#it's been so long that you all speak latin in my dreams....

[itslookingback]

save me rqg 154-156

[dog-botherer]

I’ve relisten to rqg 156 for the first time since my inti listen three years ago. I’m crying and I don’t know if I did that the first time. I think the more I hear the letter, the more emotional it will be, as the I will have spent more and more time with the characters.

[writing-reference-redux]

I felt like sharing my collection of Latin phrases that may make good fanfic or fanart titles or inspiration. Some of the translations may be off, so you might want to double-check them before use. Also, I used capitalization liberally so you might also want to check where capitalization is actually indicated.

Ab Intra (From Within)

Acta Est Fabula (The play has been performed)

Acta Sancti ___ (The Deeds of Saint ___)

Ad Undas (to the waves / to hell)

Advocatus Diaboli (Devil's advocate)

Aegri Somnia (a sick man's dreams / troubled dreams)

Alea Iacta Est (the die has been cast / point of no return)

Apologia Pro Vita Sua (defense of one's life)

Caetera Desunt (the rest is missing)

Cedere Nescio (I know not how to yield)

Damnatio Memoriae (damnation of memory / denying someone ever lived)

De Nobis Fabula Narratur (their story is our story)

Decessit Vita Patris (died before their father)

Diem Perdidi (I have lost the day)

Dies Tenebrosa Sicut Nox (a day as dark as night)

Dolor Hic Tibi Proderit Olim (some day this pain will be useful to you)

Dulce Est Desipere In Loco (It is sweet on occasion to play the fool)

Dum Vivimus, Vivamus (while we live, let us live)

Dux Bellorum (war leader)

Ex Umbra In Solem (from the shadow into the light)

Festina Lente (hurry slowly)

Fortis Cadere, Cedere Non Potest (the brave may fall, but can not yield)

Fui Quod Es, Eris Quod Sum (I once was what you are, you will be what I am)

Graviora Manent (heavier things remain / the worst is yet to come)

Haec Olim Meminisse Iuvabit (one day, this will be pleasing to remember)

Hic Mortui Vivunt (here the dead speak)

Hinc Illae Lacrimae (hence those tears)

Hodie Mihi, Cras Tibi (Today it's me, tomorrow it will be you - of death)

In Ictu Oculi (in the blink of an eye)

In Somnis Veritas (in dreams there is truth)

Inter Spem Et Metum (between hope and fear)

Lapsus Memoriae (slip of memory)

Luctor, Non Mergor (I struggle, but am not overwhelmed)

Lux Ex Tenebris (light from darkness)

Media Vita In Morte Sumus (In the midst of our lives we die)

Memento Mori (remember that you will die)

Memento Vivere (remember to live)

Morior Invictus (I die unvanquished / death before defeat)

Mundus Senescit (the world grows old)

Nemini Parco (I spare no one - death)

Nitimur In Vetitum (we strive for the forbidden)

Non Ducor, Duco (I am not led; I lead)

Non Omnis Moriar (I shall not all die / part of me will survive beyond death)

Nunc Scio Quid Sit Amor (now I know what love is)

Oderint Dum Metuant (let them hate, so long as they fear)

Omnia Mutantur (everything changes)

Onus Probandi (burden of proof)

Opera Posthuma (posthumous works)

Ophidia In Herba (a snake in the grass)

Pax Aeterna (eternal peace - a common epitaph)

Primum Non Nocere (first do no harm)

Pulvis Et Umbra Sumus (we are dust and shadow)

Quis Leget Haec? (who will read this?)

Quod Periit, Periit (what Is gone is gone)

Res, Non Verba (deeds, not words)

Respice Finem (consider the end)

Scientia Et Sapientia (knowledge and wisdom)

Seculo Seculorum (forever and ever)

Sed Terrae Graviora Manent (but on earth, worse things await)

Si Vis Pacem Para Bellum (if you want peace, prepare for war)

Sic Infit (so it begins)

Sic Vita Est (such is life)

Silentium Est Aureum (silence is golden)

Sine Nomine (without a name / author unknown)

Sola Dosis Facit Venemum (the dose makes the poison)

Solvitur Ambulando (it is solved by walking / simple tests find solutions)

Stamus Contra Malum (we stand against evil)

Succisa Virescit (cut down, we grow back stronger)

Sum Quod Eris (I am what you will be - of death)

Summum Bonum (the supreme good)

Summum Malum (the supreme evil)

Sunt Lacrimae Rerum (there are tears for things)

Sunt Omnes Unum (they are all one)

Tabula Rasa (blank slate)

Transire Benefaciendo (to travel along while doing good)

Tu Fui Ego Eris (I was you; you will be me - of death)

Ubi Amor, Ibi Dolor (where there is love, there is pain)

Ultima Forsan (perhaps the last / sundial quote "perhaps your last hour")

Usque Ad Finem (until the end / fight to the death)

Vacate Et Scire (Be still and know)

Vi Et Animo (with heart and soul)

Victoria Aut Mors (victory or death)

Vincit Qui Patitur (he conquers who endures)

Vita Ante Acta (a life done before - of reincarnation)

Vivere Militare Est (to live is to fight)

Vox Clamantis In Deserto (the voice of one crying in the wilderness)

There are also some longer ones that may not make good titles because of their length, but are still worth inclusion:

Aut Simul Stabunt Aut Simul Cadent (they will either stand together or fall together)

Flectere Si Nequeo Superos, Acheronta Movebo (if I can not reach Heaven I will raise Hell)

Forsan Et Haec Olim Meminisse Iuvabit (perhaps even these things will be good to remember one day)

Igitur Qui Desiderat Pacem, Praeparet Bellum (therefore whoever desires peace, let him prepare for war)

In Regione Caecorum Rex Est Luscus (in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king)

Minus Malum Toleratur Ut Maius Tollat (choose the lesser evil so a greater evil may be averted)

Quem Deus Vult Perdere, Dementat Prius (whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad)

Ubi Sunt, Qui Ante Nos Fuerunt? (Where are they, those who have gone before us?)

Virtus Junxit Mors Non Separabit (that which virtue unites, let not death separate)

[xythlia]

↳ MEA CULPA

Latin - an acknowledgement of ones fault or error, often said in apology

› my contribution to the sicko satoru agenda brought to u by nyquil & fever dreams <3

› yandere satoru x f!reader

› word count : 2.5k+

warnings : rilegious imagery, masturbation f & m mentioned, voyeurism, stalking, panty stealing, home invasion technically, hes mad obsessive, noncon revoked consent, taking advantage of a drunk person, alcohol consumption, satoru is a bit of a sadist & a masochist to me, creampie, prone bone, backshots, reader has hair long enough to pull, installing spyware on someone's phone

If there is such a thing as a soulmate Satoru knows you're his. Knew it from the very first moment he saw you buying coffee on that mid thaw spring day. He hadn't been able to ignore the ever growing thump of his heart in his ears, hadn't been able to forget the way you looked, nor how your eyes had lingered on him for a second longer than what was considered polite. The instant intrigue had him snared, helpless against the trap that was you.

Without a doubt you're what keeps his heart beating.

The sweetness that permeates your whole being sates him better than any treat could hope to. He sees it in the way you often chat with your next door neighbor if you two pass by either coming or going, a kind smile on your face or even an indulgent giggle here or there. Its in the way you stop to pet a stray cat on your walk back to your car, scratching under its chin as you coo at it.

He'd be lying if he said it didn't make something ugly twist in his gut, it should be him that gets to hear your laughter, him that you fawn over and speak so softly too. It's jealousy, he's aware enough to recognize it but couldn't ever bring himself to admit it makes his jaw clench and his fingers ache to cause some unfortunate mishap with your neighbor. The little cat would find itself whisked to a shelter, no longer diverting your attention on your way home.

But by far his favorite thing about you, and what makes him forget all about that foul envy constricting around his mind like a cobra, is seeing you in the waning hours of the evening when your bedroom glows faintly orange from the soft lamp at your bedside.

Never had the act of undressing looked so religious. His hands shake with pure need, the need to trace every plane of your skin and map you with his lips. When you lay down his breath catches in his throat, your hand disappearing between your legs has him groaning softly from just beyond the windowpane.

Self pleasure as some divine ritual with him as the figure observing the rite, breathless at every expression you make while your fingers play with your pussy until you're cumming and your lips part. He hopes his name will be the prayer that completes the sacrament, that one day he'll be lapping up your arousal to drip like wine down his throat instead of feeling himself spill into his own hands outside the confines of your home.

Still, Satoru finds your most convenient quality is that you don't possess much situational awareness. You never notice the aquamarine eyes peering into your window, nor the second shadow that follows you down streets. He's abundantly thankful you've never noticed a presence in your home: the one that switches on a second alarm so you're never over sleeping, or how many pairs of your underwear have been stuffed into his pockets, and have never woken to his lips ghosting over your forehead as you rest.

The feeling you give him is like when swallowing a shot of tequila, the straight burn up and down the throat and the accompanied warmth that spreads in the cheeks and chest. He almost giggles as he traces a finger along the bridge of your nose in the hazy dark of your bedroom, a lovesick smile on his face.

