theromaboo · 2 years ago
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Beginner Latin class in Canada is the funniest thing ever and it is mostly French's fault. I had to learn Latin in sixth grade, and it was hilarious. I have vivid memories of it.
For one, everyone in my class knew at least some French, and how to pronounce French. Latin is not pronounced anything like French, but Latin really reminded us of French.
SO WE ALL PRONOUNCED IT AS IF IT WAS FRENCH.
My teacher had to explain for like ten minutes how to pronounce "est".
It went like this:
Him: "In Latin, you pronounce every letter."
Us: "yeah yeah we understand"
Him: "So what does this word sound like?" *writes down "est"*
Us: ÈÈÈÈÈÈÈÈ
Him: *shrieks*
That's not all. Because it was a Catholic school, he had to teach us like a million prayers in Latin. (Classical pronunciation for some reason #praying to God all catholicly in the way Cicero would've pronounced it)
He put the St. Michael the Archangel prayer up on the smart board, and we had to read it aloud. We were doing fine, until we reached this dreaded word: "tuque".
The word tuque was a part of our daily lives. It was pronounced "took" (oo as in food) and that's what we called winter hats.
So when we came across that word, our first response was to pronounce it in the way we always did.
The moment, transcribed as I remember it:
"Uh, soup... pleeses. No, supplices. Uh, supplices depree- argh! Deprecamur. Yes. Supplices deprecamur... TOOOOK" *the sound of "TOOOOK" echoes through the air as we look at each other in shame*
My teacher: "???? WHO SAID TOOOOK??"
That's not all. We also had to use the Oxford Latin course, I think. I think that because the pictures were WHACK.
My teacher said "oh, the drawings are a little funny looking. Just ignore them."
But that did not prepare us for THIS
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The entire class roasted our boi Quintus a whole lot.
"Why is his head all misshapen like that?"
"What is he smiling at?"
"Why do his shorts have three leg holes?"
Ahh, good times.
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godofthestupid · 3 months ago
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started reading 'If We Were Villains' by M.L.Rio
I honestly just picked it up because I had heard that it is similar in vibe to 'The Secret History' by Donna Tartt but more theater*:・゚✧ and more drama*:・゚✧
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dbphantom · 2 years ago
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Starting ffxv, watching the intro sequence: this is gonna be so fun, I can't wait to go on a fun road trip with my new friends! I love this song cover and it's really funny with it playing over them bitching and pushing the car. I've never played a final fantasy game before, so I don't know what to expect, but everything looks so cool and fun!
60 hours later, watching the end credits:
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#Cruddy rambles#ffxv#sorry for the ffxv tag but I wanna be able to find this post again it's making me laugh really hard lmao#I made a playlist full of songs that make me feel empty in my chest so I can cry and... the Pain.#As someone who refused to leave for Altissia until I was ready to beat the rest of the game and then did so in one night...#I just crawled into bed and ugly cried#That was 4 years ago and I will genuinely never forget that 'day'#It *broke* me#I also have some Transistor songs on here too. Idk her voice just breaks my heart... Paper Boats my beloved... Still salty Hades is what#Got popular when Transistor is RIGHT THERE#Fuck you guys Red deserved better 😤#Also going back to ffxv. I still tear up when somnus plays. I'm such a baby bc i have a mod to change the title screen back to somnus. So#You can imagine how it goes. every time I boot the game frantically clicking thru the menus while I tear up at the first few piano notes#Songs that make me feel empty in my chest indeed...#I am listening to it rn. I'm not okay lol#I've always wanted to learn Latin but especially bc of this games music. Yoko Shimomira went OFF#I want to know... But at the same time... I'm a little bitch. I can guess what it's saying and I'll cry just over that#Also I have a skyrim song on here. Just to point out how easily I cry#Because I played this game on ps3 in 2011 in middle school and I get nostalgic over it#And it makes me want to cry because I miss it#Same with Never More from P4. Is it inherently a sad song? Not... Really. But the memories... Knowing you'll never get to go back...#Waaaaaah-
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lilacs-stars · 3 months ago
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shattered reflections
pairing: morgie le fay x fem!reader (requested) (note: reader is merlin's daughter) SUMMARY: you, the perfect child and student, have always been the epitome of righteousness. but what happens when you encounter a particularly annoying VK one night, when you're out doing something you're not supposed to? GENRE: pure, unbridled, heart-wrenching angst (I recommend a box of tissues), action scenes, some light humor, a bit of comfort, flirty banter CW: absent mother, neglectful father, family troubles, cursing, magical fighting, a bit of blood, threats, mentions of violence and stealing, heavy emotions WC: 15.2k (to those of you hungry for morgie fics…you have been fed) BACKGROUND: the mirror of ytirev is pronounced yih-tur-ev, the spells are all in latin (for anyone wondering)
A/N: this got a loooot longer and deeper than I thought it would...seriously how did we get here. I had fun adding some touches of light humor to offset the angst, and experimenting with different pov's was nice too. sooo go get comfy and settle down, and have fun reading this! (the ending is worth it I swear). thank you to the anon who requested this for all the details, I hope you enjoy! all feedback is highly appreciated, I'd love to know your thoughts and reactions!
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A piercing clatter sounds from somewhere behind you. You whip around, eyes locking with snake-like slits glowing in the dark.
Shit, you think. 
They finally discovered my secret.
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“…can anyone explain to me the properties of goblin mucus?” the teacher of your Magical Artifacts and Antiquities class asks.
A hand shoots up, causing a smile to spread on her face as she calls on the student—only to be met with the reply, “Miss, it says in our textbook that there’s a highly powerful and dangerous artifact stored here, in Merlin Academy. What’s that all about?”
The teacher’s smile falters for a brief second, but she answers the question regardless. “Yes, every class today has asked me about that. It seems like it’s only the dangerous objects that attract students’ attention. Class, turn to page two hundred seventy-five, where there is a more detailed explanation.”
Everyone flips through the pages of their books, more eager to learn than they’ve been for the entire lesson. Your teacher waits a moment before continuing.
“As it says in your textbooks, the Mirror of Ytirev is indeed kept in this school, although it is locked away in a very safe and secure place. For everyone’s safety, and the Mirror’s security. Now, can anyone tell me how it was created?”
You raise your hand swiftly, already knowing the answer from having read this chapter before it was even covered in class, along with the next three chapters. “After the creator of the Evil Queen’s magic mirror originally made it, he accidentally dropped it on the floor, causing it to shatter. He reconstructed the mirror using the larger shards, which became the famed mirror that eventually ended up in the hands of the Evil Queen. But there were still many miniscule fragments left from the first mirror, so he melted them again and made a smaller, weaker version of the Evil Queen's mirror. The small mirror is known today as the Mirror of Ytirev.” 
Your teacher beams again at your perfect recitation. “That is precisely correct, Y/N. Although I don’t expect anything less from the headmaster’s daughter, of course.
“This mirror has the ability to show its user exactly one truth, an answer to any question. But since its original form was shattered, its magic is no longer stable. That’s why it is covered in this chapter,” she continues to the class. “As you can see in the image in your textbook, it is a portable artifact, putting it in Category D, Type Three.”
You look down at your textbook, studying the picture of the mirror, despite having looked at it before. It depicts a vintage handheld mirror, encased in a detailed and ornate silver frame that surrounds the glass itself. The intricate carvings of the metal create symmetrical twin arches at the top of the mirror, ending in fancy loops. In these arches two bright red gemstones are set, their edges cleanly cut and shining brilliantly. The glass of the mirror looks almost cracked, although you know it isn't really.
Just as the thought passes through your mind, someone calls out, “Why is the mirror cracked? I thought the creator fixed it.”
The answer pops up in your brain before the teacher even opens her mouth, but you still patiently listen to her as she explains to the rest of the class. “It’s not really cracked, it just appears that way to anyone who looks at it. The only time someone can see the mirror’s smooth surface is if they’re staring directly in the eyes of their own reflection. When someone does this, it is rumored they will see the truest form of themselves, the truth they desire the most.”
Someone else raises their hand, and the teacher calls on them this time. “So,” they ask, “you can get the answer to anything from that? Like how to become rich or live forever?”
The teacher masks what you can tell is a rather displeased look with yet another—fake—smile. She turns to face the entire class, a telltale sign that the student said something wrong. “Now, as we all know, there’s always a price to magic. When it comes to this mirror, due to its unstable powers, there are many prices.”
She continues her lecture, one that provides you with absolutely no new information, but being the ever-diligent student you are, you continue to listen intently. “If you look at the next page, it explains that anyone who wishes to use the Mirror must first present an offering that is very dear to them. If the Mirror accepts the offering, it allows the person to ask their question.” “And if it doesn’t?” your classmate asked.
“Does anyone know the answer to that?” The teacher looks around the class, before her eyes land on you. “Y/N?”
You brighten up at being called on, before rattling off the information as if it was common knowledge. “If the Mirror doesn’t accept the offering, or if it becomes displeased for any other reason, it will drag the person’s soul not to enlightenment, but to eternal torment. They will end up losing their mind and going crazy, with any form of intelligent life getting absorbed by the Mirror.”
“Correct again,” your teacher praises, and you beam. “And if that's not enough to ward any of you off, keep in mind that everyone who has ever used the Mirror has gone completely mad. No one has ever obtained the answer they sought; instead, they were all lost to its evil spirit. And let me assure you, many people throughout history have attempted to use the Mirror, only to fail. Therefore, it was voted as too dangerous for any beneficial uses by the Department of Magical Security. That is why it is contained here, under the watchful eye of our very own Headmaster Merlin.” 
At the mention of your father, everyone turns to stare at you, as if you’re somehow the reason the Mirror is locked up. Despite the stifling moment of silence, you shrug off the unwanted attention. After all, you’re used to this. Used to the looks that other kids give you when you receive special attention from teachers for being the smartest one, for always raising your hand, for answering questions perfectly, for acing every test and having every homework assignment completed—yet refusing to share your answers (“But if I tell you the answers, how will you ever learn?”). 
Used to the whispers that follow you everywhere you go, rumors of your family life; how your mother must have left because of your father’s bad habits, or neglect, or because she was having an affair with another man. Constant reminders of the past.
Used to how everyone walks on eggshells around you, how they all put you on a ledge far away from them. How people’s conversations quiet as you pass by, afraid you’ll go and report them to your father at the slightest whiff of mischief. How they always eye you when they pass notes in class or plan a prank—as if you weren't already aware of what they were doing—sometimes even begging you not to tell on them.
Used to how teachers and adults in your life expect the absolute best of you. Even when there’s no more left of yourself to give. 
How they expect you to be the absolute best, a paragon of righteousness. You always have to determine the right decision, make the right call, be the epitome of morality and virtue. This is your burden to bear, all by yourself; instead of worries over bad grades or boys, you suffer under the crushing weight of the expectations of everyone around you. The expectations of society.
Briiiiiiingg! The sound of the bell marking the end of class snaps you out of your musings. “Um, Miss?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the sounds of everyone packing their bags.
“You didn’t tell us what our homework assignment is for tonight.”
“Oh, that’s right! Thank you for reminding me, Y/N,” the teacher exclaims amidst a chorus of groans, along with a few colorful words directed your way. “Everyone, please finish up chapter three and be prepared to turn in your report on seventh century runes by the start of tomorrow’s class.”
After all, you’re used to how right they are about you.
…Or so they think.
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“Oh good, Y/N! I was looking for you all over, you know,” a panting, all-too familiar voice calls out from behind you. You freeze in your tracks, grimacing. After a deep breath, you paint a smile on your face, before turning around.
A tall man, although much shorter due to his slouched posture, hurries towards you animatedly. His short, dark brown hair is matted against the top of his head, and a thick, bushy beard trails down from his chin, rounding above his mouth in a matching mustache. He dons a pair of thin spectacles that hang low on his large nose, dressed in a dark blue robe with faint golden embroidery and a waistcoat to match. A little brown stick juts out from a hidden pocket inside his robe, an object you can only assume to be his wand—which you are quite shocked he hadn’t lost today yet.
“Dad!” you say as enthusiastically as you can muster, but if anyone had been looking closely, they would have seen the way you ever so slightly cringe as he stumbles towards you. You silently thank the heavens that this man doesn’t pay much attention to anything. Not even to his own family.
Merlin clambers towards you, gripping one of your shoulders once you’re within arm’s length. He pants, leaning his weight on you as he catches his breath.
“Dad, what is it?” you ask him, trying your best not to fall over from supporting him.
“I-I…k-keys,” he wheezes.
“You lost your keys?” This certainly isn't the first time he’s come to you with this problem, and you definitely won't bet it'll be his last.
He nods, clutching his chest as his breathing finally evens out. “Phew,” he says, letting go of your shoulder. “My spare keys to my office…I can’t seem to find where I’ve put them.”
“You mean that big ring that has a copy of about every single key needed to unlock absolutely anything in this school?” you ask, incredulous at the way he nods feverishly. Honestly, how he doesn’t see the issue with what you just plainly pointed out is beyond you.
“Nope, haven’t seen them,” you reply. “Have you checked under the counter? Inside your desk drawers? In the little pockets sewn in the other pockets in all of your robes? On top of a clothing rack? Under the vase of orchids? In the fish bowl? In the left sock from your pair that has those reindeers on them?”
He nods at each one, sometimes hesitating as if recalling something deep in his memory , but then continuing to fervently nod nonetheless. You sigh again. “Well, I don’t know then. I suppose you’ve found someplace new to hide them this time.”
“Hmm…” he mutters, scratching his beard.
“Well, Dad, I don’t know if you heard, but I, uh, I made top student of my year last quarter. For the fifth consecutive time,” you mention, trying to ease into the conversation, albeit very tentatively and with great unease. Most people’s parents would applaud them and give them a prize for merely getting an A. Yours, on the other hand, barely remembers which grade you’re in.
Your father snaps his head up, staring at you with an eccentric haze in his eyes. You feel a small glimmer of hope; maybe he’s going to give you a pat on the back this time, or perhaps offer to take you out for a celebratory dinner. You wait for his response, completely still as if frozen in time, anticipation buzzing throughout every nerve.
“Wait…I believe I put it in the mouth of that owl statue…” He freezes erratically, brow furrowed in deep concentration, before releasing the tension in his body and going back to slumping. “No, I think I already checked there.”
You take a nice, long, deep breath, using up every last ounce of your carefully practiced self-control, which you had perfected through years of deploying in stifling social situations that made you want to crawl out of your own skin, to remain calm in this moment. “Well, I hope you find it.” Giving him one last attempt at even a semblance of a smile, you sharply turn back around on your heel, continuing down the hall to your first class of the day.
Watching the early morning rays of sunshine through the tall windows of the corridor, you think back to the discussion you had yesterday in your Artifacts class. You had answered every question correctly, every fact written in ink not only committed to memory but etched into the very foundation of your brain. 
You wonder if he knows of all the hard work you put into school. All the grueling hours you spend studying, all the sleepless nights you spend fighting against your body’s very nature to stay awake and keep your eyes open just enough to read the page. Heck, you wonder if he even remembers that your birthday is coming up next month—or that you gave him your wish list ages ago to ensure that he gets at least one present you asked for, unlike other years.
No, of course he doesn’t remember, you remind yourself. He doesn’t care about me. He never did.
Just like he didn’t care about Mom when she disappeared.
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“Ugh, my nail chipped again. I should find the girl who did these and squeeze her to death.”
A tentacle floating in midair tightens and coils around nothingness, miming the strangulation of an innocent soul with a disturbing nonchalance. A girl with dark skin and long locks in colors such as blue, teal, and yellow, done up in a small bunch on top of her head, checks the painted nails on her left hand with a scowl on her face. 
“Come on, Uli, you’re getting your nails done like, every week,” the god of the Underworld replies, indifference practically seeping through his spiked leather jacket as he chews gum and gives the sea witch a look. “At least find yourself someone better.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” Uliana snaps, dropping her hand exasperatedly as she huffs.
A sorceress with purple eyeshadow and two sleek, black horns protruding from the sides of her head rolls her eyes as she complains, “This is so boring.” 
“Well, what do you suggest we do then, love?” a crisply accented voice asks, sounding from a boy with neatly parted brown hair and a golden hook that ends in a sharp, gleaming point.
“Did you hear that there’s a, like, super dangerous magical object being kept here?” Maleficent asks, somehow keeping her voice incredibly monotonous and deathly uninterested, even as her words themselves convey enthusiasm. 
“Yeah, apparently it can tell anyone anything they want to know,” Hades replies. “I don’t know why they’re keeping it here, though.”
Uliana turns back to the group, a malicious glint in her eye. Even before she opens her mouth, the boy with powers rather similar to those of a snake can already guess what she’s going to say.
“How about we go steal it?” she asks, a wicked grin already twisting onto her features.
“You do realize that everyone who’s ever used it has gone mad, right?” Hook asks, raising his eyebrows incredulously as he gives Uliana a look of disbelief.
“We won’t use it ourselves, idiot,” she snaps. “But it’ll be fun to steal it and cause a panic. Right, Morgie?”
Morgie swallows, looking up at Uliana with wide eyes. “Of course! C’mon, you guys. Think of the mischief we can cause with it! We can make people think some kids used it and went crazy”—he leans in, excitement growing as he speaks, making wide gestures with his hands—“and everyone would be so scared! They’d probably cancel school, too!”
Uliana grins diabolically again. “Morgie, honey,” she starts, slipping one of her tentacles under his chin, lifting his face up towards her. “How about you do this one?”
“I-I, uh…” he stammers, uncertainty laced in his voice. He definitely wasn't expecting this turn of events.
