#and every single one of them fits into one or more

[whumpster-fire]

Regarding the design of staircases: while pre-industrial (and earlier industrial) societies did do all kinds of sketchy shit with staircase design, stairs do need to be pretty consistent to avoid turning into death traps. The maximum variation in the height and depth of steps within a staircase allowed by the International Residential Code and International Building Code is just 3/8 of an inch. Stair tread lengths also have to be long enough to fit the user's foot: generally a minimum of 10-11 inches in modern codes.

If I'm reading the drawing right, the third image essentially has alternating large and small steps, with the expectation that the larger species only uses the large steps, correct? However, the largest tread needs to be big enough to fit a Panthera's paw, and the height of any one riser, whether from long tread to short one or from short tread to long one, must be a uniform height that's usable by Mustels.

For the sake of easier math let's say the larger treads need to be 12" deep to safely accommodate Pantheras, a little larger than a human staircase, and an 8" total riser height is comfortable for them, while Mustels need a 6" tread depth, and to keep the riser heights consistent for them the riser height should be 4". (I'm using inches here because that's what the International Building Code has round numbers in for some reason). An individual staircase with these dimensions would have a slope of 2/3 (33.7 degrees): however, with this design, every pair of treads and risers has a total height of 8" and total length of 18", meaning the total slope is 4/9 (24 degrees). The combined staircase needs to cover 50% more horizontal distance for the same gain in height than one built for a single species would, and since a separate Mustel sized staircase wouldn't need to be as wide as a Panthera sized one, I think the space savings would be negligible in reality.

As for the usability of the stairs: if I was using those as a Mustel I'd need to either alternate between rising and non-rising strides (i.e. left foot on small tread, right foot on large tread, left foot on large tread, right foot on small tread) or lengthen my stride to cover the 18" distance between consecutive small treads in two steps, which could be awkward or difficult either way. As a Panthera I would need to use a longer stride length as well, and putting my foot on the small tread by accident would most likely result in tripping, but it would be somewhat manageable. As a Gilter, however, if the Mustel-sized tread is too small to safely step on I'd also be stuck using the Panthera-height steps which also need a longer than normal stride length, which would be even more awkward!

For the second staircase: if I'm reading it right the idea is if you're a Gilter you can have one foot on the small staircase and one foot on the large one and take steps that are half as long and high as if you were using the big stairs, right? This seems more or less usable if the half-sized treads are long enough for your feet, but if it's like, Gilters need a tread depth that's somewhere around 1-1/2 times as much as a Mustel, the half steps would have to be 8-9" long, so the big ones would have to be 16-18", and the height of the small risers is still constrained by what's usable by a Mustel so if that was 4", then again the "Small staircase in the middle" design ends up needing to have a shallower slope for the dimensions of the steps to be usable. This design is more usable for Gilters, but if it was built as shown then Mustels using it wouldn't have a handrail within reach which might lower the riser height they can safely use even further. A set of Mustel/Gilter sized railings in the center of the smaller steps would make it more usable, and putting Panthera-sized handrails on the outside would help direct them away from the smaller steps where they could trip and/or collide with smaller species, because the center section isn't really usable for Pantheras. If the idea is to build it narrow enough that a Panthera needs to place their feet on either side of the central smaller steps, that's going to kill someone, so in practice this staircase needs to be wide enough for a Panthera to walk on the side and completely avoid the small steps. That means these stairs have to be about as wide as a Mustel-sized staircase and a Panthera-sized staircase side by side, and with a shallower angle.

It looks like the smaller species also have proportionally shorter legs though, so the difference in ideal stride lengths might be a lot bigger than 2:1, plus the are the smaller species' feet proportionally bigger? If the riser height and tread depth that's usable for a Mustel is more like 1/3rd or 1/4th of what works for Panthera instead of 1/2 I think the third staircase ends up being impossible to build in a way where Mustels could ascend a step with every stride and would still require extra high steps for them, while for the second design making the smaller steps deep enough for Gilters without being really awkward for a Mustel.

The good news, however, is that a "Londo Style" approach, even if it had three fully separate sets of steps for all three species, would probably only need to be a little over twice as wide as just building a Panthera-sized staircase. And that's the worst case, for a "low traffic" staircase where they're only sized to be wide enough for either someone to go up in one direction or for one person in each direction. If it's a "high traffic" scenario where there are lots of users of all species and it would need to be built wide enough to have multiple "lanes" of people using it, splitting that width into separate staircases might have little or no impact on the total space a stairway takes up, and it might even accommodate more traffic if it prevents people from having to slow down to safely negotiate awkwardly sized steps / avoid collisions with smaller users.

Note also that this is assuming the larger species using the stairs also have significantly longer feet. If the largest species in a setting has proportionally short feet, e.g. if they're digitigrade or unguligrade, it may be possible to design stairs where the larger users can just climb them two steps at a time and still be able to safely put their feet on the treads. Depending on the design of a building there may also be other ways to reduce space: e.g. because Mustels and Gilters also need less headroom, you can reduce the footprint of a flight of stairs for them by putting in more frequent landings. For a multi story building the minimum footprint used for stairs might be achieved with completely separate stairwells.

tl;dr: I think the three staircase designs presented would come out pretty similar in terms of space used because "Londo Style" separated staircases can actually be built at that 30-50 degree angle (modern building codes for commercial stairways are closer to 30, older stairs are often steeper but this is definitely a "building codes are written in blood" kind of area) whereas the "space saving" designs are constrained by treads needing to be deep enough for the largest species using them to stand on it without half their foot hanging off the end while also having a riser height that the smallest species can use, which forces a shallower angle than would otherwise be possible, and may not be workable if the difference in leg length between largest and smallest users is too big. They might have a use case in outdoor stairs that need to follow natural slopes that are shallow enough for them but too steep for a sloped path, though.

How equal can a society be if some fundamentals are unusable by a third of the population? You can learn a lot about a world by looking at the little details, especially in furry settings!

[codnasties]

cod characters masked men 🧼👻🧢🚬🗡🪦 (🌽 link)

soap & ghost 👻🧼 - spit roasted

soap and ghost like to share with each other. and they are so in tune with the other it's crazy. so when an idea of sharing a lass pops up, they just have to share a glance. their usual clothing represented in the way they showed up at your house that day: ghost in his long sleeved shirts, barely a sliver of skin showing, and soap in one of those slutty shits of his, showing his thick forearms. except this time, they were masked. soap calls dibs on your mouth, getting to slap his cock against your wet tongue before pushing himself into your mouth. meanwhile, ghost gets to finger your pussy, getting you ready to fit that bid cock of his.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

gaz 🧢 - on every surface

when gaz fucks you, he's going to make sure to do it in every possible position and at every possible speed. from shorter, faster thrusts, seeking his of orgasm, to slower but deeper and harsher ones, making sure that you can feel all of him inside of you and how deep inside he is. making you suck his dick, cleaning your and his cum out of his dick, before some backshots that make him cum all over your reddened ass. and you best believe he's going to make sure to fuck you over every single surface in the house until all of them are christened by a mix of your juices and his cum.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

price ��� - fingering

price ripping your panties out with just his hands, getting your pretty pussy all bare and already glistening with arousal. pushing them into your mouth, making a makeshift gag out of them as he fingers you. pushing your legs apart with his own legs and slowly sliding one of his meaty digits into your weeping cunt. but one isn't enough, so he slowly adds another one. his other hand tightly around your neck as he pulls his now slick covered fingers out of you and starts to rub your sensitive clit. the sweet sounds he's pulling out of you muffled by the knickers shoved in your mouth.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

konig 🗡 - jerked off

wearing a mask is an inherent part of konig. it took some time for him to finally feel comfortable without it around you. but he sometimes still wears one, may that be his old tee or a ghost face mask. but having his face hidden is not going to hide the pleasure as he's sat between your thighs. moans leaving his mouth, throwing his head back and unable to keep his hips still as you jerk him off. one of your hands snaking around his torso to play with his dick , running yojr hand up and down his thick aching hard cock, and palming his balls. his hands, unable to not try and touch you in any way.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

graves 🪦 - the manhandler

graves #1 manhandler. he for sure is going to use the fact that you are smaller and that he's much stronger than you to his advantage. you may think he's going to slide a hand up your body until it reaches your throat, feeling you all over and grabbing you and making you arch against him. no, he's going to grab you by the waist and flip you over in a simple motion so you can look him in the eyes as he pushes his rock hard cock back into you and fucks you, hands tightly around your neck, making you extra sensitive and even more turned on that what you were with that stunt he just pulled.

