#o-level psychology

[icewindandboringhorror]

It's always interesting to hear about people's weird/unexpected "alternate life paths". Like, something that you could have done with your life, a job you almost took, a school you almost went to, etc - that was still actually realistic enough that it could have happened, but NOW it seems to not suit your current personality.

Like for example, I currently hate advertising (how manipulative it is, brands trying to be 'relatable', social media amplifying it to an obnoxious extreme, etc.) so much that even seeing a little ad before a youtube video is grating to even witness, but there was a point in time where I was genuinely seriously considering going into marketing/making commercials as a career lol. Or like, I have a relative who was very inclined to be a pastor when they were younger, even though today they're a super strong atheist, etc. etc.

[starryrock]

Say what you will about Crowley, but at least he isn’t Sorting impressionable 11-year-old children into stereotypes that will define them for the rest of their lives and has a ¼ chance of making them racist.

[anaalnathrakhs]

food is. evil.

[dashamanych]

Old HMMS,IGI concept art and loglines

And there is my bunch of concept art for "Hand Me My Shovel, I'm Going In!" I love making funny cartoons (gonna share them soon???) and i have many ideas for a loooot of songs 🤪 And Will? He is a DREAM for an animator, the way he uses his voice is incredible and he is so expressive and it's hard to resist from imagining a cool amv with fav characters or Will himself. So i have one in my mind too!

I imagine something between looney-tunes stuff, EDGY FACES 😺🙏 (cartoonish and ironic level of edgy) anddd some psychologically-grotesqually-timburtonly serious scenes what brings the story into this piece! Prob imagining him digging into unknown grave, but he never reaches the coffin there, so he digs down and down and becoming more and more obsessed and insane..... + Some flashbacks about his past life + all that serious stuff that lies beneath the cartoonishness about addictions and social degradation ☠️ + in the end he finds a coffin and surprise surprise its his own ⚰️

Sorry for my silly speaking! English is not my mother language + i just dont see much sense in being very serious about non existing animation

Anyway! So this one is like an one big metaphor on self destruction..? You know diggin your own grave and stuff

This piece is for that dramatic part near the end of the song. I imagine endless space filled with empty glasses pills and uhhh other terrible things. The character (Which is sorta like Will's songsona for this concrete song, based on WW's appearance AND lirycs of the song for his character and story)

Also there is a scene in the end when he gets absolutely nuts so he digs dirt with his fingers..... Imagine the long long tunnel above him and when i mean long i mean looney tunes level of exaggeration

Oh there is a lot of world plays I'm not sure i can translate 0.o.... these are pretty old !!! Explanation for left bottom corner its a joke based on lines about blind pickpocket

That's all!!!! Sorry for longread

[p0orbaby]

Forty Winks Would Be Just Priceless

summary: your kid only sleeps when being driven, the diva that she is

warnings: none !

a/n: if someone could drive me around to get to sleep that would be great

word count: 1.7k

-

It’s 2:47 a.m., and you’re sitting in the passenger seat of a car that you didn’t even know Leah could operate at this level of exhaustion. You’re wondering if she’s siphoning energy directly from the Devil, because that’s the only explanation. The car smells like a combination of McDonald’s fries, stale coffee, and something unidentifiable that you’re hoping isn’t some sort of roadkill under the bonnet. Your wife is behind the wheel, white-knuckling it like she’s doing 90 on the M25. In reality, she’s going 15 miles per hour around your parish.

Again.

“Is this the fifth lap or the sixth?” you ask. You’ve lost count. Somewhere around lap three, you started dissociating. The glow of the streetlights is the only indication you’re still on Earth.

“Does it matter?” Leah responds, glancing over at you with an arched eyebrow that you recognise as the look she gives opponents who try to muscle her off the ball. Leah has three moods: sweet, commanding, and “I could end you without lifting a finger.” You’re currently dealing with the third. The funny part is, she’s only this intimidating when she’s wearing a hoodie over her messy hair, dark circles framing her bloodshot eyes, which she insists is the result of “just a little” caffeine.

You eye her warily. “Maybe not,” you admit, slumping lower into the seat. You glance over your shoulder into the backseat, where Eden, your two-year-old sleep terrorist, has finally succumbed to the soothing vibrations of the Mercedes. Eden’s head is lolling to one side, mouth slightly open, and you’re just about convinced she’s auditioning to be the next exorcism case.

Leah’s been driving for about an hour now. You’re on your third consecutive night of the same routine: dinnertime is war, bath time is a ceasefire, and bedtime is a full-blown, special-ops mission with all the difficulty of invading a heavily guarded country. Eden has the upper hand. Eden is always ten steps ahead. And the only way to win is to retreat—to the car.

“I feel like we should get a second car,” you suggest, half-serious. “One specifically for these midnight missions. Maybe something with better fuel efficiency”

Leah gives you a side-eye that says, “You’re joking, right?” But you can tell she’s considering it. “Or we could teach her to fall asleep like a normal child. In her bed. At bedtime”

You snort. “Teach her? Are we raising a human or a feral cat?”

Leah doesn’t even have to respond to that. Eden is a force of nature. You’re just two unfortunate souls caught in her tiny hurricane.

“And what do we do when she grows out of this?” Leah asks, but it’s more like she’s thinking out loud. “Do we drive her to school every day just to get her to wake up?”

“Let’s just worry about surviving the next hour,” you say, looking at the clock. You remember reading somewhere that car exhaust fumes can lull a person to sleep. You briefly wonder if that’s what’s happening to you right now.

Leah clicks her tongue in thought, turning onto the next street, where a dog that clearly suffers from some kind of psychological trauma is barking at nothing. “When I was little,” she begins, “my mum would drive me around to get me to sleep, but we lived in the countryside. There were no barking dogs, just the occasional sheep”

“Well, that’s why you turned out so well-adjusted,” you remark dryly. “If Eden grows up thinking the only way to fall asleep is to go for a drive, she’s going to need therapy. Which we can’t afford, by the way, because we’ll be spending all our money on petrol”

Leah chuckles, but it’s the kind of laugh that’s a little too high-pitched to be real. “We’ll add it to the list of things she’ll blame us for when she’s older. Right next to ���Mum used to make me eat vegetables’ and ‘Mama never let me play with knives’”

Eden lets out a little snore, and you both freeze, staring at the rearview mirror. Leah’s foot hovers over the brake pedal as if any sudden movement might wake the tiny monster in the back. You can practically hear both of you holding your breath, waiting for the inevitable cry of protest that’s sure to come the second the car stops moving.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, Eden’s snore deepens, becoming the kind of sleep sounds that suggest she’s off in dreamland, probably riding unicorns or setting fire to imaginary villages.

