#its to make sure the majority of women are so terrified of that punishment that you dont even need to actually dole out the punishment

[cruelsister-moved2]

i feel with lesbians, and im allowed to say this because im a lesbian, but honestly the punishment of individual lesbians is almost incidental compared to the fact its literally about making an example out of us. its like theres a potential lesbian in every woman and thats really who is being punished. straight women’s fear of acquiring that status VASTLY outweighs my actual lived discomfort as a lesbian. so much of the homophobia i experience stems from the perceived impossibility of my existence and the need to present me as repulsive, not directly to punish ME but to make other women afraid of being like me. so arguing like who would specifically be perceived as a lesbian in what situation feels so shallow when literally every woman is on some level perceived as like. a threat of hypothetical lesbian possibility

[ms-hells-bells]

hiiiii so I was arguing w this one person and they said the majority of saesangs are female. is that true? I have found no sources on it, no general statistics even talking about saesangs in general, but sites say they're typically female and that's jarring to me because males make up the majority of stalkers in SK? Like every other fucking day a woman is getting stabbed to death by a male stalker (not the other way around) and seeing people say the majority of obsessive korean fans who stalk are women is confusing. perhaps its true? Again, there are no statistics or sources besides websites saying they're majorly female.

it's a sexed word. no one calls the men who stalk female celebrities saesang, even the ones who send flowers and food to their houses, call them over and over, hack phonees and clouds for nudes, and even try to kidnap them. saesang are also just one subset of stalker, and can range massively in the level of danger. because the vast majority of the time, they are annoying, violating, and worrying, but the male idols are not fearing for their lives.

another difference is visibility and access. a majority of criminal stalkers are not celebrity stalkers, but ordinary male stalkers of women, usually someone they know, like an ex or coworker. because most women are not celebrities, there's a limit to the amount of people that see or know them, so less stalkers by number. but sheer number doesn't tell the whole story, it's about proportions and distance. if you have 10 million people that know you, and 0.5% lack a sense of boundaries, that's 50,000 potential saesang. but a majority of those are not in the same country as the idol they obsess over and so do nothing but repeatedly tweet at them daily and write cringy fanfiction. and the worst that most of the worst of them do is buy information about their favourite foods and send it to their house, which is terrifying and not okay, but that's that.

then you have an ordinary woman who only talks to 100 people in a day, and two harass her. one is a senior coworker who won't stop sending her gifts, and used the work intranet to get her number and keep texting her sexually explicit messages. the other is an abusive ex boyfriend that waits outside her home to beg her to get back together, and sends her threatening letters. 2 is a fraction of a fraction of 50,000, but proportionally, it's 4x higher than the male idol, and it's significantly more dangerous. think about that, that 2 men you know is more dangerous than thousands of women (often teen girls) that are fans.

and finally....still doesn't make it okay, but these idols choose to be idols. it's their career they pursued. and their labels encourage saesang with the entire idol model, because those fans are the ones that spend the most money. on the other hand, you don't choose to be a woman, you are born female, and men will punish you for that. i have said this before and thought it for years, but honestly, a male kpop idol is the closest men will ever get to experiencing life as an ordinary woman.

both things shouldn't be happening, but how many male idols have been injured or killed by a fan? i know of the drinking glue incident with one, from an 'anti', and car brake (or was it wheel) damage of another group, also by an anti, and some house break ins, but that is largely it for over 20 years of idolship. it should be telling that despite the many millions of fans, far more normal women in korea get injured or killed by ordinary men than male idol. in fact, i'm pretty sure more male idols have hurt women than been hurt by women, the amount of them, especially second gens, with credible accusations of abuse and sexual assault...

[starsxblazing]

I'm not sure if you take requests. I'm a sucker for some angst. So perhaps this lil bit would inspire something. Its an azriel x reader fic. Where azriel is on a mission to find a enemy spy or something. He finds them and slaughters them all and reader is there crying out and hysterically sobbing for her family when the bond snaps for Azriel. He's fucking mortified that he just killed his mates family in front of her. I imagine a fucking sad sad azriel. Just his luck that hed find his mate afterall these years and have to deal with that kind of pain.

I really, really hope this was something along the lines of what you wanted. I thoroughly enjoyed writing it

The Domino Effect

Warnings: abuse, angst, character death

----

Azriel rushed with Cassian to the river house due to the urgency that Rhysand had given them mentally. It was the middle of the night so they both knew that it had to be important. Not only would it be important, it was desperation considering none of the rest of the Inner Circle was there when they arrived. Rhys was pacing in his office when they rushed in and barely glanced at them while muttering to himself.

“Gods, Rhys. We thought someone was dying,” Cassian huffed while he began to catch his breath.

“People are dying,” the High Lord snapped but took a breath to steady himself. “We have a major problem that needs to be dealt with. Immediately.” 

“What’s the problem?” Azriel asked cautiously, his jaw clenching at the worry radiating off of his brother.

“You are the only shadowsinger that we know of,” Rhys started, still pacing and running his hand through his hair. “Reports are suggesting that there is another in one of our camps.”

“Az is a rare find,” Cassian said just as cautiously. “This sounds like a rogue.”

“It is a rogue Illyrian,” Rhysand growled before apologizing. “Whoever it is are moving around different camps and slaughtering our best soldiers. Not only that, it is going after women and children.”

“What?”

Azriel’s voice dropped into a horrified whisper. They all knew what Ilyrians were capable of and it was one of the many reasons that he didn’t associate himself as one. His High Lord’s words cut into him like a dagger to the heart. Determination and anger began to course through him just as he knew that it was happening to Cassian as well.

“Where do we start?” Cassian pressed. “The camps are already on edge and if it is truly a shadowsinger, Az will be the one that they will accuse.”

“That is also one of my top concerns,” Rhys replied flatly, his features showing nothing but anger and worry.

They both listened to their orders before rushing out of the door in hopes that they could stop it before too much damage could be done.

You dipped into the cottage that you were sharing with your three brothers, father, and uncle. Your heart broke every time you had to be inside because it was a reminder that your mother was still missing as she had been for the last two months. Calling names and searching through the house gave you no results so you dared to make your way towards the cellar where your father usually was. A shadow wrapped around you, halting you before you could make it halfway there. 

After all of the years that you had spent with your brother and father, you were somehow able to differentiate whose shadows were whose. You turned around slowly at the presence that you felt behind you, only to see your father watching you with anger. He wasn’t a kind man and always seemed to find something wrong to punish you for. From what little interactions that you got with other females in the camp, you came to the conclusion that most Illyrian males were all the same.

“What have I told you?” he asked in that low and terrifying voice that had you shaking in an instant.

“I wasn’t intentionally trying to go down there, Dad. I swear! I was just looking for you-”

Your words were cut short by his hand connecting with the side of your face and then his elbow to your nose. You did your best not to scream because it only seemed to egg him on. He simply scowled at you before disappearing, leaving you alone once again. You slipped into your room to release the tears that you had been holding back in front of the male who was supposed to love you. That thought alone only made you sob harder because the one person that showed you love and kindness was gone. You were beginning to give up hope on ever seeing her again but continued to clutch onto that tiny thread of hope.

“This way,” Azriel whispered, waving a hand at his brother as they continued their trek towards the fifth camp.

They had to handle everything very, very carefully because if they didn’t, they would lose the subject that they had been working so hard to find. His shadows allowed him to slip around the camps at night to get information but even that was challenging since most were already in bed.

“Az.” He paused at Cassian’s whisper that was filled with horror as he pointed to an opening of a cave. “In here.”

Moving closer to his brother, he realized what had caught his attention. The scent was barely noticeable but the unmistakable scent of death was present. They both slipped inside silently and followed, only for the scent to become even stronger the further that they went. At the cave's ending, they found a massive pile of bodies. Some were recent and others were decaying but they all ranged from soldiers, women, and children.. Cassian grunted in what Azriel assumed was the general's way of staving back the nausea rolling through him. He would be lying if he said that he wasn’t feeling the same.

“Guess that means we’ve found the right camp,” Cassian muttered. “Surely it can’t be this easy.”

“If it seems too good to be true, it usually is,” Azriel agreed.

“Guess that means that it’s time for you to do what you do best since we can’t be seen by anyone.”

Azriel nodded and slipped closer to the edge of the camp, his shadows never faltering in the mission. He noticed that his shadows were restless and were urging him in a particular direction so he allowed them to guide him. His whole body froze when he reached the outskirts of the camp and came across a cottage with a Illyrian female sitting on the steps with shadows swirling around her. It took several demands to keep his shadows from darting towards you so that their cover wasn’t blown.

Shadows swirled around you as you sat on the front steps of your home, urging you to get up and go inside. Your father wanted you back inside and you knew that the longer that you stayed outside, the harder your beating was going to be. With a sigh, you finally made your way back inside only to be surprised that you weren’t being yelled at by the males in the room.

You strode to the kitchen to fix something for them to eat in hopes that they wouldn’t begin verbally and physically assaulting you. Laughter and crude humor filled the air but you didn’t dare make a sound so as to not bring attention to yourself. Just as soon as the food was finished, the back door that you were in front of was blown open at the same time that the front door was.

You screamed when the door hit you, managing to hit your already sore nose before you fell to the ground. Screaming and steel against steel could be heard amidst the darkness that filled the room. You already knew that it was shadows but they weren’t ones that you recognized. Your father’s scream caught your attention and through a small clearing, you saw a sword run across his throat. 

You screamed again at the sight and tears began to fall down your face as you pushed yourself into the corner as far as you could go. You placed your head onto your knees and your hands shot to your ears in an attempt to stop the sounds of your remaining family dying. 

Even as the air around you fell silent, you refused to move from your fetal position due to your fear. A handful of seconds passed before you heard a soft curse followed by near silent footsteps coming towards you.

Azriel and Cassian made short work of the five males that weren’t anticipating the raid. The shadows had come from two of the men and he had been shocked to see two people at once with the same gifts that he had. After a few moments of silence, he remembered the female on the steps and the sharp screamed when he had used his siphon to break through the backdoor. A curse left him when he saw you cowering in the corner, your entire body shaking in fear. It only increased as he gently moved closer, wanting to help you but at the same time, scared to touch you or say anything at all.

“Hey,” he whispered gently, placing a hand lightly on your forearm.

“Please, please, please.”

The word tumbled out in a tone of desperation so he looked to his brother in hopes that he knew what to do. There had been several females that he saved from traumatizing situations before but he had never done so when he was the one that had caused the trauma. You had just watched them slaughter your entire family right after having a door slammed into you so hard that it was surprising that you were even still conscious. He nodded to Cassian and hoped that he understood that they needed Rhys or Feyre. Hell, they probably needed both.

“You’re safe, I promise.” He was sure to talk in a soft tone just in hopes that you would at least look up at him so that you knew that you were safe. “I���m so sorry that you were caught in the crossfire.”

Oh so slowly, you lifted your head and hesitantly made eye contact with him. The shock and despair hit him all at once, overtaking all of his senses to the point that he fell backwards off of his heels.

Despite the overwhelming fear, you lifted your head and made eye contact with the male in front of you. He had been kneeling in front of you but fell onto his behind with shock on his face. A soft whimper left as fear continued to course through you and it impossibly increased when you took in the blood covering him. What disturbed you the most was that both males standing in the room were Illyrians and had been just as bad as the females of the camp had claimed. 

“Don’t look,” the male in front of you whispered as he knelt in front of you again when your eyes darted to the sight of your dead family. “It’s okay.”

“You- You just-” Another broken sob escaped you and you struggled to choose your words so that you weren’t assaulted. “My family..”

“I know, I know.”

You took a moment to look him over, noticing the many siphons that were on his leathers. You had never seen a male with more than one and the fact that he had so many meant that he was extremely dangerous. He could easily wipe you out of the world with no effort and a glance at the other male told you the same. Despite the power that you knew they had, they both watched you with tender gazes as if they truly didn’t want to scare you any more than they already had. You continued to struggle to get further into the wall to the point that your clipped wings were hurting from being squished. 

Your head shot back down between your knees when you felt two more presences enter your home before the male was replaced by someone else. A soft hand on your own was somewhat comforting and you once again forced yourself to pull your head up to look. A beautiful female was sitting in front of you and even though you didn’t know who she was, you felt a small fraction of your fear leave you.

“It’s going to be okay,” she murmured gently, her hand rubbing gently on your arm. “We want to help you.”

“Who- Who are-” 

“I’m Feyre,” she answered with a gentle smile. 

“Cursebreaker?” Your mouth fell open slightly in shock but then you started trying to push away again. “Night Court.”

“I am the High Lady, yes.” Her voice was still soft even though there was a hint of caution now in it. “I know our reputation isn’t the best but let us show you that it isn’t true.”

“Please come with us.” A male’s voice that you hadn’t heard before sounded in the room and a glance in his direction showed you that he was keeping a respectful distance. “This is no place for you to be alone. You will be cared for and safe with us in Velaris.”

Your head quieted momentarily at the words. You had heard about what they call The City of Starlight and how it was a place of dreams. The urge to leave the camp had always raged inside of you and you wanted nothing more than to agree even though you were still so scared. You took the chance despite your fear and took Feyre’s hand to let her help you up. Your eyes involuntarily drifted to your deceased family members and you doubled over. Feyre held you up the best that she could as you released what little was in your stomach before she was gently pulling you outside.

“Let us help you,” she said again, her voice laced with a hint of desperation. “We have healers that can tend to your wounds and you can have a home and be free to do as you wish.”

“But what if I want to stay here?” you asked in a low and broken voice. “Why would they do this to me? I already lost my Mom and now I have nothing left.”

“I promise that we will explain everything to you,” the male replied, still watching you carefully as if you were a wounded animal.

In truth, you felt like a wounded and terrified animal. Your nose was broken and you were sure that you had a black eye that would accompany many others all over your body and that a healer was needed. On top of that, you wanted to see the city and judging by the High Lady and the new male that you assumed was the High Lord, you felt a hint of trust in them. 

With a small nod of your head, Feyre explained winnowing before gripping your hand tightly as you left the only place that you knew as home.

Azriel stood outside of the room that you were placed in at the townhouse, eavesdropping on the conversation going on inside. He was thankful that you were allowing the healer near you so that you would be able to get the help that you needed. Regret and pain coursed through him at the thought that he had been the one to hurt and traumatize you so badly. He had injured you badly in his attempt to stop more damage being done to others. The one sided bond felt deserved but he hoped that you would be able to forgive him. Fear of Illyrian males had been written all over your face when you had looked at him and he was angry that you had been mistreated. It made him want the ability to bring all of them back so he could slaughter them again.

“Do you think she’s going to be alright?” Cassian asked across from him on the opposite side of the door. “The only person that she’ll allow near her is Feyre and Elain.” 

“She doesn’t trust Illyrian males.” Rhys exited his own room to join them as they talked in hushed voices. “And she has every right. We all know how females are treated.”

“How are we going to tell her that we found her mother dead in the cellar?” Cassian asked and Azriel remained silent as he half listened through his self deprecating thoughts. “Not to mention the mating bond.”

“The mating bond should be the last thing that any of us even consider.” The High Lord glared at him in a silent warning. “Since she is also terrified of me, we will let Feyre explain it all.”

All three of them stood there to listen even after Majda left and the sharp sob that sounded broke his heart. It felt like a greatsword being shoved straight through his chest. He had always wanted a mating bond but he had never imagined that it would be like this. Rhysand’s eyes glazed over and they were all connected to Feyre so they knew what was happening. You were a sobbing mess, clinging to Elain through it as you listened to what your father and brother had done. You only cried harder when you were told about your mother who had died at your own family's hands.

The crying changed and was filled with fear when his High Lady explained that both Cassian and himself were Illyrians that were a part of the court. You accused both him and his brother as being the same as every other Illyrian male in the camps. It shattered his already broken heart some more to the point that he felt like he was going to fall to his knees. Rhysand shook his head at him when he told him that he wanted to go in there and beg for your forgiveness and he knew that his High Lord was right. 

A month passed by and Azriel did every single job possible to keep his own mind busy until he was unable to stay away from you anymore. Dread filled him the closer that he got to the townhouse but he forced himself forward anyway. Elain opened the door with a grim, sympathetic smile on her face while letting him in. 

He found you in the sitting room with a cup of tea that you didn’t seem interested in. When you noticed his presence, the cup in your hands fell to the floor as your eyes went wide. The golden thread that tied the two of you together grew brighter and connected the two of you when you realized what he was to you. You began shaking your head as you stood and took slow steps backward further into the room.

“No, no, no, no, no,” you whispered, pulling at your hair in a panic.

“Y/N..”

“No, no, no!” you screamed with tears falling down your face. “I don’t want this!”

His eyes went wide at your words as Elain pushed past him to try and console you. She already knew about the bond so he hoped that she could do so. The hint of rejection that passed your lips nearly had him falling to his knees to beg you, even as you continued to shake your head in despair. 

“It’s oka-”

Elain’s comforting words did nothing but cause you to let out a scream that sliced into him impossibly more. You finally lifted your tear stained eyes to his, glaring hatefully at him. The hatred that he was receiving by the simple look had him taking a step forward which only had you stepping back.

“I don’t want this!” you repeated. “I don’t want to be stuck with someone like you. I refuse to be tied to an Illyrian! Especially one that feels it’s okay to murder an entire family! You took everything from me!”

“I’m so sor-”

“No!” Your screaming and crying paired with the insult that hit every insecurity in him had his entire body shaking. “You’re just like the rest of them! Blood thirsty and cruel!”

“Az, I think you need to go,” Elain whispered as she looked at him with tear filled eyes.

“But-”

“I never want to see you again!”

The threads of the mating bond began to unravel before he darted out of the townhouse and took to the skies. The strings began to fray, leaving nothing but sharp pins into his heart and soul. He hadn’t made it far before he landed, unable to stop his pained sobs. He had expected you to be angry but what he hadn’t been ready for was an outright rejection of the bond.

It was a pain like nothing that he had ever experienced, the feeling already driving him insane. He didn’t know how he was going to be able to stay in the same town as you much less survive the rejection. You were right for not wanting him because he wasn’t deserving of you or the bond and your words had only proved it.

The only thing that he was able to do was sit at the top of the mountain while pulling on his hair while he sobbed through the immense heartache.

[thesunshinebunny]

When the world falls apart, the only thing we can hold onto is ourselves (Part III)

Series Master list

pairing: canon Eren Jaeger x reader

content: Angst, unstable relationship, breakup, smut/nswf+18, major character death, violence, blood (obviously), war (pretty obvious)

Summary: War and hate. It’s what defined the world at this exact moment. You failed your comrades, and by failing them, you failed yourself. Your relationship is hanging by a thread and your enemies will not only be found on the other side of the sea, but also in the mind of the person you love the most. How will you take the reins in the face of so much destruction?

Chapter summary: It will take more than a betrayal and blood blath for the reader to stop protecting those who really need it.

Words count: 4.7k

I knew things were going to go from bad to worse when we returned to Paradis; but I never imagined that I would have a letter from the Supreme Commander on my desk. Days had passed since my fiasco conversation with Eren, spreading the word of my insubordination towards the lack of notification to the respective authorities. Sure, the guards had let me into the cell just because they knew me, but I never had the decency to tell Hange-san or even ask for a meeting with the Supreme Commander.

And here I was. Wrapped up in a much bigger shit roll since I decided to enlist in the Survey Corps, with a simple letter demanding my presence in his office for a little "talk."

The medical center where I could do my practices with ease was quite far from the justice’s court where the Supreme Commander was, having to go out to ride through the beautifully paved streets. A street I crossed, a street I saw citizens read the newspapers that had brought so much catastrophe to peace within the walls. People were revolting against the militancy, demanding Eren's immediate release, praising he was the only one who could lead Eldia to its ultimate glory.

If they could heard themself right now. They spoke as if Paradis itself had become an empire, a power on the verge of attacking and taking every country under its feet. It was as if they wanted to turn the game around, to be us the empire and our enemies the war slaves.

I was still far from my destination, but the crowd could be seen cowering above the barred court doors. Men and women with posters screaming without sense or unity, an angry mob demanding explanations, ready to use violence to make their way into the hierarchy.

I got off my horse when I faced the crowd, needing to get up front and through the secured gate and with my loyal traveling companion I wasn't going to make it. I left him tied up outside a local, asking the owner to take care of him, if necessary, I would give him a monetary compensation on my returned.

I tried to get through the mob, asking permission, even nudging some people, but no matter how hard I tried to take a step forward, there was always a bastard blocking my way or pulling me back; They even had the decency to grab my coat and throw me off.

"Excuse me, but I need to pass"

Empty words at this situation. If they didn’t listen to the specialized people of the militancy, it was obvious that they wouldn’t listen to me, a simple doctor in practice for the legion.

"Free the leader of the Eldian empire"

"Free Eren Jaeger"

"Give us some damn answer"

"Fuck off you cheap bitch"

The day wasn’t even beginning and I was already receiving hateful comments, typical of closed minds.

