#if it's good enough for argumentative essays for school

[silverislander]

idk if it's genuine excitement or the energy drink i had earlier that's actually letting me focus and work but dude. i am CRUSHING this essay. this is Fun To Write. i think i'm actually doing a really good job here. wtf. i love my major man

[hailsatanacab]

A Persuasive Argument - dpxdc

"Great!" Danny says, clapping his hands together to get everyone's attention. The dinner table falls silent as everyone looks towards him. It's a full house today and, honestly, Danny's a little nervous. "I'm sure you're all wondering why I gathered you here today."

"It's dinnertime. In our house." Duke mutters, while doing a very bad job of concealing his yawn. He holds his fork poised over the braised beef, but, just like everyone else, still looks towards Danny before tucking in. It's intriguing enough to wait.

"Yeah, no one misses Alfie's dinner." Dick says, with a brilliant smile that Danny can't help but return.

"Precisely! What better time to talk to you all than when you're all actually here!"

"Wait, I thought you came round to work on our English essays?" Tim asks, blinking owlishly.

"I'm afraid I've lured you here under false pretences, Tim."

"This is where I live."

"I would still really appreciate help on that essay though, I mean, what the hell is Hamlet even about? I just don't get that old time-y language, like 'Hark! A ghost hath killed me!' - absolute rubbish, what does that even mean?"

"The ghost never kills anyone in Hamlet, he's there to tell Hamlet that he was murdered. Have you actually read it?"

"No, but it sounds like you have. Tim, I want this guy to help me with my essay instead. I know for a fact that you haven't read Hamlet, either."

"So? We don't need Jason, I've read the Sparknotes."

"Hi Jason, I'm Danny, pleasure to meet you, summarise Hamlet in three sentences or less."

"Am I auditioning to help you write your essays? I can't believe you’ve gone through your whole school life without reading it, it’s good!"

"Hamlet, along with a number of other classics, was banned in our house because it portrayed ghosts as intelligent and sympathetic beings rather than evil, animalistic beasts. I didn’t even get to see The Muppet's Christmas Carol until last year with Tim! It was surprisingly good, and I hate Christmas because everyone always argued and it sucked. But we're getting off topic. I—"

"No, no, please go back to that, because what the fu—"

"Boys, please." Bruce interrupts, looking to the world as if he wants to hang his head in his hands. "Danny, you were about to say something?"

"Oh, yeah, Mr. Wayne! Thanks!"

"Please, call me Bruce."

"Well, that very succinctly brings me to my point, because I'd actually really like to call you dad."

Nobody says a word. Nobody even blinks, all as shocked as the other, watching open-mouthed as Danny pulls his laptop out from beside his chair. Bruce can definitely feel a headache coming on.

"Before you say anything, I've prepared a 69 slide PowerPoint presentation on why you, Bruce Wayne, should adopt me, Danny Last-Name-Pending. Please save your questions, comments, and verdict until the end, thank you."

[hysteria-things]

can you do a teacher!chris and a college student pleasee. (With smut. And if you want to!!)

PROFESSOR STURNIOLO

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!teacher!chris x student!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: this isn’t your first problem with this specific professor, but at this moment you’re fed up and want to put your foot down.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUTTY SMUT, p in v, degradation, spanking, masturbation (female), making out, stomach bulge, overstimulation, dumbification, squirting, cream pie

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,535

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: we are locked in🫡

your professor dismissed class mere seconds ago, and everybody either has already left the lecture hall or is still packing up. “are you meeting us for lunch?” your friend says, zippering her bag and putting it on her shoulder.

you scoff, shaking your head. “can’t.” you say, ripping out the essay you wrote for this class that was due a few days ago. “professor sturniolo gave me an F on the essay.”

“again?” she questions genuinely shocked. “he’s got a bone to pick with you.”

this isn’t the first encounter like this you had with your professor. this class — your argument and persuasion class — is the only one you’re failing this semester.

not in your three years have you ever had this type of problem, and after many F’s, you’ve finally had enough.

“well, good luck.” your friend sighs, leaving the classroom with the remaining group.

now, that leaves you and him.

it would be a different story if you didn’t do the assignment right or didn’t try on the essay, but you’re one hell of a writer and you’re sure he knows it. you’ve always been good in school, ever since a young age.

normally you wouldn’t pick up fights with teachers, but your blood has been boiling for this dude for weeks.

“what’s your problem with me?” you say sternly, wiggling the paper in your hand as you step down to where he is.

he stops erasing the board and turns to you. “class is over, ms. l/n.”

yeah, no shit.

you roll your eyes. “so? i want to speak with you about my recent essay. you always give me F’s and never explain why. i would understand if it happened once before at the beginning of the year, but for every. single. one? it’s ridiculous.

he’s emotionless as he listens to your rambling, then he shrugs. “it wasn’t good enough.”

you crinkle the paper in your fist and slam it down on the desk in front of you. “wasn’t good enough my fucking ass, professor sturniolo. is it a favoritism thing? or are you fucking the other chicks in your class so they can have good grades? is that what i need to do? do i need to fuck you?”

the moment those words left your mouth, you knew that was a huge mistake.

you wouldn’t be surprised if he does, though. he’s not much older than you, and he is attractive.

he licks his lips, tilting his head toward himself. “bring it over.”

you gulp, feeling slightly intimidated. you uncrinkle the page and hand it to him, who is now sitting in the chair.

not even reading it, he stares at it and looks back up at you. “sorry. your paper didn’t meet the expectations.”

your pinch your lips together to keep you from screaming at him. “you didn’t even read it.” you shake your head. “i should’ve dropped this class when i had the chance. you’re cocky, and a waste of my time. i’m failing probably because your teaching sucks.”

as you start to storm out, he speaks up. “i’m going to have to clean that filthy mouth of yours.” he smirks. “teach you a much-deserved lesson, then afterward you can see if my teaching still sucks.”

you pause in your tracks, face turning beat red as you slowly turn back around. “w-what?”

he motions you to come over with his finger, and for some reason, you listen.

grabbing your wrist, he pulls you over his lap so you’re straddling him. again, you let it happen. you can’t help the wetness that starts to pool between your legs.

“you can admit it, you know,” he whispers, dragging his hand from your waistband to your mouth. he grazes his thumb over your bottom lip.

“a-admit what?” you stammer, shuffling in his lap which causes him to groan and hold your hips.

he chuckles. “deep down you want me to fuck you. i bet you touch yourself to the thought of me like a desperate little thing.”

you look away, face turning even redder than before if possible. “nuh-uh.”

“your face says otherwise.” his whisper shoots a chill up your spine as he starts to unbutton your shorts.

the way your fingers move quickly inside of you have your eyes shut with your mouth dangled open.

you were lucky enough to get a single dorm, so you can do whatever you want without being sneaky about it.

the way your legs are spread makes your fingers dig deeper, curling to hit the right spot. you grip onto your sheets tight, moans and other loud noises leaving your lips.

your previous orgasms make a mess below you or the back of your thighs, but you don’t stop. you’ve been at this for almost an hour because your mind is only focused on one thing.

your lecturer.

professor sturniolo.

“shit.” you pant, your orgasm building for the nth time. you let go of the sheets to massage your breast, pinching at your nipple from time to time.

you whine. “just like that.”

legs shaking, your fingers get coated with yet another orgasm, but you wish it wasn’t your fingers.

you wish it were his.

your shorts are now on the floor, along with your shirt, underwear, and bra. chris still has his clothes on except for his pants.

hovering just above his tip, your lips move in sync with each other. his tongue fights yours, and the erotic sounds of you two kissing fill your ears.

his hands rub along your back before spanking you hard, ruining the intimate moment. you pull away to gasp.

“sit,” he demands, mouth agape as he looks down to watch you try to sink onto his dick.

you grunt from the pleasurable pain, stopping just about midway. he’s probably the biggest you’ve ever seen. “it’s not gonna fit.” you whine.

“i’ll make it fit.”

with that, he grips onto your ass, hammering up into you without being able to adjust first.

you grab onto his shoulders for dear life. you moan uncontrollably, the feeling of him raw inside of you making you grin like a fool.

you’ve been wanting him to do this for a very long time.

“look at you.” he starts, smacking your ass to have you jolt. “having the professor you allegedly hate balls deep in you.”

“i-i do— ha-ate you.” you struggle to get out, a hand landing on your asscheek again.

“is that so?” he mocks, waiting for you to talk back but instead you moan even louder. he nods. “that’s what i thought.”

he bites his lip, looking at the way your tits bounce rapidly and at the bulge in your belly, eyes widening slightly. he’d never seen something like that before.

“i should keep you around more often after class.” he groans, seeing your face of pleasure.

eyes rolled back, mouth hung open, hair disheveled and sticking to your forehead from sweating.

“you make a pretty little cocksleeve.”

that sentence makes you clench around him, your body starting to quiver from the overwhelming feeling. “ngh— feels so go-od. y-you make me feel s-so good.” you whimper. “wanna cum!”

“not until you apologize.” he tuts, grabbing and then spanking your ass. “say you’re sorry, and i might let you cum.”

you whine, his cock now kissing your g-spot more than it did before. “i’m s-sorry.”

“for?”

“for— mm!” you squeal. “for being b-bad.”

“and?”

“and-and—” you can’t finish because of the sudden clear liquid squirting out of you, now making your pussy squelch more than it was before. your back arches even harder, your brain all dazed and dumb from the overstimulation.

you start to lose stability from being too weak, so chris has to hold you by your arms.

he groans, shaking his head at the terrible mess you are making. “come on. you can do it.”

tears spill from your eyes, sobs running past your lips. “a-and for t-talking back. fuck!”

his dick twitches inside, his thrusts getting sloppy. “i hope you’re on the pill because i’m going to fill you deep, baby.”

you can only make sounds, so a high-pitched moan echoes throughout. you’re seeing stars the closer your orgasm approaches before it finally snaps and you’re smearing the ring of white around his dick.

he doesn’t stop, causing your body to twitch in his grasp as another orgasm builds since he’s still fucking deep to your g-spot.

“close again?” he laughs fake. “scream for me. let people know how much of a slut you are; letting your teacher use you to get a better grade.”

your body slowly starts becoming limp, eyes fluttering closed as you moan.

he spanks you for the last time, not caring that his job is on the line.

“louder. they can’t hear you.”

screaming this time, you cum once again when he holds you down on his shaft. you collapse onto his chest, quiet sobs leaving your lips as you feel his cum start to fill you.

he peppers kisses on your shoulders, peeking over them to grab a pen and clicking it open. he scribbles over the previous grade on your essay to write a new one.

A+

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @r4iyaa @sturniolotriplettoplover @mattybswife @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @sturniol0s @catalina-island @mbsbaby @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopeno1

[mindfulstudyquest]

❥﹒♡﹒☕﹒ 𝗯𝗲 𝘀𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗿 ( 𝗮𝗰𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 !! )

𝟭. improve your writing skills ( ✒️ )

i feel that not everyone has the perception of how important it is to know how to write. you don't have to be a poet, nor the new emily brontë, but fluid, conscious, rich writing makes the difference. really. you could write a page without saying anything at all, but if that damn page is written good and smoothly, then you can be sure that you will get extra points. take the time to improve your writing skills, the best advice i have for doing so is reading. read as much as you can. read novels (non-fiction in this case doesn't help because the content is preferred rather than the form), read contemporary authors – you don't necessarily have to read sophocles' tragedies, but read quality stuff. expand your vocabulary, your knowledge of syntax, learn to use punctuation! and then write, tell stories, write love letters, write reviews of films, books, cultural festivals, open a blog on tumblr and write to practice, reread what you write ad nauseam, until it is perfect, until the form of your essay is pulitzer prize worthy.

bonus some of my favourite authors (tell me in the comments about yours!): ian mcewan, banana yoshimoto, haruki murakami, george orwell, josé saramago, albert camus, khaled hosseini, hanya yanagihara

𝟮. develop critical thinking ( 💭 )

if you have always studied passively by absorbing information and vomiting it onto a test sheet then you have wasted your time. taking on information is not enough, you need to know how to rework it and develop your own idea about it. especially in the arts and literature one may disagree with certain information provided by a textbook. developing critical thinking is not easy, especially due to the school system that teaches us to standardize thinking. always consult all available sources on a given topic, compare them, analyze contradictions. it might be difficult and tiring – our brain spends more energy processing two conflicting pieces of information than processing two pieces of information that agree – but it will be worth it. by practicing critical thinking and improving your argumentation skills, you will not only be able to improve in your studies, becoming able to present complex topics and make interdisciplinary connections, but also in daily life, you will become much less influenced and manipulated by external information.

𝟯. find yourself an interest ( 🌷 )

it could be anything, but find an interest that excites you and you enjoy and do research about it. watch videos, documentaries, read articles. it doesn't have to be school-related, it must be an external topic that you are passionate about and that allows you to rediscover the joy of studying and learning every time school seems to suffocate it. sometimes i'm not in the mood to study for exams, so i dedicate myself to my personal research and finally find my spark, my seek for knowledge. for example, my interest is true crime, it has always fascinated me since i was little, but yours could be wild animals, makeup, comics, ships, planes, ocean flora, literally anything. there is no constraint.

𝟰. analyze your mistakes and recognize your wrongs ( 🫒 )

there is no shame in making mistakes. everyone makes mistakes, we are human, but the real sin is getting bogged down in mistakes, refusing to acknowledge them, and continuing to make them again and again. we should be continually growing, continually discovering ourselves, both intellectually and emotionally. how many of you were the "gifted kid" when you were little and then grew up into burned out high school / uni students desperately seeking academic validation? there comes a time when talent isn't enough, you have to put in the effort, and this doesn't make you less intelligent or gifted, in fact, quite the opposite. dedicating time and attention to your personal and intellectual growth also means having to ruminate on your mistakes. it's scary, but it's the most effective way if you really want to improve. take a notebook and at the end of the day reflect on the highlights and the wrongs, what you could have done better, where you would like to push forward tomorrow, what you achieved today. did you make a mistake? first ask yourself why and then look for a way to solve the problem, make every bad moment a lesson, a brick on which to build the version of you you wanto to become tomorrow.

𝟱. don't be afraid of doing researches ( 🧃 )

the amount of fake news and misinformation online is appalling. opening any app like tiktok or instagram we are inundated with information that is often (not always, but not so rarely) inaccurate. don't be afraid to conduct your own research, if you have time to mindlessly scroll through tiktok you will also have five minutes to read an article regarding that information provided. don't know the meaning of a word? look it up before using it. not sure about a piece of information? check it before using it in your argumentation. in the age of immediate access to data we have no excuse to be superficial.

𝟲. master communication ( ♟️ )

mastering communication is essential in both personal and professional realms. it's the cornerstone of building meaningful relationships, whether it's conveying ideas effectively in academia or fostering connections in the workplace. developing strong communication skills not only enhances your ability to articulate thoughts but also empowers you to listen actively, empathize with others, and resolve conflicts constructively. ultimately, honing these skills cultivates confidence, credibility, and success in all aspects of life.

𝟳. push yourself out of your comfort zone ( 🧸 )

build your confidence. confidence is uncomfortable. don't be afraid of it. you are young, this is the right time to experiment, take risks, discover who you really are. this is the best time for you to do those things that you would otherwise never do, you don't want to regret later in life that you didn't accept that scholarship, that trip abroad, that job opportunity, because you didn't feel comfortable enough. do things that take you out of your comfort zone until everything becomes your comfort zone. go on solo dates, be a social butterfly, tell the girl at the bookstore you love her t-shirt, go to the theater alone, eat at a restaurant alone, take that trip. if it goes badly, you'll only have one funny story to tell.

𝟴. stay informed about the news (but not too much!) ( 🌍 )

this might be controversial, but: stay informed about the news, just don't overdo it. personally, i am an easily influenced person and i realized that being constantly exposed to the bad things happening in the world had drained me and made me terribly depressed. don't get me wrong, you need to be informed about what's happening in the world and in your country, just being constantly surrounded by horrible news repeated ad nauseam on TV programs is of no use. be aware.

[psychhound]

ttrpgs in the classroom (part 8)

oh boy have i not made one of these posts in ,,, like a year. grad school is crazy yall. lmao. but. i wanted to share what we do for our analysis unit now that we've hit it this semester!!

other games used in the unit:

we are but worms & graves for funerals

the assignment:

write an essay of approximately 1000 words doing a literary analysis of some aspect of a game, first forming an inquiry question, then looking in the text for evidence, then coming up with an argument about a deeper meaning of the text. the second draft of the assignment can either be an expanded essay, or a multimodal piece of the student's choosing. (the other option for this essay is to do a rhetorical analysis of an argumentative text about gaming)

the games:

[ID: a powerpoint slide titled choose your fighter game (the word fighter is crossed out, so it reads choose your game). it shows five ttrpg titles, with a short description of each, and an icon to represent them. the background is a light orange sky and green grass in a video game like art style. there is a fake game menu bar on the bottom. the games in the slide are functionally described below. end ID]

when we made war upon the slumbering woods by richard kelly @sprintingowl

a collaborate journey into the magical woods ... to destroy it

the treasure at the end of this dungeon is an escape from this dungeon and we will never escape from this dungeon by riverhouse games @riverhousegames

a lyric game about a never-ending dungeon and those stuck there

kenzie's project by sasha winter @stargazersasha

a Weird Academia horror game for three players

i love you, alive girl by anna anthropy

a 1-page game about writing love letters under surveillance

drifters by gila rpgs

a Weird West game of gunslingers and their guns

past semesters game options:

a dragon game by chris bissette cozy town by rae nedjadi @temporalhiccup

the process:

in the powerpoint introducing the games, i have a more thorough description of each one, and then three examples of inquiry questions that they could use as jumping off points to do their analysis on. the inquiry questions ask things like, what moral stance might this game align itself with, what other stories is this game in dialogue with and to what effect, what does this game have to say about the current state of our society? the students can use these inquiry questions or not, theyre only meant to be examples

the results:

this is definitely the most challenging project for my students, but i think that challenge is good for them! i've had really mixed results, with the most common issue i run into just being surface level analysis. they are, however, 18 and have never done anything like this before (for the vast majority of my students) so a lot of my feedback is just pushing them further and trying to get them to say something interesting. i really love a dragon game and cozy town, but i found they didnt have enough context of ttrpgs and dnd/pf to really Get why a dragon game was interesting, so i replaced it with escape from this dungeon since thats got some more meat for them like voicey rules and characters. and im a big fan of nedjadi's games and wanted to give my students something more cute and fun, but they struggled to find much to read into or say about it that wasnt very surface level. escape from this dungeon and ilu, alive girl are new games this semester so we will see how those go over!!

