#but I have no idea what else to call a collection of related and transformative works by SO many different creators

[allalrightagain]

Went looking for an extremely specific character name for a Wicked fic I'm writing and far be it from me to say there's such a thing as too much whimsy in a political commentary (or vice versa) but boy does this franchise have both in spades.

[xenosagaepisodeone]

been thinking about how collecting things acts as a form of play recently. obviously, certain hobbies like rock collecting involve aspects of what we would conventionally think of as 'play' (searching, digging, dusting and examining, etc), and the process of displaying something is often too, play (though we generally call it decorating). collecting anime figures or vintage action figures in particular often invokes a kind of play-pretend that isn't acknowledged due to the commercial elements of these hobbies, despite this play also underlying more conventional forms of collecting. Let's put garage kits, gunpla, figmas, and anything else that would give figure collecting overlap with productive kinds of playing out of mind of a moment. You go to amiami and buy a 1/6 scale hatsune miku figure for $120. Shipping is anywhere from $10-30 depending on where you're getting it from(pricey!). You have the intention to sit this figure on your desk and little else. No fancy photoshoots or anything(at best maybe a few photos to share), just You and Your Toy.

at the core what you're buying is just emotional proximity to the things or characters in media you like (<- deeply obvious and boring sentence, but please keep reading). a child will play with toys as a way of exploring both fantastical ideas and the world around them in a way that is safe. with collectible figurines, those ideas and fantasies are self-contained in the toy itself, the predictability and familiarity acting as another form of safety. the satisfying comfort of 'playing' occurs when you look at the figure and feel like its meaning is self-evident. the act of 'play' becomes the bond you have developed to the object. the object is real. you can define yourself in relation to it- but more importantly, the ownership over this object affords you the ability to define the object in a way that would be somewhat less warranted as a mere spectator of a book or tv series. miku isn't just a figure, she is your idol, or your daughter, or a weird pet. this bond you have dictated has made her more real, and your self-concepts by extension. but this is all playing at the end of the day because she is a toy. a rock collector takes pride in their collection in part because of their love for rocks, but also because it reflects their mastery over understanding the world of rocks. it becomes testament to the relationship with their special subject. they are transformed by the physical presence of the rock. anime figure collecting is quite similar.

hoarding is kind of interesting with re: collecting because to me it's the process of play being stilted. there is desire but not so much intimacy between the person and their object. i often get the impression that hoarders desire to play with their objects, but are inhibited from being able to engage in that kind of vulnerability, instead turning the act of acquisition into a kind of less enriching pseudo-play. after all, hoarding can be a response to periods of traumatic deprivation. the hoarder who accumulates tons of stuff receives some of the comfort and safety of play via the guarantee of a new item added to their collection. they aren't sure how to treasure their objects beyond ensure that they are not thrown away. they cannot 'play' with them, and have their relationship defined largely by the emotions created by the absence of play. by being unable to engage with play and thus failing to acquire the fulfillment or enrichment of play, they end up snagged in what usually ends up being a frustrating cycle.

[earthxangell]

☆ﾐ what are you manifesting in february || pick-a-card reading (timeless)

Hello my beautiful star souls and welcome to my new Pick-A-Card reading. I'm coming back with my weekly messages for the collective, fully recharged and passionate about delivering guidance from the Spirit and any entity that wants to come through. I hope you're doing well and sincerely smile from the bottom of your heart full of joy, happiness and love.

Take a few deep breaths and let your intuition guide you towards a certain pile. Choose a picture and read your interpetation down below.

Only for entertainment purposes. Take what resonates and leave everything else behind.

,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ Pile 1

Some sort of a big opportunity coming to you. You've been praying for this one because it directs towards your soul's passion and desire. Especially if you've been meaning to start some sort of a creative business or just simply allow yourself to be bold and move towards that passion despite the fear and negative thoughts of losing this game. There's a message here to strongly communicate what it is that you truly want for yourself. For some, I feel like an important conversation with parents is about to happen. You've been planning it, for some reason feeling uncertain if they'll get you but Spirit is encouraging you to do that. The conversation will go well. For some, I feel like they hide their passion from friends/family because they don't want to be misunderstood or laughed at. You won't be. You're never alone and the month of February will prove you that. You deserve to live this life according to your desires, wants and needs and be supported and loved for that. If you want to paint, paint; if you want to sing and produce your own music - do that. No matter how bad or simply disgusting it will seem to you. This talent of yours is a gift from ancestors. Don't be afraid to show your progress with the loved ones - they'll love it, that's for sure. Even if you're just a beginner or only about to start it - please, if you feel called to talk and share this goal of yours with someone, do that. I see you receiving support and financial opportunities (your parent giving your money to start this bussiness or a friend gifting you some tools if you've been wanting to start crochet and etc). Communication this month will lead to a lots of opportunities. No wonders, it's Aquarius season! It's about emracing yourself and your nature, being surrounded with mind-like people. Another main blessing for you is that you'll move through this month in the state of 'flow', intuitively knowing what to do and smoothly going with your progress. You will finally stop biting yourself for any mistakes or setbacks and you will just enjoy the process by embracing the challenges with inner peace and fulfillment. Energy of this pile feels like floating on a water surface - just this simple but rich feeling of letting go of any resistance and just being, living, cocreating with the Universe. Good for you!

,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ Pile 2

My sweethearts! I will bite if you won't love yourself this month enough! I'm seeing so much confidence and determination for you in February. For some it may be a career advancement, for others - excellent grades and success in the choosen field (especially with anything that is somehow relates to fashion, self-care and beauty products). My card literally says 'A very happy ending!' The main message for you is to let go. Just let go of the past situations that made you, for some reason, believe that you're not good enough and get these grades, get this promotion, take that leap of faith and for once, just really believe in yourself. You have no idea how beautiful and capable you are. The next month is bringing you this inner transformation that you've been needed in order to move on, to really grip on that self-control and take important steps towards your goal. If you felt exhausted and tired all the time in January, I'm seeing change here as well. Any setbacks, delays or that constant worry that you feel nonstop is based on your lack of self-confidence and belief in yourself and your capability. Get out of your head, journal more. You'll feel more confident and motivated, you'll receive lots of recognition and praise from others not only for your looks but also for your hard work and growth. It'll get better, I promise you. Just hang in there, angel.

,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ Pile 3

You're on receiving end this month. I'm seeing an opportunity to travel, recharge and come back even stronger than before. This is especially significant, if you're 'the mother figure" in your friends group or just literally a mother of a child. You can be extreme with how much you give to others but it didn't fade away unnoticed from your spiritual team and the Universe. They are sending you times where you can just sigh with relief, take some time for yourself and make new plans. You've been working hard for something, you've done the work and now you can let yourself rest and recieve these professional and financial blessings. If you wanted more time for yourself to practice spirituality in any form, I'm seeing the opporunities to do that will happen as well. You're quite intuitive and your skills will be developed and highlighted even more in February. More time with family and friends and your loved ones. Receiving a love confession. Opportunities to lead in the choosen field. Winning a competition. Receiving a scholarship. Moving to a different country because of the study. Focus on yourself and your inner battery. Successful relocation. Seeing beauty in everything around you. Bright times ahead. Your prayers are being answered.

[shizucheese]

So full disclosure, I actually listened to episode 7 on Saturday, but this episode had so damn much to it and I got a bit side tracked by a theory that I'm still working on but I really want to get this out before episode 8 comes out.

As usual, if you want to see the continuously updated and reblogged version of my red string board, you can find it here.

Today is Tuesday, 2/27/24. Episode 7 came out 5 days ago on 2/22/24.

“Talkers”

Norris (Voice: Martin?/ Alex)

Episode 1: “Reanimation (Partial) -/- Regret [Email]”. The Stranger? The End? The Dark? The Lonely? The Flesh? Arthur (Nolan?).

Episode 3: "Infection (full body" -/- Arboreal [Journal entry]". The Spiral? (Paranoia? Auditory, visual and olfactory hallucinations) The Lonely? The Corruption. The Flesh? (Callbacks to the Flesh Garden from S5)

Common Themes: Hearing the voice of a dead/ missing loved one?

Chester (Voice: John?/ Jonny)

Episode 1: “Transformation (eyes) -/- Tresspass [chat log]”. Magnus Institute, The Eye. (Involves a forum; the Web?).

Episode 5: "Disappearance (undetermined) -/- Invitation [Internet blog]". The Eye (Movies. Movie name: "Voyeur" "Must be seen to be believed"...). The Web? (Another website?). (Very reminiscent of Mag 110: Creature Feature.) The "poor old guy" at the theater is totally an Eye avatar, right? Kinda gives me "Simon Fairchild when he was first introduced" vibes.

Episode 7: "Agglomeration (miscellany) -/- congregation [email]". The Stranger. The Burried. The Desolation. Possibly all of them if my theory about the items the Volunteers brought in is correct...

Unsure if this is Eye related like the other statements were. This is also the first "Chester" statement where the source material wasn't from a website or blog, which don't have the same expectation of privacy that the sources of the other statements do. Email, though, so still internet related, and this seems to be an open letter rather than personal correspondence, so it still might align with the theme.

Agustus: (rare?)

Episode 4: “Collection (blood) -/- musical [letter]” The End. The Lonely? The Slaughter.

Letter writer thinks passing on his violin might allow a part of himself to live on in his nephew. Very Jonah Magnus of him.

Music teacher hears “faraway music”, then goes crazy and throws himself out of the carriage and dies. Reminiscent of Mag7 and the Piper? The merchant’s wares include dice (Mag 29?). Got the violin from him (took his blood?). Effect of the violin reminiscent to Grifter’s Bone (Mag 42).

(Oliver Bardwell lol very funny guys)

Non-Talkers (?)

Episode 2: "Transformation (full) -/- dysmorphic [video call]". The Spiral? The Flesh. The Stranger. Ink 5oul (avatar/ entity?)

Episode 6: "Injury (needles) -/- intimidation [999 call] "Corruption? The Spiral? The Flesh? The End?

"Needles" reminds me of Michael!Distortion.

Notes and Thoughts:

"It's not like we're dealing with Tape Recorders..." I'm side eying you real hard, Celia. And what's with all of the questions? The "looking for patterns" question is 100% fair but those examples are AWEFULLY SPECIFIC. I wasn't entirely sure I bought the idea that Celia was the same Celia from TMA, but no this is totally her for sure. "DO YOU KNOW WHO JOHN" IS EXCUSE ME? WHAT REAL STUFF?

HILLTOP CENTER BRANCH?!!! 0 managerial or other support from HR; very reminiscent of the weird circumstances surrounding the house on Hilltop Road. Bear skin rug very reminiscent of the Gorilla Skin in TMA S3. The Volunteers remind me of the medical students from Mag34. The email is about events from 2015. This was the same year Gertrude died and John became the Head Archivist in TMA. Why am I not seeing anyone else talk about this?

I have a theory that I was originally going to put in this post but detangling that giant ball of red string entirely is taking too long so I'm just going to put the TL'DR here and maybe make a proper list later if I can ever finish pulling the string on that particular red sweater. Between the items the Volunteers bring in, and the events of the incident itself, what if every single Entity is represented? The gunshots that were heard were the Slaughter. The fire was the Desolation. The person who wrote the email being crushed by all of the items was the Buried. There are a number of artifacts that get listed off that could represent at least one if not multiple Entities (which might be their purpose; considering how many times the fact that the categorization was imperfect got brought up in TMA, it's probably more helpful to view them as a spectrum more than anything else), including some that are very reminiscent of things from specific TMA statements (The bear skin rug -> The Gorilla skin, Old medical equipment -> the syringe in mag 45? The telescope -> Maxwell Rayner was originally Edmond Halley, the Astronomer, etc. etc). So...okay, hear me out: what if this was all part of a ritual, and that's what the "good cause" was? A ritual that involved all of the fears being represented? Sound familiar? Except instead of it being a ritual to start an apocalypse or reshape the world in the image of one or more of the fears, what if it was a ritual to summon something that was associated with all of the fears? Or, rather, what if it was a ritual to summon someone who had been touched by all of the fears? And that's also why so many of the items seem to be analogous to things from statements and events from TMA? Like....maybe I'm wrong entirely. Or maybe I'm right about this being about summoning someone, or something, (maybe someone from TMA? Maybe Celia?), but wrong about it being John who was being summoned. But, again, this incident took place in 2015, which was the same year Gertrude died and John became head Archivist, and I feel like this means something.

[venusianpulp]

Hot Take: Human Design

Activated Gates of Authority: 19-49

I feel like it's exponentially hard to find a descriptive analysis on anything related to human design... or at least descriptive enough to satiate my curiosity - so I figured, I cannot be the only one with this problem.

After exxxxxxxtensive research (sorry for delayed inbox responses) I have started to create some content for anyone else curious.

Eventually, I would like to dive into how to use your natal chart with your human design graph to get an entirely, well rounded understanding & innerstanding of who you are, your why's, how's, and so on. They're both connected.

FULL DISCLOSURE - I will be going in an absolutely, nonsensical, and incoherent order. I may start with my own but there is a lot of content I've created to share and I plan on doing it one at a time. Anything in red will be explained in a later post as I continue this content, so don't worry if you aren't entirely versed yet. i hope you ENJOY!

Channel 19-49 is called "The Principle of Revolution". This channel features 2 gates, 19 & 49. The combination of gates creates the channel. 19 is the gate of "wanting", while 49 is the gate of "revolution". It is part of the 39-55/19-49 Definition quadra and is connected to responding, reacting, and taking action.

The channels make up the pathways through which energy flows in your body and impact your personality, talents, and decision-making authority.

If you have or know someone who has an activated 19-49 channel...

As one of your authority channels, 19-49 has a major influence on how you operate and make decisions. This motor channel brings an energetic, active, even rambunctious quality. You likely have a strong inner drive to initiate change, shake things up, rebel against the status quo, and introduce new, experimental, or unorthodox ideas or ways of doing things. You challenge assumptions and may be attracted to fringe topics or revolutionary causes.

People with 19-49 are here to be agents of change and transformation. You have an evolutionary impulse to push boundaries, take risks, and upset established orders. When activated positively, this can catalyze innovation, reforms, breakthroughs, and social or political shifts. Used negatively, it can lead to chaotic, reckless, or even dangerous behavior. Understanding how to harness 19-49 is key.

As an authority, you need to wait for this wave-like energy to come and go rather than constantly riding it. By waiting to respond when 19-49 is "on", you make decisions true to your inner motivations. If you react when it's "off", you may regret choices. Learning this ebb and flow helps moderate extremes.

Channels impact each other, so 19-49 is flavored by your other authorities. But in general, having this motor defined means a dynamic push towards trail-blazing change, often through rebellious action. By understanding the wise and unwise ways this channel manifests and using strategies like waiting, deconditioning, and experimenting slowly, you can utilize 19-49 for positive transformation.

This rebellious energy can attune you to future trends before they become mainstream.

Having 19-49 activated suggests intuitive abilities related to sensing the zeitgeist, reading cultural and sociopolitical undercurrents, and prophesying what revolutionary shifts may be on the horizon. You can be quite skilled at predicting new movements, styles, or paradigms that shake up the status quo.

