#i have a lack of object permanence with my books

[fictionadventurer]

Breaking News: The shelves of books that I bought for myself based on my own personal taste are full of books that I want to read!

#books #i have a lack of object permanence with my books #if i don't read it right away i forget it exists #and then i go to the library for cravings #i just put away a couple of spring tbr bedside books i never got to #and looking at those shelves was a revelation #i felt like innocent smith breaking into his own house #this person has great taste! #i hope she'll let me take a few tomes! #unfortunately not much fantasy there but 'river secrets' is an intriguing option

[st-el-la-luna]

Syrupy Sweet: Nasty Baker! Soap x Reader

tumblr deleted the orgininal for whatever reason. Luckily I tracked down a reblog. Edited and added some new stuff (love tumblr for deleting my most popular post, rip my 600+ notes 😔)

NSFW 18+

Soap is forced into an early retirement. He gets a job at a small bakery. And that's where he meets you

➔ gn!afab!reader (described as having boobs & wearing a bra), creepy soap, pervy soap, obsessive soap, lust at first sight, non/dub-con cum eating, dirty thoughts, fantasizing, humping inanimate objects, coming in panta

After so many years working in the military, serving his country. Protecting the people of the world from danger. The last thing Soap expected waas tyo be discharged so suddenly and with so little warning.

Too much time working with explosives has affected his hearing. A bad knife wound, or a torn Achilles tendon. A bad break that never healed right. A couple of head injuries too many. 

"An early retirement," they'd called it. Forced retirement more like it. They won't even tell him why, just that he's, "no longer fit for active duty," and that he should be grateful that they, "got him such a nice deal. That he gets to keep his pension."

He’s bitter about it, understandably, He likes his job. He’s good at it. They can’t be serious about this! His performance hasn’t been hindered. 

Regardless of the reason, in spite of his arguments, Soap is benched, permanently. Price is apologetic, Ghost is... Distant, though that's to be expected. Gaz promises to keep in touch. And he does keep in touch, they all do. 

But it’s ot the same. Soap still feels lonely. Bored. He doesn’t know what to do with himself or all the time he suddenly has on his hands. Doesn’t know how to operate without the adrenaline rush, without something to occupy his hands and minds. He figures that, maybe, he should get a job. A civilian job. Not one of those cushy desk jocky jobs Price had offered him out of pity, Soap wants a job far removed from the military. Really reintegrate himself into normal, civvie life. 

After a bit of searching along the drizzly cobbled Glasgowian streets, Soap finds a little coffee shop and bakery nearby. A tiny, quaint little thing, run by a sweet old woman who just doesn't have the energy to keep the doors open on her own. 

The place is situated on a street corner, tucked away from the busy traffic-filled streets. A soft bell jingles when the door opens. The sign is hsand painted. The place, though clearly aged, is well looked after, loved. The wood floors and counters shine; the tables and chairs, though antique, are comfortable, well made; plants hang from the ceiling; and a couple bookshelves line a wall, a leave a book take a book community library. 

Soap applies for the position and despite his lack of experience, he gets the job. Something about him reminding the old woman of her own son. 

At first, Soap worked there with her. Learning the ins and outs of the trade. How to make meringue and bread and macrons and creme brûlé. It's not easy, not at first, but with practice and time, he gets the hang of it. 

He figures it's because of his experience with explosives and chemistry. Baking is... Kind of the same thing. 

Eventually, he's left to tend to the day-to-day affairs of the bakery. The woman still writes all the recipes and makes some of the breads. But he's the one managing the front of the house. 

It's where he meets you. 

Sweet. Kind. Polite. Breathtaking. Irresistible. Sexy. You. 

You come tumbling into the warm bakery on a day when the weather is particularly bad, even for Scotland. Strong winds, cold rains threatening to turn to hail, thunder rumbling in the distance. 

You're soaked to the bone. Hair dripping. Shoes leaving puddles in your wake as each of your steps is announced by a wet squish. Your full cheeks bitten by the cold, fingertips numb, you offer him a blinding smile. 

He's more focused on your tits though. And your bra. Visible through your thin, now see-through, shirt. Black lace. He can see how your chest rises and falls with each breath you take. He can even see a small mole, or maybe a birthmark, on the swell just above the cup of your bra. He wants to sink his teeth into you. Wants to suck that mark into his mouth, chew and lick at it, make it bigger. Make it his. Make you his.  

He's drooling a little, he realizes absently. 

"Hey," you say softly, wiping at your nose with your sleeve. Hands curled into adorable little sweater paws as you try to wipe your wet hands off on your equally wet pants. 

Soap just stares at you, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Shell shocked. He... He’s never... You’re so... He... Holy fuck. 

Eventually, he clears his throat and manages a smile, stepping a bit closer to the counter so he can hide the growing tent in his pants. He forces himself to meet your eyes, rather than stare at your chest. 

But they’re staring at me, his innermost thoughts whine, wanton and airy in his mind. So desperate for attention... for love... ready to be suckled and bit and groped and pinched... 

Johnny leans forward, elbows resting on the counter and chuckles, flashing you an easy, charming smile. "Hey... Looking for something to warm you up?" 

Please say you've already found what you're looking for. Please say you want him to warm you up. With his hands. His mouth. His cock. Please say– 

"Yeah... Do you guys do hot chocolates?" 

"It's not on the menu, but I've got my own stash in the back," he says as he looks you up and down. But how could you blame him? What with your... everything! This is your fault, honestly. Dirty, dirty, little thing, wearing a white shirt in the rain. You know what you’re doing. Something sinister and heated bubbles in his gut. A thick, molten, syrupy desire, a primal need. A sort of instinctive pull, a fish lured in by the soft glow of an angler fish. A moth to a flame. Helpless but to stare, slack jawed, and fighting back drool, as you stare up at him expectantly, He smiles, his lips spreading further as he notices your flustered state, how you shift under his stare, biting your lip as he looks you up and down. Logically, it’s a nervous reaction. But, in Soap’s quickly spiraling mind, it’s a clean indicator that you want him too. "I'll make one, special for you, darling." 

Your eyes sparkle, your smile tears the breath from his lungs. "Really? Oh my god, thank you." 

Soap grabs a mug from the shelf and twirls it around his finger. He pulls up his sleeves, bunching them around his mid biceps. He flexes, purposefully, showing off the hard-earned muscles in his arms, the scars, the prominent veins, his big, strong hands. Hands that would look so perfect around your neck. Or holding your wrists. Or deep between your shaking legs reaching deep and good, far past anything you could reach on his own. He wonders if you’re a crier. He hopes that you are. 

Soap notices the way your eyes fall to the newly exposed skin. The way your jaw drops a little. The way you close your mouth. The way you glance away before quickly looking back. The way your throat bobs when you swallow... 

Holy shit. 

He can give you something else to swallow if you'll let him. Please let him. 

He rolls his hips against the counter and lets out a stuttering breath through his nose. His lips part. His tongue feels thick and leaden in his mouth. 

A moan bubbles in his throat, he disguises it as a cough. "Can..." He swallows another noise as he shifts his stance, achingly cock pressed against the teeth of his zipper. He makes a show of dusting the counter off, acting like he's tossed something into the bin so he can adjust his pants. "Can I get you anything else?" 

Your eyes, gorgeous eyes, scan the menu and the display. "A cinnamon bun?" You ask, pointing to the delicacy through the glass case. "Please and thank you." 

"You're in luck," he says, rutting against the counter again, as quick and harsh as he can without drawing attention. A part of him thoough, a sick, twisted, part of him that quickly spreads his mind like a weed, corrupting and poisoning, wants you to notice. Wants you to catch him. To punish him. "Just made a fresh batch... I've just got to head back and ice them." 

"Oh, I'm fine with one of them from the display, you don't need to trouble yourself." 

Oh, and how sweet you are... 

You keep chewing on your bottom lip. Part of him wants to stop you, tell you that that’s his job. Wants to bite your lips until they’re raw and swollen. 

He's fucked. Well and truly fucked. 

He smiles. You’re blissfully ignorant of the darkness lurking in his eyes. "No trouble at all... It's my pleasure." 

And it is his pleasure. Very much so. 

He comes out a bit later, a little out of breath. A little red in the face. A couple buttons undone on his shirt. 

"Hot in there," he says with a smile, setting the mug and a cinnamon bun on the counter in front of you. He sets another little plate down, a doughnut. Chocolate frosting with a cream filling, the sticky white substance still pouring from the hole. 

"I uh, I didn't order that," you say with a little, awkward laugh. "The doughnut." 

"I know you didn't, sweet thing... It's a new recipe I've been trying out. Trying to get right... Mind telling me what you think? It's free of charge, promise." 

"Oh," you blink, staring up at him with those wide eyes. God, how he wants to see those eyes watering. How he wants to see those eyes tearing up as you choke on his cock. How he wants to see you cry as he fucks you. You smile. "Thank you!" 

You pay for your drink and dessert and blink up at him from under your lashes. Your smile turns shy as you chew your lip. Stop it. Stop it. You’re going to make him lose his mind. You have to know what you’re doing to him. You have to. "Keep the change." 

He smiles. "Thanks." 

You find a seat in the corner and settle in the corner with a book. Soap keeps an eye on you the whole time. Watches you as much as he can without attracting unwanted attention. 

