#look there’s nothing inherently wrong as far as i can tell

[bobbile-blog]

Not sure if anyone’s said this yet but now that we have Laterano events plural I’m fascinated by their (imo) very deliberate choice of protagonists, and there are almost a couple of layers of narrative going on there. I struggle a little figuring out how to get this into words but specifically I think they’re chosen to be people who can carry a narrative without contradicting the orthodox morals of the church. There’s a LOT of vaguely anti-authoritarian rambling below the cut so please kindly bear with me and my English major brain.

I can’t really start there though. One of the reasons this is so brain hurty is how deeply it’s woven into the storyline, so to start, I have to verbalize how Laterano and Arknights writing more generally is different from other, similar settings. Because like, I hear the words “morally negative church in a grimdark setting” and my brain immediately shuts off. Come on, that’s so far beyond low-hanging fruit, if you’ve seen any grimdark setting ever you know exactly what that looks like. And sure, it was fine the first two or three times you saw it, depending on your tolerance for that kinda thing, but it gets boring quick and even when it was new it was kinda uninteresting story-wise. “Religion is always fake because it inspires hope which means everyone who takes meaning from it is either a corrupt grifter or naive and misled” isn’t just edgy nonsense, it’s also basically useless as an actual critique. It tells you absolutely nothing except how to tune out a particular kind of story, and a story that tries to get you to hear less is doing its job wrong.

So, Arknights does something different. Instead of denying the premise of the church entirely, it actually takes it at its word. Laterano is, in almost every definition of the word, a paradise. It is basically unmatched in terms of actual quality of life, with its only competitors being the Durin cities and maybe Aegir, and is worlds apart from now much the rest of Terra sucks. More than that, though, the paradise is specifically tailored to the worldview of a religion with a strong central authority - when I say it takes it at its word, I mean the authoritarian bits too. Laterano is a city that lives in perfect order and peace because everyone follows the law perfectly and they all understand each other and never fight. Empathy is really important for this, as it allows for a believable amount of superhuman societal order. Laterano has very little crime, political drama, or quarrels in general. It’s the promises of a strict higher authority actually taken at face value: everyone follows the rules and that means they have effectively unfettered freedom, because they don’t want to break the rules and therefore they can do anything they want.

Laterano is specifically written to be a believable paradise in a setting that has none, so that when the story then turns around and criticizes that setting, it has significantly more weight. Even when the promises of paradise are taken at face value, there are still issues that cannot be addressed because the system is inherently flawed even in the imaginary scenario where it works. Even worse, the problems that poke holes in the imaginary perfect scenario are the same problems that they face in the real world, like “how do you deal with the interpretation of scriptures” and “hey there’s this racism thing I keep hearing about should we be worried about that or what”. Because of the way this imaginary perfect system works, we then look back on our real world in a new light and understand it a little better. It’s good critique.

Okay so how did we get here and what does this have to do with the protagonists? Well, this starts with Fiametta in Guide Ahead, because she’s a really weird protagonist. This is a cold take at this point but despite being the character on the front of the box, she has very little to actually do with the central conflict of the event. Most of the conflict is handled by Ezell first and Andoain second, and Fiametta mostly putters around putting holes in people until the finale where Andoain receives the answer he’s been looking for, he turns to explain it to the world, and he runs into the only person in the whole of Laterano who does not care about his motivations or his revelation. Her role, in other words, is to replace the climax of Andoain’s story with her own, and in doing so she makes it much harder to actually get a resolution and a meaning out of the story (this should not be taken as a criticism of her character, let me cook). Guide Ahead’s ending is hazy, with only small piecemeal resolutions to its conflicts, and for the longest time that was just the way the event was written and it stood on its own.

But now, Hortus de Escapismo is out and the monkey brain see patterns. Specifically, with the choice of protagonists. Because Executor is definitely different from Fiametta as a protagonist, but there’s one particularly important connection between the two, and that’s that as I mentioned in the beginning, they allow for stories don’t contradict orthodox morality. Fiametta we went over, as she’s uninterested in any of Andoain’s morality and just wants him dead. Executor, though, is purely focused on his mission and views the world through that lens. He only wants to achieve his objective, and while helping the needy is in line with the stated objectives of the church and he does do so when able, it’s secondary to his assigned task. He does change as he gets further into the story, and we’re not gonna ignore that, but we’ll be back to it later. What I mean is more that he is designed as a person who is able to lead a story that doesn’t contradict with the morals of Laterano. He sees the injustice and suffering around him, but that’s not his job, so he doesn’t need to solve it to have a complete story with a happy ending.

This is where it really gets complicated, so I apologize if I don’t explain this very well. I see this as us dealing with multiple layers of fiction: the events of the story, the perspective of the church, and our perspective as readers. Back to the first point - authoritarian institutions almost always use stories to sell people on their brand of order. Simple stories, simple enough that even calling them myths seems like overselling it a little, your “Saint George slays a dragon” kinda thing. This is the point of the second layer, the perspective of the church. I don’t really have an in-world justification for this layer - maybe you could make the argument that it has to do with Law’s perspective on things, but I don’t totally buy that - I think it’s more in a weird narrative transition space for people who don’t read very carefully. Regardless, Fiametta and Executor’s shared indifference to the questionable circumstances surrounding them is designed to let them tell a story to prop up the existing order. Their protagonist status and their missions are specifically constructed to allow them to ignore the suffering around them, and as such ignore the larger questions that might poke holes in the larger order. They’re both playing out the story of Saint George, where they go and find a bad guy and kill them and that’s all there is to it. The story is designed and told specifically for that “that’s all there is to it”.

But, as we said earlier, this is a good critique, and as such it intentionally undercuts this story with the third layer: what we actually see as readers. We are shown the suffering and the injustice, and then get to see our protagonists ignoring that to pursue their goals. This is what gives Guide Ahead’s ending its unique texture, which sets it apart from every other event with a vaguely unresolved ending. We have seen the actual issues with Laterano, and also watched our protagonist explicitly ignore them in favor of her own story. It’s unsatisfying in a way that only really makes sense to me if we as the readers have an understanding of intentional authorship. Whether it be Yvangelista XI or Law or The Actual Real Life Pope, there are issues here that we want to see a resolution to but people are choosing not to address them. Again, it’s good critique. Not only does it push the reader to unpack and understand the actual real-world technique, but it also helps blunt it. You have just seen a plot and protagonist ring uncharacteristically hollow. You then look around to see why that is, and you realize there are many things that should have been resolved that weren’t. The next time you see a story resolve with that same hollow-ness, you know where to look. Surprise! Harry Potter was propaganda the whole time. It’s okay, it was never good, you were just twelve.

I guess the last thing is where we go from here, because Executor’s story breaks this mold somewhat. In Hortus de Escapismo, he has to deal with a mission that isn’t actually bounded by his normal rules, and because of that he actually does have leeway to help the people around him. He starts as someone who is totally mission-focused, but by the end of the event he’s done a total 180 and is blocking Oren’s attack, which makes the mission harder but helps the non-mission-critical civilians of the monastery. He breaks from the rigid thinking of “kill the bad guy and that’s all there is do it”, and gives his attention to the people he isn’t supposed to see. I think this is an indication of the direction we’re going to be headed in the future with Laterano events. The events aren’t going to get better - they’re going to keep being just as morally murky and complicated as in the past - but the characters are going to get better at handling it, and when they do, they’re going to actually start to change things for the better.

Goddamn that was a lot of writing for 1 AM. I still have a. Lot of thoughts on this event with stuff like empathy and Lemuen and Federico being an autistic icon(my beloved) but I’m going to leave things there, I think, because if I write for any longer my phone is going to crash when I try to post this. Anyway if you actually made it to the end thanks for listening to me rambling and I hope that made sense. Cheers.

#arknights #arknights thoughts #hortus de escapismo #laterano #fiametta #executor arknights #I deadass had to ask folks to proofread this one #to make sure I didn’t sound like I didn’t sound off my rocker #also don’t mind my random Harry Potter slander that’s an entirely different rant

[the-badger-mole]

In the debate between pro-aang-kill-ozai and anti-aang-kill-ozai. Which side are you on and why? If it's the anti then did you like how it was done or do you picture something else?

I think I've mentioned before, but I am not inherently against Aang not wanting to kill Ozai. Some of my favorite heroes have a no-kill policy. I don't even mind the lionturtle solution itself. What I didn't like was how it was handled. There was plenty of time to address Aang's reluctance to kill before the second to last episode. I can think of three points in particular where it would've been thematically appropriate and given Aang's bland, two-dimensional character some depth.

First, right after the siege at the Northern Tribe. Aang may not have technically been the one who killed all those Fire Nation soldiers, but it couldn't have happened without him. You would think that someone who is both committed to pacifism and also the one the entire world is relying on to end a war that people have been fighting and dying in for a century wouldn't just be able to shrug off what happened. Aang did, though. Didn't even cross his mind when he was whining about people expecting him to kill Ozai.

What should have happened was the next season should've opened with Aang grappling with what happened and his part in it. He should feel guilty about it, not because he was actually wrong, but because it should feel wrong to him. Then, Katara and Sokka should comfort him and tell him he did nothing wrong. Build it up that their word are comforting him a little, then drop the bomb when they start talking about how cool it was. How amazing it was to see all those soldiers running in fear for once. How relieved they are that so many of them died. Then have Aang snap on them about the sanctity of life. He needs to be angry and hurt, and this should be the point where he decries the powers of the Avatar. He'd call himself a monster, and maybe he would call Katara and Sokka monsters, too. Then they (probably mostly Sokka) would argue with him that they aren't monsters, they're just trying to survive, and the Fire Nation is a threat to be taken out. This would be the first time it's brought up that Katara, Sokka...the entire world expect Aang to kill Ozai. I think it would be perfect as a season 2 opener. Season 1 was light and goofy, and Zuko was their biggest immediate threat. The siege raised the stakes, and season 2 should continue on that rising. Aang should also have started looking for another solution here. In the library, Aang should've asked Wan Shi Tong if it was possible to end the war without more violence. We should've seen Aang coming to terms with the fact that the world is suffering and he is the one they are looking to to save them. One thing I think the Harry Potter movies in particular did well was that shift from goofy and whimsical to darker and more frightening (as far as kids movies go) as the story went on and the stakes got higher, and the danger felt more real to the characters. Aang never gets that realization. He has moments when the danger feels real, but he's goofy and whimsical for pretty much the entire series until the plot of an episode needs him not to be.

The second place they should have brought up his reluctance to kill was DoBS. This really should've been a no brainer. Aang was loosing sleep over facing Ozai. He had his anxiety about losing- though not really what losing would mean for his friends and the world- but he didn't even consider what winning would take. If DoBS had been successful, there's no way Ozai would've been able to be taken alive. Logistically, killing him would've been the easiest, safest option. You mean to tell me no one brought it up? No one asked Aang how he was planning to take Ozai out? No, instead we get Aang proving he knows what enthusiastic consent looks like and taking away his excuse for what happened later, but nothing about Aang weighing his personal beliefs against the needs of the world. That training montage and confrontation that he has with his friends in the second to last episode should've happened here. This should've been when his tendency to run away should've been challenged, too, because half a season before he was crying about how he abandoned the world again. Now his instinct would be to run, but his friends would challenge him, calling back to that moment. They could demand that he present an alternative to killing Ozai. I don't think any of them would object to him living to stand trial, but Ozai is a rabid dog, essentially. He needs to be put down. Aang's got nothing, but not for lack of trying. When he tells his friends about all his efforts to find a non-lethal way to defeat Ozai, they are unmoved. They are at the doors of the Fire Nation, and now is not the time to be indecisive. He has to go face Ozai. And he's probably relieved when the plan fails. This whole situation would have the added bonus of skipping that first Kataang kiss because no way would Aang want to kiss Katara after her insisting he terminate Ozai with extreme prejudice.

The third place Aang's no-kill policy should've come up is TSR when Zuko asks him what he's planning to do when he faces Ozai if he's so against killing. This should scare Aang, and it should be his focus for the rest of the season. He should be more withdrawn from his friends, because with all the training he's doing (and he would still be training on all the elements because he's not that good at any of them), talks about the most efficient way to kill would be unavoidable. Katara might actually try to teach him bloodbending. Toph would just tell him that a big rock is just as effective as some fancy bending move. Zuko would be warning him about his father's ruthlessness and cunning. This would be where Aang looses his patience with his friends and insists that he's a pacifist and Ozai doesn't deserve to die. This would piss Katara in particular off because by this point, Aang knows what happened to her mother. He would get an earful about how Ozai's plan is to do to the Earth Kingdom what his grandfather did to the Air Nomads and how he's going to let millions of people die because of his refusal to kill one. Now, Aang can take off, only instead of just running away from his friends because he doesn't want to hear them anymore, he could be making one desperate last ditch attempt to find a solution that both ends the war and keeps him from having to kill Ozai. EIP could still happen in this circumstance, but instead of getting mad that he's being played by a girl, he would focus more on how eager for his death the Fire Nation is. That would come up in the argument about killing Ozai.

Now, for the lionturtle. I'm about to blow some minds. I have been vocal about my hatred of the Lionturtle/Rock of Destiny desu-ex-double team, and I do still hate it with a passion. However, as a concept, I don't mind the lionturtle. This is a fantasy adventure. You expect a bit of magical intervention. What I wanted was Aang grappling with this problem for more than half an episode. I wanted him working on a solution the entire time, starting from right after the siege. I wanted to see him take initiative. To actually think about the problem. Maybe have him specifically looking for the lionturtle. Then when it shows it, it could be because it knew Aang was looking and decided he was worthy of a meeting. Aang could still have his meeting with his past lives, and that could still go the way it did. Then the lionturtle could speak up. Instead of poo-pooing the idea of killing Ozai, it could agree that it was the most effective way to make sure that the war would end. Then, when Aang is despairing that he'd wasted all that time trying to find a different solution, the lionturtle could offer the spirit bending. But it would have to come at a cost, and it might not work the way that Aang hoped. Now Aang has to make a choice. Sacrifice something for this spiritbending ability (I'm thinking he loses his airbending, because it seems poetic) that might not have the outcome he's hoping for, or give up his pacifism- one of his few connections to his heritage- and kill Ozai. He chooses the spiritbending. Instead of the conveniently placed rock, Aang would actually have to give up his attachment Katara. I think he would be half-way there, having finally realized how little he understood her. He "loved" her because she was pretty and took care of him, but he's come to realize there's a lot more facets to her that he hasn't gotten to see because they don't fit his narrow view of her. He also understands what Guru Pathik was trying to tell him about one person not being able to replace everything Aang has lost, and he realizes how unfair to her he had been. He still loves her, but as a friend and caretaker. This will actually lead to a deeper friendship between them. Aang defeats Ozai without killing him, but now he has to deal with the loss of his airbending, which only now does he realize was a much of a connection between him and his people as his beliefs. He still has spiritbending. He can still airbend in the Avatar State, but he's effectively cut off a limb to keep his integrity. He will go the rest of his life wondering if it was worth it, especially after Ozai goes to trial and is sentenced to execution anyway. The effects of that on his children could be explored in LoK.