Getting you here hadn't been a big task at all, it's jarring how open to suggestion you are when you're drunk. It was easy, with smooth words and his natural overconfident air, to make you believe in a matter of seconds that of course he knew the friends that had left you at the bar. Of course, he'd been there all along, you must not have noticed silly girl. You were so cheery getting into his car, so open and gregarious. All too happy to have the convenient ride home.

"Have we met before?"

The question had stopped him dead, it felt like the second an airplane cockpit experiences violent decompression: all air sucked out and the flight left doomed.

That is, until he turned at the red light to see you drunkenly ogling him. Your eyes, even unfocused from the booze, didn't fail to notice that he was tall, well built, nor did it escape him the way you looked a second too long at his crotch and thighs. It made him feel like a blushy teenager again, the magic of you.

"Hm, maybe here or there," he said noncommittally, after all he had to keep up appearances as a mutual friend.

"Well, I'd remember someone as gorgeous as you," you giggle, clearly feeling the liquid courage blooming inside your head. Fortunate that it also blotted out your memory of seeing him at the coffee shop in the very beginning.

It was adorable, Satoru swears he's never seen anything on this earth as whimsically beautiful as you.

After a bit of flirtatious banter coupled with the drive lulling you into a drunken stupor he gets you right where he wants you: hanging off his arm like he's all that kept you standing as he guided you to your house. Luckily you never stopped to ask how he knew where your house was to begin with.

His lips find yours as soon as he walks you into your bedroom, the tang of leftover liquor on your tongue does nothing to dampen how sugary you taste. It made his head spin, cradling you in his arms and keeping you so firmly pressed against himself it was as if he were trying to merge you two completely.

You'd been just as starved, fingers winding through his ghost white hair and it had made his brain short out- touching you so freely was something he'd only fantasized about for the last six months, only allowing himself the barest of touches when he would slip into your already familiar bedroom, and this time there was no anxiety fizzing on the edges of his mind.

"Satoru," you'd sighed against his lips, nuzzling your nose to his while his saliva glistened on your lips. You'd pressed back into him, hands roaming his muscled back as he pressed sloppy, open mouth kisses to your throat. Your voice had been so low with lust it made him hard instantly, straining against his pants.

Visions danced across his mind, the way you'd sound beneath him, the way your ass would feel in his hands, what it would feel like to grope your chest and finally, finally be inside you, making you squeeze around his cock and cum until you're braindead. It was all right there, you were right there for the taking.

"Please just fuck me," you whined against his cheek and he could've cum before you finished speaking. Its the four words he ached to hear, they made him groan against your bruised skin as his hands slipped beneath your shirt to snake upwards, squeezing your breasts through your bra.

Desperation practically bled from his hands as he pushed you down onto the bed, grinning wildly climbing over you, his tongue sliding across yours as he tugged down your pants and underwear, yanked up your top and nearly ripped the bra from your chest.

You'd yelped into his mouth, clearly hadn't anticipated his movements to mimic those of an over eager animal tearing into prey. It hadn't deterred you though, hunger the constant note in all of the frantic little movements of your hands and the way your lips moved against his, all teeth and spit. He only reluctantly broke the kiss to yank his own shirt off, biting your bottom lip a little too hard in the process.

"You don't know how fuckin' hard you make me," he'd groaned leaning back over you, biting and sucking along the tops of your breasts, "How badly I've wanted you."

You were too overloaded by lust and liquor to catch exactly what he'd said, reaching for the waistband of his pants before palming his cock through the material. To him it was downright romantic and he'd made no move to stop you as you worked them open, wriggling them down with his boxers enough to let his cock spring free in your grasp.

Being that hard was painful, almost heart attack inducing. Your glossy eyes had widened, lips parting cutely in surprise as you'd taken in the way he was flushed pink with precum oozing from the tip to smear onto your fingers.

"You're massive," you'd mumbled, an adrenaline shot to his ego like no other. He'd even throbbed in your grip at your words.

His lips met yours in another tidal wave of desire, moaning into your mouth as you stroked him while his fingers frantically dipped down to spread your slick folds, rubbing circles around your clit to make you gasp and arch your back. So caught up in it you hadn't even heard what he whispered against your lips.

"You're even better than I thought you'd be."

His fingers became coated in arousal as he flooded you with the plush feeling of pleasure, his tongue exploring your mouth so thoroughly it was as if he'd been committing the map of it to memory. The way you stroked his cock had him impatient, rutting into your hand and whining each time your thumb would rub against his swollen tip.

"I need to fuck you," he whined in a daze, sounding almost close to tears, hips aching and eyes taking on a fishbowl perspective towards the string of spit connecting your mouths.

You rubbed his thigh, hand slowing its motions on his shaft. "Please-"

The word barely escaped your lips before he was gently replacing your hand with his own, sliding between your folds and encouraging you to hold your legs by the back of your thighs as he nudged at your entrance. "So beautiful," he choked out watching the way his cock disappeared inside your pussy, your walls constricting around him in a steady, massaging rhythm.

He'd had to focus hard on his own breathing to make sure he didn't cum inside you right then. "Gonna treat you so well, I promise-" the bite of your nails against his shoulders made him wince, but he'd take any pain so long as it came from your hands.

Pressing your chests flush together, his pubic bone grinding against your clit, his rhythm slow and deep as he'd pressed his forehead to yours and let himself become unmoored in your lust blown eyes, a willing drowning victim.

It was all he's wanted, and he never wanted it to end.

To him heaven is just a word, the real thing lives inside you, taking form in the way your pussy clenches around him, the way you moan and toss your head back into the mattress, the way the moonlight from the window plays across your skin and makes you look otherworldly beneath him.

You whined his name, hips rising up to meet his thrusts as you rubbed your clit and your eyes rolled back while Satoru had wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking hard and scraping with his teeth just to hear you yelp and feel you claw at his skin again.

What no one realizes about him is the longing for pain, both giving and receiving. What you don't know specifically is that there's nothing that can give him that, nothing he would allow except you. What could be more devotional than that, in his mind?

Its what makes him pause, ignoring your whines as he slips out in fact nearly ignoring you altogether, drunk off your body and a fervor that grips his mind like madness. The desire to both give and receive, all things in balance. He guides you to turn over, roughly pushing your ass up and forcing your head down into the duvet.

His mind had been entirely clouded, too focused on needing to see your soaked cunt greedily swallow him whole. It was mesmerizing, both the sight and the way your body grips him like it'll never let go again while the mess of slick against your inner thighs glints in the moonlight. Starved and desperate he fucked you without care, fingers digging into your hips and ass so hard bruises would stain your skin like watercolors, showing the exact position on his fingers come morning.

"I'm gonna make you cum, angel, all over my cock," he panted through rough, recklessly deep thrusts. He leaned down so one hand could fist in your hair, a cruel grip that had you crying out in pain. It was a sickening sort of thrill that overtook him watching your hands flail blindly above your head before scratching and gripping at his hand.

Now it's you who knows what it's like to be caught in the snare.

"Stop! It hurts!" You'd sobbed out, but he was beyond the point of stopping, beyond the point of reason. He did make an effort to placate you, pressing you down into prone bone flat to the bed and leaving messy kisses on the back on your neck but it was in the distinct tone of forgiveness.

You don't hold out much longer, sobbing and nearly wailing as your abused cunt spasmed around his throbbing length, liquid dripping down from the base of his cock to smear against his and your thighs as he fucked you through it before being unable to last against the onslaught of your pulsing walls, burying himself inside you and filling you up with hot, sticky spurts of cum.

He'd stayed pressed against you, laying on top of you for a while, simply listening to your sniffles as he fiddled with your hair. Really Satoru was loath to pull out of you, pull away from you.

Every silent pass of his fingers against your skin was an apology, and eventually those teary sniffles had subsided into even, deep breaths as sleep closed it's fingers around you instead.

So the moment had passed, the rope cut so that the rabbit might yet run out of sight, it's heart pounding and leg twinging in pain.

He'd been lost in reliving it already, coming back to himself and placing a chaste kiss to your lips as he tugged his shirt back on and made sure you were in a comfortable position beneath the duvet he'd tucked you into.

Of course he'd also taken a moment to unlock your phone with your index finger, installing just a tiny little program that would allow him to get copies of all your phone activity.

One last kiss to your temple before he slips out the door, down the hallway, and back into his car.

One last silent query of forgiveness.

[somewhereincairparavel]

hiii congrats on 400 i love ur blog!!

i have a headcannon that jason takes architecture in new rome university to pursue his vision of rebuilding temple hill. can i request an architecture student!jason fic? maybe some engineering student!leo tossed in as well idk haha tysmmm! ~~♡

ೃ⁀➷ Screws and Ceramicsೃ⁀➷

author's note: I'm sorry this took so long!! I'm back on my writing spree finally!!

“The exterior facade of the Colosseum consists of four levels, with the bottom three levels composed of 80 arches each. Structurally speaking, the arches make possible the immense size of the structure-”

Jason adjusted his glasses as he was trying his hardest to copy his notes down, as quickly as possible, the professor was going kinda fast but Jason didn't blame him.

