#when I say progenitor I mean

[galehowl]

Small doodle of Holydramon, one of Tailmon's last forms in Aurora~

Her main and original evolution is Ophanimon, one of the ten Archangels and servants of Huanglongmon, also referred to as "Their Constellation/Stars" or "The Highest of High" in ancient past. In that form she was created, and in that form she served their ruler as a guardian of the nascent Digital world.

Holydramon is an alternative highest evolution she achieves as a partner digimon to a human, but it still marks her as a holy being and the progenitor of all the holy Digimon in their world.

[seithr]

Randomly remembered the half-reason i call my oc-verse by the name it has while laying in bed. One-half of the reason i still knew, but I had forgotten what had truly, really cemented it jointly until now

(it was a song from my favourite band I haven't listened to in a while.)

(the song fit so well at the time, still does, that i needed to hold onto it for the main protagonists forever, by partially naming their story in reference.)

Does this explanation make any sense? Does anyone know why I'm tearing up remembering this. Aahh

[transmutationisms]

from a non-academic, i find parts of comphet to be useful (heterosexuality becomes compulsory when you’re raised in a heterosexual society) but the foundations . suck. what do we do with theories like this, that have touched on a truth but also carry a lot of garbage? can we separate the truth from the founder?

i have to be slightly pedantic and say that i don't think rich's essay is an example of this phenomenon. my central issue with her formulation is its bioessentialist assumptions about human sex and therefore also sexuality. if i say "capitalism includes economic mechanisms that enforce heterosexual behaviour and exclude other possibilities", then what i mean by "heterosexual" is plainly not the same as what rich means—and for this reason i would seldom formulate the statement this way, without clarifying that i am talking about the enforcement of heterosexuality as a part of the creation and defence of sex/gender categories themselves. so rich and i do not actually agree on the very fundamental premises of this paper! rich was not the first or only person to point out that economic mechanisms as well as resultant social norms enforce heterosexual pairings; i actually don't even think the essay does a very clear job of interrogating the relationship between labour, economy, and the creation of sex/gender; she means something different and essentialist to what i mean by sex and sexuality; and i think her proposed responses to the phenomenon she identifies as 'compulsory heterosexuality' are uninteresting because they mainly propose psychological answers to a problem arising from conditions of political economy. so, in regards to this specific paper, i am actually totally comfortable just saying that it's not a useful formulation, and i don't feel a need to rescue elements of it.

in general, i do know what you're talking about, and i think there's a false dichotomy here: as though we must either discard an idea entirely if it has elements we dislike, or we accept it on the condition that we can plausibly claim these elements and their author are irrelevant. these are not comprehensive options. instead, i would posit that every theory, hypothesis, or idea is laden with context, including values held and assumptions made by their progenitors. the point is not to find a mythical 'objective' truth unburdened by human bias or mistakes; this is impossible. instead, i think we need to take seriously the elements of an idea that we object to. why are they there? what sorts of assumptions or arguments motivate them, and are those actually separable from whatever we like in the idea? if so, can we be clear about which aspects of the theory are still useful or applicable, and where it is that the objectionable elements arise? and if we can identify these points, then what might we propose instead? this is all much more useful, imo, than either waiting for a perfect morally unimpeachable theory or trying to 'accept' a theory without grappling with its origins (political, social, intellectual).

a recent example that you might find interesting as a kind of case study is j lorand matory's book the fetish revisited, which argues that the 'fetish' concept in freud's and marx's work drew from their respective understandings of afro-atlantic gods. in other words, when marx said capitalists "fetishise" commodities or freud spoke about sexual "fetishism", they were each claiming that viewing an object as agentive, meaning-laden in itself (ie, devoid of the context of human meaning-making as a social and political activity) was comparable to 'primitive' and delusory religious practices.

matory's point here isn't that we should reject marx's entire contribution to political economy because he was racist, nor is it that we can somehow accept parts of what marx said by just excising any racist bits. rather, matory asks us to grapple seriously with the role that marx's anthropologically inflected racism plays in his ideas, and what limitations it imposes on them. why is it that marx could identify the commodity as being discursively abstracted and 'fetishised', but did not apply this understanding to other ideas and objects in a consistent way? and how is his understanding of this process of 'fetishisation' shaped by his beliefs about afro-atlantic peoples, and their 'intelligence' or civilisational achievements in comparison to northwestern europeans'? by this critique matory is able to nuance the fetish concept, and to argue that marx's formulation of it was both reductive and inconsistently applied (analogously to how freud viewed only some sexuality as 'fetishistic'). it is true in some sense that capital and the commodity are reified and abstracted in a manner comparable to the creation of a metaphysical entity, but what we get from matory is both a better, more nuanced understanding of this process of meaning-making (incl. a challenge to the racist idea of afro-atlantic gods as simply a result of inferior intelligence or cultural development), and the critical point that if this is fetishism, then we must understand a lot more human discourse and activity as hinging on fetishisation.

the answer of what we do with the shitty or poorly formulated parts of a theory won't always be the same, obviously; this is a dialogue we probably need to have (and then have again) every time we evaluate an idea or theory. but i hope this gives you some jumping-off points to consider, and an idea of what it might look like to grapple with ideas as things inherently shaped by people—and our biases and assumptions and failings—without assuming that means we can or should just discard them any time those failings show through. the point is not to waste time trying to find something objective, but to understand the subjective in its context and with its strengths and limitations, and then to decide from there what use we can or should make of it.

[starbright349]

You Didn't Know? (Adam X Seraphim Reader)

In the celestial realm of Heaven, where ethereal beauty and divine beings reigned, lived a Seraphim angel named (Y/N). She had the sacred duty of caring for the children who had passed away and ascended to this heavenly abode. (Y/N) was a compassionate and gentle soul, radiating a warm light that comforted the departed souls in her care.

In this divine paradise, an unexpected love story unfolded between (Y/N) and Adam, the first man created by the Almighty. Adam, despite being the progenitor of humanity, had a penchant for mischief and a reputation for being a total prick. Yet, somehow, the celestial forces intertwined their destinies, and love blossomed between the seemingly mismatched pair.

After a few hundred years of dating, the two got married in Heaven. It was a beautiful wedding, and Adam didn't have to worry about losing his third and final wife to Lucifer, since she couldn't leave Heaven.

One day. when Lucifer's Daughter, Princess Charlie Morningstar. Came into Heaven for a meeting; (Y/N), Sera, and Emily greeted her at the gates of Heaven. "Greetings daughter of the Morningstar. I am Sera, the high seraphim of Heaven. You're gifted to be here." Emily squealed and walked up to Charlie.

"Hi! I'm Emily, the other seraphim. You can call Em, Emi, E, whatever you want. I go by anything." Emily giggled nervously, she wanted to say more but (Y/N) stopped her and put her hand on Emily's shoulder. "Emily. We talked about this; we don't want to scare them off, now do we?" (Y/N) turned to Charlie. "Hello Princess. My name is (Y/N), I'm the other, other seraphim. It is our duty and pleasure to welcome you to Heaven."

(Y/N) and Emily showed Charlie and her girlfriend Vaggie around Heaven for a short while. (Y/N) even led and showed them to their room where they would be staying until the trail.

It wasn't until then that Charlie noticed her wedding ring, she found it strange since Sera, nor Emily had a ring. "(Y/N), may I ask you a question?" "Of course, Princess. Ask me anything?" (Y/N) said with a smile. "Are you married? Because I noticed that ring on your finger and none of the seraphim's have it." (Y/N) looked at her ring finger, she smiled as a wave of nostalgia hit her.

She remembered how Adam confessed his love to her, the day he proposed to (Y/N), and the day they got married. All of Heaven showed up, Adam removed his mask for that day, Sera walked (Y/N) down the aisle, Emily was her maid of honor, and God himself was the one that pronounced them husband and wife.

"Yes, I am married. My husband and I have been for about almost 100 years now." Charlie's eye lit up with joy, "Oh~. And who is this lucky guy, hm?" (Y/N) chuckled and walked to the door. "You'll see him, I'll be sitting next to him during the trail. Good luck to you both." (Y/N) said and closed the door behind her.

*A few hours later*

As the trail was about to start, Charlie and Vaggie took their seats, while (Y/N) flew and sat down next her husband Adam and his friend Lute. "Hey babe." Adam said and gave (Y/N) a kiss on her check. Charlie started to (Y/N) in shock, and all (Y/N) could give was a little smile and shrug her shoulders.

Charlie leaned to Vaggie. "I didn't know such an asshole like him HAD a wife."

After everyone was here Sera spoke "We're gathered here today to determine whether or not a soul in Hell, can be redeemed into heavenly realm by means of this 'Hazbin hotel', Princess Morningstar?", Sera said wanting Charlie to speak up.

(Y/N) looked down to Charlie, holding hands with her husband underneath the booth. "Webster's dictionary defines redemption as-" before Charlie could speak Adam interrupts her "Objection, lame and unoriginal". (Y/N) sighed at his immature behavior and let go of his hand and bumped his chest gently with her elbow.

"Sustained. No further dictionary references please." Sera asked with a kinda sad look. "Right." Charlie was flipping through her cards making Adam roll his eyes. "If you have actually evidence, then show it already." He asks, glaring at Charlie. "We have a patron right now and he's making incredible progress."

Charlie defended and (Y/N) smiled, "Really? Then tell us Princess, who is this lucky patron?", (Y/N) asked. "Angel Dust" Charlie spoke. "Oh yeah, the porn demon. Yeah, he's totally worth being redeemed". (Y/N) looked at Adam. "Adam! Language!" Adam gave (Y/N) a confused look. "What?"

(Y/N) suddenly stood up, "Well then, if you know so much…what do you think it takes to get into heaven?", she spoke. It was quiet until Sera asked if Adam was okay.

He scoffed as he pulled out a golden paper from his pockets and a quill, "Give me a fucking moment, okay?", he then started writing and gave Vaggie the paper as she read it out loud, "Act selfless, don't steal, stick it to the man?", (Y/N) looked at Adam with a raised eyebrow and sat back down. He shrugged "Uh, yeah? Sure, got me here...didn't it? Right babe? Sera?", Adam ask as he looked his wife then Sera, seemingly questioning himself. Sera sighed before saying: "He was the first human soul in heaven."

In the following hours Charlie showed everyone the improvement of this soul called Angel dust. He did everything what Adam wrote on his list. He was selfless, he stopped one of his friends from stealing, and he stuck it to that awful man called Valentino, but nothing happened. Sera only sighed as she wanted to declare the trail as a failure and that we will see what brings someone to heaven when the first soul arrives. (Y/N) sat there with my head hanging.

She felt bad for Angel Dust, Charlie, and all of the other demons who wanted to try and make themselves better, especially when she looked over to Emily, who held the paper that Adam had written earlier with a sad look.

(Y/N) and Emily had always been very close, they considered each other to like sisters. Which why (Y/N) had asked her to be her maid of honor at her wedding, and if the time came, (Y/N) would be Emily's maid of honor when she would meet that special person.

Emily: But she was right, Sera. She showed us a soul can improve.

(Y/N): (Y/N) stood up again and flew next to Emily) He saw the light, Sera.

Emily: Checked all the boxes that you said would prove a person deserves a second chance.

(Y/N) Emily flew around the court room.)

(Y/N): Now we turn our backs, no second glance?

Sera: It's not as simple as you think.

(Y/N) and Emily looked up and Sera and flew up to her.)

Sera: Not everything is spelled in ink.

(Sera held (Y/N) and Emily's hands.)

Charlie: It's not fair, Sera!

(Vaggie places a hand on Charlie's shoulder)

Vaggie: Careful, Charlie, keep a cool head.

(Charlie pulls away)

Charlie: No! Don't you care, Sera? That just because someone is dead, it doesn't mean they can't resolve to change their ways turn the page, escape infernal blaze.

