#Letting Go of Ego

[whisperingwisdom]

CAREFUL: EGO is your worst ENEMY, How to let go of your EGO

[hansoeii]

surprisingly, viktor is quite the hugger. Only jayce knows this, of course.

[chirrups]

when in doubt, dog it out

[inkskinned]

despite pages of poems and the entire book i wrote you - you only ever wrote me two songs. the first has the lyric coming up on 7.13, the date we first started really flirting. it's been three years from then, and my life has been utterly ruined. we haven't spoken in a month. i oscillate between being a wreck and being wildly, manically happy. i go long periods without thinking of you - and then i keep myself up, tortured by memories.

i think it's important to note we had been friends for years first. that i had learned to trust you, to think better of you. that you knew who i was - and you still fucking broke me. you knew all the ways i had worked to be okay with myself. all my independence, my hobbies. you could have left me alone, is the thing. you could have let me just keep fucking living.

i keep writing paragraphs on paragraphs about what you did, what you said - who you were. how it escalated so slowly. how i am still scared to admit the truth of things, fearing your response. you taught me that fear. it's only been a month, but still - already, how strange to think of who i was while i was with you. that was a husk-girl, cowering, servile. i can't believe let you in my fucking house.

three weeks before you discarded me; you took me ring shopping. you would tell me so many times i was the love of your life, someone that you "couldn't live without."

the last thing you sent me was that second song - a new one, finally. it's about how i'll never get what i want. about how miserable the idea of a life with me is.

my mother was furious. i had to call her - i was sobbing on the floor of my bathroom about it. She knows it kills me that i can't have kids, i said, breathless, silver and shaking with anguish, Why would she make a fucking song about how sad that is.

you know her, and you know how gentle and forgiving she is. how rare her anger is. her response was slow, deliberate. sweetheart, she said, she can write any song she wants. i know my girl. you are going to write a book instead.

i hiccupped a laugh, but she was still talking. she dropped her voice low, almost scraping through the phone and onto the floor with me. it was a strange tone, almost like feeling a storm coming when there's nowhere safe to be.

i want you to rip her apart, she said. do you think you can you do that for me?

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

None of our hands are clean

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[manticorecure]

goodnight, sweet prince

[catocappuccino]

Had some thoughts 'bout "Super Zeros" recently...

So here's everyone in their adorable lil outfits!!!

[reality-detective]

Every negative thing that’s holding you back from enlightenment is due to the payoff you’re getting secretly from the ego.

Let ALL the sh¡t go and GROW 🤔

[ronkeyroo]

ᴛɪʟʟ 𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ᴜꜱ ᴘ ᴀ ʀ ᴛ

[plush-rabbit]

Foggy Minds

Word Count: 4.7K A/N: I dont know his body!! So I tried to leave it ambiguous and yeah!! i also wrote this just for the ending bit

-

It’s a fucking joke. A cruel one. Angels- or at least Exterminators- are known for their cruelty. Raining down from above, a storm cloud that leaves red behind. Even after the destruction and death, the guts and gore that leave a lasting stench, the cruelty isn’t done. The angel Adam still has to bring torment down to Hell.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing is what he is. He can pretend he’s higher than the sinners down below, but he’s just as crude, if not more so than the worst of them here. It’s a tradition at this point for both you and him. He brings hell on hell, and a week later, he flies down once more, calling the club that you work at, demanding for you to be sent to the Heaven Embassy. However, as the next Extermination Day comes close, he’s called for your services once again. You wish you could say no, but he pays quite a lot for you, and you could always use the money.. 

You hate the walk there more than anything. It’s like everyone knows you’re off to go fuck the Exorcist. You look both ways before disappearing through the doors of the Embassy. Maybe they think you’re getting a meeting with- someone. 

The Embassy is empty, and every step you take echoes out in the room. You’re terrified. You always are. It never stops feeling like a trap. Even in the elevator on the way to the suite, you can only stare at the golden doors in front of you, your reflection distorted and twisted. 

If you’re going to be honest- you aren’t sure why it’s you who has to come up. It’s Adam- he’s bragged enough about how he can have anyone, and yet, he pays for a sinner’s cunt. You make sure to not feel special, to squash any pride down. Perhaps it’s too tedious to pay for another sinner or hellborn, and it’s best to just get what he knows will be a good fuck. You sigh and look away from your reflection and the glowing numbers. Still, you show up and do your job. You've taken better and worse clients. The angel is just someone in between. 

