#hundreds of years of correspondence

[flowerflamestars]

Timeloop snippet

Several seconds and several centuries later, Eris raised his head from the moonlit water. Starker from above then head on, sharpened into something that did not strictly suggesting living to human sensibility, utterly enthralling to Elain’s eyes. All bone and brightness, a better shock of color than what the silver, massive moon gave. Those cheekbones. His mouth, softer a savage line than it had any right to be. Eris Vanserra, who’d given her the words to tear eternity apart, quiet on his knees. “It worked.” Not a question. Perhaps an excuse for the look his cast up at her, that still, lurking wonder that made Elain feel twenty and a thousand at once, like fizz in her veins. Flowering. Finding- Eris, constant in the endless ocean of her life, dark under light and blinding light in this dark.  She’d find a way to say it back- to say it right. “You remember?” One brow, raised high, before Eris gave in entirely and smiled. “We should find them.” The water hardly shifted. A wound and a wonder and no current at all, just fascination. Just Eris, on his feet, offering his arm like he really thought she might not take it, after all these years. “We,” Elain repeated, agreed, unable abruptly not to laugh. “We should.”

#insane for this sibling team up literally destroying the world to save their siblings #timelines and whole lives lived and died! #for this! #back to the pond and on to something better #timeloop canon is truly like: he gave her a dog! #told her how to break time! #BELIEVED SHE COULD DO IT #hundreds of years of correspondence #Elain crashing in Autumn whenever #(Eris losing his mind. every. single. time) #Raising a grumpy Vanserra teenager! #no grave can hold my body down #this draft is curing in salt and sugar like a delicacy #it is not ready but it is PROMISING

[mantisgodsdomain]

Occasionally we debate on illustrating random bits from our Discord PMs that we find really funny but then we remember that we're, like, the physical embodiment of the "ace that makes sex jokes" stereotype and phrases like "iterator dick discourse" would both be remarkably difficult to illustrate and probably require us drawing something at least somewhat NSFW (we do not particularly care to learn how to draw this)

#we speak #realistically it would just require more specific tinkering w what we choose to include but we still think the dickscourse is funny #it's the image of a bunch of ancient monks gathering around to very seriously debate decisions with the upcoming iterator project #and then the whiteboard is just like. “ITERATORS: dick or no?” #(vital context: we got hung up on the semantics of people giving their iterators actual genitals in smut) #(as the existence of that on the puppet implies that someone had to design and manufacture and ship that shit for the finished iterator) #(and the general aura of the ancients instantly catapults this to fucking hilarious because it implies job titles like “dick director”) #(and work emails about iterator pipe written in the exact same cadence as all of the ancient correspondence we see in-game) #we dont think a lot of people designing iterators really Get the sheer amount of semantics and construction and effort and PEOPLE #that go into a project of the iterator's scale #especially when hundreds of them have been constructed! theres gonna be a whole ass trail of design changes and iterations! #youre gonna have hundreds of years of iterators being designed and technology coming into fashion and out of fashion #and things being integrated and things becoming obsolete and things being more or less practical as time goes on! #you cant really say that All Iterators have a trait because the sheer scale and timeframe theyre built on means thats near impossible #our windows 95 writing computer has different construction and deeply different design to a laptop from 2023 #despite them technically being the same type of technology #you expect tech developed hundreds of years apart to be The Same? absolutely not. theres gonna be eight trillion weird design quirks #accumulated both in the construction process and in the continued design refinement and improvement stage #...which is to say that you can and should write what u want but if youre gonna include pleasure inducing wires then we want like #a 40k word essay on how this got into the design how it wound up in future designs what function the wires perform that makes them Like Tha #and so on and so forth #we admire the confidence and ingenuity of the people who want to fuck the robots but we cannot get into their fantasies with good conscienc #we live in the same house as an engineer who manages largescale construction and we also know too much about designing technology #...we should segment these tags into a separate post or something. we've gone WAY off-topic.

[siredcrab]

What a wonderful kind and clever man, too bad that there's this beautiful and cunning blonde boy that's forever going to make his life a living nightmare

#it's just the fate of every middle aged man #you love an evil blonde and then you die #bringing no context into this post #I've been snooping through correspondence of people who have been dead for a hundred years. #this is just a common patron #also in fiction even more so #what am i talking about

[cithaerons]

having a major crying for history moment tonight. or over historians to be exact

#do you ever think about how history and the process of writing it and studying it is a collective endeavour that spans hundreds - #i suppose thousands - of years #i was trying to find a book about subject and the only one i can ifind was written in 1910 #it was written by this female professor who had a phd at the turn of the century #i'm reading about her now and what a person.... wow #and her students..... #one of the students she corresponded with the most was a young woman from china who studied under her (in the US) at the turn of the century #and i just happened to run into all of this because i am desperately trying to find a book on redacted #and there looks to be only one and she's the one who wrote it #how cool....

[contact-guy]

lol THIS ENDED UP BEING SO LONG but it's such a cute story opening that I had to draw Watson roasting Holmes's messiness for the newspaper and Holmes skillfully maneuvering his way out of having to do chores. It's all canon, even the indoor sharpshooting, except for the bit about the cold bath.

canon text under the cut:

An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction. Not that I am in the least conventional in that respect myself. The rough-and-tumble work in Afghanistan, coming on the top of a natural Bohemianism of disposition, has made me rather more lax than befits a medical man. But with me there is a limit, and when I find a man who keeps his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of a Persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jack-knife into the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin to give myself virtuous airs. I have always held, too, that pistol practice should be distinctly an open-air pastime; and when Holmes, in one of his queer humors, would sit in an arm-chair with his hair-trigger and a hundred Boxer cartridges, and proceed to adorn the opposite wall with a patriotic V. R. done in bullet-pocks, I felt strongly that neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was improved by it.

Our chambers were always full of chemicals and of criminal relics which had a way of wandering into unlikely positions, and of turning up in the butter-dish or in even less desirable places. But his papers were my great crux. He had a horror of destroying documents, especially those which were connected with his past cases, and yet it was only once in every year or two that he would muster energy to docket and arrange them; for, as I have mentioned somewhere in these incoherent memoirs, the outbursts of passionate energy when he performed the remarkable feats with which his name is associated were followed by reactions of lethargy during which he would lie about with his violin and his books, hardly moving save from the sofa to the table. Thus month after month his papers accumulated, until every corner of the room was stacked with bundles of manuscript which were on no account to be burned, and which could not be put away save by their owner. One winter’s night, as we sat together by the fire, I ventured to suggest to him that, as he had finished pasting extracts into his common-place book, he might employ the next two hours in making our room a little more habitable. He could not deny the justice of my request, so with a rather rueful face he went off to his bedroom, from which he returned presently pulling a large tin box behind him. This he placed in the middle of the floor and, squatting down upon a stool in front of it, he threw back the lid. I could see that it was already a third full of bundles of paper tied up with red tape into separate packages.

“There are cases enough here, Watson,” said he, looking at me with mischievous eyes. “I think that if you knew all that I had in this box you would ask me to pull some out instead of putting others in.”

“These are the records of your early work, then?” I asked. “I have often wished that I had notes of those cases.”

“Yes, my boy, these were all done prematurely before my biographer had come to glorify me.” He lifted bundle after bundle in a tender, caressing sort of way. “They are not all successes, Watson,” said he. “But there are some pretty little problems among them. Here’s the record of the Tarleton murders, and the case of Vamberry, the wine merchant, and the adventure of the old Russian woman, and the singular affair of the aluminium crutch, as well as a full account of Ricoletti of the club-foot, and his abominable wife. And here—ah, now, this really is something a little recherchè.”

He dived his arm down to the bottom of the chest, and brought up a small wooden box with a sliding lid, such as children’s toys are kept in. From within he produced a crumpled piece of paper, and old-fashioned brass key, a peg of wood with a ball of string attached to it, and three rusty old disks of metal.

“Well, my boy, what do you make of this lot?” he asked, smiling at my expression.

“It is a curious collection.”

“Very curious, and the story that hangs round it will strike you as being more curious still.”

“These relics have a history then?”

“So much so that they are history.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Sherlock Holmes picked them up one by one, and laid them along the edge of the table. Then he reseated himself in his chair and looked them over with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

“These,” said he, “are all that I have left to remind me of the adventure of the Musgrave Ritual.”

I had heard him mention the case more than once, though I had never been able to gather the details. “I should be so glad,” said I, “if you would give me an account of it.”

“And leave the litter as it is?” he cried, mischievously. “Your tidiness won’t bear much strain after all, Watson. But I should be glad that you should add this case to your annals, for there are points in it which make it quite unique in the criminal records of this or, I believe, of any other country. A collection of my trifling achievements would certainly be incomplete which contained no account of this very singular business.