You relax a fraction, and so does Leah, though she’s still gripping the wheel like it’s her last lifeline. You wonder if she’s ever used this level of concentration on the pitch. You’ve never seen her miss a tackle, but this is an entirely different ball game.

“So, when do we stop?” Leah whispers. You can hear the exhaustion in her voice now, thick and sludgy like she’s been awake for a week.

You consider this. “We could keep driving until sunrise. Then she’ll wake up with the sun and think it’s a new day. Maybe it’ll reset her sleep schedule”

“Or we’ll just be perpetually exhausted and still sleep-deprived, except now we’ve got morning traffic to deal with,” Leah counters. “You know, if we were living in a different era, this could be considered some form of witchcraft. Driving around in circles at night to get a child to sleep. Someone would’ve burned us at the stake by now”

“Wouldn’t that be a relief,” you mutter, then immediately regret it, because even though you’re joking, you’re too tired to be sure.

Leah sighs. “I love her. I really do. But sometimes I wonder if we’re the ones being trained here”

“There’s no wonder about it,” you reply, deadpan. “We’re definitely the ones being trained. She’s got us figured out. We’re puppets. Eden pulls the strings, and we drive”

Leah smiles at that, though it’s more of a grimace of acknowledgment. “You know, when I said I’d do anything for her, I didn’t realise it included nighttime rally racing in a residential neighborhood”

“Should’ve read the fine print,” you say, then yawn so hard it hurts. “But hey, at least we’re doing this together, right? Quality time”

Leah glances over at you, and this time, her smile is real. It’s small, but it’s there, and it makes you feel a little less like a zombie. “Yeah,” she agrees softly. “I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else”

You reach over and squeeze her hand, and for a moment, there’s peace. Not the kind of peace you’ll ever find in a parenting book or one of those sanctimonious mommy blogs, but the kind that exists in the trenches, where you and Leah are currently wading through knee-deep toddler warfare.

As you turn onto yet another street that looks identical to the last, you finally admit defeat. “Let’s call it,” you say. “She’s out. If we keep going, we’re going to end up in Scotland”

“Good idea,” Leah says, already beginning the slow process of easing off the gas and pulling into your driveway. She parks with the kind of precision that makes you think she missed her calling as a getaway driver.

You both sit there for a minute, basking in the silence that only comes when your child is finally, blessedly asleep. You’re in no rush to move, because you know the second you do, Eden will sense it and all this work will be undone in a matter of seconds.

But Leah is braver than you. She quietly turns off the engine, unbuckles her seatbelt, and with the precision of a bomb squad technician, she turns to the backseat. You watch as she gingerly unbuckles Eden, cradling her like she’s made of porcelain.

And somehow, miraculously, Eden stays asleep. Leah manages to get out of the car, Eden still snoozing in her arms, and you’re right behind her, ready to perform the hand-off should things go south.

The two of you tiptoe through the house like burglars, careful to avoid every creaky floorboard. You’re halfway to Eden’s room when she stirs, and you both freeze in place like deer caught in headlights. But then she just shifts in Leah’s arms, sighs deeply, and snuggles closer into her mother’s shoulder.

You finally reach the cot, and Leah lowers her in with the gentleness of a saint. The transfer is seamless. Eden doesn’t even flinch.

The second the cot rail is up, you and Leah back out of the room like you’ve just completed a high-stakes mission, which you basically have. The door closes with a soft click, and you both stand there, wide-eyed, disbelieving.

“She’s asleep,” Leah whispers, like she doesn’t dare believe it.

“She’s asleep,” you echo, equally stunned.

And then, without warning, Leah lets out a sound that you can only describe as a half-crazed giggle. It’s infectious, and you start laughing too, because it’s either that or you’re going to cry, and honestly, you’ve done enough of that in the last few days.

“We did it,” you say between breaths, leaning against the wall for support. “We actually did it”

Leah pulls you into a hug, and it’s warm and comforting, and it feels like a reward for all the hell you’ve been through tonight. “We make a good team,” she murmurs into your hair.

“The best,” you agree, letting yourself relax into her embrace.

But as you’re standing there, holding each other in the hallway like the survivours you are, you both hear it: the unmistakable sound of Eden stirring, a tiny whimper that promises to turn into a full-blown cry in about three seconds.

You look at each other in horror, and without a word, Leah grabs the car keys.

“You can drive,” she says, already heading back towards the front door.

You don’t even argue. Instead, you grab your the keys from her, knowing full well that this battle isn’t over yet.

And as you both head back to the car for yet another sleepless night, you can’t help but think that one day, years from now, you’ll look back on these nights with some kind of twisted fondness.

But for now, all you can do is keep driving.

[little-jana]

"Let's Be Alone Together"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: kissing, just two cuties

Words: 1.7k

Summary: Reader and Spencer escape reality together and spent Christmas together.

Christmas Eve in Quantico wasn’t exactly where I imagined spending the holiday, but the BAU didn’t really operate on a nine-to-five schedule. A last-minute case had pulled everyone into the office earlier that week, but thankfully, we’d wrapped it up just in time for the holidays.

Now, the bullpen was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights. Most of the team had already headed home, eager to spend Christmas with their families. I should’ve done the same, but somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to leave. The blinking cursor on my laptop screen had hypnotized me, or at least that’s the excuse I told myself.

The truth was, it wasn’t like I had anyone waiting for me at home. My plans consisted of takeout, bad Christmas movies, and falling asleep on the couch. Maybe a part of me had hoped that if I stayed long enough, I wouldn’t have to face that silence.

A familiar voice broke through my thoughts. “Still here?”

I glanced up to see Spencer Reid standing by his desk, looking equally as stranded. His cardigan was slightly askew, his tie loosened just enough to look almost relaxed.

“You’re still here too,” I countered, offering him a small smile.

He shrugged, shuffling a few papers on his desk. “I thought I’d finish up some reading before heading out. What about you?”

I gestured to my screen. “Pretending to be productive.”

Spencer chuckled softly, his smile growing. “It’s Christmas Eve. You’re allowed to take a break, you know.”

“I could say the same to you, genius,” I teased. “What is it this time? A thesis on the psychological implications of holiday traditions?”

He gave me a sheepish smile. “Actually, it’s a collection of Christmas short stories. Charles Dickens, O. Henry...”

“Fiction?,” I said surprised.

“I do enjoy a good academic paper,” he admitted with a grin. “But sometimes… fiction feels like a better escape.”

I leaned back in my chair, studying him. “So, you’re avoiding reality too, huh?”

Spencer hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

There was something vulnerable in the way he said it, something that made my chest ache. Spencer wasn’t exactly the most open person when it came to his feelings, but I’d learned to read between the lines.

