#of course that idea is bullshit and they know it. which is why they suicide baited me

[tabithatwo]

i have kindve a rant abt jackie that id like your thoughts on. whenever people write fics where jackie is like. wholly a dumbass it really irks me. like the most we see of her is in the wilderness, of course shes useless?? shes a normal person, she wasnt trained in survival tactics. theres another rant in there abt how she very much could have adapted but she was depressed and suicidal and i think thats mostly why shes useless, but thats a conversation for another time! but yeah. when shes just ditzy and shit in fics it really rubs me the wrong way. like i follow the hc that shes autistic, and specifically the kind where shes very socially aware but still sometimes fucks up a little. like how usually when shes mean she has no idea that it came off that way. i feel like people took that and twisted it to mean that shes some useless moron thats constantly oblivious and needs to be babied. i hope that made some sense? idk, im just curious if thats something other people have noticed and have a problem w or if im too personally offended by it lmao

Here is part 2 that anon sent separately!

Honestly anon fucking preach lol, that’s my thoughts on it!! I don’t think you phrased anything mean, I get the passion behind it comes from an important place! I tend to really bristle at any women being portrayed as stupid, even when it’s done in a cutesy (read: patronizing lol) manner.

NOW I can get behind a one liner joke like “aww she’s so stupid” about any of the yjs bc they ALL have their dumb moments, usually around EMOTIONAL intelligence! But I know what you’re talking about and I’ve seen it too—portraying her or describing her as likable but fucking dumber than a rock is honestly more annoying to me than the evil genius mastermind take most of the time.

It isn’t supported by anything we have of her character. There’s even a BIG point made with Shauna’s hallucination of her, where Shauna recognizes this sort of unfair impulse to jump to diminishing Jackie’s intelligence. I think that shauna simply feels like she needs one thing that’s just hers, one thing that she’s better at, and in her mind intelligence is the only option. But even she recognizes that’s bullshit. I think that yes shauna is framed as more book-smart than Jackie (honestly shauna is framed as the most book-smart, probably tied with Taissa) but we actually know very little of Jackie’s academic achievement, so it’s sort of up in the air.

But as far as day to day intelligence, I don’t think we’re meant to think Jackie is stupid. If anything, I think the lack of woods participation (which, as you said, is fucking depression and suicidality and fear) can be interpreted negatively as laziness, if one is inclined to interpret it negatively, or a fear of failure, more so than stupidity.

To each their own, I don’t think sort of notably off characterization is malicious unless the person is being cruel about it, but yeah I get annoyed and tend to click away lol and I do think there’s a lot lot lot of misogyny that infiltrates some popular jackie takes.

[themiimagebehindfire]

”The War Is Done, The Stars Are Gone, The Breath Is Fighting” -Disventure Camp All Stars ALT Ending One Shot

”An angsty rewrite of the ending of Disventure Camp All Stars. What if Riya suffers far more consequences than just loneliness when she slits her opponent’s throat over greed?”

TW: Blood & Injury, Angst, Mention of an attempted suicide

———

“Riya?”

Riya scoffs mid gulp as she lowers the water bottle from her mouth. Connor is face to face with her, a stern look that she was not in the mood for.

“What do you want?” She asks coldly.

“Look, you must have realized by now,” He expresses. “No one is routing for you.”

Riya tenses up at the bold statement. No one? No one is routing for her? That was ridiculous! Course, she was aware of the idea that some people would route for some whiny little twink over her, but the idea that no one would route for her was ludicrous!

She’s played the game. She’s played this game better than anyone else. That’s why she’s even here as a finalist. She couldn’t throw it all away when some dude no one cares about was currently beating her!

Of course Connor wouldn’t care. Of course Connor wouldn’t encourage her. Of course Connor would side with that boy over her. His own love. It’s not her fault he never understood her whole act; her whole game. It’s not her fault he took the act far too personally.

With her blood boiling and racing with these thoughts, Riya snaps, “It’s not your concern!”

“I know there’s still a part of you that knows I’m right!” Connor begs. “Leave with what dignity you have left!”

Oh not this bullshit again! He’s right. How does he not get it yet?! No one is routing for you. I have all my dignity in tact right here right now! No one loves you anymore. I’m going to win this thing if it’s the last thing I’ll do! You’re all alone. Once I win that million dollars, everyone will see how much my game really mattered! Then they’ll all come back to me and beg for forgiveness! You’re a villain.

“You think I give a shit what any of you think?!” Riya angrily spews out in the race of her thoughts. “I’m a star! In ten years, none of you will be remembered! You’re just worried I’ll hurt Jake!”

The moment that gets out of her mouth, she has to tsk at her own breath. Hurt Jake. Hurt that boy. Would she do that?

“Well, you just watch! Your leg will look like a scrap after what I do to him!” The threat is out and there’s no regret. She stomps away from the old man and climbs back up to the podium.

Holding her rewarded steel shield and blade, she locks a fierce glance at the lanky blue head on the other side. One would think if Riya Sharma was going to lose, it’d be against a tough and worthy opponent. The idea alone that it’s this guy pisses her off more and more with every time he one ups her.

What I’ll do to him will make Connor’s sprained ankle look tame. I swear it.

”One more point, and Jake is our All Stars Champion!” Krystal announces.

With that, both of them charge, with Riya slashing her sword at Jake’s wooden shield. He thrusts it at her to push her away, a confident grin on his face.

A grin. At beating her.

Riya, with a snarl, charges and stabs her sword into his wood shield, thrusting her arm with enough force to yank the shield out of his hands. With her spare arm holding her metal shield, she slams it into the boys chest as hard as her anger lets her.

The wind is knocked out of Jake from the hit, forcing him to bend over in pain.

Riya, with no remorse, takes the chance to kick him off the edge of the platform. That’ll take that smile right off his face.

”Riya has scored a point on Jake!” Krystal announces. “It’s 2-2! Next point wins!”

Jake is on the ground, both arms gripping his chest, which is still burning from the pain of the blow. He tries to take deep breaths to help ease the pain, but it’s not helping very much.

He tries to take one arm away from his chest to grip the edge of the platform and stand up again, which proves to be a bit of a challenge, as the pain flares up more standing up.

“Jake! You alright?!” Ashley’s voice snaps some sort of distraction for him. The cowgirl, along with Ally and Tom, come running down to check on him.

“How is that fair?!” Ally protests. “She might’ve broken his ribs with that hit!”

Jake, trying to keep his confidence up, tries to smile and assure, “I’m fine, I’m fine-“

A grunt cuts him off as pain makes him hunch over.

No. Whatever confidence he had is gone. That hit. It wasn’t the hit that’s making him hesitant. There was anger in that hit. There was spite. A terrifying amount of spite.

Something’s creeping up in the back of his throat. Anxiety. A sense of dread that this woman might be out for blood.

“I-I’m sorry…” Jake winces. “I-I-I don’t know if I can do this-“

A gentle slap meets his left cheek.

Ally was sure to be gentle with it since he’s already hurt, but it still stings his face. “Do you hear yourself right now?! You’ve already come this far! We both have! We promised Connor we’d take Riya down!”

It’s a rare moment for Jake to see Ally this determined and encouraging, at least in his favor. It’s still making him shake. “But why me?? I can’t do anything right, and you expect me to beat her? I-“

Tom’s next to step in and wrap his arms around him. It’s tight. It would be even more of a rush of shock and affection if his ribs didn’t hurt.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that. I can’t stand it.” Tom’s voice is shaky, almost as if he’s holding back tears. “You are so much more worth it than you think, Jake. I’m sorry I treated you like you’re not for so long… but where’s that fire I grew to stand from you? Where’s that drive? Where’s that sweet smile and good heart we’ve all grown to see? That’s the boy that’s standing here as a finalist right now.”

Tom parts from Jake so all of that can be said with Tom looking him in the eye. He means it. He means all of it. From that alone, something in Jake’s heart is touched.

“We’re routing for you.” Ashley says with an encouraging wink. “We want to route for you.”

Aiden, James, Miriam, Connor, Lake, and a couple of others join in and gather around Jake. All of them with smiles of encouragement.

“You can do this, Jake.” James says proudly. “We believe in you.”

Soon enough, the audience starts joining in, cheering loudly for Jake. “Jake! Jake! Jake! Jake! Jake!”

That’s all it needs to get Jake to forget the pain. People are routing for him. They genuinely want to see him succeed. People, all these people, care about him.

To think he thought for the longest time nobody would ever want him.

Jake rubs his eye with his hand to prevent a tear, moved by the waves of encouragement. “You guys… thank you.”

The cheers are still happening. Everyone was routing for Jake…

…and no one was routing for Riya.

Riya stands there on the podium the entire time, hearing the cheers of the audience ringing in her ears.

The name being cheered that wasn’t hers.

The crybaby look on that boys face, all because he couldn’t take a little pain.

The sight of Connor being with the crowd standing with Jake.

No one is routing for you.

Riya’s eye twitches at the sight. Her blood was boiling before, but it’s even hotter now. Her hand holding the blade is shaking.

Oh, how much I want to take this blade and stab it right in his face! How much I want to slash this at every filthy traitor in this coliseum!

Riya snickers at the thoughts in her head, the shaking and the quiet laughter taking over her mind.

“Are you done having your little friendship speeches?!” Riya angrily shouts.

Jake turns to Riya, a look of pity being gifted to her. The other contestants are surrounding him and giving her nasty glares, and yet he gives her pity. It’s a sick joke.

“I know you’re just coping, Riya.” He says. “Being all alone must stink… it’s how I’ve felt for a long time.”

“Oh my GOD you’re so PATHETIC!” Riya, with an enraged eye roll, snaps at him.

Get up here and fight me like a finalist!!

Jake gets back up the podium, shield and sword ready.

Riya grits her teeth, her eyes having her target locked.

So he’s asking for it.

She charges at him wildly, aggressively slashing the sword at his shield.

She doesn’t stop. She keeps attacking him as aggressively as he can. She doesn’t give him a moment to breathe.

She’s vicious with all her slashes. All her attacks. All her insanity. It’s all vicious.

He manages to slip from one of her strikes, making his own slash at her back. She blocks it with her shield, and he keeps trying to push her back more and more.

She looks behind her, almost at the edge.

No. I’m not done here. I’m not losing to him. I’m not giving up everything like this!

”It’s over! You lose!” Jake claims.

I lose? I lose…?

No one is routing for you No one is routing for you No one is routing for you No one is routing for you No one is routing for you

HURT. HIM.

“RRRRRRRRUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!”

With all her might, Riya uses her strength to bash her sword at Jake to get him off her, and with the sword, she throws out a slash with everything she’s got.

One kick to the back later, and he disappears from her sight.

Off the podium.

Out of her way.

The moment it hits her, she drops both weapons, letting out a breath of relief.

Everyone falls silent. All eyes are widened in horror.

”Did-did I…?” She can barely process it.

He’s down. He’s off the podium. She did it.

She beat him. She won.

…

Why is no one cheering?

…

… … …

“JAKE!!”

That’s not a cheer.

That’s a scream.

“O-oh my god!!” “Jake! O-oh no!!” “Oh heavens no!!” “Breathe! You gotta breathe okay?!?!”

What are they talking about? He’s just fallen.

Riya steps toward the edge to see it better. He’s just crying that he lost. He’s fine…

He’s…

Oh…

Oh shit…

There are people surrounding him but she can still see.

He’s on the ground, hands clenching his throat, which is swelling an ugly red and purple. The only sounds coming out of him are gasps. Tears are falling from his eyes as he desperately tries to breathe.

There’s no air reaching his lungs. He can’t breathe.

Quicker and quicker, his vision blurs as his cries grow. All voices and thoughts in his mind are deaf to only one thought in his mind.

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe-

“CALL AN AMBULANCE!!!!” Tom screams, tears falling from his eyes as well. He’s trying to hold Jake upright. “Jake, come on! Stay strong, stay with us, Jake! You’re gonna be okay!!”

The tears from his eyes become streams as he silently cries at the sounds of his love gasping and crying for air. “No no no no, not like this, please no…”

“Jake…?” Ally can’t speak. She weakly reaches out, but she’s held back by Hunter and Tess with their arms around her.

“Oh lord, please no… please oh lord don’t do this to this child!” Miriam begins to pray as tears fall from her eyes as well. “Please don’t take him away too!”

Connor, as horrified and dreadful for Jake as he is, can’t help but look up at Riya.

She’s still standing on the podium. Hands shaking in absolute shock.

Her eyes attempt to look down and away from the scene, only to look at her own sword that she won.

With a hint of red on the tip.

She hurt him.

“…I…I…” She can’t even speak at the realization of what she’s done.

Yes. She wanted to hurt him. She’s hurt a lot of people…

It shouldn’t be that surprising, really. She’s had no trouble putting people in situations with less than a guarantee at survival. But they’ve all survived. There was never a point where these actions have led to a person actually being close to death.

What if she killed him?

“Riya…” Connor doesn’t sound like he’s begging to her or anything. It’s a hollow tone.

“I…” Her head is spinning. I could’ve killed him.

But I wanted to. No you didn’t. But he deserved it. No he didn’t. But he wanted it. No he didn’t. It was an accident. No it wasn’t. I didn’t kill him. You don’t know that. It was worth it. I got what I wanted. Right?

Did you?

“So…” She tries to shake it all off, asking the question, “So does that mean I win?”

Some people are too concerned for Jake to care. Others glance at Riya in disgust. Even Aiden spits out, “What. The. Fuck?”

”YOU VILLAIN!!!” Someone in the audience shouts, pointing at Riya. “YOU COULD’VE KILLED HIM!!!”

And then it spirals to more people shouting it from there. “YOU MONSTER” “YOU MURDERER” “YOU VILLAIN”

There is not a single person in that crowd that’s even remotely with Riya. They all are saying their thoughts to her face.

Monster. Murderer. Villain. Monster. Murderer. Villain. Monster. Murderer. Villain. Monster. Murderer. Villain. Monster. Murderer. Villain. Monster. Murderer. Villain.

All Riya can do is fall to her knees and clench her head. She ducks under to try and cancel out the noise of distain.

Another noise soon joins in. The sound of an ambulance blaring.

“Over here!” Oliver is with the doctors, leading them to Jake.

Some of the crowd parts so the doctors can reach Jake. Tom has the blue head laid on the ground, in the middle of doing chest compressions. The cop, tear streaked, is desperate and not letting himself be convinced his love is gone.

The doctors put down a stretcher, ordering them to set Jake on it. They oblige in doing so. Once he’s on and secured, the doctors pick him up to take him away.

Miriam is the one who joins them, begging to be on the ambulance with her ‘grandson’. They disappear from the colosseum. The boys fate is undecided.

The others shock only lasts for a few seconds before Tom breaks it by running.

“Tom! Where’re you going?!” Ashley asks, calling out before he can be out of range.

“I’m following them to the hospital!” Tom cries. “I cant leave him before he leaves me!”

Hearing that, Ashley joins in. “I’m coming with you! Where’s the nearest ride?”

