#and like.....................the novelty of that will not work in the opposite direction

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 18

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: happy weekend.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“How do you like it?” Luciana asks as she spins you to face the mirror.

Your eyes round at your own reflection. You can’t help but lean forward to get a better look at yourself. You never had a haircut like this. Nothing more than the discount trims that were often worse than not just growing it out or your at-home hack job.

“Wow,” is all you can utter.

“I hope that’s a good wow,” she chimes.

“Uh, yes, yes,” you sit back and tear your eyes from the mirror. “Thank you, it’s–”

“Oh, aren’t you so lovely!” Frigga interrupts as her heels click across the salon, “oh, it’s so wonderful. Look at you!”

Before you can react, the chair’s turning again. Frigga sweeps your hands away from under the cape and pulls you to your feet. Luciana moves to undo the long black shroud and swipes it away from your body, littering more hair onto the floor.

“Just a moment,” Luciana girds and brushes the stray bits from the back of your shirt, “there we are.”

“I must say, darling, you are even more stunning than I thought,” she keeps a hold of your right hand, “oh, Eliana, El!” She tweets across the salon, “what about makeup? Hm? Nothing too heavy, maybe a lip and some mascara–”

The platinum blond chuckles, endeared by her demanding client. You see where Laufeyson inherited that; the way the command rather than ask. You could never.

“I’ll take the little fawn,” Eliana agrees, “I have just the thing in mind.” She approaches on her long slender legs, “she has perfect colouring.”

You can’t help but preen at the compliments. You’re not used to them yet, you doubt them. These women are all so put together and gorgeous, surely they’re just being nice. You’re so much the opposite, your like a novelty; a doll for them to dress up.

“Sit,” Eliana points to another chair, “just relax, honey, I’ll take care of you.”

Frigga lets you go and you obey. You climb up into the chair and gasp as the back reclines. Eliana starts by swabbing your face with a cool liquid then pats it dry. Next, she applies a fragrant moisturizer. Her touch is relaxing but strange. You’re not used to anyone touching you.

You close your eyes as she sets to her work. She explains that she’s applying some liner and how to get a little wing at the end. She says you should keep it thin and subtly, then has you check your first eye in the mirror.

“You see, a nice brown, or grey is all you need, black is so harsh,” she shows you the pencil she used.

“Oh, thanks,” you murmur.

“Let’s even that out,” she nudges you back again and you appease her.

As she draws on your other eyelid, you hear a subtle buzz, followed by Frigga’s shrill greeting. She apologises to someone unseen before she carries on her call, heels tapping further and further away. You can hardly focus between her, Eliana’s directions, and the chatter all around you.

“Mmhmm, yes we were thinking of the Garden…” Frigga trails off as the door rings then swiftly blocks out her conversation.

“Mascara, look up,” Eliana directs, again, you obey. There’s nothing else you can do.

As nice as it all is, the hair, the makeup, and all her lovely plans, you can’t help but be embarrassed. Frigga, and Mr. Laufeyson, know you can’t afford all this. It doesn’t feel as much like kindness as it does condescension. As if they are the blessed elite giving you, a noone, with all their privileges. 

It’s not a kind gesture, but a statement. You’re so far below them, you don’t even know what you don’t have. If you are to be anywhere near them, you have to fit their mold.

🧹

After the salon, Frigga drags you down the shopping strip. You shy away from the gleaming windows and the faceless mannequins in their luxurious outfits. You couldn’t wear any of it. It wouldn’t look right. Anyone would know in an instant that you don’t belong.

Inside the first shop, you make yourself as small as you can, crossing one arm to cling to the other, folding your shoulders in. You’re frightened of brushing against anything or knocking over that hand display with all the jewelry on it. As you pass a mirror, you nearly trip. You forget for a moment that it’s you staring back.

You shake your head and back away. You don’t like that feeling. You don’t recognize yourself. Even if you never really loved the girl looking back, she was familiar.

“Darling,” Frigga gives you a start as she nears, “how about this? Hm? It’s absolutely adorable.”

She holds up a purple dress; almost like an overall but more refined with three buttons along the right side. She has a plain white blouse behind it. It’s lovely but you don’t know if you like the length. You don’t think you’ve worn a skirt since grade school.

“Oh, it’s… nice.”

“Come on, try it on,” she pleads, “it would look so good on you, darling. With your figure.”

You gulp and blink, looking down at yourself. What figure? The boxy button-up and straight-legged tweed don’t betray much of that. Your body is your body; it’s just there.

“I’ll try,” you relent. It wouldn’t be polite to say no.

“Alright, you take this to a dressing room and I’ll find some shoes,” she shoves the hangers at you, “excuse me,” she turns and waves to the associate who greeted you on entry, “yes, please, she needs a room.”

The woman with ginger curls approaches and you hand over your, or rather, Frigga’s picks. Her name tag reminds you of her introduction; Celia. She guides you into the back to a large room lined with curtained stalls. She takes you to one and hangs the clothing within. You thank her quietly and turn to stare at the lilac fabric.

You sigh and pull the curtain shut. You strip away reluctantly. It’s all so surreal, you don’t want to believe it. You’re wary of the unusual good luck, the unearned generosity. Why would Mr. Laufeyson agree to this? And why would Frigga want to spend time with you, a maid wearing a title beyond her means?

“Darling, are you ready?” Frigga calls through as her heels tap out her arrival.

“Almost,” you call back, shimmying into the purple overall as you try not to rumble the sleeves of the blouse. 

You refuse to look at yourself before you face the curtain and brace yourself. You step out as Frigga waits patiently, sitting on one of the leather poufs with a pair of white loafer flats in her lap, little silver bows clasped by the toe.

“Oh my,” she gasps as she rises, “oh darling, that’s… that becomes you. Oh,” she nears and hands you the shoes, “put these on then. Let’s see the whole look.”

Like most things in life, you let her bowl you over. You just go along with what you’re told. You go through the motions numbly, waiting for it to be over.

You bend to slip into the shoes one at a time. Once you stand, she ushers you around to face the mirror. She squeezes your shoulders before playing with your hair, setting you straights as she stands behind you.

“Look at you, darling,” she purrs. 

You falter as you see the woman staring back at you. That’s you! You can hardly see yourself under it all. You press your hands to the skirt, wishing for a few more inches, and squeak the soles on the floor as you shift awkwardly in the stiff leather.

“This is it. It suits you so well. Sharp collars, cinched here,” she touches your waist, “I think we have a good start.”

“Um, thanks, but er…”

“You can wear that out. It’s a lovely outfit for lunch,” she insists, “but I’m thinking a few boucle jackets, some matching skirts, a splash of pastel,” she rambles on dreamily, “pearls, of course, maybe some rose gold…”

Your brow pinches over your nose. You don’t know what to do. You can’t say no and even if you were brave enough to, you don’t think she’d hear you. She’s like her son, that way. She only sees what she wants and there’s no denying her.

“Oh, thank you so much for humouring me,” she drawls, “you know, ever since the divorce, I’ve been terribly lonely.” You’re startled by her sudden shift. You blink at her, “my own daughter was never one for the shops, at least, not with me but Sif… she… well, c’est la vie.”

“I… I’m sorry.”

“Why? Oh, don’t apologise, it is me who should,” she laughs at herself as she leads you back into the shop room, “to you and your own mother. I have accosted her daughter!”

You nod and seal your lips. You feel the pluck in your chest. You distract yourself with a nearby dress; it’s beige and boring.

“I hate to overstep but Loki did mention your father is sick. I’m certain it can’t be easy,” she hums, “it never is. You and your mother–”

“My mother…” you pipe up, voice cracking. You shake off the wave of dizziness and sigh, “my mother is dead.”

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” she touches her chest, “dear me, I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have–”

“I’m not upset. I never knew her,” you shrug and move on to a more colourful dress. “Just me and dad.”

“Well, it’s nice you have each other,” she says.

“Yeah,” you agree dully.

She’s quiet as she browses beside you, sifting through hangers. Tension ripples between you. Neither of you know what to say.

“How about this?” She holds up a satin blouse in a dainty shade of rose, “it would compliment your complexion.”

“Um, sure,” you let the thickness in the air slake away, “I… I’m not picky.”

“Oh, darling, you are too agreeable,” she teases, “you best not let my son play on that. He could always hear a no or two, yes?”

You nod, uncertain what she means. He’s your boss, you don’t tell him no. He doesn’t ask for your input. He just says and you do. That’s why you’re here. He needed a toy to give his mother, and you’re playing along.

🧹

The restaurant is just as resplendent and upscale as the shops. You try to keep stride with Frigga as she struts up to the open doors, a hostess standing behind a podium just outside as the sunlight beams down in a mid-afternoon haze. She smiles at the elder blonde as she greets her with enthusiasm.

“Good afternoon, we were hoping for a table outside,” Frigga declares.

“For two?” The hostess asks as she looks down at the tablet in front of her.

“A bigger table, please, we have someone joining us,” she answers.

“Great, we can fit you in,” the woman assures and waves you through the small gate of the patio. 

She takes you to a table near the colourful flower beds and offers the drink menu. Frigga thanks her and sits as you mimic her. You do your best not to fidget despite the persistent displacement zinging through your nerves. She browses the menu and taps her groomed fingernail on the table.

“Is it too early for Zinfandel?” She wonders.

“Oh, I don’t… know,” you put your own menu down, content with a glass of cranberry juice.

“Or perhaps a white?” 

You shrug. You don’t drink. You never have and never really thought of trying it. You rub your cheek and look around, squirming at the other diners in their carefree conversations. What are you doing here?

A new server approaches and takes your orders. Frigga gets her wine and you murmur your request for a glass of juice. You hand over the menus and she checks her slender golden watch.

“Mm, I did say two,” she tuts and takes out her phone.

It’s almost amusing to see someone disappointed in Mr. Laufeyson. To be on the other side of the table. You’re not the one rushing to meet a deadline for once. You twiddle your hands in your lap and peer around at the din.

A table of women sit with cocktails and green salads, gabbing loudly. They are probably your age. Friends. Something you never had. Probably never will.

“Mother,” a voice proclaims across the patio and you wince. It’s familiar but not the timbre you expected. Maybe it’s a coincidence.

“There you are,” Frigga stands and you turn to look over your shoulder at the burly blond. Oh.

You rise too, not wanting to seem rude. Thor hugs his mother and kisses the top of her head, “I was caught behind an accident,” he explains, “oh,” he faces you, “and who… it is the little maid!” He takes you by the shoulders and you flinch as he bends to kiss your cheek, “you remember me, yes?”

You can only nod as you wriggle out of his grip. You resist the urge to wipe your cheek.

“Maid! Do not call her that,” Frigga chides as she sits.

You lower yourself back to your seat. Thor drags out the chair next to you and you try not to show your discomfort. He is almost too wide for the seat as his thigh presses to yours.

“I never got a name, you know? Brother hides everything away,” he sniffs, “so forgive me,” he leans as he tries to look you in the face, “a proper introduction is in order; I am Thor, you recall, hm?”

You nod again and eke out your name. He offers his large hand and you hesitate to take it. You won’t be rude though. His grip swallows your hand up, tight and unyielding. When he finally releases you, you let out a slow breath and stare at the table.

“Speaking of,” Frigga remarks, “he is late.”

“Not surprising, he can hardly be bothered to leave his cave,” Thor scoffs, “what a nice colour.”

He touches the button on your dress and you squeeze your legs together, trying to sidle away without being obvious.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

“Oh, we had a wonderful day shopping,” Frigga supplies, “she’s so sweet.”

“Ah, yes, I’m certain father will be happy to hear you had a spree,” Thor chortles.

“What he doesn’t know…” Frigga giggles.

The server returns and sets down the stemmed glass of dark wine and your juice. Thor orders rye as you lean forward to sip, the tangy flavour tautens your cheeks. You feel your chair shift and sit back, only to meet the curl of his fingers on the back rest. He doesn’t draw away, his leg splaying wider to touch yours again.

