#audience of approximately four | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dannyphannypack · 2 years ago

Text

Writing ASL: Techniques to Write Signed Dialogue

Hey, guys! I've been reading a lot of DC Batfamily fanfiction lately, and in doing so I realized how little I see of ASL being represented in written text (love you, Cass!). I wanted to briefly talk about tactics to writing American Sign Language (ASL), and ways that these techniques can help improve your writing in more general contexts!

SOME THINGS BEFORE WE GET STARTED

I will be discussing everything in terms of ASL! If you have a character who uses Chinese Sign Language or even British Sign Language, the same rules will not necessarily apply! Don't be afraid to do some extra research on them.

Do not let this dissuade you from writing a character who signs ASL! This is by no means the end-all be-all to writing ASL dialogue, and I do not intend this post to insinuate that by writing ASL the same way you write English you are deeply offending the Deaf community. If this is something you're interested in though, I highly recommend experimenting with the way you write it! Above all, have fun with your writing.

Related to 2nd rule, but still very important: not everyone will agree that sign language should be treated/written any differently than English. This is a totally valid and understandable stance to take! I do not hope to invalidate this stance by making this post, but rather to introduce an interested audience to how ASL operates in the modern world, and how that can be translated into text.

ADDRESSING SOME MISCONCEPTIONS

ASL is the same as English, just with gestures instead of words.

Actually, no! There is a language that exists that is like that: it's called Signing Exact English, and it's an artificial language; i.e., it did not come about naturally. All languages came from a need to communicate with others, and ASL is no different! It is a language all on it's own, and there is no perfect 1:1 way to translate it to English, just as any spoken language.

2. But everyone who signs ASL knows how to read English, don't they?

No, actually! Because it's a completely different language, people who sign ASL and read English can be considered bilingual: they now know two languages. In fact, fingerspelling a word to a Deaf person in search for the correct sign does not usually work, and is far from the preferred method of conversing with Deaf people.

3. Because ASL does not use as many signs as we do words to articulate a point, it must be an inferior language.

Nope! ASL utilizes 5 complex parameters in order to conversate with others: hand shape, palm orientation, movement, location, and expression. English relies on words to get these points across: while we may say "He's very cute," ASL will sign, "He cute!" with repeated hand movement and an exaggerated facial expression to do what the "very" accomplishes in the English version: add emphasis. Using only ASL gloss can seem infantilizing because words are unable to portray what the other four parameters are doing in a signed sentence.

4. Being deaf is just a medical disability. There's nothing more to it.

Fun fact: there is a difference between being deaf and being Deaf. You just said the same thing twice? But I didn't! To be deaf with a lowercase 'd' is to be unable to hear, while being Deaf with an uppercase is to be heavily involved in the Deaf community and culture. Deaf people are often born deaf, or they become deaf at a young age. Because of this, they attend schools for the Deaf, where they are immersed in an entirely different culture from our own. While your family may mourn the loss of your grandfather's hearing, Deaf parents often celebrate discovering that their newborn is also deaf; they get to share and enjoy their unique culture with their loved one, which is a wonderful thing!

YOU MENTIONED ASL GLOSS. WHAT IS THAT?

ASL gloss is the written approximation of ASL, using English words as "labels" for each sign. ASL IS NOT A WRITTEN LANGUAGE, so this is not the correct way to write it (there is no correct way!): rather, it is a tool used most commonly in classrooms to help students remember signs, and to help with sentence structure.

IF THERE'S NO CORRECT WAY TO WRITE IN ASL, THEN HOW DO I DO IT?

A most astute observation! The short answer: it's up to you. There is no right or wrong way to do it. The longer answer? Researching the culture and history, understanding sign structure, and experimenting with description of the 5 parameters are all fun ways you can take your ASL dialogue to the next level. Here are 3 easy ways you can utilize immediately to make dialogue more similar to the way your character is signing:

Sign languages are never as wordy as spoken ones. Here's an example: "Sign languages are never wordy. Spoken? Wordy." Experiment with how much you can get rid of without the meaning of the sentence being lost (and without making ASL sound goo-goo-ga-ga-y; that is to say, infantilizing).

Emotion is your friend. ASL is a very emotive language! If we were to take that sentence and get rid of the unnecessary, we could get something like "ASL emotive!" The way we add emphasis is by increasing the hand motion, opening the mouth, and maybe even moving the eyebrows. It can be rather intuitive: if you mean to say very easy, you would sign EASY in a flippant manner; if you mean to say so handsome, you would sign handsome and open your mouth or fan your face as if you were hot. Think about a game of Charades: how do you move your mouth and eyebrows to "act out" the word? How are you moving your body as your teammates get closer? There are grammar rules you can certainly look up if you would like to be more technical, too, but this is a good place to start!

Practice describing gestures and action. ASL utilizes three dimensional space in a lot of fun and interesting ways. Even without knowing what a specific sign is, describing body language can be a big help in deciphering the "mood" of a sentence. Are they signing fluidly (calm) or sharply (angry)? Are their signs big (excited) or small (timid)? Are they signing rushedly (impatient) or slowly? Messily (sad) or pointedly (annoyed)? Consider what you can make come across without directly addressing it in dialogue! Something ese about ASL is that English speakers who are learning it tend to think the speakers a little nosy: they are more than able to pick up on the unsaid, and they aren't afraid to ask about it.

Above all, don't be afraid to ask questions, do research or accept advice! New languages can be big and scary things, but don't let that make you shy away. Again, there is nothing wrong with deciding to write ASL the same as you write your English. I've personally found that experimenting with ASL dialogue in stories has aided me in becoming more aware of how to describe everything, from sappy emotional moments to action-packed fighting scenes. Writing ASL has helped me think about new ways to improve my description in more everyday contexts, and I hope it can be a big help to you as well, both in learning about Deaf culture and in pursuing your future writing endeavors. :)

P.S: I am quite literally only dipping my toes into the language and culture. I cannot emphasize how important it is to do your own research if it's someting you're interested in!

P.P.S: I want to apologize for my earlier P.S! What I meant by “I am … dipping my toes into the language and culture” was in direct regards to the post; what I should have said is “this post is only dipping its toes into the language and culture.” While I am not Deaf myself, I am a sophomore in college minoring in ASL and Deaf Culture, and I am steadily losing my hearing. Of course, that does not make me an authority figure on the topic, which is why I strongly encourage you to do your own research, ask your own questions, and consult any Deaf friends, family, or online peers you may have.

#dc batman #batfamily #cassandra cain #ASL #american sign language #deaf #deaf culture #tayscreams #writing advice #writing

3K notes · View notes

dear-ao3 · 10 months ago

Text

well good day to all of you. i have a tale. a classified, certified absolute god tier disaster of a tale.

at the ripe hour of 6:45 am i was awoken from my slumber by a Noise. what sort of noise? you might be asking.

the sort of noise that usually accompanies my father getting up at the ass crack of dawn and trying not to turn on the tap loudly so that he doesnt wake us up.

for one blissful moment i thought that i was at home, in my bed, and all was right with the world.

and then i remembered that i live approximately four hours away from my parents and all is not right with the world.

so i did what any person would do. waited for the noise to go away.

but it did not.

so i investigated. in all my bleary eyed glory.

and found that my bathroom ceiling light was pissing.

not just a little either.

a severe, unauthorized amount of water was streaming out of my bathroom light fixture.

so after banging on katyas door and finding a bucket and throwing on a sweatshirt i dragged my tired ass down to the front desk and reported the tea as it were.

now one thing you need to know about our building is that it is old. the second thing you need to know about our building is that the maitenance guys (we call them the boys) are absolutely incredible, like tumblr funny guy posts but irl, however they take for fucking ever to respond to any situation.

this time though, nothing was in clear danger of exploding or lighting on fire. so we made some breakfast. drank some coffee. watched the bucket that we had put in the bathroom fill up with water. and we waited.

and waited.

and waited some more.

then i noticed that if you stepped on some of our kitchen floor tiles they started squelching.

so back downstairs i went and explained the tea as it were once again.

and let it be known, that i worked for two very solid and very miserable years as a resident assistant in college. i know all about the woes of people complaining to you to fix things that you cannot fix and you cannot tell them when it will be fixed because the person who needs to do the fixing is otherwise indisposed. so my general attitude towards this whole situation was "hey man you can't make this better for me and im really not pressed about it as long as someone eventually comes and sorts out my pissing ceiling." which is a great attitude to have in this general situation. and especially so because it was about to get even more strange.

at approximately 9:30am our apartment was graced by the presence of one of the boys. the maintenance man. we will call him james.

we have encountered james before. he delt with our fuse box nearly exploding. that situation was not nearly as chill as this one was.

hes also incredible.

so he comes in and he goes "hey how's it going" and i say "well you know things are just leaking!"

he proceeds to tell us that the fridge in the apartment above us had a connection pipe that froze and exploded some how and that managed to leak all into our apartment. not nearly what i was expecting but hey! at least they know what's going on!

we tell him about the squelching tiles and he says that he will bring us a dehumidifier after he turns off the water and deals with the mess of the fridge above us. we say ok great! this is wonderful!

and he goes to leave the apartment. out of habit i had locked the door when he entered. he goes "aw man did you lock me in?"

and i say

"oh sorry!"

and he pauses.

and he looks at our door in disbelief. perhaps even utter horror.

and this, my lovely audience, is what he was looking at:

surprisingly. he was not staring at the entertainment for man and horse plaque that katya and i found while thrifting. nay. he was staring at the unfortunate combination of the printed photo of lando norris and max verstappens face.

now why are lando norris and ax verstappen on the back of my door? you might be asking. you might even be asking who they are.

and if youve been following the lore of this blog, you might recognize them as formula 1 drivers. lando norris of course being a mclaren driver and max verstappen being the reigning world champion of team red bull.

and how did they wind up on my door? well at christmas katya thought it would be funny to put a picture of lando norris on top of our christmas tree and so we got one printed at cvs but when you get wallet sized photos printed they print you four of them so we ended up with four of the same photo of lando. one went on the tree, one went to my sister, one is in our bathroom and now one is on the back of our door.

as for max. well. katyas partner drinks red bull and he was on the red bull box so we cut him out and stuck him there. neither of us are particularly big max fans, it was just funny.

but anyway. i digress.

james is standing there staring at this array of perplexing stuff and goes.

"really? him??"

and i go

"yeah..." not knowing what else to say.

and james turns. and he looks at us. and he goes. and i shit you the absolute fuck not.

"now what's wrong with lewis hamilton???"

(sir lewis hamilton being the mercedes f1 driver, 7 time world champion and absolute icon)

and katya and i go

"oh no no! we love lewis hamilton! we just respect him too much to put him on the door!"

which is true

and james goes "now what did you think of him going to ferrari?"

and i say "i thought it was an interesting choice"

and katya says "i was surprised."

and james says "you and me both" and then he shuts the door behind him.

katya and i look at eachother. and we both fall to the floor in fits of laughter.

let it be known that james has come face to face with a giant tapestry of mr worldwide mr 305 pitbull himself that is in our bathroom, on several occasions, and yet, he chooses to comment on our choice of formula 1 driver that is taped to the back of our door.

im still in a state of disbelief. my ceiling is still pissing. my floor is still squelching. and my maintenance man felt the need to call our my choice of formula 1 driver at 9:30 on a saturday morning.

#not a tag #from saph #help #what #f1 #lando norris #sir lewis hamilton

857 notes · View notes

mediumgayitalian · 7 months ago

Text

“Will, can I tell you something?”

“You can tell me anything.” He glances up from his clipboard, grinning wide and wry and sparkling. “Especially if it’s that you’ve got food.”

Nico knows his best friend, so he does have food; a pack of twizzlers the size of his face that he tosses, deliberately quickly, at his face, smiling to himself when he misses and dives down to grab it anyway. His clipboard clatters to the ground, pen bouncing after it, as he tears into it, inhaling at least ten twisty candies in half as many seconds.

“Gods, I love you,” he groans, mouth open like the disgusting mannerless loser he is.

Nico coughs. “Funny you should say.”

He’s spared from having to jump clear through the nearest window and landing right on his neck by the honestly uncomfortable noises Will continues to make — by the gods if he finds out it’s been another twenty three hours since William has eaten he is going to kill him and resurrect his skeleton for permanent manual labour — and instead worries himself with the first random task he sees unfinished. Do the kiddie Band-Aids actually need to be emptied from their boxes and sorted by size and vibe? No. But Will won’t stop him. And Nico needs, like, twenty minutes of recovery. So.

“What did you want to ask me, by the way?”

His mouth is still — somehow — full, so it sounds closer to whaa joo wanna asme. Nico, brave veteran that he is, feigns confusion.

“Hm?”

“Question,” Will swallows, an actual, audible gulp, gods, where have Nico’s standards gone, “that you had.” There’s the sound of joints cracking and a deep sigh, then quick footsteps, and then Will is in front of him, eyes squinted, mouth wide and crooked, leaning on the counter. He has been up before the sun and working the entire time, people pouring in and out like ants to an anthill, and Nico knows he has not rested, but energy still sparks all over his skin. He bounces, almost, from his frizzy ringlet curls to the balls of his feet, humming, twitching, moving.

“I.” Nico’s throat is dry, and his eyes move from the bandages, to Will, to the bandages. “Well.”

