort, but she knows what crime is and she does it on purpose.

She likes playing with her food before killing it, and leaving behind signs of her presence like leaving a corpse with several bones or other parts torn out of it and a halo roughly drawn on the wall above said corpse in ink or blood. She also enjoys music. She can be distracted by turning on a radio or record player. She'll stay there listening to it until the song ends, and she'll hum/sing any song she hears enough times to learn, but typically just a few measures of it over and over rather than the whole song.

She hates losing her prey and having to settle for eating searchers when she can't find any vertebrates to prey on.

She was a first and failed attempt at creating a real life version of Alice Angel, and one of the deciding factors that future creations absolutely NEEDED a soul. Unlike the Ink Demon, she was hostile from the start, immediately attempting to kill Thomas Connor the second she laid came out of the Ink Machine and laid eyes on him. Lucky for Thomas that he's a big strong guy and was able to fight her off and lock her up before she could hurt anyone else.

She can mimic human speech(and noises made by other ink creatures in the studio), but she can't actually understand it. She can remember words and if she hears a word she's heard before, she might say the last sentence she heard that used the word in question, but it's all just sounds to her. However, she understands some sounds mean different things, and has figured out what words/sounds to make in order to lure prey. When she was locked up in the infirmary, Thomas had to figure out how to soundproof the room because she wouldn't stop making noise that sounded like screaming laughter, and once she learned the words "help me" and figured out it would get someone to come to whoever said it, she started using it. Some hapless soul once made the mistake of answering her call for help and opening the door, and they were found on the floor later, torn to pieces, with a halo drawn on the wall above them in their blood mixed with ink. Thomas had to catch her, lock her up once more, and muffle the room so it wouldn't happen again. At some point she got out again, but by then she'd figured out how to hide so she wouldn't be caught again.

Like other ink creatures, she doesn't have much object permanence and you can hide from her in a little miracle station. Just be quick to get the hell out of the area when you leave so she doesn't find you again.

Uhh yeah. If you're wandering in Joey Drew Studios and you see this... RUN.

[rose-from-ashes]

Though Emelian was not privy to Morganaux's thoughts or emotions, he was a clever and experienced man. He knew that just because Morganaux had lowered his glamour, it did not mean he was comfortable. In fact, in all likelihood he was distinctly uncomfortable. One who wore a glamour for their facial expression of all things, that would be someone who was very particular in both how they were perceived and how they perceived others. Someone who would observe small details, someone who knew that they had tells for their truths and wished to conceal them. The knowledge that he had took the step to lower it didn't erase the fact that it had been there in the first place, nor did it erase all the things that such a glamour said about him.

And thus, Emelian surmised that Morganaux was likely already longing for that safety again. An impulse of respect would not erase the caution of his character overall. And though Emelian wore no glamour of his own, he was a kindred soul. His golden eyes tracked every fidget, every subconscious flutter of aether. Logged away patterns and details, his delicate mannerisms- he was already picking up on the way that Morganaux used his treats as a way to carefully delay speech long enough for him to compose himself and prepare his next words, for instance. A convenient method, and once he'd admittedly abused himself from time to time, though half of such actions were taken in the form of wine rather than snacks. Ah, how he loved the stuff.

Oh, and how he loved humor, too. Admittedly, it could distract even him sometimes. He made no effort to hide the smile that split his face wide in response to the playful dramatics, showing carefully cared for white teeth, nor stifle the chuckle that bubbled forth from his chest as he sat forward a bit and responded with a lament of his own.

"Ah, but a work of the arts of any kind must be shared, no? I pay a lot of money as patron to those who sing, hum, strum, and drum a great many tunes- what's an extra few? And besides, such a glorious tale and visage as yours ought to be shared and appreciated by many. I could see it- forty paintings and fifty tales told on every street. A waltz composed for you alone swelling from my bustling ballroom. You'll simply have to get used to the praise and song, my dear. Unless you make my silence worth it. After all, I would loathe to be parted from the very source of that inspiration."

Much as he denies Morganaux's wish, it is clearly all play- the flattery in all it's inherent charm at least seems to have some glimmer of genuine intent somewhere in there, but the imagery he spins is all hypothetical dramatics, full with grand gestures as if he were an actor on an empty stage laying out the scene. After a short pause, a glance to Morganaux to gauge his reaction, he slips in a playful, flirtatious comment- "Then again, I do see the perks in keeping you all to myself. Ah, possibilities and prospects- we'll have it figured out in due time."

As Morganaux returns to the proper subject, the wide grin relaxes into a simple, small smile, and Emelian once more sits back, light and easy as he accepts the tart offered, by hand rather than mouth. He has a mind to tell him of Thavnair- until Morganaux poses his hypothetical, and the smile fades from his face entirely. Not even the spark of humor and interest that had been in his eyes from the start, despite Morganaux's own lightness in asking- for a moment, Emelian seems very, very old, sad and empty, and a little... Haunted. Not in the way of a frightened new tenant in a possessed old home, but in the way of a widowed old man longing for the ghost of his passed wife, unable to see her next to him and unable to say his farewell. Oh, how he longed to say he would go home.

As he draws in his next steady breath, though, it fades, and his lips find that small smile again, though his eyes have still lost that spark. He leans back and tilts his head up, closing his eyes, and the weight seems to slowly drain- with those sad eyes closed, he seems normal again. It was gone for a mere moment.

"There was a place I knew once where the people were happy. They bustled street to street not in hurry for their jobs but in excitement to reach the next place. They lived lives of logical debate and joyous creation of a million things in a day, great or small. Children played in the streets and everyone was fed and kept well by expert hands. The seasons brought beautiful blooms and lovely cool breezes. I often walked the streets with my friends just to talk to them. So very unlike this place where the cold and wind bite at every exposed hint of skin and the people's word bring the next spear to shortly follow. It was peaceful, happy, vibrant, and whole.

