#and even then i didn't find any actual answer because the system in place is so brutally inhumane

[free-luigi-mangione]

I’m not American, and I have a question about the medical care in prison. Luigi’s back X-rays are public and doctors who looked at them have said his surgery was botched, and that even if it wasn’t he would need follow up surgery multiple times in his life anyway. Considering his surgery was not performed properly, they also said he would need another operation within the next few years.

If he’s sentenced, how does this even work? Does he get to pick his surgeon? Is he allowed outside the prison and into a hospital to get treated? Is he gonna be cuffed on the operating bed as well? Does he get to meet his family? How will he manage aftercare on a steel bed and a 2 inch mattress? The first time he got surgery he was bedridden for months, will MDC/wherever he ends up after sentencing allow his some relief from the daily manual labor prisoners have to do in order to recover?

i don't know Luigi's medical history for sure. and i at least would not be speculating on what healthcare he would/could require right now or in the future.

however, if Luigi does need to get surgery or needs medical attention specific to his back issues, i highly doubt he would get the medical attention he needs while incarcerated. this is mainly because prisons in USA have no system in place to treat inmates beyond some very common infectious diseases and health conditions. this situation is further exacerbated by the fact that USA as a country does not have any universal public healthcare system in place, which itself is the biggest issue lurking in the background of the charges against Luigi. how this affects the healthcare of incarcerated individuals is that incarcerated individuals are taken to health facilities outside of their detention centers/prisons when such medical issues arise that they cannot be taken care of in the prison infirmary itself – such visits are made with intense security measures in place. this does not however mean that inmates can choose where they are getting care or from whom (specialists if required) or if they're getting the appropriate care they need.

in fact, while the constitution guarantees that inmates should not be subjected to any "cruelty" while incarcerated, and while the connotation of "cruelty" does include not being able to avail the medical attention an inmate needs, there is no specific instruction or procedure already in place on how this is to be achieved. as a result of this, inmates in US prisons more often than not, do not get the healthcare they should get and deteriorate in health – both physically and mentally. so much so, that of all US prison inmates, about 35-40% have some chronic health issues.

inmates can ask for proper medical attention if they are not able to get it from the system already in place (or the lack thereof) by filing lawsuits claiming that they are being subjected to cruelty and are being denied essential healthcare. this requires that the inmate has to prove the essentiality of the care they need and is often not heeded upon entirely and is indeed very difficult to prove given their situation and lack of freedom to choose where they get medical attention from.

so all in all, if Luigi needs essential medical care while in pre-trial detention or in the worst case scenario if he's convicted, he will just not get it. we can forget about post surgery recovery if he can't get surgery in the first place, if required. let us hope and pray he gets to walk free soon enough and doesn't need any specific medical attention while in custody.

p.s.: you can check this post and the notes of this post if you wanna.

EDIT: another anon answered all the questions here.

[v1rtualsalvat10n]

𓆩♡𓆪 for the first time

― luigi thinks of you in his cell. that's it that's the fic.

notes :: thank you for all the support to show my appreciation i would like to throw a rusty screwdriver into your hearts i love u guys!!

The thing they don't tell you about prison is that it's really cold.

No, seriously. It's really fucking cold, even here in NYC where it's already cold to begin with - it's like you're in the back of a deep freezer in a shitty jumpsuit, because you kind of are. It's cold enough that I have to curl up into a ball on my "bed", knees to my chest in order to try and stay warm.

And because I have nothing to do, I find myself staring at the white, emotionless wall, and doing that sort of thing is kind of a surefire way to get your mind to wander. One of the tried and true methods, if you will.

It's lonely here. Sure, the inmates like me, they're nice, but I mean... I'm not really in the mood to socialize with anyone. This whole ordeal has sucked the energy out of me. I've been being thrown around the country for days, ever since they found me.

I don't even want to think about what's happening outside of this place, either. I'm sure people have lots of thoughts and things to say about what I did.

I wonder if she saw it.

The news, I mean. Of course she saw it, who didn't? I bet her and all my old classmates and friends are probably talking about it, about me, what I'd done - right now. Trying to pick apart my motive, maybe grieving about the life I'd thrown away. Guess I had a lot ahead of me.

Can't help but wonder what she's thinking. I wonder if she's disappointed in me. Or maybe proud. Why am I thinking so much about what she thinks of me? It was one fling, from ages ago, I can't even remember when... at one of countless parties, and yet I still see how she looked underneath me so clearly.

It wasn't really just a fling. I talked to her about it - about how the system was falling apart (if it was ever together to begin with) and I felt the need to put all this privilege I'd been granted to good use. How I felt like I had to do something. She told me about herself, too, how she'd been fucked over time and time again and how she knew countless others who felt the same way.

Actually, yeah, we spent a lot of time together, thinking back on it. She'd come over on those cold winter nights I remember so fondly and we'd keep warm together, whatever way we could find. She was kind of... below me, I guess. Lower class. Not that I cared that much, though. Didn't make her any less of a lover.

And then I went radio silent. Then I figured out exactly what that thing I had to do was, and I put all my effort towards it. I didn't have time for love anymore. I had to take the chance I'd been given and fix things.

So I started leaving her on seen, stopped answering my door, even when she'd yell that she knew I was there, stopped showing up at the places I'd loved before, I stopped everything. Dropped off the map and left nothing but a ghost in my place.

She probably hates me.

I'd like to think that maybe this brings her solace... that maybe the idea that "it wasn't because you did something wrong" made her feel better, but I doubt it does.

When I get out of here, if I even do, she'll probably have forgotten all about me, because everybody forgets. I'll be old news by the time that day comes, and everything we did, everything we wanted to do - would just be a hazy memory.

I still remember seeing her for the first time. I remember the way her eyes pierced through my soul, and I remember how it made me feel inside.

I wonder if she remembers that too.

[dukeofankh]

Trying to find progressive masculine community is so exhausting.

I've flipped through local men's groups, trying to find places to explore masculinity in a chill, progressive setting. First of all, they mostly seem to be modelled after AA, and like, my gender isn't a debilitating addiction, it's part of my identity actually, but also, the invite and description of the event have maybe a short paragraph tops actually waving vaguely in the direction of what the purpose of the group is, and then ten to twenty paragraphs breaking down the rules. One spent longer talking about the hand signals he would use to direct conversation than he did describing what the conversation would be about. Another had a full paragraph explaining that if the group thought you were evading what they thought your "real" problem was, they'd probably "call you to take accountability". Like...I don't even know who these people are yet and they're already letting me know that they view it as their right, no, their duty, to bully me into seeing things their way. Like, this is in the invite.

...and this warning is there instead of any sort of breakdown of like, I dunno. Whether you should be a feminist to show up. Whether it was a safe space for queer men. What the hell they wanted to talk about. Joining a men's space is on some level inherently submitting yourself to the authority of the leaders of that group, and you don't usually get a particularly clear breakdown of what the values and goals of those leaders are, because on some level the answer is always going to be "whatever I want"

And like, unfortunately you do need to filter men to build a men's space. You do need to remove or chastise men who act in ways that are toxic or disruptive or misogynistic. If you don't things turn into an MRA chapter pretty quick. But the sort of emergency powers that leadership takes on as a result of that...just kind of naturally end up reproducing masculine heirarchies.

MensLib, the only online community of progressive dudes talking about masculinity that I'm aware of, is...on Reddit. So there is a moderator system. In theory, a moderator is there to...moderate. This is a space where people are going to be talking, and mods are there to make sure things don't get too toxic or off topic.

The issue is that, on some level, that is technically a leadership position. In a sub trying to rehabilitate masculinity. So you've got a bunch of folks who view themselves as the leaders of this bastion of goodness standing against the depredations of the misogynistic internet, guiding the hapless smooth-brain neophytes towards The True Way.

In practice, this looks like 95 percent of the posts submitted for the subreddit being rejected. That isn't hyperbole. On average, the sub has about one new post per day. Almost all posts directly relating a personal experience are deleted immediately, in favour of articles written about masculinity in traditional media publications, which are considered more trustworthy than the sus lived experiences of the guys in the sub. The post I wrote here about the effect of purity culture on male sexual shame that's sitting at about 15K notes was based on a 10K word post I wrote for Reddit that was deleted because "I didn't cite any sources to prove that there is a link between purity culture and male sexual shame, or that my experience was anything more than anecdotal". I get comments deleted on a regular basis, and after paragraphs of protesting in modmail that my comments are both fully in line with feminism and not against the rules, the mods have just finally told me that the rules don't actually drive their actions as a team. They delete anything they feel leads the conversation in a direction they personally feel is unproductive. The rule cited at the time of deletion is really just the broad category of why they decided to hit the button that says nobody is allowed to read what I wrote.

The issue is kind of twofold. First of all, progressive men do not trust other men. A good dude knows that he, individually, is a good person, but literally any other man external to him is on thin ice. Do you really want to tie your wagon to that guy? Do you trust him, really? How do you tell the difference between a guy criticizing an article because it's factually incorrect and criticising it because a woman wrote it? Probably best to play it safe and delete it. Weight of the odds, he's probably a misogynist, right? This is the internet.

And thats the other half of it. If you view yourself as part of the leadership of The Good Guys, and you're getting hatemail from incels and facists all day, you get to the point where most of the time people challenge your authority it's because they're a terrible person. It is very, very easy to get to the point where someone challenging you is seen as evidence that they are a bad person. And now someone is challenging you (and therefore bad), in an environment where you are in charge, and you have a "make your opponent disappear" button.

I know. A Reddit mod was rude to me and now I'm butthurt. It's petty and stupid. I'm just feeling like there's nowhere else to really go, and I'm pretty despondent that literally every space I've seen that even looks like it might be for progressive men has the same deeply hierarchical structure and constant status-oriented squabbling as patriarchal spaces.

[okkotsuus]

"WE HUG NOW" ー taro sakamoto 🪽

features: taro sakamoto (sakamoto days)

contents: assassin!reader, one-sided pining, angst, heartbreak, implied trauma, injuries, depictions of wounds, mentions of blood, very mild gore warning, kind of implied self-harm/self-destructive behavior, tailing, insecurity, songfic, 1.9k words.

notes: this actually came to me in a dream and then i had a batshit crazy one after, oh and i'm still reading the manga so no spoilers pls... blaming @17020 because mimi got me into sakadays and now i'm a little hooked.

taro sakamoto was the world's legendary assassin, he was the best at everything there was: like some sort of god amongst men. everyone loved him, and if they didn't love him: they feared him.

no one was ever fully able to reach him, or even keep up with him. no one except nagumo, rion, and you.

if sakamoto was placed on a mission, even if it was solo, somehow you were always 'in the area.' whether it be okinawa or shibuya: you just happened to be there.

at first, taro thought nothing of it. you were his friend, and you always managed to make any hit run smoother with that sharp wit you were requested for. it was mutualism, scratch sakamoto's back and he'll scract yours.

eventually, it began to grow into something more.

neither of you noticed it; and if you did, you kept quiet about it.

little things began to happen, things like sakamoto keeping a change of clothes for you in his go-bag. or having your preferred mm of ammunition to go with your favorite gun.

the two of you existed in this weird sort-of in between space.

you weren't lovers; but you were certainly more than friends.

only you knew the code to get into his gun safe, and only he knew how to get past the security system outside your apartment.

assassins don't let people in.

it's an unspoken rule of the job.

one you broke.

it all happened one night, when you and taro were both scraped up from a rough mission to assassinate the head of the yamaguchi family.

wordlessly, you were both splayed over a motel bed, not even under the sheets as both of your eyes remained locked onto the swirling ceiling fan.