“We’re going too!” Aiden says, on behalf of himself, James, and Lake.

“We gotta go too.” Ally says to Hunter and Tess.

Soon, everyone joins in. Every single contestant in the game joins in and begins to leave the colosseum to find a ride.

There are only two who stay behind. Riya and Connor.

Riya looks down at Connor, who isn’t looking her in the eye anymore. “You…” she tries to speak. “You think I did that on purpose?!”

All Connor gives is a brief, hollow, “Yeah.”

Riya cries, insanely, “Well who gives a shit if he lives or dies?! I still won!! I. WON. THIS. GAME!!!”

Connor crosses his arms. His expression is still stern, but a single tear falls from his face. He says softly, “So that’s what led to this… the show… the money… we were all after that money…”

With that, Connor begins to walk out to join the others.

Riya tries to get up as well, but Nina blocks her path, red devil eyes gleaming at her. Marquis grips her shoulder, demanding “You stay where you are. The police will be here shortly.”

“Police?” The word buzzes in Riya’s head. Police. Is she…

Nina keeps the demon glance at her, saying cheekily, “See you in hell, lady.”

Riya’s stuck there. That’s it. She’s really going to prison.

She won the game, but she loses how much in the process?

All for that money…

Was it worth it?

As Connor is almost out of the coliseum, Krystal catches up to him, pleading, “Hey hey hey! Where’re you all going! You can’t leave! We’re still on air!”

“Yes we can.” Connor says without stopping.

“I know Jake being in the hospital is less than convenient, but for all of you to walk away like that before we’re done airing the season finale is-“

“Saying a lot.” Connor finishes her sentence.

“S-should I contact any of you in a bit?” Krystal asks. “Once you’re cooled off and we get news?”

That gets Connor to stop and turn around, making one thing clear. “I can speak for everyone who walked out. We quit. Don’t contact any of us to be on this show again. We don’t need it.”

With that, he leaves.

———

*TWO DAYS LATER*

Prison is frustrating.

At least, that’s what Riya’s come to accept in her head. The stench, the closed space, the cold air, and the constant shouting of the inmates. Since she's arrived, she hasn't said a word.

Everyone who walks by her cell only sees her seated on the bed, hugging her knees and tugging the orange fabric of her uniform.

To say she's experiencing a state of mental shock is an understatement. She keeps flashing back to the entire show, and everything she's done violently.

Leaving Aiden to die on that cliff.

Breaking Connor's ankle.

Getting Gabby bit by that tiger.

And that's just the severe cases.

Maybe a part of her believes she deserved to be here before the incident she got arrested for even happened.

Nobody's come to visit her so far. Not any of her 'friends' that she made on the show. Not any fans. Not any family members. No one.

Now, all Riya wants is for someone, anyone, to come see her and coddle her. Tell her she's going to be okay. Tell her about the good thing's she's done. Give her a hug.

That's when she hears the cell door slide open.

"Sharma?"

Riya looks up to see a guard there. He tells her, "Your escort will be here shortly."

"Escort?" Riya stands up, confused.

"Your family paid for bail. You'll be on house arrest for the next three years. Blake is taking you home."

"Connor?" Her eyes widen in surprise at that.

That's what makes her willingly go with them to leave.

Sure enough, at the front office, the man is standing there, arms crossed and eyes widened at the sight of her.

It's one stare, then he looks away. Riya continues to stare at him with feelings rushing through her. "H-hi Connor..."

No answer.

"I..." She wells up, finding it hard to contain herself. "W-why? Why did you bail me?"

"I didn't pay for bail. Your family did." Connor says. "I'm just your ride."

"But why you?" She asks.

"I..." He lets out a long, sad sigh. "I guess I'm not cruel enough to let you rot in a cell. Or maybe that's not what you deserve in my opinion."

What does he mean by 'not what you deserve'?

Riya lets out a tearful smile, approaching him with open arms. "Thank you... I-I'm so sorry Connor..."

He grabs her before she can hug him, pushing her away.

"C-Connor...?"

"You think a sorry is going to cut what you did?" Connor's expression isn't sympathetic at all.

"Maybe not," Riya admits, still pleading. "But there's no cameras now. I don't need to pretend. I can put it all in the past."

"That's what you think your action was? An act?" Connor counters sternly. He nods no, in disbelief. "I can't even with you..."

He turns his back on her and walks away. He tells the guard, "I'll be waiting for her in the lot."

———

A couple of hours later, Riya is in the passengers seat of Connor's car, both of them in an uncomfortable silence.

It's been hours, and neither of them have said a word. There's an aura that's been there the entire time. A dark aura. An aura of emptiness.

Soon enough, Riya couldn't take it anymore, and she broke the silence. "So... the game... did I lose?"

She had to have been disqualified, right? After what happened...

"It's worse than that." Connor says. She deserves to be informed, at the very least. "You won."

"I... won?!" She won? She won the game? She's the winner of Disventure Camp All Stars?! She did it?! She can't help but smile. "S-so it was worth it?!"

"You got the money." Connor informs, still refusing to look at her. "Your family picked it up from Krystal and put it in your account... although, you're not gonna access it till your house arrest is done. But you do have it. Hope it was worth it."

Hope it was worth it. That stings.

Why does her smile drop? She won three million dollars. She won what she came for. She earned this.

Why is she not happy?

She tries to get a read on Connor's face. It's obvious he's not showing any warmth for her, but there's some sort of reflection in his eye. Water?

Riya crosses her arms and slumps in her seat. She rolls her eyes, trying to shake it off. "Whatever. To be arrested for a messily sword strike. They act like I did that on purpose..."

"Maybe you did. Maybe you didn't. You still attempted murder." Connor says.

"Murder...?" The word hits her.

She hit Jake in the throat. He was gagging.

Is he...?

"That twink..." She has to know. "When's his funeral?"

Connor doesn't answer.

She turns to face him again. The man's breath hitches at that.

"I killed him." She's convinced. "He's dead, isn't he?"

No answer.

"Connor? Is he dead?"

Finally, Connor answers. "I don't know."

What? "What do you mean you don't know?!"

"They got him to the hospital." Connor's voice raises a bit, but he remains stern and calm. "They had to do a major surgery. But he stopped breathing moments before they got there... side of his neck was slit and a windpipe was damaged with metal blade tip in it. You're lucky his throat wasn't slit in the center, otherwise he would be a goner... Now we're just waiting for news. We don't know if he's dead or not."

So it doesn't matter. Whether Jake dies or not, Riya is still charged for the attempt alone. That's what matters to her.

That still doesn't ease Riya. Sure, she hated the boy and wouldn't care if he lived or died if it wasn't her that was responsible for it. Still... she did a lot of damage to him, all for money.

"At least it's over..." Riya says, in a bit of desperation. "I can bounce back from this. Bit of cancelling isn't gonna end my career... an accident isn't gonna hurt us, right?"

Connor parks the car. They've arrived at her house. Sternly, he orders, "Get out."

"Connor-"

"Riya, get out."

She has no choice but to obey, climbing out of the car.

She's back home. Back in her fancy, empty, home.

She can only stare at it for a second in distain before she hears the engine start again.

She grips the windowsill, begging, "Connor, wait! Don't leave!! Please, I can salvage this! I promise!"

Connor rolls down the window to talk to her. He makes it clear, "What's the point? You can beg all you want, it doesn't change anything. Now I know the real you. Out of everyone, you were the only one who refused to change. Was it worth it?"

"Maybe... no... I don't know..." Riya spits out. She doesn't know that answer. She tries to fake er confidence, arguing with him. "You just care about that boy more than me... you care more about all those losers more than me. If I was the one with the slit throat, you'd shut him out just like me! You wouldn't be so mad at me if I was the one near death..."

Connor sighs. He looks away from her, refusing to look her in the eye again. "I'm not mad, just disappointed."

He adjusts the joystick to drive away, indicating to her that he's leaving. "Have a nice life, Riya."

He drives out of the parking lot, leaving Riya behind. She watches the entire time until the car disappears from her sight.

He's gone.

———

Meanwhile, the hospital's waiting room is filled with dread.

All the ex-contestants were there when Jake was in for an emergency surgery. A lot of them stayed the entire night, waiting for news, no answers if Jake was dead or not.

Eventually, some of the lesser acquainted with Jake, as upset as they were, felt that they had no choice but to leave, since none of them were getting answers. Then hours after, some of the others had to leave as well. It wasn't because they were giving up on hope, but because it wasn't healthy for any of them to stay in the waiting room for a time limit they couldn't see.

They kept coming back and visiting. They would leave for food and rest, and then come back to continue waiting. Especially the close friends, such as Ashley, Ally, and Aiden. Hunter and James would sometimes be with them.

Tom was the only one who didn't leave once. He refused to. He couldn't bring himself to.

After he ghosted Jake for two years, he comes back, and it's moments before this incident. Jake could be dead. He could've lost his chance forever. A chance to make things right, to apologize.

He can't ever forgive himself for that. He can't leave.

Currently, he's pacing around the waiting room, bags under his eyes. He's restless and desperate.

Miriam is there as well, seated and quiet. She's spent the good while of the surgery praying. She's only quiet now out of concern for Tom.

She tries to speak up again. "Tom, I'll tell you if we get anything, but you need to rest."

Tom doesn't stop pacing. "I-I-I can't do that to him... not again, I can't do that to him..."

"Anything?" Ally comes in, visiting again. Tess is with her with some bottles of water.

"No." Miriam's voice is shaky. "I'm getting worried... my prayers might not have been answered... they didn't get answered when... when..."

The elder starts to cry. Tess comes over to hug Miriam tight, letting her cry on her shoulder.

The sounds of Miriam's sobs hit Ally and Tom, getting Tom to stop pacing. Ally sits down, with a look of dread of her own.

"Ashley's taking care of the others at the motel. I got her number in case we hear anything." Ally says to Tom.

Tom asks, "You're not still nauseous, are you?"

"I am," Ally answers sadly. "But I'm not throwing up anymore if that's what you meant... I... I didn't like Jake, but I left him to die to that bear, and... seeing him actually close to death now, it's... I-I should be in jail too... I know what I did didn't lead to anything as serious as this, but I just feel... so awful... I'm an awful person..."

"You're not." Tess assures her, still hugging Miriam. "You are not the reason he's here. What matters is that you're trying to make it up to him."

"I can't now..." Tom is going back to feeling another wave of guilt. "You may have, but I can't... I should be the one with the slit throat! If I had won that damn tiebreaker, maybe I could've taken his place... if I hadn't been so scared, none of this would've happened..."

Miriam gets up and wraps her arms around Tom as tight as she can. She's sobbing on his chest, but he doesn't care. Tom hugs her back, letting the woman's embrace sooth them both.

Tess sits next to Ally, putting a hand on her friend's back. She tells her, "Ally, you can't blame yourself. You weren't the one who slit his throat. She's gone now. She can't hurt us."

"Thank notch for that..." Ally can't help but admit as she wipes her eye.

Her phone buzzes. She picks it up to look at the notification.

"Oh, look at that, another death threat, that's not cool..." Ally groans. "God, I get hating Jake, but to say he deserved this... I might want to puke again..."

She swipes her phone for a bit, talking to herself, "And 'block', there we go..."

"Okay," She brushes it off and puts the phone away. "Well, the important people are the ones that care. The charity is also going nicely."

"Tch, and to think we had to compete for money," Tess says with a smirk.

"Charity?" Tom asks. He doesn't know.

"My idea," Ally says. "We started a charity at the motel for interviews, so everyone can get a taste of our true selves and our takes from the show. The donations are for Jake's medical bills, Ashley's farm, and for whatever else, the rest of us split. It's not three million, but we're all pitching in to make our motives for that prize happen anyway."

"Oh bless." Miriam touches her heart.

Then the door opens again, revealing people that shocks all of them.

Ellie and Gabby are here, with Gabby holding a container of sandwiches. Her arm is still casted from the tiger bite injury she received from the finale.

"Heyo! We thought we'd stop by for a visit." Gabby says with an optimistic smile. She's always like that, so no one can blame her or accuse her as a mood killer.

"Hey..." Ellie is more shy about the visit. "Gabby wanted to drop these off for anyone still here. Should help with the wait."

Tom rolls his eyes. Sure, he's been here for dozens of hours with nothing, but the last thing he has is an appetite. That feels like a personal attack.

"You okay, Gabby?" Tess asks. "The arm, I mean."

"Oh I'm fine, the cast will be off in a week." Gabby answers. She points happily to Ellie, claiming, "But Ellie here wanted to come over and I couldn't say no to that."

That surprises everyone. Miriam gives a stern, "You?"

"Yeah. And?" Ellie tries to be her usual cold self.

Tom gives an angry laugh, gleaming at her. "Funny, I thought you hated Jake."

"I do." Ellie answers. "This doesn't change that."

"So why are you here?" Tom asks, a frustrated tone in his voice. "You had no problems giving the three of us death threats on live TV. And interviews."

Ellie's cold expression warms up at the mention of that. She says softly, "That's why I felt responsible. Especially after what Ally told all of us at the motel... about Jake..."

"Oh." Miriam realizes what she's referring to. "Oh my..."

"I know I had something to do with it. I was the one who told him to die in the first place." Ellie says, hurt by her own words. "All because I wanted money... and now hearing what he tried before and now that he might actually... I hate myself so much now... I can't stand the guy, but to tell him to his face that he should die just because some of us can't stand him?"

"Is this an apology?" Tom asks. "I personally don't care if you feel bad. You did too much damage."

"I'm not asking you to forgive me. That's not what I want." Ellie makes that clear. Gabby puts an arm around her girlfriend in comfort. "...but I just wanted you to know that I took down those interviews from the web."

"What?" Ally's surprised by that. They all are.

"Isn't that part of your wage?" Tess asks in concern.

Ellie brushes it off. "There are some things more important."

Gabby, with a smile, hugs Ellie tight on her side. Ellie smiles at her and kisses her on the cheek.

Their smiles fade once they notice Tom seated, hands burying his face. He's shaking beyond control.

"What if he doesn't make it?" He asks. He's crying. "He could be gone... what if he's gone...? Please, no... please... I'll never leave his side without reason again, just please... don't let him die..."

As much as the others are concerned for Tom's health of staying here for so long, they can't stop him. Sure, Tom's made multiple mistakes that have hurt both of them... but at the end of it, he's just as messy, if not more so. Those two messes love each other.

That's when the door opens, revealing a doctor.

All of them look at them, desperate for an answer.

Is this an answer...?

"Jacob Hamilton?"

Holy shit...

"Yeah?" Tom asks, prompting for an answer.

The doctor goes silent.

All of their hearts sink. The world slows down.

Even Ellie puts a hand over her mouth in horror.

The doctor starts talking again. "...in the surgery, there was a metal shard injected into a windpipe, damaging it and preventing oxygen to reach his lungs. After we removed that, we had to make cautions because one lung was on the verge of collapsing. The stitch will leave a permanent scar on his neck."

"...so... is he...?" Miriam silently cries.

"He's gone, isn't he?" Ellie asks lowly.

