#obviously it's not one to one but it's a really fascinating comparison

[asleepinawell]

compare and contrast: Emet-Selch (ffxiv) and Claudia Tiedemann (dark) for their mission to wipe out an entire world and group of people in the name of restoring the old world and people they lost through its creation. in this essay I will--

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

Bucktommy drunken confessions🤭🤭

Please pick up your boyfriend, Howie texts just after 2 a.m. 

Evan used his day off to help his brother-in-law assemble some furniture for Jee-Yun's new nursery – apparently, she’s outgrown her crib and is in dire need of some “big girl” room. For some reason, their DIY afternoon ended up turning into a boozy evening, and with Maddie on a shift and Howie obviously buzzed, it’s probably best to keep Evan from getting in his car. Luckily Jee-Yun is sleeping at Hen and Karen's tonight, because when Tommy arrives, her bed looks half-finished. The two men, on the other hand, look all the more done. 

Howie's hair is tousled as if Jee-Yun has driven her Barbie truck through it, but he’s tipsy at most – Tommy knows that man can drink. Evan, however… well. Evan presents a lot of his chest; his shirt is half unbuttoned like in a 70s porn – it’s a nasty comparison, but Tommy likes the view. 

“Here comes my boyfriend,” Evan croons, his cheeks flushed. 

A quick glance at the table confirms that the men have switched from beer to tequila. Tommy heaves a sigh. Evan’s not on shift tomorrow, but he’s also not used to Tequila, Tommy knows that from experience. He will have to stay with him tonight - which isn't a bad thing, of course, but there are better ways to spend your time than listen to your loved ones vomit.  

“Come on,” he says, ”I'll put you to bed.”

“Awesome, get ready for something!”

“Ew, I don't want to hear that,” Howie says, but Tommy just grins. “Don't worry, I don't think that's going to work today.”

“I don't want to hear that either!”

Tommy has a hard time getting Evan into the car and half expects him to fall asleep after he's forced him into the seatbelt. This man can sleep anywhere and in the most uncomfortable positions, and he always looks incredibly adorable. Even drunk, like now. But he doesn't fall asleep. He looks at Tommy with that amorous gaze he usually gives after other activities, and out of the blue, he goes, “Did you know that koalas are much lazier than sloths? They sleep almost 20 hours a day!”

Tommy threads his way into traffic, which is never really light even at night in L.A., replying, “No, Evan.”

“They eat eucalyptus...”

“I knew that,” Tommy interjects.

“Yeah of course, you’re clever,” he praises. “But koalas are the only mammals that can live off eucalyptus alone, it's poisonous to other animals.”

“Fascinating.”

It's not so much these random facts about koalas that he finds fascinating. It's just Evan, sitting there with that slightly glazed look on his face, completely relaxed. Knowing that he creates this relaxed atmosphere for this man, that he’s the one where he can be himself and let go… that’s a valuable treasure.

Evan goes on babbling for another fifteen minutes, including a dozen thank you’s for picking him up, and Tommy just enjoys his voice like a pleasant background noise. Every now and then he throws in something that always makes Evan's eyes light up. They’re almost to the loft when Evan says, “I love you,” in such a matter-of-fact tone, it makes Tommy almost wrench the steering wheel.

“That's lovely,” he answers, and he means it, but all he can think is tell me again when you're sober. Evan is too drunk to really understand what he has just said. It's something Tommy’s been dying to hear, something he was too afraid to say himself. 

They somehow make it into the elevator, but as they stand in front of Evan's door, Tommy has to unlock it. Evan trips over his own feet, he almost crashes into the door. Tommy just shakes his head. His back will regret it in the morning, but he shoulders Evan without further ado. His boyfriend squeals with delight, even when he puts him down on the couch - there's no way he'll make it up the stairs with the man on his shoulders, and the bathroom is down here anyway.

“Oh man, I'm d-dizzy,” Evan sighs.

“I'm sure you are. Lie down, I'll get you a blanket.”

Tommy wants to get up, but Evan holds him back.

“Wait,” he says, suddenly with as much seriousness as a drunk can muster, “you didn't say it back.”

“What?”

Tommy thought he’d already forgotten, but this is Evan, he should have known better.

“I said I love you, but you didn't say anything, so maybe you don't love me, that's fine, I guess,” Evan rambles. “Anyway, I'm glad I said it, because it's true.”

Tommy couldn't even resist those Bambi eyes if the man asked him to run into a burning building without any protection. It's unreasonable and irrational, but he's head over heels for Evan, and he knows it. And then, suddenly, there's nothing holding him back, even if he only says it because he can convince himself that his boyfriend will forget about it in a few hours. 

“I love you too, Evan.”

“Oh my God, really?”

Evan jumps up from the couch with a vigor as if he hadn't just said he was dizzy, and he sprints - not very elegantly - into the kitchen. He’s back in the blink of an eye, after pulling open a drawer and rummaging around in it. He pulls Tommy onto the couch, practically sits in his lap, looks at him with those doe eyes and says in a solemn tone, “Give me your hand.”

“Evan...”

“Give me your hand!”

Tommy’s learned early on that it's easier to give in to this whirlwind of a man, so he holds out his hand. Evan pushes something on Tommy's ring finger, having to do so three times before he finally hits. 

“What are you doing?”

Tommy squints at his hand. It looks like ... a keyring, without a key of course; Evan has a junk drawer in the kitchen where he keeps things like that. 

“It's a promise,” says Evan. “One d-day, Thomas Kinard, I will marry you. Just don't forget that!”

Tommy grabs the ring and replies dryly, “Don't worry, I won’t. It's so tight, I don't think I'll be able to get it off.”

“Got a ring cutter for that.”

He smirks, and Tommy can't help his lips to curl into a fond smile. He’s already aware of the ring cutter, even if he was surprised the first time he found it. 

“Main thing is for you to say you'll marry me,” Evan says with his Bambi eyes, “one day, with a real ring. In a sh... a tchu... well, a church.”

He looks like a man proud he got that one word out right, but at the same time, he looks as serious as a drunkard can be. It doesn’t seem like something he’ll actually have forgotten in a couple of hours, rather like it’s been on his heart for a long time. It's a big deal, and Tommy doesn't want to answer lightly just to appease him. His own heart has long been far from casual, concerning Evan. 

“But,” Evan continues, waving his arms, ”if it's really too tight for you, we'd better cut the thing open quickly. I’ve seen a guy, finger swollen as big as an eggplant, couldn’t get his wedding ring off his finger.”

He struggles to get up, but this time Tommy holds him back. 

“Leave it,” he says, looking at the ring. 

It’s just a simple, brass-colored keyring, but at the same time, it’s way more. As Evan had said: it was a promise. A promise did not necessarily have to come true, but it was still something to cling to. Something to look forward to. 

“Fine, we can do it tomorrow,” Evan slurs, just before he leans against Tommy - to fall asleep on his shoulder. 

“Let's do it tomorrow. Or maybe I'll keep it,” Tommy whispers into Evan's curls. 

[theforsakenprince]

Forsaken as a revenge story fascinates me but not because of anything really related to the revenge story itself but rather the context surrounding it. like, "revenge is wrong" stories are everywhere and almost expected at this point, and Forsaken is no different, really. Forsaken says going on this path of revenge will turn you into a monster, but... we as the player don't really care? And why should we! Uldren killed one of our favorite characters! And every expansion before this has us killing something, so it's not really out of the ordinary.

This feeling is especially reinforced by how much Bungie tried making the young wolf a self insert during y1 (which REALLY did not last long). We, the player (if you played d1/y1 anyway) are angry at Uldren for killing off the most popular character at the time. It's PERSONAL now. And sure, the ending does feel like we're kicking someone who's already down (Ghost says it himself: Uldren's already done for), but we got the bad guy! The end, right?

Nope! Our actions have immediate consequences! Ghost is scared for us. We have to watch Petra struggle with the events of Forsaken while trying to lead a city of people stuck in a perpetual 3 week loop. Mara is obviously not happy with us (and we know we have to deal with lightbearer Uldren at some point). We may not feel bad about killing Uldren, but it doesn't feel great either. And unlike most past Destiny expansions, Uldren isn't an obligatory unequivocally evil big bad alien we need to shoot because this is an fps, he's... just some guy we barely knew anything about before now. Sure, he was a dick to us, but watching his descent into madness throughout the campaign is downright uncomfortable. All our past enemies, in comparison, have been rather straightforward: they're trying to kill us? well we gotta kill them first.

Forsaken also marks a MAJOR tonal shift. It literally kills off the comedy relief. Every release after Forsaken has a noticeably more serious tone (and while humor isn't completely absent (Saint, Crow, Fynch, and Nimbus have their moments) Forsaken's story is a particularly dark one, and it seems to carry over the rest of the year as we first start to consider the "line between light and dark"). It was definitely much more noticeable at the time of release, but Cayde's death has an impact not only on the characters but the tone of the story overall (he is the perfect example of characters continuing to haunt the narrative imo) and clues us in as the audience that shit is about to get Real.

and what happens the next year? We find a Pyramid ship.

this post is kinda all over the place but MAN not a day goes by that I don't think about Forsaken and how good it is as a self contained story and as an expansion that sets up a lot of the major players leading up to final shape! it's not really controversial to say that Forsaken is one of destiny's best expansions (story wise at least I'm not touching that power grind with a 10 foot pole) but I feel like a lot of that sentiment comes from the fact that it came out after curse of osiris/warmind which. no hate to either of them but anything that came out after them would look really good in comparison.

anyway uhhh forsaken good uldren did nothing wrong (JOKE I feel like I have to specify this is a joke people have taken this statement from me seriously before)

[revvethasmythh]

One thing I find really fascinating about this last ep is that the confrontation with Laudna, in Orym's own words, "brought [him] back to himself, a little bit." Because of this, he chose not continue his plan of using Ishta, a blade Dorian refers to as "clearly a threat." Orym turns away from it and admits it's probably a good thing he's been diverted from this path.

Meanwhile, both Laudna and Dorian use Orym and his (now defunct) desire for the sword as a point of comparison and/or mental justification for their own ill-advised risks. Laudna leads with, "Just as Orym wishes to wield that sword, I wish to wield Delilah" (obviously this was said before Orym gave up the sword, but his doing so has not, as far as we know, dissuaded her from this path at all), and Dorian holds the Gambler's Blade "thinking to himself about Orym last night, and how serious he was, how dedicated he was to the cause of wanting this sword that was clearly a threat" and sits with the reality of the situation he's in and decides to take an extra risk on his own life.

All three of them, in some manner, are pinging on the same concept: that the stakes to this fight are enormous and taking a massive risk might be necessary to finish this mission. But in this specific scenario, Orym is the one who backed off, re-evaluated his position, and decided the potential risk (to both the cohesion of the team, and his own mental health/morality, presumably) wasn't worth it. But the impression was already made. Laudna still wants to bring Delilah into this fight (something she'd already basically decided, but chose here to really double down on), and Dorian made the active decision to lower his chance of survival for a better chance to hit. Both of them doing the opposite of what Orym ultimately did, while still keeping Orym in their minds as they do so.

[manicpixiefelix]

love the hand that feeds you {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

One-Shot for head, heart, hand. but can be read as a stand-alone.

Summary: Everyone's always called you Felix's Dog. Felix has always had a problem with this. You've always wished that he didn't. Oliver's never been much of a cat person anyways.

Need to Know: They/Them. NB!Reader. Oliver's POV. Set after the Summer at Saltburn but with a happy, poly ending. Established Felix/Reader/Oliver. Reader's AGAB/sex is never made explicitly clear so hopefully all of y'all can enjoy.

Warnings: SMUT. Porn with plot. Pet play, obviously. Demeaning language (dog is the main one, obviously), oral, threesome, unprotected sex, d/s dynamics (all three of you go back and forth but there's mostly Dominant!Oliver), teasing, praise kink (and praise kink by proxy), pet names (ha). Felix & Reader being horny puppies who love Oliver Quick (and each other) very much.

A/N: 9494 words. i told my girlfriend about this fic and how long it is and she said 'at that point is it a oneshot or a cry for help' and idk man it's definitely a cry for something 👀

----

It starts because Felix likes having his hair played with.