“Come on, please,” Uliana pouts. “Do it for me? After all, you’re only stealing a little mirror. How hard can that be?”
Morgie glances up at her again, before tugging uncomfortably on the black scarf wrapped around his neck. “But…it’s super dangerous…”
“Don’t you want to be evil? Don't you want to wreak havoc and cause pain?” Uliana taunts. “Or, are you”—she lets out a faux gasp—“afraid?”
“N-no, not at all!" Morgie exclaims, trying to sound more courageous than he feels. “I’ll do it!”
“Perfect,” the sea witch coos, removing her tentacle arm. “You’ll do it tonight.” She turns back to the group, adding, “I hear that old troll keeps the most dangerous and evil artifacts locked up in a room off the east wing, on the third level.”
Morgie gulps, already trying to wrap his head around the fact that he’d be doing the heist tonight. Hook, jumping off a ledge, asks, “You mean the one guarded by different spells and magical alarms?”
Uliana grins wickedly. “Nothing a little bit of Kraken Powder can’t fix.” She holds up a small vial hanging from a string around her neck like a necklace. It's common knowledge how incredibly rare Kraken Powder is, which makes sense, given how potent its anti-magic properties are.
Everyone catches on to what Uliana's implying, causing the group to all laugh together at their evil plan. Morgie tries his best to join along, but he can’t quite seem to get rid of the uneasy knot already forming in the pit of his stomach.
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“You remember the plan?”
Uliana’s slippery tentacles glisten under the moonlight, flailing around behind her in midair. Morgie nods, attempting to still his quivering hands before Uliana notices them. He tries, with a miserable sense of impending doom, to swallow the lump in his throat, but to no avail.
“Here, I stole these from Merlin’s office,” Uliana explains as one of her tentacles drops a large ring filled with probably around two dozen keys, each in various shapes and colors, straight into Morgie's open palm. “One of these has to fit the door. You didn’t forget what you need to do, right?”
Morgie clears his throat, choking out a meager, “Yep.” He pockets the keys, seriously hoping they don’t clink together and make too much noise while he moves. As Uliana already repeated a hundred times, “It’s crucial you don’t get caught.”
Morgie reaches up to touch the vial hanging from his neck yet again, making sure it’s still there—after all, better safe than sorry. Once more, he glances at the large grandfather clock in the common area where he and Uliana lurk in the shadows, waiting. Finally, its bells chime midnight, and Uliana turns back to him as the ringing reverberates around them.
“Go, hurry!” the sea witch urges, pushing him toward the door with a tentacle. 
Morgie nods, hurriedly rushing to the exit. The first part of the plan—a plan he so diligently committed to memory—is for him to sneak out while the bells are still ringing, to mask the sound of the door opening and closing. Thankfully, he makes it out by the tenth chime, carefully closing the door to make sure the latch doesn’t sound by the eleventh.
Okay, I’m really doing this, Morgie thinks as he stares into the deserted corridor. He tiptoes around silently, but still as quickly as possible. Time is, obviously, of utmost importance in missions like this.
At last, he reaches his destination. The unassuming—and misleadingly so—wooden door looms over him, ominous through the lens of his knowledge of what lies beyond it. 
An amateur villain would simply pick the lock and open the door, but Morgie is too experienced in such endeavors to make a rookie mistake like that (Uliana told him what to do, step-by-step).
He hovers his hand above the lock, taking a steadying breath as he summons the powers that reside within him. His pupils shrink into the tiniest slivers of blackness as a dark, magical smoke emits from his palm. He makes a faint hissing noise, reciting an old incantation in a tongue far different from what normal humans use, and the lock softly clicks as the door creaks open. Practically inviting him inside.
Morgie pushes it open the rest of the way, making sure to shut it behind him so as to not raise the suspicion of any night guards roaming the halls.
He turns back around, now faced with a dark, menacing hallway. Walking slowly down it, he looks around with a chilling captivation. Old suits of armor leer down at him, rustic and each coated with a thick layer of dust. Large spiderwebs cover every visible nook and cranny, which makes Morgie exceedingly grateful that the actual spiders aren't in his line of sight.
At the end of the corridor stands yet another large door, matching the first. This one, according to Uliana, has even more security than the other. Time to use my secret weapon, Morgie thinks, reaching to pull the vial of Kraken Powder out from under his shirt. He opens the cap and sprinkles a little of the finely grained dust into his palm, then blows it over the lock of the door.
At first glance, it appears the powder didn’t work, as nothing seem to change. But anyone with an affinity for magical energy can feel the spells placed on the lock of the door melt away without a trace. After the door is unarmed, Morgie fishes in his pocket for the keys. They clang horribly as he pulls them out, echoing up into the tall ceiling of the hallway. He freezes, listening intently for footsteps somewhere outside. When he hears none, Morgie begins the task of figuring out which key fits the lock.
He goes through nearly half the ring (Seriously, who keeps all their keys in one place?) before finding the one that fits perfectly. Twisting it with a swift movement, the door unlocks, and he creeps inside. 
To his immense shock, there isn't a room behind the door filled with evil objects or piled with gold coins. Instead, there’s a…
…library?
Morgie walks inside, utterly confused. Had Uliana gotten the location wrong? No, there's no way. The doors were too guarded for a normal library.
He continues down one of the aisles, wondering why he's never seen this place before. It is extremely large, with arched ceilings meters and meters above his head. Tall bookshelves tower over him, so tall that he can barely see the highest shelves.
Lined against the walls and placed on the shelves are also glass jars and containers filled with seemingly normal items: a seashell necklace, a deck of playing cards, a cane with the head of a snake. But there's something sinister about them; some strange aura that hovers above each object. In fact, it fills the entire expanse of the library. 
Morgie stops by one of the shelves, reading the titles. He brushes his fingers along one of the spines—and that’s when he feels it. An ominous energy rushes through his fingertips, electrifying his every nerve at it travels through him, causing him to realize that this is no normal book. It’s a book of dark magic.
He spins around in a circle, eyeing the entirety of the library. Now that he thinks about it, the whole place has the heavy atmosphere of dark magic. And that’s when it hits him: this is no normal library, and neither are the books. This is the room of forbidden artifacts. It just so happens that most of those artifacts are books, probably containing content deemed too dangerous for normal people to learn.
Morgie briefly considers taking a few of the books off the shelves and perusing through them, or maybe even slipping a couple in his jacket and taking them back with him. After all, all these forbidden books must have countless evil spells and potions. If he and the rest of his group got their hands on these…
However, after a moment of serious consideration, he decides the better of it. He's here for another purpose, and Uliana would be outraged if he only came back with a few meager books, no matter the contents.
Continuing through the labyrinth of shelves, Morgie looks around meticulously, trying to figure out a rhyme or reason to the order of things. No student has ever been in here, and he doubts many of the teachers have, either. Therefore, there were no references or guides to help him and his friends figure out where in the room the Mirror is located. Plus, he doesn’t think any of them had expected the place to be so colossal—he surely hadn't.
After a few minutes of stumbling around in the near darkness, he finally comes across a ladder leaning against one of the shelves. It’s so tall he can’t see the top of it, but deciding it’s his best chance at finding his bearings, Morgie begins the long climb up.
He isn’t really afraid of heights. Not in the way that some people refuse to go on anything more than a few feet off the ground. But he honestly doesn’t see how anyone couldn’t feel at least a little queasy at the high altitude. I must be a dozen meters off the ground, Morgie realizes as he glances down. I wonder what would happen if I fell—
He cuts the thought off before he can imagine the gruesome details. Instead, he looks back up and around the library. From all the way up here, he can see the top of the shelves, and he really was right: this place was designed to be a maze.
On the far side of the area, his eyes spot lots of glass cases reflecting the soft moonlight and flames of enchanted candles. That must be where most of the objects are kept. Chances are, the Mirror’s there too.
He mentally charts out a course through the labyrinth, trying to remember the directions for more than two seconds. Right, left, left again, forward, right, right again, left, forward—or wait, was it right? After a few minutes, he climbs back down the ladder, praying to the demons of the Underworld that he remembers the path correctly and doesn’t get lost.
Morgie makes his way through the maze, growing more and more fascinated by the creepy and wonderful objects around him. He can’t stop thinking about how nice—and useful—it would be to pocket some of them, or maybe come back here and spend more time studying them. Every time he passes by something that intrigues him, his mind immediately wonders if it would fit inside his clothes.
Despite this, he resists the urge to steal things, as he can’t have anything weighing him down in case there are more challenges or enchantments he has to disarm before getting the Mirror. But perhaps on the way back…
His train of thought drifts away as he finally reaches a large area that is surrounded by glass cases, on tables and lining the shelves set into the walls. He never imagined there would be so many forbidden artifacts in total, much less in one place, although maybe that's because he's never really paid attention in class.
From the top of a shelf a few meters away, something catches his eye. A mysterious, eerie white fog pours from one of the highest shelves, dissipating as it cascades down the front of the bookcase. He remembers hearing something about mist related to the Mirror, and deciding it’s worth a shot, he moves closer to check it out.
And that’s when he sees it.
A dark flurry of movement from another one of the top shelves catches his attention. Morgie snaps his head up, brows furrowing as he squints, eyes trailing the structures above him. But he can’t quite make out anything, at least not in the faint light, so he hesitantly shrugs it off and continues towards the mysterious fog—albeit not being able to shake off the strange feeling he has that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
He takes a few more steps, and just as he's nearly convinced himself he’s only being paranoid, it happens again. Now that he’s closer, he can see there’s another tall ladder reaching up to around where the movement is happening, close to the Mirror. This time, his eyes register the shape. 
A dark, human figure moves up the ladder, blending in and out of the shadows. 
Morgie’s eyes grow wide, pupils shrinking back into snake-like slits as a reptilian hiss escapes his mouth. There shouldn't be anyone else here.
The figure freezes in place before turning around to face him, hanging halfway up the ladder. Although Morgie can’t see their face, concealed by a thick black hood, he can tell they saw him. 
He stretches out his arms, summoning black magic that swirls around his hands and up to his elbows again. After but a second of him and the hooded figure staring at each other—which somehow felt like an hour—Morgie throws his arm forward, aimed for the figure.
A ball of twisting dark energy shoots from his hand and towards the hooded face. The figure ducks down, dodging the attack. Undeterred, Morgie hurls more swirls of dark magic. The figure dodges the first few of them, but they must have realized that merely ducking down won't be enough to win this fight, because they summon a shield of buzzing yellow electricity to block the next few attacks.
Morgie quickly becomes aware that he isn’t winning the fight like this; he needs a new strategy. And that’s when he spots it.
He puts his hands close together in front of his chest, gathering a potent sphere of black magic between his palms. The figure stands there, motionless, still hanging onto the ladder.
If you can’t knock them down, pull the carpet out from under their feet.
He thrusts both of his hands forward, sending the ball of magic not at the figure, but at the base of the ladder instead. By the time they realize what he's doing, it’s too late.
Morgie’s magic collides with the bottom rungs, exploding the material and sending wooden splinters flying everywhere. He watches as the figure falls, swiftly summoning a flash of lightning below them as they plummet, easing the crash as they hit the ground. 
The aftermath of the explosion has Morgie ducking down and covering his face with his arm, barely being able to make out what happened to the hooded person. As the dust finally settles, Morgie spots the figure get up, gripping their head as if in pain. They stumble a little, then bush off their black robe as they check for other injuries.
As if abruptly remembering why they had fallen, they spin around to face Morgie. He stares, wide-eyed in pure disbelief, as the figure comes face-to-face with him. Even though they don’t seem to be too hurt, and definitely still alive, the force of the impact caused their hood to be knocked off their head.
Morgie’s mouth drops open as he registers the figure’s face.
There, in front of him, in the forbidden archive harboring some of the world's most dangerously powerful magical objects during the dead of night, stands the headmaster’s daughter.
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Your grimace grows as you lock eyes with a boy with light brown hair, hazel eyes shrunk into slits resembling a snake’s, causing your head to throb even worse.
You watch as the realization dawns upon the boy’s face, cursing the skies for this little issue that you now have to deal with.
He knows your secret.
“Y-you, you, you’re the headmaster’s daughter,” he sputters out, disbelief still painted on his face, as clear as day. Seriously, if he keeps his jaw open like that, it’ll fall off.
“Yeah, no shit,” you spit back, not paying much attention to his stunned little face. Your mind is overwhelmed with a swirling whirlwind of thoughts and ideas on how to get rid of this new liability, each plan vying for your attention, each one crueler than the last.
After all, now that he knows who you really are, how you're not a rule-abiding goody-goody, there’s no point in keeping up your sweet, innocent facade. You finally let your mask slip off, the mask that you wear constantly in the presence of others. The mask that you only relieve yourself of when you’re all alone, with no one to see your callous, vindictive, cynical side. Your true side.
Ever since that day, at least. The day that forever changed your life.
“What are you doing here?” the boy stammers, as if it isn't already dreadfully obvious.
“The same thing you’re doing here.” “How do you know what I’m doing here?”
You sigh, rubbing your temples. Honestly, this kid could not be more of a dunderhead. “Look, I don’t have time for this. Either get out of my way, or I’ll make you get out of my way.”
At your threat, the boy, whose name you happen to remember from a class you took with him last year, changes his stance. Morgie widens his legs, arms fanned out besides him whilst summoning dark energy that clings to his skin, alive and breathing, yet submissive to its master’s will.
“Aren’t you like, a goody-goody?” he asks, face still scrunched in confusion. “I’ve heard teachers go on and on about how good your grades are, how polite you are, how you’re the perfect student.”
You roll your eyes, annoyed at his relentless questions. It 's already bad enough that he knows this much. You don't need him finding out more.
“Well, looks can be deceiving,” you respond as vaguely as possible, hoping that it’ll shut him up. Instead, he cocks his head to the side, shooting back, “I don’t really think so.”
You try your best to not encourage him and his irritating questions, but you can’t help but begrudgingly ask, “How so?”
Morgie looks at you for a beat with an intent gaze, before replying, “I always thought you were too pretty for a hero.”
Uh, excuse me, what? you think. Now it’s your turn to be shocked. “You don’t find me scary?” You had always assumed that people would be terrified if they saw your real, unfiltered side.
“No, not really. I mean, I’m evil too. If anything, I find you even hotter now that I know you’re not a goody-goody.”
Blinking hard, your eyebrows shoot into the air. There is no way he just said that. Your mind is uncontrollably reeling at his words, but only for a brief moment. Before you can read too deeply into it, your attention is quickly snapped back to the black magic still swirling around him, growing by the second. Ah, a ploy to distract me. Maybe he is more clever than he lets on.
“Listen, Morgie,” you snarl threateningly. “That mirror is mine.”
“Wait, you’re here for the Mirror too?” he asks, with far too light a tone for a situation such as this.
“Th-that was obvious the whole time!” you exclaim, unbelievably irritated. “What did you think I was here for?” “I dunno, a book or something.” He shrugs casually, before narrowing his eyes. “Wait, what do you want the Mirror for?”
“That’s none of your business,” you snap back, fingers thrumming with the rush of energy as you summon your own magic. Letting your curiosity get the better of you yet again, you add, “Why do you want it?”
“I’m a villain. I steal things for fun,” he replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “What does a goody-two-shoes hero want to do with a forbidden artifact?”
Barely listening to his words, you study him carefully, needing to know the extent of his powers if you’re going to win the inevitable fight that you can sense coming. You see how his ever-growing dark magic stalls temporarily as he talks, probably from getting distracted while speaking. That’s it. Deciding to buy yourself some time, you use this little weakness to your advantage.
“I want the Mirror because I want to use it.” Even though you’re planning on entertaining his pointless questions, you definitely aren’t going to give him information for free.
“Use it? To get an answer?” His magic hesitates again.
“No, to look at myself.” You see the way his eyebrows furrow in confusion, and you’re pretty sure you’re about to implode. “Of course to get an answer, you dumbass! Unlike you, I don’t go risking my life ‘for fun.’”
“What are you even going to use as an offering? You have to give it something, you know.”
You sigh, reaching underneath your shirt to pull out a small silver locket, its chain blackened from the trials of time. Dangling it from your fingers, you show it to Morgie.
“A locket?” he asks incredulously. “The offering's supposed to be something really special or precious.”
“It is really precious,” you hiss, tucking it back into your shirt. “It’s the most precious thing I own. If anything’s going to make the Mirror work, it’s this.”
“Well, you’re not going to get the Mirror anyways. It’s mine.” He widens his stance again, his magic continuing to grow around him. No, I need a little more time, you think, masking your growing panic with an insouciant eye roll.
“Why?” you question. “You’re not even going to use it.”
“I still need it.” “But why?”
“I won’t tell you if you won’t tell me!” he exclaims. Despite his little outburst, you can tell there’s something he’s hiding. After all, you are a master of concealing the truth yourself. “Plus, you know that everyone who's ever used the mirror has gone crazy, right? You’re literally sentencing yourself to a life of madness.” You give him an unamused look. “I’m the top of our year. Obviously I know everything there is to know about the Mirror of Ytirev.”
He gazes at you in a way you can’t decipher, but it’s softer, more sympathetic than his former glare. You notice that his snake eyes have disappeared as well, despite the magical energy still surrounding him. “Then why are you still doing this, despite the risks?”
You falter, for just a second, letting a sliver of emotion slip through. But as quickly as it happened, you patch it back up, returning to your cold, glowering face. “It’s a price I’m willing to pay.” You expect him to drop it after that, but he continues to press you. “You’re prepared to give up your morals? Your status as a hero? You’re willing to lose all your integrity for one answer?”
God, he talks too much. With a sniff, you throw your hands out in front of you, releasing a bright flash of crackling electricity that had been building up as you cry out, “I don’t care how evil I have to become, I will find the truth, one way or another!”