His cock throbs in his pants when he sees you take your first bite of the cinnamon roll. When you wipe at the icing with your thumb and lick it clean. He watches with delight as you eat and drink, rolling his hips against the counter in time with the bobbing of your throat as you swallow. 

Soap watches you with rapt attention as you enjoy the desserts. His lips parted, jaw slack, drooling. He wonders if he could convince you to lick it away. He is so glad that he stopped by the office to record the security footage. He’s going to be watching this over and over and... Fuck! 

With a final grind of his aching cock against the counter, his boxers are flooded with a wet, sticky warmth. He mourns it going to waste like that. His cum belongs in you. Your tight pussy, round ass, past your full lips. 

"How was it?" He asks, breathless, when you return your dishes to the counter. He shifts his stance, hiding the wet spot in his pants. He's not embarrassed that he came in his pants just from watching how your throat moves as you swallow. At watching the way that you lave your tongue over your fingers, licking the thick glaze away with a spit-slicked tongue. 

He just doesn't want to weird you out. 

"It was amazing," you say. "I really liked the balance of the sweet with the salty... Sometimes the sugar is just... Too much." 

"I agree," Soap says, breathless. He swallows a lump in his throat. "I agree." 

You become a regular from then on. He always gets you freshly baked items, from the back. No matter how busy. 

He's not supposed to alter the recipes. But he doubts the lady will mind that he made a change. All he did was put a little love into the recipes. A little bit of himself in the sour cream glaze. 

Keep your eyes peeled for a part 1.5 involving what soap did in the back room!

Comments and reblogs help motivate!

Masterlist!

#call of duty #cod mwii #cod #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #x reader #dark fic #johnny soap mactavish #cod x reader #nastybaker!soap

[geistundmaterie]

Following the wonderful character analysis of Mammon by @pinkandpurple360, the best one I have read in years, I’d like to elaborate on the topic of Mammon’s loneliness even further.

Mammon is indisputably lonely and does show behaviour that signals his inner suffering from his state; his whole worldview being the root cause of his misery. He is in the permanent state of "having", a concept explained wonderfully in a book by Erich Fromm.

The mode of having sees everything as a possession. “Having” things emphasises a duality between “the owner” and “the thing”. The latter one being distinct from and relating to the “owner” only in the sense that one have a formal right of ownership over “the item”. Possession is oriented entirely towards the outside world and does not touch a person in who or what one inwardly is. Therefore, Mammon’s relationship with the world is inherently superficial. He is alienated from everything around him and does not know how to relate to it on a much deeper, meaningful level.

Nobody can actually own love or friendship. These concepts are not things that one can simply possess. Mammon’s relationship with the outside world, however, is rooted in a constant drive to own the most basic, the materialistic side of it. He knows how to gain one’s fondness and attention, but does not know how to be likeable and has zero idea how to nurture a much more intimate connection with anyone or anything. He does feel a hole in his soul yet cannot fill it due to being the way he is, investing his energy into the simplified ersatz of what he craves. Internally, he suffers from a constant chase for having something he wants to own but cannot factually possess.

My statements are pretty much supported by the fact that Mammon’s groupies / servants he had at his web lounge were Robot Fizzies. The original storyboard shows two imps (a female and a male one) waiting for him there and it was changed deliberately in the latter production. Mammon surrounds himself with artificial objects because it’s much easier for him to deal with ones since they lack anything spiritual in them. He is notably “touchy” because this is the only way of connection he understands: by grabbing, feeling the material presence of someone, because he is not used to feeling and relating to his surrounding at a nonmaterialistic level.

Therefore, the biggest misfortune of being greedy is not the tendency to exploitation and excess but the alienation from the deeper levels of life it brings with itself. Illustrated perfectly by the Embodiment of Greed himself. A person extremely extroverted and giddy yet incapable of empathize with his surroundings despite suffering from very much understandable inner drives.

The more I think about this character, the more I love him and genuinely want him to become happier. :)

#mammon helluva boss #helluva boss mammon #helluva boss

[driftwood-fireflies]

"I can easily imagine belonging to one man for my entire life, but he would have to be a whole man, a man who would dominate me, who would subjugate me by his inate strength. And every man—I know this very well—as soon as he falls in love becomes weak, pliable, ridiculous. He puts himself into the woman's hands, kneels down before her. The only man whom I could love permanently would be he before whom I should have to kneel."

--

The above is a quote from the book Venus in Furs, written by the man whom the act of masochism was named after, Leopold von Sacher-Mascoh. I think a lot of his work is of course, foundationally based in sex and gender dynamics and therein difficult to divorce from that context, but since I have an obsession with this damn movie and these two men who make up the core of it, I will at least attempt to in service of making this quote about my gay ship ❤️ indulge me, if you will.

I think the quote reveals some interesting facets of human nature as I can relate them back upon Billy and Stu (STOP LAUGHING. STOP LAUGHING). Though the line in context is spoken by a woman and is chiefly about the way that men love women (particularly in this historical context, as the source text is from 1870) I believe it also carries with it some interesting implications on human nature in romance and sex in general. Wanda speaks about losing her fascination with men who show themselves to be 'weak, pliable, ridiculous.' The way this clashes with typical societal expectations for what love is meant to look like is interesting to me. What is perceived to her (and, in my mind, to Stu, as I read this from his perspective) as weakness is something we might consider fondness. The way the heart grows tender and the gaze softens when resting on the object of one's affection. I could easily see how this could translate in some minds to a revealing of weakness as it smashes the artificial barrier of outward strength to reveal that the hardened exterior does, in fact, protect vital organs just as infallible as [his] own. And for someone who feels either profoundly unsafe or particularly in need of protection, that softness is in itself an attack upon the feeling of safety offered by the exterior coldness. In a sense, the speaker deifies the prospect of a lover by upholding an expectation of rigid emotionless protection. Or if not emotionless, emotions so well hidden so as to be imperceptible. And yet what intrigues me is that the speaker also speaks of belonging to the man in question, making the relationship something of a transaction, and yet I have trouble categorizing it as such. In essence what is being asked for is to belong to [him] in exchange for being belonged to, which when described in those terms is almost prototypical. And yet the dynamic is still subversive because it requires such a lack of what would be considered romance. No, the relationship the speaker asks for is one built primarily on acts of violence and service, of the safety of ownership in exchange for being owned. A dog asks to be collared, as a tag emblazoned with its owners name is the only real measure of safety keeping it tethered to the place it calls home. To treat a dog as an equal ensures only that they will be mistreated, such is the way of animals. And yet it goes even a step beyond this, as the violence demanded by the speaker is not solely reflected outward. [He] asks not for a loyal protector but an indiscriminately dominant figure who will put [him] in [his] own place just as well as he will do to someone else. As I said, that revealing act of softness does nothing but that - reveal softness. It exposes a vulnerability in the man that owns [him] and therein exposes [his] own vulnerability. And so this attraction to the hardened exterior therein makes [him] reflective of that softness, and in that way makes [him] a part of him. In this sense they become a sort of 4-dimensional ouroboros, two headed and somehow always inside of the other just as much as they are eating each other, and yet one and the same. Billy owns Stu in the way a man owns a dog, in the way a parasite owns a host. Stu owns Billy in the way a heart owns its body, in the way the sky owns the sun and moon. They belong to each other just as much as they own each other, reflected in Stu's devotion to being collared and Billy's devotion to mark what's his.

or maybe, it's just a movie, and I wrote an essay for nothing ❤️ who knows. I just like to think about things sometimes

#hopefully this makes literally any kind of sense #its been a minute since i made one of my rambling meta posts #scream #scream movie #scream 1996 #stu macher #billy loomis #stu x billy #billy x stu #billystu #stuilly #meta #txt

[thenightfolknetwork]

Hello!!

I don't know how to explain so I will probably ramble a bit, before, yk, actually explaining.

So, I have this friend, they are of this analogue-to-god species. They look like sapio enough I guess, I'm no expert on this subject and sapios are kind of basic.

Of course, unlike sapios, they have the typical symbols of a deity: hands with wounds, an eye on the tongue and the most beautiful horns, intertwined around the entire skull like a crown and yeah, I also think they're super badass, even without the miracles and powers and everything.

The fact is that they are having problems at university. We don't know who, but someone is filling their dorm room with these most horrible notes about them being a freak or a demon (which isn't bad, but it's said in such an offensive way) and someone just shoved all their books in one of the university lakes and now they are banned from borrowing any more books and I helped them make a formal complaint and still no one will do anything about it! My friend is incredibly sweet and kind, they can't hurt a fly, even though they definitely damaged space time when he was born, but who hasn't?

The thing is, we recently discovered who was behind it and we've come to an agreement: maybe it's time to teach them why they called us monsters in the first place. A little payback? Installing a bit of fear of god on their souls? Nothing permanent of course. Nothing that could be tracked back to us either. But if these bastards think we are freaks, well we can behave like ones.

Still, I don't know. They don't know either. When is it revenge and when is it simply survival? I don't believe that if you break a nazi's arm you're equal to one. I do believe that a Nazi with one arm has one arm less to make Nazi stuff. Anyway, we need advice.

This is an extremely difficult situation, reader, and I'm so sorry you and your friend have been put in this position. I agree, it is a ridiculous bit of rhetorical nonsense to say that anyone acting against bigoted behaviour is “just as bad” as their aggressor. It is one thing to take violent objection to a person's (violent) behaviour. It is another thing entirely to object to a person's mere existence.