-The Memories of Sherlock Holmes: The Musgrave Ritual

#they are so married #also watson describing himself as bohemian #i know what you are #sherlock holmes #acd holmes #acd canon #john watson #my art #musgrave ritual

[sparkelingspectres]

Ogishfhs I am being so neurodivergent rn my brain go brrrrr

#top secret but how i watch youtube videos is i have hundreds of vids saved to my watch later #and when i feel like watching something on youtube i use a random number generator to pick a number and i count the videos to that number #and watch the video it corresponds to like for instance i just rolled 286 #so i scroll to the 286th video amd thats the one i watch :3 #this is perfectly normal for me. ive been doing this for like 3-4 years? #idk why im sharing this now but this is how my vrain does things and its perfectly fine

[zvaigzdelasas]

During a keynote speech in New York on Monday from the managing director of Google's Israel business, an employee in the company's cloud division protested publicly, proclaiming “I refuse to build technology that powers genocide.”

The Google Cloud engineer was subsequently fired, CNBC has learned[...]

There was more internal controversy this week, also tied to the crisis in Gaza.

Ahead of an International Women's Day Summit in Silicon Valley on Thursday, Google's employee message board was hit with an influx of staffer comments about the company's military contracts with Israel. The online forum, which was going to be used to help inform what questions were asked of executives at the event, was shut down for what a spokesperson described to CNBC as "divisive content that is disruptive to our workplace."[...]

In recent weeks, more than 600 Google workers signed a letter addressed to leadership asking that the company drop its sponsorship of the annual Mind the Tech conference promoting the Israeli tech industry. The event on Monday in New York featured an address from Barak Regev, managing director of Google Israel.

A video of the employee protesting during the speech went viral.

“No cloud for apartheid,” the employee yelled. Members of the crowd booed him as he was escorted by security out of the building.

Regev then told the crowd, “Part of the privilege of working in a company, which represents democratic values is giving the stage for different opinions."

A Google spokesperson said the employee was fired for "interfering with an official company-sponsored event" in an email to CNBC on Thursday. "This behavior is not okay, regardless of the issue, and the employee was terminated for violating our policies." The spokesperson didn't specify which policies were violated.[...]

Ahead of Google's International Women's Day summit on Thursday, called Her Power, Her Voice, some women filled the company's internal discussion forum Dory with questions about how the Israeli military contract and Google's AI chatbot Gemini are impacting Palestinian women. Some of the comments had hundreds of "upvotes" from employees, according to internal correspondence viewed by CNBC.[...]

Another highly-rated comment on the forum asked how the company is recognizing Mai Ubeid, a young woman and former Google software engineer who was reportedly killed in an Israeli airstrike in Gaza along with her family late last year. (Some employees and advocacy groups gathered to honor Ubeid in New York in December.)

One employee asked, "Given the ongoing International War Crimes against Palestinian women, how can we use the 'Her Power, Her Voice' theme to amplify their daily struggles?" The comment received over 100 upvotes.

"It's essential to question how we can truly support the notion of 'Her Power, Her Voice,' while at the same time, ignoring the cries for help from Palestinian women who have been systematically deprived of their fundamental human rights," another said.

As the number of comments swelled, Google prematurely shut down the forum.

8 Mar 24

[cryptotheism]

How do cards gain meaning in an occult sense? Like, both tarot and french-suited playing cards started as game pieces, but they have gained an understood meaning. Is it just someone whips up an organized table of connected ideas or is each card interpreted from a certain framework?

Oh good question!

Many things that we now consider staples of western magic are ideas that have been added to over generations by several layers of thinkers. Tarot Divination specifically is an excellent example of this!

In 1770, A french printmaker and occultist going by Etteilla published a book about how to do cartomancy with a 32-card Piquet deck. He writes down some simple but strict associations for the cards, and makes what is probably the first mention of reversals in carotmancy. He said that he learned the system "from an Italian." Now, its unclear how much of the system is his own invention, people have been doing cartomancy for as long as there's been cards, but the text presents a larval, bare-bones version of the cartomancy methods we know and love today.

Its 1780-ish. The Rosetta stone hasn't been discovered yet. Occult-inclined Europeans are obsessed with Egypt. That's where our boy Trismegistus is from! There's a concept in Egyptian mythology called The Book of Thoth, a mythical book of spells penned by the God of Knowledge himself. This was the Holy Grail for European Occult Egpytaboos.

In 1781, Antoine Court de Gébelin claimed that Tarot cards were the "original book of Thoth," Saying that Tarot cards had been used by ancient Egyptian priests for their own magical ceremonies, and that their designs contained ancient mystical secrets. This is 100% not true, but he writes a pretty fun pseudohistory for Tarot that involves Romani people bringing the decks to Europe through the Levant where they then taught its esoteric secrets to several Popes.

Then in 1783, Ettellia responded with another book. Manière de se récréer avec le jeu de cartes nommées tarots ("Way to recreate yourself with the deck of cards called tarots") Where Ettellia basically claims "uhm actually I knew about tarot divination way before Court de Gebelin published that big ass book. But anyway here's an interpretation of Tarot symbology that includes multiple references to Egyptian, Zoroastrian, and Greek mythology." But the smartest thing he did was include spread methods that involved Thoth and Numerology. Napoleonic Occultists fucking loved Thoth and numerology.

In 1788, he formed a little magical society for the express purpose of discussing and workshopping ideas for Tarot divination. In 1789, he made a TRULY smart decision, and published a Tarot deck that was Specifically For Magic, and that basically cemented Tarots place in magical history.

Occultists just kept iterating! Someone would speculate "maybe the suits correspond to the elements" and people went "yeah, they correspond to the elements! That makes this tool even more fun and interesting to use!" Then people go "What if the suits and the elements also correspond to parts of the Self?" and people went "Sure they do! That makes this tool even more interesting!"

But its also not just one thread. Eventually you get the Golden Dawn saying "The Major Arcana correspond to the nodes and paths on our version of the Quabbalistic Sefirot, you know, the hermetic version with a Q." and some occultists responded "Idk about that! Love what you've done with the color symbology though!"

The development of magical ideas is an iterative process. It is people whipping up a table of correspondences, but that table needs a mythology to keep it together. Originally, the mythology that gave tarot "power" was its Egyptian pseudohistory, but these days its the fact that occultists have been iterating on and fine-tuning this system for hundreds of years.

Humans don't think in tables of information, they think in stories. The cool thing about stories is that they're flexible. If magic is anything, its learning how to engineer stories to make the tables of information more effective.

I'm gonna plug my patreon where I post all of my occult research if you wanna see more stuff like this

#Tarot #Occult #I was supposed to edit today but I couldn't pass up this opportunity for a micro essay #cartomancy

[renku]

Up and Under

TWICE Chou Tzuyu x Male Reader

Sitting and staring nowhere in the middle of the park, holding a cup of coffee that went cold from that old vending machine nearby, and the freezing evening wind has no effect at all in your current state—high on adrenaline and it looks like it’d take an hour or two before it subsides in your system.

“This must remain just between us. Got it?”

Each word kept playing again and again in your head, like the same lyrics from the song five years ago that’s still not leaving your playlist. Not to mention how Chou Tzuyu—yes, the idol—whispered those words with her sexy yet cute voice along with a warm breath inducing goosebumps; from the back of your neck spreading down to your legs. You even started to question your reality. Did that really happen?

Everything that happened today was messed up, or to be exact, fucked up. But wait, how did you even get to this situation by the way?

It was about noon, and the usual routine at work is to take a break empty space upstairs before Inkigayo broadcast starts. Landing a job at a place like this isn’t something you thought of but there’s no much options on your hand, so here you are. The spot is usually silent since most are out to get their lunch. Lately, you prefer taking a nap up there since a bench is available. It’s crucial for you to have that time alone for yourself. One hour of freedom to collect your shit again is enough to get through to the rest of the shift. Work itself is already draining, but dealing with people is another.

The pace of your steps is increasing yet you still try not to make a sound. I should hurry before surviving another four hours of work, you thought. Getting closer to your so-called sanctuary, this is when things started to take a turn—a complete hundred and eighty turn.

It made you stop, and carefully listen again to make sure it’s not your head playing games at you.

“Yes— Hmm... Ah~”

You’re not definitely hearing things. It’s definitely a moan. A woman’s moan on top of that. She’s really into it; given how she lets out all those moans like no one will hear her and not giving a single damn.

Forget the nap, going back should be the immediate course action in this kind of situation. But, being a man and curiosity got the best of you.

“I shouldn’t be doing this, shit,” you whispered.

Taking extremely careful steps—almost tiptoeing, making that one, tempting peek. Lifted black skirt, fingerless-gloved right hand holding onto the handle for support, and probably her other hand doing the job. It’s quite difficult to recognize who she is since her loose, black hair covered the side of her face and a tent is already forming inside your pants. Each second that passes corresponds to the moans getting shorter and shorter, hinting that she’s close to that release.

“UGH! OH- YES, YES, OH FUCKKK!”

She threw head back, exposing the side of her face.

“Is that... Tzuyu?!” For a moment, you couldn’t move a muscle. Chou Tzuyu, who is known to be pure, kind, lovely, and innocent idol for years. Yet here she is, masturbating and made herself cum.

Your feet went cold stunned by what you just witnessed. Tzuyu then turned her head to where you are like she knew you were there all along, and not showing any sign of surprise at all when both of your eyes met. She's insanely fucking beautiful.

