#i live in the north for a reason why the fuck is it so hot

[spicyraeman]

I'm not built for the heat besties..

[youryanderedaddy]

tw: female reader, sadism/emotional torture, death threats, talk of death, degradation, Adamverse again (i am literally obsessed with his emo ass no joke)

You don’t know exactly what you did wrong. Maybe it’s because the dinner was just slightly less crispy than he likes, maybe it took you just one second too long to return his kiss - or maybe he just felt like torturing you - sometimes he got into these weird, sadistic moods, and you could never tell exactly where you had messed up. And you wish you did - oh how you wish he would tell you straight up, so you would be able to avoid the pain in future; alas that would never happen. Why would he let you in on the secret, why would he make the rules known if he has so much fun with you once you inevitably break them? He doesn’t need a reason to hurt you, because he already owns you, but sometimes he likes to have one; just so you’d blame yourself a bit more - just so you’d ask yourself what you could do better next time.

All you know now is that he’s mad, red - hot fury plastered all over his thin pale face. His expression, already deadly and hostile, at this moment looks simply demonic. All you know now is that he’s gripping your wrist and sinking his sharp nails as deep into your prickled skin as possible while dragging you somewhere unknown. Somewhere deep within the forest. 

You take in the smell of cold, fresh rain as your naked feet splash into the soaking grass, leaving a muddy trail behind. The forest feels alive - living and breathing into the early winter, the earthy scent of wet wood and linden heavy in the air. It’s breathtakingly beautiful, all this green scenery, even the icy air filling your lungs and the silent song of the sparrows left to die in the cold. You’re trying to appreciate this short moment of peace and quiet, of finally feeling the earth beneath you for the first time in what feels like years, but you just can’t ignore the biting, freezing chill that wraps around your body like a coat woven by Death herself. 

You’re wearing nothing but a flimsy white nightgown that sticks to your body, pretty and way too long it drags against the damp soil, sullying the beautiful lace. It’s almost funny, you think. The delicate fabric seems red under the soft moonlight - like blood, and it makes you feel like some fucked up fairytail metaphor of a princess, a trembling virgin waiting to be deflowered by the beast. But this can’t be further from the truth - there is nothing left for him to take.

Adam stops suddenly, making you trip and swing towards him - but instead of catching you, he pushes you to the side.

“Watch your step.” He hisses through gritted teeth, once again reaching to grab your hand. “We’re almost there. If you don’t want me to leave you to the wolves, you better keep up.” He adds, resuming his quick step ahead. Somewhere in your rational mind you know he’s just trying to scare you into walking faster - there is no way there are wolves this far up north, and even if there were, he would never let them hurt you. Would he?

“Alright. We’ve arrived.” The man stops after a while, letting go of you. You turn to look at him, eyes full of confusion. You’re in the middle of nowhere. There is nothing here aside from a few bushes and a big hole covered in dry leaves. “What is–”

“This will be your grave.” He interrupts you before you can even question him, gesturing to the wide open pit as he shoves you closer to the edge - so close you’re staring at the pitch black void that awaits you at the other side. You freeze in your place, unable to move an inch, cold sweat running down your back. 

You’ve pictured this night countless times before - the night when you finally die. Somehow you imagined it would be different; a lot less romantic. You thought your heart would stop due to the constant stress and paranoia, or Adam would squeeze your throat just a bit too tight - your face would get just a touch too purple and you’d kick the bucket. He’d force his length down your throat and you’d choke on your own vomit, or he would simply beat you up so badly you wouldn’t wake up the next morning. You never thought your end would be so picturesque - wearing a beautiful, sensual robe under the moonlight, slowly bleeding out as the sun rises over your cold, unmoving form. He’d probably kiss your dead lips and hold your hand too. 

No. You can’t let this happen. You don’t want this to happen. He doesn’t get to decide whether your death is pretty, ugly or fucking gruesome, whether your guts stick out for the world to see. You can’t let yourself die beautifully. You can’t let him see himself as some romantic gothic hero from the old books. He has to be the grim reaper, he has to realize he’s nothing more than a sadistic, lonely creep with vengeance and a sick fascination for blood that just happened to be yours.

“Are you going to kill me?” You whisper, voice as smooth as you can force it to be. You can’t let him know you’re scared. His eyes, so far sharp and calculated, suddenly narrow with a crazed glint - and he takes a step towards you, wrapping his hands around your waist. You can feel his weight resting against your body, a clear signal that one wrong move and you will both slip down the drain. “Maybe I will.” Adam leans in just slightly to whisper in your ear, chuckling at the way your shoulders stiffen completely - fists clenched to remain balanced. “Maybe I won’t.” His hot breath hits the freezing skin of your neck, but instead of another human’s warmth, all you feel is ice - cold fear. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“You fucking asshole–” You hiss inaudibly, small angry tears forming in your eyes. You can swear you’re not angry - or at least you shouldn’t be. One can only be angry when their expectations are being met - you should know better than anyone what the man is capable of. Yet somewhere far inside you still find the courage, the patience to feel rage, to feel cheated; tricked. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter? It’s my fucking life on–” Your sentence gets cut off by the deep guttural sobs tearing off from deep within your lungs. If you weren’t a second away from falling into your literal grave, you’d be beating at his chest right now with all the energy you have left - which isn’t a lot, but you’d give it your damn best.

“Shh, baby, it’s alright.” Your captor wraps his arms around you, breathing in your sweetness mixed in with the rain and the light earthy scent of the forest. For a second he can imagine laying you on the wet soil, not even shoving you down like usual, just gently pushing your body deeper and deeper into the mud until all that’s left unburied is your lips. “You always say you want to die, don’t you? I mean, you obviously seem to think that being with me is a fate worse than death.” He slaps on a big taunting smile, and you can’t decide if it makes you scared or furious. “So what’s different now?”

You inhale slowly.

“You-you–!” You feel your cheeks heat up with ire as your whole body prepares to attack the very source of all these complicated feelings, when… Nothing. Your fists can’t reach him, nor can your poisonous words break his heart for the second time. You’ve slipped into the world of the dead, somewhere far away. It’s darker than the winter night and more quiet than you had anticipated Hell would be - the only thing you hear is your own shallow heartbeat.

“Look at what you did, you stupid girl.” Someone pulls you back into the human realm, forcing you to open your eyes. “You’re fucking pathetic, you know that?” The voice sneers with the same old malice you can recognise even with your hands covering your ringing ears - so you must still be alive. Or maybe people are right, and Hell is on here on earth. “Scared of life, yet terrified of death.” Adam keeps mocking you, stepping closer to the pit so he can see exactly how pitiful you look, squirming in the dirt. “Also fucking clumsy at that. You know, I was just teasing you, but you really went and got yourself into that filthy hole. Just how useless can you be.”

You gulp, your dry throat straining against your tonsils. You’re alive - and you’ve made a fool of yourself just like always. Sometimes you wonder if you only exist to entertain Adam, if the whole reason for your being is one big excuse for him to hurt you until whatever is haunting him goes away. Yet it never does, and you’re not sure which of you is more pitiful.

“P-please…” You whimper weakly. You’re not sure what you’re even begging him for - to stop talking, to go away or to help you get out of this black, bottomless pit. You’re so cold, so wet - you just want to go home, although… Maybe your home doesn’t exist anymore.

“I can’t hear you, sweetheart. Speak louder.” The man coos, his shadow towering over you in a cruel reminder that even in death he’d still follow, somehow. “Do you need a hand? You’d have to be more convincing than that if you want me to help you, baby. Why should I waste my time saving a woman who doesn’t even love me?”

Your stomach turns, you’ve been here before. It’s a trap question - whatever you say, it’d still be the wrong answer, because with Adam there are no right answers. There is only suffering and dread over and over again until you’re both old and decaying in your own filth somewhere in the basement of his late mother’s cottage, surrounded by rats just waiting to feast on your flesh once your hearts finally stop. And even then you’d know no peace - he’d probably find you in Hell. You’ve been sharing his pain for too long, whether you like it or not, whether you love him or not, you can’t deny your souls are tied, glued together with blood and bile and sweat and tears.

“Please stop playing around, Adam. Just get me out of here, okay?” You make your voice small and whiny, just the way he likes it to be when you plead with him. Part of you is fighting against the survival instinct to snap into pure submission - to promise him anything and everything, because you will, and then what? He’d take you home, he’d be sugary sweet for the next two days, approximately, before you inevitably fuck up again. It’s all pointless. This love of his is nothing more than an exercise of nihilism - you’re just unsure why he feels the need to drag you along.

“You’re just hopeless without me, aren’t you?” He says rather softly, recognising the clear retaliation in your tone. Then he jumps down the pit, landing on his two feet like a panther - like he had rehearsed for this moment alone. It goes as usual. He stretches his hand towards you. You take a quick look at him. You reach in, just barely hanging on. Fingers hovering under his clenched fist. Shivering. He kisses your wrist. Standing up slowly. You’re dizzy. He wipes the mud off your face. Headache. Your chest tightens. 

And he gets to hold your hand and carry you away as the sun approaches, bright and blinding under the clouds just like a bloody fucking fairytale. 

[queercontrarian]

Azris Week 2024: Contact

Azriel and Eris are not quite as overt in showing their affection as Azriel's family is. You might not even know it's there... unless you know where to look.

this summary is shit also let's all just pretend i posted this on the right day okay? thank you

@azrisweek

“I’m getting old,” Cassian groans, letting his heavy body drop onto the bench with a crack that doesn’t bode well for the structure of the piece. After all, the birchin is almost as old as Cassian is now. 

“Must be the constant losing because I feel great,” Azriel lies through his teeth as he sits, much more careful than his brother to not damage the old furniture more. He does feel great; winning always feels good, especially when it’s their traditional snowball fight and even more so when it’s his fourth year in a row. Still, he too can feel the years bearing on his bones and joints, especially now that he doesn’t spend nearly as much time training his body as he used to when he was still Spymaster of the Night Court.

“The only reason you can keep up your winning streak is because you don’t have any children to run after,” Rhys complains, stretching his leg out in front of him to gently massage his knee. ”You have no idea what real tiredness is until you’ve chased a nearly eighteen year old across all seven Courts trying to keep him from causing the whole continent to blow up.”

Azriel snorts. “Actually, I do know a thing or two about how that feels.”

“Oh fuck you, I was never that bad,” Rhys replies, but it has no real bite. He leans back and closes his eyes. Azriel shrugs, which Rhys can’t see now but might just feel through some brotherly intuition or simply the fact that they’ve known each other for nearly their entire lives.

“And anyways, it can’t be that hard,” Azriel adds, “You love your children, that’s why you had them. That’s why you continue to have them.” He shoots a pointed look at Cassian. He and Nesta just welcomed another two children into their home: twins, no more than ten years old, both from the far islands which crown the north of Illyria. That makes for five kids that his friends have adopted so far. Luckily, the House of Wind has enough room for all the youths they invite to join their family, and Nyx and Jasmin both go nearly green with envy since Noura is the only cousin with siblings. That is, until Elain gives birth again, which won’t be for a couple months now.

“True that,” Cassian mumbles, eloquent as ever as he too leans back against the wall. “Why don’t you have children anyway?” 

Azriel just stares at him, trying to decipher what it is his brother is really asking. It's not exactly like having a child is something that could just happen to him and Eris like it did for Rhys and Feyre. He knows of course that Eris will be expected to produce an heir some day, but it’s been barely fifteen years since he became High Lord. They still have time, time to figure out how they will construct this future family of theirs, time to be a family of just two. Azriel isn’t ready to share his husband with another soul yet when he already shares him with an entire Court, but that feels like too earnest of a thing to say here and now. It’s not that he thinks his brothers wouldn’t understand, he just doesn’t want to bring it up yet.

“It’s not like we don’t try,” he says finally with a sideways grin on his face, waiting for Cassian to look at him again. “We try so hard, you know, every night, but it just doesn't seem to be happening for us.” Cassian cackles and then coughs as he breathes in the hot air of the birchin, enriched with a thousand healing herbs - at least that’s what it smells like. 