When Nico was a kid he would stutter over his words. He was a shit speaker. Bianca spoke four languages by the time she was six, and Nico could barely ever manage the one; he knew what he was trying to say, and he would say it, only somewhere along the way his brain sent the wrong sparks or maybe his tongue got twisted or maybe his mouth made the wrong shapes. Or he blended them all together, like ice sleet on helicopter blades, and everything left his mouth just fine but got smashed to bits in the air outside of him, never reaching his audience quite right. And then he was ten and everything he cared about was smashed to dust and he stopped caring about where the words got twisted and stopped relying on them at all, and stared, instead; glowered, let his face speak for him, even if they weren’t saying the same thing. It annoys everyone around him. It frustrated his mother and pisses off his father and annoys or frightens every other person around him, and everyone guesses, fills in the blanks, deciphers what he is going to say to make his presence just a little easier to bear.

But Will waits, rocking, as he always does, eyes flicking around the infirmary, a handwidth of space between them. Fingers, drumming on the curve of his thigh, too-big front teeth gnawing on his chapped bottom lip. Waiting. For the words, for the time, for the courage.

“I missed you today,” Nico blurts, and it isn’t what he meant to say, not by a long shot, but it’s an approximation and it will count. And Will is suddenly smiling, huge, too big for his face; beaming, brightly, beautifully. “I hate it when you work too long.”

“Yeah?”

Nico exhales, cheekbones ruddy. “Yeah.”

“That’s not a question, Neeks.”

“Oh, stuff it.”

Will laughs, then, and the room gets brighter, and Nico gets warmer, braver, and takes his hand. He walks even both out of the infirmary and Will goes willingly, even though there is work too be done, swinging their hands, and he talks, and talks and talks and talks, and then he waits, quietly, humming to himself, and Nico says nothing, although he thinks things, and Will acts like he has said them. And his palm is still rough and warm against his, and the sun is setting, and Will smells like artificial strawberry and lavender body wash, and Nico thinks, You can tell me anything, and he vows that he will. And he holds his hand, and squeezes it around his, and smiles, and waits, easily, contentedly.

#i love them and the way they are so suited for each other #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo/will solace #nico di angelo & will solace #nico/will #will/nico #solangelo #fluff #100 ways #100 ways to say i love you #my writing #fic #longpost

354 notes · View notes

ryttu3k · 2 months ago

Text

So I got up to the Mystra scene in my Gale Origin run and I have A Lot of thoughts, most of them boiled down to "FIGHT ME, MYSTRA", but also a theory on Mystra orchestrating the whole thing with the Orb. Few too many caps to post all of them, so I've typed them up. My comments in parentheses.

Narrator: "Just as Elminster promised, you stand before no ordinary idol. Beneath the silent stone surges a relentless current of purest Weave. A summoning channel, the kind commanded by Mystra herself. How many times have you dreamed of this moment? An audience with the goddess who loved you. Who abandoned you. All you have to do is reach for it…"

(Shift of expression here - from fear to determination.)

Halsin: "Speak your mind, Gale. Let go of that weight you have been carrying for Mystra."

(I loved Halsin speaking up here! Unsure if it's a romance-only line but it felt very sweet and appropriate.)

Reach out. Go to Mystra.

(Expression of dread. He looks like he's being sent to the gallows.)

Mystra: "Gale of Waterdeep. You look well."

Gale: "You break up with me, cut me off from the Weave, leave me to die, and that's all you have to say? You look well?"

(First response to seeing Mystra after a full year of pain and suffering. He looks anguished seeing her again, and how... dismissive her response is.)

Mystra: "I did not come here to suffer a mortal's admonitions. Certainly not yours. I've been watching your journey here. Your triumphs. Your temptations. Your doubts. You discovered what lies at the Heart of the Absolute - the Crown of Karsus - and you disobeyed my instruction. Why?"

(1. The 'certainly not yours' feels especially callous. 2. The way she phrases this implies that she knew what it was already. She wasn't sending Gale to kill himself to destroy a new god, she was sending Gale to kill himself to destroy an elder brain wearing a Crown that has previously threatened her personally.)

Gale: "Because my life isn't yours to throw away. You had no right to ask that of me."

Mystra: "You were my lover, my Chosen, yet still you know so little of me. I hoped hindsight would help you see what you could not perceive before. Do you understand why I severed our connection?"

(The hell is hindsight supposed to do? This is one of the biggest things that gets to me with the whole Orb thing - how was he supposed to know?)

Gale: "I let you down. I was a fool, and fools don't deserve the love of a goddess."

(Expression - he looks so hurt here. He absolutely blames himself.)

Mystra: "The past cannot be undone with self-pity, nor can a future be forged. Only with the truth will you see the way ahead. The fragment of magic you tried to return to me was not of my creation. It was the Karsite Weave. It is a corrupted, half-born magic wrought in the brief moment Karsus ascended to godhood. It hungers for power just as he did, and it can never be sated. You unleashed something that would consume all magic in existence, and yet you thought only of preserving yourself."

(So she blames him for unleashing the Orb. Again, how was he supposed to know? Probably the only ones who know about Karsite Weave were Karsus himself, Mystra, and probably Ao. How was a thirty-four-year-old mortal human dude supposed to know of a completely new and unknown form of magic that existed for the approximately six and a half seconds Karsus was a god for? Elminster points out at one point that Mystra is omniscient. Gale is not. How was he supposed to know? Second, 'you thought only of preserving yourself'. She left him to die! And the minor issue of if he did die, he'd take out Waterdeep in the process!)

Gale: "I never intended to do harm. Only to prove myself worthy of you."

Mystra: "You were already worthy. What you lacked was patience, and it cost you dearly. When the Karsite Weave entered your body, your gifts were the first things it consumed. The only reason the 'orb' sleeps is because I have allowed it to feed on the true Weave - a temporary measure, but one that will not be enough to save us. With each day that passes, the elder brain threatens to become a new kind of god, its worshippers a scourge of soulless illithids. If you will not use the orb to end this abomination, then you must find a way to separate Crown and host. When you've done this, you must surrender the Crown to me. Perform this service, and I will see you cured. You will be forgiven."

(1. 'Your gifts were the first things it consumed'. Sorcerer Gale, natch. 2. So that more or less implies that she could have stablised the Orb at any time. Even if she couldn't - for whatever the reason - warn him about it ahead of time, she could have still prevented the year he spent in pain, the year he spent weakened, desperate, isolated, and depressed, the year he spent thinking that one wrong move would not only kill him but destroy all of Waterdeep with him! She didn't just risk him out of spite, she risked a two-million strong population!)

Gale: "You're the mother of all magic, the Weave incarnate. Can't you just destroy the Crown yourself?"

(His expression is downcast for most of the conversation. Here, he finally looks up. Beseeching. Not just, "Why couldn't you do this?", but also, "Why couldn't you prevent this?")

Mystra: "It is not my place to destroy another god's creation, however temporarily he joined the pantheon. It must be you, Gale. You are the one who carries Karsus' power within you. You are the only one who can."

(But of course, it's entirely her place for her Chosen to do it for her. Will get back to this point in a moment.)

Gale: "Very well. The next time we meet, I'll be bringing you the Crown."

Mystra: "Thank you. May the Weave's light guide your purpose, and its wisdom guide your hand. The future of magic rests on your shoulders, Gale of Waterdeep. I promise you - it is a burden you are strong enough to bear."

(Yeah, the Weave's guided him great so far. No pressure!)

So, there's a couple of questions here.

First, what did Gale believe he was doing?

He believed he was restoring a fragment of Mystra's lost Weave to her. He knows that Karsus' Folly was the crux of it, but all he knows - all he possibly can know, at this point - is that magic was restored except for one fragment. He wanted to be seen to be worthy of Mystra, and so believed that restoring that fragment to her would be both a symbol of love and devotion, and also something that'd be of tangible help to her.

Indeed, he thought he was carrying out her mission. "The goal of Mystra's faithful is simple: that magic be preserved and promulgated throughout the Realms." Was it perhaps a sliiight sign of hubris that he wanted to do it to prove himself worthy of her love and admiration? A little, yeah, but what else did she expect? He had been groomed since childhood to be the greatest wizard he possibly could. He was thirty-four, he was Mystra's Chosen and lover, he knows mortals can be elevated to higher powers. This very incarnation of Mystra only became so in 1358, after being one of Mystra's followers!

Ambitious, yes. But he never wanted to supplant her. He wanted to be seen as worthy and perhaps achieve apotheosis, which is exactly what she did herself.

Second, though, and more importantly, is what did Mystra see Gale doing?

She is, per Elminster, omniscient. She can sense any magic being used. She knows when Gale just reads the Annals of Karsus. She had to have known that what her Chosen was about to unleash was Karsite Weave, and...

She opted to do nothing, let Gale nearly be killed by the orb, let him suffer for a year, then tell him to fix it by killing himself, only when the Crown itself came back into play.

Think of it from Mystra's perspective. The year is 1491 DR. She's spent a good chunk of her actual godhood dead and has only relatively recently been restored, although she has, at this point, indeed been fully restored to all her powers. One of her Chosen is a young human wizard named Gale, who she's also taken as her lover. Gale is ambitious - of course he is, he's an insanely talented Chosen wizard - and actively wants to please her.

The Crown of Karsus is sealed away in Mephistopheles' vaults. The Orb of Karsus is sealed away in a book. (Who knows where the Sceptre is.) She knows it's a threat, but one that's currently under control.

She sees her Chosen approach the book the Orb is sealed in. She must realise that her Chosen has no idea what's in it, because she's well aware he's never read the Annals of Karsus, and he certainly wasn't there at the time. What's the more logical response here?

Tell your Chosen that what's sealed in the book is an extremely dangerous form of anti-magic that is an immediate threat to you, to him, and to everyone around him, and that if he isn't willing to just leave it alone, he should instead destroy it for you, or

Let your Chosen unleash it without warning him, nearly killing him and posing a very real threat to two million people until it's stabilised, which you can do at any time but don't?

She must have been thrilled when the Crown was stolen, right around the same time. Suddenly, she has a way to rid herself of the blight of Karsus - use one artefact to destroy the other! Never mind that one of those artefacts is currently lodged in the chest of her Chosen and doing so would kill him and a great many others, she's got rid of a greater threat.

The Crown was stolen and Gale was hit by the Orb around the same time, a year before the game. Which came first? What if the Crown was stolen first, what if Mystra grew worried about it because look at what happened last time, and, knowing that one of the only things strong enough to destroy the Crown would be another of Karsus' artefacts, she deliberately guided Gale to it? What if she intentionally abandoned him in order to prime him to want to do anything he could to gain her forgiveness, which she could conveniently grant if only he used the Orb to destroy the Crown?

Either way, it was cruel. If it was just sheer neglect that saw her fail to warn him, it was also stupid. She's omniscient. She could have warned Gale any time. She could have stablised the Orb at any time. Why leave him to suffer? Was it petty sadism, or did she always intend to use him as a tool to destroy the Crown, and never mind the consequences?

She's already willing to sacrifice half the Sword Coast to an illithid invasion if it means getting rid of the Crown. What's one more life?

Hashtag fight me Mystra, hashtag Gale deserves better.

#baldur's gate 3 #gale dekarios #the wizard of waterdeep #FIGHT ME MYSTRA

120 notes · View notes

techramonic · 4 months ago

Text

The Game of Common Interests: The Symbiotic Relationship of Terrorism and The Media

Mass media and terrorism have developed an interdependent relationship. The media is the terrorist’s breath of fresh air, and it is the lifeblood and sustenance of terrorism, where the media often capitalizes on the public's confusion, intrigue, and paranoia following terrorist attacks by producing sensationalized news that captures widespread attention. This dynamic, however, plays into the hands of terrorists, who exploit the extensive coverage to spread the agency of their extremist agendas and beliefs, particularly targeting and influencing vulnerable audiences, such as the youth. Professor Taha Najem of Naif Arab University had described this relationship as “symbiotic”.

In Najem's own words:

"As for the extremists, they precisely calculate the scope, location, and timing of their attacks to generate ample media attention,—or in other words, to generate advertisements for their messages on a global scale. The broader and more prolonged the media coverage of terrorism turns out to be, the greater the terrorists' feelings of accomplishment, influence, and power." (Najem, 2017).

Bruce Hoffman, the Director of the Center for Security Studies at Georgetown University said:

"Only by spreading the terror and outrage to a much larger audience can the terrorists gain the maximum leverage potential."

Najem argues that the relationship between the two can be understood through the media's tendency to capitalize on horrific tragedies. It often uses these as newsworthy scoops that not only provide information but also serve as marketing opportunities and profitable publicity. In some instances, the media may unintentionally promote terrorist operations by offering excessive coverage, which is driven by their own incessant need for fame, power, money, and influence. This aligns with the perpetrator's likeness, where some stage attacks often with the sole purpose of gaining publicity and creating propaganda rather than resolving political demands.

Researchers have established that media coverage is pivotal to the success of terrorist attacks, with the scope and intensity of coverage often being more important to terrorist groups than the quality of the reporting. However, this perspective can also be overly simplistic, as it overlooks the complex relationship between media coverage and public reaction. It also fails to consider that not all terrorists prioritize publicity over their other tactical or political aims. Additionally, the complex interplay between the media and terrorism cannot be fully understood without considering the role of the state.

