#answer'd

[weepylucifer]

24. "You're trembling." steban/ulixes

The whole mess starts like this: one afternoon, Ulixes doesn't turn up to the reading group meeting.

His absence is a stark confrontation with the fact of how alone Steban is. Thus far, as long as at least Ulixes was still coming to the meetings regular as clockwork, Steban could go on with business as usual and put off reckoning with how solipsistic his little pretense at a revolutionary cell has become. Pretend like any educating of anyone in matters of radical theory was still being done here... like other members could walk in at any moment and give the whole thing a purpose again. Now, with Ulixes absent, Steban sits and waits and drinks too much coffee and feels, though he tries to ignore it, a bit like an idiot with his metaphorical dick in his hand.

He considers his options: he could go out and try to recruit again, he could go to bed and have a depressive episode, he could do serious self-critique about where the reading group went astray and why, he could wallow in his misery about driving his friends away with leftist infighting. He could disband the reading group. He could steal Cindy's pyrholidon and get high. He could go to Uli's apartment and start a huge fight about his perceived betrayal. He could get high, go to Uli's apartment, and have a sobbing breakdown about how Uli is his only friend and Uli's absence would destroy his life.

All those destructive impulses are eventually pushed aside, and Steban decides he will go to Uli's apartment, to check if there's something wrong with him. Uli has never missed a meeting before. Maybe it's not betrayal yet. Maybe there's something he needs...

When he, an hour later, knocks on Uli's door, Ulixes opens looking perturbed and disheveled, but at least he doesn't seem sick or hurt.

"Hi," Steban says. "You--"

"Oh no. The meeting..." Ulixes looks so caught out and almost frightened that whatever was left of Steban's sense of betrayal immediately evaporates. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to miss it, I've been out all day and... I only just came back here, you have to believe me..."

Steban raises a hand. He doesn't like seeing his friend so anxious. "It's alright. What's going on?"

Ulixes suddenly slumps against the doorframe, his skinny form bending like a defeated reed. "It's Comrade Reading, he's... gone missing."

Ah, yes, Required Reading. Uli's new kitten. Uli's new kitten that Steban is all support for, because Uli having a gentle, non-violence-related hobby must be encouraged... as long as the cat doesn't come close enough to Steban to shed hair on him.

Steban likes houseplants. They're his preferred way of existing alongside nature as a communist should. They're pretty, quiet, predictable, and can be raised according to a manual. They don't yell at him in the middle of the night, or scratch him, or bite him, or break his things, or shit in a box he has to clean, or mess up his cleanly, tidy, pleasant little apartment. Besides, something about this particular cat is... strange. It meows and purrs and cuddles and plays and whatever else the things do, but there's something Steban can't put his finger on that is... weird. The less he sees of it, the better.

Still, if Uli wants a cat, a cat he shall have. If Uli wants to spend every moment of his free time with a cat and not his human best friend who can actually carry a conversation and doesn't smell like litterbox, well... so be it. Who is Steban to question his tastes?

"I opened the door briefly to get the mail and he darted out past me," Ulixes is saying. "I've been looking for him all day."

"Oh," Steban says, then makes an effort to imbue his voice with more sympathy, "I mean... oh."

Now, he expects, is when Uli is going to channel his concern for his pet into rage, the way he usually does, and vow some vague idea of vengeance onto the universe for making this happen to him. Now he'll say something over the top like swearing to murder whoever should dare harm or withhold his cat from him in several grisly and overly specific ways that will leave Steban a mixture of nauseated and fondly exasperated, because it's clear that while Ulixes dreams (in graphic detail) of violence, he has never actually experienced it up close, and these fantasies are just how he copes, and...

"This is all my fault," Ulixes whispers, and Steban is shocked to see his eyes beneath his glasses growing damp, "I'm so bad at this, and now I messed it all up."

He sits down on his desk chair and buries his head in his hands. "Why did I ever think I could take care of something? He could die out there, and it's my fault."

There's nothing for it. Steban's still not exactly fond of the cat, but... seeing Ulixes this quietly devastated turns the world inside out. Steban thinks, I need you like I need my limbs and blood and beating heart, and puts his hand on Uli's shoulder. "We'll look for him together."