[testrella]

CRAZY RICH ASIANS…! G. SATORU X READER

𝜗𝜚 | CHAPTER FIVE : accidental kiss.

NEXT… CHAPTER SIX : clashing clans.

[CONTENT WARNING] - mentions of drug abuse

gojo sat in his office, lost in deep thought after the not so pleasant exchanged he had with his mother. the heated argument made his mind wander back to his youthful, teenager years. recalling the time he had his future wife within arms length.

his first kiss wasn’t something he could ever possibly forget, it was an accidental exchange. ayaka zenin convinced him to slip away from the lavish party their families would throw for any type of celebration in hopes of rekindling the clans relationship. they snuck out and found a quiet spot deep into the gated garden the zenin clan had. under the moonlight, along with pesky bugs and leaves brushing past them, ayaka leaned closer to gojo. the kiss that followed was clumsy and awkward. it was more like an accidental brush of lips than a romantic gesture. gojo vividly remembers pulling back, startled and uncomfortable with the tension ayaka created.

“am i..am i not a good kisser?” her voice was laced in embarrassment and concern.

“n-no! i mean- it’s not that..” the 15 year old gojo fiddled with his collar before finding the right words. “don’t you think you’re rushing it?”

his words caught her by surprise. “rushing?! it feels like we aren’t doing enough satoru. we get married the moment we turn 18 and you can’t even look at me in the eyes!” she cries out.

the relationship lasted all throughout their high school years. everyday was an endless cycle for gojo. he wanted more freedom and say on his future, ayaka asked for the basic forms of love from him, his mother kept breathing down his neck. those last few teenage years were nothing but deep rooted hell.

despite the clans’ hopes, the relationship never blossomed to its full potential. instead it was full of arguments and forced interactions. ayaka anger towards gojo grew more and more each passing day, and gojo became more impatient with her.

“we should call off the wedding and go our separate ways.” she mumbled against gojo’s bare chest. another night of arguing meant another night of making love. it was the only way they got along. the only part that they knew about each other like the back of their hands.

“and what will happen to you? the zenin clan isn’t very…understanding with it comes to women.”

“i don’t know what will happen to me.”

“hey shoko, you don’t call me as much as you promised me that you would!” you joked as you held the phone with one hand, grading student’s essays with the other.

you hear her chuckle from the other side of the line, “guess who called me today asking about you, and how you were doing?”

you sigh before answering, “don’t tell me..” her silence was enough of an answer. your fingers run down down your hair before resting it at your nape. “i’ve told him before that things just wouldn’t work out between us.”

“i don’t know y/n, he sounded really different on the phone today.” she reasoned.

her defense peaked your interest. “different how?”

“well, first he asked me how i was doing, and actually sounded interested in my stories.”

“andddd?” curiosity was starting to kill you.

“and he told me he’s been sober for a few years. he started working under his dad again and got his shit together.”

you sigh as you recalled your own memories with him. he was charismatic and electric. he had the kind of energy that made everyone want to talk to him. everyone stopped and turned to him when he walked into a room.

he had a way of making you feel special. a relationship that started with an innocent crush on him quickly turned into something more. it started with tutoring help, convincing your professor that you didn’t understand the material. from getting regular tutoring sessions from the senior to spending the night at his place if the sessions lasted up into nighttime. the relationship built so fast the same pace it crumbled.

first it was sleepless nights, staying up and begging him to come home to you and to stay off the streets. those nights either led to getting no response from him all or to him being tucked into your hyper feminine bed with you bandaging his wounds.

within that time frame, he opened up to you about his past and his background. you found out he was the son of a well known clan of japan. it was more an old fashioned, or ‘out of date ’ as he liked to put it, clan that stuck to traditional values.

but being well off from generational wealth wasn’t enough for him as he ran off to study abroad in america, where he met you, and got involved into dirty business. it was a way to take control back from his cookie cutter life, as he’d like to put it. at first being with him was a dream come true. but as time went on, he went to a deeper and darker path that you couldn’t help him with.

almost every night ended with you begging him to stay out of trouble, only for you to wake up the next day at 3 am with banging on your dorm door.

“please j-just stay out of trouble. i’m begging you please..” you cried on the edge of your bed. he was sat right across from you, refusing to make eye connect. your tears felt like an arrow through his heart. he’d describe the pain as if every time a tear slipped out your eyes, an angel loses its wings.

“y/n you’re the best thing that’s happened in my life and-”

“can you stop bullshitting me, and can you stop doing drugs and all this stuff.”

“if you can’t support me now then how do you expect us to work out..” he whispered. deep

down, he knew how that hypothetical question would end.

“i guess we won’t then. get out my dorm and call me when you have your life together.”

the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled your nose as you nervously glanced around the shop. you hadn’t seen him in years, not since the fallout of your relationship. when he reached out, you were hesitant but eventually agreed.

the doorbell jingled, and your body instantly sharpens up as you watch him walk through the door. he had hardly changed.

he spots you and smiles, instantly walking towards your direction. “hello stranger, it’s nice seeing you here.”

“w-well we did agree to meet here.” you spoke softly, cursing your mouth for stuttering the first word.

“i see you’re still as timid as a deer, aren’t ya doll?” and no matter how long it’s been, he’s never lost his charm. you didn’t fail to notice the facial tattoos he got in his youthful years slowly fading away. even with the jacket and layers of clothing stuck to his skin, his muscles were still finely outlined and easy to spot.

he interrupted your thoughts before your mind could wander off to more..lewd things. “listen, i know we ended things off on bad terms.” he leans slightly forward, “i’ve changed, and i’ve been thinking a lot about the future. something’s telling me that things will be different than the way they were before.”

you could only blink. being so taken aback, your mouth immediately opens to respond but it fails to respond. before you could make up your mind, the doorbell jingles once again, making the both of you look towards the door.

your eyes immediately make eye contact with the familiar blue eyed business man whom also makes eye contact with you. your breathing staggers, your mouth goes dry, and your palms start to sweat. breaking eye contact with gojo, you glanced back at him. his expression was unreadable, as if his brain turned off.

the over six foot man walks over to your table with a forced smile. “miss.l/n,” he said, his voice strained. “i didn’t expect to see you here.”

“satoru um,” you stammered. it felt like you were caught doing something you weren’t supposed to be doing. like catching a child reaching into the cookie jar. “t-this is-“

“i know who this is.” “he knows who i am.”

both men had seemingly have the same amount of distaste for each other. gojo’s eyes flickered over to him, and his jaw tightened. “any reason why’d you want to chat up with my son’s teacher, sukuna?”

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[neiptune]

all eyes on you my magician

c/w: 8.4k wc, the secret history au, incest, recreational drug use (weed), dubcon, vaginal fingering, intoxication, reader is drugged against her will, masturbation, penetration, mentions of blood & murder, dark academia setting, gojo and suguru and shoko and utahime and kento and yu are all snob assholes, I just had so much fun with this and sincerely hope you enjoy!

PART 1

“I’m telling you, I’m gonna be right back!”

“And I’m telling you, you’re gonna get struck by fucking lightning!”

Hina rolls her eyes at you, best roommate she’s ever had and yet always so dreadfully dramatic.

“You’re very welcome to stay here and starve to death but if I don’t eat something within the next five minutes, it’s gonna get ugly”

You pucker your lips, equal parts annoyed and worried as you watch her put on that ridiculous yellow raincoat, always too bright for a campus so dull. She is exactly like that, too: peculiar, bubbly energy at complete odds with the majority of the snotty students filling the grim pile of dark stones that makes your school. You’ve always felt some sort of protective affection for her, one that expands in your chest especially as she’s about to run through campus in the middle of a raging storm, alone.

“Wait up” you grumble and attempt to get up from your messy bed.

“Nuh-uh” Hina keeps you down with a friendly push of small hands on your shoulders, eyes narrowing “you have to finish that essay, I’ll bring you a sandwich or something”

“Damn, I’m working hard for the both of us and all I get is a sandwich?” you playfully throw an extra pencil at her, she effectively dodges it with a light chuckle.

“I love that you know it’s gonna become our essay” by now, the mischievous glint in her eyes elicits nothing but a fond albeit resigned scoff.

And yet you’re still not entirely convinced as you wave goodbye, a don’t get too close to the pond! yelled a moment after the door shuts behind her, exasperated laughter already fading in the distance, echoing across the empty hallway.

With a sigh, you get more comfortable against the soft pillows and sink a little deeper in your bed, the heat of the laptop balanced on your legs enough to keep you from shivering as the rain carries its merciless pitter-patter on the windows, the wind blowing hard enough to slam the thinner branches of the elm, most ancient resident of your dorm, against the glass.

The influence of the classics on english literature is not a hard theme to tackle and you get rapidly absorbed by the topics you have messily categorized in order of succession on your notes: among the main points you care to underline, is the fact that neither is superior to the other. There’s a sharp distinguo you trace between the concepts of originality and novelty, an entire paragraph dedicated to expressing the idea that the creative activity of a writer shouldn’t be adversely affected by the interest they take in classical literature. Right as you delve into the specific examples you’ve chosen to discuss contemporary tendencies and estimate the influece of Latin and Greek upon modern writers, your fingers come to a halt.

Originality, novelty. Unraveling the concepts takes you back to that late afternoon in the quiet library, the ominous curve of an unfamiliar smirk teasing your peripheral, saccharine pitch asking you to settle an argument that was never serious enough to require an outside opinion to begin with.

You’ve met Satoru’s unsettling eyes more than once after that afternoon, they seemed to follow you whenever you happened to walk past his group or enter a room they were in. You hate that you can now anticipate the way he tilts his head, lazily throws one leg on top of the other, ankle resting on knee. You hate that Suguru now talks to you, says hello and good afternoon and wishes you luck on your classes.

You still can’t quite believe Yu, the way he’d casually sat between you and Hina on a Sunday morning when the lukewarm sun served as a break from the usual, gloomy winter days. He was all friendly smiles and relaxed chatter, easily endearing himself to Hina and winning her sympathies. You stayed frozen in utter disbelief until he naturally pulled you into the conversation as if you were one of his oldest friends, sweet giggles outlining the story of how you had brilliantly shared your valuable opinion with them.

None of your attempts at explaining the stupid exchange were taken into consideration, Hina’s big eyes sparkling with each detail Yu unraveled, from Utahime’s comical frown to Suguru’s sincere admiration. He fondly downplayed your skepticism and proceeded to stay for the entire study session, leaving you to mouth a shut up after the other in response to Hina’s exaggerated mimics all the while he immersed himself in one of those thick books they always make a show of carrying around.

It’s disturbing, the feeling of part of that unfortunate afternoon still lingering, sticking to you in a way you don’t know how to escape.

The Anglo-Saxons and their interest in Cato, Orosius, Pliny the Elder. The modern period with its shift of emphasis upon Catullus, Lucretius, Terence and his plays. The entire, separate history of the interest in Ovid, the consequent imitations stemming throughout the fifteenth century only to escalate into close to total neglect during the nineteenth and twentieth. Even as you focus on your essay once more, the unnerving feeling persists in your gut.

You conclude the first draft of the paper with some statement about how classical lore, mythology and style hover above the most representative writers of the elizabethan literature, the most original of all periods of english literature in its entirety.

A light grumble of your stomach demands you glance at the time and you sigh upon noticing it’s already been more than an hour. What the hell is she even doing? The vegan options suck, she may as well eat grass in the park. Unless they’re serving those falafel hummus salad wraps with spicy potato and feta, now that’s something you’d walk in a storm for.

An entire moment is spent considering putting a coat on and marching all the way to the dining hall, muddy campus and everything, but then a whooshing sound is followed by a creaking in your roof and the best you can do is send a mildly annoyed text.

She texts back ten minutes later, the message short and oddly enough void of her usual emojis, informing that the she’s run into her friend Yuki and so she’s most probably going to be late. Well, that’s ideal. As much as you love having the room all to yourself, you really are hungry and the only edible thing within a ten foot radius is a bag of tortilla chips.

The second you reach over to your laptop with the intention of continuing the show you had started watching together (serves her right for leaving you to starve to death) the room turns purple for a second and before the loud crack of the thunder can even hit, the already dim light of the lamp flickers, unsteady.

“Don’t you dare!” you glare at it as if it was a person. It certainly does seem to listen.

Gotta love old buildings with even older electric utility infrastructures.

You send another text for good measure, the possibility of suddenly finding yourself in the dark, alone, enough to induce a reasonable amount of anxiety.

hurry tf up, hina

Your screen lights up a second later, eerily quick. Again, odd. Doesn’t she always try to tuck her phone away while eating?

sorry baby, it’s raining too much

I think we’re trapped here for the next hour lol

You frown. Baby?

Something doesn’t sit quite right with the way she’s replying, maybe she’s given her phone to Yuki after grumbling about how you keep interrupting her meal. Still, you take your chances and send another text.

you okay?

Seen, instantly. Yet she doesn’t type back. Ugh, definitely Yuki taking over: she’s always been the number one supporter of the stupid no phones at the table rule, her glare over waffles and tea as you dared to check your social media over breakfast still engraved in your mind.

As you grumpily stare at the screen for a few more seconds, several things happen at the same time: the light coming from the lamp above your head flickers again, a branch slams against the window and your heart drops to your stomach at the three short but certainy energetic knocks on the door.

The entire evening has been so weirdly quiet, you honestly wouldn’t have guessed somebody else was in the building. Is there someone at the door or did your mind play a trick on you? It must’ve been the rumble of the thunder bouncing on the walls, the loud whistle of the wind. But then they knock again, with the same exact rhythm, and for some silly reason goosebumps blossom on your forearms because you simply know that, even as you tentatively call her name, it’s not Hina.

Shoko peeks inside, the white stick of what you can only guess is a lollipop hanging from her lips. It’s the first time you see her alone, without her friends or her sister. It’s also the first time she speaks to you and it’s surprising, really, how calm and gentle her pitch is.

“Hey, are you alone?” her eyes lazily scan the room, the question sounding every bit as unnecessary as one could guess.

“Yeah” you wonder why you reply in the most natural way, not a second spent wondering why the hell she’s there and how she knows which one’s your room.  

“I really don’t like storms” she tilts her head to the side a little, gaze blankly darting to the window and then intently locked to yours “you should join us”

Taken aback, you open your mouth and close it a number of times.

“Pardon?”

Shoko waltzes into the room, graceful as ever in her school uniform. As opposed to you, she’s wearing dark tights and your stare lingers on her thin legs a moment too long before travelling to her features again.

“They’re having another one of their arguments, it gets so boring. You’re lonely too, please join us”

There are so many questions running after each other in your brain, you’re not even sure which one to prioritize. Why would she ever think you’d…?

“No, thank you” it may have taken a minute but you finally snap out of it (whatever it is) and clear your throat, uncomfortable.

Shoko bites back a smile, enhanced. She can smell the uncertainty, the uneasiness. And can barely wait for when it will turn into panic. Doesn’t it always?

“You really must dislike us” she locks her hands behind her back and casually shifts her weight from one foot to the other “have we ever given you a reason to? I know Satoru can be a jerk but he’s harmless, really”

She sees the anxiety that flashes over your features and wonders what it would feel like to sink her teeth into it. It’s infuriating, how Suguru’s always right. She really was the best one to be sent to get you: not Kento, not anyone else.

“I don’t— it’s not that” you stutter adorably “we don’t really know each other, it’d be weird to…”

“It wouldn’t. We’re all students at the same school, aren’t we?” she offers a sweet smile and extends a hand “come. I won’t let them bother you, pinky promise”

You watch her shift the position of the lollipop in her mouth with a gentle sweep of the tongue, securing it inside her other cheek.

Sure, you could insist on staying in your room, waiting for your friend: she’d probably take the hint and leave. But this is weird. Shoko showing up unannounced, with no reasonable motive, insisting you take part in… what, exactly? One of the bizarre evening gatherings everyone keeps gossiping about?

You don’t care if they realize you don’t like them. Ever the keen observants, they probably already know anyway. But you’ll be damned if you allow some elitist assholes to think you’re intimidated, or worse, scared of their bullshit haughtiness. You talked to them once, you owned it, you can do it again and walk away the second things get too weird. Or Hina actually fucking decides to come back.

Shoko smiles softly when you rise from your bed and take her hand. She thinks boldness suits you.

You quickly type another text to your roommate, certain she’ll sense the annoyed tone at last and hopeful she’ll decide to get you out of the absurd situation.

I need you to come back, preferably now

it’s just rain get back here and take a shower or something

also bring be the goddamn sandwich, I’m starving

Seen. Instantly, right as you sent them. What the hell, is she deliberately ignoring you? Did Yuki forget to lock the stupid phone before putting it away?

since you’re clearly reading these, I’ll have you know I’m currently being kidnapped by the classics gang

Seen.

come look for me asap

Seen.

“Fuck’s sake” you grumble under your breath and Shoko turns to look at you from over her shoulder, gaze soft in the dim light of the hallway. For a fleeting second, you think that purple eyeshadow would look horrible on anyone else but she kinda pulls it off.

“Sorry, my friend hasn’t been replying to my texts” you clear your throat once more.

“I’m sure she will, eventually” she utters, tone flat. Lightning flashes violet on her chestnut hair and your stomach tightens a little, clammy palm nothing but a forlorn hope it will feel nasty enough for her to let go. Shoko tightens her grip on your hand, thumb lazily grazing over the top of it and in between your knuckles.

“How come you don’t like storms?” maybe if you keep talking, the bullshit situation will feel more normal. Maybe the walk in the stupid hallway won’t be as infinite.

Shoko giggles, the mere thought of how your features would morph into a mask of pure horror has warmth pooling between her thighs. God, why do the guys always get to have all the fun?

Storms make it difficult to hear them scream.

“Never been a big fan” her pitch is suddenly lighter, almost jolly “they make everything look so gloomy, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do” you don’t intend for it to be a jab but her chuckle makes heat crawl from the base to your throat up to the roots of your hair anyway. 

Of course their common room is the most magnificent of the building, somber and exclusive and, naturally, conveniently connected to their private rooms. The sanguine hues coming from the stone fireplace dance across the dark, wooden furniture and make the carvings of the coffee table grow in depth. There are two upholstered sofas and two armchairs surrounding it as velvet constellations painted in rich burgundy, the oil lamps serving as a convenient counteragent for musty electric utility infrastructures.

