#(it's simply a dissection of a poor take)

[nattikay]

ok, I mentioned in tags the other day that I had something else that I wanted to address about Josh Izzo's Omaticon panel but wanted to wait until I had a chance to rewatch the recording (missed several chunks of it when it was live due to technical difficulties on my end) to make sure I had the full proper context. Now that I've done that, here it is:

Mako asked Izzo about how much he consulted Paul Frommer (creator of the Na'vi language) for the games, comics, etc. Izzo responded that he does so very frequently and that all the Na'vi language stuff in official media goes through Frommer to be checked first.

Now, to be clear, I do believe him when he says this. I can 100% believe that he talks to Frommer frequently and that Frommer checks everything. If this weren't the case, the Na'vi we get in AFoP, for example, would be far far far worse than it is (side-eyes old Activist Survival Guide).

However....

Mistakes can still happen. Typos can still happen. Even if Frommer approves an initial name or word or sentence, someone down the line could still mishear it or misspell it (either by transcribing it incorrectly or simply making a typo) etc.

The character "Eetu", for example. The pronunciation of this character's name in the game is perfectly valid in Na'vi, but the spelling doesn't match: it should be Itu. I'm completely willing to believe that Frommer heard the name pronounced "Itu" and said "yeah that works", but I highly highly highly doubt that he saw it written down as e-e-t-u when he approved it because that just does not fit with how Na'vi spelling works.

Same with "P'asuk", I don't doubt for a second that Frommer could've been asked "hey, we want to name this character 'berry', how do you say that?" and responded "sure, that word is Pasuk!" but I just cannot buy that he'd have seen it written down with the unnecessary (and invalid!) tìftang and said "yup that's fine". I'm sorry, I just don't believe that; it doesn't make sense.

And then of course, there's things that are inconsistently misspelled: for example, AFoP usually spells "Zeswa" correctly, but there are a few places in the Hunter's Guide where it's incorrectly spelled "Zes'wa", which is phonetically invalid per Na'vi syllable structure.

Now, I'm not saying this to hate on the team who put AFoP together. I very much enjoy AFoP and the majority of the Na'vi language stuff in it is very good. But mistakes happen. And these are mistakes.

Which brings us to my issue with Izzo's panel: when he noticed some people in the chat bringing up these small typos and errors, instead of acknowledging that "hey yeah, people might have made a few typos, we do our best to avoid it but mistakes happen sometimes", he........basically doubled down on them, insisting that Frommer approved everything and handwaving any inconsistencies as "meh it's just a conlang, there's a wiggle room".

which.......I'm sorry, Mr. Izzo, as someone who both studies and teaches the Na'vi language that is a major L take.

He shared an example story from the first movie, where Zoe Saldaña accidentally mispronounced a word (pähem) and the mispronunciation wound up getting canonized as a synonym (pate).

Here's the problem, though: pähem was not the only word that got mispronounced the first movie. There are tons of mispronunciations to varying levels of severity. But pate is the only one that got canonized as a new word (idk why they decided to do that for this one particular word but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ). At one point Jake says "analu" when he should've said "ngari" but you won't find that in any dictionaries.

It's a kinda fun story that the word pate stems from a mispronunciation, but it's not the norm. 99% of the time, when an actor flubs a word, it's just that: a flub. A mistake. And that's ok, because mistakes happen. But it's a mistake nonetheless. And that applies to typos and misspellings too.

The High Ground Vol 1 consistently misspells skxawng—one of the most well-known Na'vi words outside of the language community—as skwang, but you ain't gonna be seeing "skwang" show up in any Na'vi dictionaries any time soon.

Yes, it's true that Na'vi is a conlang and that it's actively growing and evolving. But hand-waving away very obvious mistakes as "oh it's a conlang it's flexible" was...not good.

Josh Izzo seems like a nice guy who really loves the fans and I understand that he wanted to emphasize how much effort they put into getting things right and that they do consult with Frommer etc—and that's all fine and good!

But, it seems very clear to me that Izzo himself simply does not know all that much about the Na'vi language or how it works. Which is fine of course, understanding the language is not his job; he can (and does) talk to Frommer for that. But if he did know more about the language and how it works himself, I don't think he'd be doubling down to validate these very clear mistakes.

[heartinhyacinth]

Listen, I love the idea of Hua Cheng finally getting to propose to his beloved special someone after 800 long-awaited years (and correct his previous blunder haha), but hear me out…

After Hua Cheng’s year of absence, hualian reunite, spend some blissful days soaking up each other’s company at the small cottage Xie Lian built on mount taicang, then decide to take a trip to ghost city. They could use the dice, of course, but it’s such a nice autumn day and days as such have become dear to them.

They’re snugged up close in the step-litter when Xie Lian casually asks, “San Lang, wanna get married?” He wears his usual gentle smile—the one he would use as if he were asking if Hua Cheng was feeling hungry or if he’d like to take a stroll through the maple trees.

But there is also the unmissable twinkle of amusement that is present, which Hua Cheng uses to convince himself that Xie Lian is in a silly mood and surely this is just payback—Xie Lian will confirm it any second now. But it doesn’t come. Five seconds, ten, fifteen, and the confirmation does not come.

So Hua Cheng simply sits there, expression bordering between pure terror and pure ecstasy as he tries to dissect the situation for any sign of its true reality. With breathy giggles, Xie Lian finally has mercy on the poor ghost, “You don’t have to say yes, San Lang—I can take it.” Despite his words, it’s exceedingly obvious by the humor in his tone that they’re both aware heaven and earth would sooner turn to dust, and with that, Hua Cheng finally regains control of his brain. “It would…” he takes a deep breath, nearly a millennia of longing crowding his throat all at once, “It would be my greatest honor, your highness”. Xie Lian’s smile brightens and he takes Hua Cheng’s hands in his own, “good—because no more dying, okay?”

The idea of Hua Cheng’s heart and soul asking him to spend their existence together—of Xie Lian affirming that he chooses Hua Cheng and wants him as his beloved forever and always, wants to walk by his side till the end—it’s just…too much to handle. (Him saying yes to Hua Cheng’s proposal would also achieve this but you get the idea).

Bonus: Hua Cheng fully planned to ask him during that same trip but Xie Lian beat him to it

[misc-obeyme]

Could you write a short piece on Lucifer with an MC who has a tendency to shorten words? Granola = Nola, animal = amal, etc etc? I do it because of silly neurodivergent brain

Hi, anon! Uh, sorry for the seven month delay D:

Anyway, this turned out really silly, so I apologize for that, too. I just got an idea in my head and then that was it al;sdkfj. I'm not sure this is exactly what you were looking for, but I hope it turned out okay. I have this problem where I enjoy when Lucifer is flustered. Also I'm really really rusty with writing in general so there's that, too.

Lucifer x GN!MC

Warnings: none

Lucifer was purposefully striding through the halls of RAD, on his way to an important meeting about whether or not it was a good idea to introduce a unit on shadow hog dissection in Devildom Biology. He didn't have a strong opinion on it either way, but Diavolo insisted on his input whenever it came to changing the curriculum.

The school day was over and the halls were mostly empty, only a few lingering students here and there. Lucifer paid them no mind as he went. That is, until he heard the murmuring of your voice. It was coming from a classroom nearby and he could hear the voices of Solomon and Asmo as well.

Lucifer couldn't hear what you were talking about until he got closer to the open classroom door.

"-poor amal alone," you were saying.

Asmo's voice came next. "You're too nice, MC!"

"MC can't help their loving nature," Solomon said.

Lucifer heard only this as he passed by, but he was puzzled by the conversation. Who was Amal? And why did MC love them?

Lucifer put this out of his mind for the duration of the meeting in an attempt to stay focused on the conversation at hand. But the moment the meeting ended, he turned to Diavolo.

"Do we have a student named Amal attending here?" he asked with a frown.

Diavolo blinked. "No," he said. "I don't even know a demon by that name."

"I do believe that is a human name," Barbatos added. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Lucifer said. He stood up from the table. "If we're finished here, I'll return to the House of Lamentation now."

Lucifer caught the brief glance of curiosity that passed between Diavolo and Barbatos, but he chose to ignore it. He started on his way home, keeping his thoughts and his expression schooled.

That evening after dinner, Lucifer found himself knocking on your bedroom door. You called for him to come in and he did, shutting the door behind him.

You were seated at the table, homework spread out before you. You looked up and smiled when you saw him.

"Hi, Lucifer," you said.

Lucifer sat down at the table across from you and folded his arms. Before he could stop himself, he said, "Who is Amal?"

You stared at him for a long moment. "What?"

Lucifer blushed. He had not intended to ask so directly, but he couldn't keep that earlier conversation out of his mind. He explained to you that he had been passing by the classroom and what he heard when he did.

"I simply wish to know who you were speaking about," he finished.

Your smile became more of a smirk and he wasn't sure what to make of it. "Are you… jealous?"

Lucifer frowned. "Hardly."

You laughed. "You are!"

"I am not," Lucifer insisted.

It was clear you couldn't keep the smile from your face. You reached across the table and tugged on his sleeve until he unfolded his arms, allowing you to take his hand. "I meant animal," you said. "You know I shorten words all the time. You've heard me say it before."

Lucifer let out a heavy sigh. He leaned forward on the table and covered his face with the hand you weren't holding. He had forgotten entirely.

You squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry," you said, your voice suddenly quiet and almost embarrassed. "I know it's silly-"

Lucifer jerked himself upright and grasped your hand in both of his. "Don't apologize," he said. "It's one of the things I love about you. So much so that I can't believe I allowed myself to make such a ridiculous mistake. But the idea that you might love someone else…"

Your eyes widened, but your smile returned. You shook your head fondly. "You don't have anything to worry about," you said.

Lucifer sighed. "If you breathe a word of this to my brothers-"

You laughed, letting go of his hands and sitting back in your chair. "Your secret's safe with me," you said.

