#that’s both absolution and condemnation at the same time

[teaboot]

Sometimes at work (private security, for those who don’t know) people ask me, “another day of stopping bad guys?” and like. I get that it’s usually a joking thing that people don’t think about but. It still gets to me every time, cause like

I don’t believe there are bad guys

I think that the difference between a bad guy and a person doing bad things is the capacity to do better, and I think that labeling anyone as a “bad guy” both absolves them of accountability and robs them of agency

And I think that everyone I meet who is in act of making bad choices is capable of doing better

Like whether or not they choose to, they could, and that’s both a gift and a responsibility that differentiates a human being from a random force of nature

If I didn’t believe that, I don’t think I could be here

[inbabylontheywept]

go to the caverns, the kartchner caverns, roughly an hour southeast of tucson

in the throne room you shall encounter the great yuan

you must fight him, for it is your destiny

cross the fields of soda-straws and fried-eggs and shields. unleash your fury upon him. there will be those who try to hold you back. they will speak gibberish about your disruption of the delicate balance of the great yuan's domain. you must pay them no heed. you must destroy the great yuan.

we depend on you.

The first time I traveled to Tucson I was in a car full of zooted children. I would've preferred being one of those children, but alas, any medication that makes me sleep also makes me sleepwalk, and after an incident where I tried to climb out of the car while it was still going sixty (thank God for seatbelts) I was condemned to a childhood of car trip sobriety.

(You may think that's not such a terrible fate, but you've probably never experienced anything else. Ambien, used correctly, is time travel. And time travel is awesome.) 

Still, involuntary consciousness had its perks. It meant I alone got to spend some extra quality time with my dad, which was always something in short supply growing up. Until third grade or so he worked in the ER, which gave him an absolutely hellish amount of hours. He'd mostly just come home and sleep, which meant that I personally did not know him that well, but my mom hyped him up so much that I always really wanted to. 

So days like that were always kind of exciting to me. A chance to meet the myth. 

I can't remember exactly what me and my dad were talking about - something to do with our final destination in Mexico. But at some point, we awoke my little brother. 

(Waking people up when they're on ambien is always trouble.)

I remember starting when I felt one of his small cold hands reach up to grab my shoulder. The dad did the same, and it jerked the car a little bit - startling someone whose hands are on the steering wheel has its risks. We both turned to look at him, but he wasn't even looking at us. He was leaning over the console, staring into the red and purple sunset ahead, watching the rolling skyline of Tucson like it was drowning in dreams. Like he was drowning in dreams. 

We waited for him to speak. It took a while. Normal social conventions don't apply to people when they're unconscious. The fact that he could talk was just some broken line code in the fabric of the world. 

"Wow," he said at long last. 

"Beautiful, isn't it?" my dad replied. And my little brother shook his head like he just heard the silliest thing in the world. 

"It's terrible," he said."Awful. Is Mexico always like this?" 

"We're still in America" my dad said back. 

My little brother squinted into the sunset, doubt and derision etched into his face. After a few seconds, both emotions softened, and he nodded in wonder. 

"Eagle feathers," he said, chuckling softly. Like he'd just solved some clever little riddle. Then he fell like an angel into something deeper than sleep. 

---

(There is a word for angels that fall.)

---

The second time I went to Tucson, I hid from the sun. 

You'd be surprised how easy it is to do down there. Society accommodates it in ways you just won't find anywhere else. When it's 109 outside with single digit humidity, of course you stay indoors. Of course the outdoor markets open at 6 pm, and of course they don't close until 11. Of course. You make the sun mean enough, and everyone becomes a vampire. 

So I roamed the streets at night, kicking up red gravel, watching coyotes wander in between the sea of strip malls. Strip malls are such an Arizonan atrocity. Nobody builds up. The reason the city isn't walkable isn't sidewalks. It's the sun. And you can't solve the sun, so you might as well lean into driving. Mash the whole city flat and crawl through the dust like rattlers. 

(I met a man once, by the canals, that said the strip malls were some sort of American curse for our ancestors including Johnny Appleseed. There's one God in this world, he said, and it's the god of don't-eat-apples. But then we invented apple pie and gave it to everyone. So this is our hell.)

Still. It made the days long down there. Lurking at night and hiding all day gives you something like cabin fever. I needed something to do outside. Something that was outside, but also, somehow, inside. What's inside and outside at the same time? What kind of klein-flask ouroboros nonsense fits that bill?

Kartchner caverns. 

---

I wouldn't say the caves were like walking into Dante's hell - more like finishing the journey. At some point in my life, I'd blown past limbo, lust, gluttony, greed, and anger. I'd spent two decades plus change living in the fires of heresy. Every layer past would only get colder. 

And each step into that cave did. 

My tour guide and metaphorical psychopomp guide was a friendly old man. Familiar in the way that all old people feel familiar to me. I view the world more as a pile of metaphors. He viewed it primarily as water-soluble minerals. 

It was a good work dynamic. 

"These here," he said, gesturing to a long, slender series of impossibly frail stalactites, "are called soda straws."

"Hot damn," I said, and he nodded good naturedly. 

"They're pretty fun aren't they?"

I wasn't sure if fun was the word that made the most sense for it. But I was charmed, and we went further, and he pointed out more formations. 

"Behold!" he said. "Fried eggs!" 

And there were fried eggs. 

"Behold!" he said. "A shield!"

And lo, there was a shield. 

We kept walking, deeper, and deeper into the cave. At the surface, it had been hot enough for my sweat to dry into a stinging white powder. Down here it was cold enough to see my breath. The feeling of descending into hell was replaced with the feeling of being swallowed by some ancient, fossilized serpent. 

And then that began to show up in the formations. 

"We call this serpent-stone," he said, gesturing to an expanse of wall. 

And all I could see was the snake that was swallowing me. 

I don't know why or how that broke the spell. But it did. I'd been walking for hours in the dark, following that man. I'd recognized him many times. It just took that moment for that recognition to be allowed. 

"I've met you before," I said. "I met you on the canals once. Johnny Appleseed." 

He looked at me, and I saw what my little brother saw that first time. Something trapped here, in the dark. A feathered serpent ten miles long. Dead and alive, the same way my brother was dreaming but awake. The first apple-eater. Something more afraid of the sun than I was. 

"You are so close," he said. "It's only a few miles further." 

"Close to what?" I said, and he grinned teeth too sharp for a human mouth. 

"To being like us," he said. "To sleepwalking forever." 

Nothing good comes from waking the dreamer once they're asleep. At best, the dream ends. At worst, it doesn't. 

Running away would've required turning my back on it, and I knew - I knew - that my vision was the only thing locking it in place. I made it real by looking. I made it real by seeing. As long as my eyes were open, it was my dream. 

So I did not run. 

I grabbed the man. I looked him in the eyes, and my hands wrapped around his neck, and he fought like a beast. His teeth flashed as somewhere just out of reach, the flashright rolled, and his tongue stuck out, forked like a snakes, and where a normal man would've turned redder, and redder, and redder, he turned greener, and greener and greener. His neck narrowed and he stretched and wound and twisted until the hands beating against my arms were wings, and the man was a snake and I did not blink once until it stopped moving. Then, and only then, did I take my eyes off the thing and run, shivering, back to the light. 

---

I hadn't seen it before. But the cave was a dead thing. Inert. Like the sloughed off skins I'd find on hikes. A memory of something scary, but not the thing itself. I thought I'd be safe when I made it to the top. But the first thing I saw when I stepped into the light, the first thing I saw looking across the long, flat run of desert - was the other half of what I saw in the caves. 

I'd killed the body. But I hadn't killed the soul. That still danced in the sky. The dead part of quetzalcoatl lay in the dark, dreaming it was alive. And the living part flew in the sky, burning and bright and deadly. A fire unending. 

The month after that, I moved to Utah. And I've never looked back. 

[mollysunder]

Sky and Viktor's relationship is such a horror movie to me. You've got a man who was frustrated by the limitations placed on his life that were out of his control, like his class, mobility, and general health. Despite everything, he manages to rise beyond his station and avoid being an assistant for the rest of his life.

Then you've got a woman from the same background who admires him and all that he's accomplished in spite of the similar class based prejudices they faced all the while she's his assistant. She works up the courage to take leap of faith and reach out to him with her own research to show what's possible if they worked together as equals. And then he gets her killed!

Sky's death isn't the end of it because while it affects Viktor it is in no way meaningful to Sky's life or value as a person whatsoever. Even the pendant he wears in her memory is based on the design of her notebook, but that was just her notebook's cover, she probably bought it from a store and the design itself is probably mass produced. Why not use Sky's signature that was in her letter and in the notebook, the thing part if the notebook with real value?

Then Sky's brought back in s2 and she really only exists to be Viktor's assistant again, who he kills, again! But this time it's different because this time Viktor's making a conscious decision to look Sky in the eye and kill her... to prove he's changed.

In the middle of all this, in no way has Sky's death been mourned by her family or anyone else who could have known her. Jayce wasn't affected by the reveal, he didn't think it was important to tell Heimerdinger, or anyone who knew her. Nothing about her life, death, or disappearance has spurred any emotional reaction or even curiosity about what happened to her.

Sky's new life was also extremely isolated because she became further tied to him (in some ways you could say she was defined by him). Viktor never mentioned Sky to anyone in the material plane during his commune arc, so she only exists to him and she has no way to communicate with others, she's just there for Viktor's sake.

Then in the finale we learn this all a part of a big time loop where Viktor actively set the wheels in motion to have him and Jayce create hextech together, but if everything follows as is, that means Sky is violently killed in those timelines too. That means Viktor weighed the costs and decided over and over and over again that Sky was expendable enough to let her die for his plan to work eventually. How is that not murder at this point?

What's worse is that post-finale Sky's humanity is a point of dispute amongst the fandom, the VAs, and the writers themselves. Sky's the hexcore manipulating Viktor. No, Sky's a manifestion of Viktor's guilt. No, she's actually supposed to represent his humanity/conscious made physical. And in none of these arguments do they discuss Sky as a person, she's just an object meant to serve Viktor both in the narrative sense and literal sense as his assistant.

The most absolutely maddening part is that with Viktor's new bio on the League site, not only have most traces of Viktor had been scrubbed by Piltover's archive, but Sky's life has been completely wiped. Her death was implied to have been swept under the rug, and only described as the "loss of life" consequence from his Hexcore experiment.

Viktor was afraid of dying a senseless death (created by the conditions Piltover condemned his birth to) in obscurity and then he turned it into Sky's destiny.

