#and we can see/recognize each other out in public and its like

[devilenium]

literally nothing more exciting than seeing a dexcom out in the wild

[foone]

Look if there's one thing, just one thing, that I wish everyone understood about archiving, it's this:

We can always decide later that we don't need something we archived.

Like, if we archive a website that's full of THE WORST STUFF, like it turns out it's borderline illegal bot-made spam art, we can delete it. Gone.

We can also chose not to curate. You can make a list of the 100 Best Fanfic and just quietly not link to or mention the 20,000 RPFs of bigoted youtubers eating each other. No problem!

We can also make things not publicly available. This happens surprisingly often: like, sometimes there'll be a YouTube channel of alt-right bigotry that gets taken down by YouTube, but someone gives a copy to the internet archive, and they don't make it publicly available. Because it might be useful for researchers, and eventually historians, it's kept. But putting it online for everyone to see? That's just be propaganda for their bigotry. So it's hidden, for now. You can ask to see it, but you need a reason.

And we can say all these things, we can chose to delete it later, we can not curate it, we can hide it from public view... But we only have these options BECAUSE we archived it.

If we didn't archive it, we have no options. It is gone. I'm focusing on the negative here, but think about the positive side:

What if it turns out something we thought was junk turns out to be amazing new art?

What if something we thought of as pointless and not worth curating turns out to be influential?

What if something turns out to be of vital historical importance, the key that is used to solve a great mystery, the Rosetta stone for an era?

All of those things are great... If we archived it when we could.

Because this is an asymmetric problem:

If we archived it and it turns out it's not useful, we can delete.

If we didn't archive it and it turns out it is useful, OOPS!

You can't unlose something that's been lost. It's gone. This is a one way trip, it's already fallen off the cliff. Your only hope is that you're wrong about it being lost, and there is actually still a copy somewhere. If it's truly lost, your only option is to build a time machine.

And this has happened! There are things lost, so many of them that we know of, and many more we don't know of. There are BOOKS OF THE BIBLE referenced in the canon that simply do not exist anymore. Like, Paul says to go read his letter to the Laodiceans, and what did that letter say? We don't know. It's gone.

The most celebrated playwright in the English tradition has plays that are just gone. You want to perform or watch Love's Labours Won? TOO FUCKING BAD.

Want to watch Lon Cheyney's London After Midnight, a mystery-horror silent film from 1927? TOO BAD. The MGM vault burnt down in 1965 and the last known copy went up in smoke.

If something still exists, if it still is kept somewhere, there is always an opportunity to decide if it's worthy of being remembered. It can still be recognized for its merits, for its impact, for its importance, or just what it says about the time and culture and people who made it, and what they believed and thought and did. It can still be a useful part of history, even if we decide it's a horrible thing, a bigoted mess, a terrible piece of art. We have the opportunity to do all that.

If it's lost... We are out of options. All we can do is research it from how it affected other things. There's a lot of great books and plays and films and shows that we only know of because other contemporary sources talked about them so much. We're trying to figure out what it was and what it did, from tracing the shadow it cast on the rest of culture.

This is why archivists get anxious whenever people say "this thing is bad and should not be preserved". Because, yeah, maybe they're right. Maybe we'll look back and decide "yeah, that is worthless and we shouldn't waste the hard drive or warehouse space on it".

But if they're wrong, and we listen to them, and don't archive... We don't get a second chance at this. And archivists have been bitten too many times by talk of "we don't need copies, the original studio has the masters!" (it burnt down), or "this isn't worth preserving, it's just some damn silly fad" (the fad turned out to be the first steps of a cultural revolution), or "this media is degenerate/illegal/immoral" (it turns out those saying that were bigots and history doesn't agree with their assessment).

So we archive what we can. We can always decide later if it doesn't need preserving. And being a responsible archivist often means preserving things but not making them publicly available, or being selective in what you archive (I back up a lot of old computer hard drives. Often they have personal photos and emails and banking information! That doesn't get saved).

But it's not really a good idea to be making quality or moral judgements of what you archive. Because maybe you're right, maybe a decade or two later you'll decide this didn't need to be saved. And you'll have the freedom to make that choice. But if you didn't archive it, and decide a decade later you were wrong... It's just gone now. You failed.

Because at the end of the day I'd rather look at an archive and see it includes 10,000 things I think are worthless trash, than look at an archive of on the "best things" and know that there are some things that simply cannot be included. Maybe they were better, but can't be considered as one of the best... Because they're just gone. No one has read them, no one has been able to read them.

We have a long history of losing things. The least we can do going forward is to try and avoid losing more. And leave it up to history to decide if what we saved was worth it.

My dream is for a future where critics can look at stuff made in the present and go "all of this was shit. Useless, badly made, bigoted, horrible. Don't waste your time on it!"

Because that's infinitely better than the future where all they can do is go "we don't know of this was any good... It was probably important? We just don't know. It's gone. And it's never coming back"

[rennybu]

AAAAUHG.. so many things come to mind so i will start with... i like to imagine he and Fenris are the same height :') (5'11"). This got a bit long but i'm always happy to talk about this guy!!!!!!!!! @trebuchet151

he's got a big garnet signet ring with the Amell family crest carved in it, and that's about the only recognizable thing that denotes his lineage... he has always liked stamping wax seals on letters with it!!! he's a ring guy generally, he likes mixing and matching stones and metal.

his hands are very scarred and rough from reckless casting, and especially casting fire magic without a staff (in a pinch).

He has a heart tattooed on his ring finger for Fenris :') their wedding was very. Andraste as the witness, on the road, impulsive. Vows for themselves, nothing legally binding. Fenris has a plain gold band on a red cord somewhere on his person at all times.

his testosterone is taken via oral tincture, some kind of oil solution he takes drops of daily. like a mild and highly personalized potion recipe! it's the only reason he sometimes needs a home base or shop to set up in, to prepare a big batch. He stores it in little glass vials he collects from trinket shops. Malcolm found the recipe for him after he came out in his tweens.

Bethany is kind of sainted in his mind, when he's exasperated or stunned he might utter an "oh Bethany" (in the tone of "are you seeing this shit") rather than an "oh Maker"

He struggles a lot with empathy, in that he frequently can logically recognize when he should feel for another person's situation, and yet finds himself unmoved. He will deliberately go out of his way to care for others, sometimes more than is needed, to try to make up for what he perceives as a personal flaw. This is how he ended up like a wrung out mouldy rag, emotionally, by the end of DA2.

His spell class is fucking terrifying, he has a lot of mana and not much hp, but is really reckless about his reserves. He combines force magic with fire magic, trapping foes and incinerating them, and sometimes leaving himself winded in the wake of too much magical exertion at once.

he's pretty spry and strong but doesn't have a great constitution. He tires out quickly in fights, hence trying to end them explosively and quickly.

Was briefly stalked by a sloth demon, perhaps around Act 2, and passed a very "get off my doorstep" homebrew harrowing as a result. Burnt it out of his shadow and got some spring back in his step, around roughly the same time he recognized his feelings for Fenris, settled into his role as Hawke within Kirkwall, etc. He Killed Dysphoria, Forever!!!

His love for Merrill makes him very "blood magic is okay", he loves her worldview and wisdom about its use, but his upbringing prevents him from extending that grace to himself. He was forced to use blood magic in his duel against the Arishok in order to survive it!!! Angst. Hates himself quite badly for this. Until Merrill is like "why are you special" and he's like ooohh. I get it

We all kno Hawke goes thru hell but I love reflecting on Orson's arc from early family life to Now/post-DA:I, he found closure among his friends and family and was able to fully remove himself from a public leadership role and is doing much better for it. He's a bit of an anarchist i guess, jack of all trades with a pretty rigid set of personal morals that sometimes forces him to act outside the law. He's very grey market, hard to contact, arrive in the nick of time.

He and Fenris do not ever shut up around each other. Two dudes who talk about fuck all, very intelligently. If you see Fenris in the wild, Orson is probably around, too. They love hunting Venatori and only sometimes get in the way of other spy/subterfuge activities.

he smells like BRITTLE sun-baked wood, with a hint of oily herbal medicine.

[smallgodseries]

[image description: A chipper character wearing a red and deep blue plaid shirt and newsperson’s cap. They hold a bottle in their right hand and point at it with their left. The classic symbols for ‘Male’, ‘Female’, are entwined with a question mark — these symbols appear to be spinning differently on the bottle front than on its neck. Inside the thin golden bezel cameo oval that may (or may not) be shifting its orientation is an impressionist mix of magenta and blue. outside it, five colored horizontal stripes  — Pink, White, Magenta, Black, and Blue.Text reads, “201, RIVER ALGOOD, the small god of the Gender Fluid”]

• • • • •

“Okay, kid, so you found the bar.  Good on you.  That means you need to be here.  No, there’s no cover charge, and we don’t care how old you are—think of it as a public house or an inn as much as it’s a tavern.  Or hell, go with coffee shop.  That’s a modern way of saying ‘gathering place with drinks and plenty of chairs, where you can be yourself with other people who are also being themselves, and not need to worry about anybody seeing you.’  This idea that bars are only about the alcohol is a lot more recent.  But then again, so is clean water.

“Huh?  Yeah, I do talk about it like I was there, because kid, I always have been.  Go all the way back to the creation, to the first people we’d recognize as humans, standing there all hairy and muddy and naked, and there were always the ones who felt like they were one thing when people said they were something else, or who were something different today than they were yesterday, than they’d be tomorrow.  You’re nothing new.

“Honey, you don’t gotta look so scared.  You’re here.  That tells me you belong here, and that tells me you’re one of mine.  If you weren’t, you’d never have found the doors.  I’m not going to judge anything except that nail polish—it looks like you didn’t use a base coat, and it’s going to stain your cuticles.  But you’re young, you’ll learn how to do your nails without dyeing your skin at the same time.  Unless ‘necrosis’ is the look you’re going for.  In that case, you’ve got a lead on the competition.

“Anyway, you’re nothing new, and you’re something valid, and no one gets to tell you who or what or why you are except for you.  All those choices are yours to make, all those futures belong to you, and I’m just the lucky god who gets to guide you along the way.

“My pronouns?  Kid, I’ll take any pronouns you’ve got.  I keep ‘em in a bucket in the back.  Some of them can get kinda frisky sometimes, but they’re all good.  If you need new ones, you can fish ‘em out of the bucket.

“Oh, which ones am I currently using?  I find that ‘divine/divinity’ works pretty well for me.  If that’s too much of a mouthful, you can use my name—River—or ‘they/them’ is almost never entirely wrong.  But really, anything’s good by me.

“I am the god of the changing and the questioning, the malleable and the multiple, the ones who don’t conform, and the ones who won’t, or can’t.  I belong to all of them, all of you, and I will keep you as safe as I can.  It’s not easy.

“Nothing important ever is.

“So you found the bar.  That’s the first step.  Now here’s the question of the hour: what are your pronouns?  Speak, and we can know each other better.”

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Prayer Factory

Gale x F! Tav (named)

18+ religous trauma, confrontation, disassociation, implied violation, trauma responses, panic, dry heaving, roughness, dom/sub, total control, light humiliation, semi public sex, choking, handjob, face sitting, oral (f!), masturbation (m!)

Aurum steels herself to face her old demons at the temple, with her love at her side. But the adrenaline of confrontation leaves her coiled, and a wizard very eager to take her wrath...

Masterlist

-

"You can do this."

Aurum stared up at the temple, its faceted golden light cascading her in angelic reprieve.

"You know, I wish it was ugly." She squeezed his fingers tightly. "Bloody and decrepit. Somewhere this painful shouldn't look like this."

He agreed, of all of their confronting of demons, this was far too beautiful. Somehow, more sinister in its resplendence.

"I'm right here with you, and I will burn this place down at your command. They've rebuilt once before, they can do it again."

She smiled at him, pulling his nape to bring him into a dizzying kiss. The soft sounds of happy parishioners and the hush of swaying flowers an idyllic backdrop.

Her voice started to slide together. It was always melodic, but now folded into a half song.