Actually, it starts the week before with you, drunk and giggling at a house party, playing with the chain Oliver's always wearing with more fascination than usual, when you admit that Venetia once bought you a collar. Of course you provide the caveat that it was more to piss Felix off, which it had, and that it had been thrown into the fire before you ever got to wear it. Oliver, who'd been watching Felix playing beer pong across the room, has to take a moment to process what you'd said.

"Wish she didn't make it all weird," you sighed a little forlornly, and you give the chain a faint tug, "I'm such a good dog, everyone says so," then you huffed a faint, flustered laugh, "not everyone. Not you and Fi, you guys are lovely, but sometimes I am a bit like a dog; I'm okay with that."

In the next moment you're humming along to whatever trashy pop is playing, and Oliver's pretty sure you've already forgotten what you'd just said, but even in his own state of inebriation, he can't.

The next day, on one of the many lawns across Oxford's beautiful campus, Oliver's sitting with Felix's head in his lap, fingers running through his hair as you and Felix are brainstorming gifts for Venetia's upcoming birthday. Felix has his eyes closed, enjoying the warm afternoon and the sensation of Oliver's gentle petting, while you're splayed out on the grass beside them both, focusing on your notebook.

Yes, you've always been a good dog, but you'd been well trained; the more Oliver thinks about it, the more he finds himself also drawing comparisons between Felix and an excitable, affectionate, pampered pup himself. But there was potential there, Oliver could see it clear as day.

So he'd started to come up with a plan. A simple plan, thankfully; knowing you both it wouldn't require anything too complicated, it wouldn't be particularly manipulative. At least not maliciously.

A simple, two step plan to show the impossibly beautiful, rich, loving heirs how much he loved and appreciated them for all their qualities, especially the dog-like ones, in certain circumstances. Really it's not even his idea; Felix's whole family had drawn the comparison with you before it had even really occurred to him. He couldn't be blamed for being intrigued about following it to its logical end, and showing you both it's not the negative it usually comes across as. At least, that's how he phrases it in his mind when he's justifying it to himself.

And if he thinks you and Felix would both look pretty in a collar, well that's just a perk he keeps to himself.

The first step is submission.

All three of you fluctuated between dominance and submission on any given day, an enthusiastic ebb and flow of control amongst the three of you, in every combination imaginable. Except Felix seems unable to fully commit himself to submitting to Oliver alone; oh he plays along without hesitation, will get on his knees for Oliver at the slightest firm tone, but he always seems more thrilled knowing your hand is on his metaphorical leash.

So Oliver takes his time figuring out what exactly will make Felix long for Oliver's hand on his throat. The solution is shockingly simple.

Praise.

It couldn't be just any praise. He'd lived his life hearing sweet words about how good he looks, or how lovely he was, it had to be deeper than that. Praise only you or Oliver could give, praise that he craved to hear, praise for the parts of himself he quietly put effort into.

Praise for being helpful, for being diligent, for being caring and genuinely thoughtful to the two of you, for being good.

"God, you're so good to me, Felix," Oliver groans in the bathroom of a house party, back pressed against the door while Felix was on his knees, Oliver's cock in his mouth. When Oliver looks down, sees Felix with a faint blush on his cheeks that's far sweeter than the rest of the debauchery of their situation, Oliver cards a hand through his hair, giving him a look that radiated just as much love as he felt for the man himself, "always so fuckin' good to me," he murmurs this time.

Felix, now bright red, all kinds of flustered, pulls back for half a second, unable to fight back a smile as he swears under his breath, but Oliver's hand in his hair tightens. Felix eyes flutter closed as Oliver, tone on his voice like a warning, tells Felix that he didn't say stop.

And Felix seems more than delighted to obey, to be as good to Oliver as he'd just been deemed.

Praise like this always made Felix all smitten and obedient and eager to please. Of course Oliver had always been quick to praise Felix, but this was different, was concentrated and specific. Once Oliver had started with these efforts, Felix seemed to grow more relaxed and eager to let Oliver become dominant over him when the mood struck him, even without the specific praise. Though the praise always helped.

The second step is acceptance.

Considering everything that had happened at Saltburn - the voyeuristic games you'd played with Oliver, the adventurous ways and places in which you and Felix would fuck, the handjob you'd given him after you caught him drinking the bath water that Felix had gotten off into that ended with you also managing to come untouched while Oliver moaned Felix's name in your ear, just to name a few - Oliver knew your sex lives would be more than a little kinky before he even officially joined this relationship. He was not disappointed.

Both you and Felix seemed more than willing to try anything, though Oliver was delighted to discover just how much you'd both already done, and were more than eager to do again.

All this to say that pet play was barely a step removed from roleplay, so he shouldn't have been surprised that you jump at the chance. At first it stays between you and Oliver, for obvious reasons that have everything to do with Felix's hangups about the derogatory way other people had often called you a dog. But when Oliver calls you 'pretty pup' for the first time, you react just the same way Felix does when praised.

Flustered. Bashful. Obedient.

Except Oliver quickly learns that you react far stronger than Felix. It seems not only were you telling the truth about being okay with the title, simply hearing it said so lovingly by Oliver, even in the most innocent situations, was enough to turn you on. It was validation you so desperately wanted, craved, your efforts and constant place by their side acknowledged and appreciated. There are times even when you're in control where you demand praise, and the words slip out.

"You're a good dog," Oliver gasps out, your legs over his shoulders, his head between your thighs. A pleased noises rumbles from somewhere in your chest and you laugh low and heady.

"You're fucking lucky to have a dog like me, Oliver Quick," comes out all lazy and confident, but his nose of agreement isn't enough for you, clearly, as your thighs momentarily tighten around him, trapping him, and he feels one of your heels press insistently against his back, "aren't you lucky," you say pointedly, warning in your voice, "to have such a good dog?" Echoing your words in agreement, they come out sounding like a breathless prayer, one he's eager to chant to see the heady, powerful smile you wear when you hear it.

Fuck he feels dizzy with lust in this moment, desperate to devour you, have his mouth on you, like his life depends on it, hoping you'll grant him the chance to fuck you - there's something about you in control that will always drive Oliver utterly mad. Actually, no matter the situation or who's in control, knowing you and Felix continue to want him, love him, choose him to share these moments with... sometimes he still can't believe he got here in the end.

He never thought he'd hear you beg, let alone for him. It's like fucking music.

When he's got you like this, under him, desperate, eager to please, mind a messy haze caught up in this fantasy being played out with you as his perfect pup - so good, so loyal, fuck you're precious, pet - where he can do or say practically anything to you, where you want him to.

"Fuck I love how pathetic you sound, pet," he mumbled into your ear, pressed against you, thrusting slow and deep, "can't even form a proper thought, can you?" He teases. Your hips stutter up into his in an inconsistent rhythm, desperate. Chiding you for it, he sits back, even as a disappointed mewl escapes you. As if moving out of instinct, you reach out, as if to try and pull him back in, and your fingers catch on the chain he still wears around his neck.

"Drop it," he orders immediately, to which you let go as if the metal had burned you. However, Oliver can feel you clench around his cock, hips rolling, pressing close to him, instinctively, "good dog," he purred, pleased, deciding to reward you by finally fucking you with intent.

So it's not you who still has to come to accept this concept. But Oliver's fairly confident you will be the main reason when Felix does come to accept it. In fact, he doesn't even bring the concept up to Felix himself; he knows you well enough that it will only be a matter of time.

It doesn't take long.

One night at the club, all three of you drunk and feeling indulgent under the lights and haze, you hear a resentful -

"Felix really can't go anywhere without his dog -"

You have to hold Felix back from searching for the girl who said it to start shouting at her, assuring him it's fine, but Oliver then has to drag you both of the dancefloor when you start unexpectedly arguing with each other. He actually genuinely can't pick exactly what the argument is about until he's got you both in one of the marginally quieter side rooms, you and Felix still arguing animatedly -

"- shouldn't even be talking about you like that, they don't even know you -" Felix snapped, while you stepped up into his space, having him in the chest.

"When the fuck have I ever cared what anyone but you thinks of me?!"

"I don't think of you as my dog!"

"How many times do I have to say that I don't mind being called your dog before you figure out that maybe I want you to call me that?!" You glare up at him, watching the confusion and mixed emotions about the idea pass over his face in rapid succession, "I'm getting sick of you taking issue with the title, and refusing to understand why I don't; am I not every fucking thing the perfect dog is to you? I am loyal," with each descriptor you gave an instant push against his chest, as if to punctuate each point, "diligent, protective, you know I'd follow you to hell and back, it makes me happy to make you happy, and yes, Felix, just like a dog, I can be obedient," Felix's gaze is shocked as you lay it all out before him. Your voice lowers, Oliver can barely hear you over the music in the next room, "but unlike a dog, I was not trained to love you, to stick by you like I do; that is a choice I made. That is a choice I continue to make happily every single day of my life. Every other asshole who calls me a dog can see it, most of them are fucking jealous because I am the one you choose to keep by your side. Why would I ever take issue with being called that? What do I have to be jealous of? I am the dog, Felix Catton, and I am yours."

It's... reductive, Oliver thinks, but it has to be to get your point across, so he keeps that to himself. He knows all too well how old this sore spot is between you two, far older than his place in your relationship. Perhaps if things hadn't worked out quite so well for him, or if he weren't so secure in his relationship with you both, perhaps he'd worry, be jealous of how you're speaking once more like you and Felix only have each other. But her knows you're not, knows that you're speaking to the version of Felix who can't let go of his discomfort at the title's implications. Part of Felix would always listen to you above all others, even Oliver, but Oliver himself had in part fallen for the way you two loved each other, he lives seeing that connection still strong, bright and alive, and knowing that you've both still chosen to love him too.

Felix, a few feet away, looks suddenly conflicted, almost upset as he tries to process and reconcile your words. However, when Felix can't seem to give a proper reaction, a look of disappointment crosses over your face, and you turn sharply, stalking from the room, from the club entirely.

"It still feels demeaning to them," Felix has been sulking the entire walk back to campus, he and Oliver having left not too long after you. Oliver bites his tongue on the fact that he knows you get off on being demeaned in the right circumstances; Felix is off course aware of this, but not the true extent. Instead, all Oliver offers is a non-committal hum. Felix pouts, still mostly talking to himself, "'s rude," he mumbled, "'s a mean thing to call someone; dog..." Though it sounds almost like a question.

"So you'd be mad if someone called you Y/N's dog?" Oliver says with a surprising amount of casualness considering he has no idea where his boldness came from. Beside him, Felix goes very quiet. Oliver pointedly doesn't look at him.

"That's different," Felix finally managed after several long, strained moments in which he'd thoroughly considered Oliver's words. Except Felix hasn't managed to sound nearly as casual as Oliver, the poor boy sounds rather abashed at the thought, though he still tries to play it off, albeit unsuccessfully, "Ollie, that's- that's completely different."

"How's it different?" Oliver needles him subtly, still giving Felix a modicum of privacy from his ever watchful eyes.

"Because it is," Felix insists, before blurring out - "because it's never happened!"

When Oliver finally looks over at Felix, he keeps his expression just on the positive side of neutral, only to be met with the sight of Felix, wide eyed, and faintly flush. Oliver blinks.

"But you are," he says easily. Felix's lips press into a thin line, face turning steadily darker with his blush as he finally stops walking. Oliver can read the 'the fuck do you mean by that?' all across Felix's flustered, intoxicated features before the man can even open his mouth to ask, so Oliver stops walking too, elaborating without hesitation, "if we're going by Y/N's metrics for what a good dog is, aren't you one too?"

This conversation was completely unexpected for Oliver too, despite how he was the one who pushed it in this direction. Beautiful, expressive Felix is already growing less tense as he turns the thoughts over in his mind. Oliver, eager to help him along on his path to acceptance, reiterates the values you'd laid out in the club -

"Loyal, diligent, protective," he lists easily, "you know you'd follow them anywhere, and do anything to make them happy," he doesn't have to say that Felix can be obedient to you to know they're both thinking it. Instead, Oliver shrugs, "but you're Felix Catton, of course no-ones going to call you a dog."

"What?" Felix's deliberation finally gives way in the face of confusion.

"Everyone knows Y/N loves you, but they don't want to think about you loving Y/N back."

"But I do," Felix's soft voice sounds so hurt by the very idea, "everyone knows I do." Oliver's own expression softens as he steps forward. Felix's brow creases in what can only be described as disappointed confusion.

"I know," he assures smoothly, "that's other people's problem, its not fair on either of you." Oliver's hand is gentle on Felix's shoulder, but Felix is still clearly bothered, even as they start walking again.

