#but also a sort of all-encompassing nature to it like almost overwhelming

[anxiously-awaiting]

thinks about the double entendre in tristan's bio ("one day, Tristan fell in love with a woman named Iseult. No, he was made to fall in love.") and then starts chewing my hands off

[natalyarose]

𝑅𝑒𝒻𝓁𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝓉… (𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑜, 𝒮𝓊𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝐵𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒾!)

~ This is a bit of a personal one lol, maybe I'm getting a little too comfy on tumblr- but hey, I like it here and I'm very grateful for everyone who's taken an interest in whatever I have to say :)

~ tagging this on Nakshatra tumblr because I feel like this reflection perfectly encapsulates Venus Nakshatras and is very aligned with the Sun moving into Bharani, the birth of Venus among the Nakshatras

// warning, cringe and angsty lmao

I have such an odd relationship with my artistic process. Unconventional? Stubborn. Sometimes just straight up bad lol.

I want to create beautiful, meaningful things, yet I have this sort of extreme resistance to being perfect or professionalism (however, somehow perfectionism and such a ruthless self-antagonism for not being 'enough' at the same time..).

It's almost like I purposely sabotage my art by intentionally leaving in mistakes, or leaving it somewhat dishevelled in protest of perfection. In hopes that the beauty and artistry still manages to shine through to the right people.

I guess it's also this thing where I feel like the imperfection makes art more unique, more exclusive- more personal & dearly held to the people who do find the beauty in it that I initially wanted to communicate. But, there is a difference between artsy, grungy, rawness and... just being crap, lazy, unrefined, undisciplined. (I'd never refer to someone else's work in this way but myself... mann).

Knowing full well that my artistic creation likely 'needs work', is not a finished product and will very likely be criticised for its' imperfection, I still have the overwhelming urge to go ahead and share it with the world/post it. In all of its' messy (again, maybe just straight up bad lol) glory. Then I wonder why I'm not gaining the traction I want haha. When I inevitably receive criticism, I get so hurt by it, I beat myself up and it eats at me to the point that I can't sleep at night, I'm up reciting the criticisms in my head and weaving them into my very own nightmare!

I don't understand why I do this to myself lmao. Later on after posting & putting myself out there, I hear that imperfection in the song, I hear those vocal parts I stubbornly left in and didn't want to redo, I see the dodgy brush strokes I refused to fix up in the name of authenticity, and I cringe. In fact, I feel such a deep shame for it all that I take everything down out of embarrassment. Even though it was fully my decision to put up something amateur sounding and imperfect.

Maybe it's something like the weight of desire for perfection is too much, so I just go 'to hell with it!'.

It's like an endless cycle for me, and I realise that over the years, if I'd just left things up online and was more patient with myself, I'd probably have cultivated a following of some sort by now, or maybe used peoples' criticisms to improve the art to a greater extent. I mean, there are people who have mentioned to me when they notice the art is imperfect and needs work, but there are just as many lovely people who have gone totally out of their way to express deep appreciation for the music/art I've put out and enjoyed it.

Here's my 'theory' as to why I do this to myself: when I create art, I don't just want to make pretty things, though I want that too. I want to be loved, and FELT. I want to bring people to this raw, vulnerable place in my heart where my ideas emerge from. I want to be loved not in spite of the imperfections, but alongside them, all encompassing.

I don't want to have to be perfect, have $1000 worth of equipment, hours and hours of recording time trying to 'get it right' in order to be understood and deemed beautiful. I don't want to show off how perfect or skilled I am either, I want to make people feel something. I want it natural.

r a w.

I kinda enjoy for art to be unfinished and slightly unpalatable on purpose.

Maybe it's a bit of entitlement on my part, expecting that even if I do a mediocre job, people will still enjoy it and see my 'talents'/message.

Truth be told though, that's how I love other people, how I enjoy others' art as well, it's not just something with me.

When I listen to artists I love, I adore seeing something beautiful, yet somehow messy and jarring. A sort of underground-esque, 'wild feminine' creation. It evokes that much more feeling and passion that something designed to be perfect just lacks to me.

I can't get into a lot of bands that are considered 'objectively good' by many people because they just sound too perfect to me- There's a lot of times I come across artists that sound technically good, very clean but my heart just can't get into it. I find myself listening and thinking 'I wish this was recorded on a toaster', or 'I wish there was a more rough sound to the vocals' lol, I crave the rawness & intimacy that imperfection and roughness lends.

Ugh, it all creates such an internal conflict- like I want my art to be seen, to be loved yet I somewhat reject things it takes for the art to be considered objectively good & well rounded.

The harsh reality might just be that just because I see the beauty in imperfection, just because I know I've got this personal, very niche vision of what 'good' sounds like/looks like in my mind, that doesn't mean other people are going to find value in the same things.

Of course, maybe all of this is just pretentious excuses & my own self-hatred manifested (I don't actively hate myself, I try to be much kinder to myself these days but yknow)

Anyway, I realised that it's the start of Bharani season in galactic centre mid-mula Ayanamsa today & I think this write up really aligns with that.

Thankyou for reading lol.. again, a bit of an angsty personal thing but maybe it could be relevant to someone, if y'all wanna know what Venusian artistic angst looks like in real time lmao 🖤🥀

[elysiaishere]

Genshin Nonsense — Fontaine Edition (Spoilers)

I'm overwhelmed and I'm stressed. So, here I am again with more Genshin Nonsense—Fontaine edition!

Since 4.0 dropped, I've been swept up in all the themes and biblical references that are prevalent throughout Fontaine. So, on this episode of Genshin Nonsense, the theme is...

Okay, maybe not quite. But, we are going to deep-dive into one particular theme: duality.

In fiction, duality is often described as a tool or a theme used to contrast two opposing perspectives, characters, etc., to showcase the complexities of a particular idea and/or issue. A common example of this is "the duality of human nature," which often explores our capacity to commit great good or to commit great evil.

In Genshin's case, dualism seems to be everywhere in Fontaine. So much so that Hoyo's writers obviously want players to take notice of a particular idea. However, what would that idea be? Let's consider the evidence:

The Arkhe

The Arkhe is an energy system exclusive to Fontaine, used to power the elaborate machines and various automatons found throughout the region. It is composed of two parts: Ousia and Pneuma. Most notably, Ousia and Pneuma are opposing forces. This reflects in their appearance too: Ousia is a dark blue, almost purple, while Pneuma shines bright like gold.

Beyond that, our information about Arkhe is extremely limited. We still don't know what creates this energy or where it initially originated from. In fact, the only other additional information we have (that seems relevant here) is that when Ousia and Pneuma come into contact with each other, they create an energy reaction called "Mutual Annihilation."

The Primordial Sea

In short, the Primordial Sea seems to have two primary abilities: to create life and to take life.

Neuvillette confirmed as such in 4.1, stating that the Primordial Sea is where all life on Teyvet evolved. However, during the court cases we explored in 4.0, we're well aware that the Primordial Sea can also dissolve the people of Fontaine—and this process, unfortunately, is permanent.

The Hydro Archon and the Hydro Dragon

Furina and Neuvillette are often presented as polar opposites.

Furina is theatrical, lively, and expressive, while Neuvillette is reserved, thoughtful, and cautious. If anything, they're each other's literary foils. Her surface confidence, public speaking, and social intelligence showcase an individual able to connect with the people around her. Comparatively, Neuvillette struggles with this. On the other hand, his confidence is innate, and he demonstrates a stability that is at complete odds with Furina's chaos.

Nonetheless, I believe the parallels between them run much deeper, still. Not only as Furina and Neuvillette, but as the Hydro Archon and the Hydro Dragon.

In our conversation with Neuvillette at the end of 4.1, we learn that the Gnoses were, in some part, created from the stolen power of the original Dragon Sovereigns. To me, this means that, by nature, Furina and Neuvillette should be mortal enemies. She encompasses all that he's lost, after all, and in turn, he represents a bygone age that poses a severe threat to her already tumultuous rule. However, our in-game experiences with them suggest that their personal relationship is nothing of the sort.

If anything, Furina and Neuvillette showcase how two contradictory forces can instead be complementary.

Furina

Furina is a living, breathing dichotomy. Even her visuals showcase this: her mismatched gloves, her inverted eye colours, her hair length, etc. Symmetry, it seems, is the real enemy of Fontaine.

Nonetheless, I think the most interesting contrast about Furina is her personality.

As I implied earlier, Furina is a study in contradiction. Her outward bravado masks an anxious mind, and intense, overwhelming worries. But, that isn't to say that Furina is all bravado. No. I believe her enthusiasm and charisma is just as much a part of her as her apparent insecurities are.

She's a person, with dreams, ambitions, worries and fears. If anything, she is the most human Archon we've met thus far.

Conclusion

Duality. Parallels. Contrasting perspectives.

Whatever it's called, Fontaine evidently demonstrates these ideas in abundance—including a few additional points I didn't touch upon here. Nonetheless, I think one possible message Hoyo's writers are foreshadowing is this: there are always two sides to every story.

Not only does this particular message fit with the duality theme, but it also nestles quite nicely with Fontaine's philosophies around law and justice. After all, we are unable to pass judgement until we have all the facts, and presently, our picture of the ongoing happenings in Fontaine are far from complete. And I suspect, even when we do have the whole story, it'll be complex, and full of dichotomies.

Meaning, there will be no "right" answer. Just the consequences of the decisions Furina, Neuvillette and wider Fontaine make.

[dragonseattofu]

NekuShiki question time! #2 :)

Who said "I love you" first? When?

Do they ever go dancing? How does it go?

Who is more affectionate with the other?

First I love you

The person who I envision to say the first “I love you” in the post-NEO world would be Neku. Pre-NEO I would hands down have thought it would be Shiki, because out of the two I feel like Neku’s more of an awkward sort and wouldn’t know how to put romantic feelings into words. But after NEO I feel like Neku became a little better at conveying his feelings and here’s why:

He watched her exit the elevator. She was talking to someone holding a camera bag, possibly the photographer she had just hired a couple of days ago. He remembered their evening meal yesterday, one he had to pry her away from her work to partake in, relating to her upcoming photoshoot. He learned their usual photographer had double booked and she had to scramble to find a replacement. The replacement looked young, around their age, and seemed to be bowing a goodbye to her before walking towards the exit behind him.

Neku continued to watch her, as she pulled out her phone from her Mr. Mew purse. Shiki tapped furiously at the screen, with speed rivaling Nagi, and seconds later he felt a buzz in his pocket.

After tucking her phone back away, Shiki moved toward the turnstiles situated near the door and finally saw him. It took her a second to overcome the surprise, he didn’t tell her that he was coming to pick her up, but she immediately brightened as she walked toward him at a steadfast pace.

How many days, months, years had he waited and hoped for to see a sight like this? To feel like this? Like his chest tightening in anticipation of her being in his arms, his cheeks warming at her smiling at him for simply … existing? How long had he spent thinking about the life he could have had with his friends, with her?

When Neku was dropped into the Shinjuku UG, he went into shock. Why? Why was he back when he was banned from ever playing the game again? He had just gotten his life back. He finally didn’t feel so alone in the vast seas of Shibuya.

But then he got shot … again.

His cynical side thought, maybe this was his retribution. He didn’t deserve friends, not after what he did to him…

But then he remembered them, and what they had all said to him.

“Let me in! Tell me what you're thinking!”

“Give up on yourself, and you give up on the world.”

“You're not my partner anymore man, you're... my friend. So trus' that yo!”

Come on, work with us. A problem shared is a problem halved!

And then he could have sworn he heard her…

“You finally came back to us … I knew you would.”

“I’m so happy you're back, Neku.”

He didn’t remember her saying that to him, but it wasn’t the first time he felt like he saw things that haven’t happened yet, things that could happen if he played his cards right. Visions of a future that gave him some … hope.

Every battle he fought, every new area he stumbled into, every floating thought he passed, all led to this hope that he would get back to his friends.

When he wasn’t fighting to survive, or when Coco was standing watch so he could rest, he thought about them. Was Beat skipping classes still? Was Rhyme learning how to do those ollies Beat was trying to teach her. Was Shiki … was Shiki hanging out with Eri right now? Was she fixing a stitch on Mr. Mew? Did she miss him, the same way he missed her?

His time in the RG after playing three weeks in the reapers game was short, but nothing less than wonderful. Shiki and Neku went on a couple outings together, just the two of them when the Bito siblings had family errands. It started out a little awkward, especially when familiar restaurant and store keepers thought they were an item already. A specific ramen owner was the worst of them all even though his teasing came from a place of fondness for the pair.

Without him realizing, being with Shiki was almost as natural as breathing, and every moment he spent with her was fun, interesting, precious to him.

Neku didn’t get the time he needed to work out how important Shiki was to him before being plunged into the Shinjuku UG, but three years of company to only the disembodied thoughts of lost souls and an occasional “fairy” reaper gave him the opportunity to delve into it. The conclusion he reached gave him the motivation to keep fighting, to keep surviving. For once, he had someone worth living for.

“Earth to Neku?” Shiki waved her hands in front of his face.

He blinked, bringing himself back to the present. Shiki stood on her toes, trying to look at his face underneath his overgrown bangs. He felt her touch his cheek, concern marring her adorable face.

He hates that he brought so much strain to her life. Maybe she could have been happier with someone else, someone who wouldn’t break their promise to go shopping the next day and abruptly disappear.

But then she smiled at him, having noticed that he simply zoned out. And all of a sudden his negativity stopped spiralling and he felt grounded again. He may not feel like he deserved her, but she chose him nonetheless.

She chose to never give up on him, that he would survive the ordeal he was thrust into. She chose to be the best version of herself that she could be while she waited for him.

And then even after all that time had passed, she still chose to be with him.

Neku didn’t know if there was a word that encompassed the overwhelming emotion he felt whenever he thought of Shiki. One certainly felt close enough though.

“Hey Shiki?” He asked, putting his larger hand over her smaller one that lingered on his cheek.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he said that to anyone, if he did at all. Even though Neku had told Shiki almost immediately after his arrival in the RG that he wanted to be more than friends, he hadn’t used that word before. Love was still such a foreign concept that he wasn’t sure he understood it completely, but if there was anyone in the whole world he could associate love with, it would be Shiki.

Shiki’s hand on his face stiffened at the sudden confession. For a hot second, maybe it wasn’t the time or place she expected him to say it. He felt a slight panic from the doubt of her not reciprocating his feelings.

But those thoughts were quickly thrown out when she leaned in and kissed him.

It was a kiss longer than they had ever shared before. She was physically telling him something, but he was a little preoccupied to fully process anything. Shiki pulled away, far quicker than Neku would have liked, carrying the sweetest grin he ever saw on her.

“I love you too, Neku.”

Dancing

Shiki would have this fancy company dinner that she’d have to go to for networking. As friendly as Shiki is, she’s still introverted and the whole event just sounds utterly exhausting. Neku would be her plus one, because even if that’s the last place he would rather be, he’s her partner, and that’s that. She gets well enough along with everyone, but she has to make the rounds and greet everybody, leaving Neku alone at times. Thankfully Eri’s also there, and the girls take turns between networking and keeping Neku company. He surprises both of them when the head designer for Jupes notices Neku’s deep purple button down shirt from Jupes under a Gatto Nero’s half grey plaid - half black solid blazer (it’s visually better in my head than what I just described), and wants to talk to the designer of the jacket. Neku goes full endorsing mode for his girlfriend, and smiles smug when the girls realize they didn’t need to worry about him, much less securing a major deal with a major brand for a collaboration. He’s pretty happy with himself when he hears a version of Someday play on the surround sound. The dance floor opens up, and a couple of people start a waltz.

Neku thinks to himself, it’s an odd thing to have a dance in the middle of a company dinner, but dinners in the fashion industry are often hosted by the most eccentric of people, and he supposes it’s not so peculiar after all.

The melody plays soft and slow, and if he’s honest with himself, it’s a pretty good rendition of one of his favorite songs. He sees Shiki from the corner of his eye, silently asking her to dance as he extends his hand out. She’s surprised at the gesture. Neku’s many things, but dancer’s not one of them. The exaggerated kicks he’s so fond of are sort of hard to move elegantly in. A simple slow dance, he thinks, is enough for him to handle. Her thin finger slipped effortlessly into his hand.

More affectionate

Post-NEO, I feel that both are pretty affectionate toward one another, but in different ways. Shiki’s more physically affectionate, she’s more of a hugger and is always holding his hand, or his clothes, just so she can feel that he’s there. He doesn’t initiate physical touch as often as she does, but he never let’s go, or moves away from it. This happens more naturally as they start dating, snuggles and such.