The lightning shoots forward without warning, hot as an inferno, piercing straight through his chest and flinging him backwards into a shelf like a ragdoll. He falls down to his knees, and for a split second, you wonder if he’s going to get up again. Clutching his chest, he wheezes yet still manages to stand up, summoning wispy black tendrils that shoot at you like arrows.
You tuck and roll, dodging them, whilst building up more crackling lightning between your fingers. The last tendril hits far too close to you for comfort, burning a hole in your robe. That would have been my flesh, had it hit me, you realize in sudden horror.
Seeing as how your opponent is summoning even more dark magic to hit you with, now engulfing his entire body, you break into a sprint. Black spears collide with the shelves behind you one after another, barely missing you, as you run past glass cases, each containing a different artifact that glistens in the silver moonlight. Something across the arena seizes your attention, and a plan begins to piece itself together in your head. You continue your dash towards the shelves behind Morgie. Once you reach a section with books instead of random magical objects, you slow your pace. Amidst Morgie's unrelenting attacks, you create a golden shield of electricity that sparks and crackles, almost alive, and which reaches as tall as you. You jog past the shelves, head craned as you scan the book titles as quickly as possible.
Morgie persists in launching balls of dark magic directly at you, smashing into your shield. Your panic rises as cracks begin to form, at first only small fissures, but growing larger and larger with each sphere that pummels your way.
You run parallel to the shelf, which boxes in the rest of the area in a rectangular shape, eyes frantically darting over words with barely enough time for your brain to comprehend them.
Glancing up as a whorl of blackness blasts the books resting directly in front of you, you duck down, yet continue to run. That’s when you see a thick tome, larger than the others and bearing a dark red cover, jutting out from a shelf a few meters in front of you. With your magical shield barely staying intact, you lunge towards it, snatching the book as you fall towards the ground and somersault behind a desk-sized wooden stand to hide. On top of it stands a glass display case, with faint candlelight illuminating the rustic, yet enchanted, metal shield contained inside it.
You crouch down, flipping through the pages of the book desperately, trying to find the incantation you know has to be in there. One time, on one of your random visits to the library—the normal one, not this hell of the most cursed items in the land—you had picked up a text that talked about the history of spellcasting. Detailed inside was a description of one of the first books of curses ever written, which had been banned from production shortly after its release due to the nature of its contents. There had been a small sketch next to the explanation, which just so happens to match the tome now weighing in your hands.
Morgie’s blasts of magic don’t stop, pounding the wooden stand and the glass case alike. You think he yells something, but you can’t tell; you’re too focused on squinting at the fine print on the page, eyes wildly scanning the names of the spells. The desk quakes with every attack, causing your hands to tremble as you rifle through the pages hastily, pointer finger trailing down the lists of incantations. 
Finally, your eyes lock onto the one you want. “Obiectum impedit semitam,” you recite, gaze darting between the page and the glass case above you. It quivers vigorously, yet remains unscathed due to its magic-bulletproof nature.
“Evanescet a lumine irae meae!” As soon as the last syllable leaves your tongue, the glass case dissipates into thin air. Your hand darts up, clutching the shield and shoving it in front of you. Just in time, as the wooden stand protecting you explodes from the force of Morgie’s dark magic, blasting into a shower of mere splinters that rain down around you. The shockwave causes you to recoil, even as the shield absorbs the brunt of the impact.
Quickly regaining your bearings, you crouch even lower behind the metal. Thumbing through the book pages briskly, your eyes skim the ink, trying to find the first spell that can help you now. 
“Inimicus meus, caveto tibi,” you mutter the incantation rapidly, trying your best not to stumble over the archaic words—who knows what sort of havoc that would make. “Transi me et in carcere gelido capieris.”
You peek your head over the shield as you say the last line, locking in on your target. He stands there, panting, worn from his latest, potent attack. Morgie barely has enough time to widen his eyes as the final word escapes your mouth, instantly creating ice stalagmites that burst forth from the ground, crisscrossing as they trap him in a prison of ice. They tower high all around while entrapping him in a circle, frost coating their sleek outsides, which narrow into dangerously sharp tips.
The air turns frigid, and you can see flurries of movement as Morgie thrashes within his glacial cell. Already, he’s trying to break out. Through the cracks between the icicles, you can see a swirling vortex of black magic fighting the freezingly cold charm. Even though it is a strong spell, you know it won’t last for long. Especially not with the dark energy that is slowly, yet surely, thawing out the ice.
Springing up again, you bolt to the shelves on the other side, jumping over small puddles forming on the floor. The book is still open in your hands as you wildly tear through one page after another, the minuscule words shaking and blurring together as you run. Honestly, what kind of asshole decides to print in such a tiny font? you internally rage. Flipping through the large sheets of paper filled with small text reminds you of reading a dictionary. In a way, the spellbook is a dictionary of sorts, with the way every curse is listed alphabetically, in a neat and orderly manner—much unlike your current frenzied state, with how your heart pounds against your chest as if trying to break free, and the adrenaline coursing through your veins cuts off any semblance of a coherent thought forming in your brain.
Twisting sharply to your right, you dart towards the shelf that the Mirror stands on. You stare up at it as you continue to run, eyes practically sending a silent plea while it sits on its throne undisturbed, watching the scenes before it unfold as if viewing a play from the highest seat in the opera house; somehow mildly amused, yet still condescendingly blasé at the same time.
Flipping to the L section of the spellbook, you scan the page for a spell that can help you reach it at last. Finally finish the last stretch of your journey. 
The icicle prison behind you makes a dreadfully loud crack. Your heart only races even faster with a jolt, your breathing coming out only in sharp, erratic gulps that make you feel light-headed, as if you’re not getting enough oxygen no matter how much you gasp for air. 
As you scan the page, this time with a renewed fervor that has your eyes darting across the words, too panicked to even finish a sentence before leaping to the next, you make a very interesting revelation indeed. For whatever reason, the genius who wrote this book decided not to add levitation to the list of spells, but instead included lignum pullelare, which roughly translates to “sprouting a tree”.
Another thunderous boom sounds again from the constantly fracturing icicles, a violent reminder of the ticking clock. You decide that this spell, no matter how absurd, is the best shot you have. Inhaling another sharp breath that burns your lungs, you cry, “Surge, virens gigas, de terra immunda,” your eyes glued to the page. “Ascendunt ad lunam et super caelos!”
A branch smashes into your chest, knocking the wind out of you—you really need to get used to how quickly these spells take effect—lifting you up as a colossal tree ascends from the ground, growing much more rapidly than even a beanstalk, much less a normal tree. The metal shield slips out of your grasp from the impact, your fingers desperately flailing in its direction futile as it falls and hits the floor with a dull thud.  
Your get snapped back to the present from the momentary distraction as your body starts slipping off the branch, with how it's quickly growing into a thick, strong limb with no end in sight. You slide off the ever-stretching wood, scratches cutting into your arms as you frantically try to wrap them around the branch, until only your hands are still hanging on. Using the book, which remains gripped firmly in one hand, you fling it open and cling to each cover. The book's pages spread wide around the wood as you hold on for dear life.
You continue shooting upwards along with the tree, the bookcase racing past you, when a realization hits you like a strike of lightning. This tree won’t stop growing anytime soon, and when it does, you’ll be too high up—if you're still alive, that is.
Glancing above you, you spot the Mirror and the shelf it sits on getting closer, and getting closer fast. Making up your mind, or rather, making a brash decision fueled by your skyrocketing panic, you wait until the shelf you need to reach comes into view. Then, you jump off. 
Flinging yourself towards the bookcase, you manage to latch on to a shelf, fingers wrapping around the ledge while your feet find purchase on another ridge a few feet below. The book remains clutched in one hand, your iron grip refusing to let it go. Realizing you can't do anything while holding it, you risk letting go with one hand. Gripping onto the shelf with your other hand, you tuck the book under your chin, angling your head down as you struggle to hold it between your neck and body. 
You peer up at your grasp on the shelf, the unforgiving ridges digging into your skin, carving painful lines into your fingers. Your feet barely remain balanced, the ledge not jutting out as far as you’d like it to. Turning your heels in to stay on the little shelf space there is in front of the books, you wince as the ridges between your arms and legs bite into your body. The sweat coating your palms causes your grip to start slipping off, your eyes wide in sheer terror as you let go for a brief second, thrusting your hands further back and hooking onto the edge again.
Glimpsing back down, you see the Mirror resting in its glass cage a few shelves below you, the strange white mist slithering underneath the glass and pouring out over the bookcase like a waterfall. With your chin still uncomfortably positioned as to not lose the book, you release on hand and leg from the shelf, leaving you hanging in between life and death itself.
You move your free hand down one ledge below, then the corresponding foot, haltingly scaling your way down the bookcase. Each time precariously letting go of your grip or footing to blindly feel below yourself for another ledge to stay on. After a few iterations, your feet finally stand on the same shelf as the Mirror, right next to the glass case.
Another piercing boom echoes behind you, making you squeeze your eyes shut as you flinch against the bookcase, quivering breaths sending your heartbeat shooting through the roof. Your eyes dart down to the book you squeeze with your neck, then to where your hands are barely clinging on to the shelf. There’s no chance of using the book to make the glass disappear again. Cursing yourself for not memorizing the incantation earlier, your mind swarms with thoughts, each one so loud they drown out each other.
An idea forms in your head—or rather, slams itself into the sides of your brain like a wave crashing in a bottle while it screams for attention—as you warily lift one foot on top of the heel of the other shoe, maneuvering it off your foot.
Now with only a sock left, you press your toes against the glass container. Inhaling a sharp breath, causing your lungs to ache as they scream for more, you muster enough energy to summon a bolt of lightning, focusing all your attention on passing electrical current through your body and to your foot.
The hotness of the electricity heats up the glass, melting it until there’s a decent-sized hole the size of your foot there. Shuffling to the side and raising your shoeless foot to the ledge above, you draw back your other leg and smash it into the glass, causing the compromised structure to shatter everywhere.
Climbing down the bookcase farther, you come face-to-face with the Mirror of Yteriv at last. It looks exactly like it was depicted in that textbook, sporting an elegant silver frame and seemingly shattered surface, with the two rubies staring at you like glowing eyes. 
A loud explosion rings behind you, resounding throughout the entire library. You snatch the Mirror with one hand, turning your head to the side as far as you can without letting the book slip, just in time to see Morgie demolish the ice prison as he breaks free.
It's clear that since now he's no longer bound by frozen spikes of ice, you’re his next target. Taking in an abrupt gasp of air—the only preparation you have—you let go of the shelf.
You plummet towards the ground for only a second before creating small thunderbolts beneath each of your feet, suspending you in midair. Already, you can see Morgie charging up another attack, aiming it straight at you. Book in one hand, Mirror in the other, you take off into a run through the air. Small platforms of electricity form beneath your feet with every step, dissipating again as soon as your foot lifts.
Balls of dark magic hurl towards you, and you already know you have no chance of winning this fight—not like this. But you don’t need to win. Glancing down at the Mirror clutched in your palm as you jump off a thunderbolt, right as it gets blasted by a black orb, you realize that you’ve already completed your mission. Now, all that’s left is to get out of here.
Your mind scrambles for a way out that doesn’t involve getting blasted into smithereens, eyes still fixed on the Mirror as you continue to dash around in midair. Watching the wispy tendrils of white smoke pour out of the artifact, a previous memory from something you read in a book hits you like a flash.
As the Mirror of Ytirev connects to its wielder’s soul, so do its properties, the book had said. The mist emitted by the Mirror fluctuates with the wielder’s emotions; the more powerfully one feels their emotions, negative ones in particular, the more smoke it produces.
A room filled with smoke? You can’t think of a more perfect cover to help you escape.
Grip tightening even further around the Mirror as you leap to another lightning platform, dodging a new attack, you rack your brain for every negative emotion you have—which turns out to be a lot. The adrenaline pumping through your veins as your life flashes before your very eyes from every near-death experience. The way your heart shatters a little more every time your father overlooks your accomplishments, not paying any mind to how hard you strive to please him. Just to get a single smile, a pat on the back, a meager look of pride in your direction. One simple “That’s my daughter!” sent your way.
The anger deep inside you starts to bubble, pure rage sizzling and growing hotter every second you spend lost in your emotions. A fury that is always there, making every breath a little shorter, every happy moment a little duller. A dormant feeling that is usually left undisturbed, except for when it's triggered. Then it becomes a fire that burns hotter than any flame in the depths of hell.
The emotions and thoughts and memories that you keep suppressed in a corner of your heart all coming flooding out, like a dam finally bursting free. How could everyone strand you like that? Leave you all alone to suffer through your grief, while always expecting you to be kind and cheerful. They know what happened, and they have to know how badly it hurts. Yet not a single one cares. Not your dad, not your teachers, not your friends. No one in the entire world ever so much as offered a shoulder for you to cry on or gave you a comforting smile. Not one “I’m here for you” or “It’s all right, take your time.” No, all they did was raise their expectations, setting the bar so high until you’re barely clinging to it, trying to pull yourself up despite your weary arms. Lifting it to such heights that losing your grip and falling would mean certain death.
You think of the snarling, twisted animal that resides deep inside you, embedded into your very being, clawing at the aching hole in your heart left by the absence of your mother. Finally letting it break free after being caged for so long, you feel, oh-so agonizingly, how it scratches its way up your throat and escapes you in a wretched sob.
Why did she leave me? How could she leave me? I’m her daughter, for fuck’s sake. Who can abandon their child like that? Does she not care about me? 
Did she ever even love me?
Painful thoughts consume your head as a few stray tears run down your cheek. You grit your teeth, sucking in shaky gasps of breaths. Smothered by your anguish, submerged in emotion.
Yet, despite all this, it works. Remembering the entire point of your self-inflicted despair, your head snaps down to the Mirror. Although your legs burn and throb from all the incessant running, you can’t stop. At least not yet.
Thick fog exudes from the Mirror, rapidly engulfing the whole of the arena. Within a few moments, everything is covered in the dense whiteness, so heavy you can barely see your hand, even if you hold it directly in front of your face.
Morgie disappears in the fog as well, to the point where you can no longer see nor hear him. Assuming that he’s no longer a threat for now—if you can’t see him, he can’t see you, and if he can’t see you, he can’t attack you—you summon a staircase of thunderbolts and walk down it until you safely step onto solid ground.
Your legs practically give way at the first touch of hard floor, the urge to collapse and lie on the ground excruciatingly strong. Mustering up the last of your strength and willpower, you force your feet to step one after another, desperately trying to distract yourself from the fire burning in your muscles at even the strain of supporting your own weight. 
Almost done. Almost.
Practically rendered blind by the all-encompassing mist, you keep one hand outstretched, making sure you won’t collide with anything—especially Morgie. Pocketing the Mirror, you continue through the fog. You had made sure to note your direction in relation to the exit before everything became completely invisible as to help you easily find your way out without getting lost. But after a few minutes in the overwhelming whiteness, you start to doubt yourself. 
What’s even worse is that there’s no sign of Morgie. You’re not foolish enough to expect him to pop up right in front of you, but you don’t hear him making any sounds either. No footsteps, no breathing, nothing. Your strides are far more muffled as you take your other shoe off too, annoyed at the limping effect the difference in heights causes. But nothing from him.
Your mind starts wandering to what happened to him, refusing to admit that the smallest part of you feels the tiniest bit concerned. Does he need help? Is he still alive? Your intentions were to steal the Mirror and disarm him, not kill him. You’re not evil enough for that.
Not yet, anyway.
After stumbling through the murky fog for a bit longer, you start to notice that now, you can see your hand extended in front of you. The fog is thinning, you think, which means I must be nearing the edge of this area and heading towards the bookcases.
A little bit further, and the fog disperses to all but a thin mist. The bookshelves in front of you come into view, the rows and rows of them finally visible as they expand into the distance. Follow those, and you’ll find the door you came in through. 
So, so close…
You take a few more steps, the heavy spellbook still in hand as you reach into your pocket with an unusual, yet profound, sense of paranoia, ensuring the Mirror is still there. Out of nowhere, you feel a strange sort of chill cover your feet. You chalk it up to your lack of shoes, but, not being able to resist the urge, you glance down.
That’s when you see strange feathery tendrils of black smoke on the floor, in stark contrast to the thin mist that hangs in the air. They slither and wrap around your feet as they move, condensing together in front of you and rising up a meter off the ground in the shape of a hissing black cobra.
The cobra flares out its hood whilst flicking its tongue at you, swaying side to side as it stretches to its full height. You stumble backwards, hesitating for only a second too long before it dawns on you where the snake came from.
Behind you, a brooding voice sounds. “Going somewhere?” Morgie asks.
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You spin around sharply, dismay and a special breed of horror painted on your face as you turn to face him. “I don’t care what you do, the Mirror is mine,” you growl, shooting him a lethal glare that truly could kill.
“I don’t think so.” He gathers more black magic around his palm, creating an orb that whirls around like a dark, spherical tornado. You both stare into each other’s eyes for a moment, a fracture in time, trying to decide your next move—when he suddenly throws his hand forward.
You flinch away, yanking the book in front of your face as a shield. After a second, when you don’t feel anything, you open your eyes, turning back in his direction in confusion.
And that’s when you see that you weren't the target of his attack.
The book in front of you was.
The dark magic gnaws at it from the back cover, where it hit on impact, eating away at the pages. “No!” you scream, desperately flipping through the paper as the magic destroys it. Your own magic may be quite strong, but since you're barely allowed to practice it, it’s nowhere near the son of Morgana’s abilities or prowess. This book was your only chance at defeating him.
