#through which people more powerful than them can send suffering and receive pleasure

[whumpitisthen]

I re-read my answer to the perfume ask game, and I realized it showed how tired I was when I wrote it, so allow me to expand on my answer, especially for Mori cuz I just got my Bois Datchaï sample and OH MY GOD.

Okay so, when you first spray this on it smells like a green forest on a summer night, it takes a few minutes until the berry scents and stuff come out. It's also pretty magical because of the incense, it's not too strong, but it also gives a "this can't be a real forest" vibe, which I think is perfect for a hellborn creature (I remember correctly they are that, right? I vaguely remember their conversation where Auden upsets them asking something inappropriate), and so after the first few minutes of forest scent is gone, it's all sweet berries, and omg it's such a lovely scent!!! (I got the sample from neroli.hu btw it was like 1k or something like that and it was here within a few days)

Oououououou more Mori perfume thoughts (i keep reading its name like 'boys' every single time even tho i know its bo-ah h)

In general the woodland creature vibe with the berries and forest scent are always good bc they just have that kind of vibe and if they weren't so unfortunately stuck a servant they would be living their best life skipping around in meadows and grazing on berries in the sun and being so at home in the brush. They would have a very small hidden cottage wearing comfortable clothes and they would live the rest of their life working through their immense trauma as best they can in a safe place. Its like their dream aromafied, especially since its so light and magical bc of the incense! It is making me a little sad!!! Their little deer hooves were not made for cold tile floors they were made for earth and grass!!!!!!!! Somebody should save them!!!!!!!!!!! (<- making them worse)

But with the incense this 'it cant be a real forest' image is also so good bc there is a massive magical forest around Grim's Home filled with nightmares to keep people out and Mori is sometimes sent out to 'play some dogdraw with the hounds'. That forest is not a normal forest though it looks fine enough at first, so this uncanny valley type of feel with the pleasant smelling wood and berries coupled with the dead silence and lack of movement in a foggy place that's supposed to be filled with life is very very good... it is making me think about how to best hurt the little guy......... i think they should be sent out and play some dogdraw right now in fact. As enrichment. For me.

Also yes mori is a hellborn! Auden made them sad and kind of offended bc he naively assumed all hellborn are demon, but they are not. Mori is something entirely different, and they feel a little self-conscious about it anyway without him needing to call them something worse than they already think of themself as. Also when an Angel calls you a Demon so casually without hesitation... That has to sting a little right

When the first few minutes of forest scent are gone its all sweet berries....... Combing through the trees and bushes, venturing deeper in until you find the sweetest of fruit hidden inside...... Almost like digging teeth into their fur, breaking through the skin and getting to the warm sanguine ichor flowing inside.......... Tasty little fawn........ ( <- grim had to say something about all this he lives in my brain)

[theprayerfulword]

March 29

John 14:6 Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by Me.

Ephesians 3:16-17 For this reason I kneel before the Father… I pray that out of His glorious riches He may strengthen you with power through His Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith.

John 3:16 For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

2 Corinthians 5:21 God made Him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God.

Romans 6:5 If we have been united with [Christ] in a death like His, we will certainly also be united with Him in a resurrection like His.

2 Timothy 1:7 For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind..

May you acknowledge the Lord for all that you have received from Him and reverence Him for the mighty deeds He has performed in your life, confessing Him to be the Lord and God over all you are and have, granting Him the praise He is deserving of and the obedience He has earned the right to. Deuteronomy 11

May you observe all that the Lord directs you in today so that you may have the strength to go in and take over the inner land of your soul that is your inheritance to possess and so that you may live long in that land which the Lord has promised to you, for it is where the eyes of the Lord your God are continually, and God's care rests perpetually. Deuteronomy 11

May you faithfully love the Lord your God and serve Him with all your heart and soul, for then He will send His blessings on you, each in its own season, times of renewal and refreshing, so you may gather in your spiritual harvests of grain, new wine and oil. Deuteronomy 11

May you fix God's words in your heart and mind, letting them direct your actions and guide your thoughts, teaching them to others, talking about them when you sit at home and when you travel, when you lie down and when you get up. Deuteronomy 11

May you be careful to love the Lord your God, to walk in all His ways and to hold fast to him, then the Lord will drive out all these spiritual inhabitants before you, and you will dispossess powers larger and stronger than you, and every place in the landscape of your soul where you set your foot will be yours; no power will be able to stand against you and the Lord your God, as He promised you, will put the terror and fear of you on all the principalities, wherever you go. Deuteronomy 11

My child, come, join Me in suffering, attend to Me in the pain of My kingdom, enter into the fellowship of My sorrow. Do you hesitate at the offer? Do you give second thoughts to acceptance of My invitation? Do you look around, wondering where the joy and the pleasure and the ease can be found? The pleasure is for when the work is completed, My child, and is guaranteed if you endure. The ease is for when the yoke is lifted and the burden is delivered at the end of the journey, My fellow-laborer, and is waiting even now as you travel onward. The joy is for the feast, the marriage-supper, My love, when you shall take your rightful place beside Me, once you have prepared yourself, letting the Spirit direct you and allowing the Word to shape you. When I walked the earth, clothed in flesh, I endured the hunger and thirst of a day's work, and knew the exhaustion and sore muscles of a long day and short night. But more, I knew the pain of false accusations of “pretender” and “blasphemer” as well as the true ones, of caring more for strangers than family, as well as the rejection when people feared Me for what I did and sent Me away. I wept from a broken heart, and I travailed over what was required of Me, enduring what was necessary. Even now, as I live in the power of the resurrection, seated in the heavenlies, I work, making intercession for you with the Father as you work out the humbly reverential and obediently respectful way to walk in your own salvation relationship with Me, My precious one. I am still travailing for you in your temptations, still suffering the rejection you experience, still bearing the pain of the illness and disease that your flesh suffers, still weeping with you in the sorrows the world brings to you. We walk together, My redeemed one, and I bear your burdens, for I understand and I gladly lend My back to the weight you carry and My shoulder for you to lean on, and My ear for your prayers and tears. Remember that weeping may last for the night, but My joy comes in the morning. There is already a crown of righteousness laid up, bearing your name - you only have to persist, endure, continue walking obediently in order to arrive in the city I have built for you from the creation of the world. It is I Who started the work in you, My chosen One, and it is I Who will finish it as you draw near and abide in Me, for then your joy will be full.

May you be certain to destroy completely all the idols, false gods, and places of their worship which have been set up in the land by the principalities you are dispossessing, breaking the altars, smashing the sacred stones and burning the poles, cutting down the idols and wiping out their names, for you must not worship the Lord your God in the way they have been worshiped. Deuteronomy 12

May you rejoice in the presence of the Lord your God in everything you have put your hand to because the Lord your God has blessed you. Deuteronomy 12

May you understand how much you have received from God, how deep your need has been, how high Jesus has lifted you, and where you would be now without Him, so that you can make much of Jesus to all who are around you. Luke 8

May God hasten to save you, coming quickly to help you, so that those who seek your life may be put to shame and confusion, and turned back in disgrace. Psalm 70

May God come quickly to you when you are poor and needy, for He is your help and your deliverer, and may all who seek the Lord rejoice and be glad in Him, and may all who love God's salvation say, “Let God be exalted!” Psalm 70

[outofangband]

warnings for distorted familiar terms between the Valar (ie, Oromë calling Tulkas his brother, etc), Melkor being himself 

this is not a typical piece for me! Yes, it does involve Melkor being creepy but it’s not about Maedhros and it’s well before he was even born! 

this is my interpretation of this scene!! Because I’ve been utterly obsessed with it. How far would Manwë have let Melkor go? Where would he have drawn the line? How far would Tulkas have played along if Melkor hadn’t angered him so much by insulting Manwë? How would the other Valar react? 

I haven’t been able to decide on answers to these questions but hopefully this will be the start of something more! 

masterlist 

as this is a rare non Maedhros piece I wasn’t sure if I should tag the people I usually do?

“Patience, my friend.” Aulë tried and failed to hide a smile as Tulkas pounded a fist against the gate and drew back for a second. There too in his eyes was a glint of anticipation. 

“No blame I hold the both of you in for desiring hasty action!” Manwë says, “But to do battle here with Melko would only damage this land further. We must attempt first to speak with him. Use guile if we must.” Aulë didn’t argue though neither did he attempt to soothe those of his kin who appeared dissatisfied with this. Oromë approached his king, shaking his head. 

“I second Tulukhastāz” he says stoutly, “The time has gone beyond words for the words of Melko shall give us nought but deceit.” 

Manwë stood lost in thought as a pillar crumbled by Tulkas’s touch. He did not shy away from Oromë’s anger.

“Deceit, I believe you right. But should we encroach by force now will he not merely flee? We know of the many tunnels he has constructed beneath.”

Manwë then called out to Melkor and reluctantly Tulkas stopped kicking at the pieces of the pillar. Oromë had never before seen his brother so agitated. 

“Let the demon flee,” he says coldly, “I shall hunt him as I do any other monster.” The words were bold even from him but the king did not appear ruffled. 

“Arômêz,” he merely says gently, “We do not want him to flee. We need him constrained.”

“Aye,” Aulë says and gestures to the Maiar who have accompanied them to hold the great chain, “Tis a waste to use such a force.” Oromë gave a low chuckle and Manwë looked for a moment as though he would say something but then fell silent. There is an unease through the host at the distinct lack of sounds from within. Tulkas is closest to the gates and spots the messenger first. He grabs Oromë’s arm even as he gestures to his king 

“My lord!” He calls and Manwë turns.

“Lord Melko is pleased to know the Gods have found his abode,” speaks the oily voice of the servant, Langon. 

“He should gladly entertain you,” the servant says with the faintest trace of a sneer, “But he finds himself far too busy to keep His abode in fit state for such venerable guests. Should two enter he shall speak with thee. But! Neither Mânawenûz nor Tulukhastāz should enter. That is his word.”

Tulkas felt a flash of anger at this. He was hardly surprised that coward would refuse him entry but the nerve of him to refuse Lord Manwë when the king was the only one who fought to end this peacefully for both sides?

“Melko’s fear of you, My Lord and of Tulukastāz? Could we not use this to our advantage? He clearly wants you not in his halls. Should we enter peacefully with you an upper hand might be ours.” Aulë suggests. 

Manwë seems to fade away as he thinks. But his voice is perfectly level. “Yes,” he says slowly, “Yes, you are right. Loath am I to employ deceit in turn, let alone against one who has so mastered it, a ruse is perhaps our only chance.” He beckons to his servant and dictates a letter.

"A message from Mânawenûz ! The Valar have come to ask the forgiveness of thee for they have known thy fury and seek to amend what they have done in their foolishness and haste. In Valinor we have asked what best way to amend and alas! Without Lord Melko himself among us we might not right our wrongs against him! For he is the greatest among us and surely Valinor suffers for his absence! In truth, Tulkas  would not assent but I, Manwë ordered him constrained with violence so we might come to thee now and plead for thy pardon!"

They do not speak as they await the return of the servant. Oromë sends Nahar off into the woods and Tulkas stacks rocks. But they do not have to wait in the uncomfortable silence for long. 

The answer returned is hasty and Manwë practically feels the excitement that exudes from the material. Whether or not he had bought the ruse, the offer of the chance to humiliate them had been enough to persuade him. He then sees the conditions that Melkor has laid out and turns to his kin, handing it first to Ulmo simply as he stood closest. Manwë watched the atmosphere become more and more agitated as they took in the response.

"You are agreeing to this?!" Oromë snapped, “You wish for my brother to what…?” 

“Enter in chains,” Ulmo says bluntly as Manwë silently rereads the response from Melkor. He’s gone through it several times already but looks as focused as the first, as though this time he is sure he will spot some new, secret information to aid them.

“Tis not a terrible plan,” Aulë says slowly, “Indeed I could not devise on such short notice another way to ensure that Angaino is brought in without arising suspicion at once.”

“And what precisely is Melko to do with him?!” Oromë said angrily. Tulkas looked uncharacteristically quiet.

“A3ûlêz is right. We must bring Angaino and we will have no other weapons! If Lord Manwë agrees I shall go as described. Fear not, brother. Melko shall have neither chance nor allowance to do harm to me. A blow or two will do me no injury.”

Oromë does not appear satisfied at this. Nessa sways on her feet, looking from one to the other. 

“Is it merely that which he wants?” she asks softly, “To strike you? Tis far too close to equal retribution for his taste.” 

“We will not find out what he wants but should he speak it,” Aulë says firmly, “We shall not allow him to act upon it.” Manwë looks troubled. 

“Constrained with violence,” repeats Ulmo, “A3ûlêz, do you require my aid in this?” 

“In what?” Nessa and Aulë speak at the same time. 

“Melko will not believe we have constrained Tulukastāz by words alone,” the Lord of Waters says. Tulkas nods in agreement.

“If I did not know better I would proclaim thee far too eager to land blows to me,” Tulkas makes a brave attempt at a smile. Ulmo’s expression softens for but a moment as Aulë has his Maiar bring forth the great chain. 

Nessa shakes her head, every bit of her seeming to burst with restless energy so her very form flashes. 

“I am sorry, brother,” Aulë mutters as the others cast their weapons aside. 

“Bold of thee to presume that thy beating shall cause me any pain,” Tulkas teases lightly as he holds out his arms. Aulë clapped his shoulder in approval. “Good.”

 Manwë watches with distant eyes as the youngest of their kin is struck several times. He falls to his knees though only because he allows himself to. Aulë tightens the chains around his arms and neck so his tunic is torn in many places. The lord of the forges murmurs an apology and receives a small but sincere laugh.

“Should I care more for my clothing than the prospect of a peaceful land for the Children, I would not have come with thee.” 

(an important note is that not only did  Manwë agree to this in the text but it was his idea for Tulkas to be given to “Melko’s power and pleasure”. I have to admit this almost coolly pragmatic side of Manwë is utterly fascinating to me, this Manwë who might not understand the depths of evil but knows enough to exploit his brother’s sadism in such a way. And I want so badly to know how far it would have gone had Melkor not made Tulkas angry enough with his insult to Manwë. Can you all just imagine, the other Valar having to watch as Tulkas is what....tortured? Humiliated? We can only speculate what “Melko’s power and pleasure” entails. And they have to pretend they were in favor of this? Sneaking glimpses at Manwë to try and discern where he might draw the line? ahhhh way too many thoughts....)

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 26

of the wwx emperor au I’m thinking of calling Lan QiRen’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week oh god it’s only gonna get worse

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 Part 1 | Chapter 22 Part 2 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25

Wei Ying, courtesy name Wei WuXian, the direct descendent of the Immortal Empress, the Divine Ruler of the Shan Dynasty, the rightful Guardian of the Immortal Mountain, has been standing at the Peach Blossom Pavilion gate for entirely too long.

Arranging the short trip from the Jade Sword Palace to the Peach Blossom Pavilion had taken nearly an hour. Wei WuXian could have flown across the rooftops in a tenth of that time, and already accomplished his task five times over. But the Emperor requires an escort. The Emperor requires five layers of black and gold cloth, which is already proving unbearable in the midday heat. The Emperor requires a heavy gold hair piece, and a fan, and a parasol to protect him from the sun’s glare, servants who will carry the parasol and the excess material of his robe, ten Imperial Guards at the minimum, and four more servants to stand at attention, in the event that the Emperor finds himself in need of them.  

Lan Zhan had asked him to use the door. Wei Ying is going to use the door. He is the Divine Ruler of the Shan Dynasty, not some rogue cultivator without a copper in his pocket, begging for favor. He has never been intimidated by Sect Leader Lan, and he is not intimidated today.

He should not care if Lan QiRen hates him. Wei Ying is very much aware that he is already hated by Jin GuangShan, Wen RuoHan, and another half dozen sect leaders. Between the memories of YanLing DaoRen’s tyranny, and his mother’s forbearance so often mistaken for weakness, the hatred of their direct descendent was always an inevitability. Years of unsuccessful assassination attempts have made the animosity pretty difficult to ignore.

But Lan Zhan loves his uncle. And Wei Ying cannot bear the idea of being hated by someone Lan Zhan loves.

“Your Majesty,” Nie MingJue says, “would you prefer to stay out here?”

“No,” Wei Ying says, “I just-- need a moment.”

Nie MingJue nods, and goes back to standing at attention.

There are times that Wei Ying hates being the Emperor.

The Lan Sect Leader has never shown the Emperor an ounce more deference than what is absolutely necessary. In the past six years, he had arrived at the Immortal Mountain City each time he was summoned. He never asked for a single favor, never spoke unless he was addressed, never attended a single outing, event, or a banquet, unless his presence was specifically required. Wei Ying was accustomed to the world in which sect leaders flattered him endlessly to his face, then tried to stab him the moment his back was turned.

He is not accustomed to men like Lan QiRen.  

“Make the announcement,” he says.

His palms are sweaty and cold. How stupid, that his hands are freezing, while the rest of him is boiling under the bright, midday sun.    

A-Sang’s plan is already in motion. The rumors of the Emperor’s agenda for the day have been carefully spreading through the Immortal Mountain City for the past two hours. They are false rumors, intentionally whispered into the wrong ear by one of A-Sang’s servants. Jiang Cheng will be taking Wei Ying’s place in the Imperial Gardens, pretending to participate in a clandestine meeting. Shijie has already extended a gracious invitation to the Jin Sect leader, Madam Jin, and Jin ZiXuan, an invitation that cannot be declined. Twenty trustworthy members of the Nie Sect have departed for YiLing on the pretense of participating in a night hunt.

All the pieces are falling in their place. All Wei Ying needs to do is speak to Lan QiRen.

The three Lan Sect members are in the courtyard to welcome him, their postures identical.

Wei Ying motions that they should rise. Lan Zhan is wearing a simple set of robes, utterly unadorned, the cloth light and appropriate for the heat of the day. His hair is free of ornaments; it is restrained by a plain, white piece of cloth, matching his robes. In the sunlight, the layers of his hair shift from black to amber, his eyes from brown to liquid gold. His face is soft and open. He looks as if he may smile.  

The escort is ordered to remain in the courtyard. A-Sang had decided that their circle of trust cannot extend to the Imperial servants or the Imperial Guards. Even so, Wei Ying had forgotten how small the Peach Blossom Pavilion actually is; even five people in its receiving hall appears to be two too many.

In the past, Lan QiRen had never made use of the Imperial servants placed at his disposal. He is not the only Sect Leader to be wary of unfamiliar help, and Wei Ying had never given the man’s preferences much thought. However, he had assumed that this visit, requiring the presence of both Young Masters, would have incited the man to bring his own. Instead, Lan Zhan and Lan XiChen excuse themselves to perform the task of preparing tea, and any other refreshments that need to be served.    

“This is an unexpected pleasure,” Lan QiRen says after all the courtesies have been observed, his voice unfailingly polite, “To what do we owe the honor of Your Majesty’s visit?”

“There is to be a small outing to YiLing this afternoon. I had hoped that the Young Masters would grant me the pleasure of their company.”

“I was not aware that the Emperor was planning on an Imperial Procession through YiLing during the festival,” Lan QiRen says.

“The Emperor is not planing to hold an Imperial Procession,” Wei Ying says, “in fact, the details of this outing must be kept secret. Our intention is to draw out the person responsible for the assassination attempts. Rumors intended to misdirect the assassin and their accomplices have already been spread throughout the court. A trap has been set in the Imperial Gardens. In the view of this, removing the targets of the assassination attempts from the Immortal Mountain seems the preferable course of action.”

Lan QiRen is silent for long moments, his face unreadable.

For the first time, it strikes Wei Ying that the Lan Sect Leader is not a young man. He had been born during YanLing DaoRen’s reign, into a world already rife with chaos. Lan QiRen’s grandfather, Lan XuYun, had been one of the first Sect Leaders to pledge his loyalty to the Immortal Empress.

Lan QiRen is not stupid. The man had understood how the Emperor’s attachment to the Wen in the Immortal City was adversely affecting the Lan Sect long before Wei Ying himself had come to the same conclusion. Lan QiRen had known, and he had said nothing. All these years of suffering resentment and humiliation, he had resolutely refused all assistance offered, without ever showing an ounce of bitterness or ill will towards the Wen Sect, or the Emperor. Instead, he had shouldered the ever-increasing burden with dignity, and then taught both of his nephews to do the same.