... Unfortunately, the calamity ended it. The ruins are there to wander, but the people were what I loved, and they are gone. Only a few individuals left, and they are all very different to how I knew them before. I would go back to that place. To those people. Stay there in that moment as long as I could." It isn't a lie. A calamity did end that place. Just... Not the calamity that Morganaux would believe he meant. It was as close as he could get to the real truth.

He opens his eyes and lowers his head to level once more, and his gaze has lost that haunted quality. Once more, he seems just a friendly and light wandering nobleman, albeit a little more ragged in some undefinable way than before Morganaux had asked.

"But you did not ask for a tale of my personal grief. I'm sure you wanted something lighter. In lieu of time travel, I would likely head to Thavnair. Do you know of it?"

Ah, how wistful Morganaux appeared. He played the part of an exotic songbird in a gilded cage terribly well, with his eyes cast lost on some nonexistent feature, his posture so graceful. Emelian could almost see the painting one could make from the sight if so inclined, and the thought brings a small smile to his face. Painting wasn't something he was terribly inclined to do, but he dearly loved to collect them. In Garlemald, his favored painter to commission had been a man named Arhems, who had made such delicate and powerful paintings, full of life and care. Perhaps he would find someone similar in Ishgard. And if he did, well... It was only customary to get a few paintings of one's spouse, no? Something to consider.

"How unfortunate... But you managed regardless. And what an inspiring tale you spun. Both to leave, and on your return- why, I'm sure there are ballads already. Of course, I've only heard it after it passed the ears and lips of some twenty others in all likelyhood- I'm sure the truth would be far more rousing."

Emelian watches Morganaux take a breath and compose himself, listens to his words. How easily his walls were coming down. Not unlike taking a hammer and chisel to his facade, with just as much care and attention paid to the angle and force used, only to find the rock was softer than expected. Not a bad thing, by any means- in contrast, he was fascinated, being given just enough to prompt further action, and not so much to grow bored with lack of effort. Oh, this would be a fun one.

And as if in confirmation to the thought, Morganaux leans in and teases, and Emelian gives a bright laugh, quiet but still clear in pleasant surprise. "Ah, such high offers! I am honored, truly. And I will take a macaron, but not-" He punctuates with lightly plucking one from the tray, "- your last. A proper gentleman would never be so brutish, to shamelessly take one's final macaron. Indeed, perish the thought."

He takes a neat bite, and shifts in his seat, making himself more relaxed. "What would you like to know?"

[xxdragonwriterxx]

🔥Where Is Your Rider?🔥

A/N: HEY EVERYONE!!! So, I just wanted to thank you guys for the massive amount of support you guys have given me recently, I just managed to reach a pretty significant follower count!!! I don’t want to specify the number because I don’t want to make this into a competition, but I’m so happy and grateful for all of you guys and the love and support you have shown me! As promised, I plan to celebrate with a face reveal! I’ll specify when I’m going to do it (as I don’t know when I won’t be busy, lol) but it will happen soon! For now, enjoy this super angsty short one-shot I have written for you guys! This was supposed to be a really short drabble but because I have no self control whatsoever, this ended up being nearly 3,000 words instead of the 500 I planned for it. Also, this was inspired by the two songs, “Where is Your Rider?” and “Pale White Horse” by the Oh Hellos! I hope you enjoy, and again, thank you guys so much!!! ❤️❤️❤️