Neku’s more affectionate verbally. He’s gotten comfortable saying what’s on his mind more often. He’s not shy about complimenting her, she doesn’t need his reassurances but his opinion is important to her nonetheless. He’s a natural flirt; says things that would be considered suave without intention. He would say pick up lines without realizing that they were pick up lines.

Okay, so I’m like not really sure how best to put my thoughts together but here goes:

The Shibuya and Twister kiddos would all be at some fashion function, and the Fret and Beat would comment on how attractive some of the models are. Neku would just be like, “yeah, they are attractive, but they aren’t as beautiful as Shiki.” Him referring to how much he loves her appearance as well as her personality, whereas he knows nothing about these girls so all he is going on is their looks.

And of course Shiki, who has pins in her mouth and is trying to get her models ready, hears this. Her jaw loosens and the pins fall on the floor. She’s essentially flushed and flabbergasted, by what he said and how nonchalant he said it. He looks at her like he said nothing wrong. Then he just smiles at her, and she just stutters out curse words. She doesn’t have time for this.

Notes: I’m so sorry for the late reply. I’m such a slow thinker and writer! But thanks again for the ask! The first prompt sort of snowballed. Hope you like it! @doesitringabell, I added a collection on Ao3 dedicated to you for any/all other prompts that end up longer than I had anticipated. Check out the source content.

Also sorry for any typos and such, let me know if you spot any. If anyone is still interested in my rambling mess of Neshiki fanfics/ficlets, don’t hesitate to send me more asks! It might take a while, but just know that my moments of silence are just me tinkering with ideas (writing something, hating it, revising it, writing again, rinse, repeat, then screw this, just take it.)

[delimeful]

the end of being alone (3)

Ch 1 | Ch 2 |

warning: mentions of fear, crocodiles, discussion of teeth

-

Logan found himself grateful that he’d made arrangements to postpone their other jobs for a bit, because it looked as though they’d be staying firmly on this planet’s surface for a while.

There had been all of one attempt to bring Virgil aboard the Mindscape, and it had resulted in a significant amount of crying from both the child and Patton. Whatever circumstances had led the Human to this planet, it had left them deeply fearful of any sort of spacefaring vessel.

… This did not annul Logan’s suspicions about smuggling, though he was careful not to say as much in front of Virgil. The child was keen, and any time the fact that they were a Human was mentioned, they withdrew and began displaying body language that Logan believed indicated a desire to flee. Checking that exits were still there, putting space between themself and any of the Mindscape’s crew, anxious tics, and so forth.

Needless to say, they avoided the topic.

However, to Logan’s surprise, the child didn’t seem at all adverse to basic questions about themself. Understanding their responses was rare, of course, but the kid was picking up on Common with a shocking quickness, and Roman had turned out to be rather talented at interpreting their gestures when they didn’t have the right words.

The data that Logan had collected from these inquiries was both strange and intriguing. He’d carefully woven a mental list of it all.

1. Virgil seemed to identify by he/him, though whether that was an actual gender preference or simply a child wanting to be called the same pronouns as the three of them was up for debate. Either way, Logan seriously doubted that there was any way to convey the nebulous concept of gender through a language barrier, so he let the matter lie.

2. After eating too fast, Virgil would convulse slightly in a semi-rhythmic pattern for a short period. He didn’t seem alarmed or pained by this, only slightly irritated when it would interrupt him mid-sentence. The condition of ‘hiccups’ was thankfully temporary, since it made Roman quite jumpy. For their tiny, squeaking nature, Patton had called them ‘hicchirps’, which was ridiculous, but Virgil seemed to enjoy any and all wordplay that made it through his grasp of the language, so Logan stowed his complaints.

3. Virgil was terrified of the locals. Despite being plainly evident, this observation didn’t make sense at first, seeing as the nearby town consisted primarily of native Hiiynal and a few offplanet transfers, none of which could be described as particularly dangerous or violent. After a few days of gentle questioning and no reprimands for not answering, Virgil finally told them that the locals would ‘chase monsters far away’ and so he couldn’t risk getting near. Questioning was temporarily halted in favor of showing the Human the art of shadow symmetry, for purely scientific reasons, of course. 

(Supposition: Human children enjoyed movement games.)

4. While the synthetic meat from the ration kits was accepted by Virgil, he showed a surprising preference for sweeter food items, such as fruit and sugar crystals. Seeing as Humans were rumored to be obligate carnivores or even raw flesh-eaters, this was a strange discrepancy. Virgil had even eaten some of the leafy vegetables Logan had brought, face pinched up in disgust but insisting that eating ‘greens’ would make one tall. It was unclear to Logan what color had to do with nutrients or growth. He was also slightly alarmed at the implication of Virgil being short for his age.

5. Virgil seemed, for all intents and purposes, fixated on Roman.

The latest data point was a work in progress. Logan hadn’t mentioned it to Roman himself, because the Cravon was already fairly worked up over everything the Human did as it was. Nobody seemed sure if this jumpiness was because of the Human child, or on behalf of it.

Still, it was present in little ways. For example, even as he answered Logan’s latest series of questions, his gaze would occasionally flicker up from his hands to Roman, who sat at the mouth of the little cave, carefully peeling more fruit. It wasn’t about the food; Patton had taken it upon himself to make sure the child knew he only had to ask to get something to eat. No, this  ‘almost-staring’ was a frequent occurrence, no matter what Roman preoccupied himself with.

“You were saying you met… Susan… when another predator was attacking it?”

Virgil nodded, hurriedly looking back to his hands. “It was a big bite monster, and Susan was loud crying, so I did, uh,” he lifted his arms up, hands spread wide, “this, and I was loud at it until it ran away. Like raccoons back on Dirt.”

Dirt was apparently Virgil’s name for his home. Logan hadn’t heard of ‘raccoons’ before. He decided not to get sidetracked. “I’d estimate the creature you saw was a Lifel. They are the natural predators of Humlilts.”

“Natural?” Virgil mimicked.

“It means ‘of nature’,” Logan attempted to clarify, gesturing around them. “In the wild.”

Virgil only grew more confused with the wide, encompassing gesture. “Sky? Was not flying.”

Logan glanced at Roman, checking that he was still preoccupied. Patton was back at the ship, contacting a friend for advice. There seemed no better opportunity if he wanted to avoid overwhelming Virgil.

“Virgil, would you like to try something new?” he asked, carefully neutral. It wouldn’t do to put any pressure on the child.

The Human squinted at him slightly, quick to use his most common phrase. “Will it hurt?”

“It will not hurt,” Logan replied, ignoring the tightening in his core with careful practice. It always felt so wrong, that a mere pupa would be so familiar with hurt. “I will always tell you if something might hurt.”

“Mmm.” The Human hummed, the way he always did when they told him such things. Like he wasn’t sure if he could believe it. “What’s it?”

“What is it,” Logan corrected automatically. “It is something I can do, to show you new words. Want to try a little bit, first?” That was the phrase they used for new foods, but it applied well enough to mindsharing.

Virgil clenched and unclenched his hands for a moment longer before nodding, going a little tense like he expected something unpleasant. Logan held a hand out to him, waiting until he’d reached out in return to start sharing.

Small, simple flashes of images and sensations. Quiet forests, shallow oceans, clean air. Plants, bugs, animals, humanoids, living and dying and living again. Nature.

Virgil had pinched his eyes closed immediately at the start of the low-level telepathy, and Logan only had a moment to worry that maybe it had hurt him in some manner.

Then, there was a feeling of recognition. Without a moment to spare, Virgil had grasped the nature of the Vidi and was projecting his own thoughts. Walking on a crunchy leaf-covered trail with other Human young, a winged insect emerging from a cocoon, the crack of thunder and heavy rain on a windowsill. Nature.

“Wow!” Virgil whispered, imprint thoughts flickering like flames, too quick for Logan to really see. “You see into heads!”

Logan pulled back slightly, offering a bit of content-smug in return to the Human’s awe. “That is one way of framing it, yes. So, you understand what I mean, about the Lifel being a natural predator?”

“Carnivore,” Virgil mumbled, and then offered image-thoughts of several creatures that Logan could only assume were from the deathworlder’s home planet. He watched with morbid curiosity as Virgil remembered a clip from a screen, displaying large ungulates with twisting horns crossing a river, and then being dragged underwater by a dark, writhing shape.

“That’s a crocodile,” Virgil told him, his eyes still closed tight in concentration. “They’ve got big teeth and they do death rolls. They look like alligators, but I know they aren’t because gators live in Florida.”

“Florida?” Logan asked. He wondered if perhaps ‘gators’ were kept in captivity for species preservation. Or perhaps they were too dangerous left in the wild?

Virgil showed him a memory of a long, reptilian form with a narrow, tooth-filled jaw. It was wading steadily through a swimming pool, not paying any mind to Virgil, who was sitting with his legs dipped in the pool, watching in fascination. “I lived there!”

“Oh,” Logan managed, his ears going numb with fear at the idea of a child being so near a creature like that. “So it would seem.”

The Human patted him carefully, a gesture of comfort. “It’s okay. The bad guys didn’t take any gators or crocodiles from Dirt. Just people.”

Virgil’s words trailed off, a sense of melancholy overwhelming him. Rather than find out more about the Human’s past, Logan felt an unreasonably strong urge to stop that sadness. “Could you perhaps tell me more about these… ‘crocodiles’? You seem to be quite informed on them.”

“I had a book about them,” Virgil managed, slowly dragging his thoughts away from his abduction. “Did you know some crocodiles have a… a ‘biting force’ of five thousand pounds?”

He had lapsed into English, the sentence sounding well-recited, but Logan still got the general idea of what he meant, and a strong image of a picture book, covered in writing he couldn’t read but still understood. If Logan was right about the measurement conversions, the fact was terrifying.

“That’s very interesting,” he mused, because terrifying and interesting often went hand in hand. “Are there any other predators that can bite like that?”

Virgil scrunched his face up in thought. “Maybe sharks. Oh, but for sure a T. Rex!”

Logan saw a very concerning glimpse of a large fish with too many teeth before Virgil’s mind switched to a cartoon depiction of a larger creature with also too many teeth. He was beginning to see a trend in deathworlder species. “I… see.”

“They’re all dead, though,” Virgil told him sadly, projecting a memory of a huge display of bones. He then seemed to perk up, glancing over at Roman again. “Except for in space!”

Logan narrowly avoided laughing out loud, covering his throat before the vibrating chirps could get far. So, this was the truth behind the Human’s interest!

“Roman is not a ‘dinosaur’,” he clarified, once he felt composed enough to do so. “In fact, I believe he rarely even eats meat.”

Virgil squinted at him. “Are you sure? Maybe he’s a secret dinosaur.”

Logan wiggled his fingers thoughtfully. “I suppose we’ll just have to check.”

---

“Roman, would you come here for a moment?”  

Roman looked up from his task, immediately suspicious. Logan sounded strangely amused, like he was on the brink of laughing at him. That was never a good sign.

Still, the Human was looking over at him with those wide, strange eyes, and he wasn’t about to run away. He got to his feet, leaving his pile of dana peels behind as he crossed the cave floor. “What is it, dear esteemed companion who would never take advantage of me?”

“I need you to show us your teeth,” Logan said, very much not being a dear esteemed companion who would never take advantage of him. Roman resisted the urge to hang his head in resignation. He should have expected this. The Ulgorii was shameless when it came to exploiting his friends for science.

“How about absolutely not?” he replied, because there were actually limits to his tolerance for shenanigans, and one of those limits was threat-displaying at a baby Human.

“Hold on, look,” Logan said, and then bared his own ridged teeth with a click.

The Human did his small grimace-smile back, entirely unphased. They both looked to him expectantly. Roman felt as though he was being ganged up on.

“Um,” Virgil said, painfully tentative, “please?”  

Roman felt extremely ganged up on.

He squatted, tail keeping him perfectly balanced, and pulled at the corner of his mouth to show some of his teeth.

“Woah,” Virgil breathed.

“See how the back teeth are narrow but dull? They’re designed to crack bones and get to the marrow at the center,” Logan narrated, like the nerd he was. “Roman doesn’t have the small incisors or sharp molars required for proper full-time carnivores.”

Roman almost reminded his crewmate to use small words, but Virgil seemed to get the idea, leaning uncomfortably close to stare. He then opened his own mouth, like he was planning to take a bite out of something, displaying a shocking number of tiny little bone-teeth crammed inside. Some of them were uncomfortably sharp.

Rather than attack anyone, though, Virgil touched his own teeth, carefully inspecting the shape of them. Roman resisted the urge to get him to sanitize his hands. Kits would be kits, he supposed.

Logan was patiently watching as Virgil pointed to each tooth in turn, and he obligingly recited the name of each type of tooth for the kit. His two lower arms took frantic notes on Human jaw structure, probably to prepare more elaborate meal plans better suited to a deathworlder diet. The kid soaked every bit of information in like a sponge.

Finally, after a long moment of thought, he announced, “My ‘lower canine’ is going to fall out in close time!”

“Soon,” Logan offered, always quick to interpret the Human’s occasional nonsense Common. “'My lower canine is going to fall out soon.'” And then, after a moment’s pause. “Wait, it’s going to what?”

And then, because Roman’s day needed more nightmare fuel, the kit bared his tiny fangs at them and poked one with his tongue, revealing that it did indeed seem to be sickeningly loose. In fact, Roman could see a few other gaps in the curved row of teeth, some with little bits of bone peeking out.

“Stars above,” Roman said, feeling a little faint. Logan was already interrogating a very confused Virgil on whether or not losing teeth was indicative of an illness or not.

“They’re just my little teeth,” Virgil told them, seemingly unconcerned with holes in his mouth. “I get big ones later.”

“There are plenty of species that have milk teeth, but to have their adult set not fully-formed by the time the milk teeth are ready to fall out…,” Logan quickly devolved into muttering, hands flicking.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Roman asked despite himself, eyeing the kit just in case he was going to burst into tears all of the sudden. Roman himself had lost one or two front teeth before his next set had fully formed, and each time it had felt like biting on hot metal.

“Nuh-uh.” Virgil seemed to have moved from confused to amused, still not entirely sure what the fuss was all about. “Not unless I,” he mimed pulling on the tooth, and Roman made a click-click-click of parental don’t-do-that chiding before he’d even fully registered the alarm he’d felt at the motion.

Virgil clicked back at him curiously, sounding exactly like a tiny version of an exasperated parent. Roman tucked his face against his shoulder, unsure if he should laugh or despair.

This Human was really going to be the death of him.

[bamfdaddio]

X-Men Abridged: 1969

The X-Men, those dino-obsessed mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!

(X-Men 52 - 63) - written by Arnold Drake, Roy Thomas, Linda Fite and Don Heck, drawn by Werner Roth, Barry Smith, Tom Palmer and Neal Adams.

step aside, Wall-E, these Sentinels have nothing on your range of emotions (X-Men 59)

When we last left our X-Men, they were smack-dab in the middle of a big, convoluted plot! Let me refresh your memory:

The X-Men had to beat a hasty retreat;

Polaris had joined her father Magneto

Magneto was injured;

Iceman had quit the team because he still had faith in Polaris;

Eric the Red appeared, making overtures towards Magneto.

And the whirlwind continues! The X-Men (sans Iceman and Cyclops) sneak back into Magneto’s base! Eric the Red reveals himself to be Cyclops! They set a trap for Mesmero! Which is sprung by the wayward Iceman! But he has pertinent information! Lorna is not Magneto’s daughter, she’s just an orphan! Bobby (hilariously) has the papers to prove it!

magneto has now fucked up the relationships he has with all of his children before any of them knew he was their father. mad props (X-Men 52)

Lorna breathes a sigh or relief, glad that she doesn’t have to be evil anymore. (Because obviously, evil is hereditary. And even though she keeps sensing everyone’s ‘evil vibrations’, she stayed with Magneto out of her own volition. SO.) Without Polaris’ power to back them up, Magneto and Mesmero flee.

After this, the X-Men come back to live at the mansion again. No muss, no fuss. Roy Thomas, who’s returning to the book, wastes very little time undoing some stupid decisions made last year. In fact, 1969 has a pretty strong showing, with plotlines flowing almost naturally into one another, a bigger cast and the introduction of one of my favourite villains. It’s pretty palatable.

