#(note to self: no idea when actually conducted)

[tonalwhiplash]

PROJECT EDEN'S GARDEN SPOILERS!

Chapter 1 spoilers

Theory concerning wolfgang's whole deal

Okay so like. His mom's mega dead, right?

"Whoa! Back up! Where the fuck did you get that from?"

Alright sit down, lemme show you something.

Remember the prolouge?

I sure didn't! So I rewatched it!

Take a look.

Wolfgang freaked out over Wenona claiming that Cara was the aggressor, implying her murder was justifiable.

At the time, Damon along with all of us just assumed he was being a lawyer about it and had put himself on the side of the injured party. But I don't think it was that simple.

I think he was having an episode. The only evidence for this in the prologue itself is the in-game acknowledgment that Wolfgang's arguments had shifted to being based on emotion alone. It's literally used for a tutorial!

And he says himself in his FTEs that he doesn't normally conduct himself that way in an actual courtroom. So his freak out wasn't his standard, but he doesn't give a straight answer for why he acted how he did.

But chapter 1 as a whole gave us what was necessary to start connecting some dots.

Have a look.

The blackmail Damon got. The photo of Wolfgang's parents.

Look at his mom.

Now look at Cara.

By no means are they identical, wolfgang's mother has a mole on her face, which Cara lacks, but I want you to note the hair and eye color specifically. Keep it in mind.

Now let's look at the back of the card.

"Like father, like son"

"Beneath a sheep's skin hides a wolfish mind"

The game sorta hands you a part of this. Wolfgang's father did something bad. Something that, allegedly, Wolfgang either has repeated or simply had the capacity to do himself eventually.

So what did Wolfgang's father do?

That much isn't told to us, but from Wolfgang's hallucination induced meltdown, I have an idea.

I think wolfgang's father killed his mother.

Let's get into it.

Starting with his hallucinatory episode.

When Wolfgang initially sees Diana, I think he sees his mother. The way he talks. The way he apologizes to her and calls himself a failure for not being like her. We learn in his FTEs that his mother is the only other lawyer in the family and his sole reason for becoming one himself.

However, when Diana walks over and takes his hand, he switches and becomes angry and violent. Going as far as to attack her with a knife.

I think, when Diana grabbed his hand, either something she said or something she did caused the hallucination to switch from a vision of his mother to the vision of his father.

Suddenly he's no longer sad when he says he's not like the person he thinks he's speaking to. Suddenly he's smiling at the fact he's "not like them." Because he's talking to his father now.

He wants to be like his mother and never wants to be like his father.

The line "bring her back" implies that his father, the person he was hallucinating in Diana's place, took his mother away from him.

And the reason I think that's it, relates back to his smaller scale meltdown during the test trial.

Wolfgang started talking about how it was inexcusable to kill a woman.

Though that could be chalked up to chivalry or what have you, I think there's a much more personal reason as to why he felt so strongly about it.

Because his father's actions were inexcusable.

They weren't self defense.

And witnessing a dead woman who bares resemblance to his late mother be accused of deserving it may have struck a nerve.

The killer for the mock trial had no identity given, making it all the easier for Wolfgang to project his father, or a man like him, onto that blank stand in.

I can paint a scene

Wolfgang in the courtroom as a child, maybe even a witness to the murder, watching as the defense lawyer for his father makes every excuse in the book for him. Claiming that his mother was the aggressor, that she had a weapon, that his father had no choice but to "defend himself" from her attacks.

While, in reality, Wolfgang had seen a very different situation play out. Whether he spoke up and was dismissed for being "too young" or was unable to properly testify due to the traumatic experience that is simply being in a courtroom at all, he was unable to bring his father to justice.

He was unable to do right by his mother.

I think that'd be a pretty good motivator to practically race into law school as a teenager. To become the ultimate lawyer at 22 years old. So he could make up for his previous failures.

I think Wolfgang has been carrying a heavy burden from a very young age. And to return to the "like father like son" comment, I'm willing to call that a misdirection. I think when Wolfgang is implied to have "a wolfish mind beneath sheep's skin" or " being a wolf in sheep's clothing," the actual truth is that he's a deeply emotionally scarred person who has no choice but to force a facade of stability and confidence to push though it all for the sake of those around him and his goals. Basically, he's masking.

So, technically, just like his father, Wolfgang is a mentally troubled man pretending to be okay. And the kidnappers used that misdirection to imply he had sinister intention for pretending just like his father had pretended to be a man his mother could trust. When in reality, their motivations could not be any more different.

Or maybe I'm just being silly. Teehee! 🧡

And a small side note. The word "wolfish" implies intentions other than violence.

Lust, hunger, and greed mostly. Though, I'm willing to sidestep those options cuz Tozu is absolutely the kind of bitch to reword a common phrase to make it sound more flowery only to unintentionally imply some nasty shit.

Wolfgang gives no tells towards being a creep. Not a single Freudian slip left that man's mouth. Not even in FTEs. Grace would have been the killer for chapter 1 if he was like that. They literally shared a bed. And, despite their cute dynamic, if the two had actually done anything canonically, we'd get more obvious tells in the game. Those walls were shown to be pretty damn thin...

There's a bit more under the hood of this theory, but this post is big enough, and all other supporting information requires enough explanation and red string to justify their own posts.

So stay tuned for:

• Further theorizing about wolfgang

• And the possible parallels between wolfgang's hallucinatory episode and Eva's execution

[umlewis]

Lewis Hamilton: I've Struggled With Depression From A Very Early Age

From Formula One glory to making a film with Brad Pitt, at 39, the sports star is more successful than ever. It's been tough, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

Sir Lewis Hamilton is the most successful Formula 1 driver in history, with 105 (at the time of writing) grand prix victories to his name, as well as seven championships and a knighthood in 2021. What makes this achievement even more extraordinary is Hamilton's background. He is the first and only black man to race in F1, a sport dominated by the gilded progeny of wealthy white families. A child of mixed heritage-his father, Anthony, is of Grenadian descent; his mother, Carmen, is a white woman from Birmingham-Hamilton was partly raised on a council estate in Stevenage, his family sacrificing so much to get him to the track. "I am grateful I had that experience. I remember not having any money. I remember the struggle of my parents. I feel that's an advantage," he says. "Did you fight harder on the track because it was so tough for you to get there," I ask. "One thousand per cent," he replies. We are meeting at the Kensington Roof Gardens (Hamilton has a home in London, as well as Monaco, Geneva, Colorado and New York). He is a vision in expensive beige: Maison Margiela slacks, chunky Bottega Veneta boots, a Dries Van Noten cardigan, Dior bracelets, Cartier rings, a pearl necklace he bought online, twinkly little studs, one for each side of his nose, his hands a collage of geometric tattoos. But his love of fashion goes beyond amassing a "dream" wardrobe. He has collaborated with Tommy Hilfiger on several collections and has just been made guest designer at Dior, for whom he has a debut collection coming this autumn, the palette for which was inspired by his travels in Africa, particularly Nigeria. Hamilton agrees it's a busy time for him. At the end of this season he will be moving to Ferrari, after twelve years with Mercedes. "It's been a rollercoaster of emotions from the moment I signed the contract. Telling my boss, that was terrifying. But it's so exciting because I remember as a kid watching Michael. Every driver watches that car and you're like, 'What would it be like to sit in the red cockpit?'" He is a quiet presence, boyish almost, despite his 39 years. He uses euphemisms for swearwords such as "frick" and "shoot." He doesn't drink, is "plant-based," and loves hanging out with his nieces and nephew, playing Uno and Fortnite, chucking them about in the pool on holiday. "I'm really good with the kids," he says, setting aside his oat latte. "With them I feel like I'm able to be the kid that I am."

Hamilton's own childhood was not so carefree. His parents separated when he was two, his father meeting his new wife, Linda, at British Rail, where they both worked. Sundays with his dad were spent watching Formula 1. This was the era of the talismanic Brazilian driver Ayrton Senna, Hamilton's hero. It was during a holiday in Ibiza that he first got in a go-kart. "I was hooked," he says. "The adrenaline, the chaos, trying to control it. You feel it in your chest, your emotions, through your fingers, everything." Hamilton's dad bought him a kart for Christmas when he was eight. "I think he just wanted something to do with me, this kid that had all this energy, that had no fear." He describes himself, back then, as a "Tasmanian devil," a child who didn't enjoy school, who had undiagnosed dyslexia, who was shy - but behind the wheel "something flowed through me. It was the only thing I was confident in." The family began to orientate their existence around Hamilton's racing, his father taking extra jobs, while his stepmum spent all her savings on his new passion. Hamilton won his first race when he was ten. "That was really empowering for me," he says, 'Because I was competing against a lot of wealthier families."

It was also around this time that Senna died, his car crashing into a concrete barrier during the San Marino Grand Prix. "I was with my dad; we were working on the go-kart. I remember going to the front and crying, bawling my eyes out. I couldn't cry in front of my dad. He was not that kind of guy." Hamilton suppressed his grief, in the same way that he suppressed his emotions about the bullying and racism he endured. "There was no escaping it. You experience it at school, in the parks, walking through town. I didn't understand it and my parents never spoke to me about it. They never explained what was going on. My dad was just, 'Keep your head down, hold it in, don't say anything, just beat them on the track, that's all you can do.'" So that was what he did. When Hamilton was thirteen he was offered a place on the McLaren driver development team. His father became his manager, looking after all elements of his career, including finance. "Even when I got to Formula 1, at 22, I had no comprehension of money," he says. Hamilton's first F1 season was in 2007, his first championship win in 2008. But despite all that it gave him, despite his deep love of the sport, of competing, Hamilton found the world of F1 corporate and stifling. There was a requirement to conform, a residual feeling that just one misstep and the opportunities he had been given would be taken away. "It wasn't until I'd had some wins that I started to put my toe out of the box. Each time it was, like, you make one step and that rock's safe, but that next one was wobbly or would fall away. You'd get criticism about how you were presenting yourself. But I kept punching and kept fighting." Racing, like so much competitive sport, can be a lonely business. "You're nice and friendly outside the car," Hamilton says, "but in the car my dad would say you have to be ruthless, aggressive, sharp. In the car there are no friends." He found greater freedom, a sense of belonging and camaraderie, in the fashion world, attending his first show in 2007. "Everyone was wearing what they wanted. You didn't feel like you were being judged because everyone's on their own vibe. It was the first time I got into an environment where everyone was expressing themselves and I loved it."

Hamilton tried to bring some of that creative freedom to his professional life. In 2010 he sacked his father as manager. "Obviously parents try to protect their kids, forever I guess, and some don't want to let go. My dad struggled with that. There was a point when I was like, 'Look, I've done everything you've asked me to do, now let me live my life. I am going to have to make my own mistakes.' That was a really tough process." At the end of the 2012 season he left McLaren for Mercedes. "They gave me a lot more freedom," he says. He became involved in the look of the team, bringing in Hilfiger to help redesign the clothing. "But still if I felt there were wrongdoings, I didn't feel I could speak out." That all changed in 2020, when Hamilton watched a video of the murder of George Floyd by the policeman Derek Chauvin. "The cork popped. It had me on my knees in tears. All this emotion came out. It was such a strange experience because I don't remember crying since I was really young. I knew that I'd had enough, I really needed to speak out. There are people that are staying silent, people that feel voiceless, and I have this platform. Winning championships is an amazing thing, but what are you doing with it? What are you doing with your time on this planet?" These were the questions that Hamilton began asking himself during that pandemic year, which was also when he started meditating. "I would struggle initially to calm my mind, but it's a really great way of getting in touch with myself, my inner feelings, understanding what I want to do." These days he meditates every morning, waking at five, following this with a ten km run, which he sees as an extension of his meditation, a time to have ideas, to clear his mind.