“I’m sure you do,” he rasps through coughing and Rhysand smirks too, though Azriel doesn’t know if it is at the joke he made or Cassian’s face, which has taken on the color of pickled beetroot. 

“You’d never know,” he says, and Azriel just gives a noncommittal hum.

“Right?” Cassian agrees, his voice still rough though he’s stopped coughing for now. “I mean, you’d never know if you just saw you guys.” 

Azriel frowns. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“Just, you know. You don't really act like a couple. I mean, compare that to me and Nesta or Rhys and Feyre; they’re all over each other.” 

Azriel has half the mind to turn his back to them to show them the clear proof that Eris, too, is all over him more often than not, and likes to leave his mark, thank you very much, but that feels childish. The truth is they don’t act like the other couples in the Inner Circle. That doesn’t mean they love each other any less.

“What, just because we don’t fondle each other in the presence of others?” Azriel responds, unable to suppress the slight defensiveness, his inner walls shutting down almost automatically. He knows his brothers mean no harm, but it still feels like a challenge. Eris and him are just much more private people than his brothers and their partners.

“Yeah but there’s private and then there’s whatever you guys have,” Rhys voices his opinion from the bench across the room. Azriel barely has time to admonish him for reading his mind without asking - which is something he promised he wouldn’t do anymore when Azriel became Lord Consort of Autumn, but old habits seem to be hard to break - when Cassian adds, “It’s not like it’s bad or anything. It’s just different from what we’re used to.”

“I suppose,” Azriel says. He’s not trying to spend the limited time he and his brothers have nowadays bickering - even though they are of course dead wrong…

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

▪︎

There is no way they will be able to talk to all these people tonight but Eris seems to be hellbent on trying, and if the High Lord is convinced of something it is harder to change his mind than to go along with it. Azriel has always been the type to choose the path of least resistance. Eris's hand is firm on his back as he leads him through the crowd of fae gathered in the throne room. He can feel Eris’s heartbeat, reverberating through their bond. It rarely feels stronger than when they are next to each other.

He’s been standing on the balcony for a while when Eris finally joins him. His wings are practically being baked in the hot sun of the Day Court but it’s still bearable. Better than being inside anyways.

“Taking a break, are we?” Eris says with a smile. Azriel just rolls his eyes.

“Didn’t really want to stick around to watch my family stick their tongues down their partners’ throats,” he grunts, and Eris laughs.

“The topics of conversations have changed quite drastically since this morning,” he admits, and that’s putting it lightly. The official visit that had been scheduled for diplomacy reasons has been derailed entirely. Now it seems more like they were only moments away from an orgy taking over the room.

“Just… stay with me for a little while,” Azriel asks, with more vulnerability in his voice than he would usually allow himself. It’s hot, he’s tired, he feels a little overwhelmed. He shifts slightly to his left so Eris can lean against the railing next to him. Their arms brush against each other and Eris reaches for his hand, locks their fingers together. 

They watch from the sidelines as the courtiers inside bicker and flirt and debate and disappear off into their own little corners away from prying eyes until Helion finally calls them to order (“So unlike him,” Azriel mutters and Eris grins). 

Minutes turn into an hour and the afternoon sun sinks further into a beautiful sunset. Finally Eris separates himself from the railing and makes a step back towards the hall. He turns to look at Azriel, their hands still joined between them.

“Ready to go back in there, Shadowsinger?” 

Azriel raises their hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Eris’s hand.

“Yes.”

▪︎

Azriel never thought listening to two brothers argue could be calming, but with Sasha and Bas bickering on the couch opposite him he feels like he could fall asleep at any moment. Then again maybe it’s not the heated discussion about grain import but the friendly fire that the Lady Vanserra had lit in the family’s private drawing room, the dog snoring at his feet, the sound of the wind outside the stained glass windows. Maybe it’s Eris’s hand, curled at the back of his neck, playing absentmindedly with his hair.

Azriel sighs and leans in closer, Eris’s low chuckle a familiar and comforting melody in his ear.

▪︎

People have slowly been filing out of the great ballroom for the past two hours. Personally, Azriel is elated. He does not mind balls, in fact there are two very good arguments why he should enjoy them a lot more than he does - those arguments being that usually, he gets to see his half of the family, and he gets to see Eris even more dressed up than he is on the day to day. Still, he likely won’t ever get used to being the host, and he is very glad that at least for now it is over. There is only one more breakfast to get through tomorrow before the last of their guests leave and he will only have to share his husband with one Court instead of all seven of them. 

“There you are.” Speak of the devil. “Ready for this to end?” Eris’s smile is slightly lopsided, and the way he holds his shoulders betrays his exhaustion, but he looks happy and it instantly lifts Azriel’s mood as well. When he turns to fully face his husband he can’t help but reach out to smooth down the spangles on his coat, which still looks practically impeccable. He knows it would bother Eris though, if he noticed it. 

The male places his hand over Azriel’s own and pulls him closer by his arm until they are standing only a few inches apart. 

“Dance with me,” Eris says, the look in his eyes so earnest that it feels impossible to deny him anything.

“Here?” Azriel asks weakly, his resolve already crumbling before he can even try to say no.

“Yes. Here, now.” 

“Alright.” 

There’s barely anyone in the hall now anyway, and even if there were a thousand guests still around them it wouldn’t matter; all Azriel can see is Eris.

▪︎

Azriel feels like they've been sitting here for hours, listening to Helion drone on and on about regulations in the creation of new subsections of the principal disciplines of magic. Eris at least manages to pretend to show interest, but Azriel is pretty sure that it's very evident on his face that he wants nothing more than to take another break from this meeting, or better yet, leave it be for today and return back to their room. 

He is distracted again when Eris moves his hand to rest between them on the narrow wooden armrest of his throne. He watches, mesmerized by the way his husband's many rings glint in the sunlight as he begins tapping his fingers against the armrest.

Tap tap tap. A signal?

Azriel glances up at Eris, who is still following the debate that has now started between Helion and Kallias, but his expression is a bit too fixed to be natural.

Tap tap, Eris's pointer finger sounds softly against the wood. Slowly, Azriel places his own hand next to Eris's, eyes tracking every movement his husband makes, watching as his mate extends his pinky finger until it rests against Azriel's own scarred hands. Slowly, so slowly, their fingers entwine, Eris’s rings scraping against his skin. When Azriel looks up, Eris is still staring straight ahead, a slight smile on his lips.

▪︎

The House of Wind is as crowded as ever on Starfall, but Azriel can barely hear his family cheering for the spirits as they travel across the sky, nor can he hear the music or the noise of the party. He’s too wrapped up in his mate, standing as close to him as he possibly can to take in his warmth, his scent, his quiet words even as the world around them seems to get only louder.

Under the light of a thousand stars, of spirits and candles and magic sparks Azriel leans in closer to wrap his arms around his mate just as Eris turns to kiss him.

Eris doesn’t say a word when Azriel slumps onto the couch next to him. He only moves his leg a little so he can fit comfortably, shifting his book from one hand to the other. Azriel sighs, his head rolling back as his muscles slowly relax from the long day. Eris’s thigh is leaned against his, with no pressure but a warm, comforting presence that makes him melt deeper into the couch. 

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The trip from Night to Autumn is an arduous one, even more taxing in the winter months when it's cold and wet and generally unpleasant to be flying in the Solar Courts. He wants nothing more now than to simply curl up here with Eris, not talking, not moving, just listening to the rain patter outside their window, the fire crackling and the sound of Eris’s breathing. He sighs, his shoulders slowly relaxing as he lets the day pass by again in memory, from the early morning snowball fight to Solstice dinner, which had dragged on forever. He loves and misses his family, even more so now that they live so far apart, but his longing for Eris, for home, always wins out. 

Azriel stretches his tired body out across the whole sofa with a sigh, feet hanging off one end as he reaches for one of the pillows to rest his head in Eris’s lap. Eris helps him maneuver his wings into a more comfortable position and Azriel can hardly hide his groan of relief when all the weight is finally taken off of his back and he can feel fully at ease. Eris’s fingers get tangled in his hair as he starts to gently massage the back of his neck and his head with one hand and Azriel can feel his mate’s pulse against his ear, on his lips, across the bond, like the steady beat of his own heart.

“How was your trip?” Eris asks finally, though he still doesn’t look up from his book. 

I’m getting old, Azriel thinks, I missed you. They are so wrong about us.

“I love you.”

Eris smiles.

[shirtlessradfahrer]

So I've been politically active since before I was even eligible to vote. I've followed North American politics near religiously since 2014, and I've been a card-carrying member of my country's most prominent left-wing party since before the start of the pandemic. I barely slept at all during the week Ukraine was full-scale invaded, and I've been stressed about it every day for the last two years, given that my grandfather was born there and I've very much wanted to visit someday. And this was all before the horrific debacle of October 7th, and the subsequent atrocities committed against Gaza practically every day since. Lately I've weaned myself off a lot of international news and been more active in local politics because that's where I feel my efforts have been more effective, but...

...the reality is I am tired. I am so fucking tired.

I blacklisted just about everything remotely political when I made this blog because I wanted this space to be my escape from all of that. He is my escape from all of that. A badly needed one, because between the state of the world, the state of my country, the state of my workplace and the state of my personal life, my mental health has been....not very good for most of this decade and last.

I know this is unhealthily cynical, but as someone who had some pretty shitty friends in the past, and continues to have some incredibly shitty family members, including my own father (who, despite having Käärijä levels of charisma and putting on an excellent act in public, has repeatedly hurt me and let me and others down when we needed him most)....I expect famous people I admire to disappoint me. I very much expect famous men I admire to disappoint me. It may be in three days, or in three months, or in three years, or in thirty years, but it will happen at least once, if not multiple times.

Which is why I don’t-and never have-looked up to musicians or any other celebrity for guidance on my political or moral beliefs. It's a surefire way to set yourself up for not only disappointment but feelings of betrayal towards someone who was never "loyal" to you in the first place. And I wish so many people didn't learn that lesson far too late.

I don't like Jere Mikael Pöyhönen because of his insightful commentary on the state of geopolitics. To be extremely blunt, I like him because he's hot and he entertains me, both of which bring me happiness. Once I no longer feel that happiness, I'll move on to other interests, just as I always have. It would be very nice, however, if that day came in thirty years rather than in three. Which is why I felt relief when he expressed his wish to remain politically neutral, even regarding politics in his own country.

That being said....am I disappointed he went to you-know-what? Yes, for reasons both political and non-political. Am I disappointed that he willingly interacted on camera with you-know-who? Yes. In fact there are several things he has done and people he has associated with that I'm not particularly happy about. But in this case do I understand WHY he went and why he interacted with them? Also yes.

I don't believe he had any malicious intent, quite the opposite. His kindness is both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness-he is kind to the point that he foolishly undermines his own credibility. I don't know if there's an equivalent of Hanlon's Razor in Finnish but it goes "never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity".

And.....well. This is a guy who couldn't tell the Ukrainian esc23 representatives from the Greek ones. Who didn't know what the trans flag was until he was personally handed one last year. Who, AFAIK, has never received any sort of higher education (vocational school would still sort of be considered such where I live, but whatever) not that that automatically makes someone "smart" and others "stupid", but it can and often does help with understanding international issues. And based on my overall experience with hockey fans/players (of which he's both)...they typically aren't terminally online debating anything besides individual player and team statistics.

So I'm not shocked that he didn't think about how Just Being Nice on camera with that representative would look to others outside of his own bubble. How that would not have looked particularly "neutral". But he should have, considering this isn't the first time he's had to deal with angry internet mobs coming after him for a relatively minor mistake. Considering his favourite band got into very hot water last year and dealt with the controversy very poorly for too long.

