#i guess that was technically an answer to prayer

[professor-cold-ramen]

.

[outeremissary]

💕 self-love time! talk about which ones of YOUR creations (edits, artworks, fanfics) you like the most then send to other creators to do the same 💕

(this got terribly ramble-y. apologies.)

Ah, this is difficult. Putting self-deprecation aside, I've accomplished a lot in the past year that's been significant improvement for me in terms of visual art. I guess that I really like the Valentine's art? Which is good since due to a series of mishaps it wound up framed next to my desk (realized I had no safe storage for it that wouldn't smudge it to hell and back) so it would be very sad if I wound up hating it.

I really loved the Crystalhue art I never finished as well. The sketch was really cute and it had the most complex composition of any large scene I'd done at the time (and probably since).

And it's silly, but I did really enjoy the letter I wrote back to you. I always struggle with Balthazar's voice. It was a helpful exercise even if it turned out messy. I'm sorry for not continuing the chain better. But thank you for the opportunity despite my unsociability. Lately I've been doing other art that I really liked too, so I'm surrounded by cute expressions right now. There's a beautiful smile to my left and some terrible (affectionate) smirks to right. Hopefully I can finish things in a reasonable time this week to share :) It's been a long while since I last did sequential art, so I'm always excited even when it's simple.

Ah, and recently there was a lot of really good art with Vio (@mountainashfae's character, as always), so that's lovely. This was messy (and color made it messier) but I still like it because 1) it's cute and 2) I challenged myself a lot to try things I always wanted to draw but avoided because I just thought I couldn't do them well. Well, the omnipresent mistake hiding eraser speaks to the imperfection, but I'm still happy.

I'm seldom satisfied with what I make, but I try to see it as a good thing. I'm always growing, perhaps. My therapist thinks it's like living with a curse though. ^^;;

[closetcasefabray]

jesus saves (i spend)

i have been writing parts of an avatrice college au for two gd years now. the ideas & writing are scattered between here (one of the tags below should work), my whatsapp convos with @snowandwolves, on discord, my dinosaur laptop that crashes, & my email. it’s a fucking disaster but whatever so am i & not once in my life have i had my shit together so this is all unsurprising.

SO what i’m saying is, here’s the only part i have ‘formally’ written in fic form bc i posted that other ficlet. doing this made me almost throw my dino laptop & my phone out a window on several occasions—that’s why there isn’t more. but i just wanna share this.

more notes & rambles at the end.

//

You notice her because it's syllabus week of your freshman year, it's an 8 AM class, and you're fairly confident you're still drunk from the party you attended last night, but she raises her hand and correctly answers a question posed by your theology professor without hesitation. Your professor, Father Vincent, was likely hoping for a good guess at best, but there she is, exceeding expectations from the moment she speaks. You pickup on an accent, which you would find incredibly attractive if you weren't so thrown by her perfect and concise response, like a well-prepared speech is always readily accessible in the back of her mind—a girl with all the answers. A young woman, really. 

You, however, are not—you're just a girl. You're just a girl who shows up to her morning classes smelling like the bar or the house party from the night before, like the weed you started smoking almost immediately upon arriving to university during orientation week, like the cigarettes you smoke because it affords you a little more quiet outside and an excuse to borrow a lighter and talk to a cute boy or a pretty girl.

You're just a girl who technically died, existed in nothingness for a whole minute before being ripped back into a reality of blank ceilings and the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. You're just a girl strangers prayed for after they heard about the American child pulled from the wreckage. You're just a girl who didn't get any credit for teaching herself to stand again, to walk again—and if you’re being completely honest, you’re a girl who’s incredibly bitter that a god you never saw in that one minute got all the credit and none of the blame—for taking your mother from you, for taking years from you that had to be spent healing from god’s grace or lack thereof. 

You're just a girl who is tired of being told to look at her life as an expression of holiness, who thinks it is more so the consequence of indifferent stardust. But you still look for the beauty in that, in humanity and its flaws—these meaningless beings in a vast universe, creating and destroying their own little, myopic worlds on this spinning rock. Some will dream of poetry for their lovers, and some will dream of arsenals to level cities. You wonder how many lips were pressed together in a final kiss versus hands clasped together in prayer when fire fell from the sky in the name of God. You wonder what that says about faith.

You'd like to think if your mother could see you, she'd laugh at the irony because once you were baptized, she never took you to church. God finds a way, so you spent five miserable years in a Catholic orphanage before you were sent back to America. People said you were lucky to have two years in a foster family at your age, but it felt like living with strangers who were tasked with the minimum of keeping you alive. Then you were moved into a home for teen girls with a nun at the helm, and that’s where you actually felt fortunate for the first time in years. It was there that Mother Superion helped you with your studies and college applications. So here you are, tipping into a hangover in one of the oldest buildings on campus, learning theology from a priest.

But your mom would understand. (You don’t remember much of her, and you try not to think about that too deeply, or else you have to deal with the resulting ache that comes from reaching inside yourself for something that’s gone.) You have spliced together what you can recall into a short reel—you mom buckling into your car seat while humming a show tune, showing you how to fold a pizza slice and telling about a city famous for their pizza, and holding your hand in a museum in Spain, promising to take you to another big museum closer to home, the home you never saw again. So you promised yourself and the parts of her you carry that you’d make it here.

You would have had to pay almost full tuition if you wished to attend your reach, requiring immense debt, so you ended up at the school that offered you a ticket to the city and a hefty enough scholarship you could get through four years without requiring loans or a full-time job to afford it. (You first refused to use your mother’s death as a sob story in you application letter, but Mother Superion put her hand on yours and said, So rarely do these letters contain truth, but do not be afraid to tell yours. In telling your truth there is a sadness, yes—and I know you detest pity—but of all the things that have been taken from you, do not feel guilty for taking some of it back to live a better life.) You remember getting your acceptance letter, and looking up at the sky and flipping it off, praying whatever god hears you, No thanks to you!

But your bitterness temporarily takes a backseat in your mind as you look at your classmate, beautiful in the refracted light shining through the stained glass window, speaking so graciously of god you'd think Jesus were in the room, about to hand her his latest work. It's poetry, bordering on scripture in a new tongue, and you'd almost be a believer if it didn't sound as if she had repeated these words—practiced—enough times to believe them herself. You wonder what that says about her faith.

If the nuns at the orphanage had spoken the gospel as she does, maybe you'd be here for different reasons. You're fascinated.

Behold, you are beautiful…

//

i promise this fic gets lighter & has some silliness. so some notes/tangents:

this is 100% self-indulgence bc i heard ‘write what you know’ & ran with that shit. when i visited a friend at a state school in a college town i was so so confused bc it was just a diff campus culture entirely. then i was going to make this set in an ambiguous city, but i literally have saved places in google maps that would be great places to kiss someone sooooo you get NY avatrice.

likely setting this before instagram & smartphones bc i’m old/lazy & i can.

the title is from st. vincent who my friend introduced me to in college. “paris is burning” changed my brain chemistry & so i listened to her music on repeat for ages—“jesus saves, i spend” is on the same album.

father vincent will not be a bad man or evil professor. he will be as he was before adriel—a lost man who found himself through god & still a little broken but caring & devout.

also song of songs/song of solomon is like… the only part of the bible i fucked with in theology class so that’s the reference at the end. also another line used in another scene with JC, chanel, & ava written in v rough form. maybe will share that later.

this is meant to be a fic with a post-grad sequel as well. not much written of that but a lot of ideas everywhere.

once i figure out where i’m moving (hahahaha i’m so stressed), i’ll consider a ko-fi or something (i wish emails & names weren’t shown though). but mostly i will likely need a second job to save up for an actually good computer/macbook. once i have that i’ll be able to post on ao3.

anyway thanks for reading & being here :3

[how-serene]

Talk Slow

Pairing - Darryl x Neutral!Reader

Summary - A late night conversation leads to Darryl finally being honest with you.