"When we get inside..." She hushed against his lips. "Don't leave my side."

"Of course, I'm wi-"

"Gale." Her tone pausing him. "Listen to me. Stay with me."

"I won't leave you." He promised, already tightening his body for a fight.

Aurum took one deep inhale, then, before she could release it, pulled them inside. Spires of the Morning swallowing them entirely.

He thought she would pull up her hood and conceal herself in her instinctual protection. But she threw her cloak down, striding up to the altar in her flowing robe. Baring herself.

The clergy turned and ran to her in shock. Voices raised in alarm, calling for regalia and covers and holy items. Descending on her as devout wolves.

Aurum stood stock still, simultaneously tight and limp to their pulling. Face composed in grace, but eyes glazed over. No longer in her body.

Watching them touch her made his stomach turn. Each piece of regalia they so lovingly slipped onto her felt like they were stripping her naked in front of him. Ripping away pieces of her autonomy one garment at a time.

He wanted to make them stop, but there were too many to pull off of her. Fingers already entangled into her hair, pulling it out of its clip to braid down her back. Bands of fabric tied around her shoulders and across her waist. Headdress affixed to her brow, a molded blindfold taking her eyes away. Every piece tailored to fit her body. To bind her to them.

He felt waves of nausea as she disappeared from him in real time. A priest tried to shoo him away, so blinded by fervor that he couldn't even recognize that they came in together. Or maybe it didn't matter. She was their holy idol, finally returned. Her outside ties were irrelevant.

"I'm her entrusted, her priest. I must stay with her." He urged.

"Oh! Thank you for returning her to us, brother."

"We cannot stay. Her light is drawn elsewhere."

The priest peered at him, confused. A small clench in his jaw.

"But she must stay. You understand, we have been without her guidance for too long. She is a direct conduit."

He truly felt like he was going to harm this man, a rage that rose like a fever up his spine. Speaking through slow and even breaths.

"It is not in our dieties nature to keep light contained. Come now, she has graced your temple again, rejoice in that. Her light must be spread beyond these walls."

The man seemed uncertain, about to retort, when Gale drew forward. Disregarding him to take her hands.

"Such resplendent light must be shone."

Many of the clergy nodded, faces slack in their blind devotion. The priest fell away, his protest lost.

It made him recoil to see their faces. He had never been on the other side. To see the way they looked at her... is this how he looked at his god? At her, on that beach so long ago?

He understood now why she had kept him at a distance for so long.

He twisted his fingers into hers.

I'm sorry.

Her fingers trembled but did not respond. Their shake the only tell in her mask of grace. The slightest flinch as one of the devout pulled away her chest binding. Her light spilling out.

They all gathered around, chattering prayers and joyful exclamation. Pushing their palms onto her chest, clammy and grotesque in their excitement.

He realized what she meant now, when she had urged him at the door.

"Don't leave my side. Stay with me."

Don't let them take me.

He stepped between the hands, presenting his body as a shield. His chest pressed to hers. Feeling the heat of her sunlight. Her eyes blinded to him, but feeling her gaze regardless.

"What is the meaning of this gathering?"

A tall man stepped down from a staircase above them. Staring down with clear authority.

"High Mornmaster! She's returned!" A priest called out. Presenting her as one does a prized relic.

"And you thought it best to adorn her out here in the open?"

"Oh! I..."

"She was bare when she arrived! We had to dress her!"

"Silence, brother."

The priests hung their heads obediently.

"Are you her charge, stranger?" He turned to Gale, eyeing him down his nose.

"I am. She is in my care, body and soul."

"A most holy duty. I commend thee."

It made bile rise to his throat to realize how they spoke around her.

"She has done well to stay her silence. We shall speak at a more private altar. Come."

Gale pantomimed leading her, but it was her step that drew them forward. How long had she spent blinded to know this place in the dark?

He spoke low in her ear as they walked, following the shadow of the high priest.

"You're doing so well. I love you, I'm right here with you. We're going to go home soon, okay?"

She nodded, taking a shuddering breath. The grip on his fingers loosened slightly. Taking up his own squeeze.

It frightened him that she hadn't spoken, but he knew how confronting places like this could unravel. All of the progress you've made pulled out of you in wrenching handfuls. A cruel magic trick.

But he would not allow them the chance to take advantage of her temporarily shattered sense of self. She was not alone. And they would die by his hand before they could take her.

"What fortuitous luck we have been graced with. Our divine light returned to us." The High Morninglord swept behind his desk, sitting back to level his gaze appreciatively at her.

"Though, I have heard whispers of a girl with a holy light in her chest, running the Cliff's Run, of all things." He laughed as if this was the most absurd notion. "The thought, our Resplendent running naked in the streets."

Gale's stomach clenched in disgust. Recognizing the tactics. Setting up a shameful question to put your obstinate charge on the back foot. To make them trip over themselves to prove you wrong.

But she didn't take the bait. Sitting straight, her hands folded gently in her lap. Her face impassive under the half mask.

"It has been far too long since your voice has hallowed these halls. Shall we have your confession, Risen Sun."

It wasn't a question.

A low laugh slipped her at his audacity. Calling her by her true title.

"Confession..." Aurum let out a slow breath, though she made no move to bend her head in prayer. "Maybe it will help."

"Yes, confession is a balm on the soul."

"Should I address Lathander or our Father?"

He paused, clearly taken aback by her brevity. Addressing the cult outright. Gathering his nerve again.

"Whoever speaks to you."

She smiled with a sharp edge.

"Then I'll speak to you."

"I remember what faith felt like. Filling a hollow in me. Ecstatic. Bright. Lifting me above my body. Gods, it makes me shiver to even think of it now."

Her voice was a soft coo of a dove. All the fullness, the lived in, pulled away. Reminding him of how she spoke so long ago. How one speaks to a lamb led to the knife.

"It fulfilled me, and why wouldn't it? It was my purpose. My whole existence had been planned with the sole purpose of channeling the divine. Or, at least, that's what I was told. 'You've been touched by the Gods.' My father would whisper. Leading me in my first steps to the altar. It was all deliberate, my breeding, my upbringing. My young mother dying during childbirth a blip on my history. An obituary not even written. Just a name and a date."

"But I think my genuine channeling was a convenience for my father, at least at first. It's easier to convince the blind masses when your child truly did speak through your god. But there lies the problem."

She leaned forward, boring her concealed gaze into him. Her voice carried on in its haunting song.

"His god spoke to me. Through me. He had thought he had channeled Him, but seeing how He flowed from me like water. I was His true voice. That filled his belly with rot. Envy. And a madman with a pit of rot in his belly... well. You surely remember what happened next?"

The priest's breath held, fear darting his eyes from her.

"Oh, come now. You weren't scared when you held me down. Don't lose your nerve now."

"No, you remember quite well. A little girl named Rosa'sune, with soft adolescent love for another girl and blind faith in her heart, was destroyed on that slab that night. And no amount of her screaming loosened your grip. It was a call from your god, and you sang to it joyously."

"That wasn't what broke my faith. Not the pain, not the shard of sun, not the carving of the tattoo across my face. I had endured wrath before. No, it was that you did it to her too."

"See, I could have believed it was a show of my worth, to be Chosen. Of course, a blessing this great must take a great deal to endure. But Amaris was not part of our sect. She didn't even worship the same god. Yet you carved her, just the same as me. You marked her identical. Now, why would that be?"

"I can hear from the shake of your breath that you have enough sense to be afraid of me. Good. You should be. My father was too, but not until it was far too late. He filled me with such terrible power. And, like all unfit parents, had never fathomed that I could defy him. That I was more than an extension of his will. In forcing that light in me had made his most fatal mistake."

She rose to lean on the desk, palms flat against the wood. Still speaking a soft lullaby.

"He had made me a weapon. His daughter, singing hymns and touching bowed heads with eyes blinded, was now a scythe shaped like a girl. In his hubris, he had made me far more powerful than him, and it was too late to turn back. So he made a failsafe. If I refused him or his god, I would burn."

"Aurum... I had no-"

"Silence. I am not here to soothe your bleating."

She reached forward and tenderly cupped his face.

"Do you remember? How our clergy sung my new holiness? Oh, how beautiful, how lucky, to be Chosen. How wonderful to have a true conduit. Without a single thought of the weight of a sun in her chest. No thought to how strange that her voice was returned to her, yet her breath came so shallow."

She reached up and pulled the blindfold away. Staring deep in his eyes.

"It was my father's will, but your faithful did this to me. I could not hide from His light, and you do not get to hide from what you've done."

Fear shaken tears edged out of his eyes, staring up at her. Mouth fallen open in silent pleading.

She brushed a tear away with her thumb, then reached inside her mouth. Wetting her opposite thumb, she circled a sun into the crest of his forehead. The trail lighting. Holy water.

"I shall let all who dwell in dark feel your holy dawn."

The priest responded almost involuntarily.

"Morninglord, hear my prayer."

She smiled a sad, knowing smile, then pulled away.

"Let's go. We're done here."

Gale rose and took her hand, though she needed no guidance. Leading him out.

As they walked, her pace picked up. Grace falling away as distance covered. Breaking into a frantic stride. Pulling away the regalia that weighed down her body.

They burst out of a hidden side door, a small alley tucked away by the sea. Aurum leaned against the brick, dry heaving.

Gale rushed forward, about to cradle her. But she shoved him away. Surprise taking up both of their faces.

He staggered back, but didn't retreat. Seeing something in her eyes.

She rose up to her full height and shoved him again. His back pushed into brick.

His breath left in a huff, a new kind of lust risen in his belly. Seeing it mirrored in her eyes. She always had a dominant streak, but this felt different. Less teasing, no toying or riling in her stare.

Her hand came to his throat, pressing her body into his. Staring deep in his eyes. Her fingers tightened. Studying him like a tiger hidden in thicket.

The thought of being her prey made his cock throb, breathing hard through her fingers.

She reached inside his robe and cupped him. Eliciting a gasp. Holding him by the throat and by the cock. His life and his manhood in the palm of her hands. Already leaking precum over her fingers. His body begging.

She gathered the slick and tightened her grip, wrenching pleasure from him in tight strokes.

He arched into the wall, eyes rising into lids. Hand gripping her forearm.

She knocked his hand back. Exhaling a fast breath, nearly a growl. Caging him back.

He braced his hands against the wall, the cool brick flat against his palms. His hips fucking up into her. The hand on his throat flexing.

This was a tucked away alley, but they were still in the city. Anyone could wander down the street and see them. See him. The thought that she might not stop in that situation made his belly tighten dangerously. Orgasm threatening shockingly soon.

She felt the throb, his cock hard as stone. Only smiling, her mouth hovering just far enough away to deny him of her. Playing with her food, watching him squirm with a tilt of her head.

That she wasn't speaking made it feel so much more salacious. Breathing hard into the space between them. Eyes wide blown with lust. The lewd sound of her hand and heavy breathing the only sounds exchanged.

The end was soon, he was past the point of no return. Hips fucking into her outside of his control. Biting into his lip, whimpers lost under her grip on his throat. Her total control over him making his pleasure feel primal. Shameful out in the open. About to cum, whether he liked it or not.

She turned his head with her thumb, seeing the tells of his body. Pushing a moan of breath against his ear. Licking a flat line up the curve.

He came in shuddering waves, hands digging into the sharp brick. Hips stuttering as the pleasure coiled in his belly struck him over and over. Out on display for the world to see. Splattering the ground.

She pushed him down by the throat. Forcing him to a sitting kneel, staring up at her. She pulled her robe aside and straddled over his upturned face. Long legs caging him. Taking the crown of his hair into her fist. Grinding her cunt into his mouth.

He gripped both hands into her ass and pulled her into him. Slurping her hard clit into his cupped tongue.

She shuddered above him, fully straddling over his face. Bracing her forearm against the brick wall. Hips pulsing into his fervent licking. Sloppy in his enthusiasm, staring up at her through lidded eyes. Fucked out, moaning into her cunt.

Her using him like this hardened his cock again, reaching between his legs to stroke himself in time to the grind of her hips.