All this said, I am simply not in a position to condone violence towards this person, much less encourage you to any particular act. This blog is not a private conversation, and it would be highly irresponsible of me to say anything about your situation which might be construed as encouraging violence.

I must say, I am frankly appalled at your institution's lack of response. Please do double check your university's harassment policy. You have every right to demand action in accordance to that policy, especially if you have evidence of who it is behind these attacks.

If they continue to drag their feet, you might explore other ways of putting pressure on them to act. Peaceful protests, letter-writing campaigns, or going to the press with the story of their failure to protect vulnerable students are just some of the ways you can press the issue.

I also feel obliged to mention the possibility of getting the police involved. This seems to me a rather clear-cut case of harassment, but I understand if your friend does not consider this a viable option. Goodness knows the police have done little enough to earn the trust of the liminal community over the years, and you must be led by your own personal politics.

All of this to say that there are other options here, and I encourage you to explore all of them before resorting to violence. As I said, I cannot possibly condone violence on this platform – no matter how extremely tempting it might be to do so. Besides, if this person were, for example, to suffer some kind of extremely painful and humiliating accident, you and your friend would be the most obvious suspects.

Besides, it would be extremely unethical of you to curse this person to within an inch of their life, causing them never to know a moment's peace, plagued as they are by visions of a world more horrible than they ever imagined. Under no circumstances should you and your friend stand your ground, bare your teeth, and show this revolting excuse for a human being the true meaning of monstrosity. Certainly not.

#answered #the nightfolk network #monstrous agonies

[thesherrinfordfacility]

Crowley's flaws: I think Gaiman accidentally wrote himself into a hole that he either doesn't see or doesn't know how to escape, and he fell into the hole when he decided to turn what was a political allegory into a psychologized relationship issue. Pratchett's understanding of evil is rooted in post-WWII thinking about totalitarianism, in which unthinkable acts are perpetrated by bureaucracies staffed by "normal" people, and resistance comes from individuals who become aware of what this routinization really conceals. This is consistent across the Discworld novels, not just GO. What GO does is take this point and filter it through C. S. Lewis' THE SCREWTAPE LETTERS (the hell-as-bureaucracy model, which NG and TP then extend to Heaven). In the novel, there's a direct line from Crowley's "hung out with the wrong people" to the moment at the airfield when he tries to reject Aziraphale's claim that they're both responsible for the mess the humans are in because they were "only doing our jobs." That's a textbook example of what we now call the Nuremberg defense ("just following orders/just doing my job"). The fandom loves romanticizing this aspect of Crowley's character--he has trauma! he's a proto-Marxist with demonic class consciousness!--but when Crowley busts out this kind of reasoning, he gives way to /evil/, just as Aziraphale does when he tries to justify the ways of Heaven to himself. Any fan who wants to be uncomfortable ought to read Hannah Arendt's EICHMANN IN JERUSALEM and then go back and look at Crowley's dialogue again, because boy howdy. But when it comes to their relationship, the transgression is not /personal/.

In the series, the political allegory has vanished, and the direct line runs from Crowley's "it's not my fault" to manipulating Aziraphale into killing the Antichrist. So far, so good, sort of? Gaiman had to remind the fandom that we aren't supposed to buy Crowley's excuses, all of which are bad. He's called out on the "why me" bit three times in the first episode alone. But by the end, there is no sign that Aziraphale understands that he has been manipulated, and no sign that Crowley understands that he did something wrong! The moral epiphany Crowley had in the novel vanishes, so we are left with a nasty /personal/ transgression that neither character understands as such. Aziraphale, by contrast, keeps owning up to his mistakes (at the bar, to Adam during the timestop, on the park bench). Part of this has to do with comedy and its lack of object permanence, so to speak. However, instead of facing up to the conflict it's created for itself, the series drops the whole thing like a Hellfire-hot potato, and so appears to conclude that there's nothing wrong when one character repeatedly takes advantage of another one's gullibility, sometimes in destructive ways. The question is to what extent the new writer has any opinions about this, or even notices.

i have no words........ 👀 a very interesting and thought-provoking take. i dig it. i never thought to look at the tonal comparison of the book vs. the show but this is... eye-opening. yes. YES. (and this doesn't mean that the characters nor the story are unlikeable. it means they have depth but that depth sinks into murky, terrifying, bottomless oceans just as much as clear, shiny, crystal-like reefs). YES.

also anon if you are comfortable pls message me direct i just wanna give u a lil virtual kiss a lil smooch✨

#good omens #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #good omens 2 spoilers #i know a fair bit about ww2 socio-politics so im actually going to screenshot this and study it later but #oh man #this is a Something Else post #nonnie you have an acute and sharp mind god bless you #i love this i live for it #YUMMY. FUCKING. SOUP🍲 #also my analogy is SHITE but mea culpa i am trying to work at the same time as this #not a shitpost but its good omens babyyyy #ask #the legend of the longwinded anon✨

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

I have finished reading Phantom of the Opera.

Of course what I have most been looking forward to on my first reading is an in-depth comparison between the book and the musical, specifically how Lloyd Webber, managed his tweaks to alter a macabre gothic detective fiction into high romance with erotic undertones.

The most obvious changes are to the man himself, and I don't just mean his deformity which for book!Erik is total. Musical!Erik gets off relatively easy in comparison, the disfigurement touches only his face (and he even has a nose, of which Book!Erik is no doubt exceedingly jealous) and thus seems not to remove Erik wholly from the realm of humanity, even in his own eyes. He sings to Christine of learning to "see the man behind the monster", while in the book, Erik sees himself as a being "made up from head to toe of death."

Webber spares Musical!Erik somewhat to make him a viable romantic option; what I find most interesting is the character triage.

One can perhaps sum up the difference in characterization between Book!Erik and Musical!Erik as the difference between Derangement and Desperation.

Though both OG's are geniuses in the regards of Music, mechanics, illusion, and architecture, musical!Erik is also a man of learning; Madame Giry calls him a scholar. Book!Erik... less so. He is never mentioned to be particularly learned, and even his handwriting is disjointed and childish. He is also highly petulant--infantile, even--and displays that horrific childishness found often in the true psychopaths of history.

While Musical!Erik does not hesitate to use violence, Book!Erik simply does not care. Erik of the Musical never explicitly threatens Raoul's life until the Final Lair, so Christine's insistence on their flight to the rooftop following the Il Muto incident appears to be an assumption of danger on her part (well reasoned assumption, given that the Phantom has just dropped a body onto the stage, but nevertheless). In the book it is more implicit (though not explicit) that Erik has indicated that Raoul will come to serious harm if his flirtation continues, and Erik is not simply satisfied to torture Raoul almost to death, he is gruesomely gleeful with it, and the Persian details how he delights childishly to show off his methods of murder.

Even Christine, whom he worships is not spared. When she removes his mask in the musical, she is thrust away, chased and cursed at, while in the book he does all this and manhandles her and pulls her hair. Musical!Erik never resorts to violent touches with Christine until the Final Lair, and then he is indignant at the insinuation that he would ever physically hurt Christine ("Monsieur, I bid you welcome! Did you think that I would harm her?") Though it must be said that if Erik, at this point in the story was not mad before, he certainly is now, and madmen generally have very bad perceptions of what constitutes "harm"--but for our purposes let's assume that he is still short of causing permanent or fatal damage to her person.

By the Persian's account we understand that Erik of the book sees himself as inhuman (both super and sub) and it is this visual disconnect from the rest of the race and from sympathetic human intercourse that is the root of his contempt and lack of remorse. Even when presented with Christine's compassion he finds himself so miserable that he would rather just die.

Book!Erik was well into manhood before he came across a single being that could resemble a friend; Musical!Erik (though only in the film, not in the play) is spared this utter lack of human sympathy in the form of young miss Giry assisting his escape at a more formative age. Though retroactive, this may explain why Musical!Erik seems to go through the story with a desperate hope for Christine's love, rather than the nihilistic entitlement of Book!Erik. He spirals slowly toward demands with the object of his affection, rather than demanding outright early on as in the book ("Christine, you must love me!").

Musical!Erik does appear to be something of a romantic idealist, and takes great care to make himself as attractive as he possibly can for Christine (see the iconic hair-slick for more details) while serenading her with and about the thing he knows their souls might connect over: music itself. He casts himself in the role of Music, and romances her with it.

Book!Erik, bowing and scraping and wailing and pleading, cursing himself and gnashing his teeth on the floor at her feet is... shall we say less studied in the art of tactful wooing. For all his insistence of worshipful humility, though, and his protestations of wishing to have "A life like everyone else, with a wife like everyone else!" [I would delight to see a musical horror-comedy adaptation that takes advantage of that little rhyme] he treats Christine less as a muse or a goddess and more as a slave to Music and his whims.

Let us turn our attention now to Christine, for whom there are also significant changes but the important ones are more subtle, and take Christine's conflict from a question of sympathy for the damned vs love for the pure to one of love for the forbidden vs the love of the upright.

Firstly, Christine of the Musical finds herself with a rather different backstory. Her origins, the daughter of a famed Swedish violinist of humble origin and her girlhood acquaintance with Raoul are intact, but the context is vastly different.