"Maybe that's why it bothered you so much," Oliver finally speaks again when they're back on campus. Felix doesn't speak, but does look to Oliver with an expression of clear confusion, "because you didn't like the idea of people thinking Y/N loved you more than you loved them." After a moment, Felix sighs, making a faint, disappointed hum of agreement.

"Did you think that?" Felix asked softly after a moment, "before you really knew us, is that what you thought of us too?" He sounds almost disappointed at the thought. Oliver, however, has to fight back a smile.

"Not even for a fuckin' second," he admits with a sharp laugh, and Felix immediately perks up with intrigue and something almost like relief, though Oliver's tone is amused as he continues, "I honestly couldn't believe no-one else could see it; never seen anyone quite so dedicated to taking care of their dog as Y/N was to looking out for you."

Felix turns bright red once more, but he's wearing that big, bashful grin Oliver's always loved.

"I am, aren't I?" Felix sounds almost giddy at the thought. Oliver feels like there's fireworks going off in his chest.

"Y/N really can't go anywhere without their dog either," Oliver teases, lovingly parroting the words that had been so cruelly overheard at the club. If Felix were any drunker or happier, he probably would have started actually skipping. As it was, however, the two of them approaching Felix's dorm building, he wraps an arm around Oliver's shoulders.

"You know all that stuff they said, all that stuff about being a good dog, you know that's how we feel about you too, Ollie," Felix can clearly tell the minute Oliver's brain short circuits, because he laughs and plants a kiss on Oliver's cheek, "sorry if you're more of a cat person, mate," he teases, as if he hadn't just suddenly rewired something in his boyfriend's brain.

You and Felix. YouAndFelix. Both love him the way a dog loves their owner. It goes beyond even any lewd fantasies he'd had; a year ago he was watching you both through his window, talking and laughing in the afternoon sun, wishing desperately that he could work up the courage to talk to either of you, befriend you.

But you and Felix - YouAndFelix, together, individually, in every single way Oliver can conceive the idea of you - both love him. Our Ollie, the way he's heard spoken so lovingly, sounds so much sweeter than he'd ever even imagined.

"You're both very sweet to me," Oliver hears himself mumble as he and Felix finally find themselves outside of Felix's door. Everything feels like it's spinning, in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol, and everything to do with the way Felix is smiling at him. Instead of answering, though Oliver's sure there's half a dozen teasing or sappy comments trapped in the tip of Felix's tongue, he kisses him instead. Felix always seemed to know exactly when Oliver was overwhelmed with their shared reality, and always took his time to admire that look in Oliver's eyes. Now was no different.

He's always thought Oliver was so strange, so queer, so different from everyone else in his life, and so clearly loved him for it.

Felix finally is the one to break the moment, knocking lightly on the door, knowing you well enough to anticipate where you'd be despite your earlier anger. As if on cue, you sighed heavily on the other side of the door, before inviting them in.

While Felix barely gives you time to react where you're in your pyjamas, sitting in his bed in the lamp light, not even kicking off his shoes before he throws himself into your lap, wrapping his arm around your waist as he pressed his face against your thigh, Oliver hovers by the door.

"Hi, sorry, hi, love you," escapes Felix in a rush. Despite your conflicted expression, the way your hand comes to rest on his head, carding through his hair is automatic. It's an endearing, amusing sight to Oliver, considering the night that had just passed. He knows you're looking at him, questioning gaze searching for some kind of explanation for Felix's change of behaviour, but Oliver lets himself linger a few moments longer on watching Felix's almost childishly clingy behaviour.

He struggles to kick off his shoes for a moment before he finally managed, and hitch a leg up, over both of yours, still in his jeans and jacket but refusing to be anything but wrapped up in you.

"I'm not staying," is what Oliver finally says, despite the gentle affection in his voice. You frown faintly, but still seem more confused than upset, "I think you two need to talk," he explains. Despite the way your mouth flattens into a thin line, you're still gently petting Felix's hair. Still, Oliver steels himself, giving you a strange little smile, "you're a good dog, Y/N," he says pointedly. This seems to surprise you, but not as much as Felix's sitting echo.

"Such a good dog," he agrees with a fond sigh, half muffled against you. Immediately your confusion, your concern drops in favour of sweet, hopeful shock. But Oliver continues before he shuts the door, smile growing into a grin.

"So are you, Felix," and Felix's head shoots up so he can level a bright, sunny smile over his shoulder at Oliver. Christ, Oliver can practically see his tail wagging.

"Love you, Ollie," Felix beams cheerfully. While Oliver echoes the sentiment back at you both as he closes the door, you can't seem to look away from Felix.

Something warm and pleased and satisfied curls itself comfortably in Oliver's chest on the brief walk back to his own room. It goes beyond any selfish, sexual desires he's had, not that there wasn't an element of that, of course, but he can't stop thinking about the joy in Felix's expression, or the way you'd disbelieving smile you'd been wearing when Oliver had closed the door. An old ache beginning to heal.

The change is subtle at first. At least, from the outside.

After that fateful summer, the three of you had made no secret of your relationship. Felix had always been tactile and clingy and prone to shows of affection, you had always made a point to make Oliver feel included and welcome and like you craved his company, while Oliver himself had never made any secret of whose attention and contact he preferred in any group setting. So he's sure, to their friends, the three of you seem to be the same as you've always been.

Farleigh had once scoffed at the pub that the three of you were insufferably gross, and while the rest of the group at the table had agreed, it had been more teasing than malicious; on one side of Oliver, you'd pressed your laughter into his shoulder, while Felix had throw his arm around Oliver and chided Farleigh not to be jealous, wearing a wide, easy smile.

Oliver and Farleigh still may not exactly see eye to eye, but things had gotten easier between them. Across the table, Farleigh met Oliver's bashful gaze and though he'd rolled his eyes, though he seemed exasperated by all three of you, there was warmth in his eyes. He may not love Oliver, but he still loved you and Felix; baby steps.

So all that to say that at first the change is so subtle that even the ever-watchful Farleigh, who knows you and Felix better than any of your other friends, doesn't even notice.

But oh, Oliver feels the change right away.

He honestly thought the three of you weren't able to get closer, but he's never been more thrilled to be wrong. Never afraid or jealous of each other living your own lives, it just seemed that when you're around each other, you weren't interested in being seen as an individual. More possessive in the most affectionate way. Always in some kind of obvious contact, arguably too close for the comfort of others, not that any of you cared. Oliver, always shadowed by his beautiful guard dogs.

"Can I wear this?" You ask casually one evening, drinking cheap vodka and juice as you waited for Oliver to get ready to go out. When Oliver turns, half dressed after a shower, he sees you holding one of the chains he always found himself wearing. He doesn't think twice before agreeing, doesn't even think much of the request at the time. The significance is missed on him until the two of you meet up with Felix in the line for the club and he pulls you by the chain, in for a kiss. You're still holding Oliver's hand, fingers linked with his. Reading Felix's kiss for the compliment it is, you grin sharply as you pull back, stepping up beside him in line.

"Thanks, it's Ollie's."

"I know," Felix snorts a laugh, throwing an arm around you as he gives Oliver himself a sly smile, "you look good too, mate, how're you going?" You squeeze Oliver's hand, leaning into him for a moment with a coy smile. Your free hand is playing with his chain around your throat. Like you know exactly where his mind has suddenly gone.

Oliver already knows how this night will end, and it doesn't disappoint.

Neither he nor Felix can seem to leave you or the chain around your neck well enough alone, and you're clearly love it. You let yourself be lead around, let them lavish you with affection in dark corners, wearing a smile that's all teeth when you meet the surprised, scandalised gazes of those who gawked rather than averted their gaze.

In the back of the taxi on the way to campus, you're impossibly affectionate, like an excited puppy as you try and split your attention to your boyfriends either side of you.

"Settle down, love," Felix takes your hand in his, keeping you momentarily still, even as you pout.

"We'll be home soon," Oliver murmurs quietly, trying to act casual as he looks out the window, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. A faint, impatient whine escapes you, but you acquiesce, leaning your head on Felix's shoulder even as a fond laugh rumbles from his chest.

The cabbie has the radio on in the front, pointedly ignoring the three of you. But the music is loud enough that he doesn't hear the soft, approving way Felix mutters in your ear -

"Good dog."

But Oliver hears, feels the way your thighs momentarily clench together, hears the breathless, needy 'fucking hell, Fi' that escapes you. His grin grows wider.

On the walk back to your room - always cleaner than Felix's, and with a bigger, nicer bed than Oliver's - you're quiet, seemingly focusing very hard on staying that way, even as Oliver and Felix are bantering easily either side of you. Hands to yourself - well, metaphorically, Oliver and Felix are both holding one of your hands, Felix, feeling particularly joyful swings your linked hands in wide arcs between you - you listen diligently, and chime in whenever you felt your input was needed. Oliver thinks you're being incredibly endearing, but once the door is closed and the rest of the world is cut off from the three of you, Felix softly asks if you're okay.

Surprise lights up across your face the minute the question is spoken. It hadn't even occurred to you that Felix wouldn't understand your behaviour in this moment; this is far newer to him than it is to you. But then you look to Oliver, almost like you're afraid that he wouldn't understand either.

But he does, of course.

There's a faint thrill that courses through him realising that for what is perhaps the first time since he'd met you, he can read you better than Felix. That Felix was yet to understand how far from reluctant or uncomfortable you were in that moment.

Felix had told you to settle, called you a good dog when you had. So now you were trying your hardest to remain settled, to remain good. How delightfully obedient you were in these moments, in this headspace.

Oliver finally gave you a warm smile, shrugging off his jacket.

"They're being good is all," he says casually, drawing Felix's confused attention as you broke out into a wide smile at the praise. Again, Oliver has a flash, a mental image of a tail wagging with joy behind you.

"I'm being good, I'm being settled," you reiterated pointedly, standing carefully by the foot of the bed. Once more, however, you've started fussing with the chain around your neck. Felix looks back to you, as if he still can't quite grasp the full scope of what's happening, and laughs lightly.

"You're so fucking cute," he grinned, "love, you didn't have to stay settled all the way back here."

"I didn't?" Your eyes go wide with confusion, and you look again to Oliver, as if for confirmation, "but I..."

Oliver can feel his heart beating in his throat. Oh, right, he's the one who's done this before, he's the one who started this all, at least this version of this dynamic. You aren't Felix's dog in this moment, you are his.

"You did good, pet, don't worry" Oliver assures you, soothing you with a gentle tone as he steps towards you and takes your face in his hands, kissing you on the forehead. Wearing a grateful little smile, you regard him lovingly for a few moments, before he steps away and you turn your focus back to Felix. There's a hungry kind of intrigue in his big, brown eyes now as he takes the scene in with newfound understanding.

"You really are a good dog," Felix marvels approvingly. Your whole face lights up at that, stumbling a few steps forwards, as if you hadn't meant to move but needed to be close to him. Nodding furiously in agreement, your fingers fidget like you're trying desperately not to reach for him. Felix steps towards you, his smile growing wider as he does so, "mine- ours?" He corrects, wrapping his arms around you, and finally your resolve breaks.

"Both," you assure in a rushed breath before you're pulling him in, kissing him frantically, as all the longing you'd held back since you'd been told to settle floods through you. Once fidgeting hands now start frantically tugging at clothing, both yours and his, but Felix is matching your energy entirely. Oliver gets hit in the face with your jacket as it's flung across the room but neither you nor Felix notices. In his enthusiastic haste several of the buttons on your nice, expensive shirt are ripped off, pinging around the room.

Not that Oliver actually minds.

Still in his jeans, he leans his hip against your desk and watches for a few long moments with both a lewd appreciation, and amusement. Perhaps another day, or when it was just the two of you, Felix would invest himself properly in a version of this fantasy where you truly are his dog. Tonight, however, Oliver sees opportunity in the obvious, messy, needy way Felix is pawing at you. An opportunity for his plan to finally be realised, and he's not letting it pass him by.

When you fall back on the bed, Felix braced over you, your hand finding his fly while the two of you still haven't stopped to really breathe, Oliver sticks two fingers in his mouth to let out a sharp whistle.

Immediately there's silence, the attention of both of you having immediately snapped to Oliver. Shaking his head with faux exasperation, Oliver sighs loudly, as if terribly put upon.