The doors open and you pass a few doors until you reach his suite. You don’t know why the Embassy has so many rooms, and when you tried to ask Adam, he made a comment about how you could have a fuck-a-thon, doing it in each room, and you sneered at the idea. 

Your suite- or rather his suite- is unlocked like always. You waste no time, stepping into the shimmering room. It’s livable. A kitchenette on one side, a bathroom with a wonderful shower tucked in the room, and a massive bed pushed to the end of the room. The room is bright, golds and blues, a deep dark wood carved into ornate decorations, and you feel out of place. It’s nice- far too nice for you to show up and defile it with what you’re going to do. The room never ceases to amaze you. There aren’t many places in Hell where the colors are bright and soft at the same time, where things look so pristine and untouched. When you once mentioned to Adam how nice the room was, he laughed and told you that there were far better rooms in Heaven. A part of you still wishes that he would have offered to show you- something, pictures, descriptions, anything. 

“Took you long enough!” The angel says, leaning back on the bed. “I pay for your entire time, ya know? From the walk from your whore house to the embassy, the least ya could do is hurry it up. I’m a very important angel, ya know?”

“You ordered me like last-”

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “I don’t want excuses.” His hand waves in the air, and he sits on the bed. “Come on, let’s get to it.” You roll your eyes at him as you walk closer. “Oi! Don’t roll your eyes at me,” his voice is laced with disgust, and you remember that he looks down on you- in more ways than you would care to admit. “Come on, strip.” Your hands go to unzip your skirt. “And make it good!”

You bite your tongue. Your shirt is the first to go. The action is slow, tantalizing as your fingers skim over your bare skin, and your skirt follows suit, pooling on the floor. You step out the fabric, and your heels click on the floor. Adam watches you, his hands scratching the bed covers. You spread your legs over his right, and grab his hands, letting them touch your ribs and then moving towards your back. 

You can feel the tips of his claws scratch at the clip of your bra. You press your cunt over his robe covered thigh, and grind over it softly. “Please, Adam,” you beg. “Take it off for me?” Your hands rest over his chest, and he watches as you grind yourself over him, your hands fisting over his robe, and you wonder for a moment if maybe you did a bad thing- if this was the wrong move. But then your bra straps fall down your shoulders, and it’s discarded somewhere in the room.

You hiss when his mouth suckles on a breast, the other breast being pinched and pulled at. He sucks so softly, letting his tongue roll over the swelling bud, teething at it so you hiss and arch yourself further into him. You can feel a wet spot grow, and you can’t help but rock yourself over your thigh. The other breast is manhandled, twisted and pinched that has you gasping and fisting holy fabric in your sinner hands. 

You're pushed off and his hands claw over your hip. You get the memo, and peel off your underwear, the wetness of it noticeable, and the only mention of it is when Adam pockets your underwear. You wish you bought another pair with you. The heels are tossed aside, and strong hands push you down from your shoulders. You fall onto your knees with a hiss, and you know what you have to do.

-

“And- And- Oh fuck, that’s it, baby-” He hisses, his head tilted back. The hand fisted into your hair tightens, sharp stinging encouraging you to swallow more so he could let go. “I’m just saying that why would you settle for anything less than-” A moan interrupts his monologue and you look at him through glossy eyes. “Oh fuck. It’s like a fucking gift to suck me off.”

A string of spit and pre-ejaculate connects to your lips as you pull away. It’s thick and white, and you’re gasping for hair, a hand wrapped around the base of his cock and you push yourself to swallow his package, fitting the pair into your mouth as your hand pumps his length. He’s breathing heavily, and you know he's upset at the loss of contact with your mouth with the way that his hand tangles itself into your hair, but his mask is twisted, and you pop them out of your mouth. Your mouth feels dry despite the excess spit- you suppose it’s the salty taste that lingers. 

You take him back in your mouth, eager, and begging for him to just spill his seed already. Your cheeks hollow, and he’s heavy on your tongue. Your tongue swirls over a vein, and you can feel him twitching.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he hisses, his hands cradling your head. You hum, and brace yourself, your hands holding at his thighs, bracing yourself for him to thrust forward. His hands tighten, and he thrusts into your mouth. You gag around him, your throat constricting around him. It’s a horrid sound, loud and hollow, and acid threatens to bubble over. As he continues to pump himself into you, spit dribbles from the corner of your lips and you’re grateful that you were ordered to remove your clothes. 