TL;DR I don't have a problem with Aang not wanting to kill Ozai. I just wanted to see him deal with it before the last minute. I think the show would've been better for it, and Aang would've been a more interesting character.

#atla #anti-kataang #aang #how it COULD have gone #he would've been a much better protagonist if we actually saw him struggle with his destiny #spiritbending should have consequences #that's too much of a power up to just give to the hero #and ozai should still die #it just doesn't have to be at aang's hands #THE YEAR OF CONTENT!!!!

[euphoricfilter]

Jungkook and "I can't stop thinking about you." with the tiniest bit of angst with a fluffy ending. Thank you!!

rose tinted glasses:

pairing: idol! jungkook x f. reader

genre: fluff || angst || friends to lovers

summary: jungkook’s a patient man, and he’ll wait as long as you need to find him again.

word count: 1.1k

tags/ warnings: arguably mild angst, bad friends, maybe best bf kook, intended lowercase

notes: drabble game is closed <3 just a quick drabble that i will not overthink the quality of. it's an easy read one may argue.

drabble masterlist || my main masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

if you’d been the one looking at jungkook through rose tinted glass this whole time, then you wonder how the world views him.

personified perfection, the epitome of what a star should be. because in the world’s eyes, he lacked flaws.

there’s some sort of hidden rule the universe sets, that any input from family should mean something; it should mean everything. blood relations should always be held above everything else in life. they’re your family, of course they want what’s best for you.

it leaves you to wonder when the opinions of close friends had been held to the same standard. how you’d let yourself be swept up in their views of jungkook.

an acclaimed awful relationship, toxic, you should escape while you still can. crawl out of jungkook’s claws and save yourself before it’s too late.

you wonder when advice had become clear jealousy, lies they’d feed you over and over again until you’d been second guessing yourself. second guessing jungkook, when he’d truly tried his best to make your relationship work with so many outside factors interfering.

cameras acting as beady little eyes, scrutinizing him for things only human. digging into private affairs and overstepping inhumane boundaries.

jungkook was far from perfect, you knew that, they knew that— just not in the way they’d told you.

there had been nothing inherently wrong with what you had with jungkook. sure, you came from two completely different worlds, your job a lot less flashy, and arguably less successful than your (ex)boyfriend, but jungkook didn’t care.

because you liked him for him and that was really all he could ask you for. not when you sacrificed so much just to be with him.

nda forms, no public dates, weeks where he’d be abroad, too busy to call but too lonely not to leave you a heartfelt text about how much he missed you.

jungkook wasn’t selfish. you knew that. you’d always known that.

he hadn’t caged you. hadn’t locked the doors and fed the key to a beast where you couldn’t leave. fame hadn’t turned him into a monster— still very much human with human emotions and desires.

it’s a shame you’d let the pressure of those who were supposed to care about you ruin something so special.

the universe has funny ways of telling us things. just like how, if you and jungkook weren’t meant to be together, why was he all you saw. because your life would never be void of jungkook no matter how hard you tried to avoid him.

he was at a strange point in his career, every corner you turned, there he was. billboards, advertisements, his songs playing on the radio as you shop, coffee accompanied by the sweet melody of his voice. riding a steady wave of success with no clear end in sight.

you hadn’t called him for weeks, and he’d stopped leaving you messages on voicemail. perhaps he stopped caring. you wouldn’t blame him, could never blame him— probably swept up with a mountain of work, probably exhausted.

it takes you a month to realize that your misery was because of him. you’d been the one to end things, pressure of everyone finally getting to you. really you’d do anything to make the calls stop, the mean jabs over dinner or passive aggressive texts from friends.

lie after lie rotting your mind until you couldn’t take it anymore and you ran away from your problems.

maybe it was the silence of the evening. the way your friends had distanced themselves once you’d told them you’d stopped talking to jungkook; he was out of your life like they’d suggested. bitter betrayal squeezing your heart when you realize that isn’t what they wanted, because you were no use to them anymore if you had nothing to do with jungkook.

you’d been friends before lovers, their assumption being you’d just go back to being friends.

maybe it was the sticky solitude that had you roaming the streets gone midnight. in search of comfort, the only person you knew still had your back— who will always have your back no matter how big of a bitch you are.

you tug the sleeves of your hoodie further over your hands, tips of your fingers numb as you dial his apartment number.

you know he’s awake, hope slowly fizzling out the longer the door rings.

he doesn’t say anything, simply opening the door to the building. elevator taking an eternity to get to the lobby, even longer in taking you to the right floor.

jungkook’s stood at his door when you step out into the hallway, hair a little frizzy in the way it gets after he’s showered.

“hey” he says, and you stay rooted in your spot.

“i can’t stop thinking about you” you blurt, his figure nothing more than a blur as tears glaze your eyes.

“i can’t stop thinking about you either, my love”

“i’m so sorry” you shake your head as jungkook steps out of his apartment.

“don’t apologize, it must have been hard for you” he hums, tucking your hair behind your ear as you wipe your cheeks with the backs of your hands.

“don’t do this” you hiccup.

“don’t do what?” he smiles, hands falling onto your hips, gentle as he tugs you closer to his body.

“you’re too nice, you can’t be like this after what happened”

“nothing happened” jungkook shakes his head, taking a step backwards, pulling you along with him until you’re both in the warm of his apartment.

“i said some really mean things”

“that you didn’t mean”

your shoulders deflate, muscles warming under his hands like taffy.

“i know what was happening with your friends, your parents weren’t much help either. i’m not blaming you for something that was out of both our control”

“i shouldn’t have listened to them” you kick your shoes off.

“no, you shouldn’t have. but it’s not something we can change now”

bam peeks over the back of the couch, clumsy as he scuttles over to the two of you, “and what about us?”

“what about us?” jungkook kneels down, always one to spoil his dog with kisses, “why can’t we just go back to the way we were?”

you blink down at jungkook, “i’d really like that”

“i love you” he grins, “if you ever run away again, i’ll always wait for you at home. i’ll always be waiting”

“i won’t run again” you tell him, you’d made that mistake once, “i love you too much to do that again”

“i just put fresh sheets on the bed, if you wanna stay over?”

it’s strange, how even after a month apart, words that you never meant shouted in a fit of rage, and the distance of a city apart— jungkook will always feel like home.

the world viewed jungkook as perfect. and he wasn’t. not in the way everyone else saw him.

and even if jungkook were to be the beast, a villain of your love story, nothing could ever stop you from wandering back home into his arms. even if it meant the world was against you.

#bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #bts fic #jungkook #bts x reader #drabble game

[lurking-latinist]

I just saw this awesome post about including mobility aids in fantasy writing, and I do not want to create a tangent but I *do* want to share some things I learned about disability in ancient Greece when I was researching that paper I wrote on the Philoctetes, so I am making my own post.

Philoctetes is a mythical figure who was one of the Greek heroes going to the Trojan war. Before they got there, he suffered a wound in the foot which would not heal. The other Greek leaders were unwilling to have the noise of his screams and the stench of the infected wound in their camp, so they abandoned him on a deserted island with only his famous weapon, the Bow of Heracles. He survived there for ten years. Now the war is almost over, Troy has almost fallen, but the Greeks have heard a prophecy: they cannot win until they have the Bow of Heracles. So wily Odysseus and young Neoptolemus (the son of the recently dead Achilles) go to the island where Philoctetes is still living, still dealing with his injury. Philoctetes is eager to escape the island, but can he trust the community that abandoned him ten years ago? Can they ever make right what they did to him?

Now that’s the type of story that someone might very well point to who was arguing that disabled people have to be neglected and excluded in a “historically accurate” story. And it’s definitely not an example of casual inclusion. But what that person would be missing is that Philoctetes’ abandonment and isolation in this play was intended to be shocking to its Athenian audience. The audience is invited to identify with Philoctetes and to be horrified at how he does not receive the support from his community that real-world people with similar disabilities did receive, as we can tell from both textual and archaeological evidence.

Martha L. Rose’s book The Staff of Oedipus: Transforming Disability in Ancient Greece emphasizes this. Look, here’s what I wrote in my paper, why should I rewrite it:

Rose approaches her material “though the lens of disability studies, which approaches the phenomenon of disability by assuming that there is nothing inherently wrong with the disabled body and that the reaction of a society to the disabled body is neither predictable nor immutable” (1). In other words, it is necessary to see what attitudes and assumptions about disabilities are actually recorded, rather than projecting any of our own assumptions. ...

Also unlike today, Greek concepts of disability were not medicalized. “Permanent physical disability,” writes Rose, “was not the concern of doctors in antiquity beyond recognition of incurability” (11). This does not mean that disabled people had no resources or were simply left to perish, of course. Rather, they were often cared for within their households and their communities (28), which means that both Philoctetes’ abandonment and isolation form a shocking exception to the norm. The importance of community support suggests that Philoctetes’ joy at being reunited with humanity comes from practical as well as emotional needs. At the same time, the wide range of tasks and trades in the Greek economy meant that many disabled people were far from economically dependent (think of [the god] Hephaestus the lame smith), so that “[a] physically handicapped person earning a living would not have been a remarkable sight” (39). People unable to walk at all rode donkeys or were carried in litters, while those who walked with difficulty used a staff or a crutch (24-26).

So for writers: the ancient Greeks didn’t invent the wheelchair--but they had the wheel technology (I suspect the issue may have been with roads and pavements instead), so your Greek-inspired fantasy world totally can (which was the point of that earlier post). Or maybe your protagonist goes on their adventures with a faithful donkey sidekick that helps them get around. Maybe they are respected for their skill in a craft, making their home and workshop a lively meeting-place for customers. If you’re writing fantasy, you could be inspired by one of the myths of Hephaestus, in which he creates metal automatons--basically, magic robots--that not only support him as he walks, they also act as assistants in his workshop!

Anyway, the point of this post is basically just that I agree with the other post about including mobility aids in fantasy and I had some relevant knowledge in the back of my head. And also that you should read the Philoctetes. Look, here’s a recent free modern English verse translation: https://johnstoniatexts.x10host.com/sophocles/philocteteshtml.html

Oh, and if you would like to see my term paper or the relevant section from The Staff of Oedipus, message me, I will share them.

#philoctetes #writing #I should add that Rose also has information about things like blindness and deafness in her book #I just happened to be writing a paper about mobility

[carpisuns]

the most hurtful thing about the rise of AI art, to me, is that the importance of lived human experience is up for debate.

you could say a lot about the ethical implications of it all and how it negatively impacts actual artists—how their work is being stolen and fed to bots without their permission, how they are losing ownership of their own artistic expression, how they're are losing their jobs because AI can "replace" them. but people will always find a way to talk their way around it. "if they didn't want people to use their art, they shouldn't be posting it online." "you can't own an artistic style." "the generated art piece is not actually their art. it's not stealing." and the real clincher: "i don't know what to tell you. that's just progress."

i feel like so many people see this issue through the lens of charlie bucket's dad getting fired from the toothpaste factory because a machine could place a cap on the tube more efficiently. but making art is not the same as screwing a cap onto a tube of toothpaste. it's emotional. it's meaningful. it's expressive. the end result is informed by the experiences and choices of the creator. and the viewer's experience is different knowing that a human is behind those choices—that there was real choice involved at all.

you could argue that AI art retains the inherent humanity of art, because it uses samples of real art made by real people—a whole collective pool of representative humanity. but it's not really the same. it's just an echo. an illusion. a mimic of life without the spark that actually makes it alive.

when i look at art, i want to think about the human behind it. i want to feel connected to them. i want to ponder their choices and notice their details and appreciate their skills. i want to look at it and feel something, because the artist felt something when they made it.

sometimes i see a cool piece of art and get excited. but when i realize it's AI, the emotion is gone. "what's the difference?" someone might ask. "if you liked it before, why don't you like it knowing it's AI? the image didn't change. it's still the same." and sure, visually it's the same. but emotionally it's not. i can't make a connection with it anymore. because there was no real intention behind it. i can't search for meaning in it, because there is none. when i look at AI art, even visually impressive art, i feel nothing. there's no wonder. there's no connection. the only possible feeling for me is, "wow, technology has come so far! neat."

it doesn't even have the appeal of "art" created by nature, like the Grand Canyon or the ocean or the night sky. those create a sense of wonder because there was no human involvement at all. the beauty came from the universe itself, and it feels like a gift from nothing and everything at once, and it's that beauty that so often inspires humans to make something in its likeness.

but AI art feels like a weird in-between of the art made with no hands and the art made with human hands. like pseudo-clay molded with empty gloves. it's sort of uncanny valley–ish. something almost human but not quite, so it always feels a little off. with human-made art, mistakes are understandable, expected, even endearing—a reminder that a person made this, and people are not perfect. but that weird offness of AI art just feels wrong. like a glitch in a simulation, reminding you that what you see was never real.

but really, even if AI was always completely indistinguishable from human-made art, the viewing experience would still be fundamentally changed. we make art to connect with each other, to see and be seen, to speak and to listen. but when i look at AI art, i don't know how to listen for a song. all i hear is the whir of cogs in a machine.

some people might point out that we're all just machines too. that AI's 1s and 0s are really no different from the synapses firing in our brains, and we draw inspiration from everything around us the same way AI draws from the samples in its generation bank. it's different to me, though. maybe i just feel this way because i myself am a creator, and i want to feel like i have something special to offer. but i have to believe there is meaning in the choices and expression of humans that there isn't in the choices of a program.

i'm sure this is just doomsday talk and it wouldn't actually happen, but the idea of AI eventually being handed the primary "creative" role over human beings is frankly devastating, even terrifying. i don't want to live in a world where all the art around me was generated automatically from a prompt and spat out onto a conveyer belt. it would be an inexpressible loss to me.

this isn't to say that AI doesn't have a place at all, or that we should abandon our exploration of technological advancement. i just hope that as this issue gets bigger, we remember the real point of art. when we are sad or lonely or angry, all of us turn to art. whether it's visual art or music or film or writing, art tells a story. we take comfort from the stories we tell each other, and it means something that those stories come from other people. art is and will always be a bridge between us and the rest of humankind.

so while our technology continues to develop, i hope we guard that bridge. I hope we protect the creative space of artists who want to tell stories. i hope we keep the demand for emotional expression high. i hope we honor the humanity of human-made art. if AI art is a truly reflection of us, i hope we keep looking toward the figure that cast the reflection, keep seeking the voice that started the echo.