“So we are waiting on him?” Thor challenges and slaps his stomach with his other hand, “I’m starving.”

“We’ll give him another ten,” Frigga girds, “perhaps he is also stuck in traffic.”

“Not to worry,” Thor booms, “we can have fun without him, eh. Probably more.”

“Oh, don’t,” Frigga reproaches, “this is supposed to be a nice family meal, you will not start with him again.”

“It wasn’t me. He’s the one who stormed out–”

“Enough,” she interjects, “we are moving past it.”

“I’ve moved on,” Thor insists, “mother, really, I am not the one who keeps picking fights.”

“Mmm,” Frigga purses her lips, “nor do you discourage them.”

“Me?” Thor feigns innocence, his fingertips brushing the back of your collar, “I only said hello and he went out of his mind.”

“Um,” you sit forward, knocking the table slightly, “er, I… is there a bathroom?”

“Oh, yes, darling,” Frigga turns to you as if only then recalling your presence, “just through the front door to the right.”

“Thank you,” you stand, “sorry, uh, excuse me.”

You turn and scurry off, clutching the sides of the dress to keep it from riding up. Once you get inside, you roll your shoulders, trying to shake off the sensation of his touch. You reach back to tug at your collar.

It’s peculiar to think, but you hope Mr. Laufeyson gets there soon.

[cripplecharacters]

This might be a bit of a weird question as I know this isn't a drawing blog, but do you happen to have any pointers for finding good reference photos for drawing cane users? I'm having trouble finding interesting/dynamic poses, and the vast majority of pose generator sites I've found don't even show people with mobility aids. Stock photo sites and google are also limited in their usefulness, mostly giving me very stiff poses. If you have any tips that would be great.

hello dearest asker!

I tried to be an artists once upon a time so let me direct you to some things that might help! Here is an excellent post written up by @deoidesign shows how motion and functionality with a cane works. Here is a post by @sparrowsocks on the cane design itself and the practicality of it. Here is another "How To" guide that is a bit more simple but covers how the hand changes with different handles.

Here is a reference of hands gripping cylindrical objects that I think might be a little helpful. Grabbing a cane or just moving it are all things that go into it too.

If you're going for more a historical setting, Here is a library of sources of historical walking sticks and canes. That source is more novelty canes and not for practicality for a mobility aid, but Here is another source for History and it has more practical canes.

Also things like old photo rolls when film was just becoming what we know today could be something helpful too.

[Image Description: A black and white picture roll of two sets with twelve frames in each. The first roll is a side angle of a man holding a can and walking then taking a right turn and walking back. The second roll is a backside angle of the man walking with the cane and then taking a right turn and walking back.]

We can see for example in the first two frames how the opposite leg moves with the cane.

And of course we have more photos from the Victorian era of men with canes. Granted canes were used largely for fashion but a lot of people did use them for balance and such too. Also they're good references for poses while holding a cane.

Another thing I can recommend is just watching videos of someone using a cane. Look up disabled YouTubers or people who do physical therapy videos and they show largely how movement with a cane should look and more.

If you're looking for dynamic poses I would recommend looking up cosplayers or models who are disabled and use canes. But also looking up disabled actors that use canes or similar mobility aids and go through their filmography is another good way to see references. A lot of disabled people who are artists also post their own photos and videos for art references specifically too.

One last thing is how the character holds their body and what type of cane they need is gonna depend on how they are disabled. Working that out and doing more research is gonna change some things. But also even though there is a proper way to use a cane, some people use canes in different ways to suit their needs and comfort. The biggest example in media is House from House MD and while Hugh Laurie isn't disabled, he does a pretty accurate portrayal of someone using a cane in an alternative way. I personally (when I was getting fitted for one) would use my cane very much as House does, and other people have said much the same.

Hopefully this helps in some way and your fellow artists may be able to throw more help in the notes. Happy drawing!

~Mod Virus 🌸

[melanated-writersblock]

OMGP Prologue

For those of you that actually appreciate some sort of plot😩🍸

For as long as you’ve known him, Toji Fushiguro has never been one to back down from a challenge. He’s always going out of his way to prove you wrong and it only got more frequent after you two got together. So when you made a passing joke about how Toji wouldn’t be able to survive the infamous No Nut November, he took that shit to heart.

And the challenge was set.

But it’s not like he was just doing it for the sake of novelty, there was a reward. You and Toji made a pact that if he completed No Nut November SUCCESSFULLY, then when the clock stuck 12 midnight on December 1st, he could have you. Whenever he wanted. However he wanted. You offered up more days, in case he’d need breaks. But he insisted, saying he only needed one. And when you two shook on it, Toji smiled, because he knew he’d win.

The month was long, and obviously it was a pain not being able to touch him and him touch you. The sexual tension that radiated off of the both of you when lounging in opposite sides of your apartment felt stronger than any cursed energy a sorcerer could possibly harness. It was almost concerning. Finally, November 30th came.

2:30 PM.

There was a certain…peace…that fell over the apartment, all day. You knew Toji was around, because you could hear his footsteps and movements when he went to do stuff….but it seemed like he was purposely avoiding you. Matter of fact, you KNEW he was avoiding you!

7:45 PM.

You were in the kitchen making dinner and needed something from an overhead cabinet above the stove, and SOMEONE decided to conveniently place it further back than you could manage. Toji watched you from the living room couch as you bent over the stove slightly, reaching as far back into the cabinet as you could for garlic salt that genuinely shouldn’t have been there. He studied the way the hem of your shorts rode up your ass cheeks and got caught between your thighs. He wanted to be between them so badly. He NEEDED to. He wanted to see you struggle for a bit, before he could put you out of your misery. At least in the only way that was allowed, for now. “Stop, before you hurt yourself. I got it.” You hadn’t even processed that Toji was already behind you when he leaned over you to grab the seasoning salt. Oh god he was so close. He smelled good, he FELT good, big and firm, like he’d gotten impossibly stronger or something. It made you wonder how many poor sorcerers had to suffer because of this silly little bet. His abs pressed against the folds of your clothed back, and maybe you were just that feral, but you swore on your soul you could feel his hardness right against your ass. You didn’t dare look him in the eyes…unless you were ready to throw your 30 day streak down the fucking drain. He knew what he was doing to you, and he enjoyed that it was working. Toji handed the spice to you, smiling to himself before walking off. You finally stopped holding your breath, and went back to cooking.

9:26PM.

Time was tormenting you both. You took your 2nd cold shower of the day and it didn’t help a damn thing. Toji flipped through channels to try to distract himself from even looking in the direction of the bathroom in your shared bedroom.

10:32 PM.

Toji poured a glass of water in the kitchen, and you watched from behind your phone screen on the couch as he drank, and droplets of water trickled down his chin…down his neck…down to his fitted SavagexFenty shirt that you actually regret buying for him right about now. This man had the actual BALLS to LOOK AT YOU while this was happening. Your eyes stayed locked on each other while he came back to sit on the other couch across the room. He was almost at the finish line.

11: 45 PM.

You laid in bed, dozing off. You decided to turn in after you felt like the tension between you and Toji started to die down. In and out of sleep, your eyes lazily swayed between the clock on your nightstand and the cracked bedroom door where faint light from the living room TV reflected on it. Everything was so peaceful that you hadn’t even noticed your clock inching towards 11:58 PM. You close your eyes for a mere few seconds, opening them to see Toji removing his shirt as he walks through the bedroom door tossing it off to the side as he walks towards you, undoing his sweatpants with a devilish smile.

It’s officially midnight. December 1st is here. And you’re in for a long day.

December 1st

[gumi-writes]

So. I was in the mood to get my thoughts out on this part of Ais’ profile:

on ais | limits unmet, unmatched

It’s obvious that Ais enjoys a good fight, but the inclusion of how he dislikes ones that are easy is an interesting, incredibly illustrative one. Seeking out violence is one thing, and such reasoning behind it can vary widely, but wanting your opponent to be a match for you is another, far more specific matter.

You’re not searching for someone to dominate, for starters—and in fact the idea bores you to the point where surely the energy spent on such lacklustre opposition would annoy you more than anything else. A waste, and an irksome one at that—there’s no sport in something that doesn’t make him work hard.

And he undeniably likes to work for it. Ais is quick to curiosity (though less in the wide-eyed sense and much more in the kind of scrutiny to intensify an already intense gaze) but even quicker to losing interest. If the novelty of the unknown is lost, then there has to be something else worth the sustained attention, otherwise Ais will move on to the next thing without looking back.

As a result, anything that can capture his attention is likely making it hard for him in some way. It would be beneath him, otherwise—what’s the point in all that tempered strength and honed acuity if it has nowhere to go?  

But he does get restless, is the thing. An aspect of disliking isolation is surely the boredom that comes with it, and sometimes you have to make do. So you fight. And you fuck. And if you’re lucky, the person on the other end will make it worth your while. The years of experience you have in reading people might be of actual use, just like the stamina and endurance you’ve built up, and what an exciting thought that is.

Enough to make you search—rather actively—for it. And you can’t search for such a thing without seeking someone to meet your standards. Singular, because I do believe Ais would stop looking once he’s found the right person—while he’s definitely a whore (lol) when it comes to sleeping around, I don’t think he has quite the same mindset when it comes to bloodshed and the act of gratifying himself through it.

For that matter, I have a theory that Ocudeus occupying some part of Ais is a direct consequence of Ais’ hunt for an absolute equal. He definitely fucked around and found out, but it wasn’t what he was looking for, and because Ais is a glutton for particular punishment with absolutely no shame to spare, he hasn’t let it stop him. With reckless, heedless abandon, he hasn’t let it stop him.

Idle hands seemed a fate far worse, and never mind that the alternative made him look like a masochist. Not in the most basic of sense of the word, but how else would you describe his drive to find someone to get entangled with in the most satisfyingly violent way possible? It’s not about the pain, and he is annoyingly not pathetic about it, but Ais is a masochist in how thoroughly he wants his limits tested. He can take it. Have you seen him? He can take it, and—fucked up as he is—he wants to.

Especially since—and this is an additional theory here—Ais either has accelerated healing, hasn’t met anyone that can mark him to any significant extent, or both. This pairs quite well—or poorly—with how his lack of self-preservation bespeaks a morbid fascination with his own mortality, the most curiosity inducing thing of all.

Not that he’s in a hurry to get himself killed, and there is pride preventing him from being an outright deathseeker, but if the right person were to come along…

…then dying at the hands of someone worthy would have been well worth it.

[cherrytreedreams]

it seems like a common tua fan experience to have watched s1 when it came out and liked it because its like television but with a distinct comic book flavoring that gave it sarcasm and flippance and chaos in ways that are fun. and then as the series goes on growing more and more irritated with that sarcasm and flippance and chaos as it grows more and more out of control. But for me its the opposite. i love s1 tua s1 you will always be famous but all my favorite parts of tua are the parts that kind of suck and are stupid and silly and all over the place

back in 2019 when i was in hs and s1 came out, i was deep. Deep into the biggest special interest of my life, (dc) superhero comics. and i was utterly enthralled by the sheer novelty of all my favorite and even least favorite things about superhero comics being portrayed in a netflix show with an utterly stacked cast. and as tua went on and ostracized normal people i got more and more attached; when i watched s2 and 3 for the first time, it made me feel nostalgic, somehow. like despite the fact that i was consuming an entirely new piece of media as it came out, it made me feel nostalgia for superhero comics just by the sheer depth to its portrayal of comic book tropes

i watched tua with my mom, and i would frequently like explode, irl, and start talking at length about all the tropes it was riffing on. i could pull up specific examples. im sitting there watching five and lila brawl in a warehouse and im talking about alan moore comics and genre conventions and shit. watching tua engaged me like no other tv show ever has. and ultimately whats completely unforgivable about tua s4 for me is that it lost that. it lost the palpable feeling of being a comic book brought to life. it lost the tropes and genre and century of context and became just...........Dramatic primetime tv. Which is not something i care about, have ever cared about, or will ever care about

whats interesting is that while tua s4 is the only season of netflix tua to not have a direct comic analogue, s2 and s3 dont resemble dallas or hotel oblivion whatsoever. and yet they somehow have the most palpable aura of This Is A Comic Book Show. the tropes and genre conventions in s2 and s3 are instantly recognizable as comic book bullshit. yet, they dont resemble their comic counterparts whatsoever. So why did s4 lose the Vibe? the Aura? was it because of lukewarm reception to s2 and 3? was it because everyone working on it hated it? did sb want to harm gerard way specifically? who knows

i dont know i dont have a thesis this time, i just think about this a lot

[ipsen]

Consider: Eto at a gala meeting from her publishing company and sneaking out with Kaneki to do dumb shit like 2 teenagers

hoof alright just drop that in my lap. under the cut

He is her bodyguard, and he must keep an eye on her at all possible times.

