#kind of. its impiled

[ryuubff]

happy maid day from the top 3 malewives of the devildom

extra tiny skrunkly

[ares-athena]

Can I request just a Robby x f! reader? Maybe like a cute date or something where he gives her his coat and he is just so sweet but also if you want to make it kinda smutty?? Truthfully anything with Robby would be amazing

You got it

Ck. Robby X F! Reader

Date night

Warnings ⚠️: Fluff and impiled smut

Summary: Robby doesn't have the most money. But you two make the most of what he does have.

Robby was making sure everything was perfect. The pizza for you both was in the oven. He had the hot wings you wanted on the stove keeping warm. He was making sure the fort was as elaborate as possible. It was filled with pillows and blankets galore. He called you and you were on the way. Meaning he had 5 minutes at most. Your favorite movie was on the TV. Robby made sure everything was perfect.

You knew robby didn't have the most money but you didnt mind. You weren't the kind of person to need expensive things. When you knocked on the door he answered rather quickly. Robby had a sweater in his arms for you. "I thought you would want it. I know it's your favorite." He said. As confident as Robby may seem the boy was shy. No one had ever stayed in his life as long as you. He never wanted to let you go. "Thank you." You say grabbing his hand. He kisses your hand then your forehead. You grab the sweater out of his arms. You walk to the bathroom to change. "Why leave its nothing I haven't seen before?" He asks. "Hush." Is all you care to say back.

After you changed into robby's sweater you sat in the fort next to him. He had drinks, food, and your movie playing. "This is wonderful. Thank you Robby." You told him. "Your welcome darling." He told you and kissed you. Hours went by and everything had been eaten and thrown away. You found yourself on Robby's lap. The blanket that was once on him was now wrapped around your body and his.

"Can we do this more?" You asked him. "Of course." He told you. "I love you Robby." You whisper in his ear. Neither of you had said the words yet but they felt right coming from your mouth to his ears. "I love you too." He replied right into your ears. "How about I show you just how much I love you darling." He said before flipping you both over and pulling a blanket over you both. Quickly the room was filled with your moans. And they were music to Robby's ears.

[calleo-bricriu]

My friends are trash, but they’re useful trash!

(( This letter and its attached vial arrives first as flock of ten paper magpies who are, thankfully, bright enough to not bother Fawkes. When @everyheartbesure ‘s Albus finally takes the time to try and put the dang things together, they’ll easily re-form into two magpies that will hop around the desk a few times then split into seven.

Those, of course, are the ones he’ll get to put together and get the actual letter and item. ))

Albus,

“Joy’ might be excessive, but the poem doesn’t go with “two for reasonably good news”, does it?

It was easier just to make a copy and stick it into a vial; you’ve still got that Pensieve in your office yeah?

Most of it’s pretty boring, it’s just me going over numbers with Aldig, Koggot, and Lagraff, so if you don’t want to watch me and three Goblins argue--well, not argue, discuss where to move what and how subtly, you can skip the first hour. If you have the time, I’d suggest watching it as it is informative, if a bit dull.

That said, I decided to remind Felix Metzger that he owes me a whole lot of massive favours. That’s the bit that’s more interesting. The one that’s still alive and that I hope he goes after worked under a couple of extremely with propaganda sorts getting that--that would make so many things so much easier.

As always, should you have any questions or concerns or would like to shuffle things around a bit, do  let me know.

- Calleo

What the vial will show:

Calleo had, as he'd half-impiled to @absintheabsence  , been in and out both of the country, his house, and anywhere else, over several months, but never more than one or two days at a time. As of yet, any explanations were vague and spoken in borderline riddles. After all, he still wasn't certain just how stable Grindelwald's mind was (despite it being markedly better than it had been several weeks prior) and Calleo didn't view him in the sort of headspace that wouldn't be dismissed out of hand as, "He's a madman, what makes you think we'd do anything with which he aligned."

More importantly, Calleo wasn't certain he wanted it; it was one of those things that could be immensely useful or the equivalent of having glitter thrown in your face: Annoying, a little hindering, and you'd just never get rid of it all.

Or, worse, useful but you still get glitter in your face only now you can’t be cross about it because the one who threw it is too useful.

It wasn't as though he could leave the prison, which was something Calleo did keep in his basket of pros and cons.

That would just make certain aspects of Calleo's job significantly easier; now and again over the past a few decades, whenever any of his former--people annoyed him, Calleo was more than happy to ask if they were unable to make a decision because they were still waiting for commands from their "Emperor".  It never got him an answer any more quickly, but it did earn him an impressive collection of 'if looks could kill'. He had, however, noticed a distinct split that he'd noticed during the First War. The shiftier, more cunning ones that were still alive knew to keep their heads down and not make any declarations one way or another until they had a better idea of where it would be most prudent to offer their talents.