The doctor hesitates.

"...he's awake."

All their hearts lift. The world moves again.

Tom's eyes burst in tears. He falls to his knees and cries.

"Oh lord, thank you!" Miriam cries in relief. "Thank you so much!"

"Yes!!" Gabby cheers, shaking Ellie, albeit not intentionally. "He lives to see another day!"

"I gotta call Ashley!" Ally gets up and turns the other direction, dialing the number. "He's alive! He's gonna be okay!"

Tom gets up, begging, "Can I see him, please?! Please!!"

The doctor nods, motioning him to follow them.

Jake is sitting up in the hospital bed, looking out the window at the clouds parting for the sun. He has a brace for his neck, helping his posture stay upright so he can breathe without much issue.

“Jake?”

His silent thoughts are interrupted by a familiar voice at the door. He slowly turns around, surprised to see a tired, weak, tear filled Tom standing there.

“T-Tom…?” His voice sounds like croaks at the moment.

“Oh Jake!!” Without much hesitation, Tom comes up to Jake, wrapping his arms around him in a tight embrace.

Jake stays there in shock of the embrace. Tom’s here. He’s here for him.

With his own tears forming, Jake hugs Tom back, relishing in the moment.

Tom parts, showing his tears. “I-I was so worried you wouldn’t make it! I thought I lost you! I…”

”H-hey… I’m…” Jake tries to croak out his answer, but finds it hard. So instead he flexes an arm. I wouldn’t die that easily.

“Don’t worry about her.” Tom assures Jake. “The cops got that son of a bitch. She’s not gonna hurt you again.”

She’s…

Riya.

It wasn’t intentional, but it triggered some flashes in Jake’s mind.

Those vicious, bloodthirsty eyes. The strike of the blade on his throat. The tears and suffocation and feeling of his lungs collapsing.

He doesn’t even realize he’s hyperventilating, gripping his neck again.

“Jake. Jake.” Tom grips Jake to try and calm him down. “Deep breaths. You’re okay…”

Their heads touch, the contact calming down Jake just enough so he can listen to Tom, who is struck with a wave of guilt. “I’m sorry I wasn’t always there for you, but I’m here now. A-and the truth is… I like you. A lot.” He holds Jake’s hand and gives a smile. “There. I said it.”

Tom knows he has to explain himself further. “Whenever you called, I just stared at the phone, I was haunted by my past, and I was so scared of making another mistake. But you reminded me I’m so much more than my setbacks. Jake, I…I…I care about you so much. And if there’s any chance you still feel the same way, I-“

He’s silenced by Jake’s lips pressing against his.

Both of them quickly melt into the kiss, holding onto each other.

Two years. And it’s finally happened.

Finally.

They part the kiss, but Tom still keeps his hands on Jakes head. The injured boy keeps his dreamy smile on Tom.

“I-is that a yes?”

“M…maybe…”

Both hold each other for a few more seconds until the door opens again, revealing a crowd of people.

The other campers. They all showed up. They’re all coming in and crowding around Jake, smiling and crying at the sight of him alive. The only ones not here are Riya, for obvious reasons, and Connor, who was somewhere else and running late.

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” “Knew you could pull it off!” “I’m so sorry about this!” “Not bad, kid.”

The words are overwhelming, but encouraging.

Everyone’s here for me. Everyone cares about me. There’s people that love me.

People want me here.

It’s all so much, seeing his whole found family here at once. Miriam, Aiden, James, Ally, Tom, and all of them…

But all of it makes Jake tear up.

Everyone stops their questioning once Jake starts crying. Ashley puts a hand on him, asking, “What’s wrong?”

“I… I… don’t get it… I-I don’t deserve any of this…” Jake’s hard to understand, but at least he can talk somewhat. “I f-failed you… I was… so awful… to most of you and… everyone was routing for me… a-and I f-failed… I-I’m a screw up…”

“Hey. Look at me.” Ashley demands. He obeys. “You are not a failure. You did something Riya didn’t have the guts to do. You worked to be better. You stayed true to the good parts of yourself.”

“Yeah! We’re so proud of you!” Ally reassures.

“Yes we are.” Miriam adds.

People want me here.

I have a family.

I am loved.

Jake’s tears become happy as he hugs Tom’s side tightly. “I’m so lucky to have you guys…”

After a few minutes of calming down, some of them left the room to give space. Aiden, James, Ally, Ashley, Miriam, and Tom stay behind to keep Jake company.

They all finish their pose for a picture for James’ Instagram page. He posts it with the heading ‘Hamilton Lives! Lots of love from the Disventure Camp contestants.’

“So… the brace…” Aiden brings up. “How long do you need that?”

“I c-can take it off…” Jake says lowly, stuttering a bit. He sounds uncomfortable at the idea. “I… just… need it f-for… posture…”

“Hey,” Tom puts a hand on his shoulder. “You should know it changes nothing.”

Hesitantly, Jake adjusts his position to take off the brace so the others can see.

Most of them stay silent at the sight of a massive noticeable slash scar on the side of the boys neck.

Tom especially is touched. He caresses two fingers on one of his own neck scars.

“I… it’s permanent…” Jake tells them. He tries to brush it off, but clearly he’s affected by it.

“You look good, Jake.” Tom assures him with a smile. He caresses the scar to show comfort.

Jake’s smile is still small. “You don’t have to keep lying to me…”

As a response, Tom locks lips with him.

Once they part from the kiss, Tom says with a gleeful smile, “I’m not.”

Jake gives a soft giggle, hugging Tom tightly.

At least now we match.

———

*ONE WEEK LATER*

It’s late at night when the campers are on the plane ride, waiting for each and every stop home.

Ally, Tess, and Hunter are happily playing video games on switches together.

Ashley is chilling with a phone call from Will.

Alec is reading a book with Fiore asleep on his shoulder.

Gabby and Ellie are cuddling together.

Yul is alone squirming to salvage something and no one cares.

In the back, Jake and Tom are seated together in each others arms. Aiden and James are doing the same next to them. Miriam and Lake are in front of them. The six are exchanging numbers.

“So what’s the plan for you all?” Tom asks.

“Lake James and I are going on a trip.” Aiden says, holding James’ cheek.

“I’m showing James and Aiden a taste of Germany!” Lake excitingly says. Then she asks, “What about you guys?”

“We’re going to spend some much overdue time together.” Jake answers, snuggling up against Tom. His voice still sounds like a frog, but at least he’s healthy enough to be out of the hospital.

“Miriam, you know you’re always welcome to come with us.” Tom offers.

“Ha! That’s a good one!” Miriam expresses. “No. You owe Jake the alone time. Just make sure to visit.”

“Guys, you got the app, right?” Ally comes over to them. She’s been telling everyone this. “We got so many people paying for interviews from us.”

“That’s great!” Lake expresses. “Any requests?”

“Just be honest.” Ally says with a smile. “They deserve to know all our stories.”

“And the money from this?” James asks.

“We’re all sharing it. That’s why I linked the app.” Ally answers. “It also helps so we’ll all be in touch after this. We’ll see each other again, right?”

“So long as Riya’s not invited.” Jake croaks. “Yeah.”

Krystal, Oliver, Marquis, and Nina are separated from the rest of the plane, watching as the other contestants exchange friendly gestures.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Marquis says to it.

“At least with his survival, the lawsuits won’t be so bad…” Krystal nervously chuckles. “We’ll have to find a new cast though.”

“What’s going to happen to this show?” Oliver asks. “What’s going to happen to the next season?”

“Well, Oliver, how do you feel about quitting?” Krystal asks.

“Quit at life or this job?” Nina asks back. “I have strong opinions on one.”

“Maybe it’s time all four of us take what these contestants decided into account too.” Krystal expresses. “We can’t be in this show forever, anyway.”

”I can’t believe what I’m hearing right now!” Oliver whines. “How can you say that after all our hard work?!”

“I guess I’m in a new chapter of my life.” Is all Krystal can say. “Being with Derek taught me I never got to have any fun.”

”You know, the producers will cancel the show if you leave.” Marquis calmly warns.

” I love this show though! Who’s gonna take care of it?” Oliver asks.

”Oh, I have a certain duo in mind…”

———

*ONE YEAR LATER*

Since then, the stories kept updating of everyone’s stories.

Lake, Aiden, James, Rosa Maria, and her child on their vacation in Germany.

Ashley at the bar with Will, Lill, and Nick.

Gabby being there to celebrate Ellie and Tess’s college graduation.

Yul doing his podcast for a soda trying to stay afloat.

Hunter and Ally celebrating a million followers for Ally’s gaming channel.

Tom and Jake on a date at a Chinese restaurant.

Miriam and Jake teaching Tom how to bake and laughing.

Grett showing off at the gym.

Alec helping his daughter Fiore with homework.

Connor’s wedding day with a kind sweet woman that isn’t Riya.

That last one causes teardrops to fall on the phone. No matter how many times Riya’s scrolled through their stories, she can’t get over it.

They all are living their lives happily…

And yet here she is. Unable to leave her room. Alone. Yet again. Surrounded by her awards from a career that has failed her.

Was it all worth it?

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

If the Volturi found out about L, or perhaps they already know of him, do you think Aro would want to recruit him as a vampire? I mean, his immense powers of deduction are probably proof that he's gifted. He'd probably have some gift that makes him even better at solving crimes lol

Would L Be Gifted?

Per the Twilight universe, sometimes gifts work like that, sometimes they don't. Remember we get a biased view with the Cullens and their friends and the Volturi. The vast majority of people turned into vampires are not gifted, even if they had a particular talent while human.

Having great abilities as a detective would not necessarily become a gift in Twilight. Humans who for sure display some ability usually have a psychic ability that can't be explained such as Jane and Alec who caught Aro's attention, Chelsea who caught Aro's attention, or Bella Swan who was able to block mind readers as a human. L was never psychic so he doesn't fall in that category.

Could end up with a gift, might not.

If he does--

I wouldn't necessarily call L's talents the immense powers of deduction but more very good instincts that he then has to justify later with deductions that make sense to ordinary people.

The thing about Light was, logically, there was very little reason for him to be marked as Kira. On paper he was a brilliant student who had never gotten into trouble, they put cameras in his fucking house, and he never deviated from his schedule, never looked or acted anything but ordinary, and even was recorded looking normal while deaths were occurring (the potato chip incidents where he recorded himself pointedly not engaging in murder). He grills Light upon meeting him and Light acts perfectly ordinary. Light only starts acting strange after Misa was caught and even that is explainable as the stress and pressure of L having told him he was a primary suspect and beginning to doubt whether he was somehow unconsciously being Kira after all, which also explains Light's about face in prison several days later when he realizes "wait a minute, am I actually Kira, this is a bad idea". When Light is later imprisoned and his execution is faked, Light does not admit to being Kira even when it could have saved him (this is because neither he nor Misa are in fact Kira at the time or have any memory of it). Then of course we get the whole Yotsuba arc where Light is imprisoned, literally handcuffed to L so L can watch him at all moments of the day, L telling him day in and day out that he's Kira and under immense amounts of stress to end the case so the real Kira can be caught (as Light doesn't remember being Kira at this point), and all L admits to is "He's not Kira right now for some reason and this case is total bullshit". L is convinced from the moment Light catches his attention that Light is Kira, never relents despite what looks like the overwhelming evidence that Light is not Kira and justifies himself with things like "there's a 5% chance you're Kira" when it's very clearly 100% to him internally as he never, not once, considers the possibility that Light Yagami was not Kira.

Yes, L had narrowed down to him by having evidence that first Kira was in Japan/Kanto, then that Kira had a connection to the national police agency in Japan and thus was likely either a cop himself or a close family memmber who could in theory access the files from home, then that Raye Penber's death was the only one that seemed strange/Naomi Misora's sudden inexplicable suicide in the aftermath that allowed him to narrow down to the families Raye had been tailing, and that finally got him to Light. But even when he was at Light, that he zeroed in on Light the way he did is like a bloodhound on a scent rather than what I'd call a logical deduction.

The Kira case feels very much like a puzzle L's trying to solve when he knows the answer "Light is Kira" but he has to figure out why and how.

So, if L did have a gift, I imagine it'd be honing in on that instinct of knowing information about a person at a glance.

Would Aro Want to Recruit Him?

No, because Aro already has that in himself (who sees every thought a person has ever had) and Marcus (who sees all relationships a person has at a glance). Even if L didn't have the gift I described above, anything in that vein falls into something Aro already has in his employ.

Not to mention the hassle of making L (who for all he is an anonymous detective nobody knows is in the limelight a lot) disappear would be something Aro probably wouldn't want to involve himself in. (It seems, historically, Aro does not do this as people I would have expected Aro to turn who were very famous presumably died their human deaths in the Twilight universe and were left untouched.)

Or, of course, dealing with L as a person in an organization when even with Chelsea ensuring loyalty L is--a lot and deeply enjoys making people uncomfortable and angry.

[gaytwirights]

School keeps beating my ass. Woe designs for my Nemesis Twiright AU be upon ye

Starting off with the star of the show, madam Nemesis Twiright-Octo, first vice president, and second president of Tasan-Levianta (hat and no hat)

One thing I noticed about her various incarnations (Levia and Elluka), both of them would take on a purpose based on what the world needed. Levia studies psychology in order to understand HERS, and Elluka (post pride arc) sought the vessels of sin in order to stop them from falling into the wrong hands. This is why I felt that, if Nemesis grew up as a proper lady of society (as proper as she can be when she was raised by Seth Fuckin Twiright) she would still take up politics. The early 1900s had a lot of political tension, and I feel like the former millennium prodigy would feel really at home in that sort of environment

My idea is that she studied at a religious school in Aceid for her grade school and high school, then she went to Levin University in Levianta for college at... 14? Then after graduation she joined the Tasan Party and took up journalism to expose corruption. This would get her involved with the Levianta Revolution, and also a means to get into politics. Yes I realize that this would put her in a position to become dictator of Levianta, but >:3 we'll see where this goes

Also I'm gonna be honest. I think she's the sort of autistic where she just has copies of the same outfit. Like miles edgeworth

Next, our second guy

Seth Twiright, math teacher at the Academy of Saint Clarith in Aceid

So... This is a Kiyoteru reference. But also, education is a big part of a child's life, and I believe children of school staff can attend without tuition (at least. That's how it was in my old school), so it's just a logical choice to earn money (to keep Nemesis alive) without needing to spend that money on tuition

So that green fit is his uniform as a teacher at ASC, but the other two?

:3

Thirdly, heading Project Lunaca, is this handsome fellow who none of us had seen before, physicist Sonne Voskhod!

So Nemesis does end up facing some backlash after he leaves a note about the dangers of a nuclear bomb and just completely disappears, presumed to have committed suicide

But like. The war isn't gonna win itself! Get working, team! My father once said there's an ancient and powerful explosive in an ancient laboratory in northern Levianta! Get excavating! (Yeah I want Amostia involved)

And of course, I'm not Tumblr user gaytwirights if I'm not involving DragonMask!

