#written notes for various topics

[kentnaturaltribrid]

Sorry for the fast writing, but when it comes to it, basically was trying to get through most of the main stuff from at least memory and study of a whole library ton of books, at least 17,000 books at most. Not all of them have what one may be looking for, but a library full is worth at least half a decade full of information that is worth knowing and worth reading as well as study the properties and proper parts of things almost long forgotten. Especially that which although is very much a small piece of the Magicks and Magical Realms, Sorcery it self is one of the arts that still holds at least 16,000 years worth of information and at least 15,000 members originally, however it now stands at 300 per year and roughly half a decade worth of books still intact, originals included . With that being said, very little as 12 per month study and succeed, but with that in mind the majority of which happen to find themselves stuck in their original paths for about a year or two, tend towards finding and focusing on larger areas of magic in which they’re definitely less familiar with but that eventually helps and them become Arcanum Level And Masters of The Grand Arcane Arts. Of which there happens to only every 18 years for at most 4 per year of members of magical study.

[st4rbwrry]

𝓢𝓐𝓣𝓞𝓡𝓤’𝓢 𝓖𝓘𝓡𝓛.    satoru gojo.

ᰔᩚ warnings. 5.2k, fem!reader, professor!satoru x college student!reader, classroom sex cs duh, reader’s 23! & satoru’s 30!, oral ꒰ f + m ꒱, titty sucking, biting, size kink, voice kink, sub / dom dynamic, fingering, choking, spanking, lotssss of dirty talk omgie, multiple orgasms, pet names ꒰ lil’ girl (literally just a taunt), pretty, baby ꒱, roughhhhh sex ona desk, minors aren’t welcomed! reblogs + comments are greatly appreciated. ♡

꒰ mocha’s note ! ꒱ : got inspired by miller’s girl and wrote this in literally five hours. so, happy bday daddy. <3

he always knew there was something wrong with you. how could there not be? one, you’re deadly in the eyes. that he solidified the first day. always looking at him like you wanted to eat him. two, you're a mythical deity. stunning. you could be born in a different world for all he knew. sometimes he hated those voices that told him to stare at you. watch you watch him. velvet red hair cut in layers that reach the middle of your back. dermal piercing a few inches below your right eye, multiple on your ears, septum ring in your nose. your eyes are slanted like a cat, fluffy lashes enhance your features. your lips always look soft, darkly lined, and topped with a sheen of gloss. 

most days you dressed according to weather, or really whatever you felt comfortable in. yesterday, when going over the topic for an essay he wanted everyone to have written and turned in before spring break hit, you were different. just tuesday you were wearing oversized men’s jorts with a basketball jersey tied up to your back. now, when you walked into his classroom with less clothing than he’s ever seen you in, he had to question it. you looked nice. it wasn’t any of his business, maybe you could be going out later with friends. it’s not his business. 

what was his business was how you strutted up to his desk after you waited for every student to exit class. satoru sat in his leather chair, legs sprawled and hands clasped together in front of him as he leaned back into his seat. his eyes absentmindedly trail up and down your body full of curves and soft, ample skin. the tattoos on various areas of your body are more evident. the black prescription glasses sitting on the bridge of your nose as you chew your gum and hand over your essay. those short ass white ruffled shorts and a yellow crop top, without a bra, with green accents and black font that read ‘soulaan’ in the middle a distraction.

“hi, ꒰♡꒱. you’re always one of the few people who turn in their work early.” 

“what can i say, i was very passionate about this essay,” you twirl your finger within your necklace, scanning his entire face with flirtation. satoru hums, pretending not to notice. “i really put my entire soul into it, so please take your time reading it. it’ll mean a lot.” 

“must’ve been a really interesting dream of yours.” 

“you have no idea.” 

and you were fucking right. that night satoru went home and started his usual routine of getting comfortable, making dinner, and brewing some coffee so he’s wide awake to read over thirty student essays. luckily, he didn’t ask for much. they were given two options. their goal was to describe the perception of dreams or in detail, write a tragic fantasy story. most of the essays he read felt like middle school writing, frustratingly rubbing his temples as he graded multiple papers, trying to figure out why basic comprehension skills were lacking, even doubting himself as a teacher. he tries not to stay up for hours, flipping through papers and scribbling—until he sees your name on the corner. 

satoru sniffles, taking a sip of his coffee before he’s getting comfortable in his chair, sinking into it and beginning to read what you wrote about. you’ve always had a way with words, great formatting, expansive dictionary. when reading your dream, it felt like a real novel, like he was a part of it. then, he felt really a part of it, to a point where it was uncomfortable. the story has to do with a woman who aches for an intimate union with her lover, yet he’s withholding her pleasure, leaving her trembling on the precipice of desire in their lover's den. the greek god you describe as your lover is dominating. stunning facial features, starlight hair, and crystal blue eyes. the woman is feeble, urging him to see her, to yearn for her, to become one with her. abandoning her needs for his personal endeavors. 

with gentle touches that linger on the softness of her plush thighs, smoothing along her brown skin shining under the moonlight, she results in the sensual act of pleasuring herself. the help of her lover is nowhere to be found in the darkness where her body laid on milk-toned, silk sheets. leaving her to pursue the cavern flowing with burning, hot arousal. she finds herself daydreaming of what could’ve been as her delicate fingers find themselves sinking between her precious legs. trailing another hand to her throat which she clutches tight as if it were his. rolling her hips into her hand to grind on as if he were entering himself into her. dulcet whimpers escaping her throat as her body arches off the bed in ecstasy, mind swirling with pleasurable emotions and unforeseen desires. rocking her body upon the bed as if his heavy, big body hovered over her and lost himself in her. spanking herself as if it were him. chewing on her lower lip as if he were gnawing at them. orgasming with tiny whimpers and sobs as if he were the cause. him, him, him. . . 

the heat encasing satoru’s face could only sum up one feeling; arousal. the essay goes on for so much longer, conjuring up unwanted fantasies of a woman he promised to push back into the furthest parts of his brain. you were altering his mind. it was clear as day exactly who you wrote this for and about. him. what you wanted from him, the longing ache to have him. it’s enough to give him a migraine, cutting off his desk lamp before forcing himself to take a very cold shower. those words replay in his mind, the image becoming erotically more vivid. picturing your body atop of silk sheets where you’d fuck yourself out of pity. is that how he’s making you feel? edged? unsatisfied? whimpering in your loneliness? he’d never do that to you. 

satoru hates himself for needing to handle the painful hard on he’d gotten, head buried under the stream of water as his fist twists roughly around his aching dick, grunting at any image of your face coming to mind. it was a highly inappropriate thing to do. a professor and his student sleeping together? it’s all too cliche. you were a grown ass woman, so if teasing him by switching up how you dressed to purposely gain his attention, and writing erotic pornography was your way of showing him you needed him for one act, one day, one night of nasty ass sex . . what were he to do? you are a beautiful woman, and he’s always felt a source of attraction to you, but you weren’t worth jeopardizing his career for. it’d have to wait. 

the last day before spring break came and he was ready to confront you about your so-called ‘essay’. when he notices you walking into class, he tries to avoid staring at your attire; a really short black pleated skirt with a matching ed hardy tank top and glossy mary jane’s on your feet. gulping and keeping his focus on your eyes as he whispers, “stay after class. i need to talk to you.” 

you try to hide the smirk wanting to display upon your face, winking at him before nodding and finding your seat. class seems exceptionally longer today, finding yourself dozing off for most parts, shutting off your brain by doodling into your journal or making a grocery list for this weekend. pulling a sweet treat from your purse, you find a pink lollipop to distract yourself with, oral fixation getting to you. satoru almost chokes on his words when he catches you swirling your tongue mindlessly around your candy, being a fucking brat in his eyes. gently kicking your feet and resting your chin in your hand to keep yourself from sleeping. 

when the lecture ended, that’s when your heart began to race in excitement, and maybe a sheer sense of nervousness. curious to hear what he was going to say to you. making your way down the steep stairs of the class, you sit in the front row, plopping into a chair and crossing your legs as you look up at him, watching him say his final goodbyes as the class completely clears out. half of the campus was empty considering most students began making their way home, so really only fifteen students showed their faces today. 

satoru’s shoulders roll as he sighs, folding his arms in front of him. “so, ꒰♡꒱. . . i read your essay.” 

“uh huh, what’d you think?” you smile. 

“it's definitely something. very good writing, never doubted you on that. but, i do have some questions.” 

you snap your fingers before pointing them his way like a gun. “shoot!”

“you remember the topic of discussion, correct?” 

“wrote it down in bold,” you nod. 

“right, but, i think we went far off topic. as in, inappropriately.” 

“what are we, in high school?” you scoff. “i’ve read worse. i used to grade papers for teachers.” 

“i understand that. but it’s evidently not what i meant as far as the topic goes. in this dream of yours, the two characters are . .” he pauses, trying to figure out what to say. 

“fucking,” you finish for him, still sucking on your lollipop. 

satoru’s gaze flew there momentarily before finding your eyes again. “having intercourse, yes. i’m just having a hard time comprehending what you wrote.”

“why is that?” 

“how is it considered a tragedy?” 

“well, the woman couldn’t have what she wanted in the end. she was edged, given false hope from promises that were made to her. pleading for any form of gratification. why, as a man, deny your lover of acts that forever bonds their love?” 

you bat your lashes, eyes going wide as you word it so . . dreadfully. satoru inhales, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he squints at you. 

“so, she killed herself in the end, because she wasn’t gratified?” 

“as implied, yes. the pain of a woman, you’d never understand. it’s unbearable. feels like death, satoru,” a pained sigh emits from you as you hold your heart and shake your head. “ugh.” 

“꒰♡꒱,” satoru blinks, your games becoming unfunny. “was this dream something you recalled, or are you trying to imply something?” 

“dreams can’t always exist, unless you persuade yourself to make it real,” you respond firmly, making yourself as clear as you possibly can. 

“do you want it to be real?” 

“do you?” you counter. 

satoru pokes his inner cheek with his tongue, turning his attention away. “i-i can’t answer that.” 

“why not?”

“it’s just . . not in my position to answer that. it’s inappropriate.” 

“but, you felt it, right?” your voice grows softer.

he looks at you. “felt what?” 

“our attraction to each other,” your head slowly tilts to the side, eyeing him up and down, watching him slightly shift. “through that essay. what i want from you, what you’ve been wanting from me, professor satoru.” 

his jaw stiffens. “you’re essentially crossing a line.” 

“the only thing i’m crossing are my legs,” a loud pop! rings as you remove the lollipop from your mouth, looking at it before deciding to crack it in your mouth and tossing the white stick somewhere in the room. satoru’s fists clench whilst he admires your glistening legs. “you want them . . un-crossed? open?” 

“꒰♡꒱.” 

“mhm,” you moan after hearing your name desperately fall from his lips. he didn’t mean for it to sound that way, sucking in his breath as your fingers trail within your plush inner thighs. “it’s wet, professor satoru. see.” 

next, you spread your legs apart, lifting your skirt up some more so satoru can easily see the imprint of your cunt against the red fabric of your cotton panties, wetness sealing and sticking to you. 

satoru clears his throat, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck with a rough grunt, trying to contain himself from acting on his obvious desires. his polished loafers click amongst the tile as he strides quickly towards the classroom door, locking it and pulling the shade down so there would be no interruptions. he doesn’t know what he’s doing, he shouldn’t even react this quickly in fact. but he’s been pent up ever since last night, having such a hard time sleeping. only the thought of you glimmering in his mind. 

satoru takes a deep breath with shut eyes, hands sliding back into his slacks pockets as he leans against the desk, one foot crossed over the other, those once daydream blue eyes now staring maliciously in your direction. you bite your lip, slowly rising from your seat to strut towards him, hips swaying salaciously. 

your body brushes amongst his seductively slow, tits grazing his chest and arms that are tightly fitted into his baby blue button down, lips coming up to graze over his clenched jawline. your hand trails up his left arm, feeling the hair on his skin rise as your nails brush along his neck where a vein throbs violently, blood rushing. 

“don’t be so scared, i don’t bite. and i don’t tell.” 

in a swift move, you're hiking your body on top of the mahogany wood desk, kicking off your shoes and planting your feet flat on the surface, legs spread wide to allow him to slot himself between you. satoru’s vision remains unchanged, still staring at the seat you once resided in as he breathed heavily. your manicured foot skims up and down his strong arm, your short, bubblegum acrylics sliding into your mouth as you lewdly suck on your own fingers while mewling. satoru can see you in his peripheral vision, your hips shifting dauntingly, just waiting for him to react. 

“you already locked the door, what are you waiting for?” 

“for you to say it.” 

you grin. “say what, baby?” 

satoru scoffs, shifting in his spot from the sudden pet name, dick uncomfortably hard. “that you want me to fuck you, ꒰♡꒱. i need to hear it.” 

okay, you get it. lowering your leg from touching him, you go to grab his hand instead, the expensive watch on his wrist cold to touch as you guide him to touch the top of your thigh. “want you to fuck me like you've been needing to, satoru. please.” 

an unexplainable breath of air releases from him as he finally faces you, and seeing you spread along his desk like this felt like a hallucination. most of this didn’t feel real. maybe he was still sleeping? and if that was the case, there were no rules. his towering body slots between your thighs, glaring down at you possessively as he smoothes both his veiny hands up and down your thighs, tightening at your hips before sliding back up. going back down to apply pressure to your ass, then lowering his head to your pretty face. 

“gimme your mouth,” satoru rasps, clutching your neck to pull your face up before you oblige and lean in for a kiss first to feed his hunger. 

satoru grunts in your mouth, soft lips molding with your own in a passionate kiss. it’s slow, sucking on each other's lips before you’re sucking and moaning on his thick tongue, moaning into his mouth while he pants into yours. you suck on his lips, turning your head slightly to deepen the kiss, unbuttoning his shirt, desperate to feel the heat from his skin. then goes his belt, unraveling it along with pulling down his zipper, and that causes satoru to get aggressive with his mouth. kissing so rough it makes your pussy throb. 

“you taste so good, pretty,” he moans in between, turning your neck to the side to latch his lips and tongue on the flesh, your eyes rolling back as he found your sensitive spot. you gasp from the whimper he emits as he does it. 

“f-fuck,” you whimper, gripping his wrist as he suddenly sinks his teeth delicately into your skin, soothing it with a rough, slow swiped of his tongue before ending it with a kiss. 

he’s traveling to the other side to do the same, your hips rocking on the desk to try to get closer to him, his bulge only grazing your soaked pussy. you lift your hips and scoot closer, balancing yourself by gripping onto his shoulders to drag yourself against the outline of his dick. satoru moans from the motion, locking his right hand under your left thigh to raise higher so he could grind against you like you whimpered for, dry humping you as he continues to kiss you.  

soon, he’s lifting your top over your tits, eyeing them as they sit on your chest, barbells pierced into the dark skin of your nipples. it created a visceral response from him, shifting his hips to grind against you harder as if he’s fucking you slow, cocking his head to latch his full mouth around your tits. your head falls back as he pulls them into his mouth greedily, dropping your hips on him mindlessly. 

“satoru, you’re g’na make me cum too soon,” you whine into his ear, but he ignores you completely, almost growling like a dominant animal in heat as he locks you close. 

“g’na cum a few times fuckin’ me, so get over it,” he mumbles after releasing your tit with a lewd pop, switching his mouth to drop his tongue and enclose his lips over the other, tongue flicking with his hands slamming against the side of your ass falling bare of your skirt. 

satoru hisses a deep ‘fuck’ as you rotate your hips quicker, humping him like a bunny, an orgasm in fact happening. satoru picks up his pace, rolling his hips forward to match your rhythm, his eyes sparkling from your desperation. he’s leaking precum, and your slickness is drenching his briefs. 

“mgh, baby—fuck,” your tongue lolls out to lick and suck at the shell of his ear, biting gently on his earlobe as your knees buckle and you whimper while grabbing at his backside to pull him indefinitely closer. 

“lemme taste that shit,” satoru’s almost begging, your heavy breathing by his ear and inability to stop moving your hips fucking him up. he knows you taste as good as you look. 

you grip the edges of the desk as you nod, legs shakily raising as he roughly pulls your victoria’s secret thong with a blinged hemline off to finally see his other girl, lowering to his knees in worship. 