[teaboot]

I’m sending this anonymously but this is NOT anon hate

You are such a good person, i think. Your latest post(as of 4:10pm Arizona, US time) spoke to me really hard. My father is a cop, in the united states, arizona, duh. And he used to be such a good person, he was a security guard and a damn good one too, and later in he became a prison guard because it paid better, and then he joined the police force.

I’d like to think that hes one of the good ones, and for the most part he is. A lot of my delinquent friends over the years who’ve had run-ins with him say that he gets them breaks, he takes care of them, hes a good cop. I’ve even seen body camera footage of him in the field and i’m proud to say that hes my dad. He calls out bad actors where he sees them, and he gets punished for it. He doesnt see the system or how his punishments are by design. And he continues turning in his cog, begrudgingly, and slightly out of time, but he thinks hes making a difference

Sorry for the ramble and essay, i just wanted to say that i really like your blog and i think you are a very nice human being. Thank you for sharing your perspective.

P.s. i’m totally basing an oc off of your outlook on security. You strike me as more of a superhero than a security guard.

-🦕 anon

Oh, that’s a super flattering take and a valuable perspective- so thank you! But I’m a gullible dumbass, and not even an incredibly smart or fit one- I just want people to be happy and safe. That’s all. And I don’t want to BE a cop, I’ve NEVER wanted to be a cop, but every time the request comes around I feel like I’m wearing down.

I keep wondering if I could help MORE in a position like that.

Probably like your dad did.

Here, people know they’re safe with me because I shut down the gunhappy jerks, but I don’t know how long it would take to truly make a difference in public security, or how many of my morals I’d have to compromise to get to that point

I feel objectively like a system so archaic and flawed can’t be changed from the inside, but another part of me says that you don’t need to change an entire system to make a difference where it counts

I believe that so many bad situations and life-changing moments can be diverted or changed by a single person in the right place at the right time- and I figure, if I trust myself to do the right thing and BE the right person, shouldn’t I do my best to put myself in those places?

But good intentions, roads to hell, you know? I don’t WANT to be a cop. But I want to be able to DO SOMETHING about the thinks I dislike seeing in conflicts. SOMEONE has to be willing to do that, right?

I’m not religious, you know? But the devil can be very convincing

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Commission info!

I'm just going to give you a few pointers, I love your work. I entirely believe whatever you write I will love but can we please include these loosely. Go mad, change it about but something along these lines...

They have always looked out for each other from day one, she always checked in on him and made sure that he was okay and he did the same for her, they always had each other's back ever since the quarry. I don’t want it to be Daryl not being able to tell her that she loves him and the same for her for him if that makes sense. They both know that they love each other dearly and are fully aware of this but neither one of them likes the intimate stuff, the sex, the making out etc. They’ve shared sleeping arrangements before, cuddled, held hands a couple of times but they have never approached the subject as they were both scared about the thought of it or didn't feel the need to. But since arriving at Alexandria there’s been people flirting with one or the other, or making comments, or odd looks etc and it has been getting under their grill and realised that it really bothered them that they never actually made anything official either marriage or whatever but they can’t communicate about it because they’re both as awkward and as broken as each other and have this self belief that everything they touch just ends up in destruction. They end up on angsty terms and shut off from each other then something happens to either the OC or Daryl to the point of either almost losing them, something sparks between them and they decide that actually they do need to make it ‘official’ and shout it to the world. 

I hope that helps but either way let your creativeness flow my dear, do whatever you would like with it.

I know I’m going to love it <3

Fluffy-Dixon Commission

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Typical TWD violence & gore; allusions to smut

You loved Daryl. Daryl loved you. A sentiment that was never spoken but communicated nonetheless. You didn’t need words with him. It was almost as if you never did. The ability to read one another without speaking came naturally from even as far back as the quarry. Those days didn’t really seem like that long ago anymore, time bending and bleeding together as you struggled to just survive. 

The quarry, the Greene farm, the prison—a natural progression of something unnamed. It didn’t need a title. The two of you just fit. Stolen glances, smiles, and even holding hands while on watch. It just felt right. Given that the touches and gestures were reciprocated every single time without the slightest protest told you that it felt the same to Daryl. 

Eventually, you started sleeping in the same cell. There was nothing beyond holding one another, coaxing the stress from your bodies with simple touches that no amount of sex could ever achieve. No one questioned it, though no one really questioned any form of happiness anymore. It was too fleeting. 

“Today sucked.” You would whisper, nuzzling your cheek against the hollow of his throat. 

“S’over now.” He’d reply, fingertips dancing down your spine. 

It was an unplanned, nameless perfection. 

Carol had jokingly referred to you as an old married couple once, and while you didn’t get angry, it did raise several questions. You began to ponder things that had, until that moment, felt ordinary. You had never compared your relationship with Daryl to that of Glenn and Maggie or Rick and Lori. 

Such an innocent statement had been the birthplace of so many doubts. Should it be something that was made official? Should you talk to him about it? And then the prison fell, your combined grief straining whatever it was the two of you had. Though once you had been reunited with your family, things seemed to return to normal. 

Except the lingering thought that you should be doing more. 

“Don’t know how I feel ‘bout this place.” Daryl was perched on the chair just adjacent to the door of the house you, he, and Carol had been assigned, his legs outstretched for his crossed ankles to rest atop the railing. Whittling away at bolts, he didn’t bother to look up when a long time resident called out a hello. 

“It’s not so bad.” You smiled at your notebook and the run list you were creating. The archer grunted. He didn’t trust it. “It’s hard to get used to, I know, but Rick says—”

“Hey, Y/N.” 

Your gaze slid over to the steps, the one you had come to know as Spencer smiling at you from the walkway. “Oh, uh—hey.” The man had been watching you from the moment your group had arrived, his hungry gaze following you with a piercing intensity that made you a little more than uncomfortable. 

“So, the party is tonight.” He lifted a foot to the first step and you saw Daryl’s knife hand still from the corner of your eye. “I was hoping you would accompany me.” Your eyes blinked wide, dancing between the two men. 

“I—well I wasn’t planning on going.” You laid the pen and paper aside, placing your hands on your thighs. 

“Oh, come on, pretty lady. It’ll be fun.” 

Your eyes flitted over to watch Daryl’s hand tighten around the hilt of his knife. Was he just being protective? Was it something more? The questions you tried so valiantly to ignore rose again to the forefront of your mind. 

“M’a go talk to Rick.” The archer spouted suddenly, dropping his legs and standing. He was down the steps and on the walkway before you could manage to say a word. 

Spencer watched him leave, a visible tension draining from his form. Once Daryl was out of sight, Deanna’s son turned back to you with a smile that made your stomach turn. “So, about that party?”

You glanced over his shoulder to Rick’s front door. What would it hurt? Daryl wasn’t attending and making friends couldn’t be such a bad thing. If Spencer wanted more, you would simply set him straight. 

“Yeah, I guess so, but as friends, okay?”

The look he gave you filled you with instant regret. 

“Friends. Sure.” 

Oh boy. 

The gathering itself was a success, introducing you to some of the community’s residents while you gained a bit more knowledge about the history of Alexandria. It was Spencer’s relentless advances that had ultimately driven you to abandon the party early. You had acquiesced to one dance, yet that had been enough to send the wrong signals. 

“Daryl? Are you home?” You called, awkwardly removing the high heels from your aching feet. Of course they would give you the most uncomfortable shoes known to man. You’d definitely be sticking with your boots from that point forward, fancy dress or not. “Daryl?” Tired and more than socially drained, you wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed with your archer and let your stress melt away into the mattress while secure in the safety of his arms. 

It wasn’t meant to be. 

Daryl wasn’t there. It was unlikely he had left the walls. Unlikely but not impossible. So, you shuffled off to change out of the outfit you’d be given and into your familiar attire. By the time he strolled into the house, you had fallen asleep on the couch. 