I looked around for a solution, I was wasting valuable time and starting to get irritated. If I was late for my meeting with the Supreme Commander, who knows what punishment he would give me apart from my insubordination.

Besides of the mob there wasn’t much more than a few elegant houses and shops, no other entrance except the one in the backyard, but to get there, I would have to go all the way around the building and it would take much longer. The walls were too high to jump alone and too smooth to climb, otherwise enough people would have sneaked in by now.

I turned my head towards my horse, which was still in the same position where I left him, patiently awaiting my return. Surely what I was about to do wasn’t going to please him one bit.

I ran as fast as I could and unhooked him from the wooden post, ignoring the comments of the owner of the premises who was indisputably claiming for his pay. Without turning my head to such scum, I motioned for the horse to turn around and run down the avenue, against the crowd. Being at a considered distance, I again instructed him to turn around and go as fast as he could.

"I'm sorry Phillip, you're going to have to forgive me for what I'm going to do"

We were a few meters from the mob, mentally preparing myself for the feat that was about to be accomplished. Almost arriving, about to impact, I gave him a little jerk to the right, guiding us towards the wall, and raised my legs towards his back, squatting against him, waiting for the right moment and the impulse he would give when braking hard.

When he was about to slam his trunk against the wall, Phillip stopped his galloping, propelling me forward and flying toward one of the door columns. I grabbed the stone as best I could, avoiding falling on my backside, and raised my legs towards the top, finally reaching my goal. Being already on top and looking at the terrified faces of the rebels, I went down to the other side of the door, slightly hurting my feet and hands in the fall.

"That was quite a show"

Hitch was already in front of me, malicious and proud on her face. She was giving a few applause to the air, trying to lift the spirits of the people of the military squad, even if her acting was a bit cocky.

"Desperate situations call for desperate measures." I waved my hands over the coat, looking at her with the same smug visage she was giving me.

I didn't like Hitch per se, but we weren't friends either. The way she acted and talked gave me bad vibes and I planned to stay as neutral as possible in her presence. Even her gazes seemed to want to pierce the soul of whoever she was speaking to, as if she wanted to undress you internally and seek your darkest and most shameful secrets. I would stick my hands in the fire by assuming that in her younger years she had been a bully or a blackmailer.

But it was better to keep those thoughts for yourself, before generating greater repercussions in the times that hugged us.

"Did you come to see Armin and Mikasa?"

Any thoughts I had of her dissipated.

"They ... are they here?"

I was fuzzy. Not because of the fact that I was uninformed about their actions when they left the legion barracks in the morning, which I was getting used to since last year, but because they were in the same place as me. What a coincidence.

To be honest, the two of them never owed me anything and it wasn't their duty to tell me where they were going every minute of the day, just like Hange. Each one of us had their own will to go where we were sung; But if the three of us were in court, and if they gave me the chance to guess, I would say that to see the Supreme Commander, it made me a bit suspicious.

"Yes, they are talking to the Supreme Commander to try to go talk to Eren"

I must have hit my head at some point in the battle of Marley, because lately every occurrence was quite impossible to believe. They were the ones who asked me to go talk to him a few days ago, they were the ones who questioned me when I returned to the waiting room where the few survivors of 104° Squad were;it was them who gave me a compassionate look as they saw I hadn’t accomplished much and I had ended any relationship that bound me with Eren.

And now here they were, demanding an audience with their childhood friend, while I would have to be judged for the same action. Something wasn’t fitting. I looked around trying to find them, or maybe to find an answer to the thousands of questions that were forming in my head, and finding no help, I turned to Hitch.

"What is going on? Why-"

Before I could finish my question, an explosion rumbled across the cobblestone floor, hurting our ears and knocking us to the ground. Fire and debris couldn’t only be seen in the air but also smelled, flooding our nostrils, causing us to cough and cover our eyes with debris.

I looked up to find a flare coming from one of the court offices and a heavy body falling in our direction. I couldn't make it out until it fell to the ground, leaving a stain of blood and ash around it, apart from leaving a trail of smoke from where it flew off. My eyes were opened with shock and amazement, since the person in front of me was nothing more and nothing less than the same militant leader, half of the body lost and burned by the explosion.

"Well ... that's new"

In all my years of service I have seen every horror inside and outside the walls. True, even the Survey Corps had acted against the law, but it was for the greater good, to expose the bastards who lived on the wall farthest from the sea. I had seen people hit and kick another for a piece of food when the wall Maria fell. I had seen how we were massacred one by one with bullets to the head as we tried to go beyond the walls.

But never in those years I had seen a rebellion like the one taking place, being willing to eliminate such an authoritarian figure as Darius Zackly.

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The chaos went unnoticed by a large part of the population, only those who were present at the time of the explosion and the military police were aware. Faced with such an atrocious event of treason, a small meeting was convened involving the most important heads of each faction; unfortunately I couldn’t be there, my presence had been required in a clinic a few meters from the court. There were quite a few injured.

Some had mild and harmless burns, others had large parts of the body with third degree burns. Some had splinters stuck in their arms and faces, some had a piece of wood stuck in their stomach.

A couple of hours had passed which seemed like weeks to me. I had been assigned the milder cases, but as I pulled the splinters out of a patient's eyes, I had the countless howls of people echoing in my head, listening as they took their last painful breaths. People who asked to die on purpose to ease the pain.

Hours passed and welcomed the next day. I had terrible black circles under my tired eyes, hands stained with dried blood and splintered; they’re fucked up and I needed to heal them as quickly as possible before they got infected. I grabbed the cutting tools and placed them on a metal tray, the cold of the surface soothing the pain in my hands, and although it wasn’t too heavy I felt like it trembled on my grip.

I heard the door open wide at the other side of my last patient's room, the front door, letting in multiple heavy footsteps on the hardwood floor. Apparently, the soldier who had entered was in a hurry or was about to deliver terrible news...I wish I had been wrong in the second option.

"Bad news, Eren Jaeger has escaped from the underground cell"

I dropped the metal tray on my feet, making the sound of metal and utensils rumble across the room. My hands were shaking even more and surely if I saw myself in a mirror I would see my face completely pale.

"If you want to free yourself from this cell, go ahead"

My words invaded my mind like a bucket of cold water, as if they wanted to make me see that I was to blame for his escape. I knew that sooner or later he’s going to free himself, his eyes showed it and by not getting an answer that contrasted with mine, it was perfect evidence of his plans. But even knowing it, even Hange knowing it, I didn't expect him to do it in a moment of such betrayal.

I cleaned my hands as best I could with a towel hanging over the room sink and grabbed my coat, rushing out of the clinic.

"I’m sorry, I need to go"

But where to go was the question. I had no idea where Eren might be, and even if I knew what he was going to win, surely he was with his followers and with the simple image of me approaching from the horizon, I would be dead in a matter of seconds ... or imprisoned, whatever happen first.

At the exit of the clinic, there were two soldiers of the military police standing guard and watching the justice’s court from the distance. I approached them with the intention of asking them about the whereabouts of the Survey Corps, but they looked at me like I had the plague and pushed me aside hostilely, almost knocking me to the ground. I kept my composure as best I could and looked for someone else to ask; I didn’t have to wait long, since a woman of my age with mahogany hair, extremely black and matted, pointed the way where my comareds had gone. According to her words, they’re heading towards a large and luxurious building in the middle of one of the main avenues, recognizing the word restaurant from the conversation between the riders.

The only place that matched that description was the restaurant where Nicolo worked.

I hurried out with Phillip galloping through people, avoiding stepping on them and apologizing on my back. If there was something clear to me in all this mess, it was that Hange would go to find answers among the working Marleyans of that place. Maybe something could be solved.

I was very wrong.

I rushed into the building, finding only a long entrance hall and a corridor that led to god knows where. No one was even around to see me panic and I didn't see a soul nearby either, the only thing if I could hear a heated discussion far away and heavy footsteps on the floor. I let myself be guided by the sound, running back to its origins and finding a bizarre and meaningless scene in front of my eyes.

The room that seemed to be the main one hosted the orphaned children of the Blouse farm as well as Sasha's parents, sad and anguished parents if I paid better attention. The children were just as sad, with tears in their eyes, especially Kaya; they were crying the same way as on the day Sasha's death was reported. They were cornered under a window all together, hugging each other and letting the rays of the sun streaming through the window illuminate their figures, as if those rays could replace the heat that Sasha had left behind.

That scene broke my still fragile heart. I would have liked to reach out to them and try to help them move on, as I would have liked to stay on the farm with them when we came back from Marley to help them get by; obviously I could never have replaced Sasha and they could never have replaced my family, but in these times of battle, what mattered most was healing the wounds between all of us.

I would have liked to talk to them, but my eyes shifted from the Blouse family to the figure of Hange carefully placing a child on the floor. The blond boy was very badly injured on the side of his head, he was bleeding and his clothes had stuck to his body due to the large amount of liquid that had flowed down his torso.

"Hange-san, Wha-" As I stared at the blond boy on the floor, I could see that he was one of the children who had sneaked into our war balloon.

“Isn't that one of the Marleyan children? Why is he here and why is he bleeding?"

Unconsciously my body leaned forward, resting on one knee on the ground and reaching out to the boy. My instincts as a doctor were screaming for me to tend to the poor injured boy regardless of his race and I was willing to do so.

"We will take care of him, go to the room continue with Mikasa and Armin"

I got up without hesitation, taking one last look at the room I was in and it was just at that moment that I recognized Nicolo and Jean in a corner away from everyone else. They both looked very distressed, but I didn't have the opportunity to ask why, they had given me an order and I had to carry it out. I would have to wait until got back to base to understand this terrible situation.

The room they sent me to was at the end of the corridor, the door was closed but every step I took I could hear the soft voices of Mikasa and Armin, apparently talking to someone else. Well, that conversation must have to get a pause because I was about to slam the door in and leave the doors wide open.

“What the hell is going on? Why is a Marleyan child unconscious in the kitchen?"

Upon entering, all excited, my eyes only saw the figures of Armin and Mikasa around a table. They both looked up at me in disbelief when they saw me standing on the threshold. For the second time that day, I looked back across the stage in front of me and spotted a small brown-haired figure sitting at the same table. With a little more attention, I saw that the small figure was trembling, perhaps from fear or from adrenaline, at the same time that its face was bruised and full of blood; and putting all my attention on that bloody face I realized that I recognized those eyes, those same eyes that I had looked at with contempt and had looked back at me with the same feeling the night of the invasion.

The missing girl from the Marleyan duo was sitting across from me staring with sheep's eyes.

All exaltation I had in my body dissipated, my gaze fell, leaving nothing more than a neutral countenance. But ... anyone who could see through my eyes, would know they reflected the fatigue and sadness of several accumulated days. Seeing the girl was perhaps a way of attaching all the harmful feelings in a single part of my body.

I let out a long sigh and closed the door slowly behind me. I walked slowly towards where the girl was, running Mikasa to the side and looked at her with the best possible adult countenance. She had a red nose, it looked like it had been hit right on her septum causing her to bleed and stain her dress, which I assumed was courtesy of the Blouse family. Her cheek was scratched and red too, traces of broken and inflamed skin could be seen around her wound, but without any bleeding. This girl would have a swollen face the next day if we don't give her some ice.

“You’re hurt. Care to explain me what happened?"

I reached my hand out to her, but was greeted with a flinch from her. I could tell she was scared and she had every right to be.Either way, way I brought my hand to her face, placing my index finger and thumb on her jaw to move her head and look for other injuries.

Her face was the one that received the most impact, nothing in her eyes which was a very good sign, and I didn’t notice any kind of fracture in the bones of her cheek or septum. Good. I looked around the room for something I could use, but I only found empty tables adorned with a classic tablecloth and a very well elaborated and cared wine cellar, apart from showing off one of the best wine collections in recent years.

"Armin, can you go get some alcohol to disinfect the wounds? Surely they have something in the kitchen "

The blonde gave me a slight nod and left the room, leaving me alone with Mikasa, who was absolved of the situation, but still maintaining an imposing posture. The girl was still shaking on my hand, so I pushed her away and inspected her body for more injuries.

The palms of her hands were stained with blood, I guessed from the bleeding from her nose, but they also had some slight scratches, perhaps she had fallen to the floor. Her dress didn’t seem torn in the area of ​​the knees, so I assumed that they weren’t injured or it was a very slight scratch, almost no bleeding. Her arms seemed intact as did her torso. I turned to the back of her head, running her hair gently trying to find any trace of blow that could generate a contusion. I didn’t find anything that could be fatal or serious, but I did see something that caught my attention.

“You have marks on your head, diffuse, but they are there. What happened?"

"... A horse bit me"

Of all the situations that could have led to those brands, I didn't expect to hear this one. I didn’t expect it, not at all. It caught me off guard and I let out a giggle which I covered with the back of my hand.

"Sorry, shouldn't laugh… you deserve it thou" I gave her a little pat on the top of her head before ruffling it a bit and bending down to look into her eyes.

Armin returned to the room, alcohol in hand and a clean cloth. Thank God something was clean in this whole city, I was beginning to lose my faith in the cleanliness of this people. I reached for the items and I proceeded to apply a large amount of alcohol to the cloth and apply it first to the frightened girl's cheek.

"Why are you so good to me? I killed a one of your friends"

That comment made me stop for a second, just like I stopped looking at her wound. My gaze fell to the floor in search of an answer; I searched, searched and searched for answers to questions that didn’t have one or weren’t as simple as they seemed...or simply looked in the wrong places and the answers were always in my mind, only that my heart wasn’t prepared to face them.

"The girl you killed the night of the invasion was called Sasha Blouse and she was the best archer and sniper of the legion"

I turned my gaze to her, continuing to heal her wound on her cheek. When I saw that there was only a small pink stain left on the surface, I moistened the cloth further with alcohol and ran it under her nose, removing any trace of blood. The girl pulled back a bit when she felt it’s smell her nostrils and I had the opportunity to cover her nose for a few seconds to stop the bleeding.

"You know ... you remind me of a boy exactly like you"

When I saw that the bleeding stopped and the girl stopped moving due to the burning and itching that the alcohol was surely causing, I grabbed her hands and began to clean them with small touches avoiding tearing her skin.

“Just as intense and ready to fight for what he thinks is fair. You are just a little girl who was taught that we were the bad guys. It’s the way you were raised, the way you see the world. They taught us something else, but at the end of the day, apart from everything... we are the same"

It hurt. Yes, it hurt to see the one guilty of the death of my best friend, but it hurt more to see in her eyes the hatred and contempt they had taught her towards our race. The hate cycle we were getting into wasn't going to get us anywhere and it was better to nip it in the bud, even with baby steps.

When I finished cleaning all her wounds, I put the cloth on the table and looked at my performance with deep pride. It wasn't much, but it was enough; Not only had I cleaned a few simple wounds, but perhaps, I wished that perhaps, it would begin to heal her mind ... and mine as well.

I got up heavily, noticing how my knees creaked when squatting for a long time and I stretched my body generating more crunches, but noting at the same time how the heaviness of my back left and leave behind a much lighter load.

“Very good, you’ve been a good patient. Surely there is something sweet in the kitchen that I can give you” I patted her head again and gave her a sincere smile, one that I hadn't given anyone for quite a while. I headed to the door unconcerned about the situation I assumed was still going on in the main room.

"What's going to happen to Eren Jaeger?"

What will happen to him? And why does she ask me that?

"Don't worry, I'm not letting him put a finger on you" A sincere answer to a question asked out of fear. I reached the door and in the middle of the sentence I turned the knob wanting to make my way into the hall, but a tall figure blocked my way.

Eren was right on the threshold with the intention of opening it.

Well mark me impress

My body jerked back instinctively, avoiding taking my eyes off his. I moved to the right side, avoiding the figure of the Marleyan girl from being in Eren's point of view. I didn't know why he was here or if the others knew about it, but whatever the reason, he surely wasn’t alone and this wasn’t going to lead to anything good.

"Sit down"

He took a few steps forward, closing the door with his foot, not even paying attention to his surroundings, or maybe yes, now everything was a confusion when it came to the brunette in front of us.

"You can't tell me what to do" I planted myself in front of him, without taking a step back. We were both facing each other, him carrying me several inches tall, several dominating inches that made my legs shake and my heart race.

If it had been in any other situation, that trembling, that acceleration would have been very well received. It was impossible not to feel small next to Eren, the damn bastard had hit a big stretch and there was a great difference around the body between the two, a difference that I always loved to admire.

But not now. Not at this moment when everything was going to shit and I had to stand up to the figure of a little girl who was internally dying of fear thanks to him.

"Sit. Down"

Few centimeters separated us from each other, his chest too close to mine, I could feel how it swelled with each breath. He raised his hand to my face, letting me see his cut palm and dripping blood. Fear took hold of me, making me stand even more in my position, but I wasn’t going to give in so easily.

"You wouldn't" I looked him in the eye, defiant, longed for and everything in between.

"Try me"

It was all he said before grabbing onto my shoulders and pulling me back. My body collided with the table and instinctively I placed my hands on it. I heard how Armin and Mikasa tried to get closer to where we were, but a single glance from Eren made them stay still, submissive, as they lost in their positions. His gaze returned to mine. My breath hitched and I had to avoid with all my might thinking about the position we were entwined.

It wasn’t the time to think about how my hips were slightly elevated, just my butt up on the table and one leg dangling, his knee between my legs, preventing me from closing them and keeping the leg that was hanging in the air. His gaze wandered between our bodies and he returned to my eyes. He tightened his grip on my shoulders and pushed me to the side of the table, dropping me onto the chair next to the girl.

"I said. Sit. Down"

He took his hands off my shoulders, took the seat next to me and Armin and Mikasa sat with him, leaving an air of discomfort and tension in the environment.

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[my-darling-boy]

What’s the main thing you find yourself liking about WW1 over WW2?

I’m often asked this, as it happens, since people find it odd I have a high preference for learning about one over the other and especially since I’m fiercely anti-war.

This is the main reason why I study WWI.

Sure I like the niche period male affection and the surrounding era, and I hate this it’s just an ad for a corporation, but this will ALWAYS ultimately summarise why I favour my studies towards WWI.

In WWI, there was no real enemy, only those fabricated by corrupt men in power. A good majority soon realised they had no reason to fight and yet were forced to. Horror had been experienced at such a magnitude by mass quantities of people for the first time that they could see war itself like a caricature, this raw and horrific hyperbole, and know to feel fear towards it, and know that to feel that fear was human. It was a needless and unjustifiable conflict that saw the manipulation of society and acted as a catylist to further the endless cycle of violence and abuse of political power; it played a critical role in desensitising the modern world to cruelty and pointless death. And it’s heartbreaking to know what people endured on all sides.

I’m fascinated by human connection and the power of kindness and love—and like I mentioned in another ask—learning about the war which forever altered our modern ways of experiencing and mirroring that deep and nurturing connection teaches us what horrible things happen when it is severed or lost because of fear, and why it is SO IMPORTANT to have empathy and avoid war at all costs.

Reading accounts of the Christmas Truce moves me so profoundly each time I always cry. Unity, kindness, and love is inherent in some way shape or form to all human beings before cruel men in power order that humanity to be stripped from us and be replaced by weapons and lies.

WWI makes me so upset because I can feel the fleeting humanity like an unnamed song on the wind haunting the fingers on triggers and drifting through the trenches steeped with gas and among beautiful embodiments of life now laying motionless and scattered across stretches of mud. It was still there, always there, the loving energy that links one human being to another, and would have had millions of men all throw down their weapons, but war drowned out the unified metaphorical hymn with machine guns, shells, and threats of imprisonment or execution. I believe what kind acts like those shown on Christmas Day 1914 between all who were affected by the war were the last notes in a song of compassion now lost to time, like a last goodbye before one fades away into the darkness. And even when this tune resurfaces in future conflicts, it’s all the more sorrowful because its presence reminds us that it continues to be forgotten and continues to grow weaker as time goes on.

It brings me to tears to think about the amount of boys behind guns and bayonets still hearing the melody and feeling so terrified of what punishment would await them if they gave in and stood down that they felt forced to ignore it. To think of the friends, secret lovers, and brothers each man held in their arms as they watched their lives slipping away knowing pieces of metal and promises of false glory would never bring their loved ones back. To think of the terror one must have felt to breathe poison gas or see a body mauled by a machine gun before knowing of such things’ existence. To think of the 15 year old child who was blindfolded against a post and shot because he was afraid of guns. It absolutely SHATTERS my heart.

