#do I know even half of what happens in this myth yet? no.

[100percentdirtball]

transcript under the cut

A thread on bluesky from Talia Bhatt, username @enkiducoin.

It's a reply to Oruniter (@outsidein) whose original post was: It's astonishing how much discourse is just everlasting "all trans women are secretly Baeddels" panic. The idea that we're fighting a feminism that includes trans women but excludes trans men is arguing that the mythologised spectre of Baeddelism took over cis feminist spaces. It's often projections.

Talia's thread reads:

It's probably a good time to talk about the myth of the baddels.

Myth because the facts are sparse, largely unavailable, and ultimately don't matter--especially to those who are weaponizing the idea of the baeddel against transfeminist consciousness.

All we really know is two sentences.

During the 2010s, theree was a group of transfems on Tumblr (and some on Facebook) who dubbed themselves 'baeddels' and tried to theorize an early form of transfeminism. They made various missteps and eventually disbanded for interpersonal rather than ideological reasons.

That's about it.

What is far, far more important than the baeddels than their history or theory is the reaction to their existence, which continues to this day.

I don't actually know what their theories were because they weren't really influential, and nearly everything I've learned has been secondhand.

Some girls who weren't baeddels were held up as core members. Sometimes they were accused of being all-white despite that apparently being untrue. One Tumblr passed around accuses them of "anti-AFAB hate" and "AMAB supremacy" in a manner that's frankly reskinned transphobia.

It's a complete mess.

Here's why none of it matters, though.

You see, I wasn't on Tumblr during the 2010s. I wasn't even out online for over half that decade.

However, the literal millisecond I began speaking on feminist topics as a transfem--on TWITTER--I was called a 'baeddel'.

You see the tactic, I hope.

'Baeddel' was a word I had no context for, but in non-transfem queer spaces--especially fandom-oriented ones--it was a libelous word with a lot of weight. If I was a baeddel, I was a fascist radfem white-supremacist bioessentialist enbyphobe and more.

The word is meant to tar, and to silence.

Offenses worthy of the moniker 'baeddel' ranged from using "TME/TMA", to discussing transmisogyny, to simply being a trans girl who resisted disposability.

If you did, you were a bioessentialist TERF who hated transmascs and needed to unpack your "AMAB socialization".

That, in particular, was core to the 'baeddel' accusation. "AFABphobia", hatred of transmascs and "AFAB enbies", a certain prejudice that an AMAB might hold against an AFAB, if you will!

Ahem.

It's kind of fucking obvious when you put it in plain words what's happening here.

The idea of a feminism that is inclusive of trans women but exclusive of trans men is, frankly, entirely made up. No major feminist school of thought with any sway in real-world movements has ever theorized such a line, and if I'm being honest, it's logically impossible.

Yet the myth persists.

Even so, I've seen queer people deep in fandom spaces structure their understanding of actual GCs and TE"RFs" after their 'understanding' of baeddels. I've witnessed utter buffoons who thought 'radfems' were transfem-positive and transmasc-negative encounter actual GC transmisogyny and be stunned.

If I had read Baudrillard say something super clever about maps, territories, and hyperreals.

The specter of the baeddel is a campfire ghost story, a cautionary tale used to finger-wag at trans girls, warning us to not get too many funny dieas about having any dignity as feminist subjects.

How does the tale end?

Honestly, we just stopped caring.

The 'baeddel' accusation is so unfounded in anything real and so fucking stupid that all you could do after a point was laugh and shrug. Over time, I saw even cisfem friends be called 'baeddels' for showing solidarity to transfems.

The best part, though?

I'm pretty all my transmasc friends have been called 'baeddels' by now, too.

We've come completely full circle.

What did 'baeddel' originally mean? I don't know and I don't think we ever will.

Today, however, it means "uppity tranny", and anyone who supports us.

The tags on the original post read: #transfeminism#materialist feminism#gender is a regime#sex is a social construct#social constructionism#feminism#lesbian feminism#baeddel#y'all know that you keep circulating blog posts about baeddels by others right#you are defining a strawman and then insisting that trans girls with any feminist subjectivity are defined by that strawman#and yes i used strawMAN deliberately because a lot of this is an exercise in calling us sexist to non-transfem trans people#buried under 70 layers of tumblrspeak#you have just invented “transfeminazi”#get a fucking grip

On Transmisogyny, Feminism, and the Myth of the 'Baeddel'

This will go well.

[zayne-li]

THEY CALL THIS MAN THE MASTER OF FATE AND THEN PROCEED TO MAKE HIM THE MOST BABYGIRL VERSION OF ZAYNE TO DATE

I know almost nothing about what happens in this myth yet. All I know is that he's my wife.

[lucysarah-c]

Mounting Spring Ch. 4

Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21.Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.) Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it. From the creator of "Not in season?" I bring to you "Mounting Spring" lmao haha sorry it's just that my first omegaverse was rather a success… so I decided to do another. Masterlist to the previous parts! Ao3 link in case you prefer to read there!

A weariness clung to his body, one he couldn’t quite explain beyond being so utterly drained that even taking a shower felt like a monumental effort.

With a weary sigh, he pushed himself up from where he’d been slouched against the desk and slowly blew out the candles scattered around the office. Darkness didn’t bother him. He was used to it—had spent years orienting himself in the black void of the underground. The faint moonlight spilling through the window was more than enough. Compared to those shadowed depths, this was child’s play.

That night, the moon seemed unusually bright. His tired gaze drifted to the large arched window behind his desk. Waxing moon… or was it full already?

‘Don’t they say some bullshit about omegas going into heat during the full moon?’

He scoffed. “Urban myth,” he muttered. It sounded like something out of a witch’s tale. But, come to think of it, wasn’t she supposed to be in season?

The stack of paperwork on his desk taunted him with the reminder that he’d probably have to pull an all-nighter. The thought made his jaw clench. After everything that had happened that day, he muttered a curt, “Fuck it,” and extinguished the last candle. The room plunged into shadow as he dragged himself toward the bathroom.

But then his attention snagged on the slightly ajar door leading to his bedroom. It wasn’t wide open, but it wasn’t shut either—a hesitation in its placement that mirrored her presence in his life. Maybe she didn’t feel she had the right to close it entirely. Or perhaps she didn’t want to invite him in.

Levi wasn’t sure what possessed him to check. Maybe he wanted to ensure she was asleep. Maybe it was just an excuse, though he hated the idea of coming off as some kind of creep.

The silence in the room was oppressive, broken only by the sound of his footsteps. His sharp ears picked up no stirring from the other side of the door. She was asleep—curled into a small ball beneath the blankets. Her face was peaceful, framed by a tangle of hair splayed across the pillow.

‘She looks young,’ he thought absently, then corrected himself: Younger.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and tore his gaze away. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he muttered, retreating into the safety of the bathroom.

As he stripped off his clothes, a faint scent clung to the fabric. It wasn’t unpleasant—not even close—but it was strong enough to make his body react in a way he resented.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, frowning deeply. “It’s not my fault,” he groaned, trying to shake the thought from his head. She wasn’t in heat, after all. If she had been, he’d already be climbing the walls. He grimaced at the thought of what that would’ve meant—both a curse and a convenience. Her hormones would have made her eager, desperate even, and he… well, he wouldn’t have had the luxury to hesitate. Instinct would’ve taken over, and by now, it would all be over—messy, but over.

But she wasn’t in heat, and that was both a blessing and a complication. On one hand, it spared them both the humiliation of fumbling through something neither of them wanted. On the other hand, he was standing half-naked in his bathroom, trying to keep his thoughts clean while the girl he barely knew slept just a room away.

‘It’s like jerking off to the thought of a coworker,’ he thought with disgust. ‘Not illegal, but it feels like it.’

He needed a clear head—desperately. Most of his squad had gone through their ruts recently, their youth amplifying every primal urge. She smelled too good for a group of young, horny alphas to ignore. A cold shower might’ve been the smart choice, but the chill of the rain earlier still clung to his skin, and he just wanted to collapse into bed.

His bed wasn’t an option, though—not tonight. Instead, he grabbed a pillow from the couch in the corner of his office. He propped it against the armrest and sank down, throwing a thin gray blanket over himself. His head rested against his arm, and his other hand lazily scratched at his stomach, the hem of his shirt riding up. The dim glow of the moonlight played across the room, and he stared at the ceiling, eyes heavy but his mind restless.

“What the hell am I going to do,” he murmured to himself.

The sharpness of his fags could be perceived by his tongue that, under the foreign texture couldn’t stop feeling it. That, the thickness of his saliva and the clear feeling that his loose pants were perhaps a bit tight. It was obvious, she smelled too good, his own nature being highlighted by the time of the year and, in particular, the lack of exposure. Frowning and sighing loudly, he rolled over to a side searching for a position comfortable enough for him to fall asleep into.

Sleep came eventually. For Levi, sleeping on a couch with a makeshift pillow and a mission-worn blanket was a luxury compared to the alternatives. For once, exhaustion was kind.

On the other side of the room, her mind kept replaying the scene.

“Die. Just go. You’re making this harder for me,” she whispered, gripping the edge of the small French balcony of the borrowed household. The late-night air was cold against her skin as she stared down at the street below. It was late, the streets below barely lit, and her eyes darted nervously toward the door of her room before returning to the darkness beyond.

The young man standing below, dark-haired with striking gold eyes, still wore his military uniform. He looked up at her with an pleading expressing, “Come on, Y/N,” he called up, his voice a mix of desperation and imploring. “Are you really going to let it all go? I can talk to someone—someone higher up that with what’s going on. We can change this. You don’t have to do it.”

Her grip tightened on the balcony’s iron railing, her knuckles white with tension. She shook her head sharply, pressing her forehead to the cold metal. His words only deepened the ache inside her. Referring to her loss of the season to “what’s going on” made it sound trivial, dismissive, when it had torn her apart. “Stop it,” she whispered. Her voice trembled as she added, “I’m doing this for my family.”

“You don’t deserve this,” he said softly, his eyes locked on her. “You deserve the life you’ve worked for—just as much as your siblings do.”

“Y/N!”

The shout startled her, and she flinched, slamming the window shut as the door to her room swung open. She spun around, pressing her back against the glass, hands behind her to brace it closed. Her heart thundered in her chest, afraid of being caught—not by her two-year-old sister, but by someone who might hold more authority.

“What is it, Mae?” she asked, forcing calmness into her voice as the toddler raised her arms to be picked up. She obliged, hoisting the little girl onto her hip before sitting on the bed, her exhaustion evident. Her tangled hair framed her face, damp from the cold towels she’d used to try to soothe her pounding headache.

“Are you leaving because I used your makeup?” Mae pouted, her large, curious eyes searching Y/N’s face.

Y/N managed a tired smile. The memory of her two younger sisters destroying her makeup a few days earlier flickered briefly in her mind. Back then it had infuriated her, now it seemed like a distant worry. “No, Mae. I’m leaving because I’m getting married. Remember?” she said, her tone soft, trying to explain in a way the toddler could understand.

“What about being princesses?” Mae pouted harder.

It broke her. Tears welled in her eyes, and she pulled her sister into a tender hug. The pounding in her head and the dull ache in her lower belly were relentless, her body rebelling against her refusal to conceive this season—as if she’d had a choice.

Mae was innocence incarnate, her wide-eyed questions too pure for the weight they carried. But her older brother, on the other hand, had been no help. She’d found one of the WANTED posters of her soon-to-be husband plastered on her dressing table as a joke.

“You think this is funny?!” Y/N snapped, shaking the boy by his shoulders. Her anger surged, raw and unrestrained, but she bit back the urge to slap him. “I’m doing this for you, idiot! For you, for Ed, for Mom!”

“You’re not in charge,” the boy spat, his voice cracking but defiant. “Dad’s home, remember?”

The arrogance in his tone made her blood boil. Ever since their father’s return, the boy had become insufferable, emboldened by his status as the favored child and the budding dominance of his alpha nature.

“You want to be a man so badly? Then act like one and know your place!” she hissed, shoving the crumpled poster into his chest.

