#But frankly might be just the most likely one

[p0orbaby]

Patri with the prompt you can pretend I’m Alexia if that helps

18+

-

She does not say it until your fingers are inside her. That is the part you find most offensive. Not because it’s rude—though it is, undoubtedly—but because it’s lazy. Not even before, not even with some clumsy grace or hushed suggestion. No, she waits until your knuckles have nudged her open and your thumb is half-thinking about what to do next. That is when she says it. You can pretend I’m Alexia, if that helps. No pause, no breath, no irony. Just that. A single line thrown backwards into the space between her throat and the headboard.

Your immediate thought, rather pettily, is that Alexia would never say something so utterly devoid of timing. Or if she did, it would be in Catalan, and at least that would buy you a second to compose your expression. Here, you don’t even have the decency of a language barrier. Only Patri, plain as paper, saying the one sentence you had been avoiding with everything except your body.

You do not reply. You think of several options, none of which make it past your teeth. You consider pulling your hand away entirely, just to prove some unspoken point about standards. But you have already compromised those. You are, after all, in her flat. On her bed. With your shirt somewhere on the floor. And your mouth still tastes faintly of the melon lip balm she wears, because she cannot stop licking her lips even when nervous. Especially then.

Her legs are spread with theatrical ease. A kind of openness that you find both admirable and a little suspicious. Her left heel is flexed against the mattress, which you assume is an attempt to stay composed, although it reads more like she’s bracing herself for a medical exam. Her hand, the right one, is clutching at your wrist—not to guide, not to hurry, but as if she’s concerned you might vanish. Which, frankly, is not an unreasonable fear.

You shift your weight and lean in, deliberately slow. Your wrist presses harder against her thigh, not in warning but in punctuation. If she notices, she doesn’t react. Her mouth is soft with expectation. Not parted, that would be cliché, but pressed, pale and curved. You find the spot she likes because she made a noise there ten minutes ago and had the audacity to look surprised about it. You go there again, harder. Her hips twitch.

You do not think of Alexia then. Not exactly. Not her name, or her mouth, or that noise she makes when you bite her collarbone just slightly too hard. But you do think of how she never once asked to be imagined. She was always herself. She never invited herself in by way of absence.

Patri breathes through her nose like she is preparing for impact. You glance up. Her eyes are closed, neatly. Her brow is attempting not to furrow. You wonder if she meant it—the offer. If she had thought it would help you. Or her. Or if it had simply been one of those doomed sentences, born in the back of a throat, aimed at nothing, landing in the centre of everything.

Your fingers curl. Her spine responds. Her mouth opens now, properly, a sound escaping that you could catalogue if you were feeling cruel. You aren’t. Not really. You are tired. You are sore. You are so bored of your own taste in regret.

You move faster. Because you can. Because she has not earned softness. Because she wants it, or at least her body does. She says something, maybe your name, maybe not, and her hand tightens on your wrist. You feel her thighs shake, because you are making them shake. You press your thumb against her clit, and there is a moment—short and sharp—when you think she might cry.

She doesn’t. She comes.

Not theatrically. Not prettily. Not with poetry or gasping or some deep, tragic revelation. Just a breath caught, a muscle clenched, a sound too short to name. She goes still. You withdraw your fingers slowly, which is more for your benefit than hers. You look at her, and she looks at the ceiling, as if it has any answers.

You wipe your hand on the duvet. Her duvet. It is cream-coloured and has those faint pilling textures that appear when someone buys things from the mid-range section and pretends not to mind. There is a bottle of water by her bedside that she hasn’t touched. The cap is half-closed. Her phone is face down, but you can see the screen still lit. A notification from someone not you. Of course.

You sit back. Her legs fall closed with the lazy collapse of someone who wanted more but is too embarrassed to ask. She turns her head to the side, not to look at you, but to look away with deliberate intent. Her hair is damp at the nape. She is warm, but not flushed. She blinks slowly. She is disappointed. Not in you, necessarily. Just in the world, perhaps.

You do not say anything. You are not sure which silence would be worse, the one that says “I can’t believe you said that,” or the one that says “It worked.”

Her voice returns as a whisper, which is ridiculous because nobody is listening but you. “I didn’t mean it.”

You nod, though she is not looking. “Okay.”

“I just— I know you’re not over her.”

“Okay.”

She finally looks at you, and you regret it instantly. Because she is not angry, or smug, or self-righteous. She is only kind. Which is worse. You cannot resent her properly if she is kind.

“I don’t mind,” she says, soft. “If you’re thinking about her. I’d still want you.”

You reach for your shirt. It is crumpled in a way that suggests haste, and not yours. You straighten the hem automatically. You do not put it on. Not yet. Her eyes track the movement. There is no hunger in them now. Only recognition. Maybe pity.

You say, flatly, “That’s pathetic.”

She shrugs, though the pillow swallows most of it. “Probably.”

You could kiss her. You could lean over, press your mouth to hers, remind her that she is real and here and not the shape of another woman’s absence. You do not.

Instead, you say, “I didn’t come here to get over her.”

She smiles, faintly. “Do you want to?”

You do not answer. You crawl back over her instead, knees pressing into the creases of her sheets, one hand bracing beside her head. You wait, poised. Her breath stutters, a fraction. Her eyes close again, falsely casual. She parts her legs.

It is an offering. Or a surrender. Or a very specific kind of negotiation. She keeps her arms above her head, not tied, not trapped, just deliberate. You wonder if it’s a silent rule she’s created for herself: don’t touch, don’t cling, don’t try to make it more than it is.

You sink down. You lick once. Not gentle. She gasps. Your hand moves in rhythm, fast and unkind. She moans your name this time. Definitely. You do not react. You keep going. You do not care if she comes again. You are doing this for yourself now. And maybe for Alexia. Though that is unspoken. Especially that.

Patri bucks against your mouth, but doesn’t say stop. She is panting. You hear her mutter something like “fuck,” but it’s garbled. Her legs twitch around your shoulders. You think she might be crying, but you don’t look up to check.

When you finally pull back, your jaw aches. Your lips are wet. Her eyes are open now, and her face is red, but not just from exertion. She looks at you the way people look at alarms they forgot to set. Tired. Blamed. Unready.

You crawl back up. She doesn’t kiss you. You do not offer. You lie beside her for a second, maybe two, and then get up. You put your shirt on. You find your phone. You glance in her mirror, and then pretend you hadn’t.

She does not move. She is staring at the ceiling again.

At the door, you say, “Thank you.”

She doesn’t respond. That, finally, is honest.

[cherrygarcia-07]

The Best Medicine // Spencer Reid🧸

This is a part two to Doctor’s Visit! You don’t technically have to read that first but I would recommend it :3 The origins of a nickname he has in this one is in there and it might make it sound a bit less silly lol

synopsis: after helping his daughter to be brave during her doctor’s visit, spencer tirelessly takes care of her at home. when he begins to spiral about failing to keep her safe, you’re there to remind him what a perfect dad he is.

pairing: dad! spencer x wife! reader

genre: fluff!

word count: 2k

notes/tags: not much! again a child is sick (not seriously), spencer almost takes over the doctor’s job he can’t help it, spencer has dad insecurities, he’s the most anxious dad ever bless him. defo medical inaccuracies as i am stupid but it’s not in detail anyway so its ok <3

masterlist // pls reblog if you enjoy! it helps promote the fic so much! // part one

————————————🧸———————————

“Spence, you know you’re going to have to put her down when we get into the office, right?” You murmured with a fond smile as your husband trailed behind you with Charlotte glued in his hold. He hadn’t let her out of his sight since that very first cough a few days ago.

“I know.” He pouted. “But really we should be minimising the amount of unnecessary physical exertion she’s subjected to while she’s in this state.” He mumbled back as she let out a small grumble against his collar.

“Tired….” She whispered into his shirt, voice crackling with sleep.

“I know sweetheart,” you cooed, reaching over and stroking her hair, “we’re gonna make sure you get plenty of rest and pampering when we get home, okay?” You smiled, shooting a knowing look at Spencer. He already spoiled her rotten on a normal day, but when she was sick she was practically treated like royalty.

The three of you continued, following the doctor down corridors that filled your nose with something sharp and sterile until you finally reached the door. You stepped in first, holding it open for Spencer as he slowly followed, carefully cupping Charlotte’s head in protection as it passed just a little too close to the doorframe. The doctor gestured for you to sit on the other side of her desk, to which you obliged, your daughter still in her father’s lap. She opened her mouth to speak, but Spencer was quicker having bottled up all his worries for far too long over the past few days.

“I’m aware it’s only been a couple days as opposed to the typical couple of weeks but I believe she’s showing symptoms of a chest infection. She’s had a rather concerning cough that’s causing her to be unable to sleep as well as a fever that seems to be getting worse-“

“Mr Reid-“ The doctor began, but Spencer didn’t even hear her (thankfully- frankly you thought it would be mortifying if he corrected the title she’d given him).

