#AMO Residence

[lambinarmor]

even Wesker takes breaks

[link7057]

Old drawing but made it when I found out Orel & Ashley (RE4) share the same VA... (And I don't like how I drew Leon here I can't figure out how <//3)

[supernova-rsrcs]

Venía a querer presumir mi firma nueva aquí también porque la verdad me emociona la nueva aesthetic que planeo para Ileana

also que dejé easter eggs de lo que ha sucedido en su ausencia, como de lo que se avecina

i'm just saying there slightly might o might not be some kind of patricide... but not exactly that... but something like it

P.D.: supe que no podía abandonar kaelkoth templo máximo del folliroleo y la depravación con tendencias a volverse secta, en especial viendo su actualización de nuevo sistema de juego

@kaelkoth tu humilde servidora vuelve de rodillas por su flagelación, y en su defecto que la imparta el puto de ezekiel @bei-xxx

[dustedmagazine]

Grails — Anches En Maat (Temporary Residence Ltd)

More bands should make music that sounds like Tangerine Dream. It’s hard to imagine music more evocative, precise and crisp. Their music communicates not only mood, but season. The late William Friedkin knew what he was getting when he asked them for a soundtrack.

Anches En Maat is the latest from Grails, the band’s tenth album but the first in five years. They’ve undergone quite an evolution from their early days at the margins of doom-inflected drone and folk, the sounds drummer Emil Amos would pursue with the legendary Om. Their new album is focused, meticulous and unlike anything they’ve done. It’s one thing to try to sound like Tangerine Dream; it’s another to actually do it.

What makes this so special is how unexpected it is. If you’ve been following Grails for the last 20 years or so, you’ll be surprised how polished this album is. When “Sad and Illegal,” begins, you can picture a wet, reflective streetscape, lit by mercury vapor lamps. The music envelops you in its world. Anches En Maat distills and synthesizes their earlier work into an electronic prog masterpiece.

If you follow guitarist Ilyas Ahmed on Instagram, you get a behind-the-scenes look into where his interests and influences are taking him, but unlike his more ambient solo work, the scope here is vast and expanding. A sonic universe explodes during “Sisters of Bilitis.” Likewise, Amos has always exercised restraint on drums, but this is different, more subtle and nuanced. It’s not simply a tribute to Amos’ talent, but also a reflection of the band getting together to record the album, versus piecing everything together separately.

It’s not an indulgent album. There’s a discipline to every song. No note sounds wasted or out of place. It so perfectly captures the spirit of those gritty 1980’s psychosexual thrillers, at once lush and foreboding. Nowhere is that more apparent than on the aptly titled “Black Rain.” The song pulsates in rhythms that play up the tension and paranoia that characterize the late 1980s and 1990s neo-noir period in cinema. The album closes with the crystalline sounds of the title track, guitars fading into the night.

It’s a soundtrack to summer becoming autumn, rain blanketing cities everywhere, with wet leaves papering the streets beneath your wheels.

JT Ramsay

[4tsukiiim1rai]

Holaaa, cómo estás? volví :)

Cuando jugué Resident Lover, siempre fue con música de fondo y una banda de veces me di cuenta que hay canciones en español que quedan muchísimo con los personajes de RL pero como el 98% del fandom habla inglés es difícil compartir ese pensamiento, pero ahora que estás vos, quería hablar de eso con alguien que si me entendiera 😔

Y SI HAGO UN "personajes de RL como canciones en español"?? 💪💪

Últimamente estuve escuchando muchas canciones del 2016/2017 con mi amiga y si pienso un poco puedo ver cuáles quedan mejor con nuestras residentas amadoras (🤌🤌)

TE AMO PERSONITA Q ME HABLA EN ESPAÑOL, fuera de joda sos una gran motivación para mí🫂🫂

[abuhurayra666]

The Benefits of Living in a  Condo Residence

In recent years, the tiny house movement has gained popularity as more people seek simpler and more sustainable lifestyles. Living in a tiny house can offer many benefits from reducing your environmental footprint to saving you money on housing costs. In this blog post we'll explore some of the benefits of living in a Condo Residence and why it might be the right choice for you.

Affordability: Tiny houses are much more affordable than traditional homes, both in terms of the initial cost and ongoing expenses like utilities and maintenance. This can make it easier to own your home outright and avoid being burdened by a mortgage.

Sustainability: Tiny houses are often designed with sustainability in mind, using eco-friendly materials and energy-efficient systems. They also have a smaller environmental footprint, requiring fewer resources to build and less energy to operate.

Simplification: Living in a tiny house forces you to simplify your life and reduce clutter. This can lead to a sense of peace and freedom, allowing you to focus on what's really important in life.

Mobility: Many tiny houses are built on wheels, allowing you to easily move your home to a new location if you desire. This can offer a sense of adventure and flexibility that's not possible with traditional homes

Customization: Because tiny houses are so small, they often require creative and innovative solutions for storage and living space. This can lead to unique and personalized designs that reflect your individual tastes and needs. However, while luxurious residences are certainly aspiration, they also have practical value. These properties are often located in desirable areas with excellent access to amenities such as shopping dining and entertainment. They may also be well-positioned for investment purposes with the potential for significant returns over time. Furthermore, luxurious residences often offer exceptional comfort convenience and security making them a sound investment for those seeking a comfortable and exclusive lifestyle.

Luxurious residences are high end properties that are designed and built to the highest standards of quality craftsmanship, and elegance. These properties are typically large spacious and feature modern amenities and facilities that provide exceptional comfort and convenience. Luxurious residences are often located in exclusive and desirable areas such as prime waterfront locations scenic mountain ranges and bustling urban centers. They may be standalone properties such as mansions or villas or part of a larger development at Amo Condo Singapore such a luxury apartments or gated communities. The construction and design of luxurious residences often involve the use of premium materials advanced technology and exceptional craftsmanship. They may feature high end finishes such as marble and hardwood floors designer kitchens and bathrooms, and state of the art home automation systems. Additionally luxurious residences often offer a range of amenities and facilities that can include swimming pools fitness centers, spa facilities private cinemas and outdoor entertainment areas. Despite the variety of features and amenities luxurious residences share a common thread of exclusivity and luxury living in a tiny house may not be for everyone, but it can offer many benefits for those who value simplicity, sustainability, and flexibility. From saving money on housing costs to reducing your environmental impact, there are many reasons to consider a tiny house as your next home. If you're interested in exploring this lifestyle, take some time to research and visit different models to see if it's the right fit for you.

[basset-babe]

five times: the third.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings: cursing, drinking, anger, disgust, hurtful words, self-doubt / sabotage

word count: 5.1k+

a/n: honestly felt like i bit more off than i can chew but i do relish a challenge! also, my apologies for the prolonged delay of my postings, dearests. life has been life-ing recently lol anywho, here is the ever-challenging third! opening with a whistledown aND y'all know what we do when gossip arrives, we gossip! ciao amo! (dates included do not mean anything nor is accurate to any timeline)

five times series: the first. the one point five. the second. the third. the three point five. the fourth . at last.

trees and skies banner from @cottage-writings, pattern banner from @cafekitsune thank you!

Lady Whistledown's Society Papers

March 25, 18XX

Dearest readers,

The season is in full swing, and the social whirl is abuzz with the latest happenings. None have captured our collective curiosity quite like the endless stream of callers at the Y/L/N residence, all vying for the favor of the season's paragon, Miss Y/N Y/L/N. With suitors from the finest families presenting gifts and performances, it is no surprise that Miss Y/L/N has been the object of much admiration.

However, keen observers might have noted a particular favorite among the throng. Yes, dear readers, the second Bridgerton son, Mr. Benedict Bridgerton, has made a notable impression on the lovely Miss Y/N. Their promenades and conversations have not gone unnoticed, with many speculating that he holds a special place in her affections. However, as ever in the delicate dance of courtship, it is not without its complications.

Whispers have reached this author's ears that Mr. Bridgerton has been seen in the company of Lady Tilley Arnold—a widow of the late Lord Arnold and esteemed patroness of the sciences. Their encounters, whispered about in the most fashionable circles, suggest more than mere friendship.

Do hold your gasps, for the intrigue does not end there. No, for as Lady Arnold bid adieu to the shadows and prepared to depart, a most shocking revelation transpired. Witnesses, whose lips dare not speak aloud but whose eyes betray their secrets, observed a clandestine exchange between the widow and Mr. Bridgerton— a kiss, dear readers, of the most scandalous variety! The timing, dear readers, is most curious as Lady Arnold was on the verge of departing London, which only adds to the enigma of this nocturnal visit.

What, pray tell, does this clandestine encounter signify, one might wonder? Is there more to the attention of Mr. Bridgerton, that his affections may be wavering, or has Lady Arnold, with her enigmatic charm, ensnared him in her web of intrigue? Such a late-night rendezvous, particularly with a lady of Lady Arnold's standing, is certain to raise eyebrows and incite much speculation.

The ton will surely surmise whether this encounter was a fleeting indiscretion or the beginning of a more complicated entanglement. What could this mean for Mr. Bridgerton and Miss Y/N? Will their courtship withstand the weight of this scandal, or will it crumble under the pressure of whispered gossip and innuendo? Can Miss Y/N overlook this transgression and hold fast to her affection for Mr. Bridgerton, or will she be swayed by the lure of a less tarnished suitor?