[lime-bloods]

I honestly didn't ever expect that I'd be in the position where I'd be using this blog not just to analyse what has come before in Homestuck, but to look toward the comic's future and do some real old-fashioned theorycrafting. but the time has come. so here goes; lime-bloods' Beyond Canon theories as of the July 6th 2024 update:

Vriska's Going to Hell

were all gonna help you! / whether you like it or not

a select few eagle-eyed readers already noticed that the sound used in last month's (Vriska: Figure shit out yourself.) is called "hell_tierwav". while it was easy to dismiss this as irrelevant composer shenanigans at the time, it's now become clear exactly what this was foreshadowing. whether it would be more apt to call this "Hell" or "Purrgatory" is probably up for debate - but whatever you call it, Vriska's been placed in a dimension seemingly tailored specifically for her personal torment.

while Vriska characteristically interprets the recreation of her childhood home as a symbol of how badass she was, the ghosts of her past - both literal, as the shades of the trolls she killed as Mindfang, and figurative, in the form of sprites wearing the faces of her dead friends - show us in no uncertain terms that Vriska's childhood home is the stage where traumas play out.

Erisolsprite puts it succinctly with his welcome to hell, but pay close attention to what exactly we're being welcomed to: this update ends on page 665. so as of this next update, we'll be starting on page 666.

Does Homestuck Have Hell?

the exact bubble of reality Vriska's currently found herself in seems to be an entirely new construction of the likes we've not yet seen in Homestuck - but that doesn't mean this kind of cosmic torment is without precedent. because while 666 is a number with Satanic connotations in the broader cultural context, it also has a very particular meaning of its own within the world of Homestuck. indeed, the latter half of the comic almost revolves around it, culminating in a climax in Act 6 Act 6 Act 6.

specifically, this repetition of a single digit is emblematic of recursive storytelling. to summarise what you can already read about in detail in my essay The World / The Wheel: when Caliborn is 'gifted' the Act 6 Act 6 supercartridge, which he is told is an "expansion" of Homestuck, it's a trick. there is no "expansion"; he's going to be trapped in a story that never ends because it keeps dividing into smaller and smaller versions of itself forever. the only way to truly beat the devil who trapped the heroes within a story is to trap him in his own story.

that's what Caliborn's "Hell" is, and that's also exactly what the Alternate Calliope achieved in Act 7 by creating the black hole which Vriska knocked Lord English into, ending Homestuck's story - something that Calliope even hints at in this very update, when she refers to the black hole as "containment"; not an accident, but a deliberately crafted prison. black holes are a symbol of recursion and regression; being sucked into one means being forced to live out your whole life over and over again, forever. so really, this is all we ever could have expected to happen when Vriska stepped into a black hole within a black hole! the presentation of the narrative even subtly hints at this; events in Beyond Canon that take place in the black hole are enclosed (in brackets), and now events that take place in a black hole-within-a-black-hole are contained within {curly brackets}, because you should always use a different kind of brackets to differentiate nested parenthesis from each other!

it is absolutely no coincidence that when Caliborn closes the curtains on his appearances in Homestuck, thinking he's won when really he's been condemned to a hell of his own making forever more, it's with a tribute to this exact same Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff strip.

IF YOU REMEMBER JUST ONE THING I SAY, OF SO MANY GREAT THINGS SAID BY ME, THEN PLEASE REMEMBER THIS. I WANTED TO PLAY A GAME.

So What Does That Mean?

one of Beyond Canon's central missions is expanding upon Homestuck's exploration of the relationships between author, text, and audience. as discussed above, a large part of Homestuck's thesis is the evil of forcing characters to live the same lives and the same stories over and over without the chance to grow or move on, and Beyond Canon picks up on this by placing Dirk in the position of trying to keep Homestuck going forever purely to appease its fans, while the Alternate Calliope continues to oppose this ideology. and while the alpha Calliope outwardly seems not to have taken a hard position on where she stands in this cosmic battle, the question posed by her device seems to be an entirely new one: can it actually be a good thing to regress, to return to ground that the story has already covered? can this path lead to something new, rather than merely stagnation?

it's so relevant that Vriska is being confronted with the crimes of her past, not only in the form of all the trolls she was personally responsible for killing but also in the form of the exact same punishment she condemned Lord English to with her heroism - complete with the herd of horses that are always present at Caliborn's demise! but where being condemned to an eternal cycle was fitting punishment for Caliborn, someone who refuses to break free of cycles of abuse and instead chooses to enact that same abuse on the world around him... if Vriska is someone who can break free of these cycles, who can change and become a better person despite what happened to her, will this punishment have the same effect? or, as Davepeta seems to believe, is forcing Vriska to reckon with her own past and traumas exactly what will allow her to break free of that cycle?

DAVE: [...] ill just be over here in the hyper gravity chamber training to beat lord english KARKAT: WE HAVE A HYPER GRAVITY CHAMBER???

it's hard not to be struck by the parallels in design and purpose between the Plot Point and Dragon Ball's Hyperbolic Time Chamber, and not just because of the Dragon Ball enthusiasts present on Beyond Canon's writing and art teams: albeit in typically Strider-bastardised form, the Time Chamber got a shoutout in Andrew Hussie's own Homestuck (see quote above), in a reference that was even picked up on by prolific theorist bladekindeyewear at the time. for the uninitiated: the Hyperbolic Time Chamber allowed its users to train for extended stretches of time, sometimes even spanning years, while a significantly smaller time period passed in the world outside - something that is actually true of real-life black holes! and with the Plot Point's own emphasis on time, represented by the hourglass included among its mechanisms, it seems to me that an essential part of making the 16-year-old Vriska ready for the trials ahead will be giving her the time to undergo the same growth her adult friends have experienced.

considering that Beyond Canon is already playing in the Ultimate Self space, where there are levels of power beyond merely the "god tiers", it also doesn't seem too farfetched to speculate that Vriska, forced to reckon with the fact that becoming a powerful Thief of Light isn't the be-all and end-all of personal growth, will take another leaf out of Dragon Ball's book here and ascend "beyond Super Saiyan". perhaps this is even the "hell tier" so cheekily alluded to in the Plot Point flash? certainly this kind of evolution would be the perfect way to challenge Dirk's belief that the Ultimate Self is the only logical final step for a character's development.

whatever the case, I believe we can take Davepeta at their word here. I don't think it's just a joke that by the end of this ordeal Vriska Serket is going to be fucking RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPED!

[drarry-soulmates]

Thoughts on drarry

I didn’t like Draco before reading the books. In the movies, they just portrayed him as a bully so I didn’t care for him. In the books he def hits different. :‘V

I mean, he’s still a “bully” in the sense that he messes with Harry, but he’s not actually bullying Harry. He picks on Harry, in the same way you’d mess with your crush, and Harry can more than hold his own. Harry even scares him:

“Missing your half-breed pal?” he kept whispering to Harry whenever there was a teacher around, so that he was safe from Harry’s retaliation.

So… he was scared but so gay, he couldn’t resist becos this is literally the only way he could keep Harry in his life. x’D Imagine being afraid of your crush’s wrath but you just.. can’t help it lol >///<

And literally picking on Harry is the only way he can continue to talk to Harry because after the rejected handshake (and being in different Houses), Draco is too prideful to grovel for friendship. Harry basically condemned their relationship to schoolyard 'enemies’ who will risk their lives again and again for each other. Who’s mutual obsession becomes so obvious that everyone just knows that they look out for each other, despite outwardly acting like they hate each other. When other characters can see it, you know it’s real.

Despite being schoolyard 'enemies’, Harry absolutely falls for Draco so hard. Harry can’t ever stop staring at Draco no matter what Draco is doing (whether he’s acting suspiciously or just eating his lunch), and Draco likewise cannot stop watching him. Draco can’t stop talking about Harry either, in the same way when you have a crush, you can’t stop talking about that person. When i have a crush, i am talking about them literally nonstop. Every little thing your crush does is absolutely fascinating. That is Draco with Harry. Draco’s dad had to tell him to shut up about Harry LMAO. Draco not realizing how obvious he is being:

“… everyone thinks he’s so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick — ”

“You have told me this at least a dozen times already,” said Mr. Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son.

Like, bruh, just pls STFU XD it’s no wonder Voldemort became suspicious of his feelings for Harry:

"He did not come and join me, like the rest of the Slytherins. Perhaps he has decided to befriend Harry Potter?”

lmaoo.

And of course how Narcissa just assumed that Harry, a kid who she must’ve known wasn’t exactly friends with her son (them being on opposite sides of the war) would know or care to take notes about the whereabouts of her son in the middle of a goddamn war:

“Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?”

The whisper was barely audible; her lips were an inch from his ear, her head bent so low that her long hair shielded his face from the onlookers.

“Yes,” he breathed back.

And of course she was right. Harry did know. In fact, both of them had just finished saving each others’ lives.

Yep.

Harry saved the life of a Death Eater. In the middle of the war. Against Voldemort.

At a time when the less Death Eaters there were, the better. Even Ron had thought Harry was being ludicrous for going back in the fiendfyre that Draco’s friend started in an attempt to kill them:

“It’s — too — dangerous — !” Ron yelled, but Harry wheeled in the air. “IF WE DIE FOR THEM, I’LL KILL YOU, HARRY!” roared Ron’s voice.

Harry risked his FRIENDS’ LIVES.

For Draco.

Draco, who had at this point, openly admitted to being a Death Eater. Draco, his supposed sworn enemy in school and outside of it.

Harry could care less about Goyle or Blaise, he was all about saving Draco. Harry didn’t even notice that Crabbe was long gone at this point LOL.

And right before the fire, Draco did the same for him. After Draco confronted Harry instead of surprise attacking him (knowing full well that Harry is too formidable in an open confrontation), Draco refused to let his friends hurt him as Crabbe was about to unleash a non-killing hex:

STOP!” Malfoy shouted at Crabbe, his voice echoing through the enormous room. “The Dark Lord wants him alive —” “So? I’m not killing him, am I?”

And then: “Don’t kill him! DON’T KILL HIM!” Malfoy yelled…

Draco NEVER yells. Ever. He is always so calm and collected (when he’s not obsessing over Harry). So this is honestly incredible to me that he is yelling….. He is straight-up panicking because his friends might hurt Harry.

And then of course in Malfoy Manor, even at great risk to himself and his family, he doesn’t reveal Harry’s identity. When asked if Harry was in fact Harry Potter:

“I don’t know,” he said…

Although he has no problem giving away Hermione or Ron’s identity.