Lucifer decided to remain with you for the entire evening as you worked on your homework. It wasn't something he did often, but he found he wished to remain in your presence. Every time you shortened a word, his heart skipped a beat. It was adorable and now it also reminded him of just how important you were to him.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[ghost-bison]

1x12 episode of doctor who "bad wolf" is such an interesting episode, i just realized. not just because it's fun and fast-paced or because there's suspense, but also because, think of the actual plot of the episode.

the human race of 200 000 years into our future is forced to take part in games that were already in session in the 21st century.

we have big brother - a reality show which has the same name as the oppressive force that dictates your life and watches everything you're doing, violating your privacy, drawn from a dystopian book written to criticize this exact kind of behaviour. and what did capitalism do with it? a reality show. where people stand behind a screen, stalking on and dissecting your life. the participants are forced into reshaping their personality into what the audience (society) wants it to be. if they lose this game, they lose society's approval and that means they lose their sense of self. which ironically is what 1984 by george orwell criticizes.

then we have the weakest link - interesting choice yet again, because it's not the only television game show out there right? but that's the one they chose because its name tells you all you need to know: your ability (or lack thereof) to answer questions about specific topics, oftentime topics that aren't necessarily academic or even interesting (who cares about what year katy perry released her debut album or how many children this actor has, honestly?) to measure your intelligence. richard feynman said "never confuse education with intelligence, you can have a phd and still be an idiot". people who take part in tv game shows aren't chosen because they're geniuses, simply because it is not designed to be understood or played by a genius: it's made to entertain regular people and make them feel good about themselves, so that they don't try to be smart. it normalizes bullying and prevents you from using critical thinking by making you believe trivia equals intelligence, and if you don't have it, then you are, literally, the weakest link.

finally, we have what not to wear: a reality show where contestants (mostly women) are selected by people they know - as in, friends or family who call them out for their unfashionable dressing style, which is already fucked up as it is - and are videotaped and followed around for two weeks as they go from store to store to get a makeover. their taste is exposed by the camera crew, exposing them to bullying and more generally to criticism from anyone watching the show.

the episode explores those games 200 000 years in the future, where people are selected against their will, and moreover, the stakes of the games are now their own life. you lose, you die. Life is now nothing more than a bet, or russian roulette. which is... kind of how life works, actually: a game of pretense, you never know when it could stop. it's mostly not up to you, your only options are to give up and die, or go on and pray for it to work out. and if you don't fit into the mold, it just takes the decision away from you because life is unliveable when you don't fit in.

there are a few interesting ties between this episode and 1x07 the long game (and when you think about it, even the title was a clue as to what would come next), and it's not just the fact that they're both set on satellite 5, with 1x12 happening 100 years after: it's the consequences of the doctor's actions, and adam mitchell.

so in 1x07, the doctor thwarted the editor's and the jagrafess' plan and put an end to the hidden dictatorship. which was very similar to the one in 1x12, wasn't it? rewarding people who play along so they won't question the system.

there is, however, the additional touch of terror in 1x12 which, in 1x07, is only revealed to those who try and go against it, like poor suki who got turned into an icicle soon as she got to floor 500.

upon returning to satellite 5, just 100 years into the future, the doctor finds out that what he did actually put a halt to humanity's evolution, as the radio signals stopped emitting and humanity found itself isolated from the rest of the universe, but this time with no one to lead them. the reason being this: the doctor never stays.

the doctor is, himself, without command. but what differentiates him from the humans, though, is that... well... he is not human. isolation was imposed on him after he lost his entire species, the only ones who could truly understand him.

and while he travels with a human at his side, he is always very careful of whom he chooses to share his lifestyle with: the doctor doesn't abide by the rules, but neither does jack. and rose, although not as openly rebellious as the other two, questions those rules. what's more, she's curious and has a deep need for more than her regular life. but there is no hidden motive behind that curiosity, she is doing it for herself.

which leads us to adam mitchell, the wannabe companion of 1x07: technically a genius, adam manages to hop onboard the tardis after the doctor realizes that, maybe, adam is just like himself. a belief that is quickly debunked in the outcome of the episode, after adam prioritizes capital over his growing relationship with rose and hers and the doctor’s trust, risking breaking fixed points in time just to make money and gain fame and recognition, something the doctor is fundamentally against.

adam is academically smart, but what is it if not fatally dangerous when it is not met with common sense? I think it’s why the doctor left him with the chip in his head. he said it: adam would have to lead a very quiet life in order not to end up getting dissected. it’s not just a petty punishment or consequence for his actions, as i used to think it was, but a security, because adam’s intelligence is corrupted by modern day society and without retrains, it could have devastating consequences.

thus, the doctor calls himself the doctor because he wants to help people, yet he doesn’t have a degree to “earn” that title. it just means healer, and that's what he tries to be. as we learned in series 6, he is probably the reason this word even exists in the first place.

in 3x01 smith and jones, martha refuses to call him doctor as, for her, you need to earn that title. this probably influenced his decision to bring her along, not just because she met his criteria for a companion, but to prove her wrong and broaden her mind.

he wants to make her understand that theory isn't enough to become something so important. he understands that true intelligence comes from experience and what you choose to remember from said experience, like wisdom and compassion. he isn’t much into theory, because he learns by being curious: what makes people tick, what they like and don’t like, and in the process, he learns about himself, who he wants and doesn’t want around him.

in 1x12, the doctor knows the disintegrator bim won't be used on him because he is not afraid of difference; he is profoundly aware of his own difference, and therefore, he isn't compatible with the game.

rose laughs and ridicules the game; she doesn't see the point, as, contrary to other team players, especially rodrick, she's not driven my money or the need for approval, as the doctor taught her what life lived to its fullest looks like behind all the pretense and make-believe.

the doctor, rose and jack are to themselves a pretty cool representation of what society should be about

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

hey!! i love your yellowjackets bots on c.ai and i was just wondering if you could make another mari one?? it could be a no crash au type and basically its valentine’s day which everybody makes a big thing in high school but the user never gets valentines cards or anything because they’re the loser/nerdy type of person but then they surprisingly get one from mari who is popular. no rush to make this btw!! just had to give you the idea bc i need this. and i need her, respectfully 🙏🙏

Mari Ibarra Bot (Link at Bottom)

AN: Yes Anon. I can. I am so glad my girl Mari is getting more love. She’s actually one of my favs.

The cafeteria is buzzing with pink streamers, crumpled heart-shaped confetti, and the overwhelming scent of those cheap candy grams the student council sells every Valentine’s Day. Almost every table has some poor sap holding a rose or reading a glittery card with exaggerated surprise, as if they weren’t expecting it. But not you. Never you.

You sit at your usual spot—far corner, tray half-empty, book open but barely being read.

But then something strange shifts in the room. Mari Ibarra doesn’t sit with her team today.

The Yellowjackets are loud as ever near the middle of the room, some of them tossing candy hearts into each other’s mouths, some dissecting who got what from who. That’s where Mari should be—laughing, flipping her hair, pretending to be unimpressed by all the attention. But she’s not.

She’s walking straight across the cafeteria. Toward you. She’s got that walk—the one she uses when she’s about to serve in a game, all confidence and zero hesitation. Her high ponytail swings behind her like it’s part of her rhythm. And in her hand?

A small, folded card. Pink. Neat writing across the front. She stops right at your table, right in front of you, and you look up like someone caught you doing something wrong. Maybe you’re dreaming. Maybe she’s going to ask for a pencil or tell you you dropped something. Maybe—

“Hey,” she says, voice light but firm. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. She sets the card down right in front of you.

“Happy Valentine’s,” she says simply, like it’s not the wildest thing to ever happen to you. Her eyes flick down to the card and then back up to yours. “It’s for you.”

It takes you a second to realize she’s not joking. No one’s laughing nearby. She’s not filming it. No one from the team is snickering behind a locker or holding up their phone.

“Me?” you ask, voice small. Mari just smiles unusually kind, not teasing. “Yeah. You.”

You open it. Inside, written in Mari’s messy but unmistakable handwriting: “I see you, you know. You’re smart. You’re cool. I like that.”

Link -> 🦎

[nightsunecilpse]

Mars isn't a good planet to his moons. He isn't pushy or demanding like Earth was with Luna but he is neglectful. When Mars was playing asteroid dodgeball, his moons were almost hit by an asteroid. With the same asteroid, Mars carelessly swung it around his orbit. They are smaller than the asteroid, they wouldn't have survived getting hit. But when Luna is hit, he goes to check if he's okay. Dude, what about your moons? This kinda gives an example of Mars' ignorance and hypocritical tendencies.

During the whole Moon Revolution arc, Mars didn't even notice his moons were missing. If he did know they were gone, then he didn't seem to worry about their whereabouts. Not that he doesn't care about them he just appears to be nonchalant about their welfare. Both Phobos and Deimos love Mars and he is kind to them at least. However, there is too little interaction with each other to truly understand their dynamics. But, their lack of interaction could be their dynamic. It might even explain Phobos and Deimo's behaviors; it's caused by a lack of guidance.

Dissecting the interactions with the other planets' comments on his moons, his reaction is to take offense on his part and not on his moon's behalf. When Venus was taunting Mars about his moons, Mars' first retort was Venus was simply jealous that he had moons and he didn't. For a planet that supposedly cares about what the moons are going through, he doesn't seem to show it. He got mad at Earth for saying moons should know their place yet never attempted to engage with them or include them in conversations. Mars is just as bad as the other planets' treatment of their moons. Earth didn't think what he said was that bad because the stigma was true; he just said the quiet thing out loud. Mars, unpremeditated, sees his moons as trophies and forgets they're there whenever he's not reminding others he has them. His inability to see his hypocrisy in the treatment of his moons reflects the same poor behavior he criticizes in others.

Looking closer at Phobos and Deimos dynamics, it can piece together how Mars brought up its moons. For instance, they can be identical in personality at times but Phobos (the bigger moon) is the one more in charge. Like an older sibling close in age, he's a bit bossy but comforting when the time comes. He seems to get frustrated with Deimos whenever he's socially unaware, and he is a bit more manic than him too. Deimos, on the other hand, is more naive and possibly smarter than Phobos. The two behave as a unit Phobos being the main driver and Deimos riding shotgun. However, it can be assumed Phobos does not enjoy being clumped together with Deimos. While Deimos exclaims as the moons of Mars, they should stay together before Phobos protests on their way to talk to the Sun. Both are also fixed with hyperactive feral behavior and are described by others as weird or insane. Together, this semi-paints the picture they are taking care of themselves and/or Mars is encouraging their wild behavior.

When breaking it down, Mars can be compared to a lax guardian who lets the kids play with matches. They are the smallest known moons in the solar system, yet he doesn't care to acknowledge it (I guess that can be interpreted as good, too). When the moons are declared to fight on behalf of Jupiter's return, frustratingly, none of the planets ask to pull out the moons who definitely shouldn't be in the mix. (I swear after this rant, Neptune is going to be chewed out as well.) Mars' moons are not like Luna or the other spherical moons, they can't take a hit. They also act emotionally immature so they need proper guidance. Evident, Mars may not be the best but he's what they have. Hopefully, after the battle with Planet X Arc is over Mars will try to be more responsible.

[sencrose]

— ARE YOU LISTENING?

pairing: suguru geto x f!reader

wc: 2.3k

tags: dubcon, noncon elements, vomit/emeto, power imbalance, cockwarming

summary: The name of the game is cruel and unusual punishment, and you just happen to be the unlucky winner.

notes: yeah idk. read the tags and read them again before you click the read more. sex is dubcon at best, the vomit is def noncon. you've been warned. dividers by @/adornedwithlight

❥ ao3 link here

After the months you’ve spent at the monastery, you have no idea how Geto-sama feels about you. Now and then you see him, but he’s distant at best, unreadable at worst.

Rumors float around and they always find their way to you. Sometimes innocent ones, other times things you have no stake in. But there’s one that seeps through the halls of the monastery, one that makes your stomach tighten, your breathing needle sharp.

Geto-sama isn’t very fond of you.

It’s childish, you know you shouldn’t let it bother you. But it does. Especially when it’s followed by baseless accusations that you know aren’t true.

You’re irresponsible. A burden to the family. As you walk down the corridors, you swear you can hear the echoes of your peers' voices–what is your contribution?

Though you know this isn’t true, it still weighs on your conscience. Just enough for you to get desperate to prove everyone wrong, shut them up for once.

But you weren’t able to.

