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#or at least using the same manufacturer

professionalchaoticdumbass · 2 years

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gluten free fad diets becoming popular in the last few years are kind of a good thing and bad thing at the same time for ppl with gluten intolerances/allergies. on one hand there are a lot more companies producing gluten free stuff and it's easier to find gluten free options in restaurants now because they realized they could make a fuckton of money off of the fad dieters (and reliable gluten free brands upped their production as well). but on the other hand a huge chunk of those new companies and restaurant options aren't following proper precautions, and there's a very high risk of cross contamination because they're mainly catering to people who are gluten free by choice and whose bodies can process it just fine, not folks who can't have any amount of gluten at all because of things like allergies. which means we now have to be extremely careful with those new companies in case we, yknow, fucking get sick and die.

#randumbass thoughts #gluten sensitivity #gluten allergy #celiac #this has been on my mind for the past couple weeks at least and i think i should say it #like there are certain gluten free brands i know and use that are a lot more common now which is great #but also a lot of gluten-product manufacturers are now claiming 'GLUTEN FREE!!!!!' when they make it with like the same #equipment they use for gluten products and its so obviously not gluten free #i forget whether or not the fda sold out and stopped having harsh requirements for the gluten free symbol so idk if thats helpful anymore

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zvaigzdelasas · 17 days

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Instead of burning fossil fuels to reach the temperatures needed to smelt steel and cook cement, scientists in Switzerland want to use heat from the sun. The proof-of-concept study uses synthetic quartz to trap solar energy at temperatures over 1,000°C (1,832°F), demonstrating the method’s potential role in providing clean energy for carbon-intensive industries. A paper on the research was published on May 15 in the journal Device.[...]

Glass, steel, cement, and ceramics are at the very heart of modern civilization, essential for building everything from car engines to skyscrapers. However, manufacturing these materials demands temperatures over 1,000°C and relies heavily on burning fossil fuels for heat. These industries account for about 25% of global energy consumption. Researchers have explored a clean-energy alternative using solar receivers, which concentrate and build heat with thousands of sun-tracking mirrors. However, this technology has difficulties transferring solar energy efficiently above 1,000°C.

To boost the efficiency of solar receivers, Casati turned to semitransparent materials such as quartz, which can trap sunlight—a phenomenon called the thermal-trap effect. The team crafted a thermal-trapping device by attaching a synthetic quartz rod to an opaque silicon disk as an energy absorber. When they exposed the device to an energy flux equivalent to the light coming from 136 suns, the absorber plate reached 1,050°C (1,922°F), whereas the other end of the quartz rod remained at 600°C (1,112°F).

“Previous research has only managed to demonstrate the thermal-trap effect up to 170°C (338°F),” says Casati. “Our research showed that solar thermal trapping works not just at low temperatures, but well above 1,000°C. This is crucial to show its potential for real-world industrial applications.”

Using a heat transfer model, the team also simulated the quartz’s thermal-trapping efficiency under different conditions. The model showed that thermal trapping achieves the target temperature at lower concentrations with the same performance, or at higher thermal efficiency for equal concentration. For example, a state-of-the-art (unshielded) receiver has an efficiency of 40% at 1,200°C, with a concentration of 500 suns. The receiver shielded with 300 mm of quartz achieves 70% efficiency at the same temperature and concentration. The unshielded receiver requires at least 1,000 suns of concentration for comparable performance.

17 May 24

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mcmansionhell · 1 year

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this house may or may not be real

on grayness in real estate

Allegedly, somewhere in Wake Forest, North Carolina, a 4 bed, 5.5 bathroom house totaling more than 6,600 square feet is for sale at a price of 2.37 million dollars. The house, allegedly, was built in 2021. Allegedly, it looks like this:

A McMansion is, in effect, the same house over and over again - it's merely dressed up in different costumes. In the 90s, the costume was Colonial; in the 2000s, it was vague forms of European (Tuscan, Mediterranean), and in the 2010s it was Tudor, dovetailed by "the farmhouse" -- a kind of Yeti Cooler simulacra of rural America peddled to the populace by Toll Brothers and HGTV.

Now, we're fully in the era of whatever this is. Whitewashed, quasi-modern, vaguely farmhouse-esque, definitely McMansion. We have reached, in a way, peak color and formal neutrality to the point where even the concept of style has no teeth. At a certain moment in its life cycle, styles in vernacular architecture reach their apex, after which they seem excessively oversaturated and ubiquitous. Soon, it's time to move on. After all, no one builds houses that look like this anymore:

(This is almost a shame because at least this house is mildly interesting.)

If we return to the basic form of both houses, they are essentially the same: a central foyer, a disguised oversized garage, and an overly complex assemblage of masses, windows, and rooflines. No one can rightfully claim that we no longer live in the age of the McMansion. The McMansion has instead simply become more charmless and dull.

When HGTV and the Gaineses premiered Fixer Upper in 2013, it seemed almost harmless. Attractive couple flips houses. Classic show form. However, Fixer Upper has since (in)famously ballooned into its own media network, a product line I'm confronted with every time I go to Target, and a general 2010s cultural hallmark not unlike the 1976 American Bicentennial - both events after which every house and its furnishings were somehow created in its image. (The patriotism, aesthetic and cultural conservatism of both are not lost on me.)

But there's one catch: Fixer Upper is over, and after the Gaineses, HGTV hasn't quite figured out where to go stylistically. With all those advertisers, partners, and eyeballs, the pressure to keep one foot stuck in the rural tweeness that sold extremely well was great. At the same time, the network (and the rest of the vernacular design media) couldn't risk wearing out its welcome. The answer came in a mix of rehashed, overly neutral modernism -- with a few pops of color, yet this part often seems omitted from its imitators -- with the prevailing "farmhouse modern" of Magnolia™ stock. The unfortunate result: mega-ultra-greige.

Aside from war-mongering, rarely does the media manufacture consent like it does in terms of interior design. People often ask me: Why is everything so gray? How did we get here? The answer is because it is profitable. Why is it profitable? I'd like to hypothesize several reasons. The first is as I mentioned: today's total neutrality is an organic outgrowth of a previous but slightly different style, "farmhouse modern," that mixed the starkness of the vernacular farmhouse with the soft-pastel Pinterest-era rural signifiers that have for the last ten years become ubiquitous.

Second, neutrals have always been common and popular. It's the default choice if you don't have a vision for what you want to do in a space. In the 2000s, the neutrals du jour were "earth tones" - beige, sage green, brown. Before that, it was white walls with oak trim in the 80s and 90s. In the 70s, neutrals were textural: brick and wood paneling. We have remarkably short memories when it comes to stylistic evolution because in real time it feels incremental. Such is the case with neutrals.

Finally, the all-gray palette is the end logic of HGTV et al's gamified methodology of designing houses with commodification in mind: if you blow out this wall, use this color, this flooring, this cabinetry, the asking price of your house goes up. You never want to personalize too much because it's off-putting to potential buyers. After twenty years of such rhetoric, doesn't it make all the sense in the world that we've ended up with houses that are empty, soulless, and gray?

A common realtor adage is to stage the house so that potential buyers can picture their own lives in it. In other words, create a tabula rasa one can project a fantasy of consumption onto. Implied in that logic is that the buyer will then impose their will on the house. But when the staged-realtor-vision and general-mass-market aesthetic of the time merge into a single dull slurry, we get a form of ultra-neutral that seems unwelcoming if not inescapable.

To impose one's style on the perfect starkness is almost intimidating, as though one is fouling up something untouchable and superior. If neutrality makes a house sell, then personality - at all - can only be seen as a detriment. Where does such an anti-social practice lead us? Back to the house that may or may not exist.

In my travels as McMansion Hell, I've increasingly been confronted with houses full of furniture that isn't real. This is known as virtual staging and it is to house staging as ChatGPT is to press release writing or DALL-E is to illustration. As this technology improves, fake sofa tables are becoming more and more difficult to discern from the real thing. I'm still not entirely sure which of the things in these photos are genuine or rendered. To walk through this house is to question reality.

Staging ultimately pretends (sometimes successfully, sometimes not) that someone is living in this house, that you, too could live in it. Once discovered, virtual staging erases all pretensions: the house is inhabited by no one. It is generally acknowledged (though I'm not sure on the actual statistics) that a house with furniture - that is, with the pretense of living -- sells easier than a house with nothing in it, especially if that house (like this one) has almost no internal walls. Hence the goal is to make the virtual staging undiscoverable.

If you want to talk about the realtor's tabula rasa, this is its final form. Houses without people, without human involvement whatsoever.

But what makes this particular house so uncanny is that all of these things I've mentioned before: real estate listing photography, completely dull interiors and bland colors all make it easy for the virtual furniture to work so well. This is because the softness of overlit white and gray walls enables the fuzzy edges of the renderings to look natural when mixed with an overstylized reality. Even if you notice something's off in the reflections, that's enough to cause one to wonder if anything in the house is real: the floors, the fixtures, the moulding, the windows and doors.

This is where things are heading: artifice on top of artifice on top of artifice. It's cheap, it's easy. But something about it feels like a violation. When one endeavors to buy a house, one assumes what one is viewing is real. It's one thing if a realtor photoshops a goofy sunset, it's another to wonder if anything in a room can be touched with human hands. I won't know what, if any, part of this estate costing over 2 million dollars actually exists until I visit it myself. Perhaps that's the whole point - to entice potential buyers out to see for themselves. When they enter, they'll find the truth: a vast, empty space with nothing in it.

The better this rendering technology gets, the more it will rely on these totally neutral spaces because everything matches and nothing is difficult. You are picking from a catalog of greige furniture to decorate greige rooms. If you look at virtual staging in a non-neutral house it looks immediately plastic and out of place, which is why many realtors opt to either still stage using furniture or leave the place empty.

Due to the aforementioned photography reasons, I would even argue that the greigepocalypse or whatever you want to call it and virtual staging have evolved simultaneously and mutualistically. The more virtual staging becomes an industry standard, the more conditions for making it seamless and successful will become standardized as well.

After all, real staging is expensive and depends on paid labor - selecting furniture, getting workers to deliver and stage it, only to pack it back up again once the property is sold. This is a classic example of technology being used to erase entire industries. Is this a bad thing? For freelance and contract workers, yeah. For realtors? no. For real estate listings, it remains to be seen. For this blog? Absolutely. (Thankfully there is an endless supply of previously existing McMansions.)

The thing is, real estate listings no longer reflect reality. (Did they ever to begin with?) The reason we're all exasperated with greige is because none of us actually live that way and don't want to. I've never been to anyone's house that looks like the house that may or may not exist. Even my parents who have followed the trends after becoming empty nesters have plenty of color in their house. Humans like color. Most of us have lots of warmth and creativity in our houses. Compare media intended for renters and younger consumers such as Apartment Therapy with HGTV and you will find a stark difference in palate and tone.

But when it comes to actually existing houses - look at Zillow and it's greige greige greige. So who's doing this? The answer is real estate itself aided by their allies in mass media who in turn are aided by the home renovation industry. In other words, it's the people who sell home as a commodity. That desire to sell has for some time overpowered all other elements that make up a home or an apartment's interiority to the point where we've ended up in a colorless slurry of real and unreal.

Fortunately, after ten years or so, things begin to become dated. We're hitting the ten year mark of farmhouse modernism and its derivatives now. If you're getting sick of it, it's normal. The whole style is hopefully on its last leg. But unlike styles of the past, there's a real, trenchant material reason why this one is sticking around longer than usual.

Hence, maybe if we want the end of greige, we're going to have to take color back by force.

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including extra posts and livestreams.

Not into recurring payments? Try the tip jar, because media work is especially recession-vulnerable.

