#and i've come to the conclusion that it would not be inaccurate to say that i just merged ysa and kdj together

[agender-witchery]

On Project Moon

Hey, this is gonna be long, I'm putting most of it under the cut. This post is about the recent firing of VellMori from Project Moon, I know that it warrants some tags for triggers, but I have no idea what's commonly used, so if I miss something, please tell me.

Additionally, I have written this up in a way that if it escapes the target audience of Project Moon fans, it can still be understood, so with that in mind, there will be Library of Ruina spoilers.

The tl;dr for those who don't wanna read the full thing is that Project Moon was put in a very bad position with some violent extremists targeting them and that I'm not happy about any of what happened.

So, for those unaware, Project Moon has fired VellMori, the CG artist for Limbus Company. Now, a not inaccurate statement that can be made from this is "Project Moon fired a woman for being a feminist" but this is... somewhat reductive. Let's immediately get out of the way that VellMori did absolutely nothing wrong. Some people have said she is a TERF. I've seen no evidence of this. Some people have said she wished death on all men. I've seen no evidence of this.

What I HAVE seen is that VellMori thinks sexual abuse is bad. Now, why would this lead to a firing? The short answer is that a bunch of violent incels, one of which was literally dressed as a clown, came knocking at their office doors.

See, Limbus Company has a "beach" event coming up. In this event, we are getting a water themed outfit for two of the characters, one male and one female. For Sinclair, the guy, he has been given an EXTREMELY slutty mechanic's outfit. For Ishmael, the woman, she has been given a very skintight wet suit outfit. Now, I wanna take care to note that VellMori is the CG artist - she had no hand in these designs, a man made them. I would also like to mention that both outfit designs are amazing, and I will be including them at the end of this post for reference.

Now, upon revealing the wet suit design for Ishmael, a bunch of whiny incels on what is basically Korean 4chan got upset that Ishmael, instead of being in a bikini as is usual for gacha games, was wearing a wet suit. Nevermind that the designs in Limbus Company have always been conservative and that the Sinclair design is the most skin we've ever seen and it's just an open shirt. Again, the wet suit is still super revealing, it's skin tight and this is literally the first design of her that doesn't make her look flat chested. They're not rioting over the lack of sex appeal, they're specifically mad that it's not a bikini.

The incels come to the conclusion that the lack of any skin being shown on Ishmael's outfit is a result of evil feminism. No, I'm not exaggerating. They initially begin harassing the artist who is actually responsible for drawing the outfits, but upon learning that he is a man, set their sights on VellMori because she's a woman, and being an artist is good enough I guess. What they do from here is they start digging and digging and digging on VellMori's twitter, making use of archived pages because many of the "offensive" tweets had been deleted.

I'd like to take a moment to point out that VellMori never actually tweeted anything out here - it was all retweets from a 4-6 year old archive, and retweets that have been long deleted. These retweets contain such transgressive statements as "I'm sick of misogyny" and "If being against patriarchy makes me antisocial, then so be it" and just... mirroring back to men what those men were saying to women. Some people would like to have you think she was calling for death to all men. She wasn't. She ALSO retweeted all this stuff while she was a teenager and well before she worked for Project Moon.

Nonetheless, the incels had decided that feminism was the reason Ishmael had a wet suit and not a bikini and they had found a feminist working for Project Moon. It is at this point that we must take a brief detour and talk about Library of Ruina, Project Moon's previous game.

See, in Library of Ruina, one of the protagonists, Angela, has this whole arc about escaping her abuser and becoming a human. Yes, she is literally a robot, but Project Moon isn't exactly a stranger to symbolism in their stories and a feminist reading of Angela is ridiculously easy. The main antagonist in Library of Ruina is Argalia, the Blue Reverberation, and his crew is called the Reverberation Ensemble. Every member of the Reverberation Ensemble is a violent lunatic who each want to reinforce the status quo in their own unique shitty way. In addition to this, typically in order to reach the titular Library, you would need to be invited. The Reverb Ensemble are the "uninvited guests", the ones who managed to reach the Library and knock down the door without an invite.

Why am I talking about this? Well, the incels decided to start calling themselves the Reverb Ensemble, and referring to each other using names of the Reverb Ensemble members such as Pluto, Elena, and Oswald. Having taken on the moniker of the uninvited guests, they then showed up to Project Moon's office to protest. Over the lack of a bikini. Now, remember how I mentioned someone was dressed up as a clown? One of the Reverb Ensemble members, Oswald, is a clown with an extremely tenuous grip on reality. So much so, that his ideal world is one in which there is no meaning whatsoever. That is the character they chose to dress up as. This is either a case of extreme self awareness or extreme self unawareness.

Eventually, the incels were let into the office possibly as a form of damage mitigation to prevent the crowd of protestors from getting any bigger. This was a questionable decision, but they had a group of violent incels at their doorstep either way, and I don't exactly have full details on this. Regardless, Project Moon had on their hands a group of violent protesting incels, who they felt compelled to let into the building, and who had demands including the firing of their feminist employee. (7/28 update: a translation of the transcript posted to DCInside has surfaced. Please check the reblogs for it. Project Moon was verifiably threatened.)

So while "Project Moon fired a woman for being a feminist" isn't inaccurate it also isn't the full picture. More appropriately, it'd be "Project Moon fired a woman because a group of violent incels who weren't satisfied with a form fitting wet suit instead of a bikini showed up to their office demanding that an artist who did not make the wet suit design be fired because she retweeted some feminist stuff 5 years ago while she was a teenager".

I'm not happy with this. None of this is good. People are allowed to be feminists, and Project Moon stories have always presented progressive ideas to anyone with half a brain to do some basic literary analysis. I can understand why they would cave to the demands of people who were threatening them and showed up to their actual place of work, but at the same time, that's someone's livelihood gone and proof that in the future, the same sorts of people can use the same sorts of tactics to bully Project Moon into doing whatever they want. All of this sucks.

For those who would like to see the retweets in question alongside translations: https://twitter.com/danghwangs/status/1683884236888223744

And for people who would like reference as to what the artworks these incels were up in arms about, Ishmael in the wet suit and Sinclair in the mechanic's outfit.

[luxsky]

Acotar characters; "you're staring" "you're beautiful"

Summary: ACOTAR characters + Twitter trend "you're staring" "you're beautiful"

Warnings: Moderately inaccurate political economy information, I think that's it (let me know if I missed anything)

Author's Note: Okay, I had a lot of fun writing this, hope you enjoy!

Rhysand

Ruling a court comes with various responsibilities, including dealing with accounting. Deciding how much money goes into each aspect, where there will be investments or cuts, handling the demand for buying and selling prices, export profits, and import expenses – these are the matters a High Lord has to deal with.

And Rhysand hates it; he dislikes mathematics, numbers, and especially thinking about all the headaches that economics brings him. That's why, when we got married and he made me his High Lady to reign by his side, I volunteered to handle that part – the part he disliked but I enjoyed.

So, while Rhysand deals with the political aspects that don't interest me, I handle the ones that don't interest him. We often work together, despite having separate offices. We also have a shared one because, even though we sometimes prefer working alone, most of the time, we choose to work together, not only to spend time together but also to enjoy each other's company and deal with any situation requiring the other's opinion.

"I think we should invest more in the export of artistic materials," I say to him, standing on the plush rug in the office, papers scattered on the floor from where I was previously sitting. I've analyzed these two specific papers in my hands for several minutes, pacing back and forth until reaching this conclusion.

"Well, we could do that, but the demand would increase, and we'd have to invest in structures for mass production of materials," he murmurs in response, not lifting his head from his stack of papers, filled mostly with reports from spies and armies.

"Urgh, okay, let me look into that," I crouch down, sitting on my heels as I shuffle through the scattered papers on the floor, searching for specific ones.

I make a satisfied noise when I find what I need, also grabbing a pen and starting to scribble some calculations and values on a blank sheet. Information here, consequences there, trying to find the best way to expand the Night Court's export market.

Rhys's pen stops, and I glimpse a movement from the corner of my eye, but I'm too focused on what I'm writing. I search for another paper, Mother, I should start organizing myself better. I lean to reach it, using the values there to compare with the ones I noted down, another paper comes to my hand, and my head is filled with numbers, values, and variations.

At some point, my concentration begins to wane because I feel eyes piercing my side. Perhaps my partner is trying to hint that my murmurs are bothering him, or maybe he wants to say something and is waiting for the right moment.

I put the papers back on the floor and look at him. Contrary to what I imagined, he's leaning back in his chair, a smirk on his lips, and his arms crossed over his chest. He doesn't look away or say anything, so I make a face and go back to shuffling my papers, still feeling the burn of his gaze on me.

"Rhysand, love, you're staring," I murmur, starting to stack the papers I had spread all over the floor, attempting a fake organization. I hear the sound of his chair scraping on the floor, and I look up to see him in front of me, crouching to be at the same height as me.

The smile on his face grew. "You're beautiful, dear, especially when dealing with all this math," he murmurs, and his hands cup my cheeks, his thumb caressing my face.

"Well, someone has to do the hard work, don't they?" I reply playfully, mirroring his smile. Rhysand leans in, kissing my lips, then my nose, forehead, and finally my cheeks. He continues planting various kisses all over my face, and I'm laughing by the end when he pulls away, looking at me with a loving gaze.

My laughter slowly fades, but the smile remains on my face. "You're my clever and beautiful little thing, dear," he murmurs, planting a final, very slow kiss on my forehead.

Cassian

Waking up early is one of the things highlighted on my list of things I hate and prefer not to do. My routine has always been organized with the goal of waking up as late as possible without disrupting my responsibilities.

And this routine worked perfectly until Cassian and I started living together, and he decided that my routine was somewhat unhealthy, insisting that I should start the day with him. The problem is, my beloved partner has a bizarre predisposition to wake up very easily before the sun even thinks about rising. And he doesn't rest until he wakes me up too.

"Come on, babe, we still need to have breakfast before we start training," his voice muffled as my face is buried under two pillows and protected by a thick blanket. "If you don't get up soon, we'll be late."

"Cassian, how could we be late if the sun hasn't even woken up yet?" Irritation in my voice is palpable, but perhaps the pillows somehow contained that annoyance in their feathers because the Illyrian has the audacity to laugh, a loud laughter that comes from the depths of his chest.

Before I could curse him with every name I know, my blanket is abruptly pulled off my body. As I cling to the pillows, trying to prevent him from taking them away, I feel the mattress shifting and his weight being placed on me. Peeking under the pillow, his forearms are bracing on either side of my body, preventing his entire weight from resting on me. His wings are spread, and a few strands of his hair escape from the bun.

"Are you going to get up, or do I have to take these pillows away too?" His voice is pure amusement, and I'm sure he's wearing that typical smirk of his.

With a very dissatisfied sigh, I push the pillows up, removing them from my face. As I suspected, his smile is evident on his lips, Cassian's face hovering above mine, very close.

I make a face and poke his cheek with my finger. "You really have no fear of death, do you?" Despite my words, the irritation of being woken up so early is set aside for a moment. Cassian's face so close to mine erases any resentment I could have for him being a morning person.

"Not when it's this beautiful," his hand moves, pushing strands of hair away from my face, his features softening. His eyes travel across the expanse of my face, and he's so focused on tracing the contours of my cheeks with his finger that he doesn't realize he's been doing it for a few minutes.

