#learned how to have an ounce of empathy

[haydenthewitch]

and also CAPATLISM IS B- (collective groan from the auduince) (intense booing) (a man shouting NO SHIT SERLOCK) (the click-clack of a bunch of womens sjoes standing up and walking away) (gunshot sound x3) (the sound of a cat being startled and running away)

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Burn

Yandere!Husband x gn!Reader

warnings: abuse, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of death, manipulative tendencies, gaslighting, murder, gore

©Copyright -2024-thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

It burns, so agonizingly much, that uncertainty about this whole ordeal crept up your spine and settled in your chest.

Was this the right thing to do? To flee? It echoed in the emptiness that took over your head. It was perplexing and uncomfortable. You shouldn't feel empathy for him. He was crazy, deranged! Gone, a maniac, a bastard—

But maybe he was innocent and you were running away from the ghosts hunting you.

He was all that was left of your family. You didn't want to do this, you wanted him with you, loving and sweet, but it seemed that fate had different plans for the two of you. It seems that fate didn't favour you.

He had wormed himself into your life—then into your sacred family bonds, destroying what was already fragile. The mask he wore was that of a kindred spirit that sought for love, yet you never knew better than to believe the artificially crafted facade.

Prior he was an orphan, abandoned by his mother at six, which admittedly tugged at your heartstrings, even more so after learning the horrible foster parents, which was followed by the straight up ignorant adoptive family that took him in only for prestige matters.

So it wasn't that you didn't understand his desire for family, and you were even happy for him! Glad he found love in yours, yet all your hopeful dreams of finally peace settling in had vanished the moment the first of your relatives cut you off. Then a second followed, a third, a fourth until even your mom shunned you, refusing to see you any longer. They absolutely adored your husband but hated your guts.

However he didn't seem to hold the same adoration for them, no, he didn't even possess an ounce of sympathy with them as he watched them turn to ashes Infront of his very own eyes, laughing, like the maniac he was.

“Love!” he would jump up and down you remembered, seemingly over the moon by your dad praising him or your sister gifting him something meaningless as a cookie.

After he had burned down everything holy to you, he had just slipped back into your shared bed, stinking horribly of that kind of smell that reached your nose every time you left your omelette too long on the stove.

You hadn't understood then, but you did now, that that smell was foreshadowing to the petrifying news that had reached you the next day.

Everything spiralled out of your control after that day. You were completely scattered, forgetful, permanently teary-eyed, clumsy and visibly distraught.

So it started with your inability to hold up your job, which made him offer you to stay at home, while he financed you both. He was so devilishly sweet, messaging your shoulders when you were completely stiff, guiding you through breakdowns, cooking for you, feeding you. You hadn't know how you got so lucky with him.

However things became odd quickly, your friends seemed to disappear one by one, their numbers blocked, deleted or erased from existence. You were unbelievably mad, was this because of your new miserable state—the friends that swore to go through thick and thin with you, leaving you in your most vulnerable times—how could they!

Although you were burning with anger, even that was quickly forgotten thanks to him. He was your absolute everything, your entire world and you were much obviously his. You two were a match made in heaven—or at least that's what you believed until that one phone call.

“Stacey?—”

“You have to get out of there! He isn't what he seems to be— your husband, he’s crazy! He threatened me! If I didn't stop being in contact with you then he would have also murdered me like he did with your family—” your heard your friend over the phone, voice unusually frail, breaths laboured with sniffling in the background.

Your heart leaped in your chest at the sound of her frantic claims, completely unbelievable and baffling, even if your trust for her had completely evaporated, uncertainty still poisoned you and infiltrated your mind like a sickness.

Nevertheless you did end the call before she could spew anymore nonsense, sealing her terrible fate, because unbeknownst to you, that was the last time she would ever talk to anyone.

Things didn't feel normal anymore after that, suspiciousness spread through you, gnawing at your already highly sensitive nerves, you instability just making you waver back and forth from completely denying the unapparent truth and panicking that perhaps it was true. She was your friend for years after all, what reason did she have to lie?

That was until you found Stacey’s childhood diary in his possession with dried splatter of blood decorating it—as if this wasn't terrifying enough what met you on the inside made you drop the book, completely mortified and stunned into silence.

Every entry that contained your name scribbled over with hearts, anything that had to do with you underlined, things that you liked circled in like a madman.

You were terrified to say the least—she was right, she was right and you didn't believe her.

Tears welled up in your eyes and before you knew it, your feet carried you out of your shared home, still in your PJ's with slippers adorning your feet.

Which leads to this moment in the present.

Unfortunately for you, he had knowingly bought a house with your inheritance, in the middle of nowhere. You were stumbling over twigs, leaves crushing beneath your weight and before you knew it, you were running.

Yet you did forget one crucial aspect—running didn't help when he could track you down with the GPS clipped under your skin so subtly you didn't even realise he had done so.

Bang.

Pain shot through your thigh, an excruciating amount, making you instantly stumble, before tumbling down, face first into the wet earth, crying out in pain.

Blood seeped out from where he shot you, painting the forest floor a warning crimson. You tried to crawl, you attempted to flee, but all was for nothing, no one and nothing could have tear you two apart, even if it was you.

Fingers roughly whipped your head back, scalp burning from the abuse.

“There you are, love.” he spat out, the familiar warmth gone replaced by an indefinite disdain.

“You saw it, huh? You learned about everything I did for you and that's how you thank me? By running away just cuz’ I committed some petty crimes?” he shook your head violently, before shoving your face into the mud. Before he ripped your head out of the earth, starting to fall into a pattern, repeating it over and over again till your vision faded with only his words ringing into your ears, as blood ran down your presumably broken nose, eyes swelling with unshed tears of a gruesome future that awaited you.

“You're weak. And dumb. But don't you worry, I will take care of you. I will love you, look after you, clean up each mess you make, be there to rock you back and forth when you have one of your meltdowns again. So don't worry your stupid little head about anything,

just trust me, love.”

[sunnie-angel]

Part 4: The Plan

part 3 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x f!reader

summary: one step back, one step forward in this dance with jason’s warring desires for intimacy and distance

tags: swearing, UST, light angst

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 2.7k

a/n: i’ve never experienced an american thanksgiving so all of my knowledge of it comes from pop culture. this is basically the last of my ‘set up’ chapters, so plot + relationship development is going to really hit their strides starting from here.

Jason is learning to live with the thousand pangs of guilt that go hand in hand with his determination to be your friend and only your friend. Guilt churns his stomach so often that it fades to just another background distraction. Every time you stiffen up when he pulls back, every time you try to catch your face before the disappointment can shine through, he sees it all. He should keep his distance, stop reeling you in close before drawing back unexpectedly, but he can’t quite manage it.

A more recent encounter is still seared into his brain. It plays behind his eyelids as he swims laps around the pool with Rei.

The two of you had been heading to the dinner two blocks off of campus after Duvall’s class, the fiery light of the sunset colouring the worn paths across the quad. Class had been predictably… painful. Reading it for his own purposes or for a group of students to discuss, Frankenstein has always struck a raw nerve. I am thy creature and I will be even mild and docile to my natural lord and king, if thou wilt also perform thy part, which thou owest me. Seen and made raw by a woman and her monster years in the past, and isn’t that just the rub? The world spins, new generations live and die and live again to be just as disappointing to the men that created them. Jason’s heart had ached behind his sternum and even the usual balm of your chatter had taunted him with everything he denies himself. He’d made all the right noises, kept his head down and hands jammed into his pockets as the two of you had finally made it to the diner.

“God I almost lost it when what’s-his-name in business started talking.” You’d snorted as you’d opened up your menu, plastic pages clinging together. “Like is it really so hard to have an ounce of empathy? We should start a list of worst takes because that had to be a top five. Jay?” Jason must not have been playing his part well enough because now you’re looking at him, too silent, too caught up on the long stale nickname. “What are you thinking Jay, because I’m thinking pancakes for dinner.” All he could think of is the one and only Dick took him out for pancakes. Begrudgingly. And how it had ended with Dick storming out, suddenly excited about hanging out with the Titans, only to come back disappointed when he had realized he was Jason’s only ride.

“Don’t.” It had come out low and mean, lobbed through gritted teeth like something hot and vicious. Jason had watched it hit you, the way you’d leaned back from the table and hunched your shoulders closer. “Just don’t call me that, yeah?” It had taken concentrated effort on his part to breathe, mimic loosening the tension in his body, to look smaller and non-threatening.

“Oh. Okay, Jason.” Silence had stretched out between the two of you, an almost tangible distance. The words to explain, to apologize and smooth things over had stuck in his throat. The fading light had caught your face for a moment, your face crumpling in hurt before shuttering closed. Your blank face was burned into his mind’s eye just as clearly as all the ways he had not repaired things between you.

Jason surfaces, water sluicing off of his shoulders, before going back under for another stroke. His body takes over the pattern of striking and breathing while his mind returns to the diner. There’s a small animal part at the back of his mind that’s wary of the water. Keeps a small part of him on the look out for any tinges of green to the liquid in the irrational fear that he might also come out of this body of water changed. Actually taking Rei up on his offer to go swimming was in some ways a punishment for Jason, adrenaline thrumming through his veins until his muscles flagged from exhaustion.

Rei is waiting for him at the entrance to the gym, water bottle half empty and lid still unscrewed. His glasses keep sliding down his still damp face but he grins at Jason anyway.

“You sure you’re not looking for a spot on the swim team? Because I’m sure the team captain would get the coaches to make an exception for you.”