(Y/N) and Emily were on each side of Sera while still flying the air.)

Sera: I'm sure you wish it could be so. But there's a lot that you don't know.

(Lute interrupts Sera.)

Lute: What are we even talking' about? Some crack-whore who fucked up already? He blew his shot, like the cocks in his mouth. This discussion is senseless and petty.

(Adam and Lute flew to Charlie, as Adam held her face.)

Lute and Adam: There's no question to be posed! He's unholy, case closed. Did you forget that Hell is forever?

(Lute and Adam, flew on top of the crystal ball)

Adam: A man only lives once; we'll see you in one month. Gotta say, I can't wait to…

(Adam flew off the crystal ball and stood Infront of Charlie,)

Sera: Adam…

(Sera's eye widened but she was interrupted by Adam.)

Adam: Come down and exterminate you.

(Y/N) and Emily's eyes widened.)

Emily and (Y/N): Wait!

Adam: Shit…

(Y/N) and Emily flew down in front of the crystal ball)

Emily: What are you saying? Let me get this straight.

(Y/N): You go down there and kill those poor souls?

Charlie: You didn't know?

Adam: Whoops

Lute: Guess the cat’s out of the bag.

Adam: What’s the big deal?

(Y/N) looked up at Sera)

(Y/N): Sera, tell us that you didn't know…

Sera: I thought, since I'm older it's my load to shoulder

Emily: No!

(Y/N) put her hand on Emily's back for comfort)

Sera: You both have to listen; it was such a hard decision.

(Sera flew down to (Y/N) and Emily)

Sera: I wanted to save you; the anguish it takes to do what was required.

(Sera held (Y/N) and Emily's hands, she had flames in her eyes. (Y/N) and Emily looked at Sera with shock for a moment, until their looks turned angry.)

(Y/N): To think that we admired you, well we don't need your condescension.

(Y/N) and Emily tore their hands away from Sera, while they both flew in the air.)

Emily: Were both not children to protect! Was talk of virtue just pretension?

(Y/N) looked at Adam, who gave a worried look, she flew Infront of him.)

Adam: Babe listen-

(Y/N): Was I too naive to expect you to heed the morals you're purveying?

(Y/N) flew away from Adam, who had sadness in his eyes. She flew next to Charlie and Emily.)

Charlie: That's what the fuck I've been saying!

(Chalie held (Y/N) and Emily's hands. They flew on top on the crystal ball.)

Emily, Charlie & (Y/N): If Hell is forever, then Heaven must be a lie!

(Adam and Sera were trying to talk to them. But Emily and (Y/N) wouldn't listen.)

Sera: Girls

Adam: (Y/N)

Emily, Charlie & (Y/N): If angels can do whatever and remain in the sky. The rules are shades of gray, when you don't do as you say. When you make the wretched suffer just to kill them again.

Charlie: I was told not to trust in angels.

(Filled with rage that Charlie had turned his wife against him, he decided to reveal Vaggie secret.)

Adam: By her?

Lute: Ha! She should know.

Vaggie: We should go.

Charlie: No! Don't you see? We've come so close. Look at them fighting, they're at each other's throats.

Adam: Don't you act all high and mighty. Did you ever think your little girlfriend might be a liar?

Vaggie: Don't, Adam please!

Adam: What's the fuss? Why hide the fact that you're an angel just like us?

(The Crystal ball revealed Vaggie's old look as an exorcist angel. Charlie stared at it in shock, and fell to the floor)

*End of the song*

(Y/N) looked at Adam with disgust in her eyes, Adam looked at (Y/N) but his smirk was quickly feeling off his face when he saw (Y/N) with a disappointed look.

He tried to reach out and explain, but (Y/N) stopped him and flew up next to Emily and Sera. Sera had to breath in out to collect herself, she then spoke. "I'm sorry, but the court finds there is no evidence that souls in Hell can be redeemed."

(Y/N) and Emily were disappointed, they looked at each other with worry. Adam then stated that when the extermination comes, he's coming to Charlie's Hotel first. He snaps his fingers causing Vaggie and Charlie to be sent back to Hell

"Charlie don't give up on this!" (Y/N) said from above as Emily chimed in "We will figure something out, we promise!" (Y/N) held Emily in her arms, trying to comfort her. "That was uncalled for Adam." Sera said will looking down at him. "Yeah, but did you see the looks on their fucking faces." Adam said while laughing, but it stopped when he saw (Y/N) disappointed face again.

Adam face softened for a moment, "Sorry." That was thing said until he flew up Infront of (Y/N) face while she was still comforting Emily.

"I'll see you at home tonight, right babe?" Adam said while putting his hand on (Y/N)'s face. (Y/N) just pushed his hand away. "You shouldn't expect me to be home tonight... or any night for that matter." Adam wanted to try and convince (Y/N) to come home, but he knew it would be a bad idea with other seraphim's watching.

He flew away, leaving (Y/N) with Emily and Sera. It was a short silence when (Y/N) released Emily from her grasp. Emily spoke, "Extermination of human souls. Demon or not there is no reason to be doing this."

Sera spoke, as they eye of her hair and halo opened. "They were upraising, girls. It is my position as the head Seraphim to protect these souls at all costs."

Sera's eyes closed as she placed her hands on (Y/N) and Emily's shoulders. "It is your job to keep them happy and joyful and (Y/N)'s to care for the children of Heaven." "How can we fulfill our jobs when we now know that were causing so much pain to souls down in Hell. And me knowing that my husband is keeping secrets from me, his wife." (Y/N) said.

Sera quickly had answer for it. She told (Y/N) and Emily to let her about this and told them to go back to their jobs.

That night, (Y/N) made true to her word and refused to come home. Adam laid on the bed that he and (Y/N) shared, waiting for his wife to come home so he could explain himself. He never meant to keep secrets from her, he just wanted to protect her and everyone else in Heaven.

And despite his fuckboy nature, Adam really and truly loved (Y/N) and would anything for her. Even if it meant killing demons just to protect her.

[szkunas]

WANNA BET? ౨ৎㅤ suguru geto.

synopsis / premise ♱ㅤ when a lustful spirit comes across suguru geto’s path, the curse user must sacrifice his pride and dignity for a chance to obtain its power. but you won’t make it easy for him, will you?

featuring ♱ㅤ cursed spirit!FEM!reader X suguru geto (2017 / jjk 0 ver.)

warnings ♱ㅤ NSFW ♡︎ ㅤ spectrophilia ! monsterfucking (?) ! DEATH (not on any of them) + BLOOD ! EATING HUMAN FLESH (not cannibalism!) ! dub-con (both consent, but it involves a dangerous bet, so just to stay safe) ! sub and dom dynamics constantly changing (both switchers) but reader is usually domming ! unprotected sex + unrealistic portraits of sex ! creampie ! power dynamics ! rough sex / “hate” sex ! degradation + praise ! WORD COUNT: 4990.

author’s note ♱ㅤthank you for everyone who's enjoying and supporting my work! i love you all and i hope you like this piece as well. this is inspired by the poll i made a long while ago. the people asked, and they shall have it! despite it not being yandere character, be sure the next fics will fix that! <3

p.s — i write smut very rarely. i feel it's a little bland and ill probably avoid writing it for a little while lol. despite that, i hope you enjoy it nonetheless

BETTING WITH CURSES is always a dangerous ── not to say stupid ── idea. their conceptions are more violent and sadistic than those of humans, and they have little (or no) notion of mortality. they revel in the gushing blood, the failure, and the deadly despair that initially gave rise to them. therefore, it is uncommon for even the most experienced curse users to engage in this type of activity. but geto doesn’t know the meaning of fear. it became unfamiliar to him, like he always wished. curses are just the accumulated filth of non-sorcerers. and a god fears neither the insects beneath him nor the remains they produce.

the cult provides a good amount of spirits, with that rotten taste that is impossible to disguise. no matter how much spice or food is eaten afterward, it is always terrible, but today it goes down his throat much more easily. as much as it’s a good facade, gathering followers and getting a good reserve of curses to form the night parade of a hundred demons, it’s not enough.

all the spirits he consumes recently are mediocre grade 4s. sometimes a grade 3, or if he is extremely lucky, a grade 2. but it has become a rare occasion, and the spirits of non-sorcerers are as weak as their mediocre progenitors.

he doesn’t have enough, and if things go this way, he will have more of an amalgamation of weak and useless spirits than spirits strong enough to distract the sorcerers and help him fight his true goal. therefore, his free days, when not spent with his daughters and his fixation on crêpes, are used to hunt cursed spirits. usually, his followers help with this. the loyal sorcerers see each other as family, and are willing to work for the new world as much as he does. it doesn’t matter how much blood or sweat it takes, it doesn’t matter if he’s not alive to see it all, after all. no more being oppressed by insects. the true species must rise, and the time is coming.

patience, he tells himself. but haste is a curse of its own that affects every man at some point in his existence, making him lose himself in his tasks and concentrations. as he reclines on himself in what could be called the throne room, suguru watches as some of his fellow sorcerer help one of their own. he quickly approaches the confusion.

a woman with a flushed face and heavy breathing, one hand on her chest as if she was about to have a heart attack. sweat pours off her in a rush, as if her body is burning from the inside out. it’s rare that they don’t come back with even one spirit (as mediocre as it is, a curse is a curse, and he can’t afford to be selective at this point). then, suguru frowns. part of him genuinely cares, in a way he never could, if this woman didn’t have a technique.

“what’s the matter? i thought you were going after the spirit near shinjuku.”

“we were.” one of them answers. “but that thing is a beast. you can’t get close without feeling completely lost and attracted. it’s like a fog that enters your nose and mouth and consumes you from the inside. we nearly died. we can’t handle that, master geto. we apologize.”

he sighs, looking over at the poor woman. there’s something visibly wrong with her right now. her heart seems shaken by a powerful force, and this makes geto think that he shouldn’t underestimate this curse in question.

she looks around and practically latches onto any man she can see — even kissing a guy’s neck while he blushes and gently pulls her away. is it some kind of spirit that manipulates attraction? this is particularly dangerous for him. even though he is, well, him, suguru is still a man. the flesh is weak, and perhaps this curse will become a huge headache to deal with.

however, it could become one of his best weapons.

if a spirit like this keeps causing problems in kyoto, he will have more time to do what needs to be done in tokyo. he can already think about it — whatever form this spirit has, having sorcerers under their thumb. crushing their heads and buying him precious seconds to take care of his business. he can only imagine how the poor sorcerers will react, attracted to a beast.

“don’t worry about that anymore.” he assures the cult members, which turn their heads to him. their leader, their god. the one who’s going to make them rise to a new world. his voice is filled with the grace and confidence he usually has on his tone. but also something else.

determination. raw and pure.

