#there is no base requirement for deserving to exist

[magpiecrown]

so this is my second linocut ever (the first one was made...oof, 15 years ago now), and you'll never guess what i picked for design--

[writing-is-a-martial-art]

You meet god and she's mostly dead fish. You ask her why and she says most of the world is dead fish, and she's made herself to appeal to the most common denominator, the everyman funnyman comedy show that runs for eleven seasons but with the entire universe in mind. You ask her how much of the dead fish is your fault, she says it's far less than you'd think, in the grand scheme of things. You ask her if you matter at all. If you can do anything. She shrugs her rotting shoulders and says mattering is a made-up concept, like life, but sure, you can matter if you want to, on some scale. She has many scales. She doesn't know what you mean by 'anything', but you can do everything you can. You ask her if it's enough. She says there's no base requirement for deserving to exist. She's smoking a joint and the smoke filtering out of her gills gathers and forms gas giants and red dwarfs. You ask her if there's any hidden secrets of the universe you should know and she says it's not a secret if she tells, plus it's fun to let you figure it out yourself. You ask her if any of your questions were right questions and she says you worry about being right so much it might keep you from fucking around, which is as close to meaning of life as she ever bothered to make. You don't ask but she says she loves your hair, also your whole being, also your planet. She says she figured out what love is yesterday and is trying it out, which explains the ten thousand rainbows and sudden influx in rains of fish. She offers you a drag of her joint and you wake up half past midnight behind a chain restaurant clutching a smoked salmon. The new stars are winking like they're in on some joke and you're sure if you try hard enough you'll remember what it is.

[reasonsforhope]

"Illinois will become one of three states to require employers to offer paid time off for any reason after Gov. J.B. Pritzker signed a law on Monday that will take effect next year.

Starting Jan. 1, 2024, Illinois employers must offer workers paid time off based on hours worked, with no need to explain the reason for their absence as long as they provide notice in accordance with reasonable employer standards.

Just Maine and Nevada mandate earned paid time time off and allot employees the freedom to decide how to use it, but Illinois’ law is further reaching, unencumbered by limits based on business size. Similarly structured regulations that require employers to offer paid sick leave exist in 14 states and Washington, D.C., but workers can only use that for health-related reasons.

Illinois employees will accrue one hour of paid leave for every 40 hours worked up to 40 hours total, although the employer may offer more. Employees can start using the time once they have worked for 90 days. Seasonal workers will be exempt, as will federal employees or college students who work non-full-time, temporary jobs for their university.

Pritzker signed the bill Monday in downtown Chicago, saying: “Too many people can't afford to miss even a day's pay ... together we continue to build a state that truly serves as a beacon for families, and businesses, and good paying jobs.”

Proponents say paid leave is key to making sure workers, especially low-income workers who are more vulnerable, are able to take time off when needed without fear of reprisal from an employer.

Bill sponsor Rep. Jehan Gordon-Booth, a Peoria Democrat, said the bill is the product of years of negotiations with businesses and labor groups.

“Everyone deserves the ability to take time off,” she said in a statement. “Whether it’s to deal with the illness of a family member, or take a step back for your mental health, enshrining paid leave rights is a step forward for our state."

“This is about bringing dignity to all workers," she said at the signing."

-via ABC News, 3/13/23

[writeyouin]

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Fem-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Learning To Get Along

A/N – So, a user on A03 suggested the snake servants’ new names. It was a stroke of genius on their behalf, and I can only thank them for it.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

MALE VERSION HERE

GN VERSION HERE

Tag-List: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @sseleniaa @randomgurl2326  @22carolina08 @astrxwitch @yu-87 @clover-1767 @lil-bexie @thesimpybitch

Do you think you can manage that? Lucifer’s words hung in the air, creating an icy barrier between you.

So, Lucifer thought himself too good for low-life Sinners such as yourself. That wasn’t fair. Sinners might be in Hell for a reason, but sometimes such reasons were just fucking stupid. Heaven ought to base their entry requirements on a person’s character or strength of heart, not just their actions. You had met plenty of Sinners who were in Hell because of the most trivial shit.

There were those who liked to sleep around, but if sex positivity was a problem, then how did Heaven explain Angels like Adam, whom Charlie had told you about in excruciating detail. Lust shouldn’t have ever been considered a Sin, as long as all participants in any such carnal act were above age and consenting.

Then, there were a few murderers you knew. Granted, murder made the lines blurry, but some Sinners killed in self-defence, or only targeted others such as themselves, protecting the innocent in a very gruesome Dexter-like fashion. Were they really to be condemned? And who the fuck gave a damn about Sloth. So, some people were just bone idle, who gave a shit? Heaven apparently.

And now, the ruler of Hell was condemning those around him as well. He was supposed to care for his people, good or bad. Not to mention those who were solely created for or born in Hell, such as Imps, Hell-Hounds, or the Deadly Sins themselves; they hadn’t committed any crimes to get sent here originally – it was their home.

Your eyebrows furrowed, creating an annoyed crease along your forehead.

“No,” You told Lucifer, who stared at you incredulously.

No? Didn’t you understand the situation? He was Lucifer. King of Hell. He could destroy you with no effort spared, leaving no trace that you ever existed, and you were telling him no? He wasn’t an unreasonable guy, but how could you possibly think that being around him was a good idea? Did you respect Charlie more than you feared him? Granted, he didn’t go out much so few knew how powerful he was, but no other Sinner would dare deny him his wishes.

You saw the look he was giving you and decided to explain yourself.

“Look, I’m only here ‘cos Charlie thought it was a good idea, and if you genuinely hate me, I’ll go and you’ll never have to see me again, but you’re not even trying right now. You haven’t spoken to me. You don’t know anything about me, and frankly, I think Charlie’s right, you do need someone to talk to.”

“I don’t-” Lucifer started.

“You don’t even know why I’m down here,” You interrupted angrily, though you refrained from raising your voice. “And you don’t want to know, right? ‘Cos all of us filthy Sinners must be the same. Ooh, we squandered your gift of Free Will and now we deserve to suffer for eternity, do we? Grow up!”

Lucifer stared at you in astonishment, and you sighed, apparently not finished in your tirade, “I’m going to my room tonight, but tomorrow, I expect that you’ll at least try to tolerate me. Who knows? We might even find some common ground. We both love Charlie, don’t we?”

Lucifer didn’t know what to say to that. He certainly loved his daughter, more than anything else in the universe, but you? He still suspected that you had some kind of ulterior motive… everyone in Hell did. Yet, you had a point. He would do this for her, even if it meant he had to tolerate you.

Who were you, really?

He looked at you closely for the first time, trying to pick out some detail of who you might have been. It was even more disturbing than he previously thought. Before, he only saw a human. Now, he examined your clothes. There was little to say about the style, but your apparel was reminiscent of a Holy Animal. With the ruffled cuffs of your jacket, the way the back peaked to create the image of feathers, and the yellow ribbon that lined the white material, you looked like a dove.

Yet… Despite living in the Hazbin Hotel, Charlie had insisted that you didn’t seek redemption. Why go through the farce of dressing like an Angel then… unless? No, you couldn’t be. No Angel would dare stray from Heaven unless they were ordered to.

Lucifer held back a glower, trying to keep his emotions in check so you wouldn’t sense his thoughts. There was a possibility, though small that you had been sent by the likes of Adam to spy on Lucifer and his kin, ensuring that none of Charlie’s patrons ever found a way to the Pearly Gates.

Well, it wouldn’t take long to uncover your ruse. Lucifer had ways of telling an Angel from a Demon, and once you were asleep, he would know.

“Yeah,” Lucifer said evenly. “I love my Charlie.”

“So, you’ll try then.”

Lucifer nodded his head in consent.

“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”

The sentiment went unreturned as your King returned to his chambers, biding his time until you slept.

When you returned to your room, you got ready for bed. The day had been long and unusual. Honestly, you didn’t feel that you had a place in the manor, and you longed for your room in the Hotel, even if it was smaller, had a large stain on the carpet (which Nifty had named Vivienne) and an unruly infestation of roaches.

In the short time you had spent there, it had become home.

You would miss the arguing inhabitants, the energetic wake-up call from Charlie, the feeling of safety that Vaggie instilled, and the sound of Alastor’s morning and evening radio broadcasts. Yet, you hoped you might find something equally valuable in return if only Lucifer would open himself up to the possibility that you didn’t want anything from him.

After glancing out of your window, which had a balcony you could step out to if you so wished, you took in the whole of the Magne District which was the heart of Pentagram City. If you strained your eyes, you could just see the flashing neon of the Hazbin Hotel, and if you turned your gaze up… There was Heaven, out of reach yet always in sight, taunting most Sinners, yet emboldening a brave few who dared to wonder What If? What if they could change and gain admittance to a better life?

You sighed and dared not ponder further when you needed to get some sleep.

Throwing yourself on the plush bed, you got comfortable, arranging yourself how you liked, then leaning over to your bedside table, you blew out the cherry candle you had previously lit.

You rested your head atop the satin pillows, then frowned, feeling a lump beneath it. You reached under and pulled out a rubber duck, painted to look like a Hellhound-Duck hybrid. Assuming it was one of Charlie’s childhood toys, you placed it carefully atop the table; it would keep you company on your first night in a strange new place.

Lucifer waited till the late twilight hours before leaving his workshop. He transformed himself into a snake, slithering silently through the Hallways, ensuring that you wouldn’t hear him coming.

Before being cast out of Heaven, detecting an Angel would have been a simple task. He would just know, the way he now knew how to read a Demon. Yet, with you giving off little sign of Demonic energy, he now had to test if you were of Angelic origin. There were two ways he could do so. The first was by spilling your blood. Those who were born in or sent to Heaven had golden ichor instead of the oozing red or black goop of Hell-spawn and Sinners.

However, not wishing to alert you to his presence, Lucifer decided to opt for the other method.

Once he was inside your room and certain that you were in a deep slumber, he reverted to his original form, standing over you, his pupils turning to slits at the thought of a traitor in his house. If you were what he thought you to be, he would kill you immediately.

He pulled a small yellow twenty-sided stone from his pocket and baring his fangs in anger, he pressed it lightly against your skin.

Nothing happened.

Lucifer’s expression changed from one of deep-seated loathing to confusion. You weren’t from Heaven. If you were, the stone would have glowed a brilliant shade of Gold. Instead, it remained its original dull yellow.