“You know,” I said, standing and crossing the room toward him, “we could avoid reality together. I’ve got leftover cookies and a terrible collection of Christmas movies. What do you say?”

He blinked, startled. “You mean… tonight? With you?”

“No, Spencer, I meant with the ghost of Christmas past,” I teased, rolling my eyes.

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “I don’t want to impose—”

“Spence,” I interrupted, my tone gentle but firm. “It’s not imposing if I’m inviting you. Come on. It’ll be fun.”

He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine, before finally nodding. “Okay. I’d like that.”

---

An hour later, we were sitting on my couch, surrounded by the warm glow of twinkling Christmas lights. A tin of cookies rested between us, along with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Spencer had insisted on helping me carry everything up from my car earlier, and now he was inspecting one of the sugar cookies with a level of scrutiny that made me laugh.

“It’s just a cookie, Spence,” I said, nudging him playfully.

“Actually, there’s a fascinating history behind sugar cookies,” he began, his face lighting up. “They originated in Pennsylvania in the 1700s—”

I held up a hand, laughing. “Let me stop you right there. No cookie history tonight. We’re watching Rudolph, and that’s final.”

He sighed dramatically but didn’t argue. “Fine. But if I’m going to sit through stop-motion reindeer, I expect at least one scientific inaccuracy to discuss.”

We settled into the couch, the opening credits of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer playing softly in the background. Spencer was surprisingly into it, occasionally pointing out character dynamics or chuckling at the outdated animation.

By the time the movie ended, I felt a warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with the hot chocolate. Spencer had relaxed completely, his usual guarded demeanor replaced by something softer, something sweeter.

“You know,” he said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence, “this is the first Christmas Eve I haven’t spent alone in… a long time.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotion. I turned to him, my heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice.

“You’re not alone now,” I said softly.

He looked at me, his eyes searching mine. “Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “For this. For… everything.”

I smiled, reaching out to place my hand over his. “You don’t have to thank me, Spence. I’m just glad you’re here.”

For a moment, we just sat there, the silence between us filled with something unspoken but deeply understood.

“You know,” he said, his voice hesitant, “I’ve always found it hard to connect with people. But with you… it’s different. It’s easy.”

My breath caught at the sincerity in his voice. “It’s easy with you too, Spencer,” I admitted, my voice barely audible.

He hesitated, then took a small, tentative step closer. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I… I think this might be the best Christmas Eve I’ve ever had,” he said, his cheeks flushing slightly.

I felt my heart swell at his words, and before I could overthink it, I leaned in and kissed his cheek, letting my lips linger for just a moment. His skin was warm, and I felt him freeze slightly before relaxing under the soft touch.

When I pulled back, he was staring at me, his eyes wide and filled with something I couldn’t quite name.

“Sorry,” I said quickly, suddenly self-conscious. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, his voice soft but firm.

Before I could say anything else, he leaned forward, closing the small distance between us, and pressed his lips gently against mine. The kiss was soft and sweet, a perfect mix of shyness and intent.

When he finally pulled back, his cheeks were bright red, but there was a small, shy smile on his lips.

“Merry Christmas,” he said quietly, his voice full of warmth.

“Merry Christmas, Spencer,” I replied, my heart feeling lighter than it had in years.

And as we sat there, the glow of the Christmas tree wrapping us in its warmth, I couldn’t help but think that this—being here with him—was exactly what Christmas was supposed to feel like.

a/n: I wish you all a Merry Christmas and a peaceful holiday season.

[knoepfl]

Shadows That Linger

Characters:

-Melon

-Reader (You)

-Lions

Trigger Warnings:

Power imbalance

Psychological manipulation

Implied violence

Masterlist

Words: 723

--- The dimly lit room hummed with tension. Melon sat casually at the head of the table, his mismatched eyes glinting as he listened to the lions argue amongst themselves. They were bickering over territory disputes—boring, predictable, and ultimately beneath him.

His sharp smile flickered as he leaned back, fingers drumming against the polished surface of the table. He was the picture of calm, but his mind was elsewhere, as it often was these days.

The lions’ voices quieted when a soft knock echoed against the heavy oak door.

It was hesitant, barely audible. Melon’s ears twitched.

“Enter,” he said coolly, his eyes narrowing.

The door creaked open, and you stepped inside, timidly clutching the edges of your sweater. You barely raised your eyes, scanning the intimidating figures of the lions before settling on Melon.

He arched an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “This is… unexpected.”

You hesitated in the doorway, shrinking under the weight of so many stares. For a moment, you almost turned back. But then Melon’s gaze caught yours—sharp, curious, but not unkind. It was enough to give you courage.

“I-I…” you started, your voice soft as a whisper. “I’m sorry. I… I wanted to see you.”

The lions exchanged incredulous glances, a few growling under their breath.

Melon’s smile widened, sharp and amused. “Gentlemen, it seems I have a visitor. Don’t let me stop you—continue.”

He waved a hand dismissively, but his gaze remained fixed on you.

As the lions returned to their discussion, you quietly padded across the room, your steps barely audible. When you reached Melon’s side, you hesitated, your fingers fidgeting nervously.

Without looking up, you whispered, “I… I’ll wait by the door if it’s better…”

Melon chuckled, the sound low and oddly warm. “And have you eavesdropping on sensitive matters? No, little one. If you insist on being here, then stay.” He gestured to the empty chair beside him. “Sit.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you obeyed, slipping into the chair and folding your hands in your lap. The lions cast you wary glances, but you kept your head down, avoiding their scrutiny.

Melon, however, kept stealing glances your way. There was something endearing about the way you sat so quietly, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

The meeting dragged on, and though you didn’t say a word, Melon could feel your presence like a warm shadow. When the lions finally filed out, grumbling among themselves, you let out a small breath of relief.

Melon rose from his chair and stretched lazily, his sharp grin firmly in place. “You’ve got a knack for showing up at inconvenient times,” he teased.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, staring at the floor. “I… I didn’t want to bother you. I just… missed you.”

He tilted his head, his mismatched eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Missed me, did you? And what do you call this, then?” He gestured to the chair you’d been glued to for the entire meeting.

You looked away, your voice barely audible. “I just… feel safe when you’re around.”

For a moment, Melon said nothing. His expression softened, his usual sharpness dulling ever so slightly.

“You’re a peculiar creature,” he murmured, crouching in front of you so his face was level with yours. “Soft-spoken, timid… and yet, you refuse to leave my side. Why?”

You fidgeted, your fingers twisting the hem of your sweater. “Because you saved me,��� you admitted quietly. “And… you’re the only one who’s ever looked at me like I’m more than just a predator. I don’t want to be alone again.”