“That’s right, take it. Oh fuck, fuck-” a string of curses fills the room, and he’s unrelenting, pushing deeper into your throat. A hand slips to grab at your breast, eyes squinting when you can feel the spit coat over your chest. Your other hand tightens around Adam’s thigh, your nails pinching into him.

Your fingers pinch over your nipple, rolling it over, desperate to take your mind off of the assault of your mouth. His thrusts get deeper and harsher, and he’s still in the back of your throat, holding you down. Curses mutter in the air, sharp and slurring together, and he keeps his eyes on you. The eye contact is far too much, the piercing eyes boring into your entire being, and it must be some type of power play for him. You choose to focus on the base of his cock. With your nose pressed into his pubic bone, you cough around him, and finally he pulls away, his seed laying thick on your tongue. Tears wet your face and mix with your spit and the drops of his seed. 

He grabs your chin and you open your mouth, showing the mess that he’s made. Letting go, you stay still, as he taps his cock on your face. It’s tacky with your spit and leaves you feeling much filthier than you would like to admit. You hold the seed in your mouth and he gives a nod, and you make a show of swallowing, and open your mouth to show him. “Did you want me to do a blessing before you swallow?”  He teases. “With my holy cum, I grant you the opportunity to fuck me.” He chuckles at his joke.

“Thank you, Adam,” you murmur, hoping that the soreness on your jaw will go away.

“You know, you could learn how to relax your throat. You’d think after doing this for a living, your gag reflex wouldn't be a thing.” You send him a dirty look, and his grin widens. “So fucking sensitive. What did you want me to tell you? That you were good?”

You aren’t sure what mood he’s in at the moment. Sometimes you can tell when he wants to fight with you- where he wants to punish you and call you a sinner as he ravages you, but then there are moments when he wants you to beg for him, to tell him how good he is, how you want his cock more than anything. But at the moment with your skull pounding and jaw sore, you spit out a simple, “Fuck you.” His grin widens, and he hoists you up onto the bed. The stickiness on your face ruins the soft comforter, and you feel too dirty to even touch something so nice.

“I was going to be nice and just fuck you, but shit, you had to talk back.” 

A hand grips at your rear, and a finger teases at your hole. You hiss at the contact, and you're glad you’re face down or else you’d never hear the end of it of how flustered you must look. As if reading your mind, he flips you over, your face exposed and your hands immediately cover the lower half. 

“Adam-” you squeal, instinctively trying to close your legs only to have them pried apart. 

“Don’t worry,” he says casually. “I just wanna look at how wet you got just from sucking on me.” A finger traces against your slick and you watch as he tastes the finger. “Damn, I should have let you keep your panties on if I knew you were going to get this wet.” A finger enters and you squirm, suckling the intrusion further into your softness. “You’re soaked. And all you had to do was suck me off. You know, if I could keep you, I would.” He enters another finger, pushing the two inside until he’s at the knuckles. “I’d give you a nice collar, a nice bed, and all you would have to do is be my little cocksleeve.” He pulls out, and thick strings of slick connect his fingers back to your cunt. He returns his fingers to your cunt, now with the addition of a third. It’s a wide stretch, a sharp pain being overridden with pleasure. “I bet you’d like that. You’d live a pampered life, and all you have to do is keep your pussy spread open for me.” 

With a yank, you’re pulled further into the bed. The comforters make a soft noise, but the bed itself doesn’t creak. You watch with half-lidded eyes, focused as he rests on his knees beside you, his cock growing, the scent of it enough to make you go dizzy. You brush your cheek against it, licking at the side of it when he thrusts his fingers into you.

You sit on the bed, his cock pressed against your face, and with a mind too delirious to think of anything else, you pull him into your mind, lazily bobbing his head, as his fingers scissor inside of you. 

You breathe heavily, your mind growing fuzzy with the stimulation. He’s slow and lazy, massaging the inside of your gummy walls as he looks down at you taking his cock once more. A hand brushes your hair away from your face, and you pull away, pecking at his cockhead, nuzzling the glistening head against your lips. It isn’t enough for you, and you swallow him once more, humping into his hand when he gives a smart smack to your cunt. 