"why did you let that one grunt get a shot on you, y/n? you're better than that." his voice rumbled, tone non-commitant despite the obvious lacing of worry in his words.

sakamoto has always cared about those dear to him, maybe more than he should.

he always had let rion talk about anything that interested her, played along with nagumo's tricks. he was a good man, assassin or not.

so, when you don't answer, his head lolls to the side to see if you had even heard him in the first place. and brown eyes widen, just barely perceptibly at the hollow stare e/c irises give him.

"i always let myself get hurt on a hit. it's how i atone for the lives i take."

the words echo between the two of you, they make silver brows furrow and thin lips draw flat.

he doesn't speak, so you look away, head turning to make interest of the chipping paint on the smoke-stained walls.

a grazing of fingertips over the torn fabric of your jeans sends your body moving before you can even think. cheap lobby pen pressed against sakamoto's carotid as your weight pins his hips down to the shitty matress below.

taro doesn't even move, not trying to shove you away. he just lays there, limp boned and pliant.

lithe fingers find themselves in the skin on the side of your thigh with an audible squelch. it hurts, feeling him root around in your flesh: but any assassin could take a little pain. his intrusion into your wound is gone as he pulls a 9mm luger from you and tosses it haphazardly onto the carpet.

you don't know what to think, what to do. so you remain atop his form, ballpoint still just barely poking at the skin beneath his jaw. you can see the way his pulse makes the pen dig deeper before it falls once more.

and he's just letting you do all this.

not a single muscle in his body has made any move to resist you.

when he so easily could.

it has your brows raising back to normal, e/c eyes rounding in curiosity.

sakamoto wipes his bloodied fingers on his shirt before tearing the hem of it to wrap it around your thigh, tying it off in a messy knot.

your makeshift weapon fall from your fingers, "why are you doing this, taro?" he hums, fingers drumming against the shitty box spring you have him against.

"you shouldn't hurt yourself, it's not good." he drawls, eyes finally finding your own as he stared up at you in a way that sends your stomach twisting. "can't let the world think my partner's getting weak."

god, you know he doesn't mean it that way.

he means it because you two work together, because he lets you tag along on his missions.

but some selfish, foolish part of you eats it up: the definition you want it to have, that the two of you are really something more.

dumbly, you nod, sitting back and rolling off of him.

"okay, i won't." he's satisfied, turning onto his side with a grunt, broad back facing you.

within a few minutes, he's softly snoring, as if he hadn't just sent your carefully constructed world toppling asunder.

you don't sleep that night.

or many others, for that matter.

all you want is to think he meant that the way you thought he did, even though you know it is the furthest thing from the truth.

assassins don't fall in love.

it seems like you're a pretty shitty one, then.

nothing ever changes, a part of you so deeply repressed is too scared to be the one jumping into the unknown.

that awkward space you had always been in with sakamoto remains. too far to be just friends, but just too far from being lovers.

he makes it hard. unbearably so.

taro is a kind man: he remembers anything you tell him, he keeps his apartment stocked with your snacks, he doesn't let you leave on a mission without saying goodbye (once you forgot and he showed up on the roof of your car).

then, one day, he goes on a mission while you were stuck in a stealth operative on the northern coast. normally, he finishes a hit quick and comes by your apartment after with some shitty takeout and MREs: which he seems to prefer, for whatever unknowable reason.

but, this time, you have to find him.

he's not at his place, not at the JAA, not with nagumo.

you worry about him, for possibly the first time in the years you had known each other. sakamoto is japan's best, everyone had some sort of interest in having him gone. no one had succeeded; hell, no one had gotten close.

what if today they did?

the thought has an indescribable ache burning under your ribs.

it punch in his code and lock the door behind yourself, sat on his couch, and felt tears burn at your eyes for the first time in god knows how long.

he comes home at around 1:32am, doesn't even acknowledge your presence as he shrugs off his coat; even though you know he can see you. his hands are empty, except for a convenience store bag.

sakamoto doesn't eat anything other than MREs, unless it's the fancy dinner provided at order meetings. he certainly doesn't eat junk food and snacks.

"you hungry, taro?" the words come out more fragile than you intend, but he doesn't speak on it. the man shakes his head, holding up his bag as he comes to sit on the couch next to you, tearing into a wafer bar and crunching at it.

it's upsetting, how he won't even look at you, how he doesn't even dignify answering you with words.

"i thought you hated pre-packaged foods..," you mumble, brows furrowing. he pauses for the briefest moment, mid-bite. "the girl at the register said they were good," he speaks.

oh.

that's a weird feeling. one you don't think you've ever quite felt from something sakamoto has said to you.

it goes away when he hands you a pack of your favorite chips from the bag. 'probably why he went in, in the first place,' you think, as if to soothe yourself.

even as you tear into them, there's a lingering sting in your nose, almost like burning.

it never quite fully goes away.

taro sakamoto rarely goes out for the sake of it, much less alone.

so why is he leaving in the middle of the day?

you catch him as you're coming back from a mission, his favorite MRE from the association and some chinese takeaway for yourself. he doesn't look at you, standing on a nearby rooftop and watching in a baffled curiosity.

in a selfish moment, you follow, out of sight.

and you see him meet a girl.

a girl who looked so normal, so soft. not a single bone in her body was dangerous, her gaze never hardened past annoyance. she was so utterly everything that you weren't.

because she wasn't an assassin.

at first, you're angry: furious, even.

you think he's so stupid, choosing a weak woman knowing exactly what happens to people in his line of work. how could he, when you had been standing there waiting for so long?

but when you see the gentleness in the way he touches her arm, like he knows he can break her and it's the last thing he would ever want: it's hard to stay angry.

because she's beautiful and kind and so gloriously normal.

you lose your food on some random roof as you leave. the wind friction from how fast you're moving has tears forming in your eyes, or maybe they were from something else.

sakamoto doesn't seek you out. he doesn't hunt you down when you go on a mission without saying goodbye first. he doesn't show up on your doorstep with food after his hits. he doesn't bandage your wounds when the guilt gets to you and you let your target land a blow.

it doesn't surprise you when he retires.

since he met her, it had only been a matter of time.

you don't plead with him like nagumo does, you don't accept all the offers people make you for his head, you don't ever try to find him: even though he makes it so painfully easy to.

how could you?

he was happy, surely. and you weren't selfish enough to risk ruining it.

sakamoto always got everything he wanted, whether it be fame, money, power, or even his eventual family life. while you got stuck with the weight of what could've been, of everything that you let slip between your fingers because you were just too damn scared.

to him, your friendship was just a small thing that happened in his past as a hitman. to you, when it ended: so did the world with it.

⚜️ ㅤ okkotsuus ㅤ 25

[hawkinasock]

haiii pls spill abt ur chimera yq ideas... i have my own (https://www.tumblr.com/waterfrontcomplex/758520749229277184/dunmeshi-chapter-37ep-17-spoilers-look?source=share)

i also drew my own idea of him (swallow + abundant deer)

Yes ofc!! I'm so happy that someone else has had this idea too, it has so much potential. I want to see all the chimera Yanqings.

Mine looks like this. I actually didn't have a design drawn out for him initially, so I had to whip something up quickly. That's why it took me so long to answer </3

Originally, he had a more swallow-based design.

I still really like it, but I changed the lore a lot, so I made the new one, the current au, which goes something like this:

(CW for blatant body horror, descriptions of digestion, as well as brief details regarding real world animal death)

Here's my idea. Like most aeons, Lan The Hunt has emanators that carry out their will. One of these emanator's is currently unnamed and without a solid design yet. It has an animalistic appearance in my head. Imagine Feixiao's inner beast, or the Mourning Aix from WuWa. That'll give you the best reference.

It travels the cosmos, tracking down and eliminating the Abundance. it does this with the use of extremely powerful olfactory cells. Even with galaxies separating them, the emanator can detect abominations through smell alone, and when it finds one, it will consume it to ensure it cannot possibly regenerate.

Suffice to say, it's very good at its job, and Yanqing, unfortunately, is not an exception to their heightened senses. Surprisingly to no one, Abundance Yanqing coexists with this au, and he is immediately recognized as an abomination when the emanator is in proximity of the Luofu. Yanqing is unaware of his status as an spawn of Yaoshi, so when the devourer of monsters (working title) visits the Luofu, he never would have expected it to turn its eyes onto him.

To say the Luofu is thrown into chaos when one of Lan's emanator's eats a Liuetenant of The Hunt is an understatement. The emanator insists no mistake has been made and it is justified through Lan's divine will. It actually shifts the blame onto Jing Yuan for assigning an abomination as his Lieutenant in the first place, citing incompetence on his part. Kind of a shitty thing to do after eating the man's son but okay...

Not long after, the emanator starts to... change. It begins experiencing sudden and visible signs of mara: bouts of aggression, delirium, and eventually flora and fungus sprouting from its flesh. It's incorrectly concluded that Yanqing's death was a result of early unset mara in the emanator, and Jing Yuan decides the emanator has to be killed via decapitation, such is their duty as followers of The Hunt.

You can probably guess where this is going.

So, you know how bones are capable of fusing together or into other objects during the healing process? Like that deer that was shot by an arrow and the ribcage actually fused itself with the arrow? That's essentially how chimera Yanqing is born.

As an abomination, Yanqing is capable of postmortem regeneration, and as an abomination that is particularly favored by Yaoshi (in my delusional mind) his regeneration capabilities far exceed that of the average denizen, and one this emanator's digestive system was not capable of overriding.

Much like how that deer bone fused with the arrow, Yanqing's body begins the process of fusing back together after partial consumption, and during that process, he inadvertently fuses with the emanator's body, which triggered those mara symptoms. Additionally, because there had also been remains of other denizens in the emanator's stomach, they were unintentionally included in the revitalization process. This, in the end, gave the chimera's body the claws of a Borisin, the wings of a Wingweaver, and the head of a human (his body structure is also the same as the Houyhnhnm, but that's obviously a coincidence on my part lol).

The flowers and mushrooms don't really serve any other purpose besides looking pretty and emphasizing his connection to the abundance - his power is so palpable that life is literally sprouting through his skin. I just think it's kinda neat.

Anyways, in terms of psychological aftereffects, Yanqing himself is still there. However, his sense of self is muddied and most of his memories suppressed. Because he's at the head, he's in control of his own movements and actions. Usually, he's completely docile, but in the face of people currently trying to kill him, he becomes confused and scared, and fights back in self-defense. He's also experiencing prolonged dysmorphia from his new form, which causes him greater confusion and even pain.

For Jing Yuan? I think everyone would agree he wouldn't want to kill Yanqing. He believes there's still a way to reverse Yanqing's affliction, even if the Ten Lords insist otherwise.

Currently I don't have an detailed outline of what happens next. My current ideas are similar to yours actually, where the disciples take an interest in Yanqing for whatever reason, be it desperation to stop the Luofu from killing him and seeing him as blessed by Yaoshi, what have you. It could honestly go a similar route as Dvalin's manipulation by the hands of the Abyss. If I were to give this au a happy ending, I could incorporate the Viscorpus' ability to shapeshift and have Yanqing hone that ability, allowing him to regain his human form.

That's all I have for what was meant to be a short, detailed summary </3 All these asks always end with me yapping, forgive me. I've had this au cooking in my head for so long now, and I'm glad I have an excuse to spurge about it now.