“she’s pretty as hell,” he whispers with an erotically drawn-out moan, licking his lips before he leaves open-mouthed kisses at your inner thighs, holding yourself open for him. he spanks your thigh hard, the hit making you squeak and stare at him with a stretched jaw and furrowed brows. “where’s that thank you, lil’ girl?”

“t-thank you, baby.” 

“mhm, that’s right,” now his lips are latching onto your sluice clit, hungry eyes piercing into your every emotion as you whimper pathetically and maintain eye contact you’re sure he wants. “fuck yes, baby. so fuckin’ good, girl. rock on my face.” 

sinking your teeth into your lips which you’re sure were bitten red and nearly chapped, you comply, gripping tight on the desk while your other hand tangles into tresses of white, swallowing and lifting your hips just like you were doing a few minutes ago. satoru’s thumbs are embedded into either side of your thighs, using only your pelvic muscle to shift into his mouth, his fat tongue hot on your pussy. 

“tongue so good, baby. nng,” your face scrunched up as he growls into your cunt, your inner thighs shaking when he slicks his face up and down your pussy, juices covering his chin. “right there, right there!” 

satoru keeps his mouth where you want it, focusing mostly on your engorged clit pulsating on his tongue, digging into and occasionally capturing it with his lips, his salvia drooling onto you as he moans, his eyes scrolling as you tug at his hair. 

“oooooo, fuck, yessss,” you didn’t mean to scream, but his attention on your clit gets distracted by his thick fingers sliding into your hole, twisting and thrusting two of them simultaneously. his jaw shifts quick, kissing and licking while he fucks you open. “ ‘t-toruuuhh.” 

“unh huh,” satoru continues to swallow you. “gimme that fuckin’ cream, baby. i want it all in my mouth. make me proud. atta girl.” 

you cry out, stomach heaving. “i love when you talk like that.” 

his fingers pull out to quickly spank your clit, your hips stuttering as he’s slipping them back in, pumping three to four times before taking them out again and spanking your clit again. “that’s what you like?” 

“y-yessss!” 

“fuckin’ sexy ass girl,” he spanks your outer thigh with vigor, coming to grab your throat once again, giving you a chaste kiss while he finger fucks you faster. “ain’t you? fuckin’ let me know. scream that shit out loud.” 

“i amm, ugh—god . . pleaseeee.” 

“go ‘head and cum, c’mon. gotta paint my dick pretty with it, yeah?”

“oh . . my . . g-goddd,” the way he talks to you makes you dizzy, and it’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of. his mouth is filthy, and when you cum hard for the second time, he makes sure you suck on his fingers to taste yourself. wrapping your lips around them to suck them clean before satoru’s sticking out his tongue to rush over your mouth along with his fingers, pulling them into his mouth to suck after. 

your eyes are drooped, feeling so fucked out without actually having him fuck you yet. who would’ve expected your professor to be this . . nasty? it’s like he’s been waiting for you to speak up so he can fulfill his own disgusting fantasies. safe to say, you made a good choice. 

satoru’s standing back to his full height, which never fails to make you ditzy from the size difference. you feel so small on this desk under him. 

“c’mere, move up all the way,” he’s now guiding you to turn your back to him, which makes you pout since you wanted to face him. he chuckles deeply at the audible disapproval, swatting your ass. “you’ll still see my face, greedy. be patient.” 

he positioned you on your knees on top of the desk facing a dusty chalkboard, spread eagle and hands pinned behind your back, almost curled up into a fetal position with your tits to your knees. satoru swallows, your pretty red hair falling angelically around your soft features as you wait for him to fuck you. his dick is throbbing in his fist he’s pumping it into, the shlick shlick noise leaving you anticipated as he uses your arousal as lube. he’s aligning the tip with your opening, teasingly rubbing the head up and down, the vein on the underside of his heavy dick throbbing. 

his other hand is keeping you pinned down at your hip, also lifting the flesh of your ass so he can slide into you. he’s pushing forward, choking on a moan the deeper he gets. you’re real tight, it being slightly difficult to push fully into you. words like ‘relax’ and ‘breathe baby’ utters painfully from satoru as he tries not to lose his shit at the sight of your pussy literally gripping his dick to pull back in after he slightly shifts back. when he’s halfway in, leaving the hand on your hip, he uses the other you lock your wrists behind your back, gyrating his hips to cock back and grind into you. 

“ooo, f-fuck,” you whimper, hands wiggling in his grasp, nails managing to scratch his arm. satoru watches the flesh of your ass bounce with every deep, slow thrust, pussy squelching. 

“see? look at the shit,” satoru comments to himself, knitting his brows together in fascination. “told ya’ it’d make it pretty,” 

“can’t see it,” you whimper, upset. 

“you can feel it, right? it’s stretchin’ that pretty girl open,” satoru moans gruffly, moving himself closer so his sharp hips hit your ass with every movement. he’s getting rougher, your skin nearly bruising from his hot touches, the bangles on your wrist clinking with each thrust. 

“i feel it,” you hiss, stomach caving in. “bet s’so pretty.”

“yeah? promise to give it a taste after?” 

“yeah,” you nod slowly, eyes tightly shut. “y-yeah. will, ‘toru.” 

“good girl.” 

gasps fill the air when he fucks you harder, balls slapping against your sticky clit as your ass recoils and claps back onto his abdomen. he’s got a deadlock on your posture, satoru’s face completely serious as he fucks you so, so rough. his sounds are animalistic compared to your own; whiny and soft. coughing out moans as you heave against the desk creating a spot of condescension. he’s so big hovering over you, bending you underneath him, papers falling off the desk while he rutted into you. skin clapping, moans synchronized, and sweat dripping. it’s the hottest fucking scene. 

“takin’ me so deep, baby. this shit feels so fuckin’ . . good, god,” satoru’s voice breaks, hitting you ass with a dirty grunt. “ungh, fuckin this pussy g’na get me in trouble.” 

“i n-need you,” you fight to break free from his grip, flipping your hair over to one side of your face as you sit up after he releases his grasp. “closer.” 

taking the initiative, you go to stand on your feet, back pressing to his chest as he clasps your throat, standing on your tiptoes to rotate and grind your ass back on his dick, stuffing you so full you feel it in your tummy.  

“that’s my girl,” satoru’s kissing your earlobe, pressing his cheek onto the side of your face as the two of you controlled your breathing together. “it’s your dick, take it. fuck that pussy how you want. i’m your fuckin’ toy.” 

“ssshit,” sucking your lips inwardly, you keep your hand on satoru’s wrist while your arm slings behind his neck to balance yourself, the ridges of veins on his dick scratching all the good, achy parts. 

“c’mon, girl, got me waitin’ too long,” without incoming, satoru spanks your thigh, hips thrusting steadily. “if you g’na fuck me, do it right.” 

you try to keep your composure, but the sultry, deep baritone of his voice directly by your ear makes your waist stutter, that warm, bubbly feeling swarming in your tummy. his mouth is back on your neck, and that activates you quick, sobbing and clapping your ass back needily. the mutual desperation to cum is at an all-time high. 

“there we go, t-there we go, girl. that’s what i wanted. s’good,” satoru’s gorgeous eyes cast white, jaw dropping as he grunts, holding your waist just to hold you, allowing you to handle it. “ungh, fuck. keep fuckin’ back.” 

the burn in your legs prolongs as you sway your hips and fuck back on him, his grip on you keeping you balanced to give you enough space to move how you want. this dick is slick with your cum, a ring of cream covering it as you cry and push all your weight back so you're feeling every inch while he's experiencing every tight clench.

“ ‘toru, i—” your words are cut off by an interrupted orgasm, cumming yet again as you greedily roll your ass back with weak cries. your legs feel staticky, almost falling down before satoru makes sure to lock his forearm around your stomach. 

“ ‘toru needs t’ cum too.” 

interlocking his right hand with yours, the two of you hold hands as he lays it on your thigh, bringing your head back to rest on his shoulder with a hand grasping your throat tight, nearly cutting your airways. he’s getting . . mad? nothing satisfies him more than to know he’s made a woman cum multiple times in one session, but when he gets as horny and fucked out as he was now? it wasn’t a good idea to leave him without one orgasm. and he can definitely give you more than just one. he wanted to show you that, you deserved that. 

satoru begins to pull his hips back, giving you a sweet kiss on the lips to let you know he still cares and will comfort you after. just needs a few minutes of shutting off that part of his brain to fuck himself dumb. your pussy clenches and pulsates sloppily on his dick as he fucks you harder than he has before, the breath knocking out of your throat while he squeezes his eyes shut and pounds assertively. they’re neither fast nor slow, just steady and rough. like he’s been needing it so damn bad. the warmth of you getting him out of character, the scent of your perfume enveloping him. the conditioner in your soft, red velvet hair. the tattoos inked into your brown skin, the piercings on your ears and face. your fogged-up glasses, courtesy to him. the unexplainable pleasure he derives off of hearing you whimper ‘toru, toru, toru’. 

who knows what kind of fucking spell you put on him. he just knows he’ll never, ever erase today from his memory. it’ll play like a tantalizing loop. tears threaten to fall from your eyes, cunt going sore from his brutal pivots, falling back weakly into his strong body and gasping from every deliciously deep, thrust. satoru kisses at your face, lashes kissing your cheekbones, trying your best to look up at him. and when you do, you can see he’s utterly gone. the groans emanating, feral growls, and pinball white eyeballs that couldn’t stop scrolling into the back of his head. you watch him mumble your name while spewing expletives, pink lips wide as his whimpers and moans break apart.

“fuck!” he bellows, moving your bodies back towards the desk as he pins you down flat and fucks your ass back onto him, that pressure tugging at him. he's pressing the side of his cheek with yours, breathing heavily while gripping your jaw and dropping his weight on your backside. “fuck, fuck. fuck.” 

“ ‘toru, please cum for me, baby. w’na taste you so bad.”

and he does, as soon as you say his goddamn name like that again, that vanilla voice of yours, seductive yet sweet, coaxing him to cum. 

“knees, baby. suck me,” satoru heaves in a high pitch.

hurriedly, you twist your body to crouch below him, palm wrapping around his dick, satoru’s hand taking strands of your hair to make a ponytail on the back of your head to bob your head to suck him, hips stuttering and his lips damn near quivering. your cheeks hollow inwards as you swallow him in your throat, satoru guiding your head as he shoots his cum hot in your mouth. you moan around him, staring up at him through your dark falsies to be rewarded with the beautiful sight of his snow white hair shielding his face, blue eyes glowing as he looks at you with a genuine laugh. 

pulling your head back, you wipe your mouth slowly with the back of your hand, satoru’s dick twitching midair, semi-hard. he holds both palms out, waiting for you to grab him so he can pull you up. you take them, and he brings your chest to his. 

“fuck, you’ve got me spent,” his hands are now on either side of your face, locking his lips with yours once more. “so damn good.” 

“mhm,” you blink with a goofy smile, pulling your shirt down and smoothing your hair. kissing his face, you wipe your lipgloss off any part of his skin. “so, same time after break?” 

© 𝑠𝑡4𝑟𝑏𝑤𝑟𝑟𝑦 . all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life.♡

[iamasaddie]

CATFISH [masterlist]

summary: swiping left and right on tinder, you think you match with Joel Miller, a handsome single dad in his late 30s. Feeling enamored and horny you decide to meet in person, only to be met with an almost completely different person. warnings [overall, individual in each chapter]: darkfic, dub-con eliments, coercion, gaslighting, very big age gap [Joel is 61], drugging, somnophilia, reader does not understand that she's being manipulated, switching POVs, various explicit sexual content. reader description: afab she/her, has hair long enough to be pulled; has boobs and ass; early to late 20s.

a/n: i don't know what i'm doing and why i'm doing it, but a silly note i found on my phone fully consumed my thoughts and now you're all gonna suffer with me. will this fic be self-indulgent? yes, sometimes. will it have a happy ending? i have no idea. so far i've got three parts planned out, one partly written. the schedule is not final, I might post sooner, or later, depends on my life. ask me about catfish!joel and i'll gadly talk about him with you. this is going to be a dark work due to the topics and individual elements of each chapter. if you're uncomfortable with any warnings, please don't read it (also don't try to express your dislike about it to me).

» AN HONEST MISTAKE » YOUNG, FOOLISH AND GREEN » LET ME CLIP YOUR LITTLE WINGS ── coming in july final amount of parts is unknown

[filmbyjy]

ONE NOTE (COMPLETED)

PAIRING > sim jaeyun x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS > When you turned 18, you heard your best friend’s favourite song. Turns out, it was just one of the various signs to finding your soulmate. However, you couldn’t bring this up to jake. Not when he was in a happy relationship with your other best friend! Would you choose heartbreak or sacrifice your happiness for the sake of keeping the friendship

GENRE > soulmate au + best friends to lovers / facing a crisis that you don’t want to break the perfect relationship your two best friends have.

FEATURING > leehan and taesan from boynextdoor, an oc for your girl bestie named aria & the rest of enha in your friend group.

SCHEDULE > every two days or so

TAGLIST > closed as smau has ended

START: 18 August 2024 | END: 28 January 2025

PROFILE: the fam | mental health club

ONE: wingwoman

TWO: souls bonded

THREE: elephant in the room

FOUR: so sorry for your future

FIVE: it's not jake

SIX: i accept it

SEVEN: will we ever be close again?

EIGHT: happy birthday jae

NINE: she's been a nastay gurl

TEN: or was it? [written]

ELEVEN: it's glowing

TWELVE: it's just not fair

THIRTEEN: pretending to be like me

FOURTEEN: hanahaki disease?

FIFTEEN: most touching story [written]

SIXTEEN: aria is a bitch

SEVENTEEN: into you

EIGHTEEN: the first petal [pictures + written]

NINETEEN: I have to ask

TWENTY: it’s kinda suffocating

TWENTY-ONE: no thanks

TWENTY-TWO: candid photo

TWENTY-THREE: a heavy topic

TWENTY-FOUR: she has no friends! [pictures + written]

TWENTY-FIVE: I DIDNT BLOCK YOU ON KAKAO??

TWENTY-SIX: good, weep

TWENTY-SEVEN: love makes you truly blind [written + pictures]

TWENTY-EIGHT: moving on

TWENTY-NINE: disgustingly creepy?

THIRTY: my two girls

THIRTY-ONE: family drama [written]

THIRTY-TWO: I'm cooked

THIRTY-THREE: living with a baddie

THIRTY-FOUR: two d*cks??

THIRTY-FIVE: morning smooches [written + pictures]

THIRTY-SIX: my apolocheese

THIRTY-SEVEN: I caved in

THIRTY-EIGHT: (name)’s puppy

THIRTY-NINE: the love architects

FOURTY: silly little family

fin

got any questions to ask the cast or author?

ONE NOTE: asks

[timothysnyder]

As the assault on American higher education continues, I’ve been asked to explain why I believe this policy is antisemitic. A new video is above.

The Trump people claim to be fighting antisemitism, and the media often accept that framing. I believe, on the contrary, that these actions are antisemitic in intention and in execution. The use of the word “antisemitism” as a covering pretext for defunding education empties the concept of meaning.

I have talked about this in various public gatherings in the US and written about it here, but thought that a video explainer might be helpful.

My background: I have written two books on the Holocaust as well as an introduction to Borowski’s Here in Our Auschwitz and a good deal else on the topic; have taught Holocaust history for two decades; have helped to supervise the use of Holocaust testimonies for the better part of my career and spend time with these sources. I sit on the International Auschwitz Council and have been awarded the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising Medal. I note that Professor Christopher Browning, the very distinguished American scholar of the Holocaust, is making a similar case. Please read his essay.

I have given these matters some thought, and I hope you will consider. Please feel free as always to share this video.

[7bites]

── TELEVANGELISM † PREViEW

PAiRiNG 𓈒 ⛪️ kim sunoo x fem ! reader

MDNI 𓈒 reblogs &. feedback appreciated. official release estimated 06.20. 2.9k WC ♪♫

𝑽iewed as an angel sent by the heavens themselves since you were born, you’d worked tirelessly to prove your devotion and faith. Your godly grace finally pays off on the sweltering summer evening of your 20th birthday. It was that fateful Sunday, 1964, that the abandoned barn sitting just on the outskirts of your typical bike ride home shows you that sinners can disguise themselves as saints.