One thing is certain, dear reader: the social season has become infinitely more intriguing with this latest development. Rest assured, I will be watching with keen interest as the drama unfolds.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown

third time.

"Good afternoon, sister," Benedict greeted Eloise, who was standing in the middle of the house's foyer with her hands conspicuously behind her back.

"Ah! Brother, afternoon," Eloise replied cautiously, attempting to hide the gossip sheet behind her gown skirts. "Where were you?" she asked, her tone tinged with curiosity.

"Nowhere of particular interest. What are you reading?" Benedict inquired, his eyes narrowing as he pointed to her hidden arm.

"Nothing," Eloise replied hastily, but Benedict knew better. He raised an eyebrow and extended his hand, motioning for her to hand over whatever she was concealing.

Eloise hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly produced the crumpled gossip sheet from behind her back, placing it in Benedict's outstretched hand. "Whistledown," she muttered, avoiding his gaze. "You are mentioned."

Benedict unfolded the paper and began to read. His typically affable expression turning stoic as he saw his own name linked with both Miss Y/N and Lady Tilley Arnold. His jaw tightened, and he placed the scandal sheet on the table. Eloise cleared her throat and asked. "How are you?"

"Quite the scandal, it seems," he remarked, his tone betraying a hint of indifference. "And here I thought I could keep my affairs private. What truly vexes me is not the content concerning myself, it's how she drags in the names of Miss Y/N and Lady Arnold, implying something as if curious but ruinous as she almost did you last season. Heavens be damned, if I ever discover her true identity, I will ensure it is her life that is ruined."

"The lady has declined visits... for today, Sir. I ask... kindly, that you leave the premises," the lady's maid informed as Benedict sat astride his horse, a sketchpad clutched tightly in his hand.

His heart sank at the lady's maid's words, a heavy weight settling in the pit of his stomach. He had ridden with fervent determination, his thoughts consumed by the desire to see Y/N, to seek solace in her presence after the scandalous sheet had been released. But now, faced with the reality of her refusal, he felt an overwhelming sense of restlessness wash over him.

He had hoped to find refuge in her company this late afternoon, to find comfort in the warmth of her smile and the gentleness of her touch. Yet, it seemed that even she was now beyond his reach, her doors closed to him in the wake of the damning gossip that had tainted his name.

"Could you try again, please?" Benedict implored, desperation lacing his words. "I just need to speak to her, to explain myself."

But the maid remained resolute, her expression unyielding, her features softened by a touch of sympathy for Benedict's plight. "I'm sorry, Sir," she repeated, her voice a gentle murmur, "but the lady's wishes are clear. I cannot go against her instructions."

Feeling the weight of disappointment settle upon him like a heavy cloak, Benedict offered a resigned nod to the maid, acknowledging her adherence to propriety even as his heart ached with longing. With a heavy sigh, he turned away from the imposing facade of Y/N's residence, his footsteps heavy with the burden of unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

As he urged the horse forward, the rhythmic beat of hoofbeats echoed through the quiet streets of London, a steady cadence that mirrored the tumultuous thoughts racing through Benedict's mind. With each passing moment, he felt the weight of the recent scandal pressing down upon him, its suffocating grip tightening with each breath he took. People who walked the pathways murmuring as he passed them. Almost as if they'd point and had been meaning to ask of the truth in the latest Whistledown.

But Benedict was not one to be deterred by adversity, nor to allow his spirits to be dampened by the trials of the heart. With a determined set to his jaw and a fire burning in his eyes, he urged his horse onward, his destination clear in his mind.

Arriving at the gentlemen's club, Benedict dismounted his horse with practiced grace, the cool night air stirring the tendrils of his hair as he strode purposefully towards the grand entrance. The club stood as a bastion of camaraderie and respite amidst the chaos of London society, its hallowed halls a sanctuary for men of wit and refinement.

He'd rode to the club where his brothers were spending the early evening. The ambiance was one of refined indulgence, with the soft glow of candlelight casting a warm hue over the rich mahogany furnishings and plush velvet upholstery. He found Anthony and Colin lounging in a corner, their laughter echoing through the room like the lively notes of a well-played sonata.

"Well, if it isn't our solemn Benedict," Anthony teased, clapping him on the back as he approached. His voice carried the joviality of a man accustomed to commanding attention, resonating amidst the club's genteel chatter.

Benedict managed a half-hearted chuckle, sinking into a nearby chair. His usually composed demeanor was tinged with a hint of melancholy, though he tried to play off his turmoil with a forced smile that did little to mask the weight of his troubles.

Colin, with his mischievous blue eyes and rakish grin, raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "Drama? Pray, do tell. Have you found yourself embroiled in a scandalous Whistledown-written affair, dear brother?" His tone was light, yet there lingered a genuine curiosity, as if he relished the prospect of a juicy tale.

Benedict rolled his eyes, though a flicker of amusement danced in their depths. "Nothing so melodramatic, I assure you," he quipped, his voice a melodious baritone that resonated with the refined elegance befitting a man of his stature. "Just a bit of trouble with a certain someone who shall remain nameless."

Anthony leaned forward, his interest piqued like a hound on the scent of a tantalizing mystery. "Ah, a mystery woman! Do tell us more. Is she a diamond of the first water? A rose amongst thorns? A season's paragon?" His knowing words were infused with a playful charm, his aristocratic features softened by the warmth of his smile.

Benedict couldn't help but laugh at his brother's theatrics, the sound echoing through the room like the pealing of church bells on a crisp autumn morning. "More like a thorn stuck on my rose, if you ask me," he replied wryly, his lips quirking into a rueful smile. "But alas, the sheet seems to have taken interest in me. Thus, I've offended the lady at my latest misstep."

Colin exchanged a knowing glance with Anthony, their eyes sparkling with mischief like stars in the night sky. "Ah, love can be a treacherous game, my dear brother," he remarked with a wistful sigh, his voice tinged with the bittersweet nostalgia of past dalliances.

With a resigned sigh, Benedict brough out the paper, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he unfolded it to reveal the damning headlines. His eyes scanned the page again, each word striking like a blow to his already wounded pride.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Anthony quipped, leaning in to peer over Benedict's shoulder with a devilish grin. "It seems our dear Benedict has captured the attention of Lady Whistledown herself. Tell me, is there any truth to this gossip?"

Benedict felt a flush of embarrassment creep up his neck as he struggled to find the words to explain himself, "There is a sliver of truth. Lady Arnold did visit, and yes, there was a kiss. But it was far from the scandalous affair Whistledown implies. We aren't anything but naught, I tell you." He answered at almost a whisper. Benedict knew that the contents of the scandal sheet would be the subject of much speculation and gossip, his reputation hanging precariously in the balance.

"And what of Miss Y/L/N, whom you are so ardently courting? How does she figure into this little drama?" Anthony asked, concerned of his brother's standing.

Benedict sighed, his concern evident as he expressed his worries to his brothers. "That is precisely my concern. I have been nothing but sincerity in my courtship of Miss Y/L/N. She deserves better than to be dragged into this mess."

Colin leaned forward, sensing the gravity of the situation. "So, what will you do? Surely you cannot let Whistledown's prattle jeopardize your relationship with Miss Y/N."

Benedict's expression phased into determination. "I intend to speak with Miss Y/N directly. She deserves to hear the truth from me, not the twisted version Whistledown has concocted. That if she allows an audience with me. And as for Lady Arnold, I shall ensure our interactions are far more circumspect if not, naught in all aspects she may bring up on me, when she does return and does whatever near."

Anthony nodded in agreement, his gaze softening with genuine affection as he clapped Benedict on the back. "Let us not dwell on the past now, brother, but instead focus on the future—on what you can do. Whatever Lady Whistledown may have to say, we shall weather the storm together, as we always have."

Colin, then, raised his glass, a gleam of mischief in his eyes as he played along with his brother's jest. "To no longer saving face, my dear Colin! For love, for honor, and for the sake of our brother's bruised ego!" His words were punctuated by a hearty laugh that resonated through the room like the rumble of thunder on a stormy night. This is going to be quite the arduous courtship.

The grand lobby of the Londinium Opera House was a scene of opulence and refinement, an exquisite embodiment of sophistication. As the setting sun cast a warm, golden glow through the tall, arched windows, the room seemed to shimmer with the promise of an enchanting evening ahead. The marble floors gleamed underfoot, polished to such perfection that they reflected the twinkling crystal chandeliers overhead. These chandeliers, with their countless prisms, scattered light like a thousand tiny stars, illuminating the elegant assembly below.

The air was a heady blend of perfumes and colognes, mingling with the faint, tantalizing scent of fresh flowers arranged in lavish bouquets atop mahogany tables. The flowers, a riot of colors and species, were chosen to reflect the season, adding a touch of nature’s beauty to the man-made splendor of the opera house.

"This is definitely too stuffy for my nose." Eloise brushed her finger by her nose as she and Benedict passed through a sea of dressed up ton amidst tonight's opera.