#this has been in my drafts for forever but I was thinking about it again bc my coworkers were discussing ai #this is really long and over dramatic but idk! I get worked up about it if I consider it for too long lol! #ai #ai art discourse #mine #ai art

[neverinadream]

Little Chilwell - Part Two

Summary: Mason comes to learn a few things about you as you spend some unexpected time together.

Pairings: Mason Mount x Chilwell!Reader (Slightly OC)

Requested: Nope

Warnings: maybe some fluff - if you can even call it that, an unofficial coffee date, trying to do the whole slow burn thing, bits of teasing, suggestive themes

Notes: part one // the introduction of a new character is sloppy, i know, okay, you don't need to tell me. this isn't as long as part one, nor is it as good as part one, and i'm not saying that for attention or anything, it's just not as good, but writer's block will do that to you. anyway....feedback is always appreciated. if i have forgotten to tag you, please tell me!!

"You know, I've been thinking-"

"You? Thinking?" You press up onto your tiptoes, coming chest to chest with him, as you grab the sides of his head in your hands, tilting him from side to side and moving his head up and down. You were checking for any damage. "Is it okay in there?" You ask, pretending to be worried. "You haven't turned it into a mushy mess, have you? People like you thinking can be a dangerous thing." Bringing his head back to face you, you were met with unamused eyes.

"You're not funny," he flicks his tongue across his bottom lip, staring down his nose at you, "far from it."

"No, Mason, I'm hilarious," you correct him, grinning from ear to ear as you drop back down onto your feet. He tried his best to fight off the urge to match your smile, but there was something so undeniably infectious about your smile that it had the corners of his lips twitching. "But, go on," you drop your hands and take a step back, "amuse me, what were you thinking?"

"One sec-" He turns to the barista and gives her your order: two black coffees. Was a straight black coffee your usual order? No. But Mason was determined to convince you there was nothing wrong or inherently gross about drinking your coffee black. "No," he mumbles, batting your hand away as you attempt to pay.

You sigh, slipping your phone back into your coat pocket. "You know you'll have to let me pay at some point, right?"

"Sure," he shrugs his shoulders, motioning with his head to follow him, "but not today." You both step to the side, giving enough space for the barista to serve another customer as you both wait for your drinks. "So, as I was saying," he pulls the conversation back to his original point, "this is the second time we've gotten coffee together in the space of a week." He picks a sugar packet out of the plastic container, lying it flat against the counter. "I'm beginning to think you might like me, or something."

You scrunch your face up, giving him a look that says, "don't be ridiculous." Another barista hands your drinks in white recyclable cardboard cups with your university's logo printed on the side. You had just finished your lectures for the day and didn't feel like making your way across London just to meet Mason for coffee. No, he could come to you. And willingly he did. "Like is a strong word, Mason," you say to him as you pop the top off, stirring in three packets of sugar, "I...I-"

"You like me," he cuts you off, tapping the wooden stirrer against the edge of his cup. He tosses it into the bin and pops the lid back onto his cup. "It's okay to admit it," he lifts the cup, happily sighing as the hot coffee hits his lips, "the world won't suddenly combust if you do."

"No, but I might," you're quick to reply, your attention divided between popping the lid back on and watching him lick his lips. You look away quickly enough for him not to catch you staring. "Come on," you pull him away from the counter before one of the baristas starts to flirt with him. You had heard her whispering to another staff member behind the counter as you both waited for your coffees, leaving you with an awkward, unknown feeling in the pit of your stomach. "I need to go to the library."

Mason frowns, "I thought we were getting coffee?" He skips in front of you and opens the door before you have a chance to reach for the handle. You give him a small appreciative smile as you step past him and leave the student cafe.

"And we got said coffee," you reply, steadily waving the cup in the air.

"Okay, but when a person asks them to meet up for coffee, they usually mean the kind where you sit down together," he has to jog to catch up with you as you walk ahead of him, heading in the direction of the opposite building, "you know, have a conversation or something." He nudges your side with his elbow, checking to see if you are paying attention to him. "Come on," he whines, pulling his best impression of 'puppy dog eyes,' "my legs are killing me."

"That, my friend, sounds like a you problem."

"Friend?" You see him smirking in the reflection of the glass doors. "Are we friends now?"

You roll your eyes, muttering, "shut up," under your breath.

Making your way up onto the third floor, you dragged Mason along behind you, ignoring his complaints about there being no elevator and how he hated taking the stairs. Sometimes you often wondered if he wasn't secretly a child playing dress up in the body of a grown adult man. He complained enough like a child to convince you well enough.

The third floor was one of the quietest. The technology was a little outdated, the walls were in desperate need of a new coat of paint, some of the books were older than yourself, and those who came up to the third floor to study did so because they knew they wouldn't be disrupted by unwanted noise. The third floor was so quiet you could hear a pin drop on the other side of the room.

Something of which you and Tabitha had tested.

No, it wasn't a literal pin you had tested with. Still, two tipsy girls standing at either end of the floor, both going slowly insane as you pulled an all-nighter to finish an assignment due the next day, calling out to each other was a fun way to pass the time. It brought a half-smile to your face just thinking about it.

"What are you smiling about?" Your head snaps up to the side, your hand hovering in the air, his question catching you off guard and stopping you from pulling a book off the shelf. Narrowing your eyes, you remain silent and allow him to elaborate. "Just then," he mumbles, lifting his coffee cup to his lips, the edge resting against his bottom lip as he continues to talk, "you smiled."

"Everyone smiles, Mason."

He hums, shaking his head, disagreeing with you. "No," he takes a sip, "that's the smile you have when thinking about something happy. You know the kind, right?" You turn away from the shelf, hoping he will entertain you for a mere few seconds. He lowers his coffee cup and steps toward you, raising his free hand until his fingers touch your jaw. "The kind that plays on the corners of your mouth," his voice is low, eyes dropping to look at your lips before travelling slowly back up to your eyes, "the kind that wants to be set free but prevented at the very last second." His touch is soft, skimming the outline of your jaw until his fingers are resting under your chin, gently tilting your head back. "It's a very pretty smile."

You push his hand away. "It's just a smile, Mason."

He swallows a sigh as you turn your attention back to the bookshelf. "Didn't you-" He scratches his finger against his eyebrow, clearing his throat. "Didn't you hear the part where I said it was a very pretty smile?"

"I did," you chew your bottom lip, eyes scanning the shelf for the correct book, "and if you ever say that again, I'll-"

"Sock me square in the mouth?" His breath tickles the back of your neck as he steps around you, purposely brushing against you to whisper in your ear, "I've heard that threat before, baby." He reaches around you and plucks the book out of your hand, tucking the thick, hardback under his arm. "And it's always been empty."

"Not empty," you fire back, spinning around to face him, "never empty." You have to tilt your head back to look up at him, meeting his dark eyes that seemed lighter under the white lights. "I'm just waiting for the right time," you tell him, giving your coffee cup a soft shake to check how much was left. A quiet chuckle falls from his grin as he watches you take a sip. "I'm gonna get you when you least expect it."

He squints his eyes and scrunches his nose. "I don't think you will."

"Then you underestimate me, Mr Mount."

"Chilwell?"

He watches your head snap in the direction of the sudden intrusion, lines creasing his forehead as he watches your eyes light up. It was like someone had injected the sun into them, setting them alight with a brightness he had never witnessed before. "T-Taron," he listens to you stutter as you try to say the intruder's name, a smile twitching on the corners of your lips. The beaming light in your eyes and the uncontrollable smile, which had now taken over your lips, lifted your face but still softened your features.

He both liked and hated it.

He liked it because it was evident to him that you liked whoever this 'Taron' was. It was something he could tease you with. But he hated it because...well, he didn't know why he hated it. So some stranger could make you smile? Who cared if looking at that smile warmed his heart more than the sun ever could? It didn't matter to him.

"Hi." Taron smiles at you, nodding his head at Mason like he acknowledged his presence without even bothering to introduce himself. "Are you checking out the reading material for Spencer's class?" He asks you, subtly reading the title on the book's spine tucked under Mason's arm. You nod your head, feeling like a fool for reacting too quickly and too enthusiastically. "Hmm," he hums, using his long fingers to pluck a book off the shelf. He reads the back before sliding it back onto the shelf. "it's fascinating stuff. I think someone like you would really like it."

"Y-You think so?"

Mason has to cover his laughter with a quick cough, grinning behind his hand.

"Well, you're smart, Chilwell," Taron replies, his Cambridge accent dripping from his lips, "and rather talented, too, it seems." You frown but watch him reach into his leather satchel. From inside, he retrieves a notebook, the faux leather it was bound in dyed a rich, ruby red. "You left it behind," he hands it back to you, the string that you always tied into a bow undone, indicating that he went through it, "I was going to give it back to you in our next class together."

"What is that?" Mason quizzes you, flicking his eyes between you, the book and Taron. "Mason, by the way," he introduces himself, trying not to sound annoyed, "we're friends-"

"We're not friends," you cut him off, the beaming light in your eyes temporarily fading as you look at him but reappearing when you look back at Taron, "and its nothing. Just a notebook."

"It's a songbook."

"A songbook?" Mason asks in disbelief. "You write songs?"

"No-"

"There's some brilliant material in that book," Taron talks over you, fixating his eyes on your own and pulling you under their spell. His eyes, hidden behind round glasses, were a forest you could get yourself lost in. "Don't keep them hidden in that tatty notebook." Mason frowned; there was nothing tatty about the notebook in your hand. It was in perfect condition, well cared for, and treated with kindness. No one would think most of the pages were filled with lines of ink. "Set them free."

"Oh, well..." You quickly shake your head, looking down at the floor as you are reduced to nothing more than a nervous laugh. "...I don't...I wouldn't say they were songs. More like poems."

Taron brushes his fingers through his loose curls, his hair parting down the middle and going back into place. "Aren't songs just poems we sing?" He asks rhetorically. He lifts his arm to check the time on his watch. "Well," he smiles again, "it was nice to run into you. We should get together before Spencer's class and compare our notes. I'm intrigued to know what you make of the material." He bites his bottom lip, and this time, Mason doesn't hold back from laughing at him, but you fail to notice him mocking Taron. Your attention was solely on the six-foot-tall man before you, daydreaming about running your fingers through his hair. "See you later, Chilwell."

"B-Bye," you wave your fingers wearily in the air, a dream-like smile etched on your lips.

"Aren't songs just poems we sing?" Mason waits until Taron is out of sight before he mocks him, attempting to impersonate his accent. He rolls his eyes and walks out in front of you, reaching out to take another book from you, tucking it under his arm with the other one. He does this several times, stacking the books together and resting them against his chest as he carries them for you. "Seriously, you like that guy?" He raises the all-important question, turning to face you as you reach the end of another aisle. "And don't lie to me," he adds, "all the stuttering and the goofy smiling gave it away. Heck, I'd be surprised if the posh git himself doesn't already know."

"Hey!" You reach out to slap him with the back of your hand. "Don't call him a git. He isn't a git."

"But I can call him posh?"

"Well, I said he wasn't a git," you shrug your shoulders, picking another book off the shelf, automatically passing it off to him, "I never said he wasn't posh." You scrunch your face up. "He is very posh - like related to the royals level of posh."

"Oh," he expresses, mouth wide and nodding his head from side to side, "well, no wonder he's a git then." He watches your eyes twitch, your mouth screwing up into a tight scowl, and quickly steps back. "Do not slap me again!" He uncurls a finger from around the empty coffee cup, pointing it toward you. He sighs, watching your mouth relax, the tight scowl disappearing after a few seconds of contemplation, but small cinders of fire still burned in your eyes. "But, seriously, he's the kind of guy you like?"

He felt uncomfortable for even asking it. The types of guys you did and did not like shouldn't be any of his business, but something inside made him want to know.

A long sigh draws from your lips. "Do I think he is cute? Yes," you nod, even if you don't want to admit it to him. Admitting it would be like giving him a loaded gun. It was a weapon he was free to use on you, tormenting and teasing you with a fresh nugget of information only he knew. "But should I like him?" You shrug your shoulders. "Probably not - he's too much like Evan. He's gorgeous and charming, but he'll ultimately break my heart in some disgusting and disrespectful way, leaving me to hate myself for allowing myself to be vulnerable with yet another selfish posh git-"

"Hey," he cuts you off, "what happened to not calling him a posh git?" You roll your eyes but fail to yourself from smiling. It was a stupid, unfunny joke, yet he still felt some sense of victory in making you smile. Look at that, Taron, he thinks to himself, matching your smile, I can make her smile too. "So, this Evan really did a number on you then?" He asks, curious to know more about your ex-boyfriend. Nodding your head, you dump the empty coffee cup into the nearest bin. "What did Ben do about it?"

"Nothing, really," you answer, tugging gently on the end of his sleeve and pulling him behind you as you lead him away, "he did the whole 'I could kill the bastard' speech, you know the kind, right?" Nodding, he hums under his breath, tossing his coffee cup as quickly as he can into the first bin he sees. He was tempted to grab your hand but left you to pinch the end of his sleeve instead. Another slap wasn't worth holding your hand for a second. "Personally, I wanted to go all Carrie Underwood on his arse," you mischievously giggle.

"Who's Carrie Underwood?"

"You don't know who Carrie Underwood is?" You take it personally, gasping as you drop his sleeve and turn around to face him. The corners of his mouth slouch, and his brows crease as he shakes his head. "You don't know the Country goddess that is Carrie Underwood?" You ask again, mouth open wide in disbelief.