Is it fair that I can block some tags, turn off the tv, and get on with my day, while he has to worry about his image the moment he leaves home? No. But...this is the inevitable downside of the life he wanted. Unlike me, he now has an audience of millions, a not-insignificant number of whom are going to be thinking about this stuff, meaning he needs to as well. And if not, he needs to pay someone to think about it for him. Goodness knows he can afford it now. I can do without all that pyro if it means none of us have another week like this one.

[llovelyclouds]

notes on pyrrha dve

heres all the relevant info i took note of on pyrrha during my tlt reread, in one place!

(you can find all the other posts from this project here!)

PYRRHA DVE

titles:

Gideon’s cavalier, first gen, founded the second

greek mythological orgin of the name pyrrha

also, pyrrhic victory

notes from gideon the ninth:

G1deon & Pyrrha's room in Canaan house includes a drawing of a chimaera that Gideon describes as "familiar" and a picture on the wall of John and his pals (presumably) with everyone's faces scribbled out with a thick black marker. Also guns (gtn. pg. 205)

notes from harrow the ninth:

presumably lead the development of her and G1dieon's trial at Canaan house, as Mercy refers to it as "Pyrrha's trial" (htn. pg. 97)

 The reason G1deon is named the Saint of Duty (htn. pg. 177)

Asked Wake to kill G1deon quickly (htn. pg. 205)

Was most likely the one conscious in G1dieon’s body when Harrow caught her fucking Wake in Cytherea’s body????? (htn. pg. 216)

"I will remember the first time you kissed me- you apologised- you said, I am sorry, destroy me as I am, but I want to kiss you before I am killed, and I said to you why, and you said, because I have only once met someone so utterly willing to burn for what they believed in, and I loved him on sight, and the first time I died I asked of him what I now ask of you / I kissed you and later I would kiss him too before I understood what you were, and all three of us lived to regret it- but when I am in heaven I will remember your mouth, and when you roast down in hell I think you will remember mine" -Wake's note (htn. pg. 252)

All the lyctors and John loved her (and also thought she was super hot) (htn. pg. 274)

Augustine developed his smoking habit to impress her (htn. pg. 275)

Was ten years older than Augustine (htn. Pg. 278)

G1deon & Pyrrha liked Alecto despite the fact that the other lyctors (at least Mercy and Augustine) didn't (htn. pg. 479)

Mattaius Nonius fought G1deon, and seems to owe Pyrrha a debt (htn. pg. 455)

"We compartmentalised from the Eightfold Word, just like you and your girl- though I'm an accident, and he took more from me than got taken from you. I was able to go underground, even from him."- Pyrrha (htn. pg. 494)

notes from nona the ninth:

Used to be a cop, made detective, knew Gideon from "way back" (ntn. pg. 74)

"'You should be draining and replacing her fucking brain fluid,' said Pyrrha. 'When Gideon and I designed that trial, I used to crack his skull and sieve it myself, just as a control variable. It's aggregative. I doubt you're testing her white blood cell count either. The only other people I put through that damn trial were Mercy and Cris, because only Cris didn't mind being trepanned on the regular. Fucking around with souls is the problem, Sextus… you can't ever get data on souls.'" - Pyrrha, discussing when Cam & Pal "overlap" (ntn. pg. 84)

"I visited her hometown back before Anastasia got settled, and it was grim as fuck then. Just spooky caves all the way down…" -Pyrrha (ntn. pg. 86)

"'Do they still do gravid carry where you come from?' 'On the Sixth, only for research,' said Palamedes. 'I helped at a birth once. Theres a lot of noise and run-up before the real thing happens.'" -Pyrrha and Palamedes (ntn. pg. 121)

"P- was great, but like, Ministry ties or no Ministry ties, a big part of her career was going around to the local high schools and telling the drugs kids that they shouldn't be doing drugs. She'd won medals for competition shooting back north in Hamilton, but we're not talking Jesse James. We're talking Hamilton."- john (ntn. pg. 191)

"She chose us that day, not her career. I always loved her for that. She'd adored being a cop." -john (ntn. pg. 191)

"and it was P- of all people who said, First things first. If they're going to let us fix the world, you've got to make them take us seriously. Get some leverage. If they want to make you into a bad wizard, be a bad wizard. We can write the history books to say you were a good wizard. Or at least an okay wizard. They're not going to listen because we talk nicely, they're going to listen because we scare the shit out of them. He said, Which goes to show you that only getting to NCEA Level 2 isnt going to stop you making waves in life, right." (ntn. pg. 271)

"Nona had thrown exactly two tantrums in her entire life. She couldn't remember anything about the first one, but Pyrrha had told her about it. Pyrrha had been laughing with her mouth, but not with her eyes: her eyes had been very brown and distant and uneasy, as though this tantrum had reminded Pyrrha of something her brain didn't want to bring back." (ntn. pg. 275)

She mentions disco?? how does she know what disco is??? (ntn. pg. 362)

"Gideon… G-, you died for nothing." -Pyrrha (ntn. pg. 390)

“I remember P- behind a barricade… not dead yet… telling me, John, run.” (ntn. pg. 406)

Died pretty immediately after Mercy and Augustine, but before G1deon (ntn. Pg. 407)

“Who are you, foreigner, that you know the mysteries of the Anastasian?” “I was here before it was the Anastasian,” said Pyrrha absently. “Painted a nursery. Mint green.” (ntn. pg. 453)

“Cass and Mercy and I worked on cell thanergy- we need thanergy, fresh thanergy, to activate…” - Pyrrha (ntn. pg. 471)

“And Alecto said, Pyrrha, he laid me down as an appeasement to them; he fed you to them as an appeasement to them; but he has never appeased me, and now all he has done was teach me how to die.“ (ntn. Pg. 476)

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 26 – ROM-COM

Cat's Out of the Bag by FestiveFerret

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 10,814 Tags: Cat Sitter Tony, Identity Porn, Falling In Love

Summary: This was just supposed to be a once-in-a-while cat sitting gig to get Tony back on his feet. It wasn't supposed to be weeks on end at an amazing apartment, it wasn't supposed to be mysterious locked rooms, it wasn't supposed to be masked men in the middle of the night. And it definitely wasn't supposed to be falling head over heels in love.

Reasons why I love it: This fic is so goddamn sweet, my god. I love Charlie the cat, she's the cutest, and Steve and Tony flirting like crazy while remaining utterly oblivious to the others' feelings is fantastic. Definitely check this one out if you haven't, it's a joy to read!

Acting in Love by BladeoftheNebula

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 6,400 Tags: Actor AU, Mutual Pining, Christmas

Summary: Tony and Steve are co-stars on a new romantic comedy set in the quaint and cosy town of Marvel. Will weeks of filming in the frozen North end in tears, or will real romance bloom onscreen and off?

Reasons why I love it: Yeees, give me that Hallmark movie realness! I don't know what it is about Actor AUs that just makes me so happy, but this one definitely gives me those warm fuzzies. Neb proves once again that she's a fantastic writer, and the way Tony and Steve's relationship develops is amazing. I love this one so much, you absolutely have to read it!

If You Lived Here, You'd Be Home Now by vorkosigan

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 12,953 Tags: Hitchhiking, Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst

Summary: "Hold that thought," Tony said into his phone. "I apparently just got hit by a hitchhiker." "You hit a hitchhiker?" Happy sounded horrified. "What? Am I talking to a wall? I got hit by a hitchhiker." Having just broken up with Pepper, Tony is driving to California on Christmas Eve. When he picks up a hitchhiker, he hardly expects him to be the former Captain America, defrosted and on the run from SHIELD.

Reasons why I love it: I didn't mean to have two Christmas related fics in this list, but they're both so good, I couldn't help myself. The dialogue in this is so fricking good, it makes the whole thing feel like a movie. The identity porn is great, and oh my god, Tony getting jealous is the cutest thing ever. I love everything about this fic, and you should definitely read it!

Here Comes The Sun by lazywriter7

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 7,947 Tags: Blind Date, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Mutual Pining

Summary: For the prompt: “you’re supposed to be on a blind date with someone but you sat down at the wrong table and i haven’t been able to get a word in edgewise to tell you that and it’s been thirty minutes” au “Cap, I think there’s been a-” I, Steve clamped down on his miserable anxiety with characteristic anger, am not going to fuck this up. “My favourite colour is blue.” Steve interjected, because screw charm and suaveness and everything else, he was going to do this on the power of sheer determination.

Reasons why I love it: If I were a teacher, I would give this fic full marks for everything. Dialogue, pacing, plot, characterization – it's all perfect. A lot of times when it comes to misunderstandings you have to suspend a lot of disbelief, but here it feels so natural that I completely bought it. This fic is amazing, and if you haven't already, I hope you give it a shot!

Growth Spurt by FestiveFerret

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 2,785 Tags: Post-High School, Steve's Beard, Flirting

Summary: Tony: Remember that guy I had the hots for in high school that I was telling you about? Rhodey: The Steve guy? Yeah. Tony: He's here. Rhodey: Oh shit. Tony: He grew a beard. Rhodey: … Rhodey: You're fucked. Tony: IKR.

Reasons why I love it: I could totally see this happen in real life. Someone needs to turn this into a movie, because it's absolutely perfect for it. And as a major member of the Steve's-Beard-Appreciation-Club, I love that Tony is on our team. This fic is wonderful, and you should definitely read it!

[cositapreciosa]

If you’re taking request : El mayo fluff, meeting at Dina’s wedding? Or being pregnant during the whole war? Loooved Safehouse!!

Como La Flor

Ismael 'El Mayo' Zambada x female!reader (mention of wearing heels, being called a lady), 2909 words

mention of alcohol, you like red wine in this one, the usual for the show

a/n : why is Alberto Guerra such a babe. Is this named after the episode? yes. Am I the biggest Selena fan ever? yes.

As always it's the fictional, not the real deal, enjoy xx

You are not sure how you ended up at Dina Arellano’s wedding out of all people. You did keep up with her over the years, a coffee here and there, dinner nights at your place when she was in town, being invited for a drink or two at Roxanne’s every time you were back in Tijuana. Before you moved away, you had appreciated the friendship she gave you, and you enjoyed giving yours just as much, but as the months went on and as you started to notice the guns tucked in everyone’s waistbands and the unusually large funds on her credit card, you just decided to take a step back, but so did your trips up north.

That is why receiving the wedding invitation at your door had been a surprise in the beginning, you haven’t been to Tijuana in months. It was a pleasant one, but one you felt might have been out of nostalgia and for old friendship’s sake.

Coming back to Tijuana had been a hard choice at first, feeling like a defeat, having to tell everyone it just didn’t work out down south. And after many sorry looks and probing questions you didn’t feel like answering, Dina’s way of seeing it had been a breath of fresh air. Maybe you are just coming back to rest a bit, hmm? When you feel like moving again you can still do it. Nothing is stopping you. That day, with your hands around a warm coffee cup, sobbing in her kitchen, you remembered why you two fit so well together. Now you have no reason not to show up to my wedding, she laughs, it makes you too.

You were grateful every time she forced you to come along with her on all the wedding shopping, even if you felt your presence was unnecessary, outdated. It didn’t matter to her, she told you many times, that you needed to be out and about, live a little, enjoy the company. She was right, and as the day grew close and you got to know Carlos better, you realized you didn’t feel as out of place as you thought you were at first. The thirteenth sibling everyone had missed so much.

The food was generous and the many glasses of wine you already had even more, which is probably why you couldn’t say no to her every time she grabbed your hand and pulled you to the dance floor. The chandeliers shining sparkles of lights all around you.

Everything was starting to feel a bit overwhelming. The noise, the music, being pushed around, front and back, having to say hi to everyone after so many years. Why didn’t it work out? Was Tijuana not enough for you? How are your parents? It ended up being too much for you when Dina’s mom cornered you, holding your hands softly between hers, voice trembling, telling you how much she had missed you, how everyone did.