Wei Ying does not need this man to like him, but being hated by him no longer feels like an acceptable outcome.

“Sect Leader Nie,” Wei Ying says, “I would like to speak to Sect Leader Lan in private for a moment. Please see if the Young Masters require any assistance with their task.”

Wei Ying will need to make Nie MingJue’s title particularly grand, in order to compensate for sending him to the kitchens to watch tea being brewed. But he must speak to Lan QiRen of sensitive matters, and he must do so now, while he still feels brave enough to do so.

The moment he can be certain that they will not be overheard, Wei Ying takes a deep breath, and dives under, “Sect Leader, I understand that you do not like me, do not trust me, and disapprove of of my continued association with your nephew. I cannot be someone you approve of, and any attempt to meet your expectations will doubtlessly prove to be unproductive and frustrating for both of us. Let us simply acknowledge that you will never see me as being worthy of your nephew, and that in this, at least, we may find a common ground.”

Lan QiRen leans back slightly, his expression registering a hint of surprise.

“Regardless of your disapproval,” Wei Ying says firmly, “I intend to ask Lan WangJi to take his place by my side as the Emperor Consort. I will not list all the reasons why I personally prefer him to every person I have ever met, as I am sure that this conversation would become unbearably uncomfortable for both of us. However, I am very well aware that destiny saw fit to place me into a position of power regardless of my qualifications, and that I have often failed to meet the challenges this position presents. Therefore, you cannot begrudge me the wish to share that seat of power with someone who is infinitely superior in every way.”

“Your Majesty,” Lan QiRen says, his surprise shifting to cool politeness once again, “the Lan Sect is honored by your attention. We serve at the pleasure of the Emperor.”

Wei Ying cannot stand the man’s politeness right now. He would rather have Lan QiRen pull out his sword, and attempt to skewer him to the floor. At least in that, there would be some honesty.

“Sect Leader, we have a small window of time in which we may converse openly. If I must, I will order that you speak plainly, and without hesitation. But I believe no such order is necessary.”

Lan QiRen’s expression hardens, and Wei Ying braces himself for an attack.

“WangJi will never compete for Your Majesty’s attention,” he says coldly, “He is ill-suited to a life of frivolity and stagnation. He will surpass Your Majesty in cultivation, if he has not already done so, and he will never make himself less for Your Majesty’s sake. The petty rivalries and empty flattery of the court will make him wretched. And he is certainly incapable of providing an heir to the throne, which will serve as a continuous reminder that he can be easily replaced. In short, Your Majesty, I am finding it hard to believe that you have thought your decision through with care that it deserves.”

“Lan Zhan will never have to compete for my attention,” Wei Ying says, “It is more likely that the Empire will need to compete with him, and may often find itself on the losing side. I am certain that he has already surpassed me in cultivation; a fact that has only inspired admiration, not resentment. The petty rivalries and empty flattery of the court are inevitable, but he will have the power to deal with them in any way he sees fit. And the throne already has an heir.”

The last bit seems to take Lan QiRen off guard, and he is studies Wei Ying carefully for a few moments, as if unsure what to make of him.

“In the interest of full disclosure, I am not unwilling to share the name of the heir to the throne with the Lan Sect,” Wei Ying says, “However, I do believe that this information should be shared with Lan Zhan first, if he chooses to accept my proposal.”

“If he refuses?” Lan QiRen says.

Wei Ying meets Lan QiRen’s gaze with all the composure he possesses, “Lan Zhan is the best judge of his own happiness. If he refuses, I will respect his decision.”

The silence that follows is not long, but it is the most intolerable silence of Wei Ying’s life.

Just when he thinks he cannot bear it any longer, Lan QiRen nods.

His expression seems to reflect resignation rather than outright approval, but this is an acceptable outcome. Wei Ying wonders if he should offer to let the man stab him once. He is sure this would make Sect Leader Lan much more amenable. It is not an ideal solution, but Wei Ying has been stabbed before, by men a lot less worthy of his respect.

Luckily, the tea is finally ready, so that decision, at least, can be postponed until later.

[zombiegurlmode]

Sad that Camren Shippers are to blame. But alas, scape goats are necessary for someone to thrive

I’m not done ranting apparently. Clearly, after all of my satirical nature has come to pass, truth of the matter is, for someone who spoke so openly and highly of valuing love and honesty and all that jazz. Your words cut deeper than any knife could. And for someone who openly “claims” of being a part of the LGBT+ community, (whereas the numbers are thriving so much that more letters are added and we’re almost about to fill in the entire alphabet) we have yet to receive such a backlash coming from “supposedly” one of us. Imagine the horror right? True, perhaps your words may have been misconstrued by the public at large or twisted in some form to suit everyone’s selfish needs. I mean after all, isn’t that what camren shippers are called for - delusional AF and toxic as hell. Well, we don’t deny it and couldn’t deny the fact that yes, there are plenty of us who are quite enthusiastic to a fault. Honestly, tell me in what space or bygone era have toxic people never appeared in. Truth of the matter is, it’s how you deal with things and toxicity that affect each and everyone of us. Happiness is only a matter of possessing the right attitude. And no one, not any one, can take that away from you. Not even hardships.

There are several things I would like to personally address though. Camren shippers most likely than not have in some way or the other connected with you. We all something that we could relate to, From your internalized phobia, or from you getting to finally openly admit your own sexuality and fully embracing it wonderfully, or some other things that the others felt truly connected or as you love to so put it “resonate” with you. So don’t blame your fans if they are passionate in expressing themselves because all humans have escapism in them. And to some, perhaps, this is the only means they have some semblance of control to freely express themselves openly. No one is undermining your hardship when you were outed, or that fact that you were bullied for it, or pressured to act in a certain acceptable way so you may be deemed as socially normal “acceptable” human being, whereas all you truly deserve was love and compassion. But I would like to remind you of one very fine detail. When you were outed, camren shippers were there to support you. Because they (wasn’t here yet when it happened so I can’t include myself) understood well above and beyond that what you encountered was so horrendous. You were cheated and robbed of that one pleasure and right given to every LGBT+ member to pride on - the true nature of coming out. See the thing is, the homophobes corrupted the words coming out so much that even as LGBT+ members sometimes forget the true existence of it. it’s not about public declaration or waving the flag, or marching in rainbows, or stamping a giant sign across your forehead declaring that you’re a proud, frolicking, fun-loving, women-loving lesbian (or in any way the others identify themselves as). No! Coming out and its true nature is simply coming to terms with yourself on your own pace and leisure. So truly I am sorry that you have been cheated out of this privilege. But it wouldn’t be fair for you to lump it together with your emotions and throw it at your brethren (if you even consider us as such). Perhaps, that is not your intention. Just to be clear, I am not invaliding how you’ve felt or how you’re feeling now. No one has the power to do that to someone else - I’m referring to telling others how to feel. Yet the message we perceived is quite clear. That we, as a collective known as Camren Shippers, who “supposedly” belong to the LGBT+ community (ok, maybe not all of us. that’s too presumptive on my part) and pride on understanding your own volitions caused this very volitions to surface or in your words “manifest” in you. We are the hindrances that robbed you of your chance to have a decent flirtation towards the same sex. Ironically speaking, Camren Shippers were the ones also on the forefront of defending your honor when some boy belonging to a particular boy band along with his bandmates ridiculed and degraded your feminine existence simply because they thought they were joking around. I mean aren’t jokes like that - it’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt. Jokes most often than not are made at the expense of others. Doesn’t make it any less right, but then again who are we to blame them for something they thought of as a joke. Let’s all face it people, we are all guilty of this act. And yet, the CS never did falter. Carrying their banners of delusions and brandishing their armors of grandeurs, all in the name sake of defending someone who is belittled for the sake of “fun and games”. Even after deliberately attacking the CS for their enthusiasm and calling it invasive, they were still there for you especially so when they saw how pressure started affecting you. They were always so attuned to you that they were the first to notice signs that you may possibly be queer or you may possibly be undergoing some form of inner conflict. They all wish you good health and as you put it in words “send their love to you” so you may never feel alone enduring all this pain. And now imagine the heartache that every shipper might or might not be going through right now. Because apparently, that same support that they have been sending you is perceived as pain and suffering from your end. How would you feel if the very thought that the love and adoration you have causes someone pain and insecurity? So far, all that you have discussed is the negativity that surrounds an apparent DEAD SHIP. Negativity? Sounds familiar right? You preach on it on numerous occasion. You even wrote a song 50FT. Maybe you should be the one to listen on your own attunement. You brought so much negativity on the topic whereas it was meant to be about your coming out. Again, sorry that you’re coming out seemed more like a burden than liberation for you. And again, I apologize that we are the reason behind it.

Just to clarify. We never undermined your suffering. We know all too well the pain that one undergoes in this journey called self discovery of one’s true sexuality. To be honest, those of us who fear coming out or being outed because of rejection, bullying, disowning, we are the lucky ones. There are some of us who undergo far more threats by simply accepting who they truly are. They fear for the safety of their family, they fear for their own safety, they fear the valid threats of rape and degradation and being treated as if you are worse than animals. There are those individuals where the very soil that they stood upon view homosexuality as ILLEGAL and violation of such law would yield severe punishments. So tell them, tell them that they don’t know the risks, the pains, the sufferings, the deteriorations of ones’ sanities, tell them that they don’t understand it because all they ever care about is Camren. Tell them that they’re only glimmer of hope on priding on someone that may have found what they yearn for is invalid. Tell them that living vicariously on your life brings so much distraught on your otherwise calm existence. Tell them that and they have been the first ones to apologize that you felt that way. Because I’ve read their posts and I’ve felt their pains. And we are sorry to cause you so much pain.

I will remind you. No one forced you to audition for xfactor in the pursuance of your dream. You even have the support of your family for your journey. And we are all grateful that you did. Otherwise, we may not even have bothered you so much. Otherwise, we may not even know that you existed. So let me remind you that the industry you belong to - spotlight is king. So don’t go complaining if your put under the it - that’s the point of the industry my dear, the limelight. I’m a purchaser, I can’t complain if my daily tasks comprise of purchasing goods. Otherwise, I have no business being a purchaser. I’m clearly in the wrong field if I felt that way. So it wouldn’t be fair to tell your fans (if you even consider us as such) to blame us for putting you under the spotlight. May I make a suggestion? Try holding a concert without the lights on next time. You do have sensitive eyes because of the lack of melanin in your eyes. We get that.

Also, you know Becky G never did mention about camren. You brought it up on your own. Just like you’ve given us “it’s camren yo!”. You did say and i quote (uh oh i’m sure going to butcher this. I failed in quoting people all the time) “i don’t really talk about it” and then preceded to have entire litany about camren and whatnot. Ok, I get it, it was part of your coming out process. Cool. Then you’ve touched upon how reading fanfics have ruined you. And made you feel like a predator. Firstly, camren fanfics are intended for shippers only. Like all mediums, they have their own specific intended audieces. For you to wander into uncharted terrains, you must have understood the risks it entails. I don’t know which ones you’ve read, but most fics from decent authors have disclaimer on them. Did you even bother reading the disclaimer? On the onset of something that made you feel awkward or uncomfortable or disturbing, you should’ve stopped on your own and never be bothered with it again. That’s the usual thing to do. If any human find something or someone repulsive, they would ceased to seek it. But it bothered you so much and made you feel like a predator then you’ve read the entirety of it (maybe i’m exaggerating, ok a good chuck of it, sounds better?) Well someone did tell me it could have been born out of curiosity. Yeah curiosity did kill the cat, you know? Unless of course you’re a masochist, then now I finally understand and I have nothing more to add.

So for my parting words, I would again extend my deepest, sincerest apology I could muster in my current sane state for being the cause and hindrance for your inner peace and wellbeing. I am not mocking you. This is just the nature I write. Troublesome, I know. But I’m being honest. If my being a fan of you, and shipping you in our own little niche, caused you so much pain and suffering then I respect your wishes. It would be foolish of me to continue pouring my support to you when all along I’m actually doing the opposite and harming you in the process. I mean what decent human being would like to inflict pain unto others. So in honor of my last words relating to your brand Lauren Jauregui or the very dead ship that apparently troubled you so much, I bid you the very best. May you flourish on your career and find inner peace and true happiness forever and always. I would not like to be a fan of any brand that I’m the apparent cause whether directly or indirectly impedes in attaining their endeavors. All the best in your album release and who knows maybe I’ll stumble upon your music again someday. 

[artificialqueens]

I'm Not Into Sometimes, Chapter 1 (Rosnali) - SnowBun

A/N: After who knows how long, I am finally writing again. A true shocker. This one will be about 5-8 chapters long (again, who knows? I’m just winging it) with much emotion. Hope you guys are all well during this difficult time xx

For me, because self-love is admitting that you’re suffering through the writing process for your own pleasure.

Summary: Denali goes viral on the internet and is hired to choreograph for Rosè.

–

Two weeks.

It’s been two weeks since Denali posted the video of her choreography to 100% Pure Love. Two weeks since she posted a video of her spilling all the passion in her cup on the dance studio floor. Two weeks since the world has watched and decided to give her five minutes of fame.

At first, it was validation. She thought that her existing followers and a few other people would see the video and think, “Denali’s fucking Talented with a capital T.” It was the way every other video she had posted had gone down. She knew the video was above even her standards, but the larger than usual wave of gratification didn’t feel like anything special.

But then Monet X Change jumped into the party, sharing the video and telling her millions of followers that she was one of the best choreographers and dancers she’d ever seen. That’s when she knew this one was different. This was more than validation; this was the world suddenly turning its head to put its eye on her.

Yet, she thinks that two weeks might have been the limit. She’s posted more content to keep people interested, but nothing has quite captured people’s attention like that first video. The stream of DMs, comments and views have been decreasing and she thinks, “Well, I just have to keep trying.”

But here she is, sitting at her desk job, feeling utterly fucking useless. She’s staring at a screen when her heart is all the way on the other side of the city, its thump, thump, thump beating along to the rhythm of music.

She’s aware of the student loans that beg to be paid each month, but every breath is a punch of anxiety to the stomach. Inhales of whispers saying, “Look where your passion has gotten you.” She chokes on the air, leaving her lightheaded and powerless.

Her phone lights up. “There goes another one.” She thinks to herself as she swipes to open Instagram. If she follows the pattern of the last two weeks, it’s either a new fan complimenting her or a dipshit asking for her nudes. Oh, the sad reality of virality.

But she stares at the bright blue check mark beside the username. She thinks it’s staring back, laughing and saying, “Look at your face, priceless!”

“Hi Denali!” It reads. “I’m Tamisha Iman from Iman Entertainment. I’ve been loving your videos and I wanted to reach out with an opportunity to choreograph some projects. Here’s my email so we can discuss details. Hope to hear from you soon!”

Her brain can barely register the words on the screen, but she knows that there’s only one thing left to do. She knows that the last few months of working her ass off as a part-time choreographer have led up to this moment.

She walks away from her desk, the sound of her pumps on the floor echoing in the aisles of the bland beige office. She hears the receptionist say something about him being on a call, but she doesn’t even stop to take a breath before swinging the door open. She’s face-to-face with her boss, a man who probably doesn’t even know her name, with a smile and a look in her eyes that’s almost delirious.

“I quit.”

—

On her way home, she realizes that she’s an idiot.

“You’re so stupid!” She says to herself as she swings open her apartment door. She hasn’t even replied to Tamisha and she’s already indulging spontaneous moments of catharsis over security. What if she found someone else in the span of an hour? The woman was in the business long enough to know someone just as good with far more experience. That last thought threatens to send her into a spiral, so she pulls out her phone and rushes to email a reply.

“Thank you so much for thinking of me, Ms. Iman! Really glad you liked the video. Could I have some details about this opportunity? I would love to work with you on any upcoming projects.”

For a moment, her thumb hovers over the send button. She takes a snapshot of this moment in her head. “This is it,” She thinks to herself. “This is where it all starts, Denali.”

She presses send and lets out a long exhale.

—

Three days.

It’s been three goddamn days since she quit her job and emailed her reply. It’s been three days of complete and utter suffering as the receiver of radio silence. The first evening, she had remained wonderfully calm in the fact that it was too soon. The second evening was more hellish, each notification popping up on her phone looking more and more like mockery. This third evening was the worst of them all, leading her to wallow in the idea that she had prematurely quit her stable job for an opportunity that she had never been promised.

“Denali, you can’t just stay there.” Kahmora says from the kitchen, her tone soft and understanding.

She knows her roommate is right. She knows that she has to get up and face the music. She knows that her only two options right now are to God forbid, crawl back to her old job or call every single one of her contacts to stock up on gigs; but there it goes again, that little voice in her head that won’t quit, that stupid tiny voice that gives her hope that maybe, just maybe, tonight is the night she’ll get a reply.

She clutches the phone in her hand like the rosary from her all-girls Catholic school days. Every time she thinks about letting it go is accompanied by a sense of hope, faded like the old pictures her mother left in the attic at home.

Kahmora sits beside her and she leans on her friend, willing herself not to burst into tears. “You’re not any less amazing, you know.” She reminds her as she strokes her fine, blonde hair. “Maybe this opportunity just wasn’t meant to work out.”

It doesn’t take a philosophical genius to know that Kahmora is right. She’ll lay awake tonight and replay the words in her head like a mantra straight out of one of those self-help tapes they used to use on smokers in the 90s; but damn, did it sting like a bitch.

The phone comes alive in her hand, a notification glaring at her through the screen. She swipes so fast that she thinks she might have just broken some world record. As she rushes to check what it is, she prays to whatever higher power that is out there that this was it, that the snapshot in her head wasn’t for nothing.

Her eyes dart across the screen, expression the very picture of stunned. She turns her head to look at Kahmora, staring at her with anticipation.

“What is it?”

“I’m choreographing Rosé’s new music video.”

—

For a week, Denali lived, ate and breathed making the choreography for Phenomenon. Every waking moment was spent perfecting the moves. She made sure that every jut, pivot and turn was sharp and purposeful. She wanted to make sure that there was no doubt in Rosé’s mind that she wasn’t just a ten-minute internet sensation, but a damn good choreographer.

Part of that job description was to study Rosé’s movements in her past music videos. She had heard the singer’s voice everywhere (who hadn’t, really,) so there was no denying her incredible vocal talent. However, watching her move was just as breathtaking. She was a spectacular performer with a beautiful toned body, so unlike what she was used to seeing for other artists.

After Kahmora had dropped her off and she’d promised to return in three weeks in one piece, she boarded the plane with a ticket Tamisha had bought for her. Even with all the comforts of business class, she could not bring herself to settle. Anxiety-inducing questions popped up in her head and she did her best to swat them away like flies.

“What if she thinks I’m just that girl from the internet?”

“What if she hates the choreo?”

“What if we don’t get along at all and I get blackballed?”

By the time she gets into the car that Tamisha had sent to pick her up from the airport, her thoughts have swirled and mixed, creating a dangerous cocktail of nerves that settles in the pit of her stomach.

As the car stops in front of the Iman Management Agency office, she settles for a nice deep breath. “You’re going for the gold, Denali.” She whispers to herself.

When she swings the door open and quickly lets her eyes roam, she comes to the disappointing realization that Rosé is nowhere in sight. For a week, she’d hyped herself up to make a good first impression.

The disappointment is quelled when Tamisha Iman stands up from her desk. She is nothing short of glamorous, with her gorgeous dark hair and tailored suit. Her smile is warm and inviting, and she almost forgets that the very thought of this moment would have made her throw up a few days ago.

“Denali!” She beams, walking over to shake hands. “So nice to meet you, I’m Tamisha. I gotta say, I thought I had seen everything after 30 years in the business; but I’ve never seen anyone move quite like you do.”

“That’s so nice of you to say, thank you.” Denali replies appreciatively, albeit somewhat shyly. “That video popped off so unexpectedly. I’m really glad you liked it.”

“Oh, who wouldn’t?” Tamisha gestures for her to take a seat in front of her desk. As she moves, Denali notes the utmost grace and poise that she carries herself with. With all her experience, she expected nothing less than this type of professionalism. “I see someone move like that and I know that they have what it takes to work with my talent.”