“You’re marrying a subversive,” he sneered with disdain, parroting words he clearly didn’t understand.

“I’m marrying someone who’ll make sure you don’t have to live off scraps and pity from the military, you little fool!” she snarled. Her hands trembled as frustration and heartbreak collided.

That memory dissolved into another—curled on her bed, her body wracked with cramps. The bathroom light, still on, spilled into the room. From the cracked door, she could hear her parents arguing. The light from the corridor illuminated the carpeted floor by the ajar door, casting her parents' distorted shadows like a muppets show against the ground.

“She needs to rest,” her mother said, trying to placate the man’s rising fury. “These things happens —”

“She’s ruining us!” her father screamed. “This was our chance, and she’s screwing it all up!”

Her sobs grew louder, muffled only by the pillow she pressed against her face. She lay with her back to the slightly open door, as if trying to shield herself from the conflict. They had been arguing for a while about the possibility, the events all pointing in one direction. That alone had fueled this outrage. ‘How am I going to tell them?’ The thought made her chest tighten with anxiety.

They argued over a possibility, now she had to confirmed them that it was a reality. Only minutes ago, she had walked to the bathroom—the golden light of the candle still flickering there. When her fingers came away stained with blood, the confirmation of what she already knew—her heat had passed, her body rejecting what it was supposed to do.

“She’s not doing it on purpose!” her mother argued.

“Then fix her! Give her some calming tea, call the damn doctor, do something! You think he'll keep her if she’s not useful?!”

She gripped the pillow tightly before tossing it over her head and pressing it hard against her face, as if she could make the world vanish for a moment. Silently pleading for the shouting to stop. ‘Please… just stop.’

None of the memories from the past week came to her in order; they just replayed chaotically in her mind. When her tired eyes fluttered open in the dim light of the room, she realized she had been tearing up in her sleep. The shadows cast inside the room weren’t her parents', and the voices weren’t theirs either. Sitting up slightly, she became aware of her surroundings. The sheets felt rough, and the mattress was smaller than what she was used to.

The memory of when she had fallen asleep completely eluded her, but the clock on the nightstand indicated it was already morning. She couldn’t tell by the window; the rain was still pouring heavily outside. The hushed whispers of two people on the other side of the room made her debate whether to sit up or feign sleep. She quickly chose the latter as the sound of someone opening the door reached her ears. Curling up in the bed, she pulled the sheets over her face, nearly hiding herself entirely.

With her face almost fully covered, the scent of the bed surrounded her. There was something subtly unsettling about the lingering fragrance of someone else on the sheets—a constant reminder that this wasn’t her bed. Yet, it wasn’t unpleasant. Quite the opposite, it was oddly soothing. Her decision to pretend to be asleep shifted into the realization that she could drift off again. Perhaps her subconscious was taking over, responding instinctively to the alpha's scent that enveloped her—a primal comfort, making her feel safe and protected.

—

“Hi~” came Hange’s singsong voice as they opened the door without knocking. “Knock, knock,” they added playfully, as if mocking the concept of knocking before barging in.

Levi, standing in the middle of the room with his uniform half on and a toothbrush in his mouth, turned to glance at them with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, I thought you’d be less ready at this hour,” Hange remarked, stepping fully into the room.

Levi spit out the toothpaste and wiped his mouth with a towel before muttering, “What are you doing here?” His eyes landed on the tray they carried. “And with a tray?”

“I brought breakfast for the newlywed couple!”

“Shh!” Levi hissed, moving swiftly to grab the tray before Hange accidentally dropped it. He motioned for silence, his expression stern. She was still asleep, and the message was clear.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hange whispered. As Levi set the tray on the coffee table and resumed getting ready, an unusual silence settled between them. It didn’t last long.

“So…” Hange began, their curiosity bubbling to the surface. “How was it? How is she?”

Levi ignored the question, muttering a vague reply through clenched teeth as he moved about the room, clearly trying to avoid the topic.

Hange’s sharp eyes followed him, their face shifting into a grimace as the tension grew. “I’m not exactly a purebred alpha,” they finally said, “but… you don’t smell very taken to me.”

Levi, who had just sneaked inside his room a little while ago to pick up his stuff, sighed loudly and stopped moving, giving himself a moment to respond. “… I couldn’t,” he admitted finally.

Hange pressed their lips together, unusually quiet for a moment. When Levi turned to face them, their expression said it all.

“Come on,” Levi snapped. “You’re a non-stop talker, and now you shut the hell up? Say something.”

“I’m… finding it.”

Levi rolled his eyes, grumbling in frustration.

“Oh boy…” Hange finally ventured. “Well. Maybe she was just tired? Tonight, after she’s settled—”

“We agreed I wouldn’t do it if she didn’t want to.”

The blank stare Hange gave him was enough to make Levi snap. “What did you want me to do?!”

“I don’t know?!” Hange exclaimed, throwing their arms in the air. “Claim her? Maybe?!”

From an outsider’s perspective, the exchange might have been hilarious—their expressions exaggerated, their words intense, yet still whispered fiercely to avoid waking her.

Levi scowled. “Well, excuse me. Excuse me for not being a fucking rapist.”

Hange’s attempt at a lighter tone wasn’t helping. “Some would argue that you are—you’re an alpha, after all.”

“You’re an alpha too, you idiot,” Levi shot back, finding no humor in their dark joke.

“Hardly. I’m more beta than alpha.”

Levi ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “You should’ve seen the puppy eyes she gave me. I’ve got fucking lots of kinks, but that’s not one of them.”

Hange clicked their tongue and shook their head. “Omega puppy eyes… the deadliest weapon of all.” They crossed their arms, leaning back thoughtfully. “Zackly’s going to kill you, though.”

“Tch.” Levi rolled his eyes. “He can suck my dick.”

That made Hange laugh more than they should have. “Seriously, though—what the hell are you going to do with an unclaimed omega in the middle of a military facility? I can catch her scent, and I’m a low-breed alpha.”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d help me with,” Levi admitted, reluctant to ask for help but clearly out of his depth.

Hange didn’t answer, instead moving toward the door.

“No, no, no,” Levi muttered, darting across the room to stop them, but they had already cracked it open to peek inside.

“You’re going to wake her up,” Levi hissed, his whisper dropping to an even lower register.

Hange ignored him, their eyes fixed on the small portion of her face visible above the sheets. “… What about a convent? Maybe I can talk to a priest.”

“A convent?” Levi echoed in disbelief as his exasperation grew “That’s your solution?”

“Either that or bars on all the windows. No one gets in, no one gets out.” Hange turned to him, smirking.

Levi shot them his best deadpan expression. “We’ve gone from a convent to a prison. And you’re supposed to be the brains here?”

“I gave you a solution,” Hange retorted, leaning closer as their whispered argument continued. “Claim her.”

“I can’t!” Levi snapped, his frustration boiling over.

“Then trust,” Hange said, spreading their arms in a gesture of faith. “Then trust our soldiers. I trust them—they’ll behave,” though their tone sounded less certain with each word. “Maybe Jean will get a little too excited, like a puppy with a new toy, but he’s a good kid.”

Levi’s flat expression didn’t waver. “You trust Floch around her without me in the picture?”

The brunette, who had been sporting a confident, almost cheerful smile while defending the few original members of the Scouts before they were nearly wiped out, suddenly shifted to a serious, defeated expression. Waving a hand in the air, they muttered, "You made your point loud and clear."

The silence that followed was thick, as both stood by the door frame. Levi, arms crossed, was deep in thought. Meanwhile, Hange continued to stare at her, their eyes scanning her face across the dimly lit room.

"I’ll just… lock her up here for a couple of days until her scent calms down. It’s not ideal, but—"

Levi’s quiet musings, spoken with a defeated tone, were abruptly interrupted by Hange muttering under their breath, "She’s hella cute, though."

Levi’s hand moved to pinch the bridge of his nose, clicking his tongue in frustration.

"What? Can’t I compliment your wife?" the brunette asked jokingly, still admiring the sleeping girl. They tilted their head to the side, trying to get a better view. "You’re one lucky bastard."

"Four-eyes!" Levi snapped, using the old nickname he hadn’t used in years out of respect for his friend’s new position. The commander chuckled. "Stop staring at her," Levi ordered.

"I’m doing nothing," Hange shrugged, though their eyes remained fixed on the sleeping girl.

"I can fucking smell you, idiot!" Levi growled, clearly indicating that he could easily detect how Hange’s body reacted to his new wife. The spicy, interested aroma they gave off was more than enough for Levi to know that Hange found her more than just pretty.

Hange barely contained a laugh, forcing a straight face to speak. "Question, and this one’s serious," they said, their eyes twinkling. Levi’s tired expression only seemed to amuse them more. "If you two… ever get down to business, would you consider a threesom—"

"DON’T HIT ME!" Hange quickly added as Levi’s hand moved with lightning speed to smack the back of their head.

"Shut the fuck up. You’ll wake her up," Levi muttered, but Hange was already caressing the back of their head where Levi had smacked them. "And over my dead, cold body. You heard me?"

"Ugh," Hange groaned, rubbing the back of their head with their left hand. "You purebreds… are so territorial. You’re missing half the fun."

Levi remained with his arms crossed, eyes narrowing. "And you’ll be missing your only remaining eye if you ever bring that shit into my room again."

When she woke up again, the clock on the nightstand read 11 am.

(I'm sorry if this chapter was shitty, I'd been so stressed with work lately but I didn't want to let you all down another week in a row T-T)

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out.

Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @l3visthighs @hannieslovebot @flxrartsstuff @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @katharinasdiaryy @ackermanswifee @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @searriously @blackdxggr @storiesofsung @abiatackerman @braunsbabe @moonchild-angel @galactict3a @lemonsupernova @hyuckwon-my-husbands @heyitsd1yaa @sydneyyuu @love-for-faeries-go-burrrr @mandaax @sugacor3 @r0ckst4rjk @vegetasgirl2799 @catiwinky @pinksaiyans @sparklykeylime Wanna join my tag list? Here!

[penguininahottub]

This is, by no means, original thought. However, after the release of Beatles ‘64, I just want someone to make a Beatles film that is for us. Forget the mainstream and do what Cynthia said had never happened - people getting the emotion right instead of just the facts. The Beatles story isn’t a success story, it isn’t a rags to riches story, it isn’t an even a story about genius, it’s a story that has the power to change the world and one that will be told for ever. We are living in an era where we get to witness a myth being made and so in tribute to the oral tradition, we need to be the myth-makers. Someone needs to tell the story. I hope it will be Paul. I fear it won’t. Perhaps he can’t or shouldn’t, perhaps he won’t be believed. He definitely won’t be if everyone, including him, keeps recycling the same tropes. We know there’s no new stuff to be created, but there is a new light to be shed on what we know is there. This is beginning to sound a bit like the discovery of the Book of Mormon. No one needs another religion, but we do need is for someone to actually attempt to approach this seismic cultural event with an honest and open perspective.

Yoko allowed John to believe he was the genius. John’s canonisation (his manufactured image does him no favours) means that we can forget that Paul was the revered one in the 60s. He was the chosen one - in every way. John clocked it at their very first meeting.

“I half thought to myself, He’s as good as me, I’d been kingpin up to then. Now, I thought, if I take him on, what will happen?”- John

He took a risk, he made his choice and then never again believed in his own ultimate superiority. The story he’d told himself growing up, was that nobody was capable of spotting his genius because they were all below him. Surely a trauma response to being abandoned by his parents. Never could stand to be ignored, forever desperate to be seen and yet incapable of taking off the armour of cruelty. Look at me! Paul was the same, not armour but a wall of charm. Underneath John was soft and Paul is that almost impenetrable wall. They let each other in, and each betrayed the other. Those instincts of self-preservation that John spoke about.