You don’t remember when you had taken your shoes off on the way out, almost running to the door, your body begging for a cigarette and some fresh air. Still, you try not to drop the red soles, making the edges balance between your fingers and your glass of wine as you rummage through the inside pocket of your jacket for a smoke. They were a gift from Dina, one way too expensive for your own wallet, one she didn’t want you to refuse. A thank you gift, she had said, for being here for me tonight. The evening is colder than usual this time of year, but the breeze on your cheeks is a nice change compared to the hot air inside. Your fingers reach the bottom of your pockets. Where the fuck did I -

‘’ Are you going to beg me for one too? ‘’

It is a man leaning on the side of the building that spoke, a small smile tugging on his lips, cowboy hat raising with the movement of his eyebrows. You barely noticed he was there in the first place.

‘’ Pardon me? ‘’

‘’ A cigarette, I mean. ‘’

‘’ Ah. ‘’, a small laugh escapes you. You vaguely wave your free hand around your pockets, red wine dancing dangerously close to the rim as you do. ‘’ Those I have, they’re just in there somewhere. ‘’

His hand goes up, pointing to your glass with his cigar, smoke rushing down his face as he exhales,

‘’ You want me to hold that for you? ‘’

‘’ That would be lovely. ‘’

His eyes follow your movement as your fingers loosen and you let your shoes drop at your feet, presenting him your glass of wine. His gaze connects to your naked feet against the concrete, you can tell he doesn’t approve.

‘’ So, ‘’ you fish around in your jacket again, ‘’ Bride or groom? ‘’

Something like a grunt comes out of him, deep in the throat, a laugh maybe. He brings his cigar to his lips.

‘’ More on the bride’s brother’s side, you? ‘’

‘’ Just the bride, Dina’s an old friend. ‘’

He takes a deep drag, his chest puffing with the inhale. ‘’ I’ve been told you are more like a family member at this point. ‘’

You know word comes around fast in Tijuana, even more so at a Tijuanense wedding. Still, his words scratch a part of your brain that screams at you, showing you once again everything you know, everything you have been noticing for years now, but prefer to ignore.

‘’ I haven’t lived in Tijuana in years. I’m not invited for Christmas anymore if you’re wondering. ‘’

He doesn't answer back. Thank god. The silence stretches out for a while and your hands are reaching once again into your pockets. You can still hear the music inside, a loud, quick norteña you would barely be able to keep up with. You still can’t find your pack of cigarettes.

‘’ Does the offer still stand?"

His eyes slowly go back to yours, brown, gentle, tired. His head tilts to the side in a silent question. He is a man of few words. You can already tell.

‘’ A cigarette, I mean," you say. "I do have a lighter. I can’t find the pack, though."

A smile pulls at his lips this time, and you can feel the tension that was gnawing at you fade away a little. The skin of his hand meets the inside of his denim jacket. It’s something close to genuine, his smile, like he does find your answer humorous. His palm is warm when he presses the cold metal case in your hand. He points a finger your way again.

‘’ Let's make it two, and you don't use my lighter," he says.

You bring the case close to your chest, a small smile on your face. A peace offering maybe. You feel like a child negotiating for dessert, "Make it three, I use my light, and you can keep my glass of wine. We have a deal?"

His eyes squint, eyebrows almost meeting in the middle, you know your lie won’t work. You are surprised when he chuckles, half a smile, brushing his teeth with his tongue as he tuts.

‘’ Thought it was an open bar tonight."

‘’ No, it’s not. Not after eleven."

‘’ And what time is it now?"

You clear your throat as you pull the three cigarettes out of the case, quickly squeezing one between your lips.

‘’ Way past eleven. It’s too late now, you have to take the deal. ‘’

‘’ What if I don’t like red wine? ‘’

You bring your hand up, shielding the flame from the wind. As you exhale the first drag, you take a step back, leaning on one of the pillars orning the balcony. The smoke is warm on your face, prickling your eyes on the way up.

‘’ You don’t seem to me like the type of person that likes wine, no matter the color. Am I wrong? ‘’

He doesn’t retort back this time, but the smile is still there as he turns his attention back to the garden. You take this time to really look at him, how dark his eyes are, how there is not a single wrinkle on his blouse. You breathe in the smoke while he swings the liquid around in the glass. He is handsome, there is no doubt about that, with his mustache and his tailored pants. Maybe tonight doesn’t have to be as boring as you first made it out to be. Your eyes are lingering on his face, you don’t bother hiding it. They trace their way up and around the wrinkles beside his eyes until it reaches the curve of his cheek, tumbling down to graze his lips.

‘’ I don’t think I asked you for your name. ‘’

It is a question without being one, a statement that he will have to answer anyway. You feel bold tonight, something that barely happens anymore, but even with all this build-up of confidence, spilling over the edges, going down your throat with the nicotine, you still feel small when he is now the one analyzing you. His brown eyes are back on you, and you love how the wind catches in his curls, pushing them under his hat. He crushes his cigar with the heel of his foot, sparkles of hot ashes following the movement.

‘’ You can call me Ismael. ‘’

Ismael. You like it. It suits him, a soft name for a soft exterior. You can tell this calmness is only a facade. An ocean a wind away from becoming a storm.

‘’ And what do others get to call you then? ‘’

The ones I can see looking through the window. Keeping watch. He snorts, taking a sip of your wine, his face souring at the taste the second it meets his lips.

‘’ You are right, I don’t like wine at all. ‘’

You know pushing your question once more will get you nowhere, so you don’t ask again. Maybe Ismael will be the only thing you’ll get tonight. You do offer him your name instead, and he says it back to you, the letters rolling softly off his tongue. You stay silent for a moment after that, a moment spent looking back into his eyes, ears still ringing from the music inside.

‘’ Let me guess, ‘’ you propose, motioning to the untouched wine in the cup, ‘’ and if I win, I get-, what did you say you do for a living? ‘’

You’re fishing again. You can tell that he knows, you can tell he doesn’t care.

‘’ I got my own business. ‘’

‘’ Right, ‘’ you stretch the word out, softly fishing your glass of wine out of his hand. He lets you, ‘’ If I can guess your drink of choice, you owe me one peso, we got a deal? ‘’

You can tell you have his attention now, it’s the way his eyebrows raise and how his lips form a small smile across his cheek. He leans gently towards you, as if his next words were only meant between you and him.

‘’ If you can guess in one try, I’ll make it two pesos, but you’ll owe me a dance, deal? ‘’

You scoff, taking a sip from your glass. You swoosh it in your mouth a little. Left, right, swallow. It’s bold, you have to admit, but you can tell he is as serious as you are. It does surprise you when he holds his hand out to you, expecting a handshake, a deal. Whatever business Ismael has back home, you know selling is probably his strong suit. You shake it, his fingers are warm in your hand, palms dry and calloused. You are a horrible dancer anyway, it’s his feet that are going to take the worst of it.

You use his hand as leverage to pull yourself off the pillar, choosing to sit on the bench next to it instead. You look up at him, eyes squinting.

‘’ You’re clearly from Sinaloa… And your hands are strong, so you probably work a field job. How am I doing so far? ‘’

‘’ Surprisingly good. ‘’ His hand brushes through his mustache, you know he’s smiling, ‘’ So far. ‘’

You hmm, elbows touching your knees as your chin follow the movement, pressing against your open hand. Your fingers drum on the side of your cheek. You could stare at him for hours.

‘’ I think I know, ‘’ you grin, ‘’ You are a classic beer kind of guy. ‘’

He doesn’t react, and for a second you do believe that you are wrong, but just as you are about to stand back and pull out your wallet, something in his eyes changes. It’s soft, barely there, but you didn’t miss it. Hook, line, and sinker. It’s your cue to keep going, you know you’re in.

‘’ None of those artisanal ones, nah. I think you’re a classic Pacífico guy. ‘’

‘’ What do you do for a living? ‘’

You let out a laugh,

‘’ I watch a bit too much of those police novelas on TV is what I do.’’

Ismael chuckles, his eyes moving down again to your feet. You gaze down too, noticing now how the pavement has gotten colder under your toes.

‘’ I owe you a dance, don’t I? ‘’

‘’ You don’t have to put your shoes back on if they hurt. ‘’

You stand up from the bench, holding out your hand towards him. Ismael slides his fingers between yours as he pulls you closer to him. You can feel your blood rushing down your body from the movement, your heart pushing against your ribcage. His arm raises above your head, slowly pushing you to swirl around. Your toes rub on the ground as you turn, you are not sure if it is his proximity or the alcohol that makes your head spin.

Before you can reach for your heels, he is already leaning down by your feet, bending his back until his other hand grabs the back of your shoes.. When he straightens back up, it feels like he’s a step closer, in his hands, the tip of your shoes is nudging your thigh. You can smell the tobacco on him, feel how heavy his gaze is on you, see the dots of green in his brown eyes.

‘’ Let me take you out to dinner tomorrow. ‘’

You can’t help your eyes from following the movement of his lips, the movement of his skin creasing where it meets his cheek. You look up, back into his eyes.

‘’ Really? ‘’

He mirrors the word back to you, raspy, confident. Really. You know your cheeks are red without a doubt, the heat you feel is enough. You nod, leaning back on your heel, in the hope that putting some distance between you and him would help you regain whatever confidence you left on the bench. His thumb is brushing against the back of your hand now, what a smooth mother-

‘’ Even if I step on your feet the whole dance? ‘’

Your words are quick, begging for a chance to stop melting over this, over him. He thinks for a second, looking up in a mocking way before his eyes are back on you again,

‘’ I’ll allow it. Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it after a few songs. I’m a great teacher. ‘’

You don’t doubt him for a second.

And you don’t miss how Dina eyes you when he brings you to the dancefloor, making you twirl once more, but tonight, as much as it pains you to think it, you can’t seem to care. You can deal with the speeches, rumors, and the big sister talk tomorrow, because tonight you feel better than you have felt in weeks. Maybe it’s the way Ismael does not even flinch when you do inevitably step on his toes or how his fingers bunch up the fabric at your waist to bring you even closer to him. Maybe it’s because you don’t want to think about the gun your fingertips brush every time your hand caresses lower down his back. Maybe because he feels so different from the one you had been meeting before.

Still, you are surprised when he calls you the next morning, asking you what time would be best for you tonight. After breakfast, when you lie to Dina and tell her you’re having dinner with an old school friend, you can’t help how wild the butterflies in your stomach are.

You don’t think much about it when you slip into his car at the next street corner, as he drives you around with the windows down, as he asks you about your day, pushing your chair out from under the table for you. You don’t even remember why you were feeling nervous when he orders his food after you, calling back the waiter before he could leave.

‘’ Can you bring a Pacífico with that? And a glass of wine, red, for the lady. ‘’

Ismael turns to you, lips pulling into a smile, his knees knocking against yours under the table. ‘’ Rojo, that’s right? ‘’

He’s still wearing that damn hat inside, the buckle on top catching the light. You smile back at him, nodding.

That’s right.

[atopvisenyashill]

Top ten: the narrative did them dirty, what could have been (more interesting), and what one off mentions you want to see more of, and what Martin historical inaccurate stuff pisses you off (no child brides).

narratives did them dirty. that’s actually kinda hard bc like for example depending on how the story ends, lyanna & elia could be perfectly fine as they are OR i could be annoyed. i feel very silly being like "narrative did them dirty" when we just have no idea how the narrative ends alsjdfkl

arianne nymeros martell - simply should have been there earlier

areo hotah - like victarion, he’s a character that is meant to give us insight into a particular region, unlike victarion his inner narrative is largely nonexistent. he just loves doran & that’s it, we don’t really know him

irri - no explanation needed

lyarra stark - deserves more than “she died”

gaemon palehair - his death should have hit harder

alyssa velaryon - should have aborted jaehaerys in the womb

loreza nymeros martell - we don’t even know her name

dalla the wildling - she should have lived, would have been more interesting having her be our wildling voice in the north w jon

weasel - IF HOT PIE & GENDRY ARE OKAY WHY CANT WEASEL BE 🤧🤧

cersei - listen. listen to me. she is RIGHT to be paranoid, i think this is simply a byproduct of (similar to arianne) not introducing her pov until late in the game but she’s RIGHT just bc she’s crazy doesn’t mean she’s not CORRECT

one off/could have beens

whoever wrote that book about the similarities between the north and dorne. i want the whole thing.

rhoynar water magic

the black pearl of braavos. she just seems cool, give me more summer island diaspora stuff, it’s interesting!!!!!!

the entire jaehaera/daenaera thing. no reason for daenaera to have not been a lady of jaehaera’s, and even if jaehaera still ultimately dies before having children, just doing more with the three of them instead of whatever he did would have gone a long way

alysanne daughter of maegor forever

saera - i think her later years should have had more of a focus, she just disappears to be a brothel owner, feels like a lot of build up without enough pay off

myr. i’m very very interested in them, esp w the controversial maester comments about them being related to the rhoynar (are they or is that racism lol) and the fact that taena serala AND thoros are from there?? AND varys was castrated in myr???? i’m just curious bc we don’t know a lot about it!!

pact of ice and fire should have been MORE. LADY SWAP SOMETHING. COME ON.