“Speaking of which,” She starts hesitantly. “I was hoping to meet Rosé. You know, get to know her and be comfortable before we start working.”

For a moment, Denali senses an exasperation when Tamisha sighs; but then, she just smiles apologetically. “I’m really sorry, but you’ll have to wait until your first session tomorrow. She’s really throwing herself into finishing this album, so she couldn’t make much time in her schedule.”

At first, she feels disheartened. It’s a mixture of, “Am I not worth meeting?” and the excitement of finally meeting the woman whose talents she’d been studying for a wholeass week; but then, the disappointment gives way to more anticipation. Meeting her in the studio means meeting her in her wheelhouse. There was no way, shape or form that she could disappoint anyone in her area of expertise.

“No worries, Ms. Iman. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

—

Denali expects that she’s going to wake up with a headache that feels like her brain is in a meat grinder when she gets up the next morning from a restless night; but it’s only 5:30 and she knows that the idea of today, the culmination of a lifelong dream, is far too thrilling for her to have no energy.

She swings her legs out of bed quickly, not giving herself too much time to think. She knows that the studio is barely five minutes away from the hotel and that the call time is 7:00, but if she sits still too long, she knows she’ll concoct another dangerous cocktail of anxiety and insomnia. If possible, she’d like to avoid that.

She steps into the shower and lets herself breathe deeply, relishing in the way the lungs fill with air and her muscles contract. She focuses on her senses and lets it flood her head. Better that than a doom scenario her mind will inevitably come up with.

She puts on her leggings and a sweater over her mesh top to protect herself from the chill of New York air. For the shortest moment, she allows herself to stare at her reflection and hype herself up.

“Move aside world, it’s your girl, Denali.”

When she gets to the studio, it’s predictably empty. It looks little like the studio she went to in Chicago. All the walls are a deep cool grey instead of the white walls with a brick accent that she’s used to. The floor is a much darker shade of brown too; but even then, she is reminded of home. This little box is where her love lies and she feels safe.

She checks her phone and sees that it’s only 6:40. “Huh.” She says to the empty air. She walks towards the mirror at the front of the room, the click of her heels echoing against the four walls.

“Might as well.” She says to herself as she sticks her phone in the dock. She chooses 100% Pure Love and starts swaying along to the music. If she’s honest, she hasn’t fully listened to the song since she recorded that fateful video; but when the music hits, her body remembers the movement. She watches herself in the mirror, the planes of her body shifting in fluid motions. She can see her body come alive, marrying freedom with control and she remembers then why the feeling is unparalleled.

Right as the song finishes, she hears another set of heels tapping against the floorboards. She sees someone come into view through the mirror. She spins as gracefully as she can to greet her, but her brain suddenly stops working.

Rosé is special and she knows it right away. She is somehow exactly the same but completely different from what she had expected. She sees the same face, sternly set jaw and amazing body that she had seen on a screen. The fact that she looks just as good in person leaves her completely dazed.

“Hi.”

Denali shakes her head, laughing lightly to hide that she’d been staring like an idiot. “Sorry, I just got a bit surprised.” She walks over, hand extended. “I’m Denali, the choreographer.”

“Rosé.” Her lips are pressed into a tight-lipped smile as she shakes Denali’s hand. The response is verging on cold, but it’s nothing for her to cry home about. She wasn’t so naïve as to think that this would become a ‘I’ll be your new best friend’ type of situation.

An awkward silence falls over them and Rosé refuses to look away. She feels like she’s being studied and she thinks her skin might start to itch from the discomfort. “So uhm,” She claps her hands together. “Let’s get straight into it?”

“Sure.”

Denali squats down to change the track as Rosé drops her bag in a corner of the room. “I’ll show you the choreography first, then we’ll go off from there. Sound good?” She called over her shoulder.

“Yeah, let’s do it.” Rosé replied as she sat at the side of the room.

Denali stands to the back of the room, staring at her reflection and willing herself to ignore the head of pale pink hair to the side. She marches forward, all attitude and spice, forever thinking of how to make every single moment an amazing performance, no matter the audience. As she sees herself dance, she realizes just how proud she is. This choreography is one of her best and she knows it.

She ends with her arm straight out and pointing at the mirror. She catches her breath, realizing that she’d been holding it. Her eyes move to Rosé who, apart from slightly raised eyebrows, is expressionless. She tries her best not to feel offended. She’s this proud of her work and she can’t even get a smile?

“So, what do you think?” She asks, hoping for a comment, quip, any response that could validate her work.

“It was good but,” Rosé pushes herself up and stands next to her. In the blink of an eye, there’s a shift. She becomes fully immersed in the work, nothing short of absolutely serious and a picture-perfect professional. “That part right before I enter the second verse. I was hoping for something like…”

She goes to the back of the room and spins to the front, a flurry of cotton candy clouds sweeping through the studio. Denali feels dizzy, but she can’t deny that Rosé looks fantastic doing the move and, to her chagrin, it does suit the music more. Even then, there’s an ache that comes with admitting it.

“Yeah, I think we can make that work.” She looks at Rosé and their eyes meet. It feels like too much, like sinking into a hole in the ground because holy shit, she can see straight through me. She’s never seen eyes quite like that before.

“Okay!” She exclaims quickly, giving herself an excuse to look away. “Let’s start from the top.”

The next two hours pass fairly quickly. By how quickly Rosé catches on and the number of edits that she makes to the choreography, she can tell that she’s had some type of professional training. The idea of that leaves her intrigued, but it’s overshadowed by her dejection. She’s a spectacular student, but the detached responses and almost too professional attitude leave Denali thirsty for some kind of gratification.

By the end of the session, Rosé has learned at least half of the choreography and Denali can’t deny that she’s impressed that she could keep up. She turns to look at her and is surprised to see her smiling for the first time. It lights up her whole face, even those damn eyes that she can’t bear to look at.

“Oh God, that was great!” She exclaims and it reminds Denali of a child after getting off a rollercoaster. “This is going to be my best video yet.”

Denali smiles back, finally relaxing after getting a hit of that delayed validation. “I think so too.” She agrees, looking down at her feet. “I mean, your work is fantastic and it’s honestly such an honor to do this with you.”

Rosé laughs and she decides that she likes the sound. It’s not the tinkling of windchimes on her mother’s porch. It reminds her of the beat of music when it moves through her. It’s deep, genuine and comforting, pulling at the rope bundled up into knots in her stomach.

“Are you kidding, Denali?” She says in disbelief. “Your choreography for this has been so good and I could not have asked for someone better to work with.”

She lets herself look into her eyes, now so full of joy and warmth. It feels like a different person, but she knows that it’s just two sides to the same coin. There’s something about the blurred line between the professional student she had just taught and the sincere woman speaking to her that blows her mind.

“Not gonna lie, that makes me feel really relieved.” She admits, pretending to wipe sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. Rosé laughs again and she has to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling too wide.

Rosé’s phone suddenly rings and she runs over her to her bag to check it. She groans and turns to Denali, looking irritated for a reason she can’t quite place. “Shit, I should get going.” She picks up her things and smiles again. “It was nice to meet you, Denali.”

“You too, Rosé.”

The singer is walking away when she stops in the doorway. She turns around and gives her a wink, so private and secret that she thinks it might be hiding from the glare of the sun streaming in through the windows.

“See you tomorrow.”

When she hears the door close, Denali all but collapses onto the ground, folding her legs under her and sighing deeply.

“Well, fuck.”

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #16- All the Greatest Love Songs are Secretly About Heroin

Dang, been a minute since we got into the series proper. What all happened again?

Oh. Right. That.

…So anyway, let’s brush up on our Ultra Magnus history!

There was a massive fight on top of a spaceship. Swoop was there, Impactor was there, Overlord was there, Heretech was there, Killmaster was there- shit was lit. Ultra Magnus was doing his thing, though it looks like this was before he got LASIK done, because he’s got a visor on.

Then Ultra Magnus got shot in the gut and fell off the spaceship. It was so scary his hand started spasming.

Later on, we return to a place we’ve seen before, albeit from the Decepticon side.

Magnus, your badge isn’t up to code, my guy! Better get that sorted, before your current self comes out of his medically induced coma, invents time travel, and comes to beat you up.

Also, Pious Maximus? What is your friggin’ DEAL, bro? What the actual hell is your deal?

All the K-Cons start falling out of the sky, and Magnus orders everyone to take cover, as a familiar-looking bomb that literally has his name written on it lands bang on target. It’s such an intense experience, his hands start spasming.

Later still, Magnus is in the middle of dealing with the Simanzi Massacre, and it looks like his visor’s seen better days. Hopefully it was a reading pair, and not something he actually needed to see. Rotorstorm is also there, because his character apparently only exists to suffer. Magnus and his team rise from the muck and the mire, coming ashore right on top of a Cybernought, which promptly fries Magnus with its hand lasers. He gets so crispy, his hands start spasming.

For anyone having trouble parsing the scraps of rended metal that used to be Rewind of Lower Petrohex here, allow me a moment to break him down. That cylinder in the lower left corner is his camera, the wire coming off of it is where it plugged into his head, and that squarish chunk with the clean, round hole in it is probably part of his helmet. The other chunky bits I couldn’t tell you what they are, but I think it’s pretty safe to say that Chromedome absolutely put the dog to sleep with that blast last issue.

Inside the Lost Light, Swerve’s trying to be a nice guy by putting on some tunes for Ultra Magnus, who got his spark shot by Overlord last issue, but all it’s really done is make Ratchet get distracted.

Magnus is in a bad way, as was established by First Aid last issue, and it doesn’t seem like Ratchet’s having any more luck than had been predicted. Swerve’s here for emotional support, and also because he’s got medical training. Tailgate’s here for cleanup duty. Drift’s off in the corner making snide remarks about the medical equipment, probably because he’s mad his legs are still off.

Drift looks like he’s been chiseled out of stone here, and I kind of love it. Forget softboi uwu Dwift, I want more of this guy who’ll bite into a teddybear cactus and not even flinch.

Agustin Padilla’s back on the scene for this issue, and he’s decided that everyone’s going to be elongated in as many ways as he can manage in 20 pages. Tailgate and Swerve? Tallest they’ll ever be in the series. They’re as tall as Cyclonus, and he’s a fucking space jet. Someone’s got a chevron? You better believe that thing’s scraping the gotdang ceiling. Drift’s kitty-cat ears almost never fit into the panel, because those suckers are LONG today. It’s like they’ve all been put through a taffy-puller. There are a lot of little quirks with this art, but this is one I can kind of get behind, if only because it’s so distinctive.

Getting back to the story, Drift’s talking about the Death Clock here- no, not the animated band from Adult Swim, but an actual medical device that can calculate the moment a shrinking spark will give out, down to the second. It only measures the lifespans of the terminally ill, so Swerve hasn’t accidentally given himself even more depression by sticking his little hands in the shiny light without a thought as to what the device he’s messing with might do.

Ultra Magnus has about ten days to live. This makes Tailgate incredibly upset, because he, unlike everyone else on the ship, hasn’t experienced the horrors of war and death.

Ratchet’s right, though. There’s certainly a chance that Tailgate, who’s been shown to react to stressful situations by having panic attacks to the point of blacking out, could have a very severe response to what is his first major catastrophe. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder usually isn’t an immediate development, but being proactive about your mental health is never a bad thing if you can swing it. Hell, with how bad the Overlord situation was, I wouldn’t be surprised if Rung was booked solid long enough for Tailgate to actually have time to develop PTSD.

Rodimus is on the intercom to address the situation that just took place, because man oh man, was it a doozy. He intends to hold an inquiry to figure out just what the hell happened and how Overlord got on the Lost Light to begin with. As he tells everyone what’s going to happen, our focus shifts to Chromedome, who’s standing on the outside of the ship, staring off into space.

Man, I hope Chromedome’s on the front half, because this is a fucking grim scene to witness.

Skids comes out, having been looking for Chromedome. Trailcutter of all people pointed him in the right direction- which I suppose makes sense, given that he was on the Ethics Committee on Kimia. He probably would know Chromedome and Rewind decently well by this point.

Chromedome turns around to show off his mourning black Autobot badge, freshly photoshopped onto his chest for our viewing pleasure. It’s especially blatant when contrasting with Padilla’s rougher linework style.

Skids asks our brand-new widower how he’s holding up, and Chromedome says he’s fine, which is funny, because the other day he was all:

Chromedome has a moment of reminiscing, playing connect-the-dots with the stars like he and Rewind used to do all the time.

Skids, they were married for 250,000 years.

Skids might actually have been one of the worse people to have found Chromedome, if this is what he’s going to say, and then immediately leave. He’s so awkward and clearly uncomfortable and doesn’t want to be there. Does he feel weird about Chromedome knowing more about him than he himself does? Does Skids not have access to any of his memories related to mourning? Geez, I hope nobody needs him to help them through a difficult emotional time for a good while, because this was painful to watch.

Back inside the ship, Rung’s come over to Rodimus’ room to see what all the crashing and banging is about. It would seem our dear captain’s upset, and has decided to work through his frustrations by destroying his private quarters, perhaps in an attempt to summon the wrath of Ultra Magnus, thus saving him through the power of his own mess-induced rage. Rung comes to sit with Rodimus, I guess giving up his search for Chromedome, and the two of them discuss Magnus. Specifically, they discuss Magnus’ memos, and how much Rodimus despises receiving them, because they make him feel like he’s not doing his job right. He stopped even opening them, they made him feel so bad.

If you subscribe to the headcanon of Rodimus having ADHD, you could potentially read this as being a manifestation of Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. As it is within the story proper, Rung’s decided to ignore this tidbit of information to get at the more pressing issues, like why exactly Rodimus felt the need to wreck his room.

This is about the point where the art for Rodimus becomes roughly 90% spot blacks, and it’s highly suggested that Rung get out while the getting’s good.

Oh, well this is going to be awkward.

Later on, we’re at the funeral. There’s five coffins, though not all of them actually contain a body. Everyone’s here to see their friends off, even Cyclonus, who was invited to the wake by Chromedome himself. Awful nice of him to do that, given their history.

The lineup in the front row is a bunch of chatterboxes, and they prove that very quickly as Swerve, Skids, and Whirl theorize on the contents of Brainstorm’s mysterious briefcase, which is also here at the funeral. Swerve swears himself to the duty of finding out what’s inside, on threat of death should he fail.

A short time skip is had, and Rodimus is revealed to be wearing his ceremonial funeral cape and terrifying vampire arm spikes to this shindig, as he sends Tripodeca, who is surely the most beloved of all Autobots, off with as many kind words as he can muster in the time they have. Everyone says goodbye, and we get to Rewind’s turn. Rodimus has a moment of pause, as Rung gives him the most withering look I believe he will ever produce in the entirety of the run of MTMTE/Lost Light.

Rodimus concedes to giving Rewind the credit for saving everyone from Overlord posthumously, as well as Fortress Maximus and Chromedome, labelling himself as a failure on that front. Chromedome comes up to the podium for a few words on the love of his life.

…well, it’s been a long day for everyone, I suppose.

Chromedome sits back down, right next to Brainstorm because they’re besties, as Brainstorm stares him down like he knows something Chromedome doesn’t.

Probably because he does.

After the funeral, Brainstorm pays Chromedome a visit, finding him in the middle of spring cleaning. He’s taking all of Rewind’s stuff and shoving it in a box to be destroyed.

Does it count as foreshadowing if it’s like a page before the reveal? I guess so.

Chromedome is trying to ease Brainstorm’s mind about the inquiry Rodimus is conducting, saying that the guy ought to talk to Drift before he gets TOO antsy about spilling the beans- perhaps a touch too late there, Domey- but Brainstorm isn’t here for any of that.

So you’re saying Chromedome/Dominus isn’t going to be endgame.

Turns out Chromedome’s been collecting dead spouses, and he wasn’t even aware of it. When faced with this inherent truth about his personal relationship with grief, Chromedome only has this to say:

Time for a pop quiz!

When the burden of life is too much to bear, what is an addict most likely to do? Is it:

A) Quit cold turkey

B) Seek help for their addiction

C) Relapse

If you answered C, you get a gold star, and a harsh reminder that addiction is a fucking monster that will devour your life and meaningful relationships, leaving you with nothing but itself for company.

Chromedome has had a problem with injecting since he got good enough at it to get his own set of finger needles, and he’s been completely dependent on other people to get himself to even close to stopping the habit. His character bio on the crew roster page has, up until this point, outright claimed this.

Now Rewind’s gone, and there’s really nothing stopping him from just taking that pain away. Brainstorm certainly can’t do it, though not for lack of trying.

Chromedome says that he won’t go through with his plan, but Brainstorm knows he’s lying, because they’ve done this song and dance before. At this point, asking Chromedome to not inject is just a courtesy to the deceased.

No wonder Chromedome invited Cyclonus to the funeral- probably figured why the hell not, since he wouldn’t remember it anyway.

Brainstorm gives Chromedome a data slug- the last one Rewind ever made, shot through the door just before it sliced Chromedome’s arm off, and found by Fort Max. Brainstorm leaves, probably to go prepare himself for that awful, hollow feeling he’ll be getting the next time he sees Chromedome.

Over in the shuttle bay, Rodimus is addressing the crew, Chromedome is retconned into being Toxin because he’s not supposed to be in this scene, and Drift is named as the sole conspirator in the Overlord debacle. Rodimus just starts tearing into Drift, and while he does, we cut over to the medibay, where some zombie nonsense is going on.

Golly, seems like there’s some flavor of undead on the Lost Light every other week, doesn’t it?

Rodimus strips Drift of his Autobot badge and tells him to get the fuck out.

Back at Chromedome’s room, he’s decided to take a gander at what Rewind left behind, plugging the data slug into the computer.

Man, this part always makes me a little weepy.

I can’t do Rewind’s final message justice, not in the choppy format I present here- which is perhaps a bit ironic, given the nature of how it’s presented. In the final moments he had, Rewind pieced together a plea for Chromedome to love himself, and to remember that he was- and still is- loved. He shared his own fears of them being apart, and how he knows how hard the coming days will be. He begged Chromedome to be kind to himself, because he- whether he believes it or not- has grown from the person he was in the New Institute.

As this message plays out, we see Drift swarmed by furious Autobots, who get violent as he makes his way off the Lost Light, only to be helped back to his feet by none other than Ratchet, before climbing into a shuttle, surely never to be seen again.

Shane McCarthy slipped Roberts a twenty to set up a slowburn between his OC and Ratchet all the way back in MTMTE #4. This is the start of the pining portion of their relationship.

God, just- there’s a reason Roberts has claimed this issue as one of his best, and it’s this fucking message. Please, if you somehow have gotten to this post without reading the comics- well, first, how, and second- go and READ THEM. I promise it’s worth it, they’re beautiful and funny and full of heart, even when everyone’s being a dick to each other.

Rewind leaves Chromedome with one final piece, which probably didn’t feel like enough, but was all he could manage in the time he had left.

I’m basically legally obligated to post this panel.

Let’s take a moment to consider Rewind as a character. He’s an archivist, and one who’s gotten very good at his job over the millennia. The guy’s OBSESSED with history, and recording as much of it as possible.

Which stands to reason that he knew about Chromedome’s past conjunx endurae. I mean, why wouldn’t he? It would be public record- even if you don’t necessarily get a marriage license on Cybertron, Chromedome would have been on the paperwork with these other guys somewhere, and the fact that he wouldn’t be able to answer the question of “Who’s this guy you lived with for several thousand years?” Would imply some… rather unfortunate things.

Rewind also has a hard time letting go of things- he gets jealous of Chromedome’s past relationship with Prowl any time it’s brought up, and he’s still looking for his ex-husband after what’s probably been at least a million years. That, combined with the way Rewind lives his life- you know, recording every single moment of it- gives me the impression that he really, really wouldn’t enjoy the idea of being forgotten. He wants Chromedome to stop injecting because it’ll kill him, of course he does, but he also wouldn’t want to be erased.

The video cuts off, leaving Chromedome alone. It’s all up to him now, whether Rewind gets to stay in his heart now.

Chromedome/Dominus is still on the table.

With THAT crisis of love dealt with, we move back on to that weird zombie nonsense we saw a little bit ago. Ultra Magnus is missing. Odd, that.