Very well.

He would keep his word and… Tolerate you.

He left your room as quietly as he had entered it. Tomorrow, things would be different.

Lucifer didn’t sleep that night; the idea of change was terrifying.

The next morning, when Lucifer finally resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to face you eventually, he headed downstairs, assuming that was where you were.

“JUST TRY IT!” He heard you yell. “TRY! OPEN YOUR MOUTH, DAMN IT!”

“Uh…” Was all he could think to say as he entered the kitchen and found you clinging to one of the snake cleaners he had created the previous night, in a rodeo-like fashion. The creature was trying to buck you off, with a somewhat derpy expression, probably stupidly assuming it was a game; Lucifer hadn’t bothered to instil them with much intelligence since he didn’t need them for anything more than cleaning.

“ARGH!” You grunted as you were dislodged from its back.

“What- What is this?” Lucifer asked, confused.

“Oh shit!” You cursed, embarrassed to have been caught in a less-than-dignified position. You attempted to regain a little composure by standing up, then held up a handful of wadded-up pancake.

“Do they eat?” You demanded, referring to the reptilian cleaners, “’Cos they’ve been in a picture frame their whole lives, and they must be hungry by now.”

Of all the stupid things you could have done, Lucifer couldn’t help but crack a smile, though he had the decency to hide his laugh behind a clenched fist and pass it off as a cough.

“They don’t need to.”

“Okay, but can they?”

“If they wanted to, I suppose so.”  

You glared at the mushed-up pancake, “I fucking knew it. Spick, Span, eat your fucking breakfast!”

“I’m sorry, who now?” Lucifer asked.

“Well, they clean, don’t they? Spick and Span seem to fit unless you have something better to name them.”

Lucifer chuckled, a half-short-lived chuckle, but one all the same. You were more chaotic than he expected.

“Fine, if you want them to eat, you’ve got to cook in style.”

He waved his hands energetically, his outfit transforming from his usual suit to one befitting a flashy Michelin Chef. He was comfortable in the role of an entertainer as he made a dazzling display of cooking up eggs. With the flash-bang of indoor fireworks, the island counter gained a conveyor belt to transport several dishes, all perfectly presentable and giving off a delectable aroma of herbs and spices.

Eggs-benedict, frittatas, and shakshuka shot by you, closely followed by a hungry Span, though his twin was busy writhing on the conveyer belt, trying to get to his feather duster, yet doomed to chase it since he didn’t think to travel in the opposite direction so it would meet him in the middle.

The sight was memorable to say the least, even when Spick knocked the food onto the floor and his brother was left stupidly sucking on the corner of the countertop where his seemingly new favourite dish had splattered.

You couldn’t help laughing.

“See?” You struggled to get the words out, “I knew they’d like food. I’m just a shite cook.”

Lucifer gazed at his dishes proudly, even though they were no longer fit for either of your consumption.

“Hah,” You said, feeling somewhat awkward now that the moment had passed and Lucifer’s gaze was upon you, trying to figure you out. “I’ll uh, clean this up.”

“No need, leave it to Flim and Flam,” Lucifer said nonchalantly.

“You know that’s not their names.”

“Whatever. So… we’ve met, there was breakfast with a show. We done for today?”

The smile fell from your face as you realised that all of this was just another of Lucifer’s acts. Granted, he might have actually had fun with it, but it was all just in the name of claiming he had tried to be around you, and just wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“I don’t know. I was going to go into the City if you wanted to come.”

“I can’t. I have… plans.”

Lucifer’s mood soured as he thought about visiting Heaven’s embassy to set up the meeting for Charlie. He hated everything about that building. The décor was just a cruel reminder of everything Heaven had banished him from. Moreover, while the Angels had to respect his power, they didn’t respect him; their cruel words and thinly veiled insults always cut him the deepest. Not to mention how bitter he was that the balance of power was uneven. Sure, Heaven had an embassy in Hell, but there was no such building in Heaven where Demons could work to arrange meetings between Angels and him.

It would always be Lucifer going to their building, on their terms, usually at their behest.

“Plans? So, you’re setting up Charlie’s meeting today?” You guessed astutely. “You know, I’m walking that way too.”

Lucifer guessed at your game. You probably hadn’t been going in that direction at all, but this was all in the name of ‘trying’. One way or another, he would have to learn to get along with you.

“Fine. Let’s go,” He said, flicking his hand back blasély, even though he found the idea of walking the streets of Hell daunting.

It would be better if he could teleport there, but at least, by the end of the day, you would have something positive to report back to Charlie.

[rimouskis]

could you explain more about what you view as the before era and what you view as the after? i need to learn my herstory

I think this requires a more detailed and educated/researched answer than I can give after an exhausting workday and an after-hours work event, but I'm going to do my best and also open up the floor in reblogs for people to chip in their thoughts

foremost: a DISCLAIMER that this post does not aim to shit on writers from the "before" era. there are many classic fics that I love and enjoy, even if I consider their characterizations to be "less accurate"* than the ones we have in the after era.

*aside to say: accuracy is based only off of literal media accounts we have of these men; we do not know them, we should not claim to know them, and they have had different comfort levels with the media knowing selective truths about their lives [sid out of choice, geno out of media xenophobia] than they did when these early fics were being written.

"before" fics (which I tend to refer to as "classic" fics, and had their heyday in 2012-2013 but continued up until 2016ish) tended to have more regimented roles for sid and geno. sid was usually the protagonist; geno was the love interest.

this came with a cascading set of characteristics assigned to each guy. sid was poor-little-meow-meow'd. geno was the pursuer in the relationship. sid usually bottomed. sid had the whole spacetoaster moment (he was the inspiration for the term, haha). there wasn't much a/b/o fic but sid was, like, the omega-fied one and geno was alpha-ized.

something I've been thinking about more recently is how 2012-2013 era sidgeno displayed signs of Migratory Slash Fandom. I don't think of MSF as an inherently negative/condemning thing, but I think it's a phenomenon that deserves to be mentioned/analyzed, yeah?

MSF thrives on big character differences.... like, grumpy/sunshine, sarcastic/broody, genius/empath. it's all about emphasizing disparate archetypes to create natural tension in a story. this works really well in most romance novels! I love it!

the issues arise when people try to make characters fit into these preset dynamics. and, frankly, when sidgeno first got big, we straight-up didn't know as much about sid and geno. I mean that. despite sid being EXTENSIVELY covered by media from age, like, 14, he was really tight-lipped compared to what we have now.

and geno was.... there. I don't mean that as a diss—he was INCREDIBLE, but the media totally passed him over again and again. or they helped contribute to stereotypes of him being a dumb oaf who didn't know english.

aside: ironically I think that helped in creating sidgeno and not, like.... sidflower or sidtanger. geno was so "DIFFERENT" from sid (aka: russian, characterized by media as not knowing how to speak [in comparison to sid's highly curated media soundbites]) that it meant he was the best candidate for A Ship with sid.

a lot of the really big writers who got into sidgeno were fandom veterans with lots of experience in other big fandoms. to me, that means MSF had a hand in all this. and we should be grateful, because it led to the BOOM of hockey fic, and of sidgeno fic specifically. modern hrpf wouldn't exist without it.

that being said, those template ship dynamics, plus the media's attitude then towards sid and geno in its coverage, led to those characterizations of whiny soft sensitive boy sid who needed to be rescued even though he was the best hockey player EVER, and geno as the lumbering tall strong alpha not-that-bright Love Interest Man.

this isn't to say every fic was this way, or that this is BAD. I, uh, love poor-little-meow-meow-ing sid and omegafying the hell out of him. what I'm saying is that it was a near-ubiquitous characterization across the board.

that all changed in 2016-2018. I personally wholly credit sevenfists, though I imagine it's more nuanced than that, but: my blog, I make the rules here. I don't know if sevenfists was psychic or just highly observant and absolutely excellent at reading people (and that's basically the same thing, right?), but characterization shifts began taking place in fic....

and the coolest thing happened, in that those characterizations were seemingly reinforced by more media coverage. the back to back cups brought with them TONS of interviews with and media about the team, and sid and geno in particular. the coolest part of it was that sid had loosened up a LOT and geno had gotten more comfortable (and had gotten a reporter firmly on his side).

the interviews about sid post 2016 were just SO different. so much information started coming out, and a LOT of it conflicted with Ye Olde Characterizations. as it turned out, sid was deeply one of the boys. he was funny. everyone liked him. he loved hosting. he was insanely comfortable around almost everyone, including strangers, because he's a little freak who's kind to everyone. he can make smalltalk like no one's business. he's kind of gross. he likes to giggle and be in on jokes and get into the thick of it. he isn't some blushing virgin bride sold off of mario's doorstep, yeah?

and geno, too, was finally getting the coverage he deserved. and his personality was both fortified by age and better shown to us through media. as it turns out, he isn't some happy go lucky oaf. he's mercurial and intensely aware of what others think of him (and he CARES). he's sensitive and thoughtful but also can lash out at random times. he has a wicked sense of humor that he uses as a defense mechanism and as a surefire way to get people to like him, which matters to him. and, as everyone says, he is SMART.

if you had to boil it down, I'd say that post-2016, it became clear that SID is the confident one and GENO is the insecure one. and fic caught onto that with a miraculously fast pace. also: they're more alike than they are different, but I still think romance inherently feeds off of difference and tension, so we still exaggerate things to make the stories ✨WORK✨.

I'm not going to give examples of pre- and post- era fics, because I don't want to point any fingers and say someone was doing characterization "wrong." that's not the takeaway I want anyone to have here.

fandom attitudes have changed. it's been 10 years since that first wave of fics, and while I don't think that's very long, it's a hell of a long time on the internet, and in a niche internet community. what was once the standard for fics (and what was well-read, and what people gravitated towards) was different. not worse—different.

I think it's fair to say the "after" era of fics is more "accurate" to what we know of sid and geno. it's also fair to say that this is only the case because we have a WEALTH of information, character-revealing interviews and videos and anecdotes, that Ye Old Authors could only dream of getting.

I really love the story of how everything has changed, and it's a fabulous microcosm of fandom evolution and how approaches to fanworks have changed and grown with fandom, and I think it's all so so cool.