Not only does this occur in mass media, but also creating trends within specific online communities. From this, we can see how there is a benefit in both parties: terrorists gain the publicity they desire, while the media profits from the heightened public interest, increasing the influx of coverage because of the heightened value. Furthermore, many individuals drawn into terrorism have been influenced by channels, websites, magazines, and other forms of media that promote bombings and suicide missions, highlighting the powerful role media can play in the recruitment and radicalization process. With this, here are some ways in which the media benefits terrorism, and vice-versa. Allowing media prevalence through marketability and terrorism through radicalization.

World Trade Center Bombing, 2001.

On September 11, 19 terrorists from al-Qaeda hijacked and attacked the World Trade center, following four coordinated bombing-suicide attacks against the U.S. There were 2,996 deaths and approximately 6,000 injured. Over the past two decades after the attack, mainstream media audiences have witnessed a significant shift in how news was presented: the rise of dramatic and emotional storytelling, or what can be termed as "public drama."

This approach has increasingly dominated the media landscape, being a central focus on various platforms: lead stories on news programs, main broadcast discussions, and bold headlines on newspapers. This had become a prominent framework for delivering news, particularly in television, due to its entertainment-like qualities. By simplifying complex stories into easily-digestible and compelling narratives with vivid images, the audience is more engaged. News organizations and media professionals favor this dramatic approach because of the direct and cost-effective production.

The 9/11 attack is a prime example of this trend. When news broke of a plane crashing into the World Trade Center, broadcasters were initially unprepared for the unfolding catastrophe and the dramatic and chaotic nature of the events presented challenges in conveying the news. With initial coverage featuring footage of billowing flames and smoke from the collapsed towers, the explosion of the Pentagon, and the emergency response—all were easily committed into the viewer's memories. These images captured the raw scale of the disaster and its immediate aftermath. The people were confused, afraid, and intrigued—then they became invested. Thus, the sensationalization of news was adapted.

Oklahoma City Bombing, 1995.

On April 19th, just the second anniversary of the end of the Waco siege, domestic terrorists Terry Nichols and Timothy McVeigh detonated a nitrate-fuel oil bomb in the Alfred P. Murrah Building, claiming 168 lives and injuring 680 others.

Timothy McVeigh was one of America’s most notorious domestic terrorists, and with his involvement with the crime, he was then sentenced to death by lethal injection. In June 2001, the Federal Bureau of Prisons was responsible for the execution of McVeigh. Linda Smith and John Roberts, in their journal article, delve into one significant instance where media demands placed a heavy burden on the Federal Agency. During this time of McVeigh's execution, the Bureau faced a difficult dilemma: balancing the need to facilitate media coverage of the execution while ensuring the safety and security of the maximum-security penitentiary where it was conducted.

This situation highlights a broader paradox faced by many federal agencies. They are tasked with providing information to the media while simultaneously navigating ethical, budgetary, and legal constraints that limit their engagement in traditional public relations activities, such as advertising and lobbying, common in the private sector. Public affairs officers are legally obligated to release non-sensitive information, yet they must carefully avoid disclosing material exempt under the Freedom of Information Act and Privacy Act, as individual officers can be held criminally liable for such breaches. This tension between transparency and security underscores the complex challenges these agencies must navigate in their public communications.

Boston Marathon Bombing, 2013 and INSPIRE MAGAZINE.

On April 15th, exactly on America's Patriot's Day, Tamerlan and Dzhokhar (Jahar) Tsarnaev detonated two pressure cooker bombs at 2:49 p.m., just a few of hours after the winner completed the Boston Marathon, totaling to 6 deaths and 281 injuries.

Jahar had a fascination with fireworks and explosives, while Tamerlan exhibited early signs of radicalization. Although there were no proper links of the two to terrorist groups, Jahar had revealed that the two obtained plans from Inspire, specifically its first issue revealing a step-by-step recipe on creating pressure cooker bombs or Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs).

Inspire is an English online magazine published by al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula (AQAP), infamously known as the group that perpetrated the 9/11 and PAL 434 attacks. The magazine is one of the many ways AQAP spreads its online agenda. Both international and domestic extremists have been motivated by radical interpretations of Islam and, in some cases, used its bomb-making instructions in their attempts to carry out attacks.

The insurgence of the 'Jihadi John Slideshow Trend'

During the period of 2014, youtube videos uploaded by the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS) started surfacing on the internet. This was characterized by a series of masked militants criticizing the American or British government and then tying in the statements by the gruesome beheadings of hostages, ransoms, and soldiers.

Terrorists had often used their media presence as a driving force to influence the youth into affiliating themselves with terrorist ties. One of these was Jihadi John, unveiled as British militant and Kuwaiti-born Mohamed Emwazi. In these videos, Emwazi is often seen looming over the camera holding a knife and standing next to a kneeled hostage. He ends every video by beheading his victims. One of his most famous videos was the beheading of American Journalist James Foley.

Around June 2010, Emwazi was detained and in the middle of 2020, the insurgence of the “Jihadi John Slideshow” trend had reached tiktok. While the origins of this trend still remains obscure, this has left a lasting impact on the youth. Often, the demographic consisted of teens, specifically young males, who romanticized and glorified the acts of violence portrayed by Emwazi and the aesthetic of militaristic weaponry. Many had credited this behavior to “edgy” standards and humor, however, this idealism was proven to be more unironic than it seemed. Eventually, in the proceeding years, the trend had died out, however, it had came back a few times during period intervals of 2022 to 2023.

This trend had also harmfully villainized harmless ideologies, distorting these ideas to the point where it is repulsing for the public’s perception. An example of this is the concept of Jihad, where it is essentially the Islamic philosophy of struggling to defend the religion and attaining peace within the community and outside of it. It promotes the unity and solidarity of individuals where militaristic action is only done as a last resort of intervention. Often, Jihadi groups such as al-Qaeda and ISIS have spread distorted and extremist versions of this ideology, creating a brand new concept of utilizing violent militaristic resistance to protect Islam. With this dangerous approach, muslim communities are stigmatized, discriminated against, and stereotyped. This is especially harmful because it is a large problem that affects the community in various ways, especially when terrorists rebrand concepts initially striving to attain peace as acts of hatred and war, tainting a beautiful religion with images of violence.

Conclusion

Circling back to Prof. Najem’s analysis, without the media’s attention and focus, terrorists are unable to achieve any of the following four objectives: (1) recognition of the group name or ideology, (2) ability to communicate with supporters, (3) communicate with members of the local government, (4) and depict itself as a legitimate political alternative to the current governments. To conclude this essay, the relationship between mass media and terrorism is a complex and interdependent one, where the intricacies of both entities should be carefully observed and analyzed to unravel the deeper connections between the two.

While some researchers argue that media coverage is essential for the success of terrorist attacks, this view is sometimes overly simplistic and does not fully capture the intricate relationship between media portrayal and public reaction. Additionally, not all terrorist groups prioritize publicity over their other objectives. The symbiotic relationship between the media and terrorism is further complicated by the role of the state, which must balance transparency with security.

Several case studies, including the Oklahoma City Bombing, the Boston Marathon Bombing, and the rise of figures like Jihadi John, highlight the ways in which media coverage can both shape and be shaped by terrorist actions. These examples demonstrate how terrorist groups leverage media to spread their message and recruit new members, while the media, in turn, benefits from the increased attention and revenue generated by such coverage.

Ultimately, this relationship underscores the powerful role that the media plays in both perpetuating and combating terrorism. The challenge lies in finding a balance between reporting news and preventing the unintentional promotion of extremist ideologies.

#understandnotcondone #oklahoma city 1995 #timothy mcveigh #world trade center 2001 #boston marathon 2013 #jahar tsarnaev #tamerlan tsarnaev #jihadi john #mohamed emwazi #trrsm

77 notes · View notes

nekohime19 · 5 months ago

Text

Macaque study # S1

I've seen people arguing that Macaque's redemption was rushed and didn't feel natural and while I never felt like that myself I also wanted to re-watch the show to really see how this redemption plays out and have more insight than just a “gut feeling” about it.

So this is just me analyzing Macaque redemption arc more deeply and how Macaque character is handled in the show 😁.

It's gonna get very long, I’ll go into details. Of course everything stated here is my opinion and you can totally disagree, and maybe what I'm saying is like crazy obvious idk, I just wanted to share it.

Also, I'm gonna cut this in multiple posts, one for each season, cause if not the post is gonna get so long 😭.

First, what I think is important to consider before delving into the episodes and dissecting them is the format of LMK.

LMK is a ten minute episodes series with approximately ten episodes each season and four specials. It's important to consider this because ten minutes is NOT long and it means one season is basically 2h30 which is a very short frame of time to build and develop something. With this being said, what you have to pay attention to is the purpose of the episodes. With the episodes being this short, LMK have to be very direct with the purpose of their episodes and get to the point.

You cannot have multiple episodes focusing on Macaque, his hatred for LBD, why he's doing all of this. Everything has to be decisive. Moreover, even if Macaque is a very recurrent character he's not the MC, his struggles and arc will obviously take a backseat to MK own story no matter how much you wish otherwise. LMK is not a show about redemption, it's a JTTW adaptation following a young boy discovering his powers/destiny. Macaque is a side character, and thus we have to accept that eventually his redemption arc will always take backseat over the main story arcs. And that's probably why it'll always feel as fast-paced or incomplete.

Now with this in mind let's see the episodes and how is Macaque's character portrayed.

Season 1 ep 9

LMK season 1 is basically an introduction to the characters and MK's powers. In each episode we either get the time to know a character or the time to know one aspect of MK's powers. For example, s1 ep3 (“coming home”) is focused on Mei and her relationship with her family and through that we get to understand her character better, the way she grew up and her struggles (not fitting in her family).

S1 ep9 is Macaque’s introduction and that's very important to keep in mind. What is the purpose of an introduction? It's to make the audience see a character and get something out of it. Hero? Villain? Confusing in-between ? The purpose of the introduction is to give you a frame of the character, a first, often one-dimensional frame that can evolve later on. While first impressions are often striking, we always have to keep in mind that characters can evolve and are not defined by their first appearances.

So what does s1 ep9 tell us about Macaque?

First thing you notice is the name of the episode. S1 ep9 is the only episode in season 1 that is eponymous. It might seem like nothing much but I think it's a very important detail considering we're in the introductions season! Even our first taste of LBD is not an eponymous episode despite her being a main villain. Our first taste of LBD appears in “Skeleton key”, s1 ep8, which focuses on what is most important about her character right now : her release.

So why an eponymous title? Why not ��The other mentor” or “Focus” to make a call back to the reason MK defeats Macaque in the episode. Why “Macaque”? All other episodes have titles that are centered around either an event or a struggle so why not this one? Even Mei's episode is not titled after her, “coming home” as a title reflects more her struggle than herself. I think having a simple “Macaque” as a title is already very explanatory. It's just Macaque. No indication of good and evil. Just raw unadulterated Macaque.

In this episode, Macaque is the event, Macaque is the struggle, it's about Macaque. What are you gonna get in s1 ep9? You're gonna get a plate full of Macaque. We haven't seen the guy yet and we already know he's gonna be very important later on. You do not get an eponymous episode centered around you in a short 10 episode series without being important.

Also, what is interesting to notice is that Macaque episode is in between two episodes focusing on LBD (ep 8 and ep 10 are about LBD release and possessed DBK) . Guys, the Macaque episode is already circled by LBD's episodes. Considering our knowledge of what will happens to Macaque, I think it's interesting to see his episodes being circled by LBD's episodes. The placement of the episode is also important, we're this far in the season (ep 9 in a 10 episode serie) and we get a new guy? Nah, you know this guy will reappear later on. That's why his episode comes so late. Obviously as an audience you're gonna remember the later episode of s1 when you begin s2. And the later episodes of s1 are Macaque's and LBD's.

Now let's delve into the episode content.

Story wise, I was always a bit confused as to why Wukong is telling MK to destroy a mural of the pilgrims? Maybe it can signify some sort of renewal? But if you put into perspective that it's Macaque's episode then oh boy this gets a whole new meaning.

First scene of the episode? Macaque is not even there and yet you can already tell he's gonna be trouble.

Having close shots of the pilgrims being all covered in cracks. Having shots of Wukong like this in Macaque's episode? Boy, not even one minute in Macaque's episode and we already get drama. Destroying the pilgrims in Macaque's episode is I think a really powerful symbol, especially since in JTTW Macaque symbolizes the side of Wukong that wants to do the journey alone. Obviously this is not JTTW, this is LMK, and we have to separate the two at times but I also think as the source material JTTW should not be completely ignored either. Having the mural destroyed in the beginning of Macaque's episode could be a symbol of how Macaque wants to destroy this image of "the perfect hero Wukong" that is portrayed in the mural with the pilgrims. Mayhaps this is me reading too far into this, but I like to think it is.

The first scene is also a direct confrontation between MK and Wukong on teaching. You have two opposites. The young, impatient mentee. And the inflexible, silent mentor. I say Wukong is silent because our golden guy isn't really good at explaining the purpose of his lesson.

Two very opposite forces that will clash if the wedge between them widens.

So in the first minutes of Macaque's episode, you already get a confrontation between Wukong and MK and Macaque is not even here yet. You can tell this episode will bring trouble between the two, maybe even a wedge. And that's exactly what will exploit Macaque later on. He will use this tiny crack and expand it tremendously.

What is the first appearance of our guy?