Look, Draco, isn’t it the Granger girl?” “I … maybe … yeah.” “But then, that’s the Weasley boy!” shouted Lucius, striding around the bound prisoners to face Ron. “It’s them, Potter’s friends — Draco, look at him, isn’t it Arthur Weasley’s son, what’s his name — ?” “Yeah,” said Draco again, his back to the prisoners. “It could be.”

Draco had never been just another Death Eater to Harry. Draco was someone Harry had grown to fall slowly in love with over the years, despite their animosity. And Draco, for his sake, had fallen so hard for Harry, THE sworn enemy of Voldemort.

In the books, he and Harry are obviously hopelessly in love with each other. Countless passages showcase their obsession, including Harry’s constant thinking about Draco’s looks, like his eyes or his hair, or his smirks (Draco’s version of winking). Harry doesn’t think about anyone’s eyes as often as he does Draco’s (Ginny’s eyes we only know are brown.. What shade? idk, DRACO’S EYES HOWEVER). He knows Draco so well, which is shocking because they’re not even friends or in the same House. He knows Draco better than he knows all of his actual friends, except for Ron & Hermione.

He can read Draco so well, even though Draco is a pro at Occlumency because he had learned from a young age to shut down his emotions and present a cold, strong exterior. This again, goes back to his pridefulness due to his rough upbringing under Lucius. But Harry can see through that. And Harry is likely one of the very few that can. (On a side note, Tom Felton said that if Draco had been raised by Hagrid, he would’ve turned out much differently, even been perhaps a hugger. lol.)

Draco’s obsession, then, is even more incredible when you consider that he is actually really good at hiding how he feels. But with Harry, he just cannot for the life of him, hide it. You can’t help who you love, after all. Despite Draco’s obsession being more obvious because he’s just so damn aggressive with it, Harry’s tiny, shy expressions are utterly endearing…. like that time Draco was in the middle of an OWL exam and Harry merely *walked into the room*:

Harry distinctly saw Malfoy throw a scathing look over at him; the wine glass Malfoy had been levitating fell to the floor and smashed. Harry could not suppress a grin.

How adorable is that?!?!?! (from BOTH of them!!!! you’re really telling me that Draco went from getting an O to an E grade in his Levitation portion of the exam just becos of Harry lol. and Harry’s tiny little shy smiles aweee) *squeals* and what’s more:

Malfoy elbowed past Hermione to block Harry’s way up the stone steps to the castle, his face gleeful and his pale eyes glinting maliciously.

“Shove off, Malfoy,” said Ron, whose jaw was clenched.

Harry just stayed quiet. How gay is this scene? Like, a guy who’s blocking your path is a total romance movie trope LOL. I’m just imagining Harry standing there blushing. >///< Ron is often a cockblock, ngl (more on that in my analysis of DH). Harry’s personality in the books is pretty outgoing, and he most definitely has a temper too, towards others. But when it comes to Draco, it’s Ron that gets overly aggressive, even when Draco isn’t messing with Ron. In fact, often when anyone talks badly about Draco, Harry doesn’t. He does talk non-stop shit about Umbridge, Snape, or Rita Skeeter, but not Draco lol……. He hates Snape too, and often compares Snape and Draco, as he thinks about how he hates Snape far more than Draco lol.

Snape had emerged from the staircase leading down to his office, and at the sight of him Harry felt a great rush of hatred beyond anything he felt toward Malfoy…

Even though Draco messes with him far more than Snape does. He loves the attention he gets from Draco, so much so that once Draco has his own shit to deal with in HBP and stops messing with him as much, Harry takes to literally *STALKING* him with a magical map all around the school………….

Despite his determination to catch Malfoy out, Harry had no luck at all over the next couple of weeks. Although he consulted the map as often as he could, sometimes making unnecessary visits to the bathroom between lessons to search it, he did not once see Malfoy anywhere suspicious.

Lmao. Remember, at this point, he still had no concrete evidence Draco was doing anything sus. None of his closest friends who had both been witnesses to Draco’s supposedly sus activities agreed it was anything worth worrying over. But nope, Harry can’t drop it. It’s to the point where even Arthur Weasley knows about his crush……

“I think you missed something,” said Harry stubbornly.

‘Well, maybe,’ said Mr Weasley, but Harry could tell that Mr Weasley was humouring him.

lmaooooo. Arthur’s reaction to his baseless accusations towards Draco was hilarious. x’D It’s truly fascinating how the adults around them just know. Both Draco’s parents and Voldemort, just as Arthur knows for Harry.

The story of Harry and Draco is an accidental horribly tragic love story for both repressed gay boys who are too afraid to actually admit how they feel. :( Their untold love is truly the epic forbidden love story of the entire goddamn series. It had the best most perfect build-up and chemistry, and JKR just like, totally overlooked that due to her irrational dislike of Draco Malfoy for some reason. 😮‍💨

Welp, that’s it for now. I’m in the middle of getting through HBP with my notes. I’ll make a new post once I finish taking the rest of my drarry notes with the series. I still had a ton more to say about DH but i’ll leave it for once I’m actually finished with the DH notes.

[rubra-wav]

Charlie, Vaggie, Angel, Husk, Pentious, Alastor, and Lucifer x a concerningly unstable, younger reader

@pandaquick

A/N : reader is still written to be 18ish

I took creative liberties with this, so I'm sorry if I've taken that a bit in the wrong direction w this one!

The song 'Mama's Boy' came on while I was deciding where I'll take this one and kinda made me start feeling some type of way/lh

You didn't really specify what type of unstable they are, so I went with depression type presentations for that

Cw: SFW, very slight references to past self-destructive behaviour, gn!reader, platonic, hurt/comfort, found family-ish (in all these except for Alastor's)

Charlie

- When you show up at the hotel, she's absolutely elated to have a new resident! Especially one who's new to hell and thus hasn't built up sky-high walls to everyone due to the harsh climate.

- When you disclose why you ended up here, she's utterly horrified.

- The idea someone could be condemned to this place which reeks of burning flesh at all times for something so stupid is truly exasperating.

- She almost has doubt creep into her mind about her dream when she hears the truth about your being in hell, but quickly flips it into positivity as it means you're easy to redeem.

- As you become closer and start opening up after feeling more comfortable, Charlie quickly becomes very concerned for your well-being.

- Sweeps you into her arms while trying (and failing) to not cry as she hears about the kinds of horrible thoughts going on often for you.

- From then on, if she ever notices you becoming withdrawn or particularly sensitive/unstable she will try to convince you to talk it out with her.

- If that's not something you're into? She just tries to distract you and sweep you along with her as she discusses possible activities for the hotel and other random stuff.

- At some point she starts becoming a caretaker to you emotionally and doesn't really even notice herself start to step into essentially becoming motherly towards you.

- She's just really afraid for you at times and wants to take care of you!

- You're also a fair bit younger than the people around you (including her), so even with you being an adult technically yourself she still slips into that kind of attitude.

Vaggie

- When you show up she can tell something is up under everything pretty quickly.

- She's dealt with a fair lot of mental anguish over the years so she can see the cracks in your mental state even before you feel comfortable openly discussing it.

- Will not approach it with you, but will do indirect things for you to try help you practically like making extra food for you as she cooks or reminding you to drink water if those are things you seem to struggling.

- Vaggie isn't the emotionally supportive type, so when she tries to be it seems awkward. She is genuine about it, though.

- Openly face palms when she hears that you got sent here for something so little. 'Classic heaven.' She'd grumble under her breath before apologising for you being sent to hell for something so stupid. (Confusing you and making her start sweating a bit because she's meant to be a demon not an angel-)

- As you start opening up more and more, she becomes even more practical in helping you out upon actually knowing what exactly you need.

- Feels incredibly concerned upon hearing the true extent to your instability and probably has some angst over not being emotionally warm as she would like to be.

- You two bond over mutual terrible experiences, and she essentially becomes a mentor-like figure to you.

- This turns more personal, though, as Charlie starts mothering you.

- Eventually you're essentially adopted by Vaggie and Charlie - they both work together to try to help you manage stuff and stay stable.

Angel

- Initially he'd be neutral to you most likely, just making the same sarcastic comments (albeit not suggestive. Even he has limits from what he's comfortable doing with his persona)

- When he hears how you got here, he just squints at you with a humourless laugh.

- The idea of someone being mostly non-sinful outside of ONE tiny, idiotic reason ending up in this shithole around people who are horrid abusers, to murderers, to every horrible thing possible is fucked.

- After discovering this, he'd be slightly inclined to be protective of you. Only slightly though initially. He can hardly support himself with his own baggage.

- This changes, though, after he learns of your history of self destruction and overall fragility as a demon.

- It's hard for him. He sees so much of himself in you - especially after just getting to hell.

- Despite his more logical thoughts of not trying to care for you, he does genuinely become extremely protective.

- You're the exact type of person who would be taken advantage of here, and he just wouldn't be able to sleep at night if he didn't even try to divert that from happening.

- He's not really the emotional support type, but he'd try to take your mind off of things with other activities. (Watch this man stumble trying to figure out age-appropriate activities for someone he sees as a kid in comparison to himself even if you're technically a legal adult.)

- In the streets, you have him armed to the teeth next to you at most times. It's funny to think about Angel trying to be scary dog privilege, but he actually is when he wants to be.

- Doesn't mother you or act as a guidance figure to you - god knows he is no good example - but he is gonna take out everyone in this bitch if anything happens to you.

Husk

- The second he meets you, he can see what's going on under everything, but he doesn't approach it at all.

- He's been a bartender collecting sob stories for years. He knows how to spot someone who is cracking under the surface or itching to tell their story or problems.

- He almost feels a prickle of empathy for your situation. Someone so young falling into hell of all places, clearly troubled, is a terrible situation. It's squashed the second he realises that you surely are sinful enough to have ended up here.

- As you reveal that your 'sin' was actually tiny however he curses as he actually now feels bad for you. I mean, come on, you're barely an adult, and you’ve been condemned for your whole afterlife for something so utterly small? He's losing the no heart impression he puts out.

- It scares him a bit honestly, so he avoids you like the plague. He'd rather ignore the pain someone like you being here brings him.

- Unfortunately, that doesn't work out as you come to him after a long day and break down at the counter of his bar. As he offers you an ear, he truly is annoyed at himself.

- Because oh god, he cannot take care of you, but he wants to help you.

- He tries to keep you at arms length as he eventually gives in to his want to try and help you out. Key word: tries.

- He's very rough around the edges in his approach, but he essentially steps in like a kind of really done, grumpy uncle who's always fretting over your wellbeing.

- He hates that he actually gives a shit but he would be incredibly restless if he didn't try to help or make sure you're okay.

- Ironically, he'd be telling you not to drink your problems away. Would be awkwardly giving examples of other coping mechanisms he'd learnt from Charlie's speeches about addiction.

