#no actually. HATE to the descendants community!

[straysparks]

I still feel like we were ROBBED of that whole arc, watching Viktor descend to this. Because he gives a shit about Vander, so it's not like he's totally unempathetic--like he's still Viktor. It's just that from the start of the commune up to this point, Viktor has been going through a slow descent into madness from not having a single actual person to talk to who isn't completely bound to him in some way. There is nobody to question him and everyone is relying on him constantly.

Viktor is deeply empathetic but also vulnerable to megalomania, and having a whole group of people worship you for months on end is gonna get to your head eventually even if you really really really hate the idea. Which I think we can be pretty certain he does at first, unless you subscribe to the idea that the Hexcore is really majorly influential to his personality change. I think his disconnection from his empathy is driven by a need to get away from the closeness of the commune members. He's an extremely private person and he gets virtually no space or time to himself for months on end. Seeing the commune members as cogs in a machine is a coping strategy and I must stress that there is NO ONE to check him on this.

I just think there's so much more to explore here about how Viktor could have gotten here all on his own as natural consequences of his actions and his personality dynamics. There's too much that happens behind the scenes in this show, in the timeskips in particular, that I think could benefit from being spelled out.

Hexcore influence is convenient to the narrative, but Viktor's character is set up in such a way that his behavior here isn't even out of character given a particular series of events which we KNOW happen, we just don't see them on screen. It's ooc if you assume Viktor doesn't change between the times we see him on screen, but that's the thing, he DOES.

Viktor’s commune always gave off creepy vibes, but for me, the path it was taking became crystal clear at the start of ep6. That first scene basically spells out the extent of Viktor’s corruption and how far his actions and mindset are from any kind of altruism.

Think about it: Viktor sees Jayce kill Salo through Salo’s eyes. He’s connected to Salo but doesn’t even try to comfort him, verbally or mentally, or ease his pain with magic in his final moments. He just stands there, watching. Waiting for Salo to die, staring at Jayce. The only time he flinches is when Jayce lunges forward, and Salo dies abruptly — his vision cuts to black.

And look at Viktor's face when it happens. That’s not horror. That’s not astonishment. That’s not grief. It’s… mild annoyance, I'd say?

Like, ugh. Jayce didn’t get it. He didn’t appreciate my work. And now he’s also destroyed one of my puppets. Sounds pretty frustrating, doesn't it, Viktor?

Then Sky says, “poor Salo”, and Viktor? Immediately pivots to, “That’s not Jayce. It’s another will at work within him”. And a moment later, he’s fascinated by the Anomaly. Salo’s gone, and no one spares him an extra thought.

And that’s the thing about Viktor’s commune — it was never about the people who joined it. It was never about understanding them, helping them, or connecting with them. It was all about Viktor’s desperate need to be in control, about his refusal to confront suffering, pain, and all the messy, complicated parts of being human. From the very beginning, it was about Viktor going, “well, the end justifies the means”, but there’s nothing kind or humanistic about that philosophy, because it always comes at the expense of people’s lives. The end never justifies the means.

And honestly, I was surprised to see how many people were mad at Jayce for blasting Viktor at the end of that episode. In my opinion, by then, it was quite clear that Viktor didn’t care much about his Arcane-modified toys. He wasn’t even pretending he did. Salo wasn’t a person to him. None of them were. They were just tools, stepping stones for his glorious evolution.

And all of that was right there in the first scene of ep6.

[andsheoverthinks]

i am so tired of how easily people slip into anti-Blackness to defend their arguments

recently (always tbh but also recently) i've been seeing a lot of disdain circulating for African Americans, disappointedly but not surprisingly from a lot of non-white people as well.

[f appropriating other cultures is so repugnant to you... why do you have a kpop profile pic... but i digress]

specifically this is about the Cleopatra tv show? casting that people are discussing right now, it's really highlighted how Black people, especially African Americans, aren't allowed to do anything a little bit cringe without racist, violent blowback. Cleopatra has been played by many many actresses, most of whom aren't of Greek or Egyptian descent. So it's weird that people are acting like Black people are uniquely horrible and ignorant for the casting of a Black woman as Cleopatra, when many castings have not been historically accurate.

Liz Taylor was British-American, Vivien Leigh was British, Monica Bellucci and Sophia Italian... you get the point. and yet people aren't hurling racist slurs at white people (there are none) for casting Cleopatra as non-Greek/Egyptian all these years. if you're upset about this particular casting, you can at least be civil with your discussions. but, no, it's easiest to call us dirty, ignorant n******s because half the time people are just waiting for an excuse.

let me explain something to you, gently. a lot of people ask, well, African Americans and Caribbeans were sold from West African countries like Ghana and Nigeria, why don't they go appropriate those countries.

the answer's quite simple. we don't learn anything about West Africa in school.

laugh break, haha, dumb USAmericans.

okay, back to business. in the U.S., we learn a very short list of non-European civilizations: Mesopotamia, China, and Egypt. Maybe one line on Mali if you're lucky. the school system here is very sensitive to teaching anything that triggers 'white guilt' aka anything more than a cursory glance at anything concerning Black people and our history, which is deemed as unimportant. you can say we were obviously enslaved from West African countries so we should learn about those cultures, but... we don't speak our old languages, save for some loanwords like 'duppy' instead of 'ghost' in Caribbean vernacular and such, we don't eat our old foods, wear our traditional clothes... we don't even know what they were, what ethnic group(s) we would have belonged to. we're not immigrants in that sense that we have a home country, a definite place of origin. do you know what it's like to feel that so much of your identity is rootless? do you know how endless that emptiness is?

so when these three non-European civilizations were laid out before us, we latched onto the closest one, and ran a little too far with it.

in fact, my generation is less dependent on Egypt as a sort of crutch; this is more of an older people thing. we have healed enough to be able to look within.

this is not a sob story. this is just a story of how we got here, and how this construction of the world -- disregarding the effects of white supremacy and racial trauma while enacting racist behavior and showing incredible fluency with white supremacist imagery and rhetoric -- is fundamentally flawed.

this is just a sample of the racist tweets on the actress's twitter. i have chosen not to include the images that titilate these people but they are equally horrible, depicting violence against Black people.

in fact, i should stop calling this pathological behavior pattern 'white supremacy' at this point because a lot of people are actually getting off is to Arab slavery. the parallels between misogyny and anti-Blackness are so interesting -- misogynists are addicted to the ego boost of subjugating women, racists are addicted to the ego boost of subjugating Blacks. yes, your ancestors spearheaded an appallingly brutal slave trade of African people which lasted thirteen centuries and is continues to this day (yes, Black people are still being enslaved in your countries but you're butthurt over a tv show so it's time to go ballistic -- by the way white people were also kidnapped and sold but since the rise of European imperialism they'd been able to shed that 'shame'), even more evil than the triangular trade and there are fewer survivors because of the reproductive control methods (read, violent sterilization). source1 source2. you people spouting this nonsense because of a tv show are just as racist as the white people over here, possibly worse. do you feel edgy villain enough now? happy?!

and by the way, 'threatening' to cast white actors as Harriet Tubman or Martin Luther King doesn't hurt us the way that Cleopatra not looking white enough seems to emotionally wound you, we are used to being minimized and erased for our contributions to society and are not thin-skinned like the losers complaining about this like it's the worst thing in their lives.

Is Afro-centerism inaccurate? Probably. Is it fearmongering to position it as equivalent to white supremacy? Absolutely.

[Pop quiz: Which ideology enslaved, tortured, raped, killed, and colonized across many centuries?]

Does calling us n******s and invoking 4chan 'we wuz kangz' (yes there was a we wuz kangz meme but i'm not reposting their childish shit on my blog) arguments make you sound like anything other than a whiny child? No. Just say you don't like the casting like a grown-up.

Why doesn't Hollywood produce West Africa period pieces in order to cast more Black actors instead? Now there's an actually productive question. Thank you. Actually, next they should do a long, high budget docudrama on the Arab slave trade so you can feel really uncomfortable.

[rocaillefox]

thinking about my own ocs once again. apogee and toccata hehehe

[spitedemon]

seeing people who aren’t trans get very mad on behalf of trans people in regards to us politics right now is like. it’s nice enough. but it is also the most intense out of body experience. i almost wish they’d stop talking.