They have so much coursework for this semester. New Rome coursework for architecture students included the basics of Colosseum construction, Parthenon preservation and the surprising malleability of marble.

Currently Jason was learning the basics of Colosseum construction. It wasn't easy, but Jason was willing to give it his all, he even asked Annabeth for advice. His dream was to redesign temple hill, after he was done finishing the minor gods project. The only way he could get the permission to professionally redesign the structure of a long existing camp, was to get a degree to prove that he was worthy enough.

Romans do not play when it comes to buildings. Moreover, he didn't want anyone to call him a “nepo baby” and that he only got to design temple hill because he was Jupiter's son. Annabeth had already moved up levels of the architecture courses, and graduated with Percy. Jason was two years younger, by the time Annabeth had graduated, he was only then finishing highschool in California, so he still had a long way to go. Thankfully, Leo took engineering in NRU, so Jason had great company.

“Man, all these Romans do is yap yap and yap in cursive. They know nothing about how engineering works.” Leo babbled, complaining about his professor, who was a legacy of vulcan.

Jason scowled. “What are you implying, Leo? That we Romans know nothing about building stuff? That's the biggest stretch I've ever heard. They've built the Colosseum, the Roman Forum, the Domus Aurea, the Pantheon, Trajan's Column, Trajan's Market, the Catacombs, the Circus Maximus, the Baths of Caracalla, Castel Sant'Angelo, the Mausoleum of Augustus-”

“Woah woah calm down. I see you've clearly learnt all the names of those Roman buildings for your upcoming exam, thank me later for discreetly testing you. Looks like you really know your stuff dude. Romans are still mid engineers though” Leo winked. Jason stared at him bewildered. He hadn't even realized that he spit out all those Roman building names, he'd been up all night studying them.

“Iuppiter te perdat, valdez” (may Jupiter come at you, valdez) Jason muttered.

“Aww come on, don't go all Latin on me now, did you curse me out?” Leo questioned.

“maybe.”

“Well, whether you realize it or not, I seem to be the only one who somehow get you to apply whatever you've learnt in class dude. I mean, I've said like two sentences, and that's enough to get you to yap about Roman buildings and Latin curses” Leo laughed.

Well, he wasn't wrong.

“also you are only proving my point that Romans yap in cursive, I mean, have you seen yourself speak?” Jason gave him a pointed look.

“don't worry, it's cute.” Leo said, patting Jason's hair.

“Well, maybe i yap in cursive because I'm actually knowledgeable.” Jason replied, tersely smiling.

“a little too much of a big head but fair point.” Leo admitted.

“Anyways I'm starving. In honor of you insulting us Romans, Let's go eat some nice Roman food," Jason said, dragging Leo to the cafeteria.

“Leo, what's wrong?” Jason asked as he slipped inside Leo's dorm room. He hadn't heard from leo in a few hours now and he was getting worried.

Leo was scrambling anxiously, his hands seemed to be having minds of their own as his eyes darted around the room.

“I have like, 2 projects due tomorrow, and I swore to myself that I'd start on them early but I was having so much fun it totally slipped my mind-”

“Okay. Alright. First off, calm down. You still have like, 10 hours till your next class. You can still get it done by then, stressing out only prolongs your progress-”

“Give it a rest Dr. Phill” Jason rolled his eyes.

“I'm just trying to help”

“Well it isn't working, just letting you know, man”

“What's your project about? I'm no engineer, but maybe i could help with building the outer structure or solving machine equations to help make it work better-”

“Oh please yes. I need all the help I can get right now”

Jason smiled.

And so. The architect and engineer started their nerdy fiasco.

[talesfromtheclub]

New Bartender

Noah was an average white guy, wife and a baby on the way. He wasn't the type to go to strip clubs, especially ones with male dancers. So, finding the place was weird, like it was calling to him, inciting him with dreams fulfilled.

He sat at the bar, fresh from his job and in normal attire for him, white shirt, blue jeans. Noah wasn't particularly built or sexy, but his wife Sarah found him attractive, enough to have a baby with him.

Noah couldn't remember how long he'd been waiting for the bartender, it felt like days since he had stepped into the club. The performances repeated on a loop like a video of sexy dance training tapes.

He checked his watch but... it was broken, unmoving. He didn't understand this, he... he wasn't gay so why was he still here... his wife was due to give birth ANY day now, so why was he wasting his time in a gay strip club.

Then, he saw HIM. A dancer was welcomed to the stage as the sexy Aaron James. He had hair that swayed delicately in the wind from the club, and skin white like Noah's. Aaron James had danced for what felt like hours, sweat dripping down his muscles making him look even more sexy.

Noah felt like the dance was for him.

Because it was.

Noah turned away from the stage and finally got the will to leave, but Aaron James was there, standing next to him, leaning on the bar. "Hi beautiful, care for a private show?" He said, "N-No thanks... I'm... yes" He didn't know what he was doing, it was like he couldn't resist the offer.

Aaron James led Noah to a private room, decorated with silk couches and pillows. A stage with a pole was in the middle of the room. Aaron James sat his playmate down on the couch and carefully removed Noah's shirt.

Noah saw how muscular he looked now, his skin was tanner, now he looked like he was of Latin American descent. Noah leaned back and watched Aaron James begin to dance, shaking his ass for the man.

Noah felt something growing in his pants, and felt his body growing too. His muscles getting bigger and more developed, his butt getting bigger and more bubbly. He could feel his skin darkening to a nice chocolate brown. He loved it because it felt right, and welcoming to his true self.

He wasn't a white straight guy, hell nah! He was a sexy gay black man, with muscles that made him popular and hot. Aaron James got on the floor, beginning to crawl seductively over to Noah, getting up close to his crotch.

Slowly removing his pants and letting his now huge friend come out to play, Noah chuckled, speaking in a deeper and sexier tone "Like my rod baby? Hows about you lick it like the white boy you are?" Aaron James had his fun doing what Noah commanded, sucking and licking the large popsicle stick before him.

Finally after he was done, Aaron James removed all of Noah's old clothes, and took his hand to guide him. The pair walked through the club's backstage, Noah felt confidence with his nudity, loving how the other dancers and employees would turn to look at his impressive package.

Aaron James handed Noah a uniform labeled as "Barkeep Uniform" giving him a passionate kiss and welcoming him to his true job, and calling him Nick. Yes. Noah was a white boy's name. He was No-Good Nick, sexy and sinful. Nick donned his sexy uniform and walked behind the bar, finally the club regained its bartender. No-Good Nick.

[loverboybrightsideghost]

IT'S BEEN SO LONG YOU ALL SPEAK LATIN IN MY DREAMS

[chaotic-history]

Outside of V and Emile/Fritz what’s your fav relationship V has?

Ok I warned you that this was going to be a long answer, and idk if you meant specifically a romantic relationship, but I'm going to pretend that you didn't so that I can yap about my absolute favorite V relationship, which was with Claude Philippe Fyot de la Marche. And I have to yap about it extra since only one bio I've read has ever mentioned him, and even then, it was only to get facts wrong about him :/ (thanks Pearson).

V and la Marche were students together at Louis le Grand, and we have five letters from 17yo V to la Marche after la Marche had left the school early. There's.. a lot in those letters: (italics are originally in Latin)

"Please disabuse me of your perversity [la Marche had evidently called himself an Epicurean, and V wasn't having it] as I disabuse you of the opinion you have of my virtue, and make me a confession as sincere as the one I make to you. I know that it will cost you more than me, but I don't believe you want to hide your true feelings from me; this will be for me a lesson which perhaps I will not benefit from and will content myself with admiring; I see and I desire the better, I follow the worse. I finish with this line for fear that in continuing the picture I will make it so true that you'll believe me as insincere as you are when you speak of yourself."

And here's the context for the quote V said he couldn't finish w/o la Marche thinking him insincere:

(From Metamorphoses):  "Medea, you struggle in vain: some god, I do not know which, opposes you. I wonder if this, or something, like this, is what people indeed call love? Or why would the tasks my father demands of Jason seem so hard? They are more than hard! Why am I afraid of his death, when I have scarcely seen him? What is the cause of all this fear? Quench, if you can, unhappy girl, these flames that you feel in your virgin heart! If I could, I would be wiser! But a strange power draws me to him against my will. Love urges one thing: reason another. I see, and I desire the better: I follow the worse. Why do you burn for a stranger, royal virgin, and dream of marriage in an alien land? This earth can also give you what you can love. Whether he lives or dies, is in the hands of the gods. Let him live! I can pray for this even if I may not love him: what is Jason guilty of? Who, but the heartless, would not be touched by Jason’s youth, and birth, and courage? Who, though the other qualities were absent, could not be stirred by his beauty?"

There are multiple ways you could interpret this ofc, but also... gay

The rest of the letters are a combo of similar to the above and just depressing; V was super broken-up about la Marche's leaving. He also keeps trying to set up a time for them to meet in Paris, but there's no record of anything ever coming from that.