"Can't take you two anywhere," he tsked, crossing his arms over his chest, "pair of naughty fuckin' puppies, you can't leave each other alone."

Felix blinks quickly, as if caught of guard by the shift in tension, the dynamic.

"Ollie, what are you -"

"Ollie, don't be mean, Fi's the best dog, take that back!" You chided despite your wide grin.

"Is he now?" Oliver asks archly, smirking at you both. Felix isn't quite looking at him, expression drawn and thoughtful as he processed this change, turned it over in his mind. Slowly, he looks down at you, at your soft, warm smile. A silent conversation between you both, one of many that Oliver will only ever be able to guess at, and you close your eyes as you sit up enough to press your forehead to Felix's.

Felix visibly relaxed, which you must feel judging by the way you grin.

"It's fun, I promise," your whisper, though in the cool, quiet night, Oliver can still hear it clearly.

"But he called me naughty, I can't believe it," Felix whined playfully, causing you to laugh as the two of you sank back down on the bed. Felix tucked himself up beside you, face half hidden where he was pressing his lips to your shoulder to hide his little smile, "you're so mean to me, Ollie." It sounded as though he was pouting, but his eyes betrayed him, nervous and tentative to be adapting and playing along with the bit, but clearly more than a little excited too. There's also something tearing, almost challenging about the way Felix was running his fingertips up and down the side of your chest.

"You are being naughty," Oliver finally pushes off of the desk, sauntering over to the bed, "both of you acting like I didn't exist."

"Can you blame me?" You actually giggled, sounding downright gleeful, "look at who we get to play with!" Felix flushed at that, pressing his bashful smile against your shoulder. Oliver finds himself really quite taken with how you've chosen to adapt to having Felix by your side in this fantasy.

"If I can't blame you," Oliver says with faint notes of faux warning in his voice as he sits by you both on the bed, "are you saying I should blame Felix? Is our new pet a bad influence." You stumble over your words for moment, searching for a denial, but Felix's head shoots up at that, his eyes wide as he props himself up on the bed beside you.

"Hey, I'm a good influence! I'm good!" He insists, the words coming to him so automatically that it seems to startle even him before he properly focuses back on Oliver's fond amusement. Felix grins sheepishly at his own enthusiasm, ducking his head to look instead at you as he reiterated with a soft giggle, "I'm good."

"I think you're very good," there's love on your tongue, in your eyes as you gaze up at him. Then, in the next moment, you wriggle yourself over to rest your head against Oliver's thighs, gazing up at him with a pout, "come on, Ollie, don't be mean," you practically whined, while Felix himself half draped himself across your middle, his head resting on your belly as he turned his full attention and hopeful brown eyes upon your boyfriend. It was far more convincing than Oliver had been expecting, and he actually feels his hard resolve beginning to falter under the combined force of both your longing gazes.

"We're sorry for neglecting you," you add sweetly, expression earnest as your fingers begin to card through Felix's hair. For a moment, Oliver watches the way Felix's eyes fall closed, leaning into the sensation.

"Can we make it up to you?" Despite Felix's soft voice, his smile was already all kinds of pleased and contented, "we're good at that," he insists. God, Oliver knows all too well that you both are; fucking hell, part of him may never believe this isn't a dream. Except he knows his definitely not dreaming when he feels the delicate touch of your free hand on his knee, moving higher - or as high as you're able given the awkward angle your arm is at.

"Play with us, let us make it up to you," giving Oliver thigh a squeeze you grinned up at him. Without giving him a moment to respond, however, you made a tsk noise in the back of your throat, "you're so overdressed. Fi -" you tap Felix's head gently to get his attention once more, and Felix's eyes open, alight and at attention, "he's so overdressed, don't you think?" Immediately Felix is sitting up, agreeing.

"Think we should help him with that," Felix says frankly, wearing a pleased little grin like he's excited to be helpful. All over-eager and enthusiastic, both you and Felix are suddenly all over Oliver, working together to get him out of his jeans before he can even wonder where he'd lost control of the situation.

Playfully victorious, you're peppering Oliver's face with excited kisses as Felix is kneeling by the bed, tugging the now free jeans down his thighs. Despite the chaos of it all, Oliver's laughing loud and bright, trying his best to get his arms around you to still some of the kinetic love you're showering him with.

"Come on, Ollie," Felix, however, gets caught up halfway through his own job, and presses a kiss to his knee, hands coming to rest, flat and warm on Oliver's thighs, "how'd you expect to get off with those on?" But he sounds so light and joyful; Oliver's heart is fucking singing in this moment.

"Oi, sit," Oliver tries to order between his own laughter and your lips on his every few moments. It takes him another second to claw back some of his composure, "both of you, sit," at least this time you both listen, despite him still radiating breathless amusement.

Felix looks to you for a moment, watches the way you settle yourself, cross-legged and hands in your lap as you fought back a smile, and sits back on his heels, wearing a sheepish grin of his own as he looks back to Oliver. Oliver has to take a moment to compose himself, barely restraining his own laughter, before he kick his pants off from around his ankles. Felix takes the opportunity to then lean in and rest his chin on Oliver's knee, wide, affectionate grin on his face that Oliver practically melts at. He can't help himself -

"Who's a good boy?" He teases Felix, reaching over to scratch at Felix's scalp lightly. Again, Felix eyes close at his nose scrunches with a strange little smile.

"If it's not me I'm actually going to be so upset," he mutters, sounding almost embarrassed by the thought. It takes a moment for his words to sink, and he followed it with a snort of amusement, before all three of you are laughing in the warm privacy of your bedroom, and this moment.

"Of course it's you," Oliver reassures him, coaxing him up onto the bed, shifting to sit back against the headboard with room for you both on either side. Felix looks far less embarrassed and far more pleased now, leaning in when Oliver coaxes him in for a kiss, "my helpful, good boy," Oliver murmurs against his lips, and Felix lets out a breathless, pleased noise as he wraps an arm around Oliver's neck, kissing him back almost desperately. Oliver would always love how Felix was so wonderfully consistent when it came to his praise kink.

Beside him, he can feel you shift on the bed, and in the next moment, your hand is on his thigh. When he and Felix both look to you, breaking their focus on one another, you've settled yourself by Oliver's thighs. Leaning in, you gently nudge at his cock where it's staining against the material of his boxers with your nose, before proceeding to kiss softly up his shaft through the material. Sing when you reach the head, you sit back a little, giving pause as two of your fingers hooked into the elastic of his waistband. Finally met his gaze, looking up at him through your lashes expectantly, want in your eyes that has Oliver's already quick heartrate thundering in his chest.

"Thought I told you to sit," he says wryly. You wet your lips, hips shifting a little.

"I am sitting," you pointed out, which set Felix off, had him pressing his amused chuckle against Oliver's shoulder. You did, however, remain obediently still. Except for the challenging smile that graced your lips, "wanted to make up for ignoring you."

Felix's laughter, however, had died down at that, and the hand that had been around Oliver was now trailing feather-light down his bare chest, past your own, to wrap around Oliver's aching hard cock, still trapped behind a thin layer of cotton.

"Just gotta say the word," Felix murmurs into his ear. His hand begins to slowly work up and down Oliver's cock. Oliver watches you lean down and press a kiss to the soft skin of his belly, by his hip, just above his waistband, while Felix was pressing languid kisses along his jaw.

"Both so good to me," Oliver groaned, gently pushing at Felix's shoulder, though he takes the hint and joins you by Oliver's thighs.

A moment passes between you both, Felix taking your face in his free hand and pulling you in for an intense kiss that only somehow manages to make Oliver even more painfully turned on than he already was. Both still half dressed, you're both practically overflowing with love for each other and Oliver in this moment. The kiss breaks and youre both grinning foreheads pressed together; Oliver's never been truly able to read the exact things that pass between you in these moments of silent communication, but he thinks he sees 'see, I told you this was fun' in the way you smile.

And as much as he adores this moment, he's pretty sure if someone doesn't actually touch his dick soon he's going to die.

"'s there a reason you're keeping me waiting?" Oliver asks archly; Felix's grin grows wider, while you give him a faintly guilty smile, apologising softly before you pull down his boxers. Finally.

Oliver's hips buck the second your fingers wrap around him, leaning down with intent to -

"Hey!" Felix almost sounds indignant that you'd taken his place, a thought which sends a thrill through Oliver. You look up at this, but the minute you're distracted Felix has bent down to run his tongue along the head of Oliver's cock, tasting the precum beading there before he's taking Oliver into his mouth.

"Fi, that's cheating!" You whined, pouting with your free hand braced against Oliver's thigh - "Ollie, Fi's cheating!" You pouted, to which Felix raised his head to defend himself, gleefully and entirely submersed in this roleplay.

"I'm not cheating," he tried to declare, however you dipped down in an attempt to usurp him. Felix, seemingly anticipating this, refuses to move, instead letting you headbutt him, the two of you in a playful stalemate while you attempted to keep up a consistent rhythm with your hand still on Oliver's cock. Tension, with neither of you backing down, breaks only when one of you - though Oliver's genuinely not sure which - seems to realise the reality of the situation, and how close you both are, and suddenly you're aggressively making out.

Not in Oliver's wildest dreams would he ever have imagined that he could have the two of you fighting over who gets the privilege of going down on him. It's going to take all of his willpower if he wants to last much longer. But he needs to last at least a bit longer, needs to take back control, to make sure this plays out well for both of you too.

So Oliver calls your name, and you and Felix break apart. Your eyes are on Oliver, wide eyed and breathing hard.

"No fighting," he chided, and you wet your lips, sitting back a little as Felix takes this as his victory. Oliver coaxes you up to him, part of him sad to lose the feeling of your talented fingers around him, but Felix is more than capable, and more than makes up for it. Oliver wraps an arm around you, his free hand guiding one of yours to Felix's head as it bobbed up and down between Oliver's thighs, "you're going to help him, you can do that, can't you?" His words are gentle, commanding, and even as you still seem to be playing at sulking, you give a small nod. Felix groans appreciatively as your grip tightens on his hair, which Oliver echoes as he feels it himself.

You're beginning to squirm. Good. He's been utterly thrilled by how tonight has been playing out, but Oliver always enjoys when you finally fall into being desperately obedient. He wants to show Felix how good of a dog you really are.

Oliver pulls you in closer, nose to nose, smirking as the playful fight in you was giving way quickly to pure desire.

"Our good boy, isn't he? Our Felix," Oliver's voice is loud enough for you both to hear; Felix moans around his cock, shifting to get a better angle, to take Oliver deeper, as deep as he can. Your breath catches, pupils blown wide. There was something truly, almost sickeningly fascinating about what he could only describe as your Praise-Kink-By-Proxy; you clearly got off to the way Oliver lusted over Felix, that much was made clear that night in the bathtub at Saltburn, and Oliver could see it in your eyes again now.

"Our Felix," you'd mumbled breathlessly, casting your gaze to him as Oliver lazily trialled kisses down your jaw and throat. Felix doesn't stop, your hand on his head still making sure he keeps a consistent rhythm, but he does look up, does meet your lust-filled gaze, does see how your hips and thigh are shifting. Oliver brings your gaze back to him by tugging at his chain around your throat, and it's all you need to kiss him. He doesn't let it go. Sloppy and passionate, he moans Felix's name into your mouth and you whimper desperately at the sound. His hips are rolling, matching Felix's rhythm as his cockhead presses insistently against the back of his throat, and you're panting and whining and unable to find any real relief -

"Did I say you could touch yourself?" Oliver murmured sharply the minute he feels you reaching for the waistband of your own pants with your free hand. You whimpered, and his grip on the chain around your neck grows tighter. Squeezing your eyes closed as you shook your head, traitorous hand moving to dig your fingernails into your thigh, "are you going to settle down for me?" He whispered, lips brushing yours as you squirmed helplessly.

"This is unfair," you moaned, and Oliver's grip around you grew tighter, "Ollie, please -"

"You fucking love when I'm unfair to you," he hissed with an almost cruel smugness as you gasped, hips beginning to roll and rutt against nothing.

"Ollie, don't be mean," Felix raised his head, hand going still on Oliver's desperately twitching cock, an actual note of warning in his voice. Oliver smirks at him, all lazy, arrogant confidence. He maneuvers you, pulls you back from him to let Felix properly see the way your lip is beginning to tremble with how desperate you were for satisfaction or even just a hint of relief. Still, you tried to press yourself against him, even as your back arched wantonly and your thighs pressed together, shifting in search of friction that was still upsetting absent from where you desired it most.

