#Us history is the only one treating me kindly

[ralexsol]

Oh my godddd I am not ready for midterms Im barely surviving as it is I stfg

[chlmtsdoll]

Guys I loved writing the first short n sweet inspo fic so here’s more bc that ovulation album is too good <3

WHERE ART THOU ? WHY NOT UPONETH ME ?

౨ৎ Summary: your hosting a slumber party at Art’s mansion. But you can’t quite stay away from your pull to get the man in a room where there are no others. Inspo from Bed Chem by Sabrina Carpenter 🤍

+ 18 | very much smut !, unprotected sex, age gap, (reader early 20’s) dilf!Art, size kink, first daddy kink fic (omg) semi-public sex, oral (f) reviving, pet names, this made me feel a bit slutty just writing it, needy!reader, fatherly Art ;)

A/N: the fucking edits on tiktok of Mike to Bed Chem are making me go insane ! just when I thought there was no possible way for me to be crazier over this man omfg. So I had to give the girls a fic to go w it ofc <3

It was like fate. The day you met him.

Nothing could of been more perfect when the stars aligned to bring you to accompany your solid group of trust fund friends to one of his tournaments that evening. You were like most girls your age, makeup, pop music, nice ornaments for your wardrobe — you weren’t the kind of girl that could say she knew much about sports, and certainly little to nothing to be caught landing a seat at the us open... but eventually that grew to be a substantial part of what found him to be so drawn to you.

It was that day when you’d been in the bleachers watching the blonde play like it was his life’s greatest prophecy. For the first time in your still too little years of living, you’d never felt that aroused by a man you’d only saw from the mere view of him hitting a ball with a racket.

But he was unearthly.

Built like how men used to be. Face like it came straight from heaven. Serve like he knew a thing or two in bed.

You were drunk on want, need for him. You were damn lucky your friends were loaded enough to go to all the after parties with most of the star athletes. It was insane to you that you would follow the vip and your most sports driven friends (enthusiast if you will.) to where the elites spend their time. You wanted a nice hang out. Good food. Expensive drinks. But it was between you and the universe that you’d leave with so much more.

You were in a sheer dress and kitten heels when he spotted you. Just his star studded sly smile from across the event hall, when he saw you and your friends conversing in mostly a pretentious manner like most kids your age did when they could afford the lifestyle most people only dreamed of. But not you, you were entranced, pulled away. By his wide, blue eyes that you assumed filled with the same yearn you’d been struck with. And to your quick manifest, Art was gazing right back at you.

Only sharing a couple brief exchanges with the tall and stature, modest but kindly — beautiful and magnetic man around mutual friends, before you’d both been rushed to leave. Him with his team, and you with your entourage.

Like that you were tied to the tennis star in the blink of a moment. And Soon enough — being photographed with him around the heat of the city.

Games, athlete dinner parties, press events. Even photos of you two sharing more than a couple of words, maybe even kisses, behind menus at glamorous rooftop restaurants. Magazine outlets went crazy through the roof in just a few weeks time. Milking whatever they could out of Art Donaldson and his controversially younger girlfriend.

They didn’t have enough tabs on what you two had officially been to one another and that was perfect for the two of you. Because now that time has pushed you and the blonde closer and more into each other — you’d spend days and nights locked away with Art in his new found mansion post his former divorce. Home so beautifully articulated and big enough for you to be extra generous with your time with the dream boat of a man.

It would go down in history what the two of you had done in every room.

Now, a gorgeous weekend ahead of you after your week that was always filled with Art treating you to the finest cooked dinners, at home date nights filled with breezy smiles and full closeness to balance your dates out on the town. Going wherever you felt just to hold hands under umbrellas and traffic lights. With all the new adorned love in your life, and man with too much mystic taking up your time, it had been a good minute since you saw your girlfriends, caught up or shared a drink. You were just so wound up in Art and the way he treated you like a princess to, and in your own world.

So you’d asked Art if you could host a sweet little sleepover for you and your girls at the mansion — and of course he complied. It was anything for his perfect girl since the beginning.

“I could ask the chef to whip up some,” Art spoke into you as he held your hips in his vast hands running carefully over the hem of your satin bottoms as you stood in the middle of the spacious kitchen with him.

“That’s okay, I wanna do it.” You laughed softly, as you stared up at the man. “Nothing says fun girls night like making our own home made friandises”

Art had tilted his head in slight confusion with eyes in question to your tone when you’d practice what you’d been learning in your French courses on him. It was all the most adorable to you really. Your laugh echoed.

“Treats, baby.”

“I- - I knew that,” He scoffed and your giggles were infectious with delight to him.

“It’s gonna be fun. We’ll watch movies, paint our nails, share snacking tips. It’s been so long since I’ve seen the girls.”

Art grinned at the way you lit up with excitement, and his icy eyes looked down at your figure below him. He tried not to bite down on his lip at the way you were in the pajamas usually he only saw you in. Pink lace two piece jammies. Completely recognized because he got them for you. The transparency to them was way too easy on the eyes.

Arts tongue darted out to wet his lips before he questioned, “Is that what you’re wearing ? There aren’t gonna be any boys.. right ?”

“No, silly. That of course counts out you — if.. you wanna join us.” You looked up at him through your lightly mascara coated lashes, it felt as if the flirtatiousness through your gaze just hooked Art by the belt.

“No, no. I’ll give you and your friends your space, doll.” The blonde gave you a chary little smile, “I really doubt they’d want an old man around while you’re trying to have fun.”

“Quit it ! You’re not old. And they adore you.” You stood on the tips of your toes, Art met you so you could leave a sweet kiss on his cheek, with a blush to your own.

“Thank’s for letting me have this little party, baby.”

“Course, what else would be better use for all this space ? Other than for the amusement of twenty something girls.”

Art chuckled and you surely were in agreement, because when your girlfriends did arrive it was immediately shrieks of girlish camaraderie and chatter of awe as you brought them around the place of posh and eloquent nature. Your laugh could of been heard from the other side of the place where Art had eventually been stored away for the night while your hands were knee deep in cookie dough and rainbow sprinkles. Pj sets all from the brands you and your friends never stopped talking about. Having your night filled with reruns of classic movies to sipping champagne.. and the wine, red, (your pick) was certainly slipping through you as the moments went on.

You’d been with your best friend when you two had a moment alone to catch up in one of the halls of the buoyant abode. Whispers and giggles coming from between the two of you as a glass of wine hung from your palm.

“God, he was a such a cutie.” She coo’d as you two had found a very special wall of framed photos of Art from back in his prime tennis days. The blonde around your age who seemed filled with joyfully energetic faces and awards from across the globe. A smile woke upon your face as you folded your arm to admire the man you’d now call your own.

“Sometimes I wish I’d known him then,” you simpered. “But I’m beyond lucky now. Because he’s still cute, and sexier.”

You tittered fondly and your friend laughed with you as she playfully tugged on your shoulder. “You gotta lock that down, y’know… you’ll be like- - hella famous just from being a world class tennis superstars hot young wife.”

She announced as she sipped on something burgundy and you thought with a heightened grin. She couldn’t have been farther from right. And as the months go by you would fall farther and farther head over heels for Art every day. You’d be his wife in an instant. That was the dream after all, and you could certainly say you’d been living one.

“I guess I’ll just have to wait for him to put a ring on it..” You smiled with a dazed shrug as you embarked your wine glass to your lips again.

“He better.” Your friend chirped with a proud glint and you couldn’t help but stay stuck in your thought of your boyfriend who’s been just a few rooms away for the past couple of hours while you’d been enjoying all the perks of your girls making the most of their time with you. But you couldn’t help but want Art to be nearby now, and the red wine in your system maybe hit more than just your head — you couldn’t even try to fight it.

You missed your man.

So after you’d take in a few more drinks and a bit sensually themed games with your friends, you’d made your attempt escape off to find Art. Slipping away from the girls was easy when you’d have every necessity needed to execute a very graceful grown up girl sleepover provided for them.

You’d been walking down the hall heading to where his office and master bedroom would be at the end of the home, and as you passed by the lush kitchen area, to your surprise, there he was. Muscles looked enchantingly delicious in this light as they flexed to pull on the fridge handle and when he turned, his eye line met your glance staring back his way (of course you’d both arrive at the same time.) Arts lips began to curl in an amours grin when he saw your petite figure making it’s way over to him with the same like of smile across your face.

“Hi, baby. You having fun?” He glanced down at you through his blonde lashes to meet your nod, only following up with a soft titter as you stepped closer to the man. He almost immediately picked up on the lust laced within your eye and the way you slightly leaned onto the fridge door with your aura basically gooing with sex at him now. The blonde had an eyebrow furrowed as he chuckled just a bit and he sized you up.

“Are you drunk, princess?”

“No. No… no,” you shook your head.

It had been true. You weren’t drunk. But a little wine tipsy and horny ? Definitely.

Art hummed and put the back of his hand to your forehead gently as he observed your state. “Did you eat?”

“Mhm, did you ?”

“No. That’s why I came down, not to stalk you. I promise.” The man laughed, to which you did as well and you only raised your arms so they could embrace your boyfriend’s shoulders with a soft hum.

“Y’know, if you’re hungry, you can eat me.” Your finger tips grace Arts neck unashamed as you smile into the crook, and he took in a breath, proceeding to hold you close.

“Oh- -” his chuckle matched your giggle as he noticed you’d changed again. His hands were gliding up the ruffle of the even more transparent sheer cover on you’d been dressed in. Lime tinted. The shorts were near pantie like.

“Mmm, I miss you, I want you.” You peppered kisses as close as you could to his earlobe from your height and Arts breath hitched as he was weak to your slow but enticing touch to him. Fogging up his knowledge that you’d been right in the middle of the open kitchen that was just a few ways down from the living area your friends had been in.

“Here, sweetness ? Your friends- -” Art murmurs down to your ear, but you just locked your arms just above his shoulders without a care.

“And- - ? What about them ? I need you,” you whined. “I want your touch.”

“Yeah? You want me to touch you?”

You nodded again with a naughty giggle and the blonde was smirking now, his hands roamed your body. Large and groping your curves. As much as he knew what was rightful, Art just couldn’t deny your cling to him in that damn near lingerie that had him going almost unbearably hard beneath his jeans since you walked in. Feral even. It was beginning to get miserable as you pressed your dainty chest against his, he felt your nipples grow hard and sensitive against the cloth. So into his aroma, presence, like you were a moth to a torch.

He’d fallen into your pecks merging with his now. Kissing you against where the cupboards stand like your lips were candy. Your small legs stumbling as the man towered over you “Fuck, you look amazing in that set.” Art pulled away from your plump lips to view your gorgeously perfect body. You batted your lashes once. And his attain just couldn’t be stopped. Art slid his hands across your soft ass cheeks, massaging and kneading it in his palms before leading up to laying a solid smack which made you hiss out an excited squeal-like giggle. Your fingertips slid down his ample biceps brushed with virile bristles of hair.

“If I had known you’d like this set so much, I would of worn it much sooner for you.”

Art leaned into you and he held a sly smirk, “this was your plan all along, yeah? Wearing that to get my attention so I would come out here and fuck you in the middle of your slumber party.. you’re such a naughty girl.”

You only giggled more into his skin with a slow exhale, your freshly painted french tips exploring him as he explored you. Art took his sweet time just feeling the way your ass jiggled in his palms and you felt like you’d been going weak in the knees before his tender contact turned rough when he turned you around without warning, making you gasp.

Art made sure you could feel how hard you’d gotten him as he pressed himself to your core. Facing the counter, you lost yourself in complete bliss just to the feeling of not knowing where he’d pleasure you next — Arts restrained bulge against your clothed cunt was just something else. The blonde pushed up your sheer top just a bit and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, you made a soft noise with it.

“Feel what you do to me, pretty girl.” Art nibbled on your earlobe and you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip to subtle your smile. His hands bracing your hips as he stared down at your lacy panties and your minx-like eyes followed Arts famished expression while he licked his bottom lip.

“All yours, daddy.” Your sweet voice immediately made Art go nearly lightheaded and that was it. He melted.

The man tucked both his thumbs into the fabric and pulled your panties down clean with raucousness, followed up with him getting down on his knees before spreading you with his palms and your hands reached for the marble with a soft whimper.

“That’a girl, stay open for me.. Let me taste you.” Art huffed out before he pushed one of your legs up on the counter and you breathed out at the feeling of him making your body his toy for amusement. Art took his fingers and ran them up your folds, getting them wet with the slick of your pussy. Your cheeks started to heat up just at the wonderful pad of his index running against your core like that , making you let out a soft, “oh..” by the way he moved to rub around your clit. Arts lips kissed on your exposed inner thighs, and your jaw became unlocked extraordinarily far when his tongue finally rolled on the soft tissue.

He was splitting you clean open on the counter as tiny whimpers escaped your throat. You were lost in the draw you had to the man making you feel surpassing of even the way you played it all out in your head. “Mmm, yeah- - yes” you panted and the man flicked his digit over your bud at the same time he’d been making out with your cunt. Letting deep groans flow throughout your opening. You’d been on the tip of your toes for him. Letting him suck where you pulsed till you’d been overstimulated if he wanted.

Your head had been spinning from the friction of his perfectly sculpted nose rubbing against your sensitive area. Art was known to be gifted with his mouth so much so, you almost wondered if your friends would have heard if you just couldn’t keep your moans level — but with the way Art held your hips, fucked his tongue into your cunt like you’d been his last meal, your anxiousness washed away. All you could do was let the shake of your thighs and Arts dripping oral member lead you to a crisp pleasurable cry.

“Shit,” Art took a brief exhale as he pulled away from your entrance, dampened lips of your juices going wide with a grin and he ran his palms over your slick thighs again,

“you’re so fucking wet for me, princess. You gonna take my dick? Let me make you feel good?”

“Mmm, please. Fill me up, Art. I wanna feel you.”

“You gotta be quite for me, baby.” Art stood to his feet.

You didn’t care. All you could think about was dick. Arts phenomenal dick. You wanted him to toss you over and split you open till you were sobbing on his thick member, your wine drunk friends would understand. A girl has her needs.