"You're staring, General," I murmur, a playful smile forming on my lips as I see his eyes darken with the title used. His finger doesn't stop caressing my cheek, but his face descends a bit, his lips hovering a few inches from mine.

He whispers to me, his breath mixing with mine, "With a sight like this? You can't blame me." He doesn't wait a second after finishing the sentence to press our lips together, a warm and desire-filled kiss.

My hands grab his hair, and the bun easily unravels as I grip the strands, his mouth dancing over mine as our tongues connect and dance. When he breaks the kiss, it's only because we need to breathe, but he plants soft and quick kisses while stabilizing his breath, then descending and leaving a trail of wet kisses on my neck.

I bring his face up, looking into his eyes, the previous amusement replaced by lust. My arched eyebrow and mischievous smile draw his eyes back to my lips. Before he can kiss me again, I speak.

"I thought we were going to be late for training if I didn't get up soon." The amusement in my voice prompts an eye roll from him in response.

"Screw the training; my only commitment now is with your body." And his lips resume leaving trails of kisses, descending from my neck to my collarbone. Laughter escapes me as his wife reverberates throughout the room, Cassian focusing on kissing me everywhere.

Azriel

Azriel's lips passionately met mine, his hands gripping my waist, pulling me closer. I'm a complete mess; one of my hands supports me on his arm, while the other grabs his hair. My feet barely touch the ground, striving for height to reach his lips. His warm mouth against mine, our tongues entwining, he pulls back just enough to capture my lower lip between his teeth, causing delightful shivers.

His hand moves up to my neck; his thumb rests on my chin, tilting my face upward. His lips trail down, planting a kiss on my jaw and then on my neck. He lightly bites and kisses the spot that never fails to elicit sighs from me.

As he pulls away, I open my eyes, meeting his brown, sparkling eyes admiring my face. His hands cup my cheeks, a small smile playing on his lips. My lip throbs, feeling swollen, yet Azriel gazes at me with such devotion that all I can do is smile back, my heart racing as if it's the first time he's touched me this way. It isn't, but my body seems to forget that in the moment.

Azriel continues watching me, but my attention is momentarily diverted as a bright flash catches my peripheral vision. I turn my head, his hand moving from my cheek to hold mine as I observe stars falling from the sky. They start timidly, but as seconds pass, more appear, the sky glowing with the trails they leave behind.

I love this. I love the starfall, sharing the moment with my partner, and more than that, I love how he still hasn't taken his eyes off me, even though the brilliant sky is far more beautiful and interesting to watch.

"You're staring," I murmur, my eyes still fixed on the sky. Azriel wraps his arms around my shoulders from behind, his wings blocking the wind around us. He places a gentle kiss on the top of my head, then lowers his lips to my ear, whispering in response.

"You're so beautiful; it's hard not to look, my love." His voice in that tone is incredibly sensual, and the shadows dancing on my arms as I hold onto his bring a delightful sensation.

I don't respond with words; instead, I send all the love and warmth I can through the golden bond that connects us. My eyes remain fixed on the stars detaching from the sky above us, but I'm sure he's still trying to study any detail he hasn't memorized yet, even with our closeness.

Feyre

The sun warming my skin is a very welcome sensation, the fabric of the sheet that Feyre and I spread on the grass earlier is a bit disheveled, but I don't mind.

The comfortable silence we're in is filled with occasional sounds of pages turning in my book and the strokes Freyre makes on her canvas. I lie on my stomach, reading the new suspense novel my lovely partner gifted me a few days ago. The story is at a particularly tense point, a crucial revelation is imminent, and I can feel it.

This may have been one of the best ideas Feyre had in the last month. She was recently inspired to paint landscapes and planned an outdoor day. With all the shared love, she asked if I wanted to accompany her. We didn't go far, choosing a spot near the Sidra River. We arrived in the early afternoon and planned to stay until the sun gave way to the moon.

Despite wanting to continue reading, Feyre's gaze distracts me. Giving up on reading, I sit up, looking at her. From my angle, I can't see what she's painting very well, but the paints are still scattered around us, and she's still holding the brush, so I deduce she hasn't finished the painting.

"Baby, you're staring," I stretch, trying to see what she's painting, curious to see her progress, but she quickly pulls the canvas away from my view. The warmth that fills her cheeks as she looks away from me gives me a hint as to why she was staring at me.

A mischievous smile forms on my lips. I lean forward, innocently running the tip of my nail on her bare leg. "You know, when you said you wanted to paint the landscape, I didn't think you were referring to me."

She chuckles at the teasing, rolling her eyes as she mumbles something. She places the canvas in one of the paints, away from my sight, and turns to me, her hand reaching to grab mine. Her finger is smeared with paint, and as she runs it over me, I get stained with the hue she was using, but I don't complain.

"You're too beautiful; it's hard to capture you in a painting," she confesses to me. Her brown eyes meet mine, her freckles reflecting the sunlight and seeming to glow. It's ironic for Feyre to say this about me; the beauty she carries is otherworldly, yet I am the one challenging to be captured in paints.

"Pfft, you can turn anything into the most beautiful art, Fey," I roll my eyes at her, her hand drawing a pattern on mine gently. "But I can be your muse whenever you want. I don't mind how long it takes for you to finish your painting."

She smiles at my response. Her other hand, which previously held the brush, holds my face tenderly, and she stares at me for a few more seconds in silence, studying and analyzing my face, imprinting the details with her eyes and fingertips. When she finishes, she goes back to grab the canvas and the brush, speaking excitedly.

"Alright then, get into a comfortable position. This will probably take some time," she starts mixing colors and dipping them into the brush as I lean back, sitting in a more comfortable way.

When she resumes painting, I'm still laughing, and as the sun sets, giving way to the moon, she remains focused, alternating her gaze between me and the canvas, until she completes her masterpiece.

Nesta

In this, Nesta and I have developed a small tradition in our relationship. At least once a month, we go to any bookstore we choose at the moment, even if we don't plan to buy any books or have only bought a few days ago. We simply go, wander around the store, and talk – sometimes we browse through books on the shelves, other times we just observe. It doesn't matter much what we do in the bookstore; we just go.

That's why the day after I return from a political trip to the Day Court, Nesta wakes me up early. We have breakfast together, then leisurely stroll to a new bookstore that opened while I was away. The place is beautiful and cozy, the smell of books is relaxing, and Nesta's hand in mine brings a sense of comfort. We are almost at the back of the bookstore, in the erotic books section, when one of the covers catches my attention.

"Oh! Helion had this book in his library; I read it while I was there." I release Nesta's hand to pick up the book. The cover is as discreet as the title; at first glance, nothing would indicate the content inside this book, except for the category it belongs to.

I flip through the book, reading some random passages and recalling the story. A laugh escapes my throat as I turn to Nesta and show her one of the excerpts. "Look at this."

Nesta's eyebrow arches as she reads the passage I showed her. A quieter laugh, compared to mine, also escapes her, and her eyes meet mine as she says, "Well, it's a... uninteresting scene."

I nod, agreeing with her, and turn back to the shelf, running my finger over the covers. "I really didn't expect that while reading, although it makes sense when compared to the rest of the story." Then I briefly start recounting the story – how the main couple faced various challenges when together but always had a significant tension between them.

I pick up another book, turning the cover and reading its summary. It seems interesting. "Look, Nes, it's from that new author you were interested in. The story sounds good; it's about..."

When I turn to show her the book I found, she still has the previous book in her hands, open to the page I handed her. Her eyes stare at me with an affectionate gaze, causing my cheeks to flush with the attention she gives me, and I release a nervous giggle.

"Darling, you're staring at me," I murmur, shyness covering my voice. This seems to snap Nesta out of the trance she was in because she blinks, very slowly, and a mischievous smile forms on her lips – a smile that sends shivers down my spine.

She closes the book in her hands, takes the one in mine, and puts both back on the shelf, pulling me close to her. "You look too beautiful when you talk about the books you like," she murmurs, her lips nearing mine.

Her eyes burn with mischief, her hand moves up to my nape, pulling me closer, our lips inches apart. "Tell me more about the book, about all the books you read while you were away," her lips meet mine in the next moment.

Morrigan

Morrigan's dissatisfied murmurs filled my ears as I watched her argue with herself through the vanity mirror about the three dresses scattered on the bed. Smiling at her indecision, I resumed applying makeup, finishing the products on my eyes and cheeks, adding color and life to my face.

Digging into Mor's vanity drawer, I searched for a lipstick to complement the outfit I chose for the night. Once I found the perfect shade, I glanced back at the mirror.

Swiftly applying the lipstick, I examined my face—it was perfect and would be even more so when I put on the golden earring that matched Mor's. With that thought, I sought her reflection and found her staring at me through the mirror with a puzzled look, still undecided on her choice. Turning to face her, still seated on the stool, I raised my eyebrows at her pout, and she scrutinized me with puppy-dog eyes.

"You're staring, babe," I stood up, approaching the bed with the intention of helping her choose her outfit but was interrupted when she pulled me close, pressing her body against mine. Her eyes descended to the lips I had just painted, now adorned with a mischievous smile.

"You're beautiful; I can't help but look," I playfully rolled my eyes, accustomed to her flattery.

She brushed a strand of my hair back, clearing it from my face, and leaned forward, sealing our lips. I got lost in the kiss, engulfed in the passion she radiated. Our mouths moved in harmony; my hand held her face, preventing her from pulling away. We only broke the kiss because we needed air. As her lips moved far enough from mine for coherent thought, I noticed the color on hers.

She furrowed her brows, confused by my exasperated sigh. When I quickly distanced myself and walked back to the vanity, she became even more perplexed. Until I looked at myself in the mirror and realized the chaos my face had become—lipstick smeared everywhere, ruining the makeup I had done.

I groaned and turned to her, attempting to hide a laugh behind her fist, "Morrigan," I whined, "now I have to clean up and redo it."

She approached again, her hands running up my arms and stopping at the base of my neck, her fingertips playing with my hair. "Well, at least I'll have more time to decide what to wear," she chuckled loudly as I huffed indignantly.

[ribena59p]

I've seen a lot of people try to paint Orcatstra / Maowzarts as problematic, and I believe much of it stems from misinformation or misunderstandings, often because it's being spread through word of mouth. I'm not making this post because Orcatstra asked me to—because they didn’t. No one is forcing me to write this; I'm doing it of my own free will. I really hope that #orcatstrahaters will take the time to read this carefully before dismissing it just because Orcatstra is my friend. I'm writing this to clear up the misinformation surrounding them, as I’ve seen people unfairly group them with genuinely problematic figures like Mawthe (who, by the way, draws necro art!!!).

Yes, there have been times when Orcatstra could have handled situations better (I'll try to keep my personal opinions on those situations brief), but let’s not forget—they’re 17! Some people seem to think that just because they’ll be 18 in a few months, they’re suddenly supposed to be all-knowing. Meanwhile, others are excusing or even babying older individuals like Criminalx3 and Parsnipling, both of whom, to my knowledge, are in their twenties! THEY should know better.