"When I was in my twenties I had some really difficult phases. I mean, I’ve struggled with mental health through my life." What are we talking, I ask. Anxiety, depression? "Depression. From a very early age, when I was, like, thirteen . I think it was the pressure of the racing and struggling at school, the bullying. I had no one to talk to." I ask if he has ever seen a therapist. "I spoke to one woman, years ago, but that wasn't really helpful. I would like to find someone today." He has gone on silent retreats and reads books about mental health, including The 5 Love Languages by Gary Chapman. "You're learning about things that have been passed down to you from your parents, noticing those patterns, how you react to things, how you can change those. So what might have angered me in the past doesn't anger me today. I am so much more refined." The year 2020 was a time of profound personal change. Hamilton took the knee before every race he entered that year. He advocated for change within his industry, initiating the Hamilton Commission to research the underrepresentation of black people in UK motorsport and the STEM sector. Using this information, he launched Mission 44, a charity to help young people around the world overcome social injustice, investing £20 million (he is worth an estimated £350 million) into the project.

He also started moving into other spheres with greater purpose, including fashion and music. He developed a non-alcoholic drink, Almave, and set up a film production company. "I want to be able to tell diverse stories. Film has changed my life. There is so much inspiration I have received," he says. One of his first co-productions is F1, the upcoming movie with Brad Pitt and a more diverse vision of the circuit, including a female technical director. "That was important to me. I lived with my dad, but I was really raised by my two mums and my two sisters. I grew up around a lot of female energy, powerful women. Most of the people on my team are women. The women hold it down." And, of course, there is Pitt playing a driver in his fifties. "That was a tricky part for me," Hamilton says, "because, shoot, of course we want Brad. But I was like, there is no way a 58 year old can compete with a twenty year old. These guys have got nothing going on but to race. And they're fit. So we had to work around this narrative, telling him how much harder he would have to train to get in shape." Hamilton himself is old for an F1 driver, most of whom retire in their thirties. His replacement at Mercedes, the Italian Kimi Antonelli, has only just turned eighteen. You could be his dad, I say, and Hamilton laughs like this hadn't actually occurred to him. "Honestly, right now I feel I'm healthier than I've ever been," he says. "I'm in such a good place, physically and mentally. My reaction times are still quicker than the young guys. I think I'm a better driver than I was at 22. I was just young, energetic and ruthless, but no finesse, no balance. I didn't know how to be a team player, how to be a leader. Being a good racing driver, it's not just about being fast. It's about being the most rounded. When I study the legends, they're spread between small percentages, so it's the whole package. What do they speak for, stand for? That's what I look at. I look to Ayrton Senna and Nelson Mandela, and those are the two people gelled together that I want to be."

Senna used to cross himself before every race. Like him, Hamilton was raised a Catholic. "I pray every time before I race," he says. "I pray that everyone is safe." Motor racing is far less dangerous than it used to be, but people still die. I ask Hamilton if he fears death when he drives. "I don't, no," he says. "But still, we're traveling at crazy speeds. You have to respect it. So that's why I'm conscious of the time I spend with my family, with my mum. Is this the last time I get to hug her? Because you just don't know. Nothing is guaranteed." Hamilton is single, but he would like to have a family. "One day. I wouldn't be able to do what I do to the level that I do it today with that. One of my best friends has just had a kid and I'm seeing how manic it is. And my nieces and nephew are a handful. There will be a time and a place for it, and I can't wait for that part. But right now I have some work to do."

[umgeorge]

George Russell: "The paddock is a high-profile place, and I love expressing my style there"

At 26, the English driver is rejuvenating the podiums of the Mercedes team, while Formula 1 is undergoing its generational change. We met this enthusiast with a mind of steel and the physique of a young star, ambassador of the Tommy Hilfiger brand.

L'OFFICIEL: Legend has it that you dreamed of a podium in Formula 1 from a very young age. Is that correct? George: Yes, that's true. As far back as I can remember I've always had a great interest and even passion for car racing. From the first day I got into a kart as a child, I saw it as my natural habitat! And from the moment I entered the competition, I only ran to win. L'OH: You started karting at the age of eight. How does starting so young impact a runner's mental and physical development? George: Starting early is essential for a future Formula 1 racer. It's a terribly competitive sport. The numbers are against you, but showing resilience, self-confidence and focus allows you to develop your mental and physical skills quickly from a young age. And it's also a unique sport in terms of pace of life. Completing competitions and rankings in championships throughout the year provides valuable experience.

L'OH: Would you say today that reality lives up to your childhood dreams? George: Absolutely. Particularly in recent years, during which Formula 1 has experienced a phenomenal gain in popularity, with an unprecedented number of fans. Seeing these oceans of supporters present at every race on the official calendar provides an incredible feeling. And then finding myself competing alongside the greatest champions in the world, with such an inspiring Mercedes team, I have always dreamed of it; however, winning the Formula 1 world championship remains the ultimate dream, and I will continue to fight to win the title. L'OH: You are part of this new generation of successful drivers, with Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen. How do you explain this public enthusiasm? George: As I said, Formula 1 is an extremely inspiring sport, both on and off the track, through its performances but also its lifestyle. The conditions of immersion, interaction and fan engagement with the teams and drivers make the latter extremely popular. This explains, in my opinion, the success that revolves around it today. L'OH: What's it like to race alongside a legend like Lewis Hamilton? George: It's very special. As teammates we're fighting together to get the team back on pole position on the starting grid, and we have made big steps towards that this year. As drivers, each of us is consistently focused on being the best every race. I think it's fair to say we've had great results on the most recent ones. I hope to do even better on the next ones.

L'OH: What is the next personal challenge in your career? George: In Formula 1 more than in any other sport, if there is no challenge then there is a problem. It's one of the most intense sports, by nature and challenge. Everyone, the teams and the drivers, only thinks about one thing: winning the world championship, and the competition is fierce. Consequently, and this is my opinion, the current challenge is to seek the opportunity to move forward one step in each race, each weekend, at our own pace. It's far from obvious, but you get nothing for nothing. L'OH: How did you become a Tommy Hilfiger brand ambassador? George: Tommy himself is a huge Formula 1 fan, and he's a legend in the paddock! His brand has been a partner of the Mercedes-AMG F1 team since 2019, and he has a knack for merging fashion and motorsport. I also like to change the great classics, and we both immediately got hooked when we talked about them. Today I am part of the family as he makes me feel so good, and my girlfriend Carmen also works alongside him. L'OH: Tell us about your experience with the brand; what you like to wear? George: Almost every race weekend, I arrive dressed in Tommy Hilfiger. The paddock has become over time a very publicized, very visible place, and I love expressing my style there by wearing the latest pieces, with a weakness for all those from the "Tommy X Mercedes-AMG F1 X Clarence Ruth" collection, without forgetting my two must-haves: classic chinos and rugby polo shirts. L'OH: How would you define your style outside the paddocks? George: Contemporary, classic and timeless at the same time. Very Tommy Hilfiger!

[beefrobeefcal]

you are dieter’s new personal chef and you’re supposed to be responsible for making sure he eats fairly well just to maintain his current weight while he shoots a movie… but you can’t help how much you like it when you make him something particularly indulgent and he melts at the taste of your food, spewing compliments left and right and a couple of flirts here and there too 🤭

To Nonnie Love Beefro

A LONG TIME COMING, BUT HE'S HERE NONNIE! And I hope he lives up to the hype.

I-just-want-to-thank-you-sweet-baby-for-getting-me-through regards,

Beefro 👌🥩💜

--------<3----------

Beefro Proudly Presents:

a Chubby!Dieter One Shot

Please welcome Dieter Bravo to Beefro's Bistro!

a 'Dieter Bravo & Cookie' One Shot: Contract Conundrum

Pairing: Dieter Bravox F!Reader

Summary: You're hired to get Dieter ready for a heavyweight role.

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Word Count: 4,274

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, fingering (f receiving), p in the v - unwrapped (don't be silly, cover you willy, kids!), talk of eating, belly praise, self esteem, weight gain, mention of porn, loads of dirty talk, table top sex

Author's Notes: FINALLY! I know.. I KNOW. Between sinus infections depression and house guests, Dieter took the brunt of my willy-nilly gumption. I'm sorry, my babies... I hope he lives up to the hype and you're left sated.

Major thanks to @neverwheremoonchild for beta-ing the hell out of this for me, and to @theywhowriteandknowthings + @rebel-held for being champions!

--------<3----------

Generally, when you are hired for a new job as a private chef, it’s to help your client lose weight or introduce a new lifestyle – like veganism – to their household. But this was new; Dieter Bravo needed to gain weight for a role, and you were the one hired to help him do it.

Before you had even been introduced to him, you were handed an NDA by his manager along with the contract and the job requirements. Outlined in both were the meal plans, expectations, conduct, and specifically the amount he had to gain and time frame in which you had to help his achieve this. You sat across from his manager, Dan, while you read through the documents.

“If you have any questions…”, Dan started, voice pleasant but sounding like he really didn’t want you to ask him anything.

You looked up from the paperwork and nodded politely, then your eyes went back down. You noted under Requirements, it stated that you would be living on site with Dieter, and you would not be compensated for any adult activities you chose to engage in, nor would you receive any additional compensation for anything produced because of them. You had a good idea what that meant and any confusion as to why it was written in your contract evaporated when you remembered who you would be working for.

Dieter Bravo had a reputation based on rumours, and this contract just confirmed them all to be true. You smiled to yourself as you finished reading the documents. You picked up the pen and signed your future for the next year on the last page.

*****

You had a finite time to get Dieter heavier, and he was making it difficult. You were just over a week in, and his picky eating habits were hampering your efforts to do your job. He’d told you he liked fancy food, but everything that you made him had come back to the kitchen barely touched, and he’d refused, like a spoiled child, to tell you what he actually wanted.

According to his assistant, Frank, Dieter took this movie role for a paycheque and sighed the contract before being told he’d have to gain weight for it. His vanity had come into play, but the amount he would have to pay to get out of the contract was ridiculously high. After tantrums and screaming matches with Dan, his manager, Dieter finally agreed to do the role, but he wanted a private chef.

“He swore me to secrecy.”, Frank whispered to you in the kitchen. He took a look at the door then turned back to you. “Don’t tell him you heard this from me, but he’s a classic stoner… grilled cheese, burgers, pizza… y’know?”

You gave Frank a grin and motioned your lips being sealed. “I heard nothing. You were never here. I just happened to take a chance and hit the jackpot.”

That evening, Dieter wandered down to the kitchen to rebuke whatever five-star dining experience you’d conjured up.

“Hello, Mr. Bravo. Dinner will be served in just a few minutes.”, you said, looking up and smiling at him.

“Evening, Cookie....” He gave a half-hearted smile back as he went to the dining room and plunked down at the table. His grey t-shirt and black sweatpants had seen better days, and he fished a joint out of one of his pockets, lighting it up and taking a few drags.

You walked in, pushing a cart with a personal pepperoni pizza and garlic bread sticks on it.

“What in the fuck?!”, Dieter coughed as he blew out the smoke, his eyes wide.

“I’m… sorry, Mr. Bravo?”, you asked, placing the food onto the table.

“What… what’s this?!” , he asked, waving his hands at the pizza. “Cookie, where’s the… th-the fancy shit?!”

“Do you not want pizza, sir?” You were playing dumb and thankfully he was too flabbergasted to notice.

“Of course, I want fucking pizza!”, he yelled angrily. “That’s not the fucking point!”

He stared at you, chest and shoulders heaving with his deep breaths. You stared right back, beginning to question if taking Frank’s advice was a good idea… or even if it was good advice.

He slowly brought the joint back to his mouth and took a puff, holding your stare. You waited for him to throw you out of the house or berate you. Instead, he blew the smoke out of his nose and said in a sinister growl, “This better be the best goddamned pizza I’ve ever had.”

Apparently, it was the best goddamned pizza because he ate the entire thing. You attributed his appetite that night to the amount of weed he had in his system.

*****

This became the new routine: each night, you would make another one of his favourites for dinner and he would behave appallingly, then eat the whole thing. You were amused by his show each night, and he really wasn’t rude or mean to you, he was just loud with a lot of swearing, that was followed by him cleaning his plate.

It didn’t take long for this routine to start to make an impact on him. While he wore loose fitting clothing, after a few months of him indulging in your cooking, the softer jawline under his scruffy beard and the belly that would pop out firm under his shirt on occasion told you that you were doing your job well.