The risk made your blood pressure rise as the moment went on, when Art reached over you to tug your panties dangling from your thighs all the way down — he kicked them off to the side. Taking note of his own belt buckle and undoing it quickly, which you only grew more greedy by the sound of him unzipping his fly. The blondes aquamarine orbs swam with the need to pump you fuller than you’d ever taken him.

“Bend over for me, sweet girl..” Art breathed out softly as his slightly calloused hands ran from your hip up your spine while you did so, bending over fully and displaying your sweet dripping cunt for the mans lidded eyes. He sucked in his breath and his now aroused dick twitched when it unveiled from his boxers — going barmy with just how tiny and soft you looked beyond him.

“So fucking tight and small- - your amazing with the way you take me when I barely fit in, sweets.”

You bit down on your finger as you watched Art run his hands over your ass. Take your hips and line his cock up with your hole. He hissed at the way your soaking cunt wet his tip, you almost croaked out a deep moan at his gestures to tease your pussy. Just nodding along as you’d gone cock drunk before he’d even been in you. Your nails run at the marble counter as Art slowly burrowed into your drooling core. Working you open as his cock disappeared into your body inch by inch — he pushed your thigh higher onto the ledge as you whined at the stretch.

“Ah.. mmm- - fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groaned as you adjusted to the size of his warmth finally filling you full. Art was big. And he’d never want to put you, his sweet doll in discomfort for long, never. So when he started to plunge into you, he watched as your face scrunched up from ache to pleasure in time. His name sputtering from your mouth as you clawed at the counter top and he watched your pussy lips that were just throbbing around his erection like it was begging to be so sporadically fucked by him.

“That’s it baby doll,” his own groans heightened as his hips knock into your cervix, chasing that spot of yours till you were moaning and whimpering like a slut around him. Hole so full with yours and his pre-cum and you sucked in your bottom lip, tussled hair going wild on your back. You just had to look over your shoulder to watch him — see Arts gorgeous face as he snapped against you all shimmering with light sweat as he focused on the way a ring of your wetness pooled around his base.

“You love this, hu? Getting me to fuck you while your friends carry on without you- - At your party. But you just had to come.. looking for daddy’s cock, yeah? You love being a dirty, dirty girl for me.” Art rasped as he clenched his jaw with the overwhelming feeling of your tight cunt clenching him. It made your skin feel like it had been sparked with fire, so exhilarated. He put his hands in your hair to fuck into you as your jaw dangled open.

“Oh! F-fuck! I needed that big fucking dick, daddy… w-want you to cum all over me, mmm- -” you were choking out whimpers and your pretty little hole dripped with Arts pre-seed slipping from you, making it drag out when he pulled out of your pussy to turn you around and pick you up in one swift motion. Your high pitched gasp echoed as you wrapped your legs around the mans abdomen and Art set you on the counter. His lips curl up into a smirk and his eyes met your wide doe set ones. Slipping back into you he watched you cry out his name. Rutting into your heavenly body at this angle, hands go squeezing your thighs, and Art kept them apart as he took you at a wild pace. Hitting that gooey spot till you didn’t remember your own name. “Good fucking girl. That’s it- - such a sweet thing for me, taking all of my cock. It was made for you, doll.”

You couldn’t even catch your self as you’d leaned back on the counter and let Art pound into you. Your tits bounced with each thrust and you were shuttering as your orgasm ripped through you without warning. “Yes ! Ooh- - shit, yes yes yes…” you were whining out as you came on Arts dick. He held your legs spread as he grunted and watched you soak him uncontrollably. You loved it. Feeling like his perfect little gift. Art licked over his lips at the sight of your beauty, throwing your head back in bliss, he pulled out of you and pushed up your dainty little baby doll top — making space as he pumped his throbbing dick over your stomach till he himself came hard. Ropes shooting out on your candescent skin and making sure some got on your pussy just for the fun of it, he grinned and trailed his thumb up your gentle inner calf that had been dangling by his side.

You were whimpering like you’d gotten your brains fucked out to the sweetest soundtrack you’d ever heard. Art was so cinematic in moments like these, he leaned up to kiss at the nape of your neck, cheek, and lips.

“Pretty, perfect girl.. I love you.” Your gentleman muttered against your mouth. You smiled and sunk your teeth into your bottom lip as Art brought your panties up to help you slip them back over your thighs and to your feet as steady as you could. Dressing himself as well, he glanced down at you through his hooded eyes to see your impressively only slightly disheveled state. You were just always glowing, it was hard to make that go away anyways.

“You sleeping down here tonight?” Art buckled his pants again as he questioned you with a soft raised brow. You started to smirk at the way he was heading. You shrug.

“Maybe, maybe not… I’ll sneak into your room when they’re sleep, if you want.” You offered the man, the glint in your eye saying you’d suck his cock and let him have you in as many different positions as he’d like in a couple hours till you were all tapped out. The blonde only scuffed and towered over your presence that was still taken by your hoyden attitude, just to turn you back towards the doorway.

“Go host your party.” he taunted almost fatherly, to then leave a light slap on your ass that made you giggle on the way out.

[angelsworks]

A Scarab Knows Jaime Reyes (Blue Beetle) x reader

Summary: Times when the scarab on your boyfriends back caught you in a lie.

Warnings: Smut, angst, insecure!reader, talks of period, 18+

Moodboard credit goes to @your-yandere-kiss They’ve got so many other great moodboards. I’d definitely recommend you check them out if you like that sort of thing.

DC Masterlist

It took a while to get used to the scarab. Khaji Da was not what you were expecting Jaime to reveal after a couple of months of dating. Your boyfriend was so nervous as he explained the ancient alien that held the power of the blue beetle that had bonded to his back. At first you had no response. Then you wanted to see it to which Jaime happily obliged.

Your eyes found the shiny blue shell of the beetle in line with Jamie’s shoulder blades. Call it morbid curiosity that lead you to reaching out and gently tracing part of the scarab. When red eyes opened and glowed along the scarabs elytra in response you jumped back in surprise. The action causing Jaime to jump up and away from you.

He didn’t say anything, instead staring almost blankly at something behind you. An action you’d found him doing throughout your relationship. Only now did you realise it was because of Khaji Da.

Finally he spoke, “I think it likes you.”

From then on things got better with Jamie. There were no secrets between the two of you anymore and you could continue your relationship in peace. Well almost in peace. The scarab on his back was to blame for that.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Khaji Da, it’s just that it was almost like another person you had to share your boyfriend with. A person that was with him all the time. A person that he has secret talks with. A person that he fought crime with.

You weren’t jealous. Jaime was yours and Khaji Da had no interest in him like that. It was just hard getting used to being in a relationship with Jaime and now Khaji Da. After telling you about his scarab Jaime could talk to it more openly, without you thinking he was strange. Sometimes you’d be with Jaime watching a movie and he’d answer a question you hadn’t asked. Or other times you’d be looking for something you’d lost and he’d blurt out it’s location, claiming Khaji Da had told him.

Khaji Da wasn’t all bad, in fact it treated you kindly and as a valued person to Jaime. Over time it too became protective like Jaime towards you. A gesture you found sweet. Well mostly sweet.

One evening you saw the positives to the scarab on your boyfriends back.

The day you’d had was one for the history books. Anything that could go wrong, did go wrong. This morning you overslept for class meaning you had to rush out the door. In class you realised you left your paper you’d been working on at your home. After class you went to your job at a local restaurant. A job that on a good day would wear you down and drain your social skills. But on a bad day? It was unimaginable. To add to it you started your period mid shift, unprepared of course.

Finally at the end of the day you remembered the plans you had to stay over at your boyfriends apartment. Despite feeling anything but happy, you plastered a smile on your face and pushed your tears back as you greeted him. You hugged him tightly and kept up your facade. Engaging in small talk about your day and your class. Purposely leaving out or brushing over the majority of bad bits.

Jaime was buying the facade of course and you couldn’t blame him. The two of you hadn’t been dating for long and he hadn’t learnt you yet. However Khaji Da had, or to some extent it had.

A quick body scan had revealed your true feelings. Your low mood, recently working tear ducts and uterus walls cramping. All of which was relayed to Jaime whose face quickly took to looking crestfallen.

“Mi Vida, why would you lie to me?” Jaime asks softly. Pulling you from beside him on the couch to his lap.

You look at him startled. Unable to form words or even think of a coherent answer. But he waits for one. Even though it takes a few beats of silence.

“What - how do you know?” You ask him perplexed.

His tongue swipes out over his lips, “Khaji Da scans almost everyone I meet. It makes a habit of scanning you especially.”

You nod slowly, letting the new information sink in. You wonder just how much Khaji Da knows about you. You wonder how much information it passed on to Jaime each time you met. Was this the first time it caught you out in a lie, or just the first time Jaime chose to bring it up.

“I didn’t want to burden you with my bad day Jaime. You seemed so happy. I just wanted to enjoy being with you today.”

Jaime sighed and held you impossibly closer. Rubbing your back as you let out a few tears.

“Nothing you tell me would burden me. I love you so much Cielo.” Jaime whispers in your ear.

“Cielo?” You ask, unsure of the endearment.

“It means sky or heaven. That’s what you are to me. Nothing my Cielo tells me burdens me. You are my world, Mi Vida.”

Although Khaji Da’s interference worked out this time, it didn’t always. One time in particular didn’t end well with Jaime.

It was just past nine when your eyes glanced over to the clock on the bedside lamp. Jaime had been pounding into you for what felt like hours. He’d been out all evening doing something for Kord industries. The topic a sore one as you knew of the previous feelings he felt for Jenny.

You tried to put your feelings aside and remember that Jaime was with you now, not her. Your efforts hadn’t been good enough as Khaji Da and Jaime had seen right through it. Leaving him no choice but to show you just how much he loved you.

Yet the hurried passion between you hadn’t given you the stimulation you needed to reach your climax even once. There was little foreplay and things unraveled and quickly lead to him being deep inside you.

At one point you’d moved your fingers to your clit, trying to gain something to take you over the edge. Jaime, thinking you were acting up as you often did with him (in dynamic of course) removed your hand and pinned it with your other above your head. He gave you a gentle kiss and whispered some dirty words in your ear.

“Are you close?” He panted, still hammering into you. You thought about saying no, then wondered what he would think. You started to feel insecure in the fact that your orgasm was taking so long. So you decided to pretend.

It wasn’t something you’d ever had to do before but once wouldn’t hurt, would it?

You moaned out a reply and started your act. Rolling your eyes back into your skull, praising your partner for his work, clenching your walls on his cock. It wasn’t long before he followed you. Stilling inside you before reaching his own.

After pulling out slowly and kissing your temple he rolled over, having a moment before getting a wash cloth for you.

Silence hung in the air. Comfortable silence of course, but silence non the less. Jamie’s hand found yours, holding it gently as he often did.

Some time passed before his grip changed and became tighter. He turned on his side and looked at you accusingly.

“You faked it?” He asked, a little hurt but mostly angry.

Your eyes widened and you could feel your face heating up. “Jaime it’s not like that, you know I wouldn’t - ”

“But you did, or else Khaji Da wouldn’t have brought it up.”

You let out a huff, “Why does it matter. I’m sure it happens to plenty of couples all the time. I’m fine. Your fine. Let’s just go to bed.”

You move to roll over only to be pulled back by an angry Jaime. You’d never seen him this annoyed before about something you’d done. Usually you couldn’t put a foot wrong with him. He thought everything about you was great. It would be a lie to say his anger didn’t make you guilty about being dishonest.

“It matters because your my girlfriend. We aren’t just another couple. And while I’ve got working fingers, a working tongue and a working cock I have no excuse not to make you cum.” He tells you in earnest, putting his anger aside for a minute.

Although the sentiment is there, his wording isn’t. Jamie’s right, everything about him works. There’s no reason he shouldn’t be able to make you cum. It’s you that’s the problem and that same insecurity creeps back in once more. Making you doubt if there was something wrong with you. Making you remember why you lied in the first place. You didn’t want him to think less of you.

“So why Mi Vida, why lie to me? You know I love you.”

You huff again but this time it’s more pitiful as you feel your throat tightening. “It’s not you Jaime, it was me. It just wasn’t happening. I don’t know if I needed more foreplay or something. Maybe it’s just me, maybe there’s something wrong. Please let’s just go to sleep.” You practically beg. The warmth in your face ever increasing from the embarrassment you now feel.

As he understands your words he feels his anger dissipate. “There is nothing wrong with you Cielo, I should have done more before you know, going inside you. It was rushed. But you need to know that there is nothing to be embarrassed about. I love making you cum.”

You smile, leaning over to kiss Jaime. Who responded eagerly almost trying to make up for lost time. Showing you that there was nothing wrong with you at all.

“Let me show you how much I love doing it Mi Vida.”

You could only nod as your boyfriend spent the rest of the night doing everything he could to make you cum.

By the time he’d done you’d finished a record number of times and had forgotten any ill will you’d felt towards Khaji Da. It turned out to be quite useful.

[coolnameloading]

Second place

Summary: Your relationship with Shauna is reaching a boiling point after months of feeling neglected. Will your anniversary dinner fix everything or is it time to move on?

You were Shauna Shipman’s girlfriend—well, you were supposed to be, but lately, you have felt more like her side piece. 

When you first started dating she made it very clear that if Jackie needed her for anything she would be by her side no questions asked. And at first, you were fine with that.

You thought it was cute that your girlfriend was such a loyal friend so you told her it wasn’t a problem.

Oh, what a love-struck idiot you were. 

At first, your relationship was great. You were like a couple pulled straight out of a 90’s movie. You’d wear her jersey to her games, your friends would roll their eyes at how sappy the two of you were, and old couples would see you walking down the street and give each other a knowing look remembering when they were your age.

Everything was absolutely perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

You didn’t truly understand the position you put yourself in until about 10 months into your relationship. 

Suddenly Jackie was having problems with her boyfriend Jeff, which meant that your weekly date nights became the stuff of history, and the only time you got to see your girlfriend was briefly at school before she was whisked away to soccer practice, or class, or Jackie.