“-I think she may possibly need a blood test- a mucus test definitely- and maybe even a chest x-ray if necessary. I already examined her with my own stethoscope at home and I noticed a little wheezing but I’m unable to carry out the other procedures myself.”

Blinking rapidly, the doctor stared at him with a look that read as both bewildered and amused. She opened her mouth to say something, but shut it again as the thought escaped her completely, clearly unsure what to do with him. Biting your lip to hold back a smile, you gently rested your hand on Spencer’s arm, giving it a light squeeze you hoped said honey, please let the doctor talk.

“Well,” the doctor began, taking a deep breath, “I appreciate your preparation, but how about I examine her myself and we go from there?”

Spencer nodded hesitantly. He always struggled to let anybody else take care of Charlotte, even those more than qualified to do so he knew logically were safe and sound. Loosening his hold around her as she fell in and out of sleep on his lap, he gently nudged her head from his shoulder and angled his face down to talk to her.

“Charlie?” He asked softly, “the doctor’s going to take a look at you now, okay?”

Charlotte whimpered slightly, shaking her head as she buried it back in his neck.

“Remember what we talked about in the waiting room, sweetheart?” Spencer continued, trailing a gentle hand up and down her back. “We’re brave, right? We’re going to do this together.”

The doctor’s eyes softened as she watched Charlotte tentatively pull herself away from her father, looking up at him with big, anxious eyes as she nodded her head in an attempt of confidence. “It’s just a few checks, nothing big or scary. And your mommy and daddy are going to be right here.” She added with a reassuring smile.

With a little more coaxing, your little girl was at last detached from Spencer, sitting on the examination chair as the doctor carried out her procedures, explaining every step to her as she went (with plenty of well-meaning interruptions from Spencer, of course). At one point, the doctor had allowed Charlotte to listen to her heartbeat through the stethoscope, pulling a giggle from her that at once put all of your husband’s worries at ease. In the end, the doctor concluded that she had a mild chest infection, prescribing some antibiotics and plenty of rest for her little body.

“And as a reward,” the doctor began, rummaging through her desk before pulling out a sheet of sparkly stickers in every colour, “pick whatever one you want.”

Charlotte squealed as she leaned forward, scanning the sheet with precision and a comical amount of focus, her tongue sticking out in thought as she considered her options. Eventually she pointed out a purple sticker of a teddy bear that read “I was beary brave!”. Spencer took the sheet from her, peeling her chosen sticker off of the paper and proudly placing it on her shirt alongside the kiss he pressed to her cheek.

“I think the doctor should’ve given you a bravery sticker too.” You teased as the three of you walked back to your car.

“What do you mean?” He cocked his head at you.

You laughed fondly at him. “Spence, Charlie was one cough away from giving you a nervous breakdown. At one point I thought you were actually going to start crying.”

“She was in pain,” he stated matter of factly, “of course it hurts me to see her like that.”

“I know.” You smiled, leaning closer into his side. “It hurts me too. But you were great at calming her down.”

“You think so?” He asked unsurely, focusing his gaze on her as she sleepily walked just in front of them.

You linked your arm through his, lightly resting your head against him as you came to a stop in front of your car. “You know she trusts you more than anything in the world. And you just proved that she’s not wrong to do so. I don’t think she could’ve done it without Doctor Daddy.”

With a small but undeniably enamoured smile, he turned to lift Charlotte into her car seat before climbing in beside her as you sat down in the driver’s seat. Spencer stayed there with her the whole time, chattering back and forth with her until she drifted off again and even then he kept his eyes on her, catching every flutter of her eyelids as she dreamt.

Once at home he wasted no time swaddling her in blankets and stuffed animals, tucking her tight into her fluffy pink bed and switching on every dreamy nightlight in the vicinity. You’d changed her into her comfiest pyjamas, and picked out all of her favourite books to distract her if she woke up sick in the night. Spencer had only left her side to fetch her soup and something to drink, the sickly purple deepening beneath her eyes making him hesitant to leave the room at all.

You crept up the stairs, two cups of coffee in your hands as you tip-toed back to Charlotte’s room. Wincing as the door creaked open, you padded into the room where she slept, heading to the armchair in the corner where Spencer was currently sat with a book of his own as he monitored her. As he reached out to take his cup from you he mouthed a ‘thank you’ in your direction before shifting over to make just enough space for you to squeeze in beside him and throw your legs over his lap.

“What’s on your mind?” You whispered to him, your faces inches apart in the cramped chair.

“Nothing.” He lied, the break in his voice giving him away.

“Hmm,” you started, trying to make eye contact with him but he avoided your gaze. “Why don’t I believe you?”

Spencer sighed, setting his book down on the arm rest as he looked over Charlotte in her bed. “I’m just trying to figure out when she got sick.”

“Well it could’ve been anything. Kids get sick all the time.”

“No.” He muttered like he was cursing himself. “The timeline of her symptom progression lines up with when I took her to that kid’s exhibit at the museum recently. I should’ve known. It’s flu season and the museum gets the most traffic over the weekend- there must’ve been hundreds of people there and who knows what kind of illnesses-“

“Spencer.” You cut in firmly, knowing him well enough to know where his head was at. He was spiralling, torturing himself over the what-ifs and making up precautions he thinks he should’ve taken. “Charlotte being sick is not your fault. Whatsoever.”

“But if I hadn’t taken her out-“

“Then she would’ve spent the day inside doing nothing. She came home that day babbling to me about how much fun she had with you and telling me everything she’d learned about dinosaurs. Did she tell you her favourite’s the triceratops?”

“She did.” He smiled to himself, remembering the excitement in her eyes before his face dropped again. “But I should’ve planned it better. I should’ve taken her on a quieter day or kept her closer to me- there were so many interactive installations, I shouldn’t have let her touch them. Or I at least should’ve sanitised them beforehand, clearly just sanitising her hands afterwards wasn’t enough.”

“You’re going to drive yourself crazy if you over analyse every single what-if.” You leaned down to set your cup on the floor, instead taking his hand in yours. “You can’t beat yourself up every time she gets sick- and there will be other times. It happens. That’s just life.” When he didn’t respond, you continued. “Besides don’t you have all the statistics up there somewhere on childhood illnesses building up their immune systems or something? This is good for her, in a way.”

“I know that factually but it’s different actually seeing it. Every time she coughs I feel like I’m being punched in the gut, like I can’t breathe.”

You chuckled softly at him, rubbing your thumb over his hand. “You think I don’t feel the same way?”

“No, I know you do. I just don’t understand how you’re so calm about it. I feel like I’ve had my heart ripped out whenever she’s sick.”

“I’m calm because all she needs to get better is plenty of pampering and attention and I know she’s got that in spades.”

“That and antibiotics.” Spencer corrected, completely serious.

“Antibiotics,” you laughed, “and plenty of care from Doctor Daddy, right?”

“Right.” He replied, voice barely above a whisper as he propped his head on top of yours where it had come to rest on his shoulder.

“With you taking care of her she’s going to be better in no time.” You lifted his hand to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles before letting go and moving to stand up. “But you need to get some rest yourself first.” You extended a hand out to him where he remained sat, waiting for him to take it.

“I’m fine right here.” He deflected, the look in his eyes almost offended that you’d even suggest him leaving the room.

“Spence you’re over 6 foot tall you are not sleeping in a tiny arm chair.” He opened his mouth to interject but you beat him to it. “And you are not staying awake all night in a tiny arm chair either.”

He sighed again, sounding well and truly pained. “But what if she needs us?”

“Then we’ll be there, and she knows that.”

Spencer’s fingers drummed on his coffee cup as he thought, eyes darting up as Charlotte began to let out soft, content snores as she relaxed into her sleep. Chewing on his lip, he finally looked back up at you, reaching out one hand to take yours. “Fine. But the second she wakes up-“

“You’ll be there.” You watched with a warmth in your chest as he carefully adjusted her blanket, placing a loving kiss on her forehead.

“I’ll be there.”

-

[syndrossi]

As much as i like a triplet AU with Jon, Rheagar and Rhealla as its just wholesome, but i think Rheagar also needs some to be triplet who he feels wierd about about, so that he mirrors Jon. @yessulloa2712 suggestion of the third sibling being Robert is great shout but the main problem is robert is going to be bit combatative for the most part of the story and i dont think he would be willing to play the part of the kid, which would be a shame as i love that. so my Suggestion for a triplet AU candidate would be Aegon "Egg" the Fifth, as his now Great-Grandfather who killed half of his family in the Summerhall disaster being now his Brother would definitely make Rheagar feel bit weird. And he most definingly is not gonna reveal his own connection to him, which also mirrors Jon who is keeping the fact Rheagar is his father a secret. Jon would also feel weird cuz that is Maester Aemon brother and a former king.