After fixing herself up and the mess she made, Tzuyu went right away to you. “This must remain just between us. Got it? Everything.” she whispered, then grabbed your hard member; fingers making random movements, playing with your already leaking rod making you jolt before adding, “Why don't you come here again next time? Same place, same time then maybe we can do some interesting things, don't you think?”

Does she even hear herself? How could she willingly say those words to someone she never knew her whole life. You can only nod to whatever she'll say, truth be told. The fact that a goddess like her is standing next to you is unreal.

“I got to go now, bye!” she said, winking and waving as she went on her way.

Back at the present—after reminiscing everything that happened all you could think of was, “I need to find a new job immediately.”

A/N: Hi. Ren (new name, can’t remember my old one) here. Plotless fic and not stuffed with much details to make it “smutty” enough, I just want to get the gist of writing again after not being able to make a stable progress after leaving the platform for about a year. So yeah, not much but I hope it will spark my enjoyment of writing again.

#smut #kpop smut #tzuyu #chou tzuyu #twice #twice smut

[txttletale]

how do ml's reconcile with lenin going for a bigbrainhaver hierarchy which just so happened to place him at the tippy top? most of the things he's quoted for writing make a kind of sense in that longwinded academic philosopher way, but, like, russia went from having a revolution against monarchy to having a monarchy, essentially, and what folks do tends to align with their desires, yeah? wouldn't that make everything he said, idk, suspicious?

we reconcile with this because none of this is even remotely true. lenin did not 'happen to be placed at the tippy top' but was in fact elected by the soviets, who worked in a very simple electoral system by which workers and peasants would elect representatives to their local soviet, who as well as administering local services would also elect members to higher bodies. the quote unquote bigbrainhaver hierarchy system in question was as follows:

The sovereign body is in every case the Congress of Soviets. Each county sends its delegates. These are elected indirectly by the town and county Soviets which vote in proportion to population, following the ratio observed throughout, by which the voters in the town have five times the voting strength of the inhabitants of the villages, an advantage which may, as we saw, be in reality three to one. The Congress meets, as a rule, once a year, for about ten days. It is not, in the real sense of the word, the legislative body. It debates policy broadly, and passes resolutions which lay down the general principles to be followed in legislation. The atmosphere of its sittings is that of a great public demonstration. The Union Congress, for example, which has some fifteen hundred members, meets in the Moscow Opera House. The stage is occupied by the leaders and the heads of the administration, and speeches are apt to be big oratorical efforts. The real legislative body is the so-called Central Executive Committee (known as the C. I. K. and pronounced "tseek") . It meets more frequently than the Congress to which it is responsible-in the case of the Union, at least three times in the year-passes the Budget, receives the reports of the Commissars (ministers), and discusses international policy. It, in its turn, elects two standing bodies: (1) The Presidium of twenty-one members, which has the right to legislate in the intervals between the sittings of the superior assemblies, and also transacts some administrative work. (2) The Council of Peoples' Commissars. These correspond roughly to the Ministers or Secretaries of State in democratic countries and are the chiefs of the administration. Meeting as a Council, they have larger powers than any Cabinet, for they may pass emergency legislation and issue decrees which have all the force of legislation. Save in cases of urgency, however, their decrees and drafts of legislation must be ratified by the Executive Committee (C.I.K.). In another respect they differ from the European conception of a Minister. Each Commissar is in reality the chairman of a small board of colleagues, who are his advisers. These advisory boards, or collegia, meet very frequently (it may even be daily) to discuss current business, and any member of a board has the right to appeal to the whole Council of Commissars against a decision of the Commissar.

—H.N. Brailsford, How The Soviets Work (1927)

you might notice that the congresses of soviets were not directly elected -- this is because they were elected by local soviets, who were directly elected, in a process that many people have given first hand accounts of:

I have, while working in the Soviet Union, participated in an election. I, too, had a right to vote, as I was a working member of the community, and nationality and citizenship are no bar to electoral rights. The procedure was extremely simple. A general meeting of all the workers in our organisation was called by the trade union committee, candidates were discussed, and a vote was taken by show of hands. Anybody present had the right to propose a candidate, and the one who was elected was not personally a member of the Party. In considering the claims of the candidates their past activities were discussed, they themselves had to answer questions as to their qualifications, anybody could express an opinion, for or against them, and the basis of all the discussion was: What justification had the candidates to represent their comrades on the local Soviet. As far as the elections in the villages were concerned, these took place at open village meetings, all peasants of voting age, other than those who employed labour, having the right to vote and to stand for election. As in the towns, any organisation or individual could put forward candidates, anyone could ask the candidate questions, and anybody could support or oppose the candidature. It is usual for the Communist Party to put forward a candidate, trade unions and other organisations can also do so, and there is nothing to prevent the Party’s candidate from not being elected, if he has not sufficient prestige among the voters. In the towns the “ electoral district ” has hitherto consisted of a factory, or a group of small factories sufficient to form a constituency. But there was one section of the town population which has always had to vote geographically, since they did not work together in one organisation. This was the housewives. As a result, the housewives met separately in each district, had their own constituencies, and elected their own representatives to the Soviet. Here, too, vital interest has always been shown in the personality of every candidate. Why should this woman be elected ? What right had she to represent her fellow housewives on the local Soviet ? In the district next to my own at the last election the housewife who was elected was well known as an organiser of a communal dining-room in the district. This was the kind of person that the housewives wanted to represent them on the Soviet. Another candidate, a Communist, proposed by the local organisation of the Party, was turned down in her favour.

[...]

The election of delegates to the local Soviet is not the only function of voters in the Soviet Union. It is not a question here of various parties presenting candidates to the electorate, each with his own policy to offer. The Soviet electorate has to select a personality from its midst to represent it, and instruct this person in the policy which is to be followed when elected. At a Soviet election meeting, therefore, as much or more time may be spent on discussion of the instructions to the delegate as is spent on discussing the personality of the candidates. At the last election to the Soviets, in which I personally participated, we must have spent three or four times as much time on the working out of instructions as we did on the selection of our candidate. About three weeks before the election was to take place the trade union secretary in every department of our organisation was told by the committee that it was time to start to prepare our instructions to the delegate. Every worker was asked to make suggestions concerning policy which he felt should be brought to the notice of the new personnel of the Moscow Soviet. As a result, about forty proposals concerning the general government of Moscow were handed in from a group of about twenty people. We then held a meeting in our department at which we discussed the proposals, and adopted some and rejected others. We then handed our list of pro¬ posals to a commission, appointed by the trade union committee, and representing all the workers in our organisation. This Commission co-ordinated the pro¬ posals received, placed them in order according to the various departments of the Soviet, and this co-ordinated list was read at the election meeting itself, again discussed, and adopted in its final form.

—Pat Sloan, Soviet Democracy (1937)

Between the elections of 1931 and 1934, no less than 18 per cent of the city deputies and 37 per cent of village deputies were recalled, of whom only a relatively small number — 4 per cent of the total — were charged with serious abuse of power. The chief reasons for recall were inactivity — 37 per cent — and inefficiency — 21 per cent. If these figures indicate certain lacks in the quality of elected officials, they show considerable activity of the people in improving government. The electorate of the Peasants' Gazette, for example, consisted of some 1,500 employees, entitled to elect one deputy to the Moscow city soviet and two to the ward soviet. For more than a month before the election every department of the newspaper held meetings discussing both candidates and instructions. Forty-three suggested candidates and some 1,400 proposals for the work of the incoming government resulted from these meetings, which also elected committees to boil down and classify the instructions. These committees issued a special four-page newspaper for the 1,500 voters; it contained brief biographies of the forty-three candidates, an analysis of their capacities by the Communist Party organization of the Peasants' Gazette, and the "nakaz," or list of "people's instructions," classified by subject and the branch of government which they concerned. At the final election meeting of the Peasants* Gazette there was literally more than 100 per cent attendance, since some of the staff who for reasons of absence or illness had not been listed as prospective voters returned from sanatoria or from distant assignments to vote. The instructions issued by the electorate in this manner — 1,400 from the Peasants' Gazette and tens of thousands from Moscow citizens — became the first business of the incoming government.

—Anna Louise Strong, The New Soviet Constitution (1937)

does this mean that the soviet project was some utopian perfect system? no. there were flaws in the system like any other. it disenfranchised the rural peasantry (although not, i would like to add, to any extent greater or even equivalent to the extent to which the US electoral system disenfranchises the urban working class) -- the various tiers of indirect selection created a divide between the average worker and the highest tier of the executive -- and various elements of this fledgling system would calcify and bureaucratise over time in ways that obstructed worker's democracy. but saying that it was 'a monarchy' is founded in absolutely nothing except the most hysterical anticommunist propaganda and tedious orwellian liberal truisms.

even brailsford, in an account overall critical of the soviet system, had to admit:

Speaking broadly, the various organs of the system, from the Council of Commissars of the Union down to the sub-committees of a town Soviet, are handling the same problems. Whether one sits in the Kremlin at a meeting of the most august body of the whole Union, the "C.I.K.," or round a table in Vladimir with the working men who constitute its County Executive Committee, one hears exactly the same problems discussed. How, be-fore June arrives, shall we manage to reduce prices by ten percent? What growth can we show in the number of our spindles, or factories, and in the number of workers employed? When and how shall we make our final assault on the last relics of illiteracy? Or when shall we have room in our schools, even in the remotest village, for every child? Was it by good luck or good guidance that the number of typhus cases has dropped in a year by half? And, finally, how can we hasten the raising of clover seed, so that the peasants who, at last, thanks to our propaganda, are clamoring for it, may not be disappointed?