The lovely Lena Asayeva, a professor at Levin University. Because I think it's such BULLSHIT that so much was going on with Levia's reincarnation, and Behemo wasn't there in the background, Doing Something, like in the envy arc

What's she doing?

>:3

Our next character is one of my more... inspired choices

See, if Nemesis was a brilliant prodigy with a teacher for a father, she wouldn't really end up in a gang, would she?

In that case, there's no reason for the Titanis to sink, and no reason for Gallerian to fall to greed

But we know that Ma was establishing connections with the Marlon family at this time

Which brings us to...

It brings us to the image limit, apparently. Damn

[theculturedmarxist]

These days I mostly avoid being around art spaces and the dwindling population of people that frequent them. This is for the same reason you might duck an old friend who’s been transformed by time and circumstance into a thing that you scarcely recognize. Sometimes it’s better to remember them as they were.

I broke my rule the other night to attend the closing of a theater I built long ago, and it was every bit as sad and disappointing as I would have expected. Hardly anyone came to send her off, and the ones that did could muster nothing better than a couple of beers and off to bed. The whole thing was over by 11.

“Who are you voting for,” a pudgy, bearded, graying Xer, asked me before I left. He was wearing a kind of middle-aged bohemian get-up, right down to the hipster hat, that made him look like he’d just stepped out of a commercial for a new Type II diabetes drug. I’m down to talk my doctor about . . .

“I’m writing in Dave Chappelle,” I said.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the part of his brain that knew how to process a dissenting opinion. Not finding one he sputtered, “But you’re not for Trump.”

“No.”

Then a skinny, wan, pale guy with sunken eyes, and long, greasy black hair, sober as a judge, like someone who’d acquired all the physical attributes of heroin addiction, without ever having had any of the fun, said, “Then you have to vote for Biden, or Trump wins.”

“So what,” I said.

And that was when they both shit themselves and I had to do the whole red-pill/blue-pill thing. By the time that was over, everyone else had gone and I followed suit. Leaving the building for the last time, I thought of livelier days when the whole place, the whole block, the whole city, was full of life and crazy energy.

How did this happen? How did we get here?

This is an article I’ve started, abandoned, and started again a few times over the years. That’s partly because I still had some hope when I began that I might one day be able to return to my craft as a theater director without revealing my opinions. But that was before Due Dissidence had a YouTube show. Now I very visibly express ideas 3-4 times a week that would get me professionally and socially cancelled in about 5 minutes as soon as anyone from that crowd took the time to check out the channel, which of course they would.

Another thing that’s kept this one at the bottom of the digital drawer is lingering affection for a lot of people who are still making the music, lighting the lights, and all that. I have dear friends in the arts and this is going to hurt some of their feelings. Except for the ones who regularly DM to thank me for saying what they can’t without risking career suicide. Those will be greatly cheered by this piece, in the way of a bullied child watching their tormentor take a hard fist to the nose, so I guess in the end that part’s a wash. Here goes.

In the 8 years since the election of doom that transformed me from the kind of guy who wanted to have a beer with Rachael Maddow, to the kind of guy who would protest her book reading, I’ve had lots of debates with lots of people.  Enough to notice a distinct pattern

Conservatives will generally keep it on the issues; they may not agree with you, but as a rule they aren’t going to go right to ad hominem attacks on your character.  Liberals can go either way: they may debate the issues with you, but they’re just as likely to attack you personally as a closet Republican, a Russian plant, or if you happen to be a white man, that’s kind of their go-to.  But the absolute worst people you can find yourself engaging with are members of the arts community.  I know this because I’ve been a member of it since at the tender age of 19, I bullshitted my way into a directing gig at the still extant 13th Street Repertory Theater. 

The artists I worked with then as a kid from Queens dazzled by the bohemian world I had infiltrated wouldn’t recognize the artists of today, and I suspect they wouldn’t like them all that much.  Heirs to a 60’s counter-culture ethos of distrust for authority and institutions, and to an older tradition of the artist-intellectual, they generally thought of all politicians as dishonest psychopaths, and spent more time discussing Kafka than the evils of Soviet Russia, which occupied the same position of public enemy #1 that its successor state does today.  And lest the wokeratti immediately jump to its aforementioned go-to, the scene was far more substantively diverse than what you might find at a theater or a gallery today.  They were gay and straight, old and young, black and white and brown, and in a major departure from the current moment, both penniless and well to do.  There were artists living rent free in the loft above the theater, others renting $250 apartments in pre-hipster Williamsburg who had to walk across the bridge to get to rehearsals for lack of train fare, and still others living comfortably on the Upper West Side.  If there was a failing it was in a tendency towards pretentiousness: when a middle-aged woman pronounced confidently at a post-rehearsal dinner that the principal crisis of the modern age was the “post-Nietzschean vacuum,” I almost laughed in her face.  No one had that problem in my native Flushing, and I suspected that was true most places.  But the problem wasn’t racism, sexism, or homophobia-expressing those sorts of views would have been just about the only thing that could have gotten you ejected in an atmosphere where pretty much anything went, and it was that way in the arts community for as long as I was a part of it.

Generally, I like to heavily source everything I write, ‘cause when you’re offering controversial opinions, you had better cross all your t’s and such.  But because the arts are such a distinct subculture and the kinds of institutions that have the means to conduct a wide survey on questions like: what class background do artists usually come from, or, when did artists start to favor censorship, never would, I must of necessity rely on my personal observations and speculations.  Which makes this, by definition, a personal essay, so take it as you will. 

I’m starting from the premise that something has gone very wrong when you have an American arts community that tends to be politically conservative in the sense of being to the right of general sentiment in the Western world on class and economics; that mindlessly supports politicians like Joe Biden and Hillary Clinton who’s records are at odds with even the identitarian issues that they claim to care about, and that sees de-platforming and cancelling figures like Joe Rogan as a legitimate tactic, never considering the idea that once you let that genie out of the bottle, no one will be more vulnerable to having it turned against them than artists.  I’ve given a lot of thought to how a bohemian scene of intellectuals and misfits turned into something resembling a PTA meeting in Scarsdale. This is what I came up with:

I will concede this to the painfully woke white people that dominate the arts even as they lately denounce their own position: rich white people are the crux of the problem, with the emphasis being on “rich” rather than “white,” as some would have it. The low to no pay circumstances of most creatives are beside the point, even though many of them will point to this as evidence of their moral authority to speak on matters of poverty and marginalization. If “artist” isn’t a Professional Managerial Class job, what is it? It sure ain’t factory work. The pretense of artists to social disenfranchisement calls to mind John Goodman’s line in Barton Fink, where his serial killing salesman tells John Turturro’s slumming writer, “You’re just a tourist with a typewriter, Barton. I live here.”

Most of these folks are just playing dress up for a while before they pack it in for Grad School and take up residence in the same sedate suburban enclaves from whence they came. Just as in every other sphere of American society, the arts are, and always have been, dominated by these kinds of middle and upper-middle class, mostly white people, whose sensibilities reflect that reality.  The higher up the food chain you go, the more evident that becomes.  The same exact advantages of money and connections that favor people in every other industry, favor those who attempt a career in the arts.  Perhaps even more so because the standards are so nebulous.  If you’re a doctor, or an attorney, you either do your job well, or you don’t.  If you’re an artist, the quality of your work is subjective which leaves a lot of room for just hooking up the people you relate to, which in the arts is going to mean a lot of rich white people, hooking up other rich white people.  The net effect of that is, if a lot of bad ideas are coming out of the suburbs, that’s going to be reflected in the work.

When the PMC’s were more rooted in the New Deal, with its focus on class and economics, as was the case when I first entered the scene, so were the arts. Now that they’ve turned to neoliberalism in their economics, and the post-modern turn has unmoored their social activism from observable reality, we have an arts community that has nothing to say about the current moment that strays an inch from what you might hear on MSNBC. This is why, as just one example, in a moment of social strife and economic dislocation, the Artistic Director of Connecticut’s Long Wharf Theater recently seized on the idea of a Black Trans Women at the Center festival as the best use of his platform and resources. The company lost their home of 55 years shortly thereafter.

Whereas in the 30’s a good many artists responded to the Depression by adopting a Marxist-Leninist posture and playwrights like Clifford Odets, (the writer being satirized by the Cohens in Barton Fink), and later Arthur Miller and Rod Serling, began writing plays for the first time that placed working class people “at the center,” this generation of artists greets the moment with only contempt for the struggles of working people, seeing them as reactionary Trumpers who sadly lack the education and sophistication to realize that the economy is great, incremental change is the best we can hope for, and getting all bent out of shape about books full of graphic cocksucking in your child’s middle-school library is totally uncool. Rather than to represent the struggles of average people, these artists offer them nothing but derision and when they do bother to acknowledge them, it is only to portray them as wrong-think culture war enemies.

Adding to the problem, poor people who manage to get to college usually don’t decide to major in something that’s going to almost guarantee that they end up poor.  Being an artist is a luxury most people from economically disadvantaged environments just don’t think they can afford.  You’re a lot more likely to choose it if you have a trust fund to fall back on.  So, essentially you end up with a scene dominated by trust fund babies, no matter what identity group they align with.  Their politics proceed from there.  All these artists going on about white privilege is partly a case of, to use a phrase with which any theater aficionado will be familiar, “Methinks thou dost protest too much.” And as with Diversity Equity and Inclusion efforts in other sectors, this results in pretenses at promoting “representation” amounting to nothing more than trying to find more black and brown people from similar backgrounds to the whites that are already there, and who consequently share the same attitudes. Barracks and Michelles are always welcome, but the Hueys and Assatas make these folks deeply uncomfortable. The theater party I walked into last week, was no more racially diverse than the scene I knew in the 80’s (perhaps a bit less), but it was palpably less wide-ranging in class perspectives.

Another reason the censorious Victorian lady in high dudgeon pose that has become the liberal class default setting over the past 10 years or so, has had so much appeal to this group in particular, probably has to do with the psychological afflictions common to artists, combined with the insecurities inherent in the profession.  This is something else I’d love to see a study on: common psychological illnesses in artists, but lacking such a study, I can only tell you what I’ve observed.  Most people don’t choose a career in the arts because they’re very secure, contented and happy sorts.  The level of personal psychological torment that’s driven them to such an irrational career choice varies, but deep neurosis, emotional neediness, and pervasive self-doubt are kind of a base line.  I do not except myself from this analysis: my head is the kind of snake pit that Indiana Jones has nightmares about.  Proceeding from there, you’ll find a fair amount of narcissism, borderline personality disorder, manic-depression, and just plain old depression-depression.  These qualities are not at all ameliorated by constant rejection and criticism, which is kind of the nature of the beast.  In some ways the people who are attracted to the arts are the least capable of enduring its vicissitudes without severe psychological damage.  So, you have a bunch of deeply insecure, neurotic people, trying to make their way in a profession where the rules are vague and the agreed upon standards of successful work are non-existent, and then you hand them a secular religion that gives them not only rules and standards, but a weapon with which to bludgeon their critics as -ists, phobes, and reactionary heathens.  That’s like throwing crackers at a starving man.  Naturally they jumped on it en masse, without ever thinking through the consequences.  Critical Social Justice gave artists something they haven’t had since Duchamp signed a urinal and called it a sculpture: certainty.  And this group is far too ignorant of the past to know why their forbears rejected the kind of formalism that these standards impose, and what the price paid in quality, creativity and individual expression will be in the long run. Insofar as they embrace Duchamp’s lesson, it is only in using the precedent set by his famous prank to avoid being interrogated on the basis of quality, talent and craftsmanship.

Which brings us to my final observation.

I’m going to let you in on a secret, although if you’ve ever been dragged to a “new interpretation” of Hamlet on the Lower East Side, back when we still did that sort of thing, you probably already know: talent is rare.  That’s why we call it talent.  If it was common, we’d call it something else.  I’ll give you a breakdown from something I have a fair amount of expertise in-auditioning actors.  If you audition 100 actors, it’s going to go something like this: about 10% will be so God-awful you have to wonder where they got the encouragement; around 60% will be passable in the way of people who have had a lot of training; 20% will be very good; 8% will be excellent; a final 2% will be exceptional-in other words, talented.  So, based on my admittedly subjective observations, only about 30% of the people who call themselves “artists” have any business pursuing it.  And only 2% of those are really gifted.  So, the scene is, and always has been, mostly populated by hangers-on who are only one 30th Birthday away from packing it in and getting a Masters in Social Work.  The appeal of a set of standards that remove the basis of evaluating work from its quality to its adherence to a set of clearly defined political beliefs is obvious.  If you can’t out-talent people, you can at least out-woke them.

None of this is to say that representation in the arts isn’t a problem or wasn’t a problem until these meddling kids started performing their virtue for likes and clicks.  It’s always been a problem, particularly at the level of management and project leadership, in the arts as in every other sector of society.  I would posit that DEI efforts are a solution in search of a problem, only in that part of the reason for that lack of representation, has always been a lack of artists of color walking in the door, which in turn has to do with the economic realities I’ve mentioned.  There aren’t a lot of poor white people walking in the door either; I’ve owned 5 theaters in NYC across three decades, and I never met another theater owner or director, who grew up on welfare.  In my experience, that lack of representation never had to do with virulent racism in the arts community. It always had to do with class realities and broader issues of structural racism society-wide that stop POC from ever making it to the door to be considered.  If you were paying any kind of attention, that lack of diversity was always an embarrassment, but you can’t work with people who simply aren’t there because of societal problems that reach far beyond the arts.  If we really want to do something about this, we need to go out into impoverished and marginalized communities, provide training and encouragement to young people in particular, then offer them jobs in our theaters and galleries, instead of only looking for POC from similar backgrounds to the people who are already there in order to assuage their white guilt.  Until we see arts institutions doing that, we will know DEI efforts in the arts for what they are: one more example of rich white people protecting the privileges of their class, even if they have to outwardly denounce them in order to do it.

In the end, the arts scene as it exists today and the institutions that support it may have simply become too sclerotic, out of touch, and irrelevant for saving. The future is with activist-artists grown naturally from their communities, using new technologies and platforms to draw attention to concerns and realities that no gatekeeping clique of PMC’s will ever understand or think to explore. As our self-appointed creators of culture have abandoned us, it may be time that we abandon them in turn, leaving their venues to close as they should, leaving their 501c’s to go bankrupt, as they are doing, and taking the space their collapse opens up to create something new of our own.

[hellcifrogs]

Saying Sakura didn't have as much screentime as Sasuke and Naruto doesn't equal to being useless, it equals to her being the support for them while being a main character. Saying Sakura had high expectations for the reader and not meeting them doesn't equal to being useless either.

Being useless is when you're in the screen and don't do anything or speak or add ideas, but Sakura has always helped people, helped Naruto, helped Sasuke, helped Kakashi, prevented people from dying and got to fight. On top of becoming the only woman to be called the strongest kunoichi and best at what she specializes.

I don't call that useless, I call it underutilized. Remove Sakura and everybody is dead so having understood that Kishimoto is misogynistic, let's understand Sakura from that sexist pov and appreciate what she does from it, which is awesome for a female.