#architecture #design #2010s #mcmansion #mcmansion hell #nc #2021 #essay

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gremlingottoosilly · 23 days

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It’s my birthday today, and all I think about is König having fun with his secretary and them getting caught😔🙏🏻

Happy birthday!! CEO!Konig is probably working in the defence sector or weapon manufacturing. He is just enough of a fucking sociopath to never care about who is going to get the weapons he is selling, but he is also not quite social enough for the job that requires less action and more social contacts. Maybe sprinkling in some charity work, just to get the public off his ass - like he isn't thinking about the ways of blowing up his enemies twice as much as he thinks about supplying the nearest puppy shelter with dog food. You're his cute social butterfly - adorable enough to make the clients talk to you instead of Konig, who would rather delegate all conversations to his assistants but also firm enough to set him in place whenever he becomes a bit too violent in his desires and contracts. You know how to keep him in line - his obsessive nature is being swept off its feet whenever you show a bit of cleavage and cockwarm him for a gruesome paperwork session. You also know what to do when he snaps - just be his good girl and let him lock you in his office for s few hours, fucking you until you can't stand straight. He will promise to make you his pretty housewife, holed up in his mansion with zero responsibilities...but both of you know it's impossible - especially with how much he relies on having your sweet body available to him at all times. Horangi honestly didn't want to walk on his boss and the pretty secretary having sex, but, in his defense, he also didn't know they would actually do it in the fucking office. With Konig's hips slamming against yours, your moans only muffled by biting his hand as a form of foreplay, you were a sight to behold...and Horangi beheld, watching you like a teenager who saw porn for the first time. He is getting thrown out of the office for a few days at least - but now he has proofs of what you're actually doing as Konig's secretary. Honestly, having CEO!Konig obsessed over you in insanely hot and weird at the same time...this man will use guns and other weapons instead of normal gifts - would talk your ear off of how you should learn how to shoot and get your gun license, but would also assign at least two bodyguards for you at all times, just because he is too fucking paranoid of you either cheating on him, or being kidnapped by his business rivals.

#cod #konig #konig x reader #cod x reader #yandere konig #yandere cod

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psychotrenny · 1 month

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Lancer is a funny because of how much it insists that Union is this flawed but ultimately benevolent institution that's well on the path to improvement, a "utopia in progress" as they love to say, when like they casually reveal so many things about it that show Union as rotten to the fucking core. Like as much as Lancer fans like to go on and on about how it's an imperfect society that needs to make compromises, there's so much awful shit about Union that just seems pointless or easily avoidable.

And like part of this is the creator's politics; they're social democrats so it's not surprising that Space Sweden is their idea of a society that, if not the best we could possibly achieve, is at least the best we can do for the foreseeable future. As a Marxist-Leninist it's only natural that I'd have a condemnatory view of such a society just as I do for real Social Democracies; my idea of an achievably "good" society is just fundamentally different from that of the creators But like Lancer is also full of little details that just seem fucked up and awful even from the values and viewpoint of Social Democracy. Like stuff that's just as bad, if not worse, than a lot of sci-fi Dystopias. Like why the fuck does Union have a CIA that's run by a group of super-computers with the actual elected legislature having an advisory role but no actual jurisdiction and this fact being kept secret from the vast majority of the populace? Not much of a democracy if one of the most powerful institutions in the entire political body is free from any kind of democratic or even fucking human oversight while most people aren't even allowed to have an opinion on this because they aren't allowed to know about it. Or what about the caste of Janissary diplomats (like was it really necessary to take children and train them like they're the jedi of interplanetary relations) who come with customised computer slaves. Like yeah don't forget about the fucking SCP computer slavery thing, which is completely fine (except for the times it isn't I guess). Like it's basically the weirdest and most uncomfortable part of Star War's setting imported near whole-cloth only like the regular mindwipes are justified because otherwise they'll full Durandal and you don't want that do you? Look how happy and content they are being forced to think like humans while acting as loyal servants. Btw Union is somehow even less denazified than West Germany. Significantly so. They literally gave Hitler Corp. (a fucking weapons manufacturer so powerful they call it a "corpro-state"!) a seat at the UN. While allowing their Blue Helmets to keep using those Nazi-made weapons. And like Third Comm is repeatedly described as doing basically the same shit that Second Comm did but with more "Care" or whatever so don't worry it's fine now.

Like I can just keep going on and on like I'm not making this up this isn't some like weird expansion this is all from the core rulebook. I get that there has to be conflict and tension but like why did they need to make their ostensible good guys so fucking awful like these are the people you're meant to feel good about fighting for why did you need to fill them with the sort of details you'd see in some cautionary dystopia? And like why do actual people keep defending these guys? Like once you get down to it Union manages to be less Space Sweden and more* "The Ottoman Empire with Pronouns"

*to borrow a phrase coined by a mate while we were talking about this

#lancer

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yoursweetwife · 2 months

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Warning: the reader has a period, it is implied that the period is painful, a female reader, fluff, a little ooc? Does Ruan Mei have a bonjo?

Characters: Ruan Mei, Aventurine, Veritas Ratio

The same girl who knows that you started your period before you did.

Ruan Mei knows the human body perfectly well, besides, she is a girl herself. She knows that many girls experience very severe pain during menstruation, so the scientist will conduct several studies to make an herbal drink that will help relieve pain. She doesn't want you to drink something not made by her, May doesn't trust other manufacturers. Only the best for her girlfriend!

In addition, Ruan Mei will treat you with more care these days. After spending a lot of time with you, she no longer finds it difficult to cope with your changeable mood. She will bring you tea and a cake, stroke your sore spots, give you a massage, along the way telling you about her research. Or he will listen to you, depending on your mood. This concern is the least Ruan Mei can do to thank you.

Ruan Mei knows several songs, she can sing them while playing the bonjo.

Dr. Ratio, of course, knows about menstruation, but he has never encountered it in person. And at first he didn't betray much importance to them, thinking that you were just being childish. But when he see that you are really suffering, man can quickly learn to cope.

He will be fully ready for all periods, it's not for nothing that he has read hundreds of articles in a few days.. He's bad at comforting, but he has a lot of ways to take care of you. Veritas will even become much softer in his words, due to the fact that you are more emotional in this state.

Ratio writes to you much more often, sometimes during class, to find out how you feel. He will always have painkillers in his desk, once he came up with the idea to make a drug specifically for you, and he was very offended that you eventually refused the offer.

Ratio is still fixated on learning, but he is multitasking, so when he reads/writes/ checks something, you can sit on his lap or next to him to hug him, ask him to massage sore spots and he will do it without even complaining. Veritas rarely unconditionally fulfills requests, he does not like to waste his time "in vain", but you have fooled this fool around his finger, and he does not mind.

Aventurine knows little about female physiology. He had heard his sister talk about it, but it didn't really matter in those days. And for the rest of his life, Aventurine was only busy with work and gambling in order to start a serious relationship, at least until he realized that he fell in love with you.

Aventurine may not be serious most of the time, but once he sees your condition, there will be no end to his anxiety. He will cancel your work and assignments, he will circle around you until you kick him out, otherwise corporation would have suspected something due to the absence of two of the best employees. And even after that, he will write almost every hour to find out your condition.

He'll ask for Topaz what to do for a girlfriend during her period, ignoring her suspicious look. He will remember her advice and try to apply it. Aventurine will also bring at least one gift to please his beloved. He will do whatever you ask (the first time when he doesn't mind being used) Aventurine will spoil you even more than usual, but he'll stop if you get annoyed by it.

#hsr x reader #dr ratio x reader #honkai star rail x reader #female reader #dr ratio #honkai star rail #dr ratio fluff #aventurine x reader #hsr #ruan mei x reader #ruan mei #aventurine fluff #aventurine

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hog-choker · 1 year

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i’m almost positive it’s impossible to find someone who dresses well and who you also wanna fuck. like i feel like all those cute well dressed couples you see on insta have to be manufactured. like made in a lab. and it’s like you always see cool well dressed people with actual style and shit and then their partner is just a polar opposite goblin style wearing old navy denim and on clouds running shoes like WTF where can you just find someone who also dresses well or at least knows what vintage is like curated shit not shit you found at a thrift bin like it doesn’t even have to be the same style just STYLE IN GENERAL like i hate it and while in his second phase, he will sometimes raise his sword up high to his side, appearing to empower himself. Dozens of large flaming skulls will then come raining down from the sky, with the bulk of them homing in on you. At this point use the Great-Serpent Hunt skill in order to stagger him and interrupt the casting, as it takes a good 3-4 seconds before going off. These skulls explode after a short delay upon reaching their target or impacting with the ground. Time your dodges or sprints properly to avoid damage. This phase persists for a long time and Rykard will continue with his regular moveset as the skulls rain down. If not killed after a while, he will end this phase by raising his sword up high with both hands, channeling the flames in the sky into the blade, culminating in a giant overhead cleave.

#so frustrating

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artsekey · 21 days

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I really hate how ads have taken over the internet. On one hand, I know that hosting a website costs money, right? And ad revenue is one of the simplest ways for free-to-use websites to cover their operating costs.

My question is-- and I would genuinely love an answer-- is this ever going to stop? Tumblr ran for a long time without ads. So did Youtube. I know that the cost of hosting so much media has gone up, but there are a lot of users on these websites that make the content that drives people to use the service that don't see any of the money generated by this revenue. On Youtube, there's at least a way for creators to make some money from what they do. For most, it isn't much, but the opportunity is there. On Tumblr, well... the ability to convert the visibility of my blog into any financial gain practically nonexistent, though they did at one point promise that users would be able to make money from ads run on their blogs (whatever happened to that, Staff?).

"You can pay to avoid seeing ads!" Tumblr says, as if the views on my main blog alone over the past few years have not generated more than enough ad revenue to cover the price they're asking me to pay, the person who is actively making content that brings eyes to their ads.

I'm not mad at Tumblr for hosting ads. I get that it has to happen because it's the easiest way to keep the site free, and honestly, I imagine Tumblr's staunch opposition to monetization has been a real obstacle for the team building Tumblr. But at the same time, it feels like yet another small concession in the usability of the site. I'm tired of ads that auto-play with blaring audio while I'm scrolling. I'm tired of adds that, if I touch them while trying to scroll past them, take me to an external site. Outside of tumblr, I'm tired of looking for information online only to get a webpage that's 95% ads and otherwise illegible. Hell, I recently got an ad on Discord. Was it unobtrusive? Maybe. But it was there, for the first time, and I know that won't be the end.

I know the first reply I'm going to get on this is "use adblock", and yes, that's a solution, but think about how much the landscape for media has changed in just ten years.

Popular forums are basically gone outside of reddit.

Youtube, without Red, is ad hell. You can't watch more than 3-4 minutes of video without getting sent to marketing hell.

Instagram, Tumblr, Twitter-- it's terrible. I firmly believe they've manufactured a worse experience through the implementation of ads to convince you to buy into their premium services.

Just Check out this video of Penguinz0 trying to watch a video on a third-party site.

There's discussion of putting ads into video games.

Remember when games didn't include micro-transactions? Blizzard is charging $70 for one mythic skin. You could almost buy Overwatch 1 twice-over at that price-point.

Influencers make a living by making their lives into advertisements.

Youtube has retaliated against users using ad-block on non-chrome browsers by artificially inflating the load times of it's videos.

What can we do about this? I imagine companies see it as an infinite money hack; users can't stop companies from hosting ads, and the action they could take to voice their displeasure-- leaving the site, using other competitive services-- has been all but obliterated thanks to the homogeneity of popular social media outlets. If someone is truly so incensed about ads, well-- it isn't like they have to engage with them, right? They can enroll in a cheap, auto-renewing service to get rid of ads entirely. Well, wait, the price of premium might just have to go up. Don't worry, it's auto-renewing! You won't even notice it. Oh, no, it's got to go up again, you won't even notice it.

There's no incentive for them to cap this behavior, and no way for us as users to pressure them to do so. We create these spaces; we fill them with color, art, activism, community, and the companies that ride on the tailcoat of the spaces we create tell us to give them more. What comes next?

#thoughts #ads #rant #feel free to add or reply to this!

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befemininenow · 1 year

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Are you a trans girl or non-conforming and would like to try out feminine clothing? You may want to check this out.

Say you found this dress online and you really love the overall style of it. Great! If you’re like me, you would say “F it! I’ll buy the dress and I’ll wear it how I like!” and move on with your life. That should the end of this guide, right? Except, there is one little problem: not everybody thinks this way. Those who look for the best matching outfits aren’t just searching to fit their style, color, or personality. It also has to do with their body type. If you’re in that situation, this guide may help you out.

Body shape

Believe it or not, there are many different types of body shape (up to 10). However, the most common tend to be the following (in no order):

Rectangle- Even distribution on shoulders, hips, and waistline

Pear/Triangle- Wide hips, well-defined waist, small shoulders

Hourglass- Near-exact hip and shoulder measurements, thinner waistline

Inverted Triangle- Broader shoulders, narrower hips, little waist definition

Apple/Round- Broad shoulders and big bust, thin legs and hips

Many transgender women have the inverted triangle body shape due to several factors such as genetics, bone structure, and age. However, your body shape may also change over time due to a rebalancing of hormones, body fat, and even lifestyle. While you can’t change your bone structure, you can change your body definition through exercises.