The one snag is a superfluous issue where the X-Men fight Blastaar and Jean kills someone. (Never comes up again, don’t sweat it.) I wouldn’t even mention it, were it not for this moment where Jean uses some super duper mind machine:

does this remind you of... anything? no? just me then (X-Men 53)

So, anyway, remember Scott’s beloved brother Alex?

i love that jean is all smiles about scotts terrible and all-encompassing ability to repress everything (X-Men 54)

I can sort of understand why that whole third Summers brother was such a huge secret for so long, considering Alex was not even kept a mystery and it still took SIX YEARS for him to be revealed.

Alex is barely introduced before he gets the old plot-bat to the face, getting mixed up in a fight when some pharaoh claims all mutants are pharaohs, being children of the Sun? Apparently, all of them are powered by cosmic rays i.e. the sunlight. Alex is kidnapped, as is Cyclops, and just as Cyclops ponders how happy he is that Alex is not a mutant despite him having the X-Gene, he is attacked by the pharaoh and Alex saves his brother using newly minted energy powers! Oh, the irony.

when I say that I want Alex to wear his old costume, I obviously mean this sexy Egyptian skirt-ensemble (X-Men 55)

Alex and the pharaoh are apparently two sides of the same coin, being charged by the same cosmic rays: when one waxes, the other wanes. The pharaoh locks Alex away in a tomb, cutting him off from those sweet, sweet sunbeams and taking all the power for himself. Like a Power Ranger villain, he grows in size and becomes… the Living Monolith! The X-Men take him down while Alex accidentally blows up the Living Monolith’s temple.

Alex, afraid of his own power, flees into the desert and is apprehended by… the Sentinels?! Surprise, bitch! Lorna is also abducted by them out of her New York apartment. Their next victim is Iceman, and they deliver him to… Larry Trask! (Son of.)

My favorite thing about Sentinels is that, despite the fact that they are objectively huge, they are still able to sneak up on people. Apparently, these murderous periwinkle toaster ovens are so quiet, you only notice when they rip open a roof to get at you. (X-Men 59)

Larry Trask hates mutants because:

They killed his father;

He’s a racist.

Determined not to repeat the sins of his father, Larry has a helmet with which he can use to take direct control of the sentinels, so hopefully they won’t rise up and rebel this time. Somewhere, Asimov is rolling his eyes.

On live television, Larry Trask baits Iceman into attacking him, trying to smear him and mutantkind in general. In the mean time, the Sentinels strike everywhere, taking Unus, Angel, Banshee, the Living Monolith… Even Wanda and Pietro. It´s a literal who´s who of sixties mutandom! The only exempt ones are the Changeling and Magneto, the latter only because he’s been a robot for a while now. Mesmero is just as shocked by this unnecessary retcon as we are.

Just as Larry orders the Sentinels to kill every mutant in the compound (including Bobby, Lorna and Alex), a family heirloom is ripped off his neck. Apparently, this medallion was some kind of protection: the late Bolivar Trask knew little Larry was a mutant and tried to hide this fact from the Sentinels.

The Sentinels turn on Larry faster than you can say “Is being betrayed by AI a hereditary trait?” The X-Men intervene and, after unleashing the might of Havok, they end up in a debate with the Sentinels, turning their own logic against them:

Protecting humans is more important than killing mutants.

So, to protect humanity, they must destroy the cause of mutation.

The Sentinels promptly launch themselves into the sun. Neat.

On a side note, the relationship between Jean and Scott is shelved for now? It seems like they’re dating, but also not? It’s such weird storytelling, especially because their annoying will they or won’t they has gotten so much focus in the past and the relationship between Lorna and Bobby is crystal clear:

Scott. Jean. Is it really going to take Chris Claremont to DTR you two? Fuck’s sake (X-Men 60)

Because Havok’s powers still threaten to overwhelm him, the X-Men contact a former colleague of Professor X… Professor Lykos.

Let me tell you about the sheer, amazing sixties wonder that is Professor Lykos. Originally, Thomas envisioned him as a vampire, but the Comics Code forbade vampires. So, instead, Lykos ends up a human who was bitten by a magical pterodactyl at a young age and who can only survive by draining other people’s life force. He can also hypnotize people into doing his bidding.

Yes.

Lykos suspects mutants might be the cure to his strange, strange ailment, and begins to drain Alex. But to his (and our) sheer delight, he turns into a pterodactyl!

I just love this damn idiot so much (X-Men 60)

Be like Sauron! Choose evil!

The X-Men barely figure in this plot. Ordinarily, I’d be bothered by the fact that these three issues are more about the villain than the heroes, but given that it’s Sauron, I’ll let it slide.

See, Sauron’s tale is a tragic one. Not only is he a weird pterovampire, he is also in love with a sweet girl whose father forbids him from seeing Dr. Lykos, because he is… poor! Gasp! (Those billionaires, not even a doctor is good enough for their daughters.) Sauron, slightly corrupted by his dino-side, realize that it’s a lot easier to just kill Tanya’s father than to impress him by robbing banks for cash.

When he attacks the man and sees the reaction of his star-crossed lover, Lykos realizes Sauron is far too much in control. Sauron is too evil! Lykos/Sauron promptly flees to a cold, distant region, the same place where he got bitten all those years ago, figuring he’ll stay in isolation and starve himself of the human energy he needs. But, just as he is utterly ravenously out of his mind, Tanya finds him! In order to protect her, Sauron sacrifices himself by throwing himself off the mountain… straight into the Savage Land..

The X-Men (sans Angel) follow him into the Savage Land. (It’s unclear why? To retrieve his corpse? Annoyingly, in the next arc, Sauron is not brought up again.) There, they run into Ka-Zar, who’s embroiled in a fight with… prehistoric mutants?

Angel, meanwhile, follows the X-Men in their footsteps, only to end up on the other side of the fight, with a strange white-haired man named the Creator who claims to be the mentor of these Savage Land mutates. Angel pledges him his wings, gets a snazzy new suit and flies off to fight the X-Men. Only then does the man secretly reveal himself: he’s… Magneto! (The true one, not a robot.) And he wishes to rule the savage land!

Angel and the other X-Men briefly fight, but soon the situation is sorted out and the X-Men go and confront the Creator. Magneto, who is way too hammy to ever hide his true nature for too long, reveals himself and the fact that he created these… mutates, including the creepy Brainchild. (He’ll become important later.) The X-Men defeat Magneto and he seemingly dies again.

Without Magneto there, the mutates revert to just being regular cave(wo)men:

I love that Ka-Zar, WHO HAILS FROM THE SAVAGE LAND HIMSELF, has no scruples othering his own kin. (X-Men 63)

The comic accidentally ends on a sad note: the X-Men confessing that they’d give up on their powers in a heartbeat. Not to nitpick, but while I buy that coming from Beast and Cyclops, this issue is less clear-cut when it comes to Jean and Bobby, who have a much better handle on their powers and, more importantly, present as human. It could potentially be an interesting issue to explore, but instead, it is swept under the rug, presenting the team (once again) as a boring but unified front. It remains one of my critiques of this era: the X-Men barely get fleshed out as individuals, other than the broadest of strokes (Leader; Rich Boy; Joker; Smart Guy; Girl). Pity.

Didn’t you take Art History? One thing that has definitely improved is the overall art-style. Artists experiment with panels and splash pages, stepping out of the traditional 2 by 3-grid that Kirby loved so much. It makes the stories more dynamic and, because the writers get more issues to tell their stories, the artists get more space to do their art.

I mean, check this ish out:

Fuck yeah, mental powers represent. (X-Men 57)

Ugliest Costume: None! I really like Havok’s black bodysuit with white stripes and the Sentinels design looks so much less dorkier than before. A+.

Best new character: Sauron, duh. Does he team-up with Dr. Doom at some point? That would be some ham-to-ham combat.

Most audacious retcon: There’s a second Summers brother?

What to read: 57 to 59, which is the plotline dealing with the much improved Sentinels. 60 and 61 if you have a soft spot for vampiric pterodactyls.

[domina-noctisim-archive]

Sesshōmaru looked up, not at all fretting over the wide gash that crossed his left shoulder, the protective armor into pieces at his feet. The daiyōkai’s blood trickled copiously from the deep wound, staining almost entirely one side of his kimono. The pain was marginal, he surmised he was probably under the effect of some sort of numbing poison, though his body naturally resisted its most drastic effects.

The creatures in this place were similar to yōkai, yet different. Almost as if belonging to a cousin species. The dog demon prince had heard about them from his father when he was younger. Supernatural creatures from the Old World to the West -- a place a lot further than the Western Lands he hailed from --, similar to humans in appearance, yet gifted with far superior abilities. He knew they remained in the shadows, coming out only at night.

He also knew that they had a hierarchy with several social classes, much like his kind did. It was the first time, however, that he’d see them in these numbers so close to his homeland.

Drawn uneasy by their continuous invasions, Sesshōmaru had left the familiarity of the Western Lands and pushed further, crossing the seas and then moving more and more inland, wanting to get to the root of their increasing numbers.

His decision had been naive. He should have expected that these fiends would become more powerful the closer he got to their home. The wound that had been inflicted on him had been at hand of one of them, now reduced to sand at his feet, mixing with his blood.

He hadn’t expected another one to be so close. Moreover, he hadn’t heard her approach at all, which suggested she was of a stronger type than his previous opponent. This made him slightly on edge.

“My blood is not for you to feast on.” He warned her coldly, his sword still drawn at his side. “You should return to where you came from.” @roleplay-abiogenesis2​

╰⊱♥⊱╮╰⊱♥⊱╮    Though    the    ground    shimmered    as    precipitation    had    fallen,    the    liquid    that    shone    wasn’t    translucent    but    carmine    in    some    sections.    Some    vampires    were    creating    mayhem,    an    upheaval    among    the    community    she    was    trying    to    govern    as    serene    as    possible.    Innocent    people    were    being    liquidated,    households    ruined    because    some    refused    to    acknowledge    the    pure-blood    as    future    monarch.    Ai    wanted    a    realm,    a    sphere    where    everyone    could    live    in    harmony    despite    the    incompatibilities.    Some    encompassed    the    concept,    others    abhorred    such    a    decision,    condemning    the    princess’s    beliefs.    As    time    passed,    level    E    vampires    began    to    appear    more    often,    diabolical    creatures    with    no    cognizance  �� of    their    actions    &    that    needed    to    be    terminated.    A    shame    for    the    species    she    depicted.    It    was    those    beings    who    had    recently    started    to    create    predicaments,    &    the    foreigner    had    been    caught    in    the    commotion.

One,    two,    three,    gradually    some    creatures    were    being    successfully    eradicated.    The    scythe    swung    expertly    in    her    palm,    without    faltering,    with    no    mercifulness.    Ai    wanted    the    equanimity    back    to    her    demesne.    Amid    the    smell    of    ashes    &    plasma    shed    by    fatalities,    the    sovereign    recognized    a    curious    fragrance,    the    scent    of    exotic    hemoglobin.    ❛Someone    is    injured.❜    Thought,    completing    her    duty    in    that    area    &    pursuing    the    unconventional    essence.    Upon    nearing    the    creature,    Ai    discerned    he    had    slaughtered    one    of    the    malicious    vampires,    however,    he    had    been    impaired    during    the    dispute.    Although    the    aroma    of    his    serum    was    vehement,    alluring,    she    knew    how    to    control    her    caprices.    Burgundy    hues    prevailed    stagnant,    crystallized    on    Sesshōmaru.    Silver    hair,    golden    optics,    a    crescent    moon    on    his    forehead    and    stripes    upon    his    visage━━━━━    ❛Could    it    be?❜    She    had    heard    narratives    about    what    existed    beyond    the    horizon,    read    manuscripts    that    mentioned    a    magnificent    province    controlled    by    demons,    Inu-yōkais.    

❝I’m    not    here    to    attack    you    nor    to    feast    on    your    blood.❞    Asserted    loud    &    clear.    She    didn’t    want    any    misinterpretations    between    them.    ❝The    creature,    vampire    you    killed━━━━I’m    different.❞    She    lowered    her    silver    weaponry.    ❝You’re    a    Daiyōkai,    aren’t    you?    You    came    from    foreign    territories.❞    The    energy    exuding    from    him    was    overwhelming,    almost    lethal,    comparable    to    hers.    Pure-blooded    beings,    side    by    side.    ❝I    don’t    know    the    repercussions    that    a    vampire’s    bite    will    have    on    you.    Our    toxicant    can    be    somewhat    sulphurous    and    intrusive.❞    Informed    him,    trying    to    see    his    injury    without    crossing    his    personal    space.    ❝Demo,    I    believe    your    blood    will    be    able    to    extinguish    it.━━━━    The    vampire    who    harmed    you    was    just    a    scoundrel.❞    Hues    left    his    frame,    scanning    the    field    to    guarantee    they    were    safe.        

[tawakkull]

ISLAM 101: Spirituality in Islam: Part 69

(Archetypes and the World of Representations or Ideal Forms)

A’yan ath-Thabita and ‘Alam Al-Mithal (Archetypes and the World of Representations or Ideal Forms In Sufi terminology, archetypes are the established, existential origins of things in the realm of Divine Knowledge. They consist of the manifestations of the Divine Names in the realm of Knowledge, and they denote the existential essences that pertain to the origins of contingencies. Although the relationships of these spiritual forms or existential essences in the realm of Knowledge with the Divine Being seem to be within the frame of time, they are beyond time. The limitless content of Divine Knowledge is different from the existential essences that are individually or collectively identified within the frame of time. Even though whatever exists in Divine Knowledge has some sort of individually or collectively identified existence, it is equally possible whether it will be brought into external existence or not within the dimensions of time and space.

It is a fact that whether they are Sufi leaders or theologians, those who have expert knowledge of this subject have lacked the words with which to express the issues that pertain to the transcendental dimensions of existence; indeed, they take great care in order to avoid any confusion. As mentioned before under the of Effusion, they call the Divine manifestation on the archetypes, which is a Divine mystery whose essential nature we cannot know, the Most Sacred Effusion, while the manifestation considered to be the origin of the archetypes emerging as existent beings and things within the dimensions of time and space is termed the Sacred Effusion. By such designations, scholars not only remind us that the archetypes and the contingencies that have been brought into the time and space-bound realm of existence are different from one another, they also focus our attention on the difference between manifestation (tajalli) and emergence (zuhur), thus stressing the Qur’anic truth concerning the beginning and process of the creation of the universe. This truth can never be reconciled with the philosophical approaches of monism and pantheism.

I think that since some cannot avoid going into extremes, they cannot preserve balance in approaching the most sublime Divine truths and thus fall into many grievous faults. Those who concentrate on the all-encompassing Divine Will and the all-overwhelming Power ignore the universe and view all things as if they were God’s incarnates, while others who focus on things and beings themselves, together with the apparent causes for their existence, take on views of naturalism or materialism. However, the unity or uniformity of or the interconnectedness in existence comes from the unity of the Origin of manifestation, while the almost limitless variation among and multiplicity in things and beings issue from the different dispositions or operations of the archetypes in the Divine Knowledge by the Divine Will and Power.

Self- existence with all its parts is one thing; things and beings appearing in different mirrors of existence in all their varieties through the manifestations of the Divine Knowledge and Existence is another. If we can perceive this difference, we will be able to notice the aspects of existence which lead some to the doctrine of the transcendent Unity of Being, and some others to the Unity of the Witnessed, and understand the difference between the essence and the form, and between the One Who gives existence and makes subsist and those who are brought into existence and made to subsist. We can explain the differences in question in plainer terms as follows:

Things and beings are not existent by or on account of themselves, but they exist by God’s bringing them into existence or by being the shadows of the light of God’s Existence from behind numerous veils. Apparent or superficial existence is one thing, and real, substantial existence is another. Forms and appearances are reflections as gifts from Him; they are neither identical with Him nor independent of Him. He said to them, “Be!” and they were. When He cuts off His effusion, they will disappear. Assertions such as Divine incarnation, existential union with Him, being an embodiment of Him, and His being a pervasive Soul—these and other similar assertions are all false. What gives external existence to all things and beings are the manifestations of His Attributes and Names:

If you focus on the forms, you will see that both you and I exist— But in absolute, transcendent reality, neither you nor I exist.

Now, as it is the All-Living, All-Subsisting One Who gives existence and subsists, who can have the right to claim self- existence? Everything’s existence depends on His Existence and Knowledge; whatever exists is a mirror in which His Names manifest themselves as being ultimately responsible for anything that occurs in it. Humanity is the most comprehensive and polished of these mirrors, and the Master of creation, upon him be perfect blessings, is the most perfect and complete of these. What follows is an anonymous couplet expressing this:

Whatever exists in the universe is a mirror and subsists by Him; It is God Who is constantly reflected in the mirror of Muhammad.