As a transformer energy, 19-49 may give you the innate capacity to scan both collective thoughtforms and the horizons of what’s possible, almost like an inner radar system attuned to anything progressive, trailblazing, unconventional or on the cutting edge. You can often spot burgeoning worldviews and innovations poised to disrupt accepted norms well before the crowd catches on.

With 19 defined especially, you likely have your finger on the pulse of what people deep down feel dissatisfied with or secretly want to see changed but don't openly talk about due to social programming or consensus trance. Tapping this can make you gifted at giving voice to issues or ideas that have been suppressed or taboo.

As a motor channel connected to informational waves, 19-49 can also download revelatory insights, visions of alternative possibilities or even mystical experiences - especially during periods of change, chaos or social unrest. The revolutionary insight that dawns may hold psychic clues for navigating eras of deep transition.

Having this energy defined can make you powerfully allergic to the status quo. It’s like you have built-in radar for internal or external shifts happening under the surface that signal change is afoot. By reading the signs, listening deep below consensus, and trusting your non-ordinary hunches, you unlock 19-49’s psychic potential to be a prophet of necessary transformation.

Tips for people with this channel:

Here are some tips for how to tap into the ebbs and flows of an activated 19-49 channel in Human Design, to discern if it is activated positively or negatively:

Track your emotional waves. When 19-49 is "on", you will likely feel energized, fired up for change, filled with avant-garde ideas. When it's "off", the revolutionary fever cools into mellowness or even apathy. Noticing these dramatic emotional shifts is key.

Pay attention to synchronicities and omens. The mystic Rainer Maria Rilke spoke of "confirmatory experiences" that validate when you're aligned with your authentic path. Notice what signs, symbols, messages arise when 19-49 is activated. Are they encouraging your radical side constructively?

Check your mental state. Is your mind speculative, imaginative, innovative when 19-49 is on - or scattered, conspiratorial, paranoid? The latter could indicate the channel is distorted. Stay grounded.

Assess your behavior objectively. Is your rebellion or rabble-rousing inspire progressive change or just petty chaos? Are you breaking conventions with purpose or just for shock value? Check your intentions.

Notice physical sensations. Do you feel buzzing inspiration or nervous agitation? Vitality or imbalance? Attune to your body's signals to read 19-49 clearly.

Consider gradual steps. Experiment cautiously when 19-49 is on so you don't risk burnout from overstimulation. Baby steps avoid big regrets!

With awareness and discernment, you can learn to ride the 19-49 wave skillfully, using its psychic gifts for radical yet enlightened change. Analyze the quality rather than quantity to know if you’re dialed in.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Introduction

There are no new ideas. There are only new ways of making them felt.

—Audre Lorde[1]

People who talk about revolution and class struggle without referring explicitly to everyday life, without understanding what is subversive about love and what is positive in the refusal of constraints—such people have a corpse in their mouth.

—Raoul Vaneigem[2]

Do not think that one has to be sad in order to be a militant, even though the thing one is fighting is abominable.

—Michel Foucault[3]

I

This book is an attempt to amplify some quiet conversations that have been happening for a long time, about the connections between resisting and thriving, about how we relate to each other in radical movements today, and about some of the barriers to collective transformation.

There is something that circulates in many radical movements and spaces, draining away their transformative potential. Anyone who has frequented these spaces has felt it. Many (including us) have actively participated in it, spread it, and been hurt by it. It nurtures rigidity, mistrust, and anxiety precisely where we are supposed to feel most alive. It compels us to search ourselves and others ruthlessly for flaws and inconsistencies. It crushes experimentation and curiosity. It is hostile to difference, complexity, and nuance. Or it is the most complex, the most nuanced, and everyone else is simplistic and stupid. Radicalism becomes an ideal and everyone becomes deficient in comparison.

The anxious posturing, the vigilant search for mistakes and limitations, the hostility that crushes a hesitant new idea, the way that critique becomes a reflex, the sense that things are urgent yet pointless, the circulation of the latest article tearing apart bad habits and behaviors, the way shaming others becomes comfortable, the ceaseless generation of necessities and duties, the sense of feeling guilty about one’s own fear and loneliness, the clash of political views that requires a winner and a loser, the performance of anti-oppressive language, the way that some stare at the floor or look at the door. We know these tendencies, intimately. We have seen them circulating, and felt them pass through us.

When we began talking with friends about this, there were immediate head nods, and sometimes excited eruptions—“YES! Finally someone is going to talk about this publicly!” No one knew exactly what it was or where it came from, but many knew exactly what we were talking about. Like us, they had felt it and participated in it. They had discussed it quietly and carefully with people they trusted. But it was hard to unpack, for a whole bunch of reasons. To complain or criticize it came with the risk of being attacked, shamed, or cast out. This phenomenon is difficult to talk about because it presents itself as the most radical, the most anti-oppressive, the most militant. It shape-shifts and multiplies itself: sometimes it appears as one rigid line, at other times as a proliferation of positions, arrayed against each other. How is it that explicitly radical, anti-oppressive, or anti-authoritarian spaces—the places where people should feel most alive and powerful—can sometimes feel cold, stifling, and rigid? What contributes to a climate in which one is never radical enough, where we have to continually prove our radicalness to others? What makes insecurity, distrust, anxiety, guilt, and shame so pervasive? Where does all this come from? What is this thing? Is it one thing, or many? What activates it, stokes it, and how can it be warded off?

We are not the first to try to get ahold of this phenomenon. It has gone by many names—sad militancy, grumpywarriorcool, manarchism, puritanism—each of which emphasizes different elements and sources. In this book, we call it rigid radicalism. Our research and experience lead us to think that its origins are as diverse as the phenomenon itself. Some say rigid radicalism comes from the way heteropatriarchy poisons intimacy with trauma and violence, while separating politics from everyday life. Others point to origins in the narcissistic and guilt-ridden individualism nurtured by whiteness. Or it is the way schooling replaces creativity and curiosity with conformity and evaluation. Or the humiliation of a life organized by capitalism, in which we are all pitted in petty competitions with each other. Or the way cynicism evolves from attempts to avoid pain and failure. Or it is identity politics fused with neoliberalism. And the terror and anxiety of a world in crisis. And the weakening of movements and a decline in militancy. Or it is the existence of radical milieus as such. And the deep insecurity nurtured by social media and its injunction to public performance. Or it is morality, or ideology, or the Left, or the Maoists, or the nihilists, or the moralists, or the ghost of Lenin. Probably there is some truth to all of these: it is definitely a tangled web.

It is important to say, from the outset, that we do not think the problem is simply anger, conflict, or difference. Whenever people name and challenge oppression and violence, there are almost always reactionaries telling them they are doing it wrong, that they need to be polite, nice, reasonable, peaceful, or patient. We want nothing to do with attempts to regulate resistance.

For this reason, we do not believe rigid radicalism can be countered by inventing a new set of norms for how to behave, or setting out a new ideal of what radicalism should be. There can be no instructions. This would just create a new ideal to measure ourselves against. It would just add to a long list of shoulds, dos, and don’ts that reactivates the problem. We hope to help undo tendencies towards regulation and policing, rather than playing into them.

Maybe we are stoking rigid radicalism right now, in writing about it. Searching out its roots and inner workings can recreate a stifling atmosphere where we feel like we are stuck, always lacking, always messing up, with no escape. Pointing to shame, rigidity, guilt, competition, or anxiety does not make them go away, and might make things worse. It is not a question of revealing the fact that we don’t treat each other well sometimes, or that movements can turn in on themselves; we know this already. These tendencies are a public secret: widely known, but difficult to talk about.[4] Tracing origins might not tell us much about what to do here and now. It is not about a few bad apples, or a few bad behaviors. For us at least, it cannot be reduced to those people over there, because we feel it arise in ourselves as well. There is no way to purify our movements of these tendencies, because the desire for purity is part of the problem.

So our project is not about being against rigid radicalism. We have become convinced that rigid radicalism cannot be countered by critique alone. Our critique and interrogation are a way of asking: how can we be otherwise? What makes it possible to activate something different? How to protect the something different once it gains traction? How to share experiences of places and spaces where something different is already taking place—where people feel more alive and capable?

The first step, for us, has been to affirm that we are already otherwise: we all have parts of ourselves that are drawn towards other ways of being. Everyone has glimmers, at least, of the ways that fierceness can be intertwined with kindness, and curiosity with transformation. Every space is a complex ecology of different tendencies. Rigid radicalism is always only one tendency among others. There are—and always have been—many places and spaces where alternatives are in full bloom. Beyond merely diagnosing or combating rigid radicalism, we seek to affirm the multiplicity of ways that spaces can be otherwise.

[karniss-bg3]

Hello! I've read all your stories about Kar'niss and liked them much. I've also dug recently into drider's lore and learned that driders can cast spells, but didn't understand whether all driders are able to do this, or not. How do you think, can Kar'niss cast any spell or not? And what would happen if he met other drider? Thank you in advance :)

Hiya! I'm glad you've enjoyed the writing.

According to the lore I've found, all driders can innately cast certain spells.

All driders could inherently cast clairaudience /clairvoyance, dancing lights, darkness, detect good, detect law, detect magic, dispel magic, faerie fire, levitate, and suggestion once per day. Dhairn once noted that these abilities were essentially the same as those owned by powerful blessed drow and used this fact to dupe driders into supporting his cause by calling them blessed creatures of Lolth by pointing this out.

Out of that list, the idea of any drider using levitate is a new fear I didn't know I had. Enjoy that bit of nightmare fuel, you're welcome.

Drider also carry over any spells and abilities they had pre-transformation. So if a drow was a wizard, they'd maintain their wizard spells once changed. While I don't know Kar'niss' full ability list, everyone who has fought him knows his default go-to spell; Sanctuary.

This spell has intrigued me a bit. Even though the information claims that drider can cast like clerics, wizards and sorcerers, it specifically goes into the cleric domains driders can cast from. I've checked all four; Chaos, Destruction, Evil and Trickery and none of them list Sanctuary as a spell drider can choose from.

This leaves one option, Paladin. I had an ask sometime ago where someone spoke of their ideal class for Kar'niss being Paladin. The more I thought about it the more I was like "Yeah, actually." There are other classes that can use the Sanctuary spell but they aren't included in BG3 as options, so I'll assume they don't exist in this realm. But it gets even weirder! The two oaths that can cast this spell specifically are oath of devotion and oath of redemption. In BG3 oath of redemption isn't available as a subclass but there is a fair amount of comparisons to be made. Truth is, either of them have cross-over characteristics that fall in line with Kar'niss' devout way of life. It's far too much information to pack into one post but I'll leave the links here to read over and compare at your leisure.

Paladin - Oath of Devotion

Paladin - Oath of Redemption

As for your second question, driders are known to be solitary creatures. However, they have also been reported to pair and live with a few driders and a collection of giant spiders. So Kar'niss could reasonably get along with other drider if the circumstances are right. If they are still Lolth-sworn he's more likely to be aggressive toward them and may even seek to destroy them. I think he might like having other drider around if only so he doesn't feel like the odd spider out, or just to have someone else to relate to. Thing is, I think his focus on the Absolute is so strong he likely cares for little else. Only Her approval matters, only Her attention matters, everyone else is a side character in his heroes journey.

Thanks for the ask!

[grawlix-ness]

The Big Sleet and Dingo Headcanon Post V2!

Bear in mind this is largely a collection of subconscious Notes app ramblings I’ve patched together so I may have made a few grammatical boo-boos or repeated myself here and there. It’s almost 4AM, I’m sure I’ve missed things. I’ll continue to add and edit this post should more ideas come to mind. Questions encouraged!

Cw: light implications of child neglect, mentions of drinking and mutant body horror

🔫 Sleet 🔪

Sleet was raised in the gutter. He knows a fair bit more than the average Lower Mobotropolis street urchin because his mom was an aristocrat until she was slandered by her peers and booted from high society. She taught him the essentials, and he learned everything else from scavenging library books. Presently, his education has all but fallen through the cracks. He tries to avoid reading most of the time. What will Dingo think if he learns he’s not the uber-genius he makes himself out to be? Why does he care what Dingo thinks? When such thoughts arise, they are pushed away and buried.

He has cybernetic implants to aid with frequent aches and muscle strain. In the winter, he struggles due to a lower cold threshold, the result of a fur and skin condition. Dingo knits sweaters for him. They’re oversized and kind of a mess. On particularly glacial nights, Sleet isn't averse to sharing warmth, willing to cuddle up and be the little spoon, so long as Dingo promises not to tell anyone. 

He had no friends growing up and was often picked on. His ailments and interest in science made him an easy target. Some of his peers disliked him on the very principle of him having an ex-aristocrat mother. This made him prickly and distant. While others played kickball or tag, he was tinkering with junkyard machinery or eavesdropping around spacer hangouts, dreaming of someday getting off planet and flying to a world that’d understand him. 

He’s quite good with a needle and thread and tailors his and Dingo’s ball outfits himself. Sleet gets his sewing skills from his mother. She was the personal outfitter and trusted right hand of an important noblewoman. As a pup, he adored listening to his mother’s stories of galas and masquerades. During such fleeting moments of peace, she’d also make costumes for him. He still heavily enjoys fashion, having a closet dedicated to fancy capes. 

Sometime in his tumultuous childhood, Sleet discovered there was an Honor Guard. He admired their outfits and swordsmanship. Most of all he wanted to join so he and his mother could live in the warmth and safety of a castle. He even fashioned a costume out of his mother’s fabric scraps, complete with a sword made from a rusted metal pipe. She was quick to dash those dreams and didn’t take kindly to him borrowing her things, especially not for such a “ridiculous” project. During lonesome, existential nights he wonders how differently things could have turned out if he had become a member of the guard after all. 

When his mother was absent or too volatile to be around, Sleet found company in local mechanics.  He learned how to swindle and cheat with the best of them. One shop owner actually took him under her wing, viewing his perceived weaknesses as strengths. 

Sleet first developed the transmogrifier as a kid. He used it not only to defend himself against the local rabble rousers and humiliate them. It wasn’t a complete success, only partially transforming targets, giving them wings or eyestalks and other unwieldy appendages. Transformations were temporary. No less horrifying however. 

He calls himself a jack of all trades. This title is dubious. Thanks to an enriching education from the school of hard knocks, he does have an approximate knowledge regarding a variety of things, though it’s usually limited to topics relating to self-preservation and chicanery. 

Animals don’t like Sleet and aren’t afraid to let him know. It’s become a standing joke. Dingo teases him for it, despite the fact that, because of his stature, toothy countenance, and tendency to squeeze or pet too hard, he isn’t the best with animals either. 

Sleet is a skilled marksman. He prefers distance, specializing in both handguns and long guns. If the weight class is right and the odds are in his favor, he can hold his own in close quarters using an array of hidden fighting knives and some rudimentary martial arts. Sleet simply won’t hear that his cape is a hindrance, even when this has been proven multiple times. All that being said, Sleet is more of a fleer than a fighter. He is an unabashed coward, not opposed to unning away screaming with his tail between his legs. 

While preferring motorcycles, he’s not half bad at riding animal mounts, thanks to the teachings of cowboy bounty hunter and old flame Fleabyte. It is serendipitous that he’s acquired this ability, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to stay on as well after zapping Dingo into a beast of burden. The poor brute has heard a lifetime’s worth of ass jokes from his rider. 

