#(( moral of the story someone get me off of canva ))

[bullsh1tterz]

IT'S ADAM & STEVE, NOT ADAM & EVE.

( @sioraiocht ) ... may have taken me 1000 years to make and I might have misplaced the moodboard call but--

[saddleups]

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐒.

★ STATUS . . . ongoing, arthur morgan x f!reader. 18+ smut mdni !!

★ CW . . . voyeurism, female masturbation, male masturbation, arthur's kind of a meanie.

★ SUMMARY . . . recently welcomed into dutch van der linde's gang, has a tense first encounter with arthur morgan, who is suspicious of her and questions her trustworthiness. after a sharp exchange, she withdraws to her tent to find solace. meanwhile, arthur, tasked with returning her forgotten journal, approaches her tent but hesitates when he sees the intimate silhouette of her body through the illuminated canvas.

★ AUTHOR'S NOTE . . . really don't know what washed over me. this was initially meant as a drabble , but somehow bloomed into what is going to be a continuing story. as the start of the story, it's loaded with "setting the scene" mostly to establish a dynamic between the reader and arthur. however , it does get spicy towards the end ;)

An orphan, a wanderer, and most notably, a thief for hire. Your occupation brought you countless adversaries, shaped by a lifetime of hardship. The Wild West wasn’t forgiving, especially for someone like you. It forced you to compromise whatever moral compass you’d developed, exchanging it for a life filled with unsavory characters. Your skills became notorious in Lemoyne, earning you a wanted poster of your own—though the paltry $3,000 bounty made you wonder if the authorities truly knew your worth.

One man, however, saw your potential: Dutch Van der Linde. Knowing Dutch’s reputation, you were well aware there was no honor among thieves, but the price he offered for your services was one you couldn't afford to refuse.

"I'm a man who keeps his word," Dutch said, locking eyes with you. You stiffened momentarily, your guard raised.

"And if you don’t, I’ll have you dead," you warned, your voice steady.

Dutch chuckled, raising his palms in mock surrender. "I'll take you to my camp, introduce you to my people," he said, patting his chest for emphasis. "I take care of my own. I'll take care of you too, ma’am, ya hear?"

You clenched your jaw, swallowing hard before releasing a sigh. Camps, people—these weren't things you were accustomed to. Yet, the promise of a warm fire and a decent meal was hard to ignore. Stepping forward, you motioned with your boot. "Be a gentleman and lead the way."

Dutch quickened his pace, guiding you to his horse. Retrieving your own, you both rode off toward the confines of Clemens Point.

As you arrived at the secluded camp, the thick forest enveloped the intimate commune. Pulling on the reins, your horse came to a halt behind Dutch’s. He dismounted and extended a hand to help you down. You ignored his gesture, earning another chuckle.

"Your independence is admirable," Dutch said, amused. "Maybe you'll set a good example."

"I won’t be staying long," you replied curtly.

Dutch nodded, unfazed. "Come on, now, lemme introduce ya."

You followed behind him, scanning your surroundings, planning your escape if needed. Clemens Point had its rustic charm, much like the rest of Lemoyne, but it wasn’t a place you intended to linger. As you approached the heart of the camp, the residents began to take notice. Some watched from a distance, while others stepped closer. You stayed close to Dutch, observing the crowd.

"Bring a lady for the night?" one man jeered. You tried to get a glimpse of the man behind such a crude remark, catching only the sight of a weathered hat adorned with a feather.

"It ain’t like that," Dutch countered.

"Well, if she’s with you, she sure ain’t cheap," the man sneered.

You felt anger flare in your chest.

"Arthur!" Dutch barked.

So, that was his name—Arthur.

Stepping out from behind Dutch, you made yourself visible to the Van der Linde gang, especially the man at the center of it all.

He was tall, built like a seasoned gunslinger, with the brim of his hat pulled low, hiding much of his face. But from your shorter vantage point, you could see beneath the brim—strands of sandy brown hair fell just above his eyes. You squinted, trying to get a clearer look at the man responsible for the comment.

"My, my," Arthur drawled, his voice low. "What do we have here, then?"

You stared Arthur down, unfazed by his comment. “What you have here,” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm, “is someone who doesn't take kindly to men who don’t watch their tongues.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Bold. I like that.” He crossed his arms, eyeing you with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “But talk’s cheap out here, darlin’. You gonna back it up?”

You took a step closer, not backing down. “Guess you’ll find out soon enough, cowboy.”

Before things could escalate further, Dutch stepped in between the two of you, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “Now, now, let’s all calm down, shall we?” He chuckled as though this kind of exchange was nothing new. “Arthur, meet our new friend here. She’s more than capable, I assure you. She’s got quite the reputation—thief for hire, and from what I’ve heard, she’s damn good at it.”

Arthur’s gaze flickered to Dutch, then back to you. His smile faded, replaced by a skeptical scowl. “A thief, huh?” He tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. “And you’re just gonna bring her into camp, just like that? You don’t think maybe we oughta vet her a little first? Or better yet, see if she’s worth her salt?”

Dutch sighed, clearly accustomed to Arthur’s protective nature. “Arthur, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I wouldn’t bring someone into our fold if I didn’t believe in their abilities. You, of all people, should trust me on that.”

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head. “It ain’t about trust, Dutch. It’s about common sense. You’re always bringing in strays, but how do we know she’s as good as you say? How do we know she ain’t just gonna take what she wants and bolt?”

You folded your arms, feeling the heat of Arthur’s scrutiny, but before Dutch could respond, you cut in.

“If I wanted to bolt, I wouldn’t be standing here listening to you question me like some washed-up lawman,” you said flatly. “And as for being good at what I do… Why don’t you give me a chance to prove it?”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable for a moment. The tension was thick between the two of you, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air.

Dutch clapped his hands together, cutting through the silence. “See? That’s the spirit! Let’s not get too hung up on doubts and suspicions. Besides, Arthur, you know better than anyone—we all had to start somewhere.”

Arthur shook his head, still unconvinced, but his tone softened slightly. “Fine. But if she messes up, Dutch, it’s on you.”

Dutch grinned. “I’ll take full responsibility. You’ll see, Arthur—she’s gonna fit right in.”

Arthur gave you one last look, his blue eyes hard, but he stepped back, leaving the matter for now. “We’ll see,” he muttered, turning his back to head deeper into the camp.

As he walked away, Dutch leaned in close, speaking just low enough for you to hear. “Don’t worry about Arthur. He’s always cautious with new faces, but once you prove yourself, he’ll have your back. Just give it time.”

You nodded, though your eyes remained fixed on Arthur’s retreating form. “I’ll prove myself, alright. To everyone.”

Dutch patted you on the back, his voice light once again. “That’s the spirit. Now, let’s get you settled in.”

Your shoulders relax slightly when Dutch introduces you to another, kinder member of the camp—Mary-Beth. With a warm smile, she takes it upon herself to show you around. As she guides you through the camp, she explains the delicate intricacies and rich history the Van der Linde gang has accumulated over time. Her warmth is disarming, and though you find her friendliness endearing, your guard remains firmly in place.

As the day gives way to night, the camp grows lively. The smell of roasting meat fills the air, and the sound of laughter and clinking bottles echoes around the fire. Everyone seems to be enjoying the night, drinks in hand and plates full. You sit beside Dutch, notebook in hand, writing down the events of the day—your observations, the faces you’ve encountered, and your thoughts on the gang’s dynamics.

Dutch glances over your shoulder, a grin tugging at his lips. “Writing a novel already?” he teases.

You smirk but keep writing. “Just taking notes, is all.”

With a chuckle, Dutch pats your shoulder. “Well, don’t let me interrupt your musings. I’m gonna get myself another drink.” He stands, leaving his spot beside you empty for just a moment.

Before you can settle back into your thoughts, Arthur takes Dutch’s place without so much as a word. You immediately tense, looking up from your journal in annoyance.

“I didn’t invite you to sit,” you snap.

Arthur leans back, crossing his arms, clearly unbothered by your protest. “I’m just doin’ my due diligence,” he says with a casual shrug. “Lead enforcer and all that. Gotta make sure you ain’t some rat lookin’ to get us all killed.”

You narrow your eyes at him, anger bubbling up. “A rat? You don’t know a thing about me.”

“I know enough,” Arthur retorts, his gaze hard. “You waltz in here, Dutch vouches for ya, but me? I don’t trust anyone that quick. Seen too many faces come and go. Some good, some… not so much.”

You bite your tongue, forcing yourself to stay calm. “I don’t have anything to prove to you, Arthur.”

His stare lingers on you, unflinching. “Maybe not. But until I see otherwise, I’ll keep an eye on you.”

The tension between you is palpable, and despite the fire’s warmth, you feel a chill settle in your bones. This is why you hated dealing with people. No matter what you did, someone was always suspicious, always trying to dig into things that weren’t their business. You snap your journal shut, your patience worn thin.

“I’m done here,” you mutter, standing abruptly. “I didn’t come here for this.”

You walk away from the campfire, the weight of Arthur’s gaze following you as you disappear into the shadows. As you distance yourself from the group, you hear a voice call out.

“Arthur, you really can be an asshole sometimes, you know that?”

It’s Hosea, who had been watching the exchange from a distance. His tone is firm, but there’s an edge of disappointment in it. Arthur grumbles in response, shifting uncomfortably.

“Just doin’ my job, Hosea,” Arthur mutters defensively, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes—regret, maybe.

Hosea shakes his head. “Yeah, well, you could stand to be a little more welcoming.”

As Hosea walks away, Arthur notices something on the ground beside him—your journal. You must have left it behind in your rush to escape the conversation. He picks it up, flipping it over in his hands, his expression softening for a brief moment. He exhales a long breath while he debates with himself, glancing in the direction you disappeared, wondering if he should bring it to you.

Storming away from the campfire, you mutter under your breath. "Should've known better than to get mixed up in this." The tension Arthur brought upon you still burns in your chest. Now, away from the glimmer of the camp you question why you even agreed to Dutch's offer.

Quickly the weight of reality sets in. The promise of money looms heavy, more than you've ever made in one place. Enough to change your life, if things go smoothly. And then there's the camp —more than just a place to lay your head. It has food, shelter, warmth, and plenty of drink, luxuries you haven’t had in a long while. The thought alone makes your stomach growl, reminding you of the times you’ve gone hungry for days on end. A little discomfort with people like Arthur might just be the price you have to pay to survive this.

With a resigned sigh, you make your way toward your tent, situated near the lake, away from the central campfire. The sounds of laughter and idle chatter slowly fade, replaced by the gentle lapping of the water and the rustling of the trees in the night breeze. The solitude brings you a moment of peace.

Inside the privacy of your tent, you begin to undress. Shedding your coat, shirt, and pants, you remain in your undergarments, your body finally relaxing after a long day. You sit down on the edge of your bedroll, running a hand through your hair, letting yourself unwind. The faint sounds of the camp are distant now, just a quiet hum in the background. For the first time all day, you feel like you can breathe.

You sink deeper into the quiet, trying to escape the frustration that still simmers after your run-in with Arthur. His suspicion and brash attitude had only amplified the uncertainty you already felt about your place here. But in this moment, alone in the privacy of your tent, you allow yourself a rare moment of vulnerability.

The day’s exhaustion has left your body aching, and as you lie back on the bedroll in nothing but your undergarments, your mind drifts, seeking comfort in the solitude. The warmth of the lamp glows around you, its light illuminating the canvas tent, casting your shadow against the fabric walls.

Meanwhile, outside Arthur approaches the tent with your journal firmly in his grasp. His steps are quiet, almost hesitant has he nears. From the outside, the soft light from your oil lamp betrays the outline of your figure through the thin material of the tent. He pauses, eyes narrowing as he makes out your shape, it stops him in his tracks.

"What in the hell is she up to?"

As the glow from the lantern outlines your curves, you move with an intensity that betrays the calm facade you usually project. Your guard is down, and in this moment of vulnerability, your form is unmistakable. Your hands roam freely over your body, pressing, squeezing, tugging at the fabric of your undergarments. Even in solitude, you tease yourself, building anticipation for the release that awaits.

Your fingers reach up to hold your breasts, pinching the hardened buds as a loud moan escapes your lips and echoes through the tent. Arthur watches silently from outside, his breath catching as he realizes what's happening. His initial intention of returning the journal completely fades away as he becomes transfixed by the intimacy of the scene unfolding before him. He feels like an intruder but can't bring himself to look away.

Lost in pleasure, you lie back and let your hand trail down to your center, seeking refuge in the coarse hair. Gripping tightly, you insert a single digit into your core and feel a rush of wetness surround it as you sink deeper and deeper. Your breathing quickens and unbeknownst to you, the quiet rhythm of your movements is not confined to the tent. You whimper for more, "ple-please, give it to me. i want more," caving release from the stress that has consumed you since arriving here.