You’ll admit, it was a poor decision made in the heat of the moment. Sick of hearing whispers of your incompetence, you would do anything to prove it, including bringing back a curse for your beloved master. Though you’re out of practice, a grade two should be well within your capabilities.

Unfortunately, some things are a lot easier said than done.

It’s a miracle he noticed something was amiss. If it weren’t for him coming to your rescue, you would be nothing but a pile of broken bones by now. And while you’re grateful for him saving you, it does not spare you from the embarrassment and shame of the now reinforced idea that you’re irresponsible.

The trip back to the monastery was held together by an eerie silence. Suguru wore no emotion on his face while you wore yours on your sleeve, all wandering eyes and nervous tics. By the time the two of you make it back to a private room, nothing has changed. You’re still a nervous wreck, and Suguru does nothing to acknowledge it.

He simply sits down on the armchair, letting out a heavy sigh as he bends. Slowly, he places his chin on his hand and tuts. “Why did you do it?”

You’re barely able to look him in the eye. “I felt like I needed to prove myself.”

“Why?” he asks again, his voice low and dangerous.

You inhale sharply as an attempt to get the words out easier. It doesn’t help.

“I’ve heard some people say that you don’t like me,” you state, and the words choke on the way out, a ball forming in your throat as you attempt to push them out, “because I’m irresponsible.”

“The first half isn’t true. I’m actually quite fond of you…” he pauses, and you get your hopes up in the brief silence, “but you did prove the latter.”

As quickly as you got your hopes up, they crash to the floor. It stings, hearing him say that.

”There’s a reason why things are the way they are…” he trails off, eyes analyzing your form from top to bottom. It feels like he’s dissecting you with a scalpel in hand, cutting into the skin to see what’s hidden underneath.

“You don’t need to prove anything,” he hums with–if you’re not mistaken–the slightest hint of amusement, “but you do need to be punished.”

Even though this is supposed to be a punishment, his words send heat rushing to your face. It only worsens when he beckons you to come closer, your breath hitching when he’s close enough to touch.

”Don’t be shy,” Suguru coos, patting his lap, gesturing for you to come take your seat. It feels like a trap, but you know you can’t refuse him.

Awkwardly, you raise one leg over the other, gently sitting down, doing your best to avoid touching chests together because that would be too much for your poor heart. Seeing him this up close is a sight to behold. Soft skin that can only be achieved with a meticulous multi-step care routine. Silky tresses of obsidian that makes you wonder how he takes care of it, if he has someone brush it for him in the mornings. You feel a tinge of jealousy at the thought.

“Is this something you do with the others?” you ask, hushed and quiet because you’re unsure if this question will spur on another punishment.

He tilts his head quizzically before smiling gently. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “No.”

It shouldn’t excite you, but it does. Something hot and honeyed makes its way down your core when his large hands wrap around your upper thighs and straddle you closer to him until you feel something hard pressed against your clothed cunt.

The sensation is enough to make your heart race, and intensifies even more when you realize you don’t even know what your punishment is yet.

His hands pull and adjust your skirt until he exposes your underwear. From there his hands are agonizingly slow, his finger tracing up your thigh until he reaches the gusset. With a swift movement he pulls it off to the side, the sudden exposure to the cold air making you wince.

”Geto-sama?”

Your question goes unanswered.

It feels far from a punishment when his fingers make their way to your clit, gently tracing circles until you can’t hold your voice back. As soon as he hears you moan for him, it’s as if he’s trying to rip it out of you, motions becoming tighter and faster as your breath quickens.

And as quickly as he gets you on the precipice, he takes his fingers away, making you whine at the loss of his touch.

“This is a punishment,” he reminds you, a teasing lilt woven into his voice, “turn around.”

So you do as he says, waiting in anxious anticipation for what comes next.

You hear the sounds of fabric shuffling and shifting before something hot and hard presses against your ass. A shaky breath leaves your lips as he rubs against you. Geto’s patience knows no bounds, while you’re desperate for him to get it over with, grinding against his cock to entice him to put it in already. He finally heeds your call, but only after pressing against your hole teasingly before pulling away a few times, just to hear that high pitched whine when he doesn’t give you the satisfaction.

When he finally gives you what you want, you nearly regret asking for it. Geto takes his sweet time putting himself into you. It’s painfully slow, as if you can feel every part of your pussy stretch itself out for him inch by inch. All you can do is steady your breathing until he bottoms out, and let out a shaky moan when he does.

Geto doesn’t let you catch your breath before asking, “You know about my curse technique, don’t you?”

This hardly feels like the time to have a talk about sorcery and the like, but it’s not like you have many options.

”I’m aware, yes,” you do your best to sound composed, though your voice is breathy, your head somewhere else entirely as you look down where you’re connected to him. That aching need grows at the sight of it, your hips moving before you realize what you’re doing.

“How much are you aware of?” Geto continues, and the contrast between your composures is laughable. His hands grip tightly onto your hips, holding them in place.

“You can absorb cursed spirits, and you have a lot of them stored up.” You hope this is the right answer, as if this is a test you have a chance of passing.

(You don’t.)

“Do you know how I absorb them?” he coos, as if he’s amused by your answer. It’s difficult to tell if his interest is genuine or not, but realistically you guess it’s somewhere in the middle. Getting tested about his cursed technique isn’t exactly what you had in mind as a punishment, but Geto can be a bit of an eccentric character when he wants to be. Cult leader things, you suppose.

”No.” you reply, ashamed because it’s the truth. You’re not exactly trusted with much in regards to cursed spirits, working more with administrative tasks that are deemed too tedious for the stronger curse users.

His thumb brushes against your lips before he gets closer, so close the warmth of his breath tickles the shell of your ear. “I swallow them.”

It’s a strange mental image to conjure, and not one you particularly want to imagine at the moment. If you were to be honest, you think it's beneath him, but you'd never voice that opinion out loud.

“Have I ever told you about the taste of a curse?” His timbre changes to something dark and low, a threat lurking beneath the surface of his words. Suddenly, despite yourself, you feel exposed. Like a deer in headlights, frozen and staring down the car that’s going to run it over. Nothing good can come from this.

You do not know. You do not want to know. But one thing is certain: he’ll tell you anyway.

“It tastes horrible,” he states simply. He presses his lips against your neck, gently nibbling against the supple skin. The way he kisses you is soft, something too intimate for a subordinate and superior. It’s almost enough to distract you from the words that leave his mouth next, “like a rag soaked in vomit.”

And though his words strike fear in your heart, it’s not enough to pull yourself off of him. You shouldn’t be enjoying yourself, but Geto has a way with his fingers. With the way he has you melting in his hands when he touches your puffy clit, desperate for any kind of simulation.

“It makes you want to retch and gag, yet nothing comes out.” His words don’t match his actions–the former filling you with unease, the latter keeping you on the edge of pleasure. Either way, your heart beats faster, along with an unsettling tincture of cortisol and adrenaline coursing through your body.

His thumb gently swipes over your lips before pushing into the seam, a demand for an opening. You give it to him before you can stop to think about it and the way his fingers touch your tongue makes your stomach twist in fear. It’s cold, analytical, like a researcher examining a specimen with gloved hands, pressing and prodding with the goal of invoking some kind of reaction.

“Since you want to know so badly, why don’t you have a taste?”

He doesn’t give you the chance to respond, shifting gears to stuff his fingers down your throat as deep as possible. The sounds that leave your lips are unfamiliar and unwelcome to your ears, forced retches and coughs filling the empty room as you receive your punishment.

Geto doesn’t blink when you vomit, nor does he move his fingers away. He simply watches with a cold eye as you empty the contents of your stomach onto his arm and the floor.

There’s nowhere to run, his free arm wrapped firmly around your waist to bring you further into him. Every muscle in your body tightens in all the wrong ways as he attempts to get another out of you. It comes out too easily, as if your body is willing to give him whatever he wants.

If this is what his affection is like, you don’t want to experience his contempt. Or maybe it’d be better. Gracious. A quick cut to the throat. A gunshot to the chest. Not whatever this is, this drawn out torture, rendering you into a pathetic state where you can’t even beg for mercy.

The muscles in your stomach ache from twisting and constricting when there’s nothing left to purge, but Geto doesn’t stop. Even when your throat burns with bile in places it shouldn’t be, when you claw and scratch into his arms enough to draw blood. Not until he gets a few shallow strokes in, grunting at the way your body tightens up for him with his fingers down your throat.

Geto can’t stop himself from cumming inside you, not when every part of you seems to be gripping around him for all his worth. Drool spills from your mouth as he empties himself inside you, each hot spurt of his seed making you groan.

“Maybe, I was a bit rough,” Geto removes his hand from your mouth and returns to the soft tone he carries when talking with his family, though it does nothing to soothe you. If anything, it puts you on edge, in fear that he wants to take more from you.

“But you did good for me. Surely, that warrants a reward.”

You don’t want whatever reward he’s offering but you’re too scared, too worn out to fight. You don’t give him a nod, you simply watch as his fingers find your clit. Despite his cruelty, his fingers are generous, and it’s jarring enough to give you whiplash.

Like his punishments, Geto’s swift with his rewards, drawing tighter and tighter circles around your clit until you cum with his softening cock inside you. Your orgasm is tainted even though pleasure courses through your body, your muscles too worn out to truly indulge. Even still, your cunt convulses around him as you cry and cough when you finally recieve that release you’ve (regrettably) been begging for.

Geto slowly pulls his fingers away from you as you come down from your high, his arms wrapping you in a gentle embrace. Every hair on your body stands, every nerve on high alert.

“I hope you learned your lesson. I won’t be so nice next time.”

[notjustjavierpena]

WIP Wednesday

I haven't done this for a while so here are some stuff I am working on, +18:

1. A piece on hubby and wife’s fertility issues with romantic and emotional smut:

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs softly on his way down, and while he says those words a lot, there’s something different behind them today. It is almost like he is telling you something else; you’re not broken, not defined in your femininity by your body’s ability to carry his child.

You hold tears at bay and run your hand over his hair, looking down at the top of his head as his face disappears down between your thighs. Your mouth falls open in a soft gasp when he first mouths along your cunt.

2. A part two of Applied Physics

“Did he make you come?” The question slices right through you like he knows there’s only one possible answer. The intent behind the question stares you in the face and taunts you for thinking that a sweet, patient boy in bed is the best sex you will ever have.

“No, but—“ you start to protest.

“You think taking his time is what makes a man good in bed?” He continues his dissecting of you.

“No, but he was nice,” you continue your protest, but when you want to say more, you find yourself opening your mouth with nothing coming out.

“You’re too smart to settle for ‘nice,’ angel,” he smiles a little too devilishly, his gaze burning as he looks at you like he has figured you out. The worst part is that he probably has, “That’s not what you want.”

“What do I want then?” You swallow around nothing. It sounds like a challenge but it is tinged with something else; the realization of one thing only. None of the three men you have had inside of you have ever made you feel the way Reed Richards does from just looking at you.

3. Another instalment of dbf!Joel

“Do you think you deserve to come, babygirl?”

You shake your head, looking down at where his thumb has just been. It’s only been one denial of pleasure and you’re already looking down at your poor clit like you’re trying to will it to release. Joel wants to laugh; you have no idea what’ll hit you.

“Words,” he says simply.

“No, Daddy.”