He enjoys strategizing and has free time stored away solely for scheming purposes. These lovingly-crafted plans generally go awry due to Dingo’s haphazard, devil-may-care nature and forgetfulness. That’s not to say Sleet would do better in the bounty hunting business on his own. He has the upper body strength of a wet noodle and a predilection for monologues and theatrics. He needs someone to shake him out of these ego trances.

Sleet uses his hands often when talking. Lots of flourishes and waves, tapping his chin as he feigns uncertainty, balling his fists and involuntarily shaking them when incensed. Little itchy, twitchy movements. Dingo finds it most endearing. 

Though tech-savvy and clever, his anger and pride sometimes get the best of him, leading him to make less than wise decisions, such as forcing machines past their breaking points or abandoning plans the moment his buttons are pushed. 

Sleet is not good at maintaining his hygiene, hence the hedgehogs’ odor-themed jabs. He'll polish and shine his armor until it glistens, yet giving the suit an interior deep clean is far from his mind. He's become so dependent on the power high and protection the suit gives him that he rarely takes it off. Dingo found this strange and a little concerning at first, but Sleet has convinced him that a good bounty hunter is always prepared in case of ambush. The thick polluted air of Robotropolis doesn't do any favors for his mangy fur coat either. So if anyone's a flea hotel, it's Sleet, though you’d be hard-pressed to find any fleas that’d give his scrawny hide the time of day.

Underneath that armor, he wears a black one-piece bodysuit  made of a silky, breathable material, more resilient than it appears. Sleet is skin and bones. It’s why he prefers working with a partner. He went through—or rather left for dead—dozens of other partners before finding a suitable match. Dingo’s hardy. Sturdy. Loyal. Revoltingly sweet. He’s an intriguing oddity to him. Dingo could easily kill him and yet he doesn’t. For a time Sleet wondered if he was just too dim to ever consider betrayal. 

He’s not big on displays of affection or people entering his personal bubble. However, when traversing through big crowds, he always presses close to Dingo, sometimes even reaches for his hand. 

Considers himself sophisticated. He’ll generally greet with a low bow and flourish, allies and enemies alike. Has neat freak tendencies, despite the fact he’s a hot mess himself.  In short, rules for thee, but not for me. There’s often a mental tug of war between his debonair self and the mouth-frothing sewer rat that lies deeper beneath. 

Sleet has a bad habit of late night tinkering.  He isn’t actively trying to be a night owl, time gets away from him. If Dingo doesn’t carry him off to bed beforehand, he ends up hunched over and asleep at his study. It does no favors for his already poor posture and eye bags. 

His reputation precedes him. When he freelanced, many bounty hunters steered clear of him because he was a noted cheat that backstabbed his partners. Despite these unsavory exploits, he manages to reel in even the most disconcerting of clients via ingratiation, boasting a nigh supernatural silver tongue. Those who’ve been tricked by him before cite his wordsmithing as being almost hypnotic. 

He tries his damndest not to acknowledge Dingo’s gaga eyes and honey glow cheeks. More times than one would deem platonic, he’s gotten distracted by Dingo’s chest. Though, to his credit, it’s hard not to when your co-pilot’s almost always shirtless and idly flexing his muscles. Even harder when you’re pinned beneath his chest—Dingo could make tripping over his feet a professional sport. 

💪 Dingo 🧬

Dingo has a sizable extended family, a horde of siblings and cousins back home. His destructive tendencies came as no shock to his aunts who raised him, since the family business used to be organized crime. The syndicate disintegrated long before Dingo was born, other groups like the Toad Warriors and Bear Pack Bikers quickly outcompeting them. 

Has no memory of his mother or father and holds no ill-will towards them. He has plenty of wild theories about their disappearance though. Everything from being lost at sea to being flattened by an asteroid. Whatever it was, he’s convinced it must have been legendary.

Of his litter he is the eldest brother. Barring fur color, none of his family look quite like him. His spots and flopped ear are noted recessive traits. His more dramatic features are the result of an understudied mutant gene. Nobody’s sure where in the family tree it came from. So far as Sleet can glean, it’s one in a billion, a title Dingo wears proudly. He isn’t interested in making connections with any long lost relatives, fearing there could be someone out there better than him at all things mutant. 

Dingo grew up in the outback of Trailius, quite some distance away from the hustle and bustle of Mobotropolis. He was a rambunctious, often rude and aggressive child. A typical schoolyard bully. Sometimes he would lament over his appearance and wish other kids invited him to play, but those moments were short-lived. Fortunately for his peers he could be easily tricked or bribed with sweets. 

Whereas Sleet took up inventing and sewing, Dingo loved throwing his weight around and exploring the great outdoors, wrestling every beast he came across and scaring vacationing campers late at night by pretending to be a Mobian-eating monster. 

In pursuit on foot, Dingo is bad at maneuvering sharp turns. His topheaviness and clumsy feet have cost a number of hunts. 

He has a sweet tooth. One thing he appreciates about the aristocracy is their love of extravagant desserts. 

He is very naïve and trusting. It was worse when Sleet wasn’t in the picture to talk him out of things. A country boy in the big city, Dingo was scammed out of a lot of his Mobium when he first arrived in Lower Mobotropolis. The shell game was just too alluring. 

Dingo is not so oblivious that he can’t rebuke Sleet’s gratuitous blaming. He can be sassy. Those who’ve had the displeasure of working with them can attest that, when tensions are high, they have the propensity to bicker like an old married couple. 

For someone who was raised in Trailius, he is unusually afraid of spiders and other crawly arachnids. He doesn’t enjoy turning into insects either, finding the overall sensation, in his words, icky. 

Transformation is typically painless. He tends to be sore after taking on the more abstract forms. If the strain is really bad, he will go to Sleet and ask to be massaged. Sleet used to refuse, but he has since humored him, asserting that he’s only doing it to check for signs of molecular decay. 

Dingo can morph without the assistance of the transmogrifier, though the process is slower. It depends on how distant taxonomically-speaking the chosen form is from his mammalian base. These transformations are not too pleasant visually or audially, so the remote is preferred.

Dingo’s mutant abilities have some drawbacks. Because of his rapid healing, his body will try to stop him from getting tipsy and keep him on his A-game.  He has to drink by the barrel to feel even the slightest buzz. Additionally, being stuck in one form for too long can leave him achy and disoriented, and if he changes too frequently his molecules buckle and unravel. It’s not a pretty sight. Sleet even theorizes that if he’s in a form for over two hours, he will get stuck that way. They have had close calls before, where after finally being turned back from a Mobini, some behavioral traits of the animal lingered.

Before meeting Sleet, Dingo could only morph if he remained focused, and those transformations were generally simple, such as limb multiplication or extension. The transmogrifier effectively glues his molecules together, meaning he doesn’t have to exert his concentration anymore. Colors are still somewhat of a challenge, tinted with his default orange. Nevertheless, he fools the untrained eye. When tasked with disguising as another Mobian, Sleet coaches him and will always supply him with a hidden microphone. 

After an especially big transformation, Dingo becomes so drowsy he can hardly stand. All that molecular stretching and rearranging, it’s draining. When he wakes, he is insatiably hungry. Which is saying a lot because Dingo already packs food away like it’s nothing due to his bulking regime. 

His accelerated metabolism often manifests in odd cravings, such as tuna and peanut butter sandwiches or pickle and pineapple ice cream sundaes. Sleet wishes he’d partake in his experimental cuisine somewhere else. Preferably out of the Red Whiptail’s cockpit—he gets crumbs everywhere. Despite being an extreme omnivore, Dingo cannot handle spicy food.

When he’s not making unusual combinations, and in turn making Sleet’s stomach churn, Dingo’s a decent chef. Messy, but decent. He’s the more culinarily adept of the two and makes dinner when time allows. 

He likes scrapbooking. Dingo has more stationary and cute pens than he knows what to do with. Unfortunately he’s heavy-handed, so many of his supplies are worn with love. He keeps mementos of every successful hunt. Little knick knacks and trinkets, maybe the occasional tooth from a beaten adversary.

Not necessarily a couch potato, though does spend most of his downtime lounging in front of the TV. He enjoys playing video games, although he’s not very good at them on account of his itchy trigger finger skipping past tutorial levels.  As long as he can shoot or smash things or toss chubby penguins off cliffs, he’s happy. He watches mainly big loud action movies, corny rom-coms, and slapstick cartoons. Sleet believes his screen time will rot the little left of his brain, though he has shown some interest in the historical Delmontian dramas Dingo skips past while channel surfing.

Has been known to boast quite the sailor mouth. It doesn’t happen often, the most foul only invoked for particularly painful offenses like stubbing a toe. Sleet doesn’t know what half the Trailian swears mean and at this point he’s afraid to ask.

Dingo does not like shirts. He especially hates the tuxedos and dresses Sleet makes him wear whenever there’s a bounty on an aristocrat. He tries to keep his grumbling to a minimum because dressing up makes Sleet happy. In casual settings, if more than his shorts is outright necessary, he’ll wear a quippy graphic tank top.

When they go out of town, Dingo always hits up a tourist trap or two, no matter how blatantly overpriced or mind-numbing. He’s a big fan of carnivals and amusement parks. Dingo’s demolished many strength tester games and would most assuredly be banned if he wasn't one of Robotnik's hirelings.

Not the sharpest tool in the shed, true, but he is definitely the more emotionally aware of the duo. When it comes to personal matters, he’s a good listener.

He has a twinge of separation anxiety. It’s not super debilitating, he just gets restless if Sleet is away for long. He can be possessive. This proves a problem whenever Sleet goes Casanova Mode to retrieve information from targets. It’s worth noting Sleet has moments of jealousy too when Dingo manages to hit it off with others, though he’d never admit it.

The hedgehog triplets are aware of Dingo’s crush on Sleet. To catch him off guard, they’ll sometimes slyly allude to it, much to a flustered Dingo’s chagrin.

Finds Sleet’s voice very soothing. It’s so soft and muted. He could listen to it all day. Often he does since, while certainly less exuberant than Dingo, Sleet can be a chatterbox when it comes to aristocratic gossip and comparing blaster models.

Despite being certifiably canine, Dingo makes all manner of noises. He snorts and huffs like a bull when upset and can unleash fearsome, leonine roars. When happy, he rumbles. 

Excitable. Liable to break the nearest object in vicinity from pure exuberation. 

Dingo can’t see well without his glasses. Despite the swanky look, they are in fact prescription. If they’re misplaced or knocked off by a meddlesome hedgehog, his clumsiness is increased tenfold. He is gentle when handling them. 

Dingo wears a bracer on his right leg. In a comedy of errors, he injured his leg as a pup while playing with a slingshot. For reasons unknown, his healing factor neglected to kick in. His knee aches at times. Dingo mostly wears it because he finds it cool and fashionable. 

His fighting knowledge is limited to the concept of hitting, hitting hard, and hitting dirty. He has no formal training, relying on instinct and what he’s seen on television to best enemies. His moves are sloppy and unrefined, but no less formidable. As a mutant shapeshifter, he’s also granted a number of potential forms. Even without Sleet’s transmogrifier, his elasticity allows him to grow in size and turn his arms into whipping tentacles or his hands into mallets. He could finish fights before they even start with this power, however Dingo prefers to milk his battles for all their worth. Some Freedom Fighters have reported seeing him actually play with the battered and unconscious like they’re dolls. 

He is actually well-kempt all things considered. Dingo enjoys bubble baths and singing—or caterwauling, as Sleet calls it—in the shower. His fur coat is soft and surprisingly dense, especially in the winter when it grows out. He sheds and has to brush himself fairly often. If he’s in a good mood, Sleet will help. The mastiff-like skin folds around his neck also have to be cleaned regularly. His mane is naturally bristly, akin to that of a wild boar. It softens somewhat after a good shampoo.

Dingo makes the first moves. He is usually the one who initiates. Trouble is, if it doesn’t involve flexing his guns or pulling a smoldering expression, Dingo’s bad at flirting. His word choice is . . . unique. Lummox that he is, his compliments come across more like threats. Turns out Sleet does not in fact appreciate being called small, fragile, and edible among other things. He’s since tried to alleviate this by writing down pick-up lines on his hand. 

Dingo’s definitely the more doggish of the two. He wags his tail, something seen as uncouth in aristocratic social circles and immature in most other places. He’s wounded himself on occasions by wagging so hard. Dingo also barks when he gets too excited or surprised and, due to his muzzle structure, is predisposed to drooling. If Dingo is proving particularly stubborn about going into a death trap or being used as bait, Sleet can convince him with a scritch between the ears. 

Additional Information

Their partnership was bumpy at first. Their differing personalities clashed and sometimes led to physical altercations. Nothing too dramatic of course, they are still cartoon animals after all. Dingo pulled his punches. Sleet might have been a nag, but he didn’t want to see him hurt.

Sleet and Dingo are both bisexual. Dingo has a slight preference towards men and masc folks. Sleet is trans. He performed his top surgery himself. Despite the quality of the tools he had at the time, his scars have healed remarkably well.

The two are very competitive. Before being hired by Robotnik, on particularly uneventful nights they played board games. They’re both cheaters so they went around in circles for hours. Lots of yelling, finger pointing, and eventually falling into a heap on the floor because they stayed awake all night trying to psyche each other out.

When they manage to squeeze any free time out of their schedule, they enjoy going to arcades and stealing prizes from kids. They also like to take potshots at the irradiated wildlife on the outskirts of Robotropolis and do prank calls—the Robotnik Intelligence Agency being a favorite victim.

Dingo believes that Sleet’s love language is mockery. That might not be too far from the truth. Sleet genuinely doesn’t know how to express himself. He doesn’t altogether know if he wants to. Sleet’s trained himself to think the worst of everyone so he’s not disappointed or hurt in the long run. In truth, Sleet appreciates acts of service. Dingo’s love language is considerably more simple, as things regarding Dingo so often are. Dingo’s huggy, nuzzly, altogether physically affectionate.

Sleet snores terribly. It’s not so much the volume as it is the whistling his nose makes. He’ll never admit to it, and gets flustered whenever Dingo tells him. Fortunately the walls of Robotnik’s fortress are thicker than those of their previous abodes, giving Dingo the chance to rest easy.

Dingo doesn’t understand mirrors. Sleet, egotist that he is, rather likes mirrors. He hasn’t owned any since the incident. It’d be a hassle to clean up glass and find a replacement everytime Dingo popped his head into Sleet’s quarters. Sleet has explained how reflections work to him several times before, yet it never seems to stick.

In his default state, Dingo has a strongman build. Sleet is a beanpole. Without his boots and shoulderpads, he’s slightly shorter than Dingo.

As far as affairs of the heart go, their relationship is unspoken. Dingo’s doing all he can, Sleet pretends he doesn’t see it, as on principle he believes love is for fools. There may or may not have been some wild nights where he had too much wine and slurred a few things suggesting otherwise however. He’s softening up to the idea, even if he doesn’t know it yet. In essence, he’s perpetually stuck in a “I Won’t Say (I’m In Love)” loop, because he’s a shitty little tsundere.