“Hey.” You croaked, wiping the sleep from your eyes. Daryl glanced your way and offered a jerk of his chin in greeting. “Where’d you go?”

“S’it matter?” He huffed. It almost sounded bitter. 

“I guess not.” You warily watched him move around, the air growing thick with tension. “Just worried, that’s all.” He laughed ruefully, a sure sign that he was ill at ease. “Daryl, are you okay?”

“Dropped by the party earlier.” He cleared his throat. “Didn’t see no reason to stick around.”

Uh oh. 

“Oh.” Why did you feel guilty? Nothing had happened. “You hungry?” You asked, realizing the ridiculousness of the question when there were other obvious pressing matters that needed to be discussed. 

Daryl stopped stripping off his gear to spare you a sidelong glance. “Nah.” That wasn’t what he wanted to say, that much was clear, but he refrained. You felt your heart shift and twist uncomfortably. 

“Daryl, I think we should—”

“M’goin’ to bed.” And then he was gone, loud steps echoing from the basement stairs until they were muted thuds that were followed up by the loud slam of his door. You weren’t welcome in the room that night. 

Wiping angrily at the sudden tears on your cheeks, you cast your gaze to the stairs leading up to the bedrooms, suddenly exhausted. In fact, the thought of trudging up to the extra bed was a feat you weren’t sure you could accomplish. Lowering onto the couch, you sniffled and closed your damp eyes. 

Sleep wouldn’t find you that night. 

“We should—” The words were cut off by a mighty yawn, drawing Daryl’s unwelcome attention. His expression alone spoke volumes. 

“S’the matter with you?”

As if he had to ask. He knew you better than anyone, like the back of his hand. You hadn’t rested, fitfully tossing and turning on the couch the previous night, missing the warmth of his arms and the sounds of his breathing. 

Knowing you couldn’t start a discussion that might lead to foolish mistakes, you heaved a sigh. “I’m fine.” Keeping your eyes downcast, you pushed open the passenger door and climbed out, heading toward the main entrance of the mall. A succession of slamming car doors followed. 

“Y’ain’t fine.” Daryl fell into step with you, pulling his crossbow from his back. His eyes, squinting against the sun, remained glued forward. 

Neither are you, you wanted to say. Still, you pressed onward. “Let’s just get this done and go home.” You chose instead, picking up the pace to leave him behind. Arguing with him wasn’t new by any means, but this—tension, it was new. It was different. It felt much like the stress that passed between the two of you after the prison. The questions, the doubts. 

“Y/N!”

You shook your head when you heard him call. You couldn’t deal with that confrontation at that moment. There were supplies to find, there were walkers to avoid and—

You didn’t even realize how close the teeth had come to your shoulder until you felt the sting of Daryl’s bolt slide across the back of your neck to pierce the young woman’s skull. Hand slapping over the cut the projectile had left behind, you spun to watch the body topple sideways, your eyes wide. 

“The hell were you doin’?!” 

Your brain had yet to catch up, your lips moving with mere silence the only result. When Daryl reached you, his weapon clattered to the ground, leaving the others to watch your backs.

“I—”

“Ya just stood there! Why didn’t—goddamnit, Y/N!” 

Your hand jerked away from your neck as you were yanked against his chest, face squished until you managed to maneuver your head just enough to breathe. 

“I’m sorry—I—”

Daryl sniffed above you, roughly letting you go and stepping away. He had turned away from everyone, arm moving to appear as if he might have been wiping at his eyes. “S’get this done.” He snapped, jerking his arm in a vague motion to beckon you. “You’re stayin’ with me, y’hear?” 

You nodded, though he couldn’t see, and picked up his bow for him. After he had taken it, he stomped toward the entrance, barking at you to keep up. 

How could you have been so careless? You’d allowed your thoughts and worries to cloud your judgment, blind you to danger. If Daryl hadn’t been there, you’d have been dead. Now things were worse between the two of you. He stalked ahead, his shoulders tense and frame trembling. Did you dare try and smooth things over?

“Got somethin’ here.” He suddenly spouted, rocking back and forth with the toe of his boot pressing into a creaking floorboard. He glanced at you, eyes narrowed in a silent request to watch his back. You jerked your chin in a nod. Crossbow placed next to him on the floor, he crouched and used his knife to pry up the board and reveal a bag beneath it. “Bingo.”

“What’s in it?” You inquired, looking to him for a reply and then back to the door. 

“Meds. Some granola bars and Spam.” He shoved the sack into his satchel. 

“Trip was worth it then.” You were smiling when you turned to him, your mouth turning down when you were assaulted by the expression he donned. He was stricken. 

“Worth it.” He looked down as he stood, licking his bottom lip before chewing it in earnest. “Nah, Y/N. It weren’t worth it.” Squinting, he shook his head and brushed by you. “We’re done here.”

Sighing heavily, you rubbed the towel over your damp hair. The day’s grime had been washed away, swirling down the drain to keep your tears company. Daryl hadn’t spoken a word to you the rest of the run, not on the drive back, and he had disappeared the moment the car had been parked. 

Pulling your sleep shorts up to rest on your hips, you reached for your camisole when there was a soft knock on your door. You were once again in the upstairs room, giving Daryl his space while suffocating in your own. 

“Yeah?” You pulled the garment over your head and stepped out of the bathroom, narrowing your eyes at the entryway. 

“S’uh—” Daryl cleared his throat, the sound muted by the wooden barrier between you. “S’me.”

Your heart fluttered before it sank. Another argument wasn’t something you were confident you could handle, but you couldn’t just turn him away. Padding across the cold floor on your bare feet, you turned the knob and opened the door enough to lean against it. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He was already rubbing the back of his neck and shifting from foot to booted foot. He was anxious. “Can we, uh—can we talk?” He requested without so much as a glance at you.

Not tonight. I’m too tired. “Of course.” You ignored every possible excuse to avoid the conversation. He merely grunted and squeezed by you with care not to touch. 

And that hurt. 

“What’s up?” You asked with feigned nonchalance, sitting down on your bed. Daryl paid extra attention to the furniture and the things you had taken with you from the basement room. 

“‘Bout today—”

And there it was. “I said I was sorry, Daryl. I was distracted.” You felt your eyes burn, wishing you could say so much more. Tell him you missed him, that you loved him. “It won’t happen again.”

“Yeah, I know.” His tone was solemn and it dawned on you that he didn’t seem angry at all. He turned toward you, taking a moment to chew on the side of his thumb. You hated when he did that. You hated anything that caused him discomfort, especially the things he did to himself. “S’my fault, ain’t it?”

You blinked, saucer-sized eyes following his hand as he lowered it. “Your fault?” 

“Just—” You tracked him as he began to pace. “Just saw ya with that prick at the party an’ I—” He stopped, fists clenching before he shook them out and continued wearing a trench into the floor. “I thought—weren’t we—nah. I shouldn’a come up here.” 

The confusion muddling your brain had yet to wear off before you were on your feet and stepping into his path to effectively block the door. “Slow down, Daryl.” His mouth opened but snapped shut with a click of his teeth. “Say what you mean.” You pleaded in the calmest tone you could manage while numerous sentiments twisted in the pit of your stomach, tendriling out to wrap around your heart like a vice. 

“Dunno what I mean.” The defeat on his face, the utter bemusement in his eyes tore you to pieces. It also refueled every burning question that had befuddled your mind into nearly getting yourself killed. 

“Daryl.” For some reason beyond your comprehension, you hesitated with your open palms just in front of his chest. C’mon, idiot. This is Daryl and he— Your train of thought nearly derailed, maintaining just enough contact with the foundation to urge you onward. “Daryl, if I said that I loved you, what would you say?” Your hands finally made contact.

He reeled back a fraction of an inch, his wide eyes mimicking yours from only moments ago. “I, uh—”

“I’ve always thought that you loved me.” You dared, your hands sliding over to settle on his ribs. “I know we’ve never really—decided that we were—”

“Sure, we did.” He cleared his throat, hand traveling toward his mouth as he inhaled. You caught his wrist before he could begin to gnaw on already abused skin. “Mean, I thought we—”

You smiled and released your grasp, content to allow his hand to rest on your waist instead. “I love you.” And you held your breath. Blue orbs danced and sparkled, scrutinizing you and your declaration. 

“Y’sure?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Very.” 