—H.N. Brailsford, How The Soviets Work (1927)

genuinely, i think you should take a moment and think about where you learned about the soviet union. have you read any serious historical work on the topic, even from non-communist or anti-communist sources? because even imperialist propagandists have to make a pretence at engaging with actual facts on the ground, something which you haven't done at all -- and yet you speak with astounding confidence. i recommend you read some serious books instead of animal farm and reflect on why you believe the things you believe and how you know the things you think you know.

#ask #barkmoon

[jeonggukookies]

the crown's kingdom || jjk

– summary: after rejecting many suitors, your mother chooses a husband for you, and her choice is none other than your worst nightmare: Jungkook, the prince heir of Aurum. How will you survive an arranged marriage with Jungkook, the one you hate the most?

– genre: royalty!au, enemies to lovers!au, prince!jungkook, queen!reader, arranged marriage - fluff/angst

– note: this is rewritten and reposted as i changed and added some NEW details regarding both oc and jungkook & loosely based on the history of mary stuart !! (i am so sorry)

– word count: 1.2K

The two countries, Caelestia and Luxuria, have been in conflict with each other for many generations now, with constant ongoing invasion battles and military campaigns, shedding hundreds of thousands of blood on each landmass. Being two border countries surrounded by the sea, both countries were hungry for the power, land, and wealth for it to be one.  

Tensions escalated even further after your father, the king, had been assassinated by a Luxuria anarchist. Luxuria soldiers saw this opportunity to put the Caelestia castle under siege, seeing this as their chance to finally take the country as their own. 

But what they didn’t know is that your mother, the Queen Consort, had given birth to his heir. 

The throne of Caelestia, was inherited by the daughter of King Constantine of Caelestia and Queen Consort Nylah, you, two days after you were born. 

During your childhood, your mother has been acting Queen Regent, taking care of all the responsibilities on your behalf since you’ve been crowned Queen. She wasn’t like most mothers, letting you live a privileged life, not wanting you to suffer through the hardships of royalty until you were of age. 

Despite spending most of your time with your many governesses and trying to play hide and seek in the castle with other noble children, the People of Luxuria still saw you as a threat. And by your seventh birthday, they were finally brave enough to send a message, that they still wanted your throne by seasoning your porridge with poison, intentionally killing your royal taster.  

With a failed assassination attempt, your mother sent you to the country of Aurum for your protection away from the Luxurians, hidden away from your own people across the sea. 

Not only were you the Queen of Caelestia, but because of your mother’s side, you were related to the Queen of Luxuria, meaning you could claim the Luxuria throne as yours if the Queen of Luxuria dies without a heir and if the people accept you.

Before marrying your father, she had been an Aurum noblewoman with land in Luxuria, and the Aurum court allowed you to be there for your safety and as a part of a small, meaningless alliance. 

Living at Aurum Court was almost the same as your own courts. The only difference was being with other Aurum royals. As a child, the Prince of Aurum had been a constant troublemaker, a reigning terror for his own people. He was known for cheekiness and confidence, getting out of tough situations with his charms and good looks. 

“Jungkook.” You forced a smile, entering the throne room after being suddenly summoned in the middle of the night. “What are you doing here?” 

He pointed in the direction in front of him, and there was his parents, the King and Queen consort of Aurum on their respective thrones with your mother standing next to his mother.

Your jaw dropped, not expecting her to be standing in front of you. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had seen her in person. The last few years, you’ve only been corresponding with letters to her. “What are you doing here?” 

“That’s no way to greet your mother.” She came forward to give you a quick hug and then returned back to her original position. “The Luxuria troops are getting stronger at the border.”

“And I’m sorry, how does this matter revolve around me and my country?” Jungkook asked. 

You rolled your eyes at Jungkook’s comment. As children, your personality always clashed with Jungkook. The two of you always tried to avoid each other at all costs.

Although you and Jungkook were raised together in the castle, experiencing the same exact royal lessons of courtesy, ballroom dancing and diplomacy, you never once could get along with Jungkook, turning everything with him into an argument or competition whether it was for academic endeavors or favoring the people of

the court.

“I took a risk coming here as Luxuria has barely allowed travel between our two countries,” she said. “I came here to finalize the alliance, that the two of you would wed.” 

Jungkook sighed. “It happened, didn’t it?” 

“What happened?” You asked, not understanding the context. “Hasn’t Jungkook been engaged with Princess Comet of Cometes since they were six?”

“The King legitimized his first-born and mistress’s son,” his mother explained.

Your heart dropped upon hearing the news. “She is no longer the Princess of Cometes?”

“I am afraid not, but good news, Jungkook, you have a new bride,” your mother announced. 

“This can’t be,” you insisted. “Surely, there’s someone else.” 

“My child, you will marry our son and make him the king of two countries, and then later put your claim on Luxuria once the queen dies. There, you two will have three countries,” the King said. 

But you never once wanted to rule Luxuria.  

“We have given you protection and will continue to do so for this alliance.” 

“But we cannot be wed,” Jungkook argued. 

“You will especially since you’ve scared all the other suitors away,” your mother said. 

You were fiercely known for your independence and stubbornness, always speaking your mind. Your honesty and independency allowed you to earn your title as the Ice Queen, but that was all because of Jungkook. 

Through the game of telephone and writing secretive notes around the castle, the whole castle knew how you rejected possibly the best suitor for love, Kim Namjoon. He would have given up his country for you, and everyone knew it. 

At the time you were thirteen, still lacking tact, you met with Namjoon in the library and told him that giving up his own country for someone was foolish and idiotic. And Jungkook, hiding behind the curtains of that room, ran with it, spreading the word that you broke Namjoon’s heart, needing more than him and his country as a power hungry queen. 

Kim Namjoon’s heart wasn’t the only one you broke. Prominent and wealthy families from neighboring realms had sent their sons to court you, yet their efforts left you unimpressed and unmoved. 

As the years went on, there were less and less potential suitors. No one wanted their son to marry someone who was an intimidating person, and no one especially wanted a queen that could not be controlled. 

“It’s time for this childhood rivalry of yours to end.” 

“Mother, you know he’s the reason why suitors are afraid of me.”

“Get over it,” Jungkook gritted through his teeth. 

“How dare he disrespect me as a queen?”

“He was thirteen.” Your mother groaned. “You will marry Jungkook for your people, for your country.” 

You stepped forward, distancing yourself away so no one could hear what you were about to say. “And you and I know he will not love me.”

As fortunate as your life was, there was still a burden to bear, a burden even heavier as a royal. You still sought for an union to secure your financial and political status in society. Despite being a queen and having almost everything you want, the one thing you want the most is the one thing you knew you couldn't have: love.

She sighed. “And we both know love does not matter for people like us.” 

“But did thou not love my father and he thee?” Despite his death, the story of your father and his legacy lives on, including his love story with your mother. 

“Indeed, we loved each other truly,” she said. “But stories like his and mine happen once in a lifetime. Perhaps, the promise of love and the future of reconciliation can come.” 

Taking a look over your shoulder. You see Jungkook smirking. “Well Ice Queen looks like we need each other after all.”

________

hello hello hello!

thank you for reading the prologue for this new series :) i am very excited! please let me know if you need more context or visuals of some things were confusing.

#bangtanwriters-net #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #jeon jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #crown kingdom #royalty au #jungkook royalty #enemies to lovers #jungkook angst #mine

[callmerainman]

No Derogatory Nicknames | sinner!Adam x fem!sinner!Reader

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

pairing. sinner!Adam x fem!sinner!Reader

plot. You're the one and only member of the Royal Family's official army, and you were given the first, vital mission in your lifetime as a bodyguard. Surveilling the First Man on Earth, Adam. Reincarnated in Hell. You and Adam agree on two things: you can't stand each other, and you would never sleep together.

word count. 3.3k

tags. Hazbin Hotel ep8 spoilers!, enemies to lovers, Adam reincarnated as a sinner in Hell.

tw! cursing, Adam being Adam, mentions of sex

part. 1/3

The Royal Family’s official army was a millennium-old institution, skillfully trained through the years to protect Lucifer’s family from potential threats. Except that the army has lost its prestige a long time ago, and you’re the last unit left. You joined the army a short time after your death. It was princess Charlie Morningstar who guided you towards that decision, after finding you lost and scared, wandering around Pentagram City. The infernal princess didn’t specify that the army was dismantled hundreds of year prior, and that it was just an excuse to convince Lucifer to give you hospitality in one of their mansion’s rooms. In the end, the King accepted to make you a bodyguard. You went through trainings, trials, impossible challenges. All of that to…guard Lucifer’s rubber ducks. Boredom wasn’t ignorable. So when Lucifer asked you if you could take on a really serious mission, you accepted immediately. And your task really was important.

Guarding Adam, the First Man on Earth. Reincarnated in Hell.