   TAGLIST 𓈒 @gnarlyhoons † open! send an ask to join

   GENRE & THEMES 𓈒 religious horror, psychological thriller, angst, mild nsfw / smutty themes here and there, toxic romance, dependency, angst, southern gothic au, some fluff because i’m not completely evil ?

   AUTHOR’S NOTE 𓈒 hello everyone! sawyer here, thank you for checking out the preview to my sunoo fic, televangelism. i’m posting a sneak peak in hopes to promote the final release a bit better, so reblogs and support are super super helpful and appreciated. i’d like to clarify that this is a dark fic and will contain various dark and nsfw themes, so mdni and readers discretion advised. at the time of this note, i’ve got over 5k written up and i estimate the final product will have anywhere between 25-35k words total! so stay tuned.

   CONTENT WARNINGS 𓈒 this will be a sacrilegious work of fiction. due to this being a preview and not including any dark topics thus far, i will not list the warnings until the final version releases. if leaving an ask to request to be added to the taglist, please know that there will be various darker topics ahead.

   INSPIRATIONS 𓈒 @fangel ‘s harvest of purity, ethel cain, pearl and x (2022), the concept of divine intervention, southern gothic / midwestern living, nicole dollenganger, a bit of lana del rey.

The birds sang a song of rebirth, euphonious and kind amongst the ears of the many warm bodies huddled within the church, the low hum of cicadas muddled in with hushed whispers and merriment. It was a sweltering and humid summers evening, the occasional breeze bristling by just enough to give the gardenias a rustle.

It was 5:15 PM, Sunday, 1969. Today is the day you turn twenty years old. Today, you sink into the cold and shallow depths of devotion.

Chipped paint along the pews, soft linen against flushed and faintly sticky skin. You can feel your heart fluttering. You’d given your entire life’s purpose for this very moment, every prayer, every good deed, every lesson learned and taught, every holler and hoot for mistakes made… all to get here. To prove that you were worth it, that you were pure and as docile as a fawn eating straight out the palm of God himself.

It’s not that anyone had ever thought of you as anything but, not at all. In fact, you were your quiet little towns most idolized and cherished possession, the type of girl that makes heads turn and tongues tie. Always kind, never swore, the type of girl that boys told their parents about— A ‘I wanna put a ring on that girl’ girl, a ‘I wanna be that girl’ girl. Never a day passed where you didn’t make sure to do all your chores, and you always set the table. You smelled like fresh cotton, honeyed amber, and ripe fig, good for the takin’. You always dressed proper and accordingly, never a skirt or dress too cheeky, but perfect enough to not be deemed a compete prude. You were smart, humble, and as sweet as apple pie; it was hard for people not to admire you, which is why the turn out for your baptism was rather impressive.

It wasn’t very common to be baptized so far down the line, and a few of your peers always gave you a bit of shit for it– playfully, of course, but you paid no mind to it. Your parents told you from a very young age that you had to work for your devotion, to show that you knew where your intentions lay. There would be no point if you would turn and succumb to distractions, to sin. They worried that taking such an important step in the earlier stages of your life would be too risky, they feared immaturity and it’s wicked reign on your ability to choose right from wrong. You used to beg, to plead for this very moment, many failed attempts to convince your parents met with a stern ‘hush your mouth’ that never failed to make you swallow your heart. Eventually, they noticed your efforts and felt unspoken pride upon receiving praise from the other parents and adults around town, many wishing they could have given birth to an angel like you. There’d even been a running joke about how you must be a late bloomer, otherwise you’d have sprouted your wings and long since ascended from this place you called home.

You could tell it made your parents swell with a gratification that almost felt blasphemous. Almost.

“She’s a sight for sore eyes, ain’t she…?” A whispered voice had mumbled to another, brown puppy dog eyes taking you in as if his life had depended on it, like he was an addict and you were the bourbon. You’d known Sim Jake since you two were practically in diapers, blossomed and crafted by the same religion, raised with tender love. You’d consider him to be one of your closest friends, though he saw you as much more. He’d never admit it, and you’d never admit that you’d known about how he’s felt for years. Everyone’s got their secrets, after all.

“She looks pretty in white,” said the other through bated breath, also unable to pry away his timorous gaze. “She looks pretty in everything, Hee.” Jake had corrected subtly, nudging his knee against his friends all while continuing to watch as the pastor preached your name to the congregation, the sound like bliss upon the two boys’ ears. Lee Heeseung, a mutual friend of both you and Jake, whom you’d had the pleasure of meeting one chance spring day on a bike ride to the diner. You’d been running errands for your mother all day and found yourself feeling a bit worn down and blowsy, your roseate features giving it away. Jake and Heeseung had been hanging out with a few more of your schoolmates, laughing up a storm and exchanging stifled gossip. It was Jake who had noticed the moment you had walked in, his head perking up at the sound of the bell similarly to a loyal dog excited for the return of their owner, but Heeseung wasn’t much far behind. He had met your figure, trailing from your cowgirl boots up to your exposed calves, teetering the lace lined edges of your white colored dress, past your father’s oversized flannel, and finally up to your face and neck where he watched the beads of sweat get dabbed away with the back of your palm. Despite your flustered appearance, you still managed to look effortless and delicate in every movement you made, not rushed or frazzled. Just there, smiling sickly sweet.

He knew then that if he wasn’t careful with you, he’d end up with a toothache, a rooted cavity that would burn like fire and brimstone.

You’d gotten a peach cobbler milkshake that day, deciding to reward yourself for all your hard labor, but before you could pay Jake had made his way from behind you, telling the worker that he’d cover your tab. Heeseung envied the way that his friend was born with such natural charm, he couldn’t hate him even if he tried. Hell, no one could. When he’d seen the way you smiled winsomely down at your boots and thanked Jake with the flutter of your lashes and that doe-eyed stare, he knew then and there that the feelings you evoked from people were no different.

“And whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him.”

You felt the frigid water hugging your bare legs like it was ready to devour you whole, your gown pooling similar to a jellyfish floating mindlessly, the water seeping further and further up the fabric. Although you felt the many anticipatory stares of everyone and met them back with your own feeble gaze, in this moment you felt yourself drift, a sensation of disconnect resonating deep within you. The words of the pastor began to sound faint, muddled, as if you’d already been underwater for hours now.

“Have you received Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?”

You responded instinctively and attentively to the questions you were asked despite not rendering anything being spoken. It left your lips like a kiss goodbye from a lover going to war.

“Will you obey and serve Him as your King for the rest of your life?”

You allowed your eyelids to shut, overflowing with the beckoning call of white noise and wind chimes. Another timid agreement digging its way out from the back of your throat, solidifying faith to take host into your body, a vehement pietism.

“Because you’ve professed your faith in the Lord Jesus, I now baptize you in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.”

Drying off was a bit of a pain, a towel only being able to do so much before you’re left damp and mildly uncomfortable, but you didn’t mind it too much. The gentle hum of a mindless tune left your plush lips as you made your way out from the changing room, your maryjane’s hooked around your fingers by the straps as you fled from the church with the gentle patter of your steps following suit. Typically people would change into a pair of dry clothes after their baptism, but your parents insisted it would be better to let you soak up all of “God’s gracious glory”, so you were to remain in your dampened clothes and walk home, giving yourself time to dry off. A ride home would be much more convenient, but your father would be damned to let the seats of your beaten pickup truck take on a bit of water.

A few people remained outside after service had ended, chatting amongst themselves about Lord knows what. You spotted your parents standing beside that familiar baby blue Chevy, feeling your chest swell with excitement upon seeing your bike in the cargo bed. With quick paced steps, you ushered over and watched your father haul out your cycle and set it down for you along the dirt.

“My starlet! Oh thank you, daddy!” You cooed out, placing your shoes into the wire basket along the front end and going to hug your father only for him to place two rough hands against your arms, abruptly stopping you from reaching any closer.

“Woah there, darlin’… Save it for when the sun soaks you up.” He warned, his thin lip smile causing you to cover up your faltered expression quickly, a stiff smile along your lips as you relaxed back onto the flats of your bare feet, nodding in response. “Right… sorry.”

“Supper should be ready by the time you get home long as you don’t do no piddlin’, you hear me?” Your mother said, making her way to the passenger side of the truck. You nodded once again silently, flickering your gaze off to the side only to notice a faint twinkle catching your attention. Just before your father could also bid you goodbye, you managed to choke out a gentle call.

“W-Wait!” You watched him halt his steps, turning around with an arched brow as he stared your smaller frame down.

“Could I take the radio with me? I wanna listen to the preachin’ stations,” You explained quietly, feeling your hands mindlessly clutching and toying with the handlebars of your bike. “Please…?”

After a long fleeting moment, your father let out a long exhale from his nose, a habit he often did when he’d give in to your requests, causing you to try and hide a growing grin along your face. You watched him reach back into the bed and pull out the small AM-FM radio, giving it a quick check over before settling it into your basket with a knowing look. “You know the rules.“ He commented sternly, resulting in you giving him a tight lipped look, bordering a faux smile. “I’m a devoted woman now, daddy.” You reminded, as if to reassure him that he had nothing to worry about, let alone hassle you for. He stared you down for a while before reaching up a calloused hand to place along the top of your head, giving it a gentle shake, pulling away and hopping into the truck. You gave a wave, watching them pull off down the pavement until they were far out of sight, your face falling into a more neutral expression.

It hadn’t lasted but a second upon feeling someone’s hand gently brush against your shoulder, your head whipping around as a result in a faint startle. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” You calmed at Jake and Heeseung’s familiar faces, a meek expression creeping on your own. You waved a dismissive hand, keeping one along your bike handles to keep it steady. “It’s alright, I suppose I’ve got the bearings of a church mouse s’all…” You replied, allowing a small blanket of silence to cover the three of you. You hadn’t noticed it, but Jake had became at a loss from words, finding his prying eyes gazing a tad too far down your dampened dress, being able to see it was a bit see through now that he was closer and not watching you up on a podium. He quickly had cleared his throat, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his neck while turning off towards the side, suddenly fixated on the crooked telephone poles in the distance.

“We were,” Heeseung decided to speak up, his voice coming out in an awkward and insecure mumble at first before he worked up a bit more confidence to continue. “We were wonderin’ if you needed a ride home…? We saw your folks leave, and we… We—“ He thought over his words carefully, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “We were just worried about you, is all.”

You kept strong eye contact with the boy who spoke, your eyes unwavering as you took in the way he talked to you and stammered over himself. For a fleeting moment, you mauled over how it was cute, but it left as soon as it came. You allowed yourself to giggle under your breath, a breeze rolling through and causing your hair to caress your face, your free hand reaching up to tame the masses. “That’s real sweet of you, thank you kindly,” you chimed, watching the way their faces had lit up.

“Great! Just tell u-“

“But I’ll be alright.”

The way their faces fell flat made something in your stir a bit, but you dismissed it and tilted your head to the side, watching the way they communicated with one another through glances. “Right… well, you just be careful,” Jake finally found it in himself to speak once again, but his demeanor had changed significantly, clearly showcasing concern along his features. “Pastor told us a storm was gonna be rolling through soon. Said it would be short, but it’ll come down like God’s wrath.” He mumbled, taking out his anxiety by picking at his dress shirt sleeves.

You laughed a bit, adjusting your bike and hiking up one leg to toss over onto the other side, propping yourself up onto the seat, balancing yourself on your tiptoes. “A storm? It’s hotter than blue blazes out here, but I’ll take your word.” Your hands reached forward into your basket, fumbling around with the antenna and knobs along your radio, “I’m a big girl,” you breathed, peering over your shoulder with an all too alluring gaze.

“I can handle it.”

The route to get to your house was quite the ways away, a rough two hour walk, but you could scrape it down to a little over forty minutes if you biked the entire way and kept a consistent pace. You had to navigate through the busier parts of town, passing by the mom n’ pop shops and various restaurants before making a turn off one of the main roads where the ground turned to gravel and dirt. You knew you were in the final stretch when you reached the prairies, the long outstretch of yellow tall grass going on for the last half hour before you’d reach your house. The homes along the outskirts were spaced out graciously, around three to five minutes apart from each other via car- Although your town was far from the city life, this kind of living was better for more private and secluded people much like your parents.

You had stopped by the store on your way out of the more convoluted area, picking up a hefty pomegranate to pick at when you got home and having it tucked in the corner of your basket for safekeepings. It wasn’t nearly as hot as it was before, the skies having clouded over and casting a gloomy yet warm hue over the vast stretch of land, the humid breeze pushing against your body as you walked your bike along the dirt, deciding on taking a break from all the peddling. Your radio crackled with the occasional static, the words of the televangelist on the station cutting in and out. You didn’t mind though, you’d heard this sermon many times before, so much so that you’d memorized the spoken gospel and filled in the gaps under your own breath, eyes boring ahead at the path before you.

“We come together today…”

The grass flowed against the wind like waves in water, mother natures vigorous ocean. The definite clicking of your bicycle chain blending into the faint static of the man’s voice coming through the speakers.

“In dark times such as these, we must all remember to look to the lord for guidance. Submit yourselves, then, to God.”

You ran your tongue along the front of your teeth, feeling the sensation of a light sprinkle starting to tatter along your skin. You glanced at the sky, stoping in your tracks as the deep rumble of thunder boomed through your ears, sending a vibration coursing through your chest– Still, you mindless muttered the preacher’s words under your breath.

“Amen.“

From the corner of your eye, a bright and quick flash caught your attention enough for you to hastily crane your head to the side, your eyes straining out into the distance with a sense of upheaval, as if the atmosphere had shifted within the span of that singular second. The preacher’s words of devotion no longer filled your ears, leaving behind a muddled flurry of static and high pitch whirring. A ways away into the fields lay a large abandoned barn that used to belong to an elderly couple you’d known since you were little, covered in faded red paint and wood rot. Unfortunately, they had both passed away several years ago, leaving the barn to fend for itself. As far as you knew, no one ever used it for anything and it remained out of sight; out of mind, only serving as a warm reminder of the pair who showed it great love during their time on earth.

So who was in the barn.

[invested-in-your-future]

The Portrayal of DID in Ave Mujica

(I have to preface this by saying that I am approaching this from a narrative writing standpoint and from my own personal delving into psychology overall. The subject topic is complex and the medical knowledge on it is ever-evolving, so if any of my notions are outdated, I am very, so very sorry.)

(I also understand that the topic of trauma and DID might be a triggering experience to some people, so caution is advised.)

(The discussion will also have open spoilers about the show and as such is tagged with spoiler tags.)

If there's one thing I would never expect when watching a music show, it is for it to turn into a deeply introspective psychological drama about flawed characters grappling with anxiety, mental wellness, toxicity and so on.

I did something like this a few times before and I can't help but want to explore and convey my thoughts on the character writing and handling of dissociative identity disorder within this show.

Now, Ave Mujica's predecessor, MYGO (to which Ave Mujica is a sequel), did play with the portrayal of neurodivergent-coded traits and still remains one of the best attempts at that overall, but a lot of that could be written off as subtextual.

So Ave Mujica portraying DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder) in a textual way comes as a surprise.

What's even bigger surprise is the lengths the show goes to make the portrayal feel authentic and how up-to-date the overall knowledge within the writing is.

Now, for starters, some explanation is needed.

What is DID?

Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) is a type of dissociative disorder that usually develops in early childhood due to traumatic experiences—most often emotional or physical abuse or neglect.

The conditions within the environment lead to a child failing to integrate into a unified identity due to compartmentalizing their trauma and various other facotrs. In layman's terms, "distancing themselves" from their own psychological trauma.

The key aspect to understand is dissociation, a concept that is crucial to DID but NOT limited to it. To quickly explain what dissociation is—to handle specific amounts of stress and trauma, the brain copes with the information via "disconnecting" one's sense of self from perception.

Dissociation is actually a very common reaction to trauma and can manifest in different ways without it being DID (hence dissociative disorders being a whole branch of stuff)—like, for example, dissociative amnesia, where a person might forget selective memories associated with a traumatic event.