Re-shouldering his duffel, Jason asks, “Now why would he do that?”

“I’d do it because I want one last trophy for the relay team.” Rei says wryly.

“No shit?”

“Yeah, I don’t really advertise it because I’ve been doing it for so long that I keep forgetting new people don’t already know I swim. But if you want a spot you’re in. You lapped me like what, four times?”

“Five,” Jason says sheepishly. “Not much of a team player, so I’m gonna have to turn you down.”

“Fair enough,” Rei shrugs. “But I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. You probably dodged a bullet though, the coaches are hard asses about not drinking before meets.”

“Yeah, speakin’ of drinkin’, what the hell was in those drinks you made the first night.”

Rei laughs and the conversation takes a more lighthearted turn as they head across campus to the student union. It doesn’t take much to keep the conversation going so Jason has time to turn over Rei’s invitation over in his head. Jason would never have been able to accept — spackling over his extensive scarring for even just today had been a pain — but it had given him hope that maybe even after all his mishaps with you, that he might still be achieving ‘normal’.

Wednesday comes by and Jason makes up his mind to show up the weekly study session. With the Thanksgiving weekend coming up he’s got less work than ever but an even stronger desire not to be alone. Campus has emptied out in anticipation of the long weekend, the student union almost echoingly empty. Lina and Rei are already taking up a bench, sickeningly affectionate and dodging the balled up paper scraps Danika is tossing at them. You sit next to her, rolling your eyes at her antics then egging her on whenever Lina swoops in to leave another lipstick stain on Rei’s cheeks. He hesitates before committing to the seat at the end of the table nearest to you. The fresh loukoumades burning a hole in his bag will have to be shield and apology enough.

He’s nearly there, three feet out from his target, when the sound of a chair getting angrily out of the way diverts his attention. Will is dragging his bike through the field of chairs, cursing up a storm that has even Jason with all of his years in Gotham taken aback. Quite possibly its the most words Jason’s heard Will say out loud in the scarce months he’s known the man. The incongruity of the scene with who Will generally is as a person sends most of table into nervous half laughter.

“Will? Will what’s wrong? The biking parking finally full or something?” You ask, disbelieving.

“What the fuck does it look like?” He snarls, before throwing the bike to the ground in frustration.

“Hey—“

“Will, what happened?” Lina cuts Jason off, uncurling herself from around Rei and leaning forward. Her eyes are wide and searching, and in Jason’s opinion, not suspicious enough for the uncharacteristic rage on Will’s face.

“Some motherfucking cock sucking moron nearly ran me off the sidewalk in their piece of shit gas guzzler. That’s what happened.” He goes to throw himself into the seat next to you but Jason beats him to it, larger frame boxing him out. Throwing Jason an annoyed glance, Will slouches into the only seat left. He brandishes his coat clad arm in front of Lina and Rei, still thrumming with pent up energy.

“Look what they did!” He exclaims.

“I don’t think any of the bandaids in my bag are big enough for that scrape.” Rei says regretfully.

“What— never mind the scrape, look what they did to my coat!” He pulls the fabric tight across his wrist, shoving it under their noses. Rei and Lina give each other confused looks over Will’s head.

“There’s a lose thread?” Questions Danika.

“Yes! Thank you, yes! That idiotic jackass made me scrape up my Loro Piana jacket, do you know how much this costs?!”

“So,” Danika interjects, “won’t your family just buy you a new one and write this off for taxes or something?”

“That’s not— okay that piece of shit not only destroyed my jacket and put my life at risk but he’s also polluting with his mid-life crisis pollutant puker. You know there’s a reason Gotham ranks worst in pollution for cities in New Jersey? It’s thanks to people like that who don’t care that their cars are leaking oil and going knocking people — who are just trying to be nice to the environment — off of their bikes when they were just minding their own—“

“Report it to the police or campus security then.” Jason interrupts, before Will can get into the rant he’s building up steam for. “You got close enough to see the oil leaking, you probably saw the license plate too.” Jason pulls the loukoumades out of his bag and slides them over to you, keeping eye contact with Will the whole while. Will breaks eye contact first, pulling his perfectly intact black wool coat tighter around him before shoving his hands deep in the pockets. You’ve cracked open the container and let out a hum of delight. Will’s eyes dart to the table.

“Didn’t get it. How was I supposed to know that one minute I’d be riding along, and then the next I’d be traumatized for life by some inconsiderate brute?” He sulks. And oh, yeah, not everyone had grown up with B and all of his lessons on paying attention to your environment for evidence.

“Yeah, speaking of trauma, who’s got plans for thanksgiving yet?” Danika asks, mirth and humour her weapon against the atmosphere.

A sharp elbow knocks once into Jason’s ribs. He turns to look down at you, hoping your bid for attention won’t turn out to be disappointing. You meet his gaze with cheeks stuffed full of fried dough and honeyed syrup, eyes narrowed and considering.

“They’re not pancakes, but I thought you’d like ‘em anyway.” Jason says.

You swallow, before beginning to speak in a low voice, letting the flow of conversation continue around the two of you undisturbed. “If this is an apology, there better be more from where that came from.” Your small lopsided smile is sincere, but it doesn’t quite erase the image of your blank face from the dinner from his memory. Nodding, he goes to pull out the second Tupperware container that he’d had the foresight to prepare and you begin to lick the leftover syrup from your fingers. Jason’s vision narrows down to your thumb and forefinger, glistening in the fluorescent lights. He could swear his heart skips a beat when your pink tongue flicks out, his breathing certifiably irregular when you start to suck on your fingers. The image of your lips shiny from syrup will probably be engraved on his second headstone as the cause of death.

“—son, Jason.” Danika’s voice, high pitched and insistent, breaks the moment. He’d be embarrassed at tuning out his situational awareness if he wasn’t also scrambling to answer her half-heard question.

“No plans for me. My family and I aren’t really in a ‘gatherings and gratitude’ place right now.”

“Whoops, we’ll add your family to the off-limits list. What do you usually do then?”

Your phone starts buzzing, and you swear under your breath as you navigate sticky fingers and tight jean pockets.

“I just make a fancier meal than normal, watch the parade on the tv. Not much to it.” He replies off-handedly. He doesn’t mention the extra patrols he’ll do, in anticipation of one of the Rogues deciding to make a splash across holiday headlines.

“Sorry, I’ve got to answer this.” And already you’re trying to climb over Jason to get out from the booth and away from the table. It brings your face closer to his than it’s ever been and Jason would be trying to pin a name to the exact shade of your eyes if it wasn’t for the worry on your face. The nearly empty building means that you don’t wander far from the group. You pace as you listen to whoever is on the phone and play with the charm on your necklace. Will catches on to Jason’s line of sight and rolls his eyes, still sulking in his chair.

“So there’s a whole list, yeah? Things you don’t talk about?” Jason asks, trying to distract himself.

“Oh I wouldn’t call it anything so official.” Lina dismisses.

“No but we totally should!” Fires back Danika. “It would make things sooo much less awkward if Jason knew not to bring up just how much money Will’s rolling in, or the fact that Rei hates talking about the team right before a swim meet, or that when she,” and here Danika lowers her voice and nods in your direction, “plays with her necklace on a phone call fifty bucks says it’s someone from her family.”

“Got it, no askin’ her about the secret phone calls.” Jason says with a tight smile.

“Oh it’s nothing super secret.” Danika leans back into the corner and waves a lazy hand. “Just that most of them were dead set against her doing English instead of some ‘useful degree’ like pre-med or engineering. Don’t know why though, I don’t think’ I’ve ever met anyone that hates calculus more.”

But Jason, Jason thinks he does know why. Puts together the little pieces of your past you’d entrusted to his scarred hands and looks to the shared weft of your past. Looks at a girl whose family had scraped and fought to make a life untouched by poverty in a city that doesn’t easily forgive, and knows that it took luck and bone wearying effort to make it out of the Alley’s clutches. He looks at the girl who is used to being told her opinions don’t matter and yet believing in them anyway, who has put together a path leading right to her dreams even if the detours take her back to the place her family was happy to leave behind. Jason looks around the table at these fresh faced kids in their $6000 jackets and knows that none of them understand the constant, cavernous fear that all of the little luxuries they take for granted will suddenly disappear like morning fog. Jason knows the kind of courage it takes to push past that dogged fear and refuse the path your family pushes you down in order to achieve loftier goals.

The conversation has moved past him now, wrapped in his reverie. Rei and Danika have devolved into the kind of hardline negotiation Jason would have expected to see between seasoned lawyers rather than undergrads.

“C’mon Danika, I know you want a Pinterest worthy friends-giving but it’s just not going to work out this year.” Rei chides. “There’s just no time that’s gonna work for all of us.”

“Yes but it’s our last year when we’re all for sure going to be in the same place for the holiday weekend!”

“Look, we should all be free the Friday after the long weekend. We’ll do another night out, me and Lina will host the pre, and it’ll be our version of friends-giving. I’ll even make turkey themed cocktails if you want.”

“Gross! Fine, fine.” Danika most definitely does not whine. “But make them pumpkin pie themed cocktails instead.”

Jason’s got half an ear on the conversation, but continues to study you as long as his input isn’t needed. You sigh and seem to deflate as your call ends.

“So boys, are you ready to see the damage Rei can do when he’s got his full bar cart with him?” Lina asks, coy as anything. “I’m sure he’ll be able to make something that will even get you dancing, Jason.”

You shuffle around Jason, trying to squirm back into your bench seat. For a brief moment, your thighs bracket his.