🐉 Song Recommendation: “Pale White Horse” By: The Oh Hellos 🐉

Word Count: ~2.8k

~~~

Levi braced his hands on his knees, panting so hard his throat burned with dry fire. That had been close. Too close. To say that the expedition had been a nightmare would’ve been an understatement. It had been an absolute disaster. What was supposed to be a simple mission to retrieve some supplies from an abandoned battle station outside the walls had turned into chaos quicker than anyone could’ve ever anticipated as abnormals had surrounded them on all sides. Levi had tried his best to protect as many of his soldiers as he could, but even Humanity’s Strongest Soldier had been overwhelmed by the vast number of titans. Erwin had called for the retreat only minutes into the expedition, and yet they had still lost more men on this mission alone than they had during the past six months.

Levi closed his eyes, willing the tears back against the images of his fallen comrades, their broken bodies and screams of his name as they were devoured right in front of him. He had to stay strong, just for a little while longer. As soon as he got back within the walls and was able to retreat to his office, he would be allowed to break, to let loose the torrent of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. But for now, he had to be the pillar of strength that his remaining soldiers could look up to for hope and reassurance.

He sighed deeply, forcing down the bile that rose in the back of his throat, and raised his head, his eyes still closed as he prepared what he was going to say to his squad. When he finally felt ready enough to face them, he turned with his head held up high to the pitiful number of soldiers left on the field. He opened his mouth to talk when all of a sudden, he noticed something.

Her squad wasn’t back yet.

Levi’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, his mouth hung open as the words of his quickly prepared speech were immediately thrown out the window, his mind clouded with worry.

“Where’s Captain (Y/N)? And her squad?” Levi asked, prompting the men around him to stop what they were doing and look to their raven-haired superior. It was obvious that Captain (Y/N) and Captain Levi were together, that much was apparent from Levi’s subtle favoritism and soothed demeanor when she was around, but their relationship was often overlooked due to the professional manner in which they regarded each other when working during the day. Nobody was privy to what occurred behind closed doors - the clingy, loving nature that Levi adopted around (Y/N) when they were alone.

Levi felt a cold tremor trickle down his spine when nobody answered, some of their faces paling as they suddenly remembered their Captain’s relationship, panic laced in their eyes when they realized that nobody could answer Levi’s question. “Did anybody see where they went? Or could make a guess on which direction they could’ve gone?”

Levi tried to keep his voice steady when silence once again answered him, only the soft murmuring of the cadets asking each other for information filling the space. His breathing quickened and shallowed, making him feel light-headed, but he shook the feeling away. He needed to stay focused if he was going to find her. She was going to be alright, she had to be. He wouldn’t accept any other option.

“Alright then, everybody stay here. Commander Erwin should be arriving with the rest of you in a moment. When he gets here, someone tell him that I’ve gone to look for them.”

He whirled on his heel when he was met with murmurs of acceptance, aiming for his horse until a quick flash of movement caught the corner of his eye. He stopped dead in his tracks when he realized it was the movement of a horse racing for them, its hooves striking the ground with every beat as it galloped for them in a panic. Cold dread washed over Levi as the horse got closer, immediately recognizing the silvery white coat of (Y/N)’s stunning mare.

Levi was frozen in fear for the first time in his life as the horse came barreling towards him; riderless. He managed to snap out of it and quickly moved to intercept the horse, using his hands to jolt the frantic horse to a stop. Levi cooed at the mare, murmuring soft words of comfort as he approached her as slowly and non-threateningly as possible. When she had finally calmed down enough for him to touch her, Levi carefully curled his fingers around her reins and stood back to get a good look at the animal.

Her nostrils were flaring with every harsh breath she took, panting with both fear and exertion. Her eyes were wide enough to flash the whites around her irises at him, her gaze darting all around them as if expecting something to jump out at her. Levi felt his stomach clench hard enough to rip a whimper from him when he saw that her once gleaming silver coat was now soaked in sweat, mud, and fresh blood. Levi took a shuddering breath, his eyes closing.

“Danika, where is your rider?”

The mare’s only response was to jerk her head in panic, her ears pinned as she tried to rip herself from his iron grip. Levi bared his teeth, a few stray tears sliding down his cheeks. “WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR RIDER!?”

He knew shouting would only make things worse, but he couldn’t help himself, his fury and paralyzing fear driving him to the edge of insanity. Where was she? She had to be here, he wouldn’t accept this, couldn’t accept this. She was alive and well and perfectly fine, her horse was just acting crazy. It had to be some kind of trick, some kind of illusion meant as a punishment for the lives of the men he had lost.

He rubbed his eyes but to his horror, the image of blood soaking Danika’s fur didn’t disappear. He wanted to believe that it was Danika’s blood, that the poor animal had just been clawed up in battle, but he knew it wasn’t hers. She had no external wounds to speak of and the blood was pooled on top of her saddle and splashed along her flank rather than gouged from her flesh.

More tears started to stream down his face, the air in his throat hitching with every shaky breath he took. It wasn’t possible. No. She was alive. (Y/N) was alive. The love of his life was alive. Levi hung his head, his hair falling to curtain his expression as he choked on another sob. “Danika, please. Please. Where is your rider? Where is (Y/N)? She was with you, right? She has to be around here somewhere…”

He knew he must look deranged, talking to a horse and muttering to himself, but he didn’t care. All he cared about, in that moment, was finding out where the fuck his lover was. Another sob ripped through his body, his eyes squeezing shut even harder as more tears fell from behind his lids. He didn’t want to accept it, he couldn’t accept it, so why was his heart shattering as if he already had?

The sudden touch of a warm muzzle brushing against his face made him flinch and look up, only to be met with the sight of (Y/N)’s silver mare, watching him with a deeply sorrowful expression that mirrored his own, as if she too was grieving the loss of her rider. Levi wanted to scream, wanted to chase the mare into the woods, wanted to slash titans until his body gave out, but he knew he couldn’t do any of those things. It wasn’t the horse’s fault, no matter how much he wanted someone to blame.

“Please,” he whispered, his fingers coming up to curl against Danika’s soft muzzle. “Please tell me she’s alive. Tell me she made it back with you, you just got scared and left her behind. Tell me that she’s going to be okay. I-I can’t live without her, please.”