(p.s. pls make more of your chimera au, I would eat it up)

[katerinaaqu]

Hi! Love your takes and all! What do you think of people talking about Penelope being all buff and strong physically as she was "Spartan?" or that she find Odysseus more attractive with blood plaster on his body as she is "Spartan" or such?. Is it true in the Epics? I read something about a Lykurgus or something..I just want to have a nuanced answer to that, also sorry for the silly question.

You are very kind Anon and I am glad you find them useful

Okay for starters I think this whole thing is a massive stereotype in regards to Sparta that "they are all sexually aroused by blood and violence". I mean yes Sparta as we know had an extreme military outline but it is not like they all just killed around to have fun like a twisted version of Asterix village or something. They valued war and the strength in war of course and they took pride to their warfare and all but yeah I think the whole thing of "oh gosh! Blood! Foreplay for Spartans" is just a joke that goes too far sometimes (although we DO have some exaggerated sources about the Spartans but, surprise surprise, they come from their main rival, Athens so yeah one needs to consider that too. So yeah although the Spartans were strictly military I do not think it is actually realistic to say that they all went like:

lol XD

Two this "Sparta" that they mostly mention is at least 100 years if not more away than the "Sparta" mentioned in the epic cycle. You see the Epic Cycle might have been synthesized at the 8th century BC but the events taking place in it, reflect on the Bronze Age or the Mycenean kingdoms which existed before. These "Spartans" everyone speaks about is usually referring to the Doriean Spartans. The Dorieans were a Greek set of tribes with their own dialect that came down from the north at the year around 1100 BC, around 100 years after the estimated date of the events of the Trojan war and they got to remain to the areas such as Macedonia or Lacedaimona aka Sparta thus we have Macedonians and Spartans speak Doric Greek dialect while Atheneans speak Attic Greek dialect and the Asia Minor greek cities speak Ionian etc Either way as I said the events of the Trojan war happened around 100 years before this Doric Tribe descend much less till the strictly military spartan system to be fully crystallized. So we need to think of that. And even then it is not like the Spartan women were some sort of body-builders who didn't have any sort of binary roles to their society or being active warriors in armies etc (don't mistake them for Amazons guys! Hahahaha!). They did actively excersize more than most Greek cities at that time and they did take part in athletic events more than let's say Athens (Athenean women by n large seemed to participate in sports such as running and those were exclusively for Hera's celebrations) so we can imagine they would be more athletic than the average Greek lady but that doesn't mean they were soldier-trained or anything. The military training was for boys at the city of Sparta. And women still had their own binary roles in their respected society, they just had some more freedom as compared to their Athenean counterparts.

So even if Myceneans DID have a more military form of society or at least based on the findings they did focus on warfare to their art and such and the building of their walls and all they still wouldn't be the same as the doric Sparta that were exclusively military. Could perhaps mycenean Sparta have the basis for the future doric Sparta? Perhaps but I doubt we have sufficient evidence to say they are identical.

Three. I believe that people who wanna desperately depict Penelope as some buff lady, misses the concept of Penelope's strength in the Odyssey. Penelope was not strong because she could fight with the sword. She was strong because she was mentally steadfast, clever and resourceful and enduring and she managed to hold the kingdom of Ithaca steadfast by herself for 20 years. It wasn't about her being buff lady. Homer does seem to imply she was tall and stoutly buillt; see my other post where I mention her physical description in Homer:

but not buff as "I'm gonna kick your ass" buff and all. Homer doesn't mention that any of the Spartan princesses have some specific training (Helen Clytemnestra or Penelope) but later literature implies that they have basic knowledge on weaponry (for example in later 5th century dramas and above Clytemnestra not only is seen wielding a weapon but knowing some basics as to how it was made) but it needs to be said that the posthomeric sources were also influenced by their contemporary Sparta aka the doric military Sparta. Homer doesn't imply that this strict military doric way of life was part of his lore but he does imply that Sparta relies more to its military (as compared to Ithaca or Pylos for example) so maybe he attempts to create the illusion of historical continuation but either way no this whole "300s-like" Sparta was not crystalized yet to the times that Homer synthesized his poems much less to the time of Bronze Age.

And there is no hint that Penelope goes "WOW BLOOD!" that seems to me one of the overused jokes on the internet, again emanating by the whole series of Sparta stereotypes used for comedy. It was in fact Euryclea the one to almost welp in happiness seeing Odysseus covered in blood and that was because Odysseus had killed the men she hated. Penelope doesn't show such a thing. Odysseus also washes himself up to be presentable to her. And even in posthomeric sources Penelope was not linked to physical strength but rather with the strength of her mind and the purity of her intentions (well...except maybe from Parthenius narrative if I recall correctly. There Penelope is pictured as scheming in jealousy against one of the sons Odysseus ellegedly produced and manipulated her husband to kill his illegitimate son)

As for the last part I am not sure what you are referring to? Are you referring to Lycurgus that is mentioned in some later sources as king? I did find for example the reference of Plutarch (who lives much much later) that he implies that Lycurgus lives at the same time as Homer or possibly had met him personally but is that what you are referring to? Either way I assume you refer to the historical person rather than some mythical figure because in homeric realm we do have rulers such as Tyndareus (the king of Sparta father to Helen and Clytemnestra) and Icarius (father to Penelope). It seems that Homer with the mention of the two rulers, even if not directly mentioning it, seems to be winking at the later but still ancient custom of doric Sparta to have two kings but I am not sure if that truly was his objective (and therefore creating an anachronism most likely)

I hope that answers your questions a bit

[azrielbrainrot]

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 5

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: It's time to find your handler and make him answer for what he's done to you.

Warnings: Violence, Torture, Gore (nothing too graphic)

Word Count: 4715

Notes: This took a while to write, I'm sorry about that but life has been kicking my ass. I really hope it makes enough sense because I've found I'm not very good at writing action scenes (but that's also not the main focus). Hope you enjoy!

Part 4 ○ Part 6

The moon was high in the sky, its pale light guiding your way through the forest. The air was strangely quiet, the leaves crunching beneath your feet were the only thing that could be heard between the trees. Even the wind was serene and no animal dared make a sound, as if sensing what was to come. The atmosphere allowed you to keep your composure, any incoming threats would be easier to detect like this. Unfortunately, so would your allies.

It's funny how so much can change in a matter of days. Before, when you were only a relatively low ranking member of the guild, walking through the dark woods as you are doing now would simply be the norm, whether you were on a mission or not, but, after everything you learned, not having Azriel and his shadows near you makes you feel off-kilter, like you can't protect him if he stands too far from you.

If it weren't for the millions of problems that keep piling on, you'd probably sit on this feeling, dissecting it until you realize how peculiar it actually is for you to feel so achingly connected to the shadowsinger who, even if had been your husband during a time of your life you've now forgotten, was essentially a stranger to you now. You've only really known him for about two weeks, not nearly enough time to be feeling like a part of you is missing.

You weren't used to worrying about anyone else at times like these. Even when your missions weren't solo, you didn't actually know your coworkers, much less cared if they survived or not. But now, you can't stop thinking about all the ways this could go wrong, of how Azriel and his family could get hurt because of you. You stayed up thinking about this all night, if this would all be truly worth it just to get your memories back, but had decided that you wanted to know what happened, no matter the cost, and knew that, as much as the Inner Circle was helping you recover your memories, not all their motives were altruistic. They all wanted revenge as much as you did.

All of you had planned this out meticulously, going down to every last detail and considering every possible outcome. Everyone was also extra careful on how to approach using you as bait. You expected it from Azriel - he's been protective of you ever since you stepped foot into his High Lord's home - but seeing the rest of them so worried about you made you want to recover your memories that much more. You want to remember these people, want to know how they all, especially Azriel, came to care for you, so much so that even death didn't stop those feelings.

There had been other plans brought up, ones that didn't involve putting you in such a risky situation, but it was soon decided that the only way to get to Norris would be to show up alone. If he so much as caught a glimpse of anyone else, you know he would simply run and if he truly put his guard up and went into hiding, finding him would be nearly impossible even with Azriel's spies and shadows at his disposal, he hadn't found you after all.

The tree you were looking for comes into view as you get lost in your thoughts, the magic traces left behind on its bark unmistakably familiar. The guild has used this system for as long as you've been a part of it. Every important meeting with your handler had taken place next to any object or area marked with this exact faint magic, enough for the attuned eye to pick up on but not so strong that anyone else might come across them and meddle where they're not welcomed.

You don't have to wait by the marked tree for long before an imposing figure appears beside you. He had probably been watching you for as long as you've winnowed into the edge of the treeline, keeping his eyes on you as you walked to the meeting place. The air shifts, the wind picking up slightly as if sensing the tension threatening to form in your body.

Turning around as casually as possible, you face your former handler, the male you thought had saved your life but you've now learned did quite the opposite. Not that there had been any particularly fond feelings between you and him, but it still hurts to know how easily the male manipulated you and turned your entire life around with no remorse.

He was mostly covered with a black hood, only a bit of his face being visible through the shadow it cast, enough to meet his eyes. You've only seen him without it a few times, you know that dark brown hair lays under the hood and a few scars adorn his face. Truthfully, you're not even sure if this isn't some intricate glamour. Nothing that comes from this male should be trusted.

His form gives nothing away, no nerves or suspicions, but his brown eyes rake over your body, searching for something. Since he thinks you've just crawled out of a cell or worse, he's probably looking for any signs of injury, or that you've betrayed him and the guild. It's best you don't let him find anything that tells him otherwise.

“Norris,” you greet him as you would any other time, nodding once at him with a passive expression.

He crosses his arms and meets your eyes when he hears your voice. His eyes dart over the forest around you as if he knew Azriel would be lurking in the shadows. His self assured expression doesn't help with your nerves. Norris always seems like he's three steps ahead, and more often than not he was actually four.

“I didn't think I'd see you again,” he finally speaks up.

“I thought so too.”

Norris hums in response. You're not sure if he believes you or not, but short and distant answers are the norm for him. Either way, you need to stick to the plan, there's no turning back now. “How did you escape the Night Court?”

“They thought I was someone else, someone they used to know,” you start, trying to convey some of the confusion you'd experienced the first time they told you who you were. He knows you well enough to expect you to have some trouble maintaining the same level of apathy he so easily displays, he'd warned you multiple times to act more like an assassin and not let your emotions get the best of you. “It eventually led to a fight between the High Lord and his Spymaster. They couldn't agree on what to do with me from what I heard. I managed to escape in the chaos.”

You stop for a second, licking your lips. You decided not to completely lie to him so it would be more believable, this version of events could have come true had you not trusted Azriel, had your feelings not been so suffocating and confusing.

“I waited for a while before contacting you, to make sure they didn't come looking for me,” you continue eventually, the fact that he isn't asking more questions makes your heart pick up ever so slightly.

He turns his head to the side, a faint smirk playing at his lips. You resist the urge to clench your sweaty palms, not wanting to let him see through you. “Who did they think you were?”

“The Spymaster's former wife,” you admitted, hoping you sounded as detached as possible.

“And what do you think about it?”

“What?”

“Do you believe them?” You didn't expect him to ask you outright. It would make more sense for him to try to cover it up, stopping any doubts you might have had before they grew.

“Of course not. I've never been married,” the lie tastes wrong on your tongue but you make sure not to let any of it translate into your body language or your voice. Which is why you're so caught off guard by his next words. “I think you're lying to me.”