After wandering for days around Pentagram City, just like you did, he asked the Hotel for help. E promised that he would change. Charlie, being Charlie, couldn’t deny him a chance. But Lucifer didn’t trust him, and accepted his permanence at the Hotel only at the condition that you would be guarding him. And that’s how you arrived at the Hazbin Hotel, how you met Charlie’s friend and especially…Adam. You immediately regretted the rubber ducks. Adam accepted in turn the idea of being watched, but he detested it and didn’t hesitate to let you know. He was as old as the Earth but as immature as if he was born yesterday. Arrogant, hot-headed, presumptuous. He made your job impossible, but he was clever enough to not show it too much to still stay at the Hotel. You were the opposite of patient and dealing with him was troubling. Talking back to him corresponded to a reaction. For example he never spared himself from letting you know how much he did NOT want to sleep with you, because of how much he found you insufferable.

“I have other priorities, instead of being approached by your teeny-tiny thing” you said.

“Hey! You can only dream of having a taste of the original dick!” Adam said, pointing a finger to your face.

And Adam hated when you followed him around town, with your angelic spear always clenched in your fist. He would always mumble insults under his breath, to which you responded with the same medicine. For example when you accompanied him to the few music shops in the city to fix his electric guitar that he would always break out of frustration of being here.

“I’m here only because Lucifer asked me, ‘cause otherwise I would have already called Nifty to repeat the job” you hissed between your teeth, sticking your spear towards his face.

Adam would hunch forward in an attempt to intimidate you “Oh yeah, go get her, so you can show your Hell Daddy how efficient of a bodyguard you are!”.

And you couldn’t do nothing more than sighing, squeezing the spear in your fist because you knew that Adam was right and you couldn’t do anything about it. You always looked forward to nighttime so that you two could separate and go to your respective rooms in the Hotel. Even the guests were relieved, because your bickering was daily and their ears were filled with your insults thrown left and right. Adam, although he was the one who knocked on the Hotel’s door, wasn’t too fond on participating in its activities. He didn’t get the benefit of Charlie’s exercises, and that anguished him because it seemed like the road back to Heaven was far away. Even there, your duty was to encourage him in participating. And your patience with the First Man was running out, so you had to do so by growling between your teeth to be proactive.

“I get it, bitch” he would whisper, enough to be heard from you but not by Charlie. And then he would improvise some sort of low effort answer barely sufficient to make Charlie happy.

You started to get the feeling that some of Charlie’s exercises were specifically aimed at making you and Adam get along. You had your confirmation when once Charlie called only you and Adam, letting you sit together on the couch. Adam’s fists were clenching in correspondence with his knees.

“What are we doing?” he asked.

You crossed your arms on your chest, cocking an eyebrow. Charlie laughed nervously, feeling a growing tension.

“Uhm…see this as a sort of…couple therapy!”

You and Adam, in tandem, erupted in a disgusted groan. His new wings, now turned black, ruffled and pointed upwards in a synced motion with yours.

“WE’RE NOT A COUPLE!” you two shouted in unison.

“I know, but you’re always together and…”

“WE DIDN’T CHOOSE IT!”

Charlie agitated both her hands “But you need to stand by each other, and I would like for you to do so without fighting every time! There must be something you get along in, right?”

You protruded forward “The only thing we agree on is that we would much rather die for eternity than being close to each other”.

Adam raised his arms to emphasize your words “Exactly, I would rather be stabbed again by your filthy janitor than sleep with a pain in the ass like her”

“What did you just say?!”.

Charlie, seeing you two jump towards each other to fight, threw herself between you both to avoid it.

You couldn’t sleep that night. With your head plunged in your pillow, you smothered screams of frustration. Adam, Adam and again Adam. He fluttered in your head with hammering insistence, tormenting you even in moments of relax. Why was he always traveling in your head? Why did you keep visualizing his dumb fucking face when he insulted you in the most disparate ways? Fuck, he knew how to get on your nerves even in dreams.

———

“Adam!” Charlie stops the fallen angel in the Hotel kitchen. He was filling his bowl with milk and cereals.

“Yeah, brat?” he replied.

Charlie sighed “What did we say about nicknames?”

Adam rolls his eyes, bringing a spoonful of cereals to his mouth.

“No ferogafory nifnames” he slurs, his cheeks full.

“Exactly!” Charlie claps her hands “anyway, I need you to do me a favor. You should go grocery shopping for the Hotel”.

Adam raises a brow “Groceries? What am I, a-“

He interrupts himself when his eyes meet yours behind Charlie’s shoulder. Where did you come from? In any case, your gaze is as furious as always. He’s pretty sure that he never saw you peaceful in all his permanence in Hell. Your fuming look is enough to make him desist, so he sighs.

“Alright. And I suppose that Mrs. Spear-Up-My-Ass is going to come with me”.

“Of course (Y/N) will go with you, you’ll shop together” and Charlie adds a hopeful grin.

“How fortun-OH”.

Without noticing, you appear on Adam’s side, a reassuring look on your face but reserved only to Charlie.

“Don’t worry Charlie, I’ll keep an eye on him”.

“Can you not stick your shitty angelic spear in my fucking cereals?!” Adam cusses.

Nervously, Charlie smiles “Of course (Y/N), but I’m pretty positive that Adam won’t cause any trouble”.

You shrug your shoulders “I dunno, I don’t expect much from a dirtbag of his caliber”.

Adam drops the spoon in the bowl of milk, cereals spilling out of it and one of them hitting your cheek

“What, you old hag?!” he screams.

“Old, me?! You’re literally as old as the Earth!”

Charlie puts her hands in her head, desperate “Just go shopping for fucks sake!”.

Half an hour later you and Adam are walking down the streets of Pentagam City. He was bragging about the time he broke the record of bras thrown on stage during a gig he performed in Heaven. Now that you think about it, Adam played in a band when he was up in the skies. And he has an electric guitar that you always accompanied him to fix. By the way, you never stopped to ask yourself what kind of music he listened to, or what genre he played. That’s because you never thought there was something worth to know about Adam. You turn around to look at him in the eyes. When he talked nonstop, without insulting you, his face was more relaxed and in a certain sense a bit more pleasurable to look at. Two big, curled horns sprouted on his head when he reincarnated, you grabbed them so many times while fighting.

“And what did you play with your band-“

“We’re here”.

You stop. You look at Adam, you didn’t realize that you reached your destination. Maybe you’ll pick up the conversation later, maybe not. Why would you want to know more about the Exterminator? You shove a hand in your pants pocket and you take the list Charlie prepared. You put it in Adam’s hand, and you turn around.

“C’mon, go inside”.

Adam frowns, puzzled.

“Wait, you’re not going with me?”.

Adam plants himself in front of you, trying to read your face. He wants to know if you’re making fun of him or something like that. But he only finds embarrassment, as you try to avoid his analysis.

“Do you need me to hold your hand or you can handle it on your own?”.

For a second, Adam’s eyes widen, then a sly smirk crosses his face.

“You wanna hold my haaaa-“

“No” you stop him “and that’s why I’m telling you to go alone”.

Adam shrugs, he looks amused.

“Okay, I’ll treasure this opportunity to get away as far as I can from you”.

And so Adam goes. You realize that all the time you tried to avoid his eyes, your face was burning. You didn’t want him to see even a drop of trust in your eyes, not even the tiniest amount sufficient to let him go grocery shopping. So you stay still outside the supermarket, your angelic spear hidden between your wings to not catch passerby’s attention. Time goes by, and soon Adam will finish. But Adam doesn’t come back. You decide to wait a little more. Then you hear sounds of shouting inside the supermarket, an argument between two men. A carousel of possible scenarios displays in your mind. Adam who calls the cashier a bitch, Adam who yells to the staff because they’re out of ribs. You immediately dash inside, almost smashing through the automatic glass door. You follow the sound of screams, and you find Adam. It’s just not the scenario you had predicted. Adam has his hands raised in front of a bull-like demon, who has a fist directed towards him.

“I recognize you, you know? You’re that shithead from the Extermination”

Adam, visibly pissed off, still keeps his palms open “Hey asshole, I don’t know what you’re talking about”.

It’s when the other demon jumps onwards to attack Adam that you throw yourself between them, your spear pointed towards the bull.

“Don’t fucking touch him!” you yell.

Your chest rises and lowers wildly with every breath. You can’t see it, but Adam’s eyes are incredulous. He looks at his own chest, your free arm is pressed against it, pushing him back in protection. Your teeth are gritted, your horns grown exponentially. His cheek tickles because one of your wings is brushing against it with ruffled feathers, and his skin starts to warm up because your hair caught fire. Adam saw you enraged so many times, usually because of him, but never like this. In the end, the demon gives up, taking a step back from your tended spear. He grunts and takes his leave, fists still clenched but not a menace anymore. You finally relax, the fire in your hair suffocates, your wings recollect themselves and your horns shrink back to their original size.

“Ehm…what the fuck happened?” Adam asks, trying to find your eyes. You run away from them as always.

“Don’t ask questions”

“I thought you were supposed to protect others from me, not me from others”

You press your lips in a thin line, and walk towards the checkout with the shopping bags Adam dropped.