(Because someone asked) I bring up Parsnipling because they were called out for posting a fanfic where Dave from DSAF had animal genitalia (a cloaca). They then accused me of being the reason people sent them death threats, even though all I did was share a thread showing what they had posted. I didn’t even tell anyone to block them. Parsnipling lied to me, claiming that the tags with "cloaca" were meant as jokes. Afterward, they left Twitter (due to death threats, unfortunately) and went back to Tumblr, where they posted about how fandoms used to be spaces for "freaks." Take that as you will.

(I’m not debating the morality of referring to non-human genitalia with animal terms. Personally, I find it strange, which is why I made the thread in the first place—to draw attention to it. People are free to come to their own conclusions and decide whether to block or avoid interacting with them as they see fit.)

This post isn’t made to say you can’t..not Like orcatstra as a person..cus u can…everyone can dislike anyone for any reason just to reiterate this is just made to clear up misinfo

I exclusively use they/them pronouns for Orcatstra in this post specifically so that people don’t get confused about who I’m referring to, but please keep in mind when discussing them that they use any pronouns (besides from she).

The main points for why people deem orcatstra as problematic (that I’ve seen) are:

* Running a 15 year old off of their own tumblr blog

* Accusing a rape victim of liking and supporting rape + accusing the same person of being a groomer

* Comparing phone x Jack to slave x slave owner

* Blocking people for shipping things that they don’t like

I’ll be going through these one by one and explaining what happened to my knowledge.

Running a 15 year old off of their own tumblr blog

The 15-year-old in question ran a DSAF confessions account, where they posted anonymous confessions from people within the DSAF community. These confessions were typically related to DSAF topics.

I've seen people claim that Orcatstra harassed this person because their blog posted confessions about people disliking Davesport. However, that's completely inaccurate—Orcatstra doesn't, and never did, care if people dislike Davesport, so that part of the accusation is blatantly false.

(This is Orcatstras own words)

“I didn’t like harass them to the point they had to quit at most I made like 2 posts publicly and kept the rest of my disdain of a confessions account private”

“and I only disliked them 1) bc they’re a confess account which is inherently made to post and stir up drama like what. and 2) they DID post stuff that would cause drama so I was like dawg wtf”

“and then ppl from that blog started harassing ME 😭😭😭IN MY ANON ASKS 😭😭”

“Not (the 15 year old) I think but just ppl who followed the blog or were one of the “anons””

I believe some people are upset because Orcatstra was venting about the account on their private account, but I’m not really sure why... They're mad about that? Orcatstra’s private account only has about 50 followers, and most of those are people who follow with both their main and private accounts.

“I also think ppl were mad because I made a (admittedly dramatic) post talking about why I didn’t like the confessions account ,, but again from what I remember the points were just the og mod posting stuff that’s clearly gonna stir the pot YKWIM ..”

“and I only made that post because someone asked & for some reason you can’t comment pictures on tumblr which I think is quite stupid ☝️”

Accusing a rape victim of liking and supporting rape

(I do not know this persons pronouns so I will be referring to them with they/them pronouns, if they do not use these pronouns please tell me and I will edit this section to display the correct pronouns)

I believe the person being referred to is Cr1minalc1minalcr1minal, who has read and bookmarked non-con fanfics on AO3. Non-con stands for non-consensual, which is essentially the definition of rape. Orcatstra believes that if someone regularly consumes this type of content, it’s reasonable to assume they enjoy reading it. However, Orcatstra has never claimed that Criminalx3 supports rape.

“OH WAIT is it ok if i add that when i did point out the fanfic thing i genuinely was not aware at the time that guy was a victim, ..i dont rlly go on his acc bc i blocked him for my well being (i think thats the right way to use the phrase) … and i didnt/dont wanna be super creepy and stalk him. .. U CATCH MY DRIFT ..”

+ accusing the same person of being a groomer

(This is Orcatstras own words)

“So .. criminal ... I got this info from oomf so keep that in mind, but l've been told that he mains posts nsfw and encourages minors to consume nstw media and to my knowledge hangs out with one specific minor who changed ever since they became friends or something like that I NEVER! Explicitly said anyone was a groomer! ☝️ but it is very weird to see someone do that as an adult”

So they’re (minor and criminal) writing together but it’s not smut

“it’s not but like for a brief second we (orcatstra and oomf) were worried it was because. yk. that seems to mainly be what that guy makes 😓😓😓 (from what I’ve gathered)”

“And then I had to delete my replies bc I was replying on main and someone on tumblr (who does not follow (*oomfs) priv) took the links of my replies so I was like ‘erm what the freak this is kinda supposed to be a private convo’ and deleted them”

From what I understand, Orcatstra was having a conversation on their main account with someone on their private account, and they were discussing something about Criminalx3 that they believed to be true. However, it turned out not to be accurate. Unfortunately, someone on Tumblr took this conversation out of context and framed it as if Orcatstra was accusing Criminalx3 of being a groomer.

I don’t believe that Orcatstra ever made a public post stating that criminal was a groomer.

(I tried looking, but I may be wrong, feel free to correct me and I’ll edit this section)

Comparing phone x Jack to slave x slave owner

I believe this was stated in a now private youtube video where Orcatstra ranks dsaf ships, it may also be said in some tweets.

By definition, the DSAF 3 phone guys are slaves, regardless of the route. They are legally owned by Jack and work without pay. I understand that "slave" is a very strong and impactful word, which is why I'm personally hesitant to use it, but by definition, that’s what they are. You literally see Jack buying Harry in the DSAF 3 intro tapes. I've also seen people try to defend this by saying, "Well, Jack can be nice to them!"—as if that somehow erases the fact that he still owns them.

Blocking people for shipping things that they don’t like

There's nothing wrong with blocking people, even for no particular reason. It can be a little upsetting to get blocked over a post about a ship, but try not to take it personally—it’s just the internet. Unless you were doing something genuinely awful, Orcatstra probably blocked you simply because they didn’t want to see a ship they don’t like. They're just curating their online experience, which is totally normal.

And yes, people are bringing this up as an actual point against them.

I know that many people who dislike Orcatstra also dislike me for being their friend and sharing similar opinions. However, if you haven’t blocked me, please share this with others who might be misinformed.

There have been additional things added on by other people in reblogs if you would like to hear their side of the story.

I am more than happy to engage in neutral and respectful discussions, but I will not be willing to continue if you begin the conversation by being extremely rude or using offensive language. In any other case, I’m fully open to a constructive exchange of ideas, thank you.

[grapebritain]

Jax is not an npc

I've seen the idea of Jax being an npc being floated around after ep2's release, which while i ADORE this idea in concept (as some parts of it explain certain parts of his character )that doesn't mean that this is the answer as to why Jax is the way he is.

Jax is a self absorbed, sarcastic, and non-serious character who seems to know far more than he actually should so far with what we've seen. He is the only human who has broke the forth wall , not just once, but twice, and has a very performative 'vibe' to him. Like he's on some sort of stage a bit like Cain does. Due to this, and with the plot of episode 2, people have drew the conclusion that this MUST mean Jax is an npc which, eventho it is deffo plausible , there are several reasons why i do not think this is the case, and people are trying to jump to conclusion too quickly to find an explanation to these questions.

1.Pop culture reference

Jax in episode 2 makes an offhaded joke about Charlie and the chocolate factory, a popular piece of media that most people do know about. It seems pretty insignificant but boy is this a really important detail.

With the recent release of other teasers of the next episodes that are yet to come, in terms of copyrighted media showing up in the game, we can see that Cain INTENTIONALLY makes off branded versions of popular parts of our world such as McDonalds and other fast food brands

So for Jax to make a pop culture references, the names would likely have to be inaccurate from the actual piece of media, being...well...off branded versions of them. The fact he literally uses the accurate name "Augustus Gloop" adding an "ed" on the end for comedic effect shows that he HAS seen or heard of the actual piece of media, which would be impossible if he was an npc.

furthermore, say even the offbranded version was due to glitch themselves not being able to use actual brands in the show visually (which is also highly likely), the implication that Cain made an ai that was aware of these sorts of things is almost nonsensical considering that gummigoo didn't know anything outside of the established plot he needed to serve his in game purpose. When another npc doesn't even have a visual memory of his own mother, something closely linked to the established motive of an npc, why would Cain give an ncp knowledge of random pop culture reference for no reason ?

i would say this is a pretty strong point to put the argument forward Jax is not an npc.

2.NPC's immersive feature

this point is a little less strong, but is still a very important one to make.

I think people are forgetting that Gummigoo is intentionally meant to be far more immersive compared to pervious ai. We are going on the basis of Jax being an ncp , based on how intelligent Gummigoo is, which with the timeline we have, would not exactly work out that way.

Obviously, Cain establishing that the ai SHOULD be more immersive, doesn't mean it will be, but if we take into context the episode prior, it does actually seem to be somewhat more advanced in a way than it wasn't before, dialogue being a bit less generic and more fluid . With the consideration this is only Pomni's second adventure, and the ai already seemingly at least, being far better than the last, that could imply that going back a couple of adventures before Pomnis arrival , this ai was much more primitive.

Looking at when Jax arrived could give us some idea of how good the ai was at the time, and with gooseworx establishing jax arriving before zooble (who already seems to have grumpily adjusted to the world) , i would imagine that Jax, if he was an npc, would be far less advanced then he currently is and much more one dimensional as a character to hint at him being an npc....which brings me onto my next point.

3."Jax is violent and impulsive " argument

I've seen the occasional argument that Jax being violent and impulsive could be an argument for him being an npc. He realized he has no purpose, so started being violent and uncaring of the world around him, but this argument completely disregards the fact that...the human characters kind of have that 'reality shattering' moment too. Pomni does, which is why she can relate in the first place to Gummigoo.

All of the human characters have to come to the scary realization that, they are stuck here. Stuck in a fake world. Most of the characters draw closer to each other people that are real because of this as some form of comfort such as Pomni and Ragatha, but Jax is own person, and different people react differently to different situations. Jax just happens to react in a rather emotionally distanced way to the seriousness of the situation.

He seems to be the most emotionally immature character, so it makes complete sense as to why he would react in an immature manner. Not to mention he is the youngest out of all the cast, and may have been even younger when entering the digital circus.

When an emotionally immature, impulsive , frankly not very morally amazing person is told they can basically do whatever they like with little to no repercussions to their actions, what are they going to do? Cause chaos of course, which is exactly what Jax does.

he even more so causes chaos by breaking one of the only rules he's can't break, the whole keeping everything family friendly.

This seems to be his way of coping with the situation and seriousness at hand, brushing it aside and acting impulsively instead because he knows full well he couldn't do this in the real world, it also keep him emotionally distant from everyone else, which seems to be an intentional move by him as he doesn't go to Kaufmo's funeral despite briefly seeming upset about the matter.

He cares in his own weird way, but he refuses to show that to the rest of the cast (unimportant but i wanna add as well, it is common for men to be emotionally closed off due to the idea vulnerability for men esp is a bad thing, which ofc it is not ).

Which also builds up off my pervious point that despite his exterior, Jax isn't one dimensional or flat as a character, which if he was an old ai npc he probably would be 1d, and we wouldn't have this small moment of slight care from him, despite still trying to stay distant.

Final thoughts

So what about the forth wall breaking? him owning keys to all the rooms? Well quite honestly, i don't think we know enough about him or anyone to fully know why Jax is the only one to do this. It could be for some deep lore meaning, or it could be simply he is the comic relief character so is the one to do this more consistently than the rest.