He was begging now but he didn’t notice. He just wanted some damn reassurance, some comfort, some support - all of the things that (Y/N) usually provided for him when he felt helpless. But (Y/N) wasn’t with him and he was floundering. His eyes were glossy with tears as he looked deep into the mare’s eyes, begging with both his voice and his gaze for the horse to give him something, anything to work with.

“Levi,” the deep voice right beside him made him jump, too lost in his hysteria to notice that Erwin had slipped up next to him, his face dark and grim. Levi’s eyes were frantic as they searched Erwin’s gaze. He knew the Commander had seen (Y/N) last, her squad had been flanking his during their initial departure. Erwin swallowed. Hard.

“Levi, I’m so sorry but…” The Commander dug around in his pocket until he found what he was looking for and pulled out a small piece of fabric with (Y/N)’s name written on the back. It was (Y/N)’s wings of freedom patch. Levi carefully took the patch in both of his palms, tears flooding his cheeks as his whole body started to shake.

“S-She saved her squad, Levi. They were being chased by a hoard of abnormal titans and she darted off to act as bait. Her p-plan was solid, but there were just too many of them and they overpowered her,” Erwin said, his jaw clenching when he stuttered a few times, fighting back his own tears. He lifted a hand and rested it gently on his friend’s shoulder, squeezing once. “Levi, s-she’s gone.”

Levi immediately shook his head violently in response, refusing to believe it. She wasn’t dead, she couldn’t be. She had promised him that she would stay alive, that she would never leave him alone, especially after all he had lost. She promised. Erwin walked forward, hands outstretched to keep Levi from doing something rash, but he wasn’t fast enough as the raven crashed to the ground, collapsing under the weight of his grief.

A loud, miserable howl tore from his throat and filled the valley, making the soldiers around him flinch as they silently mourned, a few of them even beginning to shed tears as they watched their normally stoic, steadfast Captain break for the first time since they’d met him. Levi ignored everyone as he sobbed out for the world to hear, his head buried in his hands and his body shaking violently with the force of his sorrow.

He didn’t want to accept it, didn’t want to acknowledge what everyone was telling him was fact. He didn’t want to think about anything but getting her back in his arms as soon as possible. It was all he wanted, to feel her warmth pressed lovingly against him, to hear her murmur gentle words filled with more love than he’d ever expected to receive in his life, to see her eyes light up brightly whenever she saw him. Without her, he was nothing. He knew that if he accepted this, that he would be accepting the loss of his very soul. It was too much for him to handle, he had finally been broken.

The pain was unbearable, he couldn’t take it anymore. Without (Y/N) by his side, he had no will to live. Fuck fighting the titans, fuck finding a new, better world, fuck being Humanity’s Strongest Soldier. Fuck everything. None of it was worth it if (Y/N) wasn’t wrapped safely in his arms.

“Levi…”

He heard Erwin coo at him, his hand outstretched to guide Levi to his feet, but the raven quickly ripped his arm from the Commander’s grasp, his eyes filled with an icy fire that would make Death itself shiver.

“Lead the retreat, take my men back to the walls.”

“Levi, what are you-?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Levi snapped aggressively as he tore his cape from his back and draped it over Danika’s blood soaked saddle.

“Levi, (Y/N)’s dead. You need to come back with us, if you don’t, you won’t make it.”

“That’s the point,” Levi said as he pulled himself into the saddle, once again avoiding Erwin’s attempt to grasp him.

The blonde’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, his jaw dropping at his Captain’s words. “If you think for one fucking second that I am going to let you kill yourself over some girl-”

“Don’t you dare speak about (Y/N) that way,” Levi said, his voice a deadly calm. “She is not just ‘some girl’. She’s the love and light of my life and I’m not leaving without her. I’m going to bring her back, no matter what it takes.”

Erwin opened his mouth to argue, but wasn’t even able to get the first word out before Levi had kicked Danika into a gallop, aiming right for the forest she had come from just minutes earlier. Nobody could do anything but watch as Humanity’s Strongest Soldier tore off into the woods, dread settling in their stomachs at the thought of having to fight without his support. Because they all knew, even if Levi made it, he would never be the same. Unless (Y/N) was somehow magically still alive, Levi would never be the same man he once was. His responsibilities and future didn’t matter to him anymore, not if they didn’t include his love.

Erwin sighed and shouted for his men to retreat, knowing that sending more men to retrieve Levi would only end in more casualties, by both titans and Levi himself. All he could do was trust that his friend could hold his own and would make it back. The soldiers of the remaining squads did as he asked without hesitation but the air was thick with tension as they galloped back to the walls, unsure of how to process the loss of their two strongest Captains.

[devilslinks]

# 𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗔 !

— 𝗖𝗟𝗨𝗕 𝗙𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 | 𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗔, 𝗧𝗢𝗣 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥.

wc; ( 3.2k )

synopsis; your best friend, raihan and you find yourselves eager to get intoxicated in one another's company. what better place than a night-club, dim lights, the overwhelmin' musk of the various alcoholic beverages; it's every guy pairs wet dream. that is until raihan gets shit-faced and excuses himself to the restroom while he pukes up his spiked guts. only to return to watch his sister take you balls deep, down her throat.

a/n: no brain, only nessa and her magical throat 🤝

warnings. MINORS DNI, NSFW CONTENT, family!au, raihan and nessa are siblings, club sex, intoxication, dirty talk, the name princess, deep throating, oral (m receiving), throat bulge, throat fucking, cum eating, flirty!nessa, jealous!raihan, exhibitionism, voyeurism.

euphoria.

that was the only word that came mind when raihan and you got involved in recreational activities like you did. galar was a go big or go home type of region, and the two of you stayed true to that motto. the itchy, messily thrown together suits that matched all the way down to the type of socks you had on— the overexcessive amounts of booze, and the loud music which just barely drowned out the fits of laughter and discussion littered throughout the packed club. as soon as the doors opened, flooding your senses with nothing but the sickly sweet, aroma of sex and other intoxicating chemicals; that's how you knew the had night begun.