Frantically rifling through the pages, a look of pure horror on your face, you try to scan the spells for something to save you. Teleportation is soon gone, as well as fireball. As soon as you catch a glimpse of a spell name that could be helpful, the incantation is instantly obliterated.
Panic building faster than even the speed of the dark magic, you flip to the front of the book, trying to find a spell at the beginning of the alphabet so you have enough time to actually read the incantation.
But apple is of no use, and neither is bridge. Morgie stands there, gaze transfixed on your struggling form, wickedly smiling with an amused raise of his eyebrows. Guess he really is a villain after all.
The black energy eroding the book spreads across both covers, demolishing the tome as you hold it in your feverishly trembling hands. Your eyes race across the letters, desperate to find one that could even have a chance at saving you.
Dragon, no.
Claws, not that.
Chasm, not that either.
None of these will help me! your internal voice screeches, the book dissipating as you hold it. Then, your eyes snag along a word.
Chains. The perfect spell. 
“Ut qui inritat, catenas sentiat iras,” you wildly spit out, heart racing, tongue unable to move fast enough. Your eyes dart frenziedly ahead of your mouth, running on sheer panic as you try to memorize the words in case the book does disappear. “Pati in compedibus, ut solvas pretium peccatorum tuorum,” you continue to cry out.
As the last fibers of the pages evaporate in black fumes, you thrust a hand in Morgie’s direction, yelling the last few words. “Eris enim sine fuga ligatus!”
Nothing.
Then, boom.
The residual magic from the demolished book, no longer contained in a physical form, explodes, the force sending you flying backwards. You soar for a couple feet before colliding with a shelf behind you, your head slamming against a sharp edge.
You crumple to the floor, body bruised, beaten, and bloody. The world spins, your head throbs, and you feel so generally shitty that you want to crawl out of your body and leave this physical hindrance behind.
Your head feels too heavy to lift up, and so it falls forward, swaying back and forth. A warm sensation on the back of your skull draws your senses back to the present, and you lift one weary hand to the spot. Bringing it back down in front of your face, you see a whole lot of red smothered on it, just as more trickles down onto the base of your head and neck.
Groaning, you lift your face to scan your surroundings as the dust settles yet again. The fog is now almost completely gone, allowing you to see rather clearly. Sight still blurry, you barely make out the figure a few meters in front of you as heavy chains whip up from the floor, wrapping around his arms.
More spring up around his legs, dragging him down and causing his knees to buckle. He fights against the metal, but they only tighten as even more encircle his torso, tethering him to the ground. He leans forwards, now kneeling before you, arms spread out and chained to the floor on either side.
In front of him, halfway between you two, lies the Mirror of Yteriv, face-up on the floor.
Scrambling to get up, you slowly manage to stand, leaning your weight on the bookcase behind you. The ground sways underneath your feet, but you don’t collapse. One shaky step after another, you make your way over to the mirror.
You practically crumple to the floor as you lean down to snatch it up, the sounds of chains rattling against each other echoing through your head as their prisoner resists his bonds.
You straighten again, running your fingers over every millimeter of the Mirror’s surface to ensure that the cracks reflected on it are only part of its usual appearance and not actual damage caused during the explosion. Once you're sure of its safety, you look down at the figure shackled in front of you.
Morgie looks up at you, hair disheveled and face bruised, a few drops of blood spattered on his cheek. His eyes are a storm of anguish and a wounded kind of sorrow, his jaw clenched tight. You’d like to think that he isn’t peering up at you, body tied and bound, with resentment etched into his features, but you know you’d be lying to yourself.
He gives another violent tug against the chains, but to no avail. Neither of you speak a word, remaining in complete silence, yet somehow saying a thousand things through your eyes. You stare down at him, at the way he can barely lift his head due to his restraints, the agony swirling in his eyes tugging at your heartstrings in ways that make you ache through your core. 
But you’ve already come this far. You can’t turn back now.
The deafening silence remains as you raise the Mirror up in front of yourself, the white mist wrapping around you as if beckoning you closer. The red eyes glow even brighter, their judgment intensifying as your reflection begins to appear in the glass. The cracks on the surface slowly fade away as you come into view, until finally revealing a completely smooth and unmarred image as you gaze into your own eyes.
Except they aren’t yours.
Your reflection in the mirror is not of yourself, but of a younger version of you. She smiles effulgently, a pure, innocent sparkle of wonder in her eyes. A look of untainted bliss painted on her face as she beams. 
A look you haven’t seen in your own reflection for a long time.
“Mommy?” her young, high-pitched voice calls out. “Mommy? Moooommy? Where are you?”
A sob gets caught in your throat as you gasp, tears framing your vision. As if the memory finally gets uncovered in your mind, after being hidden away all these years from your brain deeming it too painful, you realize when this is—or rather, what this is.
“Mommy?” she calls again, her smile faltering as her little brow furrows in confusion, her face scrunching ever so slightly. “Mommy?” She turns her head to the side, looking at something out of view before asking, “Daddy, where’s Mommy?”
Your chest heaves as a sharp cry escapes you, the pain taking a physical form in the tears streaking your cheeks, your face contorting as you weep. In the background, a man’s faint, shaky sobs sound.
The mirror slips from your fingers, landing on the ground with an echoing thud. You whimper, uncontrollably trembling breaths causing your chest to jolt back and forth. You don’t move, can’t move, empty hand still suspended in midair.
You feel numb, yet like you're experiencing every emotion all at once. Your brain can’t wrap around this, around any of this, can’t comprehend your own thoughts. Can’t process what you feel. You’ve shoved your emotion down for so long, that now that they’re no longer bottled up, you don’t know how to deal with them.
“I’m sorry.” The voice cuts through the thick silence, snapping you out of the raging war inside your head.
You glance over at Morgie, still wrapped in chains. His eyes no longer hold the same animosity and misery, but instead a soft sort of sympathy, an underlying look of understanding as he peers up at you, head slightly raised.
“I don’t want your pity,” you sniff indignantly.
“I’m not pitying you.”
You look down at him, your chest heaving, eyes bloodshot. Taking shaky gasps of breath through your mouth, your body quivers as you wait for him to continue.
“I didn’t know about your mom, and you’re totally justified for wanting to know what happened to her,” Morgie continues. “You can take that Mirror and walk out of here if you want.” You keep on staring at him, not saying anything, frozen with anticipation as he carries on. “But are you really going to risk your future for knowledge of the past?”
You gulp before responding, voice hoarse and eyes half-lidded, voice cold and numb. “Would you still hesitate to take that risk, even when it means it could make your future finally be one worth living?”
“Your future is already one worth living,” Morgie replies. “You may not see it, but you’re talented, and smart, and pretty, and you’re a good person. You have a bright future ahead of you.” He shakes his head, eyes still boring into you. “Don’t ruin it like this. Blinded by your pain.”
Sniffling, you inhale a shuddering breath. “And how do you know my pain is blinding me, and not making me see clearer? Clearer than I have in my entire life. Clearer than she did.” You jut your chin towards the mirror lying on the floor.
“I don’t. But what I do know, from seeing my own mother, is that pain like this gets you nowhere. Letting the people who were supposed to love you instead turn you bitter and cynical never fixes things. You may think that becoming evil is the solution, but it’s not. It’s not worth it. You’re not worth it.”
You stare at him intensely, a raw kind of pain displayed on your face, one that no one has ever seen before. A thousand emotions flicker through your eyes, your lips twisting into a whimpering attempt at a smile as you cry again, the sob wracking through your body. “You really think so?”
“I know so.”
Hope flashes in your eyes, reflected in his. Your gaze softens, looking at him as if he’s the beacon of light at the end of the tunnel. A small grin breaks his steady demeanor, looking at you with optimism shining through the glimmer in his eyes.
You reach down, picking up the Mirror again. You stare at it, although not directly at your reflection this time. He peers up at you, still shackled to the floor, eyes wide with anticipation.
You slip the Mirror into the pocket of your cloak once again before turning around, your back to him. Twisting your head to the side so he hears you, you say, “The chains will disappear in an hour.”
Turning your head back, you walk away and leave him behind, black cape flickering in the dark night.
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Unclasping the back, you slip off the locket, placing it in front of you. The rusty metal is reflected in the mirror in front of it, along with the tears that splatter on its surface.
It had belonged to your mother, the only thing you had left of her. She had given it to you when you were a little kid, not too long before she left. It was old and weathered, the silver having tarnished over time. Still, you religiously wore it every single day, never taking it off as if it's a part of your body. And sometimes, if you stare at it hard enough, you can almost trick yourself into believing she's still there.
Safely back in your dorm, all alone, you had set the Mirror down, flipping to the notebook page where you had transcribed the incantations for the ritual, without a second thought.
Now, sitting on the ground, the Mirror leaning against a leg of your desk with your locket as an offering in front of it, you start to hesitate. Your face twists in pure agony, features scrunched up, lips quivering uncontrollably as a waterfall of tears splatter onto your hands and lap.
It’s too late to turn back now.
Taking another shaky breath, you extend your hands forward to the Mirror, placing one thumb on each red gemstone embedded in the intricate silver design. The jewels watch you, scorning your every action. Just like everyone else.
Your eyes flutter closed, letting out the steadiest exhale you’ve had all night. “Speculum, speculum, in conspectu oculorum meorum,” you whisper, feeling the way the rubies press into the flesh of your thumbs. Already, the Mirror starts discharging more fog, enveloping you as it grows denser with each syllable. “Accipe donum meum et veritas libera me.”
You open your eyes as the last words leave your tongue, staring straight into the eyes of your own reflection.
The red gems glow radiantly, emitting a bright light that nearly blinds you. You squint, yet still unrelentingly stare into your eyes—or rather, your younger self's eyes. The fog swirls around you, swallowing you whole. You can’t see anything anymore, can’t even tell where you are. You feel as though your soul, your life’s very essence, gets sucked out of your body and into the Mirror.
You have the sensation of being shoved forward, but you don’t fall. In fact, you don't have a body anymore, no physical vessel to hold you. You try to look down, but you're greeted by the absence of your legs, sheer nothingness filling the space beneath you. You can’t really move around either, not in the way you’re used to. All you can do is simply float, your existence diminished to an untethered life force, with some semblance of what you once were.
Looking around, everything around you is white like before, but not in the suffocating way the fog was. Instead, you stand in a wide expanse of whiteness, a vast field of empty space. It stretches on forever, with no end in sight. It’s as if you’re stuck in a blank canvas, waiting for a painter to bring you to life.
The sound of wind whistles all around you, but not so much as a breeze actually comes. In fact, everything is completely unmoving. Despite the stifling stillness, you remain listening to the sound of the wind. If you strain hard enough, you can hear something almost like faint whispers filling your senses.
You look around again, ignoring the eerie voices. According to all the texts you read, after the Mirror accepts the wielder’s offering, they can ask for their answer. You’re not quite sure if this field of emptiness means your offering’s been accepted, but seeing as how you don’t feel insane yet, you think it’s safe to presume so. Still, your brain can’t help but point out that crazy people probably don’t feel like they’re crazy either.
Shaking off your doubts, you decide to continue with the process. After all, it is the only shot you have. You had memorized all the incantations for this particular spell earlier, repeating them over and over again until every word was engraved into your mind.
“Scire volo verum,” you recite. “I wish to know a truth.” Nothing happens.
You take a deep breath. “I wish to know why my mom left.”
The wind around you grows louder, howling even in the still air. The whispers increase in volume, once seemingly non-threatening and benign, now forming a cacophony of overlapping, chaotic voices. They grow distorted and grating, pushing in from every side, wrapping around you and slithering into your brain. You can’t block them out, no matter how hard you try; can’t swat them away, can’t make them leave, leaving you trying to tear them out of your head, despite not having hands anymore.
Suddenly, the white vastness turns a dark gray, and you start getting pulled downward towards something, like moving towards the center of a black hole. The whispers grow claws and fangs, clawing and scratching at your chest as they drag you down, making it hard for you to breathe. 
You try to fight back, but the voices now in your head keep pulling you down. They’ve taken over you, consuming you whole, and it’s impossible not to succumb to their will.
As they continue to drag you down into the abyss, you turn around—or rather, focus on the other side of your vague form of spiritual energy—and notice a tiny black dot very far down, but steadily growing bigger as you move towards it.
The whispers are screaming now, cries of agony of those who came before you, encompassing you whole and forcing you to the depths of this dark chasm.
And that’s when it hits you.
The others who used the Mirror did all end up getting the truths they sought.
And the truth was what drove them to madness.
You panic, trying to shake off the invisible hands of the whisperers, but they only tighten their hold around you. No matter how hard you fight them, they don’t relent in their endeavor of pulling you towards damnation.
“Are you really going to risk your future for knowledge of the past?” Morgie’s words echo in your head out of nowhere, haunting you with regret. You absolutely despise admitting it, but fuck, he was right.
Your last conversation with him replays in your mind, reminding you of your foolishness and idiocy. You had been so focused on getting what you wanted that you were indeed blinded to the truth that had been right in front of you this whole time.
“Your future is one worth living.”
His voice swirls around in your brain, drawing your attention away a little from the screaming voices in your head.
“You’re talented, and smart, and pretty, and you’re a good person.”
You realize these are probably the last words you’ll ever hear.
“You have a bright future ahead of you.”
You feel like crying again, the despair that’s taken root in you fighting to escape. Still, you don’t have an actual body in this dreamscape, so crying is impossible.
“It’s not worth it. You’re not worth it.”
You look back up the other direction and away from the black dot, resigned to your fate as you get dragged down into the chasm, deeper, deeper, deeper. At first, you think you’re imagining it; a mirage created by your mind to distract you from your pain. But as the descent continues, you begin to realize that it may not be an illusion after all.
In front of you, from the direction you came, a faint golden thread, seemingly made of pure light, stretches from your form of consciousness and ascends, up, up, up, all the way to the never-ending sky. With each of Morgie’s words you repeat in your head, the string of light grows stronger, brighter.
“You’re talented.”
The thread becomes thicker and more luminous, and you begin to realize that your descent has slowed down as well.
“And smart.”
The thread grows again, and you slow down a little more.
“And pretty.”
Your eyes follow the string upwards, and now, you see there’s a faint patch of white amidst the murky gray surrounding you.
“You’re a good person.”
The thread, still shooting out straight from your form, gleams with a shimmering golden light now. You notice that you’re no longer getting dragged downwards, but instead up, towards the whiteness. The screaming voices aren’t as insufferably loud anymore, either.
“You have a bright future ahead of you.”
You keep ascending, getting drawn faster and faster up. Morgie’s words serve as your lifeline, saving you from insanity.
“You’re not worth it.”
Now, you see that the white patch is actually an opening, an escape from this hell. The thread leads to it, its blinding brightness concealing whatever lies beyond.
“I know so.”
The last of his words give you the final push you need, sending you straight into the white light.
Your head snaps up with a sharp, terrified exhale. You look down, taking a moment to register that you’re back in your room. The locket dangles from one of your hands, the Mirror clutched in the other.
Fresh tears replacing the dried ones on your cheeks as you let out a sob of excruciating heartache, a sound of pure agony. The kind that no one should have to go through.
You look down at the cracked surface of the Mirror—a feeling of raw, unbridled anger set in the way you clench your jaw, and the way your face contorts with your cries—staring straight at the evil red eyes still gleaming at you.
With a swift motion, you lift your hand above your head, still grasping tight. Mustering together all your might, you hurl the Mirror towards the ground, watching as it shatters into a sea of glittering pieces.
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“You’re late.”
You lean against the rough brick wall of an empty corridor, arms crossed, your figure partially obscured in shadows.
“And I’m surprised you’re still here,” Morgie quips, walking towards you. “Why’d you even want to talk with me? Especially through leaving that threatening note next to my nightstand for me to find when I woke up.”
He stops in front of you, leaving you to glower at him. Suddenly, with no warning, you lunge towards him, seizing the collar of his shirt and pushing him against the wall, your other hand summoning a rod of crackling lightning. 
His eyes widen with a startled gaze, but he doesn’t look quite as fearful as you want him to be. “Now, listen here.” You press the tip of the lightning bolt against his neck. “If you say a word of what happened last night to anyone—especially my father—I will kill you.”
Although you try to sound as menacing as possible, Morgie is unfazed. An amused smirk spreads across his face as he replies, “Alright, relax. I wasn’t planning on telling anyone anyways.”
His eyes trail down from your gaze to the locket dangling from your neck. He reaches out a hand, brushing his thumb along the tarnished metal as he softly says, “You didn’t go through with it, huh?”
You pull away, frustrated at his compassionate tone. “No. I decided…it was too risky. After all, what’s the point of figuring out the past if I can’t ever use that information, right?” A small smile spreads across Morgie’s face, that sympathetic, delicate look in his eyes again. Your irritation rising at this, you add, with a growl, “Although I will find a way to get my answer. I don’t care how bad I have to become, if you, or my father, or anyone stands in my way, you’ll truly see how evil I can be!”
Morgie keeps his unfettered appearance up. God, he’s so annoying! you mentally scream in frustration.
“Why are you so fixed on this?” he asks, tilting his head sideways and furrowing his brow as if trying to look past your cold, vengeful, rancorous mask and figure out the scarred little girl buried underneath.
You roll your eyes instead of answering. Never one to express emotions, the thought of opening up now about your years of pain feels terrifyingly vulnerable. It’s so much easier to just build walls around your heart and shut everyone out.
“Tell me this, and I promise I won’t tell a word of what happened last night to anyone,” Morgie bargains.
You narrow your eyes. “You already said you wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“Well, now I’m having second thoughts.”
