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deirdra-hearts-nadia · 1 year ago

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I've been thinking about the fandom for The Arcana, and I have come to the conclusion that it's weird as hell. In my 20+ years participating in online fandom spaces, I've never seen a fandom quite like this one. I've seen drama, sure, but the core of most fandoms is a large community of people who love the same media and come together to celebrate it.

The Arcana fandom is not like that. From the very beginning we're more fractured, more factional, more fragile than most. You just have to look around at all the posts lamenting the death of the fandom every 2 weeks to see that something is really wrong here.

And I think a lot of it has to do with the nature of the canon. I am not saying this to criticize The Arcana, the devs, Dorian, or my fellow fans. I have just noticed that, as a piece of media, this game occupies a very unique space that is reflected in the way its fans interact with canon and with each other.

Welcome to the TED talk ain't none of y'all asked for.

Part of what makes this fandom unique is the evolution of fandom as a whole in the face of new types of media. As gaming becomes more mainstream and games themselves become more complex, the way we engage has necessarily changed in response.

Books/ movies/ shows are slightly more static in terms of canon than video games; canon is what it is and how you interact with what is there is largely to do with who you are. Everyone has the same base material to engage with, and that results in a certain amount of constancy. You can't interact with The Princess Bride in a way that changes the movie, only in ways that change your own perception. There isn't a whole lot of room for OCs without rewriting canon, so fans tend to consume OC-based fiction and art with the assumption that it's likely to be self-insert wish fulfillment fantasy time. That isn't always true, but there is a reason the term Mary Sue was coined.

Otome games and other choice-based video games make a very different fan environment, because the way you interact with canon is completely different. You have to build a character in order to interact with the story, and your choices directly impact your experience of canon.

But most western choice-based games are in the context of a larger RPG universe, e.g. Fallout or Dragon Age. There is a lot more to the story than the romance plot and so there's a lot more world to experience, contextualize, and build upon. There's certainly plenty of unhinged ShepxGarrus erotica, but there's also an abundance of fanworks that engage with the plot, the worldbuilding, and the canon characters with relatively little of the player's character needing to be on the page at all.

By contrast, most otome games that make it to English-speaking fandom spaces are Japanese. The romance is the point, but we also start from a place of wariness of our fellow fans. Because there's a huge difference between "harmless weeb" and "orientalist fetishizing creepo," and you know going in that both ends of the spectrum are possible, there is an amount of caution. We curate our space, looking for the creators who align with our expectations and values before we ever begin to interact.

The Arcana falls in a very unique and odd space because it is an otome, but made by Americans, with an attempt at a diverse fantasy cast. It's intended to be for American/ English-speaking audiences and is marketed as such. But making a romance game in America is challenging. Our way of approaching online media, especially smartphone-accessible media, is super fucked up, right? We are constantly trapped between the dichotomies of moral duty (Must Protect The Children) versus appealing to the customer base (Boom Anime Babes with Tig Ol Bitties). Because this is a mobile game, the developers can't make money if the game is removed from the app store, so they want it to be rated teen at the most. But the enticing bit, the thing that captures a potential fan's attention, is the flirtation and sexy implications. So from the jump they're in a weird space purely because they chose to make a mobile game instead of an indie video game released on Steam or similar.

So now you have an inherently split audience: mature adults who know they're getting into a potentially explicit romance game, and young adults/teens who have grown up in a more insulated internet culture where normal words are replaced with Orwellian doublespeak, like "unalive" and "spicy time".

THEN you add in the fact that the developers tried to build a diverse fantasy world, which is a fantastic idea both from an inclusionary standpoint and a broader audience standpoint. But because they didn't employ any actual sensitivity readers (did they think they didn't need them because fantasy can't have racism? Did they justify it as not being in the budget? Would love to know what's going on there) they fell right into a lot of the classic traps. We've been over these time and again, so I won't get into them here. Suffice to say, there has been Discourse. The presence of those issues means that more experienced fans will see those things and call them out, and that criticism causes even more of a split: the zealous apologists versus the critics. And critics can fall into two further categories: those who love the canon and want to see it do better, and the bitches who just love having something to bitch about.

Unfortunately, this combination means that there are inherently factions to this fandom, with staunchly opposed approaches to the media. So even before you enter a fandom space, it's already wildly fractured simply because of the nature of base canon.

THEN add to that the fact that this game is a dating sim. And to engage with a dating sim, you have to build a character and make choices based on that character. Some people will approach this work as storytelling, and some will approach it as an escapist expression of self. Neither of these ways of engaging with canon is wrong. Enjoying a dating sim as Me But Better is fun and completely valid! Engaging with a dating sim as a storyteller collaborating with the developers is fun and completely valid! But the two approaches are opposed in purpose, and that can make it difficult for the two types of fans to engage with one another's work.

Storytellers will well and truly invest in building a character. They may even build out communities, countries, cultures, and languages to make their world all the richer. They are investing hours of blood, sweat, and tears into Their Craft, pouring themselves into an opus of quality fanwork. Unfortunately, this can sometimes lead to big feelings. Fan artists and writers may feel underappreciated if all they get out of their hard work is 2 likes and a gif of a wolf making AWOOGA eyes. They may feel that critique of their work is unwarranted, or that there's no point creating if no one will engage.

The romantics will engage with canon and fanwork from the perspective that "this is my fantasy romance time". Their OC isn't so much Original Character as Optimized Characteristics--that is, their perfect self. They are here for wish fulfillment fun times in the relative privacy and anonymity of the internet, and good for them! But that may mean that criticism of canon or their fan work feels excessively personal--it is very hard to detach the ego from the OC when that OC is a projection of your best self. They may view any critique as a personal attack as opposed to a good-faith attempt at engagement or conversation. This can lead to defensiveness, or to leaving the fandom outright if it feels too hostile.

Unfortunately all of these factions cause rifts in the community. This sometimes turns into fandom vigilantism, where people begin to see any fan who doesn't wholeheartedly agree with them as an enemy. I've seen friends experience bullying and cruelty over their OCs and their art. I've seen predators use the isolated nature of the fandom to further isolate and prey upon already vulnerable individuals. I've seen some really shitty stuff.

But I have also seen beautiful community flourish. I've made friends who feel more like family than my actual relatives. I've seen people work through struggles and overcome deliberate attempts to tear us apart, finding forgiveness and friendship along the way. I've seen myself and others grow because of the community and inspiration we found here. And I saw all of that because I found my people. And I hope, Arcana fandom, that the rest of you can find your people too.

#the arcana #oops i did a ted talk #fandom discourse #the arcana fandom

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gacha-incels · 5 months ago

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imo this is another reason it’s so frustrating to have these young idk ~20 year old type “content creator” shills treating this entire thing like it’s some z-list western youtuber vs youtuber drama blasting no-context and misinfo out buckshot to their extremely impressionable young audience. when you look at their social medias their entire online life revolves around this specific game company and playing their games and posting about their games and making “content” about their games and following other kids who post about their games and play their games and post about their games etc. - essentially consumption of this media has become a central facet of their personality, and any slight on the product is now a slight on them personally. there’s also a growing cult of personality around the director that fosters another type of parasocial relationship. I’ve never witnessed “fandom” spaces for an extended period of time like this so it’s been surprising to me just how extreme all of this gets. But when something threatens the media that these fans have tied so closely to their sense of self they are going to be easily manipulated into placing the blame on a particular group or separating into an Us vs Them mentality. In this case so many of them have been laser focused on exonerating Project Moon that they’re slandering and putting targets on artists who do not deserve to be harassed and groups that are genuinely helping victims of feminist ideological verification in South Korea. at some point the short-sightedness of this becomes obscene.

