#ill post them perhaps when they're done

[rosedhall]

the other doodles on the same page as my prior rose drawing are her cuddling a toddler aged jim and her making harvey go mushy, truly the character of all time.. her range

[ribbononline]

Oh yeah! Since I have no clue if/when I'm ever finishing these and I've had them laying around for forever by now- here's the adult IT metaverse outfits I've made! They're all based on their ultimate personas and the concept of heros! Since these were made for an aged up p4 cast, these aren't quite what I'd put their during p4 time selves in- some changing more then others- but if you wanna follow me into design details, that'll all be under the cut!

First off to get em out of the way- Teddie is very largely the same as his p4 time metaverse outfit I made for him back here . The design is still meant to be inspired by magical girls, but the biggest change is that while the old one was meant to look like a magical girl protagonists outfit, this one I tried to lean a bit more into the older/more experienced cast member of the magical girl group type design. Overall a pretty minor change (and I will admit, largely because I'm still incredibly happy with that old design) but it felt fitting!

Chie and Yukiko were, as always when I work on them, designed to match. Their masks specifically mirror eachother with the opposites sides sticking out, and they both have a golden dragon pattern on their clothes as a reference to the twin dragons move! Chie was... honestly one where I had to sacrifice my goals a bit. Like mentioned before, these were meant specifically for an aged up cast. And while p4 era Chie I would absolutely imagine in a kung fu Chung-Li type outfit, we know what a more mature version of her action hero dreams look like; the police! And I.... really did not want to put her in a cop outfit, Ill be real. Instead I just tried focusing on making the outfit look more mature. Also tried to combine a practical and strong look with a more feminine aesthetic, since she struggles pretty badly with her femininity in p4 and I like to think she'd grow more comfortable with her own brand of it over time!

Yukiko is perhaps one of the most drastic one for changes compared to her younger self- if you asked me to design a p4 era outfit for her, it would look nothing like this, hah. Anyways, she's definitely inspired by onna-musha! Compared to Tomoe who was a full on commander of an army going out there, for Yukiko the idea was more the women taking up arms to protect their home when the battle comes their way. Fully having embraced the role she has as the next owner of the Amagi Inn and the responsibility and want to protect it, it's meant to be somewhat of an outing of that!

Fun fact: She has two color schemes! Because uhh I did not know what to go for at all. Her ultimate persona is like a single solid color and I kind of panicked and just ended up winging the colorscheme. One is more red since, y'know, thats her color! The other is more white gold to match her actual persona better. Included at the end of this post for the curious

Rise was based on a greek goddess- though not any particular one, moreso how they're commonly depicteed in art and old statues. Pretty, holy, someone you'd go to for advice and help (someone just out of reach from the general public) It just felt like a good combination of something she'd like to be seen as and percieved as as well. She gets two outfits- for scan and fight mode! Kouzeon has no canon fight mode, thats just for Himiko, but man it exists in my heart. The transistion between the two is literally just her throwing off the long overskirt, hah.

How does her mask work? Excellent question. The p5 idea of having it there when vibing but gone when the persona is out feels a little awkward when her persona's whole thing is putting a visor over her face. Quite frankly I have no idea. Sorry folks. Have all concept sketches for the outfits I've done as compensation with a bonus Noot in there that I never continued on and finished.

[giantchasm]

"It turns out that sometimes the future actually belongs to someone else."

Happy Taransusie Tuesday, everyone! Here's...

Content that only ostensibly focuses on Taransusie and is more than anything character analysis of a third party?

How romantic! 🎉🥳

Okay, but no, seriously. Joshing aside, the other day I posted a meme about Sectonia and how she might feel about the idea of Taranza eventually moving on from her. And it was funny. We all laughed. But things can't always be goof-goof "If everyone started saying 'she sent her for you' I would start haunting literally everyone here because no I didn't." I'm a serious guy. I like exploring concepts that make me go "OUCHIE!" and so let's look at that sort of idea through a more somber lens for a moment.

...How would Sectonia feel if Taranza eventually moved on?

Now, I don't know if she's out there... somewhere in Hades or haunting his ass, but either way I think about her a lot. How she might feel in death, especially if she was returned to her right mind.

I think... Sectonia would have a lot of complicated feelings. Like, before we even get to the relationship nonsense. Let's toss all that aside for a second. I think Sectonia would be simultaneously be crushed by the state she left Taranza in and still... upset to eventually see him heal from it. She'd be glad, of course, to watch the scars she left on him fade, but all the same... seeing him make new friends— leave her behind...

That would have to hurt a little bit, wouldn't it? After all, it's not like she'd be afforded the same opportunity. She died young. Via circumstances that were hardly her fault. Of course she'd be a little bit jealous. Of course she'd be a little bit depressed. Maybe even a little bit angry. And she'd feel bad about it, but she would.

So when you factor in the idea of Taranza entering another relationship... oh my gosh, those complex feelings would only intensify. Taranza deserves to be happy. Taranza deserves to move on. She would know that rationally, but at the same time, the heart isn't always rational.

I do think ultimately she'd support him. In whatever he chose to do. Even if it hurt her a little. The least she can do is give him her blessing after everything that happened.

But that's something that applies to just about any Taranza ship. Let's talk about Susie for a moment.

I... think Susie and Sectonia are people who have some similar issues. At least in my interpretations, they're both people who have warped and maimed themselves in an endless search of perfection hoping it will grant them acceptance from others. But this hasn't granted them peace of mind, and in fact all it's done is pull them further from 'themselves.'

I don't know. I just think they'd have a lot to talk about, even in contexts that don't flagrantly disregard the Bechdel test like this one. They're both girlies who would, like, really vibe to both "Oh No!" by Marina and the Diamonds and "Body" by Mother Mother if that's a sentence that makes even a lick of sense. Their mental illnesses aren't the same, but they're like cousins. Their mental illnesses went to school together.

I think this sort of... self-recognition through the other would both make things easier and harder on Sectonia. Because on one hand, I think it would further be a reminder of all the things she'll never have no matter how badly she wants them, but I also think it would help her... have more empathy for this person she's initially inclined to see as her enemy, and maybe even help her eventually want good things for her.

It's kind of a complex scenario. More serpentine than I could possibly portray in a single comic or Tumblr post. Eventually, I'd like to write a fic from a deceased Sectonia's perspective exploring these sorts of ideas. But for now, I'll leave you with one last preposterous observation:

Perhaps this, too, is yuri. 🤖🐝

[lynmars79]

Reflecting on the meme responses and jokes to episode 12 of season 3 Midst--and don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying the reactions too, after sitting on this for two weeks--and there's specific ways in universe, and by the narrators, in which Weepe's Fold disability is treated compared to others afflicted by their Fold scars.

He's hardly the only weird or monstrous looking person in the cosmos, particularly those who live within the Fold itself, and now many of the citizens of Midst who survived the moonfall. There's people with extra eyes, limbs, even heads. Fiona's left leg is now a man named Jacob. Giselle's personality is replaced by frogs. Fuze's upside down mouth, hidden behind his facial hair. Ettie's constant laughing. Saskia's doubling can even be horrifying in a few ways, though she's currently coping and using it as an advantage, most times.

And then there's Moc Weepe, who was the most noticeably Fold-affected person on Midst pre-tearror. Because of what happened in the Arca, his situation became a lot worse--a situation he tells Imelda was an inevitability someday.

(Was it really? Or is that his assumption, given how events in his life tend to happen? That if it wasn't Imelda pushing him like that, someone else would have sooner or later?)

Weepe's appearance is described as ghastly and horrific, and it is! He's a translucent jelly of a person, innards on display, the Fold visibly slinking through his system. He has to constantly have a pump going, not unlike people who need their constant oxygen, or drainage bags, or other outward signs of their disability.

Weepe's falling into a(n often dicey) trope of his outward appearance reflecting the monstrousness within, though his descriptions in that way are different from others afflicted by the Fold. Many of them are noted by the narrators as simply existing, a little odd but nothing grotesque, even when the descriptions given would be extremely off-putting. They're spoken of as normal, if noticeable, ramifications of exposure to the Fold. The images and descriptions of the Sequester citizens that Phineas, Lark, and Tzila encountered in season 2 could also be considered monstrous by some.

But it's Weepe specifically who murders people with his own tainted blood, even selling it to others (like Lark, unknowingly). Having his security use it to kill Kozma's entourage. I doubt he's sending any samples to the Mothers now. There are indications, too, that Weepe is exaggerating how weak/ill he is to take others off guard (like Kozma). It's Weepe who weaponizes his Fold affliction, with all sorts of justifications pertaining to his own survival and success.

(Perhaps Saskia to a degree also, using her doubling to literally be in two places at once, passing information between herself, but for very different reasons.)

I say in another post that I gotta respect Imelda's monster-fucking game (I've been on the internet for 30 years, y'all). Especially since I consider her as a monster of another kind, the True Believer with ambition and seeking power, somehow seeing Weepe as a key to her own success, willing to do anything to achieve that. So far it's working, and there have been some concerning appendices about her actions as Archauditor already.

It's not so much about Weepe's horrific Fold-altered state (though that is part of it, but unlike with other Fold-afflicted characters). It's not the middle-aged aspect of the participants (that may be part of it for some younger listeners, though Lark and Sherman hooking up is also considered normal to sweet, and Imogen Loxlee is forever a catch).

It is two horrible people, who have done horrible things to each other as well as to other people, giving in to a long-standing tension (Weepe describing Imelda in detail down to her "little sexy suits" during his Arca ranting, and her fawning on Midst and into the Highest Light didn't seem entirely business-driven) for their own dubious reasons that likely have nothing to do with actual romantic emotions, and are more likely as much about their parallel schemes as about the sexual attraction over their matching ruthlessness

Of the relationships, complicated as they all are in this series, it's the potentially most toxic we are shown as sex occurs, in an exchange to cut the various tensions and issues with this particular hookup; it's actually one of my favorite narrator interactions, the awkwardness and uncertainty playing up the funny to describe the scene without describing it.

I just also look to all the discussions about aging, weight, and disabled, and other folks who fall outside our society's norms for desirability, and wish the narrative descriptions did lean a little more on Weepe's actual monstrosity, and not the grotesqueness of his Fold-afflicted appearance. Cuz when they do turn on the Actual Monster Weepe mode, he's terrifying regardless.

Besides, the pump sound effects and ability to "see" Weepe's physical reactions definitely added to the creative descriptions of that scene in a way that wouldn't be possible otherwise!

Anyway. Mostly feel like there's some unintentional line toe-ing happening in some of these descriptors and reasons for them, which is going to happen in pretty much any and every media, especially a semi-improvised one, as our diabolical businessman--inspired by various traditional villain characters--slips further into villainy himself and his oft-described appearance reflects it.

[autumnslance]

(@driftward) SURPRISE! Downtime funtime! Intimacy prompts, 11. Sharing secrets with Iyna, 29. Kisses when they're mad with C'oretta, 49. Caring for them when they're ill with Dark, 15. Talking with Aeryn... and maybe one you wish someone would've asked for but didn't.

More of these from earlier this summer. In case we need a reminder that @driftward is a menace here are several prompts below the cut, and I maybe shamelessly borrowed her Zoissette Vauban, and @erickgage's Erick Gage, for 2 of them.

--

11. Sharing secrets with Iyna

“You know the worst thing?” Valdeaulin said, staring up at the shadowed ceiling. “I don’t want to kill him anymore.”

Iyna paused in her search for her clothes. Not the strangest post-coital conversation she had ever had, picking up where they had left off in their pre-bedroom argument. She went back to fishing for her stockings. “Could you, though, if you had to?”

She sensed his frown behind her. “Yes,” he finally replied, certain. “But I don’t think the bastard’s going to give me a reason to anymore. I don’t…want there to be a reason anymore.”

Iyna considered that, nodding once. “And that feels wrong, somehow?”

“Isn’t it?” He turned to his side, head propped on his hand, watching her collect her clothes.

“You’re telling me this because part of you hopes I’ll agree,” Iyna said gently. “You know I don’t like him, and still harbor hate for…everything. And you want your guilty feelings validated.”

Valdeaulin scowled in response.

“I can’t give you what you’re asking, Val. Because you’re making better progress than I am, concerning the changes in our world. The empire’s fall. The Black Wolf’s change of coat.”

He sighed and flopped onto his back again. “Perhaps I just needed to hear it.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed. It wouldn’t be the first time he had asked for her blunt opinion. She balled the bundle of her clothes under an arm, her boots hanging from her fingers, and headed for the wash while he continued contemplating.

--

29. Kisses when they're mad with C'oretta

When Zosisette’s lips went very thin and her frame stiffened, C’oretta knew she was in big trouble. Zoissette’s demeanor had shifted in a way that made the lab feel like midwinter on the highest peak of Abalathia’s Spine.

