#i know for a fact that i acknowledge and accept each individual i know for who they are

[snowsonlylove]

hii!! i commented about making a fic of coryo w or about the song haunted by beyonce, i was thinking maybe something smut if ur comfortable! if not its okay but the fic could be academy!coriolanus x academy!reader and theyre school rivals both working hard to beat each other and theyre obsessed with each other but they hide it with the fact they wanna win but they j wanna fuck (or get together) maybe theyre both possessive and jealous or coryo is the one thats really extra with it,, the story could go rlly slow too and then theres just a part where the facade and tension goes away and theyre needing each other so badly at that moment rushing everything, just like how the song goes idk if i made any sense :o im so excited to see the result!! this song just gives me coriolanus vibes

You Must Be Haunting Me..

a/n note: hii!! yes, i loved your idea and i mostly stayed with your vision, only changing some minor things so the situation makes sense and dw i managed to deliver 🫡 hopefully you like it!! tysm for your idea and i look forward to seeing if there are some things you want to expand on (maybe with little blurbs on this dynamic bc i absolutely LOVE this trope!) & i'm totally comfortable with smut so dw about sending me kinky asks or requests. i totally accept them!!

Pairing: Academy!Coriolanus Snow x AcademyRival!Reader

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N and Coriolanus Snow have been academic rivals ever since the beginning of their journey in the Academy. It’s no secret that both Y/N and Coriolanus are the two top students of the Academy, both of them only being able to beat each other, the rest are just no competition for them. However, they genuinely have no idea why they're doing this constant battle against each other. Little did they know, both of them always think about each other behind closed doors and are obsessed with each other, each equally impressed at the other at how intelligent they are. One day, things just boil over with how Coriolanus constantly riles Y/N up and they explode in a huge fight which results in a turmoil of deep, rough and passionate sex. 

Fic Type: Smut (NSFW) 18+, Enemies to Lovers trope, dramatic behaviour from both of them, a wee bit of angst (mostly derived from the name-calling but in my head this is more funny than it is angsty 😭😭😭)

Warnings: unprotected sex (don’t do this guys, use a condom. reader is on birth control), rough pushing, harsh words used from both Y/N and Coriolanus, degradation (use of whore), cunnilingus (female receiving), squirting, lmk if i missed anything else

Word Count: 2k

I do not own Coriolanus Snow or Y/N Y/L/N (cuz it’s you, boo). All credits go to Suzanne Collins and her team. Song credits also go to Beyonce and her team. 

I do not allow my works to be republished or translated under any circumstances. Any instances of this happening and YOU WILL BE BLOCKEDDD. 

Also, ageless and empty blogs will be BLOCKED as this is a 18+ fic. Report my fics and you’re blocked cuz if u don’t like it, LEAVEEEE.

Y/N Y/L/N and Coriolanus Snow began this disastrous journey from the age of 11-12. Both students entered the Academy with an air of poise and elitism about them as they knew what it took to defeat the competition in the Academy, most students not even being a possible candidate to them. It was all fine and well, until one year, Y/N and Coriolanus were put in the same class for the year, and the rivalry then started..

The first assignment of that year was an individual project on what each student thought the Capitol looked like during its earliest times. Each student was tasked with coming up with a drawing with their thoughts on said topic. This was their chance to go up against each other. Both Y/N and Coriolanus would stay up in the library after school and collect piles of books and do their research and by the time the task was due, Y/N and Coriolanus obviously submitted the best sketches.

After acknowledging this, the professor asked the class to vote for who’s sketch was the best. Small pieces of paper were given out to write either Y/N’s and Coriolanus’s names and as the professor then collected the papers, making both students anxious. As the professor counted the votes, Y/N’s heart was beating out of her chest, Coriolanus’s as well. It was then announced that Y/N won, which made Coriolanus furious as he spewed a full speech on how much he hated her. “You’d never be as good as what they say you are. You’re just dirt under my feet. God! You’re such a bitch!” He screamed as the professor and the class started at him in astonishment as they’ve never seen him lash out before.

Y/N was heartbroken when she heard this as sometimes when Coriolanus wasn’t looking, Y/N would sneak glances towards him and she started to be enamoured by him. Their time together after hours in the library would usually end up in them having conversations about their day and this time together helped them bond better. With this in mind, Y/N truly thought Coriolanus was at least civil enough to be respectful towards her. Y/N felt tears well up in her eyes as she ran out of the classroom, the professor telling her to wait.

Coriolanus, still blind with rage, kept on screaming and yelling obscenities about Y/N as he stormed off to his seat, his face red and his whole demeanour fueling with rage. Unfortunately, this fateful day was what started the vicious rivalry between Y/N and Coriolanus as the two would fight over who got the better grades, which teacher favoured which student more, the differences in their scores in each assignment every single day.

As of current, both Y/N and Coriolanus are 18 and in the midst of graduating. One of their last assignments was unfortunately a pair assignment. Dr Gaul once scoped out the Academy and witnessed one of the fights between Y/N and Coriolanus and she noticed how by getting them near each other, she could make them into the power couple of Panem and have them continue the Hunger Games, which inspired her to whisper in the ear of Dean Highbottom to get them to be in the same class and for them to share a table together until they graduated. Both Y/N and Coriolanus were very unhappy about this, both choosing to ignore each other while they were in their seats. 

With both of them getting older, both Y/N and Coriolanus started noticing certain things about them. Coriolanus noticed how Y/N’s facial features were more prominent, how her ass got bigger, her breasts more plump, making him unable to control a certain urge at times which led him to mastrubate thinking about her sometimes. Y/N also noticed a few things about Coriolanus. How he started to grow muscles, how they cling to his academy uniform whenever he took off his academy jacket, how his jaw was sharper, how his nose was becoming more emphasised, how he lost his baby fat. She can honestly go forever and forever about how attractive he is.

That being said, there was one particular day where everything just blew over the water. Y/N and Coriolanus were taking notes during Dean Highbottom’s lecture when Y/N felt Coriolanus’s elbow dig into her arms whenever they got to writing. This obviously made Y/N frustrated as she harshly whispered to Coriolanus to stop a few times, which led to a hushed debate between the two before it grew louder and louder until they were screaming at each other, making the whole class look at them and Dean Highbottom staring at them in shock before yelling for them to stop and stay after class for detention.

Both Y/N and Coriolanus felt embarrassed as they were lectured by Dean Highbottom after class before an assistant of Dean Highbottom requested him to join Dr Gaul for a meeting about the Hunger Games. Dean Highbottom sighed as he looked at the two young teenagers, “Look.. I feel that you two are now old enough to know what is acceptable behaviour in class. I’ll be back soon, do not kill each other while I’m gone.” As Highbottom left the classroom, the tense atmosphere began to build as the door closed behind him.

Almost immediately after he left, Y/N and Coriolanus stared at each other with the most hateful expression ever. Y/N menacingly glared at him while saying with gritted teeth, “See, Coriolanus! If you’re long ass elbow didn’t fucking dig in my arm every single time, that old fart wouldn’t lecture us for one fucking hour! My god, you’re truly dumb!” Coriolanus glared at her before stating, “It’s not my fucking fault that happened with you were taking over the whole goddamn table with your arms everywhere! Geez, Y/N! I thought you’d be more modest!”

Y/N looked at him, shocked, “ME?!! You’re blaming ME for something YOU did! That is so fucking misogynistic coming from you, a man! I swear to god, this is discrimination towards women at its core! Grow the fuck up, Coriolanus! We’re not children anymore! God! I’d be spending my time with Sejanus right now if it weren’t for your stubborn ass!” Y/N huffed while rolling her eyes. Coriolanus stared at her, his face full of jealousy before gritting out, “Sejanus? What the fuck are you doing with Sejanus?! You’re such a fucking whore! Ugh, you’re such a bitch!” Y/N looked at him, offended, “Bitch, weren’t you just fucking Clemensia a few weeks ago? Yeah, I heard about that! Everyone was practically talking about it! Don’t pretend to be so innocent, Coriolanus!”

Coriolanus looked at her, his expression turned dark as he stalked towards her, her taking a step back until her back had hit the wall. Coriolanus leaned towards her, lifting one of his arms to go above her, bringing the other hand towards her chin and lifting it. At this point, the height difference became very apparent as her head was tipped far back, her still glaring at him. “Are you baiting me, Y/N? You talk so much for someone who just fucked Felix Ravinstill of all people a few days ago..” Y/N continued to glare up at him, “At least I had the decency to keep it in my pants longer than you! God, I hate you!” Coriolanus looked taken aback as he muttered while leaning in to cup her cheeks, her face wiggling to be let out of his grip, “Well, I hate you too, sweetheart…” 

Coriolanus leaned in as he captured Y/N’s lips with his, their mouths fighting for dominance as they kissed each other as if they needed each other to breathe. The previous tension broke into a more sensual type of tension as Coriolanus wrapped his hands around her hair ravenously while Y/N’s hand made friends with the back of his neck. One of Coriolanus’s hands found its way to Y/N’s waist as he dragged her away from the wall, pushing her towards a nearby desk before propping her up on the desk and spreading her legs, allowing him to be closer to her, not once breaking their kiss. Y/N broke their kiss as she moved her lips to Coriolanus’s neck and trailed them down his Adam’s apple while taking off his blazer and unbuttoning his shirt, Coriolanus doing the same to her.

As they undressed each other, they continued to slide their tongues against each other, the sound echoing around the classroom. They managed to undress each other down to them both only wearing underwear before Coriolanus kneeled down so that he was face to face with the apex of her thighs. Coriolanus leaned in and captured his teeth to her underwear as he slowly pulled it down, revealing her aching, dripping pussy. Coriolanus licked his lips as he roughly shoved two fingers in her cavern as he curled his fingers in and out her folds, creating a beautiful sensation as he found her G-spot with no difficulty.

Y/N moaned as she threw her head back and slid her hands down to Coriolanus’s hair and tugged on it while pulling him closer to her heat. “Oh my gosh.. Coryo, it feels so good…” As he kept pumping his fingers in and out of her, he suddenly attached his lips onto her clit as he sucked on her clit and pumped his fingers harder, each movement feeling more and more intense for Y/N. He kept on going as he curled his fingers one final time, which made Y/N yell out as she squirted and covered his fingers with her wetness.

Y/N sighed in satisfaction as she helped Coriolanus up and gave him a deep, passionate kiss while tugging down his underwear and hooking her legs on the bottom of his back, Coriolanus leaned in closer as he aligned his erection with her heat, tapping his dick on her clit a few times before pushing his hardness in her heat. He only pushed in half of it when Y/N suddenly exclaimed, “Coryo, it’s too much! I can’t take all of it!” 

Coriolanus leaned down so his forehead was laying against hers before whispering in a comforting tone, “It will fit, Y/N. Trust me, trust me..” He closed his eyes as he leaned in to capture her lips with his as he pushed in slower this time, now being able to fill her pussy with his cock to the point where their hips were against each other. Coriolanus groaned as he slowly pulled out before thrusting in again, “Fuck, Y/N… You’re so good. Such a good girl..” 

Y/N moaned at hearing him praise her as he started to thrust his dick in faster, each time harder and rougher than the last. The room started to echo with the sound of her moaning, his groaning and the sound of skin slapping. Y/N closed her eyes as she moaned, her mouth forming an “O” shape as she threw her head back once more and arched her back, needing to feel closer to him. Coriolanus wrapped his arms around her waist as he pulled her in closer and kissed his way all around her neck, leaving furious red hickeys which would soon turn purple.

The pace in which he was fucking her got rougher each time he would thrust his aching hard dick into her dripping pussy, the slapping sound really turning them on and his balls slapped to her ass, their moans becoming louder and louder each time. The furious force in which he was fucking her started to reach a boiling point as Coriolanus moaned, “Ugh.. I’m fucking cumming, Y/N. Oh.. You’re such a good girl. Such a tight and wet pussy..” 

“Ohh.. Coriolanus… So good, so deep… I’m gonna come, gonna come.. OH MY GODD!!” Y/N screamed as she came. Coriolanus groaned as he came inside her, sighing as he tried to bask in the afterglow of his orgasm, holding Y/N tight against his chest in the process. Y/N left kisses and hickeys around his neck as she looked up at him with a dazed but satisfied expression and kissed his lips however, this time the kiss shared between them wasn’t one full of hate, it was one full of love.

As they pulled away from each other and started to get dressed, Coriolanus faced Y/N and said, “You know, if you wanted to fuck me, you could’ve said so.” He said with a smirk. Y/N turned to look at him, acting shocked as she huffed in feign frustration, “Oh shut up, Coriolanus!” She smacked his chest as both of them gave each other a silly grin before hurling in laughter.

[arvandus]

The Divine

Barbatos (Obey Me!) x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: 18+ content! Minors DNI and DO NOT follow my blog! All minor and ageless blogs will be blocked! Fem!Reader (dress, heels, fem-coded terms of endearment, etc.), AFAB!Reader, short-coded reader (but Barb's a demon so we can say "magic!" and just suspend disbelief; aka let's pretend they can adjust their own height if they want); friends to lovers, romance, hurt/comfort, first date, lots and lots of talking, first kiss and first (and second) time together (aww yissss), questionable uses for a tail, vaginal sex, oral sex (f receiving), clit stim, shared bath, reader goes pee (is this an issue for people...? practice good sex hygiene, peeps!), reader gets carried (he got that demon strength, babyyy), rough(ish) sex (did I mention demon strength??). UHHH I think that's it. This is long as hell, almost 15k GOOD LUCK BYE.

Author's Note: This is my submission for The Coffee Corner's "Slice of Life" Collab Event! There are so many amazing writers, please go check it out and see if there's anything that piques your interest!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The opera house was filling up quickly, hundreds of demons taking their seats.  Barbatos was calm and efficient in finding yours amongst the bustling of busy bodies.  They were excellent seats, to be expected from Lord Diavolo’s butler who prided himself on his perfection.  Not too close, not too far, and located central enough without having to climb over multiple sets of legs if you needed to step away at all during the performance.

Barbatos helped you to your seat first, his hand gently placed on your lower back, before sitting down next to you. 

“Are you comfortable?” he asked.

You nodded with a smile.  “Very much so, thank you.”

You normally weren’t so formal with him.  After all, you’d known each other for more than a year during your time here in the Devildom and been on many outings together as acquaintances and later as friends.  But there had always been a wall in place, a boundary that was never crossed nor spoken of. 

Barbatos was kind, polite, and witty; he was caring and doting, a perfectionist, and by far one of the most mature demons you’d had the pleasure of getting to know.  However, despite all of that, Barbatos was also a private individual, even when he freely provided facts about himself and his interests, and was forthcoming with his motivations.  No matter how much he exposed, there always seemed to be far more lurking beneath the surface that was left unsaid.  Add in the fact that he took his job as Lord Diavolo’s private butler so seriously, and it sometimes made it difficult to distinguish his acts of kindness as obligation versus personal desire.  No matter how kind or sweet his words were, no matter how close you felt with him at any given moment, you were always, always aware that he kept himself at a distance.  It made your own affections for him feel one-sided, a heavy gift you held in shaky hands with nowhere to put it.

You’d always had the keen sense that he knew, of course; you weren’t exactly good at hiding it.  But he’d never acknowledged it, at least not out-right; even though you could have sworn there were times where you felt his eyes on you when you weren’t looking, or moments where he held your gaze for longer than necessary.  But each time, you’d written it off as wishful thinking, your heart desperately looking for patterns within the random coincidences of life.

But now, things were different.  They had been, ever since that moment he’d plucked that leaf out of your hair with soft affection in his eyes, followed by a quick stolen glance at your parted, stunned lips.  It was all the evidence you needed, and all the evidence that you’d likely get, to know that Barbatos was harboring a flame of his own.  After all, you’d only seen it because he’d let you see it.  You had acted on it immediately, the invitation to dinner tumbling from your lips in place of a confession.  He had accepted with a smile, and you could still feel the elation weaved into your chest like a keepsake as you revisited the memory.

You were yanked from the heart-pounding past to the nerve-wracking present when Barbatos’s fingers intertwined with yours.  Your pulse quickened at the contact. The touch of his skin against yours was so intimate and new, that it felt foreign and strangely forbidden.

“I’m glad you were able to join me,” he said.  “I apologize that the invitation was so last minute. There were... complications.”

You gave a small, teasing laugh, more to trick your own nerves than anything else.  “You act as if we haven’t gone out together before. And I don’t mind last minute; spontaneity keeps things fun.”

Your words felt like lies, a feigned nonchalance in the face of what was so obviously a shift in your relationship with each other, a testing of deeper waters.

“True,” he said.  “But this time is different, isn’t it?”

It was so like him to say outright what was already in your mind. Yet he always managed to do it with such simplicity that it stripped away the anxiety while still leaving the importance.  You swallowed the dryness in your throat and gave a small nod.

He was correct, of course... this - whatever it was – was still very much new for the both of you.

“Besides,” he continued, his lips curving playfully, “it has been some time since we’ve had the pleasure of each other’s company.”

“Four weeks,” you blurted out. Then you clamped your lips shut in embarrassment.

He gave a soft laugh.  “Three weeks and six days, to be exact.”

You gave him a surprised glance.  “But who’s counting?” you teased.

Barbatos smiled. “I often find myself counting the time when we are apart.”

Your body grew hot at his confession, his words vibrating against your skin as they buried themselves into you, becoming a part of you.  No doubt you will be reflecting on that single line for days to come.

Barbatos watched the change in your expression with intrigue.