"Good boy." She sighed when he sucked her clit into his mouth. Sending his eyes up into his head. About to cum again.

He released his cock to pull her hard into him, burying his face fully between her legs. Digging his fingertips into the fat of her ass. Slurping and sucking with animal fervor.

She buckled above him, curling her head forward. Shuddering out choked cries. Her hips tremoring from deep in her pelvis.

He slapped her ass, bending her hips to fully latch on to her clit. Wrenching his head from side to side, pulling popping sucks with the hollow of his tongue.

She bit into her forearm above him, her eyes squeezing shut tight. Muffling shrieks into her flesh. Hips shuddering so hard he thought they might give out. Bracing his forearms under her thighs, hands holding her ass up.

Her eyes fully rolled up into her head as she came. Falling forward, scraping her knees against the wall. Shuddering in pulses against his mouth. Her cum flooding into his mouth, lapping it eagerly down his throat. Moaning around swallows. His hand returning to his cock to quickly cum the last of his pleasure.

She fell down into his lap, legs straddled around his thighs. Shaking out breath into his shoulder.

He wound tightly around her, hushing into her ear. Stroking the braids out of her hair. Returning her to him, one caress at a time.

She grasped tightly around him.

"I love you." She moaned, throat raw from pleasure and swelling tears. "I want to go home."

He buried into her shoulder, his own tears threatening.

"I love you so much. Let's go home."

~

[sleeplesssmoll]

Reverse 1999 Analysis: Why do people follow Vertin?

There is a common theme among arcanists in the Foundation, Manus Vindictae, and the Timekeeper's department: desperation.

Note: You'll see snippets from my other posts and Asks in here since I used them as the outline. If you have deja vu, its me not you.

Before looking at Vertin, we should take a step back and consider the world of Reverse 1999 as whole. There is a long history of humans associating arcanum with demons, evil, and witches. Humans are the majority in Reverse1999 and consider arcanists dangerous due to their unpredictability and powers. The discrimination against arcanists precedes the Storm, however as Manus Vindictae makes the Storm public, arcanists realize they have yet another enemy in a world that doesn’t want them.

With that established, we can look at each faction.

Both Manus and the Foundation use fear and hysteria to herd arcanists like sheep. The Foundation weaponizes humanity’s paranoia against arcanists while Manus utilizes the Storm for their agenda. Both factions also steal the agency and freedom of their followers. 

The Foundation seeks out children because it's easier to train and indoctrinate them to die as martyrs for mankind. They provide basic necessities but they strip their martyrs of their identities and cultural backgrounds. Conformity is a way to instill control. Diversity introduces too many factors and inspires ideas. The Foundation uses lies and corruption to hide the abuse they put arcanists through in the name of humanity but they also provide “shelter”. To choose the Foundation is to choose to be a dog on a leash (unless you're human), but at least you'll be safe from the Storm and you’ll have a roof over your head. They also capture “rogue” arcanists like Regulus if they deem them dangerous.

While the Foundation parades as an important and noble cause for the peace of mankind, Manus Vindictae plays the role of “savior” for suffering arcanists. However, revenge and violence are at their core. You can even see this in their name. 

Vindictae: ceremonial act claiming as free one contending wrongly enslaved; vengeance 

While players usually see these extremists as evil mustache-twirling villains, it's important to look at the role they play in the bigger story. In Nouvelles et Textes pour rien we can see an example of propaganda where they airdrop resources and pamphlets near the Foundation. This is a common tactic used in real life by rebel/fringe groups. If they only caused destruction, no one would join the cause. Their acts of "kindness" are part of a bigger scheme to recruit people to their cause by playing the part of the hero. “You don’t bite the hand that feeds you," encapsulates this mindset. They must bring people to their side to raise an army and grow support for their war against humanity. They will provide the desperate with food and shelter. In return, the arcanists must fight in the name of revenge. Then they brainwash them to take away their agency. However the fear of the Storm and the discrimination against arcanists make them one of the few viable options for arcanists seeking shelter from a world that despises them.

Finally, we can look at Vertin. Why do people follow her? 

Many of the arcanists Vertin’s recruits are cornered and don’t have many options to begin with. 

Regulus recognized the fact the Foundation would chase her down no matter how much she runs, which isn’t the freedom she wants. Jessica is scared of isolation and rejection from the outside world. Joshua is a troublemaker who doesn’t conform and suffers consequences. These arcanists already have a motive/reason to follow her. Another thing to consider is what would happen if they did not? They would be stuck in their current situations for who knows how long. Vertin gave them a way out.

Another important tidbit is Vertin’s approach. In the most simple terms, Vertin listens to people. Unlike the other factions, Vertin hears people’s concerns and addresses them directly. She isn’t herding them with lies or manipulating them with fear, she finds the source of their troubles. She does not make false claims and outright admits she will do what is in her power.

Examples: She wanted to understand Schneieder’s anger and reason for obeying Forget-Me-Not even while under fire. She appealed to Regulus’s love of freedom and appeased Jessica’s fear of rejection by the world. She recognized Druvis’s grief and tried to show her a glimmer of hope.

It’s important to recognize each character’s decision and situation instead of giving all the credit to Vertin. She should be receiving credit for her empathy and understanding of the situation, but not the final decision the arcanist made.

Unlike Manus and the Foundation, she genuinely wants to save people like the other factions claim to do. She’s proven it from her scheme with Regulus after Sonetto appeared in the Suitcase and when she tried to fulfill people’s wishes in Tender is the Night. In comparison, you had the corrupt Foundation taking bribes in Chicago and Forget-Me-Not blowing up people’s heads. Also, Her allies witnessed her and Schneider sacrifice themselves in order to slow Druvis down so the others could escape. Sotheby, Druvis, Sonetto, and their men all witnessed this sacrifice. If we look back in the story, we can see Vertin's selfless acts are done in the presence of others, meaning they know more than just talk.

Vertin is a girl, not an institution. She still depends on the Foundation. She was an insignificant piece of a larger machine where her only job was to record the end of eras. However, she earned very powerful allies because she cared about their wellbeing. Suddenly, the Foundation gave a damn. They were unsettled by her little army. 

Vertin is only as strong as the people behind her and her crew took that risk. They chose to stay with her and fight for her because she fought for them too. Vertin was trying to keep them under her protection instead of letting the Foundation have their way, which is the conversation she had with Madam Z.

Later, Constatine ordered to have her held hostage in a coma and her legs bruised for good measure to hinder Vertin's efforts. Luckily she had Madam Z and Sonetto to pick up her baton.

Vertin is the hero in the player's eyes but in the larger picture, she’s a girl who dared to care too much in an unforgiving world. This is why I believe the crew needs more credit because they are not only fighting for their freedom, they want to enjoy it with the person who gave it to them. Dare say, they have their own motives and compassion. They made these informed decisions on their own so it's not fair to attribute everything to Vertin being a charismatic cutie pie (but she totally is and I get how it's easy to overlook their contributions since we see most of the story through Vertin’s eyes).

[shellofhappiness]

Eric Harris psychoanalysation OP here.. I am not sure what else I'd call it to refer to myself, lol.

Thank you for the nice words, you are a very kind person.. I would have left this as a comment, but you said what you did under a reblog and I am not commenting under my own post, hahah.

Just know your words are appreciated by me

OMG!! That's quite the title, but I recognize you because of it nonetheless! No need to thank me either, you really do deserve the praise. ^.^

I get to geek out now ... There was so much more I wanted to say, but couldn't because I didn't want to directly add to the post nor didn't want to clog the tags. We indirectly found ourselves under the same dilemma ... but we're here now, so it's okay!

The most I've ever seen people discuss directly relating to Eric's depression stems from the court-mandated diversion papers both he and his mother filled out, also acting as the confirmation for its existence outside of psychological analyzation.

( I think the juxtaposition of Katherine's neat check-marks in contrast to Eric's chaotic X's is so interesting to point out ... don't mind me. )

You noted how true to himself Eric was when filling out this document, something that a lot of people, even when they do want help, avoid to stray away from more "serious" intervention. I didn't mention it in my own post on the topic of EH's own personal struggles outside of anger, but I thought it was very interesting how his mother noted that he would only lash out in school or work, but never at home. Originally, I thought it was because he might have viewed his home as a safe-space, where he didn't feel the urge to hide from himself like he did in public, thus avoiding situations where he would be pushed to snap. But, it could also be that he had attempted acting out at home before as a cry for professional help, but his parents didn't see the point in it ( tying in with men's mental health and the time period; seriously such a good inclusion for your post!! ), so he gave up. Personally, I think the prior is still more likely, but who knows?

You really did such a great job seeing from his perspective with the turmoil that came from the instability of how he grew up ... I feel that's something a lot of people overlook, even denounce in significance, but no one can stress enough how important it is to be in one place where you feel right as a child. In the basement tape's, it was a series of stringed events he came back to reflect on frequently, more often than the average person would think. The lack of contact with past bonds ate him up inside ... I think that's why he clung so abundantly to Dylan.

Now, this is very much me reaching, but do you ever think he found a sense of completion ending his life alongside him, even before he knew their initial plans for NBK would tank? He was planning to die with his best friend ... Did he think their bond was realer than any other friendship he had to grieve in the past because instead of Dylan leaving, it would be them, together? Do you think that's why he shot himself first when it finally came down to it, either subconsciously or purposefully before Dylan so he wouldn't see him leave too? ... All rhetorical (I wouldn't put the weight that is answering those questions on you LOL), but still very entrancing to contemplate.

Somewhat related to what I just say, an anecdote that particularly sticks with me is when a student at Columbine ( cannot remember who for the life of me! ) told their experiences with EH, the two of them sharing a class together where students could anonymously submit their dreams. Paraphrasing, "everyone knew when Eric wrote something because it would always be "me and Dylan," "me and Dylan." The influence they had on each other was worth a lifetime. I appreciated how you let aloud the fact that it's difficult to discuss the mental health of one of them without mentioning the other because of how they lost touch between everything & everyone together with their plans.

Another pile of information that really helps to humanize Eric are the accounts from his female friend who knew him from work, and the letter she wrote to him post-mortem. It's the closest thing we have to any friend or family coming out about who "he" was instead of what Columbine made him. Something, as you mentioned, Klebold has an profusion of in comparison.

This article is also a very good read ... It's an excerpt from a book written about the effects gun violence can have on teenagers by proxy. The part taken is an interview from a girl Eric knew from sixth grade when he was staying in New York. It's bittersweet to think on how much effort the two of them put into remaining in contact up until his death. I think that's why EH and the general concept of "love" ( at least what I define love to be ... ) in his life really fascinates me compared to other ideas that can be focused on outside of April 20th. From the way his more positive romantic encounters described and cared for him, it really is shell-shocking to think that's the same guy.

... I'm sure you weren't expecting this elaborate of a response! I just wanted an excuse to ramble at someone indirectly, hope you don't mind. >.< Anyway, I seriously can't wait to read more of your psychoanalysis, let alone any of your more enlightening posts in the future!! I am your #1 cheerleader and I sincerely believe what you think needs to be said because no one else is! Waving my pompoms at yoouuu.

[my-own-walker]

Something you like…

summary: evan and you are dating, but he can’t help but need some…validation.

warnings: stupid fluff, sm*t, then more fluff-ish (because i’m a softie, what can I say?) Evan x fem!reader

+++

‘Alright, alright,’ he choked out between deep belly laughs. ‘So let me get this straight,’ he began.

‘Stoooopppp shut up I KNOW its stupid!!’ I protested, trying to get him to stop his oversimplification of my admittedly funny issue.

‘No, no, babe I wanna unpack this,’ he laughed, ‘so you heard from your friend that there was something suspicious in the trash can and you decided to investigate…as someone with clinical anxiety.’

I nodded, casting my eyes down and feigning upset, giggling quietly to myself.

I had just gotten home from work and Evan made dinner. It was a kind gesture he’d do every time I had to work late. This time my lateness wasn’t exactly intentional. In that, it wasn’t really…work related.