Grief tends to sometimes lead to dissociation, especially during the early phases, too.

Another common example is depersonalization, which involves "perceiving yourself as an out-of-body observer," which usually involves an altered perception of time too, with time slowing down or speeding up or the concept of time losing meaning.

Both of those can manifest as part of DID, but can also exist separately—for example, derealization and depersonalization can be symptomatic of PTSD.

DID in itself as a concept is about a person at a young age failing to integrate into "one".

The way a child's growth goes is that the mind reintegrates and parses those their experiences and traumas shaping their identity. Experiencing dissociation doesn't instantly mean DID, because dissociation by itself is a common trauma-parsing mechanism, as I said before. A child can experience trauma, neglect, or abuse without it leading to DID.

In the case of DID, the child fails to integrate, the trauma/abuse/neglect instead leading to compartmentalized elements working together—a system.

It's important to note that trauma doesn't create alters, as it's been thought for a while. It's not something fake or "split" or "created"—the system is all the alters as equally "real"; it's just that alters themselves might have different traits of the identity.

While alters are identities, they aren't necessarily separate people—they are a system. Alters might differ from each other, and have separate memories, and skill sets, but every alter is part of that system. Alters don't appear out of thin air as separate entities and it's better to view a system as an entity comprised of equally real alters functioning together, with the "primary" one (the one that's out for the longest periods) being often called "the host".

Thus, alters can be subtle and almost indistinguishable from the host. And even if they have distinct personality traits, most alters would have an awareness to "fit in" by not standing out, instead internalizing them and trying to mimic the host personality (because it's "normal").

There isn't a secret evil spirit or a ninja assassin living in a person—portrayals like that (ex: the movie "Split") are extremely harmful because they perpetuate a toxic stereotype that just isn't true.

There's no "real personality and fake personalities" and so on. The current understanding of DID is a child at a young age, due to internal and external factors, failing to integrate into a singular identity.

Now depending on how young we talking, the person might have had a personality-before or might not have at the point DID develops, but the concept of "original/core" personalities is currently considered antiquated.

And just like alters aren't "created," they can't "die" either.

Now that this covered basic terminology and information, I can actually discuss about the show itself.

First, let's talk about Mutsumi and her character.

Mutsumi

From the very first appearance in MYGO, the characterization conveys the personality of someone who is stoic, internalizes her emotions, and has trouble communicating with others—her first spoken line in the show is ambiguous.

Mutsumi is a stoic, shy student who had been in a band together with her childhood friend, Sakiko, and three other people. The band imploded after her childhood friend suffered from circumstances she felt she couldn't share with others and disbanded it.

The character is often coerced or influenced by others to do things for them and plays more of the role of an observer.

It becomes quickly obvious that Mutsumi herself is extremely uncomfortable with this role—not only blaming herself for the band's breakup but also feeling awful about her friends' mental well-being afterward.

Meanwhile, Mutsumi's childhood is no better—as a child of a star actress and a famous comedian, Mutsumi didn't have what one could call "a normal childhood.". Her parents had surrounded her with wealth but at the same time had adopted a completely hands-off approach, which led to her feeling neglected and alone. For example, she doesn't even call her mother and father dad/mom/father/mother/etc., instead opting to refer to them by their first names like friends would do. The mother is also enamored with being an actress—for example, one of the things she would offer her daughter's friends visiting would be to watch movies she starred in.

The show makes sure the audience gets a sense of the scale of her home life—a luxurious house filled with servants where her mother is a star rather than a parent.

What's more, due to the circumstances of her parents she's constantly compared to her mother and father and their talents, with expectations placed to follow in their footsteps. This ends up with her feeling like she has nothing of her own in her life—whatever praise or expectation is placed upon her ties to The Star Actress and The Comedian instead of who Mutsumi is as a person.

As a result, she values the bonds she has formed with other people a lot. She cares deeply about her childhood friend (whose family circumstances are the actual reason for the band breakup), and she cares about the one other bandmate who had kept in touch with her (the person who is mainly keeping in touch due to selfish goals though).

So when her friend decides to create a new band, Mutsumi feels responsible to support her and help her.

Unfortunately for her, her friend is going through a lot emotionally, and the entirety of the new band consists of a lot of openly toxic individuals.

Thus she is placed into a situation where she has to juggle the neglect and distance she feels at home, the expectations her suffering friend is placing upon her, the expectations the world has for her due to her parents, and the pressure from being a member of an extremely popular band—a tough deal for someone who from the beginning had trouble expressing herself.

But hey, at least since the band has the whole pseudo-visual-kei thing going for it, she will be able to wear a mask.

Which is where her journey through Ave Mujica starts.

Ave Mujica and DID

The first notable thing we see happen is her struggling with an interview, reinforcing the idea that she has trouble expressing herself.

Ironically, this is another case where someone else ends up speaking over her.

The episode ends with the first notable trigger for her emotional state worsening, which is one of the bandmates going off-script and ruining the whole "secret identity" thing by unmasking them live on stage to an audience of hundreds if not thousands.

Considering her character set-up and her issues and insecurities, this is about the second most terrifying thing to Mutsumi in the entire world.

As the bandmates argue and blame each other over what had happened, the show then proceeds to take time to showcase how the pressure and the stress of what had happened affect her psychologically and emotionally.

This is a character who had been defined by the impostor syndrome caused by the neglect of her parents and comparisons society draws to them due to their fame—essentially getting doxxed live to an audience of hundreds if not more.

The show then dedicates its runtime to showcase how this character is slowly ground down by the building up pressure and anxiety, the dam breaking due to the traumatic experience—especially when she flubs an interview, causing even more tension and pressure.

"Don't speak out; play your role; don't make mistakes; be perfect or people will hate you."

The show makes sure to slowly build tension and highlight the growing anxiety and the increasing levels of dissociation the character experiences from the world around her as she goes through interviews and photoshoots—interactions that only worsen her mental state by anxiously comparing her to her parents or reminding her of the mistakes she made, as numbness overtakes her.

The anxiety, the stress, and the tension within all build to the point of insomnia as the character retreats to the one place she was implied to feel safe in throughout the show—the rehearsal room at home where she would spend time alone playing her guitar.

Because, again, as implied, her parents don't exactly pay any attention to her beyond showering her with wealth, and everyone else views her as an extension of her parents. So for her this is one spot that is truly hers.

And even that spot has now been taken because her mother had offered the whole band to use the rehearsal room. It's no longer just her space.

Depression, anxiety, and insomnia are but a few of the things that both influence and happen as a result of dissociative disorders

The show highlights the character's worsening physical state due to her deteriorating emotional state, to the point that the character has trouble walking down the hallway.

More importantly, the people around her—her band, her parents, her friend—they don't realize that. If anything, they put more pressure on her shoulders, they tell her to not stand out, to play the role to perfection, to not ruin the performance or further ruin the band's reputation.

The pressure and tension build to the point where the show depicts the first on-screen dissociative episode for the character.

Experiencing dissociation from gazing into a mirror is actually pretty common, as is the idea of recognizing your reflection as someone else. It's not limited to DID, however. There are common experiences where people suffering from anxiety might feel a sensation that they are looking at a stranger for example. Gender dysphoria might also elicit a feeling that the reflection is "wrong".

The show also showcases another common DID symptom: losing large chunks of time as the character finds themselves jumping from the changing room to the middle of the scene without knowing how she had gotten there.

The scene also involves the character witnessing(and more importantly, recognizing) multiple of herself. While the most common way for the host personality to perceive alters is auditory, visual perception is also possible, as are all other senses.

The series of visual hallucinations ends with a character making a mistake live on stage and experiencing a complete dissociation as she slumps onto a stage prop chair motionless like a doll with strings cut..

Essentially, this is a moment when no one is in control. The host personality has experienced complete dissociation, but neither the host personality nor any alters are "behind the wheel.".

Now, to this point, the idea is still subtextual (barely) in that the story shows but doesn't tell what is happening.

However, what comes after this grows more and more textual.

The dissociative episode and perceiving multiple of "you" leads to the character experiencing even more vivid hallucinations.

This time, however, the character directly acknowledges and converses with an alter within her mind-space.

Having a healthy and proper way of communication between host and alter(s) is actually crucial to functioning as a healthy system and living with DID.

Most of the conversation, however, happens within mind-space, as the character relives her past experiences and memories as if she were watching them as an observer, with the alter narrating her life's story.

The mindscape is often metaphorical so the alters don't necessarily always appear human, but they always would be "humanlike", because the brain perceives the alter as alive. The form alters might take within the mindscape is often dependent on the kind of trauma a person has suffered.

The story as narrated by the alter establishes the reason behind why the character values playing the guitar so much—because it's something truly hers, something she had learned on her own and something that is in no way "because of her parents".

But she feels like she's not good enough.

She can't be expressive, she has trouble communicating her emotions, and thus her playing skills, while technically perfect, lack that self-expression capability.

She can't make the guitar sing.

And thus due to impostor syndrome, she concludes that being "wrong" somehow is why the bands she gets involved with on her friend's behalf keep breaking up—why her best friend keeps suffering.

A person suffering from anxiety, trauma, and neglect, someone who has issues expressing themselves, would often wrestle with issues of self-hate and depression and Mutsumi is no different there.

Experiencing one's own memories from an outside perspective, as if watching a movie or seeing themselves from outside observing something is once again quite common in terms of DID.

As the toxicity within the band keeps growing and her friend keeps suffering, the character's anxiety and stress build further, the auditory and visual hallucinations intensifying.

Just a reminder that while this goes on and Mutsumi slips in and out of her mindscape, her best friend, her parents, and the whole band are completely unaware of any of this. In their minds, the dissociative episode she had experienced was "her acting out" or "acting" or just being "closed-off".

This is the first case where the alter has a direct and open back-and-forth conversation with the Mutsumi, rather than narrating her life like before.

Alters within a system often end up serving specific purposes—because they are more comfortable doing something the host alter isn't. Sometimes it's a single memory the host can't parse or a personality trait.

The alter in question showcases worry for the host's well-being—A Protector.

The alter represents worry over the character's own well-being and where the current stressful self-destructive path may lead.

(Important Note: I do feel the need to say that alters do not neatly fall into classifications and there's not some "class system" for Alters that is always true. There are many complex reasons for how alters within a system can be and there's a lot still unknown, as is true with the overall human mind. Since alters aren't created or "split", an alter merely providing a specific role doesn't mean they exist solely for that role, as it becomes clear with the case within the show too.)

The alter believes that if Mutsumi stays with the band, she will experience the full brunt of the band imploding and the alter also perceives Sakiko as someone who is not healthy for the character—toxic even.

Mutsumi however reaffirms that she wants to support her friend no matter what, to always be by her side.

Eventually, however, as the days go on, and the band keeps arguing, the character ends up tying together what is happening now with a traumatic event in her past—her best friend's previous band imploding in a similar fashion.

The character draws parallels between the two situations—between two traumatic experiences—which further worsens their wellbeing.

As a side note I do love Dutch-angles and how universal they are in conveying things going wrong somehow or being unsettling.

All of this leads to the final straw—a confrontation with her best friend, where the character ends up being accused of "not being good enough" and "not supporting her like a friend should".

Why can't she smile or talk or be more social?

Now I do feel the need to interject and say that while her friend is completely in the wrong here, things aren't that simple. Sakiko also has her own issues, depression, traumatic experiences, and absolutely horrible life—all of which she is unable to properly parse and thus turns towards alienating everyone who cares for her rather than showing how hurt she is.

This is the final straw, the moment where the anxiety and traumatic experiences build up to the point where the host just wants to escape.

A moment where subconsciously she'd want to turn to the someone for help.

This is also the first time this alter is properly given a name (one of Mutsumi's stage persona, Mortis).

The scene is eerie and haunting, but it has to be—sleeping is as close as the situation can get to ego-death.

(Because, like I mentioned before, parts of a system can't "die".)

Once the stage play starts, both the bandmates and the audience are treated to a performance that is unlike the character's usual self.

Mortis fulfills their role, shielding the host from a traumatic experience, taking it up to themselves to do something the host would suffer trying to do. In this case, it's to pretend everything is fine and play the role her best friend expects her in the band—to smile and to talk and to help keep it together.

From this point on, Mortis is in control.

She smiles, is social, and delivers efficient jokes to lighten up the mood—she pays attention to the wellbeing of other bandmates and is extremely expressive.

It needs to be noted that the bandmates and parents STILL have no clue. The other bandmembers barely knew her for a month so they don't really see anything wrong with the change in how the character behaves. If anything they see it as an improvement.

Mortis is doing everything they can to do what the host was too anxious to—to be a perfect actress, supportive and caring for the band, and nurturing an environment where the band stays together.

There are a few problems, however.

For starters, Mortis doesn't know how to play guitar, at all.

It's a skill and talent the host alter developed and as far as systems go not everyone would have access to the same memories, experiences, or skills and it's possible for alters to develop different skills than the host too.

And second of all, as the one who wants to protect Mutsumi, Mortis feels disdain towards the main source of Mutsumi's anxiety and depression—her childhood friend, Sakiko.

In Mortis's eyes, the dissociative episode the host suffered and the extreme amounts of anxiety and stress are all because of Sakiko.

This comes to a head in a scene where Sakiko, after spending a whole episode feeling uneasy because of how different Mutsumi is now, decides to have a one-on-one talk with her about what's going on.

It's in this scene that the show textually acknowledges DID.

What finally tips her off is that Mortis refers to her differently than Mutsumi would.

This scene also provides a direct affirmation of the fact that parts of a system don't "die"—they might however go dormant and "fall asleep".

As a side note, the scene does contain ominous framing, but it's mainly due to it mainly being from Sakiko's POV. The writing, however, makes it extremely clear Mortis isn't a villain as much as someone protective of Mutsumi and spiteful towards Sakiko due to her neglect of her best friend—and that Mortis isn't entirely wrong to blame Sakiko for this.

This is kind of surprising because that's pretty "new" information as far as the medical topic of DID goes. People used to think alters could die due to a faulty understanding of the idea stemming from the older now debunked theories as I mentioned before.

The reality, however, is, that alters aren't really something "different" nor "created/split"—a system has the same brain, and the same biological functions, which means the brain can't perceive itself as "dead".

DID develops at a young age due to neglect trauma or abuse. It doesn't suddenly happen because of some extremely tragic event as fiction often depicts it (the tragic events however can cause the host to dissociate and push specific trauma onto an existing alter).

The show, once again, acknowledges that too!

The scene basically spells out that Mutsumi's DID developed at a young age as a result of parental neglect and anxiety. Note that the show doesn't imply Mortis "having been created" ever.

Mortis basically spells out what Mutsumi wouldn't have been able to say—she speaks of the stress the band had caused Mutsumi and how Sakiko's neglect and toxicity ended up causing her to retreat into sleep.

(Once again have to add this: Alters can differ in terms of their thoughts, species, speech patterns, gender orientation, etc. Alters even can have different heart rates, eyesight, and how they respond to allergies.)

Mortis is resolute to protect Mutsumi and her band, but she's also a child—one that can be very blunt in the ways Mutsumi isn't and also naive in the way Mutsumi wouldn't be.

She can't help but detest Sakiko for her toxicity and the trauma it has caused.

She bluntly states that Mutsumi ceding control to Mortis is Sakiko's fault and if Sakiko keeps acting this way instead of actually parsing her problems, Mutsumi might never return.

Mortis isn't merely "a role protecting someone". She is childish and she is, in a way spiteful and she has an opinion about Sakiko that Mutsumi might not agree with.

There's a struggle there because the dissociation between the two alters is too big—there's a lack of communication as once Mutsumi gets to interact with Mortis again, the two are talking past each other.

Mortis is way too focused on what Sakiko had caused and on how it had hurt Mutsumi, while Mutsumi is still ever so focused on how much Sakiko herself is hurting and ignoring her own problems.

It's somewhat common for alters to communicate their memories or experiences with each other via mindspace creating a filing system of sorts as some described it as a computer with a search bar or a cabinet.

The show makes sure to highlight the dissociation currently between Mutsumi and Mortis and the communication between the alters having been strained due to conflicting motives and viewpoints on their mental wellness and how much a person Mutsumi cares about affected it.

