#commercial cleaning requirements

[multicleaningau]

Commercial cleaning services are essential for maintaining cleanliness and hygiene in business environments. By meeting the commercial cleaning requirements, businesses can create a clean, safe, and inviting environment for employees, customers, and visitors, ultimately contributing to the overall success and reputation of the organization.

[jbncleaning]

The essential commercial cleaning requirements your business needs to maintain a clean, healthy, and welcoming environment. From sanitation standards to eco-friendly practices, we'll guide you through the key elements of professional commercial cleaning.

[yamameta-inc]

Safety for the rich Ordinary people have zero clue just how many tools the rich are using to avoid this virus. The rich are photographed without masks during public appearances, giving the public the impression that it’s safe to ditch masks. But what we don’t see are all of the precautions being taken behind the scenes. Nasal photodisinfection Celebrities are using hospital-grade technology to photodisinfect their nostrils. KISS’s manager, Don McGhee, talked about the band’s use of nasal photodisinfection in an interview, saying, “Without this, we wouldn’t be on the road.” The technology, called Steriwave, has been used by hospitals to reduce infections in surgery patients for more than a decade and is now available commercially—for a very high cost. Event Scan & Covid prevention companies [...] And they are paying for it. The rich CEOs of these major companies and rich government officials are getting everyone PCR (or LAMP) tested before their big corporate parties, screening all their guests beforehand, and taking Covid very seriously—while telling their low-level employees to return to the office. Far UV-C The schools, workplaces, and homes of the rich are being outfitted with special UV lights that kill viruses in the air—including Covid-19. Far UV can continuously and autonomously eliminate over 90% of pathogens in the air (and on the exposed surfaces) of an enclosed room. These high-tech lights cost thousands of dollars. [...] LAMP Testing Loop-Mediated Isothermal Amplification (LAMP) testing may be the “better sibling of PCR testing” and is being used by the rich to rapidly diagnose Covid-19. [...] Fancy private schools, like this one (whose tuition fees are $17,664—$18,900 annually) are requiring all visitors to submit samples for LAMP testing—in addition to daily testing of students, teachers, and families, requiring high-quality masks, cleaning the air, serving outdoor lunches, and a lot more.   When you're seeing photos of maskless rich people gathering together, it may look like they aren’t taking any Covid precautions. But the reality is: they've all tested beforehand. They’ve hired private companies to screen their guests, using multiple layers of protection. They are not taking any chances with this virus, because they know it’s extremely serious and nothing like the flu.

-The Pandemic Isn’t Over: The rich know it. You should, too.

[reasonsforhope]

We’ve just taken a major step toward cleaning up space junk.

On Monday, October 2, the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) in the US issued its first fine for space debris, ordering the US TV provider Dish to pay $150,000 for failing to move one of its satellites into a safe orbit. 

“It is definitely a very big symbolic moment for debris mitigation,” says Michelle Hanlon, a space lawyer at the University of Mississippi. “It’s a great step in the right direction.”

But it might be more than just a symbolic gesture by the FCC. Not only does it set a precedent for tackling bad actors who leave dangerous junk orbiting Earth, but it could send shock waves through the industry as other satellite operators become wary of having their reputation tarnished. While the $150,000 FCC fine was modest, Dish’s share price fell by nearly 4% immediately following its announcement, pushing the company’s $3 billion valuation down about $100 million.

The FCC’s action could also help breathe new life into the still-small market for commercial removal of space debris, essentially setting a price—$150,000—for companies such as Astroscale in Japan and ClearSpace in Switzerland to aim for in providing services that use smaller spacecraft to sidle up to dead satellites or rockets and pull them back into the atmosphere...

Another hope is that the FCC’s fine will encourage other countries to follow suit with their own enforcement actions on space junk. “It sends a message out of America taking leadership in this area,” says Newman. “This is starting the ball rolling.”

Today there are more than 8,000 active satellites, nearly 2,000 dead satellites, and hundreds of empty rockets orbiting Earth. Managing these objects and preventing collisions is a huge task, and one that is becoming increasingly difficult as the number of satellites grows rapidly. The worsening situation is largely due to mega-constellations of hundreds or thousands of satellites from companies like SpaceX and Amazon, designed to beam the internet to any corner of the globe...

Hanlon says there are further measures that could be taken to discourage companies from failing to dispose of satellites properly. “Honestly, I would love to see that if you don’t meet your license requirements, you’re banned from launching for a number of years,” she says. “If you’re driving under the influence you can have your license revoked. These are the kinds of measures we need to see.”

Chris Johnson, a space law advisor at the Secure World Foundation in the US, says the loss of reputation for Dish about the satellite situation might be worse than any fine it could have received. “They promised to remove it and they didn’t,” he says. “It’s like the first operator of a car to get a speeding ticket.”

The fall in the company’s share price appears to be indicative of that reputational damage. The fine may not have been as severe as it could have been, but the FCC’s actions can be seen as a warning to other companies to tackle space junk. “This is going to be on their record and their reputation,” says Johnson. “It’s not trivial.”

-via MIT Technology Review, October 5, 2023

Always nice to see steps taken to tackle a problem BEFORE it causes incredibly massive issues

[florwal]

PORTSIM SAVE FILE 1.0

portsim is a small city in the south. it was established as a town in 1752, and the current population is 97,915. it's full of history and has a lot of culture. with increasing poverty rates, gang violence, and a drug epidemic, crime is at an all time high. will the city’s new mayor be able to make portsim a safer place?

CONTENT WARNING: storylines involving drug use & violence

download + info under the cut

OUTDATED - download 1.1 here

watch my save file overview on youtube

4 months in the making and it’s finally here! huge thank you to everyone that’s been following me through the process. ♡ y’all are so kind and supportive and i really appreciate all the love. this was originally going to be a personal save, it’s inspired by my hometown (portsmouth, virginia) most builds are based off real places around me, and some households are based off my friends and family. this is very much still personal to me!

willow creek, newcrest, and magnolia promenade have been rebuilt, repopulated, and transformed into one large town

i own all packs and kits, if you don't you can still play this save but build and cas objects will be missing

check out the portsim townie index (wip) to read their bios and keep up with their stories. some already have posts but some are empty, i’ll be adding more as i play

21 residential lots / 19 community lots - please read community lot descriptions because most are multi functional! i also left some empty commercial spaces that are “for lease” so i can add things as new packs come out

added new holidays - i changed names to be more realistic and added a few (spring cleaning day, easter, independence day, halloween, christmas eve)

added 5 new clubs (city officials, a gang, a cult, a record label, painting classes by a townie)

notes:

view update log here

i’ve never made a save file before, and this is just the first version. please let me know if you run into any issues. i want to eventually add more households, and i also want to add + rebuild other worlds

i highly suggest turning the eco lifestyle ep’s eco foot print + npc voting off, unless you want the town to look apocalyptic and the trinity church community space to be set to the winter version during summer etc

i turned neighborhood stories off, but sims were still adopting babies and divorcing each other so i kept them all in the my households tab, you don’t have to keep them there!

shoutout to @cowplant-snacks and @nightlioness for letting me use some of their sims as background townies so there's not as many ugly npcs

next world that’s going to be added: oasis springs + del sol valley - idk which one will be out first! but they're coming soon ♡

DOWNLOAD on patreon (always free)

*required mods for the lit version*

please tag me in anything involving the save! id love to see how y’all play in it!