‘So in hearing the noise coming from the trash can - the public trash can, might I add - you decided the right thing to do would be to call the cops?!’ Evan was laughing so hard he couldn’t even eat.

I’ll admit, it was super funny. I overreacted to beeping in a trash can outside the building I worked in and called the cops. Someone threw out their phone and was trying to call it. My mind went the…explosive route. I guess I thought I was in a movie or something.

‘Baby, you are so cute. I can’t stand it,’ Evan cooed, tucking a piece of my hair back behind my ear with his free hand. ‘Even though it wasn’t entirely rational, at least you’re safe.’

‘In my mind it was so real. Like I was convinced someone planted a device. I thought it was an evil scheme,’ I clarified, still laughing at myself.

Evan and I had been together for about a year and a half. We moved in together rather quickly after we started dating. We had known each other for some time before that.

Well, better than known. We were hooking up, to put it frankly. We met through mutual friends at some party in LA.

One day, though, he decided to pull the trigger and officially ask me to be with him. More seriously. I kinda laughed at him when he did. We were fast friends, constantly making each other laugh. I was okay with things being casual. I wasn’t too emotionally invested, and it seemed like he wasn’t, either.

I had no idea how he felt about me until we had that conversation. And I quickly realized that I felt it, too. We had slowly fallen in love and I didn’t even recognize it.

Nonetheless, being with him was a dream. I had never imagined finding such a perfect match in a person.

Staring at him over that dinner table, I still had butterflies in my stomach. Much like the first time I met him. The way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled made me swoon. The veins in his hands entranced me. Everything about him left me wanting more.

‘Like what you see or something?’ Evan quipped.

I didn’t even realize I was staring like a creep, not saying a word.

‘God I’m sorry, I’m a million miles away, haha. Just thinking,’ I replied.

‘Oh, so you don’t like what you see?’ he smirked.

I rolled my eyes and placed my elbows on the table, lacing my fingers together and looking him dead in the eyes. ‘I promise you, Evan, I always like what I see when I look at you.’

‘Yeah?’ he raised an eyebrow, challenging me.

‘What? You want an itemized list or something, Peters?’ I joked.

‘What if I said I want you to show me?’

+

Before I knew it we were upstairs, hungrily ripping layers of clothing off each other, keeping our lips firmly pressed together.

‘I adore you,’ he breathed between kisses, swiftly throwing his sweater behind him. ‘You are my world.’ He pulled down his sweatpants and kicked them off. He wasn’t wearing underwear. His erection sprang out dramatically, showing me how much he wanted me.

He pushed me onto the bed and unbuttoned my jeans. He slid them off quickly and climbed onto the bed. I was left in just my panties, soaking wet already.

He pinned me down by my wrists, which were over my head thanks to the way he tossed me down. He leant down, putting his face close to mine.

‘Tell me,’ he growled as he tore off my panties. I was surprised by his urgency. ‘Tell me what you like.’

Fumbling for an answer to such a vague question, I replied ‘y- uh, your hands, your veins.’

‘Yeah?’ he challenged. ‘Okay…’

He let go of my left wrist to stroke my face with his right hand. The anticipation was too much to bear. He swiftly entered me with his fingers. I couldn’t help but yelp out in pleasure. His fingers explored me, finding just the right spot that made my toes curl and my face screw up in ecstasy.

Just as I was about to reach my limit, he stopped. He removed all contact besides the longer strands of his hair tickling my face as he hovered over me, resting on his fists on either side of me.

‘What else?’ he demanded.

‘Evan-‘ I whined, squirming from the loss of contact.

‘Tell me. Or we won’t continue.’

‘Your lips. They’re soft and pink and I love how they feel on me,’ I pleaded. I needed his touch.

He curled his mouth into a sick smile. The kind of smile that made my insides flip. He promptly started kissing me all over.

He started slowly, making me burn intensely inside. First at my neck, then collarbones. He stayed on my chest for a while, taking his time to really ensure my pleasure. When he reached my lower stomach, he took a brief intermission to drag his tongue all the way back up the center of my body. An acknowledgment of how close he was to what I actually wanted. He wanted to tease me.

He gently spread my legs open and began kissing my inner thighs. Then his tongue hit my middle.

‘Fuck, you’re so wet,’ he moaned.

I cried out in passion, feeling warm droves of intensity coursing through my entire body. Again, he removed himself from me. I whimpered helplessly.

‘Tell me one last thing. One last thing and I’ll let you come, baby,’ he negotiated.

‘Your cock,’ I managed.

And that was all she wrote. He slid off the bed. Standing at the end of it, he pulled me roughly by my legs toward him. He lined himself up with my entrance and thrusted into me.

I watched as he squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip. His head went back and his mouth opened with a guttural moan. I was in no better shape. The feeling of his length inside me at long last was enough to satisfy me for a lifetime. My eyes rolled back into my head as I feel his thrusts get deeper and closer together. He was close, and so was I.

I came with a loud scream, unable to control myself after waiting for so long. He smiled slightly as he continued to fuck me, obviously satisfied with his handiwork. He came soon after.

He removed himself from me and I slid up further onto the bed, my head now resting on silk pillows. My hair was stuck to my face thanks to my sweat and my breath was ragged. He joined me, crawling up onto the bed and laying on top of me, resting his head on my chest.

‘That was fun, huh?’ he declared.

‘Yeah,’ I sighed, ‘fun for you.’

His head snapped up. ‘You didn’t like it?’

‘I didn’t say that, now, did I? You weren’t the one getting teased the whole time, man,’ I retorted.

He chuckled and shook his head, placing it back down on my sweaty chest.

‘I really love you, Y/L/N. My everything,’ he said in a sing-song-y voice.

He breathed in a deep, cleansing breath and flipped off of me onto his back on the bed. After all, it was hot in there. I didn’t blame him for needing a second of space.

‘Well just so you know, Y/N, there are plenty of parts of you I like, too,’ he bargained. ‘Y’know, just in case you ever want to play again.’

I looked over at him, taking in his beauty. My breath hitched in my throat, as if I were seeing him for the first time again. Like I said, he had that effect on me.

‘I may have to take you up on that.’

+++

BYE okay lmao that was another attempt at spicy content. I hope you enjoyed, you horny bastards. Sending you all my love.

[curtsycream]

Retail Therapy

Pairing: Drummer!Jonathan x Bimbo!Reader x Vocalist!Steve x Bassist!Billy x Guitarist!Eddie

Warnings: slightly persistent employee, hyperfeminine Y/N, short skirts like really short, grumpy Eddie, not proofread :((

When Y/N first discussed shopping with her boyfriends she made it sound quick and easy. Yet that was the furthest thing from the truth as they now walk into the fourth store of the day. Y/N walks ahead of them as she is the only one with free hands. Her boyfriends on the other hand are not so lucky as they each hold three to four bags each.

Jonathan found himself shaking his head with a smile when Y/N offered to carry at least one bag. The love struck look in his eyes gave way the reason he kept refusing her offer. He made a promise to himself that as long as he was around she wouldn’t have to lift a finger. Which was something he knew would take a while for his sweet girl to get used to.

“Oh look! It’s so pretty!”

A small squeal leaves her lips as she shows off a rather cute skirt that Billy had to admit would look nice on her. Unlike his boyfriends he did not like showing how invested he was in his girlfriend’s shopping spree. Well at least in public, he would save all of his compliments when she’s trying the outfits on in private.

Licking his lips Steve’s tongue connected with the metal of his lip piercing. He found himself looking through the racks with Y/N showing her different clothing pieces to buy. Of course she wouldn’t be paying for all of this, knowing his boyfriends they wouldn’t allow that either. “I think this one is cute.”

Glancing over at the skirt her eyes brightened, the pink skirt looked like it was made for her. Grabbing the skirt from his hands she kisses him eagerly on the lips. Not one to back away from a kiss, especially if his girlfriend provided it, he kissed back.

Rolling his eyes at the two Eddie shoves his hands in his pockets. The bags he was holding sitting beside him on the bench inside of the store. Places like these, malls and most retail stores, were on the top of the list of places he hated. The sound of chatter that made it hard to think, the glancing eyes of people that recognized them, and most of all the falsity of store employees.

“Are you finding everything okay?”

Glancing away from his love struck idiots he notices the overly large smile of ‘Bethany’. At least that’s what her name tag said, “Yeah.”

He was hoping his one worded and rather hostile response would scare her off, yet it did quite the opposite. She leaned forward a little too close for his liking, “Are you sure I can show you our new seasonal selection! Are you shopping for someone?”

Tilting his head up as his curly bangs obscured his vision a little, “No.”

The word sent a shiver down her spine, his lack of emotion left her baffled. Opening her mouth as she goes to say something else he stands up grabbing the bags before walking away.

Jonathan felt the weight of someone’s head on his shoulder before recognizing the curls. He chuckles to himself, “Tired?”

The subtle nod of Eddie’s head left Jonathan to lead him back over to the bench. The same one Eddie left Bethany who was nowhere to be found. Placing down the bags in their hands they cuddle up on the bench. Jonathan running a hand through Eddie’s hair.

“I think this is enough! I can’t like go overboard…well not today!”

Y/N was swarmed with clothes that both Billy and Steve had piled in her arms. The two of them eager to see her in every skirt and dress they handed her.

Sighing Billy nods his head, “I guess you’re right and we still have to carry all of this back to the car.”

Steve was already one step ahead of them taking the pile of clothing from Y/N and taking them to the cashier. Without so much as a glance in Y/N’s direction who was ready to protest at any second.

Pouting her lips at the back of Steve’s head, who was already pulling out his card as the cashier scanned the items. A ringed hand found its way into her own as she was pulled into the direction of Eddie and Jonathan. Once looking at the two she cooed at the sleeping Eddie as he cuddled into Jonathan. Taking out her bedazzled and charm filled flip phone she took pictures.

Soon enough Steve joined the four grabbing one of Eddie’s bags which were lying on the bench. “We should go, can’t let Mr. Grouchy sleep out here for long.”

Nodding at his words Y/N grabs two of the bags that Eddie was holding while Billy grabbed the other one. Eventually they all walked out of the store with Eddie on Jonathan’s back still asleep somehow. Though regardless of that Y/N couldn’t help but think that it was a day well spent shopping.

A yawn leaves Eddie as he wakes up finding himself in his bed. Sitting up he noticed the bodies sleeping around him, it brought a small smile to his face. Closing his eyes again he draws Y/N closer causing a chain reaction. Soon enough he found himself wedged even closer between Steve and Y/N with Jonathan and Billy pressed closely against them. The smile on his face widens as he couldn’t imagine anything better than being surrounded by his idiots.

[enjoythesilentworld]

Wille's Month - Mental Health

day 14. @youngroyals-events <3

Wille steps down. Kristina steps up.

read below the cut or on ao3 (T, 900) cw: panic attacks

“Wilhelm?” 

A voice breaks through the ringing in his ears. Who’s is it? He can’t tell, can’t really hear, but can feel a slight breeze on his face. Is he outside? No, he’s walking — nearly running — down a hallway, inside. He’s inside the palace, still. They’ve just had a meeting with the court, and it was not good, and he needs to get away. 

“Wilhelm, snälla,” the voice calls again. It’s not angry or exasperated, though, it’s almost sad. He ignores it, anyway. Too many other thoughts swirl in his brain. 

They hated him. They all hated him. He’d felt so good about his decision when he’d first made it. So relieved, so proud of himself, so excited to tell Simon. Every day after that, he’d only had fleeting moments of self-doubt. But in the end, the day he’d made that speech, he thought he’d been doing the right thing. But now, his resolve is crumbling. Would Erik hate him, too, if he knew? His mamma? She’d said she was okay with it, was happy for him, even, but now? The whole country, it seemed, had turned against him. How could his family not feel the same? When it was really them he was betraying? Their legacy he was walking away from? 