The show also doesn't shy away from the problematic treatment of mental wellness in the world and how often it gets sensationalized.

The first major example is the public's reaction to Mutsumi dissociating on the stage—the band is flooded with demands to REPEAT that "performance". In fact multiple show appearances and stuff set that as a condition for the band appearing at all. To the public there's not even an ounce of worry that this was something real—to it couldn't have been anything but acting. Which is actually a common toxic reaction towards systems in the real world. Even within the Ave Mujica tags there were people screaming how "Mutsumi must be just pretending to have it".

Even one of Mutsumi's teammates mistakes her dissociation and Mortis for masterclass acting talent and is STILL haunted and feeling inferior by it even after she KNOWS what actually happened.

The characters also use the outdated term "split personality" when conversing about Mutsumi and Mortis and a majority of the cast doesn't "get" what this is and are way out of their depths—Sakiko blames herself for "having broken" Mutsumi, Umiri and Uika just completely don't care, Nyamu feels insecure and the MYGO cast are also just as out of their depths even though they display far more empathy.

It's a sheer contrast to one character who has no direct connection to Mutsumi but is known for her blunt nature and ends up recognizing both Mutsumi and Mortis as individuals (even asking for the name of each alter when they exchange introductions) and befriending Mortis.

Likewise, when Mutsumi and Mortis end up arguing over their motives and goals and falling down the stairs, the first reactions the onlookers have is to...snap photos and film the situation because it's a famous person and maybe this is some performance too! A completely cold and cruel audience of observes that keeps snapping photos even as another characters desperately begs them not to film this.

And of course, it gets shared and goes viral on social media.

Overall so far the representation of DID and overall mental-wellness issues in Ave Mujica (and MYGO) have been the series highlight and I certainly hope the show continues to treat the subject matter with care and research needed as it further delves into the character.

Another highlight is the variety of issues and insecurities the other main characters are facing—from Sakiko's complex traumatic experiences and implied self-harm tendencies, to Uika's obsession, to Nyamu's insecurities to Umiri's complete emotional disconnect and compartmentalizing to the point others see her as lacking empathy (even though that last scene implies it's not completely true, so we don't really know what's exactly going on there).

Ave Mujica, if it lands, is shaping up to be one of the best shows in a while when it comes to character introspection and psychological themes.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Sending some malleus critical commentary:

So a common rebuttal I see to the common Malleus criticism that he doesn’t try hard enough to adapt to human environments despite being given ample opportunity is that he’s a fae and processes time differently and therefore shouldn’t be expected to learn quickly because he experiences time passing faster than others.

Fae don’t seem to be shown as being less intelligent than humans and if the working definition of being unintelligent is being slow to learn then Malleus qualifies. Lilia is way older and can adapt to social graces and in theory fae should be able to learn so many skills because they have way more time to develop them. And maybe this is an unfair judgment, but either is not that smart or just an arrogant brat. I think the latter is more realistic but the way he’s written both seem true.

Before I begin rambling (as I tend to do), I'd like to remind everyone to PLEASE MIND YOUR TONE AND WORD CHOICE before you submit something. I am choosing to respond to this ask because I think the topic is interesting and worth a close examination, not because I think Malleus is “not smart” or a “brat” (I don’t believe either of these things).

I do see temporal perception often being brought up to explain why Malleus does not seem to learn how to socialize or even take the opportunities to. That’s always made me wonder why is this an explanation for Malleus and Malleus alone…?

Lilia is fae too, though if his lifespan is shorter than Malleus’s. 700-1000 years is still much longer than the humans he is among at school. And Lilia is not particularly depicted as having a different sense of time even when he lives among the humans. Lilia's dream depicts the world of 400 years ago, but because Malleus is currently 178 years old, that means there's roughly 222 years in which he traveled the world. It was these experiences that softened Lilia up and got him to change his stance on humans. Some would point to this and say it's therefore unfair for us to expect Malleus to make strides when it took Lilia 200+ years to no longer arbor negative feelings towards humans. The thing is though, this is a MASSIVE change on Lilia's part. It's almost a total 180 from how he was previously. I doubt people are demanding that Malleus take such huge steps--they just want to see him attempt more often.

There's also Baur to consider. We don't have an exact number to his age, but his stance on humans barely lightened up. To this day, his daughter still has to defend the life she has chosen for herself and his relationship with his son-in-law is shaky at best. The thing is though, Baur did also change, just in a slight way. Instead of being suspicious of all humans, he lovingly dotes on his grandchildren, most of whom I'd image are not super far from Sebek's age. This brings the 222 years for notable change metric down to a much more manageable... I don't know, 16ish years, give a few years (since we don't know how much older Sebek's two older siblings are).

We don’t know the expected lifespans for species like Baur, Crowley, or the dwarves. However, it is still notable that these individuals are also not noted to have a warped perception of time. Baur is invited to various family gatherings and receives his grandkids to bond with them (fishing, reading, etc.). He’s never once stated to have missed these, despite temporal misalignment potentially being an issue for his human son-in-law and grandchildren. (This is assuming human/fae mixed children have a lifespan similar to humans and not fae, since Sebek ages similarly to Silver in canon.) Crowley is occasion late to meetings, but only by a few minutes and not several hours. He’s always there to run dorm leader meetings and ceremonies as well. The Seven Dwarves were on time for their VDC/SDC performance, as well as for the Sledathon (albeit they did get lost and needed help at the cultural festival).

This doesn’t seem to be the case for Maleanor or Maleficia either, despite them being the same species as Malleus. (Or at least we have no instances of being also perceiving time differently.). Maleanor perceives the 30 minutes Heinrick gives her for an ultimatum just fine; she does not miss the deadline and appears on time for the battle. Maleficia stresses the importance of invitation etiquette, which seems to imply she arrives to events punctually and expects the same of her kin. Even if we were to excuse this by saying they live among fellow fae, so everyone runs on similar perceptions of time, lifespan also varies among fae species. So… wouldn’t it be the case that everyone is running on their own sense of time and not a standardized one (as opposed to humans, who all have roughly the same lifespan)? How do different fae sync up and how does this function in their society…? Is this actually an important world-building detail or was this just the best the writers could come up with to help explain why Malleus doesn’t show up to events 😭

Lilia has a line in Malleus's Dorm Uniform vignettes that implies it is possible for fae to learn and change within just a few (2-3) years. "A little trouble adjusting is understandable. But in your case... You've been away from Briar Valley for THREE YEARS and yet you haven't changed in the slightest." This is coming from Lilia, who has basically grown up alongside Maleanor, another dragon fae. Surely this means Lilia would know how much a dragon fae can change in a few years' time from his experiences with Maleanor? On top of that, Malleus is going to NRC specifically to learn and to broaden his horizons. This means it must be possible for him, otherwise why even other sending him outside of his country at all? To claim that temporal perception excuses Malleus from connecting with peers in this context almost feels like he's being infantilized ("He can't be expected to learn as quickly! He's just a baby!") and not held to the same standards of maturity as others.

And don't get me wrong! I'm not saying that 17-18 year olds are perfect beings or that they should be. The other third years are also very flawed and make various fuck-ups. What I'm saying is that Malleus should be granted grace, but not excessive grace. If he keeps being shielded from any form of accountability and not expected to adapt to his surroundings, it only encourages his current behaviors.

Fae aren't lacking in the ability to learn by any means. We are told towards the end of book 7 that Briar Valley has made advances in magic and technology even when isolated from the outside world, and they have passed on some of their valuable research to NRC as part of their apology. Furthermore, we know of multiple fae who attend high school (Lilia, Seven Dwarves, arguably Sebek, Sebek's older brother, etc.) and have no trouble with the material. Though dragon fae are considered still children at 200 and Malleus is well under that (at age 178), he is NOT child-like in mental capacity. He understands high school level coursework and speaks like a much older adult.

I wouldn’t say that Malleus is unintelligent. He is very bright and curious when it comes to like… magic (he feels insulted that his private tutors are giving him such “easy” work), ancient texts (see: Leona Union Jacket vignettes and Malleus Silk Adorned vignettes), and special interests like gargoyles. Where he's lacking is in the area of social skills. Now, there’s a million reasons why this is the case—he grew up in isolation, he was never held accountable when he hurt others, he had to regulate his emotions to prevent magical outbursts, etc. It’s clear Malleus wants to connect with others, but fails to do so for a variety of reasons, be it miscommunication, him missing social cues, or what have you.

Malleus expresses multiple times that he has a real interest in learning about others and that he is grateful for the chance to come to NRC, as it allows him to be exposed to many novel experiences and people. For example, he was very excited to be invited to Noble Bell College in GloMasq and to Silk City in A Firelit Sky, becoming angry when he learned the invitation was false and/or might be revoked. Malleus also communicates his gratitude when granted new experiences:

"This trip has been filled with surprises and new discoveries. I must thank you for granting me this opportunity, Asim." (Malleus Silk Adorned vignettes)

"You know better than anyone that I don't [... regret leaving Briar Valley]. People in Briar Valley never left me this bewildered. That's what makes this so enjoyable. I find my life here quite pleasant. I'll continue to put forth effort in the hopes that one day I'll understand [humans]. I'm sure we'll come to a mutual understanding in another, say... hundred years or so." (Malleus Dorm Uniform vignettes)

"I have little room for improvement when it comes to magic. But I am here to broaden my horizons. Learn the ways of the world, so to speak. Spelldrive tournaments, culture fairs, the great undertaking that is Halloween, even these birthday interviews. I've experience much here that I might never have elsewhere. In my estimation, I am more than achieving my aims. I've even met a few interesting humans who don't seem to fear speaking to me at all. If I'd remained in Briar Valley, I'd never have had the chance to meet any of you. I'm glad I can use magic because it allowed me to come to Night Raven College." (Malleus Birthday Bloom vignettes)

"What a pleasant bell; I feel its ring reverberating within me. I'm very glad to have been invited to Fleur City. To think I received a personal invitation... I must respond with sincerity and earnestness." (Malleus Masquerade Dress voice lines)

"It's rather pleasant being complimented on a dish I prepared. I'm grateful to have had such an engaging experience." (Malleus Apprentice Chef voice lines)

"It seems my dormmates have taken a liking to my costume proposal. I am glad I put some thought into it." (Malleus Halloween Dress voice lines)

"I'm not particularly unhappy when I'm alone. It's just...I happen to rather enjoy having companionship like this." (Malleus Ceremonial Robes voice lines)

... And TONS more if you consult the rest of his voice lines and vignettes; I'm going to cut it short here or else this post would be 50% examples.

The question now becomes “If he has an interest in befriending others, why doesn’t he try harder at it?” Because as it is right now, all his talk of gratitude (unintentionally, I'm sure) reads as almost insincere. He's talking the talk, but not really walking the walk.

If there is a spell he wants to learn, he can try it. If there’s something he wants to know about gargoyles, he looks it up. We even see in his Apprentice Chef vignettes that he's totally capable of learning new skills if he just puts his mind to it and is barred from using magic to instantly solve his problems. Malleus can also be taught to hold a phone without frying it with magic (in his Dorm Uniform vignettes) and how to play with a simple virtual pet game (in his Labwear vignettes). So what makes friendship different for him? My guess is because it does not come naturally to him, given his upbringing, AND he cannot control the outcome (ie the other party's reactions) whereas items can be static. Fostering friendship takes significantly more effort than Malleus is used to putting into most of what he does, and he's not used to reacting if something backfires socially. Friendship isn't programmed or one-size-fits all. You have to constantly work at it and maintain it, and Malleus is not used to that. We see this perfectly illustrated in his Dorm Uniform vignettes; he uses magic to teleport his fellow dorm leaders to Diasomnia so as to be on time to their meeting, but instead of being praised or thanking him (as he would probably get back home, where he is exclusively affirmed), he gets a negative reaction. His classmates tell him their autonomy has been violated, that he has just been very rude and treated them like mere objects--and Malleus is just NOT socially equipped to handle this situation.

He is so used to having everything handed to him on a silver platter, interacting with others and having them respond in a way that isn't favorable to him simply does not compute. Magical strength, food that appears as soon as he is seated, entire holidays and ceremonies to celebrate him, servants and advisors who never blame him for anything. So now when Malleus is faced with something genuinely difficult and reliant on another party like socializing, he flounders.

And how has he learned to deal with this??? By deflecting and complaining that “it’s difficult to understand”. It’s easier for him to pass the blame to others (also a behavior learned in childhood) than to accept fault for his own actions. We sometimes see this reflected in how Malleus deals with tech. It’s not as resilient as he would want it to be, but instead of trying to understand why tech is delicate, he writes it off as fragile and therefore pointless. This leaves Malleus trapped in a liminal space where he continuously denies the partial responsibility he has for his limited social circle. He never learned how to respond to times when his attempts to socialize blow up in his face, because all he has ever been taught is that he is NEVER wrong. Now he perpetuates that cycle because he has become used to it.

Instead of calling Malleus unintelligent or unable to learn, I'd say the more accurate description of him is arrogant. Malleus Draconia is ARROGANT in all caps, and this should be shouted from the rooftops just as often as Leona is called arrogant. It's that arrogance that makes him stubborn, unwilling to entertain other viewpoints, and eager to shut down those that oppose him.

This is the natural result of being worshipped since birth and being enabled his entire life. Malleus is perfectly aware of his social standing and power level, yet he talks down to others, threatens others with his magic, and/or says callous, dismissive things like how X won't be an issue because he can brute force it. It happens numerous times (Apprentice Chef vignettes, Vargas Camp 2, Union Jacket vignettes, GloMasq, etc.), and when brute force is no longer viable (book 7), he becomes incredibly insecure because he so often relies on magic as a crux to resolve his issues. He lashes out and literally has emotional outbursts so bad they stir up the weather.

This is Malleus's immature side showing itself, and I wonder if these outbursts, paired with Malleus's preexisting loneliness and the "important" status he has to the player character, has led to the fandom (for lack of a better term) "babying" him. (It's something I've speculated about!) This would encompass protective behavior and other special treatment that isn't granted to any other character (for example, fiercely defending the actions he takes and his OB). I find it sort of ironic that (some, NOT all) irl fans' treatment of Malleus can mirror the treatment he receives in-universe, both from other characters and from the narrative itself (refusing to admit to his missteps/that he has to take accountability, enabling him, etc.). Malleus is deified as a god in his own universe, and Malleus is infantilized and overprotected in fandom, and I find it ironic that neither of these things is what Malleus wants... (too much power isolates him, and he openly tells Lilia he is not a child and does not want to be treated like one) All Malleus wants is to just find equals, people who will treat him like a person and not like a monster OR a precious infant.

If we want to be realistic and interpret his character fairly, we can't just conveniently and selectively focus on his "innocent" and "cute" side. We have to acknowledge that he's basically a wealthy, powerful 17-18 year old that is used to having his way and does not know how to interact with his peers because he has never really been told 'no'. He has the capacity to learn and grow and to be a better person, but he doesn't make the most of those opportunities or actually listen to criticism because he's already going in with a defeatist mindset and blames those around him for his failure to adapt.

The craziest thing about all of this is that THIS CAN BE A GREAT CHARACTER ARC FOR HIM--but with how inconsistent Twst's track record with writing has been and with how the narrative consistently praises Malleus and excuses him of all wrongdoings, I'm not holding my breath.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Commonplace Book

Commonplace Book - a system for writing down and sorting all manner of tidbits: quotes, anecdotes, observations, and information gleaned from books, conversations, movies, song lyrics, social posts, podcasts, life experiences, or anything else that you might want to return to later.

It’s called a commonplace book because you collect all of this in one common place—a central resource that makes it easy to find, re-read, and utilize each piece of wisdom you have obtained.

Some prefer a commonplace notebook system, while others use an intricate series of index cards, and others still create a digital commonplace book using various apps.

Ways to Keep a Commonplace Book

There is no one right way to keep and use a commonplace book. It is critical to find a style and system that feels comfortable to you so that keeping up with commonplacing doesn’t become a chore. After all, the purpose of the book is to save time and provide inspiration.