Norris turns you around and grabs you to him before you have a chance to react, pulling you flush against his chest and pressing a dagger to your neck, power rumbling under his skin, raising the hairs on the back of your neck at its intensity. This isn't that surprising to you since you were more than aware of how much faster and stronger he was, and that tricking him would be extremely hard, but this means you need to move to plan B. And you were really hoping you could avoid a direct conflict like this.

Azriel is the first one to show himself, emerging from the shadows with deadly calm, hazel eyes never straying from Norris as his hand hovers Truth Teller. As much as you try to keep calm and not give anything away, you know Norris can feel you tense up and hear your heartbeat picking up when you see the shadowsinger walking straight into danger.

You feel another presence behind you, Morrigan, followed by Cassian and Amren on each side. The sisters had stayed behind, despite their many protests. In case anything happened, Velaris needed its High Lady and the Valkyries at least. You also know this is a personal matter for the fae present, you had been their friend and been ripped away from their lives by the male currently holding you at knife point, threatening to end your life once again, for good this time.

They all start walking slowly to you, effectively forming a circle around the two of you, getting ready to attack if Norris hurts you or tries to run. He appeared as calm as if he had just been caught on a night stroll, his heartbeat never rising in tempo against your back even under Azriel's chilling stare. He had been expecting your betrayal, and had been ready for them.

You could feel the fury in the air, could see it written in Azriel's eyes as he studied every single one of Norris' movements. You had been worried that he wouldn't be able to keep his composure since he was against this plan from the start, in fear of this exact situation coming true. But he seemed completely focused, not even risking looking at you too long in case he'd get distracted. This made you relax ever so slightly. You'd planned out for this situation and even if you ended up hurt or worse, you know Azriel won't let Norris go unharmed. You would get your revenge one way or another, you just hoped you could spare the male in front of you any more pain.

Rhysand winnows in next to Azriel moments later, darkness clinging to him as he takes a few steps closer to you nonchalantly. Talons scratching your mental walls before checking in on you. All according to plan.

“I would say it's a pleasure to meet you but even I can't spin a lie so effortlessly,” he starts, arrogance dripping in every word. You'd never admit it, much less to him, but Rhysand was every bit the perfect High Lord, especially at times like these. It showed in the way he carried himself down to the seemingly bottomless pit of power at his disposal. No matter how strong Norris is, anyone with even a little of self preservation would think twice on how to handle him.

“I came prepared for your little tricks, High Lord.”

You frown at his words, confusion settling over you before you realize what it meant. Rhysand must have tried getting inside his mind as soon as he appeared. Norris had expected him to, had put up walls to ensure it didn't happen. This would only make things harder.

“Skipping pleasantries, are we?” Rhysand's face gives nothing away, but as he drops said pleasantries, it gives way to some of the anger bubbling under the surface, the next words coming out in a serious tone. “You're not walking out of here, Norris.”

“I wouldn't be so sure,” Norris says as he leans in closer to your ear, voice dropping to a whisper, “Did you think I would come on my own?”

A sinking feeling grows in your stomach as you watch dark figures manifesting all around you, far outnumbering your group. You recognize some of them, know their clothes and masks mean they're assassins from the guild.

A fight breaks out right before your eyes, causing you to struggle desperately for the first time in Norris' arms. He tries to keep you in place by letting the blade touch your skin as a warning, a few drops of blood escaping the small wound. You know he could easily kill you, but you're also aware that if he did the chances of him escaping would drop to zero. That's the only reason you're still breathing, so he can use you as a shield.

Your eyes were following Azriel's shadow covered form as he fought against multiple attackers, the feeling of helplessness rising with each clank of his sword. You can't stand there and wait any longer, so you grab the blade still positioned dangerously close to your throat and wrap your fingers around it tightly so it cuts your hand instead of your neck while swinging your elbow back to try to push off of Norris. Just as you expected, you weren't strong enough and he pulled the knife back from your grasp, intending to stab your stomach to stop you, but you had a new trick up your sleeve.

Azriel's shadows had moved to you as soon as Norris grabbed you, crawling up your legs discreetly in the dark of night, where they stayed waiting for your signal. And, as they tasted your blood in the air, they engulfed Norris, giving you enough room to push back and to elbow him a few more times, also letting off some of your power and finally being able to release yourself from his hold.

The shadows aren't enough to keep him away from you for long, the lack of visibility barely slowing him down as he attacks you before you even have the chance to take a breath. Luckily, your little helpers' singer rushes in, getting between you and deflecting Norris' strike. He hands you a sword so you can fight back with him and pushes back against Norris without wasting a single moment.

The three of you enter a match, barely being able to pay attention to what's happening around you, though you can tell everyone is in the same predicament. Even between you and Azriel, keeping up with Norris proves difficult, he's not only an exceedingly proficient fighter but he's also familiar with your attacks and style, making it easier for him to avoid your attacks and focus more on Azriel's.

The fight goes on for longer than you'd like. Even with your and Azriel's joint efforts, you had barely managed to wound Norris. The bastard was too strong and experienced, he was one of the guild's oldest assassins for a reason.

Suddenly the sickening scent of blood reaches your nostrils, in a concentration you haven't experienced before. It makes you falter in your movements, but luckily it has the same effect on Norris, leaving him open to Azriel's attacks, who seems undisturbed by it. You risk a glance behind you, but all you can see is the rest of the Inner Circle watching the battle, while the ground and their bodies, even the trees around them, are covered in blood. You're not exactly sure what happened, what they did to completely obliterate the assassins to a point not even their bodies were left, but you don't have more time to linger on this as Azriel finally manages to get a few good hits in, leaving Norris stumbling back away from him.

Rhysand is next to you in the blink of an eye, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. You move to help Azriel, hoping to distract Norris enough for him to be able to infiltrate his mind. It doesn't take much longer before Norris finally drops unconscious at your feet, and you immediately let out a relieved breath. Azriel's shadows move to tie him up so he has no chance of escaping.

Your plan had always been to catch Norris off guard or wear him down enough so that Rhysand would be able to infiltrate his mind, successfully knocking him out so you could take him back to the Night Court for interrogation. And, as much as you'd planned for the possibility of him bringing backup, the assassins had made this harder to achieve. You all had been worn down more than expected, but, as you look around, you see no one seems to be gravely injured.

Cassian smiles and nods at you when he notices you eyeing the blood trickling down his shoulder, it wasn't too deep of a wound and the blood was already stopping from the looks of it. Azriel did tell you Illyrians heal faster than most fae. Speaking of, you feel scarred fingers wrap around your wrist as you give Cassian a tentative smile of your own.

Your focus is stolen by Azriel, your eyes finding his instantly as he holds up your hand carefully, examining the wound and the blood that had been smeared all around you during the fight. He's wearing a conflicted expression, pain visible in his eyes. You've found Azriel shoulders too much guilt, even when what happened wasn't his fault.

His other hand reaches out to touch your neck, where a small cut overlaps with the pronounced scar on your skin. He's been blaming himself for your death for over a century, he must have been terrified of not being able to stop it again, even if it was happening right in front of him.

“I'm alright, Azriel,” you smile up at him, hoping to calm him down, “This will be gone by tomorrow.”

“We need to take you to a healer.” You shake your head, not wanting to stay behind and leave them to deal with Norris by themselves. Gently prying Azriel's hands away from you, you go to tell him as much.

“He's right,” Morrigan interjects, “I can take you to Madja and she'll fix it for you in an instant. I can bring you back right after.”

“It's just my hand.” You don't understand why they're making such a big deal out of it. This wouldn't need a healer, aside from some discomfort it won't hinder you in any way. They all have small wounds of their own that they seem to be ignoring.

“You're hurt.” There's a finality in Azriel's tone that is starting to rub you the wrong way. You understand he's concerned, you've tried to be considerate of his complicated feelings ever since you found out you had been his wife and the tragic way in which he had lost you, but that doesn't mean he can order you around.

“Barely.” You try to keep your voice leveled, pointing at Norris' unconscious form still covered in shadows. “And this is a lot more important. I need to know what he did.”

“I'll tell you everything we find. You don't need to go with us.”

“What?” You can feel the confusion taking over your features. Azriel has been forthcoming with any and every bit of information, you don't understand why he's trying to keep you away now.

“It's best if you don't come to the dungeon. You don't need to see that,” he offers, his face becoming irritatingly blank, the mask you know he uses as the Night Court's Spymaster. This only makes your anger spike even faster.

“See what?,” you challenged, head tilting to the side, “Do you think I never tortured anyone?” Your voice rises with every word, annoyance taking over your body. “I know the female you married was much different from what I am now, and I don't know if she let you order her around like this, but I'm not her.”

“I'm not ordering you-” Azriel's face falls at your words but you're too far gone to even try to interpret what it's written in his eyes, to even listen to what he has to say.

“It sure sounds like you are.”

Rhysand stands between you two before the argument can escalate further. “This is not the time to be fighting. We need to take him to a safe place before he regains conscience. I can only keep him down for so long.” He eyes Azriel for a moment, studying his features as some sort of understanding takes over his own. “Mor will take you to a healer,” he holds up a hand as you open your mouth to argue back, “It will only take a moment and then you can meet us in the dungeon. We won't start without you. I promise.”

By the expression on his face and authority behind his words, you know trying to argue with the High Lord won't take you anywhere right now. He's too used to calling all the shots and you can't change his mind in a matter of minutes, not when there's a much more pressing situation on your hands. You need to choose your battles.

You simply turn to Morrigan, ignoring the hazel eyes staring straight into your soul. “Take me to your healer then. The sooner I get this done the better.” She nods at you, extending her hand as she winnows you both back to Velaris.

The adrenaline of the fight started wearing off as the healer, Madja, worked on your hand, stitching skin back together with expert ease. As much as it had annoyed you to be sent to the infirmary, you could admit the pain had been worse than you expected as your body calmed down. It still wouldn't have been much of a problem to warrant that amount of concern.

Morrigan simply watches as the old fae works on you. She tried to talk to you about Azriel but you pushed her away, not wanting to hear any explanations from her. He's old enough to speak for himself, and you'll probably be eager to hear what he has to say after this whole situation is worked out. Right now, you only want to go back to where they're holding Norris so you can finally understand what he did to you and hopefully learn how to fix it.

Just as Madja is wrapping your hand in a white bandage, keeping the strong smelling ointment she spread in place, the healer speaks up for what feels like the first time tonight. “That boy loves you more than anything. Give him a chance to explain. I'm sure he never meant to hurt you,” she finishes as she pats your hand softly. “All done.”

Her words give you pause. It does make you wonder how obvious your and Azriel's love had been that everyone seems to have no doubt in their minds that he would do anything for you. He seems to be very private in his affairs, especially personal ones. It also makes you curious if you'd known her before, it's more than likely since she's the Inner Circle's healer. You push those thoughts away, knowing you wouldn't ask the old healer about your relationship before anyway. You were so close to getting your memories, you needed to focus on that.

“Thank you.” She gives you one more smile before gathering her things, making you stand up and rush to Morrigan, who has a somewhat nostalgic and understanding smile on her face. She holds onto your shoulder before you even have the chance to say anything, knowing what your next words were going to be.

As soon as you winnow in, you understand why they called this place a dungeon. There really was no other way to describe the dark, stone covered space. The air was thick with humidity and blood, the kind you know has lingered for centuries and will never be completely washed out. You have to blink a few times to let your eyes adjust to the dim lighting, it was truly close to pitch black inside, the perfect environment to torment someone in, especially when you're the shadowsinger.