"Who am I? Christian?" He asks rhetorically. "Do I look like I listen to Country music?"

Rolling your eyes, you turn to the check-out machine, punching in your student ID and password, the slot in which you would typically scan your card with being broken. The whole machine was an outdated piece of junk. One kick would probably transform it into a crumbled heap of rusted parts. "Of course, you're not Christian," you tease, taking the first book off the pile, opening the cover to scan the barcode printed on the inside. Grabbing another book, this one considerably thicker than the last, you look back over your shoulder, winking at him. "I would call you cute if you were Christian."

"Ha. Ha."

Out of the blue, you tell him, "it was Tabby, by the way."

He frowns. "What was Tabby?" He asks, stacking the books together, automatically taking each book from you and adding it to the pile.

"Earlier," you mumble, pausing to speak to him, "I was smiling because I was thinking about something Tabitha and I did up here - get your mind out of the gutter, Mount!" He groans as you slap his arm, the smirk that tugged on the corners of his lips quickly disappearing. "You're a disgusting pervert!"

"What?" He expresses, laughing as he defends himself. "It's not my fault!" He dodges your finger, stepping out of the way of your incoming hand as you try to jab him in the side. "You should've phrased it better!" Shaking your head, you go back to scanning the rest of your books. He takes a quick look around, noticing how earily quiet it was. "I bet you could, though," he continues stacking the books, picking them up off the table as you finish scanning the last one, "Huh? It's quiet. There's barely anyone up here." You weren't following his chain of thought. "You could probably have sex up here, and no one would know about it."

"Well, there are a few cameras up here," you comment, placing the last book on top of the pile as you turn to face him, "but they're mainly around the computers, you know, in case someone decides they want to steal a piece of junk. You're better off going all the way to the back; no one ever goes back there." For a second, he frowns, and you watch with a grin as it all dawns on him. "Yes, Mason," you nod, sniggering as his cheeks turn pink. You don't remember much about it, but you did have a vivid memory of Evan pinning you against the bookshelf, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, your hands fisted in his hair and your head buried into his neck to muffle your moans. "You can have sex up here and no one will know about it."

His tongue peeks out of the right corner of his mouth, trapped between his teeth, as a grin twitches on the corners of his mouth. "You..." He takes a deep breath, chuckling dryly as he does so. Ben would kill him if he knew he was having thoughts of pressing his little sister up against the bookshelves, needing to reenact whatever you had already done. "You dirty, dirty girl, Little Chilwell," he tightens his grip on the stack of books, "you're nothing like the innocent little girl Chilly first described to us."

"As I said," you shrug your shoulders, lightly tapping your hand twice against his cheek, the short hairs pricking the underside of your fingers, "you underestimate me. I am far worse than whatever that perverted mind of yours is conjuring up right now." You press the tip of your finger against the centre of his forehead. "Coming up with a new scenario for your wank bank?" You tease, sniggering as he shifts away from you.

"Don't flatter yourself," he scoffs, "you'd never be in my wank bank, baby."

"Right, sure," you give the side eye, "don't worry, your perverted secret of wanking over your best friend's little sister is safe with me." You cross your fingers and hold them close to your chest. "I would never tell a soul."

He clears his throat and lets out a sigh of frustration, something of which you can only giggle and smile at. "Are we done here?" He asks, looking towards the door. "You're starting to annoy me."

"What? Don't you want me to take you to the very spot-" You yelp, caught off by surprise, as he uses his free hand to push you toward the door. He grumbles something under his breath, but you fail to catch it. "You're dropping me off, right?" You ask, leaning back to look at him, his hand still pressed into the middle of your back. "There's no way-"

"I'm not a taxi service-"

"We're both going the same way."

"Fine," he quickly says, giving in to you with little to no persuasion, "but no more talking, okay?" He lowers his hand with a sigh, falling into place beside you as you descend the stairs, your footsteps echoing through the stairwell. He rushes to open the door at the bottom of the stairs, nearly dropping your books as he does so. "So, coffee again soon, or...?" He asks, watching your closely as you slip in through the door.

"We'll see."

----

F O O T B A L L  T A G L I S T

@shanoontje @maseandkepa @theblxefox @blueathens  @ofxinnocence @1-800-benji-chilwell @mrschilly @geek-and-proud @in-my-body-bag @laurasstufff1 @mountchilly @spicysainz @greykitkepa @thoseboysinblue @mountpulisic @dinonuggiesforliferz

L I T T L E  C H I L W E L L  T A G L I S T

@spiidergirlsworld @slut4peterparker @charlewiss @ithinkimokeei @onepunchisallittakes-blog @majx00 @alwaysclassyeagle

#mason mount #mason mount imagine #mason mount one shot #mason mount blurb #mason mount fanfic #mason mount fic #mason mount x reader

[love-toxin]

this may seem outlandish.. foolish, even… but i bring you, as an offering, the concept of SCARYASS SUB YANDERES!?!?!?! i’ve had this idea in my mind for sooo long and my god it’s been driving me insane. i think it works well just because of the inherent obsessive, frightening nature of yans in the first place? it’s scary, the way they’d do anything for you. kill people for you, abandon everything they know for you, die for you. it’s terrifying. and sooo fucking hot.

specifically eddie and steve…. my god. My God. they’re both just drooling over you, and grovelling for even an ounce of your attention. whimpering and begging by your feet like dogs… its food for thought, eh?  

at first you’re scared of them. they’re always lurking somewhere, far away that they think they won’t be noticed, but they are. you know they’re there. creeping around the bushes, just out of the corner of your eye. they’re always there. changing their schedule when they don’t have any classes with you. they’re a permanent pest that’re always ogling over you. nasty ass stalkers <3. it’s even worse when you notice them beginning to team up. it was bad enough when it was just one of them cornering you, eddie offering you a spot in hellfire every day after class and steve flirting with you every chance he gets or when you stop by the family video store. but both of them? absolute menaces. 

the king and freak of hawkins?  a surprising duo! it’s unheard of. nobody would’ve ever thought of it. nobody would even believe you, and nobody does. and they have their eyes on you. watching you, following you, bothering you, and you’re just so scared. they won’t leave you alone, and nobody seems to believe you, either. they’re just so big, and you’re so small. steve’s always been strong, you know that, and you’ve seen it too. playing on the sports team, roughing around and fighting constantly, you know what he can do. and just because eddie’s thin doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have height. he’s so fucking tall. and not to mention his reputation? even before the whole chrissy incident, he’s had a reputation of being a monster with connections outside of the school. (it’s only reefer rick, but he’s not gonna tell anybody that.)

you try your best to avoid the two of them, but you can’t. not anymore, at least. one of them is always shepherding you into the other. eddie padding behind you after school, and steve always so conveniently positioned. and one day, eddie’s hounding you after school. he’s not stopping either, chatting you’re ear off. you’re not even talking back, just trying to get away from him. schoolbooks clasped tight to your chest, looking at the ground, and he’s just bouncing behind you. you don’t even realize where, and it’s dark out now, how long have you been out? 

you’re immediately snapped out of your thoughts when you hear steve. eddie’s laughing, of course he is, and steve’s cooing at you. you back up, but there’s nowhere else to go. let’s say you’re in the woods, right where eddie does all of his deals, and you have nowhere else to go. you’re trapped in between the both of them, their eyes dilated to the max, and you’re about to cry. 

they’re going to kill you. that’s your only thought, and you start to sob. you close your eyes and wait for something to happen but… nothing does? they back up and give you space. steve’s freaking out, instincts kicking in from having to watch the kids for years, and eddie’s the same, if not worse. 

they’re… pampering you. it’s weird. eddie’s on his knees, grasping at your hand and kissing at your hand trying to make you feel better- to fix his wrongs. steve’s rapidly shooting out questions, “are you okay?” “what’s wrong?” “who hurt you?”

and honestly… you kind of like it. both of the two biggest, baddest guys in hawkins reduced to simpering little idiots? it's a nice change.

Holy shit this is long as fuck. apolocheese.

A-ANON, ANON!!!!!!! YOU......YOUR BRAIN........SUB YANDERE STEDDIE + ANGELFACE.....IM ON MY KNEES.....

ok. breaking this down. the individual stalking aspect: fucking gold. you have both men constantly in your peripheral, Eddie and Steve both fighting for as much time as they can possibly spend with you, and being absolutely nasty stalkers in the process. coming home after a long day of avoiding them both and finding your drawers raided, your cassettes out of order with a couple missing, maybe even your sheets wrinkled and smelling a bit of sweat like someone's been laying in your bed.

maybe one day you walk through the halls at school one day and see Eddie with a bloodied nose, Steve with bruises around his neck and his wrists, and the two guys who usually don't even acknowledge each other are glaring daggers at each other the whole day. but when the marks fade and heal, you start seeing them get a little closer....and they often do so while watching you. when they start sharing those smarmy grins and whispering to each other as they pass by the other in the hallways, that's when you start to really worry.

and you're right, nobody will believe you. the only noticeable change is Steve flirting with you whenever he sees you at school or when you're at the video store, and you should consider yourself lucky. why don't you just go out with him? give the poor guy a chance at least, since he's so nice to you? but the people telling you that don't know how invasive he is, they don't know that you've spotted him hanging around your house late at night and seen him glare down anyone who talks to you. and they don't know that when he leans in close to whisper into your ear, the dirtiest things come out of his mouth that only you can hear. "I just wanna rip that little top off you" and "wish I could fuck you over this counter, sweetheart" and "meet me in the back and I'll make you fall in love", things that make you scurry away from him as fast and as soon as you can manage, leaving him shaking his head and smirking at the back of your head because you're so, so cute when you're playing hard to get. but obviously he needs to be a little more direct.

Eddie, at least, is slightly more believable. but he's much, much sneakier, and way more subtle about his advances than Steve. he's more of a menace--always on your heels every perceivable second of the day, running you ragged with questions and mindless chatter that you never can seem to get away from. and it's not just talk, either--he's always using his stature against you, boxing you against your locker or the picnic table out by the woods, drawing his lips close to yours like he's gonna force a kiss out of you, only to breathe softly against them as he asks you again if you'll join Hellfire. don't you wanna spend some more time with him? he'll even give you a private lesson on D&D, just for you, the cutest student in the whole school. you have to push on his chest to get him to even lean back, before you duck out of his reach and dash away, and he's too giddy from having you touch him to even worry about you getting away and telling someone he was being a creep.

and when he gets you back in the woods after school, corraling you like a little lamb towards the jaws of the wolf, Eddie can't help but have a spring in his step. he can't wait for this one.

when you see Steve waiting there by the trees, leaning against the trunk of one, you immediately back up. but you come to a stop when you hit Eddie's chest, and with a quick glance over your shoulder to make sure he's not gonna get out of the way, you turn your gaze back to see Steve approaching you and fear starts knocking your knees. Eddie holds your shoulders from behind to keep you from running, and when Steve gets close enough to lean down real close to your face, his hand on your chin, the tears spill out of you and you hiccup those choked-up words: "please don't kill me..."

the air changes almost immediately. Steve shakes his head like he can't believe you just said that, his eyes soften, and a "never, baby" escapes him. meanwhile, Eddie turns you around by the shoulders so you're facing him instead, and drops to his knees so he's tilting his head all the way back to look up at you. he grabs your wrist in a strong hand, and pulls your arm closer--and he nuzzles your palm with his face, kissing along each knuckle and all five fingertips while his other hand is braced on your thigh. Steve wraps his arms around your midsection from behind, and coos those sweet words in a reassuring tone "are you okay? did someone hurt you? sweet thing, don't have to be scared of me, okay?"

it shouldn't be so comforting, so satisfying to have them both whimpering for your approval, but it is. they'll do anything to pull that smile out of you, and as soon as they get one, they'll both relax and get even cuddlier in your presence. even though they're the ones who scared you in the first place, and they're the ones who have such an unhealthy attachment to you....but you've been suffering under their thumb for so long, would it be so bad if you took a little bit back from them? torture them a little to get what you want? that seems like more than a fair exchange for the hell they've put you through.

#yandere eddie munson #yandere steve harrington #yandere eddie munson x reader #yandere steve harrington x reader #yandere steddie x reader #eddie's angelface #steve x reader x eddie #st 4 #yandere stranger things #ellie writes #anons #under 1k

[noirs-pages]

Diavolo 1

Summary: A morning with you and your pet Diavolo, who always insists on sleeping with you.

(haaaaa I really hate the grind of this game. Really am spoiled by Arknights, not that it’s a breeze but at least I don’t have to rely on stupid huge numbers for, like, 2 minutes of story. Anyways, house pet au, but obey me this time.)

Honestly, you could never understand the reverence a lot of your fellow ex-students would give towards their own pets. There’s nothing inherently wrong with it, but there’s something about the kind of worship they’d show that would put a bad taste in your mouth. You treat something like a untouchable god, you inevitably end up putting a distance that you’ll never want to cross.

Those students packed on so many rules, they never failed to stifle you just by hearing them. And oh, the amount of times you were forced through lecture after lecture about the “proper” way to respect your pet, like you haven’t had Diavolo for years. All because he just so happens to be a creature that all other pets bow down to.

You must always wait for him to eat before you do. You must give up your bed if he finds it suitable. Never sleep in the same space as him. Clean yourself up, as your conduct reflects his. Correct your stance, as you must hold up to the reputation such as creature has.

Fuck off.

You can imagine all those high class people clutching at their pearls when you woke up to Diavolo flat on the back of your head, all four wings spread right over your face and ears like he’s trying to keep the sun’s leaking rays out. His little claws were lightly hooked on your scalp, just to keep himself from sliding down.

You reached up, slowly nudging the dozing creature off your head and onto the pillow next to you. Naturally, the loss of warmth woke him up, though he wasn’t fully alert. He looked ready to fall back asleep but he could never sleep without you nearby. You sat up, allowing Diavolo to crawl and curl into your lap. His leathery wings twitched and flapped and you couldn’t resist smoothing your thumb over them.

“Mornin’ little guy,” you sighed out, patting his back of dark red scales with flecks of gold. "You're more tuckered out than usual, huh?"

No matter how many years have passed, you still find his pattern to be fascinating. The vibrancy of that gold was suiting for his status, though even with that fact made apparent to you time and time again, it still felt far away.