Without considering the First Identification, the archetypes are contingencies which are regarded as non-existent in one respect. When they first emerge, they are hidden and not known; and when they are sent into existence, they continue their non- existence on account of themselves. They serve as veils for the manifestations of Divine Knowledge and Existence. As this service of veiling is, in the words of Bediüzzaman, required by the Divine Dignity and Grandeur so that those who reason superficially should not see the Hand of Power as directly related to certain seemingly insignificant or vile things and affairs, it must also be in order to guide humanity, which has been honored with vicegerency—the administration of the earth according to God’s law—to be careful about their considerations of the Divine Being and His manifestations.

As in the world, which is the realm of existence and decline, the manifestations of the Divine Majesty and Grace also follow one another in the realm of the archetypes. While the Divine Majesty manifests Itself to destroy, the Divine Grace invents. These manifestations continue after those of archetypes which have been decreed to be sent into the realm of perceptible existence have been clothed in existence. It can be said that every existent thing bursts forth out of the spring of archetypes and becomes an “ideal reflection or representation,” or “form.” Then, these forms are clothed in perceptible existence.

All of the attributes to be manifested by beings in the corporeal world, including conflicting ones such as light and darkness, good and evil, bliss and wretchedness, have already been determined while they are in the World of Representations or “Ideal Forms.” However, a conscious, responsible being’s nature as good and blissful or evil and wretched is determined according to his or her future choice in this corporeal world. No one other than the All-Knowing of the Unseen can judge them until their state becomes apparent in the corporeal world. However, God may inform some of His “purified, chosen servants” about their “future” states and natures while they are in the World or Realm of Representations or “Ideal Forms.” This is an exception and therefore beyond the sphere of our duties or responsibilities. The statements or declarations of the All-Knowing of the Unseen in the Qur’an in reference to these are sometimes about their states in the Realm of Representations, and sometimes about those in the corporeal world. So, those unaware of this fact may confuse one with the other. For example, the Qur’an’s declaration regarding Satan to mean, He was from among the unbelievers, without considering his rebellion, is concerned with the archetype of Satan, while its description, He grew arrogant and became one from among the unbelievers (2:34; 38:74), is about his state after he rejected God’s order when, therefore, the signs of his rebellion appeared.

Some saints can at times observe the states of the archetypes plainly or in the form of symbols as in dreams. This is a special, extraordinary favor from God to them. God sometimes informs them about certain future events and so reminds them of some points peculiar to them. It sometimes occurs that the Almighty sends these heroes of self-possession some signals regarding impending dangers, directing their hearts to prayer and supplication. At other times, they are reminded of the necessity of preserving the balance between the means and material causes and the Causer of causes, being called to focus on the Divine absolute Unity.

The information and observations mentioned concerning the archetypes are usually presented to God’s specially chosen, purified servants in the forms of “ideal” tablets. These tablets are manifested either identically with their future, corporeal existential forms, or in symbols according to their meaning and contents. Symbolic representations require interpretation, like unclear dreams. Their interpretation is possible through knowing or discovering the key words or terms in the Qur’an and the authentic Prophetic Traditions. Any interpretation made without this knowledge means “throwing random stones at the Unseen” and therefore amounts to disrespect for the All-Knowing of the Unseen.

The realm or the world where the immaterial forms or models belonging to the archetypes are reflected and represented is called “the World or the Realm of Representations or Ideal Forms,” and the forms or reflections in this World are termed “the ideal or reflected forms.” The perceptible, corporeal forms are the shadows of these ideal or reflected forms. Some of the ideal forms are purely spiritual, while others have some perceptible figures. The realm where the former reside is called “the World of Absolutely Ideal Forms,” while the realm where the latter reside is known as “the World of Specified Forms.”

Some see the World of Representations or Ideal Forms as the representations or reflections of corporeal forms and events in our world of sensations in their particular energetic covers. This can be exemplified by the appearances of spirits and angels in certain forms in our world. There are so many simple (not composite) natures which belong to the Realm of the Spirit and the Divine Commands or the pure, primordial natures as the first results of the Divine commands that they can appear in the corporeal world in certain forms by God’s will; they appear in the corporeal world to the extent allowed by the Divine Names primarily manifested on each. They can appear and exert some influence on the physical world as mere causes. There are many reliable Prophetic reports that knowledge appears in the form of or is represented by milk, and that Islam is symbolized by a splendid container; the Qur’an, as honey or an orange; and the feeling of enmity, as snakes or vermin.

Some Sufis see the Realm of Representations or Ideal Forms as broader and maintain that this realm is the intermediate between this world and the Hereafter, and between matter and spirit, and the realm of immaterial sacred spirits. According to these considerations, the World of Representations or Ideal Forms is an intermediate bridge over which meanings or purely spiritual identities pass in order to attain a new identity and nature; it is a mysterious corridor between the physical and metaphysical worlds, a veil between two different dimensions, a point of meeting for abstract truths and concrete realities, and the horizon that separates the perceptible and imperceptible from each other. There are some who see this world as a realm where meanings or abstract truths begin to be clothed in worldly existence. Abstract or immaterial identities become familiar with the silky robe of external or perceptible existence in this intermediate realm, and they set off toward further realms from this dock with the equipment that they have been given.

Dictionaries of religious terminology define the intermediate realm also as the special corridor that connects this world and the Hereafter, or the process that begins with death, continues with the life of the grave, and ends in the Resurrection; or as the point where the world of spirits and abstract meanings meets with the corporeal realm, or as the passage between the horizon of the heart and spirit and the carnal life.

Not only is every ramp or platform from which things and beings jump to another stage—where they will be given a different nature and identity during their journeying of existence from the “initial or first identification or determination” to corporeal life— called the Intermediate Realm, but the realm of life beginning with death is also known as the intermediate life. According to the first meaning, the intermediate life is a bridge between the spirit and the body or between the abstract and the concrete. According to the second meaning, it is like a waiting lodge that resembles both the Unseen and the corporeal realms at the point where the world and the Hereafter meet. Everyone will pass across that bridge and those whom God wills will call at that waiting lodge and afterwards go on toward the other world in different ways, according to their equipment or acquisitions.

Some Sufis mention another intermediate realm which they call Barzakh Jami’ (the Encompassing Intermediate Realm). This is a term used to denote the original or essence of all the intermediate realms, which is another name for tajalli wahidiya (God’s manifestation of all His Names throughout the universe or on an entity), or ta’ayyun awwal (the initial or first identification). The Encompassing Intermediate Realm is also called “the First Intermediate Realm,” “the Grandest Intermediate Realm,” or “the Greatest Intermediate Realm.” The essence of this Realm is the meaning or spirit of humanity and its seed and fruit is haqiqat Ahmadiya (the Ahmadi Truth or the Truth of Ahmad).[1] In the words of Bediüzzaman Said Nursi, the Prophet Muhammad’s light is the ink of the Pen of the Author of the universe. It is also the seed of the fruit of the tree of creation, the key to all the Gardens of Paradise, the insurmountable wall before Hell, the alchemy of the happiness of hearts, and the genuine, sole guide to human excellencies and perfections.

May perfect blessings and peace and the most honorable of benedictions be upon him and his Family and Companions. [1] For haqiqat Ahmadiya or Ahmadi Truth or the Truth of Ahmad, see note 53. 

[ardenttheories]

So, having played through Dave’s Pesterquest route this morning, I have a few interesting thoughts to mull over.

Dave is intrinsically aware of the narrative, to some degree. This isn’t the first time we’ve seen it, of course, but it’s the first time we’ve seen it when he’s this young. He’s not in the game, he’s not even a recognised Knight of Time, yet he’s somehow capable of reading, and responding to, the narrative.

Of course, Dave doesn’t realise it’s that. He thinks the Reader’s just incapable of keeping their internal monologue to themself. In his point of view, the Reader’s just constantly babbling, revealing everything they think and do, bared all out in front of him as if it were more than metaphysical text that he can’t see. 

Somehow, the text of the narrative translates to a voice that he can physically hear. 

The only other time we’ve seen this, as I suggested vaguely before, is in the Epilogues. In Meat, when Dirk is trying to overwhelm the narrative in order to make Dave kiss Karkat, he repeatedly mentions feeling as if the words he’s speaking aren’t his own (even though he shouldn’t be able to feel this), and eventually he verbally responds and tells Dirk (essentially) to fuck off. 

Even Dirk seems surprised by this. For all that Dirk is using the narrative to control people, the specific persona he uses (the 2nd) is meant to be much more internal than Dave processes it as. You aren’t supposed to realise that someone is talking to you when Dirk speaks in his text; you’re supposed to internally (and subconsciously) take in the narrative, convert it to your own voice, and act on it as if you’d always had the thought in the first place. 

When Dirk forces Jake to confess his love for him, Jake isn’t some prisoner in his own body intrinsically aware that he’s being controlled. He processes the narrative into his own thoughts and words and feelings, and can’t distinguish them from something he’d normally say or do. 

This is why Kanaya feels so violated later on in Meat, once Dirk’s influence is gone. Everything that she had thought had been her own choice was actually presented to her by Dirk, like biting into a jade-green candy only to find that the centre is coloured orange. There was nothing on the outside to distinguish the candy from the others that are jade-green all the way through. 

Dave seems to be the only character who doesn’t process the narrative this way. Whenever Dirk tries to influence the narrative, Dave makes an active choice as to whether or not he’ll listen. If not that, then he at least has the ability to hear it and fight back against its influence to make the action his own, rather than Dirk’s. 

We’ve also seen him do this before, in a much lesser sense, in Homestuck. Consider all the times Dave speaks something through the narrative, and then repeats it word for word in a pesterlog - such as his very first “it’s like Christmas up in here” line. He finds the juice, the narrative says the line, and then he repeats it to John via text. 

Whether or not he realised it there, he was perhaps minorly aware that the narrative was a thing. He does this the most out of any other character, and a lot of his most iconic lines actually start out spoken within the narrative - including his pirouette off the handle joke. 

When I said “word for word”, I really did mean “word for word”. The only difference is the pronoun shift from “you” to “I”. 

Which brings me to a very interesting point. 

Many characters throughout Homestuck note that Dave physically cannot stop talking. When he’s trying to work through his feelings for John in Pesterquest; when he’s getting coffee on the meteor and just talking to himself in Homestuck; various times within the Epilogues, to a minor extent, and the narrative tends to brush over or cut off a lot of his dialogue. 

He then associates this trait with the Reader’s narrative. The concept that the Reader has just been talking the entire time, every thought and feeling and action they’ve muddled through within Dave’s presence bared before him audibly. 

I think it’s a very fair potential to say that Dave physically cannot stop talking because he is almost always sharing his own inner narrative with the world. Even through text, when he rambles while Jade is asleep, or completely talks over someone else, he’s so openly flow of thought that there’s a lot he accidentally gives away without meaning to. 

Dave cannot stop his own narrative. He can’t ignore it. He’s so aware of it that he has to say it day in, day out, whether audibly or through text. 

Dave, somehow, is intrinsically connected to the narrative, but his awareness of it works in much the same way as his dreamself does. 

Though Dave’s awake on Derse, and likely has always been awake and is always awake even when he’s awake on Earth, he’s not aware of it. He doesn’t have any memories of Derse and doesn’t even seem to think it’s real until he physically wakes up there during the game - and even then it’s suggested by Rose that a lot of the reason he’s not aware of it is because he’s actively ignoring it. Some part of Dave knew he was awake on Derse the entire time, and suppressed it. 

Once more, we see this in the Epilogues. Going back to the DaveKat kiss - Dave has clearly been aware of Dirk’s influence the entire time, enough so that he knows to yell out at it as something that isn’t his own action. But he doesn’t try to stop Dirk at any point. He doesn’t actively fight back until he realises that his first kiss with someone he likes won’t be his own choice - and even then he still does it, but with his consent. His awareness of Dirk’s narrative is fair, but not total. 

This brings up the question, then; why is Dave, a Knight of Time, so aware of the narrative, and why does he actively try to ignore it? Is there something that stops him from being wholly aware, or does he just have some small part of himself that doesn’t want to acknowledge it? Is his ignorance of it his brain not being able to process it fully, or himself going “don’t look into it too hard, you don’t want to know”?

There is nothing specific about Time that suggests it should have anything to do with the narrative. It isn’t Light - which is about Relevance, Plot, and Truth, so is wholly encompassed by Narrative - and it isn’t Heart - which can dip into the Narrative crudely, by appropriating the internal nature of the 2nd persona. It’s one of the most grounded of all the Aspects, even; it’s firmly rooted in the physical rather than the metaphysical. There’s no reason why a Time player would ever need to have a connection with the narrative. 

Even in the instance of Heart, it’s very specific to Dirk’s Classpect and his (fractured) rise to the Ultimate Self. He isn’t influencing the narrative because it’s the narrative and he can magically control it; he’s influencing it because he’s controlling the characters and actively destroying their sense of Self in the process. It’s essentially representative of him using a sort of Charm Speak on a subconscious level. It’s related to his Aspect, and only in a very specific persona.

It’ll be interesting to see how this goes on as more updates occur. Dave’s odd narrative awareness seems to be a very prominent thing by this point, and if I’m honest, a big part of me wonders if it’s somewhat related to that Knight/Prince theory I had a while back - or if something we don’t know about Time is going to be revealed inch by inch.  

[artisticflutter]

FFIX Appreciation Week - Day One: Favorite Scene/Cutscene

Heeey ya’ll, probably waiting for some good ol’ LadyNoir July from me, but you gotta wait a moment because Final Fantasy IX is turning 20! (Also if you haven’t played it, do so now or watch an LP).

As such, I’ll be doing the Appreciation Week too! Remember, it’s only a week so bear with me while days are shared between fandoms.

So, favorite scene or cutscene... that’s hard to decide. Buuut, I think I’ll pick the Night at the Black Mage Village. Follow the read more to understand whhhyy... and avoid spoilers if you’re interested in playing and just haven’t gotten to it yet.

SO, the Night in the Black Mage Village I think is fairly important for the story overall. Up until this point, Zidane hasn’t really said much about himself. Do we know about him? Yes, but do we know about him? Not really - he doesn’t talk about himself in the same sense other characters do. He speaks about his skills with confidence, sure, but it’s all very in the present. However, to ease Garnet’s worries about Vivi wandering off on his own, Zidane tells an interesting story about a man who has no idea where he’s from, who his parents are, what kind of place he may have lived before - which, valid reason for not saying anything prior to this moment. It’s not that he doesn’t find this journey unimportant, but just know he still is searching for a ‘home’ or a place to truly call home.

Meanwhile, with Vivi, we’ve been learning plenty about him steadily that it’s almost like ‘why isn’t he the main character?’ sort of deal as he’s certainly encompassed the overall game’s theme more. That night in the village, he learns that his life is unfortunately very short - like, he will cease functions in another few months short. It’s just how Black Mages were built - to be temporary soldiers in battles for nefarious purposes.

Now, I picked this scene because of the foreshadowing and how it all comes back: Zidane’s nature in relation to Vivi’s; how Vivi got to gradually learn about himself vs. Zidane being overwhelmed with the answer to his search for years; and so on examples from there.

Aside from that, Zidane talking to Dagger about his past is just cute. He hesitated to share it at all and only later would he realize ‘oh no, I caught actual feels what do’. I don’t think I often react strongly to scenes on first watches and require time to process what I saw and re-watch it again proper, and this part was fairly notable in my mind. Runner’s up include: Boat Ride in Madain Sari, ‘You’re Not Alone’, and... geez, just all of it. I’ll be back tomorrow with favorite location, pray for me.

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Yes I'd love to know your take on all the characters too!

Haha sure thing! Forgive me if this is a bit long, I just wrote whatever first came to mind about each of them! Feel free to let me know what you guys think too, I’m certainly not the end-all-be-all! <333 Also apologies for the wait, I’ve been a bit under the weather recently, but recovering!

Under the cut for length, a continuation of this post:

Number four is our illustrious cad, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I must admit I haven’t read all that much of his content personally, since I have trouble on a personal level. But given the tangential things I’ve seen and his appearances in other routes, I like the complexity of his character composition. He’s incredibly hedonistic and lives in the moment; he doesn’t seem to care one bit in regards to the potential consequences of his actions, and every second is something to think about as a writer—if he’s not teasing Isaac within a hairsbreadth of a stroke.

