#also don't remember the term for having something in its mouth

[saja-star]

I believe this would be a cat sable on a field argent, rampant, tail coward, guardant to sinister. Meaning a cat that's black on a white background, on its back legs with front legs spread, tail down/between the legs, turned sideways but face towards the viewer, facing right (from viewer's perspective, left from shield wearer's perspective).

[bhaalble]

I like that Last Unicorn quote as much as the next guy but I do always wind up feeling a little detached from analysis that paints Astarion's disapproval as purely envy. Partly because. No one's doing this for Lae'zel for instance even though she has similar disapproval and similar trauma (all she can remember is a hostile physically and emotionally exploitative environment which expected perfect strength and obedience from her or else she would be punished or killed). But also partly because it feels pretty detached from everything he actually has to say about it.

The thing about Astarion is he loathes weakness. He loathes sentiment and he loathes dependence. You can see this when he actually opens his mouth up about the people he disapproves of saving, but also incredibly loudly when he talks about the other companions, as well as his fellow spawn. If Lae'zel submits to Vlaakith he talks scornfully about how some people just come to love their chains. He's confused and put off if Wyll submits to Mizora to save his father. In every conversation with his fellow spawn (at least when hes not actively manipulating them) he's dismissive and harsh, and clearly he's perfectly willing to sacrifice them for the sake of himself.

There's an obvious origin point of those feelings, of course. Cazador's abuse is designed to actively kill off empathy in his spawn, both towards each other and towards victims. The last time Astarion prioritized someone over his own skin he got locked in a tomb for a year. We can see glimpses of it with the other spawn too, how his siblings are (apparently uncompelled at first) willing to drag Astarion back to their master for their freedom, how Petras' first dream of freedom is getting to drain another person dry. Astarion certainly doesn't seem to feel any real sense of solidarity with them, likely because Cazador understands that them building a community is a threat to his authority the way it was to his own master.

I'd also argue its Astarion projecting his own self-loathing outwards. So much of his quest is about his desperate attempt to escape from who he was. He's been given a chance to slip free of the limitations of being a spawn. He clings to that because of course he would. He also instinctively begins to run over everything in his path, because if there's anything he has learned over the past 200 years its that good things can always be taken away unless you make sure to remove any and all possible threats to that scrap of well-being. He's disdainful of people in need of help because they represent who he fears to go back to being! He calls his siblings "poor fools" while refusing to confront the fact that had it not been for the tadpole he would be in exactly their position, forced to cling to the hope that Cazador is telling the truth for once because escape isn't an option either way. He becomes irritated when Tav slows down to help the unfortunate because they represent roadblocks on his own path to safety.

There's an idea in mental health stolen from airplane safety: that you shouldn't help anyone else until your own mask is secure. What they don't tell you, speaking from personal experience at least, is that PTSD, especially for long term trauma, has a way of making you feel like your own mask will never be secure. And while that's scary, and it sucks, and there should be the utmost patience for it: no one is going to realize that mask is secure for you. Eventually you are going to have to accept the fact that you are breathing just fine. Eventually you are also going to have to accept that people asking something of you isn't them endangering you, even if it can sometimes (often) feel like it. It doesn't make you obligated to help them. But it does mean you have to stop reacting to them like a threat, because not 5 minutes ago that was you.

I think the idea that he's only mad because he's jealous is a gratifying fantasy. He didnt feel safe before, but now through your PC and the power of love he'll feel warm and cozy enough to forgive you for not being there to begin with. But I also think Astarion cannot live in a reality where he's never pushed back on. His instinctive self-protective movements are a coping mechanism, yes, but coping mechanisms developed under survival conditions can also be a way of keeping you frozen in your trauma. Outside of the environment they were necessary for, they can even hinder you from growing in the ways you need to grow to move past what happened to you. Sometimes, you need to stop a baby tiefling from getting crazy murdered by a snake because it turns out. That can happen to anybody not just people who are weak and stupid and deserve to die anyways not like me I'm normal-

[just-some-random-blogger]

Accidental Targ

Scene III: i told you to hold my hand! | Masterlist

Daemon Targaryen x Modern!Reader

Summary: After coming to terms with the fact you were in King's Landing some two thousand years before your birth, you get reunited with your friend and try to manifest your way back to the present. For the meantime, Harwin Strong is your bodyguard.

Word Count: 4k+

Warnings: fem!reader, time travel au, descriptions of reader's hair, incestuous gremlin!daemon, very sus and innappropriate boss-employee dynamics, low key sugar daddy!otto hightower vibes, crackfic, typos, etc.

A/N: GUYS I DID IT. I FINISHED IT 😫 Also, its come to my attention that perhaps the way i planned out everything geographically is ??? bad but no its not just roll with it AND!! remember yall voted for him ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i have a feeling you didnt read the prompt fully but whatever HAHAHAA i honestly have no idea where i meant to take this fic, so ???? enjoy?? HAHHAAH

Shoot me if I ever say it again, but for now: gods bless capitalism, specifically for it desecrating a national landmark.

Where once I was one of the people who protested against the building of the High Garden Centre, girl, was I thankful that the old ruins of the fucking Red Keep laid there as a little ol' artsy featurette.

"What's that sound?" Daemon asks as we stand from our spot.

I turn to my side, never before so relieved to hear and see, no more than two blocks away, a rave spilling out of a club, the very one Libby and I were at before we got into this shit show. "That, my prince, is called EDM."

I hurriedly run to Libby's side to pick her up, but Daemon does that himself. He get down and pulls the blue haired woman on his back, and I help him. At the same time, I feel a buzz from my satchel.

My phone!

Daemon watches me as I frantically claw for my device. The amount of texts and call notifications that pop up on my screen is overwhelming. I decide to just let it go off and grab Daemon's arm, "come on."

We walk down from the ruins, shifting through the shrubs and foliage around it. I catch the sight a mall cop and feel agitated when he looks over. He couldn't care less though, the site was open to the public after all, and with a literal club being right there, we were the least of his worries.

We pass the rusty chain fence surrounding it, and draw near Harrenhal (the club). Once we're there, a bunch of men hoot and holler at me. I ignore them as they say something about my 'Targaryen' hair and it dawns on me they were probably calling me princess and lady because I was still in a fucking Targaryen era dress.

Still, I ignore the stupid fucks as they ask to see my pretty skirt, opting to walk faster instead. I was horrified by how loud and violent Daemon's scream was.

He shouted so gutturally that I couldn't understand a lick of The High Valyrian flaming out of his mouth. The vein on his neck popped out and I literally had to hold him back from charging and dropping Libby.

"Daemon, please!" I whimper, heart racing, "Libby's still on you-"

"Grab her and I'll fucking ram steel down- COME OVER HERE AND SAY THAT AGAIN. SAY THAT-"

Steel? I look to his belt. Fucking seven hells, he brought Dark Sister?

I look back at him with wide eyes, feeling nauseous now that I've caught how maddened he looked.

In a panic, I gently pat his face while pulling his arm back, "Daemon, please."

He doesn't look at me.

My voice gets softer and my eyes water, "Daemon, I beg you."

He huffs and clenches his jaw, still not sparing me a glance.

"We don't have time for them," I whisper and keep my hand on his cheek, "I'm just going to connect to the club's wifi from here, then I'll can call us an Ubor."

Daemon does not tear his gaze from the men, who eventually waddle away to whatever sewer they came from, still hollering bullshit as they did.

"Kesan daor nārhēdegon naejot nyetodha aōha irosh," Daemon mutters. I will not forget to slit your throats.

The relief that washed over me was unparalleled when I booked an Ubor set to arrive in 3 minutes. I whimper and rub my eyes, "okay, not long now."

Daemon finally looks at me, still visibly pissed, and adjusts Libby on his back.

I wipe my face, "we're just going to get in the c-" Fuck... I should probably prepare him for the car.

"Okay," I raise my hands, "we're going to get in a metal..." I motion to the space, "... there's going to be a- a- carriage? But with no horse... but and when I get in, you just get in with me, okay?"

Daemon's expression is now one of confusion.

I sigh and place a hand on his shoulder, "it's going to be okay."

His lips curl, "... OK."

I screw my eyes shut and shake my head rapidly, "I mean alright. Alright! ALRIGHT!"

Daemon takes in my visible frustration and nods slowly, "OK."

To be honest, Daemon was a pretty good Ubor passenger, save for the fact his sword nearly cut me, Libby, him and the fucking car seats when he tried to sit without removing his scabbard first. We were lucky the driver seemed to be used to... ren fair people.

He also seemed to be used to driving people to the ER. I was too relieved to think realize how fucked up that kinda is in the moment. Needless to say, I gave him 5 stars and an extra tip.

With Dark Sister in my grip and Libby in Daemon's arms, we finally made it to Lannister Medical Center.

The moment we get there, I run inside the ER and break down at the first nurse I see. I infodump everything, how Libby got attacked, how Harwin lost her, how some maesters tried to help us, how she lost a lot of blood, how I'm afraid she's going to die, how Daemon ended up carrying her, and I just keep going up until I saw Libby's blue hair scattered on a stretcher and the nurse told me to sit down.

I didn't have much fight in me left to argue, so I sit myself down on the bench. But then I see the nurse speaking to Daemon, who, seemed to be explaining what had happened, and I panic all over again.

Before I could stand though, another nurse was there to accommodate me. He did a checkup on me, asked me how I was feeling, and asked if I needed anything to calm down.

I told him I was fine and proceeded to answer his other questions. Daemon eventually came to my side and eyed him.

The nurse gives me a nod and offers a smile, "you seem to be physically well. Just let yourself relax. The doctors have your friend; they'll do their best to help her."

"Thank you."

The nurse nods again. He gives me and Daemon one last look before walking off.

I grab Daemon's hand once it's just the two of us. I look up and shudder, "we did it."

He looks down at me, violet eyes solemn. He brings a hand to my cheek and swipes at my cheek, "ȳdra daor limagon."

"I don't know what that means," I mumble.

"I said don't cry, pretty girl," he kneels in front of me, "worrying will not save your friend."

I stare at him, feeling my heart race and belly roll because of the look he had. He brushes my silver hair back behind my shoulders, only intensifying the flurry in my stomach. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, suddenly, my stomach growls. Oh.

Daemon turns his eyes to my belly as I clutch it.

"You want something to eat... prince?"

Daemon reaches a hand out, "lead the way."

I take his hand, grab Dark Sister, and hand it to him. He fastens his scabbard as we exit the ER and I go through my satchel, fishing for my wallet. Just before I get it, I remember that I blew most of my money on the Ubor.

"Fuck," I curse and turn to Daemon, "I don't have enough money."

Daemon rests his hand on his sword and simply stairs.

"I don't have coin," I clarify. I look around the road and figure our chances of riding a bus at this hour was nonexistent. I give him a look, "do you mind walking home with me?"

Daemon raises a brow, "as opposed to swimming home with you?"

I raise my brows and sigh, "Daemon-"

"Lead the way," he nods and points, "I am not one to tire easily."

I nod and slice through air to drive a point, "okay. No matter what happens," I reach out to him, "you have to hold my hand, okay?"

He looks at my hand then my face, his violet eyes sparkle with amusement. He chuckles but he links his fingers between mine (overkill if you ask me). I'm glad goosebumps don't form.

Daemon smiles softly, "you take me for a child, riña?"

"This child knows how to cross the street," I squeeze his hand harder than necessary and begin to walk off, "I'm not sure you do, kekepa." Grandfather.

Daemon laughs, full-on throwing his head back, "how hard is it to cross? You jus-"

His words go dry when an empty school bus passes us. He was so stunned by the yellow contraption, I had to tug his arm to continue walking.

Just then, a Megatron looking-ass truck drives down the street. I hiss and curse the 14 wheeler for emitting such horrible smoke, eyeing it as it drives away.

Meanwhile, I catch the prince's stunned reaction and almost feel bad for finding it funny. Almost.

We arrive at my apartment about 20 minutes later.

I press the elevator button and turn to Daemon, "don't put your arm between the door, okay?"

Daemon gives me a look.

The elevator opens and we step inside. Daemon gives me a look, "we have lifts you know."

I pull my head back, "you do?"

"At the wall," Daemon retorts as the elevator door closes.

"The wall?" I think for a moment, "ahh. You're right."

A beat.

I knit my brows, "wait, you've been to the wall?"

"Of course I've been to the wall."

The moment we get to my place, relief washes over me. I take my shoes off and scoop my hair in front, "fucking rip this dress off me."

Without a single thought between his brows, Daemon's reaches out to undo the ties at the back of my dress.

Just before he does this, I hear him walk in with his boots and nearly have a heart attack when he passes my threshold.

"OH, ABSOLUTELY NOT!" I turn and shove him back, "take your crusty boots off now!"

Daemon looks at me in bewilderment but walks back and doesn't protest as he removes his shoes. He places his shoes on the rack along with mine.

Not wasting time, he catches my arm and yanks me towards him. He spins me around and immediately undoes the back of my dress. I hastily begin to tug my dress down once I can.

He chuckles, "eager girl."

I rather literally jump out of my dress when I can. Pent-up rage overcomes me. I turn around and start kicking the dress away, releasing all my frustration and anger out on the thing. I curse 8th century Westeros and the Red Keep in particular and assault the object until I'm out of breath.

I proceed to jump onto my sofa and allow exhaustion to finally take over my being.

A second later, I catch Daemon's expression and realize, he probably thought he was going to get lucky when I asked him to basically strip me naked.

"Ahh," I get back on my feet, "sorry about," I point to the dress, "that."

Daemon says nothing as he steps closer. He reaches out for my hip and I swat his hand away. I shake my head, "this is my house."

He chuckles as I evade him on my way to the kitchen, which was not nearly as far as it should have been. The prince eyes the space, "yes. An impressive little room you've got." He follows after me, "I'd love to see the rest of it."

I look at him as I reach my fridge and open the door.

Daemon squints at the light that radiates on me. I cuss at the fact I only had cereal (no milk) and some vegetables that have gone bad. I grab the paper box and hand it to him. He blankly stares at it as I discard the vegetables.

Daemon's brows contort at he box, "it's cold."

I wash my hands, "yeah, refrigerators do that."

"Gra'-nola," he reads.

"Granola," I correct as I dry my hands on my shift.

I'm suddenly struck with the realization his grubby has have never seen antibacterial soap. I snatch the box from him and motion to the sink, "wash your hands."

Daemon turns to the sink and purses his lips.

For a second, I debate if he'd melt if he uses something antiseptic, but then figure I should still take my chances.

I prop the cereal on the counter and exemplify him how to wash his hands. Daemon, with slight reluctance, pumps some hand wash on his palm, opens the sink, and rinses.