----

They make missing posters and print them on campus, and Steban volunteers to help put them up around Uli's neighborhood. They spend the rest of the day looking for Required Reading, even when it gets dark, even when it starts to rain. Eventually, Steban makes Uli take a break. Ulixes resists it, but at some point, he does have to sleep. Steban stays with him as their rain-soaked clothes dry over the heater, and softly reassures him as he drifts into an uneasy sleep.

Two days go by. The rain doesn't let up. Ulixes keeps searching for Required Reading, and Steban supports him, though privately he's beginning to lose hope for the whole endeavor. Revachol is gigantic, and there are myriads of ways for a very small cat to vanish in it. And of course Steban is sad for Uli's sake, because Uli really loved - loves - that cat, and taking care of something small and vulnerable has revealed a new side of him, one that Steban finds intriguing. But... a part of him, a part he tries to ignore because he's not quite comfortable with having it in him to think so lowly, is... not too bothered by the prospect of things going back to how they were before Required Reading appeared. Back when he- when the reading group had Uli's undivided attention. When Uli was focused on him the cause. When Uli would look at him with adoring eyes and--

Stop, Steban tells himself. That's a scummy way to think, and wholly inappropriate when it comes to your comrade. Of course you want him to get his cat back.

He should interrogate that entire train of thought, practice self-critique and remind himself of the incompatibility of Mazovian thought with such... greedy possessiveness. But he's not ready to examine himself in this instance, so he pushes it all down and out of sight.

It's ironic then that, on the third day, Steban finds the cat first.

He's on his way to Uli's apartment. It's still raining and he doesn't have an umbrella, so he's steadily getting soaked through. All he really wants is to get out of the weather. Still, he pauses when he hears, from across the deserted square, a tiny cry, like a baby, or a...

...kitten.

They've pinned one of the missing-cat-posters to a lamppost on the sidewalk here three days ago. Now, under the lamppost, crouched under a soggy, discarded newspaper that offers only scant protection from the elements, there he is, meowing plaintively for help: Required Reading. His fur is plastered to his body with rainwater, but it is him.

(It would be so easy for a passerby to recognize that this is the cat on the poster. Almost as if he sat himself down here on purpose... but surely that's impossible. Cats can't read, or recognize themselves on pictures.)

(Weird.)

Steban shakes his head. It's probably just a coincidence. He'd better scoop the cat up before he runs away, hope he doesn't get his arms scratched up, and bring the little thing home to Uli. Cautiously, he steps closer.

Sigh. Here goes nothing...

Suddenly, he hesitates. A thought unfolds...

Maybe he could just... keep walking. Pretend he didn't see. Ulixes would never know. He'd be sad for a while, but eventually he'd recover, and then they'd spend time in their meetings again like they used to... no more cat hair on his clothes, no more mess, no more having to feign interest in an animal he honestly finds a bit off-putting... and Uli's attention would not waver again, and Steban would never have to ask himself what he even is without Ulixes.

He stands in silence while the rain beats down.

Required Reading has stopped crying. He's seen Steban and, doubtlessly, recognized him. He doesn't scamper up to him like Steban supposed he might. He simply looks at Steban with eyes that seem way too intelligent, and in this moment Steban is convinced that somehow the cat knows what he's thinking. Knows that Steban is considering abandoning him here.

Weird!

Or maybe that's just his conscience?

"This is nonsense," Steban mutters to himself. Of course he's going to bring the cat back to Uli. Because that's the right thing to do, and it'll take the anguish off of Uli's mind, and surely Uli will be so relieved and thankful. Steban can just picture it: his normally reserved friend smiling and hugging Required Reading close to him, and maybe then he'll set the cat down and hug Steban, too, and express his gratitude and regard for how Steban went above and beyond for him... maybe there'd even be a kiss on the cheek in it for him...

But no. Why would there be? Steban is used to kisses from his family members as casual displays of affection, that is just their way, but if Ulixes did that... if Ulixes kissed him on the cheek, it would be different, it would mean something.

Despite the rain, he blushes. What is this thought? What is he considering here? And anyway, he's not supposed to do things because he expects a reward. Again, what an inappropriate thought to have, about a comrade no less. He can't just stand here getting lost in... whatever this is. There's a task to do.