That also means making sure she arrives at all social obligations on time, even when— especially when— she complains. In the same vein, he must attend those same obligations even if he would rather stay at home and read a book.

On the way there, he has to make sure she looks presentable before appearing in public. He must take care of any stray strand of hair, any smudge of makeup, before someone sees and becomes perturbed. It's ridiculous, she says. He gets to attend in a simple black suit with minimal gel in his hair while she has to get dolled up and wear a dress with no pockets.

He doesn't respond, for it is not his job. He is her bodyguard.

And being a bodyguard includes keeping her out of harm's way, physical and otherwise. He looks at the member list again. Her ex, the "reaper made flesh" in her words, is on the list. He makes a mental note to look out.

When they arrive, she groans. She mentions a book she's been wanting to finish. He picks some lint off her shoulder, and for some reason, she pauses.

... She asks how she looks, twisting her head this way and that.

He pauses for a moment before saying she looks good.

She shuts up after that.

The event is nothing special, and most of it passes in a blur. The only real note he is able to make is on the quality of the available drinks, as well as their poor choice her publishing company made when displaying her most famous— and least entertaining— work. It's a fact not lost on her, either, and she rolls her eyes at it.

However, he is still her bodyguard, and he stays on alert while she is forced to mingle. He makes sure she doesn’t stumble or fall as they move about, and he clears his throat when she's about to say something she’ll regret. As the night continues, she clings to him more and more. He thinks it's the alcohol getting to her.

Then, it happens. The novelty of her appearance wears off, and an opportunity presents itself: one that she is quick to take.

He’s sure to follow her when she wanders off and away from the crowds. When asked by strays why, she says she’s headed for the restroom. A bold-faced lie, considering it’s in the opposite direction. He follows her anyway because he is her bodyguard, and he forces down any possible outcomes for himself.

A pity.

In the silence of the room, the picturesque image of her author melts away, and the real her appears. It isn't long before he finds himself backed against a wall, her palms on either side of him.

She’s drunk, he says, even though she hasn't had nearly enough to warrant the statement. She opts to raise her brow instead of calling him out like she usually does. He looks left, then right.

It's quiet, and they are alone.

...

...

...

... They return to the gathering, still out of breath but feeling rather refreshed for it. The night passes without incident, though he is far more cognizant of her gaze on him than before. It straightens his back, making him feel a small swell of pride in his chest.

He is her bodyguard, after all, and he must keep an eye on her at all possible times.

[writers-in-moominvalley]

💝Snorkmaiden and Love Life💝 (pt. 2)

In which I analyze Snorkmaiden's relationship with her main love interest; Moomintroll.

Ever since I made the post rating Snorkmaiden's crushes and love interests, I tried chewing on what they exactly mean for Snorkmaiden's character, because if you look hard enough there is indeed a pattern of taste to be discerned here.

And with this, I think I could finally better conclude on what the real wedge between Moomintroll and Snorkmaiden is.

When people talk about Moomintroll and Snorkmaiden's relationship they only talk about Moomintroll's gripes about the relationship, that his genuine interests lie elsewhere (Snufkin, "obviously") and he needs to get out of it purely on that. But, especially in the comics, this is a far more complex issue than a boy crushing on his best friend and a girl trying too hard to make the ship work, because this is a cyclical on-and-off relationship that withstands all else to an unhealthy degree, and the root of which is a fundamental incompatibility of desires and stubbornness.

Moomins on the Riviera is the third episode of the comic strip, and the first one in which this dynamic is established; Snorkmaiden falls for a guy, Moomintroll gets violently jealous and does anything in his power to get her back, Snorkmaiden returns to his arms.

But here's the important question: Why did Snorkmaiden date Clark of all people instead of sharing her ventures with her current boyfriend?

That's exactly where the fundamental disagreement lies, Moomintroll is a homebody like Moominmamma who doesn't take a particular liking to socializing in an unfamiliar environment, Snorkmaiden and Moominpappa do. And here's where the parallels between Snorkmin and the Moominparents are drawn, both of which are relationships between an outgoing extrovert and a tagalong who is very comfortable at home.

And this is a point I've seen some people make about Snorkmin — that they're merely trying to copy the Moominparents for the Perfect Heteronormative Relationship that's expected of them, but it isn't that they look to the parents for example in the slightest, not even a reference to the idea, no direct copying of action or sentiment, no, if it was the case then it would've been an easy joke to make for the comics but it never was made. It's actually quite the opposite:

They ARE natural parallels of the Moominparents, but Snorkmin fails where the Moominparents don't. Moominpappa's romantic interest has only ever belonged to Moominmamma, Snorkmaiden's doesn't. Moominmamma is a very patient and thoughtful person, Moomintroll isn't.

The Moominparents have compromise and don't cross their lines, Snorkmin lacks it and they do. That's the fundamental failure of Snorkmaiden and Moomintroll.

Another crack in the foundation is their conflict of interest about what they get from the relationship. Remember when I mentioned the pattern you can see with Snorkmaiden's love interests? All of them seem like severely different types of people to fall for, but they do have something that Snorkmaiden apparently wants:

They all provide novelty and/or intellectual stimulation. Clark came packaged with the new and exciting lifestyle of the Riviera, the Pirates were a fun and novel kind of danger, Mr. Brisk was a talented sportsman well-versed in the then-foreign land of winter, the Fillyjonk was packaged with following the Prophet's teachings of a new life, the Nobleman came with exploring the 16th century which she found terribly romantic, the Revolutionary was an intellectual and good writer, the Accountant Fillyjonk had a passion for accountancy, the Poet wrote poems and thusly had a way with words, and Dr. Hatter was a psychiatrist with a strange sort of exoticism in his work.

What does this mean for Snorkmaiden? Given her almost direct parallel with Moominpappa, the answer would be obvious; she wants to experience new things and new perspectives, and she finds a connection with men to be the safe and fun way to do it. Moominpappa expands his horizons by leaping at opportunities for adventure while Snorkmaiden takes the subtle route by forming relationships with people that could guide her through those horizons.

(….. iiiit just so happens that she didn't have a discussion with Moomintroll to establish that their relationship is open. But hypocrite that she is, she also gets mad at HIM for falling in love with someone else)

And the reasons these relationships fall apart is either because of circumstances separating Snorkmaiden from her interest or because she's grown bored/tired of them. Moomintroll didn't need to intervene with any of them, really, they would've run their course naturally.

But on the contrary, in Snorkmaiden Goes Rococo we are provided a reason as to why Snorkmaiden stays with Moomintroll: he's familiar. She knows what foods he likes and how to make them, he's willing to do the low-key things she likes like go to the beach, unlike the Revolutionary who outright dismisses and insults her for such things. So while she may want to experience new things in the great wide somewhere, she's become too comfortable with Moomintroll by the time Snorkmaiden Goes Rococo takes place, and it's how the cycle finally takes on its unbreakable effect.

On the other hand, Moomintroll is someone who is extremely comfortable with homelife, he actually isn't characterized as a thrill-seeker, even if he tries to have fun with his circumstances as much as he can. In Tove's run, the only other person Moomintroll falls for is the leading lady of a circus, La Goona, who is an incredibly gorgeous woman and also a vamp, the latter of which is the main point of her character. Moomintroll REVELS in falling with her, in fact, very much to Snorkmaiden's dismay (although he does ask her about the situation and she pretends not to care a little too well).

What does this say about Moomintroll? He… likes pretty women. It is in fact the reason why he was interested in Snorkmaiden in the first place, for him it was infatuation at first sight and he hasn't been able to let go of it since.

His possessiveness of Snorkmaiden is partially inheritance from of father's fragile masculinity, but where Moominpappa's manifests in his insecurity as a husband and father, Moomintroll's manifests in his domineering and violent jealousy towards Snorkmaiden's love interests. So rather than communicating with his girlfriend like a rational person, he challenges the new interests by sabotaging them in direct confrontations or other dishonorable means.

Snorkmaiden may find this violence attractive (she finds it terribly exciting in general, multiple times, even outside of romantic contexts) for the short term, but it only returns both of them to their purgatory-esque dissatisfaction once the romantic euphoria wears off.

Moomintroll is stubborn in that he is unwilling to accept change in the status quo, to accept Snorkmaiden's apparent disinterest in him.

Snorkmaiden is stubborn in that she tries to do the same thing over and over with complete disregard or even ignorance of Moomintroll's reaction.

And this stubbornness keeps perpetuating the cycle yet again.

This is a relationship where both of them are at fault, their total lack of communication and commitment leaves the same bitter taste in eachother's mouths but unable to separate due to their familiarity.

This is a comic strip and thus everything is set up to return to the status quo at the end of each episode so that the new one may begin, but there is a distinct lack of fans truly reading their relationship outside of the lens of Moomintroll's frankly sparing queer coding in the strip. Snorkmaiden also has her own unfulfilled desires due to Moomintroll, they may not be pertaining to a girl but Moomintroll is stuck to her arm as she is stuck to his.

It's a hodgepodge of gendered expectations, unmet desires, lack of communication and plain stubbornness from both parties.

They have their genuinely sweet moments but they work so much better without the expectation of romance in the way, they are far better off as friends.

(Rest in peace book and Brigands Snorkmin you were incredibly cute before The Things happened)

[docholligay]

Weird au thing--continued

I HAVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS AT EVERY AIRPORT PLS ENJOY. Comes from this, this is the continuation

It happens. You get cocky. 

Minako Aino was a victim of her own desire for novelty, from time to time, and there were few things more novel than whatever she had felt inside of the girl called Lena at the pub. So cold. So cold and so lonely. A nothing, but the sort of nothing that could tear you apart. Alive, but dead too. A living ghost. It still prickled at the ends of Mina’s fingers. 

It was horrifying, sure, but if you rearrange the letters of the word horrifying, you get I Frig Horny, which was sexy in a weird way, and at the end of the day, wasn’t everything that was horrifying sexy in a weird way? Anyway, she couldn’t get her mind off the woman, but did recall that she was a hell of a lot faster than Mina had expected, so, a bit of distance, maybe. 

 And not at all hard to find out where she lived, given the fact that it was not even a ten minute walk from the pub, and given that she was arguing vehemently with that relative of hers all the way home, and given that her door was bright orange amid a sea of cool greys and blues. 

Mina waited. Waited until the dark haired woman left with a firm shut of the door and a roll of her eyes, Mina barely avoiding her as she stomped by toward the Underground. She could just knock on the door. There was no reason she couldn’t. 

Before she could, Lena was on the move, heading the opposite direction toward a small spot of green not five minutes away from the house, that leather jacket of hers pulled up at the collar. Just off to the side, and far enough behind. That was how you followed someone. It wasn’t really all that hard. People never paid attention like they should. Particularly when they were half in their cups, had just been thrown out of a pub, and out in the drizzly night. 