I mean... That's exactly what I said? 'Underutilized' is a better word indeed. Since you already got me rambling here let's get into it…

tl;dr I think Sakura is a genius, I think she develops beautifully in the series and I think she doesn't deserve half the bullshit the fandom has against her. But is it childish of me to say that the biggest thing she had against her was the author himself? Maybe. I don't really care though, that's how I feel because Kishimoto hates his main female character and it shows. He says one thing about her and then shows another so I just don't listen to him!

I feel Sakura is writen to be a failure, or annoying or disappointing. All words that could translate into underutilized depending on the context I guess. And I noticed that clearly when I read that scene in the war arc with "the original team 7". So here we go...

Kishimoto always, always even from the time she cut her hair in the chunin exams - She takes this huge step only to continue not doing much, be it getting trapped by Gaara when she was supposed to rescue Sasuke instead, or just not going with the recovery team (and even before that when she is the one to manage to climb a tree on the first try - 'oh she's so talented' and then follows up with her doing a great nothing in the bridge fight), he always builds up some expectation for her and nearly immediately lets us down by not going through with it. To put it simply it's like he can't have a girl actually do the same as the boys. - even her managing to climb on her first try feels like an excuse to get her out of the way, now that I think about it.

I guess the first time I noticed there was kind of a pattern to Sakura not being on the 'same level' as her teammates was when she couldn't kill Sasuke despite how sure of her decision she was shown to be, how everyone around her seemed shocked and hurried to put a stop to it (Kakashi even saying it was suicide and she was 100% determined to do it, but then it had to be ruined by her feelings -ngl at this point I was getting seriously angry with her still liking Sasuke at all and lowkey wanted her to kill him). The moment I realized it was just too contraditory was at the war. When she is clearly shown to us to be 'beside' Naruto and Sasuke, everyone looking at them seems to have that same impression, everyone who knows her believes it to be so and comments on it.

But then what? She just doesn't. Why? Because Kishimoto wrote her that way. I have to laugh. It's not her fault. If it had happened once or twice throughout 15 years of the manga, but no, Kishimoto went through the trouble of constantly failing Sakura. So, yes, I think it's his fault. At first I even let it slide because he *treated all women like trash*, they were all inferior and you could tell that. Over the years he started to treat them better, give them more roles and power and somewhat respect the female cast. Improvement, right? Of course. Except for Sakura who showed no difference.

We get to shippuden and she is fighting her own battles and getting hurt along the team and accomplishing things, healing people, but why doesn't that happen at the important decisive moments though?? - four tails Naruto - faints, Pein attack - cries, killing Sasuke - doesn't. Maybe it's just that he never allowed her to have any agency?

Anyway once I noticed that, I just had to separate what Sakura really is in the universe, how people around her see her and what she accomplished and what was shown, I took the characters' word instead of what Kishimoto tried to tell us. And surprise! Now Sakura is beautiful and talented and hard working AND sensitive and I love her.

Un.for.tu.na.tely… that meant I now could see other characters like that too and so I hated Sasuke and Naruto, who had been my precious little ball of pride and sunshine, was now super annoying. And worst of all Hinata. Maybe I shouldn't go into that since this is about Sakura, but it also makes me sad that the two characters are basically put against each other all of the time??? Hinata was my favorite girl for years (oh I still love her). I was SO excited when she confessed to Naruto, aah I shipped Naruhina so hard.

And then I read the series again (: and Hinata barely ever appears in it ): her confession suddenly came out of nowhere D:

Hinata suffers the opposite treatment Sakura has. She's not shown doing anything (she is simply not shown) but in the final chapters she is suddenly the strong, changed, determined love interest. And worst of it all: that's all she is.

I'm not saying her being opposite to Sakura is a good thing, it is just as bad. She has no character, she is "the love interest". I felt like eveything I loved about Hinata was in my memories of watching the anime as a teenager. The "original" Hinata was a disappointment for me and it made me just as angry because Kishimoto literally ignored her until he needed a pair for Naruto. She could have been so much more, she had the background for it.

And yeah… I know maybe I shouldn't go looking for good female representation in an old shounen manga. Not one by a man at least. But I guess that doesn't stop me from having an opinion about it.

[cto10121]

Waking Romeo (2021)—Review Part 3

[Part 1] [Part 2] In which Romeo reveals himself to be an arrant villain and other totally canon-compliant things, Jules is girlbossed into doing All the Things(tm) as “development” and my ending thoughts. Spoilers as always.

[Jules POV] “I know,” he says, his hand still resting on my knee. “Your mum told my mum, and she told me. It was probably for the best. We were young, Juliet. Young and impulsive. But we’ve got another chance now.” (261)

Of course this Romeo would be perfectly nonchalant about his and Jules’ child dying. Because Canon Romeo is well-known for his callous indifference to anything regarding his love interest.

[Jules POV] And then I remember. This is Romeo.

All at once, my mind is filling with bits and pieces that I had to write a whole make-believe story just to gloss over. How he was busy telling Rosaline that he loved her one night before we got together at that party. How I cried on his shoulder about Tybalt dying and, somehow, he parlayed my grief into a make-out session. How he always played the victim and blamed others for everything. How he was forever talking up how great he was. How he told me that he loved me, over and over, after only a couple of hours. How the whole marriage thing came about after I told him I wanted to wait. How the drugs were his idea.

He didn't force me into anything. They were my choices. I did those things. I was there, in the thick of it, loving every moment—for the most part. But there was a reason the Romeo in my story was so perfectly romantic—I was compensating. (262)

Didn’t Jules come to this realization pages before??? Ugh, this book is a mess. At this point this Romeo is just an red-flag OC in a flesh suit. Also, didn’t Jules say that Rosaline was the one who broke his heart???

Also, also, if Jules wrote R&J the play, then that means she also wrote Tybalt being the aggressor, Romeo killing Tybalt, and her fictional self being angry at him for it. Why would a delusional lovesick teen girl do that?

[Jules POV] I don’t believe it.

She put him in a pod.

She sent my son forward in time.

“William…he’s alive?”

And here is where things really get stupid.

Apparently Jules’ son (William, aka Frogs) not only survived, but was sent forward in time two years by Jules’ mother and aunt. This was done because Jules was 1) too traumatized and obsessed with Romeo to be a mother to William and 2) too young to raise a whole ass kid. Okay. So why didn’t Jules’ mother and/or aunt raise him? Or idk hire an actual nurse for him?

I don’t know. This book has broken me.

[Ellis POV] It takes a moment for the implication of that to sink in. “You want to pass off Jules’ story as a play actually penned by Shakespeare?” […]

He continues, happily nattering away. “I think you’d like her next story, actually. It’s about a prince this time. Starts with a ghost, just like in Wuthering Heights, and opens with the same first line as the myth of Narcissus.” (297).

Die (Reprise, scherzo)

[Jules POV] “I should have brought him back to you,” she says again, almost a whisper. “I really did mean to. But it was so easy to just push the button once more, sending him forward another year. Just one more year, until you were ready.”

Suddenly her constant mantra about me needing to grow up makes sense. She needed me to show that I was responsible. That I wasn't suicidal or reckless anymore. She needed me to prove that I was ready to be a mother.

Mum looks at me with a kind of raw desperation. I still give her nothing. (302)

Yeah, girl, give her nothing. Jesus Christ, even Jules knows it’s all bullshit. OG Lady Capulet would have done away with the child and that would have been in character.

[Jules POV] “Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight, for I ne'er saw true beauty…”

I give a humorless snort at the sappiness of it. If life really was a story, I'd make this a poignant the-wheel-is-come-full-circle moment. It would be all “the true beauty that I needed to see was in me" and “the love that I journeyed to find had nothing to do with a boy,” et cetera.

Well, corny or not, maybe it's true. Either way; when I look in the mirror, I know—and am even starting to like who’s there…which actually strikes me as a pretty good beginning. (317)

[Ellis POV] When he looks at me, the hatred in his eyes is unmistakable.

“You stole my life," he says bluntly, "My wife, my son. I was meant to be the hero. It was meant to be my story, not yours. Romeo and Juliet—that's what was meant to happen."

“But that's not what happened,” says Frogs. “That's not the life she chose.”

“She wanted me. She was obsessed with me,” insists Romeo. “Without Ellis, I would have stayed at the center of everything. I was meant to be important. I was born to be important. So really, this isn't even my fault. Ellis is to blame. I'm just putting things right.” (326)

This Romeo went from “It’s not you it’s me” and not gaf about his kid or Jules to “We were meant to be!!!” simply because the plot said so. This author clearly couldn’t decide which flavor of Romeo the Death Eater she wanted, so she did all of them.

[Jules POV] I close the cover and see that he's changed the order of our names—Romeo & Juliet instead of Juliet & Romeo. Self-centered jerk. I'm about to change it back, then I decide no—it's better that way. In my story I did put myself second.

But not anymore.

🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮

I can’t believe I have to explain this as I shouldn’t have to explain this and I resent having to explain this…but the order of the names in a couple has less to do with gender power dynamics and all to do with the literal English language and its peculiar stresses, i.e. how easily the two names roll off the tongue.

Hence Romeo and Juliet >>>> Juliet and Romeo. Bonnie and Clyde >>>>> Clyde and Bonnie. And then there are some couple names that sound good either way, e.g. Bella and Edward ~ Edward and Bella, with the former being a bit more smooth than the latter.

[Jules POV] I lay my notebook back down alongside Ellis's novel. His story and mine, finally united...if only here, on my crummy old desk. For a moment I stare at Wuthering Heights, lauded by history as a tale of epic love. Then I look to my own play, Romeo & Juliet. And I decide, actually, they're both pretty crap examples as far as the women go. I mean, all-consuming love and passion? A focus on nothing but hearts?

No, there’s a much bigger picture. (337)

How dare books about romance be romantic!!!!

Honestly, the hypocrisy of this novel that has focused on tedious UST and stupid time travel shenanigans for over 90% of its page count now suddenly pretending it cares about its cookie-cutter dystopian world is galling. Its attempt to turn Jules into a Mary Sue activist and leader of the Settlement by making her one big grand plan to…plant stuff just adds assault to injury.

[Jules’ POV] “Love isn't everything,” I say again, more forceful.

Ellis says nothing.

On instinct, I gaze down at my son. Then I look back at my friends, my family. They suddenly don't strike me as an audience anymore. Audiences are bad as tourists—watching things go south, but doing nothing. No, they resemble an army. Not soldiers, like in Ellis's “buck up” mantra. Not troops; a “buck up" troupe. Every single person a key player in the new narrative. Everyone big and small—with an important role in the fight to turn the tide. We still have time, and time can mend. I stare at them and decide they really are the seed: the past, the now, and the future. Then I look beyond them…

…and I feel it. (368)

*Aspects of Love voice* Love / Love isn’t everything / But the author / Needs her bag

Conclusion

Ho boy, this reread turned out worse than even my original memories once I got past the actual uniqueness of this book’s premise. I think it’s the fact that this time I was able to follow the time travel narrative more closely and thus I picked up on all the messages the author decided to uncritically impart without considering the misogynistic implications therein.

The whole message of this novel is, basically, don’t be a basic bitch. Romantic love is inherently bad and threatens to subvert the natural order: Obedience and servitude to your community and your hard-working parents. Jules must learn that she had made a grave mistake in committing suicide for love. Fine, except that the novel, realizing the psychological absurdity of a supposedly smart and savvy Jules being so blind to Romeo’s faults, adds the twist that Jules was acting out of unprocessed grief for her cousin Tybalt’s death. Tybalt, who is mentioned no more than half a dozen times in the book and who has no personality or relationship with Jules whatsoever. Awful.

As for Romeo…he is just an OC frat boy turned villain in a Canon Romeo flesh suit. There have been arguably worse instances of his vilification (Juliet Immortal comes to mind) but Barker manages to mix up several different strands of Romeo-is-the-worst-actually into one incoherent muddle. Romeo begins as your typical twink fuckboi and ends up a jealous villainous ex who almost kills Ellis.

But even with Romeo’s vilification and Jules’ girlbossification (which to me feel strangely complementary), the new pairing with Ellis still doesn’t work. Barker does a piss-poor job of creating a believably 18th century time traveler and of course Ellis is not at all turned off by Jules’ tomboy Not Like Other Girls behavior the way he should. The whole part where Jules suddenly warms up to Present Ellis and his jerkishness just because Future Ellis was sweet to her exemplifies the novels’ stupid double standards regarding Romeo. As a result, what little interest their budding relationship stirs up is completely dissolved. As if realizing this, the novel tries to retcon the romance by having Jules deny she was truly in love with him—because of course she couldn’t be, since she only barely knew him—only to then have her be with him in the end after a convenient time jump.

And then there is the fact that Barker really had Romeo and Juliet’s biological kid Frogs be a super time traveling genius. He is raised by Ellis, though, so his biological father doesn’t ~really matter. Of course. And of course he survived his mother’s suicide attempt and a cocktail of drugs with only a cool deformity (mismatched eyes) and the ability to see time. Of course.

Other assaults to reason abound. A sixteen-year-old becoming the leader of a community over adults without any pushback is a fantasy more ludicrous than the time travel. The nice and benign adults lied to Jules and robbed her of her choice to raise her child, possibly endangering him in the process, and Jules’ reaction is that of uncritical acceptance.

In short, it seems to me that somewhere in the middle of writing her draft Barker got some reader/editor feedback/pushback on some key points in her narrative and decided to switch thematic gears hastily from basic-girl-learns-about-toxic-relationships-by-comparing-ex-douchebag-with-new-love-interest to basic-girl-learns-how-to-be-a-girlboss-and-girlbosses-awesomely-because-she-needs-no-man-actually. Either way, R&J and Wuthering Heights are left mangled for no good reason. Oy.

[spacehippieface]

TW: BODILY FUNCTIONS, SEX, DEATH/SUICIDE

So, I received this book as a birthday gift.

You'd think it was a self-help guide, yes?

Wrong.

Happy is an utterly cynical philosophy lecture, delivered by a waffling TV magician who doesn't know how or when to get to the point, and felt the need to shit on anything that might well help some people because he personally doesn't like it. Oh, there are a few little nuggets of helpful ideas in the early stages, but then it gives way to Brown giving a long, dry history lesson cum sermon about philosophers, his favourite being the Stoics. But the longer it goes on, the nastier these nuggets become, like flecks of shit stuck between his rambling Stoic-loving buttocks. I think he may have been idly masturbating one night while half-dozing, with a philosophy lecture on as background noise, because he's so very very smart, and then as he climaxed, the wires in his brain got crossed, and now every time he thinks about the Stoics, he gets a hard-on that just won't quit.

Here are some of the aforementioned nuggets, from the course of my trudging through this thing, in no particular order:

Don't concern yourself with what other people think of you. (This one actually is helpful)

Don't worry about what you can't control. Just say it's fine and move on. (This is the answer to "why everything is more or less absolutely fine." It repeats a lot.)