Which was far too cold for Ul’dahn Sun Seekers.

“Do you have any idea what could have happened if the calculations were slightly off?”

“Yes of course that would be bad but they weren’t because I—”

“Never! Show! Your! Work!” She didn’t yell and that was actually the worst part, the way the elezen sharply emphasized each word despite being so very quiet.

“No I know I don’t and I know it’s a problem we’ve talked about it before and I mean to fix it honest but I get distracted and anyway it’s all so obvious I really don’t know how anyone could mix up the levels the balance is—”

“C’oretta,” Zoissette sighed.

Oh this was so bad. Even Violet was hiding, peeking from behind the bench, snout snuffling as she looked from one to the other. If C’oretta got barred from the lab—again—that would suck for however long it lasted thanks to no work to do but also Violet would be sad because of lack of treats so there was really only one thing for it.

C’oretta sighed too. “OK I will sit down right now and write everything down even though it’s already too late I know that but I should have done it to begin with and we can avoid this in the future.”

“There’s also the matter of cleaning up this mess.”

“Of course I’ll do that first and then write it all down and you will hold me to it because you’re the best and really what else are we going to do today thanks to my carelessness!”

Zoissette’s brows drew in briefly, noting the shift but not sure what to make of it as she nodded, some of the ice thawing. “Right, well, glad that you’ve acknowledged—”

And now for the cherry. It didn’t matter that the other woman was over two fulms taller. “Of course and you’re the best Zoissette thanks so much for being a friend and teacher!” and C’oretta bounced up, managed a kiss on each of Zoissette’s cheeks, before bounding toward the closet for the safety and cleaning gear while her comrade stood and blinked in stunned confusion.

C’oretta was in the clear for another bell at least.

She really did need to start writing things down though cuz maybe some of this wasn’t so obvious to everyone else…

--

49. Caring for them when they're ill with Dark

It had been a long time since she had to clean up after Erick like this. Before, it would have been due to overdrinking and a hangover. Today, however…

“I’m not hungry,” he grumped, a bit of whine to his voice.

“It’s soup,” Dark said flatly. “And I will pour it down your throat if I must.”

He narrowed his eyes from where he sat propped in bed. She knew he believed her. “I can’t keep anything down.”

“Nothing solid, but you need hydration and nutrients. It’s an old recipe, meant for upset stomachs.”

“I want Meya,” he flopped back against his pillows, eyes to the ceiling. “She has a much better bedside manner.”

“Among other things,” Dark replied dryly, satisfied by the little smile that played on his lips. “But she’s not here, so drink your soup.”

He sighed, long-suffering, but finally complied, making a face as she sat, arms crossed, ensuring he finished the mug of broth, slowly.

After a nap, she held his hair and cleaned him up when he heaved into a ready bucket again, and then bullied him into a cup of tea before helping him to the commode.

She stayed all night, leaning back in an armchair, ready to respond when he needed help through every messy function this particularly nasty bug put him through, until his fever broke in the pre-dawn hours.

It was closer to mid-afternoon before he woke, ate a bowl of vegetable soup with toast, and sighed, feeling mostly like a person again, if in need of a shower.

So did Dark for that matter, bleary-eyed herself, but satisfied he was well enough to manage that on his own, getting up to leave as he collected what he needed to clean himself.

“Thanks, Dark,” he said quietly, not quite looking.

“Any time,” she replied, just as quiet, before slipping out.

--

15. Talking with Aeryn…

“So it’s pretty serious then,” Rashae said casually as she joined her sister on the roof. Radz-at-Han’s colors gleamed and lights sparkled on as the sun fell behind the Giantsgall Mountains.

Aeryn sighed, fiddling with the bracelet on her left wrist as they sat on the wall, legs dangling like when they were girls. “Yes,” she admitted. “We’re not quite…ready, for…”

Rashae raised a brow. “No? You live together, share a bed—don’t try to play innocent with me—what else is there? It seems simple—”

“Easy for you to say,” Aeryn snapped, then sucked in a breath and shook her head. “I’m sorry, it’s just…it’s not that easy. For either of us. For many reasons.”

“Reasons you have neglected to mention in those letters?” Rashae asked, watching over the city, unaffected by Aeryn’s outburst.

“I told you everything in my letters,” Aeryn said, still contrite. “Just…not every detail.”

Rashae smiled. “I long ago figured that out. Especially as my children have gotten old enough for the same trick. I never wanted to push your privacy, and was happy to give what advice I could. I couldn’t even imagine some of what you described, and how you must have felt. Must still feel.”

“We’re working on it,” Aeryn said. “And we’ll get there. In our time, at our pace. We need to sort of…ease into it, I suppose.”

“My impetuous, impatient little sister, taking her time and consideration with something? It must be very important,” Rashae answered, not quite teasing. Her hand rested on Aeryn’s and squeezed. “And it will be worth it.”

“I like to think so.”

“Papa likes Thancred. So do Kai and Mirvah. Even the Grandmothers. And he of course won the children over quite easily.”

“He is a charmer,” Aeryn said, warmth filling her. She glanced at Rashae. “What about you?”

“Oh, I’ve liked him for years,” she answered blithely. “Your descriptions, your sketches, all brought him to life. It was obvious how he made you feel, even when—especially when—you were upset about things with him.”

Aeryn let out a breath she had been holding.

“My husband still thinks he’s a rake.”

Aeryn laughed. “Well. He’s not entirely wrong, though Thancred’s rakish days are behind him.” She leaned over, resting her head on Rashae’s shoulder. Rashae’s head tilted against hers. “Please don’t let the Grandmothers plan a giant wedding for me.”

“Heavens forfend,” Rashae answered, giving Aeryn’s hand another squeeze. “With everything you’ve done and everyone you know, the guest list would be obscene and frankly impossible. If anything, you should elope and we sort it out later.”

“Take after your example?” Aeryn grinned.

“For different reasons, of course, but as I still breathe, you can rest assured forgiveness works far better than permission. And you don’t have to deal with Nani Shaila, even.”

Aeryn shivered. “I’ll have to leave an offering for her memory, lest she haunt me anyway.”

“That would be safest,” Rashae agreed.

The heat of the day lingered, the humidity and their closeness causing a drop of perspiration to slide down Aeryn’s spine. But she didn’t want to move, didn’t want to lose this closeness, the familiarity of Rashae’s scent and touch filling a years-long craving Aeryn had pushed so far down she’d nearly forgotten it. Her elder step-sister had always been a comfort and shelter, one Aeryn had missed terribly. One she had needed so many times, but all she could do was write.

“I shouldn’t have stayed away so long.” Her vision blurred as a stinging heat that had nothing to do with Thavnair’s weather filled her face.

“You’re here now,” Rashae said, wrapping her arms around Aeryn. “And when you’ve finished this latest adventure, when you and your man finally define your future together…I’ll still be here, when you need me. But it would be nice to have more than letters a tad more frequently.”

Aeryn tried to laugh sheepishly, but it came out as a sob. Years of adventures, of triumph and hardship, crashed into her at once.

Her sister held her, stroking her hair, singing gently, as the crescent moon rose overhead.

--

and maybe one you wish someone would've asked for but didn't.

(None of the others really pinged for the FF14 crew, but just for you, how about something from the original story and prompt 59 “a height difference”…)

They continued to walk, some of the garden beds held by low, broad retaining walls of smooth stone, giving Mevan an idea. August blinked as she stepped away from him, lifting her skirts just enough to bound to the top of the low wall. “Be careful—”

“I am,” Mevan said, smiling. “I’m still not as tall as you while up here!”

The top of her head was even with his eyeline now. He chuckled, shaking his head. “I see. Certainly a new perspective.” He kept hold of her hand, more to keep her steady. She kept hold of her skirt with her other, carefully walking along the top of the stone.

“Sometimes that’s what’s needed,” she said, remembering the times teachers in Zenith had repeated the words.

“Any insights from your new perspective?” August asked dryly.

“The ground is very far away and normal sized things seem much smaller,” Mevan answered.

He huffed out an almost sheepish laugh, looking away in that shy manner she was starting to recognize. “It does not seem so to me, but I am used to my height.”

“Maybe you should walk on your knees for a while.”

“I hardly think that would be useful.”

She shrugged. “You’re so used to being large, when was the last time you felt small?”

He was quiet for a moment, enough to make her peer at him. “You might be surprised,” he finally replied. Then shook his head, looking off to the side—his embarrassed expression. “Nevermind”

“No, I won’t,” she said. “I want to know. Was someone cruel?”

“Why, would you curse them?” he asked.

Mevan tossed her hair. “Maybe!” she declared. As he peered at her, she shook her head. “That’s a superstition, told by the fearful. Though I’m afraid I must admit there are nasty moments where I almost wish I could curse someone.”

“I can scarce imagine you in such a state.”

“I have my moments. But you’re trying to deflect.”

He frowned. “I said nevermind.”

She stopped, making him pause too. “Neither of us want this,” she said. “But if we must go through with it, we ought to talk to one another. Even about difficult things.”

He glowered at her. She pulled her hand away so she could put both on her hips, lifting her chin and meeting his piercing amber gaze—even if his expression made her want to leap off the wall and flee. It wasn’t that he was trying to frighten her; more that was just his typical fierce scowl. But she was a Spark of Zenith, and had studied under those who could change reality at their whims. One soldier, even if he was a fearsome giant of a man, was not going to intimidate her.

Especially if she did end up married to him.

They spent a rather long time like that, before August ground his jaw, then sighed, shoulders shrugging downward. He looked away again. “You are a stubborn witch, aren’t you?”

“And your brother wasn’t wrong to call you a stubborn bear,” she countered. “So perhaps we are well matched in that regard.”

“Hrmph.” He held out his hand again. She considered for a moment, then took it as they resumed walking, Mevan still upon the retaining wall. “I try to keep my own counsel,” August said finally. “To avoid others noticing how…awkward I can be, in most situations.”

“You haven’t struck me as awkward,” she replied.

“It’s kind of you to say so. And I have…practiced, quite a bit. But often, my size and voice and ability to command covers much.”

“I see,” she said. “That’s why you dislike large groups of people, then? Afraid they might notice?”

“I don’t fear them,” he said testily. “But I do not wish to embarrass my House by merely speaking incorrectly, according to arbitrary rules that constantly shift. And they are simply too much; too many smells, too many sounds. It’s grating.”

“Easy to feel trapped by it all,” she said, empathizing; it must be even worse when larger than anyone else, and easily seen.

[idlenight]

OC Speech & Mannerisms

Was tagged by @cigarettesandinevitablebetrayal (his post can be found here)

Tagging @vin-ill, @dorkousloris, @ianthedebonair, and @gonesoft-ish.

I have also already done one of these for one of my Rook's (here)!

Subject: River Becker

[thought cig's banner was cute so I copied that]

NO. OF SPOKEN LANGUAGES: 1 / 2 / 3+ Sidestep canonically speaks 8+ languages. Though River has only ever advertised that he speaks English + Spanish to the Rangers.

TONE OF VOICE: high / average / deep

ACCENT: Yes / No

DEMEANOUR: confident / shy / approachable / hostile / other (Unassuming and 'don't look at me' is the vibe he is trying to give off. )

POSTURE: slumped / straight / stiff / relaxed He's so tall, he's making himself smaller; hiding, unassuming.

HABITS: head tilting / swaying / fidgeting / stuttering / gesturing / arm crossing / strokes chin / er, um, or other interjections / plays with hair or clothing / hands at hips / inconsistent eye contact / maintains eye contact / frequent pausing / stands close / stands at a distance

COMPLEXITY

VOCABULARY: ⬤⬤⬤〇〇

EMOTION: ⬤⬤〇〇〇

SENTENCE STRUCTURE: ⬤⬤⬤〇〇

PROFANITY

FREQUENCY: ⬤⬤⬤⬤⬤+++++

CREATIVITY (in regards to profanity): ⬤⬤⬤⬤〇

BOLD ALL THAT APPLY: arse. ass. asshole. bastard. bitch. bloody. bugger. bollocks. chicken shit. crap. cunt. dick. frick. fuck. horseshit. motherfucker. piss. prick. screw. shit. shitass. son of a bitch. twat. wanker. pussy. (bonus: his set swear is 'Fuck', often combines it with any other kind of swear. Fuck is the load-bearing part of his sentence structure)

IMPORTANT QUESTIONS

DO PEOPLE HAVE A HARD TIME HEARING OR UNDERSTANDING YOUR CHARACTER? - almost always / frequently / rarely / never

DOES YOUR CHARACTER'S INTENDED POINT COME ACROSS EASILY WHEN THEY SPEAK? - almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never.