“i will deal with the cursed spirit in shinjuku myself. please watch over mimiko and nanako while i’m gone. i will need just a few hours.”

while humans are extremely annoying, they have their uses. somehow. spirits like you, of thunderous strength, also have thunderous desires. technically, curses don’t need to eat, sleep, or reproduce like humans do. your existence and body made of pure cursed energy coursing through your veins transcends the need for these chores. but like everything that is unnecessary, it is not necessarily impossible. that’s why, as a curse, you know how to use what you have to attract victims. legends about women who attract men with their beauty and turn on them like vipers are very common. the idea of comfort turning to horror ── resting in the arms of a beautiful goddess only to discover that she is a beast shaped like a beauty ── is something that has generated many curses. just like you.

your long tongue curls around your fingertips, trying to absorb the blood that rests there. the body of the last unlucky person who came to try to get you rests at the foot of the motel room bed. it’s not difficult to blend in with humans, and sorcerers come to you like bees looking for honey. while sucking the blood from your fingers, your eyes look up to the dim lamp in the room. the moths accumulate, beating against the light and surrounding it desperately. your body stands up and walks out of the room while arranging your kimono sloppily over your shoulders. if you turn off a light, the moths are lost, without hope. their lives are all about chasing dangerous things. they are attracted to the light of a flame, following this wonderful source of illumination without knowing that it will lead to their death. just as mortal men (and women) allow you to do.

the body stays behind, not that it’s important. the others can’t see you, which means all they know is that a man walked into a room alone, and died inside. eviscerated and devoured as if destroyed by a modern movie zombie. your steps guide you away from cheap construction, and that’s a relief. the reception smells like mold, and the employee is more focused on playing solitaire than looking at whoever enters. the cold night air hitting you would be a problem if your stomach wasn’t full and well refreshed with warm blood. and, at the entrance to the parking lot, a man approaches. so he can see you. it wouldn’t be the first time a young guy approached you, hungry for some. you try to hide the blood in your hands.

you devour the hearts of humans, just as they would like to devour you (in other senses). however, he looks… different from the usual men you see around. high energy levels, as well as clearly being a sorcerer. he doesn’t look very old, maybe in his late twenties. this means that he doesn’t have as much experience as older men, but he is no amateur at sorcery. just as you fill yourself with meat, he also consumes something. you can’t tell just by looking, and it’s as disturbing as it is interesting.

okay, you’re full. but there’s always room for another one. especially a looker like this.

“mm, hey, handsome.” you purr, smiling cutely as you rest your hand on your waist.

“spare me. i know what you are capable of and what you really want. i’m not going to be your next meal, curse.” he smirks, circling around you.

well, that’s a fascinating twist. it reminds you of how many sorcerers have said the exact same thing, and in the end it ended up just becoming your dinner. however, this man seems less— consumable than the rest, but no less attractive.

the idea of eating him saddens you, because then you would lose him forever. not being able to see that pretty face after you eat it out of spite… it would be tragic. but maybe there’s a way of having fun, while still getting something out of him.

you lick your lips at the thought.

okay, this could be the opportunity you’ve been waiting for. a tall, handsome man with a large amount of cursed energy? he’s the kind of guy you don’t let get away. after so many snacks, a careful look always captures a good and complete meal. but perhaps you can do much more than devour him. it’s the kind of chance every girl dreams of ── in your own twisted and sadistic way, of course.

“can i get your name, handsome? or do i have to keep on the petname basis?” you tease, smirking softly.

he walks around you like a shark circles tasty prey. this cat and mouse game would scare away any other curse, this sorcerer doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to play with, which makes the interest you have in him doubled. your eyes follow his every movement.

“and while we’re questioning each other, what do you want? a fight?”

“i’m suguru geto. and what i want is very simple.” he steps closer, but you don’t budge, instead raising your chin despite the attitude. that makes his eyes widen softly and suguru scoffs. was he expecting you to be intimidated? “you.”

okay, that answer itself is not unusual for you ── many others have said the same thing to answer the very same question ──, but the new dynamic and opportunity this man presents is. an idea blooms in your mind like a poisonous flower: beautiful, but lethal if touched. it doesn’t look dangerous, it looks attractive and vibrant, but it is. and you are about to apply this in the most intense way you can imagine. a new thing, a new idea.

and like every creature beyond mortality, routine is boring and boring is despising for you. new things are exciting, captivating. he’s interesting.

“why don’t we make a small bet, hm? geto.”

he raises one eyebrow, interested. “i’m listening. and, please. call me suguru.”

the motel isn’t a very suitable destination — apparently, it’s not proper to go to a place where a corpse is —, but an empty apartment that a cult sponsor bought for him will do. suguru and you walk around while pulling up casual conversation and flirtation. everything seems surprisingly chill. maybe in another life, you two could be friends. maybe even with benefits? or— perhaps something else.

he doesn’t think your personality is bad, per see, but again. you seduce and eat mortals easily. maybe you’re just tricking him into lowering his guard. maybe in another life, you’re a pretty little thing who hugs his arm and allows him to take you home with genuine, good intentions. maybe in another life, you could like him genuinely. and he could like you back.

but you two don’t live another life — only this one. so, he’ll settle.

you’re barely past the door and he feels your lips on his. he smirks, grabbing you by the hair to pull you closer. it’s supposed to be an easy tatic — seducing you. he can absorb curses of grades that are at least two lower than his, or… any curse that surrenders.

as your tongue swirls around his, suguru feels a shiver run down his spine. you taste so— unbelievably sweet. nothing like any other one he’s every tasted. the sound of kissing takes over the apartment as you stumble over your feet to the bed.

this might be harder than he initially thought.

the bet is simple, somewhat. you will compete in something, your choice. whoever wins has complete control of the loser. which means — he wins, you’ll become one of his curses. you win? he’s yours. forever. whatever that means, you made that clear. you both explained your expectations and what you wanted from the other, deciding for a biding vow.

the competition you chose was sex. basically, whoever cums first loses.

and for some reason, suguru feels like he shouldn’t lose. he’s not sure what you’ll do with him once “he’s yours”, but he feels like it wouldn’t be a very opportune time for him.

you move to kiss his cheek, jawline, and neck. suguru sighs while throwing his head back. “you’re— eager.” he murmurs with a soft hiss. “i’ve never been with something like you, so, forgive me if i’m shy.”

he can feel the way you smirk against his skin, before you start sucking down and biting. he grabs you by the hair to pull you away, relishing in your flushed expression and how your voice sounds when you yelp.

“no hickeys, no bites. i’m not yours to mark, curse.” his fingers wrap themselves around your hair tightly to get the message across. your tongue slips out, long and eagerly licking your lips as you watch him. like a lion watching a zebra, about to feast.

“yet.”

your answer just sets him off. and the way you smirk, that damned, arrogant smile that he intends to rip off your face as soon as you get into bed — adamant on being a goddamn brat. oh, you’re going to be a handful.

in a way, he likes it (although suguru prefers to bite down his tongue, rip it off and swallowing it before admitting anything to you). there are those who say that victory without effort is just a poorly deserved achievement.

dragging you by the hair, geto’s eyes are following your every movement as you stumble on your feet. you’re having fun with this, he can tell. something twitches on his chest, and — he can’t decide on anger or attraction as he gets rid of his clothes. why is his body so hot? you haven’t even done anything yet.

“keep your word if you lose, curse.” suguru mumurs, looking down at you while pushing you to bed and moving to be on top of you.

“could say the same, suguru. and don’t call me that.” you spread your legs slowly, smirking as he helps you undress. “i have a name, you know.”

the fun thing about men for you is how predictable they are. they keep denying it over and over — i don’t love you, i’m not a bad guy for cheating on my girlfriend, you’re nothing special — while they’re devouring you with their eyes. someone once said the eyes are the window to the soul. you believe that to be true — after all, no one has interest in a meal they cannot see first.

his desire is palpable in the way suguru’s hands rush, pushing away layers of fabric that’s keeping him from actually seeing you. it looks like he wants to rip the clothes off your body and see what’s underneath, because his heart needs to he. he needs it, he needs you.

the words rushing through his mind make him stop for a moment. what is this thought? he needs you… ? he breathes heavily as you grab his wrist and guide it to your chest. suguru can feel it under his fingers and palm.

the soft feeling of your skin is truly inhuman. it sparks something inside of him — he can’t remember a day where he wanted someone this much.

“you’re staring, suguru.” you tease.

“shut up.” he grits his teeth, moving down to cup your breasts, his thumbs caressing your nipples.

“you like this, don’t you? dirty whore.” geto murmurs, his hands snaking down and grabbing your hips harshly while leaning down, latching his lips to your nipple. his other hand massages your breast and pinches it, and the vibrations of his soft moans make your skin shiver.

he shouldn’t like this so much, he knows that. but the way you taste — it’s not fair. he’s rock-hard after some kissing, pinching, teasing. mere foreplay is making his cock twitch on his pants. the way you moan is divine, and your hand comes down to play with his hair as he sucks on your chest.

your legs wrap themselves around his waist, and he presses you down against the bed, hovering above you eagerly. the stupid buddhist robes he uses as a disguise are falling off his body, and all he wants to do is rip the fabric off and set it on fire because it prevents skin-to-skin contact. he bites down your nipple, and you moan, moving your hands to tug off his clothing.

“do you have condoms on you?” he asks, and you snort.

“no. i can’t be affected by mortal diseases. i don’t need those.”

suguru murmurs something against your skin, feeling himself grow addicted already. a small piece of his brain is already wishing you were his, but not to send you to battle — to get you sat on his lap all day, as he kisses and sucks on your chest. you tug at his hair, watching the black strands falling down his back gracefully as he moves to kiss down your underbust, then stomach. lower belly. his purple eyes look up at your face as his lips part. the cult leader’s hands caress your body as if yearning to memorize the flesh with each touch. here or there, he gently squeezes or pinches to see you squirm. they pass through his arms, shoulders, down his sides and finally meet under his thighs, guiding them to rest on his shoulders.

the first contact of his mouth with your pussy is messy. a bit lewd. generally, younger men like this like to act slow, a bit torturing, to be certain of what they’re doing (and mostly, they’re not). but suguru dives in as if your cunt is the last meal he’ll ever put his mouth on. his attention is mostly driven to your clit, and you gasp, playing with his hair and squeezing his head between your thighs with a smile.

he’s good. you’ve experienced sex mostly using it as a weapon — men in particular are more susceptible because they’re not expecting it, but women also don’t expect to be eviscerated while they’re pleasuring you. but sometimes, when you do enjoy sex for fun, you gained experience enough to tell this man between your legs knows what he’s doing. his hands move to grab your waist and keep you from running away as he kisses your clit. suguru’s tongue draw out and he moves is head up and down slowly, teasingly.

you enjoy the sensations, shiver trailing up your spine and the pleasure already pooling on your lower belly. your body relaxes slowly against the pillows, and you chuckle.

“mm, enjoying yourself down there?”

he doesn’t respond, instead humming against your cunt. the feeling causes your body to tingle, and your fingers curl around his strands (which tells suguru he’s doing something right). he’s finding out how heaven tastes.

you’re more determined than ever that he’s yours, and he can see it in your eyes. the fire in your eyes rivals the fire in both of your bodies.

the flavor is indescribable. geto is no amateur at sex, although he feels like one now. exposed, naked and excited, he feels about to lose the bet that will define his destiny. a lot of people have passed by his bed, and he’s already received a lot of compliments about what he can do with his mouth, but the feeling of all those people feels like a weak breeze compared to what he feels with your taste on his tongue. it is divine.

he’s never experienced anything like it, and the idea that sex could be this good makes him feel like he could do it for hours, every day, all day. it’s almost invigorating, energizing, when he experiences you. his hips move here and there, thrusting softly every now and then. the flushed tip of his cock oozes with pre, and he believes he never got so turned on before.

it’s like he’s a college kid, a desperate virgin trying out pussy for the first time. his arms move, hooking them around your thighs, trying to spread your legs as he sucks on your clit.

you tug at his hair again, hissing.

“not fair, jerk. we need to compete in a way both of us can lose. quit it.”

he would deny it, but denying it would make it obvious geto could cum untouched just from eating you out. he complies, leaning back, your juices making his lips and chin glisten under the room’s lights. “alright, curse.” you tug at his hair again, and he groans. “stop that.”

“you need to get used to it. i’ll do it all the time once you’re mine. i'm going to make you eat me out everyday, like the good boy i know you are.”

he moves up, kissing your stomach and between your breasts while looking up. “don’t claim victory before it’s time.” his voice murmurs, pressing his lips against yours and hugging your waist. “lay back.”

you smirk. “no.”

you grab his shoulders, using your unnatural strength to surprise suguru. changing the positions, you get him to be under you, throwing each of your legs to the sides of his body. his hands move to grab your waist, and his eyes narrow as he frowns.

such a handsome, tall man — even when he frowns. once he’s yours, you promise yourself, you have a lot of fun.