[lovelybucky1]

trailer trash!anakin

this au was a joint effort with my bff @fuckmyskywalker 🫶🫶🫶

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, alcohol consumption, smoking, mentions of drug use, age gaps, unprotected sex, mentions of pregnancy, anakin is objectively a bad person in this, 18+ minors DNI

masterlist

Anakin and Padme divorced many years ago because he was a deadbeat father, an alcoholic, and she suspected him of an affair. Little did she know, it wasn't just one affair.

Anakin has three kids who are now all adults. He has an older daughter who's just like her mother and has no patience for her dad's bullshit, and a set of twins, a boy and a girl. His son has his temper, much to his mother's dismay, and his younger daughter is his little princess.

Padme and the kids stayed in the house, so he had to move to a trailer park across town. Padme always did all of the housework, which was part of the reason for the divorce, so Anakin's place is always a wreck.

There's beer cans and cigarette butts everywhere, laundry on the floor, dishes piled in the sink, playing cards scattered around. They're not all his, some of the mess can be attributed to his buddies he invites over on the weekends, but either way, he makes no effort to clean it up.

Since his wife, Anakin hasn't dated. He's brought home plenty of girls, all significantly younger than he is. Any time he's asked about it, he explains that he just prefers younger girls. He and Padme were only 19 when they got together, so he's used to being with a younger woman.

Anakin is in his forties now, but he doesn't act his age. He has a job at the mechanic's shop and he does what minimal dad duties are required of him, though now that his kids are adults, he isn't needed as much. In his free time, he gets drunk and high with his friends, goes to strip clubs, and gambles his money away.

You're a waitress at the diner near the trailer park. Anakin is a regular, though your coworkers told you he only comes in when you're working. He usually orders a cup of coffee and sits at the counter where he can flirt with you every time you walk by.

He's told you a lot about himself; you know what kind of guy he is. Borderline alcoholic, irresponsible, unfaithful. Maybe you should've listened to your parents when they told you to stay away from older guys because you've found yourself charmed by him.

Anakin showers you in compliments, especially when you wear your hair in pigtails. He tips generously even though you know he doesn't have much extra money to spare. He asks about your day and he really seems like he cares.

He knows you don't have a car and one day, when your shift was about to end, he offered you a ride home. You agreed like the naïve little thing you are and got into the passenger seat of his shitbox car. He asked if you wanted to stop at his place for a bit before he took you home. Said he had beer and he could scrape together something a bit sweeter for you if you'd prefer.

The two of you flipped through the stations on his TV until you found something good, but you didn't get to watch it for long. After the second commercial break, Anakin pulled you into his lap and grabbed at your ass greedily. You giggled and slapped at his chest playfully, and though he returned your smile, you could see the hunger in his eyes.

Anakin told you he's been obsessed with you since he first saw you. Said you're the prettiest thing he's ever laid eyes on. Said you make him feel young again. That's the kind of sweet talk that gets him all the girls that don't know better.

He drags you to the bedroom and he kisses you dizzy so you don't notice how the fitted sheet is pulled up over the corner of the mattress or the Baywatch poster on the wall. He gets on his back and sits you on top of him, ever the lazy bastard. He wants you to put on a show for him to watch eagerly like you're his personal porn star.

Your tight cunt grips him perfectly and your tits bouncing in his face mesmerize him. He loves how you're so eager to give yourself up to him. Loves that you're inexperienced enough that every tough feels electric. Loves that you're dumb enough that his promise to pull out is enough.

When you're finished, he holds you in his arms against his bare chest while he smokes. When he looks in your eyes, he knows he has you. You're gonna move in and make this place a home, you'll get pregnant and he'll promise to marry you once he has enough money for a ring. Maybe this time he'll stick around, but Anakin's never been good at breaking cycles.

[bagliblog]

BALIKTURLERİ - MEGA+ (2)

Kuhli loach are a popular freshwater aquarium species known for their unique appearance and peaceful nature. These bottom-dwelling fish have long, slender bodies with distinctive black and brown stripes running the length of their bodies. Kuhli Loaches are social creatures and should be kept in groups of at least six to eight. They are shy and sensitive and require plenty of hiding places in the aquarium to feel secure. Kuhli Loaches are omnivores and will eat a variety of foods, including algae wafers, sinking pellets, and live or frozen foods. In terms of tank requirements, Kuhli Loaches prefer a well-planted aquarium with plenty of hiding places and a soft, sandy substrate. They also require clean, well-oxygenated water with a pH between 6.0 and 7.5 and a temperature range of 75-86°F. Kuhli Loaches are peaceful fish and can be kept with other non-aggressive species, such as rasboras and tetras. However, they should not be kept with aggressive or territorial fish, as they are easily intimidated and can become stressed. When it comes to care tips, Kuhli Loaches are relatively low-maintenance fish. They do an excellent job of keeping aquariums clean by eating leftover food and other debris. However, they require a varied diet to ensure optimal health and should be fed a mix of commercial and live or frozen foods. Kuhli Loaches are also sensitive to water conditions and should be monitored closely for signs of stress or illness. Overall, with proper care and attention, Kuhli Loaches can be a fascinating and rewarding addition to any freshwater aquarium.

[aimasup]

Spoilers for The March 2024 Welcome Home Update, LONG post warning:

The Eddie Scene

Let's establish two realities: The Neighbourhood (theirs) and The Show (the humans').

(The third is ours, here, actually real, no black gunk and Welcome Home is just a really cool fictional horror project. Irrelevant, just wanted to bring us down to earth)

I like to believe it's an unaware Wreck-It-Ralph situation: The Neighbourhood exists as The Show because that's how they live and what they were created for.

They have a happy home in the commercials and episodes, interviews with humans and playfully leaning on the fourth wall (via Narrator). And when Playfellow Workshop had a really good influential show, they quite literally brought these puppets to life, perhaps too much.

That's where the trouble comes in; we don't know if the puppets being sentient was ever revealed to the public, or what the black rot even is yet. Personally I can't really even guess how much the other puppets know at the moment, not even Home. All we know is that Wally was the first to 'wake up', likely.

So I'm just gonna say what I think about the Eddie segment at the end of the commercial compilation from his perspective alone (bravo to the voice actors and artists my god).

The Neighbourhood...

The Show.

Here's what I assume: both in the Neighbourhood and The Show, Eddie is being given a break from working so hard. Because I believe the script/special was supposed to end here:

Eddie Dear was happy.

[calm jazz music as the title card fades in] And a Happy Homewarming to one and all! Ho Ho Ho!!

End.

Because it makes no sense why The Show staff would spend extra resources to give the puppet Not Quirky Anxiety and end their Christmas special on a worrying note for general audiences.

I think The Show staff wrapped up that scene and left to go check on the rest of the set or something, and the Eddie puppet was left there, alone in Wally's room set because its job is done. Except it isn't, and Eddie became aware somehow.

He sees Home, his friend, and something isn't right

I don't know what this is: my first thought was that it was Home's hand crank, and Eddie was seeing but not understanding the puppets behind the scenes

"Sources say, however, that this puppet’s (Home's) eyes could move through a hand crank on the other side of the prop facing away from the camera."