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER INITIATE CONVERSATIONS? - almost always / frequently / sometimes / never. (depends on the person)

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER BE THE ONE TO END CONVERSATIONS? - almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never.

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER USE 'WHOM' IN A SENTENCE? - yes / no / only ironically

YOUR CHARACTER WANTS TO MAKE A COUNTERPOINT. WHAT WORD DO THEY USE? - but / though / although / however / perhaps / mayhaps.

HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER END CONVERSATIONS? - walk away / ask if that's everything / say that's everything / give a proper goodbye / tell their company they're done here / remain quiet / they don't. (depends on who he's talking to and how polite he's trying to be)

WHAT SOCIAL CLASS WOULD OTHERS ASSUME YOUR CHARACTER BELONGS TO, HEARING THEM SPEAK? - upper / middle / lower. (its all the swears and general drab disposition)

IN WHAT WAYS DOES THE WAY YOUR CHARACTER SPEAK STAND OUT TO OTHERS? - accent / vocabulary / tone / level / politeness / brusqueness / it doesn't.

[eric-the-bmo]

[John Doe, the Monstrous]

"Keep the wolf from the cattle."

"She's no safer with him than she is with you."

As a witch-cursed monster, John Doe is a man who only wants love; However, despite being confined to a human form, his monstrous instincts still reside- resulting in bouts of violent hunger, ruined relationships, and self-hatred.

After accidentally revealing his nature to the rest of the main characters, John has failed to repair his once-budding relationships with them, and most view him as a source of danger.

(An explanation for the quotes, each image, and the board in a unified picture will be under the Read More, as well as a bit of rambling):

It's been a while since I've made a board like this, and I forgot how strangely enjoyable it is to see it all come together.

There were multiple routes I could've gone for this board: his love for humanity, emphasis on his self-hatred and idolization issues, his violent hunger and how it ties into his want for love, but I went with the flow and ended up with a general board; a vaguely ominous one, with the blow softened by the query if he can be loved.

The quote below the board ("She's no safer with him than she is with you") is a direct line from John's story, where Louis states in a conversation with John he's as much a threat to Song as the current monster they're up against [John didn't take kindly to this statement, since while the monster is acting with ill intent, he himself is at least trying to be benevolent.]

Panel Elaboration: {going left to right, starting at the top row & working our way down}:

The antlers have been on his pinterest board for a while; it's a call to his deer imagery, and of coursse the fact he was heavily inspired by the Not Deer cryptid. He even grew a pair of antlers when he first revealed his more monstrous side.

I think with with how the hair is covering most of the face here- and how it's more of a side profile- only adds to the intrigue of this board. Something about how the lack of clear face only adds to the monstrous/cryptid energy. (perhaps turning away/leaving so others won't get hurt?)

The road illuminated by headlights is actually in reference to his backstory- upon turning into a human, he ran out onto a road and ended up meeting what would eventually become his first (and, currently, only) friend. The woods were also his primary hunting grounds as a monster, and can be seen on the edges of the road.

John's story mainly takes place in a suburb; Additionally his monstrous nature and instincts fully showed themselves during the Season One finale, when he was searching for a monster at midnight- so the time of the image fits great.

As mentioned before, the question of "but who could love me?" ties into John's core belief (that he cannot be loved if people know he's a monster) and one of his core character traits (desire for love and company). To me, this line, in tangent with the rest of the violent images, implies his sense of self-hatred.

As for the teeth: While John is inspired by the Not Deer, there's been a continuous trend throughout the story (and his official playlist) of associating him with dog/wolf imagery. Additionally, nearly every attack John has done has been with his maw.

John's second method of harm would be his claws; He hasn't used them much, but I wanted to include images for both of his attack methods- this could also be symbolic of his attempted self-restraint. Truly, I just needed to fill this part of the board up.

The term "witch-cursed" was used to describe John earlier in this post- around three years ago, John, as a monster, had attempted to attack a witch who was practicing a ritual in its woods. Her ritual backfired from its attack, resulting it being bound to a human form. This spiral of stones in a forest clearing is meant to be the ritual setup for the spell she was trying to attempt.

Finally, the bloodied sidewalk steps are meant to be for the scene in the Season One finale in which John attacked Song in a frenzy by attempting to tear out her throat. I feel like the image of blood adds to the image of him being a dangerous creature; if it weren't here, the message probably wouldn't have been properly conveyed.

His story's hiatus is ending tomorrow, and I'm looking forward for his tale (and subsequent suffering) to continue.

"He's a bit of a tragedy, isn't he?"

[fandom-princeling8]

The old preist

I know this isn't what I usually post and it will probably rub some people up the wrong way but I'm really proud of this and felt like sharing so here you go😁

The old priest,

His back was hunched, as though the weight of the world was bearing down on him, his spine crumbling under the pressure, but was it really the world that was weighing him down or was it the weight of the guilt, the knowledge of the atrocities committed in the name of his God, his religion; the fairytale lie he'd dedicated his life to preach, the creeping black poison he'd eagerly had his hand in spreading. 

There's a tremor in his crooked hands that worsens with each passing day, he's old, and he's terrified; he knows what he's done, what his preachings have abetted and he can only imagine what's coming for him when he departs this mortal coil. 

His eyes are dark and sunken, weary from a life spent selling a fiction as though it was the only truth the world's ever known all the while sweeping the horrors that manifest in its shadow under the carpet of deception so carefully woven by his predecessors. 

The skin on his hands, his face, its thin and wrinkled like overused tissue paper and it clings to his bones with slowly slipping fingers, fighting a losing battle against the unrelenting force of gravity; or perhaps it's not gravity at all perhaps it's just the creeping tendrils of hells cruel depths trying to take back their own, if that's the case, hells winning. 

His jaw is weak and twisted he can't quite shut it all the way now, the muscles have been corrupted by the toxic lies he spouts so freely and his teeth, hiding behind thin, pale lips are gappy and worn they're almost pointed now, more like fangs than normal teeth; it seems his ‘faith’ got to them too. 

The clothes he wears are ill fitted and unflattering, the hem almost dragging on the floor; he tells people, himself even, that it's just the proper dress of his position. But is it really or is it to hide his twisted frame from the public eye? Is the length to hide a devil's tail? And is the hunch in his shoulders the result of an old man's bent spine or is that the shape of demons wings sprouting from his back?

He walks with a slow shuffling gait, struggling to lift his feet and maybe it's not because of his age or his weakening muscles, maybe it's the weight of the denizens trying to pull him down to hell, trying to claim back their own. His time here is almost up, he's done his job so well; spreading the creeping sickness of religion, doing his part to broaden the bloody stain it's left on humanity.

His times almost up and heaven won't take him, that's just a fairytale made up by cruel minds to make the masses do their bidding. And even if it wasn't, they wouldn't let him in.

[iviarellereads]

A Wrinkle In Time, Chapter 8 - The Transparent Column

(THIS PROJECT IS SPOILER FREE! No spoilers past the chapter you click on. Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index for the Time Quintet, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

In which we achieve half the plot's stated goal!

Meg demands the man tell her what he did with Charles Wallace. He pretends he's done nothing. Meg gets shouty, but Calvin says they should focus on tethering Charles Wallace's true self to themselves, hold on to him so he's not lost somewhere. They try to physically restrain Charles's body, but he's stronger than he should be, and the red-eyed man's attendants cut in when they get too rowdy.

Charles, who until further notice is really just the entity speaking through Charles, says they had it all wrong, they've been fighting a friend, even their father's friend. Meg says if her father says the man is a friend, she might accept that, unless he's under a spell like Charles. Charles scoffs at the idea of spells.(1) He uses a term that sets Meg off further, because he's never called her "dear sister".

Calvin asks that the entity stop speaking through Charles, as they already know it has him hypnotized. The man calls that word primitive, but allows it, and has his attendants release Meg and Calvin. Calvin asks what he is, but the man says that's not important. Calvin asks if he'll escort them to Mr. Murry, but the man can't leave this place, it will be Charles who guides them. When Calvin asks when, the man replies, "it might as well be now."

Charles indicates for them to follow, and starts walking, clearly not his own gait. Meg hesitates, but Calvin follows, so she must as well. She half wants to grab Calvin's hand, but she's done nothing but look for hands to hold since this journey started, so she balls up her fists and puts them in her pockets.(2)

On the way, Calvin tries to focus and telepathically draw Charles back, but the entity speaking through Charles suggests he not try that again if they want to see Mr. Murry. He doesn't even call him that or father, simply "Murry". Meg asks if that's what he'd call his father now, and Charles says if Meg needs a father, better to look to IT. Meg finally asks what IT is.

"All in good time," Charles Wallace said. "You're not ready for IT yet. First of all I will tell you something about this beautiful, enlightened planet of Camazotz." His voice took on the dry, pedantic tones of Mr. Jenkins. "Perhaps you do not realize that on Camazotz we have conquered all illness, all deformity--"(3) "We?" Calvin interrupted. Charles continued as though he had not heard. And of course he hadn't, Meg thought.

Essentially, if anyone gets so much as a cold, they're murdered. Before the story can deal with that, Charles makes a wall flicker and grow transparent, for them to move into a small room. Calvin asks how he did that, and Charles says, he just rearranged the atoms. Matter is mostly space, so if you convince it to move in closer, you create spaces.

Meg realizes the small room is an elevator, and it's just starting to move.

Charles says they've conquered difference, and Meg should be able to relate to that: her differences are what make her so unhappy at home. Calvin protests, he's different and happy, but Charles points out that Calvin pretends he isn't different. Meg says she might not like standing out, but she doesn't want to be like everyone else either.

The elevator stops, letting them out, though Calvin barely makes it out before the wall rematerializes. Meg accuses the thing in Charles of wanting to leave Calvin behind. Charles just says he's teaching them to stay on their toes and discouraging them from causing more trouble, so he won't have to bring them to IT.

This time, when Meg asks what IT is, Charles answers.

"You might call IT the Boss." Then Charles Wallace giggled, a giggle that was the most sinister sound Meg had ever heard. "IT sometimes calls ITself the Happiest Sadist." Meg spoke coldly, to cover her fear. "I don't know what you're talking about." "That's s-a-d-i-s-t, not s-a-d-d-e-s-t, you know," Charles Wallace said, and giggled again. "Lots of people don't pronounce it correctly."(4)

Charles goes on to say that Camazotz is perfect because it's a hive mind, one mind to rule them all, IT controls everyone and they can all be happy and not cause each other pain or hardship. Meg says Earth isn't perfect, but forced conformity can't be the only other solution. She wants to go home, but Calvin says they can't leave yet, but she's right, this place is Evil.

They continue onward, and Charles shows them the boy who bounced his ball wrong earlier, bouncing it perfectly in time now, but screaming in pain with every bounce.(5) A little further down, he makes another wall transparent, showing a room with a glass column in the middle, in which stands Mr. Murry.

=====

(1) Much as I abhor Joss Whedon, the "dear, we live on a spaceship" scene is one of many from Firefly that lives rent-free in my head. (2) There's nothing wrong with wanting reassurance that you're not alone, Meg. (3) Again, kinda nice to see this in the text of a children's book, considering how frequently ableism can creep in from the sides. This one's not getting everything as right or as consistent as you might like (see: Calvin's mum) but, I think L'Engle tried as best she could for her own framework. (4) While technically derived from the Marquis de Sade (which is pronounced "Sad"), "say-dist" is quite the more common and acceptable pronunciation in modern English. I don't know if or when there was a transition from one to the other, it's possible that "sad-ist" was more common or considered more acceptable when this was written. But, it amuses me that the prescriptionist in the room is incorrect. I wonder how many kids took this entity at its word, though. (5) Processing, one assumes. Reconditioning. Whatever you might want to call it besides evil.

[stargazer-sims]

Journal Entry #52

previously - Journal Entry #51 (part two)

Yuri

Have you ever wished you didn't exist?

I'm not talking about wanting to take your own life or hoping that you'll just fall asleep one night and never wake up. I mean wishing that you actually didn't exist, that you'd never been conceived and born in the first place.

I wish for that.

I'm not sure if I'll post this recording to our journal. I may even delete it from my phone later. The only reason I'm doing this at all is because I'm feeling so frustrated and upset and... I don't know. Worthless. Horrible. Perhaps angry at myself because I can never live up to anyone's expectations for me, not even my own.

Despite the number of times I'm told that I'm enough just as I am, I can't make myself believe it. I notice how people pretend to like me when they don't, and how they're polite and deferential to me because they think I'm too fragile to handle their honest feelings about me. I'm aware of their disapproval and disdain.

In all fairness, though, I can't blame anyone for disliking me. I see the work I create for everyone around me and how much of a burden I am to them. I despise myself for that.