“what are you doing?” he hisses, moving to sit up. your palm lays against his chest, pushing him down again as you raise your hips to rub your wet cunt against him. “fuck, fuck— you slut, what are you doing?”

both of you moan softly at the contact, and you lift your body with spread legs and a smirk that tells him: you’re going all in to win this bet. this is worrying.

once you sink, slowly and surely, he throws his head back with his eyes narrowing. a groan escapes his lips, and his muscles clench. geto’s fingers curl around your waist, sinking his nails to your skin desperately, leaving small, red half-moon marks that heal immediately.

if heaven exists, this is what it feels like — his mind is sure of that. your pussy clenching around him, the pure warmth and tightness from your hole, it drives him insane, speechless. his eyes almost fill with water, and the urge to explode is immediate.

he gasps, holding you down and trying to breathe properly. the sew attempt proves futile, deadly and failed. it’s like the air can’t reach his lungs properly, and for a second he thinks he’s going to die in this pure bliss and smiles to himself. but the charm disappears when he remembers the bet. it was a very, very close call that he didn’t came as soon as he felt you around him.

the want awaken in his body is primal. dirty and impure, there’s no other word for it besides carnal. he wants to grab you and pin you down, thrust into you and cum inside until he dies from exhaustion. this power is — dangerous. it scares him and pleases him in equal measure, being under such a powerful spirit. suguru’s concentration is split, divided, and growing weaker as you speak again.

“what’s wrong, suguru? i can feel you twitch.” you giggle softly, leaning in over him.

your next move throws him off guard. the sadism and fire in your gaze makes him raise an eyebrow, and before he can react, his hips move. down and then up, just to slam back down. it knocks the air off his lungs, and he moans loudly.

“oh, god.”

“no, baby, it’s just me.” you chuckle, staring to set a pace as you lean back. “mmm, sugu. you feel really good, you know? so hard and nice to ride. and so good for me.”

instead of resting against his chest, your hands grab his knees. your stunning, divine body that makes his insides curl and melt is leaned back, exposed in all your glory, and he forgets you’re a curse for a moment. convinced you’re an angel, he grabs your hips to help you ride, thrusting up against your movements.

suguru smiles softly to himself as he hears your soft moans. the sounds is delicious, drowning every worry out of him. he only remembers you’re a curse two minutes seconds later, when your tongue slips out your mouth to lick your lips, as if you’re enjoying a meal.

he feels like an animal, capable of thinking about only one thing: copulating. having sex and reproduce and if he fails in the latter, have sex again until every drop of semen is squeezed out of his body.

he tenses up, groaning. god be kind, he has no idea how he managed to hold on for so long.

“what’s your deal?” another moan quickly scratches his throat, and the heat is almost becoming unbearable. pooling in his lower belly, making his abs and muscles clench as he grinds against you, desperate.

“what are you talking about?” you chuckle, leaning in again and moving your hands up to play with your nipples. slowly — both to tease him and to avoid you cum too early and lose. softly.

“stop— smirking like that. it pisses me off.”

you lean in, playing with a strand of his hair and tugging on it gently. suguru tries to sit up, but you throw him back down, not willing to guv up your advantage. he’s close. you can feel it, see it, you can enjoy the way the head of his cock hits your g-spot sweetly.

the only surprise you feel is when a hand that’s not your creeps and settles between your legs. his thumb moves in small, fast circles against your clit, earning a moan out of you and making your chest inflate as you breathe in heavily.

there was a chance you might lose. if you weren’t you, you might’ve lost.

you pick up your pace, and his heavy breathing mix to yours. it’s fun, you think, you only breathe as heavily as mortals when you’re engaging on sex. it’s cute, it makes them think you’re like them. human. weak-willed, like the man twitching inside of you, urging for release.

but you can’t blame him. his touch drives you insane, you light up like a keg of gunpowder being ignited by flames. he needs to explode. he needs to. you’re settled by that.

suguru starts grunting, his thrusts into your warm, inviting cunt growing more eager and erratic. he thumbs at your clit, looking up at your expression. you smile, moaning his name lewdly.

“suguru.”

and— he feels it. rising so quickly his body has no reaction against it. his orgasm is hard, harder than he ever had it with any warm body or his desperate hand, alone on a corner. he sighs, pausing in between breaths to groan and moan. his eyes close, and his browns furrow up as he stares at the ceiling, gasping softly. his abs clench, he grunts

perhaps this is the true feeling of nirvana, of ascending. suguru believed he and the other sorcerers were true gods walking among earth. that sorcery was the only and true path to the ascension of humanity as a species and as individuals. but this? the feeling of thrusting his cum into your warm, wet velvety walls is the closest he ever felt to a god.

he breathes heavily, scratching your hips as reaction to pain — the overstimulation is hitting him as hard as a truck when you don’t stop moving your hips, eager for your own orgasm as you notice your victory. he grunts again, watching you fall apart on his cock as your turn finally arrives.

riding off your high, you enjoy yourself using him as a toy and personal dildo, you stop slowly to get off him. some of his cum spills out your cunt, fat drops falling to his abdomen.

suguru’s breathing calms down slowly, but his eyes widen in realization. he uses his elbows to prop himself and sit up, murmuring — his voice weakened and a bit desperate. a hint of fear creeps into his tone.

“wait. no, wait.”

you grab him by the neck, and he hesitates, looking up at you. his skin burns and a sinister chill runs through his body while his arms seem to be on fire, next to his neck. stunned by the intensity of his orgasm and what it means, he doesn’t even act while you help him rest his head against your chest. suguru stares at himself, shaking as he notices new marks on his forearms.

black, strong and serpentine, these marks against the skin form quickly, marking him now and forever. like tattoos he can never remove. he looks up, and you twirl a strand of his black hair around your index finger.

“you lost, suguru.” your voice coos sweetly, as if you pity him. but you don’t. you don’t have that mercy on you. “and you know what that means?”

you giggle, and he shivers again as he feels your lips gluing to his ear. you murmur lovingly, as if you’re not deciding his fate.

“you’re mine.”

thank you for reading <3

[tarjapearce]

Grandma's Visit.

Warnings: Drama, mild angst, Strained Relationships. Comfort towards the end. No proofread

Summary: Conchata wants to meet Benji.

A/N: There might not be updates, but have this little piece as an offer :')

Hey

Gabriel's leg bounced as the main door was closed, a bit of a slam on it. His hands immediately fetched his phone.

Migue

Busy right now.

Drop that shit and listen

?? ¿Qué pasó?  (What's wrong?)

Mamá va para allá, cabrón.

The fuck you mean she's on her way? Did you tell her where do I live?

Miguel, it's mom we're talking about.

The eldest O'Hara sighed and raked a hand over his hair. He was definitely not prepared for what laid ahead.

She wants to meet Benjamin.

Miguel's body tensed as his muscles flexed so tightly, one would think he'd break. And it wasn't far from the truth.

Conchata. Or Connie for her friends, was the ever annoying stone on his shoes. Miguel had refused to have her in his wedding. Not out of spite, rather for the  notion he had of his beloved progenitor. He knew that trouble followed her everywhere and if it wasn't following her like an overly attached stalker, is cause she was the problem itself.

Conchata was anything but easy to be around. And things had gone even more acrid after the wedding. Miguel never told you about the fourty five minute call she made him just to say how much of a bad son he was for not inviting her over.

But Miguel knew better, if he'd had her, she'd either complain about everything, ruining the mood for everyone. Or she'd start making snide comments on you and he'd get pissed, some drama would ensue causing an even bigger and jagged rift between them and his wedding would be ruined.

"Hey"

Your gentle and soft touch grounded him, anchored his mind back to his body, as his attention snapped back at you.

"You ok?"

His eyes felt tired and heavy. Unable to meet your gaze completely.

"I'll be."

You cradled him in your arms and kissed the top of his forehead. The touch alone melted him. His own arms embracing your shorter form, that somehow did the perfect work of comforting him and ease his thoughts. But when it came to his mother, little good things came out from it.

"My... eh-" He cleared his throat, "My mother is coming for a visit"

Oh...

"What she could possibly want after so many years?"

"Meet Benjamin."

Even though his words seemed simple, the clenching of his fists until his knuckles turned white, only dictated it was far from being that. Miguel didn't fear his mother, but feared and hated the words that could possibly escape her mouth when things weren't her way.

His wellbeing would be the sacrifice for the visit, cause he'd do anything possible to avoid you or his children get hurt.

"I swear, if she says or does something stupid-"

"Mi reina, let me handle her, ok?"

Your lips pursed and your brows deepened in a soft furrow.

"I won't hesitate-"

"I know. But please. Just, let me, ok?"

Both of you knew that things weren't going to be easy, his distress was obvious, he knew you'd step in if necessary, but he had to face her, it was more like a closure for him than anything. His baby boy wouldn't suffer the dooming and cursing words she gave him so many years ago. Words he learned to loathe as he grew up.

"Alright."

----

Maybe Gabriel's heads up was a false alarm, because nearly a week had gone by. A week of pent up stress and anxiety from both sides. And you could tell from Miguel's demeanor changing.

Even though being loving and a great father remained on the top list, you knew better than that. He'd been found asleep in his office after dinner, or would shut out himself for some little minutes. You'd give him space, and when he needed you, he'd always know where to find you.

He didn't even required to say 'I need you' cause you knew. His body language over the years had been a great subject of study, specially when it came to anxiety and other negatives that always switched on whenever his mother popped up in a conversation, or when something didn't sit right in his gut.

He'd pace, pick at the skin around his nails hard enough to draw blood, chew at the insides of his cheek, drink alot of more coffee to keep himself awake, grumpier than usual, irritated, short replies for everything outside his beloved family.

With you he'd be clingier than usual, he'd spoil Gabi over to avoid thinking too much. He'd pour himself into being that amazing and loving parent he never had, but at night, he'd just hold you until he fell asleep. He'd clutch onto you so tightly that sometimes you'd have little bruises, barely visible ones, in the places he'd hold.

Your comfort skills poured into his preferred love language. Physical touch. You'd play with his hair until he fell asleep, a little purr coming from him before giving into sleep, you'd caress his back in soothing circles, letting the steady beating of your heart lull him to calm.

You'd kiss his face, showering him in affection, as if with every kiss a bit of his worries would go away.

The knock on the main door however interrupted his train of thoughts. You had gone to the supermarket to get some stuff you had forgotten for dinner. Relief washing over him as you now we're home, or so he innocently had thought. All air was caught in his throat upon seeing none other than Conchata on the front door.

Even for her age, Conchata had some beauty reserved. Her skin tone same as Miguel's, soft curls that lingered above her shoulders, deep brown eyes that if one looked close enough, would see the deep red in them. Tall and seizing him with a look he also learned to master.

A scowl disguised as a smile.

"Miguel. "

"Mamá."

A too common and long pleasantries shared between the both.

She hasn't aged much.

Miguel's mind chanted.

"You're gonna let me in to meet my grandson, or what?"

A bushy brow of his quirked, blasé and bored, but he stepped aside. His whole frame had curbed her for long enough.

Here we go

Her scrutinizing gaze was unstoppable against the nakedness of his home. Her eyes raked in every little detail out of place, loading her verbal ammo with it.

"Where is the baby?"

"Asleep."

Monotone and monosyllabic answers that matched his expression was all she could pry from him. It was ridiculous the amount of pictures you seemed to have about Gabriella. She saw her when she was two, then six. Staying in Miguel’s life wasn't something she actually liked to partake on. Too busy with her own demons and new boyfriends to care.