“Turn around,” he orders, and you scamper to do so. You don’t get a moment to prepare yourself, until he’s bullying himself inside of you. Your hands claw at the comforter, and with watery eyes, you see the fabric tear apart underneath your claws. “You’re clamping down hard around me,” he breathes out, and you buck your hips, trying to feel him deeper into you.

Above you, he's heavy, and selfish, pumping into you relentlessly. The sound of skin slapping against skin is harmonized by your moans. He grunts above you, whispering strings of obscenities and few words of praise linger in the air.

“Oh fuck,” he grunts out, “so fucking good.” His breath is hot against you, fanning out into feathered tickles that touch at your body. He’s never been one for intimacy before reaching his peak, always preferring to be lustful, so you never expect him to actually kiss you, but in moments where he rights just at the right spot, you’d wish he do a little more to make it feel something other that whatever this all is.

His body is pressed against your back, hands squirming underneath to grab at your breasts. His hands are rough and unforgiving, pulling and pinching his nails into your soft skin, You can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck, puffing and huffing, murmurs about how you feel wrapped around him, and you bury your face into the comforter. Your mouth is slacked open, spit pooling down, as your moan helplessly around him, body taut and nerves feeling as if they’re on fire. 

“No fucking wonder you’re a sinner,” he seethes out, his thrusts harsh and deep, enough to have you see stars and think about how as selfish as he can, he feels so good. “With a pussy this good, I bet you had everyone lined up for just a taste.” You let out a low whine. “Yeah, I bet you did. No wonder you were hired at that sex joint. Did you have to fuck the owner to get in? Ha?” His tone is wicked, and you’re unsure if it’s his words or the fact that you’re so close as to what is making you tear up. His weight above you shifts, and by your hair, you’re yanked back. You yelp and tighten around him, tears slipping down. “I asked you a question.”

“I didn’t-” you yelp as he continues to bully himself inside of you- “I didn’t hear it, ’m sorry,” you mumble, your scalp stinging with pain. 

“Too fucked up on my dick to even think,” he hisses, pushing you down onto the bed. He pulls himself out, and you whimper, shaking your head and pushing yourself closer to him, your cunt weeping for more of him. “A cock hungry slut is all you are, huh?” His cock is pulled out, and he watches you whine, your cunt gaping and leaking slick that makes your thighs glisten. 

“Adam, please,” you moan, turning your head to look over your shoulder. You can feel the drool stick to the side of your lips. 

“Please what?” he spits out, his eyes flickering to yours, before returning to your ruined sex.

You let a whimper, high-pitched and desperate. You fall back to the bed, your eyes looking forward, and your hand slips underneath you, fingers peeking towards your cunt, feeling the warmth drip onto your fingertips. “I want more,” you tell him, your words muffled by the comforter. “I want you,” you tell him, hoping that he’d take pity on you for a moment.

The tip of his cock brushes itself against your opening, and you clench around it, your body aching for more. “Nah, you have to do better than that.” Your cries are shushed, brows furrowed and you’re turned over onto your back, “Come on, I’ve heard you beg before.” Two of his fingers enter you, thrusting in painfully slow. “You know what to say already.” Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your fingers twisting the bed sheets into spirals. You shake your head, humping pathetically into his hand. “I promise to make ya feel real good.” 

“Adam,” you croak. He pulls his fingers out, and tears gluten over your lashes. “Please, I wanna be fucked.” Your legs tense when you feel the tip of his cock nestle itself inside of you. “I’m just a filthy sinner who needs-” you yelp when he thrusts himself inside of you, the entire lengths filling you nicely- “needs to be fucked by your holy dick.” His hands curve over your hips, scratching softy over your skin. 

“A little more, honey, and I’ll ruin that demon pussy for you.” His hands curve over your hips, scratching softly over your skin, his voice low and sweet for you.

“Adam,” you plead, your hands curving over your breasts, “I need you,” you whisper in a haze. “I need your cock in me, I wanna cum real bad. I need you. I need you to fuck my sinner pussy.”

He gives you a lazy smile, and gives a nonchalant shrug. “Good enough.” He pushes himself inside of you. Your stomach coils into a heat, and you suck in a harsh breath when his fingers slip to rub at the bundle of nerves between your legs. “You have a fucking grip on my dick. What is it? Are you close?” You let out a broken moan. Your legs kick up, and wrap around him. “If I cum in you, you’re dealing with it.” His grin is sharp and predatory, and it only makes you drag your hands down his arms.