[potionwine]

#writing #this is so affirming of my own obsessive way of writing fics #that definitely causes a lot of desperation but also so much thrill #we have this thing in Finnish luomisen tuska #the agony of creation #I'm very familiar with that particular feeling #but I think you're gonna feel a bit of agony when you're passionate about what you're creating for many reasons #can you really just mellow if the need to write the story is almost a fever #you are giving pieces of yourself to your work #and sometimes that rips you apart and saves you a little

(via @raindroppoetry)

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[open-sketchbook]

i'm super high so forgive the rambling but

as somebody who grew up catholic and read the bible a bunch because it was words in a book and that's what i did in school, a thing thats fucking insane about christianity is how, like, the foundational text of christianity and christanity-the-institution are basically completely the opposite of one another

original observation i know but this isn't me like, doing a new thing, its reeling over an old well-worn thing because its just so insane

like fundamentally the pitch of christianity, as presented in stories about jesus, is "god made himself into a guy, but not just a guy, a poor working man in roman-occupied judea. this guy went around telling everyone how god is on the side of the poor, the oppressed, and the downtrodden, and against the rich, the occupier, and the authority. to be kind to each other, help each other, even the ones you're supposed to hate, and take solace in the face the day is coming when those in power get what's coming to them."

but then the romans decided christianity was theirs now, and i dont think we like... understand how fucking weird that is. its like if the president of the united states one day got up and declared that actually, its Soviet America now. nothing is changing materially, capital still rules america, but the flags are all red and there's hammers and sickles on everything and people call each other comrade

because that's exactly what it is, right? none of the stuff in the jesus parts of the bible are really, like, conducive to the state religion of a giant conquering slave empire, especially not the part where the romans killed the dude. so like, basically every single thing about christainity is this bizarre smoke and mirrors game with theological wordplay to get around that. the institutions of the church exist to undermine the core stuff that's written in their foundational document through a game of theological telephone.

and again like, i keep coming back to the soviet america example idea thing. because that's exactly what it is, right? imagine its like, a thousand years from now, and in some liberal government culturally descendent from the united states you got an election and the two candidates get up and cite the parts of Capital where Karl Marx is like "alright i'll hand it to the capitalists they sure built a lot of machine tools" to show their devotion to communism, which of course teaches that capitalists should own the means of production

its exactly that! they literally took a religion built around a dude who really fucking hated the roman occupation and talked endlessly about giving to others and sharing with others and helping those unlike yourself and made it into the religion of rome, of taking and keeping and hurting those unlike yourself.

its so fucking wild man (again; i am so goddamn high. to be clear, this isn't a defense of christianity or of issues with jesus as portrayed, like im not saying that actually we should be Original Jesusers, i fully agree that christanity has antisemetism at its core, its more just musing on how wild it is this happened)

[satoruhour]

full nelson w gojo or toji🤐

a/n: chose toji bc i have . a lot of gojo requests plus i havent written for toji in so long :3 also didnt know why i made this goofy and cute. enjoy!

warnings: fem!reader, pet names, implied orgasm denial, playful banter, fingering, clit stimlation, riding, full nelson, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, n*sfw under the cut

you were never one to hide your feelings and needs from toji — it was your advice at the end of the day where the assassin had confessed every single terrible thing he’s done and you still embraced him in the dingy motel under the fluorescent light. he had to do what he had to do even if his kills had terrified you a little—

but now he’s put all the assassin business behind him for a peaceful life with you where you showed him every ounce of the love he didn’t get to receive before.

you try your best to follow your own lesson — keep communication open and to be honest — but sometimes it was difficult with toji’s green eyes and hard stare boring into your eyes. they made you feel small and intimidated, something you always felt when you wanted to bring up something more intimate.

“you look like you’re constipated, kid, what’s up?” he asks without turning to you, possibly seeing your shaking hands from earlier. you can see the reflection of the television in his eyes and you‘re getting ready to speak . . that is until he turns to you.

toji raises an eyebrow, not missing the way your eyes dart down to his tongue licking his lips.

“u— uh, nothing, babe. all’s good.”

toji only hums and gets back to his baseball match, but surprises you a second later when he tugs on your waist. he smirks a little at your little yelp as you settle (or rather, were forced to) on his lap and he tilts his head, taunting you for your question.

“c’mon, spit it out. didn’t we promise to be honest?” your boyfriend questions, “and i’m not ’bout to run a therapy session—”

“iwanttotrysomethingwithyou.”

“slower, baby.” toji has a hand caressing your hip and the other blindly reaches for the TV remote, turning down the volume on the commentator’s annoying voice. he eases you into what you want to say.

“i want . . to try something.”

“in what sense? this better not be one more of your tiktok dance c—”

you giggle, “no! no, it isn’t that. i want to try . . the full nelson . . with you.”

toji clicks his tongue and you hate the heat on your cheeks once a smile spreads on his face because this was exactly the reason why you didn’t want to bring something up as embarrassing as this to him, because you could already see the amount of teasing he’d give you.

your moans descends into a complaint when toji yet again pulls his fingers away from your gaping hole, whining when you’re so close to your orgasm and yet he takes it away from you.

“tojiiii—!” you pout, grinding your hips into nothing while he enjoys the way you thrash around on bed and hope for something more than just his fingers in your cunt. not to mention, he’s been neglecting your clit, driving you to insanity on his fingers alone.

“want ya to cum on my dick, doll, ’m not that mean.” you roll your eyes, letting him devour your lips and manhandle you easily until you’re in reverse cowgirl.

he only nods towards his pelvis, “c’mon. ride me.”

your jaw drops — “first, you deny me my orgasm then you ask me to do all the work?” you know he’s truthful when he says he isn’t that mean, especially with how loving he is to you today, but this little teasing side of him still makes you grunt in annoyance. he has something up his sleeve, though.

you tsk, turning away from him and you can hear his smirk, possibly at your ass as you grope around for his cock for a few before you actually get it.

“man, shut up! i’m trying to find it.” you grumble, before finally getting it and he laughs — but it’s cut off. your playful banter is interrupted momentarily when you drag his tip along your folds and you smile upon toji’s hiss; and when you sink down you can feel your throat become dry, jaw dropping at how he stretches you out. you’re never used to it.

“t . . toji—” you squeeze his thighs, feeling his hands move to grab your ass and hips. he helps you bottom out, letting out a few grunts of his own. “feels s’good.”

“y—yeah? f-fuck . .” he swears when your hips start moving and you both can hear your drenched cunt from your delayed highs, each time increasing in volume from how you slam down onto his pelvis. toji can feel your arousal spurting everywhere, hips meeting yours halfway in needy movements.

you’re so drunk on his cock that you don’t realise the sheets turning wet with your cum, pressing harshly on toji’s thighs as you ride him. the other admires how your ass jiggles with each contact made with his crotch, alongside the beautiful moans that you let out.

you’re tired fast, thighs burning and heart pumping and you’d wish toji would take over already. he catches your drift soon enough, always observant as he meets your tired eyes. but he has to smile knowingly and your eyes widen when he prompts you backwards with his cock still in you.

“easy . .” he whispers as he brings your legs up to your ears like he would in a mating press, and even then, your eyes are already rolling back. your head falls on his shoulder in a shoot of pleasure, breath shaking with the first thrust he does.

this submission of power always sends you reeling — how toji slowly takes the upper hand from you by snapping his hips into yours as you stay limp above him. but it goes above that. toji locks his heands behind your head and you’re completely trapped.

“feel me in ya, doll?”

all your reply consisted of were moans and whimpers and a clench of your cunt, heating up when you feel his chuckle along your ear. “movin’ now, baby.”

you swear you see heaven when his shaft rams into you from below and toji groans into your ear. you were just so damn tight, pussy sucking him in that he has to take a minute before his hips properly move and you’re like a fuck toy. your tits bounce with each thrust and your limp body is held up by toji.

“you’re so . . fuckin’ wet, princess.” he mutters, wishing he could see your fucked out face at the position. from here, he can barely see your cunt, too, but if it’s what you want, he’ll happily fold you in half any day.

“toji, toji, toji,” is all you have in your brain, loving the way he impales you with each movement of his hips, feeling each vein on his throbbing, fat cock that you attempt to reach down to rub at your clit. he delivers a particularly hard thrust that has you mewling.

“don’t.” slowly he removes one hand, tuts when your leg starts to loosen. “keep it up for me baby, c’mon, yess . . that’s a good girl.” you listen like a dog to his owner, trying your best to keep your leg where it should be before you’re letting out a loud, almost pornographic moan. his fingers feel so rough against your clit, slapping it obscenely and noisily just as his hips never stop.

“you’re close, yeah?” toji whispers, thrusts starting to turn sloppy. his ass is aching along with his thighs, pleased when you nod. “then cum with me, dollface.”

his hand on your clit is ruthless, rubbing circles into it as his cock stretches you out like no other. it’s hitting so deep in you that you hardly have any coherent words, almost driven to your climax when you look down and you can see just how sloppy your pussy is, dripping all over his length and pelvis that there’s strings of your juices.