“However, it is hardly our fault, is it not?” he continued.  “The brothers have been keeping you plenty busy I hear, and the young master requires constant supervision to keep him from chasing his flights of fancy.”

It always amused you when Barbatos referred to the massive, muscular Prince as ‘young;’ it reminded you time and time again how ancient Barbatos really was.  He sounded like a tired uncle reigning in a toddler, and looked the part too, his eyes tired as he watched other demons pass by to take their seats.

“Speaking of Lord Diavolo,” you chimed, “wasn’t he the one who was supposed to join you for this?”

Barbatos returned his eyes to you, only to be met by a narrowed, mischievous gaze and grinning lips.  Barbatos’s smile reappeared deeper than before.

“Something tells me that he intentionally had me set this up and then abandoned it at the last minute in order to allow us this opportunity,” he confessed.

“How very generous of him,” you whispered as you bumped your shoulder against his playfully.

Barbatos drew his thumb over the soft pad of your hand where your thumb and finger joined.  The sensitive nerves tingled, sending goosebumps up your arm.

“Yes,” he agreed as his emerald eyes stared into yours. “Very generous.”

You leaned towards him slightly, your own thumb drawing along his hand in return, as your voice dropped to a whisper.  “It would be in ill taste if we did not maximize this opportunity that he’s provided.”

“Ill taste indeed,” he muttered as he glanced down at your lips.  His gaze lingered there for one heartbeat, two.  Just long enough to get you leaning slightly closer in hopeful anticipation.  Then he broke his gaze and stared ahead. “Lets us fully enjoy this performance then,” he stated.

You stared at him, mildly stunned by his reservedness, until you noticed the slightest hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

He was toying with you.  On purpose.

Your lips turned downward into a pout and you gave a humph as you leaned back in your chair.  Beneath the hum of the audience settling in, you heard the faintest hint of a quiet chuckle in his chest.

You still had yet to kiss him.  The first date was very nice and sweet, a simple dinner at a restaurant you knew you both enjoyed.  You had wanted to keep the first date familiar and unassuming, to allow for the possibility that you’d been wrong, that he’d taken your invitation as a dinner between friends rather than love interests.  It wasn’t long before that worry was eliminated by the touch of his hand over yours at the table, followed by a long swipe of his thumb over your knuckles.

But of course, the private moment was short-lived, because wherever you were, a brother wasn’t far behind.  It was Asmo this time who’d spotted you, miffed at the realization that you were out with someone other than him, and looking dolled up to boot.  Which then, of course, led to him inviting himself to your very obvious one-on-one with Barbatos.  The demon had given you a look to silently inquire if such behavior was acceptable, and you were too kindhearted to give Asmo the boot, so you surrendered, folding like a deck of cards.

The regret and guilt still sat heavy on your mind.  You should have been firmer, set some boundaries. But boundary setting was always difficult when the brothers were involved.

Barbatos would have been able to do it; the look that he’d given you had made that clear enough.  He was a kind demon, yet firm if he needed to be.  And you had a keen sense that you never wanted to get on his bad side.  But he’d taken the intrusion gracefully, and parted ways later that evening without a hint of disappointment or disapproval.

Even so, you’d assumed you’d botched any future opportunities at a second date with him.  Sure, he may not have expressed disappointment in the moment, but you knew he was a master at disguising his true feelings when he wanted to.  So, it had taken you by surprise when he had texted you that he’d enjoyed himself and wanted to try again, albeit something that could be either more structured, or more private to prevent future interruptions.

It had taken far longer than expected to follow through, to the point that you’d almost lost hope.  But finally, here you sat with the apple of your eye looking delicious and refined in his black tuxedo, while you donned a simple strapped gown of your own.  The lights above dimmed, indicating the performance would be starting soon, as the orchestra completed the final checks on their instruments, ensuring everything was in tune.

Barbatos’s hand continued to hold yours, the action feeling almost possessive in nature, a warning to any who might see the two of you together.  A part of you wondered if any of the brothers had managed to sneak their way in and were watching from a distance, and if so, did Barbatos know.  There was no way to know for certain.  Either way, if they were out there somewhere, they couldn’t reach you now, not without causing a scene.

Now your seats made more sense. You had wondered why you weren’t located in one of the more private balcony boxes above; it certainly seemed like a place Barbatos would have preferred.  And had he come with Diavolo like originally intended, he very well might have.  You certainly couldn’t have the Lord of the Devildom sitting amongst the masses.

Which means Barbatos likely figured out a way to change the seating arrangement as soon as he learned of Diavolo’s little scheme.  This was clearly by design, a way to ensure your second date would not be interrupted like the first.  You let out a relaxed breath and reclined against the back of your seat as you prepared yourself to become immersed in the opera.

The lights overhead went black, leaving only the stage washed in a white glow.

“Y/N...” Barbatos started, his eyes on you.  “There’s something you should know about this performance...”

“Hm?” you replied distractedly with barely a glance.

But then the orchestral music began, and you shushed him with a pat on his arm.  Barbatos’s words died on his tongue, as his hand tightened around yours. 

The music started strong and then fell like cascading water into a flurry of notes.  You watched as the music played, as the singers entered the scene.

You had expected English, or one of the romance languages that you often associated with opera, or even an older, biblical language such as Hebrew. But instead, the language was like nothing you’d ever heard, notes sung in such a way that it felt entirely inhuman and beyond the realm of possibility.  You stared, bewildered, unable to understand any of it, even as the earth-shattering beauty of it crashed over you. There were no screens with subtitles framing the stage, no form of translation at all.  There was nothing; just your eyes and the music to try to decipher the story that was unfolding.  It was clear it had to do with angels and demons, and that there was a forbidden love story between them, which, you could deduce would lead to conflict.  But the details were lost as soon as they had opened their mouths.

Barbatos watched you in silent observation as your emotions transformed and danced across your face from confusion, to wonder, to awe, to fear, and back again.

His hand squeezed yours, a tether keeping you from losing yourself in the panic of your mortal brain trying to make sense of something beyond its understanding.

“Are you alright?” he whispered, his tone laced with concern. Your wide eyes shot over to him; it took a moment for recognition to register in your gaze.

“Y-Yeah.  But I don’t understand them at all. What language is this??”

“It’s the Divine Language,” he replied. He watched and waited for your brain to process.

“...wait.  What?”

“It’s the Divine Language,” he repeated.  “The language of God, spoken by angels and demons. It’s no surprise you don’t understand it, you’re not meant to unless it’s directly intended for you.”

You didn’t know how to put into words that it felt like you simultaneously understood yet didn’t. The language didn’t sound like words, and yet it left imprints upon you, feelings and emotions stamped upon your soul that you could only vaguely understand.

Barbatos continued as you stared back at the stage in shock.  “Many of the operas composed here are done so in the Divine Language as it withholds the purest meaning and form, and the notes cannot be duplicated in mortal speech.  Had I known you were joining me tonight instead of the young master, I might have selected a more appropriate performance.”

He watched you as you grimaced against a particularly moving crescendo.

“Why does it feel like it’s in my head?” you whispered.

“Because it is,” he whispered back.  “You are fortunate that you have Angelic ancestry in you.”

You gave him a confused look.  “Why?”

“Because if you didn’t, you’d be bleeding out your ears.”

“What??” your voice raised in panic, and multiple demons seated near you shushed you.  You lowered your voice again, but the panic was still there.  “Barbatos!”

Barbatos gave a quiet chuckle as he pulled something small from his pocket.  “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.  Just put these in your ears. It will lessen the impact.”

You took the small black box from his hand and opened it to see a set of ear plugs.  You wasted no time in putting them in.  Immediately, the panic and chaos you felt eased, the thrumming reduced to a hum.

“Why didn’t you give me these earlier?  A warning would have been nice,” you quietly seethed.

Barbatos almost rebutted that he’d tried when the lights went down, but decided against it when he saw you fold your hands protectively in your lap.  You were angry.  He gently pried your hands apart gently with his and twined his fingers with yours in a soft hold. You didn’t fight him, but you didn’t look at him either.

“I promise you weren’t in any danger,” he whispered close to your ear.  “I would not have brought you here if it wasn’t safe.”

Your body remained stiff, but you finally looked at him.  “It felt intentional,” you replied.  “Like it’s something Diavolo would have you do to test me.  Tell me, Barbatos... are you here for work or pleasure?”

Surprise flashed across his face, followed by the return of his gentle smile.  He leaned even closer to your ear until his lips ghosted over your pinna. “Pleasure,” he whispered, his voice low.  His hand squeezed yours reassuringly.  “Definitely pleasure. I assure you there were no ulterior motives.”

The way his voice alone nearly unraveled you... your thighs tightened against their impact and you swallowed as you stared ahead at the stage, struggling to follow the story that you were missing.

But you could be horny and angry at the same time.  You set your jaw stubbornly.

“You swear?” you asked as you kept your eyes on the stage.

He took your chin in his hand and turned your face to look at him, his expression serious. 

“I swear,” he replied.

Then he placed as soft brush of lips to your forehead. It stole your breath as a shiver passed through every nerve.

Your anger finally dimmed, soothed by the genuineness of his words and the reassurance of his affection. Your fingers finally closed around his in reciprocity, and Barbatos returned his green eyes to the stage.

A long moment passed as you both watched the performance.  The impact of the Divine Language continued to wash over you, dragging vague meaningful pictures to your mind as your emotions danced like puppets.  The earplugs helped, keeping you from feeling like your head was splitting open.  But you still felt lost in it, carried away on a foreign tide.

Barbatos noticed.  He leaned close and whispered.  “Would you like me to translate for you?”

His breath tickled your ear and your chest tightened as your heart tried to grow wings and escape.  You angled your head to him slightly; your eyes breaking from the stage briefly. 

“Please,” you whispered.

And so, he quietly summarized the plot and dialogue into your ear as his eyes watched.  The male and female lead sang to each other, their voices rich with emotion, their body language communicating their love.

“They are of two different worlds,” he explained.  “Yet they love each other unequivocally.”

You smiled softly. “Romantic...”

“Very,” he agreed.  “She is expressing worry that heaven will cast her out for falling for him.  And he is promising to never leave her.”

The music rose in crescendo.  It filled you, and your chest tightened like a balloon about to burst. You took deep breaths to allow the sensations to pass through you.

You had anticipated appreciating the music, being impressed by the vocal gymnastics.  But this was proving to be so much more, a visceral experience that would leave you reeling by the time it was over.

As you watched, Barbatos continued to translate.  The angel was cast out as predicted and was cursed to walk the earth and live her life as a human.  This allowed them to continue their romance without judgment and they rejoiced.  But shortly after, things took a turn for the worst, as they often did in operas.

“She’s sick...” you commented quietly as you watched the performance.

Barbatos glanced at you briefly from the corner of his eye.  “She’s mortal.”

Something inside your chest twisted, a stirring of something heavy that you’d been struggling to ignore ever since you committed to staying in the Devildom.  You tried to push it back down, to watch the story continue.

But maybe it was the way that it hit too close to home; or maybe it was the way the Divine Language seemed to invade every crevice of you like a living thing, forcing your body to experience something beyond what it was built for.  Either way, it brought forth every worry, every fear that plagued you late at night when you were alone in your bed. It was the way the loneliness that you struggled to ignore within yourself began to gain weight, a black hole pulling you into its relentless gravity.  It was the type of loneliness that came with the sense of otherness, of being separate; the awareness of being where one did not truly belong no matter how badly you wanted to.

Your eyes brimmed with tears as you stared at Barbatos’s hand holding your own.  Suddenly, this – all of this – felt foolish.  So foolish.  What were you doing, going on a date with a demon?  Allowing yourself to open your heart for someone who would outlive you ten times over? The time would be gone in a blink, your mortal life small and insignificant.

Your tear-rimmed eyes looked back to the stage.  You watched as the female lead died, succumbing to her illness, and her partner mourned her.

Would Barbatos mourn you in such a way? Would he watch you grow old and feeble while he stayed young and flawless?  Did demons and angels even love the same way that humans did? How much could one human life really matter anyway, to someone who was essentially immortal? You were a blip in his life, a small blink of time that would come and go, a nice little hobby to pass the time.  Whereas for you, he would be your entire world, your entire life if things panned out the way your foolish heart hoped they would.

Because there was no one else you wanted.  No one else that even came close.

The thoughts shook you to your core until it felt as if you were being split in two, a great chasm running right down the center of you between what your heart longed for and what your head knew to be true. It made you begin the grieving process of what you would inevitably lose before you’d ever had a chance to even have it.  The pain was a wild beast in your chest, threatening to break free, to rip open your rib cage and let your heart bleed out in front of everyone.  You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream.

You wanted to leave.

You unlatched your hand from Barbatos’s, avoiding his eyes as you grabbed your purse from the floor.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice cracking.  “Excuse me...”

You made your way past the few seated individuals that blocked you from the aisle. As soon as you’d freed yourself, you walked quickly towards the exit, a race against time between the sobs in your throat that were rising to the back of your tongue and your proximity to the door.

You crossed the threshold with your hand over your mouth.  Already, you felt the wet tears sliding down your cheeks, your makeup effectively ruined.

And so was your date, you were certain.  The way you’d bolted from Barbatos without a second thought, without explanation... If you hadn’t offended him before on your first date, then you certainly did now.

You removed the earplugs from your ears and stuffed them into your purse.

You could still hear the music, could still hear the anguish in the male demon’s notes as he mourned the loss of his love.  Even from here, the Divine Language found you, gripped you, choked you.  You practically ran out of the opera house into the cold, wet evening of the devildom, and with it came silence – blessed, sweet silence.  A soft rain was falling, coating everything until it shined wet.

You quietly walked out from the covered entryway, past the great pillars that held up the grand architecture.  You turned your face up to the sky with closed eyes and let the water mist your skin.  Then you sat down on the steps and put your head in your arms and cried.

It wasn’t long before you heard the familiar soft steps of Barbatos’s polished black shoes on the wet stone.  A moment later, the rain above you stopped and the sound of pitter-pattering on fabric met your ears.  Still, you didn’t look up, your shame too heavy to lift your head.

You felt the presence of him, felt him as he circled around to your front.  You peeked through your arms just in time to see him kneel in front of you on the steps.

“I’m sorry,” you confessed through sniffles.

“What happened?” he asked calmly.

“I don’t know, I just...”

More tears welled up as your words caught in your throat.  You wiped at your eyes in an attempt to make them stop, but more took their place.  Barbatos took a handkerchief from his coat pocket and handed it to you.  You took it and held it in your hands, your fingers rubbing across the soft silk.

“Did you not like the performance?” he asked, his tone laced with worry.  “Perhaps the earplugs were not enough.”

You couldn’t help but give a sad, soft laugh. “No, I did.  I did like it. It’s just...”

Again, your words faltered.  Why was it so difficult to say? It was as if the emotions you felt were too large, unable to fit into the neat little boxes that human language provided.  If only you could speak the language of angels and demons...

“Barbatos...” you started softly, “why did you ask me out?”

His veridian eyes widened slightly in surprise.  “You mean to the opera?”

“No, I mean ask me out.  On a date.”

His gaze softened, although the confusion in them remained.  “Because I care for you. I had thought that years of mutual pining and silent eye contact every time we were in the same room together made that obvious.”

You half chuckled.  It wasn’t as obvious as he thought it was...

He tilted his head slightly, and he wasn’t quite quick enough to hide the sadness that flitted across his face.

“Do you not feel the same?” he asked.  “Perhaps I have misunderstood-“

“No! No, that’s not it,” you protested, your hands reaching out to grasp his.

Not that.  Anything but that...

You kept his free hand in yours, your fingers following his knuckles from one finger to the next. 

“What I mean is, why me?”

Barbatos’s fingers wrapped around your own.  “Why not you?”

“Because. I’m mortal.” Your voice cracked, and Barbatos straightened slightly.

“Ah. I see.”

“I can’t help but feel like I’m making a mistake.  Like I’m not supposed to feel this way.”

“Feel what way?”

More tears fell from your lashes as a sob escaped your throat.  “Happy.”

You released your hold on him and buried your face in your hands.

Barbatos touched your arm, his fingers wrapping around it gently.  You felt the rain suddenly return followed immediately by the sound of the umbrella touching the stone steps. You looked at it slightly confused, just in time for Barbatos’s other hand to take your chin and tilt your face up until you were looking at him.

“And why shouldn’t you be happy?” he asked.

You stared at him, watching as his hair flattened in the rain, running rivulets down his pale skin.

“Because my time here will be so brief compared to you, to everyone.  I’ll keep changing and grow old, and you’ll all stay the same.”

Barbatos stared at you for a long moment, his expression soft yet neutral.  He cocked his head slightly and released your arm to wipe your wet hair from your face before trailing his fingers along your cheek to your jaw line.

“What makes you think your longevity will be brief?”

You furrowed your brow.  “Because I’m human...?”

“So is Solomon...”

He had a point there. But...

“But Solomon is a powerful sorcerer.”

“And you’re not?”

“Not like him... I’m just barely beginning to grasp the things he’s teaching me.”

“Do not mistake knowledge for power,” Barbatos said.

“I thought knowledge was power,” you teased, the first hint of a smile on your lips.

Barbatos smirked at your cheekiness. “I stand corrected.  However, the point I’m trying to make is this: your power is your own and always will be. And trust me when I say that your power is vast.  Already you’ve been able to wield it in ways that Solomon could only dream.  All that you require now is the knowledge, and that will come with time.”

“But my time is limited.”

“So it is for all of us, one way or another,” Barbatos replied.  “Do not let a little thing called Time stop you.  You will have plenty enough of it to figure out how to bend its effects to your will just as Solomon has.”