In truth, I don’t think that surface level interpretation actually encompasses every facet of who he is. Because he also has remarkable moments of insight and deduction (though wrongly attributed to him because of the Sherlock books), and he does have odd moments of compassion for people/the MC. They ring a little hollow for me, but I can appreciate that he cares in a way that makes sense to him. I think a lot of his behavior speaks to his negligence of self; I have to wonder if his devil-may-care attitude is a means to communicate to others that he doesn’t deserve to be cared for (if he won’t ‘take them seriously’, then neither will they in regards to him, no?).

Granted, I’m sure his route will prove to have equal depth to the ones we’ve seen before, but my own preferences preclude a pretty resolute lack of interest.

Tl;dr: Probably has some level of narrative depth, but given the content I’ve seen he’s a little too aggressive and selfish for me to appreciate or enjoy it. Rated T for possible big trauma/turning point buried underneath all that, as well as big feels when he chooses you by the end.

Also if it’s no trouble, I would like to offer a trigger warning to any who wish to do his route when it does come out. I don’t know if his MS has any traces of assault/molestation, but I have read a few ES’s in which he does things to the MC that she does not seem to want/does not consent to. It was a very unpleasant surprise for me, so I understand if anyone would rather avoid it.

Number five is our sunshine painter, Vincent van Gogh. Needless to say, given that he appears to be a fan favorite, he’s another suitor that’s just so easy to love. He’s sweet and gentle no matter the situation, and has a remarkable ability to lighten a room simply by being there. But don’t let that quiet and shy disposition fool you; he’s actually a lot sharper than he looks.

He’s among my bias favorites, and the reason why is more simple than you’d think. I’m sure I don’t need to explain that he’s incredibly compassionate. He’s always thinking about what he can do to ease people’s hearts, always meets others with warmth and a beaming smile. But he’s not an airhead. He’s not kind because he doesn’t know any other way to be; near every second of it is a choice that he voluntarily makes. There are moments where this strength shines all too true, and he proves he’s much more than a pretty, sweet face. When the stakes rise, he rises with them.

Though—and do forgive me, Vincent—I’m inclined to agree a bit with his brother, Theodorus. He can be a little too yielding to the more negative forces in his life, a little too compassionate towards people that are frankly threatening. But he insists that he’s willing to work hard for his happiness, that he has no intention of waiting for someone to hand it to him—he’s ready to make sacrifices and work. And I think that sentiment, that fortitude after such a difficult life, is what makes him so admirable. He’s not just generous, he’s strong enough to give all that he can and thrive at the same time. He has such a remarkable capacity for hope given everything he’s been through, and it’s something that I love about him—I can’t help but respect it, even if I’m a bit more cynical lmao

Tl;dr: Absolutely the softest and goodest boy I have ever seen in my life, 11/10 would marry and cherish forever—die mad about it Theo. Much more intriguing than what a first glance offers, I invite you to do his route even if you have doubts; I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. I live for his surprising moments of sass and seriousness, and if I’m honest he and his MC seem to have some of the best chemistry in the game because of how directly he addresses any miscommunication/confusion between them. (He also loves hanky panky, as our esteemed Sebastian puts it, so jot that down).

Speaking of, “if anyone so much as looks at Vincent the wrong way I’m killing everyone in this room, including myself”, number seven is Theodorus van Gogh (number six is Isaac in the game’s main story order, but transitioning—you know how it is). I…truly don’t know how to encompass him in a few words, but I’ll do my best!

Everyone’s probably more than aware at this point, but he lives with the single-minded goal of protecting his brother and promoting new talent. A workaholic and fiercely protective of the only family he has left, he tends to be pretty terse and harsh with other people—abrasive. But he has such distinct moments of warmth (even if they’re still coarse as hell), and he gets down to the truth of a situation in milliseconds; wit as sharp as any knife. Unlike his brother, he is totally fine with violence if he deems it warranted, and he has a much harder time granting forgiveness. It goes without saying that he has a much, much harder time sharing what’s in his heart and healing as compared to Vincent.

I think my favorite thing about Theodorus is just how multi-faceted he is. At any given moment his range of emotion or reactivity varies, and I actually think it’s very natural? I think he’s just someone that responds to a situation after carefully measuring just how comfortable he is showing his own cards—and sometimes he reacts without thinking at all because he’s too overwhelmed with emotion to care (unsurprisingly, the opposite of his brother, who’s generally more placid/visibly unresponsive). One wonders—though I think it’s likely the case—whether or not he’s much more expressive by comparison precisely because Vincent was unable to express himself with such unfettered honesty.

Overall, he tends to keep his distance from people. And yet, even if his admiration for someone is a rare thing, when he does admire them he well and truly means it to the core. Equally put, if he loves somebody he loves them with every fiber of his being—to the point where he will give up near everything important to him to preserve their happiness. If I were to describe it in a word, I suppose I would say that he’s incredibly volatile. He lives, to an extent, in extremes; even if he’s still able to see traces of the gray in-betweens. I fully expected to find him and his route forgettable/unpleasant, but he grew on me before I even realized it! 

Also just gonna put it out there, his interactions with Vincent are friggen ADORABLE. This big, looming, scowling swagger on legs seconds from tears whenever Vincent looks after him. Or how he hesitates and droops when Vincent scolds him. I just can’t they’re too much! For a guy that calls us dog in the Japanese version of the game he sure follows Vincent like an adorable puppy 😂

Tl;dr: Despite his frigid countenance, he’s a lot more bark than he is bite (yes I did that on purpose, do your worst fangface). Once you dig deeeeep deep under all that acerbic tongue-lashing (not the fun sort, unfortunately) you will find somebody that’s surprisingly soulful, and much kinder than he’ll ever let on. I very rarely know just what to expect from him, and while he can be a bit domineering, his heart is almost always in the right place.

Boomeranging back to number six is our adorable apple and baby of the house, Sir Isaac Newton. I’ve honestly been really happy to see how much love he’s been getting in this first route release for the big three, given that he’s such a sweetheart. Consumed with anxiety and very, very socially awkward; our boy is doing his best despite being big confused a lot. He likes to stick to math and physics where things make sense, and I can’t really blame him. He presumably asked to be given new life to do more studying—and if that doesn’t say anything about how isolated and lonely this man has been, I’m not really sure what does.

He’s also a bit of a mixed bag, like Theo. He seems to have a self-esteem located at the bottom of the Marianna’s Trench; and yet, has oddly courageous moments when he’s trying to help others (most especially Jeanne). While he can appear to be contrarian and bitterly defensive, he’s more brittle and nervous than anything else upon closer inspection. He’s too quiet and painfully shy to involve himself in conversation, to the point where he literally enjoys being teased about apples in the house—because at least he feels like he’s involved/belongs, that way. He’s distant and reserved, but isn’t lacking in warmth or compassion—he just expresses it in roundabout ways (I mean good lord, the boy felt bad waking up his own coachman). It can be hard to describe, but it seems like he’s always battling against his social anxiety—and sometimes it wins, sometimes he does.

I think what I love best about Isaac is how hard he tries, despite it all. Despite everything he’s lost, despite the droves of people that assumed the worst of him in life—he keeps trying, against all hope, to understand and be understood. Even when he’s afraid of being hated, even when he fully expects to fail, he picks himself back up and reaches out—no matter how difficult it is for him. All he ever asks of the MC is to bear with him while he tries to find those answers and meet her halfway, and honestly I think that’s the sweetest thing ever.

Tl;dr: Lost on the path of life but doing his best, all he’s ever really wanted is someone to call friend (girlfriend, if you’re so inclined). A little fragile and a little timid, all he needs is a gentle nudge in the right direction.

Next up, number eight, is the renowned veteran Jeanne D’Arc. Another bias boy (my list is endless for this game, lord) his route is my second favorite right behind Leonardo’s. Superbly written and paced, every moment of romancing him was raw and heartfelt.

Without giving too much away, he is taciturn and reclusive to the extreme—I’m talking hermit levels. But I loved that personally; it makes total sense that a man born literally four hundred years ago is going to be confused and overwhelmed by the level of stimuli present in the turn of the 20th century. And given how, much like Isaac, he has enormous levels of social anxiety—it makes for a very difficult way of life. The other men do their best to accommodate him, but there are other reasons why he avoids getting too close to people, no matter their good intentions (that part is a route spoiler so I’ll leave it to your imagination c:).

I think what I loved best about his route was how much it was about helping each other heal. And while some otomes can fall into trap of MC becoming his therapist (I’m not naming names—Mysme) it doesn’t feel that way at all, at least not to me. Granted, she does a lot to get him out of his shell, but it’s more because she wants to get along with him than some odd belief that he needs her help (also bc of wingmen Mozart and Sebastian—yes it was as amazing as it sounds). Not unlike Leonardo’s route, they both recognize the beauty that dwells deep within each other, and they fall in love without even having to think about it. They become just what the other wants and needs, without even trying—truly as natural as falling.

Which brings me to the other thing I love so, so much about Jeanne: his kindness. Despite everything he’s been through, despite decades filled with loneliness and pain and trauma—he’s no less gentle for it. He’s always putting MC before himself, always telling her to look after herself first and insisting he’s nothing but a nuisance. He treats her with all the tenderness in the world, and even jokes around with her in his moe, silly way. He’s charming and delightful and sweet, even if he can’t see it.

Tl;dr: One of my favorite otome routes to date. Falling in love with him felt as natural and as easy as breathing, and every single time I see him those feelings come rushing back. What he lacks in worldliness, he makes up for in pure passion and fierce consideration for the people he holds close to his heart.

At number nine lies our Monsieur Guillaume, better known as William Shakespeare. Where on earth do I begin with this one, I have no idea. He’s…a wild card to say the least, though a strangely methodical one? Jeanne’s Japanese route only served to confuse me all the more, to say nothing of Vincent’s route. Part of me wonders if he suffers from the narrative confusion that often results from making a suitor a primary antagonist at the same time. (Though I will admit, the fact that he barely even tries in Leonardo’s route bc: 1. Everyone’s terrified of Le Comte’s/Leonardo’s legitimate wrath 2. He deadass says LEONARDO CLOWNS HIMSELF HARD ENOUGH AND MAKES HIMSELF SO MISERABLE HE DOESN’T EVEN HAVE TO TRY. WHAT KIND OF GOD TIER, ACCURATE ROAST. I’m sorry I just needed to come clean about that one, I’ve been laughing about it for years).

From what I understand he only really operates in two modes: extremely obsessive (and violent) or a complete lack of interest. Le Comte explains it much better than I do, but Shakespeare is a bit of a perfectionist; he wants an impeccable performance from a perfect, naturally acting cast. But MC tempers this with the correct analysis that he also has a very, very dark lack of compassion for other people. He truly does seem to have fae blood in that way; created for the sole purpose of dangerous mischief and dissembling. His poetic speech feels a little over the top, but it makes sense that he would speak in a flowery, distracting, and elaborate way if his goal is to keep his distance.

I find it…borderline terrifying that he gets along with Vincent because of the aftermath of Vincent’s trauma. As a result of the eldest van Gogh’s backstory, he tends to be “doll-like.” That is to say, as I mentioned, he very rarely expresses any depth of emotion. Shakespeare states that it lessens his temptation to want to make his life a tragedy like everyone else’s, and I suspect there is a level of envy hidden there. Shakespeare hates seeing other people express themselves openly; especially in terms of hope or love, because it is something he doesn’t feel he can have or because he believes it is fated to end in tragedy (or both?). His reasons seem to get pretty convoluted and can vary given the narrative goal, so I may only be partially correct here.

Tl;dr: If I’m honest, I don’t really feel anything for Shakespeare that’s positive—though I admit I do wonder about his intentions and what his route will amount to (sheer, morbid curiosity lol). I think he may have the potential to be redeemed—given that there are clear mentions of people going wrong from the turning process. But in general I find much of his behavior to be kind of appalling. At least it’s fun to watch le Comte punt kick him around when he’s done horrible things, lol (forgive me Shakespeare-lovers, it’s a bit cathartic for me)

Diez for our favorite (H)osamu Dazai, accomplice and enabler of Arthur’s thottery. He’s much simpler and somehow just as confusing as Shakespeare to get a handle on, and his content is pretty limited, but I’ll do my best to encompass what I understand!

Honestly, I find him a little fascinating in that he truly seems to believe that he’s good at keeping his distance; evading contact with MC, constantly calling her by the wrong name, and teasing her with his dramatic digressions—on the surface level, the implication is there. The game is very subtle about his moments of genuine unrequited feeling and adoration; if you blink it’s easy to miss. When a crisis hits, he uses her given name. When he’s frustrated that she’s not being treated as she deserves, he speaks out. He even tries the whole big brother schtick, though she brushes it aside (he was shooketh). Perhaps the abundance of third person narration makes it easier to tell (than it might be for MC) but I find he’s less convincing than he is stalling/avoiding the truth. Which begs the question. Why is he trying so hard if it seems half-hearted/forced?

The possibilities are, admittedly, myriad. My best guess is that he yearns for company even if he avoids/fears the commitment. I imagine a big part of his route will be getting him to accept the concept of companionship—no matter how much the idea scares him. I find it a little ironic, though, that for a man so desperate to die he says it wasn’t as fun as he thought it might be. Are the limitations his mental illness placed on him among his considerable regrets, enough that he felt compelled to try again in a new life? Only time will tell, I suppose.

Tl;dr: A little scatter-brained and a lot flighty, he’s lacking in conviction but not in compassion—and he may be a lot sharper than he first lets on. Rife with some sort of emotional/mental hardships, be prepared for a long, difficult ride if he’s among your favorites! It makes me wonder if MC will be reason enough for him to find meaning and peace in life for once, not unlike Jeanne’s rt. A girl can hope~

Ah yes, we arrive at another deeply beloved bias, Le Comte de Saint-Germain. I very much doubt there are words to encompass how much I love this man, but I will do my very best for your sake—and for his (it’s what he deserves).

Le Comte is a mystery to all but Leonardo, it would appear; right down to his alias. And in intriguing accordance with that fact, he is at times the epitome of a genteel nobleman—until he’s ready to unleash a flagrant can of whoopass to protect people. I think what I love best about him is that he’s quite literally a walking contradiction, in many senses of the word. He’s a gentleman with the heart of a punk/delinquent, only civil until a dispute carries too far. Saint Germain is the definition of a brittle character (something I have always been incredibly fond of in stories); I can never quite get a read on him. My best guess would be to say that while he’s patient, he’s also unpredictable. It’s not always clear how affected he’ll be by something or what he’s feeling. But when it becomes too much for him to bury within, you better believe everyone in a five mile radius can feel the aftermath. You’ll all come to understand what I mean, hopefully, but it’s the precise reason Leonardo becomes friends with le Comte—and why he continues to fascinate me.

And as odd as it sounds, I love how simple he is too, to some extent? No matter how convoluted the specifics of a situation get or blame is thrown around, he always cuts to the core of the issue—and doesn’t let anyone sidetrack that. He’s cautious, but not entirely incapable of being forthright; just choosy about when, where, and how. Which begs the question. Why does he always hold back so distinctly with MC? Side stories in the Japanese version suggest some very deeply rooted, agonizing fear that makes him avoid getting close to her no matter how much he likes her. I have theories, but nothing solid quite yet. All I know for now is that he is slightly shady, very benevolent, and a whole lot lonely.