Why would she? He was already a grown ass man.

A man that refused to have her at his own wedding. A past resentment that has lasted over the years and her own mind had been feeding the fester inside her heart. It didn't help you had one of the wedding pictures scattered around the living room.

The few proofs she  needed to see, to know she wasn't welcome, but knowing her son had his own now, was another excuse to see what kind of man and father Miguel had turned out to be.

His arms crossed on his chest as she sat down in one of the seats in the couch.

"Come."

"I'm fine here, thanks."

"I'm trying to be civil. The least you can do is obey your mother for once."

"Why you came?"

"I told you. I need to see my grandson."

"Whatever for?"

Her eyes hardened at his words, but a sigh escaped her lips.

"God, you're so like your father. Always mistrusting people."

"You need to leave."

Hearing her say such curse, made his heart beat even faster. Hands clenched tightly at his sides. Eyes away from her, like if the mere sight of her brought back so many unpleasantness he had fought hard to work them through.

"I won't leave until your... woman shows up and throws me away."

"She will."

"Of course she will. You're not man enough. Just look at this place. A mess."

"And?"

Miguel knew that paying and baiting into her games, would only hinder so. many years of progress he had done on his own. But would also mean to give her the attention she desperately seeked, even if it meant to do it the wrong way.

"What do you mean, and?! What does she does around all day?" Conchata huffed, " In my times the wife was the one that kept everything in check. I've seen nothing but a mess so far."

"Sorry for that."

Your tired and irked voice echoed from the kitchen's door. Miguel gave you a little smirk.

"Have been busy being a real mother this whole time. Miguel, mi amor can you defrost some vegetables, please?"

"Sure do. Found everything?"

You both were purposely ignoring her. A silent yet powerful statement.

You have no power here.

Conchata's eyes set like stone into you. How dared a tiny flea like yourself to speak to her in such way?. And even worse, how could his son be lenient in allowing you to be disrespectful towards her?

You had entered quietly, the heavy and draining aura could be felt even from outside. You had told Gabi to wait outside and rearrange the groceries in the meantime.

" Oh, I didn't know you had returned."

Your name rolling off her tongue felt wrong.

" It's my house too."

"Ah, of course. You didn't do a pre-nup. Te va a dejar en la calle, Miguel." (She'll leave you bare)

Conchata's gaze never left you, it only turned even more intense as her pupils followed you every step.

"I came here to meet my grandson. Where is Gabriella? "

Said precious child helped you to get the bags from your car, while Conchata opened her arms for Gabi to cuddle her. But everything that came out was her hiding behind you, while looking between you and her, as if asking permission.

"Do you want to greet grandma, baby?"

Gabi only recoiled back, hiding further from you.

"Guess not."

You shrugged and instructed Gabi to go to her room, your eldest baby ignored her grandma.

"Muy chistosa tu mujer, enseñándole a mis nietos a irrespetarme ." (Your woman is so funny by teaching my grandkids to disrespect me.)

Miguel had to roll his eyes and stare at her boringly as he pulled out the vegetables and put them to thaw while you clenched your jaw by the sudden resented babbling that came from your mother in law.

"Where is Benjamin? I came here to see him. And I'm sure you'd love to have me here again."

"He'll be up in a minute. Would you like a a glass of water?"

Miguel offered but Conchata was already set in making you as uncomfortable as possible. And when Benjamin was brought in, rubbing his sleepy and baby face, looking for you, Conchata stood and took Benji from Miguel's arms. Holding him with such disingenuous affection it made Benji to reach for Miguel instantly.

You tensed, and so did Benjamin as Conchata admired him. If it wasn't for the skin tone matching Miguel’s, one would think that Benjamin wasn't his. Benjamin had your curls. And not Miguel's soft waves. Benjamin was the splitting image of you with a bit of Miguel's DNA painted in a few selected places. Like his eyes and height.

"I'm actually surprised you managed to pop out his children. Miguel is... big. Got it from his father."

"Didn't care much about that, ma'am."

"No se parece en nada a ti, Miguel. ¿Estás seguro que es tu hijo?" (He doesn't look like you. Are you sure he's your son?)

You didn't know what infuriated you more. The fact that she hinted that Benjamin wasn't his, a shallow and not so subtle hint at Miguel's past, or the pleased smirk her mouth turned into after spilling out the venom and seeing Miguel's discomfit grow.

Some people couldn't be helped. And Conchata truly couldn't help but love hurting her son. But you weren't having it. Not when Miguel's eyes turned away from her, not in hurt but in such anger that even you knew things wouldn't end up good for neither. And still, he regarded her with uninterested eyes.

His lack of engagement at her taunts, made her even more lashing. Like a little child that refused to have her whims met.

Even worse when Benjamin started to fuss and reach for him with a nervous cry. Even he felt odd and icky around her. You took Benjamin from her, cooing and soothing him, but he wanted Miguel. Who gladly took his precious baby, away from Connie. Inspecting him for any damage to finally kiss the top of his forehead, reassuringly.

You're safe.

"Si ya termin�� de incomodarnos, creo que se puede ir, señora." (If you're done making us uncomfortable, you may go, ma'am.)

Her eyes widened at your spanish. It was clear that you had understood everything she had said, but were wise enough to not lose your temper, yet you fought back.

"Remind me to never visit you again, please."

"As if you ever do that. And no, it's not an invitation."

"Escúchame bien, chamaco ingrato-" (Listen to me you ungrateful brat)

"Ma'am."

You weren't one for yelling, but your voice was firm enough to have three pair of eyes set on you, Benjamin's fussing stopped. Conchata's lips turned into a scowl at your words.

"Thanks for your visit."

"You know, you could've settled for something better-"

"Así estoy bien, gracias. Now, if you excuse us, We've got dinner to make. The door is right there." (Im just fine. Thanks)

She left with a slam that had Benjamin cry out of the jumpscare.

Miguel hushed and rubbed his baby's back in little circles to keep him calm before giving his pacifier.

" You ok? "

Your hand squeezed Miguel's for a moment while he kissed your temple gratefully.

" Yeah. She's gone. That's why exactly I didn't invite her to the wedding or meeting you."

"It's alright. God... she's-"

"Annoying. I know. Sorry you had to hear all that."

"Nah. I'm glad you taught me cause, damn... Her face upon hearing me speaking it, was priceless. And just for you to know, I was about to explain how we almost made Benji on the car."

Miguel snorted and nodded, knowing you would. You had each other's back and that wasn't up for discussion.

" Te amo."

You mumbled in his ear before stealing a kiss from his lips.

" También te amo."

[windvexer]

Linking cards does not mean creating "combo meanings" out of 2 cards. It means drawing a map that shows the roads between 2 cards.

Potentially hot tarot take, but linking tarot cards is not mashing 2 cards together and coming up with "third definition."

I believe that tarot readings are deeply contextual. The question at hand provides context (which is why 'general' readings can be a struggle), and cards link together to create a narrative that is anchored to the question.

"Sun + 8/Cups means wish fulfilled" isn't tarot. That's like, Lenormand.

Tarot is a craft beyond deck structure. Tarot also speaks with its own language (like lenormand or runes) and being able to read tarot requires an understanding of that language beyond memorization of cards.

A major part of the language of tarot is being able to describe how cards relate to each other.

Linking cards together means discovering the flow of information between cards, as they relate to the question at hand.

That flow is not necessarily a combination of meanings.

It is probably better understood as drawing a map that explains how you get from one card to another, and what one card does to another without necessarily transforming the basic nature of either.

"The happiness in the Sun card slows down when it reaches the 8/Cups, which is surrounded by cards that relate to contemplation and meditation. Here, the Sun + 8/Cups link together to show hope shining on ideas that you have not yet decided to carry out."

But that all must be grounded into the context of a question.

Advice spread: "The Sun + 8/Cups show that there is hope, but nothing will happen until you stop contemplating and choose to take action."

Spirit contact spread: "The Sun + 8/Cups show this spirit's strong support for you thinking things through on your own."

Future prediction spread: "The Sun + 8/Cups shows that a joyous event will bring you to a place of contemplation."

If you fail to link the cards, the readings instead might look like:

Advice: "The Sun says to be positive, and the 8/Cups says think about your options."

Spirit contact: "The Sun shows the spirit is happy with your relationship, and the 8/Cups says opportunity is at hand. Maybe it's time for your relationship to grow."

Future prediction: "The Sun shows something really good happening, maybe related to money. After that, you will have a lot of options open up to you."

Even if we examine the future predictions side-by-side, they are not as similar as they seem.

With flow, "the Sun + 8/Cups shows a joyous event will bring you to a place of contemplation." Will bring is the clause that shows how these two cards relate to each other.

Because of how we link the Sun, we have additional knowledge about the 8/Cups.

The Sun card provides context, explanation, or modification of the 8/Cups. Now, we know how the 8/Cups starts, and what events it is related to. The points on a map (Sun, 8/Cups) are now linked together by a road that shows a journey from one to another.

The presence of the 8/Cups provides context, explanation, or modification of the Sun.

Because of the 8/Cups, we are able to predict where the Sun is going. We understand its role in the story (it brings contemplation). The Sun gains lore in the story of the spread; it is not just "a good event," but now also a progenitor and a necessary waypoint in the map of the future.

Without flow, "the Sun shows something really good happening. After that, you will have a lot of options open up to you."

Without flow, neither card modifies the other. The Sun is not understood to be something that causes options to open up. This would be like saying, "first your dishwasher warranty comes through. Then, you get a coupon book with a lot of fast food options." Just because one happens before the other does not mean there is flow between the two things.

Without flow, we do not know where the options described by the 8/Cups come from. We do not know what other events they relate to.

Without flow, we don't know what good things the Sun card relates to. We don't know where things go from there. We don't know if there is any link at all between the Sun and the 8/Cups.

Card linking is more like forging links in a chain that describe how things are related. It is less like melding 2 cards into a 3rd meaning.

There are tarot exercises, which are very useful, that involve melding 2 cards together into a 3rd meaning. This can help stretch the brain and play with concepts of "picture reading" and creatively brainstorming meaning.

But this does not mean that card linking is card melding.

[gemsofgreece]

Hello! Do you (and other Greeks) find "Hellenic polytheism" an acceptable term for the religion worshipping the ancient Greek gods? If not, what would you want people to call it instead? I feel strongly that I would not be able to change my belief itself, but I definitely want to be respectful in what I call it and my other actions

Hellenic Polytheism should be fine. You can introduce yourself as a Hellenic Polytheist.

People have a bit of a hard time with this hell of terms (get it? he he), so I am gonna create a mini-lexicon. It's not targeted to you in specific to use all these, it's just for whoever is interested to clear this up in their minds.

A very hellenic lexicon

Hellás = 1) the official term for Greece and the only one ever used by Greeks themselves (there is no equivalent of "Greece" in Greek), 2) a historical ancient region in central mainland Greece where southeast Epirus and southwestern Thessaly meet and where a lot of Achilles' soldiers supposedly originated from, 3) the administrative region of central mainland Greece during the Byzantine Empire

Hellenic = anything Greek (like you may say "this is an american movie", that's why you can use hellenic polytheism, because it means "greek religion of many gods"). And by anything Greek, we mean ANYTHING. Care to know what the "Greek Orthodox Church" is called in Greek?

You guessed it! Hellenic Orthodox Church...! So you see, how when foreigners say some things like "i'm hellenic, hellene, hellenist" like "what hellenic are you? coffee? bank? Christian?" You know?

Hellen = the mythological progenitor of the Greeks according to Hesiod. Not to be confused with Helen.

Héllene = a Greek by descent, nationality and / or ethnicity. And if we are being totally accurate, it's a Greek male. I don't actually know how it is pronounced in English but ideally keep the last e silent. (By the way we do not pronounce that h in the beginning in all these words for the last 1500 years or so.... just saying.)