As the two navigated through the ton at the opera's lobby, their steps softened by the plush carpeting beneath them, Eloise couldn't help but wrinkle her nose discreetly once more. "I agree," Benedict murmured to Eloise, his voice barely audible over the gentle murmur of conversations and the distant strains of prelude music.

"It's like drowning in a sea of perfume and pomposity. How long will the show take?" Eloise asks.

Benedict chuckled softly, his eyes scanning the crowd with a bemused expression. "Indeed, it seems we've stumbled into a gathering of the city's most refined noses and airs. But I fear, it'd be almost four more hours but there must be a few souls yearning for a breath of fresh air."

Eloise grinned, her spirits lifting at Benedict's playful remark. "That'd probably be us, brother," she replied, her gaze sweeping the room in search of kindred spirits amidst the sea of finery. "But until then, I'd die of ennui from this whole bonanza of a show."

"Not if I escape it," Benedict remarked in jest as he wiggled his eyebrows at Eloise. "But, of course, I'm taking you with me."

"You are absolutely my favorite brother." And the two, laughing at their antics, sneaked out of the opera house where their carriage is waiting to flee the night.

The carriage ride through the moonlit streets of London was a serene affair, with only the rhythmic clip-clop of the horses' hooves and the soft creaking of the carriage wheels breaking the stillness of the night. Benedict sat in quiet contemplation, his gaze occasionally drifting to the window where the city's twinkling lights danced like distant stars against the dark canvas of the night sky. He had set upon to spend the night on the invite of a fellow painter, Lord Granville. The address card nestled in his pockets.

He knocked on the carriage roof and said, "We are to drop off Eloise at home first." Eloise shot her brother with a knowing look, "So, you do have plans for the night, Ben. Interesting." She nodded teasingly.

"What? Can't I spend my night on my own concurs?" He said, feigning defense on whatever his sister may be implying. The carriage stops and the footman opens the door. Eloise turns to her brother as she went down the carriage steps and says, "Amidst your Whistledown scrape, you seem to be taking this very light. Oh, to be a man this easy!"

Benedict shakes his head as he laughs at his sister's comment. He has been taking this all seriously, has he? It's not like he hasn't been doing amends. The gossip sheet only had been spread this morning. Surely, damages are still reversible? As the carriage turned out their street, Benedict's thoughts turned to the ramble of his mind. All his thoughts are loud of Y/N, her voice ringing in his head. He'd imagined their time in her garden. How she simply tells stories and facts of botany; or the time she'd nestled by the tree, her cheeks flushed with the lingering laughs they'd shared moments ago, and he couldn't help but smile at the thought of her. And as quickly as the smile drew on, it dissipated recalling that she had not allowed him audience this morning.

The carriage came to a gentle halt in front of a townhouse's doorstep, and Benedict stepped out onto the cobblestone path of 5th avenue, the cool night air washing over him like a soothing balm. He turned to the carriage driver, a silent acknowledgment passing between them before the driver urged the horses forward once more, disappearing into the darkness beyond.

Benedict delicately clutched the card bearing Lord Granville's prestigious name, ensuring he stood before the correct abode. With an air of refined assurance, he gently rapped the door knocker twice, whereupon Lord Granville himself promptly emerged to greet him.

Lord Granville, sporting a relaxed ensemble, greeted Benedict with a gracious nod, his demeanor exuding an aura of aristocratic charm. "Ah, Mr. Bridgerton, how delightful of you to join us," he intoned, his voice carrying a hint of cultured refinement. "Please, do come in. The evening promises to be most engaging."

With a gracious gesture, Lord Granville ushered Benedict into the dimly lit foyer, where the scent of beeswax candles mingled with the earthy aroma of oil paints. The sound of lively conversation and the occasional strumming of a lute drifted through the air, creating an atmosphere of artistic fervor.

As Benedict crossed the threshold, he felt a sense of excitement building within him, eager to immerse himself in the vibrant energy of the bohemian salon and the company of fellow artists and free spirits. Tonight promised to be a celebration of creativity and expression, a refuge from the stifling conventions of society, and Benedict couldn't wait to grasp his wash in of it.

The house was a riot of color and creativity, with tapestries adorned with vibrant hues lining the walls and eclectic artwork displayed on every available surface. Easels dotted the room, each showcasing works in progress, while clusters of artists and poets engaged in spirited discussions about philosophy, politics, and the latest artistic movements.

Benedict found himself swept up in the lively atmosphere, drawn to a group of painters huddled on their own canvases, their brushes dancing across the surface with frenetic energy. Where in the middle, nude women posed as muses and artist drew of their perspectives. Nearby, a poet recited verses of love and longing, his words weaving a tapestry of emotion that hung heavy in the air. Lord Granville now swept in his own circle.

In a secluded corner of the salon, hidden away from the prying eyes of the crowd, Benedict stumbled upon a private room adorned with tapestries of rich, jewel-toned hues and plush velvet cushions strewn about in haphazard arrangements. The flickering glow of candlelight cast dancing shadows across the walls, creating an atmosphere of intimacy and secrecy.

There, amidst the opulent surroundings, Benedict spotted Y/N, her laughter ringing out like a melody amidst the soft hum of conversation. She sat perched on a velvet chaise, a paintbrush in hand, her eyes alight with passion as she leaned over a canvas, her movements fluid and graceful.

Surrounded by fellow artists, including Lady Granville and Genevieve Delacroix, the ton's most favored seamstress, Y/N appeared completely at ease, her quick wit and sharp intellect evident as she engaged in spirited conversation, her laughter mingling with the clink of glasses and the rustle of paintbrushes.

As Benedict watched from the doorway, a pang of longing pierced his heart, the sight of Y/N's radiant smile and infectious energy stirring emotions he had long tried to suppress. He yearned to join her, to bask in her warmth and revel in the shared joy of creation, but the weight of their unresolved conflict hung heavy between them like a barrier, casting a shadow over their once vibrant connection.

Summoning his courage, Benedict stepped forward, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished floorboards. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but before he could say another word, Lady Granville intercepted him, her gaze cold and calculating.

"Mr. Bridgerton," Madame Delacroix greeted with a disdainful tilt of her chin, her French slurred tone laced with thinly veiled contempt. "What brings you to our little gathering? Surely you don't expect to find yourself welcome here after what Whistledown's latest sheet has revealed."

Benedict's heart sank at the mention of Lady Whistledown's scandalous gossip, the weight of the accusations pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. "Y/N, please," he implored, his voice tinged with desperation, but Lady Granville merely raised an imperious eyebrow, her disdain palpable.

"Ladies, could you please give us the room," Y/N interjected firmly, her voice carrying a steely edge that brooked no argument. Madame Delacroix shot her a questioning look, to which the lady nodded reluctantly. With a series of subtle glances directed at Benedict, the women filed out of the room, their gazes lingering on him with thinly veiled curiosity.

As the door closed behind them, a heavy silence settled over the room, the air thick with tension and unspoken words. Y/N turned to face Benedict, her features hardened with a mixture of anger and hurt.

As Benedict and Y/N unexpectedly found themselves face to face amidst the opulent surroundings of the Granville party, the atmosphere seemed to crackle with tension, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Y/N's eyes, usually warm and inviting, now bore a glint of guarded skepticism as she regarded Benedict, her gaze piercing through the facade of polite decorum.

The room seemed to shrink around them, the murmurs of conversation fading into a distant hum as they stood locked in a silent standoff, each grappling with their own tumultuous thoughts and feelings. The flickering glow of candlelight cast eerie shadows across their features, adding to the sense of unease that hung between them like a tangible force.

"Benedict," Y/N's voice broke through the suffocating silence, her tone edged with a hint of surprise and resentment, "What brings you here? I didn't expect to see you at this gathering."

Benedict's features tightened with unease, his eyes darting nervously as he struggled to find the right words. The grandeur of the room seemed to mock his discomfort, its lavish decor serving as a stark reminder of the gaping divide that had grown between them.

"I...I could ask you the same," Benedict replied tentatively, his voice betraying his inner turmoil. The weight of Y/N's gaze bore down on him like a heavy burden, and he shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

Y/N's lips formed a thin line, a flicker of frustration flashing in her eyes as she absorbed Benedict's response. The tension between them crackled in the air, suffusing the room with an almost palpable energy as they stood locked in a silent standoff.

"I am here with friends," Y/N explained tersely, her tone tinged with defensiveness. "I didn't anticipate running into...you."

Benedict felt a pang of remorse at the coldness in her tone, the realization of the pain he had caused her weighing heavily on his conscience. The warmth of the room seemed to dissipate, leaving behind a chilling emptiness that mirrored the growing distance between them.

"Y/N," he implored, his tone tinged with worry. "There's something I need to ask you. Why did you deny me an audience earlier this morning? I sought you out, but I was turned away without explanation. Please, Y/N, I need to understand."

Y/N paused in her tracks, her hand hovering over the couch arm as she hesitated. The weight of Benedict's words hung heavy in the air between them, the tension palpable as they stood on the precipice of an unspoken truth.

Slowly, Y/N turned to face him, her expression guarded as she met his gaze with a mixture of sorrow and resignation. "I couldn't face anyone— even you, Benedict," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not after... Whistledown that's happened. I needed time to gather my thoughts, to come to terms with the depth of my pain and my reputation."