Notecards. One popular method utilizes notecards filed in a small box using dividers that can be labeled according to topic. You’ll write your recently gleaned nugget of wisdom on a single card, and then file it under an appropriate topic, which can be virtually anything (“Creativity,” “Finances,” “Humor”). Rather than force a range of topics on your commonplace book at the beginning, let your categories of interest emerge organically as you come across new bits you want to add. Furthermore, buying index cards in different colors can allow for another level of organization, such as the type of information stored on the card. For instance, you may decide to use pink cards for literary passages, white cards for overheard quotes, and green cards for ideas.

Notebooks. Another method involves filling notebooks with commonplace entries. While this fosters less flexibility, you can still create a system for sorting your chosen tidbits. Leave space at the beginning of each notebook for a table of contents, within which you are free to enter anything (a title, a source, a brief summary) that quickly evokes the specific quote, idea, or anecdote that you’ve written down in the book. Also leave space at the end of each notebook for an index. Here you can list topics or themes that appear within the entries of your commonplace book (“Leadership,” “Nature,” “Writing”), as well as the type or source of information gathered (“quote,” “story,” “idea”) if you wish. The notebook approach makes it a bit easier to cross-reference when an entry touches on more than one topic or theme.

Digital. You can use various apps and word-processing programs for digital commonplacing. Depending upon the program, you may be able to tag individual entries with relevant topics, themes, info types, and sources, and then later sort your entries using the tag of your choice.

Whatever method you use for commonplacing, the most important thing is to keep adding to your book. This is a lifelong process, and its value increases the more that you put into it.

Benefits of Keeping a Commonplace Book

To remember what inspired you. Living in the Information Age, it’s easy to come across interesting figures of speech, inspirational passages, and new favorite quotes—and just as easy to forget them once you’ve moved on to something else. Having your own commonplace book allows you to return to these tidbits and rediscover the feeling they originally gave you.

To save hours on research. If you’ve got a writing project—whether it’s an article, a speech, a novel, or a memoir—having a commonplace book can save you tons of time. You can skip scouring your memory, searching the Internet, or combing through the marginalia of your book collection when you have a personalized encyclopedia of quotations, references, and ideas.

To find unexpected connections. Commonplacing is a unique form of note-taking in that you are basically bookmarking anything that you find interesting. Depending on your system of cataloging, this means a quote from a Greek philosopher might end up next to a lyric from a pop song or a story a friend told you. In writing, such connections can lead to inspiration.

To focus your future reading. As your own commonplace book evolves, you may find that you have a new lens by which to approach and examine media you consume. Reading books, listening to podcasts, or even having conversations can become didactic pursuits as you seek out perspectives and information that add to or differ from what you’ve already gathered.

Who Uses Commonplacing?

The idea of a commonplace book goes at least as far back as the Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius, whose Meditations—a vital text in Stoic philosophy—began as a private collection of notes, thoughts, and quotations.

The form picked up popularity in the Middle Ages thanks to Erasmus’s instructive De Copia.

It grew across the Renaissance (Francis Bacon made over 1,600 entries in his commonplace book) and the Enlightenment when John Locke penned A New Method of Making Common-Place-Books.

Commonplacing was adopted by all sorts of intellectuals by the 17th and 18th centuries and continues to be to this day.

Thomas Jefferson was known to keep one commonplace book for legal references and another for literary ones.

Authors like Ralph Waldo Emerson, Mark Twain, and Virginia Woolf used the technique, while modern proponents include Ronald Reagan and Bill Gates.

Though essentially a written form of scrapbooking, commonplacing has been valuable to countless big thinkers over the years.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[reiderwriter]

Four In Some Velvet Morning

Chapter Two of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Civility in the office is equal to pettiness in all things, but when you help Spencer out in a sticky situation, it's all your mind can think about well into the early hours in the morning.

Warnings: Uncomfortable situation with a student (non-reciprocated), suggestive touching, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, soft dom! Spencer.

A/N: The second part is finally here!! I hope you enjoy the various office shenanigans of Spencer and our reader. Based on the results of our last chapter, I've made a taglist, which you can access through the link below! Have fun reading, and be sure to let me know what you think in the comments~♡

Masterlist || Add yourself to the taglist~♡

You loved Mondays, or you did love Mondays when they meant only a single teaching hour and a free office to catch up on however much work you'd put off the week before.

But, like everything in your life now, Mondays were ruined by Doctor Spencer Reid.

When you and your coffee arrived at 8:45 on Monday morning, he was right there. You heaved out a sigh of frustration, and he didn't respond, so you sank into an hours worth of annoyed sighs and silence.

“Hmmph,” you huffed, standing from your desk and making your bookshelves. Still ordered alphabetically, and topically, you tried your best to look for the reference guide you'd been annotating all semester. But with no helpful guide to which topics it was that he'd used, you found yourself turning around to address your silent, unwanted companion.

“Spencer, my reference book, where is it?”

You stared blankly at him for a few minutes as you watched him trace a finger down the page he was reading. Delicately, he turned the page and resumed reading the next one, stroking the page like it was a lover in a tender moment, his fingers trailing down to offer his intimacy.

“Spencer?” You said again, and he again ignored you.

“Spencer, there's no way you're reading that fast, cut the crap and answer my question.”

“I can read 20,000 words per minute. Thus, I am busy. And weren't you ignoring me?” You took a deep breath and counted to ten in your head before replying.

“I thought we were being civil, Spencer.”

“I am being civil. I'm very civil. Are you being civil, Ms. Y/N?”

“Doctor,” you spat out. “I may have only one to your three, but I did work hard for it.”

He stopped reading and looked up at you, noting the angry look on your face. Standing up quickly, he checked his watch, grabbed his bag and jacket, making sure to carefully slide the book he was molesting into his bag, and walked straight for the door.

“Spencer!” You said indignantly, and he turned back to you with a sarcastic smile, pulling the book you were searching for off the bookcase and throwing it in your direction, before stalking out of the room.

“Jackass!” You shouted behind him as he sent a wave over his shoulder.

Civility. Well, if that was his idea of civility, you could be just as civil. And you'd start by taking all of the books off of the bookshelves once again.

When three hours had elapsed and Spencer had concluded the day's work, he was disappointed to find the office empty. He didn't dwell on the feeling for long, though, as he flipped the light switch to utter chaos.

You'd pretty much gutted the entire shelf, leaving pretty piles stacked all across his desk, chair, and the floor surrounding it, making it near impossible to make his way to his desk without moving something.

The shelves weren't totally empty, though. You'd left roughly thirty books on the centre shelf, held in place by paper weights he recognised as his own acting as bookends.

A post-it was stuck to the first book.

“Ignore this,” you'd written, a lipstick kiss pressed into the paper as your only form of signature. For plausible deniability, of course. You'd never sign your name to a crime.

He sighed and lifted a hand to start taking some books down when he spotted it.

“D…o…n….t…,” he would've gotten further but for the grin spreading across his face as he read the first letter on each book spine. You'd spelt out five words, and he felt a vague sense of satisfaction knowing you'd spent so much time just trying to mess with him.

“DONT TOUCH MY SHIT, JACKASS,” you'd written. But he was absolutely going to touch your shit.

Much to his chagrin, you didn't return to the office that day, too busy with other duties to need to go back. You also wanted to give him a wide berth, hoping that he'd have time to simmer instead of immediately retaliate for all the shit you'd pulled that morning.

Which was why Spencer found himself at work at 6 a.m., getting an early start so he could see your reaction to his, honestly quite tame reply.

You'd acted like a toddler throwing toys out of your pram for no reason. And while he wasn't exactly acting mature himself, he could at least liken himself to a young child throwing the toys back in frustration.

Everything about sharing this office with you was going to be frustrating.

He opened his book again - War and Peace - and began reading through it as he waited for the sun to rise and you to arrive with it.

It was well worth it to catch the look on your face.

“Jackass,” you muttered under your breath as you walked in, coffees and pastries in hand.

He'd put the majority of the books back on the shelf in his order and system. But he'd also left out a large pile of books, blocking the narrow passage between your desk and the wall. It was taller than you and hardly stable, and since you did not want to get concussed on a Tuesday morning, there was no other route to your desk but squeezing behind his.

You huffed out a sigh, dropping what you'd hoped would be truce coffee and breakfast on his desk before standing to push past him. He blocked your way with his arm as he finished up reading a chapter.

“Password?” He asked, not looking up from his desk.

“Very funny, let me pass.”

“Incorrect,” he smiled, nodding towards the shelf where you'd left yesterday's message.

“Seriously?” You asked. His answering look supplied the answer you needed - try me.

“Don't touch my shit, jackass,” you said in a sarcastic tone, trying once again to push past. His damn arm was still too solid, and he pushed you back once again.

“I'm sorry, Y/N, but that was yesterday's password. You'll have to try again.”

Squinting down at him in confusion, you did your best not to dump his coffee over the top of his head as he nodded to the shelf again.

Your writing was still there, but one shelf down there was a new message.

“BUT… ILO…I LOVE… TOU-” You froze, your entire body going hot as you walked back over to him. He was taking a sip of his coffee, as you desperately avoided eye contact. You knew you were attractive, but you honestly didn't think that Spencer would be interested in you like that. And flirting like this, so out of the blue?

Something had to be wrong with him.

“Password?” He asked, taking another sip.

“B-But I love touching you,” you stammered out, cheeks aflame.

He somehow coughed and snorted at the same time, shooting out of his chair with wide eyes.

“More-” he coughed. “That's not… There's more.”

Your eyes went wide as saucers as you ran back over to the shelves, reading to what was actually the end of the message.

“But I love touching your shit,” you mumbled, and he didn't bother even raising a hand this time. He let you pass, and you sat in tense silence for the rest of the morning.

You got over the awkwardness soon, though, and began using the shelves to torture each other between classes.

You'd once replaced all three textbooks for his class with Russian language versions, back firing spectacularly as he smiled and began reading from them anyway.

He'd started putting important texts on the very top shelf and hiding the only step on the floor in some classroom or the other. Though he too had quit that when other members of staff grew frustrated at the steps disappearance.

You both kept up with the book messages.

“YOU'RE… TOO…LOUD”

“I DIDNT… DO…ANYTHING”

“YOU BREATHED”

“BOO HOO”

“COFFEE…PLEASE”

“IM NOT…YOUR…ASSISTANT”

“WITH THREE… SUGARS”

“I HOPE…. DIABETES… GETS YOU”

“SO…MATURE”

If you were being honest with yourself, you'd probably have realized that you were having a lot of fun hating Spencer Reid. Which made him a little bit harder to hate.

You wished he'd have been more mature about the whole thing, really, so you could despise him without laughing at his audacity every five minutes.

Thursday was the worst day for both of you. Thankfully, he'd taken your advice and scheduled his office hours around your classes.

What he hadn't taken into account was that on Thursdays, you had several classes on different disciplines and for different degree levels, meaning a truck load of resources you had to either cart around with you all day (impossible) or you'd have to drop into your office regularly to pick up your things.

You'd ended up in the same queue as the myriad of undergrads that were taking his course or just auditing and wanted to pick his brain on his off hours, and it was hell each time.

“God, isn't he just so fine. An 18-year age gap isn't noticeable, right?” One girl whispered to her friend as you turned the corner, books in hand, ready to use them as defence weapons should the need arise. The need to laugh and yell it was too much had you biting your tongue quickly. The man was 10 years older than even you, and even you had to pause at the age difference. These girls were practically children.

“And his hair? I just want to tangle my hair in it and pull him down to my-”

“Girls! Please remember this is a hallway, and your professors are still trying to get some work done.”

To their credit, the two first years did turn crimson in shame, sending each other panicked and dirty looks as they communicated their shared horror.

You stepped up to the small hall window at your office and peeked through the blinds.

Another student was inside with Spencer, and the panicked look on his face meant that his conversation was probably going similarly.

The students in the hall whispered and glanced at you every few seconds, and if you weren't in the biggest rush of your professional career, you'd take the time to ask them if you had something on your face.

Instead, you just tried to knock on the glass and hope Spencer would notice your plea for access.

When Spencer noticed you at the window, his eyes locked with yours, his mouth forming a simple plea as the undergrad inched closer to him.

“Help,” he mouthed.

You shrugged in reply, wondering what would possibly be so bad that he'd need your help of all things.

It was then that you noticed the undergrad had reached out a hand to play with the buttons of his jacket, stroking her hand along his chest as he cringed backwards.

You watched him take her hands off him, but she was tenacious, or just a downright creep, and she grabbed his thigh this time, pressing her chest forward. You couldn't see it yourself, but you knew from his reaction and instantly turned head that she was dangerously close to flashing him.

Or she was just doing it.

His eyes pleaded for help again, and you barged into the room with a large cough.

“Doctor Reid, if I could have a moment of your time? It's urgent.”

You dumped the books on your desk, and he jumped up to greet you, stepping out of the young students' grasp and almost shielding himself behind where you stood.

“Of course, yes, Y/N. It is urgent, so I'm sure the students will... be understanding."

He turned back to the student and gestured helpfully to show her the door, but her angry gaze was stuck on yours.

“Old ass skank,” you heard her whisper under her breath. From the hand on your arm and the furrowing of his brow you knew Spencer had as well.

“I'm sorry, what was that, Miss….?”

“Hmm? I'm sure I didn't say anything, Doctor Y/L/N.”

“You-” Spencer began but you silenced him with a hand on his chest.

Her gaze flicked to it, and she grew redder in the face, as if she were truly angry at this development. Interesting.

“Spencer,” you span around, totally ignoring the student now, wrapping your arms up and around his neck. He blinked in confusion once and then twice and hesitated, but let his hands land on your waist.

“It really is so urgent that we speak. Alone. I wouldn't want your precious students hearing anything I have to say to you.” You leaned in closer for the last words, letting your voice flow like honey, neatly seductive as you did your best to remind the student of her place.

Which was as far from a professor's bed as possible.

“She's just leaving, Y/N,” he whispered, equally as breathy as you, if not more. He didn't bother a glance over your shoulder to check, though, keeping his eyes on you as if you were a tiger preparing to pounce on him at any second.

The student grabbed her things and huffed out the door. As soon as the thing was shut, you pulled the blinds totally shut and detangled yourself from Spencer completely, giving yourself a wide berth after bringing yourself so close.

You hadn't realized how long and pretty his eyelashes were until you forced yourself to look at him, how nice his eyes were. The image of them burned into your brain - jealousy, probably. Men always had the best natural eyelashes. It was incredibly unfair.

“What the fuck was that?” You whispered, trying to contain your laugh as you knew the walls here were anything but soundproof.

“Shh,” he hissed, his ear pressed to the door as he listened to the remaining undergrads outside start talking. They obviously hadn't got the memo.

“Is this an official FBI strategy?” You teased.

“Shut up, would you? They're talking about us.”

You found yourself all of a sudden pressed against the door next to him, trying to listen in on the conversation outside.

“So it's true? He's really screwing her?” You slapped a hand over your mouth, both from shock and to stop the hysterical laugh bubbling up in your chest from jumping out. The girl sounded distraught. She sounded absolutely heartbroken. "The coffees every morning were suspicious, and they're always in the office so wrapped up with each other, but I didn't think they were seriously screwing."

“No wonder she was giving us dirty looks earlier,” the other girl whispered back.

“I heard he got her the job here. Pulled some strings, you know. And then, when it didn't look so suspicious, he started and asked for the shared office.”

“Gross! Total nepo hire!”

“No, Tiff, Nepo is when your parents get you the job. What she's doing is just called being a whore.”

Your mouth grew dry, and you pushed back off the wall, suddenly uninterested in anything else the girls had to say.

“Y/N…” Spencer took a sympathetic step your way, offering you an awkward smile as you started busying yourself organizing books.

“Nothing I haven't heard before, Spencer, don't bother,” you said, throwing some papers into your briefcase and keeping your hands moving.

“Though I will say they're getting more creative with their back stories since I have been working here half a year longer than you.”

He watched you work around the office, picking up items and tidying them away as you made a line of tidiness through the chaos of your desk.

“Do you think they all think that?” You asked, curiosity somehow piqued.

“That I got you the job?”

“That we’re screwing,” you said, finally turning to face him.

But the movement was a mistake - you hadn't heard him step closer, so as you turned his face was directly in front of yours, his nose practically touching your own as he looked down at you. It was enough so that the sharp intake of breath you took smelt like him, like he'd wrapped himself around your body and kept you there.