Héllenes = the Greeks, just men or mixed. The last e is NOT silent.

English does not have gendered nouns but Greek does so technically there is a seperate word for Greek women but I don't know if this is transferable to English. If we could do it in theory and by following the trasliteration style of the Hellene, it should be something like:

*Hellenís / Hellenidae or Hellenides = Greek woman / women*

Hopefully this explains why random foreigners identifying as "Hellenes" is exremely problematic.

Helladic = pertaining to the geography and territory of Hellas and whatever happens strictly within its borders

Hellenisation = spread of Greek influence and culture, it is also used for cases of Greek assimilation in ancient times

Hellenistic = 1) something being characterized by particular Greek influence, 2) referring to the era after the Classical period and before the Roman period

Hellenicá = 1) the Greek language, 2) (infrequent) Greek matters, documented topics about the Greeks

Hellenism = The complete Greek culture, civilization and nationhood, the essence of being Greek.

Hellenist = 1) a specialist in the study of Greek language, literature, culture, or history, or an admirer of the Greek culture and civilization, 2) a person who adopted the Greek customs, language and culture during the Hellenistic period, 3) now, the English Wiktionary also adds the "a follower and practitioner of Hellenic religion" <- which one of the two??? XD, clearly following the trend of western classicist circles. In the Greek Wiktionary for the same exact term (Ελληνιστής) that last interpretation does not exist and I can guarantee you it is officially rejected. Here's why: the suffixes -ist and -ism (as well as all suffixes here) are suffixes of Greek origin and they signify that someone is something or is passionate and dedicated to something on the superlative or very very earnestly, essentially. So when someone says they are a hellenist, they are supposed to be dedicated or charmed by anything that makes something hellenic, not to be professional cherry pickers. Of course, everyone is allowed their preferences, however you can't be interested in a super specific / niche thing like a religion mostly practiced 2000-3500 years ago and simultaneously show complete disregard and ignorance on literally everything else about this civilization, history and its living people and call yourself a hellenist. It tears the word apart. By the way this is not targeted at you. You are here asking about it, wanting to do the right thing. I am referring to this thing happening in this forum that @alatismeni-theitsa 's Anon was complaining about; they obsess over the ancient religion and they hate everything Greek post the AD mark. That's not being a Hellenist. That's not a Hellenism forum. That's the exact opposite in fact. Very few people can correctly claim the term "hellenist".

BONUS: Philhellene is kind of synonym to "hellenist" and it means "friend / lover of the Hellenes and all things hellenic". But again it can surely be misused. Not all self-proclaimed Philhellenes were ones indeed. Some, like Lord Byron, were Philhellenes through and through, on the other hand.

Of course, one definitely does not have to go through what Lord Byron and other great Philhellenes of the 19th century went through to prove they are a Hellenist or a Philhellene! My point is that very very few people can correctly claim the identity of a Philhellene or a Hellenist.

Therefore, "Hellenic polytheist" is just fine.

[lillified]

maybe a little bit too specific of a question. but. You mentioned that all cybertronians have "progenitors"- i was wondering if any of the original primes had contributed their parts to creating other bots? (follow up question if that's true: is it considered a "sacred bloodline" (energonline?)? are there small traces of the og primes in every cybertronian? something else?)

I love this question!!

Cybertronian lineages are a bit complicated—just to clarify the “progenitor” thing a little more, I’d say they’re sort of like fungus, coral, or jellyfish. When I say they contribute genetic material or parts to offspring, I mean that they literally do contribute physical parts of themselves which eventually grow into an entirely separate organism, and that reproduction can happen completely asexually, where the resulting Bot is a 1 to 1 clone, or “sexually,” where multiple ‘Bots contribute organic material to a single offspring resulting in not only greater variance, but a reduced negative physical impact on the “parents.”

While the exact historical timeline of most of the Primes is not known, it is concretely believed that, with one very notable exception, none of them have “ancestors.” Though they are known as originators, Cybertronians aren’t directly descended from them, and the early genetic groups were instead more like cousins or siblings to eachother. Those disparate groups eventually commingled and that resulted in the modern Cybertronian diaspora.

The reason for the Primes never “reproducing,” at least not publicly, is political/theological. There’s a lot of religious baggage tied up in the hierarchy of Cybertronian life where the Primes are the first and most perfect beings, so any one of them having a descendant would raise a lot of understandable questions about the Godhand and its implications on the rigid divine hierarchy’s mutability—in short, it would be a bit of a mess! The Matrices are a halfway solution to this problem, but before I get into those, I should probably mention the Notable Exception.

So, there is one Prime with technical “offspring,” and that is Quintus. The Quintessons are Quintus Prime’s creation, and though they were deliberately engineered in a process that is quite a bit more complicated, they do have his CNA. Their existence very famously led to the end of the feudal hierarchy and a new era of caste-based determinism where social value and divine right were assigned via function. The Quintessons brought about an era where old flesh was no longer immutable and absolute, opening the floodgates for the philosophy of mechanization and new flesh. This (and the fact that, well, most of the original Primes are dead now) is why he is the exception—every acting Prime knows that the Godhand is dangerous.

That said, though, there is certainly an impetus for successors, and that’s where the Matrix came about. Because the exchange of genetic material isn’t always 1 to 1, you don’t have to be a direct parent to pass on material to another ‘Bot, or vice versa. In the right conditions, with the right material, a Cybertronian can absorb somebody else’s material to become genetically similar to them.

A Matrix is an isolated piece of an original Prime. While it’s hardly enough to overwrite the host organism, the Matrix bearer essentially integrates that material, absorbing the polyp sort of like a parasitic twin in utero, and technically changing the bearer’s CNA. So, in that sense, you can say all Primes are descendants of the originals!

Sorry for the long response, I hope this gave you the info you were looking for! I loved this question and I’ve put a lot of thought into this subject :)

[theresattrpgforthat]

SYSTEM OVERVIEW: Forged in the Dark (FitD).

I’m taking a break from my regular recommendation posts this week to talk about a few different indie ttrpg systems that have gained a lot of traction over the past few years - how they work, why I like them, and what kinds of games there are out there that use them!

I don’t think it’s a secret that I’m a big fan of Forged in the Dark games. I’ve sung the praises of games like Brinkwood, Slugblaster and The Wildsea time and time again, and I’m even designing my own FitD hack! So let’s talk about what makes this system tick.

The Action Roll

The core mechanic of Forged in the Dark games is the Action Roll. To do most things in these games, the player will have to assemble a small pool of d6s. These dice may come from skills, special abilities, inventory - it depends on the game, but you’ll usually have somewhere between 0 and 4d6 to roll.

When you roll, you look for the single highest dice (or multiple highest, if you manage to get two 6s). If your best result is a 1-3, you’re not going to get what you want. If your best result is a 4/5, you’ll probably get a success with a cost - whether that be harm, only part of what you want, or more trouble down the road. If you get a single 6, you do it - and if you get multiple 6s, you do it well!

What I like about this is that it’s easy to tell at a glance how well you do, and that the dice used for this system are the most accessible dice on the market. Not only that, the possibilities of a 4/5 are quite broad - you could have a consequence that is physical harm to the character, but you could also embarrass them, break their stuff, or just hint at bad things to come!

But Mint, how do you roll 0d6? Well, in particularly difficult scenarios, the player will roll 2d6 and take the lowest number instead. This originates from the progenitor of Forged in the Dark games, Blades in the Dark, which is meant to be particularly difficult and punishing.

Position & Effect

Another core mechanic of FitD games is Position & Effect. These are narrative tools that help the GM communicate to the players how dangerous the proposed plan of action is, as well as how likely the characters are to succeed.

Position is going to be Controlled, Risky or Desperate, indicating how much danger the characters are in, but also the stakes of failure. Failing a Controlled roll means you’re probably going to get out of there with minimal harm, or possibly a chance to try again. Failing a Desperate roll means that shit is going to hit the fan, and you’re going to be caught up in all of it. Risky rolls are somewhere in the middle, and considered the "standard" difficulty.

Effect is a metric for how successful your character is going to be. Picking a lock might not be dangerous, but if your character isn’t a thief and doesn’t have any lock-picks, they might not be very effective! Players can alter the effectiveness of their actions by changing how they go about solving a problem, using the gear they have on hand, or agreeing to approach the problem from a more desperate Position.

What I like about this is that Position & Effect encourage conversation and agency between the GM and the players. The players have final say over what they do, but the GM is able to communicate why they feel certain approaches may be more or less effective. The story is generative, and the way the rolls are adjudicated allow all of the parties to contribute to what happens next.

The Resistance Roll

Related to this conversation about agency is the Resistance Roll. If a player doesn’t like the consequence that the GM hands out, they can choose to Resist the consequences. They usually do this by rolling a certain number of resistance dice, and spending a player resource called Stress. (Other games use other names.) Depending on the consequence, the player might resist it outright or reduce the severity, but spend too much stress and you run into different kinds of consequences - whether that be Trauma (Blades), Trouble at Home (Slugblaster) or something unlucky (Antiquarian Adventures). Stress can be managed during a phase typically called Downtime, through various activities dependant on the setting.

I like this mechanic not just because it gives players agency, but also because of the Stress track tied to it. This is a player resource but it can also be a track pointing a change in the character, a chance to build in narrative themes, or a reason to role-play certain narrative effects. Many different FitD games use Stress in a number of unique ways, and I think tweaking this element can do a lot to determine the tone of the game.

Crew Sheets

This leads to the next bit of Forged in the Dark games that I really like - Crew Sheets. Similar to a number of other narrative games, FitD has character playbooks (which are kind of like character classes in D&D, but also are a carryover from PbtA games - I’ll talk about them more in the PbtA post), but Forged in the Dark games also have a uniting theme that gives your players a reason to work together.

In Neon Black, this is your local community, which both takes care of you and asks you for favours. In Moth-Light, this is your Pact, which determines not just your group’s goal, but also the tone and themes of your story. In Brinkwood, this is your Rebellion and the Faerie patron who is taking care of you - but it’s also the Mask playbooks that all of the players share, with special magical powers that help you fight Vampires.

Modular Systems

There are bits and pieces that also exist in FitD games that help define the experience. Clocks, for example, are abstract representations of looming consequences or player goals, and allow you to work towards a big pay-off over time. Factions can represent a changing social landscape, with friends and foes that you can turn to for help or strike out against in order to gain ground. Harm can alter how many dice you roll, or how effective you are when acting. These are interlocking pieces, but they’re not necessarily required.

Most of what I’ve covered in this post is not strictly necessary for a Forged in the Dark game. The Wildsea doesn’t use Stress or pre-set playbooks. Protect the Child doesn’t use Trauma. Scum & Villainy adds a Gambit mechanic that gives you extra ways to earn dice. Slugblaster changes how you Resist consequences, and External Containment Bureau moves the Clock mechanic to the front and centre, while doing away with Factions pretty much altogether. All of these games have enough pieces to be considered Forged in the Dark, but the play experience is very different, and each mod included, altered or dropped are usually choices that support the genre or tone of the game.

I’ve talked about a number of Forged in the Dark games in the past, but here’s a few more that I’ve got my eyes on.

Dusk Academy, by Skullery Maids, is a game about a private school for teaching magic to girls.

CRASH/CART, by Galen Pejeau, is a game about paramedics in a near-future California.

a|state, by Handiwork Games, is a game set in a strange and Dickensian city.

Girl By Moonlight, by Evil Hat, is a game about magical girls, mech pilots, and other larger-than-life characters.

There is a good list of Forged in the Dark games on the Blades website, and I've also got a Forged in the Dark collection on Itch.io!