Benedict's heart sank at her words, the realization of the pain he had caused her weighing heavily on his conscience. "Y/N, I had no idea," he murmured, his voice laced with regret. "If I had known, I would have respected your wishes. I never meant to add to your suffering."

"I know, Benedict," she firmly said, but her voice betraying her, tinged with sadness. "But some wounds run deeper than others, and time alone cannot heal them. I need space, time to find my own path forward."

"Y/N, please," Benedict pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation, "Let me explain. I never meant to—"

Y/N's eyes flashed with anger, her frustration boiling over as she confronted him with the pain he had caused. "Explain what, Benedict?" she demanded, her voice rising with each word. "Your absence? Your silence? Or perhaps the fact that I'm possibly nothing more than mere amusement to you, a prim and proper distraction from your rakish pursuits?"

Benedict recoiled at her words, the sting of her accusations piercing through his defenses like a dagger to his heart. "No, Y/N, you know that's not true," he protested, but she cut him off with a bitter laugh.

"Do I?" she spat, her voice dripping with contempt. "How can I be sure of anything when you've left me to face the whispers and the gossip alone? When you've abandoned me to doubt and humiliation?" Tears welled in Y/N's eyes as she spoke, the pain of betrayal etched deeply into her features.

Benedict felt the weight of her accusations like a sword to his heart, his chest tightening with the agony of her words. "Y/N, please, you must understand," he implored, his voice trembling with emotion. "I never intended for any of this to happen. My absence, my silence—it was never a reflection of how I feel about you. I've been grappling with my own inner turmoil, responsibilities and fears that have nothing to do with you."

Benedict's admission hung heavy in the air between them, his confession like a dagger to Y/N's heart. Her anger, fueled by betrayal and hurt, threatened to consume her as she struggled to process his words.

Y/N's eyes blazed with fury, her anger fueling her resolve as she confronted him head-on. "And what of the whispers about you and Lady Arnold?" she challenged, her voice dripping with scorn. "Are you telling me you had no part in fueling those rumors? That you never kissed her?"

Benedict recoiled at the accusation, the shame of his actions burning like a branding iron against his conscience. "No, Y/N, I swear it wasn't like that," he admitted, his voice laced with desperation. "There was a moment…" He paused, contemplating confession and it's consequences. He closed his eyes wincing at what he's about to say, "We did kiss, but it meant nothing. It was a mistake, a lapse in judgment that I deeply regret."

"A mistake?" she repeated incredulously, her voice tinged with disbelief. "A lapse in judgment? Do you expect me to believe that, Benedict? Do you expect me to simply forgive and forget?"

Benedict's eyes pleaded with her, his desperation palpable as he reached out to grasp her hand. "Y/N, please, I know I've made a terrible mistake," he implored, his voice trembling with remorse. "But I swear to you, it meant nothing. I assure you, it was inconsequential. You are the one I am committed to, the one I wish to be with. Lady Arnold made advances, and I rejected them. It was a momentary lapse in which I failed to uphold my commitment to you."

Y/N's shoulders slumped with the weight of Benedict's words, her resolve crumbling beneath the weight of his confession. She sank down onto a nearby chair, her breath hitching as tears welled in her eyes, cascading down her cheeks in silent rivulets. With trembling hands, she buried her face in her palms, the anguish of betrayal and heartache washing over her in relentless waves.

The room seemed to blur around her, the vibrant colors of the decor fading into a haze as she struggled to come to terms with the devastation of Benedict's admission. His words echoed in her mind, each syllable a painful reminder of the trust that had been shattered beyond repair.

How could she believe him? How could she trust that his words held any semblance of truth when his actions had spoken so loudly against him? The image of Benedict with Lady Arnold haunted her, a specter of doubt and uncertainty that threatened to consume her from within.

But amidst the turmoil of her emotions, a glimmer of resolve flickered deep within Y/N's heart. She may have been broken, battered by the storm of betrayal, but she refused to let Benedict's actions define her worth. With a steadying breath, she lifted her head, her tear-stained cheeks glistening in the soft glow of candlelight.

"I thought you were different, Benedict," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper, "But I... I don't know if I can forgive you. The pain you've caused runs deep, and I fear that trust may never be fully restored."

Benedict's heart shattered at the sight of Y/N's tears, his own anguish mirrored in her sorrowful expression. Without hesitation, he sank to his knees beside her, his hand reaching out tentatively to brush against her trembling shoulder.

"Y/N, please," he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. "I understand if you can't forgive me, if you can't find it in your heart to trust me again. But I swear to you, with every fiber of my being, I love you. I would give anything to make things right between us, to earn back your trust and your love."

His words hung in the air, a fragile plea borne of remorse and desperation. He longed to take her in his arms, to hold her close and shield her from the pain he had caused. But he knew that he had to respect her boundaries, to give her the space she needed to process her emotions and come to her own decision.

Y/N's shoulders trembled beneath his touch, her tears flowing unabated as she struggled to find the strength to meet his gaze. The weight of his words pressed down upon her, a bittersweet reminder of the love they had shared and the trust that had been so brutally betrayed.

For a moment, it seemed as though Y/N might succumb to Benedict's heartfelt plea. Her eyes softened, her resolve wavering in the face of his earnest confession. But then, with a trembling breath, she pulled away from his touch, her tears still glistening in the dim light of the room.

"I... I need some air," she choked out, her voice thick with emotion. Without another word, she stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor in a jarring echo of their fractured connection.

With a determined tilt of her chin, Y/N lifted the glass to her lips, downing the remaining contents in one swift motion. The bitter taste of the alcohol burned her throat, a sharp contrast to the ache in her heart as she turned away from Benedict, her steps heavy with the weight of her decision.

Benedict watched helplessly as she made her way to the door, his heart breaking with each retreating footfall. He longed to call out to her, to beg her to stay, but he knew that it was futile. The damage had been done, the rift between them too deep to bridge in a single moment of remorse.

As Y/N disappeared through the doorway, leaving him alone amidst the wreckage of their shattered relationship, Benedict felt a hollow emptiness settle in the pit of his stomach. He knew that he had lost her, perhaps forever, condemned to a lifetime of regret for the pain he had inflicted upon the woman he loved. And as he sank to the chair, his heart heavy with sorrow, he prayed for a chance at redemption, a glimmer of hope amidst the ruins of their once bright future.

taglist: @novausstuff // @pussyslayerhd // @amoosarte // @jupitervenusearthmars // @shonteriasunshine // @melsunshine // @bollzinurmouth // @kneelforloki

again, please do send me a message or comment down if you would like to be added on the succeeding taglists for the five times series! thanks loves <3!

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 30

Image Source

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 2.7K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

In the days that followed, you did your best to brush off Azriel's lingering looks, rationalizing away the soft touches he gave your shoulders when you seemed nervous, or the small bowls of berries he brought when you appeared too lost in thought to eat. You couldn't let yourself get attached again, and you most certainly wouldn’t allow another person to be harmed because of you, even unintentionally. Each night, Azriel still crawled into bed with you, his warm body pressed against yours as you stared wide-eyed at the moonlit balcony, the gentle glow casting a silver sheen over the room. You’d feel his unconscious hand slide up your midsection until he held you against him, and while you yearned to sneak away to the other side of the bed, you couldn’t help but melt into the warmth he provided.

As the weeks turned into months, summer gracefully gave way to fall. The trees on the surrounding mountains ignited in a breathtaking display of oranges, yellows, and reds, painting a vibrant picture against the crisp, azure sky. The air carried a hint of earthy musk and the sweet decay of fallen leaves. You had started visiting Titania twice a week, giving her a break from the little ones who ran amuck in the house, barging into rooms without a second thought. The once daunting pleasure house, now a warm refuge, had become a second home. You became acquainted with the other residents, many of whom had children of their own, though none had been around during your earlier years with your mother.

Azriel often accompanied you on these visits, doing his best to navigate the admiring glances from both the female and male companions with a mixture of amusement and discomfort. Titania delighted in nudging you about how Azriel followed you like a lost puppy, her red, pointed fingernails tapping against your arm as she teased about the longing looks he cast your way and how he would talk about you to the children. You always rolled your eyes at her comments, though secretly they made your heart flutter.

Back at the House of Wind, the great hall was a hive of activity as preparations for the Autumnal Ball reached their peak. Nesta had taken charge, orchestrating the event with the precision of a general, her frustration mounting as Cassian and Rhysand debated over the shade of burnt orange for the decorations. The grand hall transformed under her meticulous care, wreaths of autumnal leaves strung about the room as though the guests would be dancing beneath a golden canopy. Faelight candles twinkled among the leaves, casting a warm, golden glow over the entire hall.

The Autumnal Ball, you knew, was more than just a lavish party. It was part of a delicate and ongoing effort to mend relations between the Autumn and Night Courts. Tensions had simmered for centuries, rooted in old grievances and power struggles. Eris, the Autumn Court’s heir, had agreed to this event as a gesture of goodwill, Rhysand hoping to bridge the gap and foster a fragile alliance. The symbolism was everywhere: the blending of traditional Autumn Court foods with the Night Court’s celestial touches, the mingling of courtly guests who had once been wary of one another. The ball was a dance of diplomacy as much as it was a celebration, a careful balancing act where every detail mattered.