There’s a bookcase by the door, built in what looks like African blackwood. It’s filled with vintage hardbacks, leatherbound volumes and what you wouldn’t have a hard time imagining are expensive first editions. Some of them are turned around, piled up and showcasing the paper side, alternated with silver candleholders and white Carrara marble bust sculptures. You recognize Marcus Aurelius and a representation of Canova’s Venus and Adonis.

A peculiar, earthy scent wafts through the stale air of the sweltering room: notes of lemongrass, pine and wood.

“Ah, we have a guest” Suguru’s line sounds rehearsed, void of actual surprise, and you don’t like it one bit.

He’s sitting on the sofa, an empty spot left between him and Satoru, whose grotesque cerulean gaze bores into yours as he brings a grape cluster to his mouth. The coffee table is covered in trays and plates of food: an abundance of fruit, prosciutto wrapped figs, smoked oysters accompanied with champagne beurre blanc, salted chocolate and caramel tarts, a basket filled with an assortment of breads. What looks like an exceptionally expensive replica of a traditional lagynos, the hellenistic wine jug favored by the ancient Greeks, dominates the center of the table and elegant wine goblets in sterling silver accentuate the unusual choice of flowers embellishing the surface: lycoris radiata, or red spider lilies.

“We do” Shoko lets go of your hand at last and you instinctively flex your fingers. Inexplicably, she seems to notice because she turns to look at you with an unreadable expression, hand rising to secure part of your hair behind your ear “I promised you’d behave” the little wink is not intimate at all, like a secret whispered to your ear only for everyone else to hear.

“Don’t we always?” Kento’s bored tone draws your attention and you’re finally able to tear your eyes away from the odd energy tying your gaze to the magnetic figures perched on the sofa.

Nanami and Yu are sitting on the opposite divan, the latter waving at you with a sweet smile that has his eyes turn into little half-moons that swallow his pupils. Pale, lithe fingers are gracefully holding a joint that is held to his friend’s lips.

“Want some?” Shoko’s syrupy voice startles you, the question almost whispered against the shell of your ear as she passes you by to take the seat her sister’s offering.

How are they allowed to do this in the first place? Sure, they’re sickeningly favored but smoking weed in a dorm? Not even attempting to keep the scent from seeping out into the hallway? What would it take for them to get some semblance of an actual reprimand, a corpse hid in a closet?

“No, thanks” you attempt to take the last remaining empty armchair but Suguru pats the spot between him and his best friend, cracking a soft smile and tossing a casual comment about how famished you must be.

“No reasonable person would venture outside in this weather and it’s way past dinner time” he indicates the plethora of options scattered on the large coffee table with the gentle wave of a hand “please, sit with us. I’d like to benefit from your views once more”

Against your better judgement, Utahime’s skeptical scoff prompts you to accept the invitation. Satoru scoots away ever so slightly, perhaps to give you enough room to feel comfortable. And yet the comfort doesn’t come, you can’t relax your shoulders as you sink into the soft velvet. For a second, you even wonder if it’s a good idea to eat anything they’re offering.

“Thank you” you cautiously accept a fig because at this point your stomach is one step away from absorbing itself “uh— Ieiri mentioned you had another discussion going on?”

Her crystalline laugh pierces the air and you’re not surprised to find Utahime sitting on her lap, back flush against her older sister’s chest, glaring at you like a guard dog.

“Please, just call me Shoko” she peers at you from behind Utahime’s shoulder. Her arms easily envelop her sister’s smaller frame, hands conveniently placed on her lap as thin fingers work to pack dark weed into the thin rolling paper.

Shoko. You’re tempeted to articulate it right away, to taste the way it’d feel on your tongue.

“We are” Suguru’s gaze lingers a moment too long on your mouth, the way it sinks into the red, purplish flesh of the fruit “we were analyzing Ovid’s metamorphoses and Kento was really interested in hearing your thoughts”

You search for his gaze but he’s thrown his head back, legs parted in what’s perhaps the most relaxed pose you’ve ever seen him indulge in. Yu has propped himself up on one elbow against the backrest of the sofa, cheek squished by his fist as pink lips close around what’s left of the joint.

“Our professor wants us to point out why their repetitiveness is unimportant” he smiles, words slightly dragged. 

“I mean, myths are not sacred stories and mutability is not sacrilege” the sweet taste of the fig melts in the back of your throat right as Satoru’s eyes travel back to you once more, it takes everything in your not to turn your head and challenge his stare “they’re still relevant because there’s still vibrancy to them. Stories were meant to be mutable, Ovid was never supposed to preserve canonical versions that had already been retelled thousands of times”

Geto hums, the corner of his lips already curving upwards. Such a pretty thing, with a pretty mind too.

“What did you like the most about them?” the question vibrates with genuine interest and you pick another fig as you dwell over it.

The stories, the narrative techniques, all the varied tones, make the metamorphoses one of your favorite Latin poems. You love that they’re a celebration of nature and, at the same time, a raw representation of the fundamental uncertainty of all things human. Love is kept  as a recurring theme and gods are only portrayed as allegories for forces and passions that guide the human decision making process.

“I think his mocking attitude is fun” you attempt a smile “it’s just… such a hilarious, epic, tragic opus. Whatever Ovid writes keeps its sheer beauty even in the darkest of lines and, god, does he have some of them”

Satoru huffs a small laugh out of his nose and this time you do look at him. He’s gorgeous, could easily become the Narcissus of any Echo, the nymph that in the myth falls desperately in love with him only to be rejected, scorned and humiliated.

Oh marvellous boy, I loved you in vain, farewell.

Would his body fade, his bones turn to stone? Would those eyes look at something other than his own divine reflection?

“Tongues being wrenched out, humans barking out their sorrows, women turned into mute creatures by envious gods. Yet you see beauty in them” he’s not mocking you, it’s the most serious you’ve ever heard him sound. The challenge he offers is void of sarcasm or skepticism, it sounds more like… a kind observation.

“As humans, we’re imperfect” although this may not exactly apply to you “we’re blinded by lust, passion, greed, jealousy. Just as the tide goes out only to go in again, we too drift and change in shape and are left witnessing each other’s ever shifting existence. Don’t you think he portrays the concept wonderfully?”

You’re not sure why you’re hoping for a decent exchange of views. Maybe you want to take a peek into their world, a real one, because there must be something other than the unnecessary travesty they carry around, something behind all that self-righteous bullshit. You want to know who they are, what they actually think, if something really does make them special. You don’t care about impressing them, you just want to understand.

But then Satoru’s lips curl into a smug smirk you’re all too familiar with, broad and spine-tingling. His pupils are dilated, swimming in the depths of his impossibly blue eyes as the tip of his tongue traces his upper lip in a pink flash.

“Nec perit in toto quicquam, mihi credite, mundo, sed variat faciemque novat” he articulates the words slowly, savoring each syllable and basking in the way your shoulders stiffen once more.

“What we call birth is but an incipient change from a prior state” Suguru chimes in delicately and when you turn to him you get the impression that he’s sitting closer than he was “while death is but cessation of a former state” he’s offering you a cup, filled with wine to the brim.

“Ah, no, thank you” you attempt a smile. Foxy eyes make it impossible to discern the size of his pupils but something tells you, even when high, he’d be able to remain perfectly lucid.

“I insist” he tilts his head to the side a little “our professor gave us the recipe, it’s our very own ambrosia”

You’re hesitant when you reach for the cup, the one he’s been clearly drinking from. But then again, maybe some liquid courage wouldn’t hurt while facing what’s your strangest evening to date.

The first sip burns in your throat and explodes in your chest, flush rising from your neck to your cheeks. It’s pleasant, most probably sweetened with honey and infused with spices you can’t quite pinpoint.

“Good girl” Satoru’s chuckle is close but somehow muffled. You take another good sip from the cup under Suguru’s expectant gaze and give it back, he thanks you with a smile.

It doesn’t take but a couple minutes spent discussing your favorite myths from the metamorphoses, Kento and Utahime having a lazy debate over Pyramus and Thisbe, for everything to start to feel kinda blurred around the edges, your head dizzy as if you’ve walked into some sort of misty haze. You can see Shoko’s mouth move and guess the sound of her laugh when she looks at you but receives no response, you can hear Suguru’s voice asking if you feel okay, but you’re floating underwater and your body suddenly feels so unbearably hot.

“I’m fine” you murmur and someone from across the room laughs. Is it Yu?

“You’re more than fine” Satoru’s hand ghosts over your bare knee for a moment, one digit starting to lazily trace the skin all the way up to the hem of your skirt “look at you. Our very own Diana” your eyelids feel heavy when you look at him, smile glistening even in the dim light of the room as thunder rumbles in the distance.

“So furious that we’ve seen her, she’d turn us all into deers and watch us getting mauled by a band of hounds if she could” his eyebrows raise to mimick your surprised expression when you open your mouth to protest.

“Deprendi miserum est” Shoko's playful pitch makes someone, perhaps Suguru, laugh condescendingly.

“You look nothing like Actaeon” is all you manage to let out and he laughs sweetly, hand reaching out to gently cradle your cheek, thumb tenderly grazing the portion of skin underneath your eye.

“What do I look like?”

What, not who.

Something in a corner far away of your mind is ringing as his thumb travels down to skim over your bottom lip, your mouth parts on its own accord and he gently pushes the digit between your lips.

You suck on it and it feels like the most natural thing on earth: it’s flattering that a being so ethereal would grant you such attentiveness, it’s only fair you return his fondness with equal generosity. He could ask for anything and you’d do everything in your power to satisfy him. Isn’t that why you’re here for?

“Tell me” Satoru’s pitch sounds accomodating but Suguru can barely contain a scoff at the actual impatience simmering beneath the surface.

His thumb wetly pops out of your mouth and you attempt to blink away part of your stupor, mind dangerously decelerated as you struggle to remember the answer you should be chasing.

But then he tilts his head to the side and offers another smile, a bolt of lightning exploding behind the tall window on the other side of the room. It might’ve as well struck you because you feel on fire, quite literally set ablaze right as another clap of thunder dissipates part of the fog flooding your head.

“A god” you murmur, equal parts fascinated and daunted beneath that stare.

He hums, pupils somehow blown wider in darkened celestial depths as he gently reaches over to guide you toward him. You’re clumsy as you attempt to carefully balance yourself atop his lap, head spinning even if big yet gentle hands patiently support your graceless movements.

Except he’s not being accomodating, he’s leading. You’re moving pliably, responding to the simplest of inputs with such submissiveness Gojo’s practically stiff in his pants already.

Lips are gentle and surprisingly soft as they first press to the column of your throat, they trace your skin while his broad hands keep you in place, fingers not even having to sink into the fat of your thighs to make sure you don’t move. His kisses are wet by the time he mouths his way up to and along your jaw, stopping mere inches away from your lips, reveling in the way your chest rises erratically underneath the pressure of your heavy breathing. Darker petals are already blossoming on your throat, skin still stinging in the spots he has sucked, bitten and then licked better.

“So worship me” he coos, a sudden squeeze of your hips prompting you to inch forward.

Your kiss is tentative, still asking for a permission you’re not sure you’ve been granted, obvlivious to the fact that you never needed one. You feel rough fingers cradling the back of your head to tilt your face and demand you kiss him deeper: still slow and attentive but more courageous, you comply and the sweet taste of wine melts on both your tongues, his rendered slightly bitter from the weed.

It’s addictive and exhilarating and when you pull back he doesn’t give you the chance to catch your breath because he chases you, an annoyed “not yet” breathed against your mouth, lidded eyes falling on the string of spit connecting your lips right before kissing you again. One of his hands slips underneath the hem of your skirt and strokes the soft skin of your thigh with intent, up and down, certainly distracting but not enough to convince you to break away from a kiss turned greedy, insatiable. Your hands travel from the back of his neck to his broad shoulders, pressing lightly against them to signal the lack of oxygen making you even more dizzy. Gojo would smirk if his tongue wasn’t buried so deep down your throat, the hand still holding your hip guiding your body to grind against his own while you let out soft mewls he keeps swallowing, a satisfied groan leaving his chest at last when you comply so easily. So obediently.

He allows you to draw back but not before pinching your bottom lip between his teeth, the sting so painful it makes you whine.

“So pretty” he says breathlessly, then inches forward once more and lets his tongue carefully trace your swollen lip to collect the blood “almost makin’ me want to keep you”

“Don’t be… ridiculous—” Utahime’s voice comes out faint from behind you, soon breaking into a muffled moan. But when you attempt to turn around, Gojo harshly grabs you by the jaw and painfully sinks his fingers into your cheeks.

“Eyes on me” the command is stern, makes a shiver run down your spine. The hand underneath your skirt lightly pinches your inner thigh, it hurts but not in the way you’d expect and you find yourself rolling your hips once more, in a silly attempt to get closer to that warmth. His smile is clement as the tips of his fingers gently run over the fabric of your cotton panties, it only grows in size and brightness when he finds the material already damp.

“Oh, you poor thing” he purrs right as he presses long fingers a little harder against your cunt, the softest of gasps promptly silenced by his lips grazing yours and then gently murmuring “see? Isn’t this nice? Did you really need to act all high and mighty after all?”

You tremble pathetically while he keeps rubbing you back and forth, slowly but applying just enough pressure for your heart to pick up its pace and your stomach to contort in all too familiar knots.

“Please…” you breathe out. It takes everything in you not to reach in between your own legs and grab his wrist to get some relief.

“Please what, pretty thing?” his thumb casually swipes at your clit and this time he lets you whimper for everyone to hear, the way you’re heaving and the feeling of your nails sinking into his shoulders going straight to his painfully hard cock.

“He can’t help you if you don’t tell him what you need” you can hardly recognize Kento’s voice in your dazed state, it still carries its usual, unfazed pitch but there’s something new vibrating to it. Something Yu’s low chuckle and the groan that follows seem to confirm.

“Touch me” you sink your teeth into your bottom lip at the feeling of fresh arousal soaking your underwear under the pressure of his fingers, the lazy rubs his thumb teases your bud with “fuck, Gojo, just—” you damn near let out a sob when the warmth of his hand is abruptly taken from you, hole pathetically fluttering around nothing at all. Hips buck in protest and he chuckles at your impatience, savoring every last drop of your desperation. It’s his favorite part.

“Ask nicely” the tip of his nose grazes your cheek before he lays a soft kiss on it “and say my name right”

“Satoru” you whine, every single nerve ending of your body catching fire at the anticipation wrecking you from the inside “please, please, just touch me”

There’s no time and you don’t currently have the mental capacity to take a second, acknowledge how that name feels when spelled out loud for the first time. You can’t discern the taste between your teeth because your underwear is moved out of the way, safely pushed to the side and your mind goes blank when he finally touches your bare, feverish skin. Satoru doesn’t cast his eyes away from you as his lithe fingers rub you back and forth some more, collect part of the slick that trickles out of you like a syrup so sweet. They tease the opening of your cunt right before a finger carefully dips inside: he’s barely holding back a groan when you instantly clamp down around it, wet and tight and so warm.

He thrusts slowly, pushing up into you with exasperating languidness, so much that you have to roll your hips with a strangled moan to keep the fire in your gut ignited.

“Stop being an asshole” Suguru’s voice is so close and yet seems to reach your ears from far away.

“Yeah, Toru, hurry up” you barely register Shoko’s mocking words, the light giggle that follows “let’s see who can make them come first”

Gojo smirks, one hand rubbing reassuring circles into your hip as he adds another finger and starts moving in and out faster, digits skillfully curled and thumb pressing to your clit once more.

“That’s not very fair, Shoko. I don’t know this one as well as you know your sister” and yet you cry out once more, legs tightening around his hips the deeper he pushes his fingers in. The rhythm is relentless, the squelching sounds filling the room obscene. You’re too lightheaded to realize they’re not coming just from you.

“Quid est rei? Let me hear you, pretty” he presses another kiss to your jaw and angles his wrist, curled fingers roughly dragging in and out as they continuously stretch you open and batter a specific spot over and over again, until you can’t hold back a vocal, desperate moan. You feel so full and yet impatient for more, for that boiling wire in your stomach to finally snap.

He gazes at her lips, and knows that gazing is not enough. He marvels at her fingers, her hands, her wrists, her arms. And what he does not see he thinks is better.

Satoru starts trailing kisses over the skin of your throat, he seems to have already memorized where to suck to make your pulse tap faster against his mouth. You’re so human, so fragile, so desperate for him. Would it be so wrong to keep you? You wouldn’t look nearly as pretty as the last one anyway, not covered in all that blood and with that cute little mouth frozen in a forever scream. A little inebriation is all it takes to instill some sense of devotion into that charming, opinionated brain of yours. Just a few sips of a special nectar to have you making a mess on his crooked fingers, moan after moan springing from your shameless throat as sticky arousal dribbles down his fingers and between his knuckles.

“What d’you say you help me out, angel?” he’s leaking in his own underwear by the time his teeth sink into the tender skin of your neck and his movements nearly come to a halt, making you whine in protest. Satoru’s smile is feral when it meets your scowl. “C’mon, don’t you want to please me?” his thumb presses on your clit and gives it a few rough rubs, the muscles of your thighs twitching in response.

“Yes, yes” you clumsily reach for his crotch, give it a few messy strokes before he groans right into your mouth and grips your wrist. He presses your hand against himself for a moment, hips rubbing against your palm, clarity of his mind threatening to abandon him when you grind down harshly, in desperate search of some friction, and he feels the wetness of your cunt against the back of his hand.

“Let me please you, I’ll do anything” you whine when he forcefully moves your hand away, grip around your wrist bruising as his other hand roughly lifts your skirt over your thighs. Ah, there you are. Satoru unconsciounsly licks his lips at the sight of your swollen clit, slick folds glistening with fresh arousal he’s dying to taste.

But now Suguru can see you too and he knows just how impatient he gets. Fuck.

“Anything?” it’s meant to be a tease but Satoru is just really trying to hold it together, to gain back some sort of lucidity. You’re still languidly grinding against him, making a visible mess of his light brown pants. It takes every ounce of self restraint left in him to stop your movements and start rubbing at your dewy skin again, spreading your lower lips and barely dipping two fingers inside your fluttering hole.

“God— yes, Satoru. Anything, anything” your despair is addicting and he chuckles darkly at your franctic nods, presses his forehead to your cheek as his gaze sets on the gorgeous, glimmering sight underneath him.

“Take what you need, then” Satoru angles his wrist but keeps still, patient “fuck yourself on my fingers and maybe I’ll fill that pretty little pussy up”

He hates that it’s a lie, despises the idea of giving up his chance to effectively ruin you. He’s a man of his word, when the consequences of not abiding by the agreements are too troublesome anyway.