The sad irony is, as much as I don't want to be a burden, not being one seems impossible. I'll never not be chronically ill. There'll be periods when I'm reasonably well, but there'll also be times when I'm too sick to do anything for myself and someone will have to take care of me. That's a reality I can never escape from.

I can guess what some of you would probably say now if you heard this. But, you love all the attention you get, don't you?

I think it’s a natural human response to like receiving attention, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. The truth is, being bathed or fed or massaged feels good, and knowing I have people in my life who’ll do that and so many other personal care tasks for me gives me a certain sense of security. And yes, in the moment, I do enjoy it. The problem is, when the task is done and I’m alone with my thoughts, I start to feel guilty for allowing myself to forget, even for a second, that these things aren’t meant for my gratification. I remember I'm a selfish, awful person for enjoying something that comes at the cost of someone else's time and effort, particularly because I know full well that I can never pay them back.

The thing that bothers me most of all is that the people who do the majority of the caretaking are my mother and Victor. The people I love more than anything, who I want to see happy and who I want to protect are the very ones who suffer the most because of me.

My beautiful, brave, loyal Victor would do anything for me, and I'd move the mountain itself to repay him if I could, but my intention is not enough. I love him with my entire mind, body and soul, but my love is not enough. I don't deserve him, and I don't know why he stays with me, because nothing about me will ever be worthy of someone as good and gentle and selfless as him. Nothing can ever erase the imbalance in what we give each other, and that truth chips away at my heart more and more as time goes on.

Victor says he loves me, and he’s demonstrated it in so many ways that I’d have to be completely detached and indifferent not to believe him. He also says he doesn't mind all the work he has to do, but I'm not so certain about that one. How could it possibly be true that it doesn’t bother him? It's unfair, and I know it's hard on him, being tied down by me all the time. He gave up so much for me, and here I am with nothing of value to give in return.

Sometimes I think it would've been better if we'd never met at all. He could've had a good life without me, chased all his dreams and done everything he'd planned to do.

It's too late now. He's attached to me, and I've ruined his life, and there's no way for me to set him free to reclaim what's left of it without hurting him in the process. I offered that to him once before and it upset him so much that I swore I'd never mention it again, even if I think it'd be in his own best interest to get away from me.

Not that I ever want to be apart from him, you understand, but if I need to choose between his happiness and my own, I'll always want to choose his. It's why I'm willing to move halfway around the world, why I didn't say no when he told me he wanted to keep competing, and why I agreed to the idea of Fox coming here to help us. It's why I acquiesce to most things I'm not entirely comfortable with. Letting him have what he wants without objection is the only currency I can exchange for everything I've taken from him.

If he ever wanted to leave of his own accord, I'd let him have his way there, too. I wouldn't try to force him to stay. If it'd make him happy, I'd let him go even though it would shatter me into a million pieces, even though I'm sure I'd be in pain forever from the grief of such a loss.

Perhaps that would be my penitence. Maybe it's what I truly deserve.

I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't even be recording this. It's nothing but a confused, emotional rant, and if I do end up posting it, I fully expect that anyone who sees it will think even less of me than they already do. It's just that saying it aloud helps, even if I'm only talking to myself. At the very least, I won't lie to myself. Nearly everyone else would tell me whatever they thought I wanted to hear, which is why I've stopped talking to people about my troubles. What would be the point?

Victor says I need to see a professional, and maybe he's right. Maybe I could tell this stuff to a psychologist who isn't part of my life and who could be objective. I doubt there's anything they could realistically do to make me less of an inconvenience. They can't cure my illness or make me physically stronger, and they can't make anyone like or respect me, but I guess they'd be someone who'd listen.

Last night, after Fox left, Victor found me crying in the upstairs bathroom. I might as well admit that I threw up and that I was trying to hide that fact as well as my little breakdown from him. Have you ever tried to throw up quietly? If you discover the secret to doing that, please tell me what it is.

Because I know someone will inevitably ask, the reason I was trying to hide it is because Victor doesn't like seeing me cry. He says it makes him feel helpless. Besides, he's so tenderhearted that if I'm crying, he often ends up crying too, and I don't like seeing him cry either. I'm usually good at suppressing my emotional responses, so I really don't cry all that often, but for the past few weeks it seems I haven't been able to hold anything in. It's another sign of weakness, I suppose; yet another way I've failed him.

He knocked on the bathroom door and called for me several times. When I didn't answer, he simply opened the door and let himself in, exactly as I'd known he would.

I didn't look up at him, and just mumbled, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"Everything," I said, because it was the truth. Everything felt wrong, and I was sorry for all of it.

"Uh... you think you could be a little more specific?" Victor crossed the room in a few long strides and sat near me on the floor. "Did you get sick?"

"I think you know I did."

"Okay. But, is there something else?"

"I don't want Fox to come any more," I told him.

"Why? Did something happen?"

I shook my head. I really didn't feel like discussing it, and I didn't think I was in a fit condition to have a decent conversation about anything, much less about that. Besides, how was I supposed to explain to him how inadequate Fox makes me feel? How was I supposed to say that I don’t like how patronizing Fox is, and how I feel humiliated and powerless when he talks to me as if I’m a stubborn child or as if I’m intellectually delayed?

The part I hate the most about having Fox here is how he keeps trying to convince me that I'm not actually as ill as I say I am, like I'm exaggerating my condition for attention and that I'm capable of far more than I'll admit. He seems to be under the impression that all it takes is a little willpower to overcome pain, nausea, muscle weakness, extreme fatigue and all my other symptoms, not to mention anxiety. What he doesn't realize is that I have plenty of willpower, and if it were really that easy, I wouldn’t need somebody like him. I'd have been cured long ago.

He tries to make me do things that are much too difficult, if not impossible, and I can almost never do them without consequences to my mental and physical well-being. Although I push through each task as best I can to avoid a conflict that I know I wouldn't have the stamina to deal with, I almost always feel far worse afterwards. He says he's helping me, and he calls it progress. I call it cruel and unusual torment.

He's supposed to be taking care of me. He's getting paid to take care of me. I think that obligates him to stick to caretaking, and should not extend to pretending to be my friend or to practicing his dubious amateur occupational therapy on me.

But, I couldn't confess any of that, could I?

"No," I said at last. "Everything's fine. I just... I think I can look after myself now."

I couldn't, of course, and I have no idea why I said that. I just didn't know how much longer I could endure the situation as it stood, and I suppose it was a way to get Victor to make Fox leave without me resorting to complaining about him.

Victor pulled at his lower lip with his teeth and gave me a worried look. My husband may be many things, but stupid and imperceptive aren't among them. He saw through me straight away. "Yuri, you can barely make it from your bedroom to here without help. I don't know if you're strong enough to look after yourself yet."

But, for some unknown reason, I persisted. "I'm not going to get any stronger by letting other people wait on me, am I?"

"You know it doesn't work like that," he said. "It's not like physio, where you build up strength in your muscles by exercising them. You're not going to get better by wearing yourself out."

"I'm never really going to get better anyway," I said. "I might as well do what I can, when I can, right?"

"Yes, when you can," he said. "Maybe in a few more weeks, when you—"

"No!" I cut him off mid-sentence. All of a sudden, I felt anger rising up inside me like a wave. It was irrational and relentless, and I felt unable to control it. "I don't want him here. Tell him not to come back."

"No," Victor said. "I'm not going to do that."

I stared at him, admittedly a little shocked. Victor hardly ever says no to me. "But—"

"No," he repeated. "You might not want his help any more, but I think you still need it. And I still need a little help too, until I get this other cast off."

"Helping you is meant to be my job," I said. "It's what i should be doing."

"You have a valid reason not to be doing it."

"But, I should be doing it," I insisted.

"Maybe," he said. "But I know you can't right now, and that's okay."

"I hate this!" I brought the edge of my fist down on the cold bathroom tiles as hard as I could. A jolt of pain shot up my entire arm, and as much as I tried not to wince, I'm sure I must have. "I'm tired of our lives being this way, of me not being able to do anything for you and just being a useless waste of everyone else's energy. I'm so tired of all of it, Victor. I just want it to stop."

Victor was gazing at me with an expression that might have been equal parts sympathy and perplexity. Whatever it was, it seemed obvious he didn't know how to respond. All he said was, "I know."

"No, you don't know!" I retorted. "You have no idea what it's like to be trapped in a body like mine!"

"I guess I don't, but—"

"You don't know what it's like to be exhausted and in pain all the time, or to worry that the slightest change could make it worse. You don't know how it feels to panic every time you realize you have to eat because everything you put into your mouth has the potential to hurt you. And you have absolutely no idea how worthless it makes me feel to not be able to do the simplest things for myself, much less be able to help you."

By the time I'd gotten all that out, I was shaking and crying, and there was nothing I wanted more than to be able to get up off the floor and flee as far away from everyone and everything as I possibly could. I didn't want Victor to look at me in the state I was in. I wanted to disappear, and contrary to what I previously said, in that moment I really did wish that I could go to sleep and not wake up ever again.

Victor reached toward me, like he wanted to pull me into a hug. Any other time, I'd be desperate for him to hold and comfort me, but the thought of him touching me just then was unbearable.

It was all I could do to speak through my tears. "Please, don't."

"But—" He lowered his hands and watched me for what felt like ages before he let out a long breath and tried again. "I think you need to tell me what's really going on."

"Nothing," I said. "Nothing but the same thing that's always going on around here."

"Which is...?"

"You know," I said.

"How about you humour me?”

I scrubbed fiercely at my eyes with the heels of my palms. "I'm tired. I'm tired of... everything. I don't want to keep fighting my own body any more. I don't want to keep pretending that I'm okay and that our situation is okay and that everything's fine when it's not."

"You don't have to pretend anything," he said. "We both know everything's not okay. And like, this is gonna sound like a cliché or whatever, but it's okay that we're not okay right now. Things will improve soon. They always do."

"No, they don't," I said. "Maybe it seems like that for a while, but we're always going to be caught in this cycle. Unless you decide to do something about it, you’re always going to be stuck with me."

"What do you mean, stuck with you? You make it sound like a chore or something."

"Isn't it?"

"If you're asking if it's a lot of work to take care of you, then the answer is yeah, it is a lot of work. But, it's not a chore. If it was, do you think I'd still be here? ‘Cause that’s what you meant, isn’t it? I’m only really stuck until I’ve had enough and I make up my mind to leave?”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“I’m not going to leave you, Yuri,” he said. “If I didn’t think I could cope with all your health stuff, I wouldn’t have stayed in the first place. I’d have been gone already.”

"Would you?” I said. “If you didn't feel like you had to, would you still stay?”

"You're assuming I feel like I have to.”

“Aren’t you tired too? Don’t you need a break from me and my problems?”

“A break from you? No.” He smiled slightly, but I got the impression it was born of awkwardness rather than a more positive emotion. He gestured vaguely. “It’d be nice to get a break from… this, ‘cause I am pretty wiped out, but that’s not your fault. It’s just real life, you know? I need a break from real life.”

“Me too.”

“Anyway,” he went on. “I told you before, we can get help. I mean, we've got help right now and I'm practically doing nothing, so..."

"But, you would if you could."

"Naturally, I would. You know that. But, I know my limits.”

“Are we close? To your limit?”

“Can you stop for a second, please?” he said. “I don't even understand why you're bringing this up, and I need to know why we’re talking about it. I thought we already settled this. Didn't we promise that we’d stick together through everything?”

"It's... I'm thinking about it for a lot of reasons."

"Such as?"

"Seiji," I said.

“What about him?”

“He came to visit me in the hospital."

"I know."

"He's not my friend,” I stated. The words hurt, or maybe it was the realization behind them that was so painful.

"What are you talking about?” Victor asked. “Seiji is your friend. He loves you."

The things that'd come out of Seiji's mouth the afternoon of his visit had made me question whether he'd ever been my friend. It made me wonder if he, like nearly everyone else, merely tolerated me and was only polite because it'd be socially unacceptable not to be, and now he'd finally grown tired of the pretense. "He thinks I'm a monster," I told my husband. "He was so angry."

“A monster? He didn’t really say that.”

“He did.”

"He brought you mochi," Victor said, his confusion evident in his tone. Clearly, Seiji hadn't mentioned anything to him about what had taken place.

For a few heartbeats, I paused, trying to decide if I should continue or not. Finally, I replied, "Yes, he brought me mochi, but I have no idea why. I don't even know why he came, because all he did was tell me what a terrible person I am. He thinks your accident was my fault."

"It wasn't," Victor said. "He's wrong about that."

"Perhaps, but I don't think he's wrong about everything else."

"Everything else. What's included in 'everything else'?"