The preparations had been intense. Nesta had demanded the finest bakers in Velaris learn to craft Autumn Court pastries and savory treats, adding a “Night Court spin” to each. The end result was a delectable spread featuring spiced apple tarts dusted with stardust sugar, warmed brie and cranberry compote, and no shortage of spiked ciders directly from Autumn Court vineyards and orchards, courtesy of Lucien. The scent of freshly baked goods and mulled spices filled the hall, mingling with the faint, earthy aroma of the fall leaves, creating an intoxicating blend.

You spent the afternoon assisting Nesta with the final adjustments—redraping tables that seemed no different to you after each attempt, readjusting punch bowls, and repositioning leaves for a more “rustic look,” as Nesta put it. You hadn’t expected to attend the ball, content with simply being part of the preparations. After all, you were just a guest in the House of Wind with no official standing in the Night Court.

But as the final touches were made, Nesta pulled you aside, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, how are you planning to do your hair for the ball?” she asked.

You stuttered, taken aback. “I didn’t realize…I mean, I didn’t think I was invited.”

Nesta’s face softened as realization dawned. “Of course you’re invited,” she said, almost scolding herself. “I’ll have a dress sent up to your room. Just do your hair however you like, and be ready to have some fun tonight.” She flashed you a foxlike smile, her eyes twinkling as she winked and scurried off to handle last-minute details.

—

You sat at your dressing table, wrestling with a particularly stubborn knot in your hair. The door creaked open behind you, and Azriel’s head appeared, his eyes reflecting the soft faelight from the room. You caught his gaze in the mirror as you tugged at the knot, wincing at the unpleasant “schrip” sound of the brush pulling free. Azriel’s face mirrored your grimace.

“Do you need help with that?” he asked gently, stepping into the room.

You sighed, your fingers running through your slightly damp hair. “No, I think I got it.”

Azriel nodded, Just checking in on you. Heard you got blindsided with an invite.”

You rolled your eyes playfully as you managed to smooth out the last of the knots. “A little bit.”

He gave you an easy, albeit apologetic smile. “Mind if I come in?”

You nodded, watching in the mirror as he slipped into the room. The suit he wore was all black, with spirals of sparkling blue embroidery swirling down the lapels, the same signature blue as his siphons. The polished shine of his dress shoes clicked against the floor as he dropped into the sitting chair beside the dressing table, slumping down with a casual grace, his fingers idly massaging his temple.

“Nervous?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Not at all,” you replied, though your voice betrayed you as another knot gave way with a wince.

Azriel chuckled lightly, standing to move behind you. “Your heartbeat’s going a million miles an hour.” You ripped another stubborn knot from your hair. “Want me to take over?”

Reluctantly, you handed him the brush, leaning back slightly as Azriel took it. He began at the ends of your hair, working his way up with gentle, careful strokes. His fingers brushed against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “These things,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, “they’re just posturing.”

You looked at him in the mirror, noting how his focused gaze made his eyes seem softer, more earnest. “Nesta thinks this one’s important,” you replied.

Azriel’s brows lifted slightly as he continued to brush. “They are important. But a lot of it’s just about ruffling feathers and showing off wealth.”

“But we do care, right?” you questioned, your eyes meeting his in the reflection.

His hands paused for a moment as he pondered the question. “We definitely care. But I think there are better ways to handle diplomacy than by throwing parties.”

You quipped, “Is it just because you have to wear a suit and can’t wear your training clothes?”

Azriel’s eyes flicked to your reflection, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “That’s part of it.” He gave you a gentle bop on the crown of your head with the brush, making you feign a greater deal of pain than it actually caused.

“Thanks,” you said as he handed the brush back to you.

Azriel sighed, settling back into the sitting chair, his knee bobbing up and down. You noticed the anxious energy in the motion, a tell you had come to recognize.

“What do I need to know?” you asked, and Azriel’s brow furrowed in mild confusion. “I mean, about the whole court ball thing,” you clarified.

Azriel shrugged, “Just chat with courtiers. Smile. Shake hands if someone offers. Feign interest in stories that bore you.”

“Is there anyone I should or shouldn’t talk to? Things I should or shouldn’t mention?”

Azriel grinned, “Maybe don’t insult anyone to their face.”

“Wasn’t planning on it, but thanks,” you replied, rising and wandering to the closet. Nesta had brought a dress into your room, wrapped in a dressing gown bag. You hadn’t yet had the heart to unzip it. Running your hands down the front of the bag, you sighed, pulling it from the hanger and trudging into the closet to change.

“Just stay close to me,” Azriel hollered from the room. “I’ll help you through it.”

“I don’t know why I’m going at all,” you called back, letting your robe drop from your shoulders.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

As you unzipped the bag, your breath caught in your throat at the sight of the gown. You exhaled slowly, pulling the dress from the bag and hanging it in front of you. “Just seems like I wouldn’t really need to be there,” you said, stepping into the gown.

“Well, Nesta wants you to come,” Azriel replied.

You slipped your arms into the sleeves, trying unsuccessfully to pull the zipper up behind you. You huffed, stepping out of the closet into the main room. “I need some help,” you said, showing Azriel the zipper you couldn’t reach.

But Azriel didn’t respond immediately. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight of you, his mouth agape.

“Too much?” you inquired, glancing down at the iridescent blue silk of the gown. Embedded with small stones that mimicked the night sky, it flowed in a gradient of burnt orange, deep red, and gold as it cascaded to the floor. The bodice, a deep midnight blue, was adorned with delicate embroidered patterns of autumn leaves and moonlit branches in metallic golds and silvers. The sleeves were sheer gauze that clung to your upper arms before billowing down, catching the light like mist.

Azriel blinked, shaking his head as if to clear it. “No, no,” he stammered. “It’s gorgeous. You—you look breathtaking.”

You let out a breathy laugh, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. “It’s definitely more elaborate than anything I’ve worn before.”

“You make it look effortless,” Azriel replied, his voice soft with admiration.

You peered over your shoulder. “Zip me?”

Azriel quickly moved behind you, his touch gentle as he pulled the zipper up slowly. His eyes traced the small of your back to your shoulder blades, lingering for a moment before meeting your gaze in the mirror.

“I’m glad you like it,” you said, running your fingers through your hair.

Azriel glanced down at his own suit, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve certainly outshone me.”

You rolled your eyes, moving to sit at the dressing table, pulling on a small necklace of silver moons. Azriel watched you, then suddenly exclaimed, “Wait one second!”

You paused, turning to see him hurrying out of the room, his shoes clicking on the floor. He returned moments later, holding a small jewelry box. “Here,” he said, extending it to you.

You looked between him and the box. “What is it?”

“Just a necklace I think would look nice with the dress.”

You took the box, opening it to reveal a simple silver chain with a crescent moon pendant, hugging a small blue gem similar in hue to Azriel’s siphons. Your mouth dropped slightly. “This is beautiful.”

Azriel smiled, a light blush dusting his cheeks. “I’m glad you like it.”

Shaking your head lightly, you murmured, “I can’t accept this. It’s too much—”

“It’s nothing, just something I’ve had lying around,” Azriel interrupted, though his voice held a note of hesitation.

Not wanting to disappoint him, you smiled up at him. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Azriel’s eyes softened as he helped you with the necklace, his scarred fingers clasping it gently around your neck. The pendant fell against your skin, the blue gem catching the light. His touch lingered on your shoulders for a moment, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

“You really do look beautiful,” Azriel noted quietly.

You smiled at him, feeling warmth spread through your chest. “Thank you,” you replied, even more softly.

Azriel seemed to take you in, his gaze filled with pride and tenderness as he saw the transformation in you—the once broken figure now standing strong and radiant. His eyes shimmered with unspoken emotions, reflecting the light of the faelight.

“I should go check on Nesta,” Azriel finally said, “Make sure Cassian is still alive.”

You chuckled softly. “Good plan. I need to finish up anyway.”

Azriel gave you one last smile, his hand resting on your shoulder in a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll come back up in an hour and we can walk down together?”

You nodded, your heart swelling with gratitude and something deeper you couldn’t quite name. He squeezed your shoulder again, his fingers brushing against your hair as he turned to leave, his heels clicking softly down the hall. You looked into the mirror and for the first time in a long while, you almost liked what you saw.

To my consistent, readers, I'm sorry for the lapse in posting yesterday, I've had some family stuff come up that I had to take care of and writing took a bit of a backburner. Hoping to continue to post regularly from here on out! @thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @romantacyreader28 @caroline-books @slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @405rry @sleepylunarwolf @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba @julesofvolterra @skylarkalchemist @darling006 @rhysandorian @loglady00

[yandereunsolved]

˗ˏˋ Yandere Concept ´ˎ˗

Yandere Podcaster — Amos Emerie (he/him)

English / • 27 • / Bisexual / Multilingual

Height: 5'9" He wears boots that make him 5'11" because he's insecure about his height.