And then, in 1761, a monk murdered someone in Ferney and V wrote to la Marche's son about it since he thought it wasn't being investigated thoroughly enough and Marche fils was a magistrate at one of the parlements, and through that he and la Marche got back in touch and it's so 🥺🥺🥺

"M. de Ruffey, sir, made me shed tears of joy when he told me that you wanted to remember me, and that you resume the exchange of letters in which you have always been charming. My heart is still moved in writing to you. To think that it's been almost sixty years that I've been attached to you! My hair has gone white, my teeth have fallen out; but my heart is young: I am tempted to cross the mountains and the snow that separate us, and to come embrace you. I'm ashamed to admit to you that I consider myself in my retirement as one of the happiest men in the world; but you deserve to be so more than I do, and I warn you that I shall cease to be if you are not. You are honoured, loved, I know you have a very beautiful soul; a charming, fair, enlightened, sensitive soul ..."

And then eventually la Marche came to visit V at Ferney, and helped supervise the printing of the engravings for V's Corneille book that he was raising subscriptions for Mlle Corneille with

I think la Marche is my favorite just because all the letters are so sweet, and for the longest time I thought it was just the five early ones and then I was legitimately so fucking happy to find out that they did meet again in person. I also really wish there was more written about him, cause even if he's not super important historically when writing about V, V clearly cared about him a lot and la Marche was important to him

[jajanvm-imbi]

⚠️Long Post Alert⚠️

Alright I've seen a lot of (negative) buzz around Disney's new show "Primos" so I'm gonna put my 2 cents in

According to the Primos wiki, the show is about "Tater, an eccentric 10-year-old girl with big dreams and, unbeknownst to her, a certain “it factor” that makes her exceptional. When her 12 cousins (“primos” in Spanish) move in for the summer, they help her discover just what it is. Tater’s aspirations and larger-than-life imagination are seen via entries in her super-secret diary, which turn her deepest thoughts into grandiose animation sequences."

FIRST, it's yet ANOTHER piece of children's media about the main character + their large Latin American family.

Upon doing some research apparently this show is about the creator's personal experiences, which okay valid. But when creating media that meant to represent a community it would be better to offer a DIFFERENT perspective rather than give us the same trope that has been done to DEATH.

And I'm gonna be real with yall, I LOVE Coco and Encanto, but both movies also fall under this trope. Not all Latin American families live with their extended family, we don't need ANOTHER piece of media perpetuating the stereotype.

Also, Disney has been putting out a few shows on Disney Channel and Disney Junior that are clear knock offs of Nickelodeon shows. Some examples:

And...hm....lemme think....a kids TV show about a Mexican girl and her quirky large Mexican family getting into some Mexican™️ shenanigans...where have I seen that before...?

Oh right

Yeah the premises are slightly different, but it's essentially the same trope so already right off the bat Primos feels like a knock off version of The Casagrandes.

SECOND, there are many stereotypes already present in the series just from tbe opening theme. Many of the cousins fall into stereotypes themselves, particularly the names. Some the names of the cousins are Gordita, Big Nacho, Nachito, and Cookita. I've seen people justify the use of these names by saying many Latin Americans are given these names as nicknames, which is true. But then again, having a characters named Nacho and Gordita in a show that's supposed to be about LatAm representation is just in bad taste. It's giving "Marco Diaz from Star vs. the Forces of Evil being half Mexican and being obsessed with nachos for some reason but not representing his Latino heritage in any other way other than him wearing that Day of the Dead themed costume in The Blood Moon Ball ep." It feels lazy, and of course, stereotypical.

On TOP of this, the word "Cookita" in many LatAm countries is slang for pussy and the suffix "-ita" means small. And the character with this name is the BABY. So yeah maybe naming the B A B Y character something that to many Spanish speakers means "little pussy" in a show ABOUT Spanish speaking Latin Americans probably isn't the wisest decision.

Another detail people have been pointing out leans into negative Mexican stereotypes is the use of the "yellow filter".

Now I'm gonna be real and say I'm not 100% convinced about the yellow filter being used here. The show takes place over the summer, so the use of yellow might may be used to give the feeling of how hot it is, but I can totally see why Latin Americans would find this offensive.

Also the name "Terremoto Heights" has been heavily criticized. Terremoto means "earthquake" in Spanish and the earthquakes are common in LatAm countries. Then again, show takes place in LA, where a lot of earthquakes occur too. So Im not 100% convinced that this is flat out racist either, but it's definitely in poor taste.

THIRD, the thing that is being SLAMMED at the most, is the improper Spanish grammar and the creator's response to people pointing it out.

In the theme song, the phrase "¡Oye! Primos" is used a lot, which means "Hey cousins!" The issue with this phrase is that "Oye" means hey but in the singular tense, and "Primos" is plural. If you plug in "¡Oye! Primos" to Google translate you'll get Hey Cousins regardless, but in Spanish the phrase is not grammatically correct. In order for it to be grammatically correct the phrase would either need to be changed to "¡Oigan! Primos", "oigan" being the plural word for Hey, or "¡Oye! Primo" and make primo singular. People have been telling this to the creators of the series and well...they haven't exactly been taking it well.

Here's what the voice actress of the main character Tater, Myrna Garcia Velasco said her on social media (Instagram I think, I could be wrong) in response to the bad Spanish:

(If you can't listen to it I'll just summarize. Velasco says that Spanish is the language of the Spanish conquistadors and the only reason why Latinos are LATIN American and not indigenous is because of the Spanish, and to stay mad if you think her incorrect Spanish is an issue. She also brings up how they're "trying to make a good show" for kids who "don't have a grasp on any language" or something?? Idk that's pretty much what she's saying")

Basically this response doesn't make any fucking sense. "Spanish isn't our original language so it doesn't matter if I speak it correctly or not. I'm a NATIVE Mexican so it doesn't matter if I speak Spanish correctly or not"

???????

Girl what the fuck does this mean??? News flash, but the majority of Latin America has been speaking Spanish for CENTURIES. You go to Mexico or most other Latin American countries and you'll find them speaking SPANISH. Yes it's because of the Spanish but it's part of our culture now whether you like it or not. It's like saying "oh it doesn't matter if I speak English correctly or not cause English isn't the US' ORIGINAL language anyway" ?????

Now, the story IS about a mixed kid. Tater is half white half Mexican, so if Tater is a Latina girl who doesn't know Spanish fluently (otherwise known as a "No-Sabo" kid), then the imperfect Spanish would make sense. If the idea behind Primos is to represent the Latin American kids who don't speak Spanish, then yeah thats fine and it was a directoral choice. But judging by Velasco's response, that doesn't seem like thats the idea?? She immediately got defensive and brought up the Spanish colonizers?? Which is relevant??? HOW???

On top of that, one member of the creative team, (not 100% sure who) called someone a "Grammar N@zi" for pointing out the grammatical errors and, well...

That's def not helping their case.

How the HELL are you gonna make show about a Spanish speaking Latin American family and NOT SPEAK SPANISH PROPERLY??? How the HELL are you gonna start beef with SPANISH SPEAKERS over whether or not it's important to speak Spanish CORRECTLY when portraying SPANISH SPEAKING PEOPLE IN MEDIA??? Yes slang exists, yes different LatAm countries speak Spanish differently, but grammar still exists??

OVERALL: Do I think Primos is this horribly racist dumpster fire? No. Are there MANY choices in this show that are just in poor taste? Absolutely 100%. Are the responses from the creative team outta pocket? Yes of course.

If you ask me, I think the main reason why people are so outraged over Primos is because the stereotypes and tropes are tired and dated, and people KNOW what writers are capable of. The response of this teaser, sandwiched between The Owl House ending and the premier of Across the Spiderverse, which have STELLAR LatAm rep, is proof of that. Luz Noceda, Miles Morales and Miguel O'Hara are SHINING examples of good SPANISH SPEAKING LatAm representation in children's media. We CAN have good LatAm protagonists in mediation, we've SEEN IT. We don't need all the stereotypes and overused tropes, so it makes sense why so many LatAm people feel like Primos is offensive and a step backwards.

Disney is getting lazy, they need to get their shit together

[fatuismooches]

SLIDES SHADES ON, KICKS DOOR DOWN AND FALL ONTO YOUR FLOOR, GUESS WHOS BACKKK!;!!;

🌕💗!!!!

BUT AHHHHHFHDH LATIN DOTTORE STILL MAKJNG ME LOSE MY SHIT

and so many of the other posts that i was binginf just now too oh em GEEEEEEE, specifically fragile/coma reader comjng back to sumeru and all that AHHFHEHHHH

ANF ALSO I CANT BELIEVE U REMEMBERED ABT MT EXAMS AND STUFF 😭💗 i got my results recently!! A* EEEKFK back on the grind tho unfortunately

also rlly rlly thinking bout dottore randomly giving fragile reader academic/research-y things to do cus he knows they crave and miss the days where they could get on wit their stuff YKKK??

also omg sometimes i’m scared to like send any kind of brainrot in cus what if someone else has said a similar thing AND AHHDHH

but yea also thinkjng bout tutor zandik + akademiya reader MNNNFFNF

ALSO ZANDIK X POET READER i feel like zandik from like the akademiya days wojld be all poetry’s stupid 🫤 but like one day findinf readers lil poetry notebook whilst tryna find his own research in their dorm and flipping through and finding it littered with references to cerulean blue locks and vermillion irises..and maybe just maybe, poetry isn’t so bad after all

smooches i’ve missed bombarding ur inbox

SMOOCHESSSS :( <33333

🌕 ANONNNN AHHH IVE MISSED YOU SO MUCH!!! I'm so glad you've been doing well, congrats on your exams!! I'm glad your hard work paid off, such a scholar 😍 But you better not overwork yourself that hard again! ALSO. DON'T BE AFRAID TO SEND ANYTHING IN!! I LOVE!! hearing what you have to say okay?? Ily 🌕 anon!! PLEASE BOMBARD MY INBOX. I LOVE IT.