“Is that what your visions of the future show you?” you teased.

Barbatos’s soft smile tightened slightly. “I don’t know. I don’t look into the future unless Lord Diavolo instructs me to.  But even if I could, I wouldn’t look at yours.”

Your brows furrowed.  “Why not?”

Barbatos stared down at the ground, his lashes hiding his eyes. “Because no good could come of it.  Despite my age, I am not immune to the impact of loss. And witnessing the loss of you in the future would only taint what time I have with you in the present.”

A silence fell between you as you thought upon his words.  They brought a warmth into your chest at the realization of how much you meant to him.  And yet... it only made your concerns feel that much more valid.

You didn’t want to hurt him. Not in the present, and not in the future.  Even if it was due to circumstances beyond your control.

“What if... what if I can’t do what Solomon does? What if I can’t figure it all out? The lifespan of a human seems so short...”

Barbatos looked back up at you, a sad smile on his lips.

“If your time is to be so short, then perhaps it is best to enjoy the time that you do have, freely without the burden of guilt.  You deserve happiness, in whatever way you can find it. Don’t let your fears taint what your heart wants.”  His hand found yours, and he stared at it as his thumb brushed over your fingers. “And... if I may be a little bit selfish... let me have this time with you now, if you’ll have me. I will feel your absence regardless, and I’d rather be able to look upon the past with fondness instead of regret.”

“Barbatos...” you whispered.   Your hand came up and brushed his long locks back, tucking them behind his left ear.  “Of course I’ll have you.”

He smiled softly at you.  “Nothing pleases me more.”

A thought still bothered you though, a question itching at the back of your mind, springing up more worry.  It made your gaze distant, distracted.

“Barbatos... what happened at the end of the story?” you asked.

“Hm? You mean the opera?” he replied.  You nodded.  His smile grew.  “When the female lead dies, her soul is unable to ascend to heaven due to being cast out. So, there is only one place left for her to go.”

Your eyes widened.  “She went to hell.  She got to be with him in the end.”

Barbatos’s smile filled his face, his eyes crinkling and perfect white teeth showing.  He was so beautiful it made your chest ache.  “She did.”

Your gaze became distant again with thought.  “When I die.... where do you think I’ll go?”

“Hmmm,” Barbatos pondered, his fingers on his chin.  “Well, to be honest, it’s anyone’s guess.  Although as the keeper of the Seven Deadly Sins, it may tip the scales more in favor of here.  Relations between heaven and hell have been improving, but there are still rules that must be followed. And any who support demons usually end up coming here.”

“Wait, so I’m going to go to hell??” you said indignantly as mirth danced in your eyes.

Barbatos grinned.  “As if I’d ever let my girl go to such a place.  No, I would bring you here to the Devildom.”

Your body flushed hot at his words.  “Your girl...”

Barbatos took your chin in his fingers, his thumb brushing against your lower lip gently. “My girl,” he affirmed.

Then he leaned forward and kissed you, his lips cool and soft against yours in the cold of night. You leaned into it, your hands coming up instinctually to cup his chilled face as you reciprocated his affection.

He pulled away slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, before returning for a second kiss, his lips firmer, warmer.  You opened your mouth to him, every part of you aching for more of him until he filled you, surrounded you, until your head couldn’t think anymore and all that mattered was him, you, this moment.  Barbatos’s grip on you tightened as his warm tongue found yours, tasting you, claiming you.

He pulled away just a fraction again, his eyes shining as the bony wings framing his head flickered and vanished.  His grip on you was strong, one hand holding you by the curve of your jawline, and the other gripping your waist.  You had the keen sense that in that moment, he was torn between behaving like the gentleman he felt you deserved, versus taking you right there on the cold, wet steps in the empty street.

The evidence of Barbatos’s desire for you shocked you.  He was always so reserved, so in control, that seeing him grapple with his lesser instincts because of you made your own instincts want to respond in kind, to lure him out of his carefully crafted persona.  You’d been so starved for his affection for so long, that now even the smallest crumbs of his desire felt like a feast.

But of course, his reason won out.  Slowly he stood, his hand holding yours as he helped you to your feet.

“Perhaps we should get you home,” he stated, even as his eyes remained locked on your lips.

Numb with need, your body buzzing, you nodded silently.

Barbatos picked up the umbrella and shook the water off it before placing it over the two of you.  Then he offered his arm and you hooked yours with his as he led you to the car.

The ride back was silent, although you continued to hold his hand in your lap for the entire duration.  The drive felt far too short for your liking. A sense of dread filled the pit in your stomach as the House of Lamentation came into view and it didn’t leave even as Barbatos released your hand with a kiss and exited the vehicle to open your door for you.  You took his offered hand and stepped out, your gaze locked on the many windows that stared back like countless eyes. You could feel them on your back as you turned around at the gate to face Barbatos to begin your goodnights.

Barbatos could sense your unease. 

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah, I just... I don’t think I’m ready to go in yet. I’d like to spend more time with you.” Your eyes were downcast bashfully as you stared at the buttons of his white shirt, the black bow tie at his neck.

He gave a gentle laugh.  “I don’t want the night to end either.  It is far too early to be saying goodbye.  Where would you like to go?”

You glanced up at him as you felt heat roll across your body, the memory of your kiss still fresh in your mind.  “Some place quiet... and private.”

Barbatos fell silent for a moment as he stared down at you.  “I know just the place,” he finally said.

He led you back to the car, and with a final glance back at the mansion, you sat down in the passenger seat. He closed your door, and soon you were on the road again.  It wasn’t long before he pulled the car up through the lavish, scroll-decorated iron gates of Lord Diavolo’s castle.  Your eyes widened in slight surprise.

“Here?”

Barbatos glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “You said you wanted private.  This is the only place I can guarantee for sure that no one else will find you.”

“I would have thought it’d be the first place they’d look,” you replied as you stared up at the great, towering spires.

“Oh, they most certainly will.  But as you know, the castle in vast, with many rooms and dangers.  And there is one room they will never be able to enter without explicit invitation.”

You gave him a questioning look.

“Mine,” he stated with a small smirk.

A giddy dizziness clouded your mind as he got out of the car and came around to assist you.

As you stepped out, he continued.  “Due to the dangerous nature of my room, there are many wards and spells that keep unwelcome guests from entering.  You’re welcome to stay for as long as you like, and then I will take you home when you’re ready.”

You realized Barbatos was referring to the many doors that led to infinite pasts and futures.

“I’ve been to your room before; I don’t recall it being very... comfortable,” you confessed.

Barbatos laughed as he led you up the steps. “That’s because you only entered the part I wanted you to enter. My personal space has far better amenities than just stairs and doors.  Did you think I just hung like a bat from the ceiling while I slept?” he teased.

You chuckled.  “The thought had crossed my mind...”

Up the stairs and down the winding, complex halls he led you, taking sharp turns and walking around blank spaces of floor to avoid hidden dangers.  Finally, you were outside his door.  With his hand holding yours, he opened it to reveal a pristine bedroom with an ornate four post bed with a canopy.  A large fireplace sat to the right, already lit, an ornate rug and sofa sitting in front of it.  There was a sitting area near the tall glass doors that opened onto a balcony with a tea cart close by.  It was simple in its elegance, the room cast in a warm yellow-orangish glow from the fire.  Not a speck of dirt was present, and suddenly you felt very unclean, your dress and hair still wet from earlier.

“May I use your bathroom?” you asked.

“Of course, right through there.” Barbatos motioned to the double doors to the left as he made his way to his tea cart. “I will fix us something to drink.”

You stepped into his bathroom and shut the door. It was incredibly spacious.  Not as grand as Asmo’s of course, but it most certainly had every necessary amenity and then some.  You checked yourself in the mirror and nearly gasped at the state of your makeup and your hair. 

To think he kissed you while you looked like this... twice, in fact.

You did what you could to clean yourself up, removing the washed-out makeup and letting down your hair to run your fingers through the damp strands.  Once there was nothing more you could do, you stepped back out.

The delicious smell of tea was fragrant in the air, carried on the warmth of the fire.  Barbatos had set the tea out on the small round table of the sitting area and turned when you entered.  He was still fully dressed in his wet formal wear, and you realized with amusement that he’d gotten engrossed in ensuring the tea and setup were perfect.  The porcelain cups and saucers were delicate and beautiful, with floral designs and golden rims.  The spoons were made of silver, polished to shine in the firelight.

“Welcome back,” he replied with a smile.

You smiled in return.  “What’s all this?”

“What does it look like? I thought we could talk over a cup of tea, let our bones warm a little,” he replied as he made final touches to the setup, adjusting the napkins ever so slightly, turning the teapot just so.

“Barbatos...” you chided playfully. “Is this Barbatos the demon, or Barbatos the butler?”

He stared at you for a moment, stunned, and then gave an embarrassed laugh. “Haha, I suppose you’re right... old habits, as they say...” His laugh left his eyes and he stared at you.  “I just want you to feel comfortable.  I know we’ve known each other for some time; however, it is only our second date.”

“I am comfortable,” you said softly. “More comfortable than I’ve ever been since I first arrived here.”  You stepped closer towards him until you were less than a foot apart.  “I always feel safe with you, Barbatos.”

Barbatos smiled in return, warm and soft as his eyes drank you in.  “You don’t know how much it pleases me to hear you say that.”

You rested your hand against his chest.  “Your coat is still wet,” you commented.

“Yes,” he replied as he began to undo the buttons.  He removed it and you watched as the muscles of his shoulders rolled beneath his white shirt.  He laid it carefully over the back of his chair.  “It will dry by the fire soon enough.”

He began to undo his bowtie, but your hands came up to stop him.

“Please… allow me,” you said softly, even as your heart pounded wildly in your chest.

Barbatos swallowed slightly, but let his hands fall until they found their place on your hips, gentle and unassuming.

Slowly, carefully, you began to undo his tie for him as the air warmed between you with each shaky breath.  Once it was loose, you gently pulled on the black material, watching as it slid along his collar before falling off. 

Your eyes locked with his.

It was enough to make the last of his gentlemanly resolve vanish, and he kissed you, his lips capturing yours needily. The tie fell from your grip to land in a careless pile on the floor as your arms went up around his neck to pull him closer. His hands tightened around you in return, fingers spread wide as they traveled across your back.  The warmth of him, the firmness of his body beneath the soft fabrics of his clothes... it was better than every fantasy you’d ever had, dreams paling beneath the shadow of the very real demon in front of you.

Barbatos’s hands shifted from your body to your jaw, cupping your face in a delicate hold.  Once again you opened your mouth to him, eager to revisit that sinful moment on the steps of the opera house, as your fingers tangled into his hair at the base of his neck.  The strands were soft between your fingers, his tongue sweet with the hint of tea.  He must have tasted it before you emerged from the bathroom earlier, no doubt to ensure its perfection.

But now it sat abandoned as your fingers began to undo the buttons of his shirt, starting at the one high on his neck.  As soon as the smooth skin of his chest was exposed, you abandoned your task to run your palms up his chest and back to his neck as you clung tightly to him, your body slotting against his.

He chuckled against your lips as his hands returned to caressing your curves.  “What about the tea?” he teased.

You nibbled on his lip, pulling back with your teeth until it released with a pop, earning a growl from the usually reserved demon.  “No offense, but screw the tea.”

Barbatos’s eyes widened, his eyebrow raising in judgment.  “No offense she says, and yet she wounds me in the same breath.”

You chuckled and planted a kiss on his lips.  “Forgive me… but perhaps we can enjoy it after?”

“After?” Barbatos echoed, his eyebrow raising ever higher as the corner of his mouth curled up. His hands slid from the curve of your back to the plush of your ass and squeezed. “After what exactly? What expectations have you brought with you tonight?”

Your breath hitched at his bold touch, yet your eyes narrowed at his obvious teasing.  Two could play that game.

You widened your eyes innocently.  “Expectations? None.”  You looked at the tea setting. “Perhaps we should enjoy a cup now, before it gets cold…”

You began to disentangle from his hold and turn your body toward the seats, but Barbatos’s strong arm wrapped around your waist, blocking you.  When you turned to look up at him, he was staring down at you with darkened eyes, his smile gone.

“You know… your dress is wet too...” he hummed as he pulled you back against him. 

Checkmate.

Your arms returned around his neck.  “Is it now?”

Barbatos’s hands once again moved along the curve of your back. “Perhaps we should slip you into something more comfortable?”

As he spoke, his fingers gently traced the line of your spine until he reached the top of the zipper.  Slowly he pulled it down, the material relaxing around you, every soft bit of your skin freed from restraint.  His fingers traced back up along your now naked spine as his lips gently brushed yours, the tip of his tongue teasing your mouth open.  It pulled a wanton moan from your throat, a sound that would have made you falter in embarrassment in any other moment... except his touch was far too distracting to care anymore, his chest echoing your own in a low, satisfied hum.  The delicacy of his long, slender fingers skated across your shoulder blades to catch beneath the straps of your dress and slid it off your shoulders. You removed your arms from the falling straps, and Barbatos’s hands helped the dress the rest of the way over your hips until it fell to a puddle around your feet.

He withheld his kisses for a moment to allow his eyes to drink you in from head to toe as his hands followed your silhouette.

“Did you match for me?” he mused as he stared at your matching bra and panties.  “A bit hopeful tonight, were you?” he grinned as he nuzzled your jawline with his nose. “Expectations indeed.”

“Better safe than sorry,” you replied. “And yes, a little bit hopeful...”

His nose continued to follow the curve of your neck then your shoulder as he talked, his breath coating your skin.  “Then I’ll consider this a fortunate turn of events.  I typically don’t expect such intimacy on the second date, but for you I’m more than happy to make an exception.”

Barbatos’s teeth caught on the strap of your bra as his eyes stared over your shoulder to observe the tantalizing view of his hand caressing the curve of your lace-covered ass.  It made your stomach flip, your head spin, and your heat grow between your legs, the slick already building thick within your thin panties.  You were eager; you wanted nothing more than for him to take you right this instant, in any which way.  But Barbatos was the opposite; he took his time and savored.  It was driving you mad.  You shifted your stance just slightly in impatience, the sound of your shoes clicking on the stone floor of his room.

It was enough to catch his attention, to release your bra strap from his pearly white teeth and look down at your heels.  “Hm, perhaps we should remove those shoes of yours...” he smiled against your lips.

Before you could protest, he bent just enough to wrap his arms around your thighs and hoisted you up in his arms, your body pressed against his.  It shocked you how easily he lifted you, as if you weighed practically nothing, his lean muscular figure disguising his demonic strength.

Slowly he walked you back towards his bed as his mouth began to leave kisses in your cleavage, his tongue flicking out occasionally to lick and taste. It made your breaths come out in pants, made your body squirm slightly in his hold, and yet he held you steadily until he reached his destination.

You had thought he would have tossed you onto his bed, following with his body. Or at least that was what you had hoped for.  However, Barbatos always managed to surprise you with the unexpected.  Instead, he set you gently back down on your feet.

“Sit,” he ordered. His tone was soft and not at all overbearing or firm, yet you found yourself following the command instantly.

Then he kneeled before you and gently lifted your left foot. His hands carefully removed your shoe followed by a trail of gentle kisses up your ankle to your calf.  Then he set down your left foot and repeated the action with your right, once again removing the shoe carefully and following it up with kisses.

However, this time, the kisses didn’t stop at your calf. His lips kept traveling.  Past the knee, up the inside of the thigh... your legs parted willingly as your breaths began to quicken, your clit pulsing heavily for him in anticipation.  As he got closer, he pushed your legs wider still, his palm firm against the inside of your knee, and pulled you closer to him until your ass was barely on the edge of his soft, plush mattress.

He paused once he was between your legs, and inhaled through his nose, his eyes closing as if he were savoring a rich, herbal tea.

“I love your scent,” he whispered. 

His eyes opened and you gasped as his green irises glowed, his canines slightly sharper and longer.  The human illusion faded away like a mirage and now you could see the small, bony wings in place of horns, could see the long, double-ended serpentine tail curling and twitching behind him, shining wet.  He still wore his clothes from the evening, his shirt half unbuttoned.

Barbatos watched you with an unreadable gaze.  “Are you afraid?” he asked.

You shook your head vigorously.  “No,” you breathed.  “Just amazed at how beautiful you are.”

Barbatos chuckled, low and deep, ending on a soft hum.  “She says with her legs spread wide for me...” His finger trailed the shape of you through your panties and your body twitched as you bit your lip.  “Trust me when I say you are the beautiful one.”

Then he leaned forward and kissed your core, right on that tight bundle of nerves through the delicate fabric.  You gasped against it, a moan bursting from your chest as you leaned back further, bracing your weight on your hands.  Barbatos’s eyes flashed up at you, brows low and pupils blown wide with lust. He kissed you again, firmer this time.  Again, you whined for him, your thighs tensing as pleasure tickled your nerves from the epicenter of his touch.

On his third return, his tongue flicked out to lick you through the fabric, followed by the press of his lips as his mouth closed over your clit.

You were panting heavily now, your heart pounding against your ribs in desperation.  Again, he licked and kissed.  And again.  Slowly, steadily, with more pressure than before.  His fingers began to stroke your entrance through the fabric, his long fingers drawing up and down.

As his mouth worked you higher and higher through your panties, you felt the warm wetness of his tail wrap itself around your leg and slowly slither up in a spiraling, winding trail.  It was foreign, stimulating, and entirely erotic.  As the tips of his tail reached the height of your inner thigh, they slipped beneath your panties, gliding against your lips and teasing your entrance, causing it to spasm.  Then the tail hooked around the sopping wet fabric and pulled it aside, allowing Barbatos unimpeded access to your cunt as his hands remained firm against the inside of your knees, keeping you spread so wide that the hamstrings of your thighs burned.