Many of them knew Calleo well and had known him or worked with him for years and were, at present not entirely sure where he was going with anything just that the mood in certain markets among certain circles seemed to be shifting oddly and seemingly without much provocation.

But it was shifting. So they watched, remaining coolly detached, never bringing it up unless Calleo said something first. What they knew was that it seemed to start in small business circles in which Calleo was a frequent participant and only spread, which might have been alarming if they'd done anything. As near as they could tell, he was rearranging his own business network to fit something and was not being the least bit forthcoming as to what it was. As conversational as Calleo was known to be, in this he was strangely formal, bordering on evasiveness.

Cleaning up old threads, tying up loose ends, removing those who don't fit what he needs for his portfolios at present, and it all sounded perfectly reasonable.

Felix Metzger happened to be one who noticed something seemed off and that was exactly who Calleo had hoped would notice. Felix had worked in intelligence at one point and those skills translated over to dealing with Records out of the Leipzig office. If you needed to find out anything about damn near anyone, there was a high chance Felix could find it, and find it quickly.

Felix was also unfortunately easy to startle and still a bit mousy, even now.

"How many do you reckon you'd be able to pull back in line for that kind of thing? We're only going to be able to make so much headway making it economically disastrous and socially embarrassing to put one's weight behind that officially dead dark lord and when that limit is reached, we're going to need to make it political suicide as well."

Felix, as he usually did, visibly cringed at the grating accent that came out when Calleo used more common turns of phrase, especially that contained harsh sounding words like 'reckon'. The fact that he used the word ‘we’ wasn’t encouraging either; his assumption was that he meant himself and those three Goblins but the way he looked at Felix when he said that left the man clearly unsettled. "Two, perhaps three dozen? That is,"  he paused, "no, that is correct. There are not many left..." he trailed off, eyeing Calleo warily.

"Really, I could do with just you," Calleo rolled his shoulders in a shrug that turned into a long stretch. "Don't misunderstand, Felix, I don't want to control anything beyond perception. No take overs, no ousting people from office, more--spin it so they're not likely to win public support on a re-election if it comes out they have views that match up with that dark lord the Ministry refuses to admit isn't fully dead."

"Between Lagraff, Koggot, Aldig, and myself, we've got an excellent handle on shifting the Unseen Market's--markets, as it were, and that's bled over into the social aspect of making it be an undesirable set of views with which to be public. If one wants to do any business or not be a laughingstock in a pub somewhere, that is."

Felix stood, blank at first and slowly, very slowly, the mousy posture and avoidance of Calleo's eye snapped back to attention leaving him appearing every bit the man who never needed to earn the nickname his family name suggested.

"You head that Records department, you can dig up as much dirt on anyone that could ever possibly be necessary, and I know you know how to persuade others to get documentation and information that you might not have direct access to. Making it social and economic suicide to be even loosely connected is all good and well but I can only affect that change around the Unseen Market."

"And with the correct information," an interruption from Felix was a rare thing indeed. Rare enough that Calleo stopped speaking to listen, a move that seemed to cause a bit of confusion until Felix was gestured to continue. "With the correct information, you will be able to work with the people you work with while you are here on Ministry business, and I will be able to find out information in general--we make it easier to figure out who the weeds in the garden are, and they are removed."

As he spoke, Calleo's polite smile widened into a sharp, almost unpleasantly calculating grin, "Did any of his old propaganda ministers survive I know several did not; if there are any left, be a dear and find them. I would very much like to talk to them."

"Don't tell them what we've discussed. I need to speak with them first to see if they'll be useful in the capacity I'd need them to be useful in."

Felix nodded an acknowledgement and disapparated.

[izzytheheartbrekker]

there's nothing fucking wrong with people that have mental illnesses either, jesus fucking christ that's a shitty thing to say.

okay thats not what i meant 

what i mean is: 

using the term “illness” impiles something wrong, 

(i much prefer looking at it in terms of levels of distress bc these are things that happen a lot and people can live with these things and not have high levels of distress) 

a lot of mental illnesses have bad parts which is why they are illnesses but that doesn’t mean they are completely wrong it means there is distress 

but there is a difference between the classification of mental illness and developmental disorder 

what i meant by the wrongness is the kind of view on it in societies view bc with things like adhd and autism the difference is the brain and it does not always cause distress it is literally just a difference in brain 

but saying its an illness implies the entire makeup of the brain is wrong but there isn’t necessarily anything wrong its a different experience yes there are bad parts but there is also a lot of good parts which people ignore bc they are so focused on the fact that it is just different 

http://neurocosmopolitanism.com/throw-away-the-masters-tools-liberating-ourselves-from-the-pathology-paradigm/ 

[dontpostme]

Passengers at The Flat - Massimo Carasi 9 February - 18 March 2017, Milan

Andrea Carpita, Cosimo Casoni, Eracle Fabio Dartizio, Domenico Laterza, and Marco Strappato