[momentswithmani]

Understanding Black Men

The psychology of black men is distorted, and misunderstood through different lenses. Whether it’s through society, generational wounds, slavery, the entertainment industry, or families/communities. We commonly hear about the experiences of black men through wounded black women who had failed experiences, wounded black women who fail their sons, and the societal stereotypes that have existed for decades. It’s a rare occurrence that we hear the experience of being a man through a black man himself. Mainly, due to decades of them being silenced for speaking their truth, and them having a voice would threaten their manhood.

When getting to know a black man, these are some factors to consider: their upbringing, their childhood, their personality, their character, and their spirituality. Understanding the layers of who they are gives you an opportunity to learn them. Getting to know their nature usually comes with compassion, and empathy. Missing out on the opportunity to learn them for yourself, because of the outside noise, leads to ignorance. In order to formulate your own perspective, it requires introducing yourself with openness, considering that the way they interacted with the men in their generation could differ from how you interact with them in your generation.

When communicating with black men of different ages, it requires a different perspective. Comparing him to his low quality father is detrimental to how he will view himself growing up. Talking down on him will be detrimental to how he views himself. Many women will insinuate that it’s not that big of a deal, think about it this way….

Your mother can talk down on you: cursing you out, telling you you’ll never be anything, neglecting your emotional/mental needs, being manipulative, etc.

This behavior comes with a price. More than likely, you’ll struggle with self confidence. You grow out of your hobbies/passions. Your psychological development becomes stunted because of the abuse. Although men and women are built different biologically, the impacts of how men grow up are similar.

The way you speak to a man, can make or break how receptive a man is to you. If you speak negative energy into him, that becomes a wound to his heart. If you invalidate his emotional needs, he shuts himself down emotionally. If you invalidate his concerns/vulnerability, he’s less receptive to communication. If you brag to the world about how worthless he is, he will shut you out to dissolve himself from embarrassment.

We rarely credit black men of all ages for their spiritual responses to what they experience, whether it’s good or bad. This is due to how aware + observant they are. Because of how much they’re used to being neglected, it teaches them to neglect themselves. They are then forced into survival mode to fend for themselves, even if it includes indulging in detrimental behaviors. This plays a major role in them suppressing their vulnerability, which stems from the hardships they’ve been told they needed to endure in the name of “manhood”. Because black men are adultified at young ages, it strips away the humanity of how they exist.

It’s easy for us to be frustrated with black men, simply for existing. It is necessary to open a space for compassion + understanding regarding their stories. They are human beings, who are navigating life in the most effective way they can, or think they can, in the midst of learning who they are as boys, young men, and men. Their silence is mistaken for their lives being easy flowing. Their upbringing neglecting their needs at a young age is mistaken for privilege. Their physical appearance being fetishized, is mistaken for appreciation. If we’ve been given the ability to create a narrative on who they are for the past decades, they deserve to redefine the narrative based on their experiences, their manhood, and who they are as people.

[starsreminisce]

Antis saying with their whole chest "Azriel only wanting a mate is canon."

To Mor. His blood chilled. He wasn’t stupid. He knew she and Azriel were . . . whatever they were. Knew Azriel had been in love with Mor from the moment she’d strutted into the Illyrian war- camp five centuries ago.

“The issue, actually, wouldn’t be me. It’d be him. I could peel off my clothes right in front of him and he wouldn’t move an inch. He might have defied and proved those Illyrian pricks wrong at every turn, but it won’t matter if Rhys makes him Prince of Velaris - he’ll see himself as a bastard-born nobody, and not good enough for anyone. Especially me.”

“Azriel,” Rhys said, “has been preoccupied with the same female for the past five hundred years.” “Wouldn’t the mating bond have snapped into place for them if it exists?” Rhys’s eyes shuttered. “I think that is a question Azriel has been asking himself every day since he met Mor.”

Azriel stiffened. Let his cold rage rise to the surface, the rage he only ever let Rhysand see, because he knew his brother could match it.  "What if the Cauldron was wrong?"  Rhysand blinked. "What of Mor, Az?"  Azriel ignored the question. "The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another." He had never before dared speak the words aloud.  Rhys's face drained of color. "You believe you deserve to be her mate?"   Azriel scowled. "I think Lucien will never be good enough for her, and she has no interest in him, anyway." 

The reason why I can confidently say with my full busty af chest that Azriel only wants a mate is because of his entire relationship and history with Mor, and how he approached Rhys when he entered his office.

So when Azriel's question turned to Elain and Lucien, shifting the focus to something about the Cauldron being wrong (despite it being stated in HOFAS that the Cauldron doesn't determine mates), and when he ignored Rhys's inquiry about the female he had been in love with for 500 years to demand an explanation on how two brothers are with two of those sisters—keeping in mind that those two sisters are mates to his brothers—and why the third sister was not given to him, it tells me that he is solely fixated on finding a mate because that's what he reduced Elain to.

"Two of my brothers are mated to my sisters, and yet the third is mated to someone else," is what he essentially conveyed.

Azriel waited 500 years to reveal his feelings to Mor, even though she had shut down his very first confession. Why? Why would anyone wait that long?

If they were his mate.

Because he felt instantly attracted to her the moment she came into his life, because he was willing to risk entering another High Lord's territory to bring her back, because when the confrontation at Hybern reached a critical point where Mor's life was in jeopardy, he went to her—even when he was injured by an ashbolt. Even when Elain was brought out.

And we're told that those were signs of the mating bond.

But the only requirement that the Suriel asked of Feyre was, "He is the most powerful High Lord to ever walk this earth. You are … new. You are made of all seven High Lords. Unlike anything. Are you two not similar in that? Are you not matched?"

Mor and Azriel are not similar. They are not as well matched as Gwyn and Azriel, based on the little we see of Gwyn so far. And even then, we see Azriel treat Gwyn more like an equal than he ever did Mor or Elain.

Elain and Azriel are not similar. SJM even goes so far as to describe that Elain will stay by the sunniest of windows, while Azriel’s shadows don’t even venture out to the sun. These differences in their fundamental needs suggest that compromise or adaptation would be necessary for their relationship.

On the other hand, Azriel and Gwyn share similarities in their history, trauma, preferences for weapons, and affinity for spying, making them potentially better suited for each other.

Also, we have this from HOFAS. Badass Azriel would have said that he doesn't need one.

[1d1195]

Tulips Extra I

You can read Tulips here. I wouldn't read this if you're having a good day, lol. The original was therapeutic for myself so it's a little on the sad side for sure. It was good timing since I've not been feeling very positive lately.

Anyway, it's probably very angsty with a bit of fluff.

Thank you for reading my diary 😉

~4.7k words

Highly recommend listening to: Lung (Vines version) by Vines & Adrianne Munden-Dixon while reading.

“Shh,” he shook his head. “I got it,” he tilted his head at her. His voice was so sure. Like he was telling her the sun would come up tomorrow.

She supposed it would.

If she looked in the mirror, she would see a lot of growth. It had been six months since Harry moved in and she was more open, more communicative, and delegated more. Harry was perfect. Probably too perfect. It was almost unfair and if she thought about it too long, she worried a little too much about the ramifications of her own inadequacy.

Harry never let her feel that way. When she made dinner, he nearly threw a parade. If she was at Target and saw something she thought Harry would like and bought it, he thanked her for hours. It was a little overwhelming sometimes to be praised so highly. In previous relationships, she thought about the fanfare she would get from doing those kinds of things but after years of never getting it, she assumed it wasn’t in the cards for her.

But she hadn’t met Harry. He never let her feel that way. Everything she did was thanked with the utmost gratitude. It was unnerving sometimes that he adored her exactly how she imagined love was supposed to be. There were days, weeks, years, when she thought she wasn’t worthy of the love she dreamed about. Harry came along as if all that time feeling sad never existed. He praised her for things that didn’t need it, but it made her smile.

“M'a lucky guy, kitten,” he kissed her on the forehead while they watched TV. She had brought over a cup of hot water. Harry always had a cup in the middle of the afternoon. It was good for his throat, which was prone to colds and good for his vocal cords when he spent so much of his job talking to other people.

*

There were still hard days for her. Days when her mind ran wild and told her that she wasn’t good enough for Harry. That if she didn’t do everything perfectly or if she forgot something at the grocery story, she didn’t deserve to have Harry in her life any longer. Those years of not being good enough, or rather not feeling good enough, were hard to stamp out of her mind. Harry did a wonderful job getting most of it to disappear. But a bad day was a bad day; and it was hard to predict that. Hard to know when her mind would play a trick on her.

Work was okay except everyone was on edge close to the holiday. The end of the year was always a tricky time. Things needed to be wrapped up financially and socially. Honestly, she was probably the calmest one at work, but she was kind. Helping others with their workload because hers didn’t entail the same types of problems that everyone else was facing. But it did require a lot of her mental load. The satisfaction she felt from helping others was really good for her emotional well-being, but it came at a pretty significant cost: she had a really hard time saying no—especially when she needed to say no.

This led her to carrying several grocery bags into her apartment with Harry. She didn’t want to take two trips. Except she was struggling. Two trips would have been better. Or calling Harry when she got to the parking lot would have helped. He wouldn’t have minded either. He probably didn’t know she was grocery shopping after work, or he would have offered to go with her.

But unfortunately, they had gotten into a bit of a... disagreement the night before. Which only added to her stress emotionally. It was a well-based disagreement. Harry worried she was doing too much for her coworkers and thought (in the kindest way possible) that she should set some boundaries where she felt comfortable helping but still able to get her own stuff done.

In her head she did something wrong. Harry was so kind. Extremely understanding of all the boundaries that she failed to set in her work life and with her family. He knew it wasn’t easy for her. But it was hard for him to watch the person he loved struggle to feel okay with anxiety and stress plaguing most of her thoughts over things she didn’t necessarily need to worry about.

She was almost at the door. Her arm was sore from holding the bags up for so long. The circulation in her hand was disappearing from the bags that had slid down. Why she didn’t just set the bags down at the end of the hall will always make her wonder. But instead, of course, the bag ripped open. The one stupid paper bag she had to get from the store to fit everything. Of course, it had eggs in it. While trying catch it, she dropped the gallon of milk she had in her other hand that naturally exploded onto the floor with the eggs. She gasped and looked at the mess she created in the hall. Fortunately, her neighbors weren’t affected. She was so close to her own door the only one impacted would be herself or Harry.