MORE ALAYAYA. she just kinda disappears after tyrion leaves and i get it but i want to know she's alright!!!! how is her reading going!!!

literally a single fucking essosi point of view. a dothraki, a meereenese, a pentoshi tyroshi like ANYONE

historical inaccuracy nitpicks

the fucking dothraki. listen. the focus on the arakh as if any nomadic people place any sort of importance on metal tools?? the lack of any sort of armor?? the complete reliance on orientalism and anti native characterization of like, thoughtless hordes of hyper violent savages for their ENTIRE PEOPLE???? they have the aesthetics of mongolians and lakota but absolutely NOTHING that made them interesting cultures that had civilizations that lasted hundreds of years.

the small households in the north kill me. i think you could argue this is mostly a ned thing because everyone else is still fostering kids, making marriage pacts, etc, but there’s a real lack of it, and a huge lack of focus on the politics of each faction that would crop up esp re: the small council.

the lack of cool septas. i know this is part of his distaste for religion but there were a lot of very cool and interesting nuns who ran around doing cool and interesting stuff and i DO think the gender & class dynamics potentially at play there WOULD interest him so it’s a frustrating lack

the lack of saints. again, this is his disinterest for religion but like. what kind of religion doesn’t have a martyr or two they throw a festival for a few times a year like. everyone has a prophet or two that are regularly worshipped idk!!!

not enough peasant revolts!!!!! dragon pit? amazing. poor fellows? very fun!!! the riot scene in KL? harrowing!!!! but like people just rebelled way more in history than he writes about!

what’s the word yeoman i believe? more of them!!!!!

more guilds!!!

okay it’s not like,,,, necessarily a problem it’s just that societies that had Slaving Economies, not just places that had slavery but Economies Centered Around Slavery Exclusively number at like, three or four, while half the societies we have in terros are slaving economies. i don’t inherently mind this - for example, people have pointed out how much more volatile and brutal his world is but imo that makes sense when you have crazy seasons like they do & also magic, so that’s not a nitpick for me personally - but i guess i. wonder. if HE realizes this?

more festivals and feastdays and random holidays. these people don’t have any fucking holidays!!!! i feel like there should be waaaaaaay more yearly celebrations to help keep track of the passage of time since they don’t have regular seasons????

[fictionalcharactersaremypassion]

Final chapter of Caught! I was gonna make this a little more fluffier but I kinda struggled with the conversation between them. However, don't worry, as I said I made this into a series on ao3 so I'll be posting oneshots whenever I have ideas/get a prompt

@callivich

@zutaralesbian

///

Colin was no prince fucking charming.

Didn’t care about romantic shit, never had and didn’t think he ever would. He fucked plenty of girls, uninterested in committing to anything more. Didn’t need ‘em. Wasn’t like he didn’t have pron magazines at his disposal if he was horny enough.

But that makeout with Fiona Gallagher was the start of something new in his life. The bar was new, just on the edge of the South Side so it would attract more of those North Side yuppies to the business. He went there with a purpose; plenty of naive, unsuspecting people who would either leave their valuables within reach, or the ones that were desperate to get some of the heavier, good stuff but didn’t want to risk their reputation by buying from a location where someone they know might see them.

With his pockets loaded in preparation for the dealing he’d inevitably do, Colin set out to make some earnings. Around fifteen minutes, he lost count of how many beers he chugged. His head was foggy, his initial reason for coming there forgotten because there’d been a hot as fuck girl near the counter. She looked familiar but than again, he’d fucked almost all the girls that lived around the Southside so he didn’t question it.

When they’d had to part, breathless and pink-cheeked, Colin caught a proper look of the girl’s face, and was startled to realize who’d been making out with. She was just as caught off guard as he was, which should have been the end of things right then and there. Milkovich’s didn’t fuck with Gallagher’s.

But somehow, he’d found himself being pulled into the bathroom where he proceeded to have the best fuck of his entire life.

And that encounter led him to now; standing in front of the bathroom mirror, fixing his fucking hair and making himself look all presentable and shit.

“Where the fuck are you goin’ so early?” Iggy muttered groggily, shoving past him to take a piss.

“None of your fucking business,” Colin threw the comb down on the counter, stalking out of there. Mickey had gone back to sleep, or tried to. Really fucking sucks for him that the bathroom was connected to his room.

“Jesus, hurry the fuck up and get out!” His brother snapped.

Colin just flipped him off on the way out, nearly running right into his sister, who looked murderous.

“Why the hell were you screaming?” She hit him on the shoulder. “I was trying to sleep!”

“Blame Mickey,” Colin shrugged.

“I’ll fucking blame you both.”

“Don’t be so pissy, Mands,” he swept past her, snatching a hoodie off the back of the couch.

“Where are you going?”

“Oh my God,” Colin said agitatedly, “do I owe this house a fucking explanation when I wanna go somewhere?”

“Since when do you go somewhere this early?” Mandy shot back.

“I have a fucking life incase you didn’t know,” he snarked.

“News to me,” Mandy turned on her heel, heading towards the fridge. He rolled his eyes, sliding the hoodie onto him.

“Ay, you meetin’ up with somebody?” Iggy came out, rubbing his eyes. He grinned slyly. “You meetin’ up with a chick?”

“Fuck off.”

“That’d mean a chick was actually interested in him,” Mandy deadpanned on her way back to her own bedroom.

Colin glared at his sister’s back, not noticing Iggy wiggling his eyebrows.

“So it is a chick. What’s ‘er name?”

No fucking way was Colin having this conversation with him. “Go back to sleep, Ig.”

He sauntered over to North Wallace just in time to see Fiona locking the door of her house.

“Ay,” he called. “Good choice on the jeans, Gallagher.”

She quirked a brow as she opened the gate up. “You care about what jeans I’m wearing?”

“Sure,” he shrugged. “They make your ass look great-” Fiona broke out into soft laughter.

“Knew there had to be a catch.”

They walked alongside each other, hands shoved in the pockets of their hoodies to keep them protected from the freezing cold. A couple minutes of silence passed by before Fiona broke it.

“Mickey doing okay?”

“He’s fine,” Colin said, truthfully appreciating her concern. “He thought he was gettin’ kicked out.”

“Shit,” she breathed. “You set him straight?”

“Can you really be set straight if you’re sucking dick?”

Fiona rolled her eyes.

“Just fuckin’ with you,” Colin snickered. When that died down, he said, “He’s good now. Had to knock some sense into his head. He thought I was gonna tell Terry.”

She gave him a look that clearly said see what I mean?

“As if I’d tell that bastard anything,” Colin scoffed. “Don’t know why Mick would think that.”

He stopped walking when Fiona raised a brow at him. “You can’t see it?”

“See what?” The fuck was she talking about?

“You and Iggy have always done what Terry’s told you. Mickey’s not blind,” she told him, her expression serious. “You can’t blame him for thinkin’ that way.”

“I’m not like Terry,” Colin said, offended she’d even make that comparison.

“You called him a fag,” she pointed out.

“Well, yeah,” Colin shrugged. “It was a hell of a lot nicer than anything Terry woulda said.”

She wasn’t amused. “You need to cut that shit out, Colin. I’m serious. Mickey doesn’t need to hear that from you and I’m sure as hell not gonna have Ian hear it. He hears it enough living here.”

If she was just any other girl he’d fucked, he would’ve bailed on her right now. Nobody was gonna tell him what to fucking do. But a lot had changed in the time he’d gotten close to the eldest Gallagher; hell, it felt like a lot had changed since he’d spoken to Mickey.

But Colin was still a Milkovich and he couldn’t be expected to change into a completely different person at the drop of a hat. “You know how my family is, Fiona.”

“And what?” She said challengingly, hands on her hips. “That means you gotta be like ‘em?”

“Not what I said. Just sayin’ I’ll try but you gotta give me time. Took me a long ass time not to give a shit in the first place. You’re damn lucky Frank doesn’t care. You see how easy it is not to care when Terry’s making you come along on fag bashes.”

This made Fiona go quiet. “I guess I see your point,” she said grudgingly. “Just try not to say it around my kids, okay?”

“You think they haven’t already heard it?”

“Colin,” Fiona glared at him.

He mockingly did the scouts honor sign. “I promise,” he said, half sarcastic, half sincere. “Just give me time, okay?”

Fiona’s eyes studied his face for a solid five seconds. “Fine, but you better fucking try. I’m not stayin’ with your ass if you don’t.”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear ya.”

Around fifteen minutes later, Colin was doing the unfathomable: sitting across from his date while she ate her french toast.

It felt fucking surreal. He didn’t do these kinds of things. Once the fucking stopped, he was out of there. This thing with Fiona was different. Colin was drawn to her; her laugh, that smile, everything.

It was uncomfortable as fuck at first- having these feelings. He wasn’t the kinda guy to have feelings and sure as hell not the kind of guy to seek a real relationship.

But than again, something changed in the past couple of months to get him to this moment.

“You good?” Fiona’s voice brought him back to the present and out of his thoughts. She’d stopped eating, her gaze lingering on him.

“Uh, yeah,” he scooped up a bite of scrambled eggs.

Fiona nodded slowly, soaking up the syrup with her french toast. “This is kinda weird, isn’t it?”

They’d talked more once they realized they both wanted more out of this, but this was a hell of a lot different than any of their usual encounters with each other.

He set his fork down. “Might surprise you, Gallagher, but I don’t go on dates.”

“You mean none of those girls you fucked ever took you out?” Her brow quirked.

“Nah, but it wasn’t ‘cause they were unsatisfied or anythin’,” he smirked.

“You know that for sure?”

Colin flipped her off, and a laugh bubbled out of her. It was a real nice sound too.

“You better know what you’re getting into,” he said once it tapered off, “I ain’t gonna be no prince charming or somethin’.”

“Well, lucky for you, it’s not your attitude I like,” she replied with a grin.

“It’s my dick, isn’t it?” He said smugly. A woman at a nearby table made a face of disgust, glaring at him but neither one of them noticed.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“I don’t know,” he said, one arm over the back of the booth, “you seemed pretty happy with it last night.”

“I was also drinking. A lot of things look good by then.”

“Whatever, Gallagher,” Colin stabbed some cubed potatoes, dipping them directly in her syrup.

“Hey,” Fiona moved her plate. “You have your own food.”

“I’m paying for it so it’s all my food,” Colin said, eyes dancing with amusement. “But I’ll generously let you have the rest.” She rolled her own eyes.

“You’re a real fucking sweetheart.”

“You said it,” he shrugged.

Fiona scoffed out a laugh, shaking her head. “Well, for the record, this isn’t the worst date I’ve ever been on.”

“Are you saying you have horror stories?” He said with interest, propping his elbows on the table.

“You sayin’ you wanna hear them?”

“I do like misery,” he said with mock thoughtfulness. He leaned back, getting himself comfortable. “Let’s hear it.”

“It’s not many,” she said, a smile emerging. “But I did have one where his mom came along.”

Colin’s eyes widened a little. “You’re fucking joking.”