HAHAHA it seems like a ton of Dottore brainrot has been infiltrating your brain huh 😅 Dottie speaking Latin really revolutionized ours brains hngg bUT WAIT I LOVE YOUR IDEA. THAT'S SO CUTE. Oh my gosh newdndow how do I phrase this. He knows you still have a love of knowledge and other things you used to be so into :( But nowadays it's died down since you don't think you're cut out for that stuff anymore, even though you miss it. Dottore being the one who respects and acknowledges your intelligence the most would not let you think that way! He'll let you indulge in as much knowledge as you want to. It's far better here anyway, with no restrictions. He'll even let you sit on his lap while you flip through his notes and try to analyze them. Okay and bear with me, this sounds strange but he would make up fake scenarios/brain teasers for you, and these would be PAGES long and you'd have to figure out the answer and report back to him 😭

Also made me think of this angsty af scenario of the day you officially got kicked out from the Akademiya... The sages and profs were so unsympathetic with your condition despite multiple proofs and notes of it being real... no matter how much you begged and sobbed, they refused to accommodate you and revoked your position in the school. Yes, it could be absolutely freaking brutal in there with the workload of assignments and all, on top of your illness too, but you still had dreams. Dreams that you were working so, so hard to pursue... you were trying your best, why couldn't they work with you? You go back to your room to try and pack since they want you out but your stuff just ends up strewn on the floor while you cry. When Zandik comes back you don't even bother hiding your tears or the reason behind them. You can see he's absolutely furious and about to let pure foulness leave his mouth but you interrupt him with a few simple words - "Zandik, just hold me, please." You don't want to hear any words at this moment, because you know nothing will be alright, but at least his touch grounds whatever is left of you to this world.

Okay moving on... Nah I need tutor Zandik. If he saw my dumb ahh while doing math... gone 😭 HEHE I love this trope... i can imagine initially being very serious about trying to learn. But then their tutor is this cutie? Welp, all of that going down the drain. Though, I think it would be pretty sweet if reader ends up learning anyway. Because the professor's way of teaching is so outdated or simply doesn't work for you but somehow when Zandik explains it you're like ?? oh! That's so much simpler! Another possibility - reader purposely flunking so they can get assigned to Zandik for tutoring 🤭 Bro would be flabbergasted that you're wasting both his and your time... because you thought he was... c-cute? Disgusting.

YEAAAA I ADORE DOT AND POET READER I THINK IT'S SOOO ROMANTIC 😭❤️ lmao yea that man would think poetry/non-academic writing is sooo boring like why would you even waste your time on that 😒 You gave up LONG ago trying to convince him why you love it so much but all of a sudden he becomes a teensy more receptive to it... i wonder why? Totally not because he freaking read every single one of your poems, from the serious to silly ones, most definitely not because he found one named after him with a bunch of sweet references... he doesn't care but they were not that bad... he guesses.

[directdogman]

Heya, been watching Mr bean lately and thought I'd ask you if there's anything I should know about the bean lore

i deadass almost responded 'why are you watching mr bean' on its own, but hey. it's not every day i get an ask like this. it's actually a common fan misconception that I like Mr Bean all that much, but I'll still attempt to answer this question in good faith. first question to ask is, animated or live action?

for the live action show, I could talk about it for quite a long time, but long story short, it was created by the same creative team as Blackadder's first season (more or less), with Rowan Atkinson starring, Atkinson and Richard Curtis co-writing and Howard Goodall scoring the show. The famous chorale arrangement of the Mr Bean theme is actually real Latin too. Something people forget about Rowan Atkinson is incredibly well educated. In fact, him, Richard Curtis and Howard Goodall all met in Oxford college iirc.

The first line of the live action series theme literally translates as 'behold the man who is bean'. Beyond that, the only real surface level live action lore I can really think of, off the top of my head, is that Mr Bean has co-acted with Willem Dafoe, has destroyed priceless artwork, has been driven around downtown LA while flipping the bird at people he passed, was almost briefly named 'mr cauliflower', etc. Oh, also, Mr Bean isn't fully mute in the live action series, like in the pilot, where he speaks at length before sitting for a university math examination that he isn't prepared to take. So, yes, Mr Bean has canonically attended a university.

I do have a pretty big theory that alleges that Doug Walker's relationship with the Nostalgia Critic is more or less the same as Rowan Atkinson's with Mr Bean, but I refuse to explain Mr Bean lore if I feel it may come up later on in a trial or contribute to me ending up in a padded cell somewhere, so you'll just have to sit and wonder, I'm afraid.

OKAY, onto the cartoon series. The important thing to remember about the cartoon series is that it had two iterations. The run of the Mr Bean cartoon was aired in the early 2000's. Rowan Atkinson was apparently in the writer's room for it, and Mr Bean, like in official media, is semi-mute in it. He often just emotes using various grunts, but can utter short sentences. The animation is very fluid and the characters frequently go off model in order to appear more expressive. The episode plots were also pretty off the wall in comparison to the second iteration. You know the Citadel of Ricks in Rick and Morty, where Rick meets a whole space ship full of identical clones of himself? Yeah, it's canon to Mr Bean too, but y'know. It's the Citadel of Beans, I guess.

In case the embedded timestamp doesn't automatically work, jump to 9:02 and watch until at least 9:13. Or don't watch any of it at all. Your call. Also no, it's not a dream sequence or anything like that, it's fully canon and really happening. It also implies that Mr Bean remembers that he's an alien for the rest of the series. The scene even ends with the direct implication that the fan theory that live action Mr Bean is an alien IS correct. (Some have speculated that he was perhaps a fallen angel too.) By the way, I'm linking to a shitty fan reupload so this Mr Bean clip instead of any of the readily available public resources because fuck YOU Mr Bean, I refuse to give you your now undeserved 10th of a cent in ad revenue after your DISGRACEFUL NFT line. More on that later.

After they finished up with the early 2000's cartoon series, the show went off the air for a literal decade and then they brought it back, out of nowhere, with rigid (and decidedly cheaper to produce) digital animation. You could compare the change in animation to, say, The Simpsons or Family Guy, where the art style remains the same for every design/background that's borrowed from the older seasons, but now everything moves stiffly/robotically. Newer one-off character designs are also way flatter and less cartoonish, as if the creative juices that went into the original cartoon series are... gone.

I have to say, I haven't seen all of these episodes because they're really not very good. The writing is a lot worse. Mr Bean just constantly talks for some reason, which feels like a pretty stark abandonment of the core tenets of the character imo. Come to think of it, the other recurring characters (like his landlord, Mrs Wicket) is also strangely out of character. Long story short, they just don't care anymore.

The funny thing about the baffling Mr Bean NFT line is that, well, there's basically 4 'eras' of Mr Bean... at least, according to how I group it. Era 1 is the live action series, era 2 is made up of the 2 feature length Mr Bean movies (I group them together, despite them coming out over a decade apart as they don't really connect directly to the main Mr Bean lore and take place outside of London), era 3 is the early 2000's run of the cartoon, and the era 4 is the 2010's cartoon reboot.

Of ALL of the 4 possible places they could pull content from, only ONE iteration of Mr Bean contained digital, pre-cropped assets... The cartoon reboot, which the production company that owns the rights to the character (Tiger Aspect Productions) obviously had, leading to this really strange revisionism (more or less gaslighting) from the Mr Bean brand, like "hey, remember Mr Bean? Remember him? He has an NFT line now! Remember Mr Bean? BUY BUY BUY" Which is funny, because statistically, of all of the four eras, the shitty cartoon reboot is the only era that does not contain anything that interesting to talk about, and is the only one that doesn't contain memorable Mr Bean media, arguably.

Some people 100% remember the time Mr Bean put an armchair on TOP of his car and drove it around in the live action series. Some people remember watching the movies in the theater as a kid and some people remember the zany episodes of the early cartoon series, which aired on Nickelodeon owned channels in the early 2000's... Nobody remembers the time Mr Bean set up a pizza place called 'pizza bean'. Seriously, there's several episodes in the new animated series where the guy just starts up a get rich quick scheme, which falls apart by the end of the episode. It's like Ed, Edd 'n' Eddy, except instead of the Ed boys, you're stuck in an elevator alone with an our of character Mr Bean.

