#also it must have been a public place? must have been very overwhelming for the people around them to hear the- panic and the grief | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

testrella · 3 months

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you're my religion priest! s. geto x f!reader pt.1→pt.2

synopsis: y/n moved into a small and tight knit town to take care of her elderly grandmother. what happens when she attends a sermon with her grandmother, and finds herself lusting over someone she cannot have.

fandom: jujutsu kaisen ⌗ priest suguru geto x female reader⌗ modern au content warnings: mild cursing, smut, head (giving), religious themes(?), slight degrading at the end, angst(?) public sex, NSFW.

author's note: over 11k words, u guys have fun

“..in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy spirit. amen.”

father geto finishes off the sermon with the routine prayer. he takes the opportunity being on stage to scan the loyal audience. it was the regular, older people he preaches to. the same people who boast about him being so devoted to God at such a young age. how that when they were his age, they were off sinning. he thinks about the constant praises about being a young devoted follower, but it immediately stops when he sees her.

a young lady, who seemed to be around the same age as him, sitting in the very back with an elderly woman. even though she was dressed as modestly as possible, the black floor length dress immersed your body in all the right places.

when did he allow his immoral thoughts come to mind

“oh father! you must meet mrs. johnson’s granddaughter- maybe you can convince her to turn to God.” an elder of the church whispered to the priest. she gently pulled him to the side, off of the stage.

“as you must have heard by now, edith’s grandbaby is out of control. rumor has it that she’s been caught using multiple different contraband, and premarital sex! can you believe edith would allow this to go on for so long?!”

geto mentally sighs, gossiping was always an issue at church. especially since it was located in a very small town, there wasn't much to talk about. when you were new to town, the locals went wild. fabricating very detail of your life, and spouting that nonsense through their teeth.

“with respect dear mary, the scripture speaks strongly against gossip. i’ll talk to the young lady, but please watch yourself. for there is no greater sin than sin.”

she nods while looking down, unable to meet geto’s gaze. too embarrassed to voice her concern furthermore, she mutters “yes father, please forgive me.”

“i am not the one you should be asking for forgiveness, ask the man above. now if you’ll excuse me, i’ll introduce myself to the newest member of our church.” he smiles gracefully before making his way towards mrs. johnson and her ‘scandalous’ granddaughter.

he takes small steps towards you, puffing his chest out as he walks with a sense of pride. sure you were a pretty girl, but he was only interested to guide you through your religious journey.

“father geto, i introduce you to my granddaughter. this is y/n. she’s only 20, and she recently moved into town to take care of me. isn’t she the kindest?”

he loses his train of thought. he's unable to bring himself to utter a single word. you were much more gorgeous up-close. if he were to describe your beauty, he’d be too overwhelmed, and wouldn’t know where to start. maybe he’d start with the way your nose fits your face perfectly. or, how your smile molded perfectly with your faint smile lines.

geto snaps out of his trance, and quickly introduces himself.

“i’m father geto. welcome to this church, i hope your stay has been great so far.” he purred.

you squint your eyes at him. almost as if you already knew the rumors going around. nonetheless, you shake his hand.

“like my grandma said, i’m y/n. i do hope we cross paths alone in the future.”

he blushes from the way you shaked his hand, but also put your other hand on his. solidifying the handshake more than it needed too. not only that, the last comment you made. crossing paths.. alone?

“my confessional booth is always open before my sermon, and at 9 PM on sundays. if that’s what you mean of course.”

you puff your chest out and let out a dramatic sigh. taking in your arms, and letting them rest to your side, you open your mouth to speak. he stares at your lips, refusing to make eye contact.

“the sermon did end, i guess i’ll have to see you later tonight.” you assured him before walking over to your grandmother who made conversation with someone else. he watched you walk away, allowing himself to sneak a peek from behind.

later that day, geto was having lunch. he finds himself unable to focus on his best friend's story, the words going in one ear and out the other. all the plays in his mind is you, and what you could possibly up to.

“satoru, i think i was seduced today after my sermon.” he spilled out, no longer able to contain his thoughts.

“gross! how old was she? 50? 69? HA, get it? 69?”

geto rolls his eyes at the blue eyed ‘man’ who acted immaturely any chance he got. maybe he really should have kept his thoughts to himself. it was better than trying to converse it with an actual man-child.

“goodness satoru, no. she was a few years younger than me. 4 years to be exact. she’s one of the elder’s granddaughter, and the way she spoke to me made me feel like i was sinning. i didn’t even do anything!”

“well..”

his eyebrow quirks as satoru began his sentence.

“did she have big tits?”

geto’s face quickly turned from curiosity to disgust. he abruptly stood up from the table, placing both hands on it for support, and got all up in satoru’s face.

“how could you ever speak so unashamedly about a lady like that?! let alone speak like that in front of a priest!”

“well forgive me father, i didn’t mean to offend you and your girlfriend,” satoru said sarcastically while putting his hands up defensively. “i’ve said worse, and you’ve never had a problem with it until now. she must’ve had big tits for you to go all preacher mode on me.“

as much as geto didn’t want to admit it, satoru was right. there were many time's geto allowed the white haired man to say the most diabolical stuff known to man. even listening when satoru would describe women’s bodies in detail and occasionally his one night stands. why was this any different?

“excuse me, is that you father?”

there is was.

the seductive voice he met only hours ago. both boys slowly turn their heads to the h/c girl standing right in front of them. their eyes met with the beauty talked about earlier. only now you were wearing a shorter version of the dress you wore earlier.

“m-miss. y/n? i’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad time. what brings you here?”

you only acknowledge one of the two men in front of her, and of course it was geto. your eyes met his, and never shifted away. it was almost like a dance of temptation, daring him to do further than just eye contact. the dark aura coming from you was overwhelming him, or maybe it was just your strong perfume.

“i apologize for the disruption, father geto. my grandma asked me to run some errands. i guess i’ll have to speak with you later tonight.“

before geto could get a word in, you once again walk off. just like before, he once again glances down there.

forgive me Lord, for i have sinned.

“dude what the fuck was that..” the white haired man questioned. he also noticed the thick tension that was stirred by non other than you.

“i d-don’t know. i cannot see her tonight. i’m scared she might tempt me into.. into doing something that’s against the scripture.”

he now finds himself in the confessional booth, anxiously waiting for your arrival. it was currently 9:47 PM, you were late. it did not help his anxiety at all. he’d give you until 10:15 for you to arrive. anything later would have to just be scheduled on another sunday.

he lets out a deep breath before he hears the clattering of heels. geto takes a peak out of his curtain only to be met with a sultry gaze. he quickly closes off his curtain, and subconsciously wipes his sweaty palms on his lap. this was like any other confessional, there was nothing to be conspicuous.

“father geto? are you there?“ you ask in a voice just above a whisper.

geto swallows whatever was in his mouth before speaking.

“of course i am.“

“ahem, forgive me father. i have sinned since i first moved into this town. actually, i sinned today after the sermon.“

he stays silent. he’s tempted to ask what you’ve done, and if it possibly had something to do with him. but you answer his unspoken questions before he can think about it for too long.

“before moving into this lovely town, my grandmother sent me a picture of her priest. goodness, i didn’t know what to do with myself.“

he was determined to stay stoic, and not to speak unless it was to say a prayer. but her hushed voice and the strong tension made it difficult. the air seemed to thicken every time she finished a sentence. geto couldn’t escape your magnetic pull of lust.

“a-and if i may ask, what did you do to deal with your problem?”

“i couldn’t resist myself. after i saw the photo of him, i began to have lewd thoughts. every night leading up to my departure, i’d touch myself thinking about him. then..”

she lets out a small moan, but geto would describe it as a small whine. now he was breathing heavily as his boxers started to tighten up. there was no way he could get hard in the church. it was sinful. but he was here to help you, and allowed you to continue.

“i met him today. after the sermon i started using objects to make myself feel satisfied. but it was nothing compared to his large hands shaking my hand. i can only imagine him using his hands going inside of me instead of holding a bible. even now, i cannot resist his voice..” you confessed as heavy breathing came from your end.

“..come over to my side dear. let me help you.” he whispered.

you waste no time he notes from the sounds coming from the other side. your heels clacked once or twice before you pulled the curtain from his side.

he studies your face very carefully. there was a light red tint spreading across your cheeks, and your ears were bright red. his eyes then wander down to your very revealing shirt that showed a lot of cleavage. the shirt was accompanied by a matching skirt, a very, VERY, short skirt.

you walk into the tight fitting booth. before he can get his hands on you, you kneel down in between his legs. your pretty little head lays on his left thigh.

“forgive me father. how can i ever make you forgive me for my sins?” you lift your head and your hands start to wander on the edge of his pants. “tell me father, there must be a way..”

geto feels a bead of sweat going down his forehead. there were many times that grandparents introduced their grandchildren to him, in hopes they get married. or, when satoru would convince him to agree to a blind date. his answer of rejection was always the same.

‘i am devoted to the man above, i musn’t be distracted.’

where was his reasoning of rejection when he watches you pull both his pants and undergarments off?

you grab his dick and painfully slowly lick the tip of it. leaving any pre-cum on his tip, now in your mouth. a slight moan leaves his mouth. this was a pleasure that he’s never experienced before. devoting all 24 years of his life to God has never brought this much fulfilment.

where was his reasoning of rejection when you put his whole dick in your mouth without any hesitation?

your sudden move of deep throating him caught him off guard. he’s now holding your head in a gentle manner, as gentle as he can be. geto is lost at words, he can only moan uncontrollably while playing with your hair. the only thing he can fixate his eyes on was your beautiful hair getting tangled into his fingers.

where was his reasoning when you made him finish in under five minutes even though it felt like an eternity for him?

you continue to suck him off, hollowing your cheeks for a better suction. your hands wander down to his balls, giving it a small massage. you're not sure what you did right, but it worked. geto was now praising your name instead of the lord’s. he feels an unfamiliar knot unwinding itself.

“y/n.. please i feel..” he lets out a breathy moan instead of finishing his sentence. his eyes shut close to full enjoy the euphoric feeling. why did he want to reject your advances in the first place? he can't seem to remember.

“father..” you cooed while taking off his shirt. of course, the hot pastor with a big dick was also very nicely built.

“oh geto, why do you hide this from me?”

your hands wander his chest then it starts to follow his happy trail. your movement was haltered when he reached out for your chest.

“the same could be said for yourself. show yourself to me, please. i beg.”

his eyes looked like a puppy who had been kicked. there was no sane woman in the world who would say no to his violet eyes. your hand then reaches out for his, and then place his hand on the hem of your shirt.

“take it off for me, father geto.”

being enchanted with your hypnotic gaze, it drew him like a moth to a flame. he lifted your shirt, taking your bra off as well, and stared with admiration. you had an art of seduction that was compared to no other. he watches you sit on his lap as you lift your skirt.

this is sin. he was sinning.

but he didn’t stop you as you sat slowly onto his dick, moaning in joy. he watches you go up and down painfully slow.

“c-can you go a little faster..?“ he moaned into your ear. being too embarrassed by his request, he buries himself on the side of your neck. taking in your scent, leaving small pecks on the spots you sprayed perfume.

“you’re t-too big geto~” you whined into his ear before you attached your lips onto his.

he was an inexperienced kisser. an inexperienced everything actually. it was easy for you to take the lead by biting onto his bottom lip. he opened his mouth to let out a small whine of pain and you took the opportunity to slip your tongue in.

you feel yourself juices slide down your thigh onto geto’s lap as you continue to bounce on his dick. large hands start groping your ass, giving you a smack on one of your cheeks. you yelp in response. it was unexpected from a priest.

“father, use me. be as rough as you want with me.” your hands start undoing his bun, turning his hair into a disheveled mess.

“i-i shouldn't be so mmm- rough on you.”

you felt honored by his insistence on being so gentle. his grip on your waist tells you a different story. it was obvious he wanted to go faster than the pace you set.