I don’t think any of these kids and young adults (not saying this to demean you, the typical age group is ~ 16-22) comprehend the severity of the systemic issue that Project Moon had (and has) put itself into. This isn’t My Side vs Your Side, this is about violent antifeminism, systemic misogyny and worker’s rights in South Korea. This is not about you as a fan of a videogame, especially if you do not live there. Again I genuinely do not think Project Moon superfans should be making posts about this issue if you are looking at it in the latter way and not the former. You see this as some “drama” or “event” that effects you and the fans as individuals and the words “vellmori left on her own” or “watch the video” will make people stop talking about it. You repeat this with no contextual knowledge of how any of the labor laws or defamation laws in South Korea work, you look at this case in the bubble of your video game and nothing else. No one serious is doing this tit for tat bullshit in South Korea. I’ve literally been following this case and similar cases for over a year now, you can scroll through this entire blog’s archive and see the landslide of similar feminist ideological verification cases that have taken place since Project Moon’s. PM 7/25 is still referenced as a significant event when newspapers publish articles about this issue. No one is waffling about if the artist left on her own, they understand the situation in their own country. The strange idea that has somehow spread in the English speaking community that KGCS is some grifter group is absolutely baffling. The posts in english “warning” not to donate to them were hilarious at best and extremely condescending at worst, you’re talking like this is some scam gofundme. They probably don’t even know you exist. They typically raise the money they need within a couple of hours, close the donation pool, and then refund anyone who asks. This group not only helped Studio Ppuri’s animator avoid being fired in an event that almost mirrored project moon’s, they raised money for her legal fees that she used to press criminal charges against her harassers and helped set up meetings with the animation directors to explain the “controversial” shots. This was one of the biggest cases of targeted attacks from incel men, it had the chickenshit company Nexon deleting Studio Ppuri’s videos and their studio name was removed from the credits in the Korean broadcast of Solo Leveling. you can search the studio ppuri tag on this blog to see it all, I’ve found an article that has a short interview with the animator that I’ll post later.

Needless to say this is a serious societal, systemic issue, it does not deserve some westerners butting their heads in because they don’t want to feel guilty about playing a videogame. It’s disturbing to see this treated like some drama you just want to be over. it’s gross to watch information twisted and used in pedantic tit for tat arguments you only care about the end product of - “winning” and stopping any further discussion or “drama”. Please get some perspective.

#project moon #limbus company #kgcs #feminist thought verification

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cass-the-mess · 1 year ago

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Was it Real?

Vikhor "Stitch" Kuzmin x Bell!Reader SMUT 18+ MDNI

Photo cred: @pricescigar

A/N: This has been brewing in my drafts since MARCH lol, and I suddenly felt the urge to finish it today so I hope you guys enjoy it!

Synopsis: Bell manages to break out of Adler's mind control early on in the game. She infiltrates the KGB to hopefully reconnect with the current leader of Perseus himself Stitch, angst ensues, old feelings emerge, betrayal happens, they deal with it in the most reasonable way: Shmex :)

CW: Dark themes, dubious content, SMUT, office sex, ex-lovers to enemies to lovers? Stitch is a bad guy ish, possessive sex, degrading, PWP, canon typical violence (this is COD) but not the main theme of this, they're in love but it's complicated because she's a double agent, not really a happy ending but also not a sad ending.

P.S. this one is dedicated to @stararch4ngelqueen because she's great and she makes me wanna keep writing so :)

P.P.S. Dialogue in Italics are flashbacks, dialogues in bold are russian.

You see him right away when you turn the corner of the hallway, his imposing form walking out of the elevator surrounded by some of his most trusted men. The silvery scar tissue cutting through the left side of his face and into his eye adding onto the threatening aura around him.

You remember him, you remember the relationship you had with him before you got taken away and had all of your memories jumbled and carefully rearranged to fit into the narrative the Americans wanted you to be a part of.

Vikhor Kuzmin aka “Stitch”, current leader of Perseus, your mentor, the man who had taught you everything you knew. The man who had made you into the woman you were. That woman was long gone, that thought angered you. You had no loyalties to the American cause, nor to the men who you were currently working for.

Your loyalty to Russell Adler, the leader of this operation, was especially treacherous. You knew what he did to you, the lengths he had taken to turn you against the very people who had built you from the ground up, whatever charade you were currently playing by “helping” him sneak into the KGB to recover intel, was about to end. Sooner rather than later.

You watch intently through the shaded glass of the door you’re hiding behind as Stitch walks through the empty corridor, the armed men at his side posting themselves at strategic points in the hallway as he continues to make his way through the space, not sparing them a second glance, his patterned eyes ice cold and constantly searching and analyzing. The hood covering his head as well as the mask obscuring the bottom half of his face keeping his true emotions from shining through.

Your heart squeezes painfully at the sight of him, you didn’t know where you stood with him anymore, you knew just how important Perseus’ cause was to him, and how loyal to it he was. You doubted he’d ever forgive you, no matter the circumstances surrounding your disappearance, people didn’t just leave Perseus, and if they did, they were found and dealt with. You knew because that was your job, the executioner. The shadow of death, you were the last thing traitors saw before the light left their eyes.

At one point in time, you were his most trusted advisor, his right hand, his friend. You’d spent countless hours with him, the both of you planning, scheming, organizing, a myriad of different operations to spread your influence through the western countries. Most of which had greatly succeeded, you were always five steps ahead of the Americans.

You don’t know when exactly it changed, when your relationship with the stoic, brutal man, changed. When you became something more, when he started looking at you with a glint in his eyes, when his face relaxed a little when it was just the two of you in the same room, or when he started removing his mask around you. Exposing the gnarled, scarred skin of his face to you, letting you see just how truly broken he was.

But you didn’t think he was broken, you saw a man that had overcome challenge after challenge, continuously coming out on top and never giving up. Your respect for him grew, as did your heart. Butterflies swarming your abdomen whenever he looked your way, not needing to say a single word to you, his eyes always speaking so loud in the silence of the room.

Then he started smiling at you, not a full-blown smile, you didn’t think the man was even capable of such a feat, but a small, subtle quirk of his lips. So small you thought you’d imagined it at first. A fleeting curve of his full lips towards you, gone as fast as it had appeared. The memory makes you blush slightly in the dark space of the office you’re hiding in, chewing at your lips anxiously as you wait for him to dispatch the men around him, giving you an opening to talk to him. Hoping your connection plays in your favour, hoping the man won’t shoot you where you stand, knowing that he would, knowing that he should.

Afterall, you’d not only betrayed your cause, but you’d also betrayed him. That realization had weighed heavy on your shoulders ever since you woke up from whatever trance Adler had you in, all of your memories coming back to you in painful bursts, flashes of images blinding you as they assaulted your brain. The pain you had felt as each memory hit you, still sizzling inside you, causing a shiver to trail up your spine.

You take a steadying breath as you watch him through the tinted window, his white, scarred eye, glinting under the artificial light emanating from the fixtures above him. You’d asked him once if he could still see out of that eye, out of curiosity, but also because he seemed to see everything, all the time. Nothing ever escaped him, you wondered how he was able to be so alert with half his vision gone.

“I see.” Had been his curt answer, not giving you anymore detail than that, leaving you to speculate in silence about it, you found it unlikely that his vision had remained intact after taking a knife to the eye, though you supposed miracle stories could happen and he might’ve just been very lucky.

What had surprised you the most though, was weeks later, when you and him had been working together late one night, both absorbed in your respective tasks, you weren’t really paying attention to him, too preoccupied with finishing your own paperwork. He was though, you’d come to learn that he always was, his eyes always straying back to you, no matter how many times he tried to scold himself. You remember it like it was just yesterday, the scene playing out in your mind like a movie. That had been the start of something that meant so much more.

“it’s colour. I can’t see colour.” He’d said suddenly, his voice gruff from lack of use, the heavy Russian accent wrapping clumsily around the syllables of each word, startling you out of your state of deep concentration and forcing you to look up at him, your mouth agape at his sudden answer. The dim, amber lighting of the light above you, bouncing off the discoloured surface of his eye as he looks at you with an unwavering gaze.

“I- is it, weird…? Seeing colour with one eye and not with the other?” You’d replied to him after a beat, your voice coming out unsure as you took a hesitant step towards him, his two-tone eyes following your every movement like a hawk.

He’d never really given you a clear answer, his shoulders lifting in a shrug before dropping his gaze from yours and going back to his work, pensive look on his face as he continued to meticulously organize the papers before him. You didn’t blame him for not answering, hell, the fact that he even talked to you in complete sentences was something to marvel at. Considering he usually only interacted with his men, and even then, he would only really bark orders at them before dismissing them.