Ratchet, how many times are your patients going to have to disappear from your medibay before it’s less of a “them” problem, and more of a “you” problem?

As Ratchet goes off to search the rest of the ward, Tailgate accidentally bumps into the death clock, which gives him a nasty little surprise: apparently he’s only got three days to live.

Yeah, this is the point where the comic kicks into overdrive, plotwise- there are no brakes on this train anymore.

[psychemeanscure]

PART 4 { I think I forgot to tell this, but I guess I just have to mention it now. This story is purely fictional. Places, names, things may or may not be related with each other. Nor to do harm. Just be reminded that this is all fiction. In case a sensitive issue might arise, since I only rely to what google give me as well. Hehe. Anyway, happy reading :)}

“Boss! I got the de--- Boss?”

He’s too preoccupied by his thoughts that even the voice of his people can’t even get through him, for he is still moved from the yesterday’s happenings. “Boss.” Another hoping call for him, and still no response indeed.

-

“Okay! Can we talk about us, now?”  

His first word the moment he ended the settled deal by call with the Spanish gambler as he steps in the driver’s seat facing her who’s already waiting from the passenger seat. “Shut up. I’m still not in the mood for you, Jang Taeyoung.” Thus he starts the engine as they continue to bicker throughout the ride.

“Come on. Is this still about the prompt proposal? I told you, even I has no clue about it as I thought we’re going to deal with the gun transactions only.”

“Exactly. And it’s your fault.” crossing her arms again as she looks by the window instead. “Tss. You accusing bulldozer. I should have sided the old man instead. I could have enjoyed his humor better than you do.” And that made her turn her head to him. “Well, just make sure to inform me if you plan to betray me soon.”

“Jeez. You really can’t distinguish a joke, are you? What do you think of me? Low-cost? Tss. Besides, there’s no way I’m going to clasp a hand with that geezer, either. I hate him even.” Curious from what she heard. She starts to ask him the usual. “Oh, wow. That’s new. What makes you decide that easily, though?”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. As expected, you’re too focus of revenge that you’re unable to see his suspicious look on you.” And it made her forehead crease. “What?” received a shrugging shoulder from him then. “He keeps watching you the whole time whenever your eyes are not on him. Like he had something to remember by you. And it’s too fishy. Too fishy something. I hate it.”  By gripping the steering wheel, he accelerated their phase from the broad road of Seoul while she had to deal with his daydreaming assumptions. “Can you stop your dreaming haughtiness like as if we were even a thing? Tú apesta.”

There she is finally with her curses as she had to roll her eyes up because of him. Yet in the other side, he’s just simply excited to play his cleverness on her again. “Ooh… So you are open considering us as a thing, huh? That hasn’t slip in my mind, though. Shall I say my pleasure, then?” only to receive a glare coming from her.

~

“Send me the details tomorrow. I’ll get back to you once I finish all my meetings.”

Her firm business remark after they went out of the garage, snatching back her car key from him. Went straight to the entrance door to enter her passcode but frowned after realizing that he still around, nor even calling his assistant to fetch him. “What? You’re not leaving? Don’t tell me you’ll somehow get me obliged to call assistance for you?”  yet, he was just there just few meters from her standing, both hands in his pockets while giving her a meaningful stare as if contemplating his words to say to her. 

“Nah. I’m just going to do this.” And he did it, indeed. Occupying the remaining distance between them, swiftly cupping her cheeks by his hands as he deeply claims her lips with wholesomeness. Kissed her under the night sky of darkness and only moon as their witness. 

She was left off-guard that even the sudden tiptoe of her feet is oblivious on her sane, and when she was about to protest, he already pulled away. “You’re too stubborn to talk about your indebtedness from me a while ago. So why not a surprise paycheck will do.”

“Good night, my sweet volatile.”

His last whisper on her ear before guiding the still struck her inside her premise. “Joder esta! Get yourself together, Sung Eunyoung.” She ends up scolding herself indeed after closing the door of her apartment as she was still on her doorstep gripping the doorknob with so much vigor. Heart’s racing with bafflement. She doesn’t want to assume any from him for she knows what kind of man he is, but… “But that look. Mierda!”

She blurts it out indeed. That certain look he never gave to anyone, not until today. Not until with her.  

-

“Boss!”

With one last hope from his assistant, he finally snaps back to reality. Turning his head to face the owner of the voice. “U-uh?” his absentminded out of sane answer still, only to be handled a catalog envelope to his hand. “The details you requested Boss.”  As he only checks what’s inside and thank him. “You may go, Jae.” His final bid indeed but seems to confuse the latter. “Uh. Boss? Should I send it also to Ms.--- “

“No, it’s okay. I can handle.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Thus the assistant went out just as he wanted. While he was left smirking, swirling on his swivel chair with a silly thought in mind. A silly move he always enjoys.

~

The sound of a thrown golf ball elopes the entire walls of her personal sports room for she just finished a previous meeting calls only to receive another incoming. Thus she had pause for a moment and accept it from her smartwatch again.

“Yes, Director.”

“Yes, the honor is mine. I hope the girls on standby made your day, though.”

“I’m glad to hear that. In fact, the prospectus you sent is quite my interest.”

“Oh no. You don’t have---“

Her conversion cut off by a sudden barging from a person she already knew. She almost cusses if only she’s not fast to realize that she’s still conversing to someone over a call, that even the caller had to ask if there’s something wrong. She composes immediately somehow, except that her glaring eyes were darted to the unwelcome visitor though.

“Anyway Director, thank you for trusting your business on us.”

“My pleasure. Expect the response of my secretary by Friday.”

“Yes, please.”

With one last bid of goodbye and a put off of her bluetooth earbud, she indeed fuming mad imposing the great Jang Taeyong who’s just comfortably sitting on the couch. “Didn’t I tell you I get back to you once I finish my meetings? La mierda. You almost ruined everything!”

“But I did not.”

Only to receive a quirky statement from him anyway, that she had no choice either but to entertain, occupying the opposite seat from him. “What now?” thus he showed her the catalog envelope his assistant gave a while ago, while she starts to check the moment she received it only to groan after learning what’s inside. “You really don’t listen, are you? I told you to just send me the details. Email, Jang Taeyoung. I don’t have to see your face just for this.”

“Ah. Uhuh… So that’s what you mean by that? You should have been more specific. Shall I say sorry?”

His quirky answers continue even he always do understand her sentences. And just by looking her unconvinced gaze, he knew she knows as well as he does. “Forget it. You’re here anyway. And since you’re here, better elaborate this asustando papel for me instead. That’s the least you can do.”

Her mocking words indeed by which only made him a cringing brows. “You, woman. You’re always pulling me down. Tss. Fine.” As much as she wants to laugh by his sudden yield, she chose to suppress it anyway. Thus, he started after some fixing with his suit.

“Zilo Alcaziar, the troublemaker son of Veeros Alcaziar. An elite from underground Castellón, Spain. If not with his father’s power he could have rot in jail because of its involvement in many drug activities such as cocaine, cannabis, MDMA and his most favorite…” he intended to halt his words to see her expectant reaction. “What?” her impatience indeed.

“Heroin.”

“Esta mierda! And he’s only 20?! Don’t you dare tell me that it’s even included to the said transaction?”

“Uhuh. Sadly, Yes. No doubt his father is trying to be a good Samaritan for his son.” And so he swears, if only curses can kill. He’s probably the first on the list for he is currently catching every kind of curses from her mouth right now while she takes a deep breath preparing for another information that may stress her somehow. “Okay. Fine. What more should I have to suffer to hear?”  

He can’t help to sneak a laugh by her witty-like remark that he follows anyway and proceeds to another information for her. The rest of their conversation then just became a constant throw-catch disputes of details or rather been said, a matter of question and answer bickering between a lion towards his lioness.

“When was that again?”

“Next month is his arrival. Together with the second cargo entailed of powders obviously as what I have told you. The old man said it will be the same process with the guns next week, so by dawn I and my boys must be on the port on time.”

With the look of her brushing her face. He knows she’s starting to get lost from her thoughts, frustrated. “Dios Mio. A father who’s even letting his son involved. Urgh. Do you really think I can absorb all of this, Jang Taeyoung?”

“Then you better not. You don’t need to get involved with the transactions though and just leave it to me. It’s too dangerous. You do trust me, right?” scoffing from what she heard, she had no choice anyway. “Are you sure?” only to be responded by his groan. “You only reciprocated my question, Sung Eunyoung. I said, do you trust me?” seeking for affirmation from her, she knew his being serious right then that only thing she could do is sigh.

“I should, is maybe my right response to that, Jang Taeyoung. Don’t force me.”

Giving her a stern look doesn’t work somehow, so he gives in anyway. “Fine. Even that isn’t the answer I’m expecting.”  

“Whatever. Can we just end this for today? I had enough headache already.”

As she stands up, picking its golf club from a stand bag, after deciding for another round of play. “You too, should go. I had enough of you as well.” But the latter didn’t even get a hitch to move from his seat and were just watching her from behind. “It’s so unfair. You have your own sports room while I don’t.” his set of grumpiness indeed. “Then get one. You have all money to do that. Why bother patronizing mine. As if you’re into sports. Your sports room will be useless anyway.”   

“Tss. Bulldozer. Who says I don’t? And I love bowling!”

With a hit from the golf club, she finally heard the shut of the door, left by a grumpy still Jang Taeyoung. For she only gives in a deep sigh, still remembering yesterday. She really has to be careful around him. Does not like to admit, but…

“He’s the death of you, Sung Eunyoung.”    

Reminding herself certainly.

[thejonzone]

Riverdale is the Best Show You’ve Written Off

About once a month, a tweet will go around, reading something like “I can’t believe Netflix cancelled [SHOW X], but Riverdale is still on?!? *eye roll emoji, angry cussing emoji*.” It can be difficult to read tweets like these, because I like Riverdale. But I understand why it has struggled to keep an audience-- there is a perception that the show has gone completely off the rails, a chaos of hot actors in their mid-20s playing glamorous high school sociopaths, with the show choosing excess over narrative cohesion. That perception is pretty accurate. It’s an easy show to write off and easy to make fun of, especially because, as a CW show, it’s ostensibly geared to teens. So it brings me no pleasure to say that Riverdale, currently in its 5th season, has reached a renaissance, and its episodes so far this season represent its high-water mark. 

To appreciate how stunning and exciting Riverdale’s new direction is, it’s important to understand how we got here.

In the first season, a murder in the titular town revealed an underbelly of thugs, power brokers, and shady backroom rulers, all vying for control with gothic morbidity. What followed after that season though, was something else entirely. 

Riverdale, ramping up during Seasons 2 through 4, became a beautiful mess. I think it’s important to state that no other show on television is even attempting to do what Riverdale did/is doing. The show is, at any one point, 5-7 wholly different shows. There is a season’s worth of plot per episode. It’s storytelling mania and in-real-time dementia. I don’t remember what happened at the end of last episode because SO much happened. And besides, coherence is overrated! Give me hot actors, give me drug-addicted mobsters, give me creepy principals! On Riverdale, the parents are both former teen heartthrobs and serial killers, children operate underground speakeasies, and for some reason not one therapist has realized they could make a fortune helping our cast work through the intense psychological terror and emotional abuse they receive every episode.

This show is beyond pastiche, hyper-loaded with reference. My roommate and I had a joke that the show’s third season could be mapped to a quadrant of influences: Twin Peaks, True Detective, The Sopranos, and Gossip Girl. At any point Riverdale was acknowledging and playing into the influence of one of these shows. Season Four doubled down on the show’s horror anthology tendency. No one wants you to miss the references being made. You know that menacing boarding school Jughead attends in Season Four? You’d be right If it reminded you of Donna Tartt’s A Secret History. After all, consider Jughead’s classmate, whose name is Donna Sweet. Maybe you picked up on the violence simmering underneath the surface of Jughead’s other classmate, Bret Easton-Elli--  I mean, Bret Weston-Wallis.

Every week, the show seems primed for failure, attempting to juggle more storylines than possible or even necessary. The show is like a house of cards that has already fallen, and yet the writers are somehow still haphazardly adding more cards to the top. “Be reasonable!” I would plead. To no avail. And that’s the thrill of it. The plotlines are secondary to the spectacle. The show is a celebration and parody of violent legacy dramas, camp, teen horror, canonical literature, and anything else it can stuff under the hood, as much an ode to other pieces of media as it is an original work itself. 

But now, something completely different is happening. The beginning of Season Five brought an end to the seasons-long saga the show felt trapped in. Archie, Veronica, Betty, and Jughead graduated high school, and the show flashed forward seven years. What might be considered a hokey technique was one of the best decisions the writers ever did. Because now we have a blank slate for our main cast. The writers effectively cut the fat from three seasons of violent, ridiculous maximalism. And it’s psychically refreshing.

At the heart of any good sitcom, we just want to see our main characters hanging out together. Change is part of life, but it shouldn’t be in television. Which is why this new season is so exciting-- Riverdale is now in the process of bringing its four main characters back from their adult lives and re-engaging them in the deadly politics of their hometown. Pop Tate, the owner-manager of Pop’s, Riverdale’s diner, is retiring, and Archie gets the gang back in town to celebrate the man who helped make the diner such a great hang-out spot. In the words of Jughead, “You gave us a home, Pop.” Like so mant other sitcoms before it, Riverdale used Pop’s to establish its characters and their relationships to each other.

I grew up on Seinfeld so I’ve always been attracted to the idea of the diner. The pandemic has made me yearn even harder for the sitcom diner, that idealistic place where all my friends are, where people enter with problems to be solved, drama to be explained, good news to be celebrated. Riverdale’s acknowledgment of Pop and his diner as the show’s connective tissue is a grounding and human choice. It works fantastically to set up this upcoming season, where our gang must confront the newest nefarious plot for control over the soul of Riverdale.

No doubt the show will continue its pattern of naming and spoofing genre. Veronica, in her adult life, had an Uncut Gems-style few scenes where she works as a charismatic (of course) diamond merchant. She married a possessive, boring guy who’s only characteristic seems to be that his voice is *exactly* like Veronica’s megalomaniac dad, Hiram. Something something Freud, something something daddy sexy. And credit where credit is due, Mark Consuelos is really hot.

Jughead is a writer now, in the most white guy college freshman fantasy of being a writer possible. He attended the Iowa Writers Workshop as an undergrad, something that is definitely not possible. He’s written a hit book but now suffers from *gasp* writer’s block?? He’s a cool guy writer who, in his opening montage, gets recognized by, hit on, and then has sex with a college-aged fan. Back in Riverdale, Jug writes a speech for Pop’s retirement and sends it to his agent. His agent is smitten with the work, calling it “tragic americana” and proclaiming that Jughead’s next book will be titled “Elegy for a Small Town”. This is almost certainly a reference to J.D. Vance’s bad book, and I’m sure the show will be bringing in more elements of “tragic” “americana” as the season unfolds. 

Betty is FBI in training, because as the show has loved to tell us, Betty has “the serial killer gene”, but is using it for good. For the record, her dad was a serial killer, and her brother was a serial killer. And it’s not like her mom or sister can cast the first stone. Betty’s endured enough trauma to fill 100 lives with unending pain and I’m sure the show will have no trouble heaping more on top. Already in the new season we’ve seen flashbacks to some point during the time jump when Betty was taken hostage, in what’s clearly a homage to The Silence of the Lambs. 

And then there’s Archie. I don’t know if anyone knows what to do with the guy. Played by K.J. Apa, who is both really good-looking with his shirt off and a god-awful actor, Archie has been in the army. The show is using him to shill for the military-industrial complex. 

I’ve long joked that the Riverdale writers have no idea what they’re doing. But through a global pandemic affecting TV production and *the* major narrative complication in any high school-set show (graduation), the Riverdale writers have seamlessly transitioned the show to a new stasis. Past seasons are informing this one, but we aren’t bogged down by the details in this new season. The bigger joke, of course, is that the writers have known exactly what they’ve been doing this whole time, and I’m just an idiot. Well I mean, of course I’m an idiot. I use television to regulate my emotions and simulate a static friend group that doesn’t leave or change. And Riverdale is perfect for that. If a renaissance is a rebirth, well then my friends, cut the umbilical cord and save the placenta to put in pills, because Riverdale is cranking out episodes that are better than ever.

[tawakkull]

ISLAM 101: Spirituality in Islam: Part 51 

Waridat and Mawhiba (Gifts and Favor)

Mawhiba (favor) literally means benevolence, kindness, and extra Divine bounties, while waridat (gifts) denotes what occurs to or emerges in one’s heart as a Divine gift. The Sufis use them to signify God Almighty’s special attention and consideration for those who travel toward Him, and His particular enlightenment and guidance, which can be described as “the lights of Divine Attributes” or “the lights of Divine Names.” They are manifested in certain circumstances in the inner world of initiates so that they can see and evaluate everything correctly.

First and foremost, the Prophets and then all saints and pure, saintly scholars, including even minor saints, are favored with such gifts. However, the gifts that come to the Prophets, whether in the form of inspiration or Revelation, are certain to be from God, and it is impossible for Satan and the carnal soul to interfere with them. For this reason, they have a certainty and strength of evidence, and are therefore binding for believers. As for the gifts coming to saints or saintly scholars in the form of inspiration, since neither saints nor saintly scholars have absolute protection against Satan or the carnal soul, they are acceptable only in the case when they are in perfect accord with the Qur’an and the Prophet’s Sunna, and are not binding for others.

Although there are differences between the literal meanings of “gifts” and “favor,” and these terms are sometimes used to denote feelings of joy or sorrow, or exhilaration or distress, or expansion or contrition, appearing in the inner world of humans, the majority of Sufis tend to use them interchangeably and mean by both the sacred meanings that emerge in, or the breezes of inspiration that come to, the heart. Human free will has no part in their emergence or coming. Both the gifts and favor are Divine presents bestowed on the beloved servants of God without the means of either eyes or ears; they cannot be obtained through reason or logic.

Such a manifestation of Divine gifts sometimes occurs without the servant’s turning to God or doing anything religious; sometimes it happens as a result of deep, serious reflective thought or concentration. In both cases, it is a special Divine radiance that is beyond the perception of senses or consciousness. However, a hadith the meaning of which is directly from God refers to human endeavor in receiving this manifestation and reminds us of how important human will, tendencies, and choices are in God’s sight. It is as follows: “Whoever draws near to Me by a hand-span, I will draw near to him by a yard.”[1] The maxim, “Endeavor is from the disciple and breath from the guide,” is also good in expressing this reality; while the maxim, “The cessation of regular recitations causes the cessation of gifts,” is a serious reminder which we should not neglect in our relationship with God, the Ultimate Truth. Indeed, just like the prayer for rain serves as a means for the rain to come, regular recitations and remembrance of God are regarded as among the most important means of obtaining the shower of gifts. Again, just like a baby who does not weep is not offered milk, the doors of the heaven are not opened to the one who neither sighs nor groans. It is true that it is a requirement of respect for God and sincerity in worshipping Him that we should not have any expectations in return for our turning to Him. However, if God has made His consideration and gifts dependent upon His servants’ turning to Him, then the mysterious key to all the gifts and favors must be that we should turn to Him.

All such gifts and favors that come from God are always His extra bounties, which He grants in addition to His usual bounties. However, as stated in the couplet,

The effects of Divine effusions differ according to the capacities of every being; A pearl-oyster receives pearls from the rain of April, but a snake, poison, whether they come in the form of continuous breezes or in the form of lightning of manifestation, the gifts proceeding from the Divine Attribute of Speech manifest themselves differently according to people’s capacities, sincerity, and purity of intention.

Gifts and favors sometimes suddenly emerge in the heart. They say whatever they will say, and then disappear. They sometimes appear as different signs or signals concerning a subject upon which the initiate has concentrated. In whatever way or form they come, any gift or occurrence in the heart which is in accordance with the Religion is a Divine repast, bounty, and guidance. Such a gift should be evaluated with self-possession and not be belittled.