Egg himself might actually love this as now he is nowhere near the line of succession (as he is youngest of the triplets with Jon being the eldest). He can do whatever the fuck he want and he is someone who will enjoy being a kid. Would he too get a dragon egg like Jon and Rheagar in Resonant? he can or he can pick one form the dragon pit. But Frankly in this AU i would die to see Interactions between Viserys and Egg cuz that would be soo fascinating both are peace loving kings being pulled to a conflict of sorts by their family. And Viserys doesnt have the excuse that he doesnt have dragons cuz he do but he is just indecisive. But Egg might Understand his position and Sympathize more with him

Idk, the hilarious thing about Robert to me is that he...doesn't really have trauma, assuming he's being Summerhalled before age 16-17, when his parents died at sea. He's a happy, handsome, well-liked heir to Storm's End with two parents and two brothers and a best friend in Ned while being fostered in the Vale. So although he has a very forceful personality, he's not necessarily combative. He probably just feels mostly out of place. Not the Vale part! That part he liked. But "suddenly Targaryen" (even though his original grandmother was one, he never seemed to identify as such) definitely puts him out of his comfort zone.

Aegon V would certainly be an unusual choice. I assume we're not talking at-the-time-of-his-death Aegon? Because I think it would be quite the adjustment to suddenly be the child of a man who is young enough to be his son. I don't know that he could ever quite relax on the succession front, though. He was a fourth son of a fourth son who became king.

I do agree that he might have a more sympathetic view of Viserys and might end up the closest to him of the three. And let's pour one out for Jon who gets to look at these two siblings and go "Cool, so, one of you started the extinction of the Targaryen line and the other almost finished it off. You'll fit right in with the Dance!"

[thatgayunoriginalbastard]

Peisistratus could hardly think from the moment the god of tides went away to the moment he and Telemachus were suddenly outside a large wooden double door. At some point during their walk they had started holding hands and he couldn’t remember who had been the one to initiate –who was he kidding, it was absolutely him– and he wondered if his lover could feel just how much he was trembling. 

It’s not like he had any true reason to be scared. He was just…about to talk to the father of his husband after the two of them had a minor confrontation in front of his husband’s parents and two gods who were very involved in the family’s life, had a very loud argument, and then somehow even louder got his ass wrecked by his repeatedly aforementioned husband. Totally no reason to be scared by a man who nearly singlehandedly murdered 108 men in a single night while starving, tired, and fresh of torturing the second born son of Kronos with his own weapon. A man who fought against gods, men, and nature for 20 years to return home to his family. A man who loved his own wife so dearly that the word “love” did not capture the kind of relationship they had with each other.

No reason to be scared at all.

“You don’t have to come in, you know.” Telemachus said, snapping Peisistratus out of his spiraling before he actually stopped breathing.

“You know that’s not true.” Peisistratus exhaled, managing a smile, “I’ll be fine. I’ve talked to your father before plenty. I mean, we’ve been married for a year.”

“Yes but…well you know that it’s different now. But- but he’s also been one of the most supportive people about our relationship. He’s part of the reason why I was able to finally admit to myself that I loved you. So it’ll be great! Or at least fine. Look, he’s probably just going to lecture us about modesty then get all emotional about how happy he is to be around to give those kinds of lectures.”

“Y-yeah. Of course.”

“We’ll be fine, Istra. I’m sure of it.”

Peisistratus had gotten to know Telemachus really well over the course of their time together, but he still sometimes struggled to read him. His love was a student of Athena, after all, of course he’d be able to hide his emotions. But that just made what he saw even more troubling.

Telemachus was lying to his face.

Telemachus knocked on the door and there was a moment of pause before a muffled voice called them in, tone unreadable. And as the two princes entered, still hand-in-hand, they were met with the sight of the king of Ithaca…sitting on the ground, running his hand along the roots of the olive tree that made up his wedding bed.

“You’ll both have to work on your punctuality for when you become kings, someday.” Odysseus said, not even looking at them as he spoke to them in the way he did his people, kind but radiating superiority.

“Apologies, father, we just-”

“I don’t need the details, my son.” Odysseus chuckled as he stood and faced them, still radiating power, “I think the whole castle got more than enough of that.”

If Peisistraus wasn’t waiting for the man to pull out a bow or sword or particularly pointy stick, he’d whisper to Telemachus about how that answered his question of if he had heard them. Unfortunately, he was very much so waiting for that, or to just be surprised by some other horrible fate that could be in store for him.

“Now, take a seat.”

Odysseus gestured for them to sit on the bed, his bed, but Peisistratus and Telemachus both hesitated. Peisistratus frankly felt frozen in place but thankfully Telemachus was able to actually start moving, leading them both over to sit on the bed that was about as infamous as Odysseus himself. Peisistratus could still remember clearly what it was like to hear the king first recount the tale of his return home and how when asked by his wife to uproot the bed as a test to prove who he was he actually attempted it before she revealed that it was just a test.

Peisistratus could only imagine the kind of test the man might give him, especially if Athena’s test for Telemachus was any indication.

Odysseus got himself a chair from the desk in the room and sat down facing the two princes, giving enough space between them to keep projecting the air of superiority that radiated from him so clearly.

And in that moment Peisistratus wished that he could have removed his brain so the thought about that ability apparently being genetic as well as the ability to even for a moment glance down at the king’s thighs for the sake of comparison would have been impossible.

“Telemachus, Peisistratus, things have changed in your relationship.” Odysseus said plainly, as though it were some obvious common fact that he was informing them of like they were ignorant to it, “As not only the father, and father-in-law, to you but also your king and, by technicality, host, I thought it would be important to speak with you on this matter.”

“King Odysseus,” Peisistratus exhaled, “I swear I-”

“Silence, son of Nestor.”

It was as if the ability to speak was suddenly taken from him as Peisistratus shut up and any thought of trying to speak left his mind.

“An affectionate part of me wants to give you a lecture on how to learn to keep quiet while making some remarks about how hypocritical it would be of me given my own honeymoon. But not only do I think that neither of you want to or need to hear that, my son I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve already ran that conversation through your head multiple times, but that is not the conversation that I believe is the most important to have right now.”

“And what is the subject of the conversation that is most important?” Telemachus asked, very clearly being deliberate with his tone to not sound demanding but to also not sound pleading.

“Fear. The subject of fear.”

It was like the whole world stopped and gained a chill with how any warmth left the room with those simple words. And Peisistratus knew that Telemachus felt it too.

“I have felt lots of fear throughout my life. Both of you have heard stories of my return home. Telemachus, I believe that Athena has even shown you sections of it back when- back when things were hard between us and she had to resort to that just to help you understand where I stood in the ways I thought and acted in the early months of my return. Peisistratus, while you have not been shown such things you have heard tales from far more perspectives than Telemachus had. As such, both of you should know that fear is a familiar emotion to me. And right now? Right now there is so much fear within me.”

“Father, if it is about any reactions from others I am certain that if they accepted our marriage then there will be no change given that they know not of our private life. At most they will see us being more confident in our public affections.”

“And if it’s about anything my own father might learn, I can say confidently that with how beside himself with excitement as he was when you both first came to his kingdom with the proposal, he will not mind a thing.”

“I do not fear for the public, boys.” Odysseus sighed, the mask of control slipping ever so slightly, “I fear for the both of you.”

“What reason do you have to fear for us?” Telemachus questioned, a hint of nervousness entering his tone unlike the frustration he showed to Athena.

“I look at the two of you and I see a reflection of my own marriage. I see the overwhelming love and excitement and dedication that Penelope and I held for each other the day we met. And yet with the two of you, this is coming a year into your marriage, several years into your bond. I fear for you because I see everything that I and the love of my life went through before I even figured out how to try and get her hand in marriage. And you’re experiencing it all when you’re already so familiar with each other, when you don’t have the ability to take things back because as far as anyone else would be aware you should have long since passed the period where you would want to take things back. I just fear that- that there will come a day where the two of you, or even worse just one of you, think back to this time and become struck with…regret.”

“You liken our relationship to yours and mom’s and in the same breath talk of how it makes you think of feelings of regret? Of being in too deep to easily undo things? What, are you dealing with feeling regrets within your marriage?”

And at that, Odysseus went silent and looked away from them both, away from his son. Out of guilt.

Out of shame.

Okay okay okay. Wait. Wait wait wait. The Telestratus marriage of convenience thing. Omg that… that tickled something in my brain. Marriage of convenience to restrengthen trade for Ithaca after distrust spreads from the suitor slaughtering fiasco or something along those lines maybe, they were friends before from Tele’s travels back before Odysseus returned so the two of them figure “why the hell not he’s a cool guy and it’s not like I have anyone else” cue years of playing it up like they’re OdyPen levels of in love to make it look good and then suddenly realizing “oh… OH… oh NO…” now NEITHER of them are acting but BOTH of them think the other still is and they both joke about it behind closed doors but they’re really NOT joking because they’re down so bad ahhhhhhhh I LOVE this!!