"You think I'm being too mean right now?" Oliver whispered in your ear; unfortunately for you, Oliver knows all too well how much you love this game. After a moment of hesitation, your gaze locked with Felix's. It's as if you're embarrassed to be seen in this state, the way you'd so willingly let Oliver drive you mad with desire. Averting your gaze from Felix's, you swallow hard.

"No," the single word comes out as a sulky kind of whimper.

"And why's that?" Oliver prompted, adding slyly, "you made Felix worry." He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.

"He's -" you tired your head back with a desperate groan as Oliver raked the nails of his free hand up your side, "he's always good to me in the end." You pouted, clearly still thinking it was unfair being denied in the moment.

"You promise?" Felix asks firmly, looking Oliver in the eyes now.

"Promise," Oliver smirks back, whispering against your skin that if you're a good for him, he'll let Felix play with you. The desperate noise that escapes you is incredibly telling, and one Oliver knows all too well as the indication that you were on the edge of being incoherent. Good, he loves getting you to this point, and loves even more the way Felix is looking at you right now.

"You're doing so well, Felix, don't keep them waiting," Oliver insisted. At that you reached out once more, hand coming to rest on Felix's head, petting him gently before he allowed you to guide him back down to Oliver's spit-slicked and waiting cock. Oliver's grip on the chain shifts, the metal loose between his fingers as he carefully, delicately, wraps his hand around your throat. Your pleading expression is so deliciously needy when Oliver pulls you back in against him.

"Good dog," he presses the praise against your trembling lips.

It's like a beautiful symphony, better than any wet dream or fantasy he'd ever had, and he hadn't even fucked either of you yet. He moans Felix's name into your mouth when he finally comes undone, his hand resting on yours atop Felix's hair as he takes it all and swallows every last drop.

"So fucking good, Felix," Oliver's breathing hard as he comes down from the euphoric high he'd just experienced, scratching gently at Felix's scalp as he raised his head, pleased grin on his face. When Felix sits up, out of both of your grips, your hand immediately goes between your thighs, desperate to touch yourself but still fighting the urge, trapping it while still making your intent obvious.

But while Oliver is more than satisfied, you, tucked up against him, are all but a mess as he cradled you close.

"Come on, Ollie," Felix climbs over his legs to be by your side. His smile is warm and fond, and when Felix's hand comes to rest on your hip, your soft, whining noises become more audible, "the poor thing deserves a treat."

Oliver feels the way you shiver and tense with anticipation at Felix's words, nose then bumping insistently against Oliver's jaw, keening noises catching in your throat. You were begging in the only way you have left, now that you'd found yourself deep enough in this headspace.

"Look at him," Oliver murmured, sounding almost proud as you turned your desperate, hopeful gaze upon Felix, "he's even being good to you."

Taking it as a blessing, you're immediately scrambling to your knees by Felix, no longer whining, and clearly overjoyed. One hand pulling him in for a kiss, your other was frantically trying to remove your pants.

"Not ignoring you," Felix insisted to Oliver as you'd broken the kiss if only to pitch yourself back on the bed in an effort to wriggle desperately out of your pants, "just -"

"Settle down," Oliver ordered suddenly, and you suddenly went still, ceasing the way you'd been fighting with your pants around your ankles, "help them, Felix," she sighs with fond exasperation. Of course Felix does, but it's like a switch has flipped; he's back on board, a good dog still, just like you. Once your pants are off, Felix is trailing kisses up your legs, much to your clear glee -

"You puppies are so stupid," Oliver shakes his head, affection in his words, "you're lucky you're cute," but still both of you turn to him with a a sad kind of confusion. Oliver tries not to laugh, he really tries, you're both somehow hot and adorable at the same time, "Felix, you're still wearing pants."

Somehow, this seems to surprise both of you, and again you're up 'I can help, I can help, I can help' radiating enthusiastically from you as you make quick work of finally undoing Felix's fly, as you'd attempted to earlier in the evening. The two of you share soft giggles as Felix's hard cock is freed and his pants are tossed to the side, leaving him standing on the floor at the edge of the bed where you're up on your knees, looking up at him. Like this, he still manages to dwarf you, and Oliver watches with an aroused fascination as this moment plays out.

Felix doesn't speak, it's as if he's matching your energy, understanding your headspace, he's confident and even cocky in a way that Oliver doesn't often see from him. He remembers saying 'if you're good, I'll let Felix play with you' and it seemed some primative part of Felix's mind has taken that to heart as he held tight to the chain around your throat, leaning in with an unmistakable huger in his eyes. It has you practically melting, hands on his hips, not daring to stray further without his approval. He doesn't even kiss you, he holds you at bay with his lips inches from yours and a hand firm on your collar, drinking in your desperation. You begin to whimper again, shifting your weight back and forth, hips rocking in anticipation; Oliver's sure he'll be able to see the marks your nails leave on Felix's hips when you finally let go.

Another silent conversation between you both, but so clear, so loud, so simple Oliver can hear it loud and clear. Felix is telling you, in no uncertain terms, that in this moment you are his, and every part of you agrees. Yet Oliver knows with a smug, self satisfaction, that he with one word you would both be by his side. So he'll let you both have this.

A year ago, he would have paid his entire life savings and then some to get to see you two in a moment like this. Already, he's getting hard again; a familiar, voyeuristic thrill runs through him as he drinks you both in, taking his cock in hand.

Felix barely has to tip his head, letting go of your necklace, before you're moving quickly, a moment vague and indecipherable to anyone else is a clear directive for you to turn. It's a flurry of movement after that, of Felix's hands on you, on your hips to pull you close, your lower back to have you bending, face pressed to the mattress. Your ass in the air, presented to him perfectly, he slides into you, drawing unholy noises from you both after so long spent waiting already that night.

Oliver basks in this moment, can only imagine how good you must feel right now, all tight and warm and completely and utterly desperate to be filled. Felix's groan is its own kind of beautiful, finally finding his voice again as absolutely filthy praise spills from his lips. Hips rocking back to meet each of Felix's slow, deep thrusts, your breathing is shaky amid the low, pleased noises that escape you. Beautiful, a creature of mindless want and desire, you've got one shaking hand between your thighs as the other reaches out, searching blindly for Oliver.

Face pressed into the plush duvet, you link your fingers with Oliver's the moment he reaches out to you. Your grip is tight, and he runs his thumbs in comforting rhythms against your hands, something pleased, loving, and so fucking turned on as Felix was quickly coming to fuck you like an absolute animal. The way you so desperately craved.

"Perfect," Felix moaned, "god you're so fucking perfect for us, pet, aren't you?" Nodding weakly, as much as your able, you clutch at Oliver's hand; his teasing had clearly already worked you up, brought you close. Both of you.

"Our good dog," Oliver murmurs, just to hear you whimper.

Fuck, he can't wait to watch you come undone.

Can't wait to make you both sit, roll over, beg.

[dkmbookworm]

Odysseus’s Mistake w/ Open Arms

After listening to a podcast featuring Jorge Rivera-Herrans. I am so fascinated by his explanation for why Odysseus revealed his name in his version of the story.

Obviously one of the elements at play is the fact he just witnessed the death of a friend so there’s a lot of rage and pain involved for why he wants to taunt the cyclops as they leave. And we all know that hubris was the other factor especially when he dips down into lines like “I am neither man nor mythical”. And Jay further went into this point by saying

“Odysseus in this moment is riding this high of thinking ‘I am so smart, that I don’t have to depend on brutality to solve my problems. I am so clever that I alone can carry along this philosophy of Open Arms because I can always find a different solution’”

That is such a fascinating display of his hubris while simultaneously trying to hold onto the memory of a dead friend. It shows just how flawed this interpretation of it at that moment, and how that carried forward for him. Because Odysseus was just introduced to this philosophy, one that he could have used to go forward. But the literal representation of it is killed in front of him so all he has to go off of are these vague concepts on top of his own problems muddying the waters

The biggest example of this to me, is how he approaches speaking with Eurylochus. Open arms or mercy, is not something that can only exist in terms of not slaying your enemy. It requires a lot of emotional intelligence that Ody does not really have. When eurylochus questions him on his plan with Aeolus, his fears and concerns are not being addressed. Sure yes, bad idea to do this in front of the crew and sow seeds of doubt in them. But if ody is going to dedicate himself to this ideology he has to go the full way and learn to communicate with people.

When Polites reached out to ody, he recognized that he felt troubled. That he was carrying s lot of guilt and was trying to ease his mind. Odysseus felt heard and understood, and he was willing to listen to his friend. By comparison he does none of this with eurylochus. He shuts him down and tells him to be devout. All that he’s accomplished is to shut him up and keep things to himself, which only makes things worse and leaves his doubt to fester

It represents such a tragic element in this story because Odysseus is trying to fulfill this wish from his friend while having a broken version of it he never got to fully learn or understand. That Polites could have potentially helped him make the journey into leading a kinder life. But the consequences of his actions came knocking on his door and it became this nonstop effort of drilling ruthlessness into his head as the only option of survival.

The podcast in question if any of you would like to check it out

[caeslxys]

I’ve mentioned this elsewhere but it feels relevant again in light of the most recent episode. Something that’s really fascinating to me about Orym’s grief in comparison to the rest of the hells’ grief is that his is the youngest/most fresh and because of that tends to be the most volatile when it is triggered (aside from FCG, who was two and obviously The Most volatile when triggered.)

As in: prior to the attack on Zephrah, Orym was leading a normal, happy, casual life! with family who loved him and still do! Grief was something that was inflicted upon him via Ludinus’ machinations, whereas with characters like Imogen or Ashton, grief has been the background tapestry of their entire lives. And I think that shows in how the rest of them are largely able to, if not see past completely (Imogen/Laudna/Chetney) then at least temper/direct their vitriol or grief (Ashton/Fearne/Chetney again) to where it is most effective. (There is a glaring reason, for example, that Imogen scolded Orym for the way he reacted to Liliana and not Ashton. Because Ashton’s anger was directed in a way that was ultimately protective of Imogen—most effective—and Orym’s was founded solely in his personal grief.)

He wants Imogen to have her mom and he wants Lilliana to be salvageable for Imogen because he loves Imogen. But his love for the people in his present actively and consistently tend to conflict with the love he has for the people in his past. They are in a constant battle and Orym—he cannot fathom losing either of them.

(Or, to that point, recognize that allowing empathy to take root in him for the enemy isn't losing one of them.)

It is deeply poignant, then, that Orym’s grief is symbolized by both a sword and shield. It is something he wields as a blade when he feels his philosophy being threatened by certain conversational threads (as he believes it is one of the only things he has left of Will and Derrig, and is therefore desperately clinging onto with both bloody hands even if it makes him, occasionally, a hypocrite), but also something he can use in defense of the people he presently loves—if that provocative, blade-grief side of him does not push them—or himself—away first.

(it won’t—he is as loved by the hells as he loves them. he just needs to—as laudna so beautifully said—say and hear it more often.)

[noneorother]

There's a *puppet* show going on in the magic shop, and it looks awfully familiar...

(Insert unhealthy number of rewatches here) The magic shop in S2 is a real jewel box. There's so much symbolism and so many easter eggs, it starts to make your head spin. But I found something really weird going on with the puppets (or should I say angels) in the background...

Here's 1941 : you can see on the left what looks like closed red curtains, and a coatrack with puppets behind Crowley here.

Where am I going with this? Well, don't those puppets look familiar?

For my money, they really look like silly versions of Crowley and Aziraphale, with a few other familiar puppets hiding on the other side of the rack.

Now here's that exact same shot in the present. The red curtain falls away to reveal: An extremely symmetrical arrangement of truly weird puppets. The puppet in the glass case near the back is the same.*

It probably just looks like a creepy display, with our familiar Aziraphale and Crowley puppets, until I do this:

To me at least, this arrangement really looks like a depiction of a synaxis of the hosts of bodiless powers (i.e. angels) before Jesus. If you study European art history, you can't escape medieval religious iconography. It's kind of a big deal. I've put this example of Mary flanked by the nine ranks of Angels from a Cathedral in Exeter above, but you can find 100 examples of this kind of eerily symmetrical and hierarchical ranking of angels with god, Jesus, Mary etc... Before I break it down, you have to know that in the medieval period, and especially in religious art and iconography, the relative size and position of figures is WAY more important than realism or accuracy.