the two of you had been indulging, before you arrived on the scene— time seemed to blur together with head-spinning speeds or come to a full halt at the worst of moments. you don't even know how long you'd been locking eyes with the transparent shapes and manufactured blurbs dancing across the wall a good, twenty, maybe thirty feet adjacent to your seat at the drink counter. the weight of something too heavy for your alcohol infused mind to register until the bar hostess was practically brewing with irritation at your non-compliance with her attempts to have you regain control of your dazed state; sat lazily in-between your pointer finger and thumb, respectively.

hell you don't even remember waddling over to the bar with the company you had brought with you. but you didn't mind, the painfully challenging to recall memories mattered not when there was already another drink swirling around the rim of your shot-glass. raihan's shifty frame wiggling in and out of your peripherals as you tug the half-empty cup to the skin of your lips, craning your head back to knock down whatever liquid remained at the bottom. the delicious burn of toxins coated the lining of your throat, trails of steamy fluid leaving their mark as the mystery liquor made it way down your esophagus. whatever it was, it packed a punch and wasted no time forcing your lips to curve into a bitter sneer— eyebrows shadowing your face in a sour demeanor, as you used the hem of your suit sleeve to whisk away any spilt mixture that tarnished your cherry red lips.

you hardly have the chance to open your mouth for a second time to address the swaying body, huddled closer the counter than it is to your own. raihan is a total mess, loopsy, and feverishly hot skin to compliment— he's stained a harsh, sickly green against his natural melanin tone. doubling over in either pain or the sudden flow of too many drinks pooling in his system; whatever the emotion he was enduring was, he wasted not a second longer before hustling off into the large gathering of people. disappearing before his lips could slur the final word, missing from his dialect.

“hh..h fuck- my stomach is gonna explode, i'll catch you-” his gravely tone churning into the backdrop just as quickly as he initiated the conversation; the familiar hum of lyrics to a song you couldn't quite place your finger on replaced whatever words raihan had previously gargled out before dashing off towards the public restrooms.

your head feels like it weighs a metric ton this late into the night, threatening to tumble forward as if your neck had lost any and all of it's support. your eyelids pulling down roughly over your eyes like window shades before the sudden wave of loneliness hit you like a truck. fiddling with the collar of your dress-shirt was entertaining enough to fill the void that was the now empty stool, where your best friend once resided. but that quick fix subsided rather easily and the once overwhelming presence of boredom had returned to take a seat.

and then, so did she.

“shit, rai- back so soon? you alright?” your vision was foggy and adorned with blurry bits here and there— but it was still evident enough to make out that, whoever was indeed now in your friend's seat, was not the person you had chauffeured to the club with.

“damn, do i really look, that bad? it's me, y/n. the painfully better looking sibling. what did that idiot put in your drink?” the speech is followed by a laugh. it was a warm and inviting chuckle, one that seemed to relax every muscle in your liquor tense body the moment she parted her spit silken lips. you had been in her company earlier that evening, which made it a tad easier for your incoherent mindset to process it. but nevertheless it was hard not to distinguish who the women paying you a visit was at this point, even if you hadn't engaged with her previously; nessa was infamous for those enchanting looks. and in your dumbified state, those gorgeous navy locks tied together by aquamarine highlights were one of a kind and stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the room of normal presenting citizens. though your brain didn't want to pick-up any of your surroundings, you found it quite easy to fawn over her in that ebony dress and the way it hugged her curves in all the right places.

“fuck.. nes' when'd you get so.. so.” you couldn't even find the energy or hell, the words to cough up the remainder of the sentence, you were so taken aback by how stunning she was, even behind your bleary, drunk eyes. but nessa wasn't oblivious— you were sure she had picked up the hint you had layed out so bluntly, and the warm palm slowly inching up your clothed thigh secured that suspension for you.

“not even so much as a greeting? you didn't even buy me a drink first; asshole.”

her words are firm, yet so light hearted at the same time; but just enough to set your arousal over the edge. your headspace so vulnerable to teasing that you're certain she knew what she was doing to your conflicted mind and body. her sly fingers are enough to coax you to shuffle your bar-stool closer to her's— not a single word wriggled around your throat in response, instead the tangy after-tase of alcohol still heavy on your tongue distracted you and you were sure the whole bar could acknowledge your intoxicated musk.

her features held so many different emotions at once, as she pryed you for a reply— trying to tell you each one obscured behind that pretty face, way too quickly for you to decipher. her brows furrowed quizzically, one tilted slightly higher than the other as her half lidded doe-eyes stared up at you like prey at a final stand off with their predator; just humbly surrending their body to the circle of life.

“hah, you're one to.. talk, nes' just because 'm out of it- doesn't mean my numb skin can't feel your heavy hand toying with my waistband.” the both of you swiftly changed direction, heads leering down at nessa's free hand. you were infact correct, you observed as the woman swirled shapes into the expensive leather of your belt. pulling bits between her fingers now and then as she silently struggled with the metalic buckle. your groin swelled tightly, gripping your boxers closer to the fat bulge behind your suit pants; it would take an idiot not to take notice of the wrinkled fabric secured around your aching dick. her skin felt like a furnace, contrasting your slightly cooler temperature— but with her body pressing so desperately to yours, you were sure the warmth from her melted over onto your feverish flesh. the damp, sheen of anxious sweat made the fabric of your suit, dewy. sticking slightly against your hellish skin.

“mm, i guess i was wrong about the greeting part— hello there, you look happy to see me.” not a hint of shame obscured her voice, you're miserably watching nessa shift her weight as she now palms at the mound between your legs. you've seen countless renditions of this night loop in your head, but now that the scenario is a reality; it's agonizing to try to contain your primal urges, face to face. it's a chore not to profess all the vile things you wanna carry out with her, but she's already one step ahead. that glare is dangerous, it makes you feel like she's trying convey that the two of you are already in on something devious.

“let me take care of you.. y/n.”

“let me treat you, nessa.”

the both of you drawl out in what would be perfect unison if your mind wasn't foggy and running slower than usual. you had both finally voiced the elephant in the room, the one which was just positively dripping with thick tension up until this moment in time. you're still squirming under nessa's grip, she can feel you whine and pant everytime she gives your cock a light squeeze between her fingers and it's not long before the two of you are absent from the bar and clawing at one another's linen around the corner. closest to any vacant area within eye-shot. well, as vacant as a small room seperated from the bustling club-life can get.