So, yeah, the company REALLY milked the final seasons of the cartoon, despite it being the worst Mr Bean content, because that way, they could produce easy content that didn't require any more work. They don't even get Rowan Atkinson in for voices most of the time they make 'new material', just using recycled clips from a Mr Bean soundboard. The entire NFT line, by the way, is just random frames from the cartoon reboot placed against re-used backgrounds from the show, or just in front of a gradient/solid colour. Pretty cheeky given that they minted these NFTS for, get this, over $100 each. I personally wouldn't even accept someone else's money in exchange for having to own a Mr Bean NFT, so I can't imagine who'd actually spend their hard earned money on such a thing.

I could keep going, but sooner or later, an Al-Qaeda sniper is gonna take me out if I keep typing, so best quit while I'm ahead. You were a FOOL to have read this

[sweetfire01]

I was going to just show you a piece of the new story, but then I thought "fuck it, I've got all this other stuff in my drafts" so here's the previews of what I have but haven't finish yet (block author maybe? Idk but I swear some of these drafts are much longer on my notes).

His little brother (Michael regress Lucifer)

Michael watched the sleeping figure hidden under the covers that rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing, slow and regular. He was fast asleep, protected, safe in the high ranking archangel's room. Like the prodigal son who, returning to his father's home, was welcomed with open arms, so Lucifer had returned to the Celestial Realm. Forgiven. Everything was as it should be. At least most of it. Lucifer rolled over in his sleep, chains jingling in the silence. He was obviously still a demon, so these precautions had to be taken. Two around the ankles, to prevent him from running; two shorter on his wrists, to limit the use of his hands; and the last one around his throat, tying him to the headboard of the bed. This one gave Michael a lot of pain just to look at, his little brother held back like a dangerous beast. He hoped the process of making him an angel again wouldn't take too long.

Lucifer spanking Mammon

"Ow, Lucifer, don't walk so fast, you're breaking my wrist," Mammon was moaning as he was being dragged by his older brother. "Silence. I don't want to hear another word from you." Lucifer hadn't even turned to look at him, continuing to head towards his bedroom. "What? I thought you missed my voice in these da-" "I. Said. Silence!" The words echoed down the hallway of the house. They both had stopped and now the older one was looking him straight in the eye, menacing. "You will only speak when I say so. Understand?" "…yes, I-" "SILENCE! I didn't tell you you could answer. Just nod. Do you understand?" Mammon gulped and nodded quickly. He was really scared of him. This was not the sadistic Lucifer who enjoyed punishing others. This was…the really pissed off Lucifer. Much more frightening and dangerous.

Ch 2 of Daddy!Diavolo

"It's time to get up, sugar. Open your eyes for Daddy" A voice woke you up form your dreams. Was your dad there? "Ugh…Da…da…" Your mouth feels weird, you couldn't articulate the words well. You snapped your eyes open as you woke wide, just to find Diavolo kneeling in front of the bed. You remembered everything that had happened. The adoring look on his face has you flustered again. "Aww, look at you! Too small to talk huh? Alright, dada loves hearing you babble!" You suddenly realized you had something in your mouth and spat it out - it was a pacifier! The action must have looked extremely adorable to the prince, cooing as he pulled you out of the blankets and crib. You kicked your feet weakly, protesting. "Nooo…God…God…" Dammit! Why did you feel this way? You couldn't speak: your tongue, like the rest of your body, felt strangely heavy. "Oohh, would you rather call me Didi? Then, Didi loves hearing you babble!" He hummed, setting you down on the carpet and taking some stuffies from a basket. "Now that you're all rested, are you ready for some playtime?" You wanted to run away.

A scene for Honora Patrem tuam (I think it will be in 2 chapters)

Simeon's voice echoed through the room, the slow dirge that was burrowing into your ears. Especially when this was the seventh time you listened to it. "…et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen" he looked at you with that condescending look, the one reserved for stupid children who knew nothing, the one you weren't. "Dad told you again. Now, it's your turn. Do you think you can do it alone this time?" A groan escaped your lips. You had been kneeling in this position for almost an hour, your legs were starting to really ache and your head, all confused by the Latin, seemed to explode. The angel gently lifted your chin, forcing you to look at him. "I know you're tired, little lamb, and these lessons are too hard for you. But I need you to give it another try, okay?" Another try. You couldn't do it. But you couldn't even really say no to him. He would have taken it as confirmation that you were too young, just a child. And that wasn't what you wanted to hear.

Ch 2 of Touch

"Oh look, RAD Spirit Week is starting in a month. What theme could we use this year? Hm?" he's running his free hand through your hair. "For one day I was thinking something about movies. Could this be fun?". All he gets in response is a simple shrug. "Ooh, don't you like it? So how about Animals? Too trivial maybe?" Still no reaction "Ah, what do you think about a Fairy Tale theme, we could read together some from the human world…" silence "Ahaha, it could be cute, imagine the demon brothers dressed up as princess, I'll definitely have to take some pictures". The brothers. Don't think about them, don't think about them, focus on his hand in your hair "Obviously I won't be able to take you, but you can still help me choosing between the various options. And I'll make sure to take tons of pictures, ok honey?" the kiss on the cheek, the kiss on the cheek, think about that "Hey, is it true that costume parties are very popular in the human world? Have you ever attended any? Maybe you come up with some amazing suggestions" the human world. That's where you can't take it anymore.

[fieldofdahlias]

i've been putting off an introduction post for so long, i don't even know why. anyways, enjoy! ♡

🪞about me: i'm dahlia (she/her) , i'm 24 & i'm a capricorn sun. slytherin & cabin 13. i'm from saturn. my favorite flowers are dahlias (specifically black dahlias). i'm spiritual but most of the time i just say im agnostic. i'm majoring in astrophysics. i'm currently writing a romantasy book. for the most part i'm an introvert but i don't mind going out every so often. intp.

🤎 my interests: astronomy (i love it so much i'm hoping to make it my career), gardening, wolves, coffee, winter, sunsets, reading, writing, poetry, romance, fantasy, horror, music, anime, films, art, digital art, museums, history, literature, conspiracy theories, hellenism, photography (cameras i own; canon powershot elph 520 hs & canon powershot sx530 hs. dream cameras; fujifilm xt30 II & fujifilm x100v), working out (i've become a gym rat), pilates

🦢 languages: i speak english and spanish fluently. i want to learn russian, latin, arabic, italian & portuguese. currently learning french.

🧸 aesthetics: cottagecore, academiacore, gothic, witchcore, gore, dark (for some reason that's all i can think of right now lol)

🖋️ what's on your blog? honestly? mostly poetry & random posts about how i'm feeling. every so often i'll repost or post aesthetic pictures i like. i started this blog because i needed an outlet for what i was feeling and sometimes journaling doesn't feel like enough.

☕️ asks: ask/tell me anything! i'm open to chat & listen if you just need to vent. i don't know you so who am i to judge you?

📸 disclaimers: minors, please do not interact! i may repost nsfw content. i will not stand for homophobia, transphobia, hate of anyones beliefs, religion or lack thereof, bullying of any kind is not tolerated.

that's all, i believe, i hope you enjoy my blog ♡

[sixminutestoriesblog]

poppies

In Flanders Fields the poppies grow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

In Flanders Fields by John McCrae

I have always found the excerpt above, and the rest of the poem that comes after it to be pleasant to the ear, sweetly melancholic and, to be honest, more than a little creepy once you hit the threat at the end. The mental image of mostly desiccated World War I soldiers clawing their way out of the upturned soil, spilling flecks of half rotted uniform and red flowers from their bodies as they drag themselves forward after me just because I don't feel like holding a grudge against another country for a war nobody really should have been in in the first place isn't exactly what I suspect Lt. Col. McCrae was going for but its sure the picture he painted in my mind. Not cool, John. Not cool.

In other news, the poem did help make the poppy a popular symbol for war veterans that died in battle, especially overseas. These days red paper poppies are worn in jacket lapels and sold on street corners in multiple Western countries during Remembrance Day, Anzac Day and Memorial Day. Today that's pretty much the only association most of us have with the flowers but for the soldiers that lived during that time, the red corn poppies were a familiar sight, being some of the first and hardiest plants to grow in the churned up soil around trenches, the morass of no-mans-land between and yes, the freshly dug graves that grew almost as quickly as the poppies themselves across the battlefields.

Poppies were associated with the dead long before WWI however.

Hey, August babies! Let's talk about one of your birth month flowers (and keeping corpses in their graves)!

Did you know that poppies have been found in graves and carved on tombstones all the way back to Roman times? The Greeks and the Romans associated the poppy with forgetfulness and sleep. Giving the dead poppies was supposed to help them sleep in peace, though I did see one article speculating that the poppy seeds found in some graves was more akin to the old legend that the undead have obsessive-compulsive disorder and will be compelled to stop whatever they are doing to count scattered small items like seeds.

GIF by gifs-of-puppets

Who knew Sesame Street was so in touch with its darker side?

Back to the point, the Greek gods Hypnos (sleep), Thanatos (death), Nyx (night) and Morpheus (dreams) all have poppies as their flowers. Pappa means 'milk' in latin and the milky sap as well as the seeds of poppies have been used since ancient times to grant forgetfulness, peace and sleep, tracing as far back as the early Egyptian empires. Multiple opioids are made from the poppy with some of the most famous being opium, heroin, codeine and morphine, named after Morpheus for its dreamlike effect on the human brain and body. The opioid crisis has been with us since at least Victorian times and for many of the same modern reasons back then as well.