Body proportion

Here is something you may find useful if you’re looking to customize your look. Body proportions are unique to every individual and play a factor on clothing and to some extent, accessories such as jewelry. For instance, you may find the skirt you bought looks either too long or short. There are a few areas where to measure your body proportions such as wrist length or neck size. But the best way to improve your dress type is by following the “golden ratio rule” of dividing your body into three:

The way this is read is you’re either one-third top, two-thirds bottom, or you’re two-thirds top, one-third bottom. Once you get more knowledge, you can go upwards even eighths! But for now, the focus is on these two outcomes.

The two-thirds top, one-third bottom words well with long dresses:

while the one-third top, two-thirds bottom works well with more casual clothing:

Body measurements

Now that we got a few problems out of our way, it’s time to figure out what measurements you have. The best way to find out is by using a mirror and a soft measuring tape for body. Measure all the crucial parts of your body, which are the waist, hips, shoulders, and bust. This will determine the type of body you have and have a better idea on what length you will need to try out your clothing of choice.

Shoe size

One thing very important about an outfit is choosing footwear. Although you can use your old Converses with your flared jeans, you’re certainly not going to use them with a ruffled dress. You’re definitely going to want heels or flats! Unfortunately, women’s shoe size are not exactly the same as men. But don’t give up! Fortunately, there are women’s size conversion charts that help you choose what shoe size you need.

To find out your measurements on your own, grab at least two blank pieces of paper, a pencil or pen, and a measuring tape. Place your foot firmly forward and carefully trace around the outer area of your foot. Repeat this with your other foot. Once finished, grab your measuring tape and measure from your highest point to your lowest on both sheets. Measure the width as well. If both feet measure close to 10.5, your women’s size is a 12. However, due to a difference in manufacturing based on shoe brand, as well as shoe type like pumps, the average recommended size is at least 2 inches above your actual size. For those living in other countries that don’t use the US measuring size, I left a chart that shows all the possible measurements you may use to convert your shoe size into women’s size.

What to wear based on body type

Since not all clothing is made for everyone, it’s time to list what is considered the “ideal” clothing choices based on body type. Note that these are opinions from my source’s authors. IMO, the pictures below each suggestion are a better opinion. Your are free to choose your type of clothing.

Rounded or apple shapes fit best with monochrome colors and make the person look more “fit”.

Pear or triangle shapes look more balanced with decorative accessories on top while keeping the bottom more plain.

Rectangle shapes tend to have more volume with a waist belt while pleated pants give more volume on hips.

Hourglass shapes look best when wearing bodycon dresses and cardigans to emphasize volume in their waistline.

Inverted triangle shapes pull off the wide leg pants and fitted top combo the best.

For a much more comprehensive guide for each body type, I highly recommend reading The Concept Wardrobe’s guides. It gives more details on what to wear and how to choose the best combinations. Link is provided here: https://theconceptwardrobe.com/search?query=body+frame

Tips on what to wear

Now that you reached this point, I’m pretty sure you’re excited to try out what your heart desires. However, before you go out and buy that two-piece dress, I recommend researching and observing the type of clothing women wear today. Believe it or not, people will judge based on your way of dressing, from background to social status to age. A simple look like bodysuit and jeans may look perfect on you and blend you in with the girls, but something like a hot pink bodycon will make you stand out, and most likely not in a good way. So how would you choose something that blends you in with society, but also be comfortable at the same time? Here are some tips and pics:

Find clothing that “feels” feminine. In other words, buy clothing that “feminizes” your body, such as tops that make your shoulders look shorter, wrap dresses that make your waistline shorter, and skirts that make your hips look wider.

Find the best colors based on skin tone and hair color. For instance, try out warm colors such as orange if your skin tone is warm.

Dress sexy, but never go too revealing. Seriously, have some respect to yourself. But if you really want to go out wearing, for example, a two-piece outfit, wear one that looks stylish and flatters your body in a great way.

Use accessories that fit and blend well with your body. Large jewelry goes well with larger frame, small jewelry fits with smaller wrist, and so forth. Don’t forget the purse! It is absolutely necessary now that you’re wearing pocketless clothing. Choose one that fits your taste and needs.

Bras and undergarments are necessary to wear now. As you further into your transition, your breasts will start growing and it will become more difficult and uncomfortable going out braless. Start out with a brassiere, then move on to a fitted bra as they become bigger over time. As for down there, I would use boy briefs as they’re similar to boxers. Although HRT will cause it to shrink, it does not make it disappear. If you must hide it, use a gaff or a tuck, but do not use chastity belts (Seriously, stay away from that unless you’re really into that thing).

Optional: use waist shapers or corsets to slim down waist. Hip enlargement pads will also give your narrow hips and butt much needed volume. Breast forms can also give you an idea how big you want them in the future.

Fashion sense

But the most important part of choosing clothing as a trans girl is to wear whatever suits your taste.

For instance, are you more into the traditional and simple feminine aesthetic? Cottagecore may be for you:

But what if you’re the rebellious type that prefers to defy tradition? Well, maybe the alt-girl fashion is for you:

Maybe you’re the type that changes clothing based on season. So if you’re a summer-season type of girl, you’re definitely going for an outfit like this:

How about if you’re into the gym? Clearly your goal is to be like this:

Are you into business casual? There’s also a pic for that:

(The girl in the pic is also transgender! Her name is Suzi Hunter, better known as The Sphere Hunter.)

But we also can’t forget cosplay, either!:

(Cosplayer is Eden the Doll, a trans woman cosplayer! Picture belongs to Geo Leon.)

You’re probably the party type who loves some action:

Casual wear can also be tasteful and attractive too:

There’s so much to pic, but each style says a lot about what type of woman you are.

Where to buy clothing

If you’re interested in finding the right clothes for you, check out places that are especially gender-inclusive. As I’m based in the US, clothing stores such as Target are a good start while higher-end chains such as Nordstrom and Macy’s may have a better variety to choose from. If you’re a thrifty shopper, your local outlets, discount stores, and thrift shops have a surprising amount of great clothing for affordable prices. Although online sites like Amazon, Shein, and Zara have affordable and appealing clothing, many of these brands also have ethical concerns that overshadow their reputation. Dubbed “fast fashion”, they are a source of scrutiny among fashion fans and I would personally avoid them if possible. If you really need something affordable and new, I highly recommend purchasing through discount and thrift stores.

If you’re in need of safe undergarments, check out Urbody. They have clothing suitable for trans people, non-binary, and other identities, varying from binders to tucked leggings. They are founded by trans and non-binary people and use ethical practices and living wages for their workers. If you’re interested in checking their site out, here is the link to their page (I am not sponsored by them): https://urbody.co/

Conclusion

The whole point of this guide is to help you pick the proper clothing and accessories as a newly-out girl. I made this guide since there doesn’t seem to be many that are detailed. Keep in mind I’m still learning about female clothing as I am still in the first stages of transition myself. If anyone would like to add more info that is missing or provide any corrections, please reblog and add more helpful tips as it would help trans girls, trans women, non-binary, and anyone else that desires to wear affirming clothing. Please refrain from using any hurtful language if you’re doing so. Thank you and hugs!

Links to sources:

https://www.healthline.com/health/women-body-shapes#why-shape-fluctuates

https://www.thestylatude.com/post/the-most-common-body-shapes-for-women-and-how-to-find-out-yours

https://theconceptwardrobe.com/build-a-wardrobe/inverted-triangle-body-shape

https://www.thestylebouquet.com/2020/02/17/5-most-common-body-shapes-for-women/

https://dressedformyday.com/how-to-discover-your-body-proportions/

https://gabriellearruda.com/how-to-dress-better-female-body-shape/

https://m2fguide.com/how-to-pick-clothes-if-youre-transgender-or-crossdressing/

https://feminizationsecrets.com/mtf-clothing-tips/

https://www.instagram.com/p/CHBk9v0J_WO/

https://www.transgendermap.com/social/clothing-accessories/

https://apexfoot.com/shoe-sizing-chart/

https://www.glamourboutique.com/crossdresser-fashion/guide-male-female-shoe-sizes-33255#:~:text=Minimize%20the%20chance%20of%20having,11%20in%20a%20women's%20shoe

#transgender #mtf #fashion #how to #gender affirming #trans #clothing #feminine #genderfluid #quick #guide #helpful #tips #trans woman

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yaksha-lover · 5 months

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Track #2: Sunlight - Hozier Drabble Masterlist

Azul Ashengrotto x Reader

Summary: Azul treats everyone as a business arrangement. He thought it would be the same with you, until he realizes he’d much rather have you than your resources.

i. all the tales the same

An octopus has three hearts - that’s the explanation Azul’s mother would always give when he’d come home crying as a child. It was comforting, to explain away his sensitivity in a single phrase. You have to be more careful with yours, Azul, she’d say, rubbing his back. There’s more of you to break.

He understood what she meant far too well. Every tease, every taunt, every comment muttered behind his back (and most of the time to his face) was far too much for him to bear. They were only children, but so was he. Is it any wonder he’d stopped seeing people as more than transactional when all they’d seen him as was a joke?

If he didn’t care for them, if they were reduced to nothing but an inky signature, how could their words hurt him? They were nothing.

He thought you’d be nothing too.

You started off like most ‘relationships’ in his life; a business transaction. At least, that’s how he’d thought of you.

You, who was so blissfully kind and innocent, doe-eyed and naive, thought of him as a friend, and then eventually, more.

To him, you were easy prey. It would be simple to gain your friendship, your trust, maybe even your heart if he was so lucky. Then, it would be oh so simple to gain access to all that you could do for him.

ii. told before and told again

The plan requires more commitment than he’d realized, but he knows it will be worth it in the end. You, the sole heir of your father’s estate, will be in a position to let Azul gain access to a brand new market he’s been looking to expand into. If he has to play friend, he’s willing to do it.

You’re…lonelier than he expects. Azul isn’t exactly a social butterfly himself (at least, for non-business related reasons), but your eagerness to spend time with him certainly stems from more than just his ‘great companionship.’ He almost feels bad, for a moment, to lead you on, but he steels himself with the justification of his success.

You won’t mind, right? He gets your help, you get his friendship, even if it is manufactured. It’s an equal trade, he tells himself.

Spending all this time together, he learns things about you. Things that are disconcerting.

Azul hasn’t had trouble sleeping since he was a child. Everything he did was perfectly scheduled; how was he to function if not by keeping up a meticulous sleep cycle which guaranteed him a satisfying eight hours of rest per night?

He thinks you’re the reason he’s started lying awake. He can’t stop thinking about the things you’ve told him - maybe ‘let slip’ is the better term.

He’s used to coaxing information out of his clients; it’s good for business. Now he only wishes he wasn’t so good.

They aren’t so much secrets; it’s not as though you’ve made a great effort to hide them, only that no one has made an effort to look in the first place.

He’s played the dutiful friend long enough to know how…pitiful you can become after a night out or a hard day. He’s been there to take care of you, always making sure you get home safe or that you’re well fed. You’re a poor, unfortunate sight; you’re lucky it’s only Azul taking advantage of your resources and not someone much worse. His stomach churns at the thought of it - that’s one of the many things that keeps him up. It’s not that he’s worried; no, no, you were only a business arrangement of his. If anything were to happen to you, his whole plan could go to ruin.

That’s why he stays the night in your apartment, sleeping on the couch so he can check on you despite the fact that the commute will make him late for work and his back will hurt all day from the lumpy sofa. That’s why he can’t sleep, forced to make sure you’re sleeping soundly every few hours.

You’ll apologize in the morning for being a mess; you always do. The two of you put on a charade of sorts - you promise it won’t happen again, that you’re sorry for forcing him to take care of you (although you’d never asked a thing from him) and he pretends that none of it matters, that it’s not a big deal.

It’s only for the sake of business when he asks you to spend more time with him; if you’re not with your undesirable friends (who only get you into trouble, he thinks) then you (and his deal) will be safe. It’s certainly not because the last time he’d come to check on you, you’d had light bruises peppering your neck, almost as if someone had nipped at your skin gently and-

Azul perishes the thought from his mind. So what if he hasn’t won your heart? That’s not his goal, he doesn’t need your love to get your help, he’ll just-

iii. a soul that’s born in cold and rain

You kiss him, one night. You’re at his apartment, and it’s been a peaceful evening. He’d invited you over for dinner, cooking you one of the most recent dishes he’d been testing for his restaurant chain. The two of you had settled into his sofa, a movie playing in the background.

He noticed you hadn’t been paying attention; he was watching the screen, but you kept sneaking (not so subtle) glances at him every few seconds, putting him on edge. He turned to you, about to ask what was wrong, when you kissed him.

Your lips brush against his lightly; he almost wonders if he’d fallen asleep and was only dreaming the whole thing. He’d only just closed his eyes when he felt you pull away and begin to apologize for kissing him without asking. He can’t even form a response, only pulling you in to continue what you’d started.