“It’s not like I can leave you moribund on the floor of a supermarket with the possibility of you respawning somewhere else in Hell where I can’t supervise you. Let’s get back to the Hotel now”.

Adam follows behind you, and you know he’s smirking. He steals one of the shopping bags from your hand, and takes your side.

“Well, what were you about to ask me outside? You wanted to know about my band in Heaven?”.

Back to the Hotel, you’re welcomed by a wide smile from Charlie. Just seeing you two walking close without fighting signs on your bodies means a lot to her.

“Sooooo, how did it go?” she asks, sliding in front of you.

You and Adam exchange a quick glance, then you shrug “He almost got jumped”.

“Oh c’mon!” Adam exclaims, raising his arms in protest.

“Why so?” Charlie asks.

“A total asshole almost recognized me” Adam says.

“It’s not a secret that you reside at the Hotel, and someone might not like you” Charlie adds.

“I don’t like him-“ you convene.

“We know, (Y/N)!” Charlie sighs “and because there are sinners like you who, rightfully so, don’t like Adam, we need you to be close to him. Even because we can’t risk Adam using his powers, it could be trouble”.

You stop to reflect, meanwhile Adam puts the grocery bags on the kitchen counter without saying a word. Now that you think about it, Adam didn’t use his powers. When he reappeared in Hell, although with less capacity, he still kept a great power. He was prohibited from using it at the Hazbin Hotel, but anyone would have used them in a situation like the one that unfolded at the supermarket. But Adam didn’t do nothing. He just raised his hands, limiting himself to only cuss at the potential aggressor, and then you intervened. Did he internalize a Hotel lesson?

“No, Adam didn’t use his powers. We gotta give him credit for that” you say.

Adam freezes as he opens the fridge to organize the groceries. You can’t see him, but he’s delicately blushing.

“That’s awesome!” Charlie chirps, happily “It’s a great step forward, Adam!”.

“Mh yeah whatever” Adam brushes it off.

“And you Adam, did you see any quality in (Y/N) that you previously ignored?” Charlie asks, full of hope.

Adam looks at you. You press your lips together and for a moment you hold each other’s gazes. You feel yourself palpitating, and it bothers you.

“She was cool I guess. Cool-ish. And she got interested in my band. But that’s natural, all bitches are interested in my band”.

“Adam, nicknames!”.

Adam raises his shoulders “If (Y/N) doesn’t mind, I’ll go to my room”.

“Me too” you assert.

You wave at all the guests in the lobby, Angel Dust has a weirdly wide smile on his face, almost amused. You go up the stairs, following behind Adam. His arms fall on his side.

“You wanna follow me to my bed?!” he says.

“I’m going to my own room which happens to be next to yours, asshole!”

“Yeah yeah, it’s more likely for Mr. Deer over there to cross the Pearly Gates than me letting you have a piece of this” Adam replies, pointing both fingers down to his groin.

“I don’t even want it!”.

Downstairs, Angel Dust looks at everyone with insistence. Husk is confused, Alastor simply disinterested, and Cherri Bomb appears to already know what the spider demon is about to say.

“Is it me or I sense a certain sexual tension?” he finally says.

Vaggie, Husk and Charlie sigh in resignation. Alastor decides that it’s time for him to get up and leave. Cherri Bomb, on her part, chuckles.

“Yeah I think it’s only you” she says.

“If you sense sexual tension between them I think you got a serious problem, Angel” Vaggie says.

Angel bursts out laughing, throwing himself back on the couch and crossing his numerous arms behind his neck “I bet good money that those two will end up going at it within a week”.

Before they could realize it, all of them were already placing a good amount of money on bets. All pointing towards a no. Angel Dust is the only one convinced of his vision. That between the Royal Guard and the First Man, climbing up the stairs next to each other with annoyance, there could be something that keeps you close in a different way.

———

Adam stops in front of his bedroom’s door. He opens it, and you walk towards the door next to it which is the one for your room. But Adam clears his throat, staring at an indefinite point in front of him.

“Uhm…can you come here a sec?”.

You raise a confused eyebrow, and you cautiously walk towards him. You should be holding your angelic spear, but you left it aside. You stand behind him, and Adam turns around to face you.

“Yeah?” you question.

Adam looks at you, and you raise your chin to hold up his golden eyes. This time you see the flushed red on his cheeks, and his embarrassed expression.

“Well…thanks for today…I guess? This is how Lucifer’s brat wants me to talk to you, right?”.

Your eyes widen in surprise, and your hands start to fidget. It’s not difficult to look at Adam when he’s being like this.

“Yeah, I don’t know, whatever. Don’t expect things to change” you reply.

Adam scowls, and moves closer to you.

“Of course not, you’re still a world-class pain in the ass”.

“And you’re still a fucking jerk”.

Your foreheads are almost touching, you can feel his breath on your face. You notice it too late. Why aren’t you backing up? Shouldn’t that be easy? Your heart is racing again.

“And you’re still a bi-“

“Hey” you interrupt “Charlie said…”.

Too close now. As always. You and Adam have always been close. In a different way. And you always wanted to leave. But not even Adam is moving and his gaze softens. He’s looking at you intently, he’s burning and doesn’t know what to do and at the same time he seems convinced on something.

“I know” he says, with half a tone “nicknames should not be um…”.

He stumbles on his own words, you’re now chest to chest, and you try to help him out “Nicknames shouldn’t be de…” you have trouble too.

“Deroga…tory…” he mumbles.

You lean in. And without premeditation, there’s a kiss. Strong, desperate. Your lips intertwined, your hands in his hair and grazing his horns, and his own hand placed on your waist. He doesn’t need to pull you closer, you already were. You don’t have time to breathe, your kisses are too persistent. A couple of moans escape you both, out of confusion and satisfaction. Now your arguments all look like a joke, because it’s obvious that the sexual tension Angel Dust envisioned is an undeniable reality. Despite spending months repeating that it was something that would never happen. And here you are, clinging to one another, making out. And it feels good.

When you separate you meet his eyes. You expect something terrible. Disgust, or that he stays true to his word and strays away. But you don’t see any of that. Only disbelief, and a sort of epiphany that encourages him to encapsulate the nape of your neck with a hand.

“Shit” he says.

“Shit” you convene.

And then you throw yourselves against each other’s lips again, and Adam drags you inside his room. You let yourself be taken away, and you shut the door close with a kick.

#hazbin hotel #reader insert #hazbin hotel adam #adam x reader #adam #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel adam x reader #enemies to lovers #sinner!adam #hazbin hotel fanfiction #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam fanfiction #writers on tumblr #vivziepop

[parkerslatte]

Deals With Our Devils || Chapter Two

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: none.

Part Summary: Y/N arrives in the Night Court and her former family have a lot to say.

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•••

Y/N looked down at the coffee sitting on the table before her, she hadn’t touched it since it had been placed there. It was cold now. No one had said a single word since Rhys insisted on sitting at the dining room table for more comfort than his cramped office. Y/N didn’t attempt to explain herself, she knew that her efforts would be futile as everyone was silently processing everything. 

The gaze fixated on her cup lifted the smallest amount to scan the faces of the people she used to call family– with three new faces thrown in. Two-hundred years had seemed to be all it had taken for Y/N to forget specific details about her family. There was a small scar slicing through Cassian’s eyebrow that Y/N wasn’t sure whether he had it when she was still around or not. That glimmer in Rhys’s eyes that seemed to suggest a certain love that Y/N did not recognise. The specific features of Mor’s face that she loved to put makeup on when they were younger. Y/N even forgot how much she towered over Amren– somehow she remembered her to be a similar height. Seeing her now made Y/N realise how much she had really forgotten over the past two centuries. 

Then there was the matter of Azriel. Despite the rest of her former family and the small details she had forgotten about them– Y/N hadn’t forgotten anything about Azriel. From the colour of his dark hair that seemed brown in direct sunlight to the unique blend of colours in his eyes that made up his hazel. He hadn’t spoken yet but Y/N could still hear his voice clearly in her mind, soft spoken yet still had a small edge to it. Y/N hadn’t forgotten anything about him. 

“So,” Rhys spoke up after a long and painful silence. “This is certainly a surprise.”

Y/N nodded. “I am here on official business.”

“I gathered that,” Rhys replied. “Your Queen had been corresponding with me for several months.”

“She is aiming to build alliances,” Y/N replied. “Vassuryn is a very small kingdom and not very well known. It is vulnerable to attack so Queen Selvina has been gathering allies from all over the continent. This is the first time she has reached out beyond.”

Cassian finally raised his gaze to meet Y/N’s, his eyebrows drawn down in a frown. “I don’t give a shit about alliances. What I want to know is why you left two-hundred years ago.”

“Cass–” Rhys tried to intervene.

“No,” Cassian shook his head. “It’s been two hundred years, Rhys! Surely now it is time for an explanation as to why she has been gone.” Cassian’s burning gaze fixated on Y/N. “You left in the middle of the night with no word, no note, nothing. We searched for you for years. Azriel searched even longer.”

Y/N glanced Azriel’s way but he was staring at the table in front of him, as if he were fascinated by the woodwork. 