And even when you did get to see her all she’d talk about was how hard Jeff was being on Jackie. 

“He should be glad Jackie even gave him a chance, she could do so much better.”

She sighed leaning against your car.

“Yep”

You mumbled back only half listening to her while grabbing something from your trunk.

“I mean she’s pretty, popular, and the captain of the women’s soccer team.”

“Mhmm”

Suddenly your door slams shut, you look up and see she’s giving you an annoyed look.

“Are you even listening?”

You sigh and nod, “Sorry Shaun but all we’ve talked about for the last two months is Jackie’s love life.”

Shauna rolls her eyes but reaches for your hand, “Sorry baby but I get so upset with how Jeff treats Jackie.”

“I get that but you’ve been so busy with her and soccer I only get to see you for like fifteen minutes in the morning and all you talk about is Jackie.”

You mumble looking down at your intertwined hands trying not to fidget.

“I just want to spend some more time with you.”

You whisper anxiously.

Shauna doesn’t say anything for a minute and you freak out, you open your mouth to make up some excuse but she cuts you off with a kiss.

“Look our one year is coming up on Saturday, what if we go to that burger place you’ve been wanting to try then we catch a movie?”

She whispers kissing the back of your hand while looking at you with her big puppy dog eyes that always make you melt.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah”

“No Jackie?”

“Nope.” 

You nod and kiss her cheek, “Can’t wait.”

Saturday comes, and you arrive at the restaurant. Seeing that Shauna isn’t there yet, you sit down in a booth and wait.

After 10 minutes you start to wonder what’s holding her up.

After 15 you get worried and send her a text ‘Hey I got us a booth, you almost here?’

After 20 minutes and the waitress refilling your water twice you finally get a text back. 

‘Hey baby sorry to do this so last minute but Jackie and Jeff just broke up and she needs me. Hope you understand.’

You stare at your phone for a while, unsure what to text back. You don’t know how long you were staring but the waitress circles back snapping you out of your trance.

“Hey, honey are you ready to order yet?”

She whispers kindly while glancing down at your phone, you tilt it down trying to hide the screen.

You want to answer but you’re afraid you’ll start sobbing the second you open your mouth.

“I-”

“I’m so sorry babe!”

Suddenly Lottie slides into the booth next to you.

“Practice ran late and then my phone died and I couldn't call an Uber to get here so I walked.”

She rambles on and on wrapping an arm around your waist.

You’re too stunned to speak but the waitress laughs and hands Lottie a menu.

“Oh thank goodness I thought the poor thing had been stood up.”

She says smiling at the two of you.

“No ma’am,”

Says Lottie smiling back at the older woman.

“Just ran a little late.”

The waitress walks away leaving the two of you alone in the booth.

“Lottie? What are you doing here?”

You ask watching her look over the menu carefully.

You don’t know much about Lottie. You’ve talked a few times while you waited for Shauna to get out of the locker room, and one time, she asked you for a pen in your English class and never gave it back.

“Well I came to get something to go but then I saw you here and heard the staff whispering that you’ve been here for like a half hour.”

You mumble hiding your face in your hands.

You look over by the entrance and see a group of waitresses whispering and looking at you. When they notice you’re looking, they all split up, and you watch one of them take plates away from a table that is clearly still eating as she tries to look busy. 

“God, can this day get any worse?”

“So why are you here by yourself? Where’s Shauna Isn’t today your anniversary?”

You peek at her from behind your hands.

“You know when our anniversary is?”

She nods chuckling with a small smirk.

“Kinda hard to forget the day Shauna got so annoying. So where is she?”

You take your hands away from your face and sigh trying to keep your voice from cracking.

“She’s with Jackie…I guess she and Jeff broke up and Shauna wanted to stay with her.”

Lottie puts the menu down looking at you in shock.

“You’re fucking with me.”

The waitress comes back and takes your orders. Lottie orders a grilled chicken sandwich with fries and you get a cheeseburger with fries.

As the waitress walks away again Lottie turns back to you.

“And she told you all this last minute?” 

You nod your head looking down at your water cup.

“Yeah, she texted me like 30 seconds before you showed up.”

The waitress comes back with your food and Lottie thanks her handing her a hundred-dollar bill.

“That’s enough right? And you can keep the rest as a tip for keeping my girlfriend here company while I was running late.”

The waitress nods thanking Lottie and walks away probably to brag about her tip.

“You usually don’t pay until you’re done eating ya’ know?”

You mumble trying not to blush, how can she call you her girlfriend so easily and just keep going like nothing happened?

“And what’s with the whole girlfriend comment?”

Lottie eats some of her fries with a grin.

“Well I figured you wouldn’t want them circling back with the check and I called you babe when I first got here so I thought I’d keep playing along.”

The two of you finish your food just talking and having a pretty good time overall, which is shocking given how the day started.

When the two of you get up to leave you grab onto the sleeve of Lottie’s sweater.

“Hey, I um…I got tickets to Beatlejuice Beatlejuice for me and Shauna. Do you wanna….”

Lottie smiles at you, not like her usual confident grin or her haughty little smirk but an actual smile. You let go of her sleeve and look down trying to get the butterflies in your stomach under control.

“Yeah sure lets go.”

[plusvanity]

Finally someone who dislikes Hellhammer lol I feel like CRAZY when talking with other people about Mayhem and they all love him so so so much! It's just insane. He has a massive ego and is a shitty person with shitty opinions but somehow he gets a pass. Also sometime ago I read an interview where he was asked if he misses Pelle/Øystein and if in his opinion there would be a place for them in Mayhem as of now and he said that he does not miss them at all (besides, he laughed at Øystein's mother at the phone when he learned about his death he just pisses me off so bad ong) but he was also like. No there is no place for them at all because we changed a lot and it was good for Mayhem that they are gone. THE SHEER AUDACITY IS INSANE! Did he forget so casually WHO FOUNDED MAYHEM and gave him a place in there? Who was influential in the early BM scene? Please. Mayhem is not even all this great stuff atp, when Øystein had hold of the group, it was all... unique in its own way, very atmospheric, he got the gist. Don't even get me started on that hag of Necrobutcher. The only person that speaks kindly of Øystein is Attila. Also, Mayhem should have ended with Øystein's death in my opinion. Pure madness

I was never fond of Jan, to be honest.

I can definitely recognize his talent as a drummer. He is, in fact, one of the best of not the best drummer in Black Metal history. But this is the only good thing about him because his personality is very insufferable.

It's not just the overly inflated ego that he displays, but he comes across as a 'bully' somehow. I won't judge him by his interests in drugs and drinking because he wanted to have fun, live the rock and roll life, whatever, but I can't overlook how Øystein complained about him messing up gigs because he was too intoxicated to play, or how he neglected their rehearsals. He seems very careless, very insensitive, and overall very untrustworthy.

What pissed me the most was the way that (I suspect) he treated Pelle while he was alive. Pelle wasn't shy to call Jan a 'fat, stupid drummer' in one of his letters, expressing how he preferred Faust (if I remember correctly) in the band instead. Now, the impression that this comment gives me is that Jan must've done something to piss Pelle off. Maybe something repeatedly, like unsavory jokes. Because, for me, Pelle's insult seems very sincere and personal. I am very sure that there are things that must've happened (arguments and stuff) that we will never know about, and all we can do is to try to fill the gaps with speculations about what really happened within the band. This is why I feel like Jan has 'bully' traits.

Another important aspect that bothers me to no end is how Jan was, in fact, the last person who saw and talked with Pelle. You can tell from the way he explained the incident he seemed very cold and detached about it. Pelle seemed 'happier' than ever before, telling him about his knife while he knew what Pelle could do shows how disinterested he was in his friend's well-being. And I get it that everybody was young and dumb and no one had the resources to help Pelle, but it's common sense to ask 'Hey, what are you going to do with that knife?'. Even Jørn had more common sense than this man, but I digress.

Another interesting thing about Jan is how Varg talked about him. Him and Fenriz (and Faust) are the only ones who he doesn't consider 'rats'. I get it that Jan was an extreme-right sympathizer, and that drove Varg to talk more nicely about him, but I believe that apart from their common political affinity, their personality are quite similar. It's not just a say that 'dark personalities attract one another', it's actually true. Jan seems to have some empathy issues, in my opinion, and it's very common for people in cluster B to use substances or alcohol to either numb their feelings or to 'feel something'.

I'm not insinuating anything, I'm just laying some interesting facts and observations that I have.

And then, of course, he said the worst thing possible for the sake of publicity. He said that he was in the room while Pelle took his own life, which is an aberration. But he can tell anything to the fans, right? He's alive to 'tell the story', right?

And him laughing in the phone about Øystein's death is yet another indicator that he might have some real issues with empathy.

I believe him when he says he doesn't miss Pelle or Øystein because they probably mean too little for him, but he likes talking about his dead bandmates, doesn't he?

I don't like him for these reasons and many more.

It is unfortunate and infuriating how these people talk anything but the truth nowadays and they get to pass with a lot of obvious lies just because they're famous.

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Swords in the Court: Wedding Bells

Secret Garden

Yandere Don John x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warning: Nothing but the fact that Don John is hypnotic

Note: This story is set in a fictionalised historical setting. Though there are clear inspirations drawn from the real world and history, this tale in no way tries to explain, change or state any historical, political, communal, geographical or religious 'facts'. Kindly treat this short-series as it is, a fiction

Unedited

You pay no heed to the stares of passing court ladies and lingering servants while making your way towards the Queen’s chamber. You have grown accustomed to them now. Of course, people will stare—you are a lady-in-waiting for the Queen, despite having no house or regal title to your name. As the daughter of a blacksmith, you should not be even in the Queen’s chamber—any royal chamber. But here you are, serving and accompanying. the queen wherever she goes. 

Your father used to say that he was a self-taught man, a person of his stature, should have been illiterate. But he not only taught himself but you as well. And one day, by a twist of fate, you found yourself in the Queen’s presence. She took a liking to you and appointed you as her chambermaid. But by the time the seventeenth summer of your life passed, you were elevated to the position of her lady-in-waiting. You later realised that she needed a true trustworthy lady by her side. The court was divided, and the Queen needed a loyal companion by her side, and she put her confidence in you. 

You are no Lady by birth, but you have learned the court's ways and a Lady's mannerisms. You will never be accepted, of course, you do not expect them to. But as long as you have the Queen's favour and know your place, you are safe.

“What took you so long.”

“Apologies, Your Highness,” You bow down before gesturing for the maid following you to serve the Queen her tea.

“The physician is certain that this shall help you sleep better, Your Highness.”

The Queen nods, taking a tentative sip of her tea. 

“The Prince of Spain will be here tomorrow. And here I am, unable to earn a wink of sleep. How shall I welcome and accompany them if an unrested mind grips me.”

“Forgive me, My Queen but you have taken great troubles, arranging the union, pursuing the King and preparing for the Prince and his companions’ welcome. Sleeplessness might be a result of such responsibilities.”

The Queen smiles faintly and takes another sip “You always know what to say, clever girl?”

“I merely state what is obvious, Your Grace.”

“I haven’t been able to keep track of the court, I have been engaged with the matters of the Princess’s marriage. Anything worthy?”

“Not much, Your Highness, the King has taken an interest in Lord Beecham’s eldest daughter.”

“The Earl of the Walden?”

“I’m afraid so.” You pour some more tea into her cup.

“Wasn’t it he who rebelled against my father when he was King? My dearest husband started a rebellion and won, and now his favourite dogs wag their tails in the court. Strange are the times.” That’s all she says before picking up on her letters to read.

Such news comes as no surprise to her, as long as those ‘pretty playthings’ as she likes to call them do not try to influence the King in ways she holds the power to, the Queen doesn’t mind. The King has his entertainment, the Queen has hers, and only one has it in the public eye—the other needs to be discreet.

“Prepare to welcome the Spanish Royalty tomorrow, and tell the Princess to be ready. The looming war could be thwarted with the Spanish by our side. Your King doesn’t seem to understand that, but as the Queen, I do. They’ve sailed for days, are bound to be haggard, and make sure the supply of wine, and food never runs out, and hopefully, the capital's brothels are ready as well?”

“All has been taken care of, My Queen.”

She nods before assessing you, as if stuck by a sudden realisation “How old are you again?”

“I turned twenty, two moons ago, Your Highness.”

“You mean two months.”

“Yes, My Queen, my apologies.”

She makes a dismissive gesture and puts aside the now-empty tea cup.

 “Don’t be, you should never forget your roots, your reality, where you came from, where you are, and where you can end up. Wear this knowledge like armour, and it can never be used against you.”

“Yes, My Queen.”

“Now go, it is late and tomorrow you must be up earlier than the rest.”

With a greeting of good night, you make your way out of her chamber.

—-----

“Do you see them, now?” Madeline asks, quivering with excitement. 

The young and handsome Crown Prince of the foreign empire, his brother and fellow loyal soldiers riding into the capital—a visual straight out of those romantic fables and poetry that court maidens love so much.

But you are not them. They see the idyllic image of a handsome prince marching towards the palace. You see their banner and the potential this alliance has. The Queen has seen the possibility of a looming war years before it actually might happen and after all these years with her, you know that the Queen is seldom wrong when it comes to politics.

“Look! That’s the Crown Prince. Look at his dark curls, he's magnificent, isn’t he?”

“Yes, Maddy, he is.”

“And there, his brother siding beside him…Oh, and his bastard brother too, riding behind.”

You frown and fix your gaze on the man riding right behind the Princes.”

“I thought bastards do not join such official ceremonies.”

“I heard that the Emperor has recognised him, some say he might even become a Duke there.”

“A Duke? But, he’s a bastard.” You turn to your friend, surprised.

“Birth does not always decide our place in this world. We were lowborns as well. Your father was a blacksmith, mine was a butcher. Look at us now.” 

“We still are lowborns Maddy, this will never change.”

Madeline nods “You’re right, but here we are, overlooking the Prince of Spain marching into the Palace.”