“Beautiful...” he murmured as he stared at your pussy with heavy lidded eyes.

Then his mouth was on you, tongue dipping, lips pressing, sucking. You cried out, your head falling back as your back arched.  The arousal tightened, sharpened, until you were sure you would cut yourself on it, bleed out all the desire in a gush. Your breaths grew heavier, faster.  Your hips began to rock, your legs tremble.

But just as you were about to reach your zenith, Barbatos pulled away.

“W-what??” you protested. “Hey!”

Barbatos chuckled as he wiped his shining wet lips with his thumb.  “My apologies. I am not usually one to leave a duty unfinished. However...” his gaze on you grew dark as he stood and began unbuttoning the rest of his shirt.  “I made a promise to myself a long time ago.”

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously.  You were still salty he’d stopped, stealing your orgasm from you.  “What promise?”

With his shirt unbuttoned and removed, he began to undo the buckle of his pants.  He pulled the belt from the loops around his waist, then continued to unbutton the top of his slacks.  His pants loosened, sagging to catch on his hips and the hard cock that tented his pants.

You swallowed as you stared at him, your eyes following the curves of his iliac crests, the muscles of his abdomen in soft relief against the firelight.  The soft tuft of dark hair below his navel gave way to the base of his cock, still barely hidden beneath his slacks.

A realization hit you.  Barbatos didn’t wear underwear. No boxers, no briefs, nothing.  Nothing but the thin black fabric of his slacks between his cock and the world.

Your hands reached out, grabbing onto the fabric to tug it down and free him as he watched you with amusement in his eyes.  His cock sprang free, perfect and beautiful.  Your hand wrapped around it, feeling the warmth of it, the smoothness of the skin, the veins that trekked along its sides...

Barbatos’s finger tucked beneath your chin and forced your eyes to look up at him.

“I promised myself,” he continued, “that the first time I make you cum, it’ll be on my cock.”

Your eyes widened and you swallowed. His smirk turned into a devilish grin as he dipped his head down and captured your mouth with his, the scent of you still on his lips.  As his tongue forced its way past your lips, his body invaded you, bearing down on you, forcing you to back further into the bed that smelled entirely of him.

He kissed you hungrily as his hand quickly undid the clasp of your bra before hooking his fingers into your panties and pulling them down off your legs, the clinging wet strings of arousal stretching and snapping as the material left your throbbing cunt. Then he was over you again, surrounding you, caging you with his body as his thighs pushed your legs open for him, the head of his cock nestled against your entrance.

“Please...” you begged, your body taut with need.

He stared at you, the affection heavy in his gaze and written in the flush of his cheeks like paint on paper.

“You will tell me if it’s too much, yes?” he said softly.  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I promise,” you whispered.

You hooked your legs around the back of his thighs and pressed, and he obliged, the leaking head of his cock pushing into your wet heat as his lips parted in a silent breath. You inhaled, your ribcage expanding and your back arching as his cock dragged across every awakened nerve within you, causing your walls to clench tightly around his girth.  He was long, and he filled every inch of you and then some, pushing you past your limits as you gasped in a short cry.

Barbatos froze for a moment, concern in his veridian eyes.  But your body quieted, your expression one of bliss rather than pain, and he breathed as he pulled out and entered you again slowly, feeling the way your body greeted him, took him, made a home for him.  Every inch of you was trembling; the air leaving your lungs on shaky breaths, your thighs practically vibrating, your walls fluttering.

Barbatos’s hand cupped your cheek and he pressed his forehead to yours as you looked at him through half-open, lust-blown eyes.

“My pretty girl...” he whispered tenderly.  “My pretty little human.  So fragile, so beautiful.  Look at you, laid out before me, shaking like a leaf.” He pulled out slowly and pushed in again, the muscles of his biceps shaking with restraint.  “You don’t know how long I’ve dreamed of this moment...”

You smiled and gave a breathy laugh that ended in a hitch as he bottomed out in you.  “At least as long as I have, I hope...”

Barbatos smiled against your lips. “Longer,” he promised, followed by a stolen kiss.

But words could only last for as long as you both had focus, and it quickly waned in favor of the pleasure that washed over you with each thrust, your body and mind immersed in the feel of him.  With your body fully acclimated and pliable beneath his touch, his thrusts quickened as speech gave way to sounds of pleasure; of grunts and groans, gasps and pants.

Barbatos’s knowledge of the human body was not to be underestimated. With each dip of his hips, his cock rubbed against your most sensitive parts, each thrust ending in a grind of his groin to roll your swollen, sensitive clit against him.  His hand caressed your body, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers, before sliding down to grip your thigh against him as his mouth devoured yours.

Your body shifted, your breaths quickened, catching in your chest as the arousal swelled, nerves on fire. “Please...” you begged as you clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders.  “Please, I’m so close...”

He sat up, adjusting his angle to allow his cock to press harder against the top of your walls where you were most sensitive.  The change position allowed him the full freedom of his hands, and he took full advantage.  He held your right leg over his shoulder while his other hand drew fast, steady circles over your swollen clit with his thumb.  He quickened his thrusts for you, spurred by your pleas, your confessions of pleasure.  He watched in rapture as your eyes glazed over then widened, as your back arched when your orgasm piqued, igniting across your nerves.  Over and over, it crashed over you, drowning you, stealing your voice in favor of gasps of air and primal moans.

Barbatos relished the sight, the way you broke before him, because of him.  He relished in the feel of you tight around his cock, your walls pulsing, sucking him in.  He released your leg from his grip and leaned over you again, his lips stealing yours as he pistoned even faster, now that he was able to finally chase his own release.  He buried himself in you with each thrust, the ‘pap’ ‘pap’ of skin hitting skin loud in his ears.  You cried out against him with each thrust, your teeth digging into his shoulder.  If it weren’t for your legs tightening in an iron grip around him, he would have stopped, checked you for injuries.  But instead, you clung to him, your body beyond words, beyond control.

Were you going to cum again? So soon?

The thought alone was enough to send Barbatos over the edge, hot cum spilling from his cock with a groan as he rode out the burning wave of pleasure that washed over him.  With each release of his load into you, a new wave followed, and he chased it relentlessly, savoring every second of you pinned beneath him, wrapped around him...

Your body spasmed against him and you half moaned, half cried into his shoulder, your arms tight around his neck as your hips rolled and bucked, your breaths forced out on a parched, hot tongue and burning lungs. It only added to his own pleasure; not just the fresh spasming of your cunt around him, milking the last of what he had to offer, but the way you moaned for him, clung to him, needed him, as if you’d shatter if every inch of you weren’t touching.

With the majority of his orgasm already falling to the wayside, he kept his pace until he was sure you had finished, when your death grip on his neck finally loosened and your head fell back damp with sweat into his rich bedsheets, panting heavily for air.

Barbatos was less winded of course, thanks to his superior strength and stamina.  It allowed him the opportunity to lift himself on his arms and stare down at you, memorizing every detail.

As your breaths finally eased, your eyes fluttered open.  As soon as you saw him staring down at you, you covered your face with a giggle.  Barbatos smiled and grabbed your hand in his, pulling it off your face and pinning it above your head.  He kissed you with smiling lips, and you returned it in kind, your free hand wrapping lazily around his neck, your fingers gently threading through his sweaty strands.  He kissed you again, and again, moving from your lips to your cheek, to your jaw. You giggled against it, and he smiled against your skin as he buried his face into your neck and allowed himself to rest some of his weight onto you.

“Are you alright?” he finally asked.  His voice was low and reverberated into your chest.

Your fingers lightly grazed back and forth along the back of his neck absently.

“Yeah,” you replied drowsily.  “You?”

“Hm, yes.” he confirmed.  “Very much so.”

After a long quiet moment, you spoke again, your eyes staring at the ceiling.  “That was... wow.”

Barbatos pulled back sightly to look at you.  “Do you regret it? Was it too soon?”

You looked at him in confusion and gave an amused laugh. “Definitely not. I’ve been wanting for that forever.” A pause.  “How about you? Do you regret it?”

Barbatos smiled as he allowed the tips of his fingers to trace your body.  He followed your neck, your shoulder, the curve of your breast.  His smile widened as your nipple perked and hardened under his touch. 

“No,” he replied.  “It happened sooner than I expected, but trust me when I say I have zero regrets. Had I known it would be like this, I would have claimed you sooner.”

You stared at him with poorly masked surprise. Barbatos gave a soft chuckle as his fingers continued their trek down along your hip to your thigh.

“I meant what I said earlier this evening...” he said as he watched his hand travel. “I do not look into your future.  I did not know this would happen.” His hand trailed back up your side to visit the gentle slopes of your arm, following the lines to your sensitive palm.  His fingers twined with yours and he looked back at your eyes.  “And I’m glad.  Seeing this future would have dulled the experience. It was meant to happen like this; unexpected and perfect.”

Tears stung the corners of your eyes, and you pulled him against you as you kissed him tenderly. When your lips parted again, amusement colored your expression.

“I think I’m ready for that tea now.”

Barbatos grinned down at you.  “Absolutely not.  I will make us fresh tea.” He glanced down pointedly at where your bodies were still joined, although his white, sticky cum had long since begun to leak out onto the bedding.  “But first, perhaps a bath.”

You laughed as you followed his gaze.  “Yes, a bath would be nice.”

You had expected him to pull out of you, to help you stand and walk with you.  You were prepared for the walk of shame, the humorous waddle of cupping your hand between your legs to catch any remaining drops of Barbatos’s gift that would inevitably leak out on your journey to the bathroom.  But instead, his tail slithered its way between your back and the mattress and wrapped around your waist, as his hands gripped the globes of your butt.

“Hold on,” he ordered.

“What’re you—AH!”

He hoisted you up in his arms, your body securely pressed against his.  You giggled into his shoulder as he carried you to the bathroom, his tail loosening around your waist in order to open the door while he continued to support your weight easily with his palms.

He set you down near the toilet.  “If my memory of human anatomy is still correct, you should pee.”

You sat on the toilet to do as he asked, and watched as he began to fill the very large bathtub with hot water. The sight of him nude in front of you was both arousing and odd.  He always kept himself covered from head to toe, so much so that even the slightest hint of arm or shoulder had been enough to make your blood run hot and your thighs squeeze together on more than one occasion.  But now, you could see every inch of him, and you realized what an absolute insult it was to have his figure covered up at all times.

He looked up to catch you staring at him and you averted your eyes quickly. He smirked.

“Are you finished?” he asked.

You nodded as you cleaned yourself.

He held out his hand to you.  “Then come join me.”

You did, stepping into the bathwater with his body behind you. You sighed as you leaned back against him, the water coming up to barely cover your breasts.  His hands caressed your arms, your legs; any part of you he could easily touch.

It was a soft silence, a gentle togetherness where words had no place.  There was no need for them.  They were too loud, too plain... there was no way to capture what either of you felt, and there was no need to define or label, to announce or question.  Before the two of you were not, and now you were. The transition into togetherness came with ease, forged through intimacy and surrender, through the carefully laid bricks of friendship and time.

Barbatos washed your hair for you, planting a kiss to your forehead as you tilted your head back to rinse.   He washed your back too, and your arms, the soft washcloth trailing over every inch of skin.  Your knees, your thighs...  But then the washcloth was abandoned in favor of his fingers between your legs, parting your lips beneath the warm, sudsy water to find the pearl of nerves nestled protectively at the apex of your folds.

“Barbatos...” you moaned as you felt that familiar heat reignite. He planted a silent kiss to your temple as he began to move his first two fingers in small circles.  Your legs spread as far as they could within the tub, and he took that as an invitation to increase his pace as his other hand cupped and massaged your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers with small pinches.

He worked you quickly and with ease.  Within a minute, your head was tilted back against his shoulder as he watched his hand work you beneath the water, your body tensing and flexing each time he passed the pads of his fingers over you.  Quicker and quicker he circled, increasing the pressure until that familiar sound of your heavy panting greeted his ears and your hips rocked, causing your back to press against his hard cock.  He pressed kisses against your jaw line, your neck, and he watched your face as your eyes fluttered closed and your brows drew together, your mouth slightly parted.

You came with a groan, your back arching against him, and he maintained his pace, his digits circling vigorously as he whispered soft praises into your ear.

“Good girl.  My beautiful girl...”

As the pleasure receded to a low hum across your skin, you slumped against him with a sigh and closed eyes.  After a moment, you opened your eyes and looked at him. He smiled and kissed you.

“What was that for?” you asked.

“Do I need a reason?” he replied.  His hands caressed your shoulders as his lips grazed the curve of your ear.  “Because I wanted to,” he whispered.

You turned as best you could in the tub and kissed him tenderly.

You wanted to reciprocate, to run your fingers through his dark green hair as you washed it, to cleanse his pale skin with soap on your palms and affection in your touch.  You wanted to make him feel as good as you felt, to know the weight of him in your hand, your mouth...

But he spoke first.

“Come,” he ordered. 

Before you could protest, Barbatos disentangled himself from you and stepped lithely out of the tub. He grabbed one towel and wrapped it around his lean frame.  Then he grabbed a second towel for you and held it open in quiet invitation.  Unable to say no, you stood and stepped out of the tub, the cool air of the bathroom kissing your skin for only a moment as turned your back to him.  He wrapped the soft cloth around you, his arms wrapping around you as he did so.  He pulled you close against him until his chin rested on your shoulder.

“There is a spare robe on the rack by the door,” he explained. “And you may borrow any of my clothes if you so wish. I will make us a fresh batch of tea.”

With a kiss planted against your wet hair, he stepped away. You watched as he abandoned his towel and grabbed his other robe, pulling his arms through the sleeves before crossing the fabric over his nudity and tying the sash.  With a brief glance and a small smile, he stepped out and closed the door, as if to give you privacy you no longer needed.

You breathed a heavy breath slowly from your lungs, allowing the release to steady you as you processed the reality of all that had transpired thus far.

The mellow acceptance you’d felt earlier when Barbatos was with you gave way to a mixture of elation and shock that hummed through your body and mind, reverberating against your isolation within the bathroom.  It felt as if your heart would explode, the beating muscle unable to keep up with the demands of the emotions that swirled inside of you like a vortex. You felt up-ended, chaotic, yet free.

This wasn’t at all how you thought this would happen. You had always pictured the process as slow, requiring a level of patience you weren’t entirely sure you possessed.  You’d ease into it, learn how to navigate Barbatos’s complexity on a level that you had yet to explore or fully understand, like learning to sail for the first time in uncharted waters.

Instead, the tether of caution, of safety, had been snapped from its mooring, and now you felt you were spinning, drifting, carried out on a heavy tide with no knowledge of where it led or how to navigate it; a small boat in deep waters, large waves, and not a paddle to be found. 

You wanted to trust in it. To trust in him.  To trust the softness of his touch, the delicacy of his kisses, the honesty of his words.

You wanted to trust that you would be kept safe, protected; that your small little boat would not be capsized by the weight of all that he was – an ancient, timeless, a creature beyond human understanding.  You wanted to trust that he would not let you drown, would not let you sink into the bottomless black, dragged deep by the limits of your mortality and understanding.

To trust your heart to him, your soul... it was like trusting the ocean to be kind to you, as if the ocean were anything but indifferent.

But Barbatos was not indifferent. In fact, he was far from it.  But he wasn’t human, either.  His view of life, death, the world... it went far beyond your own comprehension, and you couldn’t help but wonder how you, in all of your insignificance, had managed to even catch his attention to begin with, let alone hold his eye.

You began to gather yourself, your movements slow and sluggish as you dried your body.  Your thighs and your cunt ached, but it was pleasurable, a soft reminder of the intimacy you’d shared. It helped root you to the present, to tear your eyes away from that distant, unknown horizon and focus on the sand beneath your feet.

You stepped out of the bathroom to the smell of a sweet, floral fragrance.  You quickly noticed the new bedding on his bed, and wondered if you’d lost track of time, or if he’d used magic to quickly change them.  Either way, it looked ready to sleep in.

Barbatos was by the small table with a fresh pot of tea, the arrangement prepared.  He was still in his robe, the silky fabric loosely open towards the top providing a pleasant view of his chest.  He looked up from when you entered and smiled as his eyes raked over your figure.

“Perhaps I should let you keep that,” he said.

You looked down at the robe.  “If I did, then it’d have to come back with me to the House of Lamentation,” you teased as you walked towards him.

Barbatos narrowed his eyes.  “Then, perhaps not.  Such beauty should be for my eyes only.”

He took you into his arms as soon as you were within reach and kissed you. Then he motioned to the table and chairs.

“Tea?” he offered.

You laughed.  “Yes.”

You both sat, the air between you warm and comfortable, the conversation between you flowing easily.  It eased your nerves and quieted your fears.  In private moments like this, it didn’t matter that you were a human, and he was a demon.  What mattered was the happiness, the laughs, the comfort it brought you to be in his presence.  The foundation of the two of you remained, and yet there was a newness that coated it, a novelty and open curiosity.  Your feet played with his under the table; his tail teased your leg.  And the looks shared were a newly opened secret, an invitation to explore each other’s hearts, while sensitive hands itched to explore each other’s bodies.

Once the tea was gone, the conversation moved to the couch in front of the fire.  You curled yourself up against Barbatos’s side as your eyes watched the flames dance.

“How come I’ve never heard the Divine Language before?” you asked, your brow furrowed. “I talk to you and all the other demons and angels just fine.”