Language(s): English, Polish, & Sign Language

╰┈➤ He comes from the sleepy town of Holy Springs. A town filled with yanderes, most supernatural, all downright disturbing. He's one of the few humans that have made their way into this town. It's so small enchanted that it isn't on any maps. Less than a hundred living beings make their home here. The population rests around a thousand. 

╰┈➤ Holy Springs — It's a safe haven for outcasts and entities that would be shunned by any major religion. It is also one of the most dangerous places to live for humans.

╰┈➤ He's the seer of the town. He foretells any new arrivals or conflicts that are to happen. He's the first to learn of readers arrival to their cozy town. He's the first to fall for them and see all of the attention they'll attract. However, that's a vision for another day.

╰┈➤ He runs a podcast called Yandere Unsolved. It's labeled as a true crime podcast and is one of the most listened to in the country. What most listeners don't know is that the podcast was really just a way for yanderes to place bets on who would kill who for their darling. At the end of each episode, he lists off the people who contribute to his podcast—the codenames of who won and lost what bets. What a coincidence that reader really enjoys his podcast. You'll both have so much to talk about when you arrive.

╰┈➤ He lives in a two-bedroom apartment with his roommate, who's a ghoul. Often times, he has to temporarily leave because he cannot stand the sound of his roommate chewing on another human carcass. Amos doesn't understand why he can't be more tidy about his kills. He just wants one night of full sleep without hearing the tortured screams of his roommates victims. His roommate is a bit of a glutton, in more ways than one.

╰┈➤ One sibling — He has a deaf older brother who doesn't live in Holy Springs. His older brother lives in France with his husband and two kids. That's how Amos learned sign language when he was younger. It comes in handy considering some of the residents here don't speak any identifiable language or just cannot speak for whatever reason. So he's able to communicate with them this way.

╰┈➤ Parents — His mother and father still live in the rural town they grew up in. Both he and his brother visit them in the summer and on holidays. Amos speaks little about Holy Springs and keeps it vague. He doesn't want to accidentally attract a spirit from the town to haunt his family by uttering the name. He also never allows them to visit him. He says it's because his apartment is too small for all of them, and there aren't any hotels in Holy Springs. There is one, but it's run by a notoriously mischievous demon who knows how to make people give up their souls. The last thing he needs is someone in his family making a deal with that devil.

╰┈➤ Friends — One of his closest friends hails from Poland. They were a foreign exchange student whom his family hosted. He's kept in good touch with them over the years and has picked up much of the language. He doesn't speak it unless he's in Poland visiting them, so his fluency in it is a bit rusty. He's mostly introverted, especially with how the town isolates you, so they're really his only friend. Except for you, you're basically already his spouse, so you can't really count as his friend.

╰┈➤ He has absolutely awful self-esteem. He's the seer of the town, and he runs a podcast that is really just radio gambling for yanderes, and yet he still feels like a perverted loser. He can speak confidently, but he doesn't feel like it. He still feels like the same kid who ended up getting a restraining order from his crush in high school. So what if he had been stealing pairs of their underwear and taking photos of them without their consent? He saw it in the future. He thought he was meant to be with them. It turns out that they just looked like you. It was really you who he saw in those visions. Unfortunately, the future has a way of changing your destination right before you reach it. No worries! He'll just make sure that you are his, no matter what.

╰┈➤ Infatuation — He's a very subtle yandere until he has his darling trapped. He sees himself as a protector and a safe heaven for you, both from the world and the horrors within the seemingly normal town. Due to the fact that he saw you in his visions, he believes it to be a divine intervention that you both met. He's extremely needy and stakerish. He's ashamed of his perversions and does everything he can to make sure you don't find out about them. He isn't broke, but he isn't rich either. He wins some and loses some when he gambles with other yanderes. He's truly worried about others becoming obsessively inclined toward you. He doesn't have the ability to kill a person; at least he doesn't think so. He wouldn't kill someone unless you asked him to. He's too afraid you'd hate him for it.

full headcanons soon?

[gryficowa]

Remember to boycott!

You know what pisses me off? Classically radical feminists (TREFs) are silent about the fact that in Gaza prisons, Israeli women (and men too) rape people to the point of critical condition, but what can we expect from bigots who lie about supporting women's rights when they hate trans and non-white people?

In addition, they spread racism towards black men (Yes, radical feminists do this shit and also attack black women, because, as you know, they hate trans people, and black women often have a male build… You already understand where this is going…)

I'm a left-wing feminist and TREFs disgust me (And if you don't agree with their bigotry, you have a penis, yes, their misogyny shows beautifully…)

Yes, this is an angry post, radical feminists smell like people from "Vote blue, because Trump will be worse"

It's just a random rant, but I just had to get it off my chest

Now that I have your attention:

[thorxthunder]

Copia with an S/O who has a fear of abandonment?

AHHH THIS IS MY FIRST GHOST FANFIC!!!

 thank you so much for requesting this and please, to anyone reading, please request more Ghost fics! I write for everyone (Papas,Ghouls,Sister Imperator)! ilygsm 🤍

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

To The Ocean (Cardinal Copia x G/N Reader)

tags: fear of abandonment, hurt/comfort, misunderstandings, Copia being a sweetheart, poorly translated Italian (it wouldn’t be a ghost fic without it)

Word Count: 2.4k

You possess an astute observant nature that never fails to pick up on various things in your life. This keen perception has both positive and negative aspects, especially in a relationship with Copia. The bond between you and Copia has evolved to a point where you can understand each other's thoughts and emotions without verbal communication. While this unspoken connection is a beautiful aspect of your relationship, it also comes with challenges. There are times when important conversations remain unspoken, and certain matters that demand acknowledgment and expression are left hanging in the air, longing to be addressed and heard.

Like now. The signs of something bothering Copia become quite evident to you through his telltale actions. When he rolls his hair between his fingers or nervously taps his foot on the floor, it's a clear indication of his inner unrest. Even more obvious is the way he’s gazing out of the window, seemingly lost in his thoughts. During these moments, it's as if he retreats to a far-off place within himself, contemplating the vast expanse of the sky.

Though he remains quiet during these contemplative moments, his emotional turmoil is anything but subtle to you. It's akin to observing a restless bird in a cage, anxiously fluttering about and repeatedly bumping into the metal bars, desperately trying to find a way out of its confinements. Despite his attempts to mask his feelings, you feel the restlessness and unease that reside within him, yearning to be understood and acknowledged. It's evident that he struggles to communicate these thoughts and emotions, making it all the more important for you to be receptive and offer him the comfort and support he needs to open up.

You find yourself grappling with a familiar fear, one that you've carried with you for a long time — the fear that the people you love will inevitably leave you. This feeling has been deeply ingrained in your thoughts, and it makes you hesitant to confront Copia about what's going on with him. You can't help but hold onto that gut feeling, despite the connection you share with him and the trust you place in him.

Inwardly, you struggle with feelings of inadequacy, believing that you have little to offer Copia in the face of life's uncertainties. You recognize that you don't possess the power to control his destiny, the inevitable grip of loneliness, the unpredictability of illness, or the finality of death. These factors are beyond your control, leaving you feeling vulnerable and helpless.

Yet, even in the midst of your anxieties, you trust Copia wholeheartedly, entrusting him with your life and even your mortality. However, a looming thought hangs over you. A feeling of if he were not Papa and had chosen a different path as a member of the clergy, your lives might have taken a different turn and he would never be yours.

Despite your fear, you gather the courage to inquire about Copia's well-being one day when you notice him drifting away, seemingly lost in his thoughts again. You gently reach out to touch his shoulder, a gesture that has become familiar between you two, and he startles slightly before turning to face you. It's as if he hadn't realized he was daydreaming at all.

Summoning your bravery, you softly ask, "Amo? You alright?" Concern lingers in your voice, hoping to encourage him to open up and share his thoughts, even if you battle your inner reservations about potential heartache and the unknown.

As Copia's eyes soften from his initial surprise, he responds quietly, reassuring you with, "Yes, mio sole. I'm fine."

However, your concern remains evident, and you express your worries about him, frowning slightly. Copia, though initially reluctant, can't help but show signs of something bothering him as he frowns in return and appears on the verge of speaking his mind.

You wait expectantly, your brow creased, encouraging him to share what's troubling him. Copia eventually relents and admits, "It's just that... I... I need to go somewhere for a while."

His words hit you like a sudden shock, almost knocking you back emotionally. You try to maintain your composure, saying nothing, but you hope that your expression reflects the turmoil within you. Your shock leaves you speechless, afraid that if you open your mouth, you might reveal your pain in a painfully desperate manner. The temptation to ask, "Why are you leaving me?" or "I can't believe you're doing this," lingers, but you resist, not wanting to push him away further.

Internally, you wrestle with a mix of emotions, feeling your face burning hot with anger and frustration. You despise yourself for the vulnerability you're displaying and for hoping against hope that things might be different this time. You knew deep down that history had a way of repeating itself, and you were once again left behind, watching your loved ones depart from your life. An old and familiar anxiety resurfaces, and a small, resentful voice inside you even tries to convince you that somehow you deserve this outcome.

In the midst of this emotional turmoil, you make a valiant effort to control your reactions, focusing on steady breathing to keep yourself composed. You realize that there's a need to communicate and understand Copia's feelings more deeply, but the fear of being hurt and abandoned once again makes it challenging to find the right words. For now, you do your best to keep your emotions in check, attempting to process the situation before responding further.