The most powerful pet known to anyone, as you’ve been told, and yet it has not clicked with you. Diavolo is just Diavolo to you. Nothing more than a small demonic dragon that wants to be spoiled by your touches.

“Hm?” the curtains of your room weren’t exactly the blackout kind, but there’s just enough darkness to highlight the vein-like patterns on a certain pet’s tail. “Oh, it’s you. Morning. Shouldn’t you be with Solomon?”

And, of course, the little critter with the odd skeletal wings for horns never said a word to you beyond a very slow blink.

“You here for Diavolo again?” you laid back down, losing all motivation to get up, “Well, you’re gonna have to wait. I’m still tired.”

After Solomon’s trip up a mountain for a specific flower for his potions, you need all the rest you can get. He may be letting you stay here in his house, but your body was a thing with limits and you’re not about to exceed them. He can stand to let you be a little selfish, especially since, if you ever wanted to leave, his little pet Barbatos would follow you.

Somehow or another, Diavolo managed to charm him and it’s been a thing Solomon has never let go of. It’s hilarious, really.

"You can get on the bed if you want. I won't tell Solomon." Anyways, you’ll get up in about an hour. Nothing too bad.

#obey me #omswd #noir's pages #noir's pages exclusive #drabble #demon lord's castle #diavolo #(om) house pet au #nightbringer #reader insert

[hermajestyimher]

Individuality Series Part I: Do You Really Need That Relationship to be Happy?

It seems like for many the thought of living life without a companion by their side, even if for a short period of time, is unbearable. And it's hard to blame them for it. From birth, we are bombarded by society to believe that we must be inadequate if we don't pursue romantic relationships and prioritize them in our lives. This is especially true for women and girls.

I am here to tell you that not only is there nothing wrong with singleness, but it can actually be a blessing in disguise.

I've always been an individual, since childhood I've stood out from the crowd, and while like many other children my age I daydreamed of fantasies of being with prince charming and what my life may look like as I grew up with a boyfriend and later husband, dating was never at the forefront of my life growing up. Now, as a young adult who is working very hard to make a name for herself, I've come to realize that much of the pressure we often put on ourselves to be in a relationship is unnecessary and quite frankly, toxic.

Not only is today's dating scene completely awful in many ways - especially for women with high standards for themselves and others - but the hyper fixation we often times give to having a partner often times derails us from our long-term goals and puts us in situations that can potentially harm us n many ways. From STDs, unwanted pregnancies, soul ties, abuse, and control, or simply bad influencing from someone we consider a romantic partner, giving our time, space, and body to those who do not deserve is a recipe for disaster.

There is power in solitude and individuality. There is power in having a clear focus on the things we want out of life and finding joy outside of romantic relationships. Life is full of so many beautiful experiences awaiting for us to tune into them, but we need to have a clear and clean state of mind to do so, and this is impossible when all our attention goes towards trying to impress and be with people who can only push us down.

This isn't to say that romantic relationships are inherently harmful - far from it. But for those who are interested in being in one, it's always best to allow them to develop naturally when you least expect it. To ensure that you aren't desperate to be in one and end up settling for people you know are not a good fit for the sake of being in one.

When you are secure in yourself and you know you don't need someone to be happy and feel fulfilled, is when you can allow those who are truly great for you into your life at the right time.

#blog piece #singleness #relationships #level up journey

[lovemyromance]

I really hate this rhetoric of antis saying Elain only starts to feel better and snaps out of her depressive state in ACOWAR when Lucien gets there.

*fair warning this is a super long and chaotic post so please bear with me*

For one, it really just shows how they don't understand basic POVs or choose to ignore it. Lucien is not the catalyst to Elain's clarity, he didn't do anything for her when he got there.

His presence was not at all wanted by Elain. He made her uncomfortable. Even Nesta could recognize that and she snarled every time he tried to go near her sister.

From a strictly logical writing perspective, the reason you see correlation between Elain starting to feel better and Feyre & Lucien's arrival in the NC in ACOWAR... is because the story is literally told from Feyre's point of view!!?

How in the seven hells would we as readers even know about Elain's depressive state let alone her feeling better if Feyre (our narrator) isn't there? We don't see how bad it is unless Feyre sees it. We don't see it improving unless Feyre witnesses it.

The fact that Elain starts to recover after Feyre's arrival makes sense because how else would we know if the story is being told through Feyre's point of view?

Feyre notices Lucien try to talk to Elain. She also notices how uncomfortable her sister is around her mate. She immediately voices "What if the cauldron was wrong", questions if it's possible to reject the bond and now that makes her an unreliable narrator?

You know what Feyre also notices?

When Majda says "A mate should be able to sense something amiss."

And they bring in Lucien - here's your big moment my dude, tell us how to help her - and he does nothing. He could sense the bond but he couldn't sense anything about Elain. Certainly not enough to tell what was amiss.

The most he ever did was say "She needs fresh air." Not, as the antis would have you believe, sunlight. He says she needs fresh. air. After a long internal monologue how she's been cooped up in her room for far too long.

Also, Azriel wasn't even present to hear Lucien say that. But the moment he carried her (bridal style, but who's keeping notes?) to the townhouse, he offers to show her the garden.

And he was the one to figure out Elain was a Seer.

And people keep yapping "Oh he figured out what Elain's powers were that's not what was wrong with her. Her powers are not WRONG. Rhys figured out Nesta's powers. Oh he just wanted a new weapon for the NC." Stop that. You look like clowns 🤡.

He figured out her powers. And she got better. Her powers inherently were not wrong, but but she was being assaulted with visions she did not ask for nor understand. Poor girl probably thought she was hallucinating and going crazy. It was what was wrong with her. The fact that she had all these crazy visions, and she did not know what was happening.

The second Azriel figures out her powers, Elain immediately feels better. Don't believe me? Look at the text:

(+ bonus of the High Lady observing another way Elriel makes sense)

Also, you know what is Especially, Really, Super Interesting? When Lucien tries to help and says "she needs fresh air".

Nesta immediately says "We'll judge what she needs."

But then -

Later, after the attack in the library, Elain tells them about the other cursed queen. Even Nesta is tired, not ready to hear her "crazy talk". Lucien asks "should we-does she need.." looking to figure out if they should help her.

But Azriel? He is the first person to listen to her. Not Nesta, Not Feyre, certainly not Lucien. He asks her a question, treats her like normal and asks "What other?"

He knew. Somehow - he figured out she was a Seer. He knew she would like to sit in the garden. He knew she doesn't need anything.

And y'all can debate all you want. But he figured it out when her mate could not. He understood what Elain needed, without her having to say it.

Also, antis always like to use the excuse of "we don't know what's going on with Elucien, we'll know more in their POV" but then with their whole chest, like to say how Azriel didn't at all help Elain before Feyre was there.

How. Do. You. Know. That?

Feyre = Narrator. No narrator present = we don't know what happened! It's simple? You can't make that point with such confidence if you don't know.

You also can't say "Oh why didn't she get better without Feyre and why didn't Azriel figure it out before?" Because why tf would SJM write such an important part of her plot off page, without our narrator (Feyre) being there to witness it?? What tells a greater story:

Readers being witness to the depressive state of Elain, her confusion, her ramblings, then Azriel figuring out she's a Seer and she immediately gets better

OR

Readers apparently come to know that while Feyre was out, Elain went crazy depressive but now she's fine because Azriel figured out she's a Seer now (whatever that means) don't worry? Why even mention it then? That would be 2 paragraphs of text vs. multiple chapters. Where would be the drama, the intrigue?

Come on people. Please stop with the reaches. It is getting very tiring how you are twisting canon moments and being flat out incorrect with canon to prove your weak points.

Like, one of the Eluciens biggest argument is about "Elain saying she needs sunshine" and Lucien saying "She needs the sun." When he literally does not say that? He says she needs fresh air. Sure he is the Heir to Day Court, but he's not the HL yet. He doesn't even know that yet. His symbolism has always been flames, not sunshine.

Why should we take anything seriously when their "canon backed evidence" is wrong?

Also just as a fun little ending to this super chaotic post: here's a cutesy snippet I found in ACOWAR about Azriel's shadows when he calms himself down (aka them disappearing is also not bad for the millionth time)

The shadows lightened ... into sunshine.

But please, keep talking about how Elain needs the sun and Azriel needs someone to handle his darkness and yada yada yada. 🫶🏼🫶🏼

#elriel #azriel #elain archeron #pro elain #elain x azriel #acotar #elain #antielucien

[thephilosopheroftheboudoir]

PAUL REUBENS WAS AN HONORARY PUNK

My earliest memory of Paul Reubens was his role in Cheech and Chong’s Nice Dreams where he played a coke dealer. Cheech and Chong give him all their money to buy some toot but Pee Wee disappears. They track him down, only to find he is a patient at a psychiatric hospital and they have to wander through a crowd of lunatics only to find that he is mentally too far gone to tell them what he did with their money. If you watch any DVD’s of this movie that were made after 1988, you will notice this scene has been permanently deleted.

So a few later, I was getting involved with the small but growing hardcore punk scene in my city. Pee Wee’s Big Adventure was released in the theaters around then. It was an instant success and I went to see it three times. By the second and third viewing I started to recognize that more and more audience members were people I knew from the punk scene.

Many of us in the counter-culture loved Pee Wee. For one thing, many of us rode bicycles. It was our second favorite form of transportation behind skateboards since most people we knew couldn’t afford cars back then. City buses were still the primary method of movement in a dark city where wind, rain, and snow were the norm. But when the sun came out, we rode around in packs on our bikes. Any time there was a show, you could see them chained up by the dozens somewhere near the venue. They were our vehicles out of our world. We rode them in the moonlit cemeteries. They were safer than public transport when we went off to buy drugs. Sometimes we rode out to the suburbs to go pool hopping; that meant skinny-dipping, uninvited of course, in people’s back yards while they slept comfortably in their beds. That stunt ended one night when some guy fired a shotgun at us from his bedroom window.

Being the city kids that we were, we got used to our bicycles disappearing. It was always the same. No matter what kind of lock we used, somebody from the deep inner city used their ingenuity to find some way to pick the lock or cut the chain and they always left a beat up old bike in its place, the kind of rickety thing that looked like it had been stripped of all its parts, beat down and battered to the point where some kid knew if he didn’t ride it one last time out to the edge of the city to steal a better one, he would be bikeless for a long time to come.

When Pee Wee Herman’s bike got stolen, it resonated with us punks like nothing else ever could.

Pee Wee was one of us. It wasn’t just that his bicycle got pinched in Pee Wee’s big Adventure, he was also an inherently subversive character. He lived in some nether-world where he was not quite a child but not quite a man. His friends were all unapologetically freaks and weirdos, some of which were of other races and some of which even had mohawks. When his bike got stolen, he lost his soul. It was a hero’s journey through the underworld of America, the story of a man who knew when he found that one missing piece all the magic would return to his life. Punks were often people who felt that same absence, When we spiked our hair, ripped out clothes, donned combat boots or Chuck Taylors, drove pins through our noses, and sliced up our arms with razors, we were embarking on our own journey through the underbelly of the world, one that involved drugs, alcohol, slam dancing, record collecting, and sex between cars in restaurant parking lots. If you ever wonder why your car door handle is sticky, I can tell you there is a sickly humorous reason for that. Sometimes we spent nights in jail and had fist fights on street corners with conservatives who didn’t approve of our way of living free in a supposedly free society. If you think the MAGA crowd is anything new, you are wrong; these Republican maggots started crawling out of the rotten woodwork all the way back in the 1980s. But our bikes were like magic carpets that, at times, could transport us to some place better.

It gets deeper than a stolen bike though. As punks we called ourselves anarchists. However wrongheaded and naive that might have been, it’s what we thought we were and we hated the establishment. Pee Wee’s bike was stolen by Francis, a perfect symbol of capitalist greed. Francis was an immature, trust-fund baby and a bully who could use his dorky father’s money to get anything he wanted. What he wanted was Pee Wee’s bike so he payed some 1950s rocker with a greasy DA and a pack of cigarettes rolled up in the short sleeve of his undershirt to steal it. In the end, Francis didn’t really want the bike. What he really wanted was for Pee Wee NOT to have the bike. See, the bicycle is the one thing that made Pee Wee Herman happy and happiness was what Francis coul not have because, true to the nature of a capitalist pig, he always wants more than what he has. He dealt with his misery by making others miserable and so the bike got stolen and sent away. Pee Wee’s jounrey to find it began there. If there ever was a prototype of Rush Limbaugh, Francis was it. This movie came out four years into the Reagan administration so it doesn’t surprise me that it sticks a finger in the eye of Republican party economics. Seeing Francis get his come-uppance made us cream in our jeans.

Along the way to Hollywood via the Alamo, Pee Wee Herman made friends with a whole cast of characters and all of them were outsiders. He hitched a ride with an escaped convict, for instance, and together they outsmarted the police. ACAB. He shared an intimate moment with a waitress who dreamed of escaping from her marriage to a redneck and flying off to Paris the way Dorothy dreams about some where over the rainbow in the colorful land of Oz. (Try watching Pee Wee’s Big Adventure and The Wizard of Oz back to back and notice all the parallels). Pee Wee also got inducted into an outlaw motorcycle club.

Pee Wee even makes friends with a homeless man while train hopping, something us punks could relate to as well. We liked hanging out with the bums in our city. One of them used to shoplift porn magazines and sell them to us at discount prices so he could buy bottles of Thunderbird or Mad Dog. That’s the kind of $3 rotgut that will fuck you up even worse than a 40 oz. malt liquor. While no two bottles of Mad Dog ever taste the same, the flavor approximates some unholy combination of cough syrup, vomit, and rubbing alcohol. Some say that at higher quantities of consumption it can even be hallucinogenic. And then there was also an African-American guy with blue eyes named Ulysses; we used to drink Bully Hill with him in the alleyways and he was one of the most kind-hearted and humorous men we’ve ever met. We’d buy him food just to hear the stories he’d tell. Then one day I saw him well-dressed and selling newspapers on a street corner. The headlines said something about UFO’s coming to save Black people from white America. Ulysses had joined the Nation of Islam. Oh well, at least he is now sober and off the streets. I wish you the best, Ulysses.