Book!Christine was six when her mother died and her father took her on the road to seek his fortune through music. They were taken in by wealthy benefactors by the name of Valerius and provided a summer house in Brittany where Christine first crossed paths with the pure-hearted little Raoul. It makes absolute sense with this level of intimacy shared between them at the crucial age of, early adolesence that despite their separation by class (which is somewhat bridged by the presence of a wealthy benefactress who is as good as a mother to Christine) that they should lose their hearts utterly and forever to each other. Especially considering their meeting three years later while Christine's father lay near death, and she certainly in her teenage years (Raoul is a "young man"). Christine then enters the Conservatoire, and scrapes through despite the deadness in her voice which she's carried since her father's death. At the beginning of the story's events, Christine is 21 (by context clues) and it is only three months since she has been under the tutelage of her "good genius" the Angel of Music.

Though Christine's age is never explicitly stated in the Musical, Sir Andrew began reworking her backstory by making her truly quite alone in the world, with no benefactress and no apparent guardian of any kind. She is not a graduate of the conservatoire and is a mere ballet dancer and chorus girl. The details of her childhood connection to Raoul are glossed over almost entirely, except that they met at the age of fourteen (going under the assumption that Raoul and Christine are the same age) when he retrieved her scarf from the sea as in the book, and their shared picnics in the attic. The term of her tutelage is never explicitly stated either, but it can be inferred to be at least as long as Carlotta's unfortunate mishaps (calculated to drive the diva off) have been befalling her: about three years. This shifts the position of Christine's rival's rather significantly, putting the Angel of Music a mite higher with the length of their intimate communication, while Raoul sits further back with just one summer at age fourteen.

The movie adaptation only doubles down on this shift. Christine is orphaned much earlier, at the age of seven, and taken into the care of Madame Giry, who appears to act as her guardian, bringing her to the Opera Populaire at that age. This cinematic backstory goes further with added dialogue in which Christine's "great tutor" (changed from "new tutor" in the play) is revealed by her to Meg Giry to have been contacting her since she first came to the opera. This means that her bond with the Angel of Music (and thus with Erik) is of some nine or ten years standing.

Of course the end result is the same as the book: the Phantom, moved by Christine's compassion, abandons his suit and allows Christine to leave with Raoul. In the book Erik gives Christine his ring to keep until she returns to bury his remains, in the musical, she gives him his ring back (and in the movie this ring is actually the same one Raoul gave her which is lame and stupid and I hates product placement precious). Fortunately Musical!Erik seems to still be chugging along with that resilient hope--he disappears at the end of the Musical, rather than letting himself starve to death.

The journey to that outcome though is interesting, I think.

Christine of the book (blond-haired and blue-eyed) is dreamy and credulous and, having been raised by a very odd father and an old woman given to fancy, (by Raoul's reckoning) the perfect victim for a deception such as the Angel of Music. Her ecstatic devotion to the Angel is twofold what it is in the musical, but then so is her terror of the hideous maniac. Yet he confesses that despite her horror of him, she still pities his circumstances.

Musical!Christine (brunette) is even more confusing, and this is perhaps ALW falling at cross-purposes with his tale of romance and the source material. It's been fairly clear to me that ALW cherishes some strong ErikxChristine sentiments, given the sexual subtext he layered throughout the musical, but that would have been a big step to take. She nevertheless finds herself still somewhat doe-eyed and dreamy, though in the film this credulousness and oddity is never stressed. In fact by Meg's line "Christine you're talking in riddles, and it's not like you!" it seems we're meant to understand that Christine, though imaginative is quite level-headed.

Musical!Christine's rather enchanted stay in Erik's lair (and she is certainly enchanted by his crooning advances) begins with her ecstatic entreaty for the Angel to show himself. She takes his hand and follows him to his lair (though timidly) of her own volition, but it is abruptly interrupted by his violent reaction to her curiously snatching away his mask. And yet she seems to do this only out of a desire to know her mysterious tutor that much better. The movie even has her take the mask off very gently after touching his face, while in the Musical, it is snatched from behind.

Book!Christine's stay is less charmed. She is taken by trickery, faints and must be carried on horseback through the tunnels. She is terrified of her captor through the whole of her stay (not just one night but two whole weeks). Her motivation to steal his mask is not one of innocent (if somewhat selfish) curiosity, but of morbid fascination. At no point does her sympathy overshadow her terror, which can at least be said for Musical!Christine: her terror on the rooftop is quelled by the memory of Erik's gentle song making her "soul begin to soar" (and I find it notable that Raoul interrupts here to begin wooing her, not when she was talking about her fear.)

Perhaps the most fascinating (and dissapointing) aspect of Book!Christine for me, though is her confrontation with Raoul after the masquerade. He insists that her private affairs concern him (because he is in love with her). She actually asserts some kind of agency, by refusing to acknowledge that he has any right to try and protect her.

"...what I am not certain of, Madame, is that the man Christine loves is worthy of her love!"

"It is for me to be the judge of that, monsieur!" said Christine looking Raoul angrily in the face.

"When a man," continued Raoul, "adopts such romantic methods to entice a young girl's affections..."

"The man must be a villain, or the girl a fool: is that it?"

"Christine!"

"Raoul, why do you condemn a man whom you have never seen, whom no one knows, and of whom you yourself know nothing?"

I was positively admiring of Christine's backbone here--would that she of the Musical had anything like it! Unfortunately her vehement agency is not serving of the narrative. She of course is so because she is terrified to be otherwise. (It does provide some lovely character fodder for fics which might put it to sexier, more Erik-positive uses though.)

Raoul is perhaps the least changed of all the principle characters. His family arrangement is somewhat different from the Musical; he is notably the Vicomte under his elder brother Philippe the Comte, who, 20 years older than he, practically raised him. Though an upstanding young man, Book!Raoul is not exactly the picture of a hero. He's described rather delicately, femininely, even, and is always stressed to be quite innocent and pure of heart.

Webber beefs him up a bit, makes him rather dashing and heroic (even having him best the Phantom in a duel in the movie--which I will grudingly admit is the most realistic outcome of that face-off, based on the characterization-- Book! Raoul is winning no duels against anyone, i fear). Perhaps the greatest difference between Book!Raoul and Musical!Raoul is that musical!Raoul has a great deal more mettle (every useful effort to save Christine in the book comes on behalf of the Persian), and is so incredulous as to brush off Christine's fears of the Opera Ghost as dreams and dark fancies which are the byproducts of her superstitious northern upbringing. Book!Raoul, though very much focused on what impacts his own sense of insecurity, is at least able to figure out that the lack of an "Angel" does not necessarily mean the lack of a mysterious tutor.

The time line also fascinates. This is perhaps the greatest difference between Book and Musical (and it, again, is further tweaked for the movie). The scene at Father Daaé's grave where Christine is enraptured by the Angel, for example takes place quite early in the book, while in the Musical is as a third-act setpiece which really makes one question if Christine isn't wavering a little bit (particularly in the film, where it happens before her attestation of terror should the Phantom get her in his clutches again).

Musical!Christine spends much of the story fairly safe from those clutches, engaged to Raoul, while Book!Christine is never free from looking over her shoulder. Her engagement to Raoul is a sort of game they play (they are several times referred to by Leroux as "Children").

The Masquerade is almost inverted in the musical. In the book, this marks Christine and Raoul's first meeting following Erik's allowing her to leave his subterranean lake house. In the Musical, it marks her reunion with Erik following an uninterrupted (though secret) courtship/engagement with Raoul of six (in the movie, three) months. It is also notable that this reunion immediately precipitates her little trip to the graveyard.

I did garner several wonderful little morsels to sprinkle through my fic, (one of which matched up with shocking synchronicity to a detail which I had already written before reading the book!)

One of my favorite parts is how all throughout the opera house is described as being Erik's empire. It is also, by Raoul called Christine's empire, as she takes him through the building and shows all of its secrets that she knows, and the fact that she seems to know everyone in it from the youngest ballerina to the oldest of the poor door-shutters (elderly scene-shifters and stage hands too aged to be of other useful employment than closing all the doors to prevent draughts, but who could not afford to leave the opera for lack of anywhere else to live) and talks to each of them as a good queen might hear her subjects. It's a beautiful piece of characterisation I wish had been somehow represented in the musical.

#the phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera book #erik the phantom #christine daae #raoul de chagny #poto musical #phantom of the opera #poto #poto 2004

[arminsshells]

🎀 sacrifices • childe x reader

A/N: i finally decided to start writing regularly again and i think i'll take requests. anyways, sorry if it's not as good, i'm still getting used to writing again 💖

Warnings: cursing? lol yandere if you squint (idk is this classified as yandere?), childe is a warning by himself tbh. plz let me know if i need to add anything else <3

You often enjoyed trailing through the bright, freeing fields of Springvale. You'd grown acquainted with quite a few people who lived there— one in particular, a bright haired girl with ashy gray eyes. She would get quite excited to see you, as you seldom visited the cheerful town. You had considered permanently moving to Monstad, as the acting grand master of the knights of favonius had taken an interest in your skills with an electro vision. Though had no issues with the nation per se, you simply failed to see a future with the citizens of Monstad. You rarely ever stayed in one place for more than 6 months because you'd rather experience changes of scenery often. It was simply your mode of living.

"[Name]!" a sweet voice cooed, running towards you. It was Lin, a girl from Springvale. She wore a plain, white sundress and held a basket of fruits in her hand. A small sheep perked it's head up, happily following her. "You're back!"

You gave her a soft smile, as she placed her basket down. "Not for long. It's almost winter so I thought I'd just stay here till it warms up again."