"He said I don't deserve you. He said... he said you could've done better than me and that I'm holding you back. He said I'm hurting you just by being with you, and that if you're unhappy, it's my fault." I stopped at that point because I could feel tears starting to sting my eyes again and my chest was starting to feel tight.

What Seiji had said wasn’t anything new to me. I’d thought of most of it on my own, long before that. But, hearing the words coming from someone else caused them to strike home all that much harder.

“He’s wrong,” Victor said. “He knows I’m not unhappy. I told him that myself. And you’re not holding me back from anything.”

“I feel like I am.”

“You’re not. I’m doing everything I want to do,” he said. “Yeah, I gave up some stuff, but it’s not like you forced me to. Coming here when i did was my choice. I could’ve waited, but I didn’t want to.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Do you want the honest answer?”

“Yes.”

“It’s like I told you before,” he said. “Sometimes I wish I’d done things differently or made different choices, and sometimes I feel sad or angry about it, but I don’t think I’d call it regret. I love you, and I was determined that I was gonna be with you sooner or later, and if that involved a few sacrifices, I’d say they were worth it.”

“But, what about me? I haven’t sacrificed anything for you.”

“You don’t think so?”

I shook my head. “I suppose I had nothing to give up, in any case.”

“Sacrificing doesn’t necessarily mean you literally give something up. Sometimes it’s like, metaphorical or whatever. Like, I think it took a massive amount of courage for you to let me move in with you. You could’ve said no, but instead of letting your fear tell you what to do, you took a risk."

“That doesn’t seem like much of a risk."

"In hindsight maybe, but think about how you felt at the time."

"I wanted you to come," I said. “And I didn't give up anything compared to what I got out of it.”

“I got a lot out of it too,” he said. “It’s not as unequal as you think.”

“What do you get out of it?”

“I got you. You’re amazing, whether you believe it or not.”

“That’s not an answer." There was an edge to my voice that I didn't like, but once the words were out, there was nothing I could do. "That's the sort of thing you say when you can't think of anything."

“Okay, fine," Victor responded. "You need me to be specific?"

"Can you be?"

"Yeah, I can," he said. "You’re my voice of reason. You help me make good decisions, and you always know how to calm me down when I’m too hyper and the noise in my brain is really bad. You teach me stuff all the time, and you do your best to take care of me.” One side of his mouth twitched in what might’ve been an ironic smile he was trying to keep at bay. “Maybe even when you shouldn’t.”

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you saying that?"

"Because everything you just described... it's nothing. An acquaintance could do all that."

"You think I'd trust just any random acquaintance with my secrets? You think I'd let them into my personal space? Or let them do the stuff you did for me after my accident?"

"You let your mother and stepfather do it."

"Yuri, they're my parents. Well, Julian's not exactly my parent, but you know what I mean. I trust them just as much as I trust you, and if you don't think that much trust counts for anything, then... I don't know what else to tell you."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that!" he exclaimed.

The sharpness of his tone startled me, and totally against my will, I lost the battle to hold my tears back any longer. "I've tried so hard," I said. "But, I just... I can't be what you need. I'll always be the one taking more than I can give, and nothing I ever do will be enough. Seiji is right. You deserve so much more than I can ever offer you."

He was silent for a long time after that, but finally he said. "Do you even know what I need?"

I didn't respond. How could I? The challenge in his tone was so obvious, there was no mistaking its implication. If I answered anything other than no, it'd be the wrong answer. He was compelling me to admit my failure as a partner, but what was the point? We both understood that much already.

I closed my eyes and lowered my head. The pain I felt in my heart was a thousand times greater than anything I'd ever experienced in my body, and one thought drowned out all the others, playing in my brain on repeat.

I want all of this to end.

[onebigowlhouseobsession]

I'm re-writing this piece from scratch! Whoo! Thought I would post the first (new) chapter here because I need to get back to posting my writing here on my blog... something I am often too lazy to do, lol.

Summary: Feelings are ships in bottles, waiting for when the cork is one day loosened.

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

Cassie has been thinking a lot about the ocean, recently. 

She thinks about ships in bottles, vessels down-sized and encapsulated entirely in glass. She considers what it might be like to be that ship, placed in a container that is much too small and from which there is no escape. They are built piece by tiny piece, within this microcosm, this bottle, with meticulous care. It is a labor of love, building a ship within a bottle, and it cannot be undone. Not unless you are ready to destroy what you have so carefully crafted, and yourself, in the process.

Cassie thinks that she is much like the bottle. In this elaborate metaphor she is the bottle and her feelings are the ship. Her thoughts are the rigging, her happiness the sails, contentment the planks and rivets. The unspoken, the unfathomed, are the wild plants that grow unchecked in every corner untended, taking over with time.

The ship will never reach the water, but it hardly matters because the bottle will shatter long before it has the chance.

Cassie thinks a lot about possibilities. What ifs and what may come. She thinks, frequently, on the right words and phrases to communicate precisely what she means. She thinks about ships in bottles, and about how terrifying it is to be the ship no matter how much you adore the hand that creates.

She isn't thinking any of that right now.

It's difficult to breathe. Her chest aches. 

She thinks she might be dying. She must be. She's never experienced it before, death, but this has to be what it's like. Her lungs refuse to intake any air, and her insides feel as though they're being turned inside out. She's coughing, hacking, heaving, as if she has a terminal illness...

No, that must be it. She's simply sick. Perhaps she's picked up a bug, or has caught a particularly bad case of the flu. The Gulch does get especially cold in the winter, with piles of snow that slowly accumulate on the ground through the entirety of the season and ice that coats the branches of the ancient evergreens in the forest, and all those freezing temperatures greatly increased the likelihood of getting sick. 

It isn't at all uncommon for a common cold or something similar to pass amongst the seven of them over the course of several days, and Cassie had seen Bob coughing like this just a couple days ago. So, perhaps it was, simply, a cold. 

Hopefully with some well-planned rest and a few bowls of soup, she'd be able to recover from it quickly. She was far too busy to have the time to be sick, after all.

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

Compton was terribly worried. It was becoming rather late into the morning and still he had not seen Cassie. He supposed it was possible she'd simply chosen to sleep in later than usual, but it was odd for him to be awake before her all the same. Usually she'd greet him in the kitchen and they'd drink tea, discussing their plans for the coming day.

She must be very tired then, Compton thought. He let the front door creak open, then shut again as he entered the house. He tried very hard to be thoughtful, taking the care to step softly and slowly as he made his way around the kitchen. He put the kettle out to heat on the stove, fussing over it quietly, but he paused immediately as soon as he heard coughing from further in the house. He made a mental note to bring a cup of tea to Cassie as soon as he was done brewing the pot (hot tea was an excellent way to soothe an irritated throat, after all) but the continued sound of coughing was enough to concern him.

Instead of going back to minding the tea Compton shuffled quickly through the hallway, making his way toward the bedroom at the back of the house.

The door eased open, and Compton stepped into the room. He could see Cassie seated on the side of the bed, honey-comb patterned quilt pulled around her shoulders and head in her hands as she tried to catch her breath.

“Cassie, are you alright?” He asked gently.

“Oh, Compton! Sorry, I didn’t notice you came in.” Cassie smiled at him, or at least tried to. As things stood it looked more like a grimace, and she winced after a moment, hand moving to hover over her chest. Her voice was scratchy and hoarse, and she sounded like she was in a great deal of pain that she was working valiantly to mask. 

She glanced over at the clock on her bedside, squinting her eyes as she stared at it blearily. “Uh, what time is it?”

Compton didn’t need to look, but his gaze followed that same direction anyway. The red numbers glowed brightly in the half dark since the curtains were, shockingly, all drawn closed. She never left the curtains closed. “It’s nearly noon.”

Cassie’s eyes widened and her eyebrows shot upward. “Oh no, I am so sorry. We had that meeting today, right?” She scrambled to her feet immediately, rushing over to her closet to procure her sandals, the ones she could slip on quickly and fasten properly as she walked. Compton watched as she darted to and fro, looking for a pencil here or a notebook there. She stuffed whatever she thought she needed in a cloth shoulderbag Compton had seen her use many, many times before, and she was on her way towards the door before Compton could even properly process what was going on. Compton wasn’t shocked per se, seeing as her specialty was multi-tasking and therefore also efficiency, but her sudden vibrancy was a far cry from what he’d seen even moments before. He stared a bit.

Cassie tapped him on the shoulder as she passed, still fastening one sandal strap while she stepped into the hall. “C’mon, Compton. Let’s go before I make us any later.”

Compton fell into step beside his best friend. He handed her the cup of tea before they reached the kitchen, and she smiled appreciatively before taking it by the handle. She sipped at it as they walked through the house. Compton noticed the disorder of the bookshelves once more when they passed through the main interior, but he didn’t mention it. Cassie was still talking, after all, and the last thing Compton ever wanted to be was inconsiderate.

“We’ll never hear the end of it from Otto if we aren’t on time. Or, I won’t, at least. He’s seemed to have taken a liking to you, so I’m sure you’ll be fine. But if I’m even five minutes off I’ll likely have to deal with him calling me Tardy Cassie or the like for a whole week, or until he tires of it at any rate. But, naturally, if Otto and Bob both show up high as a kite we aren’t supposed to mention it.” She laughed at that, which quickly devolved into a full blown coughing fit that made her stop in her tracks.

Compton felt a great deal of concern bubbling up within him, and he turned his full attention toward her. “Are you sick?” He asked, watching for the signs of a conclusion he’s suspected since he first saw her today.

There was a short but stark moment where she considered lying to him. He could see it in her face, the quiet conflict that rested there.

She wanted to offer him reassurance regardless of whether it was true or not, because she didn’t want him to worry about her. She never wanted any of the others to worry about her, but especially not Compton. They’ve talked about it before, though, her wanting to protect him in this way– and he’d been quite clear it never helped. He was worried already, so there was no point in trying to avoid that now, and empty reassurances tended to have the opposite effect for him, anyway. He’ll just worry more, wondering what she wasn’t telling him. Catastrophizing, imagining all of the worst possibilities. 

They both understood and accepted that complete honesty was best.

Cassie huffed out a quiet breath, then nodded. “Possibly, yes.” The grass leading to Cassie’s home soon transitioned into large grit gravel, a mix of smooth pebbles and rough rocks that were a tad uncomfortable underfoot. It kept the ground from becoming terribly muddy when it rained, however, making it a fair trade. The sun was bright and shining, their shadows short and stubby as they continued cutting through the Gulch toward the Heptadome. They could see the glass by now, shining and glittering in the light.

Cassie spoke quieter, just in case anyone was around to listen. “But there really is nothing for you to be concerned about. I’ve been sick before, and I’m sure I’ll be sick again… life is a long time, after all.” When that does little to relieve the worry Compton was feeling, Cassie added, “I will be perfectly fine.”

“Maybe we should go back? If you aren’t feeling well it might be best for you to stay home.”

“Don’t be silly, Boolie."

"I could stay with you? I don't think missing one meeting will be much of an issue…"

"I'm not missing this over a silly cough."

"I don't mean to be pushy, but I think you need rest."

"Boolie, I need rest about as much as I need–"

“Hey you two! We were worried you might have gotten lost on the way!” Helmut waved cheerfully as soon as he caught sight of them, which was still quite a distance from the Heptadome proper. He jogged over to them, grinning in that way he does, bright as strobe lights, and threw his arms around their shoulders as he walked with them. “We sure woulda missed you guys. Glad you could make it!”

"We wouldn't miss it for the world," Cassie replied, maybe a tad exaggerative, but Helmut's grin grew at the statement, and it was worth it in the end.

"Heck yeah! Otto was super excited this morning. Something about bottles. Haven't been able to get the details out of him just yet, but everyone is really hyped."

"And here I was, just about to ask what the shenanigans of the day might be."

Helmut chuckled, but before he could properly respond all three of them got a face full of smoke that was currently wafting out from the front of the Heptadome. They couldn't actually see inside because the entire doorway was filled with… an unidentified gas leaking out, swirling in the air, colored a light purple that became blue that became green, so on and so forth, before dissipating into the open air of the surrounding Gulch. Helmut and Compton cough a bit on the fumes, the former of the two waving a hand in front of his face to try to clear some of it. Cassie, who's eyes have begun to water, barely managed not to choke on the tainted air.

"Is this… smoke…?" Compton's eyes widened. "Is someone burning something?"

Helmut shook his head. "Nah. This stuff has been coming out of whatever Otto's working on for a while now. It wasn't this bad before though."

Cassie started to cough again, body wracking coughs that made her chest hurt. 

"Yo, Cass, are you good?"

"I'm fine." She was tearing up, now. The ache that had settled in her chest, ripping and tearing and rending, felt something like sadness in its most visceral form. She wanted to curl into a tiny ball and cry and she had no idea why.