Mina slipped from behind a brick building on the green. Lena was crouched by a small canal, looking down into the slow-moving water, rocking slightly back and forth as she did so. Mina could just push her in. No reason to do it, but no reason not to either. She wasn’t paying attention at all, tossing a stick into the canal and watching it drift. It’d be a quick splash. 

Luckily, Mina was more curious than malicious. 

“Konbanwa.” she gave a small bow. 

Lena stood up and whirled around, her eyes wide. How someone could have been in the military and still keep your back to the road, to the expanse, was beyond Mina. She would never. 

“What did you do to me?” It was so accusatory, you’d have thought she was the one who got punched. “And don’t give me that lost little tourist act, neither, I know better.” 

Mina stopped a moment. Smiled. And then, laughed. “You don’t know shit,” she walked toward her, srawing out the name, “Lena.” 

“Am i supposed to be impressed by that or something?” 

Now it was Mina’s turn to stop. 

“Lived here the entirety of me life, everyone in this neighborhood knows me name, it’s not a bloody government secret, love.” 

Fair. She should have thought of that. Easy to get cocky, think you have something above your opponent you don’t. 

Mina shook it off like snow from a rooftop. “What was that? The cold, the emptiness,” She walked toward the canal where Lena still stood, “I’ve never seen anything like that. What happened? You may as well tell me.” 

Lena was looking back into the water now. “Thought about it enough for one night, love. More than.” She turned her eyes back to Mina, burning. “What was that? What did you do?” 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Told you not to play dumb with me.” 

“No, you told me not to give you the lost tourist act, keep up.” 

“Do you ‘ave any earthly idea who I am?” She stopped. “Never pictured meself saying that, but I suppose time and chance does come to us all in the end.” 

“Like I give a--” Mina stopped. There was something, the eyes of someone else upon her. Someone was watching the two of them, and not walking, not in passing, but for real. Her eyes flicked up at the sky. No moon. Dark, or as dark as London could get, realistically. 

Lived here the entirety of me life. 

“Why don’t you come out from behind there, whoever you are?” 

“Your hearing is very good.” 

A woman, tall, a tattoo under her eye and black hair pulled back in a small tail at the nape of her neck. Broad-shouldered, one of her hands silver in the light. Wearing what looked to be mostly military surplus. Not much of a snazzy dresser, and a bad sign for Mina besides.

“Maybe you just can’t sneak.” Mina smirked, taking a step back. Probably can’t overpower this one.

She nodded. “I can be lead-footed.” 

Can’t overpower. She bowed her shoulders and looked up through the fringe at the front of her hair, wiping at her eye.

The woman chuckled, and nodded to Mina’s rear. “I spend too much time with a woman who is more dangerous than she looks to fall for that, but, I note the effort.” 

Right. Mina whirled back around. Lena was slowly advancing on her, and she had already taken a good enough hit to the jaw to know tall, dark, and formal wasn’t lying about her being dangerous. 

Okay. What now? 

A canal to her side, not huge, necessarily, but she probably couldn’t jump it, and she wasn’t sure how deep it was. Building to the other side. Lena in front of her. Lurking presence to the back. She turned to put the canal to her back, and stepped toward it. 

“You can’t outrun me, love.” Lena was smiling, now. “Even if you could get around me. And I know this neighborhood like I know me own soul. Try and ‘ide from me” 

She looked like she might be telling the truth. The spark came to fingertips as she looked over Lena. A jacket. Gloves. Jeans. Collar of her jacket pulled up, a cap on her head. It would be hard to touch her without getting the business end of something. 

Stupid. Cocky. Worst of all, tricked. She would scream at her soldiers for this sort of mistake. Stuck between the proverbial rock and immoveable object. Lena was fast, she knew, from the pub, and though she was only slightly taller than Mina herself, she was tightly built, and strong. The other one was probably slower, but she had the sense that if she got hit it was a one and done operation. And it’s not like either one was going to wait and see how the fight came out before engaging. 

“What do you want?” Every muscle in her tightened up as she reached toward her transformation ring. “What are you--” 

There was a small blip in the air, and a flash of blue light, and then Lena’s hand was on her wrist, twisting it., and it burned with the force of it. She could break it, if she wanted to. How did she--

“You ain’t the only one full of surprises, love.”

 Lena roughly pulled the ring off her finger, and it converted to a simple gold band. Her eyebrows shot up as she studied Mina, but pocketed the ring. She thudded against the cold grass as Lena dropped her arm, but before she could gather herself, Lena’s friend had her by the shoulders. Lena unzipped the front of her jacket and knelt down, beginning to go through Mina’s bag. She looked up at Mina . 

“No funny business, or I’ll pop you in the mouth again.” 

“I bet you say that to all the girls.” 

She was handsome, in a sort of British Peter Pan w--wait, would Peter Pan be British anyway? I mean, Neverlandish, Mina guessed, but it definitely was a British property. In any case, she had that eternal youth that some butches had. She could be anywhere from 16 to 40, with bright, expressive eyes and a spray of freckles across her nose. In another time, Mina might simply have tried to sleep with her. Upon reflefction, that might have been the better way to sate her curiosity. Good note to take. 

Her wrists were held behind her back in a single steely grip. There had to be a way out of this. At some point, they had to either kill her or take her somewhere, and either way--

Lena held up her passport. “I was wrong. You must ‘ave got it from the telly.” Mina said nothing, and she got to her feet, grinning. “You talk like an American, I mean.” 

“As opposed to what, your stupid accent?” 

There was a roar of deep laughter from the person behind her. 

“It’s not a stupid accent!”

“Nah, s’not love,” Mina bent forward, laughing, “wif a perfec’--”

“That’s not--”

“It’s not!” Mina short-stopped the vowel hard, and laughed, as Lena stomped and turned away for a moment. 

“I cannot tell you how delighted I am that you have met someone as irritating as you are.” The voice behind her rumbled. 

Lena whirled back around. “Oh shut up, Fareeha.” 

Fareeha. Fareeha and Lena. There was something about them that seemed almost on the tip of her mind. Fareeha was some flavor of Middle Eastern, obviously, and they knew each other well and had at least some level of unspoken fondness for each other. But that couldn’t be what was coming to her mind. Something about the flash of blue, something about Lena asking if Mina had any idea who she was. 

They looked at each other, and Mina recognized it, the unheard communication of two people who battle together. It didn’t need to be on a field, always, but there had to be a fight. Firefighters. EMTs. Soldiers. Line cooks. It was all the same in a way, in a way people who spend their lives in front of a screen in a posh office chair would never understand. So she was like them, in at least one way. 

Fareeha grabbed her by the shoulders and jerked her back, her ear only inches from Fareeha’s mouth. 

“We are going to take you down the street. You are going to come along as if you are having a wonderful time. We have your passport, your ring, and anything else in that bag. We can, and will, find you.” 

“Oooh, you’re fun,” Mina batted her eyes, ‘Do you do kids’ parties?” 

Fareeha shoved forward, and Mina went to clasp a hand on Lena’s shoulder, who twisted out of the way in one motion, dancing a waltz. 

“And don’t. Fucking. Touch me.” 

Lena then broke into a peal of laughter as they walked down the street, saying something about a game between--oh, who can know, Fuckhamington United and Burlington National Coat City--while Fareeha offered up commentary, staying one step behind Mina. They were bad at it, this patter of inelegant cheer, and anyone who had been paying attention would have made them. But no one was. No one would. Lena belonged in this neighborhood and their eyes passed over her like a street sign. 

She was, for the first time in London, a lost little tourist. 

It happens. You get cocky. 

Mina tipped back her head, and roared out a laugh.

[primordialsoundmeditation]

This week’s astrology forecast: January 29thth to February 4th

Message for the week:

The week starts off with a flurry of exciting, innovative, productive energy with Mars in productive Capricorn in a trine to future seeing Uranus. Uranus can bring favorable unexpected opportunities for moving forward. With Uranus having just turned direct, all the planets are now moving forward and accelerating the pace.

The energetic surge at the start of the week peters out by midweek, with no major aspects until Friday’s Mercury stimulating sextile to imaginative Neptune. Although this enhances all creative and spiritual activities, it does pull attention away from more worldly activities—like work.

The weekend is excellent for the personal side of life. Saturday has all the makings for dating and romance, with the Moon in intimate Scorpio in harmony with passionate Mars, romantic Neptune, and mentally stimulating Mercury.

Monday: Stay open to novelty and unexpected opportunities while Mars is in a flowing trine to innovative Uranus today. This leads to intuition in action—don’t wait for your intuition to inspire you, instead, set about your activities and your intuition will assist you. The Moon is in task-oriented Virgo and forms a grand trine with Mars and Uranus, leading to things clicking into place smoothly. You may have to harness your attention this afternoon to stay on point while the Moon opposes escapist Neptune—keep to what is real and right in front of you.

Tuesday: The Moon is in cooperative Libra in harmony with Pluto in Aquarius, enhancing all cooperative endeavors. You may be called on to use Libra’s diplomatic skills this evening while the Moon is in an aggravating square to Venus (relationships), and others may have a different agenda than you. Peace is assured with the Moon then moving into a flowing trine to the Sun.

Wednesday: You may have to walk lightly around others today with the Moon in fair-minded Libra opposite the wounded healer Chiron this morning, and then square to agitating Mars this evening. This may make you hypersensitive to injustices and things that just aren’t fair. The high road (there is always a high road) is to stay in Libra’s cherished center, and basically to mind your own business and hold to your integrity.

Thursday: Cooperative endeavors are favored early in the day, but not so much this afternoon. The Moon starts the day in cooperative Libra, good for negotiations and all one-to-one interactions. You may feel like being alone this afternoon as the Moon moves into privacy-seeking Scorpio midday and forms a disruptive square to molten Pluto. Buried emotional issues can come to the surface requiring private time to work through them.

Friday: Mercury (the mind) is in an uplifting sextile to imaginative Neptune today, favoring artistic, creative, and even poetic mind. The Moon is in Scorpio opposite Jupiter before dawn—you may feel like having an indulgent breakfast. The Moon is sextile Venus, enhancing all relationships by stimulating greater depth of involvement. The Moon does square the Sun this afternoon, creating a resistance to anything superficial and letting you know which conversations you don’t want to partake in.

Saturday: a stellar day in the heavens with the Moon in Scorpio with exclusively harmonious aspects throughout the day. The Moon starts the day with a sextile to Mars moving into a flowing trine with Neptune and a stimulating sextile to Mercury this evening. A good date night with a mixture of magnetic, passionate, and mentally engaging energy.

Sunday: The Moon is in enthusiastic Sagittarius, awakening the urge to get out and adventure a bit. You may have to tend to some pressing responsibility midday during the square to pressure-laden Saturn—otherwise a day to play and explore as you please. Mercury enters free-thinking Aquarius tonight, liberating the mind and giving greater freedom to speak your mind.

May the stars be with you!

Donations: Although these weekly updates are free, if you would like to support the newsletter with a donation, go to my website and click the “Donate” button on the menu. You can donate in increments of $5. You can also donate through Venmo: David-Pond-17 If you would like to send a check, contact us for our mailing address. Thanks for your support!

Consultations: I am available for consultations if you would like to see how your astrology chart can help you connect with your true self, explore your life’s purpose, better understand relationships, find your right vocation, or to align with current astrological influences. Contact us by email, phone, or through the “Services” tab on our website, to set up a session.

Email: Dpond11@gmail.com

Website: Davidpond.com

Phone: 360-918-8411

[protagonistheavy]

I think my opinions overall on AI art fit firmly in the area where I'd piss off everyone simultaneously.