The female next to Cassian reached out and touched his arm and he instantly began to calm. The furious expression that had gradually melted onto his features disappeared within an instant– only to be replaced by sadness.

“Y/N, we didn’t know if you were alive or dead,” Cassian admitted. “You were our family. Losing you was hard for all of us.”

The broken look on Cassian’s face made Y/N’s heart drop. She never knew her disappearance had affected her family that much. Mor hastily wiped away a tear and Amren’s silver eyes bore into hers, though deep down through all of the guards she had up, she could tell that Amren cared. 

“I am sorry,” Y/N whispered. “I hadn’t realised my disappearance had affected you all so greatly–”

“Please stop being so formal,” Cassian pleaded. “We are your family.”

“We haven’t been her family for a long time,” Azriel’s soft voice cut through the air. 

Y/N’s head snapped in his direction. His gaze had finally lifted and the only emotion Y/N noticed within them was betrayal. Her eyes stung with tears. 

The female next to Rhys, her arms tattooed with swirls up to her elbows, cleared her throat. “Any arguments that might happen will end here.” She turned to Y/N with a small gentle smile. “Y/N is a guest here and I won’t tolerate arguments from someone trying to do their job, no matter your history.”

Y/N gave the female a grateful nod as she took a deep breath. All pairs of eyes felt like daggers in her heart. “I understand that all of you must despise me for what I did, but you must understand that I haven’t come here for myself, I am here under my Queen’s orders. All I am trying to do is a job for her, don’t let any hostile attitude towards me affect what she is aiming to do.”

The room was silent, the only exception was Mor placing her wine glass down on the table. Y/N’s heartbeat increased and her body felt hot. If Floris had been with her, everything would have been okay, she would have had someone to lean on. But now she was alone in a house where everyone hated her. 

“Will you answer one personal question for us, Y/N?” Rhys asked.

Y/N met his gaze. “Only one.”

“Why did you leave?” 

That was the one question Y/N had prepared for on her journey to the Night Court. As she answered, her voice was almost robotic from how she had rehearsed it over and over again. 

“I was a danger to all of you and the whole of Velaris,” said Y/N. “I needed to get away before I hurt any of you.”

“A danger?” Rhys asked. “How were you a danger?”

“She has powers,” A quiet voice spoke from the end of the table. 

Y/N tore her gaze away from Rhys’s and landed on the third female she hadn’t recognised. She looked startled like she hadn’t meant to let anything slip. 

“What do you mean, Elain?” Rhys questioned. 

The female– Elain, gazed at Y/N, an apologetic expression on her face. Elain opened her mouth to respond but Y/N beat her to it. 

“She is correct,” Y/N replied, once again looking down at the table. “I have powers.”

Cassian chuckled humorously. “We would have known if you had powers.”

Y/N shook her head. “You wouldn’t have. Because I didn’t even know until days before I left.” 

Y/N stood up from her seat and stood at the head of the table. As she brought her left hand up in front of her, the surges of power wrapped around her arm and around her body in thin blue thread. The former family watched in astonishment– all except Azriel, whole face remained neutral. 

“When I left, I couldn’t control it,” Y/N began. “I could feel it bubbling inside of me and it was only a matter of time before it burst. I didn’t want any of you to get hurt in the process so the safest thing I could do was leave.”

“We could have helped you, Y/N,” Rhys said, with an attempt to keep his voice calm but the sadness in his eyes betrayed him. “Why didn’t you come to us?”

“It was all too much,” Y/N said. “I could feel a surge of power threatening to release and I knew that it would be fatal to anyone within my vicinity. When I left, I never expected to survive it until it happened– that burst of power. It didn’t kill me but I felt weak, I could barely move, but I knew that power surge would happen again. It happened three more times until I reached Vassuryn and Queen Selvina took me in. She helped me control my power and master it. I owe my life to her.”

The room was silent once more as Y/N let her power fade away. “I never came back because I expected to die.”

“Why didn’t you come back after?” Mor asked, speaking up for the first time. “We would have all understood.”

“I owed Queen Selvina my life for helping me control my powers,” Y/N replied. “I began working as Prince Floris’s guard at the palace. I made a home for myself there.”

“And abandon the one you had here,” Azriel said, his words cutting Y/N like a knife. 

Y/N tried not to let his words affect her, but as she toyed with the hem of her sleeve, it was evident to everyone that his words had cut her deep. Rhys was the first to speak up. “Y/N, for the next few weeks, we will be happy to host you while you tell us about Vassuryn.”

Azriel’s gaze shot to Rhys, his eyes narrowed at his brother. Rhys simply ignored him. “We can meet tomorrow to go through anything Queen Selvina needs to discuss.” Y/N nodded as everyone began to stand from the table. “Elain will show you to your room.”

Y/N’s gaze met Elain’s and she offered her a small smile, Y/N tried to return it but failed once she noticed that Azriel hadn’t even risen from his chair.

“I will meet you in the hall, Y/N,” Elain said before swiftly exiting the room. 

For the first time in two centuries, Y/N was left alone with Azriel. And for the first time ever, she had no idea what to say to him. As Y/N opened her mouth, Azriel looked up at her. 

“If you are going to apologise, don’t,” Azriel snapped. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“I am not going to apologise for leaving,” Y/N said. “I did the right thing.”

Azriel scoffed. “You did the right thing by leaving your family? By leaving me?” By the time the second question left his mouth, Azriel’s voice was barely a whisper. “I searched for you for fifty years, long after everyone else gave up. I still held onto hope that you were out there.”

Y/N closed her eyes as Azriel rose from his seat, stepping closer to her. His familiar scent, the scent that used to relax her, now made her tense. 

“But you were out there, weren’t you?” Azriel’s voice was low and void of any emotion. “You were happy in a palace while all of us were driven mad thinking you died. Tell me, did you ever think about us in those two hundred years? Did you ever want to come back?”

“Of course I thought of you all,” Y/N said, her eyes meeting Azriel’s. “I missed you all so much.”

“But not enough for you to come back or even send word that you were okay,” Azriel hissed. 

Y/N swallowed, her words dying on her tongue. Of course she had wanted to come back. Her found family were the only people in her life she truly cared about– the ones she truly loved. But she couldn’t. Not when she was such a danger to all of them and to the city of Velaris. 

“I did think of you, Y/N,” Azriel continued. “I thought about you every single night after Rhys told me you left. You left me while I was in the middle of recovering from a mission, you promised you would help me train the next day to build my strength back and you were gone. Do you have any idea how I felt when Rhys told me you were gone?”

“I am sorry, Az,” Y/N said, a tear finally falling down her cheek. 

“Don’t apologise to me,” he snapped. He took one step forward, before bending slightly so his mouth was next to her ear. “Don’t even try to talk to me when you are here. I don’t care what you have to say to me. I don’t care about you– not anymore.”

Azriel stepped back and turned his back on her without another word, leaving Y/N watching him leave. Y/N felt her heart shatter as the door slammed. She anticipated this reaction but as she lived it, she never could have imagined that Azriel’s voice could be so cold to her. Ever since she had met Azriel, the two had always been close. He had been her best friend for as long as she could remember. His voice was always full of warmth when he spoke with her now she was afraid it would never return– and it probably wouldn’t.

Y/N’s feet moved on their own accord until she exited the room to find Elain waiting in the hall. “Are you okay?” she asked. 

Azriel’s scent lingered in the hall and she sighed. “I am. I am ready for this task to be over so I can return to Vassuryn.”

“Everything won’t stay this hostile forever,” Elain said as she led Y/N to her room. 

“I doubt that,” Y/N replied. “Azriel hates me. I’m sure Cassian does too. Mor and Amren are harder to read but they will most likely not want anything to do with me. Rhys is only playing nice because I am here on official business. If I were here for any other reason, he would banish me as soon as he got the chance.”

They paused outside the room Y/N would be staying in. Elain turned to her. “They don’t hate you, everyone is simply emotional.”

“How would you know?” Y/N questioned. “You don’t know anything about the situation between us.”

Elain offered her a small smile. “I know more than you think. And from what I know, not everything will remain like this. Things will get better.”

Y/N studied her for a moment. “I’m not sure I completely believe you, but I hope so. The less hostility, the easier my job and the sooner I can return home.”

“If you chose to remain,” Elain said, her voice distant. “You will find that you will soon have a very difficult choice to make.”

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “What?”

Elain seemed to snap out of a daze before smiling at Y/N. “Don’t worry, just something I read earlier.”

Y/N wasn’t too convinced but placed her hand on the door handle. “Thank you for walking me to my room, Elain.”

Elain nodded and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “It was no problem. I hope you get some rest, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” said Y/N, thankful that at least one person was not hostile towards her in the house. 

Elain bid Y/N goodbye before leaving down the corridor. Y/N pushed open the door and stepped inside. The bags she had packed were sitting by the bed but that was not the first thing Y/N noticed. The first thing she noticed was the familiarity of the bedroom. The sage green walls and the ornate furniture. The bedside cabinet held a mirror gifted to her for her three-hundredth birthday. The wardrobe in the corner was still missing one leg and was held up with a pile of books. 

It was her room.