This is the very first clear shot of Macaque. And boy I was not ready for it. You got a yellow-colored shot which is generally Wukong color pallets. Obviously, since MK confuses Macaque with Wukong the color of this shot is here to also confuse the audience. But make no mistake. What you have behind Macaque is very important and something I did not notice before rewatching this. This is clearly an eclipse. You got something reassembling the moon before the sun. This is not a meaningless detail especially with the Shadow play episode in s2. First shot of Macaque in the entire series and you already got the moon and sun imagery. Even better, the moon is obscuring the sun, it's overshadowing it and in turns it makes Macaque shine.

First shot of Macaque and you got the sun being obscured by the moon while having Macaque still basking in Wukong's colors. Basically you got the guy whole trauma in one single shot. This is not the moon and the sun being in harmony, this the moon overshadowing the sun. This is Macaque wanting to surpass Wukong, wanting to defeat him but still basking in his colors, so still Macaque following Wukong leads and not his own.

Maybe I read too much into it. But this post is basically me reading too much into things.

Wanna points out that Macaque rarely uses his staff in the entire series and when he uses it, for his introduction, it's when he's trying to trick MK and appear as a hero? Macaque imitating the only hero he knows, which is Wukong, to trick MK is at the same time very ironic but also a testament of how much Macaque's life was and is still centered around Wukong. He's obsessed with him.

What I like in meeting between MK and Macaque is the unsettling feeling you got about Macaque. But yet, he act sin such a compelling way, you can't help but see him as somewhat geniune. MK is the one to approach Macaque, to ask him his name, to question him, to ask him to be his mentor. MK is the one who initiate the contact, which creates the illusion that MK is the one in control, he's the one leading the dialogue with his questioning. At the same time, Macaque doesn't jump at the opportunity of being MK's mentor, he points out that “Monkey King” is already MK’s teacher (by the way this episode is one of the rare time in the entire series that Macaque calls Wukong “Monkey King”, obviously a way to not appear familiar with him to MK).

So in theory he seems good right?

But then you got this very unsettling shot :

Macaque : “But you can't have too many teachers right? I'm sure Monkey King would agree. It's not like he wants to hold you back.”

This dialogue with this particular image is why you are thinking : this is a shady guy. First, the shadows are in a very strange twisted angle and only in one corner of the frame. This gives an unsettling feeling, especially since they are on the edge of a building. Twisted angles are used a lot in this episode to give Macaque an unsettling feeling. The music, those low notes, are also a bit unsettling.

Then you look at what Macaque is saying and you realize, yeah, something is up. He begins with an affirmation to explain why it's good for MK to have multiple teachers. Then he uses Wukong's name to give credits to his words and ends with something that appears genuine but in reality is really manipulative. Saying “It's not like he wants to hold you back” is implicitly saying that if Wukong doesn't agree with MK having multiple teachers, then Wukong wants to hold MK back. And MK, idolizing Wukong, would never think this of Wukong and thus, with his own desire of wanting to know cool techniques, will agree to Macaque proposition and convince himself that, no, Wukong doesn't wants to hold him back and thus even if he doesn't ask Wukong permission, Wukong has to agree with this.

At the same time, this is the first seed of doubt Macaque plants in MK minds. Does Wukong want to hold MK back?

We got classic manipulation here.

At the same time, it's the first appearance of Macaque and even if he's not here Wukong is mentioned a lot. MK confuses Macaque for Wukong, the whole colors of the scene (except for Macaque and the monster) are yellowish, Macaque mentions Wukong multiple times, the staffs are shown (both Macaque's and Wukong's). Then you got Macaque replacing Wukong's symbol on MK's jacket with his own.

Okay. They're not trying to hide it, this is not MK’s enemy, Macaque is Wukong's enemy. It shows. Everything is about Wukong. Macaque is about Wukong.

By the end of the scene, you know Macaque is not to be trusted and everything about him is unsettling. What you got is essentially : a shady guy who's somehow linked to Wukong.

And really, the unsettling feeling doesn't stop there.

The next scene is the training scene with Macaque.

He feeds on MK's insecurities by telling him he expected better of THE Monkie Kid and thus pushes MK to overwork himself. MK wants to be recognized and Macaque knows it and uses it to his advantages.

There are cool parallels between Macaque's training and Wukong's training.

You got Wukong who's very far from MK and lounges on his cloud, not training with his mentee. There is a distance between them. Meanwhile you got Macaque training alongside MK, doing the gestures with him. You might think : does this mean Macaque is a better mentor? But then you see that Macaque training alongside MK is once again a shot with only their shadows and it unsettles you, because shadows are not really you, they're reflections, a lie of some sort. And Macaque is lying in this scene, he's pretending.

Then you have MK confrontation with Wukong and you got this :

Like, this is unnecessary. If your plan is to defeat Wukong, why the hell would you reveal your existence to the guy like that? It's because more than defeating Wukong, Macaque wants to torment him. He's taunting him. Erasing Wukong’s symbol and replacing it with his own. Even the symbol face is taunting, mocking Wukong. Because what Macaque wants is to get Wukong's attention, to taunt him, to torment him, to upset him.

The next scene is the battle with the Shadow monster and Macaque just cannot stop being unsettling. The camera is slightly shaking (re-watch the episode to see it) and this is so twisted, having Macaque not even fully in the shot, pressing down on MK, then pushing him forward :

He's doing a pep talk, trying to lift MK's spirits, but you know his true intentions with the shots. He's not genuine. He's manipulating him, pushing him.

And then the betrayal, which I think is really interesting when you catches some details :

First, you got the monster becoming Macaque. Literally. The moment of the betrayal the monster MK was chasing becomes Macaque. Pretty telling imagery about how Macaque was the true enemy all along

But even more interesting :

The Macaque that was with MK since the beginning becomes the monster. I didn't catch this at first. You can see in the first image there are two Macaques, the one at MK's side who's been with MK since the beginning of the episode, and the one holding the golden flame who is the monster turned into Macaque. But then, the Macaque we know since the beginning leave MK sides and turn into the monster (second image).

Pretty cool imagery of the monster was at your side since the beginning.

Does this mean the Macaque who's been with MK all this time was a clone???

Macaque overshadowing MK, having his shadow looming over MK like this, you cannot have a more telling image about MK's feeling in this situation. He's helpless and he has been in Macaque's shadow since the beginning of the episode despite being the MC. And this shows, because the fight just after is between Wukong and Macaque and MK is on the side until the end of the episode where he takes the spotlight back from Macaque.

The dialogue of this interaction is also very telling of the relationship between the two :

Then Wukong arrives and the two monkeys talk/banter.

Macaque : Monkey King! It's good to see you bud.

Wukong : Are you ever going to get sick of living in my shadow? It's time to get back what you stole.

Macaque : You are such a gem. It's gonna be so satisfying killing you with your own powers.

The taunting on both sides is so heavy you wonder why even they're doing this. First you got Macaque emphasized on bud ( a nickname we know Wukong used with Macaque in the past) to imitate Wukong and mock him. He uses Wukong's title, Monkey King, as a taunt, an insult to wound Wukong's pride. Wukong doesn't have to respond to the taunt and yet he does with a taunt of his own, calling out one of Macaque's insecurities we learn in season 2 (the shadow play episode, being left in Wukong's shadow). We know Macaque is affected by this taunt because despite him smiling his eyebrows are twitching. Then Macaque answers by sarcastically praising Wukong (wonder if the use of gem is because Wukong is a stone monkey) something he might also used to say in the past and end with literally “I'm gonna kill you” which in a kid's show is surprising. I think the fact Macaque found it satisfying to kill Wukong with his own powers is a testament of how Macaque primary goal is not to kill Wukong in itself but to take revenge, to humiliate him, to upset and torment him.

They both know each other and they know how to hurt the other with their words. They know how to get under the other's skin.

The fight between the two monkeys is just full of parallels between the two. When one uses a power, the other will use the exact same power. They're equal in this sense, two faces of the same coin. I'll go back to this idea of equality between the two monkeys in the later seasons.

Once again Macaque's dialogue is very interesting when he's fighting Wukong :

Macaque : seriously? You fell for that? (laughing/ after he take MK appearances to trick Wukong in the fight). Sorry kid, nothing personal.

Okay, first using MK appearance is so dirty Macaque but he's already been introduced as a very manipulative guy so no surprise here. The fact he says “nothing personal” really speaks volumes about how all of this is truly about Wukong and how Macaque doesn't have any grudges towards MK in particular. In a way, we can say Macaque truly has nothing personal against MK as an individual, this whole mess he's causing is because he wants to rile up Wukong.

Macaque : Come on! Show me the real Sun Wukong! The whole you would have leveled this whole mountain range to stop me! But you're scared of hurting some kid? Pathetic!

This is gold, because it subtly shows what Macaque really wants. He wants the old Wukong. At the same time he wants to torment Wukong but he also doesn't like the change Wukong endured in the pilgrimage (who likely caused their fight). He wants to get Wukong back to his old ways, perhaps to prove that Wukong never changed, that him being a hero is nothing more but a scam.

I can see how after being brought back to life seeing your old buddy so wise and changed, being so different from what you knew, is unsettling. Personally, I think there is a form longing there. Macaque wants his old bud back. But there is also a twisted need to prove Wukong never changed, perhaps because Wukong being a hero is, in some ways, what marked the end of Wukong and Macaque's relationship (we'll see that in the Shadow Play episode).

In the end, Macaque is defeated by MK, which I think is a nice way to round this up and give MK his spotlight back as the MC.

The sunlight piercing the clouds, the more soft yellow colors after Macaque's aggressive purple, and the two of them hugging is a nice way to solve the struggle of Macaque's episode.

The wedge between MK and Wukong being one of the main plot points of Macaque's episode is really symbolic. In a way, maybe Macaque sees himself in MK, or more precisely sees himself in MK and Wukong relationship. As such having MK and Wukong mending their wedge is a nice parallel of Wukong and Macaque which never truly mended their own wedge and instead kept widening it.

So we got our first taste of Macaque and oh boy it was something. Of course, the introduction doesn't define the character for the rest of the series, character development often happens. I think a lot of people stay stuck in their first impression of Macaque. Especially since Macaque has such a strong and appealing introduction in terms of imagery and symbolism. The shadows shots, despite being unsettling, are really cool, the imagery is unique and weirdly appealing. Macaque’s theme is also not like any other of LMK's themes, it's more somber, more quiet. I'm vibing everytime Macaque's theme begins. Macaque introduction marks you but it doesn't mean the guy doesn't get any developpement afterward.

So, after Macaque introduction, the audience have one thing in mind : villain confirmed ✅. Even if you don't catch all the details, you know this. Macaque is also more scary than the other villains. He's more manipulative, smarter, he can go toe to toe with Wukong (in this episode), at this point he's the most terrifying villain of LMK (LBD not being fully introduced yet).

Okay, so this was my analysis for Macaque in season 1, of course you can disagree. I'm not a professional in terms of animation nor in analyzing stories, nor do I claim to be and every theory is welcome and worth it. I just wanted to do it and I thought some people might be interested in it 🤷.

I'll post the analysis of Macaque in season 2 in another post.

#lmk #shadowpeach #six eared macaque #lmk macaque #Macaque #lmk theory #Analysis #Macaque study

82 notes · View notes

cherrirui-official · 2 months ago

Text

Friendlocke Violet Gijinkas (Part 5/7)

Like i said previously im gonna try to finish these before the end of the year so expect to see the rest of these guys very soon (hopefully)

I plan on posting them in order by groups of three, so there’s gonna be seven parts in total, all of which I’ll be linking here when done vvv

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Six) (Part Seven)

!! These will contain personal headcanons I have for the cast, little fun facts, and also spoilers for Friendlocke Violet (for both the edited vids and the streams) !!

@saltydkart-reblogs

Designs under the cut!

JAYWEED:

Jayweed used to be part of the Sprigatito line before death, as evident by his cat-like features and his vague association with plants.

His arms are transparent, and can't really come into contact with anything besides Jayweed himself.

Can see spirits and talk to them, but chooses not to. He doesn't want to "waste his time" with the dead.

The creepiest thing about Jayweed is that his pupils aren't attached to his eyes... I...don't know what to do with that information but hey! It's info!

Somehow able to escape the friendbox without any outside interference. We don't know how he manages to do that.

He knows where you are. Start running.

LUKE:

Despite popular belief, Luke is not affiliated with Tulip in any way, shape, or form. They have done a collaboration at one point though.

He started his cult after growing bored of his mundane life as a simple model. He knows all the stuff he says is completely fake, but his followers still eat it up anyways. Pests, the lot of them.

Luke often goes on different podcasts in order to preach his word to a wider audience. Most of them seem to be outputted by him... well except for Braidy and Mykyie.

Luke is the only one to know about Cookie's past, but he never brought it up to anyone else for some reason...

He isn't afraid to put himself in danger, in fact he seems to enjoy the thrill of it.

It takes approximately 45 minutes for Luke to do his hair.

GERBICYCLE 2:

Gerbicycle 2 was made by Turo after being commissioned by Iono to make a delivery bot for her.

He met both Grace and 4est before the events of friendlocke, as they were all in Area Zero at some point in the past

It is scarily easy to convince him to go through even the most ridiculous of plans, as Gerbicycle doesn't exactly put much thought into consequences and stuff like that. It seems that somebody took advantage of that.

He initially wasn't programmed to feel emotions, though he is slowly learning how to.

When he's not in his work attire he likes to wear hawaiian shirts... it is unknown when or why he started to wear them.