Word Count - 776

Warnings - darryl and reader are teens, angst, comfort, darryl crying, mentions of school pressure and bullying, no use of y/n

A/N - This fic kind of came out of left field, sorry about that. Yes, this is technically a Michael Jackson fic. I just have so much love for this short film.

July, 1986

Music played from a speaker, filling in the long stretches of silence. Clothes were strewn around the hamper, a wrinkled t-shirt hung off the rim of the basket. A stack of textbooks were piled high on the desk beside you, with loose sheets of paper cluttering the surface. His coat was haphazardly thrown on the chair, crumbled in a ball. One thing you could always count on was Darryl’s room to be a mess. 

In the beginning, when you first started visiting, he made sure to keep his space tidy. Now with all the familiar years between you, the worry of keeping up appearances slowly dwindled. The thought made you feel fuzzy, knowing he was comfortable with you. 

His head fell against your shoulder, as you two laid back on his bed. The sheets were tossed back, as the dull green comforter was bunched up beneath you. Darryl’s curled black hair tickled your cheek, smelling of sweet hairspray.  

“You could at least make your bed.” You complained, staring up at the ceiling. His shoulders shook as he chuckled, further leaning into your side. Darryl’s body was warm, it radiated off of him like a heater. You sank deeper into the mattress, that squeaked with the tiniest bit of movement. 

“Yes, mother.” He snorted, nudging his elbow into your ribcage. You scoffed, smacking him in the chest. An infectious smile grew on his lips, bright as July’s full moon peeking through the window. His wide eyes met yours, sparkling with amusement. 

“Are you excited for the new school year to start?”

Darryl’s eyes dimmed, becoming unfocused as he weighed his answer. He folded his hands as if in prayer, and rested them on his chest. You waited, watching as various thoughts crossed over his face. The disc jockey's voice came through the radio, interrupting the stream of music. 

“And that was Sweet Love by Anita Baker, from her new album-

Darryl shrugged. “I guess so.” 

“That’s not really much of an answer.” You said, shifting onto your side. You propped yourself up, placing your chin in the palm of your hand. Darryl stared up at you, his dark eyes tracing over your features. He sighed, finally caving. 

“I can’t wait for it to be over with, you know.” He softly said, avoiding your gaze now. “The classes are fine, and all. I just want to graduate already, and get out of there.” 

You silently listened, feeling the confines of your heart slowly crack at his words. He gnawed on his bottom lip, struggling to keep the words hidden behind his teeth. 

“I just-

He swallowed harshly, clearing his throat. 

You grabbed his hand, interlocking your fingers with his. The music streaming through the speakers faded into the background, as you gave your full attention to Darryl. He rapidly blinked, fighting back the prickling sensation of tears swelling in the corner of his eyes. A tear slid down his cheek, landing on the collar of his blue sweatshirt. You reached out, the pad of your fingertip brushing against his cheek as a sob racked through his body. 

“I want to get out of Brooklyn, as soon as it’s over with.” He confessed, taking a shaky breath. He squeezed your hand, ensuring you were really there. 

“Darryl?” You whispered, staring down at him. He refused to meet your eyes, choosing to stare at your interlaced hands. 

“Is there something going on at the prep school?” You finally asked, pushing past whatever barrier there was. Your heart clenched, as his big wet eyes glanced up at you. They reminded you of a child when scolded, as if he had done something wrong. As if talking to you like this was wrong. 

“Just guys being guys, is all.” He sniffled, wiping at his nose. 

You frowned. “That shouldn’t be an excuse for them.” 

He nonchalantly shrugged, as if nothing could be done. The skin around his eyes were red, as he harshly rubbed at them. He clenched his jaw, biting back a new fresh set of tears. They clung onto his eyelashes, yet didn’t fall.  

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” 

You nodded, laying back down by his side. His hand never left yours, keeping it pressed against his chest. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your palm. He was quiet now, listening to the radio, if only to find an excuse not to speak. Darryl began to hum along, but it didn’t follow the song currently playing. You snuggled into the crook of his neck, listening to his melodic humming. 

Outside the window, Brooklyn’s desolate night sky never looked so black.

[yjhariani]

König spending his first ramadan ever with Muslim reader.

he wanted to try after seeing you not eating or drinking for a while so he comme to you and asks what is going on and that when he learn that it's ramadan and you cannot eat or drink from sunrise to sunset.

He's impressed because you don't seem to be struggling at all while continuing to train and work as usual.

Once you managed to knock König back off, you stood up and offered a hand to help him stand up.

“How is it you’re fighting like hell and your mask stays in place?” you questioned.

“Practice? Gravity?” König simply answered, taking your hand, but not pulling on it to get himself stood up.

“I flipped you over, man,” you whined.

“You’re strong and swift,” König said. “You make a fight look like ballet.”

“Well, you need to work on your balance, König, because if someone like me can flip you over, then everyone else would be able to,” you said as you made your way towards your duffle bag that you placed in the sidelines of the arena.

You took a moment to sit down and pulled a towel out of your bag before patting and wiping your sweat away. König walked over towards his bag that was close to you.

For once, König noticed that you did not pull out your water bottle firsthand. So, he took out one of the juice pouches he had in his bag. He handed it over to you.

You looked at the juice pouch for a moment. You were sure it was still cold somehow due to the condensation. Any other day, you would not resist it.

“Oh, not for me. Thank you,” you said.

“I didn’t see you at breakfast either,” König pointed out. “Not in the last few days.”

“That’s because my breakfast would be at dusk,” you said.

“That’s an odd time to have breakfast,” König commented.

“Technically it’s breaking the fast, so… breakfast,” you shrugged.

“You’re on a diet?” König asked.

“No. It’s Ramadan. The fasting month for muslims,” you said. “I don’t eat or drink from dawn until dusk.”

“Really?” König replied, finally putting back the juice pouch into his bag.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “You sound surprised.”

“You’re still working. You’re still training and you managed to flip me over and beat the shit out of me,” König listed. “I watched you train with Soap earlier, too.”

“Work is still work. I mean, Price agreed that I’m not going on the field for the whole month, but it’s still work,” you said.

“You’re not tired?” König asked.

“I’ll be honest with you, it’s taking more energy than usual,” you sighed. “The hunger I can manage, but sometimes the thirst is bad.”

There came a halt.

“What if I do it, too?” König suggested. “How do I do it? I’d like to try and be a good… friend.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, but you could not really hold a smile back. “König, you’re a good friend regardless.”

“I want to,” König stated. “Tell me how.”

“Okay,” you chuckled. “You eat before sunrise. You don’t eat, you don’t drink, you be nice until sundown when you can eat.”