Anyway, he took the chance on Paul, because he wanted to be somebody and Paul and him together made that a real possibility. Also, Paul was fucking hot and clever and talented. He was also a non-conforming weirdo who made everything look effortless and wouldn’t join John’s gang and wouldn’t let him lead. I wonder if this was Paul knowing, from the first moment of seeing John as was then confirmed by subsequent sightings and (I suspect) recces, strategically carried out to observe John (oh that bus worship carries some significance beyond an appreciation for public transport), that he knew how to handle John. Handle and manage John, in order to make him his very own.

(Is it him? Does it matter, because Paul has told us he “noticed” John many times, even before the chocolate bar.)

But, all the Paul adulation, especially John’s own uncontrollable, unconditional veneration, got to be too much. He couldn’t keep his jealousy in check. No quantity of material objects, women, money, food, fame soothed the ache for long enough. He thought Yoko, and because I am sure this is what Yoko promised him, was the only person who would always be in awe of him. She wasn’t, and the really tragic part is that Paul was from the jump, he still is and his faith never waivered.

If only they’d been able to maintain the connection and never lose the ability to read each other’s minds.

They burned too brightly. They loved too hard.

[pinkeos]

The Tides Beckon || Freminet x Merman!Reader (Pt. 1)

Warning/s: Mentions of blood, Fremi almost died, not much dialogue, author's first language ain't english

Notes: WAKE UP BABE ITS MERMAY -my brain last night so i decided to write this one with my favorite fontaine boy. also there's more to this story so i'll write more ehe

Whenever the world grew louder alongside his thoughts, Freminet would often seek refuge in the ocean. While others feared the unknown depths of the waters, the diver knew the nation’s hydrology like the back of his hand. The deep waters and the creatures within became his sanctuary for when everything was just too much.

This didn't come naturally, however. Because there was a time where he, too, grew anxious of what could happen whenever he dived deeper than the last. This was when the beings above hadn't bestowed him a vision yet, when he had to rely on his trusty helmet to dive. Who knew what could happen, his diving suit could malfunction while he was swimming and it would be too late to ascend by the time he noticed it.

There was a specific moment, at night, when he scampered into the waters, drowned in his thoughts and wanting nothing more than to surround himself with the waves that pushed his worries away for even just a moment. It was a mistake to not check his gear beforehand, a mistake that could've easily cost him his life. He was younger then, much less experienced of a diver than he was now.

He tried to swim upwards when water began to flood into his diving helmet, however, fate had something else planned as a bunch of seaweed vines caught his ankle, preventing him from swimming any further. The boy, calm as he may always seem to be, began to panic. His hands started to tug and pull at the seaweed vines to free his foot.

It was dark out, he shouldn't have left and dived into the ocean by himself. He had sneaked away from the House, not informing anyone of his whereabouts, so the chances of someone miraculously arriving just in time to help him was zero to none.

Or that's what he thought. It was when his vision began to blur, his body growing weak as water prevented him from breathing. His body had gone limp, eyelashes drooping, his consciousness slipping slowly and surely.

It was then that a shadow began to swim closer to him. The full moon’s light beamed from the surface of the water, providing decent enough lighting to help him in his blurry vision to make out that this shadow was a person. What they were doing in the ocean in the middle of the night, he didn't know. But they were there to save him.

He couldn't remember clearly nor did his vision help when it came to reveal his savior’s identity. What he was quite sure of was their long hair swaying prettily in the water, their tail moving as they swam— wait, tail? Before he could comprehend what he had managed to see, he blacked out.

Those memories would forever haunt Freminet’s mind. Even in the present, where he sat on a large boulder by the shore, Pers in his hands as he watched the waves roll in and the white seafoam appear and disappear. After that fateful night, he began to rack his brain on what happened.

Little knew of how fond Freminet was with fairy tales, and how often he would imagine this world in his mind where he had companions that would bring color and life to this imagination of his. He has books and stories stored away in his room, away from prying eyes that he would read whenever he wanted to.

That's when he came across the myths and tales of mermaids. Creatures that were half human and half fish, with ethereal beauty and a voice capable of luring many with their angelic singing. They lived in the depths of the ocean, far away from the humans, they served the hydro dragon and his many incarnations. But for some reason unclear in the books, their kin had begun to dwindle over the centuries. It wasn't clearly stated where they came from, or if they even were true, but Freminet was quite sure the person he saw that night was a mermaid.

He hadn't spoken a word to Lyney or Lynette, he was afraid they wouldn't believe him. Heck, sometimes he thought he didn't believe himself. Perhaps it was just an illusion? But then how did he survive? Who saved him?

The soft wind that blew on his cheek managed to pull the boy out of his thoughts. He sighed, hugging his legs closer to his chest as he placed his chin on his knees. The ocean was peaceful today.

At least that was until a loud splash erupted from not too far away. Usually, the salty scent of the sea breeze overwhelmed any other scent when near the shore. But it was different today. 

Freminet could smell it. The familiar scent of blood. And it was so strong. The boy gulped, standing up and silently making his way off the boulder. The splash wasn't too far, possibly from the other side of the large rocks. 

Trained in stealth and being naturally good at keeping quiet, he had easily managed to sneak his way to the other side, peeking over a boulder to see what was going on. 

The boy suppressed a gasp, but his lips still parted in shock, eyes turning wide. A small splash sounded from when the tail came into contact with the surface of the water. A tail, similar to that of a fish, but long and connecting to an upper human body.

The scales were covered in blood, staining its color and the water with it. A groan ripped Freminet’s attention from the tail and towards the human part of the creature. If he wasn't already shocked with the tail, he was even more surprised at the sight of the pained face of a familiar member of the Marechaussee Phantom meeting his view.

It was the face of the young influential official that almost everyone in Fontaine knew of. How could they not when he worked directly with the Iudex?

Though his appearance was far from the usual, because he was a freaking mermaid right now.

Freminet did not know what to think of this. He was just thinking about this a moment ago, even thinking what he could possibly do or say if he were to meet one in real life, as slim the chances are. But that was happening now and he was absolutely speechless.

“Who’s there?” The mermaid’s sharp voice cut through the silence. He was spotted.

Seeing as he was busted, the diver decided to reveal himself, though keeping his distance.

“It’s you…”

Ending note: I haven't written in a while so I'm trying my best because I really like this story😭

[dufferpuffer]

I have read some of your long and comprehensive meta on symptoms of lycantrophy, but this is more of a headcanon question:

Remus suggests Bill might have some “wolfish traits” after his attacks. Could werewolves in their human form have enhanced sense of smell or hearing, or immunity for some water borne diseases, or other “wolfish traits”?

Would they be immune to Polyjuice just like Hagrid? Could they be immune to other potions and poisons? Or even spells or curses?

There’s also the moon factor - some people attribute Remus peakiness to the dread he feels before every transformation, some to the “pull of the moon”. So much to explore.

What I sense is that people are trying to give an overlooked side to lycantrophy that might not be that bad or painful, and sometimes I rather like that.

I’ve read some interesting works (some good some bad) that indicated that lycanthropes carry a magic of their own, more intuitive and primal. Personally, I find that exciting to explore, as the myth of the werewolf is really ancient and could be linked to some really cool lore. I also like the idea that shouting latin words and shooting sparks from a wand is only one way of doing things, and that magic itself can be manifested in more mysterious ways that prejudiced, self-important wizards don’t bother to explore.

Half my opinion and half asking for yours, the lycanthrope expert! Beyond uncomfortable pathological symptoms, how do you think the biology of a non transformed werewolf might change?

Thanks for reading my ramblings B^) I'm gonna engage with everything you brought up because thats what I feel like doing, its really really fun to talk HCs and theories

WEREWOLF HCs AND THEORIES

Like... 2000 words or something idk

The Moons Effect My theory is that symptoms are caused not by the Full Moon itself but a culmination of magic the moon puts into the atmosphere, getting stronger through the month until the Werewolf 'pops'.

You don't need to be touched by the Full Moonlight to transform, it happens regardless of where you hide... so it's in the air.

Yet Remus seems to be triggered by Moonlight when nobody expected him to be in PoA. (Part 3 is my theory on that in more detail.)

When they get symptoms before the Full Moon, even during the day, its like something is building up in them.

Their Lycanthropy (Dark Magic curse or Virus or both… perhaps a Virus with its own magic?) seems to feed on the Moon's energy.

I'm sure Remus feels dread before his Full Moon, but I think his peakiness is more than that. I doubt someone like Fenrir would feel that dread - but still has recognizable symptoms pre-Full Moon by Lyall (according to the 'Remus Lupin' Pottermore page)

'Pull of the Moon' is a good phrase. I like that. The moon is getting stronger and their Lycanthropy is responding in their cells, affecting them physically, preparing…

What are 'Wolfish Traits' in canon...? It is SO FRUSTRATING we don't hear more of this, ONLY that Bill likes his steak bloody. The story is teasing me. Leading me on. REMUS WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'WOLFISH TRAITS' DARLING PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME HANGING YOU FUCKING FLIRT

Remus is not ''obviously'' a werewolf. He puts a lot of work into that. Whenever people have worked him out (James/Sirius, Snape, Hermione) it has been based on his disappearances, not on how he looks or acts otherwise.

+ There are vague symptoms pre-Full Moon (as Harry notices in a memory and that Lyall Pottermore thing), + Weakness and loss of weight post-Full Moon (though that could be directly tied to exhaustion from transforming) + And of course - the transformation itself. The psychotic break of becoming a violent bite-hungry wolf. ...Thats it. Thats is all we know about what traits are definitely caused by Lycanthropy.

I can only assume Bill goes through some minor version of this: Maybe he feels a bit off around the Full Moon. Maybe he gets a bit hairy, maybe the moon gives him insomnia and a bad mood… ...I like to think so. As you said - sometimes its nice to think about over-looked sides of Lycanthropy that aren't 'as bad'.

After all, while still horrible, the Full Moon isn't the most major 'disabling' trait Remus suffers. Sometimes he even LIKES the transformation. No, the worst symptom... Is probably the fatigue. Even on Wolfsbane he needs multiple days off work, feeling too horrible to show up for Christmas lunch. The thing that stops him from working, that reveals what he is to a bigoted society, extending beyond a night of delirium and pain into days of suffering… are his 'less bad' symptoms. (That's something often overlook with disabilities: it's often not the loudest symptom that are the biggest problem - but the management of them, the complications of it, side effects from treatments, poor mental health from dealing with it physically and socially... I love you Remus Lupin)

Potential Wolfish Traits There is no evidence that, even transformed, Werewolves have heightened senses. Pottermore says their eyes and snouts are 'more human' than a True Wolf - though that doesn't like… mean much. They could still have wolf-like smell and night vision and stuff. Or they could not. Apparently Muggle and Wizard blood tastes different - whether that is Lycanthropic instinct, heightened taste/smell or sensing magic… who knows.

In any case, I don't think in Human form they do. If Remus had heightened senses he could surely have smelled Scabbers. He could have smelled Padfoot. If heightened senses are a known trait then surely Remus could be sent out to pick up Sirius' scent and track him. (unless it isn't quite strong enough for that...)

In terms of fun HC - I do like it. B^) + I like the idea of Remus being able to hear people approach his office from further away, so he is always prepared. + I like the idea of him being not-so-good at potions because the smells are overwhelming. + I like the idea of him, and all Werewolves, being more active in the dark without Lumos because they can see better. Sneaky.

We get hints that there are 'Wolfish traits' one can tell a Werewolf by, even when in Human form… and I like the idea of them being subtle habits. Or you just blow a dog whistle and they flinch.

There's more evidence against this than for it, though. I don't think it is canon… but it is fun :) In any case it would most likely get stronger around the Full Moon and weaken by New Moon, as all his symptoms do.

THERE ARE SOME THINGS THAT MIGHT HAVE SOME CANON MERIT THOUGH: Magical resilience; Physical dexterity/strength; Healing; Greying.

Fenrir seems to take more powerful magical hits. Maybe he's just a badass. (He is. Punk grandpa is an icon tbh.)