If you are looking to make your own game, John Harper has released the Game SRD on the BitD website. These rules are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution (CC-BY) license, which means that you can create your own games using this system as long as you give appropriate credit to Harper.

What Forged in the Dark game has caught your eye? Let me know in the tags / comments!

[anon-e-miss]

Broken Vows - 8

“‘M gonna go look at habs for ya when ya have a rest,” Jazz told Prowl. He avoided the glyph nap which seemed a little mocking to him. As his frame continued to integrate the delicate repairs and with a fragile self-respair systems, Prowl ran out of energy quickly and recharged off and on throughout the mega-cycle.

“Perhaps you might like to take Smokescreen with you?” Prowl offered. “He would benefit from fresh air.”

“Are ya sure?” Jazz asked.

“I trust you,” Prowl said.

“What about you and Blue?” Smokescreen asked.

“We need more rest than you, Bravespark,” Prowl told him. “I know it is not terribly fun for you when we recharge. There is a fine playground in the park your progenitor and I used to walk in.”

“I’d love to,” Jazz said. “What do ya say, Smokey?”

“Okay!”

“I’ll give ya a list o’ favourites,” Jazz offered Prowl. Prowl just shook his helm.

“I trust you and Smokescreen to select it,” he said. “You know how little I concerned myself with my habsuite.”

“A’ight,” Jazz said. “We’ll do our best.”

Smokescreen was nervous, Jazz knew. His genitor was nervous too. Jazz held Smokescreen’s servo in a firm grip as they walked down the hall and made their way to the tram that would drop them off at the metro. It was faster to drive, of course but Jazz was too nervous to drive Smokescreen and the mechling was far too young to drive on his own. Smokescreen would not have wheels of his own until he was a youngling. Sooner or later, Jazz would give him a ride somewhere but Smokescreen had already gotten lost once on his watch and he was not going to risk getting in a crash with him on their first trip off base. The media were all gone, having been chased off by the Primal Vanguard after Prime had given his speech. That did not mean there might not be opportunists who would sneak a quick shot but Jazz had a plan for that.

“I want ya to wear this,” Jazz told Smokescreen as he magnetized a small device to the collar of his armour.

“What’s it for?” Smokescreen asked.

“If anyone tries to take a picture o’ ya, this’ll scramble it,” Jazz told him. “I know yer ori don’t want yer face all o’er the news.”

“It was the same in Praxus,” Smokescreen said. “He didn’t want me in portraits. He didn’t want Blue either but he wasn’t allowed to say no.”

“‘M sorry yer Ori had to make that choice,” Jazz told him. “I’m sorry I bout’m in that spot.”

“Origin loves you,” Smokescreen said. “And it makes him sad. It always made him sad.”

“He’s got good reason, Sweetspark,” Jazz told him. “I broke his spark. I did it on purpose.”

“You were sick,” Smokescreen defended him and Jazz ruffled his helm. After everything Jazz had said and done, Prowl had excused him to their creation. It was a kindness Jazz did not think he deserved.

“Don’t make the damage any easier to live with, Bitlet,” he said.

“Hmm,” Smokescreen took a seat in the window and Jazz sat next to him. “You feel bad about it.”

“Sure do,” Jazz told him. “I didn’t know I’d kindled ya wit Prowl until I saw yer designation next to his on the casualties list. Even when I was better, I was too scared to face your Ori, even the memories o‘m so I didn’t read his letters, ‘n I lied to myself ‘bout how bad I’d behaved. I didn’t want to remember how bad I’d been. When I saw yer designation I had to face what a monster I’d been. I didn’t think I deserved to mourn ya, either o’ ya. But I needed to. I still carry the ultrasound photos he sent me.”

“Really?” Smokescreen asked. Jazz showed him the ultrasound. “I was just a blob.”

“We all start out that way.”

Jazz knew Smokescreen hoped his procreators would get back together and raise him and his brother together. It was something Jazz was a bit too scared to hope for himself. He loved Prowl dearly. With all the clarity in the world now, Jazz did not shy from this truth. The reality was, however he had hurt Prowl terribly and he had driven him away, laying the groundwork for the direction the Praxian’s life had taken. Every awful thing that had happened after could be placed at Jazz’s peds. At some point, if Prowl ever wanted to hear it, Jazz would like to apologize probably, to make sure he knew that Jazz took responsibility, that he had no excuses for everything he had said and done. He could not ask for a chance to be better for Prowl, for Smokescreen and for Bluestreak. Jazz would have to be better and to let the chips fall however they might.

“I know Origin’s originator and grandcreators were afts,” Smokescreen said. “What about yours? Origin never told me about them.”

“That’s ‘cause I never told’m,” Jazz explained. “My genitors were split-spark twins. They died in a riot in Polyhex ‘n losin’em broke my Ori ’n made ‘m go mad... sorta like I did, I guess. Me ‘n my brother, my twin split up... blamin’ different mecha for what happened. I know they’re alive but that’s all I know.”

“You got better,” Smokescreen said. “I bet he will too.”

Counterpunch had sent Jazz another of his rants that light-cycle. As always, it made no sense. There was no threat to Jazz in particular or the Autobots in general. It was just random glyphs, not even in sentences but almost just splattered across the page. Because Counterpunch did not know he had creations, because Punch had always considered his family to be his and not his alter’s, that he even had the code to the commlink Jazz had only ever shared with his family was still a bit unnerving. Talk of a mechanical spark and grinding gears, even when Jazz read it together with the other notes he had received lately, he found no meaning in it. He wondered if Ricochet got notes like these. His twin would never tell him. Ricochet had blamed Sentinel Prime for the deaths of their progenitors and the madness of their originator, in hindsight Jazz understood why. Ricochet did not forgive Jazz lending is allegiance to that prime as Jazz had blamed terrorists who had worn the Decepticon brand. Whether Ricochet called himself a Decepticon or freelanced, as had been the family business, Jazz did not know. He had not spoken to his twin in millenia and had not laid optics on him for even longer.

“This is our stop,” Jazz took Smokescreen servo and led him down the escalator and out onto the street.

It was just around the corner from Mirror’s, nearer than even Prowl’s old hab and been and a short walk to the park. There were other habsuite on his list to look at but if this one was even close to as good as the ad had suggested, he thought it would be perfect. Smokescreen, of course, would be the one to cast the deciding vote. The property manager shook Smokescreen’s servo after he shook Jazz’s and that was a point in his favour. There were lots of families in the building, or so said the manager and that was a point for the building. No one had lived in the habsuite for a while so it was a completely blank slate. Imagining how it might be set up was not a problem to Jazz. He laughed as Smokescreen ran about, checking every room. The mechling definitely needed sometime in the park to release some energy.

“This room for Origin, because it has a pretty view,” Smokescreen pulled Jazz along for a tour. “This room’s for Blue because its right next door. This rooms for me and this rooms for my grandori and uncle when they come to visit.”

“He’s so sweet,” the property manager said. “And so well behaved.”

“His Ori gets all the credit,” Jazz replied.

“Origin’s going to love it,” Smokescreen declared as they left, key card stored in Jazz’s subspace. As Jazz was an officer in the Autobot Corp, the property manager was quick to sign the habsuite over to Jazz, even having never met the principle tenant. Security was good, it would be better when Jazz added encryptions to the lock. Smokescreen had picked a good room for Prowl, it had a few of the park. He would love it.

“He’ll love that ya picked it for’m,” Jazz said. “How ‘bout we go to the park now ‘n ya can run ‘round like a wild mechanimal?”

“Okay!”

“And who is this?” Jazz jumped. The voice was husky. He knew without looking that it belonged to a wispy femme about his originator’s age.

“Dipole!” Jazz exclaimed. He had met her when she had returned from burying her progenitor. The funds that had seen her get there had been stolen and Prowl had hunted the thief down and returned them too her.

“I’m Smokescreen, Ms Dipole!”

“You look just like your Origin, doin’t you?” Dipole said. “Mirror mentioned you stopped by, to pick up a peace offering. Than she saw the news and she’s been as close to a wreck as I’ve ever seen her.”

“Mirror makes the yummy rust sticks, right?” Smokescreen asked.

“That’s right,” the femme replied.

“Prowl’s got some more healin’ to do but he’ll visit soon,” Jazz promised.

“Mirror always thought of Prowl as something of an adoptive grandcreation,” Dipole said. “What with him being all but orphaned.”

“Can we say hi?” Smokescreen asked.

“Uh...” Jazz thought on it. “I don’t want to take the wind outta yer Ori’s sails, Bravespark.”

“Eh?”

“I thought yer Ori outta be the one to introduce ya to Mirror,” Jazz said.

“He won’t mind,” Smokescreen said. “Especially if we bring more rust sticks. And... if Ms Mirror is worried about Origin, she’ll feel better and Origin’ll feel better knowing she’s not worrying anymore.”

“He is very clever,” Dipole said.

“All credit goes to his Ori,” Jazz replied. “Okay, we’ll say hi to Mirror.”

“They were really buried for vorns?” Dipole asked, softly as they headed to the bakery.

“Yeah,” Jazz replied.

“Mirror wouldn’t look at the casualty list,” Dipole explained. “After he said goodbye, she always figured he’d come back. She said he belonged here and not in Praxus but... well he never came back and then Praxus was gone. She didn’t want to know because if she didn’t know than she could imagine he was well, wherever he was.”

“I promise he’s okay now,” Jazz said. “He thought Smokey outta get out ‘n get some exercise while ‘m ‘n the bitty rest more.”

“It’ll be good to see him,” Dipole said. “He was always one of Mirror’s favourites.”

[padawansuggest]

Writing a fic where Jango wasn’t a willing progenitor because his family is still alive on Mandalore so Palpy did some fucked up shit to his brain and now the clones exist but one day while visiting home Jaster (who I love writing as force sensitive af) is all ‘my child has something weird in his noggin I’m gonna unravel it’ and now they know who the Sith Lord is and Jango is all ‘well. Now that that’s outta my brain-‘ and wanders off to tell the alphas that they can leave with their vod’e as soon as the Sith Lord is killed and the alphas being paranoid as they are are like ‘okay what do we give you in turn???’ ‘What do you mean this is a freebie’ ‘nothing is free prime, what do you want’ ‘lmao idk just babysit the Jedi they seem kinda stupid a little’ and the clones take that to mean ‘they are stupid and get themselves killed keep them safe’ and Jango doesn’t correct them cause this is hilarious and allows them to dig into the Jedi histories as much as they want only for them to come back all ‘ahh, yes, we see the senate has them in a chokehold and barely better than slaves living in a Diaspora being forced to their Will and their numbers have been steadily declining over the past thousand years. We see. They need help’ and Jango is all ‘…they fucking what???’ Only for the clones to already be fucked off to claim the Jedi as part of their people and no they will not be leaving sure you can try and run but we are here to help you sorta thing and Anakin is very eager for this, they saved all the slaves on Tatooine and saved his mom and stopped him from getting married cause if he gets married without Obi walking him down the aisle his master WILL cry about it and Plo and Shaak are repeating the gai bal manda to anyone they come across and it’s really very annoying and Mace shoved Kenobi at the sternest clones he could find saying ‘this one bites, he’s feral; tame him and win the prize’ and tbh they don’t know what the prize is but that sounds like fun and Obi is very annoyed at all times except when they pull him into their sleepy piles because that’s nice and yea he likes these dudes, they did not tame him tho he still bites he’s still feral at least they tried.

Anyways. Alpha 17 and Cody are the most annoying jerks ever who won’t let him run off into danger without them and Miss Shmi is awesome and disgusted by her son eating live bugs too so we no longer know where Ani gets it from that’s a shame and Mace is grounding anyone who adopts a clone or gets adopted by clones everyone is grounded. The Mandalorian empire is sorta peeking in like ‘wow. Are the Jedi okay??? They look a little annoyed??? But I haven’t heard of any of them getting murdered this week so probably???’ And it’s kinda hilariously adorable. The Mandos didn’t know they needed to worry about the Jedi and they’re super pissed at the Sith for hurting their prince’s brain and so yeah let’s join the clones they look like they’re having fun in the temple?????

