#this is not a real offer i am simply expressing my pain

[chloverly]

got my iud replaced who wanna knead my uterus like a cat bc im dying of cramps

[mosaickiwi]

Fall Unto Me (part three)

Part one, part two

I said I was on break but then a lot of things immediately fell out of my brain cause of stress so now I feel silly... sowweeeeee 🤡 Part four WILL be the last part I swear. If you see more Angel!Angel and Demon!Ren from me after that (and da infodump if i get to it) genuinely tell me to shut the FUCK up!!!

yes i am probably writing the NSFW version it'll be in my compendium post if it happens

cw// religious themes

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

Your resolve was getting harder to hold on to, but you kept it. This would be the last time. You couldn't part from heaven again after returning. Atonement was waiting for you, eternal devotion to your duty right after.

Another few weeks went by as you stayed with Ren a little longer, the sea of flowers outside your bedroom window changing little by little each day. So many of them were already fully blooming, most of their petals stretched open to show off a myriad of colors while others curled inwards to hide from you. Practically a taunting mockery with how they took their time. As if insulted you would dare leave once they painted the horizon with their beauty.

It made it all the more painful that you'd never see them again. Or the companion that now felt like a piece you'd been missing.

Something about that encroaching deadline had affected the devil, too. Ren was calmer in some ways. They still brought you gifts and knowledge like usual, but he seemed to be taking his time just like the flowers. Simple answers to your curiosities became thorough while he held you close and urged you to ask more questions about whichever object took interest. 

He'd offered to revisit trinkets you loved as well. Until you were as familiar with using them as he was. You couldn't understand it. 

Your time together was draining away by the second. Didn't they want to make exciting memories? No matter how much you enjoyed it, mastery over human instruments or crafts served no purpose. Heaven wouldn't let you bring those things home, nor could you ask a higher power to recreate them for leisure.

Maybe your love was in denial of your departure. Or maybe spending little mundane, quiet days and nights together like this was their way of coming to terms with it.

Today, you chose to fiddle with one of the oldest gifts while chatting with him. The sun was just beginning to set, casting the room in the faded, flaming gold hue you'd only now gotten used to. 

“—Love?” He was calling you, the end of his tail swaying gently in front of your face to get your attention. You’d missed a few words.

“Hm?”

“You've gotten much better at this,” the pink haired devil hummed above you. His chin was resting atop your head as they cradled you in their lap on a frayed rug, his back against the bottom of the couch.

You looked over your work. The woven red string wrapped around and through your fingers took the shape of a pointed star. You knew real stars looked differently, but the human interpretation was interesting.

“Truly, it’s better than before,” you said with wholehearted agreement. The first time you'd tried—only on the third day of your visit to earth—had simply tangled the string to a knotted mess stuck upon your fingers for Ren to deal with while you apologized, embarrassed beyond belief. 

The patterns they taught you were almost easy thanks to your afternoon of trying. You unwound the string and painstakingly wound it again into one that often graced your practice: an angel. He'd been particularly smug about teaching you the motions of that one.

“An impressive self portrait,” Ren joked and squeezed you tighter in their embrace. “Although it'll take more than some thread to capture your divine beauty.”

Naturally, you rolled your eyes even though the soul it was meant for couldn't see it. A mortal gesture you'd gotten the hang of quicker than anything, as he so favored innocent teasing before expressing his deepest sincerities.

You untangled the string and tossed it to the side, then turned in their lap to make a face this time for their benefit. “I’ll do a painting, then. I’ve had enough of this toy.”

He relaxed his hold long enough for you to wander across the room in search of new distractions, but innocently called after you, “We’ll have to light quite a few candles for you to see well. Unless you plan to have me mix paints for you in the dark.” A second passed before he spoke again. “It’d be a pleasant surprise, I’m sure.” 

“Something else?” you replied, making a swift turn towards the bookshelves. You came back with a couple of novels and sat beside them with your treasure. “Is this really all you want to do? You’ve read every book here before.” 

Even the books he’d bought with strange, flimsy paper currency for you, Ren had said so casually, were already familiar territory. Tedium hardly described how boring you thought these weeks must be for him. But he never objected to anything you chose, as long as you both stayed close to home during the day. 

And you always kept your wings hidden in case a human roamed nearby. You'd never seen one come close to the cabin, or even the field of flowers, but he insisted your safety—and proximity to them—was of utmost priority. It was hard to remember the last time you let loose your wings at all after walking on the beach with him. They interrupted your thoughts once more.

“My sweet, delicate angel, I’ve had all the time in the world to do anything I want.” Their blue eyes narrowed with a smile as they spoke and you knew more teasing was coming. “We could even sit here in silence all night, if you asked me nicely.”

“How kind of you, my darling demon,” you teased them back. 

Another jesting response in his gaze faded to something different as you pulled him down for a kiss, gently at first. The books you’d brought over lay forgotten, soon shoved under the couch in favor of your new activity.

Kissing the demon you called yours felt like second nature now. There was no sting that ever came, no homesick aching in your back anymore. Only the flood of tender emotions he gave you, tainted by your own guilt and fears of parting from him.

You needed more. A stronger distraction. Your hand on his shirt tightened, determined to keep him. To stay in this moment as long as possible.

Ren exhaled, a muttering of blasphemous praise you dare not repeat whispered from his lips to yours, along with one word. A word that sounded odd to your ears. 

You'd heard it countless times over the months, but it didn't feel strange until after the first kiss you shared. He must have said it earlier, too, when you were occupied with that damned little red string. Demonic language was much different, it certainly wasn’t that at all. And the sounds of the word did feel similar to mortal languages, but nothing came to mind. So naturally, you could only assume it to be another of their pet names, but…

The thought fell to the side as you focused on him. He was all that needed to matter right now.

Their comforting warmth that called of your sacred home, your nails curling into the bottom of his shirt just to fall lower, an iron, almost nectar-like taste that flowered on your tongue—did you bite him this time? It felt good. 

Desperately, you brushed your hand over his thigh, getting dangerously close to where you knew things risked going further. You caught yourself and froze. You wanted him, you’d known since that day in the rain. In every way a being could yearn for another’s love. And of course he felt the same. But could you really go home if it happened? 

“Before I…” The words hung in the air and what remained weighed in your throat. Before I leave. Departure was looming on the horizon, sure as the sun would rise tomorrow. You dare not mention it to the one you loved again. You opened your eyes to meet theirs, cautiously as you wondered, “Is this alright?”

“Yes,” they answered, longing clear as the evening sky in his voice. “I couldn’t bear—or ever want—to deny you. Little angel, all you desire of me is yours to take.”

Without another word you did just that. You thought nothing of the faint, staggered line you felt under your fingertips that seemed to start somewhere along his shoulder blade as you lifted the shirt away and pushed him to lay on the rug. Your hands pressed their ink-stained arms flat next to the disheveled mess of pink hair and horns. Ren grinned at your audacity to pin him, but held still for your much needed exploration. 

Eyes half lidded with patient lust, mouth parted to show off pointed fangs, the devil looked to be the very picture of your sinful desires.

To be one with them, even just once, was a memory worth making. No matter what punishment waited for you at heaven’s boundary. You skimmed your fingers from the base of his collarbone, down over their stomach, and began to undo the buttons that concealed what you’d been waiting for.

[astrosouldivinity]

Astrological placements in a natal chart that may indicate Bipolar Disorder or BPD 😶 🌊

Part 2:

⚠️ Disclaimer: I am not saying these placements are inherently borderline or bipolar. But they may be more prone to borderline/bipolar behaviors. You can use astrology to observe your subconscious patterns. Essentially, you can use it for shadow work. But these may not apply to everyone so take what resonates and leave what does not. The last mental illness I will be doing is OCD/Anxiety then that’s it for this series. I may revisit this topic in the future.

I want to clarify that I am not demonizing, diagnosing, or generalizing mental health disorders. Astrology & psychology can intertwine with each other. You can use astrology for deeper introspection & pairing both psychology + astrology together can help with healing. But I am simply observing my understanding of specific psychological disorders & how they connect to astrology via shadow work. But you can use astrology to predict certain mental illnesses. But it’s still a prediction so it may resonate or it may not.

Leo Sun/Moon/Mars/Venus/Saturn: They feel things intensely. They are the sun after all. Their emotions burn through them which can be painful for them especially if they don’t know how to control their fiery, & passionate side. They may be prone to a more extremist mindset. It’s all or nothing for them essentially. But these behaviors may intensify especially if negatively aspected.

Libra Stellium: Has a strong desire for equilibrium they may even stress themselves out trying to get to their perceived peaceful state. They are constantly perceiving multiple perspectives trying to choose the fairest one. This can apply to their emotions as well. If they don’t choose they can be self-destructive in their process of coming to their conclusions.