You raise your arm again to summon another bolt of electricity, and Morgie lifts his hands, palms facing forward, in a gesture of surrender. “Relax, I won’t say anything, fine. But I just want you to talk to me. Bottling up your emotions like this isn’t healthy. Last night should be a good example of that.”
You shoot another glare at him, but can’t deny the fact that he’s right. Still, you hate the idea of how exposed and weak you'd be if you actually told someone how you feel.
“I’m not going to leave you, you know.”
You peer up at him, eyes wide in shock, as he continues. “I’ll stay by your side. You don’t have to worry about me abandoning you.”
Gulping, you nod, averting his gaze. Instead, you choose to look down at your shoes, studying the laces as you speak. “I…when my mom left, it was so sudden. No goodbyes, nothing. It was like one day, she just vanished.”
Your voice cracks, and Morgie places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, unknowingly pulling you closer to him. You swallow, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “My dad didn’t even care. It was as if she never existed. And everyone else…they all knew what happened. But they paid no attention whatsoever. They expected me to act normal, be all nice and sweet as if nothing changed. It made me hate them, hate all of them.”
“Do you hate me?”  
Morgie’s voice rings in the empty corridor, quiet yet speaking louder than a thousand shouts. You look up at him again, his image slightly blurred by the tears welling at the bottom of your eyes. You look up and you see the boy that stood by your side at your worst, who didn’t get scared or run away when you showed him your true colors.
The boy who said things no one’s ever said to you, whose words saved you from destroying yourself.
The boy who stands here, a concerned crinkle on his forehead as he awaits your answer. He doesn’t have to be here, listening to your problems. He doesn’t have to care.
But he does.
“No,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “No, I don’t hate you.”
In the suffocating sea of fake smiles and stifling pressures, Morgie is like a breath of fresh air. The first gulp of oxygen that you take as your head breaks free from the water.
“That’s a relief,” he responds, a trace of a smirk ghosting his features.
You give a small, bittersweet laugh. “Ever since my mom left and my dad stopped caring about me, I’ve never had anyone to talk to. No one seems to care about my emotions, or ask me how I’m doing. It’s as if I’m not a real person who has actual feelings.”
You’re on the verge of tears again, and Morgie must realize this, because he tries to lighten the mood by attempting—and failing—to inconspicuously wrap an arm around your shoulder as he says, “So, what I’m hearing from all this, is that you need a strong, reliable figure in your life to lean on, right? Like…a boyfriend or something?”
You duck under his arm, moving a good few feet away from him while fixing him with another glare. “Yeah no, I’m good.”
“Come on, that was smooth! You’ve got to admit it,” he whines, drawing out a small giggle from you. 
It’s been a long time since you’ve laughed like this: a true, heartfelt laugh, not the fake one that you do to appease other people under the pressure of society's expectations. It feels nice, like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. 
All because of him.
“I don’t know, maybe I'll consider it with some time, if you treat me well,” you joke as you turn your head away with faux indifference. 
“Hey, a slim chance is better than no chance at all, right?” Morgie moves closer to you again, as if he can’t stand having so much space between the two of you. “I can see I’ve made some progress since last night, when you tried to kill me.”
“I wasn’t trying to kill you,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes at him.
“Oh yeah? Tell that to the bruises on my body.”
“It’s not my fault you’re so weak and sensitive,” you retort with a grin.
He nudges you playfully and you laugh again, shaking your head with an amused look. “Hey, I was wondering,” he asks, locking eyes with you, “what did you end up doing with the Mirror?”
You give a knowing grin, masking the undercurrent of what’s left unsaid. You vaguely respond, “It’s in a better place now.”
“If you say so,” Morgie replies, his smile returning to his face and lighting up his features once again. He continues to tease you, and you oblige him, keeping up the friendly banter as he walks you to class.
The Enchanted Lake glistens, reflecting the sun’s gentle rays with a bright shimmer. Deep down, under feet of clear blue water and various forms of aquatic life, in a far corner of the lake, lies a bag of glass shards. Next to it floats an ornate metal carving with a hollow center, reminiscent of something once set there. And at the top, two glowing red gemstones briefly flicker and die out, like watchful eyes finally closing.
end x
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a/n: how did this get so long...if you're still here, and if you actually read that entire thing, thank you so so soo much! I'm sending you a virtual cookie and a hug (if you're comfortable with it ofc) because you're absolutely awesome! <3 hope you enjoyed reading!
do not plagiarize, translate, remake, or copy my works, including my writing and images, in any way.
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demiromanticmickey · 9 months ago
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On today's "I am SO not normal about Dead Friend Forever": Discussing Catholicism and Colonization in this gay Thai slasher series
Some background on me: I am from a Latine Catholic family. Raised as a non-practicing Catholic (we didn't go to church or pray). Then my parents enrolled me in a Catholic school that I attended from 5th grade to the end of 7th grade. Today, I am not Catholic and have never really considered myself as such.
Ok, so in the flashback episodes of DFF, I have been noticing a lot of things. My findings under the cut.
Let's start with this crucifix and photo of the Virgin Mary and a baby Jesus.
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Screenshot from ep. 5.
The camera lingers here a bit so we're obviously meant to pay attention to the phrase. I put the screenshot through Google translate's image translator and the translation it gave me was, "Think good, do good, be a good person." I didn't think much of it when I first watched the episode other than it was supposed to establish that the boys attend a Christian or Catholic school.
But then there was this image posted on Be On Cloud's Instagram (also from ep. 5): X
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Zooming in, we can see there's another picture of Mary in the background. Watching the classroom scenes, it's easy to miss because the series itself is more washed out than the official photos posted. But this emphasis on Mary led me to believe the school is a Catholic one. So out of curiosity, I looked up the schools the writers and directors attended because I felt I was onto something here. And boy, was I!
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Source: MDL
Ma-Deaw, if you didn't know, is one of the directors of Dead Friend Forever (he also directed Manner of Death and Inhuman Kiss , and lots of other things).
One Google search later (X) and I learned "Montfort College" is a Catholic school. It started out as a primary school that later added a secondary school as well.
Now let's take a closer look at some of the details of this school:
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First, the school's motto "Labor Conquers All Things". This reminded me of the phone conversation Tee had with his uncle:
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On my first watch, this sounded familiar to me but I couldn't really place why. It wasn't until I saw this other Tumblr post (X) that pointed out it's similar to a bible quote from the New Testament. The quote varies a bit depending on which version of the bible you're using but it's along the lines of, "He who does not work, neither shall he eat".
This is meant to discourage "laziness". Nevermind the fact that people deserve to eat simply because we get hungry and need food to survive. The idea that we only "deserve" things based on productivity is an extremely colonial one. — Reminder also that Tee is being forced into this "work" in the first place. He's just a high school kid. I don't need to like his character to understand how fucked up his situation is.
Then there's the patron of the school. St. Louis de Montfort was a French Catholic priest most known for his study in Mariology. What is Mariology (X)? The study of Mary, the mother of Jesus. I didn't know that was a thing but it's unsurprising considering how prominent images of Mary were in my own religious upbringing. And she's what started me down this rabbit hole in the first place. Mary is a big deal to the Catholics. I'm going to be paying even more attention now if more Mary imagery pops up.
The Garden of Eden and Original Sin
Now I want to draw attention to these images:
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Screenshots from ep. 7
Here we have Non and Phee biting into an apple as they leisure around this lush green field. We know they've visited this location more than once because they're wearing different outfits in the screenshots. And I think it's important to note that it's Phee holding the apple and offering it to Non.
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The use of the word "bait" in the bts of ep. 7 is quite interesting too. (X)
The Garden of Eden was the paradise in which Adam and Eve resided. In this garden, there were many trees to eat from. The one tree Adam and Eve were forbidden by God to eat from was the Tree of Knowledge. A serpent (Satan), first tempted Eve into taking from the tree to eat it's fruit. And then Eve gave the fruit to Adam. That is Original Sin. And because Adam and Eve ate from the Tree of Knowledge, all humans thereafter are born sinful and bad, and can only find salvation through God.
Of course in the scene between Phee and Non, the sin the apple represents is being gay. And it's after this, and after the bracelet scene, that Non becomes involved with Por's film and his tragedy begins.
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Zoomed in screenshot from ep. 5
And I wonder if the bracelet scene is the last time Phee and Non visit this forest location. It would parallel how Adam and Eve were cast out of the Garden of Eden once they sinned.
Final Thoughts
You give me a story that criticizes Western religion and how it's used as a tool for oppression and colonization, and I'm gonna eat that shit up. I am gonna eat it up. Every. Single. Time.
I really wasn't expecting anything like this from Dead Friend Forever. This level in attention to detail is unmatched. I don't think I've watched a more well planned out show. And no matter where DFF goes from here, these seven episodes will always hold a special place in my heart. 💗
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bluemirrorangel · 2 months ago
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Dps headcanons the poets and their type of academia aesthetic 
This is wayyyy longer than I intended it to be lol anyway I hope you enjoy these, leave a ship or fandom suggestions and I’ll do headcanons for them if you want :) 
Todd:darkest Academia
Loves gothic fiction and horror stories because he likes being nervous knowing that he's supposed to be.
Likes reading outside at night because it’s quiet 
Surprisingly nosey, not in a bad way he’s just really curious about stuff.
Likes dark/muted colours.
His favourite book is a picture of Dorian grey.
Weirdly into cryptids and other mysteries.
Was TERRIFIED of the Bermuda triangle as a kid.
Loves writing poetry but enjoys writing in general.
Semi popular writer on AO3 for classical literature, started because Keating told him to publicise  some of creative writing.
Runs his good reads account like the navy.
Charlie:chaotic academia
Regularly gets uniform carded for everything; shirt unbuttoned and untucked, tie loosened, he never has his blazer on and his jumper is perpetually tied around his waist. 
Has a mason jar type cup on his nightstand that is always full of a mixture of different energy drinks and fizzy drinks/soda’s, Cameron says it looks like paint water.
Banned from reading out loud in English class pre-Keating because he got a little too into the role of Jack in Lord of the Flies .
Point blank refuses to do P.E and is always ‘losing’ his kit.
Shockingly serious about music class, deeply respects the teacher and never misses a lesson.
Post stick notes EVERYWHERE
Writes his notes in highlighter and felt tips
Went through a phase of bringing a flask to school instead of a water bottle because he thought it looked cool.
Spark notes BIGGEST FAN.
A saxophone prodigy despite being unable to read sheet music.
Neil:light academia
Loves Shakespeare and the theatre in general
Good grades in every class but really shines when it comes to the arts
Eats his lunch in the English classroom with the other poets
Forges his fathers signature for school trips so much half his teachers have no idea what his dads handwriting actually looks like.
Hates biology because he’s scared of blood
Always says that Todd is his favourite author/poet.
Really good memory, able to learn lines at shocking speeds. 
Finds it difficult to multitask; has to have instrumental music playing otherwise he gets distracted.
Prefers plays over books.
Collects playbills.
Meeks:classic academia 
Loves typewriters, inherited one from his grandparents and uses it alllll the time.
has a polaroid camera and uses it to take either the best candid's or the  most diabolical mugs there's no in-between.
Owns a shocking amount of sweater vests.
Has a record collection.
Loves those retro 50’s themed diners/drive-ins, drags Pitts and the poets to those all the time.
Really into history
Owns an analogue radio.
Taught himself Latin one summer to impress Pitts, and is now fluent.
His entire wardrobe is vintage themed.
Favourite book is the Outsiders by S.E Hinton.
Knox:romantic academia
Writes love letters and poetry whenever he has a crush on someone, used to keep them under his bed but swiftly changed that hiding place after watching ‘to all the boys I've loved before.’ with his sister, they now live in a shoebox on his trophy/bookshelf.
Loves the romantics big fan of love poetry as a whole.
Has definitely tried to serenade someone before.
 Self taught guitarist.
Has only ever received on card on Valentines Day, it was from Charlie in year nine it’s one of Knox’s most prized possessions.
Loves Romeo and Juliet.
Thinks ‘say anything’ is the height of romance 
Subconsciously wants to be romanced for once instead of the other way round. 
 Has Pinterest boards dedicated to romantic quotes 
His favourite movie is the princess bride.
pitts:’nerdy’ Academia 
really into the roman empire 
Loves renaissance fairs and goes every year.
REALLY into dungeons and dragons.
Loves going to random museum exhibits.
Spent half his childhood hyper fixated on the Titanic, was super excited to watch the movie and completely heartbroken when he realised it was a fictional story and not a documentary.
Brilliant at chess.
Knows random historical facts.
Horrible at remembering faces but never forgets a name.
Loves mythology of all kinds.
Really good at architecture; his middle school used to have a architecture competition where  you had 2 minutes to make a house out of marshmallows and dry spaghetti the most stable one won, Pitts won every year.
Cameron:dark academia 
Keeps his notes/homework in colour coded folders and files
A proper perfectionist and  chronic overachiever.
Writes in pencil or fountain Pen.
the gifted kid who REFUSED to burn out.
Only gets attention at home when he’s doing well at school, so he throws himself into his studies.
Drinks more coffee than water
Can play the piano, was entered in a school concert and his whole family came. He was terrified of embarrassing or disappointing them so he overdid it and played so hard his fingers bled.
Has a copy of every graded test practice or otherwise in his room so he can go over them before his exams.
Hates English with a passion because it’s the one lesson where there are no rules.
Once spent an entire night going over his English notes before a test and was so overtired he fell asleep during the exam and failed it. None of the poets bring it up not even Charlie because that day was the first time he’d seen Cameron cry.
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judaismandsuch · 11 months ago
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Where do Jews pray?
Aside from the "technically true" answer of 'wherever they happen to be' this is going into the words used English for the specifically chosen buildings.
You run into a few different common ones: Synagogue, Temple, and Shul.
Each have different histories, and implications that many people may not know.
So I want to break down the etymologies, implications, etc. as well as mention some less well known ones.
1)Synagogue: Linguistically arguably the most correct. It comes from from french, latin, and ultimately greek, and ultimately is from the translation of the Bible into Greek. The word be created as a translation for the word Knesset. It literally would translate (in the original greek) to 'meeting place'. overall: 10/10, cannot go wrong with using this word.
2)Temple: A fairly Common word, but one that is rife with theological implications that many are unaware of. Basically it goes like this: There was the first temple and the second, and we are waiting for the third (in theory). When the Reform movement started, one aspect was that the Temple was no longer felt to be a necessary and lamented missing aspect of Judaism, and that the places of prayer were equivalent.* So they began to call their Houses of Prayer 'Temple's. No one in the Orthodox movement would use that term, nor would people in the Conservative movement call their houses of prayer 'Temple'. (at least none that I have seen, and very much none at the begining, I am sure that there are some conservative shuls nowadays that do use the term 'temple'). Now, this means that the use of the word 'temple' to describe a Jewish house of worship is also a theological position. So hearing people use the term 'Temple' as a catch all term instead of Synagogue will annoy a lot of more religious Jews. Now there are a few disclaimers about this: 99% of people aren't aware of this. I have met many a reform and conservative individual that was unaware of the history. So like all pieces of information on a small aspect of theology, don't assume a use of a term implies full knowledge of ramifications. Of course, there is the other issue "Temple" refering to loads of other religions' houses of worship, so it isn't really a good identifier. 2/10, find another word people.
3)Shul A loan word from Yiddish, it actually is the same linguistic root as 'School'. A place of learning. I like it, but a lot of people won't know it, so you'll need to then translate the word. 8/10, but I am biased.
Other words that you may see:
Jewish Church: The issues are obvious, but for some reason I like it.
Beit Knesset: The Hebrew word, 'House of Meeting' it's good, but y'know obv. issues of using hebrew in english.
*I am summarizing and simplifying a large religious movement, obviously this misses some nuance.
NOTE: There are a lot of terms! This is "Common ones you run into in North America" But there are def. terms for it from other Jewish communities that I never heard!
If you have one you didn't see on the list, put it in the notes! (or a direct comment, I'm no cop)
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whousestypewriters · 1 month ago
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i don't know why i'm here - j.h x reader
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pairing: jameson hawthorne x fem!reader
requested: yes / no
warnings: swearing
a/n: hellooooo this is a long overdue fic but i was in a jameson mood hehe so here we are babies. also this is set in a boarding school :))
taglist: @midiosaamor, @reminiscentreader, @ravenclawdirectioner, @tornqdowarnings, @benny1989fredd,
@foolish1girl, @off-to-the-r4ces, @emelia07, @delicatepoett, @kozumesphone, [if your name is white it means i couldn't tag you]
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jameson hawthorne is smart. dangerously so.
but you're smarter. and you prove it on the days when you win tests and pop quizzes.
most of the time only by one point, but still. beating jameson hawthorne is something you relish in. its not often that the only hawthorne brother that attends mightwood academy shows weakness.
and ever since the time you beat him on your first day and first pop quiz he's been out to win back the coveted spot at the top of the class.
so what started as a petty competition has now grown into the largest rivalry on campus. everybody knows about it. its gotten to the point where if people see you walking towards your room with a frown etched onto your face, they know to get out of the way. or the same way if they see jameson sauntering towards you with a smirk on his face, they know to lean in to watch.
most of them can't tell if you're about to rip each others throats out or starting making out. it could go either way honestly.
and right now as you watch jameson idly walk over to your desk - the teacher not even bothering to tell him off; he's the jameson hawthorne, why would she tell him off? - you decide you want to rip his throat out.
"well, well, mea vita-" the stupid nickname he calls you grates on your nerves. he won't tell you what it means and apparently latin is the one language you have a personal problem with and refuse to learn it. or maybe you just don't want to know what stupid insult he's calling you.