[x-soapbox-x]

Also I resent the idea that the ‘girl dinner’ thing isn’t an important thing to talk about. Like, we all know exactly what girl dinner is, it widely impacted the way women think about their food, and it has woven itself, briefly, into the greater cultural lexicon. Like, women’s relationships to food are already extremely varied and political. I have heard people talk about how girl dinner is a feminist concept bc it shows women being more concerned with the consumption of food rather then the preparation of it thereby divorcing themselves from the expectation to be a cook and in the kitchen dictated by their gender role. I’ve heard it called anti- feminist bc it encourages disordered eating in a landscape where women are already encouraged to engage in disordered eating. I’ve heard it framed as a push back against capitalistic burn out- I’ve heard it called a symptom of hustle culture. I’ve heard discussions on why it’s “girl” dinner and not anything else. Like, yes it’s a meme, it’s a joke it’s funny funny haha. But memes kind of collectively express our zeitgeist- it’s a way we all communicate with each other in a type of short hand that’s founded on everyone comprehending what’s going on underneath the hood of the joke, and they get in our heads and wiggle around and inform the ways we relate to ourselves. And memes are inherently transformative and meant to be played with and everyone will riff off any particular bit for months after. So I think talking about these things is revealing and relevant and exactly what think pieces should be about.

That being said, none of the conversation can even happen if fucking publications won’t stop laying off all their writers and hiding their shit behind paywalls so nobody is writing and nobody is reading, it’s just endless AI generated headlines that all link to a page asking you to pay 50 dollars a year to read words on a screen.

Do we just have no standards whatsoever about what things are worthwhile to talk about

[tezzylovesfash]

How to style the John Galliano Gazette shirt - all about how the famous newspaper print came to be....

Okay, so actually, let's get on with it and jump to a little more exciting piece. I recently purchased a vintage Galliano shirt with the infamous gazette print and I love it.

Obviously we all know (because the whole world concerns itself with fashion... not) the print from the above pop culture moment on the right, which took place in the year 2000, namely Carrie Bradshaws's dress. And then a little more recently the print was worn by Kim. I missed out on the Kim moment. But then also, I have little feelings about the Kardashians [nor love, nor hate, they're there].

I want to style my gazette shirt appropriately, okur?

Therefore I'd like to dive a little deeper into how the newspaper print came to be. Let's start with its first appearance on the catwalk.

That was during the 2000 Fall / Winter ready to wear Dior show with designs under the creative direction of John Galliano. When this happened I was mainly concerned with My little pony and Pokémon, as I was seven years old. I have no memory of this show and also have never seen all the looks from it. Now I have and the show was... well... there were 61 looks and many different moods. On first sight that feels hectic and 'all-over-the-place', but also I love Galliano, so go right ahead and give me this manic milkshake. What does Vogue say about this show?

"After the furor over his last Dior "hobo" couture collection, designer John Galliano crowded the mirrored runway with throwaway luxe outfits that took a leaf—make that a volume or two—from the opulent style manuals of the contemporary rap world."

Other than Vogues review, I find it hard to find what else inspired the show. Possibly because it was in the shadow of Galliano's wonderful and crazy-ass Fall 2000 couture show?

When I look at the show , it doesn't necessarily scream 'contemporary rap world' at me throughout all the looks. However, I can see influences. The fur coats in the first 4 looks, the slanted hat of look 3. However, the brown colors up until look 6 I associate with vintage Hollywood glamour rather than 'the rap world'. The looks after that cary a stronger link I'd say; The contemporary' purple and the leopard print; The golden knee high boots; The leopard patch jeans with the CD bling. Then at look 29 we get to the gazette part of the show. I guess I can see how the newspaper relates to the rap culture in terms of fame (spread of gossip, upcoming information era). Only the sci-fi looking make-up throws me off. Maybe we'll understand it better when we learn more about the history of the print later on.

Where did the gazette print come from? Was Galliano the 'gazette' founder?

No he wasn't. It was miss Schiaparelli who made the print famous in 1935, I read on Harpers Bazaar:

"Elsa Schiaparelli took press clippings written about her and transformed them into printed blouses and accessories. The designer noted in her autobiography that this idea came about after being inspired when travelling to Denmark on holiday, where she saw fishwives in Copenhagen wearing hats made of newspaper."

That's cool. Let's see if we can find some more inspiration here. Did these hats serve a function and were they part of the work attire of the so called "fishwives"? Did it serve a fishing purpose (lol)? Why wear paper hats?

After a little while trying to find the correct Google terms to let Google work for me, I've found what I was looking for. The hats that Schiaparelli saw, probably were 'Printer's hats' or 'Pressman hats'. The hat actually did serve a functional purpose. In the late 19th century, working class tradesmen didn't have the money to buy a proper hat. This blog tells me that the paper hat was supposed to keep hair out of your face while working. This hat was especially often used by people working as printers (hence, the name). Later, when the newspapers got smaller and (cheaper and) less sturdy the hats became less common.

Somewhere between Schiaparelli and Galliano there was another moment when wearing paper was big. Inspired by (the great gift of) fast fashion the 1960's paper dresses were huge (I mean you could just throw it away and then buy another one for cheap! Amazing when you live in the 1960's and don't care about sustainability yet!).

From Schiaparelli to paper dresses, there seems to be an undeniable link between (news)paper and the working class. Newspapers and paper in general were within easy reach for the less wealthy. With other words: (news)paper stands for affordability.

So, if I chose to style the gazette paper nowadays is that the point of view I'm relating to? Was that the point of view Galliano was relating to as well? That sounds believeable. Nonetheless, if that would be true why would Galliano put that print on a piece of clothing that's not affordable for the poor?

The only imaginable answer to me is that it's a lash out towards the wealthy community. Or, if it's not a lash out, it at the least shows the incredible irony of rich people appropriating materials used by the lower classes for the sake of looking cool. Even more ironic is that after Galliano's show, the upper class went crazy for Galliano's print.

If the print is apparently that appealing that you can totally ignore the fact that it was a statement against YOU, what the bananas is the appeal of that freaking print?

I'm curious if there's any other examples before Galliano and Schiaparelli where the print was used and what could've been the reasons for that, then.

Diet Prada tells me that Schiaparelli wasn't the first designer to use the newspaper print.

A couturier had already done this a couple of decades ago. Above you see the dress of Matilda Butters, wife of an Australian politician, that she wore in 1866 to 'The Mayor's Fancy Dress Ball'. It's called 'The Press Dress'. The dress was made by local dressmaker Mrs. William Dobbs. The article mentions the dress was made from mostly (partially machine sewed) silk satin and the print was printed using printing plates from 13 different Melbourne newspapers. That was all radically high end for that time.

So why did Mrs. Dobbs choose to print newspaper? It's a mere speculation because the web doesn't mention anything about it, but I have a feeling the reason had more to do with being original within the limitations of the printing equipment than with intrinsic inspiration like Galliano. From what I understand, at that time machine printing was already invented. Still, it seems unlikely to me that a local dressmaker had a huge expensive machine more commonly used for mass production. Also high end and more common was copper plating. With this technique one etches a design onto a copper plate. That plate is then stamped with die onto the textile. I wonder if Mrs. Dobbs etched all newspaper prints by laying them onto a copper plate and then just etching through the paper, or something? That would be a huge time consuming and expensive process. At the same time, the details of these images seem so intricate, she would have been a freaking etching genius to do that by hand. I suppose I understand too little about this process to speculate.

Whatever the process might have been, the above linked article does mention:

"The highly anticipated event, was said to be the sole topic of conversation in social circles at the time, according to the following day’s newspaper coverage in the Age, and must have been an extravagant occasion for more than 1200 frocked-up revellers."

Matilda Butters might have wanted to stand out of the crowd by wearing a dress that is (1) incredibly luxurious and (2) original. So, in this case the newspaper print stood for wealth.

Unfortunately, if that theory is right, then Matilda and Mrs. Dobbs would have gone for any print that would have showed how time consuming thus expensive the making of this dress was. It may have been newspaper by default. In any case, this is still mere speculation, thus a dead end.

Okay, back to Harpers Bazaar, because that article learned me something else about Galliano.

For the 2000 Dior show Galliano was inspired by poverty and homeless people in special.

"The designer, no stranger to courting controversy, made headlines with his headline-printed pieces, which were inspired by homeless people sleeping on newspapers on the streets of Paris and a nod to the 1920s Tramp Balls, where the rich would dress up as the poor for fun."

Aside from 'rap culture', 'tramp balls' was an inspiration for the print as well. Maybe we can find answers for the appeal of the print and consequently styling inspiration here.

But first, if I may, tramp balls? What the actual Fek? That sounds like an awful party. Could you imagine being invited by your friend for the theme party 'mock the poor!'.

Is Harper Bazaars' journalism on point here? Although I do believe there are terrible people on this planet who might like to gather and have their devil dance party, I have a few question marks above my head.

According to Harpers Bazaar, these balls were supposed to be for rich, so high class, people. I wonder whether it was morally okay for the upper class to openly diminish other people. Especially considering this was a time where ladies wearing pants was ought not to be talked about. Where these rich fox stuck up in daylight and evil vulgar beasts by night? What were these tramp balls about?

Other than shopping advice for actual balls (the kind you throw around), Google gives me nothing on tramp balls. I have to dig a little deeper.

I hardly know which route to take, but let's talk a little bit more about 'the tramp'. I know that 'the tramp' was a comedy character Charlie Chaplin invented somewhere in 1910. The tramp was a character of low social status, often pretending to be one of the high status men and by that reaching his goals with as little effort as possible. Being that Chaplin grew up in a lower class himself, it's doubtful that he actually tried to make fun of poor people in a mean way. I'd say that Charlie Chaplin with his characters wanted to portray the fact that there were different social classes in a time where class differences weren't acknowledged.

Then, the 1920 party's. Who partied and how? Well, even though my own assumption was that partying was only for the rich, that's not the whole truth. It's no secret that war (unfortunately) is pretty good for the economy. After WWI western economy was on the rise and also concentrated itself in the cities. The middle class now actually had some more money to spend. And they absolutely loved to spend it. Even more so because the 1920's was a time of liberation, especially for women. Since the 20's it became more accepted for women to drink, smoke, go wherever they wanted without chaperone, date men without marrying them, dance with whomever they liked, work (a little bit) and vote. So they did. A lot. And well, the men, didn't mind to tag along. Enter: roaring parties.

The older more conservative generations didn't like these new tendencies at all. In an attempt to tame the young, alcohol became prohibited (and so the speakeasy's arose). Partying was for the young, rebellious spirited people.

My deduction is that these 'tramp balls' weren't so much for old money pricks who'd enjoyed waltzing around while mocking the homeless, but wild youngsters probably crazy about the Charlie Chaplin pictures they saw in the cinema. If that's true, then Harpers Bazaar explanation "(...) nod to the 1920s Tramp Balls, where the rich would dress up as the poor for fun (...)" isn't completely incorrect, because, yes, only people with money to spend would've been at the speakeasies. However, the younger zeitgeist was more about living out your most extravagant and vulgair self. What's extravagant? Theme parties. When do you feel vulgair? When you think yourself a character that dares to do things that are considered morally incorrect or unaccepted.

That's something I (and I think many) can totally relate to. There's something really liberating about dressing up as a big fat slut, L O L. Think I'm weird for saying this if you will, but then think about what you did and/or looked like last Halloween, Carnaval or any other crazy costumed holiday. Looking and acting tacky is breaking restrictions.

Dressing like a slut is freedom.

That sentiment is something that translates through time. After the recent lock downs, we've realized once again what an absolute joy it is to feel unrestricted. Unrestrictedness is carelessness, it's mental and physical space, it's hope, it's right to exist and matter, to do and be what you want without worry. That is what 'freedom' really means. And that's absolutely one of the best feelings in the world. It's like being able to finally breath and the air you breath feels like it's filled with the highest quality and most purifying oxygen you've ever breathed (I know that's technically impossible but that's what it feels like).

Also it's something that really translates well into fashion. Whether it's sexual freedom, freedom of love, freedom of gender, freedom of class, financial freedom, I can think of multiple moments in time where we've dressed ourselves with the thought 'today I'm breaking free'. It's a lovely starting point when choosing an outfit.

However, putting that sentiment in context of time, for example of the 1920's OR the 00's, it's open to moral interpretation.

If I may believe the couple of resources I've been able to find, Galliano's interpretation of that sentiment is that this sentiment is perverse and superficial. We like to live our pleasurable freedom over the backs of the poor, the ones who sleep on newspapers. We're even using these newspapers to look our fanciest. Which is interesting as it relativizes the importance of fashion when you put that on the runway of one of the biggest fashion houses. With his first 28 looks - the 'rap' inspired looks - he creates a parallel with the time the show was made. That point is still valid nowadays and especially in the year 2000 when 'becoming rich and famous for whatever reason' was becoming more and more romanticized.

This makes me think. To what extent do I want to get the pleasures I can get - me with my freedom - and at what cost?

This question almost pushes me into an existential crisis. I definitely don't want to live my pleasures over the backs of the fragile. Although I might have been guilty of that. For one, by purchasing clothing from company's that still use sweatshops. Though purchasing clothing sounds more like a trivial dilemma than an existential one, it's one of the smaller choices many people make on a day-to-day basis that will reveal something about who you want to be in the world.

I don't want to indirectly invest in companies that contribute to a world that I don't want to live in by purchasing from them. However, most sustainable clothing is above my budget. I do go to thrift stores but if I just want something basic, there's a big chance it might not be there or not in my size (let alone sportswear, underwear, socks etcetera). I sound like a pitycase if I say 'it takes me days over the time span of months to find a simple item'. Are these my biggest problems? The answer is: no they aren't, that's exactly why I don't want to and can't spend many hours digging through the racks. However, sometimes I just need new pants and yes, I like them to fit and look nice. So at times I crack. And buy a pair that meets none of my standards. Just because I'm tired.

My point is: when it comes to the above question, times have changed drastically. Unfortunately not so much how all people (including myself) are acting upon it, but mostly how we feel about it. In the 2000's it was still tolerated when Paris Hilton NOT ironically wore a shirt with 'stop being poor'. On a small side note (but not really), I have recently learned that Paris Hilton claimed in 2021 that the text on the shirt was photoshopped and the original said 'stop being desperate'. The thing is though, why is she claiming that 21 (!) years later?

I think I have a theory. Because she's afraid of being cancelled. Which is a realistic fear in our current time. We all have zero tolerance for hypocrisy and opportunists. And when you're a hypocrite or an opportunist, chances are you're also a hedonist. Of course there's plenty of hedonists, but most people around me are not in a hurry to claim their hedonist acts out loud. I too always test the water before telling I sometimes do eat meat. Why does this all matter in the context of this blog about styling? Well, because it can give direction to how you'll style the shirt within the context of an outfit based on the current zeitgeist.

A synthesis

I feel like I know a lot more and have much much much input for styling. I think it's time to come to a conclusion and, even more fun, to find some ways to style her. I'll talk more about that in the next blog so I can fi-na-lly (FINALLY) post this one.

Catch ya later!

[96thdayofrage]

What is Critical Race Theory?

Basically, Critical Race Theory is a way of using race as a lens through which one can critically examine social structures. While initially used to study law, like most critical theory, it emerged as a lens through which one could understand and change politics, economics and society as a whole. Richard Delgado and Jean Stefancic’s book, Critical Race Theory: An Introduction, describes the movement as: “a collection of activists and scholars engaged in studying and transforming the relationship among race, racism, and power.”