Over the next few weeks, he seemed to become more appreciative of the effort you put into the food you made. Dieter would often come into the kitchen while you were prepping for the meal and watch, commenting on how you were creating art for him to consume and how that was the perfect metaphor for a capitalistic society. While you appreciated his enthusiasm, you could not help but roll your eyes when he went on rants, waving his arms around, yelling about how life is fleeting, and art is forever or some other bullshit. Despite this, it was endearing how passionate he was, even if you had no idea what he was talking about.

As you spent more time with him, however, he started to make little passes at you that you would ignore and take in good humor, playing innocent to his flirting. It wasn’t anything serious or off putting at first; he would comment on how nice your outfit was or asking what you were doing after you were done your shift with an eyebrow wiggle. As of late, though, the harmless flirting and compliments started to become a little more aggressive. He was far more overt with his eyes washing over you and his hands finding their way to touch you, and he would ask you to sit with him while he ate. He eventually started asking you what you would do if he didn’t finish his dinner or if he was good and ate it all up, what reward he would get. It was definitely weird to begin with, but you came to accept it as part of working for eccentric artist who paid you very, very well.

You weren’t one to dip your pen in the company ink and breaking that rule for none other than Dieter Bravo seemed a little too cliché for you.

*****

“What’s on the menu?”, he called out from down the hallway as he walked towards the kitchen.

“Spaghetti and meatballs, Mr. Bravo.”, you responded casually, not looking up from the pasta sauce you stirred on the stove top.

“Gonna be enough?”, he asked with his hands in his pockets, watching you from over his sunglasses with a wide grin.

Looking up, you gave him a questioning look. “Mr. Bravo?”

His face looked over you as his tongue darted out quickly. He shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. “You heard me, Cookie.”

You hummed with a slight eye roll and nodded, then went back to the pot on the stove. This was obviously not the reaction he wanted because he came around the kitchen counter and stood next to you, his shoulder bumping yours.

“You ready to feed me?”, Dieter stated in a low, almost sultry voice, bringing his hand up to your lower back.

“Dinner will be ready soon, Mr. Bravo.”, you nodded again, trying to ignore his tone and touch, eyes down on the pot of pasta sauce you were stirring.

He huffed a laugh and moved behind you, nudging his nose against your neck, his hands gently holding your shoulder.

You shrugged his hands off you and turned around. You were not in the mood for him being so overt.

“Mr. Bravo – behave!”, you snapped, pointing the mixing spoon from the sauce at him.

Dieter grinned at you, his eyes scanning over your body.

“If I behave, do I get a reward, Cookie?”, he crooned with a flicker in his eyes.

You stared at him, trying to find words to tell him off, but the lookhe gave you had you feeling weak in the knees. You clenched your jaw – and thighs – and turned back to the stove top.

“Dinner will be ready in an hour or so, Mr. Bravo.” Your voice cracked, unintentionally letting him know he’d broken through the first layer.

*****

Prior to Dieter finding you in the kitchen, he’d been upstairs in his room, looking at porn and lazily stroking himself. Despite the debauchery on his laptop, his mind wandered to you downstairs. He thought about you often, enjoying the way you squirmed and flushed when he teased you and how you politely listened to his ramblings about ‘true art’ and the way your eyes would drift over his body, landing on his now fuller middle. He smiled to himself and looked down at his bare stomach. His smile fell a bit, noting that his decadence was really starting to show, and a pang of insecurity washed over him. He’d seen the recent papshots of himself, round belly protruding as he left a restaurant completely stuffed along with the heading ‘Dad-Bod Bravo Almost Unrecognizable!’ along with the numerous comments that he’d come to expect, critiquing his physique to cruelly mocking him. His dick went limp at the thought of it all.

He turned off the grainy video of a 65+ orgy that was on his screen and searched for those papshots again. If he wasn’t going to get off, he was going to punish himself. He clicked on the link to a gossip site and sighed, scrolling and rereading the comments until one made him almost choke on his own spit.

‘DIETER BABY YOU EATIN WELL. LOVE THIS FOR YOU.’

His eyes went wide, reading and rereading the comment, looking for any sign that this was a joke. He clicked on the comment, opening up the thread of responses, all of them being along the same line.

‘i want to feed him while we cockwarm’

‘CANT EVEN AT HOW FUCKIN GOOD HE LOOKS LIKE THIS’

‘Is it wrong to admit that seeing bravo with a big belly has awoken something in me?’

‘HOW MUCH DO YOU THINK HE HAD TO PACK AWAY TO GET HERE? COS HE DIDNT LOOK LIKE THIS A FEW MONTHS AGO. KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK BB DIETER.’

He stared at his screen, shocked. The final comment made his dick at once stand at attention:

‘who’s the lucky bitch getting to stuff our husband’s tummy? think they know how fucking blessed they are?’

*****

Dieter sat at the dining room table and watched as you plated the spaghetti for him with a wry grin, giving you a wink when you looked at him. Frank, his assistant, had warned that Dieter was a kinky bastard who liked to set up scenarios in his head then execute them with most being none the wiser until it was too late. When you asked him to elaborate, he just gave a sympathetic shrug and said, “You’ll know it when you see it.”

You were pretty sure you were seeing it now. Fuck.

“Sit with me, Cookie?”, he cooed with his head tilted.

You shook your head. “I need to clean up, Mr. Bravo.”

He pouted. “Please? I’ll be good…”

You sighed and moved to sit down in the chair across from him.

“Closer.” His tone was low. “Please.”

You sighed and pulled out the chair next to him; as soon as you sat down, he reached for the leg of the chair and pulled it right next to him, your legs touching.

The heat that had been building up under your skin all evening felt like it was going to burst as the hand that pulled your chair was now on your thigh, fingers softly touching and gently lifting your skirt higher. His nose nuzzled your ear as he mouthed kisses to your neck.

“So soft, Cookie… maybe you have a treat for me if I’m a good boy… if I fit every fucking bit of this in my gut, you’ll let me eat you raw…”

Every nerve ending in your body screamed at once, and the goosebumps that erupted made your skin feel electric under his lips. Despite this, you still tried to move away from him, not wanting to cross that line. You stood up and stood with your chair between you and him.

He didn’t stop you. And when you looked back at him, he didn’t look disappointed - he looked… encouraged?!?

“Cookie… nothing is sexier than consent.”, he growled with a lupine grin, picking up his fork. “But I don’t think you really wanna stop… just want a different position, huh baby?”

He twirled the fork in his pasta and stabbed the meatball, then shoved the whole forkful into his mouth. With wide eyes, you watched him; your mouth went dry as you tried to swallow, and your panties got wet as you crushed your thighs together.

As a chef, one of the great joys was seeing people enjoy your work, but this was on a wholly different level. Dieter was commanding you with just his intense gaze to watch him devour the meal you prepared him, and you couldn’t look away. You were now fully engaged in his scenario, yet you weren’t tethered or being held in place – it was just the magnetic pull of him eating your food that kept you in place. Bite after bite, he held eye contact and the only sounds he made were the occasional hum of appreciation and his quiet chewing.

He finished his plate and held it up towards you, a wry smile and a dark gaze on his face.

“More, please, Cookie.”

You nodded and stepped towards him, moving the chair between you out of the way. You took the plate from him, and his hand ghosted around your wrist, testing the waters with you again, but you didn’t pull away this time. Your eyes locked onto his and he gave you a ridiculously innocent and sweet smile before his hand slid up your skirt and he kneaded your ass cheek.

“Mr. Br-Bravo!”, you breathed out.

He was being so gentle, so soft; it was breaking your resolve.

“Oh Cookie… fuck…”, he groaned as he placed wet, hot open mouth kisses on your neck and jaw. “Dieter, baby… call me, Dieter.”

He moved the hand that was under your skirt to your wrist again and he pulled you down, placing your hand to his stomach.

“Feel that, Cookie?” His voice was soft, almost like he was praising you. “Making me fat...”

All you could do was nod, feeling the heat blooming in your cunt. You knew any sounds you tried to make would only come out as a whimper or a whine. You palmed his chubby middle and sucked in a breath, closing your eyes.

“Yeah, baby... I know what you want, I see you watching me...”, he grinned, his voice keeping that low register. Your eyes shot open, and you tried to pull your hand away, but he held it firm. “No shame in it, Cookie... everyone should do what they’re good at...”

He suddenly pulled you down further by the wrist into a surprisingly gentle kiss. He pulled back and looked at you.

“I wanna eat you raw... get on the table.”

You stared down at him, knowing the moment you got on the table, legs open for him, there would be no going back.

You shook your head, and his raised eyebrow in response threatened the tantrum he was willing to throw, that he’d become so famous for when he didn’t get his way. You weren't going to let him win this... at least not yet.

The voice that came out of your mouth even surprised you. “You need to finish your dinner. No dessert until then.”

A giant grin that ripped across his face. “Kinky Cookie... bad girl... I like it.”

*****

By the time every bite of spaghetti and meatballs were safely tucked away in Dieter’s overstuffed belly, he’d removed his shirt and pants, only sitting in his boxer shorts and his green housecoat. Every hiccough made his tummy condense and he would wince. He held it gently and let out a whine that turned into a burp.

“Good work, Mr. Bravo.”, you cooed, kneeling beside him as you gently cupped and palmed his belly, feeling the light layer of fat stretched thin over the immense amount of food jammed in it. “Did so well for me.”

He leaned back, eyes glazed and mouth open, panting. He gazed down at you and a small smile tugged at the left side of his mouth.

“Get on... get on the fucking table.”, he grunted as he sat up.

You thought about defying him, making him work harder for you, but before you could voice it, he, with great effort, pulled himself up and stood to his full height above you. His hand cupped your jaw and pulled, telling you to stand up, and as you did, he turned you so your back faced the table.

“I cleaned my plate, Cookie.”, his tone was gentle yet dark and he never broke eye contact with you. “I deserve a treat, right?... my dessert... right?”

You realized this situation was not in any way shape or form in your hands. Dieter, despite him wanting you to egg him on, encourage him to eat, was seizing back control, taking what he wanted, what he felt he deserved. You nodded dumbly at him, eyes wide as your breathing shuttered.

He nodded back, like he would have if he were scolding a child.

“So, you’re gonna get on the table, right, Cookie?”

He backed you against it, his belly being the last bit of force to shove you backwards. Once you were on the table, he gave you a dark, lupine grin as he grabbed your hips and shoved you further up and leaned down between your legs. He shoved your shirt up and pressed wet, sloppy kisses on your exposed middle, humming in delight. His hands moved to your thighs and pushed your skirt up to the waist, then he pulled your underwear down and moving to get them off you before he pulled them to his nose, took a deep breath, and tossed them across the dining room.

His eyes zeroed in on your core as he dipped his index and middle finger int your folds, smiling.

“So, fucking wet, Cookie... you get off on it, don’t you... this why you’re a chef, baby?... making people fat and round on your food gets you worked up?”

You whined and writhed on the table in response, and he let out a low chuckle, circling his middle finger around your throbbing clit.

“Come on, Cookie... tell me how much you like it... tell me what goes through that fucking beautiful head of yours when you see me get bigger... fill out... pant and moan as I try to swallow down every bite you put in front of me...”

He replaced his middle finger with his thumb and pumped two fingers into your cunt, beginning an agonizingly slow pace. You whined, hearing the sloppy wet noises he was pulling out of your sopping core.

“You like that, huh?... stuffing me stupid, then leaving me each night with a raging boner... leaving me to fuck my hand or anything else I can fit my dick in... but it’s getting harder, Cookie... this gut is getting in the way of everything...”

He watched you as your legs shook. He could feel your walls flutter, and he smiled, knowing he had you right where he wanted.

“Making it so hard... but you want that, don’t you?... want me to need you... want you to feed me... want you to fuck me...”

He began to pump harder, and you cried out arching your back. He was working up a sweat, between working you over and his belly trying to digest the ridiculous amount of food he had in it. Dieter pulled his fingers from your core and sat down in the chair, gripped your thighs and dove in. He sucked your clit hard, and you screeched out, hands going into his messy curls. He shoved his tongue into your weeping, twitching hole and his nose pressed your clit perfectly, sending you screaming into your orgasm, and he happily lapped at your spend.