His heart beat in time with his rapid steps down the hallway. His chest feels tight, too tight, and when he brings up a hand to press there, it does nothing to alleviate it. Somewhere, in a distant part of his mind, he hears the click of a second pair of shoes following behind him. It must be Erik’s ghost, come to haunt him and ask him why couldn’t he just handle it? Why couldn’t he stop being so selfish and start being the Crown Prince he was supposed to be? 

The dozens of statistics the court had presented spin around each other in his mind like a winter squall. Cold, tiny bits of ice stab into his skin, a million tiny reminders that he’s failed them. Why couldn’t they see? Didn’t they know it would break him? That role? It had dug its claws into him already and he’d nearly lost his parents and the love of his life because of it. The rift it created, the puppet it made you, it was too much. Why didn’t they know? 

Somehow, he runs into a dead-end. He’s lived here for so long and never gotten lost, but at this moment he doesn’t know where he is. Looking for something, anything to ground him, he reaches out and places both hands against the wall and tries to breathe. Why can’t he fucking breathe?

“Gubben.” This time, the voice reaches his ears and it’s a little more clear, though slightly muted. This time, he recognizes the voice. He spins around and tries to swallow the blockage in his throat and tries to stop the tears. He hadn’t even realized he was crying. Shaking his head, he pulls at the already loose tie at his neck and tries not to let his mamma see how much he’s breaking down right now. He still can’t breathe, though, still just sucking in tiny gulps of air. In a panic, he reaches out blindly, and she is there to catch him. 

Slowly, his mamma lowers them both to the ground, her arms wrapped tightly around him. Softly, she whispers quiet encouragement into his ear, reminding him to breathe. Gently, she runs a hand through his hair over and over, soothing him just like she’d done when he was very young. 

He chokes out an, “I’m sorry,” once he’s gotten his breathing mostly under control. Big, fat tears continue to run down his face, though, and he can still hear the sound of Jan Olof’s voice explaining just how disappointed the public was. And here’s his mamma, the person he’d disappointed the most, comforting him. Guilt crawls up his throat, suffocating him again. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” she whispers into his hair. “You do not need to apologize. Just breathe, älskling, then we will talk. Okay?”  

Unable to do anything else, Wille nods and tries to calm down. She doesn’t seem angry, which is the most confusing part. She seems more worried and scared than anything. The way she holds him now reminds him of that time she’d broken down in front of him and August. He’d been terrified, then. It feels odd, now, to have the roles reversed, but the warmth of his mother’s touch is so gentle and kind it nearly makes new tears well up in his eyes. This is all he’d ever wanted from her.  

Eventually, he calms down, methodically rubbing his thumb over his mamma’s hand where it’s gripped in his. He mumbles another apology, unsure what else to say, and she gently shushes him again. 

“It doesn’t matter what those people think, Wilhelm,” she says softly. “This was the right decision for you, for us as a family.” 

“But Erik–”

“Erik,” she interrupts, placing a hand on his cheek, “is not here.”

He feels that ever-present grief inside him pulse painfully at her words, but she continues. “But I think he would have been proud of you. I am proud of you.” 

A few more tears fall from Wilhelm’s eyes as he looks up at his mother. Not the Queen, not Kristina, his mamma. 

“We will go through this together. As a family.” 

Later, they find out that Jan Olof had buried the lead. In fact, the majority of the population was in support of Wilhelm’s decision. That does lessen the panic from his bones a bit more. But even more so does the love and reassurance his parents continue to provide through the transition. He is no longer Prince, but he is still their son. 

[is-this-yuri]

i've been thinking about small talk recently.

i don't like small talk about the weather because, being homeless, the weather is a serious topic for me. it effects me more directly and intensely than other people who have climate controlled homes and workplaces. the way people talk about serious weather like blizzards and tropical storms is how i talk about rain and humidity. there's a disconnect there, and if i were to talk about the weather honestly during a bout of small talk, it could very easily be offputting to my conversation partner, which is counter to the point of small talk.

but that's because i'm homeless. i'm sure we all have personal hangups when it comes to small talk in some way. my example is just an extreme case.

here's the thing tho, i don't like small talk, but i engage in it anyway, because sometimes there can be nice moments where a real connection is made. especially with people i see regularly, like the service workers i interact with. there are people in my life who i know nothing about, not even their name, but at least i know they'll make a great sandwich for me, and i know they'll do their best because they recognize me and they appreciate that i'm nice to them. that's all there is to it.

it's a way to signal that i'm a safe person to talk to, not with the intent to continue into a friendship, but just to put them at ease when they see me, to remove the 'stranger/unknown/potentially scary' tag from over my head.

i saw a reply on a post that said small talk is basically like a dog wagging its tail to signal it's friendly. that can be a good analogy, but i would say it's more like when dogs sniff each others butts. maybe i don't want my butt sniffed today so i put my tail down and walk away. that's perfectly fine too. not everyone wants their butt sniffed.

i've learned that being fully honest and authentic during small talk with people you're not nessecarily going to be friends with isn't actually needed. i've learned not to really lie, but to give the bare minimum needed to get through the interaction. if they say 'i'm so glad it's finally raining, the plants really needed it' i wouldn't say 'actually i hate rain because i'm homeless.' i could just say 'eh, rain isnt my thing. good for the plants, though.'

it's important to be polite and considerate in public, and small talk is a very good skill to have and a lot less scary/difficult than some people make it out to be. granted, it took me 27 years to get to this point, but it's possible.

that said, i think some people make too big of a deal about small talk and connecting with strangers. it's just not that big of a deal. some people have bad days and go to the store with a scowl on their face and they ignore the cashier because they're just getting through the day. that's fine. it's fine if every day is like that for you (and as the cashier it's fine to think of them as a sad grumpypants, but not to be mean about it). maybe you just don't want your butt sniffed today for whatever reason. you're not causing physical harm to anyone by being a little grumpy or closed off, and simply not caring to make a connection of any kind with strangers is also fine. we don't all need to strive to be friendly all the time, but the benefits of it are there if we ever want them.

[another-lost-mc]

"Circumstances have forced me to accept a wager that I want no part of. It’s against the owner of The Fall. If he wins, we have to let him stay at the House of Lamentation for a month." – Lucifer (A Roll of the Dice Devilgram) Or, the AU where Lucifer loses a bet and a new resident comes to stay at the House of Lamentation.

Good Fortune | AZRA x gn!Reader 5.7k words | SFW | Canon Divergence | Developing Relationship Content warnings: Demon OC x Reader. Cursing, references to violence/illegal activities, minor threats, awkward flirting and fluff, gossiping, social anxiety. A/N: The Fall and its owner are referenced in a lot of OM events/Devilgram stories so I got a little creative with the details.

The owner of The Fall, the Devildom’s most popular club, is a powerful demon that represents the best and worst parts of upper class Devildom society. Under the Demon King’s rule, Azra used threats and violence to secure his position and achieve his ambitions. Falling into line with Diavolo’s new vision for the Devildom simply means his methods of dealing with nuisances are less deadly - and he’s more cautious if he does have to resort to bloodshed.

When he visits Devildom’s other prominent establishments, it’s about business as much as it is about pleasure. He spends money and builds connections with other influential business owners, offering gifts or gestures of goodwill to demons of strategic value so he can call on them later to return the favour. 

He’s at the casino one evening and feels especially bored, but Azra spots the Avatar of Greed playing dice at a table nearby. Usually he’s content to simply watch the money-hungry demon, who gambles like it's his last night in hell; his large bets and fast plays are a spectacle to behold whether he wins or loses. Azra approaches Mammon’s table, and when he sees the pile of chips dwindle to nothing, he decides to have a bit of fun. 

Mammon is known for making ludicrous bets when he’s out of grimm, but offering a month-long overnight stay at the House of Lamentation is too intriguing for Azra to pass up. A chance to live with the Avatars of Sin is a rare opportunity. Some of them are frequent guests at his club for special events. However, most of the Devildom only know the brothers on a superficial basis; Lucifer is protective of his siblings and he tries to shelter their personal lives from public view.

Azra accepts Mammon’s wager and he agrees to postpone their bet until another day. When he recognizes Lucifer as one of the dealers at the casino a few days later, he decides to call in Mammon’s wager. Azra watches the dice in anticipation and then he smirks, unfazed by the poorly-masked anger that ripples across Lucifer’s expression when he loses.

Once the details of the arrangement are finalized, Azra arrives at the House of Lamentation with his luggage in tow. Lucifer shows him the choice of rooms available and Azra complains about each one; they’re all grungy from years of disuse and neglect. He hoped the brothers would have at least tried to take care of some of the dust and cobwebs first. Azra almost wonders if it was an intentional oversight when Lucifer reminds him - more than once - that if the rooms aren’t to his liking, he’s welcome to leave. 

They walk down the hallway, past the kitchen and towards your room. You’re not inside but the door is open, and it catches Azra’s interest. He notices the care that’s gone into the furnishings and upkeep - and the lack of dust is appealing, too. This is the best room he’s seen by far and declares to Lucifer that this room will suit his purposes, ignoring its obvious state of occupancy.

Lucifer rejects the idea immediately and they start arguing. He refuses to displace you from your room, and Azra insists that Lucifer and his brothers should’ve thought of that before he arrived. Neither of them notice that you’re walking towards them and catch the tail-end of their heated discussion about your room being off-limits.

You don’t understand Lucifer’s hostility towards their guest. Your presence in the Devildom is still relatively new, and you don’t have many friends. You don’t want to impose on the demon brothers who have tried to help you adjust to your new life here. The last thing you want to do is make a bad first impression to other important or powerful demons in the Devildom. Besides, it’s only for a month, right?

You startle them both when you offer to switch rooms temporarily, if that would make their guest more comfortable. They stop arguing and look at you in surprise. Lucifer’s mouth twists like he’s bitten into something particularly sour, while Azra tilts his head slightly and stares at you in wonder. He forgot that living with the Avatars of Sin also means living with the Devildom’s prized human exchange student. He’s overheard other demons whisper about your lustrous, tempting soul in the dark corners of his club.

Azra changes his mind suddenly and tells a very relieved Lucifer that he won’t make his gracious co-host abandon your room to him. He smirks and takes his luggage to the closest empty guest room - across the hall from yours - instead. Dealing with the cobwebs is worth the satisfaction of seeing Lucifer’s brow crinkle in frustration before he slams the door shut in his face. Azra sets his luggage aside and takes care of the dust himself while he listens to Lucifer and his brothers arguing down the hall. He rolls his eyes when Mammon’s protests grow louder and Satan’s threats toward him become more violent.

Lucifer tries and fails to reassure them that Azra isn’t completely foolish, and even he won’t risk doing anything to harm you. You’re a guest to the Devildom under Diavolo’s protection, after all. But your soul isn’t all the demon brothers are worried about. Who knows what a scumbag demon like him might do if he had the chance to corner you alone? For all the shady, horrible things the club owner has done in the past, Lucifer doesn’t think Azra is that sort of demon to hurt you. However, he keeps those thoughts to himself - his brothers won’t be convinced otherwise.

The arguing down the hall eventually fades to silence, but Azra’s smirk remains as he continues clearing away the thick layers of dust covering the furniture in his room. The air is stale and musty and he coughs. He rips the dingy bedding away from the mattress and tosses it aside for the trash; he’s grateful he brought a new set of sheets.

When the room is slightly more hospitable, he taps the screen of his D.D.D. and sets it on speaker mode. He only has to wait a few rings before his assistant picks up the call.

“How are Lucifer and his brothers treating you?” Zekhan asks. “I told you not to expect a warm welcome.”

Azra hums. “It was what I expected, but I can deal with them,” he says casually, flicking away cobwebs stuck to the headboard of his bed. “I forgot about the human staying here, but they’re not–” Azra starts to say, but he frowns when Zekhan has the nerve to laugh, “–what the hell is so funny?”

Zekhan doesn’t bother to hide his amusement. “You never mentioned them once while we prepared for you to spend the month there. I wondered when you would remember that little detail.” His laughter trails off with a sigh. “What do you think of them so far?”

Azra thinks back to his brief meeting with you in the hallway. “I’m not sure yet.” You were so eager to compromise for his benefit, but he can’t completely dismiss you as being a total pushover either - you wouldn’t have survived this long in the Devildom if you were.