Barbatos gave a small smile.  “That’s because we are naturally fluent in every language. We speak to you in your language because we have to.”

Your head lifted from his shoulder.  “Really? I mean, I guess that makes sense...I just...huh. Never really thought about it.”

Your head went back to its resting place.

“I did mean it, earlier…” he said softly.  “You were safe at the opera.”

You were silent for a long moment.  “I believe you.  But for me, as a mortal, even the slightest possibility of not being safe was terrifying.”

Barbatos’s arm tightened around you.  “I assure you; I had multiple failsafes in place in the highly unlikely possibility that I was incorrect.”

You lifted your head again to look at him.  “Like what?”

He glanced at you and returned his gaze to the fire.  “In the worst-case scenario, I was prepared to teleport you instantly.”

“But that’s not the worst-case…” you said softly.  “Worst-case would be if teleporting is too late.”

Barbatos was silent for a long moment, his expression locked in stillness.  “If such a thing happened, then I would be forced to use my ability.”

“With Lord Diavolo’s permission…”

A muscle twitched in his jaw.  “Yes, of course.”

You didn’t feel entirely convinced by his response, which alarmed you.  Barbatos was always absolute in not using his time travel ability without the Prince’s explicit permission or instruction. Even the hint of possibility that his commitment to that single, most important rule would potentially falter... because of you...

“However,” he continued, his gentle smile returning, “even average humans can withstand the power of the Divine Language for at least a few minutes.”

Relief filled you.  “Really?”

“How do you think God and his angels talked to the prophets?” He grinned.  “So, I will tell you again, you were safe.”

You smiled appreciatively at his reassurances, but it dissipated as you had another curious thought.

“If you were so worried about the risks and had so many plans in place, why didn’t you just... not invite me?  Or maybe take me somewhere else?”

Barbatos gave a small, embarrassed laugh.  “Yes, I did consider that option first.  However, we’d already been struggling to find time for each other recently.  And I did not want the young master’s efforts to go to waste, even though he hadn’t considered the concerns regarding the Divine Language.”  He tilted his head slightly as he watched the flames.  “Besides, I thought the love story was somewhat... fitting.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. In a strange way, it was.  You snuggled tighter against him.

An idea popped into your head.

“Can you speak the Divine Language?” you asked.

“Of course, I can. I am a demon after all.”

You looked up at him again, your eyes shining. “Say something to me.”

Barbatos stared down at you with wide eyes.  “Like what?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know... Whatever you want.”

Barbatos stared at you as he thought.  Then he took a hesitant breath and spoke.

The sounds were a melody, a chorus of voice tuned to his deep tone.  It washed over you gently, blanketing you until every inch of you felt warm and safe.  It chased away your fears of death and loss, and instead, it made you want to trust him with your life.  His finger gently traced the line of your jaw as he spoke, a gentle smile on his lips. It was short, lasting mere seconds, yet it somehow felt longer.

Silence fell between you as your mind gradually cleared.

“Did you understand it that time?” he asked curiously.

“I... I don’t know. Was I supposed to?”

“It was directed at you, so I had hoped you would.”

“It wasn’t so much words, but more of a... feeling?”

“What did it feel like?”

“Being safe... and warm... Is that how it works? Through feelings and pictures?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “I’ve never been human.”

You made a face. “Eh, that’s okay. It’s overrated.”

He laughed deep and rich, and the sound of it made you laugh too, the joy contagious.  Then his smile faded, and he tilted his head at you.

“So, what did you say?” you asked.

Barbatos was silent for a moment, as if debating with himself.  Finally, he spoke quietly, his voice solemn.  “I told you I will always protect you.”

Your stared at him with parted lips, hoping to find the words that could equal his own, but there were none.  Instead, you kissed him gently, your hand cupping his jaw.  He reciprocated, his hand covering yours as his arm tightened around you.  It made the latent desire in you reawaken, and you deepened the kiss with your tongue.  Barbatos welcomed you, his mouth opening with yours, his warm tongue swiping and tasting. 

You hummed and crawled into his lap, your legs straddling him.  The action forced your robe to part below the sash, exposing yourself to him.  The sight brought a pleased hum into the back of his throat, and his kisses deepened, battling your tongue for supremacy.  His grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips through the fabric to pull you closer against him.

His cock awakened within seconds, hard and hot, and you pressed your wet cunt against the length of it.  You rolled your hips until your clit rubbed against him, and moaned into his mouth. He swallowed the sound with his tongue swiping along yours as his hands forced your hips to roll on him again.  Your hands began to untie the sash of his robe and he chuckled against your lips.

“Again?” he teased.

The sash gave way, and you pushed the edges of his robe aside to expose the length of his body beneath you.   “Shut up,” you replied playfully as you savored the feel of his chest with your hands.

Barbatos’s cock twitched beneath you, and he began untying your robe in return.  “You lose your manners when you’re horny,” he grinned. “My impatient little human.”

He pushed the robe off your shoulders, and it dropped behind you off the couch.  He started at your silhouette in the firelight, his hands caressing your curves.

Your hand wrapped around the shaft of him and gave him a couple of languid strokes, teasing the flushed head with your thumb. Barbatos closed his eyes and hummed.

You tutted at him.  “Yes, well this impatient little human is going to ride your very big demon cock,” you breathed lustfully.

He growled low, and when he opened his eyes, they glowed like emeralds caught in sunlight.  “You should be careful what you say to a demon, my dear.” He watched through heavy-lidded eyes as you lined yourself up with him, your dripping cunt hovering over his cock head. “I have more control than most, but even I have my limits.”

His grip on your hips tightened, fingernails digging into soft flesh, as you lowered yourself onto him slowly, your gaze hazy and lovesick.  Your eyes rolled back, your lids closing, as you reached the base of his cock, taking every inch, his tip pressing deep into you.  It ached, your body still sore from earlier.  It blended with the burning pleasure as he stretched you, creating a sweet harmony of love and pain, pleasure and danger.  You rocked your hips slightly, then slid back up, only to come back down again with a slowness that even rivaled Barbatos’s patience.

“Then again…” he muttered as his eyes watched his cock disappear into you, “perhaps I made you wait too long.”

You moaned softly, your head nodding in hazy affirmation as you slid up and down his cock again. Barbatos’s hands began to move your hips, forcing you to rub your clit against him with each descent.  The pressure of his hands forced you to quicken your pace.

“Humans…” he continued teasingly as he watched your breasts start to bounce deliciously. “You always want everything now, now, now.”

Your eyes were closed in ecstasy, your head lolling back.  Your lips curled into a grin.  “Are you saying I’m spoiled?” you breathed.

He forced you down harder onto his cock and you moaned as your cunt tightened.  Fresh arousal coated his shining shaft, dripping slowly down his balls.

“Not yet, my sweet girl.  But you will be.”

Then Barbatos wrapped his arms around your waist and held you close against him as he snapped his hips up to meet yours, his cock slamming into you. You yelped and clung to him, your face buried into his neck. He did it again. And again. Each time, he pushed your hips down to meet his as he thrusted. Each time you cried out in high pitched whines as your breaths were knocked from your lungs. And each time, his cock grew harder and harder as he felt his own pleasure rapidly rising. Your body caught his fast rhythm, your thighs and your hips working yourself frantically on his cock as you rode him.  Your breasts were pressed against him, his teeth digging into your collarbone as you panted, your whines rising in pitch with each hit of your sensitive walls.  Your hands gripped the couch on either side of his head, your brows drawn together as you chased the release you so desperately craved.

Barbatos looked up at you, watched the curve of your neck, your jaw.  Watched every little way your muscles and tendons twitched and spasmed as the tension built within you.  His own pleasure was building swiftly, and he was determined to have you cum with him while he spilled himself inside your sensitive walls.  His thick tail wrapped around your waist, the tips of it dipping between your legs.  The tips were dexterous, wet and warm, and they tickled your clit, pressing against it, pinching, swiping.  With your eyes squeezed shut it nearly felt like being eaten out while being fucked.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck!” you cried.

He timed it perfectly, your orgasm cascading over you just as his crested, his load filling you as you rode him. He couldn’t suppress the grunts and groans that overtook him, couldn’t fight the way his strong hands forced you down onto him over and over again with brutal intensity as his tail tightened around you.  You cried his name, wrapped in moans of pleasure as the tears in your eyes finally spilled over, leaving wet tracks on your cheeks that dripped onto his shoulder.

He felt them, cold, wet drops landing on his hot skin.  He took your face in his hands and kissed you passionately as his tail kept you in place, helping your body to rut against him through the final stretch of your shared orgasm, his cock twitching the last drops into your cunt.

Finally, his tail relaxed around your waist, and you collapsed against him with your arms around his neck and your face buried into his shoulder.  Your entire body heaved as your lungs gasped for air. The elation pumping through your veins faded away to reveal the pain waiting beneath it in the form of burning thighs, fiery lungs, and a cunt that felt bruised and battered.

Barbatos’s hands gently caressed your back as he waited for you to recover. Once your breaths steadied and your heart no longer pounded loud enough for Barbatos to hear it, he spoke.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly.

There was a pause that worried him, and then you nodded your head against his shoulder.

But you didn’t speak yet, and so he continued.  “Was I too rough?”

Your response was quicker this time, your head shaking in denial.

He gave a soft, worried chuckle.  “Can you talk?”

You giggled softly and forced yourself to sit up just enough to look at him. Your face was shining with sweat, and your eyes looked tired.  “I’m okay, I promise,” you finally said.  Then you laid against him again, your body feeling like stretched out rubber.

He tightened his arms around your waist and kissed your shoulder.  “Do you feel satisfied yet?” he asked.

You laughed against him, even though the action made your ribs ache.  The richness of it warmed him, pushing his lingering worries back to the distant horizon of his mind. 

“Yes, very much so,” you replied.  “But I probably won’t be able to do that again tonight.”

Barbatos sat up slightly from his slouched position, and the action made you wince, his soft cock still nestled inside you.

He paused for a moment before making you sit up enough to look at him.

“You’re hurt,” he commented, his brow furrowed.

“I’m sore, there’s a difference,” you replied with a grin.  “Don’t worry, I promise I’m fine. I’m just... gonna move real slow for a while.”

“You will not move at all until you’re well again,” he replied firmly.

You put your forehead to his, a playful grin on your lips.  “Hmm, does that mean I get to stay in your bed while you dote on me?”

Barbatos smirked and he kissed you with a peck.  “Perhaps...”

“Then yes,” you replied. “I’m sore. So sore.  Suffering, even.  I don’t think I’ll be able to move for a week.”

“And what makes you think you’ll be able to recover so quickly if you’re in my bed?” he replied mischievously as his hands lightly squeezed your ass.

“Barbatos,” you scolded mockingly, “are you telling me that you would take advantage of me in my weakened state?  That’s not very gentlemanly of you.”

Barbatos chuckled.  “I’m a demon, not an angel,” he replied.  “I told you earlier even I have my limits.”  He kissed you softly.  “But... I promise to be gentle.”

You kissed him softly in return.  Then he wrapped his arms and tail around you, and this time you were prepared as he lifted you up again and carried you once more to the bathroom.

He was dutiful in his care, his touches gentle and patient.  And when you were both clean again, he picked you up in his arms again and carried you to his bed, a gesture you were quickly growing accustomed to.  He set you gently into the plush bedding and followed after you, pulling his thick, clean covers over the both of you.  As soon as your head hit his pillow, sleep claimed you, your eyes drifting shut as you drank in the warmth of his skin against yours. They would not open again until the morning.

And as you slept, Barbatos stared at you in the dying firelight of the late night.  His fingers absently danced along your arm, your hair, your back. And as he touched you gently, the time passed, seconds into minutes, and minutes into hours.  The embers turned to ash, the room pitched into blackness, and Barbatos still could not sleep, as he battled within himself.  Finally, in defeat, he allowed himself one confession, to be spoken barely at a whisper in a language your soul would feel but your brain would not understand. The lilting, singing words spoken on a divine, immortal tongue drifted past his lips, unable to be recalled or undone.

“I love you.”

[shakesqueers13]

So let’s talk about (homo)sexuality during Shakespeare’s time and in his plays… (with a Shakespearean student, me!)

This is a divisive topic and some scholars have very Bad Takes on it, in my (also a scholar) opinion, so let's talk about it both from an evidence-based perspective, and a queer perspective.

The most important thing to note is that we cannot actually know what Shakespeare or any other Elizabethan citizen really thought about homosexuality and queer love. A lot of scholars acknowledge that fact and then make statements like ‘but they just didn’t think of sexuality like that!!’ but our not-knowing goes both ways. As a gay person, I find the assertion that people during this time period just didn’t feel homosexual love super offensive and ignorant, but at the same time, I know what they mean. So with that in mind, let’s talk about the facts…

Homosexuality was a well known of and partially accepted practice during this time. When I say partially accepted, I mean it was about as acceptable as it would be today at a Christian school in the heart of Texas. People knew about it, they knew people participated in it, but they didn’t like it and believed it went against God. But they felt that way about a lot of things! So when they passed The Buggery Act of 1533 (around 30 years before Shakespeare was born) it wasn’t really enforced. This act prohibited anal sex among any gender, or sex with animals. This law did not refer to gay people; rather just any sex not for the purpose of procreation, or anything that was not consensual.

Now a lot of homosexual practice at this point was unfortunately based on misogyny. Men in society were viewed as dominant and interesting while women were viewed as submissive and annoying. This is an unfortunate fact, but in order to discuss Elizabethan homosexuality in any capacity, we have to accept it for what it is; a reality. Because men generally didn't like women, they often sought out the company of other men in a well-accepted practice simply referred to as Male Friendship.

In male friendships, men would basically hang out together, kiss, cuddle, sleep in bed together, and profess their love for one another. If they had sex with each other, it would be viewed as immoral and wrong, but not unusual or even really cause for alarm. As I said above, sodomy laws were not really enforced during this time. There was no Elizabethan word for being gay or homosexual, and it was not publicly considered an identity or something you could be, rather just something you did. Regardless, even if men participated in these relationships, they still would've been expected to get married to a woman. Since marriage between men wasn't legal, people in society generally didn't consider the fact that two men could love one another. (Lesbian love or sex between women would've been so unthinkable at this point, there really isn't any information on it at all, unfortunately). However, with this, remember that we cannot know what individuals thought about these topics. It's totally possible that men might've fallen in love and wished to be marry, or even have considered themselves to be married. We just don't have that information because it would've been a secret.

So, there are certain contexts when erotic relationships between men would've been acknowledged and even accepted in certain circles, including theatrical ones! So these are the ones we see in Shakespeare's plays. One such context is in a youthful sense; young men were seen as full of life and passion - it's totally possible that they would've fooled around with their other male friends, and it would've been frowned upon, but assumed that they would grow out of it. Another context is in the derogatory sense; it's possible that once men were grown, their youthful same-sex exploits would be used to tease them. And finally, it would've been used in a predatory or immoral way, to represent corruption. This one requires more explaining. It's very important to remember that Shakespeare's plays had to go through the church and church censors. King Lear was censored during King George's reign, for example, and it did happen semi-frequently. So he could not portray explicit queer love on the stage in a positive light. What he could do is portray it in a negative light, which he sometimes did.

Was Shakespeare homophobic? Well, homophobia didn't exist during his time. Everyone was homophobic. Everyone was distasteful of gay people, even other gay people. It's not the best metaphor, but think about it like this; if you smoke cigarettes in today's day and age, you aren't going to go around telling everyone how much you love cigarettes and how great they are, or trying to convince others to try them. You're going to be probably a bit embarrassed and self-deprecating; you know it's wrong and bad for you, but you do it anyway because it feels good. Get it?

Was Shakespeare gay? He was definitely queer. The sonnets he wrote to men prove that, as well as the characters in his plays. But this isn't a biographical post, so let's talk about some literature.

Let's apply what we've learned so far to Shakespeare!

I'll provide an example for each of the above cases in Shakespeare's works.

First, let's talk about youthful 'male friendship' and homoeroticism in Hamlet, cause I know it's everybody's favorite on here.

Hamlet and Horatio's relationship has been speculated on sooo much, I feel like a bit of an exhibitionist once again holding up a microscope to it, but oh well.

Hamlet is a young, troubled protagonist who definitely commits worse crimes that sodomy over the course of five acts. Hamlet is often portrayed on stage as being in his late 20's or 30's, but we can't forget that in the text, him and Horatio are students, they're young! Teenagers or early 20's. The two of them are certainly close (closer than Hamlet is to any other character), and their relationship is reminiscent of the type of male friendship I was describing above.

In their first meeting onstage, Hamlet greets Horatio first, despite multiple people coming on stage at once. Let's break these first five lines down a little bit:

"HAMLET  I am glad to see you well.

 Horatio—or I do forget myself!

HORATIO The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.

HAMLET Sir, my good friend. I’ll change that name with you. 170

And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?—"

(Hamlet, I.ii.165-170)

So, first off, Hamlet is glad to see Horatio, who he singles out from the group. He'll greet the others later, but first, he greets his good friend. Now, when Hamlet says, "or do I forget myself?" on a surface level, he's making sure he has Horatio's name right. Honestly, this is probably Shakespeare's way of introducing Horatio to the audience. A character needs a name - Horatio is introduced with the reference of his. But Hamlet's meaning has some wiggle room for interpretation - he doesn't say something to the effect of 'your name is Horatio right?" or even just, "or do I forget YOU." He says, "Do I forget myself."