“—her location says she should be home—oh,” Harry stuck his head out from the door. He heard a loud thud from inside the apartment. Paired with his missing girlfriend, he worried she had hurt herself or something coming up the stairs. Harry watched her for a moment, a frown settling onto his lips at the sight. Her shoulders shaking, her lip wobbling while tears filled her eyes. “Love, m’gonna have her call y’back. She jus’ got home. Think she had a tough day,” he murmured. “S’okay. I’ll take care of it. She’ll call y’back,” he promised. “Okay, bye,” he slid his phone into his pocket. Her gaze didn’t move from the mess on the floor, but she could sense Harry approaching her. Like an injured animal in the wild.

“Was that my sister?” She whispered.

He nodded, but she wasn’t looking. “S’nothing serious,” he promised.

“I think she needed help with her assignment or something. I was supposed to call her when I got home so I could read—”

“Love,” he stepped directly into the mixture of eggs and milk and put his hands on her shoulders. “S’not important right now,” his voice was so gentle. Almost too gentle. “Let’s go inside,” he tugged her gently toward the door. “M’gonna clean this up,” he offered easily.

She looked up at him, her eyes so blurred with tears that his expression was hard to make out. The only good thing her tears did was magnify her perception of Harry’s pretty eyes. They actually looked like emeralds and made her heart flutter despite how sad she was. “You don’t have to,” her voice cracked. “I dropped everything. I should clean it—” the tears fell from her eyes in slow motion. It was like she was watching one of those movies where the girl tries to keep working even though she just found out the love of her life died and she was basically ignoring it. She hated those scenes. They hurt so much. She swiped her hand across her face. “I just need to grab—”

“Kitten,” Harry stilled her movements as she tried to push away from him. “Angel,” he whispered softly. “Please stop.”

“No, I’m okay,” she promised, the saddest smile falling across her lips. Harry looked at her with so much worry and he shook his head.

“No, kitten. You’re not,” his voice was low and he cupped the side of her neck and held her in place. “What happened?”

“Nothing! It’s nothing,” but the words were choked and only half-uttered by the mixture of tears and her throat closing around the sound trying to force its way out of her vocal cords. “I’m fine.” It was like her body was trying to repel the words because she almost folded in half, she crouched and covered her eyes as she let the sobs take over for a second. She would be fine; she just needed a second to get some of the emotion out.

“Angel,” Harry crouched right beside her. “C’mon, kitten. S’not nothing,” he murmured.

She shook her head. No, things with Harry were fine. She wasn’t going to burden him with needless worries and all the anxiety that was coursing through her head. It was all in her head. Truly. It wasn’t something that he needed to—

Harry pulled her toward their door where milk and eggs hadn’t spread to yet. The remaining pile of groceries was mixed in the mess. She crouched by the door again, unable to stop the emotion long enough to make it past the entry way. Gently, Harry pulled her toward him and kissed the top of her head. He knelt beside her, hand cupping the back of her neck and the other gently rubbing up and down her arm. A neighbor peered into the hallway raised his eyebrows at the mess before turning to see Harry and the girl in their doorway. Harry shook his head so minutely he doubted she noticed. Fortunately, their neighbor saluted ever so slightly and retreated inside.

“I’m. Sorry,” she hiccupped.

He shook his head feeling so awful she was this distraught. This upset. He wished he had checked her location before her sister called to ask if she was ignoring her. Wish he had gone down to see where she was when he realized she was supposed to be home. “Shh,” he hushed. “S’nothing t’apologize for, kitten,” he promised quietly.

She continued sobbing and Harry wondered how on earth someone so beautiful, so kind, so utterly adoring could be so sad. It pained him to no end. Watching her breakdown like this felt like someone stabbed him right in the heart. He wanted to do whatever he had to do to make it stop. He knew she kept a lot of her emotions to herself. Years of bottling them up so as not to inconvenience others for simply existing.

“Kitten,” he whispered when her sobs subsided to sniffles. “Y’gotta talk t’me,” his voice was gentle but filled with worry. “M’sorry people let y’down. M’not one of them, though.”

“It’s hard,” her voice was so crackly and broken. Harry almost let it go because he wasn’t sure he could bear the weight of how sad she was.

“I know, baby, I know it is, but I love you so much. I want nothing but t’help you,” he hoped she heard how sincere he was. “I hate seeing y’like this. It hurts me, kitten,” he cupped her face and gazed into her eyes so hopefully she would understand how much he adored her and how much it hurt him. It wasn’t to minimize what she was feeling. It was to hopefully help her reach the conclusion that he was on her side, always. He would do whatever it took to make her smile.

“M’scared,” she whispered. “You’re just going to tell me that I’m being ridiculous—because I am, Harry. I am being ridiculous. I have you. You’re so perfect. You love me so much and you don’t care that I’m a little crazy and you don’t—”

“Kitten,” he frowned. “I would never tell y’that you’re being ridiculous. Please tell me y’don’t really believe that,” his heart felt even worse. How could she think that?

“Because,” she croaked. The seconds it took her to speak after felt like years. Harry waited so patiently, his heart pounding. “Because whenever I felt so overwhelmed,” she shook her head and looked down, despite Harry holding her face so she would have to look at him. She closed her eyes and sniffled.

“Tell me, angel.”

“I have never had someone,” she started again, squeezing her eyes tight. They felt red and swollen. She was certain she looked as terrible as she felt. “It was my own doing,” she whispered. “The reason I get so overwhelmed. When I complained even a little it was turned into something about how I did things wrong. I overwhelmed myself. It was just... in my head,” she whispered.

Harry wasn’t completely sure how he managed to stay upright. He swiped his thumbs below her red rimmed eyes. He thought she was beautiful even when she cried but it hurt him so much to see her like this. “S’not in your head, m’love,” it was hard to say the words without breaking out into cries himself. Seeing her hurt like this made him feel like the worst boyfriend in the world. “Love doesn't have t’be even, kitten. Being mad doesn't have t’be even. Being upset with something I do doesn't mean I have t’be upset with something you do. Y’can be annoyed with me, and I don't have t’bring up something m’annoyed by—which is nothing,” he assured her quickly because he could spot something he said creating a spiral easily. “But love, y’have t’tell me... talking has t’be done. I can't do this alone, kitten. I can't do this without you,” he explained as gently as he could.

“It’s not important,” she shook her head. Her voice cracked again.

Harry winced. “No, but it is, kitten. I can hear how important it is. I see it. I can feel it. Y’need t’tell me. I need you t’tell me everything y’feel. I can tell it hurts. All of it. I want t’fix it. I don’t want you t’hurt. M’not going anywhere. Ever.”

“But it’s… so bad to talk about... exes,” she whispered the last word like it was a curse—like she would be sent right to jail for it saying out loud.

Harry frowned. “Yeah, maybe if y’still in love with them. Do y’still love him?” It was rhetorical honestly. He knew she didn’t.

Her face paled immediately, her sad eyes filling with more tears. “Of course not!”

“I didn’t say it t’make y’mad, m’love,” His voice was gentle again. “I want you t’process this. I can’t have you all bottled up. I need t’know signs and feelings you’re having when y’don’t want t’share them. He messed with you so good,” he smiled without an ounce of humor behind it. It was the saddest smile she had ever seen on his face. He looked… so... disappointed. “M’usually good at figuring out what m’supposed t’do as a boyfriend. But y’stump me sometimes,” he admitted shyly. “It hurts me t’see you flustered and hurt without telling me why. I want t’be there for you. Always. In ways he never was because you—”

“He was always late,” she sobbed again. Harry pulled her to him immediately letting the tears pour out of her and he rocked her so gently. The words spilled out of her as fast as the tears did. “I swear he did it to piss me off and then he would say I was too controlling or neurotic. I was too planned out. He never got me flowers and my mom knew how much that bothered me. She knew he didn’t, even though I lied and said he did. I lied about flowers,” she felt so pathetic saying it out loud. “I lied about so many things he didn’t do because I was disappointed in myself. He didn’t see the point in romantic gestures. He didn’t think about how it kind of made me look like an idiot. I know that’s not the point of a romantic gesture, but I kept doing them for him and I—” the sobs choked her voice for a moment but Harry stayed silent. “I ignored all those red flags. All of them. Every single one of them. Why did I do that?” She cried; her voice sounded so tired. She looked so tired. Harry was quiet for a long time while more tears than he thought were possible fell across her cheeks.

“Because love is also red,” Harry whispered eventually. “Rose colored glasses are red… tulips, my sweet love,” he paused to kiss the top of her head, “are red.” It felt like hours she sobbed against him. The milk spread on the floor probably getting warm and souring the smell in the air and Harry just held her rocking ever so softly. “Thank you,” he said after way longer than anyone would have waited to speak. “For telling me that. I know that was hard. I promise I won’t be late. Ever,” he vowed. “Everything else between us? Might have t’be some compromises and more talking and we might argue. I might get mad, but it doesn’t mean it’s going t’end us, kitten. You have t’know that. M’here for the long haul... But late? On purpose? It won’t be me,” he promised easily. “Whether m’mad because I had a bad day at work or because of traffic, you’ll know the moment I know. M’not going t’miss a single time y’tell me. I will be there early.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He shook his head and kissed her temple, letting his lips drag along her skin for longer than he needed but it felt so soothing she nearly cried again. “S’nothing t’be sorry for,” he promised. “C’mon,” he stood, his knees aching from crouching for so long. He held his hand out to her and pulled her to stand beside him. He pushed her toward the sofa.

“What about—”

“Shh,” he promised. “S’fine,” he murmured pushing her to sit. Once seated, he pulled her shoes off, wrapped a blanket around her and kissed her forehead. He placed a book in her lap that she had started earlier in the week and hurried to the kitchen to bring her a bottle of water. “Stay here,” he kissed her forehead again, this time cupping her cheek at the same time and rubbing his thumb along her skin.

“But I—”

“Shh,” he shook his head. “I got it,” he tilted his head at her. His voice was so sure. Like he was telling her the sun would come up tomorrow.

She supposed it would.

*

As low as she got, she felt so much better, much quicker than she usually did. Harry was grateful for the change and was extremely mindful of things that caused her stress. He tried to read her mind as much as possible and was successful more often, which made him feel a lot better.