I excitedly applaud him once he was done.

"A hand towel," he raises his dripping hands.

I look around even though I didn't have a hand towel. I shrug, "I usually just use my pants."

Daemon shakes his hands by the sink, "your pants?"

"Yeah. They're like clothes that you put on your-"

He grabs my shift and pulls me closer. He wipes his hands on it, "I know what pants are, princess."

I push him off and smirks as he dodges. I make a face, "well, I do so beg your pardon, your majesty."

The prince lets out a low laugh, "don't get too brazen, or I'll have you begging till you weep."

I quickly change the subject, "get that damned sword off your hip." I shoo him and rummage through my kitchen cabinets.

Daemon watches this and chuckles again. He tilts his head as he eyes my legs. He undoes his scabbard, sets it on my dining table, and pulls out a chair. He sits down just as I find a can of Sbam. Huzzah!

I grab a chopping board and open the can. A small smile spreads on the prince's lips as stares. But then, his expression drops when I shake, or try to shake, the processed meat out of the can.

I huff once I've succeeded, and I begin to cut the Sbam chunk, "you know this was in created during the war," I slice a piece, "it saved a lot of people from starvation."

"Which war?"

I freeze when he says this. I open my mouth then close it, unsure if recounting the details of world wars to him was a good idea, "you know what, never mind that."

Once I was done with the Sbam, I got a pan and heat it up. I get a plate and a loaf of bread, then place it on the table.

I click my tongue at the sight of his sword, "off the table!"

Daemon watches as I take Dark Sister and replace it with the plate and bread. I place the sword by the shoes and he takes the plastic wrapped bread. He feels the material and opens it, "what is this?"

"Bread," I retort, going back to my pan.

"No, I know that, but what's it wrapped with?"

I give him a quick look, "oh, plastic," I begin to cook the Sbam, "it's made of carbon... I think- I dunno- don't quote me on that."

Daemon opens the bag and takes a slice of bread. He pulls his had back, "it's sliced."

I beam and jump excitedly, "it is! It's sliced bread! Betty White is older than sliced bread! And so are you!"

Daemon ignores this as he sniffs the piece in his hand. He takes a bite then and makes a face, "why does it taste like that?"

"Like what?"

His brows knit and his eyes narrow, "like a pretender."

I burst into a laugh. I flip over the Sbam with a spatula, "imitation bread?"

"It wants so earnest to be bread," he pushes the loaf away and shakes his head, "but it clearly isn't."

I laugh even harder.

He snorts at my reaction. He smiles as leans back on his chair. A few moments later, he grows serious, "you ought to dismiss your royal baker."

Oh. My lips twitch and I chuckle under my breath, "ah, yes. My royal baker. Yes, I will dismiss my royal baker for making horrible sliced bread. Yes."

The Sbam was now cooked. I present it to him on a plate, "bon app-- ... I hope you like it."

Daemon leans forward to scrutinize the dish.

I press my lips into a line as I sit down next to him. I take a slice of imitation bread and fold in a slice of Sbam. I realize just how hungry I was after taking a bite. Through half-full mouth, I mutter, "it's good."

Daemon watches me and follows suit. He takes some bread and Sbam, then chomps.

I stop chewing. Wait, what if he gets an instant heart attack because his living fossil-self can't handle processed food?

He licks his lips and chews. I begin to grow more agitated as he makes a face.

"It's delicious," Daemon says, going in for another bite.

My agitation turns into shock, "really?!"

"Well, it's no roasted pork, but it'll suffice," he mutter between chews.

I let out a soft laugh and nod, "I'm glad it's enough for the prince."

"I'm honored the princess herself made it for me."

Aw, fuck. Who's gonna tell him?

There is a knock on my door. At the same time, my phone rings.

Daemon is alerted by the sound and I dash away to finally answer my phone.

"What is that?" the prince asks.

"It's my phone. Remember? You can call people with it."

Daemon narrows his eyes as I rummage my bag for my device. The knocking on the door gets louder.

I turn to the door, "just a minute."

I find my phone and feel my stomach drop at the caller ID. The banging on the door persists.

I answer the phone and head for the door, "hello?"

"Fucking hells!" the voice is worn and apparently worried, "where the fuck have you bee-"

"It's not you outside, is it?" I cut him off as I head for the door.

"What?! No! I'm in the fucking North, dammit! Your friends have been calling me nonstop, since fucking Sunday! -"

I open the door and my face falls. Standing before me is a man in a dark teal suit; his tie was loose, his stubble was thick, and he held what looked like a dozen bags in his hands.

"- You and Libby have been fucking missing for days! Where-"

"Mr. Hightower," I lower my phone as the man on the other end continues to chastise me.

Otto Hightower looks me up and down, then sighs, "out of the way."

Without another thought, I step back to let him in. He expertly slips out of his leather shoes then heads towards my sofa. He places all the bags on the coffee table. I follow after him.

I hear my name being shouted from my phone. I close the door and follow after Otto.

I listen in on the call again and I hiss when the voice pierces my ear drum, "Jon, calm down."

"CALM DOWN!? HOW CAN I BE CALM WHEN YOU WON'T TELL ME ANYTHING!?"

I begin to panic when Daemon walks over.

"Who is that?" Otto asks me. He notices Daemon, then makes a face, "who are you?"

I look at Otto, then Daemon, and dash over to the prince, grabbing his hand. I watch in real time the recognition and disbelief that floods the Targaryen's features as he watches the other slowly remove his tie.

"Libby and I got stuck in the ren-fair!" I reply to my phone.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU FUCKING CALL?!"

"MY PHONE DIED, JON!" I shout back a lie.

Otto's brow raises. He looks at me and mouths, "Jon?"

I ignore that and groan "LOOK! I'm fine! Libby's-- ... Libby's," I whisper softly, "in the ER-"

"THE ER-"

"I'M TAKING CARE OF HER!"

"WHY THE FUCK IS SHE IN THE ER?!"

"Libby's in the ER?" Otto mutters.

I raise a finger to answer my phone, "Jon, please. I'll explain everything tomorrow."

He screams my name and I have to rip my phone away from my ear again. I vaguely hear him rant about how I should explain why his sister is in the fucking ER.

"Jon, Jon, I love you but I have to go," I quip and immediately end the call. I turn on airplane mode and throw my phone on to the couch.

I release a breath and find myself pulling a smile as the man in the suit eyes me. He's about to speak, but Daemon beats him to it.

"What was that?" the prince asks, pulling me by the arm to face him.

I turn to him and make a face. It's Otto that answers for me, "her ex boyfriend."

I turn to Otto as he tilts his head and raises a brow, as if daring me to correct him.

I do, "my best friend's brother."

Daemon eyes Otto; the latter makes a face, "who used to your lover," he crosses his arms, "I'm offended you take his calls but not mine."

"And who are you?" Daemon hisses, stepping towards him.

Without missing a beat, Otto meets his gaze and scoffs, "who are you?"

Daemon's pulls his chin back and chuckles dryly. His expression screamed FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT.

I jump in front of him, my back presses his chest. I give a nervous laugh, "Mr. High- Director- Mr. Director- sir. This is Daemon."

Otto watches as I grip Daemon's hands behind me.

"And Daemon," I barely look at him over my shoulder, "this is... my... employe-"

"Otto Hightower," he cuts me off, bringing his hand into his breast pocket, "Director and CFO of King's Landing Holdings."

I wince, fuck.

"King's Landing?!" Daemon laughs out loud.

Otto produces a business card.

"It's a company!" I turn around and wave my hands, "it's a company! An establishment!"

Daemon does not tear his eyes away from him.

"He's my employer!" I explain.

Otto offers a piece of paper between his fingers.

The prince looks at it and slightly pushes me away, "what's he doing here then?"

"That's hardly any of your business," Otto retorts, tucking his business card back into his pocket.

Daemon laughs and finally turns to me. He mutters something in High Valyrian along the lines of 'let me do something' and 'stabbing'. I frantically shake my hand and push him back.

He thankfully relents and I sit him back down on my dining table.

My relief is fleeting when I realize the only reason Daemon didn't refute was because Otto was trailing right after me. My stomach drops when I feel a hand on my back.

Otto is right behind me. He places a few of the paper bags he brought on the table. He opens them, "I bought you dinner."

I turn to him, intent to tell him he shouldn't have.

"Amongst other things," he adds.

Daemon barks, "we have dinner."

"How did you even know I was home?" I say at the same time.

Otto's eyes flick to him, to the plate of Sbam on the table. His face is blank as looks back to me. He decides to remove his coat jacket, "I suppose you'd-" eyes Daemon, "-also think a candle equal to a campfire."

"Mister Hightower," I helplessly mutter.

He hangs his jacket on the backrest. He turns to me, "and you were missing--"

My expression sours.

"-- what did you expect me to do? I obviously utilized my connections. I'm offended you'd ask me such a thing."

Daemon mutters something in High Valyrian again.

"Of course, I had come see you myself," he looks at me through his lashes as rolls up his sleeves. My eyes dart to his sleeve tattoos and arm veins. When I begin to scrutinize the hairs on his skin, I realize I've stared to long.

In a panicked frenzy, I begin to unpack one of the paper bags. He, himself, brings out a stack of food containers and places them on the table.

The smell alone makes my stomach grumble.

Otto steps away and comes back with plates and cutlery. He places one plate in front of me, and has a prolonged stare at Daemon before placing the other in front of Daemon. He says, "I would hate for prince Daemon to be reduced to eating Sbam for dinner."

My expression drops. Daemon does not move an inch.

Otto turns to me and pulls out the chair. I take a moment before sitting down, because, really, did I have any other choice?

Otto opens the containers one by one and my mouth waters as I see lobster, lamb, and lemon cakes. He serves me meat and veggies, "I would assume you're not hurt like your friend."

I watch as he places food on my plate. I gulp before responding, "I'm just... tired."

"Then, I would also assume you'll not be attending work tomorrow," he takes my hand, putting the utensils in them. He scrapes a chair to my side and sits down next to me, urging me to eat with a motion.

I look at Mr. Hightower, "oh no- I will! I will-"

"You won't," he raises a hand, "see to it you're well rested."

I turn to my plate, feeling a flurry in my stomach over his words.

"Are you not going to serve your prince?" Daemon cuts in, raising his brows.

The lamb I was about to eat drops back to my plate.

The two glare, as if willing the other to spontaneously combust.

Before anything else could happen, I stand and reach out to Daemon's plate. I squeak when both grab me by the wrist.

My throat tightens.

My heart races when Daemon stands, "release her."

Otto raises his brows and tilts his head, "sit back down."

I rip my wrists out of their grips. Thankfully, neither put up a fight.

They stare at each other for what felt like ages. My agitation rockets when I see my boss begin to fidget with his hands the way he did when he was annoyed and ready to do something drastic.

I give Daemon a panicked look and grab his wrist, "kostilus." Please.

Daemon clenches his fist.

I continue to beg him until he sits.

I squeak when he grabs my chair by the seat and pulls me towards him. He mutters, "kesan daor emagon ao va bona run." I will not have you near that thing.

I turn to Director Hightower; I could see his annoyance building.

Fuck.

"Miste-" "Enjoy your meal then," he speaks as he stands. He grabs his coat and points, "I've bought some first aid things. I'm sure your friend can help you put that away."

I move to stand but Daemon stops me. He looks up at Otto in disgust, "do mind the steel contraptions on your way out."

I snap at Daemon, eyeing him hotly. He places a hand over my legs, ensuring I do not evade him. I watch as Mr. Hightower heads for the door, and in a split second decision, I turn to the prince and kiss him on the lips.

He is evidently taken aback, but it only takes him another second to get into it. Once he's put his guard down, I rip away from him and chase after my boss just as he exits my apartment.

"MR. HIGHTOWER!"

Otto turns around. I huff as I meet him just outside my door, "I'm really sorry about him. He's... he's just like that."

"You're not responsible for the actions of others," he retorts, nonchalant.

"I know. But still-"

"You are responsible for the company you keep," he adds.

I brush my silver hair back, "and you're not responsible for my well-being."

He snorts and shakes his head, "I'm your superior."

I press my lips into a thin line, deciding not to get into this conversation right now, "that, you are, Director."

We stare at each other for a moment. I examine his well-ironed suit, noticing how he didn't bother to fix his tie or buttons any more.

"I'll-"

"Is he not-" Daemon kicks the door open.

My eyes widen, "DAEMON-"

"-fucking gone yet?!" he points Dark Sister in an offensive stance. I yelp when he swings his weapon and scratches the door.

Otto's fight or flight instincts kick in and he takes flight down the hall.

"DAEMON-" I scream. I duck down and grab him by the torso, "STOP IT!"

Daemon screams out in High Valyrian. He laughs and lowers his sword, "yeah, you better run."

[bountycancelled]

how bada would handle being in public with her s/o

requested: yep!

genre + content: headcanons, gn!reader, me being delusional, lower case intended (I'm annoying, I know and im sorry), unedited because I can't be bothered

warnings: none i believe, just fluff!

I still don't really understand the term, but I think I could describe a romantic relationship with bada as 'private but not a secret.'

she wouldn't want to keep you a secret, but she's also aware of the strife being in the public eye can cause, so how much/how little she reveals about the relationship is completely up to you.

and believe me, she tries so hard to keep her mouth shut about you, but sometimes it proves a bit too difficult.

hell, your relationship being revealed to the public was a complete and utter accident. bada was on instagram live as usual, and one of the comments had asked her for a tmi. she thought for a moment, before remembering that you had gifted her the very hoodie that she was wearing.

bada didn't even notice the comments going absolutely batshit at the mention of her having a partner, too focused on how much the hoodie smelled like you.

cue a now wide eyed bada watching a myriad of comments shocked at her statement fly in at lighting speed, as she slowly realises what she just said.

you bet your ass that she ended the live at that moment, entering to your shared apartment and flopping onto you immediately, squeezing any part of you that her hands could reach, she needed the comfort right now. when you ask her what happened, she begs you to promise to not get upset (which can't be promised but you do it anyway to ease her mind)

she realises a statement of sorts on her instagram, asking for the respect of her fans for your relationship and turns off her phone after posting it, cuddling with you and trying to sleep the day away.

from then on, you and bada start going out together more frequently, since you're no longer so well hidden anymore, you might as well enjoy this new found freedom. fans and paparazzi being outside of any location that bada is in is a given, but its still alot for you to take in.

bada always has a hand on you when you're out together, she just needs to know that you're close and that you're okay. whether it be a hand a hand on your waist or shoulders, a hand around your wrist or holding yours, it eases her. but she prefers you walking in front of her so she can have you in her vision also so she can check you out, two birds, one stone

call her a bit possessive (and you'd be correct) but she also likes when you wear something of hers over your outfit when you're in public, like a hoodie or a jacket.

as for interviews, she mentions you passively, usually by accident once again. but she will never take the bait if an interviewer tries to pry into the deeper parts of your relationship. she values intimacy with you far too much.

overall, your relationship is sacred to bada, and she earnestly tries to keep it under wraps as much as possible, although she may not be the best at that, since she also desperately wants to show you off. so basically, you get the best of both worlds.