“please geto, for me at least.”

oh, how could he ever deny your requests?

his grip on your waist tightens as he lifts you up and rams into you. all pent up sexual frustrations he’s ever had in the past 24 years are being taken out on you. throughout the heavens and earth, you were his only sole purpose in life. the way you took him in so good without any complaints was proof enough.

marks form on his shoulder and back from the scratches you were leaving. it was the only way you could hold yourself up. if not, you’d fall right into his arms while he’d continue to show no mercy on your pussy.

geto was starting to feel what he felt earlier when you were in between his legs. his eyes gaze at yours, and gets a site he’d never unsee. small tears started forming, threatening to leave your eyes. your mouth agape as one hand held onto his shoulder, the other groping yourself.

“father geto, i-i’m ahh, i’m so close~”

on sync, the both of you came at the very same time.

geto found it more ironic than disgust when he saw the scene unfold. priest of six years, never had a temptation once in those six years. his lap was now covered in cum from not only his but the new girl in town. the new girl who easily seduced him

“forgive us lord, for the father and i have sinned.” you purred right into his ear, almost biting it.

he massages your waist before finally putting you on your two feet. you're barely able to stand up without the support of the wall.

"y/n, we can never do this again. never speak to me unless it's about my sermon."

now it was his turn to leave before you could get a word in. he pulls his pants up and swiftly puts his shirt back on.

"you were sent by the devil, and i've failed my lord. stay far away from me you whore."

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themissinghand · 5 months

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Nice to meet you🤗..If the request is still open, Can I ask for Dokja's request for lucky female readers?🥹..Where do reader have high good luck?.The reader and Kim Dokja have known each other for a long time because the reader first started a conversation with Dokja (I'm sure it's fun when Dokja introduces reader to his group😂.) It's okay if not. Just don't be stressed by the requests. I hope the requests don't bother you.. Thank you.. And may your whole day till night be good.. Bye-bye.. Don't forget to take care of yourself.🤗💕

Omniscient Reader Viewpoint Lucky Star

Summary: In which Dokja finds his lucky star.

Or, maybe he’s not that unlucky after all.

Pairing: Kim Dokja x Lucky! F! Reader

Note: Thanks for your patience! Make sure you all take care of yourselves too~

Noona: typically used by younger male to call an older female or sibling.

Warning: None.

★・・・・・・★

If there is an angel in this world, then it must be you.

You were a bright light in his life, providing salvation to him in forms of patience, encouragement, and friendship.

You were his manager at the game company he worked at. Someone who was vibrant and cheerful, who possessed an uncanny ability to turn the mundane into moments of joy.

"Dokja! Let’s go for a drink!" You would say, your infectious enthusiasm pulling him into a world where deadlines and stress would melt away.

But you also knew when to not take in bullshit.

“Hey (Y/N), why are you overreacting? Huh? Just because I didn’t do my work the one time-“

“One time? It’s been a week since you did anything. And you put it on the newbie to finish it?”

“So what? You’re a terrible manager anyway, that’s why women shouldn’t work here-“

A snap silenced him.

“Hey mother fucker, calculate your severance pay. Talk to me like that in the disputes office and see who dies first.”

Kim Dokja heard it accidentally, but from then on, his respect for you has soared above the clouds.

"Dokja, you've got this! I'll teach you the ropes.”

Dokja marveled at your ability to lead the team with outspoken confidence, patiently teaching him the ropes and offering unwavering support when the challenges of the workplace seemed overwhelming.

“Happy birthday to our newbie, Kim Dokja!”

“Merry Christmas everyone! I got some gifts!”

“Ya, let’s go out for a drink everyone! I got the holy bank card from the boss!”

The team loves you for being a beacon of light, someone who could be fun and leader-like at the same time.

Dokja couldn't help but think that you must be cherished by the heavens, as you were blessed with an extraordinary dose of luck.

Like how you would “accidentally” meet important connections and befriend them, leading to successful results in projects.

Or how you would win those in gacha games with the character that you wanted.

“Noona, if you were in a game, your luck stat would be maxed out.”

“I guess so, but isn’t that good?”

Very soon after, little did he know that your luck would soon become a lifeline when the world plunged into chaos.

When the apocalypse struck, Dokja stumbled upon the familiar face in an unlikely place – the convenience store, hastily gathering supplies with a calm demeanor that belied the impending doom. It was then that he realized the depth of her luck, a quality that extended beyond corporate success.

Like how does someone find a healing elixir in a pile of junk food in the convenience store!?

Or how does she find a ultra rare bow in a police station?

What is this unfair world!?

Dokja appreciates your help and your luck, but at the same time, he can’t help but lament on his own life.

Perhaps the luckiest thing that happened to him was dating you.

With such a thought, Kim Dokja’s lips curled up and hugged you from behind.

“What wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Does my good boy want some love?”

Although he was blushing aggressively and in public, he couldn’t help but nod.

[The Constellation ‘Demon-Like Judge of Fire’ is squealing and wishing for grandchildren]

[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ thinks Incarnation ‘Kim Dokja’ play a main character of a romance comedy show]

[The Constellations have sponsored you 1000 coins]

“Get a room.”

Dokja expected the worst when Yoo Joonghyuk entered the scene, but to his surprise, your life was spared.

“She’s useful.” Says the emo sunfish as he glares at Dokja for absolutely no reason.

(Okay, there might be that one time where he returned a punch, and absolutely wrecked that protagonist…no regrets)

Dokja wants to smack him a few times in the face.

The revelation that her constellation was the Secretive Plotter added another layer of mystery to her extraordinary luck. The constellation seemed to guard her against many dangers, marking her as someone to be protected, though for some unknown reason.

Can’t say Kim Dokja has any complaints about that at all.

You must be protected at all costs.

[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ thinks her lucky encounters and moments are interesting]

[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ donates 1864 coins]

Whatever it is, Kim Dokja has no complaints…scrap that, he has too many complaints since he has too many rivals!

“(Y/N), you are my lucky star right?”

“Yep! Don’t worry!” She pats him on the head and he ignores the knowing looks from others on the team.

“Hug.”

“Someone’s needy today.” Kim Dokja gave others the middle finger behind your back as he rested his head on your shoulders.

From that point on, Dokja affectionately dubbed her his "lucky star" or, as they playfully jokes, his "lucky charm."

Whether it was winning luck-based games or navigating perilous situations unscathed, your fortunate aura became a source of both amusement and comfort in the face of uncertainty.

“So, what’s it like raising a puppy as a Sugar Mommy?” Han Sooyoung asks you, who chuckles lightly.

“Han Sooyoung.” Kim Dokja twitched a brow, but calmed down a bit when you held his hand.

“He’s not a puppy, but he’s cute and bites people he doesn’t like. And he protects me well!”

“(Y/N)!” Kim Dokja blushes in embarrassment but couldn’t say anything in his stuttering mess.

Han Sooyoung raised a brow before she mimicked a barfing action.

“Damn girl, you have it hard, I respect you.” She patted your shoulder before leaving.

“Dokja, just like I’m your lucky star and charm, you are my lucky puppy. Okay?”

Looking at your puppy face, Dokja couldn’t say no.

“Fine…just don’t call me that in public…”

Kim Dokja felt a kiss in his nose, and he reciprocated the action by lacing your hands together.

“Aw, who’s a good boy?”

“Stop it…”

Your laughter is music to his ears, and while sometimes your teases make him want to hide somewhere in a hole and die from embarrassment, he loves you all the same.

“Get a room!”

“Shut up you sunfish!”

Maybe cursing at the protagonist isn’t the greatest idea.

(When has that ever stopped him?)

“I will kill you Kim Dokja!”

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nanowrimo · 6 months

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How to Find Hope for Completing Your Writing Goals

Every year, we’re lucky to have great sponsors for our nonprofit events. Campfire, a 2023 NaNoWriMo sponsor, is a writing and worldbuilding platform to help you create an immersive experience benefitting both authors and readers. Today, Campfire Community Manager Emory Glass shares some words on having hope when writing feels overwhelming:

It has been 3,265 days since I won NaNoWriMo. I was 16 and wrote 75,000 words. It was exhilarating and cathartic and everything I ever dreamt of.

Tomorrow it will be 3,266 days since I won NaNoWriMo. I look back on my projects thinking, “2,500 words a day is lightspeed. The words flowed so freely then, so quickly.” I want to be a writer–I am a writer. It is my identity, my purpose, my reason, yet I cannot bring myself to finish what I have begun.

The next day it will have been 3,267 days since I won NaNoWriMo. The words do not fly from my fingertips but crawl, sapped of energy, the page a grave for ink stains posing as letters. I talk to my characters often. My writer friends tell me I speak of them as if they were real people, but I cannot seem to lift the weight of their stories from my mind. Still, I have no platform, no audience, no one eagerly watching for the next installment.

The day after it will have been 3,268 days since I won NaNoWriMo. Two publications, no published novels, hundreds of thousands of words gathering dust. I am no writer, I am a collector of words. There must be something wrong with me. I have so much to tell, so much to share, so much to create, but here I am not telling, not sharing, not creating.

One day it will have been 3,269 days since I won NaNoWriMo. I will not have published a book, I will not have a new story, I will not have an audience or a platform or one–just one–person looking forward to what happens next.

But I will not give up.

"...and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." (Friedrich Nietzsche)

It's rather typical for a dark fantasy writer to peer into the void, but it quickly becomes an intoxication and an excuse to never move a muscle. Do not succumb. Push forward, even if you barely move an inch. If you wish to be a builder, you build. If you wish to be a fighter, you fight. If you wish to be a writer, you write.

Brute force seems barbaric. Should words not spill onto the page? It is said that art cannot be coerced or bent to one's own will; it comes easily, naturally, swiftly. The very best art is created in a creative frenzy, so they say, and the very best artists are recognized in memoriam.

But if you delay and evade and wither your ambition as you count the days since your last success, your oeuvre halts and is buried and perishes by your own hand. So if you, like me, too often find yourself peering into the void where the words have gone to fade away, cleave to the remedy for its gaze: hope. This is the heart of creation. Laudation and lucrativeness are but two measures of success. They will not themselves burst a dam of words within you and imbue every project with Midas' touch. Creative fever is not catching–you must seek it out.

Give yourself a reason to write even when you do not want to or it feels too Herculean a task. If you seek new horizons, a useful tool, or a supportive community to accompany you on this odyssey, enlist Campfire to help. Whether it behooves you to squeeze out words on your mobile device, stay focused offline with a desktop application, or keep inspiration at hand via browser-based work and Discord chats, it's the best place to bring your stories to life.

NaNoWriMo participants can save on Campfire’s writing software! Use the discount code LETSGONANO23 for 30% off your first year of an annual subscription to our Standard Plan. It’s free to create an account. Offer expires March 31, 2024.

Emory Glass is an avid artist, worldbuilder, and author with a passion for strong female characters in leading roles and meticulous attention to detail in lore. She loves tea, learning Scottish Gaelic, continuing her work on The Chroma Books, a series of interconnected stories, and running Inkblood Book Company for similarly enthusiastic dark fantasy writers. When not chasing down stories, Emory works as the Community Manager at Campfire.

Top photo by Towfiqu barbhuiya on Unsplash.

#nanowrimo #writing #writing process #first drafts #by nano sponsor #campfire #emory glass

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ohgaylor · 1 year

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IT MUST BE EXHAUSTING (AN ANALYSIS)

Hi. Taylor’s the problem. And she knows it. (affectionate)

All right friends. It’s time to dive into an analysis again. I’ve been reflecting on a lot of Midnights and Taylor’s ever-present self-deprecation this era and in my regular fashion, I had to make an extremely long-winded analysis post about a certain motif of hers that I’ve noticed has only grown more apparent this time around. and essentially that is her self-awareness toward her ever-ambiguous signaling in regard to her identity, and where she is positioned in the complicated and delicate journey of coming out, as well as the plethora of emotions that surround that for both herself and her fans and those of us who pick up on the queer coded subtext of her music and art.

to kick off this analysis, may I remind you of this beauty of a quote from Taylor’s 2018 reputation tour pride speech that prefaced Delicate?

I want to send my love and respect to everybody who in their journey and in their life hasn't yet felt comfortable enough to come out ... and may you do that on your own time and may we end up with a world where everyone can live and love equally and no one has to be afraid to say how they feel. When it comes to feelings and when it comes to love and searching for someone to spend your whole life with, it’s all just really really delicate.