Copia's gaze meets yours, and you observe the range of emotions that flicker across your face - from serenity mingled with sadness, to surprise, and finally settling into perplexity. Feeling the mounting turmoil inside, you turn away swiftly, not wanting him to see your vulnerable state, fearing that you might break down or overreact if he lingers too long.

However, Copia is not willing to let you walk away without understanding what's going on. He calls out urgently, "Mio Sole? Mio Sole!" His footsteps close in on you, but you ignore his pleas, determined to create distance between you two. The need to escape, to let Copia see your back for once, drives you forward, even though you're unsure of your destination.

Suddenly, you feel his fingers clutching onto your forearm as he catches up with you. In a surge of emotion, you forcefully pull away with a growl, demanding, "Just go!" Your heart aches with conflicting feelings, torn between wanting him near and pushing him away to protect yourself.

“Y/N! Attendere prego!” Copia desperation is evident as he pleads with you to wait, a side of him you've never witnessed before. It shakes you to your core, causing you to stop abruptly, your whole body tensed with unresolved emotions, fists clenched tightly. He positions himself in front of you, seeking eye contact, but you continue to avert your gaze, feeling a sense of rejection even though you were the one trying to distance yourself.

Despite your efforts to remain strong and detached, his request to look at him strikes a chord. Your jaw remains steeled, but you sense a vulnerability creeping through your defenses. Copia's determination, evident in his slow but firm words, urges you to confront your emotions. Reluctantly, you allow your eyes to meet his, and in that moment, a surge of emotions flows between you, connecting you in a way that neither can deny.

“Per favore, mio sole, perché corri?” As Copia persistently pleads for your attention, you can't ignore him any longer. His 'please' tugs at your heart, causing you to look up and meet his earnest gaze. The moment your eyes connect, your anger begins to fade away, and you're left with a mix of conflicting emotions. It's painful to confront his gaze, as it stirs up a sense of emptiness within you, leaving your mind feeling numb and detached.

Copia's gentle tone attempts to coax you out of your emotional shell, making you feel like a vulnerable creature hiding from the world.

Despite your attempt to push him away, Copia refuses to leave and reaches out to you. Feeling a surge of indignation, you lash out at him, interpreting his desire to go somewhere as a desire to leave you behind once. The thought that he might leave you hurts, and you struggle to voice the true depths of your feelings, afraid of the vulnerability it may expose.

Seeing your anger subside, Copia expresses his genuine intent, reassuring you that leaving you is not what he wants.

As Copia searches for the right words, his eyes take on a wistful expression, indicating the yearning he has to experience the freedom he once knew. “I don’t want to leave you. Why would I want to do that?” Copia starts, and pauses for a moment, glancing away, his hands wringing together as he tries to find his words. “It’s just that.. mi manca... non essere Papa volte. I’m always stuck on a schedule. I’m always doing what other people want me to do. Voglio solo essere libero. It gets so hard sometimes performing when I feel like the only reason I’m doing it is to stay alive. When I wasn’t papa, I could go anywhere I wanted to. The beach, the movies… hell, even a restaurant. Now I’m always on close surveillance. I’m not used to staying in one place for long. È difficile per me.”

Listening to his heartfelt words, you begin to grasp the inner conflict he's facing. Though it doesn't make your hurt feelings disappear completely, you start to understand the complexity of his emotions. Copia's vulnerability opens a window into his struggles, making it more apparent that his desire to escape isn't about leaving you, but rather about finding a sense of liberation from the weight of his responsibilities as Papa.

In the wake of your emotional outburst, you find yourself feeling like the world's biggest idiot.

It's not really about me at all, is it? How did I make this about me?

You’re almost ebarrassed by Copia's honesty and ashamed that your insecurities were so glaringly obvious. You're genuinely upset for Copia, realizing that you jumped to conclusions without fully understanding his perspective.

"I mean..I'm…an idiot”

Copia smirks at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Probabilmente." He brings his hands up, holding your face between them, his thumbs stroking your temples lightly. His expression turns serious again.

"Mio Sole, I'm sorry you feel that I may leave you at any moment. But I promise you this: Lo non ti lascerò mai. I've been alive for a long time, and nothing has ever made me as happy as being with you does. Sei molto importante per me. Ho bisogno di te... davvero." Copia's fierce gaze softens, and he leans in, placing his lips gently on your forehead in an unadorned, reverent show of affection.

You gasp in a small, shaky breath, blushing fiercely once again. Your eyes feel strangely wet.

"This is too much. I don't deserve any of this," you express, feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of his love and the depth of your emotions.

“Ti meriti il ​​mondo e altro ancora. niente ci separerà. Nemmeno la morte. Quando verrà il nostro momento, gioiremo nell'aldilà. Niente brilla come te.” Copia's touch and words reassure you, but the weight of your insecurities still lingers. You can't help but wonder how someone like him could care so deeply for someone like you. In this vulnerable moment, you find solace in his embrace, cherishing the connection you share and hoping that, somehow, you can learn to accept and reciprocate the love he offers.

Copia's words cut through the walls you've built around your heart, reaching somewhere raw and vulnerable inside you. Despite your difficulty in accepting kindness and affection, his impassioned gaze holds you in place, leaving you feeling both small and humbled. The intensity of his love leaves you at a loss for words, and you can only respond in the way you know how: with a tender kiss that speaks volumes of your feelings.

As your lips meet Copia's, the sweetness and warmth of the moment envelop you both. When you finally part, you find him smiling at you, his face radiating adoration and joy. His expression tugs at your heartstrings, causing it to do a little flip flop. You're filled with overwhelming love for this man in your arms, grateful that Lucifer brought Copia into your life, even if it was initially just a calculated match by the ministry. What you share with him is true love and adoration, something his brothers may have never experienced with their prime movers.

Feeling a newfound sense of hope and security, you realize that Copia is here of his own accord, choosing to be with you, and it’s for good.

"Hey, come back here." Copia playfully taps your forehead, bringing you back to the present. “What I meant was, I want to go somewhere with you. I’m just restless.. Ho bisogno di viaggiare di nuovo. Ma voglio che sia con te.”

“Of course, Amo... Where do you wanna go?”

“To a lake or the ocean, I think. I miss the water.”

"Okay," you respond, your heart swelling with happiness at the thought of embarking on this journey with Copia, exploring new places, and sharing unforgettable experiences together.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Mio Sole: My Sunshine

Amo: Love

Attendere prego: Please wait

Per favore, mio sole, perché corri?: Please, my sunshine, why are you running?

mi manca... non essere Papa volte: I miss… not being Papa sometimes.

Voglio solo essere libero: I just want to be free

È difficile per me: It’s difficult for me.

Probabilmente: Probably

Lo non ti lascerò mai: I will never leave you

Sei molto importante per me. Ho bisogno di te... davvero: You are very important to me. I need you…truly.

Ti meriti il ​​mondo e altro ancora. niente ci separerà. Nemmeno la morte. Quando verrà il nostro momento, gioiremo nell'aldilà. Niente brilla come te: You deserve the world and more. nothing will separate us. Not even death. When our time comes, we will rejoice in the afterlife. Nothing shines like you.

Ho bisogno di viaggiare di nuovo. Ma voglio che sia con te: I need to travel again. But I want it to be with you.

[missgavi]

haha me again just got another idea while trying to sleep!!

so gavi and y/n being at gavi’s parents house and after gavi left to the kitchen to get something and hasn’t retured, y/n goes to look for him and overheard him talking to his mom about her and how happy he makes her and cute stuff like that 🥹🥹

 I WANT THIS 

“I’ll be right back” Gavi said , standing up from the couch and making his way into the kitchen to help his mom finish up dinner while you remained in the living room to play with his younger cousins. 

The two of you were currently visiting his parents , the whole family gathering at the Gavira residence for a little get together. 

“Y/n/n , zumo” juice Toma , Pablo’s younger cousin said , making grabby hands at you. Smiling down at the little boy , you picked him up “You want some juice Toma. Let’s get you some juice nino” 

Making you way into the kitchen you stop dead in your tracks when you hear the mention of you name. 

“Realmente la amo, mama, ¿sabes? Ella todo lo que podía pedir, y más.” I really love her mom you know ? She everything I could ask for , and more, your boyfriend tells his mum to which the older woman smiles 

Approaching his son, Anasi takes ahold of both his cheeks and replies “Puedo decir que ella te hace feliz cariño. Y/n es una chica muy dulce y sensata. Asegúrate de tratarla bien” I can tell she makes you happy sweetheart. Y/n is a very sweet and sensible girl. Make sure you treat her right . And with that she kisses her son on the forehead and leaves the kitchen , food in hand

Taking it as your cue , you enter the kitchen with Toma in your arms. The little boy squeaks when he sees the older Gavira boy “Pablo” he says excitedly. 

At the sound of his name , your boyfriend turns around with a smile on his face upon seeing you two. 

He takes the little boy from your arms and leans down to kiss you. “What’s up little one ?” he asks his cousin. 