[katapotato55]

how come no one is talking about Brilliant Minds?

so there is this new medical drama show called Brilliant minds, but instead of it being the usual high stakes ER medical drama its about a psychology and neurology ward. "its just house md but- " ok I love house md, but also this show is not house md. The characters and tone of the show is too different to house MD. (also as much as I love house MD, this show aged.... poorly. thats the 2000s for ya!)

Things that stand out to me about this show:

it is an actually REALLY GOOD REPRESENTATION ABOUT MENTAL DISORDERS. all of it is somewhat accurate (for tv standards at least) and doesn't jam everyone into one umbrella like seriously, the show goes out of it's way to showcase the struggles of people with mental disorders without focusing too hard on the shock value

EMPATHY. DEAR GOD IS THAT SOMETHING THAT IS RARE IN TERMS OF MENTAL HEALTH. For once it is nice having representation for just treating mental patients with RESPECT AND CARE. WE NEED THIS MORE THAN EVER. Too many people just assume the worst with others when they are in a vulnerable state!

The fact the patient isn't fixed by a miracle drug or procedure and is treated with various types of therapy! I have heard too many times people asking if the meds will "fix them yet" when often times mental health struggles needs a ton of time to recover from.

AND how sometimes you just don't know HOW the disorder started, but they still took time to try and fix it regardless of the cause This happens in real life. sometimes you lose your ability to do something and there is no known cause, and its frustrating being hospitalized for it. The fact this show shown some self restraint instead of doing a bullshit "brilliant doctor magically finds out the cause" thing most medical shows do. and last but not least:

The representation for face blindness and childhood mental health issues.

I was born with a few nerodivergent quirks such as having a type of emotional face blindness. this is common with people with ASD and ADHD. I remember growing up accidentally upsetting people, or people thinking I am stupid or a jerk because I didn't know they were upset. I can recognize faces and who people are, but when it comes to emotional expressions its hard for me to get the nuances of. feel free to make fun of me for enjoying this really corny medical drama show, but god damn that first episode just made me cry with the representation for cognitive therapy. the parts about focusing on the smaller parts of the face like the mouth and eyebrows is accurate. Yall are sleeping on this show. cmon!

[yourlittlebunnyy]

a court of shadows and darkness

masterlist - previous chapter

chapter four

summary: Selaene, Rhysand's sister, Azriel's mate runs away after the High Lord of Spring tries to kill her.

warnings: none

enjoy 🌝

"I mean, how is it that I am only now learning of your origins in my court?" Selaene's laughter echoes in the emptiness that has now, century after century, become comforting. "My grandfather was part of the Night Court, but then he fell madly in love with my grandmother and decided to go with her to the Dawn Court. But you know the story."

After so many years together, Selaene and Vanessa can say that they have become more than friends, they have become sisters. The friend had seen the tiger a few times and had been amazed by her elegant and feline form: she had a white coat with black stripes that shone like the moon under the soft light of the passers-by, as they had called them. She had a sweet little face, and one could almost imagine her human form. From time to time, a passerby would come close enough to walk past her, but never close enough to catch her in time, and in recent years, the number of passersby had dwindled, making her doubt her plan.

"You know, Vane, I'm grateful you're here with me, I would have gone crazy without you."

"I was on the verge of madness when I found you. Maybe Mother wanted to give us a sister. You don't have one, do you?"

"No, only a brother, as you already know."

Another pause between the two as they continue to watch the darkness. A sad, bitter smile makes its way through the Fae's voice.

"We deserved a history like your grandparents'."

"But we got it. You have Azriel and I have Thomas."

"Vane..." Selaene did not have the heart to admit to herself that her beautiful mate, after her family thought her dead and after all these centuries, had probably forgotten her and moved on with his life. Not to mention telling Vanessa, who had so much faith in fate to envy.

"No, don't say that, Elle." She knew the tiger was haunted by such thoughts as well, and coming to terms with reality hurt too much. The conversation faded into a heavy silence, like at the beginning of their journey.

If Azriel had moved on, she would not have blamed him in any way, in fact, as much as it hurt, she would have let him go for his sake. Sometimes loving means knowing how to let go.

"Please, Selaene," it is rare for the friend to use her full name, and when she does, she is aware that she is beginning a serious and poignant speech, "remember. If you are lost in the darkness, seek the light."

"Or light it up." She cannot see her friend, but she knows she is smiling and nodding at the same time, as she is wont to do when she is pleased with something Selaene does.

This little play on words, which has become their phrase, has been with them for nearly four centuries, and every time they repeat it, that little spark of hope in their chests shines a little brighter.

A snort comes from the Fae's mouth. "What's wrong, Elle?"

"Nothing, it's just boring." Vanessa chuckles, "Come on, tell me about your family again, last time I think you missed a few adjectives about your brother's eyes."

The two women laugh, and Selaene is grateful that Vanessa enjoys listening to her so much.

"Rhysand's eyes tend to be more blue than mine. Mine are all purple. When he looks at the stars, he dreams. You know, Vane, I think he would be a big believer in if you get lost in the darkness, seek the light" Her friend's laughter echoes in the now familiar darkness, warming the atmosphere.

"Let me guess, he is also the biggest dreamer you know?"

"Of course. But only after me."

"After us. There is no one who dreams more than us."

Azriel sighs, the last breath as a free male of the evening.

Like every weekend, he and his family join in a dinner party at Feyre and Rhysand's house, and after Nyx's birth it is a rare event, which is why he could not say no.

He hasn't spoken to Feyre since what was said in his room, and he hopes she hasn't mentioned it to her mate, or tonight he will have to endure yet another lecture about how in life one must move on, that he also loved Selaene but that they must let her go.

Dinner doesn't go on so badly, it allows him to clear his mind a little and spend some light time, and Feyre doesn't seem to have said anything, doesn't even seem to remember what happened. She does not look at him with pity, and Azriel would like to hug her.

Later that evening the family is divided between those who play cards, those who drink and chat, and Azriel. Actually, he was part of the players, but after winning three out of four rounds, he was kicked out by a slightly tipsy and irritated Cassian. He wanted to retort that he only let Amren win the fourth round because he is slightly intimidated by her, but he opted to keep quiet. Now he stands on the terrace to get some fresh air. He gazes at the stars and the moon, smiling to himself as he remembers nights spent stargazing with his beloved. A sad smile. Azriel always thought Selaene was the reincarnation of the Moon, she shone with her own light, but not blinding like the sun, no, she was beautiful and deep and mysterious like that silver orb in the sky.

"Azriel?" the voice of Feyre distracted him from his thoughts.

"Yes?" Azriel sang victory too soon. He hoped Feyre had forgotten the whole thing, or simply decided to ignore it, but of course not. If it is not Rhysand, or Cassian, now Feyre is added to the list.

"I wanted to talk to you. About a few days ago...," the Fae's sea-colored eyes stare at his face for signs of despondency. Azriel continues to look at the moon. His Selaene.

"I... I haven't talked to Rhysand about it. I know Selaene's history, though, and I know-I mean, I see how your brothers look at you. Or how you're still loyal to her."

At the sound of his mate's name, Azriel grits his teeth. His body stiffens, but he forces himself to breathe. Once, twice, three times, before he looks at Feyre, meeting her eyes full of pity for him. But when he does, he finds none.

She looks at him understandingly, as if to say "I am here, talk to me."

He is surprised.

"Do you want to know my - our story, so then you will look at me as if I were a puppy left alone?"

Feyre smiles sadly, her gaze following that of the Illyrian warrior to the moon. There is a small pause before she responds.

"No, of course not, Az. Clearly I'm saddened, because from the way Rhysand described her, from the way you react just to hearing her name, she sounds like a really special person, and I would have liked to meet her myself. But I won't look at you with pity."

Azriel weighs his words carefully before speaking. Feyre for a moment thinks he might pull back, his posture stiff and his breaths short. But then the male sighs, muscles relaxing almost imperceptibly, and Feyre smiles at him before gently stroking his hand, as if to invite him to speak. As if he is saying "talk to me, I won't judge you," and only then does Azriel relent.

"She was a very special person. She was ... she was my moon."

The female senses the pain he is feeling from the squeaky voice, and knows it must be the first time he has spoken of this to anyone. She has never seen the ShadowSinger so...human, so fragile. And yet, her gaze remains fixed on his face, and her eyes do not make him pull back, but urge him to vent.

"She, we planned to accept the bond the week when she... On evenings like these I would sneak into her house and fly with her to Velaris, we would lie on the rocks and as we watched the stars, we would talk all night. She was...she was everything to me, Feyre. I've never loved anyone the way I loved her, and I don't think I can. Rhysand wants me to move on, to find someone to keep by my side. But I can't even think of another woman when my wound is still so fresh."

When Azriel finishes his speech, he feels a weight lift from his chest. Perhaps this is the first step, he thinks, to moving forward.

He looks at Feyre, searching her blue pools for something he cannot find. And he does not know what he finds there, but he is happy with what he sees. She smiles at him.

"You know, Az. Maybe sometimes loving someone is also knowing how to let go, maybe you've kept this weight on your chest too long, too afraid to show yourself vulnerable to your brothers. I'm glad you trusted me."

A comforting silence falls over them, and Azriel smiles. Feyre tries to speak again, but is interrupted by Cassian.

"Come on, you two! Who wants to play mime?"

And with that, the two return and take part in the games.

next chapter

[irishmammonagenda]

Hello! I hope your requests are open 🧚‍♀️

Can i ask, what brothers' reaction would be on MC who sings something like MSI (you know smth like "son of a bitch! God's like me!") or just alternative rock/punk in general?

Answer only if you're okay with that❤️

Have a great day🏃‍♂️

hihi‼️(i love the amount of emojis u use i can feel ur personality through the screen teehee)

i absoluetley can‼️‼️ also tysm for the new music to listen to (im kind of new to alt rock and punk i only really used to listen to MCR lmao😭)

anyway this was fun to write

grma for the ask <3

Obey Me Brothers React to MC Being a Wee Emo.

DISCLAIMER: emo is used as a word because where im from emo is used to describe nearly any type of alternative fashion bc we're all dumb over here app, also im 2% sure pop punk/poprock is emo music bc i think thats what mcr is, so we're going w/ it ig, the only thing ik abt music is that bars 13-20 in the dambusters themetune has fanfare so if i get any terms wrong lmk 😔✊

WARNINGS: There's a slight slight hint of drinks being spiked in Beel's one. nothing ever happens its just him keeping an eye on your drink at a concert just in case.

LUCIFER

He hears music blasting in the music room in the House of Lamentation.

At first he just sighs, it sounds like the type of music Belphie would listen to when trying to plan out another Anti-Lucifer League. The teenage angst probably helped fuel the seventh born’s desire and motivation to prank him.

He sneaks into the Music room. Technically he just walked in quietly, but you still jumped when you saw him.

"L-Lucifer!! Hiya!!" You say awkwardly, not looking the first born in they eyes. "What's up?" He blinks slowly at you, fighting the urge to place a gloved hand on the bridge of his nose and pinch it in disappointment (and/or second hand embarrassment) "I'm not going to say anything. Just keep it down, MC." He sighs, normally he'd have lectured you. But it reminded him too much of a wolf-cut, guyliner filled past that for the sake of his pride, he did not want to remember.

He wasn't a stranger to musical genres, the man collects records for fuck's sake.

The drums and guitars he can normally get behind. Especially with catchy rhythms.

The lyrics?....they're normally a hit or miss. It really depends on the song.

'God likes me' (MSI) 'Hail Mary, Forgive Me' (PTV) Religious references just kind of ruin some songs for him.

Lucifer spends his time collecting cursed records, but your music taste is a special kind of cursed MC.

Although, he is strangely supportive in his own way.

"MC, Lord Diavolo has gifted me some tickets to concert [small devildom band] is putting on, I thought you would enjoy it."

(Lucifer bought the tickets himself.)

MAMMON

Haha, Emo!

"Yer a wee emo so ye are, MC"

It's not exactly his style of music (the man listens to Kneecap ffs)

BUT!!! He wants to share things with you dammit! Let him listen to your stupid emo music with you!!! He's your first man!!!

He does, however learn how to play guitar so he can play some simple chords while you sing horrible improvised lyrics with horrible improvised chords.

You don't have the heart to tell him that acoustic guitars aren't normally used in Punk/Rock music.

The sound of horribly improvised chord progressions ring out in your bedroom as you and your first man stand back to back, horrible matching messy eyeliner on both of yours and Mammon's eyes as you hold a hairbrush to your mouth and improvise lyrics. That is, if you can even get them out of your mouth before laughing. "Blood in my body! Because I'm aliveeee!!!" You sing off key while Mammon strums the guitar. "Love in my Bugatti! Because The Great Mammon can drive!" You laugh. Mammon whistles while missing out on the fingering of a chord and then pretending it didn't happen.

LEVIATHAN

The first thought in this man's mind is karaoke.

He sends you a playlist of Rocky kinda anime openings that you should totally listen to.

He's the least shocked and weirded out, (not that the others are weirded out)

He really likes your singing voice. It doesn't matter if you're a horrible singer, its you so it makes him happy.

You guys could do a duet? If it wasn't too much for you to sing with a stinky smelly otaku like him :(

"Levi-" You sigh, looking at the Levi shaped lump of seaweed in his aquiriam, the demon's tail twitches through the pile of aquatic plant, showing that he's listening. "Levi... Of course I'd love to do Karaoke with you...You didn't give me a chance to answer before jumping into the tank! C'mon!" It takes Levi a few more minutes before he feels ready to leave his seaweed pile, his face is completely red, but there's a small smile on his face as you set up the karaoke machine.

SATAN

Satan enjoys your music taste.

He likes most if not all human world music because music is so important to culture and he loves learning about human world culture.

What he doesn't like however, is people dropping his name in lyrics for edginess smh.

No MC, no one in Je T'aime is his bitch. Please stop asking.

He also takes you to gigs! Because why not!

The blond haired demon sat in the bar, earning a few looks from the people surrounding them. He stuck out like a sore thumb in his jumper and jeans and the book in his hands in comparision to black denim and leather, chains and sub-cultural clothes that everyone else was wearing. Satan payed it no mind as you came back with the drinks, all decked out in clothing matching the rest of the people in the venue in style. "Hope you weren't waiting long....the lines were long!" Satan takes a drink from your hand and sips it, giving a soft smile, "Not at all."