-(welcomehomerestorationproject.net)

His friend's eyes look dead but they're moving, I thought. But looking at it again, it looks more like a microphone stand a Show staff is holding? Some sort of set equipment. Speaking of the set

Wally's room is too big and leads to nowhere. Is this a visual representation for Eddie's mental state? Did they literally turn the lights off on set? Or can he not see everything right now because his poor fictional brain can't handle our reality just yet?

His hands are fuzzy but there's something in them. Something was under his skin just now. They don't feel like his hands.

"Eddie was a live-hand puppet who required two puppeteers to operate."

-(welcomehomerestorationproject.net)

I imagine he's in a limbo of awareness, he's seeing so many things and not quite understanding what they are, and he's getting more lost and panicked

Can you imagine how overstimulating it must be to go from a clean, happy children's fantasy reality to a world with the laws of physics?

The clock's ticking doesn't quiet down and it's constant. He's sweating when nothing is wrong (?). Gravy was poured on the tree ornament, he's always helped do that, but now it's dripping onto the floor and it's making a gross mess. Little things like that don't have consequences unless the script calls for it. Eddie doesn't know that, and especially he's freaked out by the breathing and the heartbeat.

Maybe it's Home's, or his own, or both, idk.

What's curious is that Frank and Sally are fine and talking about the day's events. This means that Eddie should've been fine after the episode too, relaxed like normal, but he didn't get to. He probably didn't even know when they got there or when Sally left.

This image right here? I think it symbolises the scary clash between both realities by now.

2 (Eddie and Wally) or 4 (counting Sally and Home) out of 9 neighbours being aware is too many. Frank wasn't supposed to have to comfort Eddie. The episode was supposed to end and Eddie can see all of it.

(and yeah maybe romance is an additional factor here)

We don't know if people remember seeing this scene on their televisions. Maybe the episode ended as normal for them. The cameras weren't rolling, so currently, we only get to witness the puppets' descent into decay because someone behind the television is Letting The Neighbourhood In, bit by bit.

Maybe we'll get to see all the other puppets go through the same awareness crisis as the website keeps updating. Personally, I don't think there's an ulterior motive for Home, nor do I think any of the puppets are under strict supervision to behave a certain way for filming episodes, like celebrities.

What freaks me out is that they banter with the narrator and do commercials for real products. They're aware of the fourth wall but only because the fourth wall let them be aware. And it even got me thinking about the nature of existing as a concept (they're fictional characters. they don't really exist? Not in the same way individual humans do anyway. They aren't really supposed to belong to themselves.)

Sorry this turned into ramble rubbish, these are just my thoughts, could be entirely wrong about everything. Welcome Home is just super neat and the amount of effort gone into it shows. Lemme know what yall think, kudos if you read this far

For your troubles 🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍯🥛🍵☕🍶

Extra note: I don't think they require the puppeteers to function outside of episodes either. They just live their lives chilling, don't even know there's a Show. Maybe there's an explanation but for now I'm content with 'it's magic'.

That being said I've seen other theories about the peas and the isolation of Eddie specifically those are real neat

[chrisnewbie]

The Pink Flamingo Bar, updated for 2024!

Among a lot of little tweaks and upgrades, the biggest changes include more space and functionality. No more backwards bartenders!

...but updated or not, it is still recognizably The Pink Flamingo that locals love.

This new edition of The Pink Flamingo was made in a squeaky clean Pleasantview so you can download safely with minimal Super Duper Hug Bug threat. The original 2018 version may be infected despite my best intentions. I advise to only download this cleaner copy going forward!

Special note: redoing this lot gave me the chance to see how much the original has been downloaded (3000+ times!!!) and I'm just so humbled to learn that this little local bar is a part of so many of your Pleasantviews. Thank you so very much, and I hope everyone continues to enjoy karaoke night on Tuesdays! ;)

The Pink Flamingo (2024 edition) - Commercial Lot CC Free Created with Ultimate Collection Requires all Expansions & Stuff Packs

DOWNLOAD (sim file share)

[skyeslittlecorner]

Horns Cleaning Manual | Andrealphus

I miss him. And I want to experiment with form. And I miss him.

~900 words

꧁:･ ✡ ･:꧂

Hello, [insert_your_name]! We wanted to extend our gratitude for your recent purchase of our polishing kit. Your support is invaluable to us. In addition, with the choice of a premium set, we send additional instructional materials to help you properly use the product. The set includes instructions along with a visual presentation prepared thanks to courtesy of Descendant of Solomon. If you have any questions or require further assistance, please feel free to contact us. We're here to help. Once again, thank you for choosing our product. We look forward to serving you again in the future. [This message was automatically generated with the promotional code used on our website. Please, do not reply.]

꧁:･ ✡ ･:꧂

You stare at the printed draft of generative commercial email, already regretting getting tricked into this. Bimet will pay you for it, and not in money.

You don't really know what to do, but okay, you'll figure it out as you go. You were supposed to choose a devil to work with. Preferably, one with big horns. There was only one reasonable option in your head.

🧡 Step one - preparations. A hard, strong chair that won't break. It can also be a bed or a sofa. You sit Andrealphus there and straddle his lap. Dress casually, preferably loosely. In your case, it's only underwear and Andrea's shirt.

🧡 He looks quite amused and places his hands on your hips. His thumbs rubs circles on your body, as he is tilting his head so you have full access to his horns.

🧡The box you have next to you doesn't have many devices. A pair of silk cloths, a polishing spray, anti-slip ointment, a finger-sized polisher with replaceable heads. But what you do first is push back his long hair and massage the base of those horns.

🧡He hums contentedly, and you feel him tilt his head even more towards you. When you grab one of the horns you feel that they are strong, thick and slightly rough to the touch. You pet him to get him ready. They must be handled gently.

🧡 It doesn't help that you feel your movements on the horns in your body… Be strong.

🧡 Well, Andrea doesn't even try to be strong. Being hard is another thing. With every stroke you make, you feel his breathing quicken. The hands that were previously on your waist moved to your back and ass.

🧡 You start applying anti-slip ointment. Don't know how it works, but apparently it retains milk. As you put it on, Andrea mews about how slippery and hot it is. You are not a monster. Don't apply it to the ends. You want to see him writhing in pleasure, all dirty.

🧡 He tries to be collected, but can't even see you. Only feel how your skin getting hotter and your smell changes. You squirm in his lap. And you expect him to stand still. Do you want to drive him crazy?

🧡 Screw this. He'll help you later, he has other things to do now. When you lift yourself up and down on his lap again to reach for polisher, he wraps his arms around your waist tightly and pulls you closer. You started polishing the rough edges of his horns, so you're kneeling higher than him, so he has perfect access to your chest. Why are you wearing a T-shirt? Take it off. It won't be needed.

🧡 He knows you want it too. He felt you deliberately sitting on his bulge. Your clothes are already wet. Off with them!

🧡 Andrea is way too stimulated to tease you. When you want to sit on his lap, he grabs you by the hips and impales you hard on him. Loud moan escape your lips.