Fenrir can run FAST on four legs in his Human form. Normally people run kinda slow and awkwardly on four legs. Added strength and flexibility from Lycanthropy...? Perhaps he's just a REALLY intense furry and has trained meticulously. No shade - that's impressive

Remus was attacked around the neck and clawed at by Sirius Black, enough to scare him off from a bunch of human prey - but shows no injury the next day. Maybe Sirius didn't break skin. Maybe accelerated healing is just a Transformation thing. Maybe... Lycanthropy wants to help keep it's host alive.

What do Remus and Fenrir have in common...? Grey hair. What colour is werewolf fur? Grey. Could this just be that Fenrir is old/used to be stressed, and Remus is so stressed now that he is going grey? Yes. But honestly if most werewolves go grey early from the stress of life... that's kinda a symptom by itself anyway.

4. Polyjuice Polyjuice is a dangerous potion - as we saw with Hermione. Cat fur messed her form up and prevented her from shifting back easily, because it was a different animal. It seems the only way to cleanly shift your physical appearance is with 'matching' species DNA or whatever.

Hagrid would be the same: he is a different animal. If Hermione became part-cat when she had cat fur and got stuck… I think if someone had Hagrid's hair they would become part-half-giant and get stuck. (same for Hagrid into a full-human, his Giant genes wouldn't know what to do.)

Remus is full-human. I don't think there would be any issue.

Whether or not someone disguised as him would have Lycanthropy symptoms… I'm not sure, but I don't think so. The potion takes into account physical damage and deformities. It copied Harry's eyesight, Alastor's amputation and disfigurements… but copying an infection? If you took hair from someone who had the Flu, would you feel the Flu when you turned into them?

I don't think so - because things like infection and viruses are living creatures in their own right. Like you wouldn't sprout head lice if you turned into a kid with head lice. (Whether virus' are 'alive' is debated a bit, though I see no reason not to consider them alive just because they need to be parasitic to cells to function.)

If Lycanthropy is more like a curse than alive - does a curse transfer through Polyjuice? I doubt it. No curse on Alastor is injested by Barty through his hair. Magic is very intent-based, and the intent of Lycanthropy is spit-to-blood.

Also I just think its more interesting if, like personality and habits, you had to pretend to be sick to pass at the person you disguise as.

HOWEVER - if you took werewolf FUR… Polyjuice takes into account ones current physical state, right? Remus' physical state changes dramatically, painfully, magically - into a wolf-like creature.

A change has happened that is different to what a non-infected human can experiences. Taking werewolf fur, I think, would result in a cat-Hermione that gets stuck in a non-human shape. Same with Animagus fur/feathers/etc: they are humans, but they are in a shape and size that is not what a human that hasn't magically trained their body through the procedure can mimic.

The question I want answered is whether Minerva can have cat-fur Polyjuice and turn into a different looking cat. She's on the registry as a tabby, so she sneaks around disguised as a Calico…

Wolf Magic Magic isn't just latin words and wand sparks. Wands are a European thing - they aren't used much in Africa etc, where they use their hands more. We even see that, as a Wizard becomes more skilled, they don't need to say anything. Wandless magic is advanced. it seems wand movements, words and even wands themselves are just tools to aid in learning, to focus ones magic.

You can follow a recipe to bake a cake - but if you're good at baking, you can just throw that shit together, experiment on the fly.

Since Werewolves are a very old phenomenon with a magical root - whether that be some ancient curse, or Lycanthropy is some sort of magical creature virus - magic only available to Werewolves sounds pretty cool.

I don't like how it further differentiates werewolves from other humans, because the theme is that they ARE humans like everyone else and are being treated as 'other'. I wouldn't want to make them superheroes by accident, yknow?

But like… there's a million cool ways to take werewolf magic. I like the idea of utilizing the magic within the virus/curse itself. It's evidently incredibly powerful, physical, draws and stores energy from the moon, using a human as its puppet to spread itself... What if there were ways to utilize parts of that…? A symbiotic relationship with ones parasite, for better or for worse?

6. Biological changes of a Werewolf - headcanons B^)

I'm a big fan of the idea that Remus is living unhealthily by stifling his Lycanthropy while Fenrir is living healthy by indulging it. Remus is thin, pale, bags under his eyes - despite being young. Fenrir is rangy, tall, heavy, strong - despite being older.

It is a negative experience to take Wolfsbane and stifle the transformation - it is a positive experience to run around with Animagus friends and embrace it.

Lycanthropy is a severe thing. Once a month, EVERY month, you go through a complete physical change. It is painful to endure, you get into fights or self-harm - and Remus at least comes out thinner. There's no way that doesn't do anything. Especially as you get older.

So, my HC, is that Remus - being unhealthy - gets a lot of aches and pains. His body doesn't transform well. + He doesn't eat enough because he wants to be as weak as possible. It's safer. + His fatigue afterwards is worse. His small bones like his fingers sometimes don't set right, costing him more in potions... unless he just puts up with it. + His Wolfish-Form looks like shit. Patchy fur, thin, always panting... + He looks a little wonky from a childhood spent transforming every month - on less food than he should have had. Like he is on the short-average side, but has a stretched spine that makes him look a little taller. Nothing much visually - but can give him joint pain.

Fenrir DELIGHTS in his form. I don't think he has aches or pains much at all - his body transforms well. He encourages it so much, as he gets older, it's leaking into his Human form. + He is described as having 'whiskers' - and I take that literally. Nobody else has their facial hair described in that way, and he is a hairy man with long unkempt hair - he aint shaving... and somehow I doubt he has a patchy enough beard to be called 'whiskers'. I kinda think he straight up has whiskers. + Hairy. He has enough hair to be called fur. + Wolfish form is epic. Strong, noble, heavy, vicious, huge... + I can accept he sharpens his nails - but his teeth? He sharpens his teeth? I think they're natural, because sharpening teeth makes them weaker. His body is getting used to biting outside the Full Moon. + His fatigue afterwards is better than most, but his pre-Full Moon symptoms are stronger, his body AMPED UP in anticipation. + His body is more flexible, more used to different movements, that biting, scratching, prowling, walking on four limbs... its easier. + His voice is ravaged. A unique coarse, rough, barking voice.

Fenrir is a chad who can chase down a rabbit on all fours and catch it in his teeth - while Remus grunts a few times trying to tie his laces. Fenrir shows the signs of his Lycanthopy outwardly as he gets older, while Remus shows them internally as he fails to look after himself.

Regardless of how 'healthy' a werewolf is: + Snarling, growling, whining... all something you get used to. Deep chesty rumbles. A few years of being a werewolf and you're so practiced at it it's second nature. Fenrir embraces it - Remus takes careful control of his emotions so he NEVER slips up. + Hairier in general. Even Remus. They just have more body hair. Because I am biased towards typically masculine traits? Yes. + The bloody meat thing. A heightened desire for protein, better at tasting different things in meat and blood. Safer to eat, too.

[lya-dustin]

The Stone Table

or a rewrite of a one shot i did when rings of power first came out in my now deleted lotr blog erinti-of-the-maiar

Gil-galad x Erinti(oc)

could be read as part of both The Moon Lives in the Lining of Your Skin(silmarilion version)and I Sang of Leaves of Gold(Rings of power verision

inspired by this post made by @queenmeriadoc

summary: Gil-galad’s Maia wife wants a baby but his schedule is too busy so she uses their bond to spice things up during a feast to get what she wants.

cw: sex, telepathic dirty talk, cunnilingus, p in v sex, breeding, table sex, breast play

Her husband has always been too serious.

He had been serious and sensible with a perpetually stern brow despite his youth when they first married. While Ereinion Gil-galad had never been wild, he has always been bold.

The burden of kingship weighs heavily on him as does a strange hint of evil growing in the air. He smiles less and less these days, rarely takes a day off and Erinti has found him too tired to seek pleasure as of late.

She aches for him, to feel him move within her and see his troubles melt away as he sows his seed into her womb.

The Maia wants a child, to have their feä join and create a life inside her that will become a babe in her arms for them to love and nurture for the rest of their days.

And that cannot happen if her husband refuses to fuck that baby into her. To have him be rough with her, to have him overpower her and fuck her until all of Lindon feels the effect of their orgasms.

It would soon be autumn, but no plant would die nor leaf fall if the High King were to take her bent over his desk, or against the wall or on the balcony like they did a while ago.

Gil-galad’s hand on his glass tightens as his wife’s desire is felt through their bond.

Elves can hold a strong bond to the point of feeling one live and die no matter the distance, a Maiar could even manipulate a person so long as there is an opening.

Erinti and her husband have a bond so strong she knows the Halls of Mandos wouldn’t stand a chance against it. Sometimes they do not even need to speak out loud, his thoughts and hers can be heard and even seen as clearly as if each other were part of their psyche.

She is half expecting him to ask her to stop and yet her husband does not. Instead, her stick in the mud husband matches her desire with his.

Despite the regal and rigid as stone aspect he has, Gil-galad has quite a filthy mind. And, of course, the stamina to tire his maiar wife.

Something he reminds her with a hidden smile as he drinks his wine. Wine he claims is not as fine as that nectar that flows from her womb.

A womb he will fill the moment the feast is cleared, or so he promises.

But it does not end there, no, he doesn’t allow her to concentrate on the things said by those speaking to her as he takes his revenge.

He likes the low cut of her dress, the swell of her bosom on display like that for him, the fact that she wore no shift, or any other undergarments, had not gone unnoticed by him.

The king wants to tease her over the clothes, to knead and brush his thumb over her sensitive nipples as he kissed his way down her fair neck and collarbone until he is tearing off the dress to free her body from its confines. He intended to lavish her perfect breasts and use his mouth and fingers to string out that beautiful melody she makes when she comes.

A good prelude for what he had planned after the feast is over. By the time she’s readied for him to breed her Erinti of the Flowers would be naked and exposed to the cool autumn air.

The stone table would suffice, stone does not grow roots and leaves when he fucks his queen on it. Their bed had become a living tree with great roots and thick foliage with how attentive her husband usually is.

This particular stone was of great strength, carved from deep inside the mountains of Eregion and able to withstand the might of an Ent if it is to be believed.

A maia in the throes of passion may test that myth. Erinti’s hands had broken many things when her control slipped, while her ability was to nurture the earth as a servant of Yavanna and Nessa, her strength could destroy towers and castles with ease.

Gil-galad prided himself in making her lose control and admire his handiwork after. Not all furniture survived after he and his Queen were done.

It would not end with the table; he wants to take under the stars like he did when they wed. To have her ride him as the stars frame her like the goddess she is. To have the heavens and the earth witness the creation of a second Lúthien Tinúviel.

Not a princess, she corrects, but a son, a prince whose name she has seen from the moment she first laid with Gil-Galad.

Finnellach, flame of hair and eye.

The feast is scarcely over when the king makes good on his promise.

The king wastes no time in picking her up and setting her at the edge of the table, hiking up her dress until she could feel his hardness pressing between the heavy robes separating it from her cunt, feel how their game and his victory have affected him.

If she was as wet as the Lhûn before the final course had begun, the Maia Queen was sure to drown her husband with the waters from her womb.

“Has your husband been remiss in his duties, Lothíriel?” he asks between kisses with his sharp eyes dark and voice dripping with arousal.

Lothíriel, maiden crowned with flowers. The name he gave her when they first met, the name she wears as his wife just as he is Rodnor to her and the only name he cries out in pleasure.

“Our bed has wilted from your neglect, Rodnor.” The maia locked her long legs at his waist and let her hands roam up his chest and breaking the gorget he was wearing and tossing it aside as if it were nothing. “The leaves have begun to change color, but you’d notice that if you didn’t come so late and leave so early each day. I had half a mind to file a petition and demand a private audience with his grace to fix the issue.”

“You should have, I would have remedied the issue right there on my throne.” The vivid memory of all those times they had defiled his throne had her as wet as the Lhûn. “Her grace shall be crowned with oak blooms before dawn tomorrow.”

There is no promise of him taking the day off tomorrow, but the maia will fix that before the night is over.

“I better be, or his grace will not be leaving our bed.” The red haired being struggled to contain her desperation for him and effortlessly tore his robe of him to leave him only in his breeches.