That is quite possibly my favorite thing she’s ever said. and what inspired this tag.

Now I need to clarify up front — I am never insinuating a need or even desire for Taylor to come out. Because that’s not our place to say. If you’ve been around my blog long enough, I would hope that nuance would be apparent. I simply point out regular motifs and patterns within her art and how it correlates with queer-coded themes of closets, of almost coming out, of outright queer coding, of rainbows, of keeping a love secret and safe, and on and on and on. The signs are there if you know what to look for (re: “I gave so many signs”) and that’s what I explore on my blog. The point is, I will never demand she come out. But I will stand with her in this complex journey she appears to be on. It��s entirely her journey and however she wishes to navigate that is hers to decide.

but that doesn’t detract from the reality that for those of us who see this beautiful queer subtext of her art and music and visuals and work and self, the ambiguity and constant back-and-forth when it comes to her identity (and the idea of coming out) can in fact be a lot to try and process and understand and ultimately to reconcile as we root for her. Trying to understand where she stands is much like chasing a moving target. (not that she owes any explanation to us, because again, she doesn’t.) her art and creativity are her place of expression and catharsis. however, watching her navigate these complexities and trying to root for her in this sometimes messy space is also, dare I say, exhausting.

hence, the title and general theme of this analysis.

so let’s begin.

First, we have this verse in Anti-Hero which is the perfect setup to illustrate this specific motif,

I should not be left to my own devices They come with prices and vices I end up in crises Tale as old as time

This is essentially the thesis of Taylor’s message, the feeling that her own judgement and actions might be the very cause for certain crises she finds herself in, however enticing those vices and choices may be. In choosing to straddle a glass-closeted lifestyle as an artist at her status and level of fame, all the while heavily queer-coding to her (receptive) audiences, only to be seen by most others as the hallmark of straight women as per her highly publicized bearding, juggling this all can be overwhelming. But it’s also a space that she has essentially curated and perpetuated herself.

An anti-hero is a central character in a narrative who conspicuously lacks heroic, moral qualities:

Although antiheroes may sometimes perform actions that are morally correct, it is not always for the right reasons, often acting primarily out of self-interest or in ways that defy conventional ethical codes.

Identifying herself as the anti-hero in this sense comes as a candid confession, as though she is admitting that maybe she is driven by self-interest. (which again, she is entitled to as we all are in our own lives.) (re: the jokes weren’t funny, I took the money, my friends at home don’t know what to say) Alternatively, and perhaps additionally, acting out of self-interest in this context may mean concealment of parts of her identity for the sake of self-preservation. The nuances behind why she hasn’t chosen to come out are at play here and I doubt any of us can fully comprehend what that is exactly.

I never had the courage of my convictions, as long as danger is near

Pouring out my heart to a stranger but I didn’t pour the whiskey

Combat, I'm ready for combat. I say I don't want that, but what if I do? 'Cause cruelty wins in the movies. I've got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you … Dark side, I search for your dark side. But what if I'm alright, right, right, right here?

You can easily grasp the intense oscillation as she goes back and forth between these decisions while juggling a myriad of reasons and factors, all of which are incredibly weighted. She knows it’s exhausting for us because it’s that much more exhausting for herself.

So, she elects to pursue a route all too familiar to closeted individuals in the public eye, one of bearding and concealing their identity.

I had some tricks up my sleeve … Perched in the dark, telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear, like it could be love, I could be the way forward, only if they pay for it … the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up

I took the money. My friends from home don't know what to say.

The cost at which this lifestyle comes is worthy of an analysis all on its own. But Taylor seems to be indicating that she has found safety and security in her self-made cages and closets of sorts.

I prefer hiding in plain sight

‘Cause shade never made anybody less gay

If the shoe fits, walk in it 'til your high heels break

My town was a wasteland, full of cages, full of fences*, pageant queens and big pretenders. But for some, it was paradise.

In the darkest little paradise

(also, note the *fences. I’ll come back to that later.)

She brings focus to the fact that her town was full of cages and fences, which initially may carry a negative connotation. But here’s where she turns it around and says that for some, it was place of paradise, that the self-made cages brought security and freedom. That the idea of “forever” is in fact the sweetest con. That the good life she was hustling for through the tricks she had up her sleeve is within grasp. That this could be the way forward. Tell me that doesn’t scream a queer-coded experience?

But knowing Taylor and the complicated nature of this deeply personal topic, there is also a level of remorse regarding the said-cages and choices that had put her in crisis.

I cut off my nose just to spite my face, then hate my reflection for years and years

I’ve got a hundred thrown out speeches I almost said to you

I’d pay if you’d just know me

Now, despite the way she has managed to remain glass-closeted, a large subset of her fans and the general public completely miss what she is signaling in regard to her queerness. (re: “I gave so many signs / you didn’t even see the signs”) but it appears she is feeling some remorse for the devices she’s used and the way she’s navigated things because she knows that she’ll be the one paying for it.

So again, Taylor fully acknowledges she’s the problem. She endlessly dances around the topic, sometimes to an extreme (re: “bent the truth too far tonight,” Bettygate and specifying a male perspective despite widespread interpretation of the alternative; similar thing with Lavendergate, etc etc) She writes from “male perspectives” so as to have a way to write female pronouns. She uses pseudonyms for similar motives. She equates herself with gay pride and places herself adjacent to the community repeatedly, and dances in Gaylor Park and rainbow kaleidoscopes. She dresses in rainbow attire and gives speeches emphasizing the delicacy of coming out and on and on, all while also remaining straight-passing. It’s complicated and messy and indeed exhausting.

sending signals to be double-crossed

I’ll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror. It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

no doubt these devices and choices have come at a cost. first, the personal cost of remaining closeted (or in the very least, glass closeted) by her own making. The nature by which she has driven her career, of “taking the money” and pursuing a career (and by extension, following heteronormative cultural standards of remaining closeted), all point to the self-made cages she twists in.

recall the Delicate pride speech…

I want to send my love and respect to everybody who in their journey and in their life hasn't yet felt comfortable enough to come out ... and may you do that on your own time

That is a major theme for her. The idea that through a closeted state, certain freedoms can coexist.

We know Taylor has made a point to emphasize the comfort she has found in keeping elements of her life to herself post her apocalyptic summer. And the way she has largely receded her personal life from the public eye is telling. In an effort to protect the “real stuff”, she is withholding from others and has found safety in that.

Privacy sign on the door and on my page and on the whole world, romance is not dead if you keep it just yours.

She knows it’s not always a world that some would choose to be a part of. She describes it as a wasteland, likely desolate, harkening back to cowboy like me. A place where hustling for the good life, perching in the dark as con artists (or pageant queens and big pretenders) and telling all the rich folks anything they want to hear like “it could be love” is all too familiar.

It’s a painful dichotomy she fully explores in The Archer, recognizing that maybe it’s her lot in life to straddle these lines of staying where she is, perched in the dark, while wanting to step into the daylight and let it go.

and that’s where the second cost comes in — in how those of us who see her for what she is signaling herself to be, are ultimately left to ourselves to make sense of it.

It’s the same kind of essence of this fantastic analysis regarding coney island and her apology of not making us certain subsets of her fans and communities her centerfold.

Being left to her own devices, she has ultimately crafted a duplicitous persona, of which she has spoken about specifically when discussing mirrorball…

Everybody else feels like they have to be on for certain people. You have to be different versions of yourself for different people. Different versions at work, different versions around friends, different versions of yourself around different friends. Different version of yourself around family. Everybody has to be duplicitous, or feels that they have to in some ways, be duplicitous. And that’s part of the human experience, but it’s also exhausting. You kind of learn that every one of us has the ability to become a shape-shifter. But what does that do to us?

Is it self-preservation? Or self-made self-destruction? (re: “they told me all of my cages were mental” “what a shame she’s fucked in the head” “lost in the labyrinth of my mind”)

Among the various anxieties that plague her in regard to this subject, Taylor makes one fear very clear. And that is for some inevitable day where we will leave her after we’ve had enough of “her scheming”.

'Cause they see right through me, they see right through me, they see right through. Can you see right through me?

I wake up screaming from dreaming One day I'll watch as you're leaving 'Cause you got tired of my scheming For the last time

These desperate prayers of a cursed man spilling out to you for free, but darling, darling, please, you wouldn't take my word for it if you knew who was talking if you knew where I was walking

Will you forgive my soul when you're too wise to trust me and too old to care?

She will get as close as she can to the topic, (“Gay pride… everything that makes me me!” to name just one) only to pull back or leave it ambiguous and devoid of clarity…

I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror

And I cut off my nose just to spite my face Then I hate my reflection for years and years

…only to feel guilt for skirting around the topic…

You said I was freeloading … I bent the truth too far tonight, I was dancing around, dancing around it … Your picket fence is sharp as knives, I was dancing around, dancing around it

This to me is the a significant price that comes from her being left to her own devices. Yes, there is freedom that comes from closeting/bearding. But glass closeting brings a more painful mess of emotions for both the closet-er and those seeing it for what it is. This is what she addresses in Anti-Hero with painful clarity.

And sometimes this can come at a painful cost. Take YNTCD for example. In this video, she positions herself within the queer community, dancing in Gaylor Park, and boldly declares herself an advocate for LGBTQIA rights.

But as we know, the video was met by many as out-of-touch (re: “freeloading”), performative and whatever else critics were spewing.

motion capture put me in a bad light. I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone, trying to find the one where I went wrong. writing letters addressed to the fire

Now for a detour.

I want to talk about the purple / blue / lavender glitter for a minute. Here, in the Directors on Directors interview, Taylor describes the glitter as being a metaphor for herself...

It’s supposed to be a metaphor for like, I bleed glitter, I’m not normal, there’s something wrong with me, I’m not a person, I don’t belong, I don’t fit in anywhere.

Recall how I said chasing a moving target?

Let’s talk about the significance of this scene and a handful of others in terms of the lavender glitter.

[For some queer context regarding glitter]

I’d first like to point out Hayley Kiyoko’s purple glitter jacket above, from the YNTCD video. This is Hayley Kiyoko we’re talking about. The proclaimed Lesbian Jesus. And in this moment, while she is wearing the purple glitter jacket, she is aiming an arrow at a target, signifying The Archer. This moment is key.

And then you have the Miss Americana documentary, wherein Taylor explicitly equates herself with gay pride, while talking about the Me! music video.

It’s a line of dialogue that screams at me with such intensity. Irrefutable. As a film editor, I know that every line in a film is deliberately placed and thought out and meticulously addressed. And therefore we can trust that Taylor intended for this line to make it into the film. I can tell that surrounding dialogue is seemingly trimmed and crafted in a delicate way. And part of that is the very direct statement that “Gay pride…everything that makes me, me!”

And it’s within this music video that we again witness a massive “ME!” literally jumping out at us on screen, in none other than purple glitter.

A handful of others could sense that the conclusion of Miss Americana felt as thought it was headed in a different direction than the one it ultimately took. And that for whatever reason, Taylor’s political advocacy took center stage while a deeper analysis regarding her LGBTQIA advocacy did not.

Cut back to the Anti-Hero music video where we get The Archer aiming right for Taylor, and striking her, causing her to bleed, yet again, purple glitter.

Pierced through the heart but never killed… did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism, like some kind of congressman

My covert (secret) narcissism (ME!) I disguise as altruism like some kind of congressman (the political turn and advocacy present in Miss Americana)

In other words, covering up who she is (“gay pride… everything that makes me me!”) under the guise of a film almost exclusively focused on her journey of discovering her political (“Vote for me for everything” pin) activist voice. And what scene depicts this with near precision???

this one.

motion capture put me in a bad light. I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone, trying to find the one where I went wrong. writing letters addressed to the fire

'cause cruelty wins in the movies, I've got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you

The subsequent look on her face of absentminded agony says it all. She knows the confusion that comes from rooting for her as (especially if she is seen as an ally who maybe crosses one too many lines if presumably as straight.)