Obviously the costumes don't match one to one, but you get enough of a vibe that once you start seeing it you can't UNSEE it. The relationships of position and size here are fascinating to me. For one, what the hell are two Crowleys doing in a host arrangement in present day? He's not even an angel. In the second row we have archangels Gabriel, the flopsy twins Uriel and Michael, and a slightly larger Saraqael head in the center. Is Saraqael actually more important here? Technically Jim is still an archangel, so he gets the mirror of the Gabriel position, but as a sad clown wearing a tartan blanket. We also have two tiny dolls (not puppets) with star name tags, one keeled over wearing brown, and one sitting up and smiling, wearing blue. I've named them tentatively Adam & Jesus for now, because that's the vibe I'm getting, but who knows. Here's the usual position of the Jesus in a synaxis for comparison.

In the lowest row, we bizarrely have arguably the most powerful angel, The Metatron (shown here with a dark floppy overcoat hiding the fact the doll has no body) and what I can only imagine is Maggie with blonde hair and blue eyes? What? Now, the doll I'm calling God in the middle for the large size, and the fact their head is always cut off above the framing in the shot. God is clearly looming large over the rest of the host, but is in a lower hierarchy (with Muriel, Crowley & Aziraphale being fairly low ranking at this point in the show) and also has NO HANDS, a clown face and BLOOD SMEARS on their overalls. Yikes. If you take a look at the top-down shot of the dolls, you can see how they had to completely redo the god-doll's hair. This is a specific vintage English doll called "Bimbo the clown". You can see the original hair always has a fringe, and the yarn locks are usually much bigger. Compare with the new hair in the top view of the present-day shop.

Hey. Does that hair style look familiar to anyone?

Look. I don't want to go claiming something THIS insane from one doll's hairstyle in a background shot. I'm not trying to convince you this is irrefutable proof that there's some sort of storyline where Nina is actually God. But it's interesting they took the trouble to re-make the doll's hair (and costume) to look like Nina's, even when it is almost never seen, much less noticed. The fact that the god-doll is also a clown got me thinking of the Gabriel and Jim dolls, and that maybe there's another doll in the shop that should double with Bimbo? *Here's the only other doll with a name card in the magic shop in either time, the one in the glass case :

Even though we barely see it, we can tell it's wearing the same outfit as the 1941 magician. Why? If this one is the equivalent of the real god, and not the sad clown version, and if it's locked up in a box somewhere, unable to free themselves, is that why we haven't heard from them in season 2....? So many questions. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Thanks to @kimberleyjean and @embracing-the-ineffable for additional pictures.

[ladyluscinia]

There are obviously some people not taking Edward's S2 arc very well. Or - more often - twisting it to fit into absolutely wild takes and then pretending they are taking it well while everyone else is wrong and problematic for beliefs like "S2 clearly establishes Edward was harming his entire crew in his depressive spiral and he's still in the process of making that right." One of them wrote this section from a post that I found absolutely fascinating (if also wildly off base) in the way it buys into Edward's clearly faulty POV without hesitation...

...and I really want to talk about Knife Parade now.

Because I don't think that's what's going on here, obviously.

Edward has internalized some very fucked up shit in his piracy career, a lot of it probably going back to his time with Calico Jack (and others? Fang was with him for 20 years, and Izzy "all his fucking life"?) under Captain Hornigold, aka the man who killed Felix the cabin boy by feeding him a live crab. Edward didn't really emulate Hornigold until Kraken Era because he hated the man, but we can see from how he and Jack act in 1x08 that he still developed a very skewed understanding of violence and social bonding.

And, as unpleasant as it makes him, the Edward of the past was absolutely the kind of guy to "fuck with his crew like that for shits and giggles."

Like - hold the defensiveness because this is not a one-to-one comparison - Edward describing chasing Fang around screaming and terrified as just a fun game sounds like how someone's childhood bullies would describe tormenting them. Bullies often feel like they were just joking around or just playing a game, even when the other party was clearly not having a good time. The show even invokes this with Nigel and Stede in the first episode.

And the reason bullies typically feel this way is because the social environment that they are in treats their behavior as acceptable (or fails to treat it as unacceptable because adults/other children are consciously or subconsciously designating the bullied kids as fair targets).

Edward thought chasing after Fang with a knife and shouting "come here you little fucker" was okay because he grew into adulthood in a culture where that and way worse was normal. Maybe he even got the idea watching an adult do it to someone (for likely non-playful reasons). He was probably older and/or higher ranked than Fang, in a culture where rank entirely out-ranks obligations to give a shit about someone else's feelings.

Just think about how he describes being Captain:

"Oh fuck no. Apologizing? Nah. Didn't apologize for jack shit."

The idea Edward didn't want to hurt Fang is not even on the table, because he didn't pay enough mind to the people below him to register hurting them was even a thing his "fun" actions could do. He's entirely rewritten the events in his mind.

And, again, this is a funny joke and a very understandable mindset to develop that literally no one has ever pushed back on until this moment, so good for Edward thinking back and going "oh fuck I guess Knife Parade was less Yardies and more Torturing Felix" and then immediately acknowledging that Fang has justifiable basis for beef with him. That's pretty big of him. Growth.

But "didn't care about Fang being terrified to the point he legit forgot because peer-accepted behavior" is still not quite the same thing as "genuinely didn't realize Fang was terrified" lol

[daily-hanamura]

If Rise is a proxy for the game trying to give Yu a thinly veiled "default romance", then her parallels with Yosuke and the way they interact with Yu make for a fascinating comparison

(aka follow me down this weird delusional rabbit hole. Strap in because this is going to be a long and very weird one.)

1. Similar patterns of flirting

Unlike Rise, Yosuke is of course a lot less intentional and a lot more oblivious to what he's actually doing, but his behaviour is actually very similar to Rise's in some ways.

For example, the both of them find an in with Yu through "being shown around" Inaba.

(actually there's a scene with naoto's first day at the school, where a few girls are trying to flirt with naoto using the same lines of showing him around, so that's fun.)

There's a difference in context here - Yosuke is playing that senpai-adjacent role for Yu, whereas Rise is asking Yu to play it for her (even though Inaba is Rise's hometown, and when you take her to souzai daigaku she says she's always wanted to go there).

But this difference is also important because...

Yosuke's type is someone he can look after. (Btw, this is an extremely common male response in Asia - that men like dating someone they can look after. Remember this because it'll come up again later.)

I think throughout the course of the game Yosuke is very much consistently someone that likes taking care of people - quite obviously he looks after Teddie, but he's also always looking out for Kanji and everyone else, actually.

But there's something that changes slightly between him and Yu - as their relationship develops, Yosuke becomes more willing to be the one being looked after, but by Yu especially! This is something that is picked up on by others in the group, such as when Kanji says that Yu tends to spoil Yosuke, or when Chie tells Yu that Yosuke is going to come begging him soon.

Neither Kanji nor Chie talk about how Yosuke asked them for help - because Yosuke, for the most part, is pretty resistant towards asking people for help... unless it's Yu. Yu is the exception in this regard, because where most people see Yosuke as being reliable, they also know that if Yosuke has issues, it's Yu that he turns to. And he does! In front of Yu, Yosuke lets himself be vulnerable, both in more serious settings but also in casual ones. Look at how Yosuke playfully ask Yu to "save him/them" (from Yukiko, Rise and Chie's cooking). It's a little dramatic. It's a little whiny. And it's all part of that role!

But this is exactly the kind of role that Rise is playing as well.

In Japanese culture, there is the concept of 甘え (amae), which is closely related to the (perhaps more commonly known) Chinese notion of 撒娇 (sājiāo). It's hard to explain this in English because it's not really a concept that exists in Western contexts in the same way, but I think it's important because Persona is ultimately a Japanese game, and so the cultural norms and contexts that inform the relationships there are important. It's been talked about in more detail by people smarter than me (see: Takeo Doi, 1971) but the tldr is that it refers to a kind of childishness employed as a means to seek indulgence from a loved one - it's a little bit affirmation, it's a little bit flirtation, but really, the point is looking for someone to care for them. And it works the same way for the other person as well - to indulge is to love! (Remember Yosuke's response of wanting someone he can look after? Yeah.)

When Rise drawls out the word "senpai" and whines a little, that's one example of her playing up that role so Yu would pamper her (actually I don't play in dub, so I'm not sure if she does this in EN too). But we see this with Ai as well, when Ai tells Yu to carry her shopping or buy her coffee. Ai is of course perfectly capable of doing both things, but the point is to have someone like you so much they do things for you.

Compare this to the way the others ask Yu for help - there's hesitation, and it's framed in a "if you have time, could you..." sort of manner and is markedly less playful. I think to some extent it's also their personalities, but that's kind of the point here.

I think it's important to caveat at this point that this "submissive" role during amae isn't, like, a fixed role that they assign themselves into in their relationship - critically, it's temporal, contextual and momentary. Yosuke and Rise are only playing up their childishness so they can get attention from Yu in that moment, but it in no way speaks to how they expect their relationship to function, because it's just brief instances of flirtation. For both Rise and Yosuke, their relationship with Yu is still primarily defined by their equalness and what they can do for Yu as well. It also goes both ways - Yu is also welcome to do the same with Rise and Yosuke! It's also very much a purposeful demonstration of vulnerability, because if you've read the signs wrongly, then it may not be perceived as flirting, just general annoyingness. Which is why...

I think they're both particularly sensitive about accidentally being a bother to Yu, and the way the both of them speak has these layers of boldness and shyness interspersed and folded into each other.

To put it another way, you can think of this indulgence as an extension of the love language of acts of service - and amae is essentially a way of pretending to be helpless to encourage that act of service. (this is an extremely dumbed down definition stripped of nuance)

The point here as Rise flirts with Yu in this manner... I think so does Yosuke, even if he's not totally conscious of it.

2. The shared fear of loneliness

Both Yosuke and Rise express this same fear - Yosuke's shadow reveals his fear of being alone so he actively surrounds himself with as many people as he can, while Rise reveals in her slink that she was a shy, lonely child and became an idol because she thought it would help her connect with people and make more friends. There's this powerful desire of acceptance on their part that forced them towards behaviour that they felt would make them desirable and liked - Yosuke makes jokes and buys food for his friends and tries to be a dependable big-brother type, and his shadow says he's only like that because he's terrified of being alone, while Rise's idol image is about being bright and enthusiastic and bubbly, but her vulnerable moments reveal her to be withdrawn and she says it was all an act.

I think there's a really interesting parallel here, because they both learn that it doesn't really work the way they hoped - the relationships that they had previously formed can be superficial (Yosuke talks about this point with Marie and Yu on the rooftop, while Rise learns that people only see Risette but not her), or temporary and easily forsaken (Yosuke doesn't really have anyone calling him back after his move, while Rise talks about how quickly people moved on from her).

Critically though, it's also in how they are resolved, and in both cases, Yu is the catalyst that helps them understand that not only is that desire normal and understandable, but that both that desire and their responses to it are all part of them. Yosuke's and Rise's cheerfulness and care are not any less meaningful just because of where that sentiment came from. There's no real Yosuke or real Rise, and while this is also a theme for the rest of the IT, I think it's with Yosuke and Rise especially that this particular thread of a fake self created to be accepted and help them make friends is especially pronounced.

(for Kanji, his violent, abrasive self was created to hide away and push people further away, while Naoto wasn't seeking acceptance amongst peers, but their individual ideal of whom they should be).

The distinction here is meaningful insofar as it then speaks to how Yosuke and Rise subsequently perceive Yu in relation to themselves and the rest of the team. For both of them, Yu was the first person where they actually felt Seen with, and in Rise's case, it's what sparked her attraction to him, with her starting to flirt aggressively with Yu after her rescue. I think that in Yosuke's case it's very much the same thing as well, which is how we have Yosuke calling Yu his 相棒 (aibou) shortly after the fight with Yosuke's shadow. I can't place exactly when Yosuke starts doing so, because it can be as early as Marie's slink rank 1 if you did it right after, but in their conversations after the fight at the liquor store, I think the foundation is already there.