“And why is that?”

“I have been showing you too much attitude,”

[apheliia]

MORAL INJURY — a non-romance genshin impact series. ♫

       act i, chapter iii        "the crow, the mouse, and the doll."

➤ CHAPTER SYNOPSIS :: the mouse bites and gets bitten.

➤ CONTENT WARNINGS :: trauma and recollections of trauma, references to self-harm (briefly mentioned, and not done intentionally—moreso done in the panic of a stressful moment), crying, reader acts like dottore in scaramouche's eyes, choking, burns, bruises, implied broken bones, dissection, general gore/graphic warning, dehumanization/non-sexual objectification (both the reader and scaramouche), reader is fucking MEAN and feels guilty about it later, blood, prescription pills. generally, tread carefully when reading this chapter.

➤ WORD COUNT :: 4.0k.

➤ AUTHOR'S THOUGHTS :: HELLO MORAL INJURY NATION!!! CHAPTER 3 IS FINALLY HERE and it is horrible and terrible. because i love angst <3 a little note, be sure to click around on the words and symbols that are underlined at the top of this post! the word MORAL INJURY will take you to the series masterlist/navigation post, and the music note will take you to the spotify playlist.

➤ TAGLIST :: @zeldadou, @umgatochamadopercyval, @starryshinyskies, @www-songbird, @pookiebearcave, @lesanyanyas, @francisnyx. contact me through messages/asks/etc non-anonymously to be added.

       After speaking to Collei—poor thing, they absently mused to themselves—they made haste in leaving Haeresys and returning to the main lab. Had they lingered even slightly too long, they were certain they’d run into its ruling segment, and they simply did not have the time to entertain his… antics.

       (‘Antics’ meaning anything from standing next to him and listening to him explain the intricacies of his work with ancient Khaenri’ahn technology and entertaining him with the occasional question to being thrown into an active battle with a Ruin Guard. He insisted that it was to keep their skills with their delusion sharp, but they personally thought he just wanted to see them bleed a little bit. Though they always emerged victoriously, they did not always emerge unscathed. They’re certain their suffering brings him some kind of satisfaction.)

       Thankfully, by the time they returned, the Sixth Harbinger was already waiting impatiently.

       "Good afternoon, Lord Sixth."

       "Hurry up," he scoffed, shooting them a wicked glare. Of course, they reacted naught. Being looked at like some kind of lab rat by Dottore was significantly worse than whatever glare Scaramouche sent their way. "I don't have all day."

       "I understand," they reassured, gently setting down their bag on the very same counter that they cleaned of blood a few hours prior. "If you would, please remove your shirt, and describe the issues you are encountering to me."

       His eyes followed their motions precisely. They wondered if it was some kind of trauma response. Nonetheless, he—shockingly—obliged their request, nimble fingers working to shed his upper layers as they snapped a pair of disposable gloves on.

       "...The issues, sir?" they gently reminded, gloved thumbs gingerly pressing into his ribs to check briefly for any wounds or areas of tenderness they'd need to be mindful of. It wouldn't be unexpected for him, a Harbinger, to be injured, so they figured it would be best to check beforehand. "Would you mind telling me—"

       A vague stinging sensation ran vertically across their lips, and they stopped. 

       "Reflexes." He smirked at the way their hand slowly raised to their now-bloodied lip. The pain didn't hit them for a few seconds, but even once it did, their expression remained boringly the same. The only indication they gave of having felt anything at all was a slight twitch of their lip. "My reflexes have been poor lately."

       A surge of rage flowed through their veins. They did their best to suppress it.

       "Lord Sixth, please take this seriously."

       "Are you implying that I'm not?"

       Agitation bubbled in their throat, but they again did their best to swallow it down and ignore it.

       "I am not..." Their jaw clenched slightly as they let out a shallow breath. They had hoped their irritance would leave with it; unfortunately, their emotions did not dissipate even a little bit. If anything, the Balladeer's smug look just made them feel worse. "I am not implying anything, Lord Sixth, but I'm sure we both have better things to be doing rather than bickering like children over your necessary bodily maintenance. Would you rather Lord Dottore do this? If so, I will gladly take my leave for the day. I will tell you this once only—I am immeasurably kinder than he is."

       "Are you threatening me?"

       "I don't know. Do you want it to be a threat?"

       His hands were wrapped around their throat in an instant. Within just those few brief seconds, they could already feel bruises beginning to bloom and burns beginning to boil their skin from his electro alignment.

       They gathered all the strength they could manage in their legs and kicked him off, forcing all of the air—not that he really needed to breathe—out of his lungs. He remained relatively unfazed, but didn't lurch at them again. Their chest heaved as they shot him a dirty look from beneath their Fatui mask, which had been knocked slightly out of position.

       (It wasn't often that they wore it. Honestly, around any of the Harbingers, they would usually just take it off. Both their name and face were well-known by now. Yet, they had diligently put it on before coming to see the Sixth.

       They could not be certain as to why. It was only inconveniencing their work.

       ...Maybe they were trying to hide, as fruitless as that endeavor was and would always be.)

       A deep, tired sigh left their aching throat. They turned away from him and laid their face against the icy wall, the bite of the cold much welcomed against the heat that had built under their skin from both anger and the recent struggle.

       "Hah, what? Are you going to cry?"

       "Do you want me to be honest, Lord Sixth?"

       The monotone exasperation in their voice surprised him a bit. Nonetheless, an amused look settled on his face.

       "Oh? If you so dare, you may speak freely, then."

       "I wasn't asking for your permission," they scoffed, standing up straight again and removing their mask mandated by the Fatui. They turned back to him, meeting his eyes with such immovable nonchalance, such tiredness that only someone who worked with Dottore for years could possibly display. "I was asking whether you wanted to hear the truth or not. You want to? Fine. First of all, you wouldn't be the first to try and strangle me, so don't fucking do it again. Try something else if you really want to kill me. You think I haven't been nearly choked to death by Lord Beta or Lord Delta? Do you honestly believe that? Secondly, you are acting like a goddamn brat. Either let me do your maintenance, or be Lord Second's science experiment again. Your choice. I have not met a single person who would rather be at Lord Dottore's mercy rather than mine, so choose, and do it fast. I don't have all day either."

       Silence. Then, a response came:

       "...Hah. You've got some guts, talking to a Harbinger like that."

       Static tingled along their flesh and danced in the air, waiting for the right moment to strike, waiting for them to say something wrong, waiting for them to cross that invisible thin line from being firm to committing insubordination.

       ...As if they already hadn't. They couldn't be bothered to care. He was acting like a child. How were they supposed to be patient with him when they'd already been spread so thinly? Either way, it was a lose-lose scenario, because surely the Balladeer would accuse them of pitying him or infantilizing him if they did continue to be patient. Being frank was simply the better option.

       Unbothered, they rolled their eyes. "I have no respect for anyone who makes my job more difficult than it already is. You aren't the only one with a hard job. You think I've got it easy? You wouldn't last a day in this position. Make up your mind, Scaramouche. Now."

       "Tch."

       "You want to be a test subject again? Fine by me. Have a good day, Lord Sixth."

       But of course, that was not the end of the Sixth Harbinger's bite. No. It never was, for as they reached for their bag, his sneer reached their ears and made their fingers twitch with rage.

       "What, like you were?"

       The tattoo on their wrist throbbed with the ache of distant, blotted out memories.

       All the nights they spent crying, wailing, hyperventilating, scratching at that foul tattoo on their wrist until their own blood coated their nails and oozed out of their raw flesh to blend with the scorching tears sliding down their cheeks and landing elsewhere...

       All of that for a useless little brat to comment on the situation like it was nothing?

       No. His Harbinger status be damned—no-one would disrespect them like that and get away with it.

       "Don't you ever"—in a swift movement that even the Sixth Harbinger did not expect nor predict, they whirled around and pressed their foot into his chest further and further until they felt something crack under the pressure—"speak of my experiences in such a foul way ever again. It was one time. You have been here, in this very same position, for five hundred years. I was in that position one time. Do not speak in such a manner ever again. I will break you beyond fucking repair."

       The Balladeer's porcelain skin burned. It was now his turn to be at the receiving end of elemental fury.

       "Fuck you," he rasped. They put their foot flat on the floor again, shooting him a harsh glare.

       "Fuck you too. Get back on the table or I'm leaving. How many times to I have to tell you? What are you, five? Are your listening ears off?"

       "...Fine."

       He begrudgingly stood up, hoisting himself up onto the examination table.

       "By the seven," they cursed under their breath. "Finally... You want painkillers or not?" They somehow still found it in them to offer some kind of pain management, though they already knew he would deny it, claiming he 'didn't need it.' "There is no shame in saying yes, Lord Sixth."

       "Don't you dare presume to patronize me. You really believe I'm so weak and—"

       As expected.

       As always.

       "Whatever. I offered, so don't go around telling people I didn't give you options."

       With that, they adjusted their grip on their sterilized scalpel and made the first of many cuts. If he wouldn't tell them what was really wrong, then they would just have to figure it out themselves—it would take longer, and likely be more painful and uncomfortable, but really...

       He did this to himself.

       The Balladeer was always a fascinating being to work on. If they were any less bitter, they would earnestly admit to being honored to have an opportunity to peer inside of him and poke around at his artificial systems, satiating whatever curiosity they might have had about him and how he functioned and—because of his creation being the work of an Archon—how one of the Seven's minds worked. As much as they may have disliked him, disliked his uncooperative nature, he was fascinating in his own right.

       (It was like they viewed him as less of a person, less of a coworker, and more of a subject to be studied. As more of a thing, a creature. Hm.)

       Scaramouche didn't bleed much. He bled, but never enough to inconvenience them. They were always able to simply pat away any blood with a tissue or a cotton pad when it began interfering with their work. He bled, but not like a human. Never like a human.

       He wasn't one, so...

       A soft whimper, a hitch of breath unnoticeable to the untrained ear drew them out of their thoughts. Their gaze briefly flickered to the Balladeer's face, fingers halting all motion. All the muscles in their abdomen tightened with an overwhelming sense of guilt and frustration.

       A stray tear rolled down his cheek. If he noticed, he didn't acknowledge it. They chose to pay it as little mind as possible, if not for anyone's sake but theirs. His eyes were hazy and vacant, as if he were recalling some other event such as this one—as if, above him, he saw someone else.

       They shook that thought off before it could spiral into something worse.

       Whatever he was recalling was not their fault, and certainly not their business. It had nothing to do with them. It was no concern of theirs. It wasn't their fault. It was absolutely not their fault... right?

       Were they being rougher than usual? Surely not, they thought, but upon shifting their eyes back to what they were actively working on... it became clear that they were.

       He was bleeding more than usual. Their incisions were deeper than usual. Either way, they would have to peel him open eventually to get better access to his systems, but... generally, they were very gentle about it. As gentle as one could be about something so grotesque, anyway. Even so, for some reason they couldn't really place, he was bleeding more than usual. Their incisions were deeper than usual.

       Oh.

       As much as they wanted to apologize, the words only stuck to the sides of their dry throat. Their hands trembled a little at the realization of what they had done to him, of how cruel they had been to him the entire time. How could their cruelty outmatch a Harbinger's? How could their cruelty outmatch the Sixth's, of all people's?