Your hands reach up, and you hold the sides of his neck, your hands curving behind, and you just feel tufts of hair peek from underneath the mask. A hand reaches to grab your wrist, holding it tightly, and you’re sure you’re going to have a bruise afterward. “You fuckin’ slut,” he spits out. “You think just because you got my mask off last time, I’ll let you look at me again?”

“Adam,” you whimper out, scratching at the back of his neck with your free hand, “please. I just wanna look,” you slur out. You know you’ll regret saying those things when you’ve sobered from him, but sex always did make you softer, needier. You think that must be why he decided to continue to hire you- to see you pant for him and stroke his ego. “You’re so pretty, I wanna see,” you lament. “I wanna- I just- I wanna look at you when I cum,” you stumble over your words, your fingertips tapping against the bottom of the mask. The golden eyes narrow at you, and you can only look for so long until you turn your attention elsewhere.

His mask is tossed to the side, and his irises glow. The hand that holds your wrist loosens, and you cup over his cheek, the stubble on his chin scratching at your palm. “Fuck- Oh fuck,” you hiss out, your heart beating against your chest rapidly. “I’m gonna- Oh my- Adam! Fuck,” you hiss, the knot in your stomach tightening, a pressure building more and more until you’re sure that you’ll burst. 

Even as your body shakes, he doesn’t stop. He continues moving his hips, pushing all of himself inside of you, his breath coming out in pants above you, his smile sharp and face flushed. A hand wraps around your neck, and you arch yourself into it, whining and mumbling at how your cunt is still too sensitive, how he has to slow down, but he coos at you, and he tells you how good you’re benign for him, and you hold onto his wrist with your hands. 

Adam places his face close to yours, his lips and breath fanning above yours, and you’re stuck staring at his eyes, unable to look away from the gold in front of you. You lick your lips, and you brush against his. He stares at you, and your face burns. 

He gives shallow thrusts, and is still inside of you, and you can feel him. You can feel the heat, and the stickiness leaks out of you. He keeps himself there, and hides himself into the crook of your neck. After a moment, he slips out, and you can feel the heaviness of his seed weep out of you in slow and heavy drools. 

You lay in the afterglow, chest heaving and sweat and more sticking to your skin. Your body is on pins and needles, and laying on top of the soft bedding, you could fall asleep right then and there. Nestled into a pile of feathers and gold, you could die- again- and be happy with it. 

But then the man- the first man- groans and you remember that this isn't the time to play house. You have a job. Or rather, you had one, and now you have to return. You lift yourself up into a sitting position, and you stare at the bathroom. A part of you wants to take a shower, but you fear that if you even just tasted what luxury is, you’d have to be pried out of the embassy. 

With a sigh, you lift yourself off of the body and gather your clothes. The lack of underwear is something that you frown upon, but when you look back to the angel, with the demand for its return, you can’t bring yourself to ask for it. You’ve walked around without it before when customers got handsy, this is nothing. Your skirt is tight, and long enough that only a pervert would tell. 

“So,” he trails off, lying on his back, “do you wanna cuddle or something?”

Your eyes widen, and as you flatten your skirt, you thin your lips. “Uh, no. No thanks, Adam. I’m uh- I’m good.” You straighten your top, and tap your heels against the floor, the sharp click echoes in the chambers. 

“Whatever,” he huffs, “I was just gonna psych you out anyways.” He waves his hand, and cool air rushes around you. 

You let out a sigh, looking at the mirror where you stared at yourself just a bit ago. Your hands play with your hair, making sure that when you leave, it won’t look like you just slept with someone. You hum, and tilt your head from side to side, trying to find some sort of mark that would have to be hidden. However, the cool air- his own magic or blessing- has fixed any evidence of indecency on you.

“The extermination is next month,” Adam sighs. Your eyes flick up, and you catch him staring at you- golden eyes piercing into your own, unblinking and unbothered. 

“I’m aware,” you tell him, returning to look at yourself in the mirror. You stand straight and let out a sharp sigh. “I think some of the residents are already panicking.”

“Are you?”