“Okay,” König nodded. “You’ll guide me, right?”

“Of course,” you said.

Then, it was approximately twenty four hours later. You were both inthe same spot as you were yesterday. However, the difference was that you sat with König lying down on his back in front of you, catching his breath.

You were sparring as usual. Nothing had changed. In fact, you were moving at a slower pace because that was how König was moving.

König looked at his watch before putting all his limbs back on the floor. He turned his head to face you.

“This isn’t easy,” he said. “You made it look so easy as if nothing changed. How?”

“Practise?” you lifted your shoulders. “Gravity?”

“Sunset is still six hours away,” König pointed out.

“Yeah, well, guess you have to wait ‘till then,” you chuckled. “Shower might help if you feel that miserable. Keep yourself busy. You wouldn’t feel it.”

“I’m feeling it right now,” König said.

“Then, maybe don’t divide the day by hours. A lot of muslims divide the day by prayers. Like… we have five for the day and the fourth one is when we’re breaking our fast,” you said as you stood up and got ready to leave. “You can do it. I know you do. See you soon.”

You started walking away. When you were finally not within earshot, König exhaled.

“For you,” König quietly said. “Because I’m a good ‘friend’.”

[lucianhuntress]

Day 21. Itto x Reader: 94. “I could think of worse ways to die.”

The streets of Inazuma grow darker as the sun goes past the horizon, hiding until the next day. The breeze coming from the sea chills the already cool autumn air even further, sending thunder sakura petals flying into the distance. 

You had met Itto during your walk home from work— or technically he had run into you, knocking you down right into the cold, stony walkway and despite being a delinquent, he still has a good heart and tries to act like a proper man around you, which you find amusing. He puts on a show just for you.

Itto offered to buy you dinner, because he never meant to hurt you with that tall and muscular frame of his; he didn’t actually manage to hurt you, but he wouldn’t stop pestering you if you hadn’t agreed to a quick cup of noodles, his treat— he added, and so you ended up in the Uyuu restaurant. 

“Oh man, I haven’t had this kind of dinner in AGES!” he proclaims cheerily as soon as the dinner is carried over to you; you sit by the counter as the tables were packed when you arrived.

“It is really good,” you agree with him as you savor every bite, “I have only cooked dinner at home lately.” You turn to look at the boss of the Arataki gang, who seems to be in a completely different world after taking a bite.

“Oh yea?” he asks, eyes sparkling as he stares at his plate, “why haven’t you asked me over?”

“Beans,” you chuckle, “my roommate likes to use beans. I thought you wouldn’t want to be in the same room with them.”

“Pffft, beans,” he waves his hand, like he has suddenly no problem with beans in the same room as him, “I could think of worse ways to die.”

Somehow you don’t believe him.

“Such as?”

Itto goes silent as he chews his food in thought. He looks at you and you notice his cheeks suddenly growing into a rosy blossom. “Shit.”

You cock a brow at his sudden change in the mood, “what’s wrong?”

“I uhh… so listen,” he laughs nervously while patting his pockets, “you know… I said it would be my treat, but, uhh…” he clears his throat politely, “I am kinda low on Mora…”

“Itto…” you groan, dropping your chopsticks on the table in the process.

“So uhhh— could you… maybe…? I’ll pay you back, I promise!” He claps his hands into a prayer and bows towards you.

“Fine,” you sigh; you should have guessed he was out of Mora, “but beans will be the least of your problems if you keep doing this.” It had been a while since he last asked you out to eat and made you pay.

“I promise!” he answers cheerily and somehow your heart melts when he beams at you. How could you say no to him in the end?

[rottenpumpkin13]

Hey Angeal, what's your favorite recipe to make?

SOLDIER Vlogging Shenanigans pt. 12

[The video starts. It's Angeal filming himself in the SOLDIER lounge. He sits at a table, reading the question off his phone with a big, stupid grin on his face. He's blissfully unaware that Genesis and Sephiroth can be seen in the background, through the glass door, out in the hallway]

"Okay, so this one asks what's my recipe to make," Angeal reads. "That's a good question…uh, let me think."

[Genesis and Sephiroth start to play rock, paper, scissors] 

"You know, it's so hard to pick one. I really enjoy building off of leftovers and challenging myself to make different dishes out of them…"

[Sephiroth throws paper, Genesis throws rock. Sephiroth covers his hand. Genesis is immediately angered, grabs Sephiroth's hand and wrenches him across the hall off-frame]

"Oh!" Angeal snaps his fingers. "I guess if we're getting technical, my favorite recipe to make is Banora White apple pie—"

[Genesis is then seen running past the door screaming. Sephiroth runs after him with the masamune]

"—And that's because it's the first thing my mother taught me how to make. So we have something of a tradition going on where—"

[Genesis and Sephiroth roll past the door, wresting each other on the ground]

"—every time I go back home, we bake a Banora White pie together."

[Genesis and Sephiroth appear in the background again, this time fist-fighting and literally roundhouse-kicking each other]

"So, that's my answer, I guess. My favorite dish to make is a a Banora White pie, but only if it's with my mom."

[Director Lazard and 2nd class Kunsel appear rushing in. Lazard dodges Genesis's fist and grabs the man's arms, Kunsel visibly utters a prayer before bear-hugging a struggling Sephiroth. They haul the two men away from each other in opposite directions]

"I hope that answers your question!" Angeal smiles sweetly, then waves.

[he ends the video]

[hikennosabo]

trimax vol 10 random thoughts (ch 1-4)

usually my method for writing these posts is to read the volume in full, then read it again while writing out my thoughts. sometimes i have to read a volume more than just twice. i don't want to read this one again... mom come pick me up i'm scared

also it's finally gotten to the point that i have to split this post up into multiple parts... lol

why is nightow recycling chapter titles. or is this a translation thing? we already had chapters titled 'wolfwood' (vol2ch4) and 'death omen' (vol6ch4)... heck, the first 'wolfwood'-titled chapter is DIRECTLY REFERENCED in this very volume... anyway.

chapter 1:

this chapter cover FUCKS... it's just the punishers because this is all razlo is... a weapon. to chapel, anyway.

the bullet holes in ww's back... they've healed by now i think, but still, it's so visceral...

i don't know what to say about wolfwood's faith in vash that hasn't already been said. just. fuck, man.

can chapel die please please please please please youre nothing

razlo getting in between chapel and wolfwood is... interesting. even if he just wants to prolong ww's suffering... i don't know. it's not like razlo cares about wolfwood, but, hmmm, i don't know. just something i wanted to point out i guess.