You never let your eyes meet Azriel's when you walk in, even as he turned to you, only allowing yourself to focus on your former handler, heavy chains on each of his wrists as he stood on his knees in the middle of a cell. He was already awake, it seems they did start without you. Rhysand speaks into your mind, sensing the incoming protest. He woke up sooner than we expected. He's been trained for this.

A sigh almost escapes you. Norris was trained for every possibility, this was going to be a gruesome session. As much as you were arguing with Azriel to stay, the truth is this is not something you ever enjoyed. So many in the guild did this sort of thing for pleasure but you only ever tortured anyone when it was strictly necessary and they had truly done something awful to warrant it. You can only hope it at least gives you the information you've been searching for and the freedom you never even dared to dream about.

“I almost thought you weren't going to show your face again.” It's infuriating how unaffected Norris sounds even though his blood already stains Azriel's favorite dagger.

“Wouldn't miss this show for the world,” you admit. He was one of the few individuals you believed deserved this and much worse, for all he has done to not only you but so many others. You're almost certain your conscience won't bother you for this.

Up until tonight your feelings for him were passive. You never particularly liked him, but you always felt obligated to show him respect as your superior, there were also less than ideal consequences if you let your true feelings show. Still, there had been some small, stupid hope that he didn't really do all those awful things to you. He trained you and taught you a lot, knowledge that you know has helped you in a lot of bad situations, that has kept you alive through them, and will continue to do so in the future.

A sickening smirk overtakes his face at your response. “I always liked you better when you acted like one of us.” Fury and shame travels across your body, but Azriel moves before you get the chance to, slashing his blade across Norris' chest, a sharp noise of pain escaping him. The gesture almost makes you smile, as twisted as that may sound.

“You'd do well to watch your mouth. My Spymaster doesn't take well to disrespect,” Rhysand's voice sounds different, arrogant but nothing short of furious.

“Still hung up on her? Since you stopped searching I thought you found yourself a new shiny toy.” Azriel's fist connects with Norris' jaw as he gets the last words out, a laugh escaping him despite the flow of blood rushing through his teeth for being able to rattle the shadowsinger.

You decide to step in, not wanting to let Azriel speak or act for you when you're more than capable of doing it yourself. And knowing how much he blames himself for your situation, for stopping his search when you were alive all this time. You'd be damned if you let Norris hurt him in any way. He's done more than enough.

“So you admit you were the one who found me.” You walk until you're standing over Norris' beaten body, right next to Azriel, close enough he has to adjust his wings not to touch you.

“Of course, you were one of my finest projects.” You let out an acknowledging hum, temperature dropping around you as your icy power rose to your fingertips. The pain would be a lot worse if you kept his body temperature down, you want his whole body to ache. This was going to be a long night, thankfully hurting Norris was nothing short of enjoyable.

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[thewertsearch]

We're got a couple of assorted asks about quadrant dynamics here. Since they're all related, I'll answer them as a single post.

@galaxa-13 asked: I personally never saw Feferi being annoyed by Eridan talking about feelings with Karkat because he was only supposed to talk about them with her, but rather because he ONLY talked about them with Karkat. She had to do all the heavy lifting in their relationship by making sure he didn't commit genocide, and then didn't get to unwind with some romantic gossip. If my platonic boyfriend never talked to me, but did with others, I'd question him too. @lilietsblog asked: I never read Feferi as being jealous of Karkat in a violating relationship exclusivity / cheating on her way. I read it as a playful "why aren't you talking about stuff with me? is it because you've already talked it all out?" where Eridan was very much supposed to read between the lines and undersatnd that she just wanted him to tell her about his red crushes (awkward, that…) While I'm sure there are specific rituals trolls /only/ do with their moirails, my overall impression is that trolls normally just… don't form relationships close and trusting enough for emotional support like that. The quadrants help by making it semi-mandatory to find SOMEONE. (Also I'm actually sure that a healthy moirallegiance would be reciprocal with both partners pacifying each other, it's just the hemospectrum version of gender roles)

You may have a point. Eridan was clearly a poor moirail from the start - probably because he never actually wanted to be Feferi's moirail. To him, the quadrant was clearly just a stepping stone to matespritship, so he wasn't invested in its dynamics. Feferi's not really angry about Karkat, here - she's just a little frustrated about how one-sided their moirallegence has turned out to be.

That said, I do still believe that quadrants would work better if they were polyamorous - even if this particular scenario doesn't illustrate my point as well as I thought it did.

@morganwick asked: I mean, some would argue that placing undue emphasis on monogamy beyond what's actually healthy or natural is true of human romance as well. But part of what might be going on here is that on Alternia, it's not a good idea to let knowledge of your fears, doubts, and weaknesses spread too far, lest it mark you for culling. Best to vent to a single person who won't tell another soul. (See also how Vriska is saying things to John she wouldn't tell any other troll.) @bladekindeyewear asked: "At the end of the day, I do think moirallegiance is a good idea. I just don’t think it really works if moirails can’t be poly." What if they CAN be? People with naturally polyamorous inclinations are few and marginalized on present-day Earth, and Alternian society seems set up to STOMP OUT the marginalized. Quadrants certainly exist, but how much of their rigidity and the pervasive troll view that you only have "one true fated partner(s)" for each quadrant might just be cultural?

I think a monogamous system of moirallegence is probably all that Alternia could handle. Sustaining a polyamorous quadrant system would require a level of emotional maturity that the average troll simply isn't going to have - and, like you said, it might be dangerous to widen your circle more than is actually necessary.

I still think the trolls would benefit from such a system, though. On Alternia, it simply wasn't to be - but the Alternian Players now have the chance to build an entirely new culture. Who knows what new dynamics they might discover?

@lilietsblog asked: I don't think Hussie "jumped the gun". I think Hussie was messing around with the very idea of "what romance should be like". Trolls don't care about what gender their partners are, and have a different system of confusing rigid rules that no two people understand quite the same and that don't work out in practice that way anyway, instead. The quadrant system was never intended to be a serious worldbuilding project any more than Troll Will Smith

See, I get what you're saying - but the difference, in my opinion, is that that Troll Will Smith was a one-panel joke, whereas the quadrant system has informed our understanding of troll relationships for the entirety of Act 5. Unlike Will, quadrants have stayed relevant, and they've been critical to understanding many of the Alternians' key character moments.

That's not to say that quadrants aren't partially a joke. Frankly, I don't think any of Homestuck is entirely serious - but I do think quadrants are 'real' in the context of the story, and should be analyzed as a legitimate part of its world.

@bladekindeyewear asked: One last bout moirails-- Andrew in his asks has said that the idea behind each of the Quadrants IS supposed to match up with real human relationship and friend dynamics we already understand, making them relatable but w/ a romantic drive that isn't quite human-analogous. Trolls biologically compelled to enter them before understanding them, a challenge "particularly tortuous for young trolls" (p2393), plus the 600 hour session makes sense of Eq/Nep's relationship's drastic evolution to me.

I've always been a little skeptical about this whole 'biological drive' angle for the quadrants - mostly because there are plenty of human biological drives that are either overstated, misinterpreted, or outright fabricated.

That's not to say that the trolls don't have some sort of compulsion to seek out quadrants. If it does exist, though, I hope it slowly fades, now that the trolls have left their planet and its expectations behind.

[angelicsjn]

I was the one that submitted the form and it had Hayden as my favourite with the passing comment that I made mad money just so he can have his career.

I know in the Domestic Life ask, he fears settling down due to the fact that he'd need to give up his photography for something more stable. But ha! Sike! His darling makes 6+ figures and is willing to support him fully. The cutie is gonna get the house husband treatment but hey, he gets to pursue photography with a big safety net. If anything, his photography profits is their play money for vacations and getting pampered together.

So, how would Hayden react to that? Would he enjoy it and settle down sooner?

- ✨ Anon

HAYDEN WEST.

A N: I love this so much. When I read your answer, something lit up inside of me. This is so real. Honestly, the dynamic sort of reminds me of Levi and William on tiktok. Their relationship are my actual goals... ps. If you see any typos and mistakes, no, you didn't. Look away, it never existed.

A B O U T: Hayden is apprehensive about settling down, but you have funds to do so. How does he feel about it? Read to find out.

W A R N I N G S: None. Other than Hayden being a sweetheart.

As stated in an old post, Hayden's only setback in settling down is his career path, and he knows that it's not sustainable in the long run.

Hayden isn't the type to sacrifice his passions to make life comfortable; his passions are his life. He would be nothing without them.

But he knows that at some point he will have to decide on what path he will take because he doesn't only have to pay for himself now, he also has you in his life.

But! Maybe there's another solution...?

Hayden's obsession with you grew in a short space of time, he went from watching you; hoping that you'd look his way one day to sleeping in your bed feeling more loved than he has ever been loved before. He takes care of you, you take care of him and even though you don't know about all the things he's done behind the scenes, you know how deeply he loves you. He just has a way of knowing you, understanding you like no other.

One thing that he never found out was how much money you had in your bank. Really, Hayden doesn't care much for that kind of thing. Whilst stalking you, he never pressed much attention into what jobs you did, where your money came from and how much you had; money is just a thing to survive to him. He wanted to know the silly and deep things about you.

He never questioned it either due to the fact that you live humbly — sure, more well off than him, but that wouldn't be hard, Hayden didn't grow up in the best of areas. To him a home cooked meal each day is a privilege and reward, so he knew you were rich in sense of. But not in the way you actually are.

When the conversation of moving in together comes up he sort of freezes. He didn't see how you'd both survive. Besides his general insecurities of you growing out of love for him — he saw how his parents were growing up — he was also shitting bricks over how to get a place and keep it without sacrificing everything and living unhappily.

A huge part of him felt that insecurity riddle it's way into his system over the fact that he, a man, can't provide. That's his job... right? How can he be considered a good man. A good boyfriend. If he can't even look after you?

But you were adamant. You knew he was the one, you've never felt so seen by someone before. He understands you, respects you, loves you for who you are. And that's when the conversation comes up...

"We can do this, Hayden." You said, watching him as his eyes scan across the screen. He was gobsmacked. How the fuck did he miss this? After all that time watching you he missed out the fact that you're loaded, maybe you landed the job yourself. Maybe it's a family thing. Who knows. He didn't know if he was meant to be impressed with you. Or pissed off that you didn't tell him. Or pissed off with himself for missing out such a big detail in your life. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just wanted to be seen for more than what I can offer." You finished, and he understood — not from personal experience. But he got it.

"I know." He mumbled, pushing the laptop away. "I understand, it's okay. I'd have done the same." Hayden meant it, you could tell as he flashed his usual lopsidedely shy smile, his eyes soft and warm. He took your hand and pressed a kiss against your knuckles. "But I want to help out."

You knew how he felt, it was clear as he looked away. He felt small. It wasn't a secret that you lead the relationship, it was natural. The pants fit you better and you both prefer it that way. But you understood how he felt in that moment, what can he give back when he doesn't have much to give.

"Focus on your studies. Continue with your photography and make a business out of it." You said, squeezing his hand in yours. "If you want, you can help out around the house, keep your part time job, I don't know. Anything. It's fine."

Hayden needed some time to think about it, let it roll around in his head until he finally made his decision...

Ultimately, you both knew what would work best. So you tested it out.