He tried though, you could tell he did, his English was choppy at best when he tried to talk to you, sometimes jumping back and forth to Russian when he couldn’t find his words. You’d started to learn Russian that way, and he started to learn English. It was beautiful really, now that you thought about it, he would teach you words in Russian, and you’d teach him the same words in English. He’d get frustrated when trying to pronounce some words and you’d giggle in your sleeve as he grew more and more flustered, the tips of his ears growing red with embarrassment until he huffed out a curse and gave up.

Your throat grows tight at the memory, eyes starting to sting with unshed tears as emotion threatens to overtake you, he was a complicated, brutal man, and yet he was so patient and gentle with you when you were together, his naturally gruff voice growing softer when he spoke to you. It hadn’t always been that way, of course, at first, he dismissed you as just another body in the sea of men he had to direct, not giving you his time of day, and barking orders your way the same way he would the rest of the men.

But then you’d started to make your mark, your work within the organization gaining more and more recognition from your peers, whispers growing and growing until they became a loud roaring in each room you would walk into, eyes tracking your every breath. Soldiers hanging onto your every word like they were prophecy.

He noticed, like he always did, way before everyone else did. Taking matters into his own hands and tracking your progress, reviewing everything you did himself before approving it to be passed down the chain of command, reeling in the few men who thought acting like dogs would get them anywhere but six feet deep with a bullet between their eyes. And so, the whispers started to change, echoes of Perseus’ executioner leaking from the cracks in the walls, men thrice your size averting their gaze when you walked by, in fear of angering their leader, knowing him as the type of man to not make threats, only promises.

He would seek your advice more often, confiding in you and asking your opinion on certain aspects of operations he wanted to greenlight. You’d been privy to the birth of many successful missions, a lot of which you’d tweaked and reworked under his careful guidance, the subtle glint in his eyes growing more and more every time you managed to surprise him, the pride in his voice unmistakable when those plans came to fruition.

One of those nights after a successful mission, he’d finally kissed you, it happened out of nowhere and even he seemed surprised about it. He’d been watching you all night from across the room, ice cold eyes trailing after you as you mingled with men unworthy of your attention, men who had no idea just exactly who they were talking to. His own thoughts surprised him, the sudden possessiveness coursing through his veins startling him and causing him to stiffen up in the corner of the room he was standing in, the men attempting to congratulate him on yet another successful operation immediately backing up at the sight of their leader so wound up.

You weren’t paying attention, not really, the sudden peak in popularity you were going through quite hard to digest at that time, going from “just another body” to Perseus’ Executioner was already taking its toll on you. So when a harsh slap resounded from across the room, startling everyone into silence, you took a second to understand what the buzz was about, your Russian at the time not as fluent as it was now, add to the fact that your brain was fuzzy from the effects of the alcohol you were drinking, the only words you caught amongst the whispers of the room currently staring in muted fear at their leader were “fucking mongrel” and “kill you where you stand.”

He'd stormed out after that, his anger palpable in the now silent room, the man victim of his wrath left to lick his wounds on the carpeted floor of the decorated conference room you were all left standing in, he wasn’t one for parties to begin with, he’d told you as much during one of your many late night conversations, social gatherings made him feel uneasy, especially when they served no purpose.

The remaining guests had slowly started to leave after that, some of them throwing you a questioning look as they walked out, forcing a frown to form on your face, sure you were still considered an outsider to this whole operation but you’d been with this team for months now, your work was paving the way for generations to come, Stitch was the first one to back that statement, his trust in you unwavering.

With that in mind, you decided to follow after him, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible in your endeavours as the fuzziness in your brain started to dissipate from the alcohol you’d been indulging in earlier. His usual hangout place in the late hours of the evening tended to be in a room adjacent to his office, he used it for multiple different purposes, and right now, that room held most, if not all, of your joint findings for future operations. You decided to check there first.

You found him hunched over one of the tables, a piece of paper crumpled in his large fist, his shoulders heaving under the thick charcoal material of his jacket, the hood covering his head doing little to conceal the man’s current emotional state. You took a hesitant step forward, not wanting to startle, or anger him further in the state he was in.

“Vik…?” You’d called softly, the nickname somewhat new and foreign to you, but you’d taken to calling him that when it was just the two of you alone, his alias always felt wrong to say, you were never quite able to put a finger on why exactly you felt that way about him, but when he’d given you his real name after countless nights spent working with you, you’d decided to go with it, accepting the gesture as what you could only imagine meant something far greater to him.

He never did answer you, his hooded head shaking back and forth in the confines of the room, the flickering light above you doing very little in terms of actual lighting, mostly casting shadows on every corner of the room, illuminating his figure but not highlighting any of his features.

He was mumbling something under his breath, the heavy notes of Russian syllables registering in your mind and forcing you to get closer to him in an effort to understand his tense ramblings. He’d heard you for sure, but he was probably too far into his own head to really acknowledge you at this point.

You took another hesitant step forward, coming to a stop next to him, his words sounding clearer now that you were next to him, but your brain still couldn’t find the right associations at that moment, too overwhelmed with the events of that day to make sense of it all.

“Vik- Can you slow down? I can’t make out what-“

He’d turned around then, his bright eyes pinning you in place, his right eye as blue as the iciest lakes of Russia, and his left eye, as white as the tallest peaks of the motherland’s mountains. He rarely held any warmth in them, even when he looked at you, it didn’t surprise you, after all, the man was a product of his environment, and his environment had been nothing but harsh and unforgiving. All in all, he’d come out of it mostly unscathed, a smart and intimidating man with a steel resolve and an ambition for revolution, it was hard to not admire him in that sense.

“Fucking pigs. Have no respect for their superiors.” He finally answered after a long moment of looking at you, his breathing had calmed down some and he was finally able to slow down when he spoke, the harsh, grating sound of his dialect oddly comforting to you.

You frowned at him then, not understanding his anger, closing the distance between the both of you and gently grasping onto the scarred hand that was holding onto the piece of paper you’d seen him crumpling up when you walked in, extricating it from his grasp and straightening it.

Your eyebrows shot up as you carefully unfolded the paper to reveal the source of his anger; a crudely drawn stick figure with pigtails and enormous breasts, bent over in front of a hooded stick figure holding a knife. The drawing obviously representing you and him engaging in something obscene.

At the bottom of the piece of paper you made out the words “Perseus’ whore”, scrawled in sloppy writing, no doubt an attempt at humor from whoever gave this to him. You shook your head as a deep sigh escaped you, crumpling the offending art project and throwing it in the bin next to the table.

“He’ll get what’s coming to him.” You whispered as you gently placed your hand onto his broad shoulders, the soft fabric of his jacket warm under your touch, your head tilting slightly to catch his eyes. “The men closest to us respect me as they respect you Vik, this will not go unpunished.”

“No matter. I will not allow such vile conduct from lowly insects. He will pay with blood.” He’d said, carefully enunciating every word to make sure you understood his meaning well, his voice had grown rougher with barely contained anger.

The tension in the room had suddenly come to a boiling point, you remember the feeling vividly, his eyes had slowly dragged up your body until they’d landed on your face. The intensity he’d held in his gaze at that moment seared in your mind forever. You feel your breath hitch just at the memory, your throat bobbing as you swallow uneasily.

“My executioner. Together we’ll watch the world burn.” He had finally said, his rough hand carefully taking your much softer one from where it lay on his shoulder, fingers intertwining as he’d closed the distance between you and him. His mask long forgotten on the table next to you, he’d probably taken it off when he walked in, chucking it carelessly onto the pile of paperwork currently taking up most of the surface.

You remember smiling at his ruthlessness, the rough Russian words had somehow seemed so romantic to you in that moment. You remember the way his scarred lips had felt as he’d finally pressed them onto yours, so warm in contrast to the cold man they belonged to. You remember the way he’d held you that night, the way his muscular body had felt against yours, the way he’d whispered your name almost reverently in between soft kisses, his body gently crowding yours against the desk, pushing you up onto it so he could fit himself between your legs, his lips never leaving yours.