“give it t’me. cum all over my cock, baby.” is what pushes you over and your whole body shakes in his hold, vision turning white as you ride out your orgasm. his thrusts don’t stop, sending you into overstimulation when he ruts into you like a dog, finally cumming deep in you that his hot breath stains your neck. it’s hot and so much, painting your insides white with each ribbon of semen he releases in you.

there’s a filthy push of your cunt when he finally removes his cock from you, that drives out all the cum in you and you’re moaning lewdly when he uses his cock to slap your cunt; you hear just how wet your connected bodies are.

toji just chuckles when you grind down on his tip. “little cum dump just f’r me.”

[pencopanko]

Antisemitism and Islamophobia are very similar (if not the same), actually

So I was scrolling down the #palestine tag for any updates and important information, and I came across this:

And I think we need to sit down and talk about this.

I am a Muslim. I live in Indonesia, a country that is predominantly Muslim and a lot of Muslims here also support the Palestinian cause. Hell, even our government supports it by not only allowing Palestinian goods enter the country without fee, but also by taking in Palestinian refugees and even acknowledging the status of Palestine as a state while not having any political ties with Israel. The topic of the Palestinian tragedy has been spoon-fed to us at schools, sermons, media, etc., so your average Indonesian Muslim would at the very least be aware of the conflict while non-Muslims would hear about it from their Muslim friends or through media.

However, there is a glaring problem. One that I keep seeing way too often for my liking.

A lot of them are antisemitic as hell. The sermons I would hear sometimes demonize Jewish people. Antisemitic statements are openly said out loud on social media. Some are even Nazi supporters who would literally go to anime cons and COSPLAY as members of the Nazi party. This is not just an Indonesian Muslim problem, no, but this is a glaring issue within the global Islamic community as a whole. Today, this sense of antisemitism is usually rooted in general hatred towards the Israeli government and its actions against the people of Palestine, but antisemitism amongst Muslims are also rooted in certain interpretations of verses from the Qur'an and Hadith mentioning Jewish people and Judaism (particularly the Bani Israil), but in a way that is more ridiculing instead of life-threatening when compared to how antisemitism looks like in the Western world.

As someone who prefers to become a "bridge" between two sides in most cases, I find this situation to be concerning, to say the least. While, yes, it is important for us Muslims to support Palestine and fight against injustice, we must not forget that not every Jewish people support the Israeli government. A lot of them are even anti-Zionists who actively condemn Israel and even disagree with the existence of Israel as a state as it goes against their teachings. A lot of them are also Holocaust survivors or their descendants, so it is harmful to think for one second that Hitler's actions and policies were justified. It's just like saying that Netanyahu is right for his decision to destroy Palestine and commit war crime after war crime towards the Palestinians.

As Muslims, we also need to remember that Jewish people (the Yahudi) are considered ahli kitab, i.e. People Of The Book along with Christians (the Nasrani). The Islam I have come to know and love has no mentions of Allah allowing us to persecute them or anyone collectively for the actions of a few. While, yes, there are disagreements with our respective teachings I do not see that as an excuse to even use antisemitic slurs against Jewish people during a pro-Palestine rally, let alone support a man who was known for his acts of cruelty toward the Jewish community in WW2. They are still our siblings/cousins in faith, after all. Unless they have done active harm like stealing homes from civilians or celebrating the destruction of Palestine or supporting the Israeli government and the IOF or are members of the IOF, no Jewish people (and Christians, for that matter) must be harmed in our fight against Zionism.

Contemporary antisemitism is similar to (if not straight up being the exact same thing as) contemporary Islamophobia, if you think about it; due to the actions of a select few that has caused severe harm towards innocent people, an entire community has been a target of hate. Even when you have tried to call out the ones supporting such cruelties, you are still getting bombarded by hate speech. It's doubly worse if you're also simultaneously part of a marginalized group like BIPOC, LGBTQ+, etc. as you also get attacked on multiple sides. This is where we all need to self-reflect, practice empathy, and unlearn all of the antisemitism and unjustified hatred that we were exposed to.

So, do call out Zionism and Nazism when you see it. Call out the US government for funding this atrocity and others before it that had ALSO triggered the rise of Islamophobia. Call your reps. Go to the streets. Punch a fascist if you feel so inclined. Support your local businesses instead of pro-Israel companies.

But not at the cost of our Jewish siblings. Not at the cost of innocent Jewish people who may also be your allies. If you do that, you are no different from a MAGA cap-wearing, gun-tooting, slur-yelling Islamophobe.

That is all for now, may your watermelons taste fresh and sweet.

🍉

Salam Semangka, Penco

[sillygoofyqueer]

Stupid dumb headcanon that Hua Cheng is scared of heights and actually descended from the heavens because he didn't like how high up it was.

Could make it all the better when he jumped into the Sinner's Pit because he obviously didn't want Xie Lian to go diving into the pit with no regard for his own safety, but damn it if he wasn't closing his eyes the whole way down. Also, he totally had to hold back a scream.

And on the giant Xie Lian statue - he seemed fine but he was actually panicking inside and absolutely screaming at He Xuan in their communication array.

HC: "IT'S SO FUCKING HIGH UP WHAT IF I FALL?!?"

HX: "You need to stop fucking panicking. What are you going to do if you fall? Die again??"

HC: "SHUT THE FUCK UP! HOW IS NOBODY ELSE FREAKING OUT ABOUT THIS?"

HX: "They're not pathetic whiney babies."

HC: "I HATE YOU."

[piracytheorist]

Things about Greece you're (probably) getting wrong

When you say "Greece" or "Greek", that's automatically referring to Modern Greece and Modern Greek. It's an existing country with a population of around 10 million people. The Modern Greek language is spoken natively by those 10 million along with 1 million people in Cyprus and around 2 more million in diaspora. If you want to refer to Ancient Greece or its history/culture, just add the word "ancient" to it.

The Greek name for the country is "Hellas". "Hellenic" is an adjective used for non-human nouns. Don't call yourself "hellenic" even if you have Greek roots, you're basically calling yourself "Greek thing".

There is no one correct way of pronouncing Ancient Greek as a whole. That language spanned over a thousand years and across places that didn't communicate easily or were outright hostile to each other. It's like claiming that Shakespeare's works should be pronounced with an Australian accent.

Along with the famous 300 Spartans, in the battle of Thermopylae there were also 700 Thespians (not actors, people from the town Thespiae) and according to some sources, also 900 helots (slaves) and 400 Thebans.

The town of Sparta exists in modern day. However, if you visit Greece, unless you actually are from Sparta, do NOT call yourself a Spartan, no matter what school/university you went to. "Spartans" is the name of a far-right, outright neo-nazi political party, so calling yourself that here equals to associating yourself with that.

Greek houses in American campuses sound weird. Do those letters (some of which are wildly mispronounced, btw) even mean anything

Democracy in Ancient Athens was not fair by today's standards. It was mostly a glorified, expanded aristocracy. The "demos" that had the authority to vote only consisted of land-owning Athenian men. If you were a woman, a slave, poor, an immigrant, or a child of immigrants, along with other descriptions I might be forgetting right now, you didn't have the right to participate in the ruling.

Oh yeah, the "birthplace of democracy" very much did have slaves. Some whom were prisoners of war.

Greece is on the southern end of the Balkan peninsula, located in South-Eastern Europe. However, many Greeks are wildly racist and will not admit we're part of the Balkans or Eastern Europe. There are cultural differences due to Greek not belonging in the Slavic languages (the most common language family in Eastern Europe) and for political reasons, but the main reason this distinction happens is very much racism. They prefer to be called a "Mediterranean country" (because then we're associated with countries like Italy and Spain, you know?)

Greece never recovered from the financial crisis of 2008, and has only been going downhill since then. However, the war reparations that Germany never paid Greece for the damages and the deaths it caused in WW2 is estimated to be over 200 billion euros. The German government considers this matter "to be in the past" (since they never paid them, I guess, we can forget about it!), yet is one of the countries that most strongly demands Greece to keep paying back the loans it took over the years from the EU. This is a very painful matter for all of us (especially considering there are people still alive who witnessed the destruction and death the nazis brought to the country, and now they along with their descendants are paying taxes that'll eventually reach German pockets), yet racism centers around hate for other Balkan countries and Turkey. Divide and conquer I guess.