Personally, i DO think it's something deeper, what that deeper thing is yet is something i'm sure will be explored in future episodes, but rn, i think jumping at the first thing is not an amazing idea (eventho it is a super interesting and exciting one).

Just thought i'd share my feelings as this is the only theory i've seen around rn abt my fav stupid purple bunny.

[galacticlamps]

I don't want to get too caught up on semantics but I have to say I really feel like it's an unfair reading of the situation to call what Charles does in the Staircase Scene a "rejection."

I've already talked about how I think that scene's strength lies in the act of telling itself and Edwin's confession as the conclusion of his self-discovery arc. And I understand how the fact that that arc involved things like sexuality & attraction left it open to being viewed under a sort of romance-plot-specific lens, but evaluating the whole thing on that criteria still feels like a misrepresentation.

I don't think Edwin is saying "Love me" in that scene. Maybe he would've been asking for that, if this had all happened under different circumstances - and sure, generally, he'd presumably like that to happen - but it'd still be a kind of insane request for him to make right as he's being literally rescued from hell. (Especially since, even though the audience & Charles can both see the rescue as so in-character we might take it for granted, Edwin clearly didn't, if his consistently surprised confused & appalled reactions to Charles being there are anything to go by). I think he's feeling very loved already at that point, and I have a hard time believing desperation to simply have that reiterated is what drove him to speak up at such an inopportune moment.

I think what he's really saying there is "Hear me" - and as a listener and a confidant, Charles does anything but reject him. Maybe it's splitting hairs a bit, but if the distinction between "please don't turn me down" and "please understand the person in front of you" matters anywhere, it's in relation to Charles' response because he is so accepting of the confession as a confession. Not only does he take what Edwin tells him well, despite it being the sort of thing that might rock the foundation of the most important relationship in his existence, he also accepts the fact that Edwin is in such a vulnerable and worked up state that he has to do it right now despite it endangering them both. Charles would, truthfully, be totally justified in mostly ignoring it or passing over it quickly and inconclusively, insisting that this wasn't the time or place - but instead everything he says and does in that scene is geared toward giving Edwin's announcement the attention & understanding he needs so badly - and that includes responding with honesty about his own feelings, even if they might not otherwise be exactly what you'd want to hear after declaring your love for someone. Charles takes his time (perhaps foolishly, but certainly necessarily) and gives Edwin a response that is warm and familiar, while also being kind, affectionate, open, serious, and above all correspondingly worthy of the weight of the thing Edwin has just entrusted him with. That seems an awful lot to pass over simply because he doesn't also happen to be in love with him too.

Edwin's confession is so not a come-on that whether or not Charles reciprocates the romantic element is, at best, secondary to his overall reaction, and using that piece of it to call the whole thing a rejection feels like a very inaccurate shorthand to get in the habit of using as a summary of his role in the scene.

[dani-says-stuff]

Two Skeptics And A Believer Walk Into A Haunted Room...

❥ Back to the Control Center

❥ I'm so so so sorry for the shitty and abrupt ending on this one, I just got bored and kiiinda ran out of ideas on where to take the last 20 or so minutes of the video... who knows I might make a pt. 2 and finish the video at some point if I can think of something to add

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

Tommyinnit x fem!reader

Summary: Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke right? But, it just so happens to be a very accurate description of you, Tommy, and Jack entering the Ram Inn for your guest appearance on the Sam and Colby youtube channel

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: creepy stuff, hauntings, demons, language, probably an inaccurate spirit box session, inconsistent capitalization, shitty writing.. this is definately not one of my better ones

Dialogue Key:

Y/N

Tommy

Jack

Sam

Colby

James, the tour guide

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

The group of you began in a courtyard of the Ram Inn, Jack to your right and Tommy to your left while Sam and Colby stood before you.

Tom had originally just asked Jack to come with him for the video, assuming you'd want nothing to do with it after how annoyed you seemed during the entire 'uncle nasty' situation. He quickly realized his mistake when you followed him around the apartment for an hour begging him to ask Sam and Colby if you could come along. 

"And what about you?" Sam asked, eyes trained on you.

Jack had finished telling the story of his experience on stream and Tom declared his adamancy that ghosts aren't real, but you'd yet to speak. 

"Oh I believe 100%" you spoke with a smile, completely ignoring your boyfriend perched beside you staring at you as if you were insane, "I've always wanted to try something like this, I just couldn't justify spending all the money on equipment."

"Yeah" Sam drawled out scratching the back of his neck, "it does get a bit expensive." 

"Exactly!" you chirped, gesturing to the two older boys before you, "but since you already have it... now I get to do it free of charge!"

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

You quickly noticed, that despite his insistence that everything was fine, Tom was starting to get jumpier than normal inside the building.

Usually, whenever a camera is around, your boyfriend became a hyper-sugar-high-nighmare that would be bouncing off the walls and jumping all over the place. Now, however, it seemed he barely registered the camera being on at all.

Instead, he seemed dazed, taking special care to analyze every corner of the room and register every individual item placed in the general area. If you didn't know about the demons that were said to call this place their home, you'd say the scariest thing was the way Tom was acting. 

The guide soon gathered the group in the center of the room to begin the tour, "There's two main demons, One's an incubus and one's a succubus. John, who owned the building, he was attacked by them quite a lot."

You closed your eyes, lowering your head slightly in embarrassment for what was to come. You'd been dating Tom long enough to know exactly where his mind was at.

"So was he like... into demon..." 

You didn't expect that though. 

"Why would you ask that?" you hissed slapping his shoulder, before looking back to your guide, "was he though? I am kinda curious now."

Jack mumbled, shaking his head similar to that of a parent watching their kids doing something they shouldn't, "Children."

"No." James responded, drawing out his answer as if deliberating in his mind, "No, no-no."

Tommy looked down at you right as you looked up at him. The both of you stared at each other for all of two seconds before nodding in conclusion. 

"Yeah-"

"-he definitely did."

As the rest of the group continued talking over the specifics of the demons in the Inn, it took all of your strength to keep from laughing at your boyfriend.

"So like" Tommy cut off the guide, "what are the boundaries sexually? like I'm not trying to be immature... this is just like really freaking me out-"

"Tom!" you gasped through laughter, "it's a demon! Love, I dont think it has boundaries."

The rest of the group began laughing, everyone but Tommy. 

"Well what about my boundaries!" he complained hands splayed across his chest, only making you laugh harder "Don't laugh at me! I'm being serious!"

James, the tour guide entered the conversation, "No, is not no."

Toms's facial expression dropped, one hand going for your wrist while the other continued gesturing out before him as he spoke, "I- Well, mate that's not how that works!"

By now, you were practically on the floor with laughter, the only thing keeping you up was your arm raised high above you in Tommy's grip. 

"They're a demon, I don't think they care."

"Well, I care!"

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

"This room by far is the most... decorated?" you spoke, looking around at all the creepy items placed around the room. 

"Yeah, it's like theyre trying to make this place scary" Sam agreed, looking down at a dusty mirror desplaying the words 'help me' at the back wall of the room. 

Jack took the singular chair in the room, while the rest of the group stayed standing, listening as the tour continued. 

Well, continued for all of a few minutes when a candle fell from the table behind where Jack sat. 

You jumped, grabbing onto Tommy, "I didn't like-"

You were swiftly cut off by a girl's voice coming from the window, "Nope. I really didn't like that."

The group began freaking out, Sam moving closer to investigate the noise and Tommy tugging your arm behind him, shuffling in front of you. Creating as much space from that general area and you as he could. 

"Hello?" he shouted, one arm holding you behind him and the other holding the Minecraft sword before him, "Hello? Can you check the window?"

Everyone began deliberating what was going on, trying to figure out an explanation for what was going on. By now, you were burrowing yourself into Tom's side, one of his arms securely wrapped around you, swinging the sword before the both of you as he tried to get the group to go check outside. 

Sam tried to bring up the candle, but Tommy had his mind set on figuring out what was going on. The candle could wait, but if there were people waiting outside messing with you all, they could easily leave at any second. 

However, after checking around several times, it became obvious that whatever you heard wasn't outside the hotel.

It had to have been inside.

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

You all decided to cut the tour short and begin the investigation due to the amount of stuff you all seemed to be experiencing.

So, you all began the night in the witch's room with the spirit box.

"Is there anything here that wants to talk to us?"

"Please just say Hi or something" Tommy spoke bouncing anxiously on his feet, "I'm really just not having a good time-"

Ooh

Sam pointed down at the box, a smile growing on his face "Was that just a hello?"

Jack, on the other hand, wasnt as easily convinced, "Eh... it was a very faint something."

"Can you tell us a name? or who you might be?"

After a few moments of silence, Tommy and Jack made up an impromptu rap for the ghosts, and despite a few other unintelligible noises, nothing else seemed to happen in the room. 

However, before leaving the room, you set up the REM pod on the bed just in case. 

"I just remembered something" Sam spoke up when the REM pod began to go off in response to Jack, "The witch only likes respect..."

"Oh, thats right!" Colby shouted, "That's why we got the offerings-" 

You whipped around, facing the tall raven-haired man behind you, eyebrows raised high, "I'm sorry... the what?"

"Yeah! The witch will only talk to people if she wants to. because like, if you're being disrespectful or too stupid she's like 'I don't wanna talk'"

You turned back, clicking your tongue and shrugging with fake sympathy as you faced Tommy. "You hear that?" you sighed, resting a hand on his shoulder, "Looks like we're gonna have to kick you out of this investigation."

Tommy sputtered looking around, "Wha- Why?" 

Jack stepped forward, knowing where you were going with this, "Yeah mate," he added shaking his head sorrowfully, "You may have to wait outside for this one."

 You and Jack looked at each other with a smirk, 

"Ya know," you continued, "to keep you from acting-"

"-too stupid"

"-Too stupid" 

Tommy looked at the both of you, mouth agape. "Common now, that was just mean."

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

For the first Estes method run of the night, Tommy volunteered to go under as you all investigated the first floor. The rest of you now stood huddled around him as he sat in the rocking chair with the headphones on. 

"Is there anybody here with us? you were just making the REM pod go off earlier"  

Get Down.

"Were we being disrespectful upstairs?"

Me and You. 

"Is anyone upstairs?"

I need you.

You furrowed your brows at that. Both Sam and Colby brought up the succubus, but neither directly asked the question, so you decided you would. 

"Like the succubus? O-or Incubus I guess? I dunno one of the demons?"

silence.

"You said you needed something? What do you need?" you asked again, but still received no response. 

You laughed a little to yourself, "Welp I guess it doesn't like me then." your eyes widened, "Actually, uh, ghosts, please do not confirm or deny that statement... I think I'd rather you be silent on that one, I don't really want to know." 

The rest of the group, except for Tommy obviously, laughed a little under their breath at your words before continuing the investigation. 

"Is there something evil here? something that's keeping you here?"

Going on. 

"Something evil going on"

"That makes sense" you agreed, "It's the most haunted place in England right?" you asked looking between the two, "It has to have had something evil going on at some point"

"Yeah" Colby nodded, "this place has had "Evil" for around 5,000 years." 

"We hear there's demons here, is that true?"

Earth Under.

"Like... buried?" you asked.

Jack nodded at your words, adding another question for the two boys, "Yeah, because a lot of shit was like, dug up here as well, right-"

Tunnel to the left.