Gerbicycle 1 died of food poisoning... how that happened to a robot is unbeknownst to me.

That's it for now! Uhmm... disintegrates

#THEYRE HERE THEYRE HERE AHUGYDVHJKFOEIUY #I feel like I drew Peppy a little bit differently this time around. I think it's the eyes hrrmmm #Only two more batches to go and Ill finally be free... ough #but yeah heres Jay Luke and Gerber!!#cherris canvas #friendlocke #friendlocke violet #violet gijinka au #saltydkdan #cw eye contact #cw eye imagery #<- thanks luke

46 notes · View notes

its-time-to-write · 1 year ago

Text

ch. 7 - hustling for the good life

table of contents

if you made it to the end, thank you🥰

the way forward

Touring is absolutely insane. It’s not as crazy as some people’s like, say, Allie Gooding, but it’s still so. Much. Work. You don’t really dance, mostly hold your guitar while sitting in the middle of a stage while people twirl and leap behind you.

It’s a Blue Glass tour, technically speaking, but Mango is by far the highlight.

You’re in the city of its origin, with its muses sitting front and center.

“I’ll let you go/Because it’s best for me/I slip out the back/And turn the key,” the audience sings.

i saw u on tiktok, Jamie texts that night. fukig mint the way the crowd sang all the words.

Claire was crying, you type back. And why can’t you ever spell “fuck” correctly??

cant all be smarty pants musicians, Jamie writes. Then, been blessed to be a dumb, sexy footballer.

Ok, I have to go to sleep. Flying to some small city tomorrow afternoon. Maybe you’ve heard of it? Called something like idk, Landon? Lodan?

He asks, u still staying at mine?

Yep. Can’t wait!!

FUCKIMG M I N T, Jamie responds.

—

You’ve been in Richmond for approximately four hours, just long enough to say hi to Keeley, eat dinner, and, you know, ditch Natalie so you and Jamie can make up for time spent apart.

“That’s disgusting,” she says before hopping into the hired car.

“Ok miss ‘I fucked-‘”

“WHOA, ok,” she says, “I’m going to stop you right there. I’m out of here.”

But now you’re laying in Jamie’s bed as he runs his hand up and down your arm, tucked against his side.

“You’re bringing the team to the show tomorrow, right?” you ask.

“Hm,” Jamie agrees.

“Cool,” you say softly, “Do you think they’re going to want to meet the musical guest?”

“Yes,” Jamie says immediately. “Lads’ve been hounding me all week. Even fucking Ted’s been asking.”

You smile. “Seems no one’s immune to the charms of Allie Gooding.”

“I fucking knew it,” Jamie gasps. “Fucking knew it. You gonna do Creekside?”

“Yeah,” you say.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he asks, twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers. “How you do all this shit, I don’t know.”

You’re silent. The truth is, you don’t even know how you do all this shit. Natalie is barely managing to keep your head on straight as it is. At first, it was fun to travel. Now, you just want a good night of sleep.

You have an especially hard time with meet and greets. It always feels too crowded and stifling, and there’s no Jamie to hold your hand or sneak you out the door so nine times out of ten, you have a panic attack while pretending that everything’s fine.

You’d be happy never touring again, just playing your guitar for Jamie in the living room. Writing songs for the people you love and only for the people you love. Mango felt important in a way that Blue Glass didn’t. It had a message and actually helped people, whether or not they knew it.

Claire sent you a small video every time her song was playing in a shop or on the radio, then end the song by clasping her thumb and index finger into a heart. She sent one of her and the other women in her new house, dancing to Kitchen Epiphany.

“We wouldn’t be here without you, babe!” she said at the end.

But she was wrong. You wouldn’t be there without her. It’s wrong, all wrong, but you only have a couple nights with Jamie so you roll on top of him and press your lips to his.

—

You’re in Greece less than a week and a half later, sporting a Tartt jersey as you pull up to your hotel.

Natalie’s been making wiggly eyes at you the whole time you’ve had it on but you don’t care because you’re almost done with this godforsaken tour and you haven’t broken up with Jamie. He still loves you, for some reason you don’t understand.

But hey, you’ve never claimed to understand the male brain.

As you make the mad dash from the car into the safety of the lobby, you hear a familiar voice call your name. You turn and see Donovan, your most recent ex. He’s smiling and holding hands with a girl you used to see around his photoshoots.

“How have you been?” he asks warmly.

“Good!” you say. “Hopping all around the world, but good!”

He’s still smiling that picture-perfect smile. “Saw you’re dating Jamie Tartt. You guys actually look happy together. Just like me and Zoe. Unless, of course, it’s show?”

“Oh,” you reply, startled. “I, uh, well,”

“It’s ok,” Donovan interjects. “Zo knows we weren’t actually dating.”

“Oh,” you say again, relieved. You never did feel the need to act around Donovan. “Yeah, no, it’s real. At least, it feels real. Wasn’t set up by a PR firm or anything and we’ve been able to keep it pretty quiet.”

Donovan nods. “You’ve always been good in staying out of trouble. Me, not so much.”

Zoe grins from her place on his arm. “Yeah, but now we get into quiet trouble. We’re getting married this week, and no one even knows that we’re dating.”

She holds out her hand to show you and Natalie the biggest ring you’ve ever seen.

“Nice,” Natalie says. “But we’ve got to check in. Great to see you, Donny.”

“God,” she says as she drags you away, “that could’ve been you. You would have made perfect plastic babies with that absolute fucking Ken.”

“Hey, Dono was nice,” you defend.

“Uh huh. What with all that… personality.”

Ok fine, so maybe he was rather one-dimensional. He and Danielle seem perfectly happy. You’re glad that he’s doing well, despite your so-called “torrid love affair.”

You’ll have to drop by their room at some point to catch up for real.

—

You end up going out to a club with him. And Natalie and Danielle of course, but as you step through the doors, you’re kicking yourself. Why did you think this was a good idea? It smells and it’s crowded, but you’re going to suck it up for Natalie, and for the sake of socialization. Your only consolation is that pretty much everyone will be too drunk to know who you are.

It’s all fine, you’ve had some water and you’re dancing with Natalie when the lights hit your eyes wrong, or maybe the beat dropped when you weren’t expecting it, but it doesn’t actually matter because your eyes go wide and you feel like you’re drowning. You push your way through the crowd out the door, barely noticing Donovan and Zoe hot on your heels.

“Hey,” he calls after you, “you alright?”

No, you want to say. No, you’re not alright because you’re with a bunch of strangers and you just want to be home with Jamie. You want to kick a football around with him on the weekends and hold his hand and be alone. You can feel tears sliding down your cheeks, and Donovan cups your face in his hands to wipe them away.

“Maybe we should go,” he says concerned. Zoe’s leaning against a wall, phone out.

“Already got an Uber,” she says. “You’ll be ok, babe.”

Donovan presses a kiss to your forehead. “C’est pas de problème,” he says. “Ne stresses pas.”

—

You can tell something’s wrong the moment you wake up. Maybe because you can’t hear Natalie in the other room or maybe it’s intuition, but the air isn’t right. You open up your phone to Instagram and find a picture of you and Donovan from last night. He’s holding your face and looking at you with what you know is concern, but to the observer looks like- love?

Oh shit.

The caption is the standard bullshit - “Forest Fire singer reignites old flame,” and you think you might be sick.

You keep scrolling and there’s another one, this time with Donovan kissing your forehead. The caption underneath is a rant to the effect of, how could you cheat on Jamie Tartt? What a greedy little bitch.

The more you go, the more you find. It’s the same set of pictures with the same set of captions.

It’s the damage to your public image that concerns you. You’ve been around long enough to know that it will blow over, especially because it’s unsubstantiated. You’re thinking of Jamie.

Oh god, what’s he going to think? You’re positive he’s seen it already, because how could he not? It’s so rare that you have a so-called scandal, that you’re trending. If he didn’t find it on his own, one of his friends definitely sent it to him.

Your phone is blowing up with news notifications and text messages. You have ten missed calls from Natalie an inbox full of voicemails. You’ll probably delete all of them without listening.

But what you really care about is Jamie because in the plethora of messages all you’ve gotten from him is a single fucking voice memo. It’s five seconds long, the exact amount of time it takes to say “fuck you,” and you don’t want to open it.

But a voice in your head compels you, the same voice that gave you the ok to fall in love with him in the first place, so before you can talk yourself out if it you press play and hold it up to your ear.

“Hey,” says Jamie’s voice. “I love you.”

And that’s it.

You don’t even try to calculate what time it is in London, you just hit the call button.

“Hey,” says Jamie’s real, actual voice.

“Hi,” you breathe. “I love you. And I hate touring. And press. I just want to make my songs and never fucking tour again. Donovan and I weren’t even doing anything. I had a goddamn panic attack and he was helping me calm down, and his literal fiancée is like three feet off camera but no one knows they’re together because fuck the press.”

Jamie chuckles. “No one’s making you do all this, love. You don’t owe people anythin’. You can just live your life without selling it. But like, if you want to sell it you can. You know?”

“Yeah,” you say.

“Oi. Look. Are you actually doing what you want? Because if it ain’t making you happy, you can stop.”

You can hear a muffled voice in the background before you have a chance to respond.

“Yeah, it’s her,” Jamie says to the voice.

There’s a chorus of your name as Jamie says, “Dani and the lads say hi.”

“Tell them I say hi,” you respond. “Wait, where are you? It’s like nine there. Are you at training?”

“Weight room,” Jamie says, “but don’t get distracted. Are you happy?”

“No,” you say. “No, I’m not I want to- I want to play my guitar in your backyard and talk to Clare and help out Christine and not give Natalie a fucking aneurism every single day. I want to be able to sleep and not worry what people think of me and I want to like singing again. I want to visit my friends and have time to listen to their music and maybe I’ll tour with them, but only for fun. And most of all, I want to be with you. I want to go to all your matches and wear so much red and blue that I look like a gremlin and then I want to go home with you. And I want, like, domestic stuff too, like grocery shopping and cooking and- and-”

“And brushing our teeth at the same time,” Jamie helpfully supplies.

“Yes,” you say. “I’m really tired of all this.”

“Well,” Jamie says, “you’ve got one more week. Then fucking come home.”

—

You tell Natalie she’s fired, just to see the look on her face.

She starts yelling when you tell her you’re kidding but only kind of and then she hits you with her purse, stringing together curses in both English and Spanish.

She’s less mad when you give her a raise and tell her she’s now in charge of managing all your shit so you don’t have to.

“I thought that’s what I was doing already,” she says, and now it’s your turn to smack her.

“First decision I’m making is switching to KJPR,” she says.

You ask, “What the fuck is that?” with a nose wrinkle.

Nat just grins. “Keeley’s PR firm.”

You let out a scream. “NO FUCKING WAY. NO FUCKING WAY! How did I miss that??”

Natalie shrugs and says, “She told me to pass on the message because she figured you were busy. I sent her a very nice gift basket from you.”

You sigh and grab Natalie for a hug. “You’re the absolute best, you know that?”

“Uh huh,” she says. “You’d be dead without me.”

—

It’s off-season, a year later. You’re on a beach in Brazil, lying in a chair next to Keeley, who’s in a hot-pink bikini.

“I never want to go back to England,” she says, sipping her drink.

You laugh. “I think your boytoy would disagree.”

She huffs and says, “Not my fault he has all that fucking hair. And anyway, he’s the one who wanted to come!”

“Fucking grandad,” Jamie grumbles good-naturedly next to you.

“You invited him,” you say. “You said, ‘Babe, Roy has to be there when we elope.’”

“How was I supposed to know he hated the sun?” Jamie asks, exasperated. “Twat never said anything!”

“He wears black all the time and never smiles, babe. He’s basically a vampire. You should’ve known.”

“I can fucking hear you,” Roy says from under the umbrella. “I’m not fucking deaf.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and say, “I’m just glad Natalie left yesterday. Some honeymoon this is.”

Jamie gets up from his chair and flops on top of you.

“Oof,” you grunt.

“Sorry,” he says, not sorry at all. “Hey, think there’s a pitch ‘round here? I brought my boots. Think they’re under the bed, love.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “‘Football is life,’ or whatever. I’m gonna write a hit song about how my husband likes a fucking ball better than me.”

“I’d pay good money to hear that,” Roy says.

Jamie props himself up on his forearms and puts on his most angelic expression. “That’s me, the adorable yet sexy trophy husband. I’m your muse.”

“You’re something,” you say. “Ooh, I think I can use that in the song!”

table of contents

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

150 notes · View notes

saintvainglorious · 11 months ago

Text

Fics I Enjoyed in January

I was putting together a list of the best fics I read last year and was reminded of two incredible ATLA fics I read in February 2023 ((Never) Forget Who You Are by mindbending and up in the city (until the stars lost the war) by Madseason). Those two fics are absolute perfection and sent me down an Avatar: The Last Airbender rabbit hole this month.