Kimberlé Crenshaw, one of the founding members of the movement, says Critical Race Theory is more than just a collective group. She calls it: “a practice—a way of seeing how the fiction of race has been transformed into concrete racial inequities.”

It’s much more complex than that, which is why there’s an entire book about it.

Can you put it in layman’s terms?

Sure.

Former economics professor (he prefers the term “wypipologist”) Michael Harriot, who used Critical Race Theory to teach “Race as an Economic Construct,” explained it this way:

Race is just some shit white people made up.

Nearly all biologists, geneticists and social scientists agree that there is no biological, genetic or scientific foundation for race. But, just because we recognize the lack of a scientific basis for race doesn’t mean that it is not real. Most societies are organized around agreed-upon principles and values that smart people call “social constructs.” It’s why Queen Elizabeth gets to live in a castle and why gold is more valuable than iron pyrite. Constitutions, laws, political parties, and even the value of currency are all real and they’re shit people made up.

To effectively understand anything we have to understand its history and what necessitated its existence. Becoming a lawyer requires learning about legal theory and “Constitutional Law.” A complete understanding of economics include the laws of supply and demand, why certain metals are considered “precious,” or why paper money has value. But we can’t do that without critically interrogating who made these constructs and who benefitted from them.

One can’t understand the political, economic and social structure of America without understanding the Constitution. And it is impossible to understand the Constitution without acknowledging that it was devised by 39 white men, 25 of whom were slave owners. Therefore, any reasonable understanding of America begins with the critical examination of the impact of race and slavery on the political, economic and social structure of this country.

That’s what Critical Race Theory does.

How does CRT do that?

It begins with the acknowledgment that the American society’s foundational structure serves the needs of the dominant society. Because this structure benefits the members of the dominant society, they are resistant to eradicating or changing it, and this resistance makes this structural inequality.

Critical Race Theory also insists that a neutral, “color-blind” policy is not the way to eliminate America’s racial caste system. And, unlike many other social theories, CRT is an activist movement, which means it doesn’t just seek to understand racial hierarchies, it also seeks to eliminate them.

How would CRT eliminate that? By blaming white people?

This is the crazy part. It’s not about blaming anyone.

Instead of the idiotic concept of colorblindness, CRT says that a comprehensive understanding of any aspect of American society requires an appreciation of the complex and intricate consequences of systemic inequality. And, according to CRT, this approach should inform policy decisions, legislation and every other element in society.

Take something as simple as college admission, for instance. People who “don’t see color” insist that we should only use neutral, merit-based metrics such as SAT scores and grades. However, Critical Race Theory acknowledges that SAT scores are influenced by socioeconomic status, access to resources and school quality. It suggests that colleges can’t accurately judge a student’s ability to succeed unless they consider the effects of the racial wealth gap, redlining, and race-based school inequality. Without this kind of holistic approach, admissions assessments will always favor white people.

CRT doesn’t just say this is racist, it explains why these kinds of race-neutral assessments are bad at assessing things.

What’s wrong with that?

Remember all that stuff I said the “material needs of the dominant society?” Well, “dominant society” means “white people.” And when I talked about “racial hierarchies,” that meant “racism.” So, according to Critical Race Theory, not only is racism an ordinary social construct that benefits white people, but it is so ordinary that white people can easily pretend it doesn’t exist. Furthermore, white people who refuse to acknowledge and dismantle this unremarkable, racist status quo are complicit in racism because, again, they are the beneficiaries of racism.

But, because white people believe racism means screaming the n-word or burning crosses on lawns, the idea that someone can be racist by doing absolutely nothing is very triggering. Let’s use our previous example of the college admissions system.

White people’s kids are more likely to get into college using a racist admissions system. But the system has been around so long that it has become ordinary. So ordinary, in fact, that we actually think SAT scores mean shit. And white people uphold the racist college admissions system—not because they don’t want Black kids to go to college—because they don’t want to change admission policies that benefit white kids.

Is that why they hate Critical Race Theory?

Nah. They don’t know what it is.

Whenever words “white people” or “racism” are even whispered, Caucasian Americans lose their ability to hear anything else. If America is indeed the greatest country in the world, then any criticism of their beloved nation is considered a personal attack—especially if the criticism comes from someone who is not white.

They are fine with moving toward a “more perfect union” or the charge to “make America great again.” But an entire field of Black scholarship based on the idea that their sweet land of liberty is inherently racist is too much for them to handle.

However, if someone is complicit in upholding a racist policy—for whatever reason—then they are complicit in racism. And if an entire country’s resistance to change—for whatever reason —creates more racism, then “racist” is the only way to accurately describe that society.

If they don’t know what it is, then how can they criticize it?

Have you met white people?

When has not knowing stuff ever stopped them from criticizing anything? They still think Colin Kaepernick was protesting the anthem, the military and the flag. They believe Black Lives Matter means white lives don’t. There aren’t any relevant criticisms other than they don’t like the word “racism” and “white people” anywhere near each other.

People like Ron DeSantis and Tom Cotton call it “cultural Marxism,” which is a historical dog whistle thrown at the civil rights movement, the Black Power movement and even the anti-lynching movement after World War I. They also criticize CRT’s basic use of personal narratives, insisting that a real academic analysis can’t be based on individually subjective stories.

Why wouldn’t that be a valid criticism?

Well, aren’t most social constructs centered in narrative structures? In law school, they refer to these individual stories as “legal precedent.” In psychology, examining a personal story is called “psychoanalysis.” In history, they call it...well, history. Narratives are the basis for every religious, political or social institution.

I wish there was a better example of an institution or document built around a singular narrative. It would change the entire constitution of this argument—but sadly, I can’t do it.

Jesus Christ, I wish I could think of one! That would be biblical!

Why do they say Critical Race Theory is not what Martin Luther King Jr. would have wanted?

You mean the Martin Luther King Jr. who conservatives also called divisive, race-baiting, anti-American and Marxist? The one whose work CRT is partially built upon? The King whose words the founders of Critical Race Theory warned would be “co-opted by rampant, in-your-face conservatism?” The MLK whose “content of their character” white people love to quote?

Martin Luther King Jr. literally encapsulated CRT by saying:

In their relations with Negroes, white people discovered that they had rejected the very center of their own ethical professions. They could not face the triumph of their lesser instincts and simultaneously have peace within. And so, to gain it, they rationalized—insisting that the unfortunate Negro, being less than human, deserved and even enjoyed second class status.

They argued that his inferior social, economic and political position was good for him. He was incapable of advancing beyond a fixed position and would therefore be happier if encouraged not to attempt the impossible. He is subjugated by a superior people with an advanced way of life. The “master race” will be able to civilize him to a limited degree, if only he will be true to his inferior nature and stay in his place.

White men soon came to forget that the Southern social culture and all its institutions had been organized to perpetuate this rationalization. They observed a caste system and quickly were conditioned to believe that its social results, which they had created, actually reflected the Negro’s innate and true nature.

That guy?

I have no idea.

Will white people ever accept Critical Race Theory?

Yes, one day I hope that Critical Race Theory will be totally disproven.

Wait...why?

Well, history cannot be erased. Truth can never become fiction. But there is a way for white people to disprove this notion.

Derrick Bell, who is considered to be the father of Critical Race Theory, notes that the people who benefit from racism have little incentive to eradicate it. Or, as Martin Luther King Jr. said: “We must also realize that privileged groups never give up their privileges voluntarily.”

So, if white people stopped being racist, then the whole thing falls apart!

From your lips to God’s ears.

[frostedfaves]

Repercussions (15)

Masterlist

Pairing: dark!Natasha Romanoff x dark!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha and Wanda search for their printsessa with the help of Tony.

Warnings: dark themes, gun use, blood mention, serious injury

A/N: am I devastated that this is the final part of one of my favorite things I’ve ever written? absolutely! but I’m also really happy with myself for being able to turn the images in my head for this ending into coherent words. I’ve been holding onto this idea for weeks and I’m ecstatic to see everyone’s response to it. I’ll be letting you know later on this week what’s coming next! 👀

Previous part

-

With Clint’s assistance, Natasha and Wanda were able to quickly create a plan and make their way to the last base, using the fear and anger of their girlfriend’s disappearance to barrel through anyone that stood in the way of intel collection. They wasted no time in waking everyone up when they returned to the safe house.

“Is there a security breach?” Steve questioned as the group gathered, and Natasha tossed the hard drive at him.

“We got everything, and we need to get back--”

“Oh, I get it,” Sam cut in with an eye roll. “They rushed through the mission to get back to their girlfriend so they can cuddle and all that cute shit--”

“She’s missing!” Wanda growled as her eyes began to glow, causing Sam to step back a few feet with wide eyes.

Everyone aside from Clint started asking questions all at once, and Natasha shut them all down with a stern command to be ready to fly out in ten minutes. Bags were packed and bodies were dressed as the team rushed to get to the jet, afraid of what might happen if they delayed the two women any longer.

“While we’re checking out the house, I need someone looking into Wesley L/N,” Natasha ordered, nodding as Tony volunteered and sending him all the information she had.

“Who is this, her brother?”

“Her cousin, if that’s even true--”

“It is, we checked the family history,” Wanda insisted, grabbing Natasha’s hand with a shaky breath. “They’re really close, he wouldn’t hurt her.”

“We don’t know that! Anyone can do something terrible if they’re pushed far enough--”

“Stop! Just fucking stop!” Wanda cried out as she covered her face with her hands, and Natasha moved to wrap her arms around her as she sat in the seat beside her.

“I’m sorry, Wan. I’m just worried and my brain is wired to go to the worst case scenario instantly.”

Wanda simply sniffled as tears started spilling down her cheeks again, leaning her head against Natasha’s shoulder as she accepted the comforting embrace. After a few minutes of silence between the pair, Wanda dropped her hands into her lap as she glanced at green eyes already absentmindedly staring at her, lowering her voice as she spoke.

“I want to ruin his mind before we kill him.”

-

The house felt empty and colder without your presence, every step on the carpeted floor of the front room seemed to echo around the building. Tears threatened to build in Wanda’s eyes again but she held them back, intent on believing that they will find you and bring you back where you belong. Only they could take care of what you needed.

A heavy feeling washed over their hearts when they entered your solo room and discovered some of your clothes and shoes were missing, along with the travel bag you’d first arrived with. The guest room Wesley resided in was also void of his presence, and anything that could clue them into where he’d taken you. 

“Tash, look.”

Natasha followed her gaze to the security room, cursing loudly in Russian when she noticed the door left wide open. She stormed inside, clenching her fist in anger when she noticed the tiny plastic baggie holding the miniscule tracker that was supposed to be in your leg right now.

“He’s a psychiatrist, not a fucking surgeon!” she fumed as she showed the object to Wanda. “How did he get this out?!”

Wanda walked around her to get to one of the computers, logging in as fast as her fingers would allow her to type and bringing up the security footage from the last several days. For the most part, the two of you acted normally, doing all the things you’d told them about like playing games and watching TV, but the sight of the two of you emerging from the TV room in the basement and entering the game room brought something to her attention.

“Did you see that?” She backed up the footage and switched over to slow motion. “She’s limping.”

“Isn’t that the day she hurt her leg in the backyard?”

“Yes, but…” The backyard footage is brought up next and skipped through until the moment of your ‘injury’. “This happened almost two hours later, meaning--”

“It was a cover for the tracker removal.” Natasha cursed once more as she released a frustrated sigh. “She’s getting locked in her room as soon as she gets back here.”

A notification similar to a phone ringing went off on one of the monitors, and the two women scurried over to answer the incoming call from Tony.

“Everything you had on this Wesley kid checks out, no criminal history or secret ties to any Hydra related groups, or anything else you have to worry about. However, I tried tracking and hacking into his phone and it seems to be wiped clean. So I got into his phone records with his cell company and his last call was made to an unsaved number connected to someone named Kendall, last known address in Nebraska.”

“Send it to us, please.”

They were on their feet as soon as the call ended, grabbing the mission bags abandoned in the doorway and heading off to their respective rooms to repack for the trip.

In nearly the same moment, you were in your safe house in Nebraska, rounding the corner to enter Wesley’s room. He knew something was wrong by the way your eyes watered and your shaky hand held onto the bugging device.

“They found us.” There was no questioning tone in his voice, but you answered with a nod anyway.

“Pack everything you brought and get out of here, drive toward the west coast until you run out of gas and hide wherever you stop.”

“What?! I can’t leave you here! They’ll just take you back and it’ll be worse than before.”

“I’ll be fine, Wes,” you assured him with a gentle squeeze of your hand over his. “I planned for this too, and if I know them as well as I think, I’ll be free to come find you.”

-

Wesley was packed and gone within the next hour, and you worked quickly to transform the space, make it seem as if you’d been the only one to reside in the home. Once that was set, you changed clothes and positioned yourself in an armchair against the wall in the front room, a gun resting in your lap. You didn’t move when a knock was heard on the front door that night, simply waited until the visitors got impatient and picked the lock to force their way in.

“You worried us, printsessa, disappearing like that,” Natasha addressed you in a chilling tone as the two of them stopped a few feet away from you. “And we’ll deal with that later, after you tell Wesley to come out so we can punish him first.”

“He’s not here,” you told her calmly. “His only job was to bring me here--”

“And take the tracker out of your leg, which we will be putting back,” Wanda interjected with a stern expression. “Now, you can either come with us to the car willingly or we’ll drag you.”

“I won’t be doing either of those things.” You stood slowly, lifting the gun to your temple as you went. “Your only choices are to leave me here and go back to the way your lives were before I came in, or you can let me die. If you take me again, I’ll just fight you every day until you wish you’d killed me yourself. No matter how you manipulate my mind, my true self will never love someone who wants to control me. I’ll tell you how much I hate you for ruining my life every second I’m able, and I’ll kill myself the moment I get the chance to do so.”

You noticed the glassy look in their eyes as they faced each other, and you knew they were having a silent conversation in their minds. Seconds felt like minutes as they seemed to discuss their options, eventually turning back to face you. Wanda was fully crying now, and Natasha seemed to be physically holding back her own emotional break.

“We always thought we’d be able to love and care for you until our dying days.” Her shaky voice filled the quiet room. “But we understand if you don’t want that, and we’re sorry that you’ll never be able to love anyone else.”

Before you had time to react, Natasha was pulling a gun out and aiming it at your heart, the sound of the shot echoing and triggering Wanda’s instant sobbing. Natasha was quick to pull her into her arms, facing her away from you as you tumbled to the ground, your own weapon sliding away as your free hand weakly pressed against the oversized sweatshirt that covered your wound.

The two women hurried out of the house as you began to choke and cough up blood, not able to stomach hearing or seeing anymore, and the sound of a car speeding off echoed throughout the neighborhood. Waiting another minute or two to be sure they left, you got up to walk off to the bathroom, wiping the fake blood off your palm the best you could. After slipping the bulletproof vest off your torso and washing your hands, you quickly rinsed your mouth and brushed your teeth to get rid of the red stains, lifting your head to look in the mirror with a smile when you were done.