Your stomach knots itself, and you remember when you were first bought by Adam- the nervousness, the disgust, the bile burning your throat. It’s all too familiar at this moment. You shrug. “I don’t think it’s set in yet,” you mumble. 

“I’ll come by the night before.” You look at the white tiles- the grout filled with shimmering gold, and the tiles patterned with silver and gold lines. “I’ll leave the back door unlocked like last time.” He doesn’t say the words nicely, it’s more like an afterthought, as if telling you this is a bother, but still, he tells you this, and one thing you've learned about Adam is that he hasn't lied to you yet. You fist the hem of your skirt in your hands, and nod. It’s silent, and then he starts again, annoyance laced into his words. “What do we say?”

“Thank you, Adam,” you tell him in a beat. 

“Yeah, well, I can't have my favorite whore die.” His wings unfurl and stretch across the bed. The tips of the feathers reach just beyond the mattress, and you shrug. The words hang heavy in the air, and you feel small compared to him. In the mirror, you can see his reflection, his  mouth thinning, and his eyes narrowing. “I- uh- I still have you for ten more minutes.” You make eye contact with him in the mirror. “Get back here. I wanna suck on your tits.”

You stick your tongue out, and your hips sway as you walk towards him, your heels falling carelessly to the floor as you rest beside him. His hands are cold as they peel off your shirt and without a care, he tosses it to the foot of the grand bed. A hand cups at your breast, and you can feel his breath fan over your chest, and you wait to feel his teeth bite at you, but you never do. The wetness of his lips trace over the swell of your breast, a peck pressed against the bud, but never swallowing it. Your chest is heavy with his weight on top of you, and the hand on your breast unfurls and curves over your ribs. His wings expand, and they partially cover you, the softness of them akin to the finest blanket in what only money can buy. 

Realization as what he’s doing has your body heating, and you worry that he can tell with the way that he’s laid bare on your chest, and yet, he makes no snide comments. This is far more intimate than anything you’ve ever done before. With a harsh swallow, your arm wraps around him, your hand reaching upwards to scratch at the back of his head. Your hands knot into his hair, your nails dully scratching along his scalp. He lets out a low hum in response, nuzzling his cheek over your bare skin in approval. 

With a shaky breath, you break the silence. “You know, I was thinking, that maybe I’d uh, give that Hazbin Hotel a shot.” You feel his hands scratch over your ribs, straight, and piercing, and they cling to you as his breath hitches. “I’m not sure I believe in the whole redemption thing, but free housing is nice.” You feel him nod slowly, and you twirl a piece of his hair around your finger. He gives you a short answer, one that is mumbled into your skin and doesn't make its way to you, and his wings inch further up covering more of your body as he brushes his lips against the swell of your breast. You don’t look at the time even when you feel that he’s grown heavier on your body.

[egophiliac]

Sorry, most likely my memory being poor, but I thought Malleus' mom (don't know how to spell her name and too lazy to check how to spell it) was already an adult when Lilia ""proposed""?? Like I was always under the assumption that it was like a one-sided child crush on somebody completely out of your league you tend to have as a kid 💀

I don't think they say how old she was? although it's entirely possible I just misunderstood; my Japanese is...shaky. :') the actual line is "幼い頃に私に求婚したのは偽りか?", which I read as "isn't it true that you proposed to me as a kid?", and took as her being older than him, but not necessarily an adult (like, I was thinking of Lilia as being not quite a preteen and Mel being preteen/young teen). although I don't know if there's a connotation or something I'm missing that implies a bigger age gap, if that makes sense!

(and of course, I might also just be forgetting some other line -- if someone else knows, then please correct me! I need to know which headcanons need adjusting 👀)

BUT YEAH in a canon-y sense, Malleus is 178 and around the third-years developmentally. which makes me think that even though dragons have a way longer lifespan, they go through childhood at about the same rate as most fae (or at least the kind that Lilia is) and just kinda...slow waaaaay down once they hit adulthood. so it makes sense in my brain that he and Meleanor could've basically grown up together!

...it makes it angstier that way, anyway. :)

[mrmeepsmadmind]

bee's protective nature over anyone persists even as a ghost & i think he sometimes forgets or doesn't care that only star can see him (sadly no touch tho) & will start shouting & angrily try standing between people who are mad at starscream even tho he can't be seen, he just wants to try & help anyways bcs STOP IT >:(!! BE NICE !!!! cried the ghost no one can hear or see except for the poor guy getting yelled at & trying to overhear the conversation over bee's frantic rebuttals while trying to discreetly let bee know it's ok while ALSO trying not to look Insane .

continued attempt at a 4am drawn doodle comic below

i might draw detailed later but yeah i just wanted to give yall this headcanon bcs i love starbee so much... the nagging wives finally finding their true loves... another nagging wife.