...remind me to count how many vials wolfwood drinks when i rewatch stampede.

razlo's expressions while chapel is talking about how ww needs to die NOW while shooting him and stabbing him with the gun... hmmm... he's thinking...

chapter 2:

i like seeing razlo being pensive.

the way chapel has his talons in razlo... razlo is so loyal to him because he literally shot himself to beg for razlo's life, but this line of thinking tells me there's also lowkey fear there. the level of obsessiveness for which he injured himself so badly is the same one that makes him want to hurt wolfwood so much and razlo knows it. this is how far chapel is willing to go...

razlo... :( all he ever wanted was to be needed. and chapel fully took advantage of that.

ww is trembling here. is this him trying to physically resist chapel pushing his head back or is he trembling out of fear...

chapel is the evilest motherfucker in this whole fucking manga. seriously, fuck this guy.

melanie's words to wolfwood... despite it being a scolding, they're clearly coming from a place of love, not fear or anger. i think other people have already said everything that i could say about this. so instead i'm going to talk about razlo some more, since nightow made it a point to show us that he's listening to this.

i wonder what he's thinking... this chapter opened with him thinking about what happens to those who "betray" chapel... and he's observing this interaction, of a mother, a guardian, not reacting with anger, but with love, to seeing what's become of wolfwood. such a far cry from chapel's unbridled rage. melanie took care of razlo, too, technically. so i wonder if this is another... i don't know how to put it... another way that razlo's belief in chapel is being chipped away at.

and wolfwood thinks of vash, and once again, vash appears. like he's answering his prayer again.

i said this last volume, but i love seeing vash use his feathers to protect. and use his powers willingly. of course i worry about him when he does it, but it's just such a powerful character moment every time. because it's for wolfwood.

chapter 3:

wolfwood reaffirms his feelings about vash - absolute faith, someone he believes in and considers a friend - but doesn't understand why vash would come for him. i'm feeling some type of way. it's mutual, you fucking idiot!!!

razlo's smile is cute...

he's just excited to fight who he deems a worthy opponent... i wish the situation wasn't so dire...

^ how it feels to read trigun maximum (eating glass)

also, i need to share that when i watched stampede for the first time, this is what i said, copypasted directly from the group chat:

"as if the giant cross he carries isnt enough of a death flag on its own, the glass vials he's drinking are like. major flying high death flags."

i was thinking along the lines of "a character taking mysterious medicine is a death flag," but little did i know that the vials would literally be his cause of death. i was closer to the truth than i thought.

someone in the tag said something about ww going "catholic beast mode" and truly this is it. chapel was REALLY sent flying... fuck you fuck you fuck you you deserved that. i do feel a bit bad for razlo though.

a LOT of people have already questioned/referenced the theory that vash can literally hear ww's thoughts, but honestly i think this one is just a case of vash knowing ww so well that he understands what ww wants without doing that.

GOOD!!!!!

i actually do, truly, feel bad for razlo though. chapel was the closest thing he has to a father. thing is, chapel was just as abusive and controlling as livio's parents were. not in the exact same way, obviously, but abusive all the same. razlo has just... not been in a good situation. like, ever. he doesn't know anything else. he didn't see chapel's abuse for what it was.

*head in hands* VASHWOOD.......

they're so fucking stupid. they understand each other so well and yet so little. they can fight back-to-back seamlessly but fall so short when it comes to words. i'm going to cry.

chapter 4:

vashwood banter is back, but oh look, more dread. i've talked before about chapters that use familiar setups/scenarios but have an air of dread over them. 'colorless expression' was one. 'bastards and the blues' was another. i think this scene also falls into that.

what if i microwaved myself.

no!!! no silly expression!!! not when my heart is so full of dread!!!!

vash thinking about his feelings for wolfwood. i can't even articulate anything. i just want to cry.

"i wanted to see tomorrow with him." I WANTED. TO. SEE. TOMORROW. WITH!!! HIM!!!! i feel like shinji on the chair.

he can feel wolfwood's body dying. what if i ate rocks.

the way he clings so hard. he doesn't want to let wolfwood go, literally and figuratively.

the embrace. the hesitation. what if i ate glass.

the apology...... ww knows he's dying and he knows that vash knows. in yet another "i know he knows i know" situation. their whole fucking relationship.

i can't read this chapter without crying, fuck.

even razlo is like, "i want to fight both of you!" but even if vash joined wolfwood against razlo now, it would be too late...

i have nothing coherent to say. this post has become a record of my vashwood-induced mental breakdown, sorry. and we're only halfway through the volume...

[thegodwhocums]

do you have any tips on how to achieve a state of enthusiasm? you seem to know how it works

KIND OF!

kind of because it doesn't always work and can be super elusive for a long time until it suddenly does work. hopefully.

you already know this but for the sake of anyone else who comes across this reply, Dionysos is "the god who comes," meaning that enthousiasmos, or possession, is an enormous part of who he is and what he does.

the three step process is to make yourself hospitable, call the god, and get out of the way.

MAKE YOURSELF HOSPITABLE this can mean a lot of things. hard to say what's necessary *for the god* and what's a psychosomatic preparation of your own self. might mean cleansing, getting calm and centered (or hype and manic I guess, ymmv), Donning The Vestments (whatever garb or jewelry is relevant), preparing your surroundings (candles? fire? low light? soft surfaces? unremarkable ambient temperature? sounds or lack of sounds?), and removing distractions (turn off the alarm on your phone etc). maybe you want to be actively dancing, or lying down. making yourself hospitable to the god works a lot better if you make your space hospitable to yourself. I also recommend having a trusted buddy, for safety and to help with recall later. the god will interact with others through you if he comes. .

CALL THE GOD ritual works. use it. set an altar, make offerings, play music, say prayers. smoke/incense is good bc it doubles as offering and as a sensory signal to your body that you're entering an altered state. recite epithets and entreat the god to enter you. .

GET OUT OF THE WAY do whatever you need to do to make space in your brain/etc for the god to come in and drive. (some people just use drugs. I can't say that's the best method - it can be a shortcut but at the cost of not learning to do it on your own, and it's harder to remain clear-eyed through what should be a really profound experience. but I am not a very drugs person so again ymmv.) there's an almost physical sense for me of molding my consciousness to take up less space - like pressing into the wall of a crowded elevator. I cover my eyes for best results, or at very least keep the light very low. looking around the room or being asked a technical question that I can answer but D cannot is a fast way to yank me back into my head and force the god out. if you are prone to dissociation, this step might be really easy for you, and the hard part could be coming back to fully inhabiting your body. if you are a very grounded and embodied person, which I am, getting out of the way is the hardest part and takes the most practice. you may only get flashes of success for a really long time.

that's the format I've pulled together from a decade or so of studying, practicing, and listening to smart people. epiphany and possession are essential to Dionysos as a deity. if you try and it isn't working, don't get frustrated with yourself, just keep at it. I've had times in my practice when it's been years between successes. when the conditions are right, the god will come.

[all-pacas]

Not a drabble request, but: in Forever, around the 32:44 mark, does it look like House interrupted Chase praying to you? I didn’t think of it until I saw someone else suggest it and now I *think* that’s pretty likely, especially given the praying later in the episode and how Chase reacts when House walks in. I’d love to know what you think, though!

I've wondered it too! We know Chase is taking the whole thing super hard, in an earlier scene as well he's just staring into space as House tries to run a differential. In general, though, Chase… obviously has a pretty difficult relationship with faith. He absolutely wants to believe, but he doesn't, really: he's envious of those who do have faith, he admits he never felt a real calling even in seminary, he admits to Foreman at one point he doesn't really know if he's religious or not.

So I guess my answer is… I don't know? Chase seems to want to believe prayer works, faith works, but he pretty obviously doesn't think it works for him. Saying a prayer over the baby is one thing, but what would he be praying for in House's office? (Mind you, I know shit about how prayer works.)