🧡 He's so hard. You feel him inside, better than usually. Hot, throbbing veins, tight, slippery sensation. Your head is spinning. He keeps you from getting used to him and lifts you higher, only to lower you again. Strong. Very strong.

🧡 His arms are all over your body, his lips licking and nibbling your neck and chest. He is quiet, you are not. Especially when the strongest pleasure hits you.

🧡 You hold his horns like a handrail to keep him under control. One of them is warmer, slippery, but not wet. The second one has already sprayed milk on your face and his. The scent is sweet and earthy. His.

🧡 He comes deep inside you. Shivering in his arms, you lean on the muscular chest, hardly catching breath yourself.

🧡 He lies down and purrs, and that's the loudest sound you hear from him. Keeps stroking your body like he can't get enough of it. Runs his fingers over every scar and mole. He knows your body by heart, but he wants to remember it anyway.

🧡 You kiss him deeply. He did a great job, you praise him quietly and shower his face with kisses. With each word, his hands became more gentle. He only responds to you with one sentence. "I love you."

Last step. You stare at the video with a beet red face and then at the sample email Bimet showed you. Screw him. He won't get anything. It's only yours. If he wants, you can smile at the camera in the normal ad. Later. Now you're going to cuddle the handsome devil who's waiting for you in the bed.

[robthegoodfellow]

Let's Hear It for the Boy

Praise Kink for Day 3 of @harringrovekinktober

(roommates, kink experimentation, billy is a good boy, nsfw)

Steve felt like a real asshole when Robin asked out of the blue one day, maybe a month after he and Billy became roommates, if Billy was paying part of his rent in labor. Shave some off if he agreed to be your housekeeper? And, at Steve’s incredulous bafflement, had clarified: Every time I’m over he’s cooking or doing laundry or—cleaning shit! To his horror, a highlight reel started up in his mind, a montage of Billy doing all those chores and more, and worse, Steve realized he’d contributed approximately nothing to the daily maintenance of their shared living space. Steve! Robin had scolded, correctly interpreting his guilty grimace. 

So he’d promised to talk to Billy about it—assure him that keeping the place sparkling was in no way required or expected or—or if that was just how he preferred to live, then he’d promise to do his fair share from now on. Only, bringing it up over pizza and beer, a basketball game on TV, had produced an unexpected reaction. Billy… kinda… froze? Went bug-eyed, like Steve had caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. He looked embarrassed.

“Man, it’s fine,” Steve said, tripping over himself to explain—put him at ease. “I really don’t care either way. I just wanted to check and make sure you knew I wasn’t gonna, like—kick you out if you let up on the Cinderella routine.”

Billy flushed more, beet red, and Steve resisted smacking himself in the face. He was fucking this up so bad.

“I mean—”

“I don’t mind,” Billy mumbled, avoiding Steve’s eye as he reached for his beer. “I like it.”

“Okay,” Steve said, over the top encouraging. “Great. Well, I’ll at least pitch in more—”

“You don’t have to do that.” Billy’s throat worked, gulping, plush lips pursed on the can. Steve blinked, shook his head, tuned back in to catch the muttered aside, blue gaze locked on the Michelob commercial. “It’s all good. Nothing has to change.”

Why the hell was he being so weird about this? Did he think Steve couldn’t chip in? Pull his own weight?

“Just because I grew up with a nanny doesn’t mean I don’t know how to do stuff. Vacuum and dishes and—”

Billy grunted, annoyed, throwing his shoulders back to wedge himself into the couch, a mulish slouch. “Just drop it, will ya? I like things how they are, so what’s the fucking problem?”

“All right, jeez,” Steve cried, holding up his hands. “Touchy.”

They were quiet, both ticked, but the kind that would drain away by halftime. Except—he felt shitty just leaving it like this, having semi-acknowledged that Billy was acting like his maid.

“Is there anything I can do?” Steve asked, his tone deliberately mild, not looking away from the freethrow swishing on screen. “That you don’t like?”

No explosion—good sign. After a long, loaded pause, Billy sighed. “Take out the trash.”

“Got it,” Steve said. And let it go.

But from then on, he kept watch, determined to figure out the source of the weirdness. Almost positive it wasn’t a control freak thing or a neat freak thing—it wasn’t like the apartment was pristine. It was more that… everyday, Billy had done something obvious enough that Steve commented on it—always had. Nothing major, just Oh, hey—you got that stain out of the carpet or Holy shit, it smells so good—what is that? or How’d you unclog that drain? Wasn’t like he thanked Billy, though he probably should have been—although maybe Billy didn’t want him to make a big deal out of it?—but he’d always notice and say something admiring because Billy was good at stuff. Good at so much stuff.

He started taking out the trash, and Billy never let on that he noticed, but Steve thought he did. And he kept up the compliments whenever Billy did something nice, since that hadn’t been explicitly forbidden. But since he was paying more attention now, he—noticed some things. Only when he was pretending to look elsewhere, monitoring Billy in his periphery or in the reflection of the window or decorative mirrors his mom had foisted on him. He noticed that, those times, Billy sort of… ducked his head, hiding a grin that bordered on… bashful? And his shoulders bowed a bit, like he was—curling in on himself. Like—in delight?

Like—he secretly really liked it? When Steve noticed he’d done something nice? When Steve said something nice about it?

So… he decided to test it. Nothing too overbearing or obvious, just—instead of merely noticing, he was sure to compliment. Because why not, if Billy liked it and still wouldn’t let Steve lift a finger except on garbage day?

Good became his go-to. This tastes so good. That looks so good. Good, good, good.

Which is when it clicked for him—that Billy didn’t do chores and stuff because he liked the chores. But because… he liked Steve’s reaction?

And—that would explain his weirdness. Why he didn’t want to talk about it. Like maybe he was worried Steve would think Billy liked being his bitch or something—Steve winced, anticipating the whack from the Robin who lived in his head—not that Steve thought of him that way.

…Though if he didn’t mind Steve thinking of him that way—or even liked it, then…

Well, Steve didn’t—dislike that. Like the general concept. Held a certain—

Anyway, in the interest of further—ah, testing, Steve mentioned, casually, on his way to work one morning, “I’ve been craving that pasta salad you made.”

Billy cut him a glance over his coffee where he was hunched at the kitchen table. Grunted, and Steve quirked a grin, tossed him a salute goodbye. It wasn’t even a lie—the pasta thing—he’d been salivating at the memory. This version with Italian dressing instead of mayo, with olives and stuff. 

Lo, late that afternoon, when he got back, there was a big Tupperware of it in the fridge. Billy wandered in halfway through his second helping. They paused, wide-eyed at the sudden charge buzzing in the air, and Steve’s stomach clenched.

“It’s—good,” he managed, hands suddenly clammy around his fork and bowl. Billy was staring at Steve’s hands, held awkwardly aloft where he leaned on the counter. The stare was strangely heavy—hooded lids. Steve cleared his throat. “You—did good.”

Billy’s cheeks were as flushed as that day on the couch, watching basketball, insisting he liked—

Abruptly aware his boner was starting to tent his shorts, Steve turned to face the counter, ducking to shovel more pasta in his idiot mouth. Heard Billy go to the cabinet, fetch a glass. Fill it. Walk back out.

Heaving an unwinding breath, Steve set down the bowl, let his elbows bear the weight of this latest sexual awakening.