“I have a docket prepared with the information you requested, but most of it is public knowledge already - articles about the exchange program in the RAD newspaper, that sort of thing. I was able to speak to some of the students and get their first impressions too.” Zekhan pauses briefly and adds quietly, “Their confidential information is going to be more difficult to obtain, and it’ll take some time. Do you still want me to pursue it?”

Azra debated it for a moment and decided it wasn’t worth it. Your human world history and details won’t be relevant to him now, he can simply talk to you instead. “No, don’t bother. Keep track of anything else you hear, and send me what you have already, will you?”

“Very well,” his assistant replied before hanging up the call.

Azra’s D.D.D. pinged moments later with an email containing the information about you Zekhan was able to collect. There wasn’t much there - some general information about you and the other exchange students, impressions from some of the RAD faculty and classmates - nothing valuable or noteworthy. If he wants to learn more about you, the real you, he’ll have to figure that out himself - after he finishes cleaning his room.

Azra is nearly giddy with amusement when the brothers don’t attempt to hide their contempt for his presence in their home. They’re so protective of you and they do a poor job of hiding it. They find countless excuses to invite you to spend time with them anywhere else that’s not your room. When you don’t feel like going with them, they hover around your room instead. They have a bad habit of overstaying their welcome and Azra stifles his laughter when he hears you yell at them to get out so you can do your homework or go to sleep. 

The demon brothers are especially bothered by how close his room is to your own. What exactly do they think he’s going to do to you? He’s not stupid. He might be a little curious about you, sure, but since when was curiosity such a bad thing? 

In reality, Azra doesn’t have that many opportunities to spend time with you alone or with the other demons hovering like mother hens nearby. His odd work hours means he usually sleeps through breakfast and lunch, and he gets up and prepares to leave for work by the time you return home from RAD.

He’s not used to having a bedroom without an ensuite bath, and it’s one of his main complaints when he has to use the washroom at the end of the hall to shower. He enjoys his privacy and he’s not used to covering up.

One afternoon after having a shower, he's still dripping wet with only a towel hung low around his hips when he heads back to his room. He snarls with annoyance when someone bumps into him, but he realizes that someone is you. You stare at him for a moment, and your eyes widen when you glance down at his bare chest before your eyes snap up to his face. You stammer an apology as your cheeks flush, and by the time you rush back into your room and slam the door, Azra can’t stop the grin that spreads across his face.

Interesting.

It’s a rare occasion when Azra bothers to join you or the demon brothers for dinner. It got tiresome quickly when Satan insisted on reading books of hexes and curses at the table while glancing at him threateningly whenever he turned the page.

How juvenile.

Lucifer doesn’t trust Azra to cook for them - not that Azra is capable of making edible food anyway - so he’s not included in their cooking rotation either. Azra notices that you volunteer to cook more often than the others do. He assumes it’s something you like doing, and since it’s one of the few skills he lacks, he respects you for it.

If you’re on cooking duty for the family, he leaves later for the club than usual so he can spend time with you in the kitchen. Sometimes you’re completely alone with only Beelzebub occasionally trying to sneak snacks before dinner is ready. Azra makes vague offers to help you, but he’s only interested in the opportunity to talk to you. You must sense his apprehension about actually cooking something and you don’t ask him to help, but you try to have friendly conversations with him anyway.

He’s surprised that you use an odd combination of Devildom and human world ingredients, and you’ve customized recipes slightly to make them more palatable for you. It’s an easy way for him to discreetly ask you questions about yourself, and your family and where you come from. You seem happy talking about food and other things that remind you of home.

He’s not used to eating rustic, home-cooked meals. He eats what the chefs at the club prepare for him, or whatever his private chef makes for him at home on his days off. But when you hold out a spoonful of something to try, it’s difficult for him to refuse. The foods you cook aren't heavily spiced, but more often than not, he likes what you cook.

Sometimes he wonders whether you’d like the chance to cook in his kitchen, with his state of the art appliances and using whatever Devildom or human world ingredients you could ever want. 

Sentimental thoughts about you start to creep into his mind, and they grow more frequent as he gets to know you. After nearly two weeks of living together, he decides that you’re a baffling combination of shy deference and impulsive confidence. Your dry, witty sense of humor surprises him at times, and you’re brave enough to speak up when the demon brothers cause trouble or make fools of themselves. You don’t go out of your way to spend time with him, probably out of some misconception that you're a nuisance to him (which you aren't). But when he seeks you out - usually before he goes to The Fall - you don’t reject him, either. 

The whole point of his wager with Mammon was to learn more about the demon princes that might be useful for blackmail later. Hell, the thought of tormenting Lucifer was almost enough of a reward by itself. Azra refuses to admit that spending time with you is slowly becoming his prize in this arrangement.

When he comes home from the club, it’s usually around the same time you’re getting ready for school. Some mornings you offer him a bashful greeting when you step out of your room in your RAD uniform. He catches a whiff of whatever fragrance you wear, and he breathes in your scent as he watches disappear down the hall. There are some mornings when you’re running late - usually one of the brothers knocks on your door, and Azra catches a brief glimpse of your sleepy eyes and messy hair when you answer in a panic.

He loosens his tie and sits on the edge of his bed and listens for the telltale sounds of you and the demon brothers leaving for RAD. When the front door slams shut, he can finally be alone with his thoughts. More often than not these days, he thinks of you more than anything else. It doesn’t matter what you look like each morning when he passes by your room: whether you’re perfectly dressed or sleepy and rushed, he finds you charming - and he wonders how that’s possible.

There's about ten days left of his month-long visit when Azra prepares to go to the club, but he recalls the demon princes announcing various commitments they have that evening. It’s the first time since he arrived at the House of Lamentation that he is truly alone with you for any significant length of time. He thinks quickly and reaches for his D.D.D. - he might not get this chance again.

Meanwhile, you’re in your room debating whether you should start making dinner for yourself. The brothers are scattered across RAD and you have no idea what time to expect them home. It’s an annoying predicament when you’re not sure whether to cook food for everyone, or just cook for yourself, or maybe you should just order takeout?

Azra knocks on your bedroom door while you deliberate your options, and even though you’re surprised he hasn't left for work yet, you let him inside.

He makes small talk and takes his time browsing the shelves of your room. He notices an interesting mix of Devildom and human world books and movies. He glances at you from the corner of his eye when he feels your eyes on him.

“The demon princes don’t take care of you properly. It’s past dinner time - do they expect you to feed them all when they return?” he asks. He knows it’s not your turn to cook tonight, and he wonders how often they overlook your well-being. Do they make it a habit to inconvenience you with their thoughtlessness? Isn’t that what all of their posturing these past two weeks has been about - doing what they thought was best for their precious human?

He can do better.

He pretends to consider all the options for a moment and then asks, “You haven’t been to The Fall before, have you?”

“No, I’m not really the club-going type. I wasn’t back home, either.” You’ve seen Asmo’s photos of wild dance parties at The Fall; the self-conscious voice in the back of your mind reminds you that you look nothing like any of the demons that attend the famous establishment. You’d stick out like a sore thumb, and you have no interest in making a fool of yourself trying to pretend you belong there.

Azra isn’t easily deterred so he tries to entice you another way. “You might not realize this, but we also have an excellent dining room,” he says. “I would love to treat you to dinner this evening, as a gesture of appreciation for your kindness during my stay here,” he offers. “I can’t leave you alone and unfed in good conscience.”

You're tempted by his generous offer - you imagine their menu is far outside of your usual budget for take-out - and you can’t help but be curious about him and his work. Despite what the others have told her about him, he doesn’t seem that scary. He’s been kind to you, and he doesn’t ask you questions that are rude or too invasive. He seemed genuinely interested in your hobbies and interests, and he tries to inconvenience you as little as possible.

You think it would be rude to reject his offer, but you glance down at your unbuttoned RAD blazer and slightly wrinkled slacks. “I’m not sure I have anything suitable to wear,” you say. It’s a weak excuse and you both know it; you try not to squirm when he chuckles.

He’s not sure where the idea comes from, but he has a brief impulse to escort you to one of his favourite shops and select an outfit for you. He’s curious about what you might pick out for yourself if you didn’t have to worry about the cost. He thinks you would look lovely draped in the dark colours and soft fabrics he prefers, rather than the bland material of your RAD uniform and casual clothes.

He quickly shakes off the impulse and clears his throat. “As my guest, our usual dress code wouldn’t apply to you. Please wear whatever makes you feel most comfortable.” He glances at you over his shoulder before he leaves your room. “My driver is already outside, but take your time. I’ll wait for you in the front hall.”

You’re anxious about going to The Fall, but there was something so warm and genuine about his invitation that you accepted his offer anyway. You put on a simple button-down shirt and change into slightly less-wrinkled pants. You add a spritz of your favourite fragrance and feel refreshed. You examine your reflection in the mirror: you look put-together, but bland and unalluring - you hope he’s not too disappointed by your appearance.

Azra gives you an obvious once-over when you approach him in the foyer, and you smile bashfully when his lips curl into an appreciative smirk. He puts a hand on your back and leads you outside where his car is waiting. You spend most of the drive watching the Devildom pass by in a blur; Azra watches you instead.

When the car pulls up to the club’s entrance, Azra leads you past the bouncer at the door. Instead of turning right where the thrum of heavy bass is loudest, he turns left which leads to the club’s dining area. It feels romantic with its dark wood furniture and candlelight. The large room is filled with semi-private booths and small tables. The linens and dishware look luxurious and expensive; you feel woefully out of place.

He leads you to a private table near the back of the room, but the other patrons notice your arrival with interest. You think you can hear them whispering when you walk past them, and you realize that your boring attire won’t stifle the intrigue of your human heritage or why you’re having dinner with the club’s famous proprietor.

Azra pulls your chair out for you before he takes his seat across from you. He picks up his menu, but he realizes that there’s something wrong. You’re glancing around the room nervously, and he notices that the other guests are doing a poor job hiding their interest in you. He grew so used to your company that he didn’t even consider how other demons would treat you in public. He’s frustrated by his mistake, but he’s determined not to let this ruin your evening together. 

Azra knows Zekhan is probably working in his office upstairs. He sends him quick instructions before he stands from the table and comes to your side. “I’ve prepared a table for us in my private offices, if that would make you more comfortable,” he leans down and murmurs close to your ear. You nearly sigh with relief and take his hand when he helps you out of your chair. 

He leads you to a small lounge connected to his office on the second floor. It’s soundproofed so the loud club music isn't bothersome. The lounge is drastically different from the rest of the club, and you guess that it’s designed to be comfortable, more like his own home than his business. There’s a record player in the corner, and soft classical music fills the silence. There is a small candle-lit table waiting for you, and Azra suppresses the urge to purr with satisfaction when you look more relaxed now than you did downstairs.

When you're both seated, you hear a small pop. A bottle of amber liquid and two crystal goblets materialize on the table. You’re not familiar with different vintages of Demonus, but based on the ornamental bottle and Azra’s expensive taste, you can’t even imagine how rare this bottle of liquor is.

“No, I couldn’t, really–” you protest with a laugh when he offers to pour you a glass. You explain that Demonus of this quality is wasted on you; he didn’t know that humans are mostly unaffected by the demonic beverage, and you can’t tell if it’s the lighting when his cheeks darken slightly.

He clears his throat and accepts your refusal gracefully. “By all means, order whatever you’d like. I only want you to enjoy yourself.”

There’s a comfortable lull in conversation while you both study the provided menus, and you set yours down on the table with an embarrassed look. When Azra raises an eyebrow questioningly, you explain you're not familiar with the fancy names for Devildom cuisine yet. Normally you ask Beel or one of the others to help you choose which foods would best suit your tastes. You’re embarrassed to ask Azra for help doing that, but he doesn’t mock you. His eyes soften like he’s happy that you can be vulnerable with him.