"Cassie–"

"Can someone clear this up, please?"

"Hey, Otto! What's going on in there?" Helmut called inside. "Are you making poison with your chemistry set?" He joked.

There was a call shot back after a moment, preceded by a scoff. "No, not today! This test is perfectly harmless to the human body. Mostly. As far as I can tell. Why are you asking?"

"Whatever you're making in there is messing with Cassie real bad."

Cassie hissed softly, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her palm. She placed a hand at the crook of Helmut's elbow to get his attention. "Don't tell him that," She practically pleaded.

"Why not? It's true, right?"

"You truly do not understand how obnoxious he can get."

"Did you tell her that that's just the price we scientists must pay? If she's not up for pushing things forward, then why even try?"

"No, I didn't!" Helmut shouted back.

"Alright! Tell her that, then."

A new voice chimed in. "Come now. Don't you think you're being a little unreasonable?"

"We've been over this countless times," Otto replied. "No one has to participate who doesn't want to."

"Well I think you should be a little more lenient." It took Cassie a minute to notice it was Lucy speaking, but as soon as she did she could easily picture the teasing smile she was likely wearing now.

"Ford, back me up here!"

"Don't pull me into this. I'm going to go get the fan."

It took a few minutes, maybe five, for Ford to find a fan but soon after the space began to clear. The fumes clogging the space mainly dissipated with help from the fan, and once it was mostly gone they could see Otto standing in the middle of the Heptadome in front of a long table, covered in a series of beakers, bottles and tubes connecting them all. A few rounded bottles, filled to the brim with liquid, were lined up in a row on the table, and Otto held one filled with a blue liquid in his hand. Each one of them had their own trail of colored vapor, rising slowly from their openings.

Ford was still minding the fan, turning it further toward the door. He walked over to the table and stood next to Otto once he was done.

Bob was nowhere to be found, but that had become a common and repeating occurrence recently. If asked, Bob's excuse was almost always invariably working with his plants, but it started to fall a bit flat after a while. Cassie had been meaning to ask him what was really going on, but had her own concerns at the moment.

"Now that that whole debacle's been handled can we finally get to the reason we're all here?" Otto held up the bottle in his hand with a wide grin. "Who wants to test my newest creation first?"

No one raised their hand. After a few beats of silence Helmut raised his.

"I wanted to ask a question. Was it safe to sit in here with all that… stuff in the air? Because I think we've already been in here two hours."

Ford nodded in agreement.

Otto just laughed. "That is the question, isn't it? Anyway–"

"Hey, Cassie!" She turned, startled by the call though it was relatively quiet. Lucy was smiling at her, patting the cushion next to her. "You should sit next to me!"

"Oh, really? Are you sure?"

"Of course I am. C'mon." She patted the cushion a couple more times for good measure, then turned back to Otto. She was obviously expecting Cassie to sit.

Cassie sat down next to Lucy, tucking her legs under her, hands in her lap. The ache in her chest had settled down into something of an itch, small and easily ignored, so she decided to do just that; ignore it. With that in mind, she turned her full attention back to Otto, who was still in the midst of explaining.

“--What if I told you it was possible to emulate the essence of any known emotion through the use of psitanium and a slurry of synthetic compounds?”

“Any emotion?”

“Within reason, but, yes, that is what I’m saying.”

Helmut hummed in thought. “What about uh… homesickness?”

“No, that’s too specific. Tamp that down more to general hopelessness and that’s closer to the ballpark.” Otto picked up a different bottle, this one a pale green that glowed like it was toxic. “Want to guess what this one is?”

“Radiation poisoning,” Helmut suggested with a laugh. “Yeah, that one is one hundred percent Radiation Poisoning.”

“I see someone's taken Bob’s position as resident heckler.”

“Somebody’s gotta keep you in check,” Ford said.

“Instead of being researchers you should all become comedians.” Otto rolled his eyes. “Alright, everybody take a bottle. Let’s see how well this stuff works.”

Lucy leaned toward Cassie, whispering to her. “I believe things are about to get interesting.” 

She was very close, for a moment, close enough to make Cassie inexplicably nervous– close enough that she could count her lashes, if she so chose, and she could see the golden flecks in her green eyes. Cassie tried to swallow back that odd sensation that was twining its way through her chest once more, something like itching moss tugging at her heartstrings. She reminded herself to do some research on viruses or illnesses that cause… heartburn, perhaps… once this was all over.

Before she could think of a proper reply, a bottle was being shoved into her hands. A lavender purple liquid swirled inside, gleaming just barely even in the bright light streaming through the Heptadome’s glass.

The others held identical bottles, each of a different shade. Lucy was entirely transfixed by the pink liquid in hers, watching it swirl and swirl around like a storm in a bottle as she held it up to the light.

The blue bottle remained on the table, near to Otto but still untouched thus far.

Ford picked up a pencil, scribbling something into the margins of the notebook he was holding.

"I think that makes us ready to get started." Otto announced. "Right, Cruller?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

Compton stared at his bottle with an apprehensive look. After a while longer of just staring at it, he raised his hand.

"Yeah, Compton?" Otto asked.

"Um. Is this… safe?"

"Of course it is. Probably."

The silence stretched on.

"Yeah, I'm with Compton on this one," Helmut pointed at the bottle in his own hand, the same noxious green one from earlier, and made a face. "I'm not taking this unless you do it, too."

"I'm observing–" Otto began to protest, but Ford cut him off.

"I'm the one making the observations. You're just standing around watching." He picked up the blue bottle with a smirk and shoved it into Otto's hands. "C'mon, you made it, you can test it. Bottoms up."

Otto sighed, but acquiesced. "Fine. Luckily for you all I'm taking one for the team. This one is by far the worst."

"You're our hero, Toto," Lucy teased, and all the others, besides Otto at least, laughed.

"So, are we all just going to stare at each other and not drink this or what?" Helmut looked around at all the faces around him. None of them looked all that excited about their individual bottles. Compton was still watching his like it was a feral animal that might bite him.

Cassie tried not to look at hers all that deeply.

Distilled emotions. The concept was… worrisome.

"Okay, that's enough stalling." Ford held up a hand, holding up five fingers. "I'm going to count down to five and everyone is going to drink theirs at the same time."

Ford lowered a finger for each second. Five. Four. Three. Two. At the end of the five seconds, they each took a sip. The difference in time could only have been a few seconds, but as it turned out a lot could happen in that time.

At first, nothing happened at all. Lucy drank hers first, and she mentioned that it tasted sweet, like plums, and wasn't that just lovely. Helmut was second, and he had nothing to say about the flavor, but his mouth puckered up and that was saying more than enough. Compton only took a sip of his, quick and hesitant, and then flinched as if he had burnt his tongue.

Otto didn't react at all, initially, downing a fourth of the bottle and then pondering about potency after the fact.

Cassie drank hers, but all she could note beyond a slight citrusy taste was the way the pit in her stomach grew wider.

Nothing really happened at first, but it didn't take it long to come into full effect.

Everyone stared when Compton, mild-mannered Compton, started to shout in rage.

Cassie didn't think she'd ever seen Otto cry, either, but he suddenly broke out into tears, abruptly, without warning. He was wailing loudly, and Cassie was startled by the sound. A sweeping dread fell over her, like a wave, and she cringed away, shuddering.

"--Why are you being so inconsiderate! You can't treat people like that! I won't be treated like that!"

Bang! There was a crash, and someone was shouting even louder. Cassie yelped and cowered, and it took her a long, long while to realize it was Compton's voice that was making all the noise. And it was just noise to her, a terrifying, frightening noise. She had no idea how or why, but somehow that noise was going to hurt her.

"Take a chill pill already dude. Geez." Helmut scoffed, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. 

"I'm trying. I'm trying my best. I keep working harder but will I ever be good enough? What if I'm never able to prove that I'm worth something?" Otto sobbed between words. "Has anything I've done amounted to anything?"

"--Lab rats?! Is that all we are to you?!--"

Ford held his hands up, eyes wide. "Hey, I'm just the guy with the clipboard!"

"Am I a failure?" Otto blubbered.

"That's so gross." Helmut said, sticking his tongue out with a disgusted face. "Are you crying, man?"

Cassie was afraid. Scared that Helmut would judge her and Otto would never stop crying and that guy with the clipboard was surely out to get her. She was terrified of not meeting expectations and being hated and being discarded, and that guy, Ford, was staring at her and sneering and jotting down words and she feared what he might be writing. Dread settled in the back of her mind and along her spine and sunk deep into her flesh, and she couldn't hear because she was so afraid.

Compton ranted and raved, storming out with steps that felt like miniature earthquakes, and Cassie found she was afraid of his anger, too. Otto's vulnerability was too intense and too acute– frightening in its own right. Helmut's judgment was piercing, sharp and almost painful. 

Ford was still writing with the scratch of graphite on paper and she dreaded finding out what it said.

She curled into a ball, forehead against her knees and arms around her shins, anything to block out everything else. Still her thoughts ran rampant, coming up with dozens of horrifying scenarios with which to torment her.

She had no idea how much time had passed, but she felt a tap on her shoulder. Cassie scrambled away as fast as she could, chest heaving as she stared at the would have been, possible assailant.

Lucy looked back at her, head tilted to the side. There was a small, lopsided smile tugging at her mouth, and her expression was… soft. Incredibly affectionate.

Cassie gaped at her.

"Are you okay? You look really frightened," Her voice was soothing and gentle.

Cassie swallowed hard, still trembling. A thought came, a fear she'd shoved as far down as she could, unbidden and entirely unwanted; She'll never feel the same way.

She will never care for you. Not in the way you want.

"I– I–" She couldn't get a word out. Her teeth were clattering. “I… don’t know. Everything is so…” She didn’t know how to describe the feeling, but it was like her entire world was caving in and she was caught in the center of it, terrified of being crushed. “I’m scared,” She whispered, finally, her voice tiny.

A look of determination crossed Lucy’s face, and she didn’t hesitate even for a second before pulling Cassie fully into her arms. She put her chin on Cassie’s shoulder and reached her hand up to cradle the back of her head, supporting her, hugging her tight. “It’s okay, honey. You’re going to be okay, I promise. I know things can be frightening sometimes, especially when you don’t always know what’s going to happen, but I’m here for you right now.”

Something in Cassie’s chest absolutely ached to the point of hurting, tearing, bursting. Another thought came, clear within the haze of fear, unexpected and yet all too easy to predict; Tell her you love her.

“Whatever it is that’s scaring you, I promise I won’t let it hurt you. I would never let anything hurt you. I'm here for you.”

It took Cassie a while to process that fully. Once she did she was left speechless. Cassie didn’t say anything, instead just hiding her face against Lucy’s shoulder, holding on to her even tighter (falling just that little bit more in love.) Lucy brushed a hand over her hair, looking down at her with an expression Cassie was far too overwhelmed to even attempt to notice or identify.

Ford noticed, however. He jotted down a note on the page, closed the book with the pencil wedged inside as a bookmark, and went back to observing.

It took ten more minutes for the effects to wear off, at which point the remaining five of them sat in dead, utter silence. Cassie finally felt like she could breath, for a moment, at least, because then she noticed Lucy was still holding her. She didn't know how to broach the subject without it giving the wrong impression, so she said nothing.

Tell her.

She said nothing. Breathing felt like thorns in her lungs, aching, tearing but she attributed it to the after effects of the distilled emotion compounded by illness and didn't give it another thought.

Otto cleared his throat, took hold of the table leg next to him and pulled himself to his feet. He was eerily quiet.

Helmut glanced around the room then hummed to himself, making a pop sound with his mouth. "Wowza. That was something, huh?" His grin was sheepish, but soon grew wide and amused. "Is it Friday, because that sure was Freaky!"

Lucy was the first one to laugh, bright and unrestrained, absolutely tickled by Helmut's apparent wit. The others joined after a minute or so, and the tense atmosphere was shattered like glass in the heat.

Ford tapped his pencil against his cheek. "So, I think we can all agree that would have been better one at a time."

"Yup," Helmut agreed. "We didn’t dodge that bullet."

"Now we know for next time."

"Hey, where's Compton?"

"He left…" Ford said. "You were kind of giving him a look and I think it ticked him off? He'll probably be back soon, though. The effects should have worn off for him too by now."

"Ah man… I hope I didn't say anything too mean to him." Helmut was already getting to his feet. "I'm going to go find him. Which direction did he go?"

Ford pointed to the side entrance that opened out onto a path that eventually led to the Psychoisolation Chamber.

"Got it." Helmut started jogging in that direction.

"Hey, check up on Flower Boy while you're at it," Otto called after him, voice still a little strained. He certainly sounded as though he'd been crying. "I haven't seen him for two days straight."