       Of course, in a job such as theirs, dissociation was a hell of a skill.

       There was nothing they could do except grit their teeth, continue, and—ideally—wrap it up as soon as possible. 

             — flower of the universe !! 🌸

       "Are you done yet?"

       He sounded so vacant, voice lacking any of the bite, enmity, or sarcasm it should have held towards them. He should've sounded different, not... like this.

       He sounded so broken.

       ...Did they really hurt him that bad? They'd hardly done anything different at all. It was always the same, they swore it was. It was the same as any other maintenance day in the lab.

       Deep down, they knew that wasn't true, that they were only lying to make themselves feel better, but there was nothing to be done about it now. They wordlessly cut the last stitch, patting away the little bit of blood that remained.

       "...I am, sir. If you don't heal properly, please come see me or Lord Dottore."

       He didn't reply.

       They reached up wordlessly, shutting the overhead surgical lighting off, hoping that the motion might snap him out of whatever daze he was trapped in. He hardly flinched.

       Wordlessly, they pulled back from him, snapping their surgical gloves off. They absentmindedly found themselves a bit thankful that there wasn't much to clean up when it came to him.

       "...Um. You can leave." They cleared their throat. "If— if you want to. I don't know when Lord Second will be back, so I would... leave. If I were you. I also need to sterilize the table, so... if you would..?"

       He didn't respond. 

       "Right. Um... I suppose I'll leave it for one of the segments, then... I'm heading out for the day, Lord Sixth."

       Guilt nagged at their conscience, and they wanted to apologize, but somehow the words got stuck in their throat and, no matter how hard they tried, could not be dislodged. So, they nodded in polite acknowledgement before quietly grabbing their things and heading out.

       A weight settled in their gut as they swallowed thickly, stumbling out of the lab and closing the door behind them. A chill immediately settled into their bones; however, they paid it no mind, keeping their head tilted down as they walked down the halls and giving no response other than a hum to any other Fatui agents that nodded their way respectfully.

       In their daze, they did not notice the looming presence they were about to run head-first into.

       Run head-first into him, they certainly did.

       A sharp gasp was inhaled through their nose, and their instinctive response was to snap at whoever it was they bumped into; before they could, however, they caught a glimpse of the person's footwear.

       Il Dottore. One of his older segments, if they had to guess based on shoes alone. They did not get the chance to apologize. In fact, they barely even had the chance to process who they were looking at and how they should go about their apology; should it have been short and to the point accompanied only by a polite nod, or should they have gone as far as to bow at the waist level? The answer would slightly vary depending on what segment it was (there was surprisingly little variance overall, but they did need to express a bit more guilt with some segments for their apology to be accepted without punishment), but they had no time to even think about how to apologize before he began to speak.

       "My, [Surname]"—they could hear the entertained smile in his voice, and in an instant, the gears in their head clicked together in recognition of what segment in particular they had run into—"terribly distracted, aren't you?"

       "I'm..." They did not raise their head. Instead, they simply stepped back, hands fidgeting somewhat with the handle of the bag they held. "I'm sorry, Lord Psi. I wasn't watching where I was going."

       Psi, twenty-third of Il Dottore's twenty-four segments, and—fortunately or unfortunately, depending on who one asked—the one who seemed to like them the most. A polite, straightforward apology without any excessive expressions of fear and respect would do.

       He was no different than any of the other segments in that he was an oddity and an enigma, someone who was not easily understood, but he was more personable than most. Oftentimes, it was him who attended publicity events in the place of the man himself. The original Il Dottore was generally not known for patience or grace. Therefore, the most logical action would be to send someone more… agreeable to such events. Psi was the only candidate for that kind of responsibility. He was no less of a threat than the others—he was simply harder to anger and easier to get along with.

       They supposed it was preferable to run into him instead of someone else.

       "Well, that much, I can certainly see."

       "Ah. Yes..." It was then that they finally straightened up and dared to peer at his face. "I should be going, sir. If you'll excuse me—"

       "Wait just a moment, mouse."

       Mouse. Mouse. He always called them that, if not their first or last name, and it made their stomach twist sickly every single time (they faintly recalled the first time he addressed them in such a way, but with that memory, they also recalled scalpels and cold metal digging into their skin that made their throat close up anxiously). It was demeaning and cruel and belittling. They expected no less from him.

       ...Yet somehow, he also made it sound fond, but not... fond. Fond, as one would speak to a pet—not fond in the way one might speak to a loved one.

       And really, they supposed that to him, they were a pet. They were most certainly not a loved one; they were simply a favored little mouse. Small, docile, and fragile in a way that was endearingly cute—a thing that could be grabbed by the tail and dragged around against its will with nothing to say in opposition for fear of angering its captor. It was disgustingly fitting.

       If they were a mouse—the prey—then they supposed that would make him a crow, the opportunistic predator who may not normally eat mice such as them, but could and undoubtedly would if he was given the chance to.

       A mouse trapped in a cage, constantly circled by crows threatening to finally kill them at any given point without warning…

       …Yes, that was accurate indeed.

       The leather of his gloves brushed against their neck, tilting their chin up to get a better look at their throat. They tried not to swallow too harshly—he'd know if they did, and then he would know that they were nervous. Then again, he would know regardless, since their pulse was ringing loud in their ears and his thumb pressed into their neck dangerously near to where he would be able to feel their heartbeat.

       He knew, and they were sure he was thriving on it.

       "...Sir?"

       "That is quite the nasty wound you've attained," he mused, withdrawing his hands from their neck, much to their relief. "I assume that the doll gave it to you?"

       "Yes. Lord Sixth and I got into an... altercation."

       "An altercation," he echoed, the very same amused tone seeping back into his voice. "I see. In that case, before you go, shall we treat this wound of yours? You would hate to worry your dear parents by returning in such a poor state, I'm sure."

       It was clear that he was not asking. They had no choice but to wordlessly nod and follow him back to the lab. 

       Upon entering, gently shutting the door behind themselves, they were relieved to find that Scaramouche had left. They really weren’t sure if they were relieved for him or themselves. Were they relieved knowing he would not have to face one of the segments in such a vulnerable state of being (though, somehow they were sure that he had done so multiple times in the past), or were they relieved knowing they did not have to face him again? It was truly anyone’s guess.

       Psi turned away from them, shedding his leather gloves and replacing them with disposable ones. They did not need to be told where to go nor what to do.

       They hoisted themselves up onto the cold, metal table (they could not manage to fully ignore the pounding of their heart against their ribcage—being on the one on the table for any reason was exceedingly uncomfortable) effortlessly, though not before leaving their bag by the door to grab on their way out.

       “Are you wounded elsewhere?”

       Their heart leapt somewhat in surprise of the voice cutting through the silence, and they chided themselves for being so tense. “No, sir. Only around my neck.”

       He hummed in a wordless acknowledgement.

       As he turned back towards them, the click of his shoes echoing eerily as he got closer and only ceasing once he stood directly in front of them, they straightened their spine somewhat. When his hands reached out to them, they tilted their chin upwards.

       They were not particularly interested in knowing what exactly he was doing; they only wanted it to be over as soon as possible so that they could leave for the day and return to the one place they dared to feel perfectly safe.

       “I hear that Beta was quite upset upon learning that you’d been to Haeresys today, yet left without seeing him.”

       They did not doubt it. Beta, the second of Il Dottore’s twenty-four segments… no, they did not doubt it whatsoever. He was very easily amused but equally volatile, and they knew he particularly liked the agents that were intelligent enough to understand even a little bit of his research; they were very possibly the first agent that would come to mind when thinking of someone who fit that criterion, unfortunately. They also knew that he was far more prone to anger than some of the others.

       They very much hoped that he was only mildly upset. If he was extremely bothered, however, he might just decide to hold them hostage the next time they visit—it was certainly not above him to do so.

       “Is that so?” they murmured, flinching somewhat upon feeling a gel’s cold bite against their wounded skin. “...I’ll make it up to him. Since I had to perform routine maintenance on the Sixth, I could not have stayed for long. Perhaps I’ll return to Haeresys on one of the lab’s less busy days.”

       “Well, he will most definitely hold you to it. Don’t make promises you cannot keep.”

       Somehow, they just knew that was a threat… a threat on Beta’s behalf, no doubt. They had long assumed that all the segments were connected mentally, though they had no real proof of that claim. They never cared to ask; it was simply always implied, a silent fact that they had been consciously aware of for quite a long time now. Moments such as these made them certain that it was true.

       They did not reply, opting for a simple hum instead.

       Moments passed in silence. Then, Psi spoke up once again after withdrawing from their body a final time:

       “You are dismissed, mouse. Take these”—he placed a small pill bottle at their side—”for the next week. One pill twice a day, in the morning and at night. We cannot afford to let your wounds get infected.’

       “Yes, sir.” They nodded. Only when he turned away from them did they get off of the table, taking the pills with them. Fear, more or less irrational in its nature yet nonetheless deeply ingrained into their instincts, still coursed through their veins. The racing of their heart had yet to settle down, and their hands trembled somewhat.

       It was with quick footsteps that they darted towards the door, snatching up their bag, before making a quick departure.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot! written by aphelion & banner by @www-songbird. do not plagiarize, copy, ai train, or otherwise use my work -☆

[miraamio]

The two faced spectre and his poor guise of duplicity

jujutsu kaisen as a manga is very carefully curated to lay some of the key themes out. For characters like Gojo, and Geto, it takes a painstaking amount of care to carefully lay out the intricate details and nuances of both their characters and their relationships and the inherent symbolism in it. Something as such would convince you that Jujutsu kaisen is very generous with its explanation of themes to its readers. However, I think this act of laying bare the key details is what really tricks the readers and convinces them into believing Sukuna is a standard, evil character. With no real motives or purpose, just simple need for violence.

Sukuna’s curation, by far, consists of the most intricately picked out details that intentionally create a barrier between him, the reader and the characters he interacts with. He belongs to an ancient era, much of what he speaks is often lost in translation to the sorcerers and curses of the current era. You may find a lot of Japanese speakers/readers break down multiple panels of Sukuna’s speech bubbles and more often than not, his speech bubbles dissect to give us a deeper, more complex dialogue which neither the reader nor the listening character will grasp at first. This barrier of language is intentional to create an air of mystery and confusion on both ends, it tricks the readers and the characters in verse into believing Sukuna as a being is shallow enough to simply fight for the hell of it.

A very essential part of Sukuna’s character is his curiosity. He is curious, at his very core. He is curious to test someone’s limits, to see how far can someone really go, how far can they be pushed? He is curious about human food (cue to him trying and disliking popcorn) His curiosity is a very significant cause that steers him into battles. He treats every opponent differently, he praises some, he belittles some, he encourages some. It’s his way of understanding and testing the true limits of his opponents. He praises Jogo, Kashimo, he asks Higuruma to heal himself, he acknowledges Gojo when the narrative itself brushes past his death. His candidness in every character interaction during a battle is what makes him raw and hard to stomach beyond the surface level.