“I’m not. She sat a couple tables away from us, kept interrupting our conversation and made sure he ordered some vegetables,” she said with a heavy sigh.

He couldn’t even try to stop the laughter from flowing. “Oh my God!”

“Fuck off, it’s not that funny,” she groaned.

“No, it’s fucking hilarious,” Colin threw his head back, a grin stretching across his face. “Who the fuck brings their mother on a date? How old was this guy?”

“Older than me by a few years,” she said with a grimace.

He chuckled. “Lucky for you, our mother ran out on us years ago.”

“So did ours,” she said, taking a drink of her coffee. “Unmedicated, high and jumping from one bed to the next.”

“Sounds like our mother, besides the unmedicated part,” he said. “She was just always high and drunk.”

“All while they expect you to clean up their messes,” she grumbled.

“Ain’t that the fucking truth. Me and Ig practically raised Mickey and Mandy ourselves. Jesus, it was tough for a while. Tryin’ to potty train Mick, make sure Mandy wasn’t crawling near any of Terry’s shit while Laura was passed out on the couch and Terry was out somewhere,” Colin said with a shake of his head.

He’d never be able to talk about it with anyone else. This was the Southside and all, but not everyone got his situation which was worse than your average family out there. But Fiona? She got it; she was living similarly with the struggles of having Frank and Monica for parents.

“Ugh,” she said sympathetically. “I know what you mean. I’ve been takin’ care of them since I was nine, but Monica can some swoop in and get their hopes up and fucking leave again. Did Laura ever do that?”

“Nah,” he said. “Wasn’t much of a runner. She just wasn’t really there to take care of ‘em if you know what I mean. Don’t think any of us would care if she came back, though. She’s as good as dead to Mandy.”

“That’s how I feel about Monica sometimes,” she admitted. “But then she comes back and makes you feel like she cares until she dips again. Somehow feels worse than all the shit Frank puts through, you know? At least he’s consistent.”

“Consistent pain in the ass,” Colin rolled his eyes. “He tried conning some drugs outta Iggy the other day. He wasn’t brave on the other end of Ig’s assault rifle.”

Normally, a girl would be a little freaked out if her father was almost shot, but Fiona thought this was funny. “Yeah? I owe Iggy a beer for that one. Tell him I’ll take him out soon.”

“Just you and him?” Colin said, going for nonchalance when in actuality, the thought of her going out alone with his brother made him feel fucking weird.

“What, you jealous?”

“You fucking wish.”

“Fine. Maybe I’ll find out what Iggy’s like after a few drinks,” Fiona licked her bottom lip to wipe off the syrup there, but all it did was unintentionally distract Colin.

His eyes darkened. “You better fucking not.”

“Yeah?” Eyebrows raised, an innocent look to her that he didn't buy- she was teasing him.

He leaned forward, voice lowering. “I don't plan on sharing you.”

“That so?” She whispered. She was captivated; a slight uptake of her lips, lust gleaming in her eyes. “What are you plannin’ on?”

Right then and there, Colin knew that Fiona had him in her grasp. There was no escape, but he'd never want one anyway.

“Guess you'll have to wait and find out, won't you, Gallagher?”

[cornunut]

Surprising no one, I am going to ask about The Lads™ for the send a character meme

(d twins + rogier pls ty)

holds them out to you (also this got kind of long sorry in advance)

darian:

First impression

how does he fight with that fuckass armour. is he religious he looks religious can i get some guilt. can he kiss my tarnished.

Impression now

i need to do this to him.

Favorite moment

I CAN'T DECIDE DKFJGHDKFJHG he has so many little bits of dialogue that i love. "don't you dare. unless you want to die like a dog?" "just as long as he doesn't starve to death, eh." "another fool who won't listen to reason, eh?" i want to chew on him. but i really like how you can summon him for both the liurnia mariner and the black knife further north! it makes it feel like i'm dragging him along on my littol journey for a bit. gives him some enrichment lets him touch grass

Idea for a story

ah... i have a few wips regarding him and my tarnished, but one thing i really want to write is how they meet because lucio actually knows him before the proper run of the game! i just need to... yknow... actually figure out How they meet and need to write it DKFGHKJDFGH

Unpopular opinion

he's not a heartless asshole... seriously his first introduction in summonwater shows how compassionate he is with mourning this corpse that he's never met and he's very friendly towards the tarnished if they work with gurranq. he's a good person!

Favorite relationship

d & rogier... romantic or not, i need to know more about them.... how they met, how they fell apart, their interactions during the game... ough

Favorite headcanon

i like to think that he and devin were either killed by one of their parents when they were children or abandoned and died to the elements b/c of the whole cursed twin thing, then reborn as tarnished and taken in by gurranq who raised them. in either situation i feel like devin died first and that's one of the reasons why darian's so protective of him.

devin:

First impression

hey why is his voice so hot. why does he sound so insane.

Impression now

ouuuuugh my little meow meow who has so many problems

Favorite moment

given that he has all of two scenes on screen i'm gonna go with him yapping over fia's body because every word of that speech is ingrained in my brain. smth smth "ROTTEN WHORE"

Idea for a story

i really want to explore either the aftermath of darian's death and how that affected him, or what happened immediately after he killed fia and dipped.

Unpopular opinion

he is entirely justified in his anger about fia killing his brother, actually! cannot believe that that's unpopular

Favorite relationship

with darian - i looove the whole fucked up twin sharing a soul intricate deep connection thing. it makes it hurt more when darian dies :)

Favorite headcanon

related to the previous point i like to think he felt nearly everything when darian was killed due to weird twin soul bond thing :))

rogier:

First impression

he looks wreckable. why must he die.

Impression now

he gives me such insane cute aggression but i also want to move him to a more comfy place in the roundtable hold than that chair on the balcony and tuck him in with a warm blanket.

Favorite moment

i love how sarcastic he gets after you tell him you can't see grace in stormveil KDJFGHKDJHFG he's so passive aggressive its so funny

Idea for a story

[insert rogier lives fic here] but also like what happened when the deathblight took his legs. how the hell did he get back to the roundtable hold.

Unpopular opinion

free my man from the archetype ppl want to shove him into (soft sweet wholesome boy who can do nothing wrong)

Favorite relationship

d & ro... like i was saying above i neeeeeeed to know more about them (luckily that's what fanfic is for)

Favorite headcanon

this is more of a tarnished hc tbh but i think lucio (my tarnished) would, assuming it wouldn't cause any pain to rogier, try and prune away the deathblight vines to try and make him more comfortable. he'd also bring rogier books that he found while exploring tlb. otherwise, for a more rogier-centric hc, i do subscribe to prisoner starting class rogi :)

[rmd-writes]

RMD RMD!!!

This image is from this post that @goodways shared.

As an Australian and our resident person who knows and explains things. Please!! Is this a real thing? If yes, for the love of god, why?????

Thank you for your time!

Lemon!

Oh dear. Yes, that map is a real thing. Australian time zones in the summer are a quite literally a (very) hot mess. What that map doesn't show you is that there is a tiny part of New South Wales (the bigger state in the red part) that observes South Australian (middle orange state) time zones for some reason that I don't understand. It's wild.

I'm going to do my best to explain this but the reality is that I don't entirely understand why myself.

Okay so, the first thing you need to know is that Australia is very big. It is about the same size as the continental US. The second thing you need to know is that we are a federation meaning that until federation, each state you can see outlined on the map essentially operated as it's own little country. Western Australia did not want to join the federation but eventually did. South Australia (orange, middle) has the distinction of being the only state that was solely a settler colony, no convicts. They think that makes them very important. Also yes, Australia was initially colonised by the Brits because they had too many criminals and needed somewhere Very Far Away to send them. So, lots of white people here are descended from convicts . Anyway, I digress, the colonial history of Australia is a matter of record and a disgrace and the racist effect of that history is still very present and is most evident in the referendum that happened on the weekend but this is neither the time nor the place for me to get into that and my absolute disappointment in the country I live in. (how's that for a run on sentence)

ANYWAY, sheer size means that many time zones are necessary. Federation means that the states are like squabbling siblings and no one wants to do what anyone else says.

Next fact, the top of Australia is quite close to the equator. The northern part of Australia is classified as sub-tropical to tropical. It's hot and humid. The sun rises very early up north, even in the winter. We do not have long winter nights here. The sun setting in the afternoon is not a thing.

Also Australian populations are concentrated on the coasts, the middle of Australia is sparsely populated. After the coastal areas, there is farm land and then desert in the middle.

In Queensland (big yellow state on the right) there is no DST because the top two-thirds of the state (mostly rural/regional) will not countenance it for reasons such as "the cows won't cope" but also because up there they do not want longer days in the sun because it's too fucking hot and actually they look forward to the sun setting and things getting cooler. The bottom third of Queensland (which is mostly urban) wants DST but the state government cannot implement it without the cooperation of the rest of the state.

As for Western Australia (big blue state on the left), they do whatever the fuck they want and quite often don't opt in to federal laws and do their own thing. I can't explain what's happening there.

Do not ask me about the 30-minute time zone thing happening in the middle. My only explanation is that, as per above, SA thinks it's better than everyone else and did it to be ✨special✨ (the Northern Territory (middle green territory (not a state) at the top) was part of SA until some time after federation which is why they follow the same time zone (except for DST).

Did any of that answer your question? I'm really not sure.

Anyway, Australia where time zones are in the future but are also fucked ✌🏽

[one-winged-dreams]

Screaming

ship: (pl: Adriel & Zack) AU: Monster AU source: final fantasy vii word count: 795

But I'm screaming Living in tragedy And now nothing is how it once seemed

Monster AU except Angeal died anyway. I'm a machine that turns unrelated trauma frustration into angst.

Hope you like fics where they don't end sweetly. :)

tag list: @kylars-princess @adoredbyalatus @dearly-beeloved @dorothys-wife @the-sleeping-city

@dear-gambler @sunstar-of-the-north @mahitosoulmate @goldenworldsabound

"The screaming just won't stop," they had said.

Zack had been on fieldwork for three days. Three days of apparent ceaseless blood-curdling screams.

Someone should have called him. He shoved his way past any form of logistical procedure on the way into containment, the cacophony only getting louder with every entry point. 

Why had no one called him?

No one had had time to clear the containment bay if the way various inconsequential objects were strewn about had anything to say about it. Not only strewn about, obliterated beyond recognition. 

Adriel had had three days to tirelessly rampage.

"Hey," Zack called out to the larger-than-usual figure slumped over, back facing him as it slammed a free fist down into one of several widening craters in the floor. 

Again and again and again. 

"Hey," Zack's tone became more stern as he approached, the absolutely ungodly screaming starting to become painful to behold. Usually his voice was enough to start the process of coming down from this emotional peak, not to outright stop it, but diminish it to a painful wailing. 

And yet this time the thing that his friend sometimes became didn't so much as react. In fact, his fist began to rain down on the ground with more intensity.

"HEY!" Zack raised his voice. He hadn't wanted to, but he wasn't even sure he was audible over that screaming. That fucking screaming, ceaseless and full of pain that was nearly palpable. 

And nothing came of it. And Zack tensed. 

"They let you do this? For three days?" he called out, his tone that was usually oh so carefully curated to calm and soothe these episodes tinted with anger. Not at Adriel, not at the thing that he couldn't stop himself from being. 

It was... everything. 

He let out an aggravated sigh as he received no response, no inclination his presence had been registered. 

"Adri, stop it."

He didn't plead, more so beseeched in a fashion that was clear he wanted this to be over. Not just for his sake, there was no mistaking what kind of pain that screaming was evidence of. 

And scream was all that Adriel continued to do.

"Stop it, please!" 

Now he DID plead, going forward with his decision to approach and finding himself instantly rejected by the sweep of an arm, falling onto his ass as he narrowly avoided being backhanded.

Frustration gnawed at him.

"I didn't LEAVE you, nobody told me you were like this!" he tried to find a reason for the violent rejection, going at it from any angle he could think of.

The way that Adriel swept aside an amount of rubble with a growl and a shriek, sending it flying into the wall, Zack became aware he wasn't making progress. 