He'd taken you, right then and there, on the desk. Pushed everything off the wooden surface so he could have access to all of you without restraint. His lips explored your skin, worshipping every inch of it, every scar, every blemish as if the simple touch of his lips would somehow atone for the sins of others against you. The words he’d whispered to you alternating between Russian and English, he wanted to make sure you understood just how much you meant to him.

You’d done the same to him, ensured to kiss every scar you could see, your fingers gently traced the damaged skin of each and every one of them as you whispered your own words of worship to him, the taste of his skin burnt into your DNA, the shape of each of his tattoos engraved into your mind forever.

That night changed everything.

The memory fades, your heart clenches in melancholy at the knowledge that you’ll never be able to regain his trust, his softness, his love. All that you were eclipsed, and all that could’ve been was now nothing but wishful thinking on your part.

Vikhor didn’t forget, most of all, he didn’t forgive.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally dismisses his men with a curt nod followed by a rough command, the armed men hastily retreating to their assigned post, leaving the hallway deserted for the most part and the path to his office clear.

You follow his gaze as he sweeps the hallway himself one last time, the iciness of his eyes as they take in every detail one last time makes your heart beat faster in your chest, and you’re not sure if it’s out of fear or excitement. After a moment his critical gaze lands directly on the door you’re hiding behind, his eyes squinting at the tinted glass as you duck, a curse escaping your mouth.

The majority of his face is hidden by the gas mask he constantly wears outside, coupled with the thick hood obscuring his head, it’s hard to make out his expression as he finally turns around and enters his office, the door clicking quietly behind him. A relieved sigh leaves your mouth, you shuffle quietly, gathering your thoughts and trying to calm the storm raging in your mind as you get closer and closer to what you came here to do.

You hope he’ll listen, at the very least let you apologize and explain to him what happened to you, maybe even believe you when you tell him that your heart never left this place, that your purpose was and still is to be at his side, to rule the empire you helped him build over the years.

You know your chances are slim to none, but a small part of you hangs on to that sliver of hope that he’ll spare you, that he’ll accept the information you bring him. You swallow uneasily as you get up from where you were crouching on the floor, you throat suddenly dry and constricted. Most of all, you hope that he’ll remember his love for you, the love you both shared for one another before all of this went down, before your entire identity was ripped to shreds, before you were ripped from him.

You scan the hallway one last time before opening the door as quietly as possible, your eyes jumping from corner to corner to make sure no one sees you. You know this place like the back of your hand, spent countless hours walking through these very halls, working with some of these people, and yet, you’re nothing more than a ghost now, another soul lost to the cause, another name whispered, another body never recovered.

You step carefully, gracefully to his office, the blinds behind the tinted window are always closed and today is no exception. You strain your hearing in an attempt to decipher what he’s doing behind the closed door, nothing reaches you but dreadful silence. You grasp the door handle with a sweaty hand, fingers shaking as they wrap around the cold metal, your breath quickening as you slowly turn the handle and push open the door, one foot stepping in before you stop dead in your tracks, your eyes widening.

The sight before you is enough to make your stomach drop, you see the man you love lounging behind his desk, relaxed as ever, one foot propped on top of it, the heavy military boots he wears resting on the worn wood as he stretches his body out. His right hand wrapped around his gun, the metal glinting menacingly in the dim light of the room as he slowly rocks the weapon back and forth in his hand, dragging it over the surface of the desk every so often.

His other arm hangs on the side of the chair, out of view. His head is inclined slightly to one side, eyes pinning you to the spot as he glares at you with an intensity you’ve only ever seen directed at insubordinates within his ranks. The sword of Damocles hanging over your head in the very room you’d engineered Perseus’ most successful hits.

You open your mouth to speak but no words come out, your breath rushes out of you as you try to find your footing.

“Close the door.” He finally says, his English rusty and broken, his eyes unwavering as he tracks your every move like a predator waiting to pounce. You fumble with the door for a moment before finally closing it.

“Lock it.” He tells you, his voice coming out as growl and forcing a shiver of uneasiness to trail up your spine, every fiber of your being telling you to run, to get away, to save yourself before it’s too late.

“Vik-“ You start quietly as you turn around to face him, not moving from where you stand in fear of angering him further.

“Vik? After all this time?” He interrupts you roughly in Russian, his tone dripping with venom and disdain at your use of his given name. You miss the way he flinches at your voice, the lighting in the room too dark to perceive the slight reaction.

“Please listen to me, I promise- I promise this isn’t what you think it is.” You answer back in Russian, your voice quivering with unshed tears as you take a hesitant step towards him, imploring him to find it in him to listen to what you have to say.

“Do you know how many men I have looking for you, executioner? Do you know the price there is on your head right now, my love?” He spits that last part at you like the word leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, like he can’t believe he ever called you that to begin with.

He gets up then, slowly, confidently, his foot slowly dragging across the desk before falling heavily on the floor with a dull thud, the weight of it making the desk tremble slightly. The barrel of his gun drags against the wooden surface as he slowly rounds the desk to come face to face with you, standing well over a foot above you.

His smell assaults you then, clean linen and a hint of fresh mint overshadowed by gunpowder that sticks to every piece of clothing he owns. A smell that was once familiar and comforting now eliciting a shiver of fear in you, pale eyes that once held your entire world now only hold anger and hurt, a hurt that runs so deep you feel your heart crack under the weight of his gaze.

“I’m sorry Vik, I’m so fucking sorry, you have to listen to me please-“ You whisper as your voice breaks under the torrent of emotion raging through you.

“The Americans, they took me, they experimented on me, forced me to forget everything, made me into their puppet so I could feed them information on Perseus.” You tell him, stumbling over your words as you try to make him understand what’s at stake. His eyes harden, the scar running through his left eye looks even angrier like this, the usually pale blue of his right eye now looks almost black as anger simmers in it.

You swallow uneasily as cold metal presses under your chin, forcing your head up and straining the muscles of your neck.

“And? Did you? Did you betray us? Did you betray me, my love?” He whispers as he presses the cold metal harder against the delicate skin there, the heat in his gaze igniting something inside you, it feels wrong, so fucking wrong but you can’t help yourself as a whimper escapes you.

“No. No, I- “ You swallow uneasily as you try to keep your head upright and your gaze on his, refusing the let him see how scared you are.

“I told them nothing, I invented false leads to throw them off your scent. I convinced them to let me come here to get information because I wanted to warn you- They’re coming Vikhor, they want your head, Adler wants your head.” At the mention of Adler his other hand shoots up to wrap itself around your neck, pushing you against the door violently, the hand holding the gun lets go suddenly, the weapon clattering to the ground.

His now free hand comes up to his masked face, ripping away the constricting contraption to reveal more of his scarred flesh to you, his full lips pulled back into a feral snarl as he lowers his head to your ear. “You’re telling me Russell Adler is outside this fucking building waiting for you to bring him intel on ME?!” He rasps out in a deadly whisper, the hand around your neck tightening as he slaps the other one against the surface of the door, making you flinch.

“No. Not here. I’m alone, I promise I came alone, they trust me, I made them believe they could trust me. You need to move to a different location NOW Vik, I’ll give them a random location to give you time to get your men mobilized but you can’t stay.” You reply, one of your hands closing gently around the one at your neck, squeezing gently, reassuringly. Your eyes pleading with him, trying to get through the thick layer of ice between you and him.

He smirks then, his lips twisting in a deformed grin, exposing perfectly white teeth from the corner of his mouth as his hand loosens and his thumb slowly drags across your lips, his breath fanning across your cheek as a humorless laugh escapes him.

“I should fucking kill you, make an example out of you, discard you like the dog you are.” He whispers seductively, his eyes fixated on your lips as his thumb continues to rub gently across the delicate skin there, trying to coax your tongue out to wet them.