Aquarius Sun: They can be emotionally suppressive & chaotic at the same time especially if negatively aspected. They don’t like to share their emotions & may even ignore them but that usually tends to backfire on them. When pushed to that point everything they have been suppressing comes spilling out. They feel things deeply but it can be difficult for them to connect to their emotions since they try to stay logical vs. emotional overall. These behaviors may intensify especially if afflicted.

Scorpio Saturn: I forgot to add them to part 1 but the same thing applies. Can be emotionally unpredictable when they feel emotionally slighted or vulnerable. This may cause them to be able to see things in only black & white. Essentially, there is no gray area when it comes to how they perceive situations. But they can be vengeful & petty when they feel a real or perceived betrayal.

Moon Square Mars: These individuals fear vulnerability & just intimacy overall. They may even suppress their emotions out of fear of being judged for their innermost feelings. This can be detrimental for them because they naturally tend to have very deep, & intense emotions. But even though they hide them from others that doesn’t stop them from coming out anyway. May be quick to anger & just emotional volatility in general especially if they feel emotionally exposed as well.

Mercury Square Neptune: May be prone to more escapist behaviors. They can struggle with reality & expressing their innermost thoughts to others. They may also struggle with separating their thoughts from their emotions. Essentially, they will both get muddled which creates much confusion for them. However, they may be prone to paranoia because of their difficulties staying grounded in the reality of their emotions/communication overall.

Afflicted Sun: They may struggle with maintaining relationships with others. They can also struggle with low self-esteem & just lack the confidence overall to authentically express themselves. Can be prone to egoistic & moody behaviors. They can get trapped in their ego & may even find it difficult to break free.

Sun Neptune Aspects: Can struggle with having a distorted sense of self & may even find it difficult to stay present in reality. They could feel like how they perceive themselves is not being presented accurately with how others perceive them.

Moon-Pluto Aspects: They have trauma surrounding vulnerability & intimacy overall. They may fear bonding with people on a deeper level. It can be hard for them to emotionally express themselves because their emotions are all-consuming. But they operate comfortably in chaos & can be more prone to self-destructive behaviors. But others may find it difficult to understand & connect with them as well.

7H Moon/Venus/Saturn: Can struggle with maintaining their interpersonal relationships. Their relationships with others might manifest as being emotionally volatile & just karmic overall.

~Part 1~

[the-cornuthaum]

Depression's a bitch. If you haven't experienced it for yourself - good. Keep it that way. If you have, you might be able to read the last story parts of Lone Trail and draw some measure of solace from them, the knowledge that whoever was writing it Got It.

There's more I have to say about this below but I don't want to be too much of a bother so let's see if I get this line break thing to work right.

Lone Trail is a strong event all around but it is without any doubt at its strongest when it grapples with the themes of isolation, loneliness and alienation that isn't (just) the simple absence of physical comfort from the presence of another human being.

It's this, the isolated alienation from everyone and everything around you that is core to many - not all, it never is the same for everyone - depressive expressions for people around the world. That constant feeling of being stuck behind a glass wall, able to see how things could be, how things should be, but not being able to actually get there.

This feeling, it often and easily leads to raging against a fate that is hard to see as anything but a crippling defect. It makes you wish you could feel nothing, rather than feel like that. To be a thing of clockwork, simple cause and effect.

In those moments, it is also altogether too easy to ask yourself "but what is life worth, then?" and in the depths of that depression not being able to come up an answer. It is an illness, depression, it is maladaptive.

When I read this, I was almost giddy. Someone McFucking Got It.

It is no less than my answer to struggle with chronic illnesses. That this is not just, that this is not fair, that this is not good, but that it simply *is*, and that my life experience is not inherently lessened or less worthy for it.

It is being able to put your faith in other people who offer a helping hand and trust their perception - of you, or your situation - over your own, no matter how improbable or implausible or even stupid their assessment is (or seems to be. Never forget: Depression is a chronic illness that severely and negatively warps your ability to self-assess.)

There is no grand fanfare for getting it right, either. There's no miracle cure. Life goes on, and we all age in real time.

But it answers the question of "what is life worth, then?". Living, existing, being, continuing on in the face of often very literal pain or metaphorical leaden weights on your heart and shoulders, it is in and of itself good enough. One might not like their life, but it is still worth living.

And I am glad to see that in Arknights, too. To see someone cut off from their culture, their former friends and their dreams, who is on the very literal threshold of giving in to their suicidal ideation, taking the plunge and putting their faith and trust in the assessment of someone else and manages to keep going and keep living.

(But also: "What is life worth, then?" is the wrong question, anyways. Worth is a construct that has no place put next to the full braid of experiences that go into making up a human life.)

[ourfatherwhoartinhell]

"In the night, I am real..." // [Part III]

Pairing | Alpha x reader

Word count | 1462

Warnings | Ghouls sent back to the Pit, ritual gone wrong, rite here rite now spoilers, canon divergence, f!reader - no y/n

Chapter Summary: You decide to see if the "silly book" you found is more than it seems. Heartbroken, you follow the ancient book's instructions to perform a ritual, hoping to bring Alpha back on your own. However things don't quite go according to plan.

[Prev]

The hellish scene you created last week went unacknowledged by Copia. When interrogated by Sister Imperator, he simply said, “One of the ghouls must’ve eaten some bad sushi or something, I don’t know.” It was your little secret, and life continued on as normal.

You were slowly becoming more yourself in the 2 weeks following the incident. Copia invited you to join band practice and give his (properly summoned) Ghouls some pointers. You found out that they weren’t so bad after all. A little wild, but they were perfectly his.

You made a point to talk with Dewdrop after learning about his element change. That must have been so painful, you felt guilty for not being there for him during the transition. To start making amends, you gave him some tips about how Alpha used to deal with flare-ups and dysregulation. You didn't know whether it would help, but it was your way of reaching out, and trying being of service to the band again.

It was getting close to midnight and practice had just finished for the day. Swiss and Phantom, the ghouls that had taken to you the most, offered for you to join them for a movie night in the den. You politely declined as you already had important plans for tonight.

You smiled and wished the last of the Siblings heading inside a good night, as you walked out to the familiar bench in the garden. It was the first time you allowed yourself to sit out here under the moonlight since your Ghoul disappeared 6 years ago.

You removed the black guitar from within its case and sat it on your lap.

“Please don’t laugh, I haven’t done this in a while.” You said to no one in particular.

You began to play an acoustic version of If You Have Ghosts. It was one of your favourites. When Terzo used to help you through anxiety attacks, he would sing it. You didn’t know why he spent so much time helping you, but it was like he was speaking to you through every word of it. Telling you that as long as you had Ghost, they are all you would ever need. You fell in love with it after that. However, after the events of last week, you were beginning to realize what that truly meant.

You plucked along, the crescent moon shining bright above you as you sang. 

“The moon,” you chuckled as you looked. “Up above… is a part of my thoughts, and a part of me is me. Forever is the wind…”

“In the night, I am real.”

You immediately stopped playing and froze.

No one else should be out here at this hour, definitely not a Ghoul. As far as you knew, they were all watching the movie. If you just stayed quiet, maybe they would go away. But the voice continued softly, this time directly behind you.

“In the night, I am real.” 

It couldn’t possibly… 

“I don’t remember teaching you that one?”

If a person could turn their head around any faster, they would probably break it at the speed you turned to look behind you. Your face expressing a confusing mixture of surprise, disbelief, and a flicker of hope.

“I knew I’d find you out here.” The voice said with a fanged smile.

You shot up and immediately engulfed the large Ghoul, sharing a close embrace that was much overdue. Not caring if your tears were beginning to soak through his shirt.

“I missed you so much.” You choked out between sobs, pulling back and sniffling as you looked up at your mate. “You are here, right? I’m not hallucinating?”

Alpha smiled softly as he held your face in his hands, pushing away the strands of hair glued down by your tears. You studied his face, fearing he was going to disappear again, gently running a hand over his cheek and smiling fondly at him.

“The embers in your eyes are still as bright.”

EPILOGUE

1 Year Later

Everyone was gathered in the communal hall, waiting for the newly promoted Frater Imperator to make some big speech. All was going well in the world of the Ministry. You couldn’t begin to imagine how to make the future any brighter than it was right now. 

Copia, or now known as Frater Imperator, appeared on stage to make his first official statement before the masses of his Ministry.

“Oh, hello. Thank you for coming,” he began. “I just wanted to let you all know of a recent change I made. I hope you like it. Apparently there was a policy we practiced that caused many of our brothers and sisters much sorrow.”

The conversations in the room fell to a hushed whisper as everyone eagerly awaited to hear what Copia had going on in that crazy mind of his.