(by the way, in Shakespeare studies, we never blame anything on the meter, meaning it isn't acceptable in a scholarly context to say "oh shakespeare just wrote it that way because 'my*self' is two syllables - Shakespeare is a better poet than that, absolutely nothing is without deeper meaning than just fitting the meter. This is proved by the amount of times that Shax breaks the meter to get a point across - he valued poetry above syllable count).

But I digress. Hamlet saying ' do I forget myself" carries a tremendous amount of weight. He's not being sincere in asking if he has Horatio's name right, he knows Horatio because Horatio is part of him. Just as he would not forget himself, he has not forgotten Horatio.

Now, to look at the next few lines, remember that Hamlet is a prince and Horatio is just Some Guy. During this time period, this would have been significant. Hamlet is choosing to be around Horatio - they aren't of the same class or wealth. So when Horatio refers to himself as Hamlet's "Poor servant ever," he's self-deprecating a little bit, but also addressing the elephant in the theater. Audiences at this time would question why Hamlet was hanging out with this random poor guy. Shakespeare explains with the next line.

"Sir, my good friend, I'll change that name with you." Okay. There's a lot to unpack here. "My good friend," is quite a statement to make. Friend didn't have quite the same implication back then that it does now - back then it would've meant more of 'a person who I am in proximity to and spend time with' than 'my buddy.' It didn't necessarily mean that people enjoyed each other's company. But Hamlet adds in the 'good,' which adds quite a bit of weight. He's using 'good' as a descriptor of Horatio's character here, not a description of the strength of their friendship. If anyone watches WWDITS, think of Lazlo saying, "My good lady wife, Nadja." Hamlet is saying he admires Horatio. He thinks Horatio is of good character, and therefore likes to spend time with him. AND THEN, Shakespeare just kicking me down the stairs and laughing as I fall, he hits us with the, "I'll change that name with you."

The name in question is "your poor servant ever," which means that Hamlet is basically saying, "I like you so much, you can be the prince and I'll be your servant." Which is a crazy thing for a prince to say! And there's really no reason for him to say it, unless him and Horatio were so intimately close that Hamlet truly meant it, which of course, he does.

So, if we're talking about male friendships that exceeds the typical bonds of normal acquaintance... I mean... need I explain further?

I will explain further.

Throughout the play, we see Ophelia as an acceptable love-interest for Hamlet. Even though they don't do very much romancing at all, but... that's okay. She's there, she 'proves' Hamlet's status as a heterosexual man, (and of course, she does much more than that. But for the sake of this analysis, we won't explore her character beyond this.) Despite Hamlet's affection for her, the person he confides to in the play is Horatio. This is unfortunately due to misogyny - women just really would not have been thought of as confidants and people who were able to give advice. But this doesn't invalidate the fact that Hamlet's usage of Horatio as a friend who is distinct from other friends, and who provides council like a partner would, does strongly imply a degree of homosexuality between them.

And of course, there's the blatant homosexuality in Hamlet's death scene, but we don't have time to unpack all of that! (It's been done many, many times, and I'm just providing an overview here.)

Now let's talk about the more derogatory usage of homosexuality using my favorite comedy, 'Much Ado about Nothing.'

In the first scene of the play, Beatrice discusses Benedict, who is coming home from war.

When she first mentions him, she says, "I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returned from the wars or no?" (I.i.30).

'Mountanto' is a fencing term literally meaning an 'upward thrust,' your scholarly annotations won't tell you this, but really what she's doing is referencing the amount of sex Benedict had out on the road during the war. What kind of sex? Gay sex. Let me say more.

Later in the scene we get this gem of an exchange:

"MESSENGER And a good soldier too, lady.

BEATRICE  And a good soldier to a lady, but what is he  to a lord?

MESSENGER  A lord to a lord, a man to a man, stuffed  with all honorable virtues.

BEATRICE  It is so indeed. He is no less than a stuffed  man, but for the stuffing—well, we are all mortal."

(Much Ado About Nothing, I.i.52-58)

Beatrice is making fun of Benedict; she doesn't like him, she's teasing him. First, she outwardly questions his relationships with men, acknowledging that he sleeps with a lot of women, but also suggesting that he sleeps with men. The messenger doesn't rise to her bait, he affirms Benedict's "honorable virtues" meaning that doesn't believe Benedict would've slept with men - he's too good. However, Beatrice plays off of his use of "stuffed" and elaborates that not only does Benedict have gay sex, but that's he's the one being penetrated during the gay sex, which would've been emasculating as men were assumed to be dominant. A stuffed man means she thinks he's a bottom. The layers of this gay sex joke have added years to my life. Absolutely hilarious.

Additionally, throughout the play, Benedict frequently mentions that he has no desire to marry a woman because he has no need. This is probably because he's content to fuck around with men for a while, and doesn't feel the need to marry a woman for sex. — He later marries a woman for love. Different story ;)

Finally, let's discuss the use of homosexuality as a form of corruption using my FAVORITE queer coded characters ever, Brutus and Cassius of Julius Caesar!

I just wrote an entire paper for school on how badly Brutus and Cassius want each other, so I have A Lot to say, but I'll restrain myself... deep breath...

The first conversation Brutus and Cassius have on stage is a seduction, literally. Cassius is seducing Brutus and pulling him away from Caesar, with compliments and promises. Brutus promises to consider Cassius's offer and walks away, but the next time we see them, things have Changed. Brutus says the following after him and Cassius talk to a third party (Casca):

"BRUTUS Tomorrow, if you please to speak with me,  I will come home to you; or, if you will,  Come home to me, and I will wait for you."

(Julius Caesar, I.ii.316-319).

I mean, what can I say about this beyond the obvious. They're going home to each other. Brutus's corruption directly corresponds with his physical descent into moral depravity (homosexuality).

And then, once Brutus leaves the sage, Cassius says this:

(Cassius, continued): For who so firm that cannot be seduced? Caesar doth bear me hard, but he loves Brutus.  If I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius,  He should not humor me."

(Julius Caesar, I.ii.324-327).

Cassius is a manipulator, we know that. He draws the "honorable" Brutus to betray his friend and commit an act of evil. All with the power of homosexuality :).

Once he succeeds in this, we get the infamous Tent Scene. Act 4, scene 3. Folks, I think about this scene every day. If you've read the book 'If We Were Villains,' that author does a fun job of explaining this scene, I like the way she calls it a lovers spat.

Brutus realizes that Cassius seduced him for the purpose of corrupting him, and is heart broken. Somebody PLEASE ask me to do a line-by-line breakdown of this scene, because nothing would make me happier. But for now, like I said, I'll restrain myself.

As Brutus and Cassius, fight, we get this exchange:

"BRUTUS  Peace, peace! You durst not so have tempted (Caesar). CASSIUS  I durst not? BRUTUS  No. CASSIUS  What? Durst not tempt him? BRUTUS  For your life you durst not. CASSIUS  Do not presume too much upon my love.  I may do that I shall be sorry for."

(Julius Caesar, IV.iii.66-73)

Brutus is betrayed, and feels that Cassius never would've (sexually) tempted Caesar the way he did to Brutus. Brutus feels like he got played. But Cassius, while threatening Brutus, takes time to reaffirm that he loves Brutus! His feelings are real; this is part of what unfortunately categorizes him as a villain. He is unflinchingly gay for Brutus.

Later in this same scene, we get another notable exchange:

"CASSIUS   I denied you not. BRUTUS  You did. CASSIUS I did not. He was but a fool that brought My answer back. Brutus hath rived my heart.  A friend should bear his friend’s infirmities,  But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. BRUTUS  I do not, till you practice them on me. CASSIUS  You love me not. BRUTUS  I do not like your faults."

(Julius Caesar, IV.iii.90-100)

Sigh. Okay, this is... this is maybe Shakespeare's most romantically gay scene ever. And this is what makes gay corruption in Shakespeare so awesome; under the guise of painting Cassius as more and more evil, Shakespeare can be pretty explicitly gay!!

"Rived" means broken in old English. With his withdrawal of love, Brutus as broken Cassius's heart. Again, as I said above, 'friend' meant something different back then. Here, Cassius is using it in the Male Friendship sense, much like Hamlet did. This section is just so romantic, it breaks my heart. The fact that just like Cassius did, Brutus takes time to remind Cassius that he still loves him (even though he dislikes Cassius's faults) is so sweet. I love this passage. I could talk abut it forever.

So there we go! Some background and some examples for you!!

Please comment with your thoughts, I would love to discuss.

Works consulted:

Primarily just years of studying Shakespeare, but more specifically:

Homosexual desire in Shakespeare's England : a cultural poetics : Smith, Bruce R., 1946- : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive

Much Ado About Nothing - Entire Play | Folger Shakespeare Library

https://www.folger.edu/explore/shakespeares-works/julius-caesar/read/

https://www.folger.edu/explore/shakespeares-works/hamlet/read/

[femmedefandom]

tried to re-read HOO series again and I’m hit in the face at how awful and forced all the new ships are. I feel like if Rick wanted us to get invested in the characters as individuals, we could have had more focus on their journeys without cluttering them down with rapid and poorly thought out romance.

the reason percabeth remains so appreciated to this day is that despite a few OOC scenes or frustrations readers may have, we can all read how Percy and Annabeth are a partnership who love, tease, and respect each other-their values and flaws mesh well to each of their benefit, set steadily against a tumultuous time and their own growing pains. below are the major complaints I have with the other ships and how quite possibly none of them should have been made canon. Not to mention a majority of the series takes place over like 3-4 weeks. (SON-BOO)

Jason x Piper: foundation is built on a lie so Jason feels an immediate obligation to Piper (and we know how seriously he treats his duties) and Piper feels shackled to a guy-due to some kind of time invested/sunk cost fallacy and his good looks-that doesn’t love her the way she wants or needs; if Rick wanted this to happen, they could’ve created a stronger bond as Jason and Piper over the books, not maybeboyfriend!Jason and maybegirlfriend!Piper. Idk, any romance with them felt super forced.

Frank x Hazel: oh my god NO, they are babies, infants in fact! two incredibly young and isolated loner/rejected feeling children who hung out together for some sense of companionship and comfort should not automatically be paired off just because they are both kind, available, attractive, and with deep seated sense of shame in their own being. No. I would have accepted hints towards a future romance maybe once they developed a bit more, acknowledged and made progress on themselves etc. Side note: screw you for the Leo x Hazel x Frank juvénile love triangle. I had to skim/skip those parts.

Leo x Calypso: well, aside from the fact that this just plays into Leo’s issues about needing a girlfriend as a symbol of success and recognition of his own worth…I never got the sense that either of them even LIKED each other. Calypso is always annoyed with Leo and berates him and Leo thinks she’s pretty. She wants an escape that Zeus didn’t give her (ignoring Percy’s requirement) and Leo wants to not be seen as a 7th wheel. But okay, for argument’s sake, let’s say they “love each other”. How do we know that she loves him of her own accord and not just because of the curse that forces her to love whoever lands on her shore? How do we know that Leo isn’t just riding the high of a beautiful woman “wanting him” and calling it love? I mean, a generous estimate says they knew each other like a week/month…and they weren’t chatting and braiding each others hair during that period.

Tyson x Ella: but why though??? There is literally no narrative need to put a romance here. Nothing changes in their dynamic if they were just friends and if we were calling Tyson a BABY in TLO, then I don’t think he’s grown up enough since for a relationship. Stupid and forced.

***Nico and Reyna are both going through no-good, very bad years and should not have to worry about unrequited love on top of it.

[transmutationisms]

ive noticed you’re one of the few people who still mentions covid and participates in analyzing ppl’s behavior around it like other social issues and ongoings, outside of a few disability/illness-focused blogs. my friends still mask but I get blank stares from them too when I mention covid. most people are uninformed that covid is still a threat but a fair number of people know covid is still around but still avoid talking about it. i thought maybe this is just how people deal with crisis, by ignoring it/making it a social taboo to mention it, but I’m in the US and when trump was in office everyone talked about trump and the threats (and perceived threats) under trump all the time. they still talk about the trump years. now I have …thoughts on how people talk about trump but not other presidents, but i just mean it as an example of people acknowledging something and not immediately forgetting about it. people do routinely ignore ongoings that don’t immediately effect them, like some groups of people ignoring police brutality for example, but covid does affect them or at the very least affected their life in 2020, no matter how briefly. and of course, many people are talking about current events/historical events or analyzing social phenomena all the time but never mention covid. do you know why that might be? because I feel like im in the twilight zone

i disagree that it never comes up at all; i think what you're picking up on is more that it has become, in many people's minds, so ordinary as to be mostly invisible in the same way as, like, the flu. generally people accept that these illnesses exist but they're seen to be inevitable and minor and thus mostly not worth talking about, save for a few bits of eg health journalism that emphasise individual actions (never political solutions) and maybe a convo about immunisations at a doctor's office for those who can access a doctor. now obviously i don't agree that covid and the flu belong in the same category of seriousness, epidemiologically, but narrativising infectious diseases has always been sociologically much more complex than just accumulating Correct Facts based on Observing The Illness. people will give you even blanker looks if you mention that hiv/aids is ongoing, yet here it is still. our perceptions of public health events (of any events really) are formed in complex ways and it's not a new issue to see that the consensus narrative (esp in an imperialist country pumping out back-to-work propaganda about chronic illness in general and covid complications specifically) doesn't match up with what data we can collect. im sorry if that sounds bleak but i do think 'public opinion' in this case and in general is more an effect of capitalist policymaking than an independent entity formed by each rational individual entity like, carefully evaluting the evidence and coming to an independent conclusion or whatever

[thowawayuntilfurthernotice]

You know for the longest time I couldn't quite put my finger on why I was so upset about the way HH decided to write Adam but the finale hit me like a Heaven sent revelation

Adam getting killed this anticlimactically is the best way the show found to sweep under the rug the fact Lucifer is pretty much the guy who fucked him over since Day One

Lucifer is literally the OTHER MAN Lilith cheated on him with while they were still married (It's the Stella situation all over again wtf)

Lucifer is literally behind the whole Apple incident which nearly cost him his SECOND WIFE after Lucifer already took his FIRST

Lucifer is literally what led many of his children to end up in Hell as SINNERS to potentially be used by Lucifer and Lilith for any possible UPRISING

Adam being such a jerk is the best way Viv found to make you forget about all of those things above (which are part of the show's lore) that could be boiled down to Adam being the first man who fell victim to the Devil, the very first Lucifer wronged on more than one occasion and irreparably so

Adam's death was so anticlimactic not just because Lucifer, his nemesis with all things considered, wasn't the one who dealt the finishing blow :

There was nothing satisfying or interesting about their fight/clash because the show to the very end refuses to acknowledge Lucifer as being the culprit of any wrong

I didn't mind Adam's death, in fact I found it quite fitting.

He's an annoying man child with a massive god complex, having Charlie or Lucifer kill him would have been out of character for those two because it's been established that they aren't violent individuals.

Plus it gave Niffty something to do, so she just wasn't there for the sake of being there.

As for all the lore stuff, Viv doesn't give a shit about her own lore, so I'm not gonna bother trying to make any sense of it.

I've learned to accept that this show is gonna keep contradicting itself with each new episode because Viv isn't that good at world building.

[drnikolatesla]

Happy π Day!!!

By J.J.J.

While experimenting in Colorado Springs in 1899, Nikola Tesla discovered that the earth as a whole had certain periods of vibrations, and by using his large oscillator, he could impress electrical vibrations at the same periods upon it creating more energy within the earth. This process is referred to as constructive interference (the interference of two or more waves of equal frequency and phase, resulting in their mutual reinforcement and producing a single amplitude equal to the sum of the amplitudes of the individual waves). By doing this repeatedly using massive amounts of energy previously unheard of, Tesla was able to transmit energy from his transmitter around earth and back to his receiver traveling at a mean velocity of 292,815 miles per second (over 100,000 miles per second faster than the speed of light). This velocity can be confirmed in his patent No. 787,412, filed May 16, 1900, titled "Art of Transmitting Electrical Energy Through the Natural Mediums." Many electrical experimenters have proven this velocity, including Jonathan Zenneck and Arnold Sommerfeld. The mathematical equation to this speed was developed by English scientist and inventor Charles Wheatstone, who experimented and calculated that the velocity of electrostatic induction through a wire was v=π/2( c ). If we compare Wheatstone's equation with Tesla's measurements, it looks like this:

v = average velocity of Tesla’s electrical current round earth (miles per second)

(You can plug in any metric and get the same results)

c = speed of light (miles per second)

v = π / 2 (186,300)

v = 1.57 (186,300)

v = 292,491

I know most may question the ability to transmit anything faster than the speed of light; however, the speed of light is a constant, not a limit. The velocity of light is an expression of the ratio of energy to mass; Tesla’s waves functioned on different dimensions. The electromagnetic waves we use in today’s technology travel at the speed of light, but due to the nature of these waves, they diminish with distance. This phenomenon is because the electromagnetic lines of force and the magnetic lines of force intercept at right angles to one other, causing resistance (radiation resistance). This is also why the waves eventually lose energy. Tesla, on the other hand, used an oscillating wave (or a longitudinal wave), in which the electromagnetic and magnetic lines of force run parallel with each other (hence there is no friction or loss of energy). As a result, the more power he used, the faster and further these waves could travel.

“What will be achieved by waves which do not diminish with distance, baffles comprehension.“ –Nikola Tesla

Einstein’s Theory of Relativity indicating that "nothing can travel faster than light" is now generally accepted as scientific fact and currently taught in most academic books. However, Tesla’s work challenging this theory certainly warrants further study into this area. First, Tesla’s experiments were far more in-depth than his colleagues’ work, as well as utilizing more advanced equipment to conduct the experiments themselves. Secondly, he provided solid and sufficient empirical evidence concretely refuting Einstein’s theory. Based on this, Tesla’s groundbreaking work should, at a minimum, be acknowledged in today’s world and certainly further explored.