I read an insane amount, for me, even more than I did last year in September/October, when I was chowing down Drarry longfics like a starving dog. There's approximately 993k words of fic in this rec list - if you assume the average novel is 90k, that's about 11 books!

half in the shadows, half burned in flames by r_astra Avatar: the Last Airbender | Gen | 4k | Not Rated

“They say you tried to kill the Firelord,” Hakoda says. "Why?" Zuko doesn’t know how to answer. Because I hate him. Because I love him. Because he wants to see the world burn. Because he knotted one hand in my hair and cupped flames against my face with the other. Because my mother is dead. Because my uncle is dead. Instead, he shrugs tiredly and says: “Someone has to.”

i am through finding blame by sokkaesque/@sokkagatekeeper Avatar: The Last Airbender | Gen | 6k | Teen & Up

Sokka was fourteen the first time he realized people didn’t apologize to him very often. Or, Sokka during The Southern Raiders.

a nation, held by snowdarkred/@snowdarkred Avatar: The Last Airbender | Gen | 6k | General Audiences

It doesn’t take long for the rumors to start. The Fire Nation prides itself on its civilization. It isn’t like the other, lesser, nations who throw their children away by sending them into war. They are to be protected, because children are the future glory of the nation. The crown prince is thirteen when his father burns his face in front of an audience of hundreds.

The Iconoclast by ranilla_bean/@ranilla-bean Avatar: The Last Airbender | Sokka/Suki/Zuko | 21k (WIP) | Explicit

After a protracted civil war, the victorious new Fire Lord sends a call for a new bodyguard across the four nations. A Southern Water Tribesman and a warrior from Kyoshi Island respond.

Life in Eden by WitchofEndor/@a-witch-in-endor Avatar: The Last Airbender | Gen | 14k | Not Rated

In which Ursa tries to be a better parent to Azula, and it doesn’t change very much. And then, quite abruptly, it changes everything.

While Mighty Oaks Do Fall by WitchofEndor/@a-witch-in-endor Avatar: The Last Airbender | Sokka/Zuko | 181k (WIP) | Teen & Up

The newly-crowned Fire Lord Ozai offers his firstborn son to service in the temple. This turns out to be a catastrophic mistake.

where the stars do not take sides by WitchofEndor/@a-witch-in-endor Avatar: The Last Airbender | Sokka/Zuko | 60k | Not Rated

When Azula is nine, she becomes an only child. She hears the Fire Lord call for Zuko's life, and in the morning, her mother and brother are gone. Azula may be young, but she isn't naive. She knows what happened to them. Which makes it all the more surprising when Azula tracks the Avatar down and fights his group of peasant friends, only to find herself staring into an eerily familiar face.

War Crimes by Lovely_Elbow_Leech/@lovelyelbowleech Avatar: The Last Airbender | Sokka/Zuko | 90k | Mature | Part 1 of All's Fair

Book one ends with two major differences: 1. Sokka went on the mission with Hahn (it did not go well) 2. Zhao survives the North Pole and that proves unfortunate for everybody (except Zhao, obviously). Imprisoned on Zhao’s war ship, Sokka and Zuko have to work together to survive. They are not very enthusiastic about this prospect. And they argue. A lot.

War Games by Lovely_Elbow_Leech/@lovelyelbowleech Avatar: The Last Airbender | Sokka/Zuko | 443k (WIP) | Mature | Part 2 of All's Fair

Sokka is aware that being friends with the enemy is going to bring complications, but he probably should have guessed that being friends with Zuko in particular, was going to be a bit like dunking your head repeatedly into a bucket of angry Fire Ferrets.

Below the Sun by CSHfic and VSfic Avatar: The Last Airbender | Sokka/Zuko | 25k | Teen & Up

Sokka is washed overboard while working on the fisherman's boat during the storm. He wakes on a deserted island. Or... mostly deserted.

Will We Last the Night by CSHfic and VSfic Avatar: The Last Airbender | Sokka/Zuko | 143k | Teen & Up

Chief Arnook never assigns Sokka to protect Princess Yue, so he goes to fight the Fire Nation with the other men. When the moon dies, and the ocean spirit takes its revenge, Sokka is caught standing on the deck of a Fire Nation ship. Sokka should have drowned… and he would have drowned, if not for a certain Fire Nation raft fleeing the North Pole. [An enemies-to-lovers season 2 rewrite, where Sokka is separated from the gaang during the Siege of the North, and travels the Earth Kingdom with Zuko instead].

#fic recs #fanfiction #atla #avatar the last airbender #zukka

113 notes · View notes

thalialunacy · 7 months ago

Text

[for the @calaisreno May Prompts Squad; in which there are many Holmeses and parenting is a contact sport]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) 20: do-over (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

It's a new week, and John declares on Monday he's certain it's going to be easier than the last one.

What an idiot.

---

By the time they reach Wednesday, they've not been back from hospital twenty-four hours when Sherlock's dear mama orders them onto a train.

'Mother,' Sherlock hisses into his mobile, glancing across the room to where John is firmly planted on the sofa with his daughter tight in his arms, watching Peppa Pig. 'Rosamund just got out of A&E. We don't want to go down the street, let alone out to a place so far from an adequate hospital that--'

'Oh, poppycock'

'I'm sorry?'

'Now, don't be angry at me, darling. I know you must be frightened to bits for your little girl--'

Sherlock turns away from the sofa again, chest clenching for the approximately thousandth time in the past two days. 'She's not my little girl,' he says between his teeth, trying to keep his voice steady and quiet.

'--but I'm only trying to help.'

Sherlock knows it's one of those times John would be a much better fit for the task at hand. Unfortunately, she's stuck with her son instead. 'Mummy. Clearly, that would not help.'

'You're not planning on feeding her peanuts again, are you?'

Sherlock closes his eyes. 'I won't dignify that with an answer.'

'Then pack an epipen and come see your mother. I want to kiss that baby.'

---

John is doing his best, Sherlock observes once they're gathered round his parents' kitchen table, but he's clearly still feeling scads of parental guilt. He refuses to let Rosamund out of his sight, and his jaw keeps doing that jumpy bit that means he's repressing something. Several somethings, obviously, because he is John Watson.

And Sherlock almost abhors how much he cares for John Watson.

---

His mother, naturally, can't hold back for long.

'Oh, John, I do hate to see you like this.'

John freezes like the proverbial deer in headlights, then carefully puts down his fork, stiff upper lip firmly in place. 'Thanks, Mrs Holmes, but I'm all right.'

Sherlock, who knows better, shares a Look with Rosamund, who blurps his name(ish) then happily stuffs more pickle into her mouth. John's face softens momentarily, and she notices. 'Want some, Daddy?'

It's not a question; John is immediately handed a chubby fistful of globby green.

'She not a fan of spoons, then?' Sherlock's father says with a chuckle.

'Only as a weapon,' Sherlock replies without thinking, but luckily it's the correct audience, because beyond an eye roll, the reaction is mostly laughter.

Except for John, Sherlock notices immediately. Oh, dear.

His mother notices, too, and her lips purse. 'John, I know we're all very English, but I'm old enough that I can speak plainly.'

'As if you hadn't already,' Sherlock mutters.

She ignores him, instead reaching out to touch John's right hand where it rests on the table. 'You mustn't punish yourself. You've done nothing wrong.'

John's extreme discomfort would be crystal clear to anyone in a ten mile radius. 'Mrs Holmes…'

'I mean it.'

He puts down his fork, and Sherlock sees him inhale purposefully. 'All due respect, ma'am, but my daughter nearly died. She nearly died because I insisted she eat something she clearly and repeatedly did not want to eat.'

'And?'

John's mouth opens, then shuts, before he speaks again. 'Are you joking?'

'Everyone makes mistakes with their children, dear.'

'Not that sort of mistake.'

She makes a noise close to a ladylike snort, if such a thing existed. 'We almost drowned Sherlock when he was her age.'

Sherlock's front chair legs drop back to the floor with a thunk. 'Beg pardon?'

'Yes, you came frightfully close to dying, it was very unpleasant.'

John's facade breaks enough to give Sherlock a slight smirk. 'And you didn't recognise my facetiousness on that train?'

'Yes, yes, thank you, now what is this about me drowning, Mother?'

'We left you with another child, a girl of maybe twelve.' She shakes her head. 'That poor girl. She's never forgiven herself.'

'But I didn't die!'

'Sherlock,' his mother chides. 'Don't be unkind.'

'Wait. Why didn't I die?'

A curious silence falls over the group.

Sherlock's chin drops, and he sighs. 'Mycroft.'

His mother nods. 'He was in the deeper end, and you were in the shallow end. Where you were meant to stay.'

John huffs a laugh. 'Right, good luck with that.'

She tuts. 'He's lucky his brother was watching.'

'You don't remember any of it?' John asks, clearly curious.

Sherlock thinks. 'I remember a pool, several pools, from childhood. Various ponds. I remember-- Yes, I think the first time I ventured into the deep end, I blinked and I was at the ladder.'

'Indeed,' his mother says.

'Right,' John says, bemused. 'So you've always hated pools, even before we nearly got blown up in one.'

His mother blinks. 'Beg pardon?'

'Oh don't fret, Mummy.' Sherlock waves a hand. 'It was ages ago.'

And worse things have happened since then, no one needs say.

Except his mother says it, sort of. 'She's going to have such unusual stories to tell,' she says, turning to Rosamund and touching her tiny nose briefly. 'Aren't you, darling?'

'Any hope of a normal childhood was gone long ago, I'm afraid,' John says, his voice only a little strained.

Sherlock's father, unexpectedly, speaks up. 'Perhaps, but what she's got is better.'

'I agree,' his mother says. 'John's normal enough for the three of you, anyway.'

Sherlock smirks privately. Yes, absolutely normal, building-jumping, gun-toting, life-saving John Watson.

As if he'd ever fall in love with "normal."

That's the end of the discussion, apparently, because his mother turns back to Rosamund with a smile. 'Now, precious girl, let's see if you can say "grandmama" yet.'

---

John, still feeling slightly sour, pulls out his phone once he's put Rosie down. 'Mycroft.' His tone borders on Captainy, but he's too bloody tired to be polite. 'What are you playing at?'

'Couldn't possibly have any idea what you mean, Dr Watson.'

'First my daughter is calling you her uncle, and now your mum is teaching her "grandmama"?'

'I fail to see the problem. She's very intelligent.'

John pinches the bridge of his nose. He can't shout, because Rosie is asleep in her cot next to him, and though Sherlock is outside smoking, Sherlock's parents are somewhere on the other side of the guest room door.

'Your brother,' he finally says lowly, 'cares for Rosie a great deal, but has most definitely not voiced an interest in being her father, nor should he feel obligated to.'

'With all due respect, John, I must disagree.'

'How.' It's not a question.

Mycroft's voice isn't hard, but he enunciates every word very, very clearly. 'She is my niece. If you can't see it, then God help you... Although I am aware my brother has inherited more than his fair share of the Holmes reticence. But,' he concludes, implacable, 'lest you forget: He said it himself. You are family. And therein lies the obligation.'

John's heart does a little twitch in his chest. 'Yeah, but--'

'No.'

'But--'

'Not to sound too much like my dear brother, but John?'

John exhales. 'Can't wait to hear this.'

'Don't be an idiot.'

'Oi--'

But the call is already over. Of course it is. Because Mycroft Holmes is a bastard.

He might also, maybe, just this once… be right.

[ <3 ]

[pool story lifted from my childhood: I literally remember nothing bad about nearly drowning; my five-years-elder brother saved me and I have loved swimming ever since]

#BBC Sherlock #MayPrompts2024 #Parentlock #Johnlock #It's gonna be MAY 2024 #Yes i know it's over but I'm stubbornnnnnn and will be finishing in June #May Prompts 2024

51 notes · View notes

molkolsdal · 4 months ago

Text

Carpet with Palm Trees, Ibexes, and Birds

Probably made in present-day Pakistan, Lahore, late 16th–early 17th century

Cotton (warp and weft), wool (pile); asymmetrically knotted pile

This carpet, with its pictorial depiction of trees, birds, and animals, is conceived like a textile with a repeat design in which each unit reverses the direction of the preceding one. The ibexes, Chinese mythological beasts called qilins, and animals in combat, are derived from Safavid Persian art, as is the border design of cartouches and star-shaped medallions with cloud bands. The palm tree, however, is a very Indian feature, as is the generally naturalistic drawing of the flora and fauna and the bright red color of the field. The relationship to Persian carpet design dates this example to the early Mughal period, soon after the first carpet workshops were established by the emperor Akbar in Lahore, Agra, and Fatehpur Sikri.

Although the advent of carpet weaving in India predates his reign, it was the Mughal emperor Akbar (r. 1556–1605) who established imperial workshops for carpets, as well as a pattern of royal patronage. Carpet workshops were set up first at Fatehpur Sikri, the imperial capital only from 1571 to 1585, then at Lahore and Agra, and then, before 1640, at Kashmir.[1] Not all Indian carpets surviving from these early times necessarily suggest imperial manufacture, so commercial workshops must also have been in full production. Masters and workmen, many undoubtedly Iranian, are known to have come to India to help establish the workshops, and Persian carpets also clearly continued to be imported despite the high quality of local production.[2]

It should not be surprising, then, that this large carpet, representing production dating from late in the reign of Akbar, displays strong Persian influence. The most popular Persian convention was the symmetrical arrangement of scrolling vines with blossoms and leaves, but another approach was the use of pictorial patterns similar to those produced for paintings in royal manuscripts (the two conventions are combined in some examples). The field pattern here combines animals, birds, and vegetation in a pictorial way, that is, they are meant to be seen from one direction and without the matrix of a vine-scroll pattern to connect everything. Pictorial designs can be found in Persian carpets in a few examples of the small "Kashan" rugs and even more in a couple of pieces of the "Sanguszko" group; direct contact of some sort is also implied by the use of certain colors. Counterparts of several animals represented here may be seen in one of the Museum’s Persian rugs (no. 14.40.721), notably the leaping ibex, the combat between lion and ibex, and the leaping lion. Flames at the shoulders, indicating supernatural qualities, betray the ultimate Chinese origin of some of these figures, as transmitted to Iran in preceding centuries.