So that was a thing, apparently—and for Billy, too, potentially. Probably. Because, without quite meaning to, they fell into this little routine where, before Steve left for work, he’d pause, and Billy would look up from his coffee, and Steve would mention something—a rental movie he wanted to see, or a sale at the liquor store, or if Billy would mind throwing Steve’s whites in with his so he’d have a shirt to wear to this meeting later in the week…

And the VHS would be waiting on the counter. And a six-pack would be waiting in the fridge. And his shirt would be washed and ironed and waiting in his closet. And everytime Billy would be lingering nearby, not quite meeting his eyes, and Steve’s pulse would pound even though technically there was nothing sexy about an ironed shirt, and Steve would say Good. You did good.

Billy would sometimes clench his fist, when Steve said it. Or squirm in his seat a bit. Or swallow, throat bobbing. Color rising. And the sight hit Steve like a load of bricks. A load of bricks to the head.

It was the weirdest game of gay chicken—scrambling to find mundane tasks for Billy to complete for the prize of a pat on the back, when all Steve wanted, and he bet Billy felt similarly, was to order Billy to his knees.

He thought about it whenever they were on the couch watching TV, whenever they were eating in the kitchen or drinking on the balcony or passing each other outside the bathroom in the morning.

So he tested further. Came home and went to see if Billy had done it—and there he was, standing by Steve’s bed. The neatly made bed. 

Steve’s heart was rabbiting out of his chest, too on the fritz to form words, and his feet weren’t much better, charting a crooked, clumsy course until they were toe to toe, Billy’s gaze downcast, his lips parted, breaths shallow. 

He didn’t know whether it’d sound stupid if he said it out loud, what he’d been wanting to say for days—whether Billy wanted to hear, or would consider it a step too far.

They’d come this far, though. Steve wet his lips, took a calming breath, and Billy seemed to brace for it. “Good,” Steve said, and it came out breathy. “Good boy.”

Billy curled—did that thing where he ducked, hunching around something invisible—and the sound punched out of him, this pained gasp. Steve’s hands moved on their own, reaching to cradle Billy’s head, step close to whisper in his ear, his brow at Steve’s shoulder: “Good? Is this good?” Felt more than saw him nodding. “You want to be good for me?”

“Fuck,” Billy whispered—bit wheezing. Wet. “Fuck.”

“What do you want?” Steve asked, fumbling at his heated neck. “What do you—?”

“Be good.” It was mumbled, cringing. “Wanna be good.” A shaky inhale. “Make you feel good.”

Steve’s blood was roaring everywhere but his brain—would’ve fallen over if he weren’t clutching Billy. “Want that, too.”

He heard a thready laugh, and Billy straightened, leaning back into his hold, face tipped, lidded gaze on Steve’s chin. “So?”

So what’ll it be?

Buying himself time to gather his wits, some composure lest he combust, Steve tilted his head, assessing. Adjusting his hold, ran a thumb across Billy’s lower lip, firm enough to pull at the skin. “Want this.” Another swipe, exposing teeth, his curving tongue. “Make me feel good with this.”

A tug at his belt, and Billy was nodding, making short work of the button and zip—movements quick and precise. He sank, kneeling at Steve’s feet, tugging the pants to hang at midthigh, and finally looked up. 

Steve swept blond curls off his forehead. “Like you like this.”

Billy stared, eyes gleaming. Seemed to be—waiting.

“So good like this,” Steve corrected. “Now show me how good.”

Swaying, Billy buried his face in Steve’s briefs, nosing him through straining cotton, and huffed hot air at the crown. Steve compulsively gripped fistfuls of hair, still using Billy’s ears as handlebars, and resolved not to let go—to let Billy show him.

And, boy, did he. Laved at his dick until the fabric was soaked, the white gone translucent—white gone flushed pink, twitching under kitten licks—and Steve was on the verge of begging when a pull at his waistband freed his cock, bobbing only a sec before swallowed in Billy’s grip, fed into his greedy mouth.

Steve’s entire vocabulary had been reduced to one word, babbled at the ceiling behind closed lids: good, good, good, only sometimes it came out guh, guh, guh. One hand cupped the back of Billy’s head, and it was when his hips were on a steady grinding roll that he realized he’d caged Billy against him, locked the gulping heat around his cock as he plugged toward the peak.

Billy wasn’t struggling, though—his fingers biting into the meat of Steve’s ass, moaning so deep in his chest that Steve felt it more than heard it.

Steve grappled for a new word—close, close—but Billy didn’t stop, didn’t let up a second, and when Steve grunted his release, the throat worked around him still. 

The moment Billy pulled off, lungs heaving, face ruby red and shining, Steve flopped to his knees, blindly reached for Billy, draping loose arms around his neck, his ribs, waiting for his own breaths to slow.

“Was it,” Billy asked, tight. “Was it—?”

“Good,” Steve said, huffing a laugh, coasting hands across the bellows of his back. “So good—you’re so good. Always so good for me.”

Billy burrowed his face into Steve’s throat, his collarbone, looping him in an uncertain hug. He was hard, pressed against where Steve’s clothes gaped open. Working a hand between them, Steve rubbed his palm along rigid heat. 

“What do you want?” he asked, nuzzling the nest of blond. “Since you been so good?”

A shudder ran up the sloping spine. Steve smoothed his free hand down to Billy’s waist and back up, waiting.

“I—cleaned the shower,” Billy said, halting. “I could—show you, and—?”

Steve kissed his temple, quick, so helplessly fond. Overwhelmed.

“Good boy wants a wash?” Steve suggested, and tightened his arms when Billy tried to do his pillbug thing. “Be my good boy,” he said, hushed, nosing Billy’s flushed ear. “You want to?”

And Billy curled again, only this time around him. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah.”

.

Now with added sequel: Let's Give the Boy a Hand

[generalsdiary]

a tired gem

Aventurine x Dr. Ratio

warnings: description of overstimulation (not the sexual one)

word count: less than 1k

a/n: back again with another mental health + comfort oneshot about the gays lol, not beta read, we go to superhell with aventurine and castiel

description: Aventurine comes home overstimulated and tired, later comforted by Dr. Ratio

Aventurine's hands felt like they were on fire, they felt swollen, the day was too hot. he is rapidly taking the gloves off his hands, the pretty golden rings off his fingers, the expensive watch slipping from his wrist- and running them under a cold stream of water. Aventurine raises his head, meeting his own gaze in the mirror.

despite the years passing, and him getting older - it still comes back to bite him in the ass. the way his skin feels like it is burning, the overanalyzing of too many people around him – because what if he could be in danger, or even what if someone calls him a fraud, or sees through his oh-so fragile façade. there was too much noise- too many conversations surrounding him, too many unpleasant and various smells- it brings it all back. the starving scorching hot days of little Kakavasha, the slavery of "blondie"... that feeling of which he doesn't even wish the recall the memories of. he feels the repulsion of any human touch settling back in him.

he had gotten better, he knows- Aventurine repeats in his head, he knows how to deal with others and exist normally. how to keep his clothes straight, clean and his shoes polished. how to appear wealthy and smell like a perfume commercial.

