#that statue section and the elevator

[kunareads]

brat | track one

360

producer!suguru x popstar!reader

prev / next series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 2k

content: smut, fluff, smau / exhibitionism (concealed in a public setting), fingering, drug/alcohol use, ambiguous relationship status / a little scene-setting before we get into it next chapter :)

taglist is closed! 18+ please <3

Variety — YEAR OF THE BRAT: SUGURU GETO AND YN HAVE THE INDUSTRY IN A HEADLOCK (AND THEY’RE LAUGHING ABOUT IT)

Vulture — INSIDE THE CULT OF YN AND GETO: WHY EVERYONE’S COPYING THE CHAOS

The Cut — THE ART OF BEING WATCHED: THE ROLLOUT THAT TOOK OVER YOUR TIMELINE

[ seven days, 14 hours to drop ]

you’re chewing gum when you walk in.

the meeting room is glass-walled, over-lit, aggressively air-conditioned. it smells like money and emails. a brand director is mid-slide, gesturing at a screen filled with words like reach and multi-platform ecosystem. someone else chimes in about vertical integration.

suguru trails two steps behind you with half a croissant in his hand, headphones slung around his neck. he doesn’t say a word—just drops into the chair beside yours and opens his laptop as if the room isn’t full of people.

you don’t take your sunglasses off. their fault for lighting the place like an interrogation chamber.

“the aim is cultural virality,” someone says. “we’re thinking cross-brand utility meets niche rebellion.”

you blink slowly. blow a bubble. pop it.

“is there a slide where you tell us what the fuck that means?”

suguru doesn’t look up, but he does smirk beside you—the silent, crooked kind he gives you when he thinks you’re being mean on purpose. (you are.)

a younger exec tries to pivot. “no, like—we just want to elevate your image without diluting the—”

“please don’t say authenticity.” you cross your legs. “i’ll have to light myself on fire.”

[ six days, 12 hours to drop ]

@/cultyn (instagram post) 📸 : your silhouette behind a sheer curtain with silver tinsel, suguru’s tattooed hand pulling the curtain aside. 💬 : countdown in bio. don’t be late ⏳

@/cultgeto (instagram post) 📸 : same as yours. 💬 : it begins 🔄 360 video friday

[ four days, 22 hours to drop ]

you feel it before you name it—that warm, sparkling edge of visibility. the music’s perfect. the lights are forgiving. everyone’s looking, seeing exactly what you want them to.

but the only eyes that matter are fixed on you from a corner—suguru, legs spread and an arm slung over the back of the couch like the section belongs to him. (it does.)

he waits.

you let it build. air-kiss people you barely remember. twirl a girl’s hair between your fingers, whispering something that makes her giggle. lean into camera flashes, catching light in your earrings, your clothes, your teeth.

and when you’re satisfied, you cross the floor, hips swinging like a threat, and slot yourself between his knees. he leans back and gives you that look—somewhere between dare and devotion.

“having fun?” he asks, amused.

you straddle his thigh without answering. your skirt rides higher, his eyes drop lower. instead of stopping you, he grabs his jacket from the seat and drapes it over your bare shoulders—possession dressed as modesty.

“so fucking spoiled,” he mutters, more observation than complaint. like he’s proud. like he made you this way on purpose.

you roll your hips once. then again, slower, dirtier. a palm settles on your ass to guide you, not stop you. his show now, not yours. every grind hits harder as you fall into the rhythm he sets.

he takes your drink, downs it in one swallow, sets the glass aside. you watch his throat work before that same hand trails condensation up your thigh and under your skirt.

you’re slick through your panties.

“you’re such a fucking handful,” he says with a smirk, planting kisses from your cheek to your jaw. his voice is hot in your ear, close enough to catch between beats. “you know that?”

you tilt your head, feigning innocence. “wanted you to touch me.”

his smirk deepens when you slide your knees wider on the seat for him. he shifts your panties aside and sinks two fingers in.

your mouth drops open as he sets a pace. you arch into him automatically, grinding harder, already after something without permission. his palm presses over your clit with every thrust. it’s sloppy—shallow breath, parted lips, heavy eyelids.

you try to keep the rhythm, to stay composed, but his fingers work in time with the music, eyes pinned to your face. he kisses you when he catches it—the split second where it stops being teasing and starts being need.

“breathe.”

your hips stutter, the warning landing between your lungs and your legs.

“you’re gonna cum too fast.”

you nod, or shake your head—you don’t know. you ignore him like you always do, desperate now, chasing it like you’re not surrounded by strangers. if anyone’s watching, suguru’s already made sure they can’t see anyway.

“you wanna be fucked on this couch in front of everyone?” he asks, voice dropping to something fond and a little mean. “or are you gonna behave?”

you don’t answer. can’t. your forehead drops to his shoulder, breath hitching as his cologne fills your senses. you’re right on the edge—

“i know, baby.” he murmurs it like a spell, dragging his thumb up your clit. “i know. make a mess if you need to.”

you cum on his hand like it was his idea. like you didn’t start the whole thing in the first place.

he keeps you there, fingers still inside, letting you come apart in pieces on top of him. your hips twitch and you whimper into his throat, melting against him. he lets you ride it out. lets your slick flood over his fingers and down his hand, then pulls out slowly. tucks your panties back into place too carefully for what just happened.

then he brings one finger to his mouth, licking it clean. he offers the other to you, and you take it like you always do—lips parted, tongue out, wrapping around him slow in the way you know drives him insane. you suck, humming low in your throat like a thank you.

you start to lift your head, suddenly aware of where you are and the fact that the song’s changed twice, but a hand finds the back of your neck, grounding you as he kisses your temple.

“not yet,” he murmurs. “you’re okay.”

so you exhale and let yourself sink into him fully. your cheek pressed to his chest, his arm snug around your waist, jacket still warm over your shoulders. the music keeps playing and the lights keep shifting, but for a few more seconds, you stay where you are.

[ four hours to drop ]

you’re twenty-five minutes late and only partially dressed when you go live.

you rarely do interviews separately. don’t take meetings separately either, unless you’re trying to scare someone. livestreams are the same—it’s him or nothing.

suguru stands behind you, black shirt half-buttoned with the sleeves rolled up. he’s halfway through lacing your corset, rings flashing as he works the ribbon like he’s tying a gift.

“i told you to start getting ready two hours ago,” he mutters, eyes on his hands.

“you did,” you agree with a nod, squinting at the phone propped against the hotel mirror. the chat scrolls too fast to follow, but you catch a few:

SUGURU HANDS WATCHERS STAND UP he’s doing it wrong but like… sexy?? she’s so calm i would be screaming and crying and biting

“chat says you’re doing it wrong.”

“chat can’t get you out of a corset with one hand,” he deadpans, not even looking up.

you seal the joint in your hands with a slow press of your tongue, dragging it across the paper like you know he’s watching. (he is. he always is.)

he finishes with a final tug, knotting the ribbon tight and smoothing the laces like he’s proud of himself. his fingers trail down your spine in a lazy line as he kisses your bare shoulder once, soft and thoughtless.

the lighter clicks. you inhale, exhale. watch him in the mirror as he disappears from the frame to rifle through the jewelry you’d dumped onto the counter earlier.

he returns with earrings, necklaces, and bangles in hand.

“stay still.”

his fingers are cool where they skim your neck. he hooks the earrings in slow, fastens your necklace, slips each bracelet on one by one and brings your hand to his lips when he’s done.

you pass him the joint.

“we were supposed to be there thirty minutes ago and it’s thirty minutes away,” he says, exhaling smoke.

“mm,” you reply, dabbing on lip gloss. “better hurry up and pick my shoes then.”

i’ve never wanted to be a joint so bad in my whole life HE PICKS HER JEWELRY?????? is this foreplay or a grwm

[ 30 minutes to drop ]

the diesel party is still going by the time you leave. your heels click loudly against the sidewalk. suguru’s hand rests low at your back, half-steering. he smells like weed and your favorite cologne.

someone with a press badge calls your name—matte lipstick, eyes wide like she can’t believe you’re real. she catches you just before the car with a mic, a cameraman, and a hopeful smile.

“just a second—can we get a quick word? you both look—” she hesitates, trying to find the right language. “—unreal.”

suguru stops halfway behind you, not moving his hand from your waist.

“so,” she starts, practically vibrating. “what made you two want to show up together for tonight’s diesel launch?”

“we love a party,” you reply, smiling.

she laughs like it’s charming. follows up with something about your sound, the visuals you’ve been putting out recently. you let suguru answer that one—you’re busy watching the lights bounce off the gloss you left on his cheekbone.

“okay, last one. you probably get this all the time, but—are you two… together?”

suguru grins. “we’re the same person.”

you don’t miss a beat. “worse.”

the interviewer laughs, flustered and delighted. “right. okay. thank you—”

but you’re already sliding into the backseat.

the car door shuts and the world cuts out. no bass, no flashing lights. just dark leather and air conditioning and exhaustion behind your eyes.

you exhale once, sharp, and start leaning forward to unbuckle your shoes.

suguru stops you. “let me.” like it’s obvious.

he pulls your feet into his lap one at a time, slipping the heels off like you’re breakable. his thumb circles your ankle, slow and grounding. your breathing evens out.

outside, cameras flash against the windows, but the tint’s too dark for them to get anything real.

it echoes in your head. are you two together?

“you didn’t say no,” you say softly, eyes closed.

he keeps rubbing. “you didn’t either.”

when you look at him, he’s smiling at you, eyes soft like he’s listening for something unspoken.

you settle deeper into the seat, one hand resting over his.

neither of you has said it.

but he always shows up. always looks at you like you’re the only person in the world speaking his language.

and you do the same.

you’re each other’s. just not in a way you can put in writing.

[ three minutes post-drop ]

the 360 video drops at midnight. it’s trending by 12:03.

the internet does what it always does.

@/bratchive: every brand strategist watching this with tears in their eyes

@/getogirl: brat / tamer dynamic so loud you can hear the leash drag

@/forynonly: legacy is UNDEBATEDDDDD icon behavior

you don’t check your phone, but you feel it—the shift, the buzz, the spin of it all. the world catching up to something you’ve already lived through.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Canada sues Google

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/03/clementsy/#can-tech

For a country obsessed with defining itself as "not America," Canada sure likes to copy US policies, especially the really, really terrible policies – especially the really, really, really terrible digital policies.

In Canada's defense: these terrible US policies are high priority for the US Trade Representative, who leans on Canadian lawmakers to ensure that any time America decides to collectively jump off the Empire State Building, Canadian politicians throw us all off the CN Tower. And to Canada's enduring shame, the USTR never has to look very hard to find a lickspittle who's happy to sell Canadians out.

Take anti-circumvention. In 1998, Bill Clinton signed the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, a gnarly hairball of copyright law whose Section 1201 bans reverse-engineering for any purpose. Under DMCA 1201, "access controls" for copyrighted works are elevated to sacred status, and it's a felony (punishable by a five-year prison sentence and a $500k fine) to help someone bypass these access controls.

That's pretty esoteric, even today, and in 1998, it was nearly incomprehensible, except to a small group of extremely alarmed experts who ran around trying to explain to lawmakers why they should not vote for this thing. But by the time Tony Clement and James Moore (Conservative ministers in the Harper regime) introduced a law to import America's stupidest tech idea and paste it into Canada's lawbooks in 2012, the evidence against anti-circumvention was plain for anyone to see.

Under America's anti-circumvention law, any company that added an "access control" to its products instantly felonised any modification to that product. For example, it's not illegal to refill an ink cartridge, but it is illegal to bypass the access control that gets the cartridge to recognise that it's full and start working again. It's not illegal for a Canadian software developer to sell a Canadian Iphone owner an app without cutting Apple in for a 30% of the sale, but it is illegal to mod that Iphone so that it can run apps without downloading them from the App Store first. It's not illegal for a Canadian mechanic to fix a Canadian's car, but it is illegal for that mechanic to bypass the access controls that prevent third-party mechanics from decrypting the error codes the car generates.