Pushing aside his initial insecurities, he realised that the dynamic between you both worked perfectly and if anything you had both never been closer.

Half a year later you're both happy and thriving. The house is beautiful and Hayden even has the space for his own room thats dedicated to his interests and photography, with the saved up money he's gained, thanks to you for being the main provider, he was able to set his business up more professionally and buy better equipment! He's able to turn his dream into a job and he's so grateful and happy for that.

The two of you live happily in your own bubble, Hayden being the homebody that he is, he thrives in his peace and space, even better when you're home with him. He's picked up on new hobbies in the meanwhile, mainly things to make the house a home.

From DIY to crochet, he's making things for the house left right and center and the place feels so cosy and happy.

"I noticed the new pillow covers." You said, something he obviously made, and it looks cute. "Thanks. I'm doing a selection for the different seasons." He shrugged, eating the meal he cooked for you both not long ago.

He cooked you your favourite meal, something he's always cooked for you. You enjoyed it, especially after a hard day at work.

Later that night you would watch movies together in the comfort of your living room, cuddling and eating snacks before accidentally falling asleep.

At first he was hesitant, he didn't want to feel like he wasn't giving you anything back. But in reality he had given you so much more than the both of you realised. Due to you being so busy making the money, he made the house a home and gave you a reason to love going back home to feel loved and secure.

[librarycards]

Do you have advice on struggling with intrusive thoughts about being bigoted? Alot of my intrusive thoughts are scary and upsetting about slurs, misgendering people, and other things that disgust me, and I'm so scared I'll slip and "reveal" I'm evil to other people by saying them. I don't believe this bigoted stuff but am scared I actually do. I thinky ou said you have ocd so you probably see what I mean. Any advice would be appreciated but I understand if you don't want to answer also.

i experience this too, and am sending you big hugs, anon. my biggest suggestion is to find at least one person irl that you can talk about this to - someone either a) less affected by the aforementioned systems of oppression and/or b) someone who might be, but explicitly consents to hearing your anxiety and hurt. you have the right to care and support, even with manifestations of your Madness that can be difficult to hear. intrusive thoughts, even if they suck, don't magically make you an evil bigot. they're a challenge that, with the right support, you can manage, live with, and perhaps even minimize with time.

it's difficult to strike a balance between sensitivity to others' rightful suspicion, resentment, and frustration with privileged peoples' struggles with bigotry and unlearning, and the need to talk about stuff with *someone.* especially because white, cis, straight, abled, etc. are trained to seek out marginalized people to "absolve" them of oppressive beliefs. it's especially hard bc those of us who are obsessive and/or compulsive tend to seek reassurance, reifying systems that are unfair to our comrades. this is why i think that, if you're in a safer place for it, seeking out formal therapy might be beneficial: this means you have an hour a week that is *yours* to be as "self-centered" as you want. of course, plenty of therapists suck. but some don't. if you can find an okay one, try it out. if not, these arrangements are possible with other comrades and loved ones if you're willing to navigate consent. what really matters here is attending to your needs without losing sight of how you impact other people.

ultimately, remember - you're what you do. not what you think. your actions - including efforts to counteract the deleterious impacts of these thoughts both on you and possibly on your community - matter far more, as does your self-awareness around these issues. with trusted comrades, you have the opportunity to keep pursuing material change, a much sticker and firmer reminder that you do not need to think "purely" (that doesn't exist) or exorcise every "Bad Thought" in order to be a loving friend, necessary accomplice, and important community member. you also didn't need my permission to forgive yourself or seek out support, but i feel like you probably wanted it, so i hope this helps.

[fishsticksloser]

Heartache

Hobie x gn!reader

Warnings: swearing, angst and no comfort, breakups

A/N: how's this for my first Spiderverse fic? This is also based on the Character AI intro by fairybaby. The intro is written by them, but after that is all me. :) Sorry it's so late... Shit happened :(

Good  |  Bad

"You miss me yet?" Hobie asks, glancing back at you. His smile is slow, like he knows the answer but wants to hear it from you anyway. "Whenever you want me back, you can have me."

He already apologized—three times—for missing another date. You know he’s busy. Dismantling systems of oppression doesn’t give him a lot of free time. He spends whatever time he can with you, obviously. Even if he doesn’t like labels—you and him are together. It doesn’t matter that you’re a little mad at him.

"Hobie..." You sigh, shake your head. "What are we...? Really, what are we?"

"I don’t do labels," Hobie responds, shifting to meet your gaze. "I think…" He trails off, trying to convey it without sounding mushy or sentimental—both things that he’s not good at expressing. He nods, his voice and his gaze steady. "I think we’re something... Something that can last."

"Then why can't you make time for me?" You ask, looking at him desperately. "What do I actually mean to you?"

"I do make time for you!" He protests, not meeting your gaze suddenly. "I’m busy. I’m a busy guy. I work a lot." He runs a hand over his dreads, sighing to himself. "You know that—I think you just want me to say what I think. You know I feel. You’re really important to me." His voice is quiet.

"You've missed so many dates! Some of which you planned... No call, no text..." You huff, looking away from him, exasperated. "This is the fifth time we've rescheduled over this one date..."

“I know, I’ve apologized!" he replies, his voice sharp. "Look, I’m sorry, okay? I can’t plan my whole day around you—I just can’t." He sighs, shaking his head. Hobie rubs the back of his neck. "You know I like to keep things spontaneous. Hey, I’m sorry, okay? If you’re upset, then that’s on me."

"I don't expect you to plan your whole day around me, Hobart!" You say, a bit angrily. "What I want is for you is to actually show up when you say you will. You... Fuck, Hobie, I haven't seen you in weeks! You texted me about this date and I got so excited... I was so excited to see you and you didn't come... I just... I don't want to be second place to you when you're always first in mine..."

He mutters, his arms crossed over his chest as something inside him starts to burn. "I’m the one who’s busy, I’m the one who does important work—I’m the one who has responsibilities—and that’s how I treat you? Like you're some afterthought? Well, that’s okay." He shakes his head, turning away from you suddenly. "You can find someone else to put you first." His gaze hardens, and he starts to walk away.

"You're first place in my life... I always put you first. I always make time for you, Hobie." You say softly, you wrap your arms around yourself protectively. "I don't want someone else. I want you, but you don't seem to want me at all, do you?"

"You think I don’t want you?" His voice rises. He stops, not looking at you. "Do you have any idea how important you are to me? How much I care about you?" He lets out an angry growl before he speaks again. Hobie whirls to face you, an angry fire in his eyes. "Don’t you dare say that I don’t care about you. How dare you! I have other things to do besides go on dates with you!"

"If I'm so important to you, why can't you make time for me!?" You yell back. "You think it's just dates!? I... I haven't seen you in almost a month, you hardly ever text me, no calls. What am I supposed to think?" You sigh and close your eyes, reigning in your anger. "I understand what you do is important, but I put things aside for you because you're important to me. I... I can't keep going like this, Hobie. I need you. Not all the time, but sometimes..."

"I have a life, Y/N!" He responds, his eyes glaring and blazing as you yell at him. "You’re not all of my life, you know! I have my music, I have my activism, I have… I have—" Hobie pauses, letting out a breath of exhaustion. His voice now softer, quieter.. "Look, I care about you. I really do. I’m sorry I don’t make you a bigger part of my life, but I’ve got a lot going on right now, okay?"

"Then let me help!" You tell him desperately, stepping closer to him. "Whatever we are, it's... It's part of what we do is help each other... I... I want to help you, Hobie. But I can't when you just leave me, I can't when you ghost me. Whatever we are, we're in this together. If you can't trust me with that then why are we even together?"

He lets out a breath of frustration, shaking his head as you approach him, the anger in his voice giving way to the weariness inside him. "I don’t need any help." He says curtly, not meeting your gaze. "I don’t want any help," he mutters before speaking up again. "You’re right. Why are we even together if I can’t trust you? Maybe this whole thing was a mistake," he continues, his voice laced with disappointment and sadness. "I think this was a mistake."

You watch Hobie walk away before you go home and lay in bed. You put your hand in the pocket of his hoodie you're wearing and pull out something. It’s a shiny, slightly metallic spider totem, smooth to the touch and small enough to fit in your whole hand. It's a funny little gift you'd gotten him after he told you he was Spider-Man. It’s polished to a near-mirror sheen thanks to the amount of times Hobie rubbed his thumb against it whenever he was nervous. But now, looking at it brings only more questions—and questions lead to guilt.

If he cared about you, he’d fight harder for your relationship.

That’s what you told yourself, but you couldn’t help but doubt every time your thoughts wandered down that path.

What if he just didn’t care? What if he didn’t love you? What if you were just a burden on him? What if he could have better than you? What if he didn’t need you?

He did care about you. He really, truly did. He was just… preoccupied. Life got in the way, so often. He was busy, he was so busy. There were so many things to do, so many problems to solve. He wanted to share all of that with you, but how could he? How could he find time to be with you, when there was so much else to do? He wanted you. He wanted to be with you. But his heart said one thing while his brain said another.

Hobie wasn’t the best at communicating, that’s for sure. He was so used to being on his own, being independent and self-sufficient, that he forgot his actions—or his inaction—had the potential to hurt people around him. He wasn’t the best at letting people in, at all. He wasn’t the best at letting people stay. He was too afraid, too cowardly to admit all of those things. But if you’re willing to stick with him… he just might learn to be better.

[jasperandhenryslovechild]

dude i gen can't stop thinking about how shit everything went for ray throughout henry danger / danger force because JESUS CHRIST IS THAT MAN A WRECK. i love it so much it makes him such a good character but GOD....

like. he's always been a narcissistic, irresponsible, self absorbed man child and he has blatantly ADMITTED IT by the end of hd. but at first? at first it wasn't as bad. like we see in episodes like the indestructible henry 2 parter that ray did have some sense of that this was too dangerous for henry (ie: "youre just a kid! what right do I have to take you around with me and put you in all kinds of dangerous situations?"). we see him be genuinely concerned for his safety and well-being but, at the same time, episodes like tears of a jolly beetle (where ray sends henry to fight crime alone for days after being hired less than like what, 2 weeks ago? maybe a month??) show his negligence and lack of awareness about how this could be affecting henry

as henry grows older and matures more, so do the class of crimes he has to get through— as would be expected, but at the same time, that fact is putting more stress on him and therefore he can't really pursue an education because of being constantly at the man cave right? and ray doesn't see it at all. he doesn't notice a decrease in school stories from henry, etc, because he himself never had to worry about school. he didn't even go and he turned out fine, why wouldn't henry? and as henry grows and matures, ray feels less responsible to take the upper hand and protect the kid because he can protect himself— his responsibility for him dwindles and he finds himself "putting henry through all kinds of dangerous (and irresponsible/lwk stupid) situations" anyway (ex s4 ep 2 henry's birthday, when ray mentions he took like a week off to go ride every rollercoaster in texas but did not let henry take his birthday off, or s5 ep 33 rumblr when ray falls into a sort of depressive episode over not having any new criminals to fight and letting henry & team danger take on the responsibility of pulling him out of it). almost constantly throughout both shows, the kids take care of him rather him take care of them.

and sure, it's genuinely all because of his upbringing. like s1 ep 17, caved in, shows us how neglected ray was as a child. he had a lack of knowledge in things kids did because he never got to be a kid himself due to his forced crime fighting career. he's too into his head to realize that's genuinely the exact same thing he's doing to henry— at a young, fundamental age in his life, he too is pulling a kid out of basic education and fun teen stuff to get him to instead fight crime for him. because of this, he loses the chance at a life beyond it. what seperates him and ray in a way that i don't think ray would ever truly grasp is that, unlike him, henry actually cares about what he's lost. he knows its weight and wants it back. ray never has. ray has never seen a reason to change the way he is because he refuses to pick up any answer dropped in front of him.

when henry ends up quitting (and everyone goes with him) ray loses a support system. he's too fucking fragile to have adult friends beyond schwoz for whatever reason, so the one place he had for people to actually care about him or listen to him was team danger. and now, that duty's passed onto danger force because they're the ones who are gonna have to stick with him now.

and then, at the end of danger force, ray hits his midlife crisis a bit early, marries his ex sidekicks wife that he met like 9 episodes ago, buys a boat, retires, and never comes back. like. WHAT?? without even giving df any proper warning before like what, the 2nd to last episode? are they even trained to handle all this on their own? will they be fine? and like, did you think about anybody outside of yourself before making this choice.