“What is his name?” You ask, intrigued as your gaze fixes on the man in black and white.

“The Prince? He is Mechor Bohorquez de Alvarado, and—”

“Not the Prince, his bastard brother, what’s his name?”

“Him? That’s Don Juan—that’s in Spanish. John,  his mother was not from Spain as I’ve heard.”

“And where do you hear all these from?” You turn to her.

“From the letters I carry.”

“Maddy! They would have you imprisoned at the least for this!” Your eyes widen as you hiss into her ear.

“Take a breath, nobody knows, or suspects. I have been curious, you know?”

“Still, this is dangerous. You will not do it again.” You touch her shoulder to assert “I mean it, Maddy. No playing around dangerously…Please.”

Madeline sighed “Okay, I won’t do it again.”

—--

With a grand welcome has come the dinner— an even grander affair. Pies, cakes, ale, roasts, meat, sweets and chocolates, lots of chocolates, a gift from the Spanish Empire—-the food and drink flow in and empty trays and plates leave the grand hall where the Spanish princes and their men make merry, laugh, drink, and eat. The Crown Prince sits with the King, the Queen and the Princess by their side. The rest of his friends and companions enjoy the never-ending flow of wine and delicacies. At the same time, they play charades of words and intentions with noble women, from the newly blossomed to the ripened, the maiden and the sourly married while their father and husbands go off with other women. 

The norm of the court.

You have seen plenty of it already. You sit with Madeline, tired from running around and ensuring everything is perfect. Your eyes wander around the hall without any particular purpose, until your gaze lands on the bastard Prince—having been granted recognition and now holding the prospect of dukedom, you expected him to be tangled with women in a corner, drunk out of his mind. But he simply stands with a shorter man, that you surmise is some advisor or friend of his, too old to be a squire.

As if feeling eyes on him, his gaze meets yours. 

You like to think that you are above all those silly notions and admirations, that you only want to learn the ways of the court and survive it, excel in it, even. 

But the moment your eyes meet his, you are frozen. Everything seems to stop, everything but the electrifying sensation of his gaze–deep, dark and intense– meeting yours. You feel it in every part of you, because suddenly, everything comes alive in you, things you never existed. 

Your heart thuds uncontrollably.

 But your mind is not racing, it’s not going anywhere at all—there is no thought other than the realisation, that he is beautiful—not exactly the sharp, princely, kind–although it is there, he has something more, something different—he is beautiful with his big brown eyes–sharp but not exactly arrogant, there’s something worse. 

No, no, no. Don’t do that. You are no royalty, you will get no chance to clean up your mistakes.

You chastise yourself and look down at your empty goblet after offering him a polite smile, deliberately making sure that it is no different from the one you offered while welcoming the rest of the guests for the evening. 

But it does not help that you still feel his gaze.

—--

You wish you could wake up to the position of the sun you wanted. But that is the luxury only the royal family enjoys here and the noble ladies who aren’t the Queen’s Lady-in-Waiting. Besides, you are to oversee the cleaning of the Grand Hall before the King wakes. Everything is supposed to be pristine and shining.

“The corner is still not done, and carpet—is that…” The putrid smell of vomit greets you as soon as you step closer to the ‘mysterious’ stain on the carpet in the hall. “Forget cleaning this, the carpet needs to be replaced.” You dismiss the servants, urging them to be quicker.

You look around the place. Wine stains on the walls, splattered food, some pearls, some shoes, even some clothes left behind. It seems like after you left the place has been through a wild ride.

“Much to clean up?” 

Turning to the entrance of the hall, you find an unexpected face.

“My Lord.” You greet him in your Kingdom’s fashion of formality.

“Don John. That’s my name.” He saunters inside, looking around before your eyes again for an official greeting. 

While something tells you that the belated greeting was neither custom nor negligence, you do not pay heed to his boyish attempt to ruffle your feathers. Subtle, typical of courtly politics but never amiss.

“Prince Don John, it is an honour to meet you, but I’m afraid this…” You look around, partly embarrassed with the mess, though it was most definitely, the Spanish guest’s doing. “Is no place for any of our esteemed guesses to be.”

“Please, you embarrass me, My Lady, I’m afraid my brothers and men have much hand in this…mischief. They get drunk so often and so easily, lose their gentlemanly coats.”

This makes a genuine smile press press out stubbornly. He sports no accent that might give away his Spanish heritage, you notice.

“We are most honoured to have your brave and virtuous men in our palace, and the Crown Prince, for the Princess’s hand.” 

Don John smiles down at you, he is tall, you notice–lean but athletic.

“The court here is most polite and charming.” 

Oh, only if he knew the thrones hiding under the roses.

“Of course it is.” You reply. 

His smirk tells you that maybe he is not as new to this game as you surmised.

“They say my mother was from this land.”

“Here?”

“I am not sure ‘here’, but, somewhere from this beautiful land. His Highness, my…father, says I have her eyes and his temperament.”

“The Emperor of Spain has been most generous with us.”

Don John smiles and looks ahead as you both make your way towards the spring garden—now beginning to turn brown with the onset of autumn.

“I assume this court is not too different from ours, after all, people like us get the opportunity to rise,” he comments, lightly tracing the vines as you two make your way deeper into the garden.

“I’m afraid, my Lord, unlike you, I have no royal blood or upbringing.” 

Don John frowns, you read the questions before they come to his lips and explain yourself.

“My father was a blacksmith who forged a few good swords for the nobility. God bless our kind and generous Queen, she took me under her wing, and took care of my learnings of books and mannerisms.”

“I see” 

There is a slight smile, that does not seem anywhere near mockery. You know what a smile veiling a scowl looks like. His smile has no malice peeking subtle, it is just a courteous smile---either that or he is good at hiding it. It confuses you more. There is no straight line he can be read through. He is no open book. A puzzle, yes, that he is, a puzzle that has all its pieces scattered around. 

All.

Nothing is hidden from you for long.

—----

“And I wish I could smack his head—-” Maddy bursts into another fit of giggles, narrating her adventures during the welcome feast “Have you heard, it’s said that the Prince has never lost a single battle.” 

You shrug, fingers racing the leaves and flowers as you two stroll through the gardens. The Queen’s courtyard had some of the most stunning autumn blooms, along with the fallen leaves on the damp ground. The faraway mist gives the stretches of land beyond the place walls an eerie beauty.

“But some say that he has never lost a war, because in every war, his half-brother, Don Juan has fought by his side. Crushing the enemies like ants.”

“Ants?” You chuckle. I do not doubt Don John’s capabilities on the battlefield, but  slaying enemies like ants is slightly an exaggeration.”

“Yes, could be, or perhaps he is indeed the finest sword Spain has ever witnessed? No wonder the Emperor wants to keep his loyalty.”

“And is he not a threat instead?”

“Why would he be so?” 

You sigh and gaze at the forming mist beyond the palace walls. Most of the view is interrupted by guards standing taut like stretched bows.

“I’ve heard rumours, the Queen, sometimes, I heard her say, that Don Juan, though, to the world younger than the Crown Prince, is in reality, two autumns older.

“What?” Maddy ducks her head and looks at you in disbelief “None of….” Licking her lips, looks around before lowering her voice to whisper “None of the letters ever mentioned.”

“It’s just a rumour, we don’t know the truth.”

“If the Queen’s spy says that…”

“Never heard her mention the source, it was a passing comment.” You explain

“Why would the Emporer give him Dukedom then? He’s a threat to his succession.” 

Maddy is right, Don John indeed is more of a threat than an ally if seen through the shrewd lenses, and you know that all the glories and virtues are nothing more than grand shows— carnival under the roof of sorts.

“Maybe, they want to keep him close. He crushes the enemies like ants, you said it yourself”

“They say he swings his mind in battle strategies more than his sword.” She adds after a moment of thought.

“Then he is a dangerous man.”

“If the Princess marries the Prince, they must produce an heir as soon as they can.”

You sigh and turn to a wilted rose.

“They must. We need the Spanish Ships, a war might be stirring soon.”

******

[alpaca-clouds]

The Haitian Revolution

Yeah, okay. I guess to properly do the history thing, I also have to talk about the Haitian Revolution, don't I? Given that it is so important for the backstory of both Annette and Edouard.

Why didn't I do that so far? Because the Haitian Revolution is super hard to talk about because of the sources. A bit issue is that for a good part of it we only have French sources, that are not always the most... neutral. Because a lot of the rebelling slaves had never learned to write. As such, we actually do not know a lot about the side of the rebels until some Free Blacks started to take their side and lead the rebellion.

But I know a bit.

So, let me explain what I know.

Haiti (St. Domingue specifically, the French side of the island) was build exclusively on slave work. There were plantation there for indigo, sugar and coffee for the most part. And those plantation were very important for the French economy. And of course it was slaves working those plantations.

On the island there was a three class system (though if we are honest, it was a four class system).

Whites, who were free people and citizens of France. (Though in truth there was a difference between the plantation owning whites and those whites, who were not of the owning class.)

Free Black people. What differed in Haiti from the US for example is that it happened quite often that children of rape (white owners on Black slaves) would be freed and even adopted as children. While not considered citizens, they could own things, including their own plantations. (Yes, there were quite a few of these that owned slaves.)

Slaves, who outnumbered all other people on the island somewhere between seven to one and ten to one.

Now, most slaves did not survive the first three years after getting to the island. Many died in fact in their first year, because the working conditions were so harsh, they often did not receive food, were severely punished (through it receiving infections and such), and of course there was just the general issue of sicknesses.

There were people rebelling a long while and from what we know (again, there is so little in terms of sources) there were some escaped slaves living in the mountains and at times using guirella tactics. But there was not quite the move for a widespread rebellion starting...

That was until the French Revolution started. Once more the gentle reminder: The French Revolution took a long while to brew and originally was not a violent revolution, it only became violent in response to the violent oppression of it. Now, the people on St. Domingue were instructed not to talk about the Revolution, because some folks rightly assumed that it might give people ideas. Especially as among the Revolutionaries there was a big discussion about the abolition of slavery.

But in the end... Well, it did not work out and the freed slaves banded together for a proper uprising in 1791.

It is this uprising that we see in Nocturne. I have seen some people being very shocked in the human on human violence we see there, because folks are really whimpy when it comes to that. So, a little explanation: Originally (in the 1791) uprising the slave uprising was once again not very violent. Almost everyone who got killed was connected to immense abuses of slaves. The rebels tried to spare everyone who treated their slaves kindly. As such within that first uprising only 400 whites got killed, compared to 4000 Black people, as the French were much better armed.

Still, the rebels managed to capture part of the island.

It should be noted: This is probably around the time when Annette and Edouard left. They captured some plantation, and freed quite a few more slaves.

There would follow quite a bit of back and forth then. Especially between Haiti and the French Republic. And I would not be surprised if we were to see that in the coming season(s).

Mostly, because the Revolitionaries went back and forth between whether Free Black people could be citizens who got to vote or not. Making the Free Blacks, who originally were against the revolution, more and more take the side of the rebels.

And yes, it would get more and more violent. Because France and then later Britain, too (who did not agree with France on many things - but on saving slavery) threw thousands upon thousand of soldiers in fighting down the revolution with extreme violence, leading the Haitian Revolutionaries to answer this violence with their own violence.

But for the love of God, do not go there and be like: "Ugh, violence. Violence bad." Like, fuck that. I said that about Isaac before as well: Slaves freeing themselves have the right to use whatever violence necessary for that.

[fadingdaggerr]

all bark, some bite - l.w.

pairing: larissa weems x gn!reader (no pronoun or name use for reader)

summary: parents’ weekend is a time of stress, especially when an addams is now a student, and her mother and the principal have a fun little history behind them

warnings: fully using morticia as a plot device (sorry tish baby i luv u), suggestive ending

note: i have no idea what happened to this fic

the closer parents’ weekend grew, the more antsy larissa became. she typically has gone over every little detail three, four, five times by now. every year she takes great consideration into everything, wanting the parents to see the nevermore in all her glory, down to having every knickknack in every common space dusted and polished to perfection. but this year felt different. the tension in her shoulders was tighter this year, her pacing more pointed, her sleep dwindling by the day, and if none of this was enough, the now eight rechecks of plans was starting to look a little crazy.

when the day arrived, she was somehow more tense than she had been for the last two weeks. usually once the day began, she had been confident and excited, but today, she fiddled with her wedding band nonstop, watching as parents arrived and greeted their children.

walking up beside her, i lean in so my voice only reached her, “everything looks great, baby, relax a little bit. the students look happy, the schedule’s fun, you look stunning as always, everything’s in order.”

“you have got to stay close by me at all times,” is all she says.

“as much as i would love that, i have to be in my classroom to answer parent questions for the first couple hours. but, i would love to sneak in a visit my favorite girl,” i smile to her, pressing my lips to her clothed shoulder, and i can see some tension reduce a little.

“i will be holding you to your word on that,” she grabs my hand, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. i pull her hand to my own lips, returning the favor, not missing the way her eyes light up.

in their mini tours, many of my students brought their parents to my classroom. most got a full report of the class from their children, meaning i was just there to deliver pleasantries, admittedly spruce up the behavior of some students when parents asked, and accept compliments on my book collection.

tall floor to ceiling bookshelves covered the west-facing wall of my room, a rolling ladder allowing me to reach the very top shelves. the top shelves were reserved for only the greatest of my collection, the rare and beautiful ones. books the students enjoy were closer to their reach, the ladder being a no-go for any of them. i always kept books larissa loved at her own eye-level, she had yet to notice it was on purpose, so her little excitement was a special treat whenever she gazed at the shelf.

after two hours of meetings that ended with a lively conversation with eugene’s moms, i thought i would finally be able to retreat back to wherever larissa may be. as i started to head out the door when a familiar, dark presence blocked my path to the hall.

“hello, wednesd-”

“principal’s office, now.”

“i’m doing great, thank you so much for asking wednesday,” i say monotonously, “and why am i so kindly being summoned to the principal’s office?”

“i’m saving her, and by proxy, you, a headache,” and she leaves. a hefty dose of ‘no context’ from wednesday addams, no day is complete without it anymore.

i make my way to larissa’s office, knocking gently before peeking my head in, “riss?”