Slowly, carefully, telegraping his movements, he crouches down and reaches for Required Reading. By some miracle, the cat doesn't spook. He lets Steban scoop him up, his small, shivering body almost eclipsed completely by Steban's slender hands.

"Aww, pobrecito," Steban murmurs, dutifully, because that seems like the sort of thing one says. "You're trembling... come here, let's get you home."

"Mrreeep," Required Reading says, huddling closer to Steban's body heat.

Steban tucks him underneath his jacket and continues on his way. It's still pouring down upon him, and the cat sneezes into his armpit, but he barely notices, his head swimming with thoughts of what awaits him: the warm and dry apartment, maybe some hot coffee, the opportunity to bring Ulixes a wonderful surprise, the dread and self-recriminations leaving his comrade's face and being replaced with joy, the feel of his body pressed against Steban's in an exuberant embrace, the gentle rasp of his beard against Steban's own stubble when the--

Hm.

As Required Reading, bundled up under his jacket, starts to purr, Steban begins his struggle to contend with the fact that, apart from everything else he's got going on already, he now apparently dreams of his comrade's kiss.

[devorakian-guilt]

So I looked up the characters in your bio

Yeah this guy fucks hard I can see why you'd like him. heck I like him already and I have no idea what he does lol

plague doctor, former field surgeon, pirate doctor, man wanted for murder, BPD haver. hes so me frfr

addendum: also canon masochist

[isolctions]

what’s some of your favorite accounts to rp with ?

oof, i love these questions!!! i've rped with a lot of writers over the years, so i'll just list them by the ones who are still around (albeit, not as active bc life is collectively whooping all our asses in a wendy's parking lot apparently) and the ones who are inactive. this is also in no particular order, so like? pls don't be offended, i love rping with anyone who still wants to write with my ass!!

(SEMI) ACTIVE ACCOUNTS: @steadyclips / @somethingscft (we've been writing for like 8 years atp lmao) / @spicecbinet / @vihilum / @bcdomens / @gyalis / @hellfollowed / @rennisaturate / @pcthole / my gorls in the group chat who have too many accounts for me to remember <3

INACTIVE ACCOUNTS: @hoodspeare / @leopardos / @veiledblush / @obscvne / @ofstolenkisses / @thvndcrstrvck / @lilmcnster / @spilledinkisms / @streetsofsecrets

[pistisq]

We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk i' the sun, And bleat the one at the other what we changed Was innocence for innocence; we knew not The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd That any did.  Had we pursued that life, And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven Boldly "not guilty"....

[morpheus-ravenna]

I really love this tribute to Sinéad O’Connor/ Shuhada’ Sadaqat. It honors her fierce hunger for a more just world, her towering musical talent, and her unique and deep relationship to faith.

William Blake once wrote, “The Prophets Isaiah and Ezekiel dined with me, and I asked them how they dared so roundly to assert, that God spoke to them; and whether they did not think at the time, that they would be misunderstood, & so be the cause of imposition.

Isaiah answer'd, I saw no God, nor heard any, in a finite organical perception; but my senses discover'd the infinite in every thing, and as I was then persuaded, & remain confirm'd; that the voice of honest indignation is the voice of God, I cared not for consequences but wrote.”

It feels fitting to say of Sinéad that the voice of honest indignation was the voice of her god in her, and so she cared not for consequences but sang.

I encountered Sinéad’s music as a teen at a time when her ability to channel such a beautiful, incandescent rage and speak so courageously about injustice and patriarchy inspired me very profoundly.

[roetrolls]

zerkev whats one thing you would sacrifice if it meant you could be changed for the better, forever?

"One thing? No guidelines? Makin' it real easy to abuse the system here, kid. Didn't even say it had to be mine.

But an easy answer'd defeat the purpose of the exercise, wouldn't it? So let's see. I suppose it depends on what 'better' means. Are we talkin' skill? Morals, health, mindset?

Better by what metric? My own? Or yours? Can I sacrifice something intangible?

To be honest, though... what you're describing is just change. Growing up, becoming a better version of yourself... No one does that without giving up a few things along the way. Usually we don't have the luxury to choose.

You'll find the folks who try n' beat those changes off are usually the ones who lose the most. Better to accept them as they come, the give and the take.

Probably ain't the answer you're looking for, but all I can offer you are the things I know I'd never trade: My family, my crew, and my sound mind."