Indeed, God Almighty sends warnings to His servants in different forms concerning whatever will happen to them, be it good or bad, agreeable or disagreeable, sweet or bitter, happy or sad, or exhilarating or distressing, and He calls on them to be aware. According to the position and responsibility of each, God sends signals to them concerning themselves or their environment, he awakens their hearts, shows them the ways of seeking refuge with His dispensation or forgiveness against His punishment, or arouses in them feelings of thankfulness by rewarding them with certain favors. Furthermore, God inspires in them some alternative ways to solve their personal or social problems, and to attain relief from the troubles they suffer. Thus, out of His compassion, He compels them toward the shores of salvation. Through such surprising gifts, God Almighty sometimes makes His valuable servants feel His continuous presence and suggests that He always cares for and protects them.

However, it sometimes happens that the suggestions of Satan or the carnal soul appear in the hearts of the travelers alongside the breezes of Divine inspiration. This is highly risky for those who are at the beginning of the journey and cannot distinguish between truth and falsehood. They may even take some thinly disguised suggestions from Satan for the “breaths” of the All-Merciful.

Since, in particular, those of “childish” nature who see human dignity and greatness in displaying extraordinary things and desire to be known as different from or greater than others, pursue unusual occurrences, Satan may deceive them by suggesting thousands of falsities, together with a few truths, which he uses as bait. The way to be able to remain free from such deception is to live in pursuit of God’s approval and good pleasure in the footsteps of God’s Messenger, upon him be peace and blessings, and to have, in return for servanthood to God, no expectations of extraordinariness such as wonder-working, or of spiritual pleasures.

Some maintain that the Divine gifts of inspiration and angelic evocations come together with some thrill or feeling of coldness, followed by a spiritual pleasure and contentment, while Satanic suggestions cause bewilderment, anxiety, and debasement. But it is difficult to say that this is always true. For this reason, what we should do is not to base our relationship with God on such favors or gifts, and we should not behave as creditors waiting for something in return for our worship; rather, we should act as one who is in debt, in deep awareness of our servanthood, regarding living in accordance with the Qur’an and the Sunna as His greatest gift and favor to us, and simply pursuing His approval and good pleasure instead of seeking extraordinary occurrences.

Any gift or favor that blows into us from the Divine Names and Attributes of Glory is both a special compliment and a warning to us; they are sent to strengthen our sincerity and faithfulness. Through such a compliment and warning, a traveler turns to God completely, desiring only Him and pursuing only His approval and good pleasure. Any gift of inspiration occurs in the heart unexpectedly, as if a manifestation of the Divine Name the All-Overwhelming, removing from the heart the desires for or tendencies toward fleeting things. Even though the spirit experiences intoxication during these moments, it usually finds itself in a wave of exhilaration and contentment. It is moved more with the desire of servanthood, and as a result of the ensuing virtuous cycle between the manners of servanthood and the flow of gifts, the traveler to God finds himself under a heavy shower of gifts.

Divine gifts sometimes manifest themselves in the form of “the lights of Divine Attributes.” They sometimes illuminate the bodies of travelers along with their hearts, and take these illuminated travelers out of the narrow confines and corporeality to the height of the angels. Through the treasure of, “There is no power or strength save with God,” the gifts make people powerful in their innate weakness and rich in their innate poverty, transforming them into polished mirrors reflecting God. These gifts are followed by new ones, with the result that God widens the horizon of knowledge and perception of such people, sharpens their resolution for worship and obeying God, equips them with an unshakeable resistance against sins, and increases in them endurance in the face of calamities by showing them their true nature and consequences. He also enables them to concentrate on their willpower against hastiness in their spirit, inspiring in them that there is an appointed term for any result to be obtained, and He directs their hearts to good, permanent deeds by showing them the true nature of transient things. The travelers favored with these gifts completely submit to the Will and commands of God, even if advancing to the observation of His “Face,” and they are resigned to all His judgments concerning themselves while in the world, living each minute and second of their lives illuminated by the lights of His Attributes.

With their enlightened intellects, they read and interpret the corporeal realm correctly, and continuously advance toward Him; with their purified hearts, they observe the inner dimension of existence and keep pace with spiritual beings. With the horizon of their “secrets,” they set out to transcend all existence and try to hunt the mysteries of Divinity, feeling as if they are hearing the speech of angels.

Those with enlightened hearts and intellects are not only perfect in their relationship with God Almighty but they are also, by God’s leave, able to solve all the problems they encounter. They easily penetrate the spirits of those who enter their atmosphere and can always move the hearts of those around them with knowledge and love of God.

It is by means of such lights of Divine Attributes and Essential Qualities that the hearts of the travelers to God favored with such gifts become a cataract of knowledge of God; the spirits of God’s lovers overflow with Divine radiances, and the exacting sages, or people of wisdom, become translators of Divine mysteries. The horizons of the discovery and observation of Divine truths become clear to wakeful hearts, and the truths behind the Divine Names become manifest.

Some have viewed the light of these gifts as the rise or appearance of the Light of Prophethood in talented spirits, and all the favors to come as dependent on always turning to that source of light—and they have done their utmost to remain devoted to that source without suffering any eclipse. While they are so devoted to the Sun of the heaven of Messengership, upon him be peace and blessings, we ordinary people should be sensitive, respectful, and unbiased toward the saints and saintly scholars, who are like the moon in relation to the sun, so that we may be favored with such a light of gifts.

There is not another light more powerful and penetrating than this light which is regarded as being among the gifts of Prophethood. As for the Light of the Seal of Prophethood, it is the sole source of all the lights of Prophethood, and it has precedence over them all. As the Prophet Muhammad, upon him be peace and blessings, is the matchless pearl in the sight of God with respect to his mission, he is also peerless in human perfection. He is the seed of the tree of creation, and the ultimate cause for existence with respect to his mission. He is the most lovable to God and the most advanced in friendship with Him. He is the sole light that removes all the veils of darkness, and the dove that wings on the horizon of “the two-bow-length’s nearness (to God) or even nearer.” Eyes have been opened and the white and black distinguished through his guidance; the mysteries behind the veil of existence have been cleared through his messages, and the pains and anxieties of humanity have ceased, hearts have become calm through the glad tidings he gave.

All of us have recognized God Almighty with His absolute transcendence, holiness, and freedom from anything unsuitable for Him by means of the Prophet Muhammad, upon him be peace and blessings, and it is again by means of him that we have learned how to love the Creator and obtain His friendship. We had no knowledge of true love and friendship; it is by means of the light the Prophet Muhammad diffused that we have come to know what loving, being loved, making friends, and acting in friendship mean.

Upon him be the most perfect of blessings and most complete of salutations to the fullness of the earth of the heavens, and on his Family and Companions, who were the conveyors to all later generations of all the basic pillars, principles, and precepts of the Religion.

[1] al-Bukhari, “Iman” 32; Muslim, “Musafirun” 215.

[catulla-claudia]

Callixta Claudia Catulla

“Callixtus Claudius Valerius, look me in the eye and tell me you’re not going to be as shit of a brother as you are a politician.”

General information

Known as

Callixta Claudia Catulla: Legal name

Catulla: Commonly known as

Cat: Nickname

Callis Maxim: Pseudonym

Lady Catulla: Title

Occupation

Painter

Noblewoman

Favorites

Favorite meal: Saltimbocca

Favorite drink: White wine

Favorite flower: Carnation

Personality traits

Birthday: November 16

Age: 29

Zodiac sign: Scorpio

MBTI: ISFP

Pronouns: She/her

Main(s): Lucio

Patron Arcana: Knight of Swords

Relatives

Callixtus Claudius Valerius: The Consul, her elder brother, known most commonly as Valerius. She dislikes his general connivery, whilst he believes her too soft and still resents her for their mother’s death, but they still share a sense of comradery over their father’s political designs for both of them.

Cato Claudius Maximus: Father, the patriarch of the Claudius family and previous Consul of Vesuvia before his death during the Red Plague, usually simply known as Consul Maximus. Her cognomen was derived from his praenomen of Cato.

Poppaea Valeria Maximii: Mother of Catulla and Valerius, her marriage with her husband was rare amongst nobles as it was for love, and she died giving birth to Catulla, one of the main sources of contention between Cat and her brother and father.

Gens Claudia: Patrician family to which Catulla belonged, descended from her father. Several generations before her birth, her ancestors had changed the laws of Vesuvia that made the title of Consul a hereditary title passed down through the Claudii clan rather than an elected role after generations previous of bribery and political plotting that kept the Claudii clan in power as Consuls.

Gens Valeria: Patrician family to which Catulla’s mother belonged and for whom her elder brother was named after.

Physical description

Gender: Female

Height: 5′2′’

Eye color: Hazel

Hair color: Black with blue-silver ombre

Appearance

Cat is a petite woman who looks to be in her early to mid twenties, with an elegant yet unrestrained air, described as being "all the wild beauty of a garden". Her hair is black, with the ends dyed into a blue-silver ombre, and she has hazel eyes, a shade or two darker than her brother’s. She’s said to resemble her mother greatly, being fine-boned, with large eyes and a straight nose. She has a beauty mark on her left cheek. She loves high-collared lace and silk shirts, as well as floral patterns and puffed and gathered sleeves.

Personality

Unlike her brother, Cat doesn't like the idea of manipulating others or being a chess piece. As a result, she'd also expressed a desire for a simple life, content to live off her family inheritance as a philanthropist and patron of the fine arts as well as expand her own crafts as an artist. While her family exults in power and influence, her motivations lean more towards living life on her own terms. Some part of her resents her family for their insistence in playing at the game of politics, though it’s often overpowered by her internalization of her father’s neglect of her during her childhood. She’s only ever really soft and open when it comes to art-- at the rest of times, her personality is seen as sarcastic or snippy, with a hatred for flattery and strictly no-nonsense, often fidgeting or becoming anxious when there’s nothing for her to do. However, Catulla can be just as manipulative and ruthless, able to read people like they’re open books even without the help of magic or a tarot deck, as she was born and raised as a Claudii after all-- she simply dislikes politics. That doesn't mean she's bad at it.

History

Family background

Catulla was born as Callixta Claudia Catulla, of the Claudius family. Catulla was named after her father, whose name was Cato Claudius Maximus, known vernacularly as Consul Maximus. She had one elder brother, Callixtus Claudius Valerius, known vernacularly as Valerius, three years her senior.

The Claudii were one of the oldest and most noble of Vesuvia’s families, with members frequently holding the highest offices of the state, and had over the course of several generations, seized control of the office of Consul to the point it became a hereditary title passed down through the family rather than an elected one as it was initially intended.

Consul Maximus and his wife, Poppaea Valeria, were arranged to be married, but unlike most nobles, they were deeply in love, and Poppaea was often said to be the power behind Consul Maximus’s hand, and was also quite well-respected by the people of Vesuvia.

Childhood

Catulla was named for her father, whilst her elder brother was named for her mother’s family. Her mother, Poppaea Valeria, died giving birth to her-- as a result, her father and brother had resented her for this, and her father treated her coldly during her childhood, heaping all his aspirations onto her elder brother, with Catulla being forgotten in the shadows.

As a result, Catulla was raised mostly by tutors and servants, keeping mostly to herself during her childhood, the shamed daughter of the Consul hidden away in the Claudius estate. It was during this time she gained an appreciation for the arts-- cooped up in such a large manor with a lush garden and vineyard, she found herself often staying out to sketch the sceneries and making different studies of the servants at work as well.

Adolescence

By the time she was around thirteen or fourteen, she was deemed talented and useful enough by her father to send her away abroad to study the arts-- once again, out of sight and out of mind. She spent the next few years travelling to places like Firent, Zadith, and Prakra, studying the painting, architecture, and sculpture of each of the different cultures, returning back to Vesuvia when they were around nineteen with a wealth of knowledge.

Adulthood

Catulla was introduced at court by her father at the wedding of Count Lucio to Nadia Satrinava, alongside her elder brother-- she was around twenty at that time. Later, she received note from town gossip that the Count was looking to commission an artist for his official portraits.

Determined to win the commission, Catulla had worked in secrecy and submitted her sample work to the palace under the pseudonym of Callis Maxim, unwilling to throw around her family reputation. It was to her pleasure and surprise that she was notified, a month later, of her winning the commission.

Catulla had informed her father of her new occupation and then without waiting for his protest or permission, promptly moved into guest apartments in the Vesuvian Palace, where she would stay for the next year as she worked on a painting of the Count as seen in the Arcana game, standing proudly over the skull of a dead beast, with mountains in the background

Court Painter

He was apparently so pleased with her work that she’d been promoted to the Court Painter, whereupon she had been tasked with painting a myriad of things, mostly for his vanity projects-- paintings of him, paintings of his menagerie of pets.

Over time, Catulla had befriended him, or, as much as anyone could befriend the count, being referred to affectionately as “Cat” by him, and something of a one-sided infatuation had sprung up, with Cat having held a soft spot for him despite his selfish tendencies due to his love and care for his pets, though she made sure he had remained unaware of this, and he was in the meanwhile having an affair with her brother.

When the Red Plague swept the city, she’d been horrified at his inaction, distancing herself from him and calculatedly cutting off any form of their previous friendliness towards each other-- her last commission was the painting of the feast in the dining hall, and the grim and ominous composition was a manifestation of her disappointment and bitter anger towards him. She’d given it to him as a parting gift, alongside a resignation letter.

The Red Plague

Catulla intended to leave court for fear of Lucio’s wrath after reading her resignation letter; however, she had been called back by the Countess, who’d asked her to help her and Doctor Devorak improve the quality of life in Vesuvia through public works projects, something she’d studied as an architectural student in Prakra at one point.

When the Count contracted the plague as well, she’d taken over this public works project as Julian was tasked to find a cure; during her meetings with the courtiers, she’d learned from her brother, acting Interim Consul, that their father had also contracted the plague.

Masquerade

At one point, Catulla had suffered a breakdown from the stress and vanished mysteriously, to the chagrin of her brother, it was this that prevented her from being present at the Masquerade where Lucio was murdered.

It was later revealed that just before the masquerade, she’d decided to run away from Vesuvia, no longer able to withstand the pressures of running the public works project, or the fear for her father and the Count despite her better judgement. She had moved around over the next three years from here to there, working as a painter for tourists and passerby, her pride preventing her from returning to Vesuvia and asking her brother for help.

Aftermath

She was later found to be living in Nevivon by Lucio, newly freed from his Devils’ bargain and banished by Nadia from Vesuvia no less, selling portrait miniatures or scenic paintings to tourists and passerby on the street. She couldn’t recall him, not even able to put a name to his face-- this had prompted him to bring her back to the palace despite Nadia’s threats of punishment to see her own artworks hanging up over the halls, hoping to prompt her memory to return.

It was there she’d run into her brother, shocked to see her alive and well for all those years, and shocked even more to see Lucio of all people with her, who he’d called the guards on, running him out of the palace once again.

Despite her suspicions, he made an effort to reconcile and show that he wasn’t the asshole she’d believed him to be in their earlier years. Over time, as she gradually returned to palace life, the gaps in her memories gradually filled in, and she was welcomed back in helping Nadia and Julian with their aqueduct projects.

However, there was always a missing piece, it felt like, in their mind, and they hadn’t realized what it was till Nadia mentioned offhandedly she didn’t really wish to have Lucio’s portraits hanging around anymore, but she also felt guilty if she were to throw away Catulla’s works, prompting the artist to ask after Lucio...

Trivia

Callixta, Catulla’s unused personal name, means chalice, and is shared with her brother. Her cognomen that’s most commonly used, Catulla, means wise or good judgement. As with Roman naming conventions, her family name is in the feminine form.

Calixta can speak at least six different languages as part of her formal education.

She suffers from selective memory loss and can’t remember any of the time she spent at Court, though she recalls her education, early years, and family quite well.

Her story plays out in a continuation of Nadia’s route rather than in Lucio’s own route.

She’s not a magician, nor are any of her known family members, but doesn’t have quite as much a dislike for magic as Valerius does, and her instinct and intuition is unusually sharp for someone without magic.

She has a smooth voice that “sounds like a Disney princess”.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

To The King Eternal

a prayer by Charles Spurgeon

Our God and Father, draw us to Thyself by Thy Spirit and may the few minutes that we spend in prayer be full of the true spirit of supplication. Grant that none of us with closed eyes may yet be looking abroad over the fields of vanity, but may our eyes be really shut to everything else now but that which is spiritual and divine. May we have communion with God in the secret of our hearts and find Him to be to us as a little sanctuary.

O Lord, we do not find it easy to get rid of distracting thoughts, but we pray Thee help us to draw the sword against them and drive them away, and as when the birds came down upon his sacrifice Abraham drove them away, so may we chase away all cares, all thoughts of pleasure, everything else, whether it be pleasing or painful, that would keep us away from real fellowship with the Father and with His Son Jesus Christ.

We would begin with adoration. We worship from our hearts the Three in One, the infinitely glorious Jehovah, the only living and true God. We adore the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob. We are not yet ascended to the place where pure spirits behold the face of God, but we shall soon be there, perhaps much sooner than we think, and we would be there in spirit now, casting our crowns upon the glassy sea before the throne of the Infinite Majesty and ascribing glory and honour, and power and praise, and dominion and might to Him that sitteth upon the throne and unto the Lamb forever and ever.

All the Church doth worship Thee, O God, every heart renewed by grace takes a delight in adoring Thee, and we, among the rest, though least and meanest of them all, yet would bow as heartily as any worshipping, loving, praising, in our soul, being silent unto God because our joy in Him is altogether inexpressible.

Lord, help us to worship Thee in life as well as lip. May our whole being be taken up with Thee. As when the fire fell down on Elijah’s sacrifice of old and licked up even the water that was in the trenches, so may the consuming fire of the divine Spirit use up all our nature, and even that which might seem to hinder, even out of that may God get glory by the removal of it. Thus would we adore.

But, oh! dear Savior, we come to Thee and we remember what our state is, and the condition we are in encourages us to come to Thee now as beggars, as dependents upon Thy heavenly charity. Thou art a Savior and as such Thou art on the outlook for those that need saving, and here we are, here we come. We are the men and women Thou art looking for, needing a Savior.

Great Physician, we bring Thee our wounds and bruises and putrifying sores, and the more diseased we are and the more conscious we are today of the depravity of our nature, of the deep-seated corruption of our hearts, the more we feel that we are the sort of beings that Thou art seeking for, for the whole have no need of a physician, but they that are sick.

Glorious Benefactor, we can meet Thee on good terms, for we are full of poverty, we are just as empty as we can be. We could not be more abjectly dependent than we are. Since Thou wouldest display Thy mercy, here is our sin. Since Thou wouldest show Thy strength, here is our weakness. Since Thou wouldest manifest Thy lovingkindness, here are our needs. Since Thou wouldest glorify Thy grace, here are we, such persons as can never have a shadow of a hope except through Thy grace, for we are undeserving, ill-deserving, hell-deserving, and if Thou do not magnify Thy grace in us, we must perish forever.

And somehow we feel it sweet to come to Thee in this way. If we had to tell Thee that we had some good thing in us which Thou didst require of us, we should be questioning whether we were not flattering ourselves and presumptuously thinking that we were better than we are. Lord Jesus, we come just as we are. This is how we came at first, and this is how we come still, with all our failures, with all our transgressions, with all and everything that is what it ought not to be, we come to Thee. We do bless Thee that Thou dost receive us and our wounds, and by Thy stripes we are healed; Thou dost receive us and our sins, and by Thy sin-bearing we are set clear and free from sin. Thou dost receive us and our death, even our death, for Thou art He that liveth and was dead, and art alive forevermore.

We just come and lie at Thy feet, obedient to that call of Thine, “Come unto Me all ye that labour and I will give you rest.” Let us feel sweet rest, since we do come at Thy call. May some come that have never come till this day, and may others who have been coming these many years, consciously come again, coming unto Thee as unto a living stone, chosen of God and precious, to build our everlasting hopes upon.

But, Lord, now that we are come so near Thee and on right terms with Thee, we venture to ask Thee this, that we that love Thee may love Thee very much more. Oh! since Thou hast been precious, Thy very name has music in it to our ears, and there are times when Thy love is so inexpressibly strong upon us that we are carried away with it. We have felt that we would gladly die to increase Thine honor. We have been willing to lose our name and our repute if so be Thou mightest be glorified, and truly we often feel that if the crushing of us would lift Thee one inch the higher, we would gladly suffer it.

For oh! Thou blessed King, we would set the crown on Thy head, even if the sword should smite our arm off at the shoulder blade. Thou must be King whatever becomes of us. Thou must be glorified whatever becomes of us.