Tl;dr: He’s literally the definition of the meme “aren’t you tired of being nice? don’t you just wanna go apeshit.“ Works to be gentle and understanding, but the second he deems somebody has gone too far he will act with surprising, swift, and deadly vehemence. He’s very sweet and surprisingly possessive/direct about his affections—though he often plays it off like a joke. I always find it funny though, when some of the residents—especially Arthur/Shakespeare—know they’ve gone too far and they just look up to his dark, saccharine smile like FUCK. 11/10 I’ve been waiting centuries for this man Cybird, pls set me free And last, but certainly not least, we have our distinguished butler, Sebastian. I love this big ol' nerd but can't deny that he does me a bit of a frighten. He can do...literally anything on the domestic front, and frankly its a bit alarming 😂😂

Just as the little question mark next to his description as stoic indicates, he goes for the whole unruffled English butler vibe and nails it for the most part. He's even got the witty banter down! But he's also pretty direct and unapologetic about his love for historical figures--and the stalkerish lengths he'll go to to observe them all. (I mean come on, this fool literally overshares about himself in milliseconds if you let him). Granted I can't fault the man for doing what makes him happy. Like Isaac, I just have to resist the urge to gently shove him into a locker sometimes lmaoAs for his romantic potential, I think the possibilities really range. From what little I've seen, I think he might be a bit like Mozart? He seems very unaccustomed to social interaction--and given his backstory he was more interested in books and people long dead than the ones beside him. He also has a bit of that fastidiousness to him, a bit stern and awkward despite moments of warmth. I think he can be more preoccupied with cutting straight to the truth sometimes than he is about figuring out how a person needs to be spoken to (re: what is tact?). And that's charming in it's own way, though the result can be hilarious inadvertent moments of callousness--quite literally photo taken seconds before disaster lmfao. (I think my favorite instance of this was when he was trying to reassure MC once and totally fucks it up, only to see her start panicking and go "Oh shit, I stepped on a verbal landmine, didn't I" and then Comte comes to the rescue) Tl;dr: Honestly, I think he'll be a really cute love interest even if I am all about the vampires in the game. He's his own kind of genius, even if he doesn't see it, and deserves just as many hugs! And I think he severely underestimates how sexy it is for a man to willingly share in the responsibilities required of a household. Get you a man as capable and sharp as Sebas LOL

[smrwine]

For the fourth time within the hour, Louis found himself dodging the sight of his flatmate's prick that always seemed to invade his personal space. For as long as Louis had known him, Harry has lounged around their flat bare chest and pantless with only a loose pair of trackies to keep himself decent. He walked into every room cock first and adjusted himself in his jeans frequently. He wasn’t shy about regularly mentioning his size or mentioning that he knew what to do with it either. Whether it be a joke or a humble brag, Harry was seemingly always determined to always remind Louis of his thick, daunting, length, and Louis didn’t mind one bit

“Come on, Lou, just try it.”

Harry had his whipped cream coated fingertip held out towards Louis’ lips, and his sweatpant covered cock not too far away. Louis leaned further back into the sofa, as far as he could without being swallowed.

“Get away. It’s on your finger, it’s going to taste like you.”

“I washed my hands before this, babe. Come on, it won’t be so bad - there’s cinnamon in it! I haven’t made this kind for you to try yet.”

Louis’ stomach tingled. The thought of Harry frequently baking for him, and him alone, always did his head in. It was an endlessly thoughtful gesture. Louis couldn’t pinpoint exactly the first time Harry filled him up with sweets, but he hasn’t stopped since, and every weekend began with a new sugary treat.

Harry lifted his finger towards Louis’ lips once more, encouraging him to have a taste of the cinnamon whipped cream. Louis figured it was the least he could do. Tasting his sweets was all Harry ever asked of him and he never expected anything more. It would be quick and simple, really, but his unearthly crush and desire to suck his cock made him reconsider.

If he took Harry’s finger into his mouth he just might choke on it. The only thing comparable to the size of Harry’s cock was the size of his hands, and Louis has wanted to suck on both of them, more than a dozen times. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to quit. Just one taste surely wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the thirst he so desperately contained within, but he wanted it.

Without actually thinking, Louis dropped his mouth wide open, letting his eager tongue catch the very tip of Harry’s finger.

“How is it?”

The cinnamon whipped cream was rich, airy, and sweet, but the way Harry pushed his finger in further, deeper, was sweeter. Louis’ lips wrapped around the warm digit for a moment too long before his tongue licked him clean. There was no mistaking he had gone too far, and he realized that as he pulled off with a slurp. But seeing Harry’s cock twitch in the fabric of his trackies almost made his overindulgence worthwhile.

“It’s sweet,”

Louis caught sight of Harry’s dick jumping again only this time Harry adjusted himself rudely, right before Louis’ eyes with the entire palm of his hand. No apology followed.

“It’s—it’s alright. Good enough for me.”

“Only, good enough?” he smirked. “I can do better than that for you. Stay right there.”

Louis watched as Harry walked back towards their kitchenette, cock bobbing beneath his trackies. His chest swelled with heat and desire as he soon felt his own pleasurable throb between his legs.

Harry would feel so nice inside of him, he thought. His cock would be just thick enough to burn as he split Louis open, and his length was surely ample enough to deeply penetrate and satisfy. Louis knew he’d be a meticulous lover too. Always gentle when necessary and otherwise rough where Louis needed it.

A crushing weight draped across his shoulders as rational thinking reminded him of their status. Harry was his flatmate who paid bills on time and cleaned up after himself. He was too perfect. Louis couldn’t risk losing that over a hard on and a thirst for his cock.

It was about time he got laid and got Harry out of his system.

—

Swiping through profiles turned out to be awful.

Louis was seeking something a bit more straightforward than what men on a dating app had to offer. Dinner and a film would be nice any other night, but he was gagging to be fucked senseless with no strings attached, and minimal courting. Bars and clubs were out of the question as well. Louis was far too shy to put himself out there physically and sneak someone back with him while Harry was still home, and still awake.

There was only one option he had left that he’d been avoiding relentlessly. The infamous hookup app. Straightforward. Discreet. Everything Louis needed.

He was hesitant about its nature, however. Meeting a stranger in such a way surely had its drawbacks and he knew he wouldn’t be able to trust someone with mere screen to screen communication. There would have to be firm rules set in place if he was to go through with this. One being to meet the other person in a public space beforehand, and two for them to be absolutely hung.

Louis bit the bullet, uploading a profile picture that highlighted his best assets, and kept his real name and location hidden. Straightforward enough.

Nerves bubbled to the surface as the home page loaded and dozens upon dozens of profiles popped up. If he was ever going to shake the crush on his flatmate, now was the time, and as he scrolled through the endless sea of dick prints and faces, he tried not to think about him.

—

“So you’re meeting him here then?”

Louis couldn’t focus. The message sent to him via the notorious app played on a loop in his mind, and kept him planted in reality. Be there in a bit x, read the text. Louis hadn’t even asked for the lads name, or even seen his face, yet he was ready and willing to meet up with him at his best mates pub. All for a shag.

He had never done anything risky like this. It was absolutely mad. As soon as Louis scrolled past the lads profile - dick print clear in his grey trackies as his picture - Louis knew he found the one.

Please ruin my life

I’ll ruin more than just that. x

The back and forth carried on filthily. Louis admitted to his desire of a thorough dicking that was also short term and discreet, and the lad on the other side was into the idea as well. Louis figured the overtly slutty language he used helped convince him.

“Louis!” Liam, his mate, hollered from the opposite side of the counter.

“Christ—what?”

“You didn’t answer me, are you meeting him here, or did you just come here for a humble brag?”

“I’m meeting him here, Liam. Believe it or not I trust your judgement and if you think I’m about to get into bed with a massive slag, I’d like for you to stop me.”

Liam gave him a puzzled look and paused before seriously answering him.

“Do you hear yourself right now? Like, genuinely, do you hear what you’re asking of me?”

Louis chose to ignore him in favor of watching the digital clock tick away on his phone. His palms calmed up as he scrolled through day old notifications and noticed a new one that simply read, here. It was sent a minute ago, and Louis suddenly felt intense, awful, palpitations in his chest. Overwhelming regret.

His mouth went dry, his stomach sloshed around with a heavy feeling of dread, and he couldn’t escape the guilty ringing in his ears. All of this effort just to rid a crush wouldn’t work, and he knew that. Harry wasn’t just someone he could forget about with an anonymous shag.

Louis considered bolting.

“Lou?”

Behind him came a familiar honey voice. The same one that sent shivers down his spine on the daily.

“Harry?” he turned, feeling even more mortified than before. “What are you doing here, love?”

Harry crowded into his space, taking Louis into his arms and pressing him firmly into his chest. It was quick and fleeting, and didn’t last nearly as long as Louis needed.

“I’m...uh, I’m here to meet someone. I’m trying something new, sort of.”

“Oh…”

Louis’ heart sank all together again.

“Harry?” Liam cut in from behind the bar. “The chivalrous flatmate Louis can’t stop chatting about?”

“Yeah, I believe that’s me. I hope it is.”

“I’m Liam. Nice to finally meet you, mate. I’ve heard loads of great things from this one over here.”

Louis was in pain. His face burned with pin pricks and tingles, and his stomach rumbled with embarrassment. Liam certainly knew how to make matters far worse without being asked.

“S’good to meet you too.” Harry responded politely. “What are you doing here then, Lou? Are you alone?”

Louis swallowed hard as Harry moved in closer and cornered him against the bar. His clean, musky, scent encompassed the small space between them, and Louis had to bury down a whine.

“Yeah, I’m actually meeting someone here too. I figured Liam’s pub was a safe enough space but I think I’m getting cold feet or summat, I don’t know.”

Louis overshared and let his guilt get the best of him. Even though Harry made it clear he was here for the same reason, Louis felt like he was betraying him in a way.

“I don’t think I can do this.”

Louis pulled out his phone and opened the app as Harry distanced himself by a foot. Part of Louis just wanted to leave without warning, but the other part knew he owed it to whoever it was to tell him he was leaving.

It hurt to type out his cancellation. His ego and embarrassment nearly swallowed him whole, but he followed through and sent it off anyway. It was a foolish idea to begin with.

Just as Louis pocketed his mobile, Harry’s own pinged with a notification, and Liam giggled from the other side of the counter.

“What?” Louis asked sharply.

“You’re idiots.” he shook his head. “Both of you.”

Louis watched him walk off into the back area until he disappeared around a corner, then slowly looked back at Harry. His face was painted pale and shaken like he’d seen a ghost or received a hard truth. His shoulders were rigid and his mouth was dropped in disbelief.

Louis gawked, weak in the knees.

“You?” he asked a bit breathy. “Is it you?”

Harry nodded, turning his mobile to show Louis’ words repeated back to him.

“What—you hid your name! You didn’t even have a picture up of your face—“

“Neither did you! You even had your location hidden and didn’t answer me when I asked for your name—”

“I was trying to keep all of that private, Harry! Christ. Were you planning on bringing the person in those messages back to ours?”

“Were you?”

Louis clasped his hands to his chest. The sound of blood rushing in his ears.

“Well...no,” he answered. “I-I really didn’t expect to even go through with this. I just sort of went through the motions until I felt guilty enough to stop it. I didn’t want you to know.”

“I didn’t want you to know about this either.”

“Why did you do it then?”

“Why did you?”

Louis groaned. Everything he was questioning, Harry could ask the same, and the entire mess of a situation couldn’t be pinned to either one of them.

“I wanted to get you out of my system.” Louis answered, letting the uncomfortable truth consume him. “You quite literally walk around the flat with your cock out, and you bake for me, and you’re sweet, and I knew I’d never be able to just have you once, so I figured I’d get a shag in and be done with it. I didn’t want to be that flatmate, but. M’sorry.”

“Louis,” Harry laughed, slightly defeated. “D’you know why I do all of that? Why I purposely drive you mad daily?”

“...no.”

“The first time we ever met, before moving in, you told me you had a massive sweet tooth. A rotten one, really. You said you loved your cakes and fruit tarts, but simple chocolate biscuits were your favourite. Do you remember that?”

“I—vaguely, yeah.”

“I went home that night and taught myself how to bake chocolate biscuits. I never baked before that, but after your initial reaction, I didn’t want to stop.”

Louis couldn’t help his growing smile even as he attempted to smother it. His own embarrassment still sat heavy in his chest, but Harry soothed it with his kind words and adorably honest truth. Louis could barely look up through the flattery.

“And then when we moved in together, you described your ideal partner as nice, fit, and hung, and I always did my best to remind you, that I am in fact, all three.”

Louis snickered as he stepped forward.

“You’re always so sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“You said you like them a bit cocky too.”

“Goodness, Harry. Do you pay that close attention to everything I say?”

“I do,” he pulled Louis in closer to mumble in his ear, hand on his hip. “especially all the naughty things you sent to me last night. Had I known it was you, I would’ve had you right there on the sofa.”

Louis bit his lip as Harry circled his hips with his hands, slowly caressing up and under his shirt. It felt nice. Every last tingle.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he rushed out. “This was a stupid idea. So stupid, I—”

“I know, baby. I’m sorry. I don’t want anyone else either. I don’t want to ruin this again.”

“Let’s go home and get it right then.”

—

Clothes ridden and desire turned frantic, Louis sank to his knees at the foot of his bed, kissing his way down Harry’s naked torso. He nibbled just above his waistline. Nuzzled his face against his thighs. His senses were overwhelmed in musk and lust as he nosed over Harry’s hard cock and kissed his underside selfishly.

Harry groaned out a tortured sigh as he continued kiss after kiss. Louis was already lost in it. For months, he dreamed of feeling the warmth and smoothness of his cock on his lips, and feeling Harry grow hard beneath them. He had to touch himself to keep him tethered.

Louis felt a hand comb through his hair, then a gentle tug. He moaned around the pain. Harry was watching him with amorous eyes and a hand wrapped around his prick.

“You love this,” he teased. “You’ve wanted my big cock for so long.”

Louis whimpered as Harry traced his tip over his lips and shoved it in ever so slightly. As Louis greedily went to suck, Harry pulled out, and drew another helpless whine from from the boy before him. Louis dropped his mouth open, hoping Harry would give him what he wanted, but instead, he traced around his lips again, then to his chin, then to his cheeks. Louis desperately chased with his tongue, hoping to get a taste as Harry rubbed along his face. At most, he earned a lick here and a kiss there yet the arousal between his legs only grew.

“Gorgeous.”

Harry slid the hand in Louis’ hair down to his jaw and hinged open his mouth with careful fingers. Louis stuck his tongue out, red lips eager, eyes open and waiting. He shivered as Harry tapped his tip repeatedly against his tongue and slid his wet slit against it.

Bitter and warm. Salty and desirable. Louis was steadily engulfed in his flavor and driven mad by his own thirst for it.

“God, just use me,” he moaned sinfully as he swirled his tongue around for more. “Fucking—Christ. Just fuck my throat, please.”

“Shh.”

Harry hushed him and instead bent down for a kiss. The motion of their lips was languid and Harry carefully caressed the flushed skin of Louis’ chest. The kiss was grounding and sweet, and sensual without being invasive. Harry’s careful touches steadied Louis’ breathing and brought him back down to a sense of calm. He didn’t realize he was shaking until Harry soothed him.

“Just suck me for a bit. Yeah?”

With kiss wet lips, Louis listened. His hands wrapped where his throat couldn’t reach and he bobbed and twisted slowly with ease. The length of Harry’s cock slid against his tongue and filled his mouth with hulky warmth that throbbed with precome. Louis swallowed hard around him and hollowed out his cheeks expertly. He moved his hands to fondle Harry’s balls, hoping that he would fall forward and give his mouth a proper fucking.

Harry indulged a few times. The stutter of his hips teased the back of Louis’ throat, but never went far enough to choke. Louis wished he would. He supposed he would have to work harder.

“Fuck, Lou. So good.”

Harry swore under his breath repeatedly as he grabbed a fistful of Louis hair and tugged ever so slightly.

Louis purposely moaned around him, wanting to get Harry off as he kept bobbing his head and curled his lips tighter. He watched as Harry’s knees buckled and was anticipating a mouthful of pleasure, or a hip thrust to his throat, but was suddenly swept up as Harry pulled out and lifted Louis off his knees.

“Bed.”

Harry pulled him by the wrist over towards the sheets and laid Louis flat out on his back. Before he could even react, a pillow was shoved beneath his hips and a hand was carefully wrapped around his neck. Harry’s thumb caressed Louis’ jaw and his gaze was nothing short of adoring. Louis breathed as deeply and evenly as he could with Harry splayed over him .

“You were so good, sucking me off. But I’d rather come inside you, babe.” he said in a whisper. “I want to watch those pretty blue eyes roll back as I split you open. Yeah? Would you like that? D’you want to come apart on my cock alone?”

“Please, Harry.”

“No, no. Answer me, angel—“

“Yes! God, yes, I’ve waited too long for your prick. Give it to me.”

Harry laughed under his breath at Louis’ impatience and kissed him firm on the lips. Louis spread his legs open as Harry coated his fingers - hooking one of his legs over his shoulder. He kissed against Louis’ shin, then his calve, all the way down to the side of his knee.

The way his lips dotted his skin tickled just enough to distract Louis from the slick pressure that thrust its way past his entrance. Harry kissed down further, sinking his teeth into his supple thigh. Their eye contact remained unbroken.