Helmut saluted with a nod, but then he stopped with his hand on the top of the doorframe, a grin on his face. "Yeah… Otto, are you sure he isn't avoiding you?"

"Of course not. I'm a f-cking delight. Now get going." Otto shooed him. Helmut grinned yet again, laughing, and made his way out of the Heptadome.

Lucy looked down at Cassie. She still spoke softly, quietly, but it now seemed to be more about not scaring her off as opposed to anything else. “Are you feeling better now?”

"I think so. Thank you for helping me calm down." Cassie noticed that Lucy was holding her hand. She must have taken it while Cassie was spiraling into her chasm of downright debilitating terror.

It all felt rather silly, now. The sun was shining. It was a warm, mid-winter afternoon.

The world was not ending. It wasn't.

"Anytime," Lucy said with a smile. "I'm here whenever you need me."

It was a silly desire, but some part of Cassie hoped she’d never let go. Of course, Cassie glanced at Ford and then away from him just as quickly, face hot with something akin to shame, and she knew she’d have to. But for this moment she chose to bask in what was practically like the all-encompassing warmth of the sun, even if just for a few, short, selfish fractions of time.

And she admitted to herself, right here and now, that Lucy had her heart. She always would.

She did not admit to the way her heart ached at the thought.

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

Later that evening, long after the effects had worn off, Ford went to speak to Otto. 

As soon as Otto saw him he offered yet another sheepish grin, crossed his arms over his chest, and heaved a great big sigh. “Yeah, yeah, not my best moment I know.”

“I’m not here to talk about that,” Ford said, taking a seat on the edge of Otto’s workbench.

“Really? I was sure you would want to tease me at least a bit.” He shrugged, and he picked his screwdriver back up, continuing to tinker with the handheld device in his hands. “Okay, shoot. What is it you do want to know? And before you say you don’t I can tell when you’ve got something on your mind.”

“What was in that bottle I gave Lucy? I know what all the others were already, but I’m not sure about that one.”

Otto didn’t give much of a response. “That was the mild stuff, just like I told you. Why does it matter?”

“Can't you just answer the question?”

“Don’t get your mustache in a twist, alright. It’s uh… you know, the pink one.”

“That tells me nothing.”

“You don’t think of emotions as colors? Is this not obvious? Sadness is blue, anger is red, revulsion or disgust is green, so on and so forth.” Otto paused, waiting to see if this concept was going to click with Ford. When it didn’t, Otto just sighed. “Really Ford? This is so much easier to talk about with Helmut.”

Otto put down his screwdriver and the device, before spinning around in his chair so he could look directly at Ford. “The bottle you gave Lucy was Love, which was one of the one’s I debated making at all for the record, because, honestly, what are the real world, practical applications for something like that?”

“Right, but depression on demand is going to be super useful.”

“Shut up, Cruller.” Otto shot back instantly. “I’m not the one who had someone making lovey-dovey eyes at me for an hour and still couldn’t figure out what the emotion behind them was supposed to be.”

Ford punched Otto in the arm with a laugh. “Oh really? How would you know? You spent the whole time bawling your eyes out!”

“Suuuure. But you were completely lucid. So what’s your excuse, hotshot?”

Ford balled up a piece of paper and chucked it at Otto, hitting him square in his forehead. Otto threw it back but missed by a long shot.

“Who’s the hotshot now? Oh, yeah, not you.”

Otto snatched the notebook from Ford. “You’re hilarious. Whatever." He flipped it open to the latest page. "At least tell me you took good notes?”

“What do you think I am? Unprofessional?”

Otto raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

Ford glowered at him, but then he nodded. “Yeah, I made sure to document everything. I know how this works.”

“Great." Otto flipped a few pages, skimming Ford's messy, sprawling handwriting, before closing the notebook and tossing it back to Ford. "We should go over the data tomorrow and then start compiling conclusions."

"Sure." Ford opened the notebook again, re-reading his last observation.

Most of what he'd seen was entirely, or at least mostly, expected. Compton's anger and Helmut's disgust were par for the course. It was odd seeing Otto so dejected but it was, again, something they'd planned for. 

What he hadn't expected was the way Lucy looked at Cassie. He recognized it for what it was, now.

Love.

The only real question was why she was trying to hide it in the first place.

Why hadn't she told him?

He'd have to ask her when he got the chance.

[papirouge]

Since you're talking about pedophilia can we talk about the use and sexualization of the word lolita? I hate that word SO much it's unreal but also why are there products and even brands named after that book? There's literally a clothing brand in my country geared towards tween and teen girls with that word in its name (and no, its not clothing from that japanese trend or inspired by it). Like that word literally means an attractive/seductive young girl, since in the book the pedophile protagonist nicknames his 12 year old stepdaughter that (her real name is Dolores I think), yet nobody gives a fuck. I'm starting to think radfems are right when they say people don't take pedophilia when it's against girls seriously, specially if they're tweens or older. Like somewhat recently a major's son was caught raping a 12 year old, and all his father had to say was a message to parents telling them to lock their daughters if they didnt want that happening to them :/

Also as a side note why does it seem so many radfems like lana del rey? Didnt she write songs romanticizing all of that lolita crap?? And people say "oh, but she did that when she was younger". Bro, she was literally 23, she should have known better. Perhaps i'm exaggerating but I've seen and heard so much shit in my life, I feel like little girls should be radfems n°1 priority... I know it's not all of them but still, I even saw one say lolita was one of her fav books, like it messes me up because I always found her so smart and well spoken (written?), and I don't give a fuck that that book doesn't condone pedophilia because it has done more damage than good to this world

Society will literally sexualize every single inches of female body and experience, anon 💀

Remember creeps installing snitch camera in women's restroom? ...yeah.

And radfem can be full of shit so you wouldn't think that much of them liking fucked_my_way up_to_the_top.mp3 Lana del Rey. Sip they're good take but don't forget that in the end of the day, most of them are mentally ill women with a bunch of Nigel in the closet, and coping with their not so glorious (pickme) past by harassing non rad women for not being feminist enough.

Your last sentence is so real : there's been plentiful of post explaining how lolita was critical of grooming but it shows how scrote culture can hijack and twist the message off an initially wholesome material.

And scote will ALWAYS accuse female victims before male abusers. Just today I was watching a video of a Christian channel featuring an abused women who was exploited in the porn industry, and guess what? There were so called Christians scrote downplaying her struggle and making snark comment abt her posing for nude videos... (I couldn't help but make a comment to call them out lmao - I'm the "yona" commenter lol)

[engagemachine]

How do you feel about the Joker in your story? Do you hate this character?

@ferrsryserstonin

Hello! Thank you for your ask. I'm sorry this one took so long to answer. I just wanted to make sure I had set aside an appropriate amount of time to give you a thorough answer.

How do I feel about the Joker in Burn?

Well, I hate him.

But I love to hate him.

I've spoken a lot in the past about my fascination with the character of Joker -- my obsession has been ongoing for almost fifteen years now, since TDK first came out back in 2008 -- but I've been fascinated with the character ever since I was a little kid and saw him in comic books and in the media as I was growing up. I think the Joker was my first exposure to a character who was so openly evil and who loved being evil, and that always intrigued me.

Good and evil was so black and white to me when I was little, strictly in the sense that I was taught that being evil was bad and wrong it made you into a miserable person... so to be faced with this character who swung so assuredly in one direction -- and who had so much fun doing it -- was just so crazy to me. While growing up, I'd been exposed to a lot of villains who could be categorized as being more "tortured souls", or who openly struggled with good and evil (Darth Vader, for instance, is a great example of that) or even villains who were burdened by some other "greater" purpose, whether it was greed (a desire for power/money) or this sense of misplaced justice, or perhaps revenge. But the Joker isn't motivated by these things. And his total lack of a conscience means he doesn't struggle with being evil. He loves it. He is constantly looking for ways to be even more evil, to push the boundaries of what he is capable of. He fully embraces what he is. He loves the reign of terror and chaos he's brought down onto Gotham.

As I've gotten older, what constitutes as "good" and what constitutes as "evil" has obviously become less black and white, and there are far more gray areas to take into consideration, but that's kind of where the fun in writing him comes into play. I do think the Joker is evil to his core, but I have also enjoyed sprinkling in little bits of humanity here and there. It's never not thrilling to see the man behind the mask. I also like that, throughout the story, there are moments peppered throughout that really make you question whether he's just done something for his own pleasure and enjoyment, or if it's because he actually cares for Taylor. I think for the most part, the answer is usually fairly obvious, but there are instances that kind of make you wonder.

So do I hate his character? In a word, yes. I think he's evil, conniving, selfish, beyond redemption (this is important) and, if I believed in the death penalty, that he should probably/definitely be put to the electric chair. I base these opinions off my beliefs that a) the Joker is not mentally ill (like some interpretations would like to claim) and b) the Joker does not want to be redeemed. He is perfectly content with being the evil little shit that he is.

I'm going to link you to this post that I hope will shed some more light. I feel like people tend to ask if I "like" the Joker because they want to suss out whether there could possibly be any redeeming qualities to his character, and whether it's OK to want to see Taylor and him end up together (and correct me if I my assumption is wrong, but I'm also basing my reply around the questions you posed to me in the private message you sent).

The short answer is: of course it's okay to want to see them be together, and it's important for you, the reader (and for any other readers out there) to know that it doesn't make me upset if that is how you feel. I mean, that's the whole driving fascination with the story, right? This crazy, obsessive, and toxic dynamic they share... we can't get enough. They're polarized magnets, always inextricably drawn to each other no matter the distance.

But this is also a work of fiction, and therefore is a safe space in which to desire wanting to see these sorts of evil things play out. It goes without saying that I do not condone any of these behaviors in real life, and I am sure none of my readers do, either. If Taylor were a real person, I would scoop her up into my arms and hide her away from the Joker forever. She's been so deeply manipulated, groomed, and traumatized by him that she can barely differentiate up from down. He is her whole world but only by his design. Has has quashed -- at every single turn -- any hopes of Taylor ever having a normal life, because he's a selfish, manipulative bastard who only wants her for himself.

I think a lot of the fascination I have with this particular dynamic is that I love to see evil men be brought to their knees (or, at least, a close approximation to it) by the most unsuspecting person -- who in this case happens to be a seventeen year-old girl. There is no denying that their energy is borderline explosive when they're together. And I am here to tell you that that is okay to want to see that play out, to want to see their co-dependent relationship turn even more obsessive and dark than it already is. I don't think any of us would be here, reading this story, if we didn't enjoy -- at least a little bit -- the toxic dynamic that has slowly been unfolding for the past twelve chapters of Burn.

Anyway, I hope this adequately answers your questions. I love talking about the Joker and I'm happy to do so any time! Thank you for reading.

[richardsondavis]

I want to go back to Reddit. I want to see what they are saying, if what they're saying is true.

Why change your opinion? No, you won't change your opinion. Best case is you'll feel like shit.

Hmmm, I guess so. It's the curiosity.

Yes, I understand yet we both know that they will not be giving you any favors. Glad that one person there said that Viz isn't localization cause it is just the in-house version of Shueisha. I believe we call that confirmation bias.

Hence why I want to go back!!!

You deleted your account. Most likely that post got deleted as well.

I see. I'd like to believe that.

Please do, Richardson. Your peace of mind is important. You are insignificant in this world.

...

Hmmm?

Just checked my post, it's still up. Most of my replies get downvoted. One of the things I got was that you have to just leave the official translation world. But these fuck still call officials localization and the unofficials translation. What did I expect?

Told you. Great question I have though is what is the matter? Now that these ideas are gonna live rent free in your head. No, how presumptuous of me. Please explain to me how the entire post makes you feel.

Thank you. So I made my reddit post with no ill-intent, just good natured questions.

So I got my replies and they all start how I imagined it. Localization is a disease, learn Japanese. That it exists and the only way to avoid it is to get off the grid. To not give these companies money, if it is my will. That one feels like a "If you don't follow us, we'll berate you" kind of thing.

That just really fucks with me. Perhaps it is all in my noggin.

So I'd like to break down the various comments I got.

First comment talks about how localization is now embedded in Western society, and that the best way to combat this is to raise awareness using social media and that money talks no matter what. In hindsight, I should've done something of the sort when I was reading Machimaho. Missed opportunity. I made a reply to that raise awareness using social media comment. I pointed out that Kimetsu no Yaiba made a lot of sales for it's final volume. Which I believe insinuates that what Viz is doing and by contrast, the "localizers" is okay. I don't agree with that sentiment, not one bit. Later on there's something that I like that I'd like to address.