He was built like an ox, trained in the same weapon that killed his beloved sister and as darkness grew around them, ready for war.

The scars from the Wrath have long since faded, you would not be able to tell he is a seasoned warrior and commander from looks alone. His physical strength could almost match her own, something Erinti Lothíriel has always loved.

“I won’t leave it either way.” With a smile he tears her dress apart until it pools around her waist on the table, and he is free to kiss his way down her neck and collar to her chest.

Gil-galad loves her breasts, the way they fit perfectly in his hands and their rosy peaks stiffen even more in the autumn air after he’d taken each of them into his mouth. He doesn’t stop there, the high king pushed her gently down to lie on the stone table as he continued down to her cunt as her hands threaded themselves in his dark mane.

The first time he had done this, the maia had turned made the meadow bloom to its fullest and remain so despite summer turning to fall soon after. The other times had resurrected the oak trees their bed had been.

Now as he threw her long bare leg over his shoulder, they would see how the stone would fare against the Scion of Kings putting his mouth and fingers to better use.

He is not the stern king with the weight of the world bearing down on him when they make love. He is simply her husband, her lover who knows exactly how to make her lose control of this fair form she made to be with him.

Her hand gripping the rough edge of the table feels nothing of the discomfort the stone against her soft palm nor does the stone show any sign of crumbling in her hold. Who was to say what would happen when Gil-galad makes her come undone?

She tries to hold back, not an easy task when Gil-galad uses every trick he knows to have her unravel with pleasure.

As great a singer and orator her husband is, Erinti things tongue fucking may be his best talent. The first time he had pleasured her this way the ground had shaken in tandem to her first orgasm and the hold on his hand had resulted in a hard to explain injury.

Still the stone does not break when the crescendo comes to its grand finish. They may have to procure more of it now.

“It passed the first test, but can it pass the second?” Gil-galad wiped her spent from his chin with the torn fabric of her gown, it won’t be of use anymore either way.

His manhood needs little help in reaching full mast, but the sight of it with some seed at its tip has desperate to feel it inside her. To feel it hitting those places only Gil-galad knows as they fuck hard and loud in open air without a drop of shame.

It was far too difficult to stop people from taking notice of their rulers’ sexual habits when their queen’s moods affected the life around them. So difficult it no longer mortified them almost two thousand years after.

“Only one way to find out.” The Maia breathes hard from the peak he brought her to, leaned back on her hands and spread her legs wide for her husband waiting for him to plow into her until Elbereth herself feels as if she too has been fucked senseless.

“The way her grace behaves, one would think she was a courtesan of the Edain and not a holy being.” he snaked an arm around her waist as the other pulled her face to his.

“Perhaps this holy being likes to be worshipped differently.” The maia kissed her husband deeply, tasting herself in his mouth as she pulled him closer to her until he dropped the hand on her chin to guide himself into her.

The wholeness that comes with being with him like this is heavenly, their feä melds into each other’s own as their bodies join in ways forbidden to anyone else.

“Then I will make this table a second altar to worship you on, Lothíriel.” His voice is low with desire and groans as he begins to move within her. Slow and steady, savoring every contour of her perfect body and driving her slowly to madness.

She may be Maiar, but Valar, did she find sexual compatibility the best thing Ilúvatar could bless his creations with. Her womanhood fit him like a glove, or so he says.

Perfection even Valinor would envy, his thoughts fill her head as he goes deeper and harder and brings his deft fingers to her button as his mouth seeks out her breast.

Their lovemaking brings the much-needed release Gil-galad desperately needed. Too many troubles coming seemingly out of nowhere and the lack of respite to find the why of it.

He is not the stone king teetering on the edge of a burst vein in his cerebrum, he is the elf groaning his wife’s name as their lewd sounds and smells fill the air. Time passes by around them and yet nothing exists beyond the two of them and their bliss.

Gil-galad comes just as he brings her to a second climax, a beautiful melody ending with a kindling of a new life.

“The stone didn’t break.” The King of the Noldor is still catching his breath when they remember to see if his theory proved correct. “We shall need more of this stone.”

“The table at your war room will need replacement.” The Maia grins hoping to see how they break that great round table hewn from a weaker stone.

[chrysanthemumgames]

Hi again!

This time I come back after re-reading the entire thing! Of course, aside from fixes to small continuity error and other stuff like that, it didn't change much from the last time I've read it, so I won't be saying anything new in terms of how much I love it and so on! It's just awesome as usual!

But I have a few questions I'd love to delve into, that I just didn't ask when the book wasn't finished, either because I didn't think of them or because I sort of preferred to wait for it to be actually done.

Sorry in advance for the long post though! It seems I'm unable to keep things short!

On a Hades romance playthrough, especially with a reserved MC who doesn't overtly flirt… Who among the other ROs and other people close to the main cast notices or suspects that there's a spark of "something" between Hades and the MC at the end of book 1? Considering just how much of a slow burn this route is, there isn't much to see yet, romance wise, but I feel like some people may realize something is starting to "shift" there.

When dining with Hera during her visit in chapter 6, if the MC tells her they like the Undeworld and what not, she ends up commenting "A shame". This line always had me reeling, but I didn't re-ask about it after first reading the entirety of the book so I'll do it now. Did she know what Demeter had planned to do? I always wondered why she'd think it's a shame, and it's pretty clear from the climax of the story that Zeus prefers the MC to stay in the Underworld, so I don't imagine it would be something like Hera knowing her husband wants to bring the MC back against their will. And there is no reason for her to have wanted MC to be unhappy for whatever reason. So it only leaves the option of her knowing about Demeter's plan in my mind, but maybe I'm missing something?

After the whole Eurydice and Orpheus thing, Hades says "There are some fates which very much deserve the fight. I know not what yours is, but if it turns out to be one you don't want, I am glad you have the power to change it. Not that this means I wouldn't do everything I could to help as well, of course." - it makes me wonder… Since for the duo of lovers their fate should have been for Orpheus to fail and that changed in my playthrough's case with my Dionysus' influence, I was wondering if in the scope of this story, the MC's "fate" should be the original outcome of the Persephone myth, with the "spending half a year in one realm the other half in another", and any other outcome is a result of having changed fate? Or is this not a part of their story that's truly decided by Fate in this interpretation of the myth? Also side note if it's the case, I think it's funny and kind of poetic that my MC basically traded his fate with Eurydice? Because his fate should have been spending half a year here and half there, and her fate should have been being separated from the one who came for her again after he failed and returning to the Underworld alone. But here, she managed to make Orpheus sort of succeed thanks to MC and now THESE TWO will spend half a year in one realm and half in another, while my MC managed to make Demeter fail and make it so he could go back and stay in the Underworld full time.

And final one! How much did Pirithous and Theseus get to know about what happened after Demeter dismissed them? At the very least in a scenario where they actually kidnapped the MC, not one where MC followed willingly. Not only I'm curious of Pirithous reflected upon his actions, but I'm also intrigued as if Theseus was "satisfied" of sorts that MC managed to go back (if that was indeed the case), considering he seemed against the kidnapping at least to a degree. If they even COULD keep informed, since they are demi-gods living as mortals as far as I understand their situation. I was just always interested in these two since they only appear in that short part of the story but what they do is HUGE.

And that's it. Sorry again for such a long post, and thanks for indulging me if you decide to answer even only some of the questions!

So!

I think a few of the others have picked up on things. I would say Charon and Hekate definitely know something is going on there, and friend!Hermes might have picked up some vibes as well. Even Alekto might have had a passing suspicion, though she doesn't quite consider it her business, and so doesn't devote much thought to it. People will tell her things when they want her to know them, you know?

Hera didn't have specific information about Demeter's plans, but she did know that it was likely she would take some form of drastic action. From her point of view, the arranged marriage was something Zeus did to screw with her (Demeter), and he was likely to reverse his decision once he'd had his fun with it/gotten some kind of concession from Demeter. So to Hera it seemed likely the PC had just found someplace they enjoyed, but their being taken away from it was basically a given.

There isn't really an assumed or default end for the story (or rather, not one that is more mechanically likely than another), but sort of yes! The PC ending up with a different outcome from the source story could be seen as their fate-subverting power at work. :)

Pirithous and Theseus are basically aware of the trajectory of events after they left, and this is because they're eventually brought to the Underworld for trial by the Erinyes. This is dealt with in the first chapter of the sequel.

Thanks as always for your kind words, and no worries about the questions!

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter One: In the Dead of Night

Vladimir Makarov x Reader

The Long Road Masterlist

Summary: Soon after your fiance's murder you find yourself diving face first into enacting a plan to avenge his death. Regardless of your friend's approval, your wellbeing, livelihood, or future, you find yourself in it for the long-con.

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: Violence, Guns, Death, Major MW3 Spoiler, Main Character Death, Grief, Loss, Angst, Anger, Hatred, Revenge, Dark Themes,

A/N: This is... sooooo self-indulgent and utterly crack, tbh. I'd thought it up a while ago and keep thinking about it. I kept trying to think of a way to make it realistic, but... I just feel like there is no way of doing that, so I'm just gonna write it. However it goes, it goes. Also fyi I am using google translate so I really hope it's coming out okay. I do speak Russian, but only Duolingo tiny bit. divider by @saradika

You were prepared for this, you knew it was bound to happen one day, you just didn't know when that day would be. It only looks like, now, it's finally come. As you sit at the counter, stirring the bowl of oatmeal you'd just made and are trying your best to get to cool down, you can't help but think about the man currently in the other room.

You'd expected an entrance something akin to that of a Mission Impossible movie: a loud boom, doors knocked down, guns blazing, venomous words shouted in a language you've hardly begun to understand despite the tedious month of learning to the best of your abilities. Thunder cracks in the distance, rattling the windowpane in the next room; you don't know when the heavy downpour started, but it hasn't given any sign of yield since his arrival only a half hour ago now. Part of you can't help but think back to the myths and legends your husband... husband--your fiance--you remind yourself, mentally scolding as this isn't the first, and you doubt it's the last time you're going to mentally interchange the two words. Part of you can't help but think back to the myths and legends your fiance used to tell you.

The rain reminds you of the the way the Vikings would personify the Norse Gods to Earthly elements. Sure, you know some of the comics, like Thor, and Loki... but nevertheless, with your upbringing, the heavy pounding of the rain against the tin roof and the approaching thunder only makes your thoughts drift back to him. Johnny.

What would he think? What would he do? If he knew you were here... Maybe it's the spiritual part of you that never quite left, possibly having been ingrained from your grandparents when you were younger, or an aunt, an uncle of some sort, perhaps... but you think he'd do something silly like this. Come back as a thunderstorm, manifesting himself as something so threatening and dangerous, symbolizing his distress, unhappiness, and worry for you with torrents of rain, yet trying to protect you from the beyond even with lightning. Yet, you know that's impossible, and certainly not the case. Your heart begins to ache once more as you think of him, not wanting to get caught up, again, in the overwhelming grief you hadn't fully let yourself fall into. This is for him, you remind yourself once again.

"What are you giving her?" The voice comes from the doorway, and you're not entirely surprised by the venom in his tone, albeit taken aback. While he's not loud due to the (presumably) resting woman in the next room, you know that the lack of volume doesn't mean he wouldn't yell if the situation were anywhere else.

"What do you mean? This?" You quirk an eyebrow as you continue to stir in the little additives you'd put into the oatmeal: honey, sugar, and a pinch of salt. "It's oatmeal?" You explain, the confusion obvious in your tone as you hold the bowl up a bit, angling it for him to better see. As if the man has never seen oatmeal in his life; the thought would elicit a whirlwind of laughter from you any other time, or, more accurately, if it were any other person... but this was him. Makarov.

Vladimir Makarov: Thirty-six years old; born in Moscow Russia. Commander of Konni; the ultranationalistic private 'military contractor' group.

You'd done what research you could, found what information you had access to, some you didn't. Utilized what connections, resources, and favors were owed to you. Maybe some of them did it out of pity, out of guilt, or some other sense of failure on behalf of the SAS. Regardless, you'd set your plans into action, intent on making your promise to your late fiance come true. You will kill the man before you. It won't be today. No. After all, that'd be too soon, you have to earn his trust first. Only then, after he's comfortable, and settled, will you pursue your slow and agonizing torture.