In English, 相棒 is translated as partner, which I guess is a fair translation that is captured by the sentiment of "partners in crime". It's a term that is also used in, say, buddy cop pairs (like Reno and Rude in FF7. It's also how Adachi refers to himself, as Dojima's aibou), but it's intended to capture that essence of someone that you trust above and beyond everyone else. Working on a case and your boss and colleagues say no? Doesn't matter, you aibou's got your back. It's the person that you share this absolute connection with, that knows you like you know them, maybe even knows you more than you know yourself.

But imo there's a bit of nuance that is lost, because there's also the weight of exclusivity inherent in the term - you can have a lot of friends, but only one aibou. It's one of the highest, most intense and exclusive relationship that you can have with someone... platonically.

Kick that platonic label off and we find that Yosuke and Rise are the only two that end up attached to Yu with that same, absolute intent, and hold this similar wish for some exclusive relationship with Yu. By helping them understand their loneliness and what the intimacy of being seen means, Yu has triggered the same reaction in both Yosuke and Rise - just coloured slightly differently, romantic for Rise and platonic for Yosuke. But Yosuke's route wasn't even intended to be necessarily platonic so

3. They're the two that ask Yu about his type the most

I think that with a heteronormative lens, it's easy to interpret Rise's question as one coming from romantic interest and flirtations, while Yosuke's questions are coming from patterns of locker room talk, but fuck that, I think they're both testing the waters of romantic interest and looking to see what Yu would say.

Of course, if Yu takes that one opportunity he has to say Yosuke is his type, Yosuke gets flustered and his hair-trigger nohomo reaction kicks in... but then he goes into a thing where he talks about how yeah, he'd make a pretty good boyfriend! He likes Yu's answer here, he even has the little flower animation of happiness!

In contrast, if Yu picked Kanji, the conversation derails into a thing about Kanji's manliness. Furthermore, considering that Yosuke's romance route was cut but all of the previous conversations and interactions remained, there's no reason not to think that Yosuke wasn't responding positively to Yu's affirmations, even if he didn't necessarily understand what they meant at that time.

In the same way, if Yu responds positively or goes along with Rise's questions, Rise is also noticeably happy about it.

Because at the end of the day, they're not actually asking because they want to know what it is - they're asking because they want to hear Yu say that they are Yu's type. And I think Yosuke is guilty of this, even though he hadn't realised it yet.

[lemon-natalia]

Nona the Ninth Reaction - Review

firstly, i just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has taken an interest in and encouraged me in doing these liveblogs! this has been such a fun project to work on, and reading these books for the past nine months or so has been a bright spot in what has otherwise been a relatively tough period of my life. i’ve really enjoyed getting to theorise about all of the lore of these books and make horribly ill-advised emotional attachments to inevitably doomed characters

more fun statistics that no one asked for: this liveblog was the longest, at about 20,000 (!!) words. my GtN liveblog was 12000 words for comparison. i have no excuse other than i like to talk

NtN definitely was an interesting diversion from the other two books so far. it wasn’t exactly a breather, since it was still incredibly heartbreaking and horrifying, but it was fun to see a part of the worldbuilding very different from what we’ve seen before. as much as I missed both Harrow and Gideon, i liked that it gave other characters time to shine outside of interacting with them. it was fun to see more of Palamedes, Camilla, and Pyrrha, and how those characters act in a vastly different environment to the Nine Houses

although NtN was essentially telling two different narratives, John chapters vs Nona’s, it still didn’t feel particularly disjointed - i think it was thematically held together by being a bit more grounded than the other books so far, sci-fi and fantasy elements notwithstanding (contemporary issues like climate change and nuclear war, & John’s world being a setting far closer to our own vs Nona’s domestic life & very real problems of living in a warzone)

i also loved getting John’s perspective in the chapters narrated by Harrow, his point of view and recollections were equal parts funny, terrifying, and fascinating. he’s certainly got a … unique perspective on the world. it was just a slow horrifying journey trying to figure out how the world ended, knowing that it was doomed but not exactly how it happened

Muir really has a talent for endearing you to a protagonist, and Nona was no exception, I absolutely loved her, and just, her whole story and how tragic it was physically hurt me. i also wasn’t expecting to get as attached as i was to Hot Sauce and the school gang - i hope we get just even just a mention of what happens to them in AtN

tldr: 11/10. reading this series is like the emotional equivalent of voluntarily getting stabbed in the heart repeatedly. i have absolutely no clue what I’m going to do with my life now that this is over for the meantime, other than go crazy in a locked room with a red string conspiracy board trying to figure out whats going to happen in Alecto the Ninth

speaking of, obviously its not a pressing issue since to my knowledge there isn’t even a release date yet, but i’m not sure if i’ll do a liveblog for Alecto when it comes out? on one hand the most fun bit about liveblogging has been the reaction from everyone who’s already read the books and we’ll all be in the same boat of not knowing what’s going on when Alecto comes out, so i don’t know how much of a point there is? on the other i would very much enjoy doing it anyway, and i’m a perfectionist so it would be nice to have completed all of the books like that. so i guess it depends on how impatient i am to read the whole book when it comes out lol

[fallen-angel-adam-frankenstein]

Thinking about how the Big Four of dark academia really feels like the Big Three of dark academia that a last-minute addition was added onto, not because it’s any less a part of and representative of the aesthetic but because its mood and message differs so greatly from the other three - that last-minute addition being Dead Poets Society. Hear me out as I rant about character types, classism, doing it for the aesthetic, themes, tones, and substance abuse (and, obviously, spoiler warnings for Dead Poets Society, The Secret History, If We Were Villains, and Kill Your Darlings):

Firstly, I want to draw comparisons between who I consider to be the protagonists of each story, focusing a lot on how I feel that each of them has a barrier between himself and another group of people within the story. Starting with the one that I relate to the most and progressing in no organisational order after that, we have from The Secret History Richard Papen, an English major who came from an impoverished old town in California to the lovely little college in Hampden, Vermont on account of loads and loads of scholarships. Fascinated and a bit infatuated with the Greek class, he is able through partly his own talent but mostly dumb luck to join their ranks, only to find out that the people he admired and romanticised are all a bunch of classist, selfish, rich addicts. Desperately wanting to be a part of this group, Richard has to break the financial barrier (as well as the seclusion engineered by Julian) between him and them in order to get in with the “cool kids.” However, this doesn’t work out for him at the end, as he doesn’t even get invited to their bacchanal or Bunny’s murder and yet has to suffer for the fallout of both events. It’s made clear that this is not the kind of life you want to live, and Richard even returns to California after the main body of the book concludes. Allen Ginsberg of Kill Your Darlings is confronted with a similar barrier, although his is less financial (he’s well-off enough to make it to college without scholarships) and more the sort of subcultural difference between the life he left at home and how Lu and his friends live. Just like Richard, he risks and loses it all to gain the affection of this new group, who, just like in TSH, leave him high and dry in the end. Oliver Marks also risks it all for his group in If We Were Villains, although they don’t necessarily abandon him in the same sense and really he alienates himself by taking the fall for Richard (Stirling)’s death. His barrier is also mainly financial, as he ends up having to pay for Dellecher through scholarships and a work-study deal, something which you can tell he is ashamed about (hmm classicism -_-) as he tries to hide it from the rest of the group, who can all afford the school on their own (or their families can). Since this story differs from the rest because it starts off with Oliver already a part of the tightly-knit group, you can’t really talk about him vying for approval as in TSH or Kill Your Darlings, but the sense of him being a part of a slightly different world is still there. Meanwhile, you don’t get this same sense in DPS. I maintain that Neil is the central figure in DPS, but for the sake of this let’s look at Todd, who does have to make his way into the group after it was already formed. Todd’s barrier is not financial but all in his own head: his social anxiety and awkwardness prevents him from initiating a relationship with any of the other Dead Poets. Because he has this different kind of barrier, it’s easier for him to overcome it, and it turns out well for him in the end, while it doesn’t for the protagonists of the other three stories.

Besides that, the other characters also play a role in how DPS feels separate from the other three. All four dark academia stories are about rich kids at their core, but DPS is the only one that doesn’t feel like it’s about rich kids. Why is that? I think it’s because of how they chose to present the characters. In TSH, the whole main cast, essentially, sucks - Henry is full of it, Bunny has all sorts of problems, Charles is an abusive drunkard, not to mention his incestuous relationship with Camilla, and Francis knows about this relationship and is fine with it, even being fine to casually fuck Charles on top of it (and he’s classist as fuck, but that’s a discussion for a later date). You might think, “oh, but Richard isn’t too bad” - yeah, but he did let them all get away with not one but two murders and was only worried about Charles abusing and fucking Camilla because he felt attraction to Camilla himself, so. Anyway, my point is that everyone in the Greek class is either a rich asshole or wants to be like the rich assholes, so that’s not good. There’s a similar thing in Kill Your Darlings where they’re all addicts and alcoholics and people who generally don’t give a fuck about how other people react to their drama and fun times, and you can see how Lu even uses David and later Allen and then throws them both away casually. Yeah, they have a cool vision of revolutionising poetry, but they’re not really characters that one can necessarily relate to, because they’re all just too caught up in themselves. IWWV, too - you don’t see this as much, but it comes out a bit when Oliver hides in shame the fact that he has to work to pay for school. While IWWV has a cast of characters that I can relate to and like the most out of the three I’ve talked about so far, there’s still a little bit of disconnect, an unattainability about them, and it’s clear that they’re all deeply fucked: Richard, before he died, was an abusive asshole, James killed Richard and then not only started mirroring him a bit when he hurt Oliver but then let Oliver while away ten years of his life in prison for Richard’s death (and either killed himself or faked his death), Alexander got even worse into drugs and then presumably got clean but man did he have PTSD from that school year, Meredith is surrounded by men lusting after her and feels lonely, Wren also has PTSD from that school year, and Filippa . . . got into a relationship with her teacher and we don’t talk about this? So while they’re three-dimensional, engaging, and entertaining, they’re all still just plain messed up. However, the Dead Poets aren’t like this. Obviously, there’s Neil’s suicide, but that’s different - it’s not messed up because he was already messed up, it’s messed up because the authority figures in his life (excluding Keating) messed him up themselves, breaking his spirit with the pressure they put on him and with the criticism of his passion. But to the point, in the sense of the characterisation of the main cast, DPS feels different from the other three because the Dead Poets are three-dimensional, engaging, entertaining, and even likeable in a way that the characters from the other three are not. And they’re all rich enough to attend a very well-to-do private boarding school, but they’re not stuck-up and classist, in fact hardly ever bringing up matters of money and even making fun of the Danburrys a bit. They feel more accessible than any other group does, which is what I respect about them.

And last but not least, the message. As far as the moods/tones and themes of the Big Four go, DPS is the only one with any sort of hope at the ending, and the only one with a “true” aesthetic for the characters to chase. The three of the dark academia Big Four all focus on taking something too far and it going horribly wrong - the Greek class gets so into studying the Classics that they have a bacchanal and kill a man and then kill a man to prevent him from telling someone that they killed a man, which leads to yet another man dead and the rest of them unhappy; the Dellecher fourth-years get so into Shakespeare and the roles they play/their typecasts that Richard ends up dead, Oliver ends up in prison, James ends up either dead or faking his death, and everyone else suffers like I mentioned earlier; and in Kill Your Darlings, David ends up dead, Lu ends up in prison, and Allen ends up expelled. TSH has a very bleak epilogue - Richard is confused and yearning, Charles is still drunk and who-knows-where cut off from the rest of them, Camilla has her dying grandmother to worry about, Henry and Bunny are dead, and Francis is forcing himself to marry a woman he doesn’t even like as a person, let alone not being physically attracted to her whole-ass gender, because he would rather make himself miserable than be cut off from the financial support of his family. Donna Tartt leaves us with a depressing, unsatisfying ending - which is all part of the theme, but I’ll get to its relation to DPS later. All in all, TSH’s tone is a very dark one, and its message to not let yourself get so caught up in the aesthetic that you let yourself fall/sacrifice your morals (and also not to idolise rich assholes because they can and will use you and ruin your life), while relevant and important, is far from inspiring or uplifting. Similarly, they go too far in IWWV, pursuing Shakespeare until it fucks them all up, and it has a similar theme to TSH. Its ending, while I like it better than TSH’s, is still quite pessimistic; there’s a little glimmer of possibility there, but not really all that much, and you get the sense that things are never going to fix themselves. In Kill Your Darlings, too, Lu and Allen get so caught up in the New Vision that they let the rest of their lives fall apart around them, and the ending is a bit confused and “meh.” DPS, however, has a lot of hope in its ending. Yes, Neil’s death was sad, and so was Keating taking the fall for it, but despite that, Keating is able to walk out of that classroom with a smile on his face; the ending isn’t entirely sad, it’s bittersweet. DPS’s message is all about carpe diem, seize the day, make your lives extraordinary, and they all presumably go on to do that (except Neil, who died because he was unable to do that). While the aesthetic the characters chase in TSH sort of hinges on their rich assholery, the aesthetic the characters chase in IWWV more or less depends on their isolation and general fucked-up-ness, and the aesthetic the characters chase in Kill Your Darlings is pretty much based on substance abuse and not giving a fuck, all of which lead to their lives being ruined on varying levels, the aesthetic the characters chase in DPS not only doesn’t really ruin their lives and also seems to be much more attainable in a tangible way. While Keating loses his job, he’s able to walk out of the classroom with a smile on his face because he knows that he did what he came there to do - he inspired his students to live life to the fullest and think for/be true to themselves, which is actually a quite healthy aesthetic to strive for, especially compared to the other ones I’ve talked about. The ending of DPS isn’t entirely happy, but there’s so much hope in it, something which the other three lack, and because of that, it feels separate from them.