In many respects, however, this carpet is unmistakably Indian. In terms of structure, the cotton warps are eight-ply instead of the four-ply typically found in Persian carpets. As for color, the palette has a brightness, especially in the red, lacking in most Persian pieces, and there is a heavy use of ton-sur-ton coloring, juxtaposing similar colors such as red and pink, light and dark blue, and ocher and beige or off-white. The interlocking compartment design of the main border is related to borders found in Persian carpets (see MMA no. 1978.550), but here it takes a particularly Indian form in its geometricized compartments and the particular silhouette effect of the un-outlined red palmettes and vines set against the white ground. And the palm trees strike an Indian chord. As large as this carpet is, far larger ones are known to have come from Indian looms, including a pair of mid-seventeenth-century audience carpets, each about sixty-three feet long (approximately 19 meters).[3]

Daniel Walker in [Ekhtiar, Soucek, Canby, and Haidar 2011]

Footnotes:

1. Walker, Daniel. Flowers Underfoot: Indian Carpets of the Mughal Era. Exhibition catalogue, Metropolitan Museum, New York, 1997, pp. 7, 12.

2. Abu’l Fazl ‘Allami. The A’in-i Akbari by Abu’l Fazl ‘Allami. Translated by H[enry F.] Blochmann and H[enry] S. Jarrett; edited by D[ouglas] C[raven] Phillott. 3rd ed. 3 vols. 1927–49. Calcutta, 1977, vol. 1, p. 57.

3. Walker 1997 (see note 1), p. 120, fig. 118.

#carpet #palm #trees #ibex #birds #Pakistan #lahore #India #16th century #17th century #cotton #wool #Mughal #history #akbar #Daniel walker #long post #artifacts

13 notes · View notes

covid-safer-hotties · 1 month ago

Text

Also preserved in our archive

By Nikhil Prasad

Medical News: As the COVID-19 pandemic continues to unfold, new research highlights a startling link between the virus and metabolic disorders. A study conducted at the "Victor Babes" University of Medicine and Pharmacy in Timisoara, Romania, reveals how COVID-19 can trigger insulin resistance, even in individuals with no prior history of diabetes. This development sheds light on the long-term metabolic consequences of the virus, raising concerns for millions of COVID-19 survivors worldwide.

The research team focused on understanding the relationship between long COVID-19 syndrome and metabolic disruptions. This Medical News report aims to make their findings accessible to a wider audience, emphasizing the risks associated with the virus's lingering effects.

The Study: Design and Key Findings This prospective observational study included 143 non-diabetic individuals who had tested positive for SARS-CoV-2 between January 2020 and December 2022. Participants underwent evaluations at the time of hospital admission, and follow-ups were conducted four and twelve months later. Researchers measured fasting glucose, insulin, and C-peptide levels using intravenous arginine stimulation tests, along with body mass index (BMI) and inflammatory markers like high-sensitivity C-reactive protein (hs-CRP) and erythrocyte sedimentation rate (ESR).

Key findings from the study include: -Insulin Resistance and Long COVID: Approximately 30.7% of the participants developed long COVID-19 syndrome. Of these, 75% exhibited insulin resistance and eventually developed diabetes within one year, compared to 55.8% of those without long COVID-19.

-Impact of Obesity: Among obese participants (BMI > 30 kg/m²), 62% experienced elevated blood glucose levels a year post-infection.

Surprisingly, obesity rates did not differ significantly between those with and without long COVID-19, suggesting that other factors, such as chronic inflammation, play a pivotal role.

-Inflammatory Markers and Metabolic Disturbances: Elevated hs-CRP and ESR levels correlated with insulin resistance, highlighting the role of inflammation in disrupting metabolic health.

However, the triglyceride-glucose (TyG) index, another marker of insulin resistance, showed weaker correlations, pointing to the complexity of the underlying mechanisms.

Chronic Inflammation: A Central Culprit The study underscores the role of chronic inflammation in the development of insulin resistance among COVID-19 survivors. Prolonged activation of the immune system, potentially triggered by viral remnants or autoimmune responses, can interfere with insulin signaling. This disruption leads to poor glucose absorption by cells, resulting in elevated blood sugar le vels.

The virus's ability to infect pancreatic beta cells, which are crucial for insulin production, exacerbates this problem. By binding to ACE2 receptors on these cells, SARS-CoV-2 can impair their function, causing a decline in insulin secretion. This interplay of inflammation and cellular damage creates a perfect storm for the onset of metabolic disorders.

Implications for Public Health and Patient Care The findings highlight the urgent need for healthcare systems to prioritize monitoring metabolic health in COVID-19 survivors, especially those with long COVID-19 syndrome. Routine screenings for insulin resistance, glucose levels, and inflammatory markers could help identify at-risk individuals early, enabling timely interventions.

For patients, adopting a healthier lifestyle becomes more critical than ever. Weight management, regular exercise, and a balanced diet can help mitigate the risk of developing insulin resistance and other metabolic complications.

Future Directions in Research and Treatment The study opens the door for further investigations into the molecular mechanisms linking COVID-19 to insulin resistance. Understanding these pathways could pave the way for targeted therapies to prevent or reverse metabolic damage. Potential treatments might include anti-inflammatory drugs, insulin-sensitizing medications, and advanced glucose-lowering therapies like SGLT2 inhibitors and GLP-1 receptor agonists.

Moreover, ongoing trials, such as the DARE trial examining dapagliflozin's efficacy in hospitalized COVID-19 patients, may offer insights into how existing diabetes treatments can benefit long COVID-19 sufferers.

Conclusion This research highlights a concerning connection between COVID-19 and insulin resistance, even in individuals without prior metabolic conditions. The long-term implications of this link extend beyond the immediate health crisis, signaling a potential wave of diabetes cases in the years to come. As healthcare providers and researchers grapple with these findings, a comprehensive approach addressing both respiratory and metabolic health will be crucial.

The study findings were published in the peer-reviewed Journal of Personalized Medicine. www.mdpi.com/2075-4426/14/9/911

#mask up #public health #wear a mask #pandemic #covid #wear a respirator #covid 19 #still coviding #coronavirus #sars cov 2 #long covid #diabetes #diabetic

11 notes · View notes

sachermorte · 5 months ago

Note

Please tell us the sex police story!

jo gerne

it's much less lurid than it sounds but this used to be an absolute crowd-pleaser. I had the tone and cadence down perfectly. there was a rhythm to it. it was almost like recited poetry, like beowulf. I'm a bit out of the practice of telling it now but I'll try to add stage direction where necessary so if needed, you too can recite The Ballad of Roland and the Sex Police

[deep breath]

during the summer between my junior and senior year of my bacherlor's, when my days in eagleland were drawing to a close, I, the gallant and noble roland sachermorte von wien, took a job at a six-week long federally funded college preparatory summer camp for disadvantaged high schoolers, (hosted in a community college in my hometown, a large-enough city in an appalachian state) for which I was to be paid a couple thousand dollars, a price for which it soon became clear that I was not only selling my labor, but my sanity and my already-tenuous will to live. some people hear "college preparatory camp, federally funded, disadvantaged youth" and, not knowing the full story about camps, high schoolers, or the united states government assume that it must have been a more or less classy affair.

[pause for effect]

this camp was a shitshow.

to begin with, there were three of us for a camp of approximately sixty of these little bastards, all of which were between the ages of 13-17 and seemed to hate me just for existing, which is unsurprising in hindsight, as I've never been particularly popular among large groups of kids that age. this was largely because of the rules the three of us were forced to enforce, such as taking their phones for all but an hour or so a day. that whole taking phones business lasted exactly a day and a half until the kids literally organized a sit-in and refused to go to class until my boss came down and told them they'd be allowed to keep them. which, good on them, but I did get yelled at for literally an hour over it.

that was another thing. they were working us from seven in the morning until midnight, at which point a night monitor would supposedly take over. that is of course until she quit a week in and then one of us had to rotate, meaning we didn't really get any sleep. I really don't blame her but I resent her to this very day and you would too, so shut up.

so these kids didn't want to be there and hated our guts, for understandable reasons because we were forced to be a bunch of goosesteppers less the hammer come down on us and all three of us be corralled in a room and literally yelled at with raised voice and flying spittle by our boss, the owner, and possibly also the receptionist for sixty minutes at a minimum. I wasn't the most pleasant to be around either because I was operating on maybe four hours of sleep a night, being berated at the drop of a hat for things that were outside my control, and undergoing sensory overload from the constant screaming and shouting from the kids.

so this is a very long introduction to basically say that things were already bad enough, I was reduced to a shambling, zombielike state, and my main priorities were to avoid being yelled at, to prevent the kids from subtracting from the population, and preventing the kids from adding to the population, in that order.

herein lies my folly. since the kids were occupied with classes all morning and assorted silly bullshit in the afternoon, I honestly thought they would be too tired to think much about point number three. chalk it up to my card-carrying status on multiple spectrums but I earnestly didn't even think of it. I was a corpse. I thought they would be as well

[here you cast a long-suffering look at the audience, waiting for them to gain, one by one, horrified or amused looks as they realize exactly the kind of story they're about to hear]

so color me surprised when one evening in the very first week when I'd already resigned myself to my lowly fate of starving, being subjected to geneva convention-violating levels of sleep deprivation, and being yelled at all the time, I was approached one of the math teachers who was nice enough to do some evening tutoring

ms. a, let's call her, was a terribly nice woman who was in her first year with the camp and honestly did not know what she was walking into (and would quit about halfway through citing "family matters", leaving one of us to struggle through teaching math as well). she approached me with the sort of deeply concerned face that one has upon witnessing the smoking wreckage of what was almost certainly a fatal car accident. the kind where you hope the driver was miraculously spared, but you know in your heart that the poor bastard had a snowball's chance, and you're already late to work so it's not as if you can stop and investigate.

I gazed upon her and a deep sigh left my body. I already knew it would be bad.

ms. a tells me that one of the students, a 15 year girl terminally allergic to minding her own business, had approached her with the cheshire-esque grin typical of teenagers when they're about to get somebody else in Big Trouble.

"ms. a," she began, "them girls have got boys up in the room. y'all had better stop them before mmhmm."

friends. romans. countrymen. there was choreography. a hand gesture accompanied mmhmm, which ms. a was kind enough to mimic for me

[here the storyteller makes a circle with the fingers of their non-dominant hand and then inserts the index finger of the dominant hand into this circle repeatedly until the point is made. aggressive eye contact with the listener or listeners should be made for maximum effect]

spake roland, "you've got to be fucking kidding me."

I called my boss. he didn't answer. I called the owner. she didn't answer. it was clear that this was all landing on my head. a pleading look in ms. a's direction only got me a woeful shake of the head in return. okay. it was go time.

my coworkers were extremely reluctant to get involved until I brought up the fact that if anybody were conceived on our watch, we wouldn't just be yelled at for at least an hour. we would probably also be fired, and what's more, as our boss kept threatening, not be paid. which would have meant that all our misery up until that point would have been for naught.

so I took point and we became the sex police. and we conducted a raid.

we literally got in formation and marched down the hall. me at the front, and my two coworkers behind each shoulder. like darth vader being flanked by stormtroopers, if darth vader were a pudgy cripple in a thrifted pair of penny loafers and a corduroy suit jacket.

we get to the door of the room. I knock on the door. bang. bang. bang.

[here the storyteller raps on the table slowly yet firmly]

there's rustling behind the door. whispering. shuffling. I hear someone hiss "hide!"

I knock again. bang. bang. bang.

finally the door opens, only barely, and one of the two girls in the room wedges herself into the opening. she crosses her arms. she throws one hip out to one side. she looks me up and down. and she goes, with full disdain, "WHAT."

I remind myself that kentucky is a death penalty state and force a smile. "we need to search your room," I say through tooth and bile

she literally arches backward with the force of her eyeroll, shoves the door all the way open, and lets us in.

so I have to explain first that the way these dorm rooms were set up is that there was a kitchenette area with a sink and a table that connected two bedrooms and a bathroom. they were nice-ass dorms. which was hard to remember when there were piles of candy wrappers, ugly clothes from forever 21, and bottles victoria's secret body sprays strewn everywhere. the kitchenette had no hiding places and there was nobody in the bathroom which left the rooms.

so now the hunt begins. I go into room number one. the closet door is closed. suspicious.

I FLING open the door.

and BAM. [you may bang your hand on the table here for dramatic effect] there's dude number one, pressed up against the side wall as if the door frame will hide him. he doesn't even look at me. he keeps flicking his eyes to the side, wide-eyed, and then staring straight ahead.

it's now that I make the observation that this dude ISN'T EVEN PART OF THE CAMP. he's just some RANDOM DUDE.

in a panic now, I direct one of my officers to look under the bed, and then go into room number two. closet door is open. also suspicious.

I get down on my HANDS and KNEES to look under the bed.

I claw for my phone and turn on the flashlight.

and there's a PAIR of AIR JORDANS

FACE

[here wave hand in front of face]

BAM [bang!] there's dude number two. also not from the camp. literally hiding under the bed.