Melon studied you in silence, his expression unreadable. Then, with a wry smile, he reached out and flicked your forehead lightly.

“You’re lucky I have a soft spot for clingy little things like you,” he said, his tone playful but not unkind. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Your eyes widened, and a small, shy smile tugged at your lips. “O-Okay.”

He straightened and offered you his hand, which you took hesitantly. As the two of you left the meeting room, Melon’s grin widened.

For all his sharp edges and fractured morals, he didn’t mind having you around. You were quiet, unassuming, and utterly devoted—an odd contrast to his chaotic life.

And deep down, though he’d never admit it, he liked the way your presence felt. Like a shadow that lingered, warm and unyielding. ---

[mya-valentine]

Headcanon: Dottore x Sadistic/Equally Crazy S/O

Dottore is immediately intrigued when he meets someone who can match his level of intellect and unhinged curiosity, particularly when it comes to experiments and pushing moral boundaries. His S/O is as ruthless and calculating as he is, leading to a mutual understanding that transcends the usual romantic norms. It's not love in the traditional sense, but a shared obsession with the unknown and a desire to push the limits of human potential.

They often collaborate on experiments, with their laboratory being a chaotic yet fascinating place where both thrive. Discussions of dissecting human nature—literally and figuratively—become their version of "pillow talk." Their relationship is built on this shared madness, with neither feeling the need to hold back their darkest desires. Together, they feel unstoppable.

There’s a twisted sense of competition between them, always trying to outdo each other in their sadistic experiments or theories. Whether it’s creating more effective poisons, crafting dangerous machines, or discovering new ways to manipulate their subjects, they constantly challenge and inspire one another. The competition fuels their passion, though there's always a smirk or gleam in their eyes that shows they're enjoying the game as much as the results.

Dottore finds it exhilarating to have a partner who not only understands his need for chaos and control but feeds into it. Their shared disregard for morality or conventional ethics means they can freely indulge in their worst impulses without judgment, creating a dangerous yet electric dynamic. When they’re together, they are an unstoppable force—two minds working in perfect, terrifying harmony.

Despite their chaotic energy, there's an understanding between them that they are equals. No matter how twisted their actions become, they know the other won't flinch or shy away. In fact, they often encourage each other to go further, reveling in each other's darkest sides. Their relationship is built on mutual respect, even if it’s born out of sadistic tendencies.

They enjoy "games" with their victims, turning their cruelty into a form of entertainment. Whether it’s psychological torment or physical experiments, they turn their twisted love into something dangerous for everyone around them. The satisfaction they derive from each other's madness brings them closer, making their bond all the more intense.

When they’re not experimenting or torturing their latest subject, their conversations are sharp and intellectual, discussing theories about the limits of human suffering, the science of emotions, or ways to further push the boundaries of their work. It’s in these quiet, analytical moments that they show a strange kind of affection—through words of affirmation over each other’s intelligence and innovation.

Dottore is surprisingly possessive of his S/O, not because of love in a conventional sense, but because he respects their mind and wants to ensure that no one else benefits from their brilliance. Similarly, his S/O is just as territorial, ensuring no one else interferes with their twisted dynamic. The two of them are a deadly duo, and they like it that way.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[avicecaro]

i’d also argue part of this is that women’s clothing is often objectively absurd. totally impractical, meant to be looked at rather than functional or comfortable and meant to be worn.

so you feel absurd wearing it unless you’re posed and styled. when you’re in the middle of putting on makeup, it looks super weird — when you’re done, it still looks weird! it’s just that it’s a weird that is also a completed performance that we’re accustomed to seeing. similarly, when we see men in a lot of “fashionable” women’s clothing, they look silly (and sometimes degrading), because the clothing is itself absurd, but there’s a completed performance that we’re accustomed to seeing, when a woman does it.

when you throw on jeans and a tshirt without doing your makeup or hair, you might still feel *insecure* but you don’t feel like you actually look ridiculous or comical. but that’s because a lot of women’s clothing is not first and foremost clothing, it’s first and foremost a costume.

this makes me so saaaaad. if women collectively would realise nothing about our natural appearances needs to be altered we would shatter multi billion companies in the blink of an eye AND everyone would be happier. stop being your own biggest bullies! there is nothing wrong with your natural face and hair!

[phecdasolar]

Tumblr I need your help I am in dire need of feral/unhinged Disaster Twins fics pleaseeee (and maybe Mikey as a bonus) I’m just in love with the idea of Raph being the impulse control for once with this iteration, and just the second he’s out of commission the other three go insane.

Weapons of War, Bioengineered Killing Machines, Manufactured Supersoldiers Rottmnt turtles my BELOVEDS

And maybe just like,,, set Leo and Donnie loose on one of the other dimensions and have them absolutely horrifically annihilate their counterparts’ villains while they watch on in horror

(B.E.A.S.T. was SUCH a good fic you guys oh my GOSH go read it I’m begging you-)

I NEED to have it addressed in fic form that the Rise turtles are fundamentally different than all their other counterparts, because their counterparts? They were accidents. Just a couple of turtles splashed with mutagen and oh look now they’re people but Green. (Huge oversimplification I’m aware but hear me out okay-)

But the Rise boys were created. They were specifically designed to be weapons of mass destruction. They were built with the intent to cause harm which means they were bioengineered to be stronger, smarter(?), faster, to heal quicker, to have the capacity to take hard hits while dishing out even harder ones, they were literally forged with a purpose to kill.

Add on their mystic powers? Then their unlocked Ninpo? You can’t honestly tell me that these four aren’t the strongest and potentially deadliest version of themselves out there.

Yes they still had to learn things, as did the other iterations, they weren’t immediately good (that much is obvious, like c’mon it’s IN the name) but I don’t think the other iterations possess the same instincts as these guys do. They’re just so. Unhinged. They’ve all had their moments in the show I think where it’s obvious they’re not really,,, stable. I love them.

In a plain fists only, maybe weapons, no powers fight, I do think some of the other iterations would win, but purely because they have way more experience than these guys do. (If I did any crossovers I’d say 2003 and 2012 are definitely older than these guys, especially if we’re basing this at the end of their shows) But put them against each other when they’re still at the same level? Rise is whooping butt, I know where I’m placing my bets. It’s called RISE of the TMNT for a reasonnnnnn they’re not there yet but they WILL BE, and as of the end of s2 and the movie I say they’re finally THERE.