Next comment is a guy that says that all official translations are localizations, without a doubt. That the best way to live is not give them money and get off the grid and purchase the Japanese ones and learn Japanese, cut out the middle man and told me to laugh at the faces of the "scanlators". I somewhat agree with this one save for the laugh at scanlators part cause that's just rude and I don't really want to be rude. In hindsight, Chainsaw Man, Dandadan and Call of the Night are all series I can get digitally and pirate it. It does hurt my eyes at times cause you know, screens and all that but I really feel quite regretful for purchasing the series. The folks at r/MangaCollectors do feel the same, I will reckon. Even Tumblr has beef with official translations every now and then.

I didn't really agree fully with the guy but he had an interesting take that I will want to take it into consideration. It's a bit strong yet tame.

Some guy replied that machine translations are what he prefers unironically and that he claims that the official translators are using machine translation as well to make their work. Might as well cut the middle man. Said like an asshole, I'll admit. I don't like this comment. It's the "I will leave official translations and I'll probably judge you if you avail them in my presence" crowd. They also call all official translations unironically "localization". Truly appalling, in my honest opinion.

My reply is if there is a way we can find a compromise. I didn't really want to leave official translations fully cause I know full well I will gravitate towards that thing back and then again. Of course, in r/KotakuinAction fashion, I got downvoted and the reply to that is that if I really wanted to make a difference then I should stop giving them money. I'm not gonna give Seven Seas a single centavo, that's for sure. The only ones I'll truly avail is Viz and Kodansha and Yen Press. That is still giving money to the evil English localizers but it's a sacrifice I am willing to make. Pretty sure the latest Viz series hasn't seen any of these mistranslations or open interpretations. Well, the latest that I know of being Dandadan so I have yet to see it.

IT'S SETTLED!!! I'M GONNA KEEP COLLECTING MANGA!!! FUCK WHAT THEY SAY!!! I LOVE READING AND I WILL JUST DO WHAT WORKS FOR ME!!!

Next comment makes a distinction between the good faith localization, where translating idioms to the nearest possible language (in this case English) and still makes sense and be accurate and bad localization where there's an idiom that has no equal translation to English then they initiate this bad faith injection of their own personal views. Seven Seas has lost me, to be honest. I wholeheartedly refuse to even get their series, pirate it even. Waste of space and time.

Next comment says that they wouldn't blame me for doing so. Made a claim that fan translations are superior and will always be. Got 8 upvotes. Of course they would prefer the fan translations, as predicted by that particular dude's blog I read a while back. Basically, the modern otaku should remember their roots. Roots being fan translations and scanlations and all that. Very inflammatory, I will say.

Made a reply to the reddit comment. Asked if it would be disingenuous. And I got 0 upvotes. Not negative though so that's a plus.

Next one asks if the one talking to him is the author or someone else? He would like the someone else to be as far away as possible.

I then asked him if he would consider that translated works as someone just telling you about the thing in general as disingenuous.

He said two things, first an analogy about pizza in a Chinese buffet. The "localizers" are looking to make a Chinese buffet with only pizza. I am most certain, that to this person, the Chinese buffet will always be the scanlation and fan translations. He will never call these localizations cause they're not shit, according to him. Very reductive.

But a good analogy. I find Seven Seas to be the pizza here. The Chinese buffet being the three I avail, Kodansha, Yen Press and Viz. Of course, if I say this then I'll be labeled and downvoted. Thankfully, I wouldn't have to handle that baggage.

Then the second thing is that he finds that translation is just how someone else would tell the thing to you as extremely disingenuous and to be honest I kinda agree with him. I would presume that this person would avail scanlations yet they are also a way for how the ideas are conveyed, that another person is going to be translating it and will be presented to the world. I just find that that is someone else telling me what the work in general. What I take from this comment is that we would both agree on the idea that learning Japanese is the best way to go here.

Alright, next comment is a dude saying that current translations are the only ones he refers to as "localization." He talks about games translation next and frankly I couldn't care less. I don't like JRPGs.

Next is the best two replies I agree with and is really very open. I'll just post them both here to preserve the context.

The first one is basically similar to my case-by-case basis approach. I have the time to read and will decide for myself.

The second dude says it all. Hoo-fucking-rah!

Then the last comment is talking about how localization is necessary to some degree. The kind of thing that gets you upvotes on r/animecirclejerk or something. Some dude replies that Japanese can't be translated one-on-one but that got replied with it can be. The last comment thread is a doozy.

So there's my thoughts on these ones.

Very fine.

Of course these are all sorted by best so the first ones are the most upvoted. Place is an echo chamber but has great takes. I wouldn't consider this a loss but thankfully I've gotten myself out before I fucking oof myself. Heh.

Interesting take my friend. Glad you got it all out.

Thanks.

Now, rest and be an individual. Make your own decisions. Besides, you aren't harming anyone.

I would like to get Lore Olympus.

Goddamnit!

[twilightguardian]

Well, that's your fault for blocking me when we were having that conversation, now isn't it?

I wasn't "Totes Ownzing" you as a writer, Lilith. If you wanted to know what I meant you could have just, like... asked for clarification instead of assuming malintent and starting a fight with me. That's what most people do.

It was a show of good faith, (since I had done nothing but talk about how much of a caustic, disingenuous liar you were regarding Fixing and how uncharitable you were with those you blanketed as misogynists.) reaching out to you as a fellow writer and creative, not only saying that it was an older piece of work, so you may have already fixed it yourself in your newest draft. Then saying that if you wanted to grow as an artist that the one group you went to weren't doing you favours and if you were still with them to look for a better group who would be hard on your work, because that will show where your flaws are. Critique can hurt. But critique groups aren't there to build up your pride, they're there to hone your writing skills and do away with bad habits. You tear down your old, rotting ego and build a newer, healthier one, or rather it's like building muscle. Every critique is a little wound in your writing muscles. Those wounds heal stronger and your writing muscle, like real muscles, gets bigger, better, more able to endure and will be able to work more before getting torn again. Every artist goes through this and it's the normal process of creation. I had thought, perhaps naively, that you'd understand this at the very least.

I've been nothing, if not fair to you for the most part despite using you as an obvious example in my initial callout post. But I wouldn't have had to do that if there weren't so many examples of you being toxic and attacking people and making up things about them - in some cases serious accusations.

You get back what you give. If you're someone who comes into a conversation assuming that someone has ill intent and act with aggression, people are going to treat you the same. You wanted someone to fight with so after you blocked me I gave you what you wanted: Someone to fight. I'm willing to fight back when I see injustice and I'm not afraid to be catty. But it didn't have to be that way.

I'm also a writer, and on some level, no matter whether I like or dislike you, at the end of the day it doesn't matter. I'd still be happy if you grew as an artist and became better; if you found success. I initially was going to look into Glints Saga regardless to look into it and make comparisons between your old and new work because I was curious after learning you rewrote it to see how much it changed. It was just an innocent curiosity. Then to be polite I'd give my review of the work and be honest about it, because in my mind, there's nothing worth more than honesty. So you'd get my thoughts, if I liked some parts, if I disliked others, etc. It would give you more interaction with your work.

I made that initial long post because I saw all the dishonesty about Fixing and wanted to debunk it. If you found my fanfics and reviewed them I'd enjoy that but if you just went in to purposefully bend over backwards, contorting yourself into a pretzel to pick apart every single little thing for no reason other than wanting to hurt me, that's disingenuous. No one, not even 'critics' do that... for the most part. I've seen some bs in rwde, too, let's be real here.

To answer your question about my criticism, it's about a complicated mixture of realism and cutting fat in your writing. People normally don't say your name to you unless it's to get your attention or to emphasize they're speaking to you when in a group. If someone is speaking to you, they'll say 'you' and not your name constantly at you. Because they already have your attention. But it's also about brevity and repetition. Respect your reader's time and don't use unnecessary words because it just clogs up your prose or dialogue. Saying a character's name over and over to that character is repetitive to read. You want your writing to be concise and punchy. Every sentence, phrase and word has to matter, has to be there for a reason. If you want your writing to be as good as it can be, you make the necessary changes and take criticisms from people outside your circle of friends.

This is writing advice you can find anywhere. I'm not saying anything particularly groundbreaking or niche, but it's not something that everyone knows about, either. We all become blind to our own work and need an outsider - multiple outsiders who know how to critique - to come in and look. If you only surround yourself with friends who only ever praise your work, you'll gain a false sense of what your writing is like. I also had to learn it. I've done writing in the past where a character says another's name to that character every time they speak and I had to be aware of that to avoid it. Pointing out flaws in your writing isn't an attack on you as a person.

When I said I was going to review Glints, you just saw me as Floof 2.0 (regarding the review). Honestly, I have no idea what he said about it. I've had problems with him in the past when it came to reviewing writing and I called him out on it. He may have had good points, but I also don't doubt he said some really dumb things about your work. You assumed without evidence that I was going to be just as disingenuous as him, that I was going to use your series to attack you. Based on what? Because I called you out? I didn't call you out for no reason. The reason I took those screenshots was to back up my words to show that I wasn't lying. To show this is a pattern of behaviour that I can see that leads to the type of disingenuous criticism that I wanted to talk about and debunk. You have a skewed way of looking at the world and at people, and assume intent and malice when there might not be and I was demonstrating why that is harmful, not because I have anything against you specifically. Just your attitude and how you interact with people you disagree with.

You can take this however you like. But this is my genuine attempt to reopen dialogue with you. If not, I'll continue as I had before: Debunking your poorly thought out, bad faith criticisms of Fixing and once V6 is done so am I. But if you do, I'll continue talking to you and do what I can for you as a fellow artist.

Edit: Also as for your critique of Glints, it's coming. But frankly I have more important things to do and you're not all that high on my priority list. Properly reviewing takes time and energy.

[dovand]

If you haven't read the article—which it looks as though many people haven't—I do recommend it, though it will most likely make you froth with rage (it provoked that response in me!). I was able to access the article even without a membership here, on the Washington Post's website.

The woman upon whom the article centres—Jennifer Petersen—has some really really Interesting (/s) views on literature. I am seething with rage about this whole debacle. I think it is a disgrace that the USA has managed to let these sorts of views fester.

But The Thing Is. Despite these highly questionable views that this woman holds, I think it is really really important to remember that she is A PERSON.

Note carefully that this is NOT me defending her views. Just her personhood. Her views are Fucked Up. But she is a person, with her own rich life, and there's an incredible amount of people in the notes saying all sorts of things about her, and I just want to posit that if you treat people you dislike as though they're not people, they're much less likely to want to listen to you.

Awful views, even ones that hurt people, even ones that are disgusting, do not deny someone their personhood—certainly, these views should not go on unchanged, but even the most vile-minded person is still a person.

When you start to dehumanise the people that oppose you, you start to create a moral dichotomy—either someone is Good, or they are Bad. They are With You, or Against You. There is no grey area, no understanding that some people mightn't even fully grasp what they're championing, no understanding that people long desperately for a Cause, that people at vulnerable times are susceptible to the attraction of any Cause, even if it's an ill-advised one.

Of course, there are plenty of people who grasp the severity of their views and their Cause and who do not care, or for whom that is the Entire Point. But it's difficult to know who those people are, and if you approach every situation of opposition assuming that the person falls squarely into that camp, then you will almost certainly alienate anyone who has perhaps been inching away from their views.

I know it makes interactions much easier to have that clear-cut black and white. I am most certainly guilty of jumping to these sorts of assumptions, I will probably continue to do it without even realising it at first; I am not trying to cast myself as a paragon.

Even so, I am going to Try to approach people with a little more understanding, not least because I want people to do the same for me. I have and will make mistakes, and voice opinions that I will later find objectionable, and do bad things, but I want other people to treat me like a person despite this.

What Petersen is doing is absolutely awful. I am 100% in agreement with that. Restricting access to books like this is fucking horrible, and it shouldn't be done (or even allowed).

But I don't think she should die, and I am not going to joke about that, because perpetuating this false binary of Good People and Bad People and saying "well, it's alright if we say the Bad People should die, because they're Bad" is encouraging an environment in which it is in one's interest to prove someone one dislikes is a Bad Person, because then there is no limit on what can be said about this person—especially because anything said against a Bad Person must surely be in service of the Good Cause, not against it.

(IMO, saying that someone (even a horrible person) should die is not serving an anti-censorship stance. The only things it will do are a) encourage aforementioned environment and b) become something for pro-censorship people to point at to say, "Hey, these people are saying awful things to me; if they're not going to approach me like a person, I won't do the same for them".)

Sorry if this is a little disjointed; it's been a while since I've written more than a few paragraphs of opinion ^^" I hope the general gist of it comes across. Take this all with a liberal grain of salt, of course, or discard the notion entirely, but I just wanted to air it :P

Censorship Georg