“He wanted some juice” you reply , your heart still beating fast at the way he spoke about you to his mum. 

“Juice , you want some juice tough guy ? Let’s get you some juice” he says in a playful tone , making his way over to the fridge with the boy still on his arm. 

Looking at him so comfortable and happy makes your heart swell. You loved him so much.

[decarabiandivorce]

Day 4: Songs / Secrets

(In a world in which someone doesn’t die)

The song of freedom was a somber one. There were cheers. There were yells. There was peace.

There was death.

The city of Mondstadt rejoiced at the death of Decarabian, and Venti could feel the prayers and hopes of the people surge inside of his chest. It was a feeling more potent than any drink, for a split second he could understand why the gods were so unwilling to give it up. It fulfilled him, a subtle promise that everything would be okay. That there were people who would be at his side. It was love. It was energy. It was godhood.

Venti was absent the day afterwards.

Cecil’s friends were by his side most of the night. The Lawerence and Gunnhildrs were talking about guiding the city. At least they knew he couldn’t do it.

He doesn’t know where Ragnvindr took him. The exhaustion of ascension had blinded him as the world became Much More. He could feel the breathing of Cecil’s friends at times. He can be annoyed at a single candle burning in his room.

Ragnvindr was gone. Southwards, presumably. Yet it still stung. Cecil was burred somewhere on that path, and Venti could only hope it was someplace that could see the heavens.

As the anemo god shaped the world, flinging mountains here and there, the path away from the city remained unscathed. Wherever that location was, he felt a primal urge to mark it sacred ground.

There was a veil on his head when he returned.

He can’t look at Cecil’s friends. They want to hold his face. He isn’t him. He isn’t him. He isn’t him.

Buildings, trails, and fences are put up. Northward they go, and they do not want his protection from the wolves in the woods. They do not want his help when he offers to chop wood. They tell him he looks tired, but Venti has never felt so alive!

In the end, he respects their freedom, and slips away into the streets that know his face but not his name.

Slips far far away, to a city with only one resident.

“…” He wants to open his mouth, but that would be rude. There is a candle in her hand, a tradition even older than him in her hands.

No body. No grave. No legacy besides her.

“He is gone.” She speaks, her voice soft.

“We are free.” He wants to say. That should be the right thing to do in this situation, right? Instead, Venti steps a bit closer to his friend. She places the candle on the ground, and sits down besides it. He mimics her, and places himself on the opposite side.

“Is it wrong… for me to…” Amos states, her eyes a tad wet. Fiddling with the band on her hand, she looks up to the sky above the broken tower. “Venti… “

“Yes, Amos?”

“Do you know where gods go when they die?”

The young god was silent. “Do humans know where they go?”

“The leylines.. I think.”

“Then… perhaps he is there as well. I did not feel his energy seep into the dirt, nor scatter across the globe. It was as if he was there and then he wasn’t.” Venti limbs are shaky, but he offers his hand to his friend. She was so small now that he was in this form. Every human was so small.

Amos ran her fingers through her hair as the two of them sat together. Second by second, minute by minute the wax dripped onto the dirt between them.

He looked at her, the winds blowing through her hair like a painting in motion. The huntress’s gaze was unfocsed ofor once, lost in memroeis and sorrow.

Yet he knows what she is thinking.

For he is thinking the same.

“How can I live without him.” Venti mutters seemingly to himself. Amos looks at him, mouth agape. “Cecil has been such a guiding wind to me. Even when he is gone, I define myself with him in mind. I know I shouldn’t do it. But its so easy. I miss him. I know this isn’t… That there has to be a better way.. yet…”

“A part of mind still calls myself his lover, “ She confesses. “I yearn for his gaze. His adoration. His anything. Perhaps… in a world without war.. where the two of us were humans…”

“It could have been happier? Permanent?” Venti can see the candle reaching its end, “A physical phantasmagoria?”

“I am living while he is dead. I know I… I wanted this to happen. Yet…” She looks through him, “Keep this whole thing a secret, please.”

“As long as you keep mine!” Venti smiled, trying to reassure him.

His gambit paid off, for as soon as the last embers faded into the wind, the two spoke to the other of what-ifs and dreams.

[desmistificando-se]

me ame

assim

absurdamente

incansavelmente

sem precedentes

eu quero sentir você na minha pele

dentro de todas as minhas partes mais sensíveis

me faça escorrer nessas palavras

sob os dedos

quero esbarrar em tudo de belo que reside em você

e também naquilo que é incrivelmente terrível e assustador

você exala o cheiro da mais valiosa arte

e da arte mais marginal e revolucionária

eu te amo em tudo aquilo que existe e é

eu deixaria você me amar mesmo achando que o amor não me pertence

porque você é uma experiência sensorial

uma experiência que atravessa os planos existenciais

surreal supranatural atemporal

uma experiência que precisa ser vivida

na alma

por isso te gravo em todas as partes de mim

para lembrar que há uma natureza bondosa que incide sobre os meus demônios

meu amor por você é bonito

eu estou apaixonada por isso

estou apaixonada pela sensação de beijar você

e eu pouco me importo se o mundo entre nós está ruindo

porque você é o mundo diante de mim

você é o universo que eu estive procurando

você é a força divina da qual a minha falta de fé não me permitiu conceber

eu tive fé quando você me adentrou com toda sua espiritualidade

quando você me disse que eu sou imagem e semelhança de deus

há algo de divido em mim, não só profano

eu sou feita da natureza daquilo que me criou

e dentro do terrível e incrível, talvez eu possa me apaixonar pelo ordinário da experiência humana

porque eu ainda acho que viver é um inferno e conviver é um desafio insuportável

porque eu ainda deságuo no medo de não ser nada, de não ter nada, de ser o posto do divino. de não ter fé.

mas eu concordo com você quando me diz que a convivência pode ser um luxo

porque é um privilégio compartilhar uma existência com você

porque você me tocou e isso foi divino

e eu senti o céu dentro de mim

/te amo céu

[girlactionfigure]

Defense Minister Yoav Gallant reportedly told associates that he strongly opposes war in Lebanon. He believes that the United States will successfully broker a diplomatic solution based on UN Resolution 1701.  But, Gallant stresses that a ceasefire in Gaza is needed first. Many in Israel see this as the “old way” of thinking that resulted in the catastrophe of Oct. 7.

Changing his tune?

Defense Minister Yoav Gallant today told US envoy Amos Hochstein that while he would have preferred a diplomatic solution, military action is now the only way to safely return the residents of northern Israel to their homes.

Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said the same in his meeting with Hochstein.

Looks like we are going to war.

Israel Today

[intergalactic-garbage]

(tsartistry on my main) I'm so glad you see my vision!! Imagine Blitz making magical accessories for his new niece and nephew. Amos appreciating and modeling every article of clothing Blitz makes for him.

I suppose it would technically be a polycule since I also ship Amos/Set in that Symbrock kind of way.

Which leads me to Set adopting Samirah and Alex by proxy like "I'm going to be a significantly less sucky Chaos God Parent because pissing Loki off would be objectively hilarious."

(which also gives Set plausible deniability, he's just committing to the bit! Of course he doesn't ACTUALLY care about Sam and Alex. He's just attending all of Alex's sculpture exhibitions & helping Sam attend flight school & supporting their interests and defending them from prejudice IRONICALLY shut up Sadie!!)

ohmygod hiiii love! I SEE YOUR VISION

amos is such a babygirl, he's so soft for all the kids, and set is like one of my favourite characters, he's just the typical trickster guy who was an antagonist in trp and pretty much nothing about him changes in the following plot, except that he's on the side of the good guys. honestly set/amos is SUCH a fun dynamic. im almost tempted to read some fics of them now

oh but amos is absolutely very caring about what he dresses in, and only takes the finest fabrics and gets every little thing tailored (the guy definitely has to have a matching pocket square and tie), and he carries this quiet sort of old times gentleman charm to him (of which he isn't that much aware)

he appreciates blitzen's expertise so much and loves talking to him, he really values his opinions on pretty much everything, and before they become actual friends who go for coffee together, just spends always nearly an hour talking to him while he's supposed to be running errands. they eventually become well-acquainted and go for dinner to each other's residences as well as fancy restaurants

oh loki and set absolutely know about each other and have even met a few times, and you know, they hear about what the other did from time to time, and appreciate it, generally; realness recognizes realness and all that.

once during dinner, blitz talks about the happenings in the norse pantheon, and how loki's just been fucking insufferable lately, and how his two nieces suffer needlessly simply for being his children. set perks up; "his children?" "oh yeah," blitz says, dabbing his lips with a handkerchief, "samirah and alex, one a valkyrie and the other an einherjar. they're like family to me." and amos smiles, and comments on how that sounds lovely, and with a smirk remarks that he's sure blitzen would be a wonderful father (all through this, set is already going off in his head about how he'd be SO MUCH of a better father than loki)

the next month, amos quietly shows up next to blitzen at one of alex's pottery showings near the chase space. "oh, amos, what are you doing here?" amos' eyes flash with a light sort of reddish orange "oh, i find it hilarious that as a superior chaos god, i can show up for the children of chaos when they need it." blitzen grins, and gently slips his hand into the other's

this becomes a typical occurrence .