“So!” He clapped his hands together. “I’m proud to announce, effective immediately, the practice of banishing ghouls will no longer be in effect. That means after their service is complete, ghouls will no longer be banished and replaced. They are the backbone of our congregation. They are our brothers and sisters,” he said, glancing at his ghouls huddled together beside the stage. 

“Our friends,” he nodded to Aether, who stood near the door. 

“And for some,” he glanced along the wall, finding Alpha holding you protectively in front of him. Both finally at peace. “They are family. The ghouls will always have a home here, for as long as they wish to stay.”

The cheers were relentless. Brothers and Sisters of the Ministry excitedly embracing their ghoulish friends and partners in various states of disbelief. The ghouls' burden of knowing one day they might suddenly disappear was abolished. No one will have to go through the pain of being forcibly separated, not anymore.

“But!” Copia chirped. “That is to say: if there are any ghouls that still wish to return, I will do the ritual myself. Alternatively, if there are any who need to be reunited, I will take a few cases into consideration. My first duty as head of this Ministry is to right some wrongs, and to do better than those that came before me,” he explained, looking out with a smile at his beaming audience. “So that’s what I plan to do.”

Until the night of the incident a year ago, Copia never really gave much thought to the spin-off effects of sending ghouls back to the pit. Actually, he thought they might be excited to go home once they were no longer needed.

Never did he consider that in the years they were on the surface, the ghouls would’ve made strong connections and relationships with those outside of the band. Relationships that would be painfully torn apart when they were gone. 

After you accidentally summoned a lesser demon trying to get Alpha back, Copia made sure the Book of Resurrection (which you learned was the correct title) was properly locked away in his chamber for everyone’s safety. It would only be pulled out for the next Papa to summon new ghouls, if he so chooses.

However, that was not before Copia made one last summoning.

Unlike Nihil and Sister Imperator, ghoul’s weren’t able to appear as apparitions to help him learn what had happened to you back then - since ghouls weren’t technically dead. So he went to the next best option: a ghoul who was there. 

Dewdrop.

Dew told Copia about how your presence used to annoy Alpha to no end. Until one day things changed and Alpha started to get extremely protective of you. Something about how you yelled at him once for picking on Omega. 

“She was shaking like a leaf, scared to death, but looked him dead in the eyes and defended Omega anyway. After that, everything kind of changed.” 

Copia learned you two were set to be officially mated 3 days before the ghouls disappeared. He also never considered the ghouls could have mates that weren’t, well… other ghouls.

He was determined to right some wrongs, and now he knew that started with you.

Copia managed to summon Alpha back from the pit the day before what would’ve been your anniversary. He wanted to give the older ghoul time to adjust to being back on the surface after so long. Meanwhile, Copia’s ghouls were right there with him, eager to help.

The next day, he informed you that there was no band practice since he wasn’t feeling his best. Which, in all fairness, he wasn’t. Summoning a ghoul like Alpha took a lot out of him.

Yet he still found the strength to watch your long awaited reunion from his window.

It was going to be the start of a new era. In more ways than one.

[antoschauniverse]

Hi. I am the anon who vented. I appreciate that you addressed some of the points and that your blog offers a safe opportunity to agree to disagree.

I think I poorly expressed my vent. I applaud her for working and I didn't mean "past her prime" because of her age. I guess I mean that she is unappealing when she represents sex in such a bawdy and distasteful manner when it is broken down to vaginas and peni. The sex value is more than body parts, and she has the opportunity to show that sex can be just as wonderful at any age, but her marketing can be distasteful. I, too, am a woman of an older age, so I wish that she would be less shock value and more "real" of what sex can mean. I guess I am simply not her target audience, and that's fine.

You're right in that she can be the face of a company and that is great female empowerment, but I find that her "face" to the company is problematic when she has to bring in her partner's son. To me, it reads as if she is just along for the ride and adventure. Yes, give credit to the co-founder, but own your own credit too. I noticed in one of the public findings that there seems to be 2 main shareholders in the renamed company(conglomerate?). It's her and another woman. In a weird way, she reminds me of the Disney corporation that will change its tune to please the public.

When I vented, I was frustrated because I see that she has taken on this sex guru persona, but what about the Scully or early Gillian sex appeal mixed with intelligence? Women are more than just sex and bodies, and that was the beauty of Scully. I haven't read her book, but do you know how many of the want stories include sex as intelligence, just for the person's companion and not strangers? Sex in later years is sometimes better than when we were young because we lose some of the inhibitions and taboos. This also can bring a couple so much closer together. This is the shock value aspect that I was trying to reference.

I know that she has worked for the charity of the disease that took her brother's life and promoted them at various cons. How long has it been since she promoted the charity to get the attention and funds on her IG/X to bring more awareness to the cause? Maybe this is a sensitive issue for me because I recently lost someone to a disease and all I can think of is helping out with charities because I know how those families feel and the excruciating pain of wishing and hoping for a cure. This is purely projection onto someone I don't know but that person has the ability to influence a piece of society that some of us wish we could for causes that can save lives.

Even though we are pure observers of these celebrities, they do bring about interesting discussions that are beyond them and are reflections of social change, voices, and what is important to what we see in a social narrative. They are simply public vessels that instigate these discussions through various points of view.

Thank you. It's okay. I myself often express my opinion in such a way that it may be difficult for people to understand me.

I think the aggressive advertising campaign for her book and drinks is not Gillian's idea, nor is her behavior. This is a strategy that a marketing company came up with based on her role in the TV series "Sex Education". And this strategy is designed for younger people than us. I think it's too late for Gillian to use Scully's sexuality, it's been 30 years after all.

A team of editors worked on the book, so it was mostly their subjective opinion that became the basis for choosing stories. Gillian, of course, read the selected stories, but I doubt she was involved in selecting them herself.

I may be wrong, but Peter's son had something to do with production or promotion in the past, and therefore his choice was justified to some extent. And as far as I know, he is still a shareholder.

Gillian talks about her brother, but very rarely. I think it's very painful for her to talk about it even after all these years and she just doesn't want to show her pain in public. And she continues to support the Neurofibromatosis Association, but she doesn't talk much about it.

I don't really like the image of Gillian these days, but at least she shows that women after the age of 30 still exist and they are not invisible because of their age.

[octakiseronliker]

20 + eighthcest!!

20. laughing into the kiss

"You are being," Silas says severely, "completely and utterly ridiculous."

"Am not," Colum replies, tone completely devoid of amusement. "It's a real and serious condition."

"It is not."

"It is. And you would see your nephew die of it rather than administer remedy."

Colum is laying flat on his back in his cavalier's cot, eyes closed, feigning near-death. It is not a difficult thing to pretend, in his perpetually exhausted condition. He surely looks half-gone already. The purpose of this exercise is to buy him more time laying flat on his back in his bed, because his mattress feels better on his spine than does standing. So far, it is working, even if it does result in his being harangued by his increasingly irritated uncle for his pretended illness.

"There is no such thing," Silas says very sternly, "as a disease that renders you unable to get out of your bed and engage in your daily tasks ⁠unless ⁠—"

"I'm dying, Uncle. You care not at all that I'm dying. I feel myself fading even now."

"You are not ⁠—"

"The light of the Lord descends ⁠—"

"You are nearly forty years old ⁠—"

"And I'll not see another, for your callousness ⁠—"

"There is not a disease," Silas repeats, rather loudly, "that means you cannot get up like a grown man and do the work the Lord proscribes you before you have received a kiss."

The elders are going to hear him in the hall at this rate. If Colum didn't know better, he would say that Silas Octakiseron, twenty years old, devoted servant of the Emperor Undying, head of the government of the Eighth House, Master Templar of the Order of the White Glass, foremost religious official of the Dominicus system, frequent lover of the humble cavalier primary Colum Asht, was about one moment short of stomping his foot.

He suppresses a smile, but it's a near thing. He can feel his lips quirk.

"You are laughing at me," Silas says imperiously. "And being incredibly foolish in doing so."

"Not at all, Master. I find myself very grave. I face Death with my head high and eyes forward, as befits a cavalier of the Eighth, knowing that the Lord Over the River waits to call me home, surely in only moments ⁠—"

"Colum!"

"And yet an ailment so easily healed ⁠—"

"The Eighth House does not negotiate with terrorists!"

"A breach so simply repaired ⁠—"

"I am not rewarding this behavior!"

"A solution the one I love best in the world is so uniquely capable of providing ⁠—"

"Ugh!" Silas finally declaims, and though Colum's eyes are closed he can envision with perfect clarity the pinched expression that accompanies this, just as it has always looked.

"You are such a child," he grumbles. "I was supposed to have my hair done ten minutes ago to deliver the late morning mass and now I am going to be tardy, and I will blame you, Colum Asht, if anyone asks after the cause."