“Vik-“ You whimper breathlessly, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

“No, instead I think I’ll let you continue on this mission of yours, you keep feeding them faulty information and you keep giving me information like the good little bitch you are, and maybe, MAYBE, I’ll let you live.” He growls out, his lips now dangerously close to yours, a wicked glint in his eyes as his tongue pokes out, dragging across his own lips as hunger starts burning through the glaciers nestled in his eyes.

His mouth is on yours then, he’s kissing you like he’s never kissed you before, desperation driving his every move as both of his hands cradle your face, one of his knees pushing your legs apart, forcing your core against his clothed thigh, the thick muscle under you flexing to accommodate you.

Your own hands grab onto the sides of his face, his strong jaw speckled in stubble, the rough texture of it making you moan into his mouth, giving him the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue meeting yours for the first time in almost a year. A guttural groan escapes him at the taste of you, his desperation increasing tenfold as he suddenly scoops you up, one hand securely around your waist, while the other grabs a handful of your ass, encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.

You hear commotion as he drops you on his desk, his lips never leaving yours as he sweeps everything off the wooden surface, in one swoop all the clutter occupying his desk is sent flying across the room, you hear what you assume is a mug, shatter as it hits the floor.

His hands are grabbing everywhere at once, pulling at your clothing as he tries to get as close as possible to you, his need presses insistently against your stomach, pulling a moan from you as you try to move against him, your own delirium getting the best of you, all previous thoughts or worries gone from your mind as you finally feel him against you once more.

“Need you, Vik, please” You whine out, your hips straining towards his for any kind of relief, the Russian words coming from your mouth in such a needy manner pushing him into a frenzy, his hands dipping under the fabric of your shirt, pulling away from you just long enough to tear the piece of fabric off of you, exposing more of your skin to him. His hands immediately going to your breasts, pulling the cups of your bra low enough to expose them.

“Shut the fuck up, don’t say my name like that, not when you ripped my entire fucking heart out when you left, not when you left and took my soul with you. I couldn’t fucking think without you, I can’t fucking live without you.” He growls out, his voice betraying him as it cracks with emotion at his own admission.

Your answer comes as a moan as his lips wrap around one of your nipples, tongue curling over the sensitive bud, your hands tighten around his neck as you throw your head back in pleasure, hips grinding against his pulsing erection, the friction not nearly enough to provide any relief through the thickness of both your pants, you let out a frustrated cry at that, deciding to take matters into your own hands, you slide your fingers down his muscular chest, the wild thumping of his heart vibrating through your skin.

You reach his belt buckle a few moments later, nimble fingers working through the loops of his belt in quick efficient movements, finally freeing it. You hurriedly unzip his pants, his hips push into your hands as he continues to explore your skin, kissing and biting every inch of exposed flesh, making you his once again, making sure you’re real and not just a figment of his imagination.

When your hands finally wrap around the thickness of him, his forehead drops against your sternum, a grunt escaping his mouth as you slowly pump his length, your own mouth leaving a trail of sloppy kisses along his jaw, his name like a prayer on your tongue, reassuring him that you’re actually there, that you’re real, that you love him.

“Can’t- can’t wait. Need you, right here, right now.” He breathes out, his hands fumbling with your pants impatiently, almost tearing them in his haste to get them off of you, not even caring to remove them completely.

“I’m here, I’m here my love, take what you need.” You whisper reassuringly, your lips catching his in another kiss as his big hand cups your core, fingers dragging through your arousal before pushing one thick digit inside you, the tight ring of muscles relaxing around him as he starts thrusting his finger in a steady rhythm, more of your arousal leaking out around his hand.

You push your face against his clothed shoulder to muffle the sounds you make, not wanting to get caught, your teeth sinking into the thick layer of muscle when he adds a second finger, the soft squelching of your wetness resonating throughout the dark room, coupled with the soft curses leaving his mouth occasionally as you continue your own assault on him, precum leaking steadily from his tip and onto your hand, making a mess of his own.

“Always so fucking wet for me aren’t you? Even when you betray me, this pussy knows who it belongs to.” He growls possessively in your ear, his movements growing more relentless as you start clenching around him, the degrading statement only adding to your growing arousal.

You cum suddenly, violently around his fingers. Tears spring to your eyes as you throw your head back, a broken half sob, half moan escaping you as he continues to thrust his fingers slowly inside your pussy, your legs shaking from where they’re still hooked around his waist.

His fingers slide out of you, forcing a hiss from you at the sudden emptiness, but the feeling doesn’t last long, you feel the thick head of his length pressing against your opening, the familiar feeling causes a shiver to rip through you.

“Look at me. Wanna see you when I make you cum.” He commands, breaching you with a steady thrust. You struggle to keep your eyes open at the onslaught of pleasure overtaking you, your eyesight blurry from tears of pleasure threatening to spill out, but you nod clumsily, one hand twisting into the material of his sweater when he starts working himself deeper into you, his breathing growing ragged at the feel of you taking him deeper and deeper with each thrust.

You lose track of the words coming out of your mouth, Russian and English coming out as a jumbled mess, different variations of his name as well as pleas to let you cum fade into one another, his hips stuttering every so often when your voice cracks around the syllables of your prayers to gods who gave up on the both of you long ago.

His hands end up around your jaw once again, the roughened skin holding your face softly as his piercing eyes hold yours, his own jaw clenched hard enough to make the vein on his forehead jump with strain as he wrestles with his feelings and with the pleasure coursing through his body, wave after wave assaulting his senses like an unrelenting storm.

When your release comes, it’s an all-consuming inferno, the muscles in your core collapsing onto the heavy thickness of him within you, forcing his thrusts to turn erratic in turn. Your head thrown back in a silent scream as you soak the desk beneath you with the proof of your pleasure, a pleasure that gets stretched out as he chases after his own release, pumping into you with abandon, strong hands holding onto your head as his own eyes roll back into his head as he finally cums deep inside you.

You both lay there panting for a moment, your minds reeling, your hearts clenched tight with emotional turmoil, wanting to stay here forever, and wanting to disappear at the same time.

When he finally pulls out, a hiss escapes him, his eyes fixated on the evidence of your coupling slowly leaking out of your abused cunt as he tucks himself back into his pants gingerly, the mask of tense indifference he wore earlier falling back into place seamlessly.

“Go. Grab your shit. I’ll find you when I’m ready.” He grunts, turning around and exiting his office without another word, leaving you there.

#call of duty #call of duty cold war #stitch call of duty #vikhor stitch kuzmin #bell call of duty #fanfiction #Stitch x Bell #Stitch x Reader #russell adler #adler call of duty

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mrs-monaghan · 2 years ago

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Hi, it's KY here :)

How is everyone feeling about the Taennie news? Knetz have fully accepted the truth and moved on, I suggest I-fans need to do the same. (Jennie is known for having dating news come out regularly, so it's not a big deal for BP fans. For Armys, the sane ones, we've known for a while now haven't we? It's not a shock anymore.)

I read the comments on my previous ask and don't worry! I will not be sharing anything sensitive whatsoever. I find it funny when other shippers say things like "How is it possible that K-fans can keep things to themselves?" I don't think I've seen anyone else address this yet so let me tell you why.

K-Jikookers are mostly queer. Yes, you read that right. Unlike other shippers, who are straight women that self-insert as one of the members (like they do with TK) we support them as a couple. This means that we don't want to date either of them, and we don't self-imagine as their partner - we know that they're unavailable because they're exclusive to each other. You get me? And we know first hand how terrible it is to be queer in a conservative society. There are actually very few real romantic shippers in Korea, (again, KM is the only romantic ship that has a substantial fanbase) simply because it is so hard to accept two men dating. This is why you will see K-Jikookers on Twitter all being close friends/meeting up in person, because they are kindred spirits. I think it might be hard for westerners to really understand. How do I emphasize this more? The older generation in Korea, anyone older than 30+, is deeply homophobic, to the point where they see anything LGBT as western influence and pervasion. Being American, I know it's hard to grasp that level of homophobia - it's not hate comments about your sexuality or people refusing to sell you a cake for a gay wedding. It's social death, rejection, parents disowning their children, getting fired from your job. I'm not kidding. Do you think us, as queer fans who love and support KM, will willingly out them?