"oh my god," you breathed out, "Isn't that where they dug up that grave?"

"Oh yeah!" Sam exclaimed running over into the next room, "this is where they found the tunnel that used to be a grave, which would've been-"

"-to my left."

The three of you scurried back into the room where Tommy and Colby stayed to continue talking to the ghosts.

"Are you talking about the tunnel in the other room? where did that lead to?"

no response. 

Just as you were about to ask a question, Tom yelped, quickly grabbing the headphones and ripping them off due to a low, loud, and deep voice suddenly coming through the speakers. 

next under, was Jack. 

"What's your purpose here ghost? What do you want?"

The child

You and Tommy both began freaking out at that while Sam and Colby stood to the side somewhat confused. 

"Everyone used to call me the child!" he yelled, a vice-like grip on your arm as he spoke to the other two and the camera, "Everyone would call me the child!"

"Woah... whats even weirder" Sam explained, "was the bones they found underneath here were a child's."

"Well, uh, that's good" your voice shook slightly, "that means it might not be referring to you then." 

"Do- do you mean tunnel child or- or Tom child?" 

no answer.

"ya know," you spoke nervously, "I kinda wanted to try, but now I'm not too sure." 

Yes. 

"oh no." you laughed, "I-uh, I didn't like that at all."

"Are you sure you do not want to try?" Sam asked, laughter in his tone, "I think they want you to"

Yes.

"Well..." you drawled, "I don't really uh, I don't really know... we seem to be getting a lot here without me doing that.."

"We are going back to the witch's room next to give her an offering" Colby mentioned, "you could do it there if you'd like. We didn't get much activity up there."

"True" you trailed off, thinking it over, "Yeah sure, I'll do it there."

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

Not too long later, you were now sat in a different chair up in the witch's room, getting ready for the Estes method after giving the witch her new Minecraft creeper and scrub-daddy offerings. 

"Nah" you spoke, waving Tom over near you, "You sit right there and give me your hand" you demanded pointing to the floorboards to your side. 

"Why?"

"Because I know how you are. No way I'm letting you float around this room to scare me and tap on my shoulders and shit- sit down."

And with that, Tommy sat on the floor, hand folded in yours as you put the headphones on and pulled down the blindfold. 

"Is anyone here with us?" 

Nothing.

"Elspeth, are you here with us?"

You jumped in your chair, not quite ready to hear anything come through the headphones.

Yes.

"Have you found us disrespectful?"

One.

"One of us was disrespectful?"

"Probably fucking Tom." Jack scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"AY! Why'd you say that!"

"Oh I don't know, you're the one that has been yelling at her!"

"Have not!" 

"you just were like two seconds-"

you squeezed Tom's hand, unknowingly cutting off Jack and Tommy's argument as you spoke,  "I don't know what it just said, but it sounded like laughing at the end."

Colby tilted his head, eyes furrowing, "laughing? why would she be laughing?"

'm not. 

"What do you mean you're not?" Tom pestered, "You just did so-"

Him. 

Toms's brow crinkled further, confusion settling into his expression.

"Him?" Sam asked, "Do you mean it's not Elspeth anymore?"

"Yeah, are we talking to someone else?" 

your head quirked to the side, confused at the noise coming through the headphones, "It's like a bell?" you spoke, "Yeah like I hear a bell ringing."

"Oh!" Sam yelled, "Like ding ding, that's right!"

"Maybe"

"Who are you then? who are we speaking to?"

Bad.

"You're bad? Or is something here bad?"

Evil. 

"What do you mean evil?"

The next. 

Colby turned to Sam, realization dancing in his eyes, "The bishop's room. Thats our next stop, known to be a center for the demon-"

You yelped, tearing off the headphones when loud, evil laughter flooded your ears. You squeezed Tom's hand, yanking his arm to get a semi-awkward positioned hug from the boy. 

"That sucked" you spoke, voice muffled by his sweatshirt. 

"What happened?" he asked you, eyes wide and gaze quickly moving to each of the older guys in the group, attempting to calm you the best he can while freaking out himself. 

"There was loud laughter." you explained, gesturing around our head, "it was like thousands of people all laughing all around my head."

Once again.... so very sorry for the shitty ending- I couldn't think of anything else to put...

[lucianalight]

Loki God of Stories - A Comparison between MCU and Comics

I’ve never thought I (=Luci @lucianalight ) would say this but MCU did the God of Stories arc right. Having the whole picture after the finale you can see what they were trying to do and how the series was inspired from AoA arc. The series explores a number of themes.

(I’m along for the ride because I can’t just pass up the opportunity to faceplant into Luci’s metas -Hollow @theitcharchives ) 

Control vs Freedom

Chaos vs Order

Finding Purpose and Believing in One's Self

Science-Fiction, and Magic being a Powerful Lie: Approaches to Storytelling

Being Worthy of One’s Own Power

Breaking the Cycle and Rewriting Reality

Conclusion

Congratulations! You've reached the end of this lengthy meta. While I (=Luci) was thinking about writing it, I stumbled upon a post that had a totally different viewpoint than mine. I asked for Hollow's opinion regarding the topic, and after reading their answer I realized it is actually the perfect conclusion this meta can have. 

"God of stories as a librarian would be", as the s2 writer said, does make sense. If Loki gives life to the timelines, then he gives life to everything in them, and allows people to write their own stories, branching instead of having to follow one single "sacred" timeline. Calling him a god of fate and destiny would be counterintuitive, especially for a norse hailing deity, because norse gods’ fates are already written, unable to branch from their path to and during ragnarok. MCU god of stories does make sense, and if we really don't want that title for him in the mcu, he could be the god of choice, but that sounds reductive. God of time also sounds reductive. The writer's definition mentioning myth Loki starts wrong, but it rings true overall and in the end.

MCU loki and comics loki are just two different kinds of gods of stories. Their approach is different but their soul (as I've kept saying for years -Hollow), needs to be and remains the same across universes to keep respecting the original myth loki. Loki is a trickster figure. Tricksters bring chaos, unbalance that leads to change. Pantheons without tricksters are stagnant and never grow, and since pantheons are reflections of the humanity that comes up with them, that's impossible. MCU Loki (by some miracle after the 2017-2021 ordeal) is a trickster. He changes the equation, quite literally erases it, replaces it with chaos that keeps growing. He allows the unbalance to exist and bring change instead of the rigid timeline that constrained. Tricksters allow for stories to happen–myth Loki is the catalyst of almost everything that happens in the norse myths. Comics Loki was and is the catalyst of almost everything that happens in the comics, directly or indirectly through decades of consequences. MCU Loki is now the literal central catalyst of everything that happens in the mcu, in a more direct (consequences of 2011 and 2012) and indirect (consequences of 2023) way. He deserves that title, because he is a chaos bringing trickster, just in a different way.”

(Am I mad when I look for new comics apparitions I have to sift through endless and inaccurate MCU articles? Yes. Am I mad at the 616/19999 confusion? Absolutely. -Hollow)

Finally it is also worth mentioning that while both universes tried to follow a similar arc, AoA generally did a far better job than the Loki series. Themes like friendship, identity, self-love and validating Loki's pain and grievances either lacked nuance or were non-existent in the show. Therefore AoA remains the superior story.

Co-written by Luci and Hollow

[purgemarchlockdown]

God this is going to be so disorganized- anyway I've observed due to commonalities between, Weakness, Magic, Triage, and Cat that textures in Milgram are used in a very particular way.

In Weakness, texture is used through most (if not all the song) and Weakness is portrayed as a dream in the MV.

In Magic, texture is used during the storybook scenes. The scenes that are the most detached and abstracted from reality.

In Cat, a newspaper-like texture is overlayed throughout the whole song. Cat is very much a performance "advertising" Kazui and the "ideal heterosexual marriage" to the audience until it all comes crushing down

And Triage...okay honestly I still don't really know what's going on with Shidou but he has a lot of deceiver associations and @/stuffedsand has also said that it could be because the "ideal family" he once had is now gone and yet he still thinks of that picturesque family that isn't Real anymore.

(His texture is Really faint but it is there!)

I initially concluded that this meant that all these characters are aware to some extent that the events they are presenting to the audience are untrue or inaccurate in some way.

However, Double is out and gave me this!

Now...I'm not saying Mikoto is Lying, I don't think he is! However Mikoto did say this in MeMe:

It’s like what’s wrong isn’t wrong I’m already the fake one

(Uh...sorry I don't know if its Orekoto or Bokuto talking in this line...not A Mikoto Enthusiast I just noticed this)

And not only are these textures usually Overlayed over Mikoto, but there is a level of Abstraction from reality present in Double!

Something I noticed is that Double uses 3D models often, and while that might be because it's easier to do that (especially for some of those train shots) it also separates the 2D Mikoto from the 3D objects and background.

(Note: The train here seems to be 2D but the Mannequins are 3D so that's fun, also note that Throw Down also does this with the Greenhouse and Person for possibly similar reasons of separating the character from reality Visually using a different medium)

So new conclusion: I think the texture is just supposed to showcase a detachment or abstraction of reality that the character is aware of/feelings of "fakeness" and "unreality" that the character is aware of. Which lines up better with Triage and Works with both Magic, Cat and Weakness.

Though, again, not a Mikoto enthusiast, would like opinions from people who actually know him well to weight in!

[bijoumikhawal]

Nose rings in Egypt

Wearing nose rings in the Eastern Mediterranean actually goes back to the time that the Torah was being written. Referred to as nezemim, Rebecca is noted as wearing one. The practice continues to this day, though they are less common and have grown to be more strongly associated with South Asia and Alt sub cultures. Today it is thought that the wearing of nose rings in India may have been imported from West Asia (the assertion that they were brought over by the Mughals seems inaccurate, however, as the first mention of them is from around 1000 AD)- the discussion is somewhat contentious and unfortunately often feeds into political violence and bias against Muslims when mentioned.

The earliest modern depuction of a nose ring being worn in Egypt comes from the 1830s, thanks to our old enemy and research dog, Edward William Lane. He describes then as being made of brass or occasionally gold with glass beads attached to them, an inch to an inch and a half in diameter, says they are worn on the right side of the nose. His account associates them with poor women. He records the name as "khizám" or "khuzám".

A difficulty comes in recognizing nose ring examples held in museums; I have found a few items resembling this style, but they are described as earrings. The V&A is responsible for two cases, and given they have gotten information wrong on both Ancient and Modern Egyptian jewelry, my suspicion is these examples may be misidentified. The two examples will be shown promptly.

Another example of dubious identification comes from a design that may be multipurpose; silver rings with an openwork barrel at one end. The TRC Leiden institute has an example from Saudi Arabia and claims its a nose ring, but it bears close resemblance to some Egyptian examples identified as earrings, and those resemble some Coptic bronze examples also identified as earrings. To my mind this style also resembles Amazigh earrings/head ornaments (these were sometimes attached to the headdress, not the ears themselves). It is also possible that TRC Leiden has misidentified the item.