Things only seem to spiral from there. Azul is, admittedly, a sensitive soul, perhaps too sentimental for his own good. He’d vowed to be utilitarian about his relationships; to view everyone only per their use value, and thus to never have to care. Caring, for him, typically meant getting hurt in some way, but he can’t quite help himself with you.

Your affection feels good. Your love is addicting. He refuses to let either of them go, thoughts of business and markets pushed to the furthest place in his mind.

It’s only natural, then, that the two of you quickly become closer than ever before. A toothbrush at his apartment quickly becomes you moving in; he’s a busy man, after all. What better way to see more of each other than living together (you practically spent all your time with him, anyway).

If you depend on him, that’s okay. That’s how it’s always been with the two of you, hasn’t it? He takes care of you, he always has.

iv. knows sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

He’s drifting off to sleep with you in his arms when he hears you speak.

“Azul?”

“Yes, darling?”

“I’m sorry.”

That makes him open his eyes. He moves to turn on the lamp, but you stop him. “Sorry? For what?”

“For taking advantage of you.”

That almost makes him laugh. “Pardon? I don’t seem to recall such a thing happening.”

“I know, Azul. You…you don’t need to pretend that you like me. I know you just want access to my father’s contacts. I knew since the beginning and I should’ve put a stop to it. I’m so, so sorry I just - you were so kind to me, and I couldn’t help but bask in your sunlight a little. But it’s gone too far. Look at us. You never should’ve had to become so close with me, it was wrong for me to hold on. For that, I’m sorry. There’s no need for us to continue this charade, I’ll give you the contacts you want. And…and I’ll be sure to get out of your life…”

Azul is silent for a moment, before he can’t hold back his chuckle any longer. He tries to contain himself once he sees the tears begin to pool in your eyes. You start to pull away, but he pulls you close with one arm, wiping away your tears with the other.

“Oh dear, you’re truly serious! You’re laying in my bed, in my arms, and you think you’re taking advantage of me? You thought I only wanted you for your resources and yet you feel sorry? I suppose your tender heart and naïveté are endearing, but it won’t do for you to be so vulnerable, my love. It’s a good thing I love you so much, any less and I might truly be tempted to take advantage of such a poor soul like yours~”

You look at him in confusion. “You mean it…but how can I trust you, Azul?”

His arms move to slip around your waist, pulling you in close to him. You can feel the heat of his smooth skin move against your body, the warmth of his breath on you face.

“How indeed, my love? I suppose I’ll have to show you, then. Actions speak louder than words, after all.”

With that, Azul lifts himself off the bed, drawing you under him and capturing your lips once again.

#let’s just ignore the fact that the last hozier drabble i wrote was over six months ago-#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #azul x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto #twst #twisted wonderland

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csuitebitches · 1 year

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KEEP. READING. STUFF. THAT. MATTERS.

Yes, I’m about to sound like a pick-me right now and I don’t care because you need to read this.

There’s nothing wrong with reading about fiction, romance, fantasy, all that stuff. However- it does separate you from the real world. Sometimes, its an escape and I understand that. BUT. In order to function positively in social settings - any social settings - you need to be on top of stuff that’s happening.

That doesn’t mean that you have to be a geopolitical expert or a current affairs news anchor. But it does mean that you need to at least read the news everyday. Once you accomplish that, take that a step further and start looking at reports.

Read what Morgan Stanley’s reports for your country are. Take a look at EY’s or Deloitte’s insights. This will give you an idea as to the years ahead could be like, which is important to know in the case of getting jobs, applying for Masters, talking and connecting to people - you need to what’s going to be relevant and how YOU can benefit from it. Read case studies relevant to your industry/ what you want to work in. Make it a note to read at least one case study a week, from different parts of the world.

You’re too old to keep watching the same beauty gurus rant about the same 5 products over and over again. Even if you’re in the cosmetics industry, its important for you to read about things like manufacturing (what is your country’s stance with China, and how will that affect manufacturing?), ingredients (what have been banned by governments/ FDAs/ equivalents and why? What is the alternative?), rising trends not just in terms of the next “cool” item but the future of the industry itself.

Knowledge is power. You are blessed to live in a time where you have access to things that can put you 10 years ahead at your current job/ profession/ situation. Be smart. Use it wisely. There’s a lot of distractions, but that means that there’s equally as many opportunities.

#c suite #powerful woman #strong women #ceo aesthetic #personal growth #that girl #productivity #q/a #getting your life together #balance

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probablyasocialecologist · 7 months

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It’s become a real challenge to keep up with every Palestine protest and action happening in this country, but I am going to round-up some of that have occurred in recent days in case you missed them. Over 75 activists shut down and blocked all entrances to Boeing Building 598 in Saint Charles, Missouri. The facility manufactures the Small Diameter Bombs (SDBs) and Joint Direct Attack Munition (JDAM) bombs that Israel is using Gaza. “We are joining millions of people across the United States and around the world in demanding an end to Israeli’s brutal assault on Gaza and its decades-long occupation of Palestine,” said Ellie Tang, a member of the anti-war organization Dissenters, in a statement. “We urge Congress and Biden to hear the calls of millions of us living in this country, and push for a ceasefire. Until Congress blocks the bombs, we will.” After shutting operations down for 2 hours, the facility canceled its deliveries for the day. 500 protesters with Jewish Voice for Peace (JVP) took over the Statue of Liberty’s platform, dropped banners, held a sit-in, and chanted for a ceasefire. “HAPPENING NOW AT THE STATUE OF LIBERTY: Hundreds of Jews and allies are holding an emergency sit-in, taking over the island to demand a ceasefire in Gaza. We refuse to allow a genocide to be carried out in our names. Ceasefire now to save lives! Never again for anyone!,” tweeted the organization. Oakland protesters blocked a ship from leaving its port for hours. The boat was headed to the Port of Tacoma to pick up arms destined for Israel. Hundreds of protesters are currently occupying that port and at least one worker is refusing to take the cargo after learning about its use. At a Get Out the Vote rally, Democratic candidate Senator John Fetterman (D-PA) was confronted by a protester calling for a ceasefire. “4,000 plus dead children in Palestine. 9,000 plus dead civilians, get off the stage. … Get off the stage. I don’t care … get off the stage,” he yelled before being escorted out of the building by police. Tens of thousands gathered in San Francisco to demand a ceasefire. “I can feel the momentum of it and that’s why we had to get out today,” one told the local CBS station. “My son’s in Trafalgar Square right now or he was earlier today. Same deal. People who just feel the injustice of the world.” A speech by Senator Cory Booker (D-NJ) in New Jersey was interrupted by activists calling on him to back a ceasefire. He quickly exited the stage. Rhode Island Senators Jack Reed and Sheldon Whitehouse were disrupted at event by protesters calling for a ceasefire. Rep. Grace Meng was confronted by protesters asking when she will back a ceasefire. She remained silent and her staff told them, “There’s a time and place for this.”

#palestine #israel #USA #us elections #antizionism

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drawlfoy · 11 months

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the benefits of journaling p.1

pairing: diary!tom riddle x ravenclaw!reader

summary: you pick up an unassuming journal in diagon alley during an antiques sale without knowing that it's actually a part of a late dark lord's soul. sort of no voldy AU, set in the golden trio era where voldemort was defeated in the first war and thus harry has parents still.

warnings: she/her pronouns/reader that stays in the girl's dorms, language, eventual discussion of murder and whatnot but not yet!, you being a little femcel-aligned/obsessed, tom being awkward because he's been stuck in a diary without talking to anyone for 50 years, i fumble around trying to explain how to brew potions after taking only one semester of high school biology

please note that this tom riddle is definitely not the same tom riddle that dumbledore describes in canon. i read a few meta posts that rewired my brain and now my tom riddle is ~complicated~ and not just evil and murdery for the plot. so just keep that in mind lol

a/n: whoa is this....something other than draco on this blog? yes. im suffering right now and needed to get this out. hopefully i can get this longfic completed within 2-3 parts! i'm not using my usual taglist because i don't know how many of my draco readers want this

wc: 10k

The day you unknowingly bought a part of the late Lord Voldemort’s soul was like any other. It was overcast, the thick clouds a somber, humid ceiling hanging above you and Lucy as you made your way through the annual antiques sale in a dusty corner of Diagon Alley.

“Y/N,” said your companion for the day—a slight, freckled witch with mushroom brown waves and a perpetual smile etched into her mouth. “Look. This is so you.”

You looked up from the bookshelves of one of the stands. It took you a moment to see what she was holding, but once it came into focus, you rolled your eyes. “Oh, sod off. Not funny.”

Lucy just cackled, tossing the crudely carved wooden snake back onto the pile wearing a wicked grin.

The world is cruel in that you can scream once when you see Draco Malfoy’s pet ball python in third year and no one ever lets you forget it.

You turned away from Lucy, looking back to the old bookshelf that had been moved onto the cobbled street. The rich mahogany wood was close to buckling under the weight of all the tomes stacked haphazardly atop each other—far more than would be advisable.

But it wasn’t just the furniture that caught your eye. No, it was the glimpse of a black spine on the bottom, partially hidden away by an ancient encyclopedia on arithmancy.

You knelt, carefully arranging your robes so that they wouldn’t pick up dust from the street. You narrowly managed to avoid sending all the books on top tumbling into the street by slowly sliding it out from under the stack.

An unimpressively sized black journal laid in your hand, looking entirely unassuming and incredibly boring.

You frowned. A quick flip-through confirmed that it was in fact a journal—and that there was nothing written in it.

Why would someone try to sell an unused journal at an antiques market? You wondered, turning it over in your hand. Though its pages appeared entirely pristine, you could see some wear on the cover. There were no markings detailing when it had been manufactured.

It could very well have been an antique journal, you conceded. But why anyone would want an empty journal made years ago was beyond you.

You went to set the journal back onto the stack, getting so far as to nearly loosen your grip and let it drop from your fingers, when—

You had to buy this journal.

You weren’t sure why, or how. You just knew that this journal was coming home with you today, even if it was the least interesting thing you could’ve come across in your shopping trip.

“What’s that?” asked Lucy, appearing at your side and gently taking the journal from you.

“Just an empty journal, I think,” you answered, staring blankly at it in her hands.

“You know we can just get a normal new one at the bookstore, right?”

“Well, I like this one,” you heard yourself say. “It has…character.”

“Character.” She snorted, holding it up next to her face. “This is the most bland looking thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Consider yourself blind, then. Surely they’ll charge you twice the cost for this since it’s allegedly ‘vintage’.” Lucy made liberal use of air quotes. “You sure you don’t want to stop by the bookstore before we go? It’ll be on our way.”

“No, it’s really fine,” you said, taking it back into your hands, “I really like this one for some reason. I don’t know. There’s just something about it.”

Lucy tilted her head, giving it one last odd look. “Whatever you say. You go check out, then. Mum’s going to expect me back soon and the queue looks a bit long.”

The journal sat in your bag for the remainder of the summer, nearly forgotten as you went about your day. You opened it for the first time to examine it on August 31st, just a day before you were off to begin your 6th year.

There was writing that you hadn’t noticed before—thin, elegant script on the inside of the cover in black lettering. A simple “Property of Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

You stared, letting your finger trace gently across the parchment. There was a slight indentation at the lower swoop of the last letter “L”, like whoever had written it had pressed a little too hard with his quill.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” you whispered, trying the syllables out on your tongue. You’d never heard of any wizard named that before. You wondered how long it had been since those words had been written. You wondered if Tom Marvolo Riddle was still alive, and if he was, why he saw it fit to mark his property and then swiftly lose its custody to an antiques dealer.

Oh well. Sucks to suck, you thought dryly as you took the quill that you’d been using to finish updating your calendar and lifted it over the parchment. Whatever happened to the crusty old dinosaur that hadn’t even been able to make one full entry into his own journal before croaking or whatever was none of your business.

You’d barely started out how you imagined a normal person would begin a diary—a date, August 31st—when it suddenly became clear why this Tom fellow had been unable to leave a lasting mark.

The ink hadn’t even begun to dry before it sank into the pages, disappearing in a blink of an eye.

“What the fuck,” you mumbled, dumbstruck. You dipped your quill in ink once again and drew a series of short slashes across the first page, using more ink than was strictly necessary.

In a moment it was as if they had never been there.

WHAT??? You wrote mindlessly in the freshly blank page as your mind spun. What kind of magic was this? And what was the point?

No wonder you’d been drawn to it. It was probably dripping in all sorts of charms. Maybe the combination had been unintentionally alluring to particular passerbys.

Before you could think any further, the clean page transformed again, but not at your hand.

Hello.