"Христос," he curses, "she said you're poisoning her," he speaks slowly, a menacing quality to his tone as he unravels the crossed arms from his chest. Anger is evident in his irises as he stalks toward you with each step, eyebrows in a thick and harsh line. "I ask again-"

"The medication? Is that what you're talking about?" You ask. Feeling your own anger continuing to effervesce in your gut, you turn to face him on the stool, sliding from the counter. While he's still a couple feet away, you have to be more than a handful of feet shorter than him. Of that, you're sure. "Because from what I've deduced so far from being here, she bribed the last caretaker to not give her the medication on the agreement that she'd get more time off!"

He shifts his weight onto his left foot, eyes widening ever so imperceptibly, yet he remains quiet, so you continue. "They gave me her medication, told me to give it to her twice a day, so I'm doing that because she's been prescribed that medication. She clearly needs it, as per her doctor's orders. So unless you think the doctor isn't right, then, that's not my problem! I, however, am not surprised if she's telling you that since she obviously didn't even want me here in the first place."

Rounding the counter, you continue about your--at this point it could be considered daily--routine. Hand grasping your cool blue glass of water, you take a few sips while silently studying him. Despite having infiltrated his life and unknowingly (to him, ethically) disposed of his mother's last caretaker, you haven't officially met your late fiance's murderer till tonight.

KILLER

Slaughterer...! You destroyed him... You took him away from me. You're the reason he's gone. All the thoughts continue to run through your head rampantly, and you can't help but turn to face the wall opposite of him. Pretending to be busy with some of the drying dishes, you try to calm yourself. Acting on impulse and emotion will get you nowhere, you know this.

A heavy sigh permeates the silence that'd fallen between you, and there are the following taps of approaching dress shoes against hardwood floors. Quickly turning to make sure he neither invades your personal space nor dares to touch you, you're met with the visage of Makarov slumped at the counter, head in his hands.

You don't speak, you don't know what to say. Silence fills the space between you. Seeing him like this is weird considering all the stories you'd heard about him. Though you suppose even the most evil of men are still that... human. "How long have you worked as a caretaker?" He suddenly questions.

"A few years," you answer, swallowing the anxiety that starts to bubble up in your throat. "I started as a nurse and thought maybe I'd become a doctor, but it was... too much for me, and... not what I wanted to do. I discovered I liked helping people better as a nurse." It's not all lies, in fact, most of it is true. The only thing that meets your admission is silence, and that fact only raises the tension building within the cottage. Wincing at the rumbling outside, the sound does nothing to help the obvious discomfort you're experiencing finally facing him in person.

"And would you say you're good at your job?" He asks, eyes slightly narrowed in questioning as he slowly raises his head from his hands. The intensity of his dark brown eyes scream hostility and a hurt you can't immediately place your fingers on. Yet despite it all you refuse to waiver underneath his gaze.

"Yes. They wouldn't send me all the way out here otherwise. Not with a case like hers, Sir," you reply.

"Then what-" he tests, pronouncing each word clearly, "would you suggest I do?" He asks. There's a slight breathiness to his voice; with the thin windows, you can't help but feel as though the torrents of northern lake air through the meadow with its water.

Eyebrow raising in response, you're honestly shocked he'd ask such a thing. You're a complete stranger! A whirlwind of emotions go through you; excitement, bewilderment, shock, curiosity... you can't get ahead of yourself. With a sigh out, you shake your head. It may come across like disappointment to him, but really, it's to clear your head and collect yourself.

"Look... it's not something anyone wants to hear, bu-"

"Tell me!" He interrupts, demanding.

"But..." you emphasize, considering you were only putting up polite pretenses for show anyhow. "Really, family members do better when they're living with the family, even with caretakers to help. Whether you can't do it because you're busy or have other priorities, I understand."

"But at the end of the day, family members usually pass more quickly estranged like this on their own in a separate house because they feel lonely and like no one comes to visit. Maybe they have no one, or maybe they feel like they have nothing to live for anymore? She said you only visit her once or twice a year, if that... and while you write letters, that sometimes isn't enough for people, unfortunately. If you really want the truth."

Finished while your spiel, you shift your weight to the other foot as you place the finished oatmeal on the tray you reserve for his Mother. While, yes, you may despise him to the end's of the Earth... his Mother didn't do anything besides give birth to him. You accepted that the night you met her. Afraid to take another sip of your water, you stand in waiting, observant as Makarov seems to silently process everything you've said, his eyes shifting back and forth for a moment.

"I'll be back," he declares before sliding from the stool and rounding the corner into the small living space his Mother used to use more frequently. Shoulders sagging, a breath leaves you that you hadn't realized you'd been holding in. Onto your nightly routine with dinner, you attempt to distract yourself from the continuous torment of thunderstorm outside, meanwhile inside you can hear urgent demands in Russian faintly from the next room. It's clear he's on the phone... but with who? His goons, of course... right? Who else? But to kill you? To background check you? Do you need to prepare to flee?

As you stir the pot of soup you've just put on the stove, you can feel yourself start to sweat and panic. In an attempt to switch gears, you finish her dinner. Oatmeal ready, medication on the tray, you grab the lemonade you two had made the day prior and pour a glass for her before getting a steady grip on the tray and taking it down the hall. With a gentle rap of your foot as best you can against the doorframe, you announce your presence.

"Привет, Как вы себя чувствуете?" You ask, knowing the word for 'hi' and having figured out early on with the help of technology to ask how she's feeling.

"лучше теперь, когда он здесь." She responds with a soft but tired smile. It's a good sign that she's sitting up and alert at this time of night too. You don't understand the first part of what she says as she's talking too fast and you also don't have your phone out to capture what she says into your real time translation app, however you can grasp the last part. 'He's here.'

Placing the tray down on her lap, you shake your head and signal behind you with a frown. A second attempt, pointing to her, you give her a thumbs up and a smiling face for a moment, and then do the opposite. With a thumbs down and a sad face, you try again. "как дела?"

With a wave of her hand, she shakes her head now with a chuckle. "хорошо," she responds, lifting the spoon. "мой Володя!"

Whipping your head around, you find him standing there leaning against the doorframe most likely having been observing the two of you. Hopefully not for long... or maybe not at all since she would've said something. "она так просто с тобой разговаривает?" He says to his Mother, walking up to the bed and into her outstretched arms for the hug she craves.

"она не очень хорошо говорит по-русски," she quietly answers, holding him tightly for a moment, rubbing his back before letting go. With a pat on the bed next to her, she looks between the two of you. "My baby," she struggles to pronounce the word, "Vladimir." A proud smile sits upon her lips for a moment as she gestures to him. He smiles at her, too, and you nod.

"Yes, да. I have met your son just briefly. But it is good to officially meet," you tell her, even if you know she doesn't understand all of it. Shifting your gaze, he meets it with animosity. "Vladimir," you repeat.

"My mother tells me you are," he repeats your name, to which you nod, "it's a pleasure to officially meet you. Now that you're both here, I have news."

"News?" The question pops out of your mouth before you can stop it.