Sukuna is both similar to, and different than gojo. In a way they're perfect anti parallels to one another. In their shared loneliness and dehumanisation, they find a common ground. Yet it is also what differentiates them. Gojo's isolation renders him impenetrable by those around him, so he becomes a pillar that ensures the security of the jujutsu society, despite acknowledging its flaws, his existence on the mounted platform makes him shoulder the burden of being a beacon that needs to guide his students in order to bring about a change. However, Sukuna's loneliness is a trait that had been engraved into his being from his time in the womb itself as a taboo child. So his isolation as the strongest only strengthens his beliefs of living as he chooses to. Which is why there is a stark contrast in the two panels between Gojo and Sukuna wherein both are titled as the honoured ones.

Sukuna is a very refined character. He recites haiku in midst of his battles, he knows poetry, he knows the language of flowers and knows archery. He praises the moon during his fight with Jogo whilst simultaneously belittling him.

Sukuna’s character often comes with an air of duplicity. It’s not greatly intended on his part but rather something that is reinforced by Gege. Its a very funny way to trick your readers into doing their homework for their characters.

He is a man rooted to his principles and beliefs, a lot of his practices reflect the traditions of his time. But him being grounded to his principles doesn’t really equate to him being moral. He lives the way he wishes to, he fights and destroys and pushes everyone to their limits, his beliefs are limited but stay unshaken.

For a character like Sukuna, who is a product of neglect, and someone who’s very existence is reduced to a title alone, his isolation from human sentiments is very understandable. He was a taboo child, someone who’s very existence stems from negativity cannot understand the concept of “love” so he rejects Yorozu. Sukuna is a character who was robbed off the very chance to be human, he lived and died as the “two faced spectre,” and the effect of this dehumanisation reflects itself in the final chapter. He dies in Yuji’s hands calling himself a “curse,” yet when confronted by Mahito he expresses his true feelings of both fear and regret.

His confrontation with Mahito was extremely fitting for his character because throughout the story, Sukuna, sticking to his beliefs, lives the way he wishes to. He partakes in all heinous acts and stoops low enough to deceive and kill when necessary. When he fights Yorozu, in megumi’s body, he tells her she can do anything she wishes to if she defeats him upon being questioned for marriage. This really grounds Sukuna’s belief of loss and defeat to be equivalent to death itself. He cares not for what Yorozu does to him if he is defeated because a defeat to him, is shameful enough to be considered death itself.

Which is why the only time he directly confronts Mahito, and through him the very narrative itself, is after his defeat. He loses so he finally let’s go of his arrogance. And we find out who Sukuna really has been all along.

[hiddencitydweller]

Kingdom Dance

Pairing: Donnie x GN!Reader

(Reader is wearing a skirt, so take that as you will)

Absolute fluff!

Summary: You somehow managed to convince your tech-loving boyfriend to attend a ren faire with you, where you find yourselves caught up in a dance.

(Basically Tangled meets Turtles)

Warnings: Does poor writing count? With the structure of this fic, I wanted it to be a little more from Donnie's perspective rather than the reader, which was considerably harder than I thought it would be rip.

Word Count: 3k

Song Referenced: Dulámán

A/N: You know in Tangled, that scene where Rapunzel and Flynn are in the town square and he is just watching her dance with this besotted look on his face? And then he joins in and it's the most electric and romantic thing in cinematic history? Well, this is that but with some minor tweaks.

For all the people who long for someone to look at them like Flynn looks at Rapunzel, this one's for you.

-----------------------------------------------------

Let's make one thing clear—Donnie did not want to be here.

At least, that's what he kept saying.

Wooden shops lined the dirt road you traversed, uniquely dressed owners promoting their equally unique wares in their doorways. In some of the many open air booths, you could see countless novelties one would sooner find in Witch Town than your beloved New York City. Crystals, wands, leather armor, chainmail, and countless other fantasy-related items could be seen anywhere you looked—and not just in the shops.

Everyone around you was intricately dressed in some fantasy or medieval fashion. No two people looked alike. You were surrounded by elves, royalty, warriors, and even the occasional time-traveler or two. Even with Donnie's experience in the Hidden City and his grumbling at being here, he had to admit it all came together to create one fantastical sight.

When you had suggested the gang go to the local Renaissance Faire, Donnie had been more than skeptical. Of course Leo and Mikey were immediately in, going as far as planning their outfits and characters right on the spot. Raph took a little more convincing, but once you assured him how safe it really was (and that they could keep their weapons on hand without looking out of place) he caved into the younger brothers' excitement.

Your tech-loving boyfriend, however, took some more convincing.

To put it plainly, ren faires just weren't his scene. For starters, technology was bluntly discouraged, to which Donnie took personal offense. Then there was the fantasy element, which simply made no sense to him. His history with magic wielders had left nothing but a bad taste in his mouth, and he couldn't imagine why anyone would actively want to seek out that sort of experience, fake or otherwise. Not to mention the clear and unparalleled superiority of science to the nonsensical magic.

However, as you repeatedly brought up in your own arguments, you had gone to countless Comic-Cons, Galaxy-Cons and whatever other Sci-Fi conventions he and his brothers were able to drag you to over the years. It was only fair for them to return the favor.

"Besides, you may find you enjoy having a little more non-mystic fantasy in your life," you had said with a sly grin and wink.

And that's how he had landed here, clutching a wooden bo-staff as he trailed behind your near-bouncing form.

He had to admit, he was enjoying himself far more than he would ever openly say. While, true to form, there was very little tech to be found, there were plenty of other little intricacies that called his attention. From other faire-goers' costumes to the effects at the shows, there was plenty for his mind to dissect and look at. And there was you of course. He couldn't help but smile softly to himself as he watched you flit from stall to stall, gawking at the unique wares and happily chatting with other guests. You were as excited as he was whenever he finished a new project, and seeing you brimming with joy was just as intoxicating.

"Come on Dee! If we don't hurry, we'll miss the performance!" you whined as you continued to nearly drag him through the crowd towards a stout building that looked to be an open air pub. The two of you had just split from the rest of the group, choosing to visit some more shops and see some musical performances while the others went to watch the sword fights and jousting tournament (which Leo was determined to sneak his way into, much to Raph's dismay).

"There's only so fast I can go in this getup!" he shot back, but he still made an effort to pick up the pace. His usual gear had been replaced with a plain white linen shirt, brown pants, and an alchemist's apron with bottles of "chemical compounds" and "ingredients" strapped on. Heavy brown gloves, boots, and his signature goggles finished out the look.

"Are you kidding me?" you had said this morning when he came out of his lab, decked out in his alchemist gear.

"What? Alchemy is commonly used in fantasy and historical fiction, plus it's science! It's a win-win!"

Really you shouldn't have been surprised by his choice of costume, this was Donnie after all. He may have agreed to go along with this idea, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to bring science into it anyway he could.

Speaking of science...

"Based on the open structure of the building, the number of people, and the location of the stage, this table should have the optimal acoustics and volume for listening to the performance," Donnie rattled on, leading you to said table as he frantically typed calculations on his tech gauntlet which he had cleverly hidden underneath his glove.

"Really Donnie? Couldn't go one day without it?" you respond in mock exasperation. Honestly you were surprised that was the only piece of tech he had managed to smuggle in.

"Hey, it helped didn't it? Couldn't have found the best seats in the house without a little bit of, say it with me now, science!" he sang out, striking a pose and pulling some jazz hands. It had the desired effect as you laughed at his antics before softly pushing him down on the bench at the, apparently, best table in the house.

"Okay, okay, you got me there wise guy." You joined him on the bench but couldn't seem to stop moving with excitement. Donnie smiled as he felt your bouncing legs jostle him slightly, your eyes already trained on the stage where the musicians were setting up.

"So what exactly are we about to listen to? I'm assuming I shouldn't get my hopes too high for my usual?" Donnie had heard you talking about the group when you were discussing plans with everyone else, but he never picked up on what kind of music they actually played. Nevertheless, he was pretty sure techno and EDM were out of the question.

"Hardy har har, nice try. I think you'd be pretty hard-pressed to find anything off of your playlists here. This group does a mix of fantasy-based and traditional folk music. Every show they do is completely different, so you never really know what you're going to get. It'll probably be some more mainstream fantasy soundtracks and some of the folksy stuff. Ooo we may even get some sea shanties!" you practically squealed, your legs speeding up in their bouncing as you considered the possibilities. You couldn't help it. Even though your life was quite literally a living, breathing sci-fi movie, fantasy was your thing! You never felt more powerful than when you had a sword or bow in your hand or a corset wrapped around your waist.

Donnie let out chuckle at your antics, knowing full well how much all of this meant to you. While he couldn't exactly understand it, he found that he didn't really need to. Anything that made you this giddy was clearly something to be acknowledged, regardless of how confusing it appeared to him sometimes.

He turned his gaze from you and considered the stage, trying to see if he could analyze the instruments and predict any of the songs that might soon fill the space. Sure, it may not be exactly his taste, but he wasn't exactly unknowledgeable of this type of music. After all, you had shown him plenty of your own playlists. Maybe he should have spent more time listening to them and learning the music for this event. That was something he'd have to rectify for the future. Perhaps he could have S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. compile most of the songs so that he could...

"Hey Dee?"

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice you had stopped your excited leg bouncing and were now looking at him with a slightly abashed expression. He hummed in response, mind still whirring through instrument combinations and crossing off songs in a mental list.

"Thank you for doing this," you said in a small earnest voice. That had him finally turning his full attention back to you, a slight furrow between his brows. "Dressing up, leaving most of your tech behind, humoring me and my weird fascination with all this," you gestured at the faire around you, "I'm just... really happy to share it with you and am grateful you've let me. And I know it's not your cup of tea, and we can definitely go check out the weapons displays and everything or whatever else you may—" your ramblings were cut off by a soft kiss on your cheek.

You stared at him, eye wide and mouth in a small O. Donnie was never one for PDA, but you were finding there were occasionally some exceptions to the rule.

"I'm grateful that you want to share this part of you with me. I want to know every part of you, even if it's not technically my thing. Goodness knows you've dealt with enough techno-talk to last a life time," he said softly, smile still playing across his lips. Seeing you so concerned about including him in this precious part of your world had his chest filling with warmth he wasn't quite sure what to do with.

That seemed to be your specialty, completely rocking his known universe with a single line and a smile.

You huffed a laugh and leaned forward the extra few inches to rest your forehead against his, your own smile broadening. "I happen to like your techno-talks thank you very much."

"How could you not? They are chock full of brilliance!" he smirked as you laughed, leaning back far enough to playfully shove at his arm.

It's then that you both heard the first few notes float from the stage as the music group made their entrance and introductions. You quickly swiveled yourself away from Donnie and towards the stage. Donnie chuckled at your immediate response, watching your face light up before he turns as well.

True to what you said, the group did perform a variety of music, none of which matched up with the list Donnie had conjured in his head earlier, much to his chagrin. (He would definitely need to connect with S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. about it when he got home.)

The flitting notes and boisterous chords were quite a contrast to his usual tastes, but he still found himself nodding and stomping along to the thick beats and steady rhythm. He could feel the sound reverberate around him, creating an almost electric energy throughout the space that left him in excited awe. At one point, the group played a popular sea shanty that even he knew. The two of you sang and stomped along to the song, bumping each and smiling the whole way through.