“If that’s the plan,” Jason breathes out shakily.

Part 5

[notmorbid]

even as we breathe.

dialogue prompts from even as we breathe: a novel by annette saunooke clapsaddle.

my plan didn't quite work the way i thought it would.

you sure have a way with words.

should i be afraid?

empathy is fossilized in our bones.

if you keep your mouth shut and your ears open, you might just learn a thing or two.

there's rumors about this place, you know.

sometimes i poke fun when i'm on edge.

i want to be respected, not respectable.

just ignore me. heck, everyone else does.

have you ever felt like everybody was staring at you?

your demeanor is distinctly unwelcoming.

humility has its place.

don't do anything to get yourself fired.

nothing scary about nothingness. it's the something you should be afraid of.

you didn't play games going up?

i never feel like people are telling me the whole truth.

everyone has their own take, their own theory.

biblical references aren't exactly my forte.

but how will i know when i'm done?

you don't need to lie to make me feel better.

it's just how i was raised.

tell me about your family.

i'm surprised you don't already know all my business. everybody else sure does.

you speak of the dead so easily.

thought i might have to wake you for dinner.

is this your hiding place?

i'm not scared. i'm mad.

you make odysseus look like a joyrider.

not all love is made of equal parts.

what's wrong with you today?

everything okay back home?

it's not forever. just try to remember that.

just trying to stay out of trouble.

you can't prepare yourself for things like this.

you knew and you didn't tell me.

it's too early in the morning for ghost stories.

you were always my soft place to land.

i need you to see me.

i thought i was protecting you.

i do care about you. you're my best friend.

something about war buddies ties people together forever.

there's always at least an ounce of truth in storytelling.

sometimes i think you've seen more than you've told me.

i can't imagine leaving without you.

you truly can be such a raincloud.

i got used to it. i didn't know anything else.

i don't mean to lay a bunch of heavy stuff on you.

sometimes the answers are not the ones you want to hear.

sometimes you have to decide if you want truth or peace.

i can't believe we're having a conversation about this.

what's happening to me?

i'm not sure i'd be able to teach you, but i can try.

i don't mind listening. listening is easy.

i'm sure you'll find the right home, in the end.

sometimes not knowing your own story is the most damaging thing of all.

i once had to be quiet to survive.

i thought i told you i didn't want to see you again.

you sure can't catch a break, can you?

i never knew how to ask.

you're too mean to let anything keep you down for too long.

nobody deserves to die alone.

you've used me up.

do you think i love ____ more than i love you?

i do love you. i always will. but we have to accept the hands we're dealt.

when i was young, i wanted nothing more than to get as far away from here as i could get.

[ahqkas]

Hiii!!! Can you please write some period comfort for Charles Smith?? My cramps are horrible and I currently have an obsession with him😭

THE NATURE OF COMFORT ; charles smith

RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2 MASTERLIST!

CHARLES NOTICED THE SUBTLE SIGNS BEFORE YOU EVEN SAID A WORD — the way you moved a bit more slowly, the slight wince you tried to hide. Without needing to be asked, he instinctively knew you were in pain and in instant, he was ready to offer you comfort.

“Come here, love,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with concern. He guided you to a comfortable spot by the fire, making sure you weren’t hurting any more. He then prepared a hot water bottle, knowing the warmth would help ease your cramps, and gently placed it on your abdomen. The women of the camp taught him the little trick.

Charles had a knack for understanding what you needed without you having to announce it. He brewed you a cup of herbal tea, a blend he had learned from his knowledge of natural remedies, designed to soothe and relax. Handing it to you, he sat down beside your form, his presence steady and reassuring.

“Drink this,” he said gently, his eyes full of empathy at your pain. “It’ll help with the pain.”

He stayed close, offering his warmth. His large, calloused hands moved with gentleness as he massaged your lower back, his fingers finding the tight spots and working to ease the tension. His touch was soothing, and he took his time, ensuring you felt every ounce of his care and attention he’d gratefully provide for you.

He’d also take over any tasks that might be too strenuous for you, ensuring you didn’t have to worry about anything. Whether it was taking care of the horses, fetching water, or any other chore, Charles handled it all, giving you the space and time to rest and regain strength.

When he cared, he cared deeply and made sure to show you just how much he did.

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

[eve-was-framed]

okay this is gonna be a bit of a long rant (with some SA and CSA mentions so pls don’t read if that will be too much for you rn) but I’ve been thinking a lot about the “male loneliness epidemic” lately and I have some Thoughts ™

we live in very isolating, depressing and scary times. we live in a hyper-individualistic capitalist hellscape that seems to punish people who need community support. and I truly believe that we as humans should try to help each other out in the ways that we are able to.

but I lose 100% of my empathy for lonely depressed men when they start using their own personal issues as an excuse to peddle ideologies that advocate for rape, pedophilia, child marriage, sexual slavery, and even murder of women and girls. I don’t fucking care how sad you are, if you advocate for other humans beings to be subjected to the cruelest treatment possible then you either need to get serious help or die (and not take anyone with you when you do).

you do not have a fucking paramount on suffering. you are not the only ones who experience loneliness. I know you think women get to just pick and choose whichever romantic partner/friends we want, but that is false, and also being seen as nothing but a sex object by men is so incredibly isolating too. that’s not real love and connection, that’s only being valued for what we can provide for men. so many people feel so alone and it genuinely is a big problem.

I was raised in an extremely misogynistic cult that preaches that grown men are not responsible for anything they do to little girls bc “they’re wired that way.” I had very bad things happen to me before I was even old enough to realize what it meant. and you know what the excuse always is? “well it happened to him when he was younger too so he can’t help that he does it to you.” I learned very early that male suffering is viewed as more important than the suffering they inflict on innocent people. and despite going through this, despite seeing nearly every woman in my life go through something similar, despite all of this, I still would never ever sympathize with any ideology that preaches rape, slavery, sex trafficking, pedophilia, white supremacy, etc. and that doesn’t make me some super hero, it makes me a mildly normal person.

so no, nobody “pushed” you into your evil ideologies, nobody made you do that. if true suffering at the hands of the opposite sex is really the root cause of inceldom then almost every single woman I know would be the most insane incel you’d ever meet in your entire life. but they’re not, even though many of them are lonely and long for true companionship, none of them feel so angry and entitled to it that they want to murder and rape men or little boys. not a single one. the root cause of inceldom is, and always has been, male entitlement. men who were raised to believe the world and every woman in it exists to serve them in some way, but then grew up and realized that actually nobody is owed sex and you don’t get to force women to marry you and have kids, because we are human beings who deserve to be happy too. and this makes them so mad that they start thinking it’s okay to do whatever they want to whoever they want, because after all, nobody on planet earth could ever suffer as much as incels do when a woman tells them no.

I’m fucking sick of it. stop saying “they pushed me to this” and start taking even an ounce of accountability for your deranged, entitled mindset.

[orchidbreezefc]

edgar woe.begone: low empathy, high masking

THESIS: my reading of edgar woe.begone is that he's a low empathy autistic who has no innate intuition for social cues and has had to teach himself everything about social interaction from scratch, which is an interpretation that i think explains a lot about him.

now, i am very critical of edgar as a person. i think he's a less than good person and a bad boyfriend. but let me be VERY clear right off the bat: these symptoms don't make anyone a bad person. these symptoms aren't even bad per se. theyre all disabling symptoms that make social interaction more difficult for the person who has them. like any symptom, they have to be managed and compensated for.

some people under the neurodivergent/mentally ill umbrella, as with any group of people, are bad people. being a bad person flavors one's approach to their mental illness, and mental illness in turn flavors the manner in which they're a bad person. the mental illness isn't what makes you bad, but it does affect how your shittiness manifests.

disclaimers done, a good place to start is the way edgar speaks, especially with jeremy's performance. edgar always sounds very reasonable, approachable, and agreeable, and there is never an ounce of genuine emotion in his voice. he talks like an autistic person with zero innate intuition for social interaction who has taught himself to speak in the way that he's learned will get the best response.

edgar's customer service voice is the only one we hear and likely the only one he uses if he can help it. we know edgar's a tactician, a persuader. why use any other voice than the one he's carefully fine-tuned to make people like him and be receptive to what he's saying? this isn't even necessarily cynical: what do you want him to do, talk in a more uncontrolled, emotional way--that he's not used to managing--that will make people like him less?? what good would that do?

edgar likes control. he's more comfortable when things are in his hands, and only his. propagation definitely factors in here--if [link: my theory] that propagation is what solidified the certainty of edgar's death is true, it's no wonder he wants to control and limit the spread of information. edgar prefers to be in charge of making the plans, ideally alone.

this is part of why mike is perpetually out of the loop, even regarding decisions that concern him--which is pretty damn paternalistic. but there's a more wholesome aspect as well: edgar genuinely thinks he's doing mike a favor.

edgar knows mike has undergone and is undergoing a lot, and that he's terrible with plans and a major blabbermouth. if edgar can take care of a problem without mike having to worry his pretty head and perfect eyebrows about what to do, without knowing it ever existed, isn't that so much better? that's edgar being a good boyfriend, actually. he's helping!

it probably doesn't even occur to edgar how much this limits mike's agency, how much it hurts mike that edgar refuses to let him in, how this puts them on unequal footing, how fucking patronizing it is to not let your boyfriend make his own decisions about his own life. oh, how the tables have tabled since him originally telling mike that keeping the story of woe.begone from him didn't protect him, it impeded his ability to make informed choices.