' you .. do know only i can hear and see you, unfortunately, right? or are you starting to go loopy, because i don't need another insane figure haunting me. I have enough already, as you can try and fail to imagine, little bee . '

' trust me, im Well aware .. of everything you just said . .. but i just. i couldn't just Stand there and do Nothing while someone talked to you like You were Nothing . that's not the autobot way. that's not- my way . '

' . . . '

[lizzyyylmaoooooool]

i stg people better not be fucking complaining because armand/lestat backstory isn’t the same as the books when the whole point of the series is they’re all SHITTY NARRATORS with SHITTY MEMORY who CANT BE TRUSTED because versions of events frequently CHANGE depending on WHO IS NARRATING

[intermundia]

saw this and i cannot help but think of this in the context of the jedi.

"peace doesn't mean no conflict" can be unpacked on both a personal and political level. for the individual, inner conflict is not something to be eradicated or denied. the ideology of the jedi is not the suppression of all emotions, but rather the acceptance of them and finding the wisdom that comes with that allowance. it's about cycles of conflict and resolution, identification of the problem and release from the crisis, letting go and moving forward. so inner peace is not the absence of inner life, but rather an attitude towards the fullness of it, accepted as it passes through. the jedi try not to get stuck, clinging to and warped by their passionate attachment to an outcome that fights against external reality, as that leads to suffering, not peace.

on the higher political level, the peace of the larger civilization of the republic is not the same as the suppression of all individuals and societies into a single order, or a single imposed hierarchy of power. there is inevitable conflict between people when there is difference and history, and the jedi are there to help resolve boundaries between rivals to create a wider net of tolerance that is galactic civilization. they are diplomats and problem solvers, creating a kind of emergent peace that is different than the totalitarian order of the sith. they are not trying to kill anything that doesn't obey their vision, but rather finding a vision of peace that respects all parties as best as possible.

"how you handle the instance of any conflict" is how they try to use negotiation first, understanding all different points of view and adjudicating between claims, thereby "setting boundaries, and opting for serenity over chaos." if there is violence, they finish the fight in a limited, personal way with lightsabers, keeping the scope of violence almost surgical in nature to the body politic. they are not there to impose their own vision by force, they're ones with the "emotional intelligence" and higher perspective to find the harmony in a chaotic situation.

"peace requires maturity, insight, and the power of learning beyond one's ego" which is foundational to the jedi philosophy. they are the moral authorities of the galaxy, the ones trained to resist corruption, ideally offering the most mature perspective in a room. they aspire to be impartial and fair, to see reality how it really is, and not just how they want it to be. they have to accept it all, and not cling to what can not be kept, which is a huge part of maturation. the bigger picture of the objective reality of the force is what they align themselves with, rather than trying to force reality to align with their own egos. their insight is so valuable because it's not beholden to the interests of a party inside the conflict, it's a perspective from outside, without attachment to any particular outcome—just seeking true peace, whatever that looks like for any particular context.

[usertoxicyaoi]

"I was afraid of facing you. I can't even call you by your name."

THE NOVELIST: PLAYBACK (2021). DIRECTED BY: MIKI KOICHIRO.

[arom-antix]

Hey, just wanted to reach out to say that I found you pointing out and calling this person was really great and you shouldn't have apologized. It was incredibly true what you said, and to be honest it seems out of touch with the reality of a great deal of the japanese fandom, the nuances and their culture. Also, it was as you pointed out, extreme and may I say rude. I want to mention too that the way it was written, as if entitled of the knowledge and the 'explanation' made it all worse in context of the 'fucked up'. The original poster always gets away by using the 'well-written academic'' statement of their 'metas' as an excuse to do or say and make everyone else agree and if not, uses victim narrative and discourses exactly selecting wording for people to agree on it or feel bad.