“darling, what are you doing here?” she asks as she moves from her desk and makes her way over to me, both hands grabbing mine, pulling me closer.

“wednesday addams. she sent me here to ‘save you and myself a headache,’ whatever that means,” i say with a shrug, placing a sweet kiss to her cheek.

“i hope we don’t find out,” her hands moving, arms wrap around my waist, my own going around her neck.

“me neither. a nice, headache free day sounds phenomenal,” i say while adjusting the chain of her necklace, “how has your day been, my angel?”

she lets out a deep breath, “probably about as interesting as yours so far, but i would say it’s much better now,” she finishes her sentence with a short kiss to my lips.

i hum in agreement, and just as i go to pull her back in, there’s a knock as the door. we jump apart before larissa calls for whoever knocked to enter. the door opens, and i see a woman, dressed in a long, black gown enter the room. she’s smiling with adoration at the shorter man next to her, love for the woman evident in his gaze.

larissa’s eyes widen as she freezes in place. this is what she had been dreading, morticia addams.

the woman looks back towards the room, “larissa!”

“morticia! lovely to see you.”

ah, the headache, i think to myself, just as she begins to approach me. wednesday looks more homicidal than usual, and i can’t help but share the feeling.

“why hello there, morticia addams,” she sticks her hand out for me to shake. before i can introduce myself, she speaks again shutting me down, “and this is gomez, my husband,” gomez grabs her hand, kissing up her arm, muttering terms of endearment in spanish, “and my son, pugsley.”

“well, it sure is certainly nice to meet all of you,” my smile is fake, but morticia doesn’t seem to notice the insincerity, so i continue, “wednesday is fantastic in my literature of the macabre class. she has been at top of my class since she started, which has not been unexpected.”

i almost feel as if i’m bragging about how well my own child is doing in class, and i can see as larissa smiles softly at my words.

“that is fantastic to hear, our little viper is a master of the macabre,” gomez praises his daughter, the action making wednesday scowl harder, but making me smile slightly.

the addams’ sat across from larissa, i stood to larissa’s right, offering her support with my presence. discussions of wednesday’s academics and extracurriculars continued for a little bit. i stayed quiet for most of it, happy to be with my wife, also hoping i could be a buffer between her and morticia. i had been filled in, well before we got married, about how cruel morticia was to larissa later in their academy years. i also stayed for wednesday, who wouldn’t admit that she needed someone else in her corner when her parents were around. all conversation came to sudden halt when morticia let out a gasp.

“how could i have not seen that? larissa, you never mentioned you had gotten married,” she grabs larissa’s left hand, pulling it close to look at her ring. a shudder moves down my back at the contact.

“it wasn’t relevant the last we spoke, and before that we hadn’t seen each other since we graduated, so why when would i have said anything?” larissa is calculated in her response, letting me know this interaction had been something of worry to her.

“goodness, when did this happen? must not have been long ago, or else i would’ve heard, i’m sure,” morticia responds, and i almost laugh at her certainty.

“it’s been seven years as of september, as a matter of fact. and we were together for five years before that. it was a very private ceremony, we only had our closest loved ones in attendance,” larissa answers as she pulls her hand back, looking at her ring with a soft smile, a light blush painting her cheeks at the memory. i bite my tongue to hide my own smile.

“private ceremony, private answers, not even a photo in here larissa,” morticia gestures around the office, and the anger in me grows slowly.

“with students, staff, faculty, parents, and even law enforcement regularly in my office, i would rather not have my personal life on display. what’s mine is private,” she says the last part lowly, a warning to morticia that she must tread lightly, but her tone ignites a fire in the pit of my stomach.

this warning is noted by a raised brow, but is violently ignored when she looks larissa in the eye with a pathetic frown and says, “please don’t tell me you settled?”

larissa’s face immediately grows dark, her hands flattening against her desk, she starts to rise out of her seat. to avoid a small war in the middle of the office, i take a step forward and speak in her place, “i believe ‘settling’ is more of a subjective concept,” my eye contact is sharp and unwavering, “in my opinion, she most definitely did settle, outrageously settled. but from her words, at the very least, i would say she does not share the same sentiment as i do,” the emphasis on ‘very’ has larissa’s head whipping my way at the innuendo, “some would say marrying your high school sweetheart is settling, but i’m not one to judge,” pugsley snorts, wednesday’s eyes shoot to him in a playful manor, clearly enjoying this just as much,“well, not one to judge often, as my mother used to say, ‘everyone has a taste, whether or not they should have be pickier is up to the heavens.’ quite the phrase, don’t ya think?”

morticia’s mouth shuts immediately, her eyes shooting to larissa’s to ask for help. she has nothing to offer her former roommate, other than holding back her own laughter.

“anyways, i should be on my way, poetry club meeting starts in 30 minutes, and i have to get the room set up for the parents,” i say with a smile towards the addams. “it was lovely letting you mister and missus addams, you too pugsley. i will see you in class next week, pretty please remind enid to read the chapter, do not give her the gist of it,” i point to wednesday as i speak, “and you,” i turn to larissa, “i will see you at home,” i kiss the top of her forehead to end my goodbye, my left hand on her shoulder, matching wedding band on display.

i pat her shoulder once more before walking towards the door, i turn to look at her, right as i’m about to close the door and blow her a kiss. she smiles softly and rolls her eyes at my antics.

“anything else you would like to discuss?”

— — — — —

my day, thankfully, ended after the poetry club meeting. a side road only a couple miles past the campus gates brought me to a dark green, two story house with brown trim. a wrap porch with vines growing up after years of free roaming, but neat from snipping and reshaping them when they got unruly. this wasn’t just some house, it was the home larissa and i now shared.

getting home, my shoes slid off before i even unlocked the door. keys were on the hook, bag on the seat by the door, jacket on the peg, shoes thrown on the floor. i make my way go our bedroom, purposefully going to her closet for a sweatshirt, grabbing a light grey one, and a pair of my own sleep shorts from my top drawer.

larissa comes home silently while i was a focusing on not burning the vegetables in the pan. she follows a similar pattern to me, only neater and quieter. i don’t notice her presence until i’m adding the vegetables to the sauce, and two long, pale arms wrap around my middle. i continue my task with her draped around me, stirring the vegetables in, spinning the spice rack in search of oregano and red pepper flakes.

“you are trouble” i laugh at her opening line, “at the very least, huh?”

“children were present, and in my defense, those particular ones have definitely heard much worse from those horn-dogs,” i say like it’s nothing, making her laugh this time. “and you’re one to talk. ‘what’s mine is private’? good lord, riss,” i jokingly fan my face, and she laughs harder.

“i stand by my statements,” she pinches my side, “especially the one where i disagree with you on me settling. i don’t settle, if i wanted to i could’ve long ago, but i waited for the right person and found you,” she whispers the end into my ear.

“and look at you now, with a much better last name,” i add the noodles to the sauce, “could’ve been missus larissa antoinette weems-fru- LARISSA!” i squeak as a hand smacks against my ass, laughing immediately.

“don’t even start, gods you even brought the middle name into it,” she laughs with me, her head resting against my shoulder.

i pick up a sauce-drenched noodle on a spoon, raising it to her lips, she gladly takes the bite, groaning happily at the taste. biting back a comment about the noise, i start to prepare dishes to serve on. larissa stays glued to my back, following each of my steps around our kitchen.

“i may need you around for more parent-principal meetings, especially ones involving… particularly difficult cases,” larissa says into my neck, avoiding the use of morticia’s name, as if it would summon her if spoken.

“you name the time and place, i’ll happily be wherever you need me. i can be like your guard dog,” i laugh a little at the notion.

“perhaps a ‘beware of dog’ sign outside my office may be needed,” she jests as she pulls away to set the table.

with dinner finished, and a bottle of wine later, larissa and i lay on the couch together, my fingers weaving through her hair as her head rested on my chest, her hands wandering every now and then from my abdomen, down my legs, and back up. i scratched my fingertips against her scalp, a noise just short of a purr comes from the back of her throat. we stay in this silence for a while, relaxing from the day, knowing tomorrow still had a slim chance to be incident free. loving her and being loved by her was all there was at this moment.

her head raises from my chest, i also pout at the loss of the comforting weight against my chest. tired, larimar eyes find mine, and i feel my heart skip a beat, her beauty has never failed to surprise me. someone like her, someone this beautiful, chose me.

she stares a little longer before sweetly saying, “you’d make a horrible guard dog,” and my jaw drops slightly, i’m utterly gobsmacked. i had been expecting a loving comment, or even a lustful one, not whatever this was.

i look at her for another moment before gathering my thoughts. i piece together the only thing that feels right to say at a time like this, “what the fuck?”

“you’re awfully cute, darling. i don’t think they’d find you scary,” she leans down to kiss the middle of my chest through my (her) sweatshirt, then looking back up at me. she made a point, i was not nearly as intimidating up front as she was.

larissa was intimidating just to look at. she’s gorgeous, tall, and clearly professional. she could talk her way out of anything, and just as easily talk her way in, just with her wit. all of this, this perfectly sculpted image, could be brought down by a little beetle crawling on the wall. a beetle i would be called in to crush, but instead would end up being guided onto a paper towel and released back into nature.

“well, they’d be mistaken then. and apparently so are you. you’d think my own wife would know me better,” i scoff, but the smile on my face betrays the feigned attitude. she laughs, and smile grows wider and wider. “i’ll let this insult on my character slide, only because of the wine, and definitely not because i love you so much,” i continue, and she groans playfully.

she puts her head back down on my chest, arms giving me a squeeze, “i love you more, and seriously though, thank you for being there today. and just so you know, for the rest of this weekend, you are not leaving my side.”

i chuckle, “as if i could even dream of it,” wrapping my arms around her snugly, “you know stuck with me forever, you’re the one who put a ring on it,” i pepper the top of her head in kisses as she tries not to laugh.

her head nudges up, she buries herself in my neck. i hide my own face in her soft hair, inhaling her scent. i feel her lips pressing along the column of my throat, moving upwards. little nips marked the trail to my jaw, kisses as she moves to the side more. one final tug of my earlobe by her teeth brings me back to full attention. her voice lowers, “how about i show you at the very most how much i love you?”

bit of a longer fic to make up for the lack of them in the last week. feedback is, as usual, appreciated greatly :)

[annaofaza]

Inspired by this funny post about exactly what Knives would have done with multiple Plant babies had his plan succeeded. Warning: this fic is considerably less funny.

After everything, Wolfwood finds himself defaulted to child-minder.

This wildly amuses Zazie—who pops in and out of Eden with their swarm—and pleases Legato, who seems to think Wolfwood's bought the company line after seeing "the glory of Master Knives' power." He doesn't know if the news has gotten back to the Eye of Michael, whether the lucky few laugh behind their hands at the thought of the Punisher essentially being a babysitter, but Wolfwood doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks.

Less blood on his hands, he'd mused one night. You've always wanted me to stop killing, tongari; it only took... His tongue then crept into his throat, and he trained himself to never think of it again.

There's no denying that Knives isn't exactly happy about a human being around the "chosen," but there's no denying he didn't plan anything long-term for multiple Plant children, and Wolfwood—the faithful, compliant Punisher who made the miracle possible with his betrayal—can be entrusted, or at the very least, bent to his will. After all, his contract with the Eye may be over, but he doesn't trust Knives to trot out the old threat about the orphanage.

And when it comes down to it, the kids are better off with as little interaction with Knives—and Conrad and Elendira and Legato and the Eye—as much as possible. Maybe, Wolfwood thinks, he can spare at least one life if they’re around him enough, that they learn that all humans aren't monsters.

Despite the circumstances of their birth, he knows Vash, if he were here, would have treated them kindly, and really, it isn’t in Wolfwood to act otherwise; some kids back in Hopeland had similar terrible beginnings, and God knows it wasn't their fault.

But he takes one day at a time, playing tag in green grassy fields that are almost a pleasure to fall on, cajoling them to eat another bite of the terrible nutritious slop Conrad cooks up for them, retelling the same bedtime tales Miss Melanie used to recite to the younger ones. Even when they howl like kestrels (with Castor slicing up several packs of cigarettes), when Elendira waltzes in to pinch and prod and taunt (Orion can’t speak for days afterwards and Capella still won’t go near any humans besides Wolfwood), when he’s so tired that he can’t slip his shoes on (sometimes he barely manages to button his shirt), Wolfwood makes it work.

Add the fact that half of the Plant bunch didn't seem to have powers, and while that didn't guarantee them a short life being poked and prodded in Conrad's lab—Wolfwood had heard a hissed exchange, something about a Tesla—Knives seems more detached from them all the same, despite his initial proclamation of "Look at Vash. We thought the same of him. Leave them be, and they might turn out useful."

It had taken all of Wolfwood's strength that day not to punch him.

He tries not to think beyond that. 

The kids are growing fast, though. He fears what will happen when Knives takes an active interest in them, but does the best he can, teaching letters and numbers and colors and bits of Earth history. They all resemble Knives—light-colored hair and marble-blue eyes—yet already have a startling variety of personalities. Izar, for instance, is sharp-tempered and prone to bursts of throwing the nearest objects at walls; Ursa and Adhara cling together all the time, but Regulus and Vega prefer to be on opposite sides of the room; Perseus is an utter clown, making his siblings burst into giggles every chance he gets; and Aster... out of everyone, Aster is most like Vash: protective, kind, and tender in a world that, especially now, takes advantage of stomping anything sweet out.

One day, Wolfwood’s perched underneath a tree, watching the kids play another round of hide-and-seek and occasionally glancing down at Pollux as he devours another anthology about flowers, when Aster plops right into his lap.

He smiles. “Don’t feel like joining them, Aster?”

“No,” Aster says, and yawns widely, showing off his baby teeth.

“What’s up, kiddo? Didn’t sleep last night?”

“Sort of...” Aster looks up at him, seeming to hesitate before saying, “Do you dream, Nico?”