In one fell swoop, universal respect and care for human lives was truly changed forever among the masses. And it still drives me to tears, looking at their faces, their stories, their graves, listening to their voices, standing below their names no one even bothers to stare up at anymore.... because I can see all too well, framed perfectly, plainly, and concisely before me the remains of a lost generation whose desperate grip on humanity was destroyed in one blow. And that generation who can no longer speak for itself is constantly twisted by conservatives on political platforms today to fit their hate-charged agenda or to serve as a false symbol of their nonexistent empathy, i.e. they wear poppies when they couldn’t give less of a damn about anyone who died and would gladly start a war if they could

“Lest we forget”, “remember them”, “never forget”.... these words have no meaning if we don’t truly know what they stand for. Not for their “sacrifice” or empty honour, not for boasting toxic nationalism or power in violence, not for disgusting imperialists, but for their ghosts in all their youth or ardency and laughter to remind us of what life was lost and what price we truly paid when we created hideous machines and monsters to permanently silence the nameless song which connects us all.

Too much research at one time gives me panic attacks, handling my genuine helmet makes my chest tight, writing about it gets me choked up more often than I wish to tell. I’m actually petrified of both gas and guns! And yet despite all the heartbreak and nightmares I am constantly subject to, I feel that if I can’t immerse myself in learning about it or the surrounding time period, I feel “lost”. That era plays such a part in my life and interests that it would be a deal breaker for me in a relationship if my partner didn’t care about the war or had no interest in the Edwardians. It also ties in to other interests of mine like the women’s rights movement during the Edwardian era, early 20th century LGBTQ+ community and views towards such following the Wilde Trials, the changing of male affection, learning to identify the ways in which conservative and insensitive Western values damage the world, and, as of course I’ll always recommend it, Testament of Youth, one of my favourite books, which is the memoir of feminist, pacifist, and former WWI VAD nurse, Vera Brittain.

In short, the way I feel about WWI actually overshadows the way I really feel about any other period in history. And I have a number of reasons I can’t get into learning about WWII, but I won’t get into them now :’) Main difference is: they’re both equally devastating in their own ways, but WWI sadness just Hits Differently and I’m more drawn to learn about that type of sadness? I hope I even described this all right??

Thanks for the interesting ask!

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #401

“my love is just waiting to turn your tears to roses”

Do you typically do your makeup the same each time? Or do you like to change it up often? IF I wear makeup, it's essentially always the same. Who is the last person you were in a room with just the two of you? What were you doing? Yesterday with Mom. We were trying to find the best deal on Eco Earth, a substrate we're getting for Venus. What was the last really good book you read, and what was it about? If we're talking REALLY good book, then The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. In short summary, it's a dystopian future novel where women are now basically just objects used only for repopulation, even having their names stripped from them. They follow very strict rules as society has returned to horrible misogyny. As a woman, the "oh my god, this is possible" aspect of it is terrifying, and it causes such a sense of disgust and urge to ensure women rights always continue to be fought for. Do you feel safe in your country? For the most part, I'd say. I guess. There are places I'd feel safer, though. How many meals do you eat a day? Three. Have you ever performed a solo dance in front of a crowd? No, but I was supposed to my senior year in high school; the seniors at my dance studio were always welcome to do a solo in celebration. Mine was a modern dance to "Coma White" by Marilyn Manson, wanting to tell a story about depression and how being medicated could feel, but I eventually decided like halfway through learning the choreography that I was just too nervous to do a solo. Have you ever sung a solo? No. When you go to McDonalds, what drink do you usually get? Coke. Have you ever had to call and complain about a product you bought? No. Do you own a designer purse? Definitely not. I'm not wasting that much money on something like that. What’s the weirdest rumor you’ve ever heard about yourself? Apparently, Jason and I had a baby in high school even though I was obviously never pregnant. To my knowledge, it was started by his ex. Who is now a good friend of mine lmaooo. Life is funny. What was your favorite Saturday morning cartoon growing up? Pokemon, of course. Would you ever have an affair? Nope. Would you ever have a one night stand? Nope. Where you present at any major historical events (e.g. 9/11)? No. What are your opinions on marijuana legalization? Legalize it, but treat it similarly to alcohol in that driving under the influence is illegal and punishable, and I believe you should be of a certain age. How about abortion? I am pro-choice. I was pro-life most of my own life, but now I am very firm about a mother being able to choose if she wants to endure a pregnancy or not. Like, that is a MASSIVE life event that almost inevitably changes - and sometimes traumatizes - people. I do believe a fetus is its own body and not part of the mother's, but rather in the mother's, but the belief that a woman decides what she wants in her body is her choice, too. I'm not very fond of people treating abortion as a simple, regular form of birth control, like it's nothing but an "lol whoops," but I still believe it is ultimately her decision, and she should always be free of judgment for doing what is best for her. Do you wear skirts or dresses more often? Neither. I wouldn't dare wear a skirt more so, though. What do you think about tipping at restaurants? There should always be an expected minimum, imo, unless the person was truly, sincerely, genuinely fucking awful. Waiters do not have an easy job, fight me about it, and they're just trying to survive while putting on a happy, jovial face, all the while dealing with hungry people who can be such assholes. I believe the actual tip should relate to actual service, but again, give them something. Would you ever get back together with any of your exes? One, absolutely. The other would take a shitload of consideration and proper communication on his part. Do you have a preferred coffee brand? No, because I don't like coffee. Do you usually befriend your coworkers, or do you prefer to keep work separate from your personal life? IF I had a job, I'd like to build a friendship with those I have to engage with almost every day. What is something you frequently forget? Dates, ages, names, what I was about to do five seconds before I forgot... Pretty much everything. My memory is frightfully poor. Is there any drama currently going on with your family? No. When you take a nap, do you nap in bed or on the couch? In my bed. Were you raised by both of your parents? If not, then who raised you? Both; my parents split when I was somewhere around 17, though, but I'd say there wasn't much more "raising" to do at that age. Have you ever stolen anything? If so, why? No. Have you ever plagiarized someone else's work? Hell no. What's your most-used mode of transportation? My mom's car. Have you ever taught someone else a useful skill? Not to my recollection. Does seeing everyone else's 'perfect lives' posted on social media ever bring you down or affect how you feel about yourself? It actually does, honestly. Not ALWAYS, but if I'm being honest, it does most of the time. I've contemplated deleting Facebook for that reason, but with is also comes things that make me happy, and I think I'd feel even more isolated without it. What is your favorite Hostess/Little Debbie snack? This is SO impossible for me to answer. I loooove Hostess and Little Debbie treats. I want to say honeybuns, but I also love those chocolate cupcakes with the white swirls on top, as well as Twinkies. Very few exist that I don't like. Do you/your family buy loafs from the bakery or bagged on the shelf? We just buy bagged bread. What’s the best news you’ve gotten lately? My APAP mask is definitively WORKING!!!!! :') Mom got an app that connects to the machine via Bluetooth that monitors the effectiveness of the mask, evaluating many factors of your sleep, and it's detecting a definite decrease in disruptive behaviors or something like that. It is so, SO encouraging to know that. ^And, the worst? Hm. Oh, probably some news on something serious a good friend is going through, but I don't feel it's my right to disclose what. It's just a very worrying and potentially dangerous issue that I wish I could help her with. Would you rather receive (or give) flowers, chocolates or jewelry? I'd appreciate any, but my fat ass is drawn to the chocolate, ha ha. What *I* would give would vary depending on what the person liked. How do you feel about coconut? Smells lovely, but is otherwise gross. ^ Ever cracked one open? No, but omg I've always wanted to, haha. What’s the best thing about being your gender? I guess the fact it's more "normal" and "accepted" to show our emotions. Fuck that generalization, though. I don't give a shit what your gender is, you experiencing emotions is NORMAL and welcomed to be expressed. ^ And the worst thing? The ability to be raped and impregnated by it. Do you do your part to save the earth? I don't do nearly enough. :/ We recycle, but that's about it. Well, none of us DARE to litter either, but I still don't feel like it's as much as the earth deserves from its denizens. Who do you think should have their portrait on a bill? I don't know or care. Why did you last feel exhausted? Yesterday was my niece's birthday, and I spent essentially ALL day playing with her and her brother. I have a very limited battery when it comes to kids, and I was running on empty for hours. My anxiety was SO high and I really needed a break from them, but they're too young to really understand that Aunt Britt can only socially run for so long before I'm completely burnt out, and TRUST ME, I was there for sure. I didn't want them to think they did something wrong, you know? I just had to keep going. I slept like a baby last night though for sure, haha. Have you ever used emotional blackmail to get your own way? Wow, no. Has anybody ever used emotional blackmail on you? No. Who did you last worry about and why? Sara for health reasons. Are you currently looking for a new place to live? Not actively, but Mom and I definitely want to move. We feel very out-of-place here in the suburbs. Which would you prefer as a view; mountains or the sea? Mountains. Do you have a mouse for your laptop? (Assuming you have a laptop) Yes. I canNOT play games with a trackpad. Do you apologize a lot? Extremely excessively. When you get married what do you think you’ll put most of your focus and money into? Do you mean like, for the wedding? In that case, probably the venue. Being a photography buff, I want a place I think is really pretty to have pictures taken. What’s something you complain about frequently? My legs hurting, my weight, and being hot. Do you have anything planned for the summer? Nope, and that's fine with me. I'd rather stay inside away from the heat. Who usually makes dinner in your household? My ma. Do you have a blog? Just on Tumblr. Does anyone in your family snore loudly? My mother does because of gerd, and at least when my father still lived with us, he snored super loud, too. Do you want to fix anything with anyone? Yeah, a few people. What shows do you watch? Right now, only Meerkat Manor: Rise of the Dynasty. Whenever The Edge of Sleep comes out, I will 110% be watching that, too, because Mark is a key actor in it. :') Plus the concept seems super cool. Have you ever broken someone’s heart? I don't know. Who was the last person you had a conversation with on the phone? Me mum. Does the song you’re currently listening to remind you of anyone specific? No, given it has like... one lyric, haha. Do you own any TV show soundtracks? No. Last thing you did that made you feel like an adult? I mean I guess sign myself in at the doctor's. What’s your favorite picture of your mom? Dad? Oh my god, there's a candid one I got of Mom laughing when she was posing as my subject for a photography assignment, and I cherish it with ALL my heart. I want to share it with essentially the whole world, but yeah, I'm not gonna put my mom's picture here. As for my dad, I like this one I took of us at Red Lobster for his birthday a year or two back. Last TV show series you finished? Fullmetal Alchemist with Sara. Favorite flavor of cream cheese? Regular. What US state would you like to visit? Alaska. Last meal you made yourself? I put a chicken pesto thing in the microwave earlier for dinner.

[gctjinxd]

I am in a mood to talk about jinx / my jinx so here are some important things that I have developed on this blog and some interesting facts about Jinx from the comic books in case people are not familiar with her other variations. 

she’s from India and has dark skin. unfortunately I am not great at editing icons so unless its my life action fc she unfortunately does not have her natural skin tone. yet. I am working on improving my editing to make my icons match properly

in the comics she has power over the elements. in the tv show they changed it to give her luck manipulation. I liked the idea of luck manipulation better so that is what my jinx is capable of. 

my jinx is a metahuman and born as a metahuman. in any verse where she has her powers she has pink hair and pink catlike eyes. if she does not have her power, her hair is a deep red and her eyes a deep reddish brown. 

she also has a ton of freckles along her nose and cheeks and all over her shoulders and back. they are hot pink in verses where she has her power making them extra noticeable. another birthmark she has is a heart on her inner right ankle. only the HIVE and Victor know about this birthmark. 

my jinx is four foot eleven inches. however, with how she styles her hair and the lifts she wears she caps out at five foot one. she will always wear lifts and do a bunch of little things to make herself Bigger. 

the comics never gave her a name. Ever. so I had to do what I had to do and gave her one myself. she however went by Jinx as her predominant name since she was eight years old and was taken in by Slade’s Wife, the headmistress of Hive Academy. since she went by Jinx for so long, she rarely gives out her actual name unless she ABSOLUTELY trusts the person. on top of that, her actual name is NOT in any file. her parents had her completely erased. her birthname is Asha Goswami, but after her parents abandoned her she picked up the last name Kaur ( which according to my research is a common last name that disowned women take up in India ). only two people in her life know her last name as having been Goswami; Victor Stone and Headmistress Wilson. 

victor leaving her to Blood was Rough for her. but it also was the time they shared together that started her down the path to redemption. Wally HELPED her down the path and stay on the right path, but it was Victor’s influence as well as Rogue’s treatment of her that ultimately made her start doubting herself as a villain. 

she is afraid of the Joker above anything else and anyone else. not even Blood who canonically abused her for a good majority of her life scares her as much as Joker scares her. she’s freaked by him. if joker is included odds are she will just. walk the other way and not look back. rip anyone joker tries killing in her vicinity because she just. does Not fuck with the Joker she gets the fuck out of there. 

she thinks of her team as her family. they are all her younger brothers and its her job as leader / big sister to make sure they succeed and to protect them from Blood as best she can should she fail to ensure their success. she blames herself for poor leadership skills and blames her own powers for why her team fails. she also thinks she deserves the harsher punishments in their places because she is their leader and bad luck to everyone around her. 

she absolutely was abused canonically in HIVE. Blood is her biggest abuser and manipulator. the headmistress also was abusive but not to the extent that Blood is. she is hyper aware of his presence and absolutely terrified of upsetting him in any way. she will stand up for her team to an extent but in doing so she is willingly sacrificing her own safety in their place. 

she has multiple scars from Blood alone. the vast majority of her injuries came from her failures to please Blood. if someone asks about them she will either outright refuse to answer or just change the topic depending on how close she feels to the person. if she really trusts them, she might give little hints as to where she got them from, but ultimately she will never say the full truth of them. 

Ash will also not discuss her time at HIVE openly with anyone. she may tell a few of the good things, she may tell a few stories of stuff she did while there, but she will never discuss what happened to her or her siblings while she was there. nor will she mention anything in depth. even the stories she tells will be very short and barely include any emotional connections. the only people she will discuss deeper with are her siblings from HIVE, Victor who has lived through SOME of what she went through. otherwise people she is close to like Wally would only know a little bit and would learn enough to know that she was heavily abused and traumatized from her time there but wouldn’t know exactly what happened. just that Blood is a monster and she is deeply affected by it.

[monicalorandavis]

MTV’s ‘The Challenge’ is still quite good

If you are a person in your early 30′s (like me) who grew up watching Carson Daly’s TRL and got AIM around your 11th birthday, you know ‘The Challenge’. You also know that Freddie Prinze Jr and Sarah Michelle Gellar are Hollywood’s stealthiest romantic success so please keep your voice down when you whisper their sweet names (they deserve our support). 

You might remember ‘The Challenge’ of yore, way back when it used to be called ‘The Real World Road Rules Challenge’. Oh how Veronica would yell at anyone! We had fun. And guess what? It’s still a good time. Even Veronica herself still pops up from time to time. She’s much older and out of shape but that’s the thing with aging reality stars, they’re just like us. Let the record state, I love my veteran players. But V just didn’t make the cut this season. It was a Veronica (and Shane!!!) free season. And you’re wondering if that left space for the realest ‘Challenge’ competitior of all time, the one, the only...Chris Tamburello aka CT aka dad-bod CT aka the highlight of the whole season. This season, though it didn’t look like it was going to, belonged to Chris Tamburello. But we’ll get there later. For now, let me sing the praises of this season’s ‘Challenge’ and drop some serious *spoilers*. Proceed with caution if the finale means anything to you.

First, a teensy bit of backstory. ‘The Challenge’ is in a very interesting global iteration that has really livened up the brand. Not like it needed livening up. I eat this shit up with a spoon. But, perhaps for the sake of international brand partnerships, it’s broadened its appeal and recruited some UK talent. Fine MTV, you might know a thing or two about business...

At any rate, it’s successfully brought in international reality stars and the show has been on an uphill climb ever since. For those of us British reality aficionado’s this has been a major win. While you’ll still gladly root on your longtime faves (Johnny Bananas, Wes, Jordan and yes, CT), you might be glad to see Theo from Love Island and Georgia from TOWIE fame. There are other international folks on the show who have no significance to me. But they make for interesting television (sometimes). For instance, Rogan’s slimy ass swindled his beefy thighs into a ‘Challenge’ final through sex appeal (and pathological lies) alone! You might argue that that sounds base and stupid and you’d be correct, sir. But what are you, the Queen of England? Why are you reading this blog?? Don’t you have a whole country to serve and more hats to buy??? Get out of here! Leave us commoners with our feeble minds (and bank accounts) alone!

I think the British contestants inspired a little British tangent there but the show does benefit from having the Brits on board. The set-up for the season was US v. England and it was not as tidy of a us versus them as you’d think. The man of the hour, CT himself got shafted and stuck on the British team from the beginning. It seemed like his weight gain and poor attitude had officially relegated him to a stud of the past. He was “dead weight” and Jordan and Paulie made the cutthroat (of many) decision to pass him over for eternal hothead, Turbo. Yes, his name is Turbo. He’s from Turkey and he’s hot. Deal with it.

That first decision by the US team to eschew loyalties and “trim the fat” set the tone for the shadiest season of all time. But the US had too many leaders and would corrode quickly. In the first episodes of the season, big time favorites Wes and Johnny Bananas got the boot. Cara and Paulie made for a weird Slytherin bid at alliance leadership and, unfortunately for everyone at home, succeeded in building the strongest team that crossed over party lines. They had swindled Rogan and his hair-brained buddy, Joss, into working for them and cutting the strongest players from the Brits’ team. All of that is well and good but it’s not actually the most interesting part of the game. The interesting part is the final episode and you have to dig through the weeks of broken promises and hook-ups to get there. And for a messy bitch like me, I’ll do it.

So fast forward, it’s the end. The US has a stupidly bloated team left of mediocre players that stayed true to the alliance and earned protection from being voted off. The Brits are Jordan, Tori (a now-engaged US defected pair) plus CT (early US cast-off), Rogan (slimeball) and Dee (Australian spineless could’ve been shero). The British team ended up being a weirdly streamlined and athletic powerhouse while the US quickly crumbled and Paulie started physically breaking down on the first lap of the final. It seriously felt as though all of his backstabbing shittiness crashed onto his shoulders and attacked his muscles. It was strange how fast he folded while everyone (even the very, very un-athletic slew of women he protected) looked on at him with growing contempt. Cara Maria, the world’s most annoying girlfriend, kept pleading for the team to wait up and let Paulie regain his will to live while Kam and Leroy (another romantic pair) made it their mission to push through. And let’s pause and discuss Leroy for one moment.

This was Leroy’s 11th season. He’s never won a final and wanted it so bad. He even patched things up with Kam as if to buoy him up spiritually. And yet, I hate to say it, we all knew this still wasn’t his year. He just doesn’t have it - the ego, ruthlessness, whatever you want to call it -  to win. He’s too kind, too good-natured for the show. All his pep talks and volunteering tired him out quick whereas Ninja’s sorry ass was full of vim and vigor in the last puzzle challenges. It never pays to play the nice game. Ever wonder why Ashley and Cara do so well? They’re heartless.

Which leads us to C motherfuckin’ T. Oh baby, I saved this for last and I’ll make it quick because I could go on and on about that boy (just like the blue of his eyes seem to go on and on like an ocean...) CT played a scared game up until the episode before the final. It was uncharacteristically tentative. It was as if his early rejection had scarred him. He wasn’t the same boisterous, and frankly, terrifying man we all remembered. But as the show progressed, and UK players kept getting cut, I wondered how much longer he’d be able to vote against his team. The writing was on the wall. The final was coming but nobody knew exactly when. The British team had been decimated. All of their best players were kicked off because they threatened the US’ odds at a sure win. So when players realized that the final had to be the next challenge, their true colors emerged. Jordan and Tori plead their case. They had defected to the UK team out of spite (Cara and Paulie really made it their mission to punish them in a weird, old-world Catholic vengeance king of way) and they were sick of losing. Plus, the US couldn’t protect all their alliance members. Somebody was going to be collateral damage, but who? As soon as it was final time, it would be team versus team, just as Jordan and Tori had suspected. It was time for CT to protect himself and vote with his team and against the alliance. And up until the last second, he pretended to be a loyalist. Then, at the final elimination he voted against Cara and Paulie and boy, were they mad. Even host TJ had his wig snatched. CT, ‘Challenge’ champ and Diem’s former beau (RIP), came through with a fabulous ‘et tu Brute’ moment and Julius Caesar himself would’ve been like, “Oh shit, son...you did that.”

You might assume, incorrectly, that I keep up with MTV’s other programming but I do not. I make a strict exception for ‘The Challenge’. You surely won’t catch any ‘Floribamashore’, ‘Catfish’ or ‘Wild ‘N’ Out’ viewing around my way. I have some modicum of class left from the last season of ‘Jersey Shore’ (because of course I watch the roommies!). I hate ‘Ridiculousness’. I tried ‘Are You The One’ and it has its moments but it’s just so sad and the people are so vulnerable and clingy, and quite clearly in need of therapy. So, ‘The Challenge’ is it for me. Say what you will. I regret nothing. CT forever. Paulie is whack. Johnny Bananas is a Republican.