But yet we have to mourn that we cannot get always to feel as we should this rapture and ardour of love. Oh! at times Thou dost manifest Thyself to us so charmingly that heaven itself could scarce be happier than the world becomes when Thou art with us in it. But when Thou art gone and we are in the dark, oh! give us the love that loves in the dark, that loves when there is no comfortable sense of Thy presence. Let us not be dependent upon feeling, but may we ever love Thee, so that if Thou didst turn Thy back on us by the year together, we would think none the less of Thee, for Thou art unspeakably to be beloved whatsoever Thou doest, and if Thou dost give us rough words, yet still we would cling to Thee, and if the rod be used till we tingle again, yet still will we love Thee, for Thou art infinitely to be beloved of all men and angels, and Thy Father loved Thee. Make our hearts to love Thee evermore the same. With all the capacity for love that there is in us, and with all the more that Thou canst give us, may we love our Lord in spirit and in truth.

Help us, Lord, to conquer sin out of love to Thee. Help some dear strugglers that have been mastered by sin sometimes, and they are struggling against it. Give them the victory, Lord, and when the battle gets very sharp and they are tempted to give way a little, help them to be very firm and very strong, never giving up hope in the Lord Jesus, and resolving that if they perish they will perish at His feet and nowhere else but there.

Lord, raise up in our churches many men and women that are all on fire with love to Christ and His divine Gospel. Oh! give us back again men like Antipas, Thy faithful martyr, men like Paul, Thy earnest servant who proclaimed Thy truth so boldly. Give us Johns, men to whom the Spirit may speak, who shall bid us hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches. Lord, revive us! Lord, revive us! Revive Thy work in the midst of the years in all the churches. Return unto the Church of God in this country, return unto her. Thine adversaries think to have it all their own way, but they will not, for the Lord liveth, and blessed be our Rock.

Because of truth and righteousness, we beseech Thee lay bare Thine arm in these last days. O Shepherd of Israel, deal a heavy blow at the wolves and keep Thy sheep in their own true pastures, free from the poisonous pastures of error. O God, we would stir Thee up. We know Thou sleepest not, and yet sometimes it seems as if Thou didst sleep awhile and leave things to go on in their own way.

We beseech Thee, awake. Plead Thine own cause. We know Thine answer, “Awake! Awake! Put on thy strength, O Zion.” This we would do, Lord, but we cannot do it unless Thou dost put forth Thy strength to turn our weakness into might.

Great God, save this nation! O God of heaven and earth, stay the floods of infidelity and of filthiness that roll over this land. Would God we might see better days! Men seem entirely indifferent now. They will not come to hear the Word as once they did. God of our fathers, let Thy Spirit work again among the masses. Turn the hearts of the people to the hearing of the Word and convert them when they hear it. May it be preached with the Holy Ghost sent down from heaven.

Our hearts are weary for Thee, thou King, Thou King forgotten in thine own land, Thou King despised among Thine own people, when wilt Thou yet be glorious before the eyes of all mankind? Come, we beseech Thee, come quickly, or if Thou comest not personally, send forth the Holy Spirit with a greater power than ever that our hearts may leap within us as they see miracles of mercy repeated in our midst.

Father, glorify Thy Son. Somehow our prayer always comes to this before we have done. “Father, glorify Thy Son that Thy Son also may glorify Thee,” and let the days come when He shall see of the travail of His soul and shall be satisfied. Bless all work done for Thee, whether it be in the barn or in the cathedral, silently and quietly at the street door, or in the Sunday school or in the classes, O Lord, bless Thy work. Hear also prayers that have been put up by wives for their husbands, children for their parents, parents for their children. Let the holy service of prayer never cease and let the intercession be accepted of God, for Jesus Christ’s sake. Amen.

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 48: The Mental Kind of Growth

Keith and Lance practice their skills as warriors, rulers, and a couple.

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It's been a phoeb and a half, and Lance’s sparring has improved dramatically. From one strike, to two, and onward into minutes, into technique, into refinement, Keith's amazed at his progress.

He’s come to move, if not entirely with confidence, then with enough grace to convince otherwise. The natural poise that carries him through the halls of the castle has transferred well into a mixed swordsman style, taking influence from the Alteans’ refinery and the Galra’s tenacity.

It suits Lance well, Keith thinks, the combination of dignity and violence. It fits the burn in his blue eyes whenever he draws his sword. He wonders what his husband thinks of to make his eyes blaze like that. He’s not certain he wants to know. He is certain he wants to see how Lance handles combat with his bow, but Lance has yet to bring it to training.

“Well done,” Keith murmurs, softly smiling. They’re keeping their budding romance behind closed doors for now. Keith supposes it’s because Lance is afraid to make fuss in case he doesn’t meet the Altean’s expectations. He certainly doesn’t live up to Lance’s typical opulence, decked out in jewels and gold ornaments for breakfast and new ones for lunch. Keith’s style is far more… holistic.

“Thank you.” The Altean’s skin glitters with perspiration, chest rising, straining against his stiff clothes.

Keith reaches out, undoes the clasps of Lance’s delicately embroidered vest, listens to the great breath Lance takes in. “We need to find you something better to train in. Armor or something. I won’t have the Crown Prince of Altea fainting on us.”

“I have ceremonial armor, but it’s heavier than the clothes we had for the frost ball. Heavier than my wedding clothes!” Lance beams goodnaturedly despite the obvious strain on his body.

“Still.” Keith makes to inspect the Altean’s fingernails for some indication of oxygen intake, but they’re painted blue. His gaze roves over his face instead, over cheeks flushed beneath scales and paling skin around his lips. “I don’t like you training in these clothes. It’s fine if you're just doing a few forms here and there, but now? It’s not healthy. No more until you get something suitable.”

“Always so confident when you’re on the training field.” Lance leaves his vest open, gives a cocky spin of his sword to match the crooked smile on his face. “I quite hope to see more of it.”

“Shut up and swing your sword,” Keith growls, extending his own blade. They meet in a flurry of sparks, Keith’s platoon pausing to watch as the first strike of a new round rings out across the yard. Keith leaps back, turning to his soldiers. “Did I tell any of you you were done for the day?”

“No, but watching you flirt is more interesting.”

“Extra lap, Ryan. Gods forbid I flirt with my own husband.”

“Disgusting, Prince Yorak. Shameful, unprofessional behavior.” Lance leans on the point of his sword, squealing, flailing as it gives way beneath him.

Keith drops his ears, letting his tail swish across the floor, feigning unamusement. “Shameful behavior, eh? You would be the expert.”

The soldiers laugh.

“Expert in fun, you mean. Don’t worry. You’ll learn soon enough.” Lance gives an exaggerated wink, and Keith just groans, rolls his eyes. The soldiers laugh some more. They’re easily charmed by the geniality of the crown prince, the familiarity between their future kings.

It’s grown easier, being together. Keith feels at ease with Lance, with his place in the castle. Lance has begun to ask him if he’ll be coming to meals, to court, to some meeting or tea or another, always looking hopeful, always looking at him with eyes made of moons.

It makes Keith feel so light he might float away.

Sitting through court makes him feel the exact opposite. Listening to Ladies Seran and Renli prattle and scream about the latest slight against their children for some doboshes strains his patience and his ears, finally forcing him to close his eyes, tipping his head back against his throne.

Lance attempts to coax the ladies out of their fury, citing his spouse’s sensitive ears, but his errant concern for someone other than them sends the women into renewed screaming. The constant assault on one of his most delicate sensory organs has Keith’s head and ears pulsing. Eventually, his patience evaporates.

“Ladies, enough!” Lance does nothing to stop Keith as he rises to his feet. “Do you know what sort of complaints I would be hearing back on my home planet? Kits without parents and parents whose kits have died. On my home planet, kits starve or have been killed by your soldiers, and yet you stand here and scream because a vendor refused to hand over their wares to your kits for free? You are both perfectly well, as are your… well-accommodated kits. Be grateful for your blessings and be on your way!”

“HOW DARE-”

“Leave now, or the guards will show you out.” Keith throws himself back into his chair with a groan, massaging at the fronts of his ears, jostling his new circlet. “And do learn how to project your voice as opposed to shrieking. My poor ears…”

Lance merely bites his lip against a laugh, taking a moment to compose himself while the furious women are shown away. Once they are gone, he clears his throat. “Thank you, beloved. I’m very sorry about your ears. Now then, who’s next?”

“I am, your Majesties.” An older Altean, older than the kings, marches up to the edge of the dais. Oddly enough, Lance realizes, he rarely sees people of this man’s status here: those of the lower classes, the farmers, the smiths, miners, the people the court don’t wish to look at.

Keith envies the old man’s clothes, the way they’re loose except at the waist, which is cinched with a wide belt. He’s missed clothes like those. They make him think of home. Glancing around, no one seems to share his interest, all muttering, some frowning at the dusty prints on the pale blue carpet.

“And how may we be of service to you, sir?” Lance asks. Keith sighs with relief at the smile in his spouse’s voice. The elder man draws himself up, proud, dignified, important. It’s immediately evident that this man is someone of importance where he comes from.

“Your Majesties, I must tell you the road between the city and my commune is quite damaged, and our vessels cannot travel into the city to deliver our crops. They rot in the fields!”

“Damaged?” Lance raises an eyebrow, frowning. “Then why has it not been fixed?”

“It is the King’s Road, your Majesties, and thus my commune does not have jurisdiction. I was not even permitted to acquire the necessary materials.

“I have inquired as to the road a decaphoeb ago now, and it still has not been fixed. I understand your Majesties are very busy, but my commune… We have no way of transporting our goods. My people are suffering, your Majesties. They are relying on me to rectify this problem.”

“Wait. You’re telling me that you came here once before seeking help and were turned away?” Keith asks.

“No, your Majesty. I was assured that the roads would be fixed. But they haven’t been, and my people are struggling to get by. Our resources have been depleted. The last of our coin went toward the royal taxes, coin we need for clothes and supplementary foods. We will soon have no choice but to take to poaching.”

Lance’s frown deepens at the thought of his people scraping their resources together to pay taxes to a Crown that failed them. He turns his gaze to Adam, who searches through his datapad. “There is no record of the headman’s request, your Majesty. It must have been lost.”

“Not good enough,” Keith declares. “What is your name, headman?”

“Riel, your Majesty. Headman of Commune Larsemik.”

“Headman Riel, my husband and I apologize for the disservice done to your commune, and we humbly ask your forgiveness. Workers will be dispatched promptly to repair the King’s Road. In the meantime, please speak to Adam regarding your losses due to the Crown’s error. You will be compensated, both in money and material. Feel free to be a bit… hyperbolic.”

Lance cuts in where Keith drops off. “Furthermore, if you would do me a service, in return?”

“Of course, your Majesties. It would be my pleasure.”

His response makes Keith sick. The man genuinely means it.

“Stay, if you can, until this evening. Prince Yorak and I rarely hear from the lowlands, and we understand the journey is a long and treacherous one. Still, your commune and those of your fellows are valuable, and the people in them are as valuable as any here. If you would stay, we would hear of our brethren and their well-being, and see if there might be some way that communication from the lowlands might be made more feasible for both of us.”

Riel regards them both for a moment, then nods his head. “I thank you, your Majesties. I would be happy to stay.”

“It is we who thank you, Headman Riel.” As he speaks, Keith takes Lance’s hand. He imagines that to this old farmer, they seem beautiful, untouchable, all-powerful. It’s all a matter of perception. “It is a duty, a pleasure, and an honor.”

Speaking to Riel proves invaluable. As it turns out, he is sort of the headmen’s headman, and knows practically everything that happens in the communes skirting their mountain kingdom. He’s happy, too, to teach the princes. He doesn’t even bat an eye at Keith, who still receives his fair share of odd glances and side-comments on the daily.

Lance learns that, thanks to his new tax system, certain communes will be able to afford much-needed equipment or more seeds for a larger harvest. Some communes would still benefit from subsidies. Riel’s commune would gladly host the princes should they wish to visit the lowlands during planting or harvesting season. And-

“These days, we find ourselves shorthanded.” Riel sighs. “Not dangerously so, but just enough to notice. Still, we must produce the same or greater harvests as commerce goes to the stars. There are fewer of us, your Majesties, and no way to fill out our numbers.”

“It is the same everywhere, my friend. There are just enough empty homes, empty stores, and empty chairs to feel an absence.” Lance smiles, a little small, very sad. “I may raise our child limit very slightly. Just to one-point-five-to-one. It will take time for our population to recover, but we cannot be allowed to grow beyond our means.”

“Well,” Riel rises to his feet. “I am glad to know that the future of our planet rests in capable hands. You are both well on your way to being legendary leaders.”

“Thank you,” Keith says, rising also. “That means a lot, coming from one such as you. We look forward to seeing your commune, and I look forward to seeing the lowlands.”

“Agreed.” Lance shakes Riel’s hand. Keith’s surprised when the old Altean grips his arm instead.

“Good to meet a Galra under these circumstances. Ancients know I got tired of killing you.”

Keith laughs. “We got tired of killing you, too. I’m glad we’ve move forward after all this time.”

“As am I, your Majesty.”

"Are you sure you won't stay? It will be quite late by the time you arrive at your commune." Lance smiles, much like he already knows the answer.

"I cannot, your Majesty. My son and his wife did not survive the war, and my grandchildren will no doubt be waiting up to see me. Triplet girls, eight. I'll tell you something: fear the age of eight. They get mean, and they get sassy!"

Laughing, Lance slips his arm around Keith’s waist, smiles when his tail twists around his ankle. “Very well. You will find a shreika waiting for you by the gates. No need to return it. Consider it a gift. Also, there will be some dinner for you in the saddlebag.”

Headman Riel bows as he exits, leaving the princes alone. Lance’s cordial smile fades, replaced by the usual post-court exhaustion and some deeper troubles.

“Lance? You don’t seriously think Alfor would disregard a headman’s request, do you?”

“N- No, of course not. He wouldn’t do that.” Lance sighs, smiling. He takes the time to give his spouse a kiss. “My father is a lot of things, but needlessly cruel isn’t one of them. All the same, I hate that it happened. Come on. You’ve been quite hungry lately. We should get you something to eat.”

Keith heaves a shaky breath, thinking of everything coming his way. It’ll be good, he knows, full of new discoveries and experiences. But first? Dinner.

“Are you gonna join us, beloved, or do you want to go back to our rooms?”

“I’ll join you.” Lacing their hands together, Keith leads the way out of the sitting room. Lance grins, more than happy to follow. “After dinner, I’d like to research more about the lowland communes. I was able to follow along alright, but I’d like to know more.”

“As would I, truth be told. We’ll grab some tablets and head back to our rooms. Maybe Adam will join us. Hunk and Pidge might, too. We can all do a work night together.”

“Sounds good. I can keep arguing with them about whose kits will be more useful.”

“They’re only arguing about usefulness because they know ours will be the cutest.”

“Oh, absolutely. No contest. Except maybe Allura and Lotor’s baby.”

“Pfft, they wish. Hello, Dad! Hello, Father!” Lance dances his way into the dining room.

“Hello, Lance!” Coran smiles. “And hello, Keith! How are you boys doing today?”

“Pretty good.” Keith settled in front of his plate. There was noticeably more food on it than usual. “Lance, would it kill you to accept the boundaries of normal people who can’t slip inside my skin and find out all of my biological secrets?”

“Were you going to ask for more food?”

Glaring at his spouse, Keith shoves a spoonful of beans into his mouth, flicks another spoonful at Lance’s face. “That’s my business.”

“Rude!” Lance pulls back his own spoon, eager to retaliate-

“Lance…”

Leave it to Coran to be the one who cares about table manners. But underneath the table, Keith squeezes his hand. The smile on his face promises they can goof around later.

Then Keith stomps on his foot with a snicker. Unbelievable.

[yoaridk]

~Disgusting Feeling~ (One-Shot)

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Invader Zim.

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences.

Warnings:  This fic is a ZaDe and has hints of DaTr and ZaGr (if the shipps are not to your liking please refrain from reading), character death and ambiguous plot.

Relationships: Zim/Gaz and  Dib/Tak

Characters: Zim (Invader Zim), Gaz (Invader Zim), Dib (Invader Zim), Tak (Invader Zim).

Additional Tags: Drama & Romance, Angst and Tragedy, Family Drama, Tragic Romance, Interspecies, RomanceZAGR - Freeform, Zim and Gaz Romance, Top Zim (Invader Zim), Badass Zim (Invader Zim), Zim Rules the Earth, Zim is an Invader after all, Strange feelings, Dib suffering, Partner Betrayal, Duty is everything.

Summary: 

Feelings are not part of the programming of Irken soldiers and their race in general, not when the ultimate goal of their existence has always been conquest and ambition. Love? Compassion? Affect? These were weaknesses that made them vulnerable in their condition. Dib understands it to the worst way he can imagine, Zim is a monster in every sense of the word.

                                               ~*~

"It's the most horrible creature I've ever seen in my life."

 That´s the only thought in Dib's mind as he lies on his knees in front of the ostentatious throne of his worst enemy. The black surface of polished marble reflects the horror of his gaze when he observes the vile creature, a creature who instead returns the gesture with lazy grace, transmitting power, strength and something that Dib catalogs as a mantle of death around him.

 Dib's fists clench, hating the fact of staying in an unfavorable position for not saying disadvantageous and resisting frustration at the vain attempt to stand up. The marks on his wrists remind him of how exhausted he is and how weak his body feels because of the blood he lost during his fight to reach his freedom.

 One that unfortunately never came.

 “So?” The creature's tone is barely a mocking hiss."Human, did you really believe that Tak had those inferior feelings for you?”

 The derogatory tone does´t go unnoticed by Dib, much less the slight tinge of twisted fun that mixes in it. Cruelty is not unknown for him after all, growing up at the expense of it became something inherent in his life.

 A misunderstood child whom everyone always labeled as mentally ill. No less than the shame of a successful father and recognized by those same people...

 A father that Zim murdered mercilessly when chaos spread throughout the world.

 “Where is she? Where do you have her, Zim?” Dib calls in his despair. “I swear if you did something her... if you hurt her, I...”

 "You are even more foolish than I thought." Interrupts the Irken, rising slowly to rise even more above the human from the ostentatious throne he occupies. “Hurt her?” The vibrations of Zim's boots at approaching echo through the room. “Oh, dirty beast, don't you know?”

 The weight of this affair records a bad omen in Dib.

 “Know what?” He doesn't quite understand the weight of words and feels fear settling in his being.

 Zim looks at him in a way that suggests he doesn't consider him very clever and Dib's face pales at the alien's tacit expression.

 "You're really pathetic." The Irken shows his peculiar zipper teeth in a smile wickedly sinister half. “Do you know how you got here Dib?” The question lacks genuine curiosity and it´s intentions have the whole purpose of being derogatory.

 No more than one uncomfortable and silent minute passes in which Dib is not able to answer that question, and in general that is because the answer really remains a mystery to him. The last thing he remembers is running away from the Zim soldiers before receiving an impressive discharge and then losing consciousness and waking up in one of the specialized cells for the members of the resistance. The following is horror and the beginning of hell.

 “Your stupid soldiers! They ambushed Tak and Me to one of your traps.” The pieces fit perfectly creating the only plausible answer, Dib has no doubt that that is what happened.

 The pleasure dances in the alien factions of Zim at the words of his enemy, ignorance and naivety are the blessing of idiots like Dib.

 "You fell directly into a trap, yes, but I assure you disgusting beast that the credit of such ambush is not mine."

 Zim's words blink into Dib's gaze briefly as if they had managed to hit a nerve in him and seconds later the alien sees beyond the human, urging him to follow his example, surprise hits Dib so hard that his feet falter threatening with sinking it further into the ground.

 “Tak?” Dib whispers with growing disbelief, running around the silhouette of the Irken woman with his eyes, although she doesn´t seem to answer his call. What is happening? “You are alive!" He try again with the hope that this time she dignifies her words even with a simple nod.

 The statement doesn´t have the expected effect and Dib frowns, Zim's laugh breaks the charm of the reunion filling the air of uncertainty and malice.