[poemoftheday]

Poem of the Day 1 April 2024

George Herbert. 1593-1632

Love

LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,       Guilty of dust and sin. But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack       From my first entrance in, Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning       If I lack'd anything.

'A guest,' I answer'd, 'worthy to be here:'      Love said, 'You shall be he.' 'I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,       I cannot look on Thee.' Love took my hand and smiling did reply,       'Who made the eyes but I?'

'Truth, Lord; but I have marr'd them: let my shame       Go where it doth deserve.' 'And know you not,' says Love, 'Who bore the blame?'       'My dear, then I will serve.' 'You must sit down,' says Love, 'and taste my meat.'       So I did sit and eat.

[juiceofmoons]

"The Lily of the valley, breathing in the humble grass, answer'd the lovely maid and said: I am a watery weed, and I am very small, and love to dwell in lowly valleys..." - William Blake

Hyunjin's Garden 16/∞

16th Garden -> Lily of the Valley 🌿

Flower suggestion by -> @ughbehavior 🍀

Send me flowers!

[weepylucifer]

43 for Steban/Uli?

43. “Are you drunk?”

From the moment the door opens, Ulixes knows that today is going to be messy.

Steban's room is dark, illuminated only by the dim but warm glow of the desk lamp. That's nothing unusual, but today, Steban has unearthed one of his most prized possessions from under his bed: his old, cheap and banged-up tape player that doesn't see a lot of use, because the neighbors complain about having to hear revolution-era folk anthems on endless repeat. Tonight, though, there are no secular hymns about the working class striding united into battle for a brighter future. Tonight is a Slow Mesque Jams night, and Slow Mesque Jams nights are dire.

The songs are actually quite pretty, when one doesn't know what the words mean. When one goes through the trouble of translating them, a startling number of them revolve around lonesome, heartbroken boiadeiros riding into the pale to be consumed in there. When Steban puts those tapes on, he's in a very special mood.

Ulixes has seen enough of Steban's depressive episodes by now to rank them by severity. It should be a good sign that he's had the mental energy to put music on. But it also means that things might get... esoteric.

He takes a fortifying breath and enters the room.

The air smells like cigarettes. Steban is sprawled on his bed with his ashtray perched on his chest, smoking and staring into the middle distance.

Ulixes has seen enough of Steban's depressive episodes by now to know, also, that they usually just... happen, fluctuations in brain chemistry, inexorable and inevitable as the tide. Steban is always a base level of depressed, he has explained once, just sometimes it can be ignored and sometimes it cannot. There is a social factor, because how would the state of capitalism not exacerbate the condition, but much of it is random and out of Steban's conscious control.

Today, however, is different, because yesterday there was, earlier, a clear and obvious trigger. Because yesterday they went into that new church nightclub, having heard tell of a mysterious pale anomaly there, and Steban met that man that scurried on the ceiling like a crab, and they had a long and intense conversation that Ulixes couldn't understand because he never got the hang of Mesque, and then Steban went outside and cried so hard he threw up into the sand, and lastly sent Ulixes home, citing a need to be alone. This is the day after that.

Hesitantly, Ulixes clears his throat, announcing his presence. "Hello, Steban. Do you still need to be alone, or can I come inside?"

He's half afraid to be rebuffed, but Steban waves an inviting hand. "No, please, comrade, make yourself at home."

Ulixes steps inside and takes off his shoes and jacket, as per usual. "Are you doing any better?" he asks. "That man yesterday seemed to have hit you pretty hard." He looks around for a place to sit. The only available chair is piled high with laundry.

Instead of answering the question, Steban pats the mattress beside him. "Sit here with me."

Uli's treacherous heart speeds up as he does so. From here, he can feel Steban's body warmth. "So?" he prompts again. "What did you talk about with that man yesterday?"

"The world..." Steban lowers his eyes with a frustrated scoff. "The world is such garbage sometimes."

This is so uncharacteristic for Steban to say, it alarms Uli deeply. Without thinking, he blurts out, "This is unlike you."