Nico still reminds him of Livio, but Wolfwood never has the heart to correct them. “Sometimes,” he says, hoping Aster doesn’t ask of what. “Did you have one?”

Aster wrinkles his nose. “It was different than the others.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Like...” Aster prods his cheek with his tongue, thinking. “Castor said it was stupid.”

“Let me be the judge of that. What was it?” He hopes it’s not another nightmare about bugs; Zazie showing off the worms to the kids always gives at least one of them the creeps. Aquila still can’t look at an earthworm without bursting into tears.

“I thought I saw... I saw our Father,” Aster says, “but he was different. He had these strange clothes on, with... glasses on his face? Like yours, but they were orange. And round."

Wolfwood’s heart jolts in his chest. It takes all of his control not to leap up, to keep his smile steady, to ask calmly, “And?”

“I felt... safe. Like I do around you. He was in a room like this, but with these bundles of red flowers. Geraniums, like Pollux told us about the other day.” Aster tilts his head, watching Ursa and Regulus tackle each other, shrieking with laughter, as Castor complains that no one’s paying attention to the game at all. Aster shakes his head apologetically when Capella tries to wave him over. “And this word came to me, too, in the breeze. Vash?”

Wolfwood lets out a shaky breath.

“He’s the other angel, isn’t he?” Aster asks. “The one on the windows and paintings and everything.”

Wolfwood’s throat tightens. “Yeah,” he manages.

“Our Creator,” Aster continues, plucked from the familiar spiel Knives gives them on days where he feels like the kids aren’t appreciative enough. “But he seemed sad. Why would he be, if he’s in Paradise?”

“Who told you that?” Wolfwood asks, a bit too sharply.

Wolfwood swallows and looks up, trying not to show any emotion. “I... I don’t know if I can answer that question.”

"I thought you knew him?”

Aster flinches a little, but answers, “Zazie.”

Wolfwood inwardly curses. He’s going to beat their ass. What the hell possessed Zazie to do such a thing? “I did. But it was a long time ago.”

“Can you tell me about him?”

“I...” Wolfwood trails off. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to, but more than that, how can he? I loved your father, and I betrayed him. He wasn’t like the Knives you all hero-worship, distant and cool and powerful. He was... he would have...

He remembers the vines swallowing up Julai. The screams that lasted for days, weeks, afterwards, along with the sucking bursts of breath and blood. The strangely beautiful purple blooms, their scent that still lingers in the walls. The endless litany of a piano playing that same damn song, over and over.

The howl that burst from his lips when he saw Vash, encased in stone, lips rounded in a silent scream.

“Nico?”

He stares into Aster’s earnest face, glad that his sunglasses are hiding the moisture building underneath his eyelids. He has kind eyes. “Yeah?”

“I think he wanted to talk to me, but couldn’t. But you can, Nico. Right?”

“Have you told Kn—your Father about this?”

“No. Should I?”

Wolfwood shakes his head. “I don’t know if that’s necessary, Aster.” He doesn’t know how Knives will react, and refuses to think of more than Vash is dead. You’ve known this for years. He doesn’t dare. Hasn’t even looked in the room where Vash is as good as a statue, arms stretched by the same knives that rise from his shoulderblades like wings.

But he looks at Aster. Vash’s son. Doesn’t he deserve to know him? Doesn’t Vash deserve more than to be a story?

"I called your father tongari," he begins, closing his eyes, "because of his hair. It stuck up in spikes, like this—" he gently arranges Aster’s into pointed tufts. "He was blonde, like you, but a shade darker than your hair. And he had eyes like yours, as blue as the desert sky. His favorite treat in the whole world was freshly-baked doughnuts, sprinkled with crystals of sugar, and when he laughed, it was like the sun coming out. He was a quick shot, too, but could never hurt anyone..."  

[art-and-a-half]

TADC PART 2 SPOILERS INDER THE CUT (spoilers for characterisation and the plot outline + major events) (long post ahead)

The way Jax being portrayed as a legitimate asshole who doesn't care about the NPCs in quests just makes him so much more INTERESTING to me

Like everyone's reactions to the adventures sums up the different reactions to distractions in stressful times. It's like...

Okay, so the Circus is presented as some sort of world, without meaningful consequences, right? Throw a bunch of people into a world without consequences (like,,, videogames irl) and you're going to get a bunch of different reactions to it!

~

Ragatha presents as an individual who wants to use the adventures that Cain presents as a positive distraction from the existential horror of the Circus itself. She is even acknowledged to have a history of issues surrounding the nature of The Circus from when she first arrived (evidenced by dialogue in the show, too lazy to pick specific examples, but she acknowledges it herself, source: trust).

But at the end of the day, she is a member of the system. She treats the adventures as what Cain presents them as, just adventures. She refers to the people that exist in the world as NPCs. NPCs that she treats kindly, and with respect, but one's that she is disconnected from, as shown when Pomni expressed distress at the loss of Gummigoo. Stating that Cain sometimes reuses NPCs, so it's "not too bad".

So in a world without consequence, she strives to do the adventures/quests in the "right" way. Heroically and all that jazz.

~

Jax on the other hand is someone who is also using the adventures as a positive distraction from the circus. While he presents in a nihilistic, unbothered way, it's clear from his responses that he greatly cares about what he can "get out of" The experiences the Circus provides.

After all, why would he be so disappointed that The Fudge was destroyed, if he truly didn't care about anything? He does care. He just wants something different out of the adventures. He wants destruction, a sense of control.

His behaviours reflect many disenfranchised peoples ones when in crisis situations. Presenting with a lackadaisical attitude, and getting joy out of things they can control. After all, most people wouldn't want to have the Fudge come and destroy things, so he gets to take agency and make the decision without anyone else getting pleasure from it.

Is it right? Probably not. But in a world where there are no consequences, it makes sense that he would watch a city get destroyed for the joy of it.

We also see moments of vulnerability in Jax outside of his frustration when things don't go his way. He expresses a moment of sadness at the mention of Kaufmo's funeral service, before he forces himself back into the mask of indifference and disgust.

Ergo, in the face of a non consequential system, Jax says "fuck it, burn it all down"

~

Zooble also represents typical responses to distraction methods in the face of adversity. With uncaringness. Their refusal to participate in Cain's adventures (unless explicitly forced to, like in episode 1) reflects a complete disconnect from the offered mechanisms that Cain provides.

After all, why participate when it doesn't mean anything to you? Zooble presents as the disinterested individual, who, similarly to Jax, does care about events within the Circus, but does not desire to use the coping mechanisms that it provides.

In the face of a world without consequence. They do not care for it.

~

Kinger presents an entirely different coping mechanism from his peers. Kinger, underneath the pressures of the Circus, has disconnected from the reality around him. While he has moments of clarity, and even shows interest in things people say, it seems to be filtered through layers of dissociation and uncomprehending.

When asked direct questions, it's a toss up whether he can 1) hear the question 2) comprehend it correctly and 3) be able to respond but only once.

He's shown to have a depth of knowledge, but it's out of his reach. And when faced with a world without consequence, he doesn't seem to fully grasp it. Instead, going only for the ride.

~

Gangle is an interesting case, where her fearful personality pushes her to agree with the sentiments of those around her. What she believes in seems to be kindness, but it's difficult to tell how exactly she feels about the adventures, and the Circus, as she often reacts to what others do, rather than pushing herself to the forefront.

Case in point, while driving, Gangle appears very nervous, and when Jax comments on using violence against the croco bandits, she doesn't directly go against it. Instead, she makes a small comment about violating a convention. Not "that's wrong" or "I dont think we should do that", but a reflection of law and order.

We haven't really seen her without the pressures of external influences (particularly Jax). So while we can make some assumptions about her intentions (she probably doesn't want to hurt people) it's difficult to see deeper reasoning beyond "not wanting to upset anyone".

So, when Gangle is presented with an adventure with no consequences, she reacts to it, rather than enforces her own will onto the environment.

~

And finally, Pomni.

In a world of no consequence, she finds them. She does not fullt accept the narrative Cain constructs, that the adventure is inconsequential (a distraction), that there is no exit.

She gets presented with a "fact" (I.e., there is no exit), and immediately (either through her own determination, or chance), finds deeper meaning and alternate paths.

There was an exit door. True, it didn't lead to the outside world, but it existed. Pomni proved that. She continued for ages, down paths of endless corridors, to prove that everyone was wrong, until she found the void.

The mission was to stop some bandits and get the syrup back? She instead fell through the floor of the map, and found friendship in what was meant to be an NPC with no consciousness.

Pomni is the person, that when presented with an impossible situation, finds ways around it.

Cain is the one who takes her progress and resets it. (Taking her out of the void, popping Gummigoo)

While we can't be certain of Cain's intent just yet (beyond being a representation of/being the system that the characters are stuck in), we can ascertain one thing.

Pomni, when faced with a world without consequence, finds that there is in fact, a cost to the world

[eventinelysplayground]

When Bonds Are Broken

This is a fic that I have had the idea with for so long and I just finally finished it. It is going to be a 3 part fic, with the others being POV fics. I just can't cover all the in depth emotions, thoughts etc that I want to in one fic so I decided this was the best way to get all of it. I started with the overall fic because it was easiest and not as emotionally heavy as the POV fics will be. That said this fic still does deal with what happened just ata more only scratching the surface way. Silvio and his father begin a long overdue conversation with uncertain results. WC approx 2523. CW/TW ⚠️: Contains spoilers for Silvio's route, this also mentions Alfios past treatment of Silvio and why it happened. There is also mild swearing. If Silvio and his Dads history/relationship bothered you then you may want to skip this one.

“You expect me to stay here? What if-”

“Silvio.”

Lidia may not have been Queen anymore but she still had an air of command about her and she made use of it now. Silvio shut his mouth for the time being and just listened.

“I understand you're worried but trust me, I've given birth myself in case you've forgotten and what Emma needs now is fresh air and exercise.”

Silvio frowned and was about to start arguing again when Lidia laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I promise you I will keep very close to her and make sure nothing happens. You’ve kept Emma in this room for the last week. It's time you let her move about again, you can trust me, Silvio.”

Of course he trusted Lidia, she had always treated him kindly even after what his mother had done to her and she adored Emma but he was still worried. The birth had been hard on Emma and she was still healing. He was afraid something may happen to her or slow down her recovery.

“Please Silvio, I'd love to go outside. I promise I won't go far or overdo it.”

Between Emma's pleading eyes and Lidia’s commanding tone he knew he wasn't going to win this one anymore.

“Fine, but only in the garden and only for half an hour! If you're gone even a minute longer I'm coming to get you and-”

Emma flung her arms around Silvio's neck and kissed him on the cheek.

“Oh thank you Silvio!”

“Just what the hell do you think you're doing!?”

“Come Emma let's go.”

Lidia gently tugged on Emma's elbow and began to lead her to the door when Silvio called out to them.

“Wait what if he-”

Without stopping their escape Lidia called over her shoulder.

“I'm sure you'll figure it out just fine Silvio, I have immense faith in you!”

And with that the door to Emma's room shut with a gentle thud.

“Damn it.”

Silvio plopped down in a chair near the bassinet and let out a sigh before running a hand through his hair.

“You could of helped me out ya old fart.”

Silvio glared at his father who just snorted at him.

“Have you learned nothing in two years of marriage? Besides, this is more fun.”

“Rotten bastard.”

“You're the king yet still talking like that. I would have hoped you had learned some decency by now.”

“There's nothing wrong with-”

Just then the baby let out a tiny noise followed by loud crying.

“Shit.”

Silvio was quickly on his feet scooping up the infant and holding him to his chest. The baby settled but only momentarily before crying again. Silvio lightly bounced him while softly shushing him as he had seen Emma do but it didn't work.

“What's the matter? You ate already and you don't smell or feel wet. I’m not wearing anything that could bother ya or you could get caught in.”

The infant continued to cry and wail, his little face contorting. Silvio continued to gently bounce him but it was clear looking at his face he was quickly running out of ideas. He was about ready to send for Emma when his father stood up and walked over his exasperation evident on his face.

“Oh give him here.”

Alfio reached out for the baby but Silvio reflexively held him closer.

“Don't act like that, I raised three sons. I know what I'm doing.”

“The hell you did, you raised one son.”

Alfio scowled and grabbed the infant out of Silvio's arms than began rubbing circles over his back. He took a seat with the infant in the nearby chair and began alternating his circles with firm pats and soon enough the baby stopped crying followed by a very loud burp for such a tiny infant.

“There, all better now aren't you.”

Silvio watched the scene unfolding more confused than anything. It wasn't just that his father knew exactly what to do but the melancholy look in his eyes that had his thoughts tripping over themselves.

“How’d ya know that was what he needed?”

Alfio looked up at Silvio briefly before turning his attention back to the baby in his arms. He was silent for long enough that Silvio became aggravated and clicked his tongue.

“Fine, keep it to yourself, I don't need your damn help.”

Silvio reached out for his son and now it was Alfios turn to hold him closer.

“He looked just like you.”

“Huh?”

“When you were a newborn infant. You would wail and cry and scrunch your face up just like that any time you needed to be burped.”

Silvio's eyes were wide, he had never heard the old man's voice sound like this before. It was heavy with an edge of anger but also extreme sadness. He wasn't sure how to handle it so he stood there motionless looking down at the two of them.

“Despite everything that has happened between us I'm relieved that that's one thing you will never know. One thing that can never be taken from you…it's such a horrible thing, I would never wish it on anyone no matter how much I hated them.”

Silvio knew exactly what the old fart was talking about and for the first time he felt the tiniest bit of short lived sympathy for him. He took a seat on the footstool across from the chair and stared at his son while once again thinking how incredibly thankful he was to have found Emma.

“I won't lie, I was certain that was the way things were heading for you. The type of women you attracted was always the worst, not really surprising given your attitude. I'm still trying to figure out how a dog like you managed to get somebody so.. so pure and kind to fall in love with you.”

Silvio was pissed off now and reached out, taking his son back. The infant squirmed slightly but soon settled against his father's broad chest.

“Geez thanks.”