"You can't possibly spend the rest of your life traveling can you? Why don't you settle somewhere. Get married,have kids..." she chortled, dimples appearing to on her cheeks.

A bitter feeling pooled in your stomach at her words. Although her goal was not to offend you, you couldn't help but feel a little cold towards her opinions. Life would become too simple if you settled down and there would be a lack of an adventure. And as for finding a partner, you were barely 21, there was no rush for romance. You'd rather continue to travel from nation to nation, occasionally living in one place for a while and finding odd jobs. "Perhaps one day!" you fruitfully replied, maintaining a tense free vibe. Your eyes trailed down to her hands and you suddenly noticed a shiny object on her ring finger. You gasped out of surprise and looked up at her, mouth agape. "Y-You're engaged?"

Lin bashfully tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before speaking. "Oh... How could I forget? But yes, my fiancé proposed to me a couple months ago. You'll be delighted to hear that he's a vision holder, just like you!"

"Congratulations!" you enthused. You could care less about him being a vision holder, but you didn't want to hurt her feelings. Unfortunately, she seemed to pick up a hostile vibe.

"Well then, I'll be off!" she picked up her basket. "Please let me know if you need anything. I'll be at the bakery most of the day!" she strutted away while her sheep followed her joyfully.

You watched as her figure grew smaller and smaller the farther away she walked, and sighed in relief. It's not that you didn't like her, you enjoyed her company. The people of Monstad were just a little too free in their way of speaking. Sometimes they wouldn't know when to keep their thoughts to themselves. There was tons of talk going on at the moment— about some other traveler and their sibling, Stormterror, the Fatui infiltrating, the abyss order, etc.

You never cared about the hassle of it all.

It was selfish of you.

Currently, you had your book of herbs and fruits open, flipping through the pages of ones you could collect from Springvale. You reached down to collect a pile of red colored berries, which often grew next to tall trees. Before your fingers could lock around the fruit, footsteps emerged from behind you, and you panicked. Immediately straightening up, you turned around to see absolutely nothing there. Your brows furrowed in confusion before your ears picked up the sound of something whizzing past you.

"What the hell?" you whispered to yourself. For a moment, you stood lazily, as if you were unaware of your surroundings. The second you heard shuffling, you turned around once more, and your body flung itself at the thing that was running behind you. Your sword was out and you found yourself tackling SOMEONE, rather than SOMETHING onto the grassy floor. You immediately recognized the fox-like features of person pinned underneath you, with your sword at their neck. "Childe?"

"Miss me?" he cocked a brow.  You pulled yourself off him angrily, before he caught a hold of your wrist, forcing your down, enjoying the little gasp that left your lips. "And what did I say about calling me that?"

"Ajax," you hissed, glaring down at the harbinger. You were quick to notice how his grip slightly tightened, but he still held the same playful expression on his face. "What are you d-"

"Tsk!" he scoffed. "As if you don't know."

You finally pulled away from him, and stumbled back into the grass. Sighing, you looked up only to realize something was blocking the sun from shining down on your face. An arm extended down to help you on feet, and reluctantly, you took it. "I don't know why you're here."

"I left you a note [Name]. You know that!" his voiced darkened and increased in volume with each word. His features were no longer soft and mischievous— they were cold. Perhaps his eyes were always this dull and lifeless, you just never realized before. Displeased with your lack of a response, Childe stalked closer to you. "I don’t like to be ignored, don’t do this right now.”

You stepped back, hearing the sound of leaves crunching under your shoes. "Fine!" you snapped, staying alert of your surroundings. "I did get the letter but you're delusional if you think I thought about it for even a second."

"Ouch..." Childe dramatically placed a hand on his chest, face morphing into falsified pain. "You really hate me that much?"

"Chil-" you began, but caught sight of the disapproving look plastered on his face. Your grit your teeth before continuing. "Ajax... I don't want to join the Fatui, under you especially."

"Is that so?" he taunted. That was something else you despised about the harbinger. He rarely took anything that left your lips seriously. God- you fucking hated when he did that. It made you feel worthless— like a kid blabbering nonsense to its parent. It was degrading. "You'd be a special subordinate of mine [Name]. Anything you want, it's yours. If the world is what you desire, the world is what you'll have."

To anyone watching without an ounce of context, Childe sounded almost romantic. Offering the world to you as if it was a material object— he looked to be at your feet. But you know him. You knew him far better than any of those imaginary bystanders. He was a monster, and you were simply just his prey. “I don’t-” you swallowed.

“Do you really believe that you have a choice?” he taunted you once again. His eyes gazed down curiously in an attempt analyze your body language. Suddenly, as if the world had sided with him, Childe’s eyes lit up. “Confused?”

You looked at him strangely, tilting your head. He loved when you did that. “Confused about what?” you questioned. Without a single second to spare, his strong arms wrapped around your waist, and with immeasurable speed, you were pulled behind a tree. “Wh-” you began.

“Sh!” the harbinger hissed, covering your mouth with his hand. He motioned towards the open field and your turned your head, your eyes meeting two soldiers, probably the Knights of Favonius. They seemed to be searching for someone, their hands tightly gripping their weapons. You opened your mouth to ask Childe why he seemed to be hiding, but before you could ask, he was already speaking. “Someone died, and they’re looking for the killer.”

“Huh?” you squeaked out in confusion.

His eyes switched from dark and dull to a bright gleam. You noticed the way his lips curved up into an innocent smile and how it reached eyes. “It was some blonde girl with a sheep.” he shrugged. Your heart dropped into your stomach and bile was forming in your throat. For a second, you felt dizzy, and you unconsciously hunched over, covering your mouth. “There! There!” the ginger patted your back soothingly. He helped you steady yourself. “It’s alright, some sacrifices have to be made for the greater good."

You froze, glaring up at him, and finally understanding the dire situation you were in. “You killed a civilian?” you croaked out, still a little dizzy. She was with you only a few moments ago. Had you not ran off in anger, you would have protected her.

Childe was still watching you carefully— observing your face with intent to analyze your emotions. “Come now, you’re not oblivious to the doings of the Fatui, are you? We really don’t have time for idle chit chat, they are looking for you.”

He motioned for you to follow him, and crossed his arms in disapproval when you didn’t. “How many more people are to die for you? Huh?” he angrily snapped at you. “The more you waste my time, the more people die, understand?”

You hands were shaking. Out of fear or anger or perhaps shock— you didn’t know. “F-Fine.” you spoke, your voice shaking. All you think about was Lin. Poor, sweet Lin who made the fatal mistake of befriending a simple girl who had caught the eye of the 11th Fatui Harbinger. You didn’t want to think about her family, or her fiancé, or the the fact that she wanted kids.

Childe leaned down to raise up your chin and kiss you. You obliged, kissing him back and feeling him smile into it. “See. Everything is much better when you simply listen. Isn’t it?”

#yandere #childe x y/n #childe x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin childe #yandere x reader #tartagalia genshin impact #tartagalia x reader #genshin ajax #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader

[usergreenpixel]

MALMAISON MEDIA SALON SOIRÉE 18: EL ENCARGO DEL MAESTRO GOYA (2021)

1. The Introduction

Hello, my dear Neighbors! I’m finally back with a freshly made review in tow!

So, this particular book (available on Amazon and ebook websites but only in Spanish) first came to my attention me due to my interest in Napoleonic era and, as of recently, Francisco Goya’s works. Naturally, this book caught my attention right off the bat because it’s a fucking jackpot!

Okay, Goya is actually a fairly minor character but he has an extremely important role in the story. More on that later!

(Also, tomorrow I will reblog this review to add my song because I’m having headaches today… Those bitches are bothering me again)

Anyway, I loved this book even more than I expected I would, so let’s analyze it to the best of my ability! This review is dedicated to @that-enragee . Enjoy!

2. The Summary

This novel tells a story of three siblings - Mercedes, Salvador and Marta. They are on the way to the city of Santander in order to receive their late aunt’s inheritance. However, another reason for the journey is a task given to Marta by her mentor, Goya. She must make a copy of a painting so that the French don’t loot the real thing.

3. The Story

Surprisingly, I enjoyed the romantic subplots! And that’s really rare for me. But here the subplots are written MASTERFULLY and progress naturally. Yes, there’s more than one romantic subplot. In fact, there’s two (both Mercedes and Marta find love).

I also appreciate the lack of a villain in the story. The take on events is very nuanced and awful people are shown to exist on all sides, so the take is more or less objective, not unlike Goya’s etchings with the theme of war. This nuance makes the story that much more enjoyable.

The pacing is also very good, but sometimes there are annoying flashbacks. Luckily, those are not extensive.

On a slightly darker note, props to the author for killing off some of the characters and making it stick. I know it’s a war story, but some writers don’t have the balls to include this degree of realism.

4. The Characters

Since the narrative takes place away from the frontlines, we don’t really have historical figures as major characters. Even Goya is a minor character in the book and he only appears properly in the end.

I actually liked his portrayal because he truly doesn’t want the French to loot precious artworks but also has an agenda. See, the painting Marta is to forge is a depiction of Santa Casilda by Zurbarán (a painting that actually WAS stolen during the war historically).

This is important because, according to rumors, praying to this particular depiction can cure ailments, including permanent deafness. Since Goya went deaf due to an illness at around 45 years of age, he believes that this painting is his last hope to get his hearing back.