[caliburn-the-sword]

one of my faults with the new descendants movie is that significant character development/changing dynamics seemed to ONLY happen during song. like you would start a song with a character having one opinion, and then you would finish the song and you’d have a new one

it almost feels like the movie was originally planned as a tv show but then changed to be a movie, and to save on time they just turned anything taking up too much time in a song. even tho I don’t imagine this was the case at all

the two major offenders being the conflict of red and chloe thinking they were enemies was immediately resolved it in the duration of the song fight of our lives, and in a similar sense, chloe learns about moral ambiguity only during the get your hands dirty song

love ain’t it and perfect revenge and life is sweeter are stronger songs to me because for love ain’t it, it just goes “look, here’s how the queen of hearts feels about love, and here is how red feels about her mother”, and a very brief how red and chloe feel about each other, but doesn’t immediately dive into anything and just sets up room for conflict in the rest of the story

similarly, life is sweeter is like “here are the idealogical differences between bridget and ulyana. But also: this is also here specifically contrast love ain’t it, to illustrate the stakes of red and chloe have in their mission because THIS is what they have to lose”. and then perfect revenge is like “here’s how ulyana feels about bridget: she fucking hates her”. which like. i love bridget but it's a based af song

and then there are a lot of people that are mad that the shuffle of love song was cut and only appeared as diegetic sound when bridget was showing off her little dancey dance, but actually, I see why it was cut. while it was a fun song that I enjoy and listen to, it didn’t tell us anything new about bridget's feelings

in the first 3 descendants movies the songs were more to like. To examine a character’s inner feelings as a musical SHOULD be, but like the development happened across the duration of the movie. song didn't exist solely to fastforward the plot. did i mention is like “look ben is really fucking in love with mal”. evil like me represents mal’s inner struggles (I HATE when people thought maleficent ACTUALLY appeared in auradon to personally talk to mal about her self esteem. Even as a child it was glaringly obvious that it was literally mal’s musical equivalent of “hmmm what would my mum do??”). what’s my name communicates uma’s dislike of the isle. even queen of mean demonstrates audrey’s bitterness, one kiss conveys evie’s fears about love because she’s NEVER experienced real love before, and night falls conveys the conflict between the core4 and uma’s trio WITHOUT IMMEDIATELY SOLVING IT IN THE SAME SONG unlike fight of our lives, and they spend the entire movie butting heads and learning to respect and trust one another

[ilivelikeimtrying]

Bruh I just thought what if Ambrosius' Dad actually loved him like a father should but he was just really bad at communicating it and made Ambrosius, who's an overthinker with bad anxiety, feel like he's only loved by him and his mother when he succeeds at being a Goldenloin and Gloreth's Descendant and not when he's himself or just for being their kid.

Like:

Ambrosius, age 12: ... Dad... Do- do you love me?

Mr. Goldenloin doing paperwork: Son that is a stupid question.

Mr. Goldenloin internally: "Of course I love him, he's my son."

Ambrosius internally: "HE HATES ME."

[ldrfanatic]

slytherin boys at ttpd songs - the anthology

part two of the first part featuring only the added songs from the anthology

I forgot tags im sorry!!

slytherin boys my bookcase

mattheo riddle as... the black dog

"old habits die screaming" + "And remember how my rain soaked body was shaking. Do you hate me?" + "For a cruel fraternity, I pledged, and I still mean it." + "Now I wanna sell my house and set fire to all my clothes. And hire a priest to come and exorcise my demons."

explanation - following the war, I think that mattheo would have the hardest time out of all of them. Not because of being voldemort's son (I think he's used to the looks he gets from that). I think he has the worst time because of all of them, he has mad survivor's guilt. how is it that all of those good people died, and him, pledged deatheater, got to live? on top of that, mattheo is still wrestling with the trauma that his father inflicted on him. So, when a ministry member comes to begrudgingly tell him that he's inherited an estate from his father (really an estate his father stole from one of his followers), mattheo is actually sickened. He really does not want that property and cannot stand to be in that house. (he does eventually accept it and then donate it to an orphanage for magical children. there's a hopeful part of him that thinks that if his father hadn't been treated so poorly by muggle orphanages when he was a kid that maybe he could've been a better person).

draco malfoy as... cassandra

"When it's burn the witch they're shrieking, when the truth comes out it's quiet" + "twisting all my smiles into snarls" + "they say what doesn't kill you makes you aware, what happens if it becomes who you are?" + "bloods thick but nothing like a payroll"

explanation - out of everyone in the series, explicit, canon, and otherwise, draco was the one that saw the best and the worst of both sides. when he was growing up, he was always taught the value behind being a pureblood. that it was blood purity that determined a person's worth. their value. but a lot of that changed when he started seeing the ugly sides of the malfoy family. by the time he realized that his father was little more than voldemort's lackey (and not even the most important one), it was too late. his father had already molded him. the bright and happy kid that he once was had started to sneer at all of his friends. he no longer felt like it was a service to the magical community to finger out mudbloods in his classes to his parents. afterall, he also quickly realized that his father cared far more for money and power than he ever really cared about purity. he was just a number on a payroll.

theodore nott as.... how did it end?

"and so a touch that was my birth right became foreign" + "it's happening again, the empathetic hunger descends" + "lost the game of chance, what are the chances?" + "leaving me bereft and reeling, my beloved ghost and me, sitting in a tree, d-y-i-n-g"

explanation - the sympathetic looks started when theo's mother died in fourth year, and theo decided that he absolutely hated them. He didn't want people to look at him like that, or to walk on eggshells like they were constantly in fear of saying the wrong thing. then once word got out that his father beat him, he started keeping to himself. it was easier to avoid conversation all together than to try to explain the bruises when everyone already pitied him for his mother's death. what hurt the most, was that his mother had died so unexpectedly. to a disease that killed less than 100 people a year. the odds were in her favor, and she still lost. then theo lost too. what hurt just as much, was the way that his father changed after his mother died. the way that every little thing seemed to set him on a warpath. when he was a kid, theo loved his parents, and now, it felt like when he lost his mother, his father died too. one man, two ghosts, and theo.

enzo berskhire as... the manuscript

"and the years passed like scenes of a show" + "looking backwards, might be the only way to move forward" + "and the tears fell, in synchronicity with the score, and at last, he knew what the agony had been for" + "the only thing that's left is the manuscript"

explanation - lorenzo berkshire had loved history his whole life. where his friends found the subject bore them to tears, lorenzo found it a bittersweet interest. afterall, he'd never been that good at potions, always doing something wrong, and while he could hold himself steady on a broom, he was never going to be a quidditch star. history was easy. it felt natural. to divulge in the stories of the witches and wizards before him. following the war, a lot of death eaters wanted to move past it all. they wanted to forget. but lorenzo knew that it was important. that as hard as it was and as many tears as it may cause them, that they had to understand before they could progress, and the only way to understand was to look backwards. so, he made it his personal mission in his late twenties to record. he traveled all over europe for nearly thirty years gathering stories from death eaters of all ages and backgrounds. at nearly age fifty, he published his first and only book, echoes of the damned: the untold stories of former death eaters. unfortunately, he fell ill and died before he got the chance to see the impact his words made on the wizarding world.

[vaya-writes]

Not Quite A Life Debt - 3

A handful of f reader insert scenes with m demonic love interests. Fluff, hurt/comfort, and smutty shenanigans that lean kind of poly.

You (kind of unnecessarily) tried to save Ludwig’s life. Out of pity, he lets you crash at his place for a few weeks after. It probably wouldn’t be so bad, but he doesn’t live alone. Reader stays with the triplets until she gets back on her feet. Smut, family shenanigans, and possibly even romance ensues.

Mervin is kind of crabby after his heat he gets sick. You begin searching for employment. And Ludwig helps you out on a high pain day. 5900 words.

Content warnings for this chapter include: mild isolation, some blame from the resident pride demon, pain and sickness during menstruation, the briefest and undescribed animal death (Obie eats a pigeon), and smut.

Smut warnings include: consensual fingering and groping whilst menstrating, brief joking/discussion of menstural oral (does not actually occur), soft stuff that turns a little rough, unintentional and unplanned breath play (hand over mouth), nonconsensual biting (from both parties), dry humping, semi-public sexual stuff, lack of aftercare because of an interruption.

Divider by firefly-graphics. Characters by @eldritch-spouse.

Masterlist - A03 - Previous

You get used to living in Perdition.  

Well, it would be more accurate to say you get used to living with Ludwig and his brothers. You’re not allowed to leave the house by yourself; the triplets make no secret of the fact that they live in a bad neighbourhood – a bad ring, as Ludwig puts it.  

It’s frustrating, but you don’t doubt them. It only takes a few brief tours around the area for you to understand. You attract stares everywhere you go. Leers, really. And watching what demons do to each other (both strangers on the street, and the brothers among themselves), you hate to imagine what they might do to a human. 