Talking was so much better. She had never felt so free. Harry knew her every thought. He didn’t belittle her emotions or make her feel like an inconvenience. Right before they fell asleep, she was snuggled close, her eyes watching Harry breathe evenly. The only light coming from a streetlamp outside their window. It wasn’t too bright but illuminated the room enough for her to make out Harry’s shadow beside her. His hand skimmed up and down her arm making her drowsy. “I love you,” she sighed.

“I love you, too, angel,” he murmured.

When they were out with friends Harry was mindful of her well-being. If she wanted to leave, he could sense it before she wanted to go. In fact, he even said he wanted to leave before she mentioned it. Taking her out of the equation made her anxiety lessen profusely.

If there was a problem Harry had (and rarely did that happen because he truly believed she was an angel) he looked her dead in the eye every time and promised her that he wasn’t mad. “I am not mad,” he held her face in his hands like she was a fragile vase. He waited until she nodded, he could see the emotions scrolling through her eyes like an index searching for one to land on for a moment. Only when she nodded would he continue. “I don’t like when y’leave the remote in the couch. S’hard t’find,” he explained. “Can y’try t’leave it on the coffee table?” He asked. She nodded. “Are y’okay, kitten? M’not mad,” he said reassuringly.

She nodded again. “I know,” her voice was soft. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “S’okay,” he smiled encouragingly. “Do y’have anything y’want t’share with me that’s bothering you?” She shook her head. “You’re sure? Not even the whole pizza thing?” He eyed her suspiciously. Harry put the whole box of leftover pizza in the fridge, and he could see the distaste in her eyes when he did so.

“It just takes up a lot of room,” she admitted.

“Good,” he smiled excitedly that she was telling him the truth and he kissed her forehead. “I’ll go fix it now; can y’find the remote?” He found giving her a manageable task was a good distraction when she voiced her worry. He could see her eyes fill with tears despite the fact he wasn’t upset, but he knew it was because she was more than likely overwhelmed with how easy that was. She swiped her hand across her cheek and dug between the cushions to find the controller. When he returned, she handed him the remote to put on a movie. He pulled her toward him, her body half resting against his chest. He kissed the top of her head. “I love you, so much, angel,” he promised.

“I love you,” Harry could hear how much that really meant to her in every syllable.

*

She was carrying her work bag, her lunch bag, and her clunky water bottle when her mom called. Most of the time her mom texted her. So, she assumed it was bad. She settled her things onto the counter as she answered.

“Do you know Harry texted me?” She asked.

“What?” Her heart leapt to her throat. Harry hadn’t ever texted her mother to his knowledge. She knew he periodically texted her siblings but never her mom.

“He shared a whole album with me. I had to have your sister help me open it because you know me with this contraption,” she laughed but she didn’t want to hear about her technological illiteracy. She wanted to know what the album was. “It’s just a bunch of bouquets of flowers. At least two dozen. Maybe closer to three. He said it’s every bouquet he’s ever bought you and the reason why. Birthday. Christmas. Valentine’s Day. Bad day at work. Being brave at the dentist,” she laughed again. She had a hand on her heart as she tried to quell all the emotions rapidly flowing through her in quick succession. “Sweetie,” she whispered, a smile in her voice. “He said he was going to add to it every time he got a new bouquet, but he wanted me to know that he got you flowers. Wanted me to have proof. Do you know what it’s about?”

She felt tears thicken her throat. “Yeah. Yeah I know,” she whispered. “It’s nothing you need to worry about,” she promised.

“I know you lied to me,” she said softly. It wasn’t accusing. It was exactly how a mom would react to such a statement. “You never lie about anything so it’s pretty obvious when you do. Especially about something so...little,” she felt horrible. But honestly, she didn’t feel like telling her mom that the flowers weren’t little. They were huge, in fact. It was a huge, glaring, obvious thing that she should have known was wrong. “I’m not too sure what’s going on with you and Harry lately, but I can see how much that man adores you and I know he would do anything to make you smile.”

She bit the inside of her lip to keep from crying. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I know,” she responded. “I know why you did it.”

The tears rolled down her cheeks, but she doesn’t make a sound. “Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she repeated.

“Okay, well... I’m glad you have that album,” she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got a couple of chores to do, Mom.”

“I know, that’s fine. I just wanted to tell you how happy I am for you, sweetie,” she could hear her mom’s encouraging smile in her voice. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Almost as soon as the call ended, she sniffled. Then just as quickly, Harry came through the door and found her wiping her eyes. “Oh, kitten,” he frowned. “S’matter?” She wanted to say ���nothing.’ But he was holding another bouquet of flowers. Half the tulips were red, and the other half was white. So, she was unable to utter a word and began to cry again. “Angel,” he set the bouquet on the counter beside her stuff and wrapped his arms around her tightly. “M’sorry, love,” he murmured into her hair and squeezed her.

“Can we get married?” She asked through her tears.

Harry didn’t even care how ridiculous she sounded. He continued as if this was a normal conversation that he had every day with her. As if she wasn’t sobbing on a Thursday night for no reason. Or if he asked her if she wanted fish for dinner. “Of course we can, baby, but I have t’propose—”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t care. Right now. Please. I love you so much. So, so much. I can’t—” she hiccupped.

“Hey, hey,” he pulled away and looked at her. “Kitten,” he smiled gently. It was a sad smile, but a cute one. Like he didn’t want to set her off completely. “I love you, too,” he assured her. “I want t’propose the right way and make sure you’re—”

“Then give me the ring now,” she looked at him squarely in the eye. The smile melted off his face and other than her soft sniffle, there wasn’t a sound in the apartment. “Please,” she repeated.

“Kitten,” he sucked his cheek in a bit and looked at her nervously. Like this was a break in her tired mind that he wouldn’t be able to handle. “What happened? Please tell me, you’re worrying me.”

She wiped her eyes again. “You told my mom you got me flowers.”

His entire body deflated, and it was like he just knew. “Stay here,” he said simply.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, nodded, and watched as Harry walked through their apartment. She wondered if he was walking so slowly on purpose. By now, she was used to Harry’s footsteps, and she listened to the sound of them: light and quiet on their hardwood floors. From the kitchen she could hear his dresser drawers sliding open and closed. It was as if he took ten times as long to come back to the kitchen as he did to leave it.

“How did y’know?” He asked.

She shook her head. “I didn’t.”

He smirked and pulled the little box out of his pocket and set it on the counter beside the flowers, her bags and her water. “I was going to wait until Christmas, y’gonna have nothing t’open.”

“I don’t need anything,” she promised.

He chuckled. “Kitten,” he sighed. “What am I going t’do with you?”

“I don’t know. But you have a lifetime to figure it out,” she vowed.

He smiled, shook his head. “Will you—”

“Yes.”

“Can you let me do it the right way—”

“No.”

He sighed. “Kitten,” he chided with a chuckle.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” she wiped her cheeks again and shook her head.

Harry took a deep breath. “Angel, will you—”

“I can’t do it, I’m sorry. Please just kiss me,” she begged.

He laughed, shook his head, and pressed his lips to hers. He held her so firmly in his embrace, dipping her backwards in the middle of the kitchen like this was the most romantic place in the world. When he stood her upright, her cheeks were flushed, and she was silent. She no longer looked anxious as she had when he entered the apartment. He grabbed the ring box, pulled the ring out of the safety of its little cushion and slipped it onto her finger. It fit perfectly. It wouldn’t need to be resized or anything. “Will you marry me?” He managed to ask without her interrupting.

Her response was immediate, though, barely finished the word ‘me’. “Yes."

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland @lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles @tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

[probablyasocialecologist]

In the context of what we’ve learned from our investigations into opt-in polls, we took particular notice of a recent online opt-in survey that had a startling finding about Holocaust denial among young Americans. The survey, fielded in December 2023, reported that 20% of U.S. adults under 30 agree with the statement, “The Holocaust is a myth.” This alarming finding received widespread attention from the news media and on social networks. From a survey science perspective, the finding deserved a closer look. It raised both of the red flags in the research literature about bogus respondents: It focused on a rare attitude (Holocaust denial), and it involved a subgroup frequently “infiltrated” by bogus respondents (young adults). Other questions asked in that December opt-in poll also pointed to a need for scrutiny. In the same poll, about half of adults under 30 (48%) expressed opposition to legal abortion. This result is dramatically at odds with rigorous polling from multiple survey organizations that consistently finds the rate of opposition among young adults to be much lower. In an April 2023 Pew Research Center survey, for instance, 26% of U.S. adults under 30 said abortion should be illegal in all or most cases. This was 13 points lower than the share among older Americans (39%). Our estimate for young adults was similar to ones from other, more recent probability-based surveys, such as an AP-NORC survey from June 2023 (27%) and a KFF survey from November 2023 (28%). We attempted to replicate the opt-in poll’s findings in our own survey, fielded in mid-January 2024 on Pew Research Center’s American Trends Panel. Unlike the December opt-in survey, our survey panel is recruited by mail – rather than online – using probability-based sampling. And in fact, our findings were quite different. Rather than 20%, we found that 3% of adults under 30 agree with the statement “The Holocaust is a myth.” (This percentage is the same for every other age group as well.) Had this been the original result, it is unlikely that it would have generated the same kind of media attention on one of the most sensitive possible topics. Likewise, our survey found substantial differences from the December poll on support for legal abortion. In the opt-in survey, roughly half of young adults (48%) said abortion should always be illegal or should only be legal in special circumstances, such as when the life of the mother is in danger. In our survey, 23% said so. These differences in estimates for young adults are what we would expect to see – based on past studies – if there were a large number of bogus respondents in the opt-in poll claiming to be under the age of 30. These respondents likely were not answering the questions based on their true opinions. The takeaway from our recent survey experiment is not that Holocaust denial in the United States is nonexistent or that younger and older Americans all have the same opinions when it comes to antisemitism or the Middle East. For example, our survey experiment found that young adults in the U.S. are less likely than older ones to say the state of Israel has the right to exist. This is broadly consistent with other rigorous polling showing that young people are somewhat less supportive of Israel – and more supportive of Palestinians – than older Americans. Rather, the takeaway is that reporting on complex and sensitive matters such as these requires the use of rigorous survey methods to avoid inadvertently misleading the public, particularly when studying the attitudes of young people.