We would never, ever, ever do that, because we know the repercussions. Some Jikookers like to fantasize about their coming out, and I want you to understand: the K-side is terrified of that day. Yes, we all think it will happen in due time, but we are very very scared. You think the hate that JM is getting now is bad? You think people sending food to JK's apartment is bad? Nope. You haven't seen anything yet. You understand what I mean, right? Their coming out will not be a cute post. It will be a carefully orchestrated move complete with a legal and PR team. If/when they are out, their lives will be in immediate danger. I truly believe they will leave the country for a bit, maybe even months, maybe a year. There will not be any public sightings, fan meets, concerts. KM know this very well too. I'm sure there's already a plan in place for it.

And anyone searching for KM evidence on K-Jikookers social media, I would say don't bother. It's almost impossible. The white day photo leak was a massive mistake, and I know exactly who leaked it because they were removed from all group chats immediately. K-Jikookers were very very angry with them (and also cussing out foreigners...please, we all need to keep our mouths shut and keep stuff within our own circles.)

-KY

KY has spoken. We appreciate your services and await your next drop in.

I too, the Jikookers that I know, I have never seen them self insert themselves. Those are y/n idiots who do this shit. Not even in private spaces do I see this happening. We support them as a couple, despite how hot we may find them. We understand and believe they only have eyes for eo.

We appreciate the commercial break KY. Now back to the headline

TAENNIE IS REAL!!!!!

#ask shaz #bts ask #jikook #kookmin #jimin and jungkook #taennie is real #taennie #jikook is real

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dovesmelodyproject · 8 months ago

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Dove's Melody Project FAQ

• What is the Dove’s Melody Project?

Dove’s Melody Project is a blog where you can find information about ongoing music industry boycotts, news, protests etc. The goal is to make people aware of these boycotts, why they are being done and so they can stay informed on what to do and how they can participate in it

• Why are people trying to boycott music labels & kpop companies?

The big three are western music (Sony Music, UMG & Warner) as well as the big 4 (HYBE, SM, JYPE) and Starship Entertainment have zionists working under these companies, collaborated or have sponsors with zionist brands, had zionist producers working for them & have CEOs that support the genocide and actively fund it. Kakao Entertainment is also a company people are trying to actively boycott since they distribute half of the Kpop industry’s music and have ties with Israeli companies. If you want more information about the boycotts, you can check out Zionists In Music on both Twitter and Instagram, you can check this carrd for information about the HYBE boycott

• How are these boycotts supposed to help?

Zionism thrives off propaganda and said propaganda is being spread by higher-ups in the music industry as we speak. Not to mention, said people are directly funding that genocide with money from music consumers. Them existing in this industry, means they have the money and the connections to keep spreading propaganda whether it’s in the industry or through their social media. This propaganda is one of the reasons why this genocide is still able to keep happening and thriving! If these people are no longer in this space or in a position of power, it will stop the propaganda and also people’s money will not be used to fund a genocide anymore. It’s imperative that we don’t allow these CEOs and music executives to keep thriving in this space since they don’t deserve to be here in the first place. If you want to understand how these streams can fund the genocide, you can refer to this thread. If you don't have Twitter and can't check out the thread, you can check it through this post.

• How long will these boycotts last?

Until the needs are met! Meaning, when these people are possibly fired or removed from their positions and these labels and companies are no longer supporting or funding the genocide or supporting brands that are zionist

• Will the artists under these labels/companies will be affected by this boycott?

Honestly, that’s the last thing that should be on your mind right now. The boycotts are being done because we are in solidarity with Palestinian people and we want these labels and companies to stop platforming zionists and also fund the genocide. Some of the artists you might listen to are pretty established in the industry or are from these big companies and the truth of the matter is, they might not be affected. These artists must realize why this is being done and why we need to take such measures to get our point across

#*posts #*faq

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vikinglanguage · 1 year ago

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Top ten Danish sayings according to me

My ten favourite Danish sayings/turns of phrase (in no particular order), just because I love language. I say all of these regularly. Enjoy!

goddag mand, økseskaft – hello man, axe handle

This one is used when someone answers a question you asked in a nonsensical way or just in general when someone has said something foolish or nonsensical. you can read about the origin in Danish here.

det kan ske, det kniver med gaflerne – it may spoon it knives with the forks / it happens that the forks are in short supply

Not used in any specific situation other than when someone says det kan ske 'it happens', because ske 'spoon' and ske 'happen' just so happen to be homonyms. Additionally kniv 'knife' and knibe 'be in short supply' are almost homophonous, especially if kniv was a verb.

fra folk og fulde børn skal man høre sandheden – from people and drunk children you will hear the truth

This is not actually the saying, it's supposed to be børn og fulde folk, but it's more fun like this. Originally, this refers to the fact that neither children, nor the drunk tend to think too hard before speaking, thus they tend to tell the truth.

det haster ikke mere end det jager – it's no more urgent than urgency

Excuse my creative liberties here, as both haste and jage mean 'be urgent'. It is more or less synonymous with "take it easy, no rush" – a sort of Danish hakuna matata.

To me, as someone from Western Jutland, jager should always be pronounced jawer ['ja.wʌ] in this saying.

stå med håret i postkassen – to have gotten one's hair stuck inside the mailbox

A metaphor for when you are in some sort of trouble or problematic situation where you feel like you have no power to change your unlucky situation. Often used when you are disappointed as a result of being cheated somehow.

det kan noget – it does something

My best approximation of an English version is "it's got a certain je ne sais quois", because that's literally what it means. It does something for you, specifically, but you're not entirely sure what exactly it is that it does – but it works!

man kan æggehvide, hvad man æggeskal – one egg whites what one eggshells | one cannot know what one should not do

Another pun, I am sorry for being your literal dad, I guess. Basically æggehvide 'egg white' sounds like ikke vide 'not know' and æggeskal 'eggshell' sounds like ikke skal 'should not'

ikke nå nogen/noget til sokkeholderne – not being able to reach someone/something's garters

When someone/-thing is not nearly as good as someone/-thing else. You know, it barely reaches above their knee!

hvor der handles, der spildes – where stuff gets done, stuff gets lost

Exactly what it says on the tin. Its English cousin is "you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs".

fanden og hans pumpestok – the Devil and his pump stick

Yes, this is as vulgar as it sounds. This one is used last in lists of things that are excessive, e.g, vi skulle støvsuge, slå græs, fjerne spindelvæv, dampe gulvtæppet og Fanden og hans pumpestok 'we had to vacuum, mow the lawn, remove cobwebs, steam the carpet and God knows what else'.

Honourable mention for this one that I learnt while looking stuff up in the dictionary:

[ID: A screenshot from Danish online dictionary ordnet.dk of the entry for the saying 'anbringe bagdelen i klaskehøjde'. It explains the saying and additionally recommends the entries for smæk and øretævernes holdeplads. End ID]

Translation:

to place one's backside (ass, bum) in smacking height.

TRANSFERRED MEANING cause oneself to end up in a situation where one might very easily be exposed to criticism and negative reactions from one's surroundings – e.g., by speaking openly about a certain case USE informal

SEE ALSO spanking | the whoopings' parking space

#literally googled 'euphemisms for getting beat up' to find a translation of øretæver that i liked #the literal translation is ear beatings #but its about ~the vibes~ as is the trend for translations #anyway heres a post!!!#danish #danish language #langblr #Danish langblr #language #idioms #sayings #vocabulary #original

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jfashion-confessions · 10 months ago