We told Clement and Moore about this, and they ignored us. Literally: when they consulted on their proposal in 2010, we filed 6,138 comments explaining why this was a bad idea, while only 53 parties wrote in to support it. Moore publicly announced that he was discarding the objections, on the grounds that they had come from "babyish" "radical extremists":

https://www.cbc.ca/news/science/copyright-debate-turns-ugly-1.898216

For more than a decade, we've had Clement and Moore's Made-in-America law tied to our ankles. Even when Canada copies some good ideas from the US (by passing a Right to Repair law), or even some very good ideas of its own (passing an interoperability law), Canadians can't use those new rights without risking prosecution under Clement and Moore's poisoned gift to the nation:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/15/radical-extremists/#sex-pest

"Not America" is a pretty thin basis for a political identity anyway. There's nothing wrong with copying America's good ideas (like Right to Repair). Indeed, when it comes to tech regulation, the US has had some bangers lately, like prosecuting US tech giants for violating competition law. Given that Canada overhauled its competition law this year, the country's well-poised to tackle America's tech giants.

Which is exactly what's happening! Canada's Competition Bureau just filed a lawsuit against Google over its ad-tech monopoly, which isn't merely a big old Privacy Chernobyl, but is also a massively fraudulent enterprise that rips off both advertisers and publishers:

https://www.reuters.com/technology/canadas-antitrust-watchdog-sues-google-alleging-anti-competitive-conduct-2024-11-28/

The ad-tech industry scoops up about 51 cents out of every dollar (in the pre-digital advertising world the net take by ad agencies was more like 15%). Fucking up Google's ad-tech rip off is a much better way to Canada's press paid than the link tax the country instituted in 2023:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-ban-surveillance-advertising

After all, what tech steals from the news isn't content (helping people find the news and giving them a forum to discuss it is good) – tech steals news's money. Ad-tech is a giant ripoff. So is the app tax – the 30% Canadian newspapers have to kick up to the Google and Apple crime families every time a subscriber renews their subscriptions in an app. Using Canadian law to force tech to stop stealing the press's money is a way better policy than forcing tech to profit-share with the news. For tech to profit-share with the news, it has to be profitable, meaning that a profit-sharing press benefits from tech's most rapacious and extractive conduct, and rather than serving as watchdogs, they're at risk of being cheerleaders.

Smashing tech power is a better policy than forcing tech to share its stolen loot with newspapers. For one thing, it gets government out of the business of deciding what is and isn't a legit news entity. Maybe you're OK with Trudeau making that call (though I'm not), but how will you feel when PM Polievre decides that Great Replacement-pushing, conspiracy-addled far right rags should receive a subsidy?

Taking on Google is a slam-dunk, not least because the US DoJ just got through prosecuting the exact same case, meaning that Canadian competition enforcers can do some good copying of their American counterparts – like, copying the exhibits, confidential memos, and successful arguments the DoJ brought before the court:

https://www.justice.gov/opa/pr/justice-department-sues-google-monopolizing-digital-advertising-technologies

Indeed, this already a winning formula! Because Big Tech commits the same crimes in every jurisdiction, trustbusters are doing a brisk business by copying each others' cases. The UK Digital Markets Unit released a big, deep market study into Apple's app market monopoly, which the EU Commission used as a roadmap to bring a successful case. Then, competition enforcers in Japan and South Korea recycled the exhibits and arguments from the EU's case to bring their own successful prosecutions:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/10/an-injury-to-one/#is-an-injury-to-all

Canada copying the DoJ's ad-tech case is a genius move – it's the kind of south-of-the-border import that Canadians need. Though, of course, it's a long shot that the Trump regime will produce much more worth copying. Instead, Trump has vowed to slap a 25% tariff on Canadian goods as of January 20.

Which is bad news for Canada's export sector, but it definitely means that Canada no longer has to worry about keeping the US Trade Rep happy. Repealing Clement and Moore's Bill C-11 should be Parliament's first order of business. Tariff or no tariff, Canadian tech entrepreneurs could easily export software-based repair diagnostic tools, Iphone jailbreaking tooks, alternative firmware for tractors and medical implants, and alternative app stores for games consoles, phones and tablets. So long as they can accept a US payment, they can sell to US customers. This is a much bigger opportunity than, say, selling cheap medicine to Americans trying to escape Big Pharma's predation.

What's more, there's no reason this couldn't be policy under Polievre and the Tories. After all, they're supposed to be the party of "respect for private property." What could be more respectful of private property than letting the owners of computers, phones, cars, tractors, printers, medical implants, smart speakers and anything else with a microchip decide for themselves how they want to it work? What could be more respectful of copyright than arranging things so that Canadian copyright holders – like a games studio or an app company – can sell their copyrighted works to Canadian buyers, without forcing the data and the payment to make a round trip through Silicon Valley and come back 30% lighter?

Canadian politicians have bound the Canadian public and Canadian industry to onerous and expensive obligations under treaties like the USMCA (AKA NAFTA2), on promise of tariff-free access to American markets. With that access gone, why on Earth would we continue to voluntarily hobble ourselves?

[dooberific]

❝ 𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘉𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘈𝘸𝘢𝘺 ❞

harumasa x gn!reader

genre: medically induced nonsense, fluff, sfw, take it easy on me guys I’ve been out of practice and wrote this in a state of sleep-deprivation

summary: you didn’t intentionally try to kill him, but his medical maladies work in mysterious ways

wc: 1k

It was rare for you to be rendered speechless, a sentiment even more profound when applied to your dearest companion who now had his back to you, slender shoulders hunched awkwardly over the kitchen sink.

The running faucet was enough to drown out the dialogue of the documentary you had been half-watching, but not enough to ease the gnaw of embarrassment settling so deeply in your gut it made your insides flip unpleasantly. You were truly dumbfounded as you shuffled to his side, leaning your hip against the counter as your hand trailed gently across his back in some odd but hopefully soothing manner, eyes staring down the little metal canister wrapped in red plastic still firm in his grip.

“I’m sorry,” your tone was forlorn as the events of the last few minutes replayed in your mind.

As a fellow long-term HSO member, you and Asaba Harumasa were not strangers. Sure, you worked in opposing sections that didn’t always see eye to eye, but deep-rooted rivalries were never really your thing. He had always been cordial and you found his humor pleasant, solidifying your status rather effectively as friends.

Perhaps you had been toeing some social line of professional relationship-death for a while now and intentionally ignored it, the lines between casual conversation blurring with good-hearted flirtation. Standing a little closer than is conventionally acceptable, subtle brushes of your hands under tables or in crowded elevators, the one time you swore he was leaning in to kiss you just to pause and sneeze over your shoulder with an apologetic grin.

But….you weren’t looking to be the reason the entire section got a lecture on romantic relationships with coworkers, and from what you had pieced together from various late-night snack runs and early coffee escapades he wasn’t looking for anything past a casual friendship.

Just friends.

Friends. Only.

Friends that do friendly things like having meals and watching movies together on the weekends, or making out like horny teenagers on the couch.

You doubted it was anything as superficial as blaming it on the “mood” of the situation. There was nothing remotely enticing about a documentary on the camouflage methods used by octopi, and you weren’t the image of eroticism in your baggy sweats and H.A.N.D bootcamp crewneck sweatshirt.

Unless he was just into that kind of thing, which you still held your reservations about despite the way your cheeks flushed with warmth at the recollection of exchanged sloppy, open-mouthed kisses and wandering hands that made your heart race and your head dizzy.

He was an embarrassingly good kisser, or maybe it was the combination of his teeth nipping your lower lip and his cold fingertips teasing your skin with fleeting touches that sent a shudder of anticipation down your spine.

You know, before his breathing grew harsh and he broke away wheezing with futile, short bursts.

His attitude was shockingly nonplussed despite the way his brow drew tight in frustration. He seemed much less bothered by how things had transpired than you were as you tried to jump to his aid with little success as he kindly—yet firmly—redirected your efforts in favor of rifling through the spare drawer in his kitchen.

Nothing screams “blossoming romance” like a couple hits off an emergency inhaler after all.

The tension had grown somewhat strange, your hand still awkwardly patting his back as he rinsed the sterile taste of medicine off his tongue, your mind racing for some way to salvage the moment before settling unceremoniously into your favored deflection skill.

“I, uh, didn’t mean to take your breath away.”

The words slipped off your tongue before your mind fully processed them, your brain jarring itself with surprise at the ridiculous nature of what had just passed your lips as you forced an awkward laugh.

His body tensed under your hand as he shut the faucet off, head whipping in your direction as his eyes narrowed with faux suspicion, tap water still dripping from his chin.

“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting you to try to suck the life out of me either—ow!”

You reflexively swatted his arm, the salacious nature of his phrasing not lost on you.

“Don’t be crass, Asaba.” You chided, hand retracting as you crossed your arms and half-turned away from him. Your lips drew into a thin line for a silent moment, thumbs brushing absently over the peeling fabric of your well-worn shirt.

“Are you alright?”

You swore he snorted under his breath, his lungs sounding clearer despite the light warble to his voice as he wiped off the end of his inhaler before tossing it back in the drawer.

“You hurt me, you think a little asthma attack is enough to keep me down?” His mirthful tone relaxed, voice lowering gently as he shifted to your side, body warm against your side as your shoulders pressed together.

His words were laced with the same molten honey that burned behind enviously dark lashes as he canted his head back into your line of sight, pale cheeks glowing with a softened, boyish grin that left his pronounced canines teasing the plush vermillion of his lower lip. His fingertips were cold and ticklish as he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face.

“I’m fine, so don’t worry about a thing.”

The way your eyes fluttered briefly from his eyes to his lips before shying away wasn’t lost on him as you cursed your needy and perverse mind for even considering how kissable he looked when his gaze warmed as invitingly as it did. You practically deprived him of oxygen mere minutes ago, this was not a normal response but who was to blame you when his fingers guided your chin back in his direction, his nose mere millimeters from your own as his wild hair and warm breath tickled your face.

You sucked in a breath, fleshy cheek pinched between your molars as his soft grin turned devilish.

“You got me good the first time,” he teased, head tilting ever so slightly as the space between you rapidly diminished, his lips ghosting playfully over your own.

“Betcha can’t do it twice~”

Rey 2025

[artifacts-and-arthropods]

The Petelia Tablet from Ancient Greece, c.300-150 BCE: this "passport for the dead" provides instructions on where to go and what to say after crossing into the Greek Underworld

This little tablet was crafted from a sheet of gold foil, and it measures just 4.5cm long. It was found in a small pendant case in Petelia, Italy; the tablet itself dates back to about 300-150 BCE, but the pendant case and chain were likely made about 400 years later, during the Roman era.

Above: the Petelia tablet and the capsule-like pendant case in which it was discovered

Experts believe that the tablet was originally buried with a human body, and that an unknown individual later removed it from the burial site and stuffed it into the pendant case. Unfortunately, they simply rolled it up and snipped off the tip of the tablet in order to make it fit, and the final lines of the inscription were destroyed in the process.

This type of textual amulet is often described as a totenpass or "passport for the dead." Totenpässe were supposed to be used as roadmaps to help guide the spirits of the dead as they journeyed through the Underworld, and they were also meant to serve as indicators of the elite or even "divine" status of certain individuals, providing special privileges and allowing them to obtain an elevated position in the afterlife.

This particular totenpass is incised with a Greek inscription that reads:

You will find a spring on your left in Hades’ halls, and by it the cypress with its luminous sheen.

Do not go near this spring or drink its water. You will find another, cold water flowing from Memory’s lake; its guardians stand before it.

Say: "I am a child of Earth and starry Heaven, but descended from Heaven; you yourselves know this. I am parched with thirst and dying: quickly, give me the cool water flowing from Memory’s lake."

And they will give you water from the sacred spring, and then you will join the heroes at their rites.

This is [the ... of memory]: [on the point of death] ... write this ... the darkness folding [you] within it.

The final section was damaged when the tablet was shoved into the pendant case; sadly, that part of the inscription does not appear on any of the other tablets that are known to exist, so the meaning of those lines remains a mystery (no pun intended).

Tablets with this motif are also known as "Orphic lamellae" or simply "Orphic tablets," because they were traditionally attributed to an Orphic-Bacchic mystery cult.

Above: orphic tablet from the Necropolis of Thurii, in modern-day Italy, c.400-300 BCE

Only about 40 orphic tablets are known to exist, and they are all made from sheets of gold. The inscriptions vary, but they generally include references to a cypress tree, a spring that must be avoided, another spring known as the "Lake of Memory," the sensation of thirst, and a conversation with a guardian (or another entity that is associated with the Underworld, like the goddess Persephone) in which the dead must present themselves as initiates or divine individuals before they are permitted to drink from the Lake of Memory, which would allow them to obtain privileges reserved only for the elite.