Watching from afar, Arthur feels his primal instincts kick in but fights them off with all his might. His sense of honor wavers as he struggles against his own desires. The tightness of his jeans and gun belt only add to his physical discomfort as he closes his eyes tightly, trying to resist temptation.

Meanwhile, inside the tent, you continue to lose yourself in ecstasy, completely oblivious to anything else in the world. Your moans grow louder and more desperate as your fingers quicken their pace inside of you. The sounds of squelching flesh mixed with your cries fill the night air as you beg for more.

Arthur finally gives in to his conscience and with one last look at the tent, he pulls away and retreats into the darkness. "The hell you doing, you pervert?" he curses himself as he walks away, leaving you to your privacy and pleasure. The intense moment has passed, but the memory lingers in Arthur's mind, igniting a curiosity about what else lies behind that sharp tongue of yours.

A man still had his urges.

Your journal finds its temporary home in Arthur's pocket. The heat of the moment lingers in his chest, an ache he can’t quite shake. His body tenses, and the desire to escape the situation grows stronger with every step. He moves quickly through the camp, intent on retreating to his own quarters and pushing away the thoughts still buzzing in his mind.

But just as he rounds a corner, he spots Dutch leaning against a post, nursing a drink and chatting with one of the gang members. Dutch’s keen eyes lock onto Arthur almost immediately, and before Arthur can disappear, Dutch calls out.

“Arthur!” Dutch’s voice cuts through the campfire chatter. “Where’d our new friend wander off to?”

Arthur stiffens, his eyes darting briefly before he forces himself to face Dutch. “She, uh… she’s at her tent,” Arthur mutters, his tone gruff as he shifts his weight awkwardly. Hands firmly grasp his gun belt and a satchel that once sat on the side of his hip is awkwardly placed at the center of his core, disguising what throbbed underneath.

Dutch raises an eyebrow, clearly sensing something off. “You sure about that? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or… something else.” There’s a smirk tugging at the corner of Dutch’s mouth, amused by Arthur’s discomfort.

Arthur avoids eye contact, the urge he’s trying to suppress making it difficult to keep his composure. “Ain’t nothin’. Just tired, Dutch. Been a long day.”

Dutch takes a swig of his drink, watching Arthur closely, clearly enjoying the rare sight of Arthur flustered. “Right, right. Well, if you see her, let her know she’s always welcome to sit by the fire.”

Arthur grunts, eager to end the conversation. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Dutch takes another sip and, with a knowing chuckle, waves him off. “Get some rest, Arthur. You look like you need it.”

Without another word, Arthur quickly shoos Dutch away with a curt nod and makes a beeline for his tent. The moment Dutch turns his attention back to the campfire, Arthur lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his footsteps quickening.

Finally reaching the safety of his own tent, a shaky hand, Arthur pushes through the canvas flap. He collapse onto his cot with heavy breaths. Images rush through his mind like a raging river - your body outlined in flickering light, the softness of your movements, and the burning desire that he can't seem to shake.

He lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling with shallow breaths as he replays the memory over and over again. His fists clench at his sides, frustration and longing coursing through him. It's been too long since anything has affected him this deeply.

As someone no stranger to temptation, Arthur knows the pull of the flesh all too well. But this moment with you felt different - more intimate, more real. The vulnerability he saw in you makes it impossible for him to simply brush off the encounter.

Running a hand through his hair in frustration, he tries to push the thoughts away, but they cling to him like thorns. The tension in his body only grows, refusing to let go even in the quiet of the night.

"Damn it," he mutters under his breath, rolling onto his side in an attempt to distract himself. But it's no use - your silhouette, bathed in lamplight, is burned into his mind.

Sitting up abruptly, Arthur grips the ends of his cot tightly as he stares at the ground beneath him. He lets out a frustrated sigh and runs a hand over his face, trying to rub away the persistent thoughts. But they only intensify in the darkness of his tent, driving him to take action.

Without hesitation, he untucks his flannel and removes his gunbelt before freeing himself from his trousers. His arousal is already evident as his length throbs against his palm. Unlike you, who sought relaxation in these moments alone, Arthur seeks indulgence.

Spitting into his palm for lubrication, he grips his cock tightly and sinks his weight onto the cot, groaning at the sensation. His ankles are freed from his trousers as he spreads his legs wider, giving himself more room to move. With each stroke of his hand, he can feel the tension slowly dissipating, replaced by a raw need for pleasure.

His hand moves with urgency and desperation, his thumb frequently visits the tip of his cock gathering the liquid before slipping it down his length. The sounds of your pleasure entertain his memory, your gentle pleas for pleasure make him whimper, "take it, woman. t-take it all." He feels like a fool but he can't suppress the praises he's eager to provide, "like a g-good girl."

His moans were deep and gravelly, resonating with the same desperate desire that you had been yearning for. As he released his essence into his palm, the sticky substance leaked between his fingers. He caught his breath with his eyes tightly shut, murmuring a curse under his breath, "damn woman." Somehow, this was all your fault.

Arthur reached for a handkerchief to clean himself off, wiping away the evidence of his passion. He adjusted himself before settling onto his cot with a sense of contentment, ready to spend the evening in peaceful slumber. The quiet rustle of the sheets echoed through the room as he settled in, still feeling the lingering effects of your intense encounter.

NEXT CHAPTER.

[blackleatherjacketz]

Shadow and Sin: Chapter 1

Klaus Mikaelson x Female Reader

Summary: Having just recently moved to New Orleans, you get intimately acquainted with both Mikaelson brothers, but don't find out who they truly are until it's too late.

This Chapter: Your art is finally put on display at a local gallery, and Klaus has a vested interest in it.

Warnings: Klaus Being Klaus, No Personal Space, Alcohol, Flirting, Almost Kisses, Art Interpretation, Dark Themes

Word Count: 1.2k+

Read the rest of the story HERE

Your first art show in New Orleans isn’t nearly as extravagant as you thought it would be, despite the small jazz band in the corner and the free champagne being served at the door. The jubilant music seems to fade off into the distance as you stand just a few feet away from one of your pieces, silently stalking the patrons as they walk by and observe it, muttering amongst themselves. You try to hone in on what they’re saying about your work, about how it makes them feel, or if they’ve caught onto any messages you’ve hidden in your mixed medium on canvas. So far it’s just been a mixture of silence and solitary comments like “interesting” or “hmm” as the glass of champagne warms to room temperature in your hand.

“Which one’s yours?” A man’s eloquent voice pulls you from your anxious thoughts, forcing you to look over at his delicately handsome face as he walks toward you with a confidence that could rival royalty.

“Huh?” You take a sip of your lukewarm champagne in order to gain some liquid courage to engage with this gorgeous man who seemed to appear out of thin air.

“I’d recognize that look anywhere,” he starts, touching one of the sculptures he clearly wasn’t supposed to. “Will they like it? Will they understand it? But most importantly, will they buy it?”

“That obvious, huh?” You take another sip, letting the bubbles take their time to crinkle your nose as the rest of the carbonation slowly fizzles out.

“Painfully, I’m afraid.” That smirk of his warms into a coy smile as he takes a step toward you, his own glass of champagne nearly empty. “Yours isn’t the landscape with the sailboat, no… those waters look far too calm for you.” He stands next to you and continues to guess, letting his fresh clean scent surround you as hints of a bergamont settle into the air. “Not the still life either, you don’t strike me as someone who focuses on something as mundane as coffee and beignets.” He pauses and looks at you briefly, taking in your features. “No, a work of art from your hands has to contain something different, something much… darker.”

“And what makes you think that?” You chide in return, enjoying this little game he’s created for himself. “Maybe I love coffee and beignets.”

“Well, darling, who doesn’t? But that’s not why you became an artist, now is it?” He raises his eyebrows, giving you a chance to notice the hints of green and gold in his blue eyes.

He was good, you’ll give him that.

“My money’s on the portrait of the faceless woman drenched in blood.” His tone drops to the level of darkness he previously described as he steps behind you, his voice like butter as it melts down each vertebrae of your spine. “It’s beautiful, really; the way you captured the themes of the tortured and macabre while still maintaining an intimate beauty of the feminine experience. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

His change in tambre and location freezes you in place, forcing you to look at your own painting through his eyes as he hovers behind you, making you shiver with the anticipation of his intentions. The fact that you’ve allowed him to get this close so fast makes you wrestle with the idea that you may already desire this stranger based on nothing more than the words he’s chosen to speak with that velvety voice of his. Are you that subject to flattery? That desperate for validation? Longing that deeply for some level of intimate connection? Perhaps you are...

After what seems like an eternity of moral gymnastics, you no longer resist the temptation to turn toward him as he guesses correctly, noting the triumphant look on his face as your lips linger mere inches away from his. You barely notice the still breath that remains inside your lungs, expanding your rib cage for far too long as you stare at his plump lips, taking heed of the single droplet of champagne that rests on them.

“And what makes you such an expert on the feminine experience?” You manage to ask as he allows you to stare at him a little bit longer before answering your question.

“Oh, I’m not. I’m merely a curious third party who’s invested in the local artists that my charitable donations help support.” He confesses with a step back.

“You’re a benefactor?” You don’t mean to sound so judgmental, but he doesn’t exactly look like most of the ancient relics who usually pour money into the city. If you’re being honest, he looks more like one of the musicians you’d find on the street corner playing a cover of ‘Wonderwall’ on guitar for tips.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, love, we come in all shapes and sizes.” He laughs, looking you up and down while the shock of his financial status slowly begins to wear off. “Now, tell me, was I right? Is that your painting?”

“Maybe.” You cross her arms over your chest, trying your best to resist his evident charms. “But you already knew that, being a benefactor and all; that’s cheating.”

“Cheating is such a harsh word. I merely used my astute powers of observation to put two and two together.” He casually places his hand on your shoulder with a gentle squeeze in order to keep you near. “Surely, you can’t fault me for that.”

“I suppose not.” Your heart races at his sudden touch, the gleam in his eyes barely hiding the raging fire behind them. He’s going to be trouble, you can already tell. “Do you flirt like this with every new artist you meet?”

“Just the morbidly disturbed ones that I find deeply enchanting.” His strange compliment is oddly personal, hinting that he might know a little bit more about you than he’s currently letting on.

“You think I’m morbidly disturbed?”

He gives you a knowing look.

“Oh, it’s all over the canvas, love. It doesn’t take an expert to notice the hurried brush strokes in the busy background, the aggression with which you plastered the feminist news clippings together contrasted against the time you took to purposefully pour the viscous, slow drip of blood on it until it’s nearly spilling onto the floor.” He closes the gap between you, his hand now in your hair.

You swallow hard as he fishes around in your psyche for an accurate interpretation of your work, his proximity nearly turning your insides to quicksand as his cologne dizzies you on the spot. Good god, he’s beautiful.

“You know there are other ways of releasing all that pent up rage and aggression… all that passion.” He leans in so that his lips ghost over your cheek as it blushes against his stubble. “Although they aren’t quite as lucrative as this.”

“And what would those be?” You ask coyly, eagerly daring him to show you.

But instead of going in further for a demonstration, he leans back with a satisfied grin, as if he’s already gotten everything he wants from you at that moment. He grabs a pen from a nearby table and takes your hand, writing his phone number on your palm. “Find me when you feel like it gets to be too much, when all those emotions make you feel as if you’re absolutely about to burst.”

[nerves-nebula]

this gonna be a bitchy post lacking in nuance but who cares. im annoyed.

child predators and abusers will use literally whatever is most effective to groom someone, that's kind of the whole fuckin point. pointing out that they can use certain media to groom kids is like pointing out that you can drink liquids. like yea you sure can. you can groom a kid through their interest in sesame street. you can groom a kid with adventure time. you can twist even the most harmless story book with a Nice Upstanding Moral at the end into whatever you want.

when i was in high school I basically fell in love with any teacher that gave me food cuz i was fucking starving and that's a way more effective way to gain my trust than like, idk, sketchy fandom porn. (which i also loved as a kid/teen but I never really talked to people online or in person about it cuz i didnt wanna get adults in trouble!) and if someone online was weird to me back then i just ghosted them cuz i didn't have to exist in meat space with them if they made me uncomfortable.

anyway back to my point: should we ban granola bars cuz they were a way to fast-track the trust of food insecure kids? the way some of y'all talk about abuse, and grooming in specific is so frustrating, like, what are you fuckin talking about. grooming is a series of actions a person chooses to take to get what they want, it's manipulation, what they use to groom people with is entirely situational and moreover irrelevant.

should we all just sit in 5 x 5 cubes and paint neutral faces on a canvas till we die or should we try to have systems in place to prevent adults from gaining so much control over kids just by being kind of nice to them. and that's not even getting into how censorship literally never works the way you might want it to. it's impossible to create censorship that isn't inherently bigoted and useless because the only people with the power to properly censor are the people with the most power in general. and they do not like the rest of us. and they are also often on the side of abusers, if not abusers themselves!

yall will gives thousands of notes to posts that basically say they want the haze code back cuz you're too dumb and reactionary to think about fucking anything other than "child abuse bad so i guess i agree." then go patting yourselves on the back without having helped a single child.

yall love to feel vindicated more than you care about victims. don't act like anything you do is for the survivors if your focus is always on retribution or censorship against the abusers. you don't care about us. you don't remember we even exist half the time. none of you have looked into what actually helps us, none of you internalize our complicated feelings, none of you are willing to ease up on your christian ideas of sex and sexuality unless we explain our entire traumatic backstories to you. and then you say we're broken and need help, as if what we don't really need is for you to back us up or leave us the fuck alone.

none of you care. you just wanna find acceptable targets for your anger so you can feel good about destroying the Bad Person. dont piss me off

[faint-taste-of-almonds]

Honestly, knowing things about sewing and clothing construction is sometimes a curse I wish I wasn't suffering from.