Steban sighs. "You can't expect me to keep hope alive the entire time. Not when this world drives people to throw themselves willingly to entropy." He rakes a tired hand through his hair. "The crab man - that's what they call him over there - he's from my neighborhood, you know. Not this one, I mean, the one I grew up in. And it's... I thought it would be nice, meeting another one, but it just reminded me of why I moved here. Everyone of them's an entropolist or a petrofash these days, everyone's either in a gang or weirdly loud about not being in a gang, and... what is it about us as a people, Uli, that makes any and all of us this prone to despair?"

There's nothing culturally sensitive that Ulixes can possibly say to that. He doesn't usually get information like that from Steban. Now that he thinks about it, while his family seems great, Steban doesn't really talk about how he grew up, ever. "Steban, are you quite alright?"

Steban rubs at his eyes. "I sometimes wish I didn't have to exist here and now."

It makes alarm bells go off. "Okay, show me your hands."

"I haven't done anything," Steban says, a bit sullenly, but he proffers his hands anyway.

With the ease of practice, Ulixes inspects his arms. Nothing, not even a cigarette burn. But it's not time to be relieved yet. "Legs next."

"I'm not in the habit," Steban pouts but does pull the blanket off himself.

"I caught you before," Ulixes mutters, adjusts his glasses and kneels between Steban's splayed legs. How remarkable, he thinks. Before Steban entered his life, he'd never been close to anybody - not his family, not his peers at school. He drifted through the world in isolation, disconnected to it all, as if surrounded by a portable pale at all times. Steban encouraged him to research communism along with him, and made Ulixes discover that he could be part of something - and Steban also became a friend to care about and, on occasion, care for. Ulixes had never been in a position to help someone through a rough patch before Steban, and never even considered that he could be the kind of person who would know how to do that. But he has learned by now. He has routines now. How... strange.

"Come to think of it, this is a bit intimate," Steban says and chuckles as Ulixes squints near-sightedly down at him.

"What," Uli replies and hopes he isn't blushing. Another weird statement out of Steban, who has never before acknowledged that... thing between them, that thing-in-potentia, which Uli's always half convinced he's imagining...

He scrutinizes his friend's face. His eyes, beneath their doe-like lashes, do appear slightly filmy. And that faint scent... Ulixes sniffs. "Are you drunk?"

All of a sudden, Steban's expression grows shifty. "Nnnno. What gave you that idea?" He emits an unconvincing little laugh.

Ulixes sighs and reaches under the bed. He soon unearths a bottle of wine, the horrible cheap stuff they sell at the Frittte that turns your teeth red. He shakes it. It sounds about three quarters empty. Well, the stuff's not strong, but still...

"This is new," he says. Steban makes a slightly ill-coordinated grab for the bottle, and Ulixes leans back out of reach.

"It's just the once," Steban mutters.

Ulixes cocks his head, all kinds of concerned. He's probably overreacting, most people drink sometimes, but... "Don't you remember Mazov's remarks on the subject of drinking to excess?"

"Does this look like grain spirits to you?"

"Semantics, Steban." Uli doesn't want to sound preachy, or like he's arguing for argument's sake; he just doesn't really know any other way to be.

"Well, I guess I can't follow Mazov's teachings to perfection." Steban groans. "I can't do anything right. I couldn't even get through to the crab man."

Uli's not sure how to offer comfort here. He tries, "Maybe that one was just too far gone to recruit..."

"I'm not talking about making him a communist. Just to... just to convince him that there's anything at all worth living for." He sighs and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I don't believe it myself, half the time. I'm not sure why you stick with me. I'm a fraud."

For a moment, Ulixes' mouth moves silently, helplessly, attempting to come up with an answer. While he's distracted, Steban plucks the bottle of wine out of his hand and takes a sip.

"Stop that. Enough." They grapple for it for a moment. A few drops of wine slosh out and fall onto the white sheets. Steban winces.

"Great. That's never coming out." He lets Ulixes take the bottle back and put it on the floor. This concluded, Ulixes shifts so that they're lying next to each other.

"I'm staying over tonight," he decides. "You need watching."

If Steban has any objections to Uli just inviting himself in like that, he doesn't voice them. What he does eventually say, in a low voice, is, "You're... too good to me."

"I'm here because I want to be here." Ulixes shakes his head and puts a hand on Steban's arm. "And you're not a fraud. It's hard sometimes, not to resign. Anyone would struggle."