[the-gateway-to-madness]

It sorta bothers me that post-series people are still complaining about 3Below being disconnected from the rest of Tales of Arcadia. For me, it was a refreshing break from the densely-packed fantasy lore and an intriguing peek at the way the universe beyond Arcadia and Earth functions. I liked the character arcs and interpersonal connections. And there was ample room for me to come up with a bunch of my own headcanons, which I love! I absolutely love being able to slot pieces of my own mind and soul into an existing world! I don't like shows where I'm told how every little detail works, that's way too much to remember. Instead I want enough to create an idea of the rules and how things might have gone/might continue to go and fill in whatever else I want.

Also, I think 3Below was SUPPOSED to be a lot more connected before Wizards got cut down. Tons of ideas didn't make it into the limited series run- I remember hearing stuff about Mordred being involved, a lost Krel arc, and I'm sure a lot of lore that would have bound the worlds together more closely. When they mentioned Gaylen's core came from Earth, there was clearly supposed to be more to that, but it got cut out. I'm like 93% sure Gaylen was a being who was part of or similar to the Arcane Order, but was drawn to the cosmos rather than to a part of the Earth. That would indicate that Akiridion tech and magic are compatible because Akiridions' energy-based life was initially magical, but those roots were largely forgotten because of how old a civilization Akiridion is. They've been spacefaring since humans were cavepeople. If the Order existed from the primeval dawn of the world, and Gaylen left not long after that, Akiridion could be millenia ahead of Earth. Or, heck, maybe Earth was the first or only livable world, and Gaylen created the Order to look after it before going off to try to find or create life elsewhere. I always headcanoned that Seklos was more powerful than most Akiridions or even the Royals that came after her, given the fact her core alone was enough to stop Gaylen while in the modern era it requires two royal cores. Maybe she was created by Gaylen to be Akiridion's version of an Arcane Order type being, and she created normal Akiridions, which she then had kids with, diluting her power in the Royals that followed. There's so much ancient history to unpack from just the tidbits we were given.

As for the modern era, there seems to very distinctly be a major intergalactic connection. The drunk ship operator in episode 3 of 3b s1 that the Zerons interrogate talks about ship classifications, which indicates a universal or at least an interplanetary system of ship ratings. We also see interplanetary tourism, and signs that Akiridion is one of the most advanced and influential planets out there.

3Below doesn't need to continue the plot of Trollhunters to be a valid part of Tales of Arcadia. It brought an energy to ToA that was somewhere between Star Trek TNG and Babylon 5, and I love how it expands the weirdness of Arcadia. If it was supposed to be a continuation of Trollhunters, they would have made more Trollhunters. But it's not Trollhunters, it's 3Below. And Wizards isn't Trollhunters either! I honestly think that Camelot, Douxie, and the world of wizards could have been written such that the Trollhunters cast was much less focal, and that if they'd given the show the time it needed and deserved to tell its story, it would have been fleshed-out and fascinating all on its own, with or without the TH gang. Where are the magic users beyond the reach of Camelot? Are there merfolk, sirens, harpies, dryads, more dragons, or other sapient races living on Earth with their own civilizations and magic and cultures? There are so many worlds and so many potential stories out there, on Earth and beyond, in the Tales of Arcadia universe. Arcadia just happens to be the narrative meshing point of them all. And I think that's a really cool way to build a universe.

Anyway, thanks for coming to my TED talk, here's more Akiridion development as a treat for making it this far.

[cmrosens]

Fantasy Religions: Rethinking Hell & Prayer

I'm creating a fantasy hellscape and death realms so I had some thoughts about that for worldbuilding:

What happens if your hellscape isn't a place of punishment? What alternatives are there to "punishment" as a concept, and what does that say about your fantasy religious system(s) and so on?

like: I'm using a system where it's about how you die. It literally doesn't matter what you were like as a person, if you die in a specific way, you go to the corresponding realm of the dead and you're at the mercy of whoever's realm that is. If they are pretty nice and the place is the one everyone wants to get into, you may need to convince the gatekeeper to let you in when you get there, but that's doable. Also people might then try and manipulate their deaths to fulfil the criteria for getting where they want to go.

It's also fun because then people can go to hellscapes (various) even if they don't deserve it, and what happens then? Can they escape? Can they journey through and find a way out? Can everyone?

Do/how do prayers function in this system?

Are people praying to a deity that can hear them?

How do they try and get said deity's attention and why is that meant to work?

If the deity/deities are very annoyed by the prayers of the living and have deliberately made it difficult for prayers to reach them, what then?

Or, is it more that the living require someone to open a channel of communication so they can be heard, and this also helps the souls of the dead in some way?

Can prayers benefit the dead? How and when?

Can the dead pray for themselves/for the living, so it operates in reverse?

I'm going with the system where you can't pray for yourself, that's an alien concept, because the person who prays becomes a conduit or a channel for somebody else. They have to try and make their mind go blank with repetition of words given to them by the wind - which carries the voices of the restless dead, who died without anyone to pray for them and open a road for them to travel on - and in that moment of blankness, the soul they are praying for can cross over from life to their appropriate death realm. If you don't have someone to pray for you like this, your soul joins the wind forever, and you are just a whisper bringing warnings and bad news to people, and telling them what to pray for everyone else.

This is based on the old folklore that you can hear the voices of the dead on the wind, I think it pops up in Flemish folklore in some form, but also I've heard it elsewhere. I just adapted it.

From this, you can build outwards and work out fantasy religions and philosophy and ideology. Just keep asking questions, layer on layer, and see where this goes, as your answers are the scaffolding and the shape will grow from those first decisions you make.

Like, ok, what's the terminology for these concepts and processes (do they even have words like 'hell' and 'prayer')? How do these terms show up in the language and casual conversation - idioms like "he hasn't got a prayer" or "not a hope in Hell" wouldn't work if prayer isn't something that's synonymous with 'chance this will work out', because in this world, the idea of asking for something in prayer doesn't exist.

So in my world, for example, 'he hasn't got a prayer' wouldn't mean 'he doesn't stand a chance', it means, 'he's going to join the restless dead because he's got no one to pray for him'. That might be used for a very unpopular person: he's so bad, he hasn't got a prayer. (He's such a bad person that he hasn't got anyone who will pray for him when he dies). Or, a very lonely, isolated person: I think that's so sad - living alone without a prayer.

Similarly, if there's no Hell, then all the idioms that use "Hell" as a place of punishment no longer apply, and if there's no equivalent, then "not a hope in Hell" would have to be retired and swapped out for something else that does make sense in this world instead.

Conversely, "living on a prayer" like Bon Jovi would mean "selling my ability to pray for you", like a service that people offer so you don't join the wind, or go to the wrong death realm, or that you'll get passed the gatekeeper if a prayer operates like a ticket to enter, or whatever this might mean in your world.

If this is something that can happen, how are these people seen - as necessary to the community, or as unscrupulous opportunists? Bit of both? There's a whole interesting series of characters you could develop from just that concept, which might draw parallels with the sin-eater figure. And what happens if someone who doesn't deserve a lovely afterlife pays someone to pray for them so that they get entry into a lovely death realm?

There's a lot to play with when you just take one idea away, and try to swap it for something else. In this case: Hell isn't a place of punishment, so what is it then, and does it exist at all, and if not, what is there instead and how does it work?

That's a good place to start with building fantasy religions. I've already done a few other posts on my thoughts there!

[moontheoretist]

(BTW I have no idea why it was translated as "interracial").

People who read more than a few omegaverses in their life know that there are many types of omegaverses. Usually Alphas and Omegas are seen as "the fated pair", something akin to the "one and only" and / or "fated lovers" tropes in the popular romance media just with a queer spin on it (and with a heavy dose of dubious consent if not outright rape in many cases, but not all of those stories include those - I found enough stories that didn't use those in order to make the characters get together, but because of the prevalence of those that do and the fact that omegaverse has its origins in kind of very toxic and brutal ideas, they still are seen in a bad light even now, despite changing a lot as a genre since then). But there is also a type like the one presented in Tadaima Okaeri, where omegaverse world is just slowly coming out of the era when people of each secondary gender could only date each other, meaning Alphas with Alphas, Betas with Betas, and Omegas with Omegas. Hiromu and Masaki are one of those unusual pairs that go against the tradition, which brings with it a heavy doze of drama and angst to the story, because Masaki as an Omega often thinks a lot about the obstacles and prejudices that they're facing. He tends to bottle up his insecurities and emotions, hiding behind a smile. It broke my heart every time. His family is so cute, they deserve everything!

In general omegaverses have or had in the past some kind of form of gender based prejudice and violence that mimics real world situation that women and queer people faced or are still facing today, but it's also a bit different due to the heat cycles that are a fantasy element.

(I'm taking the screens from the original Tadaima Okaeri manga).

So as you can see if not for the pills that Masaki is taking, he would be required to stay at home like a XIX century lady, fobidden to exist in the public space "for their own good", as omega pheromones tend to be portrayed as some kind of thing that can make Alphas into beasts.

If you started thinking about the argument that men often made in XIX century in order to secure sex from women, i.e. "that they're closer to nature and can't control themselves (while at the same time claiming that men are logical while women are emotional hence why women can't have any rights or hold any positions that give them power, uh, the hipocrisy), therefore women have to be submissive and accept it", then you are not wrong, because that's exactly what omegaverse uses, with the difference that in omegaverse it's not a made up bullshit that Alphas spout for easy access to Omegas, but a biological reality that everybody in omegaverse has to deal with. It's very on the nose tbh.