 “So you still don't guess?” Zim asks in a hard and ruthless voice, yearning to see the expression of who has been his nemesis for years and a hindrance in all those plans that ended in failure. “Please Invader Tak, help this dirty human to better understand the nature of your loyalty to the empire.”

 Dib shudders when Tak's silhouette leaves the shelter that the shadows provide her from the other side of the room, and to his bitter disappointment he realizes that Zim is not boasting with empty words.

 “What…?” The face of the human shows some confusion, but any doubt dissipates when Dib seeks sincerity in Tak's gaze and any sign of denial in the face of such an assertion.

 Doesn´t find it.

 Dib's eyes dodge Tak and get stuck in some empty spot in that room, so remember, recognize and he horrified by the truth. That Tak's offer to overthrow Zim's advances on the planet was nothing more than a tactic to take him straight into a trap, the ultimate end of that alliance has nothing to do with Zim's fall and all with his revenge to him.

 Dib's mind and heart are breaks.

 “Why? I trusted you!” The boy simultaneously questions and protests, shaking his head as if with that simple action he could expel the betrayal thoughts that flood his mind.

 Dib is sad when he recognizes that the small moments of complicity and sincerity that he shared with the alleged ex invader meant absolutely nothing to her, perhaps, he thought, he longed for a bit of company and understanding on the part of anyone in the middle of hell they were living. No one could blame him for placing his trust in the first `person´ who held out a hand with the promise of helping him in his cause.

 "I had no choice." She just says, feeling the need that she didn't need to explain more and assuming is better that way. Will help make what comes next much easier for both of they.

 "Yes, you had, but you preferred to take sides with the monster you swore to take revenge on." He corrects painfully in each of his words and gives her a look of disapproval.

 The invader opens her mouth as if she were going to respond but says nothing because she doesn´t find the valid argument to refute the human's words, however Tak doesn´t believe she can explain and justify her actions. At this point any explanation is left over.

 Instead, she regains the determination necessary to end the matter once and for all.

 "Well, you already have him Zim, now you can send him to that prison on one of Saturn's moons." The only reason she ended up in that situation was because of Zim's promise to keep Dib alive by banishing him to that prison.

 The former invader has a backup plan to amend the damage she has done to the human.

 Zim lets out another shrill laugh as if what Tak had just say him was nothing more than a funny joke, then cleared his throat before speaking.

 "The plans have changed Tak but I appreciate your help in bringing this scum to me." The alien replies dryly, hardening his countenance. "I will remember your loyalty when I kill the human." With a wave of his hands Zim calls the guards that waiting patiently for his signal.

 Three soldiers approach the Irken girl to catch her, two hold her hands and the third one positions and presses the tip of his weapon on Tak's back.

 “What? Don´t!” She fights trying to get out of the soldiers grip when they drag her to the door to take her to one of the cells."You're a damn traitor Zim, you promised me you wouldn't hurt Dib!”

 The guards take her out before she could finish her prayer. Dumbfounded by the events, Dib cries out Tak's name again and again hoping she can get rid of her captors, but hope dies when He doesn't perceive her voice after a while.

 "Tak was as pathetic as you after all." Zim says in a hiss to no one in particular. “Harbor such inferior feelings for a pathetic creature is not worthy of an invader.” He boasts, but his tone keeps disgusted by the simple idea.

 After all, feelings are not part of the programming of Irken soldiers and their race in general, not when the ultimate goal of their existence was always conquest and ambition. Love? Compassion? Affect? They were weaknesses that made them vulnerable in their condition.

 Dib pays attention to the words of his enemy recognizing hypocrisy in them, Zim has the nerve to take human feelings as the worst blasphemies for his people when he has also professed those emotions.

 “What about you?” Dib dares to question with the intention of erasing that smug smile on the despicable face of the alien. “You are nothing but a hypocrite in accusing Tak of pathetic when you also has felt affection for a human, Zim.”

 Zim changes his expression of arrogance for one of shock mixed with slight indignation, although it only lasts a fraction of a second before recomposing and facing that human. It doesn't take him a minute to unravel the meaning in Dib's words and frowns at the grief that arises when memories stir within his mind.

 The Irken murmurs a curse in his alien lenguage before approaching the human and putting his heavy boot on Dib's shoulder to sink him further into the ground, rubbing it again and again delighting in the groans of pain from his enemy.

 “Are you going to deny it, damn unhappy monster?” Dib's face comes down to a grimace of pain and his voice is barely audible to fill the room but if to reach Zim. He hopes to see some hint in him, anything that answers the question he has had for many years.

 The alien clicks his teeth towards Dib before removing his boot on him and turning to surround the human, he walks from side by side maintaining the necessary distance between the two although the possibility of escape from the boy is void. A hint of disdain touches Zim's factions in the face of Dib's boldness, it is a subject he continually avoids and has in mind despite the years.

 "I admit that I had these... feelings for little Gaz." Zim have a sudden crackles heat inside him as he pronounce his former lover's name. “But you are wrong Dib beast, Gaz was not a human more of your dirty race, she knew how to recognize the inferiority of her species and despise them for their stupidity, I must admit that little Gaz had enough vision to be taken a account by someone so superior like Zim.”

 Of course, Gaz , the thought reinforces a smile on the alien. Despite the time, Zim still remembers the approach he had with the sister of his worst enemy; the video games, the time she shared at his base repeating him how ineffective his plans were, Zim's mania for pleasing her mundane and ridiculous desires. And the interaction, the feeling of company that made his stay less boring on that deplorable planet.

 Many other details and moments were marked in the alien's memory. Love? His species does not know the term or anything remotely similar to it, however Zim could classify the strange and annoying feeling for the girl as such. Maybe.

 "No Zim, if you had loved Gaz, you wouldn't has left her alone before her death." Dib's voice is barely a low growl full of rage that drips down the ostentatious room, Zim lies and is certain that the affirmation of the feeling of Love to his sister on his part is totally false. “And you wouldn't have killed our father on your return.” No, that was not love . Dib finishes the sentence in his mind but his eyes in rage reflect the thought.

 Dib's hands sting to circle Zim's slender neck and twist him to extinguish his miserable life to avenge his father and all those who died since his return to earth. Underestimating Zim was perhaps the worst mistake made.

 The Irken shrugs as if the claim of the professor's death wasn´t much and in reality for Zim it isn´t, Membrana as well as other humans are obstacles in their way to take the planet and prove to the Tallest their worth as an invader, being this the last and true opportunity.

 It has taken several years for him to have that mission again and he doesn´t plan to let his opportunity be ruined.

 "You will see Dib, unlike your dirty inferior species, the Irken race has only one purpose in its existence." Zim retakes up the previous action of surrounding the human while he explains, moves with sinuous grace in front of him. “The expansion of the empire and the destruction of all inferior life that crosses the road, for thousands of years the empire has been responsible for the ruin of hundreds of planets. That is the purpose of our race, to grow until everything is part of it.”

 Yes, Zim is nothing but a monster. Dib thinks, avoiding the desire to get up and kill the alien right there. The Irkens are really a universal plague: they infest, consume and destroy other planets in order to quench their hunger for domination and power.

 “Invaders like Tak and I shouldn´t have such inferiors feelings because they are a setback to our missions.” Zim's eyes narrow and his lips twist in sardonic humor.

 “You said you loved her!” Dib replies, also remembering Tak's words.

 A dark emotion flames on life in Zim's eyes.

 "Of course I did Dib." The Irken tilts a slight smile that denotes little humor on his lips, but is just a grimace at the awareness of what he will say next. “Zim loved his love-pig very much, but as much as I loved your sister, I also realized that this feeling was only an obstacle to my mission.” He stops to observe the frank disbelief in the human.

 “What do you mean Zim?” It takes Dib a moment to recognize something else in Zim's speech and just a moment to feel the bad omen in the response he was about to receive.

 Zim's expression hardens and Dib understands that his assumptions are true, something doesn't feel right. A strange sensation settles deep within his heart.

 "That even if I loved little Gaz a lot, I had to do what was necessary to do my duty as an invader." The malicious gleam in Zim's eyes goes out when he releases his next words. “I admit that ending Gaz's life was perhaps the hardest thing I've ever done. It hurt me to implant those Nanobots in her bloodstream to weaken her defenses and make they think it was an autoimmune disease.” Despite the broken tone, Zim's expression shows no regret."

 Dib blinks at the blunt confession. The premise that the death of his sister was caused by Zim generates a state of shock in him.

 "You..." Dib throws a dark glance at the alien when the feeling of sickening settles in the mouth of his stomach.

 "I understood that if I continued with this situation I would never achieve my purpose and even if I returned to Irk or some other distant planet, I would end up returning to be stay with her." Zim ignores the look on Dib and continues his rant with grim determination.

 A low hiss is heard from Dib's lips and in an outburst of renewed determination he gathers forces to stand up and rush against the despicable Irken who dared to boast about the murder of his little sister. The impact bounces and echoes through the cold walls of the room, the force is such that it throws Zim on the floor in just a second.

 Dib's breathing is agitated and his emotions turbulent and violent with the desire for death characteristic of the instinct for revenge. But the victory lasts less than a blink when Zim stabs Dib's side with one of his PAK legs.

 “Soldiers!” Zim screams angered by such a grievance by a disgusting human and the least he can do with it is to give him the punishment he deserves. Four soldiers arrive to him shortly after that call. “Throw the human into the reinforced containment cell and prepare what is necessary for its execution this afternoon.” Zim's lethal tone doesn´t go unnoticed by subordinates.

 A dismissive wave of his hand is enough for the soldiers to abide by the order immediately taking Dib, and the human is not even strong enough to fight after the outburst of previous violence.

 Dib is dragged to his destination to find death a few hours later and Zim looks at the human with cold disdain for having awaken the feelings inside. The hand of the Irken migrates to a compartment in his PAK from which he removes an object that he has been carrying with him for years protecting him as an invaluable treasure.

 The sharp claws hold the pendant of a necklace with such delicacy, the Invader looks longingly  the object and sighs with regret admitting that he still misses his lover's company; He only hopes that the sacrifice is worthwhile to reaffirm his loyalty to the empire.

.

 .

 .

  End.

~*~

A/N:

 This thing started as a vague idea and it took me almost two weeks to finish writing it... I was inspired by the Guardians of the Galaxy scene vol. 2, when Ego tells Peter the truth about his mother's death and I said why not? And finally this was the final result.

 I had a lot of fun writing this, I think it's been my favorite fic of all the ones I've written so far.  

 Sorry if the story is flawed, this is a translation or at least an attempt at translation... my English is bad.  

 Anyway, I hope you like it and in advance thank you for reading

[nonbinary-octopus]

Touch Starved

A ‘Humans are Weird’ story

Summary: Humans require physical contact for their health. Michel, stationed on a ship with primarily touch-neutral and touch-averse aliens, forgot this.

Wordcount: 3.3K

[more Humans are Weird]

[More stories]

~~~

For lack of a better word, Crew Michel was wilting. Medic X’nthmm fretfully looked through eir medical records again. Tests showed that the human was physically healthy, but Michel had become more and more withdrawn over the past weeks, and X’nthmm was concerned for him. Desperately, ey called the Interspecies Behavioral Information Center and asked to speak with a human representative.

A few moments later, a human was on the viewscreen in front of X’nthmm. “Hello,” they said. “My name is Raechel, how may I help you?”

“I am concerned about the health of our human crew member,” X’nthmm answered. “I cannot find anything medically wrong with him, but he is clearly unwell.”

The human on the screen looked concerned, and X’nthmm wondered briefly if they had somehow managed to packbond with Michel without even seeing him. Was that a thing, with human packbonding? X’nthmm wasn’t sure.

“Could you describe his symptoms to me?”

“Of course,” X’nthmm said. Ey had eir notes on Michel’s condition ready, though ey barely had to glance at them to know what ey wanted to say. “Crew Michel’s behavior has changed drastically in the last few weeks. He has become withdrawn, and it seems that every task requires more effort from him than previously. He does not ‘smile’ or ‘laugh’ as often. He decontaminates overly frequently, and spends more time doing so than necessary. Often, he will wrap his arms around his torso in what looks to be a protective stance, even when there is no threat to be detected. He also has begun requesting a heated pad at night, despite his sleeping quarters being the appropriate temperature. I do not know if this is a symptom, and I have provided the pad, but it is unusual.” X’nthmm ruffled eir leaves in distress. “If he were a fasiolus, I would say that Michel is wilting. However, I have already optimized his nutrient intake and ensured that he is properly hydrated and receiving the ideal amount, duration, and wavelength of light for humans, to no avail.”

Representative Raechel was quiet for some time, processing X’nthmm’s query. There was the clack of keys on a keyboard as they apparently looked something up. “What is the makeup of your crew?” they asked at last. “Species-wise.”

X’nthmm wondered how this was relevant, but ey answered nonetheless, “Primarily fasioli and zenicks. We also have three calyphues, two kalinki, and a squad of poms. Michel is our only human.”

Raechel nodded, typing something else into their console. After they had read the results, they said, “I think I see the problem. Your crew is primarily composed of beings who are touch-neutral to touch-averse. However, humans require frequent physical contact. Your Michel is probably touch starved.”

“Touch starved,” X’nthmm repeated. Ey had never heard such a term before. “How serious is it?”

Raechel made a concerned face. “Well, human infants will literally die if they’re not held enough,” they said. X’nthmm let out a horrified exclamation. “In adults, it’s a little less serious, but I would definitely recommend giving him a hug pronto.”

X’nthmm made a sound of acknowledgement and bobbed eir head in an imitation of the human gesture of agreement. “How does one administer a ‘hug’?”

“Are you touch-averse?” Raechel questioned.

“No, I am neutral to physical contact,” X’nthmm replied. “One must be to work in my position.”

“Good, that’ll help. Note that hugs are most effective when given by someone with whom the human has packbonded, but so long as you are on neutral to good terms, it should still be beneficial.” Raechel described then the procedure for giving a hug. It involved nearly full body contact, wrapping one’s limbs around the patient, and applying pressure. If Raechel did not seem so sincere, X’nthmm would have thought it a constricting action intended to crush an opponent, and ey questioned how much pressure ey ought to apply. “One moment…” Raechel said, typing again. “Is your personal strength rating typical for one of your species?”

“Yes, I am about average,” X’nthmm answered.

“It may vary for his comfort level, but unless he is injured, you shouldn’t be able to harm him by squeezing too hard. Given the level of touch starvation you described, I would recommend holding him as tightly as you comfortably can.”

X’nthmm took a moment to process this. Then ey bobbed eir head again. “Thank you. What other treatments can you recommend?”

“In general, lots of physical contact from beings he’s bonded with,” Raechel answered. “Cuddles, hugs, even just shoulder touches and high-fives may help somewhat.” They paused. “If I may save your contact information, I will put together an informational packet and send it to you.”

“That would be most useful,” X’nthmm answered, relieved. “Thank you.”

The human on the other side of the screen bared their teeth at em in the human gesture of pleasure. “You’re welcome. I should have that ready within a sol. Ah…” Their fingers flew over their keyboard again. “By [time] or so spacetime.”

“Again, thank you.”

“Of course.”

X’nthmm ended the call, and summoned Michel to the med bay.

He did not take long to arrive, but when he did, he still looked distinctly wilted. 

“Crew Michel,” X’nthmm greeted.

Michel bared his teeth in greeting, but somehow the action looked exhausting, instead of the vibrant ‘grins’ Michel used to give. “Medic Zanthum.”

“I have been doing further research on your condition,” X’nthmm said, ignoring the mispronunciation as always. Ey knew it was difficult for humans to say names without vowels.

“Oh?”

“Yes. I have spoken to another human, who had an insight I would not have thought of. They suggested that you may be suffering from ‘Touch Starvation’.”

Michel stared at em. Then, slowly, he said, “That… actually, yeah, that sounds likely.”

“They recommended I administer a ‘hug.’”

Michel gazed at X’nthmm with an almost hungry light in his eyes. “I would love a hug.”

X’nthmm approached him, and Michel crouched so that his head was nearly on a level with eirs, holding out his arms.

With some hesitance, X’nthmm came even closer so that there was scarcely a Standardized Unit between them. Michel put his hands on X’nthmm’s main stem then, pulling em even closer and pressing em against his chest. X’nthmm wrapped eir tendrils awkwardly around Michel’s torso, grateful that he was an ally, as ey were quite aware that ey could never escape his grip on eir own power now that he had a firm hold on em.

Instead of focusing on that thought, X’nthmm asked, “Is this proper hug technique?”

“Yeah.” Michel turned his face against X’nthmm’s stalk, and ey had a brief, irrational fear that he was going to bite em. Instead, he said softly, “This is perfect. Thank you.”

“Ought I to squeeze you harder?”

“Mm,” Michel answered. After a pause, during which X’nthmm tried to remember if that was an affirmative or negative sound, he added, “Please.”

X’nthmm tightened the grip of eir tendrils around him. Fasioli were not designed for constriction, so ey were not able to tighten them very much, but ey hoped that this small amount would help.

After several moments had passed, X’nthmm realized that ey had not inquired as to the standard length of a ‘hug,’ nor whether ey, as the initiator, were expected to end it. However, ey were sure that Michel knew, and decided to let him lead.

“IBIC Representative Raechel is going to send me in informational packet with other techniques to combat your touch starvation,” ey informed him.

“Awesome,” Michel said. X’nthmm was delighted to note that his voice was less weary than it had been for quite some time. The treatment was already working. X’nthmm found eirself feeling hopeful that Michel would make a full recovery.

Several more moments passed in silence before Michel loosened his grip on X’nthmm’s stem. Ey in return retracted eir tendrils from around him, and Michel let go entirely so that X’nthmm could move away.

“That was great,” he said, looking more relaxed than X’nthmm had seen him for weeks. “Thank you, that really helped.”

“I am glad,” X’nthmm said. “The representative recommended you receive frequent physical contact from beings with whom you have formed a packbond. Could you provide me with a list of such individuals on board so that I can inform them of this need?”

Michel’s face changed color, becoming pinker on the cheeks. “I… I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose,” he stammered, rising to his full height again. 

“I am certain that those of them who are not touch averse will not object if it is for your health,” X’nthmm countered.

Michel’s face became an even darker pink. “Well… alright,” he said. “I’ll make you a list.”

“Thank you.” X’nthmm approached again and patted Michel’s knee, pleased to see his teeth flash in response. “You may return to your station now.”

“Thanks, Zanthum.”

~~~

Michel returned to the deck, feeling better than he had in… well, a long time. “Touch starved,” he murmured to himself.

As he sat down at his desk again, the alien stationed next to him, a kalinx named Fritz, looked up. “Crewmate Michel,” ve greeted, then observed, “You are looking better. Has Medic X’nthmm discovered the source of your ailment?”

Michel nodded. “Yeah. Turns out I’m touch starved.”

Fritz gazed at him for a few moments. “Is this similar to the atrophy which occurs due to lack of proper nutrients?”

“Uh… yes and no.” Michel shrugged a bit. “I’m suffering from an extended lack of physical contact with other beings. Doc Zanthum gave me a hug, and that helped a bit.”

“You require physical contact?” Fritz repeated, and Michel nodded.

“Yeah, it’s… it’s a human thing,” he said. “Most humans, anyway. There are some people who don’t like being touched at all, I guess they probably don’t get touch starved.” Though now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure. Michel wondered what they did if they did get touch starved, and decided to try and look it up later. “I’d honestly forgotten it was a thing.”

The alien considered this. “Does the kind of physical contact matter?” ve asked at last.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, if someone punched me, I really doubt that would help.” Michel chuckled a bit. “And I wouldn’t react very well to a stranger hugging me, or someone I disliked doing it. Might actually be counterproductive. But I guess beyond it being from someone I like, and not a violent form of touch, it doesn’t matter a lot.” He thought about it again. “Well… I mean, meaning no offense to the doc, and I do like em well enough, but a plant hug just isn’t the same. So I guess ideally it’d be from someone mammalian.”

“Why?”

“Soft, warm,” Michel said, shrugging. “The fur probably helps too, as long as it’s not rough.”

Fritz blinked slowly at him. “Have you packbonded with me sufficiently for contact between myself and you to be beneficial?” ve asked, and Michel suddenly realized that ver questions had not been solely from curiosity.