Although I am aware of the ableist implications of the trope of a disabled person seeking a “cure”, it’s important to note that the world back then wasn’t accommodating to the disabled at all and views ranged from them being innocent at best to burdens at worst. Besides, Goya historically would always portray the disabled as helpless in his art, so it’s safe to assume that he internalized the views of the time period.

(Spoiler alert: No worries, dear disabled readers, the author doesn’t pull a magical cure out of her ass and disabled characters stay disabled.)

Goya is also supportive and proud of his pupil, Marta, which is the sweetest thing ever, so we get to see that he truly cares about her.

Speaking of disability, we also have another deaf character, Marta. As one of the main characters, she is naturally explored in more depth than Goya and we get to see her realistic struggle with her own deafness. Unlike Goya, she was born deaf and therefore doesn’t speak, instead communicating with some signs and writing.

She starts out seeking this alleged cure too, but mostly because she is done with being coddled and treated like a child by her siblings, especially Mercedes. She is naïve and somewhat innocent due to being very young (19ish), but she is also kind, brave, compassionate and a bit mischievous, using her painting skills to help pull a prank at one point.

She also embraces her deafness as the story progresses, finds a man who loves her the way she is and learns to respect her as her own person and not the innocent deaf girl she’s assumed to be. There’s a lot of depth and nuance to her character, and I truly appreciate it.

Mercedes, the other protagonist and the oldest sibling in her family is motherly and protective to the point of coddling Marta and being understandably angry that Goya got her involved in a dangerous mission for the sake of some fake “cure”. Mercedes is also a widow and and more cynical than her siblings, but mellows out over the course of her story.

As an older sister myself, I can definitely relate to her wanting to protect her siblings so I enjoyed her character too. I also think that making her a widow instead of an ingenue is a somewhat bold choice for a romantic subplot, but it definitely suits her and gives additional context to her character.

Claude Cornulier, a soldier sent to Santander to try and curb the atrocities, is sweet and a philosopher. He also understands that war is hell and expresses true empathy towards Spanish people. He also falls for Mercedes but never forces her into a relationship. Instead, he is a true gentleman and treats her with the utmost respect so their romance is healthy and entirely consensual.

Then there is Lieutenant Alfonso Bustamante, a fairly young but retired soldier from the Spanish Navy who feels insecure about having scars and only one eye. His health is in the shit as well, but we later learn that he helps local guerillas and has a ring of informants in the area, so he too fights for his country in whatever way he can.

Bustamante is also a gentleman and forms a friendship with Mercedes while also, eventually, falling for Marta. Although he does make the mistake of coddling her somewhat, he eventually realizes that it’s not the best approach and cuts it out, leading to a healthy relationship.

Salvador is a passionate young man who is also fiercely protective of his sisters, as the only living family member.

At one point the painter David is namedropped in the book and the French troops also joke about Soult looting too many paintings, but those two don’t appear in person.

5. The Setting

The descriptions are wonderful and not too long, thank goodness. I really liked them and they helped me become immersed into the story.

6. The Writing

Reading in Spanish was a challenge at times, but I like the style. It has a nice flow, doesn’t feel inappropriately modern and is fairly easy to read for those fluent in Spanish.

7. The Conclusion

Overall, an excellent book that really captured my imagination and attention! If you are fluent in Spanish, I can’t recommend it enough.

Either way, this concludes the 18th soirée at the Malmaison Media Salon.

Stay tuned for future reviews and tomorrow’s reblog with the song, everyone!

Love,

- Citizen Green Pixel

#jacques louis david #napoleon bonaparte #francisco goya #napoleonic era #napoleonic media #el encargo del maestro goya #guerras napoleónicas #Guerra peninsular #novelas históricas #malmaison media salon

[si-unit-is-kg]

deletion

i have dominion over my life.

if a chat log annoys me, an e-book embarrassing to have, a person i no longer want to see, i just delete it or block them.

It’s so simple.

My mind might wander on them, but the absence of their reminders plus my lack of object permanence assuages the cringe I feel.

I blocked one of my best friends today. It’s a reversible process, but it gave me a bit more power over my life.

I will also attempt to let go of other’s notions about me: I will always come across as lazy, ungrateful, dishonest and cold towards towards my mum, and immature to my friends. It is futile to disabuse them of these notions because they’ve made their conclusions, so every action I make is a premise to them.

So if I’m not a burden, and don’t care if I’m lazy, why am I suicidal? I think it’s because I’m frustrated with my existence. I think I deserve the autonomy to end my life if I so choose. Advising someone to live because it will make their family sad is a selfish, fatuous argument to make.

#vent post #s3lfharmm #su1c1d4l #actually autistic #anxienty #para su1c1d4l #s4lf h4rm

[friendofcars]

for the ask game!

"Electric joy surged through Ronan, overpowering the worry."

hi!

my guess: definitely feels like it came from the dream thieves and the word "electric" is making me think it's in chapter 27, which is the substance party chapter (is the worry perhaps about being around gansey and kavinsky simultaneously, or the mitsubishi burning?). i suppose this could also be after ronan dreams the replacement camaro later in the book but i think it's less likely. also as i'm reading my answer back to myself i'm realizing i am biased since i literally just finished re-reading tdt and it might be in greywaren when ronan is sleeping and hears adam talking to declan (chapter 9??? whichever the chapter is when adam tells declan he's deaf in one ear) but ALSO this might be in the sweetmetal sea soul merge chapter. oh wow this is exceedingly difficult but very fun to try to figure out. final answer is the sweetmetal sea "reader, i merged souls with him" sequence. which may or may not be greywaren chapter 25. the "through Ronan" is giving me the sense of not being in a physical body and it would be logical for him to be worried about adam being untethered from his body in such uncharted circumstances.

the answer: it is in fact the sweetmetal sea scene when adam scries and his consciousness finds ronan (although the chapter number is 19, not 25). not sure how i stumbled into the right answer but here we are.

my thoughts on this line: i love how ronan's emotions are described as electric (as things that can surge, like power) given his intrinsic tie to ley energy. and while it was a speculation when i was guessing, i think the fact that ronan (rather than his body) is mentioned emphasizes the fact that he's in his most greywaren-like form, which makes me think back to the dream thieves and how we learn that ronan is both dangerous and beautiful (and manifests both danger and beauty). here, we see him in an otherworldly form but with intense human emotions. the way he swings from worry to joy feels very in character for him, and we learn why his emotions are so intense and all-consuming in the same book. i think it's particularly apt for his feelings regarding adam, specifically, to embody electricity and power given symbols and plot points in trc (the thunder and lightning in the dream thieves, adam essentially rewiring the ley line to give ronan the brief moment of time necessary for ronan to decide to save himself, etc.). the joy is because adam has "come all this way" to find him in the sweetmetal sea, because ronan no longer feels abandoned. he's like a dog with separation anxiety who destroys the house and then jumps for joy when its owner gets home, as if they never left.

i know this chapter gets a lot of criticism for evading what could have been a more satisfying conversation between ronan and adam re: their relationship and i do agree. greywaren could have been 100+ pages longer imo. i think there should have been more writing devoted to better resolution of character arcs and more thorough exploration of interpersonal relationships.

HOWEVER i do really enjoy the chapter itself, even if it's a symptom of greywaren's main weakness as a series finale. i like how adam embraces ronan's eldritch self so readily. i love the refrain of they were wanted, they were wanted, they were wanted. i think it's wild how integral they are to each other's sense of integrated self (this is terribly unhealthy but fascinating to read about). i think due to personal problems the lack of verbal communication is actually kind of appealing in isolation even if i don't condone it. i am thinking about how ecstatic ronan is when adam is with him and how despondent he gets when adam's not and how there's some emotional object permanence issues going on here that i'm a little scared of thinking about. i'm getting off track here but at some point i imagine my focus will shift from trc to td3 and i'll do a much more thorough analysis of the chapter beyond this line/my general opinion.

#rchl #ask #thank you for sending these!!!! i'm having so much fun and this was quite difficult to pin down but once the idea popped into my head i KNE #W #i will try to keep my future responses more concise though #<- i am not capable of doing that #trc

[welldonebeca]

Miss, PhD (XIX)

WC: 2k words Warnings: Hurt/Comfort. A little bit of the less-nice sides of being autistic. Fluff. A/N: Every autistic person is different. This is just the representation of one of them. Happy New Years!

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Masterlist

Steve glanced at his phone when it vibrated on his table, showing the picture of you smiling he had added to his phone book, and stopping before he could pick it up.

He was mid-class, and knew that you respected that, so whenever you called him like that, it would be to call his attention to an emergency text.

“Mx Ragusea, please read the highlighted paragraph on your book,” he requested, reaching for his phone. “I need to check this before we discuss it.”

His student complied, and Steve picked up his phone, looking for your text.

‘Can I have your keys?’

He was quick to look for the keys to his office room.

Anytime you asked for it, it usually meant you were overstimulated and needed to hide for a while - which was impossible in such a booming place like the campus.

He had prepared his office for moments like this over the last couple of months. Steve had put blackout curtains in there, had a box of those regulation objects you used - fidget cubes, chewing rubber - and always had a sound muffler ready for you. As a professor, he couldn’t give you a permanent copy of his keys, but he always let you into the room when you needed it.

So he walked to his door, and found you waiting for him, shifting on your feet and chewing on your nails.

“0 to 10?” he asked.

You moved a little bit more on your feet, looking uncomfortable.

Okay. Non-verbal was neared to 10 than to 0.