You looked pretty good for a dead woman.

-

Tags: @littlegasps @nat-km-mh @natasha-danvers @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @imnotasuperhero @creepingwolfberry @emilyprentisswife @cherrieloco @bebe404 @seventeen0 @buckmesidewaysandcallmesteve @its-a-long-way-to-ba-sing-se @fayhar @becka107 @wannabe-fic-reader @beforeoursecrets @cosmicbrownies7 @messuhp @mjaudrey @sxphiaswitch @trikruismybitch @muted-stoneheart @multi-images @just-a-normalpersons @want-to-watch-it-burn @stop-drop-and-drumroll @stickystudentlightmug @pianogirl2121 @welcometothepeanutgallery @witchxaf @natashadeservedmore @sakurat123 @darkangelxoxo @haiiiloeee2

[milgrammer]

[ENG] Love is mine Voice Drama

Mahiru: [humming]

Es: [footsteps]

Mahiru: I wonder when the prison guard will arrive… 

Es: [enters] Sorry for making you wait, prisoner number 6, Mahiru. 

Mahiru: Ah, no. It’s okay. I only just got here. 

Es: What?

Mahiru: [giggles] Just then, it felt like I was waiting for my date to arrive. Kinda made my heart flutter. 

Es: I’m not exactly one to talk, but… I’m surprised that you can say such a thing despite being in this prison.

Mahiru: Really~? But, this unfamiliar setting makes things super romantic, you know? Thanks to it, every day has been such a delight.

Es: [sighs] What a carefree spirit you are. 

Mahiru: Ah! I get that a lot.

Es: Do you fully understand the situation you’re in, Mahiru? You’re a prisoner who’s killed someone. You weren’t brought here to have fun.

Mahiru: Killed someone… I guess I did… I can’t really deny it, can I? 

Es: With that being said, from on, I shall be conducting this interrogation with the purpose of revealing your sins. This sort of situation is anything, but romantic.

Mahiru: Sin… My sin… I guess so. 

Es: Milgram exists to reveal the sins of you, prisoners, and to hand down the appropriate judgement. So, for that reason, talk to me for a bit. 

Mahiru: Talk? Yay, let’s talk! Let’s talk! Prison guard, are you interested in me? That makes me so happy!

Es: Hmph. Trying to get me to go off track like that is futile. All of you prisoners do the exact same thing… Can't believe I always fall for it.

Mahiru: What are you muttering to yourself about?

Es: Nothing. [clears throat] I shall begin the interrogation now. Let’s see. First off— 

Mahiru: I’ll start! I’m Mahiru Shina, 22 years old. I might not be much good at anything, but please be kind to me.

Es: I’ll be the one asking the questions here! Ugh, no. I know exactly what’ll happen after that from Yuno’s interrogation. It’ll be okay. Just gotta calm down. 

Mahiru: Right. Now it’s your turn, prison guard.

Es: What?

Mahiru: What’s your name? Your age?

Es: [hesitates]

Mahiru: What’s your name? Your age?

Es: It’s Es. As for my age, I’m… 15, I think. 

Mahiru: 15 years old! And, you’re a prison guard at that age, are you? Despite being so young, you’re so admirable. If anything’s troubling you, you can talk it over with ‘big sis’ here, okay? 

Es: Hey, Mahiru. Why do I have to answer— 

Mahiru: Hey, hey! Is Es your real name? Could it be that you’re not Japanese? Don't you have a surname or anything? 

Es: I-I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I’m Es. I don’t know anything other than that, and I don’t need to either.  

Mahiru: What? You mean you have amnesia? Oh, you poor thing. Are sure you’re not curious about it? About yourself, I mean.

Es: Not a bit. I just tackle the work I have at hand. Sparing myself of any unnecessary information helps me concentrate better.

Mahiru: Huh? But, I’m so curious about you, prison guard. Come on, let’s do it! Let’s get to know more about you, prison guard.

Es: Get to know… about me?

[piercing sound]

Mahiru: Prison guard? What’s wrong?

Es: [hesitates]

Mahiru: Hey… Prison guard?

Es: Oh… yeah. Uh… I apologise for that. 

Mahiru: Did you zone out just then? This job must be pretty difficult, so you might be mentally burned out from work. Herbal tea’s good for that, you know? Oh! Like ginkgo tea—they say it helps improve brain function. 

Es: Oh, is that so? I’ll try a bit then… I mean, no! Enough about me. We’re in the middle of an interrogation at the moment.

Mahiru: Aw, what? But, it was just getting fun.

Es: I mean, why are you asking me questions anyway? Know your place here. 

Mahiru: But… But, you know, prison guard… I think having a mutual understanding of each other is pretty important. Prison guard, you want to know more about me, right?

Es: Well… Something like that.

Mahiru: That makes me so happy! Ah… No, that’s not what I was meant to say… In order for you to do that, getting to know each other would be the first step. Don’t you think? If I get to know lots about you, prison guard, then there will be more things I want to talk to you about. 

Es: Hm. That’s true. I guess that sort of approach might be quite effective on some people. 

Mahiru: Exactly! So, first things first, you should gather up all your courage and be completely transparent about yourself. Doing so will make your partner feel at ease, and they’ll start opening up about themselves more. 

Es: Is that so? ‘Self-disclosure reciprocity’ as we call it then? But, well…  Isn’t this quite the surprise? I didn’t expect you to be so well-versed on matters related to the human psyche.

Mahiru: Huh? S-self-disclosure reciprocity?

Es: In order to gain a deeper understanding of you, prisoners, I was trying to add whatever I could to my stock of knowledge. It was mentioned in one of the publications I read during that time. 

Mahiru: Really~? Prison guard, you’ve read it too? I’ve also read that one. That issue titled 1000 Kanto Girls’ Views on Love was so good, wasn’t it?

Es: [hesitates] What on earth is that?

Mahiru: What? So, you haven’t read it? Lain’s (1) special collection of romantic techniques!

Es: Lain? 

Mahiru: Yeah! Lain. It’s my favourite thing to read. “Fashion, trends, fortune-telling. This special collection on romance has articles about everything. If you wanna make yourself sparkle even more... Then, this women's magazine will help you get there!” 

Es: [sighs] So, it was all just a misunderstanding. Ignore what I said earlier then. 

Mahiru: Oh, that’s right! Prison guard, are you interested in romance at all? I wanna talk about it with you. You’re 15, aren’t you? Right in the heat of adolescence! Do you have anyone you like?  

Es: I honestly have no interest in those matters. 

Mahiru: What? No, no. There’s no such thing as that. Being in love is like a landmine. It'll explode someday, you know? The only thing that differs is whether it happens earlier or later in life. It’ll happen to you too. Even if you don’t have any interest in it now, one day it’ll explode for you as well. All because you’ll have that fateful encounter with your special someone.

Es: You sure do run your mouth a lot, don't you?

Mahiru: Yeah, yeah. You’ll deny it at first. I mean, I was like that as well. Before then, I always admired soap operas and shoujo manga because I thought that they depicted a world different from our own. 

Es: I don’t completely understand what you’re saying, but… Being in love and loving someone—are they really that important? 

Mahiru: They are.

Es: Hm.

Mahiru: They are… More so than anything else.

Es: I see now. [shifts] So, for you… that’s what it is. Prisoner number 6, Mahiru. 

Mahiru: Hm? What is?

Es: Somehow… After interrogating several people, I’ve started to get a rough idea of it. What you lot cherish, that is. 

Mahiru: So, what I cherish is ‘love’—is that what you’re saying? [giggles] Correct! It’s not like I was trying to cover it up or anything though. 

Es: Very well, does your homicide stem from love too? 

Mahiru: [pauses] I… guess it did. I think it was love. 

Es: So, because of love, you killed someone? 

Mahiru: I suppose… you’re right?

Es: I see. So, you became a murderer as a result of some relationship conflicts? Jealousy… Grudges… Having your partner stolen from you… Those stories aren't all that uncommon now are they? 

Mahiru: You’re wrong. It wasn’t that. I…never even wanted to kill anyone in the first place! 

Es: [pauses]

Mahiru: I just… I was… just being myself

Es: What do you mean by that?

Mahiru: [pauses] Not telling. After all, I still don’t know you that well, prison guard. 

Es: Hm. We should have a “mutual understanding” of each other, right? 

Mahiru: [giggles] Exactly!

Es: A troublesome one, aren’t you. But, that's fine with me. What are your own thoughts about it then? Do you think what you’ve done could be forgiven? Or was it absolutely unforgivable? 

Mahiru: Hmm. If you can’t forgive me for what I’ve done, then there’s no point in living—to be honest. [laughs] 

Es: So, if you can't kill anyone, there’s no point in you living—is that what you mean? My, oh, my… What a dangerous species you are.  

Mahiru: Oh, no! Uh… Those words actually sound kinda scary now that I think about it. I don’t want to kill anyone or do anything of the sort! But… 

Es: Hm

Mahiru: It's because I've… decided that I’m going to live for the sake of love.

Es: For the sake of love? 

Mahiru: I… discovered how amazing it was to be in love with someone. It’s incredible, you know? Each and every day seemed to sparkle and everything became so vibrant. It transforms such mundane sceneries into those out of soap operas and films! 

Es: I didn’t follow any of that.

Mahiru: [disappointed] I have a pretty poor vocabulary, so I can't describe it beyond clichéd phrases. But, I’m sure you’ll understand, prison guard! Once you fall in love, you’ll definitely get it! 

Es: Well, I wonder. 

Mahiru: Being in love is… If there was no such thing as love, then my life would be so bland. So, if you say that I won't be allowed it anymore, then there’s no point in me living. 

Es: Even if your love killed someone?

Mahiru: You’re so mean, aren’t you? 

Es: It was your love which killed someone, right? Despite that, will you still try to love another person? 

Mahiru: [thinks] Actually,  I was hoping you could tell me the answer to that, prison guard... If what I did was unforgivable. 

Es: What?

Mahiru: If my love could possibly kill someone, then I… shouldn't ever love another person again, I guess?

Es: [pauses]

Mahiru: Hey, prison guard, please tell me. If I love someone, is that something unforgivable?

Es: I don’t know. From the beginning, I never really understood what you were saying. 

Mahiru: Oh, I see... I guess so. There's something wrong with me, right? You can't understand me, right? 

Es: Yeah… as of now. 

Mahiru: Huh?

Es: As of now, I don't understand you—that’s what I’m saying. But, I will soon. Just wait and see. 

Mahiru: [excited]

Es: To be honest, the topics brought up in this interrogation were entirely outside my area of expertise. And, for that reason, I might have to deepen my understanding of it—just as you said. 

Mahiru: Prison guard…

Es: I’m your prison guard. Even if I have an aversion to something or if there’s something I can’t understand, I won’t just hopelessly give up on you like that… Not until I’ve judged your sins, and decided on whether I forgive them or not.

Mahiru: [happy] Does that mean you’ll always keep your eyes on me? 

Es: What? Well, it’s my duty after all. 

Mahiru: [exclaims] 

Es: What is it? 

Mahiru: My heart skipped a beat. 

Es: Just what on earth are you saying? 

Mahiru: I… guess I love people who are so enthusiastic about their work. 

Es: You… You’re messing with me, aren’t you? 

Mahiru: Ah, this isn’t good. Be careful, okay? Um… Um… If you’re that kind to me, you could die as well. Just—kidding?  

Es: I wasn’t trying to be kind to you or anything like that. I just downright, from beginning to end, had no idea what you were saying. However, I will promise you this. Rest assured. No matter what you do or what you think, I won’t die. 

Mahiru: [happy sound] 

Es: Because I’m Milgram’s prison guard—that’s why.  

Mahiru: [exclaims]

[mechanical noises]

Mahiru: W-what is this? Is it because my love exploded? 

Es: No. It’s the end of the interrogation. For goodness sake… And as always, things never go as I planned, do they? With you prisoners, I mean.

Mahiru: Uh… Um… This is what’ll be extracting songs, right? But, I’m not that good at singing though?

Es: It won't necessarily be you the one singing. Your mental landscape will present itself in the form of songs and videos—that’s all. 

Mahiru: So, you're gonna see everything… That's a little embarrassing. 

Es: Well, I don't know about that. The personal experiences I see, how true-to-life the videos are and their degree of abstraction—that all depends on the person. They might even depend on how each of you perceives your own sins.

Mahiru: Is that so? 

Es: Either way, I intend to find out what this world of yours looks like. 

Mahiru: I see. I see. I wanna watch it too. Because, for me, a world filled with love will be such a beautiful place. Oh! Prison guard, I’m sure you’ll understand how amazing love is through it as well. 

Es: Hmm. I’m looking forward to it.

Mahiru: Huh? That was unusually sincere of you.

Es: I just have a thirst for knowledge, that's all. Learning things you didn't know before is quite fun, don't you think? In order for me to understand the lot of you, I have to acquire knowledge from various fields. And, that's not exactly a bad thing in my books.

Mahiru: Really? I… guess I love studious people as well. 

Es: Shut it. 

Mahiru: You’re so mean.

Es: [sighs] The way I let you talk non-stop like that, it makes me feel like I didn't do my job properly. But, I'll ask you this just in case. Is there anything left you'd like to say? 

Mahiru: Ah… Um… Just one thing.

Es: Oh wow. You still have more to say?

Mahiru: Um… Uh, you know… Would it be okay for me to call you ‘Es’?

Es: No comment! [footsteps] Prisoner number 6, Mahiru. Come now. Sing your sins! 

As far as I’m aware, this isn’t a real publication, so unless Mahiru states the official romanisation of this author/publisher, I can only assume what it might be. I’ll update it if she does. Some alternatives might be Lane, Rein, Rain, Layne, etc. Don’t quote me on this, but I suspect that they might’ve based the magazine Mahiru reads on ‘Laurier Press’. ‘Lain’ looks similar to ‘Laurier’, so that’s why I chose it.

[sour-star-galaxy]

Ok ok so my brain kinda went off on this tangent of “hey, Taranza and Snatcher have been through similar circumstances, but had very different outcomes.” which eventually devolved into...

A Kirby AHIT crossover AU!!!!pleaseclap!!!

My friend helped me with some of the ideeas lmao. also this is gonna be a bit long, so a whole bunch of ideas and concepts are under the cut!

ok but anyway: Dark Taranza is Snatcher, Sectonia is Vanessa. 

Ok ok hear me out here, yknow how Snatcher used to be the prince? Well Taranza would be the prince in this, and his weird transformation of idk becoming a weird grumpy ghost man who’s a stickler for legality is his soul becoming Dark Taranza or whatever. Much different than kirby lore as DT and Taz arent the same person, but! it! works!

Kirby would be Hat Kid, Bandee would be Bow Kid. 

it just makes sense. 

Also instead of time pieces it would be little stars i guess? I’m thinking maybe either Kirby is trying to reform the Star Rod..? The spaceship would just be like some wierd star-shaped ship reminiscent of that thing he was in in the cartoon but just. bigger I guess.

OH ALSO, so yknow how getting yarns gives you new hats that give you different abilities? weeeell, you also know those like copy ability orbs? Well, Instead of yarn, Kirby collects shards of those to piece the orbas back together to get new copy abilities!

This might be a bit of a shocker as the rest of this is all game-related, but Tiff as Mustache Girl. 