[gatheringbones]

[“But we do think white people in America tend to suffer an anxiety (and many have written of this): they know that they are white but they must not know what they know. They know that they are white, but they cannot know that such a thing has social meaning; they know that they are white, but they must not know that their whiteness accrues power. They must not call it whiteness for to do so would be to acknowledge its force. They must instead feel themselves to be individuals upon whom nothing has acted. That’s the injury, that their whiteness has veiled from them their own power to wound, has cut down their sympathy to a smaller size, has persuaded them that their imagination is uninflected, uninfiltrated. It has made them unknowing. Which is one reason why white people take recourse to innocence: I did not mean to do any harm. Or: I wanted to imagine you—isn’t that good of me, haven’t others said that was good for me to try? Or: If I cared about politics, I would write a manifesto—what I’m trying to do is make art. Or: I have a right to imagine whatever I want, and it traduces or dirties art to limit the imagination. Or: I don’t see color. Or: we’re all human beings.

Part of the mistake the white writer makes is that she confounds the invitation to witness her inevitable racial subjectivity with a stigmatizing charge of racism that must be rebutted at all costs. The white writer, in the moment of crisis, typically cannot tell the difference. What a white person could know instead is this: her whiteness limits her imagination—not her reader’s after the fact. A deep awareness of this knowledge could indeed expand the limits—not transcend them, but expand them, make more room for the imagination. A good thing.

For one source of creativity lies in the fact that each individual is essentially strange. There is a deep strangeness, an alterity, in the individual human mind, a portion of ourselves that we never fully comprehend—and this is what writing taps, or is at least one of writing’s sources, one of its engines. This might explain the enigma of writing for so many of us, that the writing so often seems to know more than we do, that we are ‘behind’ the writing (“behind it” in that we make it, but also “behind it” in the sense that we can’t catch up with what it knows and reveals, that it is out ahead of us driven by energies in our possession but not entirely in our deliberate control). This essential strangeness, this unknowability, is a creative resource, perhaps the creative resource, the wellspring of art that shows us things we did not know but that are somehow inevitable and true—true to a reality or a knowledge we don’t yet possess, yet find in the moment of encounter possible, something we accept the fundamental being of even if its nature shocks or startles or repulses or unsettles us (Barthelme’s strange object covered in fur can only break your heart if you have accepted, in the instant of encounter, its essential being, even if you have not yet comprehended its strangeness, its otherness).

But while it might be mystifying how creative impulses and decisions emerge from somewhere within, that doesn’t mean we must make a fetish of that mysteriousness. For that unknowable portion of the human mind is also a domain of culture—a place crossed up by culture and history, where the conditions into which we were born have had their effect. Part of what is unknowable within us, at least until we investigate it, is the structuring of our very feelings and thoughts by what preceded us and is not our “own,” yet conditions our experience nonetheless. So the location of a writer’s strangeness is also the seat of history. A writer’s imagination is also the place where a racial imaginary—conceived before she came into being yet deeply lodged in her own mind—takes up its residence. And the disentangling and harnessing of these things is the writer’s endless and unfinishable but not fruitless task. Another way of saying this: the writer’s essential strangeness is her greatest resource, yet she must also be in skeptical tension with her own inclinations. Because those inclinations are in part an inheritance from a racial imaginary that both is and is not hers.”]

[disabledunitypunk]

Earlier I saw a post where someone was talking about how physical disabilities are so much worse than being neurodivergent. After listing some experiences which are pretty similar to mine and my brother's (we are both neurodivergent, I'm slightly physically disabled but it's not that bad), they mentioned how some neurodivergent people don't even consider themselves disabled, while all physically disabled people are.

Maybe there's a reason some neurodivergent folk don't consider themselves disabled? Maybe it's because we're constantly being told by both camps of people that our problems aren't real. They're superpowers, even. Being constantly force fed that narrative certainly led me to say for a long time that although my ADHD is pretty disabling, I'm not disabled. I suppose the fact that some neurodivergent people don't call themselves disabled does say something, but maybe not what that person was originally trying to say.

Physical disabilities are definitely not always worse than neurodivergences. Without even going into specifics, assuming that all neurodivergent people are low/no support needs is a narrow point of view that ignores high support needs neurodivergent people. We are personally less disabled than a high support person who only* has neurodivergences even though we are multiply physically and mentally disabled.

Also some people with physical disability conditions don't consider themselves to be disabled as well. Mild colorblindness, synesthesia, vision issues, and eczema are all physical disability conditions that we have or people we know have that are often not considered disabilities.

We are strong believers that anyone who is disabled by their condition(s) no matter the condition, should be able to identify as disabled. More people should embrace being disabled because it is not a bad word and acceptance can help an individual identify ways that their life could be improved if they didn't view their life through an abled point of view. In that same line of thought, no one should be forced to identify as disabled no matter their condition and no one should be dissuaded from acknowledging that they are disabled.

We definitely agree that many neurodivergent folks are dissuaded from identifying as disabled. On certain social medias, neurodivergencies are more often pushed as just "quirky" or "differently abled".

We also see people doing this to many physical disabilities.

We honestly think that trying to determine if physical disabilities and neurodivergencies in general are better or worse than the other is cruel. There's no way to measure suffering. Even between people with the exact same condition experiences differ so much.

On an individual level it is possible to say "I suffer less than this other person because of X and Y" but as a whole physical disabilities and neurodivergences are so diverse and it is impossible to weigh out the sum total suffering of each.

We haven't even touched talking about people with both physical disabilities and neurodivergences. We personally know people who struggle more with their neurodivergences than their physical disabilities and people who struggle more with their physical disabilities. Having both can also interact in so many ways.

TLDR: There are people with physical disabilities and neurodivergencies alike who do not identify as disabled. This says nothing about whether or not physical disabilities are "worse".

-Mod Cloud

*high support needs folks often have comorbid physical conditions but it is possible to be high support needs without physical disability

[nerdygaymormon]

On the latest episode of Richard Ostler's podcast was a gay man who had electroshock therapy done to him. I was wondering if you experienced that?

I never experienced electroshock therapy, for that I am truly thankful.

My dad has told me one of his great regrets is not putting me into conversion therapy, which likely would've been through LDS Social Services, which could've meant that electroshock therapy would be involved.

Unfortunately, in 2019 I went to a camp run by an LDS man who claims to be an "expert" at turning gay men straight. It was a rough experience. I didn't know it at the time, but the "expert" has no formal psychological education nor any professional qualification as a psychologist. In fact, he's been found guilty of fraud in a court of law for claiming to change gay men to being straight, but unable to produce any clients who successfully made this change.

————————————————————

For those who aren't familiar, the idea of electroshock therapy is that a person can change their sexual orientation by looking at erotic photos of their same gender while receiving an electrical shock. It's a form of aversion therapy. BYU also used vomiting aversion therapy.

This aversion therapy is supposed to create a connection in their mind between homosexual thoughts, feelings, & images, with pain, which would cause them to reject those feelings. Usually this therapy was paired with attempts to link pleasure with heterosexuality by having them masturbate while looking at pornographic images & videos of the opposite gender.

Another important fact to remember is that the American Psychiatric Association (APA) removed homosexuality from the DSM in 1973. Meaning that therapists in the United States who continued to treat homosexuality as if it were a pathology or disorder were outside of the accepted standards of their profession.

It’s unclear how many BYU students underwent electroshock or vomiting aversion therapies. The records for each individual were destroyed when they left the university. For many years BYU denied it happened, but in 2011 admitted that aversion therapy programs happened on campus, and not just limited to BYU students, but also gay members referred by bishops & stake presidents in the area.

While aversion therapies at BYU or by LDS Social Services (now called Family Services) stopped in the mid-1990s, conversion or reparative therapy to change a person's sexual orientation continued until probably 2018.

————————————————————

Here is a history of conversion therapy in the LDS church:

The word 'homosexual' was coined in 1868 to replace the pejorative terms sodomy and pederast. This is important because it acknowledged that this is how a person experiences sexual attraction, it is an innate part of who they are.

Sigmund Freud, the founder of psychoanalysis, viewed homosexuality as a form of arrested development. Later psychiatric models continued to identify homosexuality as a problem that could be treated.

The 1952 first edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorder (DSM) classified homosexuality as a sociopathic personality disorder. The DSM is used in the United States to diagnose and treat mental disorders and is considered one of the principal guides of psychiatry.

In 1959, LDS Church president David O. McKay appointed the apostles Spencer W. Kimball and Mark E. Peterson to focus on 'curing' gay members. It doesn't seem a coincidence that later that year, BYU began its on-campus electroshock aversion therapy program, and this lasted into the mid-1990s.

In 1973, the APA removed homosexuality from the DSM. This didn't change the LDS Church position on homosexuality, in fact, it seems to have caused it to double down as it realized it could no longer count on the world to sustain church teachings and values on the matter.

In 1976, the Values Institute was founded at BYU with the idea that truth comes from the scriptures and prophets, not secular data. The Institute was to do academic and scientific research to support the church's homophobic teachings. The Values Institute closed in 1985, having been unable to achieve any of its objectives.

Allen Bergin was director of the Values Institute, and after it was closed he continued to oppose LGBT rights and saying that LGBT people could change their sexual orientation. His opinion carried a lot of weight inside the LDS Church and he even served in the Sunday School General Presidency. However, in 2020 he issued a public apology for “being part of a professional, religious, and public culture that marginalized, pathologized, and excluded LGBT persons.” What caused him to change his opinion? Getting to personally know and love gay people. Bergin wrote that as a father of two gay sons and grandfather to a gay grandson, “I’ve been given a personal education that has been painful and enlightening.”

Since the early 1990s, researchers have found that homosexuality has a genetic component, that there are differences in the brain structures of adult straight and gay people, and there exists a large array of homosexual behavior in animals. The academic and scientific consensus was a challenge to the long-held LDS positions.

In 1995, the First Presidency letter in the Ensign magazine affirmed that a homosexual orientation is not inborn as that would frustrate God's plan and top leaders continued to put forth ideas on what causes a person "confusion" over their gender identity or gender roles into the 2000s (they didn't distinguish between gender identity and sexual orientation).

In 2007, the APA did a thorough review of existing research of conversion therapy and found that it does not work and there is evidence that such therapy is harmful to LGBTQ+ people. Further research links conversion therapy to depression, suicidality, anxiety, social isolation and decreased capacity for intimacy, surely those aren't the results anyone wants for their loved ones.

In 2016, the church website MormonAndGay declared that conversion therapy or sexual orientation change efforts are unethical.

In 2019, LDS Family Services announced they do not provide 'reparative therapy' or 'sexual orientation change efforts' any more

[anti-psych-pro-endo]

Hello- oh gods it won't let us send with our normal blog lol I'm so sorry. um, we saw your post and it was really good! we're a budding antipsychiatry-aligned system, but we want to become a psychologist one day. You called all the research into endogenic systems "psychiatry" - could I please ask what you're using to define the two types of research (psychology & psychiatry? from each other? We certainly wouldn't want to be lookes at as a cop. Thank you so much!

Stars here, I'm taking this one. I'm gonna be clear that I don't actually have a truly clear answer.

To start: the way metafarers defines the two might be different. I know that psychiatry is typically defined as involving medication as well as general "mental health", while psychology is more typically only things like therapy and other non-medicinal approaches to "mental health". In my opinion, however, anti-psych covers both, because both are used to harm neurodivergent people. Medication is both coercively prescribed under threat of institutionalization and withheld, and patients are not educated on the full scope of how the medication can both help and harm their bodyminds. Therapy is used to force neuroconformity - from well-known harmful examples such as ABA therapy, to lesser acknowledged examples such as CBT being used to condition patients into exhibiting "socially acceptable" thought and behavior patterns at the expense of their mental health; typically also blaming and punishing the patient when they fall short of the intended goals due to their own symptoms.

I have personal experience with all of the above, and worse. I don't talk much about what I experienced while in inpatient treatment, and I was on the middling/easy end of what I experienced. What's more, a lot of what I did experience is considered reasonable and even good by a lot of people, still.

So basically, I think psychology and psychiatry are not meaningfully different for the purposes of anti-psych ideals and activism. Rather, if there was a related discipline I'd separate out, it would be neurology. Neurology, unlike psych disciplines, is rooted in the actual material composition and activity of the brain and nervous system; while psych disciplines are simply essentially sociology at the level of the individual - attempts at categorizing behavior and thought patterns, of self-reported subjective and emotional experiences being sorted and labeled. This is not to say that softer sciences are never valuable - just that I believe they have a much higher vulnerability to bias and bad methodology, though neurology is definitely nowhere near immune. I sometimes call psych disciplines "astrology to neurology's astronomy" as a comparison, but I also say that, given that we understand so little about the brain still, that we are in "the four humors stage of our understanding of neurology".

With that all said, here are my thoughts on working in a client/patient-facing position in a psych field:

I think the closest answer is that the comparison to cops is because of the power over vulnerable people and participation in a system that requires people to do harm that being a psychologist entails.

Now, I've met client-facing professionals who work within the system and focus on harm reduction, but they are still bound by actual "ethics" standards of their profession and even laws, to do things like incarcerate people who have expressed a certain level of intent behind things like suicidal ideation. That's without even taking into consideration the fact that the system itself teaches and pressures the people who exist to uphold it to prioritize their own feelings of what is "safe", "healthy", and "right" for the patient over said patient's. These opinions are often heavily wrapped up in neuroconformity and neuronormativity, as well as healthism.

I don't honestly have a straight answer for this. I don't think it's an exact one to one comparison to cops, but I think going into it with the intent of harm reduction requires acknowledging that you may be forced into either doing significant harm or walking away - as well as constant self-examination and analysis of the principles of psychiatry/psychology themselves.

It would definitely require significant study of the history of the disciplines as they pertain to the oppression of neurodivergent and mad people, as well as of other marginalized groups such as other disabled people, women, and people of color. A foundation of knowledge about mad liberation, disability justice, and the way that primarily individuals without the neuropsychological variations they studied, categorized, and labeled, would also be crucial. Understanding that psych is built from the ground up on an outside perspective of non-normative psychological experiences, with all the bias and bigotry wrapped up in that, is essential.

Is it worth it, then, to pursue a career in the field? How can you weigh the harm you're able to prevent against that which you will likely do? What work do you have to put in to understand the harm of decisions typically valorized by society when psych professionals make them?

I can't answer those questions for you. I know we ourselves have been interested in studying neurology with both physical and psychiatric elements - particularly the body-mind connection and the effects of trauma on chronic physical illness. I mean, I actually previously wanted to go into psychiatry myself, which came out of a desire to help people. It was only after unpacking a lot of harmful ideas that I had absorbed about this system while in it, that I came to realize that I could not actually do so in a way that aligned with our personal values.

I do know that non-client-facing jobs, such as in research, are at least one level abstracted from the most direct harms of the system, and may be a better option to mitigate harm. In a position like that, it would be possible to push more for widespread understanding of neurodivergence as it is experienced internally, rather than how it is perceived externally, for example. Of course, bias (including coming as much from personal experiences with neurodivergence as lack of it) and similar would still be an issue, but simply approaching the subject from a theoretical level first and material second means that there's more that can be done to catch and mitigate potential harm.

Even there, a psych professional still has systemic power over all neurodivergent people, but it's far less "I can throw you in a modern-day asylum if I deem you not sane enough for just about any reason, and pretend that this extreme violation of your autonomy is 'harm prevention'," and more "I am shaping our understanding of your/our brains in ways that could potentially either be helpful or harmful".

None of this is a condemnation of your desire in any way. While we don't find the labels of "good people" and "bad people" to be in any way helpful or accurate, we do recognize that others may find it reassuring to be told that this doesn't make you bad people. We prefer to focus on harm vs harm reduction (including how attempts to eliminate harm often actively cause more harm).

And where we're at is that we don't feel that, at least a career in client-facing psych fields, can be one in which someone doesn't do any harm. We don't know if attempts at harm reduction in the field can be valuable enough to offset the harm done, particularly when the system is actively hostile to attempts to upset the current power structures and dynamics of oppression and marginalization. Quite frankly, it's super massively uncomfortable to not have a clear cut answer, and we worry sometimes that we aren't radically anti-psych enough if we don't openly condemn any participation in the system. That's wrapped up in so much personal mental health and cultural shit that we couldn't BEGIN to unpack that here.

The only clear conclusion we could come to is that we cannot participate in the system in that way without doing harm that is unacceptable to us, even if against our will; and then we went from there.

-Stars

[yanderefairyangel]

"Les yeux sont la fenêtre de l'âme"

So, regarding the last chapter.

We know that Vampires have one regular eye color and that when they are thirsty for blood or attack their eyes turn red right ?

Regarding the Dhamps now.

Johan as purplish/blue eyes

Riche are turquoise

Dante are brown

However, the chapter revealed that like Vampires, their eyes can glow of a special color : golden

Now, according to Nox and Manet, their eyes turning gloden is something they cannot control, which I think is why Riche and Johan wears glasses. In order to hide their eyes.

However, Dante doesn't wear glasses. Was it always the case though ?

Right. It wasn't.

You can also see that his mother wears a veil hiding her face. Who else his identity and is linked to the Dhampir ?

Somehow all of the people closely or not related to Dhampir hides their faces or their eyes...

except Dante.

