#rather than outward hostility

[sailoreuterpe]

I'm so tired of being sick. No one but me wears a mask at work, I literally have customers come in and fucking joke about being sick, this fucking country doesn't have any safety net for people who get sick (no paid time off, no universal healthcare). I hate it here.

[yandere-wishes]

He's Just Ken

Summary: You're just Barbie, perfect on the outside, dead on the inside. He's just Ken, neither perfect on the outside nor on the inside. 

Author's note: I condone neither patriarchy nor matriarchy. But I do love exploring different forms of mental exhaustion and extreme emotional dependency.

Warnings: Mental abuse, dark mental headspace, mentions of suicide and self-harm (only if you read between the lines), yandere behavior, yandere Ken, 

Not every Barbie has a Ken. Not one for herself anyway. Every Barbie knows a Ken, but that Ken most likely belongs to her friend, or her neighbor, or one of the other Barbies. Not every Barbie has a Ken, but every Barbie knows a Ken. You know one too, one with sandy hair and ocean eyes. And a look that longs for something more. You know a Ken who keeps his heart from breaking by crossing his fingers and praying to the Malibu sun. You know a Ken who's only happy if a certain Barbie looks his way. Or rather you knew. This was before the world fell apart. This was before he destroyed it. 

Ken returned without Barbie and the universe began to crack. It's fine you thought. It's fine you hoped. Ken -That Ken, the one who waited on the beach for hours on end until his Barbie walked by- returned from the real world preaching sermons on how the Kens were better, superior, the rightful rulers of Barbieland. How they didn't need the Barbies, how they no longer needed to settle for being treated as anything less than perfect. How they needn't be number two any longer. Ken returned without Barbie and the universe wept. 

You've always known the real world was a messed up place. It had become evident when the thoughts started to creep in. That was years ago-albeit you'll admit you have no idea if Barbie years and human years aligned- years since you started to feel like a constant failure. Years since that harrowing voice began screeching endless dreadful thoughts into your cranium. Notions that festered your mind and heart, tiny maggots that chewed away at your soul. There was always something wrong and it was somehow always your fault. Then came the pain. Horizontal pangs that shot across your arm. Always in the same spot, always in a cluster of three. Barbies don't feel pain as intensely as humans, at least they're not supposed to. 

 You worried for your human back then. You truly did. But you were always too scared to leave Barbieland. Never brave enough to go find her. She's fine you hope...you doubt it though. 

You also refused to go see Weird Barbie. Too scared of being labeled as anything less than perfect. So long as these thoughts merely remained inside you and no outward defects began to show, you would be fine. You could just pretend like everything was as perfect as it always had been. 

Ken came back from the real world unscratched. Yet his words hit a chord within every other Ken. They began to take over. The Barbies were reduced to accessories. Pretty little things that clung to their lovers. Dressed in short skirts and maid outfits. Turned into what they weren't. 

Ken destroyed what once was perfect. Yet all you could think as you watch the pillars of your homeland cripple and your friends descend into madness. Was how utterly beautiful he was.

The world turned upside down. 

Barbieland fell.

Kendome rose. 

And yet as everything the Barbies had worked all so hard to build came crumbling down. As your friends and neighbors began to lose themselves and submit to a tyrannical patriarchy. You found yourself utterly unaltered. Your world had been destroyed long ago. This was just another calamity that you would fake your way through. It would be easy, a lifetime of practice finally paying off. Stay quiet, stay in the shadows, no one would notice.

No one was supposed to notice...

Ken found you on the beach one night. A day or two after the hostile Ken takeover. He walked up behind you out of breath as if he'd been running. 

The bonfire crackles, a warning, and a love song. Until now you'd only ever existed in his sideview. An afterthought as he impaled his heart and called it love. You had burned yourself in his rays and called it love. You're convinced neither of you knows what love truly is. The moon's rays dance as you two sit side by side. In the distance, you see Blue Mermaid Barbie and Mermaid Ken share a tender kiss. An unparalleled sight. 

Ken sits next to you. Eyes following your every move. Scanning every dip and curve of your plastic corpse. He's just Ken you remind yourself with an uneasy breath. He's just Ken, nothing to fear. Although you're not entirely sure if those old ideologies shine through. He's Ken but somehow he's become unstable at worst, flammable at best. Something radioactive ticks inside of him waiting to detonate. Waiting to make the world feel a trace of his pain. 