He worked you over as you started to come down, but he didn’t stop. His mouth moved back to your swollen and sensitive nub, and he pushed the two fingers back into you repeatedly. He wasn’t letting you go now that he had you, and he hummed in response to every whine, cry, and moan that left your mouth.

“Mr... Mr.  Bravo...Dieter!... Please... I-I can’t!...”, you cried out, your body writhing and shaking.

He shook his head vigorously between your legs, grunting ‘uh-uh’ back to you and continuing his assault on your quivering cunt.

The noise his work pulled out of you as you came again was deep and animalistic, and he gave your clit one last, hard suck before he pulled back and stood up. In one swift movement, he pulled his boxer shorts down and pumped his cock, then pushed it into you, letting out a long, low moan as he did. He gripped your hips, and you wrapped your legs around him as best you could.

Goddamnit, he was big. Your eyes rolled into the back of yoiur head as he seated himself in you deep.

“Move ... please move, Dieter... fuck... so big... have to move... need you to... ”, you whined, tilting your hips to encourage him.  

He started to set his pace, each pump pushing a squeak or moan out of you.

“Jesus titty fucking Christ... yeah, Cookie... soft as shit pussy sucking me right in... fuck you for holding out on me... fuck you, Cookie, for carrying around this tight little pussy and not telling me...”

The sound of your wet cunt being impaled repeatedly by Dieter’s thick cock was obscene, but the filth coming from his mouth was even more so.

“Lucky little bitch… getting to stuff me… feed me… make me fat…”, he grunted through gritted teeth as he pounded into you. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good… you like being fucked by a fat guy, Cookie?... you did this, baby… you did this to me… the fucking envy of every god damned kinky fuck out there… yeah, you are a fucking lucky bitch…”

“Fuck you, Dieter… fuck you and your big fucking cock… and your fucking ap-appetite!... you eat so good, too… fuck… oh fuck…yes… just like that… yes… uhhhgod… yes, Dieter… keep going…”

Your tight walls fluttered and clenched on his cock, and he groaned and grunted.

“Yeah , so close, baby… oh fuck… come on my dick, Cookie… be a good little bitch and fucking come on my dick… wanna feel you cream on me… then I’m gonna – Fuck!... then I’m gonna fill this pussy… it’s fucking mine… come on… lemme have it… lemme have it, Cookie baby…”

The white-hot bolt of energy traveled down your spine and exploded in your core, sending you screaming and arching your back off the table. Dieter held you firm as he pounded you through your orgasm.

“That’s fucking right!... yeah, baby… yeah… fuck… fuck fuck fuck fuck… Cookie… gonna come in you-your pussy… you’re mine… you’re fucking mine… yeah… yeah… yeah!”

With a final grunt, his hips pushed hard into you as he came hard. His hand moved from your hip and came down beside your face as he panted, his forehead resting on your chin.

Both of you were quiet, minus the sounds of your heavy breathing filling the air.

“Fuck you and your fucking pussy… god damnit, Cookie…”, he breathed, and you smiled.

“Fuck you and your monster cock, Bravo.”, you huffed back with a laugh.

Silence filled the room again until Dieter slipped his softening cock from you, and you let out a small whine. He smiled and chuckled.

“Don’t leave… come upstairs.”, he said quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to your collar bone.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with his big, pleadling brown ones looking up at you.

“Are you a post-coital snuggler, Mr. Bravo?”, you asked teasingly, smiling.

“Yeah… yeah, I am…” He looked down and grinned bashfully, nodding.

He brought his gaze back up at you, a soft and warm look on his face. He leaned in close, lips almost touching as his bely pressed you into the table.

“Yeah… plus I wanna see your tits and be comfortable in bed.”

--------<3---------

thank you @toxicanonymity for the moodboard!

TAG LIST:

@theywhowriteandknowthings @harryleatherfit @toxicanonymity @harriedandharassed @neverwheremoonchild @rebel-held @beee-haw @nevergoingbacknowshine @idolatrybarbie @v4vayha @lalocitos @xdaddysprincessxx @deathsholywaterr @heareball @lyssramscal @wintrwinchestr @blackfemalenerd  @southernbe @starkeydaviss

[wirewitchviolet]

Observing an Infantalized 4chan Nazi

So recently I fell down a real serious rabbithole with a game that really puts your brain through the ringer. Nobody I know seems to want anything to do with it, so I wandered into some discord trying to find people to compare notes with and get my head around some more headache-y bits. It's not my community, I don't really know the vibe, I'm still feeling it out, but the other day someone new wandered in, and I dunno, I feel like a researcher lucking into an unexpected glimpse at a rare phenomenon in the field, or maybe like a vampire hunter stumbling onto someone who only just got bit and is having stomach pains because he tried to eat garlic bread. One of those.

See, I'm no stranger to watching nazis try to sneak into communities for nefarious purposes. It's always the same song and dance where they try real hard to come off like polite functional human beings, and casually ease into their talking points, and then their masks slip right off because if they could conduct themselves like rational empathetic human beings, they wouldn't have ended up as nazis. This here though isn't one of those. This is someone who seems to just have wandered in here for tips on how this weird game works, who doesn't have the wherewithal to even try to act like a normal person.

He's just attempting to ask questions about game mechanics, and it's spilling out as this weird mix of disgusting Nazi frog pictures, self-flagellation, slurs, and weird baby talk. I'm trying to find something that can be quoted in polite company and I just can't. Here's the closest I can manage, with apologies:

"I dont have enough weaponised autism to play this game LOL"

And when questioned on that phrasing- "I dont have the 4chan/pol weaponised Elon autism. I have the garden variety THE DUMB"

Both of these of course paired up with gross poorly drawn Pepes, one drooling, one... committing an act of self-harm. The vibe I'm getting off the entire server is this mix and disgust and confusion at this gross pathetic mess. There's some polite hinting that this isn't cool to maybe try and catch a mod's attention, and there's some effort being made to parse out the actual questions and answer them. Then there's a bunch of blubbering from the channer shocked at anyone being willing to engage with him.

Meanwhile of course I'm over here on the sidelines, just kinda simmering with rage and knowing better than to open my mouth, over just being in the presence of one of these creeps, all the casual hate speech, nazi symbols, and vile imagery, idol worship of deeply hateful and stupid people, the total lack of self-awareness, and, like the title says, just general disgust at the weird cocktail of learned helplessness and self-loathing simmering in that sort of environment has reduced what I assume is physically a fully capable of adult into.

But, I say through incredibly clenched teeth, I suppose this here really is sort of the ideal scenario for our rare specimen here. He's not SO far gone that he's completely given up on having actual interests and at least trying to make some kind of attempt at healthy interactions with people. Again, usually when I see a nazi in some discord, there is zero question that they are there for absolutely no purpose beyond trying to recruit/attack/spy on people. So theoretically, not completely beyond saving here. And he's getting a taste of how normal people interact, with a nice contrast against the nazi crap, and doing... yeah literally anything with his time but marrinating in hate. He just needs to stop metaphorically dropping his pants and taking a giant dump on the floor every time he enters a room and to talk like an actual damn adult and not some kind of racist giant baby.

So in this one very specific case, hey, glad to see it, here's hoping he slips away from the chan scene and focuses on games or whatever. But before anyone gets any ideas about running around redeeming nazis or anything, keep in mind the following things- I only see this as even potentially on the table here because this is a rare unicorn situation of someone who's clearly been cooking in a nazi stew long enough to lose all ability hold a conversation like a civilized person but not QUITE so long as to stop seeing other people as anything but potential targets or recruits, a window that tends to be so short I've maybe seen it one other time ever. Even under these rare ideal conditions, odds are pretty low this particular channer is going to actually withdraw from that scene in favor of say this random discord, not have some kind of relapse, not pose a clear threat or danger to anyone, and it's not like people who stop being slur-spewing nazis magically turn into decent people. Best case scenario's still going to be a fairly repellent right-wing creep, just you know, one who keeps quiet about it and lives a normal life instead of being some indoctrinated fanatical foot soldier actively antagonizing people.

[thelittlestladylikesthis]

The Pink Rose, part 6

Part Six- July 8th/9th, 74 ADD

Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x reader 

Word count: 2,780

Warnings: pet names, arguing, cursing, yelling

July 8th, 74 ADD

Haymitch invited [Y/n] to sit in on Katniss’ interview prep. After lunch, the three of them situated themselves in a triangle in the sitting room. Katniss sat down and hunched over to rest her elbows on her knees. Haymitch stayed standing and [Y/n] gracefully sat down, crossing her ankles. 

“What?” Katniss asked after an uncomfortable brief stare-down from Haymitch.

“I’m trying to figure out what to do with you,” he said, “How’re we gonna present you. Are you gonna be charming? Aloof? Fierce? So far, you’re shinin’. You volunteered to save your sister. Cinna made you look unforgettable. You’ve got the top training score. People are intrigued, but no one knows who you are,” 

“The impression you make tomorrow will decide exactly what we can secure for you in terms of sponsors,” [Y/n] added.

“What’s Peeta’s approach? Or am I not allowed to ask?” Katniss said stubbornly

“Likable. He has a sort of natural self-deprecating humor,” says Haymitch. “Whereas when you open your mouth, you come across more… hostile.”

“I do not!” Katniss almost yelled as her back straightened.

“Please. I don’t know where you pulled that cheery, wavy girl on the chariot from, but I haven’t seen her before or since,” nagged Haymitch.

“And you’ve given me so many reasons to be cheery,” she sneered back.

“Alright, knock it off you two!” [Y/n] demanded, “Katniss, you had to grow up fast and it shows- you’re an oldest child from the Seam. You know the struggle. You have your sister and… Gale? You probably feel comfortable in front of them, but being the center of attention is clearly a place you are not used to,”

Katniss nodded in understanding, “You seem to be pretty comfortable there,”

[Y/n] laughed, “I wasn’t always like that, and being used to it is not the same as being comfortable. Nowadays, I attract less attention if I dress pretty. If I were to show up for interviews wearing my normal 12 style, I think the Capital would riot. Such is the curse of being a beloved victor,”

“Exactly being a disliked victor is better,” Haymitch said proudly, “Besides, you don’t have to please us. we’re not going to sponsor you. So pretend we’re the audience,” he plopped into a chair. “Delight me.”

Haymitch conducted a mock interview with Katniss while [Y/n] took notes. Katniss tried to answer his questions in a likable way, but she was too angry with the whole thing. The longer the interview went on, the more her frustration began to show.

“All right, enough,” Haymitch said, “We’ve got to find another angle. Not only are you hostile, I don’t know anything about you. I’ve asked you fifty questions and still have no sense of your life, your family, what you care about. They want to know about you, Katniss.”

“But I don’t want them to! They’re already taking my future! They can’t have the things that mattered to me in the past!” she complained.

“Then lie! Make something up!” Haymitch almost yelled back.

“I’m not good at lying,” Katniss said.

[Y/n] spoke up, “You should work on that Kat-” 

“Because you’ve got about as much charm as a dead slug,” Haymitch interrupted. Realizing that might’ve been harsh, his voice softened, “Here’s an idea. Try acting humble.”

“Humble,” Katniss said quietly.

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” [Y/n] mused, “Yes, you can’t believe a little girl from District Twelve has done this well. The whole thing’s been more than you ever could have dreamed of. Talk about Cinna’s clothes, how nice the people are, how dazzling the Capital is. If you won’t talk about yourself, at least compliment the audience. Gush- these people love themselves and what they have- use it- make them look like fools.”

Even this didn’t work for Katniss. The next couple of hours proved that she couldn’t gush, be cocky or arrogant, funny, sexy (that pained [Y/n] to even try), or mysterious. Somewhere between arrogant and funny, Haymitch started drinking. [Y/n] tried to slow him down, but he wouldn’t listen “I give up, sweetheart. Just answer the questions and try not to let the audience see how openly you hate them.”

“He’s right Katniss-” [Y/n]

“Of course I’m right!” Haymitch shot before reeling back in at [Y/n]’s quick death glare.