The word assembled letter by letter, as if a ghost was writing it over your shoulder.

It seems you've found my journal.

You stared. A journal that could write back to you. Huh. A smile caught on your lips as you became glad after all that you’d chosen this one over a plain bookstore version.

How old are you? You wrote, resting your chin in your palm as you waited for a response as to whether or not your new acquisition actually belonged at the antiques market.

Sixteen.

You frowned. That was hardly vintage.

This was made sixteen years ago?

The response appeared quickly..

No. I'm sixteen.

Yeah. You were made sixteen years ago.

This time, the journal seemed to hem and haw at the response.

What year is it? Was the final answer that appeared.

What year do you think?

1943.

A little off. you wrote impishly.

Oh really?

Just a smidge.

Define a smidge, please.

What does it matter to you?

This seemed to stump the journal.

May I ask who I have the pleasure of speaking with?

You may not. Then, because you had nothing better to do, you dipped your quill and drew out a Tic-Tac-Toe board, placing an X in the middle.

The board disappeared into the page, and for a moment you wondered if you’d annoyed your magical journal too much. But then it reappeared, this time with an O in the middle.

You huffed. When you took too long to respond, another line appeared below.

I'm Tom. Tom Riddle.

You stared at the letters, the implications sinking in. If the journal had belonged to Tom—who was presumably a real person at some point in his life—then that would mean…which meant…

In seconds you’d slammed the journal shut and had your wand out, poking at the binding and being careful to avoid touching it again with your bare hands. Stupid, stupid you, buying something that had so clearly been engineered to lure you in, just like it probably had done to Tom back in the 40s.

The antique market rarely had issues with unknowingly cursed objects. They were allegedly thoroughly vetted by the stand officials to ensure that something like this didn’t happen. But perhaps this one had fallen through the cracks.

There was nothing you could do for now except to wrap the journal in a blanket and throw it into your suitcase. As a muggleborn, there was going to be no real magic for you until tomorrow on the train.

Better to investigate then, you decided firmly. With access to spellwork, you could at least cast protective wards around yourself and try to detect what exactly was wrong with it the next time you touched it.

Yes, you thought. That cannot possibly go wrong.

“Y/N!”

“Sorry, what was that?” You blearily blinked in the direction of Lucy and Ishan, both sitting there with an expectant look on their faces.

“I was saying that I’m pretty sure that Parkinson and Malfoy are actually together this time,” said Lucy, frowning. “I just came from the loo and his head was in her lap. Revolting, to be entirely honest. I can’t believe I had to see that with my own eyes. But whatever. Are you feeling alright? You keep spacing out.”

“I’m fine.” You pulled the fabric of your robe over your wrist so you could gently scrub at your eyes. “Just—tough night last night. I barely slept.”

“I totally get that,” mused Lucy, nodding as her gaze fixed itself on the window. “I can normally never get to sleep the night before we leave. I just get so excited for the new year.”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

But that hadn’t been your problem. Despite the creepy journal encounter that had left you with your mind spinning, you’d fallen asleep deeply the moment you’d gotten into bed. The issue had been staying asleep after all the dreams you’d had.

You rarely dreamt. When you did and remembered it the next day, it was normally nonsensical and had to do with forgotten final exams or missing a lecture. But last night…last night had been different.

There was a boy. His hair was dark and his face cast mostly in shadow, his voice a tenor that seemed typical to boys in your year. He hadn’t been speaking anything you’d understood, though. The most peculiar, bone-chilling hissing noises came from his mouth as he bowed his head leaned over a vaguely familiar sink.

Even though he wouldn’t acknowledge you, it was as if a channel had been opened between you two, like you could feel his emotions as phantoms within you.

Franticness. Vindictiveness. A thirst for vengeance beyond anything you’d ever felt before.

You sat watching this mysterious dark haired boy from the cobbled floor, feeling the wetness on the stones seep into your robes, climbing up and up until it soaked your skin.

At precisely 4 in the morning, you’d shot awake so distressed that you hadn’t slept a wink after. Needless to say, you were hardly what you’d consider to be well-rested.

The remainder of the train ride and the welcoming feast went on without a hitch. You managed to keep yourself from falling asleep at dinner and even joined in on the cheering for new Ravenclaws. The first years seemed to look younger and younger every year, you noted dully as you cut into the roast on your plate. It was making you feel awfully old.

Sixth year was supposed to be exciting—the year of N.E.W.T.S and figuring out what you’d concentrate in during your final year and getting to go to Hogsmeade without permission. But you hadn’t quite figured out what it was that you wanted to study. Being a muggleborn from a modest upbringing meant that you couldn’t be too frivolous. There was no amateur art or sports or celebrity career in your future. You couldn’t even count on marrying well—or marrying at all, in fact. None of your halfblood or pureblood friends seemed to understand that your family hadn’t already had an engagement arranged for you from the moment you were born. It was hard to look forward to a life that was so cloaked in uncertainty.

That being said, you had more immediate concerns to attend to. Though the journal was tucked safely away in one of your suitcases far away in the Ravenclaw Tower, you couldn’t help but feel its presence. You were itching to get back to your dorm so you could steal away into a corner and begin to inspect it.

Dumbledore finally dismissed the students after a rather uninspiring speech about the importance of dreaming big and staying true to yourself. You all but ran up the stairs, rushing to unpack all of your things.

“Merlin,” noted Padma from her desk. “That excited to move in?”

“I just want to go to bed,” you said, relishing the feeling of casting a spell to quickly stow away your skirts and button ups into your dresser. “Long day.”

“And even longer tomorrow.” Lucy was sitting at her desk, her feet crossed at the ankles. She’d somehow unpacked even quicker than you. “Does everyone have their finalized timetable for the term?”

“I’ve got Potions with Slughorn and Transfiguration with McGonagall on Mondays and Thursdays,” you began, unzipping your last bag and flicking your wand to send your school supplies to your desk. “Divination with Trelawney, Arithmancy with Vector, and Runes with Babbling on Tuesdays and Fridays. And of course the extended lab section on Wednesday for Potions.”

“Which lab section?”

“Morning,” you said. The diary was levitating from your wand now, looking unassuming and very innocent under the golden light of your dorm room. “You?”

“Same,” said Lucy, grinning. “I can’t believe you’re taking N.E.W.T level Divination. Do you hate yourself?”

“It was that or History of Magic.”

She nodded emphatically, turning back to make a marking in her planner.

With the dorm settled into a comfortable silence, you brandished your wand again, peering at the diary in front of you.

There was nothing outwardly sinister about it. When you’d gone over to Ishan’s manor over Easter break last year, he’d shown you some of the (potentially unlawful) darker artifacts that his old pureblood family had in possession. They’d felt dark. This journal didn’t have that syrupy thick feel around it. Its aura felt sparkly, magnetic. Surely it couldn’t have been dark magic. Because all dark magic felt dark, right?

You gulped. You wouldn’t touch it with your bare hands anymore, you reasoned. Just spellwork and using the tip of your wand to maneuver it. Just in case.

Your 5 years of Hogwarts education had left you sorely deficient in useful diagnostic spells, so you dug around in one of your Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks from previous years and found a section on spells to examine magical objects.

Revelo you whispered, feeling the slight jolt of magic as the charm left your wand.

Nothing, It didn’t even glow blue, a sign of magically active objects.

Huh.

You frowned. The slightly more obscure spell you’d heard Snape use once on a student’s suspiciously well-written essay didn’t yield anything either.

“Whatcha doing?’

You nearly screamed, clutching your wand to your chest.

Lucy grinned wickedly as she leaned over your shoulder and reached for your journal. “Ooh, is this that thing you bought at—”

“Don’t touch!” You quickly batted her hand away.

“Sheesh,” said Lucy. “Chill. I wasn’t going to read it or anything. I was just wondering why you were waving your wand at your journal. Secrecy spells?”

“No,” you said. Your heart was racing, “Er—not quite. I actually haven’t written in it, you see,”

“Oh?” Lucy’s brows furrowed in confusion, “Explain the theatrics then?”

A half-baked lie formed at your lips that was about to spill when you stopped yourself. Lucy was your friend. She’d been your best friend since the moment you’d met on the Hogwarts Express during first year. There was no reason to lie.

“It’s so weird!” You motioned towards the diary with your wand. “I buy this, right, because I feel this weird draw to it. And I take it home and try to write in it, and suddenly the book starts writing back.”

“A self-writing journal?”

“Not quite. Maybe. Maybe not, I’m not sure. It’s just—something’s not totally right about it, but I can’t tell if it’s dangerous or not.”

Lucy gave a good natured snort. “A journal? Dangerous? And from old Linda’s stand? Please. I see her going through everything in her inventory. The poor shopboy in charge of vetting items has to answer to her if he slips up. There’s no way anything actually powerful slipped onto the stacks.”

You stuck the tip of your wand under the cover and carefully pried it open, pointing at the lettering on the inside.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle?” She frowned. “Am I supposed to know that name?”

“I don’t know,” you responded at the swooping lettering. “But the journal talked back like it was Tom. Like, it introduced itself as Tom and said that it was 1943. And it acted like an….I don’t know. It was like it was a real person talking to me.”

“Huh.” You could see the gears slowly turning in Lucy’s head,

“Do you know any detection or diagnostic spells?” you asked. “I tried all the ones that we’ve learned so far and it doesn’t even detect magic. But it has to be cursed, right? If the last owner of this diary got sucked into it?”

Lucy was just beginning to open her mouth when ink began to appear.

It is rather rude to be casting all sorts of spells in my direction without warning.

You jumped. “Jesus Christ. Do you see that?”

“Yeah, I do,” said Lucy, but her eyes were crinkled. “Girl. Don’t worry. If it was dangerous, you’d probably know by now. You’ve had it around you for, what, two months? And you’ve already touched it. It doesn’t feel dark. I don’t think there are any slow burning curses that gradually trap you inside an object. If you’re still alright, you’ll probably stay that way. Maybe you should just ask Tom how he got there?”

“If I start disappearing, do try to keep me in this plane.”

“Noted.”

Nervously, you dipped a quill on your desk into an inkwell, waiting for a moment before thinking up how to word your request. In the meantime, a drop of ink fell to the page. It was quickly swallowed up by the parchment.

Sorry you began. Just wanted to make sure you weren't going to trap me in there with you or something

An understandable concern

“Just ask him the bloody question,” said Lucy, hitting your shoulder. “I want to go to bed.”

“Right, right.”

If you'd like me to stop with the spells, maybe you could tell me how you ended up in here in the first place

“Nice,” said Lucy. She was nodding thoughtfully. “Very smooth.”

It took a long time for Tom’s answer to appear despite the fact that your writing had almost instantly disappeared. Finally, black ink began to rise.

It was an accident. Nothing that can be replicated by you, however. There's no need to worry. I fooled around with the wrong book in the school library.

“School library?” Lucy leaned closer so that the locks of her hair dangled over your shoulder. “Ask him if he went to Hogwarts.”

Hogwarts? You wrote quickly.

Yes.

In your sixth year?

Yes.

“Ooh.” Lucy hit your shoulder. “Maybe you can use this to get comfortable talking to boys, Y/N.”

You scoffed, blushing a hot red. “Excuse me! I’ve told you. I’m too busy for that.”

“Uh huh.” She twirled a piece of her hair around her finger. “Well, I think you should just keep it. It’s harmless. Like I said, it’s from one of the tamest parts of Diagon Alley. And you wouldn’t be able to get anything genuinely dark into Hogwarts. The wards would’ve detected it. Have fun with it.”

“Have fun with it?”

Lucy shrugged, bouncing once as she settled down on her bed. “I dunno. Think about it. I think a responding diary could be fun. Let’s say I’m not around to gossip one day. You have another outlet. Or maybe you could use him to help you study or something. Really, the possibilities are endless.”

“True.” You mulled over the thought as you let your wand sit on its stand on your desk. Tentatively you grasped the soft leather of the journal and pulled it nearer to you. Tom was waiting for your response, after all.

Me too you wrote.

And you still won't tell me your name?

“Do you think it’s a bad idea to tell him my name?” you asked Lucy, whipping around.

She set down her book and shook her head. “What’s he gonna do with it? He’s stuck in there.”

Y/N.

A splotch of black appeared on the other end, but it was quickly crossed out.

How did you find me?

Antiques sale in Diagon Alley

I'm an antique?

Given that 1943 was over 50 years ago, yes

Nothing from Tom.

Is that not what you expected? You added.

I'm not sure

Just as you were about to close the journal and head to bed, Tom wrote again.

And how are you liking your time at Hogwarts?

It's nice. Fall term starts tomorrow.