So my textile hobby is embroidery. Right now, I am embroidering a shirt as a gift for a friend. For the shirt, I just needed something simple, plain, and pink - so I went to Target, because that was what was available to me, and somewhere I was pretty sure would have what I was looking for. It did, and I got a plain pink t-shirt for a not-bad price.

Here I am, a week later and almost done with my project, when I randomly glance down at the hem and feel my heart sink into my feet.

because what. the Fuck. is This???

This is one of the worst hems I have ever seen on a commercial garment in my entire life. If a single one of those threads gets cut, the whole bottom of the shirt is unraveling faster than the life of a college student who only just now realized their final was supposed to be a semester-long project. This is the kind of thing I would expect to see for someone who had to hand sew the hem, because I've rarely ever seen vertical hemming outside of handmade clothes. And looking at the inside, I was even more confused.

Because the inside looks normal? So what the hell happened to the outside?? This appears to be a vertical hemming stitch with a ladder back, which I have never seen before in my entire life.

Let's look at two other examples for comparison.

First, we have a normal cotton t-shirt from a few years ago:

This is a 2 needle flat lock stitch (6mm), the type of stitch I would expect to see. You might be able to snag the inside thread on something, but it wouldn't unravel the whole thing, and you'd have to take some seam rippers to get at the outside in any meaningful way.

Now let's look at something older:

This is the inside and outside of a vintage 50s top I bought about a year ago. Notice that there's no visible hem on the outside at all. The bottom is folded up into the inside, where one or two other layers of fabric are located in order to stitch it together. There's a row of single-needle lock stitching close to the bottom of the garment, with another single-needle row and a line of overlocked stitching just to top it all off. The only way this could be more secure is if it attended therapy and achieved self-actualization. This hem isn't going anywhere.

So where does this leave us? Well, it personally leaves me very upset about the state of the clothing industry. Yes, these tops all came at various price points, and have different levels of quality accordingly, but consumers should be able to buy clothes that won't immediately fall apart on them should a stiff breeze happed to blow past. If I had the time or the machinery, I would fix the hem myself, but I don't, and I am genuinely upset to have put hours upon hours of work onto a project with such a shitty canvas. And frankly, a little insulted.

Moral of the story: Check your seams people. You'll thank me when tugging on a single thread doesn't get you arrested for public indecency.

[the-glorious-evolution-fanart]

Question, is it me, or does Universe(2015-2016) Viktor's lore feel kinda of...rushed, in a sense? Like, they didn't read through the lore he had to decide what stays what remains and decided to just, toss it out altogether and toss together all the ideas they had in draft to turn into a cohesive enough story because they didn't know what to do with him when the OG story was tossed in the can in favour of a blank canvas. Just so they could get another champ slotted into the current version of Zaun as soon as possible while fitting into the archetype of of Tech-Priest inspired Cyborg Scientist. Like it feels like they never went through his old lore to figure out what worked, what could be very easily translated into current Zaun, and what elements to drop like the elements strictly related to the Institute of War. To be honest, he's not the only one, I find that some champs' lore was rewritten for the better, like Poppy, while others feel like their rewrites were rushed out as soon as possible in time for the next Season for the new players. If they gave the champs a rewrite at all. Because, I've been reading through both and just, I don't see why they had to change it completely. He could've been so easily kept intact to what he was while sticking around in Zaun as we know it today. He still could've been with the College of Techmaturgy and honestly, I felt that would've added another layer to current day Zaun compared to what we have today by showing that even if they're not on as prestigious a standing as Piltover, Zaun is still a place just as advanced, to the point where it was the place that gave us, pretty one of the most intelligent champs in the game lore wise. If they really wanted a enemies/frenemies dynamic with Jayce they could've just made him, a transfer student of sorts to Piltover Academy while still keeping Viktor with the College. His situation with Blitzcrank could've gone nearly pretty much completely unchanged altogether. He could've remained the same personality wise regardless, I feel that would've helped keep him cohesive across the board. Especially since as of current, it feels like since 2016 if he by some miracle does appear in Riot's content, it's like someone's continuously flicking the light switch between being the typical Evil to Morally Grey Mad Scientist TM to being a Robotic Saint so fast that it's kind of a pain to properly pin down his characterization. That is if he isn't left in the Neglected Champs Bin altogether until the next time Riot remember he exists. To the point that the moment you think you have Universe Viktor's character pinned down, all the sudden they realize a new thing he's in that contradicts what they gave you before they released the thing and now you're left confused again. Sometimes, even within the same timespan as seen with LoR because the Viktor in the comics for Vi and Jayce, doesn't completely feel like the Viktor you even play as. It feels like he's written by completely different people working off a prompt a majority of the time. When, there wasn't a issue with his personality to begin with, and he still would've been compelling, if not more compelling today in a world where mental health and the issues involving the problematic side of Academia is actually more in the forefront today than it was in 2010. It wasn't that he had a problem back then, it's likely more than not that he was just, ahead of his time, and written in a time period where neither topic weren't as talked about because it didn't have a chance to make a wave on the internet yet. Plus it would've made things A LOT better down the line writing him because then he wouldn't have been on such an odd standing that the writers keep flip flopping all over the place writing him.

His goal could've remained the same completely, just with a mild rewrite to write out the Institution and just simply made him a man who wanted to preserve HIS work by doing that work on HIMSELF due to the trauma from Stanwick, before pioneering it to enough of an extent to where he could safely help others. And that a major chunk on why a lot of people have some animosity towards him is because he's just, difficult and kind of intimidating to read for a lot of people, in combination with the rep he gets from the more fanatical Acolytes and the Piltovan side, and that the more antagonistic misassumptions of him spread and got flanderized overtime. When in reality compared to the rumours he's actually just, a decent guy, it's just that he's just going through shit and has a hard time with people a majority of the time. Only that, others have a hard time even approaching him to see that. There was just, so much potential, and so many a solution already that didn't include rewriting the entire character. But I think a major reason to everything is that they took a change that should've been implemented over the long term to begin with and tried to rush it out as soon as possible for the sake of rewriting and expanding on the world building to give us something new and more expansive. Especially once the game became popular and picked up enough steam to go from what was an indie MOBA into a game that all the sudden ended up with some really big shoes to fill. When, I feel in hind sight, they should've taken their time to readapt everyone in such a way that they could've preserved and refined the pre-existing champs overtime, keeping what to the old fans was still familiar and keeping to their original character in one way or another, while still gradually shifting Runeterra into the open world it is today.

I don't know, just, looking at a lot of the oldies, Viktor included, I feel like they're all victim to what is in hindsight, a giant rush job. Especially considering he's one of the champs that got the shortest end of the stick out of a lot of this. I mean, the most love he's got is from Arcane, but Arcane Viktor is the Viktor specific to Arcane's world, and Arcane's version of Runeterra. He is his own separate character isolated to his own story and should honestly for the most part be treated as such, even as far as I'm concerned and that's the rendition that is personally to me, one of my favourite renditions of Viktor. Strictly talking in game Viktor. Riot did him pretty dirty.

Yeah you're right that the 2016. Universe lore reads like the people tasked with "updating" the og 2011. lore didn't truly understand it, nor did they understand the meaning of elements they introduced in the new version.

Like you mentioned, Zaun was left with having nothing in terms of academic institutions, and as consequence the world feels much smaller because the class conflict, from both cities having their own versions, got squeezed into a reductive cliché with Piltover-Zaun where one side has everything and the other one is just a garbage dump. It doesn't help that the current garbage dump (Zaun) was representing east Berlin, eastern and south-eastern Europe, where I live. It reinforces the silent idea in popculture that people from here do not achieve any academic heights. It reinforces the stereotype that Ekko must choose his family and stay in Zaun, thus not having any access to higher education because all of it is in rich Piltover.

But Riot wanted to forcefully thread this class-conflict into every champion from this region, and this was the easiest way to do it - nuke anything Zaun had and leave them with just envy and hunger for what Piltover took from them.

Another problematic element in 2016. Universe lore that has no place being in Viktor's motivations or behaviour, is that "removing free will for their benefit" moment. In 2011. release lore, Viktor (alongside other students) created Blitzcrank, a sentient being with literal artificial free will, and Viktor fought tooth and nail to try and keep credit for his creation. So for starters, it would be antithetical for him to hate free will (he has one himself). Removing free will is not a morally questionable thing to do, it's straight up evil from the perspective of a person you're trying to save, because you're killing what they even are. But clearly the people doing the lore update deemed this appropriate position to plop Viktor into in order to give him something Jayce could oppose, why, I have no idea. Maybe they didn't understand just how downright morally deplorable this is and how it makes Viktor a terrible person, or maybe they indeed wanted him to fully read as a terrible person who begs for sympathy through the unfortunate events that happened in his life. But what unfortunate events? In the 2016. Universe lore, he got expelled exactly due to his own actions, his attempts at removing free will. I'd say that was deserved.

People love the short story with Naph and point to it as proof that Viktor is a good guy, and in principle I agree that a story of this type is fitting. It's the details that make it unsalvageable yet again - he gives a child mind-altering drugs (children have parents or guardians for a reason) and that nullifies any good advice or kindness he showed to the kid. There's also the frankly inexplicably stupid use of... literally rusted tools to do surgery on his own flesh. ??? He would die of infection. Come on.

~~

Arcane Viktor on the other hand has the opposite problem - he's forced into augmenting (whichever form it takes) due to his physical condition, and this is a completely different character motivation. He also (it looks like) doesn't rely on science and technology at all anymore, turning into a traditional mage with metal as simply a conduit/material he uses.

~~

Like you said, the topic of mental health in Academia is now more in the light than it was in 2011, but unfortunately it looks like large corporations still don't deem it "interesting" or "profitable" enough so they replace it with something more often seen. But it's an important topic regardless, and I still like the release lore for a reason.

When Rito was updating lores from 2014. to 2016, it really did look like a rushed job, you may be right.

[cannibalisticdespair]

🔥

Hmmm, no prompt this time.

Claims of immorality without material harm to point to are bullshit and originate in religious thought. Now, this does also include "they have every intent to do material harm and just haven't done it yet", ala Nazis, but the immorality is still coming from the material harm being done. If someone has no intent to do material harm and has not done material harm, you can't justifiably label it immoral. The only "immorality" present is that you don't like it, and that's a fucking stupid barometer of morality. That's why every group that tries to promote some concept must invent some objective universal arbiter of morality who doesn't like it. And when they don't, they just resort to "but it might cause material harm at some point!" And that's even dumber, tbh.

Like, what couldn't cause material harm? Reality is fucking weird. Here's an example:

Tandey, a native of Warwickshire, took part in the First Battle of Ypres in October 1914 and the Battle of the Somme in 1916, where he was wounded in the leg. After being discharged from the hospital, he was transferred to the 9th Battalion in France and was wounded again during the Third Battle of Ypres at Passchendaele in the summer of 1917. From July to October 1918, Tandey served with the 5th Duke of Wellington Regiment; it was during this time that he took part in the successful British capture of Marcoing, for which he earned a Victoria Cross for “conspicuous bravery.” As Tandey later told sources, during the final moments of that battle, as the German troops were in retreat, a wounded German soldier entered Tandey’s line of fire. “I took aim but couldn’t shoot a wounded man,” Tandey remembered, “so I let him go.” The German soldier nodded in thanks, and disappeared. Though sources do not exist to prove the exact whereabouts of Adolf Hitler on that day in 1918, an intriguing link emerged to suggest that he was in fact the soldier Tandey spared. A photograph that appeared in London newspapers of Tandey carrying a wounded soldier at Ypres in 1914 was later portrayed on canvas in a painting by the Italian artist Fortunino Matania glorifying the Allied war effort. As the story goes, when British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain traveled to Germany in 1938 to engage Hitler in a last-ditch effort to avoid another war in Europe, he was taken by the führer to his new country retreat in Bavaria. There, Hitler showed Chamberlain his copy of the Matania painting, commenting, “That’s the man who nearly shot me.” The authenticity of the Tandey-Hitler encounter remains in dispute, though evidence does suggest that Hitler had a reproduction of the Matania painting as early as 1937—a strange acquisition for a man who had been furious and devastated by the German defeat at Allied hands in the Great War. Twice decorated as a soldier, Hitler was temporarily blinded by a mustard gas attack in Belgium in October 1918 and was in a military hospital in Pacewalk, Germany, when he received news of the German surrender. The experiences of battle—first glory and ultimately disillusion and despondence—would color the rest of Hitler’s life and career, as he admitted in 1941, after leading his country into another devastating conflict: “When I returned from the War, I brought back home with me my experiences at the front; out of them I built my National Socialist community.”