“Here,” he gave you the keys. “The curtains are pulled.”

You nodded, taking the keys he had made for you from his hand, and squeezed it in your closed hand before offering him the other one, and Steve smiled a little, squeezing it.

“You’re welcome,” he assured you.

He moved back to class, resuming it quickly.

Today was his birthday and you two had planned to celebrate it after he was done with his class, and you were done with testing the new renewable fuel you had been developing along with your PhD, but considering how exhausted you probably were now - you didn’t usually become non-verbal with overstimulation, unless you were drained - he knew your plans were going to change.

It wasn’t until an hour and a half later that he was done with his class, and unlocked the door of his office quietly, finding it dim lit, with the curtains pulled, as you seemingly slept on his couch.

Steve put his things together and tidied his desk before actually walking to you and touching your elbow, and you woke up slowly, frowning at him.

“Let’s go,” he called you softly.

You nodded and stood up, reaching for your backpack, but Steve just picked it up, letting you push your ear plugs into your ears before taking your hand.

While you two had talked on a long extent about how he should proceed when you were going through a shutdown, a meltdown, and overstimulation, those moments were relatively rare. Of course, he knew what to do and the basics on why you were feeling this drained - external stimulation, lack of introspection that most likely caused you to miss a few of the cues your body sent you before it was too late, and just overall stress - but he could count on his fingers how many times he had had to spring into action to be there for you since you two had gotten together. You had your coping mechanisms and ways to regulate yourself in most situations, but he knew your PhD and your relationship to it was the reason for over two thirds of those moments.

“This hand,” he raised his left hand, standing before you after putting your things in the backseat. “For a cold car. And this hand,” he raised his right hand. “For a warm car.”

You looked between them, and took his right hand, squeezing it.

“Warm car it is.”

He opened the door for you, and let you buckle your seatbelt before closing in and getting inside too, and turned on the heating system to get into a comfortable temperature.

Your lab was always freezing, it was no wonder that you needed some regulation with that.

He drove silently to your home and watched as you waited for him to set your things down before pulling on his hand and bringing him to your bedroom and your bed, curling around him, and Steve just squeezed you, knowing you needed a little bit of time and pressure to ‘get your soul back into your body’.

You stayed in there together quietly, and he was dozing off when you finally moved, raising yourself on your elbows and looking at him.

“I’m sorry,” you spoke softly. “I ruined the day.”

“You didn’t,” Steve raised a hand to your hair, gently petting it.

“We had plans,” you told him, looking hurt.

“And we can reschedule them,” he shrugged.

You fell back down on the bed, head on his shoulder, and he took your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“We can spend my birthday differently,” he assured you. “We can have a do nothing night.”

You just hummed a little, and he moved his fingers down your hair.

“I can cook for you,” he offered.

You groaned.

“It is your birthday,” you reminded him. “We can get the food delivered here.”

Steve hummed, brushing your hair. You two were planning to go out to eat at his favourite restaurant - a sushi place on the more expensive side, he had been organising his finances for that - and a little stride around that neighbourhood, which was very nice at night. There was nothing wrong with doing that at home.

“Can you get my phone?” you asked. “It’s in the living room.”

He confirmed, and kissed your cheek before walking out, looking for where your phone could be and picking up your backpack to bring over, swinging it over his shoulders to get his wallet and his credit card from his pocket as he walked to your room.

The moment Steve got through the door, though, he was surprised to find you sitting on your bed, swinging your legs and smiling in front of a big - very big, huge - wrapping box, looking like you had been holding back that secret for quite a bit of time.

“What’s that?” he asked you.

Of course, he had been expecting a gift, but not something this size.

“Your birthday gift,” you bit your lower lip.

He shook his head and then walked to the box. It was very tall, a little under half his height.

Steve took off the lid of the box, and was a little surprised when he found not just a single large frame, but two large ones and a few smaller ones, and a box full of oil paints.

It was enough material for a lot of different projects.

This was probably the biggest and most expensive gift he had ever gotten in his life.

“I forgot to get the brushes,” you confessed, sitting on your own hands, looking a little embarrassed. “But I know you have them.”

Steve blinked a couple of times, shocked.

This was so big. It must have been so expensive.

“I’ve never seen you painting,” you spoke, as if you had finally realised that. “I never asked.”

“I do,” he told you, quickly. “I just haven’t painted in a while.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a moment to paint. Work just took a lot of his schedule and he spent most of his free time with you.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like painting, but it wasn’t something he could do without feeling guilty over not using that time to work.

You sat by his side, humming a little to yourself, and then turned to him again.

“Did you like it?” you asked again, sounding nervous now. “Cause I can give it back, and we’ll get you something that is more like you.”

“I loved it,” Steve looked at your face. “It’s just… a lot.”

When he turned to you, you were frowning, looking a little bit confused.

“Is that bad?” you asked, unsure.

Steve shook his head, though looking for the right words.

“Not bad,” he told you. “I promise.”

You watched his face as he tried to think.

“I don’t know what to say,” Steve confessed, at last.

He wasn’t used to getting gifts, especially something this big.

“I like giving you big stuff,” you told him. “I like gifting.”

He opened and closed his mouth.

“I can see that,” he agreed, and then turned to you, frowning a little. “I just wish I had something for you.”

You scoffed.

“On your birthday?” you asked, smiling a little. “I’m sure you can think of something until mine arrives.”

He scowled, but you just stood from beside him, typing something on your phone, and then pulled on his hand.

“Come here,” you spoke softly and stood on your tip toes, kissing his lips gently. “Happy birthday.”

Steve smiled, finally relaxing, and sat down, pulling you to tip on his thighs, embracing your waist and closing his eyes as you wrapped your arms around his and rested your forehead on his.

“I’m sorry I ruined our plans,” you mumbled, looking guilty.

He laughed, caressing your thighs, and pressed a little kiss to the tip of your nose to make you unfrown it.

“Ruined it?” he asked, squeezing you. “We were planning to spend my birthday together, we are spending it together. I have you here, we’re going to get food… it’s exactly what I was expecting we had.”

You smiled a little bit, finally, and he pressed a few pecks on your lips.

“Thank you,” he told you again. “It was a very thoughtful gift.”

You kissed him back, scratching the back of his head gently, and Steve kissed your chin.

“Let’s get the food,” he suggested. “I’m actually very hungry.”

“I got it already,” you squeezed his shoulder. “It’s arriving in 30 minutes.”

He frowned, confused. He wasn’t expecting you to get in on your own!

You had already bought him a gift, he didn’t want you spending even more money on him.

“Hey,” you interrupted his thoughts. “It’s your birthday. Let me pamper you.”

He scoffed, though flushing. Being pampered wasn’t something he was very used as a person, and it wasn’t very gentleman like.

“I’ll pamper and pamper,” you kissed his cheeks, then his nose. “And pamper you!”

Steve laughed, trying to get you to stop for a moment. He wasn’t going to let you out scot-free from this.

“Y/N…” he tried to protest.

You kissed him before he could say anything else, and Steve scoffed.

“You can’t silence me with kisses."

“I would be silencing you with oral sex if I wasn’t this tired,” you booped his nose. “So shut up and take the kisses. And the food. And the gift.”

Steve rolled his eyes, and you kissed the tip of his nose.

“Tomorrow, I’ll fuck that frown out of you,” you promised.

He couldn’t hold himself back, laughing aloud. Yes, he could understand the plans. You sounded tired - your speech was slower than usual, your voice was softer, and he could see how you were just slower in general. He knew you needed to rest, and while he was grateful that you were still giving him your time, Steve knew it was best not to spend much more of your energy before you ate and slept a whole night.

So when you ran your thumbs on his jaw, with joy mixed with your tiredness, he knew he wouldn’t do anything if not let you have your own way.

“But today, I’ll feed you out of it,” you decided. “Okay?”

Steve rolled his eyes, but settled, relaxing under you.

“Fine,” he agreed. “Okay.”

. .

"Miss, PhD" was posted on my Patreon back on January! To read the full story before anyone else and have early access to all of my works, subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month!

. . .

Forever Tags: @emoryhemsworth​​​ @amythyststorm33​​​ @shaelyn102​​​ @yknott81​​​ ​​ @maximofftrash​​​ @kgbrenner​​​ @thefridgeismybestie​​​ @magpiegirl80​​​ @mogaruke​​​ @shadowhunter7​​​ @musicalcoffeebean​​​ @megasimpleplan4ever​​​ @deemoriarty​​​ @05spn18​​​ @malindacath​​​ @kdcollinsauthor​​​ @random-fandom-fangirl2112​​​ @widowsfics​​​ @frozenhuntress67​​​ @averyrogers83​​​ @notyourtypicalrose​​​ @nerdypinupcrystal​ @giruvega

Marvel forever tags: @its-daydreamer23​​​ ​​ @random-fandom-fangirl2112​​​ @tayrae515imagines​​​? @indecisiondecisions​​​? @afanofmanystuffs​​​? @patzammit​​​? @thevanishedillusion​​​? @widowsfics​​​? @alexisshoto​​​ @princess-evans-addict​​​ @dreams-of-feysand​​​ @xoxabs88xox​​​ @dragonqueen0606​ @izbelross @isabelle-faith

Miss PhD: @cosmic-darikano

#Miss PhD series #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers x reader fluff #steve rogers x you fanfiction #steve rogers x y/n fluff #steve rogers imagine

[landwriter]

You wanted some nosy ones, so here we go: watermelon, bubblegum, hibiscus

pink themed asks

BLESS you, friend. (If we're not friends already we're friends now.)

watermelon— have you ever had to reject anyone romantically? how did it go? Lots of times, and visa versa! It's never fun but it's never gone poorly. On one memorable occasion I had already been loaned books by the person and had to awkwardly return them without having read them. The books were the Sandman comics lol

bubblegum— how do you feel about your love life right now? are you happy with it? I am, actually, which is wild to realize because I haven't gotten laid in six months and going strong, but I suppose this is the true blessing of totally lacking object permanence. I will feel more hungry and frustrated and distracted when I am seeing folks once every week or couple weeks than when it's been so long I've practically forgotten how. My ideal is hopelessly domestic and slutty, and the runner-up is, apparently, living as a monk.