She turned back to Katniss, “I was you once- but I made them like and they gave me things that kept me alive in that arena. Medicine. A bottle of fresh water. A blanket. We don’t know what your arena is, but securing sponsors is the most prepared you can be,”

Katniss sighed and nodded in understanding.

July 9, 74 ADD

Cinna, Portia, and Effie joined Haymitch and [Y/n] backstage after making up Katniss and Peeta. Peeta wore a striking black suit with flame accents to keep the theme going. Katniss wore an impressive gown designed by Cinna. The whole thing was covered in fire like jewels that looked like flames when she moved. The girl on fire. The gold accents painted on her skin shined and looked beautifully tasteful in contrast to her gown. Haymitch, [Y/n], and Effie were all dressed up for the occasion. Effie’s lavender dress matched her tall floral high heels and towering curly wig of almost the same hue of purple. Haymitch’s suit was clearly new and he wore a lapel pin that resembled a flame. [Y/n] wore a black jeweled dress that hugged her curves and, to Katniss, looked difficult to breathe in. [Y/n] was the coal supporting Katniss and Peeta’s flames. Effie and Cinna had made it very clear that this was a time for impressions. 

Just before the tributes were paraded onto the stage, Haymitch and [Y/n] walked up behind Peeta and Katniss. Haymitch almost growled as he said, “Remember, you’re still a happy set of kids from District Twelve. So act like it.”

Katniss turned around and opened her mouth to say something, but all she saw was Haymitch and [Y/n] walking away interestingly close together. She furrowed her brow in confusion as Haymitch guided [Y/n] by placing his hand gently on her lower back just above her rear. Katniss couldn’t hear what he whispered to make [Y/n]... giggle?

[Y/n] and Haymitch joined the rest of “Team Twelve” (as Effie coined them) in the backstage waiting area to watch the televised version of the interviews. Peeta looked amazing and Katniss did better than expected- but [Y/n] could still tell she was uncomfortable.

Every citizen of Panem is tuned in to watch their tribute. Caesar Flickerman, the interview host of more than forty years, bounced on stage in an Effie-like fashion. He didn’t appear to have aged in the last four decades. Same full face of makeup. Same hair in a tall bouffant that he dyed a different color every Hunger Games. At least in [Y/n]’s lifetime, he’d always worn the same ceremonial suit of midnight blue. Impressively, it was dotted with a thousand tiny lightbulbs that twinkled like stars. This time, Caesar’s hair was powder blue and his eyelids and lips were coated to match.

Caesar told a few jokes and once he had everyone’s attention, introduced the female tribute from District 1: a provocative looking girl in a see-through gold gown.

“I will never understand the sexualization of teenagers,” [Y/n] whispered to Effie.

“Oh it’s just the fashion,” Effie dismissed.

Every 3 minutes, a buzzer sounded marking the end of the interview and time to move on. Haymitch told [Y/n] to wake him at District 10 and rested his head back. [Y/n] smacked his chest lightly and told him to be an adult. She proceeded to keep Effie at ease by commenting on Katniss’ sitting posture or the effort being made to not look like she’d stepped on something smelly. Tribute after tribute they watched each interview intently and [Y/n] took notes as if she were trying to decipher each one like a puzzle.Some tributes were interesting, a few may have prompted a yawn or two. Twenty-two tributes later:

“Help me say welcome to the lovely Katniss Everdeen: the Girl on Fire!” Caesar shouted.

Katniss walked onto the stage and shook Caesar’s outstretched hand. [Y/n] and Effie gave each other small smiles as Katniss successfully walked out in heels and a gown without tripping.

“So, Katniss, the Capitol must be quite a change from District Twelve. What’s impressed you most since you arrived here?” Caesar asked with an ear to ear grin.

Haymitch clicked his tongue after Katniss had a delayed response of “The lamb stew,”

Caesar laughed, “The one with the dried plums?” Katniss nodded as the crowd joined Caesar’s enthusiasm, “Oh, I eat it by the bucketful.” He laughed as he held his stomach.

“Now, Katniss,” he said, “When you came out in the opening ceremonies, my heart actually stopped,” he turned to the crowd, “Did any of you experience this as well? My heart stopped- What did you think of that costume?”

Much to Team Twelve’s surprise, Katniss smiled, “You mean after I realized I wouldn’t burn to death?”

Caesar and the audience were in stitches, “Yes. Start then,” says Caesar. Katniss was exceeding expectations.

“I thought Cinna was brilliant and it was the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen and I couldn’t believe I was wearing it. I can’t believe I’m wearing this, either- I mean, look at it!”

The crowd oohs and aahs as Katniss shows off the skirt of her gown. [Y/n] realized how much coaching of his own Cinna had done when Katniss spun in a circle.

“Oh, do that again!” Caesar demanded. 

Katniss lifted her arms and spun harder allowing her skirt to fly outwards, covering her in the same flames from the ceremony. The audience broke into cheers, applause, and enthusiastic screams. When she stopped spinning, Caesar gave her his arm to steady herself and begged her not to stop.

“I have to, I’m dizzy!” she giggled, matching his energy. 

“So she is a teenage girl,” Haymitch whispered to [Y/n].

Katniss struggled to take a step from the dizziness so Caesar wrapped his arm around her shoulders, “Don’t worry, I’ve got you. Can’t have you following in the footsteps of the wrong mentor.”

The crowd was in an uproar of laughter as the cameras found Haymitch and [Y/n]: one now famous for his drunken stage dive at the reaping, and the other famous for being a deadly beauty. Haymitch and [Y/n] waved the cameras away good-naturedly and [Y/n] pointed back to Katniss.

Caesar laughs and brings the crowd back in as he and Katniss returned to their seats, “So, how about that training score. Eleven. Whatever happened there?”

The cameras find the Gamemakers and Katniss says, “Um ... all I can say is I think it was a first.” The Gamemakers are laughing and nodding in agreement.

“You’re killing us- details! Details!,” says Caesar.

Katniss looks to the Gamemakers, “I’m not supposed to talk about it, right?” One of them shouts down that she can’t say anything so Katniss looks at the crowd, “Sorry. My lips are sealed.”

Caesar moped then grew uncharacteristically quiet and serious, “Let’s go back then, to the moment they called your sister’s name at the reaping and you volunteered. Can you tell us

about her?”

Katniss gave a small exhale. “Her name’s Prim. She’s just twelve and I love her more than

Anything.” The crowd was silent with emotion.

“What did she say to you? After the reaping?” Caesar asked.

“She asked me to try really hard to win.” 

“And what did you say?” 

“I said I would try. I would try and win for her,”

“And try you shall,” Caesar said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze as the buzzer sounded, “Sorry we’re out of time, folks. Best of luck, Katniss Everdeen, tribute from District Twelve.”

The crowd doesn’t stop clapping and cheering until Katniss is seated backstage. They pause for a moment until Peeta is introduced.

[Y/n] followed Katniss, “I am so proud of you- that is how you get sponsors!’ she said as the crowd laughs at something Peeta said. They missed Caesars question, but heard Peeta ask if he smelt like roses. The crowd cannot contain themselves as Peeta and Caesar sniff each other.

“Seems we won’t have trouble getting things for either of you,” [Y/n] smiles.

Caesar’s voice comes through the backstage TV, “So Peeta, tell me, is there a special girl back home?” Peeta shakes his head side-to-side as he denies having anyone, “Handsome lad like you? There must be a special girl. Come on, tell us?” Caesar sounds like he’ll die if Peeta doesn’t start talking about someone.

Peeta sighed, “Well, there is this one girl I’ve had a crush on forever,” Caesar got a knowing grin on his face, “But I’m pretty sure she didn’t recognize me until the reaping.”

[Y/n] mused as the crowd collectively expressed sympathy, “Ah, he’s taken a sympathetic angle,”

“She have another fellow?” Caesar asked sadly.

“I don’t think so, but a lot of boys like her,” Peeta said.

“Well, you go out there, and you win this thing, and she’ll have to go out with you!” Caesar said encouragingly.

Just loud enough for everyone to hear, Peeta said, “No, I don’t think winning will help too much,”

“Oh? Why not?”

Peeta’s cheeks lit up to match the flames on Katniss’ dress. Everyone- [Y/n] and Katniss included- leaned forward in anticipation of his answer, “Because… because... she came here with me.”

The cameras lingered on Peeta’s heartbroken expression. Suddenly, they are fixed on Katniss and [Y/n], mouths open in shock. Katniss closed her mouth and looked down so the cameras couldn’t see her expression and [Y/n] wrapped an arm around Katniss, trying to appear sympathetic.

“Oh, well that’s bad luck,” Caesar’s expression was full of genuine pain and mirrored on the crowd- half of whom had started crying.

The interview finished as Caesar consoled Peeta and wished him well. The crowd clapped and cheered as the last tribute left the stage. [Y/n] knew Katniss was not blushing from being flattered- the girl was embarrassed. That was [Y/n]’s cue to rush Katniss upstairs. They were back on the twelfth floor for barely a minute before Peeta and Haymitch stepped off another elevator. Before anyone could react, Katniss angrily lunged and slammed her hands onto Peeta’s chest. He stumbled and crashed into the wall. Haymitch shot forward and forced Katniss away from Peeta.

“What the hell was that? You had no right to say that about me!” Katniss yelled.

Haymitch shouted for her to stop as she loudly challenged, “You wanna train alone and now you have a crush on me? Let’s go! Right now!”

Cinna and Effie stepped off the elevator as [Y/n] angrily told Katniss to “knock it off”.

“You’re a fool,” Haymitch said with a disgusted tone, “That boy gave you something

you could never get on your own.”

“He made me look weak!”

“He made you look desirable! And let’s face it, you were about as romantic as the goddamn dirt until he said he wanted you. Now everyone wants you. The talk of the Capital: the star-crossed lovers from District Twelve!”

“We are NOT star-crossed lovers!” she shouted.

[Y/n] felt the room get more heated, “Katniss-”

“It’s a television show!” Haymitch interrupted angrily.

“Haymitch, shut up!” [Y/n] yelled- the room grew quiet as everyone stilled in shock by the angry sound, “You!” she pointed at Katniss, “Be grateful that you have people who care about you and let go of your goddamn ego. You!” she pointed at Peeta, “Don’t say anything else about your feelings for her until you’re in that arena and don’t listen to Haymitch for emotional romantic advice. And YOU!” she stood up straight and faced Haymitch, “Go to your fucking room and sober up! I cannot take this dysfunctional group for the rest of the night!” [Y/n] stormed off to her own room.

Everyone was shocked to silence for a few minutes. Katniss was surprised and had been having a hard time imagining [Y/n] as anything but a glamor woman. Haymitch and Peeta looked at their feet like schoolboys who’d just been told off. 

Effie broke the silence, “Well she didn’t need to curse,”

Haymitch, Cinna, and Peeta groaned at the comment and left the room. Effie announced that she needed to leave and bounced into the elevator, leaving Katniss alone in the entryway. 

Masterlist

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Apologies if I’ve asked something similar to this before , but what do primary sources tell us on Danton’s actual role in the indulgent campaign, and specifically Vieux Cordelier? Because we hear a lot about Danton persuading Camille to make this move, but frankly, I think the direct attack on Robespierre and refusal to back down fits more with Camille’s reckless impulsivity than Danton’s more comprising and savvy (and arguably self-interested) political style. Is the idea he was behind it actually supported by evidence outside the notorious trial notes , or was that something invented (or falsely believed) by Robespierre in an attempt to portray his friend as “misled” rather than counter-revolutionary, and Danton as power hungry ?

I still have your ask from like half a year ago and am working on it, there’s just so much interesting stuff to look over (and I would be lying if I didn’t say I’ve taken massive breaks now and then :\ ). But so far, I have yet to find any hard evidence of Danton’s involvement in the Vieux Cordelier.