Unlike them, Dante is revealing his actual nature to the face of the world. If eyes are indicating of one's soul, while the other Dhampirs are hiding it, Dante is showing them regardless of the risk of being exposed.

How does Dante react to Noé pointing out how no one wants to acknowldege the Dhamps as invidividual ?

However, the same Dante has a complete different reaction when Vanitas told him straight up that he hates everyone equally.

His relationship with Vanitas is actually a relationship where both will call each other "Quack" or "Baldie" and act as though they don't get along but in reality they are pretty complicit

Now, does Dante have that with Noé ? No. While Noé does point out the problem, he seems to be not noticing what it means that they refuse to call them by their name. Domi realized it. Noé ? He did not. Hence Dante's reaction.

Dante is the only one not wearing glasses because unlike Riche and Johan who "accepted" that they had to reject their identity to survive, he refuses. He doesn't want to hide who he is because he is born that way and cannot help it.

Vanitas reaction was explicit enough : he hates everyone equally having seen the worst aspect of both side, therefore he will treat him equally which is the bare minimun that Dante could ever hope, even if it comes to a feeling such as hatred to which he is used to.

What he isn't used to however, it's someone openly taking his defense, for him or the other dhamps and Noé's reaction creates an ambiguity hence why Dante ask him : is it on purpose ? Or is he just showing the extent of his naivete and ignorance ?

Dante stand out as being the only Dhamps not wearing glasses and exposing his identity to the world. What people try to hide by wearing glasses, a veil, a mask, he wants to expose it, a truth people are willing to ignore, to pretend not to see. They say indifference is worse then hatred. Well, in the Dhamps case, worse then hatred, they are being robbed off their identity. Hence he doesn't try to hide unlike when he was young, he gave up on the glasses. As a way to affirm that he, as a Dhamps, exist. That unlike what society does to him and others, he doesn't want to give them the satisifaction of feeling ashamed by his birth by trying to hide it as a mean to survive. He wants to be acknowledged.

So his relationship with Vanitas is in reality the one and only time he can feel that.

Noé however, openly points out how the refusal to name the Dhamps by their name is a refusal to see them as whom they are before they are Dhamps. That's the thing though.

Dante exposing himself as a Dhamps means that he wants to be seen as that. It's not going beyond the fact he is a Dhamp like Noé may do. It's the fact that he is both an individual with a name and dhamp.

While it's as discriminatory from Nox and Manet to refuse to call them by their name, reducing them as a group labeled with negative conotation, not acknowledging that they are Dhamps is going back to wearing glasses to hide the "ugly" truth that vampires ignores.

It's also worth poiting out that Noé says "Dante and the others" thus poiting at Dante in particular and that out of Johan and Riche, he always acted as the most hard boiled of the lot. So the fact that he in particular feels calls out by Noé's remark is clearly highlighted.

VNC as this theme of "name = true self" right ? On one side, refusing to call the Dhamps by their name is robbing them off their identity, but saying thigs such as "going beyond the fact that they are dhamps" is just as alienating for them. That is the kind of sentence you say about someone who committed a crime or a mistake and is making up for that or made a choice of life you disapprouve of, not people who are literaly born. The Dhamps cannot change that and they are stigmatized for that, being half-breed.

So the idea that Noé might be saying that lightly and not realizing the full extent of the situation would obviously upset Dante, as someone who doesn't want to be denied as who he is, a dhampir.

[kiragecko]

What I REALLY love about Across the Spiderverse is how directly it is aimed at 12-16 year olds, and how it deliberately chooses parents of 12-16 year olds as its secondary demographic.

This movie is designed to be watched with your parents/kids. And it's designed to be slightly uncomfortable for the parents. Which is AMAZING.

(Spoilers below.)

I'm in that secondary demographic. Watching every parent onscreen spend the entire time lost? That was real. And the point where Rio reverses the grounding? And then later when she talks to her husband about it?? You're not supposed to do that! It IS the right thing to do in this situation! What a mess! Her husband has every right to be upset with her - he trusted her to support his decisions and help Miles accept it. Joint parenting relies on that trust. Huge amounts of damage can result from parents offering conflicting consequences! And yet, being able to recognize when love and acceptance is more important - when protecting them is less important than letting your kid be stupid so that they can come back to you after, knowing that they're loved - that's invaluable.

The movie also doesn't say that grounding is evil and a sign that your parents don't care about you! Miles seems to recognize that the grounding is, in fact, fair. He thinks his other priorities are more important than respecting his parents' boundaries, but he doesn't resent his parents for having those boundaries.

If you watch carefully, you'll see that Mile's parents never argue with each other about their decisions in front of him. Instead, their expressions of anxiety that they're messing up are always overheard by Miles or Gwen. 13 year olds don't benefit from their parents burdening them with all their baggage. But 13 year olds DO benefit from recognizing that their parents are trying and there isn't a manual. I'm so glad this movie showed that. (Apologizing for mistakes and acknowledging you mess up is good. Telling them you don't know what you're doing? Usually stressful instead of helpful.)

Capt. Stacy does directly apologize to Gwen and talk about how lost he is. Gwen is being written slightly older than Miles, and that is appropriate behaviour with older teens. Prepares them for adult relationships. A 17 year old isn't as reliant on a parent for survival, which means that their parents being human isn't as scary. (These are generalizations. Individual teens will vary WILDLY.)

We also see Miguel, Peter, and Jess as parents, soon-to-be parents, and/or mentors. I wish we'd been allowed to see a bit more, but Peter also spends all his time on screen unsure about what he's doing, and Jess and Miguel seem to lose people they care about because they aren't able to show that flexibility. (We'll see what happens with Jess and Gwen next movie. And hopefully we'll see more about what happened to Miguel.)

None of the situations shown are good for the parents' pride. None of them leave the parents in the audience excited for THEIR chance to make those decisions. None of them provide the easy answer of 'this kid is making the right choice, so your decision is obvious.' Miles is limiting his future educational opportunities! Something he cares about greatly! Gwen is getting into situations where she MIGHT BE MURDERING PEOPLE! Capt. Stacy has been watching her fall apart for quite a while, and now he knows why. Of course he doesn't want her to be Spider-woman!

The message for parents throughout the movie is 'teenagers need to be able to make choices for themselves, even if they might be are bad choices. You need to transition to providing advice and support, rather than the boundaries they needed when they were younger.' It's a hard but good message, and I appreciated it a lot.

[funkybotwstuff]

good evening i'm not sure if y'all are still active but if you are could i please request platonic botw hcs (i don't recall you specifying whether you do platonic or not- i'm sorry if you don't, that's my bad) for a reader who's the youngest champion and has an intense competition against revali? all the champions know about it and they try and stop him from being too hard on the reader but he never listens

thank u <3

Oh my goodness, platonic hcs requests are very much appreciated! They're super fun to write, and this request was especially fun to jot down. Sorry for the wait again but thank you for the request!

After training your arse off to be as skilled as you can, you were chosen by the one and only Princess Zelda to become a Champion! And the youngest one at that, congrats! 

You owe it to everyone and everything: your mentors, family, friends, and a whole lot of grueling training and luck to top it off. 

Everyone's celebrating and the other chosen Champions are congratulating you on your feat! They're all amazingly proud of your accomplishments and warmly welcome you to the elite team chosen to fend off Calamity Ganon

One problem: there's another young Champion vying for that sweet spot of ultimate recognition, and he's not backing down that easy 

Revali, being the overtly competitive and sardonic individual that he is, isn't going to appreciate you stealing another spotlight from him 

I mean, first Link shows up seemingly out of nowhere and was assigned to take Ganon down...now this other younger teen Champion is the fresh talk of the town and barely anyone bothers to acknowledge Revali's impressive feats 

You can't be that good, right? At least, that's what Revali believes when he first catches wind of your acceptance 

Someone with not nearly as much life experience as everyone else couldn't possibly be a Champion, he thinks, even with excruciating training and dedication, reaching the level of a Champion takes a specific skill (let's not forget their abilities here)

Though (sadly for him), you do in fact have a seemingly supernatural ability. Like him, you've worked hard to be able to harness this skill

It irks the ever-loving hell out of him and you quickly catch onto his disdain of your presence 

You can't be in the same room together let alone fight alongside each other without intense amounts of competitive, resentful energy radiating from him and yourself  

It started out petty things: you'll stick your tongue out at him, he'll purposely stand right in front of you while walking, you'll speak before he gets a chance, he'll compare his skills to yours…it's never ending 

Of course, this can't be kept secret for long; your colleagues are for sure going to notice. And since Revali is the oldest out of you two, the other Champions try giving him a pep talk to "lay off on the kid" since your rivalry could turn for the worse and ruin a potential mission 

But in his mind, a Champion is a Champion, right? And being the bigger person in a moral stance isn't exactly his strong suit 

"If this child is to be worthy enough to stand among Hyrule's leading force in a conflict of this magnitude, a challenge of authority should hardly be an issue."

No one could persuade him to quit it and that simply fuelled your dislike, no, hatred of him more. Mipha tried reason, Daruk attempted group bonding exercises and Urbosa thought brute verbal force would work… But it’s Revali we’re talking about. He changes on his own accord

In short, nothing's getting resolved anytime soon :/ It eventually escalated to both of you purposefully throwing yourselves in perilous situations just to prove one was better over the other. It was quickly becoming a conundrum when you basically challenged each other to a fight to the death

“Fight to the death” may be pushing it, but putting yourselves at risk of injury for just some rivalry? It became concerning rather than amusing for your friends-in-arms to stand another day of bickering and death stares seeing how it could turn to outright antagonism

Even Daruk is starting to get worried, and he's the more light-hearted one of the group!

To remedy this, Zelda purposely pairs the two of you together for a small mission in hopes you put aside your differences to complete a goal. The other Champions disagreed at first (fearing Revali and you would tear each other apart limb from limb), but trusted her instincts

You both vehemently protested this mission, but went along anyway. The journey there was quiet for the most part with the two of you silently stewing over the decision to go. However, you picked up on the fact that she's trying to make you get along and both thought isn't that ridiculous?? 

As you're walking towards the location of your mission, you converse about the others attempting to stop your rivalry in a somewhat casual manner 

"Pfft, it's funny how hard they're trying. Like, are they really that desperate?"

"They must be. To think that we alone seem to be enough trouble for even the Princess to intervene… Perhaps you’re right, it’s nearly comical." This is absolutely an understatement on his end by the way; nearly killing each other should constitute more than ‘enough trouble’. 

“Right? I didn’t think we’d strike that much of a nerve!”

After a bit of back and forth banter, you both return to the others…still bickering. Although, it’s not the usual mean-spirited quarrel everyone’s used to! The bad blood began thinning out bit by bit, with the healthy rival challenge every now and then

Now each passing day you’re on missions and such, it morphs into a type of older brother situation on Revali’s end: still an asshole to you, but a genuine guy to fight alongside

There’s still the odd, legitimate squabble here and there, but mainly just about counting monster kills (Legolas and Gimli style)

[sionwritingco19]

building a routine that works for you. mental health + daily practices.

life with a mental illness can feel like navigating a stormy sea in a paper boat. the waves crash, the wind howls, and sometimes, just staying afloat feels like a victory. in the midst of this chaos, establishing a routine can be a lifeline, a steady beacon guiding you through the roughest waters.

notebook to start planning<3

but here's the thing: a "one-size-fits-all" routine for mental health doesn't exist. what works wonders for your friend with anxiety might leave you feeling overwhelmed. the key is to build a rhythm that resonates with you, that complements your unique needs, condition, diagnosis and quirks.

so, i got rid of the time slot schedules and embraced the art of mindful routine building.

i started creating and building routines ensuring productivity and space for healing as well.

in 2018, when i was just 19 years old i was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. after much research, prayer and meditation, i finally realized and accepted that doing things for myself and honoring my needs was okay, not only okay, but necessary.

i also had to come to terms with the fact that self care is not selfish. here are some tips to get you started:

this book helped me so much, i could cry just thinking about the first time reading it. soooo good. impactful. stays in my heart forever.

m o m e nt s by me.

know yourself or get to know yourself better if you don't: before diving into habit-creation, take a moment for introspection. what are your triggers? what activities leave you feeling energized and grounded? when are your most productive and relaxed hours? i personally feel most creative in the early mornings. understanding your own internal landscape is crucial for crafting a routine that truly supports you.

start small: don't try to overhaul your entire life overnight. begin with one or two small, achievable habits that you can gradually integrate into your day. maybe it's a 10-minute morning meditation, a daily gratitude list before bed, or a short walk in nature during your lunch break.

celebrate the WINS: remember, progress, not perfection, is the name of the game. acknowledge and celebrate your achievements, no matter how small. completing a single task on your to-do list or simply getting out of bed can be a monumental victory on some days, i know i get it.

listen to your body: your body is a wise teacher. pay attention to its cues. if a particular activity leaves you feeling drained or anxious, adjust your routine accordingly. tt's okay to say no to things that don't serve you.

embrace flexibility: life is unpredictable, sometimes so should your routine. allow space for adjustments and spontaneity. i love writing all of my todo's in the middle of my journal instead of a planner. and i allow myself grace. i accept that i definitely wont get to all of my tasks in one day, but just the fact that its written down, means IT WILL GET DONE. if a surprise event throws your schedule off track, don't beat yourself up. simply pick up where you left off and remember, the goal is to nurture your well-being, not become a slave to a rigid plan.

find your tribe! : surround yourself with people who understand and support your journey. having a community of like-minded individuals can be a source of strength and inspiration. share your experiences, offer encouragement, and celebrate each other's victories.

your mental health deserves a routine that feels like a warm hug, not a cold shower. unless you like cold showers?? experiment, explore, and most importantly, be kind to yourself. building a routine that works for you is a journey, not a destination. so, take it one step at a time, listen to your inner compass, and let your well-being be your guiding star.

don't forget the power of creativity! infuse your routine with activities that bring you joy. whether it's painting, dancing, writing, or playing music, make time for things that spark JOY and re analyze the things in your life that STEAL your joy. you're not alone, and with a little self-compassion and a willingness to experiment, you can build a routine that becomes your anchor in the storm, guiding you towards calmer waters and brighter skies.

i create new routines and habit trackers monthly. most months look the same, but occasionally, depending on my schedule, appointments, overall energy and mood, i adjust to fit my goals and projects. i have a lot more that i can share with you about this topic, even curated and specific routines, but this is just the beginning. i look forward to diving more into this with you, but for today i hope you feel inspired to dig deep and think about what YOU would like your daily life to look like. - Shay @sionwritingco19

[shysublimecoffee]

Gabriel Agreste comes off as a self-centered individual. His preoccupation with his own image takes precedence, evident in his desire for Ladybug to remember his portrayal rather than focusing on the present creating positive memories for his child. In a situation like Gabriel's, any reasonable parent would take a moment to acknowledge their mistakes and, at the very least, offer an apology. Unfortunately, he seems oblivious to the impact his actions have on his orphaned child, showing a lack of concern for the well-being of Adrien. Even his relationship with Nathalie, his secretary, initially lacked empathy.

While it's clear that Gabriel has love for his wife and child, it appears to be within certain limits. His inability to accept the imperfections in their family and his reluctance to acknowledge the reality of their situation suggest a greater love for himself. The depth of his consideration for Emilie, Adrien's deceased mother, comes into question. Gabriel's failure to reflect on his wife's feelings or consider the implications of his actions raises doubts about the authenticity of their love.

The character of Emilie remains elusive in the narrative, appearing as a ghost, making it challenging to gauge her feelings. Despite this, one would expect a caring father like Gabriel to pause and contemplate Emilie's love for their child. The fact that he refrains from looking at his son and revealing the truth before his impending demise raises concerns about the extent of his narcissism.

I believe love story unfolded because they embodied what each other desired and represented a stark contrast to their own lives. Emilie, groomed as the perfect daughter for her royal family, was expected to inherit and take over everything. Gabriel describing her as flawless, but the episode reveals Emilie's carefree and adventurous side, opposing the life her parents envisioned for her. In contrast, Gabriel, portrayed as a rebellious and carefree teenager, attracted Emilie with his non-conformist lifestyle, a stark deviation from her high-expectation upbringing.

Personally to me their initial connection allowed Emilie to break free from societal expectations when introducing Gabriel to her parents, although she later found herself somewhat returning to that life as Gabriel achieved fame and riches in the fashion industry, becoming obsessed with the miraculous. I felt like her only joy she may have found was in Adrien. The illusion of the the life she sought might have vanished with Gabriel's drastic transformation, leaving me to believe she became disappointed that the man she loved was now living the life she wanted to escape from.

As I watch their love story ( Gabriel & Emilie) unfold in the play , I find it hard to believe in the authenticity of their love. It seems more like a facade built on the images and ideals each brought into their lives, an illusion that eventually shattered. In the past videos of Emilie, she appears consistently gloomy and sad, contradicting Gabriel's constant portrayal of her and his son as perfect. Adrien consistently appears despondent, and Gabriel seldom engages in meaningful conversations with him, maybe mirroring a potential similarity with his approach to his wife. I'm just guessing here.

Interestingly, Adrien's love interest, Marinette, also bears a striking resemblance to his father, particularly in the way they offer comfort and support during difficult times they don't know how to and have trouble in the empathy department. Adrien not only shares physical features with his mother, Emilie, but also the pervasive perception of his perfection, echoing the praise he receives from his father.

Analyzing their love story, it strikes me as an Adrienette parallel destined for failure unless they can steer clear of Gabriel ad Emilie specific mistakes. Unfortunately, I don't see any indication that they will do so, making the prospect of genuine and lasting love between them seem doubtful.