“What? I'm just telling the truth, if you can't handle it then maybe you should change your att-”

“Why do you hate me so damn much? What the hell did I ever do to you?”

Silvio had kept his voice low since his son was now falling asleep but the anger in it was unmistakable. Alfios eyes widened looking exactly like his sons had earlier, clearly stunned by the questions and Silvio just huffed seeing it.

“Forget it.”

Silvio kissed the top of his son's head content to just hold him and stare at him in silence but the old man recovered his senses almost immediately.

“I don't completely hate you, deep down I've always loved you in some way.”

“You sure as hell got a funny way of fucking showing it!”

“For once in your life just shut up and listen to me will you!”

Their voices had gotten louder but they both stopped when they heard a small whine come from the baby. Silvio immediately began swaying him gently from side to side to soothe him. The crisis averted, both men let out a sigh of relief and Alfio continued.

“I was so happy when you were born, no… happy isn't even the right word for how I felt, it was so much more than that.”

Silvio ran his hand over the top of his son's head, he knew the feelings his father was trying to describe.

“Then not two weeks later it was all shattered to pieces. Stolen away from me by that conniving horrid excuse for a woman.”

Silvio's involuntary shudder didn't go unnoticed by his father and he let out a sad chuckle.

“Those few simple words broke me that day. She was twisted and hateful enough she could have said it just out of spite but it didn't matter, once it was said there was no going back and she knew it. Your grandparents tried to reassure me, he has your eyes is what they'd all say. If blue eyes was all it took to make a kid mine I could be the father of thousands of children.”

Silvio looked up but instead of meeting the old man's gaze the former king was looking past him, his face twisted with decades of deep pain and anger.

“I found that I couldn't bear holding you... or even looking at you anymore. As the months went by and you grew and started to develop something of a personality it all just got worse. Everybody commented on how you were acting like me, how you'd grow up just like me and that woman, she'd just sit there smirking at me or make some backhanded comment like ‘we’ll see’. It made me sick and furious and every time I saw you do something that reminded me of myself or something that was nothing like me it just threw it in my face all over again that I would never know whose child you really were. Everything I felt towards you became so twisted, it was mental torture what I went through.”

“So what? You think that's an excuse for all the damn torture you put me through? Hell you were gonna kill me the last time if it wasn't for Emma and the damn mutt!”

“I don't need to excuse anything I did, especially not to you.”

Alfio leaned forward on the chair, his sharp eyes locked on Silvio's.

“You may think whatever you want about what I did but you will never have the faintest idea of what I went through, what I fought with, what I still fight with to this day over you.”

Alfio practically spat the words out at Silvio who leaned back from him while instinctually bringing up a large hand to shield his son. Alfio seemed to return to his senses and leaned back again, his face softening ever so slightly.

“There was a night not long after Emma had arrived in Benitoite that I saw the two of you together in the hallway. I don't remember exactly what was said but I do remember the way you two looked at each other, nobody can fake that look. Any doubts I had as to her motives vanished in that moment. As I continued to watch the two of you I found a weight I didn't even know I had lifted off me. It was from the fear you would go through what I had. Being tormented by uncertainty, your actions and your own feelings of insecurity and inferiority.”

Silvio started at those last words, the old man had always been such a blow hard he never even considered he could feel insecure or inferior about anything. Silvio was unsure whether to believe the old man or not so he simply asked him.

“Why did ya never say any of this before?”

“I don't owe you anything plus…this isn't something easily explained or understood. But now you have your own child, your own son and you know how wonderful and life changing it is.”

Alfio reached out and like Silvio had earlier he ran his hand over the baby's head.

“To have this perfect expression of your love, this tiny child who completely belongs to the both of you and, unfortunately for him, looks just like you.”

“Hey!”

“You know this joy now and know what it's like. You're in the best position you'll ever be in to imagine what it feels like, what it would do to you to have it all ripped mercilessly from you and thrown away. And even with all you know now your imagination will still never come close to the horrible truth of it all.”

Silvio didn't know what to say. He knew Emma loved him and would never but his mother was a different story. He had become familiar with her twisted cruelty at a young age and he knew how it had sent him reeling the day his mother so casually told him he may not be the king's son, how much it had tortured him since but none of that excused the old man's behavior.

“I told you I don't need to excuse anything. Empty apologies won't undo what's been done for either of us. Even with all the conflict and torment I went through I still continued to recognize you as my son, though admittedly I did so begrudgingly most of the time.”

“That's an understatement.”

“So what if it is, you still never lost your place here like you were so afraid of.”

Silvio's breath caught in his throat.

“Thought I didn't know about that, did you?”

Silvio said nothing, not wanting to confirm anything and Alfio huffed.

“You're easy enough to read, especially for those close to you. Even without that though I'm not so incompetent I couldn't pick up on the change in you. I thought about asking your mother to confirm my suspicions but what would have been the damn point, everything was so much worse after that.”

Silvio couldn't deny that and he clicked his tongue thinking about how his mother was probably laughing at them from hell.

“You’re a shitty father.”

“And yet I still made you king.”

“Ya because I forced your hand you old fart!”

“What does that matter, you still got what you always wanted!”

“What I wanted was the father that Valerio had!”

Silvio cursed internally when he realized he had said that out loud.

“The man that could have been that father for you died a long time ago, Silvio.”

There was a resigned bitterness and sense of loss in Alfios voice.

“I can promise you this though. Regardless of whose son you actually are, this little one is my grandson and I plan to be much better as a grandfather than I ever was as a father."

Silvio snorted.

“That ain't exactly hard considerin’ where you're starting from.”

“Watch your tongue with me, I may not be king anymore but I'm still your father!”

The air had been tense but somehow the familiar chastising had lightened the mood and Alfio leaned back further in his chair and began laughing.

“What's so funny?”

“I'm just thinking about when he grows up and starts talking back to you. I mean with the example you're setting and the way I've heard his mother sass you well…”

Silvio went to argue but very quickly thought better of it, not out of any respect for his old man but more because he was probably right.

"You'll be a good father Silvio, even with that mouth of yours."

“Rotten bastard.”

“Maybe so but that doesn't make me wrong, and that type of response is exactly what I'm talking about!”

That night as Silvio sat close by watching Emma and their son sleeping he thought back on everything the old man had said. He still thought he was trying to excuse away all his shitty behavior but in the end it didn't really matter. Nothing could repair the decades worth of damage that had been done but now, if nothing else, they could make sure that the horrors of the past remained just that.

[quicksilverlightning]

A Theory on Cogita

Some Discord dialogue left me theory crafting about Cogita, so let's jump in shall we? Thanks to @praazlwurm for help with the conclusion!

It's been common speculation that Cogita is long-lived/ immortal, and that she may have written the Ancient Verses. This round of conjecture relies upon the evidence of two things:

That Cogita has been around a While

That Cogita did indeed write the Old Verses

I will spend an eternity… until the one with the mission appears Old Verse, Number 11

It seems I'll be able to fulfill my duty at long last, thanks to you Cogita, during the first meeting

Alongside a claim that we have no evidence of:

That the Old Verses are true.

This is not to say that the Verses are wholesale falsehoods - much of them are certainly accurate, or as accurate as one can be when dealing with gods and events before recorded history. However, from the very beginning, Cogita has a... let's say ambivalent relationship with the truth. Even as the end of the world looms above, the truth has to be finessed out of her. At no point in our journey did she seek us out, not when people were being hurt, Pokemon were suffering in their frenzy, the various groups were on the edge of a peace that could break at any moment - why?

(I've heard any number of theories, but lets set them aside for now - the point is, Cogita had the ability to help at several points, and chose not to.)

Looking at the Old Verses, a number of them are concerned with either the existence of various beings of legend (1, 6, 7, 8, 16, 17), the Ancient Hero and his retinue (3, 4, 10, 11), or the writer (2, 9, 14). Cogita clearly knows quite a lot - yet, there are only two verses about the Celestica people (5, 20). Why does she seem to know more about ancient events than more recent ones? Or, at least, why are the ancient events written down, but not whatever tragedy befell the Celestica?

Which brings us to the only other known descendant of the Celestica, Volo.

The very first thing we hear from Cogita is not directed towards us, but to Volo:

Shirking your work to come pester me again? Even beneath a bleeding sky, you never change.

Cogita has no reason to distrust Volo pre-reveal, yet consistently treats him dismissively at best, numerous times over:

"Kindly spare me your doubts, young man. I know the old words and what they bid us do. How true they are isn't mine to know

How nonchalant you sound. How confident of successes to which you contribute nothing

"Watch"? Is that all you really do?

So what's her deal? Why is she so callous towards the only other member of her lost people? I believe the answer is in her very first line - she believes Volo has come once again to ask questions that she doesn't want to answer. Which of course leaves us with a different question: why doesn't she want to answer? Why is not only so accepting of the Celestica being forgotten, but actively hiding any information about them? Especially from someone with who she shares that culture?

And now, we leave hard-evidence-based hypothesizing and jump into the craziest thing I could come up with:

Cogita is responsible for the downfall of the Celestica.

Let's take a look at a Verse that I find very puzzling, Number 16:

"Heaven's crown, nearest to almighty Sinnoh… "Power of almighty Sinnoh, gather as stone at heaven's mount. "Stone, let your power flow— distort and bend the world around you."

This is not a verse describing something that already happened. This is written in present tense. This sounds like a summoning ritual.

And who is being summoned? Is the word "distort" not ample clue?

Now tell me, if this Giratina desires more than anything else to challenge almighty Arceus... where do you think it might appear?.. Exactly! Where one is closer to the heavens than any other place in Hisui! ...And where the space-time rift first opened!"

I propose that Cogita lost someone, as we read in Verse 2:

My own beloved is now gone from me, departed to a place I cannot reach.

And in her grief, she did something Unwise in an attempt to reclaim them. The Giratina statue in the Celestica Ruins was destroyed because, when they tried to stop her, Cogita turned its power upon her own people.

Still to my breast I clutch this hopeless dream, a futile wish for us once more to meet

And thus:

Once it shone upon us all, with all the warmth of welcome sun. "But now we weep, to grief we fall, starved of light now it has gone. Old Verse, Number 20

Further, I propose that is was Cogita who, however unintentionally, set Volo upon his path. She kept him distant from the only person from whom he could learn about his culture - herself - leaving exploring the ruins as his only option. One of these ruins, the Sacred Plaza, is where Verse 16 is found by the main character; Volo found that Verse at some point, and managed to infer enough to take the first step. Giratina once again manifests itself at the behest of a Celestican.

Enter the Player.

[in-deep]

If you could only pick one piece of Byler evidence to convince someone that Byler is endgame, what would you pick?

First off - I wrote this stream of consciousness style so please be kind aha.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this question and I think it’s simply the fact that if Mike is in fact straight, then what is his character arc?

Let me explain.

A lot of the GA view Mike as a glorified side character - sidelined after S2 to fulfil the role of El’s incompetent boyfriend whilst simultaneously leaving Will (his best friend) behind and treating him like a dick. The GA also view Mike as straight. For many GA viewers, the idea that Mike is gay/bi, let alone in love with Will, seems implausible and were it to happen, it would come out of nowhere.

Which leaves the question of: what is Mike’s character arc?

From this GA perspective, he doesn’t have one. He’s destined to make up with El in S5 and support her independence, and kindly turn Will down and go on with being besties like the supportive guy they remember him being in S1/S2. If anything, his character has regressed from the early seasons into a douchebag - a mouth breather. 

Not to mention that from this perspective, he has no real internal or external trauma to be unpacked. While this is obviously untrue as it has been made clear by the Duffer brothers and even within the show (Mike’s suicide attempt, Wheeler family discussion around his behaviour at school) that he is struggling with depression, that doesn’t seem to play into their predictions on his ending. If anything, many GA viewers don’t really view his character’s conclusion in S5 as something important because to them, (just to repeat my earlier point) he’s just a glorified side character.

Of course, if you watch the show carefully and focus on Mike, you’ll quickly realise that his character is dealing with a lot of the direct pressures of heteronormativity and internalised homophobia:

His family is your classic nuclear family, Nancy talks about the Wheeler family dynamic extensively in a heart-to-heart with Jonathan 

S1 has a lot of homophobia - all of it is about Will, but a lot of it is targeted and directed toward Mike

There are multiple times he is visually shown to come to realisations about his feelings toward El and Will, respectively. Now I won’t analyse those in this post because technically, none of the contents of those realisations have been made clear to the audience, it’s just my own interpretations. I’m sure this will come back in S5, though.

To show Mike’s queerness in S5 is not changing his sexuality, simply just revealing what has been shown to the audience the entire time. Stranger Things is brilliant at show vs. tell. They tell us something, and then show us something entirely different or even something that directly contradicts what we were told. Much of the GA don’t pick up on this (and tbf I don’t really expect them to, it’s intended to be subtle!).

To reveal concretely that Mike is queer and in love with Will would change everything. It would be shocking! The GA would lose their minds - and many people would, at first, struggle to believe it. But upon rewatching the show, it would all make sense. It would turn what many view as an unimportant character into one of the most well thought-out and planned queer stories in media history (definitely an exaggeration but bear with me aha, I’m not normal about these boys).

What people thought to be an incompetent boyfriend and an absolute dick to his best friend for two seasons in a row would turn out to actually be a deeply traumatised boy struggling to remain on the “normal” path (quote from Finn Wolfhard on Mike), within the bounds of heteronormativity. A boy who desperately wants to play DnD and Nintendo with his best friend, but realises that what he feels for him isn’t “normal”. It would reveal so much about Mike and all the things we never got to see from his perspective.

And in terms of my predictions, I’m absolutely a believer in Mike being Vecna’d, and we’ll finally see Mike’s point of view on all of this. Just imagine Vecna taunting him about how he failed to be normal. He failed to do the “right” thing. He’s been in love with Will since before he even realised it.

So yeah. Byler is real. Byler is endgame. And I’m 10000% certain that Mike is going to become an extremely popular character once we get his insight. He’ll also absolutely need a hug once all is said and done. I will be hysterical. 

But at least he’ll have his cleric <3.