I look at him.

he looks at me.

and in my rush of adrenaline all I can say to him is

"bruh."

[pause here to either take a sip of your alcoholic beverage or a long drag of your cigarette (one or both is necessary to tell this story) to allow time for the uproar that will no doubt follow. it usually takes a minimum of 30 seconds to be able to continue on]

so we've found tweedle dee and tweedle dum now and I'm trying to figure out what the fuck I should be doing when they share a glance and BOLT down the hallway and out the emergency exit, setting off the alarm. so now the fire department is en route.

great!

I get to the door just in time to watch them speed across a field, VAULT over a park bench, dart across the basketball court, and disappear into the treeline.

jump cut to thirty minutes later. my boss is there, as are all the kids wondering what the fuck is going on, a couple of very amused firemen, and a police officer who tells my boss that he's not going to chase after two random teenagers who were probably just visiting their girlfriends. the two girls get flung out of camp, and I spend the rest of the night with the same vigilant high of a drug dog who just made the biggest bust of its life.

we get pulled out of the classes we're supposed to be assisting with the next morning and yelled at for not one hour, not two hours, but two hours and fifty-three minutes. I timed it.

at one point my boss turns to me and yells "ROLAND WHY DID YOU NOT RUN AFTER THEM?" and I just held up my crutch and stared at him until he felt awkward enough to move on

the rest of the camp proceeded in a similar fashion and to this day I remain a dedicated officer of the sex police.

ACAB includes roland I guess

#god this took forever #but good lord this was an EVENT #the entire six weeks was just carnage and misery #this was so long ago too #summer of 2018 #oida #anyway the prater incident is just as wild if that anon still wants to hear about it #lmk bestie #askertorte

12 notes · View notes

go-see-a-starwar · 1 year ago

Text

Today’s installment of “I watch Hayden Christensen’s filmography and tell you how pretty he is in it” is The Last Man (2019)

Hayden plays Kurt Matheson, a veteran suffering from severe PTSD and hallucinations. Increasing gang violence, climate disasters and the sermons of a doomsday street prophet lead Kurt to start preparing for the end of days. He takes a job to pay for his homemade fortress but his mobster boss and the boss’ beautiful daughter threatens to derail Kurt’s survival plans.

How pretty is he in it? When Hayden first appears on screen, his Santa beard and old prospector long johns are a near jumpscare. But once he loses those a half-hour in, he’s about as hot as he’s ever looked.

Welcome to the gun show indeed.

Does he get drenched at some point?: No proper drenching but he does get good and sweaty (and shirtless) a couple times. 2 💦 out of 5

How’s the movie itself? Pretty bad! There’s approximately four half-baked plots at once with no effort to make them cohesive and dialogue & line delivery that makes the Prequels seem Oscar-worthy in comparison. Hayden is just about the only bright spot, he plays unstable characters really well and if I could pluck his character Kurt out of this movie and into a better one I absolutely would. I’ll give this movie some credit for *looking* way better than it had any right to, and Kurt and his love interest Jessica are cute (and their love scene is spicy and definitely the best scene in the movie)

Is the RottenTomatoes rating unfairly low: It’s currently sitting on a big fat 0 but there’s only 5 reviews. The audience score of 24% feels way too high though, I’d say this deserves a 10-15% rating.

In short: The concept is interesting and Hayden along with Harvey Keitel do the most they can with what they get, but they’re not given much. I cannot in good conscience recommend anyone watch this movie but if you must, only do it if you’re in the middle of a Hayden hyperfixation. Otherwise, just go to the love scene about halfway through and after that stick to the gifs.

#a terrible movie I have unfortunately voluntarily watched multiple times #what can I say Hayden’s really good at playing hot unstable men #also the ending is sweet and against all good sense and logic made me want more #hayden christensen #Kurt matheson #the last man #the last man (2019)#12 days of Christensenmas #gsasw reviews hayden movies #not sw

52 notes · View notes

touyas-multi-purpose-saline · 4 months ago

Note

may i request camellia with tengai please?? thank you!! 💗

cw: Yandere Themes, Possessive Behavior, Graphic Descriptions of Gore, Death, Violence, Allusions to Kidnapping, Allusions to Non-Con, Murder, Unhealthy Relationships, Uncomfortable Scenarios, General Dark Themes Not Suitable for Immature Audiences, Gender-Neutral Reader. Read at your own discretion! 18+ Only!

author's note: Wow! This was extremely fun to write. This prompt was interesting, and this idea struck me and I just had to write it. I hope you enjoy! This was a prompt from "Yandere Prompts Flower Language" and can be found here . REQUESTS ARE OPEN—READ TAGS. I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is strictly fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

PROMPT: Camellia (devotion, perfection): "You know l'd do anything for you, right? My love knows no limits."

word count: Approximately 1.6k.

Hekiji has always been there for you.

Or, well, always is relative and subjective.

It’s been a long time—or maybe, perhaps, it just feels that way—that you’ve been in these desolate walls. Everywhere is four-posters, heavy and thick curtains so blinding are forever drawn. If you stretch your arm out, all your fingertips ever brush are ash and feathers. Faux feathers that feel like fur, the shade of an indigo violet, flowers in bloom that never wilt but never birth.

Chisaki’s weird about them though. He combs through everything and anything he can sweep those strange fingers through, and can hush whatever noises their hissing produces. You’re never able to truly touch those feathers, those wings that could flutter and fly you away, so fertile and real.

Because you’re not supposed to touch him.

That’s rule—he’s the one who has to initiate contact, not the other way around. In a sense, it’s miserable. You can’t even close your eyes and trick yourself into believing it’s your now dead partner holding you again. You just have to lay in the dark of this room, staring at those four posters, each an individual column that appears before you, just smooth mountains with no footholds, just barriers that remind you that you’re trapped here until you die.

That’s why your mind is fleeting, circling around, pacing up the ceiling with shuddering footsteps.

And despite its many laps, it all returns to Hekiji.

You’ve been thinking about him a lot lately. He’s one of the few constants on your brain. Through Chisaki’s weird schedule for you, its strict and strenuous nature, through the disgusting moments of intimacy he forces on you, also very strict because he has to control each movement and he’s very thorough with aftercare in a not endearing way, and through the reality of your ever demise—Hekiji always hovers in the backdrop of those thoughts. He’s always nice to you, pleasant, cordial, sweet even. He’s always been a shoulder to cry on, you think. Even though he has this undying loyalty to Chisaki, he sits through every tear, every sob, every hiccup as you recount the horrible things his boss has put you through. Hekiji always sits in silence. Always. Sometimes you wonder if he’s even breathing. How much has Chisaki told him about his twisted plans for the world? His torture of that poor little girl? His hand in what happened to the original boss of the Shie Hassaikai? His whispers against the shell of your ear that everyone has a role to play and that some people’s role is to be used?

You wonder if Hekiji is slowly realizing.

Because each time you see him, his hands begin to wander. Sometimes it’s something ginger on your shoulder, a squeeze, and you swear that he’s seeing you through those closed eyes. Other times, when you lean against his side, your nose buried within the crux of his collar bones, he’ll let an arm slide down your back, hand caressing your arm, lobster claws with spindling webs. Hekiji is never rough, always calm, but his words are balmy, fueled with a distilled passion that makes your head whirl. He’s so honest, so grounded, and that’s why you always let your hands fall into his lap whenever he cradles you against him.

It’s oddly intimate, and you wonder if Chisaki is aware of what Hekiji does. With Hekiji’s pact to Chisaki, surely he must. It’s so bizarre, so impactful. Does Chisaki care if other people touch you? If that’s so, why did he murder your partner in cold blood? Are you just an object to be passed around to his little yakuza clan?

Oh, who really fucking cares? Hekiji doesn’t do anything to you, just soft, always inviting, and you swear that each time you see him that something changes between you two. You’re a pawn, both of you are pawns, and maybe Chisaki has told him what game you’re trapped in. That’s why things are changing with Hekiji. Maybe you feel nothing for him at all, but you just want something to anchor you to hope and sanity and so your fishing line is being cast out into the tides, chasing a green light to speed through that intersection, to helplessly grab broken oars and beat back, the water flowing.

And maybe through the spitting white caps, even though they’re freezing and you feel like your thumb can’t swipe the salt from your burning nostrils, the boat bounding and sinking further, you realize that perhaps you’ve maybe fallen in love with Hekiji.

What a nightmare.

Fires start knocking at the latches of your eyes, staring through the peepholes, abusing an invitation that wasn’t ever there. The distinct need to bawl makes you feel stupid and childish, makes the subtle breathing slipping through Chisaki’s parted lips all the more hellish. You can’t catch a break. A knife splits between your brows whenever you slowly tilt your head to stare at Chisaki’s face, so demure, and you know there’s a little boy in there who never had a chance and maybe there could be some form of pity if he’d done things to you differently, but all you can see is the inclines of his face and those honey eyes staring into your soul whenever he’s on top of you. You wish, oh, you wish that you could just shove your fingers into his mouth and rip out his uvula, wish you could make him throw up everything he’s ever lived for. You wish. You wish. Oh, you—

The door starts to slide open. It’s slow, deliberate, and not a single sound whistles from its slots. Both of your narrowed eyes widen, but all you do is suck your lips in and hold your breath. Something’s not right, but you sure as hell aren’t about to wake up Chisaki. No one’s allowed to enter his room. Not even that creepy Kurono guy. This is bad, but something begins to bubble inside of your chest. It feels like butterfly kisses tickling the rims of your lungs, but they swell and suddenly you feel like a swarm of locusts are about to crawl out of your teeth. You’re excited. Whether it’s going to be someone who hurts Chisaki, hurts you, or hurts both of you—you’re excited because then you might finally be able to feel some retribution, escape, anything but this.

And as the door fully comes to, everything stops.

Hekiji. It’s Hekiji standing on the other side. His face is shadowed, but you swear his eyes are open, leering, large, and you feel licks of nerves trickle down your spine. He doesn’t stay there for long. He slips into the room, tantalizing, patient, and you feel like your limbs have hit their locks, have made their last click and splintered around your frame, underneath your fingernails. You don't say a word, but neither does Hekiji. It’s so eerily quiet that you can’t hear a heartbeat pump in your ears. So, so, deathly. And then he pauses whenever he reaches the bed, a step or two away from Chisaki’s side. And for a heavy, burdening moment, something that’s weightless but is tar sucking on the soles of your feet to hook you in forever—neither of you move.

Until Hekiji’s hand slowly lifts, palm facing the sky.

It all happens too fast.

Beaming lights, fireworks, a blazing sun saddling through the sky, the devil’s herd, screaming, wheezing, so many sounds and lights, stadium’s cheering, and it’s all concentrated in that singular yellow. Its glow dances across your cheeks, between your eyes, animation, life, and it’s sunflowers smiling at you. A low hum echoes within its chambers, and your eyes crackle whenever they space out, whenever you see a sunshine dome form around Chisaki’s unconscious body. You’re almost unable to comprehend it, but you watch it regardless. Hekiji’s frame is warbling on the other side, rippling bath water filled with eucalyptus and spearmint notes. And then,

an explosion.

It’s more mist and rainy than anything else. Splatters of paint on wet canvas, but it’s copper, it’s metal, it’s visceral. You don't even need to blink. You know what it was, you know what that is. It’s soggy, there’s no friction on the other side of the bed. It’s gone, everything, even the pain in your chest. It happened so fast, too fast, and whenever the halo disappears, meat, sauce, seasonings, sides, and vegetables fall into the goopy soup puddling amongst the sheets. Chisaki’s gone. Just like that. Universe collapsed in on itself into a black nothingness.

But Hekiji’s still here.

And the afterglow of his magic has gossamer fog powdering his cheeks, has those open eyes of his mystical and so so so terrifying. You ask,

“Hekiji. Why did you kill him?”

And whenever he speaks through his mask, through the last tie of his loyalty, you know that everything’s crumbling.

“All of these things you’ve shared with me have been my resolve.”

You slowly tilt your head, carefully pushing yourself up onto your elbows, avoiding the blood.

“Resolve?”

Hekiji is silent. But it’s brief, he’s staring deep into you, seeing more of you than he really should.

“To end your suffering.”

Cotton in your mouth.

“So you… ?”

Hekiji doesn’t even nod.

“You know… I’d do anything for you. My love has no limits.”

Maybe it’s his words, maybe it’s the gore trembling beneath the pads of your fingers, or maybe it’s Chisaki’s ghostly body pressing into your own as a reminder—but you realize that you never had a chance either.

“Love?”

He steps closer.

“Yes. I’ve come to realize that I’ve fallen for you. Worldly desires are hard to pass, and I hadn’t succumbed… until I met you. It was you. You are the one. I’ve realized that you’re the one who’s given me a purpose in this life.”

You don’t even bother fleeing.

“I have.”

Monotone doesn’t register to Hekiji, but whenever his knees touch the edge of the bed and he starts to sink down, hand extended, offered, your shuddering fate is the only form of salvation through his twisted asceticism he’s choosing.

“Master Overhaul was a lie. You’ve made me feel like I’ve never felt before. I had to show you what you mean to me.”

And Master Overhaul’s Chisaki is smearing underneath your palms, teardrops in the rain.

Hekiji is almost here.

“I had to show you where my loyalty truly lies.”

And the weight of his hand on your cheek is your own resolve.

12 notes · View notes