Just. think about it. In the cartoon iirc she’s the one to always get angry when nobody does anything and just Lets Something Bad Happen. and that’s a lot like Mu! 

To go along with this, Mafia Boss is King Dedede! 

Kinda fits with how he used to be a tyrant, but also involved the cartoon a little bit because iirc, he kinda just. showed up and claimed he owned the place? and that was kinda what MB did????

(all the mafia goons are rlly mean waddle dees lol, not quite sure what this means for Bandee tho. actually, where did Bow Kid even come from? Is that ever said or am I missong out on lore? Maybe Bandee just saw how much of a tyrant DDD was and wanted to get away for a while and spend time with his new friend Kirby) 

Cooking Cat is Chef Kawasaki. 

i dont need to explain this

Magolor is DJ Grooves, Marx is The Conductor. 

Imagine DJ Grooves but if he was a lot more shady. Lying to Hat Kid about her chance at stardom. Every time he calls her “darling” is an act to try to her her to trust him so he could use her to bring him to the top. THAT wwould be magolor >:) a real bastard but he tries to be way too nice about it so you believe he really likes Kirby and not the fame he’s bringing him with his movies (he does grow to care by the end of the chapter though)

Yelling, swearing, wanting everything to be under his control and everyone to listen to his every word, ambition, recklessness that still follows a loose plan; minus the swearing I really think Conductor and Marx are alike lmao, if anything Con’s just much more grumpy but who cares. If The Conductor was much more enthusiastic, I think it’d make things more fun anyway. Marx’d be blowing things up out of sheer excitement and lust for destruction.

Alpine Skyline would take place on Ripple Star 

iirc, Alpine Skyline’s plot had a lot to do with a growing darkness making life dangerous for it’s inhabitants as it slowly took over. Sound familiar? haha dark matter go brrr. Ribbon would be there or something. I don’t remember any significant NPCs in AS. 

Badge Seller would be Susie. 

I have nothing good to explain this we had nobody else if you have other suggestions please help me.

Now for DLCs:

Nyakuza Metro would be. uh. Squeakuza Metro. Daroach would be Empress I guess. 

I know nothing about Clawroline so I cannot make her play that role 

I know almost nothing about Empress but. she runs a gang. and uhhh is fabulous

kinda funny that the cat becomes a mouse i guess idk

Seal The Deal would take place on the Halberd, Walrus Captain would be Meta Knight

I dont know anything about Walrus Captain sorry if this sucks

The seals would be various meta knights I guess? idk i feel like the meta knights are more competent than the seals but who am i to say i dont remember anything about STD

AHAHA WAIT NO THAT MEANS SEAL THE DEAL SDFGHJKAFGH im not deleting that i cannot i just was re-reading and it clicked in my mind

[shizucheese]

So full disclosure, I actually listened to episode 7 on Saturday, but this episode had so damn much to it and I got a bit side tracked by a theory that I'm still working on but I really want to get this out before episode 8 comes out. Today is Tuesday, 2/27/24. Episode 7 came out 5 days ago on 2/22/24.

“Talkers”

Norris (Voice: Martin?/ Alex)

Episode 1: “Reanimation (Partial) -/- Regret [Email]”. The Stranger? The End? The Dark? The Lonely? The Flesh? Arthur (Nolan?).

Episode 3: "Infection (full body" -/- Arboreal [Journal entry]". The Spiral? (Paranoia? Auditory, visual and olfactory hallucinations) The Lonely? The Corruption. The Flesh? (Callbacks to the Flesh Garden from S5)

Common Themes: Hearing the voice of a dead/ missing loved one?

Chester (Voice: John?/ Jonny)

Episode 1: “Transformation (eyes) -/- Tresspass [chat log]”. Magnus Institute, The Eye. (Involves a forum; the Web?).

Episode 5: "Disappearance (undetermined) -/- Invitation [Internet blog]". The Eye (Movies. Movie name: "Voyeur" "Must be seen to be believed"...). The Web? (Another website?). (Very reminiscent of Mag 110: Creature Feature.) The "poor old guy" at the theater is totally an Eye avatar, right? Kinda gives me "Simon Fairchild when he was first introduced" vibes.

Episode 7: "Agglomeration (miscellany) -/- congregation [email]". The Stranger. The Burried. The Desolation. Possibly all of them if my theory about the items the Volunteers brought in is correct...

Unsure if this is Eye related like the other statements were. This is also the first "Chester" statement where the source material wasn't from a website or blog, which don't have the same expectation of privacy that the sources of the other statements do. Email, though, so still internet related, and this seems to be an open letter rather than personal correspondence, so it still might align with the theme.

Agustus: (rare?)

Episode 4: “Collection (blood) -/- musical [letter]” The End. The Lonely? The Slaughter.

Letter writer thinks passing on his violin might allow a part of himself to live on in his nephew. Very Jonah Magnus of him.

Music teacher hears “faraway music”, then goes crazy and throws himself out of the carriage and dies. Reminiscent of Mag7 and the Piper? The merchant’s wares include dice (Mag 29?). Got the violin from him (took his blood?). Effect of the violin reminiscent to Grifter’s Bone (Mag 42).

(Oliver Bardwell lol very funny guys)

Non-Talkers (?)

Episode 2: "Transformation (full) -/- dysmorphic [video call]". The Spiral? The Flesh. The Stranger. Ink 5oul (avatar/ entity?)

Episode 6: "Injury (needles) -/- intimidation [999 call] "Corruption? The Spiral? The Flesh? The End?

"Needles" reminds me of Michael!Distortion.

Notes and Thoughts:

"It's not like we're dealing with Tape Recorders..." I'm side eying you real hard, Celia. And what's with all of the questions? The "looking for patterns" question is 100% fair but those examples are AWEFULLY SPECIFIC. I wasn't entirely sure I bought the idea that Celia was the same Celia from TMA, but no this is totally her for sure. "DO YOU KNOW WHO JOHN" IS EXCUSE ME? WHAT REAL STUFF?

HILLTOP CENTER BRANCH?!!! 0 managerial or other support from HR; very reminiscent of the weird circumstances surrounding the house on Hilltop Road. Bear skin rug very reminiscent of the Gorilla Skin in TMA S3. The Volunteers remind me of the medical students from Mag34. The email is about events from 2015. This was the same year Gertrude died and John became the Head Archivist in TMA. Why am I not seeing anyone else talk about this?

I have a theory that I was originally going to put in this post but detangling that giant ball of red string entirely is taking too long so I'm just going to put the TL'DR here and maybe make a proper list later if I can ever finish pulling the string on that particular red sweater. Between the items the Volunteers bring in, and the events of the incident itself, what if every single Entity is represented? The gunshots that were heard were the Slaughter. The fire was the Desolation. The person who wrote the email being crushed by all of the items was the Buried. There are a number of artifacts that get listed off that could represent at least one if not multiple Entities (which might be their purpose; considering how many times the fact that the categorization was imperfect got brought up in TMA, it's probably more helpful to view them as a spectrum more than anything else), including some that are very reminiscent of things from specific TMA statements (The bear skin rug -> The Gorilla skin, Old medical equipment -> the syringe in mag 45? The telescope -> Maxwell Rayner was originally Edmond Halley, the Astronomer, etc. etc). So...okay, hear me out: what if this was all part of a ritual, and that's what the "good cause" was? A ritual that involved all of the fears being represented? Sound familiar? Except instead of it being a ritual to start an apocalypse or reshape the world in the image of one or more of the fears, what if it was a ritual to summon something that was associated with all of the fears? Or, rather, what if it was a ritual to summon someone who had been touched by all of the fears? And that's also why so many of the items seem to be analogous to things from statements and events from TMA? Like....maybe I'm wrong entirely. Or maybe I'm right about this being about summoning someone, or something, (maybe someone from TMA? Maybe Celia?), but wrong about it being John who was being summoned. But, again, this incident took place in 2015, which was the same year Gertrude died and John became head Archivist, and I feel like this means something.

Welcome to my Red String Board for the Magnus Protocol. Instead of making new posts I'm just going to reblog this and add new thoughts after every episode and update certain theories. Things might be a little bit messy because some of this is a bit stream of conscious but I'll try my best to at least keep the formatting consistent. So let's get this party started. 1/24/23: As of this writing the first two episodes have been released. Theory: As more episodes come out and we get more cases/ statements, is there going to be a pattern to the "Talker" statements and which voice gets used (or if it's a Talker at all?). References to specific subjects, Entities, other themes? What we have right now: “Talkers”

Norris (Voice: Martin?/ Alex)

Episode 1: “Reanimation (Partial) -/- Regret [Email]”. The Stranger? The End? The Dark? The Lonely? The Flesh? Arthur (Nolan?).

Chester (Voice: John?/ Jonny)

Episode 1: “Transformation (eyes) -/- Tresspass [chat log]”. Magnus Institute, The Eye. (Involves a forum; the Web?).

Agustus: N/A

Non-Talkers (?) Episode 2: "Transformation (full) -/- dysmorphic [video call]". The Spiral? The Flesh. The Stranger. Ink 5oul (avatar/ entity?) Are different characters aligned with certain Entities (working off of known Entities from TMA)

Alice  = Spiral? (Conspiracy Theories). Web? (Is the reason why Sam got his job. Her whole conspiracy theory thing could be way to mess with people/ manipulate them)

Gwen = The Buried (?) (Behind on her work. Ambition?)

Colin = The Slaughter? (Irritability) The Eye? (Something’s listening?)

Sam = The Eye (Hunger for knowledge/ need to know even when warned it could be detrimental).

I have a theory about the butterfly effect/ multiverse theory regarding the manifestation of the Entities and new ones emerging as a result of things being just different enough for it to happen. The full thing + my support for it is long enough to warrant it's own post though so I'm going to make it one and then probably link it here just for record keeping purposes. Edit: My Butterfly effect/ Multiverse Entity Theory

[littlemessyjessi]

“Mother Nature”: Baron Helmut Zemo Imagine: Plus Size

A Helmut Zemo Imagine Commissioned by: She chose to remain anon so I won't tag her but thank you love for your commission! Much love! Notes from cx:  "Can you use your oc Jessi for this please? Can we have cottagecore vibes? Can we have an animal mama? Can we have a cool power and some backstory?" Note from myself: Yes, bebe, of course you can have anything you want! -----------  

The tension in the jet could be cut with a knife as the three males resided there.

Sam was caught between irritation at Bucky... in general and due to the fact that he would do nothing but glower at Zemo.

And also by the subject of his glowering himself.

He didn't like the situation in any way, shape or form.

But after coming to the resolution that he was more help to them out of prison that he was in... the both of them had agreed to 'let' him stay.

Even when all of them knew that if and when Zemo was ready to flee... he'd just do it.

"So this woman?" Zemo spoke up.  "Why is it that we must collect her?"

"Collect her?" Sam laughed. "What the fuck, man? She's a woman.  Not a pokemon card."

"We need her." Bucky said shortly.  

"Yeah, we need her." Sam laughed. "What I'm not looking forward to is the ass whoopin that she's undoubtedly gonna dish out when she sees us.  What was it she told you the last time she saw us?"

"Shut up, Sam."

"Oh, yeah.  Something about, 'If I ever see your wish brand Terminator looking ass -"

"Shut. up. Sam."  Bucky snapped.

"Then I'll rip that Transformer's reject arm off and shove it up your ass."  Sam continued through his laughter.

"I think I may like this woman." Zemo said sipping his champagne with a smirk.

Bucky just glowered out the window and Sam looked thoroughly pleased with himself with the torment he'd managed to provide Bucky in only a few short sentences.

"If I may.." Zemo started only to recieve a menacing glare from Bucky.  "If she dislikes you so much what makes you think she'll be willing to help us?"

"Because Jess is easy to bribe." Sam said. "And you're going front the bill for it."

Zemo lifted his eyebrows, "Ah, I thought it would be more interesting.   What's her price?"

"Probably some exotic plant that no one has ever fucking heard of and is impossible to get." Bucky sighed, running a hand down his face.  "She'll let you know."

"If she doesn't shoot us before we get off the jet." Sam pointed out.

Sam wasn't scared of a lot but Jess McCarty was definitely on that list.

Even if he did find her highly entertaining.

"Oh and she hates Sharon." Bucky said staring our the window again. "So don't bring her up."

"I'm not ignorant enough to bring up another woman." Zemo said. "I was married, you know."

He had been teasing but none of them said anything else.

They weren't exactly on the best terms but even still they wouldn't bring up conversation relating to his late family.

Eventually, they landed in large field with a beautiful mountain landscape decorating the distance.

Helmut could distinctly see a large white truck in the distance.

"So much for easing into the situation." Sam said.  "I see she still has Leroy."

"Leroy?" Zemo asked.

"Her truck." Bucky clarified. "Don't ask and don't bring up the bullet holes."

Sam snorted, "Yeah, I think she still owes you a few shots over that."

"Fuck off."

Zemo rolled his eyes at the two of them.

Even after all this time and how much he had become accustomed to their bickering ... it still both amused and annoyed him.

As the three of them descended the stairs of the jet, the slam of a door was heard in the distance.

A woman stepped out and leaned against the grill of the truck, blankly staring them all down.

She was tall, that much Zemo could tell even from a distance, with neck length dark hair that sprung from her head in a wild dark halo.

They'd managed to get about half way to her when she whistled and several dogs bounded from the bed of her truck.

"Fuck." Bucky whispered. "She brought the fucking dogs."

"You better run,"white wolf"." Sam said with a chuckle.

Half amused and half concerned.

"We." he responded. "I'm not the only one here."

"You state your fucking business, Barnes. Before I let them tear you part."

A smirk worked it's way onto Zemo's face as her venomous southern drawl that seemed to contrast so much to her appearance.

She was the picture of lovely.

She looked more like a fairy belonging to a magical woodland than someone associated with the Avengers.

Like a tall, curvaceous Elven queen.

"We need your help and we brought an ATM who has connections." Sam said trying to ease the tension.

She didn't seem impressed.

"I'm not asking again, Barnes.  You got three seconds before I sick the hounds on you.  And they're hungry. We've been into town passed the diner where they're having a fish fry.  My babies are just dying for a snack.  And if you even think about laying one hand on them, I'm turning that fucking arm of yours into a coat rack." she spat.

"God dammit, Jess.  I told you we need your help.  It's a mission and you're the only one who can-" Bucky started before she snapped her fingers and the dogs charged at him. "Shit!"

Realistically, Bucky could've ended those dogs in seconds but if he did, A.) she'd never help them, and B.)  she'd make him suffer for it.

Buck let out some kind of strangled cry as he took off away from the dogs chasing after him.

Zemo, no stranger to the military and the dogs associated with it, noted that none of them actually looked as if they were going to harm him but rather just enjoying the chase.

Bucky didn't need to know that though.

"How long are you gonna let them chase him?" Sam chuckled as he and Zemo finally made their way closer to where she stood leaning against the truck.

Jess shrugged, "So what is it exactly that you need?"

"We just need your help with a mission." Sam said.  "We can talk about the details later if you decide not to kill us."

She scoffed, "I'm not going to kill you, Sam.  But I might maim Barnes a little.  Enough to make me feel better."