Peace.

[eldritchsurveys]

674.

have you ever violated school dress code? >> I wasn’t allowed to wear anything that would have violated any school dress codes, so I have no idea how that would have ever happened.

if you are listening to music, is the singer male / female? >> I’m not listening to music.

what [ if anything ] do you give up for Lent? >> I don’t observe Lent.

what phrase leads your mind directly to the gutter? >> I mean, I can’t think of any on command, but there are plenty I come across online and stuff that make me snicker. I just like wordplay, tbh.

when you feel like giving up, how do you convince yourself not to? >> I mean, it’s mostly Can Calah who gives the impassioned arguments in defense of not giving up. I just listen and gripe and wait for his infallible logic to work its magic.

what are your opinions on immigration? >> I don’t have a blanket opinion on immigration. I have no personal issue with individual immigrants, no matter their story. They’re just people to me, who want the same things I want -- to survive, to have their needs met, to make a better life.

would you tell an actual immigrant your views? >> Of course I would, if they were unsure where they stood with me.

what was the subject of the last list you made? >> I don’t remember the last time I made a list.

do you ever get nervous before interviews / important meetings? >> I mean, I would if that was a thing that occurred in my life.

who pays for the majority of your belongings? >> It’s pretty evenly split between me and Sparrow.

would you ever willingly shop in a thrift store? >> Of course...?

what is the most that you would ever spend on an outfit? >> I mean... that depends on many factors, including what the outfit is for and how much money I have.

is there anything you do that just outrages your parents? >> ---

when was the last time you were embarrassed in public? >> I don’t remember.

have you ever won an award you were actually proud of? >> I mean, maybe a long time ago. Doubtful, though.

the importance of education, rate it from 1-10, 10 as most important? explain your choice to rate it as such? >> I rank formal education rather low on my personal importance scale, but I rank informal, interest-based learning very high on my personal importance scale. I love to learn, but I don’t operate well in school settings and actually end up learning less in those settings.

what is the coolest science experiment you've ever done? >> I haven’t done any cool science experiments. :(

are you experiencing difficulties with any friends right now? >> No.

how do you deal with a fight between yourself and a friend? >> I don’t know how to deal with that kind of thing anymore.

when you apologize to someone after a fight, how do you go about saying that you are sorry? >> I haven’t been in this situation in a long time, I don’t know.

have you ever played around with "dry ice"? >> No.

do you think parents are responsible for the actions of their children? >> Of course they are, if we’re talking literal children (not teenagers). It takes some time for a small human to develop the sense of independent reasoning and reckoning of consequence that would allow them to take full responsibility for their actions.

how do you, personally, define music? >> I never really thought about it, it’s one of those concepts where I basically take my understanding of it for granted.

should the military draft take both men AND women? why / why not? >> That’s not a debate I’m willing to get into. I want nothing to do with a draft and I ideally wouldn’t want anyone else to have to deal with getting drafted, actually.

when was the last time that you corrected someone? >> I don’t remember. It was probably something really minor and not a big deal for either party. --Oh yeah I remember now, it was about why Bourbon Street is named Bourbon Street.

when was the last time you were corrected? >> It was also probably about something minor and nbd. I think the last time might have been when I misspelled “Lolth” because believe it or not, I’ve been doing that since 2009. I always misspell it “Lloth”, it’s just what happens.

when did you last say " i told you so "? >> I don’t remember. I try to avoid saying that unless it’s about something funny/silly.

is there any celebrity you like to " keep up with "? >> Not especially. I mean, there are definitely actors and directors that I pay attention to more than others when they get involved in new things, but I always forget to like, keep regular tabs on them or whatever.

celebrity gossip: YAY or BOO? >> Boo.

what is the most life-changing book you have read? >> I couldn’t say. A lot of books I’ve read have had a significant impact on me in some way.

have you had a negative impact on anyone's life? >> Sure.

has anyone had a negative impact on yours? who / why? >> Absolutely. I’m not going to elaborate, the negative impact that others have had on me is both 1) way too lengthy and sensitive to elaborate on and 2) not worth dwelling on right now when I just want to chill and take a survey.

what does marriage mean to you, specifically? >> It means legal recognition of our partnership, which is necessary for things like, say, being each other’s advocates in a medical emergency.

how will you know when you are ready to get married? >> I didn’t bother fretting over whether I was “ready” or not. We’d been living together for a couple of years by the time the topic even came up, it didn’t seem like a weird next step to make.

how much time have you spent contemplating your own death? >> Way more time than is logical, probably.

is there a joke that you just can't stand? >> I mean, probably. There are a lot of insensitive jokes out there.

have you ever read any self-help books? >> Yeah.

what's your take on the obesity problem in america? >> I don’t have a take on it. You know what I do have a take on? The constant social pressure to be thin, and the resultant contagious obsessions with eating the “right” foods, compulsive exercising, and worrying about a number on a scale. Being fat, of all things, shouldn’t be this dramatically frightening or repulsive to people, but that’s what we’re made to believe, and that’s the message we’re all internalising on a daily basis. I’m fucking tired of it. I got enough problems.

what is something you used to love, but now greatly dislike? >> I don’t think I’ve ever flipped that hard on anything. There are things I’ve liked casually that I ended up not caring about later on, but nothing that I loved that I started hating later. I might shift from being obsessed with something to just being chill about it, but that’s it.

what is something you used to dislike, but now like? >> I disliked Metallica as a child.

when ( if ) you become a parent, what will you do differently, compared to how your parents raised you? >> I don’t plan on being a parent, but how I treat children in general is almost directly in contrast to how I was treated as a child. I treat them with respect, I listen to what they have to say, I let them feel their feelings, I show interest in their interests, etc.

do you equate spanking with physical abuse? would you spank a child? >> Let’s just say that I did not ever feel loved or respected when I was spanked. I felt terrified and shameful and being left alone to self-soothe afterwards with no real understanding of why I was being punished so harshly definitely didn’t help. I don’t feel like my understanding of right and wrong was healthily developed by corporal punishment. I don’t see any benefit to it, but I see a lot of harm. So, no. I would not spank a child.

what's the most ridiculous thing you've done this week? >> I have no idea. I don’t think I’ve done anything especially ridiculous?

--- did you regret it / love it / hate it / want to do it again / etc? >> ---

is emotional cheating ( in a relationship ) as bad as physically cheating? >> I have no opinion on this, it’s irrelevant to my life.

if your bf/gf wanted to wait until marriage for sex, would you be willing? >> ---

when you look at the sunset, what do you think about / feel? >> I mean, it all depends, don’t it? I don’t have the exact same thought every time I look at something.

is there someone you wish you could trust / you wish was trustworthy? >> No. I just wish I didn’t have such overdeveloped trust issues.

is there anyone that you no longer want in you life? who / why? >> Well, yeah, and those people are, therefore, no longer in my life.

how has your outlook on life changed in the past few years? >> I’m not sure, I haven’t really kept track.

have you ever walked out of a boring movie ( in theaters )? >> No. I did want to walk out of Infinity War, though. Not because it was boring, but because it was pissing me off. (Also, that was back when Anthony was still around, and he wanted to walk out too.)

how open are you with people you know online? >> It depends on how I know them, what we have in common, how long I’ve known them and to what degree, etc.

what do you think of athletes that take steroids? >> I don’t think about that.

if a celebrity is involved in scandal after scandal, is that likely to effect how you view him/her & his/her work? >> Not really. I barely notice when scandals like that happen, anyway. It also seems like most scandals are just sensationalised overhyped nonsense to get people talking about whoever it is, for publicity, and has nothing to do with, like, the merits of the performer’s art or whatever.

what is one celebrity that you have zero respect for? >> ---

what is one fashion trend that you hope makes a comeback? >> ---

what is one that you wish would just die out already? >> ---

have you ever driven under the influence of alcohol / drugs? >> I don’t drive, period.

are you overly attached to your material possessions? >> No. I can be a bit under-attached, in fact. I’ll throw a thing away in a heartbeat. (This doesn’t apply to like, electronics, or any other expensive thing that I use on a constant basis. But like, t-shirts, books, toys, novelty items, other shit that ends up just taking up space and collecting dust? Bye.)

have you ever ridiculed anyone for their clothing choices? >> Not since I was a teenager, most likely.

living in poverty: what do you think it'd be like? >> I... I have lived in poverty. Poverty is my default state of existence. I don’t really know what to tell you about “what it’s like”. What’s it like to not be poor?

what is one " diet " that you think is just utterly worthless? >> All of them are worthless to me.

what advice would you give someone that is uncomfortable with his or her body / appearance? >> I wouldn’t give them advice. Advice is what the entire world is going to try to give them. I’d imagine they’d be tired of advice (unless they’re specifically asking me for it, I guess). But I’ll always have a “mood” or “I know that feel” to offer, because... yeah. Same. The shit sucks and there’s no easy way out of it.

what advice would you give someone about to start high school? >> I don’t even want to think about that phase of life, I’ll pass.

what foreign food are you NOT interested in trying? >> *shrug*

what foreign country do you believe is misunderstood? >> I mean, I don’t know. USian attitudes towards and assumptions about a lot of countries are... misinformed at best.

have you ever felt entirely unwanted and alone? >> Yeah.

in your eyes, which is worse: rape or murder? >> Nope, don’t care.

do you understand / read shakespeare? >> I have never been able to grok Shakespeare, and I’m not interested enough to keep trying.

would you feel comfortable living with someone that owned a gun? >> Most likely not. Luckily, that’s not likely to happen.

do you know anyone that lives in a foreign country? >> I mean, yeah, I use the internet.

[calunavulgaris]

I’d like to think that anyone who knows me knows that I am 100% pro-choice, but in case it needs to be said: I am unapologetically, completely, irrevocably pro-choice.

There are two main reasons for this, the first being that I have known from a very early age that I never wanted to be pregnant or give birth. The idea is beyond horrifying to me. The second is much less personal. I have never encountered an anti-choice argument that wasn’t laughably easy to dismantle. I’ve been vocally pro-choice for roughly 30 years now (thanks, Mom) and in that time one thing has become painfully evident: anti-choicers have nothing but tenuous, easily debunked “arguments” that are based solely on emotional manipulation, anecdotes, and pseudo-science. They’re also dreadfully unoriginal and repetitive. It gets dull, let me tell you.

But what the hell, just for fun let’s go through some of them here:

“Abortion is MURDER!”

Nope. Murder is a legal term with a clear, concise definition. Abortion does not meet the criteria. Go ahead and look that up, it’s pretty easy to find.

“Abortion KILLS BABIES!”

It’s funny how those who claim to be on the side of science (which is ridiculous on its own) resort to unscientific terms when their goal is to evoke a purely emotional response, isn’t it? “Killing babies” packs more of a manipulative punch than “a medical procedure involving the removal of fetal tissue.” Believe it or not, I sympathize if the termination of a fetus squicks you. I get it. Being that I’m pro-choice, I will always defend your right not to ever undergo the procedure with the same fervour I employ when defending the choice to obtain an abortion. That’s what it means to be pro-choice.

“The fetus is innocent and has a right to life!”

By definition, the fetus can’t be innocent or guilty, it is purely neutral. The “right to life” does not grant anyone the right to use any part of another person’s body for their survival, no matter how “innocent” that person may be. The person carrying the fetus also has the right to life and bodily autonomy, and having sex/being pregnant isn’t something one can be “guilty” of, as neither is a crime. If we want to talk about innocence, let’s start there.

“What about the rights/autonomy of the fetus?”

For starters, the fetus has no autonomy. Its survival is completely dependent on the person whose body it’s inhabiting. That person is fully autonomous and must consent to their body being used and occupied by the fetus.

I know this is repetitive, but it seems to need repeating: There is no human right granted to anyone to use any part of another human’s body, living or dead, for their survival. If you’re in need of an organ transplant, and someone has just died with the organ you need, that doesn’t grant you the right to take what you need from them unless they consented to it before their death. You don’t have the right to take their completely viable organs that they are no longer using if that person did not sign up to be a donor, and it doesn’t matter if you will die as a result. If I’ve been stabbed and am bleeding out, and will die unless given a blood transfusion, no one can be legally compelled to give me their blood to save my life. Not even my own mother. Not even if she was the one who stabbed me in the first place.

If no one has the right to a dead person’s organs or their mother’s blood, what right does a fetus have to another person’s entire body?

“You shouldn’t get to kill a baby just because you’re too lazy to use contraception!”

Please, tell me which form of contraception is 100% effective 100% of the time. Even a minuscule failure rate (based on perfect use) means that unintended conception will occur. I have personally met several people who conceived/were conceived themselves despite multiple forms of contraception being used. It happens. If someone uses two or three methods in tandem, I think they’re making it pretty clear that they do NOT wish to conceive, don’t you? And sure, some do decide to continue with the pregnancy (I think the best reaction I ever heard along these lines was “I need to meet the person who could get past all that!). Again, that’s their choice.

Yes, some people conceive because they neglected to use contraception, for whatever reason. Those reasons are no one’s business but their own. Having unsafe sex is not a crime and isn’t something people need to be punished for. More on that coming up in the next point.

“Abstinence is 100% effective! You made the choice to have sex, deal with the consequences!”

Electing to have an abortion is one way to deal with the consequences. It’s just one that some find immoral, or icky, or selfish. Thankfully, morals are subjective, and it isn’t a crime to be selfish or icky. Even if it were, using forced pregnancy (which the UN defines as a form of torture) as a punishment is unconscionable and inhumane.

Also, what do you suggest for childfree couples? Believe it or not, there are people in long-term, committed, loving, healthy relationships who don’t wish to have children. Should they be condemned to lifelong abstinence because there’s a chance they might conceive? Have fun trying to sell that one.

Consent to sex does not equal consent to pregnancy. Now, imagine that it wasn’t consensual to begin with. (This is where they like to bring up the statistic of abortions as a result of rape, because they live in a world where every instance of sexual assault is reported, and every victim discloses how they came to be pregnant.)

We don’t deny medical care to those who develop lung cancer due to their 20-year pack-a-day habit, or those who drink themselves into liver failure. If a drunk driver causes a collision, we don’t stand by and let them die from their injuries, even if the collision caused the death of others. But somehow, there are those who think a person with a uterus should literally be tortured and have their human rights revoked if a fetus is inhabiting that uterus. That is terrifying.

“What about the father? The fetus is 50% his so he should have a say!”

It may be 50% his genetic material, but it is 100% inhabiting another person’s body, which is why that person gets to make the final call.

Let’s break down what’s being implied here: If a couple conceives and the pregnant person wants to abort, they should obtain permission from their partner in order to do so. If he disagrees, they should respect that and carry the pregnancy to term. That doesn’t seem very 50-50 anymore, does it? I think it’s funny that this argument only seems to work under the assumption that the father would want to continue with the pregnancy. If he felt it would be best to terminate and his partner disagreed, would they still argue that his vote somehow carries more weight? I doubt it.

“You shouldn’t have an abortion just because pregnancy is inconvenient!”

“Inconvenient?!” Dude. A hangnail is inconvenient. Missing a parcel delivery and having to go to the post office is inconvenient. Your cat’s preference for hacking up hairballs on your clean laundry instead of the tile floor is inconvenient. To call pregnancy “inconvenient” is absurd in the extreme. Pregnancy, even under the best conditions, permanently alters a person’s body. I dare you to tell someone who has been through pregnancy and labour that it was merely “inconvenient.” Seriously, look up third-and-fourth degree tears, gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, abdominal separation, etc. just for starters, and then tell me it’s just inconvenient.

“Post-abortive women suffer from depression and mental illness!”

Find me an unbiased source to back that up, please. It simply isn’t true, the majority of people who have undergone an abortion report feeling relieved. Also, what kind of an effect do you imagine forcing an unwanted pregnancy and birth on an unwilling person has on their mental health? Hell, wanted pregnancies can take a huge toll on a person’s mental health, but I don’t see anyone using postpartum depression to argue against pregnancy, childbirth and parenthood.

“Doctors don’t know everything! I knew someone whose doctor said their pregnancy was unviable and they should terminate, but they didn’t and now they have a beautiful, perfect child!”

Cool story. I’m glad this person was able to make that choice for themselves and that things turned out okay. I’m still gonna trust the advice of someone who invested their time and money into getting a medical degree over the anecdote of an internet stranger, but that’s me.

“Infertile couples would be so happy to have your baby! Just give it up for adoption!”

I don’t know if you’re aware, but there is no shortage of children in need of families. There is, however, a shortage of people willing to adopt older children, or non-white babies/children, children and babies who are born addicted, HIV+, severely disabled/medically fragile... I could go on.

Getting back to the “Doctors don’t know everything!” point, it may be worth noting that I used to work in a foster home with severely disabled children. It was by far the hardest, most heartbreaking and exhausting job I’ve ever had. I have seen firsthand what these kids go through, how much around-the-clock care they require, how forgotten some of them are by their families, and how they are considered “undesirable” as far as adoption goes. I have seen how they suffer. I wouldn’t go as far as to say it would have been better for any of them if they hadn’t been born, but I fully understand if someone is simply not up to the task of devoting their life to caring for a child who will be completely dependent on them for everything for however long they live, which sadly isn’t long for many of them. I’m glad I did it, but not everyone can, and there is nothing wrong with admitting that.

All of that aside, adoption is only an alternative to parenthood, not pregnancy. No one owes you the use of their uterus to house a fetus you want just because you’re unable to make your own.

This is already longer than I originally intended, but I think I’ve covered the most commonly recycled arguments. The rest mainly boil down to “Abortion goes against my personal theological/philosophical beliefs or moral code!” and all I can say in response to that is that I’m so glad I don’t have to live by anyone’s concept of morality and am allowed my own. It’s pretty great.

I won’t be complacent, however. I have never been more terrified in my life as a uterus-bearing person as I am right now, and I know I’m not alone in that. We cannot allow our rights to be revoked. We cannot afford to lose the ground those before us fought so hard to gain. I will do all I can to keep that from happening.

If the right to our bodies isn’t worth fighting for, I don’t know what is.