If you want to enjoy life, don't limit your activities. Broaden your horizons as far as they'll go. (This one is also helpful)

Don't make plans. You'll only be disappointed when they fail. They will.

The universe won't and doesn't care about you or what you want/don't want.

If someone makes you feel bad, that's your problem. No one is to blame but you and your perception of other people and their words and deeds.

Religion is bullshit.

Faith is bullshit.

A positive outlook is unhelpful and bullshit.

I am very smart. Do you know I'm very smart? I've been on TV, you know.

If you don't know what any of this means, you shouldn't be here.

Whatever it is people do that annoys, aggravates or upsets you, you are equally guilty.

Just do your damn job.

Lower your expectations.

Forget self-help, or self-care. That's selfish. Pull your head out of your ass. Helping others is far more important than yourself.

Cancer is actually good because it makes you appreciate the time you have left.

The idea of the soul is bullshit, as is an afterlife.

Maybe I'm not smart enough for this book. But you know the worst part of the whole thing? It was given to me with the best intentions. Someone recommended it to the one who gifted it to me, saying it saved his life. I would like to meet this man. I'd like to find out the circumstances of his life that led him to this result upon reading this thing.

Do I feel happier for reading this? Well, no. I've spent the last few weeks in a deep pit of misery while reading, and I actually want to kill myself even more now. Just yesterday I was starting to think about writing the damn note! And of course, by Derren's logic, it's my own fault for feeling this way because of how I perceive things. Perhaps I'm just taking things too personally again, which - guess what? - is also my fault.

Final thought: Unless you're really truly madly deeply into philosophy, don't bother with this book.

[gyahyahyahayhahayahyahyahyahyaha]

this IS ridiculous and stupid and im only perpetuating it and stewing in it but like my whole, at this point, instinctual, response to being in the presence of this shithead is to go 'i have to kill that shithread/myself' is part of the reason why things are still the same and only getting worse. because i did kinda chose some of the worst time wasting things to focus on all this time and it was in fact just only distracting myself from these thoughts. nothing more. cuz i mean i couldnt really function and do anything else otherwise not without acting on these thoughts. ive been trying to not act on these thougths for so long but i dont have TIME to distract myself from them anymore so like... lol. i ve wasted too much time simply distracting myself and not like. doing anything else that might have... allowed me to extricate myself from this fucking situation. i am yet again, simply just tryiing to offload some of this fucking rage and anger building up. and like. as per usual the same regular thoughts keep pouring in. "what is the point at this point, on not just simply succumbing"

regarless of how things have been since however long ago. i stil have this ingrained fear+anger response. i get so mindbendingly incensed at their mere presence. i was literally cursing and sweaing my fuckign ass off audibly yesterday because i didnt feel safe with them at my back. and of course just simply being around them just pisses me offf and of fucking course instead of doing anything about it they complains to someone else about it. i cant talkt o themn either. what good is that going to do. nothing meaningful or good is going to come out of it.

theres no point. theres no fuckign point. obciosuly i have to focus on what CAN be done antd the more important shit but like. man. cmon. thats the whole issue. I CANT. i cant fuckign focus. and i keep wasting time. whether to distract msyelf or just.simply wasting time. all this time i know ive been focusing on the wrong things but like also its been so hard just keeping up with my fuckign hygiene and like keeping the house clean and it only gets harder becuase we dont have a fucking working DISHWASHER or WASHER or DRYER. and also cuz fo like depression bullshit. i dont want to get into "listing excuses" territory but like. ive BEEN using lots of stupid excuses all thistime. but also like i imagine because that bitch piece of shit is tryna make a more focused effort to cut n run theres no way in hell we're getting any replacements anytime soon. which just again just is making me so mad. this is something ive dreamed of. for so long. now that that stoupid bastard bitch piece of shit is leaving. ive more or less ruined/burned all mybridges so like idk. and i knew this hatred and fear would poison and burn me inside out. and probably catch fire to whatevers near me.

i dont want to say its impossible cuz like... its not. thats the whole thing. but it IS its hard to focuson other things, enough to get them done and dealt with... and even more so when mynumber one go to thought is in fact, "whats the fuckitn point" and so it fuckign cycles

and so it has been these last 20+ years.

i dont want to be like this. buti have been. and even now after all this suicidal ideation and ideas and whatever about "disappearing quietly and without a trace" im still fuckign posting about it... wonder what that fuckign means lol

again. YES its fucking stupid that things are like this. ITS FUCKING PATHETIC i let things get to this point. that i didnt do anything worthwile to mitigate or even TRY really. i did. i used to. but i realied it was kinda fruitless to do what i was TRYING to do and i kinda gave up on everything else. and i internalized that kinda thinking for so ong that i just didnt do anything since then. its pathetic. i could have broken out of this. i could have done SOMETHIN to leave. i should have just run away as a child. I SHOULD have done anything. i should have done SOMETHIGN. i can still DO SOMETHING. BUT AGASIN. i just look at my options. all the shit ihave to do and go,

"WHATS THE FUCKING POINT"

and the only things that i can actually see myself doing are reaching out towards probalby the most extreme and (maybe) unrealistic options out there.

and i say unrealistic cuz if i havent done those things at any point up til now, what chance is there of me doing something now. or when i no longer have a choice......

.............................i still have a fuckign choice

i still have time i guess......

but...a gain that fucking pulsing, overbearing thought leering and looming over my head saying the same shit over n over an over again.

"what is the point"

i can think of some answers to that...... sometimes.

maybe....

but even then its like.

i did this. i let things get to this point.

i made the decisions i did that cut off almost all form of exit. of escape or whatever route coud be taken to get out of this fucking mire.

and im languishing in it like some fucking idiot instead of doing something.

ive ruined my chances and i shouldnt and cant expect help. because what the fuck is anyone going to do that can actually fucking help me. whos to say tha i wont make things worse for whoever does help me. me i guess but i mean like.

the answer has been clear to me for so long now.

leave this place and die in some hole.

OR stay here and languish until you die here or they call the police and whatever happens then happens lol.

......and i like. i know. whenever whatever ends up happening. how i feel now and i how i envision it happenig will more than likely be COMPLETELY different ffom what does actually end up happening. but like. im scared either way . if things go the way i envision them going or if things go the way i dont. im scared of it either way cuz neither will be good.

like far as im concerned my only REAL, feasible options are rotting out on the street, killing myself, going to some prision/mental hospital or all of the above. (and maybe also somewhere inbetween now and then, bleeding out due to whatever going on with my body OR complications arising from losing consistent amounts of blood every day forthe last few years on n off). and well i think i deserve it.

i..... for as long as i can remember. never could see a feasible or realistic future or myslef. i had all these ideas and ambitions based in what might as well be delusion/fantasy because i never realy put all that much time or effort into working towards making those ambitions real or feasible. and now even still i cannot see ahead of me. i cannot fucking envision what continuing to be alive would be. aside from rotting until im actually dead. and then rotting some more. i dont want to die where someone will find me.

ive never been able to see a future for myself.

and like yeah. sure. you can fuckign craft one or whatever...

but..................................

WHAT IS THE FUCKING POINT.

even when i come up with answers to that question that i feel should be pretty strong contenders they always. kinda. just. fall flat.

in the face of everything. else... what am i willing to do for those reasongs. what am i willign to sacrifice. what am i willing to fuckign do. what effort am i willing to put in. i never felt like i was able to honestly or accurately answer those fucking quesitons.

and so again. i just feel like everythign i have is just. upheld by falsehoods. and maybe it actually is. but like. what have i done to say or prove otherwise.

what am i willing to do to make it real.......

i dont know.

ive been doing this same shit for so long.

unable to answer the important questions in any sort of meaningful way that feels solid or real.

yelling at myself to just DO IT, whatever IT may be.

coming up with stupi dlil workaround and convoluted rituals to get myself to do the things I WANT to do. WHATEER that might be. or thigns i NEED TO do. and barely bein able to take care of myself. i mean fuck i live in this house on someone elses money. im NOT taking care of myself. but like ive been so focused on tryna at least clean up after myself that i like just. dont do anything else. except waste time. on shit that doesnt matter cuz i not putting in the effort to make it matter. to make something of it. i.... idk...

like id like to be able to say ive been doing SOMETHIN to get outta this situation. like i have so much shit to catch up on like been essentially.... COLLECTING resources for all the things i need to prepare and do in order to catch up on what nees to be done. collecting resources for... STARTING. but i see these documents and pages and stuf that they require and i just freeze. up. i see they require like other ppl's signatures and like all my personal information like my dead name and alls orts of other shit and i just freeze up. i look at the other boxes to fill out and imaybe ill fill them out. but then i look back at the others. i stop. and then i dont save my progress and then i just. look away. go do something else. distract myself. it just. keeps happening. it keeps fucking happening. i shouldnt have had this many chances to squander. to WASTE. i shouldnt have had this many chances and this much time to WASTE. but i did. AND I WASTED IT ALL. AND I DONT SEE THE POINT IN BOTHERING. LIKE. MAYBE. IDK. MAYBE I DO MAYBE ITS BOTH I DO AND I DONT.

its just been all this same damn stupid ass shit. all the time. what do i have to show for anything.... like maybe i can get some fucking hep if i go see a doctor. for about half a much as i say "i should kill myself" or some more detailed variant of that, i also say "i should go see a doctor" i think about all the shit i needto do for that and i just start thinking. " but like do i even deserve it?" shoul di not just throw all my fucking caution and fear to the wind and just say fuck it!!! and let me live up to all this bullshit ive been sayin about how i DESERVE TO SUFFER??? but like i want to throw my cowardice away. i want to get rid of that. but i have to be careful from now on if i want to continue to have some semblance of a life i can enjoy or whatever. i guess. idk. what does that even mean. for me..................

every time i get to this poitn where i think about shit like this (which is just way too often mind you... theres not a SINGLE fucking day that goes by wihtout me thiking about killing myself or some shit like everytihgn i talked about here) i just think or have some stupid naive hope that i can like yell at myself or logic or trick myself into doing something. anything worthwhile. and then i just sit and stew on these feelings and.......

DO NOTHING.

this really is some stupid worthless whiny baby bitch bullshit but like.... i have to do something or else languish and die. liike i have been all this time.

[mars-ipan]

ok now that it’s been long enough. i got my first suicide bait today :)

[everyonewasabird]

Brickclub 4.8.6 “Marius Becomes so Real as to Give Cosette His Address“

Fucking hell. FUCK MARIUS.

We get an explicit description of how incredibly possessive he’s being; I think Hugo repeats the word “possession” multiple times over the course of it. And there’s *some* shade of an idea of it being reciprocal--Cosette is his “despot” even as he’s hers, but that’s clearly bullshit. He thinks he owns her, the same way Valjean thinks he owns her, and it’s hard to say how much is the mores of the day, how much is a Hugo Thing, and how much is the fact that Marius and Valjean have a lot of their worst traits in common.

I super hate it though.

It’s not like love without possessiveness isn’t a thing this book knows about--but also, I don’t think the book’s particularly patriarchal figures ever show much capacity for it? Women are capable of selfless love, and there are men who don’t engage with romantic or familial relationships and so are capable of selfless love--but when men love, for the most part, it means ownership.

....Except Grantaire. You know, I really didn’t see “Grantaire is one of the most psychologically healthy people in this book” being one of my takeaways, but I’m increasingly sold on it.

God, Marius SUCKS.

Like, fine, I get that at some level we’re seeing the fallout of his not having actually recovered from his depression. He just replaced his dark fog with a sunny fog and he has no ability to cope with anything that threatens that.

But all his dialogue in this chapter is solid red flags, like “GIRL, fucking RUN” level red flags.

1) In asking her whether she’s going with her father, he doesn’t persuade or offer her any argument as to alternatives. He’s demanding her absolute submissive loyalty to him over her father, instantly, no questions asked, no logistics sorted, no promises made on his part. Her job is to obey him, why has she not gotten that through her head yet?

Reminder that they haven’t spoken about the logistics or particulars of ANYTHING yet, they barely remembered to tell each other their names.

2) When she can’t give up her only family--and any social station she has as a non-”fallen” woman--on the spot, he says he’ll go “elsewhere”--that is, he’s threatening suicide to get her to comply.

3) While doing this, he uses the same out-of-nowhere coldness he used on Eponine yesterday, which we know was upsetting enough to stop Eponine in her tracks. I sense a Gillenormand tactic, and he’s a master of it.

4) Wait I’m not done with the suicide threat thing. That dialogue goes:

“Very well," said Marius. "Then I shall go elsewhere."

Cosette felt the meaning of this word still more than she understood it. She turned so pale that her face became white in the darkness. She stammered:

"What do you mean?"

Marius looked at her, then slowly raised his eyes towards heaven and answered:

"Nothing.”

That “nothing” is vicious. He’s specifically floating scary implications to make her afraid, but pretending he doesn’t know what she’s reacting to, even as he gazes significantly at the sky lest she have missed his meaning. She’s forced to listen to clues and guess at subtext to make sure he doesn’t DIE, while he acts cold and angry and wounded like she’s the one to blame.

5) Because, of course, in his mind she IS to blame, and he’s not capable of seeing this situation in any way that isn’t her fault. He feels bad, therefore she inflicted it on him maliciously.

6) Cosette’s plan to have him join them in England is..... perfectly feasible, actually? It’s not feasible TODAY, he needs to get his finances in order, but, like, if he was going to marry her in that society, he needed to do that one way or another anyway? He’s not actually without resources--if she left for England tomorrow, even without borrowing I bet he could get his life in order enough to buy a ticket six months from now.

But no, for him one day apart = She Has Left Him To Die (And Must Be Punished Until She Sees The Error Of Her Ways).

7) He ignores her while she sobs next to him for TWO HOURS. I’m going to commute this one slightly on the grounds of Marius Brain Weirdness, but she’s still sitting there while he ignores her for TWO HOURS.

8) He asks if she loves him--she sobs, “I adore you.” Which is the normal answer from a non-manipulative sad person in love who’s asked that question! She asks the same thing back and instead of that, she gets “I give you my word of honor if you leave I will die.” That’s not a fucking YES, that’s manipulative bullshit is what it is.

It honestly feels like part of that possessiveness double standard I mentioned before: he doesn’t owe her any of the consideration--or obedience!--he’s decided she owes him.

9) this exchange:

“He is a man who changes none of his habits, and he has never received anybody till evening."

"What man are you speaking of?" inquired Cosette.

"Me? I said nothing.”

God I’d forgotten the gaslighting starts this fucking early.

9) And, of course, when she begs him to tell her his plan, explaining very clearly that being helpless and not even able to leave the house feels horrible, he refuses several times over to explain the plan.

10) Cosette takes direction very well from the manipulative pressure the men in her life put on her. She starts calling him her master in response to all this--which I doubt she was doing before--because she knows it’s the thing he wants to hear and which will placate him.

11) They have their second-ever kiss on the strength of the relief of her having submitted correctly into the role he terrorized her into.

FUCK THIS FUCKING GUY.

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

You said in another post you don’t believe the Knights of Walpurgis (aka Death Eaters 1.0) were all that plausible. Why is that?