Your first kiss was everything you had expected and all you could have hoped for: sloppy, inexperienced, yet so passionate and honest. Daryl’s teeth clicked into yours, uncomfortable but still inspiring a giggle that had him smiling against your mouth. A real smile. A unicorn in a world that had lost its magic. 

And it stole your breath, precious oxygen that you weren’t sure you found again until you settled on the bed beside him, sweat-soaked, sated, and more in love than you ever thought was possible. 

He never said the words but you had all the answer you needed. 

You were his. 

He was yours. 

And even if he turned beet red each and every time, you’d shout it from the rooftops. 

[l-in-the-light]

This cultural mechanism of denying humanity of certain individuals (most often villains) has a name. Rene Girard wrote about it in his book called The Scapegoat. I tried finding ANY reblog of this post which actually mentions this, but despite scrolling through at least half of reblogs, I couldn't find it, which means even if someone did point it out then it still went pretty much unnoticed.

We all know who or what a scapegoat is. It's that thing or that person, the root of evil, the source of chaos, the troublemaker, the trickster disrupting the long established safety and order (which is, ofc, the ultimate good). If you only get rid of the problematic individual, everything will be okay again. That's how it works. But there's a problem with it. There's never one scapegoat. After one comes another, and another, and another, till you get hundreds and thousands of them and you can't fit them in one neat grave or prison anymore. They keep coming and there will be more and more of them, this will never stop, because it's a cycle. A cycle of violence. If you really want for "things to be okay", you need to break that cycle, instead of finding YET another scapegoat, yet another villain to bury for all of our sins. By sacrficing another villain, another victim, another scapegoat on the altar of society, you only support the cycle to keep on going.

Yes, you heard me right. Villains are scapegoats. But victims ARE scapegoats as well. Anyone we forcefully silence and refuse to give agency to is the scapegoat. The homeless, the LGBT, the mentally different, any disabled people etc. Anyone who fits into a very broad category of "otherness". But here's the catch. Because this category is so broad it's very easy to become that "other". That's why people are willing to go to extreme lengths just to make sure no one sees them as "other". They will deny their disabilities, they will deny they're not like those "others", they will even deny their own struggles, just to fit into the safe mold of "normal". And if you silence yourself just because you're afraid you might be the next one victimized or villainized, you're also a scapegoat, btw. Your inner life and self-consistency is the sacrifice on the altar of society that doesn't care if you actually have a heart. All it cares about is for you to make sure you're "normal", which has a very murky definition too. Who's normal? The one who acts like the majority of others? The one who has the applause? (applause can be shortlived and depends on trends, it's dangerous, you're dancing on the edge). Every time we see someone as the "other" we judge, we're scapegoating them. Yes, all of us, by succumbing to our fear of being judged, contribute to this mechanism. Otherwise the seams of the society might fall apart and we can all turn against each other, we can rip apart the system, they warn us of anarchy, you might get killed in the middle of the street, there will be no police to guard the order, no prisons to keep the bad eggs away from you. Stay quiet, endure, it's for the safety of all of us.

No one should have to carry that weight of the whole world on their own shoulders. Not like this. But we do, every single day.

We're all capable of being bad people and often are. But we also all want to believe we're good. People think if someone didn't get love there's a reason of why they didn't receive it. That belief didn't come out of nowhere. It's internalized violence and judgemental mentality. You prefer to doom someone else as long as it saves yourself from being doomed. You're not only hurting others with it, but YOURSELF as well in the process. You get rid of your true empathy for others, you decide whose pain or suffering is the one "worthy" of acceptance and which is not and needs to be condemned. You can't afford that empathy for anyone else than you after a while, after all you live in constant, silent fear of "being next" if you just stop for a moment and look too long at the scapegoats buried around you. And what you fail to see is that you're also a scapegoat. If we all accept each other and ourselves as "others", if we're all just different people and no one is normal anymore, will this finally break the cycle?

You want to feel like a good person? Of course, we all do. But you can't achieve that if you're too afraid to look into the abyss/mirror and realize you also do bad things. You also need to redeem yourself. You can do better, but it's not easy. You know what's easy instead? Finding a scapegoat and blaming them for their own misery. Literally requires no work, the world will applause you and all you need to do is repeat same words after others. The mechanism works like a perpetuum mobile at this point, it will mostly do this job for you. Just take a stand, deem the villains, blame the victims, ignore the struggles and pain of others.

But here's the catch. If you're too cold, you're also gonna be judged and called a psychopath. That's also a no-no, you're becoming the unacceptable "other" again. You have to show, in specific, allowed circumenstances, that you feel sorry for others. That you know how to choose the "right" side. That you understand "good" needs sacrfices and sometimes you're even expected to cry for them. And if you see those sacrfices as not-human "others", it's easier to accept it all.

Many people claim how scary it is to face certain truths, like "victims can turn into villains too", but the real truth no one wants to face is actually this: we allowed this to happen. We allowed the villains to be formed, all of us. Every time we engage in judgemental actions, every time we police someone dealing with their pain "in wrong way", every time we call someone "born evil". Every time we point a finger and call someone a villain, a victim, a barbarian, the other. By doing that we trap them in endless world of pain and suffering and abuse. They also want to be out of that cycle, but we keep trapping them, by silencing them and adding our own narrative on top. They suffer for our sins. Because they're our scapegoat, the sacrifice we made to keep on going, thinking how good this world is and how much worse it could have been, just look in the right places. Just don't look at the scapegoats too long. They corrupt. Maybe their otherness is even contagious, so stay as far away from them as possible.

You're allowed to be mad about this, btw. Anger is a neccessary emotion, it points at injustice done to you. But the society wants you to throw that emotion away and supress it, so you're tamed and silenced. It might even create a "safe space" to vent it out, by encouragig you into physical activities or taking part in some entertainment, so you can lose your steam in a way that doesn't challenge the system. It's a distraction. (the point here isn't to condemn sport or popculture btw, it just serves as an example, ok?)

All communities work like this. We're all trapped in endless cycle of violence. We bury endless scapegoats under our communities, they become our foundations. After all, nothing unites different people better than finding a common villain, it's us (the good) vs them (the evil). Wait, did I just say "different people"? But we're supposed to be all the same! No, that's a myth. We were all always different. We just have to choose who is "more different than others", so we can unite ourselves against them.

You know what that reminds me of? "We're all equal. But some are more equal than others". Animal farm was about power structures. By accepting easy scapegoats, by abiding to this mechanism, we support the power system that oppresses us. Think about it. Our civilisation is build on this and it would not thrive the way it did without the scapegoats.

And all of you blaming christianity for this instead, you need to understand one thing. What Jesus taught was actually the reverse of scapegoating. “Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her”. This is literally Jesus telling people "you all have sinned, so why are you judging them if you don't judge yourself?". What you all mean by christian/puritanist beliefs is how christianity got distorted and institutionalized into a power abusing system called religion. Swallowed up by what it tried to fight against. Always identify the actual source of abuse, instead of doing more scapegoating. I'm in no way inclined to defend christianity (not in the form it exists now), but also if we keep on muddling the truth we will always make the same mistake, so, always dig deeper to avoid it. Thank you.

not to post even more Villains Discourse on main but it really bugs me how people read giving villains tragic backstories as inherently excusing their actions and/or demonizing trauma survivors.

the actual message of Tragic Villains is (almost) always “people who are never taught or given any healthy, constructive outlets for their emotions will often find unhealthy, destructive outlets.” it’s that people who are traumatized and never learn how to cope with that trauma can become a danger to themselves and others. the message isn’t “trauma makes you evil!!!!” or “genocide is okay if you’ve been sad before!!!!” it’s “people need compassion and help to recover from trauma instead of becoming increasingly angry and harming themselves and others in the process.”

this site takes an alarmingly behaviorist and punitive approach to everything and it’s literally the most annoying thing. y’all have this concept that “if we just punish people hard enough, if we just scare them enough, if we just make them feel guilty enough.” that people just Do Bad Things Because They Do Bad Things, I Guess, and Because We Didn’t Threaten Them And Shame Them Enough. but humans are an innately social species. at our very core, we need compassion and kindness. we need healthy relationships with other humans.

you can keep looking at traumatized villains and being like “haha this dumb pathetic sadboi thinks murder is okay because his parents died” but as a survivor myself, unaddressed/untreated trauma absolutely can make you ragey and destructive. i was lucky enough to have support and eventually get the treatment i needed. but it’s not hard at all for me to imagine how, if that hadn’t been the case, that could’ve been me. obviously not on a movie-villain scale like murder or war crimes, but it’s so irritating as someone whose trauma has always manifested as anger to watch people on this site be like “this is just bad writing!!! real survivors/good survivors don’t end up like that the writers just hate survivors and want the audience to condone murder!”