It’s as if everyone here speaks several additional languages that humans just aren’t fluent with (literal infernal aside). Greed. Hunger. Violence. The first time you watch Mervin and Ludwig descend into a proper argument, you’re horrified. Nothing you’d seen at home – and you were no stranger to domestic scraps – could prepare you for it. Teeth and claws and broken furniture. Mervin draws a gods-damned weapon. You’d seen people fight before. But not like this. You’d dismissed yourself and locked yourself in the spare room the first time it had happened.  

Obie had dragged the two upstairs by the horns and made them apologise for scaring you. 

It’s not the only thing you notice. You don’t put your finger on it for a while. It takes several outings with the triplets, several more incidents and scraps before you start to suspect another key difference between demons and humans.  

It has something to do with their priorities. Their sense of self. Their interactions within a community. Humans aren’t selfless, by any means. But bonds form fast between them. Connections are quickly made, common goals are easily worked towards, and interconnectedness is practically built into our genes. The human instinct for empathy, to help those around us, to lean on each other for support – it's as if demons lack it.  

It truly is survival of the fittest for them. You suspect that if a demon can’t survive alone, they won’t survive at all. You see it in the way they think of themselves first. How Obie might reach for your food, before hesitating. Or Mervin opens his mouth to speak, before thinking better. That consideration, cohesion are learned traits. Conscious choices to practice, and not instinct.  

It scares you more in strangers. That the curiosity is not the first thing demons look at you with, but hunger. You’d feel like prey if you didn’t watch them do it to each other too. Like every person is a mark; looked at with the question ‘what can I gain from using you’ before asking something more basic, like ‘who are you’.  

Long story short, you don’t mind keeping to the house. 

The first time you go anywhere without them, it’s to Sloth, to stay with Katia. The circumstances are odd. Mervin had just come back from one of his extended trips. He’d strode through the door, seen you in the lounge and frozen for a moment, before stamping straight to his bedroom, and shutting the door with a slam. Ludwig had come home early that day and explained that Mervin was sick and needed the house to himself for a week. 

It didn’t make sense to you. But what did you know? Mervin was almost never around. You didn’t know what he was like when he was sick. Still, the hesitation when Ludwig had explained the situation, the look he shared with his mother when he dropped you off at her place – it led you to suspect that a key piece of information was being kept from you.  

It fills you with paranoia. But Katia is lovely. Spending time with her helps ease the anxiety in your chest. Most of her hours are spent at work or sleeping, but the moments of lucidity she spends with you are enjoyable. She shows you how to cook a few new meals. Lets you go through her photo albums and look at baby pictures of her sons. On the weekend she even takes you clothes shopping, and for the first time in almost a month you feel at ease, wearing clothes that you’ve chosen for yourself.  

When Katia returns you back to the common ring, Mervin is still home. He’s currently your least favourite triplet, but you make an effort to smile. “Feeling better?” 

He scowls, and you’re surprised at the amount of vitriol in his expression. “As if that’s your business.” 

You try not to visibly deflate. 

Katia tsks and frowns at her son. She pats you on the back. “He’s just embarrassed, sweetie. Don’t you pay him any mind.” 

She gives you a peck on the cheek before leaving, and sound of the door closing sends a wave of dread through you. You really don’t want to be alone with Mervin. 

But when you turn his expression has softened. If only marginally. He tilts his head. “She likes you.” 

You’re not sure what to say. You shrug as you take your shoes off. “We had fun.” 

You feel his stare on you, even as you cross the room. You head towards the kitchen, hoping for something to eat.  

“She bought you clothes.”  

His tone is almost accusatory. You can’t help but flush, shame starting to weigh on you. “She’s very kind.” 

To your dismay, he follows you to the kitchen. He crosses his arms and watches when you pull out the materials for a sandwich. Uncomfortable, you ask, “Do you want one?”  

He scoffs. “How long are you going to keep eating our food? Wearing our clothes?” 

You don’t let it show, but his words strike deep. You’re more than aware of the position you’re in. You cast your eyes towards the task at hand. Prepping food. “I don’t like it either. But it’s kind of hard to find a job when I’m forbidden from leaving the house.” 

He crosses his arms. “Excuses.” 

 “Did you want to escort me to Earth every morning?”  

“Now you’re asking us for transport too?” 

You’ve had enough. It’s either cry or snap. And you are not going to cry in front of Mervin. Instead you slam your knife to the counter.  

“I didn’t ask for this. I did not ask to be shunted from place to place my whole damn life. I’m sorry if that inconveniences you,” your tone is in no way apologetic.  

He’s silent as you leave. 

Immediately upon returning to your room, you regret the encounter. The last thing you need to be doing is antagonising your benefactors. But still. Ludwig was the one who invited you here, and if Mervin has a problem, he should be taking it up with his brother. 

-- 

You finally get a new job.  

It’s not without its difficulties – transit mainly. One of the triplets has to take you through a series of rifts. One to Earth. One to continent you hail from. Another to a large town. Ludwigs talks about establishing a proper route, about using the most stable rifts, and being prepared for a disruption to travel if any of them close. There’s a lot of jargon you don’t really understand. But he gets you back to Earth. Back to ‘gainful employment’.   

Mervin straight up refuses to be your escort. He’s not around enough anyway. Ludwig handles it most days, but Obie is always available to fill in when Ludwig is busy elsewhere. Neither seem to mind your spotty hours. You tell the triplets when you start and finish, and they’re usually able to have you delivered on time. 

Sometimes you take an afternoon for yourself. Spending time in a human city is good for you. You visit a library. Buy yourself necessities. Even do some grocery shopping. Nobody seems to fault you for it, and Mervin certainly complains less when you start bringing home your own food.  

And so you fall into the new routine. Working four to six days a week. Ludwig or sometimes Obie walking you there, chatting about your day or your plans. Finally starting to feel at ease in their home, now that you’re less of an imposition.  

You’re a shift worker, usually working mornings at a cafe. Your customer service is without fault and you know how to use a coffee machine. It was enough to get you the job. That and your eclectic resume. 

There’re still moments that throw you off. Behaviours from the triplets that take you by surprise, or the occasional week when you’re banished to Katia as one of them comes down sick with something. The three of them are rarely united about anything, but they all seem intent on keeping you in the dark regarding that odd ritual. 

One morning you wake up and are immediately torn over whether or not you should go to work. It’s a little late to call in. And Obie had already promised to take you. But your underwear are saturated with blood and your gut is torn up in cramps. Your period isn’t usually this bad, but you can already tell that today is going to be a hard one. 

You decide to suck it up. It’s just a bit of cramping. Of pain in your joints. Sure, it’s nauseating, and it takes a few minutes before you can stand and walk without limping. But you’ve done this before, and you can do it again. You didn’t survive this long by flaking out of work when things got tough. 

You almost miss the odd look Obie gives you as you head downstairs. Perhaps you mistake it for sympathy. You wear a grimace and make no effort to hide your discomfort. Still, Obie doesn’t say much on your way to work. He seems distracted, focusing his attention on the details around him, often picking up items to chew on.  

You try not to gape at the number of small things that disappear as you pass. A handful of bark flakes from a pot plant. A table number at an outdoor cafe. A pile of junk wrappers from his pockets. (Garbage from the pavement. A handful of leaves and twigs and flowers from any trees you pass. An actual bird that doesn’t have the fortune to flee in time.) He’s not hidden his gluttonous habits from you, from what you can tell, but today he consumes far more than usual. You wonder if he’s unwell.  

You put it out of mind when you get to work, saying your goodbyes and clocking in for the day.  

You don’t last long. It’s probably only an hour or two before you’re curled up on the couch in the break room, banished there after the manager spotted you limping. She tells you to go home. You’re torn between humiliation and gratitude. You send a message off to Obie.  

Unwell. Can you bring me home early? 

He sends you a thumbs up and you’re left to wait. 

His behaviour on the way home is almost distraction enough from your pain.  There’s pretty much always something in his mouth; this time he’d brought food from home with him. You watch curiously as he pulls out several sticks of gum when his food is gone. He only chews for a moment before he’s swallowed them too. It’d almost be funny if he didn’t seem so distracted. Ravenous to a degree which you’ve never seen. 

“Are you alright?” You ask at one point. 

He finally glances your way. Shrugs. “Smelt something tasty.” 

The explanation makes sense, if a little understated. You give him a sympathetic nod.  

Obie drops you off at the door before mumbling his excuses and leaving.  

You make a beeline for the lounge, planning to lay down and watch some tv. You grimace as you round the corner – Ludwig is already sprawled across the couch. 