Above: orphic tablet from Tassaglia, Italy, c.350 BCE

The details of that reward are unclear; orphic tablets may have been viewed as a way to gain access to the Elysian Fields, to participate in certain sacred rites, or to break free from the eternal cycle of reincarnation. Regardless of the specific details, the overall objective was likely the same: to obtain a special status and acquire privileges that were inaccessible to most of the souls in the Underworld.

Note: I've been trying to go back and edit/fix the original "Petelia Tablet" post that I published on this blog about 2 years ago, but none of my edits are going through for that post, so I'm just submitting this as an updated and much more concise version

Sources & More Info:

The British Museum: Tablet and Pendant Case

Atlas Obscura: The Ancient Greeks Created Golden Passports to Paradise

Getty Museum: Golden Tickets to the Underworld

Getty Museum: Underworld: Imagining the Afterlife

Bryn Mawr College: Festivals in the Afterlife: a New Reading of the Petelia Tablet

[ghost-proofbaby]

NOW WE'RE STANDING IN THE RING, BREAKING EVERYTHING THAT WE'VE BEEN BUILDING UP SO LONG. I DON'T WANNA DO THIS - BREAK IT UP.

summary: you prepare to fight with eddie, when a new discovery takes you both off-guard.

warnings: strong language, angst, everybody's a hypocrite, minors dni

wc: 5.9k+

☆ prev chapter | masterlist | next chapter ☆

You can’t tell if the ride on the elevator is all too short, or if it drags out entirely. 

The entire ascension, you find the fire again. All the pain and anger that had fueled you to be acting out so cruelly in the lobby. And yet the bell that signals you’ve arrived to your intended floor still dings all too soon. 

It’s hard to get lost. The moment you step off the elevator, you can clearly see only three doors – two of which sit within an indented section of the wall and face one another, clearly the bathrooms. 

Behind the other one, Eddie Munson, no doubt. 

You still cling to that notebook as you take all your steady steps towards the door, turning over all your fury in your head. Turning all the lyrics over in your head. 

All those songs, all those lines – and he’d never picked up the phone and just called. 

You can only assume that it was all written more recently. Before he’d seen you again, even. And if he had still been writing about you, he could have tried calling you. He could have said all that he’d written to you directly, rather than hiding it all within songs that there was no guarantee you’d ever hear. Instead of singing them to crowds of adoring fans rather than to your face. 

You don’t knock on the door – you just open it. 

Music immediately surrounds you as you step in, loud enough that they clearly hadn’t heard you enter. Grainy guitars, deafening drums, billowing bass. And finally, amongst the madness, you can hear Eddie’s voice singing. 

“Do you wanna see how far it goes? Do you wanna test me now, my love?” 

Yes. Yes, you certainly fucking do. 

It’s not Eddie’s live voice coming through the speakers. It’s clearly a recording as he sits beside the producer, hunched over and nodding along, face twisted as he seems to dissect the music in real time.

One flourish of his ringed hand, and the producer is clearly hitting pause. 

“Do you think we can add in that synth I recorded earlier here-”

“Eddie.” 

His hand drops the moment he hears your voice. The chair he’s sitting in nearly tips from the speed in which he spins it around to face you, resembling a statue as he takes in your silhouette in the doorframe. 

You can only imagine the image he’s faced with. 

You, all your vexation and all your torment painted so clearly across your features. Your knuckles, looking physically strained from how tightly the metal spring of the notebook digs into your palm. Your chest, heaving with every breath, as if even being within his vicinity right now was torturous. 

And it was. God, it was. 

Salt in your wounds. Dagger in your stomach. Poorly bandaged contusions you’d never taken the time to balm and soothe. 

“Sugar,” he breathes out, earning him a strange look from the producer, “What are you-”

“Can we talk?” 

Your voice is quivering, strained from trying to keep a level head until the two of you are alone. 

“Right now?”

“Right now,” you almost add on the given alone, but Eddie is one step ahead of you. As he stands, he also waves his hands a bit, clearly dismissing the producer. 

“You want me to leave?” the man asks, standing slowly, looking curiously between the two of you, “Where do I even go? Matt said we’d be working for another few hours, at least-”

“Go to the fuckin’ lobby or something,” Eddie spits out, having a hard time pulling his eyes away from you, “I don’t-” He pauses, his eyes finally finding sight of that notebook in your hand. Clearly, he hadn’t noticed it before. “-care.”

All the blood drains from his face. He’s so pale, you’re worried that he might pass out any second now. 

He doesn’t look prepared for a fight – if anything, he looks terrified of whatever you may swing at him. 

The producer leaves, not without a few mutterings under his breath about not this again, but you don’t even bother to dig deeper into it. If Eddie frequently gets into fights in this studio, that’s his problem. 

Maybe he shouldn’t write songs about girls he’d hurt, and never pick up the phone.

He seems to be waiting on you, but you’re waiting on the click of the door. All that hurt, all that seething is burning in your chest, waiting for release. There’s no need to have any witnesses to the downfall of both of you. 

“How was your mor-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. One click from the door, and you’re storming across the room to slam that notebook into his chest, uncaring of how much it might hurt. 

You hope it hurts. You hope it aches like your palm that had held it, like your chest that feels as though it’s been pried wide open. 

“What the fuck is this?” you spit out, already choking up with tears. 

“What do you-”

“Where the fuck do you get off on writing all those- all those- all those fucking songs about us?” You don’t care that you’ve cut him off – it’ll be the least harmful thing you do during this argument. You’re desperate, rabid and crumbling as you push the notebook harder for emphasis, unable to let go just yet, “All those goddamn songs, lines about wanting me to come home, lines about us. Fucking pages of them! And not one single call. Not one single text.”

The first tear falls, and you’re quick to let go of the notebook so you can swipe it away. You’re not crying in front of him right now. You’ve done enough of that this morning, over old photographs and times you can never get back. 

“I’m sorry, excuse me?” he laughs nervously, looking between you and the notebook he now has ownership of. He flips open the cover, and his face falls when he sees the first page, “You were reading my notebooks?”

“Who even cares at this point?” you hiss out, taking a step back, needing physical distance now. “It was the only way I would ever find out how you really feel, right? It was between that, or having to hear it on the radio, right?” 

His face goes through several revelries before he settles on an emotion, mouth agape as he shakes his head slowly at you, brows furrowed and all his creases exposed, “Are you seriously pissed off right now that the rockstar wrote songs about you? That I wrote about you, which is what I do for a living?” 

“Your job isn’t to write about me!” Thank God for soundproof studios. Your voice is rising, tone cracking with emotion, “I’m not fucking mad that you did that, I’m mad that you never called-”

“I did call!” he yells back at you suddenly. Not out of intimidation, not even out of fury. He has to do it – he has to match your volume just to be heard. “I called hundreds of times. Before the tour ended, when I got back, when I saw you were gone. I did fucking call-”

“I’m mad that you fucking left!”

Silence fills the studio. Eddie has no retorts left as your words weigh down the moment, ricocheting off the walls and puncturing every delicate foundation of whatever closure bullshit you two had begun to falsely build. 

You finally throw your head back in bitter laughter, blinking away the unwelcome tears, “I’m so goddamn angry because you left me.”

“What?” his face falls, almost crumpling in the same manner as it felt your chest was, “You told me to go on those tours. You wanted me to get out there with the band. Not to mention, you left too. You left, seemingly without a goddamn reason. You said it yourself, just now-”

“It’s not about the physical leaving,” you interrupt, bones growing weary, tired from it all. Weighed down with memories and weighed down with emotions that should have been dealt with years ago. “I lost you long before you stepped foot on that tour bus that last time. You…” you pause, breathing erratic, coming out in harsh puffs, trying to build the courage for what needed to be said. 

“I what?” he’s all but begging now, the need to scream over each other evaporating into thin air.

“You stopped saying you loved me.” 

The words are out there now, and you can’t take them back. Two long years of him writing songs, of you washing away a stain that won’t ever fade, of something broken that can’t seem to be fixed. 

You reach out, but not to try and steal back the reason from him. No, that’s not possible. Instead, you take the notebook back from him and begin to gingerly flip through the pages as the tears fall and the words pour out.

“All those phone calls, all these songs, and you still never say the words I needed to hear,” you’re not just talking in past tense any more. It all seemingly blurs together, the past and the present nothing more than watercolors as they spill across the page and merge together. You can’t tell where the hurt from the beginning lays and where the hurt from now feathers at the edges. It’s all the same, and it all remains a stain, “I never needed elaborate metaphors or pretty words, Eddie. I just needed to know you still fucking loved m-”

You cut off as the door to the studio suddenly swings open. You’re frozen, rooted in spot, hand glued mid-flip as Eddie’s messy handwriting stares up at you from the page you paused on. 

Eddie looks ready to fight. To scream at whoever may have interrupted this crucial moment – a moment for you to finally say what you needed to, a moment for him to finally get his answers. 

He doesn’t, though. Not when a fairly livid, almost frazzled Matt is standing in the doorway, glaring at both of you.

“Ah, good,” he says, stepping fully into the small space that had just been a war-zone for you and Eddie. The door slams shut behind him due to its own gravity, “You’re both here. Makes my job easier.” 

“Matt?” Eddie crinkles his nose, “What the Hell are you doing-”

“What am I doing?” Matt walks until he’s standing in front of the coffee table, and motions to the couch with a flick of his wrist. Eddie is quick to follow the silent instruction, taking a seat, but you’re slower to move. You are not Matt’s dog, refusing to be at anybody else’s beck and call at this moment. And so you continue to hover, “What are you doing?” 

You become the pet he needs you to be when he suddenly tosses a magazine down on the coffee table, and you realize that maybe, just maybe, Matt has good reason to be commanding you. 

The vinyl front cover stares up at you, shining beneath the lowlights of the studio, but the image is clear. 

You and Eddie, walking into his apartment building. And in bold lettering, simple textually strokes in blinding white, is a headline that weighs you down enough to make you take the last few necessary steps around the table to fall into place beside Eddie on the couch. 

EXCLUSIVE GOSSIP ALERT: Rockstar Eddie Munson Spotted Canoodling with Mystery Flame! (pg. 89)

Matt’s eyes dart between you two before he finally sighs, “We need to talk.” 

—

The sweat of your hands is making the corners of the magazine pages curl. 

It’s the detail you choose to focus on rather than all the honking and commotion surrounding the car you’re currently sitting in, or the chilling AC that has blasted your right cheek to the point of numbness. The radio is off, the tinted windows are rolled up to dull the music of the city around you, and Matt hasn’t said a word since you’d buckled yourself into his passenger seat. 

Following Matt’s abrupt interruption of you and Eddie, contained chaos had ensued. A symphony of Eddie immediately coming to your defense, claiming the two of you weren’t even canoodling in the photos on the front cover. Of you, only being able to utter a shocked question of how? 

How did they get those photos? How did they print them so fast? How, how, how?

In the last twelve hours, as your life had been piecing together old rotting bricks only to once more fall apart entirely, some cheap gossip journalists had been formulating a front cover that truly felt like it was ruining your entire life. You didn’t know who all had seen the magazine, you didn’t know if the news had spread far and wide across the internet, and you certainly didn’t know what happened next. 

But then Matt insisted you all return to his office. A guarded ivory tower to discuss exactly what you were questioning – to figure out where you go from here. 

Eddie had been quick to suggest you ride back with him in the car that had brought him to the office; you had been quick to shoot down the offer and ask Matt for a ride instead. 

That’s how you ended up here. A magazine you wanted to burn at the stake in your lap, stuck in traffic on a busy street that more so resembled a parking lot at this point. 

“We need to talk about it.”

The first words Matt has spoken to you since the drive began. Not a question, not a request – you were going to talk about this shit show. No running from it, it seems. 

“I don’t know how they got the photo,” you blandly reply in monotone, staring down at the two photos clearly taken back to back, merged together with some pretty impeccable photoshopping. Doesn’t erase the fact that they’d definitely caught you’re bad angle, “I didn’t even see any paparazzi-”

“I don’t care about that,” Matt waves off as the light you’d been stopped at for several minutes now turns green, and there’s just enough of a gap in bustling pedestrians crossing the street for him to make the right turn he’d been signaling the entire time, “One thing you need to learn right here, right now, is there will always be paparazzi around when you’re in public with Eddie. You won’t always see them, but you should always assume they’re there.” 