Speaking of escape from pain, Demeter, the goddess of agriculture, is associated with poppies as well. It was said that after Persephone was kidnapped by Hades, Demeter was so distraught that the gods gave her poppy seeds to help her sleep and escape her grief for a time. Afterward, the flower would spring up wherever her footsteps fell. The ancient Assyrians also associated poppies with agriculture and in fact, even today, poppies seen growing in cornfields are considered lucky and a sign of a good harvest to come.

Poppies in China are also considered lucky, or at least the smell of them is and they are a melancholic symbol between lovers too. The story I read claims that the poppies growing on his lover's grave gave a Chinese hero the inspiration he needed in battle.

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz employed a poppy field to put its heroes to sleep.

Poppies should only ever be given in bouquet of thirteen. Any other number of poppies is considered unlucky.

Greek athletes would mix poppy seeds, wine and honey for an invigoration drink.

In Wales, sleeping with poppy seeds under your pillow will show you the face of your future lover or give you the answer to whatever question you were thinking of when you fell asleep. The seeds are a ward against forgetfulness.

[sebastianswallows]

Dangerous and Delightful — Chapter 21 — At home

— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: Sebastian is a purveyor of forbidden artefacts, a dark arts researcher, and a curse-breaker for hire. Ominis, desperate to save him from himself, hires Reader in secret to persuade him, by any means necessary, to leave his illegal activities behind.

— WARNINGS: None

— WORDCOUNT: 2.5k

— TAGLIST: @bloofinntoona @sarcasticpluviophile @estrotica

She woke up to the distant sound of Sebastian’s voice. It came through the walls of her bedroom, so faint she thought she was still dreaming. When her eyes opened, just peeking through her lashes and her messy hair, she couldn’t see him anywhere, but she still heard him. He was speaking to someone in the garden. She fell asleep again and woke up sometime later, couldn’t even tell how long afterwards…

The day went by as usual — breakfast together, a few light chores, a little walk outside — until just before lunchtime. They were preparing it together — Sebastian with magic, and she the hard way — when he brought up something new.

“How would you like to go away for a while?”

She didn’t answer for a few moments, something deep in her mind freezing in fear.

“Not for long,” he added, half-turning to look at her.

She couldn’t even tell if he was being honest or just saying it to placate her. “Go where?” she asked as she started to cut tomatoes again.

“To my home,” he said, “in London.”

“Why?”

“I might have some business there.”

Her nose curled. Dark magic again… “You know I disapprove of that sort of thing.”

“Yes well, you disapprove of a great many things but you still do them, don’t you?”

She threw the knife in his general direction and ran into the drawing room.

After a session of forced embraces and swinging and swaying and a few thrown fists and insults, he brought her to an exhausted peace and detailed his plan for the two of them, through which he slipped several reassurances that they wouldn’t stay in London long.

Somewhere in the middle of his speech, she realised what she’d heard that morning — he’d been speaking to Bertie, asking her to tend to the chickens for the next few days.

She had to agree to come with him, of course, because clearly he’d made all the arrangements already.

An old and disused fireplace in a ruin served as their Floo point, off the road just between the village and the Cloke house. She dragged her suitcase behind half-heartedly, having left in the middle of the night so as not to be asked any awkward questions by the neighbours.

They arrived in a basement somewhere, a grey and filthy place filled with old furniture and bits of disused machinery. She didn’t have time to ask where they were before Sebastian, more cheerful than she’d ever seen him, dragged her up the stairs. It was a block of flats.

“Home sweet home,” whispered Sebastian as he stepped through his door — after undoing the tens of wards he’d put on the place. He drank it in, sight and scent, and eagerly undid the charm on his trunk that turned it from a suitcase back to its normal size. “Put yours down anywhere, my love.”

She dropped it on the floor and started to undo her cloak as Sebastian turned on a couple of the lamps.

It was a fairly small place, made smaller by the clutter that covered every surface. Magical items sat next to innocuous muggle ones, boxes were strewn everywhere, and a few stray bottles of amber alcohol, all in various states of consumption, were on this or that table. Several clocks each showing different times hung on the northern wall next to a great map of Europe. On another wall, pinned to a board that hung askew, were myriad papers in runes and hieroglyphs with Latin scrawled on the sides, crude drawings of objects she could not recognise, and graphs of things she half-remembered from Astronomy class.

And books, piles and piles of books were shoved on every available space: on the desk, on the commode to her left, on the chairs and tables, on the floor, in the bookcase and on top of it all the way up to the ceiling. A few peeked out from beneath his bed.

Sebastian, pleased as can be, was shaking off his jacket while she still looked for a place to sit.

“Would you like some tea?” he offered smilingly as he sat down on the bed to take his boots off. “I have a little kitchen just through there.”

She looked to where he nodded, to the right, and saw a door covered by a grey curtain that nearly camouflaged it into the neighbouring wall.

“No thank you,” she said.

“How about brandy?” he grinned. “I have some bottles you’d love, all sweet, just like you.”

“I’m tired enough already,” she said, hugging her cloak to her chest. “How long will I have to be here?”

Sebastian shoved his boots beneath the chair and went to her, gripping her by the shoulders with his big, warm hands. “Just a day or two. I need to speak to my associate about something, and then we’ll leave. If… if you don’t like it here,” he stuttered.

“Who is this associate?”

“Don’t worry,” he smiled, gently prying the cloak from her fingers and undoing her bonnet to take it off. “You won’t have to meet him.”

She almost wanted to protest that, but she had a feeling he kept her away from this other man for her benefit as much as for his own. She knew enough about the dark arts to know most dabblers were rarely as charming as Sebastian.

She looked to the small bed, left in an untidy mess since probably the day he’d ran away from there. It was difficult enough to sleep beside him in her bed, which was big and spacious, but this was asking too much…

She turned again to Sebastian, but he had his back turned, busy opening the windows. Slowly, she stepped further inside the flat, took off her jacket and her boots, and uncoiled her hair. The night air came in like a deep inhale and seemed to open every surface. The old wood furniture crackled and the curtains flapped.

Sebastian disappeared inside the kitchen and made tea anyway while she took out her nightgown and folded her clothes away. She’d packed more than two days’ worth of clothes, on his insistence, and although he seemed determined that they wouldn’t stay there longer than that, she wondered what he was thinking to make her pack for more.

The ritual of going to bed was well rehearsed by both of them, but he didn’t do anything to her that night. Just laid her head over his shoulder and hugged her with one arm to cushion her against the wall that was behind her and the thin mattress below.

She could feel him nuzzling the top of her head, his fingers brushing up and down her spine, and through his chest she heard the tremble of his heart, so heavy and restless. She didn’t like being so close to him, and at her core she was afraid he’d touch her in a way she’d disapprove again, but he didn’t. It was distracting… He was distracting, so warm and citrus scented and just the right amount of hard and soft.

“Perhaps we’ll take a walk on Diagon Alley tomorrow, after I’m done,” he whispered. “We can have lunch at the Cauldron, and even go to the Museum again,” he smiled.

She didn’t answer, although her thoughts also began to drift. It had a charm, perhaps, to be in London, to have a small little home to come back to and for the rest of the day to be out, enjoy the sights and visit new places… And it was less daunting to do with someone by her side.

Her knees curled up defensively at the very thought that that someone could be Sebastian.

“And in the evening we could walk through St James’s Park, and see the Thames nearby. Maybe even go to Highgate cemetery,” he teased. “I think you’d enjoy that… I know I enjoy it, but I’ve always been a bit twisted in that way. Then again, I heard you have some of the same inclinations…”

She froze, if it were possible, even more stiffly. Her eyes were closed, her breath was even, but she was smouldering inside.

“I didn’t mean to gossip about you with the Clokes, but they insisted. They asked a number of things, and… in the end, they told me more than I knew. I was upset at the time, but I don’t think I am anymore. I think it’s rather charming, really, that you were skilled with dark magic when young. I suppose now, since you left it behind, that it wounded you in some way…” he said, his hand gently squeezing her waist, as if to make sure that she was still there, in one piece. “I can’t fault your aversion to it, I can merely disagree.”

Her fingers clawed into his shirt, holding back several retorts that, in the end, wouldn’t have made any difference. In spite of herself, she understood Sebastian very well. She would have been as implacable as he when she was around fifteen. It just seemed he never grew out of it…

“Anyway,” he sighed, “rest now. It’s been a long enough day.”

He brushed his cheek over the crown of her head and pulled the covers up to her chin, surrounding her with the feel and scent of him. She fell asleep faster than she thought she would.

By the time she woke up, he was gone. A note on the bedside cabinet told her he’d left to see that associate of his and that he should be back by noon, with a few tender embellishments at the end. She scoffed and turned around, determined to sleep a little more.

But now awake, she couldn’t ignore the way the springs of the bed dug into her sides, the way the pillow wasn’t soft enough, the way the blankets hardly kept her warm, and she only tossed and turned with a frown until she decided to get up.