[ifindus]

Human names for HWS Norway

I’ve seen several posts about human names for the nations going around lately and I wanted to offer my own opinion on Norway’s name, as a Norwegian person. This is not meant as critique of other people’s headcanons, it’s just my personal opinion and meant to offer some insight into the cultural and historical background of certain Norwegian names. I’ve made several posts about this topic, but I realize that it’s been years since last time and I think it’s about time to make a new one.

First; some background on naming traditions in Norway. In Norway surnames especially are very diverse and carries a lot of history and meaning behind them as they often are names of farmsteads or places where the families lived in the 1920s. This is when it became mandatory to inherit surnames from your parents. Before this, people often changed names when they migrated and took the name of the place they moved to, as a sort of “nickname” when people needed to distinguish you from other people with the same name. “Oh yes, that’s XXXX from this farm, not XXXX from that farm” etc. The patronyms had a similar function to this and prior to 1920 everyone was named in official documents in this fashion: “First name, Name of father -daughter/-son, Name of place/farmstead”. This explains the origin of the modern surnames ending with “-sen”, where “sen” means “son”. These surnames were inherited by people who did not have a connection to a farm or a place, perhaps because they lived in the cities and were working class.

Next; a critique on the more widely used name in the fandom: Lukas Bondevik. Neither of these names are good picks for Norway in my opinion. Starting with the surname; Bondevik. As its own name, it is fine, it means “farmer’s bay”. The problem with it is due to its close association with a conservative politician who at one point was prime minister in Norway. The Bondevik-government is not uncommon to talk about and when I just google the name “Bondevik”, every single result on the first page is of this politician. Again, because Norwegian surnames are so personal and geographically locked, you end up giving Norway a history relating to this specific family. There are only 201 people in Norway with this surname, most of them are related to each other, and the name will be associated with this conservative politician. It would be similar to England being named Arthur Thatcher or Arthur Churchill, or America being named Alfred F. Kennedy or Alfred F. Reagan. There is no avoiding this.

Continuing with the critique on Lukas. There is no way around this name as it has been the go-to choice for the fandom for several years now, picked out of a list of names Hima suggested. Personally I do not think this name fits Norway as a character due to both cultural and historical Norwegian associations. Lukas is not a name that was used in Norway before the 1990s and it did not become a popular name until 2008. Lukas is not a name with Norse origin, its origins are biblical, and is a new trendy name that has entered the Norwegian society with the globalisation and Americanisation of our media. It is a very young name and you will not find people over 35 with this name still today. If you talk about hws Norway where he exists before 1990, he would not have this name. It is both culturally and historically inaccurate. It is also, in my opinion, a bit of a fuck-boy name – it gives modern, upper-class or city boy vibes. Not a name that I think fits hws Norway.

Lastly; my own suggestions of names for Norway. I will never stop advocating for Sigurd as the best name for Norway. It is a name of Norse origin and has been relatively popular through all time periods, never going out of fashion, a solid Norwegian name. Because of its history you can find this name in any social class (though perhaps not upper-class today?), and it does not betray any age nor will it ever become outdated. Its meaning is “victory” and “guardian”. I must admit it does not sound very good when pronounced in English, but it is a very pretty name in Norwegian (the "d" is silent). The name has a long history, but is not closely associated with one specific person. There is a famous myth/story with origins to before the Viking Age about “Sigurd Fåvnesbane, the dragon slayer”, and I like the parallel between hws Norway and this myth, and hws England and the story of King Arthur. Sigurd is a good Norwegian name and its connotations fits the character of Norway very well.

My suggestions of surnames for Norway are Nordvik and Ødegård. I still cannot choose between these two as I love them both. Nordvik means “northern bay” and it is such a generic surname you can find it everywhere in Norway where there’s water. I like it because it ties in with the original meaning of the name “Norway”, the way to the north, and associates with the sea, which has been of huge importance to Norway through history. Ødegård means “desolate farm” and only became used as a surname/nickname after the Black Plague, which saw many farms abandoned. Ødegård was the name these farms got and people who moved there took it as a surname in the process previously explained. I like this name because it is not tied to any specific region either, so the geographical origin becomes more intangible and creates an air of mystery.

This is my personal take on the names for hws Norway, and again; is not meant to be a critique against anyone using the popular fandom names. I know habits are hard to change and at this point is probably very integrated when talking about the character. Anyone is free to use any name they want of course, I am just offering some cultural and historical background and insight on them as “Norwegian names”. If anyone has other name suggestions for Norway they are unsure about or wish to know more about, I’ll gladly make an input if Norwegian advise is wanted.

[artyandink]

farm baby .ᐟ.ᐟ

↳ SYNOPSIS: you needed some help over at your farm after WES sprained his arm, and it was the first time you actually noticed that CLARK was a tank— like, how does one person do their farm chores that easily? you were stuck here looking like a wet, muddy squirrel while PANDORA and CLARK looked like they came fresh out of a pantene commercial. someone stop you before you start throwing hands, or mud, just to bring them down to your level.

↳ PAIRING(S): wes x betty, clark x bonnie (friendly) (clark | bonnie)

↳ WARNINGS: nothing, just farmboy and farmgirl being cute

↳ RADIO STATION:

↳ night shift by jon pardi

↳ am I wrong by nico & vinz

↳ sunshine by onerepublic

wanna meet everyone again .ᐣ.ᐟ click here

Since your dad had injured his arm in a farming accident, Mr and Mrs Kent had ‘lent’ Clark over as a help for you and your mom while he recovered— and Clark wasn’t salty about it at all, you were his best friend and hung out with him, Pete and Chloe every day, so of course he’d help. Besides, even though you and the Kents had neighbouring farms, there was more help than rivalry, so it was a healthy thing, where if one was in need, the other would come to the rescue.

It was when you’d actually seen Clark working was when you realised that yeah, he was freakishly strong, walking around the farm, lifting hay bales and fixing tractors without breaking a sweat, while you looked like a huffy, sweaty mess, hair plastering to your forehead. Not a great look.

He was an absolute sweetheart as well, a ‘darling’, as your mom called it, as he was all boyish, sunny smiles and farm boy demeanour, helping you out with the farm until even the next day’s work was done the day before. Was this guy a machine or something? You didn’t care, it at least allowed Lex, Pete and Chloe to swing by for an evening of relaxation or homework help, which was nice.

“Hey, Bonnie?” Clark called, popping out from nowhere, carrying a hay bale, and again having not a single drop of sweat from working in the Smallville heat— honestly, dude was made of titanium. Here you were, looking like a sticky squirrel in flannel.

“Where d’you want this?” He asked, nodding to the bale with that shine in his eyes that was always there, the one which told you that he was probably the kindest person you’d meet. Then again, that was a given, with how he’d relentlessly worked day and night with your dad out of commission.

Honestly, any more of him not becoming a wet rat while working and you’d probably throw a hissy fit. “Over there.” You pointed to the very messy stack of hay bales as you groomed PANDORA. You, in comparison to Clark’s pristine state, looked like a squirrel in mud. Great.

Clark did the thing boys annoyingly did all the time, where he’d effortlessly lift the bale and place it on top of the rest of the stack without so much as a flicker of his expression to acknowledge the weight, grunting under breath, “There you go.”

Clark chuckled when he saw you, your face and hair drenched in sweat as you petted poor ol’ PANDORA, your horse looking slightly amused herself despite her being downcast. “Lookin’ hot.” He teased, grinning and crossing his arms, making no secret of his amusement at your current frazzled expression.

“Ha ha, real funny.” You rolled your eyes playfully, petting PANDORA’S coat as you sat by her. “Now, stop bein’ a male model and c’mere, sit.” You patted the hay beside you, a smile stuck on your face— well, you couldn’t help it when Clark Kent was with you.