So, if you accept this as true, not shooting a wounded man in the back could cause genocide. Should we start shooting the wounded in the back, just on the off chance they end up being Hitler? Reality is fucking weird, you can't predict the outcome of things.

Hey, anyone's abusers ever get stopped from committing suicide before they did that abuse? I mean, yes, obviously, that's just a statistical certainty. So blindly stopping people from committing suicide could lead to someone being abused. Does that make it bad? No. Obviously not! You can't predict what's going to lead to material harm! If someone hasn't done it and is not expressing the intent of doing it, you can't try to preemptively strike on the possibility that it could happen because of a thing, because if you try to actually follow that logic to any conclusion, it completely implodes in a massive ball of fire as you try to weigh whether you might save someone's life only for them to go on to abuse someone later on.

[greenroseunderglass]

This is really interesting for someone who hasn't followed all the media!

However, in true "if you refuse to play nicely with your toys I'm taking them" fashion, I'll be damned if there's not a PRIME Prime universe where WWIII, Eugenics, it all happened, and all the retconning didn't. We didn't get to live there, but it's the original Trekverse where all the original-timeline stories hold sway.

Spock was an only child with a much older half-brother, etc,etc. Modern morals and attitudes aren't immortalized in the space-going future or in other species from other planets.

No, I do not actually care if no one else believes this, or even believes that it matters, except me. It's Star Trek.

The Universe(s) have been our canvas since the '60s thanks to it. It popped the top off a lot of imagination. No reason to stop now. What's one more divergence among friends (where no one has to die horribly because, No, see original justification)?

I'm finding so much to enjoy in the modern Trek world. They just need to accomplish it without retconning decades of settled canon. So have I spoken! 😘

Big List of Universes in Star Trek:

Prime

Where most of Trek takes place. TOS, TNG, DS9, VOY, ENT, DSC, LWD, PRO, PIC, SNW etc. Gets a bit complicated in that the Temporal Wars from Enterprise have explicitly rewritten some events but for the most part it's all one enormous continuity. Just don't ask about the Eugenics Wars

Kelvin

Where the rebooted movies take place, essentially Prime until the day of Jim Kirk's birth, when a Romulan from the Prime future appears and begins wreaking havok, sending events on a familiar but different path with more running and explosions

Mirror

The morally inverted version of the Prime universe. Often the same people in the same place at the same time as Prime except under radically different circumstances. The Kelvin timeline has it's own mirror universe and the Coda books imply they're different sides of the same coin so perhaps every universe has it's mirror. Everyone dresses very slutty and all the women are at the very least bi. Almost as if it was written by men to appeal to teenage boys.

The First Splinter

Where the entire Star Trek novelverse takes place. Essentially Prime up until First Contact, although many events after that tie into ones hundreds of years before so it's all a bit complicated. Hundreds of stories exist here, as varied and amazing and sometimes awful as the TV shows and movies. Erased from history in 2387 but everyone you've loved and read about for years die horrible, horrible deaths first

Megas Tu

Accessed through a portal at the centre of our galaxy, a universe where magic is real and the source of many Earth myths and legends. Lucien is Satan but he's actually a pretty cool guy. Kirk and Spock learned to use magic there.

Parallels

300,000 universes converge, ranging from ones where Worf has a different painting in his quarters to him banging Troi to the Borg having conquered the Federation

Reverse

Black stars on a white void, ships fly backwards, at warp 36, the elderly grow young and live backwards and I'm afraid to ask how this reverse life ends

Second History

From the novel Killing Time. Super gay and angsty. Romulans alter history, leading to Spock being captain and Jim Kirk being a drug addict ensign on the V.S.S. ShiKahr

Renegades

A bootleg version of Star Trek in a fan film universe, altered on day two of filming after the Axanar drama began. It's Star Trek with the serial numbers just barely filed off. The Confederation instead of the Federation, Sector 6 instead of Section 31, Kovok instead of Tuvok, Jemison instead of Uhura, Rigillians instead of Romulans and so on. 2 novels were released which try to differentiate the universes more clearly, and the last Renegades film Ominara re-reboots the whole thing and features an Uhura-ish character and the Star Trek ish sets, but otherwise everything else is different.

Fascistverse

Created by Q to test Jean-Luc and friends in season 2 of Picard, this was along the lines of the Mirror universe but with a divergence point in 2024, if Trump wins the election if Picard's ancestor Renee goes into space or not.

Musical

A crossover with this universe in SNW "Subspace Rhapsody" leads to the quadrant singing uncontrollably, accompanied by music and with full choreography.

[farieshades]

I HAVE MORE QUESTIONS

But from the hannibal fandom this time :)

What do you think about Hannibal Lecter?

Hannibal is an impressive villain and character. On the one hand he is of lithuanian nobility, highly iintelligent, cultured, having reined taste and good manners, deeply offended by rudeness. Then, on the other, he is a cannibalistic serial killer who kills those who exhibit bad manners. 

In the book Red Dragon Will Graham descripes Hannibal as a sociopath, purely because he doesn't have a word for what he is, and outside of the lack of remorse/guilt and the torturing of animals, he has no other criteria for sociopathy. Notably, I think, Will describes him here as a monster "I think of him as one of those pitiful things that are born in hospitals from time to time. They feed it, and keep it warm, but they don't put it on the machines and it dies. Lecter is the same way in his head, but he looks normal and nobody could tell." 

This is later paralleled in The Silence of the Lambs in which Hannibal is called a "pure sociopath/psychopath" (varied from film to book), in which again it is stated by Clarice that "they don't have a name for what he is." 

All media surrounding Hannibal however has a few things in common, namely, he *is brilliant, cultred, and sophisticated*, something that the show shows quite well. NBC's Hannibal is interesting more so, with the base plot based off the Red Dragon, Hannibal is very much the briliant doctor and the darker undertones are just that, undertones, for a long while. 

Bryan Fuller made this comment in a Q&A; "What I love about Mads' approach to the character is that, in our first meeting, he was adamant that he didn't want to do Hopkins or Cox. He talked about the character not so much as 'Hannibal Lecter the cannibal psychiatrist', but as Satan – this fallen angel who's enamoured with mankind and had an affinity for who we are as people, but was definitely not among us – he was other. I thought that was a really cool, interesting approach, because I love science fiction and horror and – not that we'd ever do anything deliberately to suggest this – but having it subtextually play as him being Lucifer felt like a really interesting kink to the series. It was slightly different than anything that's been done before and it also gives it a slightly more epic quality if you watch the show through the prism of, 'This is Satan at work, tempting someone with the apple of their psyche'. It appealed to all of those genre things that get me excited about any sort of entertainment." And it's very true. He's charming, he's interesting, and he can fool the most briliant of detectives right in their face.

As a character, he has everything a villain needs I'd say. You got the tragic backstory which has Nazis because of course it does. You got the morality, how he chooses victims in specific rather than at random and there's usally a clear path to follow how that works if one understands him. You have the story of a man becoming a monster. You have manipulation. Beautiful soup, you know, you got all the right ingredients and you got the perfect canvas... idk I'm mixing metaphors and I'm tired.

[charnelhouse]

Any advice for newbie fic writers? xo

Shit! I had some writing advice somewhere and can’t remember what the hell I tagged it. I thrive on chaos I guess.

1. Don’t overthink posting. It doesn’t have to be brilliant. Just write what you want and put it out there. It takes time to build an audience so don’t fret if the first thing you post doesn’t get much traction.

2. Tag it! Whether it’s din djarin x reader or Frankie morales x Benny miller - tag that shiz (check how other people might tag similar fics) and hopefully it shows up on the dash. I’ll be honest - reader fics and smut get the most attention up front. That’s what I’ve seen/gathered. I don’t think it’s as prominent on ao3 but it is here. It’s unfortunate, but that’s just to say don’t get discouraged if you see other things that might get more notes.

3. Don’t ask another writer to reblog or read your story if you’ve never interacted with them. This site is about give and take. When I started out, I really tried to read all sorts of fics and rec them. I tried to build relationships and I’ve built really amazing ones as a result. Also - if you are going to tag someone who might have a bigger following, dm them about it because half the time it’s easy to miss being mentioned or tagged on your activity page. Again - don’t come at them out of the blue. I really do notice the people who comment on my stuff and leave thoughtful messages and am glad to return the favor if asked. This site only works when people reblog other people.

4. I actually posted my tumblr name at the bottom of each story I posted on ao3 when I was starting out. More exposure.

5. Put warnings in the intro. We are all human and forget shit but it’s helpful to point out the big stuff that may be triggering

6. Add a gif or banner or moodboard. Canva is a great site for this! Images just catch my eye when I’m scrolling.

7. Read More Cut if the text is longer than like 500 words. Please. I won’t reblog a fic that’s incredibly long BC I feel like it’ll piss people off when they’re scrolling and see a wall of text.

8. Have fun. This is free. This is a way to put your thoughts and fantasies out there. It’s a really great outlet for me and I’ve made some incredible friends. Tag me in your fic too!

[antiloreolympus]

10 Anti LO Asks

1. I agree w/ that other anon. Ever character is seems, even its not very good development, has had SOME development at least, meanwhile persephone just hasn't. In many ways, she's actually stagnated or even regressed as a character, which is bad when you think it's going to be four years in March. How is Persephone of 2022 different from how she started in 2018? Truly think about that, because it's not painting a pretty picture at all in terms of writing or basic characterization.

2. You know, sometimes I wish Rachel would just make it clear that Persephone’s desire is to have a romantic connection, get married, have kids, and have a dreamy husband. There’s nothing wrong with this - many women have this desire. But Rachel is trying so hard to lie to us that Persephone has these big goals that isn’t about a traditional marriage setting and like - that’s what is making Persephone anti-feminist. Because she’s not being honest about Persephone’s desires and trying to make her something she’s not. 

3. You know what the overall conflict between Demeter and Persephone is in this story? If ya boil it down to it’s basic elements, this is pretty much what it is -

Demeter: So we’re living in this toxic environment where Goddesses are just used for their bodies and powers - so daughter, I’m going to build you a paradise where you can be safe, be surrounded by Nymph friends that consider you family, and have a huge inheritance so you’ll live comfortably and won’t need to help of some random man.

Persephone: Yea, but I want to get laid. F*** you mom, you’re an abusive narcissist. I’m so lonely without men around!

4. I see an excuse for how inconsistent the character designs are as "thats how styles work!" and like sure? but thats only on canvas? like theyre allowed to change whole characters if they want bc its all indie creators who arent beholden to anyone else, but rachel is working under a company? shes getting merch and printed books, the style HAS to stay consistent or thats a huge show of unprofessional quality! there are characters in lo (including hades) who changed whole colors! that's not good!

5. I hate how lo stans will justify every horrible deed of main characters saying "they are gods and have different morals than people" yet when it comes to bad characters suddenly human morals apply! And we are perfectly fine with murder but slapping someone? Unforgivable. It's pretty convenient for both fans and rs but guess what? Your classism is showing 😒 I don't understand people enjoying rich aristocracy doing horrible things to lower classes. Nymphs and people are much more relatable here

6. Maybe its just me but I think LO kinda fails too bc its so weirdly cut off from anything else? Like the fandom refuses to interact with anything outside of it. There's no hint of crossovers or the like, the fans only focus on it and it only. Even on Webtoons other comics like to reference each other as a fun in-joke, but LO NEVER does that. Even when Rachel was "helping out" Let's Play get published, she only made LO art for it while the other creators made Lets Play art. Like who does that?

7. the fact the fans are obsessed with dehumanizing even persephone down to her body/fertility and if hades willl "still want her" and what she can "give him" is so goddamn gross lmao. like seriously you lot cannot claim to be feminists when you only value persephone off what a man can get out of her. that's disgusting.

8. I have a very stupid question - why (in terms of LO) are the gods worshipped?

Have we canonically seen any reason as to why the mortals view them as gods other than unusual skin color and powers? Have the gods done anything of note that would make them worthy of reverence? What do they offer the mortals in return for worship? It seems like all we've ever seen the gods do is gleefully murder mortals. Are the gods not supposed to act as paragons of society and a means of upholding its values? Are they not there to set an example?

(I would love it if a scholar / someone from the culture could weigh in on this).

What I mean by this is all we've ever seen is the gods do is look down on humans and belittle their worth and kill them. (as Hades somewhat ironically points out during the trial - not even 'sweet, gentle' Persephone seems to care about mortals despite living amongst them for her entire life).