[dozhdevik]

I recently heard that there is a theory going viral on Twitter that the enemy the heroes are having to fight now is not an AFO, but a parasite that is the progenitor of Quirks.

I can’t say that I believe in this theory, but I really like it, and if it were confirmed after a while, I would not be surprised. At the same time, I did pick up one interesting point from this theory, and that is the fact that, according to the author, the emergence of quirks is due to the fact that the corpse of AFO and Yoichi's mother was eaten by rats, the rats became carriers of the "disease", and then they spread her “disease” throughout the world.

Honestly, this makes so much sense that I'm surprised I didn't figure it out sooner. Horikoshi actually explained to us how the quirks came about, but we didn't notice it. Additionally, Horikoshi hinted at the origin of quirks back in the Overhaul arc, but that was so long ago that many simply couldn't remember it.

Apart from this, I would also like to remember Nezu. His name comes from the Japanese word nezumi, which means "rat". We don't know much about Nezu other than that he was once experimented on. His age is unknown.

I would like to note that ordinary rats do not live very long, only 2-3 years, but Nezu is clearly a long-liver. He was already the principal of U.A. when All Might and AFO fought and he knew about OFA for some reason before that battle.

I'm guessing that he was also the principal of U.A. when All Might was a student, although that was 40 years ago. I wouldn't be surprised if Nezu was one of the rats that spread the "disease" throughout the world, or is one of the descendants of those rats.

[sethshead]

Annual reminder that Jesus was not Palestinian and that Palestine as legally defined region did not exist at that time, nor did the Palestinian nation. This is empirically documented fact. Jesus was born a Jew and died a Jew in Roman Judea. If “Palestine” was used in some Greek texts to describe the region it was because of the Philistines (who aren’t Arab in origin) having lived here once. I’m now hearing people saying Christianity is Palestinian in origin. This is also sheer idiocy. Even if we allow for the fact that Jesus isn’t the progenitor of Christianity (again he died a Jew, his followers were all Jewish and they defined themselves as a sect of Judaism, not a new religion) and attribute the foundation to Paul and people of his generation, which I would say is true. Paul was born a Jew in Roman Judea and died 70 years before the region was renamed Palestine. Jesus and the founding of Christianity has everything to do with the Jews and zero to do with Palestine and Palestinians. And it goes without saying they have nothing to do with Arabs and Islam, except insofar as Islam tells it story with Jesus (and for that matter Judaism) being part of its origin story, which did not happen until the 600s. I will also point out that those western activists (historically clueless) who are making this claim are actually doing a great disservice to the Palestinian people. Why? Because they are inventing ancient Palestinian history that is easily refutable by fact, as I have just done. Given how easy it is to undermine such claims, when people who don’t know much about the region (but joined the river to the sea crowd because that’s what the cool kids do) learn the truth they will become skeptical about other claims made by Palestinians, some of which are true, some of which deserve acknowledgment. But the American left doesn’t care. They don’t actually care about the Palestinians. They are driven by Jew-hatred, and Zionism is the most convenient demon in their social justice arsenal. They will never help free Palestine. But what they will continue to do is endanger diaspora Jewry, which is their goal, or at least a means to their end. Such was also the case with the Arab regimes who opposed a Jewish state from the very beginning. They weren’t advocating for Palestinians, they were advocating for non Jewish state anywhere min the region. The left has constructed a binary opposition that undergirds their theology that pits the evil oppressive (((Zionists))) against the eternally oppressed Palestinians. Their construct is false, an eschatological theology and nothing else, with both “Zionists” and “Palestinians” being little more than constructs they have thrown together to advance their revolutionary (and profoundly anti-Western) agenda. But if they want to claim Palestinians as the progenitors of Christianity then, well, let me point out, that “Christianity” persecuted the Jews severely at least until the early modern era and in some parts of Europe far beyond that time, culminating in The Holocaust. So sure, you want to claim Jesus for Palestine, then you also acquire all the baggage that comes with him.

-- Jarrod Tanny

It’s all just another form of supersession.

[transgenderer]

Milei is the owner of five English Mastiffs, with the progenitor being Conan, who died in 2017 after suffering from spinal cancer.[45][266][267] He considers Conan his son and has named four of Conan's six clones, including one named after the original and another named Angelito,[275] Milton (in honor of Milton Friedman), Murray (in honor of Murray Rothbard), Robert, and Lucas (both named after Robert Lucas).[276][277] Milei said that he cloned Conan because he understands cloning as "a way of approaching eternity".[267] To do this, he went to a clinic in the United States; the process cost him about $50,000.[267] He has described his dogs as four-legged children and thanked them after his 2023 primary win.[14]

Milei stated that he communicates with the dogs through a mystic.[10] For example, he commented that the new Conan provides ideas on general strategy, Robert is the one who makes him "see the future and learn from mistakes", Milton is in charge of political analysis, and Murray of the economy.[278] When asked about this by El País journalist Martín Sivak and Nicolás Lucca of Radio Rivadavia, Milei did not deny it, and said: "What I do with my spiritual life and in my house is my business. If Conan advises me on politics, it means that he is the best consultant of humanity."[266]

Milei said he had dialogues with the likes of Rothbard and Ayn Rand. In 2015, he cited Conan as a source of inspiration for his writing.[266] About Conan's death in 2017, Milei said that Conan had not really died (he described it as "his physical disappearance" and continued to refer to Conan in the present tense) but had gone to sit next to God to protect him, and that it was thanks to this that he had begun to have talks with God himself.[279] According to González, Milei wrote to a friend in a chat: "I saw the resurrection of Christ three times, but I can't talk about it. They would say I'm crazy."[45] According to various sources consulted by La Nación, Milei maintains that he and Conan have a mission that was assigned to them by God and has a mystical story with Conan. He said that he met Conan, who was a lion, as a gladiator in the Roman Colosseum about 2,000 years earlier.[280]

new president of argentina

[lostsoulaltair]

OnS Chapter 136 Analysis - Love vs The Past

Well, a new chapter dropped. I must say that I liked it. We really are heading towards the end of the story and two sides now are on stage.

One fighting for love; the other one fighting to bring back something that is long lost.

Love can often be misunderstood in the manga story; to the point it distorts a lot, but in reality, it takes so many shapes, so many forms along giving birth to ideals.

Each character within the story is moved to do something for "love". But in this role too; the "love" for the "past" exists.

The past is a momentum that will always live in our memories; it is something that will forever be frozen; something that will not change. It's something that is part of us without defining us.

As we've seen today; the chapter starts with Yuu trying to reach the First; but given that the Progenitors want to avoid the destruction of the world much further; they were preventing Yuu from making contact with the First.

Of course, we see how Mika couldn't withstand the raw power of Urd Geales; we saw Shinya and Kureto alive and kicking once again; and finally, the main spot; the reunion between Shikama and Yuu.

Shikama is aware that Yuu has all his memories back ever since he detected an anomaly along the interaction with the corpse of Mikaela. Of course, whenever Shikama knows the soul of his son is alive and kicking, it's up to interpretation. Though, it is clear he knows it exists.

Eventually we see how Shikama is going to bestow Yuu his knowledge and power

But before he could give away his power to Yuu; Shinoa interferred with the possibility.

Leading to our possible future battle between Shinoa and Yuu.

Two ideals being carried away within the story. And yet, at the same time they connect through the main theme. "Love."

And no, it's not "romantic love ". The "love" or 愛 which is not the same as other interpretations of love itself. Just "ai". A love that takes so many shapes.

Let's begin with the real analysis here.

Yuu isn't exactly fighting for humanity nor his friends, nor his family. Given that the "regression" process he made to recall his whole life; he saw how his life originated alongside being the son of the First.

Given that, he is actually aiming for the task of "saving" but given that "love" is playing its role as well. It is the love he has deep down for his father that he is doing everything to bring back what his father cherished in the past. Which is something reflected as well when he was the angel Mikaela. Taking his life so divine punishment wouldn't fall upon his father.

Shikama did love his angels, his followers and he did blame himself for the punishment that fell upon them. But given God's nature; it was normal that the punishment fell upon those angels given that they no longer praised for God.

Though; one thing Shikama and Yuu have in common, is the attachment to the past. It is the very fact that the past for them is something that should have prevailed instead of changing. What do I mean?

To Shikama, the Progenitors he chose, despite being reincarnations of those angels that followed him once; are not his angels.

And this is highly visible once Ashera asks Shikama what he should do back in chapter 117.

To his eyes, Shikama's sired progenitors were just tools given that to him; they are shadows of who they were once, but to those progenitors; even if they have acknowledged that they are reincarnations; they made a choice.

They chose to follow up their own path. And as they've stated back in chapter 114; their last and final task is to protect the world they live in. Meaning avoiding the resurrection of the angel Mikaela.

But now, why do I say Shikama and Yuu have one thing in common?

Yuu is a character that despite living endlessly; along having a constant memory reset until now that he gathered all his memories; he's done one thing to no end. And that is living in the past.

True, there are scars that take its time to heal from the past; some are very difficult nonetheless; he chose to live in such past. When he had a chance to make a choice; that choice was no longer centered in the present; it began to lead further astray to the past.

But then, what's the point of those promises?

Given how everything has turned. Those promises are something that can't be fulfilled. What do I mean?

In order to revive the angels from long ago; sacrifices must be made. But here's another thing that it is being dismissed. What could it be?

The absolute lack of appreciation to life.

Yuu might state he aims to save everyone; even to Ashera who at the end understood that there are limits to life. He loved and embraced he managed to get his sister back; but the cost for that was making her suffer for eternity; nevertheless, the lives both had, those kind of experiences they managed to live had their moments of bliss; bringing back entities that perished long ago, is discarting the moments experienced, the moments lived along the emotions that were carried through a lifetime.

But now, there is an opposite force here. And that force is no other than. "Love."

Many might consider that Shinoa's love is "obssession, madness like Mahiru's love" but no. This is actually wrong.

Back when she stated she would kill Mikaela; there was a massive misconception of this which chapter 133 explained a lot.

Shinoa thought Yuu was being possessed by Mikaela at that time hence her retoric; but given that she saw first hand that Yuu had fooled them; she understood that Yuu was doing everything on his own will. And let's not forget that Yuu might be dumb, but not clueless or ignorant.

Shinoa's form of "love" is not something that came out of nothing; it's something that began taking shape by her own; it began from curiosity, turning into uncertainty, then transforming into caring, along developing feelings for a special someone. Such feelings for her were seen as something hideous or bad; but at the end, she understood they weren't bad, nevertheless, she never admitted them until or rather never accepted them truthfully until chapter 133.

Chapter 133 was a very reflexive chapter given that it gave Shinoa resolution; a resolution as to why it is the reason she was standing still in the very end of the world.

Shinoa's love is not centered to one person, but rather; it is centered to the very core family she gained through her journey which lead to this.

Her battle and her resolution is directed to the very family that has stood with her and has followed her through the long journey she has taken so far. Hence why; she is standing along her squad just like how the vampires did; how they are going to live. Not by a decree of an entity, not by a decree of her sister and Guren nor the vampires; but rather, taking their own path until the very end.

Hence why Shikama states that her love is self centered, which is no different from him. He centered his love to his angels; Shinoa is centering her love to those who exist in the present. Along letting them return to their normality before the world ended; given that the end of the world, the events that took place before they were born, were all spiderwebs made by the First.

This is the first time they are fighting for their own.

What do you think it'll happen next?

Let me know!