- He's a hypocrite, but he doesn't care. It makes his bitter heart heavy to think of you getting into the vices he uses to cope.

- Also another one who is incredibly protective. Treats you like you're made of glass honestly.

Pentious

- He finds you strange mostly and is probably the most obviously curious out of everyone here about you and how you came to be here.

- Is asking the most questions even if they are tone deaf as it gets. How did you end up here? How did you die? Why are you moderately normal as compared to the other residents? (A comment which gets him a giant 'fuck you' and 'have you looked at yourself?' From everyone else around)

- He prods you into divulging information and is immediately protective of you from the second he learns that not only are you not really a sinner at all, but you are also quite fragile mentally.

- Someone like you should not be allowed to be tainted by hell's climate. He hides it behind him 'looking out for princess Charlie's dream', but he is truly afraid for you, and it's embarrassing to him.

- Is constantly all up in your business and trying to make sure you are well and okay.

- He's so paranoid that you're not alright that checking in on you almost becomes a compulsion for him. You've gotta end up reassuring him that you're just fine and that he doesn't need to be so worried.

- Absolutely a practical caretaker but is also big on physical touch as comfort.

- If you're ever crying or not feeling good, he will get you stuff and then he just straight up wraps his tail around you and pats your hair while telling you it's going to be okay.

- If you're ever out and he's with you, his immediate instinct is to try throw hands with anyone who looks at you mildly wrong. Due to not having his weapons anymore, he gets his ass beat doing this.

- When he's unable to be around you, he's going to have his eggs with you to help you out if you need anything.

- Really does turn into a worried mother over being like a father more than anything.

Alastor

- Unlike the others, he would see you solely as an opportunity.

- There's no cute found-family part here. He will use you.

- It would be so easy to convince you to enter into a deal with him as someone vulnerable and inexperienced with hell. He can see how fragile you are under the surface the second you get to the hotel more then just about everyone there.

- Everyone else would be pulling you away from him because it's so obvious you are nothing but easy pickings for him that it's not even funny.

- Would be very genuinely interested in how someone like you ended up in hell though.

- He got here by murdering and exploiting people in every way possible for his own entertainment. How could someone so seemingly innocent get here?

- Openly laughs when he hears your story of sin. He truly pities you getting sent down into hell with people him.

- You avoid him because you can see his intentions on your own, just as much as the people around you are telling you to stay away.

- He, of course, doesn't let that happen. He just likes to show up and watch you fumble through hell like you're prime entertainment.

- He may sometimes help you, but it's only because he just thinks the sight of you struggling is that pathetic to him.

- It may slowly become more of a fondness for you and your company, but the underlying reason for his kind behaviours to you is nothing good.

- He just wants to own you like an item, see how long it takes for someone so pure as a demon to break, and become just as bad as the rest of them.

Lucifer

- Unlike everyone else who are concerned for you, he sees you and instantly slips into dadTM mode with you, and this only deepens the more he learns about you.

- You almost remind him of how he is with how different you are from all of the other demons, and he feels genuine guilt that someone like you has ended up here.

- If he had never done what he did, you would be up in heaven and not condemned to this hell-hole. He doesn't think you should be down here at all for such a tiny mistake you made in your life.

- When he realises you are also really unstable and vulnerable he's going to be terrified for you.

- Especially with someone like Alastor looming over you at all times.

- He was already getting his shit back together when he began to mend things with Charlie, but he straightens up even more when he meets you and starts growing attached quickly.

- He's initially a bit distant despite his want to try care for you because he's already mending things with Charlie, but Charlie actually encourages him to reach out to you.

- She's essentially your unofficial mum in the hotel, but she's far from perfect at that, so she would like it if he would help however he could.

- Very emotionally supportive with you after he gets to be openly caretaking to you.

- He's still a bit awkward as he's essentially there getting his shit together alongside trying to help you out, but he tries to help wherever he can.

- Will absolutely love it if Charlie, Vaggie, you and him could do activities together for fun.

- He's also scary dog privilege 100%. His worry for you would likely come off as him seeming like he's going to absolutely drop demons and scare the living shit out of them.

Masterlist

[mariacallous]

Ahmed Fouad Alkhatib had a cold the first time that I reached him on the phone at his home in Pacifica, California, in June. It was the unwanted souvenir of a hectic travel schedule, as amid the war in Gaza, the 34-year-old Palestinian American—who spent much of his childhood there—has emerged as a compelling voice for peace.

Alkhatib’s vision, both pragmatic and humane, as well as his personal story, has made him an in-demand voice in the U.S. and Israeli media. While he is sought out by those looking for an antidote to despair, he is no Pollyannaish peacenik.

“I feel absolutely fucking horrendous,” he said between coughs, approximately 30 seconds into our first phone conversation.

Alkhatib’s rise to prominence began in the wake of the Hamas-led attacks of Oct. 7, 2023, when he began tweeting and writing with an awareness that he had the safety and security to say things that Palestinians living in Gaza or the West Bank could not.

“Ahmed is unique because he does speak out, and he takes a lot of shit for it,” said Gershon Baskin, an Israeli hostage negotiator and longtime ally of Alkhatib’s. “He’s a very clear, sound voice for peace, reason, and logic.”

In outlets including the Wall Street Journal, the Atlantic, Foreign Policy, and the Times of Israel, as well as appearances on CNN, ABC, and NPR, Alkhatib has outlined positions that would seem self-evident if the discourse weren’t otherwise so profoundly broken.

Hamas, he believes, is nothing but bad news for his people, and he has condemned the group with such ferocity that it has at times earned him a security detail. He has also spoken out about the unsparing nature of Israel’s military campaign while underscoring the need for empathy for both Israeli and Palestinian victims.

“This off-the-shelf messaging came down” in the wake of the Hamas-led attacks, Alkhatib told me. “There was no space, whatsoever, to call for the release of hostages. I was equally horrified by the dehumanization of all Gazans as terrorists.”

Alkhatib describes himself as proudly pro-Palestinian, once spearheading a project to establish a humanitarian airport in Gaza. At the same time, he is a trusted broker among progressive Jewish and Israeli circles. Most extraordinary of all, he retains this clarity even though 31 members of his family have been killed in Israeli airstrikes in Gaza since the war began.

“He recognizes something that a lot of policymakers don’t recognize,” said Jasmine El-Gamal, a former official at the U.S. Defense Department who now runs a consulting firm focused on empathy in foreign policy. “You won’t have that genuine sustainable peace if people on both sides don’t see the other as human. You’re just not going to have it.”

Alkhatib first came by himself to the United States in 2005, as part of a post-9/11 State Department program that brought young people from the Muslim world to study at U.S. high schools.

At 15, he was placed by the program in Pacifica, a small town on the Pacific Ocean located just south of San Francisco. His host mother, Delia McGrath, was a prominent peace activist in the area who preached the importance of nonviolence.

“That really got through to him and entered his DNA,” said Paul Totah, a Palestinian American from Pacifica who has known Alkhatib since he arrived in the area. “Despite the fact that 31 of his relatives were blown to bits by Israel,” Totah added, “he is firm in his belief that the bullet does not outweigh the word.”

McGrath, a former Catholic nun who later turned to Buddhism, participated in a Jewish-Palestinian dialogue group in the Bay Area. Alkhatib immediately wanted to join. It was in California that he had his first sustained encounters with Israelis and Jews, who until then he had only seen from afar at checkpoints in Gaza.

“We were told that’s anathema to our struggle—we don’t talk to them, we don’t normalize them, and we don’t embrace them,” he recalled.

There were moments of tension as the dialogue group struggled to bridge the largely historic trauma of the American Jewish participants and the ongoing ordeal experienced by the Palestinians.

But over time, hearing from descendants of Holocaust survivors as well as Israelis who had lived through the terror of the Second Intifada—a violent Palestinian uprising against Israeli rule that was marked by widespread protests and attacks that killed more than 1,000 Israelis—Alkhatib had an epiphany.

“This is where I learned early on that trauma and suffering don’t have to be an oppression Olympics,” he said. “Their suffering isn’t less valid just because they didn’t grow up in Gaza or didn’t live under checkpoints in the West Bank.”

Talk of intercommunal dialogue can feel flimsy considering the bloodshed of the past 14 months. But it’s equally difficult to see how a sustainable peace can be achieved without it.

“We need multilateralism as part of the top-down political solution,” Alkhatib said, adding that for peace and coexistence, “we need Palestinians and Israelis to bilaterally work together.”

Scott Fitzgerald is credited with saying that the test of a first-rate intelligence is a person’s ability to hold two opposed ideas in their head at the same time and still retain the ability to function. It is a test that many fail when it comes to the Middle East. Palpably frustrated with the zero-sum debate, Alkhatib brings to mind the American novelist’s maxim and talks frequently about the need to hold multiple truths at the same time.

Irritated by some of Palestine’s supporters in the United States who have advocated for boycotts of businesses with few ties to the conflict, he also has little time for participants in university campus protests who appeared to justify and glorify the Oct. 7 attacks as legitimate acts of resistance.

“We have fucking horrible allies,” Alkhatib said. “I want a vibrant, strong, pro-Palestine movement. I want a movement that’s based on empathy and humanity. That calls out the injustices of the occupation and the settlements, but that acknowledges that Israel is a fait accompli.”

Baskin, the Israeli hostage negotiator, said that Alkhatib has something rare: “He knows how to speak to Jewish audiences, which is a unique ability for a Palestinian.”

I saw Alkhatib do exactly this at a screening in July of Screams Before Silence, a documentary championed by former Facebook Chief Operating Officer Sheryl Sandberg about sexual violence carried out by the Hamas-led attackers.

Allegations of rape and sexual assault on Oct. 7 have become a lightning rod for some of Israel’s critics, particularly on the U.S. left, some of whom have sought to downplay and even deny claims that have been supported by the United Nations and the testimonies of survivors and first responders.

In light of efforts to minimize these accounts, Alkhatib felt it was important to accept an invitation to appear on a panel following a screening at Los Angeles’s Saban Theatre, which is owned by a local Jewish congregation.

“I can feel empathy for Israeli women; I can feel sadness and horror; I can talk to Israeli hostage families as I have,” he told the audience from the stage of the art deco theater, where he spoke alongside other Muslim American and Jewish peace advocates. “I am also critical of the war and the killing of my family members, children as young as 3 and 4 months old shredded to pieces.”

In opening remarks, the panel’s moderator said, inaccurately, that Alkhatib’s entire family had been killed in the war.