Louis moaned around a bitten lip as Harry pushed inward and out. His second finger teased around the first.

“Get your cock in me,” Louis begged. “I want it now, please. Need to feel you.”

Harry ignored him and kept his stare hard. A second finger thrust into Louis’ hole and his big eager eyes finally rolled to a close. Harry snickered, pleased with himself, and kept up the unrelenting pace that made Louis squirm.

“You sure about that? Looks like you can barely handle two.”

Louis wiggled frantically beneath him and thrust himself down onto Harry’s fingers. The burn of the stretch was mildly present but it wasn’t enough to overshadow the waves of pleasure it brought on. Harry stroked his walls carefully and pressed the sensitive angle inside of him all whilst smirking against Louis’ leg. Louis silently clenched around Harry’s fingers, mouth hung open in pure arousal.

Harry didn’t budge on taking his time. Louis begged, whimpered, and withered into the rustled sheets until his belly was soaked with precome and his legs shook with need. Harry made sure his fingers slid in with ease and just for a brief, teasing, second, let his eager tongue fit alongside them.

The head of his protected cock pressed slowly into Louis - unsurprisingly more of a stretch than his fingers. Louis took it in deep breaths. He moaned around already full feeling and tensed his whole body as Harry sank further.

“You’re doing great—“ Harry panted. “You feel so good like this, fuck. So tight. M’not likely to last.”

“Shut up, shut up, just fuck me. Please.”

“So eager,” Harry spoke breathlessly. Winded. “I’ve wanted this just as long as you have, baby. Let me get it right for you.”

Louis thought to respond but was muffled by Harry’s slick lips as he slowly but steadily slipped all the way in. Hips to bum and a deafening groan from the two of them. Louis mostly laid there stiff, attempting to catch his breath. Harry soothed him in form of forehead kisses and soft encouragements. He reminded Louis to inhale deeply and exhale through his mouth.

Harry was just so big and thick, it was hard for him to do anything but whine and strain. Louis had never been as full and stretched as he was right then.

“S-so bi—move a bit, please.”

With careful motions and a watchful eye, Harry pulled back and gently thrust back forward. The movement alone was enough for Louis to see stars and become one with his pleasure. As he encouraged Harry to continue, the thrusts grew harder and the pounding eased into faster. Louis nearly missed out on Harry tossing his other leg over his shoulder until he was genuinely folded in half. His thighs squeezed tight around Harry until both were coming and both were panting uncontrollably into each other’s mouths.

They came down eventually, breath steady, and thoughts less clouded in a sex haze. Harry pulled out with all the tender ease and gathered Louis in his arms.

“I want you and only you. I want this for us.”

“Mmm, I want that too.” Harry moaned as he wrapped Louis tighter. “No more hookup apps for you and me.”

[edwinfaulding7-blog]

Totally different Sorts Of Music Genres For Children

The previous few years have been something of a golden age for music documentaries, with the Oscar-successful success of Looking for Sugar Man and 20 Feet From Stardom opening up the sector http://www.audio-transcoder.com/ for jerrodgreenwald.mobie.in films about much less apparent stars. No other word has appeared on extra t-shirts followed by the word sucks" than disco. While the opposite genres on our record had a period of peak reputation followed by a steep or regular decline, disco is the one style to have had a literal loss of life date". On July twelfth 1979, marthawright.hexat.com Disco Demolition Night was held at Comiskey Park in Chicago. A crowd of 50,000 confirmed up to present their deep hatred for the style. The occasion culminated in a riot as fans rushed the sphere after the ceremonial exploding of a box of disco vinyl. It has been called the night that disco died", and certain enough, it marked the beginning of a rapid decline in recognition of the style. That was until Daft Punk made it cool again with the discharge of their 2013 album Random Entry Recollections. My favorite style in music would have to be Tejano. I like Tejano as a result of when I hear it, I all the time really feel like I'm listening to the stories of an actual arduous working Mexican-American. My step father introduced Tejano Music into my life and for that I thank him, because Tejano isn't just Spanish music. Similar to everybody else who listens to their "music" Tejano is a lifestyle. To many it is just a bunch of Mexicans singing about ineffective things, however to me Tejano is the guts and soul of the Valley. Positive we hear about many new artists that come and attempt to deliver their hip-hop and rap music, when their music is the kind that has no that means to it. I am not one to speak and disrespect their onerous work, as a result of I take heed to some of it also. However I do not forget my heritage and where I come from. It's possible you'll suppose that I'm only a child that does not know what I am saying, but I do. If I'm born Tejano, and I am raised Tejano. Then consider me Tejano. The scent of incense drifted throughout the dark, cavernous house. By a forest of bodies, it was potential to catch glimpses of a dancer onstage, contorting her physique to the dense, rhythmic music thundering from the audio system. The mix was potent. Experiencing electronic music this unusual being interpreted as dance gave the performance an uncommon vitality. The artists on stage that October evening have been the US electronic producer Jlin and the Indian dancer Avril Stormy Unger, who took a prime slot on the Saturday night time at this 12 months's Unsound competition. Their set was emblematic of a lot of 2017's greatest stay artists, whose emphasis on performance mesmerised audiences. The history of Widespread Music hardly qualifies as an actual science. It's a retrospective analysis of events that focuses on the underlying forces or widespread symptoms in the overwhelming manufacturing of music records, ignoring nuances and side-results to understand a understandable construction. It is because (fashionable) music is far from a static phenomenon: it's a continually evolving, transforming, big organism. Nearly by no means has a music style all of the sudden emerged as a shocking revolution without any hint or evolution up to now. All of them have naturally evolved, mutated, merged, or turn out to be (theoretically) extinct. Solely the previous may be examined of this pure, natural network.

In 2017, extra DJs took advantage of the only element that makes their artwork kind truly unique: they can play anything. Nina Kraviz, despite the absurd controversy it once brought on her, continued colouring exterior the strains, be it with 150 BPM techno or straight up drum & bass, on the primary stage at EXIT Competition or in room one at Unsound's Hotel Forum. Avalon Emerson, armed with wildly eclectic music on impeccably organized USB sticks, drifted seamlessly from straight 4-four into hip-hop and R&B. On the ultimate morning of Sustain-Launch, PLO Man appeared intent on encompassing as much as possible of the entire panorama of digital music in a single set, with separate chapters dedicated to jungle, garage, deep house, dub techno and ambient.

Unsigned Solely is a competition exclusively for newbie musicians, who've an opportunity at getting publicity and recognition from trade professionals. The purpose of this contest is to seek out an excellent performer, band, singer, or solo artist who has yet to signal a report deal. The foundations of this competition are additionally very useful to the beginner musician; for one, anybody can enter, and they can submit as many songs or pieces of music as they like. Secondly, Unsigned Solely offers a wide range of different genres during which musicians can enter their music. Plus, there aren't any restrictions regarding into what number of genres you can enter a track.

The problem with the concept of "genres" is that it caught the public's creativeness. The public, along with the music critics in the press, seemed to enjoy the idea of "I am a country music fan" or "I am an R&B fan" and defining themselves thusly. I keep in mind within the Nineteen Seventies when nation music followers would put on T-shirts that said, "If it ain't nation, you can kiss my ass", that means that they would solely hearken to music which the radio stations and document labels, and by extension the advertisers, defined as "country". For a lot of a long time, people turned accustomed to solely being prepared to take heed to music which was marketed within the specific "genre" that the followers had recognized because the one they preferred.Of the 4 Roles, Sentinels only got here first of their appreciation of two genres: nation (forty three%) and spiritual music (forty%). The sturdy sense of group that characterizes Sentinel character varieties - whose work ethic and desire for order stems from their perception that life is essentially about sustaining the social fabric for the nice of all - could clarify their affinity for these two types, both of which often comprise messages in reward of service, whether or not to a higher power or to 1's fellow human being. The ambivalence that Sentinels tend to have for standard entertainment - a lot of which strikes them as a waste of precious time - may additionally explain why music should embrace a minimum of a bit of didacticism to carry their attention for long.Via my travels I had all the time questioned if the world audience was in harmony with the music trade on the subject of music-style. The answer is indisputable no. Most people in the world like one genre more than others and that genre is - maintain on; it's nation music. In almost every country I have been to on the earth, country music usually wins. And it would not actually matter what kind of country music we are talking about; American nation music, Canadian country music, Australian or Swiss nation music. Folks want good tales, substance and creditable lyrics with nice artists to carry out.MARTIN: For those who're just becoming a member of us, we're speaking with musician and composer Jae Sinnett about the future of jazz. What does that say? How do you - how do you interpret what which means? Does it mean that it is a good news, unhealthy information story? That people who perceive and recognize music are nonetheless searching for it out, or is it that there is simply got to be this ongoing fight to take care of house for jazz amid all of the commercial pressures? They've always been there.

[webcricket]

Looking Glass

Chapter 10 - Friction Effect

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 1886

Summary: The heat of day breaks as Cas struggles with uncertainty to make a move toward broadening his relationship with the reader. (Warning - in the event this “bothers” you as much as it bothers a certain angel - for a skinny dipping reader.)

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It’s not the ocean – although, the cold water flows refreshing and free around flesh salted by heat and kissed to a polished luster by the sunny exertion of an afternoon amble; nor does the torpid humidity of the Kansas dusk hanging overhead in the guise of a hazy purple, wispy grey-streaked, star-pricked blanket hold the same guileless promise as that long ago unblemished blue sky of a summer day at the beach. There’s something profounder than innocence prevailing here – a charged potential building between atmospheric particles signaling the sort of lightning strike that heralds a heaven-sent bone-drenching downpour of relief after an unrelenting drought. The electrifying thrill pertains to someone you ceased hoping existed as your world burned, funneling you and every other isolated soul surviving in it toward a fiery finale.

When you break upward in an effervescent breathless burst from the pond’s cooling liquid embrace, airy liberated laughter sputtering through rivulets wetting your smiling mien, the unexpected renewal of hope waits for you on the shoreline. With eyes encompassing the eternal blue of a sky unfurling into the depths of forever – even at this distance, the luminosity contained therein shining brilliant in defiance of the enveloping darkness – hope dons the charmingly cut contours of a man shrouded in a trench coat. No, not a man – an angel; though, that’s not how you define him. You understand now an angel is what he is, not who. This distinction in your reasoning, too, arises entirely unforeseen given an accumulation of harrowing experiences involving the mercilessness of his kind up to and including the singular sadism directed at you by his counterpart in your world; the disparity makes all the difference in your heart’s racing reaction to the image of him standing sentinel.

Appearing equally startled under the circumstances, the crinkle of confusion contorting his brow as he peers between you and the collected mass of crumpled clothing cradled in his arms reveals nothing sinister. He’s not like them; and certainly, nothing like the other him – he’s unlike anyone you’ve ever known. It’s not fear exciting your pulse at the sight of him in all his, at present anyway, categorically un-angelic glory – it’s unbounded affection; it’s a yearning for more.

Stone still at the pebbled margin of the rainwater reservoir used in times past for irrigation, in these latter years by Dean as an ersatz fishing hole, in humming perpetuity as a mosquito den of iniquity, and most recently by you as a pool, Castiel stares out, struck speechless, to where you swim in what he personally deems an oversized manmade puddle; your grinning mug bobs above the water amid broadening ripples.

Accounting for the number and intimate nature of the discarded garments he gathered in his advance toward the sound of gleeful splashing – the pleasant scent and residual warmth of you clinging to the fabric clutched in his fingers – he suspects you’ve removed all of your attire to inhibit the effects of friction hindering your impromptu plunge. Judging by the decorum defying response of his vessel to the awareness of your bared flesh concealed beneath the inky surface, it occurs to him you’re not alone in harboring corporal concerns involving the concept of friction – your less begets his desire for more.

More than purely empirical mimicry of a pornographic pizza man. More than the biological satisfaction of momentarily weak submission to a reaper’s lustful lures when overwhelmed by the physically sensational circumstances of the human condition’s reflexive need for connection in a lonely world. This full-fledged and yet totally confounding want of more with you, and what more means, restrains him from making a move toward attaining it. He nurses serious doubts whatever blundering version of more he has to offer you is less than enough to content a soul too special to possibly reciprocate fond feelings for the undeserving likes of a fallen angel.

Interrupting his inner lambasting, limbs wildly whirling to wave whilst staying afloat, you shout, “Come on, get in! The water’s fine!”

“I’ll, uh, watch from here,” he stammers. Self-conscious of the immediate influence of your proposal on further inciting the involuntary flush afflicting his physical form, never more aware than in this moment of the rough rub and restriction of layers of material covering almost every inch of his hide, gulping against the growing constriction of the shirt collar and tie cinched around his throat, he adds in a tone firmer in conviction than necessary, “Watch over your clothes I mean.” He exhales a flustered sigh at the dubious sound of the excuse to his own ears.

You glide deeper into the water in an eddy of giggles.

Ever the pragmatist, his glance drops to your castoff clothes as his thoughts drift to wondering what you’ll wear when you emerge from your drenching dip. Fingering the thin white cotton of your t-shirt, he divines it will surely turn translucent when soaked through and stick to the supple curves of your body – a development that will do nothing to quell other rapidly escalating developments transpiring in his wantonly dissenting vessel. There’s little time for him to dwell on planning a defense against the eventuality of the reversal of your submersion; in the periphery of his vision, he witnesses you rise in a cascade of clear water, bare feet and resplendently wet figure proceeding to pick a graceful path toward him over the rounded rocks.

The heat of his furtive gape steeps into your already saturated skin. His visibly quivering confidence as he tries and fails to redirect his regard captivates you. You’d have thought an angel would be unmoved by nudity. After all, he beheld the creation of humankind, observed Adam and Eve before the venom of modesty tainted the blood rushing through their veins – a shyness sustained still in their descendants; a shyness you increasingly remember in yourself as you close the distance to him. Your exhibition of boldness wavers in the demure crossing of your arms over your breast and sex.

His discomfiture dissipates upon seeing your insecurity. Stooping to place your clothes in a neat pile, he shrugs off his coat, strides forward, and wraps it hurriedly around your shoulders. Knowing full well there is no one save a smattering of lightning bugs engrossed in their own luminescent conversation, he scans the stretch of shore for unwelcome onlookers as he snugs the sagging material taut to shield against exposure and dry you.

“Thank you.” Licking at several stray droplets of water wending over your upper lip, you avoid his gaze by looking straight up at the mushrooming clouds refracting ghostly golden glimmers of distant lightning. Booming echoes muffled through the trees, thunder rumbles somewhere far off. The air, absent the departed breeze of day and stagnant with calm ahead of the oncoming storm, swells oppressively thicker between you. “Is it always like this?” you ask.

Your inquiry, of course, refers to the sultry weather; the angel’s dazed intellect, however, distracts metaphorically to acknowledge in his seemingly endless, and multiply resurrected existence, that no, it’s never been like this for him with anyone else – angel, human, or otherwise. No one before you succeeded in awakening this ache of irrepressible want within him – a longing and desire to not only care for you and protect you, but to ensure your happiness by pleasing you in every way conceivable. It’s a feeling so foreign to celestial custom he has no idea where, in a tidal wave of sentiments ranging from a humble declaration of devotion to an impiously reverent show of passion, to begin.

“Cas?” In the silence, you peer into his pensive features.

His concentration resides somewhere between here and the center of the universe as he endeavors to determine what to do next; if he has the right, considering what you’ve been through because of him, to do anything at all without knowing for certain it’s also what you want. He resolves his attention on your searching eyes, his focus falters to the soft temptation of your questioningly parted lips.

The entranced flicker of his blues does not escape your notice; your tongue darts to dampen your lips in enticement. The subtle strain etched in the lines of his face as if he’s holding back prompts you to prod, “What were you thinking about just now . . . when you got quiet?” What you want to know is why he hasn’t laid siege to your mouth when all signs point to a kiss.

He has several specific answers: The distance of separation he must cross rounded up to the nearest hundredth of a millimeter in order to caress the pink petals of your lips with his pouting ones to feel the swift rise of life surging thereon beneath the delicate tissue. The inopportuneness of the approaching storm, which he calculates will douse you both in rain in 2 minutes and 8 seconds, well before you could make it back to the shelter of the bunker. The radiant warmth of your flesh beneath his fingers where they encircle your upper arms helping to secure his coat from slipping off your frame. How, although the themes of free will and choice continually preoccupy his existence, actually choosing never gets easier. How the brightening cloudbursts of lighting reflected in the beads of water amassed on your brow pale in comparison to the vibrancy of beauty originating within your soul. And whether, like the pearlescent raised scar crowning the bend of your knee that he knew existed based on a memory laid bare to him while healing you days ago and then literally as you rose out of the water tonight, an injury that grieved you for weeks but with which you associate the happy memory of learning to peddle your bike at age 6 without training wheels, you could one day rewrite the painful scars of what he did to you with similar happiness.