"what did you score?" he asks placing his test paper on the table, the red one hundred at the top a taunt left for you.
"an ehjdfnphs," you mumble.
"a what-y what what?"
"an eighty-six," you snap at him. shoving your paper down onto the desk, grabbing your bag and storming out of the classroom, ignoring the teachers calls.
maybe it was the fact that you had had a fight with your mother that morning, because she wasn't letting you come home for the holidays and demanding you stay during the schools winter break. or maybe it was the fact that jameson was acting like and ass and you finally had enough.
which ever it was, it doesn't matter. you lost your shit in class so thats going to be a detention on your record and thats going to be another week of tormenting from jameson.
you exhale when you swing the door to your room open and launch your bag onto your bed. sitting down in your desk chair and shoving your head in your hands.
a sigh leaves your lips and instead of wallowing in your idiotic decisions you decide to throw yourself into the one thing you're actually good at. studying - and sending an apology email to the teacher which will hopefully decrease your detention time.
time passes fast while you're buried in your books, words and notes fly past you as you read over the material you seemingly failed at learning well enough to score an eighty-six.
a knock at the door has you jolting awake - you don't even recall when you fall asleep but judging by your dry mouth and patch of drool on the desk you did.
yawning you get up and open to door surprised when you see a dishevelled hawthorne standing there.
"jameson?" you look over at your alarm clock on your desk. "it's eleven pm, what are you doing here?"
his words are soft, "i don't know." but he holds out a bowl candy in offering. "you missed dinner though i thought i would come and make sure you ate."
it must be the sleep deprivedness acting on your behalf, because you actually step back and let him in with a soft smile. his eyes widen in surprise as if he was expecting you to take the bowl and slam the door in his face - which if you weren't hungry or tired you probably would've done.
"so this is what your room looks like huh?" jameson's question is quiet. he scans the room as is he's remembering every detail about it. which you really wish you had time to clean up now that you think about it; the dirty dishes stolen from the kitchen, the scattered homework and the unfolded laundry piled on your bed doesn't exactly scream responsible.
"mea vita, have you even left your room to eat today?" he asks concern clouding his eyes.
"jameson. why are you here?"
he's quiet for a moment. "... i'm sorry about the way i acted earlier, it was a dick move to do that in class when i could already see you were in a bad mood."
"it was- wait how did you know i was in a bad mood?"
"i could just tell," he shrugs and sits on your bed. "but i really am sorry, i let the stupid feud get into my head."
it must be the fact that he brought your favorite candies in the bowl, or the gentle look on his face that makes you move towards him and sit down next to him.
"i'm going to win next time." why did you say that?
and just like that the calm in the room evaporates and jameson's devastating smile returns. "or so you think mea vita."
"I will, today was just a fluke."
challenge sparks in his eyes. "oh really?"
you inch closer getting in his face, "oh yes, i will. you're going to watch me win jameson hawthorne."
his eyes drop to your lips and your stomach drops - why is one look making you feel this way? this can't be good. "it would be an honor to watch you win, mea vita."
he bends down in a question and you nod letting him.
kissing jameson feels like falling. it feels like winning and losing at the same time. your breath hitches and you feel your composure about to come undone.
kissing jameson feels freeing. like you'll never have to pass another test as long as he there.
it feels like victory.
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a/npt2: guys its 1am and i'm struggling to keep my eyes open so if that ending isn't good enough just let me know and i'll add a second part :))
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nattroan · 9 months ago
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𝓘gual que un angel!!
Lottie Mathews x latin!reader
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n/a: This is the video that inspired me to make the first headcanon °ʚ♡ɞ° , sorry if there are spelling errors, English is not my first language, by the way I made the decoration inspired in Kali Uchis and yes I am from Latin America exactly from Venezuela, do you want me to do one of Natalie?
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I feel like sometimes you yell nice things at him in Spanish to see if he thinks you're angry, but when you see his sad face you give him a kiss and explain that you were saying nice things to him
When you listen to music in Spanish and she likes the rhythm, she asks you what the song says
If someone discriminates against you at school, the first thing they will do is defend you and insult the guy
When you invite her to family parties, she is enchanted by your culture and stays all night asking you things about your country
One day you told her that you miss your country a lot and you don't know how she managed so that the next day she told you that she already had two first class plane tickets to your country
She loves to try the food from your country and rate it
Sometimes you teach her some words in Spanish because she asks you to.
“Hey love, how do you say I love you very much in Spanish?”
When you have arguments and you start speaking in Spanish involuntarily, she starts laughing at your seat and that makes you angrier (then she ends up apologizing with kisses, hugs and red flowers)
When they have arguments and you start speaking in Spanish involuntarily, she starts laughing because of it and that makes you angrier (then she ends up apologizing with kisses, hugs and red flowers)
“you forgive me?” She said as she grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer to her
One day a relative of yours who had gone on vacation to your country brought you some sweets from there and you asked Lottie if she wanted to try them and she accepted (what she didn't know was that some were spicy)
“THIS THING IS TOO STING”
While she was screaming because of the itching, you were dying of laughter in your bed, after a few minutes the itching went away you asked her if she wanted more and she told you “GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME”
You taught her to dance the typical dance of your country and surprisingly she learns very quickly.
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embrace-and-love · 3 months ago
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Reacting to The Vampire Lestat - Part VI (with maybe big spoilers and quotes?)
Part 1
First chapter without Armand since his first introduction. I'm in my grieving era, leave me alone.
"And as we said our farewells, I believed that Nicolas and the little coven had every chance for survival and that Armand and I were friends." Why does this sound like a 'five minutes before disaster' situation? (If you say "that's because it is", I'm blocking you... shhhh)
It's like Anne didn't even bother to be subtle about it lmao.
"Nowhere did I meet a vampire who was in any way a magnetic creature, a being of great wisdom or special accomplishment, an unusual being in whom the Dark Gift had worked any perceivable alchemy that was of interest to me. Armand was a dark god compared to these beings. And so was Gabrielle and so was I." Armand mention! I'm gonna collect these like Pokemon while I wait for princess to come back (let's hope nothing bad happens when he returns :) <3 /hj).
"In the main it is Our Oldest Friend [Armand, obviously] who is relied upon to restrain him. And that he does with the most caustic threats." What I'm getting is that book!Armand and show!Lestat went to the school of Latin American mothers. Btw, the "Armand, obviously" made me laugh because it was so informal, it's like I was getting notes from Lestat himself and not reading an official book? Not to mention it was so unnecessary because it's clear that's Armand lol. But thank you, Lestat, for clarifying that I guess.
"I cannot say that we do not love him. For your sake we would care for him even if we did not. But we do love him. And Our Oldest Friend, in particular, bears him great affection." The show and even fandom gave me a totally different idea about Armand and Nicki? I didn't imagine Armand would ever care about Nicki in the slightest.
"As for Our Oldest Friend, I wonder if you would know him now. He has built a great manse at the foot of your tower, and there he lives among books and pictures very like a scholarly gentleman with little care for the real world. Each night, however, he arrives at the door of the theater in his black carriage. And he watches from his own curtained box." There you go my little neurodivergent princess with low social battery. We are the same.
I can't believe Eleni pulled a "Lestat, come back home, the children miss you!" lmao.
"And when I wasn't out roaming, I was traveling the realm of the books that had belonged to Gabrielle so exclusively all through those dreary mortal years at home." I'm so happy he can read and drown himself in books now. <3 Not being able to do it before left such a big impact in his life and it's great that he loves books as much as he thought he would. I think music, theater and literature are his biggest interests. I don't know if he has a favorite, but those are definitely his passions.
There's such a contrast between Lestat and Gabrielle because he was the one that got to go out there, hunt, kill wolves and have 'adventures', while she was at home reading. But he'd rather read those books and even as chaotic and adventurous as Lestat is, he's more disciplined and laid-back than her? And once Gabrielle is a vampire she's like "I'M DONE WITH BOOKS I'M GOING TO THE WILD I'M GONNA CLIMB MOUNTAINS AND SLEEP ON THE GROUND AND JUMP FROM HILLS AND LIVE AMONG ANIMALS AND EXPLORE THE WORLD" lmao. But I guess I'm with Lestat there, I'm way more inclined to arts than nature and adventure.
"Before we even got to Italy, I knew enough Latin to be studying the classics, and I made a library in the old Venetian palazzo I haunted, often reading the whole night long." Yeah you go baby learn how to read by accident and expand that knowledge to new languages now <3
"The truth was, I didn't want to forget them. I never stopped writing to Roger for news of my family. I wrote to him more often than I wrote to Eleni at the theater. I'd sent for portraits of my nieces and nephews. I sent presents back to France from every place in which I stopped." No matter what Lestat says, he is still a child that cares about his relatives even after everything, that deep down wanted a simple happy family life, that wants to keep his humanity, still has a conscience and cares about God. Many of his conflicts stem from that tbh. Just some Catholic village boy really.
"I do not know why I go on. I do not search for truth. I do not believe in it. I hope for no ancient secrets from you, whatever they may be. But I believe in something. Maybe simply in the beauty of the world through which I wander or in the will to live itself. This gift was given to me too early. It was given for no good reason. And already at the age of thirty mortal years, I have some understanding as to why so many of our kind have wasted it, given it up. Yet I continue. And I search for you." Not him mayhaps getting borderline suicidal that soon...
FFS, FORGET MARIUS! He cannot help you, stop putting your hopes on him, you don't know the guy! Babygirl, what you need is THERAPY!
I don't want to read the name Marius anymore btw. Maybe that will change when he shows up, but like this? No, thank you very much, but NOPE!
"For all my complaints about loneliness, I was used to it all. And there were new cities as there were new victims, new languages, and new music to hear. No matter what my pain, I fixed my mind on a new destination." Sometimes being right is not fun at all.
"It seemed no matter where I was that Armand and Nicki were both with me." I can partially relate.
I'm confused, did Nicki's hands grow back like Gabrielle's hair?
"'Oh, I'm monster enough to understand it,' I said. 'Do you remember what you told me years ago, before we ever left home? You said it the very day that he came up the mountain with the merchants to give me the red cloak. You said that his father was so angry with him for his violin playing that he was threatening to break his hands. Do you think we find our destiny somehow, no matter what happens? I mean, do you think that even as immortals we follow some path that was already marked for us when we were alive?'" One of my favorite pieces of the writing. Just deep and gorgeous. Also, Lestat still a Catholic boy after all this time with this reasoning.
However, I was expecting his death to be WAY MORE DRAMATIC and not this "told in a letter" thing? I was imagining the whole plot to be devastating, actually... And it wasn't? Maybe because Nicki was so mad since the beginning and didn't get enough book time, but I could never grow to care about him that much... I hope the show does a better job with it.
"Maybe people had to be dead six thousand years for her to love them." Ouch.
Second time that I think I'm having a completely different take compared to many people or even the whole fandom lmao. Noice.
Part 2
"'I can't and you know it,' I said. 'I can't do it any more than you can stay with me.' All the way back to Cairo, I thought on it, what had come to me in those painful moments. What I had known but not said as we stood before the Colossi of Memnon in the sand. She was already lost to me! She had been for years. I had known it when I came down the stairs from the room in which I grieved for Nicki and I had seen her waiting for me. It had all been said in one form or another in the crypt beneath the tower years ago. She could not give me what I wanted of her. There was nothing I could do to make her what she would not be. And the truly terrible part was this: she really didn't want anything of me! She was asking me to come because she felt the obligation to do so. Pity, sadness-maybe those were also reasons. But what she really wanted was to be free." This is sad, but I also think this is very human, relatable, realistic, well-written and a great conflict to explore on the show.
I do think Gabrielle genuinely wanted to stay with him, that wasn't pity or obligation, but they just want different things. She loves him, but they love different kinds of life and that's the problem.
The plot twist that is not that much of a plot twist because it's predictable (but still good) with Lestat's family...
If somebody was meant to be spared couldn't they just make one of his brothers decent and keep him and the children alive?
Btw, we don't even know much about his family. I know he had parents, three bothers that lived into adulthood and nieces and nephews. But the book only acknowledged Gabrielle, his father and Augustin. Maybe one of the brothers wasn't really that bad and was forced to do that stuff. Idk.
Anyways, it doesn't matter now...
His dream omg???
Kind of weird, kind of messed-up, kind of sad.
The fact that he's still going back to his father, omg...
I feel bad for him. I also feel bad for him because that probably won't solve anything and just hurt him more. I don't see his father changing.
Lestat and Gabrielle's goodbye was so well-written. One of the best moments of the book.
If I'm to give my full opinion on the incest, it would have to be on a separate post just about that. But in short, at first I thought it had some logic that worked in a book like this, but it wasn't necessary and the show could go fine without it... Now I believe it might be necessary to explore Lestat and even Gabrielle as individuals.
Like, the relationship isn't cute, sexy or fun like some people make it seem. At least not for me. But I do think it is a sign of their inner struggles and that it might be a necessary discomfort for us to fully understand them?
I don't know. I don't have a conclusion yet. Still thinking about it. But I trust Rolin to adapt the book properly and not just be controversial for the sake of it and trivializing this look some fans do.
I do hope that the times Lestat and Gabrielle hug it will be JUST HUGS. Those moments were so great and the kisses left me like... WHY RUIN IT LIKE THAT? I can and would rather live without it, tbh.
Okay, so Marius is here.
Marius is a blonde? Wasn't expecting that. I don't know who to fancast as him.
Not really found of blondes except for a feeeeeeew exceptions. Anyway, I'll wait for the revelation to come to me, I guess.
If anybody wants to share their fancast, I'm willing to listen. Maybe it will help me picture him too lol.
Last chapter, here we go.
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imbrisvastatio · 10 months ago
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Writeblr Re-Intro
Hi, my name is Sarah and this is my low effort writeblr. Main is @aestatismors therefore follows, likes, and asks will be from that account. Taking latin in high school is my whole personality.
I'm 25 and queer. I am here to find friends, read other's writing, and to learn to share my writing. I am open to tag games and asks! (I get behind, but I get there eventually lmao)
I write horror and fantasy mostly. My writing is usually dark and intended for adults. I love the weird and vague.
Information about wips under the read more;
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Liar's Gate (tag wip^2) is high fantasy following three different people from three different places. A queen who abandons her kingdom and can explore her suppressed magic. A prince who refuses to be who his father wants, but his father has another plan in mind. And a woman who finds herself adopting a small girl after becoming a monster.
By The Hands (tag autumn wip) is about the way heartbreak and grief shapes actions. How love can hurt the people you meant to help. Everything is destructive and sometimes letting go is the answer. And sometimes holding on is instead. Large cast of characters and different timelines.
Shapeless (tag shapeless) is a segmented story following five characters as their worlds shatter in different ways. Death haunts them all but they aren't as powerless as they believed.*
House of Unrest (tag hou) is a written horror rpg that I gm on discord. Vol 1 is The Case of Abbigail Biggons. A young girl in Marrowstone goes missing on a hike with friends and everything is connected back to the Mirron Inn.*
Crest (tag crest) is a fantasy written ttrpg that I gm discord. Based off of d&d and pathfinder. Magic is outlawed and the gods are gone but there are plenty of secrets and history that unravel with them. And perhaps the gods are not quite god and magic isn't simply outlawed.
---
*Shapeless and House of Unrest take place in the same universe. Other snippets I share may also share that same universe.
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exhuastedpigeon · 7 months ago
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hiii, i just saw your tags on a post about catholicism and I know you watch 911, so i was wondering if you wouldn't mind sharing your thoughts on how you'd like to see 911 handle the whole Eddie is a lapsed catholic and has catholic guilt and is now dating a former almost-nun. do you think eddie's going to have a moment of "oh, actually i want to do mass and confessions again because thanks to my lovely girlfriend marisol, ive found my faith again"?
ANON I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED! I'm going to put some of my own experiences under the cut at the end of this ask because I think the context is at least a little important.
I think someone like @monsterrae1 will also have a ton of insight into this as another recovering Catholic and as someone from a Latin Catholic background that's probably similar to Eddie's.
Now to my take:
When they brought in Marisol's backstory of being a novice nun I laughed so hard I fell out of my chair and then I got really excited because bringing religion into Eddie's story is, in my opinion, the most obvious path for Eddie's queer awakening and an arc where Eddie unpacks a lot of his catholic guilt and repression.
If Eddie goes back to Church, which I think he might based on Bobby's advice not because of Marisol, I don't think it's going to be a 'oh wow I missed this!' moment, I think it would be the start of a journey where Eddie realizes how impacted he is by Catholic guilt and how even if he hasn't gone to church in years, it's impacted so many aspects of his life.
Eddie saying he's a manchurian catholic and has a reservoir of catholic guilt he didn't realize was there was so funny to me because that man doesn't even realize how his catholic guilt has impacted his life. Every time he ignores his own feelings for other people. every time he tries to do what he thinks people want of him instead of what he wants. every time he shoved down his feelings to 'do what's right' that's catholic guilt, baby.
My personal feelings on it are that Eddie is going to realize that he's been repressing a lot about himself... like maybe his sexuality. He's been comphet coded for years. From the panic attack of Ana being called his wife to saying dating feels like a performance to what he said last episode about the church being a big reason he and Shannon got married. (This isn't to say he didn't love Shannon because he did, we know how much he did even after their relationship was dead in the water).
I think we'll probably get an Eddie/Marisol breakup in the next few episodes - likely triggered by Eddie realizing he's maybe not straight and maybe he needs to figure himself out. Or maybe because he still can't get it up around her because of the nun reveal. Or maybe for some other reason - like maybe Marisol is a little homophobic.