While Lane says nose rings were worn all over Egypt, the modern discussion I've found strongly associates them with Bahariya, where they are called gatar or qatrah. There, they are made of gold (usually 12 carat), with filigree and granulation filling the lower half, worn on the right side by married women. They also typically have a large flat circle of gold covering the gap where the wire goes through the nose. This is either soldered on or apart of the central wire the nose ring is built around. Occasionally a coral or glass bead is threaded into the wire that passes through the nose. They are never made of silver, as local women say silver would damage the blood vessels in the nose. They also feel that the nose ring prevents pain and headaches while worn, and when a piece has to be sent off to repair, they urge the person transporting it to hurry back.

I've found some discussion of nose rings as worn by Nubians, Sinai Bedouins, and Bisharin (Beja), Ababda (who have closely intermarried with the Bisharin), and Rashayda. The name recorded as used by Nubians and Beja is zimam. I haven't seen enough examples of Nubian or Beja Egyptian nose rings to draw conclusions about common manufacture, but I do have a few examples. One piece, attributed to Egypt by the Philadelphia museum, is a sliver ring with part of the wire flattened and cut halfway through. Azza Fahmy also provides a photo, putting it under a collection of earrings from the Red Sea area. Similar nose rings can be seen in these two photos from Sudan. I have also seen a photo allegedly of an Egyptian Nubian girl with a gold nose ring that has a similar partially flattened design.

Other Sudanese nose rings I've seen are gold, with a chain leading from the ring to the hair, in a similar fashion to the nath in India. However, these are not necessarily synonymous with Nubian nose rings, as Sudan has an Arab/Arabized cultural majority. At some point I'd like to ask someone who knows more about the subject if there is a distinction between the two styles, but as of now I do not know anyone who is knowledgeable on the matter, nor do I know of any academic texts that discuss the issue.

Beja jewelry has a strong influence from Nubian and Sudanese styles, owing to the fact that they live in proximity, and that more Beja live in Sudan than Egypt. Like Nubians, the Beja are an Indigenous group. They're believed to be related to the Blemmyes and the original group referred to as Medjay in Ancient Egypt, and some ostracon exist of their languages written in the Coptic alphabet (The Nubian alphabet is related to the Coptic alphabet as well, with unique letters for certain sounds). I have little information on the Rashayda, but they call their nose ring zimam. They claim to be descended from an Arab tribe, and some information I've seen implies they've intermarried with the Beja. Two nose piercings are in use by the Beja and Rashayda; a diamond shaped one worn in the center bulb of the nose, worn by Beja women, and gold nose rings with engraved designs or strung with beads, worn by both. 21k is the preference in Nubian goldwork, and this seems to be true of these groups as well.

In Sinai, the nose ring is called a shenaf. It has a great deal of similarity to Palestinian nose rings, and has a similar construction to Bahariya nose rings with the lower half full of filigree and granulation. It also sometimes has beads and hanging pieces. It is most commonly made of gold.

Other miscellaneous pictures of Egyptian nose rings:

Further reading:

https://newvoices.org/2021/05/14/most-decorated-women/ https://newvoices.org/2021/05/24/i-put-a-ring-in-your-nose/ | Regarding Jewish piercings and body art

https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.dharmadispatch.in/amp/story/history/the-nose-ring-or-nath-is-an-import-from-muslim-invaders https://www.naturaldiamonds.com/style/natural-diamonds-nose-pin-history-legacy/ | regarding Indian nose rings. The first one is unfortunately incredibly biased against Muslims, and I wouldn't link it if I could find a better write up of the argument regarding nose rings being an import to India. I debated including it at all, but figured I should stick to my rule for citing biased sources in Egyptian fashion research; include it, but note the problem.

The Traditional Jewelry of Egypt by Azza Fahmy

The Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians by Edward William Lane

https://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O79718/earring-unknown/

https://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O79793/earring-unknown/

https://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O79718/earring-unknown/

http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O79342/earring/earring-unknown/

https://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O79454/earring-unknown/

https://trc-leiden.nl/collection/?trc=&zoek=saudi&cat=Accessories&subcat=&g=&s=24&f=0&id=2435

https://www.philamuseum.org/collection/object/41469

[moorishflower]

Hob Gadling vs. The Devil (Dreamling, rated E)

in coming to the conclusion that I'm physically incapable of writing "a drabble," here, have a Husbands "drabble" where Hob metaphorically sucker-punches the devil

"Tell me again why I'm doing this?" Hob asks, he thinks for the third or fourth time, and Dream, to his great credit, doesn't roll his eyes. He only puts his hands on Hob's shoulders, steers him gently towards the bedroom. Hob can't delay any longer -- he's brushed his teeth, he's showered, he's done all his normal nightly ablutions, and now there's just. The sleeping.

The Dreaming, just beyond it.

"Because you are my husband," Dream says, "my consort. You share the heart of the Dreaming. To not be seen at an event such as this would reflect poorly upon us both."

"I didn't pick a fight with the devil." Hob's voice has gone a bit spare and reedy at the end there, which he thinks is a perfectly reasonable response to one's husband telling you that 'by the way, the important work function I've mentioned that I need you to attend, it's going to be full of demons and also literal Satan.' The throb of his anxiety sits like a humming bowstring between them, anchored from Hob's chest to somewhere deep and distant inside Dream. Yet Hob knows he could reach out and stroke that far-flung place, if he wanted -- for him, the distance hardly matters.

Dream's hand on his shoulder gentles; the bed is so close, yet he stops, and turns Hob towards him.

"You are afraid."

And this is perhaps one of the stupidest things Dream has ever said to him, and Hob includes his final words before his disappearance a century ago, what boiled down to 'be right back love, just going to pop around to the shops' and then a solid nothing after that. "Yes," he says slowly, "I'm afraid. I've only. You've only just gotten out. Of that place. A human did that to you. A stupid old man with a book and too much money. This is Satan we're talking about. How much worse can they do?"

"There are rules." Dream sounds like he's trying to soothe an anxious dog, barking at a thunderstorm. Perhaps to him it's as simple as that, but Hob still remembers a time when he feared for his immortal soul. Remembers too keenly the path he walked to return a spark of power to Dream, held for a century underground. It's been two months. Two months. He thinks he's entitled to worry.

But Dream pulls him towards the bed, and he's no longer budging Hob along, but gently beckoning, and Hob feels that humming tether between them grow looser, grow liquid with wanting. Dream, pouring into him what comfort he's able to provide.

(Like a Vulcan mind meld? Hob had asked, hand resting over the dense knot of scar tissue, still scraped-raw from fang and mouth. Dream, skeptical, had demanded access to all of Hob's dreams of Vulcans and their abilities, but had eventually concluded that the comparison, while crude, was not inaccurate.)

"Come," Dream says, "to sleep. You will come to no harm in my realm."

"It's not me I'm worried about. Can't die, remember? I assume that means in my sleep, too."

Dream tugs him down onto the bed, languidly indulgent; he's taken to wearing Hob's clothes when they spend the night together, regardless of whether it's sleeping or visiting the Dreaming. He's purloined an ancient T. Rex shirt this time around, stretched and worn so thin it falls like water to the middle of Dream's thighs. He's not wearing anything underneath it. This is a significantly better incentive for Hob to come to bed than the idea of going to meet actual Lucifer at a party.

Dream stretches out first, lets Hob climb down beside him before he tangles them together, like snakes, like strands of silk. He sighs when Hob tucks his thigh between his legs.

"Sleep," he says, "or we shall be late."

"No quickie for your anxious husband?"

Dream purses his lips, and Hob is initially hopeful it's for a kiss. In retrospect, the sand should probably have been his first guess.

+++

The Dreaming is a wild bustle, but Hob's not allowed the pleasure of experiencing the party from the ground floor. There are rules, Dream had said, and those rules apparently include Hob getting kitted up in the most elaborate finery he's ever seen and then standing at attention next to Dream while a series of truly nightmare-inducing creatures file through the Palace's gates.

("Your raiments suit you," Dream says. His fingers fold in origami complexity along Hob's throat, where the collar of his outfit cuts an odd angle against his skin. It's something like armor, and something like the robes of a priest, all in spun cloth-of-gold and bloody crimson, accents of saintly white, amber that drips down the length of his neck and from each ear but never completes its fall.

"I ought to be wearing your colors," he says, and Dream hums softly, and kisses him.

"Later," he promises, "you will wear me and nothing else.")

He holds this memory tightly to him as the creatures pass him by, some ignoring him completely (his preference, honestly), some pausing in their journey to stare, to snap their teeth in his direction, to laugh. He wonders what he looks like, here -- some human who bullied his way into loving the Dreamlord, dressed like a peacock next to Dream, who looks so effortless, so divine.

"Be wary, husband," Dream murmurs, and Hob's attention snaps to the door. "The Morningstar approaches."

And indeed, there's a hush that's fallen over the great hall, a billion candles snuffing at once, a silence that eats at the edges of the space until it seems smaller than before. As if there's fewer places to hide. The doors to the palace are already wide open, but they seem to loom ever wider, as the shadow of two massive, leathered wings proceeds the creature that now enters the Dreamlord's domain.

Lucifer, who was the Morningstar, brightest and most beautiful of God's angels, looks nothing like the pictures. There's no horns, for one, no forked tail, no split tongue. They're beautiful. Cherubic in the face, a cascade of golden curls over eyes blue as glaciers, the swan-shapeliness of their neck, and arching over all of it their wings, like dragon's wings, scaled and leathery and so massive that the sight of them threatens to steal Hob's breath. Wings that are meant for destroying, not for flight. Wings that could propel a hurricane.

"Lord Morpheus," the Devil says, and their voice is like birdsong at the bottom of a mineshaft, like a voice under anesthesia saying that doesn't look right, like a hundred different things that are commonplace but also wrong, somehow. It's joy that's been inverted and turned upon its head. It's what yearning sounds like, when there will never be relief.

"Lord Lucifer," Dream says, and bows. Hob follows his lead, keeps the depth of his plunge precisely as low as Dream's, and no further. This is a show of solidarity as much as it is an appeasement. "Welcome to the Dreaming. May you enter in peace and leave in harmony."

"Hm." Lucifer's hum is an atonal murmuration, a wordless we shall see. "You have recovered the other tools of your office." Their eyes flick to Hob. "And crafted new ones."

Hob bristles, and then stills when Dream's hand lights on his forearm. "My husband," Dream says, "Robert Gadling."

"Mm. Will you not greet me yourself, Robert Gadling?" Lucifer's perfect, pink mouth is a cupid's bow of delight. Hob can so easily imagine it bloody. "I find human lovers...too timid for my tastes. But perhaps he suits you, Lord Morpheus."

This time it's Dream's hand that clenches. They're a united front still, but Christ, he's never wanted to punch a creature so much as he now wants to throw fists at the Devil. He's absolutely ruddy terrified, but annoyance is a powerful motivator.

"I'd greet you as humans do," Hob says, and ignores how Dream's hand momentarily refuses to leave his arm. He tries to find that holding thread between them, that vibration, tries to wrap into it all his love and support and his righteous indignation, that Dream is a king, this is his kingdom, that suddenly it doesn't matter that this is the Devil, and Hob is only a man. There's something that's been tripped in his brain, some long-buried and long-unused notion of how chivalry ought to work, and it churns through him like a marching army.

He holds out his hand, his wrists and fingers dripping in gold and amber, pauldron and rerebrace and vambrace in all the brilliant shining of a sunrise. Fifteen minutes ago he felt like a turkey stuffed for Michaelmas, but anger fills his bones with light.