He offers to order something for both of you to share. He thinks about the meals he watched you cook at the House of Lamentation; he remembers the types of dishes you liked to cook, and how you liked them seasoned. He sends a message to the staff in the kitchen with your order.

Azra sips his Demonus and listens to you talk about your experiences in the Devildom and how it compares to your life in the human world. He’s never been interested in listening to his dates - friends - talk about their mundane lives. Usually he has to feign interest, but he wants to listen to more of your stories and memories; he’s captivated by you.

When you ask him questions about his life, he tells you things he’s never told anyone. He never lets people get close to him, and normally he would never answer such personal questions. He wants to blame his loose tongue on the Demonus, but he’s not sure the reason is that simple. Your delighted laughter encourages him to tell you more and more stories about the demon brothers causing mischief and making fools of themselves.

The door opens unexpectedly and it startles you; he nearly growls at the server that interrupts with the dinner tray. 

What the hell is wrong with him?

The entree Azra ordered for you both was served on a single platter, and there’s only one plate and set of cutlery on the tray. He dodges your questioning look, but he picks up a forkful of food and holds it near your mouth expectantly. Azra looks as surprised by the gesture as you feel.

He’s not sure what inspired him suddenly, but he has the urge to feed you. It reminds him of those nights when you offered him samples of your cooking. It seems like you’re both remembering the same thing, because you bite your lip bashfully and accept the food he offers you.

Azra ignores the warmth churning deep in his belly, but his lips curl into a smile when he sees a blush bloom across your face. He’s tried to show off his wealth and power in subtle ways all evening, but he feels most satisfied - and you respond with the most genuine interest - when he does simple things that shows he cares for you.

You’re embarrassed by his rapt attention, but the way he looks at you when he offers you another forkful of food is difficult to refuse. It feels profoundly intimate, and you try not to think too hard about why he’s doing it. Nevertheless, you eat until you start to feel full, and then you protest and wave away the last bit of food he holds out to you.

He looks suspiciously at the amount of food remaining on the plate like he can’t believe you're completely satisfied yet. He hesitates to eat himself until you promise with a laugh that you've eaten enough. His mind swirls with doubtful thoughts: Are human stomachs so small? Do those damn brothers not feed you enough and this is all you're used to eating? Are you trying to be modest for his sake?

He eats a few bites when you stand up and look at some of the art on display in his lounge. He wonders what you think about him and his lavish lifestyle. He assumes you're provided some sort of allowance for necessities, but he wonders how much of that you get to spend on yourself. He recalls your bedroom and the collection of new and used furniture, the borrowed manga and video games on your shelves, and the outdated TV and computer models you use.

He feels impulsive. He imagines filling your closet with Devildom silks and furs, and replacing your scratchy cotton bedspread with something that's silky-soft against your skin. He can fill your shelves with books he thinks you would enjoy, the same Devildom novels he reads on his days off. He realizes he wants to give you things - desperately - and he doesn’t know why.

Time seems to flow differently when he’s with you. He doesn’t know what time it is, but he realizes it must be getting late. His time with you is dwindling, but he feels reluctant to end this evening so soon. He gestures to a small leather sofa where you can both sit more comfortably. Any traces of your anxiety have completely disappeared, and you seem completely relaxed at his side, humming along softly with the soft music coming from the record player.

You’re nearly pressed against his side, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been this close to you before. His hand is resting on the sofa behind you, and you’re almost tucked under his arm. It feels like a victory when you don’t move away. He glances down at the bare skin of your neck, and when he leans down, the faint traces of your fragrance tickles his senses. Something predatory stirs inside him and he can't bring himself to pull away.

His sudden closeness doesn’t scare you exactly, but the growing tension between you makes your skin prickle with nervous anticipation. You can’t help but question his intentions. You doubt someone like him would be genuinely interested in you, so why did he bother doing all this? You remind yourself that you’re so completely different, and there’s no way you can be compatible. He’s so far out of your league: physically, financially, basically every possible way possible. You shouldn't even be friends let alone more than that. 

But why does admitting that bother you so much?

You glance at him the same time he raises his head from where he’s been discreetly scenting your neck. You look into his eyes and they seem to reflect the same confused longing you feel. 

An unspoken question hangs in the air between you: What are we doing?

Instead you say, “It’s probably getting late - we should go back soon.”

You reach into your pocket for something, but you make a frustrated sound in your throat and stand up. You look around on the floor and scan the tabletop nearby. “Have you seen my D.D.D.?” you ask him.

When your back is turned, he pulls your phone out of his pocket. He slides it onto the sofa beside him. “Oh, here it is. Perhaps it fell out of your pocket earlier?”

You sigh in relief and thank him when he hands it to you. Your eyes widen when the screen flickers to life. What in the world…? You don't recall feeling it vibrate all evening, but according to your notifications, you have dozens of missed personal and group chat messages and several missed phone calls. "It seems like the others have been trying to get in touch with me for a while now. I'm still not sure how I didn't notice earlier."

“That’s unfortunate,” he murmurs with fake sincerity, “but I’m sure they’ll understand once you explain we went out and had dinner together.” 

You’re trying to respond to messages as quickly as possible, and you glance at Azra guiltily. “I know you probably have to stay and work tonight, but would it be possible to arrange a ride home for me?” 

He stands from the sofa and smooths down his suit jacket. “I would never dream of sending you home on your own,” he replies more forcefully than he intends. When you frown, he explains, “I’ll escort you home personally and then come back to the club. I'm responsible for your safety tonight, and I'll ensure you make it back safely.”

If he requests his driver take a route that has several unnecessary detours that allows him more time with you, that’s his business.

Your D.D.D. interrupts with a new message:

Lucifer: I’m waiting outside for you.

Azra smothers his annoyance, but he makes sure you have all your belongings before he escorts you from the lounge to the main floor. The club is packed now and it’s shockingly loud compared to the tranquil peace of his soundproofed office. He avoids leading you near the cramped dance floor so that you don’t feel anxious like you did earlier. He takes you through a series of employee-only hallways towards a private exit around back. He opens the door for you, and you both see the Avatar of Pride waiting nearby with a stone-faced expression.

You rush forward and apologize profusely for the inconvenience. “I’m not sure how I didn't hear my phone earlier. I’m so sorry I worried you.” You turn around and face Azra who’s watching you and Lucifer with a strange expression on his face. “Thank you again for inviting me to dinner, I had a really nice time. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

Lucifer clears his throat and steps closer. You don’t notice that he positions himself in front of you, blocking you from Azra’s sight. The club owner notices though, and he glares at Lucifer.

“In light of recent developments, your month-long stay with us at the House of Lamentation has been concluded prematurely,” Lucifer says smugly. “You understand, of course,” he adds in a tone that will allow no argument.

You’re confused by the announcement and look at Lucifer worriedly. “Won’t it reflect poorly on us if we don’t honour the bet?” You don’t want to admit that you’re disappointed; you’re not sure you’ll ever see Azra again after this.

Azra answers before Lucifer has a chance to answer you. “I’m satisfied the terms of the bet have been fulfilled. It’s difficult to focus on the intricacies of my business when I spend too much time away from home.” You step out from behind Lucifer and meet Azra’s imploring gaze. “I’ll regret not spending more time at the House of Lamentation, but I promise that I found my visit very rewarding.”

Lucifer’s fist clenches behind you, and normally Azra would feel smug about this little power play with the demon he despises. Instead, all he cares about is the way your eyes brighten when you offer him another one of your kind smiles.

Lucifer ushers you away after you bid Azra goodnight one last time. You walk home together, and you tell him about your evening: it was a simple private dinner, and nothing more. Lucifer is suspicious and looks you over for any traces of harm or injury. He’s relieved that you seem perfectly fine, but he wonders what sort of game Azra was playing with you. However, he keeps these thoughts to himself - you seem tired but in good spirits, and he doesn’t want to ruin whatever enjoyment you had this evening.

You manage to avoid interrogation by the other demon brothers when you arrive home, and you head to your room and get ready for bed. After you're tucked in, you sort through your messages, yawning while you delete the endless notifications you missed earlier.

Your D.D.D. pings unexpectedly.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: I hope we can meet again soon.

You hesitate only for a moment before you save Azra’s contact information in your phone. You wish him goodnight and roll onto your side, and you hide your shy smile in your pillow.

[bengiyo]

Marahuyo Project Eps 7 & 8 (Finale) Stray Thoughts

Last time, the kids struggled to pick a name for their LGBTQIA+ organization while discussing their strategy before the school board. They eventually decided to focus on connecting their hopes for the island's future with its past, and set about researching. Archie gave Venice some files from the church, Lorie looked through files her dad had, and Ino suggested interviewing people after providing equipment. We learned that Archie is struggling with the path to holy orders (manifested in his neck scratching), Ino said aloud that he was gay and kissed King, and Lili is probably intersex. Each of our our kids is holding confidence about this. Lili read Marco for filth, read him for blood, but unfortunately we left at Marco outing her.

Episode 7: Aswang

You know King isn't the violent type, because some of my people would have curb stomped his ass by now.

Oh, Ino. I understand.

Okay, Lili's story is so sad and lonely. I'm glad she told Lili before this.

Oof, Lorie was not ready for the friends to lovers kiss.

That was difficult, but King is right. He shouldn't ask Ino to come out, but it doesn't stop him from getting hurt.

King's grandmother is great. It's making me sad that Ino has no one else to talk to after that.

Wow, Marco is really doubling down on being an asshole.

I appreciate this show now disguising the kinds of casual homophobia you run into.

It's hard to recognize when you need to give someone you love space when you want to help.

I do like the idea of them reclaiming the balagtasan as a way to present their ideas to the island.

I knew it was Ino who graffitied the mural.

Gay people really will turn their relationship problems into a public spectacle.

This poetry is beautiful.

Oh, Ino, I'm proud of you.

My boy is bleeding!! Marco, it's on sight!!

Man, what a concise breakdown of how it feels to know your truth and have your caregivers try to stifle that in you for the sake of appearances.

Episode 8: Babaylan

Ino and King opening up old wounds.

Yes, King, tell your mom. Shame is learned at home. A kid can face the world if they're safe at home.

I love King so much for not sugarcoating how bad public scorn can get.

Swimming at night is very dangerous, but I'm always happy to receive an underwater kiss BECAUSE IT STILL BELONGS TO THE GAYS.

Oh good. Lorie and Lili are finally talking.

See, this is the thing about doing queer media versus making QL sometimes. Apologizing for loving someone is such a queer experience. Your love isn't something that you should be ashamed of, and you shouldn't have to apologize for caring a lot about someone.

This feels like the right place for these two as friends to possibly more.

Oh shit Lili got me when she held back tears at getting best friends.

It really is exhausting how hard authority works constantly to police and enforce heteronormativity. There are so few of us. Why is it always this constant bullshit?

Oof, I actually like this choice to have Archie vote to impeach Ino, become the new president, and then immediately return to the site where they honored Christina to cry about it. Venice understands that taking care of other queers is a long term project. At least Archie said her name.

Many of my beloved elders have passed. I wish I could talk to them sometimes. Especially Barry.

I love that Venice is eating in almost every scene.

Hey! They finally picked a name!

I love how homophobes talk about history, and then storm out when confronted with uncomfortable truths.

Crying over these outfits. They're so right. Formal acceptance by the status quo doesn't erase our existence, or the bonds between us. We will make space for ourselves and those like us.

Oh, Archie. I understand you, too. I hope you find peace with yourself and others.

I love Sue Prado, but does the mom really deserve to be here? I'll accept them trying to extend grace to struggling parents since Grandma has been with them the whole time.

This march works though. Before it was only three of them. Now look at them.

A post credits scene! Wait, I love the idea of Juvy and Jose going to visit them!

Final Verdict: 9.5, Finally Some Good Fucking Food. I am just so relieved to have another show from JP Habac. It's clear he and his friends have such strong ideas about where queer people fit in our society today, and I love that his work is never about defeating homophobia and is instead about connecting others to queer joy. Despite how this show stirred up all sorts of old hurts in me, I feel so much love for these characters, and I'm so thankful that I can point to a show with a wide spectrum of queer experiences delivered in such a beautiful package. It's so rare to see a show treat the closet seriously, and I will be thinking about this show forever, alongside JP's previous work: Gaya sa Pelikula (aka Like in the Movies).