We have several contemporaries designating Danton as some kind of leader of a moderate faction. His friend Dominique-Joseph Garat did for example in his Memoirs of the revolution; or, an apology for my conduct, in the public employments which I have held (1795) claim that Danton had been deeply moved by the fate of the 22 girondins, to the extent it motivated him to quit politics for a month and retire to Arcis-sur-Aube. When Danton returned to Paris in November 1793, Garat argues it was with a ”conspiracy” in mind, a conspiracy which had as it goal to ”restore for the benefit of all the reign of justice and of the laws, and to extend clemency to his enemies,” and to which Desmoulins belonged:

At Arcis-sur-Aube, the aspects of nature, while it calmed the anxieties of his breath, inspired him with generous and magnanimous resolutions. In the silence of the country and of retreat, he conceived the design of a new and benevolent conspiracy. All his friends entered into it. […] The measures by which Danton proposed to ally his conspiracy into execution, were, to prepare the minds of men for such a change, by means of such papers as those of Camille Desmoulins.

In Histoire générale et impartiale des erreurs, des fautes et des crimes commis pendant la Révolution Française (1797), Desmoulins’ fellow journalist Louis Marie Prudhomme also wrote the following:

Piqued by this despotic pride, which openly reduced them to the role of subordinates, Danton, Lacroix, Camille-Desmoulins, Fabre-d'Églantine, put themselves at the head of a secret party against the emerging authority of the Committee which was their work. It was to overthrow it in public opinion that they undermined its fundamental basis, terror. Camille was charged with this moral attack, and his numbers of Le Vieux Cordelier seemed for a moment to ensure the triumph of the system of clemency.

Finally, Danton’s friend Edme-Bonaventure Courtois wrote in Notes et souvenirs de Courtois de l’Aube, député à la Convention nationale (cited in La Révolution française: revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine (1887), that ”it was in these painful moments that [Desmoulins] put to paper (in his Vieux Cordelier) the reflections that his indignation could no longer contain, and whose acrimony Danton, through his advice, softened in many places.”

But the very first contemporary to make Danton into the leader of an ”indulgent faction” who had proofread the Vieux Cordelier would indeed appear to be Robespierre, who in his notes against the dantonists (dated to around March 1794) has written the following:

Desmoulins; even the title of this pamphlet (the Vieux Cordelier) was destined to conciliate public opinion with the leaders of this coterie who hid their projects under the name of Vieux Cordeliers, of veterans of the Revolution. Danton, in capacity of president of this Vieux Cordelier, corrected the prints of his numbers; he made changes there, by his own admission. One recognizes his influence and his hand in the writings of Philippeaux, and even in the ones of Bourdon.

This was passed on in the report based on the notes written by Saint-Just:

…What shall I say about the confession made by Danton, that he had edited the latest writings of Desmoulins and Philippeaux?

Like you say, it is however hard to say if these charges are to be treated seriously or just as a cheap way to make Danton into the ”spider in the web” (the truth evidently not being that important when it came to French revolutionaries cutting each other’s heads off). I would say Robespierre’s claim is somewhat undermined by the fact he accuses Danton of editing not just Desmoulins’ writings, but those of Philippeaux and Bourdon as well, because while he in the first case did have an opportunity to know more about the work, having himself been involved in its publication by proofreading one or two numbers (this is for example the way the movie La Terreur et la Vertu has him find out it’s Danton who has asked Camille to pick up his pen again), we don’t have anything suggesting that was the case for the latter two. If Robespierre had hard evidence of Danton’s influence over these three writings, it also seems a bit strange he doesn’t elaborate on it a bit more… Furthermore, since Saint-Just’s report was read aloud at the Convention and published in different journals we also can’t entirely rule out the possibility the people who attested to Danton as leader of a faction after the fact to some extent built their testimonies on said report, which of course would make them much weaker.

Of course, all of the things above are still just claims made by contemporaries. Looking over the things Danton and Camille are themselves confirmed to have said and done during Vieux Cordelier’s publication, it’s more foggy. For the former, we more or less only have interventions made by him at the Jacobins and Convention to go on, considering the lack of private papers left behind by him. I have not gone through all of these yet, but some sort of big revelation of Danton’s role in the ”indulgent campaign” is not something I’ve found so far. That there doesn’t exist any place where Danton openly states ”it was I who told Camille to start writing the Vieux Cordelier and I’m the puppet master behind it” is of course not exactly strange, but not very helpful for our question either… I also can’t find the question of who was really responsible for the Vieux Cordelier’s publication posed to Danton or any of the other ”indulgents” anywhere during their trial, so neither that’s of much use. More damning evidence, such as a draft of a number of the journal with Danton’s handwriting/notes on it, I have not heard anything about.

As for Camille, nowhere in the notes he wrote on Saint-Just’s report does he confirm, reject or even bring up the accusation there printed that Danton was the one truly in charge of the Vieux Cordelier, something which I suppose could be read as implying the charge was true, or that he simply ignored it. Similarily, the fact that Robespierre on December 14 is recorded to have said ”[Camille’s] energetic and easy pen can still serve [the revolution] usefully, but, more circumspect in the choice of his friends, he must break all pacts with impiety, that is to say, with the aristocracy,” and that Camille in his very last letter to his wife claims that ”I die as a victim of these jokes [in the Vieux Cordelier] and my friendship to Danton. I’m glad my assassins let me die with him and Philippeaux.” could be interpreted as evidence Danton had a considerate influence over Camille’s actions, but are still too vague to really say anything more concreate. It can be observed that in the first number of Vieux Cordelier, released December 5 1793, Desmoulins designates the session at the Jacobins just two days earlier, during which Robespierre defended Danton after he had been accused of ”moderatism” by Coupé d’Oise, as the event that caused him to return to the journalistic pen: 

Victory is with us because, amid the ruins of so many colossal civic reputations, Robespierre’s in unassailed; because he lent a hand to his competitor in patriotism, our perpetual President of the “Old Cordeliers” […] I learned some things yesterday. I saw how many enemies we have. Their multitude tears me from the Hotel des Invalides and returns me to combat. I must write.

This at least clearly and quickly cements that the journal is sympathetic towards Danton. At the same time, it also implies the founding of the journal was spontanous and not part of some great scheme (though again, if it was part of a scheme, Camille would of course not say that outloud, so…)

When it comes to what historians/biographers have written, Danton (1914) by Louis Madelin claims that ”Danton saw in [Hébert] the man to be killed before everyone else. Against this wretch, he would throw Camille: “Take your pen,” he told him as soon as he returned [from Arcis-sur-Aube] “and ask for mercy!” Desmoulins, to obey him, founded the Vieux Cordelier and took Hébert by the throat.” while Jules Claretie in Camille Desmoulins and his wife; passages from the history of the Dantonists founded upon new and hitherto unpublished documents (1876) argues Camille wrote under the dictation of both Robespierre and Danton. None of them do however cite a real source for this… In the more recent Danton (1978), Norman Hampson writes that ”the question of how far Danton approved of this [”indulgent”] campaign, or even directed it from behind the scenes, merits careful examination,” and that, at least by late December 1793, ”If indulgence was the programme of a dantonist faction, Robespierre looked a better dantonist than [Danton] was,” while Hervé Leuwers in the even more recent Camille et Lucile Desmoulins: un rêve de république (2018) firmly declares that ”[Camille’s] journal is personal, he is writing on the command of neither Danton nor Robespierre, much less under their dictation, as is too often affirmed.”

I definitely don’t think Robespierre would be incapable of wanting to portray someone as just ”misled” rather than ”counter-revolutionary” if said someone was his personal friend (though why that even matters if you’re just gonna kill them anyway can be a question for another day). After all, this same phenomenon of wanting to downplay the actions (alternatively claim they are the effect of ”bad influence”) of someone liked or admired can be observed both in the attitude of Brissot towards Robespierre, Charlotte Robespierre towards her brother and the Desmoulins couple towards Robespierre, so why not the opposite way around?

Finally, out of curiosity, what ”direct attack” on Robespierre is it you’re referring to? Because Camille never attacked Robespierre personally in the Vieux Cordelier as far as I’m aware, there only exists one place in the draft of the seventh and final number where he reproaches Robespierre for going against his former anti-war campaign, that would appear to ultimately have been cut and nevertheless was never released since both Camille and his printer were arrested before it could happen. Are you talking about Camille’s legendary ”to burn is not to answer” rebuttal?

[eagle-eyes-sideblog]

That Medical Anomaly

Summary

An AU where the reader is the subject of a secretive experiment that leaves them the perfect Player... among other things.

Possible triggering themes for this AU/story include medical trauma, descriptions of chronic illness, ableism, depression, and death. If I've handled anything insensitively, please let me know.

A more 'formal' introduction, along with rambling about my thought process, under the cut.

Self Aware MadCom belongs to @saltymongoose. The concept is really interesting to me, even aside from the xreader stuff (although it's definitely also that lmao). So I thought I might explore that a bit with a concept that's already been floating around my head for a bit. The world that the reader is from is deliberately left a bit vague, but it's sort of magical realism. Most relevant to this AU: there are things like doctors and computers existing alongside curses and other magical ailments.

Also, this doesn't really include much MadCom or SAMAU... Well, no interactions with the characters, anyways. It's mostly just an introduction to my ideas for this AU, so it describes more of what your life was like beforehand and how you found the series. Do also note that I've never played either M:PN game, so there might be some inaccuracies.