I have no idea how this turned into a headcanon rant this was just supposed to be me asking for fic recs hsgdjdjdk it’s almost 3 am tho so whatever sorry if none or only some of this is incoherent o7 o/

Editing this with a list of fics I have been graciously recommended below the cut:

Firefight by remrose [43/43 chapters 222k words] (edit: JUST FINISHED READING ch38-42 WATCH ME BAWL MY EYES OUT I was rotating them in my brain all morning at work) less on the feral side, more on the gut-wrenching angst side, still Disaster Twins and still super good

In Which Donnie and Leo Make Themselves Everyone Else's Problem in an NYC That Isn't Even Their Own by YukiSkyes [7/? chapters, 18k words] the CLASSIC “the Disaster Twins are unapologetically causing chaos” fic, always a delight to read

The Lemon Leak by TurtleSoupSwimmer [27/37 chapters, 143k words] I’m being told it’s very true to the theme here, and it’s very angsty, a suspenseful psychological thriller, and will make you scream at your phone. I for one am very intrigued

Eschatology by aenor_llelo, Alderous, ConcoctionsFromHell, izziel_galaxy, Jaybird314, Otakuforlife19, and Rocket999 [17/17 chapters, 344k words] “HEAVY on the boys being biologically engineered to destroy the world, it also delves into so much character building and worldbuilding that we never got in canon, and it gives even super minor characters the chance to shine” Sounds intriguing, AND it’s a BNHA crossover which I am a big fan of :D

The Hunter’s Bible also by TurtleSoupSwimmer [2/2 chapters, 15k words] Rated Mature, contains themes of SA and c@nnibalism so PLEASE keep that in mind!! Not a fic for the faint of heart this is a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat! The SA is only attempted, and never shown, only implied, and it’s only in ch 1, but the other stuff is fairly descriptive and takes place in ch 2. All that being said, flipping UNHINGED, just about lost my mind in ch 2, it was entertaining in a surreal kinda way if you get what I mean. Funky little feral creatures

[aantinous]

Es como Sancho Panza y Don Quijote, o Spock y el Capitán Kirk. En verdad son el mismo personaje, pero los dos son una parte de la psicología. Y el momento en el que suben a la montaña, cuando ya se ven muertos, ya no discuten, porque ya no hay nada que discutir... en ese momento sois uno. Hay un momento precioso en la película que es cuando a Nando se le empieza a romper la suela del zapato. Claro, si se te rompe el zapato te mueres. Ese era el nivel de dependencia que tenían. Si se muere, ¿qué hace Roberto? ¿Se va y lo deja ahí? ¿Se queda con él? Había un texto ahí y yo dije: no hagáis el texto, hacedlo solo con miradas. Y hay una mirada de Pardella, de Nando, a ti en esa escena que es puro amor.

It’s like Sancho Panza and Don Quixote, or Spock and Captain Kirk. The truth is that they’re the same character, but each a different part of the psychology. And the moment they walk up the mountain, when they see themselves dead, they don’t argue anymore, because there is nothing to argue about. In that moment there are no arguments because you’re one. We shot a beautiful moment in the movie which is when the sole of Nando’s shoe starts to break. Of course, if your shoe breaks, you die. That was the level of dependence they had. And if he dies, what does Roberto do? Does he go, and leave him there? Does he stay with him? So I remember saying, even though we had dialogue, to do it with looks. And there’s one stare from Pardella, who plays Nando, to you in this scene that is pure love.

Javier Bardem and J.A. Bayona with the Society of the Snow Cast | In Conversation

[osunari]

⚠︎ s i l e n t t e m p t a t i o n s ( 18+ )

—ch.5 (NSFW route)

➤ s t a r t

Mr. scarletella x MC

— h o m i c i p h e r 𒌧

“Human Emotions”

[ Route 2 : NSFW (Shows a route wherein SFW content are replaced by NSFW scenes.) ]

Mr. scarletella knelt before you, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. The air around you both felt thick, charged with unspoken words and emotions that neither of you had fully acknowledged yet. You could feel his presence, so close, yet the tension in the room was palpable.

His eyes searched yours, almost as if asking for permission, his expression unreadable. He paused, his hand hovering near your leg, but not quite touching, waiting for a sign from you.

You held his gaze, heart racing, your breath shallow. The conflict within you swirled—part of you wanted to knee him in the gut, but something about this moment made you stay rooted in place. There was a strange comfort in the way he looked at you, like he wasn't rushing, wasn't forcing anything, but simply waiting for your next move.

Finally, with a quiet, almost imperceptible nod, you gave him the smallest sign of consent.

His eyes flickered for the briefest moment, almost half-lidded and full with unintended lust. Before you could even process what was happening, his hand moved swiftly to your leg, cupping it with his cold bare hand. His fingers were cool against your skin as he gently, yet confidently, lifted your leg with a strong but careful grip.

You gasped, your face instantly flushing crimson as he placed it carefully over his shoulder, the motion smooth, almost practiced. The contact was intimate, though not in the way you expected. His gaze never left you, reading your expression as if satisfied by the outcome of his action, his demeanor cool and collected, as if he'd done this a thousand times before. But you could see the flicker of something deeper in his eyes—what was his intent? Is this maniac really going to impregnate me at this very moment?

For a moment, everything seemed to pause. You felt exposed in a way that made your heart race, but at the same time, a strange comfort settled in your chest. You embraced yourself tight as your whole womanly area faced the crimson man, though despite this—he restrained himself from any uncontrollable urge to dig in. Instead, he held the eye contact, still unsure of the level of your willingness as he didn’t want to do anything you didn’t want to be a part of. Mr. scarletella wasn't pushing you; he was waiting. Waiting for you to guide him, to show him where the line was.

“H-hold on a bit…” you were flushed, every nerve in your body alive with electricity. The intimacy of the moment wasn't just physical; it was psychological. You were both waiting for each other to make the move, standing at the edge of something unspoken, something that neither of you dared to initiate.

But in that instant, with your leg draped over his shoulder and his steady gaze locked on yours, you understood. The tension wasn't about power or control. It was about mutual understanding, the push and pull between two people drawn together by something deeper than just attraction. And for the first time, you let yourself feel the weight of it.

. . .

The room was silent except for the soft sound of moaning and skin slapping, mingling with the faint rustling of fabric as mr. scarletella knelt before you. His focus was entirely on your dripping cunt, his hands steady and sure, pumping in and out of your hole that had turned bright red from the overwhelming abuse of the crimson man’s long, slender fingers.

You could feel everything as two of his fingers entered and exited you, the rhythm of your moans subsequent to the grunts of the man as he fingered your hole faster and harder with each passing moment he heard your moans. The sleeves of his red coat, now coated with your love juices as you uncontrollably pumped them out constantly, the crimson man’s face unable to escape from being a victim to the same substance.

You attempted to restraint your shaking, your legs unconsciously wrapping around the man’s neck as it slightly forced him down near your wetness, “N-nghh~… f-fuck!.. mm- mmm~!..” you cursed—nearing to your release as you dug your nails on the cracked wall behind you.