Clark chuckled at your response, shaking his head and rolling his eyes in good nature at your joke, before obeying your order and walking over and sitting down beside you, his smile still on his face as he bumped his shoulder with yours, teasing a little more. “Stop bein’ a girl model then,” He answered back, chuckling lowly as he tilted his head at you, bumping his shoulder with yours again, before his eyes slid over to look at you, his expression turning a little more… affectionate.

You smiled, leaning your head on his shoulder, sighing and using your other hand to pat PANDORA, linking your arm with his. “She’s lonely.” You mumbled, “Dad ain’t here.” PANDORA was a little under the weather, considering how Wes wasn’t doing his rounds on the farm and coming to see her especially, so you were spending more time after school working in the stables and the fields, which was where Clark came in after Martha spotted you slaving away with the hay bales.

“Just don’t lift any tractors,” — was what Johnathan said to him.

Clark chuckled softly when you leaned into him, a small smile appearing on his face as he linked his arm with yours when you slotted it with his, his free hand gently squeezing your own in comfort, fingers intertwining with yours. It was so very natural for the both of you, like a rite of passage after knowing each other for no short than since you were children.

“Yeah, I bet,” He answered softly, his smile saddening slightly as he realised you were going through a tough time with your dad being injured, and gently rested his head onto yours, pressing his cheek to the top of your head. “You been holding up okay?” He asked quietly, concern in his eyes.

“Yeah, m’fine, I see Dad whenever I come home, but ‘DORA?” You nodded to the raven-coated horse as you stroked her mane, with her nickering in response and nuzzling your hand— Clark liked to think of you as an animal whisperer, or at least PANDORA as a human whisperer, cause sometimes there was the feeling like you knew what she was saying. Those big eyes were definitely sad. “She’s not as happy, I can feel it.”

Clark smiled a little when you spoke, his expression turning a little softer as he, too, regarded PANDORA, watching as you so sweetly brushed its mane. You’d always been an incredibly caring person, and right now, he couldn’t help but think of how adorable you were with animals.

He turned his head a little, pressing a small kiss to the top of your head, smiling softly. “Yeah, she’s missing your old man, huh?” He murmured quietly, his words tinged with comfort in an attempt to cheer you up a little.

“She’s the real daddy’s girl around here.” You laughed a bit, squeezing his hand— just an unconscious action, really. “I’d be surprised if she wasn’t. Upset, y’know.” Your free hand kept on petting her head, watching PANDORA blink slowly at him, probably reading him— no, actually, she was.

Clark chuckled at your words, amused as he looked over at your expression and laughed when you laughed, his smile slightly lopsided when you squeezed his hand, fingers squeezing back in response to your action, his heart fluttering a little at the sight of you.

“Yeah, doesn’t shock me one bit, honestly.” He replied softly, smiling at the sight of you fussing over your horse, before his eyes slid back to you again. That expression of concern returned, his expression growing a little sadder as he thought about how stressed you were probably feeling.

You noticed the silence and looked up to Clark, head tilting as your big eyes went puppy-like in confusion— sparkles, furrowed eyebrows. “Hey, sweet boy.” You poked his cheek gently. “Where’d the smile go?”

Clark smiled a little at your actions, chuckling softly when your eyes looked like sparkling puppy dog eyes, tilting his head a little as you poked his cheek. “M’fine, m’fine.” He mumbled out automatically, his words slightly mumbled under breath, his cheeks flushing a little as you called him ‘sweet boy’.

A teasing nickname you’d started when he was 14, which, even though he’d tried to shake, had stuck with him, a red blush on his cheeks as he smiled at you, before it fell again and he sighed. “Just worried, that’s all.”

“Worried about what?” Your arm that had linked with his patted his forearm, leaning your chin on his shoulder. “Talk to me, unless you’ll be stubborn.” There was no one more stubborn than a Kent.

Clark chuckled at your words and the slight accusation (which was very true, but he’d be stubborn and won’t admit to it, even though his cheeks burned a little at being called out), leaning his head to rest on yours, closing his eyes and sighing heavily, before he opened them again.

“Just worried about you, y’know.” He mumbled softly. “You seem down cause of your dad being injured, and I…” he trailed off, his cheeks growing pink, his eyes flickering over your face, “I don’t like it when you’re sad.”

“I guess it’s natural, I always thought Dad was, like, invincible.” You grinned slightly at the thought, at the memories of never seeing your dad sick, of when he’d lift you on his shoulder or throw a rugby ball to Logan like he did in his championship days, “But s’okay, I’ve got my other favourite invincible person with me.” You ruffled his hair. “It’s like you’re made of steel.”

Man of Steel.

Clark gave a small laugh, an affectionate smile taking over his face as you spoke, his cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink at your words, grinning when you ruffled his unruly locks. “Pfft, m’made of steel, am I?” He teased, his tone lighthearted as a chuckle escaped his mouth. It was a comment that had been said many times in his direction.

“Only for you, then.” He responded, grinning a little wider, his eyes dancing affectionately as they flicked up and down your face— how did you do it? Clark was yet to uncover how you always managed to make his worries melt away with one little smile and a joke from you.

“That makes me feel special, thank you.” You giggled, nudging him, both of you basking in the evening sun, casting shadows and that wonderful dewy-looking glow— mind you, you had an amazing view of it from your farm.

Clark smiled, chuckling when you nudged him, his eyes returning to your form as you basked in the setting sun. He just… smiled, taking in the sight of you and the golden glow of a beautiful evening, the sun bathing you both in this beautiful warm glow that made you look, I don’t know, Lex level expensive. He didn’t take his eyes from you, simply taking in your expression, the small laugh that escaped your lips, the beautiful view of the sunset lighting up your face…

“God, you’re gorgeous.” He breathed out quietly.

The statement came from his mouth so suddenly, and he suddenly felt a lump in it upon saying it— it was the type’a thing he’d say to Lana, not you, not that you weren’t gorgeous, but he just couldn’t fathom where it came from. But you just… you looked to him, eyebrows raised with a small grin, still stroking PANDORA as she nickered beside you, almost like a small tease to his slip up. “You’re gorgeous too, Kent.” You said back with a soft chuckle, gently touching your temple to his, not sceptical, reassuring. After all, you were the town’s southern belle.

His heart was fluttering as he felt you gently knock your head against his affectionately, his eyes flickered from your eyes back to you, a soft expression that he couldn’t control from appearing on his face. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He mumbled out quietly, his expression still soft as he smiled, his arm squeezing yours gently as he continued looking at you, lip caught between his teeth. “Not as gorgeous as you, though.”

“That’s a high bar, yeah.” Then you let the silence linger a bit, hang in the air like a hovering blanket of sorts, trying to find the words— what? It’s not like only the Kents were stubborn. “Thank you, by the way. For the farm.” You smiled genuinely. “I’d be run ragged if it wasn’t for you.” You opened my arms for a hug, and like come-frickin’-on, how could he refuse that grin on your face?

“C’mere.” He chuckled, beckoning you over, and he felt at home, wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing you tight against his chest, burying his face into your neck, his eyes closed as he inhaled your scent. “Hey. ‘S not a problem.” He murmured. “We’re both farm babies, it’s a rite’a passage.”

Your head popped up from his shoulder with a slightly confused giggle, head tilted, nose bumping against his. “Did you just call us farm babies?”

He raised his eyebrows in challenge, corner of his lip quirking. “Objections?”

“None.” And there you went again, burying your head in the crook of his neck, breathing in the earthy scent which made Clark him, feeling him shift you so you were sitting on his thighs, hand holding your dusty cheek like he was protecting you, cheek resting on your head. It always felt like that, really, like Clark was protecting something or the other.

You didn’t mind; it was part of him.

𝒇𝒊𝒏 ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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[susiekern]

14. the one with the rain

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol

word count: 747

lyrics from: Rain - Sleep Token (please let's just pretend I haven't used it before already...)

masterlist

previous | next

You’re splayed on your bed, keeping your eyes on the clock, watching the minutes pass. 11:59 pm, 11.12.24. One more minute. You still have no idea what happens at midnight. Zenin stayed true to his words, and besides the one ominous text, he didn’t reveal anything. What will happen in one minute? Is it the tour announcement? Is it new merch that fans have asked for for so long? A new song? Whatever it was, the mystery around it made you excited as ever. Not only you, Twitter was buzzing under the Fallen hashtag, with many fans waiting for anything, just like you were now.