[nebris]

Death Visits The Dynamic

~Club Dynamic was Manhattan's hottest party spot. At least for this season. Being in the East Village Inclusion Zone – the most storm vulnerable IZ on the island – made it all the more enticing. The imagined proximity of Death was always erotic. It opened at 8pm and closed at 8am, so things usually didn't get going until around Midnight. That is was New Year's Eve made that doubly so....and the countdown had just begun. The place thrummed and droned with Deep Vibe EDM and lots of beautiful bodies. Like most partying these days, it had a sharp edge of hysteria. One hot brunette at the bar in a super tight black and red mini-dress seemed too calm for the place. Some had tried to chat her up, but she politely rebuffed them. The more insistent got a look from her real self that caused them to scurry away quickly. That glimpse of Death was a little too proximate. Erika had not been in a psychic shithole like the Dynamic in a few decades. She'd grown out of this type of scene in her early twenties, but had kept coming back because it was a fertile hunting ground for slave boys, though less for recruiting Sisters. The females tended to be too drunk or drugged to properly assess. Tonight, she was on a different kind of hunt. And she wasn't really wearing a mini-dress. She actually wore a Mark XXVI Combat Suit. Its outer layer was TeleCamo and was only projecting an image of her in that outfit. She did in fact own such a dress. She'd just been scanned wearing it and had that downloaded into the suit. Integrated into the suit on each forearm was an MRG-6, a Mini-Railgun, as Primary Armament. Her body and skin had needed no editing however. Erika was a fully Enhanced Sister. Her bones and muscles had genetically increased density. Her blood teamed with nanobots that used her regular infusions of raw stem cells to repair and replace every single cell in her body on a moment by moment basis. And her brain, eyes and ears were embedded with millions of nanofibers – Neural Nanonics – all connected to her dozen personal on-board computers, keeping her aware of everything around her as needed. Because of all that, while she was little more than a month shy of her seventieth birthday, she still looked to be in her late twenties and she had always been a beauty. Though still a new political entity on the world scene, The Sisterhood had become immensely rich very quickly. Because of its foundational beliefs, it had the most advanced cybernetic and genetic Human Enhancement technologies in the world. All Sisters received whatever level of Enhancement they desired, which was the near maximum in most cases, and steady upgrades were the norm. Even their infamous male Servitor classes were given various Enhancements and lived far better lives than the major of the world's non-wealthy population. This meant that the best and brightest women from all over the world sought to become Sisters. And no small number of pretty young men sought to become Servitors. Everyone here at the Dynamic were Enhanced in one fashion or another. Only the wealthy lived in Inclusion Zones. The poor lived outside in The Shit, as Incluz called it. Too hot or too cold or too wet or too dry, Catastrophic Climate Change had showed up with a vengeance about twenty years ago, followed by all the expected horrors; war, pestilence and famine on a grand scale. Over three billion had died off. The wealthy had built their protected enclaves and left the poor outside. The security personnel who guarded the enclaves lived in their outer rims, though they were well paid. Their children and those of the wealthy only mixed socially in the party scene. That helped provide the wealthy with 'new blood'. Erika had noted those semi-desperate mating rituals while keeping an eye out for her real prey and monitoring the Hunting Trikona that also moved through this crowd. Her Neural Nanonics fed her visual, auditory and text information from all members of her team in real time. Like her, those three Sisters wore Mark XXVI's projecting 'party clothes'. If the revelers had known there was a Sisterhood kill team in their midst, there would have been a brutal panicked stampede toward the exits. Normally, Mistress Erika, First High Priestess of The Cult of Mictecacihuatl, would not have been involved on the tactical level. She had done a lot of this kind of work 'back in the old days', but she was Upper Management now and too valuable to risk. But this was a Very Special Mission with Very Special Prey. Besides, she had to admit she did miss the thrill of The Hunt. Calm as she appeared, her blood was coursing hot tonight. There was a second Hunting Trikona outside in an armored limo acting as the B Team, watching the comings and goings and monitoring the various Comm Nets. Plus they had heavy weapons 'just in case'. Still, this was a dangerous mission. They were a long way from home and deep in unfriendly territory. While the Union of Matrilineal Republics, The Sisterhood's 'political manifestation', was in firm control of all North America west of the Rockies, this was New York City, capital of the 'rump' United States of America; the old Upper Midwest, North East and eastern Canada. Their political relationship was tense. The USA still claimed all of North America. If things went in the soup, the Sisters would have a hard time getting out and there would probably be an international incident. But the USA did do a steady amount of business with The Sisterhood – and was notoriously corrupt and decadent – so something would be worked out. No way they'd try anything like this in the Christian States of America, the Old American South. Those fuckers were batshit crazy and proclaimed The Sisterhood to all be Hell Spawn. There was regular bloodshed in the buffer zone between them. Any Sister caught in the CSA, for whatever reason, would be literally be burned in public. Mistress Eva, Erika's sister and Spiritual Leader of The Sisterhood, had been unhappy about her going on this mission and had made her objections known in no uncertain terms. But she conceded because of the nature of the thing. Sisters had died because of the Greed of Men, therefore Pain and Punishment would be meted out. The target tonight was named Christof. He had a dozen or more aliases, but was always known by his first name. And reliable intel said he'd spend New Year's Eve at The Dynamic. If he did show up, The Sisterhood would make sure he'd see less than a full day of the coming year. Christof was a particularly vile breed of vermin; a trafficker of curve goale, literally 'blank whore' in Romanian. These were individuals, of both genders and all ages, who had been brain wiped and reprogrammed as sex slaves. Christof's organization had become the number one player of this game in Europe. They controlled their entire chain of 'product', from abducting victims outside of the Inclusion Zones of the major European cities, through the wiping and implanting, to operating the brothels where the goale 'worked'. It was well known that Christof's sexual appetites included mutilating and murdering goale, especially young females who were 'rewired' to interpret pain as sexual stimulation. As Europe had become a quite depraved sinkhole, his operations had flourished. The Sisterhood's General Security Directorate were well aware of this creature. The tech he used had been developed by The Sisterhood itself during The Dissolution Wars. They'd brain-wiped enemy male combatants, reprogrammed them and turned back against their various opponents. The fear of suffering such a fate had caused many of The Sisterhood's enemies to finally let them be. But even though he was using their tech, Christof and his organization could not be a top priority. Everything worldwide was in flux and while The Sisterhood had become very powerful very quickly, its survival was not yet assured. So numerous horrors like him went unaddressed. All that changed four months ago in a particularly awful outer zone of Munich. Erika and Eva had been born and raised in Munich, and though they had lived in SoCal for a half century now, Eva still loved their hometown, even if it had mutated beyond the place of their childhood. Because of that she had requested of The Priestesses of The Cult of Sekhmet, The Sisterhood's primary Medical Cult, that they create a special Sub-Cult to attend to the poor and sick of Munich's outer zones, The Cult of Eir, a Norse Goddess of Healing and Medicine.   A Trikona of The Cult of Eir had been going about its regular rounds when it encountered one of Christof's abduction teams. Once upon a time the team would have backed off. But he and his people had become arrogant and a fight ensued. Even though these were Healing Sisters, they were still Sisters and were trained and armed. But Christof's men numbered in the dozens and the running fight last nearly an hour. When it ended, two of the Sisters were dead and the last one badly wounded. Christof had lost at least twelve, with more wounded. The locals guarded the wounded Sister and threatened Christof's men, so they withdrew. This truly had been an International Incident. The EU could not track down Christof. It was simply too corrupt. Its leaders were terrified that The Sisterhood would launch an overt strike against them because of that failure. The Sisterhood's political and spiritual leadership was in an uproar. Even Mistress Eva herself, The Sisterhood's Face of Welcoming Love, had been in a towering rage.. But to everyone's surprise, it was Mistress Erika, The Darkness, the Sharp Blade of The Sisterhood, its terrifying Priestess of Blood, who urged restraint. Erika was well known for her fierce hatred of men. And her rage at them had never abated because men kept providing new reasons to be raged at. But where it had once burned like fire, her rage was now as cold as the depths of space. “They expect a hammer. Let us use a scalpel instead,” she had said. Eva calmed as she saw the wisdom in that. The rest followed their lead. And so nothing seemed to happen for months. Of course, the EU's intelligence apparatus willing opened all its doors to The Sisterhood, which is what Erika really wanted. Unlike her more tender hearted sister, she had little love lost for her old home town.  She had landed in Southern California a half century ago and fallen in love with it almost immediately. Erika took charge of the entire operation herself and bent a significant amount of Mictecacihuatl's assets and resources to tracking her enemy. Because she did have a perverse sense of humor, she titled it Operation Daisy. And now, on the last day of the Patriarchal year, Daisy was about to bloom. A few minutes before Midnight, Erika received an info packet from Bryn, the B Team leader outside in the limo. “Target Sighted,” is said, along with all the relevant data. The A Team inside received their own copies. It contained images of Christof and his security team, with a through analysis of their real time positions, bio-readouts, gear carried and projected movements. They were fairly well Enhanced and very heavily armed. Everyone acknowledged and waited. In the two hours they had been at The Dynamic, Sula, the B Team's cyberwarfare operative, had whispered through the Enhancements of the five hundred or so club goers looking for systems to jack into. By the time Christof and his crew arrived, she had ghosted over a hundred of them. Everything they saw, heard, felt, tasted and smelled was being monitored and passed on to Erika and the A Team inside. The club's security system they bypassed and ignored....for now. Christof had a twelve man security detail. Two proceeded the main group into the club, labeled A and B, and scanned the place. Six closely surrounded Christof himself, labeled Target One and E through J, while two more led, labeled C and D, and two others followed, labeled K and L. Erika would stand by at the bar while the kill team did its work. They were veteran operators and knew exactly what they were doing. Minka, the team leader, was in the middle of the dance floor. Selene and Artemis were equidistant from her and each other on either side of the main entrance. They'd wait until Target One was in the center of their triangular kill zone until they opened fire. At two minutes to Midnight, A and B passed through the Kill Zone. They would be Erika's first targets. Her Neural Nanonics had them highlighted in red, club security in yellow, the revelers in a dull green and her team in white. All four Sisters heard a soft tone in their heads. Christof and his men were entering the Kill Zone. Each Sister pulled the hood of her combat suit over her head, which activated Reflective Mode. They are all now effectively invisible. In the mounting excitement, no one noticed. Erika raised her arms, her targeting indicators showing a ninety seven percent accuracy ratio. The other Sisters were doing the same at the corners of the triangular Kill Zone. Their indicators showed a near one hundred percent ratio. And at these ranges, only heavy combat armor could stop the weapons being used. The hard sharp snaps of hyper-sonic ferrodarts pouring from eight MRGs did breakthrough the din, though only a few people recognized the sound. All thirteen of the targets were down within little more than two seconds, shaking and writhing on the floor. The darts were neurotoxin delivery systems. It cause muscles to contract so violently bones broke and it caused neural inflammation that felt like molten metal poured into one's veins. The Sisterhood meant for Christof and his men to suffer before they died. The sight of a cluster of large dangerous looking men suddenly falling to the ground and spasming violently did get people's attention and the rush for the exits began. Though faster and more orderly than Baselines would have done – these were all Enhanced humans – it was still a panic by any measure. The Sister's suits shifted image. They now appeared to by NYPD officers in heavy tactical gear. The club goers worked hard to avoid them. Erika strode over to Christof, placed her gloved hand upon his face. Microfine tendrils lanced into his flesh, seeking all his on-board cybernetics. They jacked-in and downloaded everything, his entire network configuration and all his data. That took thirty seven seconds. The A Team stood guard while this took place. Jacking out, Erika looked up at the nearest CCTV cam, pulled her hood back to fully reveal her face and said clearly, “Greetings from The Sisterhood.” She then pulled her hood back and they headed for the back of the club toward the owner's private entrance. At this point the bodies of Christof and his men began spurting blood from every orifice. That was captured on vid. Sula then totally crashed the club's security system. All that would be left was Erika's 'greeting' and the images of those deaths. The Sister's exited into an alley behind the club just as a NYPD cruiser pulled up. It was driven by Alita, Erika's personal assistant. They all piled in. A block away from the club the vehicle's exterior shifted to a normal looking luxury sedan. In the meantime, Sula had borked and scrubbed every CCTV cam in a three block radius. In front of the club, the B Team's limo was moving with the orderly chaos of people fleeing in self driving vehicles. They let the limo's AI do the driving, but Jo was ready to go manual and Bryn was jacked into the weapons suite, prepared to reduce any active opposition to flaming wreckage. But they glided out with the rest of the escaping clubbers without incident. By the time the authorities had sorted everything out, they would all be well on their way back to SoCal on a diplomatic jump shuttle belonging to the Union of Matrilineal Republics. Sula had received the data Erika accessed in real time and had uploaded it to a Sisterhood satellite directly overhead. The first operations against Christof's organization would be underway within an hour. And all would be completed within three days. Several hundred people would be violently terminated – The Sisterhood was making public examples here – and a few hundred more would become 'coerced assets' of the GSD. That would leave over four thousand goale. Most of them were not retrievable and would be euthanized as painlessly as possible. The remainder would be transported back to SoCal for reprogramming. ~*~ The next morning there was a VidCon between New York and Los Angeles, capital of the UMR. The vid of Erika's 'greeting' and the gruesome deaths was played. Pixels undulated. Then a man and a woman faced each other. The man was Frank Hammond, US Secretary of State. The woman, Renatta Sundersen, Minister of External Affairs, his opposite number in the Union of  Matrilineal Republics' government. They looked similar in their different ways, short professional haircuts and expensive business suits. Hammond was more 'masculine' of course. Sundersen's haircut was more 'feminine' and her suit was clearly of The Sisterhood's style, with the Star, V and Wreath pin on her lapel. She had known Hammond for over four decades from when she herself was a US Foreign Service Officer. That made their conversation familiarly confrontational. Hammond looked tired and angry. “That is clear evidence of a violation of U.S. Sovereignty and the commission of what is effectively a terrorist act by a high ranking member of The Sisterhood's leadership,” he said. “What in God's name was she thinking, Renatta?” “More like Goddess' Name, Frank, and you know which one.” Hammond flinched slightly at that remark. Sundersen knew she had the advantage over him. She was sure he'd been up celebrating until last last night,   while she was well rested, the Sisterhood's New Year's celebration, The Festival of The Turning, being five days in the past. “I Swear by The Goddess' Many Names that I did not know anything about this until a few hours ago.” She was telling the truth about being out of the loop on this and Hammond knew that by her Oath. “So then how do paint ourselves out of this corner? The president doesn't want a war, cold or hot,” he said. “But half the Congress is on the warpath, mostly The Federalists, but some of our party, as well.” His party were The Liberals, who were far more realistic about reclaiming the U.S. Former territory. The Federalists were the 'war party' and hated The Sisterhood. But all sides feared and loathed the CSA, which kept all this in check. For now. “I received a full briefing on this about an hour ago and the GSD gave me some information your president should find useful. We will sit on it, so how you use it will be at your discretion.” Hammond looked skeptical. “I'm listening." Sundersen tapped a hologram on the virtual console that illumined her desktop. “I just sent you a file with the information,” she said. Hammond paused while checking receipt, then opened the file. Because of his long  friendship with Sundersen he didn't engage any of his Neural software to 'pokerface' his expression. He read, his mouth and eyebrows slightly twitching. Then he smiled broadly. The data revealed that the leading Federalist Senator plus seven Federalist Congressmen – and they were all men – had been clients of Christof's organization and that Federalists in New York's municipal government had been on his pay roll. “Yes,” he said with satisfaction. “This will do very nicely.” Sundersen smiled back at him. “I thought you'd like it.” He turned serious again. “Renatta, I know it is a tall order, but could you please ask Her Grace to be a bit more discreet in these matters in the future?” Sundersen gave him a rueful smile. “Mistress Erika is a force of nature, Frank. But I will convey your request.” ~*~ Erika was still too keyed up to sleep. She'd dozed a while on the shuttle from New York, but that jump lasted barely an hour. At the moment she reclined on a chaise lounge in the ocean view parlor in her rooms in the Cult's Headquarters. She wore a short fine silk robe of a pale floral design Eva had given her. A male Body Servant massaged her feet. At the other end Seemkoo, her favorite Pleasure Server, a tall slim pretty mulatto, sat on the floor. He passed her a pipe full of hashish, a local Sisterhood blend. She planned to have him ride her hard in a short while, then have a deep well fucked sleep. Being early winter, the Plexiglas doors were closed, only letting in the still warm Southern California sun. The Mictecacihuatl Cult's Headquarters, a solid mass of tempered steel and smart concrete, sat upon the western end of the Santa Monica Mountains, just north of what was left of Malibu. Two decades of typhoons had washed away most of that old neighborhood. The sliding steel doors just past the Plexiglas ones where a reminder of that reality. The door chimed, then opened. Renatta Sundersen had been expected. She entered and dropped into a well stuffed chair opposite Erika. “Your Excellency,” Erika said with a nod. “Your Grace,” Sundersen replied, returning the nod. “So, Renatta, how did it go?” Renatta smiled. “He was quite pleased with what we provided him.” She placed a mini-drive on the side table next to the chair. “The whole thing.” Erika smiled wolfishly. “I thought as much.” She frowned. “Goddess, where are my manners? Would you like a drink?” “Yes,” said Renatta. “Some bourbon please.” “Seemkoo?” said Erika. He moved gracefully to a cabinet, then looked quizzically at Sundersen, who had watched him appreciatively. “Two fingers, neat,” she said. She and Erika sat quietly for a moment while she took a few sips of of her drink, then sighed contentedly. “Are you planning to share this with Saxon Park?” Sundersen said. Saxon Park was the HQ of the U.S. Unified Intelligence Agency located in central Westchester County north of New York City. Along with the irradiated ruins of Washington, the abandoned CIA and NSA HQ's now lay in the Disputed Territories between the USA and the CSA. Erika sighed a bit. “I thought it best to leave that to President DeKay. It might ding the relationship with the GSD a bit, but they'll have to understand the security protocols in this situation. The Federalists have their own people in the agency after all.” Erika gave Sundersen a thoughtful look. “Forgive me for dropping that bomb in your lap,” she said. Sundersen smiled, nodded, “No forgiveness necessary, your Grace. That nasty little fucker required a public execution. Besides, that's what y'all pay me for.” Erika flinched as the Body Servant worked a painful spot. He did not pause at all. Everyone knew she had a high pain tolerance. Sundersen finished her drink, stood. “I expect you're rather done in by all of this, so I'll leave you be.” “Thank you for coming by, your Excellency,” said Erika. Sundersen made a slight bow. “It was my pleasure, your Grace.” She then exited. Erika sighed deeply, motioned the Body Servant to stop. “Thank you,” she said. He bowed deeply. “I live to Serve, Mistress.” Then he exited. “Seemkoo,” she said languidly, pulling her robe open and spreading her legs. “Come here and prepare me.” He smiled softly,  his shorts bulging. “I live to Serve, Mistress,” he said, then brought his tongue and fingers down between her thighs. Erika gasped lightly, arched her back. All would soon be right in her world.

[mimiplaysgames]

Strength to Protect the Things That Matter (Ch. 23)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua (eventually) Rating: T Word Count: 7,792

AO3        FF.net

A/N: Surprise! So I said that I may have to split this entire “Feckless” section into three parts, but it turns out that I can blend the other two parts together into one. I couldn’t help myself but indulge in some Terra and Riku bro-bonding, and there’s all the plot development you need for now. It has been a hard chapter for sure, and I barely have time to really hash it out. At the moment, I tried my best and I may re-edit when I have the time after the game comes out. For now, I worked very hard on this and I’m tired, y’all. Enjoy the extra word count!

Feckless, pt. 2

The first thing Terra needs to do is organize all of the tea leaves. He is in the kitchen storage, gathering cubby boxes and labeling them – one for each type of herb. Then he hunts for paper and writes down recipes, the vast majority of them medicinal. He defines which herb is good for which symptom, which ones give a magical boost, which ones taste good boiled with fruits, and how one can make even the most vile magical plant tolerant to the tongue. He also mixes some for the most common sicknesses, for easy access. He pins several pages of these instructions onto the wall next to the shelf that houses all of these ingredients, for anyone to see.

Finally, he is of use to these people.

Next on the list is to make a fresh brew for Rydia. With a more potent mix this time, he should be able to give a stronger dose that will be able to quell her fever. The cats have followed him to the kitchen, and Duchess in particular is fond of rubbing herself on his leg. It’s comforting to him, but only barely so. What she cannot ease is dealing with knowing how close he is to Aqua, and yet he is still stuck at the hotel, adhering to his duties to those who are in need.

The life of a Keyblade wielder. How long is he going to keep stalling Aqua just to make sure others are safe, when she needs him just as badly? Or is she expected to suffer longer because it, too, is her responsibility to keep the lives of innocents in check?

He puts a few empty mugs and the steaming teapot onto a tray, and carries it out of the kitchen, the cats following him. In the dining room are Balthier and Fran talking amongst themselves at a table. The pirate has his arm around the backrest, his tall companion right by his side, her jackrabbit ears standing straight out of the helmet she is wearing. Terra manages to catch a few words.

“…grip the hairs that stand on my skin. We cannot stay long. The earth here is sick,” Fran says. The delivery of her tone is flat, and it doesn’t sound at all she’s too pleased.

“Yes, the cobblestones underneath my feet cannot bear the weight of them,” Balthier says, though he nods.

It’s a rather sarcastic sentence, but not one that is meant to dismiss her concerns. The nod, the movement to relax into his chair, the crossing of his legs – he believes her. It’s just his way of coping.

Fran notices Terra as he passes by, frowning at him. The scowl on her face is like an animal on edge, waiting for predator to make its move. “A shadow has befallen this land,” she says.

Terra manages to smile at them in acknowledgment, trying hard to ignore that she knows something isn’t right with him. And she isn’t wrong, exactly. Balthier nods back with a cocked grin. A pleasantry. Or is it suspicion? Will there ever be a day where he won’t feel eyes staring at him or hear a snicker?

Rydia’s room is illuminated by warm sunlight, and he finds her sitting on a lounge chair underneath a painting of a hooded figure wearing a brown cloak, with a damp towel around her neck. The figure holds a lit lantern in a dark cave, his face hidden from the sight of the onlooker.

She tells Terra she won the last game she and Riku played, and dismisses his concerns about being out of bed. She feels better. She can walk. She’s getting bored lying in bed for too long. To Terra, though, she looks the same – ghastly. He also can’t ignore that at times, she clutches her oblique where she has been stabbed.

“You know, this is more delicious than the last one you made me,” she says as she sips the new tea he brewed for her. He’s happy to hear it, though saddened to know that no tea exists for eliminating poison.

“I’ve bought sleeping weed for the batch I’ll make you tonight,” he says. “You’ll need as much bedrest as you can handle.”

Rydia mumbles something about how lame that sounds, hasn’t she had enough rest already? “Is it going to be yucky, then?” she asks.

“No. It’s absolutely tasteless.”

Riku is packing up the board games that are all sprawled out on the bed, and Garnet is sitting on a desk with several files sprawled out. Each one has photos of mages that have gone missing in the past. It’s quite a substantial stack. Once a breathing person, now a pile of papers.

Garnet says that she writes out details of them so they are not forgotten, and so that she can pray for them. Hope’s photo stands out amongst a small pile of the other six that were lost with him that night. Aside from him, it’s difficult to find another male mage in the collection. The rest of the women were of all ages, some who look as young as Hope. Some who look like they could have been new grandmothers. Most were young adult women who were at the prime of their lives, and should have begun their careers or looking for love. Terra can count at least two other male mages, both young adult men.