@theshroud-thechallenge-thearrow (dang side blog curse)

Odysseus: Hey so I know you're friends with Nestor's kid Peisistratus. Do you think you could like, I don't know, try dating one of his sisters? Getting a connection between Ithaca and Pylos would be helpful for both of us. Only if you want to, of course. And if you end up falling in love with someone else we can work something out.

Telemachus: ...or I could just get with Peisistratus himself? You know, since he and I are friends then that'll make things easier. We'll get married platonically, help both of our kingdoms, and then when we find people we actually love we'll just have them as "lovers" on the side. That'll take care of the whole heirs thing too.

Odysseus: Yeah, sure, that works.

~A while later~

*"chilling" in their shared bedroom post-marriage*

Telemachus, internally: oh shit oh fuck of shit I actually fell in love with him oh gods this can't be happening I'm the one who told him this idea he thinks that he has such an easy out with this with the whole lovers thing so it's not like I can tell him that I'm actually in love with him...

Peisistratus, internally: oh no I actually fell in love with him oh dear gods he created this plan as just a practical thing he's literally a student of Athena I can't fuck this up by actually falling in love with him I was his first real friend I can't ruin our friendship and what was supposed to be an amicable way to help our kingdoms without any attachment

~Meanwhile~

Odysseus: Man, our son sure is able to sell being in love really well

Penelope: He sure is.

Odysseus: ...

Penelope: ...

Odysseus: So they absolutely caught feelings, right?

Penelope: Obviously.

[dagothurgent]

Hey. Hey can you talk to me about Sanguine. Your brain is so beautiful and juicy

GWA! HELLO! WELCOME! I LOVE YOUR ART AND CHARACTERS SO MUCH I AM HAPPY TO SEE YOU HERE

i do not know if youre talking about dms or if you just want me to infodump. i will in fact infodump . because i see opportunities and take them #yay. BUT DONT BE SCARED TO DM ME !!!! I DONT BITE I PROMISE. uhhhh this turned out to be LONG so im gonna cut riiight here

sanguine is one of my favourite daedric princes. like he and sheogorath are the two princes i can say 1. i am the most knowledgeable about and 2. are the most interesting to me. EVEN IF the writers dont understand them like i do. i understand them like i do. i'm literally making a sanguine cosplay for a con i'm going to next year entirely by hand. it's safe to say i really like sanguine.

i kinda view daedric princes as like. genuine embodiments of their sphere. idk how canon this really is but i think it tracks, the god of something would act like said something. sanguine is "one of the weakest princes" not necessarily by power, but rather by nature. he genuinely admits to you in skyrim that he does not think his decisions through and quite frankly i think he's telling the truth. i don't buy the whole "oh sanguine is just trying to lure you in because he's malicious". he's stupid is what he is. because he can only think about what's in front of him, metaphorically speaking. he's too in the moment. and he's too concerned with whether or not he feels good right now. because he's hedonism Himself. He can't plan for shit because he's too busy trying to find more vices to cling to. And as far as trying to have dominance goes, i really cannot be convinced that he cares about that. for the same exact reasons. he is a party animal. and so long as he is partying and his partying is not being disturbed, he genuinely does not a give a single shit.

i believe that sanguine isn't good intentioned or bad intentioned, he just is, and his moral code boils down to "whatever gives you a dopamine rush". and that's the actual danger. some people might find a lot of success as sanguine worshippers and really learn how to enjoy themselves, let loose, and actually give themselves what they want for once. others will wind up like martin septim, with a bunch of dead friends and probably not a lot of memories to explain it. self indulgence is inherently nuanced and the mortal experience with sanguine is going to reflect that, naturally. maybe there's a more eloquent way to say this, honestly, and i'm not sure. but people don't fall because sanguine likes seeing people's lives being destroyed by their addictions. people fall because sanguine enabled them. sanguine does not see the destruction. he only sees the desire. as is his nature to do so. he can be your best friend, sure. but whether or not you need him and why is always going to be the lingering question.

i will never not wonder why the sanguine rose summons these big armored dremora when thats not even remotely sanguine's vibe. like. why? what? are you joking. ok. like yeah, i get it, combat and all that. but dude its sanguine. i dont think he gives a shit about fighting. so of course i have to make my own dremora clan to explain that. i've posted about bloodlust clan before but they're effectively lackeys and doms, not soldiers. they appeal to the whims and proclivities of mortals on behalf of sanguine, and either serve as "entertainment" or as bodyguards when summoned by the rose (the way i see it, sanguine usually picks someone intelligent yet hedonistic as his champion so he gets to have a little advisor-pet who does the logical thought for him). sanguine is the most relaxed of the daedric princes when it comes to social structure CLEARLY, so i see no reason for him to have a military. like, you might THINK he has a military if you're not aware that some people are into a daedra in uniform but. no he just straight up doesn't. the bloodlust clan is just as interested in partying as sanguine is. they do not fight very often even when they're bodyguards. and BOY could i go on about them for ages (FEEL FREE TO ASK) but this post is REALLY long already

also some people draw him REALLY fucking hot and like hell if i'm not going for the rose ASAP if he comes to me as a big fat satyr.

[gingervitus]

DA Kiss Week Day 1: Morning

Oh I'm so stoked for this week. I LOVE love. Thank you for hosting such a fun event @dragonagekissweek.

I've been playing some Inquisition lately, and my canon Inquisitor is a Blackwall girlie so here we are I guess? (And then everything else I have written/planned is Davrook BYEEEE)

What's In a Name - Blackwall x Lavellan (3,503 words)

divider from here

Each day that passes, he finds it more difficult to decide how he should refer to himself.

On one hand, Blackwall is who these people know. Who they've fought alongside. Who they've trusted with their lives. All lies, yet here he remains, ever responding to a name not his own. A name that holds more honor in its little finger than Thom Rainier ever had on his best days. It should be noted that Thom continues to have this terrible way of showing up when he's least invited. A bad habit that resurfaces just when he thinks he's finally shaken the awful thing for good.

Where either one of them belongs at this point, he can't say. Certainly he won't be able to determine who stays and who goes over the constant prattling in his mind over the one he owes this chance to. The herald herself. Lady Lavellan. The most precious and delicate piece of his heart. She has shown him grace and kindness each step of the way, and he can't even get out of his own head long enough to pass through her doors.

Perhaps both Thom and Blackwall should be banished from whence they came.

"Surely, the good Lady Inquisitor is expecting you, Constable." He can barely deny Thom's contempt at times. Especially when three sets of outrageously entertained eyes stare up at him from the table where a game of Wicked Grace is underway. "Be a darling and bring this to her, won't you? Tell her I will not go another day with her strutting about in those rags." A smirk just as wicked as the the card game flashes from Dorian. A set of clean and neatly folded clothes sits beside him on the table. "Not that you care much at all what she wears. Isn't that so, Blackwall?"

The name is carried with such antipathy from some corners of the Inquisition. Dorian. Cassandra. Cullen. Those who likely would have sooner seen him locked away in a dark hole for the rest of his days than twiddling about in front of the Inquisitor's quarters. Frankly, he's certain that they would prefer him anywhere other than where he is right now, loitering in the bustling main hall of Skyhold attempting to find the nerve to push through the door that feels all too heavy at this moment. Although, Dorian does seem to delight in any comment or quip that give cause to squirm.

"Probably won't care much what he's wearing neither, our inky," Sera comments as she leans back in her chair to get a less than subtle look at Varric's cards. "I don't get what she sees, but that's her problem."

Folding his hand onto the table in front of him, Varric turns to their elven companion with a wry smile. "Sometimes in life you'll find the heart can be blind to what everyone else might see, Buttercup," he explains while stretching his arms back behind him. The dwarf's eyes catch his with a mischievous glint. "How it's blinded depends on the lover… or maybe their loving." Eyes dip down briefly before flicking back up once more.

"What're you on about?"

His whole face burns, and he debates snatching the clothing Dorian has folded for the Inquisitor. The movement would be too close. Coming just within a radius where he will have to conjure up some sort of response lest he be heckled more than he already is. As it is, Dorian's fingers are curled around the garments as he appraises his own hand of cards. "The rumor mill does continue to churn out whispers of a certain… prodigious asset," he hums as he folds two cards onto the table. "I certainly couldn't blame even the Herald of Andraste for having such tastes."

Varric's eyebrows raise. "You two have that in common then?"

A twist of a grin crosses a mustachioed face. "One might say that." Sera leans forward on her elbows, narrowed eyes darting between her card playing companions. "I do prefer that there be only a single identity held by the owner of such an endowment."

It's Thom who takes the opportunity to grab whatever clothing has been acquired for the Inquisitor. "Can't stand you lot," he grunts, though he carefully cradles the fabric in fumbling hands before turning his focus to Dorian. "Don't think I haven't seen you snooping around Bull after you think we've all turned in for the night."