Nothing had been moved since the day she left, the only thing that had changed was the bed covers. Everything else remained the same. After two-hundred years, Y/N thought that her former family would have forgotten about her, but from the looks of her former bedroom, it was clear they hadn’t.

DWOD TAGLIST:

@lostinpages13 @thelov3lybookworm @mell-bell @daisydark @captainsbaby @mischiefmanagers @scooobies @a-frog-with-a-laptop @venussdovess @radishsworld @fussel9913 @luvmoo @marscardigan @lizziesfirstwife @starlumiere @melygarcias @esposadomd @azrielswhore @sleepylunarwolf @going-through-shit @kalulakunundrum @drAgOngirl

•strike through unable to be tagged •

#azriel angst #azriel fluff #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #acotar x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

[jqnehr]

“Did you take AP physics in high school? Can you solve a simple thermodynamics equation? Do you even know the basics to quantum mechanics and astrophysics? No, so you’ve got no right to speak.”

“Joke’s on you, Dr Bozo, but I have a law degree. I could sue you and beat your ass in court. Can you do that? Are you a lawyer by profession, huh?”

“Having a university degree of any kind does not make you ‘intelligent’. It, in fact, makes you ‘generic’. However, I could never expect nitwits like you to possibly understand such a, frankly, simple concept.”

“Like how you don’t understand the concept of manners? But, who am I kidding? Entitled knobheads like you merely discard the aspect from their vocabulary once they realise how inconvenient it proves towards their goal of subjugating others.”

“My, subjugating’s quite a big word for you. Did you learn it from one of those brainless, moronic ‘fanfictions’ I’ve seen you glued to?”

“I’m so honoured to be the very first one to teach you how to mind your own business. Let’s start your first lesson now! Step one—recognise when an issue directly affects you or not. When it doesn’t, move on with your life.”

“Did you memorise that definition from wikiHow? I see you came prepared. Sadly, your unrelenting tendency to be a birdbrain immediately makes it my duty to rid you of such folly. And yet, simpletons never fail to completely overlook such goodwill.”

“Goodwill? Dr Dunce, how do you tell someone you find really aggravating to shut the hell up, scientifically?”

“Glad you asked. It takes approximately one-hundred muscles to speak, but none to be silent. It’s a great way to get ample rest, and ample fitness.”

“I can see why you’re so fit. It’s because you never shut up. You’re scared you’ll get a potbelly, so you run that mouth of yours off without fail. Maybe I should physically sew your lips shut while you sleep.”

“You can try. You’d rather place your own on them, though.”

“Don’t change the topic. If there’s one Doctor Mendacitas Muttonhead can’t do, it’s flirt.”

“I’ve proven you wrong so many times, dearest. And look, you’re blushing. What, you think I’m going to call you ‘cute’? No. It’s an unfitting word.”

“Oh? Being all schmaltzy now, are you?”

“Quite the opposite. I’m merely saying how there are many antonyms of ‘cute’ I can think of that would be much more appropriate to describe your current expression.”

“I can just leak to the entire Astral Express that you kiss your reflection goodnight before bed, Dr Dumbass. I’m sure they’d be able to find plenty of corresponding synonyms for ‘idiot’ to label you as, quite assuredly.”

“Ha! What an intriguing tall tale, my love. All I have to do in return is tell everyone your AO3 user and that’s your career over. Your bookmarks are quite…something.”

“You told me I need to read more. So, I do. Therefore, who is truly at fault here?”

“It’s my fault that you read 500k-word omegaverse fanfictions that haven’t been updated in ten years? Be thankful I like you enough to listen to you moan and groan about how its last update was in 2009 at four in the morning. I can’t believe you actually stay up all night reading those poor excuses for literature.”

“Correction—masterpieces. And you love me enough, you mean. Don’t forget how you put this very engagement ring on my finger. In fact, I think the credit is due towards me, for having put up with you for this long.”

“Oh, get over here. Allow me to reeducate you in the practice and art of appreciation, sweetheart.”

#dr ratio #veritas ratio #hsr dr ratio #dr ratio hsr #star rail #honkai star rail #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio x you #dr ratio x gender neutral reader #uh you are a lawyer idk #hsr drabbles #jans' drabbles #im doing everything except working on chapter 12 #this is supposed to be funny #hsr x reader #hsr #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #hsr x gender neutral reader #yes you two are engaged #so yeah this is basically banter anyways #im sleep deprived because I woke up early dhmu #gonna have to make a hsr masterlist now *sigh* #yes I did quote the mind-ya-business thing from wikihow pls don't come for me #I am so glad this man is free like I do not have the motivation to farm for ANYONE right now #his name is 'veritas' and so I said 'mendacitas' because that's literally the latin opposite for it. just to avoid confusion #cause banter yk #am I calling myself out w the ao3 thing? maybe. maybe not. #no reason for this

[probablyasocialecologist]

If the Jewish people were in Palestine before the Arabs, then the land belongs to them. Therefore, the creation of Israel would be justified. From my experience, whenever this argument is used, the automatic response of Palestinians is to say that their ancestors were there first. These ancestors being the Canaanites. The idea that Palestinians are the descendants of only one particular group in a region with mass migrations and dozens of different empires and peoples is not only ahistorical, but this line of thought indirectly legitimizes the original argument they are fighting against. This is because it implies that the only reason Israel’s creation is unjustified is because their Palestinian ancestors were there first. It implies that the problem with the argument lies in the details, not that the argument as a whole is absolute nonsense and shouldn’t even be entertained. The ethnic cleansing, massacres and colonialism needed to establish Israel can never be justified, regardless of who was there first. It’s a moot point. Even if we follow the argument that Palestinians have only been there for 1300 years, does this suddenly legitimize the expulsion of hundreds of thousands? Of course not. There is no possible scenario where it is excusable to ethnically cleanse a people and colonize their lands. Human rights apply to people universally, regardless of whether they have lived in an area for a year or ten thousand years. If we reject the “we were there first” argument, and not treat it as a legitimizing factor for Israel’s creation, then we can focus on the real history, without any ideological agendas. We could trace how our pasts intersected throughout the centuries. After all, there is indeed Jewish history in Palestine. This history forms a part of the Palestinian past and heritage, just like every other group, kingdom or empire that settled there does. We must stop viewing Palestinian and Jewish histories as competing, mutually exclusive entities, because for most of history they have not been. These positions can be maintained while simultaneously rejecting Zionism and its colonialism. After all, this ideologically driven impulse to imagine our ancestors as some closed, well defined, unchanging homogenous group having exclusive ownership over lands corresponding to modern day borders has nothing to do with the actual history of the area, and everything to do with modern notions of ethnic nationalism and colonialism.

#israel #palestine #history #zionism #settler colonialism

[tanadrin]

So when's the historical cutoff of a "right to return" in your estimation? Because you're clearly not out here claiming that the Palestinians are a fake people with no entitlement to a state.

Palestinian identity is no more or less fake than any other national or ethnic identity, but all such identities are indeed kinda fake.

Genocide and ethnic cleansing are wrong because they involve actual material harm to actual human beings. It's wrong to murder and dehumanize people! It's wrong to expel them from the places they live and the land they rely on to make a living. To the extent that such injustices can be corrected years later, they should be.

After the first Roman-Jewish war, the Romans razed Jerusalem and built a new city on the site, in which Jews were forbidden to live. This was wrong; but the Roman state lost control of Jerusalem in the 7th century, and its last successors finally ceased to exist around five hundred years ago. The state that succeeded it in that region also hasn't existed in centuries, and it's not possible to make specific property claims for restitution in a city that no longer exists (most of the existing old city of Jerusalem is, I believe, medieval in origin). Therefore, outside of a general principle like "borders are stupid, and people should be able to live, work, and buy land wherever they want," this is a historic injustice it is, unfortunately, not possible to correct.

The Nakba happened in 1948, people displaced in the Nakba are still alive, that property still exists, and even where people displaced in the Nakba have died, their heirs are quite easy to identify. A lot of that property is still controlled by the Israeli state. That would be a historic injustice it is comparatively easy to correct.

Nobody is "entitled to a state." States can be instrumentally useful sometimes. But the idea every nation should have a state, which corresponds to a historic national territory, and exercises exclusive jurisdiction, whose primary goal is the protection of that nation and whose interests coincide with it 100% is both a lie about how states work (states are generally run by political elites, and their interests do not correspond one to one to the interests of their people; democracy as a tool can help reduce that gap, but it's not perfect), and simply impossible. There is no tract of inhabited land on this Earth not claimed by multiple nations. Why would there be? Nations are simply imagined communities. The idea of a national territory is part of that imagination. You could sift every inch of soil in France down to the bedrock and you will find no inherent Frenchness therein. Ditto every other nation on this planet.

Nationalism is a mental illness that in its advanced stages makes it impossible to see human beings and human suffering for what they are. It is the anticolonialism of fools. It is a useful lie for state elites, since it helps provide legitimacy for their governments. Sometimes it's useful to talk about people in aggregate as a shorthand, but we shouldn't make the mistake of taking that abstraction for a first-order reality. States do not have moral rights and are not moral patients. People have moral rights.

#the oppression of palestinians by israel is wrong. to the extent that can be ameliorated by creating a palestinian state #(which i think is considerable) #one should be created