When Riku is done tidying up, he tells Terra that he’s ready. With a large enough teapot to last Rydia the day, Terra allows himself to relax - if only just a little. It’s time to leave the caretaking in Garnet’s hands and find Aqua with less guilt on his shoulders.

What’s left is to grab the map of the sewers, flashlights, and-

“Gas masks?” Terra asks when Riku tosses one to him.

“I’d like to keep my lunch in this time,” Riku says.

The cats stop following as the Keybearers leave the hotel. Down an alley way not too far, they find a manhole that Terra has marked on the map, and don their masks before they drop inside.

The plan is to search every nook and cranny of the sewage system within the second district. They mark an ‘X’ over every door and room they inspect, and write checks over hallways they have passed through. With the map, the maze isn’t so intimidating. With the gas masks, traversing through the sewers, particularly the really dirty areas, is tolerable – except for the sweat that is trapped underneath them.

Of course, there are Heartless around every corner, lurking right under the streets where so many people are walking around with their groceries and with their friends. Riku is sure to nag Terra about practicing his dark powers – at the very least to build some sort of resistance to them.

But they always bring a headache. Terra forces himself not to drink what little is left of Tifa’s potion, just so that he can start to build a tolerance to the pain.

They talk about Heartless and the nature of darkness. Riku is most interested in hearing about how darkness has been formed in the past, before the Heartless. Terra talks about the Unversed, and decides to trust Riku enough to talk about Vanitas and his connection to Ventus. He talks about darkness before the Unversed – how many worlds, especially magical ones, will develop beings of darkness naturally. Keyblade wielders are tasked with restoring balance when it is threatened.

Some forms of darkness become legendary as they lust after the abyss, and will either haunt a world into oblivion, or will travel in the in-between. For many of them, there is no record of where they come from, but most of them are ancient.

The tale of Chernabog is an example. So is the legend of the Horned King. The Headless Horseman is another, although its existence hasn’t been confirmed. The man who killed Aqua’s parents, Ardyn, is a story that is true, and Terra recalls how terrified he was to meet him face to face. Kefka seems to be on this track to great and terrible power. Riku talks about Heartless Sora has faced before – large, powerful ones that are ethereal and substantially frightening in comparison to the others.  Behemoths and phantoms alike. Sora has faced a man named Sephiroth, who also fits such a description. Maleficent, too, is a possibility.

“Should we consider Xehanort legendary, then?” Riku asks as Terra checks off one more hallway. They have just passed through the waste system – disgusting in its collection of rust and other nasties.

It’s the thought that Terra is carrying Xehanort and is therefore the definition of such a thing that gives him pause. “I would say so, considering how bad the situation has gotten. The worlds haven’t been in this much trouble since the stories of the Great Keyblade War. At least from what I know.”

“It’s just that sometimes I wonder... if I open him up, will I find a heart in there or just some big, black mass,” Riku says.

Terra can’t help but snort. Blass mass, indeed. It’s exactly what it feels like when he gets a headache – like it’s trying to swallow him. The only person who deserves to suffer punishment in the Realm of Darkness is the old, sniveling man who should have been stabbed the day he met Eraqus.

The two wielders will often hear the clock tower bell ring, which sounds muffled underground. It marks every hour that passes by, but with no need to worry about Kefka tonight, Terra dismisses the sound. It’s just background noise tonight.

At first, he doesn’t have much to worry about if they don’t find anything right away. The second district is large, and he is bound to discover something. But they keep rounding corners, and the clock tower keeps ringing, and every room comes up empty.

Up until they reach the final area where they haven’t checked through, and Terra tells himself that perhaps they are unlucky to choose this spot last. There has to be something there.

But there isn’t. It’s just more Heartless and more rooms filled with machinery and large, unused fans. When they get to their last room, Riku caresses Terra’s shoulder, and the latter is grateful that he has a mask on so he doesn’t show just how devastated and angry he is.

I don’t understand.

They stand there in silence. Riku mentions that maybe they are misinterpreting Terra’s dream, and Terra silently hopes that Riku doesn’t bring up plan B – wait until the world finally falls.

The headache is worse and Terra grunts. He grips the map so tightly that he wrinkles it, and barely stops himself from tearing it in half.

“Let’s not ruin the map,” Riku says as he slowly pries it from Terra’s fingers.

With his hands free, Terra summons his Keyblade. She isn’t here. But she has to be. Behind the walls. The headache pounds a little harder, and he swings it against the wall of cement next to him, gashing it so that it shows bits of the stone that keeps it standing.

“Terra.”

Terra grips his Keyblade so hard that his hand shakes. I hate that tone. It’s like he’s scared of me.

“Come on,” Riku continues. “Let’s go over our next steps. We do have all that territory the Heartless inhabit out in the east. It’s not the end of the world.”

There is just too much weight hanging on those last few words, and the room suddenly feels claustrophobic. Terra doesn’t say anything and bolts out, treading up a ladder nearby until he finally can feel the freshness of the late chill air on his skin.

It’s night, and the clock tower reads half past seven. Riku comes up behind him, and the first thing they notice is how everyone around them keep their distance, their fingers clenching their noses.

Riku mumbles that they must stink, but again, Terra doesn’t reply. He briskly starts a walk back toward the direction of the hotel, Riku silently by his side. My dream can’t be wrong. Naminé wouldn’t lie to me. So then what am I misinterpreting?

Even with all the paces up until they reach the hotel, Terra can’t come up with a better explanation. Something in his stomach turns when he considers the thought that he might have to swim in the sewage water, murky in its image and probably hiding many more secrets that it’s letting on. If it’s for Aqua, then so be it.

He mentions it to Riku, who replies with an “ABSOLUTELY NOT. Let’s try to search through the quarantined areas first. It’s a less crazy plan.”

He hears a loud gasp, and sees Garnet standing outside the hotel entrance with both of her hands covering her nose and mouth. She stomps one foot and brings her hands to her hips, telling them that they smell positively toxic. She claps her hands as if to shoo away a dog, leading them through the hotel with pointed fingers, and commands that they leave her their clothes and shoes for cleaning, and that they bathe immediately.

In the spacious bathtub of his hotel room, Terra stands under the cold, clean water gushing out of the showerhead. He leans against the wall, his eyes wandering around the edges of tiles. More time wasted. More pointless adventures. Aqua is in need of her best friend, and he’s doing a terrible job.

He wraps his towel around his waist when he is done and sifts through the closet and drawers. There aren’t any clothes.

Someone knocks on his door. Riku is dressed in pajama shorts and a loose shirt, and has a pile of some comfortable looking garments in his arms.

“I figured you haven’t picked any clothes from the donations pile, so I brought some. I also got some of Lea’s stuff, since you are the same height,” the teenager says as he drops the clothes on Terra’s bed. Behind him come the cats, who chirp as they enter the room and scatter to explore the exciting new territory that is Terra’s bedroom. 

“Lea is a stick,” Terra says.

“And you like to wear your shirts tight anyway. I figured you’d like the silhouette.”

Lea’s shirts are so small that they can’t go past Terra’s shoulders.

Riku flexes his own bicep, already toned. “What does it take to get them that big?”

Terra goes for another shirt – one he is sure doesn’t belong to Lea. “Protein, protein, and more protein. And resistance exercise. Sometimes it’s just genes.”

“Which you don’t seem to lack at all. What do you think it would look like if I started building them like yours?”

For as much confidence Riku likes to flaunt he has, the thought that he would ask such an intimate question about his appearance makes Terra smile warmly. He wonders if Riku ever asked Sora this question. Knowing Sora, he probably will crack a joke.

“I think your muscles look pretty good for your size. You’re quite strong, you know.”

Riku caresses his bicep as a response, his eyes looking over at whatever is faraway and nonexistent, never meeting his friend’s.

Terra tries on the pajama pants in his bathroom. Most are too short. Lea’s are so tight that they scream for attention toward his... personal assets. He figures he may have to keep the towel, until he finds one pair that are of perfect length and pack the comfort of cotton to boot.

Once dressed and back out in his bedroom, Terra and Riku move the furniture up against the walls, and carry curious kittens onto the bed.

They practice their form with their Keyblades. Riku instructs his student to move slowly while purposefully channeling darkness through the Ends of the Earth.

As long as he can focus on a directive, like the dream of obliterating any threat that can ever come close to Aqua and Ventus, darkness will flicker and lick his Keyblade. To use darkness for valiant efforts... What if he is so powerful that Aqua - who must have been fighting this entire time for her life - will never have to defend herself again? He can be her shield. He can swallow any darkness she has absorbed for her, and cure her of nightmares.

To think of using this power for protection makes the darkness manageable, and it hurts the least it has ever been. He swings his Keyblade gently, feeling the darkness seep out of him, resisting the temptation to blast a hole through the wall just to see how powerful he can be. He can protect his family. He can use darkness as light.

And she can rest.

But is that the solution then – to be selfish and tell her to never attempt to fight again so he can play hero all the time? She’ll hate him for that.

It’s so hard not to remember how he left them to fend for themselves that day, when he fought Xehanort atop that tall plateau. Or how stupid he was to believe Xehanort in the first place.

There it is, the pounding headache and the sensation that his hair is being pulled. Xehanort knows and is watching, just waiting for the opportunity. And Eraqus – will he be disappointed, again? Is this the life for Terra, to shun everything his Master has done for him, when he probably should have never been picked up at the orphanage in the first place?

Riku holds his hands to Terra’s right wrist, which is shaking as he grips his Keyblade. “You got this,” the teenager says.

Terra lets his Keyblade drop and exhales. “It takes so much effort to control it. How will I ever wield darkness easily enough to be any use?”

“Cutting out any hard time you’re giving to yourself is a good place to start.”

Easier said than done. Riku’s been forgiven.

Terra rubs his face and runs his hand through his hair. There is a power that is yet to be threatening. “I have to show you something.”

Terra dismisses his Keyblade and takes note of the chairs and lamps scattered around his room. “I’ve tapped into Xemnas’ powers.” He holds both of his palms up on either side of his body. “It’s like a push. I simply need them to move, and I make the particles around them solidify and pick them up. I think Xemnas wanted complete control over anything he wanted.”

Riku snickers, but stops short of saying anything as the lamps and the chairs in the room shake and gently float in the air. With a wave of one hand, Terra can make the objects spin slowly, and with a wave of the other, make them come together. Riku stares, his eyes wide, and approaches one of the lamps hovering in the air.

“Make the particles around them move, huh?” He inspects the underside of the lamp. “I wonder what that means for his offensive magic. He was able to do all sorts of stuff. He had sabers of light, and created explosions and could protect himself – pretty much anything he thought of. Maybe you can crush those same particles?”

It’s worth a shot. Terra focuses on an empty space right in front of him, and brings his palms close together. He contorts his fingers, and mimics a movement that looks as though he is squeezing the space in between. He imagines the space just imploding on itself. A tumbling force of fire appears, combusts, and blows out.

An open smile pulls at Terra’s lips. He and Riku stare at each other and stumble into laughter. It feels good, not having to face pain when acquiring such power.

“Okay, now put these things down,” Riku says, waving towards all the objects that are still suspended in the air.

Terra thinks about gently pushing them down. It only really forces the chairs and the lamps onto the ground, but he can’t let go of them. They fly back up into the air. He tries again, and it creates the same reverb affect.

“Ugh, just let go,” he says shortly.

The lamps and chairs all drop in a vibrating crash. It makes the floor rumble and it’s loud enough to make the two of them jump back in surprise. The kittens run everywhere while a startled Duchess arches her back on the bed.

Riku snickers. “Xemnas did enjoy hurling things at people.”

The sound of footsteps hurrying over makes its way. The door bursts open and in walks Garnet, her face frozen in shock as she pauses to survey the scene.

“Sorry, we were experimenting,” Terra says, immediately beginning to pick up one of the lamps and inspecting it for damage.

Garnet smacks her lips, and slams her hand to heart. “Terra, you gave me a fright!” She goes on to lecture them about the value of silence, and how much she worries over them while she retrieves her cart from the hallway. On it are their clothes, shoes, and the gauntlet and braces that Terra wears on his left arm.

“What took you so long?” Riku asks as he helps Terra re-organize the lamps into their proper places, and straighten out the chairs.

“I happened to make a discovery.” She is delighted, almost as if she has gone through the most intriguing journey. “A contraption called a washing machine.”

Not even Riku can hide a wide smile on his face, even if he tries to shake his head of it.

“Of course, I didn’t have the knowledge to operate it,” Garnet continues, handing Riku his clothes, arm braces, and shoes. “So I’ve requested Noctis’ wisdom on the matter. But he didn’t know how to command it, either.”

“Did you guys not have washing machines in your worlds?” Terra asks, collecting his shoes and armor from her. From the looks of it, she scrubbed and polished them.

“Oh, Noctis knew of them, but they simply weren’t part of his expertise,” she says.

What kind of answer is that?

She hands him the pile of his newly washed clothes. “Thankfully, Cloud was able to help us.”

Riku starts to move the furniture that have been stacked against the wall back into place, scoffing over the idea of Cloud acting like their mother. Garnet thanks Terra for the tea and appreciates his efforts in helping her. Learning to wash his clothes is the least she can do for him in return. She then leaves the men to get dressed, and Riku hurries off into Terra’s bathroom to change.

It’s much more comfortable being dressed in what he considers his uniform. The map is sprawled open on his desk, and he knows he probably shouldn’t look it over. It will only make him feel worse. But he can’t help it, his headaches be damned. He needs to know what he’s done wrong. He traces his fingers on the blueprints of the hallways and doors he has marked notes all over.

Something catches his eye. He traces them over fairly faint lines that are printed alongside the heavily inked illustrations. He has noticed these when he first found the map, but didn’t have an answer for them at the time. There is still no answer for what these are.

“Riku,” Terra calls out when the bathroom door opens, “do you see these?”

Riku looks over his shoulder. “They look like more hallways.”

“But we didn’t see any entrances to them. We’ve searched every room.”

“Maybe they’re not part of the sewers?”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure. But look,” Riku points his index finger at a couple of places where these faint lines come close to noted manholes. “We know where these streets are. If we can find a separate entrance that leads underground-”

Terra immediately folds the map up and moves to quickly put on his armor. Impatient, yes, but enough time has passed. He has all night to do this. “Let’s go.”

Back out in the streets, the night air is cooler. Terra feels some slight fatigue, but it’s worth forgoing sleep for the chance to explore more. He opens his map to orient himself, but he suddenly stops. It’s that feeling again. He’s being watched.

People are leisurely spending their evening getting lost in their food and shopping. Parents are distracting their children with desserts. Some are still haunted from the night before, picking at their food like it can never satisfy them– perhaps they are the loved ones of those lost.

There. A man in a black cloak, standing on an intersection of the sidewalk and a narrow alleyway in between a toy store and restaurant. He turns the moment Terra notices him.

“Hey!”

Terra immediately charges, leaving behind a surprised Riku who calls his name. The man runs into the alley, dashing into angled corners the moment he has any opportunity to. Immediately, Terra loses his own sense of direction, unsure where he is among the crossovers of spaces in between tall buildings and past garbage dumps. Riku must be looking for him, too, also probably lost in the fray. But it doesn’t matter. This man will talk, so he can’t lose his target.

Eventually, Terra finds himself in the third district, which still has leftover rubble from the night before. Many of the light posts have been demolished, and some of the former residential homes have been blown open. The man stands in the middle of the square, his arms at his side.

“It sure has been a while, Terra,” the man says. He carries with him an aura as if everything to him is a joke. “I was almost starting to think you weren’t interested in seeing me.“

“Do I know you?” Terra doesn’t move. He simply observes, his right hand flexed for the moment he needs his Keyblade.

“Oh, I’m absolutely crushed you don’t remember me.” The man wraps his arm around Terra’s shoulders, as if greeting a close companion. “After everything I’ve been through - sheesh, do you pack quite a punch. Every time I look at my own face, I get reminded of you.” The man pulls his hood back. He’s older, streaks of gray invading his greasy hair.

He is the man Terra thought kidnapped Xehanort, though he has an eye patch now, his one visible eye a sickly golden yellow.

Terra shudders looking at him. This man has only been a rouse. An object to make a fool out of him. From the looks of it, he is still a tool. With no answer, the man simply pokes at Terra’s chest. “You smell peachy. Being squeaky clean is good for your health, you know. Running ‘round the sewers isn’t really the best-”

Terra grabs the cloak and pulls the man in, their faces so close that their noses almost touch. Terra stares down into the yellow eye, making certain that the pupil is staring back – that this man gets the message. “Tell me what you know of her.”

The man waves his arms back as if giving up. “If you’re asking about your little girlfriend, I don’t know jack squat. She’s not what I’m here for.”

Terra squeezes the leather of the cloak so much that it squeaks in between his fingers. A need to gut the man in the stomach rises in him. “Then I don’t have the time for you,” Terra says, pushing the man so hard that he stumbles to stay on top of his feet.

“Wait just a minute!” the man calls out as Terra walks away. “You gave Saïx, of all people, your undivided attention but you can’t spare a little time for an old friend?”

It takes too much strength to muster the patience to stop himself from summoning his Keyblade and clobbering this yapping idiot, but Terra is once again distracted.

Riku runs up to the area, panting when he comes up to his friend’s side. “Terra, Xigbar’s dangerous,” he says through sighs.

Terra feels himself smile, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t worry about him,” he says, holding a hand up. “The scars on his face are proof he’s no match for me.”

His words are far better weapons than his blade, being that Xigbar’s face contorts from that snarl of a smile to a snarl of contempt. And it’s satisfying. “Why you little brat,” Xigbar starts.

But a soft, low voice interrupts the tension, saying, “Let’s not allow ourselves to get carried away, when we haven’t the time.” A shadow forms beside Xigbar, and out of it steps a young man, barely Terra’s age.

He has a deeper skin color, contrasting so much with his stark white hair and round, yellow eyes that it’s impossible not to know who he is. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, the one that makes him up must be artificial – though he’s practiced in pretending. His voice is detached, yet respectful. It feigns care, yet it is interested enough to make anyone think otherwise.

This young version of Xehanort smiles at Terra. “Hello, Terra,” he nods. “I’ve been quite at work, ever since you’ve decided to wake up.”

Terra has expected to look into these eyes in the face of his own reflection in a mirror, at the very least. The voice is so young that it cannot compare to the raspy nature of the old man’s, though it’s the same. Polite and fake. Like everything else about him. His mentorship, and his friendship with Eraqus. That bastard.

Terra summons his Keyblade and nearly lunges forward when Riku grabs onto his arm. “If you fight, I’ll fight with you,” Riku says to him in a low voice.

Xehanort has his arms slightly open, as if welcoming a fight. A smile braces his face, and it’s eerily familiar. It’s the smile he wears when he’s close to getting something he wants, and Terra has sworn to himself that he would never see it again. He decides to dismiss his Keyblade and try his best to relax back into a neutral posture. Xehanort’s smile weakens, his arms slowly lowering.

“I expected more out of you,” Xehanort says. “You have such an important destiny laid out, yet it’s impossible for you to comprehend what that is.” Almost as if he wills it to happen, he smiles again. “You truly are good-for-nothing.”

Terra steps forward, his throat constricting and his eyes starting to burn. He’s heard this phrase too many times. Never again.

“Every time someone curses their awful situation, they’re cursing at you,” Terra says, trying his best not to allow his voice to get brittle. “Even if they don’t know it. You’re the most hated person in the universe, and that makes you pathetic.”

“It’s amusing how you think that is so significant.” Xehanort cocks his head to lean toward Xigbar, but doesn’t bother to look at him. “You came here to deliver a message.”

Xigbar, jolted out of his silence, holds his hand to his forehead. “What did you guys name that Heartless? Ah, Kefka. I originally came here to tell you that’s it’s dropping a visit tonight.”

It’s Riku’s turn to step forward. “That’s not possible. It comes every two nights, and it never broke that rule.”

“You can say that it didn’t really get the fix it needed.” Xigbar shrugs.

Riku trembles, slowly getting angrier. “Seven people turned into Heartless last night. That isn’t enough?”

Xehanort surveys the scene around him. The debris on the ground. Front doors from buildings that are scattered on the walkways. Burnt flags.

“Kefka is a fascinating case,” he says. “It is a Heartless that has grown beyond our control. Perhaps it was once a sorcerer, who lusted after power and couldn’t stop even beyond being swallowed by darkness. Does it matter, its former identity? Yet the implications of its sentience – it makes me wonder whether people turn into Heartless because they have given up and succumbed to their fright, or if they sought it for themselves.”

“It killed people,” Terra says shortly.

“Yes,” Xehanort nods. “It is messy.” He says this with a slight disgust, as if killing is below him.

Bold words for a man who killed someone who loved him.

“I hate you,” Terra says, hating himself for shaking his own words so much. Hating himself for feeling Riku’s eyes on him, because he simply isn’t strong enough to let the past go.