Ken's fingers intertwine with yours as waves of helplessness crash across your body. You were created to be ethereal yet all you see is perfection molded in the shape of Ken's face. He leans in, carelessly placing his chin in the subspace of your neck as he whispers. "I see the way you look at me" his warm breath tickles the shell of your ear. You flinch, in time with the breaking of the waves. "I know you want me" Reality blurs when Ken touches you. He pulls you between his legs as his lips kiss the back of your neck. His fingers run up and down your arm as if he's trying to memorize your shape, your soul, you. It's romantic you think but all you feel is puka shell shards stabbing your flesh. You know he's dreamed of this intimacy with the other Barbie. 

you wonder if in his eyes you are merely a ghost. One he resurrected with desperate love and a broken heart. You wonder if he sees her, feels her, wants her. Yet he'll settle for you. The next best thing. The other stereotypical Barbie. Somewhere along the line, your own voice sounds, foreign to you. He's talking, his voice is smooth like silk. Fragile like window glass after a bombing. He asks you something, something you've dreamed of for all so long. He asks you to be his bride wife. You agree despite how degrading it sounds. 

What once was a pink haven of fun and joy has now been turned into a mess of horses and black sunglasses. Barbie's dreamhouse is now Ken's Mojo Dojo Casa House. You feel like an intruder, like a traitor. You feel loved, wanted, needed. Someone once told you that truths can co-exist. It's all you can think to save yourself from going mad. 

There's an unspoken easiness that comes with being with Ken. The way he's always around. His hands never leave you, tracing stars on your arms, running through your hair. He wants his presence to be felt. 

"I like this" you confess one night as you rest your head on his arm. "I've always felt...less than perfect. Like I couldn't be good at anything like the other Barbies." Ken laughs and it feels like the stars have cladded you in their warmth. He pinches your nose with a soft smile. "I know the feeling," he mutters and you feel your heart crack. "But you don't have to worry about that. I'm here and so long as you're with me. We're both going to be perfect." You snuggle into his chest as you close your eyes. "Ken and Barbie" you sing, a mantra, a prayer. One for a better future. One for a happy life. 

You have a dream house. Had one at least. You sometimes wonder which Ken lives there now. You wonder if his Barbie feels your presence radiating off the walls and the floor and the heart-shaped night lamp you once treasured. You certainly feel Stereotypical Barbie's presence echoing from every corner. You see her ghost whenever Ken pulls you onto his lap to watch a horse flick. Infuriated and distressed. You wonder if she's angry because you didn't join the rebellion. You wonder if she's angry because she thinks you took Ken away. You see her ghost again, feel her between the pause of two breaths. She glitches and fades as you hide your face in Ken's mink coat. 

"I don't like being apart from you" Ken claims as he lays your body on top of his. One hand dangling off the couch the other curling your loose locks. To Ken a touch away feels like being galaxies apart. You kiss his chin and his cheek and his nose and finally his lips. It feels like a dream. One you refuse to wake up from. 

Ken is gold.

Unmetable and solid.A kaleidoscope of hope

He has so much potential rotting inside of him.

Ken is gold.

Beautiful and everlasting.

His value lies in how pretty he is. How good of an accessory he's willing to be. 

You wonder if he's sick of being gold. 

You felt Barbie's ghost again today. This time looming and aggravated. She wants her presence acknowledged. She has something she needs to say. Ken was out, one of the rare times you two spend apart. Something about a beach off and rock paper scissors. 

You wonder if a ghost haunting is their way of showing love. 

You wonder if the Kens starting a rebellion is their way of showing love. 

Barbie talks for ten minutes straight. You cling to every word, you forgot how much you missed the Other Barbie's voice. It's in the final beat of her sentence that you notice she's not a ghost. Not this time. This is Barbie, the girl who had been your friend since the day you left your box. "Help me" she pleads as she grabs your shoulders. "We need to fix this", you turn your head and smile a broken smile. "I can't" you confess. 

It's easy to undo brainwashing. Even easier to reinstate it. What Stereotypical Barbie and her friends can undo. You can simply redo. Even Barbies prefer ease, a few simple half-truths sung into the right ear at the right time. And the once normalized Barbies are running back to their Kens. You turn, in the rays of the golden sun, you see Barbie. Her eyes hold glimmers of unshed tears. She wears her betrayal on her pink sleeve. "Why" she whispers as her fingers reach out to hover over your heart before she retracts them. You think you may have burned her. You think she's afraid of being plagued by your depravity.

You feel like a traitor, like a monster. A creature made of pink lipgloss and shattered vows. should Kendom fall, you know your delicate dream life will fall with it. You stare into her eyes. And the words that leave your mouth feel so rehearsed, yet you swear it's the first time you've uttered them. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you both when you went through hell. I'm sorry I wasn't there when the world collapsed and you ran from the debris. I'm sorry I can't help you pick up the pieces and rebuild what once was yours.., ours. I'm sorry I'm so selfish". 