12:00 am.

Your phone lights up with a single notification from Spotify.

“New release: The Fallen invites you to the room below in their new album! Save it now!”

New album? Whole album? With shaky hands, you grab your phone and tap on the notification. There it is. “The Room Below” by The Fallen, 10 songs. You put your headphones on faster than ever and instantly click the play button.

Around 25 minutes in, you’re more than half done. You recognize a few of the songs, two of them previously released as stand-alone, and one is the song they played in Kyoto, the one Zenin told you he wanted you to hear live first. You rest your head on your pillow comfortably, hearing the first notes of another one. Rain.

‘For so long, I have waited

So long that I almost became

Just a stoic statue, fit for a nobody’

You don’t even notice as your fingers tap the sheets to the melody. A melody that seems familiar in a way.

‘And I don't wanna get in your way

But I finally think I can say

That the vicious cycle was over

The moment you smiled at me’

Zenin’s voice floods your brain, words making your heart beat faster. You could imagine his figure standing tall on the stage, holding the microphone tightly, eyes closing behind the black and gold mask.

‘And just like the rain

You cast the dust into nothing

And wash out the salt from my hands’

Just like the rain… You abruptly open your eyes, head spinning. You’ve heard something like this before. You’re sure of it. But when and where? Who said that? How do you know this melody? They haven’t played it before, of that you’re certain. So how?

‘So touch me again

I feel my shadow dissolving

Will you cleanse me with pleasure?’

Just as the melody gets heavier, it hits you. You’ve heard it many times already. Your eyes instinctively move toward the wall separating your room and Megumi’s. He played it two weeks ago, last week, hell, even two days ago, when you were napping in his bed as he was strumming his guitar. It was obviously a little different played on acoustic guitar in his room than the electric one in the song, but it’s the same melody.

‘And just like the rain

You cast the dust into nothing

And wash out the salt from my hands’

The memory of your evening in Kyoto hits you out of nowhere, and you swear you’re out of breath for a second.

‘Once in a while, Megumi gives you a soft kiss on the lips or the top of your head, whispering gentle words. Barely awake at this point, you catch a few that make your heart clench.

“You’re like a rain that washes my heart of the dust and salt, dear.”’

“Just like the rain…” You whisper.

No. There’s no way, right? He wouldn’t do that to you. But it also makes so much sense at the same time. Why he was supposedly out of town when the Fallen played in Tokyo, why he was in Kyoto that weekend, even being out with his friends after the announcement was posted. Why you’ve never even heard Megumi hum when he played specific songs. Or how Zenin found your stream out of all people.

Was Megumi the Zenin all this time?

‘Nobody can say for certain

If maybe it's all just a game’

Was it all just a game? Your relationship? Or whatever you two were building for the past weeks? Every time he held you close, kissed you, comforted you? Was it entertainment for him to listen to you talking about the Fallen and Zenin?

‘When I open my eyes to the future

I can hear you say my name

So rain down on me’

tag list (lmk if you wanna be added!): @nytylie @fresa-luna @syrooo @zaranobiyuyu @jvpit3rr @pandabiene5115 @good-mourning0 @pearlydays @irwinchester @pxppetmxster @ivydoesit23 @zayuriluvs @applepi25 @s777athv @estella-novella @wgafa @pookalicious-hq @lovely-maryj @briezy04764

[antinous-of-ithaca]

Open roleplay starter: Hold Them Down

Planning was not something he liked. He usually just went ahead and did whatever came into his mind and took it as a base. But he really couldn't do that now, could he?

Antinous had been eavesdropping on the conversations amongst the nobles, hearing their schedules, the upcoming events between kingdoms.. but none of them seemed like the moment to strike. There was always something that could go wrong.

Until that day. A diplomatic mission for the young prince while the rest of the nobles were entertained by some sort of dinner. That would be his chance. And what was even better, Penelope had recently given them a challenge.. which had only made them frustrated. Everything seemed to align so.. perfectly.

After watching every single suitor fail at their attempt of stringing that ancient bow (which he thought was going break after 2 attempts), he stood up. As usual, they expected him to say something; he was their voice, the only one who dared voice his thoughts without regard of who he might hurt by doing so.

"Screw this damn competition, we've been here for.. what? Hours? It's obvious we can't string that thing."

Antinous spoke up, playing with his dagger as his eyes darted around the room. His breath still had that scent of wine, despite having been sober for a week or two now.

"Fuck this damn challenge. We don't have to accept any more delays from her.. can't you see she's just playing with us?"

He asked the rest, watching their expressions change at the thought of being deceived by a woman, no less. He knew them to well.. just enough to make them upset about the whole thing.

Though, as he stepped closer to the center of the room, he began getting second thoughts.. he quickly suppresed them, knowing it was too late already.

"This is how Penelope is holding us down, like we are no better than animals. She's waiting until the prince is finally considered fit to rule. Where the hell is our pride and rage?! Where did our domain over this situation go?!"

His steps were calculated, he had planned this for weeks and he was not willing to let it all go to waste because of a miscalculation. Soon enough, he found himself in front of one of the tables in the middle of the room. He didn't even bother asking the rest to move, he just pushed through them and got on the table, just to make sure all 107 suitors could hear him speak. Despite feeling nervous as fuck, he tried to play confident as always.

@the-epic-amphinomus @sonofpolybus @bright-side-of-the-moon-tele @penelope-is-waiting @thetorturedsuitor

[whentherewerebicycles]

I am not really an avid Purchaser of Objects but periodically I like to take stock of things I’ve bought that turned out to be excellent quality or worth investing in. here are my favorites:

thousandfell’s women’s lace-up sneakers. vegan leather and insanely comfy. took them as my only pair of shoes on a very walking-intensive trip to japan and south korea and ended up exclaiming aloud many times “god I can’t believe how comfy these are!!” they’ve lasted two full years of heavy wear and are still going strong.

the LL bean women’s mountain classic anorak. this is the only jacket I have ever needed in the PNW. it’s insanely lightweight so it’s perfect for brisk but not too cold days (and also amazing for travel as it folds down so small), BUT it’s also roomy enough that you can layer a sweatshirt under it and comfortably wear it outside in temps as low as 35 degrees. it also has SO MANY HUGE POCKETS which means I can carry everything I need for the dogs and the baby in just my jacket lol. like literally i can fit a bottle and diapers and wipes in it. I own it in two colors and wear it every single day.

able’s mamuye leather tote. I believe this was a rec from sasha? I had been searching high and low for a bag that looked professional for work but was still casual enough to use as an everyday or travel tote too. I wanted something simple, durable, and high quality enough that I could use it for a really long time. I splurged for the kind with a zipper and it was worth it! the one change is I wish it came with an organizer or had a bit more built-in structure. I got a cheap one off amazon which works fine and gives it a nice shape, but idk I might eventually buy the one they sell specifically for this bag. I love this bag so much that every time I see it I gasp inwardly at how beautiful it is and how fancy yet low-maintenance it looks. I think your favorite objects should be so beautiful to you they make your heart happy when you see them and this bag definitely qualifies.

karina dresses. the prints can be hit or miss and sell out pretty fast so you have to jump on the new collection releases when they email you. but almost every work dress I own is from this company and I love them so much. they’re super well made, flattering, and cut in a way that makes them very forgiving if your body (like mine) tends to fluctuate up and down in weight a lot. they are so forgiving that I didn’t have to buy any new maternity clothes for work—I just wore these through my whole pregnancy. the one thing that might not work for everyone: they’re made from a synthetic fabric, which means they never wrinkle and hang-dry very quickly, but also idk I do prefer the feel of cotton or linen or another more breathable natural fiber.

speaking of natural fibers: I also purchased a few skirts and a dress from pact (organic cotton basics) and I really like them so far but don’t yet know how they’ll hold up over time! so they get an honorary mention for now.

the thomasville tisdale sectional. this is the greatest couch ever made. I evangelize for it every opportunity I get. it’s so comfy and so gigantic. you can rearrange the modular pieces to form a very comfortable queen-sized bed if you don’t have a spare room or if you just want to have a really cozy movie night. I’ve had it for three years and it gets a lot of wear and tear with the dogs but it still looks and feels SO nice. plus it’s costco and their insane return policy means that if it falls apart in five years (it won’t) I could almost certainly still take it back and get a full refund. best! giant! couch! ever!!!!

ok that’s it lol everything else I own apart from art and quirky sentimental objects is kinda junk, or is just Fine but not worth writing home about. do you own high quality objects or clothing that you love recommending to other people? if so I want to hear about it.