did you think the night would come to a close with your friend's sister skillfully sucking the soul out of your sloppy cock? not in a million years, but you'd be damned if you didn't want it to end on any other note. nessa fell to her knees before the two of you even made it out of view— planting herself in-between your thighs like she was a trained professional; no flaws in her technique as her tongue slid obediently from her mouth and latches onto the moist fabric masking her mouth's destination. nessa's fingers are long and slender, as they snake up your hips and meet at the belt tangled around your waist. you can feel your cock pumping against the seams of your pants, the uncomfortable sensation making it appear as though you'd rip through the cloth if your cock was imprisoned a second longer.

with the head-splitting atmosphere of the club playlist stretching and stuffing your ears to the brim with fast pitched edm that made your skull pound and jitter. as well as the added hum of the gym leader whispering inaudible nothings against your bulge as she at last pushed your pants down, and past your ankles; material getting caught on the fancy design of your shoes. you felt like you were on the brink of death, but the enticing appeal of hooking up with your best friend's relative kept your iron-will alive long enough to rough it out and pass the irritation that came with being black-out drunk.

your storm of worries fizzled just as quickly as they sprung up, maybe it was the alcohol but you swear this girl had the hands of the divine; you were washed away into infatuation once more. nessa's teeth hike up your boxers until they meet the waistline, pulling down on the hem with a familiar aggressiveness as she relishes in the way your big dick pops to life and looms over her lustful features; all chubby 'n decorated with veins fer' her viewing pleasure.

“shit.. i'm gonna have so much fun with your cock. you wanna make your stupid slut already? my mouth is just asking for it.” the first piece is low and almost voiced as if it was meant for her ears only— but the second half is most definitely directed at you; as she tilts her head to plant a few delicate lovebites along the base of your shaft. fingers looping gracefully around your hilt as she admires the girth you carry.

“fuck..” you hiss, cock twitching violently as you pleaded with sinful eyes. she had barely started her reign over your dick before guttural groans and mewls slid past your lips. the sensation of her tiny tastebuds as they trailed over the little glob of pre-cum that drooled from your cockhead was insatiable. the sudden action sent your hips forward almost automatically, like they instinctively acted on impulse; it felt so right. merely a few inches breached past her lips but there was enough speed and prowess in your thrust to drag a surprise gag from the mouth attached to your dick.

impatience was on the horizon, the buzz from copious amounts of alcohol had knocked down a few pegs. you were now fully aware of the figure positioned at your feet like she was praying for a god, and soon you'd make her chant like she was being fucked by one as well. broad fingers clamped down, squishing both sides of her jaw while simultaneously easing your length deeper, and deeper down her gullet like your dick was her last meal on earth. you throw your head back before letting it fall forward against the wall, watching those desperate dark iris' pool with puddles of lust that seem to be neverending.

“come'on princess, you know how badly you want this-- you gonna let me ruin this pretty throat?” you thumb over her warm cheeks, eyes glossy and threatening to ruin the simple makeup she applied before she arrived. the uncomfortable stretch of her esophagus molding as your cock fills the empty gaps in her throat with every inch you have; is one that isn't unfamiliar to her. dragging your pulsating veins along the dip in her mouth, her tongue greedily laps up any and all of the skin yet to be consumed by her.

“jesus.. fuck, oh fuck. take it, nes'. shit.” your cock fully slips into her, heavy and swollen as it spears her right down the middle; eyes rolling back into her skull as it's just too fucking big. bigger than anything she's previously had inside of her, anyway. your core bleeds with spots of warmth as you take the time to bask in the way every individual wall in her mouth feels as it constricts you almost painfully. sucking you in before she slides you back out of her throat once more; repeating the tedious cylce that has the two of you in a heated frenzy.

despite all the sudden and erratic pain, nessa bobs her head in sync, coaxing you to go as deep as humanly possible. rocking your hips as they snap against her face with every good fuck you give her— watching yourself grow rapidly from the outside of her neck, the moist skin now holding a curved bump near the middle. nessa takes the initiative. removing a hand from one of your thighs, she uses four fingers to lightly push and stroke the bulge; almost as if she was jerking you off while you ravaged her inards.

she knew exactly what she was doing, and it had you riled the fuck up.

you picked up the pace, delirious from the amount of stimulation your precious cock was receiving. with your erection fully encased by her face and your dick bouncing off the gummy walls of her gullet, you could tell her throat was already forming bruises with a throbbing soreness to compliment, time come the morning. your rough hands dig behind the back of her head, hands feeling lost amongst her ocean of hair— beautiful locks just perfect for pulling. you yank her face forward, lowering yours as well to not only established authority but to get your point across to the cockdrunk slut mindlessly slobbering all over your messy shaft.

“mfph-- please, cum.. i want- all!” you can just barely string together what sounds like whines for more— i guess she can sense just how close the knot in your stomach is to bursting because she grips the back of your thighs and tugs them forward with whatever coherent muscle strength she has remaining. just in time for the tension in your core to coil tighter and tighter, the lowerhalf of your body trembling with all the signs of an incoming orgasm.

“does my dumb little girl wanna be fucked, that, bad? hah, fuck nes' what would your brother think?” you mock so cruelly, totally disregarding the fact that there is a slim possibility, raihan is searching for the lost pair. and it just so happens that nessa's poor little brother had been observing for a little over half the engagement. fist wrapped around his pathetic cock, suit collar pulled between his fangs, ocean blue eyes fixated on you; your hip strength, the way you rolled and plunged balls deep into his sibling. his body felt so empty, only riding his high off the two of yours', praying he'd finish before you caught him lurking like a sleaze. it was so unfair, why did nessa get to taste your sultry cock before he did?