Aventurine takes a deep breath. it does little to calm him down, the lukewarm air filling his lungs where a crisp cold air would feel much better to him in the moment.

after rapidly taking his clothes off, and gently folding them even in this moment when he is stressed because how could he just throw those clothes away… after all, they are his mask, his stage presence so to speak, and for Aeon’s sake the price alone could feed every person on his long gone planet. he sits on the shower floor and allows the water to cool down his body- just like the rain of Sigonia-IV did.  Aventurine got over it, he learned to accept and even relish in human contact- with chosen people, yet he cannot even imagine being perceived in this moment. the mere thought of it makes him squeeze his eyes shut in pain.

biting his bottom lip, which shakes slightly in anger and tiredness, he stands up. he has to take care of himself- create a safe environment- and then if he must, wallow in the pain which is overstimulation.

the water washes away any bump from a stranger passing by, any phantom touch that didn't actually happen, but he still had to mentally prepare himself for it just in case it did, any scent which isn't his own. the clean, rough texture of the towel feels pleasant on his skin as he dries up and puts on comfortable clothes.

with complete silence and everything in its right place, he lies on the bed, eyes trained on the ceiling. familiar steps approach the bedroom door and the figure leans against the frame. "rough day, dear gambler?"

Aventurine's eyes meet Veritas', not saying a thing. to the doctor, it speaks louder than words. the apparent smirk fading off, his body language turning a tad softer and he exhales. he is quick to deduce exactly how his counterpart feels. Veritas is well aware that any sound or even a question that requires verbal communication would be awful to Aventurine at this moment hence he, with a soft step, walks over to the bed and lies down beside him. not close to touch him accidentally- with a healthy distance, yet still there.

Aventurine appreciates it, the doctor had already learned how he can get... how rough it can be. feeling exhaustion wash over him, he moves to his side, and those breathtaking gem-like eyes close, letting the poor blond man rest under the watchful eyes of the older man.

a couple of hours later, he wakes up, his eyes opening to be met with a quiet Veritas reading a book in the same place, unmoving except for the occasional page turn. Aventurine quietly observes, obviously noticed by Veritas. the doctor surely noticed the shift in his, now awake, breathing, and the colorful eyes opening to stare at him.

he grounds himself in reality and in the moment, taking shorter breaths and shifting to stretch his body a bit, taking care of the soreness. he feels better, soothed... his head is quiet, and his body feels okay to exist in the present, to exist now. Aventurine outstretches his arm, and hand, barely noticeable, tugs on Veritas' shirt, causing him to move his gaze to Aventurine. beat. he hums quietly, giving him a nod in silent question. it feels inviting and safe, Aventurine moves his body closer, into the taller man's side. as he does, Veritas closes the book putting it away, and moves his arm so that Aventurine can rest his head on his collarbone.

the second part of grounding. comforting touch, from a safe person with a safe scent. there is a silent appreciation for the doctor’s frequent baths and cleanliness. Aventurine's eyes close with a soft sigh, it feels right, it feels comfortable. Veritas' hand, at first, very gently moves through the blond locks, after a few seconds of body language analysis, he continues caressing his hair. Ratio's other hand moves to his face, his thumb caressing for a moment Aventurine's cheekbone. "better?" he hums in a deep tone with a rumble in his chest.

those gorgeous watercolor eyes open, the softest smile forming on Aventurine's face and a small nod. "yes"

a/n: yes, the ‘watercolor eyes’ is a reference to the song Dear Arkansas Daughter

[elliespectacular]

Any tips on how to correctly credit clips used in YTP? I'm very lost when it comes to finding copyright info and stuff like that.

The stakes are pretty low for YouTube Poop and crediting clips in the video/description is not standard practice - but it's a good thing to do! That said I am not an authority on this and even my method has some blind spots. These are just some generally good ideas for being a slightly-more-courteous-than-average shitposter.

The acknowledgement is the most important part, stating outright what the names of the sources are. Pay attention to the official titles of what you use and try to trace them to their original form - for example in The Price is Rice COMPLETE I wanted to credit the gamer-themed Dust-Off commercial I used in The Price is Rice Jr. Usually ads are more difficult to track down than other kinds of televised media, so often "___ TV Spot" does the job, but a quick peek at the official YouTube channel reveals that the ad's actual name was How to properly clean your gaming computer.

Then there's an acknowledgement of the owner. I try to list composers for music, directors for film, and of course artists for art. You aren't required to give an exhaustive list of every single contributor to the art you've sampled, but make sure you credit the person/company it belongs to at the very least. Going back to the Dust-Off example, the YouTube video contained a link to dust-off . com which now redirects to falconsafety . com - I lucked out because the top of the page indicates clearly that Dust-Off is a product owned by Falcon Safety Products Inc. but this info is often in the About section of a website or at the bottom of the page.

I like to throw the year on each YTP credit as well. Academic citations usually require a more precise publication date if available. Among other benefits it helps distinguish between things with the same name/owner that were rebooted later - for example there are multiple games called Sonic the Hedgehog owned by SEGA from different years (In fact in this example there are two games from 1991 so it's also important to note what system the game is for!) Generally your source credits should communicate to a viewer where to start looking for a specific thing or who to ask.

You can use Wikipedia to orient yourself if you need a lead on where to start tracking down copyright information for popular media, but make sure you cross-reference what's there with other sources. For Movies/TV I usually just look at the very end of their credits which usually has the copyright info. For music I use Discogs. Sometimes for more obscure or less-documented things I have to do some search-engine sleuthing.

If you're stuck, ask a friend for help! It can be fun and rewarding to track down something that isn't answered by a quick google search, and like most things turning it into a collaborative effort makes it less of a slog.

Copyright acknowledgement is tricky to do correctly and not every Best Practice applies to each situation. There may come a day when MLA-style citations become normal or required even for shitposts and your due diligence will become greater. Do your best, give credit where it's due, and you'll be fine :)

[balkanradfem]

I keep thinking everyone knows the exact same information as me, but since I'm about to make more posts about textiles and clothing, as I'm reading the book on them, I'm going to write down some basic information, just in case it's not very common, because a lot of this I only gathered recently. If I get something wrong please correct me in a kind way!

So where does the clothing come from, and how do we make it? During most of the history, textiles were made by women, from natural materials; flax, wool, cotton, silk, jute. Recently we started using more synthetic materials, like acrylic, polyester, nylon, spandex. If you want to make clothing from the natural materials, like wool or cotton, they first need to be processed, cleaned and combed, then spun into yarn, or thread. Spinning is the process where women manage to pull a thin part of the material and spin the fibres into one consistent, firm thread. It's super impressive to watch them do it and I have no idea how they manage to make it consistent, I've not yet tried to do it myself.

Once the thread is done, it can be made into a textile by knitting, crochet, or weaving. There are also other more complex, decorative methods, like tatting or lacing.

For knitting, you need two needles, or a special circular needle, or, there are also knitting machines, which you can use to make woolen fabric. For weaving, you need a loom. For crochet, you need a crochet hook. While knitting and weaving can be done by a machine, crochet can only be done by hand. Woven fabrics are firm, sturdy, durable, and not stretchy, while knit fabric is the most stretchy and soft. I'm not sure about crochet since I only have one crochet garment, but mine is very sturdy!