His touch was careful, tender, but there was an undeniable force behind it. You could feel the weight of his affection, his will, pressing against your womb which he teased every now and then.

Your fingers curled involuntarily, digging into the soft strands of his hair as the curse writhed inside you. You couldn't help it—his proximity, his touch, the way he focused so intently on relieving you made your heart race and your senses heighten. Every time his gaze would leave your womanly area and fixate it on your face—to check on you constantly, it sent a ripple of sensation through your body, stirring both pleasure and something deeper. He couldn’t bring himself to drag his eyes back down to your wet cavern as his half-lidded eyes took in the taste of your flavorful expression instead; eyebrows nitted highly, eyes almost crossing, cheeks so flushed you could feel its hotness, and lips pouted as if an attempt to restraint yourself from the embarrassing moans and noises that you made.

"ㄚ几卩卂(good) ?" Mr. scarletella murmured, his voice low and soothing, though there was an undercurrent of strain in it. His hands never faltered as he worked through the depths of your satisfaction, leaving you nodding mindlessly as you brought yourself closer to him. You gripped his hair harder, the heat of your body rising as his fingers took on a slow rhythm—which you thought was not that bad at all. A wave of plessure shot through every nerve of your organ, your tongue slid out of its socket, your hole tightening around the wrinkled fingers of the crimson man as it became harder for him to push through. You could feel the weight of his will to make you release, his strength, anchoring you, dominating you in the moment as the overflowing relief clawed at your very sanity.

Despite all that, mr. scarletella couldn’t quite take in of what was happening just yet. His heart raced as he looked down at your sweating figure, an expression so filled with erotica as you nestled impossibly closer into his chest. The strands of your hair sticking to your neck up to your forehead, the reflective bit of gloss on your kissable plump pink lips, the seducing shape of your womanly physique—Is this what drove male humans to breed female humans? he thought to himself as he finds himself lusting to your wholeness, seeing it all make sense now.

The warmth of your body against his sent a wave of tenderness rushing through him. This was everything he imagined in his fantasy—yet now, here it was, real and definite. The closeness between you was undeniable, as he held you, every part of him felt as if it were falling into place, like the puzzle pieces of his fantasies finally fitting together.

Suddenly, he remembered his foe’s words.

.

.

.

“乙山(she) ㄚ乃(not) 乃丂几(want) 几ㄩ(you) .”

.

.

.

“卩爪乇(big) ㄩ乂乃(man) 乇ㄖ(with) 卩爪乇(big)丂爪乂(fantasy) .”

.

.

.

He couldn’t help but grin, feeling a sense of possessiveness crawl back to his head, his view darkening as he suddenly finds himself pounding his fingers harder into you. He wasn’t gonna let anyone take you from him now, it was far too late for that. You were his, and he was yours, anyone who defied that must be stupid in the head—as he claimed. You were only his—not anyone else’s, but his.

Mr. scarletella’s grin twisted into something darker, more dangerous, as he pulled you closer to his chest. His arm encircled you like iron bands, unyielding and protective, his fingers roughly going in a inhumane speed—unrealizingly. “几ㄩ(you) . . . 爪丫尺丂(mine) .” he murmured, the possessiveness in his voice sending a chill down your spine. His gaze burned into yours, a mix of obsession and adoration, you could feel the intensity radiating from his form. “几丫尺(one) 乇ㄒ丂乇 (touch) 几ㄩ(you) , 几丫尺(one) . . . 丂ㄩ几(die) .” he declared, his voice low and threatening, as though the thought of someone else laying a hand on you ignited a deadly resolve within him. There was no hesitation, no room for negotiation in his words. To him, you were his world—his to hold, his to protect, his to destroy anyone who dared come too close. It wasn’t love in the soft, tender sense—it was primal, all-consuming, and terrifyingly sincere.

But you, you too, felt the intensity of the moment—not positively, but quite negatively. The thought clawed with your mind like a guilt you never succeeded to escape from, feeling a sense of regret hit you just right after the action, the decision, had already been done, been committed. The fact you had let him touch you in ways you would have never thought you would let him, it was happening right in front of your very eyes. You didn’t love him, nor even trusted him—so why?..

.

.

.

And… why is he lowering his head a bit too low into my wet region?.. “A-ah~!.. s-scarlet… you-“ before you could interpret the scene unfolding in front of your very eyes, his tongue swirled at your entrance like a predator preparing to take in his prey. He burried his face into your wide open thighs, hungrily licking you clean while never missing a single drop. The unforeseen gesture left you staggered, but instantly as if on instinct—you slowly started widening your opened legs for him, but his hungry state grew impatient—rushing them open as the palms of his hands separated your thighs.

He gave a quick gaze up at your blushing face, “M-mm, mmm…” he continued to lick and suck at your sensitive folds, savoring the taste of your arousal mixed with your release. He felt you growing more and more excited, focusing his attention on your clit, swirling his tongue around the bud and applying gentle suction. He could feel your legs shake with no control and more of your ragged breathing, knowing that you were close to orgasm—he redoubled his efforts, his tongue moving in rapid circles as he slid two fingers back inside you, pumping them in and out in time with his licking.

The pleasure was overwhelming, the power of his tongue licking you dry as his fingers shaped your insides—it edged you closer and closer to your release. “I-I’m cumming, I’m… cumming~..!” With a quiet yelp, you cleched your thighs together as they squeezed his head as you came, a wave of pleasure washing over your weary and tired physique as the man helped you ride your release. He continued licking and fingering your flushed hole through your orgasm, not wanting to stop until every last tremor had subsided.

His face had been covered by the liquids you spurted out from your body, a few stands of his hair dripping damp with the same substance. You turned out to notice some of it had dripped down the tiled-floor as well, a faint red decorating your cheeks—indicating your embarrassment.

After everything, the hallways were quieter, more serene than they had been moments ago. Mr. scarletella’s grip on your leg had softened, his touch no longer dominant but gentle, as though he needed to ensure you were alright. He looked at you with a gaze full of both admiration and care, his earlier intensity replaced by something deeper, more considerate.

You could still feel the lingering heat from the moment, but now it was replaced by a quiet tenderness. He wiped you clean with a handkerchief placed inside his coat, before cleaning himself off with the same piece of cloth— gently sliding your leg off his shoulder as his hands lingered on your skin as if reluctant to let go. He caught your gaze, his expression a mix of awe and a subtle hint of satisfaction. His fingers brushed your hair back from your face, his touch soft as he murmured, “几ㄩ(you) ㄚ几乙卩(okay) ?”