ASMODEUS

The music is a hit and miss tbh, he prefers the more pop punk kind of thing, leaning more into pop than anything else.

He likes paramore though!

Loves the clothes associated with the genres and subcultures of the music! Adopts some of it into his own style!

(He alters it heavily, but some designs are inspired by the subcultures)

He could be your adorable gorgeous boyfriend and you could be the wee emo gremlin partner!

The opposites attract will look so cute on his Devilgram.

But he geniunely supports you and your interests, he designs and makes clothes for you in the style associated with your music taste.

He even makes you merch of your favourite bands and albums inspired into clothes.

He also does your makeup before you go out to concerts or gigs

Your his emo after all.

You squirm as Asmo runs his fingers along your flushed skin, he laughs as you jerk away. "It's just a brush, it wont hurt you darling!" He laughs, putting more black eyeshadow onto the makeup brush and applying it---or atleast trying to---to your eyelids, biting back teasing comments as you jerk away. You were ticklish god dammit! It wasn't like you were meaning to! It was a natural reflex!

BEELZEBUB

He likes it.

but not because he enjoys the music persay. Don't get him wrong he can listen to it and enjoy it but he wouldn't normally seek it out.

He likes it because you and Belphie like it, and the style reminds him of the both of you.

In terms of rock music he likes the more slow ballady types. Belphie normally listens to them when he has trouble falling asleep.

Very supportive.

If you're ever in the Mosh Pit in a concert, Beel will go with you, you're just so tiny and people can push you about! (You're tiny to him. So yes MC, his point still stands.)

Taking that back, if you're at a concert, Beel's probably with you. Unless you're with another brother, Even then, Beel's probably going to come.

Bro is like your own bodyguard.

Reports to Lucifer when at concerts and makes sure you're not taking any illegal substances, you don't know what's in them MC!

He makes sure nothing is put in your drink either.

He just wants to keep you safe :(

Beel had been staring at the cup in your hands back and forth for a while now, you smile and offer it up to him. "Want a sip, Beelie? You've been staring at my drink a lot" You practically shout over the music. You weren't in the mosh pit, and though you stood a good distance away, the music was still loud. Beel shakes his head, pointing to his pint and smiling his closed eye smile, "No thanks, MC. I'm just making sure you're staying hydrated and don't need refills." He says truthfully, though that truth isn't whole. You grin, "Aww...that's so sweet!" Turning your attention away from him and back to the stage, Beel wraps an arm around your waist. Eyes alert and wary when someone so much as walked past, or a crowd member got a little too close while dancing. He was overprotective and cautious. But you deserved to be safe.

BELPHEGOR

Give him back his albums what the actual fuck.

Look just because he takes your life it doesn't mean you get to take his music taste.

Wowwww. Petty.

Fine, you can borrow his limited edition special cut vinyls.

What? Lucifer's not the only one with a record collection.

He did not get this idea from Lucifer, No you Liar.

He did.

Belphie listens to rock ballads to get to sleep when he has trouble sleeping and when he wants to.

Sometimes when you nap together he puts some on.

It's kind of like a white noise machine.

Will go to concerts with you and Beel, but has to have slept for atleast 2 whole days leading up to it so people don't think he's passed out in the crowd.

Mention any similarites about his little music vinyl collections to Lucifer's cursed record selections he will not let you borrow any for atleast 3 days.

Long before Eve bit the apple and the brother's wings turnt black, a small boy with indigo hair wakes up from a nap, pouty lips wobbling when he realises his twin is nowhere to be found. Belphie sniffles, but doesn't break into tears. He's a big boy now! Big boys don't cry when they miss their twins! Beel was probably out on a walk with Michael and Lilith in her stroller! He'd come back! But still, Belphie's bottom lip trembled, eyes watering, the little boy didn't like being seperated from his twin! He was about to cry when he heard loud music coming from a room down the hall. More curious than anything, Belphie gets off of his bed, and (taking his teddy bear with him) walks down the hall following the sound. Though his walk was more of a waddle with his tiny legs. He'd never heard anything like it before! When Beel got back he could tell him about his discovery! Soon enough he reaches a slightly cracked open door and the music is super loud here. This must be it! Waddling into the room, Belphie could see a figure laying spread eagle on one of the beds. Half of the room decorated in colour with one bed and the half of the room with the person laying on the bed was almost completely in black with a bunch of posters on the walls. Most importantly, on the floor lay a box with a spinny thing spinning that seemed to be playing the sounds! Belphie held his teddy in one hand and lifted up the thing that was running across the big black circle. Immediately the sound stopped and the figure sat up, with layered dark shoulder length hair, layered dark black white and red clothes, and enough eyeliner to paint the colourful bright half of the room pitch black. A teen Lucifer looks down at Belphie with a sour expression, upset his mope session had been interrupted. "What are you doing here?" He asks the small indigo-haired angel. Belphie looks up at him with wide, sparkling eyes before pointing to the record player. "Why's it makin' sound? There's no choir in there...." Lucifer's eyes soften. His mope session about meeting the demon prince, not hating him, and finding him pretty like the human he met down in the human world could wait. "It's a record player, Belphs." The teenager's too emo, the end is nigh, everything sucks, too cool for love and affection persona drops and reveals his softie interior. Lucifer picks up his younger brother and places him on his bed as he takes out the record that was playing in the record player and putting on one that would be much less intimidating for someone as young as Belphie. He sits back onto the bed and the small boy cuddles up to his big brother, ever the affectionate child. As the record plays on Belphie grins up at Lucifer, revealling one missing front tooth. He had lost them early, shortly after Beel's tooth had fallen out. Lucifer grinned too, suppressing a chuckle at how Beel hadn't even realised his tooth was wobbly until he bit into his breakfast and found his tooth lodged into the food. "Luci! I likes this music!" "Do you?" "Mhm!" Lucifer grins, petting his youngest brother's head. "I'll tell you what. For your birthday I'll get you your very own record player and lend you some vinyls, we can even go to the human world and pick some new ones out. I'll show you how to play them when you have them, okay?" "Okay! Thank you Luci!" After a while, the songs change from high energy into ballads, Belphie's eyes grow heavier, as do his big brother's. Belphie curled up into the elder's side, abandoning his teddy bear for grabbing at the fabric of Lucifer's shirt with tiny grubby hands as he nodded off. Lucifer made sure to try not to move, in result of the slow rock ballad music and staying completely still so not to jostle and wake up his youngest brother who would 100% get cranky if woken. Slowly, Lucifer's eyes start to close, and he falls into a soft slumber as well.

And hey, if Michael returned from his walk, and after leaving Beel and Lilith into a play room went to check in on Lucifer and saw that sight; and then proceeded to grin and take multiple photos of said sight from multiple angles to use as blackmail on his little emo twin brother Lucikins on a later occassion, then that was Michael’s business and Michael’s business alone. And Lucifer's business when Michael didn't want to do the dishes when it was his night to do them, of course.

But if you ask, Belphie'll tell you that visiting the human world is what got him interested in that type of music.

Because he's a stinky smelly little liar and should be locked up in an attic.

On a side note he bullies you for being 'emo' :(

Bro is such a hypocrite.

But to be geniune, Belphie loves that he can share his music with you. He's happy you can bond over this with him.

Not that he'd ever outright tell you.

But you can tell in the way he gives you albums and vinyls as gifts, and makes you little playlists of ballads to sleep to. (He's gotten you into the habit smh.)

[the-lisechen]

~6.7k. gen. copia/f!oc. the cardinal has a cigarette with a fan. from there, it gets a little weird. (or: copia gets into a fist fight at 3am in a denny's parking lot over theology. metaphorically speaking.)

header by the divine @enjoy-my-swearing

(the fic that started it all and has eaten my brain ever since. don't mind me, i just wanted to reformat this one and also have it on my tumblr for posterity)

some kind of cosmic rearrangement - ao3

(full series here)

religious discussion, catholic character that isn't an asshole, unresolved sexual tension. tw: catholicism

Copia stepped out into the night, face paint mostly cleaned off, save for the black around his eyes. He couldn't even remember the name of the town they were in. Somewhere in the American South, the air warm and heavy with humidity that felt like silk against his skin. He settled his shoulders against the brick of the alleyway, and sighed, his blood still fizzing from the ritual. The comedown from the adrenaline dump always left him a little hollowed out and shaky.

As he passed a hand over his face, the car in front of him trilled out like a bird and flashed its lights. He turned to the sound of boots up the wet pavement. A small figure, female, dishwater blonde hair, head down, hands stuffed into black skinny jeans. Humming something he could recognize as one of his songs, and that never got old.

He watched her approach, curious. When she at last stepped into the light, she looked up at him, and startled like a deer. Her hands flew up to her mouth, and she squeaked out a breathless “Oh shit!” It took her a moment to recover, and my, wasn't that an interesting shade of pink. He’d seen people blush, of course, but this was remarkable, that red, that quickly.

He had to smile, even bowing a little. “Bunoasera, signora."

"Um! Hi! You are very good at your job!"

Her purse plopped next to her feet, and she knelt down to recollect it, the blush deepening to the color of late spring roses. "Sorry, I'm sorry--" she said, hands shaking as she scooped spilled detritus back into her purse, pens and lip balm spilling from her fingers.

He bent over to help her, smiling. "It is no trouble, signora. Not the worst I've seen." He paused, sitting back on his heels, and picked up a battered paperback the color of burnt orange. "'The Liberation of Theology.'" He looked up at her, mismatched eyes sharp, assessing. "This is what you read? At my show?"

The girl-- woman, really-- went still. She got to her feet and took half a step back, widening her stance, her shoulders squared. "Yeah." She tilted her chin up. "Is it really that strange?"

He flipped it to read the back cover, and her spine relaxed a fraction, with his focus off of her. "Perhaps... somewhat unexpected." An understatement. He stood, slow, putting himself further into her personal space, eyes still on the text in his hand. He read the subtitle. "'An instrument in human liberation.' Has it been?" He looked down at her, not exactly trying to loom, but not exactly going out of his way not to. "In your experience."

The woman folded her arms, leaning back against her car. Keeping her distance. "It can be. It should be." She flipped her keyring, once. "And in my experience? Yes, actually. But I am fully aware my experience may be-- atypical."

"In what way?"

"Well." She looked up, exposing the long pale line of her throat, and her Southern accent became gradually more apparent as she spoke. "I converted to Catholicism. Not really from anything, you understand, unless you count the vaguely agnostic Protestant background noise in America. And I did my catechism classes with a Capuchin Franciscan. A lot of mysticism. And a lot of social action to offset the navel-gazing that comes with that. The culture was-- it's different. I mean, how much do you know about liberation theology?"

"For the purposes of this conversation?" He idly tapped her book against his thigh. "Let us say... not much."

"In simple terms: feed the hungry, clothe the naked. Like the guy said in the book, right? It's both defending the poor and taking aim at the structural issues that are actively oppressing people. Real basic."

"You need a God to tell you this?"

He saw her warming to the subject, eyes alight and not quite on his. "Of course not, but it's a useful framework. And some people do! Whatever provides incentive. Besides that, it works on a practical level, if the Church is your primary social apparatus, that's a structure in place to distribute resources if the state is failing. I mean, the Jesuit approach in South America is not quite the same as the Black church in the Civil Rights movement in the USA in the Sixties, but it's not too far off, either. It's like--" and she cut herself off, the blush coming back, eyes cast downward. "It's just what's supposed to happen. What it says on the tin."

He ruffled the pages with a gloved hand a few times, watching her. "Incentive." He gestured at her with the book, halfway to accusatory. "If someone is doing something in expectation of divine reward, then they are, I'm afraid, an asshole."

"Man, I truly do not care about the motive. I care about the effect it has on the world. But faith without works is dead."

"You believe this."

"Yeah."

"You are this passionate about it, and yet you came to see me. My songs are nothing but blasphemy. Why?"

"Look, as blasphemy goes-- and I'm not trying to denigrate anything you're doing here-- this is just not that big a deal."

He stared at her. "I am literally praising the devil. Literal songs about, literally, devil worship."

"Yeah, and it slaps. Can I have my book back?"

He held it out carefully, as if it was a chunk of meat and she was a strange animal. One that might bite. "What is it, then, that qualifies as blasphemy? In your opinion."

She took it, opened the backseat door to her car, and tossed it in, careful not to turn her back on him. "I dunno. Start with that 'prosperity gospel' bullshit. 'If you're rich, it's because Jesus wants you to be rich!' Joel Osteen can bite the fucking curb. It's lazy exegesis, is what it is." Again, he saw her restrain herself, and she ran a hand through her hair, embarrassed. "I can go on. Obviously. But I think if you're getting bent out of shape about this kind of thing, you need to reassess your priorities."

"No, this is-- at least amusing. You haven't chased us out with torches and pitchforks yet, so I will continue to assume good faith." He smiled. "So to speak."

"Trust me, I am leaving a lot of stuff out." She fished around in her purse, picked out a brilliantly blue pack of cigarettes, and tapped them rhythmically on the heel of her hand. "So what's your deal? I don't know a lot about theistic Satanism. Pop the hood on it, man, tell me how it works."

"In simple terms?"

"Sure." She cracked a smile, thumbing a cigarette out of the pack.

"We honor the serpent that brought knowledge to Eve, as a liberator from the oppression of the corrupted demiurge that you call God."

"The snake, this was one of those gnostic things, right? That was, what, the Ophites? I thought they found it at Nag Hammadi."

"Fragments. References. But we have had the Syntagma for centuries. This was Hippolytus, yes? We borrowed a few things from Marcion of Sinope, as well. From those texts, and other pieces of what you would call apocrypha, we solidified a doctrine. Eventually. These things take time, no? Remind me, when did your people decide on the canon?"

"Council of Rome. I wanna say three..." she tapped the unlit cigarette, "...eighty seven? Somewhere in there. Fourth century, anyway."

"Just so. As a, you'd say-- distinct movement, yes? I would say sometime around the twelfth century that we came together."

"Hold on, twelfth century, evil demiurge-- what was this, like a splinter of the Cathars?"

"Not unrelated. When it came to that kind of dualism, we merely decided to side with the physical world."

"By running straight to the devil."

"Eh. No half measures."

"I'm just kinda surprised it got traction in that environment."

"Mostly on the-- margins, you would say? We had solidified the clerical structure some time before, modeled on the Catholic church. Camouflage, yes? But it was with the obvious corruption of the fourteenth century that we started to gain momentum. Acolytes. A whisper network of proselytization."