you can feel the bass reverberate in nessa's throat as her lips nip at your hilt, impatiently trying to babble out a response adequate enough to your liking. her mind is flying, no correct sense of direction as it attempts to form a reply, but all that breaks past the barrier is a few pitiful mewls. her nose is burried in your pubes and she's lost all feeling in her throat, only motivating her to show off the lump on her neck even more. you watch as your length disappears into the depths of her mouth for the hundredth time that night, hands pushing down the lacy strap of her dress in a last ditch effort to find something other than her hair to latch onto for support. her scalp is on fire and she can only accept the stinging sensation as the roughness of your thrusts increase in magnitude.

the club is filled to the brim with lewd moans and needy pants; those of which included raihan's. every inch of her esophagus is being used— you happily ram your cock down her throat a few more times, your balls were quivering wildly. contracting and spasming, boiling with a fat wad of potent seed all ready to venture inside of her. nessa squeals, feeling a thick bulge travel up the length of your cock, up to the head and straight on her tongue; some spurts flowing down her neck while the rest collected in her mouth. painting her insides a translucent white that would surely stain.

just for good measure, nessa deep throats your empty dick with a few simple strokes; a white, sticky ring forming around the base of your shaft after she detached from your dick. a lewd pop, followed by a line of stringy saliva connected her lips to your bottomed out cock before she ruined the trail by letting her tongue lull from behind her teeth. letting you get a nice overhead view of her empty mouth, watching as the last bits of your load traveled down her throat and out of sight for good.

“god.. such a g'girl. you sucked on my cock so nicely, princess. wasn't that a way to end the night?” a blissed out smile creeps over your face, marveling in the aftermath you caused. you gave the right side of her face a few taps from your cock— dried tears and sloppy makeup tainting her cheeks. cum dripping from the corners of her mouth, as a cocktail of her own spit and your semen coats the back of her throat. it was all one big look of;

euphoria.

[forbidding-souda]

Forgive me if this is random but could I have some hhhhhh Kaito X Leon relationship headcanons?

Kaito Momota x Leon Kuwata relationship headcanons

yolo my godfather bought me carls jr and the carls jr barbeque sauce tastes so much different and it's in a new package. why. it's kinda yucky. why change it. i'm lost.

-Mod Souda

❤ Kaito is three inches taller than him I would just like to say that off the bat.

❤ Kaito would give him cheek kisses all the time. He's also probably the type of guy to grab his partner by the back of the neck to bring them into a kiss (such a manly thing).

❤ Leon is more interested in the astrology about space rather than like literally anything else. He is the type to wish upon a star (perhaps Kaito could tell?).

❤ Kaito being all into space and stuff makes it so much easier to write songs about him.

❤ In term of sports Kaito will suddenly turn into a team manager and start giving him advice as if he's not literally the SHSL Baseball player. "When you train your form is awful!-"

❤ Whenever girls walk up and flirt with Leon, Kaito just stands there awkwardly and his first thought isn't even jealous it's "why won't they flirt with me, too?".

❤ It'll be hard to get Kaito away from that man. Oh he's at a game? Kaito is watching it. He's at a concert? Kaito is there too. He's sick? Kaito doesn't care, he's still going to be hanging out with him.

❤ Kaito does push-ups with him on his back lol.

❤ Imagine Leon waking up and Kaito is just on the floor next to him in a plank position lmfao.

❤ Kaito is much more likely to lose house keys compared to Leon but I think a few times both of them have lost them and there was no access to the inside of the house.

❤ ^ Leon would have opted to break the window and Kaito wouldn't have stopped him.

❤ Kaito would give dramatic speeches trying to encourage him to go to practice.

❤ Leon does not "hold him back" at all - Kaito is still completely free-willed, as he has found somebody with the same amount of passion and prerogative as he has.

❤ With Kaito, Leon doesn't really have any more need to impress girls, so his motivation towards being a musician has dwindled a little (Kaito might present a like slideshow about how he shouldn't give up on his dreams).

❤ Kaito is extremely nice and open-hearted, which Leon is extremely attracted to. He loves somebody who is supportive (and sexy as fuck-).

❤ ^ Kaito also being oblivious so sexual topics is something that Leon likes a lot since Leon is canonly into like. "pure hearted" people.

❤ Even though Leon is mildly hot-headed, once Kaito gets close to him, he stops being the victim of his outrages. Leon finds a soft spot in his heart for him and would start to feel bad if he ever said anything upsetting (especially with that sad looks Kaito gets on his face).

❤ I think these two are a really good match. Leon has this whole like ulterior motive thing going on with the careers he wants to take, and Kaito is good at analyzing people, so Kaito could just like break Leon's whole aura down in a blink of an eye.

❤ ^ Which he probably does and then Leon gets hella irritated with him LMFAO.

[chuplayswithfire]

Is Nowhere To Be Found

Inspiration grabbed me by the throat the second I finished the fic@robininthelabyrinth posted today, and I just HAD to share my idea of whodunnit.

Summary: Wei Wuxian was stabbed, found barely breathing, left for dead. His would-be murderer has no regrets.

0000

The Cloud Recesses were abuzz with chaos, serenity abandoned in the wake of the attack on Wei Wuxian. The news had already spread that he would live. That soon he would be sure to wake and then to carry on with his second life. Gates had been shut, entrances and exits barred to prevent escape. Disciples were combing every building, every potential hiding place.

Lan Chaoyun was not hiding.

The knife that he had used lay before him, still stained with blood that had dried now, tacky, flaking like rust in the air. The iron scent had faded, as the blood dried, as the incense burned. It was a paltry offering, he knew now, marred by failure as it was, but it was an offering. He hoped that Lan Tianming would appreciate it, that his wife would know he had done his best to give her justice.

Perhaps it was not justice. Perhaps it was revenge. He no longer knew, just as he no longer cared. It was her birthday, and the knife, the flowers, the incense - he could only hope that all would reach her, that all would grant her peace if she had not yet moved onto her next life.

Gradually, the incense burned, one by one each stick dwindling to ash. When the last had been lit, and the last burned, he bowed low, face to the ground.

"I may be joining you, this night," he said. Her silent tablet offered no response. "Forgive me my delay."

Still, nothing. He knew there would be nothing. He knew that Inquiry had yielded no answers, that her spirit was gone from this world.

It did not stop him from wanting, aching, wishing.

0000

The noise was louder, outside of the memorial hall. It seemed the rules for running and shouting had been discarded. Lan Chaoyun was not surprised.

Many rules had been discarded for the sake of Wei Wuxian.

He walked among the hurrying, searching, worrying masses, tranquil as the feather that falls to the river and floats along its surface. His path was set, his fate lifted from his hands. He felt no fear and carried no worry, as he walked to the courtyard where discipline was carried out and knelt on cold stone.