I like omegaverse but I can't unsee some parallels to real world xD

[ziseviolet]

Dior Mamianqun Controversy

I received the following message via chat from a follower, that I would like to share here:

Hi, 小紫, do you know that Dior appropriates the modernized mamianqun designed by some hanfu brands in china? link of discussion about Dior 2022 A/W show on weibo: https://weibo.com/6323095999/LChcJyPTa?refer_flag=1001030103_&type=repost#_rnd1657858224778 , I think Dior indeed directly referenced the structure of how it's pleated and inner cutouts of mamianqun which has a long history dated back to ming dynasty and influenced the shape of qing dynasty skirts as well, it is sussy, look how the DIOR model turned around when the skirt spread to reveal the split style, this is indeed the unique inner structure of mamianqun, a more rigorous examination requires DIOR to show the flat design, but Dior is not responding, it claims on the official website that this is their exclusive style launched this year, yet the same style of mamianqun has been prevalent among young people in China for several years, there are several taobao stores making exactly this kind of modernized mamianqun since 2018 or even early (metal leather buckle belt + fabric suitable for autumn and winter + long skirts), such as 四时景, 你好美荔, etc., I don't know how to make it an anonymous ask for you to post my question but I would like to listen to your and other followers' comments on this, thank you 小紫(also feel totally free not to post this one, it's your blog and you make the call ❤️

Here is a screenshot of Dior’s official shop with the skirt in question: 

And here are screenshots of the skirt being displayed on the runway:

Although I am not an expert on tailoring, it does look extremely similar to a Chinese mamianqun/马面裙 (horse-face skirt). Below is an actual modern mamianqun from hanfu brand 你好美荔’s 2018 collection, for comparison:

And here’s a reference sheet on Ming dynasty mamianqun history & construction:

Below is a summary of key points of Chinese netizens’ comments on Weibo:

Based on tailoring and construction, Dior took direct reference from mamianqun for this skirt

However, this is not necessarily “wrong” in and of itself. After all, fashion brands take inspiration from different cultures all the time

What IS wrong, and what is leading to the backlash from Chinese netizens, is that Dior is claiming that the skirt uses an “iconic Dior silhouette” (标志性的Dior廓形) and is a “completely new...fashion item” (全新的优雅时尚单品). See below for screenshot of the item description on their shop, using these exact words:

Personally, I agree with all of the above points. The act of a Western fashion house such as Dior taking inspiration from (or directly using) sartorial styles from other cultures is not new. It is also, in my opinion, not necessarily wrong - as long as due credit is given to the culture(s) that served as a reference for the styles. I do not believe that a historic fashion house like Dior is unaware of the existence of mamianqun. After all, even Princess Diana wore a Qing dynasty-style mamianqun before, in 1981 (x): 

Claiming that the style is totally original and unique to Dior, even an “iconic silhouette” of the brand, is disingenuous in the extreme and deserves to be called out. 

I am interested in hearing what my followers think about this. Especially tagging @fouryearsofshades​ and @audreydoeskaren who are knowledgeable about mamianqun construction and history. What do you all think?

[writeyouin]

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Male-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Learning To Get Along

A/N – So, a user on A03 suggested the snake servants’ new names. It was a stroke of genius on their behalf, and I can only thank them for it.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

FEMALE VERSION HERE

GN VERSION HERE

Do you think you can manage that? Lucifer’s words hung in the air, creating an icy barrier between you.

So, Lucifer thought himself too good for low-life Sinners such as yourself. That wasn’t fair. Sinners might be in Hell for a reason, but sometimes such reasons were just fucking stupid. Heaven ought to base their entry requirements on a person’s character or strength of heart, not just their actions. You had met plenty of Sinners who were in Hell because of the most trivial shit.

There were those who liked to sleep around, but if sex positivity was a problem, then how did Heaven explain Angels like Adam, whom Charlie had told you about in excruciating detail. Lust shouldn’t have ever been considered a Sin, as long as all participants in any such carnal act were above age and consenting.

Then, there were a few murderers you knew. Granted, murder made the lines blurry, but some Sinners killed in self-defence, or only targeted others such as themselves, protecting the innocent in a very gruesome Dexter-like fashion. Were they really to be condemned? And who the fuck gave a damn about Sloth. So, some people were just bone idle, who gave a shit? Heaven apparently.

And now, the ruler of Hell was condemning those around him as well. He was supposed to care for his people, good or bad. Not to mention those who were solely created for or born in Hell, such as Imps, Hell-Hounds, or the Deadly Sins themselves; they hadn’t committed any crimes to get sent here originally – it was their home.

Your eyebrows furrowed, creating an annoyed crease along your forehead.

“No,” You told Lucifer, who stared at you incredulously.

No? Didn’t you understand the situation? He was Lucifer. King of Hell. He could destroy you with no effort spared, leaving no trace that you ever existed, and you were telling him no? He wasn’t an unreasonable guy, but how could you possibly think that being around him was a good idea? Did you respect Charlie more than you feared him? Granted, he didn’t go out much so few knew how powerful he was, but no other Sinner would dare deny him his wishes.

You saw the look he was giving you and decided to explain yourself.

“Look, I’m only here ‘cos Charlie thought it was a good idea, and if you genuinely hate me, I’ll go and you’ll never have to see me again, but you’re not even trying right now. You haven’t spoken to me. You don’t know anything about me, and frankly, I think Charlie’s right, you do need someone to talk to.”

“I don’t-” Lucifer started.

“You don’t even know why I’m down here,” You interrupted angrily, though you refrained from raising your voice. “And you don’t want to know, right? ‘Cos all of us filthy Sinners must be the same. Ooh, we squandered your gift of Free Will and now we deserve to suffer for eternity, do we? Grow up!”

Lucifer stared at you in astonishment, and you sighed, apparently not finished in your tirade, “I’m going to my room tonight, but tomorrow, I expect that you’ll at least try to tolerate me. Who knows? We might even find some common ground. We both love Charlie, don’t we?”

Lucifer didn’t know what to say to that. He certainly loved his daughter, more than anything else in the universe, but you? He still suspected that you had some kind of ulterior motive… everyone in Hell did. Yet, you had a point. He would do this for her, even if it meant he had to tolerate you.

Who were you, really?

He looked at you closely for the first time, trying to pick out some detail of who you might have been. It was even more disturbing than he previously thought. Before, he only saw a human. Now, he examined your clothes. There was little to say about the style, but your apparel was reminiscent of a Holy Animal. With the ruffled cuffs of your jacket, the way the back peaked to create the image of feathers, and the yellow ribbon that lined the white material, you looked like a dove.

Yet… Despite living in the Hazbin Hotel, Charlie had insisted that you didn’t seek redemption. Why go through the farce of dressing like an Angel then… unless? No, you couldn’t be. No Angel would dare stray from Heaven unless they were ordered to.

Lucifer held back a glower, trying to keep his emotions in check so you wouldn’t sense his thoughts. There was a possibility, though small that you had been sent by the likes of Adam to spy on Lucifer and his kin, ensuring that none of Charlie’s patrons ever found a way to the Pearly Gates.

Well, it wouldn’t take long to uncover your ruse. Lucifer had ways of telling an Angel from a Demon, and once you were asleep, he would know.

“Yeah,” Lucifer said evenly. “I love my Charlie.”

“So, you’ll try then.”

Lucifer nodded his head in consent.

“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”

The sentiment went unreturned as your King returned to his chambers, biding his time until you slept.

When you returned to your room, you got ready for bed. The day had been long and unusual. Honestly, you didn’t feel that you had a place in the manor, and you longed for your room in the Hotel, even if it was smaller, had a large stain on the carpet (which Nifty had named Vivienne) and an unruly infestation of roaches.

In the short time you had spent there, it had become home.

You would miss the arguing inhabitants, the energetic wake-up call from Charlie, the feeling of safety that Vaggie instilled, and the sound of Alastor’s morning and evening radio broadcasts. Yet, you hoped you might find something equally valuable in return if only Lucifer would open himself up to the possibility that you didn’t want anything from him.

After glancing out of your window, which had a balcony you could step out to if you so wished, you took in the whole of the Magne District which was the heart of Pentagram City. If you strained your eyes, you could just see the flashing neon of the Hazbin Hotel, and if you turned your gaze up… There was Heaven, out of reach yet always in sight, taunting most Sinners, yet emboldening a brave few who dared to wonder What If? What if they could change and gain admittance to a better life?

You sighed and dared not ponder further when you needed to get some sleep.

Throwing yourself on the plush bed, you got comfortable, arranging yourself how you liked, then leaning over to your bedside table, you blew out the cherry candle you had previously lit.

You rested your head atop the satin pillows, then frowned, feeling a lump beneath it. You reached under and pulled out a rubber duck, painted to look like a Hellhound-Duck hybrid. Assuming it was one of Charlie’s childhood toys, you placed it carefully atop the table; it would keep you company on your first night in a strange new place.

Lucifer waited till the late twilight hours before leaving his workshop. He transformed himself into a snake, slithering silently through the Hallways, ensuring that you wouldn’t hear him coming.

Before being cast out of Heaven, detecting an Angel would have been a simple task. He would just know, the way he now knew how to read a Demon. Yet, with you giving off little sign of Demonic energy, he now had to test if you were of Angelic origin. There were two ways he could do so. The first was by spilling your blood. Those who were born in or sent to Heaven had golden ichor instead of the oozing red or black goop of Hell-spawn and Sinners.

However, not wishing to alert you to his presence, Lucifer decided to opt for the other method.

Once he was inside your room and certain that you were in a deep slumber, he reverted to his original form, standing over you, his pupils turning to slits at the thought of a traitor in his house. If you were what he thought you to be, he would kill you immediately.

He pulled a small yellow twenty-sided stone from his pocket and baring his fangs in anger, he pressed it lightly against your skin.

Nothing happened.

Lucifer’s expression changed from one of deep-seated loathing to confusion. You weren’t from Heaven. If you were, the stone would have glowed a brilliant shade of Gold. Instead, it remained its original dull yellow.

Very well.

He would keep his word and… Tolerate you.

He left your room as quietly as he had entered it. Tomorrow, things would be different.

Lucifer didn’t sleep that night; the idea of change was terrifying.

The next morning, when Lucifer finally resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to face you eventually, he headed downstairs, assuming that was where you were.

“JUST TRY IT!” He heard you yell. “TRY! OPEN YOUR MOUTH, DAMN IT!”

“Uh…” Was all he could think to say as he entered the kitchen and found you clinging to one of the snake cleaners he had created the previous night, in a rodeo-like fashion. The creature was trying to buck you off, with a somewhat derpy expression, probably stupidly assuming it was a game; Lucifer hadn’t bothered to instil them with much intelligence since he didn’t need them for anything more than cleaning.

“ARGH!” You grunted as you were dislodged from its back.

“What- What is this?” Lucifer asked, confused.

“Oh shit!” You cursed, embarrassed to have been caught in a less-than-dignified position. You attempted to regain a little composure by standing up, then held up a handful of wadded-up pancake.

“Do they eat?” You demanded, referring to the reptilian cleaners, “’Cos they’ve been in a picture frame their whole lives, and they must be hungry by now.”