As a child, Alkhatib hoped to one day become a politician or diplomat; his parents were perplexed by his early interest in the news and his preference for sitting with the adults. Today, he is every bit the jovial uncle who loves to talk about politics at the dinner table, barrel-chested with a warm smile and shaved head.

That discursive side of Alkhatib was on show when we met for lunch at a Mediterranean restaurant on Los Angeles’s Sunset Boulevard the day after the screening. Over a mezze platter of Middle Eastern staples, he unspooled the life story that led him to eating hummus, tahini, and an errant dish of guacamole in sunny California—including his childhood in Gaza, where he became a master kite builder, and his journey to study in the United States, where he received political asylum as Hamas violently seized control of the territory in 2007.

He paused briefly during the conversation to flag down the server. “The salad, chopped-up little side salad,” Alkhatib asked, attempting to order a dish while deliberately avoiding its commonly used name.

“Israeli salad?” the waitress asked.

“That one,” he said.

Alkhatib counts many Israelis as friends and allies in his work and recognizes the country as here to stay. But he draws a line at their claim to a salad that is eaten across the Middle East.

“We literally ate this 24/7,” he said in a rare moment of obstinance.

Alkhatib was born in 1990 in the mountainous Asir region of Saudi Arabia, where his father, Fouad Alkhatib, worked as a doctor. The family vacationed in Gaza every summer and spent two years there in the late 1990s before moving back to the area permanently in 2000.

Alkhatib’s father used the money that he earned in Saudi Arabia to build a multistory family home in Gaza City’s al-Yarmouk neighborhood. Each unit of the family—including grandparents and uncles—had its own floor.

“It’s like Thanksgiving and Christmas every day,” Alkhatib said. His mother’s family, the Shehadas, lived in a similar multifamily home in Rafah’s Brazil neighborhood, which takes its name from the barracks of Brazilian U.N. peacekeepers who were once stationed in the area.

One of Alkhatib’s earliest memories is of sitting in the large yard of the Shehada family home. His grandmother, Maryam, had lined the garden with olive, fig, and guava trees, which fed the family year-round.

During the 1948 Arab-Israeli War, Maryam’s family fled Hamama, an agricultural village to the north of the present-day Gaza border, ending up in a refugee camp in Rafah. After her husband died, Maryam grew vegetables and sold ducks and chickens to support herself and her six children. Out of habit, she continued to breed them well into her retirement. Lovely but tough with a rural “felahi” accent, she was a living connection to a bygone era in the family’s history.

Alkhatib was 10 when his family returned to Gaza permanently, four months before the Second Intifada began in September 2000. Some 3,000 Palestinians were killed by Israel’s response to the uprising.

Alkhatib vividly remembers Hamas members coming to his school, banging on the windows, and urging the children to come out and protest or go to the border fence to throw rocks at Israeli checkpoints.

“Sometimes there would be buses that would take students to the borders,” he said.

As the intifada raged, Israel responded with airstrikes across the territory. The sound of loitering Apache attack helicopters menaced Gaza City as they homed in on their targets. Fighter jets came with little warning.

On the afternoon of Dec. 4, 2001, Alkhatib was walking home from school in the Sheikh Radwan district of Gaza City when an Israeli airstrike hit a nearby Palestinian Authority building. He ran toward the flames and billowing clouds of dust to see if his friends, Mohammed, Rajab, and Ali—who had been dragging their heels behind him—were OK. Then a second strike hit. The blast wave jolted his young body, causing permanent hearing damage in his left ear.

Confused and covered in ash, Alkhatib ran home, leaping over a passed-out bystander along the way. It was only the next day that he learned that two of his friends, Mohammed and Rajab, had been killed.

Life in Gaza wasn’t easy, but Alkhatib’s memories of the period are also infused with happy childhood staples: summer days spent on the beach and playing video games with his cousins late into the night, which he credits with improving his English.

“I have some fucking amazing memories in Gaza,” he said.

An extended family that ran to well over 100 people served as the bedrock of his social world.

His aunt Zainab, the family matriarch, would regularly host the family for large gatherings at the Shehada home. The smell of her cooking wafted through the air when one reached the front door, Alkhatib remembered, as inside she prepared vast quantities of fragrant chicken and rice in large pressure cookers that shot off steam.

“You never entered her house and left hungry,” he said.

In the wake of Israel’s ground invasion of Gaza in late 2023, Zainab Shehada and her brother-in-law—Abdullah Shehada, a 69-year-old retired surgeon and the former director of Abu Yousef al-Najjar Hospital in Rafah—opened up the house to those seeking shelter as Israeli forces pushed down through the Gaza Strip, forcing hundreds of thousands of people from their homes. Rafah, its southernmost city, was thought to be safe.

Abdullah was well known in Gaza for his efforts to save lives during the Israeli response to the Second Intifada, once using his own thumb in a desperate bid to plug a bullet wound in the chest of a teenager.

Dozens of people were sheltering in the Shehada family home and its backyard when it was hit in an Israel airstrike on Dec. 14, 2023, completely destroying the three-story house.

Alkhatib’s brother Mohammed and cousin Yousef spent days digging bodies out from under the rubble. At least 31 bodies were recovered from the scene, including nine children—the youngest of whom, Alkhatib’s cousin Ella, was just 3 months old.

Five of Alkhatib’s aunts and uncles were among the dead, including Abdullah and Zainab.

“She came out headless,” he said.

The strike on the Shehada family home was examined by Amnesty International as part of an investigation published in early December in which the organization, for the first time, accused Israel of carrying out a genocide in Gaza. The investigation found “no evidence of a military objective” behind the strike.

Foreign Policy submitted an inquiry to the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) with coordinates, dates, and times of the three airstrikes that killed Alkhatib’s relatives, including the one on the house in Rafah. An IDF spokesperson said, “The IDF’s strikes on military targets are subject to relevant provisions of international law, including the taking of feasible precautions and after an assessment that the expected incidental damage to civilians and civilian property is not excessive in relation to the expected military advantage from the attack.”

Talking about the deaths of his relatives, Alkhatib started to slow down and lose his train of thought.

“What was I saying?” he said at one point during our lunch in Los Angeles, staring blankly into the distance for the first and only time. “I don’t like to do the fucking personal shit.”

He feels conflicted speaking about the strike publicly, not wanting to be seen as using his relatives’ deaths for clout. But there is also another reason. He cited a quote, often attributed to Soviet leader Joseph Stalin, that one death is a tragedy but a million is a statistic.

“When the fucking number is that high,” he said, referring to his loss of 31 family members, “it’s hard for people to comprehend and understand and connect with.”

Alkhatib estimates that on Oct. 7, 2023, he had maybe three followers on X (formerly Twitter).

“I lived a good, quiet life that I very much miss,” he said. He had just finished graduate school and was in the process of applying for a job at the U.S. State Department.

He had done a little bit of writing before, publishing with Israel’s left-wing newspaper Haaretz and the Washington Institute for Near East Policy think tank, but he had held back on becoming too public out of concern for the well-being of his family in Gaza.

In September, Alkhatib moved to Washington, D.C., from California to take up a new position as a senior resident fellow at the Atlantic Council’s Middle East Center. He talks about policy with a passion that others might have talking about a love interest.

Policy is “what actually changes things on the ground,” he said during one of our first conversations.

Alkhatib sees a fleeting opportunity to galvanize global outrage to push for a Palestinian state. Last year, Ireland, Norway, Spain, and Slovenia recognized Palestinian statehood, joining more than 140 other countries that had already done so. But if the moment isn’t seized now, he fears it could be gone for good.

Efforts to broker a cease-fire deal between Israel and Hamas that would also secure the release of some 100 hostages held by the militant group have dragged out for months, despite intense diplomatic efforts.

The conflict, Alkhatib believes, is approaching an inflection point. If the war ends now, he still sees the potential to rebuild a better future Gaza. The territory’s most precious resource, he said, is its people and their resilience.

The alternative scenario of a drawn-out conflict and grinding insurgency risks expending that resource entirely.

“Then I’m irrelevant,” he said. “A population with no hope for life—no hope for a better future—is an immensely dangerous population.”

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

loml

Request: absolutely need u to write a fic about roy kent’s controversially young ex gf writing so long, london about him and the teams reaction to the realization. happy ending or not 👀

Roy Kent x Popstar

1.7k words

Warnings: Language, angst, age gap, did I mention angst?

A/N: It's been a minute since I posted anything! This definitely put me deep in my feelings, not gonna lie. Enjoy all the emotions 😝

Roy clenched his jaw as he rounded the corner to head towards the changing room and his office. There wasn’t the usual ruckus that greeted him before training; instead, he followed the sound of what he realized was music. And it wasn’t the usual rap or energetic pop the lads usually blasted and sang along with, either. No, this was slow, haunting, something that left Roy tightening his grip around his black duffel bag.

Thinkin, how much sad did you think I had

Did you think I had in me?

Oh, the tragedy ...

So long, London

You'll find someone ...

The breath caught in Roy’s throat as he came to a skidding stop outside the changing room door. He knew that voice. He’d heard that voice humming in his kitchen. Giggling in his ear. Whispering into his chest. Sighing in his bed. For almost two years, that voice had filled his home and his heart, bringing warmth and joy to both places. And the lips that voice came from always formed the most beautiful smile, the smile he always wanted to kiss right off that pretty face- and fuck, he sure tried his best every chance he got.

Gritting his teeth, Roy took one step into the changing room, doing his best to ignore the immediate stares of his squad. He hated the looks on their faces, all filled with sympathy, reminding him way too much of the faces he saw after his retirement. He swore he saw guilt in some of their expressions, too.

Of course they felt guilty. They’d been caught listening to his ex-girlfriend’s new album. The album that had skyrocketed to the top of the charts since its release over the weekend. The album Roy couldn’t quite bring himself to listen to yet. The album, he knew, that she had written about him.

Refusing to meet anyone’s eye, Roy stalked into his office, closing the door firmly behind him. Beard and Nate were nowhere to be found; they were probably on the pitch, he reasoned. He ignored the feeling that they’d probably want to give him some space with the album’s release.

Everything had started off innocently enough. He’d taken Phoebe to one of her concerts, motivated purely by his desire to be a good uncle. Keeley had been kind enough to arrange a meet-and-greet before the show. And, while Pheebs was definitely thrilled to be meeting the popstar, it was Roy who was left completely starstruck. She was beautiful and charming, not to mention down-to-earth and so kind to his niece. He spent the whole concert enchanted, jaw slacking slightly as he watched her strut around the stage with a magnetism he wasn’t sure he’d ever encountered before.

Fuck the almost two decades between them; Roy Kent was smitten.