It's become that sort of issue where I know generally what side of the argument I'm on, but while my direct oppositions have arguments that are rather predictable for their stance, it's the people on my own side that I'm constantly hearing the worst arguments/misinformation from. There are unfortunately a lot of people who oppose AI art for pretty much all the worst possible reasons.

I think the anti-AI side of things can benefit a lot from understanding why people would use AI art instead of ~hiring an artist~, and then arguing on that playing field. Because if I see another argument that just boils down to "see??? if you just spend part of a lifetime practicing art and then schedule most of your life around it, you can make art too!!! easy!!!" i'm going to blow up into smithereens. Not everyone is a full-career artist, nor do they intend to be; I know that's hard for a lot of artists to comprehend because their whole life has been about drawing pictures, but other people are busy with other things. Some people do not have the time or energy to add a whole new craft to their capabilities -- even less people want to do that just so they can make an icon for a website they're making, or to create a book cover for the book they're writing, or whatever. If your argument to anyone of these pro-AI people is that they should just start learning to draw, please just shut the fuck up, you've failed to understand the core basic reasoning why people find AI art appealing: extremely quick production, passable quality, and the only person you have to work with is a computer, not a human being that has their own schedule, passions, etc. to consider.

This isn't a pro-AI argument I'm taking either, I'm just sick of seeing these terrible arguments coming from people I should theoretically agree with. So much of this mindset is pure gatekeeping of all visual arts, and from a position that is bound to fail; this technology isn't going to disappear, and there's plenty of uses for AI generation that isn't just wholesale stealing art from people. It's going to be used more and more, especially as industry artists learn how to utilize it in conjunction with their own abilities.

Man seriously, BOTH sides I think have GOT to accept that AI art generation is never going to reach a point where one prompt gets you the perfect picture. To me it seems like its best use is for creating outlines or references, or filling in non-vital indications of details. You still have to be an artist to then take that image and manifest something unique from it. The companies behind AI art generation really want you to believe that it can do that, that you just put in one prompt and out comes a complete picture, but it really doesn't work that way -- it's a boogeyman concept, that one day we're just gonna have computers shitting out all of our visual elements in the world, and no artist will ever dare lift a pen again in such trying times. Professional artists are already adapting to the new tech and learning how to use it as a tool for full-scale projects, rather than just a novelty to spit something out in 20 seconds. It's very much overselling the capabilities of AI art to believe that this is the bad timeline where all artists go extinct and their talents are simply never needed.

Now I do have some fears about AI art and how it will effect artists in the industry, and how some corporations will try to use AI art in the sloppiest ways possible. It will be a turbulent time, but far from the dark age of creativity that some people are expecting.

[october-writes]

It was enough. Perhaps it was too much already.

If her past relationships with men were any indication, Delta would stop finding her so beguiling eventually. And once the novelty wore off, she could work unhindered. Until then, she’d focus and do her job just as Dr Yates had told her to.

Her investigation into The Persephone ’s security subroutines with Ness was already putting her employment status in jeopardy. She didn’t need to compromise this project too, especially with Jon breathing down her neck. Delta intrigued her, but what did that matter? It was a passing fascination; a shiny landmark passed on a long journey that’ll vanish from her rear-view mirror as quickly as it had arrived.

‘We’ll try this again tomorrow,’ she told him, pulling away from his side with more reluctance than she wanted to admit, ‘Soon you won’t even feel that shoulder injury.’

She’d grown accustomed to the strange warmth radiating from his body. She’d found herself leaning into it as she’d reached for her instruments, as she’d weighed him, as she’d drawn his blood. Moving in the opposite direction felt like stepping out of a warm bath on a cold day.

Delta’s fingers twitched. For a moment, Ada thought he was about to reach for her hand again. And in the instance that followed, she realised she might just let him.

Read the rest on AO3

[classpect-callouts]

To the Knight of Breath/Rogue of Light combo (aka, me): How does it feel to be so self-reliant that it hurts? Isn't it sad that you're using a bravado of toxic independence and ridiculous amounts of motivation towards your work to hide your unwanted feelings of detachment and apathy towards other people? I know that when you spend time with people, you either 1: quietly listen in the shadows like a coward because you're scared of being perceived for the time being or 2: take conversations into the strangest fucking directions possible due to trying to be confident but having no idea what you're doing in the end. You quietly sacrifice your novelty as a person to give other people chances to shine so that no one has to think deeply about you. You're also willing to give any kind of information you can, but only so you can feel needed in some capacity. Basically, you don't want to be perceived as a deeply flawed failure of a person (let alone a person at all), so you brute force your way through tasks by yourself with a stubborn attitude of "I know what I'm doing" when in reality, you don't know shit, and the only shit you know comes from others, and you really don't like admitting that because that means you technically relied on someone. You'd basically be helpless without the internet. Seriously, when will you realise that your friends acknowledge your presence and are interested in you, but you're just scared of anything deeper than the usual surface-level kind of friendship? For the love of anything that you could possibly feel, ask for help and show that you care deeply about them!!! (Note: This roast is probably way too specific, which is the complete opposite to one of the tricks you pull to make your roasts good, so I did it anonymously. Also, I like this blog very much because I think it's hilarious. Have a good day!!!!)

.

[tealenko]

The Three Letters (Chapter 8)

Chapter 8: The Path of the Deathless

Here we are, finally!!! XD Wanted to post one more chapter before going back to work (I wasn't expecting to make it in time though ehehehehe)

So, I promised to change the ending of RotTR and here you have it. Without a doubt, this chapter cost me way more to write than any of the others. I really like the end result, I think (I feel proud that I somehow made it work lol)

Hope you like it too

Summary: Lara makes it to the Divine Source just in time to try to stop Ana from making a huge mistake but, not wanting to listen to reason, this one threatens to harm Jacob in order to reach it.

Words: 4464 Rating: Teens and Up Warnings: death and all that stuff (nothing too graphic though, just a light show)

All Chapters -> [link] Read in AO3 -> [link]

--------------------------------

The bow tenses against her chin in a way that’s completely new to her.

“…”

Ana’s arm rises. 

Her own answers instantly, more a reflex than a chosen action.

“No.” Lara orders, while she pulls from the string even more, feeling the pain as it leaves a mark against her skin.

The bow is almost an extension of her own being at this point in time, but the way she’s holding it right now is a novelty. She doesn’t recognize this strange force, doesn’t know where it comes from and, most importantly, she doesn’t seem to care.

“Step back.” Lara orders.

There’s no pleading nor asking in her words, neither is she attempting to make a deal, instead she takes a step forward, with her eyes focused on her target like never before in her life, repeating her command in an even more demanding tone of voice.

“Step. Back.”

But Ana doesn’t.

There’s only one thing remaining between her and the Divine Source and she isn’t going to stop now that she’s so close to reaching it.

Having this in mind, and trusting the fact that, despite their differences, the closest thing she’s ever had to a daughter won’t have the guts to kill her, she finishes raising her trembling hand and points it to her own target.

“This is the only…”

That’s all she’s able to say before she notices how mistaken she truly is.

The arrow flies so fast that she’s unable to see it, but she quickly feels it as it impacts against her knee.

“Shit!”

Ana falls to the ground, screaming in pain and, before she has the time to realize what has happened, Lara has already started running, to her surprise, not towards her, but in the opposite direction, way too preoccupied by whom the gun was pointing to be even remotely worried about the person holding it.

“Jacob…” Lara almost whispers, losing the strength of her voice as she reaches him, seeing now the true depth of his wounds.

“Yeah…” He replies in a similar tone of voice, doing his best to keep standing. “Had to go through a lot to be able to get to y… To get here.”

Lara’s hands move, without her own permission, to hold his in between them and, as a result, all he can do is dedicate a look of delight to her.

“Glad to see you’ve made it in one piece, though.” He jokes, doing his best to keep standing. “I must be getting too old to keep up with you. ”

She gets lost for a moment, to the point where she isn’t able to see or hear anything else that isn’t Jacob. If she could, she would have noticed by now the sounds coming from outside the vast room, caused by the army of deathless soldiers as they gather all their forces.

But she doesn’t.

His smile pierces her soul in a way it shouldn’t, and at the same time, his pain seems to tear it apart in a hundred million pieces.

It’s fine. He’s fine. Her conscious mind tries to remind her. He’s immortal, afterall.

But her heart has reached a point where it’s no longer able to tell that fact apart and, the moment she sees him suffering, it starts to suffer along with him.

The result of all this inner battle is a sad chuckle that is quickly followed by a couple of rogue tears.

They send a clear message but, to their dismay, before Jacob is able to decode them, the situation starts to crumble around them in record time.

At the same moment that the few forces holding Jacob on his feet abandon his body, Ana is able to stand up and, with Lara doing her best to break his sudden fall to the ground, she’s left with a clear path to the Divine Source.

Without a hint of hesitation, she takes it.

When Lara realizes what’s truly happening Ana’s hands are almost about to reach it.

“No!” She screams, with the hint of pleading that wasn’t there a few moments ago. “It’s not what you think, Ana.”

Her sentence makes her stop for a second, acknowledging the truth behind her words and, with the sound of the army gathered outside the room increasing at a hastened pace, the fear creeps into her heart long enough to make her fall silent. 

Lara, sensing her doubt, doesn’t waver to take the opportunity and attempt to explain to Ana the origin of the source.

“It will kill you.” She states, feeling the worry starting to build in her chest. “It will kill you if you aren’t worthy...” Another tear runs down Lara’s face, caused by a different person this time around. “Please… Do not take that bet.”

Ana stares at the source for a couple seconds and makes final her choice, turning to look at Lara one last time before stepping ahead.

“Please!” She begs despite knowing her words won't be able to stop her.

And they are not.

“I’m dying. This is my only hope.” She screams from the top of her chest, hesitating no more as her hands start to move.

“Ana, no!”

A sensation of horror invades Lara’s body and, after sharing a quick look with Jacob, both to confirm he was okay and to tell him what she is going to do next, she starts to sprint towards her direction, quick enough to cover almost all the distance left between them, but not fast enough to make it in time.

Despite her best effort, Ana takes the source and, just as she is about to reach her, the judgment starts.

It takes less than an instant and, before Lara is able to comprehend what’s happening, the light of the source starts to surround Ana.

Slowly at first, almost with delicacy, but that doesn’t last for long and, in less than a few seconds, the filaments of light transform into strings and start to tangle around her body.

“No!” Ana screams, feeling the light starting to suffocate her, trying her best to release the artifact but unable to do so.

The ivory filaments trap her in an instant and, before her scream vanishes into the air, what is left of her is quickly transformed into a white flash so bright that manages to blind Lara for a few seconds.

When she finally makes it to where Ana was standing, there’s nothing left to save, just the remnant filaments of light that maintain the divine source floating mid air for a few seconds, disobeying every rule of physics, before gravity starts to function with normality once again and the artifact starts to fall.

Against her better judgment, without even stopping to consider the idea, or a hint of self-reflection, she decides to grab it.

Just as they did before, Lara's hands move on their own, and prevent the source from crashing against the ground.

“I…”

For a few moments her mind doesn’t finish comprehending the action that her body has taken without consulting it, and it isn’t until she sees the what’s left of Ana laying on her feet, that she starts to realize the depth of her mistake.

The horror invades her once again, as her eyes stay fixed on the small and glowing bundle of clothes and ashes that she’s seen so many times in the past few days: Ana has been transformed into one more slave to serve the source for all eternity and, unless she finds a solution, she’s going to be the next one.

“Shit...” A tear runs through her face as she attempts in vain to release the source before it consumes her, but the light tangles around her hands with enough strength to prevent it. “Shit.”

Lara stares at it for three seconds. Perhaps the longest three seconds of her entire life.

The first of them is dedicated to fright. 

All her body freezes as her heart twists inside her chest with the reality of her imminent death materializing in front of her eyes.

The second one leaves room for sorrow. 

Despite not weeping a river of emotions, the few tears that travel through her face carry along with them more sadness than an entire lifetime would be able to gather.