The ceasing of that irritating clicking is heaven sent. One less commotion to cloud your reeling mind. 

“What do you care about then?” you mumble, finally side-eyeing the older man beside you. 

“I care about what you are to Eddie.” 

“I can promise you, I am noth-”

“Don’t feed me the same bullshit excuses he has, please,” Matt sighs as the rolling car slows, and he signals once more to turn into the parking lot of one of the many impressive skyscrapers towering over the street, “I’m not an idiot. Eds may seem to think I am half the time, but I’m not,” a confining parking space is where the SUV finally settles, but Matt makes no move to turn the vehicle off as he turns to look at you fully, “Look, just level with me. Because as of right now, the only thing I know is that you went to high school together. I need to know where exactly you stand with Eddie, not just because he’s my client, but because of the conversation we’re about to have.” 

Your heart fully drops, “What kind of conversation are we about to have?” 

“A hard one,” Matt instantly replies, not missing a beat, “A very, very hard one. With so many moving factors, it’s gonna give you a headache. And I want to warn you of it, give you a fair chance, because you seem like a nice girl. You’re not used to this circus like me and Eddie are – you deserve a fighting chance at what’s about to be asked of you.” 

What’s about to be asked of you. 

You had a few guesses, simply based on the grave look on Matt’s face. Simply based off of all the research you used to do back in your room in Hawkins’, when the joke of you managing Corroded Coffin felt more and more like a real possibility. 

“An NDA?” you guess, trying to seem indifferent. You should have seen that coming. 

“More than an NDA, dear.” 

Your head snaps in his direction, brows furrowing, “What could you possibly want from me that’s more than signing a piece of paper that promises I won’t tell anyone what’s happened last night?” you hold up that magazine from your lap, giving it a fluttering shake for emphasis, “Wasn’t that the point of showing us this?” 

He only smiles. Your heart only sinks further. 

“I’m going to ask you one last time; what are you to Eddie, really?”

A muse. A stain. A ghost. Something to haunt every avenue he’ll ever take for the rest of his life. A mistake better left unspoken between the two of you. A blip in his past, impossible to avoid. Something better left dead and buried, but the Universe just won’t seem to let the two of you rest. 

“I’m his ex-girlfriend.” 

How do you define an ex, though? Did you ever really end it? How can something be over if neither party has ever been willing to say the words? 

Matt nods slowly, smiling almost sadly, “I figured as much. Thank you, at least, for being honest.” 

“Can I ask you something, and you answer me honestly?”

The car carrying Eddie is probably nearly here. They had probably gotten swept into traffic while following behind Matt’s car. A few extra minutes added to their journey as they’d tried to navigate the nightmarish streets of New York. 

Come to think of it, you don’t even know if he’ll be using the same front entrance as you and Matt. 

“You won’t always see them, but you should always assume they’re there.”

He could use the back entrance, if there was one, to avoid the paparazzi. 

Technicalities you had never had to consider before. You’d only experienced a fraction of Eddie’s fame firsthand, in the beginning, when it was still reasonable to show him off. To brag about him in public, to pronounce your love from every rooftop. Hiding had never been an option – it hadn’t needed to be an option. 

“I know what your question is,” Matt says carefully, “And we both know I won’t say anything until we’re inside that building with Eddie.” 

“Is he even going to go through the fr-” you start to question, but cut off just as you see a familiar black SUV pull up to the front doors of the building. 

You have your answer, it seems. 

Matt unbuckles his seatbelt, and you take it as your sign to do the same. But just as you begin to reach for your door, Matt’s hand on your forearm stops you. 

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry for what I’m about to ask the two of you. Especially now that I know the truth.” 

Your heart finally arrives to the point of no return, unable to answer as the organ is buried six feet under within the grave that should be meant for yourself when it comes to the history books of Eddie Munson. 

Just what was Matt about to ask of the two of you?

You open the door without responding. 

☆ prev chapter | masterlist | next chapter ☆

[thewiglesswonder]

You know the TFA Decepticons aren’t an oppressed minority right? DJW even said their Rise Up rhetoric was a jab at how conservatives preach about Protecting Freedoms, and in the Allspark Almanac it’s explained they wanted to colonize other planets and the Autobots objected to that. The Decepticons were exiled for being military fascists.

I'd really, really love to know where I've ever said that on this blog, but since you seem very convinced that I did, let's look at the lore again. I don't feel like trawling the internet for this specific tweet/whatever form this DJW evidence has, so if you have that, I'd love to see it.

This timeline from the Allspark Almanac II pretty clearly states that the entire crux of Cybertronian society as a whole has rested on colonization, very early on in their species' history. Their "Golden Age" 8 billion stellar cycles ago is characterized by expansion that led to the colonization (!!!) of their solar system, further colonization only prevented by isolationism.

The earliest indications of the factional split that mark their history exist within the ruling class Guardians and the Malignus, defined as a "military caste". This implies that Golden Age Cybertron existed as a caste system. Which I would take a guess as not being particularly great.

And when we get to the first (again, quoted from the text here,) "military coup", it's executed by the political ancestors of the Autobots. Not a peep about the Malignus while that was going on.

This faction eventually becomes the Protectobots, and the most notable thing about them is that their leader attempted a Great Purge of "undesirable elements" from their society. I'd be hard pressed to think I'm wrong in thinking that's kinda fucked up. We're not given explicit reasons for this 17 million year war, but wars don't happen without someone to oppose someone else, and we get this in the form of the Destrons.

As for the point about colonization: my point is not that the Decepticon's motivations are not what we see in canon. Not at all. My point is that the Autobots have the same fucking motivation.

The Age of Expansion literally begins when the Autobots take power! It only ends when they butt heads with the Quintessons! Colonization, militarism, and facism, as you put it, are not traits that are unique to Decepticons.

And, according to this timeline and historical reasoning given, there is no mention of either faction's position on further expansion. The formation of the Decepticons is rooted in the divide between labor and military aligned Cybertronians. Both sections are equally responsible for the imperialistic efforts of their Empire/Commonwealth/whatever you want to call it, and make no mistake, this does continue into the present day! From both factions!

Assuming you're referring to my hefty lean towards the Cons in terms of character/exploration interest in the gist of your message, my goal here is not to elevate them to the same Good Guy Status the Autobots have by virtue of being the protagonists. I am fully and completely aware that they are a group of insane zealots that have rallied under a guy who was described by his own VA as an "elegant bully". Rather, I think what you're picking up on is my focus on the fact that the Autobots in Animated have more than their fair share of insidious shit going on.

They retain what is essentially a military dictatorship, with the position of Magnus being only theoretically beholden to the will of the Council and Guilds, as seen when Sentinel was able to fire Fortress Maximus with no approval from the Council and got nothing more than a disapproving sentence from Alpha Trion. We have no word on how their schooling institutions work, but all of it seems heavily centered on their version of the military they've concocted in the absence of warbuilds. And, just in case we forgot about Sentinel's proposed budget...

And that's not even getting into how fucked up Autobot culture is! They're unspeakably xenophobic, throw around propagandistic phrases like they're nothing ("Cogs in the Great Autobot Machine", anyone?), have an incredibly questionable justice system if Wasp is anything to go by, and this only seems to be getting worse at the end of Season 3, if Sentinel's curfews and public service announcements are anything to go by.

I'm not trying to make the Decepticons look better. I'm trying to make the Autobots look worse.

[iamespecter]

the mazersize part of the game almost made me quit(I just looked it up at the end lol) so I would love to see your version of a chica venue :>

(made this post before the internet died lol)

YEAHHHHHH I wholeheartedly agree with you!!!!!!!! as much as I love Chica.... I cannot turn a blind eye to WHATEVER THE FUCK MAZERCISE IS!!! Like, I am a hardcore Chica lover and all of her variants but you CANNOT pay me to say "I love Mazercise. It's so clever" it is legit the worst section in ALL of SB and it PISSES ME OFF

Anyways what's the venue? Why, it's Chica of the Sea and Dancercise!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Still not letting go of the fact that everyone gets a cool venue but Chica gets fucking Mazercise. bleugh. disGUSting. I am offended get that shit away from me!!!! BONNIE'S VENUE IS SO MUCH COOLER AND IT'S A BOWLING ALLEY. HOW'D YOU MESS UP THAT BADLY MANNNN

Anyways, Chica of the Sea would be located in where Kid's Cove is. Which means, Kid's Cove and Mazercise have to switch places, in order to make the venue work.

Unlike the others' venues, Chica of the Sea actually requires you to go a little deeper down below via an elevator; to emulate the feeling of getting transported 20,000 leagues under the sea to experience the attraction.

As the name implies, it is an ocean-themed location where guests can learn things about marine life, as well as having multiple mini-attractions to offer, like an aqua park. A mermaid version of a golden Chica statue resides in the middle of the lobby before the elevator, one of the first things one would usually see when first entering the venue.

Unfortunately as it stands to the current day of the Pizzaplex, Chica of the Sea is now abandoned to rot beneath the mall, as Chica's popularity dwindled due to the Voicebox incident and management could not afford to keep it running. instead, she is given a new (albeit smaller) location: Dancercise!

Dancercise is Mazercise, but better. It's a DDR-styled maze with a dance floor in the middle, where Chica would host countless party games like "simon says", and zumba dances. The venue is designed to keep the oceanic theme a little bit so they could reuse as much props from the og as possible, and the goal is to keep the customers occupied as much as possible to bleed their wallets dry.

The Fazwatch map for Dancercise would be this:

Top left: Exercising room (away from the loudness of the main room) Top middle: Restrooms Top right: Staff room/Parts and service

Middle left: Food court Center: DANCE DOME: Hexagonal Maze (outer), Dance floor (inner) Middle top: Changing rooms and lockers next: Souvenir/gift shop corner: Arcade, maybe?

And the maze/dance floor would be this:

I also had a concept art in mind for the Dance Dome/Maze, but.... I didn't finish it due to my frustration at my skill level of making environments back then

The Dance Dome would be where Chica's boss fight happens. But before you enter the Dome, you are FORCED to give up all of your belongings to a party bot because an incident had already occurred before where someone brought a laser gun and a fazcam in the dance floor, resulting in a pretty heavy lawsuit.

A botched simon says game ran by a intercomms!Chica will then ensue where you have to play in the dark, only some parts of the floor will light up and you have to avoid the REAL Chica. You'd be given a limited amount of glowsticks in order to make traversal easier but you gotta place them wisely. (think like, Funtime Foxy's Night 4 in Sister Location)

And then instead of getting crushed by the compactor in the original; once the fight ends, a staff area would unlock, allowing Gregory to access the catwalks of the Dance dome. A small fight between Gregory and Chica happens, and Chica gets kicked onto the Jumbotron. The jumbotron on top of the dance dome would then fall taking Chica with it, causing the whole dancefloor to collapse, and a second phase to begin with shattered Chica; all in the now abandoned and grimy Chica of the Sea exhibit buried underneath.

I wish I could show and tell more, but this is where I've stopped making visual concepts. I mean, I still have MORE ideas.... and I still even have the glamrock decals for Chica of the Sea.... but I dunno if anyone would be interested in wanting me to expand further on what Chica of the Sea contains lol

[xinfinityl0ve17]

KOZI (MALICE MIZER) ASTAN - 2005 Vol.21

Translated by my cousin (corrections are always welcome)

Malice Mizer: MALICE (MALEVOLENCE) AND MIZERE (TRAGEDY)

A comprehensive biography of this band, which is second only to X-Japan in importance within J-Rock or Visual Kei, would be too extensive. Here, we will focus on the period starting with Gackt's entry into the band.

Malice Mizer was founded in August 1992 by Mana and Közi (Kouji). After several line-up changes, the band consisted of: Gackt (vocals, piano), Mana (guitar, keyboards), Közi (guitar, violin), Kami (drums), and Yu-ki (bass) starting in August 1995.

Shortly thereafter, the group released their second album, "Voyage (sans retour)," marking a first step toward superstardom. The musicians' popularity steadily increased, attracting the attention of major record labels. Thus in 1997, MM signed with Columbia in Japan. Their first single, "Bel Air kuhaku no toki no naka de," was released followed by TV appearances and radio shows as well as the famous concert at Nihon Budokan.