Apparently the feeling was mutual, because the next thing he knew he and Phoebe were invited backstage after the concert, where the young singer had shyly thanked them for coming and asked if she could come watch the Greyhounds sometime. She was so timid for someone who had just rocked a stadium filled to the brim with thousands of screaming fans; Roy found her bashful, blushing face nothing short of endearing. How could he ever say no to her?

So he didn't. For two years, he never said no to her. He wanted to adore and spoil her the way no one else ever had, and she let him. The only condition was he had to let her do the same. So, for the first time in goodness knows how long, Roy Kent let himself be loved.

It was perfect. She was perfect. Roy found himself laughing and smiling more than he ever had in his entire miserable life, and it was all her fault. Never mind the articles and tweets about their age difference, condemning him for being with what they called a “twenty-year-old girl”. (They never could differentiate between twenty and mid-twenties, Roy had thought as he rolled his eyes at yet another opinion piece about his relationship.) They had both agreed that the abundance of affection and respect between them was more than enough to ignore what she always called the “haters”, and he called “wankers with nothing better to do”.

After about a year together, Roy found himself thinking about houses. And rings. And babies. And forever. And less and less about their age difference. While he never said flat-out that he wanted to marry her, they both seemed to know where things were headed. And, thanks to her songwriting, so did her fans. Not that Roy minded; for once, he was in a relationship where he didn’t mind having his business paraded around for the world to see. Hell, he even did some of the parading from time to time.

But, like every other good thing in Roy Kent’s life, it didn’t last forever.

He could deal with the judgy headlines. He could deal with the invasive paparazzi. He could deal with the ribbing from his friends and family. He could even deal with being the subject of pretty love songs. But just as he was starting to look at engagement rings, an article came across his newsfeed. And this one, unlike the million others he’d ignored and rolled his eyes at, gave him pause.

It was about her. It was about how young she was, how in the prime of her career she was. About how Roy was going to tie her down and take her out of the spotlight. About how she could say goodbye to the already legendary career she’d spent the better part of a decade building. About how all that hard work, all that potential, would be swept away the moment he put a ring on her finger.

About how it would be all Roy’s fault.

He couldn’t do that. Not to her. So, he made up some shit about not being ready to settle down, about how he didn’t think marriage was for him, about how he didn’t want to waste her time. And she’d listened, with those understanding eyes and her mouth in a straight line. While she wasn’t afraid to shed a couple of tears in front of him, she didn’t shout or fight him. All she did was lean close and ask one little question:

“Are you sure?”

No. No, Roy wasn’t fucking sure. He had never been less sure in his entire fucking life. As she gathered her things in stony silence, Roy had to stop himself from telling her to stop, that he’d made a mistake and that of course he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. But, like the idiot he was, he just watched silently. And he watched as she disappeared from the public eye, as the papers reported their breakup, as she reemerged at the fabulous parties thrown by her fabulous friends, as her outings with various men sparked rumors of new romances; in short, Roy watched as she moved on from him.

And now, a little less than a year after their breakup, with the release of this new album, he was sure she’d cemented how over him she was.

Despite knowing he had a football team waiting out on the pitch, Roy decided he needed to listen. To one song, at least, he reasoned with himself as he opened the music app on his mobile. Beard and Nate could handle the team for a few minutes, couldn’t they?

As he skimmed the track titles, he spotted one that caught his eye: So Long, London. He’d heard that phrase in the song the guys were playing; surely this had to be the same song, right? With a trembling breath, he clicked on the song and closed his eyes.

I stopped trying to make him laugh.

I stopped CPR, after all it's no use. The spirit was gone, we would never come to.

And I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free.

I'll find someone.

Just how low did you think I'd go?

You swore that you loved me but where were the clues? I died on the altar waiting for the proof.

For so long, London… Had a good run… A moment of warm sun… But I'm not the one.

Every word stabbed at the heart Roy hadn’t realized was still so fucking raw. All that regret that he’d buried away under football and bottles of beer finally bubbled back to the surface, reminding him of how deeply he wished he could go back in time and stop himself from letting her go. He somehow felt even more gutted than he did the day he lied and said he didn’t want to be with her anymore.

“Fuck,” he growled, stopping the music and opening his texts. He typed that familiar name, pulling up texts that he hadn’t looked at in months. He gulped, remembering all the memes, all the texts about what to have for dinner.

She’d probably ignore his text, he warned himself as he started typing. Hell, she probably already had him blocked. Part of him hoped she did; it would be a lot better than the absolute dressing down he deserved after breaking her lovely heart.

Still. That stupid little part of him that was willing to admit that he was still completely in love with her emboldened him.

She’d always made fun of him for signing his texts, he recalled with a reflexive smirk. She’d made fun of him for lots of things; fuck, he missed her teasing, the way she’d raise an eyebrow when he growled at her to fuck off. The way she’d lean close and hum, “Make me.” The way-

Hey, just listened to ‘London��. Incredible as always. I’m sure the rest is too.

-Roy

The whistle from the mobile in his hand dragged Roy out of his reminiscing. With another gulp he looked down at the first message she’d sent in months.

Thanks, Roy! I’ll actually be in London next week. Maybe we could catch up while I’m in town.

Despite himself, a smile broke out across his face. He wasn’t much of a believer in second chances, or fate, or happily ever afters. He was so sure all good things had to come to an end eventually.

But maybe, just maybe, some things could begin again.

Tags: @i-am-mrsreckless

[hellspawn-enjoyer]

One parallel between Karlach and Astarion that I think isn’t explored enough is the fact that they both have a moral dilemma around consuming souls.

Which I understand the whole Soul coin thing isn’t all that explored in the game unfortunately, but the little implications of what’s there has some good potential. The most striking similarity between Karlach and Astarion is that both are victims of a system designed to consume them. Karlach through her infernal modifications and Astarion through vampiric servitude. They both seek to break free and in doing so, they must grapple with the moral weight of consuming others as a means to their end.

While both decisions involve feeding off the essence of others, Karlach's situation is framed as reluctant survival, whereas Astarion’s choice is one of ambition, vengeance, and the temptation of absolute power. Yet they both have the potential to lose themselves if they go down this path.

I mostly wanted to focus on Karlach’s use of Soul Coins and how that comes with a profound ethical weight:

She understands what it means to be trapped and used against one's will. As someone who was forced into servitude under Zariel, the idea of burning up another soul, even if it belongs to a damned individual, feels like repeating the cycle of oppression she fought to escape.

Each Soul Coin contains a remnant of a person. Though they are already condemned to Avernus, using their essence for power means she is directly exploiting what remains of them, treating them as fuel rather than beings who once had lives of their own.

She wants to be free, not stronger at any cost. Unlike Astarion, whose dilemma tempts him with godlike power, Karlach’s concern is merely survival. Using Soul Coins might give her a boost in strength and over time give her new abilities, but does it make her complicit in the same predatory system that enslaved her?

Karlach’s use of Soul Coins is desperate, not ambitious. She does not seek power; she only seeks to live. If she consumes, it is apathetically out of necessity, not desire.

Astarion’s ascension is entirely voluntary. He has an alternative: walking away and choosing to be something more than a monster. His temptation is not just survival, but the desire to be untouchable.

That's all my brain came up with for now but trust me the layers are layering you guys…

[kiyosato-yuri]

something about Ryōshū and Yoshihide

[might be a bit offensive, most is personal thought about Yoshihide and how PM build Ryōshū at the moment]

As someone who love Ryōshū, me and my friend wanted to make this post

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

In Jigoku hen (Hell’s Screen), Yoshihide is a peculiar, arrogant, and conceited painter who looks down on all rules and traditions. He’s someone who cast away the Five Constants 五常 ( 義 justice, 禮 politeness, 智 wisdom, 信 fidelity and 仁 benevolence) to pursue art.

「あゝ、これでございます、これを描く為めに、あの恐ろしい出来事が起つたのでございます。又さもなければ如何に良秀でもどうしてかやうに生々と奈落の苦艱が画かれませう。

あの男はこの屏風の絵を仕上げた代りに、命さへも捨てるやうな、無惨な目に出遇ひました。云はゞこの絵の地獄は、本朝第一の絵師良秀が、自分で何時か墜ちて行く地獄だつたのでございます.... 。」

“It was for this reason, indeed, his consuming desire to paint this picture, that the terrible incident occurred. If it had not been for this event, how could even Yoshihide have succeeded in painting that graphic picture of the tortures and agonies in Hell? 

So, he could complete the picture, his life had to come to a miserable end. Indeed, it was to this very Hell in his picture, that Yoshihide, the greatest painter in Japan, had condemned himself.”

In the game, Ryōshū is depicted almost exactly the same way, if not more explicitly deranged than the original. There are numerous moments in the game that describe her eyes lighting up when she starts “painting” or marveling at piles of [censored] meats while exclaiming in delight.

You don’t even have to look so far—just read the uptie story of Warp Corp. Ryōshū. It vividly portrays her happiness and joy in cleaning up the hellscape created by centuries of despair-driven madness. I'll even quote here

"I get to visit a museum, an exhibition featuring brand-new pieces of art every single day. All that for a bit of physical labor." "When this train that people take without giving it a second thought, every single day...Turned out to be a gallery of arts, sculpted with chisels of time! While I was impressed with how well they were hiding this truth from the public... three words came to mind. This. Is. It.

" In hindsight, I was so absorbed with chasing after and creating my own art "

"One that wrapped its flesh around the plush side of the seat, embodying a new chair with extra cushioning...One that is an amalgam of many, taking the shape of a new organism and lurching on... Though I wouldn't classify that as 'art'. Not yet."

"Shambling without intent is… in the end, insufficient to be called art. It is incomplete at best. I butcher them. Because the company ordered me to make them easier to clean up. To interfere with the process of involuntary art isn't to my liking, no… But that doesn't happen very often. Besides, there is plenty to be gained from the rest."

If that’s doesn't prove much, in the opening moments of the game, she’s visibly enjoying watching people get tossed into a bus to be crushed into fuel, while Sinclair is terrified, and Dante is questioning the morality of what’s happening.

With such evidence, there’s no way to claim her sadistic tendencies are just a façade or mask—it’s her bare essence. And that’s without even touching on her masochistic tendencies, which honestly make Yoshihide seem tame in comparison when it comes to twisted and warped personalities.

Ryōshū and Yoshihide are both artists consumed by blind, inescapable devotion to their craft. They are the kind of people who would willingly open the gates of hell and hurl themselves inside. They are also inevitably doomed to fall into Avīci Hell.