“Shit!”

She shakes her head, which doesn’t make them disappear, but it’s enough to let her recover some resemblance of control over her own body and gives way to one last moment of reflection. 

Her last one.

And, this time around, third is indeed the charm, for not even in between the horror, the sorrow and the fright, is her mind able to forget about him.

So in her final moment, all there’s left: is love.

Her body forgets about the light, the pain and everything else, and turns to face him, leaving every worry behind as if it didn't exist.

Jacob is already standing when their eyes meet and, with three seconds more, he is able to close the distance between them like it’s nothing, forgetting too about all his wounds and his own pain in order to reach her as soon as he is able.

And so he does.

There’s no sight of dismay on his face, nor hesitation, for he has no doubt of what’s going to happen next and he does not fear it.

Lara doesn't understand it yet, but the mere presence of Jacob is distracting enough to make her forget the fact that, if she was meant to follow the same path as Ana, she would already be dead by now.

But she isn’t. 

She would see that the color of the light is now bright blue, unlike before.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she just stands, looking at him, extending one of her arms to touch one of his as the light starts to travel through her, not even realizing that she gained back the control of her body and that her hands are no longer glued to the Divine Source.

“Finally…” He whispers, looking at it for a second, before redirecting his glare to meet her eyes again. “Finally.”

“What…?”

There’s confusion in Lara’s face, but it doesn’t last for long, for most times the universe has its ways of letting us know what’s about to happen in the most cruel form available, and this one it’s not an exception.

Before she’s able to say anything else, Jacob’s legs start to fail him, making him collapse immediately to the ground, with her doing her best to stop the crash once again. 

This time around though, his wounds aren’t the one causing the fall and, with one last look into his icy eyes, she finally starts to comprehend the dark reality of what’s really about to happen.

“No...” She whispers, as the horror of their current situation starts to set in her heart. “No.”

“There’s always a price…” Jacob's eyes start to water a little, but his smile doesn’t disappear, instead, it gets even stronger as he traces every detail of her face. “It’s finally my time to pay it.”

She places the source on the ground next to him, and her hands tremble like never before in her life as she extends them to grab his.

“Take it…” She begs him in between tears, much more haunted by this new scenario than by the now forgotten possibility of her sudden death. “Please, take it back.”

“Too late.”

“No!”

“The change has been made.”

Despite knowing she isn’t gonna change his mind, she tries one more time, moving closer enough to him in the process.

“Please!” A half scream half cry escapes her body along with her last plea, for she already knows what’s next. 

She knows he’s right. She knows it’s too late.

The light is no longer coming from the source, It’s coming from Jacob, tangling around her body, hugging her, becoming one with her own flesh.

There’s no rush nor ashes this time around and the glowing filaments, which were able to reduce Ana into a burning bundle of clothes in less than a couple seconds, seem to caress her instead of attack her, melting into her skin with all the care in the world.

There is no pain either.

Or at least, none caused by the light itself for, as Lara comes to terms with the events developing in front of her eyes, the agony of her reality quickly starts to hit her.

“It’s okay.” He tells her, able to read all her emotions on her face. “It’s…”

Lara hugs him in the middle of his sentence, with her whole body acting once again on its own.

“I’m sorry.” She half whispers next to his ear, tightening her arms around him, feeling how her whole world turns into darkness despite being in the presence of so much light. “This… This…”

Her words quickly fail her when she starts to notice his arms losing their strength and, in a final attempt to ask him to do the impossible, she breaks the hug and begs him for the last time.

“Jacob… Please… ” Lara pleads as their eyes find each other “Hold on…”

He stares at her and, to her surprise, laughs a little before giving her the only answer that she’s really been dreading to hear.

“I’ve held on… For too long already.”

Lara closes her eyes in agony for a second, trying with all her heart to process the reality that she now must face.

Jacob, on the other hand, the one who should be crumbling in despair instead of her, is just patiently waiting while he focuses all his efforts on his breathing, smiling from ear to ear, only preoccupied with learning every little detail of her face so he can harbor it in the afterlife.

She feels confused, miserable and angered, all at the same time, not truly believing his reaction but, after a quick moment of realization, she finally understands why he is acting the way he is.

He already knew.

“You wanted me to take it…” She states out loud, which he quickly confirms as he deepens his smile. “You knew I’d be worthy.”

Jacob nods, instead of answering, feeling all his strength leaving his body but, having still so much to say, he musters all that’s left of his will in order to expose, at least, some of the truth that he has worked so much to hide.

“In all my years…” He finally manages to say, with the faintest tone of voice she has ever heard him. “I’ve met few as extraordinary as you.”

That will have to suffice. He adds in his mind before he starts to cough, paying the price for all the effort he invested into casting those few words.

“It’s finally happening.” He laughs while struggling to keep breathing, too preoccupied with easing her mind on these last few moments to focus on the pain that invades him. “My ending.”

“I’m sorry.” Her words tremble as they come out of her mouth, mortified by the sigh of Jacob in this state. “All I wanted was to make a difference.”

The tears come back, but no for long.

She feels hopeless, she feels broken and, above all, she feels lost. Nevertheless, his response comes to her rescue right away.

“You already have.” Jacob preaches more than says, slowly moving her hand to cup her face. ”...you already have.”

Lara’s eyes close as one last tear streams down her face.

This is it. She tells herself before opening them again, taking a deep breath as she does her best to calm down.

The deathless finally make it into the room but, instead of seeking the source like she thought they would, they just start to surround the central platform, leaving plenty of space between them and Lara.

She only has the chance to look at them briefly before the light starts moving, gaining back her attention.

Jacob looks like he’s about to disappear into thin air, and no longer has the strength to keep smiling, but with what’s left of him he gives her a final nod, trying his best to be reassuring.

The soldiers stare, emotionless, witnessing the scene as they wait for the rest of them to make it into the room and, in just a few seconds, they recover Lara’s attention, moving all in sync to kneel before her.

She scours the room briefly before realizing that Ana’s remnants are no longer there.

One more servant to the source. She thinks, looking for her in the kneeling crowd despite knowing way too well that she won’t be able to recognize her.

One more sacrifice.

Jacob’s eyes close at last, and the tears make their comeback as she stares at him, still not truly believing this is really happening.

A cry of despair comes out of her body as she instinctively moves to hug him.

He wanted this… 

She tries to tell herself, in an attempt to avoid falling completely into the darkness.

“He wanted…” Lara looks around as she says this, leaving his body to rest with all the care in the world, contemplating the scene that she’s now starring in. “He… He deserves…”

Her tears keep pouring out of control, to the point where her eyes are starting to sting, and any effort she makes to try to wipe them with the sleeve of her jacket doesn’t seem to have any effect.

“He deserves to rest.” She’s finally able to say, trying to convince herself that this is the best possible outcome. “He deserves an ending.”

Her hands close while trembling and, in an attempt of calming down, she decides to move her eyes away from him and redirect them once again to the deathless ones. Nevertheless, this soon proves to have the opposite effect to the one expected.

They are still kneeling and, the sigh of it, it’s impactful enough to start brewing a new emotion on the bottom of her heart.

It’s almost like they were asking to serve me.

She shakes her head a couple of times.

Serve me…

A sad laugh escapes her body while her fist impacts with anger against the ground.

“Serve Me!?” What began as a simple feeling hidden in the depths of her soul quickly starts to grow, and the fury that sparked so easily in her body a few seconds ago, is now turning into raw unfiltered rage. “Me!”

Lara looks around one more time before hitting the ground once again, now with both of her hands.

“Like I deserve this…” There’s a quick moment of silence, followed by one of enlightenment, that only manages to increase her anger even more. “Like he deserves this!”

Her hands move to wipe her tears one more time, and one more time they keep falling down. The only difference now is that she’s way too mad to even care.

“You… You do not deserve this.” She shakes her head and brings one hand to her heart, closing her eyes in the process. “This… Is not enough.”

Lara moves enough to stare at the source, dreading the moment that she, or better said, her hands, decided to move in order to catch it before it fell to the ground.

She takes a couple of deep breaths and decides to look back at Jacob, watching as the blue light reflects onto him, wondering how many seconds left they have before he’s completely swallowed by the darkness.

The battle between her feelings seems to come to an end, for a few seconds, as one quick thought crosses her mind, managing to bring her some kind of peace.

“You do deserve an ending.” 

She admits, moving her arm to cup his face one last time but, once her hand is half way there, the fire of her anger reactivates without a hint of warning, finally winning control of her mind, her heart and her entire body. 

“But not this one…”

It comes only as a whisper at the beginning, almost as if someone else had said those words instead of her.

“Not this one.”

This time around her voice is clearer and, as the anger melts with the many emotions that she's been trying to hide for so long, Lara loses complete notion of what’s happening aside from the two of them.

“You deserve to live.” She tells him, getting closer to his body despite knowing way too well that he cannot hear her. “You deserve to be free, to be happy…”

All of the deathless stand up at the same time in the middle of her speech, but she doesn’t even notice that they are moving.

“You deserve to grow old… And to experience a life without self-sacrifice, or pain, or sorrow…”

She doesn’t even hear them when they start to walk towards her.

“You deserve so much more than this!”

If she was witnessing her current situation she would realize that she’s only a few moments away from losing him forever. 

But she isn't.

She isn’t paying attention to the army of fallen soldiers, nor to the many lights surrounding them.

“You cannot leave… Not like this.” 

Lara’s eyes turn to look at the source one last time, dedicating once again three long seconds to stare at it. 

Nevertheless, this time around, instead of going through hundreds of feelings, there’s just the one, that keeps growing and growing until, just as all this began, takes control of her body and does what she’s been wanting to do from the moment that she set her hands on it.

And you won’t.

Before her mind has the time to process the possible consequences of what she’s about to do next, Lara grabs the Divine Source and, with all the strength that she’s able to summon, smashes it against the ground, immediately breaking it into countless fragments and pieces.

The impact not only demolishes the source, it also creates a blue energy wave that travels through the entire room, turning all the soldiers into ashes, quickly disappearing into the air without leaving any hint or trace that they were there to begin with.

The light vanishes along with them, leaving an empty room, except for Lara and Jacob, that now it’s only illuminated by the rays of the sun, tinting the whole scenery in an orange tone.

Her eyes scour the room, not truly believing what they’re seeing, but she doesn’t have the time to process it before something else gains her attention.

Jacob moves a little and, after a few seconds, opens her eyes.

He looks confused, but not for too long, quickly understanding the outcome of their evening in record time.

Lara just stares at him doing her best to contain all her feelings inside her chest, which she succeeds, until she finally hears the voice she was convinced she would never have the chance to hear again.

Until she hears his voice.

“What have you…” It’s only a weak whisper at the beginning, but that’s more than enough for her.

Before he’s able to finish his sentence she’s already hugging him, letting the silent tears fall slowly as her arms wrap around his body.

To say Jacob is surprised at the beginning, would be an understatement, but he quickly attributes her feelings and reaction to the near death experience instead of seeing the much simpler reality.

After processing all this, he just sighs and, with a kind smile on his face, returns the hug, allowing himself to tangle his arms around Lara and bringing her a little closer to him.

“What were you thinking?” He asks with the most casual tone he’s able to find, breaking the silence but not the embrace, doing his best to contain the pain hidden behind those words.

“I wasn’t.” Lara replies without hesitation, taking him a little by surprise. “ I…”

Lara laughs at her own thoughts and, after a moment of reflection, she pulls backwards a little, breaking the hug and sitting next to him, moving her eyes to look through the huge breach of the wall while letting the sun bathe her with its rays.

“I didn’t want you to go.” She finally admits, before shaking her head a few times. “Not like this” 

She decides to turn a little to look at him.

He is already looking at her.

The warm light coming through the breach tints her features, turning even brighter as she dedicates a faint smile to him, taking a moment to breathe before she resumes her speech.