The inner-turmoil on display for us in The Archer has transformed into a tone all too exhausted in its own right within Anti-Hero. She knows we’re tired. She’s tired too. In a self-deprecating jab, she admits that she is the problem and she knows that everybody ultimately agrees with her on this. Shielded within a pop anthem, her vulnerability is on display. And so, in Dear Reader, with equal parts desperation as well as wit, she concludes…

You should find another guiding light, guiding light. But I shine so bright.

And so it is ultimately within this utterly messy, exhausting, complicated, ever-changing and nuanced journey that Taylor reaches out to those of us who do in fact see through her and who ultimately simply see her, that she asks us in all sincerity…

Who could stay? Who could stay? Who could stay? You could stay.

And I, for one, will stay.

[enjoy my other analyses here]

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dearweirdme · 3 days

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https://www.tumblr.com/dearweirdme/748664714672865280/anon-abt-the-dream-premiere-lives-again-idk-i?source=share

I personally think TK set their own protocols on "visiting" their homes. If they were just seen in public, that means many eyes are on them even after the event. Case in point, the "new" photo of them walking around with Wooga. People stalk them.

They are aware that stalkers are everywhere. So being out in public puts them more at risk of being tailed/followed. I don't think they go to each other's places after being seen in public but would go to their own places to minimize risk. This also happened after their public appearance at Hyoshin's show.

They definitely have ways on getting into eo's places without getting seen but that would be at risk of exposure if they do that just right after being seen publicly.

Maybe JK felt lonely afterwards because it really wasn't the most ideal situation specially after a night out like that, something that must have been huge for them. Plus them doing livestreams, as if to show that "hey, we went our separate ways". JK must have had a fun night but it had to end in a less than ideal way: having to separate ways for their safety against stalkers. I can imagine how that must have sucked tbh, taking a big step going out in public together and enjoying the night with Tae and Wooga, but having to cut your time together short, along with the happiness you felt.

Hi anon!

To some that might seem an extreme way of thinking, but I do think it’s rooted into something very real. Aside from the Tkk of it all, we know they have stalkers. Both Tae and Jk have had people come seriously close last year, and those must’ve been very scary incidents to them. So yes, when they’re out somewhere publicly I think they are very much aware that some stalkers and saseangs will take that information and await them at their buildings for when they arrive back home. In the case of Tkk the treat to their privacy that might be is even more of a risk.

I think Jk gets overwhelmed at times. I think he’s pretty sensitive. So a lot of that night might have contributed to why he was feeling off during his live.

#taekook #dream premiere

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jamskateable · 8 months

Text

putting this here too because I've been more active on this account recently andddd...idk.

I already posted this on my main account so if you follow my main account then idk man they're on both of them idk what to say.

remember when I said I wanted to work on my characterizations of Raphael and Michael? this is part of that, specifically focusing on Raphael and his relationship with Gabriel. I figured writing was the best way to do that since I don't have the motivation to design a whole ass character and create a dedicated reference sheet right now. that comes later.

some fleshing-out of Michael also occurs? but largely Raphael.

Minos and Sisyphus are here too, but again they aren't the focus of this snippet so if their parts seem rushed, its prolly because they are lol.

brief mentions of sex? non-graphic but be advised.

ok here you go, good riddance

Minos ran into the room, quite hurried and out of breath, stumbling. He smacked his shoulder on the doorframe and cried out in surprise. The sound scared Gabriel; he was never so careless.

Sisyphus got to it first. “Minos?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“There is an angel here. Another angel.”

Gabriel froze.

An angel, still with their Light, was a force to be reckoned with. Light gave angels their determination, their loyalty, their vigor. Combat training could only go so far, when Light gave an angel its courage to continue. Indeed, a full-powered angel was something to be concerned about.

Before Sisyphus could continue, Gabriel stood from his side. “What did they look like?”

“I was not close enough to make out any features. But their armor was golden.”

He tensed. “Raphael,” he breathed.

The last time he had checked, Gabriel was part of a brotherhood of three archangels: the Chief of Angels, Michael, the Will of God, Gabriel, and the Healer, Raphael. Archangels were the highest ranking of angels there was, secondary only to God Himself. They answered to Him alone, and were the most powerful, benevolent, and well-trained beings in the hierarchy. There were none higher, and none mightier.

Which made it all the more concerning that there was an archangel in the city. Raphael could level it flat if he wanted to. Could kill all three of them and never falter.

But Raphael was a kind soul. Generous, empathetic, sometimes more than he should have been. It was the reason God had made him the healer, and not the maker of wounds, like Michael or Gabriel. Raphael could stand to be reasoned with.

Michael was another case. But he wasn’t here.

As he tread down the hallways, Minos and Sisyphus followed close behind. “Thou knoweth of this ‘Raphael’?” Minos asked him. There was anxiety in his voice; he didn’t want his city destroyed, not a second time.

“Yes,” he replied. “Heaven’s hierarchy of angels had three archangels at the top; Me, Michael, and Raphael.”

“An archangel. They must be very powerful.”

“As powerful as I was with my Light. Both of you have experienced that firsthand.”

Sisyphus barked a laugh, but that was all.

Gabriel stepped onto a balcony, wings spread, prepared for flight. “Raphael was the softest of the three of us,” he continued. “He is very empathetic. He can be spoken with. Michael…not so much.”

“We shall stay here, then, whilst thee reasons with him, yes?”

“Yes. Stay here. If I need you, I’ll come get you.”

He didn’t give Sisyphus time to argue with him this time. Swords drawn, he took off, and navigated towards the aura of an archangel.

He was in the park. The park reminded him of Heaven’s gardens, a place he would visit frequently to think and have time to himself when his tasks overwhelmed him. A place he and Raphael would often meet to talk. How perceptive of him.

“Gabriel?” he called. His voice quivered in that way that often indicated nervousness, an emotion Michael and Gabriel never let show in public. He found it almost sweet that despite his lack of contact with the angel in recent months, he could still read him like a book.

“Gabriel? Are you there?”

He could see Raphael. Though he had a single sword on his person, the weapon was not drawn. His wings were slumped, and his movements were quick, almost distressed.

“If we are going to speak, Raphael,” Gabriel said, stepping into his line of sight. “I would highly suggest you stay right where you are.”

The healer whipped around to face him. His hands were clenched to his chest, and he noticeably brightened when he saw him, clearly excited. He stepped forward, moving to approach him, but he paused when he saw Splendor and Justice extended to either side of him.

He sounded like a wounded animal when he said “Gabriel..? What are you–”

“You know I cannot trust you, Raphael. The Lord would send his angels after the fallen all the time.”

“I would never harm you, Gabriel. I would sooner forsake my Light than do so. You know this. I am offended that you think I could do such a thing!”

He did sound awfully offended. “I cannot be faulted for losing trust in my brothers, after what I have done. You cannot blame me for that, Raphael.”

The healer visibly deflated, and nodded his head. “I..suppose so.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, Gabriel. That is all.” “Why?” His hand flexed, sword bobbing with the movement. “Did someone send you? Michael, perhaps?” “No! No, of course not,” he cried. “Michael advised us against visiting you, against any angels entering Hell at all, until the void created by the Council’s…absence..is filled, and everything is settled. He does not know I am here.”

Interesting. Raphael had always been like a leech to his older brothers. He did whatever they asked of them, was loyal to a fault. A teacher’s pet, essentially. Why would he go against Michael, surely the superior angel, and his orders for this?

Raphael’s laugh genuinely startled him. “You destroyed all of Heaven when you killed the Council. The hierarchy is in shambles. Terror and fear everywhere. Michael and I are the only two keeping everything together.”

Gabriel relaxed a little bit. “You are not angry with me?”

“No. I could never be angry with you, brother. Not for long.”

The Will of God lowered his swords. Despite his caution, it was good to see Raphael again. Someone warm, friendly, and familiar is exactly what he’s needed.

Raphael certainly seemed to agree, for as soon as Gabriel sheathed his swords, he embraced him tightly, wings curling in a halo around him, as if to shield him.

“We’ve missed you.” Gabriel could have broken down crying and he would not have minded one bit.

“Is this where you have been living?” He released him, reluctantly, and examined the park and the buildings surrounding it. “It is…certainly in better shape now than it was when I last saw it.”

“Yes. I–we–have been rebuilding it.”

“‘We’?” Raphael questioned. “Another angel?” “No. King Minos.”

“K–” He broke off into laughter. “Oh, forgive me! I thought you said King Minos!”

“I did.”

He slowly trailed off after that. Angels did not often reveal their faces to each other, and therefore relied on body language to communicate their emotions to each other. Raphael’s body language communicated equal parts confusion and terror.

“You’re…serious.”

“Deathly.”

His posture became suddenly rigid. “Gabriel…King Minos is dead. Him and Sisyphus both. You beheaded them. I watched you do it.”

He nodded. “The bodies are dead, yes, but their souls live on. The Machine freed them from their prisons and spared them.”

“They’re Prime souls?! Why didn’t you lead with that?!” His wings fluttered in distress. Raphael had always been very flighty. “Prime souls are incredibly dangerous, Gabriel! They could kill you, especially Lightless as you are!”

“They have not harmed me yet.” His voice got a little quieter. “I trust them. They have been kind to me, and forgiving. More so than Heaven has. More than the Council.”

Raphael fell silent at that. He settled a little on his feet, staring at his brother with despondence.

“I see.”

Raphael peered about, distrusting. Gabriel found it amusing how innocent the angel was.

“Are they–” “No, they are not here,” he said bemusedly. “They are in the palace, waiting for me.”

His voice was level and contemplative. “You have been living with them.”

His chin drops and he nods. “Yes.”

“And what of the Machine?”

A wave of fondness settled through his stomach at the word, and he chuckled. “They could be anywhere.”

“They could be–’they’?” Raphael said, incredulously. “And you don’t know..? You must be mad, Gabriel. Absolutely mad. The child of man that felled an angel–”

“Twice.”

“...Twice felled an angel is simply roaming around Hell? Ungoverned?”

Gabriel couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice when he asked “What did Michael think of it?”

Raphael snorted. “Drop the act, brother. We both know damn well what Michael thought of it.”

“And what did you think of it?”

Raphael picked at his wings, an idle nervous habit that Gabriel once helped relieve him of. But it seemed to be making an appearance once more. He could hardly blame him. Regardless, he took his wrists in his hands and stilled him. Raphael did not protest.

He shrugged half-heartedly. “I didn’t think anything of it.”

“Do not lie to me, Raphael,” he scolded. “You would disgrace the Father like that?”

The reprimand slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it. It was almost instinctual, second nature. He’d chastised so many angels during his tenure that he didn’t even have to think about it.

The healer’s voice grew louder, though it quivered more prominently as he became agitated. “What Father, Gabriel?” he growled. “He is no Father of mine, to have abandoned us this way, a fact you have shown us yourself.”

“I-I..”

Raphael stiffened. He’d likely never heard Gabriel stutter.

“I’m sorry, Raphael.” He took his hands again, having curled into fists at his sides, and squeezed. “I didn’t mean to say that. I am in no position to scold you, especially in that false way. I’m so sorry.”

Raphael’s arms were limp in his hold. But he sighed. Gabriel heard his breath whistle as it seeped between the gaps in his helmet, and he squeezed back.

“I was serious when I told you I could never be mad at you.”

Raphael’s approval had always meant a lot to him. Something about making a good impression on his younger brother, giving him a good role model to look up to. Something about fraternal love.

Which is why such a huge wave of relief surged through him when his brother spoke, and his knees went weak with it as he huffed gravely. “Thank you, brother.”

“It is nothing, Gabriel,” he murmured affectionately. “Nothing at all.”

They hugged again. It felt nice. The Light of God bathed him in warmth, and he wondered if this was what humans felt like, when they beheld them as they bestowed God’s messages onto them. The healer’s light was plentiful and radiant in a way that, damn it, Gabriel had sorely missed. He held his waist and held him tight.

“Truthfully, I felt horrible. When the Machine defeated you, it–” He gave an incredulous look, if ever a helmeted angel could. “It changed everything. The Council kept it quiet. But they told us. About your defeat, what they did to you. I was…I was horrified, Gabriel. Without God’s blessing, it is an awful way to live for an angel.”