And punks always loved animals. We loved our dogs. We loved our cats. Some of us kept rats, iguanas, and snakes as pets. So speaking of snakes, what did Pee Wee do when he saw the pet shop burning? He rescued all the animals and in the end he even rescued the snakes even though he obviously didn’t like them. Punks were the snakes of American society and Pee Wee was on our side.

Finally, what could be more punk than sticking your middle finger in the face of the Hollywood establishment? Pee Wee’s bike ends up as a prop in a Hollywood movie. He snatched it and rode away, wrecking movie sets as he went. Instead of arresting him, they decide to make a movie based on his life. But look at the movie they made. It is a pretentious, no-brain blockbuster with perfect looking actors that bear no resemblance to the real life events that inspired it. The movie uses postmodern framing by using the medium to critique the fake and shallow medium of the Hollywood film industry.

Then there is one final question. Who was Pee Wee’s family? Did he have any parents? How old was he anyways? Punks were part of the latchkey kid generation. We either grew up in a one-parent home or else both our parents were absent from our lives because it took two working adults to support a family with children. As teenagers we ran free and encountered the adult world at a very early age. Pee Wee Herman appeared to have no role models in his life and had to find his own way around. That was what hardcore punk was all about. We couldn’t fix the world’s problems so we created our own scene and did things our own way. FTW (fuck the world). If you didn’t like us you had best stay away.

Pee Wee’s Big Adventure become one of those movies you can watch over and over again without getting bored, making frequent appearances at cult classic film festivals, revival theaters, and occasional TV reruns. There were many times we watched it through the bleary haze of bong smoke and blurred whisky vision, maybe while coming down from an acid trip or two or three. It is like an old familiar friend that is always happy to see you for the sake of sharing old memories and telling half-forgotten jokes.

Pee Wee Herman’s next move as an honorary punk came in the late 1980s when his television show Pee Wee’s Playhouse went on the air. The Residents played the theme song. How cool was that for underground music fans? Although it was meant for kids, some of the jokes were a little bit naughty. Pee Wee and the genie’s head in a box sang a song about hiney-holes and a female dancer lifted one leg in the air while standing on the toes of her other foot and Pee Wee took a peak up her skirt, only to be given a reprimanding look from the dancer when she saw what he was up to.

A couple years later the big bombshell hit the news. Paul Reubens had been caught masturbating in an adult movie theater in Florida. My immediate reaction was not, “Oh my god, what a pervert.” Actually I was just shocked that they still had adult movie theaters in Florida while they had gone the way of the dodo bird everywhere else. Hadn’t people there ever heard of VCR’s? Florida must be a pretty fucked up place, I thought. I still think so to this day. The fact that Pee Wee played with himself in the porno playhouse never really phased me though I still wonder why it is a crime to whip it out while in a darkened theater, watching movies of people fucking. America sure does have some stupid laws. Don’t even get me going on the legality of drinking alcohol like how dumb it is to make the drinking age 21 thanks to that asshole Ronald Reagan or why we are obsessed with hating drunk driving while so few bars are within walking distance of people’s homes. Europeans sorted these kinds of things out centuries ago. It is like the government wants us to get caught screwing up. Rich capitalist pigs like Francis are getting their miserable way at our expense.

Soon after the arrest of Paul Reubens, I went to a punk show at a bar. The singer of the band called out, “I don’t know how many of you heard, but Pee Wee Herman got arrested for jerking off in a porn theater. How many of you hate him more know that you know this?” About half the audience cheered. Then he asked “How many of you love him more now?” Again, about half the audience cheered. Oh yeah, we loved him even more because his mugshot made him look like a Hells Angel. The biggest audible difference between the first and second cheers was that the former was mostly women and the latter was mostly men. By 1991, the mean-girl Andrea Dworkin style of anti-porn feminism had infected the punk scene like an STD. If you think polarization in America is a Trump-era phenomenon, guess again. It just seems that way because internet pundits and the media keep drawing our attention to it even though the hate has always been there.

Just a few years ago, I heard an interview with Paul Reubens on NPR. They asked the question of what message he wanted to send to the world. His answer, and I paraphrase, was “It’s OK to be different. You don’t have to be like everybody else.” It’s so simple, so true, and so sad that so few people understand what this means. And it's so "punk-is-an-attitude" up your fucking ass.

Good bye Paul Reubens and thank you for the memories. Thank you for the wisdom you shared. Thank you for being an inspiration, an idol and an icon for those of us who follow Jimi Hendrix’s advice and wave our freak flags high. You are forever an honorary member of the hardcore punk community.

#paul reubens #pee wee herman #punk #writing #obituaries #hardcore punk

[mistymem0ryy]

The bliss of a nightly coffee

Yandere Zhongli x Reader (Fem)

Summary: In which you and Zhongli take a train towards the capital, and the scenery reminds you of the love you once held for each other.

Author's notes:  this story is partially based upon my ever constant train rides and the intriguing people I happen to see in them… In this scenario Zhongli is a renowned history professor and the reader is coded as also being in academia (the prestige and the subject of her role are left for the reader to decide). It is underlined throughout the story that Zhongli comes from not only a far wealthier background than reader but also possesses a far more traditional outlook on life than reader. (so sort of modern AU??)

TW: indications of alc0h0l, possible drugg1ng and just yandere themes in general?

No beta, we survive the trenches this way.

If there was something within this life from which you could always find a morsel of unreasonable contentment, it would certainly be 1st class train voyages.

There is a fantastical element inherent to their glamorous silence, a distancing comfort to be found slithering away within the limits of an empty carriage.

Some years ago, such overbearingly enchanting ambiance would have made you shiver in an anxious, and perhaps even futile, attempt at controlling your senses. But much has changed since then. You have learnt to bear the cold.

What they never tell you about this sort of high-grade carriages is that all human warmth vanishes from its encasing, it crawls away into the opposite confines of the racing locomotive, reaching its warm fingertips towards the lingering chatter tucked away from diamond adorned ears. It’s as if the laws of thermodynamics had their ticket confiscated - thermal equilibrium but a mere folktale traded from mouth to mouth.

You can never find within yourself the firm decision to either devote your adoration to the rushing nature beyond the tainted windows or to contemplate the inner workings of the countless adornments within your carriage. 

Eventually you decided to draw your gaze away from the rushing fields, there was nothing there left for you.

Rococo with an uncanny mixture of neoclassical decor and an added aroma of Turkish coffee that made you sight from the sheer delectability of it. You have been abstaining from tea as much as possible these days. You aren’t able to clearly point out the reason why but coffee simply happens to feel more enjoyable. Warmer. Safer.

You have tasted enough coffee in your life to know if something’s wrong.

You stretch your fingers towards the pastry patiently waiting within its porcelain platter, a raspberry macaroon, not too big, not too small, the aroma it exudes carries with it a sugary scent, a freshness you've been craving for a long time.

You close your eyes as your lips meet the firm shell of the pastry once shared between Italian monks and later on between French aristocrats, shutting your sight away so that your taste buds may enjoy the smooth ganache to the fullest. 

But, as with any miraculous comfort in this life, a fruitless end must too be met. Your moment of bliss is ripped away from you as a gloved hand meets your partially naked shoulder. Fingers nearing the laced cord whose firmness held a beguiling jade stone in place, gracefully adorning the slight valley between your collar bones. You do not have to open your eyes to know to whom that hand belongs to.

Fine leather, the work of a seamstress who has mastered her craft with years of hardship. Yves Saint Laurent Autumn collection. A pair of gloves that could have paid your rent back in university. The surface is supposed to be comforting, delicate even, and yet its texture makes your skin crawl by some unexplored aversion. As you open your eyes your sight lands first and foremost upon the dark glove nearing your neck, they were beautiful, you had chosen them for him after all, there was always this glowing look upon his features every time you cowered to his whims and went on the ‘retail therapy sessions’ he so advocated for. 

Most of the time they were simple excuses for him to blow entire checks on bags you would only wear once or twice. Countless pieces of gold jewelry that he would ‘oh so graciously’ request the store’s employees to put upon your skin himself. Fingertips glazing over collarbones and warm breaths reaching for your exposed skin making your body freeze in sudden alert.

You have been married for years. A marriage built upon a fruitful relationship, which in its turn was constructed upon one of the greatest friendships you’ve ever had the blessing of creating. And yet it was always there, lingering. This fear you find no rational justification for.

It's moments like these that take you back to your early university days. When the fear wasn’t that prominent, perhaps it hadn’t taken root yet, or perhaps it had always been there, hiding beneath the layering soil of the earth, only to take bloom once you had buried yourself too deep to the point where escape was but a mere fantasy.

‘I have been looking for you my dear.’

His voice comes out honeyed and sickly sweet, like a tarte tatin, freshly cooked from a little boulangerie in the south of France. You remember visiting it with Zhongli during your first year together, you had been the one to order since your French was better than his. You had taken a childish pride in knowing that at least in this scenario you happened to possess the upper hand. Back in the day you did not read much into this sentiment, though your present self genuinely wished you had done so. 

Your desire towards saccharine things has become much more prominent as of late, they make your teeth ache in momentary torture but even the pain has its own characteristic bliss.

‘Did you hear me, my love?’

Your eyes finally meet his, they are lightly covered by his growing bangs, the contrast between his dark strands and his golden eyes makes it look as if each of his orbs have been divided in two. It gives him a certain dragonic look you were never afraid to point out even when you were mere acquaintances. His tall stature and classic manner of holding himself always gave you the notion that he carried something sacred, something ancient within him. There was a certain allure to the renowned history professor that always made everyone stop momentarily and simply be carried away by this archaic aura surrounding him.

‘I am sorry… I wasn’t here, could you repeat it?’

‘I asked you if you think it is wise to be drinking coffee at this hour?’

Though a stranger would only be capable of perceiving the teasing tone within his statement, you could clearly discern the underlying patronizing approach of his question, not exactly in a condescending manner and yet not too far away from it either.

‘I find that independently of the hour, there is nothing as comforting as a cup of coffee, does it bother you in any way?’

You were testing the waters. Not too confronting to cause him insult and yet not too diminishing in order to cause your own ego injury. These days you never knew what could set Zhongli off. Or yourself for that matter.

‘It is not exactly a matter of bothering me, rather it is a preference of being able to sleep alongside my wife without all the shuffling that is provided from someone with an overly caffeinated body’

To that statement no quick or witty stab back could be brought forth. It was true. Night and sleep haven’t been your dearest companions as of late, but you knew for certain that caffeine had nothing to do with the matter. It was mostly unspent energy, guarded anger you feared to let out all at once for you could not clearly predict the following consequences. So you did what you thought wisest and held it encased within your body, it sipped out slowly but surely, its presence made known in the lightest of manners possible. Be it troubled sleep, long periods of spacing out or a recurrently reappearing frown within your features.

In your own defense you did not think you would stay in the train for such a long period of time, you had only been told to pack your bags in order to accompany your husband to one of his academic conferences in the capital, naively thinking that once he started the engine of his car he would take you both to the nearest airport. But it had not been the case, your husband had decided that it was certainly the best moment within your relationship to surprise you with a 5 day long luxury train voyage towards your initial destination, yet again without any regard to your view upon the matter itself.

In a way, you gathered all your forces in order to rationalize Zhongli’s actions. He is an intelligent man. You married one of the most well known Professors of his field for god’s sake. You knew the strength it took to survive academia and though Zhongli certainly had the upper hand due to his family history, his achievements could not all be simply reduced to his family name.

Perhaps this was all some sort of reaction to your breakdown some weeks ago, in a way you certainly regret it, but in another you definitely saw it coming. You like to tell yourself that Zhongli was attentive enough to see it coming too. 

There wasn’t really any sort of revelation that made you blow up in the heat of the moment, rather it was a prolonged and painful accumulation of both annoyance and rage,clambering one on top of another until a single comment and annoyed sigh made it all fall apart from its static grandeur.

‘If your job at university bothers you so deeply I have offered you previously the comfort necessary to leave it, yet you always deny it.’

You liked to think that he himself did not consider the possibility that you would trade all of those hard earned diplomas to fulfill whatever fantasy marinated in his head ever since you both attended one of his friends' wedding.

 Before that night, he had never mentioned it to you in such direct speech and such a face to face approach, about how he wished for children, your undivided attention, family vacations and you always and strictly by his side. He had been slightly inebriated, too much osmanthus wine you presumed. The mention of ‘the measures to which he would go in order to be sure of your safety within his own embrace alone’ were enough to cut the conversation immediately. Blame it on the alcohol, you reassured yourself. 

You had reacted badly, but in all honestly who could blame you at this point, you did not want Zhongli to tell you that if you were in such distress you could always become his fulltime housewife, you wanted him to give you strength and be there for you whenever the circumstances got worse. And yet, the prospect itself of leaving your job and living off of Zhongli’s wealth wasn’t what struck the most dread within your already dismaying mind, rather it was the look that took over his features while he mulled over such thoughts. 

How his eyes quickly darkened and a slight smirk pushed the ends of his lips towards his rose tinted cheeks. Blame it on the alcohol, you pleaded yourself.

You guessed that, even within the most reputable and honorable of men, selfishness had its way of slithering into one's tongue, scales rushing through the soaring throat and from there finally reaching into the pumping heart, that is of course, if the heart itself hasn’t been overturned into one of its countless dominions already.

The same man that revealed to you the sickest of desires through a gaze alone, now looked at you with a mixture of concern and scrutiny swarming within his golden eyes.

‘Perhaps a chamomile tea will permit your nerves to be calmed? We wouldn't want you to reach our destination enveloped in complete exhaustion now would we, my gem?’

‘NO- I mean, I- there is no need… I have told you countless times that the tea here makes me nauseous, will you stop nagging me with it for a second…’ Annoyance was all you could procure to hide away your true concerns, you could not shiver in front of him nor make too drastic a move, you even made a point of not looking too inquisitively towards the outside world beyond the windows. 

You had made countless ventures towards the capital during your early adult years, memories of visiting your old companion Beidou or going antique hunting with Zhongli during the initial stages of your friendship flooded your memory as if in a sudden flash. A 7 hour long train ride you usually had to book in advance to get the best deals as a struggling university student, a 7 hour long train ride that you had shared with friends and acquaintances that have come and gone, a 7 hour long train ride whose destiny certainly wasn’t the same you were previously made believe you were now heading towards. 