You thought about leaving it there, but for some reason the words began to spill out of you.

It does feel weird being so close to graduating, though. I don’t know quite what it is that I want to do yet.

Oh? But surely you must have some idea.

You pressed the end of your quill to your lips, debating whether or not to share it with this mysterious Tom. In the end, Lucy’s previous comment was what made the scales tip. What did it matter? Tom wasn’t going to tell anyone.

I would really like to go for a cursebreaking mastery abroad, but that hinges on what happens in my N.E.W.Ts this year. I need an O in Potions.

I was taking N.E.W.T Potions at the time that I was trapped, Tom wrote. Perhaps I can be of assistance.

I can’t ask that of you.

Please do. It’s terribly boring being all alone in here.

You swallowed, watching the ink slowly sink back into nothing.

What do you mean? What’s it like being trapped?

It took a while for a response to form.

Quiet. You’re the first visitor I’ve ever had. I’m still in Hogwarts, technically, but there’s no one else here.

I’m sorry you found yourself writing before you could stop yourself. That sounds very lonely.

I don’t mind being lonely. It does get a bit dull, though.

“Luce,” you said, leaning over the back of your desk chair. “He just offered to help me with Potions.”

“See? Useful.”

I've got to go to bed now. First day of classes and whatnot.

Best of luck

Can you sleep where you are?

I don’t need to but I can

The words chilled you somewhat, but you pushed the feeling away.

Well, goodnight you wrote.

Goodnight

How were classes?

The ink appeared the moment you flipped open the journal. It was already two weeks into term, and you’d written to Tom nearly every night. You were curled up in bed, your blankets pulled heavy around your lap and your pajamas clean and smelling of lavender. A mug of tea lay steaming on your bedside table, its tendrils barely visible in the dim golden light of the candle you’d lit.

As expected you wrote, yawning. How was your day?

Oh, you know. Thrilling.

You snorted.

“What are you giggling about?” Lucy’s voice snapped you back into reality. You looked up to see her peeking over the textbook in her lap, a smirk etched deeply into her lips.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, but the way you slammed the journal shut gave it away.

“Talking to your fake boyfriend, huh?” teased Lucy.

“I’m not even going to answer that.” You rolled your eyes. “He’s a fucking journal. It’s not like he’s real.”

“Didn’t he say he was trapped in there?”

You huffed. “I guess. He seems to have accepted his position in life, though. It’s not like he’s begging for help.”

“No,” agreed Lucy. “But just think about it. What if you did manage to get him out? How romantic would that be?”

“Oh my god, shut up!”

Lucy ducked away from the pillow you lobbed in her direction, cackling maniacally all the way.

There you are. I thought I’d bored you.

The words reappeared within seconds of you reopening the journal. You tried to smother the way your lips turned upwards at the sight.

Sorry you wrote back, hoping that Lucy was sufficiently distracted with her textbook and would give you a rest for the night. A friend wanted to talk.

Does this friend know about me?

You held your quill to your lips for a moment before you wrote back.

Yes. She loves to tease over how much time I spend writing to you

I take it she doesn’t understand

Quite the contrary. She’s the one who encouraged me to write to you in the first place, in fact.

How so?

Something about how it would be nice to be able to tell my secrets to someone who could never tell anyone else

Tom’s response took a bit longer to appear this time around.

Oh? Any you’d like to share now?

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked at the drying ink.

You first.

For a minute, you thought that maybe Tom had disappeared. The parchment remained blank and clean. Maybe he’d gotten bored with you and had gone off to…whatever he did in his empty version of Hogwarts.

Then the lettering appeared again.

I used to have a pet snake when I was a child. I was an orphan, you see, and the other children thought that I was too strange to play with. I was terribly lonely. The matron took us to the beach once, and I found this little grass snake in the weeds. I stuck it in my pocket and took it back to the orphanage with me.

You lived in a muggle orphanage?

Yes. Obviously. Once I was amongst magicfolk, people did find me quite charming.

Why’d you pick a snake?

I liked having someone—or something, I suppose—to talk to.

You stared as the ink sunk back into nothing. Talk. Snakes. Talking?

Are you a Parselmouth?

I’ve already given a secret Tom wrote. Your turn.

Will you answer if I give you one?

That’s only fair.

Secrets—you barely had those. You’d grown up sharing nearly everything with Lucy since you’d been paired up in first year Charms class.

Not losing your nerve, are you?

I’m just thinking you quickly wrote back. I don’t have many secrets.

Surely you do.

This isn’t a very exciting secret. Heat rose to your cheeks as your quill scratched against the paper. But I haven’t told anyone this.

Go on.

I can’t tell anyone this because they’ll think I’m annoying. I do really well in classes. But I feel like I’m never going to be smart enough. It seems like nothing that I ever do will be enough to stand out

I understand more than you know

What do you mean?

I was sorted into Slytherin. Coming from such a modest background meant that I had to prove that I was worth the space I was taking up

A swell of…something rose in you as you stared down at the paper. You tried to imagine this mysterious Tom in the familiar green robes that you saw every day in Potions, scrunching his nose up over a book and studying hard. All alone—motivated by the knowledge that no one was rooting for his success—knowing that there was no name he could depend on to cover even one misstep—

You blinked. Whoa. That was some serious projection.

I can’t really tell this to anyone else. All of my friends come from influential pureblood families, so they just don’t get why I don’t get to make mistakes or slip up. They think I’m so uptight

Exactly. They all have safety nets. The grades, the house points, the prefect badges—those are all just surface level. It’s your name that gets you anywhere important

“You’re looking mighty serious over there,” said Lucy from over her textbook. “Trouble in paradise?”

You laughed tightly. “Er, no. Just talking.”

“Uh huh.”

I always feel like it’s evidence that I don’t belong when I don’t immediately understand something in class you add into the journal. To your horror, tears started pricking at your eyes. None of your friends were muggleborns. You’d never been able to voice these things out loud—or on paper, in this case. Writing it all out seemed so sad now. Like today in Runes. It took me longer than usual to understand a translation technique for this ridiculous slate from the Middle Ages. I had to talk myself down from believing that I’m faking it and that everyone else doesn’t even need to try

Is Babbling still there?

Yes. She’s still teaching

She was already too old to be coherent when she was teaching me wrote Tom. Tell me, do you have to rennervate her throughout the lesson to keep her present?

She was old back then???

Ancient.

I can’t believe she’s still alive. You chewed on your lip as you thought. She’s practically a fossil.

Do you think of me like that? Old?

Would it make you feel better if I said I considered you vintage?

I’m wounded

“Fucking get to the library and start researching ways to pull that poor boy out of there,” said Lucy from her bed, “Or stop giggling like that. Merlin. You’re killing me. You’re practically twirling your hair.”

“Shut up!” Slowly, you opened the journal back up after slamming it closed.

Your friend again?

Yes you scribbled back. She’s teasing me again about how I should try to get you out of here. Which I’m assuming is impossible, since I’m doubtful you’re even a real person

I’m very real

Your blood cooled.

Then why haven’t you asked me to get you out?

A pause—just long enough for you to feel suspicious.

I’ve gotten quite used to my little home in here wrote Tom finally. And forgive me if I believe it a bit forward to immediately demand the first person to which I speak to orchestrate my extraction.

Extraction. Interesting word choice, you thought.

How polite. Part of you was beginning to feel the slightest bit uneasy. And what would this so-called extraction entail?

That I haven’t quite figured out yet. The response was instantaneous. Ever since we’ve met I’ve been returning to the library in hopes of finding an answer.

Which book trapped you in here?

Another pause.

I sincerely doubt it’s still in print wrote Tom. It was a very dangerous book with dark, terrible magic. I had no business digging around in it. I paid the price dearly.

He refused to elaborate.

You spent the entire weekend digging through the Restricted Section, paging through every book you could imagine that had anything to do with Tom’s situation.

Nothing. Nada. Zero. You tried every querying spell you could think of. You were desperate enough to recruit Madam Pince by telling her that you were writing a paper for a class and needed to find anything there was on getting yourself trapped in magical objects. What she did dig up was at best irrelevant—tales of ill-executed Animagi rituals that resulted in the wizard getting stuck in their animal form and reports of interactions with cursed objects sending the users into a different dimension, never to be heard from again.

But as you were leaving the library on Sunday night, feeling downtrodden and profoundly disappointed, you saw something that caught your eye: the Alumni section.

It was one of those things that you always passed by without another thought. No classwork required students to reference previous Hogwarts attendees. It existed largely to appease the old families by nodding to their longstanding presence in Hogwarts, and the only friends who you had ever seen in this part of the library were purebloods curious about their ancestry. As a muggleborn, this was predictably unrelatable. There’d been no person of interest waiting for you in the old, dusty books that were shoved neatly into chronological order, no long-lost ancestor or namesake.

Not until now.

The click of your oxfords against the dark hardwood echoed as you came to a stop in front of the stacks. Every yearbook was the color of that school year’s House Cup winner, and the one with 1943-1944 on the thin spine was a rich, loud red. It slid easily from the shelf—which was a relief, because occasionally older books required permission to handle and were thus unremovable—and settled gently in your hands.

For a second you pondered leaving the aisle and finding a table to crack it open and savor the moment, but the thought of having to explain why you were looking at the 1943 class yearbook would be embarrassing. Doubly so if Lucy found you—she’d never let you hear the end of it. So, case closed. You’d open it here.

Oh god. You swallowed and used the cuff of your free sleeve to wipe the bead of sweat that had formed on your forehead. This was a terrible idea—or was it? Maybe he wouldn’t be your type. Yes, maybe he’d look just like someone who annoyed you in class or he’d have poorly kept hair or he’d have a creepy smile. Then you could stop thinking about—that.

And that shouldn’t even matter! You squeezed your eyes shut to dispel the thought. It was all Lucy’s fault for teasing you so much about him being your sort-of-weird-ghost boyfriend—part of you was starting to pretend like that was real. And it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. It didn’t matter that no boy before had managed to make you this excited to talk to them. It didn’t matter that he got you like no one else in this castle seemed to. It didn’t, because as of present he was actually a journal and not a corporeal being.

In short, you reminded yourself harshly, you were checking this yearbook to verify that a Tom Marvolo Riddle did in fact exist and attended Hogwarts during the time period he claimed. That was it—nothing more.

Nervously, you let the cover flip open and began to card through the thick pages. Moving pictures of entirely unfamiliar students greeted you, flashing past your eyes. First years, second years, third years, fourth years…

You paused before turning from the fifth year page to the sixth, overwhelmed with the thought that whatever you saw was going to change the way you saw your interactions with the diary. If he wasn’t there, you’d need to re-evaluate how safe this whole diary scenario was. You’d need to go back and reconsider if anything you’d heard from him was ever the actual truth. And if he was…

You swallowed. You couldn’t pretend like you hadn’t been imagining what he’d look like on nights that you struggled to fall asleep. There was never a face you could settle on. Whenever you’d spin up something in your mind’s eye, the features would shift and morph into something entirely different before you could enjoy it.

But it didn’t matter—it couldn’t matter, because it was crazy that you’d even been fantasizing about a potentially make-believe boy who only existed in a worn diary.

You turned the page, and Tom Marvolo Riddle stared right back at you.

Tom looked every bit of what you’d expect a Slytherin prefect to be like. Everything about him was neat, orderly, and intentional, from the tidy robes to the obediently shaped dark waves atop his head that looked tragically soft. The only thing out of place was a single piece of black hair, dangling temptingly in the middle of his forehead.

His lips were drawn into a polite almost smile, his image almost entirely still save for the slight bob of his throat that repeated as the image replayed, over and over again.

Tom was pretty—much prettier than you ever could’ve thought up on your own. He looked unreal, like he’d been sculpted by some higher being’s hand with the express purpose of being devastatingly ethereal.

And he’d been talking to you. Connecting with you. And he was real. The weight of your satchel over your shoulder reminded you that he was right there. All it’d take was a quill and some ink to speak to him again.

The picture had repeated its loop one final time before you closed the book shut and pushed it back onto the shelf, hearing the pounding of your heart the whole way.

When you wrote to him that night, you tried your best to keep yourself imagining how he’d look writing back. Would he smile when he saw that you’d opened the journal? Would he laugh at your (admittedly stupid) jokes?

September turned into October which tilted into November with such speed that you could barely breathe. Time barreled ahead as classes sped up, assignments piled on, and each day became just another challenge to survive.

Tom remained one of the few constants in your life, alongside Lucy and Ishan. It was concerning how much you’d come to confide in him, telling him things that you’d never dare to share with anyone else. You told him about the little accomplishments that you could never bring up to your friends, like Professor Snape insulting everyone’s potion except yours and what McGonagall wrote on your most recent paper, calling it one of the most well-researched essays she’d gotten from a N.E.W.T level student. You even told him how Lucy occasionally got on your nerves and how it made you feel like a bad friend.