Oof, this is a larger ask than I think you intend that gets into a lot of controversial things. Though, I suppose that’s what this blog has become.

Remember when I just talked about my weird fanfiction? Remember those days? I remember those days.

I guess to start out we need to go at a high level and acknowledge a few things.

For all we know about Tom Riddle’s life we know very little that came from himself. Most of what we know came to us via The Halfblood Prince, in Dumbledore’s lessons to Harry.

Think what you will about Dumbledore, benign or evil, but we can all acknowledge that the man had a clear goal and agenda in Halfblood Prince. Dumbledore was facing his imminent death, suddenly he no longer was looking at years but a few months to accomplish everything he needed to. He knows Harry is a horcrux, knows he himself no longer has time to hunt down Tom’s horcruxes himself, and instead must leave all his work to Severus and, partly, to Harry Potter.

Specifically, he has to groom Harry for suicide.

By the time Severus relays the truth to Harry (never mind that this very nearly didn’t happen in canon and what would Dumbledore do then) Harry must be prepared to sacrifice his own life to stop Voldemort. That, or Severus will have to murder the shit out of him, and that was probably plan B but Dumbledore would prefer it if Harry went along willingly so that the whole thing’s a little less shady. Dumbledore’s not murdering children if the children murder themselves!

This means, in part, convincing Harry that Voldemort is such a monstrous evil that his presence on this earth cannot be tolerated. Voldemort cannot be allowed to survive, even if Harry’s death does not guarantee Voldemort’s destruction, Harry must do it because Voldemort is that bad. There must be no hope, no recourse, and the only action Harry can take is martyrdom. 

And so, that is essentially what Dumbledore does. 

He gives Harry a series of lessons, hand selecting memories of Tom Riddle’s past (often shockingly innocuous), and then narrates them to tell Harry exactly why Tom Riddle is so evil today. The flimsy excuse of Harry wheedling information out of Slughorn is nice, but not necessary, as Dumbledore has no reason to believe this memory contains information he himself doesn’t already know (indeed, that Tom actually did make six horcruxes as he told Slughorn is a very strange coincidence as we rarely end up doing what we thought or being where we thought we would when we were sixteen). 

Per Dumbledore, Tom Riddle was born evil by his very conception, is doomed to be a lowly miserable creature, and that murdering him is effectively putting him out of his misery.

Right, how does this relate to this post?

Well, neverminding what JKR says outside of canon, we learn about the Knights of Walpurgis/Tom’s schoolboy syncophants from Dumbledore. Per Dumbledore, Tom Riddle, while a highly respected and charming student was Evil McEvil who had junior cultists galore. So, you see Harry, the man must die (ergo you must kill yourself).

However, this is frankly ridiculous and not in any way believable.

First, the Hogwarts era when Tom’s in school.

Personally, I believe Tom was regarded 100% as muggleborn. Tom went into Hogwarts with the last name Riddle coming from the muggle world. When he gets sorted into Slytherin he can point to know family members at all (and even if he could would, at best, be considered a low class halfblood). Tom doesn’t know the significance of parseltongue and likely tells no one (I’ll get into this in a few paragraphs). Tom may insist that he could be a halfblood, he knows nothing of his father, but given his origins he himself probably believes he’s muggleborn until he stumbles across the hereditary nature of parseltongue.

Regardless, Tom is impoverished, comes from lower class muggle London, has the last name Riddle, no relatives to vouch for him, and you want me to think that the purebloods sign up to be his cult members?

Even though Tom is terrifyingly talented and brilliant, he will be fighting for respect every inch of the way. At best, I see the Slytherin’s tolerating his presence. Riddle’s tolerable, for a muggleborn, it’s a shame that he has such dirty blood but they’ll admit he’s a talented sort.

However, as soon as he’s out of Hogwarts they’ll drop him like it’s hot.

This is evidenced by a few things. Upon graduation, Tom Riddle struggles to secure employment. He tries for the Defense position but is unvested and a recent graduate, and so is rejected (and when he later tries again Dumbledore laughs in his place and says, “Bitch please, I will never hire you, I just accepted your application so I could spend this interview laughing in your face!”) He does not enter the ministry, which would likely have been far more beneficial to getting him a leg up in society.

No, Tom instead secures employment as a clerk and purchaser at Borgin and Burke’s the wizarding world’s shadiest pawn shop equivalent where he spends his time miserably wooing older women so they’ll sell him their fine goods. Dumbledore tries to convince us this was Tom’s plan, that he somehow knew about the locket beforehand, but this is bullshit. How the hell would Tom know that the heirloom undoubtedly locked away under safe and key had been sold to Borgin and Burkes? And even if he did, why would Tom take up this miserable position doing nothing he wanted to do? 

Whatever minions Tom is supposed to have, whatever friends, they dropped him completely, pretended they never knew him, and did nothing to secure Tom’s future.

Now, back to the parseltongue bit since I made a promise. I believe Tom told no one. Had Tom told the Slytherins he was the Heir of Slytherin, this would have spread like wild fire not only across the house but the school. All the staff would remember Tom as Tom Slytherin, Tom would likely have changed his name, and frankly Tom probably would have been able to get into the ministry with a name like that. Tom Riddle’s life would have looked very different.

More, had the Chamber of Secrets episode happened in a world where Tom proves his heritage, he would have immediately been caught. Someone in Slytherin, even if only a few dormmates knew, would have narked on him. Someone would have been jealous, scared, etc. and would have turned him easily over to the authorities. A secret like that simply cannot be kept, it would spread, and there would be no needing to frame Hagrid and none of Tom getting off. 

More, I always got the feeling very few knew that Voldemort had once been Tom Riddle. First, it would make recruiting very difficult. Voldemort is the mysterious, beautiful, heir of Slytherin who has come back from abroad to save their country. Tom Riddle is a dirt poor mudblood who comes from decades of incest and squalor.

Given the wizarding world at large does not know who Tom Riddle is (proved by The Chamber of Secrets) I would suspect the vast majority of Death Eaters and Order members didn’t either. Dumbledore was the one who pieced it together thanks, in part, to a ten-year-old Tom Riddle confessing his parseltongue abilities.

If Tom Riddle had told most people he was a parseltongue, far more would have made the connection, it would be common knowledge. Which means, of course, Tom Riddle has no ability to prove his heritage and is thus muggleborn swine.

More, I think Tom wouldn’t want Tom Riddle to be associated with Voldemort. When he becomes Voldemort, he will transcend his lackluster origins and become far more than an ordinary, mortal, man. He will leave the name Riddle behind and no one will remember that boy. He will eclipse his past.

Not to mention, that if Tom gave them the excuse of his heritage, it means giving himself the easy way out in Hogwarts. They won’t be forced to acknowledge him, acknowledge that he’s better than them despite his roots, but instead given the easy excuse of “oh, it’s because he’s the heir of Slytherin, duh”. And I think Tom would loathe the idea of that.

Tom wanting to eradicate the memory of Tom Riddle is especially why I think Voldemort came out of nowhere in the 70′s.

Tom doesn’t want to be recognized as Tom, he wants to be mysterious and originless, to give the purebloods everything they want to believe in. If it’s people he went to school with, they’ll recognize him, he’ll be just an ordinary mortal to them. If it’s their young, stupid, children well then he has a real chance. 

Voldemort is a figure of myth, something that appears to come out of legend itself, the savior of his country.

He cannot have origin let alone Tom Riddle’s. 

Not to mention the idea that multiple people waited on Tom Riddle for generations, even for decades where we know he went abroad and travelled the world, is utterly ridiculous. Why would they ever do this? What do they even gain from this? And why would it take so long to take over this ridiculously incompetent country THAT ALL OF TOM’S RECRUITS ARE PRACTICALLY SET TO CONTROL (the beauty of the Death Eaters is that they form a good chunk of the Wizengamot, and in using them, Tom Riddle effectively destroys the country from the inside out, which I believe was his true goal the entire time). 

If Tom Riddle is so terrible, so horrifyingly competent, then it can’t have taken him fifty years of constant work to topple the country. 

So, yeah, there were no Death Eaters 1.0.

[wickwrites]

Wonder Egg Priority Episode 4: Boys’ and Girls’ Suicides Do Mean Different Things (But Not in the Way the Mannequins Want You to Think!)

So, let’s talk about this for a second. After I got over my initial knee-jerk reaction, I realized I wasn’t sure how to make sense of exactly what the mannequins were arguing for here. So let me rephrase their statements to make the argumentative structure more explicit: Because men are goal-oriented and women are not, because women are emotion-oriented and men are not, and because women are impulsive and easily influenced by others’ voices and men are not, boys’ and girls’ suicides mean different things – girls are more easily “tempted” by death, and therefore, more likely to require saving when they inevitably regret their suicide. While Wonder Egg Priority, so far, seems to agree with the vague version of the mannequins’ conclusion, namely that boys’ and girl’s suicides mean different things, it refutes the gender-essentialist logic through which that conclusion was derived.

The mannequins choose a decidedly gender essentialist approach in explaining the difference between girls’ and boy’s suicides; they argue that the suicides are different because of some immutable characteristic of their mental hard wiring (in this case, impulsivity, emotionality, and influenceability). Obviously, this is a load of bull, and Wonder Egg Priority knows it. The mannequins are not exactly characters we’re supposed to trust, seeing that they’re running a business that is literally based on letting these kids put themselves in mortal danger. As faceless adult men, they parrot and possibly represent the systems that force these girls to continue to be subjected to physical and emotional trauma (it’s probably more complicated than this, but four episodes in, it’s hard to say more). So, we’re probably supposed to take what they say with great skepticism. Also, the director, Shin Wakabayashi, has recently said that in response to these lines, Neiru was originally going to object, “When it comes to their brains, boys and girls are also the same,” (which unfortunately is not exactly true and is somewhat of an oversimplification, but the sentiment is there). While that line ultimately did not make it in, Neiru does reply with a confused and somewhat indignant, “What?!”, a reaction that gets the message across.  Neiru is not a fan of gender essentialism, and as a (more) sympathetic character, we’re supposed to agree with her.

That is, the differences between boys and girls is not something inherent to their biology or character, but something constructed by culture and experience. This rejection of gender-essentialism is apparent in Wonder Egg Priority’s narrative, which takes a more sociocultural perspective on the difference between boys’ and girls’ suicides. It says, well of course boys’ and and girl’s suicides don’t mean the same thing, that’s the whole reason why we’re delving into the experiences specific to being a girl (cis or trans) or AFAB in this world – to show you how girls’ suicides are influenced by systems of oppression perpetuated by those in power (ie. the adult, in this specific anime).

And all the suicides we’ve seen up until now tie into that somehow. For instance, Koito is bullied by her female classmates who think that Sawaki is giving her special treatment. This is a narrative that comes up over and over again, in real life as well: that if a young girl is being given attention from an older man, then it’s her fault – that she must want it, or at least enjoy it somehow, and that it signifies a virtue (eg. maturity or beauty) on her part. And if Koito is actually being given such treatment by Sawaki, an adult man in a position of power over her, that is incredibly predatory. 

And we all know that child sexual abuse is something that overwhelmingly affects girls, with one out of nine experiencing it before the age of 18, as opposed to one out of 53 boys (Finkelhor et al., 2014). Regardless of whether Sawaki was actually abusing Koito or if the students only thought that he was, Koito’s trauma is ultimately the result of this romanticized “love between a young girl and adult man, but not because the man is predatory, but because the girl has some enviable virtue that makes her desirable” narrative. Similarly, in episode 2, Minami’s suicide is driven by ideas related to discipline and body image in sports, which while not necessarily specific to female and AFAB athletes, is framed in an AFAB-specific way. For instance, take the pressure on Minami to “maintain her figure”. Certainly, male athletes also face a similar pressure, but we know that AFAB and (cis and trans) female bodies are subject to closer scrutiny and criticism. We know that young girls are more likely to suffer from eating disorders. And Wonder Egg Priority situates Minami’s experience as decidedly “about” AFAB experience when her coach accuses her change of figure due to her period as a character failing on her part.

 Likewise, episode 3 delves into suicides related to “stan” culture, this fervent dedication to celebrities that is overwhelmingly associated to teenage girls. And Miwa’s story, in episode 4, explicitly shows how society responds to sexual assault. When Miwa does have the courage to speak up about her assault, she’s instantly reprimanded by basically everyone around her. Her father is fired because her abuser was an executive of his company. Her mother asks her why she couldn’t just bear with it, telling her that her abuser chose her because she was cute, as if that’s supposed to make her feel better about it. Wonder Egg Priority shows that this sort of abuse is a systemic problem, a set of rules and norms deeply engrained in a society and upheld by all adults, regardless of gender, social status, or closeness (to the victim). Wonder Egg Priority says that, yes, girls’ and boys’ suicides have different meanings, but it’s not due to some inherent difference between the two, but the hostile environment in which these girls grow up. Girls are not more easily “tempted” by death, they just have more societal bullshit to deal with.

But Wonder Egg Priority goes further than just showcasing how girls’ (and AFAB) experiences are shaped by sociocultural factors. The story also disproves the supposedly dichotomous characteristics that the mannequins use to differentiate girls and boys (i.e. influenceability/independence, impulsivity/deliberation, emotion-orientation/goal-orientation). If the mannequins are indeed correct, and that girls are just influenceable, impulsive, and emotional, you’d expect the girls in the story to be to be like such too. Except, they aren’t. Rather, they’re a mix of both/all characteristics. This show says that, certainly, girls can be suggestible, but they’re also capable of thinking for themselves. For instance, when Momoe asserts her own identity as a girl at the end of episode four, she rejects the words of those around her who insisted that she isn’t a girl. If she were as suggestible as the mannequins believe her to be, that would never have happened – she would have just continued believing that she wasn’t girl “enough”. But, she doesn’t because she is equally capable of making her own judgements. Likewise, Wonder Egg Priority shows that girls can be impulsive, but they can also be deliberate and pre-mediating. When Miwa tricks her Wonder Killer into groping her to create an opening for Momoe to defeat it, she’s not doing it out of impulse – it’s a pre-mediated and deliberate choice unto a goal. And Wonder Egg Priority continues, girls can be equally emotion oriented and goal oriented. Sure, the main girls are fighting because they have the goal of bringing their loved ones back to life, but those goals are motivated by a large range of emotions, from guilt to anger, grief, compassion, and love. 

Being emotion-driven doesn’t mean you’re not goal-driven, and vice versa. In fact, in this case, being emotional drives these girls toward their goals. In other words, none of these traits that the mannequins listed are either “girl traits” or “boy traits”. Being one does not mean you can’t be the other, even if they seem dichotomous at first. Wonder Egg Priority’s diverse cast of multi-dimensional female characters allows it to undermine the mannequins’ conceptualization of gendered roles, refuting the idea that these (or any) character traits should be consider gendered at all.