"That is neat. Like, what, a Dark Reformation kind of thing?"

"...That is, perhaps, somewhat reductive. But not inaccurate."

"Oh that is so cool. It's like finding a whole new life form in the Marianas Trench. No, I can see a kind of sense to it. Get far enough away from Rome, look as close as you can to the actual Church, you might get away with it."

"They did burn us. Your people did do that."

"I am sure that they did," she said, with a certain blithe amicability. "Burnt a lot of Cathars, too, makes sense. Sir-- Father-- I'm sorry. What is the title?"

"Cardinal."

A blink, barely perceptible. "Cardinal, then. Your Eminence, if you want me to stand here and apologize for every atrocity the Church committed, we're gonna be here all night, and it'll get boring quick. And, forgive me, at what point have I attached a moral judgment over your faith?"

He spread his hands, smiling a little. "Very well, I concede the point. You can understand if I am somewhat-- defensive."

"Yeah, of course." She grinned, mostly to herself. "And here I am, a good Catholic girl. Everything you rail against."

"Eh. It could be worse. You could be a Baptist."

She let out a laugh at that, an entirely inelegant sound, and Copia felt as if he'd won something.

"Oh. No. No, I couldn't. Too diffuse. A million different opinions going every which way. I'm also not into sola fide--"

"'By faith alone.'"

"Yeah. Not my bag. If it doesn't inspire you to help your fellow human beings and not just focus on your own salvation, it's probably bullshit." Finally she put the cigarette she'd been fidgeting with into her mouth. "Man. Cathars and gnostics." The woman brought out a burnished zippo and flipped the lid, a faintly musical sound. She didn't light her cigarette, but shot him a sidelong look, eyes alight. "Sounds more like heresy than outright blasphemy."

"Oh, now I'm offended." He was not, in fact, offended. He was fascinated. He wanted to study her under a microscope. "Certainly, that's the first time I've heard that. Maybe I should send you to talk to the-- ehh, how is it? The protestors. What do you call, the evangelicals, yes?"

"They don't like Catholics, either. The veneration of Mary, y'know? Idolatry." Finally she sparked the lighter, her face turning to alabaster in the light of the flame. "We're both going to hell in their lights. Just different neighborhoods." She bent her head to the light. A long drag on the cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke upwards. "So no, I don't think going to a concert counts as a sin. There's just some songs I can't sing along to, is all."

Copia leaned back against the wall, arms folded, considering her. "You know that your Church would call this blasphemy. What is it, then, that you think I'm doing, if not spreading the word of Satan?"

A long drag of her cigarette. "Sick tunes, man," she said, around the smoke. Shrugged. "It's fun. And fun is underrated, as a concept."

"Signora, I don't think 'fun' is what brought you here." He leveled her with his mismatched stare, and she dropped her eyes.

"No," she said, studying the cherry on her cigarette. "No, fun would not be enough."

He took a step closer, not quite edging into her personal space. "What, then? What could possibly bring you to deny your programming, when you clearly believe with such conviction?"

The back of her shoulders hit the top of her car, but she tilted her head up at him in challenge. "Call it joy, then." A defiant kind of vulnerability. "That's what I hear in your songs. And that's a rarer thing."

"What a monstrous thing, to deny joy. To yourself, to others. That sounds to me like blasphemy. What abnegation of the self. We are not hurting anyone. I am not hurting anyone. Why not do as you like?"

"'An it harm none, do as thou wilt.'"

"Precisely."

"Isn't that, what, Louÿs by way of Crowley? Nineteenth century. I thought your stuff was older than that."

"That is beside the point and you know it. Answer me."

"Because that's where it falls apart for me! To begin and end with 'do no harm' does not work. You cannot always do exactly as you like, you have an obligation in society! Feed the hungry. 'Do what you want, whatever,' that's too passive. And being passive in the face of oppression is oppression! Come on, man, you must know this. You're too smart not to know this."

"I'm sorry, you want to talk about oppression? With the literal Catholic Church? With the colonialism and the forced conversion and the actual literal Inquisition? Even laying that aside, the harm it's doing now, how can you still stay with it?"

"Because that's not all it is! Not all it could be. Because it can be just, it can be equitable, and it can be used as a tool for liberation. I believe that, I do. And if if I'm in it-- and oh boy you would not believe how much I'm in it-- then I have a moral obligation to try to shape it towards those ends. Because those people--" she flung a hand out, gesturing towards what, he couldn't say, and he took a step back. "Those bullshit assholes that want to strip people of healthcare and gut the social safety net-- they're in my house! And they don't get to fucking win."

"You must see that this is about control. You are too smart not to know this."

The woman slumped back against her car, and took another long drag on her cigarette, before dropping it and crushing it under her boot, an oddly fussy swiveling motion. "I dunno, man. For me it's about service. You just don't fix something by walking away. And anyway I'm committed."

"I think you are tilting at windmills." He watched her, the last tendrils of cigarette smoke from her exhale the same blue-grey of her eyes, letting the silence linger until the smoke cleared entirely. "What is your name?"

She flicked her eyes back up at him, and then away, coming to a decision. "Sophia Turner." She bit her lip. "Sophie."

"Sophie. That's lovely."

"Thank you. And what do I call you? Feels a little weird, saying 'Your Eminence' to a guy whose faith you don't subscribe to."

He tilted his head in the faintest approximation of a bow, biting back a smile. "Copia."

"Well. I am delighted to make your acquaintance." Her accent more pronounced with the formality, a distinctly Southern drawl.

"You say you're committed. How? You don't have to stay anywhere forever."

"Oh. Oh boy. Um." She looked down at her hands, picked at the edge of a painted nail, and then turned to him, watching his mismatched eyes for a long moment. She smiled, a little rueful. "I am taking my vows in a few months." And to his blank look-- "The Maryknoll Sisters of St. Dominic." He blinked, recoiled a little, and she flinched, turning to look down the street, not seeing the rain on the asphalt, the streetlight shining on the fire escape. "I still don't think it's a sin. But it's-- maybe a little harder to square. After that. Wanted to see you while I could."

Her face composed. No-color hair hanging in grey eyes. He wanted to reach out, to brush it away, to see her clear, to make her look at him. A gulf between them, on the narrow sidewalk. Something twisted in his chest, at the waste of it, the thought of a fire like that locked in a cloister. And yet: "I could never fault someone for devotion to their faith. The discipline is admirable. Truly. But I would-- Are you allowed? To fraternize with the enemy?"

"Well. Maybe in the spirit of friendly ecumenical dialogue." She looked up at the streetlights, shoulders tensed. She chewed at her lip. "We are allowed to have friends, you know."

He had to drop his gaze, at that, a sharp inhalation. "Ah." And again: "Ah. Hm." He looked back up at her, at the tense muscle in her jaw, her face still resolutely turned away from him. "I wonder--?"

She darted a quick look at him, not quite daring to look at him full-on, yet, and made a motion for him to continue.

He had to smile, even if it was with a little trepidation. "Do you have another cigarette?"

That rough bark of a laugh again, and yes, it felt like a victory. "Yeah. Yeah, man, sure." She pulled out the cigarette pack and extracted one, holding it out with the slightest self-deprecating hint of ceremony. He took it between his gloved fingers, careful not to touch her. When he put it to his lips she leaned in to light it in a movement that seemed both courtly and instinctual, an ingrained habit. He couldn't quite look at her when she did it, shocked by the casual intimacy of the gesture. The warmth of the flame through his gloves, the first rough hit of smoke at the back of his throat and the head-swimming nicotine rush. An awful taste, and completely satisfying. He closed his eyes at it and drew in deep, amazed all over again at how much tension dissipated on the exhale.

When the initial wave of the nicotine high had passed, the fatigue settled in, and he tilted his head back against the bricks, eyes still closed, too tired to be on guard. "Where are we? I confess, I lost track."

"...Asheville, honey." A pause."D'jeet yet?"

Well, that certainly got him to look at her. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh, that was very pronounced, wasn't it? My apologies. Have you eaten?"

His brain felt like static. It was all the answer she needed. "What I figured. C'mon, I know a spot."

"I should--" He stopped, inexplicably stricken. "We're leaving in the morning. I don't remember where's next. Charleston, perhaps?"

"I'll have you home before bedtime, scout's honor." He hesitated. Gently: "I don't have designs on your virtue, Cardinal."

He was tired, and sore, and his head was starting to hurt somewhere behind his right eye. He could feel the dried sweat on himself, like a film, absolutely revolting.

"Alright," he said.

She led and he followed, falling into step at her left elbow, almost without thought. "This is the South, yes? We won't-- we might attract. Attention."

"Mm. I might would worry about it somewhere wasn't Asheville. Here'd probably be fine."

"That seems to be an awful lot of weight to put on 'probably.'"

"More worried about someone from your show running into us and losing their minds, be honest with you."

"As in, dropping their purse and squealing?" Was he enjoying this? He was.

"Oh you think you're funny. And I did not squeal."

"Heh. It was a little bit of a squeal."

"Ain't gonna argue the point with you."

The nicotine felt wonderful. He grinned up at the streetlight filtering through a magnolia tree, the orange light reflecting on the leaves, the faint citrus scent hanging in the thick air. He couldn't restrain himself. "You are not, I hope, leading me into temptation?"

"Oh, foul! Foul. Get thee behind me."

"Equally terrible, signora."

They lapsed into silence for a while. Copia came to the last quarter inch of his cigarette, pinching off one more drag before dropping it down a storm drain. The smell would linger, but it had been blissful in the moment. "So."

"So."

"Where are you taking me?"

"Barbecue joint, open all night. Just up here, actually. You had barbecue yet?"

"I have not."

"You in for a treat, then."

They rounded the corner, heading into the jaundiced sodium light of a patchy parking lot, under a flickering red neon sign. 'Little Pigs Genuine Pit BBQ.' It seemed somehow ominous, but the set of her shoulders reassured him. Somewhat. She pushed open the door with its small jangling bell to red vinyl booths, formica tabletops, wood paneling. Vinegar and roasting meat.

He could feel the eyes on them as she ordered for them both, in a dialect so thick it was almost incomprehensible to him. He stepped closer to murmur, "Coffee for me, please, signora," while he surveilled the crowd. Not outright hostile, had seen stranger things, maybe, but a collective flicker of curiosity before sliding off of them. That flat and unsympathetic gaze. Her accent helped. His obvious manners did as well. Still, he was on edge.

He stayed on edge until he slid into a booth opposite her with his back to the wall, and even then it only let up slightly, a background hum to go along with the labored air conditioning. The barbecue was very nearly worth it, salt and sweet and vinegar and umami, along with the blunt force animal pleasure at hot food after a long time without. He looked up at her, making an inarticulate noise of shocked delight through the sandwich, and she nodded in eager agreement with her mouth full. Swallowed. "I know, right?"

"You cannot convert me."

"Okay. Wasn't trying."

"If you could, this might do it."

"Welcome to the South. It's got problems, but there are compensations."

"So I see."

They lost themselves in the food for a little while, and Copia, a usually fastidious man, found that it was actually impossible to eat a barbecue sandwich neatly. After a while he gave up trying, grateful for the strange softness of American paper napkins. It made sense, if the food was like this. He eyed her iced tea, wondering about it, if that was also an American custom, or if it only applied to the region.

She caught him looking after half a second, and passed it over with barely an eyeblink of thought, the most natural thing in the world.

"Oh, and you've lost me. This is an obscene amount of sugar."

"They do call it 'sweet tea' for a reason."

"Are you sure that this isn't just colored sugar water?"

"Reasonably so. Might be accentual, brings out the depth of flavor, like. Least it isn't corn syrup."

"This is a nightmare dystopia you live in."

"Could be. Try one of them hush puppies, then you get back to me."

"Mm." Then, after following instructions, "I will concede on the food."

"Yeah. There's nowhere and nothing that's bad all the way through."

"Perhaps." He took another sip of her tea, pleased at her sputter of mock-indignation. "This brings me to where it falls apart for me. An omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, omnibenevolent God."

"That is the doctrine."

"Why, then, evil? Why suffering?"

"We going with theodicy, then?"

He motioned for her to continue, a little gleeful.

"Which answer would you like, from the, oh, four-five thousand years that this has been a question?" She tossed the rolled-up sleeve of her straw in his general direction, smiling. "Why you coming at me with this shit, man?"

"Ehh. I want to know what you think. You, not your Church."

She nodded, and poked at the ice in her tea with her straw while she gave the question the consideration it was due. Finally: "I like Simone Weil for this. You read any Simone Weil?"

"Let us say that I haven't."

"Okay." The vinyl booth squeaked as she leaned back. "This isn't necessarily unique to her, it's got a lot of similarities with-- a Jewish creation story, yeah? But creation is where God withdrew. If God is everything, for creation to exist, there has to be places where God is not. If there's places that God is not, then almost by definition they are not, inherently, holy. It's apophatic, unknowable, like John of the Cross or Kierkegaard or what have you-- I'm getting into the weeds here. Evil is the form which God's mercy takes in the world. Affliction-- she's got a specific term for this, she's talking about spiritual affliction more than physical affliction-- doesn't create human misery, so much as reveals it. And it drives us towards God."

"That sounds, if you will pardon me, fucking horrific. The act of a sadist."

"I don't know that I'm explaining this well. We are created matter, and with affliction we are consumed by God. In the Incarnation, God suffers affliction, is made matter, and consumed by us. It's reciprocal. And if you can go through affliction and still love, and recognize your fellow human being as someone else who has suffered like you, then your duty is to help."

"No, still terrible."

"How do your people explain it, then?"

"By not having an omnipotent deity, to start."

"...I walked right into that one. I surely did. Evil demiurge, again?"

"All about control," he replied, amiable.

"Fair enough. I'm not a Jesuit, I could maybe get at this better if I was. My whole thing with it is, there's a difference between affliction-- which is personal-- and, say, generalized oppression, right? The personal makes you more empathetic with the collective."

"I can see the logic there, yes. I do not know if I agree, but I can see it. But do you truly need to suffer to sympathize with another's suffering?"

She turned her glass around in her hands, focusing hard on the ridged plastic edges. "I'unno. Some things you don't understand till you've been through them. Difference between empathy and sympathy, I guess."

"This is, what. You say, 'the personal is political?'"

She cracked a grin at that. "Oh, you done a lot of reading on second-wave feminism, then?"

"Condescending and uncalled for," he said, wagging a finger at her, mock-stern.

She held up a hand. "Fair point, apologies."

"Te absolvo."