But is he really above giving in to temptation? You called him a god, you’re here to worship him. He’s a perfect being, he’s the one calling the goddamn shots. And so this has to be different, special, a moment belonging only to the two of you. Even as Shoko’s fingers relentlessly stretch her sister open, even as Kento’s dark gaze is fixated on him and Yu is lazily stroking his cock, wrist turning skillfully in comforting circles. Even with Suguru’s eyes not missing a single movement or twitch of lips. Satoru can practically discern the shadow of a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, it infuriates him. 

This moment has to be his. No one else’s.

And so, as you restlessly roll your hips, he starts moving in and out once more, precise and fast. It’s the deepest he’s ever pushed his fingers inside you and the electricity crackling below your stomach leaves space to nothing more than a wordless cry out from lips frozen in muted pleasure.

“Please, please, please” you sob and reach to rub at your clit, eyes rolling back when his thumb presses harshly against your fingers and works the bud in sync with you.  

“Come, pretty girl” the velvet of his voice sends a jolt of pleasure between your thighs, lips pressed to the shell of your ear as his other hand closes around the base of your throat “say my name and cream on my fucking fingers”

Devote yourself to me. Worship me, worship me, worship me.

You reach in between your legs and grab his wrist with feverish desperation, pushing down to bring him closer and fuck yourself on his hand as deep as you can, until he abuses that specific spot inside you over and over and over.

“Satoru” you cry out “close, so close—”

“I know, angel” he half-chuckles because of course he can feel that “let go for me”

You’re sobbing out his name, juices from your soaked cunt drenching both your hands as you rock back and forth, sounds you’re well past feeling embarrassed about drown out the noise of the storm. He doesn’t stop when your jaw goes slack and one of the strongest heats you have ever experienced explodes in your core. Satoru keeps moving and moving and moving even as your hips still and your muscles seize up, raw touch turning so sensitive your nails dig into the flesh of his wrist.

The heavenly sound of your whines still echo in his dazed mind when he slows his movements and ultimately stops, gaze drinking in the bliss embedded in your features before he tilts his chin forward to press a sweet, chaste kiss to your lips. 

“Did so well for me” you smile at the praise, flinching just a little when he slides his soaked fingers out of your warmth and brings them to his mouth. Just a taste, he thinks he should get to have just a taste.

He can only indulge in it for a moment before a hand from beside him uncerimoniously closes around his wrist. Suguru brings the long digits to his mouth and lets his tongue shamelessly swirl around their length as he suckles on them, eyes shutting for a moment at how unexpectedly sweet you taste.

“I still won” this time you don’t attempt to turn around, you don’t care about whatever Shoko is talking about. Not when his eyes see nothing but you, free hand gently stroking your thigh, lips murmuring honeyed praises. You want him and you’re blinded by the wild gratification that comes with him wanting you.

I am dragged along by a strange new force. Desire and reason are pulling in different directions. I see the right way and approve it, but follow the wrong.

Satoru gently takes the hand still nestled between your legs with a light chuckle, genuine amusement softening his perfect features.

“Taste yourself” he guides your drenched fingers to your mouth but not before pressing a kiss to your knuckles “so you don’t forget what I do to you”

You’re still throbbing pathetically as you comply and suck on your own fingers, lick them clean under his attentive gaze, the hardness you’re sitting on causing new warmth to pool into your core.

You’re not hesitant when you kiss him again, desperate to have him taste your essence with every swipe of your tongue. The guttural groan that arises from his throat makes you smile, triumphant. You kiss him, lazy and messy and deep, timidly rock your hips in hopes of further pleasing him. All that you are, all that you’ll ever be, belongs to him now.

“I think that’s enough. Don’t you, Satoru?”

And just like that, he pulls away, harshly stills your movements with a firm grip of his hands. He doesn’t look at you, head falling to rest against your shoulder as he catches his breath.

Looking to your right causes a new wave of dizziness.

Geto is out of focus but smiling kindly at you, eyes that are so different from Satoru's narrowed and curved into little crescents. They bring a different kind of darkness and yet you feel drawn to him all the same, eager to abide by any request. It just feels so good, to be obedient. Whatever you kept worrying about? They mean well, they want to take care of you. It’s the safest you’ve ever felt.

“C’mere” Suguru is sitting close enough to support your poorly coordinated movements as you attempt to detangle yourself from Gojo, who presses a final kiss to your forehead before retracting without complaint.

“Sweet girl” Geto welcomes you onto his lap with the sweetest touch, reassuring hands pushing back some of the hair sticking to your flushed face “sweet, smart girl. How lucky are we that you decided to join us” he coos.

Captivated by his glittering onyx gaze, you give yourself to him just as easily, mind swimming and barely able to register the harsh sound of the rain against the windows. You lean towards him, although there’s really no need because he ever so gently cups your chin to bring you close anyway.

“You’ll do as I say” he whispers, the firmness of his hold preventing you to further lean over “won’t you, sweet thing?” you can’t suppress a gasp when his knuckle forcefully comes against your still sensitive cunt and presses hard against it.

“I—” breath catches in your throat when he suddenly pushes two curled fingers inside just once, in and out, movement harsh and painfully fast.

“Look at me” Suguru tightens his hold on your chin as a warning, tilts his head to the side when your clouded gaze meets his hungry one “you’ll let me split you open on my cock for everyone to see, you’ll take what I give you until you’re sore and raw and then you’ll beg for more”

“Yes” you breathe out and he chuckles at the feeling of your legs clenching around him.

“Yes what, sweetheart?” delicate fingers move over your clit in slow circles, absolutely unbothered by the way you start squirming, unable to control the way your body reacts to a touch so controlled and yet overwhelming.

“Yes, I will— God, I'll let you—”

“I’m a patient man, darling”

You honestly want to cry at the sensation of his fingers barely sinking into your hole, the tips teasing your entrance over and over again as his thumb never loses its rythm over your sore bundle of nerves.

“I'll let you split me open!” you cry out “I’ll let you do anything!”

“You will” his fingers curl and the heat of arousal explodes inside you once more. He finally dips his digits all the way in, up to his knuckles, right as he kisses you. It’s rough and messy, teeth clashing and tongue eagerly licking into your mouth, the tip of his cock leaking copiously at every strangled moan you let out, at every subtle, pitiful roll of your hips against his hand.

Suguru breaks away first and harshly pulls his fingers out but you know better than to complain, too eager for what’s to come.

“Touch yourself” it takes a few seconds to understand that he’s not talking to you, although his gaze has not left your eyes a single moment. 

Satoru’s relieved groan seems so far and yet close, embedded in fresh memories that make your heart beat with the frenzy of a caged rabbit. You don’t dare look in his direction.

“Perhaps we really could keep you, mhm?” Suguru kisses your forehead, eyelids, the tip of your nose and then dips his head to trace your jaw, angles your head to have better access to the already marked skin of your throat. He almost clicks his tongue in annoyance: what a mess, he would’ve made a much more gracious job.

“Not even scared enough to beg yet” Suguru moves his hand down, you catch the faint glisten of the wetness covering lithe fingers as he reaches below the waistband of his pants “and you still managed to arouse him. Isn’t that a first, Satoru?”

Mesmerized by the sight of his cock, you fail to register whatever reply comes from Gojo. Suguru’s fingers easily circle the impressive girth of a length so pretty, curved and with a flared, heavily leaking tip. Is every part of them this beautiful? Will you have the chance to find out more, to learn the edges of every single one of their bodies? Will they all claim you, keep you?

Geto gives himself a few strokes, wrist turning elegantly as his lips welcome a smile so soft.

“Would you want to stay, sweet girl?” his free hand travels down to your hip and gives it two light taps. You barely gather some strength and use the leverage of his shoulders to push yourself up just enough for his cock to find your entrance and teasingly move against it a few times. He barely pushes you open and stays like that, the sound of your ragged, labored breaths music to his ears.

“Yes” you rasp “yes, please let me stay”

“Over my dead body” Utahime’s bitter reproach doesn’t faze you, not as Suguru pushes in some more, your muscles tensing as drools collects in the corners of your parted lips.

“Don’t bother, we have enough of those already” Yu’s low chuckle reaches your ears a moment too late.

Suguru grabs your hips and sits you down on him harshly, in a single, brutal movement that has your mind going static and your entire body burning at the sudden stretch. You’re stuffed so full and he’s so deep, almost like he’s pressing against the inside of your stomach.

His controlled facade alters for a moment, the sensation of your tight walls sucking him in so superbly clouding his senses and better judgement.

“Fuck” you whimper, nails digging into the soft fabric of his perfectly ironed white shirt “Suguru” his name on your lips, the pleasure distorting your fucked out features make his cock twitch inside your pretty pussy. Just perfect, you were made to take him, for him to painfully carve its way inside you.

Dark shadows swim in his intense stare while you struggle to breathe properly as he slowly grinds you against him. Is this a reward or a punishment? You can’t tell anymore.

“Look at how gorgeous you are with my cock spreading you apart” he presses his lips to your forehead once more, it feels like the blessing of a deity.

“Keep me” you whisper, delirious, desperate for him to move or at least allow you to roll your hips some more “I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be so good”

Someone reaches over from behind you to gently comb some hair back from your forehead, now covered in a sheen of sweat. A melodic, familiar chuckle inadvertently sends a shudder down your spine even in your hazed state.

“Let her stay, Suguru” Hina lays a kiss on the top of your head as her chest presses flush against your back “we’ll help you take care of her”

index vocabolorum:

Nec perit in toto quicquam, mihi credite, mundo, sed variat faciemque novat - there’s nothing in the entire universe that perishes, believe me; rather it renews and varies its substance

Deprendi miserum est - it is wretched to be found out

Quid est rei? - what is the matter?

[thatfrenchacademic]

OK so about this "34, unmarried and childless" article about Taylor Swift. Let me tell you about Scam Academia.

TL;DR: some mediocre dude had a half baked opinio nabout Taylor Swift that everyone hated, but like Mother Nature I let nothing go to waste.

Here is the take you have not heard yet, about this opinion: this guy is actually a good case study on how to develop your academic literacy, aka how to recognize a true academic from a scammer who presents themselves as an academic, but is just a crook. In a world of pseudoscience and pretend experts that have enough resources to organize their flat earth conference, let me walk you through the world of Scam Academic, where for a few thousand dollars, you too can claim to be a researcher with a doctorate! Follow me down a rabbit hole that I hate with my whole heart!

Preamble: I have zero skin in the TS game. I don't get the hype, the lore, the obsession with those 2000s bracelet or dissecting every single line or every single song.

But then. Some guy had to write an op-ed stating Taylor Swift was not a good role model for girls ("in the US and beyond"), and it is a terrible take on so many level, but here is the thing. Whiny conservative think-pieces about highly successful women who should get back to the kitchen and think of the children are nothing new. But this one is different.

This one is fucking terribly written. It's just an abysmally written blog post. Genuinely one of the worst thing I have ever read, and I read hundreds of undergrad essays every year for a living. It contradicts its own arguments in every paragraph. It over-explains concepts like it's a high school essay and he's trying to meet the word count. It says "this is a valid question worth asking" but does not actually explain why it is worth asking. It is so, so, so bad.

Conservative writers are usually more the "high brow, drowning you in grandstanding" kind of writers. They are, usually, good technical writers - it's the one thing that helps make their talking point sound legit and palatable. So an abysmally bad conservative writer? Ok, I am intrigued.

The author is one John Mac Ghlionn. I look up the guy on Google and...

Oh.

Oh no, John.

Spewing conservative bullshit at women AND a researcher? You're in my turf now, John. You could have continued to cover UFC Pillow Fight Championships, or alien technology and other riveting subjects, but you had try to connect two brain cells to argue a thing, and slap "researcher" on top of it. Now I'm offended, as a researcher.

1. I am sorry, researcher WHERE?

Ok so if one is a "researcher", it means one conduct "research". and contrary to what backyard conspiracy theorists think, "researcher" is an actual job. It is an actual professional occupation. You get an actual contract, and you are paid actual money. By an actual employer: public (University), private (Think tank, private company), or a mix of both (at Unviersity, but on a privately funded project, for example).

So where does our John Mc Ghlionn work?

Well. Nowhere, as far as I can tell.

John does not list any affiliation. Usually, when they write, academics will state their exact position (Researcher, Doctoral Researcher, Associate Professor, Chief Engineer, Head of Department, Research Director...) and where they work. For example:

That's what it is supposed to look like.

But John? Nope, no affiliation anywhere, on anything he ever published. That's a pretty massive read flag. Research takes ressources: at the very least, time and access to database and documentation, even in social sciences in humanities. You may not need a lab, but you sure as hell need money and full access to JStore at least.

So I thought he was just one of these "I google therefore I research" kind of dude. But then, out of nowhere:

I am sorry. He has a WHAT.

2. I am sorry, a Doctorate from WHERE?

So. One thing to claim to be a researcher when you are just a professional yapper. Another to claim a DIPLOMA.

And not any diploma. A doctorate.

Let's pause. "Doctorate" is actually a really broad umbrella term of all doctoral-level degrees. The most famous (and most prestigious, for better and worse) is the PhD, but a PhD is technically just one of many Research Doctorate of, theoretically, the same level (cue this helpful reddit post). A second category of doctorates are the Applied Doctorates, and while there is Discourse on where they sit vis-a-vis PhD, the easiest is to consider that they are not research-oriented. They are hands-on, practice-oriented degrees. For example: you can practice medicine with an MD. You don't need a PhD. You can still call yourself a doctor, though.

Alright, so which of these does our friend Johnnie has? Or is currently enrolled in? And in which University?

You will notice that John does not go by "John Mac Ghlionn PhD" or even "Dr John Mac Ghlionn", when you just KNOW he is the sort of person that would but that shit everywhere. And no shade here, because I, for one, do put that shit everywhere. Maybe he is just currently enrolled in a program and has not graduated. Fair.

Since John does not list affiliation, I had to switch from academic to internet sleuth, and dig out this article:

But we learn that in 2021, John was a "PhD Scholar" in "Parkmore Institute". "PhD Scholar" is not a title I am sued to, but it's also not raising any red flag: ongoing PhD researchers can be "PhD students", "PhD fellows", "PhD researchers"... It varies from country to country and from institution to institution, so why not "PhD Scholar".

Let's check out the Parkmore Institute.

Ok, they are not a traditional university, but they appear to be more of a postgraduate institution: offering only higher level degrees, not undergrad courses. Once again, not necessarily a red flag. They are usually very heavily research focused, and embrace the "research" side of academia more than the "teaching" side. In Germany, the Max Planck Institutes are research-only institutions who deliver PhDs. They conduct cutting edge research, in part because their researchers rarely have to spend time teaching.

But that is NOT the Parkmore Institute. First of all, let's see what programs they offer:

None of them are legit.

And I mean, none of them are recognize as even Applied/Professional Doctorate by the National Science Foundation (US based). And while a PhD in Human sexuality would be perfectly valid, but I'm going to on a limb and say I have some serious doubts about "Bodymind Healing" as an academic field.

These are not legit academic degrees.

What they are, is an excellent money-making opportunity for anyone working at the Parkmore institute. Students will pay, at the very least:

And 60% of this goes to their " faculty mentor". The Parkmore institute provides no research fund, no desk or office space (they are entirely digital), no access to any resources or library, not even a Zoom account. There is also no mention of any timeline: how long a PhD take to complete? Who knows. 6 months ? A year ? 5 years? What are the requirements to graduate ? Who knows ! And I would need to pay $200 to get in touch with them, so I sure as fuck won't know any time soon!

But let's get back to our friend John. Remember that he stated, in that 2021 publication, he was a "PhD Scholar" at Parkmore ? Well that's a shame because Parkmore does not deliver PhDs. Ain't that a bitch.

ALSO. Parkmore helpfully has page with all their Doctoral Recipients! And guess who is NOT HERE ! That's right, our Johnnie !

How can this be ? Well, three possibilities:

John is still not done with a PhD. After 4 years ? In a crank university where I am pretty sure I can submit the first draft of a litt review and graduate ? Nah

John never completed the thing. Boo, that would mean that John is lying, when he says he has a doctorate. Bad, bad.

John did graduate, and obtained his doctorate in [scrolls back to check] psychosocial studies, and then was not put on the website or was withdrawn some time before today, as Parkmore institute ended their affiliation with him, as per this bit in their application form

A shame, really. If John had been affiliated with the Parkmore Institute, it would give a shred of legitimacy to anything he writes to anyone just skimming.

Now, I would love to get in touch with the Parkmore Institute and ask to see John's doctoral work, which they DO have, since the application for also has this very interesting section:

(definitely very legit, very normal).

But I am not sure how I would even phrase that request without transparently going

"hey, would love to see what bullshit research is being done over there, since one of your graduate decided to go all Handmaid's tale for the last 2 years".

If anyone feels like sending that email, I am begging you to keep me in the loop.

3. Back up, back up, what's up with that article?

Remember the article where he was listed as a "PhD Fellow"?

Well, about that... No. Welcome to the world of predatory publishing, one more cog in the Bullshit Academic ecosystem.

First: not at article. It's a "commentary". Could be worth something ia good journal, but still would not be a piece of research. But that is the least of its sins.

Its sins are being published in a journal called "Sociology and Criminology-Open Access", by a publisher called "Longdom". Longdom publishing has a bunch of journals on a lot o different fields, with the particularly of being predatory; they will publish absolutely anything you send them, as long as you pay their Article Processing Charges:

There are entire lists of Predatory journals on the web, you can find on here and another here , Longdom Publishing is in both.

This is how John can publish this last minute, Redbull-and-weed-induced essay in an actual journal, with an abstract that, I kid you not, finishes with "Please find the paper attached." He slapped together a shitty essay about people in India are poorer and therefore more likely to exhibit psychopathic traits and therefore engage in corruption, purely base on vibes. It does not even deserve be given any consideration, not even to be debunked. There is nothing to be debunked. This would be a failing grade for a 1st year intro class.

CONCLUSION

On the surface, John Mac Ghlionn is the poster boy of failed edgelords who really wish they were Jordan Peterson, but unfortunately are just Doug, the guy for 10th grade who failed the Literature class and decided it was because litterature was too woke today anyway.

Beneath the surface, John is a case study in Scam Academia, and the proof that no matter how bad actual academia is, Scam Academia can always get worse.

A quick checklist to go through whenever someone claims be a researcher, an academic, a fellow, a doctor, a PhD or anything of the sort:

What is their affiliation? Is this a legitimate organization?