Like maybe this is just me wildly misinterpteting the text but even in the myths didnt the gods have more nuance? Like yeah they could be petty and selfish and pick favorites but didnt they also idk, kinda like humans? They had champions and half-blooded children and the like. (And yes their gods they probably do see themselves as superior) but it seems RS's depiction is basically "the gods are Only mean and spiteful and give zero f*cks about mortals" and I dont know how accurate that is in terms of actual Greek myth / how the gods are portrayed in regards to how they (supposedly) view and value human lives, but do the gods really not care at All? Not even a little bit? They aren't kind or offer humans anything worthwhile it seems (in LO) other than death and fear - and yet they depend on mortals for said worship. In the bleakest of terms wouldn't they want to show the mortals how great things could be if they worship them (by say, gifting the humans with nice things like a good harvest) to hammer home just how bad things can get without them if they (the humans) don't worship them?

Idk if I'm making sense, or if I'm just being stupid but something about the way RS portrays the gods confuses me. Like she seems to also apply human values and characteristics to them and then disregards it because their gods (like why have a courthouse for the gods to publically hold trial? Do the humans see the trial? Do they care?)

Also theres just little inconsistancies (I could be misremembering) - but like most of the human population we see are farmers and apparently they arent as advanced as the gods are in terms of tech - like we've never seen a modern city (the closest thing I can think of is Semeles party or perhaps Psyches house before she lived with Eros?) But the underworld has modern technology like laptops and cars - so what's up with that? Is it another Prometheus situation where the gods have it available to them but they don't want humans to have it? Psyche can't read or write until Eros teaches her - does she know what a cell phone is? Wouldn't that be a large jump for her when she started mingling with the gods?

Thoughts??

From OP: That’s why I think LO should’ve implemented more scenes with the mortals. I get it’s a modern retelling but RS barely shows Ancient Greece. She could do so much more with the mixing of modern and ancient but she doesn’t.

The mortals are kept away from technology though (with Psyche and her sister being the exception) since humans and gods have a different timeline. It was a little odd that Eros even let her sisters up there though since now they know what a modern house looks like but I think RS forgot about that.

9. I saw a nice edit from a LO fan asking for Eros to wear makeup and be "a little femme" and It just made me sad because I see time and time again most of these fans do want the comic to actually be as progressive and diverse as it claims to be yet Rachel constantly shuts that down to make it as status quo and regressive. I kind of hope one of these fans just snaps one day and makes an actually progressive comic instead of hoping Rachel will do it, because if she hasn't by now, she won't now.

10. minthe was literally the only well designed and attractive character and LO just nuked her so were stuck having to look at these same carbon copies of persephone (who is the definition of generic) and lego men hades instead. i hate it here!!

[justkending]

Moral of the Story. Chapter Four.

Summary: Marrying too young out of highschool leads to a naive and failed marriage. Now 10 years later, word comes that the divorce was never actually completed. Bucky and Y/N have to come back together after all this time to settle what wasn’t all those years back. Passive attitudes, miscommunicated endings, and reminiscing of old loves and lives all comes back for the two.

Pairing: Bucky x Y/N

Word Count:

A/N: 

Chapter Four:

Bucky groaned as the alarm blared throughout the room. Rolling over to his side, he threw his head into the pillow. That didn’t stop the beeping like he had hoped, so with a groan he pushed up, smacking the red numbers that screamed at him. He rolled back onto his back and blinked up at the bare ceiling.

Today was the day…

_________________

Y/N couldn’t seem to sleep at all, so she woke up early at 6:30 jumping into the shower. Having the extra time, she took it to have a nice long soak in the hot water. The schedule of the day running through her mind.

The chance of them running into each other was practically at 100%. They had a time frame of 9-10 to get in and sign what they needed. Mr. Murdock said something along the lines that it would take about 30-45 minutes to get everything finalized and copied. 

So yeah… Within an hour frame of needed 30-45 minutes of signing shit and getting multiple copies made, meant Bucky and her would most likely be sitting next to the other as it was done. 

She let out a tired and irritated moan as she finally decided to turn off the water. She had it running for so long, her hands were prunes and the water was becoming lukewarm. The world was telling her to suck it up and move on with the day. 

____________

The car ride there was dreadful. Every stop light just elongated the inevitable meeting. Every turn brought him closer to the terrifying reunion. 

He was running early to begin with, but after hitting traffic from a wreck, he was now running just a few minutes behind. So weaving through the people who didn’t understand New York traffic was his specialty in showing up in time. 

____________

She stopped at the coffee shop by her house before really heading to the attorneys office. The car ride to the place was easy and smooth on her end. From coming from the outskirts of Brooklyn, the inner city traffic was avoided for the most part. So she was there early. She even had a second to sit in her car and drink the latte she had bought. Something about Brooklyn latte’s was 10x better than anything California had.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact they actually had cold weather to pair the hot drink with, whereas where she now lived, the lowest low in temperatures was 70 degrees. 

________________

Getting there with just 3 minutes to spare, Bucky rushed out of the car and walked with a hint of speed to the door that read Nelson and Murdock Law Firm. 

No sign of Y/N yet, but as he walked in, he heard a shout from the street that caused him to turn as soon as he walked in. He didn’t have a second to register what the shout was about as he took two steps in and ran straight into someone’s back. 

“Whoa!” he said, using his hands to brace himself on the mystery person's shoulders, and the other person making the same exclamation. “Oh God, I’m so sor-”

Before he could finish the apology, the women turned showing the face of his matured high-school-sweetheart. 

“Oh,” he let out in a breathy turn. He could tell just from past experience with her, she had a snarky comment on her tongue at the run in, but upon seeing him, the words died on her lips. “Hey.”

She looked great. Like, really great after all these years. Not that she wasn’t a beautiful gal to begin with, but you never know how someone’s going to age. However, she looked almost the same. 

Sure, she had aged some, but just like a nice bottle of the finest wine in all the vineyards of California. Maybe that was her secret given her new home. 

Her Y/H/C hair was styled in loose curls. It was voluminous with a healthy shine to it. She had on an off white, canvas dress that cinched at the waist with buttons going down it. And she had a layered gold necklace going down her chest where the buttons were undone. She looked both professional yet casual at the same time. 

Bucky realized he had been staring when she awkwardly looked around her trying to not pay attention to his analyzing eyes. 

“Hey,” she said, letting out a deep breath. 

She didn’t miss how good he looked either. Even in those facebook pictures that she had found the night before, the ones she found him just as attractive, they didn’t do the real man justice. His hair was just as long as the most recent picture his mother had posted, and he looked more muscular than she ever remembered. The scrubs didn't do his build justice. 

He was wearing a navy blue v-neck tight fitting t-shirt. A brown leather jacket that looked as though it was tailored specifically for him and him alone. And lastly, he had on a pair of jeans that of course, fit in him all the right places. 

There was a very awkward silence as they stood there not knowing what else to say. Neither now looking at the other, but instead looking at every little inanimate object item in the office. 

After what felt like eons of the most tense silence to exist, Bucky was about to speak up again, but was cut off from another person running in late.

“Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry guys,” the voice sighed, out of breath from what they presumed was running to get there on time. “Foggy was supposed to pick me up and we were going to ride together, but he got food poisoning last night, so I had to take the train last minute.”

The man had dark brown hair, a nice suit, and a pair of sunglasses on even though it was overcast today and the sun was barely peeking through the heavy clouds. 

“Foggy?” Y/N asked with a tilt of her head. 

Bucky turned back looking at her with the same question on his mind, but watching the small action of confusion brought him back 10 years. God, it had been so long he had almost forgotten the little mannerisms she had that he found adorable. And damn her for still having that adorable action. 

“Oh, right. Franklin Nelson. My co-attorney,” he nodded. “We’ve been friends since we were in college. Friends call him Foggy.”

“Oh, I see,” Y/N nodded with a kind smile. 

“Anyway, I won’t bore you with my morning chaos. I’m sure you two are ready to get this over with and go on about your day,” he smiled, and pulled a walking stick out from around him as he closed the door. One that neither had realized he had been holding until now. “You two much be James and Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Matthew Murdock.

“It’s nice to meet you Matthew,” Y/N replied sweetly.

“Yes, thank you for helping us out,” Bucky nodded, placing his hands nervously in his pockets. 

“It’s my pleasure. I’m so sorry about everything that you guys are having to fix,” he said apologetically. But I’m sure you guys want to go about your day, so please, right this way,” he motioned to the door that was across from them. 

Bucky and Y/N both shared an impressed look on their faces as they watched him maneuver through the office gracefully. 

They followed close behind him and once they were seated in the chairs in front of the desk, Bucky began to fidget in his spot. Sure the office had been redone and really didn’t look much like it had all those years ago, but the layout was the same. And all it was doing to him was bringing back memories he hated trudging back to the surface. 

He subtly looked over at Y/N and saw her sitting in perfect posture watching Matthew as if if she were to look at him and only him, then she wouldn’t have to face Bucky. 

Why did he expect anything less? Of course she hated him just as much as she had all those years. She was probably dreading this meeting just as much as him. That small speck of hope that maybe they could be somewhat normal and civil upon meeting again after all this time, completely faded at that point. 

“Ok, this really shouldn’t take all that much time since Foggy and I went ahead and wrote up all the things that needed signed and double checked. So we should be able to breeze through all this,” Matthew nodded, bringing up a thick file that looked as though it had tabs on the side organizing them. 

Y/N looked over wondering just how he knew the difference between documents and noticed on each tab, there were bariel markings along them. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, out of all places to live, why New York? It’s got to be hard getting around such a crazy busy city given.. ” Bucky asked, but didn’t finish not sure how to word it. Y/N snapped her head in his direction and smacked his arm. “Ow!” Bucky jumped, sending her raised eyebrows. “What the hell?”

“I’m assuming you’re asking because of this,” Matthew laughed casually as he pointed to his glasses. “Don’t worry. You would be surprised just how often I get asked that.”

“Yeah, it was just a question,” Bucky pouted toward Y/N while rubbing his assaulted arm. The two falling back into their old behaviors rather fast. 

“I wasn’t always blind. I mean I have been for a good chunk of my life, but I’ve lived in New York my whole life as well,” Matthew went on to explain as he moved papers around. “If anything it would be harder for me to get around if I moved any place else. I know this place like the back of my hand.”

“That’s impressive,” Bucky nodded, getting comfortable in his seat. 

“Eh, it’s either learn or get bumped around the sidewalk of a place full of people who don’t give a second glance to anyone who’s in their way,” Matthew shrugged. “Oh, I need to go grab something before we start.”

He maneuvered through the room leaving the door open as he went across the office. Tension filled the air as they were left alone for a second time in the past 5 minutes. 

Y/N was sitting straight forward, her eyes wandering here and there around the meeting room, but careful not to go over to Bucky’s side of the room. He looked down seeing her hands were fiddling in her lap. She was tapping her thumbs together while his leg bounced up and down.

Bucky had opened his mouth to start to say something, but even he wasn’t sure what was about to come out. Lucky for him, Matthew came back in and went back to his seat. 

“Sorry about that. I thought I had it all, but needed to get some pens and one last paper I left on the printer last night.”

“You’re fine,” Y/N said professionally, but kindly. “I have one quick question, if you don’t mind.” Matthew nodded her on with a soft smile. “What exactly happened to Hammer after all this chaos was discovered?”

“Oh, yes. He, uh, he will not be an issue to anyone else to put it lightly. His license was revoked and terminated and he is currently on trial for money laundering and malpractice,” he answered. 

“Serves him right,” Bucky mumbled, and instead of getting a smack to the arm, Y/N nodded in agreement. 

“Ok, if you two are ready, let’s begin,” Matthew smiled before grabbing the first set of papers. 

The two straightened in their seats and the process began.

After a few minutes of just signing, Matthew started to make notes of updated information for the two. 

“Ok, Mrs. Barnes, sorry, Y/N,” he corrected quickly. “What is your line of profession at the moment?”

“I work at Horizon Labs in L.A. It’s a company a friend and I from college started up. I’m a Sustainable-Conscious Financial Advisor for a lot of smaller businesses as well as some bigger ones we recently just became partners with,” she answered. 

“Horizon Labs, huh?” Matthew said with an impressed look. Bucky turned to look at her as she lightly blushed. “I think I listened to a podcast about them. You guys help companies use recycled goods and find energy efficient technology, right?”

“We just redirect them to people who can help them get those resources. It’s practically just connecting the companies that would work great together in helping the environment,” she nodded humbly. 

“That’s amazing,” Matthew smiled. “We need more people and companies like that.”

“Thank you.”

He made note of that on a computer. “I’m assuming with all that, you have to be a little too busy for a second job, right? I don’t need to make note of another?”

“Uh, actually,” she added, Bucky’s already focused eyes on her quirked at her response. “I just invested in a Woman’s shelter with another friend of mine. I haven’t really got to do much with it, but it is a second job as of lately.”

“Wait? Nat?” Bucky caught on.