here's where the low empathy creates problems--edgar doesn't have that innate intuition for how mike's feeling, and he doesn't (effectively) manage or compensate for it, and he definitely doesn't communicate with mike enough to know how he's affected by this shit (avoiding too much information sharing is good, remember?)

and mike certainly isn't going to tell him! mike is a goddamn simp. he's not going to establish boundaries. he's not going to put his foot down and demand better treatment. as if he fucking deserves that in the first place, pshaw. the only time he pushes back is in season 10 when he doesn't remember their relationship, and edgar is deeply shaken.

edgar is devastated to learn he hurt mikey, because he does genuinely adore that man. he would get lasso lessons from michael and rope him the moon if he could. his low empathy and efforts to manage everything himself keep him from realizing that mikey, a hyperempathetic mess who gets sentimental about pens, seriously suffers from being shut out like this.

edgar's thought process must be equally inscrutable to mikey, who just figures it would be asking too much to be an active and equal participant in his own relationship and life. edgar's perfect and great, so if mikey deserved that, he would already be giving it to him. if mikey's unhappy with any part of their relationship, no he isn't. he's lucky he has edgar at all. he's lucky he has anyone.

recall michael's agonized admission that "everything is about rugby, dammit" 10(++++) years and edgar's literal death later. we can only guess at how bad his rugby was, but we do know michael never talked it through with edgar. he tells mike this was him 'letting it go' actually, when the fact that theyre having this conversation at all is proof that he extremely hasn't. this is what 'letting it go' looks like to michael: burying an issue forever and giving up on ever getting closure.

so yes, edgar does authentically deeply love his mikey-bear. unfortunately, if you never establish the communication to bridge the differences between your own methods of operating and that of your partner, love will only get you so far. and the first time around, where it got them was michael fighting back tears in an apartment in latvia over a wound from edgar that he suffered in silence until the day he died.

[themisinformer]

Opinion: If Homosexuality Isn’t Contagious, Then How Come I Get Homosexual Thoughts Whenever I’m Around My Gay Cousin?

Nowadays, we live in an age where the LGBT agenda is being shoved down everyone’s throats. Back when I was a kid, there was no such thing as “bisexual” or “transgender” or whatever, we were all just proud Americans. But now that we gave this LGBT Mafia of sorts a little bit of power, they want to use it so they can brainwash us all into becoming gay ourselves so they can take over the world.

Now, many of you guys may think I’m being extreme when I say this. Many of you have probably already written me off as some crazy “conspiracy theorist.” But my friends, I’m not just talking out of my ass right now. What I’m saying comes from my own personal experience.

My whole life, I’ve been nothing but a full blooded heterosexual man. Not once in my whole life did I have even have an ounce of homosexual tendencies. I was just your average American man who loved Monday Night Football, wings, and beer. That was until my cousin Danny came out as gay a few years ago.

Then, all of a sudden, I began to experience some “complicated” thoughts, so to speak. Danny was cool, funny, charming… He was Denny, and I just couldn’t get enough of him. These thoughts quickly turned sexual, and at that moment I just knew that Danny had had this planned up his sleeve this whole time.

You see, Danny had been infected with the gay, and there he was trying to infect me too. Like I said, as a part of the homosexual plot to take over the whole world. Whenever I try to explain this to people, they always just shut me down. My friends, my therapist, even Danny himself have all tried to assure me that you can’t just “catch” the gay like you might catch a cold.

But if that were the case, then how come I feel sudden urges to go vintage shopping and to discuss Beyoncé’s “Lemonade” only whenever Denny is around? It just goes to show how many people the LGBT Mafia have already brainwashed.

Before Danny came out, I was just a regular, straightforward guy. I used to do manly shit like watch Football and argue with people on Twitter about Donald Trump and Elon Musk. But now I see myself obsessing over pop divas and doing DIY projects. So why, I ask, have these thoughts crept in only after Danny became “openly” gay?

Maybe the LGBT Mafia really does have these powers that us straight folk are only beginning to understand. Ever since Danny became openly gay, I find myself more interested in exploring my “soft side.” Coincidence? I think not. He may say that he just wants to be himself, but every time he offers me a face mask or suggests that we go to the karaoke bar together, I can’t help but feel like I’m being gently lured into his flamboyant way of life.

But hey, maybe I’m just overthinking things. Maybe these feelings truly are harmless. Maybe this is just some friendly empathy that I’m feeling, or maybe Danny’s enthusiasm is inspiring my own self reflection. Or… Maybe not.

And so, I still remain deeply suspicious. So if homosexuality really isn’t contagious, then why, oh why, does every brunch place suddenly sound so appealing to me now? Why do I want to try Kombucha and actually learn how to dance? Danny may say that it’s just me being “open minded,” but open minded or not, I just can’t help but wonder if maybe… Just maybe… This contagion theory is more true than anyone is willing to admit.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Ah, this one hurts, but angst is what I live for!

Okay so bear with me here( ᐛ )☞ The way I imagine things, Ororo is the kind of person who would go into shock/numb when she and the others all learn the kids are dead, when they see what happened to them, there wasn't anything they could've done to save them, but that doesn't mean anything, their kids are gone, and nothing can be done or said that would fix this.

Her actions are just as deliberate and violent as everyone else, but emotionally, she's held down by the crushing weight of her guilt, and when they all find out that reader was hers? It hits her like a sledgehammer, she didn't see it coming at all. How had she been so stupid? reading the notes reader left behind doesn't do her any better, and over all it just makes her more determined to protect the kids they have left, she doesn't want to lose them too, she can't.

GOSH, almost done with all seven, do you have any ideas for Raven?

🐑 Anon

That is how Storm would feel, 🐑 Anon, I agree.

She wasn't a stranger to loss.

She knew what death was. She knew what it was like to love someone and to be torn from them. She might have lost one family in her youth, but she gained another with the X-Men. They were hers, and she was theirs.

It seems fate had decided to take from them again.

Losing them... it was hard.

The numbness that spread from her heart to her mind... the tears that never seemed to dry... The pain that bled her heart and stained their hands... It never ceased.

Finding out that Reader was her own child...

That only sent her emotions further out of control.

When she and the others sought their justice, their revenge, the skies were filled with thunder and snow. The winds howled and the frozen flakes coated everything in sharp, thick layers of ice. Getting rid of the pests who'd taken from them, from her, was swift. Subzero winds and frostbite, freezing soldiers solid. Bolts of lighting striking down those who ran. The wind knocking over all who moved, ice bursting up to impale them...

It was a mere ounce of the pain they all felt. The pain she felt.

What's worse is the ones who took them try to defend their actions, calling it an act of science...

It was no act of science. It was an act of hatred, of greed, of pure corruption and foolishness. They took their life, their blood... It was only fair their's was taken in turn...

By the time it is done, they have all reached a conclusion, one that took them too long to come to. And while she is not happy that it has come to it...

It is the only choice they have left.

She lost a child. Reader was hers. It wasn't known to her or to them. And they would never know. She lost three other children that day as well. Kurt, a sweet, blue child, akin to a soft cloud on a bright day... Kitty, sarcastic and witty and warm, like sunshine... Pietro, quick and clever and Evan's best friend, a cool breeze in the heat of summer... and Reader... her own child... Her Evan's cousin... Her team's friend, sibling, child... A rainbow of love and empathy for them, a promise of warmth and care...

They were gone, all of them...

And they weren't coming back.

She did her best, trying to keep her emotions in check. Some days, she managed, and the weather stayed its course. Other days, she wasn't able able keep it in, and the weather turned harsh, wailing, Nature's own cry against her loss...

In the end, she did what she could to help their remaining kids. Raising them, keeping them safe, helping hone their skills and knowledge, so should anything happen, they would make it... Sometimes she finds herself comforting them, holding them tightly and drying their tears... Other times she is the one comforted, the other adults offering any peace or comfort they can to soothe her...

It is not perfect, what they have.

But it is the best they can do.

As long as no one else suffers what they have... suffers what their kids did... what hers did... Then they've done something right, regardless of what they've done to achieve it.

(For Mystique... she'd be going through it. She has three kids. She lost two. She's a shape-shifter, and Reader was an animal one to boot. She was able to reconnect with her other two children. Yet Kurt was taken, and so was Reader... Reader would never know how similar they truly were... How they were blood, they were mother and child... That two of their friends were their siblings... She'd be having a further breakdown, I think...)

[epickiya722]

I don't have a complete opinion about 423 because one, it ain't really out yet. And also, I'm waiting for the whole story to be finished, you never really know what Horikoshi would do.

With that said...

It's wild to me how switched up this fandom is when it comes to Izuku.

Sometimes, y'all hate it when he shows even an ounce of empathy or sympathy for a villain and now that he states that he won't forgive Tomura, keep that name in mind now, it's a problem?

For one, Izuku is still a child. A lot of his decisions are influenced by the adults around him so all the blame can't fully be placed on him.

Second, why forgive Tomura Shigaraki, let alone save him? Tomura Shigaraki was the monster that All For One forged. Tomura Shigaraki was the creation that the LOV knew. Tomura Shigaraki wasn't Tenko Shimura.

That's who needed saving.

Here's the thing, and this is just me, Tomura put to rest meant All For One being put to rest. Tomura getting this end, if it really is the end for him, seemed fitting to me somewhat because how would it be fair for Tenko if the warped version that All For One groomed got to live on?

I noticed that even after the reveal of knowing Tomura's real name, he wasn't really referred to as such. He wasn't referred to as Tenko Shimura.