Do they have a PhD? Another doctorate degree? From where?

Have they published ? Where is it published?

[arliedraws]

Go on about Sirius and Benjy I am listening

Well, I went down a Benjy Fenwick hc rabbithole and created a backstory, so thank you for that

Benjy Fenwick comes from a working class seaside town in North Yorkshire. His father is a mechanic and his mother works part time as a cashier. Benjy’s the oldest of five children—he and his youngest brother (born when Benjy is about twelve) are the only siblings with magic. But he almost didn’t go to Hogwarts because he could hardly afford any of his books or materials, but he worked his little eleven-year-old butt off to make extra money. A natural salesman, he finds scraps to sell to kids he knows, gambles, scams adults until he gets the money he needs.

He loves his parents, particularly his mum. He feels incredibly guilty to be leaving his family behind, convinced that he needs to take care of them, but his parents insist that he goes. When Benjy gets to school, however, it’s clear that he is Poor. The first person to point this out is Bellatrix Black, a particularly nasty Slytherin girl in his year who comes from a very old pureblood family.

But Benjy is the most shameless, charming, devil-may-care sort of boy. He’s decent at school, but doesn’t care about doing well—he just cares about doing what’s right. He’s a jock type without possessing a shred of interest in the jock activities—he doesn’t give a damn about Quidditch but gets bored sitting still, but he’ll fly a broom to see how fast it goes. Too clever for his own good—could talk his way out of anything. He doesn’t need to lie—he just tells the truth so plainly that you can’t help appreciating his candor.

All of this infuriates Bellatrix Black, and she’s determined to make this little Ravenclaw as miserable as possible by trying to turn people against him. But Benjy is a really difficult person to hate. He’s the sort of kid who, if he doesn’t get a spell correct, is the first to laugh at his mistake. He asks the “dumb” questions in class—the ones that people are too embarrassed to admit they don’t know the answer to—with a shit-eating grin. He’s the first to protest if a professor gives them an extra long essay or a pop quiz and give the most convincing argument why the teacher should spare them—and sometimes, he’s even successful.

He gets a few O.W.L.s and a couple of N.E.W.T.s but not enough for a job in the Ministry. He never really wanted to do bureaucratic shit anyway. When he finishes school, he goes back home to work with his father as a mechanic. His family has always been his first priority, after all. And he’s pretty happy! He’s probably gay and he has younger siblings who are happily married and having kids, so he feels no pressure to “settle down” and marry some girl.

Anyway, Bellatrix Black’s old rivalry with Benjy never faded, and his family is savagely murdered in one of the earliest massacres of the war. He was supposed to be killed too, but he happened to be elsewhere that night. Mr. and Mrs. Fenwick are murdered, as well as two of his siblings, their spouses, and their children. Benjy goes feral when the Ministry do very little to investigate. He decides to hunt down the perpetrators himself but accidentally ends up sabotaging an Order of the Phoenix mission led by Alastor Moody.

Dumbledore asks Benjy to join the Order, and soon, Benjy becomes a key player in the war. He’s an excellent duelist, he can make muggle explosives that evade magical detection, he hasn’t got a lot left to lose, and most importantly, he has to make the world a better place for his little brother who’s still at school.

Benjy has been with the Order for five years by 1978. He’s still cheeky but a little jaded, battle-hardened, and a bit wary of the newest recruits who are too fresh out of Hogwarts. What is Dumbledore thinking bringing on these kids? And one of them is Bellatrix Black’s cousin.

This Sirius kid is charming and reminds Benjy a bit of himself when he was that age, but Benjy is also a bit suspicious of the pureblood heir. He hides his distrust, though Sirius can sense it. When a mission goes wrong, Sirius risks his own life to save his friends and finally earns Benjy’s respect. Others in the Order still don’t entirely trust Sirius because of his family, but Benjy sees something in him and takes Sirius under his wing as Sirius’s friends become more and more distant while the war pulls them apart.

Benjy spends more time with Sirius who constantly drops in unexpectedly at his house in Yorkshire. He’s worried about Sirius who begins behaving recklessly as James becomes more entangled with Lily. Benjy has to pull him back, insisting that he’s needlessly putting himself in danger.

When Sirius is furious that James and Lily are planning to wed, Benjy initially doesn’t see the problem—then he realizes that Sirius is in love with James. Benjy attempts to comfort him, but he discovers, to his surprise, that perhaps he’s always wanted to comfort Sirius. But Sirius is too young for him and in love with someone else…though he can’t deny he wants this kid very, very badly.

Meanwhile, Sirius desires approval from someone he respects, and Benjy has always praised Sirius in exactly the way Sirius likes—sarcastic remarks and a pinch of his cheek, winks, exasperated smiles. He likes how Benjy throws his arm around his shoulders like they’re mates; he likes that Benjy treats him like an adult when they’re on missions. They drink together, share the same kind of humor, etc. Benjy even brings Sirius to work in the auto body repair shop, etc. It’s hard to resist the older wizard—and it doesn’t help that Benjy is a fit, working class hunk.

Neither is sure who made the first move, only that Sirius came directly to Benjy’s house after James proposed to Lily. Benjy lets Sirius rage about it until Sirius, exhausted, settles down next to Benjy on the sofa, and Benjy just sort of…strokes his hair. And a lightbulb turns on for both of them.

From then on, when Sirius isn’t with his friends, he’s with Benjy. He doesn’t tell anyone about his relationship with Benjy (who warns that if Moody finds out, they won’t be able to partner up anymore). As they become more involved, Sirius can’t always explain where he’s been which looks…suspicious to people.

Anyway, if this were a fic, I’d probably add the plot of Bellatrix finding out about Benjy fucking her most eligible bachelor cousin, reigniting her old hatred of him.

Yada yada, Benjy dies to save Sirius—and no one alive knows they were ever together.

[feargender]

I think what frustrates me about the whole “they didn’t teach us this in school” “yes they did” “no they didn’t” argument is that like. Maybe the lesson was happening in your classroom. Or maybe the lesson was happening in the room across the hall, because at age 15 you were told to decide whether or not you were going to attend a four year university or pursue a trade, and then based on that decision (which is largely based on your family’s economic status) you no longer get to learn certain subjects.

My second grade class was over 30 students, many of whom didn’t speak English (and in this particular case these were all Spanish speaking children), but there were no more spaces in the ESL class. So my teacher paired the seven year olds who spoke both English and Spanish with the ones who only spoke Spanish, in the hopes that their translational skills would be enough to get everyone to third grade, where there still wouldn’t be more spaces in the ESL class.

In my current certification program, we are meant to do a research project. Just a simple essay. My classmates that I’m personally friends with are 18, 25, 29, and 43 years old. All of them finished high school with either a diploma or GED. None of them knew how to create a basic 5 paragraph essay structure. This weekend, I am going to demonstrate an outline from my own project topic, and we will learn to construct an essay together, and how to format citations.

At a certain point in teenage and adulthood, it is absolutely true that you are responsible for seeking out your own information. “We didn’t learn this in school” is not a good excuse for a 20 year old American who doesn’t know where Palestine is. And yes, a major component of K-12 is the English and language arts portion, in which you’re taught media interpretation and literacy skills. These things are impressed upon all children who attend American public school, which is the scope of my experience and what I am able to speak on.

But those classes are of little use to people who don’t speak the language they’re being taught in. Or if they’re in a desperately overcrowded classroom. An underfunded district without enough text books to go around. Or, after a certain point in high school, you’re pulled out of English because your transcript requirements changed, since you’re not expected to attend a traditional university. The examples go on.

My point isn’t that we actually should never expect people to take responsibility for their own ignorance, just that we should not underestimate the impact of never being taught something, or the likelihood that many people genuinely were never taught.

[xreaderbooks]

The Great War

Pair: JJ Maybank x Reader

Warnings: language, underage drinking, arguments

Based on THIS request

Word Count: 1.8k

a/n: This is a bit short and probably not as angsty as you might've wanted I hope you still like it...

Links: Wattpad and AO3

Navigation - JJ Maybank Masterlist

You didn’t mean to- you didn’t mean to do alot of what had already passed. 

You had grown up around JJ and the pogues, you were neighbors, went to the same school, and had most of the same classes. It was inevitable that you and JJ would become close. So close in fact, your parents had set restrictions to how much time you could spend with the boy. They insisted that you could do better, be better, and have a better life when you graduated. 

They even saved up enough money and coerced you into doing an essay that will grant you a scholarship to the Kook school that Sarah Cameron and the rest go to. The school you have been going to for a couple of months now. 

Not much has changed, you still hung out with your usual friends, JJ was still attached to your hip but you did spare a little bit of your time for the friends you’ve made on the other side of the island. 

Your best friend had not been too thrilled about this new development. Admittedly, you had lied to him about it, JJ had always been a bit dramatic when it came to Kooks. Rightfully so, they’d done him wrong too many times in the past that it was understandable where his anger came from but his anger surpassed your patience. 

The moment you stepped into his house, he had a glare and a frown that you didn’t know 

“So what now Y/n?” You’ve been having this conversation for almost an hour now, Luke was out on another bender, JJ was home by the sound of raging music coming from his window. “You’re one of them just like that?”

You scoff, “No, J. I’m not one of them, I’m just doing what’s best for my future. I wasn’t doing any better in public school.”

He wasn’t in a good mood when you came through the unlocked front door, the door hinges were a little loose, he must have gotten into it with his dad. You can imagine the way Luke must’ve slammed it on the way out for the millionth time. You stood in the middle of his messy room that JJ didn’t bother to clean as he was never here. 

“You’re better now that you're in a fancy private school full of those dickheads, really?,” He tongue pokes through his cheek. He let out a bitter laugh, “That’s rich, Y/n. Pretending to be someone you’re not.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means that you are no better than me and the pogues and you playing dress up every week, going to their school- isn’t going to change that.”

“You’re trying to insult me by saying that i’m not one of them and it isn’t working JJ, I don’t want to be one of them.”

His eyes took you in from head-to-toe, “Have you looked in the mirror lately, Princess.”

“I’m trying JJ,” I exhale. “I’m trying my best not to fucking drown while i’m there, I can dress up all I want while i’m there and they still look at me the same but i’m also not gonna lie and say that part of me doesn’t enjoy it. And so what if I do? Fucking sue me.”

“Then fucking leave!” He shouted in your face, “Leave and enjoy you’re new life cause i’m not gonna be in it.”  

You stared at him wide-eyed, he never spoke to you like this, ever. JJ was always cheery and joked whenever things got too tense, he never acted out of turn. 

“You know what JJ, you’re really starting to sound like your dad,” Your voice was slightly above a whisper. You were teary eyed and hurt, you regretted the words the moment they left your lips but you were angry and in shock at the way he spoke to you.