“Uh, yeah,” she nodded almost shyly. Probably the second time out of this whole meeting that she actually made eye contact with him. “My company works with them in getting some of the resources and items they need for the shelter. I talked with Nat and I invested into it some to help with some with their financial advisements.” 

“Wow, th-that’s,” Bucky faltered. “That sounds like you,” he said with a breathy laugh thinking about how maybe she really hadn’t changed all these years. That being one of the ‘reasons’ they had broken it off, how people change and all. But that’s a story for another time.

Y/N didn’t show a response to his words, but she did take them in. 

“So you run a woman’s home and you run a well-off business that promotes eco-friendly resources for the environment?”

“Well, I don’t run the woman’s home. That’s all my friends doing. I just help where help is asked if I can,” she answered once again humbly. No sense of egotistical pride hinted in her explanations or answers. 

“That’s extremely impressive Y/N,” Matthew gushed some, and Bucky noticed the smallest form of attraction come off the lawyer. He straightened at that. “I’ll make a note of it. And you Mr. Barnes. What is your occupation?”

Bucky relaxed his shoulders and focused back at the issue at hand. Trying to not get jealous of something that wasn’t even his to be jealous of. 

“I’m one of the head occupational therapist at Stark Theracorp,” he answered. Now it was Y/N’s turn to look at him intrigued. “I run the geriatric occupational therapy floor and manage our equipment and employees. ”

“Two very impressive people in the work field from what I’m getting,” Matthew chuckled some as he made the notes. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have to ask about income from the both of you for the record. If you want to write it on a paper and hand it to me you can or if you are comfortable saying it outloud that works too. Either way, I’ll have Foggy add it in later to the finalized papers.”

“Wait, so we aren’t finalizing it today?” Y/N asked, somewhat shocked. 

“Did Foggy not tell you?” Matthew asked. “I thought he reached out to you before this meeting.”

“I don’t believe so,” Y/N shook her head. 

“Well, the reason this one is so quick is because I just need a few signatures and updated notes on you two. After that, I’ll make the altercations for the official papers and I’ll send those to you both on their own to get the final signature. You can either bring them to me here, fax them, or have them sent via mail after you signed off on them.”

“Oh, I see,” Y/N nodded. The look of defeat in her posture and facial expressions.

It hurt Bucky a little seeing her reaction to it. Did she really want to get away from him that bad? Was he that much of a nuisance in her life? I mean, yeah, they were supposed to be divorced 9 years ago, but he didn’t want it then and it still hurt seeing just how much she wanted it now. 

“That’s not an issue is it? I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience,” Matthew apologized. 

“No, no. It’s ok,” she said in reassurance to him. But she let out an almost bitter laugh before she spoke again. “We’ve been married for the past 9 years apparently. What’s a few more days?”

“I guess that’s true,” Matthew laughed with her. 

Bucky rolled his eyes discreetly. He really hated how she was reacting with all this. It wasn’t surprising, but doesn’t mean it hurts any less seeing how badly she wanted out of the situation.  

“Mr. Barnes, are you ok with that?” 

“I’ll survive a few more days, I guess,” he returned just as bitterly as Y/N. The two looked at each other one more time, but this time, anger and annoyance was clear on both of their faces.

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[winter-fox-queen]

Fire Meets Gasoline: It’s Dangerous to Fall in Love

Fire Meet…Chapter 1

It’s Dangerous to Fall In Love

Warnings:  This will be dark.  The main character is female, a librarian, but blank canvas — but she is being stalked and has been trying, very hard, to stay out of an abusive relationship.  So triggers may be abusive relationships (Ezra is a jewel and won’t hurt her) and stalking.  She is doing her best.  I think you will like her.  No smut this chapter, I curse like some people breathe so let’s just assume there’s cursing.  Passing food mention.

This is mostly just set up. Next part, we start to get to the good stuff. I think.

He arrived in town in a beat up truck, like some kind of Wild West fairy tale.  He had a guitar that he liked to tell people he won in a poker match — but really, he got it at a garage sale.  It was one of the few things he kept in the cab, the rest, rain, snow or shine stayed in the back.  None of it was worth much, and he figured, if someone wants to steal his worn out clothes, they can go right ahead.

His name was Ezra, and he had both his arms (despite a very, very vivid dream about his step sister cutting it off the other night) a somewhat useless English Doctorate Degree (he’d been sleeping with the Dean’s wife, he found out and told the Council of Trustees and the President of the University that Ezra was having an inappropriate affaire with his seventeen year old daughter, who, righteously displeased at the whole of the situation went along with the lie— the moral of the story, never fuck around until yhou have tenure), some enemies, some larcenous skills, and the deed to a disreputable looking bowling alley.

Oh, Lord above, was it disreputable looking.  The parking lot was more weeds than asphalt.  The neon sign — The Bowling Green — flickered weirdly and the bowling pin at the end was half hanging off the otherwise featureless brick wall.  “Oh, Uncle, you meant well but I do fear you have done me wrong.”

There was another car in the parking lot, fairly new.  He parked next to it,  close to the door, neither of them worrying over sticking to the non existent parking lines.  He unlocked the peeling green painted door and went down the hall, past the office, past restrooms, to the only part of the place that still looked taken care of — the bowling lanes themselves.

There you were.  His uncle had told him about you — a sweet woman, a little lonely, but nice.  A librarian at the local middle and high schools.  You came in every week day at 3:30 on the dot, checked around the place for problems, then spent a solid hour bowling.

Ezra leaned against the door jamb, taking you in.  Something tugged at him, his heart felt like it was waking up, stretching its arms and looking around for something to love, and there.  There you were.  Beautiful, relaxed in your element, still in your work clothes, your bowling shoes looking well loved but old enough to predate the building.

He turned around and walked back down the hall, opened the green door again, slammed it loudly, then walked back down to the alleys, whistling, jiggling his keys.

You were less relaxed now, as he came into view.  Bowling ball held defensively.  Back straight, eyes wary.

“Hey!”  He calls your name.  “I”m Ezra.  Uncle Mike told me about you…hopefully he returned the favor, without much elaboration upon my past trespasses.”

Slowly, the stiffness eases out, and you lower the ball, smiling a little.  The kind of smile that makes a heart wont to jump right out of its chest, run over, tug on a lady’s pant cuff to see if she’ll pick it up and keep it.

“All he ever said was that you were a good boy…and that you talk an awful lot.”

“I didn’t work myself through college to use one word when seven will do.” He grinned back, and his smile grew when you giggled.

“I like that.  So.  Do you mind if I keep bowling?  I mean…like…”. Uncertainty again.  “I really do like coming in every day, so if I need to pay now, or if it’s not convenient…”

“I wouldn’t dream of changing a thing.  I’m not sure if I am going to open this place up again or not…but it’ll be nice to see the lanes being used.”

“Thank you.”  You said, the sheer relief in your tone striking him odd, but he put it aside.

“Want to play a couple frames before you have to go?”

“Yes!”  You walk over to the screen and clear the previous game, then typed in his name.  “There are some shoes in a plastic box behind the counter…I moved them when I realized that the mice were enjoying chewing on them.”

“I do hate mice.  Bold as brass, they are…”. He found the box and rooted through.  “I have not played…oh, not since I left to get my master’s degree.”

“What did you get your degree in?”

He dropped a pair on the floor, slipped off his well worn in Toms, and shoved his feel into the stiff bowling shoes.  “Poetry.  Almost got into trouble because I didn’t want to specialize…I love it all.  Byron, Neruda, Stephen Crane…the Bard himself.  Why should I deny myself any pleasure?”

“You sound like me,” You say, as you wait for him to choose his ball.  “I hoard books like dragons hoard gold.”

Ezra thinks of the well duct taped plastic bins of books in the back of his truck.  A sliver of the library he’d had once.  “Nothing like being surrounded by books.”

“It’s my retirement plan.  I keep buying books and hoping I’ll live long enough to read them…anyway…you first.  I have to get home before dark, so we can’t play too long.”

“Drat.  And I was hoping to convince you to let me buy you dinner, in thanks for being so kind.”  He releases the ball, the feel slowly coming back to him, winces when it goes right for the gutter.

You blush a little.  Look tempted.  “Some other time, maybe.”

Another gutter, and he gives up the floor to you with a bow.  “Well, the way I’m playing, this is going to be a short game.”

“You’re just rusty.”  You let the ball go, with just a little curve.  Just when he thinks it’s heading for the gutter it curves right and takes out the middle pins.

“Do you like being a school librarian?”

You stop as you reach for your newly returned ball, your side eye and sudden stiffness communicating, loudly, that she was well aware she has not told you where she worked.

“My Uncle told me.  He used to speak often of  you — the old goat was quite fond of you.”

“And I him,” you take your steps, release your ball, and take out the rest of the pins.  “What else did he tell you?”

Little bird, what happened to make you so suspicious?  “That you like bowling because it gives you an outlet after a hard day at work.  That you like the job and the kids but it’s hard.  Lots of stress.”

You nod, as if that makes sense.  As if you are willing yourself to think it is OK.  The rest of the frames go better.  Ezra is more careful, filling the silence with junk about himself, about his Uncle, and you relax, little by little.  You even step a little closer, both of you staring up at the board at the winning score.

“Not bad, you could probably go on the circuit, make money.”

You laugh.  “Go pro?  Not happening.  You are a flatterer.”

“Why flatter when the truth is too good to use?”

You sneak a look at your watch, nod, and start to put things away.

“I’ve got it,”. Ezra says.  “Maybe I’ll play a few more frames, get better in case you ever grant me the honor of allowing me to play you again.”

Another flash of one of those lovely smiles.  “Later, Ezra.”

“Will I see you tomorrow?”  He calls to your retreating back.

“Nope.  Never on a Saturday or Sunday.  But Monday?”  You turn and point.  “Monday, I’ll give you that rematch.  So you have all weekend to get better.”

“Since I am currently utterly abysmal, it will not be hard.”

You laugh and wave and go out the door.  The light is the golden-hour gliding of the sun just going down, you’d have time to get home before dark.

He sighed, and wondered why it was that important.  The town was fairly safe, as far as he knew.

He switched the machines off, and started grabbing his things out of the truck while it was still light.  Time to get his things indoors, and then investigate the horror that was surely to be the upstairs apartment.

***

You made home before nightfall.

Sometimes, you thought, a smart woman might just move out.  Move away from the lonely farm house at the end of a lonely lane.  A place where no one would hear you scream, if someone attacked you.  No neighbors to run to, to beg for help.

You sat there, as the shadows lengthened and the golden sun went down behind the trees, as if it did not want to see what happened next.  You listened as the engine went tick, tick, tick, waiting, breath held.

Then you nodded, once, grabbed your stuff and ran up the steps to the porch.

The door was locked, when you tried it.  Good.  You unlocked it, dropped your stuff in the chair by the door, dead bolted it, then started the circuit.

How did they do it, you wonder.  How did you mother, your grandmother, your aunt all live here, in this old pile that creaked and grumbled, with its millions of niches and shadows and closets that were always left open so you could see inside, see that no one was there.  The cellar with the bar across the door.  The steep stairs with the sharp turn that announced that you were coming to anyone who might care to hear?

You check the bedrooms, the bathroom, then go down the other set of stairs, check that the bar is on the kitchen door, then go and lay the thick beam of wood in the hangers on either side of the front door.  Never bar the door until the house was clear.  Now you could use the bathroom, take your stuff to the office.  Turn on the TV so the white noise would cover the incidental creaks and groans and animal scrapings on this old solitary house.  The sounds that meant nothing but would drive you crazy.

You’re contemplating dinner when the phone rings.  You were half expecting it, but you still jump out of your skin.  It’s the old landline, which you have to keep to have internet — and the ring is loud and harsh.

“Hello?”

“You’re home.  Good.  I thought you were running a little late today.”

“Principle Micheals.”

“Sweetheart.  Is that anyway to address me?  It’s after hours…you know what I want you to call me.”  His voice is affable, but there’s this little hidden bite.  You remember his hand around your throat, pressed right against this wall, and you shake.

“I know what you want.”  You try to strip all emotion from your words.  “But you know the school board…”

“Funny thing about that.  I found out exactly who put forward that motion, that a principal can’t date his subordinate.”  The last word is stressed, made insulting.  “Your predecessor — Mrs. Whitcomb.  Aren’t you shocked that someone you thought was your friend would deny you the happiness of being with your one true love?”

You wanted to argue the one true love bit, but it would not…no.  That was never good, or helpful.  Instead, you said into the waiting silence, “I am sure she means well.”

You did not tell the truth, that you went to her, begged for her help, and this was the best the two of you could come up with.

“Can you leave?”  Mrs Witcomb asked.  She already knew the answer…she was the librarian when you were a student.  Your friend, book supplier, hero…she knew you could not leave the house.

“…In any case, she won’t be on the board much longer.  Maybe we can ge them to revisit that stupid rule, yeah?”

You are paralyzed.  What to say?  What to say?