Izuku is still a child who could only do so much, but in the end All For One did too much damage. Tenko was long gone the moment he killed his family by accident and even when there were chances to save him, AFO got in the way.

The thing is the fandom hates it when Izuku does too much but also hates it when he does so little. With Tomura, it was never going to be enough.

Tomura was just a monster to AFO's Frankenstein. He was just some false image created by AFO's own benefit. Tomura Shigaraki wasn't the real persona Tenko would have been.

I don't blame Izuku for not saving Tomura or forgiving him. Tomura, again, was monster. He did hurt the people Izuku cares about. He did everything AFO wanted him to do. None of those things was something Tenko Shimura wanted to do.

Tomura Shigaraki, with AFO gone, would have survived, he wouldn't have a place in the world. Again, he was created with a purpose to fulfill what AFO wanted. Even if he got the villains by his side, it still wouldn't mean he would be complete. Let alone meant Tenko got to live how he wanted.

For Izuku, this doesn't mean it's an overall victory for him. He will have to go on with this as a failure. He might feel guilt over this because Tenko is the person who should have gotten the happy life. Even saving Tenko, it would take time for him to find a place because his family is gone and with the villains? They only knew Tomura.

That's all I really have to say about this and I don't care who disagrees. I just feel it wouldn't have been right for a figment AFO created to still be around when he would be so lost. This wouldn't have been a total happy ending.

While there is success, failures are also just as important. Izuku's journey as a hero really only started and this is a failure he's going to have to learn from.

[brothermoth]

the left wing of the ostrich

You know what? This is the fault of young people being so fucking stupid and unable to educate themselves with the vast fucking resources they have available. I don't give a shit how good or bad your formal schooling was. The internet is free and you can learn these skills entirely on your own by simply not being a goddamn reactionary fool.

You're not a fucking anarcho-communist or a Marxist leninist feminist or whatever the fuck y'all are spouting now. You're an uneducated shitheel who thinks calling yourself the most left sounding thing is going to make you better. You've never read Marx or Engles and I doubt half of you even understand the theory you claim to follow.

I'm not blaming this on anyone with a learning disability who has difficulty accessing educational materials by the way. This is about people who make a willful choice to be radicalized online. This is about people who do not have the common sense to pull their head out of their ass.

Gen z (I fucking hate generation labels but it is largely people 18-30 that this problem comes from) is one of the least educated groups of people with some of the lowest reading levels since public education became widely available.

These are people without an ounce of fucking kindness or goodwill in their heart who feel so much apathy toward any one group of people that they are not even willing to do anything but stare like a fucking fool and let shit happen.

Radfems get off your high fucking horses—you had a hand in this. If your feminism isn't based on basic human fucking empathy then you're nothing but a shill doing absolutely fuck all for women or anyone else for that matter. You're a bastardization of feminism and you should be fucking ashamed.

Anti voting cunts? Genuinely I want you to sit and spin. Your fake empathy is pathetic. You don't get to put myself and everyone I care about in front of the bus so you can get on your moral pedestal about being against genocide. Your hands are stained with fucking blood. You're an idiot and your stupidity and your silence is murderous. You had a chance to get off your ass and DO something that fucking mattered for the people in your own community and you basically told us we are not worth it. The man who wanted to shoot protestors will absolutely be beneficial for Gaza. Right.

You're such lukewarm activists that you believed misinformation about Kamala Harris that was so easy to just fucking verify. (No she did not imprison people for weed. She was in fact supportive of lessened sentences and education for prisoners so they can find jobs when they're free. She has done a LOT for people and she was put in a very difficult position where she could not risk losing the large pool of moderate voters.)

Hey "activists"! Do you know how your own fucking government works?

THE VICE PRESIDENT CANT DO SHIT. KAMALA HARRIS HAS LITTLE TO NO SAY ON WHETHER OR NOT WEAPONS GO TO ISRAEL.

Hell, BIDEN doesn't have much sway over that decision. Congress is red and they make the majority of foreign policy decisions you fucking stupid cunts.

Trans Americans will never forgive you. Black Americans will never forgive you. Poor Americans, disabled Americans, Latino Americans, Native Americans, Asian Americans and all the others.

I hope you regret the choices you made. Christ, I hope it fucking haunts you. Trump voters were always going to vote trump without hesitation but you? You had to play leftist and call every marginalized person who pleaded with you a liberal. You're pathetic. If I could spit on you via internet, I would.

Put your fucking head back in the sand. You can stop pretending to care now.

[city-m0rgue]

toxic scientists <3

( keep in mind i refuse to acknowledge “beyond reanimator” )

HERBERT WEST AND DANIEL CAIN

i know their relationship would be toxic. i know that it would be doomed. but that’s exactly what makes it so interesting.

herbert has basically no moral compass. he feels as if if he gets nowhere with these experiments, his work will all have been for nothing. the feeling of caring for dan is foreign to him, and he uses the fact dan cares for him as a way to manipulate him.

dan on the other hand is the type of person who wants to help everyone. he tries to help the woman at the beginning of the movie despite his own exhaustion and knowing it wouldn’t work. he tries to help herbert, whether it was truly because he cared or because he felt obligated. he knew it was likely he’d lose so much because of it.

he tries his hardest to protect meg, and when meg dies he goes to desperate measures ( using the re-agent ) to try to save her. he keeps her in the dark about everything, not wanting her to get hurt or caught in the crossfire.

he grows so attached to both gloria and meg that when the chance presents itself to bring pieces of them back, he takes drastic risks. throughout bride, he still tries to shield francesca from all of this.

despite what herbert does and what he puts everyone dan cares about through, he still cares for herbert. when he and herbert are in the war, he genuinely tries to save their patients, whereas herbert views them as test subjects for the re-agent.

the way dan cares ultimately leads to his demise, and the way herbert uses and manipulates him leads to his own.

herbert is carefully calculated, he's a logical thinker. he's confused when he sees the intimacy with dan and francesca, he doesn't understand the gain from it. there is almost no way to reason with him since he is so set in his goals and opinions. some people say he learned empathy through dan, but all he did is learn how to fake it for his advantage.

every time he does earn an ounce of empathy, he makes himself unlearn it to preserve his mindset and set himself back on his target.

dan is a much more emotional person. his amount of empathy leads him to form connections with almost everybody. he burns himself out with his compassionate nature.

their relationship is so complicated and their dynamic would be practically impossible to achieve in the long term. you're able to see the little moments where dan gives up and burns out due to not being able to protect everyone. it's so complicated and fun to analyze, i love re-animator so much

[dr3amerbuer]

(out of rp but I got to thinking recently about some accidental parallels between Natalia and Nahida. Both were kept locked away to study ever since childhood. Both are segments of someone else in a way, Nahida being a reincarnation of Rukkadevata and Natalia being a clone of Dottore. Both are only valued for their usefulness by the organizations in control of them, the Akademiya for Nahida and the Fatui for Natalia. Both even were forced to aspire to be the person they’re a segment of, Nahida studying to become as smart as Rukkadevata and Natalia learning how to impersonate Dottore to be able to do her job as a segment.

Where they differ is Nahida never had a moment where she peaked like Natalia did. Natalia peaked in childhood and was oh so useful but as she grew older with nothing more to study she wasn’t able to make as much scientific progress, leading to her uselessness. While Nahida was considered a failure from the beginning because she didn’t live up to what Rukkadevata was like and was locked up to study for many years in hope of becoming like Rukkadevata)

// Waittt you're so right

I already kinda love the idea of Nahida showing Natalia an ounce of empathy, because shes Nahida, and Natalia just being like wtf no. And this observation is really fuelling that.

In some far-off alternate universe where they actually manage to get along (or perhaps they somehow find a way to have a pleasant conversation in canon universe, who knows), I totally see them bonding a bit over this.

Anyways. Natalia my beloved. I'm such a fan

[drysaladandketchup]

The Terror, The Franklin Expedition, and The Humanity Lost In Interpretation

I’ve seen one too many posts about The Franklin Expedition and The Terror with regards to colonialism and how the intentions of the British Empire at the time means that none of the characters---nor their real life inspirations---deserve sympathy or to be seen with even an ounce of kindness, and the way some folks talk about the men on these ships, real or fictional, really rubs me the wrong way.

These men were not martyrs. Of course not. The damage done by British colonialism is massive and far-reaching, to say the least, and very apparent in the show. It’s obvious in what the Tuunbaq represents and how it suffers more with each interaction with the crew right up to its death by their hands. It’s made apparent during Goodsir’s discussion with Silna about why they’re in the Arctic, framing the futility of their actions. It’s seen when people like Franklin or Dr. Stanley or Fitzjames, among others, turn their noses up at the Inuit people, their customs, or their knowledge, because of a perceived ‘superiority’ to those they deem as lesser. Hell, we see it plain as day when all these men are suffering and dying in a land they deem ‘savage’ and ‘inhospitable’, despite the fact that we see the Inuit people living and surviving just fine in that same land.

So of course I am not arguing the message about the damage done by imperialism and colonialism under the Empire. I’m not denying that their refusal to learn from the Inuit or past mistakes did not aid in their downfall.

However, where I start to get irked is when people talk about these men as if they were not human beings. All of them. As if they were an irredeemable hive mind of brutish men who were there for the sole purpose of doing harm. Which is simply not the case.