Hands slap down against the middle of the table. "Oh!" Sera's eyes are just as wild as her grin. "Huge cock!"

Her voice carries through the hall, nearly pulling all of its bustling into an uncomfortable silence. "Yes, darling," Dorian coos and then lays his remaining cards flat on the table. A pile of coins that's been comfortably seated in front of Varric scrapes across the surface much to the dwarf's chagrin. "Do try to keep your voice down, though. We wouldn't want Mother Giselle to believe she could possibly provide a lecture on the sin of gambling to dissuade us from our game."

Once more, Sera leans forward, beaming up at her mortified friend before whispering, "Congrats on the huge cock." Never before has he so badly wanted to return a wink tossed in his direction.

He has never been one to be embarrassed. Not as Thom Rainier and not as Blackwall. To be a shrinking violet is simply not in his nature. In this world, there is no time to blush at one's nature. At one's missteps. At one's body, one's mind. He doesn't recognize the person barreling through the doors to the Inquisitor's chambers, face alight with a burning flush. Desperately trying to escape Dorian's and Varric's cackling.

Her room is filled with morning sunlight, which he supposes makes sense. They had spent most of the previous nights scouring the vast emptiness that is the Hissing Wastes gathering various supplies, disposing of any lingering Venatori presence, and closing rifts in the Fade. The return journey had been long, and between the constant ranting by Dorian about the saddles they had been provided for their horses and the incessant bickering between Solas and the Inquisitor, he's certain they were all thrilled to finally have a break in their travels. By the time they returned to Skyhold, the sun was pushing out over the horizon to pierce through the darkness of night, and she had immediately disappeared, exclaiming how badly she wished to wash the sand out of everywhere it was beginning to chafe on her.

Light spills over everything. Books on shelves. Trinkets on tables. Crumpled blankets on a bed. Ink hastily scrawled along parchment. Her quarters are always slightly in disarray. Never totally put together but never unkempt enough to draw our comments from their more neurotic associates. There's an ornate rug in the center of the room spun with silver thread through each flower patterned throughout the material. Someone had found it in Val Royeaux during one of their many visits and left it discarded in a common area for weeks before she swept it up for herself. A handmade blanket sits neatly folded at the edge of her bed: a reminder of a hard-won barter she won at a Dalish settlement. It did cost them several bundles of spindle weed and embrium on top of the two long bows she was already supplying them. The wistful comments about how it felt like home wrapped around her shoulders as she gazed into a waning fire. In such precious short time, he has become so fondly familiar with her quarters even if his visits have dwindled down to nothing since tangled web of events that have transpired since their visit to the Winter Palace.

The bathing basin between the large doors onto the balcony, however, is a new development, he can confidently say. Golden waves spill over the closest edge of the tub, flowing long and silken over bronzed shoulders. Her hair seems to be longer each time he takes notice. Curling around her ears and the base of her neck when it's up. Strands coming loose and framing a face so focused on pressing forward it barely has the chance to bask in its own inherent beauty. He can clearly picture the darkening freckles that seem to continue accumulating despite layers of armor. The very same patterning continues over her nose. On top of her forehead. Across her chest. Stars cannot compare.

One graceful arm lifts from the pool. Droplets slip from her fingertips back into the bath. Rhythmic and not all at once. Beads drip down through the lithe muscles in her shoulders. Trained through years using a bow. Scaling cliff sides. Climbing trees. Carrying the weight of an Inquisition. A sliver of her face catches the morning sun, as resplendent as any part of her. The bow of her lips curls up into what he can only assume is a smile. Liquid sunshine in her eyes glances back at him, holding him in an undying esteem she is still able to muster somehow. After all he has done—all the crimes he has committed and the lies he has told—she manages to harbor a fondness for him, let alone even spare him a passing glance.

He clears his throat, lifting the garments growing damp in his palms. "Seems I've been made Dorian's errand boy today," he explains. She turns to face him further, the slightly crooked line of her nose coming into view. She explained to Cassandra over ale one night that she had broken it as a girl when she tumbled headfirst into a ravine, following a family of nugs without watching where she was stepping. "He said something about you wearing rags." A brow arches in response, so he hastily adds, "Not sure what he could be talking about, but you got a new outfit out of the matter. So that's… nice?"

Water sloshes around in the tub as she turns to fully face him. As strong as they may be, her shoulders are narrow, lean in their way and barely span the width of the basin. Her breasts are obscured by suds along the surface of the water. Pert and perfect along the defined muscles at her chest wall. She's built compactly. Defined in aerodynamics and speed. A bird meant to take flight, limber and agile in the dew laden air of the morning. Waves of golden thread spun by Andraste herself glow in the light. A halo around the head of a goddess if ever there has been one. He has never been a devoutly religious man in his life, but as she watches him from her bath, hair turning liquid in the pool around her, he finds it difficult to not bend a knee in reverence at such an altar.

"I think Dorian has grown as tired of your avoidance of me as I have." It takes all of his will to keep his eyes trained on hers and not turn away like a bumbling school boy. She folds her arms over the edge of the metal basin. Water rolls down the side and pools at the floor, reflecting tiny rays of light back up at her. "You can leave the clothes on the bedside table."

Eyes follow each move he makes as though she is an all too realistic painting immortalized on the wall of some great manor. The silks drop unceremoniously beside a pile of letters that have yet to be addressed and a discarded silver locket with small dried orange flowers pressed into its inside panels. His fingertips brush along the metal of the necklace's chain, wondering about such an artifact. Where it comes from. How long she's had it. If it is even hers.

"I wouldn't say no to your company," she quietly tells him to cut though the crisp quiet of the morning, almost as shockingly bashful as he feels. "I'd welcome it, actually."

The man he was before—the mercenary, the murderer—would have more than gladly taken the offer. Pulled her from her bath. Tossed her wet and wanton onto the bed beside the basin. Ravished her for as long as she would allow. Take her all morning long, into the afternoon, and then some if she were able. Hair pulled. Sweat slicked. Indecent and wild.

However, the criminal offered mercy in the hour he least deserved it stands awkwardly. Doesn't know what to do with his hands, do they remain tightly balled into fists at his sides. He owes her his freedom. His life. Anything she can take from him she should as he sees it, so he cannot bring himself to deny her request. "As you wish, my lady." Before all the lies began to unfurl, he was enveloped entirely by her sheer existence. How someone could be considered to be chosen to lead by Andraste while harboring such poorly veiled repulsion for the Chantry is beyond him, yet she still holds her head high with dignity and grace in a way most have not deserved from her. How she could listen to all that is spewed in her direction and still devise plans without hesitations is a mystery to him. How she can still stare at him with all the beauty of the sun pulling itself over the horizon after his actions amazes him.

Her bed sinks below his weight with an all too familiar creek, and his hands rest anxiously in his lap. The urge to squeeze them back into fists is strong, but he chooses to fix his eyes to them instead. It feels like the best plan, considering he likely wouldn't be able to keep his gaze off of her ass through the sudless sections of water. "Don't act scandalized like you haven't seen me nude before." The smirk in her voice is evident. A snort forces its way out of him as he drags his eyes back up to her. "As if half the Inquisition hasn't seen me nude."

"I don't recall you getting any orders to run through the courtyard with your arse to the breeze," he shoots back before he is able to filter his response. A grin tugs at the corner of her lips. "No one would've thought twice if I'd been walking to and from the hall with a fresh set for you."

Wet hands reach for him, leaving wet drops along his trousers. Her fingers are pruned against his calloused hands as she wraps them in her grasp. "But where's the fun in that," she muses, thumb brushing along his knuckles. "My body isn't shameful. In fact, I think some of the troops were in need of a little pick-me-up."

Despite himself, he laughs again. "Certainly, there is nothing you need be ashamed of, my lady," he assures her. Not a single ridge of muscle. Not a single curve of skin. Not a single line on her face or freckle on her body. There is nothing to be ashamed of on her part. In fact, at the time, he recalls a thrill running through him knowing that the whole of camp saw her leaving the barn. That they all knew why she was there. Who she was there with.

The silence that follows is pregnant with all that needs to be said between them. All that has waited in the time that has elapsed since his release. He is unworthy to be in her presence. To be held by her gaze. In her hands. "Viera," she states plainly before pressing the most gentle of kisses against his knuckles. He hums curiously, assuming it to be whatever traces of Elvhen she may have taken with her from her clan. Muttering din—what he can only assume means, no—to herself with increasing aggitation while scratching out whatever plan she is devising. Tel'athim growled under her breath after conversations mostly with Solas, occasionally with Varric or Vivienne. "Now, we know each other's names."

He blinks at her, a little taken aback. Mostly stunned that after all this time he hasn't thought to inquire about something so simple as her name. They've discussed so many varied topics. Her bow training with the Dalish. Woodworking and the proper way to carve an arrow. A theory that Sera has been sent as retroactive punishment for misdoings Cassandra and Solas partook in during their past lives. Nug domestication plans. Best guesses as to how Josephine cheats at cards. So many foolish topics, yet he is only now learning her given name.