Colum cracks one eye open, just slightly, determined not to laugh. Silas, very pink in the face, crosses over to him and grips his face none too gently in both small hands, bending down to peck him perfunctorily on the mouth. He yelps when Colum catches him by the waist in one arm, sitting up and kissing him properly. He does laugh then, just a bit, in his triumph, and Silas makes a disapproving sound in response.

For a moment Colum almost thinks the unimpeachable Silas has forgotten himself, because disapproval or no, he allows Colum to kiss him rather deeply, almost sliding an arm up and around his neck. If he had, he remembers himself very quickly, because he pushes Colum away with an irritable noise, and in a great rush announces, "There, you're healed, stop being an idiot and get up before I make you offer penance during the service."

"Of course, Master Templar," Colum says, rising at last with a painful, crackle-jointed stretch and, still in his sleep clothes, dutifully trailing Silas to his desk to tie up his hair.

In the end, he has only made him five minutes late.

[theladyoflove]

hi! i've been having a debate with a friend, do you believe pinning after someone with a partner is good on the eyes of Aphrodite? like could you give it as an offering or would she not like it at all?

Plain text under the cut.

Hello!

This is a very interesting question for a number of reasons. Firstly, this is a moralistic question framed as a theological one, and one that you're asking a mortal in place of a Deity. And secondly, because you are asking whether emotions can be used as offerings.

As far as I am aware, all offerings used in ancient Greece were tangible, meaning you could see, hear or touch them. While emotions were part of some rituals such as in funerals or the Eleusinian Mysteries, they were expressed through tangible acts such as ritual screaming, crying, singing or dancing or through clothing such as veils.

If you were to express this feeling of pining through a tangible act, then it would class as an offering! (And if someone more well read than me has a source which disagrees with what I'm saying, I'd be very interested to read it!)

Concerning the morality or 'liking' of such an offering. I, of course, cannot speak for Aphrodite and it would be hubristic to pretend that I could. So my answer here will be based on my own opinions. If you want to know what Aphrodite may think, it would be best to ask Her directly through divination!

It is my belief that all feelings are neutral; there is no such thing as a "good" or "bad" emotion, because they are things we cannot control. To apply morality to something outside of our control is not good for our mental or emotional health as I have come to learn in therapy. Pining for a person who is taken is not a good or bad thing, it is just a thing. It is the actions taken that can have morality applied to them. I think most of us can agree that pursuing someone with a partner is not a morally good thing to do. But the feeling of longing is not bad.

In myth, Aphrodite has been known to compel feelings within people, or someone another loves, that they did not want (e.g., Hippolytus, Hippomenes, Menelaos, Skylla and Tyndareus among many, many others). But it is important to remember that myths were not seen as true stories, they were only creative explanations for observed phenomenon or ritual practices, or simply entertainment.

In offering these feelings to Her, what would the goal of this offering be? Would you want Her to banish these feelings from you as they pain you? Would you want Her to help you win the person you desire over? Or do you simply want to express these feelings to Her as a recognition of Her divinity and power? Because we can apply morality to our intentions.

TL;DR - Offerings in ancient Greece were always tangible, meaning you could see, hear or touch them. While emotions were a part of some rituals, they were always expressed tangibly. Only feeling an emotion without expressing it would likely not count as an offering. Feelings are neutral and amoral, it is our actions that can be judged. While it may be true that Aphrodite inspired unwanted feelings in myth, myths were not taken as real. Your intentions for offering this feeling to Her can be morally judged, but I nor anyone else can say if Aphrodite would like it, that can only be answered by Her. I would suggest trying divination!

Hello!

This is a very interesting question for a number of reasons. Firstly, this is a moralistic question framed as a theological one, and one that you're asking a mortal in place of a Deity. And secondly, because you are asking whether emotions can be used as offerings.

As far as I am aware, all offerings used in ancient Greece were tangible, meaning you could see, hear or touch them. While emotions were part of some rituals such as in funerals or the Eleusinian Mysteries, they were expressed through tangible acts such as ritual screaming, crying, singing or dancing or through clothing such as veils.

If you were to express this feeling of pining through a tangible act, then it would class as an offering! (And if someone more well read than me has a source which disagrees with what I'm saying, I'd be very interested to read it!)

Concerning the morality or 'liking' of such an offering. I, of course, cannot speak for Aphrodite and it would be hubristic to pretend that I could. So my answer here will be based on my own opinions. If you want to know what Aphrodite may think, it would be best to ask Her directly through divination!

It is my belief that all feelings are neutral; there is no such thing as a "good" or "bad" emotion, because they are things we cannot control. To apply morality to something outside of our control is not good for our mental or emotional health as I have come to learn in therapy. Pining for a person who is taken is not a good or bad thing, it is just a thing. It is the actions taken that can have morality applied to them. I think most of us can agree that pursuing someone with a partner is not a morally good thing to do. But the feeling of longing is not bad.

In myth, Aphrodite has been known to compel feelings within people, or someone another loves, that they did not want (e.g., Hippolytus, Hippomenes, Menelaos, Skylla and Tyndareus among many, many others). But it is important to remember that myths were not seen as true stories, they were only creative explanations for observed phenomenon or ritual practices, or simply entertainment.

In offering these feelings to Her, what would the goal of this offering be? Would you want Her to banish these feelings from you as they pain you? Would you want Her to help you win the person you desire over? Or do you simply want to express these feelings to Her as a recognition of Her divinity and power? Because we can apply morality to our intentions.

TL;DR - Offerings in ancient Greece were always tangible, meaning you could see, hear or touch them. While emotions were a part of some rituals, they were always expressed tangibly. Only feeling an emotion without expressing it would likely not count as an offering. Feelings are neutral and amoral, it is our actions that can be judged. While it may be true that Aphrodite inspired unwanted feelings in myth, myths were not taken as real. Your intentions for offering this feeling to Her can be morally judged, but I nor anyone else can say if Aphrodite would like it, that can only be answered by Her. I would suggest trying divination!

[awideplace]

Idk if somebody already asked but, how do you engage with people who are suffering/in so much pain? I realized, I don't want to end up being like Job's friends, so I mostly end up just sitting there with them in their pain. I often think, you know, it's really really hard to express my concern for them through words. I always think my words sounded trifle and maybe it would've been better if I shut my mouth. I am asking as a Christian trying to figure out how to love my brothers and sisters in Christ, especially in my local church

Yes, this is a very tender, sweet question and quite frankly, I think we should be asking this more. When possible, give comfort first and foremost by privately praying for them, for the Lord to comfort them and heal them. And come alongside them, be a listening ear/heart as it sounds like you are, and I tend to engage with people by using words and phrases that show coming alongside them, not directing them or being callousness. Such as: "I'm so sorry for your pain"; "That must be really tough"; "I understand; I don't have this exact experience, but I can see how it is painful and I am so sorry for your pain"; "How can I support you during this time?"; "May I pray with you?"; "May the Lord comfort you, guide you, and bring His healing to this situation"; etc. Depending on the relationship, offer to meet them for a cup of coffee or tea and pay for them if you can. Again depending on the situation offer to bring a meal.

I think the most helpful thing for people: simply showing up. People need real friends. The body of Christ need not be shallow and treat people as mere fellow Christians they have no choice but to somehow do life with (at least on Sundays), but truly to bear one another's burdens and weep with those who weep (Galatians 6:2, Romans 12:15) any day of the week. Whenever I meet a Christian who doesn't know how to come alongside another believe in compassion and tenderness, or to self-sacrificially do the daily grind with others when a need arises, I realize either they themselves have never suffered (a shallow existence if you will) or they run and hide from anything real (immaturity, no growth, selfishness and self-preservation). And this is tragic. It is an honor to come alongside others in the body of Christ and may our eyes be opened to love those the Lord has put in our paths, because He is tender with us.

The Bible is full of comforting words; read through the Bible so you can have words come to mind/heart when they may need to be heard by a fellow brother or sister in Christ. Scour the Psalms for words to share with someone suffering, or Paul's epistles.

[pastelwitchling]

Hi! I have binge read your first one shot collection again so get ready for some requests. (My current tv show just disappointed me in the worst way so I need some Malex, Kylex, and Forlex healing via reading your work) I wanted to request a Kylex epilogue for chapter 25. I love how vulnerable Alex let's himself be at the end of the story. Thank you!

@pluckygazelle

Sequel to this fic.

***

Alex and Kyle sat in Kyle’s car, waiting at a stoplight that had long since turned green, but as there was no one else on the road, they felt in no rush to get wherever they were going. The night was officially ruined, and Kyle wished he had some magic words to help Alex feel better, but the memory of Michael’s words, Michael’s eyes on Alex, the anger and plea in Michael’s voice, was beyond any comfort Kyle could give.

It didn’t matter who his actual boyfriend was, Alex’s kryptonite would always be Michael. There was no getting past him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he offered, and Alex, staring outside the window, merely shook his head.