"Yes, news. Since you're taking care of my mother, you technically work for me. What you said stuck with me. You're right-" he shifts his speaking from you to his mother. "I've been a bad son to you, Mama. ты собираешься жить со мной." Again, he shifts his focus back to you. "We have to pack. You will both live on my compound from now."

~~~~~~~~

acronyms|translations:

Христос = christ

Привет = hi

Как вы себя чувствуете = how are you feeling

лучше теперь, когда он здесь = better now that he's here.

как дела = how are you

хорошо = good / fine / ok

мой Володя = my voldoya (nickname for vladimir)

она так просто с тобой разговаривает = she speaks to you so simply

она не очень хорошо говорит по-русски = she does not speak very much Russian

да = yes

ты собираешься жить со мной = you're coming to live with me

~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

[cantorpike]

Dear Friend,

When I was a teenager, I told my dad I wanted to be an actor. In response, he gave me the only piece of advice he ever offered me—“Learn to play the accordion.” And he was serious. He said, “You can always make a living with an accordion.”

Because I ignored his advice, I never found out if he was right. Instead, I’ve lived 80 creative years pursuing acting and photography, and working as a director and poet.

If I had listened to my father, and hadn’t done any of those things, chances are you wouldn’t have recognized my name and you wouldn’t be reading this. Now that you are, I’d like to ask you to consider what I have to say. I reach out to you as someone who is troubled to see the conflict between Israelis and Palestinians continue apparently without an end in sight.

In fact, there is an end in sight. It’s known as the two-state solution—a secure, democratic Israel as the Jewish State alongside an independent Palestinian state. Even Israel’s nationalist Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu, has come to see this as the shape of the future. The problem is how to reach that end point. It’s something we should be concerned about—not only as world citizens, but as Americans.

You might recall the episode in the original Star Trek series called, “Let That Be Your Last Battlefield.” Two men, half black, half white, are the last survivors of their peoples who have been at war with each other for thousands of years, yet the Enterprise crew could find no differences separating these two raging men.

But the antagonists were keenly aware of their differences—one man was white on the right side, the other was black on the right side. And they were prepared to battle to the death to defend the memory of their people who died from the atrocities committed by the other.

The story was a myth, of course, and by invoking it I don’t mean to belittle the very real issues that divide Israelis and Palestinians. What I do mean to suggest is that the time for recriminations is over. Assigning blame over all other priorities is self-defeating. Myth can be a snare. The two sides need our help to evade the snare and search for a way to compromise.

This is the message that Americans for Peace Now seeks to spread. I’m a strong supporter of APN and the work it does. It is a leading voice for Americans who support Israel and know that a negotiated peace will ensure Israel’s security, prosperity, and continued viability as a Jewish and democratic state.

The Middle East is only getting more tumultuous. The upheavals throughout the region show that what happens in the Middle East can’t help but affect us in the United States. This year, we’ve seen oil prices rise sharply and America become involved militarily in Libya. The cost to American lives and our economy continues to rise at a time when unemployment and deficits are sapping our country’s strength.

“If we can solve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, then that will make it easier for Arab states and the Gulf states to support us when it comes to issues like Iraq and Afghanistan. It will also weaken Iran, which has been using Hamas and Hezbollah as a way to stir up mischief in the region.”

Those are the words of candidate Barack Obama in 2008. And although they’re just as accurate today, time has not stood still.

We’ve also seen a marked increase in violence: a Jewish family was murdered in the West Bank and a woman was killed in a bus bombing in Jerusalem. A rocket attack on southern Israel from the Hamas-controlled Gaza Strip resulted in a school bus being hit and a teen died of his wounds. Israel, in turn, has retaliated. We need strong American leadership now to pivot from the zero-sum mentality of violence to an attitude that focuses on the parties shared interests: security and prosperity.

If you’ve learned something from this letter, I’ve succeeded in my preliminary task. Now I ask for your support to continue APN’s educational efforts in this country—to spread the message that there is a peace solution, and to let Congress and the White House know it’s preferable for America to be part of the solution than to be drawn into another conflict.

There is a sizable number of influential voices in Israel saying the same thing. In April, a group of 50 prominent Israelis, including the former heads of the Mossad (Israel’s CIA), the Shin Bet (its FBI), and the military, issued a call for two states for two nations. Their plan includes a Palestinian state alongside Israel with agreed-upon land swaps. The Palestinian-populated areas of Jerusalem would become the capital of Palestine; the Jewish-populated areas the capital of Israel.

These experts are not naïve. They know that even if the Palestinian pragmatists of Fatah reconcile with Hamas, there will be extremists who will try to sabotage any future peace deal. They know how to deal with violent extremists. These people were entrusted with Israel’s security and are saying that the work they did alone isn’t enough to bring Israel security. We cannot know yet what this unification of Hamas with Fatah means and we have to wait and see what emerges. Regardless, the principle of establishing two independent states, one Jewish and the other Palestinian, is still critical in this region for both Israel and the Palestinian people. That is the goal, to support the rational and moderate course.

Their action plan echoes the 348 senior Israeli reserve army officers and combat soldiers who came together in 1978 to urge their government to sign a peace treaty with Egypt. They formed Shalom Achshav, Israel’s Peace Now movement which APN provides nearly 50 percent of their funding.

Peace Now’s activities and programs—such as Settlement Watch, the ongoing monitoring of settlement construction on the West Bank—keeps peace on the world’s agenda. Peace Now gathers and publishes detailed information on settlements and is widely cited in Israeli and international media as the foremost authority on settlements. Peace Now is likewise well known for mobilizing demonstrations and organizing grassroots pro-peace activities. Innovations include an interactive online map of the settlements, “Facts on the Ground,” also available as an app for iPhone and iPad developed by APN applying Peace Now’s courageous work.

Like those Israelis who issued the peace plan, the members of Peace Now have their boots on the ground. They serve in Israel’s military reserves and see every day what life is like without a negotiated peace with the Palestinians.

That’s why I’m a supporter of APN and Peace Now.

I hope you’ll join me, and lend your voice to the influential and credible peace lobby that exists here as well as in Israel. Please give the tax-deductible contribution you can afford.

Dare I say it? It’s the logical thing to do.

Leonard Nimoy

5/11/2011

[calisources]

TAYLOR   JENKINS   REID   BOOK   QUOTES.   all   sentences   are   taken   from   various   of   taylor   jenkins   reid's   books.   mentions   of   sex,   marriage,cheating,   divorce,   soulmates   and   heartbreak.   change   names,   locations   and   pronouns   as   you   see   fit.

"People think that intimacy is about sex. But intimacy is about truth."

"When you realize you can tell someone your truth, when you can show yourself to them, when you stand in front of them bare and their response is 'you're safe with me'- that's intimacy."

"I had absolutely no interest in being somebody else's muse. I am not a muse. I am the somebody."

"Never let anyone make you feel ordinary."

“Men often think they deserve a sticker for treating women like people.”

“Don't ignore half of me so you can fit me into a box. Don't do that.”

“I’m under absolutely no obligation to make sense to you.”

“It’s always been fascinating to me how things can be simultaneously true and false, how people can be good and bad all in one, how someone can love you in a way that is beautifully selfless while serving themselves ruthlessly.”

“Sometimes reality comes crashing down on you. Other times reality simply waits, patiently, for you to run out of the energy it takes to deny it.”

“Heartbreak is a loss. Divorce is a piece of paper.”

“I spent half my time loving her and the other half hiding how much I loved her.”

“I think you have to have faith in people before they earn it. Otherwise it's not faith, right?”

“When you're given an opportunity to change your life, be ready to do whatever it takes to make it happen. The world doesn't give things, you take things.”

“Passion is...it's fire. And fire is great, man. But we're made of water. Water is how we keep living. Water is what we need to survive.”

“If she knew how often I was thinking about her, she wouldn't feel lonely.”

And my heart breaks for every single version of me that didn't end up with you.”

“No matter who you choose to go down the road with, you're gonna get hurt. That's just the nature of caring about someone. No matter who you love, they will break your heart along the way.”

“When you think of me, I hope it ruins rock 'n' roll”

“No one is just a victim or a victor. Everyone is somewhere in between.

“People are messy, and love can be ugly. I’m inclined to always err on the side of compassion.”

“Confidence is being okay being bad, not being okay being good.”

“How were you supposed to change- in ways both big and small- when your family was always there to remind you of exactly the person you apparently signed an ironclad contract to be?”

“You're all sorts of things you don't even know yet.”

“We love broken, beautiful people. And it doesn't get much more obviously broken and more classically beautiful than Daisy Jones.”

“We live in a world where exceptional women have to sit around waiting for mediocre men.”

“Just because something isn’t meant to last a lifetime doesn’t mean it wasn’t meant to be.”

“It hurts to care about someone more than they care about themselves.”

“Family is found...whether it be blood or circumstance or choice, what binds us does not matter. All that matters is that we are bound.”

“Nobody deserves anything,”

“It shouldn’t be wrong, to love you. How can it be wrong?”

“Isn’t it nice … once you’ve outgrown the ideas of what life should be and you just enjoy what it is.”

“Our family histories are simply stories. They are myths we create about the people who came before us, in order to make sense of ourselves.”

“I am absolutely positive that I need you more than I’ve ever needed another living soul,”

“If there are all different types of soul mates, then you are one of mine.”

“And taking pride in your beauty is a damning act. 

“Must be nice. To be able to be weak. I wouldn’t know.”

Better just to stay in the now and focus on what you can do better in the future.”

“Forgiveness is different from absolution.”

“There’s no room for you in my life anymore. And I don’t owe it to you to make any space.”

“That's what you do when you want something. You don't look for reasons why it won't work. You look for reasons why it will.”

“It's the ones who never loved you enough that come to you when you can't sleep. 

“Just because you can live without someone doesn’t mean you want to.”

“History is what you did, not what you almost did, not what you thought about doing. And I was proud of what I did”

“Alcoholism is a disease with many faces, and some of them look beautiful.”

I used to care when men called me difficult. I really did. Then I stopped. This way is better.”

“The truth often lies, unclaimed, in the middle.”

“I guess what I’m saying is it’s not all luck. It’s luck and being a son of a bitch.”

“But a good life is knowing people care about you, knowing you can take care of the people that count on you.”

“There was finally enough air within her for a fire to ignite.”

“Everything that made Daisy burn, made me burn. Everything I loved about the world, Daisy loved about the world. Everything I struggled with, Daisy struggled with. We were two halves. We were the same.”

“Love and pride don't mix.”

“I’m cynical and I’m bossy, and most people would consider me vaguely immoral.”

“When you find that rare person who really knows who you are and they still don't love you... I was burning.”

“Fate or not, our lives are still the results of our choices.”

“I have changed over time. That’s what people do.People aren’t stagnant. We evolve in reaction to our pleasures and our pains.”

“We are two people who are madly in love with our old selves. And that is not the same as being in love.”

“It’s a hard business, reconciling what the truth used to be with what the truth is now.”

But she was always the person I loved the most. She was always the person I would choose.

Water is how we keep living. Water is what we need to survive. My family was my water. I picked water. I'll pick water every time. And I wanted Daisy to find her water. Because I couldn't be it

“My heart hurts when you hurt because you are my heart.”

“You don’t need to find the perfect thing all the time. Just find one that works, and go with it.”

“You can only forgive yourself for the mistakes you made in the past once you know you’ll never make them again.”

“I'm not perfect. I'll never be perfect. I don't expect anything to be perfect. But things don't have to be perfect to be strong. 

“We loved each other and we lost each other. And now, even though we still love each other, the pieces don’t fit like they used to.”

“What's that saying? Behind every gorgeous woman, there's a man sick of screwing her? Well, it works both ways. No one mentions that part.”

“The Chosen ones never know they are chosen. They think everyone gets a gold carpet rolled out for them.”

“Your whole world can be falling apart, she thought, but then Springsteen will start playing on the radio.”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,”

“...if you redeem yourself, then believe in your own redemption.”

“I want to be with someone who lives for me. I want to be with someone who considers me the love of her life. I deserve that.”

“No one goes around throwing caution to the wind unless the wind is blowing their way.”

“You are happier to have known him than you are sad to have lost him.”

“Love is forgiveness and patience and faith and every once in a while, it’s a gut punch.”

“It seems as if you see me exactly as I wish to be seen. There is no greater gift than that.”

“I've seen a lot of marriages where everyone is faithful and no one is happy.”

[jasminedragonart]

I don't want to get EXCITED excited yet but one of my favourite book series from when i was a kid is getting its own tv show/ maybe movie.

It's early days and it's not a renowned film company that's took it but I will still sign up to watch it when it comes out.

That being said I am now going to gush about this book series because this literally shaped my childhood.

I don't know what people's experience with young adult horror is but Darren Shan's Demonata series reshaped everything for me.

I remember being young, in secondary school (year 7 I think) and being invited to those free book fairs that they sometimes have. For some reason Wolf Island, the ninth book in the series was on the table. Now, I have always been interested in werewolves and vampires and everything supernatural, I literally spent all of my year nine years reading twilight on my morning and lunch breaks because it was twilight and that was the hype back then. So, naturally, when I saw that cover of a werewolf with a half man half wolf face I had to pick it up.

I read it in like a week, and it was... confusing. But I liked it. I really liked it.

Then I found out it was the ninth book in a series and I had that lightbulb moment that this was the reason I didn't understand half of what was going on. I set about buying the rest of the books and reading them.

My first read around I skipped the second and fourth books in the series. In my opinion even now when I go to read the series I always skip them because I'm more interested in Grub's story than I am theirs. That being said when I did read the second and fourth books I did enjoy them, they were fun and I thought that if they were maybe just like extras instead of actually joining into the main plot I would have probably read them after I finished reading the others and not avoided them the first read around.

Now, onto the good stuff.

So I, as an adult, have been putting off rereading the Demonata series because they are for younger readers and I was afraid they wouldn't hold up. This is slightly true and it's making me wary of reading the vampire series (which I also read as a child but didn't enjoy as much as this one.) My main issues with these books are how they're written. Darren Shan has a very interesting writing style that often feels like it's third person even if it's told from a first person perspective. His sentence structure is short and snappy and oftentimes will be the odd word that works in some parts but not in others.