Her pocket watch told 7:30. She didn’t even know what she was going to do with herself the rest of the morning, too afraid to start wandering around lest she get lost, and too far from Ominis to seek him out. She was just thinking back to that Floo fireplace in the basement as she tied her hair when the door opened loudly and closed with a bang.

“Sebastian?” she turned, her hands still up fixing the last pin.

“You’re ready,” he breathed, “good, we should leave.”

“So soon? But I haven’t even eaten.”

“Yes, well, we’ll eat when we get there?”

She frowned. “Get where?”

Sebastian paused. “Somewhere. Is your suitcase all made?”

He spotted her nightgown on the bed and grabbed it, stuffing it inside her open suitcase before closing it just as it was. With a wave of his wand, he charmed it to a pocket-sized box and did the same with his trunk, and before she had time to ask anything else he grabbed her wrist and dragged her.

After looking left and right, he took enough time to reapply his wards, locking the place as securely as they’d found it, and then without a word of explanation he pulled her after him down the stairs.

“What’s happened?” she asked calmly.

“Later.”

“Where are we going?”

They went down another flight of stairs.

“Do you still not know?”

“I’m thinking,” he said, and after a few more steps, he muttered, “We… could go to Ominis.”

She thought her heart might have stopped. Yes, yes! she thought. Please say yes!

“That would be a —”

“No,” he said almost right away, “too close to London.”

He stopped right where he stood, with her just behind him, her spirits crushed. It no longer mattered where he chose to go. He took a few deep breaths, his shoulder squared, his head bowed, and even from behind she could tell he reached an uncertain conclusion.

His hand tightened around hers and, as they stood in the middle of the stairs, he looked back to her and said, “Hold fast for a moment.”

Then, in a blink, they were elsewhere.

He’d apparated them to somewhere far more cold and windy, somewhere outside in the middle of a country lane with tall mountains in the distance and birds singing in the trees. She could hear roosters crowing and wondered whether they were back in Upper Flagley, but as she let him go and turned around, eyes squinting at the sunlight, she found she couldn’t recognise the place.

But no, she could… She’d been here once before. And that was Hogwarts in the distance.

“Feldcroft,” said Sebastian with an apologetic smile. “Perhaps not the wisest choice, but… It might win us some time.”

“Sebastian, what’s happened?” she asked, more insistently this time. “Why all this fuss? Why run away?”

“Why do you think?!” he shouted, then sighed and tempered himself, covering his eyes contritely with his hand. “Let’s go inside, we can speak there.”

“Inside where?” she asked, then looked at the house behind him. It seemed abandoned, its garden a wild thicket, roof falling apart… “There?!”

“It will be alright,” he smiled, “you’ll see.”

And then she remembered: she’d seen that house before as well. It was exactly where he’d apparated to the first time, when he took her to The Three Broomsticks.

Small and round and made of stone with a sturdy wooden door, it seemed apart from the rest of the village which, although distant and spread apart, was far more habitable. Sebastian walked inside as if he owned it, which she now realised he probably did. The door opened at his touch, and he lit up the little chamber with a swish of his wand. She stood in the doorway and covered her mouth, coughing at the cloud of dust that rose just from him walking through.

There was a small round table with three wooden chairs overturned around it and a big armchair to the side, and shelves and cabinets, and in another part of the house two beds, or what was left of them. She stepped inside, trying to imagine what it used to look like… It became more alive as Sebastian parted the curtains, cleaned the dust away, and repaired the drapes that split what seemed to be the drawing room from the bedroom.

She set straight the fallen chairs and the tipped-over vase on the table, turning then to the little cabinet behind. It still held a collection of plates and teacups neatly.

“It should be safe for the night,” said Sebastian, wiping his hands dry on his trousers. “I’ll make sure of it.”

She leaned against the table and regarded him calmly. “Well, clearly something’s gone terribly wrong for you to come here of all places. Why don’t you tell me what it is?”

Sebastian’s freckled nose curled angrily for a moment, and he minced his words in his mind for a while.

“Burke’s double-crossed me,” he sighed. “I thought he summoned me to tell me the Aurors stopped following us, but he just tried to hand me over to them like some consolation prize.”

She bit her lip and nodded.

“At least, that seemed to be what he was trying to do…”

“It seems to me like this is not a very rewarding profession,” she said.

“Don’t start.”

[delta-pavonis]

July Kinkfest Day 2

The Sandman || Dreamling (Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling) || Rated E || 893 words

Prompts: Edging | Comeslut | “Show me what’s in your bedside drawer.”

Warnings: edging, face-fucking, sex in the Dreaming, Dreaming sex is different than Waking World sex, copious amounts of cum, Dream is a little shit and Hob loves him for it

Author's Notes: If I can keep all of these under 1000 words it will be a godsend.

Dream clamps down his hand around the base of Hob’s cock once more, just to hear what new obscenities he comes up with this time. He has been reading more in Latin recently, looking at some original religious texts that Lucienne pointed him to in the Dreaming’s library, and what pours out of his mouth now probably has made even Lucifer’s ears burn. 

“What do they say?” The Dreamlord hums with an exaggerated tap to his chin. “Fourteenth time is the charm?”

Hob sags against his chest, head lolling back onto Dream’s shoulder. “You fucking well know no one says that.” He manages to speak between trembling breaths. “You are also fucking lucky that I cannot get blue balls in the Dreaming. Christ, how long have we been at it?”

“Time is not your concern, pet.” Dream licks at the new beads of sweat rolling down Hob’s neck. “And we won’t have to do this once you learn how to better control your body in the Dreaming.” He considers biting along the same path.

Hob laughs as he bares his neck to his lover’s questing teeth. “Oh, blame this on me, do you, King of the Cumsluts? As if I am the one who wants me to blast into your face with enough volume and velocity to give you a sinus headache? To bruise your uvula?”

“Hob,” Dream tries to keep a scolding tone to his voice but he is pretty sure his smirk pushes its way through. “I do not have sinuses. Nor a uvula.”

“Oh for fuck’s…” Hob gets up and turns so that he is sitting on Dream’s thighs, arms resting on his shoulders “Give me that smart mouth.” He pulls Dream into a sloppy wet kiss, sucking on that silver tongue. When they pull apart with a pop Hob is grinning. “Let’s do this.”

Dream lets Hob push him back on the bed, until he is lying down, and watches Hob crawl up to sit on his marble-smooth chest. Looking up at Hob like this is dizzying, his lover towering over him like a lust-addled sun-god. For a moment the Lord of Dreams imagines he is a vampire, his entire body igniting from being in the solar brightness of Hob’s presence. 

Being on top of Dream is always a heady feeling for Hob, feeding on the power that Dream is willingly giving up for a short time. And, further, knowing that the reason that the King of Nightmares does this is because he absolutely cannot get enough of Hob fucking his face… well. Sometimes a man’s dreams do come true.

Dream starts pawing at Hob’s hips and Hob lets himself be pulled down into his lover’s mouth with a swiftness that makes his eagerness glaringly obvious. Watching Dream’s eyes go blurry while he moans around a cock buried deep into his throat might be Hob’s favorite single activity in the entire universe. 

Hob rocks his hips once, a slow roll, and gets a sharp smack to his ass for his efforts.

“My god you are such a brat.” He pushes up on his arms and pulls all the way out, until the head of his cock is painting pre on Dream’s lips. “Lucky you look so good gagging on my cock…”

“Hob.”

He feels more than hears Dream’s growl, which only serves to make him chuckle. “Alright, dove. Alright. I get it.” Dream laps at the liquid beading rapidly at the tip of Hob’s prick and Hob shivers. “I’ll take care of you.”

Dream parts his lips and finally, finally, Hob’s hips snap down, ramming his dick into Dream’s throat so hard that it chokes off the ecstatic scream. 

Hob has been brought close to and then held back from orgasm too many times to make this last, but that isn’t exactly the point. What Dream really wants is to basically drown in Hob’s cum, pretending for a moment that such a thing is possible. He has found through trial and error that by edging Hob enough in the Dreaming, he can trick Hob’s subconscious into producing an extreme amount of fluid. 

The bed shakes beneath them as Hob slams home harder once, twice, and comes on the third, with a roar that probably rattles the lamp on Lucienne’s desk. 

Cum, scalding and bitter, floods into Dream’s body, down into both stomach and lungs and up into sinuses that he only moments earlier decided would be there. It burns and it overflows around his lips and it is blissfully perfect because every one of his senses are, for one moment, painted over with an overwhelming feeling of Hob.

When Hob’s cock is gone Dream starts coughing, so Hob moves fast to wrap a hand around Dream’s dick. It only takes two pumps before the coughing turns into wet garbled moans and Dream is staining the black sheets with long stripes of white. 

Hob curls around Dream’s back and brushes his inky hair back from his face until his body settles and he has the wherewithal to roll over to face Hob. 

“You spoil me, my pet, my heart.” He croons, voice roughened a touch because he likes the way it makes Hob’s pupils dilate. “That was lovely.” 

Hob hums in agreement, already feeling the tug of wakefulness and therefore drifting away from this moment. “See you soon, my Dream.”