We are submerged by images, while we live in a world where anonymous IKEA furnitures and normcore clothes seem to be the only way to avoid a visual overcrowding that suffocates us. Advertisings, tv spots, banners fixed to street lamps or on the tube walls: our eyes slip on those flat forms everyday without perceiving anything but a vague presence. This is quite absurd if we think that before the XX century the people would see less or more a hundred images during their entire life, which is the same amount we can generally achieve in a few minutes. But what happens to the image if we deny it, if we ignore it? It becomes meaningless, and what remains is just a form, a silhouette. We often start something like a mental iconoclasm, but does it make sense if more and more images are being produced everyday? Has art reached a point where she has to abandon those recognizable forms that have always been part of our human behaviour, at all? This would mean to leave this current world without any trace of our passage to posterity. It would also mean to deny a tipically human necessity: that of using images to learn and recognize, as Aristotle already claimed in the IV century b.C. The five artists on show – Andrea Carpita, Cosimo Casoni, Eracle Fabio Dartizio, Domenico Laterza, Marco Strappato – are linked together by a methodology that constantly stress this reflection by bringing together technique, research and poetry. The artworks have images, but those are often hidden. They need to be found, to be hosted, as in everyday life should happen. The artists themselves invite the beholder to dig and search those images, holding them without denying or taking them for granted. As Georges Didi-Hubermann taught, we should try rebuilding every image from each fragment left behind: we have to start from their loss and their lacking to make their form floating from an absence that was either accidental or deliberate. In the art of the new millennium this is the main task of us, as users and beholders.

Andrea Carpita (1988) lives and works in Carrara. His research has led him to cross various phases of the representation process: starting from a fantastic and delicate imaginary to phytomorphic suggestions that remind of the Japanese aesthetic, until the present attitude to a radical synthesis of the visible in the Minimum Portraits series, where he uses a few lines and dots to resume a body, a face or a person, without claiming to be narrative or whatever. The image here hiddens a place that is intimate and closed to the beholder, while what emerges is just an outline, an almost detached superficiality in which, however, we are able to grasp a little about the artist's sensibility.

Cosimo Casoni (1990) lives and works between Florence and Milan. His artworks try to reconcile the abiguous meaning of the word “equilibrium”, by challenging everyday-life objects to mantain their shape and identity even after having de-structuralised, re-assembled and then recomposed them in an empty and suspanded space which is cut off from ordinary references. The strenght of these images touches the color-fielding reality, that is liquid and thus unstable: from this collapse the trompe-l'oeil and the landscapes become a window that stays in between the realm of imagination and that of reality. Then, a third element comes in, which is the most personal of them all: the skate culture, from which Casoni comes and that he pours on the canvasses. Even in those artworks where there are not recognizable objects stays the skate gesture, which is an authentic representation, the remark of a passage.

Eracle Fabio Dartizio (1989) lives and works between London and Milan. He's always been fascinated by infinity and cosmos, so he uses astronomic elements as a pretext for making a reflection and giving a tale about personal experiences, in which he finds refuge to existentialist questions that are difficult to answer. The result are sculptures and installations that speak about mankind and its uncertain condition, forcing to rediscuss its anthropocentric vision on things. Thus, life seems to slip on an undefined surface, as images flowing on puddles during a rainy day. And there, on the edge of the water, stays the border that separates “here” from “there”, the earthly world from the stars, which are both intimately unknown and fascinating.

Domenico Laterza (1988) lives in Milan although several projects brought to California, Berlin and Frankfurt. His works' aim is to animate objects with a clever and funny irony by facing the limits of an encyclopedic knowledge. Laterza reflects on art and design, on actions and their meanings, leaving them 'pollute' each other. In Dancer's case the artist has collected kilos of advertising flyers and has impiled them around an iron soul. So they are fixed to a central pale, but unfasten from each other, so that the sculpture is always different every time is composed, and the result is a high column that seems to be dancing in the air. Moreover, the artwork ennoble a kind of object often considered unnecessary, that we look with bored and indifferent eyes, transforming it into something that is brand-new and suddenly desirable.

Marco Strappato (1982) lives and works in London. His artworks remind of the open air and the Leopardian infinity, even if their aesthetic seem to be formally alienating, cold and detached. But there's a deeper issue in this, which is given by the beauty of what is shown: pieces of manipulated nature that loose their identity, on the borderline with abstraction but at the same time witnesses of a natural and, overall, figurative state. To look at one of Strappato's works means to use an archeology of the image that shall manage with intensity the narrative apparatus built by the artist. Like a little and precious secret hidden in a castle that defends it and that we have to save from oblivion. We are both terrorists that make the ancient temples fall down and the archaeologists who dig to save their fragments.