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Sentences For WIPs Game

I was tagged by @ulchabhangorm (thanks lovely! 🩷) to participate in this little game where the idea is to make a 24-hour poll including every WIP you want to work on, and have people vote for one of those WIPs. Then once voting has concluded, you write one sentence for every vote of the WIP that received the most votes.

Thing is: I have so many WIPs that I hope to write within the year (if I can!!) that I'm going to offer as many as the poll will allow, AND, I'll "cheat" a tiny bit and write a sentence for ALL of the WIPs that get a vote. ;)

No Pressure Tags: @eclec-tech @dystopicjumpsuit @clonethirstingisreal @returnofthepineapple @dragonrider9905 + @lonewolflupe @the-bad-batch-baroness @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @eternal-transcience

I'll put what's cooking under the cut so anyone who's interested can get a taste of what's to come, only if you're so inclined~ Those marked as request fics will have the details purposely sparse or vague to keep a bit of the surprise alive.

Lost on Life Day: *Request fic. Combination of bad weather and a "small" natural disaster leads to a bit of Huddling Together For Survival between a certain cobalt blue captain and the trusted friend he's harboring feelings for. Because he's put her in danger, Rex thinks it might be best to let a certain loth-cat out of the bag... (Oh, and he should probably mention that it happens to be Life Day, too.)

Cyber Crush: *Request fic. While doing a bit of the ol' “slightly questionable research”, Wrecker and the reader “meet” each other over the galaxy-wide-web, where Wrecker answers a few… concerning questions. Worried he’s accidentally helped a Seppie, he asks Tech to run a thorough background check and finds out that the reader isn’t a Seppie at all. She’s just a writer!

Stuck in the Stacks: *Request fic. Modern AU, where the reader and Wolffe live in the same, small mountain town that is no stranger to the odd bout of bad weather. They've been passively flirting for so long, but never seem to make much progress... When a truly bad storm rolls in the first time Wolffe comes to pay her a visit at her job—hoping to check out a few books for a "little project" he's working on [C'mon, it's Carol's request fic, of course I'll give this reader a fitting job!]—it forces them to stay after-hours. Alone. ;)

No Foxes In This Hole: Longform story I started 10/10 of last year, series link here. Reader's new to Coruscant after seeking a big life change, and boy is she gonna find one. The crimson commander will too, for that matter!

Seaglass in the Surf: Hiding out on a remote, backwater planet, Din Djarin makes the acquaintance of a woman who frequently makes trips to the shoreline just to scour through the sand for something. He offers to help, thinking she's looking for something she lost. Turns out she's looking for things that others have lost, for a rather different reason than the one Din initially suspects.

Your Body Remembers: Experimental fic without a single line of dialogue where you as a local living in hardship on an Imperial-controlled planet find a little more than just hope in the man who, at first, will tell you nothing more than he's a Mandalorian is the only person who has answered your desperate plea for help.

Yellow Blankets, Yellow Blades: Reader makes their favorite Jedi fugitive something rather special to keep in the room he's always been offered whenever he needs a place to lay low from the Empire. While the item brings up many memories that are perhaps a little too bittersweet, Cal, who hasn't seen a lot of genuine kindness like yours since the start of the Purge, can't believe how lucky he is that you went through all that trouble, just for him.

Like Family: Star Wars AU. Feral asked you a very important question recently, and he's been riding on Cloud 9 ever since! Trouble is... he's having difficulties finding the right time to tell his brothers the happy news. The way you and him go about letting the loth-cat out of the bag together isn't exactly what you had planned, but hey; you're still warmly welcomed once they know you're officially going to be part of the family!

Hunting the Nexu: An absolute mess in the outline stages right now, HtN is a TBB AU that covers events from both season 2 and 3 between Crosshair and a mysterious hired gun that agreed to help his brothers and sister with rescuing him from Mount Tantiss and the Empire.

Glory In Gold: Hired to teach Cody Mando'a under false pretenses for an Imperial mission, it isn't long before it's revealed to you the real reason you're here once, sometimes twice a week, on the Empire's dime, is personal. But it's not long after that that the reason changes again. To something more... intimate.

Loving A Lazarus Species: You've been mourning Tech's death for close to a year. Maybe more. The denial that this death is real runs deep; chasing down the ghosts of ghosts when it comes to rumors your love still lives. Lucky for you, the brown-eyed, bespectacled man proves you have no need for the morally murky research you've turned to in your desperation: proving he's harder to kill than initially believed... [We're doing a Tech Lives AU!!]

Dressed to the Ninety-Nines: You and the bandana-wearing sergeant have to feign being on a date for a "special assignment". Hunter effectively proves that he sure cleans up well and behaves like a perfect gentlemen, the whole nine. But is there really a "special assignment", or is this all part of some elaborate bet?

[georgieluz]

10 characters, 10 fandoms

thanks @hesbuckcompton-baby @footprintsinthesxnd @jump-wings @cody-helix02 and @merriell-allesandro-shelton for the tag!

since five people tagged me i'm gonna include a few extras bc i couldn't narrow it down to ten :) i also decided to do characters outside of hbo war since everyone knows my faves already

faramir – lord of the rings

dick grayson – dc comics

kendall roy – succession

adam kenyon – the thick of it

desmond hume – lost

nanami kento – jujutsu kaisen

varian fry – transatlantic

roy kent – ted lasso

jamie tartt – ted lasso

john constantine – comics & matt ryan

tim gutterson – justified

marjan marwani – 911: lone star

tk strand – 911: lone star

gethin roberts – pride (2014)

jesper fahey – six of crows (books only, but despite me not being a fan of the show, the casting of, and performance by, kit young was impeccable and was the perfect choice)

i think most people got tagged in this over the week whilst i was at work so i don't think anyone is left for me to tag but if you haven't done this yet, please consider yourself tagged!

[edwinisms]

it’s actually so wild to me that this fairly quirky YA type show gave both of its main characters deaths that can, in one way or another, solidly be considered hate crimes. they were both flat out murdered as a result of being A) gay and effeminate or B) brown (south asian, specifically) and you could argue whether or not those kids thought of it that way in the moment or whatever but the bottom line is that they would not have been in the situations that killed them if they weren’t of their respective minorities. like legitimately that is a ballsy choice for this kind of netflix show, let alone for the two Main Characters, and i respect it big time

[aardvaark]

im so glad that we never get a clear picture of sophie’s background in leverage & i hope we never do. however i also really like making up various, often conflicting backstories for her in my head. perhaps they’re all backstories for an alias of hers, ones she laid to rest back in season two.

[achyutapriya]

If you call yourself a Krishna Bhakt but at the same time disrespect the Mahishis (Queens) of Dwarka (this includes questioning the authenticity of their love for him and his love for them in return, comparing their love, putting them down, making abhorrent claims about how their love was not completely pure, claiming how they were jealous of each other and the gopis, making passive aggressive comments against them to even liking and sharing content which promote these kinds of beliefs) in the name of glorifying Kanha's leelas in Braj then it's beyond time for you to touch some grass, read actual scriptures and question your entire existence. *GLORIFICATION CAN BE DONE WITHOUT SHOWING DISRESPECT TO EITHER OF THE TWO GROUPS*

[padfootastic]

one of my longest standing fanfiction dreams is to write a dimension travel fic. i am so, so obsessed with the trope and i just need. a battle hardened harry being dropped into another universe where his parents and godfather are alive, and he’s stumbling around trying to manage his trauma and keep them at arms length but none of them will let him because it doesn’t matter if he’s from another world, he’s still their baby, they can feel him in their magic and they’ll be damned if they let him feel unloved in any capacity.

i just need. james and lily potter healing harry, gently, carefully, unconditionally. sirius black holding him together as he falls apart in a way he’s never been allowed to before.