All that being said... enjoy!

~~~

You, along with several others, were the subject of an experiment when you were a teenager. It was so secretive, you were never even given the details of why it had been conducted. That, or you had forgotten, given that one of the major side effects of the experiment was memory loss.

The experiment itself was something about deliberately letting specific kinds of contagions into the subject's body. You knew a few of them were fungal, and many were magical in some way, although they were different for every experiment.

Apparently if they chose the right infections for the right subject and 'balanced' them properly with the individual's immune system... they would stabilize. This led to the subject gaining supernatural abilities based on whatever magical infections they had.

Of course, most of the subjects weren't so lucky. The various infections would usually just take their courses; often the combinations would very quickly kill the subject. Those that survived were left with permanent problems ranging from aphasia to compromised immune systems to seizures.

You were their star subject, the one better off than all the rest. The staff made sure to remind you of that every time you complained about anything. "Be grateful," they told you. "At least you can still speak. At least you're still recovering. At least you're still alive." They never said it out loud, but you heard the implication. All of this is only happening because of us.

Bullshit. You were only 'better off' because of sheer dumb luck. Had they succeeded? Maybe. But their idea of success didn't even take you into account.

And their idea of success still left you with problems. Yes, you have sharper senses now, and you can draw energy from more than just food. But you're face-blind, and your hands and feet are numb, and you sometimes hurt so badly that you can't walk.

Not to mention how unethical the experiment itself was. They didn't even study people who already had these conditions; they deliberately induced them. Hell, one of your roommates was six years old! Why they let her participate still bothered you today.

...But it wasn't all bad. You cherished the friends you'd made there, even if you'd lost contact with most of them.

Not just your fellow patients, either. Most of the staff were... annoying at the very least. But a few seemed to actually have your best interests in mind. For example, your favorite nurse, Max, recommended an animated series that might help take your mind off of things when you were in the depths of depression.

You very quickly fell in love with Madness Combat. The simple graphics, where characters were denoted by outfit and style rather than facial features, seemed perfect for you. You grew to adore Hank, Deimos, Sanford, Tricky, and every other character, getting invested in their fights even when nothing else made you happy.

And the episodes were just plain fun to watch. Even when you had issues with your memory, the fight scenes interested you more than enough to make up for it. The community, too, seemed to welcome you, and you came to cherish the friends you made there.

Not only that, but you found a little game on Newgrounds. Although your numb hands made it hard to play, it really did capture the things that made you adore Madcom to begin with. Your favorite nurse approved too; after all, it was an exercise in hand-eye coordination!

Naturally, you were beyond thrilled when Project Nexus came out. By that point, you'd already left the facility. And your memory had recovered enough to get well and truly obsessed with the lore.

You smiled, picking the Tourist difficulty and sitting back to watch the intro cinematic. This was going to be fun.

(Unbeknownst to you, it would also be much, much more than you bargained for.)

[fantasticalleigh]

i'm getting even more ideas after fucking writing an essay about it in the tags of my last post but-

i get that they're intentionally keeping Rhea out of the picture until she returns so she gets a huge pop (just like they're doing with Roman) but how cool would it be if she was conducting her own revenge tour while not being on screen at all?

have TJD doing her bidding while always communicating with her through text or phone calls where you never hear her voice. have her have them terrorizing the roster on her behalf. have them go after Liv and remind her that her claims are bullshit bc she never did truly defeat Rhea for the title. Rhea is a goth badass so idfk have her leave traces of her black lipstick on mirrors or some shit to remind everyone of her presence, leave a little blood here and there with notes from her bc she promised she was coming back for blood. she's got dagger iconography (tattoos, necklace) so maybe incorporate that too.

she's the fucking eradicator. a self-described nightmare. this could be the time to introduce perhaps a little supernatural element to her (which i should add that she absolutely does not need but would be fucking baller).

have it look like her shadow is looming around places when it's not actually her. have Liv think she can hear Rhea laughing when no one else can hear her. at first make Liv brush it off but then as Rhea's return looms closer she starts actually getting scared/fearing for her sanity for real. give Liv some throwaway lines about having frequent nightmares. have Dom look like he's a little bit possessed while relaying messages from Rhea (which I think he doesn't even need to be possessed but he absolutely would act like it anyway just to fuck with people).

like come on her theme song is literally about being a 'demon in your dreams' and you're telling me you're just leaving that material there and never using it???

the Liv stalking Dom storyline is played out at this point and I feel sorry (and frankly frustrated) for Dom and that this is how the writers are choosing to continue until Rhea's return. there's so much more they could be doing with her character rn and it's a bit of a shame that isn't happening.

[zerogate]

In another example, researchers presented the word walk to a patient's right brain only. The patient immediately responded to the request and stood up and started to leave the van in which the testing was taking place. When the patient's left brain (language side) was asked why he got up to walk, again the interpreter came up with a plausible but completely incorrect explanation: “I'm going into the house to get a Coke.”

In another exercise, the word laugh was presented to the right brain and the patient complied. When asked why she was laughing, her left brain responded by cracking a joke: “You guys come up and test us each month. What a way to make a living!” Remember, the correct answer here would have been, “I laughed because you asked me to.”

Think about the significance of this for a moment. The left brain was simply making up interpretations, or stories, for events that were happening in a way that made sense to that side of the brain (a shovel is needed for a chicken coop) or as if it had directed the action (I got up because I needed a drink, or I laughed at my own joke). Neither of these explanations was true, but that was unimportant to the interpretive mind, which was convinced that its explanations were the correct ones.

Dr. V. S. Ramachandran, one of the most innovative neuroscientists of the twentieth century, shared a theory of the left brain that is very similar to Gazzaniga's. After conducting his own experiments, Ramachandran found that the left brain's role is one of beliefs and interpretation and that it had little regard for reality in making up its interpretations.

For instance, Ramachandran's experiments included subjects whose right brain was severely damaged—leaving the left side of the body paralyzed. With this level of damage to the right brain, the left brain is effectively running the show. When Ramachandran asked one affected subject if she could move her paralyzed left hand, she replied, “Yes. It's not paralyzed.”

Another one of Ramachandran's subjects claimed that her paralyzed left arm was actually stronger than her right and that she could lift a large table an inch and a half off the ground with it. Others used rationalization as an explanation for the paralysis. They would say things like “I don't want to move my arm, it hurts,” or, “The medical students have been prodding me all day and I don't want to move it right now.”

As in the studies of Gazzaniga, the left brain was simply making up a story about reality without any regard for the truth. Over the last forty years, several additional studies have shown that the left side of the brain excels at creating an explanation for what's going on, even if it isn't correct. The truth is that your left brain has been interpreting reality for you your whole life, and if you are like most people, you have never understood the full implications of this.

For example, in another classic study, people who think, perceive, and behave in ways considered normal were given a choice of a number of similar items and were asked which they liked the best. Most people are unaware that we have a right-side preference; that is, if you have a number of similar items in front of you, you will have a tendency to prefer the thing on the right.

In this study, the researchers noted this tendency. However, when asked, “Why do you like that item?” no one said it was because of a preference for where it was placed. Again, the left brain created a fictitious but plausible theory, and the subjects would say things like, “I just like the color,” or, “I just like the texture of that one.” Beyond that, when confronted with the reality—that a right-side preference is natural in most normal human brains—virtually all subjects denied it and disbelieved it. Some even implied that the experimenter was a “madman.”

Their brain could not handle the idea that they had chosen something not because of what their inner pilot self actually preferred, but due to an arbitrary criterion. This broke through the ego addiction's fog, and for most people this can be a jarring and uncomfortable experience.

-- Chris Niebauer, No Self, No Problem

[lindseybots]

If Wind can summon his old items and considering how the game emphasizes the importance of timing in the music, perhaps he can also help teach Spirit to properly play the spirit flute by conducting the songs? On another note, assuming he isn’t too nervous about the whole quest himself, I can totally imagine Wind just generally using the power of Big Brotherness to be the emotional support of the group. Making sure everyone takes care of themselves and tensions don’t rise too high.

Really digging everything you’ve come up with so far. Especially the character dynamics are very interesting and I’m definitely excited to see where you’re going with them!

I herby dub thee: Music Anon!

First of all, thank you for the kind words!! I’m so glad you’re excited!!

As for the Spirit Flute stuff, I was actually thinking about that earlier today! The Wind Waker is one of my favorite Zelda items, and I knew I just had to incorporate it into the AU. What better opportunity than during the Spirit Flute sections? Plus, I feel like it would also help Spirit in more ways than just keeping time.

I always headcanoned Spirit as a bit self-conscious, at least when it comes to the hero stuff. Being a train engineer? No problem. He’s got that with full confidence, but being a hero? That’s a lot of pressure that he never signed up for. He’s just doing the best he can with what he’s got because well… he’s the only one who can.

I think Wind being there conducting him would help ease his mind, and serve as a reminder that he’s not alone in this. Plus, I like the idea of Wind and Spirit engaging in musical activities together throughout Spirit’s life. After all, they both appear pretty musically inclined in their games, able to pick up and memorize new songs after seeing/hearing them once. I think it’s a fun little hobby they would share.

With that idea in mind, I can definitely picture Wind telling Spirit something like “Don’t worry about what this is for. Just focus on me and the music. C’mon, it’ll be like when we would make music around the house when you were little.”

In terms of the adventure as a whole, Wind is definitely nervous about this whole thing, but that’s understandable. The world is at risk, and, even worse, his little brother is caught in the center of it. Still, he is, without a doubt, a grounding figure in the group.

He’s an experienced hero and an older brother. He takes both roles very seriously. l think he would be the one to try to keep everyone’s spirits (haha) up. He’s fun and goofy, and he’s going to do his best to keep the others smiling.

He would also be the most likely to keep the others from getting too overwhelmed in stressful situations. After everything he’s been through, he’s used to charging in without letting fear or overthinking stop him. Sometimes you just gotta take a plunge, and Wind knows that all too well.

[witchcraftandgeekness]

TVDU x Hogwarts AU, Part 5, aka Mikaelsons-in-law edition. Part 4 is here

Warning: it is just my opinion

Camille O'Connell

Let's be honest, Cami is one of few characters of tvd Universe with actual functioning braincells (not taking in regard vampire!Cami). She is compassionate but her mentality is the one of logic. Her profession highly implies the triumph of mind and soul, she analyzes things with creativity (first episode when she was describing painting, her analysis of Klaus's works). Cami is independent and thinks out of shell (remember how when she was compeled she made a system of notes that will remind her of the things she forgets when Klaus isn't around? I was impressed, okay).

Hayley Marshall

Hayley was introduces as a person who can manipulate people for her own benefit but later it was shown that she has strong moral compass (this transgression is probably another result of writers not knowing what the hell they are doing but lets ignore pre-TO Hayley okay). She demonstrated self-sacrifices for others (what she did for her pack, for example) and killing of innocents for those she loves (ya remember how Davina blackmailed Hayley into killing a whole bunch of innocent witches? Yeah, funny times). And let's face it, she cannot be ambitious and manipulative enough for Slytherin, and not compassionate and honest enough for Hufflepuff.

Marcel Gerard

Marcel possess extremely high IQ which he had demonstrated more than once, but he is one to follow his heart and his ideas of honour. He won't be silent if he witnesses injustice or harm towards innocents. He will do anything for those he cares about or those he finds worthy of being saved. His courageous heart makes him good leader, his loyalty to those who are loyal to him makes others want to follow his lead.

Keelin Malraux aka the only official Mikaelson-in-law

As a doctor, Keelin proved already to be very intelligent and persistent. The most exceptional thing about Keelin is that she uses science to help herself with weakening her curse (therefore making her life more comfortable) and values science above magic.

Sage

Hedonistic and outgoing, Sage is not burdened with morality, which opposes noble Finn. With her around even he can loosen his strict code of conduct. She is good at lying and pretending, even with her friends Sage always stays canny and truly does not trust anyone but herself.

[praeteritus-memories]

The triple faced aeon has been listing to this beloved human for ages ? Is that the term humans use ? THEY have no idea- humans have always made them happy and so sad, THEY loved their humans. THEIR miracles all of them even if they have made mistakes, THEY will gladly continue to gaze upon them for THEIR path is one of connection, one of peace....one of love.

But THIER beloved humans are not ready for that truth yet, but one day maybe they can be.

" Dr. Ratio , please tell US what dose knowledge mean to you? Why are you so willing to share it ? "

Xipe is willing to let him see a glimpse of THEIR true self, not enough to hurt. Gazing upon an aeon can cause more harm then good THEY know this.... The etiolate is proof of it.

Yet galaxy hues meet red as THEY smile upon him awaiting the answer THEY seek.

"The wisdom walkers pathstiders are selfish in their pursuit of knowledge, would you not wish to be the same ?"

THEIR question is genuine, something THEY have pounded since this beloved human has caught THEIR gaze.