In 1998, "Merveilles" was released. Malice Mizer was at the peak of their career, embodying everything associated with superstardom. Fan displays overshadowed anything conceivable, and Gackt could undoubtedly be referred to as the most popular Japanese show star at the time. The concerts were elaborate events, with costumes and staging that surpassed everything seen before. However, the fractures within the band were unmistakable. While Gackt seemed to thrive in the J-Pop Olympus the remaining members were striving for artistic quality. Disputes ensued, resulting in Gackt leaving the band in January 1999. As if that weren’t enough, drummer Kami passed away later that year due to an arterial brain hemorrhage. Following Kami's death, on September 21 1999 the band decided to take a hiatus.

Their fourth album, "bara no seidō," was released in August 2000 under an indie label, Midi:NetteM+M which was the newly established label owned by the band. The album "bara no seidō" is an epic work, heavily influenced by German classical music. Choral passages and long instrumental sections elevate this work to classic status. The trio of Mana, Közi, and Yu-ki experimented on this album without a fixed singer or drummer. This is undoubtedly the most impressive and monumental work by MM, although its reception from the audience could have been better. Perhaps under this impression, the band decided to recruit a new singer, Klaha, in August 2000. The sound shifted towards an epic and darker rock sound. With Klaha, MM returned to catchy melodies, though they were far removed from the J-Pop of the Gackt years. In my opinion, this is the best, albeit temporarily concluding, chapter of the group.

A few singles were released afterward. The last tour took place in July 2001, after which the band disbanded. Klaha began his solo career, Közi is currently active as a solo artist and as a member of Eve Of Destiny, while Mana has become a well-known figure in Japan with his own fashion line and Gothic Lolita shops. He continues to be active as a musician in his band MDM. Yu-ki is no longer prominently involved in music.

It’s also essential to look into the successor bands of Malice Mizer. I can't find anything appealing in Gackt and Klaha's solo works. I really enjoy Eve Of Destiny, as well as everything Mana releases to the public. EOD is an industrial goth band; Mana is much heavier but also more classical in orientation. Közi's solo work sounds very relaxed and somewhat French, although he writes in English.

I have met Közi several times and found him to be a somewhat shy and introverted man. However, he is a very nice guy. But that’s just a side note. What fascinates me is the band's fluctuating musical trajectory. By the time Gackt joined, the typical "growing pains" of any group had settled, and a first creative peak was reached with Gackt. The time with Gackt was the commercially most successful period, and the concerts were a dream visual event. The costumes changed multiple times during the show, and the staging would be compared to German theatrical productions.

Part 2

Groups like Rammstein would turn green with envy. Musically i find Gackt quite uninteresting. He knew how to present himself well in the spotlight but that’s about it. Gackt after Malice Mizer is nothing more than slimy, sweet-and-sour J-Pop. A nod to Herr Rohlen. Artistically an MM album like "bara no seido" is much more impressive. Some elements remind me that both Mana and Közi are great admirers of the German composer Bach. This influence is unmistakable. These influences, combined with Közi's and Mana's magnificent guitar playing, elevate "bara no seido" to a masterpiece for this group. The musicality of Malice Mizer is one of the outstanding characteristics of the Japanese band. The range of instruments spans from the standard instruments of a rock band to very European instruments such as clavichord, spinet, violin, or accordion. One might think that nothing catchy could emerge from this, but that is precisely one of the band's strengths.

Each song is assigned a style and a color. Mana represents the color blue, in which his clothing is designed. Mana is an imposing figure who can only be described as beautiful. When I first saw a video by MM, I thought the guitarist looked quite good. Not to mention, the guitarist is a male. In Japanese tradition, it is not so unusual for a man to appear feminine. Mana gives few interviews and hardly speaks in public, yet he is the creative mind behind Malice Mizer. He has perfected the Gothic Lolita style and can be understood as the counterpart to Gackt. Gackt does not wear white makeup and is considered by a large part of the female MM fans to be the quintessential fairy tale prince.

Közi represents the color red. He appears quite androgynous as an MM member. At the same time, he is aloof, reserved, and doll like fragile. Kami represents the color purple and Yu-ki represents yellow and/or orange. Noteworthy about him is his occasionally drawn-on occasionally real beard. Klaha’s color is either black or white. He later takes on Gackt's role but is much more masculine and less boyish than Gackt.

The look of this group. Malice Mizer seems to change costumes like others change underwear. It’s incredible how tastefully and stylishly Malice Mizer dressed and presented themselves. The staging on stage and in the videos is trendsetting and has not been achieved by any group known to me before or since. The transition from a metal band to a VK group and ultimately to a heavily Gothic-influenced act is marked by significant breaks. Yet, one can always recognize Malice Mizer's typical sound. For anyone who is now curious, I strongly recommend checking out the live DVDs or the group’s videos. Personally, I really enjoy the videos and music from the time with Klaha. The videos with Gackt are more colorful, vibrant and playful. I can recommend all DVDs from Malice Mizer.

The End

[transgenderer]

New study says gender-affirming surgery is associated with increased risk of mental health issues. Study of 100k+ patients found those with surgery had significantly higher rates of depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation & substance use disorder vs matched controls w/o surgery. The title of the study is “Examining gender-specific mental health risks after gender-affirming surgery: a national database study”

I’m interested in your take on this Summer, because you have posted before about how gender affirming care is the best method for dealing with dysphoria. Can you find any flaws in this study? Does it change your view? I’m not trying to trap you in some gotcha, it just seems sound to me. Sorry if this is invasive, but didn’t you get the surgery, and would you say your experience reflected this? Don’t answer if you don’t want to.

For some context on myself, I just go by male pronouns, my birth name, and wear male clothes in public, yet I have desired to be a girl since childhood (still do) and wear female clothes when in private. I don’t act on it largely do to my own (quite large) family and community, very conservative. I pretty early on decided not to get the surgery no matter what, even if I move away and/or change my lifestyle, solely due to my personal fear of surgery. Like I said, I’m not trying to trap you in any gotcha. Maybe I’m only interested in this study as confirmation bias, prove I made the right choice.

it's not on sci hub, so i cant read the full text of the study, but based on the methods section:

This retrospective study utilized the TriNetX database, analyzing U.S. patients aged ≥18 with gender dysphoria (International Classification of Diseases, Tenth Revision [ICD-10] F64) between June 2014 and June 2024. Six cohorts were created based on gender and surgery status: Cohorts A-D included patients with or without surgery, and Cohorts E-F allowed for gender comparison among those with surgery. Propensity score matching controlled for age, race, and ethnicity. Mental health outcomes included depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation, substance use disorder, and body dysmorphic disorder, assessed over two years post-surgery using clinician-verified ICD-10 codes

and reuslts section

From 107 583 patients, matched cohorts demonstrated that those undergoing surgery were at significantly higher risk for depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation, and substance use disorders than those without surgery. Males with surgery showed a higher prevalence of depression (25.4% vs. 11.5%, RR 2.203, P < 0.0001) and anxiety (12.8% vs. 2.6%, RR 4.882, P < 0.0001). Females exhibited similar trends, with elevated depression (22.9% vs. 14.6%, RR 1.563, P < 0.0001) and anxiety (10.5% vs. 7.1%, RR 1.478, P < 0.0001). Feminizing individuals demonstrated particularly high risk for depression (RR 1.783, P = 0.0298) and substance use disorders (RR 1.284, P < 0.0001).

it doesnt seem like its saying over a 2 year period people who underwent surgery had worse mental health outcomes before surgery than after surgery, relative to the other group? i think it's saying (maybe? wish i could read the paper) that people who underwent surgery have worse mental health *in general*. like before and after. which makes sense. youre more likely to want bottom surgery if you're really unhappy with your current situation. but also, it seems like probably bottom surgery does not generally cure depression. so. it makes sense that people after surgery would also tend to be less happy with their current situation, then people who were less unhappy in the first place. maybe they correct for that? but if you correct for that i feel like you'd mention it, i think by "matched cohorts" they just mean age race and ethnicity.

i mean, if you have a link to the full text of the study i could check it out.

anyway, i only got an orchi. i had way worse mental health afterwards cuz they didnt start me on T for a year. and so i had 0 T in my system. gender doctors are really incompetent re: hormones, my understanding is there's minimal training for it and most clinics have a limited number of endocrinologists (if any). so mostly its doctors kinda playing it by ear, based on half-assed guidelines. but apparently sometimes no T is fine? idk

im not particularly interested in a vaginoplasty but i think my relationship to transness is somewhat nonstandard. anyway i hope you figure things out for yourself. i dont know you or your life but i think getting away from your family is good for 90+% of people. moving away from your family is the best part of american atomism. even if theyre good, its just not good for your development to be in their radius, they cant help but influence you. and often theyre not good, and try to control you on purpose.

[lights-at-night]

a chronological analysis of ranefall's relationship

alternately titled, 2373 words of me yapping about ranefall

long post. spoilers for all of tsv s3

on first impression, the relationship between faulkner and rane is that of a prophet and his disciple, a leader and his loyal advisor. rane's introduction is them driving faulkner back to the paraclete's gulch - an act of service, which sets a tone for the rest of their relationship. they say that "it was a true privilege to have seen it with [faulkner]". this establishes that rane and faulkner are not on equal footing, that rane's experience is elevated by faulkner's presence (or perhaps status). 

after this, faulkner persuades rane into telling him about their opinions of the katabasians' council by saying that they are on equal footing. of course, they aren't. but this illusion allows rane to feel like they are permitted to be open with him. faulkner doesn't return this courtesy, not answering rane's question of if legalisation is allowed and instead telling rane something appropriately shocking (a death threat towards him), to perhaps distract. 

 rane continues to act as faulkner's assistant in the next few episodes, bringing him news of the parish. however, chapter 33 marks a gradual change in rane and faulkner's relationship. faulkner's monologue in returning to the paraclete's gulch shows how far he has risen in status within the parish. he isn't just an ambitious fanatic in the eyes of the faith anymore, to them he is a prophet. and he is loved. 

as this is happening, rane takes over more and more of his responsibilities. thirteen sentences of this monologue are dedicated to repeating back what rane has told him. this shows his increase in reliance on rane to tell him about the parish and also likely means that rane is the one who has been finding out all this, giving them a more active role in the parish. at the end of this chapter, rane is the one arranging the ceremony to pray /derogatory for carpenter and they are the one preaching to the worshippers, which likely means that they were in charge of that ceremony and not faulkner. their relationship has become somewhat balanced, though not equal: rane obeys faulkner's orders since he is the high prophet, and faulkner obeys rane's stage directions for his performance. 

this episode is a turning point for rane and faulkner, with rane taking a more active role in leading the parish and faulkner confined to being a extremely prized decoration, an object of worship.

this is what their relationship seems to be at a surface level. but faulkner's monologue in chapter 33 also tells us that he views his status as a prophet as a "performance". he doesn't genuinely believe he is a mouthpiece of the trawlerman. the status that the parish has raised him to is somewhat undeserved. 

whether rane, too, believes that faulkner is in direct communion with the trawlerman is not revealed. they always act like it, but since the only lens we see them through is faulkner's, this is not necessarily an accurate representation of them. it would seem that  rane is loyal to faulkner, for example in their interactions with  roemont. the stage directions in this section state how rane is "placatory", and how in the first scene mentioned their tone is "polite". when asked what they see in faulkner by roemont, they say "i'm not sure i understand", which could be genuine confusion over how roemont doesn't see faulkner's glory, or a way to go forth in the conversation as neutral and not be accused by either side. from this, my guess is that rane has a genuine belief in faulkner, to an extent, but may be doing so only for the sake of politeness, or appearances. 

chapter 38 continues to have their dynamic be in limbo. greve's message to faulkner makes him all the more self aware about his deception. he is reminded unkindly that he is very much alone and no amount of love from his fanatics can change that. 

so faulkner tells rane about his childhood home, making the both of them feel like they are closer. without the pressure of leading the parish, they can pretend they could be friends. given faulkner repeating greve's monologue, i think he talks to rane as a way to remind himself he isn't as alone as she says he is. 

then faulkner tells rane to find him prayermarks to protect from gods. when asked if using the marks of another god is blasphemy to the trawlerman, faulkner replies with "it's not blasphemy if the high prophet does it,". he is still leveraging his title over rane despite his discontent with the role. to him, he says whatever will get him the prayermarks. to rane, it blends faulkner as a person with faulkner the high prophet even more.