“It’s rude not to answer, sweetheart.”

“I think.  I think.  She’s right, that a man in your position of power should not be dating someone under him.  If it went…bad, if things went wrong it could be very miserable.”

“You think things would go bad, honey?”  His words, again, were velvet wrapped around a razor blade.  If you grabbed them, the razor would slice right through and cut you open.

You hear the crunch of gravel.  “Someone’s outside.”

“Oh, that’s just my little brother, Al.  Go ahead and wave to him, so he knows you’re alright.”

“I have to hang up, ok?  The cord can’t reach.”

“I know that.”  A smack of impatience.

You hang up without a word.  You know you will probably pay for that later.

You walk up to the window by the front door.  A black and white unit is parked next to your car.  You wave, then mime that you’re on the phone.  The young man…plain, bland, doughy faced…nods once, and backs out.

Things are going to get so much worse, if that kid gets elected sheriff.  But the Sheriff — another Whitcomb, but this one was the ex-librarian’s cousin — was popular, and you think, you hope, you have another couple of years.

You should go.  Leave.  Burn the place down and never look back.  But there are bills — so many bills — and the fact you own your home is the only source of security you have.

“Eat.”  You say to the echoing house, too large and too small at the same time.  “You have to eat.”

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[vaalthus]

Remthalas Theory/Sort of Analysis: The All-Seeing Idiot God, The Dreaming Chaos, The Path of Omniscience. Oh and like potential Lore Spoilers maybe.

With the conclusion of the Reckoning War, and having bared witnessed to Remthalas’ actions, I believe we have a better idea of what our aquatic Dreamfarer desires and intends not only for themselves but for the inhabitants of Lore as well.

We already know that Remthalas believes that the only way to achieve freedom, to dream, is to not be shackled. To not live out the dreams or whims of others. Unfortunately, this boils down to the lesson Remthalas got out of the idea is that people should not tie themselves down by basic laws or morals people tend to follow. Otherwise, the endless possibilities provided by true freedom are not possible.

This a concept that he has clearly taken to his very core given how angrily or impulsively he’ll react should he feel someone is ordering him around or someone else shirking their freedom in his point of view as demonstrated when he rebuked Notha twice for commanding him and when he killed Mr. Nameless/Twinkles.

So that’s it then, right? Remthalas is just an anarchist drunk on freedom? Wanting all of Lore to break their shackles and live out their own dreams never minding once of those around them, right? Well yes, but there is I think a bit more going on here.

I found a few things concerning about Remthalas in our fight with either Notha or Uaanta. One, is that he found the Avatars more interesting in their reduced orb state. Secondly, he didn’t appear to want to destroy them. Thirdly, is that regardless of who we chose to side with, Rem finds us interesting either way. Fourth, and most concerning is that he only found Uaanta truly fascinating if she merged with the Avatars. Lastly, and most revealing was his desire to see all the events unfold regardless of what the outcome was and then simply bounce when a conclusion was reached.

The reason why I find him being able to see Uaanta as a truly fascinating player in this conflict is to be some cause for concern is that being ‘interesting’ to Remthalas seems to, at first, amount to being someone that can bring about his idea of freedom, freedom from the balance the Avatars imposed. Characters like the Hero and I imagine Notha when he first met her and was introduced to her ideology. However, if this is the case, why find Uaanta interesting? She after all plans to shepherd away the very entities responsible for the very concept that resulted in his abandonment and have shackled so many others and their dreams. Why find someone who still intends to be devoted to the Avatars to be a person of interest then? Are they not still choosing to wear their shackles? To ignore their own dreams in the favor of the dreams of others.

 The answer I think is simple. In the end, it was just less about Remthalas serving his ultimate plan and Remthalas wanting a show. Remthalas has always long been aware of our capacity to come out on top over our opponents, including his own fellow members. Why would he suspect there was any possibility we would lose to our dear friend or even Notha? He didn’t because he knew we would win, but how can he enjoy the play if all the actors aren’t putting in effort for their roles. After all, are you satisfied by the just the ending of a movie or the passionate performances that it took to get there?

You see I believe Remthalas revealed what he plans for us and Lore all the way back when we first met in the Ex Somniis Fabula or The Story of Dreams quest. In his introduction, Remthalas posits the question of whether he’d be able to alter reality if the entities only referred to as “They” dreamed instead of just slumbering. With quite the determined, if not a bit demented, expression on his face I might add. There’s also one other feature to this and it’s the fact that Remthalas points out that we’re in his dream, or perhaps more accurately his dream space, and that it’s basically just a blank white box. (There are also the blue glowing circles on his robes that could symbolize having multiple eyes to see which are only visible when he’s in his dream form, but it could also just represent Kathool’s eyes so who knows) This is ultimately his domain and by the looks of it he can bring anyone into it and determine what is experienced within this tiny space. What the viewer sees could amount to anything but what they ultimately stand is just the box, the blank canvas. Here, Remthalas controls reality, what goes on in the ‘bigger picture’ so to speak. Here, Remthalas is as close to a god as anyone else that can control their own dreams.

 What I’m getting at here is that Remthalas doesn’t just want freedom he wants to see possibilities and the process it takes to getting to an outcome. What he wants is to dream and for everyone else to be the actors in his never-ending play of entertainment. To see the big picture change from one point to the other. These are details that I think were touched on when he mentioned that he enjoyed the dreams of children because of their ability to imagine possibilities to fill in gaps left behind by a world they are still very new to. Or when he appeared genuinely disheartened at the idea that he was not at rest. Or when he finds dreams to be not interesting enough when pointing out that Voyna can only ever dream of dragons due to her trauma with them. Or even when we fought him in the dream to save Sally and he noted that our dream was “Fierce, but one dimensional” Or the rather basic nature, in comparison to whatever else he wanted to show us, of Notha’s backstory and memories.

 What he wants is for Lore to be his dream. To fit all of existence in that little box of his and to watch things go wild. Which is why I called him ‘Idiot God’ because if true then Remthalas is basically trying to become Azathoth, the Blind-Idiot God from the Lovecraftian Mythos who created the entire universe in that series by simply dreaming, and who will kill it if he ever wakes up. A character/concept I still believe was being referenced when Remthalas asked what would happen if “they” woke up and questioned if the world would stop existing if “they” did. However, unlike Azathoth, Remthalas intends to be aware of all that happens when he finally dreams.

Azathoth is not the only eldritch god that Rem appears to share similarities with and to be honest it the one that makes him perhaps the most untrustworthy. The god I’m referring to of course is Nyarlathotep: The Crawling Chaos, The Dweller in Darkness, The Haunter of the Dark. These are just a few titles of Nyarlathotep, but I believe they would fit Remthalas for the similarities they share with the Outer God. For one thing is how both Remthalas and Nyarlathotep communicate through dreams to any of their unaware victims and pass on information that might shatter their world view. Furthermore, much like Nyarlathotep, Remthalas seems take more enjoyment in the dreams of others being messed with in a way that is typically nightmarish in nature. The most important similarity here of course is that both entities are more driven by spreading chaos and madness through people as opposed to their utter annihilation like other eldritch gods such as Cthulu. The reason for this is because in the case of both characters, I believe in Rem’s case anyway, their enemies isn’t so much other people but rather boredom, in addition to their own stagnation.

An interesting contrast I just thought about between them however is how Nyarlathotep and Remthalas spread chaos. As mentioned, Nyarlathotep does so through dreams by revealing, in typical Lovecraftian cosmic horror fashion, how utterly pointless the lives of his victims are in the face of the sheer overwhelming forces at play in the infinite and unknown universe and how they should just succumb to madness and/or become one of his followers, to amuse himself. Remthalas kind of does something similar when he suggests that morals and the lives people are currently living don’t hold much weight in the face of the grander schemes and roles of the Avatars. 

However, unlike Nyarla, Remthalas would do this so that others cast off their rules, still to amuse himself with the chaos that would thrive from that but in his view, they’d be getting something out of it. A sort of “You and everything you’ve known don’t matter so succumb to despair and madness and entertain me” vs “You and everything you’ve known don’t really matter so do what you want and entertain me” Chaos vs Chaos but different philosophies on how to get it.

The connections that can be drawn to other well known eldritch entities does make me wonder if when we see Remthalas next he might be trying to elevate his power on the material plane to that of the Primordials (Kathool, Uthuluc (probably not Uthuluc out of all of them to be honest), The Witness, Sciuridaehotep, the latter of which is just a Nyarlathotep reference) or is somehow going to get them involved in some way when his plans really start to get under way. If he does somehow involve Kathool in what he intends to pull off I imagine we might see Aquella again given that she’s supposed to overwatch his bedtime and I think it would fit to have a water take on another that was devoted to Kathool. I’d suspect she, or potentially another water elf, could reveal more of in-depth info on Remthalas’ servitude to the Avatars and later Kathool.

This brings us to the question of course of how exactly Rem plans to pull this all off. Obviously, we fit into those plans. However, with what just happened with the Avatars now being out of the picture and Myalos also being out of commission, what’s the next step? Where does he take us from there? The answer goes back to those “They” entities being referenced. Remthalas has brought them up, but he wasn’t the only one I believe. Celeritas mentioned them once when Sinnoncence made his move. I believe, I’m certain, that our dear Big Daddy named dropped them for us a long time ago. 

The one and only Aequilibria, the true gods of existence who are said to be slumbering even now. How Remthalas intends on exerting power over these beings is unknowable, but it would appear the best time to do so before they awake once more.

Which brings us to the Hero and the interest Rem has taken in them. It is clear the main reason that Remthalas has taken an interest in us is because of how capable we were in comparison to Uaanta at the time he was scouting us both out. We are an invested tool…and yet. I cannot help but wonder if Remthalas continued engrossment of us isn’t just because he knows we’ll be useful to his plans but also because Remthalas is straight up looking for a plus one when his plan would be theoretically completed. He did offer us to see where the currents of existence could take us.

  After all, why look at and enjoy multiple paintings in a vacuum or go to the movies by yourself when you can have someone watch it all with you. Then again, as I mentioned earlier, he could simply be viewing us as just another tool to pull off his plans and that is join the others later once everything falls in place

All of what I stated is more speculation than anything but if any of it’s true then we are in for a ride.

[the-desolated-quill]

WandaVision: ‘Subverting’ Good Television - Quill’s Scribbles

(Spoilers for the first five episodes)

Hey everyone! Well... it’s been a while, hasn’t it? The last time I wrote a proper review or Scribble, people still thought the COVID crisis would be over within a month. The poor saps. But I thought that as a special way to mark this year’s Valentines Day, we could take a closer look at the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s shittiest power couple in their new Disney+ show WandaVision.

The first of many MCU spin-off shows that nobody asked for, broadcast exclusively on Disney’s totally unnecessary streaming platform, WandaVision is about everybody’s favourite whitewashed Nazi experiment and her red sexbot boyfriend as they try to fit into a suburban sitcom neighbourhood without arousing suspicion.

Yes, you read that correctly. The MCU has a sitcom now. My life is now complete.

Sarcasm aside, I was legitimately curious about WandaVision because of its unusual setting. And considering one of my most common criticisms of the MCU is its total lack of creativity, anything that’s even a little bit subversive is bound to attract my attention. Of course ‘subversive’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘good.’ I could hand you a canvas smeared with my own shit and call it subversive. That doesn’t necessarily make it good art. And that’s exactly what WandaVision is. A canvas smeared with shit.

So lets split this critical analysis/review/angry bitter rant into two distinct chapters. The first focusing on the plot and setting, and the second focusing on the characters. Okay? Okay.

Chapter 1: Bewitched

Critics seem to be utterly enamoured with the whole sitcom gimmick, and it is a gimmick. As far as I can tell from the episodes I’ve seen, the sitcom setting serves no real purpose whatsoever other than to make the show ‘quirky.’ Which I wouldn’t mind, believe it or not, if the show was actually funny. There’s just one problem. It’s not.

Now in some ways describing why a sitcom doesn’t work is often futile because comedy is largely subjective. What I find funny, you won’t necessarily find funny and vice versa. With WandaVision, however, I won’t have that problem. I can demonstrate to you precisely why WandaVision, objectively, isn’t funny. And it all comes down to one simple thing. The stakes. Or rather the complete and total absence of stakes.

The show makes it very clear from the beginning that none of what we’re seeing is real. The cheesy theme song, the era appropriate special effects (mostly. It’s actually very inconsistent), the joke commercials, and, in the case of the first two episodes, which are in black and white, the appearance of red lights and objects in Scarlet Witch’s general vicinity. (Gee, what a mystery this is).

Basically Wanda has brought Vision back from the dead and created this sitcom world for them to inhabit. I’ll explain the stupidity of this in Chapter 2. The point is none of this is real, and that has a negative effect on the comedy because the very nature of comedy is suffering. Take the plot of the first episode. Wanda and Vision have to prepare a dinner to impress Vision’s boss. If they fail, Vision could lose his job and the couple could be exposed as superheroes. If this were a normal sitcom, it would work. The stakes are clear and it would be satisfying to see the two struggle and overcome the odds. But here, we know it’s not real. If it’s not real, it means there’s no stakes. If there’s no stakes, it means there’s no suffering. If there’s no suffering, there’s no comedy.