He could feel himself blushing. “Um. Yes. Yeah, definitely.”

Fritz turned back to ver work tablet, and Michel’s heart sank. The space cat had just been seeking knowledge after all. Fritz tapped a few icons on ver tablet, then detached it from its dock and gripped it in ver forehand. Michel watched, feeling a bit confused, as ve got down from ver chair and approached his. Fritz stood directly in front of him for a moment before putting an empty forehand on Michel’s knee. Michel held very still.

Then Fritz leapt up onto Michel’s lap. Ve was lighter than he had expected, but there was a delightful solidness to vem. Ve settled down, making verself comfortable, before looking up at him again. “Is this agreeable?”

“Yes,” Michel said immediately. “This is very agreeable.” And it was. Fritz was very warm, and having vem on his lap was rather similar to having an earth cat curled up on him, except without the allergic reaction. Michel felt incredibly honored.

Fritz positioned ver tablet so that ve could continue working, and with a smile, Michel returned to his own work as well.

~~~

Although most of the crew, besides those who were touch-averse, was quite willing to engage in physical contact with Michel to combat his touch starvation, it was more effective for some than others. Calyphues, as a rule, do not like to be touched, so they were exempt. Meanwhile, zenicks are generally indifferent to physical contact, and upon learning of Michel’s condition, the zenick portion of the crew began to bump against his legs whenever they passed him in the halls, until he complained that so many collisions against hard exoskeletons, gentle and well-intentioned as each bump may have been, was starting to hurt. Most of the fasioli were willing to wrap their tendrils around Michel in an attempt at a hug, as long as he did not hug back, and though Michel seemed to enjoy it, the positive effects of these hugs did not last long once the hug ended. One might think that Joviva, the other kalinx, would be able to provide good contact, but it turned out that Michel had not spent enough time around vem to form a proper packbond. He had bonded with the pom squad and found the feel of their fur delightful, but their small size and general aversion to staying still made him nervous to hold more than one or two, for fear or injuring a pom, and of course they refused to be separated.

Fritz, meanwhile, was soft, warmblooded, and furred. Michel had packbonded with vem, and ve were touch neutral, as well as both larger and calmer than the poms. This together made vem the most qualified crew member to treat Michel’s condition, so for Michel’s health, Fritz took it upon verself to make a point of touching Michel regularly. The human responded particularly favorably to having Fritz on top of him, so whenever they worked together, Fritz moved from ver chair onto Michel’s lap. Although ve had to hold ver tablet in ver forepaw instead of keeping it docked, ve soon discovered that Michel’s lap, which was warm and soft, and moved ever so slightly to the beat of his vital fluids flowing, was more comfortable than ver chair.

Ve also discovered that a human’s shoulder made for an excellent vantage point, even if it was a somewhat unstable perch. Even sitting, Michel was tall, but when he stood, he towered over everyone else on the ship. And he not only was willing to let Fritz ride on his shoulder, but encouraged it.

Fritz could see why some beings were touch-positive. Ve could almost understand how humans could require touch in order to live.

One day, Michel and Fritz sat together as had become their habit. Neither were working at this moment, simply resting and enjoying one another’s company.

“Fritz,” Michel said softly, slowly. Fritz looked up at him. “May I… may I run my fingers through your fur, please?”

Fritz blinked in consideration. “Will that help with your touch starvation?” ve asked curiously.

Michel’s face became the shade of pink which signaled faint embarrassment in humans. “I dunno about that, I just thought it’d feel nice.”

Fritz considered it a moment longer. “You may,” ve decided.

Michel lay his hand on Fritz’s back. If ve had not known that he had strongly packbonded with vem, Fritz might have been made more nervous at the touch, because Michel was large and strong enough that he could pin Fritz against his leg with one hand. Instead of doing that, however, he slid his hand down the length of Fritz’s back, smoothing down the fur. His hand stopped just before Fritz’s tail, and Michel lifted it away. Fritz thought that would be the end of it, but Michel put his hand on ver back again, just below the place where ver neck connected, and stroked vem again. On the third pass, Michel asked, “Is this agreeable?”

Fritz settled on Michel’s lap a bit more comfortably, laying ver head on ver crossed forearms. “This is agreeable,” ve answered.

For several minutes, they were silent, Michel gently stroking Fritz’s fur. It was, to Fritz’s surprise, a soothing sensation, and ve found verself nearly falling asleep. Although ve trusted Michel, ve didn’t want to fully drop ver defences while lying in a human’s lap, and to keep verself alert, Fritz questioned, “Is there a name for this activity?”

Michel’s hand paused in its motion for a moment, then continued. “Not… not exactly,” he said. Fritz waited for further explanation. “I mean, it sort of does, we call it ‘petting,’ but only if the one being pet is a non-sapient companion creature. When we do it with a sapient being, we usually just describe the action, cause… cause petting a person sounds… um, hang on, what’s the more generic form of ‘dehumanizing’?”

“I do not know,” Fritz answered. “What is ‘dehumanizing’?”

“Treating a person like a non-sapient animal or object instead of a human being.” Michel’s hand stopped, resting lightly on Fritz’s back. “It’s a negative term.”

“I see.” Fritz considered what Michel had said, and the implications which had not been outrightly stated. “It is not the action, but the action’s name, which would cause offense?”

“Well, consent’s important too,” Michel said. “But in a nutshell, yeah.” His hand began its cyclical path again. “And it is kinda an intimate action, so you wouldn’t do it with a stranger.”

Fritz felt verself stiffen. Had Michel been courting vem without ver noticing? Had ve accidentally shown reciprocation? “You did not mention that this was intimate,” ve said cautiously.

Michel’s hand stopped again, and lifted away entirely. “Sorry, am I going too fast?” he asked. Fritz blinked. What had the speed of his motions to do with courtship? “I figured we were probably close enough friends that it’d be okay to ask.”

Fritz sat up, thinking carefully over what ve wanted to say. “Michel,” ve said. “You are a good crewmate, and I have enjoyed packbonding with you. However, I am not interested in mating with a human. I apologize if I have acted in a way which caused you to think otherwise.”

Michel’s face became immediately red. “I don’t want to mate with you either!” he said quickly.

“But you said that fur-stroking is an intimate action.”

“Not that kind of intimate!” Michel put his hands to his face. “I mean, it could be, but I meant platonically intimate. The sort of thing you’d only do with people you’re close to.”

“It is physical contact,” Fritz pointed out. “You would have to be in close proximity.”

Michel, hands still pressed against the lower half of his face, blinked at vem. Then he chuckled and dropped his hands. “Sorry, idiom. People with whom you have formed a strong packbond. It doesn’t have to be romantic. Sure, if my future husband runs his fingers through my hair, we’ll probably interpret it romantically, but when my sister or a friend does it, it’s purely platonic.”

“I see.” Fritz unstiffened, considering Michel’s words. “You stroking my fur was not part of any sort of courtship?”

“No, not at all.”

“It was because you have formed a strong packbond with me?”

“Yes. Or at least, that’s why I was comfortable asking you to let me do it.”

Fritz blinked slowly. Then ve lay down again on Michel’s lap. “In that case, you may continue,” ve said. “It was unexpectedly pleasant.”

A few moments later, Michel put his hand on Fritz’s back again, resuming his stroking. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Fritz hummed pleasantly. “You are welcome.”

[tyrustrash]

Going Down in The White House

The White House has always been a place for shit to go down, literally. With everything that has happened, history likes to repeat itself. For example, the live broadcasts the president gives whenever some major world news breaks out, or the signing of a new bill that will probably help the country. Perhaps one of the most infamous moments of White House wouldn’t have crossed people’s minds since it was an embarrassing and a total what-the-fuck moment. A damn blowjob. Come on, no pun intended, it was a complete gag, again, no pun intended, that moment happened. Out of all the places they could’ve gone, it doesn’t make sense why it was done in the Oval Office. Maybe the floor wasn’t hard on the knees, or they just wanted to say they’ve gotten it on in that room. Whatever the case might be, history is bound to repeat itself and that’s what Alex and Henry wanted. They wanted to make some history, huh. Alex stands in the corner of the office as he watches his mother handle some paperwork for an upcoming conference. She is planned to gather with other world leaders to discuss a new treaty that would potentially end all threats and would cause peace. She’ll go down as the best president if the conference is successful. Not even a few months into her reelection and she’s making progress that others have dreamt of doing. She’s proud of her accomplishments so far, but each one brings more and more stress. Alex can barely handle it himself, and he’s not even doing any hard work. All he has to do during this process is be her support system, be her errand boy, and stand to the side next to Henry and look cute for the purpose of demonstrating that nations can be united, although those two are more united than the other countries wanted to be. Speaking of which, their relationship for the past few months has been stronger, and hornier, than ever. The two made sure to be in attendance at every broadcast and public event that has been held, showing that it is possible for countries to be at peace, and to give updates about their relationship because the world wanted to know how the first son of the president and a prince can hold a relationship. Questions included if they plan on getting married, if they want kids, if Alex plans on running for president and hoping Henry becomes king to that they can be the ultimate power couple. They enjoyed answering the lighthearted and simple questions, however, they wanted to completely ignore the damn tabloids that wanted nothing other than to hurt them and make them look bad. There were still skeptics that thought their relationship is just a cover-up for the US and the UK to take over the world, or that they were only pretending to date to someone take advantage of the citizens, which didn’t make sense but somehow idiots believe it. So much negativity can get to them at times, but they keep telling themselves to ignore it because the only thing that matters is their happiness. Right now, their happiness is through the rough, and about to be through their pants if they can’t control themselves. Henry is standing to the left of Alex with his hand rubbing Alex’s back and is making its way down. Although there are plenty of people in the room, including the president herself, it made it even more of a turn on. The couple realized they had a thing for physical flirting in public, as long as it didn’t go too far and didn’t get caught. This moment is definitely one of their riskier times, but it will be so worth it once they leave and get an empty room all to themselves. Henry’s hand slides down Alex’s back and reaches the top of his ass. The sensation sends tiny bursts of tingles throughout Alex’s body. All Alex can do is place his hands over the raging boner that’s growing in his tight silver dress pants. Henry notices and uses his free hand to pull Alex’s hands away, resulting in an angry, yet pleasurable, groan from his boyfriend. Henry takes one of Alex’s hands and holds it. Without waiting any longer, Henry continues his trail and his other hand lands in the middle of Alex’s ass. Giving it a firm pat, Alex can’t help himself to jolt a little from the pleasure. “Damn you, you little tease,” Alex whispers as he attempts to hide his boner again, but Henry doesn’t allow him. “What can I say,” Henry starts saying as he feels his boyfriend’s ass and squeezes it every few seconds. “I know this gets you worked up, which will end up with me fucked up.” Alex lets out a deep huff, knowing Henry’s right. The more Henry restricts him during this, the harder Alex will go when the actual start fucking. Either way, it’s a win-win situation. “I got to do something,” Alex says. “Please, baby, mi amor, let me do something.” Henry grins as he swats Alex’s ass again. He moves his hand to the front of Alex’s pants and gently rubs his boner, causing a staggering moan. “I wanna do something else.” Alex’s eyes widen as he looks around the room. Luckily, no one is watching. “Babe, right now? We can’t. We can’t just leave. What if my mom needs us for something?” “Well,” Henry starts saying as he continues rubbing Alex’s cock. Alex feels as though he might burst. “Perhaps we can wait until this little part is over. Shouldn’t be too much longer.” “I hope you’re right.” He isn’t. Alex continues to be in a state of semi-ecstasy for another hour while waiting for his mother to finish. All the while, Henry continues to be the damn tease that he is and makes Alex suffer some more. He dips his hand into Alex’s pants and kneads his ass like pizza dough, almost making Alex produce some sauce from the friction caused by his pants. While making sure no one is looking, Henry maneuvers his hand to the front and rubs Alex’s dick. He feels the precum start to come out and uses it to help guide his hand. Alex can barely hold himself back from making the loudest moan he has ever made. Unfortunately, he does too loud. One of the secretaries hears his moan and turns her attention to the two. As if he were The Flash, Henry quickly removes his hand and places it behind his back, so that she doesn’t she the residue. Letting out a sigh as the secretary goes back to work, Henry deviously grins. He caresses the back of Alex’s head; he plays with the end of his ear and leans in. “That was so fucking hot.” “We almost got caught!” Alex whisper yells. “I don’t want to know what would’ve happened if we were.” “That’s the thrill of it.” Henry slowly and seductively traces his finger across Alex’s chest. When he reaches his nipple, he gives it a little flick, sending body-aching levels of desire throughout his body. Everything about this moment makes Alex more impatient. The more he waits, the harder it is to control his thoughts of slamming Henry face down on the table and fucking the life out of him until they both make the White House even whiter. After waiting longer than they had hoped, Alex and Henry finally have the Oval Office for themselves. They made up a completely bullshit excuse about wanting to have their own meeting about military funds as a way of them being allowed to stay in. They were shocked that it had worked, but they weren’t going to complain, mainly since their mouths will be full. Henry sits on top of the desk with his legs spread apart. He can barely contain his own boner when Alex stands between his legs and kisses him passionately. Their hands are roaming every area of their bodies. They can hardly breathe due to not wanting to stop the intense make-out session. Henry is the first to pull away from the kiss. He moves his hands from Alex’s shoulders to his crotch. He begins undoing his belt. “Sit down.” “What?” Alex helps with the belt. He takes it off and flings it across the room. He does the same for Henry. “What for?” “History.” Henry stands and guides Alex to the leather chair. Alex plops down and unbuttons his pants, but Henry stops him to do it himself. Henry gets down on his knees and unzips Alex. With just the crotch area of Alex’s boxer briefs showing, Henry goes down and starts working his tongue. He goes faster upon smelling the musk radiating from Alex. Alex, on the other hand, is completely losing it. He can hardly contain himself in the chair. He tries standing, but Henry sits him back down while continuing his thing. Without looking up, Henry manages to bring Alex’s hands to his head, indicating he wants it rough. Alex grips Henry’s hair and pushes him deeper into his crotch. Coming up from panting too hard, Henry takes Alex’s pants and underwear and pulls them down to his ankles. Alex’s eight-incher points straight up at the ceiling as Henry holds it. Alex rubs his hand through Henry’s hair and nods. As soon as Henry goes down, Alex’s head flings back and lets out the deepest groan. He can’t believe the sheer amount of pleasure someone can bring him. This is unlike all their past experiences. This belongs on a different spiritual plane, its own dimension. Henry’s sucking skills have definitely increased. The way he hollows his cheeks allows for the premium quality of suckage that feels like his dick could come off. The way Henry’s hand helps by gripping and tugging at the base adds an extra layer of sensation. Just the sound of Henry’s slight gagging and slobbering is an orchestra. The entire process needs appreciation because not everyone can accomplish this skill. Oh, but the sight is the best part. Alex can never get enough of the sight of the world’s perfect boyfriend as he sucks him off. Although Alex is the one that typically does the blowjobs, he’ll never refuse to receive one. Even though Alex loves the feeling, he loves the look on his boyfriend’s face more. Looking into his eyes while Henry looks up at him brings warmth to his heart. Henry always has that look of seeking approval, even though he knows he’s an expert. But that look makes the prince look even more precious and it makes Alex contemplate how he was dating him. Seeing the spit roll down his chin makes Alex’s mouth water. It makes him want to pull Henry up and lick it away as they kiss. Henry’s blowjobs are the most beautiful site he can imagine. “How does it feel?” Henry asks as he pulls away but continues jerking him off. “Feels like,” Alex starts saying, but hesitates due to his heavy breathing and him trying to not let his hips thrust up uncontrollably. “Feels like I want to fuck you senseless. I want to bend you over and punish you like the damn naughty boy you’ve been.” Henry chuckles as he slowly starts to rise. He keeps his hands on Alex’s thick and sturdy thighs as he continues rubbing them. “Oh, I’ve been a naughty boy, have I? I haven’t noticed.” Alex lets out a huff as he takes a hold of Henry’s waist, pulls him up, and sets him on his lap. His dick rests between the crack of Henry’s khaki covered ass. “The best tease I’ve ever experienced. But now, I get to have some fun.” Henry leans forward until his mouth is next to Alex’s ear. He gives the ear a little nibble and says, “Fucking destroy me.” As if he has superspeed, Alex manages to pick up Henry, slam him face down on the table, and pulls down his khakis and briefs to his ankles. Alex drools at the sight of Henry’s glorious ass, all bubbly and spankable. He raises his hand and brings it down on Henry’s ass, resulting in an echoey wave throughout the room. His ass simply jiggles as a faint red spot appears. “Fuck,” Henry mummers, “Never gets old.” “Well,” Alex starts as he raises his hand again, “Naughty boys deserve a spanking.” Another rough spank makes Henry squeal in pleasure as he begs for more. “Oh, daddy.” That’s music to Alex’s ears. Hearing a damn prince call him daddy is something that he never thought of hearing, but it’s the only thing he wants to hear during sex. “What’s my name?” Alex asks in a seduction yet stern manner, which nearly causes Henry to climax. “Daddy.” Henry begins sweating. “Please, Papi, take me already.” Fuck it. No, fuck Henry. His Spanish, or what bits of it he knows, triggers his animal instincts. He takes off both sets of pants, underwear, and shirts and tosses them to the nearest bookshelf. He uses his legs to spread apart Henry’s. He spits on his hand and uses it to help lube up his dick, which is easier thanks to Henry’s own spit and the precum from the blowjob. Alex aligns his dick with Henry’s hole. He can hear the slight begging from his lover, and it makes his dick throb even more. Slowly pushing it in, Henry lets out a loud, high-pitched, and extremely sexy moan. Alex leans down, making sure to rub all over Henry’s back, and rests his head on his shoulder. “How bad do you want me?” Henry can barely respond. Even though he should be used to Alex’s dick, the feeling never gets old. Just having it in him brings a level of pleasure that he only ever dreamt about. Alex begins pounding him slowly with rough thrusts. Henry’s ass jiggles with each moment Alex pounds the living daylight out of him. He can feel himself getting close. “Harder,” Henry manages to say at an audible level, “Faster. I’m so close that I want it to go all over this room. I want you to fuck me so hard that my come soars all over.” “Your wish is my command.” Without missing a beat, Alex increases his pace and power until the only thing that can be heard is a mix of an ass getting pounded and Henry’s moans. Alex sets himself back to his position of standing tall so he can grip Henry’s hips. Making sure his hands are tight enough, Alex begins bringing him further on his dick. Henry is in heaven. His dreams are coming true, literally. Ever since they officially began their relationship, he wanted to do something in the Oval Office, mostly because he was a huge history fan and wanted to relive that one moment. Now, he’s getting more than what he wanted, and he’s not complaining, mainly because he’s unable to say anything due to being so caught up in the pleasure Alex is giving him. A few short moments later, Henry is feeling pure bliss. Alex starts hitting his prostate, resulting in louder moans and more begging. It’s like the ultimate form of pleasure he can receive. “That’s the spot,” Henry says between his panting. The sweat is covering his face. “I’m almost there, keep going.” Not saying a word, Alex goes faster. Neither one can breathe properly, they can’t control their sweat, they can barely control themselves. Alex rubs his hands over Henry’s back as he leans down and kisses his neck. Seconds later, it’s over. Henry lets out the loudest groan as he comes all over the desk, with some get on the floor, which makes the room look like a shaken snow globe. Alex, on the other hand, decides to stay in and comes in his ass. Feeling the throbbing of Alex’s dick send tingles up Henry’s spin. He can also feel himself feeling up with some, something he’s not used to but wouldn’t mind it happening more often. After lying still for a moment to cool off, Alex slowly pulls out. A strand of come follows, but it breaks off and hangs out of Henry’s ass. Henry stands but has trouble being straight. He hasn’t felt this amount of pain since they used toys for the first time. “Damn, that was fucking fantastic.” Alex sits down in the chair and wipes some sweat off his face. “Yeah, but we gotta clean this up before anyone comes back.” “Don’t worry about it.” Henry goes over and sits in his lap. “We always leave no mess behind. Besides, Maybe I want a round two.” They start making out again and Alex squeezes Henry’s ass before he gives it another little spank. Henry gyrates his hips and Alex begins sucking his neck. They are too caught up that they don’t see the flashing red light on the camera in the corner.