First and foremost, I think some people need to remember one very important thing: the Franklin Expedition was not in the Arctic for the purposes of settlement or assimilation. In fact, had all gone to plan, they had no intention of setting foot on land in the Arctic at all. Britain was a coloniser, yes, but this specific expedition was to find the Northwest Passage. A waterway through the ice, a faster route to the Pacific for the purposes of trade. This expedition wasn’t to set roots or colonise anything. I’m not saying that had they succeeded in finding a viable route, that it wouldn’t have led to more colonising of the Arctic, I just mean this group of men were not there for that. They were not there to claim and conquer people or land. They were literally just sailing ships through the ice. Were they doing it under the flag of the British Empire? Yes. Were they wholly unprepared for the environment? Undoubtedly. But ultimately this expedition was one of exploration, science, and cartography.

The British Empire colonised, exploited, and abused many countries around the world. Plenty of people at home believed in the rhetoric of the ‘white man’ as a superior race; the white Englishman, specifically. Religion had a strong grip on the population. Classism played a major role in many facets of life. Laws and rules and institutions sometimes reflected harmful values and beliefs. But that doesn’t mean every single living, breathing, thinking individual at the time believed it or subscribed to it or acted upon it. Often the worst rhetoric is the loudest remnant of its time, but it rarely paints a full picture. The darkest parts of our history often overtake other narratives.

People today have a plethora of thoughts and opinions, regardless of---and sometimes in oppositions to---their leaders and governance. Yet we forget that that was the same in the past. Individualism has always existed. Tolerance and empathy are not modern concepts. Who you are as a person is not inherently defined by where you were born. Can the tenants and teachings of where you grow up and those you grow up around affect you? Of course. But people are fully capable of thinking for themselves, and changing. Growing.

What is often lost within the argument of whether or not to look at history through a modern lens, is that regardless, you cannot paint everyone with one brush. Few arguments are black and white, and never have been. History, and the people who came before us, were just as diverse, and fallible, capable of good and bad and everything in between. I find myself somewhat unnerved when we talk about people as if their very existence in a particular time or place is reason enough to denote their entire character or personality or intentions in life. Rather than just seeing them as people, living lives that were messy, fluid, complex, unique to them. It is a simple fact that we cannot hold every individual accountable for the actions of others or a group or a nation.

My point in all this with regards to the Franklin Expedition and the The Terror is that people who say ‘they were all there to do harm and therefore deserve no sympathy’ are missing a huge bit of forethought. As well as a bit of compassion, I think. Most of the men on those ships (aside from the officers and Marines, who were commissioned) were volunteers. But whether commissioned or volunteered, these men were sailors. They were there to do a job. I can guarantee that none of them signed onto this expedition thinking, ‘This sounds like a good opportunity to snatch up a chunk of land and kill a bunch of Indigenous people.’ It was simply sailing; it was how they made a living.

This expedition wasn’t ‘Manifest Destiny’, to use the American term. Find a passage to the Pacific, measure the magnetic readings to improve navigation, map as much of the still unmapped Arctic region as possible. Those were the goals. Nothing more. To the crews, it was to be a few years aboard a ship with good pay and a chance to see the world. Many likely thought it was an opportunity to be a part of what was to be an important voyage, which could earn them better standing within the Navy.

And again, I am not arguing the ultimately imperialistic intentions of the British Empire with regards to the potential results of this mission had it succeeded. I am simply saying that to vilify all 129 men aboard these ships simply for a job that, in this particular case, was not intended to do any harm to anyone, is extremely careless and misguided.

Hubris was a factor in their failure, undoubtedly. But even then, there were those on the Expedition who had traversed the Arctic and/or Antarctic before, like Crozier. They knew more than most what to expect. Of course it’s hard to say whether or not these men would have made changes to their approach or supplies or tactics had they the freedom to do so (after all, Franklin too had suffered terribly in the Arctic on a previous expedition, yet he seemed confident that nothing need change for them to survive this time around). But the fact is the rules and practices of the Empire and the Royal Navy were set in stone. In a sense, these men were also victims of their own Empire. That, and the reality that what ultimately sealed their fate was the unprecedented deep freeze during the winter of 1846 which trapped their ships.

And to the point I’ve seen people make about how the crews refused help from the Inuit: I will politely ask you to read some more books, or the oral accounts passed down by the Inuit themselves. The Franklin Expedition did have interactions with the Inuit. They did look for help once they were on foot. And by the accounts of the Inuit, help was offered. The issue wasn’t that the crews refused it, the issue was the Inuit simply did not have enough food or resources to support 100 men as well as their own community. And before someone interprets this the wrong way: no, I am not at all saying the Inuit caused the deaths of the crew who made it to land. It was a simple fact of life: the Inuit survive in the Arctic, yes, but it is still a harsh land where resources are scarce. You mind your supplies, every bit of food, every tool, every fur, every scrap of material. Nothing wasted. And you care for your community, your people. The crew sought help, and the Indigenous peoples offered what they could, but the situation was simply not ideal for anyone.

As an aside, I would like to point out that there are many cases throughout history where Europeans had normal, positive, and prosperous interactions with Indigenous peoples, not just in North America, but across the world. Not to say that makes up for the irreparable damage that’s been done to many of those same Indigenous cultures by colonialism and various Empires, I simply mean we need to remember that not every single moment in history is dark and dismal. You cannot assume some binary ‘good vs. evil’ when discussing someone or something simply because of who they are or where they came from.

But to my point with regards to the Franklin Expedition and The Terror: the Empire’s refusal to learn and adapt resulted in the loss of these men’s lives. But that should not translate into, ‘Every man on those ships deserved to suffer and die simply for being there.’ I think some people miss that side of The Terror as a show.

While it is clear in its message about colonialism and the worst things that people can do to survive, it is just as clear in its humanising of the men. It is just as clear that they were all people with lives and families, their own hopes and thoughts and wants and dreams. Men who could care and help each other as much as they could harm each other. This show is about people. About surviving. About suffering. It is a warning about hubris, but it is also a tale of humanity, and all the ways that manifests or withers. Good decisions are made, bad decisions are made, extreme decisions are made. Sometimes perspectives change, reasoning shifts, outcomes are different than expected. Because people are complex, diverse, fallible, ever-changing, imperfect.

So at the end of the day, talk your head off about the impact of imperialism and colonialism, both the messages from history and it’s message within the show. It’s very important.

But if you cannot also look at these men---their real life selves or their fictional counterparts---with even an ounce of sympathy, or empathy, then I genuinely fear how you treat people in the present, in the real world. Because if you believe death and suffering are ‘deserved’ as a solution to the world’s larger injustices (even by people who themselves are not committing those injustices, simply living under them), then you have condemned yourself to nihilism and a refusal to gauge human kindness and hope.

[cccat-in-a-meat-sack]

Various roleplayer starters I have written because they're long and I like them:

tw// mentions of forced labor, sl@ves, implied h@ngings, and brief mentions of wh1pp1ng + not so brief mentions of d3ath, and m*rder

When Karael Zarall was 12 years old, he learned about family tradition and honor. It meant loving your family, putting them above all else, making them proud. When Karael Zarall was 12 years old he made a single promise, to always uphold his family tradition. When Karael Zarall was 12 years old, he made the first and last promise he ever made.

---

Karael always liked to get up with the sun. There was something about feeling the slightly damp grass and dirt, the feeling of sun heating up his skin as he trained, the feeling of knowing he was on a schedule with something otherworldy. Yet today, when his alarm clock rang and he could feel his albino mercat bumping her head against him, begging to be fed, there was just something. An unease in the air that stirred up trouble in his senses, that made his hair stand on end and his ears to be alright. Used to tradition however, he got up and pulled on a shirt, going to feed his mercat. He got a very special breed, one that could move between land and sea as they pleased, with webbed paws and gills but also all the perks of a normal cat. "There you go Abby." He mumbled, stroking her fur as he set the bowl down. He headed to the bathroom, brushing his hair and his teeth, not realizing what was off until he looked in the mirror. "Shit. It's today." He muttered under his breath, tying his hair back so it wouldn't be in his eyes, trying to ignore all the thoughts in his brain that told him to run, run far away from those monsters, run far away from it all. But, he didn't. Bring honor to your family. His brain whispered. So, he did. He made sure Abby's cat door was unlocked, he dressed in a simple attire of slightly loose black pants, a black t-shirt, added on his holsters for various weapons, and then he headed to the armory. Although he knew those assassins wouldn't have the chance to get to him before they were shot, he knew to be careful. Slipping on a simple piece of armor he designed himself, designed to look like a vest yet was bulletproof, stab and slash proof, and was designed to protect him no matter what. Now, he just needed to wait 6 hours before he would have to meet the criminals. He decided to look over Esor's file again, wanting to be prepared. Nothing really jumped out at him, nothing to be afraid of at least. He did pause for a moment at Esor's photo, studying it. Something about him just nagged at Karael, and he wasn't sure why. Either way, he shook the thought out of his head. That was a killer. An assassin. Someone who didn't deserve the opportunity they were given. But, his opinion was irrelevant. He was given an order, a plan to be followed and he would stick to it. For his king. For his family. For pride, tradition, and honor. But, he didn't want to be stuck with a cold-blooded killer, having to watch his back at every step. He didn't want to be nice to someone who had taken people away from their mothers, their fathers, their siblings. He didn't want to be around someone who blatantly didn't care about anyone but themself. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He could've requested a switch. But, it's not like anyone else would be much better. A bitter taste coiled in his stomach, however, as he looked over Esor's photo again. His eyes disturbed Karael, so dull and lifeless, but also evil. There wasn't an ounce of kindness, empathy. Karael felt bile rising in his throat. How could someone be so inhumane, so cruel? It didn't make sense to him. But staring at that face, looking into Esor's eyes in the photo, he couldn't help but feel as if something was wrong, something was going to change. He took Esor's photo out and ripped it up, tossing it in the trash can. Stupid photo.