You forced a smile at him, your cheeks flushed but your heart calm, the bond between you both clear now in the quiet of the hallway. “M-me okay.” you whispered, brushing off the guilt you pondered in your mind earlier. There was no rush, no pressure now—just the two of you, the distance between you now filled with trust and a quiet understanding. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his voice low and sincere, “几爪卩ㄖ(good) .”

You dived deeper into his eyes, the sense of guilt beginning to gnaw at your chest once again. It was hard to ignore, no matter how warm his embrace felt, or how gentle his touch was. Deep down, you knew the truth; what had just happened wasn’t driven by love, but by overwhelming emotions. You’d acted on impulse, lost in the intensity of the moment, and now it felt like there was an undeniable weight pressing down on your heart. The guilt only deepened as you realized this wasn’t with someone you had ever truly seen as your equal, someone you thought was worthy of such an intimate connection. It wasn’t a love you had imagined or hoped for—it was a fleeting, heated connection, and now you couldn’t help but feel conflicted.

You had hoped your first time would be with someone who made you feel more than just desire—someone who had earned your trust completely. But now, sitting here in the quiet aftermath, you felt unsure, questioning whether your heart had truly been in the right place.

—ch.5

➤ e n d

“Human Emotions”

[sodacowboy]

anyway I also had a good comment experience in that same thread so y’know. duality and nuance and all that.

y’all we gotta give tumblr more credit for our reading comprehension because quite frankly it’s worse over on youtube

[antifainternational]

Since youre antifascist, how about you give us a definition of fascism? What exactly makes someone a fascist? (and in case you use terms such as left-wing or right-wing be sure to define them too)

Guess it's been a while since a clever Anon challenged us to define fascism, huh? Right, let's get into it: Via the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum:

Yale professor Jason Stanley:

“Fascism is a creation of race hatred and its politically organized expression.” - Willhelm Reich, The Mass Psychology of Fascism (1933).

“Fascism is capitalism plus murder.” - Upton Sinclair

“Repression by brute force is always a confession of the inability to make use of the better weapons of the intellect — better because they alone give promise of final success. This is the fundamental error from which Fascism suffers and which will ultimately cause its downfall…that its foreign policy, based as it is on the avowed principle of force in international relations, cannot fail to give rise to an endless series of wars that must destroy all of modern civilization requires no further discussion. To maintain and further raise our present level of economic development, peace among nations must be assured. But they cannot live together in peace if the basic tenet of the ideology by which they are governed is the belief that one’s own nation can secure its place in the community of nations by force alone. ” - Ludwig von Mises,  Liberalism: A Socio-Economic Exposition (1927).

“Spent most of the day reading fascisti leaflets. They certainly have turned the whole country into an army. From cradle to grave one is cast in the mould of fascismo and there can be no escape … It is certainly a socialist experiment in that it destroys individuality. It destroys liberty.” -  Harold Nicolson, The Harold Nicolson Diaries : 1919-1964 (2004).

“The liberty of a democracy is not safe if the people tolerated the growth of private power to a point where it becomes stronger than the democratic state itself. That in its essence is fascism: ownership of government by an individual, by a group, or any controlling private power.” - Franklin D. Roosevelt

“A fascist is one whose lust for money or power is combined with such an intensity of intolerance toward those of other races, parties, classes, religions, cultures, regions or nations as to make him ruthless in his use of deceit or violence to attain his ends….If we define an American fascist as one who in case of conflict puts money and power ahead of human beings, then there are undoubtedly several million fascists in the United States.” - Henry A. Wallace

“Fascism is the cult of organised murder, invented by the arch-enemies of society. It tends to destroy civilization and revert man to his most barbarous state. Mussolini and Hitler might well be called the devils of an age, for they are playing hell with civilization.” - Marcus Garvey,  Authors take Sides on the Spanish War, 1937 Philosophy Tube's breakdown of the elements of fascism is very thorough and recommended if you're not the reading type. But do you read books? We hope so if you're looking to engage in political discussion about anything. Here are some books that tackle the definition of fascism, in whole or in part, that we would recommend to you (check/order from your local library!) Mark Bray's highly-accessible Antifa: The Anti-Fascist Handbook is a great starting point for this topic.

Columbia history professor Robert O. Paxton's excellent book The Anatomy of Fascism goes into this in great detail.

There's also Umberto Eco's The Eternal Fascist

or his "practical list for identifying fascists" as well as Hannah Arendt's seminal The Origins of Totalitarianism

We hope you weren't looking for a simple answer to the complex question of "what is fascism?" Anon, just as we hope you're up to taking our challenge of checking out all of the above so you're curiosity is satisfied and you're well-versed on the topic.

[dg-outlaw]

Batman #148 Thoughts... or Why Jason Todd is Awesome and Batman Doesn't Deserve Him.

So... I know a lot of the discussion about this issue has been about what happens to Jason, and IYKYK. What I want to discuss are parts of the rest of the issue and why I think Jason is one of the best characters (and more than how many perceive him). *spoilers ahead*

I know many outsiders and even those in fandom look at Jason Todd or the Red Hood and think of him as the hot, angsty edge lord who isn't afraid to break Batman's one rule. He's cool and badass so you want to be like him or he's the romantic fantasy bad boy with a soft side. These things are fine, but this is often where people stop with Jason or if they dislike him the above descriptions are why.

Some people want him to be an antagonist again because villains are cool and this is where we get things like 'The Boys' because it's edgy, subversive, or some intelligent deconstruction of superheroes. Colorful and honorable superheroes like Superman or Spider-Man are boring, just a fantasy, or for kids who don't understand the real world. Again, fine if that's your take, but I don't believe that one "graduates" from one to the other.

Beyond the Fast and Furious style cool factor of fast cars, guns, and explosions that often get associated with Jason, there's more to him than that and it's why he's still one of my favorites. Hell, this is the same character that writers thought would be a priest in the Flashpoint universe, a universe that had gone to hell in a handbasket but in all that chaos and darkness he became a PRIEST.

(The World of Flashpoint: Issue #2)

Say what you will about organized religion, Christianity, or the Catholic church (because there are definitely issues there), but I think two of Jason's core traits that I admire are his faith and hope. Traits that often get Jason hurt by the people closest to him, but that often see him through the darkest times.

The cheapness of using Jason's "death" aside, these traits are seen again in Batman #148. Not only is Jason willing to put his faith in Bruce again (after everything "not" Bruce did to him in Gotham War), but he's the first down into the cave.

This isn't blind faith, but a willingness to try. A hope that maybe this time he won't be hurt, even if time and time again history has proven otherwise. Note: This can be a slippery and dangerous slope and not one without consequences as many people fall into the trap of going back into or staying in toxic relationships that only bring them pain. (And I never said his greatest strengths can't also be his greatest weaknesses).