"What, what is it? What is it that's hurting you so damn BAD?" 

Zack didn't bother to pick himself up. On the contrary, his own fist came down on the ground. The impact grounded him a little, opening his thoughts and making him suck in air through his teeth.

"I can't... I know I'm not who you need right now. But I'm here. I'm here, dammit. Let me HELP YOU."

His attempt at grounding seemed to only hit a sore spot, his only consolation an ear-splitting scream and the knowledge that he was right. 

"He's not... He's not here anymore! He's not HERE anymore, Adri! He can't help you, but I CAN!" 

Zack's attempt at pulling himself to his feet was slightly hindered by the way the volume of Adriel's shrieking was enough to send his head reeling. 

"HE'S NOT HERE ANYMORE! HE'S NOT COMING BACK, I CAN'T BRING HIM BACK FOR YOU!" 

The hot tears of what Zack wanted to assume were frustration began to build beyond what he could hold back. It was just frustration, nothing else. He couldn't let it be anything else. 

Adriel stood, and Zack had to take a cautious step back. 

Though the Martyr form's legs faded into nothing towards the base, the impact of Adriel's steps was clear and solid. Zack avoided his trajectory, taking several more steps out of his path and only watching as he lifted an object that had been reduced to nothing more than twisted, unrecognizable metal. 

He sent it into the wall with an impact only loud enough to make the screaming seem even louder.

"I CAN'T, Adri! Get ahold of yourself, for FUCK'S sake!" 

He hadn't even realized what he was saying until he said. Did he regret it? The uncertainty of that answer gnawed at him with an amount of guilt. 

"Please..." he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"You can't go on like this..." 

And at that point, he wasn't even sure who that statement was directed at anymore. 

[beardedmrbean]

There something about the French Revolution fetishizers that confuses me. Should we tell them that the France colonized the living fuck out of the Middle East and Africa. And also been connected to several assassinations of African countries heads of state?

The French empire was some of the most evilest motherfuckers on the planet with the likes of British empire. But Hitler just happened to kick off ww2 so the French and British use that to hide their atrocities in textbooks.

Not saying all French people are evil, but we really need a course on the evil shit the French empire did. Why do leftists romanticize the French Revolution? The evil they hate just stop wearing crowns and switch to top hots.

UK hasn't managed to keep that kind of thing down so well, France still has a few "colonial" territories left too, one of them I popped up a bit back island with about 200,000 inhabitants that overwhelmingly voted to stay French, doing otherwise was economic suicide.

But as for hiding their sins, not sure if the hiding was done on purpose or if it was just a case of it being overshadowed by people that would rather bitch about the US and UK, odd since many of the issues in the middle east are a direct result of the UK and France going behind the US's back so they could do what folks consistently bag on the US for. AKA they wanted that oil.

Back to fun with France, the year was 2015 and I promise there's a point.

How dare they do that with a "traditional" dish

Yes manipulation of the "traditional" recipe for "traditional" Vietnamese Banh Mi sandwich.

They replaced the "traditional" Vietnamese crispy baguette bread with non Vietnamese ciabatta bread.

Because the baguette is a traditional Vietnamese food steeped in thousands of years of culture and not something that was brought over by the French when the whole area was known as French Indochina and its capital was Saigon.

French left the area in 1954, so not too long ago.

Food is a screwy thing from a cultural standpoint, potatoes will forever be associated with Ireland even though they didn't exist outside of south america until the age of exploration. Don't even try to figure out who invented hummus just eat it, sausages and dumplings exist everywhere the contents are the only thing that changes.

Fortune cookies were brought to America by Japanese immigrants and managed to get associated with Chinese food because of WW2 and prejudice. That's one story at least.

Tangent over, maybe one day I'll go into how yoga is actually Dutch tho.

but ya, for some reason people forget how big the French empire was, it included Mexico at one point even now it's pretty much just French Guyana, it's weird really you'll hear more about the Belgian Congo than French Morocco, granted France didn't treat the people of Morocco nearly as bad as Leopold did the people of the Congo so there is that.

Spain still has a little corner of North Africa that's connected to Morocco I think it is, that's about all they have left of their empire other than one of the most widely spoken languages in the world.

Wildest thing about France in all of this is how many times the place shifted power, topple the monarchy still got all the colonies, first republic falls to napoleon, still got the colonies, 2nd republic pops in still got the colonies, here comes napoleon again, colonies, 5 republics, 2 empires, and a hereditary monarchy, oop can't forget the vichy nazi collaborators either, Petan should have already been dead imho but that's a different story.

Imagine being a French colonial governor when the revolution started, managing to keep your post and ride the whole thing out then the republic that was formed falls to Napoleon, then the Burbons pop back in for a few months, what a mess.

This was long but I hope entertaining in a way and maybe enlightening too, I could keep rambling like this lot of interesting things and my brain functions like a wikipedia tree when it starts in on things like this so I have to force myself to stop.

[hernakedmuse]

Amberline

Disclaimer: This story is going to be dedicated to a very good friend of mine, why she thinks I'm good enough to let me write a character for her, I dunno.

This a Kyle Scheible x OC, there's definitely smut, adult situations, all high school characters are portrayed by adults. There's mention of eating disorder.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Part I

Sacramento High School was no longer a public school.

This year it was changed to a charter due to its very low performance.

To be honest, this town is now poor or rich, and I fall into the latter as my mother loves to remind me. It's why I've been babysitting since I was twelve, and why this past summer I was working at a doughnut stand at a fair, and this school year I'll be working at Blockbusters.

College doesn't pay for itself, and mom made it no secret that she wasn't going to donate one red cent, why should she even though my babysitting and doughnut money go toward the nice apartment we live in and toward her payments for her Lexus she can hardly afford.

I don't even have a car, and does she ever drive me to work or school? No, it's my bicycle or a bus.

She's one of those southern women that always drone on about earning things, telling me life ain't easy and I best get a grasp of that early, especially since I'll be joining the rich kids of Sacramento for my senior year.

Immaculate Heart of Mary Catholic High School is so graciously funded by Charlene Sixkiller, my dearest mother. She said it'll help me get to a good school. I'm truly grateful, but I feel so pressured, I feel like school and me leaving at eighteen is all we talk about at home.

I don't even know what I want to do.

Like fuck.

I love writing but my mom says that it doesn't pay the bills. It's a big reason why she won't help me with college, because I'm choosing to be an English Major.

Okay so maybe I do know what I want to do with my life.

I write gothic novels, a cross between horror and romance. I'm not very good at it but I love writing, between that and my diary it's the only way I can actually express myself.

-

It's awkward going to Catholic school and you're not a catholic, mom was brought up southern Baptist, and I hardly know a damn thing about my dad. Although he's probably the same, being from the same area.

I've only been to my mom's hometown of Rocky Mountain, North Carolina five times in my life, and every single time I count the hours for when we return to California.

My dream school is UCLA. It's hard as hell to get into, but going to this school will help. L.A. is far enough from central California where I won't have to deal with my mom again, and besides my dad's there. Maybe I can find him, ask him why I wasn't worth sticking around for.

My alarm clock blared Good Charlotte throughout my room. With a long groan and a painful stretch, I literally threw myself out of bed.

Dragged myself to the bathroom and pulled myself into the shower. I know being goth at a catholic school is going to be a total nightmare, but I was still Gung ho on making a good first impression. I washed my hair twice with the fruity smell of my Garnier shampoo and conditioner. Then massaged my loreal color mask into my waist length black hair before combing it through and clipping it up on top of my head.

My acne is starting to clear up but there's still some stubborn blemishes on my cheek. I washed my face with a morning burst about four times before using the scrub, why did I have to have problematic skin? Between acne, my fat ass and my boobs, I felt like there were twenty signs to point out how much of an ugly freak I am. I still tried though, some days I didn't think I looked bad, but days like today…

I scrubbed my skin with my electric apple lathered loofah until it was red and raw, and then rinsed my hair mask. I turned on the radio and brushed my teeth to the new Red Hot Chilli Peppers song By the Way, my eyes gazed with judgment at my reflection. How shall I fix myself today? I was getting over an eating disorder from last year, this weight is new to me. My doctor said I looked great, but sometimes I see a dancing hippopotamus in fantasia.

I rubbed Ponds onto my face and Bath and body works toasted hazelnut lotion on my skin. I sprayed my Secret powdery deodorant on. Blowing drying my waist length, ebony hair took a half an hour and that was me rushing. I sealed it with my Garnier serum and then did my makeup, far too much black eyeliner just past the point of you have gone too far, and cherry chapstick.

I pulled on my black panties and bra before pulling on the gray pleated school skirt I was forced to wear, I felt like a soldier preparing for war. The white buttoned down shirt was tucked in and I threw on my black zipper hoodie leaving it unzipped. I pulled on black knee high socks and scrunched them down before tying on my doc martens oxfords. I shoved on my many bracelets from a Hot Topic haul and made sure my black, stretchy choker constricted my neck. I brushed my hair down one more time and sprayed on my Victoria's Secret love spell body spray I got for my last birthday. I looked at myself, the kohl making my green eyes pop like I was on something. I wouldn't call myself hideous, just not pretty, not enough.

I wasn't enough for my old friends, when I was found passed out in the girl's bathroom everything changed. Nobody wanted me around, Alyssa and Taylor stopped sitting with me at lunch, and Alyssa started dating my crush Zach. They all acted like we never met.

But I was always the one who brought the least to the group. If I couldn't make it to a Marilyn Manson concert, they still went, but when Alyssa had the flu and couldn't make it to Disneyland, everyone canceled.

I was the one who was everyone's shoulder to cry on, at twelve I taught Taylor how to use pads and take motrin when she got her period, I told Zach he was good at drums, and anytime Alyssa had guy troubles it was me who lost sleep talking to her until 3am on the phone, it was me who bought her Häagen-Dazs and watched her stupid guilty pleasure show with her, Sex and the city, it was me who washed her hair and ran her a bath.

But it was never enough. Who knows, maybe I'm not meant to be happy. It's not in the cards for me I think.

The main reason for starting fresh and going to a new school wasn't just about college. It was so I wouldn't have to see the faces of the people who were supposed to be my best friends in the whole world, and couldn't get off their asses to visit me in the hospital.

I put my headphones and placed my Simple Plan CD into my player and turned it on blast.

Mom already left for work, she wasn't the kind of mother to prepare me a big breakfast for my first day. I grabbed an apple and granola bar and left to go catch the bus, getting catcalled on the way by guys old enough to be my dad.

Getting on that school bus was what you expected, the kids caught a look at the girl with black hair and equally black eyeliner and snicker or get out my way faster than a bat out of hell.

I sat in the very back next to a girl with shoulder length, dirty blonde hair pushed back by a headband that matched her gray school skirt.

She started talking to me, I saw her mouth move but couldn't hear one word. What is wrong with her? Can't she see that I'm wearing headphones? I wanted to ignore her so badly but I could not be rude to save my life. So I tapped the pause button with a black nail and pushed my headphones down before looking at her. "Can I help you?"

She smiled and laughed. "I was just saying you're new, I've never seen you before."

She wanted to bother me for that? I smiled though. "Yes, you're right. How perceptive of you."

The girl just laughed. "I'm Gretchen, I go to Mary's too, what grade are you in?"

"I'm a senior."

"Me too! We're the only seniors on the bus, did you know that?"

Thank you Gretchen for making me feel like such a loser.

The bus ride consisted of Gretchen asking for my entire autobiography. Was she a news reporter or something? All she got out of me was that I went to Sacramento High, which she made a snobby face at, and that I didn't leave behind any friends.

Once we got off of the bus, she didn't leave me alone. She was telling me about everyone who went to our school. I nodded along without paying attention but couldn't find the heart to be mean. I mean she's taking the time to get to know me and be my own personal tour guide.

"Amberline is a really strange name." She said suddenly.

I shrugged. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that, I'll change it when I get the chance."