As an underdeveloped side thought, I think Wonder Egg Priority’s blurring of gendered roles is also well-reflected in its style. There’s been a lot of talk about whether Wonder Egg Priority constitutes a magical girl series, and I think that’s an interesting question deserving of its own essay. Certainly, it does follow the basic formula of the magical girl story: a teenage heroine ensemble wielding magical weapons saves the day. But it also throws out a lot of the conventions you’d expect of a magical girl story – both aesthetically and narratively. Aesthetically, it’s probably missing the component that most would consider the thing that makes an anime a magical girl anime: the full body transformation sequence, complete with the sparkles and the costume and all that. Narratively, the girls are also not really magical girl protagonist material – they’ve got a fair share of flaws, have done some pretty awful things (looking at Kawai in particular; I still love you though), and aren’t exactly the endlessly self-sacrificing heroines you’d expect from a typical magical girl story. On the other hand, the anime also borrows a lot from shonen battle anime. We get these dynamic, well choreographed action sequences full of horror and gore, the focus on the importance of camaraderie between allies (or “nakama”, as shonen anime would call it) exemplified through all the bonding between the main girls during their downtime, and in the necessary co-operation to bring down the Wonder Killers. That said, this anime is not a shonen; the characters, types of conflicts, and themes are quite different from those that you’d find in a typical shonen. The bleeding together of the shonen genre and the magical girl genre, at the very least (and I say this because I think it does way more than just that), reflects Wonder Egg Priority’s interest in rebelling against conventional narratives about girlhood and gender.

[tarosin]

did i do that p2

paring implied past platonic tommy/tubbo/ranboo x reader

tw: cursing, de realisation, mentions of suicide/death/paranoia

TW: de realisation, mentions of suicide/death/paranoia

Dear quackity,

if you’re reading this, it’s too late. you’ve probably noticed me and dream are nowhere to be found, you may ask yourself why did sam let the pair out well the answer to that is simple. he didn’t i’m sure you can find what remains of him somewhere around the prison. you really have yourself to blame, now before you start to get defensive and say ‘i didn’t do anything this is bullshit everyone’s trying to attack me’ let me tell you why. before you decided to give us weekly visits just to abuse us mentally and physically, we couldn’t stand each other. I’d go as far as to say I despised dream, but you helped unite us against a common enemy..you. now we’re unstoppable. I'll spare you the details of what happened to your precious warden. see you soon - Y/n + dream :)

“do you think he’ll be convinced we killed sam?”

“dream i’m in here for the murder of a child, of course he’s going to believe it.”

of course the pair of you didn’t actually kill sam, dream simply manipulated ranboo whilst he was enderwalking into bringing supplies you’d need. you have no idea how he managed, but at this point you didn’t care. you know damn well you shouldn’t be in this prison as you didn’t kill michael. you knew this because the ghost, at least you hope it’s his ghost and that your mind wasn’t messing with you, would stand in the corner of the cell telling you that it wasn’t you who murdered him that night. It was a range of factors: the skeletons, fear, pure exhaustion of trying to run from the mobs after him. you often found yourself ranting to dream about what you had been seeing every night for the past god knows how many months at this point, but alas it was no use. he swore he hadn’t seen anyone but you, occasionally sam, and quackity, definitely not the ghost of michael. It was now midnight according to the clock hanging on the wall. the plan was pretty simple, you would scream that dream had disappeared, causing sam to run into the cell, from then you’d use the rope ranboo gave dream to make temporary handcuffs, and whilst you all make your way to the locker room, where you’d temporarily keep sam assuming quackity would find him sooner or later, then that was it you’d finally be free.

“ready?” you nodded and dream hid in the corner, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched, but nevertheless you began screaming that dream disappeared, laughing to yourself as you heard the platform moving towards the cell.

“y/n calm down what do you mean- dream get off of me i don’t want to have to kill you but i will!”

dream rolled his eyes as you tied sams hands together.

“shut the fuck up sam, do you understand how pathetic you sound? you’re outnumbered you’re not going to do anything. if you know what’s good for you and your beloved quackity, you’ll tell us which pocket has your key cards in, okay?” this seemed to trigger something in sam as within 10 minutes you and dream had him in the locker room.

“bye sam, i’m sure your boyfriend will come and collect you soon enough, we left him a letter in the cell and a note from you where you always sit saying to just go on through, don’t miss us too much!”

there you both stood, in-front of the now locked locker room, no home, no friends, no plan, but you were free, that's all that matters to you.

“dream, i have something to ask, okay? promise no matter whatever happens, whether you don’t see me for weeks or you over hear something, you won’t come looking for me.“

“stay safe y/n, a lot of people aren’t going to be happy you’re out. whatever you do, avoid quackity.”

and just like that you went your separate ways, where dream went, you have no idea, you’ll probably hear something soon enough. as for you, well you didn’t really have a plan, you weren't really sure you wanted to be alive at this point. there was a little voice that sounded a lot like tommys ringing in your head, telling you to go to the old base you and tommy made years ago, so that’s where you went. you were clinging onto the hope tommy would be there and let you explain what happened that night, you’d make up then just like old times you’d plait his hair, as the pair of you sat under moonlight listening to whichever disk tommy felt like playing that night. this of course wasn’t the case, instead you were met with previous memories of your friendship. a photo book lay in the middle of the floor as if someone knew you escaped and would go to this base, you shut the door locking it behind you for your own safety, remembering what ranboo said to you the day you were thrown in the prison. picking up the photo book you noticed something odd, the words ‘i know what you did’ and ‘i know where you are’ were scratched into the leather cover. you threw the book onto the floor scared as hell. after you calmed down, you picked the book up from the floor, which was now open on the page of a group photo of you tommy and michael, which ranboo had taken the day you both agreed to babysit him for a while. as you flicked through the book, the images got dark. It went from photos of you tubbo ranboo and tommy laughing at the beach to the night michael was killed. the last page made your blood run cold, there was two photos, one was of michaels funeral, and the second was a picture of you sat in the middle of the base holding the photo book. this was the final straw. You were no longer in control of your breathing, you began feeling like you were being preyed on by something who really wasn’t happy with you and wanted you gone, you picked up the book one last time and everything was gone. the book was back to normal no threatening messages no pictures of michaels death or of you looking through the book, the cover was back to its original state full of happy memories of when you were friends with everyone, back when you were happy.

“hello y/n.”the rooms temperature dropped suddenly you began feeling like you were being watched, you turned around to see michael sat on the floor holding a photo book a lot like the one that caused you to panic.

“hey y/n why are my parents acting like they can’t see me anymore? this isn’t funny anymore, i miss them. can you talk to them?”

“michael... this isn’t real. you’re not real. GET OUT OF MY HEAD!”

everything went silent as if the world stopped turning for a few seconds, that’s when you heard the child laughing.

“what do you mean i’m not real? of course i am!”

“michael darling, you're dead remember, we spoke about this in prison. the skeletons shot you in the nether”

you continued talking to michael, not even realising ranboo had followed you to the base and was watching you talk to the wall.

“who are you talking to?”

you honestly didn’t know whether you felt relieved he was there with you or if you were pissed he found you, either way you ran to him pulling him into a hug despite him constantly telling you to let go of him.

“michael, he’s over there.”

“Is this some sick joke? There's no one there. he’s dead. you killed him!”

“ranboo please.. you, you don’t understand i didn’t kill him. please just let me explain what happened. he was surrounded by skeletons. they shot him please, you have to understand I loved that boy, I still do, I would never do something like that!”

“save it y/n, i don’t want to hear it now if you don’t mind i’m going to go tell sam that you have somehow escaped.”

you fell to your knees as ranboo walked away, you sat alone with the quiet comprehension of the ending of it all before realising if someone comes back you would be in big trouble, just before you was about to begin the long walk back to dream he showed up to the base you were currently crying in, not knowing tubbo and ranboo were not far behind him listening in to your conversation with dream.

“dream please i’m begging at this point. Please end my suffering. I can't do this anymore, no one’s listening to me. I CAN'T KEEP LIVING LIKE THIS! there’s a bow and arrow in that chest over there.”

“y/n, this isn’t a funny joke.”

“dream, do i look like i’m joking?”

“y/n..”

“hey, what can you say? we were overdue.”

tubbo and ranboo couldn’t believe what they were hearing right now, their best friend was about to die and there was nothing they could do about it. as soon as they heard dream open the chest, they ran as fast as they could to go and get tommy.

dream left straight away, it was hard to feel regret when you’re used to bloodshed. tommy couldn’t believe what tubbo and ranboo said and was convinced they were messing with him.

“Oh, I'm sure they did. how’d they get out the prison? did they fly out?”

he stood laughing, tubbo stood staring in disbelief, ranboo stood wiping his eyes trying not to cry knowing it would scar if he did. tubbo shook his head and grabbed his husbands hand for comfort.

“you’re really joking at a time like this?”

“we should tell phil.”

the three of them made their way to phil, guilt following them as they went they couldn’t believe what just happened. after they told phil, they all made their way to the base. as soon as the three teenagers saw the trail of blood dream left behind, they completely broke down and began walking, holding onto each other in an attempt to convince themselves this didn’t happen, and that you would be there. phil went in and saw your lifeless body laying there, knowing the others wouldn’t be able to handle seeing you like this, he sent them away to go and get technoblade. A few days later they found themselves sitting with puffy explaining what happened and what you had told them. realisation slowly hit them that you did in fact not kill michael, they felt awful the three of them couldn’t sleep since the day you passed. after the funeral, they often found themselves at your house as it was the only place that they could sleep and feel as though you were still with them. everyday they would visit your grave, placing anything they found that reminds them of you, and would apologise for not believing you sooner. now you were gone and there was nothing they could do about it.

tags:

@bozowrites

[sinoptics]

tw referenced suicide, abuse. /dsmp /rp

When Dream sees the tower, he’s a little embarrassed to admit he panics.

Of course, he knew Tommy was suicidal. That was the whole point of everything he’d done, after all. Not to make the kid actually go through with it and kill himself, but it was definitely fun to watch him stare into lava pools for hours before Dream got bored enough to drag him back to the Overworld. Or wander around talking about how he didn’t have much time left. Or let mobs attack him without fighting back, just waiting for Dream to save him…

Anyway. It was fun. Which is precisely why Dream didn’t want it to be over.

He’d pushed too far. Clearly. And now Tommy’s gone and he doesn’t even have a stupid book and quill for the revival process. There’s nothing salvageable from the destruction he’d wrought, and looking over the still smoking crater really drives it home that, yeah. He’d gone too far. But it’s fine! Just a little bump in the road, and he can have Tommy back exactly where he wants him again. This time, too, he’ll even know that death won’t be an escape!

And then the revival book doesn’t work.

He’d spent far too long manually getting all the components to craft a book and quill, too frenzied to just go back to the main area and search chests until he found one. He didn’t want to go far from where Tommy had died. He couldn’t leave the space alone. What if someone interfered with the area? What if they found out what he’d been doing? What if they tried to stop him? He couldn’t have that. So he spent time hunting cows and squid and looking for sugarcane nearby Logstedshire, and he’d built a pyre for the ritual, and he’d written it all out perfectly, and then it didn’t fucking work. He tries it again, in case he’d done something wrong the first time, but still nothing happens. He tries it a third time.

Then. Then, he suddenly realises Tommy might not actually be dead at all. He’s tested the revive book on animals, he knows Schlatt wasn’t bullshitting him, so if Tommy isn’t getting brought back from the dead then he must not be dead in the first place, and Dream holds on to that idea like a fucking lifeline.

It’s just a matter of finding Tommy now.

So he starts hunting.

[dontcallmecarrie]

warnings: minor profanity and kinda heavy topics this round, feat. grief, passing mention of suicidal-adjacent thoughts, etc. [not actually suicidal, but...past-life trauma that comes part and parcel with a reincarnated SI-OC].

 Plus some hurt/comfort, because why not.

.

Grief isn’t easy.

Obviously, but...

“For fuck’s sake,” Justin Hammer glared daggers at the mirror as he fought the irrational urge to break it, “you just had an entire goddamn identity crisis, now this too?!”

.

It didn’t make sense. 

None of it did, of course, especially considering everything, but no matter how much logic Justin threw at...the situation, it didn’t change the ache in their chest. Or the exhaustion that meant the only thing dragging them out of bed in the morning was the reminder that if they didn’t, their worthless excuse for a father would jump at the opportunity to make cracks about ‘irresponsibility’, or—well.

Anyway.

.

Goddamn it, this whole ‘second life’ mess was a headache and Justin wanted a refund. 

Okay, so after far too much time sitting in silence, he had some possible answers and each one was uglier than the last.

First off, as far as they could tell, they’d probably died young last time. Not that Justin had much evidence for it, but...even though they felt old whenever they were surrounded by brats their physical age, it’d always been grounded in the quiet resignation that came with being the oldest sibling and de-facto Responsible One™, rather than what every single parenting book had said about how to act around impressionable children. 

However, Justin’s biggest hint was the fact that, right after their identity crisis, had been the realization that some part of them had never actually expected to live to see twenty-five. 

Might’ve been younger than that, actually, now that he thought about it— but poking at that particular emotional snarl was not something he felt up to anytime soon, so arbitrary number it was!

...and still depressing as hell.

And on top of it all was this stupid grief for a life they couldn’t even remember anymore, and they were nearly at their wits’ end. 

“You’re fine.” Justin muttered, running a hand through their hair as they sat at their desk, “I’m fine. I have no idea what I’m doing anymore, but I am fine.”

Now if only the pang in their chest could go away, that’d be great.

.

Grief isn’t easy.

Some days it’s bearable, as time numbs the worst of it— but then there’s the odd reminder, and suddenly it all comes rushing back and just like that comes the realization that no, actually, everything wasn’t okay.

Ugh. 

It wasn’t fair, Justin couldn’t even remember his old family anymore, why did he feel so alone? 

He knew he wasn’t, he— he had Steph and Tony, didn’t he? Sure, they didn’t know about this stupid mental health bullshit that his brain apparently decided to stick him with, but then again, nobody did. Besides, they had more than enough to worry about without his issues. 

.

Justin’s bad days are rare, thankfully. 

By the time Cabal first got going, Justin had almost dared to hope he’d seen the last of them. 

Ha. Joke’s on him, of course. 

Like always.

.

“Hey, you okay? You don’t look so good.” Had been Ivan’s attempt at being subtle. Which, for the record, it was not. 

More subtle than Loki’s and Winter’s glances and clumsy offerings of tea? Yes. 

Still about as obvious as a brick to the face, though— or so he thought, until Victor arrived. 

In a way, it was a kind of impressive: for a man as involved in international politics as he was, Victor was about as subtle as a sledgehammer.

...it was kind of nice, though. The suggestion for movie night, that is. Normally Justin was the one who pushed for it, just for a change of pace because they normally used the media room for far more nefarious purposes and that way both Loki and Winter understood the references that sometimes came up. 

This time, though, it was Victor who suggested it, despite being the one who normally had his nose in a book and generally preferred documentaries— and the others agreed with a speed that would’ve been amusing under other circumstances.

It was...nice. 

Even though part of Justin felt bad for worrying them, it was...

It didn’t cure his bad day.

But it made it that much more bearable.