We also see some emotional maturity and growth in this issue and I love that for Jason. Has he been going to therapy? Maybe, but my money is that he's probably been reading lots of self-help books or something.

Does Bruce deserve this level of forgiveness and compassion from Jason? No, but Jason gives it to him anyway. I also feel like this is a soft challenge from Jason. "I'm not here to save you from yourself or to ask you to save me. We do this together or not at all."

And if you're thinking, "Oh no, Jason has gone soft. Not my Jason Todd!" He's still a cheeky bastard in battle, even when he's on the ropes.

Now, for Jason's "death", one could say that it was a cheap ploy by the writer or DC to get people talking or to have a random "Jason dies" scene (though he's revived in the same issue so I feel the emotional stakes/hype are less compared to leaving it open-ended until the next issue).

One could also look at it in a cynical light given it's Jason that Bruce brings down into the cave during the flashback reveal with the secret Lazarus Kool-Aid. Did Bruce plan that knowing Jason would volunteer in some sort of reverse psychology manipulation? Was it just a random plot explanation to justify having the "Jason dies" scene? Who knows? Though I think Dick or Tim would've volunteered as well. But my focus is on the conversation.

This is another example of Jason's hope and faith, and his faith in Bruce. Bruce's plan isn't tested, though one could assume that he's done the math so to speak, but it's still Jason literally putting his life in Bruce's hands. It's also fairly clever because if Failsafe is some echo of Batman, then something in his programming probably knows about the emotional pain of Jason's initial death. So not only is "killing" going to make him glitch out, but killing Jason is probably the ultimate Failsafe glitch.

Deep down I think Jason knows how much he means to Bruce, even if Bruce is terrible at showing it sometimes. He's willing to take the risk and die, not for Bruce, but for the greater good of saving the day.

Let's also not forget that in the span of a short amount of (in-universe) time, Jason has saved the entire East Coast (end of Gotham War), Gotham City (end of The Joker: The Man Who Stopped Laughing), and is now ready to die again to stop Failsafe--all while his brain is still probably a little messed up from Gotham War.

Let this young man take a damn vacation!

Was this issue perfect? No. And I agree with others about it not being cool that Steph, Cass, and Duke got sidelined as the clean-up crew, but I do think it showed a lot of Jason's deeper character (flawed or not) and how he's more than just the edgy, sarcastic bad boy. That part of him is just the hard candy shell he's had to create to protect the gooey center that is his hope, faith, and love. After all, Damian has previously (and rightly) called him out as the "emotional one".

P.S. I know my previous post picked on Jason's Red Hood outfit at the end and I still stand by the fact that it wasn't my favorite, but seeing that it's Jorge Jimenez's art, I can forgive it. I love most of Jorge's art and would kill (not literally) to be as talented as him, but that outfit design is still a no for me. Sorry, Jorge. :(

[canmom]

Do you think Hideaki Anno is right-wing or is it too difficult to tell from his works?

Haha that's a question.

I'll focus on nationalism rather than trying to get into, say, gender politics here, since that's the accusation that most seems to follow Anno around.

Anno's politics are... hard to pin down from his work alone, I think. He's like... a prototypical case of that generation of 'apolitical' otaku that followed after the Anpo generation, with Eva pretty much the definitive statement of the 90s psychological turn. But that said... I can definitely see the argument that there are nationalist themes in some of his works like Gunbuster, though I definitely don't buy every reading in this series (lots of dubious kanji reading). He definitely has that otaku fascination with war machinery and war media (apparently he's a big fan of The Battle for Okinawa and watched it over 100 times), which can easily blend into imperialist ideology.

But there's complications here. For example, the Animekritik series cites the setting of Gunbuster in Okinawa as something formative to the nationalist ideology they are trying to illustrate - in part in relation to the ongoing controversy over American military bases in Okinawa. Anno has at least been on record as saying he's disinterested in Western culture, and I can see the reading of Jung-Freud as an external Other who is shown up by the Japanese girls, somehow simultaneously representing the USSR, Europe and the States. But anti-Americanism in Japan can come in both left and right wing flavours (c.f. Anpo). Communists want the Americans out too! Portraying Okinawa as a military training camp in a Japan-led military coalition certainly comes across as a more nationalist take on that whole matter, but I feel like it's got about the same level of serious nationalist commitment as Doctor Who putting random British people all over space.

When Gainax has played around with nationalist imagery it's usually been in a kind of ironic sendup way - see Ash's writeup about the Aikoku Sentai Dai Nippon controversy, in which Daicon Film staff were disdainful at the accusation that their goofy toku film reflected a genuine nationalist sentiment. While Imaishi takes it further, a lot of Anno's work is also about playfully reappropriating past works. In Anno's case a lot of that is classic tokusatsu, Ultraman in particular, and also Leiji Matsumoto's scifi, notably Space Battleship Yamato, which, well... you know the deal there lol. But it's not so simple to go from that to 'Anno is a nationalist'.

Eva doesn't tend to attract these accusations, but I recall the controversy came back around with Shin Godzilla, though to my mind it's hard to find a straightforwardly nationalist reading of that movie. (It's a film about the experience of the earthquake and Fukushima nuclear plant meltdown, and it's critical of Japan's bureaucracy, but equally one where the JSDF repeatedly get their shit handed to them and civilian infrastructure is what actually stops Godzilla - not to mention Godzilla is painted as quite a tragic figure here!) It all feels pretty tenuous.

I haven't seen as many of Anno's live action films as I'd like, so I can't comment as much on the more recent Shin films, Love & Pop, Shiki-Jitsu etc. And it's always possible for subtler allusions to slip by the anglophone viewer. Still, I don't personally think Anno's post-Gunbuster work is particularly nationalist in outlook. I certainly haven't seen any evidence of him favouring, say, war crime denial, anti-Korean sentiment, remilitarisation, etc etc. - he's definitely not as dubious a figure as someone like Hajime Isayama. But it's not like, anti-nationalist either! It's just kind of hard to read in those terms.

So I lean towards your second option, I'm not convinced he's a nationalist or particularly right wing. He happily associates with Hayao Miyazaki, who's definitely not a right wing guy. But Anno'll also let hilariously cooked stuff like whatever On A Gloomy Night was supposed to be into the Animator Expo. So I don't think he's particularly left wing either, he's no Ikuni! But Anno's fiction is very individual focused, full of psychoanalytic themes and internal conflict. He can vividly portray trauma and complex power dynamics. There's a lot to appreciate in works like Eva from a left-wing angle. I don't really know why this association of nationalism follows him around.

Idk, maybe there's a bunch of interviews I'm missing! Presumably you have a reason for asking this question...