All of these methods were historically done by women; families were able to grow flax plants close to their homes, and women would then create linens, woven textiles made from processed flax, which was used to make sheets and clothing. Linen was specifically useful in keeping people clean, since it's very good at absorbing moisture. Used as an under-garment, it was capable of absorbing sweat, and protecting the outer layers, which were not washed. Experiments have shown that frequently changing into clean linen was more effective at keeping clean than showering and then putting on the same clothing back on.

Women's ability to create clothing was sadly exploited, and women were even banned to sell it commercially, or from competing at the commercial market, but their husbands were allowed to profit off of their craft.

In the USA, cotton was the most produced material, however for this too people were enslaved and exploited; cotton took human labour to grow, harvest and process, it also required a lot of water, and caused destruction of environment, because of the chemicals used in it's growth, and the unsustainability of monocrops.

Creating a piece of clothing out of textiles, or sewing, is a process that still cannot be completely automated; while you can use a sewing machine, you cannot make a machine that would produce a whole garment out of textiles. No mass-produced piece of clothing was sewn by a machine, it always has to be made by a human being. This is why a lot of the sewing labour is currently outsourced to third-world countries and companies use modern slavery in order to create fast fashion; there is no machine that can do it, so by the rules of capitalism, the companies are trying to get that labour as cheap as possible, often at the cost of human lives.

We didn't use to have as many garments as we do today, in the 18th century people would have two outfits, one for normal days of the week, and one for Sunday. The clothing they owned was usually made to fit them exactly, either by a female member of the family, or a seamstress, and these garments were made to last them for decades. As clothing became cheaper to buy than to make at home, and more of it became mass-produced, people started acquiring more of it, but also using it for lesser period of time. This would eventually grow into a bigger problem, due to the amount of chemicals and labour used to grow, process, dye and sew the garments, and the amount of waste we were starting to accumulate.

Introduction of synthetic materials, like acrylic, made the yarn and the textiles much cheaper, however it lacks the important properties natural materials have. Do you ever notice how synthetic garments sometimes continue smelling bad even after you wash them? That is because they'll absorb sweat, but become hydrophobic when wet, meaning they will take in your sweat, but refuse to let it go once they're in the water. This means that the longer you have them, the worst their stink becomes. This, of course, can be hidden by the generous use of scented fabric softener, but it won't exactly make the garment clean. This information I've learned recently, but it helped me identify what were the most synthetic pieces of clothing I had. Acrylic clothing had also proven to shed 1.5 more microplastics than any other polyester when put into the washing machine.

Having our clothing grown, processed, spun, woven/knit, and then sewn far out of sight, it's possible to lose the sight of where it came from, or how it's made. Only by trying to do it yourself, or learning closely about the process can one learn to appreciate what a monumental task it is, to create fabric, or a garment. Other than the synthetic textiles, of which I still know very little of, all of the natural clothing is a product of plants and animals, it takes land, farming, agriculture and water to grow the plants, raise the animals, and then labour to process and spin the fibres. It's also something people used to do in their gardens, inside of their homes, something that was normal for women to do, and to trade for anything else they needed, saving them from having to work for wages. Women making fabric was always to the benefit of everyone around them, while m*n taking over the industry and doing it commercially, ultimately brought slave labour to a lot of people, cheap and low quality garments to the select few, and money to the hands of the exploiters.

Being curious about clothing and what becomes of it, is a big benefit to the environment and the future of the earth! Knowing what the textile industry is doing, and how does it affect the planet, can be a great motivator to try and sew, or upcycle and mend clothing, or create garments. It's presented to us as something women were forced to do in the past, and it's connected to 'feminine hobbies', but in actuality, it is power to create something humans cannot do without. Women in the past used it's power too, whenever they could. And we are the only ones who ever used this power for good.

[sanctus-ingenium]

How old are the novices when they start working on the mezian beasts as smith/knight apprentices?

i broke out the ol powerpoint just for you (zoom in to read)

initiates come from many sources both within and outside the church - from babies randomly dumped on the doorstep of a cathedral to willing donations from the laity. It is a tradition that the first non-inheriting child in a family will be given to the church, it's a huge honour for the parents. but in circumstances where the children are taken without the parents' consent (this happens quite often), the kids are transported to different cities or cathedrals without the parents' knowledge.

all initiates are given new names by the church (forenames in alphabetical order paired with a surname indicating where they first trained) and all efforts are made to eliminate any lingering familial bonds. the mandatory masking helps with this.

i wrote way more than i intended because it was something i needed to write up anyway for my own reference and to refresh my knowledge lol enjoy.

The initiates are given a normal religious education and then when they are considered old enough to do simple supervised work (around 8) their capabilities are tested to determine their life path. Here i have only illustrated two paths - smith and knight - but they can also become scribes, priests, cleaners, cooks, whatever the church may need. needless to say, the knight's path is the most selective, as ultimately there is only one knight at a time, and most of the knight novices will fail to progress.

smith acolytes aren't assigned to any one beast or master, and do basic grunt work - a lot of scrubbing armour and cleaning mechanisms - until they become junior novices at age 12, where they start to be trained to handle more responsibilities. Junior novices are assigned to holy beasts based on need (the beast's master smiths will let the church know when they need extra hands on deck). There's no real age limit to this - a novice is a novice until they become a journeyman, but at a certain stage a junior novice is expected to formally ask a master or journeyman to train them one on one (aka to become an novice apprentice). Whether or not the senior smith accepts is entirely up to them and often depends on their own workload, if they can take on an additional apprentices, etc. They often play favourites and if a novice shows a lot of talent, there could even be competition to see who claims him first as an apprentice.

Once you become an apprentice you get an intensive high quality training that lasts a couple of years until you can be considered a journeyman, someone who can be trusted to independently conduct all tasks required of his profession to a high level of skill. on this chart i only have the primary and secondary route mapped out for mercury smiths but it's the same for all smith disciplines - primary smiths are more prestigious as they work directly on holy beasts, but in truth secondary smiths, who work on commercial engines and designs, are the real moneymakers in the church.

a master is considered a master when they produce a new, innovative design which showcases their mastery of their art. a new efficient engine, a piece of elaborate metalwork, or a new application of dragonsblood - it has to impress a board of established masters enough that the smith is awarded the master rank. masters need to show proof of new innovations on a regular basis and are expected to have at least one apprentice at a time. Mercury Luca, who is in his 30s at the start of the story (after the prologue), earned his master title by designing Leun's current heart block (replacing the original heart design, which was a copy of Pantera's heart built by the late Mercury Rodrigo, Leun's original enginesmith. the heart killed him).

Each holy beast has a master mars and mercury smith permanently assigned to him, and in stables where multiple beasts are maintained, seniority will go to the master smiths of the highest ranked holy beasts (therefore, Mercury Luca, Leun's master enginesmith, is the highest ranked in the stables despite being younger and technically less experienced than the other masters). Saturn alchemists primarily deal with the matters of dragonsblood fuel and dialogue tattoos so have slightly different rankings - First Master Saturn alchemists work on holy beast fuel management, while Second Master Saturn alchemists work apart from the beasts by providing dialogue tattoos to smiths.