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I don't understand the back and forth between Jirai. As a mentally ill adult with BPD as well as other illnesses. I don't understand trying to claim a slur I wouldn't be called as a western who lives IN the west. No one in the west randomly uses that SLUR because its japanese. English speakers still don't jot their english with random Japanese. English speaker would call me: Crazy, lunatic, unhinged, attention seeking, someone they gotta tiptoe around / walk on eggshells around, mental, a "amber heard", a danger like jodi arias. the list goes on and on... I've heard hurtful and dismissive comments about my mental health or even just heard this about others who are mentally ill, because not everyone knows my status. But my point is the "feed back" and dismissive and belittling comments are always in english. I just find when I see younger folks arguing its a slur they like or they wanna reclaim it doesn't sit right with me. We don't get called those things. We get called ENGLISH words. I've never heard it in my life until the subculture became more popular in the west in 2020/2021. And since probably 2023 I've seen it become more popular. But even still I don't *hear* the word enter normal peoples vocab. I also don't really like calling it a lifestyle, because mental health isn't a lifestyle. It's a condition. I don't want to glamorize mental health, it should be seen just like any other health condition. Just like allergies, or physical illness something else. The difference between education and awareness and glamorizing is awareness gives you better understanding of the disorder. Glamourising makes people wish they were disordered or don't want to seek treatment because thats their "thing". We all struggle and have bad days, some stuff will set us off, sometimes stuff is difficult. But thats not "jirai" to struggle. I like the term "dark girly" as someone who's got bpd and psychosis because it also removes my mental health from the fashion. Dark girly addresses the aesthetic, motifits and beautiful (dark and rich) colors I see. Jirai can't be divorced from its original context, or the sex trafficking or other aspects of its shady history and inevitable trauma it's created. I also don't like negative stereotypes being connected with mental health. I can recognise for japanese young women / women this slur has preduices and that culture is not as open with mental health. It's more judgemental, views it as a private affirm. (and yes, as a western I can see the relatable because I had parents who were in this same conservative mindset of we don't share bad things. Don't talk about your suffering, don't talk to a therapist. Stop! But, I'm an adult now & as a western I have more access to getting help, but also being able to openly speak about my issues and find spaces were I can do so without stigma or judgement. I'm not aware if japan has this so much. Culturally speaking I'm an outsider, so my awareness is ignorant.) For reclaiming the slur too, I find it really strange because the west has a lot of different cultures in it, and i'm sure all of them have their own slurs for mentally unwell people and society beliefs with mental health and how its shameful & yet I don't see westerns grabbing those slurs and being like 'you know what! I'm this too, I'm reclaiming all of this." I just feel like Jirai is being claimed by misguided youngsters. But I really wish the back and forth could stop and I realize I'm fueling the debate to. So I'm sorry.

#jfashion confessions #jirai kei

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whereserpentswalk · 4 months ago

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It really sucks how a lot of media enjoyers seem to equate genre or tone with politics. Like the way some people so vehemently think certain sub genres of scifi have political messages preloaded into them when they really don't.

Star Wars is a great example of this problem. So many bad Star Wars takes are either from people who think the fact that it's a fairytale in space makes it so it can't be an anti fascist text, or from people who think that it being an anti fascist text makes it so it can't be a fairytale in space. It's even leaked into movies, 1, 7 and 9 seem to think it's an apolitical story because of it's tone, while 2, 3 and 8 all seem to think that the silly elements have to be removed to make the politics work (and end up creating new, less intentional silly elements).

It really sucks when people refuse to take a peice of media as it is when they analyze it. Literally any tone or genre can be used to tell a story with almost any political leaning, but they'll still be using the conventions of that genre to tell it. To go back to our star wars example, you have to accept it both as a fairytale and as a political text to understand the symbolism behind things like why there are no grey jedi, or why stone age dog people can defeat an army with mechs and laser guns. Not to harp on the Star Wars example for too long but you can understand the dark side better from that one cave scene than you can from a thousand pages of information on a wiki.

Like, cyberpunk has this problem a lot, where people think cyberpunk is inherently leftist because it has leftist origins. But a lot of cyberpunk works are just kind of reactionary, especially when you look at the way a lot of works in that genre deal with disability or depictions or non western cultures. Or the countless conversations about weather superheros are fascist, when it just doesn't make sense to assume something like the original Xmen has the same politics as a multimillion dollar crossover movie funded by the US marines. It also goes for themes across tones and genres, like how the Cthulhu mythos and Lotr have very diffrent vibes, but their fucked up racial politics are the same, so they kind of came together to create modern fantasy's ideas about race.

Idk if any of this makes sense. The star wars part of this essay thing ended up longer then expected. Feel free to get mad over my hot takes because of things I implied about your blorbos. I don't know how to end this. Please reblog with any opinions you have, or just if you agree.

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alatismeni-theitsa · 2 months ago

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Hi, Im a new hellenic polytheist and I want to ask you about altars. Whenever I ask other hellenic polytheists about making altars, they almost always tell me to “pick out crystals” depending on who the altar is for. But from what I can see from more historical sources, they don’t really put crystals. From what Ive read from those sources, the altar is like this blank stone table thing where all the sacrifice is done (and I think theres also a separate altar for placing votive offerings, but ive also seen some sources state votive offerings are stored in separate rooms) while all the imagery and temples are the shrine part. I’d like to ask you how to do this in today’s time, since I can’t really get myself a hearth nor get any statues… Although maybe there’s some more “casual” worship done in the house that I don’t know of yet, since most of the stuff I read was about the temples and not the house. Whenever I read about altars in the house, its usually just a few sentences saying that there was an altar and hearth. So yeah, I’m kinda just asking about altar advice. And I’d also like to ask on your opinion on travel altars, since I see a lot of those recently. They’re basically just a tiny container with altar necessities in them to carry around easily (usually a candle and something to light it, as well as a crystal)

This western neo-pagan trend to stick tarot and crystals everywhere is getting on my nerves, for real. Crystals are not part of the religion and it doesn't make sense to use them, since we have no records about crystals on altars the way neo-pagans use them.

Those deities don't have preferences for certain sweets and crystals, it's people who have those preferences. What gives people good vibes they want to turn into "this god must like this, that's why I feel good or a good thing happened to me today".

This is not a blog where we hunt down people with pitchforks so I don't feel comfortable addressing each western Hellenic polytheist like "Remove the crystals now!!!" I understand that there can be a syncretism of practices and beliefs. But it's worth saying that it's absurd to consider crystals as a "must" for your altar, as the practice does not come from Greek tradition or the religion itself.

The altar (βωμός) was indeed destined for the sacrifice location and offerings were placed elsewhere. But we cannot do this practically nowadays so it's fine if you have just a location for offerings, candles and whatnot. A table, a shelf, or a nightstand in your room could serve as such a space. You don't need big statues. Small statuettes of the gods will suffice.

Travel altars are not a must and I don't remember any ancient depiction of them. You can carry an object to place your candles, flowers etc on. This could be either a small flat surface or a cloth, so the offerings don't touch the ground or other dirty surfaces, and they can be stable. It would be nice to have something physical to ground yourself when away from your main altar, but you don't need to go overboard. As an educated guess, it's very likely that our ancients did it like this. AND NO CRYSTALS ARE REQUIRED IN THE PORTABLE ALTAR PACKAGE, FFS 😂

The recent trend of "see me using my travel altar in nature!" is an aesthetic. Aesthetics are not necessarily bad but can transform a spiritual practice into a consumerist race. As you have already been doing, keep looking at the ancient sources for guidance, not the trends 😁

Best of luck on your journey!

#answered #altars #hellenic polytheism #travel altars

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hussyknee · 1 year ago

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Twitter feels like an even split between pro-Palestine supporters and the most horrific kind of racists, Zionists and white supremacists. Tumblr is by comparison overwhelmingly in support of Palestine. And yet the level of dehumanization, isolation, Othering and casual racism on here is so much more unbearable and suffocating than Twitter could ever be.

Tumblr wants to be seen as the anti-racist good guys on the right side of history while reinforcing the racist white supremacist western-centric status quo. Black and brown people are given platform under strict conditions of what values can be challenged and how far white comfort can be pushed. It's on Twitter that we have our own communities, our own power of advocacy, and a collective drive to interrogate and dismantle structures of power.