Xehanort scoffs gently. “Predictable.” A shadow forms behind him, and he turns to make his leave. “Do take care of yourself, Terra. You wouldn’t want to rob yourself a reunion with her.”

Xigbar waves his Adios and his It’s been a nice reunion, before exiting through the shadow. It dissipates, leaving the two Keyblade wielders standing by themselves.

The silence around them is thick and loud. The headache is awful, and Terra wants to wrangle something at the thought of Xehanort even mentioning her existence. Riku gently rubs his back, telling Terra to let the anger out. Aqua... she has to wait again.

“We need to tell the others,” Terra finally says. However, he is unable to regain much of his composure.

“Now hold on,” Riku brings a finger up. “I don’t understand the purpose of giving us this information.”

“They don’t want to see me get hurt.” There is something gross about that statement. To be kept safe, when Aqua isn’t.

“Xehanort looking out for other people? That’s new.”

“I’m still a vessel for the older Xehanort’s heart.” It’s nauseating to say. “They need me.”

Riku’s mouth hangs, agape. “Have you ever considered that maybe he wants you to find her? That he wants to use you to get to her?”

Terra feels his eyes quiver. He shakes any ideas off his head. He will be there to save her, and there is no way Xehanort will get near her. “But Kefka-”

“What if this is a trap? What if he’s planning something to take you back?”

The clock reads just before nine. It’s barely any time for preparations. “Riku, we can’t gamble with their lives over this.”

Riku takes turns looking at the clock tower and back at Terra, muttering something to himself. Defeat looks like frustration on the teenager, and he snarls. “I hate this.”

“Are you saying Kefka has a quota that needs to be filled?” Noctis is standing in Rydia’s room, addressing Riku directly.

Rydia and Garnet are sharing the table, the notes of the fallen mages scattered about. They have moved on from writing details of each person to organizing their names in a chart. The teapot also shares a space on the table surface, a mug of freshly poured tea by its side. Rydia is crying silently, clutching her oblique. Garnet has her hands folded, staring blankly at the wall in front of her.

“I’m not exactly sure,” Riku says.

This only makes Noctis angrier, and his voice raises in volume. “That’s not good enough, Riku. What am I supposed to do?”

Garnet calmly closes her eyes when he yells, and a single tear falls. Terra stands close to Rydia, consistently checking on her to see if she has a bad reaction to any of this. Stress really shouldn’t be added to her list of ailments.

Noctis slams his palm into his forehead and wipes away his bangs as he looks up to the ceiling. “And to top it off, this world is going to fall?” His voice starts to growl into a whisper. “We can’t keep doing this. We can’t fight it every night. I’m calling an emergency meeting. Be there in a few minutes.”

With that, Noctis abruptly leaves the bedroom, Riku immediately following. Terra has to wonder how awful the guilt must be for Noctis, who is the target Kefka is after.

It is under the silent assumption that Rydia isn’t included in that command, which is why Terra and Garnet are surprised when she speaks up.

“I want to go, too,” Rydia says. Her voice cracks a little.

“Are you sure you’re okay to walk?” Terra asks.

“I’m only feeling a little nauseous, that’s all.��� She sniffs back her tears, takes the mug of tea and drinks from it. “But I do want to support everyone else. I hate not being able to do anything.”

Garnet attempts to help Rydia stand, but she is dismissed. Rydia stands on her own, the mug in one hand, and walks a few steps.

Then she wobbles and collapses forward, the tea spilling all over the dark green carpet. Garnet shrieks and Terra rushes to carry Rydia onto her bed, her skin hot from the fever.

Under Garnet’s command, Terra takes a metal pail next to the bed, and fills it with clean water from the tub. He isn’t the best at conjuring magical spells, but like any other Keyblade wielder, he knows how to do it. He casts a Blizzard into the pail twice in order to get some ice forming, and dashes it to the bedside table.

Garnet dips a towel into the water and folds it over Rydia’s forehead. Terra goes ahead to pour another cup of tea.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” she says. When he simply looks at her, the teacup suspended in his hand, she almost snaps. “You should attend the meeting.  I'll be alright.”

The meeting starts in the small employee lounge room that Noctis likes to take naps in, on the first floor. He came out of this room when Terra initially met him. There are random paintings of nature and still life on the walls, a small television set, a coffee table, a long couch, and several chairs. Fran and Balthier sit on the couch, where she is crossing her legs, and he is resting an ankle on his knee. Cloud and Cid stand on either side of the coffee table. Terra takes his place by Riku, who is leaning against the wall.

“This is a disaster,” Cloud says, mostly to Cid. “Now I have to deal with the tempers of two rich kids.”

“Not just any rich kids,” Cid says, licking his teeth. “Royal kids.”

“What are you saying?” Terra asks.

“Didn’t you know?” Cid says. “Noct and Garnet are both castle brats from wherever they come from. Prince and princess.”

“Well,” Cloud interjects, “Noct is a king now.”

“Some king,” Cid scoffs.

“Have a little faith, why don’t you,” Cloud says quietly as Noctis enters and stands in the middle of the room, right in front of the coffee table.

Garnet finally walks through the door, and takes her place in front of Fran and Balthier, directly across the coffee table from Noctis. Terra tries to get a read on her for a silent update on Rydia, but as usual, Garnet is practiced in keeping her emotions distant.

“First things first,” Noctis says, leaning over the coffee table. “Like I told all of you, this world is going to fall.”

Cloud crosses his arms. “We’re going to need to take people to Radiant Garden right away. Fran, how much time do you think we have?”

Fran glances at Terra for a hot second before leaning on the arm rest of the couch, her face scowling in disbelief. “I shall say no more than a day before the earth loses its strength. At most, three.”

Balthier scoffs at the suggestion. “Clearly, you don’t expect me to be able to fly everyone in one trip? I cannot carry a whole city of cargo.”

“You’ll start at the crack of dawn, and take multiple trips,” Noctis says. “I need you tonight in the third district for the fight with Kefka. Fran, can you stand guard here?”

“As you wish,” she says.

Balthier leans on an arm rest of his own. “I’m assuming we’ll be following proper protocol in these situations. The sick, the injured, the children, the families, and everyone here in this staff room?”

Noctis takes a long breath. “No. I’ll be staying with everyone being left behind.”

Garnet widens her eyes. “What do you speak of?”

“If it’s really that short of a time frame, I’ll stay behind to comfort the ones who won’t be able to go.”

She stares hard at Noctis, her lips quivering. “I object to this!” She slams her hands on the coffee table.

“The people who leave need a leader with them. The people who stay behind need the same.”

She shakes her head furiously. “But you haven’t even sought my counsel-”

“And I need you to agree with me.”

Garnet maintains strict eye contact with Noctis. Despite how short she is, the way she holds her head high makes her seem taller than him. “Under one condition.” She stands even straighter, lengthening her appearance. “One of us must endure. If misfortune should befall me, you must be the one to leave with the survivors.”

“What kind of demand is that?” Noctis says with a broken tone, shocked. Cloud takes turns watching the both of them, his lips in a hard line but not pursed.

Garnet closes her eyes, and swallows. But she does not drop her head. She brings her hands together in a prayer stance, and looks earnestly at Noctis. “Rydia will not make the night.”

The silence drops, heavy and suffocating. Noctis is the most expressive, taking a lot of effort to stop himself from reacting harshly. Cloud, perhaps most experienced with these sorts of news, hangs his head. Riku clenches his fists and he, too, hangs his head. Terra is nauseous and feels light, wishing he can run outside into the fresh air, just to avoid vomiting.

“Noctis,” Garnet continues, “we need an elixir.”

He scoffs harshly. “We don’t have any. And it takes two weeks to make one.”

Garnet rubs her hands together, and scatters her eyesight around the room. She catches sight of Terra, and immediately draws it away. It’s so difficult reading what she’s thinking. “We do have elixirs,” she says.

Cloud gasps. “No way. We’re not allowing anyone to go out there.”

Terra steps forward. “What gives?”

“There used to be a hospital ward,” Riku says. “Way out east, where the Heartless have taken over the streets. We left in such a rush that we weren’t able to carry everything. There should be a whole cartridge of them.”

“This is the worst timing,” Noctis says. “Kefka will be coming at eleven, and we need fighters.”

“Then allow me to go,” Garnet says. “I’m useless in battle.”

“You are not,” Noctis snaps. “I need you there.”

“You need her. She can effectively fight with her magic.”

Cloud leans on the coffee table to meet Garnet face to face. “What I’m more interested in is keeping as many people alive. What’s the point of sending you over if that means we have to lose the both of you?”

“Then we all go together,” Noctis says, perhaps a bit too quickly.

“Kid, we don’t have the time,” Cid says. “You expect to find Rydia a cure with Kefka and a bunch of nasties chasing you around?”

“If we do it fast enough, we can save her-”

“Can I call that too optimistic?” Cloud says.

“What do you expect me to do?” Noctis straightens his posture and sizes up Cloud.

“Make a rational decision. Is that too difficult for you?” Cloud is only slightly taller, but the way he carries his voice is piercing enough.

Garnet is wide-eyed, gently shaking her head but she doesn’t say anything. It’s as though her thoughts are distant, and she is in denial of what is happening in the room. Again, it’s so difficult to read her face.

Cid breaks the silence. “Let the little lady go. I think it’s much safer out there than fighting Kefka anyway.”

Noctis jumps at this opportunity. “Then one of the Keyblade wielders will escort her.”

It’s just not possible to deduce what she’s thinking. Her eyes shut together, and for a second it seems like she’s ungrateful for the suggestion.

Riku jerks a bit. “You realize that if this is in fact a trap, Xehanort will just turn her into a Heartless.”

“We can’t afford to make the mistake of assuming Kefka isn’t coming,” Cloud says simply.

Riku looks as though as he will start arguing, and Terra squeezes his shoulder. “Riku, it sounds like I’m either fighting Kefka or fighting Xehanort on my own.”

His successor glares at him, and Terra supposes that it’s just a matter of time before he angered or disappointed him.

“All it takes is Xehanort striking you in the chest with his Keyblade,” Riku says. His glare trembles, and he fights back a brittle voice. “Don’t make me choose between losing you and leaving Rydia to die.”

Cloud places his hand on Riku’s other shoulder. “I forgot how young you are,” he says softly. “You really shouldn’t be making such hard decisions now, and I’m sorry you have to.”

Terra nods in agreement. “The sticks, Riku. Shortest escorts Garnet.”

Riku reluctantly takes them out. Two sticks. Terra picks one, and by comparison, his is the shortest.

Terra chuckles a bit, a stupid effort to lighten the mood. “Looks like I may be fighting Xehanort out there.”

Garnet is holding one hand to her chest, as if to stop a heart attack. Her expression is terribly grim, and Terra wonders if she’s disappointed that he will be the one to protect her. Does she not feel safe enough with me?

“Cid,” Noctis says with a commanding tone. “Set up the curfew siren manually.”

Riku also holds his hand out, as if to catch Cid’s attention. “Can you also send a mayday to Yen Sid’s tower? Somebody has to respond.”

Cid mutters his Sure’s and exits the room, leaving behind a room full of tense, quiet people.

“I’ll prepare protection crystals for the rest of you,” Garnet says, struggling to keep her voice even. She attempts to wait for Noctis’ attention, who has his arms crossed and is refusing to look at her. She leaves, still holding her head high.

Cloud glances at Noctis and rolls his eyes.

Riku, too, isn’t happy about the situation. Terra attempts to hold his shoulder again but Riku shrugs it off, bolting out of the room. Holding just a tiny stick that has been broken into its size, Terra twirls it around in his fingers. What is left is an empty feeling. The others leave the room, Balthier and Fran being the last to leave. Fran connects her eye contact with Terra, keeping it until she disappears out of the doorway.

The clock strikes ten.

[thecinephale]

Magic Mike XXL: Masculinity Worth Appreciating

I saw the first Magic Mike with my sister the summer before I left for college. I remember this day the way I remember just about everyday I’ve spent alone with my sister. I remember the day we spent visiting her favorite “spots” right before I started high school. I remember when we got into a hip NYC club because she looked like her even though I looked like me. I remember the difficult lunch we had my first visit back after coming out as trans. I spent most of my life with my sister, usually our parents were there or nearby. But once she learned to drive, the days alone, I remember all of those. This day, in June, in 2012, we were seeing Magic Mike.

There were two men in the theatre, sheepish looking boyfriends whose body language and facial expressions tried to make clear that they were just being good sports. Otherwise it was all women, ages ranging, ready to express their sexuality in public, an experience rarely allowed. My sister commented several times how weird it was to be seeing this with her little brother. I deflected with discussion about Steven Soderbergh and his varied filmography, abuzz with the comfort and confusion I’d always feel when in majority-women spaces.

The movie was fine. Soderbergh knows how to shoot and edit, Channing Tatum knows how to dance, and Matthew McConaughey knows how to chew scenery. But in making two films about the sex industry, Soderbergh failed to understand the difference between what men and women audiences are regularly given. It’s subversive to send a bunch of horny guys into The Girlfriend Experience wanting to see Sasha Grey fuck and then giving them a cold film about economics. But doing the same to a bunch of horny women wanting to see Channing and the gang is just… disappointing. 

Still there were enough abs to keep the audience relatively happy, and I left the theatre with the excited feeling that I’d gotten away with something. The same feeling I always had when I’d hang out with my sister and her friends, the same feeling I’d have any time I managed to be around groups of girls, conversations, car rides, karaoke rooms. While I never felt fully relaxed, I did feel more comfortable. It was as much about being near women as it was about being away from men.

***

We talk a lot about trans women’s relationship towards femininity. Every corny movie with a trans femme youth has her trying on makeup, heels, painting her nails. My experience was certainly filled with a lifelong admiration towards girls and women that fluctuated between envy and lust, admiration and resentment. I obsessively loved women and then turned on them when I felt dissatisfied. I convinced myself that relationships needed to be romantic, because I confused the deep desire to consume their bodies, their fashion, their entire being as a sexual impulse rather than one of imitation. I ruined so many friendships this way.

But what we talk about less is how much of my life was spent with masculinity, immersed in it, confused by it, desperate to understand how to embody it. I know some trans women have clarity from a young age that they are girls and it’s just a matter of others accepting it. But that was not my experience. My discomfort with boyhood and attraction to girlhood never seemed like something I could embrace. Instead I felt a pressure and desire to adjust those attractions, to be a boy and then a man to the best of my ability.

I’m fortunate to have a father who is sensitive and kind. I’m also fortunate to have a father who coached my baseball and soccer teams throughout most of my childhood. Sports became something that was undeniably masculine but that I also loved. I may have watched my sister’s dance classes with envy, but I also found genuine pleasure in being on the field, being physical and focused and competitive. It helped that my dad always prioritized sportsmanship, team spirit, and fun over winning. The league recognized this and rewarded him with the absolute worst players they could find. Our team of misfits may have frustrated me at times, but it also allowed me to think of sports as an exercise in empathy rather than a terrifying world of standards and punishments. I wonder now how many other boys on those teams were queer. I know at least one.

My positive experience with sports allowed me to navigate my early childhood fairly unscathed. I was bullied incessantly by other boys (and even some other girls) probably picking up on something about me. And my “crushes” (as I’d wrongly call them) on girls were intense to the point of all-consuming obsession. But my immense discomfort towards masculinity didn’t really start until middle school, until puberty.

I couldn’t figure out what masculinity even was. I knew certain expectations placed on me and felt like they were all terrible. I was supposed to objectify women. That was the most obvious. The grosser I could get when talking about the girls I “liked” the more I’d be accepted. I was also supposed to be aggressive. Physically. I was not supposed to cry. Or show any emotion. It wasn’t enough that I liked sports. I was supposed to only like sports. If someone was my friend that meant they made fun of me in front of our other friends and the proper response was to make fun of them back. Or hit them. 

Some of this is just middle school. But a lot of it carried over into high school and beyond. My new friends cared more about theatre than sports, but if you’ve ever watched two 17-year-old boys fight over who gets what part in Julius Caesar you’d realize it’s all the same. *** The summer before I came out, the greatest sequel of all time graced our movie screens: Magic Mike XXL. 

This masterpiece of masculinity is a modern-day Old Hollywood musical. Blah blah La La Land blah blah. Go watch On the Town and it becomes clear those musicals are about 1) hot guys, 2) tight pants, 3) great dancing. XXL is pure, sex-positive joy from beginning to end. It abandons the thematic and narrative overwroughtness of the original and makes a new statement: Celebrating female sexuality and non-toxic masculinity is what’s truly radical.

As a lesbian, I’ll leave discussions of the former to others (now that The Toast is gone I’m not sure where Roxane Gay’s review went, it’s really worth hunting down). But as a trans woman, who spent my whole life trying to understand masculinity, this movie was a goddamn revelation. The way the men celebrate women is lovely and sexy and new, but the way they celebrate each other is what really stood out to me.

The men in Magic Mike XXL are masculine. They embody so many of those basic, oversimplified middle school traits I listed above. And yet. It looks good on them. They’re physical, they rag on each other, they trade crude remarks about women. But they also support each other. They discuss their goals and varied interests. They talk out conflicts. Their discussion of women is crude but not objectifying. And they’re comfortable enough in their sexuality and gender to participate in a drag show. Watching XXL, I didn’t feel any closer to masculinity, but for the first time I found it something worth aspiring to. Social pressure was no longer the only thing pushing me towards it, and, as a result, it soon became clear I was never meant to achieve it.

Since coming out, I’ve had the good fortune of befriending some trans men and non-binary individuals who align with certain elements of masculinity and manhood. In these people I tend to see this same sort of Magic Mike XXL version of masculinity. I see it in my dad. I see it in a few cis male friends. I spent my life hating masculinity, but now I see its potential.

***

Last week I went to Thirst Aid Kit’s screening of Magic Mike XXL at the Alamo Drafthouse. Thirst Aid Kit is a podcast hosted by Bim Adewunmi and Nichole Perkins and is really a must-listen if you’re a person who enjoys lusting after men (and if you aren’t it’s still a good time). They provided fake money to throw at the screen and bingo cards with squares like “Mike grabs his crotch.” Cocktails were served throughout and we were encouraged to hoot, wallop, and moan as we saw fit. 

It’s been about six years since I sat in that regular movie theatre with my sister cherishing what felt like girl time. And here I was, again in a majority-women space, watching Channing Tatum grind. This time I felt comfortable, and also, finally, relaxed.

As a trans person, I’ve been forced to examine my gender, to wrestle with masculinity and femininity and ultimately decide what elements of both appeal to me and who I personally am. In a time when cis men are feeling increasingly confused about their place in the world, I wonder what might happen if they also had to ponder their identity. I wonder what might happen if they had to reconsider their own definitions of masculinity. I wonder what an all cis straight male screening of Magic Mike XXL might look like and what it might achieve.

Some need to thirst. Others need to learn. This movie does it all. <3

[occultadama]

The Swarm - Just Philippot

I recently watched this and on face value its very much on brand for fear mongering insect cinema. (It is completely seperate from the 1978 film of the same title) Although its delivery and underpinning narratives are much more subtle.

The film follows widower and locust farmer Virginie and her two children, Teenager Laura and boy Gaston. Virginie is in severe debt and is struggling to support her small family. This is made worse by her broods not breeding at the same rate as market demand and the overall market value plummeting. Her small frame and the demanding physical labour of the farm is clearly communicated as her mental state struggles to keep up with the adversity she faces.

The locusts are presented in accordance with thier long established interuptation. They clammer on top of eachother, mindlessly with intermittent close ups that express human distrust. Virginie handles the "livestock" very mechanically. The locusts are a product that are not acknowledged by virginie. She crashes in and gets the job done. Her son Gaston however keeps a handful as pets. He lovingly handles them and is the first person to interact with arc of the story. He notices that one of the locusts eats his wart off. He attempts to tell his mother about this but she is too busy and stressed to give this any focus. This is a recurrent theme in the film. Virginies inability to be a attentive parent. There is a definite but heavily masked feminine narrative running throughout. I just can't identify whether it's Feminist or sexist in nature nor can I distinguish how the locusts may interact with this element.

Viriginie asks for and is offered help by her deceased husbands brother and love interest Karim (which is interesting as for viriginie this relationship is presented as a guilty interaction even amoral where as Karim is presented as a giving, helpful and heroic supporting character throughout). He helps her both directly and indirectly. He gives her cash and pays off a duck farmer to buy some of her locust feed so she receives the full amount. She finds out about this and becomes overrun with rage. Lashing out at the duck farmer and continuing to destroy her small locust eco-farm. Female rage is a recurrent theme in the film as later we see this contrasted with her daughter, Laura, who destroys a locust holding. Interestingly both females do this as they feel cheated and lied too. However Laura has been cheated by her mother in a much more direct, unjust way. Whereas virginie doing the same is in reaction to being cared for. Both character operate this rage with a disregard for the locusts inhabiting these holdings.