“Do you think they think we're screwing?” He asked, meaning to move away, or at least give you the space for you to do so.

“It doesn't matter to me what other people think,” you smiled up at him. “Because I wouldn't touch you with a tensed foot pole.”

You're thinking about the comment well into the evening, right until the moment your head hits the pillow.

You're thinking about the way his eyes dropped to your lips when you said those words, how he stepped closer and closer until you were backed up against the door.

“You were fine touching me earlier, Y/N. What is it now that makes it unappealing?” He whispered into your ear.

A hand came to your waist as your breath hitched.

“Is it the goosebumps I leave on your skin?” His hand pressed harder as it rose up to your chest. You gasped as he took one of your breasts in his hand, fondling it.

“Is it the way your heart beats uncomfortably hard when I'm close?”

His hand dropped again, falling down the plains of your stomach until he was stroking along the top of your pants, begging for entry.

“Or is it the way I make your cunt wet? It must be so hard pretending to hate me when you want my fingers stuffed inside of you.”

You gasped, but your tongue suddenly didn't work, as he slipped past your pants and his fingers were suddenly on your underwear, grinding the pads of his fingers against your slick pussy.

“You dont have to answer, I think I can tell just from feeling this. Shit, Y/N, I could probably slip into you right now with no resistance,” his fingers pushed inside of you as you gripped his arm for support. It was stronger than you expected, rigid as he tensed his arm.

You let him use your body, aware of your soft sighs and moans as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

His hands were inside you, then they pulled out, and somewhere in between his fingers and his cock filling you, you'd been pressed against the bookshelf, facing it and grabbing at the shelves for stability as he made good on his promise and pushed right into you without a care in the world.

“Spenc-Spencer, the books-”

“You know the books aren't a problem, Y/N,” he groaned into your ear as he pumped deep inside of you.

But the books were a problem, and they fell to the floor with each rough thrust, vibrating as they landed.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buz-

Your eyes shot open the next day, and you jolted out of your slumber, a pillow between your legs as you tried to find your release squirming and humping against it. You reached out for your vibration phone alarm, switching it off quickly to avoid the memory of those falling books from your fast fading dream.

Spencer hadn't touched you in that office. He'd taken your comment at face value and let you leave for your class, but it had stuck in your head.

You'd spent the entire night thinking about his hands on you, and you were entirely uncomfortable with the conclusion you were drawing.

Because now, you supposed, you'd quite enjoy the idea of Spencer Reid touching you wherever he damn well pleased.

🔖@stillhere197 @understandingsunrise

[ghostbeam]

1.3k words Bakugou Katsuki x reader, aged up characters, Bakugou is an art student, a little angsty, he’s kind of a huge asshole in this at some point but he’s kind of just trying to get under reader’s skin, I’m so out of practice in writing him I hope it’s okay, set in the same universe as my charcoal artist!Dabi and oil painter!Tomura, sorry if this sucks and is pretentious

Bakugou’s studio is impeccable. 

Everything has a place. His tools are all lined up, hammers and chisels and rasps all hanging from nails stuck into a large board on a wall. Beneath them are three tool carts filled with various electric saws and files, all placed meticulously. Besides that is a hand truck, you assume for moving the bigger sculptures he works on. He has one corner of the room reserved for all of his statues and uncarved stones, the largest ones pushed towards the back. The smallest stones and sculptures sit on tables near by, all set—what you have to guess—an inch apart from one another. There’s a standing desk with shelves of art books and comics beneath it. The entire middle of the room is covered in a tarp that looks immaculate, like he’s never worked a day in his life on top of it, though you know that’s not true judging from the half finished giant stone sitting atop of the clean tarp, tools sitting on the last step of the stool he’s using to reach the top of the sculpture. It’s draws your eyes immediately upon walking in—the stone that looks as though something is crawling from inside of it. 

The last wall is covered in brown sketching paper, three rolls of it mounted on one side so that it can be stretched across the entirety of the wall. The paper is filled with a multitude of sketches and scribbles, notes scrawled across that you can barely read due to the obvious urgency they were written with. 

Being inside of his studio feels personal—intimate—like you’re taking a peak inside of his brain, but Bakugou doesn’t seem to mind. Tearing your eyes away from the giant in the middle of the room, you watch him bring an extra stool to the table he’s cleared for the two of you to work on. 

The project is simple. You’re both meant to agree on one artist with an emphasis on a single medium of theirs. Both a seven slide powerpoint and a six page essay are due about the topic. Bakugou was assigned to be you’re partner. Despite his obvious bad attitude and the constant frown he wears, he was surprisingly open to working with you. You let him pick the artist, but he wouldn’t let you leave without choosing the medium. So even though your interest in your major is slowly deteriorating, you chose the first one that came to mind. 

So now you sit in Bakugou’s studio (brain, heart, soul), listening to him as he explains the importance of your artist during their time period, eyes flickering between the text in your book and the stone in the middle of the room. 

“Stop.” Bakugou’s voice snaps you out of the trance you’re in, swiveling your stool between the textbook in front of you and the stone to your right. You feel his hand come down on your knee, pausing your movements so that you’re facing him. 

“Huh?” You ask, eyeing the size of his hand on your leg. 

“Moving back and forth like that. It’s distracting.” Distracting. If only he knew how distracting his giant stone with the person/monster/angel crawling up out of it has been for you. 

“What is it?” You ask him, spinning your stool again so that you’re facing the unfinished sculpture. His hand slips from your knee. 

He glances at it for a moment before shrugging, “I dunno yet.”

“What do you mean?” You ask him.

“Exactly what I said.” He sighs, already annoyed with the conversation. “I don’t know what it is yet. I have to keep going until I—”

“Free it.” You interrupt, eyes still on the stone. “Until you free whatever’s inside, right.”

He’s quiet for a moment, head turned towards you as you observe his statue. You see him nod out the corner of your eye. “Yeah. I have to free it.”

When you look back at him, there’s an unreadable expression on his face. Gone is the permanent frown across his lips, the harsh line between his eyebrows. You think maybe its curiosity, maybe suspicion. 

What it really is, though, is that Bakugou is suddenly struck with the feeling of being understood. And he didn’t have to tell you a thing. One look at his rocks and you saw it. He’s not sure how to feel.

“I used to feel like that.” You tell him. His frown returns. You recognize that feeling, like something deep inside is screaming to get out, that feeling that you have to set it free or it’ll die inside of you. You used to feel that way every time you pushed your brush into a blank canvas. 

“But you don’t anymore.” He gathers. There’s a harshness to his voice, almost angry, but not angry at you—angry for you. 

“I think I lost it. I think art school sucked the life out of me.” Whatever spark you had died inside of you like you always worried it would. 

“That’s bullshit.” He tells you. He stands from his stool and pulls you up with him. He drags you to the giant stone in the middle of the room, and up close you can see the cross hatching he’s done to it at the top where the limbs seem to start. “You can’t keep your eyes off of this. It’s making you feel something.”

“It doesn’t make me feel anything anymore. You’re just talented.” You shrug.

“I know I’m talented.” He scoffs. “That’s not what you care about. You care that she gets out. You care that I turn this cold, unforgiving piece of solid fucking rock into something beautiful.”

“Or horrifying.” 

“It’s not gonna be horrifying.” He speaks, his lips close to your ear as he keeps you turned toward the stone. 

“You said you don’t know until it’s done.” You shiver.

“No, you said that.”

“You didn’t disagree.”

“Stop fucking—” He sighs loudly from behind you. “Yes, freeing it is a part of it. But I already know what it becomes. I knew the moment I hauled that fucking stone into this room. And you know it too.”

You don’t think you do, but Bakugou says this to you with such conviction, you think you believe him. You turn around, breaking yourself from the hypnosis the rock has put you under. 

“I thought it was weird that you didn’t jump at the chance to choose our artist. I had to practically force you to choose the medium. Maybe art school sucked the life out of you, but you let it.” The truth is harsh, makes you flinch away from him, but his hand reaches out for your wrist to bring you back. 

“You don’t have to be so fucking mean.” You wrench your wrist from his grip. 

“You think this is mean?” He spits. “You paint, and you sketch, and if you fuck up, you paint over it or you erase it. If you fuck up with this—” his palm slams against the stone in a loud thud next to your head. “—that’s it. It doesn’t forgive you.”

“So what? I’m some kind of lesser artist cause I don’t chip off pieces of stone? Fuck you.” You push at his chest, but he doesn’t budge.

“No, you’re a lesser artist because you gave up.” He takes another step forward, his nose just inches from your own. “Whenever you wanna resurrect whatever the fuck died inside of you, you know where to find me.”

He’s off of you in a second, halfway across the room by the time you catch your breath. Squaring your shoulders, you march your way toward him. You hate that he’s right, even if only a little bit. His sculpture did make you feel something. They all did. You haven’t felt that excitement in such a long time, or that jealous pit in your stomach you used to get whenever someone was so good at something it made you want to be better. You envy him. How could a place that slowly ruined you build and mold a man like him?

“I didn’t give up.” You seethe. He turns towards you, towering over you with that same frown on his face, but his eyes have that familiar look in them from when you spoke about his giant.

“Prove it.”

[mushroomates]

gandalf headcanons

hides spare pipe weed under his hat . pippin saw him do it one time. no one believes pippin.

even when he’s like- let me access my emergency stash- and pulls out a doobie from his hat. everyone’s like “woah such wizardry”

it drives pippin bonkers.

will cheat at cards, chess, checkers- has been known to enchant dice to make them weighted. again, denies

just a reminder that he canonically sleeps with eyes open. i’d also like to add that he can sleep standing up. he also does do both during long meetings sometimes.

the sleeping w eyes open particularly messes with legolas. he can’t handle prolonged eyecontact on a good day and now this wizard is staring into his soul and is only maybe conscious

sleeps on his back, stiff as a board. occasionally sits up, pauses, has a brief moment of lucidity and then goes back to bed

also sometimes talks in his sleep. in various languages. sometimes legolas is certain these languages are made up, but they’re spoken with such vigor it seems hard to believe that

you can have full conversations with him. they’re not particularly intelligent or understandable conversations but still very interesting dialogues that he does not recall in the morning. a favored topic is the inflated price of everything.

this is particularly amazing because gandalf does not pay for most things.

often things are gifted. sometimes he finds them, and keeps them as his own. more often than not he mooches off of others, and at times, has been known to take things

not steal. if you stopped him he’d give it back. but no one really has.

he just kind of. picks up something. looks at you. and walks away with it

sometimes will leave small tokens in return,, like rocks with strange runes on them or a single feather

sometimes will return the item after days, months, or years (decades, centuries)

oh i meant to give it back but then the civilization collapsed so-

he tends to favor things shaped like other things- a tea pot that is a boot, a spoon that’s shaped like a flower (evil evil EVIL) salt and pepper shakers that are little houses

also has a fascination with garden gnomes. will often take them ‘home’ as well. where do they go? who knows but they’re his now

no one knows where they go or what he does with what he acquires. a running theory is he has a secret house that no one is allowed in that’s full of weird knick-knacks

in actuality, he gives most of these things away. the garden gnomes are for tom bombadill, the weird spoons are for thranduil because he gives them to legolas and legolas HATES spoons that aren’t *spoons*

arwen is charmed by crossstich, galadriel likes weird soaps and candles, (gandalf the cheese wizard doubles as gandalf the bed bath and beyond wizard.)

saruman does not like novelty salt shakers but gandalf is convinced he does and keeps giving them to him.

on that note gandalf thinks towers are gaudy and would never have one

is very tempted to set up shop in the shire. everyone is against this idea which is why he really wants to.

Disturber Of The Peace- literally loves to uproot unsuspecting hobbits for fun

most known being the baggins, but like, he’s not above standing outside the proudfoots home with a ~mysterious~ envelope until he’s batted away with a broom or very passive aggressively dismissed

he’s like a stray cat that they need to stop feeding with adventures

there’s a list written by the thain of the shire “appropriate times to set off fireworks” . “never” and “when given explicit permission” are the only two things written. unfortunately gandalf is selectively literate

he does not, ever, know what time it is. if he does he won’t tell you-at least in a way that’s understandable to normal people

what’s the time? “it’s today” okay and when is that? “now” thanks buddy.

what times sunset? “when the moon is rising.” when’s that? “at the end of the day”

yk island time? that’s wizard time. just. no sense of any sort of time passing at all. it could be an hour or five days and he will refer to it as a minute. or vise versa. you invite him for tea on tuesday and he shows up on sunday, in the dead of night, with a hand full of seashells and covered in ash. no explanations. he leaves just as suddenly as he came, with a hermit crab in your kettle and dishes in the sink. but yeah, technically, he was there for tea on tuesday.

or arrives four weeks later because you didn’t say what tuesday.

it’s anyone’s guess, including him, what he has in his pockets. four twigs, each exactly 17 centimeters long? sure. half ball of twine wrapped around a chunk of moss? why not. three tea bags, clearly used, tied together and soaking wet. a small glass bottle with strange dust labeled “numbers”. a single tooth. reading glasses, cracked, missing a lense with a shoelace tied around the bridge. he doesn’t even wear glasses.

don’t. ever. ask him for directions. he can give you them, just. in a way that’s so alien that they’re impossible to follow

he kinda just. goes off of vibes? like if it feels like the right distance he will do with it. it’s not miles away but that sounds right

in his heart it is.

is always right. no amount of reason can convince him otherwise

at best, you’re both wrong but still. he knew it all along

rarely knows the right lyrics to things. if he’s called out he’ll just say “well in this version..” because he’s been everywhere and is ancient so no one can really argue

picks fights with a shocking large number of birds.

randomly and for seemingly no reason, in a multitude of languages most long forgotten.

[lieutenantfloyd]

Rainbow Cereal and Morning Confessions - Cyclone x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: Over breakfast, you mention something that you noticed during the previous night, only for Beau to confess something that's been weighing heavily on his mind.

Warnings: Domestic fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of kids/pregnancy, Beau had a bad childhood and is bad with emotions but he's secretly a hopeless romantic.

Authors Note: This was originally a very different fic written with my OC in mind, but I loved this idea so much I couldn't help but rewrite it to post here! Based on some headcanons I posted in January.

Read on AO3

“You talk in your sleep.” You say between mouthfuls of colorful fruity cereal. 

He eyes you sharply over his newspaper and takes a long swig off steaming black coffee. 

“No, I don’t.” He answers dryly. 

You twirl your spoon and give him a toothy grin. “Yeah, you do.” 

He sends you an eye roll before pushing his plate away and returning to his daily reading. 

Several minutes pass by without another word, but the silence between you is anything but awkward—It somehow never is.

 “What exactly do I talk about?” He asks in a low voice, and it takes all you have not to jump up and kiss him then and there. 

“National secrets, mostly.” You deadpan before quickly shoveling another spoonful of cereal into your mouth in a poorly planned attempt to stop your laughter. 

His eyebrows fly up so fast that you nearly choke. He leans across the table, using thick fingers to wipe away a stray drop of milk that escaped your mouth before leaning back into his previous position and waiting on you to regain your composure. 

“For real though, It was mostly gibberish with the occasional mention of pancakes.” You say nodding towards his plate. 

He sends you an annoyingly soft smile as a bit of color returns to his face. 

Your mind runs over his sleeping mumbles of the previous night, and you make a connection between his somniloquy and the handwritten notes you’d seen on his desk. 

“You never told me you speak French.” 

His handsome features shift into a look you’ve never seen before, and you feel his eyes scrutinize yours as if he’s deeply considering something. 

“Cajun French. It’s what my parents spoke.”

You nod softly, feeling suddenly awkward as you pick up on the unusual tone laced through his deep voice.

In the years between your first meeting and now, you have asked countless people—all of various rank and branch, along with a few civilians—about him. Your inquiries had always turned up the same. Nothing. No wife, no kids, and no known background prior to joining the Navy. He didn’t even have any social media to stalk. Aside from these intimate moments only you share with him, he’s a complete mystery. Practically a ghost.

“Were you and your parents close?” You ask softly.

“No.” He says. The finality feels sharp, but his tone falls flat. His voice feels nearly foreign to your ears.

His eyes fall to yours again, only this time they’re a confusing mix of vulnerable and guarded. You know instantly that something happened—something bad—and you choose not to push the topic any further.