He looked as if he had been slapped, he flinched as you made the comparison. You stuttered in your steps as you gave him one last glance before leaving.

~~~

You didn’t see him for days after the argument, whenever you were at the Chateau he was somewhere else  and when he was around, he didn’t utter a single word in your direction. You felt guilty, you didn’t truly think he was like Luke at all, but in that moment your mouth ran faster than your brain. 

Days turned into weeks, Weeks turned into months, and soon you were graduating. You hung around the Pogues often still, but without JJ you had more time to spend with your private school friends, you divided your time equally between both groups despite the on going beef. 

You missed JJ, he had been an integral part of your life, you never went a day without talking to him before the argument. Now you’d become strangers, strangers and yet you knew everything that went on in his life. You lived right next to him, you heard him and his dad, you shared the same friends so you were never left out of anything. Everything you knew now just didn’t come from him, which stung. 

You were both in the wrong, you knew and accepted that but JJ was set on avoiding you. You weren’t going to corner him, if he wanted to talk to you, he would come to you as he had many times before. 

Summer just started, that meant another annual boneyard party. 

Kie had ran up to you and gave you a hug, “You’re here!” 

“Of course, did you doubt i’d come?” You giggled at her excitement. 

“Well, no but your public enemy number 1 is here,” She motioned over to where JJ was shotgunning a beer. 

You rolled your eyes shaking your head, “When has he ever stopped me from being around you guys?” 

She walked with you to grab a drink and from there everything was a blur of dancing, talking, and drinking. You had become so inebriated to the point where John B had pointed out your slurred speech, you insisted that you were fine and took several steps back to prove that you had not taken the effects of the several cups of alcohol you consumed. On the last step you back had bumped into someone, that someone had held you by your waist to steady you. 

You turned around to apologize but shut your mouth before anything could come out. It was the blond boy you had missed, at the sight of him you felt a familiar sting come from the back of your eyes. 

“Can we talk?” He didn’t remove his hand from your side, you didn’t want him to. 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” You murmured. You didn’t trust yourself to talk to him, seeing him made you realize you weren’t as sober as you thought. Your head spun as you looked into his blue eyes, who knew what would spill out of you, you could confess to a murder you didn’t commit if you were alone with him in this state. 

“Please?” His tone was soft, it made your knees weak. You tore your gaze away from his and you nodded. 

Your heart pounded rapidly, you felt like you were about to throw up, you weren’t sure if it was how much you had drank or a sign of how nervous you were. You trusted JJ to be this vulnerable- in this state- with him even after all this time. There was no doubt about it, you just didn’t trust yourself. You had been around him drunk too many times to count but there was so much time between you now and you had shed yourself of any care you might have in sharing your feelings for him.

He brought you over to the middle of where the cars were parked and the beach, trees surrounding you both. 

He swallowed before he spoke, “I wanted to say that I’m sorry. You transferred out of school, we never went to separate schools and you were always around during the day, then you weren’t and you got new friends- their all still dickheads by the way- but you’re my best friend and I didn’t want that to end.”

That brought you out of your thoughts, your gaze met his and he continued. “I didn’t want us to stop being friends after that fight- I just- I was scared,” He cleared his throat. It wasn’t easy for him to share his feelings. “I missed you Y/n, more than missed you actually. I can’t even explain how weird it was not having you around me and that’s completely my fault for being such an asshole, ignoring you and shit. I was pissed at the moment, I needed time and space but not that much time and space-”

He was rambling now, hearing how much he missed you felt like a weight being lifted off your chest, you weren’t the only one that felt the absence of your friendship. Now that he started talking, he wouldn’t stop overexplaing how much he missed you. 

He looked so cute when he was talking you couldn’t stop yourself, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Y/n,” His eyes furrowed as he stopped his rant. 

“No, JJ,” You grabbed his shoulders, taking a step into his space. “I love you. I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean to compare you to him, you could never be like him, ever. I was just as scared of losing and I did for a time but that doesn’t matter now because you’re here- talking to me finally. I’ll probably regret this as much as I did when I said what I said to you that day, I love you.”

His face spread into a bright grin, he let out a laugh and you almost questioned whether he thought you were joking or if he was laughing at you. You released your hold on him and took a step back only to be pulled into his chest, one of his hands on your waist, the other on your cheek as he pulled you into a kiss. 

For a moment you couldn’t process what was happening, the next, your hands had tugged him closer by tangling in his hair and neck making the kiss go deeper. 

You heard cheers coming from the crowded side of the party, you had pulled away from JJ with a smile and looked to where John B, Kiara, and Pope were howling at the two of you. 

“The great war is over!” John B had called out. He and the others had taken to calling the fight you and JJ had ‘The Great War’ over time when he and the rest of them realized that this wasn’t just some petty fight you guys had and would eventually get over. They hated it almost as much as you two did. 

JJ wrapped his arm around your shoulders looking over at your friends and gave you sweet kisses on your forehead. 

“I love you.”

[syrupfog]

The Tang explodes and the crew swims to safety. It takes days to find a habitable island, much less some place they can stop and rest and start to rebuild (and wait for Law). 

They end up on a small island with a large population, because this island is built to be one thing;

It’s a college town. 

PLOT TWIST THE HEART CREW UNIVERSITY SLICE OF LIFE TIME. 

They have to enroll to be given a loan, and that loan is how they’re able to afford a shitty little frat house, recently vacated because of a rat infestation.

Nineteen crew members. Five rooms. There’s already a beer pong table up when they move in. 

None of these guys have completed secondary school. Sure, most of them could pass a medical entrance exam, but they couldn’t write an essay on why the curtains are blue. Or do geometry.

Everyone has to find jobs. Penguin, Shachi, and Jean Bart end up at a coffee shop. Ikkaku works at the textbook store. Hakugan flips signs on a street corner. 

Penguin actually really enjoys latte art. The job doesn’t call for it, he just likes it.

Because no one has any university experience (why would they?) they try to all take the same major, to help each other out. After an argument they end up split down the middle; half of them go for history, the other half go for agriculture.

Penguin and Shachi, agriculture majors, end up pulling shifts on the school’s farm before the sun comes up, THEN working at the coffee shop when it opens at dawn. Jean Bart managed to make manager. 

The Tang isn’t FORGOTTEN, but… they need to get good enough grades not to drop.

If they drop they have to pay the loans back. 

So for a few months, everyone goes to class and works and studies. The house smells like beer and piss no matter how hard they clean. 

And then, one day… 

Kid and Killer wash up onto the island.

Kid refuses to sign up for university. That’s how Hakugan finds them— he hears the yelling from where he’s flipping a sign for pizzas. He alerts everyone else. 

Killer does not have such reservations. He signs up on the spot. Poetry.

After a quick house meeting, the Hearts offer for Kid and Killer to sleep on their sofa. The two of them look… worse for wear. And a familiar face is nice. Everyone here at uni is… well, they’re very normal. 

Kid doesn’t want to. But Killer accepts for the both of them.

Penguin helps Killer learn the bus system AND gets him a job at the coffee shop. It’s almost impressive there were so many free positions at this place, but… Penguin’s been sprayed in the face with hot espresso from the machines and yelled at by customers. A lot. He gets it.

He shows Killer how to make latte art, though. Killer turns in a poem about it. His professor calls it cliche but it gets him a passing grade. And so, three more months pass. The winter solstice arrives. Everyone goes home for the holiday, veritably abandoning the island.

Suddenly it’s just the Hearts and the Kids. 

They make snowmen and snow angels and exchange terrible presents because they’re poor university students. 

And on the day of the winter solstice, two new people wash up on the shore.

The Heart pirates only know because Penguin and Killer are taking a, ahem, private walk. 

But there they are, passed out on the beach. Rough, but alive. 

Penguin screeches, cries. Killer carries both bodies, hanging over his shoulders, back to the house.

Thus, when the next semester starts, Law and Bepo enroll in class. 

Because, like, while they’re hiding out and rebuilding, Law might as well get a real medical license, right?

(He doesn’t; he shambles a student to pieces two weeks into the semester because she was insulting the new pirate king, and then they have to beat a swift exit before the loan sharks come, but Jean Bart at least has been working on the Tang 2 and at least its sea worthy).

(Kid and Killer come along for the ride, because hell if Kid is going to STAY in a UNIVERSITY it fuckign SUCKS THERE) 

(Also cause Penguin and Killer kiss a lot)

[luzwastaken]

autism in school vent thing.

autism is all silly and fun and games and YIPPEE untill you literally cant do school work because it's not about your special interest, i can write perfectly good essays just fine if i can write about pokemon, but as soon as im forced to write about a topic that doesnt at least interest me its suddenly "needs extra support" "argument not strong enough" and the occasional "???"

it affects me in other classes too, i'm currently failing three (out of six) classes because i can't physically or mentally get myself to care enough about the assignments to do them because they don't interest me, like i dream about my teachers printing a special paper for me that's just a little silly and uses pokemon and pokemon characters AS SILLY AS IT SOUNDS if i could just get an assignment that's like "if a trainer throws a pokeball at this angle and it hits a pokemon at this angle, then calculate how far away the trainer was" (general question but yk) IM NOT SHITTING YOU I FEEL LIKE I WOULD DO SO MUCH BETTER, even in art class i hate being forced to draw a gummy bear or something like just let me draw Nemona please :((

[chansaw]

on red and blue symbolism in heathers: an essay

i read one of those buzzfeed listicles the other day that was like “crazy fun facts and secrets about your favorite 80s movies!” and one of the first fun facts was “did you know that in heathers, every character is associated with a color?” that’s not a fun fact. it’s not even a secret. heathers is a lot of things but one thing it’s not is subtle. heathers practically beats the viewer over the head with color symbolism but in this essay, i would particularly like to draw attention to the colors red and blue and their significance in heathers’ narrative.

a short preface: when possible, i cite stills sourced from the movie itself. some images, however, are served better by the gif format, so whenever i post a gif i will also cite the tumblr user who made it. if your gifs are used in this post and you would like me to remove them, please let me know.

okay, with that out of the way, let's start at the beginning (naturally). below is the title card. right away, the cinematographers inundate the viewer with red, informing the viewer that red (and whoever wears it) will be significant to the narrative.

red represents the social order and the natural hierarchy of predators and prey at westerburg. red is omnipresent throughout the production design of the school's campus.

by assuming the color of the school itself, heather chandler assumes control of the school. and when she drags veronica along to the remington party to help boost their reputation, the whole dorm is bathed in red light.

when we first meet veronica, she's wearing gray and black, with only occasional pops of blue (the brooch in the outfit above, her croquet mallet, etc) but as veronica's discomfort and unease begins to grow, something interesting begins to happen!

blue light slowly begins to creep into the frame, and once veronica has finally had enough of brad's bullshit, it becomes even more prominent. just as red represents control of the social hierarchy, blue symbolizes discontent and rejection of the social order.

(gif by @/fireairshadow)

meanwhile, heather chandler isn't having a great time at the party either. this scene is the only time in the film we see heather chandler completely alone, in a moment of vulnerability and self loathing, and she's surrounded by the color blue.

(gif by @/tibby ily tibby)

and then all hell breaks loose. i honestly dont think one image or gif alone can do this scene justice so im linking to tibby's (beautifully colored) gifset of the scene.

note how as veronica declares war ("lick it up, baby!"), red and blue lights flicker across her face. and as heather promises to ruin veronica in turn, the red light casts heather's face in shadow and overpowers the blue.

of course, heather never gets the chance to make good on this promise because veronica and jd kill her. and that may have been a mistake, but the color of their poison is quite deliberate.

(gif by @/nowadayz)

and right before she dies, she takes off her red scrunchie - conceding her control.

of course, heather's death doesn't mean her exit from the narrative. red lingers throughout the rest of the film. but guess what color veronica wears to the funeral?

tumblr is a little bitch and i dont have the time or energy to expound upon the rest of my argument at the moment. it's probably been examined and analyzed in greater detail by people smarter and far more eloquent than me. but i'll conclude with veronica's reclamation of the red scrunchie at the end of the film. you could choose to interpret this as veronica conceding to the hierarchy even after all she's been through, but i choose to interpret it as a bitter compromise.

(gif by @/nowadayz)

and so it ends the way it begins.

anyways all this to say vote for chansaw in the @redandbluebracket tomorrow or i'll kill you.

ETA: a note to anyone who came to my blog from this post - hi! you don’t have to like chansaw romantically/as a ship. im not expecting to proselytize and convert people en masse (although if you HAVE been converted, welcome). even without the shipping element, i believe that veronica and hc’s dynamic as character foils is the backbone of the narrative, which is why i genuinely think they deserve to win the red and blue bracket. vote here. my name is heather chansaw and i approve this message.

[dailyanarchistposts]

F.7 How does the history of “anarcho”-capitalism show that it is not anarchist?

Of course, “anarcho”-capitalism does have historic precedents and “anarcho”-capitalists spend considerable time trying to co-opt various individuals into their self-proclaimed tradition of “anti-statist” liberalism. That, in itself, should be enough to show that anarchism and “anarcho”-capitalism have little in common as anarchism developed in opposition to liberalism and its defence of capitalism. Unsurprisingly, these “anti-state” liberals tended to, at best, refuse to call themselves anarchists or, at worse, explicitly deny they were anarchists.

One “anarcho”-capitalist overview of their tradition is presented by David M. Hart. His perspective on anarchism is typical of the school, noting that in his essay anarchism or anarchist “are used in the sense of a political theory which advocates the maximum amount of individual liberty, a necessary condition of which is the elimination of governmental or other organised force.” [“Gustave de Molinari and the Anti-statist Liberal Tradition: Part I”, pp. 263–290, Journal of Libertarian Studies, vol. V, no. 3, p. 284] Yet anarchism has never been solely concerned with abolishing the state. Rather, anarchists have always raised economic and social demands and goals along with their opposition to the state. As such, anti-statism may be a necessary condition to be an anarchist, but not a sufficient one to count a specific individual or theory as anarchist.

Specifically, anarchists have turned their analysis onto private property noting that the hierarchical social relationships created by inequality of wealth (for example, wage labour) restricts individual freedom. This means that if we do seek “the maximum of individual liberty” then our analysis cannot be limited to just the state or government. Thus a libertarian critique of private property is an essential aspect of anarchism. Consequently, to limit anarchism as Hart does requires substantial rewriting of history, as can be seen from his account of William Godwin.

Hart tries to co-opt of William Godwin into the ranks of “anti-state” liberalism, arguing that he “defended individualism and the right to property.” [Op. Cit., p. 265] He, of course, quotes from Godwin to support his claim yet strangely truncates Godwin’s argument to exclude his conclusion that ”[w]hen the laws of morality shall be clearly understood, their excellence universally apprehended, and themselves seen to be coincident with each man’s private advantage, the idea of property in this sense will remain, but no man will have the least desire, for purposes of ostentation or luxury, to possess more than his neighbours.” In other words, personal property (possession) would still exist but not private property in the sense of capital or inequality of wealth. For Godwin, “it follows, upon the principles of equal and impartial justice, that the good things of the world are a common stock, upon which one man has a valid a title as another to draw for what he wants.” [An Enquiry into Political Justice, p. 199 and p. 703] Rather than being a liberal Godwin moved beyond that limited ideology to provide the first anarchist critique of private property and the authoritarian social relationships it created. His vision of a free society would, to use modern terminology, be voluntary (libertarian) communism.

This analysis is confirmed in book 8 of Godwin’s classic work, entitled “On Property.” Needless to say, Hart fails to mention this analysis, unsurprisingly as it was later reprinted as a socialist pamphlet. Godwin thought that the “subject of property is the key-stone that completes the fabric of political justice.” Like Proudhon, he subjected property as well as the state to an anarchist analysis. For Godwin, there were “three degrees” of property. The first is possession of things you need to live. The second is “the empire to which every man is entitled over the produce of his own industry.” The third is “that which occupies the most vigilant attention in the civilised states of Europe. It is a system, in whatever manner established, by which one man enters into the faculty of disposing of the produce of another man’s industry.” He notes that it is “clear therefore that the third species of property is in direct contradiction to the second.” [Op. Cit., p. 701 and p. 710–2] The similarities with Proudhon’s classic analysis of private property are obvious (and it should be stressed that the two founders of the anarchist tradition independently reached the same critique of private property).

Godwin, unlike classical liberals, saw the need to “point out the evils of accumulated property,” arguing that the “spirit of oppression, the spirit of servility, and the spirit of fraud … are the immediate growth of the established administration of property. They are alike hostile to intellectual and moral improvement.” Thus private property harms the personality and development those subjected to the authoritarian social relationships it produces, for “accumulation brings home a servile and truckling spirit” and such accumulated property “treads the powers of thought in the dust, extinguishes the sparks of genius, and reduces the great mass of mankind to be immersed in sordid cares.” This meant that the “feudal spirit still survives that reduced the great mass of mankind to the rank of slaves and cattle for the service of a few.” Like the socialist movement he inspired, Godwin argued that “it is to be considered that this injustice, the unequal distribution of property, the grasping and selfish spirit of individuals, is to be regarded as one of the original sources of government, and, as it rises in its excesses, is continually demanding and necessitating new injustice, new penalties and new slavery.” He stressed, “let it never be forgotten that accumulated property is usurpation” and considered the evils produced by monarchies, courts, priests, and criminal laws to be “imbecile and impotent compared to the evils that arise out of the established administration of property.” [Op. Cit., p. 732, p. 725, p. 730, p. 726, pp. 717–8, p. 718 and p. 725]

Unsurprisingly given this analysis, Godwin argued against the current system of property and in favour of “the justice of an equal distribution of the good things of life.” This would be based on ”[e]quality of conditions, or, in other words, an equal admission to the means of improvement and pleasure” as this “is a law rigorously enjoined upon mankind by the voice of justice.” [Op. Cit., p. 725 and p. 736] Thus his anarchist ideas were applied to private property, noting like subsequent anarchists that economic inequality resulted in the loss of liberty for the many and, consequently, an anarchist society would see a radical change in property and property rights. As Kropotkin noted, Godwin “stated in 1793 in a quite definite form the political and economic principle of Anarchism.” Little wonder he, like so many others, argued that Godwin was “the first theoriser of Socialism without government — that is to say, of Anarchism.” [Environment and Evolution, p. 62 and p. 26] For Kropotkin, anarchism was by definition not restricted to purely political issues but also attacked economic hierarchy, inequality and injustice. As Peter Marshall confirms, “Godwin’s economics, like his politics, are an extension of his ethics.” [Demanding the Impossible, p. 210]

Godwin’s theory of property is significant because it prefigured what was to become standard nineteenth century socialist thought on the matter. In Britain, his ideas influenced Robert Owen and, as a result, the early socialist movement in that country. His analysis of property, as noted, was identical to and predated Proudhon’s classic anarchist analysis. As such, to state, as Hart did, that Godwin simply “concluded that the state was an evil which had to be reduced in power if not eliminated completely” while not noting his analysis of property gives a radically false presentation of his ideas. [Op. Cit., p. 265] However, it does fit into his flawed assertion that anarchism is purely concerned with the state. Any evidence to the contrary is simply ignored.

[666herescared]

Imaginary Shadow Dad)Ch.7: Anger

—☆—

  Notes: Get ready to see the badass good boy! Trust me though, there is an explanation for his behavior. He’s just a bit more agro than canon Mk, but he’s still wholesome and a little bean!:3 Also, uncle Sandy>:3 He has a therapy degree.

—☆—

Territorial Monkey

  Pigsy was startled when the school called in the middle of his work day, forcing him to take an early lunch and see what was wrong. Tang was probably in the middle of a lecture at the time, so it wasn’t likely that he’d be able to join in. He arrived at the school and made his way to the principal’s office, seeing his son squatting on the chair with his feet supporting his ass. “Ah. You must be Xiaotian’s father. Please, take a seat.” The man at the desk said, a stern gaze causing the pig to stiffen up.

  He sat down and glanced at Mk, who was still refusing to sit like a person. “What did you do?!” Pigsy whispered, making the little monkey flinch and avoid his glare.