“Is there room for me?” 

“Thought you had work?” He doesn’t quite straighten, but he does change his angle, leaving enough space for you to squeeze in beside him. 

Carefully, you do. “I was sent home sick.” 

Ludwig tenses and turns your way.  “You smell like blood.” 

You grimace.  

You know that demons have superhuman senses, and that such things are normal to them. But you still can’t help but feel self-conscious around them. Every time your heart speeds up, or your breath hitches, you have to wonder if anyone notices. If anyone overanalyses it. If they can tell when you forget to wear deodorant or can smell your lunch on your breath.  

You’d go crazy if you let yourself worry about it too much. After moving in with the triplets you decided to believe that they might notice these things, but they likely wouldn’t care. The same way you’d react if you saw a customer with a large zit, or a coworker having a bad hair day. You choose not to make a big deal about the things people can’t change. 

But if Ludwig is going to bring up the little details, if he’s going to speak without tact, why should you? 

“Probably because I’m bleeding from my vagina.” 

Ludwig winces. “Oh. Oh.” He snorts. "Guess that explains his behaviour.” 

“I don’t follow.” 

Ludwig gestures to the door. “Obie. Your blood. The smell.” He shrugs. “Delish.” 

Your nose crinkles. “Gross.” 

He grins. “I thought humans loved the blood drinking gimmick. Ya’ll go mad for vampires.” 

“Pop culture aside, I doubt many of us want to consider period blood in that context.” 

“Why? Blood is blood.” 

Your lip curls. “It’s different. Different composition. Different texture... Full of waste products... I really don’t want to think about it.” 

“I’ve seen that demon eat literal garbage. I don’t think he’s worried about your waste products.” 

“Don’t say it like that.”  

He doesn’t get a chance to tease you further, straightening when another series of cramps has you tucking your knees to your chest, gripping your abdomen to ease the pain. 

“You alright?” 

Your reply is hoarse. “Just peachy.” 

He touches his hand to your back. “What usually helps?” 

“Heat pack. Pain killers.”  

“I can have Ob bring some home. What else?” 

You clutch a cushion to your chest and rest your head against the couch end. “It’s fine. It’s just pain. I don’t want-” you stop. Restart. “You don’t need to do anything else.” 

Your eyes spring open when Ludwig grabs a fistful of your hair. Starts tugging on it. Gentle tugs, reminiscent of schoolyard teasing. Until a sudden yank that leaves your scalp stinging. 

“Ow!” Impulse has you slapping his hand away. “The fuck is your problem?” 

His voice doesn’t hold a drop of concern: fastidiously sweet. “Sorry, did I hurt you?” The tone drops and becomes resolute. “You should let me make it up to you. Tell me how to make you feel better.” 

You scoff at the ploy. “There’s nothing to do. Unless you want to spend the next few days waiting on me.” 

He pinches your cheek. “What, you want some coddling?” 

You swat him away again. “Your words, not mine.” 

“Hmm.” He rearranges himself. Before you have a chance to protest, you’re pulled between his legs, your back to his chest in an awkward embrace. “How’s this?” 

Your eyes are wide open now, and you’re stiff with surprise. Ludwig hadn’t struck you as the cuddling type. 

You’re still formulating a reply when he wraps an arm around your midsection, his forearm coming to rest against where your cramps are strongest. You note the heat, normally oppressive, seeping through the back of your shirt to relax your muscles. 

“That’s... that’s actually great. Fuck.” 

His chest rumbles with a laugh. 

You frozen, still unsure how to respond to the proximity. You haven’t been hugged in... a long time. 

 He pinches you again. “So what’s this shit about you imposing?” 

“I didn’t say-” 

“You implied.” He adopts a higher pitch, in mockery of your voice, “’You don’t need to do anything, being here is enough because I’m so sad and pitiful, wah.’” 

You mumble out a curse. “I don’t sound like that.” 

“You going to answer the question?” 

Your nose crinkles and you cross your arms. This isn’t a conversation you want to have. “I don’t like relying on other people.” 

“Obviously. Why?”  

You shrug. “I don’t want to wear out my welcome.” 

There’s a silence before Ludwig sighs. His fingers tangle in your hair again, this time to scratch at your scalp. It feels nice. 

“Are you always like this, or did Mervin say something?” 

You scowl, not pleased to have been read so easily. Your silence is answer enough. 

“I’ve lived with those two for decades. Believe me when I tell you that you’re a perfectly pleasant housemate in comparison. You’re tidier, quieter, more polite-” 

You shrug off his words. He’s not wrong. But years of living precariously has instilled into you a deep wariness of getting comfortable.  

“-and I told you that Mervin would talk shit.” He pauses, just enough for smugness to creep into his tone. “He likes you, you know.” 

You huff. “Doubtful.” 

“Yeah, he’d never tell it to your face, but I know my brother. And he’s said some pretty interesting things when you’re not around.” 

You almost turn to check his expression. Your stillness has probably given away your interest.  

“I don’t believe you.” 

Ludwig shrugs. “Believe me or don’t. But I know he likes you.” 

You chew on your lip, considering your recent interactions with the demon. If he likes you, he isn't very good at showing it. 

“Not as much as Obie though.” 

You get the distinct impression that you’re being teased. It’s hard to be mad with Ludwig kneading your shoulders, but still, you feel ill at ease. “You’re just making fun of them.” 

“I’m serious. Why else would he be so jittery today?” 

“You said that I smelt tasty.” 

“Do you think everyone smells good to him?” 

You scrunch your eyes closed. Lean your head back to rest against his shoulder. He’s starting to give you a headache. “How would I know?”  

“I guess you wouldn’t. Good thing I'm here to keep you informed.” 

You roll your eyes. “That’s such a Mervin thing to say.” 

He crinkles his nose. Flicks you on the forehead.  

And despite yourself, you start to relax. It’s incremental. You’re still uncomfortable. You’re in pain and leaning against an absolute furnace of a demon. But your muscles loosen, and your breathing evens.  

You could probably sleep off the worst of your cramps if Ludwig stopped fussing. His ministrations aren’t particularly disruptive, but they do hold your attention. He squeezes your shoulders. Presses the flat of his palm above your mons, where the pain is worst. Gently scratches at your scalp and massages the back of your neck. 

You haven’t been just touched in a long time, and there’s a walled off piece of you that stirs to life at each point of contact.  

When he wraps his hand around your throat, the heat and firmness of his grip nearly have you melting. It’s enough to have you forgetting yourself, and you let out a hum of satisfaction. 

“You know, I’ve heard orgasms relieve pain.” 

Reality slams back into you, leaving you hyperaware of how you’re draped across Ludwig’s lap. The work he’d put into relaxing you is completely undone as you thrum with tension. Your mouth shuts tight with embarrassment.  

Your jaw is stiff when you reply. “Are you coming on to me?” 

He huffs a laugh. “Maybe. I guess.” 

You struggle to process. “Weren’t you just telling me that Obie liked me?” 

“Mm. You do have a knack for charming my family.” 

That doesn’t answer your implication. “Wouldn’t he be upset?” 

Ludwig shrugs. “First come, first served. And if he really has a problem, I don’t mind sharing.” 

You almost sit up, thoroughly scandalised and shocked.  

Almost. 

Ludwig is silent. Patient. Awaiting a response. Or perhaps just content to watch you reel. 

You take a breath. Try to consider his suggestion.  

It has its appeal. You haven’t gotten off in a while. Long enough that just sitting in Ludwig’s lap is enough to set your heart racing. But thinking about any form of intimacy ties your stomach up in knots that have nothing to do with your period. 

“I don’t want to fuck this up.” You’re thinking of your position here. Your welcome, and the things that could change if you were to start a casual fling.  

His lips brush your ear, raising goosebumps on the back of your neck. “No strings attached. I’m just offering to help out a friend. Relieve some pain.” 

“Get your dick wet?” 

His hand creeps upwards, dipping under the hem of your shirt. It's hard to concentrate on anything else. “Not even.” 

You bite your lip, frozen with consideration. Anticipation.  

You like Ludwig well enough. He’s handsome, even. Rough around the edges, sure, but disarming with his occasional teasing and laid-back behaviour.  

“No strings attached?” 

“None.” 

“No further expectations?” 

He lets out a huff. “You can say no.” 

You shake your head. You’re not opposed. Just wary. Scared, even. 

But if he’s being genuine- if you have nothing to lose from accepting his help- 

Your knees fall apart and you relax further into Ludwig’s grasp.  

Then why not? 

“Okay.” 