You look down at your bowl, stirring the now soggy cereal around the colorful milk. He always chastises you for eating it, but it’s no different than how you nag at him for surviving off of coffee and pent up anger—a simmering rage so intertwined with him that you’ve often wondered where it stems from. Still seated in front of you, he’s staring off into space. You’re too afraid to ask yourself that question now.

“Do you want kids?” He asks suddenly. “With me, I mean.”

You nearly let out a playful—who else do you think I’d let knock me up?—but he still has that far-away look on his face, so you pause. Swallowing air as you gather your thoughts. 

“I… don’t think I’ve ever really thought about it.” You answer honestly, and he nods. 

“I hadn’t thought about it either. Not until you.” He confesses. 

“Having you in my life will always be the most important thing, but I realized that I’d probably like to be a dad.” He says. “And after I realized that, I also realized that I didn’t have anything from my own childhood to pass on to them.” 

You nod, rendered breathless by the conversation. God, he’d be a good dad. 

“Both my parents were Cajun. I remember that my mother was devoutly Catholic, and she raised me to speak French in a time when that just wasn’t what you did.” He pauses, only to resume after taking a deep breath. “I know now that they were complicated people. I choose not to think about them anymore.” He says in a voice so soft you nearly wonder if your mind made it up.

You nod along, giving him space to speak whatever is on his mind. You don’t let yourself question, aloud or otherwise, why he doesn’t speak of his father. 

“That was a long time ago—and a lot of the language is lost on me now—but I wanted something…positive…to pass on if I ever had a kid.” He confesses. 

You give him a soft smile before taking his hand across the table. 

“You’ve clearly thought a lot about this, and while I haven’t yet, I will.” You say. 

The conversation has taken such an intense turn that you felt shaky as you rose from your seat to clean up the breakfast dishes. 

You fall into a lull of comfortable normalcy, though the bits of his history he revealed hang heavy in your mind as you load the dishwasher. 

“Is there anything in particular you want to pass on? Anything I should learn…just in case?” You ask gently as you wipe your hands dry. It was a simple, genuine question, though by the gentle but shocked look on his face, you might as well have gotten on one knee and asked for his hand in marriage.

“I’ll think about it,” he says with the slightest teasing tone. 

You smile, happy to know nothing is weighing too heavy on him, and things are back to business as usual once again. 

“There’s a lot I want to tell you and more that I should, but..”

“Hey,” you say calmly “there’s no pressure. If you want to wax poetic about your entire life story or you never want to speak about it again, it’s fine. Childhoods are weird, and what matters is who you become after it all.”

He settles back into the chair, staring at you with nothing my pure adoration. Still, something has his shoulders tense, and something tells you that it’s the same thing that has words lying on the tip of your tongue.

“You’re a good man, Beau. And you’d make an amazing father.”

He rises to his seat, folds his newspaper—left over right, top over bottom, always—and drops it on the table. Cherry oak. Pretty, solid wood.

He crosses the short distance between you and kisses your head like the good man and partner he is. Without another word, he drops back into his seat and assumes his previous position, though the tension he always holds in his shoulders gives way just a bit. Sunlight has barely begun to stream in through the large kitchen windows, casting the table you are both seated at in a fresh, golden glow. A comfortable silence stretches between you as you finish the last few bites of your breakfast. He’s leaning back in his chair, legs crossed, though his left hand lays casually against the table. As the minutes pass, your hand absentmindedly brushes against his. He glances up at you over his paper, his eyes filled with warmth as a hint of a smile plays on his lips. 

“I know you hate getting up this early, but I like being able to spend my mornings with you,” he says as he encircles your hand with his own, brushing the pads of his fingertips over your knuckles.  You look up at him, your swelling as his words sink in. Aside from the daily ‘I love you’ s, Beau isn’t someone who ever verbalizes his emotions. Though he has never once held back from showing you just how much he cares. 

“Me too,” you reply. Your hand squeezes his gently, a small gesture that confirms you recognize the gravity of his admission.

The smell of his black coffee lingers in the air as you hear the world outside begin to wake up. You sit happily in each other's presence for several moments longer. The world outside the window feels far away and almost meaningless compared to the cozy safe haven of his kitchen.

Suddenly, you feel his shift and reluctantly pull his hand from yours. You glance briefly at the clock, laughing as the numbers confirm that he has only minutes before he needs to leave for work. He rinses his mug and sets it on a tea towel, leaving it to dry. He swipes his bag off the counter and leans in for a full, proper kiss this time. You smile up at him as he pulls away, knowing that no matter what his day ahead holds, the moments you shared together over breakfast will tide him over until he can come back home to you.

taglist: @marchingicenotes7 @bayisdying @princessofglitterland @bella-law @callsignaries @oliviah-25 @luckyladycreator2 @shakira-sasha @xoxabs88xox @alexxavicry @madamemelancholysstuff @paola-carter @barbiewritesstuff @dozcan123 @withakindheartx @nyx2021 @teti-menchon0604 @kmc1989

[estcaligo]

Nobody: Me at 3 AM: Glorious Masquerade represents the confrontation between polytheistic and monotheistic worldviews

Or "The Big Three of Olympus vs One Christian God" in the Glorious Masquerade event

Content Warning: Greek Mythology, religion, Christianity, Glorious Masquerade event spoilers

Note: I talk about things in this post from a researcher's point of view, in a descriptive and comparative manner mostly. Just some observations.

I've already discussed a similar concept before - Idia, Jade, and Sebek representing Hades, Poseidon, and Zeus, the "Big Three" in Greek mythology, the most powerful and important gods of Olympus - during the Harveston event. See the post here.

However, in the Glorious Masquerade, the situation becomes even more peculiar because the SSR characters are dorm leaders - those who are in charge. And then there's Rollo, who is twisted from Frollo.

Note: I will consider all sources of inspiration for Rollo, including the book and the musical, which were confirmed by Yana herself to be inspirations for Rollo.

What? Why? Who?

3 vs 1. The Big Three of Greek Pantheon vs The One God, who embodies 3 in 1 - the Father, the Son and the Spirit.

The Big Three are the three most powerful gods among the Olympians - Zeus, Poseidon and Hades.

Zeus commands the sky, lightning, kingship and summon any weather conditions.

Poseidon manipulates water, storms and earthquakes.

Hades has dominion over the dead and undead, darkness, earth-related disasters, and metals and jewels.

*By the way, lightning was considered just Zeus throwing a temper tantrum, and what happened when Malleus got angry? Right, he started throwing  lightnings left and right.

And now we have Rollo. Twisted from Frollo, who, as we know was a religious man (especially in the book where he is a priest, not a minister).

And despite there being other characters, such as vice-president and the assistant, they aren't "real" or “important” characters like Rollo.

So we can say there is only one (1) main character in this event.

2. 7 Dorm Leaders vs 1 Head of the Council

As is well known, Ancient Greek mythology features many major gods, each controlling different aspects of life (or representing them, or serving as patrons). This makes Ancient Greek religion a polytheistic system - meaning it has multiple gods - akin to the Great Seven and the dorm system at NRC.

The Dorm Leader Council functions much like a small pantheon. Not to mention NRC is located on upper hills, which resembles a mountain (Olympus) if we look at the landscape of the Sage Island.

On the other hand, Christianity only has one God, making it monotheistic religion. There are multiple saints in Christianity, who are patrons of different aspects of life, however it is important to note that these saints do not control - they are more like the intercessors between man and God.

Even the NBC itself is focused on one Villain and has one statue in the yard, not the 7 (the "pantheon" of NRC). And NBC itself doesn't have Dorm system like NRC.

3. Oral vs Written

Greek religious tradition is primarily oral, with legends and stories passed down through generations by word of mouth.

In contrast, Christianity is predominantly a written religion, where the written canon holds great importance.

How is it important here?

Well, in this event specifically the NRC guys spend their time walking around and commenting on things. We learn some of their lore and thoughts on various topics through dialogue. Even Professor Trein reveals his past verbally telling about it. Naturally, it’s a game mechanism. But since we’re talking about such details….

On the other hand, the most important part of Rollo lore is found by the Big Three in written form - Rollo’s diary.  It's also noted how Rollo prefers writing above all else. He writes in his diary, sends letters, and drafts invitations. While this may not apply to the NBC in general, since we're focusing on Rollo, this detail is worth considering as well.

4. Our guys vs That One

Another difference between the two religions is that the Greek gods had flaws that made them more similar to humans. They had tempers and they often held grudges. This made the followers of the religion not want to be like them but, instead learn from them and their shortcomings, frequently through fear. 

In contrast to the flawed gods of Greek mythology, Jesus is portrayed as a man who is to be aspired to, more so than the Greek portrayal of a god; who the audience learns from (imitating in a way), rather than obeys.

Our NRC boys are someone we know and who we’re familiar with. We know their struggles and fears, their dark past. Even the guys in charge of each dorm - the Dorm Leaders - are not so distant from the regular students. Well, more of less.

Whereas Rollo is described by all the characters we’ve met at NBC (and even from his vignette) as someone who is amazing, excellent, wonderful and so…exemplementry. Rollo, at the same time, distances himself from everyone.

5. Vertical vs Horizontal

A small but interesting observation is that many monotheistic religions, including Christianity, often have a “vertical mindset” - symbolizing a relationship between the human and God.

In Christian cosmology, we often imagine a vertical world structure: Hell at the bottom, the human realm in the middle, and Heaven above.

In this event, we also experience vertical movement when things get serious. Initially, when it's peaceful and fun, we mostly walk around the town (mostly horizontal, not including the lower parts).

However, when the action begins, Rollo first sends us downward into the sewers. From there, we start moving upward. The ascent of the tower is highly symbolic, as we are literally ascending towards the sky where Rollo awaits us (with his “judgment”)

 6. Masks

The whole masquerade theme is, of course, a nod to the cartoon and part of the game feature to get the characters to dress up.

But let’s remember that in Ancient Greece, masks played a significant role in theater, particularly in tragedies and comedies (twst features elements of both). In general, it is known that masks represent hidden nature, transformation, and more. 

Interestingly, only our NRC squad wears masks and costumes. We even encountered some Royal Sword Academy students, but they were not given costumes (again, a game feature, but still noteworthy).

On the other hand, there's Rollo, who isn't wearing a mask or even a costume. He doesn’t need to. He is who he is, with no need to transform into something else, as he represents the One, in our comparison here. 

What's even more interesting is that, despite not wearing a physical mask, Rollo is the one with ulterior motives in this event, and we only learn his true face later on. He metaphorically takes the mask off, even though he never wore one in the literal sense.

7. Catholic Guilt

The last but not least - Rollo's punishment, which, perhaps is the most fitting and cruel outcome for him. Rollo, after being defeated, expects harsh punishment because he is ruthless with himself and assumes others will treat him the same way. He failed and he expects to be punished. However our Big Three surprise him by concealing the truth and allowing others (the NBC mobs were the first to thank him for his bravery at the tower) to believe that Rollo was a hero. This situation forces Rollo into a state of internal torment, where he must live with the guilt of his actions while being praised for something he didn't truly do.

Rollo's punishment is psychological, forcing him to confront his guilt and shame in isolation. They choose leave him one on one with his Sin.

On the contrast, in Ancient Greek mythology punishments were often cruel and involved physical pain. One of the most popular example would be of course the myth about Prometheus, which, by the way involved Zeus.

And the way Big Three dealt with Rollo was truly cruel in its own way.

(from an interesting article about Greek Gods and punishment - here)

Fin

I left out some obvious notes like Malleus having horns, Rollo hating on magic etc.

Naturally, there may be other details I haven’t mentioned, so feel free to add any additional insights!

[taliabhattwrites]

On the topic of the Edelgard rambling… I’d love to see it! I have so, so many thoughts about her story and character, about how she’s maligned at every turn by readers, about how she’s clearly using her own heart as fuel at every turn (written in BIG BOLD LETTERS AFTER Arianrhod, for the people who missed it), and so on. But I don’t… have the words. I’m not especially well versed in theory as a whole, I have struggle expressing the emotions and thoughts inside of my mind as form.

I’d just like to be able to see both where my interpretation falls against someone much more learned than me, as well as challenge myself if it is different. Give me a chance to enjoy El more, from angles I never conceived of.

Of course, I absolutely understand your concern! This is the blorbo site. And they’ve shown time and again that they fall into the same misogynistic lines about Edelgard and other women in fiction time and again. Just… if you did do it, there’s at least one person who would greatly enjoy the dialogue!

The thing you have to remember is that the story we love is ultimately a product of decisions by creatives, not a living world. We do not need to defend characters as though they are real people with a consistent internal logic, free of the critiques of poor storytelling choices and bad characterization.

And let's just say that when a videogame ends 3/4 routes with you killing a powerful woman, who was irresponsible and "driven mad" by her power due to not being fit for that power innately ... for the ultimate aggrandizement of the presumed-male self-insert (do not deflect with the gender-choice excuse y'all KNOW the self-insert is presumed male narratively) ... you fucking notice the pattern

FE3H could have been an epic where the various factions struggling against the tyrannical rule of an absolute theocracy drew on realistic political histories ... but instead we had to have Two Antisemitic Conspiracy Type Shadowy Agents to prop up A Very Azor Ahai Tale for 3/4 routes

Note that I'm dinging Crimson Flower here too. Everything good about Crimson Flower is an accident, in spite and not because of artistic intent.

So that's my Edelgard take. The creator wrote her wrong.

Do not appeal to 'authority' to me, I am better than your 'authorities'.

[radiomogai]

ok hi. want to get input on a blog thing. specifically, the question of transids and archiving from radqueers

one of the main values we try to have when running radiomogai is not letting history be written by the victors. as such, we try to be as unbiased as possible in what it is that we reblog and put on external archives. this means we will archive terms we disagree with, terms we believe are harmful in some manner, terms coined by people we disagree with or even despise, troll terms, posts that upset us. we try our best to be unbiased, and while that's impossible and we do notice bias in our work, we are proud of our implementation of this value

when transids first started becoming a community issue, we ended up developing some pretty bad OCD around them, as well as the topic of radqueerism. we couldn't even archive chronosian terms for a while because of this. in the past year or so we've made massive improvements on this and we're now comfortable having conversations about them. hell, we have an anthropological interest in transids and in radqueer ideology, similar to our anthropological interest in microlabels and subcultures overall

also in this time, the overall attitude of the MOGAI community has shifted. there are a lot of people now who are accepting of transid terms and experiences, and there are community members who are transid themselves. there has become an understanding that transids are not inherently tied to radqueer ideology, and there has been a rise in people being radqueer-critical instead of anti-radqueer

so with all of this said. we want people's thoughts on how we go about archiving transids as well as archiving things made by radqueers, whether or not these things are transids. at current, we're using our own judgement in each individual situation, and most things that don't go on radiomogai do get saved to be put on archive.ph later anyway. when you give your thoughts, i do ask that you keep in mind that radiomogai is meant to be a queer community resource and a historical record, and that no matter what someone does or does not believe, if they are queer then you cannot try to deny them their queerness

please let us know in a reblog, reply, or ask. do note that we likely will not respond to responses right away and may not at all. we are under a lot of stress right now in our personal life and have been having both a fatigue flare and an asociality flare, but we've been sitting on this topic for long enough that i got tired of waiting for the right time for it

additional notes i want to clarify after feedback on the draft of this:

radiomogai would not at all become a majority-radqueer or even largely radqueer archive. not only are there other projects dedicated to doing that already, but we also frankly prioritize non-radqueer MOGAI terms more

there are certain sorts of terms we would absolutely not be putting on radiomogai. we'd still be putting them on archive.ph, but for various reasons {our OCD, keeping the blog up, etc}, they would not go here. this includes but isn't limited to hate-related terms, certain harm-related terms, paraphilia-related terms, some race-related terms, anything actively advocating for causing nonconsensual harm, stuff along those lines

if you block a tag, posts that have been tagged with that in any version of the post will still be hidden. so people could block radqueer tags and any posts that have had those tags added by OP would still be blocked for you, even if we don't include those tags

we would absolutely make it more explicitly clear in our pinned post that archival does not equal to endorsement, we've been meaning to get around to that anyway lol