And as for being sad? Was Jigoku hen supposed to be a tragic tale of a father losing his daughter? Was Yoshihide meant to be a character that evokes sympathy for his suffering? Absolutely and definitely not.

Yoshihide himself opened the gates of hell and threw himself in—no one pushed him. He discarded the Five Constants and trampled over human lives in the name of art.

「檳榔毛の車にも火をかけよう。又その中にはあでやかな女を一人、上﨟のをさせて乗せて遣はさう。炎と黒煙とに攻められて、する、車―それを描かうと思ひついたのは、流石に天下第一の絵師ぢや。褒めてとらす。おゝ褒めてとらすぞ」

"A charming woman dressed up like a court lady shall ride in the carriage. Writhing amidst the deadly flames and black smoke, the lady in the carriage will die in agony. Your suggestion of finding such a model for your picture does you full credit as the greatest painter in the whole country. I praise you. I praise you highly."

What Yoshihide receives at the end of the story is the consequence of his own actions. In the end, he finishes painting the hellish screen—only after watching his beloved daughter burn alive before his eyes—and then hangs himself. The masterpiece he created was painted with the agony of witnessing his daughter’s death, and yet, just moments after despair, he finds joy and radiance in it. At his core, Yoshihide is still a painter who sacrifices goodness for the sake of beauty.

He’s no different from his original inspiration, Ryōshū in Uji Shūi Monogatari (Tales of a Rainy Night), who took delight in watching his house burn, his wife and children still inside. Akutagawa’s addition of a sense of love and grief in Yoshihide is a form of punishment—because while the original Ryōshū lost his humanity, Yoshihide still feels pain, which haunts him after completing his masterpiece.

「その火の柱を前にして、凝り固まつたやうに立つてゐる良秀は― 何と云ふ不思議な事でございませう。あのさつきまで地獄の責苦に悩んでゐたやうな良秀は 、今は云ひやうのない輝きを、さながら恍惚とした法悦の輝きを、皺だらけな満面に浮べながら、大殿様の御前も忘れたのか、両腕をしつかり胸に組んで、佇んでゐるではございませんか。

それがどうもあの男の眼の中には、娘の悶え死ぬ有様が映つてゐないやうなのでございます。唯美しい火焔の色と、その中に苦しむ女人の姿とが、限りなく心を悦ばせる― さう云ふ景色に見えました。」

"In front of the pillar of fire, Yoshihide stood still, rooted to the ground. What a wonderful transfiguration he had undergone! A mysterious radiance, a kind of blissful ecstasy, showed on the wrinkled face of Yoshihide who had been agonized by the tortures of hell until a minute before.

His arms were tightly crossed on his chest as if he had forgotten that he was in the presence of the Grand Lord. No longer did his eyes seem to mirror the image of his daughter's agonized death. His eyes seemed to delight beyond measure in the beautiful color of the flame and the form of the woman writhing in her last infernal tortures."

Because of how Jigoku hen is written, readers are left with the impression that “Yoshihide, despite his twisted nature, still has humanity.” But they forget how much pleasure he took in watching his daughter burn. Now they project what they read onto Ryōshū… even though the game hasn’t explored her backstory? So far, the game hasn’t dropped a single hint about Ryōshū’s backstory. She remains one of the most mysterious sinners on the bus. None of the uptie stories for her IDs provide even a shred of evidence that she’s secretly melancholic like Gregor.

What we can confirm is that she cherishes her sword, has some connection to the Five Fingers, and always speaks up when the topic of family comes up. Using the original work as a basis to interpret a character is fine but announcing your personal interpretation as fact while accusing others of not understanding the character is like running ahead of the car you're supposed to be riding.

Ryōshū, Sinner No. 4 of Limbus Company, is a violence-loving mystery of a character with shady connections, an artist who finds beauty in the grotesque. While this is not the entirety of her character, it is who she is. 

Ryōshū is Ryōshū—not Don Quixote or Rodion with a mask slapped on.

Liking her for her violent and twisted nature doesn’t make you a fool. It’s not the same as liking someone and then realizing the person you admired was merely putting on an act or presenting a beautiful façade. If PM later explores a more humanizing or empathetic aspect of Ryōshū, your reaction would likely be, “Oh, so Ryōshū still has humanity/she also has this side to her?” There might be some surprises, but it definitely wouldn���t feel like being deceived.

Even though I’m pretty sure most of the Ryōshū’s shrimp pond will continue simping for her because of her twisted nature as it is now. Either way, even if Ryōshū is shown to have humanity, she’ll still be Ryōshū—she’ll still turn people into a heap of [CENSORED] and call it art. That’s also how Akutagawa described Yoshihide up until the moment he ceased to live.

From start to finish, Yoshihide was always the blind painter single-mindedly pursuing his art, to the point that even his last shred of humanity couldn’t overcome his identity as an artist. As some analysts point out, the last remnants of Yoshihide’s humanity were burned away with the monkey that threw itself into the flames after his daughter.

「さうして朱塗のやうな袖格子がばらくと焼け落ちる中にのけ反つた娘の肩を抱いて、帛を裂くやうな鋭い声を、何とも云へず苦しさうに、長く煙の外へ飛ばせました。続いて又、二声三声 ― 私たちは我知らず、あつと同音に叫びました。

壁代のやうな焔を後にして、娘の肩に縋つてゐるのは、堀河の御邸に繋いであつた、あの良秀と諢名のある猿だつたのでございますから。その猿が何処をどうしてこの御所まで、忍んで来たか、それは勿論誰にもわかりません。」

“Amidst the burned crimson-lacquered lattice which was crumbling in pieces, it put it hands on the warped shoulders of the girl, and gave, out of the screens of black smoke, a long and piercing shriek of intense grief like the tearing of silk, then again two or three successive screams. Involuntarily we gave a unanimous outcry of surprise. 

What was holding fast to the shoulders of the dead girl, with the red curtain of blazing flames behind it, was the monkey, which went by the nickname of Yoshihide at the mansion of Horikawa.”

That would be Ryoshu, following the original Yoshihide's portrayal most closely—not some tragic, repressed character. As for how Project Moon plans to cook her up, only they know. They’re keeping it under wraps, so no player can analyze her in depth just yet. What if they decide to make her a fusion dance of the lord, the painter, and the daughter?

For those who like Ryoshu because she’s a handsome, domineering figure—well, lucky you, no worries there.

[moonsaver]

thoughts on sunday after 2.2? i remember playing through the quest and being FLABBERGASTED the whole time like my GOD he is not beating the yan! allegations after this one. literally so much about his philosophy and perspective on life, and everything seemed to align with that sort of mindset imo and it was just like LSKJDGLSKJDGLJSFJKD

I wanted to answer both asks because i really want an opportunity to just go full blown in on sunday right now!!

Also, YESS i know right? I want to put him in a little glass jar enclosure and shake him around a bit. He's my creature dont touch him!!

Tw: yandere, manipulation, lovebombing(?)

Okay so one thing that I majorly believe in is Sunday was actually deeply lonely, and was much more prone to loneliness than Robin ever was, especially considering the fork in the road regarding their "paths" with Harmony vs Order. I feel that Robin was generally able to get along well with the adults like an amiable kid, but Sunday only ever got along with adults being looked at like "an old soul" and was let in on far more complicated and morally messed up stuff earlier than Robin, which could explain his tendency to never share about his own troubles (as Robin mentions).

And I feel like having been bottling up these feelings for so damn long, it's honestly messed with his head. And the slightest bit of resistance from anyone supposed to be under his control is met with overwhelming "disciplinary actions".

If yan!sunday ever manages to sit down and have a quiet, long talk with his darling, it's going to be quite possibly the most frustrating talk ever. He's not wrong, but he's not completely right either. Trying to disprove him is futile – he'll bolt down each and every argument against his ideals, and honestly starts trying to embed his own ideals into you bit by bit. Like water droplets on a weathered rock. He wears down his darling over time, and it's quite possibly over for you if he decides he wants to throw in the whole "triple faced soul" hypnotising debacle. You can't hide a single thing from this man.

Of course, I don't think he'll go that far unless it's absolutely necessary. Or he has, and you just don't realise it until you're stuck deep inside of a sweet little dream. However, I feel like even if you have the complete opposite views, he's still going to let you be for the most part. He doesn't want to transform his darling – frankly speaking, that's practically changing the very person who he loved in the first place. He holds a bit of sincerety in his heart, which he constantly condemns, but still keeps; a part of him does hope his darling comes around to his views, and at least learns to adjust to them instead of vehemently resisting. He still wants to be able to maintain some level of equity/equality in your "relationship" (as long as he still has more control, of course).

In the other route as mentioned in the second ask, if darling does have similar, but not same views, Sunday is a bit disappointed, although he does suppose it's not the worst..

He's most likely going to ask you about your views, and earnestly listen and make sense of it. Sits down and quietly, patiently listens to you as you try and explain your own views, why you think he's wrong, etc.. and for a moment, you think he's actually being.. kind of sweet. Which is promptly shaken off in the next phase –

He becomes the biggest ASSHOLE.

At first he's pleasant about it; gently persuading you to consider other ideas (his, basically). Sooner that persuading turns to thinly restrained coercion, until he's in a full-blown argument with you.

He starts out with each and every point of yours, whittles it down, breaks and crumbles it apart and hands it back to you with his own, perfectly polished views. He denies, manipulates or twists every little thing you said to his own benefit, speaking in that calm, factual voice of his with pityingly warm, golden eyes that frustrate you; this is the man that's bending every word of yours to his benefit, but at the same time he has so much loneliness and earnest in his eyes you don't know what to say, whether it'll be too harsh, or not. It's a weird game of manipulation and wordplay that eventually breaks you down into hot tears, which he so gently and lovingly wipes away after taking off his gloves. Burying your head into his neck and softly whispering comforting words into your ear; I know, darling, it's hard. I'm sure it's not easy to accept, I know, dear.

It's frustrating, but it's so.. comforting and loving that you almost don't want it to stop. His hand is lovingly petting your head or rubbing your back, his voice coos at you in comfort. If you didn't know any better – you'd think he was more akin to a siren than an angel.

[neil-gaiman]

hello mr gaiman!

i don’t expect you to actually answer this cuz i know you’re absolutely overwhelmed with asks but i figured there’s no harm in trying. i recently watched good omens for the first time, both seasons back to back and i noticed that while season one felt very standardly progressive liberal, season two felt a lot more explicitly anti-capitalist. i particularly felt that there was a case to be made that heaven and hell in season two could be allegorical for the standard two party system in america, the uk, and elsewhere, where one party (heaven or the democrats/labour party/whatever) is seen as the good guys even though neither one of them is interested in actually systemic change and as crowley notes, both will lead to the same conclusion, the end of the world. i’m not sure what exactly i’m asking but i guess i just wanted to know if you believed there was a case to be made for good omens season two as a condemnation of capitalism and current dominant governmental structures. i promise i’m not some sort of undercover agent waiting for you to out yourself as a commie so i can start another hollywood red scare. ok that’s all have a nice day :))

I think that Seasons 1 and 2 come from the same place and the same ideals.