"Viera," he repeats, slowly as to get a feel for it in his mouth. Sweet and dangerous. Like honey stolen directly from the hive. He knows it will be his undoing. She will be his undoing, not that he's particularly opposed to the idea of unwinding from the life of lies he has woven for himself.

When her smile grows enough to bear her teeth, his heart rears into a gallop in his chest. So few are the moments for any of them to express pure joy. Elation beyond measure. And for whatever reason she may have, she has chosen to give him one of those rare opportunities. "Yes." She leans forward, her chest pressing flush against the tub. "And if it's all the same to you, I think she and Thom would get along famously."

"Inquisitor…"

"Viera." She holds strong in her ways. Steadfast in using a name he feels himself a fool for not learning sooner. Had he been so overcome by playing a part he would never fit into that something so imperative fell through the cracks so thoroughly. "Thom."

His eyes slide shut. He isn't so dense to know that the better half of the inquisition only regard him in any fashion at all is because of her. All the wary stares and backwards glances are far louder than any choked out 'Blackwall' will ever be. The only worse fate has been the thought of a sneered 'Thom' or 'Rainier' from an individual who previously regarded with respect, but when she says it—his name, a real name—suddenly there's hope in its consonants and vowels. In the turn of the name in her mouth, there is less shame than there's ever been.

Waters splash as their surface is disturbed. He opens his eyes to find her backlit by the morning light she no doubt dragged the tub out to enjoy on her face. Gold from the sun in her hair. Blue from the clear sky. Warm bronzes and caramels from her skin. Drops roll down her chest, through the valley of her breasts. Dripping into the dip of her navel. Over the planes of taught well earned muscle. The pointed curves of her hips. And all the while she watches him, her gaze goldenrod and hot despite the cool morning. Unwavering despite all he's done and all she is to this world.

If divinity truly is to exist, surely, he thinks, this must be it, for there is no god alive or dead who would ever compare to the molten beauty rising from the still steaming waters before him.

Reaching out for her is second nature. Not a thought passes through his head as his fingers brush against her hand. "Say it again," he whispers, pleading almost. A prayer he isn't certain he deserves to make, though he suddenly longs for it.

Her hands cup his face. Water runs down through his beard and down his neck. "Thom." Dragging a wasting body through the desert or sitting at a table full of fine wines and meats and cheeses, he has never been so starved before. A man so desperate to sate his thirst he has no choice but to throw himself into the oasis head long whether it will have him or not.

Her lips are so full and soft against his own he can hardly keep his mind from dumping every coherent thought he had before. All there is in the entire universe is her. His fingers curl around her side, pressing into the wet flesh they find there. It's been so long since she pardoned him. Since he last felt so desperate he had to kiss her.

This is different, though. Slow. Reverent. Wanting and patient all at once. Her mouth works purposefully against his, slotting in so perfectly he is of half a mind to cry at the sensation. The feeling of finding the last piece to a puzzle that falls in just right. Of figuring out the final word in a sentence that just would not come to an end. "Viera," he breathes into her mouth. A hymn to welcome in the day. To turn any darkness anyway that has lingered from the unending night he's lived in for years.

A song of morning skitters through the air that's still stretching into wakefulness, beckoning the sun to kiss his skin so that he might, one day, be absolved of his sins, and for once, he believes that to be a possibility.

[escapistendencies]

'What is the main problem in your life right now, and how to take care of yourself while going through it?' Pick-a-Card Tarot Reading

PILES THREE AND FOUR WILL BE IN THE REBLOGS!!

Explanation of the spread: I drew a tarot card to see what your biggest issue right now was, then to see what was the best course of action for you to take right now. The Oracle of Shadow&Light represents your biggest blockage of being able to fulfill the guidance. Self-Care Oracle offers insight as to what you need to do to take care of yourself physically and emotionally in these times. The Green Witch Oracle offers any additional insight. I didn't limit the number of cards, so each group has varying numbers. Wish you all the best:) xx

PILE ONE:

In your current issue position, you have got The Tower so... this is my 'everything is happening' pile:D You got The Fool for what you need to be doing, but after looking through your entire spread, I decided to also get a clarifier -you are the only group I did that for- and The Sun came out. Frankly, it could not be clearer. Your entire life is being uprooted right now, and all you can do is literally just keeping a positive outlook anyway. I assume that sucks to hear, but if there was anything else that would be the best course of action, that'd come out. And honestly, what better way to deal with a Tower issue other then being The Sun and The Fool? Your Oracle of Shadow and Light tells me that the greatest obstacles in front of you, that stop the Sun and Fool energies, are a past issue ('Sweet Memories'), and the fact that you do not know where to go from here ('A Clear Solution'). I know it must be difficult, pile 1, but it is in your best interest to look up to the Fool, and take a step forward, even when you don't know where that might lead you. Whether your issue, with Sweet Memories here, is that you are a beginner at something, or that you miss the past, or you have always been someone who has been a certain way, but the current moment is so different to what you want or need as a person that you are feeling like everything is coming crumbling down, or whether you have left a person or place behind; you really need to not hold onto the imaginary reigns so hard, as it is making everything worse. You need to learn to go with the flow, and lighten up... Your Green Witch cards say 'positivity, change'& 'clarity, rumination'. I think you are gonna gain far more clarity if you start developping a positive outlook. The greatest gift you can give to yourself right now is embracing whatever intense change or changes are going around you, and try not to hold on so tightly to any past issues, people, places, situations or even your past personality traits; and be as positive and lighthearted as you can be going forward. One step at a time, you will find yourself in a much better place. Lastly; your cards for what to do to feel physically better is 'meditate' and 'spend time with friends'; and for emotional wellness, you got 'positive affirmations'. I think most of your current unwellness might be around emotional imbalance above all, pile 1. I'd say that you really need to find balance between alone time and time spent with loved ones to feel physically better. Your emotional wellness, of course, relies on, as we have said this entire time, positivity. Find what you have to be thanful for, and hold onto that. I wish you the best.

PILE TWO:

This is a heavy pile, just so you know going into it. You most likely are dealing with a family or home issue; but it can be friends, or any other closer-knit social group as well. Your biggest problem right now is the Ten of Cups which... you know; rarely would be referred to as a problem. Lol. One of the cards representing your greatest obstacle in taking the steps to care for yourself being 'Three Witchy Sisters' really confirms to me that this is a family-related issue for most of you. This next part is gonna resonate for only some of you, but I want to get it out as early as possible; with the 'Miracle' card,there might be a baby -or, the lack of a baby- involved in your situation. I also feel like, for some of you, there is someone else's baby that might be causing you a problem -especially if it is your sister's child. With 'The Natural World Needs You', I think some of you might be feeling like you are obligated to take care of someone else's child, or that you are obligated to fulfill other peoples' wishes in some way. Alternatively, you might be the black sheep of your family; or you might feel like your family expect too much of you in some other way. You might also be someone who wants to have a child, or thought they 'would have had' one 'by now' (really felt this one btw...) or that you DON'T want a child, at all. In any case, your greatest issue is that you feel like you do not fit in, or this family or social unit is taking far too much out of you, and you are drained, but feel responsible, and think that they 'need you'. (And they might! But you need to think about yourself as well!!) Your second tarot card, telling me what you should do to feel better, is the Queen of Wands. Confidently sitting on her throne, she is individualistic, but warm; knows and accepts herself, but does not turn away others. She doesn't move with the rationality of the Queen of Swords, or the emotional investment of The Queen of Cups, neither does she have the sense of grounded responsibility like the Queen of Pentacles. That is the energy you need to find right now. Do not turn others away, do not cut them off, but do not feel like you have to be constantly emotionally open, or like you have a set of responsibilities that you must fulfill at all times. You need to focus on your own desires, sexuality, and needs. What do you want? What do you need? This reminded me of that scene in The Notebook, if you've seen it. Stop considering everyone else. What do YOU WANT? That needs to be what you know or look into, and then act based on. Do not turn people away in that process, but know that you are on your own throne right now, primarily focused on your own needs. The Green Witch Oracle has given us The Sun as a clarifier. You are warm, you are good, but you need to extend that to yourself, as well... and the Pine Tree card says 'Liveliness, longevity, perseverance'. I think if you can manage to stay in that Queen of Wands energy for some time, consistently; it's gonna help you find your place in either this social group (most likely), or other ones, as well... The bridges will be stronger then ever, so to speak. As I said, you needn't leave your responsibilities, or whatever you feel emotionally or physically connected to; just do it how you want to, find your own way, and it will help you. Your card for what to do to feel better physically is 'write a gratitude list', which I think was interesting; so I'm gonna recommend writing a list of what makes you physically feel better, and sticking to that, as I think that's in line with the Queen of Wands. What you need to do to take care of yourself emotionally is 'Watch a Movie', so, I think that's a clear message of 'do something you enjoy'. Watch your favourite films, read your favourite books. If you do not have any, try to find some! You need to reconnect with what you are passionate about to get through this phase of your life. I wish you the best.