“Alex,” he sighed, “it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Alex said. His brows were pinched, his lips pursed. Kyle used to interpret that look as Alex thinking hard, but he’d learned a long time ago to see the remorse alongside Alex’s train of thought, the pain that encompassed it all. It was a complicated feeling only Michael could bring on.

It’s okay, Kyle told himself. You knew what you were getting into. It’s Alex, and Alex is always worth it.

He took Alex’s hand, and kissed his fingers until the tension in his shoulders faded.

Alex finally slumped against his seat and heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be sorry.”

“He shouldn’t get to me this much.”

“But he does,” Kyle said simply. “I know. It’s okay,” he repeated.

“It’s not,” Alex repeated as well, turning in his seat to face him. “Kyle, it’s not. Stop making excuses for my . . . my . . .”

“Your what?”

“My weakness,” Alex confessed quietly.

“Are you kidding me?” Kyle asked, turning to face him, too. “Alex, you’re the strongest person I know. Look, I didn’t want to say this, mostly because it’s a real hit to the ego—”

“Don’t break up with me,” Alex said at once, covering Kyle’s hand on his with his own, squeezing hard. “I swear, I won’t—I won’t talk to him again, I won’t go near him again—”

“Whoa, slow down,” Kyle cupped his jaw. “Slow down, baby. I’m not going to break up with you.”

Alex clenched his jaw, eyes glassy and resigned. “What’re you calling it then? Freeing me? Letting me go? Making me happy? I’ve heard it all before.”

“Alex—”

“That’s what you’re going to say, isn’t it?” Alex said. “That Michael and I are cosmic soulmates and should be together, right? That we’re destined for each other and no one else will ever measure up, and any other crap way to tell me who I’m supposed to love and who I’m supposed to be with—”

“Stop.” Kyle slid a hand into his hair, forcing Alex to look at him instead of letting him fade away in front of him, back into his dark thoughts. “I am not abandoning you to some guy that won’t treat you like you deserve.”

Alex’s eyes focused, and his lower lip trembled ever so slightly. Terrified to hope. “What?” he croaked.

Kyle let his hand fall down to the nape of Alex’s neck and massaged the area until Alex stopped looking like a cornered kitten, expecting trouble and both prepared and terrified of fighting it.

“I do think you and Guerin love each other,” he said, and as Alex opened his mouth to argue it, Kyle cut in with, “But I know you love me, too.” Alex clamped his mouth shut, but nodded vigorously, his hand squeezing Kyle’s tighter as he leaned in an inch. The small hopeful gestures made Kyle’s lips quirk. “And yes, I think you and Michael have some kind of cosmic soulmate destiny that keeps you together.”

His expression turned serious as he went on, “But cosmic means jack if he doesn’t show it, Alex, and he doesn’t show it.” He dropped his hand from the nape of Alex’s neck to the small of his back, pulling him. “I show it, and I’ll keep showing it. So yeah, I know about you and Michael, and I know how important he’ll always be to you.”

He kissed Alex’s hand. “But I also know that if we’re ever going to break up, it’s not going to be because of me. I had to say that you love each other out loud because the day you say it is the day we end this. And I don’t know when that time will be—”

Alex was already shaking his head. “It’s not—”

“I don’t know when that day will be,” Kyle insisted, “but I don’t want it to be today. Not now.” He brushed the back of Alex’s hand with his thumb. “Not yet.”

Alex searched his face, somehow able to hear what Kyle wasn’t saying. That he didn’t want to see Alex try to lie to himself. Someday, when the time was right and Michael finally got his head out of his ass, Alex would choose him. Alex would always choose Michael over the world.

And yet, when Alex’s fears settled and he took Kyle’s hand and whispered, “I love you, Kyle,” Kyle took all the comfort he needed in it. For now, Alex loved him. For now, Alex was his. And that was good enough.

He’s worth it, Kyle believed with every cell in his body. These moments will always be worth it.

[chipmunkqueenart]

With a heart heavy with pain and hands trembling with fear, I reach out to you in a moment of desperate need. My name is Jecinta and I am a survivor—a survivor of a darkness that threatens to consume me, a survivor of an assault that shattered my innocence and left scars too deep to fathom.

As an orphan from Gaza, I have known loss intimately, but the loss of safety, of trust, of the very essence of my being, is a burden I struggle to bear alone. Every moment is haunted by memories that threaten to drown me in despair, every breath a reminder of the nightmare I cannot escape.

In this labyrinth of agony, I seek your hand, your compassion, your kindness. I plead with you to help me access the healing I so desperately need. The wounds I carry may not be visible, but they are real, they are raw, and they bleed with every heartbeat.

Your support, no matter how small, could be the lifeline that guides me back from the abyss. With your generosity, I can embark on the journey toward reclaiming my shattered spirit, toward finding light in the midst of this suffocating darkness.

If you find it in your heart to assist me, or if you simply wish to offer a kind word or gesture of solidarity, please know that your compassion will be a beacon of hope in my darkest hour. Thank you for hearing my plea, for seeing the pain behind the words, and for considering how you might help me find my way back to the light.

I am truly sorry for everything you have gone through. I stand with you and everyone in Gaza. While I can't begin to fathom your pain, I can still express that you are not alone in this.

Although I can't help physically or monetarily I can post links to charities to send others to donate to relief funds. I wish you well on your journey, and I hope that Gaza is freed.

Please, please everyone donate if you can, and make it known that we don't approve of this genocide. Your voice can make a difference, you just have to be loud.

Palestinian Children Relief Fund

Doctors Without Borders

AFSC

Zakat

https://secure.zakat.org/np/clients/zakat/donation.jsp?customDataBean.78.optionIds=233

Please reblog with other charities, and ways you can help.

[jokeringcutio]

A Ray of Light - Arthur Harrow x (depressed) Reader

Drabble for @ethanhawkelover01 ♡ Hope you'll feel better soon. I wanted to write you something longer, but I also didn't want you to wait long, so this is a short drabble of Arthur Harrow bringing you some comfort. (Also, if you need some distraction and haven't already, I have written quite a few Arthur Harrow but also Albert Shaw fills, Go check them out if you already haven't and be captured by this man and taken away from the real world for a moment ♡ )

~ A Ray Of Light ~

The crunching of glass underfoot announced Arthur's approach, and you looked up to see him walking towards you. His bright blue eyes met yours, and the rest of the world seemed to fade away. He wore a look of concern on his face, like a storm cloud hovering over an otherwise sunny day.

"May I sit with you?" he asked softly, his voice as soothing as a gentle breeze.

"Of course," you replied, gesturing to the empty space beside you. As he lowered himself onto the grass, you couldn't help but notice the wince of pain in his eyes from the shards of glass in his shoes.

"Your thoughts seem miles away," Arthur said, studying your face with genuine concern. "What weighs heavily upon your heart?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you could find the words to express the turmoil raging within you. But as you met his gaze, you saw that same empathy that had drawn you to him in the first place. It was as if he could peer into the depths of your soul and understand the darkness that threatened to consume you.

"It's just... sometimes it feels like I'm drowning," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "The weight of everything just keeps pulling me under, and I don't know how much longer I can hold on."

Arthur reached out to take your hand, his warm fingers enveloping yours like a protective shield. "I understand," he said simply, his eyes shining with unshed tears. He was like that, emotionally bound. Like a mirror, sensitive to his surroundings. You thought it was what made him such a natural born leader and the reason why so many people decided to follow him. "I've been there, too. The world can be a cruel and unforgiving place, and it's easy to feel lost and alone."

As you listened to his words, you realized that he truly did understand the pain you were experiencing. In that moment, you felt a connection stronger than any you had ever known. If Arthur had suffered and came out of it the strong but also compassionate man that he appeared to be now… then surely, there must be hope?

"Arthur," you said, your voice trembling, "I've tried so hard to be strong. But I... I don't think I can do it anymore. It feels as if I am doing everything just for me, and all on my own, nearly keeping my head above the water and wondering what I am doing it all for… Why is there no one on the shore, throwing me a buoy or something to hold and help me stay afloat? Why is the shore so empty? I keep doing my best but I am tired."

"Perhaps," he replied gently, "it is time for you to let someone else be strong for you. Have you looked at that shore properly, recently? Or has the water been splashing droplets in your eyes, obscuring your vision? Are you truly alone?"

At this, he offered you his hand, palm up, in a gesture of kindness and compassion. You looked down at his hand, so strong yet so soft looking. You wanted to reach out and hold him, just like he offered for you to do. And so you did. You placed your hand in his and saw how he instantly wrapped his fingers around your hand, holding you securely.

"Thank you," you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "Thank you for seeing me, for understanding my pain, and for giving me hope when I thought there was none left."