What I actually find more interesting is that Chase is in House's office. House has told him to stop sulking over the baby, Chase is working in the ICU this week, he's not on the clock, but he's also not in the conference room. He's in House's office specifically to hide/pray/think, although he's technically not supposed to be there. And sure, he picks up a magazine and tries to act like he wasn't crying when House comes in… but he had to know House would come in. I don't think Chase wanted to talk it out with House or anything (he knows better). But he needed a place to dwell and berate himself, and he picked House's.

[ryuichirou]

Replies

A big one about ships, a couple of follow-ups, a couple of random twst-related ones (there is one about yandere!Ortho)!

Anonymous asked:

i also notice that uhh, you ship f/f and m/m but not f/m? (I mean ofc twst has Three Women Total but ive heard of women in series you've liked before), does f/m feel weird to you? do you just happen to not ship any of it?? i mean im not judging or anything, i only like m/m LOL.

also on this topic, since ive been meaning to ask,. you only call katsu your partner, not anything gendered, so does that mean they're nonbinary?? (i assume katsu reads stuff on your blog/you read stuff together so KATSU PLEASE PLEASE INFLUENCE YOUR PARTNER TO DRAW MORE FISH NEOOWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Hi Anon!

We do have some het ships, but they really are rare. We talked about it at some point, here are the posts: 1, 2. Katsu was kind enough to find them… But it was ages ago (3 years ago, in fact), so I’ll talk about it again!

It isn’t weird for us to ship f/m; and if the dynamic is our “type”, we’ll very likely to gravitate towards the said ship. A good example of one of our favourite het ships is Eren and Annie from SnK. They have a lot of features and elements of our favourite m/m and f/f ships: one is passionate, determined, stubborn and a bit dumb (due to being blinded by his own determination), the other one is quiet, snarky, a kind of depressed and looks unapproachable, but actually has a soft spot for the first one.

And the girl doesn’t always have to be the “passive” one, because a lot of our favourite het ships could be described as “a bossy woman/a pushover guy that complains a lot”. Like Jordan Sullivan/Perry Cox from the tv series “Scrubs”.  So the guy bitches about how much of a Satan she is and how miserable she makes him, and he clearly knows just how villainous she could be, and yet for some reason the moment she stops torturing him with her attention, he is suddenly lost and confused. Basically, it’s either this, or the previous dynamic for the most part lol

If the ship is fun to play around with, we’ll ship it, even if it’s f/m. We don’t have anything against it in general. But we do have a bias towards f/f and m/m ships that is partially caused by the fact that our favourite dynamics are more likely to exist within those. And of course because the same sex ships are less likely to get canonized and therefore reduced to “happily ever after” in canon… which is something that we absolutely hate :(

And to answer your second question: Katsu isn’t non-binary; it’s just that the pronounces that we use are all over the place. It’s mostly due to the fact we use masculine form when talking to each other (and a lot of our friends) in Russian, mostly out of habit: a lot of people of our generation did (or still do) that either for the sake of sounding more neutral or because they used to roleplay male characters. I’m simplifying it a lot though; it’s kind of one hell of a can of worms that works differently for different people lol This is why you can really use any pronoun when talking about us, it doesn’t really matter that much. Katsu called me a “he” in one of the Nebula replies a couple of weeks ago lol and likes it more in general.

But technically Katsu and I are each other’s girlfriends. We can’t get married, so this status is permanent, but it doesn’t sound that serious, I guess.

And worry not, Katsu has heard your prayers… the other day we were actually shocked to learn that it’s been quite a while since we’ve posted anything fish-related, wow yikes! Gotta fix that!

Anonymous asked:

Hi, a little late but about the twst girls post... I still think about Jamil's vulva... her pink flesh stick out so shyly... that's the outcome of her hard work as Kalim's servant! haha 😵‍💫🤭🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Anooon! Thank you so much <3 I love talking about the twst girls very much, so I am very happy that you still think about it. I put my entire heart into Jamil’s…. yep. That part that Kalim looks at every time they take a bath together. And do other things.

We do have an ask about all the girlies’ private parts, and I am in the process of writing it. I really hope to finish it soon, and you just motivated me even more 💪😔💕

Anonymous asked:

The tapis rouge event isn't even over yet and I'm already wondering who they're going to choose if they decide to make an extra ssr card like silk Vil and applepom Jamil. Based on the group they have in this event, Floyd seems to be the most likely candidate. Maybe Ace and Jamil are feeling generous! I could also see Azul getting his hands on an extra outfit and just handing it to the tweels going "you guys can figure it out" and letting them decide. If I had to choose anyone, I would like for Azul to give it to Idia, just to see him uncomfortable in fancy clothes (also the fact that it's a gift from Azul... The ultimate betrayal!!!). Who would you choose?

Oh good question!!

I would love to see either Floyd or Jade, they would look great, especially Floyd, considering the fact that he is also quite a stylish guy lol I can also picture Azul just giving them an extra outfit so the tweels could fight for it. But even in that scenario Jade is going to let Floyd have it, I think….

However, for some reason if feel like they’re going to pick someone from a different dorm. So Idia actually would be a great pick. I feel like it’s been a while since he had Non-Birthday SSR cards..? I might be biased because I really love the guy and would LOVE to see him suffer while wearing high fashion. The more I think about it, the more I want this to actually happen wow lol

Anonymous asked:

sometimes I forget if I put myself anonymously. anyways, opinions on yandere Ortho? stuff like Ortho possibly messing with idias brain or TW:body modification

possibly changing his brothers body so they can be together forever? like replacing his limbs with robotic ones that type of stuff

You’re good, Anon; and if you suddenly realize that you wanted to send something via Anon, just tell us and we won’t post your username!

We talked about yandere Ortho quite a lot, here are some of the posts on this topic: 1, 2.

But actually! I believe we never really talked about things that you’ve mentioned, which is a shame, because this is such a hot idea. Saying goodbye to Idia sounds like something that Ortho would never want to happen, so he really might start modifying Idia’s body while he is still young. One day Idia is just going to wake up with his legs cut off, because Ortho suddenly decided that it’s time to start. Why didn’t he talk about it with Idia first? Well, it’s better to ask for forgiveness than ask for permission, right? Hehe~

Anonymous asked:

Re: Eric and the teachers meeting

Maybe during parent-teacher meetings? 👀

Could be! But this is too brief of a meeting I think… well, doesn’t matter, if we ever get the urge to ship Eric with anyone, we’ll find a way. 👀

Anonymous asked:

wait a minute. if those previous anons do take over jade and idias spot wont they end up together???

OH SHOOT YOU’RE RIGHT.

Damn. I hope those two Anons have fun. Jade will sit there and watch. And force Idia to also watch.

[artist-issues]

I've already graduated long time ago but I was wondering what is the relationship between schools and religion in your country?

I've heard about a thing in the USA called a Sunday School but I don't know how it works. Where I'm from, Poland, we have a class called ''Religion'' where we are taught Roman Catholic religion, the most prevalent religion in Poland. There would be sometimes lessons about other religions but they usually boiled down to ''Be nice to others and let's all get along.'' We would talk about other religions in history class. Ancient Greece? Greek Gods! Ottoman Empire? Islam. Poland before its Christening? (Yes, Poland ''becomes Christian'' when our ruler, prince Mieszko I, got baptized in 966. And yes ruler of the country doesn't have to be a king. We had few rulers who's never been technically crowned.) Slavic Gods!