"Thank you." She turned her glass in her hands, trailing through the condensation with a chipped fingernail. "My point being. For me. Affliction leads to empathy, and empathy leads you to act. What's the quote. 'Misery as a collective fact expresses itself as an injustice that cries to the heavens.' That's Oscar Romero, I think? Yeah. Oscar Romero. Anyway the thing he gets at-- Saint Oscar Romero, excuse me, did a lot of stuff in El Salvador in the the seventies, but the idea being: turning people into commodities for economic oppression, that's sin. The idolatry of wealth, of 'national security systems,' that's sin. Divine love should be mediated through justice. Gloria dei vivens homo--"

"'The glory of God is the living person.'"

"Yeah, exactly. Romero was on some-- gloria dei vivens pauper, which I think is probably about right."

"'The glory of God is in the poor.' Hm. And how well did that work out for him?"

"Well. They shot the guy during Mass in nineteen eighty."

"A martyr's death. Isn't that what your people aspire to?"

"Not me, man. I wanna live. But yes, he did lean in hard after his friend was killed. That was an inciting incident. I won't deny it."

"So, what, it is acceptable for one death, if it spurs on 'the greater good?'" He made air quotes at her, and she frowned.

"Not gonna debate the very concept of martyrdom with you, but I'm gonna say no, of course not. But like. Me personally? Rather that than have it go to waste. Some right wing fascist chucklefuck takes me out, I'd sure hope my people'd leverage it for all it's worth."

He sat back and tipped his coffee at her. "Bleak."

"Maybe. We each owe a death. And I mean, despite the guy being beatified, he isn't even necessarily the main dude in Latin America. None of these are exactly new concepts, you understand. But as a modern movement, really, it starts in nineteen sixty-eight, with the Medellín conference in Colombia, kind of as a response to Vatican Two, and from there--" she stopped herself, and raised her glass of tea at him in mock-salute. "Minutiae. The point, and I think I'm cribbing from Ernesto Cardenal here, is that while God is love, love can only exist in accordance with equality and justice."

He tilted his head, raising his eyebrows in total skepticism. "I can only say that this has been-- the opposite of my experience. To put it in the most, eh, diplomatic terms possible."

"The Church has done horrible, fucked up things. Continues to do horrible fucked up things. In a space that big, though, there are always going to be practices that are inherently contradictory. This one is mine. And I have the benefit of being fucking right."

"You do see, don't you, how that-- attitude? Mentality, yes? Is dangerous. Even you! Even if I happen to think that you're right. Which I actually do. The benefit of Satanism, I find, is that we do have room for differences. It is, you would say, I think, built in? There is no wrong way to approach. You find your own way. Nobody will lead you, nobody will control you."

"And how far has that kind of rugged individualism progressed the reduction of human suffering?" she snapped.

"At least it doesn't perpetuate it!" he shot back.

They glared at each other over the formica, not quite snarling, equally frustrated.

The diner had gone quiet. Blank suntanned faces, the lone clink of a spoon in a coffee cup, the somehow awful bubbling of the deep fryer. A lot of people, for one in the morning, he thought. They looked at each other in mutual alarm for one tensed breath, and went for their wallets at the same time.

"No," he said, firm, fishing past Euros for American dollars. "You are taking a vow of poverty and I am an actual rockstar." He shot a stern glance at her opened mouth and felt a stab of immense satisfaction when she shut it, apparently- miraculously, even- chastised. He threw down enough to cover the bill and the tip and reached to drag her out, stopping short of actually touching her elbow at the last moment. "Come."

She went.

They escaped with the perversely jaunty ring of the bell over the door into the thick warmth of the night, and she brayed a laugh again, not quite on the edge of hysterics.

"Go, go, this could get ugly." But he was laughing, too. Madness. He'd seen these exact sort of people outside of a venue, enraged, faces red, carrying hateful picket signs. One small woman and one man frankly built like a noodle could be in real danger. Still, their laughter echoed down the gravel-lined drive they had ducked into, their boots crunching in a staccato rhythm in the stones. This was far too much adrenaline for one night, he thought.

While they slowed to a walk, he watched the fireflies darting upwards in the undergrowth, the ascending dashes of yellow-green light seeming fantastical to him, otherworldly. You heard of great masses of them, in America, but in such quantity it was like seeing a fairytale with your own eyes. They thinned out as the landscape started to shift, from residential suburbs to side streets.

"This was-- good. It was good, to get out. To talk. A lot of this, it is, ehh." He waved a hand in the general direction they were moving, to the venue, the concert, the tour. "Movement. Instinct. There is, by definition, no quiet. And that is fantastic, I enjoy it, I love what I do, I am fortunate in that. But it is not often that I get to speak about these things." The thud of their boots, and the high monotonous drone of a cicada somewhere off in the distance, blending with the faraway hiss of a car on the damp streets. "Thank you," he said, soft. "For this."

Her eyes forward, mouth closed tight. It took her a few steps before she spoke. "You are very welcome." She cleared her throat. "And I appreciate the outside perspective."

"Interesting thing, is it not? Having a vocation."

"Being called. Yes."

"What I do not understand-- and I do not wish to, as you said, litigate the very idea of martyrdom, of course--"

"Of course. That's above my pay grade anyhow."

"But the denial inherent in your practice. The self-denial. It seems to me a, hm. Turning away from joy. You say your God is love, very well. This is removed from my experience with Christians, but I do understand that it should be the intent. To claim that divinity is love and then to willingly cut yourself off from the experience of love seems to me contradictory. Not merely the physical, although that alone seems hideous. Some people of course are not interested, but this cannot be true of all your monsastics, your clergy, your unmarried."

"This is also an old question."

"You cannot tell me it is not vital. Few people are physically martyred, and I can see the value there, even if I think it grotesque. But this seems to me a martyrdom, and willing. And pointless. Everyone should be loved, yes? Is that not your very doctrine?"

"It is, but there's different kinds of love--"

"You are dissembling. Do me the courtesy, Miss Turner, of your honesty."

Copia heard her sharp intake of breath. He had stung her, and he very nearly regretted it.

"Discourtesy wasn't my aim, Cardinal. It's an old question, and people struggle. It's maybe the struggle, for most people, the stumbling block. How can I answer you? It's kind of a personal question, y'know?"

"I can see how it would be. I do not wish to intrude, but come now. What, you offer your suffering up to God? What kind of God would ask you to give up love in the very name of love? It's monstrous!"

"The standard answer is that one becomes the bride of Christ. My thinking is, in turning away from the singular, you're better able to focus on the collective. To focus, to pay attention. And attention in its highest form is prayer."

"You deny yourself. In denial, you turn away knowledge. You said this yourself, how can you understand suffering if you have not suffered? You should know joy, or else how can you understand joy? You should be free to do that, to be in the world, and the world is here! You are here, and while you are here you should be here fully. You should allow yourself to be loved!"

He had actually raised his voice, and his words hung in the thick air, almost suspended with the humidity. He couldn't take it back, and he fell silent, mortified. They had fallen to a stop.

"It's discipline," she said, helpless. She couldn't look at him, and he had to look away at her expression.

"In any case." He cleared his throat, and resumed walking. "Discipline I understand. There is discipline in my practice, you know."

"I can see that. Dedication, certainly. Seems like the whole world's against you. The dominant social climate is not accommodating to being that outspoken about, well, anything to do with sincere belief, really, but especially in your case."

"No. And in this situation, it is easy to-- tend to isolate. To stay in one's own community. Safer. Especially in a hostile environment. Anger is easy, you would say."

"Don't I know it. You do have to live in the world. I think you and I both have cause to be angry. Hell, we're probably angry at a lot of the same things. Coming at it from opposite directions, is all."

"The hypocrisy is galling," he agreed. "If I am a monster in the eyes of these people, let me be an honest monster. They feed their children poison and tell them it is virtue, to hate, to fear, I do not--" he cut himself off, blew out a laugh. "We are angry about the same things. The work is the same. We are both called to liberate, yes?"

"Yeah, I would allow that's fairly definitional."

"Here, you take that side, I will take this one, and we will meet in the middle and cast off all oppression," he said, grandly, sweeping out an arm as if he were back on stage. He echoed her smile on pure reflex.

"And all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well."

"Julian of Norwich. An anchoress." Something in the concept, and in the simultaneous hope and resignation in her face, pierced his heart all the way through. She was remote, and lost to him, a marble statue of a saint. The nature of his ministry was to encourage pleasure, of mind and of body, and he did want to break her out of the cell she'd walled herself off into. Perhaps merely for his own satisfaction, when freedom was the whole of his law. Even her freedom to walk into her own cage. "Not so much to be consoled as to console," he said, halfway to himself, watching her.

"Francis of Assisi. But I think you knew that."

"I did."

"You are something else, aren't you?" She looked at him, pleased and reassessing. He felt seen, almost entire.

It was not an entirely comfortable feeling. "Ah," he said. "Perhaps."

He recognized, now, the alleyway they had walked down, the venue shuttered for the night. The only lights inside were deep in the back, distant. Likely everything had been packed away, or near enough. Likely the ghouls were wondering where he was. And she was small, and faith alone would not protect her.

It was too much for him. "It is very late. And I do not know if-- do you have a place to stay? This is not, I think, your home."

"I don't and it's not." She waved him off. "Was planning on just sleeping in the car. The seats fold down, I got a pillow, it's fine."

"I don't like it."

"Ain't about what you like." She dropped her head. "I apologize, that was rude."

"No, it is only--." He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. "I do have a hotel room."

"No." It seemed reflexive. But he could see the split second flash of her face cracking open with sheer want. Watched her snatch her composure together just as quick, even as the afterimage lingered in his brain like the echo of a lightning strike. "No, I-- I do not think that would be a good idea."

"There is a couch, even. I could take the couch."

"Copia." Oh, and it was costing her. Painful to watch. That wretched self denial. "Please." A brittle little laugh, accent creeping back in as she forced herself to sound brighter. "I seen you bounce around that stage, you gonna need a mattress."

"Nothing you do not wish, Miss Turner. Never that," he said, as gently as he could. A breath of silence strung out in the thick air, the space of a heartbeat. "Anyways." He considered his position, took a breath, and made the leap. "It would be good to-- I would like to continue this argument. You have some time, no? Before you are-- fully committed. Come to Charleston. My guest. In the spirit of, eh, ecumenical dialogue."

That got a smile out of her. "I'll think about it."

"Please. Do."

"I will. I will think about it."

"In that case." He straightened his spine by three degrees, took the smallest step forward, and picked up her hand in both of his. Even though the gloves it made something catch behind his sternum, the stutter of some cog in engineering. He bowed over it as deeply as he ever had on stage, registered the barest breath of the smell of her, leather and nicotine and something like amber, a clean animal scent. It was only an instant, and he straightened with some regret. "I have enjoyed your company, Sophie."

"I--. Yes. Yeah. Me too." She squeezed his hand, once. "Very much. Be well, Cardinal." And then she slipped away.

He watched her carefully measured walk to her car, head held up with the dignity of the condemned. She opened her door and looked back for the space of one brief inhalation. Orpheus, he thought, nonsensically. He stared at her taillights, the red glow like eyes, the dragon's breath curl of exhaust, long after it had faded into the wide restless night.

It was another twenty minutes before one of the ghouls dragged him back inside.

[bonefall]

Hi Bones!! Thank you for you hard work on this project and for sharing it with us!

I've seen your posts about weird representation of society (regarding the "natural order of things") in xenofiction, especially in lion king, so I wanted to ask:

could you recommend any xenofiction media that has all (or most of the) animal species sapient? Or is the only solution to make just one or two species sapient while the others (especially prey) are plain animals?

Really sorry if you've seen this ask from me before - my account had a weird laggy period when I couldn't send or receive messages and asks, so I don't know if you got the previous one! I just know that now it's fixed so I double all the asks sent haha

Honestly I'm not totally sure! If any 3rd person has some good recommendations for "every being is alive" xenofiction types, feel free to weigh in.

If you want to jump in with me though, I am following the webcomic Africa. It updates every Wednesday. Africa is about a mother Leopard on the verge of a great ecological disaster, the relationship between her children and the animals around her, and the strength of both instinct and choice as the characters face an uncertain future.

Since it's ongoing, I still don't know how it's going to end and can't judge it as a full work! But it's absolutely fascinating and I think the author is doing a fantastic job so far. Bonus points for the way it portrays humans, btw.

No more spoilers though, if you're interested, it's on Webtoons.

(I'm also planning to read Oren's Forge soon. Ask me about it again in a few months over on Bonebabbles and I'll give you my thoughts)

As an aside though, funny you mention it because like... ever since I was a kid I've had a story I want to tell with the premise. It's a scintilla I've kept close to me for well over a decade but haven't done anything official with. So this is actually a theme I've thought about a lot.

It's rare to see it done well though because like... its very premise butts heads with reality. The "natural order" that an animal follows is not something it moralizes. A tiger doesn't have the capacity to think about how fucked up it is to kill to stay alive, the deer doesn't know that if its population isn't controlled it will destroy the forest.

They're animals. They don't HAVE that agency. Your dog does not care about being sterilized. A snake doesn't differentiate between a pinky and an adult mouse except in terms of if it will fit in its mouth. But the minute you put human morality in there... they have the ability to reason, create and agree on the rules of a society, make choices about MORALITY.

If nothing is going to change about their world, you just end up putting human arguments about "natural order" in their mouths and, well... start telling a parable justifying this "natural order."

(Genuine) Does what I'm saying make sense? Animals DON'T rationalize or negotiate. HUMANS do.

So the minute you're approaching a world with that logic, like it or not, you are invoking those "arguments from nature." And you're putting them in a being that is not fully an animal or a human, but an anthropomorphic mix which CAN rationalize but WON'T make an effort to change their world.

(Which is why tbh the best examples i know of are works with a theme of "change.")

OH WAIT I also remember another that's interesting!! Leafy: Hen into the Wild actually has a fascinating take on it. It's not interested in "moralizing" or really being about an animal society. It's a very emotional sort of movie, and it's about joys in adversity, the freedom that choice gives you, how bad things are going to happen and you can never completely prevent them.

INTENSE movie emotionally, the ending will wreck you (especially in the English translation which leaves out a really important theme making it feel abrupt x_x) but it's really good. Check that one out.

OH and also You Are Umasou. That one has more pitfalls imo (it does try to moralize a bit) but it's super unique as a movie. And is about dinosaurs.

[cinderkaliningrad]

Targtower family and the cost of war.

Listen to this with the Sabaton song - Lifetime of War. and 1916 (Another Sabaton song).

Aemond: Should not now us prevail?

Alicent: Not like this.

Okay, Alicent. "Not like this?" I ask for the VAR. ⬇

Let us remember the famous phrase: "I wish to believe that honor and decency will prevail." - A hypocritical phrase said from the mouth of a person manipulated by her father, who is trying to survive as a woman in a man's world. (We are talking about the hypocrisy of the Greens, not the crimes of the Blacks.)