“A millennia of pain and death and sorrow. Of fighting, of hiding. Lifetime after lifetime… The wars, the invasions. You’ve been suffering since the moment you set your hands on that thing, and I…” Her words get stuck on her throat, but she tries to continue nonetheless. “I just couldn’t… I couldn’t… ”

Understanding what she’s attempting to say, or most of it, Jacob moves his hand slowly and reaches for hers, mirroring her previous smile as he looks into her eyes.

“You could’ve died, Lara.” He reproaches her, but in the sweetest tone she’s ever heard in her entire life, too mesmerized by the sight of her to be able to be mad about her actions.

“You too.” She answers, no hesitation once again, way too happy about the outcome of this whole situation to worry about filtering her words.

The only thing he can do is smile, unable to contradict the bare logic of her response and knowing that, in her place, he would’ve taken the exact same path.

Lara tightens the grip of his hand and returns his smile, giggling a bit in disbelief, before turning to look to the horizon once again. Jacob’s eyes follow hers after a few seconds, taking his time to scour the way too familiar view of the valley through the big breach of the northern wall.

There’s nothing left to say after that, but they silently decide not to leave.

After everything experienced in such a short amount of time, the two of them need to process all that’s happened, to calm down and, above all, they both need to rest. 

So, instead of joining the forces of the remnant right away, they remain there.

They stay in the center of the room for what seems like an eternity. No words needed, not anymore.

They just sit and wait, one next to the other, looking at the horizon as all their feelings fade.  There’s no more pain, nor fright, nor sorrow. 

There’s nothing else to be said.

So, instead, they just wait there, in complete silence, with her fingers still interlaced with his, forgetting about everything and everyone aside from them. Needing nothing else than the touch of each other's hands to know that, as long as they stay like this, together, everything will be okay.

--------------------------------

Sometimes I love the ending, sometimes I'm not convinced XDDD Anyways, it's done. So there you have it.

I doubt you care, but future me usually has a blast when she reads these things, so know that I rearranged all the remaining chapters and added one more to the planning just so I can write fluff in the next one (it was supposed to be the angsties yet and I really don't have the heart... I suffered enough writing the last three!!! I deserve fluff!!! XDDDDD *slowly descends into madness*)

So yeah, next one is going to be fluff + sexual tension yaaaaaaay~~~That way I'll have a break before we enter the complicated plotline of: the consequences of SotTR aka "wtf were you thinking to volunteer yourself as a freaking human sacrifice!?" XDDDDDDDDDDDD

[mariacallous]

Last month, attorney Pavel Chikov joined Meduza’s Russian-language podcast “What Happened” to discuss Russia’s main legal trend in 2022: the strengthening of the police state inside the country against a backdrop of the war in Ukraine. The show’s host, Vladislav Gorin, premised the interview on the thought that Russia’s increasingly repressive regulation of society is both the domestic equivalent of the Kremlin’s fear-based foreign policy and an instrument of achieving Putin’s military goals by forcing the population to power the invasion. Pavel Chikov described Russia’s changing legal landscape from his perspective as a practicing attorney and the head of the Agora human rights organization. The interview addressed major changes in Russia’s repressive machinery since the start of the invasion and assessed this system’s capabilities now, a year into the war. Anna Razumnaya distills the show’s key highlights.

Meduza continues to extract expert insights from our original Russian podcasts to present perspectives that may not be readily available to our audience in English.

From a legal point of view, admits human rights lawyer Pavel Chikov, 2022 didn’t just “surprise” him — it startled him and other practicing lawyers by the starkness of changes to Russia’s legal landscape. “Lots of things we didn’t have before,” he says, referring to legislation and law enforcement. “Things we used to be wary of, or couldn’t imagine happening, did happen.”

It’s been a fairly revealing year, when all kinds of things that the authorities used to cover up, with a certain bashfulness, were suddenly unveiled, and everything became as transparent as can be.

One of the starkest legal novelties — and the one that Chikov names first — is the state monopoly on truth, written into the law against “war fakes” — that is, military disinformation.

The state monopoly on truth

For the first time in the history of contemporary Russia, the authorities have begun to arrest, prosecute, and imprison people simply for having a position that runs against the official grain. Where we see this trend at work is in the run of so-called “war fake” cases initiated under the new criminal law about disinformation. This is how the opposition politician Ilya Yashin got sentenced to 8.5 years in a penal colony. Chikov explains how easy it is to violate this law:

Although the appeal has not yet taken place, I personally have no doubt that the sentence will be upheld. Maybe they’ll reduce it slightly, but the law on “fakes” didn’t appear this year — it came about in the pandemic year 2020. And its first application was actually quite surprising, since, in effect, if you happen to be an eyewitness to some event, and you write about it, should these events contradict the official position — say, the position of the Healthcare Ministry — you are spreading “fakes,” and this constitutes a felony.

During the pandemic, Russians could have been prosecuted for disinformation under two different articles of the law, leading to either felony or misdemeanor charges. The two types of violation as specified by those two separate laws, Chikov explains, were very difficult to distinguish. As a result, what the courts actually saw were a couple of hundred misdemeanor cases and a few felony trials, but nobody went to prison when tried for felonies. This year, “war fake” cases made a huge leap in the direction of longer, more severe sentences:

You can very well see for yourself what’s happening in the war and who is doing what; you can read the documents and the official statements by international authorities like the UN; you can read the materials of the International Criminal Court and its investigations. And if you publicize them, contradicting the Defense Ministry’s official position, which is to say “we didn’t go there and didn’t do it,” you may get seven or eight years in prison.

According to Chikov, what makes this new is specifically the state’s claim to a monopoly on truth.

“This is a fairly brazen thing, and a real event” in Russian legal history, Chikov sums up.

Apart from monopolizing the facts, the authorities have moved to criminalize the expression of personal opinion. This too has been going on for a while, but it often played out differently before. In the past, the justice system targeted hate speech and expressions that could be construed as insulting or violating someone’s dignity. This was still within the bounds of free speech. This year has shown, hundreds of times, that a person who says, “in my personal opinion, this aggressive war is unjustified and unlawful,” is liable to be prosecuted for “discrediting the army” under an Administrative Code article passed last March as part of a legislative package on war censorship.

Ukrainian captives without POW status

Another new phenomenon of 2022 in Russian legal life is the appearance of large classes of people who have no clear legal status under the Russian law and therefore no legal protections. This applies, first of all, to the Ukrainians captured by the Russian army during combat operations in Ukraine — usually, on the pretext that they “resisted” Russia’s “special military operation.” These prisoners have no POW status, since, as far as the Defense Ministry is concerned, Russia is not at war, Chikov explains:

In several cases, the Russian Defense Ministry has confirmed detention of Ukrainian nationals during combat and having kept them in custody for months (some of them since spring, some since the summer) for “resisting the special military operation” — given that there is no such a felony or misdemeanor in criminal law.

“What we have are foreign nationals, captured on the territory — ” But here, Chikov, an attorney practicing in Russia, is forced to leave his sentence unfinished, for the legal reasons he’d just discussed. “Okay,” he says, “let’s not talk about state ‘territories.’” What remains is that the Russian army captured these foreign nationals “in the combat zone,” and they remain in detention for months, without a court order, without any charges, without a clear legal status, without access to a lawyer — and also without lawyers being able to access them, given that their place of detention happens to be classified.

There may be thousands of people in this category, which can include real Ukrainian fighters as well as civilians (even students), who are all kept “incommunicado” on dubious legal grounds and without any access to the outside world, in violation of international human rights norms. In the eyes of Russia’s own laws, their status remains unclear, like much else in the situation:

It’s unclear on what normative grounds they are detained, how long they can be detained, or how they are treated while in custody. Do they have any complaints? Do they have access to healthcare? We don’t know anything about them. All we have is General Kokh in the Defense Ministry, and his standard responses to attorneys’ queries: “Yes, we’ve got so-and-so, he is fine, and there’s nothing more we can tell you.”

“The Defense Ministry doesn’t call this an abduction,” Chikov goes on, and this defines the legal situation:

What corresponds to Russian federal legislation are the Defense Ministry’s words, whatever they might be. So, we are observing a certain metamorphosis within the laws, such that the Defense Ministry calls these people detainees, arrested for resisting the special military operation, not abductees. To qualify something as an abduction, which is a crime, you need some organ which would investigate this, gather the evidence, and determine that a crime has been committed. This might happen some day, but from a legal point of view, we cannot call this an abduction at present.

As Russia’s evolving legislation draws further away from other rational vantage points, reality itself becomes harder to square with the legal framework. “We often have to be very careful in choosing words, when describing self-evident things,” Chikov admits. Working lawyers like him must adhere to a certain normative language to remain within bounds:

When there is a document and some corroborating events, we can state something on that basis. So here it is: no one denies that a certain number of Ukrainian nationals are detained by the Russian military. We currently don’t know where, we don’t quite understand the grounds, but we have a confirmed fact of detention.

Non-normative regulation and the fog of war

Among the trends that marked a real departure from the usual in 2022, but will probably persist in the years to come is “non-normative regulation.” What does this mean?

We have long got used to living in a police state. We can say with certainty that, by 2012, Russia had turned into a police state. Once again, this isn’t a true legal term, but it marks, and very clearly, a state’s propensity to over-rely on law enforcement. It does this by criminalizing different kinds of behavior, including completely peaceful things that shouldn’t be criminalized in a free society. The state is actively using different kinds of repressions, not necessarily very harsh ones — not necessarily mass executions, concentration camps, firing squads and prison for hundreds of thousands, not Stalin-style repressions — because those aren’t even necessary. It’s enough to prescribe some clear rules along with the sanctions for breaking them, and then make a show of punishing a few, to keep the rest in fear and obedience. This is the police state, or an authoritarian regime if you like. Political scientists and lawyers may use different terms, but that doesn’t make much difference.

One of the characteristics of the police state is clarity about rules and procedures: “Don’t go here, don’t say this, don’t stand there, don’t sit down here, because otherwise you’ll get ‘x,’ ‘y,’ and ‘z.’” These are the excessively restrictive but explicit rules of the game, Chikov explains; if you stick to them, you can minimize (though not exclude) the risk of facing penalties, the risk of being steamrolled by the repressive apparatus.

Against this backdrop, 2022 has once again marked a change. Regulation ceased to be public and explicit. Instead, it takes the form of informal consultations within the General Staff or in the Security Council, or statements made by the defense minister and the president. The president’s word has the highest degree of legal power. This means that our president is above the law. A decree doesn’t matter if the president says it’s no longer in effect.

Then, there are the General Staff’s internal directives , which are hidden from the public. It doesn’t matter that the law permits deferral of mobilization for fathers of four or more children under the age of 16; what matters is that the General Staff has granted deferrals to fathers of three. Since there’s nothing on this in the law, the mobilized conscript and his lawyer have nothing to work with. They cannot bring a piece of legislation to the draft office and expect its enforcement on the basis of the children’s birth certificates, since the General Staff’s directive is not a public document:

As a result, we wind up with a court case citing the General Staff’s classified directives, which is nonsensical, since no one can find out what those directives say. We have a mobilization decree that omits the paragraph specifying the number of people to be mobilized. No one knows what that number is. This means that our lives are increasingly regulated by informal directives. 

Something happens today: say, the generals get together, talk, and decide that tomorrow morning the laws will apply differently. Others will only find out about this gradually — those others being detectives, prosecutors, and judges — because the news doesn’t reach them instantly. It follows that lawyers, including defense attorneys, will probably learn about this even later, and won’t have any means of response or defenses until some new body of cases is built up. This is the fog of war that has come from the front and spreads over our daily life.

Although this trend applied first to mobilization and the rights of the mobilized, it is gradually spreading into other legal spheres. “This is a long-term and very significant trend,” Chikov concludes. “It’s something we didn’t have before.”