She finally turned her eyes on Zemo who gave her a small smile.

"So you're the ATM?" she asked with lifted brows. "Do you have a name? Bank of..."

"This is Zemo." Sam said.  "He's a Baron and he's loaded."

"Zemo." she nodded, dark brows drawing together.

"Please call me Helmut." he said producing a hand.

She took it firmly as she stared at him.

"Zemo..." she said almost tasting the word in her mouth.  "That is so familiar."

Sam sighed, "Yes, it's that Zemo, Jess.  And I know what you're thinking-"

"You have no idea what I'm thinking." she snapped, her eyes wretching themselves away from Helmut's soft dark eyes to meet Sam's endless pools.

"Jess.."

"No, you were not there and you do not know." she said as her skin and hair began to change color as her temper rose.

It was then that Helmut recognized just exactly who she was.

"You were there." he said. "In Sokovia."

Her eyes connected with his.

"Yes, I was." she said.  "I was with the Avengers when we faced Ultron."

"You're the one that stayed." he said.

"Yes." she whispered.

"You are a hero among my people." he said. "Those of us that are left."

"I am no hero." she said turning away from him and whistling for the dogs who had chased Bucky up an old flagpole and were barking at him.

"There would be many more Sokovians dead if you had not stayed. We were not a large people to begin with and there are even fewer now.  I know several who owe you their lives." Helmut said.

"They owe me nothing." she said. "And for the record, of course, I do not support the bombing but I also understand what it is like to be ridden with grief and confusion and anger when you have lost loved ones.  Especially as someone who had lost their own children."

Helmut's eyes softened as he thought of his late wife and child and it was then that he recognized the same tendrils of heartbreak in the woman's eyes.

"For what it's worth, I destroyed my fair share of places in my grief." she said. "People will remind us of our faults as long as we live but what they say can never compare to the torture we inflict on ourselves."

Helmut said nothing, only nodded in understanding.

She turned to Sam with a sigh, "I will help you.  But I am going to kick Barnes' ass for good measure."

"You sure you wanna go toe to toe with the Winter Soldier?" he teased her.

She lifted a brow, "He is just a man.  A soldier.  Like the both of you and I can assure that I am not scared of any of you."

"Well, he's not exactly..." Helmut said.

"Yes he is.  He lives, he breathes, he bleeds." she cut him off.  "And he shot my truck and kicked me off a building.  So I atleast owe him a kick in the nuts."

Sam and Helmut dissolved into a fit of laughter as she whistled again and the pack of dogs came running before bounding into the bed of that beat up white truck.

She opened the door and slid into the driver's seat.

"Do you have a way to follow me? Other than by jet?" she asked through the open window. "Or do I need to drop the hounds off and come back?"

"It's already taken care of." Helmut said gesturing behind to the jet where Oeznik was pulling driving the car off the jet.

"Nice car." Jess said.  "I still prefer Leroy though."

"Definitely a beauty." Helmut said. "A little rough around the edges but all wild things are."

Helmut gave her a soft smile to which she returned before speeding off.

"What the fuck was that?" Sam asked.

"What was what?" Helmut asked.

"You flirtin with her?" Sam said.  "She will eat you for breakfast, man.  And then shit you out and use you to fertilize her little poison garden.  Don't go down that road."

"What road?"

Bucky had rejoined the conversation.

"Man, you run like a bitch." Sam laughed.

Bucky just stared at Sam in irritation.  

"You couldn't even fight off a pack of dogs?" Sam teased. "One of them was a Yorkie, Buck."

"First of all, I told you that you can't call me that." Bucky said.  "Second of all, if I so much as look at one of those dogs the wrong way you know she'll launch a missile at us."

Sam just snickered.

"Apparently, you have a 'kick to the nuts' coming your way." Helmut said and Bucky groaned.

"She is never going to forgive me." he said.  

"Why exactly did you shoot her property and kick her off a building?" Helmut asked as they piled into the car.

There was a brief argument about the seat being moved up before Bucky answered.

"Look, the truck was an accident." he said.  "It was just caught in the crossfire.   And I only kicked her off the building because she was nearly insane."

"Weak logic, man." Sam laughed.

"You were there, asshole!"

"You could've tackled her to the ground."

"While she was trying to choke me to death with vines?"

Sam just laughed at Bucky's predicament while Helmut continued to ponder this woman.

He remembered what little footage there was of her.

After the battle with Ultron, Sokovia had been decemated and the Avengers had left them in the rubble.

In reality, they had tried to evacuate as many as possible.

With the help of Sokovia's own, The Maximoff Twins.

But when it was all said and done, Sokovia was left in the rubble and Earth's defenders just deserted them.

All but the one.

He'd seen the footage.

Shaky cellphone videos of the woman who transformed into animals to move the debris crushing people to death.

Or of how she was in the tents with the small group of survivors using her powers with plants to heal as many as she could.

She'd even tried to plant things and bring the country back to life before the government had basically laid waste to her work.

She'd been most popularly dubbed as Mother Nature by people across the globe but she never spoke in public or confirmed her name.

Helmut got the feeling that she didn't exactly like being apart of the Avengers and certainly did not enjoy the attention that went along with it.

He knew then that it had to have been her that cleared the bodies of his father, wife and son for when he found them among the dead that had been intricately encased in vines with flowers decorating them in the most beautiful way.

When he'd asked about it, he only been told that Mother Nature had stayed to help them.

He hadn't understood that at the time.

After the loss, all he could think of was revenged as grief consumed him.

By that time, she had long since left the Avengers and wasn't on his radar.

He'd never put two and two together.

Helmut drove for the longest time, the lamborghini speeding along the road as they followed the beat up white truck.

The pack of dogs all happily placed in the back, tongues flopping in the wind and tails wagging.

The further they trekked the wilder the country became and soon the hot rays of sunshine only beamed through the thick cover of vegetation above them.

The light through the leaves creating a green glow.

"I feel like Welcome to the Jungle should be playing right about now." Sam commented.

The finally broke through the tunnel of vegetation into a large property of rolling green field smattered with wildflowers and towering trees.

Garden beds and greenhouses were in the distances and horses could be seen grazing freely as chickens clucked around them.

Helmut noted that there were no fences, no pins, no coops for the chickens but instead all he wild life seemed to roam freely.

"Just forewarning you, there's probably a bear or moose around here somewhere." Bucky said. "But don't shoot it or we're dead."

"A bear?" Helmut asked. "She keeps bears as pets?"

"Don't call the animals her pets." Sam said with a smirk, "It pisses her off and as much as I would just love to see you get shot, it's not very practical at the moment."

Eventually they came to a stop behind the truck.

The pack of dogs all bounded out and took off in the direction of several little goats who seemed more than happy to play with them.

Helmut took in the home in front of him.

It was a beautiful home.

Simple in design but stunning in the sense that it seemed to be built around a tree.

"Come inside and have some tea." Jess said. "I'm going to need some if I'm going to listen to whatever utter bullshit you've gotten yourself into this time."

"Uh uh." Sam said with a shake of his head. "That is a lion. I am not going up there."

Jess narrowed her eyes at Sam as Helmut and Bucky looked around for what he was talking about.

Sure enough on the level there was a small balcony where the railing was absolutely littered with cats and a rather large mountain lion was sitting there watching them all with it's great luminous eyes.

"She's pregnant.  Relax." Jess said ascending the steps, gently smiling at Helmut when he followed her without reservation.

"Like that's supposed to instill confidence." Sam said. "You ever been around a pregnant female? Hell no."

"I have been a pregnant female, Wilson.  And I also very clearly remember the labor pain of having twins.  So watch your mouth and come on. If she wanted to eat you she would've already done it. Though if you're so scared, just feed her Barnes.  That should tide her over for a while." she said disappearing into the house with a chuckling Helmut behind her.

"This is your fault." Sam said shoving Bucky who only shoved him back.

"Shut up, Sam." he said before they continued up the stairs with Sam moving a little quicker as the cluster of felines watched him.  

"I hate cats, man." he sad.  "Fucking creepy."

Bucky snorted.

"What?"

"Nothin."

"What?"

"Just fitting that the bird is scared of a little kitty." Bucky teased.

Sam lifted his brows, "First of all, that was not a kitten.  That was full on Lion King back there.  And second of all, have you never seen Looney Toons.  I'm not trying to be Tweety bird."

"Stop being a pussy and come on." Jess' voice rang out. "And shut the damn door. You're letting all the cool air out."

Sam and Bucky grumbled at each other before making their way into the kitchen to see Helmut sitting at the table already happily sipping a cup of tea.

"This is exquisite." Helmut complimented her. "What is it?"

"It's peach and apricot." she said pouring both Sam and Bucky a cup and leveling them both with a look that told them if they didn't drink it she'd strangle them.

"It's wonderful. Thank you." Helmut said.

"It was my daughters' favorites.   Flora loved peaches and Fauna loved apricots. So to please them both my husband used to blend them together for their little tea parties. Along with little pieces of toast and jam."

She smiled into her own cup of tea but there was a sadness there that he recognized.

He chose not to remark on it and instead studied her features as Sam relayed the information as to why they were actually there in the first place.

"I've seen the Walker guy." she said. "It's unsettling to say the least.  But you know I do the limelight, boys.  I walked away from all of that when it became obvious that-"

"Jess." Bucky said. "Please. You don't have to talk to anyone. You don't have to-"

"People died.  And not just in Sokovia.  Yes, that was the final straw for me but it was happening long before that. I understand that 'earth's greatest heroes' or whatever are there to defend everyone.  But no one ever stays around to see the carnage.   No one talks about everyone who dies in the crossfire.  I joined the avengers out of revenge.  I was fueled by my anger and pain and I went on missions.   How many have I ended up inadvertantly killing under this ruse of 'for the greater good'.  I loved Steve to death but he took that shit to his heart and forgot to use his eyes." she said. "While everyone else is busy looking at the 'bigger picture' all of these other people who perhaps you don't know the names of are dying horrible deaths, boys.   I pulled people from wreckage who had moment to live.  People who's organs were crushed into nothing and they were rushing to give me messages to pass along to their families.  Those people are the heroes and no one ever knows it."

The subject of Steve was a sensitive one for everyone but she had a point and they knew it.

She sighed as she looked down into her teacup again, "I will help you regarding John Walker.  But I'm not blindly following orders anymore.   I make my own decisions and when I'm done, I'm done and I don't want to hear anything about it when I go."

The three of them nodded even though she wasn't asking for permission.

"You want some more tea, love?" she asked Helmut who's heart fluttered a bit at the soft term of endearment.

"Please." he said watching as she methodically poured him another cup.

"I can not leave immediately." she said. "I have to take care of a few things first. But you are welcome to stay here if you wish."

"And if you're not afraid of the cat." she said, aiming it at Sam. "Tweety bird."

"I hate you." he said flatly and she only laughed.

"Her name is Cleopatra by the way. Or Cleo for short. And if you give her a can of tuna from that cabinet there then she'll be putty in your hands.  If you rub her belly then she'll love you forever." she said.  "She also seems to enjoy listening to Elvis Presley and laying in the sunlight.  If that should interest any of you."

"Thanks, Jess." Bucky said sincerely.

"You're welcome." she said. "But I still owe you a beating."

He sighed, "Fair enough."

She left the table and meandered out onto the lower porch to stay at the horizon.

Sam and Bucky said nothing as Helmut followed her out there.

"Thank you." he said as he stared off in the distance as well.

"For what?" she asked. "The tea? You're welcome, dear.  It was nothing."

"No." he said turning to look at her. "For what you did for the bodies.  My father, wife and son were among the ones you uncovered.   They told me it was Mother Nature.  I never put it together but now I see."

She said nothing.

"I did it because it was what I would've liked for my own family." she said.  "I'm just sorry I couldn't do it for everyone.  I tried but there were so many that needed healing.  I didn't have ti-"

"The people of Sokovia know that." he cut her off.  "But as a son, a husband and a father, I'm thanking you for myself and also for everyone else."

She said nothing as they stared out at the trees.

"What happened to your family?" he asked her.

He knew, from first experience, how painful it was to talk about something like but he wanted to know.

"There was a bombing." she said. "My husband and I had taken my daughters to the museum to see the dinosaur exhibit.   It was so wrapped up that day that it was nearly impossible to get food there.  So we called in some food a couple of miles away at one of the girls' favorite resteraunts.  He'd told me to go and get it and that they'd meet me by the water fountains and we'd have lunch.   I was stuck in traffic for a good hour coming back  when it hit.  They'd called in an air strike because it was confirmed that an extremely dangerous  terrorist was there.  He'd been on the run for nearly a year from a foreign government and when it was confirmed what he had on him, I guess they decided it would be better to blow everyone there off the place of the planet that risk him setting it off and possibly destroying the world.  I saw it hit, saw everything go up in flames before it the whole of everything just crashed into the ground.  Like the whole word swallowed it whole." she said, voice shaking.

Helmut watched with rapt attention as she struggled to continue.

"I just jumped out of the car immediately and took off.  Police were swarming and I got thrown this way and that but I got loose.  My family was in there.  My husband.  My children.  I dove head first into the crater not even thinking about self preservation or logic at all.  There were no survivors of course but I didn't care.   A mother can't just walk away like that.  Or atleast I couldn't.  I should've died on impact based on the fall but I didn't.  About half way down gas released and I can just remember the burning.  My skin felt like it was melting off.  I was still falling through the air and my skin was searing hot, burning every nerve ending I had.  And then I hit.   When I woke up, I wasn't there anymore but I panicked because I was covered in vines.  Wrapped up like a mummy in vegetation." she said, a dark chuckle coloring her tone.

Helmut shivered as a chill ran down his spine.

"The local authorities pulled me out when everything had been cleared and they began to sort through the wreckage.  I'd been turned over to American government when they discovered my ID in my back pocket.  They told me that it took forever for the police to get in because vines kept growing from everything I touched.  Several of them were strangled to death as I lay down there unconscious.  I was deemed dangerous and therefore put it a high security area.   I was told a version of what happened that day and propositioned to join the Avengers.  I was angry and grieving and I wanted to find out who murdered my children, my husband... so I accepted without hesistation. So when I tell you that I understand how you got to the point that you did... trust me.  I get it."

Helmut said nothing as he reached out to take her hand.

"Perhaps, you and I are not so different." he said.

"Probably a lot more similiar than you think." she chuckled.

"Though I am not a goddess." he said with a small smirk.

"I'm no goddess." she said.

"Ah no?" he asked. "Not Mother Nature then?"

"Sure you can call me mother nature...of the current year where I've been poisoned by the human race and am genuinely fed up with life in general.  Maybe Mother Nature's trailer trash cousin, Global Warming." she said and Helmut laughed at her in disbelief. "I can say trailer trash cause I am trailer trash."

Helmut shook his head in amusement.

He wasn't sure of anything in that moment but he was thankful for it and he hoped that perhaps his family was somewhere looking down on him.

He silently thanked them for allowing him to meet the one person who had stayed.

Mother Nature always found a way.

----- Hello my loves! I hope you enjoy this! This piece was commissioned by a lovely lady who chose to remain anon!  If you have a commission that you'd like done just reach out and I'll answer any questions you have!  Thank you so much for reading and I would love to hear your thoughts!

All my love, Kenny -----

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