[bugged13it]

The Most Romantic Thing

I had this saved as a draft for TWO YEARS cause I was away from tumblr and forgot about it, so here I am finally posting it. Enjoy this little drabble based on a true story. >:3

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The gentle rumble of the motor dominated Marinette’s hearing, drowning out the soft noise of the radio. Her head rested lazily against the car window, shadows and light from the street lamps dancing rhythmically across her vision as they moved through the streets. It was insanely early in the morning, well past any decent hour for sleep. Despite the sparkling city lights scattered across the pitch dark sky, the crowds of people had long ago waned thin, too late—or early—for even the night life party-goers to be wandering about.

It had been, simply put, an exhausting evening. The quiet of the car felt surreal, but only because of the lingering buzzing in her head; a remnant of idle conversations and constant background chatter from the lavish party they had previously attended. Not that she hadn’t enjoyed mingling with the upper crust of Paris fashion, but at some point her limit had been reached, and Marinette just wanted to have some alone time with her own pillow in her own bed.

With the click of the radio, the soft music immediately died, and Marinette’s gaze flicked over out of curiosity, watching while Adrien moved his arm back to the steering wheel. His eyes were glued to the roads as he drove the car through the vacant streets. His set expression looked so serious, as if he were fighting the pull of sleep as well. Marinette might have offered to take over if she wasn’t so exhausted herself, unable to help the yawn that escaped her as she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and settled back against the window.

They drove in the silence a short while longer, Marinette’s heavy eyelids slowly closing over her vision, when Adrien eventually turned down a new street, one that she knew wouldn’t soon lead back to either of their homes. Carefully pulling the car over to where he could safely park on the side of the road, the vehicle came to a rest when he shut off the engine. Off to their left, the Seine sparkled serenely, their view somehow unobstructed, it’s glassy surface reflecting the gentle light of a brilliant moon.

Marinette blinked in confusion, looking out at the street before turning back to Adrien. “Why are we stopped?” she asked softly, her heartbeat stuttering in a slight panic, wondering if he’d noticed something that she hadn’t. “Is something wrong?”

Adrien leaned back in the driver’s seat and grunted, almost as if in pain, and dragged a hand slowly down his face. “I can’t stand it anymore.”

“Wh—” Marinette hardly had time to form her question before he turned a heavy gaze her way.

“I need to kiss you.”

Oh. Marinette’s brain took a second to register that, but Adrien was already leaning over the center console, catching her only slightly off-guard as he pressed his lips gently upon hers. Though unprepared, Marinette quickly and unabashedly melted against him, all thoughts of sleep completely forgotten.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Afterword: Okay, so about the true story part: I love any stories to do with my parents in their teen years, because they were both complete dorks and I swear, their life was like a romance/drama with love triangles and the whole she-bang—but real life, obvs. For example: my mom had a huge crush on on my dad, and my dad’s best friend(who had a crush on my mom), convinced my dad to bring a DATE to my mom’s BIRTHDAY PARTY because he was completely oblivious. You know, THAT SORTA TEEN STUFF. So anyways, my mother told me the most romantic thing my father ever did. It’s super short, but I absolutely love it the most, so I turned it into the above Adrinette drabble. Hope you enjoyed the FLUFF!!!

On another funny note, please keep in mind that this is the same man who gifted my mom her own refurbished(nicer diamonds/band) engagement ring over 30 years later in a Taco Bell because when he asked her where she wanted to eat(an unspoken: regardless of cost, especially someplace fancy), that was her answer, because she was craving it, failing to tell her it would be for their anniversary dinner. Told you they’re both absolute dorks.

[anxiousbuddha]

Dying Happy

I use to have a Tumblr page that I used religiously. Toward the back half of my high school years and all the way through the first year or two of college, this was the space I used to express myself freely. Back then, it was even a subversive place. I could open up about my pain, my worries, my self-image, my sexuality, and even participate in fantasy-blogging the kinds of experiences and lives I wished I was living.

Just before my mid-twenties, I stopped using Tumblr. Outside of the obvious self-evolution I was undergoing, and the major life-changes before me, Tumblr stopped being a space that felt sacred. I just didn't feel compelled to express myself on this site when I had forged real, intimate connections with people who I could express myself to in-person.

This was to my detriment, of course. As a writer, it was critical to make time and have a space for translating thoughts into words. And when there is nobody but myself and a few followers reading anyway, there is no pressure or concern about "perfection." Writing isn't perfection; it is expression. And somewhere along the way, I had forgotten that.

So I am returning to Tumblr. I have wanted to start blogging again, anyway. And I also think it is important to have a space where I can rant and ramble about the things that are in my mind (without interruption or disruption). This doesn't mean I intend for this to be some sort of strict schedule--I don't. But I do want to blog more regularly. For old time's sake.

Which brings me to the topic that kickstarted this idea and this nostalgia in the first place: DEATH.

I was recently having a conversation with some roommates and that conversation extended to a few other friends of mine. The hypothetical questions was: "would you choose immortal life if it was offered to you?"

To be clear, I am not talking about immortal life in the sense of an eternal afterlife, nor am I talking about it as something that comes with hand-selected criteria. Quite simply, you receive the gift/curse of never dying.

It divided my friend group, of course. People were very quick to accept such an offer that I was reticent about. Aside from the very obvious cons (watching family die, friends die, perpetually existing without end in a singular form, etc.) there is something unsettling to me about such desire.

I want to die happy and happily. I don't mean this in a gothic or negative or suicidal fashion, either. I don't want to live forever. I recently turned thirty-one. And while I am still very young by some standards, I have also lived a long time to others. It's that weird reality of time passing by quickly and hardly at all. I couldn't imagine carrying on and on and on forever without end. There is a part of me that anticipates death--the inner voice which refuses to be ignored, whispering that nothing is forever and impermanence is honest.

I was thinking about a Buddhist "theological" viewpoint: re-incarnation. In addition to the idea that we are all living under the illusion of separateness, we are all unique vantage points in which the Universe is experiencing itself. My parent's lives are very different from mine and very different from each other's. The stranger I meet at my job is very different. My siblings, my friends, my grandparents, and every individual I meet and will never meet--all of us the same and yet different.

If re-incarnation is scientific, then why would I ever want to exist forever as one form? Rotting inside myself, unchanging, as everything around me changes?

The Christian idea of a permanent soul and of Heaven used to inspire and comfort me. As I have matured, something about it now deeply unsettles me. It feels restrictive and uncreative. Particularly when you juxtapose a final destination of unrelenting paradise with that of ceaseless suffering. When I think about immortal life, the ideas of my Christian background come to mind.

Death has been made out to be a boogeyman. Something we should be terrified by and deeply opposed to. And it was during this conversation that I recognized something else about where I'm at in my life.

I want to greet death with a smile. That means living my life in the present moment, every moment. That means infusing the Supreme Love in every action. How can you die happy when you resist death? How can you die happily as a passive, passenger in your own life?

Part of "waking up" is making friends with death. And so in my practice, I try to reflect about my mortality every day.

As thought-provoking as questions about immortality can be--differing viewpoints and philosophies certainly elicit interesting discourse--at the end of EVERY hypothetical is actual reality: DEATH.

DYING HAPPY means LIVING WISELY.

[ftmshepard]

random chaldea conversation #1, EMIYA and EMIYA Assassin

I think this still technically counts as father/son bonding?

(Fic under cut)

“Do I know you?”

The words hurt me more than I expect them too. Chaldea’s records are spotty in places, but they’re good enough that I know exactly who this man is.

Kiritsugu Emiya. The man who called himself my father for the years we knew each other, the man I allowed to adopt me.

My hero.

“Sometimes,” I say. It’s not as though Kiritsugu would recognize me like this anyway, not when he only ever knew me as a child. “Other versions of you.”

The weird heads up display Master depends on to tell the ten thousand versions of Altria Pendragon apart apparently calls him Emiya Assassin, the same way that the shattered gold version of myself I see in the halls sometimes is called Emiya Alter.

I am, apparently, simply “Emiya,” the implication being that I am an original to which the others are compared. I don’t know how I feel about that. I mostly try not to think about it.

“Oh,” this other Kiritsugu says. He sits down across from where I’ve been trying to have dinner, his chair scraping against the floor of Chaldea’s dining hall. He doesn’t have any food with him. He’s probably the kind of Servant who doesn’t bother remembering to eat, not when Chaldea is full of so much magic it could make you drunk. “Was he happy?”

Right in the gut then. The question is almost innocent, except this is the alternate future, bad end version of a man who was never anything close to that. “I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe by the end.”

Emiya Assassin nods.

“What happened to you?” I ask. The uncomfortable questions can go both ways, I decide. If I’m going to be haunted by my alternate futures I might as well haunt them back.

He frowns. “I…” he hesitates. “I don’t remember. I… the Holy Grail…” His brow furrows. I think about the woman who looks too much like the woman Ilya never got to be and try not to feel like Chaldea has been designed to mock me personally. “We won. We always win.”