She laughed and I held back the urge to roll my eyes. "I'll just call you Amber, come on Amber I'll take you to morning mass?"

"Morning mass?"

She nodded. "It's a catholic school of course."

I followed her to the chapel, it was all very beautiful and sacred looking. Pairs and pairs of eyes focused on me though, and I noticed boys filing in, which confused me since this was an all girls school. I asked Gretchen about it.

"The boys school shares certain things with us like the chapel for morning mass." Then Gretchen gasped and whispered loudly to me. "Oh there he is!"

"Who?" I asked with confusion, she was acting hysterical.

"Kyle Scheible!"

Walking in the line of boys to the priest was a boy far too handsome to be in high school, but you could clearly tell he is in fact in high school. Is he the usual ghostly pale and manic panic black haired with piercings type I go for? No, he was so much better than that. Something I thought I'd never say.

I can't believe that I can actually understand Gretchen's state of hysteria, but I do.

He has hooded, sleepy looking dark green eyes, with flecks of Hazel, I saw this as he walked by me. His lashes were poetically long and his nose pronounced beautifully. His lips were drawn in a pout that matched his careless posture of hands buried in the pockets of his khakis, which should have taken away how hot he is but it didn't.

His hair, God his hair needed the attention of my fingers combing through the dark chocolate curls. He wore it longish in a poetic way, his lean physique made him look taller, and he has the sort of neck you just know smells so good.

And because Gretchen isn't that great of a whisperer, he did look over. It was a lazy look over at first, like he was used to these whispers of him, which he probably was. But then his lazily droopy eyes popped open and bit when looking over at us. At me.

Oh no, oh God he was looking over at me? I immediately felt self conscious, what if he notices my breakouts? What if he finds my nose strange or finds me annoying looking? It's a catholic school. What if my look was too Crucible for him? Why did this guy who I don't know, opinion matter so much to me?

He looked at me, he really looked at me– Oh God, he stepped out of line to walk over straight to me. I could barely hear Gretchen's panicking, it was just me and him in this place of worship. Someone whispered how Kyle never approaches anyone.

He then stood over me, my eyes widened a bit and a hardly there smirk painted his pursed lips. His dead eyes swept over me, and in a lazy voice he asked, "Do you smoke?"

"Yes."

I don't know why I said it, I've never touched cigarettes in my life and I've only had one beer when I decided alcohol wasn't for me. But for this mystery boy, I thoughtlessly said yes.

"I mean no, I lied, I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that." I said breathlessly. Why was I out of breath?"

Kyle just…smiled at me, it looked foreign on his lips like he wasn't used to it. "What's your name?" His voice was musically calm.

I opened my mouth to answer but I was up next to bite the wafer and sip the wine. I didn't hear from Kyle for the rest of the day.

@meetmyothersouls

[iminaworldofpureimagination]

atla movie/atla natla thoughts from my adhd scrambled brains

I think it's silly to say the atla 2010 movie doesn't exist though I can't be mad at the silly memes that come with it. but it has a great zhao death.. and some good aang/gyatso flashbacks i mean aang made him the amulet? thats precious as shit.. tho them burying gyaso in natla is agood additon.

NATLA is not horrible or great it's simply.

OKAY..

it has a interesting tone.. going from Grim as shit to DisneyCornball vibes.. it def got me to think about how many died in the north during Zhaos attack silly me thought everyone lived

I do wish katara and aang hugged in the end it seemed like they were afraid to let the kids hugs and i dunno whyyyy...

but is it terrible? no it just.. Expostion, boring, clunky, Dallas was very good, Sokka got a few good lines, i hate that the trio kept getting seperated. aang/sokka are suppose to meet jet/bumi at the same time.. everyone was doing solo missions and it felt off.

avatar aang cgi was super uncanny valley goofy to me.

Momo was cute/Appa was fluffy i'd love to see em more esp momo.

Yues wig in the movie was better

Jet is hot

hmmm... Ozai burning zukos face was metal as fuck like brutal man. And dallas crying when ozai comes to say he's banishing. s2 zuko is gonna be sooooo goooood.. Dallas brought his A game

Gordons goofyside is wasted i hate that they deny it to us but maybe will see it in s2

I can agree that aang in the animated series going from finding gyaso body to playing on kyosih island tone is rather jarring.. so the idea of aang grieving /not being in a super good mood makes sense but really it doesn't help when all the dang avatars tell him to be friendless..

Kyoshi was the worse her characzation suckkkkeed.

Bumi i could understand on some aspect wehre he was coming from even if he annoyed me. at least him being sore/broken down from the war /being mad at aang makes sense. Kyoshi had no reason to blame aang when she knows its on Roku the war started

anyway i dont think it deserves super hate nor do i think its super great its just. okay... i get it i aws angry at it for a bit but the more i thought of it the more i thought there are bits i liked .. like dallas/Ian /momo/ so there was a bit of savalage stuff for me..

so if people love its that cool. i see zero issue or a reason why we need to be BUT acuatlly to people who loved honestly that's great. Let em love it thecast worked hard on the show. people are free to enjoy things we don't it doesn't make us better than them it just a matter of opinion

but atla fandom oh you love love.. not letting people have opinions that don't agree to yours. this fandom is so.. toxic.. critsizing is good but don't be mean to fans who enjoy things..

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #167 (Part 2)

Okay!!! So!!! Here's the next part of today's letter!

We set up our tent in a relatively shady spot, because boy howdy it was hot out, goodness me!

...Somewhere along the way, when we were looking for spots, I found that one of the spots had pre-sharpened marshmallow sticks! We were the only ones onsite at that point; no other tents were left up, and so I assumed they were left behind by the previous people who were camping there. So I grabbed them up and brought them to our spot!

Once everything was set up and the plane was put somewhere out of the way, J and I grabbed a couple of the bikes that were offered from the main office, and we rode into the nearby town! It's been a very long time since I rode a bike regularly, thanks to the weird rib injury (kinda makes exercising and moving around in general rather difficult...), but I managed, sorta! J and I went to a deli called Yoshi's first, and they had a meat shop with bacon and other goodies, and I immediately had an idea:

BACON S'MORES!!!!!

But we wanted to explore the small town a little bit first; I would return for the bacon later. We were told of an Irish pub by someone else who was visiting the airport's main office. So we went there to get a snack:

...They had a lot of standard American food here. "Standard American food" where I live is usually a kind of a fusion between European, Asian, and African food, with a teensy, tiny little bit of the foods that were already native to this place (like corn, beans, and squash) mixed in.

In my part of the country, it's primarily a mixture of German, Italian, Irish, Chinese, and Mexican food. In other parts of my country, you'll see foods from different parts of the world as part of "standard American food", like places from Greece, France, and various parts of the Caribbean. Other parts of the country will have other combinations of influences from other countries. That's because the history of this place involves a lot of people coming to this continent from all over the world.

...And that sounds good in theory, but if you look at the history, what it really means is that white colonialists from Europe led the slaughter, displacement, and erasure of the peoples who were already native to the North American continent, while also abducting dark-skinned peoples from other continents and forcing them into enslavement in order to support their colonial agenda. Because, you see, one of the really weird and awful things about my world is that the people here have a long history of thinking that the paler your skin is, the better a person you are. And this is absolutely false and terrible and just... it makes absolutely no sense. I literally don't understand why this is a thing, because it is absurd. This thing is called racism. We have a lot of very unpleasant "-isms" in my world, actually...

So for example, if Barret came over here by some small miracle, he'd have a really hard time in this place just because of his skin color, and it's really unfair and fucked up. Lots of people are trying really hard to get this to stop, but we have centuries of cultural entrenchment of racism, and lots of people (especially old people, and the ones who come from families who enslaved people) don't wanna change their ways and their beliefs about it for reasons I don't understand; you miss out on a lot of really smart, amazing, awesome people if you think like the measure of someone's worth lies in how pale their skin is.

The peoples that were native to the North American continent had dark skin, and so they were seen as "savages" (they weren't!!), so instead of learning from these peoples, the white-skinned settlers from across the ocean instead killed most of them, forced the rest to relocate, and then forbade the ones that were left from practicing their own culture, demanding that they practice the culture of the white settlers instead. So a lot of languages, cuisines, and history is just lost now, and it really fucking sucks. And that's why in most parts of my country, "standard American food" is primarily a mixture of cuisines from other continents instead of a rich mixture of the cuisines of the native peoples. It's really sad and I don't like it, but I can't change what my ancestors did, and my own sphere of influence is very small; all I can do is refuse to let it slide when I see people being mistreated, and vote for people who will destroy the systems that perpetuate inequality.

...In any case, J and I split an order of Bangers and Mashed:

...You might notice from this that Irish food is rather similar to German food. Like the Mixed Wurst that I got from the German place, with its french fries and sauerkraut, this dish also primarily consists of a sausage, a cabbage, and a potato; it's just that the preparation and exact ingredients vary a little, based on what's readily available in the geographic regions in which these dishes originate. Anyway, it was really, REALLY good, so I asked the nice service lady to tell the chefs they did an amazing job, and it seemed to make them happy.

We explored the rest of the town on our bikes shortly after that, and then we went on a quest to gather s'mores supplies! Here are the pictures that I took of our exploration:

...We went to a couple stores looking for s'mores supplies before being directed to a place called Shaw's, so we were actually out for a really long time. But we did manage to find graham crackers, chocolate, and marshmallows! J carried them in his backpack, and we stopped at that Yoshi's deli place to get that bacon, too!

...It was very good to leave town, admittedly. There was beautiful scenery, but we also caught sight of a number of Trump flags and Confederate flags, and since we know what those stand for, J and I were understandably rather spooked, so we left quickly. For context, because you aren't from here and wouldn't know the history and meaning of these things:

The Confederacy happened because 163 years ago, the southern half of my country was so angry that they might not be able to enslave people of African descent anymore that they started a war over it. 163 years is maybe the length of 2 human lifespans in my world, so it's really not that long ago, and the prejudices from that are still woven into the fabric of our culture, legal systems, and institutions. People are working to break these systems of oppression, but there are also very wealthy and influential people (and a number of regular people who worship them) working to preserve them, and that's why progress is slow.

Nowadays, there are only two kinds of people who wave Confederate flags: people who think that Black people are only good for being enslaved, and people who are in denial about the fact that they think Black people should be enslaved. Both of those kinds of people are VERY scary, because, for reference, they'd like to see Barret doing backbreaking work in chains and being whipped when he cannot operate with the efficiency of a machine, just because of his skin color. I wish they'd stop thinking and hoping for such terrible, cruel, and horrific things.

The Trump flags are very discouraging, too, because the kinds of people who want Trump to be president are usually the kinds of people who think that only wealthy, white, heterosexual, cisgender Christian men who were born in North America count as people, and that everyone else should either be enslaved or exterminated. These are the kinds of folks who think that women and brown-skinned people should not be able to own their own house or have a paying job or vote or have any say in anything, ever. These kinds of folks are also very scary, and I wish that anything could be done to change their minds... My world has... goodness... so many very heartbreaking problems...

...It's good that we left.

Anyway, J is very fond of covered bridges, so on the way back, we stopped at one that he had spotted that was out of the town:

I left the bike I was using here while I explored:

...Do you see the spooky rock cave just behind the bike I was using?

...Hey, Sephiroth? What, if anything, do you suppose lives in there? I thought about going inside to find out, but it was dark and spooky and I was afraid of getting stuck, so I didn't. What does your imagination tell you? I wonder...

Anyway, I hopped on a rock in the middle of the flowing water:

...And then I took a picture of the underside of the bridge:

...And I took a bunch of other ones in this area, too:

...Once we were done exploring this place, we biked back to the main office of the airport. We had been out on the bikes for a very long time, so we were pretty tired!! So we put the bacon in the office fridge, and then I gathered tinder and kindling to make a fire. I'll tell you all about that in the next letter, because I've run out of space to put images, ahahaha!

I'll write the next part in a jiffy!!! Love you!! Stay safe!!

Your friend, Lumine