  “Nothing he didn’t deserve.” The boy whispered back, keeping his glare on the carpet. 

  The principal cleared his throat, stopping the demon from questioning his kid further. “Xiaotian bit another kid today.” The condescending man glared at both of them, seemingly blaming Pigsy just as much as Mk. “According to him, the kid tried to steal his lunchbox and, “got too close”.”

  “What?!” The pig exclaimed in shock, before hearing the low growl his son gave to the authority figure.

  “What else was I meant to do!?” The kid suddenly looked like he was about to leap across the table and attack the principal. Knowing his son, he was perfectly capable of it too. “I gave him one bite of it last year, and now he won’t stop pestering me about it when I say, “no”!” Mk slammed his hand against the chair and made the whole thing creak- Wait, what the fuck?!

  How was his son that damn strong?! Was tree climbing really that good for the upper body? “You should have approached a teacher about it. Not. Bit him.” The imposing male stated.

  “And have it get ignored? Fat chance! I’d rather get in trouble than lose my meal!” The kid stated like he’d tried that before, even though Pigsy definitely hadn’t heard about that. 

  The pig patted Mk’s back, not missing the way his son tensed and gripped the chair. He decided it was best to give the kid his desired space. “Okay.. Well, what punishment is the other kid getting?” The demon asked, not expecting the reply of,

  “None. I believe your son inflicted enough pain on the poor boy already.” 

  Pigsy laughed in disbelief. “You’re kidding. The kid tried to steal from my kid! He should at least get a talking to!” He exclaimed, not understanding the principal’s logic. The little monkey’s eyes lit up, clearly cheered up by the defense. He already understood what he did wrong. He was more angry about the kid not getting punished in the first place. 

  Sadly, that light was snuffed out when the principal sighed as though they were being unreasonable. “I understand that, but the boy came into the nurse’s office crying over how much it hurt. It was already bruised when he came in. I think your son has punished the boy already.” The man stated with a glare that shut down Pigsy’s argument. “I understand that your son is… a special case. So, instead of detention, he'll just have to write a three page essay about the dangers of bites." 

  "WHAT?!" Mk yelled, interrupting. "Do you think I don't already know that?! I get that I did bad, but three whole pages?! I'd never find enough info!" The boy seemed angry, though he was still refusing to sit like a human.

  Pigsy held up a hand and successfully shut his son up, which was a surprise to him. He wasn't expecting that to work. When he took a glance, his son was now looking down at the floor in annoyed silence, clearly not having wanted to shut up. Makes you wonder. "Well.. I’ll ask Tang to help him write it. I'm sorry for his behavior." He apologized with a small bow in respect, seeing his son tip his head slightly, clearly following his lead but not wanting to show too much respect. 

  The principal dismissed them, allowing the pig to head back to the shop and the child to stomp back to his class, not noticing the wisps of shadow coming off of him or the intensity of the glowing from his eyes.

——000000——

Protective Monkey

  Mk was stuck up a tree. No joke. That's literally where he was. The cub had started getting into fights a lot, mostly to defend demon kids from getting bullied. But eventually, he was threatened with suspension. He still protected those in his corner from his perch, but he started relying more on his apparent infamy rather than his physical strength. It was useless when he got in his most recent one. The Little Monkey was walking through the hall, when he heard a slam and turned to see a young yellow lizard demon named Miki being held firm against her locker.

  Long story short, the fight got bad, he got caught, and to escape the consequences of his actions, he fled up his tree. He was just lucky that the doors to the school yard were open. He started out only a little higher than normal, but then the principal came out, calling for him to get down. He climbed higher and sat in the middle branches, where he was well out of the principal’s reach. The vice principal walked up beside his superior, gazing up at the errant child and asked, “Should I call his parents?”

  A dead branch was kicked from Mk’s seat in the tree and hit the man on the head. He rubbed his head as he confirmed, “Yes. He might listen to them.” 

  The Little Monkey was truly living up to his name as he sat there so high up the tree that falling was sure to break at least one bone. Just how he liked it. As monkey as the Monkey Kid could get. He knew that if he had his shadow tail then, it would have been flicking in a pleased manner.

  He could almost feel the ghost of it there. He felt incomplete without it. Six ears that weren’t there flicked as he watched the ground. He honestly acted so similar to Monkey King that it was scary. Protective, and yet he flees the moment consequences arrive. It was a part of his training, after all. It wasn’t his fault. “Get in, get out fast.” 

  “MK!” Pigsy yelled from the ground. Oh- shit, how long had he been there? He looked down and saw both his dads, Dadsy just standing there and staring up at him in shock, while Tang paced in a panic. “Get out of the tree!” 

  “NO!” The Little Monkey climbed the rest of the way up the tree. “You aren’t my dad!”

  The jolt of pain on Pigsy’s face was quickly covered. This had started happening around the time that the fights did. Mk would yell, “You aren’t my dad!” or something similar and then call him Dadsy in the next damned sentence. “Get out of the God damned tree! I am your dad!” 

  “You’re not my dad!” the Little Monkey yelled, hanging from a branch like a fucking koala. 

  “I am your dad, get down from the f- heckin’ tree!” The nervous parental demon barely caught himself almost cussing. Not till Mk’s sixteen.

  “I’m up a tree and you’re not!” the boy yelled down, pointing at his dads with one hand as the other held him steady.

  “XIAO HOUZI!” Tang shouted fearfully, finally standing still for a moment. “COME DOWN! YOU’RE GOING TO HURT YOURSELF!” 

  The Little Monkey reflexively covered his ears, falling down to the next branch and having to catch himself. 

  Suddenly very aware of his own mortality, the boy started crying. "Dadsy! Help! I'm scared!"

  “Great. He’s not being stubborn now, but how are we gonna get him down!” the pig exclaimed in confusion, hearing everyone else watching the spectacle start hemming and hawing. He sighed deeply, but it was abruptly cut off by some weirdly serious kid shoving past. He looked to be about twelve years of age, with long, straight black hair - like a waterfall made of ink. He wore a pink and very floral-themed hoodie adorned in lotuses with sweatpants to match.

  “Calm yourself! I’ll get you down!” The strange boy’s voice was so deep, you could be forgiven for thinking he was an adult. Maybe he was just a really short sixteen year old… with a really developed voice? 

  The boy leapt up the tree with an ease that defied gravity, and offered the panicked boy his arms. Mk was wary. He didn’t know this kid and wasn’t entirely certain he could trust him, but the older kid’s aura was so calming that he felt like maybe he could… and he really did want to get down from the tree now, so he allowed himself to relax and climb into his arms.

  The older boy made his way back down the branches much slower than he had ascended, and allowed Tang to pull his son into his arms once they were on the ground. He immediately turned to leave. As he was walking past, however, he gripped Pigsy’s shoulder and whispered, “You have no clue just who you have under your roof. Don’t expect favors too often. Keep him safe.”

  “Obviously! He’s my-” The demon turned around to look at the odd boy, but he had vanished just as suddenly as he had appeared. He looked around for any sign of the cryptic teen, but there was nary a clue aside from a few pink petals in the grass. “What the-..Hm..” That scent.. 

  The pig let out an OOF as he was unexpectedly hugged by his husband from behind, followed by a second, somewhat less abrupt hug from his son. 

“I’m sorry..” Mk whispered, with tears in his eyes.

  Pigsy put all thought of their fortuitous benefactor out of his mind. His kid was crying. He could think about mysterious flower boys later. For now, he had to focus on bringing his son home, and making a jujube cake for his family.

——000000——

Snap

  It wasn't Mk’s fault! Just getting that out there. He was just protecting a demon kid. He was sitting on his branch when he heard a kid scream. "B-Brutus, please!" No'e yelled, getting the attention of the school yard guardian. Brutus - He was a well-known bully who was infamous for being a lot meaner than the other playground antagonists.

  A glance toward the confrontation showed that Brutus's reputation was fair. After all, he was holding No'e's antlers so tight that moving could cause them to snap. "You asked for this, tattletale! You shouldn't have told on me when you have these convenient hand-holds."

  The monkey-boy could see where this was going, so he wasted no time in snapping off a branch from his perch, leaping down and storming over to, without a word, hit Brutus's stomach hard enough with his makeshift club to make him let go of the reindeer girl's antlers. The boy grunted in pain as he was thrown off, hitting the ground with enough force that he lost his vision for a moment. 

  No'e knew to run after a rescue at this point, so she fled before the fight broke out, with only a muttered, "Thank you." to MK.

  He didn't hear her, though. He was already having a bad day, and he didn't need Brutus making it worse. Without a thought in his mind, he lifted the stick above his head, and swung it with all his might at the boy on the ground, snapping the stick with the impact, and definitely bruising the kid. He came to his senses when he heard the boy's scream.

  MK realized his mistake a moment too late as he stared down at Brutus. The boy may have been cruel, but Mk knew he had hurt him more than he should have. Not good. Terror welled up inside of him. This was bad. He’d really done it now! He was suspended the last time he got in a fight, and he didn't want his dads to get angry again. 

  He ran.

  He didn’t notice the people yelling after him or how shadowy wisps clung to him, nor how his eyes glowed brighter in the moment. He was too panicked, trying to find a- there! On the wall of the school, he spotted a few pipes and someone on the roof would be far out of reach.

  Without thinking, he raced to the piping and scaled it to reach the roof, nearly slipping a few times in his panic. As he reached the top, and scurried over to the middle, he let out a sigh of relief. Finally, somewhere he wouldn’t be seen. The shadows calmed and his eyes faded to their normal shade. He was just gonna… stay there… for a bit.

-Hour 1-

  It was already concerning when the school called that day, but it was so much worse when he found out what they were calling about. They couldn’t find Mk! Pigsy closed the shop without hesitation so he could go and help look for his son. Tang showed up at the school gates in a cab moments after him. It seemed like he’d gotten a similar call. 

  “Pigsy! Oh thank goodness! I was worried I’d have to search on my own!” The scholar whined fearfully and hugged Pigsy’s arm, clearly nervous for their son.

  The demon chuckled anxiously and petted his husband’s hair to comfort him. “Yeah. Same here, Tangy.” the pig agreed, beginning to walk toward the building, his husband in tow. And so, the search began! Sadly, questioning Brutus was no help. He was kinda non-functioning and still on the ground at the time, due to blunt force trauma, so he saw nothing. Oops. 

-Hour 2-

  They were getting scared. The principal had called the cops to help search, and Tang had had three breakdowns already. Pigsy’s efforts in promising free noodles when they got home were no longer helping.

  Mk watched the chaos unfolding through a small hole in the short brick wall that surrounded the school roof. He was starting to think he’d bitten off more than he could chew. He was so nervous. How would he calm his dads? He didn’t want them to panic! But he also didn’t wanna get arrested! Well… they’d have to give up eventually.

Right?

-Hour 3-

  Around the start of the 3rd hour, Mk took to throwing pebbles down to his parents. He was missing, but he was trying. He wanted his parents to know he was okay, but he didn’t want to alert the cops to his location. He peeked over the edge of the roof to line up his next shot- but, “Hey- wait, isn’t that the weird kid who saved me from the tree?” 

  The boy was looking directly at him! He looked so baffled by the Little Monkey’s antics, but he actually saw him! “Wait- wha? Where did he go?!” The teen had vanished again. A single petal landed on the Monkey Kid’s nose. It made him sneeze. Was it just his imagination?

-Hour 4-

  All the other kids had gone home. Their parents had been called to pick them up when it was discovered he was missing. The cops and other adults were still searching - still calling for him - but Mk didn’t dare come down. It didn’t matter that he was getting cold. And bored.

  ..Mostly bored.

  He tensed and ducked back out of sight when two officers who had been circling the school for the hundredth time stopped at the bottom of the pipes. Mk held his breath and listened.

  “You don’t think he climbed up there, do ya?”

  You could hear a pin drop in the tense silence, but MK breathed a sigh of relief when the second officer said, “Nah. No kid could climb that.”

  And back to being bored…

-Hour 5-

  Why weren’t the cops leaving?! Even Dadsy and Mr.Tang had gone home by now, probably in hopes that he was already there. It was getting dark now! The Little Monkey lamented his continued trapped state as he sat up there on the pebble covered roof. He missed his dads.. 

  He placed a soft hand on his shadow, and he teared up.

-Hour 6-

  Mk started softly singing to himself as he watched the ground below. The officers were finally getting ready to leave. He remembered when dad used to sing that. He remembered falling asleep to that song every night. “Shine~ Shine~ Shadow light. A star I needed to keep alive. So shine~ Shine~ Shadow light. I want to see you shine so bright.”

  And finally, finally, the cops left. Mk climbed down expertly, although stiff from sitting on the roof for so long, but he made it to the bottom and started his long walk home. He kept humming the old lullaby to himself as he made his way back to his house. As the shop came into view, a feeling of dread came over him. He was scared of how his dads would react, so rather than use the door, he climbed up the fire escape and slipped into his room through his window. He ever-so quietly started getting ready for bed, but froze when he heard footsteps on the stairs.

  Mk was still as a statue as they stomped up to his room. “No- No, of course I know that. Look, I feel like he’s been through enough just going missing. No! I don’t care if you think he-” Pigsy threw open the door, phone to his ear and went stock-still in an instant.They found themselves stuck in a silent stare off, but it was Pigsy who broke the stillness. “I-I found him,” he gasped, dropping the phone in his shock. 

  Tang bolted up the stairs, seemingly having heard what Pigsy’d said. He hit the wall in his rush and shouted, “WHERE IS MY BABY?!!” Pigsy had forgotten completely about whoever he was calling, running forward alongside Tang and causing Mk to throw his hands up as the scholar yelled, “Xiao Houzi!” and gave him a huge hug. The pig caught them both up in a bone-popping hug an instant later.

  “H-hi dads..” Mk waved one semi-pinned hand, before working his arms free and wrapping them around his parents’ shoulders. He felt so much guilt rush over him at once that he started crying as he held his dads close. “I-I’m sorry..”

  “It’s alright, Mk.” Pigsy muttered, trying to regain composure, but still crying a lot. 

  Tang wasn’t even trying. He was sobbing into his son’s shirt and nuzzling him. “Xiao Houzi! Oh, my sweet Little Monkey. I thought we’d lost you!”

  “I’m sorry,” Mk apologized softly again, voice barely audible, as tears traced thin lines down his cheeks.

  “H-Hey. It’s okay,” Pigsy consoled his son. “How about I make us some jujube cake? We can go calm down, and talk about this. Alright?” the demon asked, wiping his eyes and stepping back. 

  The exhausted family agreed and made their way downstairs for some comfort food and a long conversation. 

  There was one thing the adults knew by the end of that day. Mk needed some therapy. 

——000000——

Old Friend

  It was a Saturday, which meant Mk and Tang were both home and Pigsy was cooking. They were presently sitting at the counter, waiting for lunch to be done. Tang was recapping the chapters about the kingdom of women to Mk. Meanwhile, he was glancing through therapist listings on his phone. Once the food was done and placed in front of the two, Mr.Tang decided it was a good place to stop and focused on eating, alongside his son. 

  After a little bit, Pigsy noticed that someone familiar had slipped in among the customers. Someone they still had to talk about. The mysterious flower boy was sitting in one of the booths! He was eating and staring directly at Mk. 

  Pigsy tapped his husband on the shoulder and muttered, “That flower kid is here again.”

  Tang barely glanced up from his noodles, but the Little Monkey slammed his hands on the counter and turned to look. 

  The moment he noticed him, the older boy booked it out the door. “YOU!” the younger yelled, chasing the boy out the door. He was lucky that traffic was slow. “You aren’t disappearing this time, big brother!” Mk said, almost playfully as he chased the older boy. Look, this happened a lot, okay? It was getting annoying that he stared at him all the time, but never actually talked to him.

  Eyes following MK out the door, Pigsy clarified, “I meant that we should talk about him.” to Tang.

  “What about him?” Tang asked through a mouthful of noodles.

  “Isn’t it weird that he keeps showin’ up and staring at Mk? And the first time he showed up, he said some ominous thing about us, “Not knowing who we have under our roof.” Like, who does he think the kid is?! Mk is Mk! He has no right to tell us-” 

The demon’s husband shushed him. “Pigsy, sweetheart, you’re rambling. I don’t know what your point is.” the scholar stated.

  “S-Sorry, Tangy. It’s just… What’s going on with our son? How are we supposed to help him? He acts like a monkey, has shadow magic, and definitely needs therapy. I don’t know what to-!” The pig had calmed down significantly, but his anxiety was starting to ramp up again, so Tang grabbed his hand and ran his thumb across his husband’s knuckles.

  “It’ll be alright, Bao Bei*. How about you take a break and help me look for a therapist for our Little Monkey?” he asked in a comforting tone, emphasizing his breaths. 

  Pigsy breathed in and out alongside the scholar subconsciously, relaxing fairly quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” He agreed, grabbing his ‘Out to Lunch’ sign from beneath the counter and walking around to sit with his lover. Tang patted his back and slurped up the rest of his noodles fairly quickly, just waiting for their son to get back, before heading downstairs to relax.

  They didn’t have to wait too long, because the Little Monkey walked through the door moments later, glaring at a petal in his hand. 

  Mk crushed the petal angrily, and dashed for the stairs, but was halted suddenly by Tang. Luckily, he was able to stop the instinctive punch he nearly threw. That was happening too much- “Yeah, dad?” Mk asked, opening his fist and shaking the tension out. The shadow trails flickered away as he lost the aggression.

  “We’re heading downstairs for a break, Xiao Houzi. We’re gonna keep looking for a therapist while we’re down there. Do you want to come?” Mr.Tang asked, eyeing the tense hand in a way that did not go unnoticed.

  After a moment of thought, Xiaoti- Mk said, “No. I’m gonna go watch ‘Monkey Cop’ again.” while pointing up the stairs. His human dad nodded, letting his hand go, and waving at him cautiously as he ran to his room. 

  Once he knew his son was up the stairs, Tang stopped waving and put both hands into his sleeves, walking down to the couple’s home. His husband lingered in the noodle shop for a moment, looking at their son’s room worriedly, before catching up to his lover. 

  The two of them walked over to the couch, Tang flopping down and Pigsy settling down next to him a moment later. Both let out long sighs, before taking out their phones and continuing to browse therapist listings.   Thirty minutes later, Tang found something interesting. “Pigsy. Look at this one. Home practicing therapist, with all necessary licensing, and multiple degrees. High rated, cheap, and he practices with unconventional methods, such as tea, sharing his therapy cats, meditating and yoga.”

  “Sounds like a bunch of mystic mumbo jumbo,” the demon replied, uninterested at first. That is, until his lover shoved his phone in his face.

  “Look at who the therapist is, though,” the scholar insisted.   Pigsy pushed his husband’s phone back, confused at the disbelief in his tone, until he saw who it was. Holy shit. “Sandy?!” 

  Five minutes later, Pigsy was making a call to a very old friend. The phone rang for a moment, then that voice he hadn't heard in years came through from the other side. "Thank you for calling "Cats and Tea Therapy"! How may I help you?"

  Emotions stirred in the demon's gut as he heard his old friend’s voice sounding so calm. "H-Hey, Sandy." His voice quivered, nervous about getting back in contact with the river spirit. 

  There was a pause. Shock was clear in Sandy's voice as he asked, "Pigsy?" After a moment without denial, a joyful tone slipped into his next sentence. "It’s been too long, old friend!" 

  The pig smiled as he heard his friend’s voice. "Heya, Sandy! Heard you're doing therapy now. How did that happen?"

  "Oh! I started therapy a while back, and it helped so much, I thought why not share the love. Why do you ask? Are you thinking about getting therapy yourself?" the river spirit asked.

  Pigsy cringed slightly at the thought. "Nah. Already did that a while ago. It's for my son," the older clarified, before getting an odd look from Tang. He then realized how that sounded. "Me and Tangy took him in about two years ago. Almost three now. He's turning thirteen in a few weeks." 

  "Oh! Okay. I was worried something happened between you two, and you found someone new," the river spirit chuckled with relief. 

  Pigsy laughed along with him. "Nah. We actually got married, like, five years ago."

  "WHAT?!" Excitement and shock mixed in Sandy's voice. "Why didn't you invite me?"

  The pig chuckled at his friend's question. "You know that's not part of pig demon courting, Sandy." 

  "But Tangy's a human! I just wanted to be there. Maybe be your best man. Mo could be your flower girl!" the spirit excitedly rambled, forgetting that Pigsy had no clue who Mo was.

  "Wait, what?" the demon exclaimed. "Who’s Mo?"

  Sandy felt like an idiot after that. "Oh. Mo is one of my therapy cats.. He’s my favorite!" he whispered the last bit into the phone, like it was a secret he didn’t want getting out. "Anywho; you wanted to set up an appointment?" The river spirit decided to finally get back to the point of the conversation.

  "Right. Me and Tangy have been looking for a therapist for our son. His name is Xiaotian, but he prefers Mk," Pigsy started.

  "Wait, how do you get Mk from Xiaotian?" the spirit asked in confusion. Why would that of all things be the boy’s preferred nickname?

  "Oh. It's short for Monkey Kid. We started calling him that because he climbs around and acts like a little monkey," the demon explained, watching his husband nod along with his description.

  The spirit made a sound of agreement, before claiming, "Sounds like a textbook case of childhood autism. Anything else?" 

  Pigsy was stunned for a moment by the sudden diagnosis, but he honestly agreed. "Yeah. He's been acting out recently. Being aggressive, flippin' from happy to angry to sad on a dime, and getting in fights at school."

  "Hm. Well, as an orphan, he's probably going through the five stages of grief. Anger is only the second stage though, so he might feel stuck. I'll see what times I have free. When do you guys have time?" The spirit asked calmly, like he wasn't mentally dissecting a child without meeting him. 