They're setting up a perfect 'queer repressed Eddie' arc. They've set it up since before the move to ABC, even if they didn't do it on purpose.
I don't think it's going to be an easy journey for Eddie though. He's probably go so much internalized homophobia inside of him. He's got so much to unlearn and so much he needs to learn to love about himself. That's one of the reasons I hope Tommy sticks around - he's someone Eddie could lean on and learn from because he came out later in like - he came from a similar background with the military - he's someone Eddie could trust with that.
Now, a little backstory on my own relationship with Catholicism before I dive in - I was raised very Catholic, church every Sunday, Catholic school (uniform and all) from kindergarten all the way to high school, I was confirmed, I was my sister's confirmation sponsor, I was an alter server, I was a lead in my high school's church choir.
But my Catholic background is also not the exact same as Eddie's. He specified he comes from Latin Catholics and that's an important distinction because different cultures have a different approach to Catholicism. I'm originally from the states and while I'm not Irish-American or Italian-American but, I was raised in a very Irish and Italian neighbourhood (lots of first and second gen immigrant folks) and have probably a more 'Irish-American/Italian-American Catholic' perspective.
I am not practicing anymore and have gone to so much therapy for what my therapist calls 'religious trauma' because Catholicism, my teachers, and some of my priests, made me hate myself for existing even before I knew why I hated myself. Catholicism and the way they speak about queer people and the way they speak about sex is extremely regressive and when you learn about it from a very young age, you internalize that.
I also experience guilt when I do basically anything for myself that isn't beneficial to other people. You're made to feel selfish for having needs. I just... don't like organized religion because of my experience with the church.
I spent like 21 years hating myself and feeling tremendous guilt about my feelings towards women and every time I would kiss a girl I would play if off as 'oh haha it's just for laughs' because Catholic. One of my best friends in university once said to me, "I'm gay, but I'm catholic so I'm straight". He's now married to a woman and has a kid and every time I see him he looks worse and sadder. He struggles with addiction, likely because he's trying to numb himself. I think any religion that makes someone feel that way is toxic.
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x--daughters-of-darkness--x · 11 months ago
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Evanescence, ‘Fallen’ | The Album Story
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RS: Listening back, it is striking just how bold and ambitious it is for a debut album. Not many bands come out with a full choir and string section on their first album. Did you have to fight for those elements at all?
AMY: “You know, it helps when you have something that you really want to do that you’re gonna fight for. But that you have the ability to do. If I had a crazy idea of Gregorian chants or an all-boys choir, something that I couldn’t actually make happen, it would be a lot harder, because we’re gonna spend all this money on finding somebody to create the sound and then find the team. At least with choirs, specifically, in high school I was the choir president. I loved choir, I was  inspired by a lot of that old Celtic and Latin hymn stuff. And I took Latin. So I was like ‘I’ll write it, I’ll do everything, all you gotta do is help me put together a small team of vocalists, it’s not gonna be that expensive’. We can make this happen. I think just having the moxie, or whatever it is, to go ‘I’ll put this all together, all you have to do is just trust me artistically’. It’s still a fight. It was harder to fight for real strings, because that’s just expensive. That’s just something that cost a whole lot of money. But to me, that was so key to what our sound was. The whole idea was that it was if a heavy band with riff-driven, pop hooks could get in a head-on collision with a dark film score. If it didn’t have that film score part of it, it would have felt like so much was missing. I do remember having a discussion with the label about ways we can make it sound real with pads and stuff – they’re better than they used to be. But I just always said ‘No, whatever it is, we’re on the hook for it. In the end, I promise we’ll get the money paid back. We have to have real strings. It has to be real’. And then we ended up with David Campbell who is one of the absolute best in the industry for that, and we’ve had a lifelong, career-long partnership now that I’m so grateful for.”
RS: The ‘Bring Me To Life’ demo was the first taste people got of this reissue. It’s remarkable how fully formed that track already was even at that early stage.
AMY: “There’s probably 10 demos of that song. The label had fixated on it and decided it was going to be the single we were going to focus on. So it was just constantly changing, we felt like we were in this demo forever. But they all happened over the course of just a couple of years. So the very first demo, before the chorus was what it was, I don’t even know where that is. I don’t even have that. It started without the rap but also the ‘Wake me up inside’ part wasn’t there. It was the verses and the chorus was like…I could sing it for you but that’s not going to translate into your magazine. But the one you heard that’s on there was sort of in the middle. That wasn’t the last one.”
RS: It is still the song we know, it just needs a few tweaks. It’s interesting to be able to see the process behind that.
AMY: “I always remembered that little sample in the beginning that became the piano part. That was always still in my head because we listened to it so many times before making the song. We wanted the piano so it would be like a film score starting out.”
RS: How big a role did your cinematic influences play in creating the album?
AMY: “We were really inspired by film and would go to the movies all the time. Part of that is just the age we were in high school. But it also felt like research – ‘Donnie Darko’, ‘Edward Scissorhands’. It was like I was really learning from it. My favourite part about film was the music, not so much the soundtracks, that’s great too, but the score is what makes you know how to feel. There is a whole sub story going on underneath. You are feeling things that are deeper than just the words and actions of the characters. So that’s when I started getting really inspired. I wanted to be in a band, but I would really like to score film and was going to school for that when we got signed.”
RS: ‘Everybody’s Fool’ is a track you have discussed a lot in the past. It seems to express some frustrations around the idea of fame and success but, again, it was written so early in your career. Once you found that success, did the song take on any new meaning for you?
AMY: “At the time, I was the teenager, a big sister, and my siblings were younger in elementary school. My two little sisters, who are very close in age, were in their boyband and pop girl moment. I was like ‘Oh my god, you guys are totally dumb. Listen to real music, I’ll show it to you’. I was always trying to influence them with Green Day, and Nirvana songs that didn’t have horrible things in the imagery. But at the same time, like they were going through this time where it was not just about the stars but school cliques and what you look like seemed like a really big focus. Who liked you, all that stuff, everybody goes through that. I think what I really wanted to say was that what I respect is authenticity. That should be the thing that we’re trying to win, not the beauty contest. Just be yourself. But then, strangely, soon after I found myself in the spotlight really fast in a really big way where you are on a stage for people to just look at you and talk about you like an object and that was hard. That was a weird time for me, because I was really young and really never bought into all that. But when it’s happening to you on a really large scale, you can’t just tune it out and leave the cafeteria. You have to actually face it – ‘There’s my career, how do I be the most of myself and show all the parts of myself that I really want to be seen and not be misunderstood?’ I just felt really misunderstood. But I think the lesson really is that you have to keep on, look at yourself, look at your real friends and the people around you that really know you. Remember who you are apart from it. It’s always been good for me to take breaks from this. I don’t think I need to anymore the way that I did. I know who I am. I know we’re gonna be here. But it was always important for me to step away and go ‘I’m not Amy Lee. I’m just Amy still’. I still have hold of my identity which is ever changing. It still has room to grow. I’m not stuck as that album cover picture forever, even though that is still a perception in probably millions of people’s minds. So you just have to give yourself the freedom to keep growing.”
RS: In terms of what may come next from you, how has looking back and reflecting on your early days affected how you want to move forward?  
AMY: “I think it’s always a positive thing to remember your roots, even if it just means you’re going to branch really, really far away for them and do stuff that you’ve never done. I think you have to know who you are and know where you’ve been, because this is just the next chapter in that story. I’ve been doing that all year to where I just kind of never want to hear it again. Not really, but it’s definitely a little bit of what I said before about recognising those innocent moments where I’m not trying to be ahead of somebody’s criticism or anything. Write something without feeling any fear. That’s really sweet. I don’t know how I could recreate that. It’s hard to say because I dearly, dearly love our band, my guys and now Emma (Anzai, bassist). I’m most interested to hear what her new dynamic brings into the situation when we get together. I’ve wanted to be in a band with her for a really long time and it just finally worked out.”
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the-fiction-witch · 3 months ago
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New Girl
Media - Slaughter House Rulez Character - Willoughby Blake Couple - Willoughby X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - Mentions of drugs / mentions of drug use / sexual discussion / making out / semi nudity / undressing / breast play / fondling Word Count -3345
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Willoughby sat on the windowsill with his book in hand trying to look as normal as possible like he hadn’t just been doing anything he shouldn’t when the door opened to his head of house Sparta.
“Morning sir,” He smiled briefly,
"AHH! Perfect. Mr Blake, I'd love to introduce you to your new roommate. Miss Y/n.”
Y/n came in, in the usual girls' uniform but very much as against the rules as she could get away with. Her shoes were dirty, her knee-high socks crooked, her skirt rolled up, her shirt untucked and tie pulled low, hee's blazer over her bag, her hair in pigtails with neon purple at the bottom
He raised an eyebrow at her and shut his book on his lap, setting it down on the windowsill behind him as he looked at her up and down, judging her. “Uhh why am I-”
“The Andromeda hall is full, so she’s going to be doing with us this year.”
“Great,” he said sarcastically and let out a sigh as the head of the house left the room and shut the door behind himself. Willougby looked at her again, eyes locking on the neon purple in her hair. “nice hair.” he said in a tone, clearly sarcastic.
"I got bored on the train. I had a Sharpie," she answered her tone dismissive before she pouted her lips and blew a bubble with her gum,
he chuckled a little bit and shook his head, leaning back on the windowsill “Well, it’s… creative,” he said,
"relax. I won't be here long. I plan on getting expelled as soon as possible" she said throwing her bag on the floor and lying on one of the beds,
“Uhh that was gonna be my bed but… fine,” he raised an eyebrow at her, “and how exactly do you plan on doing that?” he asked, leaning back on the windowsill to get a better view of her.
"break enough rules they kick you out" She shrugged,
he chuckled as he rolled his eyes a bit, he’s never heard of anyone getting themselves purposefully expelled on their first day at a school “What, so you plan on being a nuisance all year?”
"that's the plan. I've done this six times already"
his jaw almost dropped, “wow, you’re determined, aren’t you?” he couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought, “so, why do you go to all these different schools anyway, don’t you have parents?”
"I do, rich, and deeply loving. First world problems I know. But they won't send me to the school I want so I'll keep getting expelled everywhere they send me till they send me where I Wanna go"
he tried to hold in his laugh, this girl was actually insane. “and exactly what school is so special that you’re willing to do all this bullshit just to get there?”
"Miss Melaminas Arts Private Boarding School"
he raised an eyebrow and tried not to laugh, not because the name of the school itself was funny, but because of how crazy she was. “all this… because you want to go to an art school?” he asked, still trying to hold in his laughter.
"I don't want to learn Latin and quantum mechanics. I want to be in art classes"
“so you want to waste your life doodling pictures instead of learning anything useful?” he teased teasingly, now laughing a bit.
"I want. To be a dancer"
he continued to laugh a bit, finding it hard to take her seriously “Yeah, and I want to be a billionaire. good luck with that, sweetheart”
she sat up and slapped him across the face “don't. Call me. Sweetheart"
his laughter immediately died, he touched a hand to his injured cheek, a bit shocked that she hit him, a smirk on his face that slowly disappeared as he looked at her “did that slap shut me up, sweetheart?�� he said, purposely calling her that again.
she slapped him across the other cheek
he chuckled lightly, his smirk returned and he let out a sigh “feisty. I’m gonna keep calling you that, you know that right?”
"you call me that again. I'll wait until your are asleep" She moved closer "Tie you down with your school tie and use my nice manicure to claw your cock off. Understand?"
he tried to resist the urge to laugh as she threatened him, he tried to maintain a cold demeanour but her threat was actually kinda amusing to him, he tried to look at her with a cold glare, the smirk still present in his face. “oh, I won’t stop calling you that, so go ahead, try any of that, sweetheart.”
she immediately elbows him in the crotch
he let out a low groan, he doubled over a bit, a look of pain on his face “oh god damn it” he groaned, taking a few deep breaths, the smirk gone from his face.
"you were warned."
he was a bit stunned, he couldn’t even remember when he last got such a direct hit right to the crotch like that, he was taking deep breaths as he slowly stood up straight, still wincing a bit as the pain slowly faded “Yeah, yeah, you warned me. fair point.” he said through clenched teeth, still trying to gather himself from the blow.
"so what's the underground at slaughter?" she asked laying back on the bed,
he looked at her curiously, still not over the hit to his groin, he rubbed it a bit to ease the pain “The underground?” he repeated, as if he were confused by her question, but deep down he knew exactly what she was on about.
"the underground you know the stuff kids do secretly, hustles and secrets the kids know"
he sighed deeply, his back laid on the other bed still nursing himself as he looked at her “Yeah, I know what you’re on about.” he took a deep breath and sighed before answering her question “There’s the usual stuff, like smoking, drinking, hookups. then there’s the more… ‘illegal’ stuff, drug deals, stolen merchandise trade, etc..”
"sounds pretty normal. My last school had a calligrapher. He could replicate any teacher or parent signature and even get you on letterhead for a price"
"sounds pretty normal. My last school had a calligrapher. He could replicate any teacher or parent signature and even get you on letterhead for a price"
he raised an eyebrow, a bit surprised by her last comment “Wow, that’s pretty insane, honestly. must’ve been a good way to get out of trouble too.”
"it was helpful. A P.E excuse note would only run you a pack of cigarettes"
he chuckled, he could easily imagine how chaotic and messed up the school must’ve been “I bet having a guy like that around came in handy more than once.”
"it did." She nodded "But come on, slaughter. Let me guess Sparta isn't exactly top dog around here?"
he chuckled at her question, she was a bit perceptive. “you catch on quickly, don’t ya?” he said with a smirk. “Sparta’s not even close to top dog.”
"so it's the outcast house. Got it. Your Hufflepuffs"
he raised an eyebrow, curious about the comparison she just made “Hufflepuffs? like.. from Harry Potter?”
"yeah, it's always how boarding schools are split up, jocks or brave aka griffindors, nerds or smart aka ravenclaw, socially skilled or popular aka Slytherin and then outcasts. Hufflepuffs"
he chuckled at how she broke it down into the different houses and it’s kind of accurate, she’s clearly been to a lot of boarding schools “yeah, we’re the outcasts. we’re on the lowest of the totem pole here, but we actually have the most fun and cause the most trouble.”
"but come on this campus is huge your not telling me there aren't some like prono stashes, drug holes and hook-up places"
he chuckled a bit, she was certainly curious about all the dirty stuff that happened on campus, “oh yeah. we got all of that stuff. I can think of a few places, it kinda depends on what you’re looking for”
she shrugged "… Can I ask you?"
he raised an eyebrow, “sure. go ahead. ask away”
"you smoke?"
he chuckled a bit, expecting something else but he nodded “yeah, like a chimney.” he said and leaned himself forward to reach for his blazer, and dug into an inner pocket to take out a cigarette pack and lighter.
"just those or… You know?"
he chuckled lightly, he knew what she meant, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a drag of it before answering her question “yeah I do, I’m partial to a bit of pot every now and then. and some people do harder stuff if in the mood for it, depending on what’s available”
"how much harder?"
he took a deep breath and exhaled the smoke from his cigarette, taking a moment to think about her question before answering “Coke, mostly. like a bump every now and then”
she nodded "Very common in boarding schools"
he nodded in agreement as he raised the cigarette to his lips and took a drag of it
“very common. the rich kids all do it, and there are always a few lower-classmen who’ve found a source to get their hands on the stuff. stuff like that runs rampant in boarding schools like this one” He explained, “I’m personally partial to snuff.”
“What like some 1800’s lord?”
“Don’t knock it. Means I get to smoke in the middle of class,” He smirked taking his little snuff-box from his pocket to show it off,
“Fair enough,” she nodded, "… You drink?"
he nodded and chuckled a bit, “yeah, I drink sometimes, not very often though. I used to drink more often when I was around thirteen, I’d sneak out for parties, or just to drink with friends. Now I’m just kinda over drinking,”
"ohh I bet Sparta dorm hosts some cool parties…" She joked
he chuckled in response “oh yeah, the parties they throw are the most pathetic, tame parties on campus. like a tea party, but you drink beer instead of tea and listen to god awful music that makes you want to jump off a roof”
she chuckled "… Are you… You know?"
he raised an eyebrow, “….you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific”
she rolled her eyes "You straight?"
he chuckled, “why?”
"curious if the reason I was allowed to be your roommate was cause you where gay. I don't care if you are, I'm bi"
he chuckled a bit, he was actually a bit shocked that she was bi, for some reason he expected her to be straight “no, it doesn’t work like that here. The boarding school staff don’t let gay students and straight students as roommates. it’s all random, I had no idea I’d be getting a roommate, let alone a girl,” he chuckled, “….and you’re bi?” he asked curiously with a smirk on his face,
"yeah?" She chuckled
he chuckled at her response and nodded, he took another drag of his cigarette, “Guys and girls?”
"yeah, both have things I enjoy"
he nodded as he listened to her answer, he couldn’t help but get more curious about her, he took another drag of his cigarette and exhaled before asking another question “yeah? Me too” he chuckled again, he took another drag from his cigarette before he spoke again “I bet you’ve got no shortage of people trying to hook up with you then. both girls and guys.”