It would be one thing if the unfunny sitcom stuff lasted for like the first ten minutes or so before making way for the actual plot, but it doesn’t. Oh no. It doesn’t even last for the first episode. Out of the five episodes I’ve watched, four of them are almost entirely about these unfunny, objectively flawed sitcom homages, each set in a different time period. The fifties, the sixties, and so on. And what’s worse is that nothing that happens in them is plot-relevant. That gets relegated to the last five minutes of an episode. So you’re forced to sit through twenty five minutes of boring slapstick and puns in order to catch even a whiff of actual story. Which begs the question... who is this for exactly? It can’t be entertaining to Marvel fans, who have to slog through all this pointless shit so they can figure out what the fuck is going on. Comedy fans may get a kick out of the sitcom pastiche at first, but after four episodes, surely the joke would wear thin. So why is it in here? Clearly someone in the writer’s room absolutely fell in love with the idea of doing a Marvel sitcom, but nobody put in any time or effort to figure out how it would work in context.

I cannot stress enough how bad the plotting of this series is. As I said, the vast majority of a thirty minute episode is about shitty sitcom plots that aren’t funny and don’t have any impact on the story, only to then tease you with a crumb of actual plot in order to keep you coming back for the next instalment. Admittedly it’s an effective strategy. I was more than ready to quit after Episode 2 until that beekeeper showed up out of the sewer (don’t ask. It’s not important). WandaVision essentially follows the Steven Moffat school of bad writing. String your audience along with the promise that things might get more interesting later on and that all the bullshit that came before will retroactively make sense by the end. Except, as demonstrated with BBC’s Sherlock, that doesn’t work. And even if it did, it wouldn’t justify wasting the audience’s fucking time. And that’s what the majority of WandaVision is. A waste of time.

The only episode that doesn’t follow the sitcom format is the fourth episode. Instead it basically exists to explain all the shit that happened before. The shit that the audience, frankly, are smart enough to figure out for themselves. Wanda created the sitcom world as a way of coping with the loss of Vision, blah, blah, blah. Yeah, we got it. Thanks. It doesn’t advance the plot or anything. It’s just a massive info-dump. But by far the lowest point was when Darcy (by far the most annoying character in the first Thor film and is just as obnoxious here) was sat in front of the TV, watching the sitcom and asking the same questions we were. Not even attempting to look for answers. Just reiterating what the audience is thinking. Like this is an episode of fucking Gogglebox.

In the end it becomes apparent why the series is structured the way that it is. It’s to hoodwink people into subscribing to Disney’s stupid streaming service. If you think about it, there was no reason for WandaVision to be a TV series other than to lure gullible fans in with a piece-meal story buried in a mountain of crap. This isn’t a TV show. It’s what is cynically known in the world of big business executives as ‘content.’ They’re not interested in entertaining the audience. Instead they crave ‘engagement’, which isn’t the same thing. Watching WandaVision is like staring into the void, waiting for something to happen, while Disney charge you for the privilege.

Chapter 2: I Love Lucy

So the plot sucks balls. What about the characters? Surely if Wanda and Vision are likeable at least, it’ll give us something to cling onto.

Well as I was watching the first episode, it suddenly hit me that I couldn’t remember anything that happened to them in previous films. I knew Vision died, but other than that, I couldn’t tell you significant plot details or their personalities or anything. Not a great start.

See, up until now, Vision and Scarlet Witch have been little more than background characters. So already there’s an uphill struggle to get us invested in their relationship, especially considering we haven’t actually seen that relationship develop. In Avengers: Age Of Ultron, Scarlet Witch is killing people because she’s pissed off about Tony Stark killing people (you work that one out) until all of a sudden she stops and joins the good guys because the script said so. Vision meanwhile is introduced as a convenient deus ex machina to beat Ultron and gets no real personality other than he’s a robot. Captain America: Civil War comes the closest to giving Wanda a story and personality of her own as it’s her actions that cause the Sokovia Accords to come into effect, but she never gets any real growth or payoff as the film is heavily focused on Cap and Iron Man’s penis measuring contest. And as for Vision, all he does in the film is accidentally cripple War Machine. No real character or arc there as such. And then we have Avengers: Infinity War, where Wanda and Vision are now sporadically in love and on the run until that pesky Josh Brolin, looking like a CGI cross between Joss Whedon and a grumpy grape, comes along and rips out Vision’s Infinity Stone to power up his golden glove of doom, and the film treats this like a tragic moment, except... it isn’t. Because we haven’t really had the time to properly get to know these characters and see their romance blossom. So instead it just comes off as hollow and forced.

WandaVision has the exact same problem. Apparently Wanda was so distraught about Vision’s death that she broke into a SWORD base, stole his corpse, brought it back from the dead... somehow, and then enslaved an entire town of people to create an idyllic lifestyle for her and her hubby while broadcasting it as a sitcom to the outside world... for some reason. Putting aside the dubious morality of it all, it’s impossible to really sympathise with Wanda or her supposed grief because we’ve barely spent any time with her. Had the Marvel movies taken the time to properly explore the characters and show us their relationship grow and develop, this might have had more emotional resonance. But no, it just happens. In one film they barely speak to each other and in the next they’re a couple. No effort to explore how they feel about each other or any of the problems that may arise trying to date a robot. It just happens and we’re just supposed to care. Well I’m sorry, but I don’t care. You’re going to have to try a little bit harder than that I’m afraid. What’s worse is that, thanks to the whole fake sitcom thing, it’s impossible to really become invested in Wanda and her plight because the show has to constantly keep us at arms length at all times in order to keep up the pretence that this bullshit is somehow mysterious.

Looking through the WandaVision tag, it amuses me how many people say that she’s acting out of character. And yeah, her actions are a bit of a head scratcher. Why would an Eastern European’s ideal life be an American sitcom? Why a sitcom? Why kidnap an entire town? Why keep changing the decade? None of it makes sense, but you’re wrong for thinking that Wanda is behaving out of character for the simple reason that Wanda has never actually had a character. In fact, ironically, Wanda mind controlling an entire town and forcing them to do her bidding is probably the one consistent thing about her as she did this in Age Of Ultron. In interviews, Elizabeth Olsen and Paul Bettany described how they used actors like Elizabeth Montgomery and Dick Van Dyke as influences, which is really funny because they’re straight up admitting they don’t have characters and even now they’re still not playing the characters, instead emulating the work of far better actors.

As I was watching the show, it became abundantly clear that not only do Marvel not have the faintest idea what they wanted to do with these characters, but they also straight up don’t give a shit about these characters. Wanda in particular has had a rough time under the tyrannical regime of the House of Mouse. First they cast Elizabeth Olsen, a white woman, to play a Romani character, then systematically erasing her Jewish roots, even going so far as to put a cross in her bedroom in Civil War, and now the character is being butchered even more by forcing her into an American sitcom housewife role that she apparently willingly chose for herself, which is laughable. I mean say what you like about Magneto in the X-Men films, at least they actually depicted his Jewish culture. At least they recognised his Jewish background was important (though not important enough to cast a Jewish actor apparently). Wanda’s steady cultural erasure over the years is incredibly insidious and judging by Olsen’s comments in interviews, where she called Wanda’s comic book outfit a quote ‘gypsy thing’ unquote, it seems nobody has an ounce of fucking respect for the character or the culture she’s supposed to be representing. (and to all those kissing her arse saying it was a slip of the tongue, she has been repeatedly called out for using the slur in the past, so at this point I’d describe her behaviour as wilful ignorance)

If you want further proof of how much Marvel doesn’t seem to care about Wanda, look no further than her brother Pietro, aka Quicksilver. At the end of Episode 5, Wanda brings Pietro back from the dead, except it’s not Pietro. It’s Peter Maximoff, the Quicksilver from the X-Men films played by Peter Evans, who coincidentally is not Jewish or Romani either. So Quicksilver has the dubious honour of not only being whitewashed three times, but also twice within the same franchise. But should we really be surprised at this point? It’s Marvel after all. The same company that whitewashed the Ancient One in Doctor Yellowface and claimed it wasn’t racist because Tilda Swinton is ‘Celtic’. But now I’m going off topic. My point is that this isn’t a simple case of recasting an actor like Mark Ruffalo replacing Edward Norton as the Hulk. WandaVision actually acknowledges the recast in-universe, which makes no sense. Why would Wanda bring back her brother, only to make him look like a different person? We the audience may be familiar with this version of Quicksilver, but she isn’t. That would be like me bringing my Grandad back to life and making him look like Ian McKellen. He’d be perfectly charming, I’m sure, but he wouldn’t be my Grandad. 

If Marvel really cared about the characters or narrative consistency, they would have brought Aaron Taylor Johnson back. Instead, now they have absorbed 20th Century Fox into the hellish Disney abyss, they use X-Men’s Quicksilver as a means to keep viewers from switching off and so that people will write stupid articles and think pieces about whether the rest of the X-Men will show up in the MCU. It’s like dangling your keys in front of a toddler’s face to distract them from the rotting corpse of a raccoon lying face down in the corner of the room.

And it’s here where I decided to stop watching the show because fuck Disney.

Epilogue: One Foot In The Grave

You know, I am sick and tired of the so called ‘professional’ critics bending over backwards to praise these god awful films and shows when it’s so clear to anyone with a functioning brain cell how bad they truly are. WandaVision is without a doubt one of the most cynically produced and poorly structured TV shows I’ve ever seen. Its riffs on classic sitcoms are pointless and self-indulgent, the writing is terrible, the characters are unlikable and unsympathetic, and it’s entirely emblematic of what the entire MCU has become of late. And it’s only going to get worse as Disney drowns us with more ‘content’ to keep the plebs ‘engaged’. In short; pathetic.

[ravemey]

Understanding and How to Cope with Stress

A lot of the time, our lives are bombarded by obstacles. Some bringing new challenges to the table which is healthy for a fulfilling life but some may be a little more to deal with that can cause unforeseen troubles like sleeplessness, losing control of any given situation, irritability, and so much more.

Understanding your stressors is one way you could learn how to cope with them in the time it takes for the objective to be met. Think of it like a short term goal with a mountain in the way of you meeting that goal. You have the stress of climbing that mountain but what can make the journey over this mountain easier? Bottled water, rope, good hiking shoes maybe? Finding something to make the journey easier or to take your mind away from how difficult it may seem are good ways of coping with stress until you meet that much deserved prize at the end of the trek.

Some Ways I Found To Help Cope:

I work a very stressful job. One of the smallest mistakes could cost me my job or I could even get hurt doing it if I'm not careful. Sometimes, without meaning to, I bring work home with me and I will sit there and think about the day constantly like a broken record. Wondering how I could've handled a situation better, what words that I should've used. Here are some ways I have learned to cope with stress physically and spiritually.

Write in a Journal - I know this one is a little bit more on the obvious side of the spectrum but something as simple as writing your thoughts about the day in a daily journal or diary helps to relieve pressure from the day's stressors. I think of it as having weights on your chest that you want to get off but don't necessarily want the behaviour that comes from the words spoken to go onto someone else when said aloud. I've found that writing about a stressful day really helps manifest the emotions onto paper so by the time you are done writing all the anger and sadness are now on the paper and out of your body. You'll think about how silly you were in the moment and remember that day is now on the paper and out of your hair. Some days, especially if nothing really happened, you can write a poem about something you felt or write a short story. I personally like to place pictures and scrapbook alongside my writing, the possibilities are endless.

Painting on Canvas - This isn't for most people but for the more artistically inclined I have found that painting on canvas has proven to lift my spirits after a long, hard day. Something about how smoothly the paint (oil or acrylic) glides on the canvas makes it as if the paint brush is a bridge for all my feelings to melt into the paint. Once the paint dries upon the canvas it's like the emotions of that day are locked inside. Could be happy, sad, or angry emotions and you'll remember that the piece of artwork was a product of that emotion now locked away in the past. The moral is to focus on the now and leave the past in the past but in a more materialistic way. Sometimes looking at something helps you remember to leave something where it was.

Creating a Meditation and/or Ritual - On the more spiritual side, there are ways of practicing devotional meditation or rituals. Completely a meditation every day after work, school, or activities is a wonderful way of clearing the mind and getting ready to end the day with much needed rest. I personally practice yoga and breathing exercises as a form of meditation and usually at the end of each session I feel completely relaxed and ready for bed. If you like to spice up your meditation routine with a bit of spirituality, help from deities, use incense to cleanse the negativity from yourself and objects around you you can create a daily ritual to conduct before going to bed. It doesn't have to be a crazy complicated ritual, just something that will help you let loose and forget the daily struggles that have occurred. Say a small prayer or blessing and relax.