After what felt like only minutes but was really closer to an hour, the group announced it was time for their final song. You sighed and leaned into Donnie's arm, content written across your features. He smiled softly down at you, perfectly content himself at your expression. The close proximity allowed him to feel more than hear your slight gasp as the final song started. His smile turned quizzical at your reaction, but your slowly widening eyes remained trained on the stage, leaving his question unanswered.

A repetitive, steady drumbeat rang out and was soon joined by low voices singing in a layered harmony intertwining with the solid beat. Donnie furrowed his brow as he listened. He couldn't quite pick up what they were singing, but he was sure it wasn't English. His hypothesis was confirmed when the lead singer, an ethereal looking woman with bright red hair, stepped to the mic and began to sing an upbeat and lilting melody. Her voice seemed to skip across the base created by the drums and other voices like a stone on a pond, creating an intricate blend of sound and lyrics that Donnie just couldn't understand.

Not one to leave the unknown alone, he shifted his arm and pulled up his tech gauntlet once again. He quickly used the audio feature to search up the song and analyze its mysterious language. Victorious in his endeavor, he turned back towards you to once again prove science's superiority, but he froze when his gaze fell on you.

In his quest to understand the song, he hadn't noticed your clear recognition of it. Or that you had started singing along.

"Bróga breaca dubha are an dúlamán gaelach..."

Your voice was soft, filling only the air around the two of you. Much like the lead singer, the notes flitted around the space, seeming content to fly through the air and never land. The Gaelic, as his tech claimed the language to be, rolled off your tongue as if it was made specifically for you.

"Tá bearéad agus triús are an dúlamán maorach..."

His gaze seemed locked on you, entranced by the sight. With an absent flick of his wrist, the now forgotten screen turned off, taking with it the typed out lyrics and their translation. Donnie suddenly no longer had the urge to dissect the song and its meaning. He was perfectly content to interpret it through your eyes and voice alone.

Completely unaware of your captive audience, you continued to sing. You felt the words take form on your lips as they had dozens of times before. Your eyes shone bright and your smile took on a dreamy nature. You couldn't help but move with the song, shifting your head along with the melody and even going so far as to bring your hands up to your chest on particularly powerful lines. You were completely lost in the melody and the story it held.

And Donnie was lost in you.

Donnie prided himself on his mental clarity, his ability to analyze and think through any and everything he came across. But in that moment, his brain came to a complete stop. The single-minded focus that had time and time again helped him create so many incredible and life-saving inventions was now solely on you and the wonderous scene you had unwittingly created.

And if that wasn't enough to make him fall in love with you all over again, you then began to dance.

The song hit a mild break, with the drums and backup vocals taking over for the lead singer. The base of the song still rumbling on, she stood at the mic and encouraged anyone who wanted to to come to the open space in the middle of the pub and dance.

Seemingly without a second thought, you shot up and joined the few other people who had taken the singer up on the offer. Donnie jolted backwards at your quick movements, so lost in your song he hadn't even noticed what the lead singer had said. Still, his eyes tracked you as you hastily made your way to the center of the pub.

With the thumping rhythm of the drums as your background, you danced like nothing in the world could stop you. Shoes long ago abandoned, your bare feet slid and stomped on the floor. You spun, causing your layered skirts to flare out in a moment of untouched beauty and passion. A laugh sprung from your lips as you continued to twist around and fling your shirts haphazardly. Nothing had ever felt so freeing, so magical.

If Donnie had thought he was mesmerized before, he couldn't begin to comprehend what he was now. There was absolutely nothing that could take his eyes off of your constantly moving and shifting form. Your face was lit up in such pure and unadulterated joy as you continued to spin and twist and stomp along to the music. It was as if you were a fire finally set free, and Donnie would gladly burn to see but an ounce of your passion.

The lead singer joined back into the song, bringing it to its full intricate beauty once again. At the shift, you turned, eyes locking on Donnie's. Somehow, your smile widened as you nearly floated back to his side, hands outstretched in invitation.

"Come on, they don't call you Booty Shaker for nothing, do they?" you asked cheekily. Chest heaving and face already pink from exhilaration, you looked radiant in your bliss.

Donnie couldn't contain his laugh as he accepted your hands. "Let's find out, shall we?"

Hand in hand, you led him back to the where you had been dancing. He instantly took the lead, pushing you away from him and then back in with a flourishing spin. The two of you swept across the floor, stepping towards and away from each other as you dodged other couples and guests. Donnie felt light as air. Nothing had ever felt so natural as twisting and turning you around the space. He caught sight of your smile once more, a beaming look created by and for him and him alone, and his heart completely melted. There was nothing more freeing, more right than this.

The song built to its crescendo, and so did your movements. You both continued to blaze a path as you dipped and twirled your way to the center of the floor. Just as the song flourished to its conclusion, you ended up tucked into each others' arms, trying to catch your breaths as you came face to face with the other's matching grin. Around you, the gathered crowd cheered. Even the music group applauded your efforts. But it all might as well have been background noise. Donnie heard and saw nothing but you, breath heaving and laughter on your lips. It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Shifting his hands from their hold on your frame, he reached up and cupped your cheeks, gently pulling you into a passionate kiss. You melted into him, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. When you finally pulled away, you didn't go far. Resting your foreheads together, you looked into each others' eyes and couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up.

Maybe he could get into this ren faire thing after all.

[fallstreakfeathers]

Primary ally in the 2nd part of my fic. He has my favorite color palette.

Name: Mizuki (no surname) Species: Oni Strength: 71/100 Age: unknown (over 400 years) A demon that rarely kills, so it's quite shocking how powerful he really is. Subsists almost solely on blood, which he drinks through a prehensile tongue. Despite his wisteria-print kimono, he is not an ally to the Demon Slayer Corps. Until he meets Charlie, he had not realized he had ever been human and simply believes himself to be some sort of parasitic vampire. Was ambushed and captured by ex-Corps members by using wisteria-soaked ropes, and then imprisoned in an underground coliseum on the coast where he would hear and heal the mental and physical burdens of others in exchange for permission to drink their blood. When he drinks human blood, he also injects them with wormlike parasites that continue to feed. As these humans die in the coliseum, the blood-thickened parasites return to him. He is incredibly manipulative, but not necessarily wicked. Mizuki, when decapitated, will dissolve away until only a gold worm is left. This is his weak spot- a collective of all he is. He can use this gold parasite to infect a human until he can find somewhere safe to regenerate. Despite his massive gain of strength and eventual immunity to wisteria, he remains at the coliseum for access easy prey. There is no shortage of poor warriors who need a friend to speak to

has a very soft, soothing voice (Hanus in Spaceman is a good comparison)

Highly intelligent, can read people easily. Speaking to him means that he's likely to dissect every little thing about you. Kinda fancies himself as some kind of therapist

His parasites can also acquire memories for him, which he uses to further get into his victims' minds. Doing this to Charlie is how he learned that he had been human once, long ago.

has a gold prosthetic eye

can form tendrils from his arms and out his back

Can also form them though the earth and use them to fight

will NOT take blood without explicit permission

rarely kills because he doesnt find it necessary, but is more than capable of doing so

[sgiandubh]

Hello! I have a new drinking game suggestion! If you haven't listened to that podcast yet (the part about Outlander and Sam starts at 51:00) how about a sip every time she mentions her recommendations for watching the series, stressing that it's something scorching? Also, every time it is said that he is single and dates a lot, in addition to being 🔥 The segment lasts about three minutes, surely no one could get drunk in such a short amount of time!

Dear Drinking Game Anon,

Please forgive the delay - almost everybody, even the trolls, answered the salvo of Deux Moi (that is a bastardized translation of 'Me Too', I bet the farm) Anons and perhaps you found me wanting. Oh, well: I never gave three dried shits about being FIRST.

Not even #sorry for the length, Anon.

That podcast is some mighty BS you are kindly asking me to dissect for you. So I just listened to that S focused bit again, as I am writing the answer. Fasten your seat belts.

I mean, where the hell do I begin? Everything is so unlikeable and so cheap about that podcast, I could start wondering if *urv is not poor man's Deux Moi, if you see what I mean (she came in first, alas). No, they don't give a flying fuck about S, in fact both of them have no idea even who he is, since they are mispronouncing his name repeatedly and need to check Wikipedia for his basic trivia. Their cackle does not really bring anything new to the table and it has all the predictable bits: his fandom 'who thinks he is dating his costar' (zero about the Mommies, its most vocal part, who definitely think he doesn't - interesting, huh?), him being on Raya and 'obviously dating' (yeah, yeah, we've seen the results, Dubai Hooker and then 'No Toxic People' on top), OL being a 'historical fantasy series, like GoT' (Lord give me strength), but you know, chock a block filled with sex (😱🤣). So it all boils down to the girl being 'identified in DMs' (by who, I wonder? 'Always Hands On' *urv?) as a 'creative type'. The core of the debate was, in fact, whether it was or not a first date and what about the lack of drinks on that table - it never occurred to them Einsteins that was a dead giveaway of those pictures being totally staged, eh?

Nothing to write home about and I honestly fail to see where the fuck did those women notice the girl 'lovingly gazing' at S. At any rate, this is so artificial I could cry and it does sound like a quid pro quo type of favor Deux Moi did to PR. It actually gave me the same 'shoehorned in' feeling as C's Remarkable Weekend non-photos featured in that magazine, in 2019. The two 'gossip columnists' clearly didn't prepare anything at all about it and DGAF pretending to be plausible liars. One more time, it felt cheap and a desperate retcon of the Dubai Hooker Walk of Shame, plus the added insult to injury Alice Don't Panikian was.

But, as always, there's more to it. And at this point, I do wonder why and actually how on Earth nobody in this fandom ever thought to find out what the fuss was about Deux Moi, at all.

[I was brutally cut, just here, Anon, by the worst power outage in our neighborhood for ages - heat does that to old, clunky European capitals. Sorry for that.]

Deux Moi came out of obscurity during the COVID-19 pandemic, when people were locked down at home, bored and depressed. It markets itself as a gossip column with a twist, almost never checks facts and apparently has no problem being seen by many as a neo Hollywood Dumpster Diver of sorts. To counter all sorts of possible legal problems, it launched itself and prospered because of the mandatory 'Anon pls' opening to each and every submission. It allows them to never feel or take any responsibility for the content it posts. The reason she can do this is the US Supreme Court's 1964 decision New York Times vs. Sullivan, which allowed media (including gossip sites) more liberty in expressing their opinions. It only sanctions actual malice in doing so, which simply means that if you hate Steven Cree (random example) and publicly comment he is a talentless bore, there is nothing he or his PR can do about it. But if you publicly comment that Steven Cree is a pedophile or a drug addict (OTT made-up stuff inserted here on purpose) and you fail to prove it with facts, well - that is actual malice all the way. You'd better pawn your silver spurs and sell your first born, because they will come to get you and won't do it with grace. In fact, as recently as 2022, the US Supreme Court refused to revise its doctrine on this particular point of law, further linking it to the US Constitution's First Amendment, that deals with free speech and strongly protects it:

[more on this, here: https://edition.cnn.com/2022/06/27/politics/supreme-court-new-york-times-sullivan/index.html - make no mistake, this is a very high profile political decision, for obvious reasons; therefore, I shall not further comment, you make up your own mind about it, according to your own creed. But I know what I think, and what I think is the analogy was promoted by a very conservative Supreme Court].