"He... it was like he was trying to sell me on the pale. Having to be some kind of representative of the entire world... it's daunting. And I think I failed." Steban is growing tired. Ulixes can see he blinks slower now, and his voice is losing that over-enunciated diction of somebody pretending to be more sober than they are.

"You can try again. Maybe he just needs time." Thinking briefly, Uli adds, "And even if you lost him... it doesn't mean you always will. There will be other fights, ones I know you can win."

Steban hums, his eyes half-closed, and lets his head loll to one side. Sleepiness and alcohol blur his voice and thicken his speech when he replies, again, "You're so good to me."

Suddenly, he turns onto his side and shifts closer to Ulixes. Their bodies are almost touching now. He puts a hand on Uli's chest and says, "Ulixes, you know you're my best friend, right?"

Uli kind of figured. But it's nice to hear it said. "You're my best friend too, Steban."

Steban is somehow very close now. Most of his weight rests on Ulixes' torso. "Do you ever think...?" he murmurs, "Have you ever considered...?"

Uli's mouth is very dry. He licks his lips, inexplicably anxious. "Considered what?"

"I know one thing that makes the world worthwhile." He leans in even more, and Uli is still wondering why, when Steban tries to kiss him.

Their lips almost brush. Uli can almost feel it, that ghost of a touch. He feels Steban's warmth, his breath for just a split-second, before he grabs Steban's shoulders and holds him in place. "No."

Steban blinks at him: not crestfallen, not disappointed, just baffled. "Don't tell me you never wanted..."

And oh, he's put his finger right in the wound there, because of course Ulixes has wanted. But he has wanted it with both of them clear-eyed and clear of purpose, not with Steban having trouble enunciating and holding his head up by himself. (The temptation is there, to just take this anyway, if that's the only thing Steban will give him. But he can't. He cannot take advantage. It would lead to their friendship in ruins come morning, and besides is simply the wrong thing to do.)

"I... you... we can't, not like this."

Steban huffs. Ulixes smells the wine on his breath. "Not like what?"

"You know what I mean. You're not in your right mind."

"Nonsense." Steban whines and squirms in Uli's grip, deprived and frustrated and petulant about it. "Does anyone really still say... still use that old cliché?" He squints as if gazing through fog, and shakes his head like thinking is hard for him right now. "I'm perfectly... completely in possession of my... perfectly capable."

"I can't trust your word on that at the moment," Ulixes says and feels wretched. "I can't read your mind quite yet."

Again, Steban chances a foray, leaning forward and trying to nuzzle Ulixes' shoulder. "You have to know I love you," he slurs.

Ulixes isn't predisposed to crying. Hasn't done it in years - he's simply not quick to shed tears, for some reason or another. But right now he feels he might. Everything he has yearned for is tantalizingly close... and yet he must deny himself it. He's being told everything he wanted to hear... but he can't believe any of it. A part of him will, from this moment on, forever wonder and question and hope that Steban was telling the truth. Another part of him will resent the hope. His longing tormented him already; this is like pouring oil onto its banked fire. He will never know equilibrium again anymore.

"Stop it." His voice sounds choked and strange to his ears. "Please."

Steban makes a dismayed noise - but he stops, retreating to his side of the bed. Now, with half his face smushed into the pillow, he's just looking at Ulixes out of one mournful brown eye. "'M sorry..."

"No, no, it's okay. We can..." Cuddle. The word refuses to squeeze past his lips. It's what they will be doing, and have done before, in a comradely way, but that doesn't mean Ulixes can say it. "...stay close like this. But nothing... else, okay? Not... not tonight."

He doesn't dare say anything more. Steban is nowhere near memory loss levels of drunk, chances are he will remember all of this tomorrow. Which means Uli will have to play it safe. He can't admit to too much. In the morning, when Steban is sober, he might want to recant everything he said tonight, and it will tear Ulixes apart inside, but at least he will have kept his own cards close to his chest.

It's such a dreary business. Ulixes wants to be honest with his best friend, as he always is. But this... he can't. He simply can't. Too much depends on their staying together (he doesn't quite know what, exactly, depends on it, but he feels this viscerally). He can't rock this particular boat. Better to go on pining in silence than to ruin what they have with hasty confessions. Maybe if he tries very hard, he'll be able to forget tonight ever happened.