NO!

no, because that's the entire point of him as a character— he is aware, but he is still in denial. he still refuses to change because everything has worked out just fine for him thus far. he's never had a normal life— he's never owned his own house, he's never had a normal job, he's never had anything outside of what his father and the government have molded up for him so he believes that is all he is and can be. retiring is a realization that he can finally sever those ropes and become something like normal, but not quite. retiring is ray manchester's form of closure from all the things his capitan man alter ego have kept him from in the past.

ray, inherently, is not a good or bad character. he does good things, but he is irresponsible with how he goes about it. he cares about people, but above that cares about himself. i think that makes for SUCH a GOOD FUCKING CHARACTER. he is supposed to be this hero character archetype— loving, kind, strong— and while he is all those things, he's also got fundamental flaws that he cannot see or change that set him apart from that. he wrecked the lives of his sidekicks because he didn't have a concept of what should and shouldn't take priority when it came down to training them. when he had to take responsibility for how they turned out because of it, either they fled or he did. he always ran or found a way out of having to think about the affects of his actions— and that's probably most likely kept him up at night.

like jesus christ his character evolution is less of an evolution and more of a devolution/j

but that's what i LOVE about him. ray is not normal and never will be! #! #!

thank you for coming to that unexpectedly long rant i only expected to write like 2 paragraphs and then i just kept going

[effy-writes]

Addict (Blitz x Reader)

1: Blitzø

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's been 2 weeks since you left rehab and didn't have anywhere else to go. You've been debating whether or not to call someone, but the only people you know you had personally hurt them with this addiction, and you're afraid you're going to hurt them again.

You found a secluded alleyway and sat down on the ground with your bookbag on your lap. Your stomach started to growl, dying to get food in its system. You would steal food, but you really don't feel like getting injured.

"What are you doing out here?"

You jerked and looked up, seeing a guy that's a couple years older towering over you.

"Nothing." Your heart started to race. You've been through shit living out on the streets, but it is your fault isn't it? Got hooked on stimulates, left the circus, left your family, left everyone.

The guy kneeled down to where your faces was inches apart, "Instead of doing nothing you could be doing something," He stood up and put his hands on his belt.

In a split second you stood up as you hit the guy with your bookbag before sprinting. You turned at every corner, trying to get away from him. Lucky for you, he wasn't following.

With your hands on your knees you tried to catch your breath. Fuck, I have to find a place to stay at. You pulled out your phone and started going through your contact list again. Mom, Dad, Dealer, Blitzo.

You can't call your parents, they refuse to let you move in because of you stealing money for drugs. Last time you stayed at your dealers was just not a good time for you.

Blitzo...you really don't want to see him.

You don't hate him, never did. You just don't want to see him again because you did something shitty. So asking for help is the least thing you want to do right now. But if you wait any longer you don't know what can happen to you living out on the streets.

You took a deep breath in and out, and pressed call. It took about 4 rings before he answered the phone.

"Y/n?" Once you heard his voice you wanted to break down.

"I know this is probably a bad time but can I stay with you for a bit?" Your voice cracked.

There was some silence. Blitz felt the 5 stages of grief within 10 seconds. He knew that you were hooked on drugs to the point where nobody would know where you're at, or even if you're alive.

"Sure." He finally agreed. "Do you need me to come get you?"

"Yeah, actually. I'm at the park right now."

"See you in 20." He abruptly hung up.

You sighed and sat down on the park bench. You would see family's at the park, pushing their kids on the swing sets.

In the distance you heard a car squeal and eventually ran into a pole. The window rolled down on the passenger side and saw Blitzo for the first time since you guys were in your late teens.

You grabbed your bookbag and walked to the beat up van, getting inside the car and stared at your lap, not wanting to make any eye contact with him.

"Not going to talk?" He broke the silence, putting the car in drive.

"Thanks for picking me up...I appreciate it." You smiled a bit.

"Where the fuck were you?"

"It's a lot to explain."

"I needed you, Y/n. You knew what happened and yet you decided to leave for good and ghost me? Because you were too caught up in doing drugs?"

"Don't be a hypocrite, you did plenty of drugs." You huffed.

"Yeah but I didn't leave my fucking best friend when they needed me the most!"

"Blitzo-"

"It's Blitz, O is silent." He said with sternness in his voice.

"Blitz, I appreciate you coming to pick me up and letting me stay with you until I can get back up on my feet. But can we please finish the conversation later? I know I ran away whenever you needed me, and yes I feel guilty for it. That's why I didn't call you sooner, I didn't want to hurt you again."

He kept quiet, he wanted to say more, he wanted to yell at you, but he didn't. He doesn't want you to leave him again.

Growing up you guys were best friends, always close to each other, always telling each other things. Blitz only had you and Fizz, and whenever Fizz got severally injured and Blitz wasn't allowed to see him, he needed you. He was already mad at you for leaving the circus just days before Fizz’s birthday, and after? You left for good without a trace.

Blitz knew that you were on drugs way before you originally left. At first he didn't care too much because you needed it to perform "better." As the months went you became addicted to them and he saw that you looked malnourished due to the drugs but he didn't say anything about it, he didn't know what to say.

After the fire, Blitz kept calling you, he needed someone to talk to, to get his mind off of things, but ignored him. You didn't want to and didn't want to be selfish, but you don't want him to see you like this.

"I also have a daughter..so she's sleeping in the only room I have. I sleep on the couch so you can sleep on the floor."

"The floor?"

"I'm not taking the floor."

You were gonna argue back about how you could sleep on the couch with him but you know he probably doesn't want you to even get close to him physically because of the past. "So...your daughter. Who's the baby mama?"

"She's adopted and 22, got her when she was 17."

"Ah..congratulations."

"She might not like you being here..she can be a little..hot headed. But she's sweet! Sometimes.."

~~

"So...this is your new home." He closed the door. "Bathroom is over there, that's the kitchen, living room, and that room over there is her room."

"And you sure that she don't mind me being here?"

"Oh she's gonna love you!" He doesn't actually believe that. Blitz knocked on her door, "Loonie, wanna come meet a childhood friend of mine? She's gonna be living here with us for a few months."

"No."

Blitz turned around towards you and shrugged, "Yeah knew that was gonna happen."

"Yeah..yeah that's fine. You have a lovely home." You smiled.

"Eh, it's a house. Nothing too important about it. Anyway, go take a shower you smell like shit." He looked you up and down, "and look like shit."

You started walking to the bathroom but he stopped you, "Stay off the drugs, please?"

You nodded your head, "I will."

After you dried off in the shower you began to realize that you have absolutely no clothes. "Fuck." You whispered. You left most of your clothes in that drug house you used to live at and the place at rehab just gave you scrubs since you didn't have any clothes there. This is gonna be so fucking embarrassing. You wrapped yourself in a towel and slightly opened the door, "Blitz?"

"Yeah?" He said from the couch.

"I don't have any clothes."

"Ah shit. Alright um.." Blitz walked over to the bathroom and talked through the cracked door, "you can wear some of mine and then tomorrow buy clothes. You got cash?"

"I just got out of rehab dude. I don't have any money."

His eyes lit up, "Wait! You can work for me!"

"Blitz can we talk about this later? I need clothes!"

"Right, okay, fine damn. I'll bring you a shirt and some shorts or pants or whatever." He started to walk away.

"Blitz, come here." You cringed at what you were about to say next, "I need underwear."

"Go commando."

"I'm a girl..i can't not wear underwear. I'm gonna get like...fuck it why am I even explaining this." You mumbled. "Can i just wear your underwear until I can buy some?"

"Well after you get dress we gotta talk business." He left and fetch a horse shirt, the smallest underwear he could find, and some shorts. He knocked on thr bathroom door again and handed you the clothes.

"Need anything else?"

"Actually yeah..can you bring me a long sleeve shirt instead?"

Blitz rolled his eyes and found his favorite yellow hoodie and gave it to you.

You first put the hoodie on so even you won't have to look at the needle marks. Once you picked up the underwear your eyebrows furrowed, "What the fuck is this?" It was a black thong that said "Suck Here" on the front. I'm hoping this is his and not some other chick's underwear.

After putting everything on you shuffled your feet back to the couch and sat on the other end of it so you wouldn't be close to Blitz.

"Did you like the thong I picked out?" He winked.

"Dare I ask whose is it?" You rolled your eyes.

"It's mine, swear to Satan it's mine. Wait what does it say on the front?"

"Suck here." You deadpanned.

"Oh yeah, it's mine. Alright so, business." He scooted closer to you. "I have a business called I.M.P. get it?" He nudged you, "anyway, it stands for Immediate Murder Professionals, and people down here hire us to kill other people!" He said proudly.

"Blitz, I really don't feel like killing."

""But I need more assassins! Give it a try?"

"No! How about a janitor?"

"Actually that'll work. Think about it," he scooted over and put his arm around you, "A boss and a janitor getting it on!" He lightly thrusted the air.

You narrowed your eyes, "That's disgusting....No."

"This isn't a yes or no you have to work with me."

"What? Why?"

"You don't have a car and it's easier if you work with me."

"Well..it's not like I have a choice."

"Fuck yeah! Working together again!" he playfully shoved you, couldn't help but to make you smile.

"...Soooo when do I start?"

"Tomorrow because I don't want you to keep wearing my favorite hoodie and thong."

You tilted your head, "You gave me your favorite hoodie and thong?"

"I..well..fuck you. Wasn't trying to."

You laughed, "Sure.”

"Ya know I was gonna give you the couch but you're acting like a dick so the floor it is." He crossed his arms.

You knew he was playing, "Good, didn't want to sleep next to you anyway!"

"Get off MY couch, bitch!" He laughed as he reached over and gripped the hoodie before throwing you off the couch.

You landed with a hard thump, "Jesus, Blitz." You coughed.

"Oh shit. My bad."

You got up from the floor and flopped back onto the couch. "Either way, i'm going to sleep right now."

Blitz stuck his tongue out at you before laying down on the other side.

"Aww, you're gonna let me sleep on the couch? How sweet." You teased.

"Yeah, yeah whatever. You were easy to throw because you weighed like nothing and I actually felt bad."

"There it is, I miss the sweet Blitz that I used to know."

He kicked your leg, "Night, bitch."

"Night, whore."

"Night, slut."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP."

[generalissimomayhem]

Quinn and Jojo friendship headcanons

These two are friends and you can't change my mind.