His memories are fuzzy because he should have never existed. I think we both know that. He’s a Counter Guardian, like I am, but even less plausible.

Meeting someone whose existence is more absurd than mine is strangely refreshing.

I respect him just enough not to say that out loud. Or maybe not him, but the man he should have been.

“Oh,” I say. “Congratulations?” I know from painful experience that winning the Holy Grail War isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, especially not that Holy Grail. The rot at its core makes sure of it. If he even won. His past doesn’t need to make sense.

He shakes his head. “Death and destruction,” he says. “My wish. It granted… my wish. Why did I seek you out?”

I stare at him. That’s not a question I can answer, right now. I mean nothing to this version of Kiritsugu; he exists only to kill, a parody of the worst things I’ve learned about the real Kiritsugu.

“The Holy Grail has a habit of calling on our family,” I say, finally. I don’t mean to say our. I say it anyway.

“Our?” He latches on to it immediately. “You’re not—” He recoils from me briefly. I try not to let it hurt. “No, I would recognize my father even after all these years. You’re not him.”

“I’m your son,” I say. “In another life. You took me in at my worst moment.”

Even at my most self-loathing I cannot regret choosing to live with Kiritsugu. Shirou Emiya may doom his friends in more worlds than I can count, but the version of myself who refused that stranger’s offer is literally unthinkable to me. Whoever that person is, he is not Shirou Emiya, and he has no part of the strange gestalt of iterative selves I have become.

It takes me a second to realize, and then it hits me. The strange facial expression Kiritsugu is making is his attempt at a smile.

“Oh,” he says. “That’s good to know. That I did something good in the world.”

I return his smile with one of my own, still feeling strange about this entire conversation. “From what I’ve heard, this version of you has also done some good.” I wasn’t part of the party Master brought with them to that particular singularity—they were going through a period of obsessively hanging out with Medea and Medusa, which is their choice even if I don’t really understand it—but I hear about their adventures when we talk, and they’d mentioned this strange Assassin who looked almost familiar.

He shakes his head. “Don’t compliment me. I don’t deserve it.”

He leaves as abruptly as he arrived.

My food’s gotten cold. I don’t have an appetite anymore, but I should probably eat or I would get hungry, and then Master would make fun of me for skipping meals again.

I stare at my food. That was weird. Is this how Saber feels all the time, confronted by alternate versions of herself that range from silly to downright evil?

I’ll have to ask her about it. She can’t be that happy about this alternate universe version of her worst ever Master; it’ll be something to bond over, alongside the mutual awkwardness of remembering all those variants of our relationship dynamic.

“Would I look cooler with a hood?”

I don’t realize I’ve spoken out loud until a familiar voice answers, “Yes.”

“Oh!” I say, startled. “Master, I didn’t see you there.”

“You were nice to Assassin, right?” They sit across from me, though they don’t seem to feel the need to readjust the chair. “He’s fragile.”

I stare at them in disbelief. “That is not how I would describe him at all.”

They shrug. “He’s defrosting, but that just means he can be hurt more easily. What did you tell him?”

I explain our conversation. “I told him the truth,” I say. “I was his son in another world.”

They nod, apparently satisfied. “Good,” they say. “I’m glad to hear that.”

[notmuchtoconceal]

"Ask Friend" here. If you're wondering why I haven't said anything in a while, it's because I'm actually taking your advice and pacing myself. I've actually taken your advice a lot and learned a lot from you. You did well to change me for the better. And you did more for me in a handful of interactions than most people who wanted me to change did in a lifetime. I'm not joking. This isn't a trap. I'm done with traps. I don't need them anymore.

If you're wondering why I seem to be such a formless shapeshifter of a person whose kindness (and even frustration) comes across as insecure or possibly a trap, it's mainly because I read your content, and because performance doesn't naturally translate the same way as meaningful verbal communication does, so I try to match the strange performances and whiplash you make. This isn't an insult, by the way. It's an observation that we tend to mirror each other, and that if you scan through your own content, you'll notice that one moment you'll be saying something profoundly beautiful and empathetic and the next you'll be suggesting that perhaps you are a sociopath and that it's for your best interests. If I could offer you one criticism (not coming from a place of malice) it's that you acknowledge that you are seven different men, yet accuse me of doing the same. I am no longer fishing for a specific kind of reaction from you. I do not want your pity. I do not want your dominance. I simply want to talk, and be listened to. I became greedily obsessed with you and had no idea how to handle this for a moment, because I had never had someone who really *listened* before. But now I've become sober, and in doing so, become more self-actualized than I've ever been. How could I not love you?

Whatever you are, be it sociopath or not, be it a dozen men or just one, you are exactly who you need to be. And for the record, I don't think you are a sociopath. You've come to the realization that self-love is not selfless--not through cold, utilitarian ideology, but through experience and self-reflection. And I've met real sociopaths. I've read enough to know you aren't one of them. Even if you were, why would you want to confine yourself to such a category, anyway. If you think of yourself as something, you're more likely to become it, I suppose. Perception shapes reality.

Anyway.

When I say you've done more to fix me than anyone else possibly has, I mean it. You were able to cure me of a sickness that has long since haunted me because you spoke through my medium. I escaped through writing because I wanted to escape body language, facial expressions, vocal inflections. I didn't understand them. I wanted people to be simpler, more universally understood. It stems from my own autistic tendencies and was nurtured into being when I grew more alienated from people over time. "Couldn't people just speak plainly?" How do you think Language Demon was born?

Writing is actually very reductionist if you think about it. All of the subtleties of oral speech are erased and a blank canvas is made. All of those pesky subtleties can be imagined by the reader as whatever is most convenient and appropriate for the occasion. I don't have to consciously put my eyebrow at the exact 31.765-whatever degree angle needed to convey that specific sort of anger. Instead, I simply write about anger and you do my work for me. You imagine the eyebrow tilted at the exact angle it needs to be.

I apologize for projecting myself onto you from a single photo. I was practicing is all. I was practicing recognizing subtleties. I should not have used you in that way. Forgive me. Forgive me without pitying me. We are equals.

I suppose the lesson learned here is that we are all carrying a unique sort of pain within ourselves and that we assume that the cure for pain is this universal blanket of Good and Love and Doing Right, when in actuality the cure may be a ridiculously complicated jigsaw piece that only fits that one person's specific kind of pain and it can be used nowhere else. That's not to say that Good and its principles are simply meaningless aphorisms, but they are rarely the exact cure--simply, they are the guiding path needed to more easily find that jigsaw piece. This was how I got more out of you, a stranger, than I did from years with loving people setting me on the path of Good. But you still have to want Good if you want to be fixed.

I won't bombard you like I did before. I know it's hard to believe, but in a short time you've awakened a tectonic shift in me. You've completely altered the way I look at the world. Usually when someone gets fixed so suddenly, there's a healthy amount of skepticism involved--hence the jigsaw analogy.

You really did more than you possibly could have imagined, and you did it by being true to yourself and by being harshly honest with me in a way I was craving but could never get out of people. You have no idea how frustrating it's been to feel like I'm the only truly honest person out there, and the relief it was to discover you. When you found me, I was beginning to turn away from my own honesty because I assumed people in general just wanted dishonesty. How very, very wrong I was.

I wish, whenever you speak ill of yourself (and this is not you, but likely a combination of one of your personas and/or an imperfect reflection of yourself through this medium and through performance--but I digress), that there is some way I could be as useful to you as you were to me, which is why it pains me so much when you imply that I'm not able to give you anything of true value or substance or that you've heard it before. For someone like me, I feel as though this is quite literally impossible, even when I reflect on the vapid self-help Good I've been spoonfed by the countless hordes who've tried to cure me.

But I have hope, because after all, when I first interacted with you, I drew assumptions about you that were wrong and were projections, and perhaps the same can be said about how you think I am. There are simply conclusions you have made about me that, just like the conclusions I once made about you, couldn't be further from the truth. You even thought I was an ex-collaborator of yours, after all. But there's not a person on earth who can say that they truly understand another human being with perfect clarity.

Anyway, I just wanted to take a moment to let you know you're beautiful. That's all.

Your note of woundedness, there's no need to worry. I'll forgive you, of course. I assume you're responding to that dallop of sludgy pearls which leaked out of the gaping hole in my queue a few nights ago.

I'd written that as a first response to -- maybe your third or fourth ask, so it was representative of a more unmade mindset. I cut and pasted it into a draft and some time later added the draft to my queue. Mostly because I didn't care to casually scroll past my own broiling rage, but still felt I wanted the text saved in case I could recycle it. I think I sent it to the top of the queue on accident, as my screen is prone to lag. It posted one night when it was the next thing and I happened to be out and distracted.