It reinforces what I have known for a long time— Tumblr's hatred of Twitter and TikTok is based primarily on refusing to tolerate the reality of equal representation, leftist action and racial justice. A true diversity of power and perspectives is messy, chaotic, conflict-driven and upends the sense of stability and space that can only come with a homogeneity of racial demographic. The majority of disenfranchised people understands that power structures and bureaucracies are built on purpose to exclude them — the poor, the sex workers, the incarcerated, the ghettoised, the disabled, the colonized. We have to fight to be heard, and our reality and political investment cannot be separated from the minority trauma that informs them. True equality entails not having to funnel that trauma through behaviour and ethics that makes their expression more palatable or considering of others; it removes all respectability politics and allows us to behave with the same unpunished toxicity that is unleashed on us by white and western people. Conflict, cacophony and having to tolerate the untempered emotions and self-interest of all groups is the price of true diversity and honest dialogue. It also primarily empowers Black and brown people and disempowers whites. In contrast, the "Diversity, Equity and Inclusion" on predominantly white-driven and Western-oriented spaces is a simply a neoliberal farce that requires us to perform our own humanity and ask validation from whiteness. This is why you see only the worst aspects and negative effects of Twitter and TikTok and use them to reject the the platforms wholesale while creating a narrative of moral superiority around Tumblr's relatively low levels of conflict and glossing over the receding presence of Black and brown people in its userbase.

Race is not a layer of oppression. It's the fundamental bisection that creates the underclass on which the colonial capitalist world order is built. It's the caste hierarchy of humanity; who gets to be labourer and profiteer, the exploiter and exploited, the worker and producer, the consumer and consumed, the masses and the individual. The living bodies and embodied lives. The experience of every other marginalization is shaped by its waters. White women and queers will neither understand nor share in the oppression of women and QPoC from both diasporas and the Global South. Even further, every marginalization becomes a weapon against BIPOC in the hands of its white demographic. Black and brown people of those marginalized communities will always only be a token and shield for their white counterparts, while being the workhorses behind their struggles.

It doesn't matter how many times you post "Free Palestine" when we know its only the product of your preoccupation with your own personal moral landscape. Politics based on egoism will always be eclipsed by threats to your material reality. This is why a userbase that spent its entire existence grandstanding against Nazis now cannot see Zionists as Nazis and begs people to participate in a political establishment that has revealed itself to be a genocidal white supremacist regime in the clearest possible terms. Fascism against its own enfranchised is the end stage of an empire that has begun to collapse under the weight of its war-mongering and now resorts to eating itself to survive. No amount of moral distance between yourselves and its machinery of death, no amount of scapegoating the lives crushed underneath it, will stop the roofs you sheltered under falling on top of you. This the truth that the colonized, enslaved and indentured people that built your house have lived all along.

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sapphire-weapon · 6 months ago

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yeah not denying that, but one of the basest aspects of being on the aspec spectrum is the lack of attraction not lack of expression

aromantics still get married despite the cultural belief marriage is romantic same applies to many other western culturally believed romantic things because to them they lack romantic attraction aromantic within aspec community means lack of romantic attraction. terf definition is lack of any intimacy its a negative statement meant to push exclus bs

believing someone cant be aspec because they enjoy physical contact is terf rhetoric, its exclusionist rhetoric that 'real' aspecs should be completely cold stone touch averted people which is just a negative stereotype which is mostly spread by terfs it all goes full circle into 'not something i understand thus it cant be real or valid' rather than the fact that people understand and feel stuff differently, terfs say for lesbians to be attracted to transwomen they cant be real lesbians, because they arent, vice versa same is used for aspec people sorry if this isnt articulated correctly its also late where I live

comparing this to terf rhetoric is so absurd to me because terf rhetoric is based on the idea that gender doesn't exist/is intrinsically tied to a person's genitals. no one is saying that romance doesn't exist -- or that aromantic people don't exist. it's a false dichotomy.

a more accurate comparison would be me telling you that your line of logic would dictate that you think that CBT doesn't work, because that's actually what it's sounding like to me. the argument that i keep getting put back on me is that behavior and cognition have absolutely no relationship to one another -- or that a person's environment doesn't influence them.

this is why i said:

i was also speaking in generalities. are there tiny little micro cultures throughout the west where this is a thing? where those expressions of intimacy are completely removed from any romantic intent? sure. but in general, 99 times out of 100, if you find yourself yearning for someone’s physical intimacy, you’re experiencing a romantic longing for them in a western context. this is how you were raised culturally, and it takes A BIG EFFORT over MANY YEARS to unlearn that and decouple those two concepts.

what i'm talking about is how culture influences people's thoughts, desires, and behavior.

what you're talking about is... i don't know, assuming that i think aromanticism is a complete lie 100% of the time all the time. but i say right there in that quote that it is a thing. people have these experiences, and they're real.

however, i acknowledge that i then went on to say:

very often, i see people use “aromantic” as a stand-in for “i don’t want a relationship” – but that’s not what it is. but to experience that longing, to experience that yearning – that is a romantic feeling. even if you don’t want to be committed to that person. even if you have no desire to devote yourself to them at all. it’s still romantic in nature, because culturally, those things are romantic. and i have a really hard time believing that random 20 year olds on the internet have managed to completely decouple themselves from their cultural upbringing and totally decontextualize these actions to such an extent that they exist in their own micro culture. more often than not, these are young people who are intimidated by intimacy and sexuality and don’t really feel comfortable with who they are yet, so they slap the word “aromantic” on themselves because they don’t want to be bothered with romantic pursuits – but that doesn’t mean that they’re wholly disinterested in romance. there’s been a pushback in recent years against anything surrounding the words “romance” and “romantic” and that is really what my initial statement was about. “romance” has become almost a dirty word in some fandom spaces, because of people’s own personal discomfort with vulnerability and flaws in themselves and others. if it’s not romantic, then it’s less vulnerable, and so people strive to be as invulnerable as possible.

so let me explain.

people who are so staunchly against the concept of "romance" in fandom spaces who are very young and likely have a poor self-image and little life experience -- which are the very specific people i'm talking about; i'm not talking about aromantics in general, i'm talking about this very specific subset of people -- need to be careful that they're not co-opting a very real term for a very real thing that exists and using it as a band-aid over their own damage.

that's why i continuously use the words "yearning" and "longing."

and if they do that soulsearching and come to the honest conclusion "no this is really me, i'm really decontextualized from my cultural upbringing" -- then that's great, and i support them. but i'm willing to bet that, for a lot of these younger people, they find themselves yearning for romance while not wanting it to happen to them in a practical sense because some other xyz reason -- and then lashing out against romance in response.

like let me tell you a story. i have been celibate for about 15 years due to a very traumatic experience i had at 18. i could very easily make the argument that i'm aroace based on my lack of desire for sex or a relationship. one of my go-to lines when people ask why i don't have a boyfriend is: "if i wanted to be that responsible for another living creature's emotional state, i'd get a dog." in fact, a coworker of mine was convinced that i was aroace based on what i told her about myself, and she tried to convince me of it. and eventually, i just had to get firm with her and say: "it is just. TRAUMA." and walk away from the conversation.

but how many people -- especially young people -- don't have that insight about themselves -- or don't want to accept that part of themselves? it's easier and more appealing to accept the thought that you could be aroace because, if you are, then there's nothing "wrong" with you. the damage isn't there.

aromanticism is real.

asexuality is real.

these are real things that people experience in life.

but so are trauma and emotional damage and negative self-image. and they're ugly, awful, terrible things that no one wants to be burdened with. some people don't recover from them. and i don't blame a single person for grasping for a perceived "out" that's offered to them. if i was younger, rawer, closer to my own damage -- maybe i would've let my coworker convince me i was aroace, too.

and so i posed the question of where this backlash against romance was coming from, since people in fandom want to see expressions of romance in media so badly (but without the romance part)? because, culturally, in the west, what they're asking for are expressions of romance. and that comes from somewhere.

this is not a black-and-white issue. there's layers to this. it's nuanced. the conversation keeps getting boiled down to "is or isn't" and "inclusion or exclusion" but i feel like that's just not helpful. to blindly accept what people say on its face doesn't help anybody. this is why people are fucking fighting all the goddamn time.

i wanted to know where the backlash against romance was coming from, so i looked at it from a macrocosmic perspective. i took into account culture and psychology and stigma against mental illness, because i don't think it's productive to just broad-brush say "IT'S ALL JUST AROMANTICS!!1"

we need to be able to talk about these things, man. it's important.

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