He shares none of this rich and poignant introspection with you; instead, formality of his demeanor stiffening, Adams apple undulating beneath the scruff prickling his neck to swallow his conflict of indecisiveness, he defaults in his uncertainty to stating an entirely innocuous and impersonal fact to deflect the pressure mounting in his heart. “Are you aware that the human body is made up of, on average, approximately 60% water? I’ve always thought it’s why humans feel so at ease submerging themselves in a treacherous element powerful enough to have helped hew the very planet.”

“Oh.” You utter the ambiguous, vaguely disappointed, vowel sound aloud – perhaps you read his unspoken cues wrong. “That’s, uh . . . interesting.”

He realizes although he doesn’t know what the right thing to do is, this was definitely the wrong thing to say.

In inclement intervention of the awkwardness, thunder cracks and growls overhead. A single fat cold raindrop splatters your cheek. Innumerable of its drizzling kin follow as the clouds unburden themselves of moisture a solid half minute before the angel anticipated. Bending to pick up your water-logged clothes before they wash away in the deluge, your heel slips.

Atropos, sister of fate, being no friend of the angel’s, he’s a dozen or so seconds too late to alter his choice. Routed, he snakes an arm around your waist for support and steers you toward the canopied cover of the tree line.

Next: Ch. 11 - Under Your Spell

[tawakkull]

Spirituality in islam: A'yan ath-Thabita and ‘Alam Al-Mithal (Archetypes and the World of Representations or Ideal Forms)

In Sufi terminology, archetypes are the established, existential origins of things in the realm of Divine Knowledge. They consist of the manifestations of the Divine Names in the realm of Knowledge, and they denote the existential essences that pertain to the origins of contingencies. Although the relationships of these spiritual forms or existential essences in the realm of Knowledge with the Divine Being seem to be within the frame of time, they are beyond time. The limitless content of Divine Knowledge is different from the existential essences that are individually or collectively identified within the frame of time. Even though whatever exists in Divine Knowledge has some sort of individually or collectively identified existence, it is equally possible whether it will be brought into external existence or not within the dimensions of time and space.

It is a fact that whether they are Sufi leaders or theologians, those who have expert knowledge of this subject have lacked the words with which to express the issues that pertain to the transcendental dimensions of existence; indeed, they take great care in order to avoid any confusion. As mentioned before under the of Effusion, they call the Divine manifestation on the archetypes, which is a Divine mystery whose essential nature we cannot know, the Most Sacred Effusion, while the manifestation considered to be the origin of the archetypes emerging as existent beings and things within the dimensions of time and space is termed the Sacred Effusion. By such designations, scholars not only remind us that the archetypes and the contingencies that have been brought into the time and space-bound realm of existence are different from one another, they also focus our attention on the difference between manifestation (tajalli) and emergence (zuhur), thus stressing the Qur'anic truth concerning the beginning and process of the creation of the universe. This truth can never be reconciled with the philosophical approaches of monism and pantheism.

I think that since some cannot avoid going into extremes, they cannot preserve balance in approaching the most sublime Divine truths and thus fall into many grievous faults. Those who concentrate on the all-encompassing Divine Will and the all-overwhelming Power ignore the universe and view all things as if they were God’s incarnates, while others who focus on things and beings themselves, together with the apparent causes for their existence, take on views of naturalism or materialism. However, the unity or uniformity of or the interconnectedness in existence comes from the unity of the Origin of manifestation, while the almost limitless variation among and multiplicity in things and beings issue from the different dispositions or operations of the archetypes in the Divine Knowledge by the Divine Will and Power.

Self- existence with all its parts is one thing; things and beings appearing in different mirrors of existence in all their varieties through the manifestations of the Divine Knowledge and Existence is another. If we can perceive this difference, we will be able to notice the aspects of existence which lead some to the doctrine of the transcendent Unity of Being, and some others to the Unity of the Witnessed, and understand the difference between the essence and the form, and between the One Who gives existence and makes subsist and those who are brought into existence and made to subsist. We can explain the differences in question in plainer terms as follows:

Things and beings are not existent by or on account of themselves, but they exist by God’s bringing them into existence or by being the shadows of the light of God’s Existence from behind numerous veils. Apparent or superficial existence is one thing, and real, substantial existence is another. Forms and appearances are reflections as gifts from Him; they are neither identical with Him nor independent of Him. He said to them, “Be!” and they were. When He cuts off His effusion, they will disappear. Assertions such as Divine incarnation, existential union with Him, being an embodiment of Him, and His being a pervasive Soul—these and other similar assertions are all false. What gives external existence to all things and beings are the manifestations of His Attributes and Names:

If you focus on the forms, you will see that both you and I exist—

But in absolute, transcendent reality, neither you nor I exist.

Now, as it is the All-Living, All-Subsisting One Who gives existence and subsists, who can have the right to claim self- existence? Everything’s existence depends on His Existence and Knowledge; whatever exists is a mirror in which His Names manifest themselves as being ultimately responsible for anything that occurs in it. Humanity is the most comprehensive and polished of these mirrors, and the Master of creation, upon him be perfect blessings, is the most perfect and complete of these. What follows is an anonymous couplet expressing this:

Whatever exists in the universe is a mirror and subsists by Him;

It is God Who is constantly reflected in the mirror of Muhammad.

Without considering the First Identification, the archetypes are contingencies which are regarded as non-existent in one respect. When they first emerge, they are hidden and not known; and when they are sent into existence, they continue their non- existence on account of themselves. They serve as veils for the manifestations of Divine Knowledge and Existence.

As in the world, which is the realm of existence and decline, the manifestations of the Divine Majesty and Grace also follow one another in the realm of the archetypes. While the Divine Majesty manifests Itself to destroy, the Divine Grace invents. These manifestations continue after those of archetypes which have been decreed to be sent into the realm of perceptible existence have been clothed in existence. It can be said that every existent thing bursts forth out of the spring of archetypes and becomes an “ideal reflection or representation,” or “form.” Then, these forms are clothed in perceptible existence.

All of the attributes to be manifested by beings in the corporeal world, including conflicting ones such as light and darkness, good and evil, bliss and wretchedness, have already been determined while they are in the World of Representations or “Ideal Forms.” However, a conscious, responsible being’s nature as good and blissful or evil and wretched is determined according to his or her future choice in this corporeal world. No one other than the All-Knowing of the Unseen can judge them until their state becomes apparent in the corporeal world. However, God may inform some of His “purified, chosen servants” about their “future” states and natures while they are in the World or Realm of Representations or “Ideal Forms.” This is an exception and therefore beyond the sphere of our duties or responsibilities. The statements or declarations of the All-Knowing of the Unseen in the Qur'an in reference to these are sometimes about their states in the Realm of Representations, and sometimes about those in the corporeal world. So, those unaware of this fact may confuse one with the other. For example, the Qur'an’s declaration regarding Satan to mean, He was from among the unbelievers, without considering his rebellion, is concerned with the archetype of Satan, while its description, He grew arrogant and became one from among the unbelievers (2:34; 38:74), is about his state after he rejected God’s order when, therefore, the signs of his rebellion appeared.

Some saints can at times observe the states of the archetypes plainly or in the form of symbols as in dreams. This is a special, extraordinary favor from God to them. God sometimes informs them about certain future events and so reminds them of some points peculiar to them. It sometimes occurs that the Almighty sends these heroes of self-possession some signals regarding impending dangers, directing their hearts to prayer and supplication. At other times, they are reminded of the necessity of preserving the balance between the means and material causes and the Causer of causes, being called to focus on the Divine absolute Unity.

The information and observations mentioned concerning the archetypes are usually presented to God’s specially chosen, purified servants in the forms of “ideal” tablets. These tablets are manifested either identically with their future, corporeal existential forms, or in symbols according to their meaning and contents. Symbolic representations require interpretation, like unclear dreams. Their interpretation is possible through knowing or discovering the key words or terms in the Qur'an and the authentic Prophetic Traditions. Any interpretation made without this knowledge means “throwing random stones at the Unseen” and therefore amounts to disrespect for the All-Knowing of the Unseen.

The realm or the world where the immaterial forms or models belonging to the archetypes are reflected and represented is called “the World or the Realm of Representations or Ideal Forms,” and the forms or reflections in this World are termed “the ideal or reflected forms.” The perceptible, corporeal forms are the shadows of these ideal or reflected forms. Some of the ideal forms are purely spiritual, while others have some perceptible figures. The realm where the former reside is called “the World of Absolutely Ideal Forms,” while the realm where the latter reside is known as “the World of Specified Forms.”

Some see the World of Representations or Ideal Forms as the representations or reflections of corporeal forms and events in our world of sensations in their particular energetic covers. This can be exemplified by the appearances of spirits and angels in certain forms in our world. There are so many simple (not composite) natures which belong to the Realm of the Spirit and the Divine Commands or the pure, primordial natures as the first results of the Divine commands that they can appear in the corporeal world in certain forms by God’s will; they appear in the corporeal world to the extent allowed by the Divine Names primarily manifested on each. They can appear and exert some influence on the physical world as mere causes. There are many reliable Prophetic reports that knowledge appears in the form of or is represented by milk, and that Islam is symbolized by a splendid container; the Qur'an, as honey or an orange; and the feeling of enmity, as snakes or vermin.

Some Sufis see the Realm of Representations or Ideal Forms as broader and maintain that this realm is the intermediate between this world and the Hereafter, and between matter and spirit, and the realm of immaterial sacred spirits. According to these considerations, the World of Representations or Ideal Forms is an intermediate bridge over which meanings or purely spiritual identities pass in order to attain a new identity and nature; it is a mysterious corridor between the physical and metaphysical worlds, a veil between two different dimensions, a point of meeting for abstract truths and concrete realities, and the horizon that separates the perceptible and imperceptible from each other. There are some who see this world as a realm where meanings or abstract truths begin to be clothed in worldly existence. Abstract or immaterial identities become familiar with the silky robe of external or perceptible existence in this intermediate realm, and they set off toward further realms from this dock with the equipment that they have been given.

Dictionaries of religious terminology define the intermediate realm also as the special corridor that connects this world and the Hereafter, or the process that begins with death, continues with the life of the grave, and ends in the Resurrection; or as the point where the world of spirits and abstract meanings meets with the corporeal realm, or as the passage between the horizon of the heart and spirit and the carnal life.

Not only is every ramp or platform from which things and beings jump to another stage—where they will be given a different nature and identity during their journeying of existence from the “initial or first identification or determination” to corporeal life— called the Intermediate Realm, but the realm of life beginning with death is also known as the intermediate life. According to the first meaning, the intermediate life is a bridge between the spirit and the body or between the abstract and the concrete. According to the second meaning, it is like a waiting lodge that resembles both the Unseen and the corporeal realms at the point where the world and the Hereafter meet. Everyone will pass across that bridge and those whom God wills will call at that waiting lodge and afterwards go on toward the other world in different ways, according to their equipment or acquisitions.

Some Sufis mention another intermediate realm which they call Barzakh Jami’ (the Encompassing Intermediate Realm). This is a term used to denote the original or essence of all the intermediate realms, which is another name for tajalli wahidiya (God’s manifestation of all His Names throughout the universe or on an entity), or ta'ayyun awwal (the initial or first identification). The Encompassing Intermediate Realm is also called “the First Intermediate Realm,” “the Grandest Intermediate Realm,” or “the Greatest Intermediate Realm."

May perfect blessings and peace and the most honorable of benedictions be upon him and his Family and Companions.

[kinitstuffblr]

I wanna talk about my OCs

The ones I used in my youngest RPs onward into my adulthood RPs with friends

in a brutally honest summary encompassing basically their entire careers as products of my imagination

HERE WE GO 

WHO WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT --- BUFF DADDY ACHERON!!!

ACHERON (pronounced: Ack-er-ahn) He/Him 

Character I compared his aesthetic to: Sephiroth

Do I still?: Hell naw the closest thing I think I’d ever compare him to now is that dude from the Witcher games 

Looks like: Ridiculously tall, ridiculously beefy.  Any crowd he’s in, he’s probably got a foot on.  His torso is dorito-shaped.  The muscles in his arms are about the size of your average watermelon.  He’s pale af, but naturally.  His eyes are yellow, pupils round.  His hair is straight and white, not even like what you’d think would be a platinum blonde, a straight up white with occasional silver.  Length probably started at what I guess his fucking ankles when I first imagined him? But sensibly he’d have kept it at mid-back at the longest in his younger days (out of laziness, grooming is not something he thinks about) and as he got older he wore it shorter.  His brow is stern, his jaw is hard, his nose has been broken multiple times.  Everything about him, even at his most put-together, is ROUGH.  His beard situation varied from beardless as a youngun, light stubble at mid-age, and full (not far enough to start trailing down from his chin but a decent scruff all around his face) in his later years.  He’s riddled with scars, but not showy ones.  More like ‘got shot with an arrow and it stuck in the skin for a while during battle; didn’t bother to remove it until at home having a bath and then just ripped it out and slapped some paste on it’ scars.  He generally doesn’t get scratched or slashed, long-distance attacks are the ones that get him because he doesn’t pay attention to much beyond whatever he’s directly attacking. 

His Tropes (by my definition): Evil-to-Good, War Hungry Brute but also Family Man, Overprotective Dad, Fantasy-Character meets Slice-of-Life

Original Conception to First Growth:

He was suppose to be a bad guy.  That’s it.  He was a demon warlord and the father of a character I was much more invested in and I wanted to throw in an abusive father that wanted to enslave his children for their powers.  Eventually he became more developed when I introduced the son’s mother (a concubine who’s sole purpose was breeding) and she died by another of his son’s hand while trying to protect the first son.  At this point Acheron reacted badly, revealing he had some sense of affection for the woman (she hadn’t been subservient and never let him intimidate her, which he later realized he was attracted to on a level beyond physical) and her death resulted in his abandonment of his post which resulted in his execution later on when he was captured again (in future iterations, he disappeared rather than died, but necromancy in this universe almost always exists so being returned to life was the way he initially returned.)  After his return, he met another woman who initially he mistook for a concubine based on her looks.  She also was not subservient, and actively challenged him and refused to let him intimidate her despite her being human, and eventually he fell in love with her.  To stay with her, he had to earn permission, so-to-speak, from the kingdom that had previously employed him which he’d abandoned, and it meant forfeiting a lot of power while also struggling not to endanger her, his new big glowing weak point.(She had her own mess of power, so her vulnerability can be challenged, but I’m focusing on buff daddy right now.)  Through his relationship with her he became a caregiver/father-figure to several underprivileged children of varying age ranges (mostly focused in, I think, the age range of 5 to 10, but not limited to that.)  He learned what it meant to watch a child grow in a non-militant environment for the first time, eventually becoming ashamed of the past he left behind and fiercely protective of his new family.

Plot points and Traits that came out later:

- As a King, asked newfound human lover to become his Queen in the underworld

- Semi-secretly is deeply emotionally invested in a couple very close male colleagues, whom he calls his brothers

- Orphaned amnesiac; Is a half-breed between opposing races; was excessively racist but learned later not to judge creatures based on their kind

- Fragile masculinity is one of his biggest flaws and makes him the butt of many jokes

- Terrified, utterly terrified, of spiders.  Later revealed as a result of being thrown into a spider pit as a child (Big spoods. Monster spoods)

- Has a power that allows him to kill almost effortlessly from a distance, but rarely uses it in favor of direct combat using his greatsword.  A glutton for battle and eager to one day be bested by a more powerful opponent.  

- Was literally bred to have his overwhelming power by his father as part of a sort of power-farming community; thinks his father is a coward because the few times they’ve met and fought each other, his father’s ended up running away 

- Acheron has lived his whole life as a demon warlord, and despite obviously sharing his father’s build, arrogance, and lust for battle, his father isn’t demonic (his mother was) and constantly praises himself for giving Acheron the traits that led him to be successful in life (making it all the more infuriating to Acheron when the man gives up and runs when he starts to lose in battle)

- Given name was Archer; had an older brother named Sabre

That’s all for now.  If anyone’s interested I can talk about him or the others more.  I’ll probably post something like this again when I’m feeling nostalgic!