Alicent blames Aemond for starting the war by killing Lucerys. But it was Otto Hightower (the series' ultimate villain) who manipulated her into marrying Viserys. The House of the Dragon, aka "the place where those who are at fault never pay what they owe."

LET'S START.

Otto Hightower starts it all off by drooling over the Iron Throne and plotting to dethrone Rahenyra.

Otto manipulates Alicent into believing that Rahenyra is ruthless enough to kill her children. Something that seems to be corroborated when Rahenyra asks that Aemond (her younger half-brother) be tortured to find out where she got that her children are bastards.

Cole kills a lovely grandpa council member and no body gives a fuck. Nothing new, because he killed Laenor's lover in his wedding (Laenor and Rahenyra) in front the whole nobility of the realm.

We all have recorded the multiple payments that Alicent makes to her allies by offering her body. Very much like Cercey: "Tears are not a woman's only weapon. We have the best one between our legs." We talk about her walking by the sword of Ser Criston Cole and showing her feet to the depraved Larys.

The use of the death of a child prince to win over the people. Causing great suffering to the parents of the child Jaehearys, Kings Aegon II and Helaena. The two characterized by not being the most mentally stable people in the world, let us also remember that they are 22 and 20 years old at the time of the boy's death. (They are literally, in today's terms: university students).

No shame in using a boy who is barely two decades old from birth for their own selfish plans. - Poor Aegon, he just wanted to get away and live in peace.

Espionage, the elimination of witnesses. Shatter the minds of three generations for a throne. (Queen Alicent, her children the princes and the princess, and their children). - Alicent has not hesitated when it comes to using them for its benefit. For "honor and dignity."

Queen Alicent wants to crown her son Aegon, after her dying and senile husband talks about some King Aegon guy and a weird prophecy. When we know 3 Aegon so far: Aegon the Conqueror, Aegon the drunk prince, and Aegon the Young (son of Rahenyra). Did anyone thought that maybe the words of the dying king weren't too logical? Aegon (the drunk one) was right about not being the chosen one.

A long etc.

How do you want to win, Alicent? Your son Aemond is little nothing more than a child trying to fulfill the desires that have been imposed on him all his life: to keep his brother on the throne no matter what the cost.

How are wars won, Alicent? Sending people like Aemond to die: children who have grown up with the wrong ideas, who have grown into fanatical men for a cause. People forced to grow up fast and therefore die young. And of course, dirty game. A lot of dirty game. So that? Alicent (spoiler alert) will spend the rest of her life crying for her children. And the realm will never recover. The saddest thing is that Aemond and Aegon will die thinking they did the right thing.

What was the cost of your greed, House Hightower? If you are not prepared for war, don't do it. You could have stopped it, Alicent, too late to regret it. No? War is like lighting a fire, once it starts, it will destroy everything in its path without control. And it is foolish and naive to think that you can enter a war without dirtying your hands and everyone around you.

WHERE THE 7 HELLS IS HONOUR AND DECENCY, HIGHTOWERS!?

[silverhart-makes-art]

This week's Bestiary Posting features a bunch of fun sea creatures! The labeled image and my thoughts for each are below.

Alrittraes - my brain latched onto the idea of this creature being an anemone/sea squirt of some sort. Just this huge invertebrate siphoning so much sea water it creates literal waves on the surface. The description says 'it is alleged that the females conceive by intercourse', and I thought it was an odd thing to remark upon. But if it was a weird sea sponge type thing - yeah, that would be a very odd fact worth including in your bestiary. I don't know how you even begin to figure that out. Blochmokan - it's a sea slug/man-o-war that bobs along the surface. I imagine it can raise and lower it's 'wings' so it can also travel under the water as well as above it. I also drew it very small, when the description literally says it's a sea monster and has "huge wings" so just imagine I drew it very, very far away and it's actually enormous, which it would have to be to be spotted from a ship I would think. Kearmoltir - it's a flying fish, with a dolphin's face, and a serrated back like a stickleback - honestly, a very cool chimera creature. Flying dolphin-fish should be a thing. Meldilragg - I decided to take the term 'swine' literally, and drew a pig's snout, but then the description says they have their mouth in their throat so I did that, and got a very weird shape indeed. From there, I moved it's eyes to the top of it's head so it can see while digging in the sand, and gave it some tassels like the tasseled woebgone, and just gave it a vaguely sharky body shape. Olnranming - goblin shark if it used it's big nose spike for spearing the hulls of ships. Radwahrekh - I went weird for this one. I thought to myself - why would an animal want to saw through a ship? And then I remembered shipworms which burrow into ships. So I drew a spiky shipworm (which is actually a type of mollusk, not a worm) and it looked very unfortunate. So I added more spikes and siphons and frilly things to help. I don't know if it did, but it's certainly something. Shikwaewik - okay, I'm realizing the description specifically says this is a fish and I drew a porpoise. In my defense it "ploughing up the sand with its tail" just seemed like it'd be easier with a horizontal fluke, and I know some dolphins do purposefully kick up sand and mud this way. I then gave it a wolfish face. Gurnwatlea - a sardine, that can fly! Rather then give it a flying fish's big pectoral fins, like I did on the Kearmoltir, I gave a flying fish's big pelvic fins instead. Seems like a very bad way to fly in my opinion, but what do I know?

[neenerisms]

enough rambles has gotten me to this point and the time has passed. the bear s4 wishlist right now.

(quick note these all dont have to happen in the same plot LMAO. its more of a "if at least ONE of these things happen, i'll be happy!" thing)

i'm starting this out on a rough foot: carmy and syd argument. it has to happen. i was serious about that when i said in a previous post. in each other's faces and everything. i need us circling back to the s1 vibes right now.

add on: this argument needs to be what prompts syd to leave. i need that whole crew seeing carmy as a bad guy for a few days. white boy loss!

more richie lore. more berzatto lore. more syd lore. all three. in terms of berzatto lore i'd fucking kill to know about their dad tbh. richie lore? i need to know how he got so close to the berzattos. there's obviously something going on in his family to why he's never seen with them. syd lore? ohhh so much shit i wanna know. her family! the catering! little backstory on her tats! storer don't even give me the fucking season if i don't get a syd centric episode.

i also really want a mikey centric episode too!! i understand that he's supposed to haunt the narrative, but i really want to see something about him rather than it just being "oh shit! mikey! anyways—".

marcus/syd/luca trio friendship. look, i have a lot that i want but i need this at the most. getting a scene where they all cook and shittalk carmy is something that will get me through the day.

i can feel the tomato that's about to be tossed at me, but carmy has to apologize to claire. the way i see it, he has three main people he needs to apologize to: her, richie (no, the one he did in ep 1 does not count. it was half-assed and he's more worried about the fact he did it rather than fixing the problem.) and syd. in my mind, i don't think he's ever going to get the balls to apologize to the other two if he doesn't apologize to her first. (or it might be flipped to where he cant apologize to her until he learns how to apologize to those two, but i'd prefer the former to be honest!)

rough foot p2: imo the bear can't come out in one piece. whether it's because of a bad review, jimmy running out of money as a whole so it can't get it funded anymore or, i semi remember someone saying burn it down. (which? i'd weirdly like??? i'd be devastated as fuck if that happened but also...i'm really interested to see the comeback from that.) i just need a wakeup call for carmy for the overall state of the kitchen. (also because i just DON'T see the show ending with it being like "and they did fine dining forever!" it just feels disappointing to end it that way, especially if the sandwich window is apparently doing way better than the restaurant itself...take us back to the roots!! or something!!)

the bear's timeline is so fucking confusing to the point i don't know what's the current date in the show right now (i've been assuming somewhere in between july-august?) so this one is less than likely to happen but i want them to go to some kind of award thing so bad...james beard or something else i don't fucking care, just give me the group in formal wear please. (extra points if this the only time they're bonding after a while!)

i'm not really into shipping culture like that w/ this show (aka idc who gets with who as long as they're happy.) BUT sydcarmies should at least be allowed a win with the way carmy apologizes to syd. i really want it to be somewhere personal and i hope it includes well—food. drop the collaborative dish while they talk in syd's apartment, thank you. (cause it's gonna leave a sour taste in my mouth if they're uncomfortably distant for life.)

lastly, don't give me anymore copenhagen flashbacks. don't get me wrong, i love seeing carmy happy but every time i read kitchen confidential, (which is mostly set in nyc) i just think "i wonder if carmy went through the same shit". more nyc carmy please if we're going to get flashbacks on past culinary experiences! it doesn't even have to be about fields, but i really wanna see what happened in other places carmy visited.

i feel like that's all in my head for now? feel free to elaborate on these, it's just me spitting out random shit that's been in my head. (i might make a hc list soon? is that something people want????)

[quirkle2]

I've gone through your zombie au, but I don't think we've seen Mob's headspace before? I'm reaaaally interested to know what goes on his head during the time he's a zombie (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠)

i think it's a bit like wading through a swamp. every step u try to take in the water is slowed and sluggish, and every thought that mob has as a zombie is the same. every emotion takes twice as long to process and act upon, and every outside stimulus is met with a very delayed reaction

i do think he's constantly trying to piece together answers though, on why things are the way they are. he's constantly trying to grapple onto old memories that are foggy and distorted, and he feels like there's something or somebody missing from their current gang, but as he soon as he remembers reigen and teru's faces (or even their parents) and feels even a little bit of grief, his brain does a soft reboot and he has to start over. juuust on the edge of noticing something is off, that something is missing, but never quite having the brain power to hold onto the answers

he knows he's with ritsu, and he knows this new girl with them is a friend and is likely to be trusted, since she brought ritsu back safe and sound and healthier than he was before. he also knows that something is seemingly Wrong, Very Wrong, with how ritsu is acting almost constantly. when his brother looks at him, there is Grief there, but mob has trouble pinpointing whether its grief or smth else, and he hasn't a clue why it's there to begin with. he thinks maybe something happened a while ago, to make ritsu upset—mob can never put his finger on it, but he knows ritsu is Sad, in the purest and most basic form, so sometimes he'll certainly try to cheer him up like he always has in the past. when he tries, he's not sure why it seems to make it worse

even though this sounds frustrating, i don't think zombie mob even has the wherewithal to Be frustrated at this—it's not like he's rly aware that he's A Zombie, he's just . a being, yaknow? he doesn't differentiate zombies from humans, and he's not rly aware he's sick, or that anything is wrong with him. he's just him. as far as he knows, this is how he's always been. the fact that he can't remember certain things beyond a set point or that his mind is working leagues slower than it used to is simply not known to him

in terms of their Situation, mob is mostly unaware of what they're even doing most of the time. in his eyes, they're simply wandering from destination to destination with no real goal in mind, and since mob doesn't rly have any goals of his own other than Live he's perfectly content with following ritsu around

ritsu is his brother.ritsu is good and kind and he loves him, and despite mob's slowed down brain, he still knows, fundamentally, that he's the older one, that one that is supposed to look after the younger. which is why mob never leaves his side even when ritsu is asleep—u can't just leave ur brother alone like that ! it's also obviously why when ritsu is attacked by literally anybody, mob's instincts kick in and he goes to town on the fucker

no, he does not horrify himself by biting into throats, and no, he is not aware that it's quite a drastic measure he takes. the taste of human flesh does not alarm him—it's simply a New taste, like trying a new food. in his mind this is natural and not something to think twice about. ritsu is surely very scared afterward bc he was attacked, not bc he's currently cleaning human blood from his brother's mouth. obviously.

[ner0scum]

Magia Record just released new witch forms in the latest Factor of Despair event and I'd like to go through them and give my thoughts!

Do be aware that these are just my opinions :3 (also don't expect an in depth analysis this is just me gushing incoherently over designs)

Spoilers Below

Starting with Obariyon, Tsumugi Wakana's witch.

I'd like to start this by saying that this might be one of my favorites of the bunch. They're all really good, but something about this one just really pleases me. When I first saw it my first thought was "witch" and I know that's silly because obviously it is a witch, but the design really encapsulates the witch designs in the series, at least to me. What I'm trying to say is that it fits. It's beastly, it's bizarre, and it has a theme*.

I wasn't exactly sure how a vacuum witch was going to look but they pleasantly surprised me with this one. I especially like how they turned her into a bear, I find that very neat.

*Note that this is a crude list of what witches are. I'm sorry for the shallow, dumbed-down tldr of a witch but I really liked this design and couldn't find the right words to explain why, plus my brain is running on fumes. I hope the paragraph made a little bit of sense to at least someone reading ^^;

Carmela, Manaka Kurumi's witch.

What I like about this is how they continued to play into the jellyfish idea. When looking back at the doppel form, it gives me the idea of the jellyfish life cycle: going through the ephyra stage and transforming into the medusa stage, where the tentacles grow longer. It also eludes to an octopus with its many arms all multitasking, but the jellyfish idea still works, and is probably better.

Jellyfish have two kinds of tentacles: the stingers to paralyze the prey, and the oral arms to bring food into its mouth. Carmela has these two arm types as shown above: the ones with the burners and the ones that hold the cooking equipment—the dangerous arms that could harm anyone if they got too close, and the arms to serve food.

It also appears that Carmela lost her chairs that once stood on her face, only to be replaced by some kind of mass. I'm not sure what it could be, but I think it could either be fuel or the mysterious meat that she serves to guests.

Hevelius, Mifuyu Azusa's witch.

I'll be honest and say I didn't know what to think of this witch form at first. I'm not exactly a huge fan of the witch designs that are more on the humanoid side; however, this design does make sense for the bird-catcher theme.

A bird-catcher isn't just an object like a cage (which was what I originally thought of when hearing the term), but also a person who catches birds, and as we know, Mifuyu's doppel's description is a reference to the bird-catcher character from the novel Night on the Galactic Railroad.

When I remembered that detail, I came to appreciate the witch form much more.

Pennen Nenemu, Nemu Hiiragi's witch.

I originally didn't like this witch form because I thought it broke the whole bird-theming shared between Iroha, Touka, and Nemu's doppels (the loss of the red beak the doppel had). The only thing it has left that could tie into birds are the tail feathers and cape but that seems about it.

Still, I don't hate this design and I in fact still like it in its own way. I know I said that I wasn't a fan of the more humanoid witches, but that's not to say I outright hate them. Besides, the more I look at the picture the more I come to admire it.

Pennen Nolde, Touka Satomi's witch.