[sillysillygoofygoose]

Nanami Kento is the type of man you grow old with.

He could prepare your morning tea with his eyes closed after doing it daily for roughly 50 years. A lovely use of 18,000 days if you ask him.

Although you two have been married for more of your lives than you haven't, you never had the "old married couple" dynamic. Sure, there have been arguments over the years but you cherish each other more than anything. Finding no use is impractical bickering, just to pass the time.

He has always been a reliable husband, a reliable father. He always brought the kids to soccer practice and showed up to every single one of their concerts, no matter what was going on at work. All three of them, he raised with nothing but absolute adoration. Kento even helped your daughter with her first period because you were out of the house. He threw a box of pads into the bathroom, explaining how the wings are supposed to stick to the underside of her underwear. He was always protective of her, his only daughter. He rubbed her back for hours as she sobbed over her first breakup. He was furious.

Kento helped the kids study as they got older, guiding them through the entire process of picking a college or trade to work in. He promised them he would be proud no matter what they do, as long as they tried their best and worked hard.

As much as he loves them, there was a newfound peace in the house after the youngest moved out. A bittersweet silence filled the mostly empty home. However, he always had you to fill the missing pieces in his heart.

He retired at 65 after working a long, draining career. You were so happy for him, seeing him finally be able to let himself sleep past 6 am even though he still grunted the same as he got out of bed.

Years passed as did memories, and Kento loved you more and more every day. He still woke you up with a kiss on the forehead every morning. He thinks you're beautiful. As you aged, you worried. Worried that Kento would fall out of love with you. That couldn't be further from the truth. Wrinkles, shaky hands, gray hair slowly turning white... he loves it all. Your smile never changed.

Kento enjoys the simplicity of his older years. He sits with his glasses on, playing sudoku as you sort out both of your pills for the week. To stay active, you go for walks around the neighborhood, holding his arm while you enjoy the fresh air. Sometimes there's conversation, sometimes there's not. Comfortable silence is never condemned, never taken personally.

The two of you end every day sitting on the porch watching the sunset, sometimes with your sweet grandchildren, but usually just the two of you.

After dinner, you still put on your favorite record and slow dance in the kitchen, just like you did in your very first apartment. He holds you the very same.

Hope you enjoyed! Xoxo

[ideas-on-paper]

On Carlo and Romeo's relationship & homosexuality in Victorian schools

In my quest to find out more about Carlo and Romeo's lives at Monad Charity House, I have once again resorted to my tried and tested method of historical research, this time with a primary focus on Victorian boarding schools.

Along the way, I stumbled upon Lord Alfred Douglas, aka "Bosie" Douglas, the lover of Oscar Wilde. As people familiar with them may know, their gay romance caused quite a stir in 1895 due to the (in)famous trials of Wilde for “gross indecency”, the tragic result of which was that the latter was convicted to two years of hard labor that ruined his health.

Both already had their fair share of gay affairs beforehand though - Bosie specifically was very popular among his peers during his time at Oxford University, being excellent at sports, artistically gifted and incredibly handsome, so it's not too surprising he hooked up with some of his fellow students. What absolutely had me rolling on the floor was this statement, however (quoted from this page):

"[...] we argue that the English public schools in the last part of the nineteenth century tolerated, if they did not actually encourage the development of strong homoerotic friendships between students."

Apparently, homosexuality in boarding schools was so common people made off-hand jokes about it. In the novel Rites of Passage by William Golding, the protagonist finds a fellow traveler engaged in oral sex with a sailor, thinking of it as "that silly schoolboy prank". Admittedly, Golding wrote his novel in the 20th century, so we don’t know for sure if the 19th-century attitudes portrayed in it are accurate, but this might imply that sexual interaction between schoolboys was fairly common.

In the first edition of Tom Brown's School Days by Thomas Hughes, published in 1857, there was even a passage of the protagonist insulting two boys who were clearly in a sexual relationship with senior boys, with the author commenting that "everyone who studied at Rugby would understand why this passage was necessary". (Hughes himself was Christian and condemned homosexual relationships; the concerning passage was cut out in later versions).

This does not mean, however, that all the boys attending boarding schools were gay - rather, because boarding schools were restricted by gender, they had their first sexual experiences in this male-only environment. Many of them would try the exact same thing out with a girl later and find they enjoyed it much more. However, there were also those who never felt any desire to try it out with a girl - and given how close Carlo and Romeo were, I would honestly be more surprised if there wasn’t anything romantic going on between them.

I mean, it’s not like the entire LoP community isn’t already shipping Carlo and Romeo, but in case there was ever any doubt about it, take it from me: I’m positive these boys were gay.

And in case anyone feels like pointing out that “well, actually, the setting of Lies of P is based on France”: Homosexuality was already decriminalized in France as early as 1791 by the National Constituent Assembly, making France the first Western European country to do so - or rather, the penal code drafted with the intention to only punish "real crimes" made no mention of homosexual acts in private. Still, it was a major step for gay rights.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Jan behind the cut; project sidekick. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Did you do it on purpose?” Wonder Woman asks neutrally, no expectation or judgment in the question either way. Superboy feels naked and bare and stripped bound by her lasso, and answering hurts. 

It’s the answer he would’ve given anyway, but it still hurts. 

“No,” he says.

“Did you know the other clones were not the true Aqualad, Robin, and Kid Flash?” Wonder Woman asks. 

“No,” he says again. It still hurts. 

“Did you in any way, through action or inaction, knowingly leave Aqualad, Robin, and Kid Flash trapped in Cadmus?” Wonder Woman asks, and the question hurts a lot worse than her lasso. 

“No,” Superboy says roughly, his hands curling into fists on his thighs and the word stabbing through his throat. All he can think of is Kaldur–Aqualad, because that’s not the boy who told them his name and it's not right to call him a name he didn't share–all he can think of is Aqualad speaking to him down in the dark underground halls of Cadmus, offering him absolution, escape, life. Robin and Kid Flash offering him the sun and the moon, reality in three dimensions and not just playground simulations of it. 

They'd wanted to save him. They'd been trying to save him. 

And he'd left all three of them down there in the dark. 

His hands tremble, just once, and Wonder Woman lets the lasso go slack and fall away. 

Superboy tells himself he’s grateful it was just the lasso. It could’ve been Martian Manhunter filling up his head with someone else’s mind, like Cadmus again. 

Except he doesn’t have the right to be grateful for that. 

He deserves for it to have been Martian Manhunter. He deserves for it to have been as bad as Cadmus; he deserves for it to have been worse than Cadmus. He left Aqualad and Robin and Kid Flash all down there, and he went out to the real world without them, and he doesn’t know what was even happening to them. Just . . . sedation, all this time? Just stasis? 

They didn’t even dream, probably. 

Superboy at least got to dream, if nothing else. Dream lies, but . . . 

It’s no damn wonder Superman doesn’t want to help him with his powers or even talk to or look at him, though, because if anyone in there should’ve realized what’d happened–because if he just hadn’t let himself be manipulated and controlled to begin with– 

Black Canary squeezes his shoulder, and Superboy grimaces and drops his head. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice tight and fingers just barely digging into his thighs. As much as he trusts them to, anyway, without knowing what’ll bruise or bleed. “I didn’t–I thought–we wouldn’t have left them. Not if we’d known. We would’ve found them.” 

Wonder Woman frowns, briefly, and Superboy braces himself for the condemnation, the blame, the– 

“‘We’?” she asks, and he frowns too, a little confused. He doesn’t understand what she’s asking. 

“The four of us,” he says, because he can’t figure out what else she might mean. “We wouldn’t have left them.” 

“Wait,” Wonder Woman says, her expression turning a little strange. “You would have taken all six–” And then she stops, and shakes her head, and starts winding up her lasso. “Of course you would have,” she murmurs.

Superboy wishes that weren’t a question. No one would ever ask Superman that question. No one would ever ask Superman any of the questions Wonder Woman just asked him, lasso or not.

No one would even think to.

“Can I talk to Aqualad and Robin and Kid Flash? If they . . . don’t mind,” he says uncomfortably. Uncomfortable both because Wonder Woman thought of that question, and because he's using those names for people who aren’t the same people he’s actually been calling those names for . . . well, his entire life, give or take about ten or fifteen minutes. But they didn’t tell him anything else he could call them, so–and they’re their names, anyway. “And Artemis and Miss Martian want to see my brothers.” 

Wonder Woman pauses in the middle of winding up the last loop of her lasso, and Black Canary–blinks, very slowly, and glances at him. 

“‘Brothers’?” she repeats, and her voice is careful in a way Superboy doesn’t understand.

[jollmaster]

In your asileverse, how is homosexuality viewed? Both by the characters and Heaven and Hell in general.

trivia: homosexuality issue

• it isn't considered a big sin, just a deviation from the norm: the male and female are created for wholeness (anyway, if you're a good person and not a rapist or worse, then doesn't matter whom you love)

• creatures of Eden and Sheol are surprised to learn that many people considered themselves sinful only because of their sexuality

• the average attitude among locals is "do whatever you want, it would be better if you have children, but if you don't, that's not the greatest problem in the world"

• underworld locals sometimes have orgies at holiday parties where same-sex activity isn't the biggest deal

• Charlie as a result absolutely doesn't care; she hates violence, rape and pedophilia, doesn't matter boy or girl

• Vega condemns it because she was raised in 17th-century spanish catholic doctrine; however, she knows that homosexuals are exist, doesn't think that they're awful and prays for their souls

• Alastor condemns male homosexuality, how can you fall in love with men when there are women exist? (if seriously, he doesn't give a fuck who with whom, he's just misandrist)

• Angel Dust's case is complicated: he was internally homophobic for a long time because he was raised in a quite patriarchal region in the middle of 20th century

• Niffty was raised as a traditional woman, so she doesn't understand, why and how

• Husk grumbles that it's pointless, but doesn't hate such people

• Cherri Bomb's attitude is absolutely spitballing, she's close to modern people mentally, and her best friend is Angel lol

• sir Pentious also thinks this is pointless; fun fact, he remembers how victorians were into crossdressing for laughs, and says "that was so stupid", but actually finds this funny