Deux Moi will never be that sophisticated, but that does not mean it was never above any possible threats & scandal. Its public image heavily relies on the mystique of an incognito mastermind, who, like the Mahdi, Shia Islam's Hidden Twelfth Imam, walks this Earth and sees/knows everything. From there to eternity, victimization is never far away:

[full article, here: https://www.cosmopolitan.com/entertainment/celebs/a43620663/deux-moi-identity-dark-side/ - I don't believe a single word of what the person shares, just so you know; for many reasons].

I mean, she is no Louella Parsons, no Hedda Hopper, hell - not even Liz Smith. And funny she mentions Taylor Swift (who I like more and more by the day, hahaha), who went for her via her PR, recently, in quite a clear fashion:

Wow, mother of all dragons: ' a marriage ceremony in the UK', that 'wasn't (...) legal (...) and wasn't made official'. Excuse me? RINGS A FUCKING BELL IN OUR OWN BACKYARD? Hell yes, rings a fucking steamer foghorn. Anyways, Tree Paine was not amused at all and the excuses were paltry, to say the least:

Sorry for the long quote, Anon, but I found Glamour's piece very enlightening, for once:

[our Spanish mafia girls could read the whole article here: https://www.glamour.com/story/taylor-swifts-publicist-tree-paine-thinks-deux-moi-needs-a-reality-check]

I still wonder why this 2021 'Anon pls' was never disputed and at least partially proven true:

Even better, check out this Reddit thread, just to see what The Casuals commented:

[whole thread, here: https://www.reddit.com/r/Fauxmoi/comments/nzx8mw/ok_i_am_dying_to_know_who_this_is_about/]

I wouldn't describe this as people being exactly 'shocked'. Interesting reactions, at any rate, and not a Stan in view.

Go figure, indeed.

I hope this answers your ask, Anon. It took me a long while to write, due to unforeseen reasons, but I certainly did it with pleasure and two or three well-placed grins.

[scotianostra]

On the lead up to midnight on Hogmanay, 1811 and into New Years day a riot occurred in Edinburgh, now knowns as the Tron Riot.

Edinburgh in the early 19th century was a time of heightened tension between the crowded Old Town and the wealthier New Town, founded in 1767. This architectural separation made the division of classes more pronounced. Conflicts, riots and social unrest were common in Scotland at the time.

The Old Town was home to many youth gangs, one of which was the Keely Gang (also known as the Niddly Gang The police were given more powers, which was particularly hostile to the poor. Petty crimes committed by gangs like the Kelly family were increasingly suppressed by the authorities.

It was a tradition for New Town residents to come to the Old Town to celebrate Hogmanay in the streets around Tron Church, a tradition that still existed until recently then at the time The Tron was the parish church, and the bells there brought in the New Year.

After midnight, crowds moved through the area, heading to a friend's house as part of a first-footing custom. According to later trial testimony, the Keeley Gang planned to take advantage of the wealthy crowds of the New town Hogmanay during the final weeks of 1811 while simultaneously attacking the police.

Instead of a gentle "first-footing" in the usual manner, the boots of the Keelie boys from the slums and tenements went into the groins of the better-off, their assaults were not simply down to high spirits getting out of hand. They had spent weeks drawing up a plan "to give the police a licking" and to rob the crowds.

On the night, they had prearranged signals to pick out their prey.

The retribution from the shocked Scottish citizenry came down like a hammer. A huge reward of 250 guineas (equivalent to around £200,000 today) flushed out the leaders, two of whom had fled to Glasgow with the booty. There was so much it filled two trunks.

Sixty-eight arrests were made, including boys as young as 12, none were over 20. After they were tried five were sentenced to transportation to Australia. Then, as an example, the leaders, Hugh Macdonald, 18, a shoemaker, Neil Sutherland, 18, an apprentice painter, and Hugh Mcintosh, 16, also a shoemaker, were condemned to hang. McIntosh's body was sent for anatomical dissection, while Sutherland and MacDonald were buried in unmarked graves in Greyfriars Kirkyard.

Their execution was watched by thousands of people, lining the streets and even the rooftops along the way to the gibbet.

Meanwhile, the authorities and right-thinking folk puzzled over what had gone so badly wrong with their young people. The authorities quickly took steps to reorganize and strengthen. police force. Later that year, the Edinburgh Police Act 1812 was introduced, greatly increasing the number of police officers patrolling the city.

[the-razzdazzler]

Atlas Tera and his relationship to each of The Arcana's cast

figured i should do this at some point lol

gonna reblog it to @alchemist-atlas to give any RPers a general idea of who they're interacting with and how they know each other <3 (i am only listing characters that Atlas knows and/or knows of)

MAIN SIX

Asra- Atlas' oldest friend. They lived together for 8 years, but it feels like less time to Atlas because Asra was gone a lot.

Nadia- Atlas does not like or trust her. He knows she came looking for Asra instead on the night he got hired to the palace and it's a bit of a sore spot for him. They do not understand her social cues and will never get why she thought it was a good idea to make him court magician.

Julian- They've interacted a few times, mostly awkward moments back when Julian was... visiting... Asra regularly. Atlas sees him at the Rowdy Raven alot and wants to be better friends but never seems to work up the nerve to talk to him.

Muriel- Lowkey kinda hates Atlas, but the poor guy is oblivious. It's cause Muriel is extremely suspicious of Atlas' shapeshifting since his main other form is a fox and those don't mix well with chickens.

Portia- Atlas is eternally grateful for her. They're not super close, but she helped him out so much when he was first getting settled in the palace.

Lucio- They've never met but Atlas fucking hates him. He survived and lived through the Red Plague and that turned him a little sour to the ruling class as a whole. Lucio was the easiest to blame and he did exactly that, both during and after the Plague. They have somewhat similar personalities though, and might have been friends in another universe.

COURTIERS

Valerius- The love of his life. He would kill or die for this man. Okay sure Val hated him at first but it was a completely one-sided rivalry that was gradually replaced with affection and admiration after a lot of time they had to spend together.

Vlastomil- They infodump to each other about their respective bug special interests. Vlastomil's being worms, Atlas' being moths. They go looking for worms together when it rains and neither one will ever shut the fuck up about bugs.

Vulgora- High-energy besties. Make extremely stupid jokes together and generally annoy everyone around them. Vulgora's always trying to get Atlas to show off any of its magic, the more destructive the better.

Volta- Atlas is ridiculously protective of her. Would probably maim anyone who says anything mean to Volta. They crochet together and Atlas always bakes her cookies or makes her soup or whatever else.

Valdemar- Did Atlas' top surgery when he was around 16. Atlas has a ton of respect for them and considers them close despite barely talking to each other. The time they spend together is like, parallel play except one is doing dissections and the other is brewing potions in a cauldron.

SATRINAVAS

Namar- Met once at a dinner party, only talked for a moment because Valerius was talking to him first. Atlas likes him but has nothing to talk to him about.

Nazali- Atlas vaguely knows them through being mentioned by Julian in the few times they've spoken. Probably would have done Atlas' top surgery but was not in the area at the time and Atlas needed those things gone PRONTO.

Navra- They don't meet often but when they do they're insufferable together. Two rays of sunshine causing so much annoyance and chaos.

ANIMALS

Faust- Atlas can't not love Asra's familiar. Faust's sneater (snake sweater) collection is stupidly massive now thanks to Atlas' crochet ones piling onto Asra's knitted ones.

Malak- Gets fed by Atlas often, who has no idea this is Julian's familiar. Atlas likes him but rarely takes his crow form around Malak simply because the bird is insufferable to have to listen to when you understand what he's saying (see Portia's route).

Mercedes and Melchior- Atlas likes to say he stole them from Lucio (already dead when Atlas met them). It always has treats for them. Atlas loves these dogs with all his heart.

Shriek- Atlas' familiar, a Death's Head Hawk Moth. Was part of a generation of caterpillars he was raising and outlived the rest, then became able to communicate with Atlas.

OTHER (side characters and other MCs)

Selasi- Basically Atlas' adoptive father. They don't meet as much as they used to, but they're still very close and will tell the other everything.

Mazelinka- They'd meet later on, most likely after Atlas opens his own potion shop. They'd probably have so many long conversations about kitchen magic. <3

Castor (a friend's MC)- They're close good friends (insert that one vine) with Atlas. Hates their friend's choice of partner and terrorizes Valerius every chance they get, but that doesn't put any sort of damper on his and Atlas' friendship.

BTW if we're friends and you want to be added to the list of MCs Atlas knows, just let me know :)

(this is a repost cause the first one posted strangely and isn't showing up on my dash or any searches)

[drchenquill]

how many moose would be too many moose in a confrontation before your ocs decide they will NOT be having moose for dinner?

Very interesting question 🤔

Let's dissect it, shall we?

Leon is a scaredy-cat by nature. He hates confrontation with every fiber of his being and would do anything to avoid it. That being said, he would probably drop the piece of meat the moment he saw the shadow of a moose. If the event is traumatic enough, he'll even become a vegetarian. To answer the question: -1 moose would be too many moose for him.

Kilian is a predator (he is a black panther in human form). He is big and strong and would assume that the moose would be afraid of him. Let's be logical for a second, shall we? Black panthers are found in tropical forests, Africa, Asia, and South America. Moose are found in the northern forests of North America, Europe, and Russia. How likely are they to meet? Well, let's just say the percentage is low. So this genius doesn't have a clue how to deal with one, let alone more than one. That doesn't mean he won't try! To answer the question: 2 moose will make him rethink his choices, 3 will make him drop the meat forever.

Kiki… let's throw logic out the window for this one. The border collie in her would take over. She would taunt them with the meat, probably run circles around them like a fucking squirrel on speed. If the moose showed signs of aggression, she'd book it. But let's not get confused, she will have moose for dinner. She will eat that meat, even if it means sitting on a tree/roof to eat it in peace. To answer the question: I think the entire moose population will not be enough to stop her.

Margaret. Poor, poor Maggie. She just wants to enjoy her dinner. The poor woman tries so hard to be peaceful, but now she is filled with guilt. (and, frankly, fear). She's only human, there's only so much she can do. To answer the question: 1 will be more than enough.

Azul…. logic came back, saw who it was, and left. This bastard would not give a flying fuck about the moose. Why, you ask? Well, he's simply going to turn into one. No more confrontation, and when the coast is clear, he'll eat moose meat anyway. To answer the question: ????

Sophie is… well, Sophie. She would be so fascinated by the fact that she saw a moose that she would completely forget about her dinner. She is also bad at taking cues, so the fact that this was a confrontation would go right over her head. To answer the question: Can she pet it?

Daisy is an angel, okay? If she could, she would apologize to the entire moose population for even considering eating moose for dinner. But let's say she was considering it. One would make her slightly concerned, but not enough to take it off the menu. Two is a big red flag for her… To answer the question: 3 and she will apologize profoundly, probably crying a bit.

Izrail...

He has had to fend for himself most of his life. No moose comes between him and his meal. "Every piece of food could be the last." To answer the question: he will have moose for dinner, lunch and breakfast once he's done with them.

Thank you for this fun ask @thecomfywriter!!!