[lavender--ghost]

DIAVOLO UR+ - A PRINCELY ESCORT

PART ONE

(Assembly Room)

(Diavolo) Now that the exchange students have officially started their prep work for the upcoming Three Worlds Festival, I have to ask... Is there anything I can assist you with? Anything at all. Budgeting, scheduling, you name it. If there's something you think I could do to make things easier, just say the word!

(MC) Thanks, but we'll be fine.

(Diavolo) No, I mean it. You know that you can ask me for anything, right? I want you to be able to rely on me.

(Barbatos) My Lord, you mustn't burden others with your good intentions.

(Diavolo) While the event is being headed up by the exchange students, as the head of RAD, I'm not entirely unrelated to the project. I hope you'll permit me to assist in that respect, at least.

(MC) We appreciate the thought, but...

(Diavolo) ...No, you're right. I need to respect your desire for independence. But, can you at least promise to come to me at the first sigh of trouble?

(Barbatos) My Lord, it's almost time for your next appointment. We must be on our way.

(Diavolo) Ah, right. Good luck, everyone.

(Solomon) ...I thought he'd never leave. Well, he does tend to get overly concerned whenever MC is involved.

(Simeon) ...

(Change to Purgatory Hall)

(Solomon) There, that should be the last of the duties that needed to be assigned. I think we're all sorted now.

(Simeon) Thinking back on that earlier conversation with Lord Diavolo though... Maybe we should just keep the specifics to ourselves, after all.

(Solomon) You know, I was just thinking the same thing. It's already common knowledge that the festival's going showcase our accomplishments as exchange students. So, it would look bad if we weren't doing everything to the best of our unassisted abilities. I'm all for his show of support, and I can understand his wanting to fuss over MC, but...

(Simeon) Mn, it would be better for everyone involved if he took a step back. That would allow us more opportunity to convey our own feelings of gratitude. I think it might be prudent of us to impress upon him our desire to handle this event on our own.

(Luke) I feel kind of bad for Lord Diavolo, but that sounds like a good idea.

(Raphael) Agreed. Or, if he absolutely has to help, then we give him the most minor job possible.

(Solomon) MC, would you mind sitting down and having another chat with Lord Diavolo about that?

PART TWO

(Demon Lord's Castle)

(Diavolo) All right. I hear you loud and clear. Thank you for being so candid with me, MC. Quite frankly, I couldn't be more moved by their level of consideration! True harmony between the three worlds isn't just a vague sense of camaraderie... In my opinion, it's having genuine respect for the other races and seeing them as equals. Which is exactly what the exchange students have requested! I think that's marvelous!

As the future Demon King, I'm perfectly happy to oversee your endeavors from afar... But on a more personal level, it does feel a little lonely to not be needed. I know that I shouldn't meddle, but... I really would like to do something. Is there anything I can do for you, MC? That isn't necessarily related to the event.

(MC) I'll be waiting for you to ask me out to the party.

(Diavolo) You really mean it?... Well, then. I'll have to put my free time to good use by coming up with something memorable. It's not every day that you make a request like that, after all.

(Change to RAD)

(Solomon) Right, we should really nail down how things are going to go on the day of. Let's see, starting wi-

(Mephistopheles) Ugh, finally! I've been looking for you bunch!

(Solomon) What brings you here, Mephisto?

(Mephistopheles) I want to help with the TTWF! You must be swamped at this point, right? Seriously, I'm ready and willing for anything!

(Raphael) ...Since when did you become a font of altruism?

(Solomon) ...Let me guess. You want to ride the coattails of our success to get in Lord Diavolo's good graces.

(Mephistopheles) A-A likely story! I'm here purely out of the goodness of my hear-

(Lucifer) I've heard enough from you. You know full well that only the exchange students and those they have requested assistance from have any business here, and you fit neither description.

(Mephistopheles) Tch! You stay out of this, Lucifer!

(Barbatos) Goodness, what would the Young Master say if he learned of this scheme?

(Mephistopheles) Not you too, Barbatos... Fine. I'll withdraw for today.

(Solomon) ...Well, that's one crisis averted. Thank you both.

(Lucifer) Our intervention is what Diavolo would have wanted. He was adamant that your work wasn't to be interrupted.

(Barbatos) Indeed. I must say, it's rather fortunate that we arrived when we did.

(Lucifer) Of course, we're equally invested in the outcome of your event.

(Barbatos) I hope you'll make it a success, for everyone's sake.

(MC) We're going to knock it out of the park!

(Lucifer) I would expect nothing less.

(Solomon) Don't worry, we won't let you down.

PART THREE

(Banquet Room)

(Luke) I just need to finish putting up decorations for the stage... And, there! That's the last one!

(Raphael) Which marks the end of our preparations. The day before the event itself too.

(MC) All that's left is the real thing!

(Luke) I'm sure it's going to be ridiculously busy, so we'd better be ready for it!

(Diavolo) Congratulations! I see that you've completed all your tasks! You've all put in a lot of work to reach this point. Being able to watch as your plans developed from start to finish has been an honor. I couldn't be more proud of you all. Given that TTWF is happening tomorrow, why don't all of you call it a day and get some rest?

(Solomon) That's some pretty sensible advice. Alright, that's it for today!

(Diavolo) Oh, MC. There's something I'd like to talk to you about. Would you mind staying behind for a little while?

(Time passes)

(Diavolo) I'm sorry, you must be tired. I'll try not to keep you long. Truly, I can't thank you enough for all the effort you've put into the event. You've gone above and beyond. On that note, would you mind waiting for me at the house of Lamentation tomorrow, instead of going to RAD on your own?

(MC) You're going to come pick me up?

(Diavolo) There's no harm in heading to campus together every once in a while, is there? I'd like to make up for all the time I haven't gotten to spend with you. I'm really looking forwards to tomorrow. So, I'll see you then.

(Change to House of Lamentation Living Room)

(Mammon) Huh? MC, shouldn't you've left by now?

(Asmodeus) You're running TTWF, right? is it okay for you to still be twiddling your thumbs here?

(MC) I'm waiting for someone.

(Asmodeus) Ooooh, don't tell me! Is it your date for the TTWF?!

(Mammon) Huh?! Who's goin' around our backs and snatching up MC like that? I'm gonna give 'em a piece of my mind!

(CAR REEVING)

(Mammon) Huh? Did you guys just hear some obnoxiously loud engine rev?

(Asmodeus) I'm heading out to take a peek!

(Change to Front Door)

(Diavolo) Thank you for waiting, MC.

(Mammon) Lord Diavolo?!

(Asmodeus) Gosh, that's such a swanky ride!

(Diavolo) Well, if it isn't Mammon and Asmodeus! Perfect timing. You won't mind if MC grants me the pleasure of their company for the entire day, would you?

(Mammon) ...Gah! How're we supposed to turn down a request from Lord Diavolo, of all people?!

(Asmodeus) Hon, you already know we're outclassed. Besides, what really matters is what MC wants to do.

(Diavolo) Precisely. Still, I thought it would be best to make my intentions known to their family.

(Asmodeus) Oooh, so traditional! You're such a sweetheart!

(Mammon) Dammit! I can't say anythin' bad about that either...!

(Diavolo) So, if you'll allow me... MC, would you accompany me to the TTWF?

(MC) I'd love to!

(Diavolo) Thank you, MC! Hearing that from you is like a dream come true. I reserved the day especially for you. Come on, hop in.

(Change to Banquet Room)

(Diavolo) While all good things must come to an end, that really was over in a flash. It might not have been a very long ride, but it certainly was an enjoyable one. And there's still the entire event to experience together. Really, the day's only just begun! There's so much to look forward to!

(Simeon) Good morning, MC. Ah, I see that you came with Lord Diavolo today.

(Luke) I was starting to worry that you'd overslept because you hadn't gotten here yet!

(Solomon) Leave it to the stars of the show to make a fashionably late entrance.

(Diavolo) MC's delayed arrival is entirely my fault. I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting.

(Solomon) Speaking of leading roles, this might be a little sudden, but... What would you all say to having Lord Diavolo give the opening speech?

(DIavolo) Who, me?!

PART FOUR

(Diavolo) I'm not the host of this event, you all are. If I gave the opening speech, wouldn't that undermine your accomplishments?

(Solomon) If anything, I think it would do more for inter-world relations to have you kick things off.

(Simeon) I agree. We need someone to represent the Devildom, after all.

(Luke) I second that!

(Raphael) I have no objections.

(Diavolo) ...If you're all in agreement, then how can I refuse? I'll be sure to deliver a rousing address, as befitting the occasion.