You cannot be certain when and how you noticed it, if it was the outside fauna that simply did not sit well with your fading memory, if it was the fervent way Zhongli made sure whatever words were shared between you and the staff were not enough to make them linger for long, if it was his embrace that once a source of delight and comfort now became one of alarm and wariness.

‘There is no need to show such intense aversion to it my dear, I would only add one or two valerian roots, nothing too drastic.’ The mirth dripping from his tongue nearly made you convulse. The heavy grip upon your shoulder lessened while long fingers reached for your chin, forcing your gaze to remain connected to his own.

‘Now let’s go back to our carriage, I believe you are in dire need of a good night of sleep, if it were not for my constant nagging that you so seem to dislike, how could you ever hope to survive this by yourself?’ He lightly chuckled after a careful change of intonation to smooth over the unfamiliar underlinings of his phrase.

If that wasn’t meant to be a threat then you did not know what it was meant to be. The abruptness of his words was accompanied by a sudden pang of fatigue throughout the entirety of your body. You are tired, you have been so tired for so long. It was as if exhaustion had suddenly reached for your throat and forbade you from even uttering a plea against its relentless grip. But how could you even dare to fight against it? Perhaps fighting wasn't even a viable choice anymore.

Could you even find comfort in alienating your own self from reality and bathing in fantasies of the past for much longer? Could you keep telling yourself there was nothing wrong with the windows? With the decor? With the coffee?

You could feel an amalgam of tears creeping its way from the ends of your torpid eyes, and yet you fought their arrival valiantly despite being fully aware of their inevitable fall. You could not find any feasible explanation for why you felt so much so suddenly, it was as if the control over your physique had been stolen and now somebody else spoke through its movements, through its urgings, through its lechery.

Until some days ago you genuinely and wholeheartedly believed that you were the person who knew Zhongli the best. Now you have been struck with the realization that you could not be further from the truth. 

Your mind wanders through sleepless nights spent restfully within the embrace of silk sheets and the warmth of golden eyes, through rushed visits to the archeological museum before its closing time so he could explain the historical background of some new exposition, through shared cups of tea during nightfall and an offered mug of your most coveted home brewed coffee the morning following, through discussions of philosophical movements alongside some osmanthus wine and inebriated laughter, through sudden embraces and rushing kisses that procured every single confine of your body as if to consume you whole.

Before your mind could even return wholly to reality, your body had already been laid upon cotton sheets perfumed with agarwood and slight notes of bergamot. Or was it patchouli? You could definitely uncover some layers of patchouli and perhaps even some modest nudges of vanilla here and there.

All of a sudden your careful analysis of smell was obstructed by an intense scent of ripe apricots alongside that of a honeyed autumn breeze touched by floral nuances you have grown familiar with over the years.

You smelt it before you heard it reach your husband’s crystal cup. 

Osmanthus wine.

You wanted to garner the strength to ask him where you were going, what were his intentions and if this was the reason behind his insistence on you taking the majority of his favorite pieces of your jewelry collection on this ‘trip’.

You knew Zhongli wasn’t a man of sudden changes, he took time as a relic and would never cower beneath sudden urges, so for how long had he been planning this? For how long had you been sleeping encaged by the warm embrace of the man that was planning to do god knows what with you?

The silent carriage was abruptly occupied by a deep gulp and a purging sight. You could hear footsteps approaching and yet you couldn't even twist your body towards their direction. Could you yell for help? And if you did would anyone even hear you? Come for you? Or would they instead have their worries ‘proven’ irrational by a charismatic smile of the man now lingering over you?

‘I am deeply sorry that things had to reach this point, my love’ 

No you’re not. 

His features were twisted and yet harmonious. You knew what his sorrowful face looked, or perhaps you did not at all. Perhaps you had fooled yourself into believing you could know someone as well as yourself when you could barely hope for a slight tinge of human honesty. 

‘Know simply that every single action I take is taken with the intent of proving to you that there is no place in this world crafted for yourself besides my own arms, I have given you years to wander about and reach that conclusion by yourself but I fear that you have become more unruly than I forethought….’ He kisses your forehead as one would kiss that of a lover on a moonless night, his lips still veiled with a light coat of expensive wine and a thousand lies.

At this moment, you could hope for many things, you could pray to some metaphysical entity inhabiting realms beyond the material, you could even plea for mythological furies to avenge what is to come, but perhaps blissful ignorance was the only thing potent enough to keep you ashore now.

Blame it on the alcohol, you implored yourself.

Blame it on anything, except the man you swore to love until the grip of hades were too much to bear.

#genshin impact #zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #archons #archon #genshin #genshin imagines #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere zhongli #yandere zhongli x reader #yandere zhongli x you #fanfic #morax #morax x reader #modern au #husband zhongli #husband zhongli x reader #fem reader

[trashlie]

Darker ILY Theories: the Shinae + Gun Kim theory

The time has COME. I keep telling myself to write this post but I keep putting it off because honestly, this one makes me feel sick. I’ve been talking about it again with friends while rereading the Black and White Formal arc, and in light of the current FP episode (232) I think it’s time to bring this one back into the fray. 

As a big disclaimer this post deals with sexual assault noncon theories of underage girls. 

Sometime ago I read a theory that Shinae was at the formal for Gun Kim. There’s been so many theories about the formal. Even recently, there’s been talk about the way Yui had Shinae style her hair seeming similar to how Nessa wore hers, and how she insisted that Shinae meet her husband. I don’t think by any means that discounts this theory at all, because Yui sure knows how to multi-task doesn’t she. 

The Kim formal really set up a LOT of story and action. It’s the moment ILY reveals what kind of story it is - not that there weren’t hints and clues before, because we could already see the discord in Nol and Kousuke’s relationship’ the stress in Shinae’s life and her fight with her father; the money struggles; her friends. But the formal introduced so many elements. It showed us how off Alyssa and Nol’s relationship is. It showed us how sinister Yui really is. It fully introdduced Sangchul and how lecherous he is. The Chess theory, the manipulation, the drugs, all of it was at the forefront finally.

And also, we met Gun Kim. 

Gun is interesting, because he’s the character we know the least about at this point - and his eyes are always closed. He’s always felt sketchy, even as far back as the black and white formal itself. The characters even comment on it. What is someone who looks like Shinae doing at this formal? Mr. Kim likes all women. 

Now that we know how chummy the Kims and Yui/the Hiraharas are, the more sinister it feels. Gun Kim, with his several connections to media conglomorates. Gun Kim, whose father* stepped down from his position as CEO of Hirahara Corp due when facing several sexual assault charges. Gun Kim, father to Sangchul Kim whose prep school has been rife with sexual abuse cases. 

(* presumably Gun’s father. Youngchul Kim. Sangchul Kim. It checks out)

At the time, maybe he didn’t seem SO bad. A negligent father. A womanizer, a playboy. But in light of what we’ve learned, I think we can revisit the scene and find some clues laid out, waiting for their time to come. 

He makes his grand appearance - convincing the bartender to give underage girls alcohol. Even without the later context, this is terrible, but now that we know what we know.... it feels even more skeevy, even more dangerous. Letting young girls drink, get intoxicated, so that they’re easier for him. Ugggh. 

He sure makes himself real comfortable with the girls, too. Sure, there’s nothing inherently wrong with this. What a gracious host. But we know better. And we also know you don’t put your hands on people who don’t even know you. Seeing Alyssa’s face, you wouldn’t ordinarily think anything of her smile mask; she uses it all the time, why would this be any different. But in light of ep 232.... I’ll try to save all my 232 posts for the end so I can put it under a readmore and avoid spoilers. 

Isn’t it weird, that he can instantly recognize Shinae? Oh sure, maybe it’s because someone who doesn’t know who he is isn’t from this world, so she has to be Yui’s special guest. And look, Yui and Gun are business partners. Friends, even, since Sangchul seems to know so much about Nol and his family via Gun. Through who else would they know about Nol and his not-much-of-a relationship with Alyssa? So, surely Yui has told Gun about Shinae, since she’s the topic of Kousuke’s interest, right? 

But no, I feel horribly, uneasily certain that Yui has shown Gun pictures of Shinae, described her to him, maybe even told him how much fun she is. How she’s got so much personality, that he’ll just enjoy her. Even typing this makes me feel ill ugh. The thought that Gun and Yui are in cahoots not simply by way of business but by way of an even darker, more sinister business is fucking horrifying. 

So not only does he instantly recognize her for who she is but 

Is it wrong to pay her a compliment? It’s not like he said anything inappropriate. And yet. And yet Shinae is uncomfortable. And yet he is a stranger, a man she doesn’t know, acting too friendly, someone who already knows of her. Danger, danger, danger, danger!

This man gives me the creeps SO MUCH and it’s everything about THIS. His expression, those closed eyes, something about him feels smug and smarmy. Everybody gets drink, everybody gets inebriated, everybody gets to have fun. He’s gross, he’s disgusting, he’s encouraging drinking. We know what kind of fun a man like him wants to see and have. 

And he’s not simply enabling underage drinking. 

Even after Nol expresses that he doesn’t want a drink, he’s still pushed to have one, still expected to be “respectful of the host”. The host who is pushing alcohol on minors!!! Like, even on its own that’s clearly beyond irresponsible, because you can definitely get the sense that he wants to see what happens when a bunch of kids loosen up, when they all let down their inhibitions, when they all get sloppy and start making mistakes. Like, let’s not pretend otherwise. He wouldn’t be encouraging the drinks at all if he didn’t want something to happen, if he wasn’t hoping for that to transpire. 

Like, really mull over that for a moment.

The word choice that’s used here is important, both for the things said and unsaid. Kousuke and Nol may have met Sangchul for the first time, but they’re not stranger to Gun I’m sure. I can’t imagine this is the first Kim formal they’ve had to attend, and even if so, everyone in attendance seems to know Gun’s reputation. Sangchul is one of six children - but only one of two from the same woman. How many women has he been married to? How many more has he simply been with? 

And how many of them young. Or against their will? 

Sangchul didn’t learn his tactics from no one, let’s not forget that. 

Sangchul only knows coercion, bribery, blackmailing, manipulation. If you’ve got a hot girl, you must’ve ha to force her hand, must’ve had to black mail her to get her to agree. It could never be as simple as a girl just liking him, no. It must be some seedy, skeevy, manipulative tactic. 

Sexual assault runs in the family. Sangchul learned from watching his father, who no doubt learned from Youngchul. When you see women as property, as items, you don’t see them as people. Even if she refuses, they’ll get what they want in the end, won’t they? UGH. 

Kousuke and Nol react in surprise - alarm - because the implications of his wording is creepy. Nol knows Shinae is being forced to attend this formal, she’s not here of her own volition and wouldn’t even accept his offer to safely get her out of there. He probably wonders exactly that - is that why she’s here? And he’s possibly not entirely incorrect. 

Yui sweeps in to note that Gun isn’t being so literal, but we know how those two operate. I think as readers we are meant to read into that. It’s not there just for the boys to become alarm, it’s there for us to understand that Gun is not a safe man for Shinae to go alone with. Especially because as readers we already know Shinae feels off, she’s having a drink, AND the episode has quietly informed us that Sangchul roofied her. 

And this man comes sweeping in, calling Shinae a cutie, promising to introduce her to everyone. 

Even in her addled state, Shinae knows there’s something weird about the use of family, but she’s dazed (she’s drugged), she isn’t feeling right in the head, this whole event has  been a nightmare for her so far, she’s being thrown into situations she’s ill-prepared for, so it’s so easy to gloss over it. 

But the text emphasizes it itself. 

It IS weird.

This is ALL weird. 

Does this not make you feel disgusting? Does this not make you want to scream? He’s talking like she’s a pony or something. A grown man parading a minor around, talking about how she’s a cutie, everything is so perfect, her dress - which is modest only in the front and leaves her whole back and parts of her waist bare - everything. And the question about is she your new wife?

How many other pretty young things has he paraded around like this.

How many other pretty young things has he wed? And how many of them were forced against their will, bribed, manipulated? What did he hold over their heads? 

I don’t have to spell it out. We know. We all know. 

Look at Gun with his eyes closed, that stupid smile on his face. What was it quimchee said of why Mr. Kim’s eyes are always closed? Living is easy with eyes closed. He can turn a blind eye to anything, he can encourage anything. Was the drink too much, he wonders. Was she feeling unwell, he muses. Oh well, it doesn’t matter, my son has her. :) 

Gun Kim is no fool. He’s not naive. He is a horrible, vile man and he knows exactly what he was doing, sending an unwell girl who was previously drinking underage off to “rest” with his creepy, vile fucking son. 

But Ashlie, you’re asking. I thought you said that Shinae is at the formal for Gun, but he knowingly sent her off in that state with his son, surely knowing what kind of horrible thing he’ll do to her. If she’s for him why didn’t he take her?

He’s the host, of course he can’t take her anywhere yet. 

She’s the after party. 

jfkafjkfakjfajkafjkafj GOD that felt gross to write I’m sorry but I just KNOW that’s his line of thinking, I just KNOW that’s what this was supposed to be. Everything went awry when dick-punched Sangchul and escaped. 

We know well enough now that the Kims are just as vile and atrocious, that they breed a special kind of especially horrible violence, that sexual violence is NOTHING to them - perhaps even fun. The way Sangchul needled Nol about Alyssa makes me so sick, because it tells you everything about how he views and treats women, the kinds of things he, too, has probably done. 

All I can think of now is that Yui and Gun are in on this. Of course they are, this is their sleazy empire. Business partners that go further back, deeper than we ever realized. Yui, who has no qualms about playing with peoples’ lives, who gets a thrill out of breaking people down, out of their misery. Gun, who thinks girls and women are ripe for the picking, who enjoys a nice pretty young thing? UGGH UGH UGH death wouldn’t be enough punishment. Prison wouldn’t be enough. NOTHING that happens to them will ever be satisfying enough but GOD I WANT TO SEE THEM TOPPLE AND FALL. 

Spoilers for ep 232 ahead:

I think we can already see how this ties in to the current FP episode, right? 

I had absolutely NO idea he was this close. Like... I’ve worried about his connections to media conglomerates, I’ve worried about the women he’s been with and how Sangchul learned that behavior, but to see him on the other side of the door of the bathroom in which Alyssa is hiding.... horrifying! The way he calls her sweetheart like he’s some placating father, except we know better. The expression on her face when she hears the girls talking about her but worse, when she hears Gun ask if she needs any help. 