Given permission, his hand disappears beneath your shirt. Traces the contours of your stomach. It almost tickles, how gentle he’s being. Something you hadn’t expected. With his free hand he squeezes your thigh. What limited area he can reach in this position is subject to deep, massaging touches.  

It helps to relax you, until your head is lolling back and your muscles are going slack again. And at first it seems like he’s content to just explore. Mapping out your abdominals. Your ribs. The underside of your breasts.  

He thumbs at the bra and tsks.  

“That can’t be too comfortable.” 

You hum your agreement. 

“Are you attached to this bra?” 

You shrug and shake your head. It’s just a plain white bra, one of multiple you own. 

“Good.” 

You’re pulled out of your lull by the sound of tearing cloth. Air touches your breasts, and you realise what he’s done. 

“You shit-” 

He grips you by the jaw, movements taking on a hint of force. Impatience or desire, you’re not sure. But your words are cut off when he crushes his lips to yours, tongue invading your mouth. 

The tips of his claws dig into your flesh where he grips your thigh. The sudden intensity has you reeling. Fuzziness closes in on your thoughts, enough to keep you pliant. There’s a part of you that’s indignant about the bra. The rough treatment. But mostly, you just want to see what he does next. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles against your lips. “Wanted to see you. Feel you.” He emphasises with a squeeze of your breast. 

He goes back to kneading your thighs and you can’t help but squirm. You need your pants off. Now. You need to feel him against your skin. 

Impatient, you unzip them. Manage to shimmy them down to your ankles before giving up. But Ludwig gets the idea. 

Teasing, he runs a single digit up the inside of your thigh. The point of his nail prickles against your skin, hard enough to hurt. 

You can’t stop your hips from twitching. The shuddering intake of air. Your murmured little, “Fuck.” 

The sound must do things for Ludwig, because he stills. Then takes hold of your throat, nuzzling your neck and grinding against your back. You become aware of his erection.  

“You sound good,” he says against your ear.  

He palms your core and huffs a laugh when you shudder. “Feel good too.” 

You’re wet. When had that happened? Slick to the point where it’s too easy for him to stroke you through the cotton. It’s impossible to miss when he runs a claw directly over your clit. 

You buck, biting back a little groan. It’s getting harder to think. To control yourself. 

Ludwig chuckles at your response. “Someone’s keen.”  

You want to retort, but only manage a whine in response. He’s not wrong. You can’t remember the last time somebody touched you like this. 

Almost as if to punish you, his hand leaves your underwear. You do whimper this time, when he takes hold of your throat. The grip is solid, but not choking. Enough to scare you. Thrill you. But still light enough to keep you at ease. Even if you wish he’d go back to stroking your clit. 

He presses his lips to yours again. Starts to knead and squeeze at your breasts. 

You protests slip away as he fondles you. The pain too- you're too preoccupied by the cold air on your chest. The scrape of claws against your skin. At the hot breath on your face, the kiss with entirely too much teeth, and the tongue that keeps stuffing into your mouth.  

He’s more intense than you’d expected; the hand around your throat drifting up to grip your jaw. He ignores your attempt to break away for air. Steers you back towards him, insatiable and eager. The heat of his skin turning the kiss sweltering. Sweaty. Almost too warm. Too crowded.  

But damn if you aren’t into it. 

Finally you grab him by a horn and yank his face away, desperate for air, for an inch of space. 

It doesn’t deter Ludwig. He just reaches back towards your underwear, pressing kisses against your neck instead. Sucking hard against the tender flesh of your shoulder. Relishing the gasps he draws from you. Rubbing between your legs again. 

You’re deeply embarrassed by the way your underwear are starting to stick to you. It has you torn, the desire to be touched combatting your reluctance to be vulnerable. An instinctual compromise has you covering your face.  

“None of that,” Ludwig intercepts you by the wrist, pinning your arm to the couch. “I want to hear you.” 

You’ve no choice but to let your head slump back. It’s an effort not to clench your jaw, to let your body relax. To allow your composure to fall, and a string of soft gasps to escape you. 

It’s a blessing when he pulls your underwear aside. The cold air shocks you out of your self consciousness. Pulls you out of your own head a little more. 

There’s a moment of tension before he touches you, your knees spread as far as you can manage, trying not to cant your hips with how desperate you are for friction. 

He doesn’t touch your clit straight away. Your control breaks pretty easily, and you find your hips leaving the couch, seeking out his touch. 

He huffs a laugh against your ear, stilling his hand and waiting for you to settle.  

With the softest little huff you do, nearly vibrating out of your skin with the effort it takes to keep still as he places his hand on your mons. Strokes across your vulva. Spreading you open and exposing your wetness to the air. 

“If I’d known we’d be doing this, I’d have filed down my claws." 

You become hyperaware of them. Tense. With anxiety, with anticipation. Part of you is afraid of pain. Of a possible misstep. But mostly you just want to be touched. 

Ludwig flexes his hand. Rubs you with the pads of his fingers quite harmlessly. His free arm wraps around your chest and holds you in place when he finally touches your clit.  

You arch at the touch, inhaling shakily.  

It’s nothing fancy. It’s not like you haven’t touched yourself the same way before. 

But the breath on your neck, the change of scenery, the erection pressing into your back- 

“Shit,” you murmur.  

Then you’re coming against his fingers, far too quickly. 

Ludwig clamps a hand over your mouth. Your moans come out muffled; still entirely lewd. You grip his forearm, nails digging into his skin as you arch against him.  

His chest rumbles at the contact and he grips you tighter, grinding against your ass. In a moment that both startles you and extends the aftershocks of your orgasm, you feel teeth clamp down on your shoulder. Hard, jagged, just shy of breaking the skin. 

Your moans turn into whines and you buck against him. He only grips you harder, hand skewing enough to cover your nose too. You’re not getting any air, and while part of you panics, another part of you melts. Light headedness kind of feels nice when your heart is pounding and pleasure is still rolling through your being.  

Still, all things in moderation.  

Soon you can hear your heart in your ears and your chest is aching for air. Your wriggling doesn’t dissuade Ludwig at all, but you desperately need to breathe. You could probably communicate this to him, could probably just tug his hand away from your face. But your limbs aren’t really back under your control yet, so instead you do the next best thing and bite him. 

“Oh- f-fuck.” 

His hand leaves your face as he grips you by the hips. Holding you in place as he grinds against you, lowly groaning against your shoulder.  

He stills. 

You both pant heavily in the following silence. 

“Did you just...” 

He relaxes back against the couch. “Oops.” 

“Ludwig!” 

Your embarrassment at how quickly you came is immediately washed away. You turn to stare your disbelief, but Ludwig isn’t even looking at you. His brow is raised, and he’s looking up towards the doorway- 

The front door opens. 

“Hey, sorry, I forgot my phone-” 

Obie only takes two steps into the room before his head whips towards you and he freezes. 

You’re still hazy, and for a moment nobody reacts. Then shame rushes in and you’re yanking your shirt down, clamping your knees shut. Your mouth opens, and you want to speak, to explain, but nothing comes out. 

Ludwig wipes his hand on his pants and snorts. “I guess you caught me... red handed?” 

Eyes wide, you turn to him, incredulous. How can he be joking right now? 

A noise escapes the glutton. The sound of air- a hiss or perhaps a sharp inhale.  You don’t have a chance to identify it further before his brows crease and his shoulders square. He reaches towards the wall, blindly groping for the first object in range.  He rips a poster from its place. And stuffs it into his mouth. 

Ludwig straightens. “Really? You’re going to be like that?” 

Obie's jaw sets. He swipes one of the t-shirts hanging off the back of the couch – one of Ludwig’s. And swallows it whole too.  

Ludwig sighs. “C’mon man, that was a collectible.” 

Incensed, Obie continues, grabbing at knickknacks across the room and stuffing them into his mouth. You notice all of them belong to Ludwig.  

You’re surprised that Ludwig doesn’t move from his spot. Doesn’t act to stop his brother, only grumbling at each disappearing item. 

You wince at the crunch of ceramic as Obie chews on a mug. Otherwise you’re still frozen in place, not sure what to make of the scene. 

“I told you he liked you,” Ludwig mutters. 

“You did what?” Obie says around a mouthful of pottery, his voice shrill. 

“What? It’s not like you were being subtle.” 

Before you have a chance to blink Obie is striding across the room. Mouth still full of ceramic, he starts to cuss Ludwig out, reaching out to grab him by the shirt, heedless of your proximity.  

Ludwig just keeps smirking. 

You wriggle out of his lap, unnerved by the prospect of being caught between two warring demons. Still jelly legged, you yank up your pants and stand, not wanting to be anywhere near them if they’re going to have it out. 