Virginie for the majority of the film is lacking maternal figure and the director takes low-key opportunities to illuminate it I.e she constantly forget Gastons soccer schedule, she isn't present when he gets sent off to camp (you even hear the contrast of an off screen mother say "good bye lovely! Love you!) She promises moving to her daughter only to retract it. Virginie is presented as bad mother for the most part. Her persistent hard labour and relentless drive to keep the family above water is presented more as a need not to fail. An idea the film address within its dialogue "do you think I can do this?" Is a question that pops up continously from Virginie and is supported by her humiliation when she discovers she is being helped.

When Virginie destroys her locust pod she injures herself and hits her head. She awakes to find a countless locusts feeding on her open wounds. Visually this is presented in a very uncomfortable way. Not directly within the "horror" genre but instead to inspire disgust. We see the locusts close up chomping her wound. She awakes to panic and quickly bats them off. We are then presented with a close of her picking remnants of locust mouth parts out of her open wound.

There is a very important moment that follows. It communicates the catalyst for the plot. We see a close up of one the locusts that fed on Virginie. It is molting and has doubled in size. This stood out to me because this transformative locust state is so easily manipulated by the artistic lens. In the context of horror with all the trapping of triggering sound makes us view this with disgust. The same scene however could easily be given ambient noise and become more biophilic. After this molt virginie discovers this brood are thriving and have bred in excess of the numbers she needed.

Its from this first molt that the film begins to increase in pace. She realises the broods need blood. Her farm continues to expand and the tents containing long suspended bags begin to look an abatour.

Abatour-esque scenes

The locust chirping becomes an overwhelming continous screech that is in conjuction with Virginie depreciating mental state and further emotional neglect of her family. The locust blood sources escalate starting with bought live stock blood, a neighbours dog, the family pet goat and ultimately herself. She becomes more deluded, unstable and weak with every feed as she looses more and more blood. She is interestingly referred to in a insulting way as "Queen of the locust" and the "locust Queen" by one of Laura's school bullies. This felt deliberate as it relates to insect social structures, although not specifically Locusts. It's is a sentiment that mirrors her descent. She is the epicentre for there survival and much like a queen bee she automatically and quite literally sit centrally within there home. She becomes there prisoner.

Virginies descent

The Biblical narrative of locusts is often referenced within the film. Infact the destruction of the broods pods both female characters exhibit act as a punishment. When virginie destroys a brood hold she is superficially granted her wish. Although this is more old testament parable in nature. The treat is a trick, blood hungry locusts! Viriginie destroys the holding out of pride and greed its a sinful action for which she is punished. However when Laura does the same the outcome is much worse. The bloodsucking insects chase the family goat (which they eat and virginie discovers a mile away). The use of the goat is an interesting choice in this case, especially in the way in get sacrificed inadvertently to the locusts. Goats connote all the satanic and Biblical mystism to support this religious dynamic in the film. The goat is presented as an true innocent in the film however and a symbol of the family's togetherness. This seems to function as a warning for Viriginie. A test and failed recalibration of her parenting which is unfortunately temporary. Her son is grief stricken by the "lost" goat and she drives round with him trying to find it. She becomes more attentive and surprises both children with things they want. Gaston gets to go to football camp and Laura gets a moped. However she returns to her compulsive and tunnel visioned existence not long after. Her morality dissolves and she becomes broken.

The film concludes with Karim discovering a neighbours body in a brood tent. This happens after a terrified Laura calls for help and he becomes aware of the fragile and dangerous household dynamic. He instantly begins to set fire to the tents and a uncontrollable virginie emerges hysterical. The burning doesn't work. The Swarm consumes Karim and he dies a hero. The locusts pursue Laura and the mother sacrifices herself for her daughter, but survives.

There's ALOT in this film that hasn't been thoroughly address. At the center of "The Swarm," is the harm done by the agricultural industry and our limited food resources. Much like the 1950s atomic panic cinema boom (addressed in my previous posts) The Swarm sits on social anxiety and projects it onto insect populations. Virginie is the perfect vessel for human anxiety - desperate, unstable, weak and largely unlikeable. This was likely deliberate by Philippot as he remarks on the film

"The Swarm' is also political, not just a fantasy film or a genre film."

Overall the film is highly biophobic although very well presented. I enjoyed it but from the perspective of my research its terrible propaganda for insects. Philippot also presents women in a really shitty way whilst all the men are presented favourably. I'm Not sure what function this serves, perhaps an additional social anxiety or he's just bad at writing women.

[stellardeer]

been watching "You" lately because my roommate put it on, and I had avoided it previously because I'd heard some negative things about it from people on here (it's told from the perspective of a man stalking a woman in the beginning which made me uncomfortable at first but i kept watching anyway and got sucked in), I wouldn't recommend it to teenagers but the writing is really compelling and it's really good if you like shows that make you go 'WHAT is gonna happen next??'

(more opinion/possible spoilers under cut)

(cw: stalking, killing, [unrelated to show] sexual assault mention) The reason I say that it's not for teenagers is because the show does kind of normalize the stalking/murdering to a degree, to an extent that might put wrong ideas into the heads of younger people who are still learning and developing. And I use the word "normalize" instead of "romanticize" or "glorify" because the show does repeatedly remind you that none of the main character's actions are okay, the response from all of the other characters is negative, none of the characters are going "aww it's okay what you did because you did it for love :)", which I believe is where the line is crossed when writers intend to make a negative behavior seem good. When I say "normalize", I mean that they're giving his perspective on his actions through his inner monologue, and his attempts to explain everything away and make it rational definitely give off the idea of like "People who do bad things are damaged too and not necessarily the monsters we think they are" and maybe even a little bit of "what if i stalk and kill people as a coping mechanism?? :(" And that's maybe not an idea that we want to be putting into the heads of young, impressionable people. Not saying that adults can't be affected too, but I think that it's less likely to change the mind of an adult, unless someone already thinks that way in which case they might just feel validated.

THAT BEING SAID THOUGH, I'm recommending this show because I think the storytelling and directing is phenomenal from a purely technical standpoint, disregarding the content. If you like shows with crime/mystery or just any story that leaves you wanting more, then it's a good show for those reasons. I don't necessarily think that it is the responsibility of the entertainment industry to show us 100% wholesome content at all times, and if there are already adults out there who think like "what i'm doing is fine because i'm doing it for the right reasons", then I don't think that avoiding showing that perspective in fiction is going to reverse that thinking. It's true that it may make it harder for people to justify their own actions if they never feel validated by a piece of fiction, and if you believe that is the right way to handle media then I can't really argue with that and I understand why you wouldn't support a story like this. I'm not trying to say "We should be promoting this show on every billboard across the world!" I'm just 1 person recommending this to my few meager followers who might actually even read this post, who may or may not enjoy media that depicts crime/violence.

If you've read this far and you have decided that this piece of media is not for you, then I definitely understand that, especially if you're someone who has experienced interpersonal violence of that kind, it could be very triggering. The first episode opens with the main character/narrator meeting a woman and then immediately stalking her for what I think is several weeks? (timeline slightly unknown) And the first season ends (spoiler alert, skip to next paragraph to avoid) with him murdering that same woman in what could be considered a crime of passion. It's terrifying to watch as a woman/woman-adjacent person. It makes you feel like nothing and no one is safe. I felt the same way about 13 Reasons Why in the end when (also spoiler, but not for 'You') the character who committed multiple sexual assaults WENT TO TRIAL was NOT convicted despite being FOUND GUILTY, it was infuriating and triggering to me, so if you have had a stalker and don't think that you could watch a show in which a stalker/murderer basically gets away with it (altho i dont fully know since it isn't over yet), then I would not recommend this for you either!

NOW FINALLY ON TO WHY YOU MIGHT LIKE IT, contains minor spoilers about general content but no specifics This is not a show like Hannibal or Dexter, about a serial killer who can't stop himself (I haven't watched those shows so sorry if I'm wrong). It's a show about a quote-unquote seemingly "normal" guy who essentially accidentally let his life get a little out of control, but ends up repeating the same patterns every time he thinks that he's out of the woods. Which, who knows, maybe he IS just like Hannibal or Dexter, who probably also think that what they're doing is justified somehow. But in 'You' this character is not someone who seeks to harm people, he doesn't want to harm anyone, he usually doesn't even plan to harm someone it just happens in the moment but he doesn't know what to do about it after. His goal is not to harm, his goal is love, and he ends up harming people who get in his way of his love.

I will say that I was put off by the first couple episodes because this man is just obsessively watching this woman from afar and claiming it's because he wants to make sure she's worth it before trying to date her, and I kept watching because I'm like "surely this will end poorly for him. surely justice will be served", and after a couple episodes and the twists and turns that ensue, I'm like.. well it's not ending in justice necessarily but what the FUCK is happening I need to see where this will go.

And then things get worse and you think "Well surely NOW he will get caught and there will be consequences??"

And somehow there are still no consequences. And eventually you find yourself (I use general 'you' because my roommate agrees) not necessarily rooting for him, not in a sense of "Wow I hope you get what you want and every bad thing you did is justified and never discovered and you live happily ever after (:" but it's more like... "Please just stop doing bad things. Please this one time just walk away and don't do the wrong thing. You can still salvage this. It's not too late in this one instance. REALLY you should be turning yourself in for what you've done, but it's not too late to avoid doing more harm!"

Which, again, is where it may get kind of dangerous, since even I went from "Wow this guy is fucked, i hate him and anyone like him and they should all die" to "Okay I get that you're messed up, but can you just fucking stop?" Throughout the series I just keep turning to my roommate and basically reminding myself out loud "he killed people, wtf" The show doesn't really let you forget, either. Again, it's not like the writers of the show want you to forget what he did and forgive him and let him be happy, they repeatedly remind you that he has done unspeakable harms, and then just when you think it's over and the jig is up, he manages to make it out unscathed.

If you've seen Death Note, it's very similar to the way that's written. In Death Note, you get Light's inner monologue. You almost want to support him because he's convinced HIMSELF that what he's doing is right and hearing his perspective almost convinces YOU that he shouldn't be punished for what he's doing. Death Note is a little different because Light is trying to "save the world" whereas the MC of You is just trying to fall in love, so you might find it harder to sympathize. However, the storytelling is pretty much the same. And what happened to Light? Justice caught up with him. He got what he ultimately deserved, no matter how much you might have wanted to root for him. It's a little harder to root for the MC of 'You' because his end goal is not as "noble" as "ridding the world of evil" or whatever, but I think that's better. It's easier to hate and fear him, especially if you feel like it's something that could happen to anyone. It's something that could happen to you. Which is why I think they chose the name 'You' for the show. For that matter, the you could even be the main character. He just seems like a normal guy. He's just trying his best to survive and make meaningful connections like anyone else. This could be 'You', given the right(wrong) circumstances.

Anyway, I've written a whole lot, glad I put it under a cut, but if you've paid attention to my blog at all you'll probably know that I don't normally talk about media too often on my blog, I'm not too much into "fandoms" or ranting and raving about the stuff I like, so I feel like the fact that I feel compelled to tell other people "omg have you seen You?? can we please talk about wtf is happening in this show??" is honestly reason enough for me to recommend to others and say "it's good!"

But I felt like all these caveats were necessary! Because I do remember seeing a lot of negative reactions from Tumblr users when the show first came out due to the nature of the content and its presentation. If the story were told from the perspective of the women, it would be a horror story. In fact, it wouldn't even be a horror story until the very end when the love-interest finally discovers what's been going on. It would be more like a boring love story until you finally found out "omg he was stalking her? how disgusting!" But that's how it is in real life, too. Real life horror stories aren't always actually horrible until it's too late. You often don't see the atrocities coming when they're committed by someone who you know and trust. That's how the majority of traumas/tragedies go.

By telling it from the bad dude's perspective you get an interesting story, you see how scary it can really be, you see how easily someone's good intentions and average crime-free life can turn sour by a few poorly calculated emotionally-driven decisions. You see how the trauma is created from the actions of authority/parental figures. There is a repeated theme throughout the show of neglected children, and the the people that they can become when it goes unchecked. I feel like that biggest takeaway from the show is that every child should be shown love and kindness. Lest they grow up to be fucking serial killers.

[tankermottind]

Cooped Up, Well Armed, and Strung Out: Gun Culture’s Vision for American Society

We all know the drill now. Every time a mass shooting happens, the right immediately talk about how there are not enough guns. Not enough armed people. Let’s give the teachers guns! Let’s give the children guns! Liberal and leftist writers point out, correctly, that teachers and children will be poor performers in a combat situation and having them throw themselves at shooters to try to “contain” them will lead to the killers killing even more kids. That’s part of the point. They want kids to get killed fighting.

The right’s most cherished fantasy is that of the hero, the alienated but mighty übermensch who imposes his (always he, or else a “Strong Female Character” who behaves effectively as an angry straight man with a vagina, toxicity included) will on the lesser humans who are too weak for their lives to matter. His domination over the normies and collateral slaughter of them in his fight against the villain is a purifying, positive force (there is nothing more hated in this fantasy than the weak and dependent, even the villain is more respected than the extra). It is often directly violent, but not always--libertarianism, especially of the Ayn Rand school, is the heroic fantasy applied to economics, as I will explore in more detail later. The project of gun fondlers and hoplolators is to make this fantasy manifest in the real world by any means necessary.

Make no mistake, they are not telling the truth when they say they don’t ever want to have to use them. A situation where they feel justified whipping our their rifle and killing people is a situation that makes them important, superhuman, heroic. An armed society would be a “polite society” because it would give would-be Batmen and Punishers the “respect” (deference; the right deliberately conflate the deference owed to a superior to true respect between equals) they believe they deserve. The danger this poses to a democratic society, and anyone who doesn’t dream of being a space marine or superhero or Western gunslinger cannot be understated. It is the absolute antithesis of democracy. Instead of “nothing about us without us”, the heroes decide things for the weak, because they’re self-evidently superior. If the normies’ lives, feelings, and agency mattered, they would become heroes themselves. Of course, many of them would, in practice, have others risk themselves and die on their behalf, but the same is true for real-life armed conflict. Generals become “heroes” without directly participating in the violence, by appropriating the death, killing, and sacrifice of their underlings. Much like a general consumes the sacrifice of his soldiers and experiences it vicariously to burnish his heroism, so would “first responders” and gun nuts vicariously consume the suffering and death of gun-toting schoolchildren in a school shooting that went down their way. This might sound contradictory, but fucked-up ways of thinking like this always have contradictions embedded in them.

This fantasy, and the fact that it’s easily turned into a vicarious one where the protected leader feeds off the hardship sacrifice of the underlings and the sheeple, is just as easily applied to the market as to the battlefield. Ayn Rand made her entire writing career out of portraying heroic industrialists like Hank Rearden, the sanitized hero versions of charlatans like Steve Jobs who steal the labor and accomplishments of the people in the company who do all the actual work (or other companies entirely, like Xerox PARC, who basically invented the Macintosh ten years early) and get lauded as “visionaries”. One libertarian I spoke to framed his entire objection to socialism in terms of not allowing such a person to become a hero and be elevated over others. He could not conceive of a reason to accomplish or create anything except to acquire heroic power. But I digress; back to gun fetishism and why reactionaries might think dead kids are good.

Meet Col. Jeff Cooper (1920-2006), WWII Marine Corps officer, OG gun nut, stone-cold racist, and a current resident of the seventh circle of hell. A very large portion of the culture, knowledge, and practices of modern American gun culture comes directly from him. The firearms safety rules your local NRA chapter teaches are his. The popularity of large-caliber self-loading handguns among cops and gun nuts as opposed to smaller pistols or revolvers comes from him. And his idea, taken from US Marine Corps doctrine from the WWII era, of color-coded “Conditions” are effectively gun culture’s vision of how we, as ordinary Americans, should live (if you think taking your idea of how to live from guidelines given to soldiers fighting in WWII is perverse, it’s even worse than you think).

Most of us who aren’t gun nuts, PTSD sufferers, constantly threatened, or violent criminals live in what Cooper called “Condition White”. In Condition White, you’re at ease, comfortable around others, not particularly concerned about your immediate safety, and focused on the things or people you are interacting with over your general surroundings. If you’re in Condition White, dining at a restaurant, and somebody walks into the establishment, pulls out a gun, and starts shooting, you’ll probably either freeze, run away blindly, or curl up on the floor in a fetal position because you don’t have a response plan for what would happen if somebody walked into the room with guns blazing because why would you? Jeff Cooper thought you shouldn’t live like this. His ideological descendants, including the NRA and most Republican politicians, want to make it so you can’t live like this. They think it’s weak and pathetic, un-heroic, untermensch-like, to be unprepared for violence.

Instead, Cooper believed people should live in “Condition Yellow”, a state of heightened vigilance where you are constantly watching, at a low level, for potential threats and aware that you might have to escalate to “Condition Orange” (aware of and attempting to identify a present threat) or “Condition Red” (full-on deadly combat) at any time. Someone in Condition Yellow at the hypothetical restaurant has already identified points of entry, escape, and cover inside the restaurant, as if it were a war zone. Many black men and pretty much all women (especially WOC) live in what is essentially a variant of Condition Yellow, where they don’t consider going ham themselves but merely account for the possibility that someone else might. This is extremely stressful and taxing in the long run, and nearly every black woman alive will, if she trusts you, eventually tell you about their fear, suspicion, and anxiety about being out in public, especially at night or among men and/or white people. I have heard several such stories personally. Having to live this way sucks. In psychiatry, Condition Yellow is called hypervigilance and is the most important symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder. Again, Jeff Cooper believed that this was a good thing and that you should be this way all the time.

Gun fetishism isn’t just about guns, and it isn’t even just about racism, although racism is a major factor and Jeff Cooper was, as I previously said, hella racist (TW: incredibly crude racist language and defenses of slavery therein). It’s a total and totalizing vision for how we should organize and live our lives. In the vision of gun culture, life is a canvas for heroes and villains to act out their conflicts and make their mark on the world, and the rest of us are the red, bloody paint with which they paint their adventures. Everyone is on guard all the time, carrying a weapon, suspicious of others, watching for threats from every direction. “Be polite, be efficient, have a plan to kill everyone you meet” is, in this world, no joke, but the first and principal rule for living. Violence is inescapable, pervasive, always lurking in the background and ready to burst forward at a moment’s notice.

The survivors of school shooting are despised by reactionaries for failing to accept and internalize gun culture’s vision. America’s youth are not going to surrender their right to Condition White, to open and joyous living, and the followers and exponents of gun culture are not going to tolerate their defiance. For the more true-believer types, who have drunk most deeply of the Cooper Kool-Aid, the refusal to accept the “necessity” of Condition Yellow seems irrational, even insane, or the product of manipulation by nefarious elements who want to take away their guns and leave them helpless against foreigners, “thugs”, and other boogeymen. I’m not sure how many of the Sandy Hook and Marjory Stoneman Douglas truthers actually believe the conspiracy theories or just see it as a way to silence and discredit opposition to what they consider the restoration of Real America to its rightful supremacy, and in the end it doesn’t matter because either way the same tactics are used, the same trauma is inflicted on kids, parents, faculty, and staff who have already endured so much, and the same end is sought--the total reorganization of American society on heroic principles, an action movie revolution.

This is “freedom”. This is “rugged individualism”. This is “a polite society”. An atmosphere of dread, paranoia, and suspicion that’s too distant for you to immediately identify, but absolutely everywhere, slowly grinding you down until you become addicted to drugs and shoot up a school to vent your frustration, further feeding everyone else’s “Condition Yellow” and making them ever more anxious and untrusting. Everyone is armed, everyone is a potential threat, everyone is a hero, a villain, or one of the extras who gets slaughtered to show how awesome/terrifying the hero/villain is, and anything could happen at any time. Life as a Warhammer 40,000 novel or a post-apocalyptic video game. This is what they want. We are expendable extras in their heroic, fascist fantasies. In this inverted morality, kids throwing themselves at a shooter and being riddled with bullets is good because it gives their otherwise pitiful and worthless lives meaning, and true safety is abhorrent because any safety not guaranteed by counter-violence is weak and un-heroic. They want our schools to be war zones, because to them, war is the primary source of value and meaning. It is where men (women are not agents in this value system, but property, except for a few who may become honorary men) become heroes or villains, and the weak are destroyed.

“Above all, Fascism, in so far as it considers and observes the future and the development of humanity quite apart from political considerations of the moment, believes neither in the possibility nor the utility of perpetual peace. It thus repudiates the doctrine of Pacifism — born of a renunciation of struggle and an act of cowardice in the face of sacrifice. War alone brings up to its highest tension all human energy and puts the stamp of nobility upon the people who have the courage to meet it. All other trials are substitutes, which never really put a man in front of himself in the alternative of life and death.”

--Benito Mussolini, Doctrines of Fascism, 1919

This is the plan they have for us. Resist.

(edited 3/16/18, 14:40 CDT for typos)