It’s her body language when she finally comes out, so meek and small, arms held close to her body like she’s trying to take up as little space as possible.

And it’s the implication that he’s going to drive her himself. Alone. 

Not even a manager to spare for her? Or worse, is he a manager? An agent? Is he her superior in this role? There’s so many horrifying, stomach-churning possibilities and in the end, it doesn’t matter which he is, because the point is: he has that access. 

He doesn’t need to be their manager, their agent. He has connections. He has Yui. He has his name and influence and power and money and most of all, he has dirty little secrets. So much blackmail. So much dirt. 

GOD. 

I’m so fucking scared for Alyssa RUN GIRL RUN GET THE FUCK OUT OF THAT ;___________; 

I’ll put more thoughts in my actual 232 thought dump post but for now: Gun Kim may not have gotten a hold of Shinae, but he’s not left for want is he ;________; 

#I Love Yoo #ILY Brainrot #Shinae Yoo #Gun Kim #Yui Hirahara #there's spoilers but only at the very end and it's marked by a readmore so this is otherwise safe to read just DON'T GO BEYOND lol #i hate this theory because i think it's true #it checks out and oh my god it makes me feel so ill #the reveal that the Kims and Hiraharas go back beyond Yui and Gun's partnership is just horrifying to me #like it's bad enough to be family friends anyway because how else did Sangchul know all those details #but once Yujing revealed how deep things go? god #I hate thissssssssssssssss #I hate that man I hate that witch #no amount of suffering or punishment will EVER be enough for them #Sangchul Kim #Youngchul Kim

[renthony]

May i ask what types of things were different that you found in intersex vs trans spaces?

I say all the following with the caveat that this has been my personal experience. I don't intend to make "everything is always like this in every trans and/or intersex space" blanket statements. There are perfectly lovely trans spaces, there are intersex spaces with a long way to go. It's not black-and-white. It's complex, and I'm only one person with one person's lived experience.

That said:

The biggest general difference I've experienced between trans spaces and intersex spaces is the fixation on birth assignment.

Trans spaces get a very frustrating laser-focus on "AMAB vs AFAB," even toward nonbinary people, and there's a big trend toward ranking the different "kinds" of transphobia. There's been a lot of discussion around tumblr lately on the topic, but I haven't seen very many people point out that it is extremely, aggressively, inherently intersexist.

There is an entire category of discourse circulating tumblr that seems to boil down to "one sex is more oppressed than the other sex, and we're going to argue endlessly about which one it is. Also there are only two Real Sexes and intersex people are actually part of whatever sex they Look Most Like. No, I don't know what the phallometer is."

Meanwhile, my experience in intersex spaces has been much more, "we really don't care about your AGAB, because it was incorrect and doesn't have any inherent bearing on your biology or lived experiences in the slightest." Far, far fewer assumptions get made about my anatomy in intersex spaces, and I've never felt like I'm being passively ranked according my (assumed) AGAB, unlike in plenty of trans spaces where my AGAB gets treated like it should be on my nametag right beside my pronouns.

I've also seen a major difference in the way dysphoria gets discussed. Any sort of "born in the wrong body" narrative is incredibly alienating to me, because I wasn't born in the wrong body, I was just born in my body. Obviously that narrative is alienating to a lot of trans people as well, but it feels doubly alienating as an intersex person in a way I struggle to articulate.

In general, any sort of "transfemmes experience this sort of body stuff, transmascs experience that sort of body stuff" is alienating. I have a mix of traits and experiences that don't match either binary sex, but people try to use "biology" to cram you into a binary even in trans spaces.

If I ever speak up and talk about ways I relate to transfemme people, suddenly it turns into "shut up, theyfab," and if I talk about ways I relate to transmasc people, I start getting misgendered and crammed into the "transmasc" label against my will. I'm not transmasc or transfemme; I'm intersex and nonbinary, and my AGAB tells you absolutely nothing about my anatomy.

I've had trans guys taking testosterone give me "advice" because they assume I'm on HRT when I'm not. I've had trans women do the exact same thing. Even in trans spaces, it is a persistent problem that people hyper-analyze my body to figure out which binary box to cram it into. This happens even in nonbinary spaces, because "AFAB nonbinary" and "AMAB nonbinary" have been set up as yet another rigid binary, even by other nonbinary people.

In trans spaces, I have the experience of other trans people trying to guess my AGAB based on things like my facial hair or my shoulders or my hips or my feet or my neck width or any of the other tiny minuscule attributes that, to be perfectly honest, are the same things that terfs like to point out when they climb into my comments to call me slurs.

(Notably it seems to be only other white trans people doing this. I have never had a trans PoC do this to me as far as I can recall. So it's worth noting how much of this is specifically grounded in white Eurocentric ideas of gender.)

Basically, trans spaces have a real problem in the way they weaponize AGAB discourse. Intersex spaces, less so. I won't say it never happens, it just seems way less common in my experience.

Though BOY HOWDY is there some rancid discourse in intersex spaces over "what counts" as intersex. But that's another post entirely, and a topic I ain't touchin' with a ten-foot pole.

#original post

[windvexer]

baby witch here! I’m just curious, bc the question has been eating me up all day, is it possible to get help from your higher self like how you’d get help from a deity? or to even worship your higher self like a deity? or is the higher self just not as powerful as gods or other spirits?

Interesting question!

Not everyone believes in, or works with, a concept of a higher self. Personally, I'm not solid on them existing, but it's not a concept I've explored very much. So this is coming from someone who doesn't necessarily believe in, and definitely doesn't work with, a higher self.

However, there is precedent for people working with important and powerful mystical/hidden aspects of themselves. Consider the hag (am I remembering the name correctly? can't for the life of me recall) and fetch-beast of Traditional Witchcraft.

In Traditional Witchcraft, the witch may seek to discover, connect with, and work with their inner shadowy opposite (the hag), or the inherent animal beast aligned with their personal power (fetch-beast).

These inner aspects constitute parts of the witch, and may be separated from the witch, but are neither the witch nor separate from the witch.

A practitioner of Traditional Witchcraft (and similar practices) may ask their fetch-beast to go out and fulfill some special task, or ask them for a blessing, or ask them for wisdom and guidance. And so forth.

These aspects can be worshiped. I mean, you can worship anything.

Are these inner/hidden aspects more or less powerful than other gods or spirits?

I think this question is based on a fallacy - the fallacy that if something has more power it may be better to work with. I understand the sentiment. People want results, and if so far a practitioner has been hard-up for results (or hasn't really tried anything, and is just looking for the best place to start), it follows that a person might want to just sort out which entities have the most power, and go after them.

I feel confident in assuring you, however, that this is not how it works.

For one, "power" can't really be measured in simple units. We can't say that some spirit - let's say, Valley Oak - has 900 units of power, and my Higher Self only has 500 units of power, so obviously Valley Oak is my top choice.

The first and most obvious difference is that on some fundamental level my Higher Self is me, and has a deeply vested interest in me, and is a personification of my, well, highestness - all my best morality and potential.

Whereas Valley Oak is a tree.

My Higher Self might want to move mountains to do anything to help my personal growth, even if that means I need to get into a sticky situation or two in order to learn a lesson.

Whereas Valley Oak almost certainly does not care about my development, but will definitely help me hex someone. Or put down an unwanted hex.

My Higher Self may be always available to me, ready to help in the ways it deems best, with any situation I ask about.

Valley Oak might tell me it's only free on waning moons and to bring some wine or shove off.

So you see what I mean? It doesn't matter if other spirits are more or less powerful; what matters is who they are to YOU, and what they are willing to show up for, and what they are interested in doing.

Odin might have, idk, 9,000,000 units of power, but if my initiating spirit tells me I'm not allowed to talk to him, then - then what's the point of all that power, exactly? And what's Odin going to do for my hexing that Valley Oak already isn't taking care of? And why would Odin want to help me, anyway?

It may be worth asking yourself that if gods have more power than spirits, why do some people who believe in both only work with spirits?

I hope I'm doing a decent job making my point. It's a little late here.

My baby friend, I'd like to encourage you to consider something that took me too long to figure out:

It may be wise to differentiate between your sorcery and your spirituality.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with seeking out powerful aspects, gods, and spirits with which to work sorcery and get help from. Witches do it all the time.

But you should double-check if you assume that spirits you ask for help are supposed to be the same ones you worship in a spiritual setting.

You don't have to worship gods and spirits to get their help with sorcery,

And you don't have to combine your spiritual pursuits with sorcerous power.

You can worship what you love and ask for favors from those you like doing business with. The two don't need to meet.

#answered

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

have you ever thought about yandere geto more specifically yandere CULT geto. cus i do. quite often.

HI ANON hmmm hm hm………… okay so honestly. i’m not super into yanderes at all so i don’t know if i’ll have much to contribute with when it comes to this kinda thing :’3 bUT i do love cult leader!geto to the moon and back + i’ve been thinking of him incessantly lately + i think he’s only a couple steps away from being a yan lol.

geto’s whole Thing is his contrast; he can kill a man swiftly, cruelly, only to go meet his beloved family right after with a genuine smile on his face. (we see that almost instantly in jjk 0!!) he really does have that cruel / soft contrast that i assume a bunch of yan content is built on…. he would treasure his beloved soooo dearly and i absolutely don’t think he’d shy away from killing any non-sorcerers that were giving them trouble… but again!! this isn’t even yan!geto, this is literally just Geto. that’s just how he is in canon 😭😭 he’s willing to go to any lenghts to protect his loved ones, and his own morals are aligned towards his view of non-sorcerers as non-human. he doesn’t see them as human, so why would he feel guilty for killing them?

but ok so to kinda go back to the idea of yan!geto… i think the biggest difference between him and yan!gojo (imo!!) is that gojo is willing to look past his morals to keep you safe, knowing that it’s Wrong but choosing not to care, while geto doesn’t let go of his morals — instead, he twists them until they align with what he’s doing. if that makes sense. to him, doing what he does for you is morally just. so he doesn’t feel shame or guilt for it.

aaaaand this is also why i don’t really feel Equipped to talk abt him….. because yan!geto would probably be a lot Worse than yan!gojo …….. and i’m embarrassingly sensitive to dark content :’3 i can see the appeal and the yan undertones are absolutely There but i think i see cult leader!geto in a very moe light PHJEHSJD he’s… my meowmeow. he can do no wrong. he hasn’t had a single evil thought in his Life <33

SOO to change the subject rq!!!!! kind of!!!! (i’m sorry anon i’ve just been thinking abt more fluffy scenarios w him lately and i need an outlet </3) i genuinely think cult leader geto!would be such a great lover :(( it’s easy to see him as a yan (AND THERE’S ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WRONG W THAT TO BE CLEAR) but i just . genuinely think he would be sooo gentle and loving and silly? protective and possessive and imposing, sure, but he would honestly rather die than hurt you in any way. i don’t think his soul could take it.

like. it’s just so telling that geto canonically lets his family believe what they want, and do what they want; he doesn’t force them to see non-sorcerers the same way he does, he doesn’t keep nanako & mimiko from exploring the world and interacting w non-sorcerers, and so on!! his own beliefs are steadfast, but he doesn’t use them as an excuse to confine the people he cares for. he trusts them and loves them and even though i’m sure he’s paranoid he lets them run free.

so!! i think he would be very patient and accepting no matter what his s/o believed or did. i can see him being a bit a Lot of a helicopter parent but it’s never malicious, it’s just for safety purposes!! he just couldn’t bear to have anything happen to you </3 cult leader!geto is cynical and cautious and he isn’t taking any chances when it comes to your safety. but!! he’s still so silly and doting and i think he’s just so sweet…. 🥺🥺 i’m writing the outline for a fic rn where his s/o works at a regular preschool and he hates interacting with your coworkers in any capacity but he still does it to make u happy … yk??? like how he went with his girls to eat crepes in jjk 0. he just wants to give and give. our acts of service king <333

overall i see cult leader!geto as someone who hides his inherent softness behind a dark exterior, and while he’s far more willing to be cruel than hs suguru was, he never really changed at his core!! he’s just overflowing with softness and care. we see this so clearly in the scene where he’s alone with nanamimi, his girls, and everything is soft and quiet and geto is completely unguarded. and he’s so, so soft. his softness doesn’t even have a twisted hint to it, he just loves you. and he wants the best for you. i think the horror would only come from seeing how quickly he goes from cooing into your ear to disposing of a non-sorcerer with a freezing look in his eyes; the whiplash is scary. but if it scared his s/o i think he’d be hell-bent on not letting you see him like that unless absolutely necessary.

it’s difficult because so much of his character in this stage of his life has to do with cruelty, but all he truly wants at his core is to create a world where his loved ones will be happy :(( where he can protect them properly. idk i just can’t really see cult leader!geto as toxic at the end of the day….. he’s a puppydog to me. a foxcoded, silly little guy. despite his cult leader / genocide loving tendencies i think he would be a very soft, selfless lover <333 overwhelmingly devoted. the weight of his devotion could honestly be frightening and i feel like he could be sweet in a kind of twisted way (something like this) but at the end of the day he’s very particular about only showing you his soft side.

THOSE ARE MY SPONTANEOUS THOUGHTS i’m sorry they weren’t too focused on yan!geto anon :’3 but i hope u got some enjoyment out of them anyway!!! if u have any thoughts of ur own then i’d absolutely love to hear em <33

#im just . a Bit too sensitive to certain tropes and dynamics ……… pshfjehhfvf …. so i just don’t think im equipped to talk abt yans </3 #aaaa but. i DO think geto would be a lot more twisted w a non-sorcerer reader!! someone he happened to fall for despite his beliefs #in a scenario like that i think he’d easily slide into yan territory ….. #also ive come to the conclusion that i miiiight be moe-fying cult leader!geto a bit too much but i have no plans of stopping !!! #he’s my special little guy <333 #i do think that when you look at canon geto he really is just. so soft. he can be cruel but a lot of it is acting imo…… #playing the part of his own ideal. etcetc. i see the nanamimi scene + his death scene as the two moments where he’s most Himself #and in both he’s a softie. tender and loving. :( i need to turn him into a smoothie so i can drink him #ask tag ✩