Ultimately, all smith apprentices will end up working at their field even if they are eternal novices who never earn enough goodwill to get apprenticed. It's not the same for knights. There can be only one at a time and a knight has no set expiration date - they might die in battle tomorrow, they might serve for thirty years straight. An apprentice knight is expected to be able to replace their master at a moment's notice, mid-battle if they have to, so are always on standby.

The novices selected from the initiates work alongside smith novices and believe that they are no different - i.e, although they have passed the requisite tests to become knights, they are not informed of this. The knight path is highly secretive and until the point of no return, when they are selected for apprenticeship, novices are kept in the dark about their potential futures.

The knight is the only one who gets to select apprentices and is often incredibly choosy. The novices are taken to be interviewed by the knight. If the knight rejects every novice during that recruitment cycle, the rejected novices can join another apprentice route, provided they passed the initial prerequisites at initiate stage. If not, they might be turfed off to go be cleaners or scribes or whatever. On becoming apprentices, the novices get their dialogue tattoos, and from then on are expected to live apart from the rest of the apprentices, in the knights' quarters. The secrets of their tattoos are heavily guarded and from this moment on, any dishonourable dropouts have to be executed to protect knight secrets from spreading even to other members of the church. Apprentices learn on the job, and as they grow older there's a hierarchy among them where the eldest is next in line to replace the knight, and so on. They typically ride in the throne room with the knight, depending on space available. most knights have about six apprentices. Because of this setup, someone as young as 12 might suddenly find themselves a knight in charge of a holy beast.

The requirements for knights are quite stringent. At the start of the story there is a recruitment crisis brewing where Leun is concerned, as Sir Heaven rejects every single novice presented to him and has no apprentices whatsoever, operating the throne room alone aside from a visual interpreter. Although Sir Heaven is visually impaired, that is not actually considered a disqualifier because knights fight blind anyway. injuries to the limbs that leave them permanently affected are disqualifying. Because any apprentice at this stage is considered to be chosen by god, they are given a merciful death. You need two working arms to operate a holy beast.

[princeblack]

regulus black has been dead for one hundred and twenty-one years and the only voice he knows now is hers. it’s warm, wrapping around his soul and making him feel less alone; less of a memory and more of a person again. he’s still there, lingering, even a century after his death, having his life ripped away from him because of consumption.

what she didn’t know is he wasn’t your average dead man in any dead grave. or maybe she did know that, somewhere deep down. why else would he become her favorite? he felt her favoritism every time she leaned against his tombstone, talking about her days as if he were her friend and not the ghost of someone she would never know. his name is etched on the tombstone, but nothing more remains aside from the bust his mother had sculpted to commemorate her lost son. she had come to his grave to weep at it until consumption took her life as well, dwindling the numbers in the black family to almost nothing.

regulus had a life once, born as the son of a wealthy noble and raised strictly by way of his mother, given better education than most and learning complex science and math others didn’t have access to at a young age. he was familiar with the arts as well, writing and playing piano better than anyone in their town. he even proved to be adept at what was usually saved for the lower class, like caring for animals and livestock. not that his mother was a fan of him being friendly with the local farmers, saying it was beneath his father’s family and they had a reputation to uphold. besides that, there was danger to associating with the common folk because of what they were.

orion black was a successful businessman who amassed wealth through investments and commercial ventures, known even outside of their hometown for his fortune and contributions to various enterprises. orion wanted regulus to manage his estate and investments when he was old enough, although his mother was more worried about teaching him her own family’s ways, including inducting him into the family coven.

many still believed in witches, especially in such a rural area, and regulus’s family wasn’t safe from the persecution they’d face if anyone found out. it was a cult in a sense, regulus being brought up in the ways of the religion; worshiping and sacrificing to the the Horned One in order for their family to keep their powers. the old god was displeased when andromeda left the coven, withholding some of their powers for a time.

unluckily for regulus, this was when he fell ill, soon to meet an untimely fate. stricken with grief, walburga had done what magic she could, not enough to heal him but at least enough to resurrect him if all magical requirements were met.

she harnessed the power of a comet overhead, using its magic to reverse his death once it were to pass over again.

at least, this is how it was explained to regulus just before he died. he waited over a century after, sure that the spell had failed (and even if it didn’t, his loved ones were surely dead anyway).

that is, until he meets her.

she cares for his grave, scrubbing it clean and leaving flowers for him every week. she even gazes at his statue, talking to him as if he could talk back. regulus isn’t man anymore; only spirit, but even so he can see how beautiful she is and he knows she’s the most perfect human being to ever walk the earth. who else would care for someone they don’t know and keep his memory alive more than his family ever did?

one night she gifts him her aunt’s necklace, leaving it on his bust as an offering. he remembers her sweet words, explaining why she wanted him to have it and even murmuring that she wishes she could be with him. it’s then that he’s sure she can feel it, too– his spirit, and the way the two of them are drawn together, even with death and life separating them still.

his soul longs for her, wondering if the comet will pass by sometime before her life is over.

luckily, the night finally comes, and he can feel his awareness shift, being sucked below. once he was apart of the cemetery; apart of the breeze, just another spirit among many. but now he can feel his awareness being siphoned down, pulled into blackness, and then he’s there.

everything is dark, but he can feel his body. he’s almost not sure if this is real, but the weight of the ground is pressing down on him and it’s only because of magic that animates his body that he has the strength to claw his way from the dirt without suffocating. it takes some difficulty, struggling to reach the surface, but he eventually pushes through the ground, emerging from the soil and dragging himself out.

he can breathe, but there’s a hollow feeling in his chest, almost as if he doesn’t have to because he’s dead. dirt falls off of him as he stands on unsteady legs, almost overwhelmed by his surroundings in the overgrown graveyard. the breeze is something he hasn’t felt on his face in over a century, along with the way air rests in his lungs. the moon is shining down on him, round and full, illuminating his tombstone and the bust his mother had made of him just above it.

he sees her necklace there, glinting in the dark, and shaky fingers reach out to take it, pulling it off for him to hold. it’s significantly nicer than anything on him, his old vest covered in chunks of soil and torn and faded. even the sleeves of his shirt are ripped, even though they were once elegant and of the highest quality white fabric.

he can feel salem through the necklace, as if a pulse of her soul is within it, her beating heart in his hand as he struggles out of the graveyard. her home isn’t far, through the forest and on the edge of a rural neighborhood. he knows because he can sense her, almost as if they’re connected. his mother always said he was the most psychic of the witches in their coven, but now it feels even more true, because his mind leads him directly to the woman he loves.

he crosses her yard, reaching the front door. he looks like a phantom on her porch, his skin even paler than it was when he was alive, smeared in dirt and grime. his black hair is caked with it too, to the point he’s almost unrecognizable. whatever state he was resurrected to, he knows he isn’t fully human. everything feels muffled and his body is cold; not like he remembered having flesh to be.

he’s sure he would be burned at the stake if anyone were to see him, a warning his family had given him time and time again about their magic. but he opens salem’s door anyway, using supernatural strength to break the lock and open the front door. he can sense her in the living space, just a few feet away, but he isn’t prepared to meet her beautiful blue eyes when he does. if regulus had breath it would’ve been taken from him, his cold fingers tightening on the necklace as he holds it out. / @ghstdoll