---

Noon came all to fast. Karael was dragging his feet towards the courtyard, trying to think of an excuse not to go. Even though his brain was scared his body moved, head held high, body screaming confidence. It was engrained into his soul at this point, show no fear, show no weakness. Make your family proud. Prove you deserve their last name. So Karael kept walking, and as he approached the opened doors into the bright sunlight, it looked all to much like when people were dying in movies, going to the afterlife.

---

As he stood in the courtyard, feet planted firmly, arms behind his back at his lower back, he wanted to run. He didn't want to be so close to such a monster. But, he had a duty to uphold. So as the carriage got closer and closer, and as his anxiety got higher and higher, and took a deep breath, and squared his shoulders. Do it for your family. He reminded himself, and as he watched Esor leave the carriage, his head tilted up slightly. His photo did not do him justice.

(from the same rp):

Devwarion was not a place you wanted to be sent to. It was cold, bleak, rumored to be made from shadows and children’s nightmares. It has often been described as impossible to grasp the full terror and trauma the prison creates, but the look of it already is terrible. Made of obsidian, the jagged towers and smooth walls, along with 2 walls made it terrifying. The walls were so smooth a spider couldn’t stick to them, and no windows made the place all the more creepy. It was nestled in between two mountains, rarely snowing but always having a thin layer of frost. The most notable thing about the prison was the cold. It was freezing, cold that buried deep into your bones and never left. Frostbite was common, then thin blanket they provided never being enough to warm you. If the cold didn’t kill you the work would, working from before the sun was up till after it sank back into its slumber. Long, hard days working in the mines, mining salt and jewels for the country you had tried to tear down, the country who had put you in this hell. Death was a kinder fate than working in that prison.

Most people working in the mines were dead within a month. Maybe the ceiling caved in, maybe you were sent to the gallows, maybe you tried to escape and were shot, or perhaps you were just simply whipped to death. Whatever the reason, a month was average. The fastest time someone had died was 2 hours, they were brought to Devwarion at around 5:00 am, and were killed when a ceiling caved in at 7:00. There was no funeral, no mourning. There never was, prisoners who showed even the slightest bit of sadness or anger were punished, and not in the kinky way. There were thousands of prisoners in the prison, and none of them had ever been noteworthy. Until now. They were on a no-kill list by the king, which was something in itself, but they had all outlived the month-long average. And not just by one or two days, either. 

Esor Coy, codename: Rose. An assassin from Quedrand, an area where assassins were borderline underheard of. Confirmed kill count: 26. Age is unknown, looks about 20. Has been in Devwarion for a little under 2 years.

Alvara Marsden, codename: Beast tamer. An assassin from Draeldchy, confirmed kill count: 37. Age is 23, and has been in Devwarion for about a year and a half.

Envirious SerViano, codename: Black Lotus. Assassin from Quedrand, any possible ties to Esor unknown. Confirmed kill count: 43. Age: 20, has been in Devwarion for almost 8 months.

Callisto, last name unknown. Codename: Anemos. Assassin from Angbotin. Confirmed kill count: 46 . Age: 24, has been in Devwarion for almost 3 years. 

These four weren’t noticeable because they had the biggest kill counts, or the ones that were the most difficult to catch. What made these people deadly were their unpredictability and uniqueness. They were dangerous, perfect.

The king had run into trouble. He needed ruthless killers to work for him, who could work outside the law and save his country. His soldiers were good, amazing, but none of them quite fit the task he needed. It took 3 days and 4 nights for him to come up with the solution. 

Devwarion. 

These four assassins would be the key to the calmness of the kingdom, the survival and perseverance. But before that, he needed leverage. Something that would get these four to listen, to agree. None of them would be swayed by money, gold, perhaps not even freedom. Their hatred burned brighter than a thousand suns, and he couldn’t ignore that fact. So, he came up with something, something inhumane, something incredible, something that would work.

Then, his plan was set in motion.

3 months, was the time it took to lay the groundwork of his plan. Longer hours, harsher conditions, more punishments for the tiniest things. He needed them to long for freedom, to dream of the day they would die just so they could escape the hell they were trapped in. It was inhumane, yes, but did they really deserve to be treated as humans? In his eyes, no. They were tools, that was all. They were his to use, mold as he pleased.

When he looked into their eyes as he told them what would happen, he didn’t care about the emotions he saw. He didn’t care about the skepticism, the relief, the joy, the anxiety. He only cared about one emotion he saw in all four. 

Acceptance.

From there, it was easy, simple. Have guards take them to the castle. Have them train, meet their handlers, and they would be good. They would be alright. The kingdom would thrive, and if he had to do this he would.

—

The castle was a place that you wanted to be sent to. It was beautiful, bright, shining so much that even the sun hid in jealousy. It had four towers, each facing the four cardinal directions, where you could see guards patrolling. The outside of it was beautiful, with stained glass windows and smooth brick walls with plenty of floor-to-ceiling windows. The inside was just as beautiful, with marbled floors in the bathroom, kitchens, and main hallways, and soft oak wood making up the ballroom and bedrooms. The walls were decorated with tapestries and paintings, every so often flowers standing on side tables could be seen. Servants and knights bustled around, there was never stopping. If you worked well you would be rewarded, your family being tossed up in the social circle, bringing honor to them and you. Working among lush gardens, beautiful royalty, held in high honor, it’s no wonder the jobs were hard to come by.

Most people working in the castle never gave up their job. Not until they were on their deathbed, dying in comfort knowing their family would benefit from their death. Servants would work day and night to keep the king happy, keep their job. The soldiers were considered the best. There were five ranks, eagles, falcons, crows, ravens, and doves: the ranks named after the Queen’s favorite birds. Every soldier is extraordinary, most coming from Warbrosle, and kept up their duties with honor and pride. There were 4 soldiers who stood out though. They were favored by both the king and queen, with a couple rumored to even have captured the hearts of the princesses themselves. 

Karael Zarall, rank: Falcon. Exceptional soldier, turning down the rank of Eagle to continue fighting among the ranks. Excelled mostly in hand-to-hand combat and solo missions, but worked well in groups. He was best known for training new recruits, having a no-nonsense training to teach them respect.

Eden Carris, rank: Falcon. He was recently promoted, one of the quickest promotions on record, rising to the rank of Falcon in a mere 3 months. He was always up for a challenge, taking everything in stride as it’s handed to him. He worked mostly with larger-scale missions, often being the key to success. He rarely failed a mission, and even when he did, casualties were less than they would’ve been without him.

Arthur Vaesephine, rank: Falcon. He’s been a handler for 3 years, considered for the rank of Eagle but it was ultimately decided that he would run his own partition of soldiers. He’s more easy going, used more for city patrols and crowd control, but that doesn’t mean you should underestimate him. 

Elton Arvil. Rank: Falcon. Known as the artist of the rank, his skills look more like dancing than sword fighting. Don’t let this fool you though, he’s just as skilled as everyone else. Even more so, perhaps, specializing in carrying out precise strikes that much older and more experienced soldiers would struggle with. 

These four were the king's chosen ones, the ones he would choose to lead the assassins to a place of glory, a place of servitude, a place of good. They would make sure they stayed in line, were able to pass the trails, they would make sure those four were the ones that survived. Strong, skilled, perfect for the task. Who else would he choose?

So, the planning began. As the assassins slaved away and the handlers honed their skills, he began plotting. He sent scouts out to Devuniake, and they reported back to him about their planning and their leaders. He got assassins from all throughout the kingdom, 20 aside from the ones he wanted, assigning 20 other Falcons to watch over him. He matched up handlers to assassins, slaved away at writing 2 thousand word starters to make his friends happy, and he also ate pizza. Finally, everything was ready. 

—

The sun glares down upon the thick cobblestone walls, leaving stark, vivid shadows contrasting with the blinding bright reflections. The spiked shadows of the portcullis loom like the twisted teeth of some fell beast from Redbotnd. A horse nickers in the stables, and the air suddenly acquires a musty, damp smell, the smell of sweat and heat. A grinding, gravelly road runs straight ahead through a market into a towering stone keep. Tantalizing smells waft from the marketplace where colorful stalls selling everything imaginable sit in a confused muddle, a group of baby birds within their nest, the walls of the castle. The noise from the market comes in a sea of sound, starting slowly and building up before crashing down. Enticing scents waft between the stalls, masking the unsavory smell of sweat and spice. Rising above the bustle below like four eagles rising on an updraft, four towers stand stark against the sunlit sky giving a sense of power and control. Four flags fly high, their crimson contrasting with the blue sky. Through the heavy oak doors of the imposing keep there is a large chamber filled with rows of guards with armor and colors so flamboyant they almost distract your attention from the piles upon piles of glittering, golden treasure clustered around. The light from the teardrop shaped windows reflects off the treasure at all angles, filling the room with a warm, golden, glowing, glimmering light. Ceremonial swords and armor poke out of the piles occasionally, protruding at odd angles. Outside was warm, a lovely breeze blowing gently through the air. The handlers were ready and informed on what would happen, the assassins were almost at the castle, and the king’s plan was set in motion. He had informed the handlers to be ready in the courtyard at noon, and was not disappointed. The four of them stood ready, donning traditionally styled clothing, but he was slightly amused to see that they had added their own styles to the traditional clothing. He turned his head towards the gates as they opened, a calm expression on his face. There were roughly 7 guards for every assassin, the four assassins sitting inside a carriage, chained. The entourage stopped, and two guards opened the door to the carriage. The head of the group stepped out first, followed by the four assassins. They stood warily, but were herded into a line standing in front of the handlers. 