(Time passes)

(Diavolo) The aim of the Three Worlds Festival has always been to foster peace and understanding with those who hail from outside the Devildom. Rather fittingly, today's event would not have been possible without the hard work of our dedicated exchange students. Please join me in a round of applause, in honor of our extraordinary hosts.

(Solomon) That's Lord Diavolo for you. The crowd's still cheering.

(Simeon) We'd better not let them down.

(Change to Demon Lord's Castle Gardens)

(Diavolo) I'm so pleased that the event finished without any issues. Of course, that was the result of all your hard work! You mush be rather tired. Go ahead, take the time to sit and unwind.

(MC) Freedooooooom!

(Diavolo) Haha! I imagine that you were under quite a lot of pressure. Thank you for sticking with it. Oh, right! I have something fun with me.

See? They're sparklers. I brought them especially for you. I thought you would be in need of a pleasant distraction after all the stress of the event. I've always found them refreshing. Well, why don't we light a couple?

(MC) They're really pretty.

(Diavolo) I'm glad you're enjoying them! Here, these are for you. They change color as time elapses.

You have ones like them in the human world, right? They remind me of you actually. With your ever-changing range of expressions... I would love to learn more about you. As both a human and an individual.

I hope our connection will continue to burn brighter than any flame. Ah, that's it for the sparklers. That's a tad disappointing. It almost feels like it's signalling the end of our moment alone together, too... MC, I don't want you to go just yet.

(MC) Kiss him.

(Diavolo) Ah... I love it when you take the initiative. But, please. Allow me... mn. I adore you too much to ever want to let you go, and it's only getting worse...

Would you spend the rest of the night with me? It's rare I'm afforded the opportunity to watch you fall asleep. Between the event itself and the review meeting, I suppose we've finally exhausted the the topic of TTWF.

All in all, I hope that this wonderful day will remain in your memories for years to come. I know that I won't ever forget it.

[skalidra]

Hey! As the person who asked the question, there are actually two things that I (and most of the 'dark' community you speak of) have issue with here.

1) The banned content is frankly not a big deal, but if you're going to disallow content please be honest about why you're doing it. 'I can't risk the theoretical result of getting doxed' is a legit reason! I think you're probably not going to get much difference between highly NSFW things and the banned content in terms of what might get you fired, but if those particular things are what you as the server mod are not willing to deal with, you just have to say so. They are, however, NOT against Discord's TOS nor their Community Guidelines. The only thing that either disallows, as currently written (and just double checked by me) is visual representation of children in sexual situations, so the only actual rule there is 'Don't post sexual art of minors'. (Best to be safe and say that applies to fictional as well, though Discord doesn't say that.)

2) The actual much bigger red flag here is the 'Controversial Ships/Tropes' channel. *Content* can be dark, but a ship or trope by itself, regardless of the characters involved, is not automatically dark and shouldn't be treated as such. There are ways to handle things like this in a server that you want to be publicly available for the community, but this is a really anti-lite, unfortunate way to do it. To say 'Batcest doesn't count as incest' but then also immediately come back with, 'But it has to go in the Controversial channel no matter what' is... Oof.

As a few quick examples:

If I write Damian in thirty+ years, having a completely consensual relationship and fluffy moment with Jon, that has to go into controversial? The characters are two adults at that point, the story is fluff, there's no reason it should be. 'But that character is fictionally 13 in this unrelated canon story' is straight anti logic to argue against ships.

Taking a ladder step down, omegaverse and pregnancy? Like, at all? Similarly, kinks? At all? This in its entirety a really weird moral stance being drawn, and not an encouraging one.

One more ladder step, Slade/Dick, sure, let's say that gets talked about. You've already disallowed noncon, so it's already a consensual relationship. I'm not actually super clear on what dubcon is 'allowed', but it seems to be only types that are just influencing character judgment, so we can again say even if technically dubcon, it's still going to be consensual, and all that has to be spoilered anyway. So a... completely consensual relationship between (presumably, no pedophilia after all) adults, regardless of setting, backstory, AU, or whatever, still goes in controversial because... it has two characters that some people don't like being shipped.

This is the problem. You can say 'you won't be ostracized' all you like out loud, but when you also tell me that most of what I like has to go in The Corner Of Stuff People Don't Like, it's really, really hard to trust your word.

Genuinely, I hope you get the people for your server that you want, and I hope that it works out, but this doesn't look like an actually welcoming space for those of us that fit in your Controversial box, which is why I initially sought clarification when I saw 'some things not allowed'.

Hello everyone!!!

Are you an adult 20+ years old?

Are you tired of antis and gatekeeping and drama caused by the uprise of purity culture?

Are you tired of Discord servers in this fandom either being ran by 14 year olds or antis who get offended at every little thing you disagree with about THEIR beloved innocent blorbo?

Then boy have I got the server for you!!

Welcome to The Hall of Justice! We are a pro-ship DC comics server by adults for adults. We do have some specific content we don't allow in the server, or that is restricted to specific channels, but the characters you ship will never inherently be a part of that!

We are 20+ with a separate age restricted section for the 24+ crowd as well!

All are welcome, we don’t bite! (Much. And only with permission.)

I’d also just like to remind people especially if you’re younger and don’t know, pro-ship just means anti-censorship!! That’s it!! The server has designated spaces for different ships and tropes to try and make it as comfy a space as possible for as many as possible!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Learning to celebrate the little wins!

[cluescorner]

I cannot imagine being a Damian stan right now. You've got both Zdarsky's bullshit (where he clearly doesn't give a shit about your boy) and The Boy Wonder (where Juni Ba clearly gives so many shits about your boy) coming out on the same day. The whiplash must be insane. I hope y'all get some nice warm soup for your efforts jfc

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

As someone who watched last night’s episode, you had the right idea to stop.

Why’s it so bad

Because Tim Minear is a power-drunk hack.

[isfjmel-phleg]

I have to order books for the library today and I just put all the current requests in the cart and I want to run away and forget they exist

[yeonban]

The fact that once Elijah dies, the world's somewhat more intimate memories of young/er Tobias (<-basically anything that goes beyond Tobias just standing there menacingly like 🧍‍♂️ in the far-off background) die too suddenly struck me like lightning

[gibbearish]

ive seen ppl saying smth in the wider plagiarism discussion to the tune of "don't worry anxious people, it's impossible to accidentally plagiarize!" and i feel like that lacks a lot of nuance that anxious brains like mine latch on to to just dismiss the possibility outright, as well as a lack of life experiences fueling it.

it is possible to "accidentally plagiarize" in that you can read something, forget about it, then a while later have your brain spit the ideas back out without telling where it got them. so of course you just assume they're yours and share them as such, because That's Where Most Of The Thoughts In Your Head Come From! and it both is and isn't plagiarism, you weren't /intending/ to pass someone's else's work off as your own, i'd even say in a way you were just as much a victim of misinformation as your audience. but you very much so did still resuse the work of someone else, even if you don't remember it.

but in my experience, this kind of thing also happens to a lot of people. you tell a friend a joke then wake up in a cold sweat two days later realizing the reason they didnt laugh was because they'd told you that joke a month ago. you reply to a friend's text and after sending you realized you ended it with the same exact phrase as theirs. you're writing edgy poetry and write a line you really like only to see it in a text post two days later saying youve already liked the post. like, it happens. so if it DOES happens and you're just honest and explain, people will understand. something like "oh shit im sorry, i totally have read that, i mustve forgotten and only remembered bits and pieces and just thought they were mine. thank you for letting me know and for the source" works wonders.

people know you can forget things. people won't automatically doubt your apology just because all true plagiarists say it was accidental. HOPEFULLY people can understand the nuance between a genuine remorseful explanation, and a thief who hoped no one would find out scrambling for excuses for why they did it. and those who can't, that's a them problem, not a you problem, you've taken responsibility for your actions as much as you can. they think the answer is simple, that the only thing stopping you from saying "yes i did it on purpose, i knew the whole time and deliberately copied them" is shame/inability to admit to your actions. but sometimes things AREN'T that simple, so imo ppl who are shitty to you for not following the script they made up for you in their head should be ignored

[cementcornfield]

ok so i have very much moved past hoping for the playoffs but i thought this was so funny

we are technically still in it lmao. look at that, if we win, we've got a 3% chance!! all we need to do is win every game from here on out (with literally the only good members of our defense out for the season besides trey lol) and for every team above us to suddenly completely forget how to play football!

but what's really funny is we are the LAST possible team that can still make the playoffs at number 10 right now. look at this.

ALL OF THESE TEAMS have already been mathematically eliminated already?? with a little over a month left in the season?? (also lmao WHAT was the afc this year??)

AND!!!!

we're also currently in the top 10 for the draft next year hahahaha. somehow 4 wins both gets you a chance (even if it's a ghost of one) for the playoffs and a chance to pick in the top 10. this season is absurd!!!