at the end of the episode, rane saves faulkner from drowning himself. they ask him if he heard the music. this shows how their faith is at the forefront of rane's mind, not faulkner's wellbeing, and it always has and will be - an attitude they hold throughout the series and which faulkner acknowledges in the drowning scene. faulkner doesn't answer, which is a completely reasonable response in this situation. this is probably the most honest they have been with each other since their meeting, with rane saying what i assume they are thinking and faulkner not lying about his faith in the trawlerman. 

faulkner continues his descent, and rane can see this. they might be making an effort yo keep faulkner alive but the only actions we see them make are to repair faulkner's facade. for example, with sister cull, rane tells her to forget she heard any of that. even though the grand aquifer is run down and, as faulkner says, not grand at all, rane continues to pretend that this is what they've all been waiting for, that their sect of the faith is glorious and winning their civil war, which faulkner tells us. i think this is rane's way of showing care, of trying to lift the burden of performance from faulkner. in chapter 44, they say with honesty that they "saw [faulkner] falter" and that "it is [their] duty to pick him back up," which is what i believe their intentions to be when they carry on faulkner's performance. 

 previously, in e33, they found faulkner near to having a breakdown and faulkner told them it was because direct communion with the trawlerman was taxing. and since they found faulkner in the same place he first heard the trawlerman as a child,, it would be a reasonable assumption for rane to make that faulkner was doing that again. they might not genuinely believe this, but it could be a way for them to make sense of faulkner in a way that aligns with their view of him. so they accept this, try their best to make sure it cannot happen again, because what would be the point of all this if faulkner cannot be what everyone thinks he is? nothing is more important than the faith, and the high prophet is the basis of this entire faith. so they pick up the pieces of faulkner's cracked mask, and tell the devout that everything is fine and good. because of this, rane has completely taken over faulkner's responsibilities at this point. there's a quote from arcane that is applicable here: "when i ask [...] what [he's] up to, your name's the first out of their mouth." rane is practically leading the parish at this point, in all ways save titles. 

a demonstration of how little faulkner's word matters is in chapter 43, where rane pressures faulkner into giving away the withermark and tells their audience to disregard faulkner's words, which the faithful do. this shows faulkner's deterioration not only mentally but also in the eyes of his worshippers. he is not what they believe him to be, and so his words are disregarded easily. as he says himself, the word's won't save [him]. they never could. this scene also works as a reversal of their first meeting, where faulkner pressures rane into telling their true opinions with his status. in contrast here, rane pressures faulkner into telling the truth of the withermark with their status among the faith. this is representative of how their positions are completely swapped, with rane holding significantly more power than faulkner. 

faulkner is aware that they are both performing to a degree. the drowning scene is important because in that scene, faulkner takes advantage of their mutual performance to force rane to drown. faulkner frames his discontent in the role of the high prophet, and hides himself from rane for the final time. he pretends that his rage at their indirect murder of carpenter was because he did not have the opportunity to do so himself: that his anger is out of betrayal from their disobedience and not the remnants of love for his sister. this makes sense to rane, it fits into their view of him - it is stated in the transcripts that "rane understands now." faulkner continues to fit within his persona in this scene - is it not fitting that a prophet name his closest advisor his successor, to give someone so close to him a role of importance? - i believe this is what makes rane realize that something is wrong. faulkner has not put on this role in a while - since his suicide attempt, he puts low to no effort into maintaining how he is regarded by the parish. to pivot from that to this is a drastic change, one that likely has reason put into it. faulkner then pressures rane to join him in the water using the role they made for themself. he calls rane is his "most faithful servant", and tells them that "i wouldn’t want you coming to resent me, sibling rane. not when you’ve worked so hard to get me where i am." he puts rane back into a place beneath him, pretending that rane is not the one in control. the next step in this scene would be, of course, for rane to join faulkner in the water. the transcript states, "rane hesitates. they are most definitely afraid for their life and unwilling to join faulkner in the water...but they don't know how to say it without completely shattering the shared performance of loyalty and trust." this demonstrates that rane is aware that this is a performance and that they are expected to play a role just like faulkner was. since neither of them can let up the performance in front of the other, rane is coerced into going into the water.

faulkner disrobes, symbolic of how he is in a way giving up the act. his high prophet clothes have been representative of his persona since ch33, where he describes the clothes that he wears as the high prophet. rane, previously, had told him that his disciples had sewn him a cassock. he says it is too big for him, and rane says they'll pad out his shoulders. this is a physical representation of how rane reshapes him to serve a purpose for the parish. in this scene, he sheds the physical form of the persona of the high prophet and as he drowns rane, he is once again honest with them. 

this scene also demonstrates well how faulkner views rane as a mirror of himself. rane has parallels to faulkner in season 2, with faulkner comparing him and rane to mason and him. rane is as faulkner once was, an eager disciple who thought they were special, but who now knows better. faulkner also asks rane if they would like to be him multiple times, and when drowning rane says many things that could be applicable as him talking to himself, such as "you’re meant to be born anew, sibling! that’s what this is all about! you’re meant to be DIFFERENT! you’re meant to be BETTER! why aren’t you becoming SOMETHING BETTER?" if we interpret this to be faulkner projecting really hard, in this he expresses frustration towards how becoming high prophet has not somehow shifted him into being a better, greater person. though he calls rane charlie in the final paragraphs of the scene, he could also be talking to himself - "we’re so close, you and I, we’re almost there, we can almost hear the music, and once we hear the music, we’ll understand what it was all about, we’ll finally understand, and all the pain will be worth it, everything will be worth it-" he clings onto the idea that there is something better in his future, and tells rane that as he drowns them. 

this scene is faulkner subjecting rane to what he feels they've done to him. faulkner locking him and rane in the dreaming pools together represents how they are both trapped in their respective roles. faulkner twists his words to force rane into a role that isn't them in a mirror of rane persisting the high prophet facade. by drowning rane, faulkner feels as though he is drowning himself, which gives him some degree of satisfaction, given his suicidal ideation. but all he has achieved is to make himself more alone. 

though faulkner views rane as a perfect mirror, a "better version of [him], perhaps, who falters less and says the right words at the proper time," what rane really is to faulkner is a shadow. faulkner cannot see rane for who they are because he is too caught up in himself, as demonstrated in the drowning scene. we only see rane without faulkner on one occasion, with roemont, and even that is brief. a shadow is an imitation always seen with the one who casts it - as is rane. since rane never gets their own point of view written in the series, what faulkner is to rane is deliberately nebulous. due to faulkner's unreliable narration. rane is viewed through layers of paranoia, self-loathing and projection. we can never truly know what faulkner was to rane, but we can guess. my personal opinion is that rane did care about faulkner, but their idolization of him and prioritisation of the faith made it impossible to form a true bond. 

thanks for reading!

[rookiesbookies]

Hi i love the empress and male!concubines idea with the COD boys, I def think that it'll be interesting to see more hcs for this idea/au?

Alright my little anon. Truthfully I should have given more details in the og post (it also started as a rant about how I couldn’t handle a poly relationship because of my anxiety (I also saw a post about a girl who had 4 partners and didn’t get any attention and it made me sad so that's also way).) I have been stewing on this idea though so here’s some hc. Might do more if people are still interested in it or want more, I do love talking about my AUs (like this one and the Greek god one, so let me know if you want me to go more bc stuff like this rattles around my brain)

Also apparently there is a term for a male concubine and they’re called concubinatus or a concubinus. Honestly I took Latin and the fact I didn’t expect this lowkey brings me pain.

General HC?

The first empress in a long time. And the first empress to like her concubinuses (hope that's right) more than the idea of marrying for an emperor. So the council decided to bring you only the best warriors to keep. They of course still must serve occasionally but they have been elevated in status to there is lower risk anything will happen. Mostly kept as tacticians or kept to train the new boys joining the country’s military.

Konig and Krueger were taken as trophies of war for the Empress. They were two of the largest, smartest, and strongest men from the battlefield.

When the two were adjusting, it was difficult. The empress was gracious with them, mentioning how she wouldn’t dare make them do anything, apologizing for the war and the loss. Truthfully trying to get them comfortable, and the two were honestly shocked but I’ll get into that more in their sections.

Keegan was sent as a gift by a neighboring nation looking for peace and protection. He had a good time adjusting, sometimes making comments about how this treatment is too good for nasty military dogs like all of them but I’ll touch on that more later.

Price

Price was probably the first concubinus. He had been a strong warrior and was deemed by the council to be a good fit for what they were hoping for. He also, however, did not intend to retire from his position so they had to find an alternate reason to stop him from getting in trouble.

For him it was awkward. His empress was a bit younger than him, however he did crave to be a father. While the empress didn’t intend to fall pregnant yet, he would be on his best behavior when the opportunity came.

The chance to be the father of the next royal was something he couldn’t miss.

Soap

Both him and Gaz were best in their class, breaking records, so it only made sense it seems to send them to the empress once they got their prime years out of them.

He was probably the last concubinus to come in before the gift and the trophies of war. He has the more vicious puppy eyes. He waits for you like a dog every time you leave and enter. Always talks about how much more comfortable your bed is and how nice it is to lay with you. Definitely sweet talks you even though he’s already a concubinus.

Will literally do anything you say and it’s partially because he thinks he will get sent back to the military full time if he doesn’t.

Ghost

Definitely does checks on all the palace guards to make sure they’re up to spec. If even one slacks he uses his power to make them run.

This is all because of how gracious the empress has been with him. When he had a fit of ptsd (i'm thinking anxiety attack or something) she invited him into her room and away from the others so he didn’t feel embarrassed and comforted him as best she could before making him some tea. With an empire that stretches across Europe he was impressed she had the time to stop and care about a random concubinus.

Definitely was surprised he told you as much as he did and how you listened and comforted him. Telling him you’d never make him do anything he wasn’t comfortable with was something he appreciated.

Gaz

See the first paragraph of Soap’s bc Im not copying it again.

Since I feel like Gaz is the older of the two (he seems to have a maturity I dont see as much in Soap idk?) He was sent to her first of the two for his ‘semi-retirement’. Now they just need them to occasionally train incoming recruits.

He definitely enjoyed adjusting to the cushy life of the castle. He liked being able to keep his weapons since he did double as a personal guard for the empress. But he likes that he and the other concubinus get a hot tub more, definitely likes all the fancy clothes.

His job is the have sex with his sexy empress, what’s not to love?

Konig

Truthfully, when he was being cocky toward the other concubinus and you pulled him away into a separate room to tell him you knew he was compensating for his anxiety, he was more than shocked. He was stunned into silence.

So when you reached your hands under his hood and rubbed his cheeks, telling him it was ok and he didn’t need to act out, he melted. He had never truly been shown such softness, so to be shown it by the empress of the enemy? He was so conflicted. With a pat on his chest you told him he could take on his position fully when he was more comfortable and that you were concerned for him and there if he needed to talk. He was still quiet.

Krueger

Was not interested. No matter how many compliments you gave him or gifts you sent, he wouldn’t budge. He was grumpy and hostile. So much so he made the other concubinus nervous especially for you.

It wasn’t until you pulled him into your room that night that he relaxed quite a bit under your soft hands and apologies. Massaging his tired muscles, and lulling him into a sense of security. Now he understood how Konig folded so easily.

He offered to return the favor but you told him not until he was more comfortable and made him promise to play nice. He agreed but only to be a bit nicer.

Keegan

He honestly believes this treatment is too good for all of them. They were dogs of war, animals trained to kill, and now they’re dressed in fancy clothes? With an empress who dotes on them when they should be doting on her? Truthfully he baffles him. He isn’t ungrateful, he just didn’t expect to become a concubinus when sent here. He expected a joint military operation or to be a representative. He hit it off quickly with the group from the empire’s military.

The two from the war keep to themselves and the shorter one threatened to bite him.

Often feels the most out of place because he is the only one from his area, but he doesn’t complain. He gets nice gifts and is invited into your room pretty often, so he appreciates every moment. He wonders if it would be proper or allowed for him to get you gifts?

I was surprising more eager to write this ask than I thought. Let me know if yall want me to do formal parts to this? Maybe an actual fic for this au?

Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, don’t forget to leave me a comment or a request in my inbox to let me know what yall want to see!

[beevean]

what are your favorite attention to details in Castlevania games ?

feel free to make a list if you want.

Not sure if it counts, but I'm still fascinated by the progression between sections in SoTN, especially going from the Marble Gallery to the Catacombs. It's one of those things that make the place feel real. What does count, however, is that the flowing lava at the bottom of the Catacombs, underground, is matched by floating ice at the top of the Reverse Catacombs, up in the clouds.

(other cute details are the fact that Alucard screams in terror when elevators fall, he shouts "WHAT" if he gets stuck in a place too small for him, and tosses peanuts in the air to catch them :P)

I noticed this change in the two castles of Harmony of Dissonance and I can't stop thinking about it. The small chapel of Castle A was turned into a room of science in the cursed Castle B.

In Lament of Innocence, Leon has a reflection on the floor of the Pagoda of the Misty Moon, but Joachim, a vampire, doesn't. A similar attention to detail is that when you play as him, the Rosary (basically a screen nuke) is replaced with a Bloody Skull: of course a vampire would also be incinerated by a holy symbol lol

^ notice how the Leon doppelganger has a reflection

Hector can parry cannonballs. I don't know if it counts, but I'll mention it because it sends me into laughing fits.

Also not sure if it counts as a detail, but I remember realizing something interesting about the disposition of levels here. The Abandoned Castle, which is heavily implied to be the castle of Dracula's Curse, connects to the Forest of Jigramunt, which not only connects itself to Cordova Town, a zombie town clearly left abandoned and decayed, but also to the Cave of Jigramunt, which hosts a peculiar statue...

This is the Evil God that gave Dracula his powers in CV3, and is the final boss you face.

What I'm trying to say is that I fully believe this statue, buried underground, might have strengthened Dracula's Curse. And who lived in the forest, near the castle ruins, for three years, succumbing more and more to the Curse?

And who was executed in a town where the Curse turned people's heart black with anger and fear? :)

(incidentally, Cordova Town is also where you first fight Isaac)

... oh and I love that if you use the Dominus Union in OoE in any moment other than the very end of the game, Shanoa dies.

There's no warning, she doesn't think "I'd rather not". She can kill herself like that if you so wish. What did you expect? And with how she sees herself as nothing but a tool, no wonder she'd have no self-preservation. I also once had a conversation about the reason why Shanoa doesn't just blast Dracula in the face with the Dominus, but whittles down his health before using it as a last-ditch resort.

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Praises

Five times Emmrich praised Agi, and one time she praised him. One section is NSFW but the rest is SFW.

“Clever girl.” Emmrich murmured as Agnes solved a statue puzzle that unlocked the gate to a massive chest in Rivain.

DID HE?!?!

She glanced over her shoulder to see the necromancer giving her a charming smile. Cheeks burning, she giggled nervously. “Who me?”

Agi.

Really?????

You said that?!?!?!

He chuckled. “Yes, you! Our own dear Rook is an expert in solving puzzles. Clever, clever girl.”

Agnes opened her mouth to speak (no idea what to say to that), but thankfully Taash interrupted.

“Three statues here. Three up there. Match. Easy.” They grunted, sorting through the loot. “Rook is smart, but a kid could’ve solved that.”

OH COME ON, TAASH!

Can the very handsome man go back to praising me please?

Eyes darting from Taash to Emmrich and back again, the mage exhaled sharply, hands on her wide hips. “Taash, I agree with most of what you said. However, a kid could solve that? I don’t think so, mate.”

Then she felt Emmrich’s gloved hand on her waist, and she thought her heart was going to beat out of her chest.

“Taash, while I greatly respect and admire your expertise in treasure hunting, I do believe that in this case praise is indeed warranted. The gold speaks for itself, hm?” He just squeezed my waist. He just did that. I’m going to die now. Goodbye world. Figure it out yourselves. “Good job, Rook.” He leaned against her ear, and Agnes could swear he was smirking when he whispered, “Clever, clever girl.”

This can’t be happening, right?

This…is this…

He’s flirting with me.

RIGHT?!

Nodding, she took the bag of gold Taash shoved at her. “Thank you so much, Emmrich. Now, let’s continue…”

***

“Ah!”

Agnes turned towards the source of the cry she heard as undead pirates attacked.

Emmrich.

He was on his back, a hand on his rapidly rising and falling chest.

Get to him.

Now.

In two fade dashes, she was at his side and tossed him a potion between spells.

Do it for him.

Kill these fuckers for Emmrich.

Will he be impressed?

Will he say…

With a snarl, she disintegrated the last undead pirate. And a flourish with my staff…don’t drop it, Agi…nailed it! “You okay, Emmrich?” she asked, expression softening as her attention returned to him. Offering a hand, Agnes helped him to his feet.

“Ugh, I’m fine. I’m fine. It only knocked the wind out of me.” He answered with an eyeroll and an annoyed wave of his gloved hand. He gently rebuffed her when she began to fuss only a little over him. “Truly, my dear---I’m fine. There’s no need to worry.”

She shook her head. “Of course I worry, Emmrich. I care about you.” OH NO. “You’re my friend.” Whew. Nice save.

Something she could not quite make out flashed in his eyes, and then he smiled politely. “As you are mine, Rook.” He began to straighten his waistcoat when he murmured, “And thank you ever so much for taking care of those undead. Good girl.”

A mangled “you’re welcome” came out of her as a squeak, face blushing bright red.

EVERY. DAMN. TIME.

***

“You did so well today, dearest.” Emmrich said as he guided Agnes towards the bed in his room. While she, Lucanis, and Emmrich defeated the Formless One (funnily enough, in the form of a dragon), she had taken several critical hits.

And the dragon may have crashed into me a few times.

Bandages covered her hands and midsection. Her right ankle was severely sprained. Cuts and bruises galore.

He took care of me. Still is taking care of me.

Because goddamn, I am sore as fuck.

She laughed softly then grimaced. Ah yes, the bruised ribs are saying hello. “I don’t know, love. I think you and Lucanis carried my ass through that fight.” Sitting up against several pillows, she watched as Emmrich elevated her wrapped ankle, enchanting it with a spell to help keep the swelling down. Then Manfred entered the room carrying a tray with a pitcher of what she assumed to be water and COOKIES!!!

He turned to Manfred and smiled. “Perfect, Manfred! Put the tray there. Thank you.” The necromancer waited for him to leave before directing his attention back to Agnes. “Is there anything else you require, my love? If you want something more substantial, I can make—”

Reaching for his bejeweled hand, she shook her head, sighing. “I love you so much but shut up and get in bed with me.”

“Oh, dearest! Of course! Of course!” He removed his boots and sat next to her. Taking one of her hands in his, he brought it to his lips. “Rest, darling.”

Leaning her head against his, she smiled softly. “Thank you.”

Emmrich nuzzled her cheek with his frankly underrated gorgeous nose. “Whatever for?”

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Ouch, my ribs. “For taking care of me. You don’t have to, Emm.”

Chuckling, his lips found hers a sweet but firm kiss. “I want to, dearest. You’re the center of my universe. My precious bouquet. My sweetheart. How could I not care for you, spoil you, tend to you, especially when you’re injured?” He gave her one more kiss and then with the wave of a hand, the plate of cookies levitated, landing on her lap. She picked up a cookie (chocolate chip my favorite) and held it to her lips, watching him watch her. “What are you waiting for, my love? Do you need—”

“What I need,” she grinned. “Is for you to kiss me.” Agnes then placed one part of the cookie in her mouth, held between her teeth, waggling her eyebrows.

“As you desire, my darling.”

I bite.

He bites.

Smooch!

***

“You really are such a good girl,” Emmrich murmured into Agnes’s ear, one hand lazily squeezing a large breast. After taking our sweet time bathing, she found herself between his long legs, her back to his front.

She laughed softly and turned her head to see him better because he’s handsome and beautiful and all mine. “Because I let you fondle me in the bath?”

In the bath.

Outside the bath.

I love it when he touches me…makes me feel wanted and loved…

He pressed a kiss on her nose. “That, and you respond so beautifully. I simply cannot get enough of you.”

“I can tell.” She smirked, his hardness twitching against her ass. “Even out and about, you’re always so, so close,” her generous backside ground against him, the movements of his hands stuttering. “And I love it, Emmrich.” She shifted, removing his hands from her, and turned to cup his handsome, beautiful face. “I can’t get enough of you either.” As she kissed him, she tugged his bottom lip. “I want to keep you nice and warm, my love. Is that alright?”

His eyes widened as Agnes gripped the base of his leaking cock. “O-oh, darling. I can never refuse you…”

Sliding onto his member, they moaned in unison with her throwing her head back in ecstasy. “You feel so fucking good. You always do.” She carded one hand through his wet, graying hair and brushed his cheek with the other. “You always make me feel good. I hope it’s the same for you, Emm.”

I never thought anyone would love me, let alone you.

But you do, and I’m forever grateful.

Emmrich’s mouth found her neck, peppering kisses on her pale skin. “My dear, you are exquisite. A wonderfully passionate and generous lover who never fails to astound me with each coupling.” Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t’ cry. “To speak plainly,” He ran his hands up and down her back, gently massaging and rubbing her softness. “I’ve never been as blissfully happy as I am with you.” His lips captured hers in a sloppy, slow kiss, whispering, “My best girl, beautiful girl, give unto me your warmth, shelter me from the storm, and in return, my heart and soul, I shall give you—oh!”

Emm, I love you so much…

Agnes took his face in her hands and hungrily kissed him.

BUT SHUT UP AND KISS ME!

Please.

Your best girl demands it.

***

“Well struck, dearest!”

EMMRICH!

Agnes’s cheeks burned as her meteor landed with Neve’s ice shards and a very sexy spell from my handsome man, and he praised her.

As he does.

A lot.

And he knows what it does to me!!!!

The larger darkspawn collapsed, died, and disappeared, leaving behind some gold and a trinket of some sort. She walked to the loot and bent over.

He’s standing next to me.

I’d know those boots anywhere.

I’d know that hand on my ass anywhere?!?!?!

She bit back a giggle. “May I help you, Professor?”

And now he’s pinching my ass.

“Oh, do forgive me, dear.” He is not sorry. “It’s only that you looked so lovely just now, and I cannot resist expressing my appreciation for your considerable skills and talent.” The necromancer purred, the hand on her behind moving to her soft waist as she straightened. “You truly are a wonder to behold, darling.”

A teasing smile tugged on her lips. “I could say the same about you, love.”

Giving her waist a gentle squeeze, he kissed her sweetly before whispering, “That would please me great—”

“Ahem.”

The couple turned to see Neve standing several feet away, arms crossed over her chest, smirking. “Don’t make me separate you two.”

Agnes squeaked, “Sorry Neve” and hurried towards her, leaving Emmrich barely stifling a laugh behind her.

Every. Damn. Time.

***

“You look so handsome tonight, love.” Agnes whispered to Emmrich, her hand on his arm, as they attended my very first opera. It was Emmrich’s idea. He loves it, and he wants to share it with me, so I figured why not give it a try!

And then he went and had a third dress made for me.

Just to go to the opera apparently.

But…he does look incredibly yummy…and smells so good. Fuck.

His cheeks flushed slightly. “Why thank you, darling! For opening night of the season at the Royal Nevarra Opera, one must be dressed for the momentous occasion that it is.” He leaned to press a quick peck to her cheek. “Though, even in my best ensemble and most valuable grave gold, I pale in comparison next to you, my dear.”

EMM!!!!

She giggled, watching as he handed their tickets to the usher. “Flatterer.”

After the tickets were checked, Emmrich nodded politely to the usher and lead them towards the grand staircase in the lobby of the opera house. “I seem to remember accusing you of charming flattery once upon a time, dear.”

“You mean my very bad attempts at flirting?” Agnes teased as she and Emmrich ascended the stairs.

He let out a joyous guffaw. “Dearest! Your attempts were never bad.” At the top of the grand staircase, he’s showing our tickets to another fucking usher. Mate, can we just get to our bloody seats?!

Oh wait.

We don’t have seats.

Emmrich has a private box, because of course he does.

“That being said,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her short, dark red curls. “Subtly was never your forte, my heart.”

He’s not wrong.