Gabriel laughed bitterly. “That is true, yes.”

“I know you don’t like being helped, but I wanted to offer my services. Your power was dwindling by the day. I wanted to…well. Spend time with you. Before you died. But you were so hellbent on finding the Machine that it was all the more difficult to find you. The next time I saw you in person was…the Council’s execution.”

“Is that what they’re calling it?” he asked, deadpan.

He shrugged halfheartedly. “Yes. Obviously, nothing so drastic has ever been done in God’s kingdom. They do not know what to call it.”

“I suppose I cannot blame them.”

He took his hands again and held them, thumbing at his wrists. “But I didn’t feel you die. Neither of us did. Michael had convinced all of Heaven that you had disintegrated when the light left your body on that twenty-fourth hour. But neither of us felt it. You were out there, somewhere, and he begged me not to seek you out. But I couldn’t just…leave you. You’re still my brother, Gabriel, and status does not impede that.”

Gabriel felt humbled and honored in a rather peculiar way. Honored to have Raphael’s love despite his crimes, humbled in that he would seek him out even if it meant ignoring Prince Michael’s direct orders. He still loved Raphael, with his whole heart. It pained him to stay away from him, when he knew perfectly well that Heaven would no longer welcome him home. But what need was there for Heaven when everything he ever needed could come to him? He could’ve cried at the stupid smile in Raphael’s voice.

“I’m glad you came, brother,” he said. Sobbed, really, limp as he was in his golden arms. “I missed you. I wish I could come home, but…”

Raphael barked a beautiful laugh. “As grim as it may sound, I’m fairly certain Michael would crucify you.”

“Most likely.”

He wondered if Michael missed him the way Raphael did. If he experienced the familial bond that came with their sworn brotherhood. Angels did not have siblings or family unless God gave them one, and He did not do so often. The only leniency was with the archangels, His most loyal and powerful creations. There were only the three of them, and Gabriel loved them as much as a brainwashed angel was capable of. Raphael obviously returned those affections. But he wondered about Michael, the stoic and stone-faced Prince of Heaven, who showed few emotions at all, let alone love.

“Have you been elsewhere in Hell?”

“I’ve been through all the layers a thousand times over,” he said. “There isn’t much else to do, with my title and Light being relinquished.”

“Have you visited the Wrath layer? The Ferryman quite misses you,” Raphael replied, his tone rather sly.

Gabriel gave him an accusatory look behind the layers of metal. “How would you know that?” “It was the first place I thought to look for you. I know you were quite fond of them, and I thought that, if something were to happen, they would happily shelter you.” He clicked his tongue, though it was mocking. “It is a wonder they never were crowned an angel. After all, idolatry is a sin.”

“Idolatry. Don’t make me laugh. No sinner’s dedication extends so deep.

“It is not my intention, brother. The Lord taught me honesty. Besides, I think you would be surprised by the loyalty of your worshippers.”

Gabriel’s face was hot enough to affect the temperature of his helmet. But he remained silent, steaming, while Raphael laughed at him.

“You are different, Gabriel. Something about you has changed. In a good way, I mean.”

He sighed, tired. “Many things about me have changed. I am a sinner, and I have recognized it. I am surprised you have not scolded me for it.”

“I am in no position to scold you, brother. After all, you were always older and wiser than I, having seen more of the world. And you do not seem unhappy. Whatever satisfies you satisfies me, also.”

Gabriel sighed. He supposed that wasn’t entirely untrue; he was a lot happier now, Lightless and free from Heaven’s influence, than he was most days in God’s kingdom. He regretted his sins, but ultimately he was better for it.

And there were some sins he didn’t regret. Would never regret.

(How God had ever considered sex, such a pleasurable and intimate pastime, a sin was beyond him.)

(He wondered if Raphael knew about the state of his virginity. After all, most angels, especially archangels, had a keen eye to the sins of an individual. But if Raphael knew, he didn’t give any indication, and Gabriel wasn’t about to bring that up.)

“I cannot say that Michael would feel the same,” he said bitterly.

“No, of course not. He is busy managing Heaven by himself. Took up the bulk of the work he did. Said ‘leave it to me’, and you know how he gets on. Best to leave him well alone.”

Gabriel nodded sagely. “Yes. That must give you plenty of time to yourself.”

“Oh, plenty. It’s easy to avoid his watchful eyes when he is so wound up. And with the virtues pulled from Hell, there was no one to survey the layers in your stead, so I took the time to look for you. Having gotten myself settled, of course.”

Raphael looked off into the park, and Gabriel as well, following the track his eyes left across the bushes and trees. It was peaceful here. Quiet. No hymns or chirping cherubim. It was a simple and deafening silence, and both appreciated it more than they could put into words.

Raphael simply sat on the ground. His legs curled around one side of him, he was as elegant as a statue. Gabriel sat cross-legged next to him, and listened to him breathe.

“Minos and Sisyphus…”

Gabriel braced himself. “What of them?”

“You said they are kind to you.” Raphael’s voice was analytical. He was probing, as he often did, still in possession of that childlike curiosity that had made him so irritating as a youth. Gabriel found himself more charmed than annoyed, nowadays. “Minos was a peaceful man. A pacifist. He did not fight back when you felled him, this I know. But what of Sisyphus? He was terrible in life. An enslaver, a manipulator. Surely he cannot be much better as a Prime soul, not with all of that power.”

God’s Hand huffed in amusement. “He can be blunt, certainly,” he said. “Rather abrasive, on the surface. But he is a kind man at heart. He often cannot express his kindness, and frankly, neither can I. We have been learning together.”

Raphael’s voice was soft when he next spoke. “I see. And Minos?”

“He’s very affectionate. I–”

Gabriel cut himself off with a sharp snap of his jaw. Raphael heard his teeth click and laughed, cocking his head to glance at him.

“I get it,” he murmured. “You have your freedom. Why not make the most of it?”

“You could have it also, Raphael. God is dead. Heaven is crumbling apart as we speak, and Michael is occupied trying to pick up the pieces. There are things I’d like to show you. Places I’d like to go, people to introduce. People I love. There’s so much more.”

“I know, Gabriel. I know.”

He took his hand, but it brought him little comfort. Raphael sighed, and his voice was small all at once. Nothing like the budding tenor he used when he sang, or his usual warbling tone.

“But that would be forgetting my loyalties. The cherubim, Michael, all of the young angels that need guidance in His absence…they are my family, Gabriel, just as much as you. I long for a time where we can be free from this. Where we can explore the Earth together, roam Hell and make a new home somewhere else. Somewhere better.”

Gabriel was struck dumb by the sincerity in his voice. It was a maturity that young, flighty Raphael had never displayed. “But that day has not come.”

He stood, pacing some steps away. Leaving Gabriel behind.

You’ve finally outgrown me, he thought. Good.

His voice regained that familiar playfulness when he said “Perhaps an introduction is in order?”

He thought he knew, but just in case, he asked. “An introduction to who?”

Raphael clapped his hands together mischievously. “Your lovers, of course!”

Gabriel choked on air, keeling over, and the Healer laughed heartily at the display, clutching at his breastplate.

“Raphael,” he rasped. His voice might have been intimidating, were it not for the underlying rasp brought on by his coughing fit. “You are awful. Simply terrible.”

“Is it inaccurate? You yourself seemed to suggest otherwise.”

He followed Raphael as he spread his wings and took off. His flight pattern had always been floaty and slow, unlike the quick and efficient way his brothers had been taught. Gabriel had always wondered if God made him soft on purpose. He didn’t mind it either way.