"Won't you shake a poor sinner's hand?" he asks, and Lucifer's mouth twists into a delicate, beautiful snarl.

They take his hand.

It's like holding onto a live serpent. It's like touching a coal fresh from the hearth. It burns like fire, like acid, and Hob can feel Lucifer's nails digging into his wrist like the bite of a rabid dog. His skin bubbles and melts and sloughs away, his bones are glass, and he feels a whistle of air past him -- doesn't hear, feels -- that he knows, with terrified instinct, is that last, great Fall.

He holds on. He squeezes.

"My king likes my timidity just fine," he says. When he smiles, it feels like his cheeks are tearing, like his mouth is long and sharp, like there's a wolf in him. That huge and monstrous wolf that Desire showed him, golden and splendid and stark raving mad. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Lord Lucifer."

The nails in his wrist dig deeper; the bite of an adder, the creeping malaise of poison. And then, all at once, the nails let go.

Hob doesn't.

Lucifer tries to pull back their hand, and Hob holds on, vicious, his smile a baring of teeth. His own hand is on fire; his own hand is agony. "Ah," he says, "forgot this part," and brings Lucifer's tight and resisting hand to his mouth. To his bone-white teeth, to the memory of the maw that took his heart.

When his lips touch the back of their pale, beautiful hand, Lucifer hisses like they've been burned. Perhaps it's to their credit that they don't pull away, that they let Hob release them, that when they take their hand back they do not shake it as if stung.

He can feel Dream's eyes on him, measuring, focused.

"I hope you enjoy your stay," Hob says, and Lucifer blinks at him, a slow, sideways thing like a resting serpent.

"Yes," Lucifer says. "I look forward to...getting to know you better. Robert Gadling. In my own realm, perhaps."

"I'm afraid you'll be waiting a while." He glances sidelong at Dream. Dream, who is, yes, staring at him, his lips slightly parted, his eyes wide fields of stars in endless black velvet twilight. "You see, I've decided I'm not going to die."

"My husband is full of wonders," Dream murmurs. He blinks, and finally looks back to Lucifer. "Please. Avail yourself of my hospitality, before we commence negotiations. I am eager to restore peace between our realms."

"As am I." There's a bitterness to those words, and even Hob can smell the lie in them. But Lucifer inclines their head towards them, and some snarling, slavering thing in Hob is gratified to note how they give him a slightly wider berth than before.

Hob lets Dream lead him away. He feels the fingers on his arm, is aware that it's there, but most of his attention is now on his hand, which feels like it's been flayed, dipped in acid, salted, burned. It looks fine, no wounds, not even a divot from where Lucifer's nails had dug into his wrist, but he feels it still, something down in the marrow, something in the soul.

They wind their way through the crowds of dreams and demons and nightmares, and the Dreaming shapes itself around them, providing a shadowed nook behind a broad statue of a pegasus, its wings extended, a shelter.

"Ow," Hob says, as Dream yanks his arm upwards, examining his hand with critical detail. "Ow, ow, ow."

"Foolish," Dream murmurs, "they could hurt you, they could -- "

"Not any more than they could hurt you." Dream's eyes snap to his, and Hob meets them easily. The white-hot light in their center is a solar flare, so bright it threatens sight itself, but Hob does not look away. And Dream...

Dream brings Hob's hand to his mouth. Lays a kiss to the center of his palm, and from that pinprick sensation spreads a marvelous, numbing coolness. A soothing balm.

"I'm not going to let my husband be disrespected in his own fucking castle," he says, and Dream's eyes go heavy-lidded, banking the hot ember within, shadowing it as Dream, Christ help him, as Dream pops Hob's ring finger in his mouth and presses his tongue there, cool as a winter's morning.

"Ah," he says. "That was. You liked that?"

Dream draws back from his finger, a wet drag of lips and teeth, and says, "Did I like my husband. Asserting his dominance over the Morningstar. Defending my honor. My husband in righteous fury. How your skin shone like a sun in its prime."

"I don't know if it was that --"

Dream drops to his knees. It's an all-at-once motion, fluidly graceful, and his robes of office puddle around him in flames and starlight. Hob is, abruptly, no longer aware of his hand's discomfort.

"Hush," Dream says, and his hands are clever, his hands are pale and narrow and beautiful as they delve into the complicated mess of Hob's robes. Not complicated, apparently, for the will that manifested them, because Hob feels them part like silk beneath a knife, and then Dream's long and gorgeous fingers are wrapped around his prick.

"Oh my god," Hob says, and Dream looks up at him, draws his cock free from gold and woven sunlight and puddled amber-bronze; his eyes flare like supernovas, his mouth is the sweetest, pinkest thing Hob has ever seen. "Dream, there are, there are demons..."

"Let them see." Dream strokes downward, a long slide from tip to root, rucking down Hob's foreskin over the head growing ruddy and damp. "If a word is said against you, I will rip them asunder. I would be had by you in front of Lucifer themself. And feel no shame."

And that, that does something to Hob's brain, some old and animal part of him that still thrills with excitement when Dream opens his body to him, a savageness that glories in the taking, and the having. Christ, he loves when Dream fucks him, likes the feel of Dream's cock in his mouth, he wouldn't trade it for the world. This, though -- Dream on his knees, Dream sat in Hob's lap, Dream letting Hob touch and kiss and lick all of the soft-bellied parts of him, this is still new.

"All right," Hob says, and he cups the back of Dream's skull, his downy hair threaded through with moonlight, and this, too, is a balm to his aching hand. Dream holds him, manipulates him where he wants Hob to be, and maybe it says something about him, but the casualness of the touch is as much a turn-on as the sight of Dream sticking out his petal-pink tongue and licking, one long stripe from the curl of his own fingers to the head of Hob's prick, where a bead of spend has already gathered.

"Tell me what you would do," Dream says softly, "in my name."

And then he takes Hob's prick into his mouth, so cool it loops again to warmth, the soft undulating pressure of his tongue, and Hob slams his other hand against his mouth so hard it makes his teeth click. He's sure someone must hear him cry out, but there's a huge and grinding movement out of the corner of his eye -- the massive wings of the pegasus flexing. Let them see, Dream had said, but perhaps he'd meant Let them hear.

He speaks muffled into his own fist, desperate not to rock into that beautiful, waiting throat. "I'd raise armies," he says, his brain a spin of stories, old and new, and Dream there, knelt in front of him, his mouth stretched sweetly around the girth of Hob's cock, his lips so pink. "I'd, Christ, I'd sink fleets. I'll punch any god that tries to, to speak ill of you, I'll, Dream, right, right there, please."

Dream twists his wrist, and Hob is so hard, so hard he can feel it like a vibration in him, a buzzing lightness in his abdomen. Dream's hair is so wonderfully soft in his hand, and he marvels that he's allowed to do this, that he is allowed to grip a handful of that feathered ink, tugging just hard enough that Dream's head tips back, his mouth pulling off of Hob's cock with a wet and filthy pop.

"More," he says. His next stroke is eased by the slickness of his own spit, and Hob cries out again into his palm. Helpless, wanting.

"I'd walk through Hell for you." Dream blinks lazily, bends his head back down and licks at the head of Hob's prick like a sweet. "I'd give you my heart, again and again. I'm, I'm going to make you a place to come home to, I'm going to make you dinner and take you out to the movies, I'm going to love you. I love you, fucking, Christ, you impossible creature."

His words end on a strangled moan, as Dream, appeased at last, takes Hob's cock back into his mouth, and down his throat, his slender, cool throat, and swallows.

When he peaks, it's an almost out of body experience; he's keenly aware of his hand in Dream's hair, of the pulse of his prick and the way Dream swallows around him, humming in pleasure at the taste, and he's also aware of the nearby throng of the party, the chattering of voices. He can picture, in his mind's eye, Lucifer standing before the Dreaming Throne, their mouth a moue of discontent, their stung hand flexing and clenching.

Hob rather hopes they hear the noise he makes when he comes. He hopes he gets to look them in the eye later, before they leave. This is mine, he'll think, of Dream, of this palace, these subjects, my husband, my realm, my love, not yours, and you can never have them.

He comes back to himself with a wet and startled moan, Dream licking him, over and over, obsessively cleaning. Hob has to pull him by the hair to get him to leave off, and the noise he makes when he goes is yearning. His mouth is bitten-red, and there's a dozy, lazy look to his eyes that Hob associates with the well and truly fucked.

"Did you...?" he asks, and Dream licks his lips, contemplatively.

"No," he says. "I wish to save myself for you. For later."

"Ah," Hob says. Dream gently tucks him away, back into the impossible folds of his robes, and when he stands it's the same smooth and gliding motion. This time, though, when his mouth covers Hob's, he can taste the salt-bitterness of himself.

"This party needs to end as fast as reasonably possible," he says, and Dream nods vaguely.

"Mm. Then come, my husband. Let us pay our respects to the Morningstar. And speed this along."

He holds out his hand. The thing between them, that stretched and brightly vibrating thing, is athrum with heady music.

Hob takes his hand, and the grand statue folds back its wings, allowing in a wash of searing light as they rejoin the party.

[rayssyscourse]

In wake of an extremely frustrating argument I recently had with somebody I recognize I should never have called a friend: I would like to say thank you to non-traumagenic plurals who are able and willing to have respectful interactions with me despite having different views.

thank you to endos who actually listen to my and others' points, think about them, and respond with genuine points, and who are open to accepting new evidence, regardless of if it supports your viewpoints.

thank you to endos who recognize and acknowledge the difference between traumagenic and non-traumagenic plurality, and who do not equate their experiences to the trauma and dissociation that traumagenic systems have.

thank you to endos who actually care what others have to say, and listen to somebody's full message instead of immediately putting them into a box and simplifying their arguments into an inaccurate archetype.

and, arguably most importantly, thank you to endos who are willing to share their experiences and explain where they come from, who can discuss these things with the nuance and care they require.

I'm quite frustrated right now, and so this post is honestly more of a reminder to myself that even though one person is being a dick to me, they don't represent everyone. I am endo critical, yes, but I hold full respect for endos who are respectful in return.

People can and will be frustrating and closed minded. But the interactions I've had on this account have shown me that those people don't always represent everybody else in their community. So thank you to those of who who serve as that reminder during times like these.

It is through respectful discussions, not yelling or harassment or stereotyping, that will bring us to conclusions. Whatever "side" you're on, that's important to remember. And I believe that there will always be at least some people out there who understand and respect that.

[lomappreciationblog]

This one is a little speculation post, but...I've noticed that the game keeps it very vague as to where exactly the protagonist comes from. You wake up in your fully furnished home after having a dream call from the Mana Goddess, boom, that's it, go rebuild Fa'Diel now. Simple and straight to the point as far as intros go, haha, no exposition or anything (though, if you read all of the History tome, there's a complex backstory that explains a lot of things the game itself doesn't show).

The fact that Domina is your second location after Home and some of the resident's familiarity, and the bgm for it being named "Hometown of Domina" seems to indicate the protagonist was based there, but it's not conclusive...actually, the residents' interactions with you differ, some of them introduce themselves to you as if they don't know you, while some of them do indicate familiarity (say, the entry about Rachel reveals her strained relationship to her dad, as if the protagonist grew up with them).