What about kids who aren't Christian or who are but whose parents don't want them to be taught religion in school for some reason? They go to ''ethics'' class which boils down to ''Don't kill because it's a sin bad thing.'' etc.

Perfectly serviceable, right?

But even though it's not mandatory there are still people who think religion should not be in school at all. Because in their opinion there's already enough going on in school and religion class just keeps their kids in school an extra hour (In Poland classes are only 45 minutes and breaks are only 5 - 10 minutes long, with one long one, 15 minutes.).

Most people like or at least acknowledge that it's far more convenient that way.

It's not some small village where an entire school would fit in one room. How would the priest ask and grade an entire building's worth of children? (''Religion'' isn't taught by priests, nuns or catechists. (I think that's how you translate it.) We would get grades for reciting the prayers and other stuff, our notebooks and participation during class.)

But it might be because my school is religious even by Polish standards. Our Patreon is John Paul the Second. We have his bust in front of the school, almost every class has a cross and his picture. We have some pictures and drawings (made by previous students) of him in the hallways.

What do you think?

Well! I'm...not an expert on this at all. Or even like a casual thinker on the subject.

I was homeschooled after the third grade, then went to college. So. I'm even less qualified to be talking about this than you thought I was! ^^

But! I'll share my opinion on religion and education, I guess.

School's job in my country is to teach truth that specifically prepares you to be a law-abiding citizen who is also capable of earning a living and making well-informed decisions when electing governmental officials, I think. Thats basically it.

But our schools tend to teach stuff that isn't actually true. Like they'll teach evolutionary theory as if it isn't a theory--they'll teach it as if it's proven fact. Recently they're also teaching other stuff, stuff that is theoretical, instead of factual, as if it IS factual.

But they won't teach religion as if it's proven fact. So it's a super inconsistent standard. And you start to think "well if you're going to teach stuff that is just 'theory,' how are you picking which 'theories' to teach out of all the theories out there? And why do you only act like a few of them are proven fact, but leave others as mere 'theories?'"

And the answer is, educators just pick whichever theories are going to get them the most power in a social setting when their students graduate. So yeah, let's teach evolutionary theory so that all the little kids grow up to think that their opinion is the only God who exists. That way, we can also tell them that they should get to choose what social group they belong to. Once they pick a social group to belong to, we can cater to that social group with our movies and our speeches and our posts. Then they'll think we're "allies" with them, and they'll vote to keep us in power. Because we've managed to make them think they've chosen their own identity, and chosen us as their champions of that identity...when in reality we planned it all for them from the time they entered grade school.

People think schools are teaching their kids to become more independent in my country. Actually the schools are teaching the kids to be dependent—on a system that tells them they're in charge of their own destiny. It's all not true.

and of course there's no place for God in that. Except as an "outdated belief system used to control and oppress people throughout history."

🤷‍♀️ There you go. A nice uncomfortable crawl into the parts of my worldview that nobody wanted to hear, but it's true.

[uriayx]

GABRIEL DANIELS X AMON - FLUFF

I couldn't sleep so hard that I finally wrote something

“You should have been sleeping an hour ago.”

That’s most of what Gabriel tends to hear at this hour. Of what I tend to hear from him, actually, but in all technicality, I don’t need sleep. I just…get bored, from time to time, and sleep whenever I’m bored and Gabby needs his rest. But tonight, I guess something changed. Maybe he had a bad dream, maybe he had been up all night. But I found him scrolling his phone, at 4am in the morning.

“I know,” I heard him mumble, flipping over so he could plug in his phone. His hair was all tangled, and his body trembled slightly with every movement, I noticed. His face was pale, and his eyes kept darting around anxiously, as if waiting for something to happen. “I just…”

“You just what? You keep doing this, and then never telling me what’s wrong.” I had donned the human form for this specific interaction- while sometimes the true form was a comfort to him, tonight it was not. I sat on the end of his bed, wondering if I can just crawl in and hug him, try and make it all better. But something stopped me, for some reason I still won’t or can’t explain.

Gabriel didn’t answer my question, by the way- rude. He turned over, trying to just ignore me, maybe head back to sleep. I sat closer to him and peeked over at his face.

…oh. That’s why he was shaking. He was crying.

There are only a few times where I’ve seen Gabe cry. I know he cries a lot- just never around me, because it makes him feel…weak, I guess? I’ve seen him cry during sermons, and I’ve seen him cry over Kayden’s future, and I’ve seen him cry over Jane’s passing. But never over just some silly nightmare. I saw the tears that stained his face and gently wiped them away.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you need or what’s wrong,” I said quietly after a moment that was far too silent. Gabriel looked up at me and managed to sit up, flopping against my shoulder and just starting to sob his small heart out. I sighed and adjusted so I could lie next to him, keeping inky black waves of unkept and tangled hair out of his face and in my hands. I’d studied the way he comforted people- for my own gain, of course, for the simple need to manipulate. I would never be seen actually trying to comfort mortal scum…

Such a…gorgeous, broken, perfect mortal scum. He only managed to stop sobbing after a few moments of my silence and gentle fingers through his hair, and he didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Amon?” He whispered after those moments, like a desperate prayer. I made a hum, so he knew I was paying attention. “How come you decide to stay with me?”

“What do you mean?”

“The hell do you mean, what do I mean?” Gabriel sat up, seeming like he was feeling a cold and empty sense of rage that only came from grieving and thinking for far too long this late at night. “I’m everything you should stand against- a priest, a man of God, somebody who takes too much and knows too little. You should despise me, shouldn’t you? I’m not anything compared to you, in your prowess, your powers, your form, your-”

I pulled him back down and stopped those words with gentle kisses- not just on his lips, on his face and down his jaw, too. Nothing explicitly sexual- even I know sometimes it’s just not the time. “Shh.” I said gently. “How about we just not think for a couple minutes while you try to go back to sleep, yeah?” All I felt was a quiet nod, and spindly arms wrapped around what would be my waist in this human form, calloused and scarred hands resting on my back- scarred from too many thoughts, too many prayers.

I kissed the top of his head, thinking to myself. It was quiet in here…much too quiet. No wonder he had nightmares in this environment. And no wonder I had to use that spell so much just to get him to sleep… “How come you don’t have a nightlight in here or something? No wonder you get nightmares, you’ve got phobias that the dark doesn’t help,” I say quietly, trying to sound soothing. It’s surprisingly easy, considering I just had to copy Gabe’s tone that he takes when talking to disciples.

“Childish,” I heard him mutter.

“It’s not childish to need comfort.”

“And why do you care so much?”

I don’t answer, because I don’t know. I don’t know why I care so much, why I hold him tighter every time he sniffles, or why I kiss his head and muss with his hair when he’s feeling hard on himself. I don’t feel these things, so why should I care if some stupid human with pretty eyes and a tired smile does? What does it matter to me?

…it matters a lot to me, I realized. And it’s starting to piss me off.

Gabriel is asleep now. I’m writing this so that he knows and remembers that this happened, and so I remember what happened, and what I say to him. I was thinking about the question from before- why does it matter to me?