Finally, the king spoke. “Welcome to Quedrand.” He spoke, and noticed the various disgusted expressions from the assassins. He ignored them, and gestured at the 4 handlers. “These will be your personal guards during your visit. I suggest you be nice to each other, as you will be stuck together until the trials end.” Although the handler's faces remained neutral, he noticed Karael’s lips pressing together a little tighter. “Allow me to explain your pairings. Karael and Esor, you two will be together. Elton and Envirious, as will you two. Arthur and Alvara and Eden and Callisto are the last two pairs. Now, for the trails. There are twenty other contestants, and you are the last four to arrive. There will be a trial every other day, and you will be fighting against another assassin. The last four will be the ones who win, and will gain freedom after some time. The trials will be in different areas, and your task is to ‘kill’ your opponent. And I don’t mean that literally. You will get to choose your weapon, each will have substance that will glow when it touches an area you could kill someone. For now however, your handlers will show you the arena and your rooms. You may ask them any other questions then. Dismissed.”

--

Kailani was 5 years old when it found out that xe were connected to water. They were running through the forest from a group of hunters, and stumbled upon a lake. Without thinking, like it was natural instinct, it felt a tug in it's gut, unfamiliar but not unwelcome, and the water rose up behind them, attacking the men. They were dead within seconds, and the water curled around Kailani in a comforting manner, almost replacing the arms of zir late mother. Without a sound the water moved back to the lake, and Kailani was left alone with dead bodies, a confused mind, and a healing heart.

Kailani was 6 years old when ze moved to the coast, walking nearly 200 miles to get there. They stopped at every place with water to regain energy and heal their wounds, no longer scared of their connection. The water was friendly, welcome. They loved living along the coast building sand castles, swimming among sharks and dolphins, moving through the water like it was second nature.

Kailani was 7 years old when the village they lived in found out. They were no longer the sweet child loved by everyone, they were a demon, a monster. I'm 7! They wanted to scream. I don't want to hurt you! But the water let them know it was useless. They spent more time away, sneaking food whenever they could and playing more with the sharks and dolphins, an empty hole in their heart that no amount of playing could fix. The crack grew wider every day, as they were spit on, hit, hurt, just for something they couldn't control. 

Kailani was 8 years old when a tsunami came and tore about zir village, drowning and killing all 300 villagers. All except Kailani. The water avoided them, making a pocket underneath the water so Kailani stayed dry and unharmed. They watched the wreckage and destruction from a front-row street, and something began to grow in their heart, their broken heart. It wormed it's way through, fixing their heart, but not in a good way. They couldn't help but think it was what they deserved, for treating Kailani that way. It was a child. No one should hurt a child. 

Kailani was 9 years old when ze killed someone on purpose. The night was cold and dark, with a man greedily killing a baby animal who was just trying to drink. Perhaps it was the fact the deer was a baby that made Kailani so angry, and perhaps it was the fact the animal was just trying to drink. Either way, the dark, destruction parts of their heart that had sewn it together unleashed, the water grabbing the man almost telekinetically and choking him to death. Kailani stood over the body, yet they couldn't manage to find any sympathy. They felt almost guilty, but that was it. With a quick prayer to the deer they were off, back to go get food.

They were 10 when xe stopped caring about themself. It was hard to naturally, but when you're constantly shamed for your looks, how you talked, your accent, what you could do, it was nearly impossible to not start smashing mirrors, unable to look yourself in the face. Ze turned all their energy towards being helpful, using their connection to salvage ships, gold, get anything to make people happy. Just a single smile was all it needed.

Kailani had lost track of their age when they were tied up by men in white robes and shoved into a carriage. They had been sleeping peacefully, listening to the crickets chirping, feeling the bed underneath them and the blanket over them keeping them warm. A loose t-shirt and sweatpants adorned they body, which was much more modest than what they were most of the time. Kailani wasn't sure how the men found zim, but xe had a feeling it wasn't supposed to be like this. Metal handcuffs, tight enough it couldn't escape but loose enough that they would chaft their wrists. A bag over their head, to thick to see through but not thick enough they couldn't breath. Lifted into a carriage without a word, a soft, comfy carriage. They heard the horses neighing, and when they were able to rid their sleep-adelled mind of cobwebs, there wasn't any water around to protect them. So, they simply waited. Ever since they were 5 they had thought someone was going to come and kidnap them, take zim away for their connection and punish xim for going against the laws of nature. But it always imagined something more violent, more shouting, harsher conditions, more things like that. Instead the ride was smooth, almost lulling it back to sleep, and they had to shake their head so they wouldn't fall asleep. A quick upside down of their head removed the sack, and xe found itself to be in a windowless, royal carriage. The velvet was plush red, there were purple curtains decorating the space, and all in all it confused Kailani. What was going on?

When the carriage finally stopped, Kailani found zimself in front of a majestic building, and he didn't have time to admire it all as he was rushed inside. He was taken to a room, bindings taken off and was simply told to wait. Ze stayed calm about the situation, looking around instead admiring the decorations. The marble was cold under their bare feet, and there were 8 thrones, each with a light over them. White, Green, Black, Red, Blue, Pink, Yellow, Purple. They each had different inscriptions, and Kailani went over to the blue one first, it calling to him just as water did. Xe gently touched it, feeling the smooth marble, but was barely able to hold him up as images flashed across his vision. The creations of life. The calm beaches. Great storms. Throughout all of this, it lasted maybe 10 seconds, but only one phrase was heard. "Water holds memories. Welcome back, my God." 

"Yea, I'm officially going insane." Kailani mumbled.

[soulntes]

THE TRUTH UNTOLD - PROLOGUE

[THE TRUTH UNTOLD SERIES]

the life of pandora is an experience very phenomenal. to be able to witness personally gives you a different perspective of life itself and.. when you start growing to loving her so much, very impossible to ignore the harm it's done on her.

humans on earth only hear stories and news about the planet from their televisions and papers about 'their new earth'. as well the indigenous inhabitants living there but it includes pieces of lines explaining their hostile personalities and unwelcoming behavior. how would any human feel empathy towards the navi of their situation of sharing anything of their home when all they done is discover a new way of life, wanting to bring a whole species to drive them out?

scientists do. they learn and teach but nobody lends an ear for a learning experience about the connection their people have for their mother planet. most humans don't want to. not when they destroyed their mother out of greed, money, power, and superiority. why would they care when they already destroyed beyond repair.

it is all about perspective. time to wake up and face the truth. those who want to learn, they learn and use it to survive without expecting to getting anything in return.

those who a dream about a new life learn to love and embrace their new them.

the sully sister dreamt of a new beginning. away from her past and agonizing pain which she trained hard for years has finally paid off. her dream of loving another became vibrant and clear of what her path will be.

her dreams of flying through the wild life, running on branches and plants that grew to be felt down her feet, the sun setting to watch the stars to reach it's brightness, shining above her and.. someone else.

their blue four fingers grazes softly on hers to bring them to his lips for a peck. the soft, tender kiss melted her heart by how gentle he treated her as he looks at her with those yellow eyes of love.

this felt like a lovely warm spring when flowers blossom with a fresh start in their lives, enjoying the sun feeding them life and exploring their experiences in person.

it seemed all but a dream.

sooner or later.. you're gonna have to wake up.

the military trained woman participated in the avatar program was offered a once life time opportunity for humanity to discover.

she wanted to leave earth because of how human treated their mother over the years. instead of helping her heal and reemerge her beauty, they kill her more for money and power and selfish needs until she no longer exists.

her instincts dedicating her teenage years to study what is beneficial from dr augustine's book about the navi. nine foot tall, dark shade of blue the aliens appeared as with four fingers, big pointy ears, and a long tail. their appearances look alike towards a feline but they have a lean, slim figure. hair decorated of beads and styles to their liking representing their image that'll be vividly know amongst their clan.

their culture surrounding solely on their great mother eywa who's connected to all living things and their guidance in life that takes a huge role in their entire lives. traditions around the birth of their newborns and journeys that are remembered with songs and story telling surrounding the greatest accomplishments.

everything on pandora seemed lively with how much you get to discover with your very eyes. falling in love with a bond so sacred and meaningful developed something she wished that happens on earth and be with the one you love for all eternity.

feel the love, every single touch, any ounce of pain, and their thoughts about you in their eyes that hold eternity.

but it was a better experience to go to the wonderful, one of a kind planet and witness the beauty of it personally.

nobody knows what awaits in the forest of mystery and love to unravel.

deep within nature was a man, a mighty warrior, in his lonesome time awaiting for a sign to protect the people and those he cares for deeply. for his heart broken yearned something he's been dreaming of, out of his reach. then he starts dreaming a woman. a strange dream walker by the look of her hands offering to accept.

a woman's touch is a remarkable sensation when you feel the love and affection and appreciation of their efforts. a woman who'd dedicate herself into providing happiness and warmth in his toughest times. a woman who he's never met and a man devoting his life to protect his people.

her presence made it all so nerve wracking by her beauty compared to the stars of the darkest eclipse. her joyous smile that he only sees.

a hand out of reach not knowing what awaits them and wait for their time to come as it's all planned by the great mother herself, not bearing seeing those sensitive to suffer and the strongest to ignore their wants.

until they meet in a few years.

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