I don't know if they tagging you in the way they did made you reblog and apologizing/backing up, but no one thought bad about you pointing it out. On the contrary, a lot of people had been bullied and discriminated by this person when they called them out/disagreed going onto lenghts of sending their friends to harass people, and the other persons can't even defend themselves because they are effectively blocked. To quite a few people in the fandom has been done, even accusing them as 'acephobes' (when they're not) or even Nazis by spreading lies. So yeah, I just wanted to say that. I think you were right to call them out publicly.

Thank you very much for this ask. To be completely honest I agree with everything you said here and don't actually feel bad about pointing anything out. I mainly apologised because I didn't want any potentially poor phrasing from my side to cause unnecessary hostility and because I myself have gripes with this person's behaviour but didn't want to cause a scene.

My honest opinion is that they have a serious issue with taking accountability for their own mistakes and highly overestimate their own intellect. If you're reading this, @thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai, sorry if I seem harsh, but it's true. I saw your post lamenting how you're the only academic meta writer / fan in the fandom and I didn't interact then because I honestly do not care enough to start that drama but with the information Blonndiec has just given me, I think it's necessary that someone calls you out.

You're not an academic. You're not beyond the mental capabilities of other fans. You're actually incredibly childish in your metas and analyses and I am not kidding when I say that I was halfheartedly writing essays more academic than every analysis I've seen from you when I was barely a teenager. I don't know how old you are and I frankly don't care. You're not as clever as you think you are.

Also, don't think I didn't notice that you didn't reblog my correction (link here to my correction and here to their "response" for those who didn't see that exchange) of your post so that you could control what your followers saw of the exchange. You're the opposite of an academic. You control information to tailor the narrative, you don't cite your sources properly if at all, you don't format your posts in anything close to how an academic analysis would be, you make unbased claims, you reference posts and canon material without in any way indicating where that information is from, you reference your own (equally unacademic) metas and your conclusions from them without indicating what post it's from or that it's your own theory this new one is based on and instead present it as a common fact, and I could go on and on and on. Your posts are also riddled with logical fallacies and you talk in absolutes and opinions when there's no canon basis to claim such things. I'm sorry, but that's not academic in the slightest.

To be clear, you don't have to be an academic to post on the Internet. You don't have to be anything at all. You could up front be a genuine idiot with no remorse and that's fine. But when you claim to be an academic and also put down the rest of the fandom for not being on your level, you have to be able to back that up. It'd still make you sound like a prick but at least your arrogance would have a basis. It currently does not.

I haven't personally seen the discussions that Blonndiec is referencing and I'm not going to claim anything definitive (because that would be unacademic of me, take notes) but if what they're saying is true and did happen as described, which I have empirical, if anecdotal, evidence to believe could very well be (a friend of mine has personally been blocked by you after they criticised you without actually mentioning your name which I of course can't prove is the reason for the block but the timing is awfully convenient), you should know that you should be ashamed of yourself.

If there's context missing, feel free to enlighten me and call out any incorrect accusations. You have every right to defend yourself. However, I encourage you to cite your sources since you're such an academic. If you don't, then it's just your word against Blonndiec and anyone else who might comment's word and that doesn't prove anything. Don't misunderstand, acephobia and nazi rhetoric should absolutely be called out but only if it's actually happening. False accusations can ruin lives. I hope you know that.

I'm not a fan of calling people out publicly and, again, thank you for this ask, Blonndiec. But considering many of the issues I've personally seen and those I've been informed of by second hand sources were posted publically, I don't really feel bad about calling this out. I could do a full breakdown of just the insulting "academic" comments alone and how there's no academia to be found in said academic metas and, Samurai, if you give me reason to, I will show exactly what I mean point by point (and academically just to give you an example of even low level academia).

If you respond to this, do it in a reblog. That's what a real academic would do. If I'm wrong and you can prove it, you'd have no reason to not show my post in your rebuttal. If I'm right, you'd have every reason to be upfront about your mistakes and how you intend to rectify them. There's nothing wrong with being wrong but there's a lot wrong with refusing to admit to it in a way that lets others peer review you (academic thing, look it up) and come to their own conclusions about the situation. That's what you did when you just @'ed me instead of reblogging my response. A true academic wouldn't hide a peer review. You'd know that if you were one.

I swing in many academic spaces and yet that doesn't make me any kind of expert and I don't claim to be one because I'm not. But since you want to be one so badly, reblog this with a response and show us all how smart you are. I'm dying to know what your academic take on this is.