Regulating the police to let police regulate society

Broad, vague, and open-ended legal language is the basis of arbitrary law enforcement. Yet this says nothing of the authorities’ curious loss of interest in regulating society through legislation of any kind, be it clear or vague. Instead, regulation increasingly takes the form of internal prescriptions, issued for the insiders only. “This is a very interesting phenomenon,” says Chikov:

It turns out that we don’t need to regulate anything in society, apart from the law enforcement organs themselves; and even their behavior is regulated by documents that aren’t exactly normative, by memos, instructions, court directives, and all kinds of internal clarifications that travel down the whole hierarchy until they reach those who must ultimately enact them. This is all non-normative regulation that doesn’t go public and cannot be verified or questioned. And what matters most is that people who are subject to these norms don’t even know about them.

The most vivid example of how this started is the anti-extremism law of 2002. The term “extremism” is 20 years old, but no one in 20 years has managed to understand what it means, in spite of the active application of this concept in repressions. And that’s the whole point, Chikov explains: during the Second Chechen campaign, an “extremist” was a bearded armed highlander from the North Caucasus. But as of 2021, it was Navalny and his supporters. Why such a metamorphosis and such a range? Because the word “extremist” means whoever opposes the regime at any given moment.

People who try to understand Russian law enforcement often look for patterns and rational connections. The sense that there’s got to be some traceable logic assures ordinary Russians that, by adapting their own behavior, they can minimize the risk of running afoul of law enforcement. But if the authorities want to keep everyone cowed, what they need is not firm rules and clarity but arbitrariness and unpredictability. Why? Because arbitrary, wantonly cruel law enforcement robs people of all sense of control. Instead, they can only quake in expectation of the “sledgehammer’s” next strike.

“When there’s no logic,” Chikov says, “a person sinks into paranoia.” No matter what she or he might do, it could lead to punishment. Psychologically, this is paralyzing, which is precisely the objective of the state, in its attempt to turn society into a minefield, where a person doesn’t know where it’s safe to step, and where it isn’t. The society then turns into “a flock of sheep, bitten here and there by the sheepdogs to move where the shepherds want them to go.” But this has nothing to do with civil society, democracy, or the rule of law.

Lawyers without the rule of law

The arbitrary enforcement of not fully transparent laws and directives means that lawyers have a new role to play: they must act as interpreters of what the state expects of citizens — at least roughly. In the olden days, anyone could find, read, and understand the legislation in place. This is no longer the case, especially with regard to the new laws, whose convoluted language is often completely unintelligible to a non-specialist, and cannot be understood without an expert’s help.

The increasing prevalence of informal regulation, based on directives that aren’t made public (because they’re marked for internal use within different organizations), means that lawyers are also acting as monitors of the legal situation and all the ways in which different legal scenarios play out in different parts of the country. Understanding how both laws and internal directives are applied in practice, in real-life situations — “keeping a hand on the pulse” of legal precedent — becomes essential in representing an individual in court.

Meanwhile, the length of prison sentences is increasing. Ten years ago, much of Russian society was shocked by the two-year sentences issued to the Pussy Riot’s Maria Alyokhina and Nadezhda Tolokonnikova: to get two years for a performance was unprecedented. But that was then. Compare and contrast: Ivan Safronov just got 22 years on treason charges, for “something he may or may not have done,” Chikov points out. And then there’s Yashin (8.5 years for comments during a livestream), and Alexey Navalny (who faces up to 35 years on a slew of different charges).

The courts, meanwhile, are working in tandem with the State Duma, whose “mad printer” seems to have gone positively berserk: in 2022, they passed 670 new laws. Regardless of what share of those new laws might be repressive, it’s clear, for instance, that the new “foreign agent” law alone will affect hundreds of people and organizations on the new unified registry. There’s more and more talk about pressuring those who left the country, and we can expect to see new legal initiatives in that direction.

The fog of war in Russia is getting denser, and with it grows lawyers’ sense that their capacity to help is more limited by the day.

[themovieblogonline]

It’s All RAW In "RUSLAAN”: A Thrilling Story with Poor Casting

Ruslaan (Aayush Sharma) was orphaned at a young age. His terrorist father (Nawab Shah) was killed in a shootout by the police and during the same shootout, his mother was also killed. He was adopted by police inspector Sameer Singh (Jagapathi Babu) and his wife. Ruslaan had an interest in music and grew up to become a college music teacher. But nobody knew his shocking secret. He was also working for the secret intelligence agency in India, RAW. He used to disobey the orders of his senior RAW officers but his misdemeanors went unpunished as he was a brave and honest man of high integrity. His senior officer Mantra (Vidya Malvade) was on a mission to track down and capture a dreaded terrorist named Qasim. During this mission, Ruslaan became a victim of allegations that he had murdered a renowned international businessman. Ruslaan’s adoptive father Inspector Sameer Singh, thus began tracking him down to arrest him. The Roar Of A Rebel: Casting Aayush Sharma as Ruslaan! https://youtu.be/_bX1RtKdoPs?si=mpv_eneujmidg583 So, what’s the reality? Did Ruslaan really commit the murder or is someone else the murderer? And who is Qasim? Was he ever captured? You will get to know all if you watch this petrifying musical action-thriller! Written by Shiva, produced by K.K. Radhamohan, and directed by Karan Lalit Butani, the unstoppable force “Ruslaan” is here to break the Bollywood big screens on April 26, 2024! With a gun in one hand and guitar in another, he is going to create a symphony of rebellion like none other. Ruslaan (2024) Official Trailer: https://youtu.be/gqpFSY93qF0?si=_t2Xkw2Haj_3xUhD The Good: The story of Ruslaan is interesting and the screenplay has a heavy dose of raw and engaging action. The action and stunt scenes are intense and thrilling coupled with an exotic high-definition cinematography. If you want some adrenaline rush within an intricate plot, then this is just the movie for you! Some of the dialogues in the movie are powerfully patriotic. "Jis Kuran Ko Maine Padha Hai Usme Allah Ke Baad Desh Aata Hai Aur Mera Desh Hindustan Hai" meaning, “The Quran I have read gives priority to my country just after Allah, and my country is India!” You can feel the power and intensity of this dialogue just by reading it. Presenting Aayush Sharma with Sushrii Shreya Mishraa in the romantic track “Taade” from Ruslaan https://youtu.be/5hoauPa_PT4?si=b1ro_HUmMnaEM5fK The Bad: Even if the screenplay is action-packed, the overall emotional and dramatic essence falls flat. Know what, the drama in Ruslaan is actually similar to that of 90s-era Bollywood action movies. It appears very routine and lacks novelty. There are some twists and turns in the 2-hour movie but they just don’t seem to make up for the foundering screenplay. Moreover, the eponymous music teacher and RAW-agent character of Ruslaan is very relatable and predictable. At the start of the movie itself, you will know that this guy is unstoppable and is here to prove his point. You will get a hint of the climax and will be able to visualize what’s going to happen after two hours. So, this can spoil the thrill to a certain extent. Actually, this heavy-duty action-hero character of Ruslaan was framed for a Bollywood actor who has star power as well as muscle power, for example, Salman Khan. But instead of Salman Khan, it’s his brother-in-law Aayush Sharma who takes the lead. Aayush Sharma is not a very popular actor in Bollywood. His movies rarely come out, the previous one being “Antim: The Final Truth (2021)” where he starred as the lead villain opposite Salman Khan and unfortunately, the movie became a Box-Office flop. Hear The Roar: Who The Don? Ruslaan!! https://youtu.be/EmBM_KmysjA?si=IBpRztQBRIX2kK-j Disappointingly, it’s all about the aura! It’s not about how the action goes, but about who is performing that action! Even if Aayush Sharma has performed some high-intensity action stunts in Ruslaan, he just doesn’t seem to fit in the shoes of the titular action hero because of his cute boyish looks as he appears more like a romantic hero than an action hero. I mean compare him to heavy-built macho men like Salman Khan and John Abraham. When you think about these guys, the image of Aayush Sharma will automatically shrink and disappear from your mind. The boy has built a good physique for his role no doubt, but he simply doesn’t stand on par with other action heroes in Bollywood in terms of ruggedness, machismo, or fame. Although he has tried his best to look rugged and fierce, I am sorry to say that no matter how hard he may try, he seems to be better off with romantic or comical roles. To be honest, Ruslaan received a pathetic opening from the audience and I guess, it’s because people are least interested in seeing Aayush Sharma as a Bollywood action hero. Surprisingly, it was not just Aayush’s performance but the performances of all other actors including Jagapathi Babu, Vidya Malvade, and Sushrii Shreya Mishraa seemed dreary. However, Bollywood’s legendary action hero Suniel Shetty in his short special appearance did put in some star power. https://youtu.be/U9YNhG4Fs-E?si=aparByk8K-p01wbD The Verdict: Aayush’s action film “Antim: The Final Truth” was a big flop. If things continue like the present-day openings, “Ruslaan” may not be able to survive at the Box Office, despite Salman Khan urging his fans to watch his brother-in-law’s film. I am not prohibiting you from watching Ruslaan. You can visit your nearest theaters, grab a bucket of popcorn, and dig yourself into this action-packed story. But while watching, make sure you leave your logic behind. Why is it that whenever the nation is under threat, there’s only one man who can save the day? Don’t try to reason, after all, it’s all just for entertainment! https://youtu.be/AvCRCk_i9Z4?si=ZrD0Z4VWKpvb-tHC   Read the full article

[maximumphilosopheranchor]

Russia arrived first at the politics of eternity. Kleptocracy made the political virtues of succession, integration, and novelty impossible, and so political fiction had to make them unthinkable. Ivan Ilyin’s ideas gave form to the politics of eternity. A Russian nation bathed in the untruth of its own innocence could learn total self-love. Vladislav Surkov showed how eternity could animate modern media. While working for Putin, he wrote and published a novel, Almost Zero (2009), that was a kind of political confession. In the story, the only truth was our need for lies, the only freedom our acceptance of this verdict. In a story within the larger plot, the hero was troubled by a flatmate who only slept. An expert issued a report: “We will all be gone,” the expert confided, “as soon as he opens his eyes. Society’s duty, and yours in particular, is to continue his dream.” The perpetuation of the dream state was Surkov’s job description. If the only truth was the absence of truth, the liars were honorable servants of Russia. To end factuality is to begin eternity. If citizens doubt everything, they cannot see alternative models beyond Russia’s borders, cannot carry out sensible discussions about reform, and cannot trust one another enough to organize for political change. A plausible future requires a factual present. Following Ilyin, Surkov spoke of the “contemplation of the whole” which enabled a vision of “geopolitical reality”: that foreigners tried to draw Russians away from their native innocence with their regular attacks. Russians were to be loved for their ignorance; loving them meant perfecting that ignorance. The future held only more ignorance about the more distant future. As he wrote in Almost Zero: “Knowledge only gives knowledge, but uncertainty gives hope.” Like Ilyin before him, Surkov treated Christianity as a gateway to his own superior creation. Surkov’s God was a reclusive colleague with limitations, a fellow demiurge to be bucked up with a few manly slaps. As Ilyin had done, Surkov invoked familiar biblical verses in order to invert their meanings. In his novel, he has a nun refer to First Corinthians 13:13: “Uncertainty gives hope. Faith. Love.” If citizens can be kept uncertain by the regular manufacture of crisis, their emotions can be managed and directed. This is the opposite of the plain meaning of the biblical passage Surkov was citing: hope, faith, and love are the trinity of virtues that articulate themselves as we learn to see the world as it is. Just before this passage is the famous one about maturity as seeing from the vantage of another: “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.” The first thing we learn when we see from the perspective of another is that we are not innocent. Surkov meant to keep the glass dark.

Timothy Snyder, The Road To Unfreedom: Russia, Europe, America