I ended an LTR of common-law-married proportions just over a year ago (amicably! not that it helped with all the PAPERWORK), so I'm not in a hurry to jump into something serious at the minute. I am Not Looking in a very genre-aware way that probably actually cancels it out. Wanting nothing serious hasn't stopped me from getting feelings in little flings all the same, but I've come to accept the only thing that stops me from doing that is to hardly talk to or know a person at all, and unfortunately I love both talking to and knowing people. But overall I feel happily sure in what I want and need, in what is lovely but not exactly enough, and I hope to find That at some point in the next several years. I even have a little list. For cross-referencing.

hibiscus— what’s your favorite pet name, if any? why? Once spent a summer not-dating an emotionally compromised chef who was built like a brick shithouse and called me 'dear' and 'darlin'', and I am, in fact, still not over that. I love love love pet names and terms of endearment. Serious, soppy, goofy, made-up! All of 'em. I have a really bad habit however of also accidentally using them on my dogs. Have also found it endlessly funny in LTRs for years and years now to make 'babe' a multi-syllable word whenever I want to strike fear into my love's heart that I'm about to ask for an annoying favour. Am concerned exposure to Sandman fandom and Middle English has permanently raised my pet-name standards to an impossible level. If someone called me min hertis rote to my face I think I would perish.

#asks #pink asks #keep the nosiness coming hahaha #i am an open book #tangent from hibiscus but one thing i LOVE about LTRs is how you inevitably create your own dialect together #after two years if there's not some weird version of pig latin we speak to each other i'm frankly not interested

[walks-the-ages]

Horror story about some kids / visiting family members finding a secret door buried behind stacks of boxes only to discover there's an entire other half of the house / a large basement full of dusty old random things and stuff keeps happening so they're convinced that it's haunted and ~somehow~ they're the only ones who can perceive the room because the Aunt that owns the house acts like the only parts of the house that exist is the "normal" part of it

and the kids bring an old book out of the Secret Basement and the Aunt sees them reading it and is like "oh, where on earth did you find that? I thought I lost that years ago! I sat it down one day and poof, it was gone forever!"

So now the kids are convinced that either a ghost is haunting The Secret Basement or even more horrifying, that there's some random stranger living in the house who comes out at night to steal crap so they're terrified of the vents and jumping at shadows and staying up late at night staring at The Secret Door and the tension keeps building as the kids keep coming up with more and more horrifying supernatural or psychological theories about The Secret Room and the Invisible Thief

And then the Aunt just so happens to wander into the guest bedroom where the kids found The Secret Door buried behind boxes right as they're suiting up in homemade armor made out of pots and pans and just goes "oh my god!" In horror as she stared directly at the door.

Immediately followed by, "I forgot this door was here! No wonder I couldn't find anything, I must have sat then down in the second sitting room and then forgot about it when Gerald piled those boxes up in front of the door! Curse you, ADHD and my lack of object permanence!"

And so it turns out the Aunt literally just has ADHD and when their housemate stuck some moving boxes in front of the door they just never got around to moving the boxes, so the door was out of sight and .... The rest is history.

#actually ADHD #object permanence

[maevesweirdart]

warning: major spoilers for both Steven Universe and the first two books of The Locked Tomb, especially Harrow the Ninth

(sorry for the lack of a page break… i’m on mobile and i can’t figure out how to insert one 💀)

ok so. i just finished the second book and i cannot stop thinking about the thematic similarities between The Locked Tomb and Steven Universe. fusion and lyctorhood. the theme of being your own person vs sacrificing your life in the service of someone else. it makes me think of the relationship between Ruby and Sapphire, and between Pearl and Rose Quartz. especially Pearl and Rose Quartz.

oh yeah and also. objectification. like in the Gem Homeworld (before Era 3, that is) it’s seen as totally normal for higher-ranking Gems to view lower-ranking gems as objects, and for lower-ranking gems to view themselves as objects. and while there isn’t quite as much of this in the world of The Locked Tomb, worshippers of the Ninth House do tend to see Harrow as a sacred symbol of the mystical power of the Tomb, not as the deeply complex (and extremely traumatized) human being that she is; and on top of that, Gideon doesn’t see herself as a human being either—her greatest aspiration is for Harrow to literally absorb her soul, permanently reducing her to her sword-fighting skills and erasing everything that makes her who she is. and this reminds me so much of Pearl’s unyielding, almost fanatical devotion to Rose Quartz! also!! i just thought of this: the way the Lyctors’ titles are all like “the Emperor’s fingers, his thumbs, his bones and joints, his fists and gestures…” as if the Lyctors are all just extensions of himself—body parts, his body parts, with no will of their own. and if any of those “body parts” tries to disobey him… well, if you’ve read Harrow the Ninth in its entirety, you’ll know what he does to traitors. and guess who else sees other people just as extensions of them? White Diamond!!! from Steven Universe!!!!

oh yeah and also it’s an LGBT-centric story about a space empire where the most important characters have magical powers and/or are immortal. that too i suppose.

tldr: TLT is post-apocalyptic Steven Universe with necromancers, thank you for coming to my TED talk

#hope you enjoyed my unhinged rant #steven universe #the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #maevesweirdwriting #the locked tomb thoughts #steven universe thoughts

[chaoticgremlinbrainspace]

✨im mentally ill about nightwing/dick Greyson once again ✨

Disclaimer: this is once again self indulgence and my grasp of canon vs Fanon is shaky. hear me out dick Greyson struggling with fatigue, especially because im insane and really like the adhd head canon so its like somedays everything is way too much but he continues on, head ache, missed breakfast, coffee doesn't work for him. all the fun things I just think it would be neat if as rightwing hes uses all his energy there keeping all the things hes doing running constant checking and double checking, reminders, every strategy in the book. so when it comes to his personal life he just has far less to give realistically but he tries anyway. hes constantly moving. I think it would also be silly goofy of him to have problems sleeping because a lot of people with adhd have trouble sleeping due to the brain not really turning off, along with other things that he might have because adhd us nothing if not a team player in terms of what you can pack with it in the mental illness lunch box. like restless leg syndrome. anyway I think dick having to slough through his regular life, constant headaches, fatigue, sleep problems, worsened symptoms would be neat ghrdinfsejd a little bit because im projecting I just feel like yeah I know hes a super hero and part of that means theyre more fantastical than a real person, I just think its neat to make him a bit more human. anyway, I just think dick is always on, all the time hes never off, like part of adhd at least for me is that being in public for a long time is fucking exhausting, I can hear and smell everything, my attention keeps drifting and the texture of my pants are off and I hate it. so I feel some days he just, sits in his apartment in the dark, because the lights are too harsh right now. I feel like he would struggle a bit with keeping personal relationships, especially if he doesn't see them for a while because adhd object permanence is garbage, but I feel like he would set so many reminders and shit. like adhd dick to me is just, over compensating to the point he runs himself into the ground, or going out with a bang(the emotions really can dysregulate). and like I think he would probably have undiagnosed adult adhd so its an extra layer of “there's something wrong with me other people can do this task with ease but I need like 13 alarms and I still haven't charged my phone and im have a depression spiral in the bath tub at 3 am and I haven't slept well in threee days but it's fine because im going out at some??? point shit I need to check my calendar, oh fuck I haven't eaten in a while, what was I thinking??” that and heavy ass brain fog on really bad days. bur also he would probably pump out a shit ton of like reports or smth in like 3 hours(this is from experience and observations, my mom who has adhd used to do the work of like 3 people before being medicated) that and  think dick would have the messiest house full of shit from pass hyper fixations, and lack of executive function(the dishes haunt his ass) which would feed into the 3 am depressive spirals. im just saying dicks got the superhero part of his life together but the civilian life is absolutely in shambles and the only reason it isn't all falling apart is the extreme anxiety and fear of failure/disappointment because agin RSD is a bitch. this also means  adhd dick Greyson has the habit of playing one song over and over again for hours until physically ill of the song. like I think dick would try to appear somewhat toether as a civilian (shoving shit in the closet anytime he has guests over, throwing things into huge garbage bags and then the closet, hiding shit under the bed, closing off rooms as off limits bc its full of garbage) because he doesn't want to be judged. like I think dick falling apart bit but being used to it is a silly goofy lil treat, for me <3. once again projecting onto him, I think he would space the fuck out during like commute, like hes still somewhat aware bc like bat training but also like ten thousand thoughts are fighting for dominance and the brain fog is coming in hard and this head ache wont leave and- anyway thank you for coming to my insane self indulgent ramblings about dick Greyson 

#dick grayson #nightwing #grem screams