"Mmkay," Steban hums, oblivious to Uli's inner turmoil, and throws an arm over his chest, making full use of his permission to cuddle within the boundaries he's given. He falls asleep like that, squished against Ulixes' side, his arm a dead weight that Ulixes wouldn't dare shake off for the world.

Uli stays wide awake and stares at the ceiling for what seems to him like hours, his mind, against his better judgement, endlessly replaying the fleeting, ephemeral feeling of Steban's breath upon his lips.

In this moment, he's convinced that this is as close as he's ever going to get.

[isolctions]

♡ — zephyr & maliq

soft ship questionnaire

WHO ASKED WHO OUT FIRST? —

i feel like, in a completely shocking turn of events, zephyr was the one to ask maliq out??? like okay i might as well get SUMN outta this.

WHO WENT IN FOR THE FIRST KISS? —

well in my sims 4 save file it was maliq. so, maliq.

WHO GIVES THE OTHER NICKNAMES? —

they both do! and they're both incredibly dumb!!!

WHO COOKS THE MEALS? —

nobody. cheap pizza, hot wings, & uber eats all day bestie.

WHO HAS BETTER TASTE IN MUSIC? —

zephyr does. she's literally the DJ for everything ever.

WHO HOGS THE BED? —

zeph & the kids!

WHO WAKES UP FIRST? —

the kids. and maliq.

WHO MAKES THE COFFEE? —

also maliq. coffee makes her tummy hurt. :/

WHO'S THE BIG SPOON? —

maliq!

WHO STAYS UP THE LATEST? —

it's a tie. zeph is up late on tiktok doing fuck all, while maliq is up late doing musician shit or whatever.

WHO REACHES FOR WHO'S HAND? —

zeph. and she calls him annoying for giving it to her. <3

WHO'S A FAN OF PDA? —

boffum! they're grossly affectionate!

WHO SNORES? —

zeph lolz.

WHO GETS ANNOYED MORE EASILY? —

ZEPH, LOLZ.

WHO INITIATES SEX? —

it's a 50/50 horny home in here.

WHO ASKS WHO FOR THEIR HAND IN MARRIAGE? —

maliq did, and it was beautiful!!!

MY MUSE'S FAVORITE MEMORY OF YOURS:

her most favorite memory is when she was still pregnant with sola, and he caved and bought them a car like omg bestie...you finally added a carbon footprint in this world for US.....

A REGRET MY MUSE HAS REGARDING YOURS:

kicking him out of the apartment for suggesting she should forgive her mom. :/ like maybe we were wilding a little bit, this not even my apartment fr — but it's still fuck her!

IF THEY COULD CHANGE ONE THING? —

he would be home more. the kids are in school now, she is LONELY all day!!!

THEIR LOVE LANGUAGES ACCORDING TO MY MUSE:

physical touch, words of affirmation, & acts of service honey!

[howieabel]

“I sent my Soul through the Invisible, Some letter of that After-life to spell: And by and by my Soul return'd to me, And answer'd: 'I Myself am Heav'n and Hell” ― Omar Khayyam

[blorboclaw]

Cats, warriors, Thunderclan, lend me your ears;

I come to bury Ravenpaw, not to praise him.

The evil that toms do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their bones.

So let it be with Ravenpaw. Noble Tigerclaw

Hath told you Ravenpaw was a traitor:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Ravenpaw answer'd it.

Here, under leave of Tigerclaw and the rest-

For Tigerclaw is an honourable cat;

So are they all, all honourable cats-

Come I to speak in Ravenpaw's funeral.

He was my denmate, loyal and just to me:

But Tigerclaw said he was a traitor;

And Tigerclaw is an honourable cat.

He hath brought many freshkill home to Rome

Which flesh did the kittens' stomachs fill:

Did in this Ravenpaw seem ambitious?

When that the queens have cried, Ravenpaw wept:

Treason should be made of sterner stuff:

Yet Tigerclaw said he was a traitor;

And Tigerclaw is an honourable cat.

You all did see that on a hunting trip,

Tigerclaw thrice ordered a risky hunt,

Which he did thrice obey: was this treason?

Yet Tigerclaw says he was traitorous;

And, sure, he is an honourable cat.