Something I liked in Pennen Nolde's doppel design was how the matchsticks were attached to its hanger, but here it seems more like she carries them around in her little basket. Another thing that's different is the clothes. The more elegant, frilly cloak/dress the doppel had is now more modest and meek, which does tie into the character that the doppel/witch references: the poor girl selling matches in Oscar Wilde's The Happy Prince.

Still, in my personal opinion, I feel like they could've done more with this design while still maintaining the ties to the girl from the story. I feel like they should've kept the matches attached to the hanger (which in turn would still be coming out her back) as that would've made her seem more intimidating, kind of like a peacock. But then again, Charlotte wasn't intimidating and she was still dangerous and kicked ass.

Overall it's solid.

Finally, Old Dorothy, Alina Gray's witch.

Obviously we weren't going to get a bunch of paint splatters as those weren't the doppel's true form and was instead the cute little paint tube that sprouted from Alina's back. I was most excited about this one as Alina's one of my favorites and I have to say I wasn't disappointed.

I adore the gas mask as it plays into the toxicity and virus-like quality of the paint she produces. The little blue lines on the face also play into that theme as it appears she's sick as well, putting her in a perpetual state of dismay. Perhaps she looks like that because Alina herself is disgusted that she got a cute witch form as opposed to a nightmare creature.

Unfortunately I don't have much to say other than I like it and would love to see how Old Dorothy fights in battle

Finally, we're done. Feel free to share your thoughts and opinions of these designs if you'd like.

[j0kers-light]

https://www.tumblr.com/j0kers-light/765684731693154304/you-know-when-you-really-want-to-talk-abt-your-ocs?source=share

Just saw this.....

Could you tell us about some of the boy's beige flags?

(And Y/n's friends too, please!)

The post in question. Hey hi anon 🖤✨

Let's rewrite this since tumblr did not save my original draft. 😤 I did not know what a beige flag was. I had to Google it. TikTok relationships are so... 👀 Making something out of nothing.

A beige flag is a dating term that describes a quirky or odd behavior in a romantic partner that's not a deal breaker, but also not a plus.

Anyhooo, I love talking about my ocs so let’s get into this! 🤭

Frost

He's ex military so everything he does will be odd to a civilian. Frost can sleep anywhere and with his shoes on. He still uses military time (and no he will not convert) He checks the radio periodically and doesn't explain why... yeah I can go on and on anon.

Eats cold food, no biggie. Unbothered King.

Mac

He carries a calculator on him at all times. Mac uses his phone as a fidget spinner (like a Blackberry) and is very nitpicky about parking. Its picture perfect every time. He knows the right people when the situations calls for it, I guess it’s the frat boy in him. That or he buys his way out. Remembers a person's name by the scent he identifies them with.

Gets personally offended when his favorite product is discontinued. Buys the company to get the product for himself.

Neo

Licks his gold grills mid conversation and chews plastic straws after he finishes a drink. Can measure a gram just by eyeballing it, and it’s always right. Neo can’t leave the house if his outfit doesn't have pockets. Fast reflexes (like Spider-Man fast) and he throws his trash away like a NBA Player. Secretly a sneakerhead, but don't tell him that.

Knows baking recipes from memory. Does not bake.

Morgana

Sings to her plants as if she has secret powers. Has a plush toy that she carries around in her purse, she panics when it’s not there. Can guess your favorite flower right upon meeting you. Forgets she's half Chinese sometimes and shocks herself when she understands the language. Morgana can recite the periodic table in order.

Obsessed with fancy ice molds on IG. Drinks room temperature water.

Florence

Will silently judge your hair even if it looks good. Doesn't use a fork, Flo eats either with her hands or a spoon. Florence makes a playlist for every situation, (gym session, grocery shopping, etc.) does not use headphones while out in public. Uses Uber religiously despite owning a car. Takes incredibly long showers.

Is the slowest texter ever. Falls asleep on FaceTime.

Cindy

Uses proper etiquette and decorum likes is the 1920’s. Scared of riding on escalators and would rather take the stairs. Corrects people mid conversation if they say something incorrectly. Mouths/reads aloud when typing and has the same coffee order for the past twenty years. Cindy instantly knows it’s wrong, just by looking at it.

A tech savvy businesswoman. Still uses Firefox.

[inkblackorchid]

I was gonna try to keep my mouth shut, but I can't. I just can't. I have to go on another Aki rant because I feel like I'm going to explode. It's about this scene:

This drives me insane and I'm putting this under a readmore. Expect incoherent screaming, all ye who enter here.

Ok. Ok. I have so many issues with this scene. Specifically, with the way it develops later, when Aki's busy trying to figure out how to save a child from being swept up by a storm:

And I just. Look, I think the fact that I already wrote a fic that basically completely turns Aki's reaction here on its head should basically tell you everything. But! But. Allow me to defend why I think this whole scene is one big heap of horseshit, with a bit of analysis of canon and actual evidence to back up my claims and shit.

The thing is, I have seen people give this scene a charitable read. I've seen people be happy for Aki to enjoy freedom from the psychic powers that have given her so much trouble in her life. And the thing is, if this were season one or season two Aki, I would be completely on board with that take. Unfortunately, this scene is preceded by the pre-WRGP arc. But more on that below.

Moreover, I can make an educated guess about what they were going for here (in terms of messaging, because this is a kids' show at the end of the day and messaging is something you have to be properly concerned with when it comes to these). I can imagine it running somewhere along the lines of "you don't need special powers to be a hero". Or even "you can grow past the hurt and/or the mistakes in your life and still become a good person or even a hero". And really, I wish I could believe that take. It's just. The writing simply doesn't add up. I wish it did, but it doesn't.

This is where we get back to the pre-WRGP arc. And not just that, actually, but the timeskip between the dark signers and pre-WRGP arc, too. Because the thing is, the last time we have seen Aki in anguish about her powers on-screen by the time the episodes above (108-109) arrive was during the DS arc, during the duel with her father, which happened during episodes 40-41. 40. to. 41. This was over sixty episodes ago at this point. And after that, that's it. As far as the DS arc is concerned, Aki's conflict about her powers is resolved the second she controls them for the first time when her father tries to interfere in her second duel against Yusei.

(Yeah, remember this moment? That was literally the last time we saw Aki in conflict with her powers.)

And I know some people would argue "but what about the dark signer duel with Misty?". And yes, I get it. Misty does accuse her of having murdered her brother with her powers and Aki gets incredibly (understandably) upset about it. But the thing is, we know that's fake, and during the duel, Aki knows that, too. She goes as far as insisting that there were no casualties at the duel where Misty thinks Toby died.

(Yes, I have screenshot proof for literally every dumb little thing in this show, why do you ask?)

It's only after Misty keeps pushing and backing her into a corner during their duel (and literally gaslighting her) that she begins to believe Misty's version of the events. Which is why this doesn't "count" as Aki being in conflict with her powers the way her second duel with Yusei does. At least not to me, feel free to debate me over this if you wanna.

Okay, but what am I driving at here? Fair question. Let me hop back to after the dark signers' defeat.

So, we know there's a half-year timeskip between the DS and the pre-WRGP arc (which was allegedly enough for NDC to connect the city and Satellite, deal with all the social issues that entailed, and also build a giant duel network, which I will never believe but I digress). Unfortunately, what exactly our main characters did during that timeskip is never addressed, it's just kind of there to segway immediately into the WRGP setup. So the only thing we can do is guess at what they got up to based on where they are as people by the time we get back to them during the start of the pre-WRGP arc. So where's Aki at when we see her again after the dark signers' defeat then?

Oh, she's attending duel academy again now! That's nice. So that probably means the student body isn't scared shitless of her anymore and she's not being ostracised anymore.

Wow, she's an exceptional student! That means she must be a really good duellist. So she got the hang of her powers, then?

...Ah.

Do you start to see my problem? Past the DS arc, we are not being given any indication that Aki is still struggling with her powers or still resents them or herself like she used to. You could be forgiven for thinking that she's healed in the meantime. She's fine. She has accepted herself and can now use her powers safely. Which makes her later claiming "she no longer needs that cursed power" a bit... hmmm. And another thing. The fact that she refers to it as "cursed" rubs me the wrong way. After the defeat of the dark signers, she literally never does that even a single time before the moment in the hospital during the storm. (I'd post all the screenshots to prove it here but for one, tumblr doesn't allow it, and for two, I hope you'll believe I did my due diligence without it.)

And it just irks me. If the powers are still a "curse" to Aki by episodes 108-109, why give us the moment above?

And why give us this moment, where she saves Sherry, Yusei, and herself with those powers?

And why give us this moment, where she literally uses her powers at a public event to protect people, and is evidently not cussed out as a witch for it? Neither of these moments do anything to indicate that Aki still hates her powers. They don't indicate that she sees them as a "beast of burden" or necessary evil of a sort, either. On the contrary, I don't think it would be too out there to claim all these moments make her look rather badass. Like a small celebration of "hey, now she can finally use these powers for cool and not evil things!".

Yet, somehow, we still end up with episodes 108-109, where the writers expect the audience to buy that Aki was secretly still hoping she might eventually be rid of these powers after all. And maybe this would be easier to swallow if there weren't also the fact that they later literally go back on it to add to this confusing mess. Because the thing is, we all know the finale scene after the three-way duel with Sherry where Aki protects them with her powers (which have suddenly reappeared, aha!) again and also finds out she can use these powers to heal. So not only is the framing of Aki suddenly being glad to have lost her powers extremely weird, it's also temporary anyway!

So my question is. What was the point. What was the point of all this if the writers ended up going back on it anyway? Because I want to believe there's a reasonable, charitable explanation that also makes sense with what they show us in terms of Aki's characterisation past the DS arc, but if there is, I cannot for the life of me find it. If anything, this whole thing feels like it completely contradicts itself.

First, they tie up Aki's conflict with her powers with a neat bow after she manages not to hurt her father anymore. Then, they launch into the pre-WRGP arc and blatantly tell us that she can now control them. No questions asked. Indisputable fact, and we get nothing that contradicts that, either. Then, we get a bunch of setup showing her using her powers, too, and what's more, we get other significant players in the cast taking notice of it, too, as though it might become relevant. Because Sherry isn't the only one who gets curious about Aki's powers.

(I will never understand how Placido's hood works together with his horn-thingies and have stopped trying at this point.)

The literal, central antagonists of season 3-4 also take notice of it. Like that means something. Like it'll come up again later. But, well. We know it doesn't.

Instead, she suddenly loses her powers out of nowhere (and we are never given a reason for it, either, which does nothing to make this writing decision seem anymore understandable). And, look. The thing that upsets me most about this isn't even the fact that it feels a little inconsistent with Aki's character post DS arc. If that were the only problem, I could still suspend my disbelief far enough to go along with the idea that she secretly still hated her powers quietly in the background and wanted them gone anyway. What really pisses me off is that it reeks of zero setup and knee-jerk decisions in the writing room ten miles against the wind. If they wanted us to believe Aki's glad to be rid of her powers, why give absolutely no indication that she's at odds with them past episode 41 anymore? Why let her state outright that she can now control them? Why show her on several occasions using them to her own and other people's benefit, the way a hero would? And if her powers are supposed to vanish and it's supposed to make sense, why is there no reason for it? They already used cyborg timetravel at that point, they could have literally come up with any nonsense related to that and it would have probably made at least more sense than just letting her powers vanish for no reason at all. Also, if the message behind all this is supposed to be either of the things I mentioned way above—if the idea the audience is supposed to be getting is either "you don't need special powers to be a hero" or "your past and/or your mistakes don't define you and you can heal and grow past them"—why reintroduce the powers, which, in this reading, would be a symbol of Aki's pain, of her mistakes and her dreaded past, at the very end, during the finale, then? It just doesn't add up, and it frustrates me to no end.

The writers wanted to make the moment Aki realises she can help people (well, one person, a child) without her powers seem triumphant so bad, but every time I watch it, it just completely falls flat for me. This isn't a triumph, this is a hot mess of bad writing decisions. All I'm saying is, if they wanted me to buy that Aki would be happy about losing her powers here, they were missing a hefty amount of setup and also shouldn't actually have given them back to her during the finale (no, not even as healing powers).

Moreover... I'll freely admit I also have a personal problem with this scene. I've seen this show and these episodes several times by now, and during my last rewatch and my current one, something about this scene has been creeping up on me, and I think I've figured out what that is now. So I talked about the possible message behind this scene already, and the reading I've given so far was fairly forgiving. But the thing is, there is another reading that has occurred to me that I can't unsee anymore. As much as you could make a valid case that this scene is trying to say that people don't need to be special to be heroes and save others, that past mistakes don't define us, and yadda yadda, there's also a much, much less pleasant way to interpret this scene: "You're better off if you don't stand out." And I'll freely admit, this interpretation probably occurs to me specifically because I was considered a "weird kid" at school, singled out by bullies, and avoided by "popular" kids (take a wild guess why I relate to Aki so much!). And over the years, you learn to downplay that "weirdness" because you become desperate to be accepted by someone, anyone. And given everything the show gives us about Aki's relationship with her powers, it'd make sense that this idea would be buried somewhere in her head, too. It's better not to stand out. Don't be weird. Sand down your edges so there's no chance people could get upset about them. You're better off being whatever everyone else considers "normal" than being whoever you are. It doesn't matter if this is a part of who you are, just become someone else. Someone who's easier to accept. Who's easier to love. You don't need your "weirdness".

You don't need this cursed power.

You know, the "cursed power" that Aki had from the beginning of the show, that was a part of her for years, and that the show didn't give any indication could vanish. The power that we were led to believe would just be there forever, because it was simply a part of Aki, not a conscious thing she (or the narrative) could choose. The power that we were, for all intents and purposes, led to believe she had mastered and maybe even accepted along the way. But sure, let's get rid of that. It's better if she's """normal""". And more convenient for the writers, too! After all, if she doesn't have powers anymore, they can't cause plotholes (of which the WRGP already has enough) and can't possibly give Aki any more badass moments, which makes it that much easier to sideline her. And let's package this weird, shittily set-up moment in a message about how she's better off without her powers anyway. She's happy! It makes complete sense that she's happy. She's finally normal like everyone else. Ignore the way people who might relate to the character could possibly interpret this moment differently. And ignore how none of the writing surrounding this moment makes sense.

...Sigh.

Okay, I think I've let off enough steam. I just. Yeah. I'm sorry, but I cannot for the life of me view this scene in a favourable way and watching it today made me want to chew glass tbh. My only solace is that they went back on this trainwreck writing decision in the finale. Which, really, just makes this whole mess really, really pointless, doesn't it?

For anyone who stuck around this long, thanks for reading. Sorry if this got extra-rant-y. Idk man, I just think “it’s worth the effort to accept yourself as you are, even with all the bits you might not like at first” would have been a better message than whatever this turned out to be.