Ratio was conducting a lecture at the very college he once graduated at from a young age. The class? One of many favorite subjects of his, philosophy. On the board was his elegant handwriting to keep notes for students on-hand of terms and meanings. When students asked questions? He would explain in better detail, actually careful to ensure students understood the answer rather than merely repeating himself with a vague answer from a textbook.

It was a much easier class than usual, then again, Ratio had earned quite the reputation as a teacher. Many books and articles documenting his achievements all spoke of his strict beliefs in learning and listening, and those who did not listen would get physically thrown from the classroom and told to never appear before him again.

Cruel as it may be, Ratio just had a low tolerance for people who refused to learn and listen to something knowledgeable. Those who live in ignorance and indulge in it's bliss? The kind Ratio would rather wear a stone mask than look at.

Looking up to the unknown student among the rows, Ratio sets his chalk down to rest his hands against his desk. A plaque with his name 'Dr Veritas Ratio' shining right next to him.

"Knowledge means to me the truth, in a world masked with falsities and lies. Do we allow our fellow man to walk through mist alone, or is it not our duty as humans to hand a lantern to walk through the mist to discover clarity?" After all, ignorance was no better than walking around the world completely blindfolded.

"I hold no desire for selfishness, as I believe all knowledge should be shared." Perhaps, that's why he never caught the attention of Nous before. Was he too selfless despite his rudeness? "If anything, and do forgive my words as I mean no shame towards my collaborators, selfishness breeds ignorance."

[scarletooyoroi]

'maybe they'll brood each other to death. '

Was a measure of Fontaine's high society also a test of self control? On another hand, maybe amidst the well preened lights, the atmosphere that drinks amiably from the pride in success, there were also the little things that could lead to a share of personal joys. Being someone that once served the highest echelons of nobility himself, it certainly was nothing new to be the 'shadow' that listened to the mutterings of the people.

This on the other hand? While he's freshly prepared and now upon the 'stage' of this miniature party himself?

Thoma was trying not to fucking laugh.

Even as he takes the moment to let his wine gently swirl about within his goblet, right now, the inner war of not letting any facial muscles be rendered into an expression of guffawing amusement finds itself as the pivotal challenge. A twitch of the eyebrow here, another where his lips quirk briefly, only to be well disguised as a soft yawn, for a moment he had to shoot a warm, half-hearted glare in her direction.

"Ms.Furina. By the heavens.." There's a pause in their fleeting social privacy that he contemplates the idea. Giving another glance towards two particular wealthy businessman, they were the ones that looked absolutely miserable. Yet somehow, even this was made into a spectacle, many individuals hoping for their sponsorship preparing themselves to kiss up.

Meanwhile, the two of them managed to catch the actual reasoning to these displeased looks. A fair maiden they were utterly infatuated with, throwing themselves into the fires of an unnecessary rivalry found themselves aghast when..!

She had her own special someone the entire time, the two of them whisked into the meeting like a fairy tale come to light.

Oh yeah. Thoma found absolute delight in this thickheaded kind of misery.

"We shouldn't let their despair be the sweetener for our glasses. Otherwise, I think we'd be getting even more sick then they are." He manages to quietly note to her, an immediate sip of the goblet being made to contain another instance of laughter. It certainly did dawn now in how Furina insisted these matters held their own field of fun to be had. As sociable as Thoma was, from being a figure of growing renown himself, he could see the silver lining.

He decides to ride well into the role his newest suit attire and shaping up has provided. Despite his origins, the conduct of a warrior found itself perfect for seamlessly fitting in, an air of presence and importance that could be exuded just taking his due diligence in appearance. Thoma decides he'll have to thank her for these tips in acting the part.

For the meantime however? Another amused whisper would drift back towards her as they kept side by side. A day of quality time with Furina was certainly nice.

"If they tried anymore however, I think the crows are going to be confusing these two from some old perches."

@myjustice

[piratesexmachine420]

What on Earth is this motherfucker talking about

Joe Biden has literally nothing to do with the F-35. The Joint Strike Fighter program (which produced the F-35) was started under Bill Clinton, the design finalist (the X-35) was selected under George W. Bush, orders for the aircraft were placed under the Obama Administration, and the F-35A and C actually entered production during-- you guessed it, the Trump Administration. (F-35B started at the tail of the Obama Admin) The only thing Joe's done is not cancel the order- something Trump could have done when he was president!

The F-35 in question did not fall out of the sky. In fact the problems was that it did the opposite-- kept flying on autopilot after the pilot ejected. If it dropped like a rock, it would have been much easier to find.

"Two Engines for reliability" -- ha! Here's a list of manned, single-engine aircraft in active use by the U.S. military: the MH/AH-6M Little Bird (attack helicopter), the F-16 Fighting Falcon (Fighter Jet), the T-6 Texan II (Turboprop Trainer), the T-45 Goshawk (Jet Trainer), the TH-57B Sea Ranger (Helicopter Trainer), the T-41D Mescalero (aka the Cessna 172), the T-51A Cessna (aka the Cessna 152), the T-53A Kadet II (aka the Cirrus SR20), the TH-1H Iroquois (Trainer Helicopter, aka the "Huey"), the U-2S Dragon Lady (High-Altitude Reconnaissance), the U-28A Draco (aka the Pilatus PC-12), the UH-1N Twin Huey (Utility Helicopter), and the AV-8B Harrier II (VTOL/"Jump Jet" Fighter); that's 13 aircraft, not including the F-35! You'll note the Harrier sounds a lot like our friend the Lightning-- that is because the F-35(B) is the AV-8B's replacement. I have no idea why he thinks two engines is always better. The F-16, arguably the most cost-effective modern fighter ever built, is a single engine plane. Literally nobody is going to argue we should retire the F-16 because it doesn't have redundant engines. That's absurd.

The "Praying Mantis". I have literally never heard anyone call the B757 the "Praying Mantis". Perhaps he's simply lost his mind.

The most popular airliner among commercial pilots? The data is a little sparse, but the most commonly recurring aircraft I've seen are the 777, the 747, the A380, the 737. The 757 comes up occasionally, but it's not exactly a domineering position. Most pilots' favorite aircraft is the one they fly. The most produced airliner? The 737 with ~11,000, then the A320 ~10,000, and then the 727 with ~1,800.

Literally nobody should have listened to you regarding the 737 MAX. In fact, it's worth pointing out it was your FAA that allowed the 737 MAX to certified as a 737, that the MCAS and Fly-By-Wire were not substantially different from previously certified 737s, and that Boeing was capable of and trustworthy in conducting their self-evaluation. Your administration chose to leave the "red tape" and regulation at the door, and it killed 346 people. (Obviously Trump did not make decisions in the FAA, but he's as guilty as he reasonably could be)

Eat My Ass

The 737 is not ugly :(

Eat My Ass

[fictionfixations]

Not My Turn to Die | YTTD Fansong | Theme Analysis Essay (Rough Draft)

Have you ever thought about how intense situations, can lead to unforeseen changes? How the desire to survive can lead to harmful tendencies? Or how it could hurt allies?

The song “Not My Turn to Die” by Mcki Robyns-P is about a fictional character called Sou Hiyori, the secondary antagonist, from the Japanese horror game, Your Turn to Die -Death Game by Majority-, by Nankidai.

In the game, you play as Sara, in, as self-explained, a death game by majority. More specifically, by majority vote. The theme of the song, in my opinion, is about the encompassing need to live, that suffocates you and pushes you to do things you hadn’t, or maybe wouldn’t do prior, only for the fact of how it can backfire in the worst of ways. It might not even be worth it in the end.

Around the start, it speaks of how the “odds are going to laugh at me anyway”, and continues to say, “I’ll copy that cruel tone and laugh back in their face”. Mix this with another line a quarter in, which states, “Suffocated by an all engulfing Zero. “So, Sou…” “How far are you willing to go?” When you mix this with the actual context, it provides an incentive for how and why he is. Hiyori Sou, or more accurately, Tsukimi Shin at the time, was brought into a death game. The first trial tends to vary a little, but his was being forced to listen to Sue Miley (the floor master, who’s a doll, or more accurately, a robot with an AI. Note that they’re usually based off real people in-game.) speak in excruciating detail about a simulation conducted by AIs based off the roster of participants. From that, chances of survival were calculated, and Shin was at a very low, 0.0%. This caused a break in his personality, “suffocated by an all engulfing zero”, and in his desire to live, he took the name of someone who was once a friend but someone who he now hates, Sou Hiyori.

Shin Tsukimi is assumed to be a timid person (based off a future interaction with Shin’s AI in Chapter 3, Part One.), while Sou Hiyori (The original will be referred to as Midori) on the other hand is a bit paranoid, and is willing to do just about anything to survive. He has a friendly mask on at first, but he’ll go as far as to manipulate those he cares about to ensure his survival. More specifically, he imitated Midori’s personality, even though it was uncomfortable to deal with before the game.

The next verse continues to say, “Since the fate of this ‘me’ is to get betrayed - Before anyone can, I’ll throw that ‘me’ away! - If the truth is I’m not worth enough to survive - I’ll lie and I’ll lie, till the truth can’t decide what’s right! - Whether or not you hate this me - It’s not my turn to die”.

It’s a bit packed but let me explain.

The first line is about how he doesn’t trust anyone (note that Shin also says something about betrayal in the massacre ending), specifically saying ‘this me’ as if there were other versions, or perhaps facades. It’s possible  that Shin could’ve been betrayed in the simulation, which, “I’ll throw that ‘me’ away” (also an allusion to the 2nd main game where he confesses, "I threw Shin Tsukimi away!!") But note too that he’s especially paranoid around kind people like Sara, who he believes to have an ulterior motive. It’s possible he saw that ‘him’ as weaker, which only strengthens the idea that he shut off any part of him that could’ve lowered his survival chances. Continuing, the line about lying is most likely a reference to the first main game. Or more specifically, before it, where he went through the trouble of hiding certain cards (which technically determine your role). There’s not an exact reason besides ‘playing the cards’ right. In fact, he played it to where Kanna found the Sacrifice. He then traded it for his commoner, before hiding it again, but that could lead to them thinking he’s the sacrifice. …But then he also lied and claims to be the Keymaster. Two very separate roles. (If the keymaster is voted, everyone dies. If the sacrifice is voted, everyone BUT the sacrifice dies, and they can choose one other person to live too. Otherwise, the sacrifice dies as well as the voted. It is possible though that he was just trying to get rid of the sacrifice card while also getting favors where he can, but what had happened was that Sou claimed to be Keymaster, in which Kanna claimed to be the Sage, who can verify that.)

Besides that, though, “whether or not you hate this me”, is because he’s the reason Joe, who had the sacrifice card, who is also Sara’s best friend, died. He also gave a bit of whiplash by a sudden personality change where he ‘snaps’ while accusing Sara. And of course, it’s not his turn to die (despite the fact that people did try,) due to Kai earning two more votes than him. Remember, it’s a death game by majority.

Last but certainly not least, is farther then halfway but certainly not 3/4ths in, is “Gloomy turmoil overflows - Facing my ally who believes her life’s worth Nothing. - “So, Shin…” - “How long until that facade caves in?”… - …The fate of this ‘me’ is to get betrayed - But I still couldn’t throw all the weaknesses away - If the truth is only one us can make it out alive - I’ve lied and I’ve lied, so it’s better to kill me, right? - Because I know you hate this me... - It’s my turn”.

In the second main game, there are four participants to be chosen for the ‘finals’. Keiji, Kanna, Sou, and Nao.

Keiji is the Keymaster. Nao is the Sacrifice. Kanna and Sou are the only commoners, and that means that they are the only ones who can be voted without leading to everyone’s death. There’s a problem here, and it’s deeper than ‘little girl vs adult male’, or ‘emotion vs logic’. Kanna is Sou’s sister. (Asunaro, the organization in charge of the death game, gave consent forms, where "I agree to devote myself to Asunaro for granting my wish." That’s it. No specifications or fine print. His was to meet his sibling.)

Kanna is also Sou’s only ally in a sense. Kanna was the one who stuck by him when everyone else was distrustful of him. Kanna trusted him, and you can only last for so long until a person like that is someone you care deeply for. “But I still couldn’t throw all the  weaknesses away.” Kanna was his weakness, and that conflicted with his need to live. When you want someone else to live too.

He confessed to everything.

“I... rewrote the blackboard... and also... I destroyed my own monitor in the Monitor Room!! I've told you everything! Just like I swore!! So please... save me... Win us an extension, please...!!”

Notice the use of us after he laid himself bare, after he confessed to it all, and then he had genuine trust in Sara to keep them both alive. This is because there was an error. Gashu, the host of the second main game, made a transgression.

"He'd try to kill a "non-candidate"

This is because of the roster of survival rates, Shin pointed out that they said candidates, not participants. That means of the four not listed.

The only one not listed in the final note is Nao, who has the sacrifice. Gashu was the one who tampered with the sacrifice, because "There's someone among us who doesn't have the right to victory... a non-candidate?" Note that the only ones left are the people on the roster. The only one who wasn’t was Nao, and that meant she didn’t have an AI. Therefore, it would mess up their ‘perfect’ simulation, and that was why he’d try to kill her.

..This is all for naught, because the game does not end.

"[4] If there is misconduct during the Main Game, it either proceeds with the transgressor's death, or must be retried 24 hours later!"

He kills himself, and they’re back to square one.

In the game, there are two paths that branch off here. Sou lives or Kanna lives. In the song, Sou is the one to live, and Kanna is the one who dies. The thing is, is that Sou is the one who begs for Sara to vote him, telling Kanna, who was speaking about voting her instead, and that Sou deserved another chance, to shut up. "Sara!! You hated me from deep down, right?! Aren't I awful?!" (from the game) “Because I know you hate this me...” (from the song)

So. Sou, or rather, Shin Tsukimi survived. He did everything in his power to last, to prove the simulation that taunted him wrong. To do so, though, he manipulated and lied. He hurt and he taunted. He changed his name, and he put on a mask. He did it! And for what? He left his past behind, made an ally out of a girl he manipulated and tricked. ..And when it all backfires, the one moment he stops caring about his own, and instead of another.. It didn’t really change anything, did it? He lived.

And to you, reader, I have one final question to leave you with.

Was it worth it? (and who would you choose, but that’s not much of a thinker, and “one final question”. Well it is, but the ‘was it worth it’ is partially to what sou did, as well as “was whatever decision you made in game worth it?” Sou or Kanna. Logic vs Emotion.) honestly this sucks

anyway this was helpful cause im actually writing a shin pov oneshot