I speak not to disprove what Tigerclaw spoke,

But here I am to speak what I do know.

You all did love him once, not without cause:

What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him?

O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,

And cats have lost their reason. Bear with me;

My heart is in the ground there with Ravenpaw,

And I must pause till it come back to me.

Into the Wild, exclusive scene

[crshelidon]

I had a dream, which was not all a dream. The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air; Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day, And men forgot their passions in the dread Of this their desolation; and all hearts Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light: And they did live by watchfires—and the thrones, The palaces of crowned kings—the huts, The habitations of all things which dwell, Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd, And men were gather'd round their blazing homes To look once more into each other's face; Happy were those who dwelt within the eye Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch: A fearful hope was all the world contain'd; Forests were set on fire—but hour by hour They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks Extinguish'd with a crash—and all was black. The brows of men by the despairing light Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits The flashes fell upon them; some lay down And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd; And others hurried to and fro, and fed Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up With mad disquietude on the dull sky, The pall of a past world; and then again With curses cast them down upon the dust, And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd And, terrified, did flutter on the ground, And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd And twin'd themselves among the multitude, Hissing, but stingless—they were slain for food. And War, which for a moment was no more, Did glut himself again: a meal was bought With blood, and each sate sullenly apart Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left; All earth was but one thought—and that was death Immediate and inglorious; and the pang Of famine fed upon all entrails—men Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh; The meagre by the meagre were devour'd, Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one, And he was faithful to a corse, and kept The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay, Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead Lur'd their lank jaws; himself sought out no food, But with a piteous and perpetual moan, And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand Which answer'd not with a caress—he died. The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two Of an enormous city did survive, And they were enemies: they met beside The dying embers of an altar-place Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things For an unholy usage; they rak'd up, And shivering scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath Blew for a little life, and made a flame Which was a mockery; then they lifted up Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld Each other's aspects—saw, and shriek'd, and died— Even of their mutual hideousness they died, Unknowing who he was upon whose brow Famine had written Fiend. The world was void, The populous and the powerful was a lump, Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless— A lump of death—a chaos of hard clay. The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still, And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths; Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea, And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd They slept on the abyss without a surge— The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before; The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air, And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need Of aid from them—She was the Universe.

"Darkness", Lord Byron

[meezer]

OH MY GOD THAT WEBSITE WASN'T JOKING!!! "To whom the Angel with a smile that glow'd / Celestial rosie red, Loves proper hue, / Answer'd." 🥺🥺🥺 RAPHAEL BLUSHES!! and then he explains that angels do? ? ? make love? or at least love each other and intermingle physically in a very interesting manner.

"Let it suffice thee that thou know'st

Us happie, and without Love no happiness.

Whatever pure thou in the body enjoy'st

(And pure thou wert created) we enjoy

In eminence, and obstacle find none

Of membrane, joynt, or limb, exclusive barrs:

Easier then Air with Air, if Spirits embrace,

Total they mix, Union of Pure with Pure

Desiring; nor restrain'd conveyance need

As Flesh to mix with Flesh, or Soul with Soul."

OKAY JOHN MILTON YOU WIN THIS ONE. THAT'S REALLY INTRIGUING. FUCK

[caestusvulpes]

@chiropterx asked:

"  𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇   𝐎𝐑   𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒  “ (I sent this on Roman but can't resist sending it for Kirk also, but only if you feel like it!)

"Err, pass, prolly. I ain't, uh..." Don't he have a lady friend, anyway, ir am I outta touch? "Listen, buddy, don't get me wrong-- Yer a cute fella, but yer not m' type. Maybe if we were closer pals, that answer'd change."

[poemoftheday]

Poem of the Day 29 March 2024

George Herbert. 1593-1632

Love

LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,       Guilty of dust and sin. But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack       From my first entrance in, Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning       If I lack'd anything.

'A guest,' I answer'd, 'worthy to be here:'      Love said, 'You shall be he.' 'I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,       I cannot look on Thee.' Love took my hand and smiling did reply,       'Who made the eyes but I?'

'Truth, Lord; but I have marr'd them: let my shame       Go where it doth deserve.' 'And know you not,' says Love, 'Who bore the blame?'       'My dear, then I will serve.' 'You must sit down,' says Love, 'and taste my meat.'       So I did sit and eat.