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I asked my girlfriend for more physical affection in public?

🫂

^ to recognize my post when it publishes

(TLDR at bottom but with much less detail obv)

I love my girlfriend very much. We've been together for almost 9 months. I am 16FtM and she is 16MtF. us being trans is relevant here.

I am a very affectionate person in general, I love holding hands and leaning on people and hugging and whatever. My personal brand of thinking about the world includes that idgaf about what other people think. My girlfriend however does, and doesn't feel comfortable with physical affection in public. I know a lot of this stems from her issues with trust, feeling of unsafety because of her being trans and queer (both out in a fairly liberal area), and general emotional issues. However, I really do need some form of physical affection in public, to the point where it's actually becoming an issue: when I feel bad (upset, sad, whatever) she gives me more attention and affection because she feels like I need it. Both of us have depression and anxiety (varying levels of each but still similar in some regards) so we understand it. However sometimes if I space out for too long and she notices she'll ask me if I'm ok. that's great! that's fine! the problem is that I've started subconsciously acting like I'm not fine when I am, or generally skewing more towards the sad side whenever she asks me, and I think it's because if I'm feeling worse I can get more affection. I've also taken more to grabbing her ass in public (100% CONSENSUAL, SHE LIKES IT AND HAS SAID IT'S OK) but I realized today that I do that only because its one of the only prolonged physical contact things that she's ok with in public (which ??? idk I'm asexual so I don't really get it) but I'd rather have a non-sexual way to show affection.

She's really affectionate when it's just the two of us or we're with close friends and/or family but in public, she's completely closed off and it makes me feel shut off from her too. It hurts and makes me feel bad.

I want to ask if there's something I can do to show affection to her in public that she would be comfortable with. Something like a quick hand squeeze or grabbing her shoulder or smth that's small and not inherently romantic but that way I can feel more secure.

TL;DR: my gf isn't super comfortable with affection in public (no handholding, kissing, hand kissing, hugging, leaning) but I'm very openly affectionate and it's driving a bit of a wedge between us because I need physical affection to feel connected to her. I want to ask if we can figure out a small way to be physically close (like a hand squeeze) while in public so I can be happy and she can be comfortable. I might be the asshole because she's very uncomfortable with people seeing us affectionate in public. We're both 16 and trans, out in our fairly liberal school.

What are these acronyms?

[see-arcane]

Goncharov (1973): “Why an apple?”

I know Goncharov is drowning in so MANY themes. We have the Running Out of Time theme, the Cycle of Violence and Repression theme, the Can’t Fight Nature theme with all its animal motifs, we even have Ice Pick Joe’s criminally underappreciated arc about Humanity Doing Violence to Anything/Anyone Outside the Mold of the Cycle/What the Majority Says is Natural theme. Themes on themes on themes!

But the one that still keeps needling me in the heart is, of all things, the Fruit theme. Yes, really. 

Sure, right, the whole ‘Forbidden Fruit’ thing is extremely old hat to cinema now, especially within media dealing with gay romances (rather, gay romances that Almost Were and Ended Tragically). But the way it’s played with in Goncharov seems to hit just to the left of the cliché and lets something new grow.

Or, in the case of our various doomed characters, lets it get mowed down.

It starts with the fruit stand. Katya and Sofia, two wives shopping for two husbands. They come to the apples. Sofia, with her serpent bracelet twinkling, stoops to help Katya pick up the fallen fruit that escaped her basket. Is the meeting orchestrated? Accident? Neither woman would ever tell, considering where both stand--where they recognize each other from. The worlds of men and murder they stand so precariously within.

Still. It is so hard to make friends in their worlds. And they are in public. And just for a while, just here, in the sun, they can pretend they are just two women who know each other from somewhere. Just making friends. 

Apples segues to temptation, you know the drill--they even bring it up in conversation! 

...A conversation that the cut to the far end of afternoon reveals has stretched all the way out of the market and into a bistro. Just two women, just two friends, just talking (in public). They bring up Adam and Eve and the Forbidden Fruit and--

Sofia: I never got why it had to be an apple.

Katya: What do you mean? 

Sofia: I mean I don’t get it. Why an apple? 

Katya: I don’t know. Because it’s always been an apple, I guess. It’s easier to pull off in art. All the painters and sculptors and everyone else who makes those kind of calls, they all just got together and decided, ‘An apple looks pretty simple. Nice, smooth, round. Easy enough to draw in a tree.’ And boom, everyone sees nothing but apples in the Tree of Knowledge ever after. So it’s always apples.

Sofia: The dullest possible produce. The Forbidden Fruit is supposed to be something off limits, something special. All the knowledge of the world and of each other and of the realization that these two fools are running around the Garden with their asses bare in front of the Almighty. Apples don’t seem right for that. It’s dull. It’s a thing for pastry and postcards. 

Katya: ...What would you pick instead?

Sofia: Pomegranates. No question.

Katya: Why pomegranates? 

Sofia: It’s the fruit that the God of the Dead uses to trick the Goddess of Spring into staying with him in the Underworld. She tastes the seeds and she’s forced to stay down there for half a year, every year, forever. A fruit so powerful it can trap a goddess seems like the kind of fruit that could banish humanity from Paradise. 

(Cue that Very Telling pause. The unbroken eye contact. Then...)

Sofia: Tastes better than apples too. And it looks like a jewel when you split it open. 

(Of course, when it’s time to order dessert, they split a pomegranate panna cotta. The scene closes with Katya licking her lips.)

Katya: I do like apples. But this? This is amazing. I’d go to Hell for this.*

(*There’s a whole other essay in describing Katya’s bisexuality, her partaking of apples and pomegranates in equal measure, the genuine hurt she feels in knowing that Goncharov cares for her, but not beyond the presentation they put on for his peers. Arm candy with benefits (and constant threat to her life). And it wouldn’t be so bad, she knows, if they were at least still friends like they were at the start--but all of that has gone to Andrey. The friendship, the love, the care; at least as much as Goncharov is capable of beyond his own issues. But I digress.)

We see this whole undercurrent play out through the film, in parallel to the hammered-in fear and resignation that comes with the characters being crushed by the mantra of You Can’t Go On Forever, Can’t Fight the Cycle, Can’t Fight Nature, Can’t Step Outside the Norm/the Nuclear Family (of the Mafia/the Mob Or Else).

Because it doesn’t have to be an apple.

They never had to worry about the time burning away their lives one miserable day at a time, unhappy and cramped with violence and expectations that are a wholly self-perpetuating horror show that humanity inflicts on itself. The characters compare themselves to animals more than once in the film, all unable to fight the inevitable. But as Andrey and Katya point out to their respective paramours, it does not have to be that way. It never did--it doesn’t need to be now. Please. Please.

They can have the Forbidden Fruit and it can be whatever they want! Let it be a pomegranate! Let them glut themselves on it! And, hell, why do they have to buy into everyone else’s rules about what is and isn’t forbidden anyway? They’re none of them living within the law in the first place. Blood’s on everyone’s hands. Can’t they sin a little sweeter? Can’t they admit the sin they want most isn’t a sin at all, no matter what lies to the contrary they’ve swallowed in the caustic hell they’ve found themselves in?

“We can grow our own garden somewhere,” Katya pleads with Sofia, smiling through tears trying so hard not to fall--the first tears she’s allowed herself in years. 

“We can grow our own tobacco,” Andrey tries to joke with Goncharov, not joking at all. He still has that cheap scuffed lighter Goncharov gifted him years ago when they were both nobodies, and he grips it in his visible hand like a talisman.

Of course, we know the endings there. 

Katya lives to leave, without husband or lover or friend, and mourn the fact that her beloved Temptation cannot be tempted in turn. Not with where Sofia stands. Rooted by cold blood as much as fear. This is what she knows. This is her world, her Tree, her Devil she knows, her Underworld to rule as much as any queen can rule there, unhappy but resigned. Go, Eve. Grow your garden alone. 

Andrey pulls the trigger, and feels more pain in that instant than even Goncharov does with the hole in his heart. He walks away, mourning the man who is as much a victim of himself as the bullet; a stubborn Adam who spat out his fruit and insisted upon fighting the Serpent, who dies reliving a memory of two cigars, sharing a flame against a cold night--the light fading, fading, fading...

It never had to be this way. Not for any of them. Not really. But even with the Forbidden Fruits of their choice hanging in reach, free to take and run, it was not eating them that resulted in their respective tragedies. 

The Forbidden Fruit is there to be eaten. To be learned from. To force you to grow and go. To step outside the boundaries made to keep you in. 

But you just can’t make everyone eat.

[licensed2faint]

Hey everybody! I'm a pro battler, currently in my 'on' season after taking an extended break, although tight at the moment I'm at home.

I tend to go by a lot of different names for personal reasons, but you can call me Laser! If we include my break, I've been battling for TWENTY YEARS THIS YEAR (wow!) but honestly I've been around trainers and battle-trained 'mon my entire life.

I'd love to connect with people here, whether for battling tips, advice for pokemon in the home, or anything else!

I have/had a LOT of pokemon (I ended up opening a preserve/ranch with my S/O with our prize money for the pokemon that didn't want to be released into the wild or become a housepet at the end of our journeys, so please rest at ease that everybody is being taken care of!) so I can answer questions about most any types.

I'm Hoenn native, and my Blaziken is my best friend. I've taken the gym challenge in: Hoenn, Sinnoh, Johto, Kanto, and Unova, so that's where my knowledge lies. I'm not very familiar with fairy types, sorry!

At home, feel free to ask about any of my 'mon! I've got a bunch, so don't feel shy about asking!

And now I have Sponge Cake the Feebas as a non battling mon (atm!) I'll see if he wants to evolve and maybe enter him in battles or contests, but it's definitely too early to force him into anything.

Newest Ranch Arrivals:

Popstar the Sneasler

Bokeh the Metagross

Amanda the Aerodactyl

Michael the Flareon

Custard the Lillipup (just hatched!!!)

((ooc stuff under the cut!))

(If any of my backstory doesn't fit your blog's canon, I am A-OK with saying that we somehow connected internets through a spatial rift!)

I am totally and fully okay with 'is the picture cute?' style blogs interacting! In fact, I encourage it!

I have memory issues, so I apologize if I don't recognize your blog or remember where you are in your storyline

The games that are canon to Laser's life are Ruby, Platinum, SoulSilver, and Black! I'm definitely counting other games as having 'happened' but Laser did not live through them, and only sort of knows what went down.

Laser has defeated the Elite 4 in those games, but takes pains to disguise itself in each new region it takes the challenge in, to avoid too much publicity. However, after beating the league, it doesn't care to maintain the disguise, leading to being kind of a famous cryptid type character.

Because of this, it will be cagey about its life, but may let things slip accidentally!

As a side note, I want to play the emotional ramifications of the events of those games somewhat seriously! Laser was in therapy for a good long while, both because of said events and also a tragedy that occurred at some point which it was struggling to cope with.

I don't wanna expound too much on its backstory yet, but I will keep record of anything discovered here for ease of access to newcomers! Feel free to poke a bit at it, but please keep in mind it will react like a real person!

pelipper mail is off while Laser is traveling, but on while at home, magic anons are always off, but musharna mail? I think is crazy funny so that is ON. Mystery gift is tentatively on, will make a concrete decision once I catch the vibe better. Union Circle is sooooo on!

BACKSTORY UNLOCKED:

-Has serious beef with Giovanni and Ghetsis, but seems to give the other teams wiggle room...

-Knows Maxie well enough that he calls it out on its bullshit and bad habits

-big thing happened sometime between leaving kanto and going to unova

-makes occasional trips to the Distortion World, but is hesitant to speak on that

-started its journey early, back when ten years old was the standard

-Someone named Thomas lives in a cave on preserve grounds

CURRENT PLOT: Old Wounds!

(i follow from @tigirl-and-co)