I’m a demon, a servant of Asmodeus. I don’t need some human with kind hands to guide me on some “right path.” My path is set, or that’s what I’ve been told.

But you, Gabby. You’re the one who made me reconsider. You’re the one who made me want to care for people, care for you, and your stupid destructive habits. You’re the one who made me feel somehow more indescribably human and warm inside every time you do something to help others. You’re the entire reason I’ve remained in this realm of existence, and I think you will forever be that reason.

I know what you’ve been thinking lately, Gabriel. And I know you’re not reading all this, because by the time you see it you’re probably groggy and will tell yourself that you’ll read it later, and then put it in a drawer never to be seen again. But I think I really do need you, in no way that Asmodeus taught me. I want to be the reason that you smile for once in your pathetic little life.

I think I’m in love with you. And I hope to any God willing to listen to the failure of a demon who has lost its purpose that you remember that the rest of your days.

-Amon. 🖤

[judaismandsuch]

Recently* I started saying hamotzei/benching every time I eat bread (look, it's the only prayer commanded in the torah. Kinda odd that it took me so long to add it in).

*Like, a year or two.

This had lead to a growth in halachic knowledge, as well as me deviating from some rulings in a fun way.

The biggest question is what differentiates bread from mezonot?

The answer is basically *vague shrug* in that it boils down to "Do you treat it like bread, or not?"

Cookies? Cake? Clearly never treated like bread.

Crackers? Not bread.

Pita chips? Uh... wait, I don't.... eh fuck it, I'll learn the answer on judgement day.

Chocolate Croissant? Not bread.

Croissant eaten with like... coffee? Probably not bread.

Croissant that you cut in half to make a sandwhich? Bread.. I guess?

Pizza? A legit debate. I rule that it is not bread.

Bagels? Bread.

Pizza Bagels? I rule that they are not bread, cause Pizza is not bread, and washing is annoying.

Matzah? Were it not for the fact that it is by definition bread, I would 100% not call it bread.

Also those burger buns where they use fruit juice so technically it is mezonot? go fuck yourself, it's bread.

[butternuggets-blog]

FOR WANT OF A NAIL

@baldwin-montclair @adowobsessed @sylverdeclermont @nicki-mac-me @thereadersmuse @kynthiamoon @wheresthesunshinesblog @adowbaldwin @beautifulsoulsublime @lady-lazarus-declermont @adarafaelbarba-blog @dogblessyoutascha

Part Fourty-Nine

Summary:  Baldwin Montclair had a string of ex girlfriends, a single child, and a  lifetime longer than most people could dream of to make all kinds of  mistakes. His family knew one which kept coming out of the woodwork to  irritate him every other century

Also on AO3

Andrew Hubbard lived in a cupboard down on Drury Lane. It wasn't too bad, as cupboards went: there were no windows and the door didn't have a handle on the inside, but the walls were high and thin enough that he could hear the comings and goings of the household if he listened hard enough.

Technically only the door was a cupboard; Hubbard was closeted away from prying eyes in a crawlspace that had previously been used for storage. Storing what he didn't know, nor was he in a hurry to ask.

Knock.

Knock knock.

Knock.

Hubbard smiled and tapped the back of the door. It swung open and a girl stepped through, gingerly carrying a tray.

It had been dark when Hubbard's friends had smuggled him into the house so he hadn't seen any of its occupants, but judging by the quality of the girl's clothing she had to be the daughter of the house.

She was small for her age, which he'd hazard a guess was probably about six. She wore a silk cotehardie in dark green, a yellow smock beneath it showing at her wrists and neck. Her hose had leather sewn into the soles so she could walk around without boots and a white linen coif was tied to her head, long chestnut locks tumbling down from underneath it.

'Here is your lunch, father.'

She presented the tray to him with a smile. There was a wooden bowl of pottage and a hunk of brown bread. A cup of water had been placed beside a spoon, which was resting atop a folded napkin.

'Bless you, my child' Hubbard took the tray and placed it across his lap, then folded his hands together and bowed his head as he said a short prayer. The girl clasped her hands and followed along, her lips moving, eyes closed as she recited.

'You do not eat a lot.' the girl observed, as Hubbard tucked into his food.

'I am a priest. We live sparse lives in service of God.'

'..my père does not eat a lot.'

'He is a God-fearing man,' Hubbard looked down at her. 'Greed is a sin against the Lord. Your father is concious of his soul.'

The girl seemed dissatisfied by his answer, travelling through her memories as he used the bread to mop up the last of the pottage and slowly sipped the water.

When he was finished the girl stood and carefully picked up the tray.

'My père will come to see you soon,' the girl said, gripping the tray as she sunk into a curtsy.

'I look forward to meeting him.' Father Hubbard inclined his head in a half-bow, and the girl slipped away.

****

There was a note on Martin's desk, folded up neatly but not sealed. It was not the first time Yvette had seen similar, but she was a good child and did not usually pry. Today, however, was a day for risks.

'Who have you written to?'

'No one.'

His tone was funny.

'It is..' Martin stumbled, '..a way for me to let out my thoughts.'

Yvette had only recently discovered lying. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something felt...off about her father's words. She decided to change the subject.

'ɸatīr are you sick?'

Martin frowned and tilted his head. 'No. What made you ask?'

Her stomach flopped. She swallowed.

'You eat less than the priest. Less than anyone! We have enough money for silk but..' she struggled to find the words.

Martin appeared to wrestle with himself for a moment, then sighed, dropped to one knee, and gestured for Yvette to come closer.

'I am not sick. Do you remember what I taught you about witches?'

She nodded. Everyone knew about witches; they were evil and cruel, wandering the world placing curses upon anyone and anything that displeased them. Martin, however, had said that what everyone "knew" about witches was wrong. That they were more like cunningfolk, men and women who dedicated their lives and their spellcraft to the villages and towns and cities where they lived.

"We should let everyone know!"

"They do not wish to know. And that is why you must not tell them."

'There are other peculiar creatures that live among us.'

Martin hesitated.

'There are daemons. Not like the ones described in church' he added hastily, seeing Yvette's alarmed expression. 'They look like you or I, without horn or tail. Some suffer visions of the future but commonly they are creative types.'

Martin paused.

'The last creature...is what I am. I...I am a vampire.'

Martin's words hung in the air.

Yvette forced a breath. She stared at the floor. Her heart was beating in her ears; her breathing sounded rapid. Martin's hand was in hers and she noted properly, for the first time in her life, how cool it was.

She knew she was adopted. She had noticed that her friends all had a mother; she had wondered where her mother was, so she asked. Martin had told her the truth, and that was that.

Yvette took a deep breath and looked her father in the eyes.

'Was I to be your meal but you changed your mind?'

'Never.' Martin said firmly. 'True, I had been at the river to hunt but I do not feed on children.'

Fishing. That was what you told me.

Martin gently squeezed her hand. 'I love you. You are my daughter and my light. I do need a little blood to survive, but I only feed off animals and terrible, terrible men.'

Yvette nodded.

'..can you fly?' she asked shyly.

Martin chuckled, his shoulders slumping with relief. 'No, I cannot fly. I can run faster than your eyes can follow, and this allows me to leap great distances, but I cannot fly nor transform into another creature.'

That is disappointing.

'Are there other people that I know who are also vampires?'