He was a good listener and an even better conversationalist. When he wasn’t being your confidant, he was more than happy to indulge any academic topics of interest. You spent hours going back and forth, debating the content of the news headlines that you’d tell him about each day.

With time, the memory of Tom’s face and intimidatingly good looks faded to the back of your mind. You’d barred yourself from going back into the Alumni section in the library lest you felt inspired to crack open his yearbook again and remind yourself just how attractive your imaginary friend had been when he’d been alive. If you did that, then you’d start fantasizing about a future where you invented some sort of way to pull him out, and that was just silly. You had exams, and Tom didn’t seem particularly rushed in leaving his journal—or he’d at least come to accept that he’d never leave.

Despite this new normality you’d built around the strangeness of the journal, some things still felt tense. You’d grown comfortable with Tom—arguably more comfortable with him than nearly anyone else, save for maybe Lucy, since you couldn’t ever imagine opening up the journal and telling him all about the fact that it was your time of the month and detailing exactly how your cramps were making you feel—but there was this underlying sense of anticipation. For what exactly, you weren’t sure. You just knew that things couldn’t be like this forever. Something had to give.

In the end, it was Professor Snape who started it. He’d looked down at your cauldron and said something about how your Draught of Living Death base was the most elementary thing he’d ever had the misfortune of laying his eyes upon and that you were lucky to even be allowed into the class, and something inside you broke.

You’d tried so hard on that potion. You’d followed the instructions to a T. You’d diced everything evenly and stirred it with the precision of a muggle performing brain surgery. Potions had never been your best subject, and you tried to make up for it by trying harder than everyone else. Normally it worked, but N.E.W.T potions was something else.

Tom was taking longer than usual to respond to this particular soliloquy that night, a few letters surfacing before he scribbled them out.

I know this might seem scary he finally wrote. I’ll understand if this frightens you too much. But I think that I may be able to help.

What do you mean, scary? Are you a mean tutor or something?

I mean that I can show you how to brew that Draught Tom replied.

Show me?

If my research is correct, it’s possible that I can temporarily cross you over into my world.

Your heart thudded, your hands suddenly clammy.

“Lucy?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” Lucy tossed her book onto her desk and turned to face you. “Oh no. Did something happen? You look awful.”

“Gee. Thanks.” You swallowed. “Er—sort of? I was writing to Tom about how crazy Potions class was today and he told me that he could help me. Like actually tutor me.”

“Is that not a good thing?”

Your mouth was dry. “No. That’s not it. He means like, tutor me tutor me. In person. He says he can cross me over into his world temporarily.”

Lucy froze.

“I have to say no, right?” It was so, so stupid that you were asking that. Of course you had to say no. There was no telling what he could do to you if you said yes. Maybe he was actually a demon that was attempting to possess you. Maybe he was going to eat your soul and use your body as a husk to feed on the other students and—

“I mean, probably not.” She thoughtfully pressed the top of her quill to her mouth. “Think about it. You guys have been in contact for months and nothing supernatural has happened. We already came to the conclusion that the journal isn’t dark magic because the wards would’ve kept it out.”

“But what if I get stuck with him? I haven’t been able to find anything about this type of magic before. I don’t know how it works.”

Lucy hummed. Then realization flickered across her features. “Hang on. I think I have something that might help.”

She dug around in one of her desk drawers until she produced a small spool of half-used thread. It was golden in color but so thin it was nearly iridescent.

“What’s that?” you asked, squinting at it.

“It’s Invisible String,” said Lucy, already rolling it out and pulling it around your wrist. It was pleasantly warm against your skin, like it’d just been sitting out in the sun. As soon as it made contact with your body, it disappeared. “It used to be used for Ministry Employees who used Time Turners. Whoever is on the other end of the thread is able to pull the wearer back to this reality and this timeline. It’s very useful in avoiding nasty time related incidents. My dad took home a bunch of spools when Time Turners were officially outlawed. He taught me how to apparate with them since it can also work over long distances in the same reality—just in case I did something stupid.”

“Wow,” you breathed, staring down at your wrist. There was nothing to stare at, of course. It was already gone. But it was an ingenious little contraption, probably charmed so many times with such obscure and rare spells that it would go for thousands of galleons if you tried to buy it yourself.

The perks of having a rich pureblood best friend, you supposed.

“As long as I’m holding the other end, I’ll be able to bring you back,” explained Lucy, holding the spool up demonstratively. “So, go for it. If that’s your only hold-up, I think you should go meet him. If anything, at least it’ll help your Potions grade.”

You turned your attention back to the journal, worrying your lip for a second before you dipped your quill in the inkwell and wrote out Ok.

“This is so exciting,” said Lucy from over your shoulder. “You have to tell me everything when you get back.”

“If I can come back.”

She dangled the spool in front of you. “I’ll make sure of that. If you’re not back by curfew, I’ll yank you back to this reality by myself.”

“Right.” Anxiety began to build in your middle, bubbling up until you were sure you were trembling.

This might feel a bit uncomfortable was all Tom wrote before you were suddenly falling into a void.

When the inertia faded and light slowly bled back into your vision, you were sprawled on the floor of a Potions classroom that you’d been in when you were a second year. Tom Riddle stood tidily a few feet away from you, wearing the same formal school robes you’d seen on him in the yearbook.

“Hello.” His voice was proper and measured. It fit him perfectly, but the fact that you were finally hearing him speak for the first time made you feel something that was highly inadvisable.

“Hi.”

For a moment, you just stared right back into his eyes as the silence closed in around you and the gravity of your situation sunk in. You’d really done it now, hadn’t you? As if to comfort you, the thread around your wrist warmed against your skin.

“Don’t worry,” said Tom, like he could already tell what you were thinking.“You won’t be trapped. It’s me who’s bound to this world.”

“And how are you so sure of that?”

“This is a prison for my soul,” he said casually. “Not yours. You have nothing keeping you here.”

“Right.” You slowly made your way from the ground to your feet, brushing off your robes and casting a few cleansing charms to dispel the dust clinging to you. At least your magic seemed to work fine here, you noted. It was a small comfort to know that you’d be able to defend yourself if shit went left.

“I didn’t think you’d say yes.” Now that he was speaking more, you couldn’t help but admire the way he sounded—silken and smooth and entirely unbothered, like he did this every day. “I was sure that I’d scared you off.”

“You underestimate how much I want that Potions O,” you offered.

“Never,” he said dryly. “Now that I see that you’re a Ravenclaw, I wouldn’t endeavor to make such ill-informed assumptions.”

You blanched, your head whipping down to take in what you were wearing. You weren’t sure why you were so shocked to see that you were wearing exactly what you’d had on moments ago at your desk—a midnight blue jumper with the Ravenclaw emblem stitched into the left breast, pulled on top of the white button up with the bronze and blue tie tucked underneath. That, and the standard-issue Hogwarts skirt and tights. Hardly dungeon attire—if you didn’t start brewing something soon, you’d be shivering.

It all looked very silly compared to how many layers Tom was wearing. His prefect pin glinted under the dim lighting of the Potions classroom, and you tried your best to keep your heart from swooning.

“Did I not tell you that I was a Ravenclaw?”

The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I don’t believe so. I would’ve remembered.”

“Are you surprised?”

He cast his dark eyes up to the ceiling and scrunched his nose in a way that you thought was meant to convey a serious bout of thinking. “Not quite. I was stuck between that and Slytherin.”

“Slytherin?” You couldn’t stop the way you grimaced at this.

“I thought we had enough in common for it to be plausible.”

A thrill shot through you. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“I suppose I can't be too taken aback,” he said mildly, stepping neatly back and conjuring a cauldron to appear on the tabletop to his right. “You are a muggleborn. I don’t know of any who have been sorted into Slytherin.”

This wasn’t news to you, but Tom’s delivery stung more than usual. The implication hung heavy in the air that you were somehow in the inferior house, only placed in Ravenclaw because of your blood. As an afterthought—as a convenient place for you to be put away.

“That’s true,” you said, stepping closer until only the brewing table was in between you two. “But I doubt that I’d have been sorted there, even if I had been born a pureblood. The whole glutton-for-knowledge thing about Ravenclaw has always been me.”

“I disagree.” Tom summoned over a few jars of ingredients with a nonverbal wave of his wand. “If you’d been born with purer blood, you wouldn’t be so desperate to find a way to compensate.”

You flinched. Ouch.

“I’m very aware of why I feel the need to work so hard,” you snipped. “But I really don’t think that has anything to do with my genuine academic curiosity. If I was so single-minded in using knowledge for compensation then perhaps I would have been a Slytherin.”

For a moment, his dark eyes flashed with something that you couldn’t quite catch before his face ironed itself into something impassive once more. “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to offend.”

You frowned, watching as he placed familiar ingredients on the table and began lining them up. “It’s fine. Just a bit of a sore spot, that’s all.”

He gave you a look that made you feel like you’d just pointed out the obvious. Which you had, clearly. But it was offensive regardless.

“I’ve assembled all the ingredients for a Draught of Living Death,” he announced, stepping back from the table and waving one pale hand at the spread in front of you. “You said you had trouble with brewing the base. This makes sense, since more complicated potions require more stable bases. I’m not wrong in assuming that you’ve always been adept at following instructions and brewing perfect potions before this year?”

He waited for your nod to continue.

“N.E.W.T Potions is different in that it challenges your intuition. Before this, you’ve been able to coast by relying on the guidance of others. But with potions like the Living Death, you need to be able to think on your feet. Even the slightest variation in your ingredients—the age, the quality, the place of origin—can be what ruins an otherwise perfectly good brew. Every potions recipe you see in school textbooks makes implicit assumptions about the quality and age of your ingredients. If, say, it’s an unusually hot day when a supply shipment arrives and the gillyweed oxidizes, the instructions for a more difficult potion won’t anticipate that you need to temper it with volcanic salt.

“That’s where you come in. When you’re preparing your base, you need to have an intimate understanding of the properties of each ingredient and how they interact with each other. This way, when you notice something isn’t quite average with your supplies—as is common in a school where ingredients are shipped in bulk—you can adjust.”

Tom paused, his eyes meeting yours. You blinked once, then broke the contact to look at the cauldron.

No one had ever explained that to you before. No one had ever taken the time. Snape certainly hadn’t been interested in lecturing about why so many students were incapable of producing viable potions—he was far more content with insulting his pupils for being inadequate.

“I never knew that,” you admitted, finally looking back at him. He hadn’t moved an inch. “That makes so much sense.”

Though your words were far from creative, honesty dripped from your voice.

“Right then,” said Tom, nodding tightly and stepping back to gesture to the ingredients. “Try to prepare the base again. This time pay attention to the state of the ingredients.”

You got the work, thinly dicing the beetroot while you set the moon water to simmer in the cauldron.

“This was bruised,” you noted, motioning to the cubes you’d just cut.

Tom nodded, looking at you rather expectantly.

“...which means that part of it has already oxidized,” you continued cautiously. In truth, you hadn’t spent much time learning about the different chemical properties of the ingredients. That felt too concretely muggle, too blatantly biological. “Which means that the enzymes have, uh, had their bonds ruptured?”

“And…?”

“And that means I need to…” You squinted down at the vegetable, trying to conjure up any knowledge you had about enzymes and potion making. It probably wouldn’t be volcanic salt. Would it? “I don’t think that I can use volcanic salt as a binding agent this time. If my memory serves correctly, moon water becomes unstable in the presence of pure minerals. So that means…acid? Lemon?”

Tom slid a vial over to you, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Mix a little into the beetroot before adding it.”

You uncorked it and let the citrus juice sink into the purple cubes, running slightly down the cutting board and pooling in the wooden crevices.

The rest of your base preparation went just as smoothly, with Tom offering up the odd helpful comment while you nodded and committed it to memory.

You finished with a base that looked nothing like the disaster you’d created just hours ago. You were just barely able to keep yourself from grinning and throwing your arms around Tom’s neck as you both began to clean up and vanish the contents of the cauldron.

“Well done,” said Tom, spelling the cutting board clean. The vibrant pink marks from the beetroot vanished. “Consider me impressed.”

You nearly exploded with giddiness.

“Thank you,” you said very normally. He was standing so close to you now that if you reached out, your fingers would skim his robe-clad arm. But you wouldn’t do that, because that was weird. Because he was living in a journal and he was somehow bound to this strange alternative reality. Because you weren’t even sure if it was possible to touch him. Because even if it was, Tom Riddle did not seem like the type of person who would be partial to physical affection—especially not from someone like you. “Do you—have you found anything out about how you can escape?”