Aside from that, for some reason, Shiloh/Serafina are skilled in quite a lot of skills and weapons from the get-go, and they can use artifacts to rebuild Fa'Diel (which is sort of a big deal because some of Nunuzac's dialogue in the Cage of Dreams, and the History tome, again, indicates that magic of that level is something like a forgotten art).

It makes me wonder if Shiloh/Serafina are in some way, a piece of the Mana Goddess who represents the light part of her, a representative of her that spreads healing rather than strife. ...though, all things considered, Shiloh/Serafina aren't all pure kindhearted heroes, you kinda majorly screw over some characters (temporarily in the Dragon Arc and permanently in Niccolo's Business Unusual). So in that aspect, that makes them living humans of Fa'Diel, just one who happened to hear the Goddess's call.

I guess I'm bringing it up because I just noticed when I finished LOM HD that in the cinematics for the credits, the protagonist doesn't appear, and when Niccolo comes over to bring flowers, the protagonist isn't shown, so a part of me wonders if, since Fa'Diel is renewed in the ending, if Shiloh/Serafina disappeared since their role is done.

In the other adaptations, they do present a bit more backstory. In the Teardrop Crystal anime, Shiloh was raised by residents of Domina, and he's good friends with Duelle, even. The anime also reveals that his home was a gift given to him by the Domina residents (I think the anime also indicated he's 15, which. Wow, the Mana Goddess really recruited a teenager to do the whole rebuilding the world thing huh). Though, the anime doesn't say exactly how Shiloh came to Domina, but it does sound like he's something like a child they found. Serafina...has special circumstances which I won't talk about in this post since spoilers for the anime.

The manga made a whole other backstory, though I'm going off fanlations so my info might be inaccurate. Though, basically, the manga seems to indicate Toto and Imu are humans who were gifted artificers ever since they were kids. They're also siblings in the manga, and...well, saying more would be spoilers, but they do have a connection to the Mana Tree. Though, the manga seems to ignore the Mana Goddess entirely?

[once-and-future-alaskan]

Hey, you know that post I made about not being plural?

Yeah, I'm still not plural.

I have however made the conclusion slightly less accurate since I've realized a more useful framework in viewing myself, specifically in regards to the distinction between Taka and Alaskan. Read More again for politeness sake.

Basically, Taka is who I'm trying to stop being, and Alaskan is who I'm striving to become. In a way, this has always been the case as the decision to renounce the Taka alias and take up Alaskan was in large part an attempt at a fresh start.

Arguably, even Scott and Nic'o were just the first version of this dichotomy. Though, that was more an emotional version. Nic'o was an active effort to become kinder and more empathetic that I'd call very successful, though did lead to the opposite extreme and created Taka.

The exact origins of where the Alaska name came from for me aren't important here. All you need to know is that it held a special significance as an ideal to strive for.

Currently, i am somewhere between the two and likely always will be.

Taka, in my mind, is a lot of my neurosis and self-destructive behaviors. My social anxiety, weird aversion to showing my arms or legs, even the behavior that may or may not be ADHD. To her credit, she also is definitely where my weekly manic creative fits come from that lead me to have so many gd OCs and stories. In regards to creative projects, she is the part of me that has the manic need to see a given part through at all costs for better or worse.

Alaskan is the adult. Alaskan is making appointments and keeping us employed. Alaskan is the one who recognizes a self destructive though spiral starting and attempts to stop it and find an alternative task or thought pattern. Alaskan is the one that forces us to actually draw or write instead of just fantasizing about it. Alaskan, if realized the way I envision her, would be drawing and/or writing damn near every day and be halfway to moved by now.

I realize this reads like the whole left brain/right brain thing, but mainly, I've just struggled to articulate it effectively. Neither of them really "exists" as entities controlling my head or separate personalities.

I can tell you there is often more Taka in me than Alaskan, Alaskan tires easy and just reaches the "just get it done" stage much faster and tends to relent """control""" faster. Taka gets the wheel and holds onto it until it becomes a problem, Alaskan has the helm and lets go once things are "fine." I didn't start actually self harming, rare as that still is for me, until Alaskan started coming into her own-

So it may be inaccurate to say...hmm.

Idk what I'm saying.

I guess the point here is it's wrong to say Alaskan is me. I am me. Clear as mud?

[messinwitheddie]

Stan “Wait! I recognize you! Johnny? Johnny Screw Loose? It's really you? Wow, it's all coming back to me."

Nny “It’s coming back to me too... Oh God..."

Stan “Tough break. You were to young to go.”

Nny “That's all you have to say to me?”

Stan “NO… I missed you, kid.”

Nny “How DARE you?! You don't get to say that to me! Not after you abandoned me!”

Stan “Whoa, THAT is inaccurate. I told you exactly where I was going and why.”

Nny “You never specified when you were leaving! You didn't bother to say goodbye. You just gutted the shop overnight and disappeared!”

Stan “I offered to bring you with me to Oregon! Your exact words to ME were—

“Absolutely no way in Hell. I would rather hike from here to Yellowstone and attempt to castrate a live, fully-conscious bear with a rusty potato peeler than move with you to Oregon”.”

Nny “And I stand by that!!”

Stan “You can't help someone who doesn’t want your help!”

Nny “LIER! You didn't want to help me! I was No one to you! Nothing but a punching bag, a butt of many a cruel, corny joke, another idiot to exploit!!”

(To be continued)

[Have done nothing the past few days, but start several drawings and fail to finish them, but at least they're on the wip stack where I can circle back to instead of just cluttering up my brain. This is more or less the conclusion to the forgotten memories story that I've barely started. I write all these connected aus out of order; gotta stop doing that. When will I learn to honor chronology?

This I actually drew this out of order. The second page I slapped together earlier today in ball point pen to get into comic mode; it was my attempt at a warm up/ loosening my wrist. The first three panels I penciled before my shift starts. Everything about this is horrible, but it was just not horrible enough to post. (?)

That nightmare Nny is based off the one that appears in issue 4. I like that one, the nightmare Nny design and the one page comic he appears in. Don't see this design pop up much in fanart. ]

[problemswithbooks]

I mean in Endeavor's case seems he is gong to die too. Last words of apology to the family with each one their separate things. The rough translation seems bit inaccurate so we never know. Natsu might be asking Endeavor what will he do now since his life will be hell as a continuation to how they told him in the hospital their association will only last till Dabi is stopped and Endeavor starts apologizing while touching Dabi's ice?

Endeavor didn't really do anything. If he died in the hospital with these apologies it would still be the same as it means nothing to them. He was about to kill Toya if they hadn't intervened. They alone did all the work in here and Shoto acknowledges that their ice alone helped. They are better without him weighing them down. What good is just an apology when they will never believe his blubbering because Rei truly believes he is incapable of guilt and their life story proved this to the children. He would have zero difference if he were just AFO ad remained irredeemable anyway.

Endeavor didn't really do anything. If he died in the hospital with these apologies it would still be the same as it means nothing to them.

I wouldn't say he did nothing. I think Hori could have given him more to do, but it's not as if he just sat there on his hands either. He helped fight AfO, and saved Hawks and the kids from him. Nor can we say what he's done post hospital stay means nothing to his family--we see no evidence of that.

He was about to kill Toya if they hadn't intervened. They alone did all the work in here and Shoto acknowledges that their ice alone helped. They are better without him weighing them down.

Again, he wasn't killing Touya--Touya was already dying and Enji was trying to get him away from everyone else so no one else had to die in the resulting blast. He didn't just decide to murder Touya. And sure, their ice is what stopped Touya, but Enji did help. He kept Touya in place so the rest of the family could even get to him--before that he was pinging around all over the place. that might not have been the original purpose of Enji grabbing him, but in the end that did help them stop Touya.

He's not weighting them down, at least in this situation. Touya needs Enji there. The rest of the family wouldn't have been better off without Enji when trying to get through to Touya. Touya wanted his father in particular, so Enji not being there wouldn't have made things easier--it would have made them harder.

What good is just an apology when they will never believe his blubbering because Rei truly believes he is incapable of guilt and their life story proved this to the children.

Apologies do matter, even if they don't fix the past.

And when was it ever established that Rei doesn't believe Enji can feel guilt? She was the one that told the kids that Enji could change when she told them about the flowers he sent. She tells him other people are suffering more than him in the hospital but she doesn't say anything about his words being lies. Heck, I don't even think Natsuo accuses Enji of lying or not being genuinely sorry--only that it's to late and it doesn't make up for what he did.

He would have zero difference if he were just AFO ad remained irredeemable anyway.

I know I've said that I don't understand why Hori had Enji have an character arc, and it might have been better to keep him as a bad guy, but there's more to it then that.

The reason I said that was because of Hori's inconsistent writing. The problem is that Hori can't just let Enji make progress the way other characters do, and has him come to the same conclusion over and over again--which is realistic, but sticks out like a sore thumb in a battle shonen where no one else has this issue.

Enji's arc has had a lot of impact on the story and it'd have a huge impact if you took it out. That was part of my reason for saying that it might have been better if Hori kept him as is, because Enji's arc takes up a lot of time that could have been used elsewhere.

In a lot of ways we are reading a first draft of a story. If Hori had another go at it I'm sure he could clean things up and make Enji's character arc more consistent with minor tweaks. It'd actually impact the story far less to keep Enji's arc as is with minor changes then scrap it entirely and keep him as a bad guy.

[idyllic-affections]

hello! i want to start this off by saying i have no negative intentions - i am not "calling you out" or anything, i just wanted to share something i've picked up from my 10+ years of being in fandom and fanfic spaces.

with that being said, i love your platonic reader pieces. they're something i cherish due to the fact that there aren't many writers and fics out there that focus on platonic relationships, and my ace heart sometimes just wants to read something fluffy and familial every once in a while.

one thing i did notice, most recently in your Pantalone fic, was the use of the "character × reader" descriptor at the very beginning. if i may, could i suggest the use of "&" instead of the "x" when writing the relationship? in fanfic, using both "character/character" and "character x character" means that the relationship is romantic, while using "character & character" is reserved for platonic and familial relationships. again, i'm not calling you out, i'm not even angry or annoyed, but it's a detail that may deter people from immediately dismissing your work, especially if that person doesn't bother to read your blog's description and sees that you only write platonic fics.

i hope this makes sense? again, not trying to force you to do anything or change anything, it's just food for thought.

hello dear! i understand. your tone does not come off as negative at all.

this is something i've been considering for a while, debating on whether or not i should change my wording when i describe my pairings. it hasn't caused any direct problems for me thus far, but that doesn't mean it never will, because it seems there are people who like to leap to inaccurate conclusions without doing any background research. it doesn't seem to be too big of an issue on tumblr (i think it would be a really big thing on ao3, though, since ao3 has a more clear divide between platonic and romantic content), however i am definitely considering changing my wording. i've been thinking about it for a while. and honestly, like... the idea that people might think i'm writing some weird breed of proship-y romantic fanfic makes my skin crawl.

i definitely will go ahead and change my wording because i do not enjoy the idea that i might come off as... weird in that way, you know?

but thank you for bringing this up! i'm always open to hearing this kind of thing (i don't really want to call it criticism, because it doesn't really feel that way tbh), especially coming from people who have been in fandom spaces longer than i have. i was always aware of this distinction between platonic and romantic pairings, but never really saw it being brought up on tumblr much.