“I have not asked. Perhaps you ought to ask them, since you’re so keen to know.”In his bubbly, teasing voice, he said “I will! I already have a plethora of questions!”

~~~

I like the way this dialogue turned out :3

#ultrakill #Gabriel ultrakill #minos prime #minos ultrakill #sisyphus prime #sisyphus ultrakill #idk man go off

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theintrovertbean · 1 year

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Well, babes, this one is for me and purely because I wanted it. I'm honestly surprised that no one has asked this before, but anyway, here you go. My mind has been constantly occupied by the thought of marrying Nadia, so here we are, marrying Nadia. Because Nadia is wife.

I've only been to like two weddings in my entire life, and they were both traditional Hungarian weddings, which are way naughtier than most (they're full of sexual jokes and games that would make Nadia cry and run away from the event), so forgive me if my general wedding knowledge is not the way it should be.

Enjoy!

I might come back with a part 2.

Nadia wedding headcanons

Nadia wouldn't shy away from having two or even three weddings. She loves MC with all her heart and firmly believes that they deserve all good things in the entire world. And she does too, so why not?

A Vesuvian is a must for very obvious reasons. As the Countess, it is her duty to turn the wedding into a public event for all of Vesuvia. This one would be completely organized by Nadia and MC, which means that the wedding is literally just like them. Purple flowers, their favorite foods, the decoration, everything is fitted to Nadia and MC's taste. The wedding ceremony is sweet, loving, and very romantic, with cheesy vows and Namar crying in the background.

But our Countess Goddess is also a Prakran princess, and I believe that Namar would come up with the wonderful idea of holding a traditional Prakran royal wedding as well. People don't witness royal weddings every day, so it would be the most luxurious and beautiful event in the entire world. Nadia and MC would both wear gorgeous traditional clothes, and MC would almost faint on the spot when they saw Nadia in her saree. I would too. This wedding would be mainly organized by Nadia's family and would only happen if they offered it first.

If MC is from another country, then Nadia would love to embrace the traditions of MC's culture, which could potentially mean a third wedding. Especially if they had a Prakran wedding as well because if they had one, they needed the other as well. No cultures are left out in this house. I leave this one to your imagination.

If Nadi and MC choose to have only one wedding, it would happen in Vesuvia, and it would be a mixture of Vesuvia, Prakran, and MC's traditions (if they are not from Vesuvia).

In every case, all the Satrinavas are invited. And I don't just mean Nadia's parents and her siblings, no. The Satrinava aunties, uncles, and cousins missed the first wedding of their favorite baby niece/cousin, so there's no way on earth they're going to miss the second one too. And if you thought that Nadia's family is big, then wait until the whole family tree shows up at the wedding(s).

And when an army of Satrinavas arrive, Nadia stands no chance against them. They all attack MC at once and ask a bunch of questions about the person who captured the youngest princess' heart. MC probably gets a little overwhelmed, and Nadia feels embarrassed, but everyone is just so happy that she has finally found the love of her life. Grand gifts are expected.

Nadia is crazy nervous before the wedding because she wants everything to be perfect. Of course, everything would go smoothly, but Nadia can't help it. And yet, joy and excitement fill her heart whenever she thinks about marrying her love, her MC.

After they're officially married, MC calls Nadia their wife at every chance, and it makes her smile. She's also screaming inside with joy, but she tries her best to hide it.

The first dance? Elegant, breathtaking, and gorgeous, and they practiced it beforehand.

Nasrin and Namar give the most amazing marriage advice to the newlyweds.

Nadia's siblings take turns dancing with Nadia and MC. At some point, they're all dancing together. (Kinda like in that one Bridgerton scene in season 2.)

The wedding(s) take place during Spring. And why? Because, my darlings, Spring is the season of love, and our Countess and her magician are very much in love.

And yeah, I want to marry Nadia three times, but can you blame me?

#nadia arcana #nadia the arcana #the arcana nadia #nadia i love you #arcana nadia #nadia satrinava #nadia x mc #countess nadia #IT'S TIME TO GET MARRIED LET'S GOOOOOOO

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dragoneyes618 · 1 month

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The world looks a lot different from Kibbutz Kfar Aza than it does in the United States or any other point on the planet. The difference is obvious in Tel Aviv, Jerusalem or anywhere else in Israel. Throughout the world in most mainstream media accounts and commentary from supposedly enlightened members of the chattering classes, the current war being fought in Gaza between Israel and Hamas is seen as merely the latest twist in a long cycle of violence between Israelis and Palestinians. From that perspective, it’s just more evidence of the cruelty of war to which the only possible moral response is to tell everyone involved to stop it, especially when the alleged underdogs—the Palestinians—are being defeated.

To those who look on from afar, the history of the conflict or the rights and wrongs of how the war started—even the unspeakable atrocities committed on Oct. 7 at Kfar Aza and 21 other Israeli communities when Palestinians associated with Hamas violated a ceasefire, crossed the border and murdered, raped, tortured and kidnapped people—are just details that act to incite the combatants.

But those details matter, especially if they involve the right to live in safety and relative peace.

A just war

This war is between a democratic nation fighting for its existence against an Islamist movement whose goal is the destruction of Israel and the Jewish people. Yet many outside of Israel, even those who do know the history and essential nature of the two sides in this struggle, such as President Joe Biden and U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken, are increasingly speaking as if the only thing to do is to end the war as soon as possible. They say the aftermath of the war must mean that Hamas survives—and gets away with mass murder. That means the Palestinians are rewarded for such abominations with an independent state that will likely have the ability to pursue the terrorist organization’s goal for many more days like Oct. 7. Somehow, that makes sense in Washington and other places.

But not in Israel.

The overwhelming majority of Israelis, including many, if not most, of those who oppose Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, see it very differently. And to understand why, maybe you need to go to Kfar Aza and see the ruins and makeshift memorials to the people who lived in that small kibbutz near the Gaza border who were brutally murdered, raped or kidnapped by Palestinians.

If so, you’ll soon realize that the battle with Hamas isn’t one about Israelis ruthlessly harming Palestinians. Nor is it about “white” oppressors seeking to dominate powerless “people of color,” as many left-wing Americans think. Nor is it one in which tired diplomatic theories about a “two-state solution,” which have repeatedly been rejected by the Palestinian people, can be employed to get a messy situation under control, not to mention ease some of Biden’s political problems.

To be in Israel during this war is to experience both the strength and the fragility of the Jewish state. Yet the general public wouldn’t necessarily think that if all they know of the Middle East is what’s seen on news shows. After all, life goes on pretty much as normal, even if some businesses and farming areas in southern and northern Israel have clearly suffered due to the absence of employees because so many people have been called into active military service. The buses and trains are running, and people still go to the movies and concerts, as well as other normal activities.

The hotels are also full, but not with tourists. That is a key giveaway that something isn’t right. Walk into many hotels in Jerusalem or Tel Aviv, and something is a little off. They’re packed with people but not tourists on vacation from abroad. Chat with even a few of the hundreds of thousands of Israelis—families with small children and elderly people prominent among them—who were forced to flee their homes in the south near Gaza and the north near Lebanon, and you get a view of the war that is omitted in the breathless coverage of Palestinian suffering.

A country united by grief and determination

To understand what’s going on, you need to talk to Israelis who have been called back into the military and willingly risking their lives fighting in Gaza. Though they’re eager to resume their regular lives, many I spoke with are just as ready to return to the battlefield because they know the job of destroying a deadly threat to their country isn’t finished. While international opinion deplores the possibility that Israel will attack the city of Rafah—Hamas’s last major enclave inside Gaza—few Israelis I spoke to, including those who have served, are prepared to halt the war until all of the perpetrators of the Oct. 7 massacres are stripped of the ability to repeat their crimes.

You don’t have to do a lot of reporting before you realize that morale among Israeli soldiers is high and stretches across all the cultural, political and religious debates that divide Israeli society. It’s not because they relish war or bloodshed. They don’t want to kill Palestinians and also grieve the loss of so many of their comrades—casualties made more likely because of the strict rules of engagement that prevent the Israel Defense Forces from fully utilizing the firepower at their disposal to lower the number of civilians killed because Hamas uses them as human shields.

Their spirit remains strong. They know that what they are doing has nothing to do with the lies about “apartheid,” “settler-colonialism,” “occupation” or “genocide” that are thrown about at antisemitic demonstrations in U.S. cities or on college campuses and are treated as acceptable discourse in mainstream publications like The New York Times.

Israeli soldiers—young conscripts and veteran reservists alike—aren’t down about the war because they know that what they are doing is defending their homes and families. It’s the civic faith in the justice of their cause that resonates throughout Israeli society and pervades the thinking of those who have sent their loved ones to battle. It is also felt by the grieving families of those who didn’t come home. Israel is a nation that is united by both anguish and determination.

Americans understand war differently

This may come as a shock to Americans, who are used to thinking of wars in a very different way.

Since World War II, Americans were sent to fight dismal and bloody proxy wars in Korea and Vietnam, where the rhetoric about defending democracy against communism rang hollow for many. That was just as true about the attitudes toward the wars fought in Afghanistan and Iraq in this century. Despite any initial enthusiasm about punishing the perpetrators of 9/11 or toppling dictator Saddam Hussein, those conflicts turned into messy quagmires that most Americans—whether on the right or the left—wished to escape. Though the opponents of the United States were clearly evil, by the time both wars ended in what history will record as defeats, they hardly seemed worth the sacrifice of blood and treasure that had been expended on them. Even before the final rout of Americans during the Biden administration’s disastrous withdrawal from Afghanistan, these wars had already been sealed in the country’s collective memory by both popular culture and the opinion of most serious commentators as terrible mistakes.

Coverage of Israel’s war against Hamas makes it seem as if it is another version of hapless and brutal Westerners fighting Muslims in futile efforts that cannot succeed, similar to the way Americans failed in Iraq and Afghanistan. But the overwhelming majority of Israelis—from secular left-wing Tel Avivians to pious Jerusalemites and all points in between—know their war is different.

They understand that their opponents are not in far-off lands like America’s in recent decades, and their raw violence directly threatens them. Though Israel has prospered in the 75 years since the Jews regained sovereignty in their ancient homeland, it hasn’t known a day of complete peace. Palestinian Arabs, their foreign allies and enablers in the Muslim and Arab world, as well as those in the West and international community, have never given up their quest to destroy the one Jewish state on the planet.

Places of pilgrimage

That’s why the view from Kfar Aza, and other Israeli kibbutzim and towns throughout southern Israel, is so different.

The sites of the massacres have become places of pilgrimage for Israelis and visitors to the country—and rightly so. To see the homes in places like Kfar Aza that were riddled with bullets and/or burned by the terrorists, and to learn of the horrible fates of their inhabitants, is a searing experience. The same is true for the fields where the Nova music festival took place, and where hundreds of young people were slaughtered, raped and kidnapped—and which are now filled with makeshift memorials to the victims and those taken hostage. Just as haunting are the nearby fields where the wreckage of hundreds of burned-out cars of festival attendees have been piled up and for the time being, left as a gruesome reminder of their fate.

After a brief period of interest and empathy, most of the international media lost interest in the story of Oct. 7. Americans don’t hear from those who survived the attacks or those who risked their lives to rescue some of the victims. But their stories do resonate with fellow Israelis, who understand that they could have just as easily found themselves the prey of Hamas murderers hunting for Jews to torment and kill on that terrible day.

The fate of the hostages also hangs over the country. The pain of the families of those who are still held in captivity by Hamas is felt by everyone there. And while politics has intruded into the discussion—as the anti-judicial reform movement that paralyzed the country has taken control of the weekly “hostage square” protests in Tel Aviv and focused their animus at Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu rather than Hamas—support for the war effort remains largely unshaken.

The notion of stopping the fighting to allow Hamas to survive while still armed and in control of part of Gaza is widely considered reasonable elsewhere, but not in Israel. There, they understand that if Hamas is allowed to fully escape the consequences of the war it started, it will only mean that it will be allowed to make good on its promise to repeat the Oct. 7 atrocities again and again.

The widespread assumption in America—even among major Jewish organizations that are supposed to have Israel and the Jewish people’s best interests at heart—that a Palestinian state must be created after the war ends is opposed even by most on the Israeli left. They know that rewarding Hamas and its supporters with such a gesture isn’t just an invitation to more bloodshed. It’s also immoral and will ensure that the conflict never ends. The independent Palestinian state in all but name ruled by Hamas in Gaza before Oct. 7 was evidence of what such a “solution” would mean for Israel. They understand that a state in Gaza, as well as one in Judea and Samaria, controlled by genocidal terrorists and their morally equivalent political rivals—the Palestinian Authority and the Fatah Party—could place the entire country in danger.

But that’s hard to see in Washington, even by those not motivated by leftist ideologies to hate Israel and to cheer the slaughter of Jews. Still, it’s a truth that is difficult to escape when looking at the ruins of Kfar Aza.

#israel hamas war #pro israel

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nexetics · 1 year

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Important Welcome Home and Indie Creator Post