Lan Chaoyun inhaled, filling his lungs with cool, sweet mountain air, and exhaled slowly. He would clear his mind, and he would breathe. He would wait, settled patiently.

It would not take long for him to be noticed.

0000

"Hanguang-jun! Hanguang-jun!"

Shouting at the door of the jingshi, the banging of a fist - enthusiastic or fearful or both, and Lan Wangji rose from his place as silent sentinel. The path to the entrance of their home from their bedroom was a short one, crossed in a few brisk step.

If he jerked the door open rather than slid it with grace, if wood groaned at the strength of his grip, who would complain?

"What?" Bitten out, terse. Wei Ying was sleeping and this noise would wake him. Short, yet eager. No one would disrupt them without reason. "What is it?"

A junior stood at the door, round-cheeked with youth and shaking. The top of this one's head would have barely met Wei Ying's shoulder. His name escaped him, lost to Wei Ying, his health, his stuttering breaths and still form.

"Z-Zewu-jun sent for you!" The stuttering child near-shouted, his hands coming up to his mouth in horror. He was nervous. Lan Wangji should have reassured him.

Lan Wangji did not.

"The - the culprit has been found - and Zewu-jun has called for you to -"

He did not hear the rest of what was said, either. The culprit has been found. Nothing else was as important as this.

No, one thing was as important as this.

"Where?"

0000

Lan Chaoyun held his head high. His meditation was long concluded with the arrival of so many others, but his poise still held, even - no, especially - with the weight of so many eyes on him.

Lan Qiren and Zewu-jun both stood before him, faces dark with anger. On any other day, the sight of them united against him like this would have set his guts to tightening in fear, his knees weak. It was their misfortune that this was not any other day.

It was their misfortune, not his, that he regretted nothing.

A sudden stirring behind him, the hurried rustle of fabric, the swift snap of steps across the stone.

"Hanguang-jun," was the whisper, the breaking of the heavy silence. More than one voice spoke, silent Lans set to chittering like startled birds.

Lan Chaoyun kept his silence. The arrival of his distant cousin was nothing for him to fear. He had known from the moment he woke this morning that this would break whatever remained of the tie between them, and he had made his peace with it.

Only his cousin's happiness had kept him oblivious to the fact that that bond had been one-sided, rotted from within and long decayed.

He would understand, now.

He heard those crisp footsteps falter, a brief stutter in an otherwise perfect rhythm. Were he looking, Lan Chaoyun was sure he'd be seeing the moment his cousin recognized exactly who knelt for punishment before their sect's leader.

"Lan Chaoyun," Lan Wangji said, voice tight. Nothing else followed. Perhaps he was at a loss for words.

How fortunate for him that that was his only loss.

"Lan Wangji," Lan Chaoyun returned. He did not look at his cousin. He did not want to see his face.

More whispers, at that. It had been many years since any save Zewu-jun and Lan Qiren himself referred to the great Hanguang-jun by name.

Zewu-jun cleared his throat, a quiet noise that nonetheless silenced the gathered crowd and drew all attention to himself.

"Lan Chaoyun, you confess to and submit yourself for punishment to this crime?" For all his anger, his voice was remarkably steady. Lan Chaoyun had wondered if seclusion would restore his control, his still-lake facade.

"I do," he confirmed, locking eyes. Zewu-jun too was his cousin. Younger, though their cultivation meant that such distinctions were impossible to see and their status meant them inert. "I stabbed the Yiling Laozu. My regret is only that he lives. I should have cut his throat instead."

Lan Qiren flushed with anger at Zewu-jun's side, his nostrils flaring. "Have you no shame at all for what you've done?"

Of all things, this was what sparked the smile to Lan Chaoyun's face.

"My only shame is that I waited until A-Tian's birthday to take justice for her," he said. If he relished in the surprise that spread over Lan Qiren's face, in the realization that filled Zewu-jun's eyes, for the anger the tightened Lan Wangji's jaw -

who here could justly blame him?

"Did you forget?" He asked, knowing he was being cruel and caring not for it. What was one more broken guideline in this place that bent to the whims of any ruling Lan? "I understand. It has been fourteen years. I didn't."

Zewu-jun drew breath, undoubtedly intending to begin a pacifying speech on the nature of rules and grief and the unjust nature of revenge. Lan Wangji spoke first.

"Wei Ying did not kill Lan Tianming," he lied, his hand clenched around his sword's hilt. Perhaps he didn't know he lied. Perhaps he thought he spoke the truth.

"His fierce corpses did. Perhaps you did not know. I understand you were busy ferrying him from the battlefield that night, but I bore witness to my wife's murder. I know who is responsible, and the corpse of our shidi was only Wei Wuxian's murder weapon."

The sight of him, white robes stained with blood and draped in black, arms filled with the body of the man responsible for that unending hell, had been the second worst of Lan Chaoyun's life.

Lan Tianming's face as she breathed her last, their shidi's clenched fist still driven through her chest, had been forever seared into his eyes, haunting his waking days, his dreaming nights, but his cousin's back as he fled that field of death with the murderer in his arms was not a sight he could forget.

All these years, he'd kept silent. Wei Wuxian was dead. His cousin may have betrayed them, but it had been for nothing, and the punishment had kept him off his feet for years. Lan Chaoyun had never forgiven it, but he had been willing to keep his peace.

Ruining Lan Wangji would not have brought Lan Tianming back to him, would not have restored the laughter in his life, the song that matched his guqin, would not have re-lit the flame of their small dreams, their hope of a family.

But Wei Wuxian was no longer dead. Wei Wuxian breathed this earth's air and ran through the Cloud Recesses and his laughter rang through every corner of their home and Lan Tianming would never breathe or run or laugh again.

His home, her home, every corner of it tainted by her murderer's life, his joy, his happiness, as if a single brief lapse (what more was a death that ended than a lapse?) were enough to account for her death.

Lan Wangji's throat worked but no sound left his lips. The knuckles of his sword hand were white where they gripped at Bichen.

"I attempted to murder the Yiling Laozu," Lan Chaoyun said again, voice raised. He met Zewu-jun's gaze once more. "I submit myself to punishment, Zewu-jun. I do not regret offering my wife justice. I do not regret the knife that now rests before her in offering. I regret only that she is dead and her home is defiled by the presence of her killer, who failed to so much as kneel before her tablet and beg forgiveness."

Whispering. No amount of throat clearing now would silence them. Zewu-jun seemed to know that - his eyes were hard as he bowed his head.

"Lan Chaoyun. The punishment for raising a weapon to one of our own is -"