This post is based on this other post. Headcanons under the cut:

Quinn specific:

-Quinn comes from a lineage of lawyers. So it was expected that she would follow the family tradition. She has always had a strong sense of justice and impeccable argumentation skills, so it wasn't too hard for her.

-She has always been rather aloof, difficult to know, connect with and to get along with, so she never had much friends growing up.

-Met Timm during college, and both found a form of solace in each other. Quinn found in Timm the friend she lacked through her whole life and Timm found a reason to keep on going with the career.

-They both opened their Law Firm after years of working at another one outside of Tacodale (said Law Firm doesn't exist anymore. Some other lawyers came to Just Quinn and Associates after the place closed down).

-When Timm left, she kinda knew that Timm wasn't feeling it but didn't expect for Timm to dissapear off the map. At all.

-Even today, Quinn just wonders what happened. Timm? He doesn't have the balls to talk to her after years. She doesn't even need or want to reconnect, she just needs an answer.

UUUUHHHH... anyways, as random notes:

She has a high spice tolerance.

She is not used to compliements (eg: She gets called "beautiful" and she knows she's beautiful but can't digest being called that)

Her favorite sound is ticking clocks.

She finds it hard making conversation of any topic outside of work.

Has difficulties sleeping and sometimes has to force herself to sleep (just like me fr fr).

Has NEVER lost a case. However she DID quit on a client, that client was Guy Mortadello.

Jojo specific:

-Came from a family that ran a restaurant, well, it was more of pub. They were poor, so he, his parents, and his siblings basically lived in the restaurant.

-He loved helping his parents and always taste-tested any dish they prepared. After watching many tv shows exposing the job of food critics, he decided that this was his path.

-He went to college and met Papa Louie there, they hanged out for a while, at least, until Jojo dropped out of college. (Just imagine it went more of less like this.)

-He started building his own brand right after dropping out of college. He even registered his own award system. Granted, Jojo has built a large quantity of enemies due to his general ruthlessness.

-Jojo encountered paths with Papa Louie after years of not seeing him and when opened The Tacomia, he decided to support him from then on.

Random HCs:

He's insanely good at darts.

He's actually somewhat shy outside of his schtick. He has had to learn to project his presence.

He's a bit of a nomad so he doesn't have a formal home.

Light sleeper, the smallest noise will wake him up.

Jojo just fucking hates Timm.

Jojo is a nickname. He won't answer by his real name. Actually he would be very spooked if you knew his name, because no one other than his father, his mother, Papa Louie and Quinn know his real name (even the latter three don't call him that).

Friendship headcanons:

-They had quite the rocky start in their friendship. Both of them found each other's mannerisms to be clashing and confusing. Eventually, they cleared and understood their differences.

-They became friends for real after Quinn helped Jojo win a legal battle over his brand.

-Outsiders to their friendship think they dislike each other.

-When on the clock, they often act like friendly rivals.

-Sometimes Jojo stops by Quinn's place to bring her something from his travels, gossip and just generally talk shit about about everything and everyone.

-As I mentioned in another post, Quinn was the first person in telling Jojo about Timm's disappearence.

-When Timm started appearing again having turned a new leaf and everything, Jojo, who truly never liked Timm too much, started developing quite the hatred against him for harming Quinn in such way, moreover and seemingly without regrets.

-Timm is aware that Jojo is out for his head and has tried to keep him at bay. That was, at least, until he was hired at the Bakeria, and now he's forced to deal with Jojo (and Quinn) every week. Timm sends Cecilia sometimes (*sigh* fucking coward) to deal with Jojo.

-Jojo tells Cecilia to go do her things, fucking calls Timm over to the counter and goes "Be a man and talk to me."

-Quinn is not aware about Jojo trying to hunt down Timm. And I don't think she will be too happy if she found out. Timm is too scared of saying anything about this because he thinks Quinn sent Jojo to torment him (he knows they are friends). Which has made Timm close up to talk to Quinn even more so.

-Basically speaking, This won't get resolved until all of them speak with each other.

-Anyways, Quinn and Jojo are a ride or die type of friends and Jojo will wreck anybody who messes with Quinn.

[blessedarethebinarybreakers]

Not sure if this is the right place to ask this but I gotta start somewhere. I've been learning a lot about indigenous history and activism as I work on deconstruction, and a sentiment I come across a lot is bitterness towards Christianity. I cannot emphasize enough how much I fully understand. The rough bit is that sometimes when I read their work, I get the implication that there's nothing worth saving in the Church/Christianity- that to hold on to it is to hold on to all the colonialism and white supremacy and yuck.

As a disabled trans Christian, I get that, but it still hurts. I love God and am a Christian despite everything. I want to be an ally to indigenous people, but I want to follow God this way too. I know those aren't mutually exclusive, but it feels that way sometimes. Do you have any insight for me to find peace in this regard?

Thank you.

Hey there, thanks for the question, sorry for the delay!

This is something I've also wrestled with — a question I ask myself over and over, and probably always will. I cannot offer you peace, because as Jeremiah 6:14 says, "There is no peace!" — not while our faith continues to be wielded as a weapon against so many peoples. What I can offer you are some of the thoughts that have allowed me to continue to be Christian with hope that this faith can be better than what it's long been misused for, and the resolve to do my part to make it so.

First, that Christianity isn't unique in being co-opted by colonialist powers.

Any belief system can be twisted for violence, and many have been. If Christianity didn't exist, white supremacy still would — colonialist powers would have found a different belief system to twist into justifying their evils.

That absolutely does not absolve us from reckoning with the evils that have been done in Christianity's name! This isn't about shutting down critiques of Christianity with "uh well it could have been any religion" — as things played out, Christianity is the religion responsible for so much harm, and we need to acknowledge that and listen to groups who tell us how we can make some form of reparations.

But for me at least, there is some comfort in understanding that Christianity isn't, like, inherently evil or something. Recognizing that it isn't unique even in its flaws helps me look at the problem with clearer eyes, rather than wallowing in guilt and shame, if that makes sense.

Next, that there are Indigenous Christians, and Black Christians, and other Christians of color — that oppressed peoples have found things worth cultivating within Christianity! If they can find something worthwhile in this faith, it would be arrogance for me to deny it.

For instance, even when white slaveholders edited Bibles to remove too much discussion of liberation, even when white preachers emphasized verses about slaves being obedient to their masters, many enslaved people recognized how Christian faith actually affirms their equality and the holiness of their desire for liberation.

Black Theologian Howard Thurman opens his 1949 book Jesus and the Disinherited with a question asked to him by a Hindu man who knew the harms white Christianity had done to both their peoples: “How can you, a black man, be Christian?” The long and short of Thurman’s answer is that, in spite of the pain and exploitation too often inflicted by Christians in positions of power, the oppressed have always been able to see past that misuse of the Christian message to the true message lived out by Jesus Christ: a message of liberation for all.

For more thoughts on why and how to keep being Christian in spite, in spite, in spite...I invite you to look through my #why we stay tag.

___

How I wish that Christianity had never gotten tangled up in Empire! but it did, and it still is, and because for good or ill I cannot help that my spirit is stubbornly drawn towards the Triune understanding of the Divine, the best I can do is to use my privilege and what small influence I have within Christian institutions to move us towards decolonization. What some of that's looked like on the level of my personal beliefs:

I am firmly against any form of proselytizing. I don't support evangelism financially, I speak out against it, I don't platform it. (If someone wants to hear about my faith, they'll come to me — I don't run after them. And if someone does want to have that conversation, I aim to make it a dialogue, where we are learning from each other.)

I continuously work to recognize and uproot Christian supremacy within myself — the beliefs I didn't even realize where there until I started digging. That has included challenging any inkling within myself that Christianity is the "best" or "most right" religion. (One book that's helped a lot with that is Holy Envy by Barbara Brown Taylor.)

I seek wisdom from and relationship with Christians of color. Their insights are vital to our faith, and I try to use what small influence I have to uplift them.

On that last note, here are some resources I recommend as you continue to explore these questions:

This First Nations Version of the Christian Bible is gorgeously written, and a great way to explore scripture through a Native lens.

Native by Kaitlin B. Curtice is a lovely poetic memoir that explores how one person has sought to hold both her Christian faith and Potawatomi identity within herself. (She also has a new book out that I haven't read yet but really want to!)

God is Red: A Native View of Religion by Vine Deloria Jr.

Rescuing the Gospel from the Cowboys by Richard Twiss

I haven't read any of these 4 books but they look good too

This video with advice to non-Indigenous Christians

If anyone has any resources to add, please do!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I know ramshackle was put in the game more for convenience than anything, but I wonder if the story will ever tell a bit about its past and how it was originally used? if there was someone that represented the dorm like the great seven does with the others or if it was a dorm before nrc became the way it is today? (like maybe the dorms didn't represent one of the 7 at the beginning?)

I'd personally really love to get to know more about Ramshackle dorm! ^^ There's so many fan theories on the topic (and especially about what led to its collapse and who, if any, the dorm is meant to be "representative" of), but each one is wildly different from the last and there doesn't seem to be any consensus in the fandom about it. We don't really know a lot about Ramshackle other than the general idea that it was once considered a dorm, but has since fallen from grace and is no longer recognized as one. What happened to its students? What was the event that led to Ramshackle's current destitute state? There's a lot more to this story that we just aren't seeing yet.

One common misconception I see is that Eliza (the Ghost Bride) claims Ramshackle dorm as part of her fallen kingdom, which may implicate some kind of ghostly or supernatural being as Ramshackle’s figure. However, this is not actually true. Eliza does come from a fallen kingdom AND she uses Ramshackle dorm as her base of operations—but the two are not directly connected. Crowley sites that Eliza chooses to use Ramshackle every year on her hunt for her prince “out of all the decrepit, abandoned dwellings in this world”. This implies Eliza could literally pick any place, but happened to pick Ramshackle (most likely to kick off the event story, and/or because it’s implied Ramshackle is an attractive dwelling place for ghosts, hence in part why the Ramshackle ghosts haunt it).

I also wonder??? If Ramshackle was even modeled after a particular "figure" to begin with? I really do not get those vibes at all; there is no particularly noteworthy iconography that would tie it down to one very "clear cut" classic villain (assuming it is one, like the others in the G7). Why would Ramshackle be the only "abnormal" dorm??? And speaking of the G7??? I find it odd that no one ever makes reference to a figure like them for Ramshackle. It's not like any character ever says there's a "G8"??? Or even speaks of a figure of equal greatness to them outside of the G7 (similar to the Just Judge at Noble Bell College). Like, even if Ramshackle itself is no longer relevant, that doesn't mean a historical figure linked to Ramshackle would be irrelevant too. Their deeds and accomplishments still exist. You'd think that would be important to bring up, even off handedly or in a vague mention. (Or is this a part of the “history can be erased an manipulated” stuff Lilia brought up??)

In canon, Pomefiore is said to be the oldest dorm (so unless there are extenuating circumstances, I don't think Ramshackle existed in a dormitory capacity until after at least Pomefiore was a thing). The wording can also imply that the other dorms came after (ie Pomefiore was established first, or the dorm system itself came much later). It's also interesting to note that, unlike the other dorms, Ramshackle does not exist in its own pocket dimension, but rather on the same main campus plot of land that houses NRC's other facilities. I wonder if this detail is actually historically significant somehow.

I really hope that some of these questions (if not all of them) will be answered in the future 😅 I feel like they are very important for world-building and shouldn't be left to the boring explanation of "well, it's the player/plot convenience, so..."