This post will contain no swearing, no insulting, nothing triggering. This must be addressed with a level head and coming from the depths of my dark dreary heart. I don’t think I’ll ever do something like this again given I just like to hang out in my little hole in the ground, but I’ll crawl out every once and a while when I feel very strongly about something! This will also be for just in general, not just the situation involving the creator of Welcome Home. This is for all small creators who I feel for deeply. So, here we go.

Finding a place I want to start is difficult, there are many points I’d like to address in this post. But, let us start with what Welcome Home and Wally as a whole mean to Clown. When you create something, it is tied to you in a way that even you can’t control, and sometimes you create a very strong bond with that thing. Especially when you spend an enormous amount of time and effort into said thing. A part of you is in that! It is bond and connection that should be treasured and is so, so special. It’s emotional and can be an attachment / driving force of your motivation.

Clown has this with Welcome Home. It’s incredible and comes across very well in all of the content they produce. Wally, as I see it, is definitely an emotional support to them. So, the suddenness of sharing such a relationship with a massive audience, was absolutely a shock and something they were definitely unprepared for. But no one will ever share the exact connection that Clown has with their creation, which is important to realize and respect! Creations can be very real and you feel like you know them. So keeping that in mind when you create or say anything about Welcome Home is essential!

Next point I will address is the people that blatantly disregard the creators wishes. They do not care. It is as simple as that. They do not care, and yelling at them and feeding into them will solve nothing. The best way to deal with people as such is to disregard them. Block them to avoid that content, flag posts accordingly, just do not dwell on their nonsense. You feed into that and they will grow. Don’t give them the time of day or publicity! We got this! And remember; just because it exists, doesn’t mean you have to participate.

This is a great transition to the fact that this is not just about boundaries. This is something much bigger. Welcome Home has grown on a phenomenal scale and it is inevitable that it will continue to grow. This is big and right now it is all on one person’s shoulders. That is unbelievable! This creator has accomplished so much and so much has been so well thought out, it is easy to think this is a massive production! No, it is all one person, and he is struggling. I can only speculate just the sheer amount of feedback, messages, and notifications they are getting on all of their socials, and my speculation is even overwhelming for me to even think about.

If I was in their shoes, I have absolutely no idea how I would even begin with it all. (I think I would crawl back into my hole in the ground-) Honestly, they have handled it really well so far! But there is only so much one person can handle, especially with a work in progress project. This is another major thing! Welcome Home is just beginning, and everyone is excited.

Here are the main take away points and summary:

1) Please, do not respond with anger / uncontrollable emotion. We can handle all of this professionally.

2) The takeaway is far more than just boundaries.

3) Welcome Home and Wally means so much to the creator and something that helps them with their own mental health, thus being very important to respect and appreciate with thought.

4) People who disrespect the wishes of the creator do not care and will likely never care. Ignore and tend to them accordingly with a report, block, etc., but do not feed into them less they gain more publicity.

5) This was all made by one person who is very human and already has a lot of personal matters to attend to, the reception of Welcome Home being a heavy weight on top of all that.

6) Welcome Home is not an ARG

7) Welcome Home is just starting and is susceptible to change! Nothing is set in stone

Lots of love!

#Welcome Home #indie creator #mental health #important post #i hope this isn't too much #back into my hole in the ground #WH #one creator #partycoffin

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ariesshower824 · 2 months

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Voxhollow

Link to Prologue

Chapter 1: Dark

Summary: A day in the life of Dark

The trolley rattled and swayed along the iron tracks, Dark sat patiently against the seat reading today’s newspaper as the vehicle made its way to the next stop. Every once in a while he catches a glimpse of someone looking in his direction. It couldn’t be helped, no matter how ordinary he dressed in public there were always people staring at him. Dark fully believes his alluring aura is a blessing and curse. There has hardly ever been a moment of peace for Dark. Since he was born, everyone around him would say what a handsome man he is, or how terrifying his presence can be when he gets upset. This made it easy to single out which ones were genuine from the boot lickers. He always detested those kinds of people. As the trolley continued forward, Dark’s eyes wandered to his surroundings; a city with a bright future ahead. For him, it was at times too overwhelming to take in all of the advancements made so far. He often wondered what his life would be like if he decided to live a life in seclusion. Far away from the bustling, noisy city. A quiet place all to himself.

He was deep in his thoughts when he felt the trolley come to a halt and the conductor shouted out the last stop of the route. He put his thoughts aside to exit off the trolley to go to his destination, Gearmore Industries LTD. A large company with a skyscraper to match, along with other major entities under the same name engraved on the sign. Dark quickly slipped into the building, making sure no one was following him. Stepping into a private elevator catered only to a handful of people in his life and pressed the button to the top floor. Entering his main office, he started to prepare his afternoon cup of coffee, unaware a certain guest had already made themself at home.

“So how did the meeting with that airship company go?” It was Wilford, one of the few close confidants he can call a friend.

“It went about as well as you expected.” There is a hint of sarcasm in his tone of voice, one that Wil knew very well.

“One of those meetings huh? Ah well, you can’t get them all Dark. After all there’s only so much one man can grasp.” Wilford said. In spite of Wil’s peculiar nature he does have his moments of wisdom. Something that Dark cherished from the people he trusted.

“You really are something else you know that Wil. How are the numbers on the stock market?” Dark sat on his desk, slowly taking a sip from his mug as reads the latest reports on the Bell St stocks.

“According to the latest report, the numbers are slightly going up with you still in the lead with the most investors and the output of your companies are also increasing with the masses asking for more of the products you sell.” Wilford said.

“Hmm.” Dark responded as he scanned through the records.“There was a headline in the newspaper about another arson case on Saturday night at a major bank, Stoneworth Bank. According to the news article I read, the latest attack has caused panic among their customers. A great number of them swarmed the building, trying to withdraw their funds yesterday morning, only to have the bank freeze their accounts today.” Dark said casually.

It was the third attack against an organization in the last two months. Each time the unknown assailant struck, they left their mark with the word ANTI in graffiti. With this recent attack, the people of Ashvale were now fearful of when and where Anti would strike next.

“I must say, whoever this Anti fellow is, they sure know what the hell they’re doing.” Wilford said, standing up from his position on the couch.

“It is rather intriguing that the police haven’t caught this culprit. I wonder when he’ll strike again.” Dark mused.

“Now hold on, we don’t know if the criminal is a he, after all some women in the right circumstances can cause quite a bit of damage too.” Wilford said, entertaining the idea of Dark’s curiosity towards these events.

“Oh I have a strong feeling they are a he, in spite of what the public thinks of him, I find this perpetrator rather interesting.” Dark said with a slight smirk on his face.

Wilford was slightly puzzled by this statement, and he thought he was the slightly unhinged one.

“Dark, surely you’re kidding me right, aren’t you a little worried about this? Every time this delinquent strikes he gets bolder. I wouldn’t be surprised if you are his next target.” Wilford voiced with a look of his concern at Dark’s nonchalance. Dark set down his paper to look up at him.

“Wilford, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did either, hell for all we know he’s planning to blow up one of my factories right now. But, I am not relaxed about this situation, far from it actually.” Dark said, walking over to his view of the city, giving himself a moment to think. “Have you ever questioned why this person goes against these other organizations? He’s clearly trying to send a message to society. What the message is, I don't know. These events have truly piqued my interest.” Dark explained further about his appeal towards Anti.

“Maybe you’d like to meet this lunatic to ask him?” Wilford questioned, starting to think Dark is losing his mind or he’s really bored with his life. It could be both for all he knows.

“Not at all.” He chuckled. “Truthfully I’d rather avoid him. I would not want to get involved in anything unnecessary that hinders my operations. Rest assured old friend, I’m not underestimating or being ignorant about this. I'll send an alert to all of the factories to increase the security until the criminal is caught and this problem is resolved.” He says, patting Wil on the shoulder to give the extra assurance as he makes his way to the phone.

Wilford sighed. “If you say so Dark. I'm just saying to be careful about all of this. The last thing we want is to attract negative vibes from this and have it bite us in the ass, especially you.” He felt slightly better after hearing Dark would ramp up the security.

“Wilford, don’t forget I made reservations for us at the Gearitz Club after six tonight.” Dark called out from the next room.

Wilford chuckled slightly, maybe he was overthinking it. After all, what were the chances Anti is planning to blow up one of the factories at this very moment. Wilford put his worries aside to help Dark with the rest of his work.

Meanwhile, in the shadows of the city, a figure shrouded in darkness was meticulously planning his next attack, the Gearmore Cogwheel factory. “H̷̨̘̘̦̀e̷̙̺̠̠̔̓͋ẖ̴̲̲́̆͗̒͂e̴̳̓͑͌h̴̳͖̗͗ȅ̶̖͓̰̟ͅ.̷͔̹̫̲̤̐̉̚ ̴͇̤̱͐̽̃͗̌J̵̡̓́͌u̷̟͇͑̂̈̈͘ṡ̷͕͎̼̀̿́̕t̷͔̹̞̭͂̑̾ ̷̹͐̊͝ỵ̸̻̩̹͊͛̓́͌o̴̝͑̍u̸̡͂͊̀̕͝ ̴̝͗͐̈̔͘ẘ̷͚̮̇̂̑͠ǎ̶͚̍i̷̦͒͒͛͘ͅt̷̢̺͕̍̂͑̾̕ ̷̛̭͍̮̙̈́D̵̡̩̳̀̾͆̐̑a̷̗͓͛͒̏̎r̶̥̉͋͂̓̋k̴̤̇̚.̵̹̞̬̤̕ ̸̡͚͕͙͆̾͠J̸͇̳̯͖̀͘ū̷̬̻̪͂̾̃̄s̸̮̮̭̾ṯ̷̘̱̪̃͒̈̈́̈ ̵̺̭̽̒̈́ỷ̸̫̭̜̟̽o̵̺̩̊u̴̢̨̞̳͔̽͑ ̷͇̰̆̓w̸̧̡̩̗̐a̵̩̺̽̾ȋ̵̼͚̰͂̊̈̎t̷̮̾!̴̨̼̺̯̣̓̀ ̸͇̰̳͛͊H̸̛͓͖̣̭̳̄̓̇ā̶̹̞̹̫̜̃͒̑h̵̞͂̐̌̓̚a̷̢͍͓̲̓̊̕h̸̦̰̟͌̒̀͗ä̸̧̛͚̍h̴͈̼̤̥̉̈́a̵̘͒̊́͆͜͝!̶͔̈́̾͠ "Anti said this as he threw a knife at a wall. His laughs travel throughout the alley carrying a hint of madness, a symphony of amusement tinged with the darkness that surrounds him. Each chuckle reverberates like a haunting melody, bouncing off the damp bricks and dancing through the chilly night air. To those who heard, it is an unsettling sound, frightening them into scuttling away from the echoes in the dark alley.

The stage is now close to being set and all of the players will fall into place. The questions will soon be asked, who is the monster and who is the man? Will both fall prey to their own demons? Or perhaps these two are more alike than they want to believe?

Stay tuned to find out…

Tags: @bookwormscififan @iamvegorott

#arieswrites #voxhollow #steampunk au

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honeyspiders10 · 1 year

Note

could you do a tamaki amajiki x male reader fic? :DD i love him sm

Of course! I haven't written for tamaki yet, so I'm super excited!! I didn't get a prompt or any specifics, so I'm just going to do basic headcanons!

P.S. I'm so sorry this took so long to get out!! I've been busy with schoolwork and working on other things and stuff, and with Thanksgiving coming up, I've been trying to make myself look presentable to people by using skin care! And I just started streaming on Twitch! So I've been dealing with technical shit and stuff. (Alot harder than it seems, btw) anyway enough about my problems and excuses that's get started!!!

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Request: Yes!

Genre: Fluff!

Fandom: BNHA or MHA

Pronouns used: none used, but used the word 'boy' when referring to reader. Male reader is strongly implied.

Pairing: Tamaki Amajiki x Male reader!

Style: Headcanons

Proofread: yes

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Tamaki is a very shy person. We know this. We've seen how he acts in public. He hides behind Mirio and asks Mirio to do all the talking and stuff. He's the same way with you.

He obviously is a cuddlebug. He's just too shy to admit it. He will start getting more comfortable the further into the relationship you get.

He gets nervous when out in public with you. Not that he's ashamed of liking boys. He's just afraid about the stares when you guys hold hands or when you give him a peck on the cheek all the :O faces he gets. He will put his head on your shoulder and just lay there until you reach where you're going. But he loves you and doesn't want to be with anyone else, but he could definitely go without all the stares.

If you find out what's making Tamaki so nervous, you will throw hands. Like things along the lines of: "What are you staring at? Have you never seen 2 boys love each other? We're not circus animals. Look the other way, Karen." He'll be thankful but with also be petrified.

Not that this has any backup, but I feel like he's extremely artistic. He loves to paint, specifically, oil painting. It is one of the hardest media's to use, and he is AMAZING at it. He loves getting praise for the paintings he...paints. and of course, when he shows you, you give so much love and praise, and for what he's created, he gets a little overwhelmed, and then you have to calm him down while mildly panicking.

Tamaki has some sensory issues. He doesn't like loud noises, which is the one that you can see in the show. Doesn't like fireworks or loud music or anything. So, there are no parties for Amajiki.

This boy loves taking baths, and I mean LOVES. Bath bombs are probably his favorite thing ever. His favorites are soft purple ones and the ones that smell like caramel and vanilla.

With the HC above this one, his favorite place to go is bath and body works or the candle section in Walmart. He definitely had like 50 candles. His dorm must smell amazing.

Tamaki has a fear of insects, but he loves butterflies and bees. My guy hates centipedes (same bro) and crickets. Or practically anything that jumps. Will runaway screaming if he sees a praying mantis. NEVER let this man around a spider he won't even be able to run away he'll pass the fuck out.

His favorite time of day is dusk and nighttime. He loves watching the sunset and mapping constellations he's great at astronomy. Bonus points if you're there. ^^

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Alright, sorry it's kinda short!! I hope you like it though! I love Tamaki and can't wait to write for him again! Toodles!!

#mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #tamaki amajiki #x reader #male reader

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dmagedgoods · 1 year

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daeran's unexpected proposal really caught of off guard! he asks it so casually too ahaha. it's not 'oh dear love of my life, will you marry me?' it's just 'hey do you want another dumb title to add to the list?' even though it likely means a lot to him.

I never would have expected it either, anon. It comes as an immense surprise and says so much about him as a person.

Yes, knowing Daeran and his love for extravagant courting, it could have happened during a perfectly planned dinner at a beautiful place, with candles everywhere and flowers and a string quartet and extravagant pleasures etc.

Instead, it is this impulsive moment, full of hope, full of life, spontaneous, passionate, right in front of the ruin that is Threshold, in battle armor and ready to fight, at the end of this incredible adventure that led to his freedom and more even! – He found a kind of love he never expected to experience.