But you stagger.  

Pain flares through your abdomen and a hiss escapes from between your teeth.  

Obie and Ludwig fall silent, still. Before- 

“I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?” and “Hey, we didn’t mean to scare ya.” 

They both miss the mark, but share twin looks of remorse. 

You shake your head. “Just period pain. Standing hurts.” 

They reach for you at the same time.  

“Did getting off help? Do you want more?”  

“Have you had any meds? Or some food to settle your stomach?” 

The fretting is short lived however, when Obie pauses and shoots Ludwig what you can only assume is his version of a glare. 

“Seriously? That was your excuse?” 

Ludwig shrugs. “She needed a little pampering.” 

“Pampering. Is stuff like a foot rub. Or brushing her hair. Or carrying her bag. Not sticking your fingers inside of her!” 

You bite your lip at the statement. You’d convinced yourself that a short fling with Ludwig wouldn’t be a big deal. But Obie might be right. You’d done it in the house they shared. In a space they shared. After having been told that the glutton had feelings for you. 

It really was a dick move. You should have considered what might happen if you were caught. Taken things to a private room. Turned him down completely. Anything but what you’d done. 

Obie and Ludwig don’t look like they’re going to come to blows. But you don’t want to stick around and listen to their bickering. It’d only embarrass you. Guilt you. 

“I’m going to lay down,” you mutter, heading for the stairs. 

The pair fall silent.  

Obie follows you upstairs. You really hope he won’t stop you. You don’t know what to say. 

“Hey.” 

You do your best to wipe the discomfort off your face before turning to face him. “Hi.” 

His cheeks are red, and he twiddles his thumbs, before stuffing his hands into his pockets. And pulling them out to fidget again. 

“I- uh. There’s chocolate. In my room. If you want some.” 

Standing there, pain creeping up your back, loose bits of your bra hanging limp under your shirt, and a mess of blood and slick in your underwear, you try not to grimace. 

“That’s sweet of you Obie.” You’re tired. Tired of being perceived and fussed over. Of being embarrassed. Of feeling gross. But you get the feeling that if you blow Obie off right now, you might damage something irreparably between you. “Normally I’d love some, but-” 

“I’m sorry.” 

You blink. “Huh?” 

“I wasn’t trying to shame either of you. I was just... jealous. Mad. That he made a move before I could. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

It takes you a few moments to decide your reply. 

“I need a shower. And to change.” 

His face falls and he steps back. Forces a little laugh. “Oh. Of course. I’ll just be-” 

“I’ll come by after? If you want?” 

He stills, as if surprised by your reply. The embarrassment leaves his features and he straightens, “Yeah, okay. I’ll just tidy up a bit. See you in a bit?” 

You drudge up a smile and reply before turning back to your door. “See you in a bit.” 

[utilitycaster]

C3 is a look on colonialism fans died out when imgn proposed the mortals plan. Because suddenly it was all about godlings, uwu cute babies and which characters could raise who either in revenge (Kiki & the Matron) or love (BY and Stormlord). As soon as that option got put on the table I never heard anyone else talking about colonialism. How can you when your blorbo's plan is allowing the "colonist power" to physically occupy the land and become more entrenched in political society.

That is definitely also part of it. Essentially, the problem is when people assign a show's political leanings on this basis of whether they like the blorbos or the ships. It's particularly bad in C3, where the general vibe among its most vocal fans was "anything my blorbo does is okay actually because if you don't like them you are attacking me personally," and where the people yelling about the clear themes of anticolonialism were mostly the descendants of the colonizers talking over if not outright disparaging the colonized. And the even bigger problem and what that original post was about is, of course, whether they do anything political outside posting and fandom, or if they just pretend that they do; not to mention whether they do anything one might consider radical (I know a lot of people who make no claims to be anything but a middle of the road registered democrat liberal who are almost certainly more active in community gardening and buy nothing groups and mutual aid and protecting the vulnerable in their community than the people who incorrectly decided that over-identifying with Ashton Greymoore was a substitute for having empathy for real living human beings who don't agree with you on fandom bullshit).

It is however not unique to C3. Since that recent question about C2 vs C3 criticism I've been thinking of people who suddenly started having massive problems with how Marisha played Beau as a woman of color after it became clear Beau and Yasha were going to get together, despite that being something that would not have changed in the slightest had Beau and Jester gotten together. It's not just "if a character is racist that means the author is racist which means the work is racist which means the fans are racist"; it's also that whether a work is racist or not is entirely determined on whether they liked what was happening in it.

I don't want to entirely decouple what one reads and enjoys from your politics altogether - obviously, someone who hates works on the basis of them including complex women or nonwhite characters or queer characters is going to be a bigot - but there really is a problem of people conflating what is explored in a work with the author of the work with the readers of that work, or people conflating (for example) not liking a specific queer ship or female or nonwhite character with homophobia, misogyny, or racism while themselves not abiding by that same rule, or generally just doing more arguing on behalf of fictional characters in fandom than living out any of their values in the real world. Like, really, am I supposed to believe the people who were assholes to Jewish people flagging how the anti-god arguments sounded uncomfortably close to real world anti-semitic rhetoric (and those people also deciding to put the word 'degenerate' in our mouths for *checks notes* thinking Laudna and Imogen are adults who are in control of their choices and actions and are not owed universal adoration) and who have, according to multiple conversations and some WILD confessions people have had in my tags, spent this entire campaign disparaging the colonized experiences of multiple people of color, particularly those of native/First Nations or Asian descent, are like...doing things in the real world that require interacting with people who aren't like them?

[rubensmuse]

having meditated on it, the issue with the lords of fortune isn't that they're doing repatriation now, it's how it's being handled as a piece of storytelling. and the way it's being handled is fucking BORING.

the thing about returning looted artifacts to their cultures of origin is that, in real life, it's an extremely dicey issue. and when i say that, i'm not saying "and that's why we should not do it in real life nor depict it in fiction", because obviously we should do both of those to the best of our ability. but it isn't straightforward.

in real life, arguments made by museums in looter countries against repatriation often bring up how there isn't always a solid record of which pieces of art and culture were stolen or parted with via coercion, and which were traded for willingly; or refuse to recognize the sovereignty of a nation of people who claim ownership of an item and prefer to return it to a modern-day government that does not represent them; or, alternatively, bring up the fact that the modern-day country requesting the artifact "back" was not the same country that created it, and use that as evidence that they don't have any claim to it at all. there are political considerations, there are diplomatic considerations, there are military considerations. it's a whole thing.

in the setting of dragon age, you don't have all of these exact problems. but in a scenario where we're to understand that this semi-decentralized guild of treasure hunters has recently shifted gears toward repatriation, we don't have zero problems. the principle one is that thedas as a continent and the states within it don't actually function the same way our world does, meaning "repatriation" might not even be a consideration for anyone who isn't an elf, but i don't wanna get into that. there are far more granular issues instead.

for example, one story in tevinter nights follows a band of lords pulling off a heist. does this mean stealing from the living is above board, but robbing the dead is frowned upon unless you give some of it back to the descendants? how old does an artifact have to be before it stops being fair game? how culturally significant does it have to be, and how do you even measure that?

what if you're a long-time member just in this for the plunder, and now that your guildmates are advocating all this scholarly and/or culturally respectful stuff, you're just pretending to go along with it and palming smaller relics for resale? what responsibility does the lords of fortune as a guild have to penalize you? what ability?

what if you proudly present a dalish clan with a burial urn you found outside of its context, and then their keeper gets fucking pissed at you because that was supposed to stay in the ground, you idiot, and now you and your guildmates are suspected of defiling a grave? on the flip side, what if you DO defile that grave, and return the relics inside for a finder's fee alongside the lie that you got it from the real graverobber, because offering a bounty for returned cultural artifacts creates a demand for them?

what if your opinion of what counts as "sacred" is different from someone else's, on a cultural in addition to an individual basis?

what if two dalish clans who hate each other place a claim on the same relic?

what if, perhaps, you have a kossith contact in your guild, living the qun outside of a qunari community. and you've been giving her all of your qunari artifacts to study, in the spirit of goodwill and cultural exchange. and then one day on your way to her house a ben-hassrath steps out of the shadows and politely requests the tablet you're holding, and also directions to your contact's residence, because as far as the ariqun is concerned, you've been giving vital pieces of qunari culture and history to someone who isn't a qunari?

what interesting scenarios! what rich stories we could get out of them! even the barest reference to some of these issues would suggest a more multifaceted view of a faction, and entice players into selecting it for their character.

and at time of writing, i'm still waiting to see anything like them in the game.