Of all the stupid things you could have done, Lucifer couldn’t help but crack a smile, though he had the decency to hide his laugh behind a clenched fist and pass it off as a cough.

“They don’t need to.”

“Okay, but can they?”

“If they wanted to, I suppose so.”  

You glared at the mushed-up pancake, “I fucking knew it. Spick, Span, eat your fucking breakfast!”

“I’m sorry, who now?” Lucifer asked.

“Well, they clean, don’t they? Spick and Span seem to fit unless you have something better to name them.”

Lucifer chuckled, a half-short-lived chuckle, but one all the same. You were more chaotic than he expected.

“Fine, if you want them to eat, you’ve got to cook in style.”

He waved his hands energetically, his outfit transforming from his usual suit to one befitting a flashy Michelin Chef. He was comfortable in the role of an entertainer as he made a dazzling display of cooking up eggs. With the flash-bang of indoor fireworks, the island counter gained a conveyor belt to transport several dishes, all perfectly presentable and giving off a delectable aroma of herbs and spices.

Eggs-benedict, frittatas, and shakshuka shot by you, closely followed by a hungry Span, though his twin was busy writhing on the conveyer belt, trying to get to his feather duster, yet doomed to chase it since he didn’t think to travel in the opposite direction so it would meet him in the middle.

The sight was memorable to say the least, even when Spick knocked the food onto the floor and his brother was left stupidly sucking on the corner of the countertop where his seemingly new favourite dish had splattered.

You couldn’t help laughing.

“See?” You struggled to get the words out, “I knew they’d like food. I’m just a shite cook.”

Lucifer gazed at his dishes proudly, even though they were no longer fit for either of your consumption.

“Hah,” You said, feeling somewhat awkward now that the moment had passed and Lucifer’s gaze was upon you, trying to figure you out. “I’ll uh, clean this up.”

“No need, leave it to Flim and Flam,” Lucifer said nonchalantly.

“You know that’s not their names.”

“Whatever. So… we’ve met, there was breakfast with a show. We done for today?”

The smile fell from your face as you realised that all of this was just another of Lucifer’s acts. Granted, he might have actually had fun with it, but it was all just in the name of claiming he had tried to be around you, and just wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“I don’t know. I was going to go into the City if you wanted to come.”

“I can’t. I have… plans.”

Lucifer’s mood soured as he thought about visiting Heaven’s embassy to set up the meeting for Charlie. He hated everything about that building. The décor was just a cruel reminder of everything Heaven had banished him from. Moreover, while the Angels had to respect his power, they didn’t respect him; their cruel words and thinly veiled insults always cut him the deepest. Not to mention how bitter he was that the balance of power was uneven. Sure, Heaven had an embassy in Hell, but there was no such building in Heaven where Demons could work to arrange meetings between Angels and him.

It would always be Lucifer going to their building, on their terms, usually at their behest.

“Plans? So, you’re setting up Charlie’s meeting today?” You guessed astutely. “You know, I’m walking that way too.”

Lucifer guessed at your game. You probably hadn’t been going in that direction at all, but this was all in the name of ‘trying’. One way or another, he would have to learn to get along with you.

“Fine. Let’s go,” He said, flicking his hand back blasély, even though he found the idea of walking the streets of Hell daunting.

It would be better if he could teleport there, but at least, by the end of the day, you would have something positive to report back to Charlie.

[fairycosmos]

i don't have anyone so a stranger feels better but i think im going to kill myself soon. i don't see myself living anymore. everything is so doom and gloom

hey i'm so sorry to hear this and i get it 100%. i understand that clichéd words of comfort often ring hollow during times like these, so i won't just spout off empty platitudes. honestly i genuinely empathise with what you're going through and i totally recognising that words can't alleviate the overwhelming turmoil you're experiencing. it's so difficult to be in this headspace day after day, and it's completely understandable to feel drained/on the verge of giving up. existence can be exhausting and sometimes that's just all there is to it.

nevertheless, i hope you're able to reconsider eventually. i hope you're able to get to a place where you're able to see that your current mental state may not accurately reflect reality. your mind may be distorting your perceptions and endlessly catastrophising, as is common w suicidal ideation. it's important to realise that the intensity of these emotions is temporary and doesn't inherently define your future. i know that doesn't ring true right now but it is not impossible that it will eventually. while it might sound trite, reaching out to someone—a friend, your gp or a hotline—can offer the support you need not to suddenly and magically get better, but to safely collapse without harming yourself until you feel ready to stand up again. i'm not suggesting it as a simple or easy solution, but rather as a reminder that you don't have to face this alone. you still have options, even if it feels like you're trapped.

whether you need to cry, vent, distract yourself or just rest, it's all valid. take things moment by moment; that's all that's required of you right now. your presence is so so noticed and your safety is so important. If you feel like you're at risk, please prioritise getting to a secure location and reaching out to someone, even if it means overriding the current impulses of your own mind. you're not alone, and there are so many ways to begin confronting these feelings of suicidal ideation head-on without having to hurt yourself to do so - finding the root causes of why you feel this way, building a routine based off of healthier coping mechanisms, verbalising what's going on in your brain - it all helps. your brain is going to register it as bullshit at first, and that's alright. it's not a cure, and i understand that it's tiring to have to keep trying when it's the last thing in the world you want to do. but it'll give you some space between the intensity of your thoughts and your emotions. with time, it'll make it so that you're able to live a full and manageable life alongside the depression. there's no timeline for it, and it's a lifelong project, which i know isn't ideal. i just think you deserve to give yourself some grace and some time. please, take care of yourself and at least consider rethinking what you're saying to me. i care about you and will be here if you need to talk or anything. please visit the resources below if you feel like you're at your wits end and don't know what else to do. even if they're of no help to you right now, maybe you could come back to them some time. sending a big hug. x

international suicide hotlines / coping with suicidal thoughts pdf / creating a crisis plan / suicidal ideation coping skills / suicidal ideation coping skills 2

[ponyosmom35]

ghost loves her enough to let her go

Simon ghost Riley x reader

Liability chapter fifteen!

summary: A glimpse into the months following readers departure.

warnings: angst, mentions of death, anxiety, panic attacks

Liability masterlist:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

immersing him in a profound sense of darkness and solitude. Grief clung to him like a relentless specter, as he found himself entangled in a web of guilt and regret, endlessly replaying countless scenarios of "what ifs" in his tormented mind. With each passing hour, the pit in his stomach deepened, becoming an ever-heavier burden. Despite the overwhelming ache of missing her, Simon recognized, with a heavy heart, the necessity of letting her go and allowing her the space to grieve.

Time passed slowly. One day turned into two, the next thing he knew it had been months. She had escaped a life that no longer suited her, and Simon was determined in ensuring she had the chance to embrace the existence she truly deserved. From the moment she departed, he had committed to being the steadfast force that would not beckon her back into the tumultuous world they once shared. It was an act of protection, driven by the deep understanding that her well-being required distance.

Simon's initial encounter with her on the military base had been a clash of emotions. Clouded by anger and skepticism, he had rejected her presence. However, her undeniable beauty and unwavering confidence caught him off guard, planting the seeds of an unexpected connection. Slowly, he recognized the resonance between them—the two sides of a shared coin. Her warmth, bright smile, and unyielding personality were irresistible, revealing a woman who demanded respect and kindness, traits not bestowed upon just anyone.

As their connection deepened, the journey became a mix of exhilaration and trepidation. Reveling in the moments spent together, even during the inevitable arguments, Simon found himself grappling with the fear and uncertainty of an unpredictable future. The realization that their union put her at risk haunted him, and the desire to savor every moment with her clashed with the dread of potential consequences. Memories of past vulnerabilities and the instinct to protect her at any cost led him to a heartbreaking decision—cutting her off completely.

In the solitude of his nights, Simon paced back and forth, his mind swirling with memories. The pile of unsent letters, a silent testimony to unspoken emotions, loomed over him. An overwhelming sense of emptiness filled his lungs, and the specter of his family's tragedy cast a haunting shadow over his fears for her safety. Tormented by nightmares, he grappled with the haunting possibility that she, too, might face a similar fate.

Three months after her departure, Simon summoned the courage to pick up the phone, tears betraying the emotions he had fought to contain. As he waited for the call to connect, his trembling fingers mirrored the racing beat of his heart. When her voice finally reached his ears after a prolonged absence, a torrent of emotions overwhelmed him. Yet, he steeled himself, determined to maintain the necessary distance. It was a heartbreaking act of self-discipline, driven by the belief that he was not meant for the complexities of loving relationships.

The moment the call ended, Simon buried his face in his hands, grappling with the emotional storm within. Deep breaths, attempts to slow his racing heartbeat, and a physical retreat to the corner of his room marked his struggle for control. Every fiber of his being yearned to reach out to her again, but the knowledge that he couldn't kept him isolated in a room charged with emotional turmoil.

Night after night, he wrestled with anxiety and grief, seeking solace in a fitful sleep. Sweet dreams of a life together taunted him, only to dissolve upon waking into the cold reality of their separation. The pain intensified, fueled by the realization of what might have been.

Watching the woman he loved move on without him became one of the most agonizing experiences for Simon. Updates from mutual acquaintances provided bittersweet glimpses into her life, with every detail amplifying the longing within him. In a moment of vulnerability, he chose to lie to close friends, painting a facade of moving on and finding happiness elsewhere. It was a defense mechanism, though deep down, he clung to the hope that their paths might converge again.

Immersing himself in work became Simon's refuge, a conscious effort to relegate his emotions to the background. The demands of the job provided a necessary distraction, a way to silence the constant ache of her absence. As days turned into weeks, he grappled with the acceptance that their paths were likely irrevocably diverged.

In a renewed surge of determination, Simon focused on what he deemed his forte—being Ghost. The intensity of the work consumed him, gradually dimming the thought of her in his mind. Buried in tasks, he reverted to the silent and ruthless operator, a coping mechanism to shield himself from the persistent yearning for a love lost. It was a cold existence, but at least it spared him the constant pain of her absence.

a/n:

anddd that completes part one of this story! again like I've said before this part of the plot is before the events of MW2! Part two is going to pick up there! I want to thank every one of you for taking the time to read my story, writing is a passion and I've had a lot of fun writing this. It's been months since I've been able to write a single word, so I'm definitely writing as much as I can right now! Love you all so so much!