All this time he has been cynical, despite his hunger for life not truly believing in any kind of future, waiting for the moment he would be killed by the Other. Even when he was strongly in love already, he still held back, not able to allow it fully, too afraid of how it would end. Now suddenly he finds himself having this future! And he’s going to spend it with the one who makes him feel in ways he never felt before. Finally, he can truly leave those chains behind. And he won’t wait with asking them another second, plans and preparations be damned! This is the last battle and he will give them another reason not to dare and die now. This future will be theirs.

Also, his way of asking is so very him as well, pretending to be casual in what must be one of the most important steps of his life and his emotions are through the roof. He doesn’t leave any doubt about it, but he doesn’t say it. He has to tease the commander even then, even while proposing.

I would not change this moment for any kind of typical story-book-event or speech ever. (And I say this while absolutely adoring huge romantic gestures and typical story-book-events, especially between characters I love.) But Daeran’s proposal? I want it exactly like this. I want it in this most unlikely of all moments, I want the sheer enthusiasm, the bewilderment of my character, the overwhelming happiness, this first kiss in public, everyone staring, I want it imperfect and appearing weirdly casual and unplanned and therefore coming with all those unrestrained emotions.

(Also, the voice acting in this moment is incredible. The little “Ha!” – so free, so joyful – lives in my mind and my heart.)

#daeran #daeran arendae #pathfinder wotr #pathfinder: wrath of the righteous #pfwotr #anon #dmagedanswers #thank you so much for this message aaaa #❤️❤️❤️#I love to ramble about him

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fatehbaz · 1 year

Text

The impetus [...] was a desire to pick up [...] with ‘those historical alternatives’ that ‘haunt a given society’, as Herbert Marcuse wrote; to find the place where, as Patricia Williams put it, our ‘longings are exiled.’ [...] [T]o challenge the twinned triumphalism of the [...] ‘end of history’ claim and the [...] claim that the political universe had closed shut [after the 1960s]. [...]

[T]he rejectionist epithet: ‘That’s not realistic, that’s utopian!’ [...]

[A] phrase which is often used as a bludgeon to manage proposals, people and actions that have gone too far out of bounds. [...] There were good reasons to distrust and even dismiss the term ‘utopian’, although in my opinion, the main problem was not idealism and futurism, but rather the term’s deeply racialised historiography and narrow set of [...] references. To put it bluntly, the extant meaning of the term treated the [...] colonialism that founded the so-called New World as a successful utopian enterprise, while absenting entirely what Peter Linebaugh and Marcus Rediker call the ‘many-headed hydra’ of the seventeenth-century ‘revolutionary Atlantic’ – those slaves, maids, prisoners, pirates, sailors, heretics, Indigenous peoples, commoners and others who challenged the making of the modern world capitalist system.

There was another kind of utopianism entailed by slaves running away, marronage, piracy, heresy, vagabondage, soldier desertion, and other illegible or discredited forms of escape, resistance, opposition and alternative ways of life that continued, of course, to challenge the modern racial capitalist system over time. This ‘other’ utopianism lends to the term ‘utopian’ a very different meaning – one rooted much more in the past and the present than in an unrealistic future – and a very different notion of politics – one rooted in ongoing social struggles, in various forms of nonparticipation, and in an autonomous politics hostile or indifferent to seizing state power. [...]

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In this context of enhanced militarism and securitisation, the ongoing redistribution of resources from social property to private property has led to more widespread social abandonment and more entrenched inequalities [...].

At the same time, there is widespread, daily, active and open political opposition to all this, at the scale at which people can contest it: protecting this group of migrants from arrest, confinement and deportation; organising this strike among teachers in this city; defending this territory from oil drilling; filing lawsuits against a police department and so on; gathering in public to swear, shout, shake fists, confront the inevitably helmeted riot police. There is also widespread, daily, active, infrapolitical and even secret political opposition, which needs and wants to remain hidden. And there are also so many people, more and more in the Western wealthy countries, looking for ways to think and live on different – better terms – and doing it in small ways, whether in local collectives, or in extended family units, with illegal housing and electricity, alternative currencies, in cities and on old tribal lands.

What will happen we don’t know, of course. But as more people become unable to participate in the existing economic and governing systems, they must find another way. [...] [A] standpoint and a mindset for living on better terms than we’re offered; for living as if you had the necessity and the freedom to do so; for living in the acknowledgement, that despite the overwhelming power of all the systems of domination which are trying to kill us, they never quite become us. [...]

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It thus exists in a particular imaginative space and temporality. This temporality is not the conventional one of utopian literature – ‘what might be’ – nor is it quite the conditional past (‘what could have been’) [...]. [I]n the temporality of what was almost or not quite yet; or what was present and at the same time yet to come. It tries to represent the traces of the remains of the past, or the future yet to come, as if in the present. [...]

The Chimurenga Library and Pan African Space Station put the question this way: ‘Can a past that the present has not yet caught up with be summoned to haunt the present as an alternative?’ What would happen if we understood that what haunts from the past are precisely all those aspirations and actions – small and large, individual and collective – that oppose racial capitalism and empire and live actively other than on those terms of order. These living haunts are part of the past the present hasn’t caught up with yet. This is what I mean by the idea of the utopian margins – an alternate civilisation crossing time and place, accumulating a kind of cultural and political surplus, as Bloch called it. Julius Scott called it ‘the common wind.’

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Words of Avery F. Gordon. As interviewed by Brenna Bhandar and Rafeef Ziadah. “Revolutionary Feminisms: Avery F. Gordon.” As transcribed and published online in the Blog section of Verso Books. 2 September 2020. [Some paragraph breaks and contractions added by me.]

#i know ive shared similar words from her before because she resuses some of these same phrases in at least 3 separate places #but it was in this interview where she summed it up in a way that i most enjoyed #abolition #ecology #imperial #colonial

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nyctophiliq · 1 year

Note

(i just saw your matchup post, so i will strike my shot. miss you broooo, i've been away from tumblr 😭 also you can ignore this if there's no more places, ily mwah)

soooo...about myself...ok, this is hard omg. ok 😭*takes a deep breath* don't panic!! ugh 😮‍💨.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

GENERAL ♡

- cancer sun, infj mbti, ravenclaw

- 21 years old

- short af, i am like, 4'11

- lesbian

- i am the theatre and ballet kid

- i currently work as a makeup artist but i also do tarot readings for an extra income

- physical traits are that i am really fucking short, pale, petite, tattooed, blue eyes, i am a natural blonde but i recently dyed my long hair black for the aesthetic.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

PERSONALITY ♡

- i am very introverted and laid back, however, i am not at all timid. i love spending time by myself and i get overwhelmed easily in public as i recharge alone, or besides the one person i love. i am a huge appreciator of silence and calmness.

- i am a crybaby. literally. i am a very sensitive person and the stereotype of a feeler, i kin that one melanie martinez song 🤡. i am the type of person who will cry because an animal is cute and i just find it wholesome, or if i see an emotional scene in a disney cartoon. yes. pathetic, i know. my friends pick on me a lot for it lmfao.

- i have the caregiver syndrome. i worry a lot about the people i care about and i am very nurturing over them. i need to constantly check if they're feeling good, if they ate, drank water...when i hang out, i always end up being the mom of the group.

- huge animal person. i adore all animals and if i see one, i will feel like petting it. i mean it. it could even be a squirrel. don't judge me moss, i am not out of my disney princess phase. however, i am a cat person. i loooooove cats and my camera roll is legit 80% pictures of my cats. my clothes and furniture are covered in fur, i swear. i will send cat videos to my s.o. and caption it with "us".

- the thing i value the most in a person is loyalty. i even have a loyalty tattoo. it's a strong trait i have in myself, if i love you, i would kill and die for you. it makes me a very intense lover as i literally turn into some gomez addams.

- my toxic trait is that i isolate myself when i am feeling down, upset, or depressed. i push people away when things get tough because i would rather handle myself than bringing my problems onto them. i have a hard time letting people help me.

- i love beauty and i see beauty in all things. so i am always dressed up, even if i have nowhere in particular to go. i love fixing my hair, taking care of my body, dressing up, buying accessories and clothes, my house is all decorated and everything i carry with me must be unique and delicate. i am also very, very feminine. my feminity isn't light though, it's dark.

- i am a witch. i have been studying and practicing witchcraft for years and it's a very important aspect of my life. i am devoted to hekate and i have an altar for her at home. as i stated up there, i am a tarot reader and it's part of my income.

- i speak in a calm, low tone even when i am angry. it's scary because I'm there talking quietly with my eyes almost alive on my face.

- my house smells like scented candles and incenses.

- i ALWAYS smell good. i am paranoid over it, i swear. i am always putting essential oils on my skin, moisturizer, perfume...i must always smell marvelous and live of my fantasy of being a fairy in a modern woman desguise lmfao.

- i love quietness, as i said. so with that said, i like going on walks in nature. i like walking barefoot on the grass and if it's breezy, i open the windows of my apartment just to feel it on my skin. if it starts raining a little, i don't open my umbrella, i love the feeling of the water droplets and the smell of wet earth.

- i feel attracted to older, stronger women. as a person who's very independent and even a bit stubborn, i like the thought of a partner who will make me fall to my knees, tame me. you know, make me melt down. as lana said, "i'm stronger than all my (wo)men, except for you."

- stanning lana del rey is a personality trait for me so uhm 🚬💋

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

HOBBIES ♡

- reading. i am such a bookworm and i am always reading something in public. if you see me at the subway, i will have a book in hand. my favorite author is edgar allan poe. i tend to recite a lot of book quotes in conversations.

- writing. i mean, you already know this moss lmfao, but i love writing. It can either be fanfiction, though i am currently working on a fantasy book. however, my biggest love is and always will be poetry.

- baking. i love baking shit. specially cake.

- i go on walks daily and i take the opportunity to watch the world around me while listening to music.

- my day only starts after i have coffee.

- ballet (?). I don't think it should be here as a hobby because i am a professional ballerina and i have been dancing since i was a child, but here it is.

- gaming. can be electronic, gambling, board games...it doesn't matter to me.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

my preference ♡ - moss, i just want an older woman from either arcane or league of legends because i have mommy issues. love you girlie.

your match-up and star messenger is . . .

ENFORCER GRAYSON (istj) !

you are the "there is a thin line between love and hate" couple

let moss explain... enforcer grayson is a woman of her word, strength, and knowledge, she takes down every obstacle be it emotional or physical but after the first time meeting you she doesn’t really know where to put you. she despises your cheery voice, that you choose the skirt over the pants in the office even with all these men around, she is sick of you and picks on you every chance she gets. after getting you to know a little better, now being aware of her feelings for you she will be distant, no longer insulting you, but instead just pulling on her shoulder before leaving you behind.

she needs someone like you, someone who cares for her, makes sure she has enough lunch for her work day, and that she never forgets to drink and not only those alcoholic drinks she oh so often jugs down after she is off duty. she appreciates that you too recharge when having space, she needs that too to clear her thinking, to form thoughts influenced by nothing. at the first few stages of your relationship, she will seem like she is playing you, that she might just wanna see if she still has the charm but she really is nervous about actually seducing you. she wants you to be hers, to spend a life together, to create memories both of you will fondly remember no matter the hard times.

some aspects of your relationship would be:

"stop texting me weird stuff at night, i am right next to you."

dance class dates !!! grayson always wanted to learn the proper way to dance when hitting a gala, she just hasn't had the perfect partner yet.

she will always make little comments about your tarot readings, she doesn't believe in that... but... it does seem interesting as you do it

she gives you a chuckle every time you drop a few tears because of something being cute, it warms her heart in a non-weird way

MEETING EACH OTHER !

version 1

ah yes, the steam train, is one of the most convenient ways of getting to work for you. the ticket was cheap, the ride was short, and looking out on its windows gave you a whole new perspective on piltover. grayson too takes the train most of the time to work for the listen reason above but the day she first saw you was because she was patrolling on the train. you were yet to get off, but she couldn't get her eyes off of you, then she saw the book in your hand and tried making up the courage to step to you and ask for your name. but when she finally did you were just getting off, leaving your book behind on your seat, giving her the perfect opportunity to strike.

"i wouldn't mind buying you coffee and talking about the book... hope you wouldn't either."

version 2

you have been working at the piltover police office for the past few months, not the best job but it paid well enough so you only needed to pick up a smaller job to really make a living. you didn't do much, sit in front of a pile of papers, and that's why you didn't understand why you were required to do a physical test when you have more than enough case hours to dodge it. but order is order, and you have to keep this job if you want to make it through this time of the year. you were waiting for the pt instructor in the station's gym, impatiently staring at the clock above the entrance of the room. soon grayson walked inside, looking like a high school pe teacher, yet she still managed to take you by surprise, how inviting she looked despite the frown she had on her face. she too felt a sort of... pull towards you and hardly held eye contact whenever you tried to.

"come on sweet heart, physical for you? you help us out so much, had it already waved it for ya’.”

YOUR SONG IS . . .

stargirl interlude by lana del rey !

#📼 › moss tapes #arcane match up #match up #match up event

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