It's not bad. But it does sometimes bother me when I'm reading. Again, this is because I'm older and reading this. For kids, this is great. It works and it makes the books easy to read. I literally finished the first and third book in like a day because of this.

Another gripe I have is that after the fifth book the series kind of goes down hill. It's fine. But, like the vampire series I don't think Darren Shan had a definitive end for these series and ended up cobbling something together to maybe satisfy whatever time frame he had been given to write these books in.

But, again, it's a fine series and the first, third and fifth books are amazing.

I don't want to get too into it because I don't want to spoil anything if you do want to go and read it. All I will say is that it is an extremely interesting take on the werewolf myth. Also, magic and demons and, it's so good and I'm very excited.

Also, if they even end up making another Cirque Du Freak movie I think that would be cool too. I did see the one they made but I think it would have worked better as a series than a movie. Too much happens to whittle it down to an hour and a half and also Darren is like 12.

But the Demonata series could easily be movies and I... if they made Slawter a movie I would actually scream from the meta take of it all.

[a-random-person-on-the-interent]

CALLING ALL PEOPLE WHO DISLIKE THE LOST CITIES AND THINK THEY'RE SHIT

we need to make like a discord or something to talk about it, or like write essays which I think I'm planning on doing, because the lost cities is shit, I feel very strongly about this as a disabled person, and you might ask why would me being disabled have anything to do with it, EUGENICS and the Talentless and even how disabled people are treated by the narrative. Because didn't Keefe descripe feeling talentless people as being hollow and not quite complete, WHICH IS WHAT DISABLED PEOPLE (or at least people with Autism like myself) HAVE BEEN CALLED FOR YEARS. I really want a charcter to have been born with a disability (ADHD, ASD, EDS, down syndrome, Dyslexia, dysgraphia, ect) or for the series to recognize that being talentless is having a disability or even the series to recongize mental health conditions (PTSD, BPD, Depression Schizoprenia, delusions) like Sophie has all the symptoms for PTSD, and one could argue she's dyslexic with her not being able to read runes. Also back to the eugenics talk, eugenics in history have been useally used on disabled people, like myself. There are no LGBTQ characters which can be fine, I'd like some but it's not a big problem expect... EUGENICS. the elves soiciety is based on Eugenics meaning that if someone was gay or lesbian or aroace, they probably would be scorned if not it being banned to be gay or lesbian. What about trans people? well the lost cities seem to function on that they are perfect the way they're born, and if one is not born perfect (Like the talentless) you are socially exiled. The susicde rates must be massive there, but I doubt anyone will talk about them because they'll be shamed.

Let's not even get into Exile cause that is just Touture, and I'm not kidding solitary confine meant is torture, fintans cell tourture, I'm not saying it isn't effective cause it is. but the elves claim to be morally superior to humans than do that. Memory breaks would also count as tourture as you are breaking someones mind till they are practically dead. And we saw how that effected Aladin. What about the white room tourture they had Vesperia be in for centuries. there politcal system is fucked too, Cause a friendship is just as important as a romantic relationship so if they wanted them to be completey unbiased the councliers shouldn't be allowed to have friends or family, and that doesn't stop the heart from from falling in love with someone and giving them special treatment.

I think anyone with half a brain could tell you that feeding carniverous animals strickly vegan diet is bad, so let's move on to the education system and I'm 90% sure that elves are just lying about how much they helped humans, like I'm 100% sure that Mr. Forkle only thinks he inspired Loki, cause if you know any myths about him you'd know they are not similar at all well maybe aside from the shapeshifting like didn't at one point they say they helped them discover electicity, like eceletricity was ORGINALLY discovered in 600 BCE they at that time were probbaly still living among humans, like I'm sorry but you guys probbaly didn't help with anything and might've actually prolonged the process because you thought you knew better. and y'know what they probbaly haven't even gotten to the center of the earth yet which is 2,9000 KM down, but back to education, it's so heavily bias, that all the other speices that aren't elves are like what the fuck is this, this isn't how it happened, so my best guess is that it's full of misinformation. Y'know what I should make a skit of, "If I was in the lost cities"

[dingodad]

trolls sleep in sopor slime to help with nightmares, but the text is not really explicit about the meaning or origin of these nightmares so i guess it makes sense that there is some confusion about their nature. but the way i see it there are two main ways of looking at it.

a) the "terrible visions of blood and carnage that plague the dark subconscious of [trolls]" do not occur through some supernatural means. they are just the natural result of trolls being forced to take part in a baby arena as soon as they are born and then being subjected to unrelenting retraumatisation throughout their whole lives. this has always been the answer i have found the most compelling, and though i think it is perhaps the answer that is the least beholden to homestuck's themes, i don't necessarily think it is mutually exclusive with any of the other answers, particularly on a symbolic level.

b) the "terrible visions of blood and carnage" are "because of" something. generally this answer is related to the idea that was popular some years ago (but whose origin i do not really understand) that "trolls being violent is a myth" or "doc scratch (supernaturally) made the trolls violent", and itself has two main arguments.

first and by far the most popular is the horrorterror explanation. this has some merit as a widely held belief because it is fundamentally based on stuff that is in the text. we know - or can at the very least surmise - that horrorterrors are the source of nightmares, and that although they are not strictly malevolent their messages tend to be frightening thanks to their 1) forms which are hard for a mortal mind to comprehend (i would not strictly call this a 'vision of blood and carnage') and 2) ongoing slaughter at the hands of lord english (which i would consider to be such). we also know doc scratch provided alternia with its own personal emissary to the horrorterrors as part of his own design, and gl'bgolyb was known to provide feferi with cautions about trollkind's oncoming extinction, in a way which would seem to mirror the noble circle's own warnings. gl'bgolyb needs to fed to keep her voice at a whisper, because anything louder than a whisper results in widespread psychic death; it makes sense, to an extent, that a much more subdued version of this glub might result in horrifying nightmares.

but i am not convinced this is the main reason trolls suffer nightmares in their sleep, for two key reasons. first is karkat's reaction to the nightmares he experiences after his dream self dies, causing him to bump up against the horrorterrors for the first time:

KARKAT: THE BOTTOM LINE IS, EVERYONE HERE IS FORBIDDEN FROM GOING TO SLEEP. [...] KARKAT: YES, AS YOUR LEADER, I AM ORDERING ALL PROSPIT DREAMERS TO STAY AWAKE, NO MATTER HOW TIRED YOU GET.

what is markedly lacking, here, is any sense of recognition or callback from karkat. though there is a logic to assuming this new onset of nightmares is related to the nightmares experienced by trolls back on their home planet, karkat never draws the connection, instead speaking as if these nightmares are actually news to the trolls and not something they are already familiar with. and there is a key reason for this: at least half of the trolls, including karkat, have some kind of natural buffer between themselves and the horrorterrors, that being that they dream on prospit, with proximity to skaia, rather than derse in proximity to the void. and feferi's negotiation of more stable dream bubbles becomes yet another buffer between dreamers and nightmares, even for the dead; so having nightmares caused by the horrorterrors is something that happens under very particular circumstances, and these circumstances do not seem widespread enough to justify a whole race sleeping in slime to stem them.

the second reason i veer away from the horrorterror explanation is related to the second supernatural source these dark visions may stem from, which is the one hussie himself seems to endorse thanks to its appearance in the text:

For the subjugglators in their small numbers to keep such a large population under their control, it would be very useful to have the ability to psychically amplify fears through dreams. They may have directed their chucklevoodoos on every susceptible mind in the population. Each lowblood may have a little highblood voodoo doll lurking in their subconscious, making them too terrified to organize any sort of rebellion.

this commentary is from 2011, so it's close enough to the time the text was written that I can be pretty confident it was authorial intent; and it's also something we know for sure can cause nightmares even among prospit's dreamers. a fear of jesters psychically debilitated john for years, even where he was safe from the horrorterrors. it makes perfect sense that a bath of soothing slime might assuage the urge to crawl out of bed and deface your room with the visage of your deepest fears.

but i think this option does raise a really interesting question that perhaps opens up a third way of looking at why the recuperacoon exists... presumably it's the same alternian authority that both forces trolls to sleep with clown-related nightmares, and then makes them sleep in the same drugged cocoons that dim these nightmares. the alternian machine is seemingly both causing and solving its own problem to net zero effect. why?

we need to dispense, for a second, with the idea that trolls sleep in cocoons because slime helps them with their nightmares, and look at the more obvious justification. trolls sleep in cocoons because a cocoon is the troll version of a bed. beds are where humans go to sleep/die (in the case of a Quest Bed - but in homestuck, dying and going to sleep are symbolically the same act), receive spiritual knowledge in the realm of sleep/death, and then wake up enlightened. and for an insect, the cocoon performs the exact same function of death and rebirth.

so my theory is that the slime's purpose isn't really to help trolls feel better about their nightmares at all. i think its very purpose is to cut off the connection between the sleeping troll and the dreaming world entirely, suppressing their spiritual enlightenment. it's a buffer between trolls and the horrorterrors just like prospit is - not because the horrorterrors are somehow psychically detrimental, but precisely because they are the enemies of lord english. in the same way a lick of the trickster lollipop obscures the meat of reality with a veneer of reality, the soporific - i.e. drugged - slime obscures the frightening truth which horrorterrors represent. no doubt the chucklevoodoo puppets in every trolls' dreams are real, but they're just pretense; scare trolls away from their own dreams enough to make them reliant on the slime that will ensure they never dream any deeper.

this relates to the "computer beds" idea i reference regularly on my theory blog, but without going into too much detail: i think recuperacoons have slime in them because they're supposed to visually evoke the computers trolls use, which are also cocoon-like and filled with slime; which, in turn, is supposed to evoke jade harley's computer bed, which created a buffer between her waking self and her dreaming self in the form of the dreambot.

[hello-nichya-here]

What's your favourite godly parent/demigods child relationship? Except Percy and Poseidon cause that's too easy. What dynamic do you find the most interesting?

I love Percy and Poseidon's dynamic (especially because it led to Sally's brain going blue screen when her ex randomly showed up at her house one day to eat a birthday cake with their baby boy), but it is actually my second favorite.

Hades and Nico is my number 1 pick because it is MESSY. Like, Hades was totally in love with Nico and Bianca's mom and wanted to protect her and their babies. Then after her death, and him assuring they're hidden and safe he just... never sees his kids again, even though no one else knows they exist and thus at least checking on them wouldn't be too dangerous.

Then they're found and taken to camp half-blood, Bianca goes on a mission and dies - and Nico moves in with his dad. His dad that gives lots of cool things and awesome powers (and leading to bizarre chapter name/plot that was "Nico Buys Happy Meals For The Dead")... yet that casually says something as horrible as "I wish your sister had been the one to survive, by the way."

Yet despite this, Nico is the one who manages to talk Hades into helping the other gods win the war. BUT Hades is annoyed his son is interested in a descendent of Poseidon who just also happens to be the hero that made his life mission to annoy as many greek (and roman) gods as possible. And Nico literally admits to himself that he is constantly fighting the urge to just kick his dad in the balls and run.

And, finally, there's the scene in the catacombs. It's my favorite scene in the book, in that particular saga, and one of my favorites in everything Riordan ever wrote.

Hades just drops the act and cuts through the bullshit to give his son non-cryptic advice/answers and finally opens up a bit, full on saying that most of his kids don't have happy lives and that he wants Nico to be an exception because he cares, and Nico finds comfort in the thought that one day he'll die and be fully under his father's rule...

...And there's also the silly part of them talking about Hades's decoration choices, and both thinking "Is this dude serious or is he fucking with me?" and it ends with Hades seemingly happy about the things his son has in common with him.

Hades just goes from "Dad of the year" to "Neglectful/absent father" to "Completely awful parent that deserves to be bitch-slapped" and then back to awesome so fucking fast, is crazy, and I love every second of it. Plus, they're two of my favorite characters in the story, and Hades is my favorite god (and I mean it both in the books and in the actual myths) so I'm extremelly biased,

[robotsdeservebetter]

Накипело и терпеть я больше не хочу.

Rewriting Kidnapping of Persephone into a romantic/melodramatic story with consensual love is one of the most disgusting and disrespectful things I’ve seen.

I’ve been there too. You and I live in modern world and in modern world edgelords, goths, emos, etc have been trendy for a while. Liking them is cool. Hades, the god of the dead, is close to those things and he has a cool dog, so liking him will make you “not like other mythology fans” (we ended up being the same, what an irony). Despite that, we, idiots, wish for romantic love and project that on Hades. Who’s he with canonically? Persephone? She MUST be so happy to have him uwu 🥰

Do you not understand that if today life gives you extra kicks for being a woman, then 2000 years ago it was ultimately worse? How low must you think of victims of kidnappings, if you see actual fcking love in that? How little must you think of family bonds that you put it below yet another abusive romance? Why are willing to sacrifice a mother character in favour of a kidnapper?

It’s a love story, but not about a romantic one. Demeter, a woman in Ancient Greece, managed to stand up to the Zues, king of gods, and his older brother, and return Persephone at least half of her freedom. Yes, freedom, not a demand to be near mommy, they are that kind of parent and child who love each other. A funny gig about marriage between kidnapper and kidnapped: the latter might never see her family again, she now belongs to the groom and it’s Antient times so guess which “might” is more likely to happen.

Zeus GAVE Persephone to Hades. Like a trophy. A lot of people desire to justify Hades (the dude never even was an outcast, you just Americanised him into a high school antisocial goth. I don’t see that much people making up same stories about Poseidon, who spends most of his time in the sea — his domain. Underworld is Hades’ domain, he’s not unhappy nor judged by other gods, ok? And trust me, an immortal being wouldn’t give a sh*t about us fearing and railing death) and overlook harmful antiquities. Whether the number is small or big, the fact they exist is terrifying.

That myth was above its time and, as we can see, above out time as well. Stories like Lore Olympus and Punderworld, that claim to be feminist rewriting, belittle, demonise Demeter, the only person who truly cares about Persephone’s well-being.

A feminist rewriting demonises a woman who left everything and everyone to save a woman from a kidnapper. If you don’t understand this whole concept is dumb sh*t, I’m not gonna explain why.

Kidnapping of Persephone, much like Hunters of Arthemis, was told to soothe and encourage women, let them know that despite being lower than men, they still have each other, they still can protect each other. Kidnapping of Persephone is a love story, love between mother and daughter. Please, don’t try convincing people it needs to be rewritten, it’s perfect as it is.

And for all what’s holy, don’t demonise Demeter, the exact person who truly loved Persephone, who saved Persephone, who wished her happiness.