  "Uh.. None of us work on Sundays, and around 3:00 P.M. seems like a good time." He looked to his husband for approval, and got a nod in response. 

  "Alright. Let me check my schedule.." The rustling of pages could be heard over the phone for a few moments, before Sandy exclaimed, "Alright! I have every other week at that time open. Does that work for you?" the river spirit asked.

  "Yeah. Thanks, Sandy. I'll see you then," the demon confirmed. "How much will it cost per session?" He was a little nervous about the price, but at least he knew he could trust Sandy with his son. 

  "It’s normally around 100 per session, but I'll give you my friends and family discount, so it'll only be 75 for you!" the river spirit said with a joyful tone.

  "Pretty cheap for therapy so specialized. I gotta get back to work soon. See you on Sunday, Sandy." the Pig told the spirit, about to hang up the phone.

  "See you then, brother."

*”Bao Bei” is a chinese pet name for one's lover, according to google. It’s like calling them, “Baby” or something.

——000000——

Cats and Tea

  Mk was sitting behind Tang's seat in the truck, on his way to the therapy office for his first appointment. The scholar was telling him a story about the Monkey King and his lover, Liu'er Mihou. “-and then, bursting from the very shadows on the Monkey King’s chest plate, came the Six-Eared Macaque; ready to strike their opponent down! With one mighty blow from the shadow wielder’s staff, and an accompanying strike of the Monkey King’s, the battle was won! Their foe laid dead at their feet,” he emotively expressed, acting out the scene and then saying in sync with his son, “SOLAR ECLIPSE!” at the top of their lungs.   Pigsy covered one of his ears as they yelled the nerdy reference, but he honestly found their shared hyperfixation adorable. He wanted to contribute to the conversation a little, so he offhandedly mentioned, “A six-eared monkey with shadow magic, huh? Sounds like a dead ringer for your Shadow Dad.” to Mk.

  The Little Monkey was a little confused by that, but Tang rebutted before he could ask, “Ah! But you’re forgetting that the Six-Eared Macaque died during “The Journey to the West”, so he couldn’t have been Xiao Houzi’s Shadow Dad.”

  Mk was about to ask the scholar when that happened, when he got interrupted again - this time, by Pigsy. “Didn’t you say that’s heavily disputed? And Mk has said that Shadow Dad didn’t like him bringing up Monkey King.”   Again, the Monkey Kid went to ask something and got interrupted. Shadows were flickering around his hands as he gripped the seat in front of him, and they even flickered around his phantom limbs! The tail and ears flicked in annoyance as his Ba Ba said, “But that doesn’t mean it’s the same monkey. After all, I doubt Liu’er would show his ears so freely. He always glamors them away!”

  Yet again, Mk was gonna talk and got interrupted, but this time, he lashed out. Right as Dadsy started talking again, the Little Monkey shouted, “WILL YOU TWO LET ME TALK?!” while punching the floor of the truck.

  Both of his parents sat in stunned silence as the sound ran through the whole vehicle and Pigsy immediately braked. Everyone was breathing heavily as they tried to collect their thoughts. 

  Tang was first to recoup, brushing his hair back down and fixing his glasses, before turning around to look his son in the eyes as he apologized. He saw the shadows and brightly glowing eyes, but was only mildly concerned with that when he saw the look of regret and conflicted pain on his son’s face. “It’s alright, Little Monkey. I’m sorry for interrupting you. Say what you wanna say,” he comforted, brushing a hand through the tween’s hair. 

  It was barely anything in comparison to family grooming sessions, but it was something. It managed to calm Mk down from his anger, leaving him simply crying. 

  The adult panicked and reached both arms out as an invite. One that Mk took gladly, letting Tang pull him into as strong a hug as his frail arms could give. “There there, Xiao Houzi. You’re alright. We’re here. You’re here. You’re safe,” the scholar consoled his son, petting through his hair to calm him down.

  Pigsy glanced at the two questioningly, letting Tang know what he was asking with his eyes. A soft nod from his husband caused him to start driving again, wanting to get to the therapy appointment as quickly as he could without scaring his kid.

  As they pulled in, Mk quickly got off Tang and stepped out, looking at the boat in confusion. “A boat? That’s definitely a unique place to practice therapy.” 

  "It’s actually his house," the scholar corrected as he walked past.

  “Unique place to live, then,” the little monkey snarked, walking up alongside Mr.Tang. He wasn’t going to admit it, but he didn’t want to go in by himself. 

  When they all reached the top, they were all a little nervous, though Pigsy was the first to shake it off and knock. 

  Then the door opened, revealing a blue skinned river spirit that towered over all of them. “Hey! Pigsy! Tangy!” The oddly pleasant spirit greeted, before glancing at the Little Monkey on the side. “And… you must be Mk, right?” 

  The boy was terrified. He didn’t expect his therapist to be so… muscular? He was massive! Mk stepped back a little but was stopped by Tang rubbing his back softly and calming him. Grounding him. With a deep breath, he answered, “Yes, that- that's me. Hi.” 

  The therapist then waved at the boy, not pressing further. “Alright. Come in, guys.” He walked back into his house, heading to the kitchen right away and leaving his client to get comfortable. 

  When Mk walked in, he was shocked by the place. There were tons of cats, like, at least thirty! One in particular caught his attention. An orange tabby with a blue collar was staring at him. And what was up with it's eyes?! They were so… empty. The cat approached and Mk took a step back. Then once again, and his reaction was the same. “What does it want?” he stammered, shying away from the tabby’s eyes. 

  “He likes you!” Sandy commented, stepping out of the kitchen with a gray, cat themed tea set. The tween jumped back from the therapist, though the spirit’s reaction was only a chuckle. Mk looked at the blue guy with confusion, before reaching down cautiously to test it.

  The kitty sniffed his hand and meowed, before rubbing up against the tween with a long purr. It caused the Little Monkey to give a lopsided grin, while over at the tea table, his parents caught up with their old friend. Mk didn’t care about their conversation, though. He sat down to let the tabby climb up on him, noticing after a moment what the tag on its neck said. “Buffalo?!” he wheezed, laughing like crazy over the stupid name.   “Yeah, I… lost a bet..” the blue guy mumbled, though he was giggling at the boy’s reaction. “I get what you mean. He can’t help but make you love him!” he whispered to the tween’s fathers. 

  Pigsy and Tang nodded, happily looking at their son. The cat was climbing all over the Little Monkey, while the Monkey was still laughing.

  In moments like this, you could see that Little Sky clearing up. His sunshine smile and shining eyes peeking from behind the clouds that had covered them when he lost his Shadow Dad. After a little while, once the adults were done with their conversation, Sandy waved his client over.

  He approached cautiously and kneeled on one of the bamboo mats. The cat remained on his shoulders, as the spirit poured him a cup of boiling water. Mk picked two tea bags of the plum tea, but hesitated for a second. Was this the same brand Shadow Dad used? It was the same blue cat on the lo-.. What the heck?!

  That same blue cat was now standing next to the river spirit, smiling at the kitty on Mk’s shoulders. Wait… smiling? Cats don't smile. Do they? At least not like that! Of course, cats aren't normally blue either.

  Eyes drifting back to the tea bags, the Monkey Kid felt a lump form in his throat. The same tea Shadow Dad used to… He was on the verge of tears when Buffalo bunted him insistently. The fluff rubbing against him knocked him out of the near tearful state, and caused him to rub his cheek against the cat in return. He finally opened the wrappers and took out the bags, before placing them into the boiling water. The blue cat seemed proud of Buffalo.

  “Oh! This is Mo by the way!” The muscular spirit stated as he lifted the blue kitty into his hands. Hands, not arms, because the cat was just that small in comparison. Mk smiled softly at the cute scene, rubbing his arms as he got nostalgic again. The tabby on his shoulders bunted him again and snapped him out of it. “Buffalo is one of my therapy cats. He’s fully trained, which is why he keeps snapping you out of those sad spots,” Sandy explained to the confused tween.

  “Ah,” he mumbled, petting the orange kitty on his shoulders. He felt like it deserved a little bit of loving.

  After a few more moments, Sandy decided it was time to get started with the actual therapy. "Alright, Mk. Do you want your dads in here for your first session?" the spirit questioned calmly. He sounded so experienced.

  "Um.. No. I wanna do the first one alone," the Little Monkey answered, a small amount of guilt creeping in when he saw his dads react.

  Tang startled, and then looked down sadly while Pigsy panicked a little. "What?! Kid, are you sure? I don't wanna leave you alone! What if you have a panic attack? We know how you get when you're alo-"

  "It’s best to respect the patient's wishes, Pigsy. You and Tang can wait outside. I'll make sure to get you if he has a panic attack," Sandy butted in, still sounding so calm. 

  Tang forced himself to remain composed as he stood up and grabbed his husband’s hand to walk out. "Of course, Sandy. Come on, Pigsy." 

  The moment they passed through the door, the scholar’s act fell and he started crying into his lover's chest. With a deep sigh, the demon muttered, "You're an awful actor, Tang." and dragged him off to sit in the truck.

  Mk chuckled at his parents' worry, then refocused on the man in front of him, sipping his tea nervously. How was the river spirit so big?

  The therapist took a sip of his own cup before asking, "Alright. How about you tell me about yourself?" 

  “Okay.. Well, I’m guessing my parents already told you about my outbursts?” Mk began, getting a nod in response. “Those started about two years ago. The first time, a kid was trying to steal my lunch and I bit him. My most recent one was a time where I… beat a kid over the head with a stick because he was trying to tear off my classmate’s antlers. But, I’d say I was in the right there.” Mk claimed, getting a little bitter at the end.

  Sandy stroked his beard in thought for a moment. “Sounds like you have some level of anger issues, specifically a type of righteous anger that points toward a sort of internal moral debate.” 

What? 

  “There is a likelihood of abandonment issues in orphans, and anger issues are just as likely.” 

How?! 

  “Especially ones that emphasize one's wishes to be above their former parents, or potentially trying to make up for what one believes they’ve done wrong. Maybe even trying to live up to perceived expectations from their late paren-”

  “Stop. Seriously! How are you even doing that? You sound like you’re reading from a textbook!” Mk interrupted, feeling the discussion become far too close to the truth for only having explained two outbursts.

  “Okay.” The blue man said calmly, standing up and walking over to a shelf. Looking around him, one could see that he was grabbing an incense stick. When he returned, he placed it on the tray and lit it up. The smell was rather calming. It relaxed Mk before Sandy started talking again. “Could you tell me about your parents? All of them, I mean?”

  “What do you mean, ‘All of them’?” the Little Monkey asked, looking for clarification. 

  The spirit in front of him calmly began to explain to him, “Well, all of them! Anyone you’ve ever considered a parent, and your birth parents, of course. It is my understanding that they weren’t exactly deserving of the title?” He was patient with every word. It was getting on Mk’s nerves.

  “Not much to say about them. They hated me and I hated them. It’s not exactly a complicated situation,” Xiao Houzi said spitefully, picking at the skin on his arm. “But… there was my Shadow Dad… and don’t say he wasn’t real, all right?” he demanded anxiously, though he only got a calm nod in return. How did he do that? Sandy was so… relaxed, no matter what! 

  “Well… Shadow Dad was sort of a… shadow demon… that I met in this closet my…" he paused a moment to consider his words, then continued, "..birth parents used to lock me in when they got sick of looking at me." 

  Mk stared at the glowing tip of the slowly burning incense as he spoke. It was good to have something to focus on other than dwelling too much on what he was actually saying. "I don’t know why, but he decided I was worth protecting."

  "He gave me this small lantern with some of his power in it." Mk glanced up at the enormous blue man to gauge just how crazy he thought he was. Seeing only understanding - maybe even belief - in his eyes, he forged onward, "If I turned it on, he’d be at my side in seconds! It was incredible!”  

  Sandy nodded. "And this lantern brought you comfort." It wasn't a question, but an observation.

  “Yeah…" Really. How was he doing that? "I think it was about a year after that, he showed me where he lived. He would bring me there after school or whenever I needed to get away."

  "Get away from what?" Sandy prodded gently.

  "From my parents… or the bullies at school. Or if I was just feeling…"

  "Lonely?" 

  "Okay. Stop doing that, or I'm gonna stop talking."

  "Stop doing what?"

  "Reading my freaking mind!"

  "Oh," the river demon replied, as though he honestly hadn't realized he was doing it. "Sorry. Go on, Mk." 

  "A little while later, Shadow Dad started teaching me to use the magic in the lantern! It was so much FUN! Another year after that, he started training me to fight." Mk frowned as he realized how that might sound, so he added, "It was just the basics. Stances and how to block… not much else that a kid could do, but it was still incredible!” 

  The spirit made a mental note of that and kept listening.

  “Another year after that, he started teaching me proper fighting, and… he made me brothers! Their names are Rumble and Savage! They're twins!" 

  Pausing again as his words brought back a host of memories and a flood of pain, Mk had to concentrate to keep his voice from cracking. "They were… are sixteen, so they're my older siblings. Or… actually, I guess they'd be nineteen now." 

  "You miss them a lot." Sandy said before he could stop himself. Throwing up his hands to placate the boy, he added, "Not reading your mind. It was just…" he scratched the back of his head sheepishly, "..obvious."

  Mk sighed and continued as though Sandy had said nothing.

  "They don’t talk like normal people do, but I still managed to learn their language.” He was starting to lose himself in the memories, the words flowing like water as they played in his mind. “I used to use the lantern to make myself look a little more like them. I gave myself shadow ears and a tail. Shadow Dad thought it was adorable."

  Tears began to slip unnoticed from the Little Monkey’s eyes while he recounted, "I remember how the twins used to babysit me. Sometimes they would hang upside down with me, and jump-scare Shadow Dad."

  They used to play with one of those little ‘put the block in the hole’ toys. It was honestly hilarious. All but one of the blocks fit in the square hole, and depending on which one was doing it, they had a different solution.” A soft smile snuck its way back onto Mk's face as he thought back to it.

  “If it was Savage, they would pop the lid off and put the block in, before pretending they just managed to get it through the square hole, but if Rumble was doing it..” the Little Monkey cut himself off with a giggle. “Sorry!" he laughed again. “If Rumble was doing it, he would keep trying to get it through the hole. When it didn’t work, he would just hit the block against it until the lid broke!” Sandy laughed along with Mk at the memory.

  “He always looked so proud of himself too! Like, he’d give us a smug smirk every time! And Shadow Dad would have to fix the toy before they could use it again!” Mk kept giggling, until he started thinking about something else and his smile fell away once more. “Shadow Dad… I don’t blame him for leaving. I’m a bad kid. It’s my fault he left.”

  Sandy took a sip of his tea and stroked his beard in thought. “Hmm.. Are you sure about that? From the sound of it, he might not have left you by choice.”

  Where did he get that idea from? “What makes you say that?” the Monkey Kid asked.

  “I don’t know… you’re just talking about him like he’s the best person in the world. It sounds like he was attentive and protective of you, and someone like that wouldn’t just get rid of you." 

  Mk's brow furrowed as he considered this new information. Could it be true? If it was, why hadn't Shadow Dad at least explained before he left? 

  Seeing Mk's distress, Sandy stood and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned a moment later with a tray of tea cakes and set it down in front of the boy. "Do you remember anything that could’ve caused him to have to leave?” The spirit asked, causing the tween to think about it a little more.

  Oh! Mk's widened as he recalled something he'd forgotten over the years. “He started acting really weird before he left. He was constantly tired and sluggish. Do you think that’s why? Why he left?..” the boy sounded cautiously hopeful. Maybe Shadow Dad didn’t choose to leave.. Maybe he got sick!- but… The hope faded as another, infinitely more horrible thought occurred to him. …did he die? This new possibility made a sick feeling rise in his throat. Had something bad happened to his Shadow Dad?

  “That might be. Though-.. Are you okay?” Sandy cut himself off, prompting Mk to wipe his eyes. When did I start crying?-

  “Uh- oh. Yeah,” the Tween confirmed as Buffalo rubbed his head against his cheek. He snickered despite the crushing weight in his chest. 

  His therapist looked rather disbelieving, but didn’t press farther. “Alright. Do you want to try something different?” he asked, sparking the younger’s interest. “I usually wait a couple sessions to do this, but you seem like you need it. It’s just a meditation exercise. It wouldn’t be hard,” 

  Mk thought on it and glanced at Mo, who gave a nod of approval. “Alright… I guess." Mk agreed, raising a brow at the cat's very human-like behavior. "What do I have to do?” the Little Monkey asked cautiously, recieving a smile from the river spirit.

  “I’ll do most of the work. Just relax and mimic my pose,” Sandy responded calmly as he moved from kneeling to sitting lotus style, and placed his hands together in the shape of a triangle.

  Mk moved to copy, though he was a little skeptical. What was this even gonna do? 

  “Alright. Now remain calm. It will feel a little weird, but don’t try to fight it," the therapist warned. "Just focus on something you want to talk about that you don’t know how to describe.” 

  The tween was confused, but just followed the instructions, shutting his eyes. That’s something you do when meditating, right? After about ten seconds, he felt a sensation like something tickling his nose and forehead. Well, he was warned that it would feel weird. The sensation soon changed, now feeling like there was some super powered magnet in his head trying to connect to one in Sandy’s, until that disappeared as well. 

  Suddenly, he felt like he was at the beach, wind blowing on him from the water. However, he still smelled the odd mix of the two teas and the lavender incense. It was weird.

  “Okay.. You can open your eyes now.” the spirit offered.

  Mk’s eyes opened slowly, but not his real eyes. The eyes that opened were those of his inner self. It was like waking up in a dream in a way, though the weirdest part was that there were about fifty butterflies with symbols on their wings. “Woah..” Mk muttered breathlessly.

  “Mhm. This is called a mindlink. We can show each other memories and thoughts here, but we can’t see anything the other doesn’t want us to see.” Sandy explained calmly. “I’ll go first, so you know you can trust me,” he stated as he placed a hand in front of one of the butterflies. It alighted onto his hand and let him lift it to his lips, at which point he blew on it, causing it to fly to one side.

  Mk’s eyes followed it and watched it fly into a tree. Then, suddenly, everything to that side shifted to something else.

  Sandy and a bunch of others, running from something, until the others disappeared, leaving the spirit alone with a bunch of weird creatures. Sandy looked around in what seemed to be fear, until he spotted someone holding a detonator. Anger overcame him and he dashed forward, punching the person in the face and causing them to hit the button.

  Right as the explosion went off though, it paused and shifted to something much less shocking. Sandy, covered in cats and brewing tea, though what Mk didn’t expect was a tattoo across the therapist’s shoulder blades. He must have noticed the shock, because the spirit chuckled. “After I got therapy, I got that tattoo to show that I overcame my own anger issues,” he explained, turning around to give the tween a better look.

  The large tattoo depicted a phoenix with its wings stretched out. It was a gorgeous sight, and a testament to Sandy’s devotion to getting better. Mk wanted one now. He was about to compliment it, when one of the butterflies flew over and landed on his nose, making him sneeze.

  The butterfly flew to the opposite side and created a familiar image. Xiaotian sitting in a closet, though it was presented as if it was a shadow play. Xiao-Xiao was crying until Shadow Dad stepped into frame. He beckoned the child and walked over to the side again, though this time the view followed him as the Little Sky did too.

  Mk was getting misty eyed again, though Sandy was a little confused. He was no stranger to stylized memories, but this was a new one. He didn’t bring it up, and simply watched respectfully.

  Two more shadows entered, one rushing to pick Xiaotian up as the other followed with a protective eye. The little sky was giggling along, though it was echoey - to the point that it seemed ominous. Then Shadow Dad walked away, dispersing like so much smoke as he left the area of the memory. Then the twins went too… Mk left behind. Mk started pounding on the edge of the frame desperately, watching helplessly as his family walked away.

  The Monkey Kid was crying again now… Then he felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced behind him. Pigsy was standing there with a sympathetic look on his face. Memory-Pigsy then kneeled down to give his son a strong, steady hug. Tang appeared on his other side and did the same, though his hug was much softer due to his weaker physique. Safety. Xiao Houzi was still crying, but he felt safe. They kept him safe. He wasn’t going to get hurt. He was safe.

 —

  Pigsy was too nervous to stand still now. It felt like forever since they were told they weren't wanted in the session. He and Tang walked up to the door again, about to knock, when Mk stepped out, a self help book in hand. The thing that caught Pigsy and Tang’s attention most, though, was that their son was smiling. Smiling softly, gently. Not a forced smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. A pure and real smile! He looked calm. He looked… happy. “Hi, dads!” he said cheerfully.

  “Wow. You look better already!” Pigsy snickered, Tang letting out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  “See? I told you Sandy could handle it,” the scholar tried to avoid anyone knowing he was more worried than the pig was. 

  “Oh, no, you don't! You were pestering me the whole time about checking on Mk!” the demon argued, not noticing how his son's smile widened. 

  He was safe. It would be okay. 

  It filled the shadow with relief. He finally had a chance to slip away. Down.. Down.. Deep under Megapolis… to the one person who could hear him speak.

  “Ah! Greetings, uncle!” a young demon said as he pressed a button behind his ear, activating a special communicator.

  “Hehehe.. Heya, nephew..”

—☆—

And- FINALLY DONE!!!

Sorry for taking so long. It was very hard to write. :( 

The ShadowDad AU can finally progress! It’s been so long! Thanks for your patience, and above all else,

Have fun, and happy scrolling!

(Ps: Mk calls Nezha "Big Brother" because he's always watching)

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