This happens with my queue enough, or has been happening, coming off a prolonged state of emotional dysregulation, but I suppose one part of me does, at all times, know what I'm up to and will account to take care of things later if I slip up. Being with my ex-collaborator, it was like -- his accusations flew so fast, I had to really clamp down to convince myself I'm secretly not some master strategist, but oh what's the use?

I am a master strategist. I am, at all times, weaving invisible webs of chance and fate circling to ensnare you. You lie in wait, eager to find yourself encumbered in my charms, my anguishes, my delights.

The truth is, I've found you indispensable. I've been quite fortunate over these last few months to be gifted with a handful of kind and soulful correspondents who've responded to my work -- at different degrees of comfort and consciousness -- who've spoken honestly and given me the space to express and explore myself during a trying time.

Briefly, I'd like to thank @mishnayos for his serenity, his placidity, his endurance; the quality of rippling like a still pond when I clunk stones into him. Every day I dream of pinning him beneath my earthy socks and watching him succumb to bliss as my cock engorges with blood in my briefs. @obedientdesires for reigniting a flame of tantric oblivion in me with a spark of youthful vivacity, and for otherwise having an intellect cold and stainless as a surgical scalpel when he isn't being mewling and puppyish and rolling around in his own piss. @redneck1305 for just being a total bro, bro. it is so weird, one day he's just telling me things, and it's like trust sneaks up on me and i think he's my friend. i'm not sure how it happened, man. it was sorta magical, and i think he deserves a fondle. @alphadose for being one of the most disarmingly polite and well-rounded individuals to ever interface with me as a gregarious sadist. I feel such love emanating from him, I want to zip him into a bag and beat him raw and bloody. His such an understated warmth, tenderness and sense of duty and attention, I feel honored in his presence in a way which is sometimes unsettling, but always alluring. @kinkbuck for having a brain like a steel lattice on which vermin may be roped, writhing and crucified, for hours, days, indefinite time as incalculable as an ever resurging dialing of exquisite torment. @pethion for being such a responsive gentleman, good listener and affable submissive, so full of light. @athleticbrutality2 for being a spaz. @nation-of-bros for his integrity, his prolificity and shamelessness. @flyoverkushtaka for all the good times.

Yet, as you've said likewise, though I've only known you a short time and our every interaction is publicly documented, there's something we share in common which was mutually revelatory. That we possessed not only complementary sympathies, but tactics, inclinations -- and that you bore such a stark if superficial resemblance to the my ex-collaborator, and likewise had so much in common with him strategically, that I could not only dispatch you so succinctly, but also have you listen in a way which I couldn't him -- it displays not only both our growth, but restores my faith in the broader aptitude of human communication, or at least the reality of interpersonal connection. My ex-friend, I knew his anguish so well, it was easy for him to lead me back into places I'd long thought I'd outgrown, but an addict truly is an addict for life -- whatever his addiction may be -- and relapse is always an inevitability if one lets it become one.

The day you sent me this ask, I was thinking to myself --

The primary point of similarly between you and my ex-collaborator is you both have a strategy of gradually introducing more and more entropy into a closed system by gradually escalating and complicating contact.

What I mean by this is the tendency to make rapid assumptions, then elaborate upon them before the messages can be received, or consent to discourse even granted. It can feel like conversations rapidly descend into series of hostile takeovers, then corrode into slowdowns, freezes, graphical failure, before breaking apart into glitchy messes.

This has its origins in neurosis, so its oftentimes difficult to parse the degree to which its conscious or intentional, but I suppose very few human beings -- if any -- are ever fully conscious of their intentions, usually having multiple at once, many of which conflict.

When I speak ill of myself, mostly I'm attacking what I feel is the imprint the ex-friend left in me. The arterial crustings of his sludge which cling to my subtle nerves and brain. This juvenile, insulated moron's achingly reductionistic projections -- and yet I still can't hate him, though I know he's ultimately the sole and remaining architect of his own misery.

When I was a younger man, I used to delight in putting out cigarettes on my arms and hands. Girls would often ask me to stop and make a big boo hoo; softboys would look at me as if on the verge of weeping.

Truthfully, I realized I caused myself more pain by avoiding pain, and I proved this every time I burnt myself. The moment before the sizzle -- the anticipation, the awareness I going to be burned -- the dread of it was far worse than the release, the pain itself, for it was so light, so quick, over before it started. It seemed absolutely insane to me that anyone could be so delicate as to regard this as problematic behavior. I wondered if they were all so mislead by the tragedy of medical glamours, they were made to see horrors which weren't there -- so well trained to happy families, they missed all the ones that were -- or if they unproblematically had different standards and no clue. I often feel like so-called "normal people" exist in a different dimension, for mostly they've meshed their trauma projections so well into a kind of generalized positivity-based pablum, half the time they don't know what they feel, displacing their feelings onto others, or some spasm of the servable zeitgeist.

Anyway, I'm well-aware of all the ways I'm deeply unhappy, and equally aware of all the ways I am. Most truthfully can't say either.

I am one person, though I realize the source of my misery and longstanding alienation comes down to a bias -- largely I believe as a consequence of over-identifying with one's social role -- of considering one part of me more "real" or "representative" than others.

The pretense not of having to put on a performance -- for all culture is performance -- but of having to put on a hackneyed and insincere one. Of feeling like you need to erase your own feelings, for you need to play to a mindset which is fundamentally alienating; one you quietly suspect is far from normal, in fact a degeneration brought about the constructed social traps made to make men easy to churn as choked-down slurry.

You could say -- personification remains the problem, for personification, like language, is largely an unreality we use to make things approximate to us. The idea of turning a process -- of nature or of the psyche -- into a form of representational humanity makes an abstract idea accessible, but introduces distortions. Yet also -- these distortions, on an emotional level, are closer to hues, contrasts, textures -- they reveal things in ways which form like stalagmites, drip by drip over expanses of time, until a formation has arisen from nothing by many minute splatters. There are things which can only be revealed -- in the twitch of an eye, the corner of a smile, the way the head tilts away, a tell-tell twitching of the jaw.

I've felt things on my own face I only knew were real, for I'd seen them in the things I'd written. I've had moments where I'd feel my face move, then remember a scene I wrote six or eight months ago, and realized I'd undergone a real and concrete change in myself that started with seeing it and writing it, or writing it then seeing it. Sometimes the word makes the image, sometimes the image makes the word.

There are certain things -- which can become untrue by the way we represent them. I used to joke that I had "multiple personalities". The irony was lost on many. Quietly, it fed into my own fear of losing control. I believe in the state of nature, before institutional Crissendom largely convinced us otherwise, consciousness was more nakedly pluralistic as nature is a lush cornucopia, though in modern industrial societies, a person will only appear "fragmented" if certain breakdowns in self-awareness or capacity for personal control occur.

Poetry is useful, on a pragmatic social level, for how it can depict simultaneity by highlighting the literal as a vehicle for the symbolic, while in conventional narratives, the notion of the symbolic is often dismissed as unintentional or an overthought, for it's always "just a story".

Some people are almost aghast, it seems --

if you tell them: "I want you think."

"I want this to be beautiful."

To me, it's always been the most preposterous and yet commonplace form of entitlement and pretention that something should flatter the taste of the tasteless by being "only" entertainment.

It says I Am Human Garbage. You Should Be Human Garbage, too.

Or Else.

Most of my life -- because I was trying to please people I had no business pleasing, for they were unpleasable by design; having largely given up on bettering themselves, and settling on making things worse for anyone they could wrangle some meager power over -- I had a tendency to conceal and erase my mistakes with a self-effacing intensity which came about from seeing myself as fundamentally ugly and unworthy of affection. This made things worse. Running from my mistakes ensured I kept making them. I needed to confront everything that happened to me. I needed to take responsibility for what mas my fault, and claim righteous indignation against anyone who wrongly trespassed against me.

Once I started to make mistakes -- not only allow them, but revel in them -- I began to see a lot were forms of unconscious rebellion, unstated preferences begging to be explored; indications of my real wants and real self I'd dismissed as arbitrary, for they were not the most optimal or rational. After so many years of thinking there was one way to play, and I would always be tired and miserable, for there was no way to make it end, I finally internalized -- there is a way I am, and want to be, and I don't owe anyone an explanation, and I don't need anyone to give me permission.

People think they need to give me permission.

People think they owe me an explanation.

There are so many people -- sitting there before me in terror, rationalizing themselves for an audience who isn't me, yet who they persecute themselves with through me -- all the people who've ever talked down to them, contradicted them, poisoned them -- I am the screen.

It's all so clear. What people are afraid of is inside them.

But they don't look inside. They look out to others.

Try looking at every single mistake you've ever made. See how much of it you really wanted. See if you can find out what you were really after.

Might shock yourself how clueless you are, bro.