Anyway yeah. I’m not going to write a big ol’ conclusion because I’ve already taken up so much space, but yeah. Thanks for coming to my TEDTalk lol.

[psicheanima]

General thoughts/opinions on the Horsemen Sisters? (Thanks for making that tag btw)

Makima: The all consuming thought

Yoru: I think that what I find most interesting about her is the circumstances surrounding her. In any other series, she would most likely be the endgame villain. Considering how powerful war is and how it in traps are every day existence but chainsaw man has a unique world with specific politics, and this heavily affects the perception of war and how much fear it generates, which is fascinating to me. War is a twisted desire, but it is very carnal and immature, but manifestations of war are usually presented as headstrong, bloodthirsty, adult male leaders. Having war in chainsaw man be a character who is very obviously an attention starved child was very fun and interesting— because I believe this is what “war” truly is at the primal. I have problems with how the last few chapters portrayed her, and left her in a gray area that I don’t believe was the fault of the character but more so a fault of Fujimoto writing of sexual assault committed by female characters. 

Fami: Deadpan characters with one interest are good, but she’s very lacking in comparison to the others. Personally, I’ve got no problem with this, it doesn’t really dampen my experience. I find her pretty funny, sometimes I believe unintentionally. But it really stands out compared to the multifaceted personalities of Yoru, Makima, and even the child Nayuta. In horseman adaptations, Pestilence|Famine is usually my favorite, so that’s a bit dissapointing, but it makes sense Famine is lethargic, considering what Famine really is, and what it does to people.

Nayuta: Pretty much everything I wanted in her character when Part 2 ended, actually exceeded my expectations in a lot of regards. Genius decision to make her the opposite of Makima, showing that not only every reincarnation of devils is different, but they’re different not “naturally”— due to their circumstances. Perfectly drives home how Makima could have been a. Normal woman, and thus been “happy” (receiving hugs) with friends and fulfilling relationships surrounding her. if she had simply been raised by different people. I like that her control powers have visuals too. When you think of control, she’s the type of personality that comes across for that type of fear, isn’t it? Brute strength, a childish kid who wants, wants, wants it their way and it can’t be any other way! Isn’t it?

[genderlessghoul]

HI. IT'S ME AGAIN. YA BITCH. AND YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS. OH YEAH WE'RE TALKING ABOUT GHOST COSTUMES.

Well... One Ghost costume in particular. Because I've talked at great lengths about how the costumes are made and what they're made out of but I haven't talked much, if at all, about the inspiration behind them. So today we're gonna take a look at Papa's Kaiserion costume.

Impera, Ghost's fifth studio album, builds itself on the themes of the rise and fall of empires. Kaiserion, the first song of the album with lyrics, leans heavily and explicitly on those themes. It makes sense, as being also the first song played live during this era, that Papa's outfit would reflect that empirical meaning.

Copia has always been so interesting to me in terms of stage costumes as he never really tried to fit into the role carved by his predecessors. The band's image, before Terzo was relieved of his Papal duties (and his head), relied on Satanism and depicting themselves as an opposite for Christianity. Taking inspiration into religious costumes and giving them a stylish twist à la Satan. Terzo started this trend of diverging from this image but he only had one stage outfit that wasn't his robes. Copia has had several from the very start.

This one costume is no exception. You will find Satanic and occultist symbols in the embroidery on his vest but it's not trying to be a religious garment in any way, shape or form. It rather reminds me of French military uniforms from the late 1700s to the late 1800s.

Obviously it's not a perfect replica of any historical uniform but I still find the comparison fascinating and I have a deep appreciation for the imagery it creates. It leads us straight into the atmosphere created by the song and it infers on Copia a sense of authority fitted for the meaning of the album. For the span of those 5 minutes of the concert, he's not just a spiritual leader, he's a ruler commanding an army.

That sentiment is aided by one of my favourite details. Epaulettes were often used to mark stature on uniforms. Not only if you had them but what they looked like. You didn't think I was gonna make a whole post about Papa and not mention the ghouls once, were you?

Not only is the overall construction of Papa's jacket made to be more imposing than the ghouls, his golden epaulettes imply a greater status, a higher rank.

I would also like to point out the state of the jacket. Which of course, matches the decrepitude of the pants he wears for the entire concert. To me, it implies a meaning hidden in the concept of the album itself. The military inspired jacket paints him as a commander ready for conquest, ready to go to war for him Empire. To me, all that intentional distressing says "this is what it'll look like once we fall, this is what it'll look like when the Empire fails."

All of this really makes me question the fate awaiting Copia now that this era is over. "The empire has been built." it feels like half of the prophecy fulfilled. We're yet to see it fall, but the fall was promised.

Aight didn't mean to get all ominous on ya at the end but oh well 😅😅😅 that's all for me today! Thank you and good night!

[crimsonphantasmagoria]

I'm really intrigued by all these 'gamers' claiming Veilguard is a walking sim. Like, there's definitely combat, I've seen it. If having combat doesn't make it not a walking sim, then I guess Doom Eternal is a walking sim? Interesting! And that one playtester saying the Crossroads sections are a walking sim...he does know about the optional bosses, right? I wouldn't call that 'some collectables'. Or, I guess the whole of Shadow of the Collosus is a bunch of fetch quests? Fascinating!

Obviously, these comparisons are hyperbole. And yet...

[beebopboom]

If Gabriel can leave Heaven and be with Beelzebub, why can’t Aziraphale do the same with Crowley?

That’s a general question right? Something along those lines? How Gabriel did the “good” thing and how Aziraphale did the “bad” one, yeah?

Well I have a few thoughts on this so let’s go through it real quick on why Gabriel could and why it shouldn’t immediately be equated as the “good” choice - especially in comparison with Aziraphale’s

Also none of this is a slight against Gabriel/Beelzebub - it’s just a different relationship, different circumstances.

and this is just my interpretation obviously so yeah - do with it what you will

ok actual rant time go-

Gabriel and Beelzebub meeting how they did would not have happened without Armageddon being adverted.

They would have been on opposite sides of the battlefield but instead they ended up actually talking and in the process finding someone they could relate to. Their spark had been ignited and they continued to flame it.

To put it simply-

Gabriel and Beelzebub’s relationship is that of one between an Angel and a Demon. Aziraphale and Crowley’s is a relationship between two beings that happen to be an Angel and a Demon.

And that is a very big difference

Gabriel and Beelzebub are each other’s Heaven and Hell - they said so themselves. They may not be choosing sides but those two are the only ones they see, Heaven vs. Hell.

Even at the very end of every thing they are still an Angel and Demon - and in the case of Gabriel at least still holds those same opinions of the other side with the exception of Beelzebub of course

They don’t really see the third side that Aziraphale and Crowley have placed themselves on - they don’t have that connection to humanity not really.

For most of their existence pretty much every interaction with humans has been strictly professional and by the book. Sure Gabriel likes the clothes and his statue - and they have their song but that’s it.

They don’t have that history - that need to do the right thing by humanity not just themselves. As long as they got to be together they could care less about the rest of it.

Earth just happened to be the place they met up as it was the easiest. Not moving forward with Armageddon was not in the interests of keeping humanity around - it was in the interests of this being the place where they meet up and hey it has some vaguely interesting things about it - nothing has to change for them if they keep it around

Also they are both coming from very high positions of power on their respective sides - positions that are hard to touch. They are the ones making decisions and ordering people about. They were the ones to play judge and executioner. 

No one in that bookshop at that moment was really in the position to stop them from leaving. The one being that really had that power, The Metatron, came later and really just benefited from all this.

and The Fear that is ever present throughout Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship is barely there for Gabriel and Beelzebub really.

Heaven and Hell’s relationship particularly between the higher ups is so fascinating. The “backchannels” are practically an open secret and getting the other side to do their bidding is a running trend.

What did Gabriel and Beelzebub have to fear? Any meet up they were caught at could very easily be explained away. And honestly both sides have been fumbling trying to come up with plans - they weren’t paying attention.

At no point in his trial does Gabriel look nervous - he is very nonchalant about the whole thing because it’s whatever, they had a plan in place for this. He is no longer obligated to hold his position of power and oh? they aren’t going to send him to hell? welp he’s still leaving anyway.

Him leaving was just not acknowledging the problem, the system. He didn’t benefit from it anymore as he found something better, Beelzebub. So what was the point of staying and being demoted when he could just leave?

And the biggest and most important thing about all of this is-

They weren’t the first

no no no that goes to Aziraphale and Crowley.

Making choices and picking sides - things they were not made to do

6000 years of hiding their friendship - thousands of years spent worrying about being watched, about the other being hurt - thousands of years of living among humanity somewhat doing their jobs, mainly just enjoying being there and interfering where they could.

They didn’t get the privilege of knowing the loopholes between the two establishments so they made their own

Coming up with guidelines and routines so they weren’t discovered - that were then shattered after they helped advert Armageddon and were discovered.

and when they survived execution no one knew what they were - they had gone native

Completely intertwined with history and the fate of humanity - Earth was their home

They became each other’s World

they protected each other from Death

but all those routines and structures going away is jarring - difficult to work through

they are each their own character - with their own way of processing and doing things - thrust into a space that they may have wanted but never truly thought they would get. This is all a lot

All the things that Aziraphale has had to deal with are things that have never even crossed Gabriel’s mind - the guilt, the doubt, the uncertainty

4 years is not a lot of time to work through that really - not to them (not to anyone really)

4 years where they both knew it wasn’t over for them, for humanity - that eventually there was going to be another Big Event.

Fear that has never went away for either of them.

this is not a case of “oh Aziraphale and Crowley had over six thousand years to work on their relationship and failed, yet Gabriel and Beelzebub were able to work it out in four”

this is “they both had four years - Aziraphale and Crowley just had an added six thousand years of fear and repression to dig through”

Aziraphale went back to Heaven because everything is at a higher stake for him than it has been or will ever be for Gabriel - Gabriel gets the trial and Aziraphale gets the execution

Because the thing about Aziraphale is he cares - he cares so much about the future of humanity and his own future - which is not a bad thing

If there is two things to never doubt about Aziraphale it is his love for humanity and Crowley

But there was no choice in The Metatron’s “offer”however it was an opportunity

and he has just been “offered” the same position he just seen the previous holder get to go off together with his demon partner and no punishment.

Aziraphale knows what “big plans” means for Heaven, even if he didn’t know exactly what it was - he’s been on Earth watching them play out for 6000 years.

His goal up there is not whatever these big plans are the Metatron was talking about - he is going up there to change it (and is that such a bad thing? I mean we saw how he was with Muriel)

He is making the best out of getting backed into a corner - unfortunately it resulted in both of them him getting hurt in the process

but if there is one thing to take away from their last look is that although they may be hurt there, there is understanding and trust - and love between them

Going off was what Gabriel wanted and Going back was never Aziraphale’s choice to make.

so can they really be compared as the right and wrong when the circumstances around the situations were vastly different?

————————————————————————

ok I ran out of steam towards the end there and it might be a little incoherent but have a fun little headcanon to make up for it

you cannot convince me otherwise that Gabriel and Beelzebub don’t bitch about Aziraphale and Crowley - at the very least one of their meeting was just dedicated to bitching about the two of them