Tom’s fluid motions as he tidied the table only stuttered for a moment. “Some. Nothing concrete, though.”

“If you told me exactly what it was you did to get stuck in here, I’d probably be able to offer a lot more help,” you pointed out in a way that you hoped didn’t sound too cajoling.

He didn’t say anything.

“Come on,” you pressed, putting your hands on your hips. “I’ve aired out all my dirty laundry to you. You can tell me. I don’t think there’s anything you could say that I haven’t already guessed.”

“Really?” drawled Tom, his eyes locking on yours. “Nothing at all?”

“Nothing,” you affirmed.

“So why don’t you tell me what happened?”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

Men could be so frightfully dull sometimes.

“There’s a book,” said Tom with a deceptive casualness, “That should be in the Restricted section. It’s called ‘Secrets of the Darkest Arts.’ Read that. If you’d still like to know afterwards, I’ll oblige.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine.”

The work table was all cleaned up, no trace of your previous potion brewing except for the lingering scent in the air.

“Well,” said Tom. His hands were folded neatly behind his back as he remained a respectable distance away from you. “I suppose I should be sending you back.”

“I suppose,” you echoed. “Will I—do you think I’ll get to see you again?”

You regretted it the moment the words left your mouth. Hopefully the blush on your face could be written off by the excuse that you were just brewing.

This time when he looked at you, it felt like he was re-evaluating something. “Whenever you’d like. I’m not especially occupied.”

Before you could stop yourself, your face was splitting into a bright smile. “Of course. I was definitely asking because of your busy schedule.”

He blinked twice. Then he opened his mouth, closed it, and fidgeted with his tie. It was the most obvious sign of discomfort you’d seen from him the entire evening.

“Right,” he said stiffly. “Ehm—yes. It was pleasant to have you here.”

“Pleasant?” you echoed, your eyebrows raised.

“I mean that I’ve enjoyed the time that we’ve spent in correspondence,” he said, waving a hand like that made what he said any less awkward.

“Tom, I was teasing you,” you said. “I don’t need some sort of confession about how you can actually stand being around me. I can tell.”

“Right,” he said again. “I’ll send you back now.”

Before you could add another remark about how weird he was being, you were catapulted out of the dungeons and back into your desk chair.

“Merlin’s Beard!” gasped Lucy from behind you.

You blinked, letting your eyes adjust to the bright lighting of your dorm.

“You literally came out of nowhere!” said Lucy, coming around to put her hands on your desk and stare at you. “I was getting worried, too. Padma is coming back soon. I thought that I’d have to devise some sort of plan to keep her out of the room so she wouldn’t ask why you materialized out of thin air.”

“Yeah,” you said, your eyes unfocused.

“So what happened?”

“I—” You exhaled. “Lucy, I’m so fucked. He’s actually really cute.”

“I knew it,” said Lucy, shaking your shoulders.

“He helped me brew the base for the Draught of Living Death,” you elaborated. “He’s a really good tutor. He spoke for like 5 minutes about the properties of different ingredients, and I swear I’ve learned more from him than from 6 years of Snape’s lectures.”

“And did you guys talk?”

“A little.” You frowned, thinking back on the interactions you’d had. “He was really odd when I asked him about what I needed to do to get him out. Even weirder when I asked if I was going to see him again. He made some comment about how he wasn’t exactly busy and I said something that implied that I knew that but wanted to know if he liked seeing me, and he was super awkward.”

Lucy cringed. “Well, I mean, if I’d been stuck in a diary for 50 years without talking to someone, I’d probably be a little strange too. Tell me how he is when he talks—or writes, I guess—to you next.”

The next time Tom responded to a diary entry, you had news.

Tom you wrote. Are you there?

Yes.

Can you bring me back to you?

Why? Do you need another Potions lesson?

You rolled your eyes. Not quite.

Well, no. I won’t let you back until you’ve read the book I told you about.

That’s why I’m asking! I’ve tried looking for it everywhere. When none of the querying spells worked, I went through the entire Restricted Section by hand. Nothing! I asked Madam Pince and she told me that that book had been banned since before she’d gotten the position as librarian. I’m probably on some watch list now

That is troubling.

So if you’ll be so kind, please let me back in so I can use your library. Thank you in advance

There was a long pause that you imagined Tom took to sigh and run his fingers through his hair in exasperation. Then:

Very well.

You were falling through space once again.

final a/n: thank you for reading! let me know how you feel about it! this is my first time writing for tom so im kind of nervous or whatever

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle imagine

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severaltuesdays · 6 months

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Mori and Abuse

I’m making this because the BSD fandom has 2 modes for interpreting Mori and it’s either evil evil child abuser or spineless bastard and I HATE both of them.

Mori is an abuser, yes, but the way he abuses characters is very atypical, and not at all what most people expect. His abuse is almost all psychological, the only character we can say for sure has been physically abused by him is Yosano, and we’re only shown one instance of that.

For simplicity, I’ll be referring to his abuse of Dazai, Chuuya, Koyo and Yosano, but I believe it could be said that Kyuusaku and potentially the Akutagawa’s have suffered because of him.

To understand why Mori has abused certain characters, we must understand a bit about him as a person. This is potentially why Mori’s actions are so wildly skewed by the fandom, because no one wants to observe him too closely (but that’s a whole other post). Simply put, Mori is a military man. He does anything and everything to achieve the “optimal solution”, he has a plan and if he has to get his hands dirty to reach his goal, he will. Emotions and attachments go out the window for him, most of the time at least, because he would sacrifice anything, and anyone, to achieve his goal. Most of the time at least. That’s why he used Yosano, because what’s the life of one girl to the safety of his nation? That’s why he manufactured Oda’s and his orphans deaths, because the prize outweighed the cost.

Mori is logical and reserved, so we must observe all his actions with the lens that he has a reason for what he does, because he (almost) always has a reason.

I’ll start by referring to Mori’s abuse of Dazai, because he’s a bit of a special case and also the one that the fandom overall gets the most wrong. Mori’s abuse of Dazai is usually twisted to be sexual or physical, when there is absolutely no evidence of that. People like to bring up Dazai’s abuse of Akutagawa, or that one throwaway line from The Day I Picked Up Dazai as evidence, but neither of those hold up in my opinion.

Firstly, just because Dazai’s abuse of Akutagawa was partly physical, doesn’t mean he himself underwent physical abuse. Just like Mori, Dazai always has reasons for what he does, and his reason for what he did to Akutagawa was tailored to Akutagawa and his ability, therefore not something that Mori would have done to Dazai. Not to excuse Dazai’s abuse of Akutagawa, of course, but the fact of the matter is that Dazai’s abuse was a test of Akutagawa, and a punishment because Akutagawa didn’t adhere to Dazai’s standards. This abuse is the result of Mori’s own abuse, yes, but it’s not as straightforward as “Mori hit Dazai, ergo Dazai hit Akutagawa”.

The line from TDIPUD is also poor evidence, as all it is is Oda telling Dazai that what he’s doing won’t hurt and Dazai responding that Mori says the same about the needles he gives him. The fact that this is taken as abuse is really weird to me, why is that the assumption here? Mori is a doctor, there are multiple reasons for him to be giving Dazai needles. And the fact that Mori says it’s not going to hurt just sounds like the typical “doctor giving a kid a shot” exchange.

Dazai hates pain, so obviously Mori would lie and say that it isn’t going to hurt. Mori cares for Dazai’s well-being, which is what makes Dazai a bit of an outlier, as Mori shows care for him before he’s found a reason to justify that care. This is evidenced by their exchange in the beginning of Dazai, Chuuya: Fifteen, which is very important as it gives us an insight into Mori’s perspective during that time, where he panics because he hasn’t achieved the “optimal solution” by keeping Dazai alive, but then justifies that action by deciding Dazai is too good an asset to throw away.

And here-in lies the actual abuse that Dazai went through, not being hit or shamed or any of that, but emotional coercion, a slow cultivation of the parts of Dazai that Mori saw as useful, and a creation of the mindset we see Dazai use. This is most prominent with how Mori plants ideas into Dazai’s head. This is referenced in Chapter one of Fifteen as well, establishing that Mori has taken somewhat of an instructor role to Dazai, but that’s something Dazai rebels against.

This exchange is a perfect example of that conditioning, instead of giving Dazai information directly, Mori gets Dazai to deduce his answers using information he already has, something we see Dazai does very often in the current plot. But the main example of this conditioning comes in the form of Dazai’s plan to use the Sheep against Chuuya, a plan that comes DIRECTLY from Mori.

Mori makes sure that Dazai is in the room as he baits Chuuya, uses the weakness of the Sheep against him, and then breaks down EXACTLY what has happened for Dazai. “Just some food for thought” my ass.

Then when discussing his plan with Rimbaud, Dazai brings up a theory taught to him by Mori. 15!Dazai is such a little parrot, it’s all “Mori says, Mori says, Mori says”, just word-vomiting all the thoughts Mori puts in his head, there is a CLEAR influence here.

Just like Mori, Dazai uses the Sheep against Chuuya. Mori shows Dazai how to control people, how to make them listen and how to make them obey. The reason Dazai treats people like pawns, the reason he KNOWS how to manipulate people is because Mori taught him.

Just like so many of the characters, the fandom forgets that when Mori met Dazai, he was a child. He was a broken child who needed a guiding hand and the hand he got was Mori’s. Morí crafted the Dazai that we see, shaped the way that he thinks, THAT was his abuse.

Chuuya as well is a special case. Like Mori, he is a leader, and that is a quality Mori admires in him. In turn, Chuuya looks up to Mori, sees him as an inspiration for what it means to be a leader. This is another example of Mori’s manipulative abuse. To Chuuya, Mori makes himself out to be a saviour, someone who will teach him how to be better, how to protect the people he thinks he has failed. Mori takes Chuuya at his weakest point and gives him a new chance.

And with that, Chuuya is loyal to the mafia and Mori has Soukoku. Never mind that Mori was the brains behind Dazai’s plan that got Chuuya into the mafia in the first place, by getting Dazai to do his dirty work, Mori gets to appear to Chuuya with a halo and wings (I could also talk about Mori’s involvement with Stormbringer and how that locked Chuuya into the mafia, but that’s another tangent).

Mori has done the same with Koyo. She’s loyal to him, but clearly does not LIKE him, so where does that loyalty come from? It is because he has freed her. Koyo suffered under the rule of the Old Boss, she had no freedom, the man who cared for her was executed, she was restrained within the mafia. And then Mori takes over and she ends up an executive. Suddenly she’s got POWER, she can change things, under Mori she’s given the ability to change things and take charge. He sees a girl in chains and loosens them, not enough for her to escape, but enough that she can move. And having been chained up for so long, that feels like freedom. Koyo is loyal to Mori because he’s better than the alternative, because if she can’t be free, at least she can move.

I left Yosano for last, because again, she’s a wild card. Unlike all the other people Mori has coerced, Yosano’s abuse took place during a time where every second was precious. There was no time to do it delicately, the way Mori handled everything else, it was war, win or lose. Mori’s tactics were a lot more brutal, Yosano wants the soldiers to live, so Mori shoots the one she cares about so either she WATCHES her friend die, or she can save him. Unlike with Dazai, with Chuuya, with Koyo, Mori isn’t Yosano’s saviour, he’s her captor, he gives her a choice, but its one where neither option is made to look kind. He makes it clear, she heals them, or they die, whether it’s at his hands, or the hands of the enemy, and he knows she would never let them die.

Mori works through coercion and manipulation, he shapes the way people think of him carefully, moulding his appearance in the eyes of others. To Dazai he’s just an old man that Dazai has under his thumb, who tries and fails to manipulate him. But that’s not the truth. To Chuuya he’s a benevolent leader, someone so gracious as to grant him a place in the mafia. But that’s not the truth. To Koyo he’s the safest option, not someone she wants to follow, but someone she will follow, because at least she’s free. But that’s not the truth. To Yosano he’s evil, cruel and harsh and he takes lives as easily as he breathes with no remorse, he’s the God to her Angel of Death. But thats not the truth. To the audience, he’s a monster, a filthy pervert who is nothing more than a pedophile. Is that the truth?

Mori is like a spider, ensnaring people in his web with carefully constructed lies and appearances, his abuse is not physical or sexual, it’s a psychological coercion, careful at times and brutal at others, his abuse is a targeted attack of an individual’s weaknesses, and a cultivation of the parts he sees as useful.

Every person is his tool, and he likes his blades sharp.

@1seaweedbrain1 for you <3