A really good video on Mike's internalised homophobia that essentially sparked me to write this post in the first place, and I highly recommend if you haven't seen it yet, was this one (@lesbianmindflayer) : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V6IOlmBEEgE&t=80s&ab_channel=LesbianMindflayer

But yeah! What would you pick as your one piece of evidence?

[yardsards]

can i ask about your experience as a quaker (or growing up as one? i just saw you mention bein one in some tags)

i jus don't know much about them

so i was not raised quaker, i was raised baptist. which was. 0/10, do not recommend. all the guilt of catholicism with none of the stained glass lmaooo

like, i did resinate with the idea of there being some sort of higher power and i liked the idea of getting together with other believers to discuss spiritual matters but as i got older and started thinking for myself i realized i really didn't like a lot of things about the church. i hated the bigoted beliefs of its members. i hated the emphasis on blind obedience to authority. i didn't believe that the whole literal truth could be found within one book, specifically one group's interpretation of said book. and the idea that people were born inherently bad and sinful and that a supposedly kind and just god would condemn people to eternal suffering just for not believing the "right" things just did not sit well with me at all

when i went off to college i decided to try out a few different churches around town. i ended up settling on a progressive presbyterian church. the community was great and very accepting of queer people. i had some minor qualms with the theology but it wasn't like with my parents' church where every sermon made me feel increasingly nauseous, and i generally felt *good* during and after the services

and then covid hit and while they did stream their sermons, i lost that sense of community and just kinda... fell away

throughout all this i was researching different faiths online, both christian and non-christian. and one faith that kept popping up a lot that i liked the sound of was quakerism. like at one point i remember taking some online quiz of like "what religion do your values most align with" and quakerism was very in the lead. (before this, i'd only really been exposed to quakerism in history textbooks and assumed the religion died out alongside puritanism)

in the end what got me really interested was actually a video by a youtuber i liked, a queer/disability advocate and historical fashion enjoyer who also happened to be quaker

and after looking more into it, i decided to try attending a quaker meeting. which was easier due to covid cuz i could find a church online (located physically hundreds of miles from me) that did their sunday services over zoom

and so i attended and the people there were great and were doing actual good in their communities. and the way services were run, and their beliefs about what god *was* and all of that just hit me with an intense feeling of like. holy shit this is what i've always wanted from religion.

the video explains the sort of core beliefs and practices of quakerism better than i can but the main belief is that like. every person is godly. as such, it's our job to treat all living people as equally and kindly as possible. additionally, since we all have god inside of us, we need to look inwards and come to our own conclusions about our own religious beliefs and practices (and generally respect other people's religious beliefs even if they differ from our own, so long as they're not causing real tangible harm)

i haven't attended any meetings in a while, due to that group going back to semi in person (they still stream it out but it feels more like being a spectator than a member) and there being no quaker meetinghouses in the tiny town i currently live in, coinciding with me being too depressed to regularly attend anything. but i'm planning to start attending quaker meetings again once i move to a real city

[dukeofdelirium]

I'm a swiftie, but each time I see someone pretend Taylor has reached MJ's level of absurd fame, I kinda wanna die. The second-hand embarrassement is too much for me. The man was called the king for a reason.

And it's funny how many artists will see their fans compare them to Michael and immediately try to find a polite way of saying "Don't set me up for failure like that." They probably learned by seeing MJ fans tear arrogant fuckers a new one after disrespecting Michael.

Taylor Swift will literally never ever be on Michael Jackson’s level of fame or success lol.

He is untouchable, he is the KING of music.

And why would swifties even want this for her anyway? If you’re old enough to remember MJ, you’re old enough to remember what they did to him and how his fame treated him. Why wish that on someone you admire?

And quite frankly, Taylor Swift is not as talented as Michael Jackson. He could outperform her any day of the week, and I have no doubt he could’ve done so if he were still alive rn. The Jackson’s were dirt poor. All they had was an idea, and some hope, and a lot of dedication. Michael Jackson was performing before the late night strip teases as a child. Strip clubs were some of the only places that let them perform as black kids! The Jackson’s changed the world. They are true American legends and icons. And they deserve every bit of it.

Michael Jackson clawed his way to the top in a society that said he couldn’t. That he never would. That he was nothing compared to white artists. But he made them eat their words. To compare him to a white woman who never struggled like that, who never had to compete twice as hard just for the color of her skin… it’s genuinely insulting. And Taylor Swift herself would never in a billion years say she is bigger or better than him.

If it weren’t for Michael, the world wouldn’t be what it is now. Music wouldn’t be what it is. His impact on history cannot be ignored or diminished. So when I see people say shit like this post

It really fucking pisses me off. Michael Jackson’s fame isn’t “nostalgia”. It’s historical fact. He was and is still the most famous human that has ever lived. More famous than Jesus Christ. The man was a god in his own way.

And if it weren’t for him, these music artists today wouldn’t exist. And that includes Taylor Swift. He is the king, and they are his followers. Not the other way around. And MJ fans don’t take kindly to the disrespect these days bc we’ve been too nice for too long and we’re sick of it. Put respect on his name.

Taylor was not and is not nor will she ever be statistically bigger, either. MJ was a global star, and by global I mean literally known in every corner of the world. Including by tribes in the Amazon. His death caused a cease fire in war, over a billion people publicly mourned him and held funerals in their cultures for him, he was beloved to so many. People don’t just love his music. They love him as a human. He taught us to have hope and to never stop dreaming, but more than that he taught us to love each other. Long before Live Aid. It was Michael Jackson that united the world in ways no one else ever will. He will always be beloved and he will forever be deeply missed.

[fandomsaligninstories]

Year One: Day Three

Chapter List WC: 1,811

3rd September, 1991, Late Afternoon

"You have got to be kidding me!" Violet grumbled to her friends Hannah and Aimee. 

They were entering their second to last class of the day, Defense Against the Dark Arts. Violet had been excited for it, having started her readings for the upcoming lesson during her free period that morning, but the second she stepped into the room and saw students in the familiar green-and-silver colours, she wanted to ditch. D.A.D.A would make the third class they shared together, including History of Magic and Astronomy.

"It'll be fine," Hannah tried to reassure, "We'll just avoid them, right? Can't cause trouble if they don't exist to us."

"Right!" Aimee agreed, pulling Violet by her arm to the only empty desk in the middle of the room. They pointedly ignored the white-blonde boy a few tables away, who was staring at Violet. He'd been doing that ever since she'd apologised. In the Great Hall, in passing in hallways, anytime they pass each other, he'll be staring at her.

It was uncomfortable at first, because she wasn't sure if it meant he was going to try something to hurt her, or if he was just that awkward. Having spoken to some of the older Hogwarts students, Violet had learned that the Malfoy's weren't the type of people you treat kindly. You stay away from them, and if you interact, you keep your mouth shut. So, Violet decided, Draco must not be used to being treated kindly, which meant she would need to be nothing but nice to him in any future interactions. 

D.A.D.A was taught by Professor Quirrell. The position had been cursed, according to a fourth-year Ravenclaw, so every year there was a new D.A.D.A professor. The curse caused the professor to either die or leave at the end of each year, which made it hard for Dumbledore to keep the position filled. 

As expected, the first lesson was just an introductory one, and started in on their first topic: werewolves. Though Herbology would remain her favourite subject, D.A.D.A would definitely be a close second. 

Most of the other students had already left by the time Violet and her two friends packed away their belongings. As expected, Draco and his friends were standing at the door, harassing the kids leaving. Unexpectedly, however, when he looked up and saw Violet coming towards him, he tilted his head down slightly and let the girls leave unscathed. 

On the way to dinner, she couldn't help but wonder what that was about. Evidently, her friends felt the same way.

"What did you do to him?" Hannah asked, glancing behind them towards the boys. 

Violet shrugged, "Nothing! I just apologised. Weird, right?" 

"Very odd." Aimee agreed, "Maybe you're just the first person to ever show him kindness. I hear his family is awful. Full of You-Know-Whos most loyal subjects."

There was that name again, You-Know-Who. The man who had tried to kill baby Harry, and had killed his parents. After her first night at Hogwarts, Violet got tired of hearing people talk about Harry and not understanding what the big deal was, so she asked. And she'd gotten the full, terrible story. She finally understood why they called him "The Boy Who Lived", and how he got the lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

"Scary, that lot. Malfoy is bound to follow in their footsteps. There's rumours, you know. That he's back..." Hannah whispered conspiratorially.

Aimee huffed at her friend, "Don't start with that again! He's dead. People are just saying that to scare you."

"Well, it's working!" Hannah urged. Violet nodded. In her little bit of free time over the past few days, she'd done plenty of reading on the Wizarding War. What it was, why it happened, and how many people died. It was awful, and she pitied the students she'd met that had lost family members in the war. She couldn't imagine ever being able to survive such a thing. 

By the time dinner was finished, Violet was exhausted again. A nightly occurrence, she noticed, with all of her lessons and coursework she'd been given in just those first days. But she had one more class to attend, Charms with the Ravenclaws. Not the most riveting subject, but not as dreadful as History of Magic. 

As she was entering the classroom, she noticed a boy a ways down the hallway waving. She paused a moment, looking around her to see if he was waving at someone else, but no one else was paying attention. When she looked back at him, he was moving towards her. She realised it was the second-year that had stopped her from attacking Draco the other day, Eddie something-or-other.

"Hi, Violet!" He smiled, leaning on his shoulder against the wall, "Alright? How's Hogwarts treating you?"

She smiled back, "Hi Eddie. Yeah, alright. Been busy, but it's been exciting! This is a whole new world for me, you know." 

"Ah, muggle born, were you? My father's a muggle, but my mother's a witch, so I knew what to expect. I couldn't imagine coming into this without any clue what to expect!" He laughed warmly, his eyes focused only on her. 

"Yeah, it's been something." She turned as the bell started to chime, alerting her to the start of class, "I've gotta go, see you later!" She waved as she rushed into the room, finding the empty seat beside Aimee. 

━━━━━━⊱༻ ༺⊰━━━━━━

By Friday evening, Violet was ready to drop. The most frustrating thing about the entire school, aside from the sheer size of it, was that her schedule wasn't consistent. Every day was different, with different classes at different times. The only thing that kept her relatively sane was that it would always remain the same week to week, and that she had her friends with her. She'd be carrying around a copy of her timetable for at least a few weeks before she would be able to memorise it.

Luckily she had three free periods on Fridays, with her last class ending by 4pm, leaving her with plenty of time to get started on the piles of homework she'd already been given. 

She arrived to dinner late, having been caught up in the potions paper she was working on. Most students had already finished the meal and left for the evening, turning in to work on their own homework or hang out with friends. She was disappointed to see none of her friends remained, the tables clear except for a few students at each. 

Most of the plates and platters had already been cleared away by whatever magic the house-elves used. She made a mental note to look into that later, she was rather curious how the food knew where to appear. Actually, she decided, she'd ask Hermione. That girl seemed to know everything. 

She was picking at her meal when a shadow moved to loom over her. She turned her head slightly to see who it was. She nearly choked on the food she was chewing.

"M- Malfoy?" She coughed, clearing her throat with some water, "What do you want?"

"Why'd you do it?" He asked roughly.

She turned to face him fully, looking at him confused, "Do what?"

"Apologise!" He hissed, eyes darting around the room before repeating, "Why'd you do it?"

"It was the right thing to do?" She hadn't meant for it to sound like a question, but she was thoroughly confused. This wasn't the boy so many people had warned her about; he was being strangely open and vulnerable. She continued, "It's not right to hurt other people just because you're hurting. I was hurting, because you hurt my friend, but I shouldn't have retaliated. It wasn't right. You might be a prat, Draco, but you deserve some human decency." 

His eyes widened before he scowled at her, "Well, don't do it again. Just stay away from me, freak!"

He rushed off before she could form a reply. 'You came to me,' she wanted to shout. Instead she silently turned and finished her dinner, dragging herself back to her dorm for the night. 

It was nearing 8pm when she entered the common room, but being as there weren't any classes the next day, many students were hanging out. 

She dropped down onto a couch beside Cedric, who was listening to Tamsin tell a dramatic story about a previous quidditch game the Hufflepuffs had competed in. Anthony and Cedric were shaking their heads at her obviously overdramatized story, but Aimee, Hannah, Caroline, and Susan were all listening attentively. 

"Hey," Cedric whispered, looking at Violet with concern, "You okay?"

"Yeah, just had a run in with Malfoy." She whispered back, rushing on at his even more concerned expression, "Oh no, it wasn't anything bad, he was just being a drama queen." 

"Okay. Let me know if he gives you any more trouble, I'll have a talk with him." He nudged her with his elbow, smirking. She held back her laughter, knowing full well there wasn't a single thing Cedric could say to stop Draco. 

"Thanks." She curled up on the couch, turning her attention back to Tamsin, who was still going on about quidditch. Violet didn't understand the love of the game, in fact she found it a bit boring. She soon started to doze off, so she bid her friends a good night before heading to bed. 

Despite her exhaustion, she found herself unable to sleep, tossing and turning under the covers for what felt like hours, but was only a matter of minutes. Finally she sat up and pulled her knees to her chest, looking down at the purple quilt spread out on the bed. She blinked back the sudden rush of tears, the homesickness she'd been feeling the last few days overwhelming. 

She missed her parents. She missed her room, with its lilac purple walls and pink rugs. She missed her friends from down the street, her teachers at school. She even missed the neighbours dogs that she'd often go over and play with. 

She knew she would miss them when she left, but she had expected to be able to talk to them whenever she felt like it. So call her mother when she was sad, or to tell her father a funny story that had happened that day. But, as she had learned, there was no electricity or technology at Hogwarts. Someone had tried to explain it to her when she asked where a telephone was, but the only thing she got out of it was that the magic surrounding Hogwarts was so great that any technology went haywire if it got too close. She'd been told she could write letters home, but she had yet to find the owlery to send one. 

Tomorrow, she told herself, reaching out for that small teddy and clutching it to her chest, crawling back under the covers. Tomorrow she'd write her parents a letter, and she'd find the owlery to send it.