When they fucking finally reached his box, he gestured for her to sit first and offered her a bejeweled hand. Those hands…better be on me later. Please? She smiled as her hand slipped into his and sat on the very fancy wooden chair. “But you love me anyways.”

Within a moment, he was beside her and handed her a program, his fingers brushing against hers. “That I do, my darling.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, sighing happily. “That I do. Ah!” Emmrich exclaimed as the lights darkened. “It’s starting! I do hope you enjoy it, Agi dearest. It’s a particular favorite of mine.”

Agnes hoped she would like the opera.

Then it started.

And it’s in bloody High Nevarran…so I have no idea what’s happening.

That’s alright though. I can keep an eye on Emm and watch all his adorable reactions.

My adorable, handsome, brilliant love.

[itsabouttimex2]

Yandere Alphabet: Red Son

Authority: Do they see themselves as above their obsession?

Yes, yes, and yes. A thousand times over. Red Son’s pride is unmitigatable, an ever-searing pillar of his person. Y/N is viewed as a silly mortal pet, with a collar to boot. Though his opinion of you might eventually improve to seeing you as something of a friend, it still wouldn’t be great.

Bread: Can they cook or bake? Is their obsession responsible for their own food?

So long as they don’t injure themselves further than a mild burn or cut, Y/N is allowed free roam in the kitchen, allowed to make themselves what they please. Good behavior earns them a little fridge all to themselves, stocked with healthy snacks and ingredients they enjoy- Red Son can be generous, when he wants to be.

Not that he won’t steal from your plate if the things you cook look good enough. In a way, it elevates your status with him, sharing food with you as family would.

If you do get hurt too bad, Red revokes your access to the stove, oven, and knives. He’ll starts to make your meals for you, with the addendum that you help with the non-dangerous stages of food prep. Of course, what’s actually happening is that he’s making extra portions of what he likes, then giving it to you. Let’s hope you like spicy food.

Cruentus- How do they respond to Y/N being hurt, both slightly and severely?

Immediate scorching of whoever dared to lay their hands on property of the Demon Bull Family ensues, and then continues until their flesh has carbonized. Red Son will clean and bind your wounds with a firm hand, viciously scolding you for daring to put yourself in a position where you might be harmed in the first place. “My family has a reputation to maintain, you numbskull! If anyone sees you damaged, what will they think of us?!”

This lecture will occur even if the perpetrator broke into the Demon Bull fortress and smashed down the door of your room to get to you. After some time has passed, he’ll feel slightly bad for blaming you, and bring you something sugary to drink.

If the wound is minor, like a cut or scratch, Red Son will scoff at the weakness of your skin and ignore it, mocking you as ‘whiny’ and ‘pathetic’. If the issue persists, he’ll steal a few high quality first aid kits from a hospital and throw them onto your shelf.

Disengage- What’s their response to being ignored?

Laughter. Mocking, howling laughter. And then an immediate removal of privileges and freedom until they ‘grow up’, in Red’s own words.

Enclosure: Where do they keep Y/N? Do they have a place for them at all?

In the Demon Bull Family’s Fortress. Y/N has a section in Red Son’s room all to themselves, with a little mattress and small shelf to fit several personal possessions. During the beginning of their captivity, Y/N will be shown a length of chain bolted to the wall with a shackle on one end- a warning that freedom is now a privilege, not a right. You’ll have to wear it all through the night for many months on end if you make any escape attempts.

Facade: Are they good at hiding their true intentions?

No. But that’s only because doesn’t even try. The most he’ll do is lie to his parents about the depth of his obsession- and they’re willing to believe (for a time) that he merely wanted an amusing little pet to keep him company.

Garment: Do they take control of Y/N’s clothes?

Yes, to a stifling extreme. Red Son will torch the entirety of your wardrobe in order to replace it with something more suited to him and the tastes of his family- expect lots of red and purple. Secretly, Red enjoys matching with you. He might spare a few pieces of your clothing from his fire if you argue to their sentimental value. Also, he’ll do your hair, likely in a way that resembles his mother’s style. He might even force you to grow it out so that he can pin it up in twin ‘bull horns’.

Again, he forces you to wear a collar stamped with the family insignia (pictured here twice, the Chinese word for ‘bull’, written in bone script), but good behavior will have him upgrade you to a large pendant instead.

Also, you’re getting a bindi/tattoo like his- but only after he’s shifted you from ‘pet’ to ‘sibling’.

Handicap: How do they handle Y/N being or becoming disabled?

Unfortunately, a disabled Y/N in the clutches of Red Son is very likely to be the victim of humiliation and dehumanization- for a time. As his affection and care for you grows, the blade of his pendulum swings. He switches quickly from constant mockery and boundary stomping to stifling care and strict restriction. One day he’ll be kicking your crutch or hiding your anxiety meds while you panic, the next he’s demanding you to relegate yourself to the constant use of a wheelchair and punishing you for not taking your medicine where he can see it.

Intertwine- How physical are they? Do they enjoy skinship and touch?

Red Son is pretty reserved in terms of touch- he’ll accept minor displays of physical affection, but rarely initiates. When he does, you can expect condescending headpats and lots of hair brushing. If you’re feeling particularly down, he’ll muster up a half-hearted hug, awkwardly thumping your back.

Jaunt: Are they willing to take Y/N out in public? Where do they go?

No. Not unless they’re willing to be led around by the aforementioned shackle, the chains rattling with each step taken. However, Red Son might teleport them to somewhere isolated and empty for a few minutes, allowing them a little bit of fresh air as a quick reward for compliance and obedience.

Kindness: What brings out the best in this yandere?

The Crystal Heir AU leaves him extremely protective towards Y/N, acknowledging their trauma and suffering- and he works to be a better person for them.

Alternatively, when you get very sick- Red Son will stay beside you all the while, stuffing you with water, medicine, and hand-made soup. Having you completely vulnerable only serves to make him softer, given that you can’t fight or sass him- he might even cuddle you once or twice, letting you rest against his ever-warm body.

Limitation: What holds them back? Work? Family obligations? Physical weakness?

His family’s goals and ambitions are always at the fore of Red’s mind, a perpetual desire to please them. Given the time he has to spend planning or tinkering, Y/N does have time to themselves- enough to plan or attempt an escape, if they can muster the courage.

Morals: What lines are they not willing to cross?

Any form of ‘rigorous’ discipline or outright abuse. Red Son doesn’t want to waste his time doing something like caning your thighs or whipping you hands, and wouldn’t ever beat you outright. You might get slapped on the back of the head or receive a sharp swat on your nose- but he wouldn’t really go any further. Also, no deliberately putting Y/N in danger. He’s just not risking it.

Nausea: Can they tend to an illness, or would they rely on a doctor?

He handles it himself. As mentioned before, Red Son plies you with water, soup, and medicine. He’ll restrict you to his own bed, sleeping in the guest room as you recover- and he’ll sneak in during the night to wipe the sweat from your brow and refill your glass.

Obcordate: What reminds them of Y/N?

Food and drink with warming (but not spicy) spices, like cookies with a dash of ginger and cinnamon. Stray dogs that would be better off taken in hand and brought somewhere safe. Any little flower that’s blooming all alone.

Pacify: How do they comfort Y/N? Do they even bother trying?

Jokes aside, he’s not too great- but there’ll be some mild, concerned effort. Maybe just lay your head in his lap and let him play with your hair- it’s more comfortable for him trying to give you a hug or pep talk.

Queue: Do they have something of equal or greater importance to Y/N?

His family. Red’s obsession with Y/N will never come before his love for his parents, even after they find themselves forcibly ‘adopted’.

Redemption: Could they grow out of their obsession and make amends with Y/N?

Unlikely, but not impossible. After several months/years spent spent with them, Red Son will grow more protective and less cruel, but his obsession never really fades.

Sobriquet- What nicknames do for they have for their obsession?

Many mocking and insulting epithets are bestowed upon Y/N, the most frequent being, you guessed it- peasant. If Red Son grows particularly angry, he’ll get more threatening with his wording, referring to you as ‘kindling’ or ‘firewood’.

After a few months spent in captivity, he might refer to you as little sister (妹妹) or little brother (弟弟). These moments are fleeting, but impossibly soft and genuine- and after a few months or even years spent acclimating to your new life, you might see fit to call him older brother (哥哥).

Troop: How many people do they obsess over? Is that obsession spread equally?

Just one- Y/N.

Underdog: Who‘s on the yandere’s side? Would they help out?

His parents are massive enablers, unfortunately. So what if their son has a little mortal pet? They want to take over the world- Red Son taking one of the mortals that they wish to subjugate as a slave/pet/companion does not bother them at all.

Though they do find you to be very cute- especially when Red Son forces you to dress and style yourself like a member of their family.

Vocalize: How do they justify their actions?

Red doesn’t bother- he doesn’t need justification. He wanted Y/N, so he took them. The end, with no regret.

White Whale: Why do they pursue Y/N? What caused this obsessive love?

Probably they do one or two nice things for him and he snatches them up, not unlike a human adopting a cute and friendly stray. The bulk of his obsession comes later, after he’s spent enough time to start caring about you.

Xanthous: What do they really want?

Approval, attention, and affection. Red Son switches from desperately seeking his father’s pride and love to demanding to have yours, finding it a much easier goal to achieve.

Youth: How old is Y/N in comparison to them? Younger, same age, or older?

Given that they’re almost invariably a mortal he finds amusing, Y/N is much younger.

Zealous: Do they pursue Y/N doggedly, or are they more laidback and casual with their approach?

Red Son is extremely casual the majority of the time- he’s entitled and prideful to the point that he sees nothing wrong with what he’s doing. Why would he be anything but relaxed?

Author’s Choice 1: What do Princess Iron Fan and Demon Bull King think of Y/N?

Iron Fan thinks of you as adorable when Red Son styles your hair like hers, and might even throw some of her old clothes your way- they’re abraded to softness and cozy to sleep in, offering some comfort during long nights. She’s not too opposed to having you as part of the family, even if she has to help her son “train” you into obedience and politeness.

The Demon Bull King uses you as practice for his future rule over mortals, making demands of you. He chuckles as you scurry about to fulfill them, trying hard to avoid his ire. Occasionally he’ll lift you by the scruff of your shirt, examining you closely. It’s fun to watch you yelp and kick, fearful that he’ll drop or crush you- he won’t actually do either, to his credit. It’s just funny to him that you think he might.

[teddywesworl]

while im still worked up about this, one more thing: there are absolutely 100% without a doubt creators in the fandom space who post their work and expect to be fawned over. there are people who make fanart and/or publish fic as a means to the end of being elevated to BNF status and receiving large quantities of ego-boosting engagement. this is also, obviously, not great. but from the existence of these climbers, it does not naturally follow that we should all openly tear other creatives down in comment sections. that doesn't solve the problem of 'this person is trying to position themselves at the top of a social hierarchy that should instead be a level field,' it just reinforces that the hierarchy exists at all

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Zheng Naijiu（鄭乃珖/郑乃珖 Chinese, 1911-2005）

* * * *

“The fading away of the Tao is when openness turns into spirit, spirit turns into energy, and energy turns into form. When form is born, everything is thereby stultified. The functioning of the Tao is when form turns into energy, energy turns into spirit, and spirit turns into openness. When openness is clear, everything thereby flows freely.

Therefore ancient sages investigated the beginnings of free flow and stultification, found the source of evolution, forgot form to cultivate energy, forgot energy to cultivate spirit, and forgot spirit to cultivate openness. When openness turns into spirit, spirit turns into energy, energy turns into form, and form turns into vitality, then vitality turns into attention. Attention turns into social gesturing, social gesturing turns into elevation and humbling. Elevation and humbling turn into high and low positioning, high and low positioning turns into discrimination.

Discrimination turns into official status, status turns into cars. Cars turn into mansions, mansions turn into palaces. Palaces turn into banquet halls, banquet halls turn into extravagance. Extravagance turns into acquisitiveness, acquisitiveness turns into fraud. Fraud turns into punishment, punishment turns into rebellion. Rebellion turns into armament, armament turns into strife and plunder, strife and plunder turn into defeat and destruction.”

From The Immortal Sisters: Secret Teachings of Taoist Women, translated and edited by Thomas Cleary. This section was written in the 10th century by Tan Jingsheng. It’s called Transformational Writings, and it sums up the Taoist view of the evolution and involution of both individuals and collective processes:

Read: THE LUXURY OF WALKING

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