"yeah? You think I'll be popular here?"
he chuckled lightly and nodded, he took a moment to look her up and down, he then put his cigarette to his lips again “yeah, you’re new, you’re hot as hell, and you’ve got the whole rebellious artsy vibe going for you. I’m sure guys and girls will be tripping over each other to hook up with you”
"Well, when one needs to hook up. Where do we go? I assume there's a secret spot. Plus I don't wanna be bothering you"
“yeah, there’s a few spots around here where couples go to hook up. but the school’s got more eyes than a hawk to watch out for students sneaking off together anywhere, so we usually go somewhere remote and quiet, some hidden spots near the woods, a few empty classrooms, that sorta stuff”
she nodded before she laughed "You single Willoughby?"
he chuckled lightly and raised an eyebrow, he wasn’t expecting that question from her. he nodded in response “Yeah… I’m single. how about you? I bet you’ve got a ton of guys who’d do anything to date you”
"my phone gets blown up daily but nope. Single. I prefer it that way free to do what I want"
“yeah, being single is definitely more fun. I’ve seen what being in a relationship does to people here, it just ends in tears. and a lot of gossip…”
She sat up more "You are gonna be my roommate if you want… We can make a deal?"
he raised an eyebrow, again, looking at her curiously and asked “a deal? what kinda deal?”
"Well, all the boys and girls flooding my phone asking for hookups. If you wanted I can say you'll always take priority?"
he raised both his eyebrows this time, he chuckled lightly before speaking and asked a question “You’d put me in front of all those other guys? why me?”
"You’re my roommate, doing it with you is literally the least effort I might not even have to leave my bed"
He smirked at her again “Is that a guarantee?”
"I'll say your requests will always take priority where they can. And you want anything, we agree the other just has to ask? That sounds like a deal?"
he chuckled lightly and smiled “yeah… I think I can agree to that deal”
she offered her hand
he smiled again and reached forward to shake her hand, he knew he was definitely gonna get a lot of benefits from this deal that he wouldn’t get from any other girl here
she smiled and adjusted her uniform a little to be more comfy as she briefly glanced around at her bags and the unpacking she has to do. She sighed "Willoughby?"
a smirk appearing on his face, and then he turned his attention to her again “yeah?”
"you wanna procrastinate unpacking and just make out?"
“hell yeah I do. I’m not up for unpacking all my stuff right now”
she nodded "bed? Sofa?"
he glanced over at the twin size beds, then at the two-person sofa and nodded “the sofa, I think”
she nodded and pulled off her tie undoing a few buttons on the top of her shirt before she sat down on the leather sofa, tossing her gum out as she did,
he chuckled and he followed her and sat close beside her on the leather sofa, he put his arm behind her on the sofa. “already getting comfortable, aren’t ya?”
"we're gonna share a room. Our beds are less than a meter apart, we're gonna have to be comfortable" she chuckled laying her head on his shoulder
he chuckled in response and nodded, he then smirked and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her towards him so she was closer to him now “Yeah I guess that’s true, but I didn’t expect you to be so quick about trying to get comfortable on the first day”
she shrugged "No time like the present"
he chuckled again, nodded in agreement and glanced down at her shirt, he then leaned in closer to her, his face only a few inches away from hers “yeah… I guess that’s true. so, do I have to ask for permission to kiss you now?”
she scoffed "You don't have to ask for permission, so you wanna make out?"
he chuckled when she scoffed, then he nodded and smirked “Hell yeah, I do” he slowly leaned closer to her face and pressed his lips to hers, he put both his hands on her waist, he deepened the kiss, his tongue asking for entrance in her mouth
she happily parted her lips her hand settling on his shirt
he smirked against her lips and pressed his tongue inside of her mouth, it was like he took control of the kiss, and he gripped her waist a bit tighter. He deepened the kiss more, his tongue exploring her mouth as both his hands went behind her back, holding her closer to him. he broke the kiss after a few moments to catch his breath, and he then pressed his lips to her neck, kissing it and sucking it softly
she chuckled as he kissed her neck almost giggling as her fingers stroked the buttons on his shirt
he chuckled against her neck, he continued to kiss up and down her neck, as one of his hands moved up a little, as he stared at that part of her uniform, he slowly began to undo more buttons, he unbuttoned one, then two buttons until he had her shirt unbuttoned pretty low now, the shirt now revealed her collar bone, and her padded sky blue bra with white lace trim
Willoughby slowly pulled her shirt to the side a bit so he could kiss her collarbone and her shoulder as his hand roamed up her chest, gently brushing against her bra, teasing her, he pressed his face into the crook of her neck, his hands gently squeezed her sides as he shifted a little so he was straddling her on the sofa now, he pulled back from her neck and looked at her body for a moment. he then smirked as he gently pressed his lips to her ear and whispered “It’s a damn shame I can’t mark you…”
"Who said you can't?"
he chuckled softly against her ear when she asked him that question, he smirked and whispered softly again “Yeah? you’re allowing me to mark you then? no matter where?”
"go for it. I'd appreciate it under my uniform but I have a foundation, so… Go nuts"
he chuckled again and smirked widely, “you’d allow me to mark you… anywhere? as many as I’d like?”
she shrugged "You take priority don't you"
he chuckled again at her response, he nodded, he found it really fun that she agreed to let him mark her wherever he liked, he released her chin softly, his smirk still on his face as he leaned in again and whispered in her ear “yeah, I do, I guess that means I can mark you anywhere I damn please.” he began to kiss her neck again, this time his kisses weren’t soft anymore, he began to find the sensitive spots on her neck and started to suck and nibble on them, he was giving her what could be a noticeable hickey soon
she giggled and gasped the more he nibbled
he smirked against her neck as he continued to nibble on her, he could hear her giggle and gasp softly as he did that, he liked the effect it had on her, he sucked a bit harder, leaving what was definitely going to be a noticeable mark on her neck
she threw her head against the sofa a little her fingers twisting into his dark hair, she grabbed his hand and moved it up so his palm held her bra
he chuckled softly against her neck his mouth continued to work on leaving a mark, this time he sucked hard enough to leave a visible mark, he then gasped softly and he squeezed her breast softly, he lifted his mouth from her neck to look at her face, he smirked “well, somebody’s being naughty today…”
"oh am I?"
he chuckled lightly, he nodded and spoke in a teasing tone in a low whisper again “you know damn well you are, letting me mark you all these places, doing these naughty things with me on the first day, I didn’t know you had a naughty side”
"Like you can talk" she growled "You hiding a pistol in your pocket? Or are you just glad to see your new roommate" she growled arching her back and squirming her hips
he chuckled lightly again, his smirk still on his face, he chuckled once more when he felt her arch and squirm her hips against him, he slowly ran his hand down to her thigh, he gently squeezed her thigh and gently spoke in a teasing tone again “and here I thought you were the innocent new girl, guess you’re not as innocent as I first thought when I met you, huh?”
“Bullshit, you thought I was innocent.” she growled pulling him back into the kiss,
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vikenticomeshome · 8 months ago
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Cyberchase Character Discussion (for your local Cyberchase trivia quiz) - #1: Inez
Since I have been archiving data from the Cyberchase section of the old pbskids.org website for the FlashPoint Archive Project lately, I thought should share some content I have dug up, particularly information that was provided on the different characters. Much of the information is no longer on the site. While much of it is available in the FlashPoint Archive Project now, and I would consider the project easy to look into and setup, not everyone will take the time to do so. #1: Inez I figure the best place to start is with her official "Meet the Cybersquad" character bio from back in the day. This was placed on the pbskids.org website way back in 2001, before the series initially started airing in 2002. This is no longer on the pbskids.org site, so I can't promise that it is still canon.
So, we start off learning that Inez is the youngest of the group, at nine years old. We never see the kids in school together, but I would not be surprised if Inez jumped forward a grade or two. The page emphasizes her curiosity. Now, would you call the parkway vs. driveway thing pedantic? For me: no comment.
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The second page tells us that her favorite color is purple, her favorite food are popcorn and mangoes, and her favorite book in "By the Shores of Silver Lake", by Laura Ingalls Wilder. That is part of Wilder's autobiographical "Little House on the Prarie" series, with this particular book being published in 1939. I know its a classic that has been republished numerous times, but I do find it interesting that she went for such an old book. Her favorite music is by Mac Anthony. The page doesn't mention specific genres, and Marc Anthony has done several different genres over the years. I don't know his discography very well, but it looks like he was best known for Latin Salsa in the late 1990s and early 2000s, so that's probably her favorite music genre overall.
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The third page tells us that her favorite move is "Harry Potter", as she loves Hermione Granger. Because this bio came out in 2001, only Sorcerer's/Philosopher's Stone would have been released as a movie at the time.
Her pet peeves are listed as heights, bad sportsmanship, and whenever Matt calls her "Nezzie". According to TVTropes, she did conquer her fear of heights by the time The Cyberchase Movie came out. She has one pet, her cat, Gatito. We do see Gatito in a few episodes of the show.
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Now, there's something odd about Inez's design on the "Meet the Cybersquad" page. The star on her shirt is purple, as opposed to the yellow we got in the show. I'm not sure how this happened, as Inez had the yellow star as far back as the 1999 pilot.
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This reminds me of another piece of trivia. During Season 4 Episode 2 "The Icky Factor", the kids get wetsuits for the first time, as they need to swim around Aquari-yum. They had already been to Aquari-yum twice by this point. However, they stayed in the sub the whole time during Season 1 Episode 16 "Codename Icky". Then, during Season 3 Episode 6 "The Grapes of Plath", they just wore their regular clothes with a bubble helmet to walk around the bottom of the bowl.
Look at their wetsuits. Matt gets plain blue wetsuit, Jackie gets a plain yellow wetsuit, and Digit gets a plain orange wetsuit. Inez gets a green wetsuit with a yellow star on the front and a purple vest. I like this detail. It's about as close to matching her color scheme as they could get without making the top half of the wetsuit pink, which would have just been weird. Maybe a full pink wetsuit would have been a little better? I don't know. If they did that, she would be missing out on the green from her shorts
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Anyway, the next piece to look at is this page from Cyberchase: How It All Started: Webisode 3. This was an official prequel web comic that come out before the show started airing, so its a little off. I promise that this is the original image without any edits.
https://web.archive.org/web/20080610025304/http://pbskids.org/cyberchase/webisode_3/7.html
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They got her skin-tone and hair color very wrong, as they showed her as white with red hair. The lenses on her glasses aren't as opaque. They did get the yellow star right this time, but I would consider her skin tone to be far more important. I would love to hear the story of how this mix-up happened. You know what? I'll add my attempt at fixing their mistake below, based on skin, hair, and glasses colors picked from "Meet the Cybersquad". I don't have much GIMP experience, but I think I did a pretty good job.
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Anyway, the main reason I brought this image up was that she is noted as being a computer whiz who loves to go on the Internet. As far as I remember, she never uses her computer skills in the show, probably because they played it so fast and loose with the terminology.
So, that first image only showed her from the waist-up, but we do get a shot of her riding her bike to the library to meet her new friends and start the first episode. They did it again.
https://web.archive.org/web/20080607121655/http://pbskids.org/cyberchase/webisode_3/8.html
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I honestly wouldn't care if it was just the shirt, vest, or shorts being the wrong color. Alright, I have added a color-corrected version below.
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The second page gives us "Oh no, this is not good at all!" That is the prototype for her iconic phrase: "This is not good! This is not good at all!".
Did you know that on her way to the library, Inez road her bike all over town to run other errands? She went to Betty's House, the Post Office, and the Video (VHS) store before arriving at the library just in time to make some new friends and upload her mind into the Internet.
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As far as character trivia goes, Cyberchase did have official printable trading cards. Here's the one for Nezzie. I love this card. One of her favorite things is E-mail. Her other favorite things include experiments and big words, but we all knew that already. They picked a more optimistic, but less iconic, favorite line for her with, "Hey, I've got an idea!" rather than "This is not good! This is not good at all!". She is great at basketball, which may be surprising to some, given her height. We'll come back to that. She is also great at reading, standing up for herself, and singing. We do get to hear her sing "Brahm's Lullaby" in Spanish for Chewcrocca's baby during Season 3 Episode 1 "EcoHaven CSE".
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I can think of two pieces of official Cyberchase media related to Basketball. There was Season 6 Episode 7 "Jimaya Jam", which had a sport of the same name, except it took away dribbling. However, Inez was actually separated from the group at the time, with Creech taking over her role during the Jimaya Jam game. Presumably, Inez was just too powerful.
The second piece is from the singular Cyberchae chapter book, "The Search for the Power Orb". The story actually starts with Inez playing basketball against Matt. She is frustrated that he is able to block her shots due to his clear height advantage, and his teasing about her height doesn't help. Towards the end of the story, they retrieve the titular Power Orb, which is roughly the size of a basketball. It needs to go back into its basket to save Cybersite Serentia from complete deletion. Inez is able to use her short stature to run between The Hacker's legs, get a boost from Izzy, and slam dunk the Power Orb.
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What else? I found this early concept art on the Cyberchase wiki. It seems like the biggest change was the style for her boots.
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There is also this write-up from a "Who's Who" document. I don't know whether this was always available to the public, or if this was an internal document when they were developing and pitching the show. It doesn't add too much information to what I already posted, but it does state their intent to make her a tomboy, and it talks about her tendency to giggle, give inspirational quotes and stand on her head.
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I figure no Inez compilation is complete without her standing on her head at some point. Here she is in Season 2 Episode 12 "The Guilty Party" flinging herself out of a handstand, twisting around, and landing on her feet.
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fatuismooches · 1 year ago
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SLIDES SHADES ON, KICKS DOOR DOWN AND FALL ONTO YOUR FLOOR, GUESS WHOS BACKKK!;!!;
🌕💗!!!!
BUT AHHHHHFHDH LATIN DOTTORE STILL MAKJNG ME LOSE MY SHIT
and so many of the other posts that i was binginf just now too oh em GEEEEEEE, specifically fragile/coma reader comjng back to sumeru and all that AHHFHEHHHH
ANF ALSO I CANT BELIEVE U REMEMBERED ABT MT EXAMS AND STUFF 😭💗 i got my results recently!! A* EEEKFK back on the grind tho unfortunately
also rlly rlly thinking bout dottore randomly giving fragile reader academic/research-y things to do cus he knows they crave and miss the days where they could get on wit their stuff YKKK??
also omg sometimes i’m scared to like send any kind of brainrot in cus what if someone else has said a similar thing AND AHHDHH
but yea also thinkjng bout tutor zandik + akademiya reader MNNNFFNF
ALSO ZANDIK X POET READER i feel like zandik from like the akademiya days wojld be all poetry’s stupid 🫤 but like one day findinf readers lil poetry notebook whilst tryna find his own research in their dorm and flipping through and finding it littered with references to cerulean blue locks and vermillion irises..and maybe just maybe, poetry isn’t so bad after all
smooches i’ve missed bombarding ur inbox
SMOOCHESSSS :( <33333
🌕 ANONNNN AHHH IVE MISSED YOU SO MUCH!!! I'm so glad you've been doing well, congrats on your exams!! I'm glad your hard work paid off, such a scholar 😍 But you better not overwork yourself that hard again! ALSO. DON'T BE AFRAID TO SEND ANYTHING IN!! I LOVE!! hearing what you have to say okay?? Ily 🌕 anon!! PLEASE BOMBARD MY INBOX. I LOVE IT.
HAHAHA it seems like a ton of Dottore brainrot has been infiltrating your brain huh 😅 Dottie speaking Latin really revolutionized ours brains hngg bUT WAIT I LOVE YOUR IDEA. THAT'S SO CUTE. Oh my gosh newdndow how do I phrase this. He knows you still have a love of knowledge and other things you used to be so into :( But nowadays it's died down since you don't think you're cut out for that stuff anymore, even though you miss it. Dottore being the one who respects and acknowledges your intelligence the most would not let you think that way! He'll let you indulge in as much knowledge as you want to. It's far better here anyway, with no restrictions. He'll even let you sit on his lap while you flip through his notes and try to analyze them. Okay and bear with me, this sounds strange but he would make up fake scenarios/brain teasers for you, and these would be PAGES long and you'd have to figure out the answer and report back to him 😭
Also made me think of this angsty af scenario of the day you officially got kicked out from the Akademiya... The sages and profs were so unsympathetic with your condition despite multiple proofs and notes of it being real... no matter how much you begged and sobbed, they refused to accommodate you and revoked your position in the school. Yes, it could be absolutely freaking brutal in there with the workload of assignments and all, on top of your illness too, but you still had dreams. Dreams that you were working so, so hard to pursue... you were trying your best, why couldn't they work with you? You go back to your room to try and pack since they want you out but your stuff just ends up strewn on the floor while you cry. When Zandik comes back you don't even bother hiding your tears or the reason behind them. You can see he's absolutely furious and about to let pure foulness leave his mouth but you interrupt him with a few simple words - "Zandik, just hold me, please." You don't want to hear any words at this moment, because you know nothing will be alright, but at least his touch grounds whatever is left of you to this world.
Okay moving on... Nah I need tutor Zandik. If he saw my dumb ahh while doing math... gone 😭 HEHE I love this trope... i can imagine initially being very serious about trying to learn. But then their tutor is this cutie? Welp, all of that going down the drain. Though, I think it would be pretty sweet if reader ends up learning anyway. Because the professor's way of teaching is so outdated or simply doesn't work for you but somehow when Zandik explains it you're like ?? oh! That's so much simpler! Another possibility - reader purposely flunking so they can get assigned to Zandik for tutoring 🤭 Bro would be flabbergasted that you're wasting both his and your time... because you thought he was... c-cute? Disgusting.
YEAAAA I ADORE DOT AND POET READER I THINK IT'S SOOO ROMANTIC 😭❤️ lmao yea that man would think poetry/non-academic writing is sooo boring like why would you even waste your time on that 😒 You gave up LONG ago trying to convince him why you love it so much but all of a sudden he becomes a teensy more receptive to it... i wonder why? Totally not because he freaking read every single one of your poems, from the serious to silly ones, most definitely not because he found one named after him with a bunch of sweet references... he doesn't care but they were not that bad... he guesses.
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