'Aunt Blanda and Aunt Merula; your cousins..' Yvette's jaw dropped as Martin began counting off almost everyone she had ever known. 'Uncle Baldwin and the rest of the De Clermont family, some of the servants..there are a lot of us watching over you.'

'...are you going to make me into a vampire?'

'I think that that is a discussion for another time. When you are older.' Martin smiled.

Yvette nodded, then flung her arms around his neck and hugged him.

'I love you ɸatīr'

'I love you too' Martin said, squeezing her back. 'Do you have any other questions?'

Yvette shook her head.

'Well, why do we not go and properly meet our guest?'

As she turned to leave, in the corner of her eye, Yvette caught sight of Martin vanishing and reappearing by the fire, tossing the folded letter he had written into the flames.

________________________________________________________________

The thirteen-hundreds had begun in famine, freezing temperatures, and political upheaval, and did not appear to be slowing down any time soon as they hurtled towards their middle.

When Charles IV of France passed, his crown skipped his immediate English heir, Edward III, and passed instead to his French cousin, Philip VI, establishing a precedent for a legal succession to the French crown which had gone down as well as one might expect.

To excacerbate matters further, Philip VI began causing trouble in Gascony, a profitable claret-making region in south-west France, north of the Pyrenees. Edward, in his capacity as Duke of Aquitaine, owned Gascony, but there were French officials, legal cases, and certain stretches of land which belonged to the French crown under Philip, and there were clashes over border disputes between the two rulers.

France had also supported the Scottish against the English in the Second War of Scottish Independence, allowing King David II of Scotland, son of Robert the Bruce, and his wife Queen Joan of England to take up residence in Château Gaillard in Normandy, to the incandescent fury of Edward.

The final straw had come a week before when Philip demanded that Edward hand over Robert III of Artois, an exile from Philip's court and one of Edward's most trusted advisors. Edward was dragging his heels on the matter, and in response Philip was threatening to follow through on the ultimatum he had issued: confiscating Edward's lands in Gascony.

Hubbard was English, born and raised, but he had raised the ire of some powerful people when he was caught shepherding French peasants through London to the docks. Debts were called in and friendships leaned on, and eventually he had been smuggled, temporarily, into Martin's home.

One final act of kindness before they move out.

Hubbard's revery was interrupted by Yvette poking her head into the laundry.

'Père said that I might find you here' Yvette giggled at her joke, and Hubbard smiled, clasping his hands in front of him. He was let out of his hidey-hole for a few minutes every day to stretch his legs; he could stand in his crawlspace, and sit with his legs flat out, but he couldn't walk around, and it was only through the high windows of the laundry building set at the back of the main house that he could see birds and the distant blue sky.

'Would you like to see something?' Yvette beamed.

'Of course!' Hubbard watched as Yvette carefully pulled a wooden cart into the laundry. On it was a tall mess of slowly-turning gears and a chain; there was a tiny bell affixed to it, and a weight on a chain was slowly lowering as the mechanism clicked over.

'I am learning my time,' Yvette gestured proudly to the clock.

'It is a beautiful specimen' Hubbard looked it over. What he had first taken to be a copper bell was actually wood, lacquered with a thin veneer of paint.

'Good, because it is for you!' Yvette's grin widened.

'For me?'

'Yes; père said that you should be able to tell how much time is passing. And winding it will give you something to do.'

'Well then, please show me how to wind it.'

Yvette took his hand and led him over to it, carefully pointing out which parts had been made by certain craftsmen and how to set the mechanism correctly.

Author's Notes

Technically-speaking, the hiding spot Hubbard is in is a smuggler's hold, not a priest hole (because I say so). Priest holes weren't used until the reign of Queen Elizabeth I when Catholic priests were hunted for their beliefs. Nicholas Owen, a Jesuit lay brother and carpenter, was the principle builder of priest holes during this time.

Yvette is wearing:

Silk cotehardie - sleeved, fitted gown

Smock - basically a chemise or an undershirt

Leather-soled hose - actually a thing! It was fashionable for men to wear hose sewed with leather so they didn't need to worry about wearing shoes, but it's not clear if women also followed this fashion trend.

A white linen coif - a close-fitting cap with two 'ties' on either side.

Pottage: a thick soup or stew that was kept on the fire for days and was made of whatever vegetables, meat, herbs, ect., that was on hand. It was primarily a peasant dish, but wealthy people did eat it as well, but obviously their version had more expensive ingrediants.

Andrew Hubbard is Roman Catholic; his church, Christ Church Greyfriars, was once a Franciscan monastery.

Yvette is a Pagan, but Martin has had her carefully schooled in other religions to better fit in.

The type of clock which Yvette has is called a verge and foliot clock. I went on a deep dive into medieval clock technology, so I apologise if I stuffed up my description of how it works. The first portable clock was created by Peter Henlein (or Henle, or Hele) circa 1504 when he created a portable timepiece that could run for forty hours before it need to be rewound.

[cityandking]

top 3 daichi 'adjusting to life again' routines/rituals

okay I have been thinking about this for so long and I still don't Really have concrete answers but here are my Biggest thoughts at the moment:

extended prayer/meditation. usually he keeps his holy duties to the sunrise hours any anything more is incidental, but I think post-abyss he spends more time than usual in... I mean, yeah, technically worship, but worship for daichi is mostly about finding his footing and making the active choice to give himself over in worship to that divinity. I think turning back to pelor is a comfort both in that a) it's pelor and b) he's choosing it. I think probably, outside his date afternoon/night with zaref, he goes through morning and midday and sunset rituals in a way he hasn't since he was a wee baby acolyte. he hasn't been able to pray in three years; I think he'd find immense comfort in the routine and in really grounding himself in his body as he goes through the motions. training also fits in this category—spending time with his shield, his sword, his body. it's about relearning and remembering the routines he lost or that were corrupted while he was in the abyss

braiding his hair. I'm imagining it like this currently. just something time consuming and precise to help him recenter himself in his body (I imagine him doing it shirtless and watching his reflection in the mirror with all the new scarring and getting used to just like. inhabiting this form. something something spending three years in a body of someone else's making and relearning how to exist as himself again)

I think he'd talk to anticlea! not necessarily something to play out in game, but it's definitely on my to-do list for him. he'd want to talk to the person who resurrected him, especially since it's someone who essentially filled his role in the group while he was out of commission. kinda meta I guess but I do think he'd seek her out, and they'd have tea and talk a lot about stuff. grandma hours etc.

bonus thoughts:

cooking. eating. I don't think he ate in the abyss. he didn't need it + he had no mouth. imagine not eating for three years. my boy is craving some good food.

the tattoo was pretty big. making his body his; marking it in a way he chose to. the reminder of home. I think he could get into tattoos and piercings. it's about the autonomy and the power to make changes to his own form.

he and zaref are taking it slow but. future intimacy. that'll be good. imagine experiencing joy and pleasure after being a tool for destruction and war for three years. get that man an orgasm

literally just sitting and listening to scratch. scratch's chatter being a reminder and a balm to him. he wants to hear everything going through her head; it's good and grounding.

not any time soon, but I do think he'd want to go see the ocean again. eventually. see the changes since the portal closed, know that he can stand there at the edge of the water. I think it might freak him out a little but he'd be okay.

spa day. or weekend! he deserves it.