Immortal hearts are cursed with the loneliest beats. Maybe that's why the other Barbies never bothered to ponder their endless existence. Maybe that's why the Kens always clung to false promises of love. Maybe saying I love you is the same as saying I'm letting you go. Stereotypical Barbie has already reached this conclusion, you know this. For a fraction of a juncture, she looks into your eyes. Trying to reason and plea and hope all in the same breath. When you say nothing more her eyes shine with grief as she turns on her heels and runs for the hilled house. You reach out to her, yet only grasp the warm Malibu breeze. 

What do you call a person such as yourself? 

Coward...

That sounds about right. 

Ken kisses your neck, and it feels like lava sprinkling along your skin. You feel like a defeated soldier drowning in a sea of guilt. Survivor's guilt a voice echo inside your head familiar yet all so distant. A ghost from a past life or a current one unseeable to you. "I have it too" the voice replies. You wonder if it's the voice of an angel or a mortal girl. You don't tell him about the Barbie resistance or how easily they can reverse the brainwashing. You work best alone anyway. 

You hear the word death replay in the background as Ken bites a sensitive spot. A faint noise, a haunting whisper. You hear the word death and it sounds more familiar than the name Barbie that has rolled off your tongue every day since birth. 

Ken harbors you inside the once was dreamhouse like a forbidden secret. Sometimes the skirts feel too short. Sometimes the world feels too heavy. You always feel the eyes of the other Kens on you. You think Ken planned it that way to show the Ken world who you belong to. Just last week he took you to the beach. Both of you wearing matching pastel blues and silver earrings. Other Ken was there also adorned in pastel blue and silver earrings. You see the twitch in your Ken's jaw, the icy glare when Other Ken waves to you. "Let's go," he says, commandes really. He throws you over his shoulder and you're heading back the way you came. "I really wanted to see Mermaid Barbie..." You pout. "No no, you wanted to see a movie remember?" Ken corrects you, to be honest, he does that often. You're starting to doubt you even know your own wants anymore. 

Today Ken has you dressed in a pink and white dress. You remember Setrotypical Barbie use to love this dress. You run around the kitchen cooking a pretend dinner. You really want to go shipping, to pick out something you'd like. A rose pink Lolita skirt and a matching button-up. You really want to die. Although that's normal you always want to go shopping. You always want to die. You wonder if Ken will ever let you pick out your own dresses. You leave his plate in front of him as you loop your arms around his neck. You rest your chin on his head as he pulls you closer. Not picking your own clothes is a small price to pay for the intimacy you've craved for far too long. 

"Never has there ever been a girl as pretty" Ken whispers as he relishes in your presence. 

"Do you have any idea what you are?" He rasps, his lips hovering over yours. You're both sitting on the bed, watching the sun die for the day. 

Ken is a monster. At least that's what you're supposed to think. You have something in your mind something that squirmes around in what can only be described as reason. To call it wits and a conscious would be an overstatement. Lucide is a better word. Weak and brittle yet somehow still standing. Deep inside, your heart refuses to call Ken anything other than hero, savior, salvation. 

"I'm yours" it's the first truth that's left your mouth in a long long time. You cup his cheeks and kiss him with all the doom and gratitude that lies within you. And Wow Ken tastes like mint ice cream and shooting stars. Like dead dreams that lay on the tip of your tongue. He's the beach at night and the evermore gardens during the day. He's everything good and confusing and painful and sweet. Ken nibbles your ear, playfully, and coos sweet words into your soul. Spinning tales of how you'll be together forever. You soak in his presence, rolling his name around in your head. You keep your head filled with him before your own thoughts give you a heart attack. 

You're Barbie but now you are so much more than that. You're his Barbie. Ken's Barbie. Damaged yet simultaneously perfect. And he's perfect too, mesmerizing when the sun's rouge rays kiss his pretty face, bathing him in golden ichor.

You wonder if perfection and imperfection have always been in love. 

 Sometimes in the dead of night, you think of the little girl playing with you. Albit she isn't a little girl anymore, is she? Kids grow up. clawing and biting through the painful transformation. Sometimes it leaves their minds fragmented. Sometimes it leaves them less than whole. 

Judging by how long it's been, your little girl is grown up by now. You close your eyes and give Ken a final kiss before sleep overtakes you. You hope she's okay, even though you know that can never be true. Being "okay" doesn't seem to be a real thing in this universe. 

Because girls are broken and the universe knows this 

Because boys are broken and the universe knows this 

Because the universe does nothing. Just sits there and watches as life bends and breaks itself over and over again

Barbieland is broken too, imperfect and destroyed.

And so are the two of you. 

Yet in the end, it doesn't matter. 

For as broken as the world is the most important of things has been resolved. 

Ken has his Barbie.

And Barbie has her Ken. 

[yanderes-galore]

Can I request a yandere rivalry between Nobara and Itadori? I feel like they'd make for an interesting dynamic.

Honestly, they're very similar so playing around with this could be fun. If you have ideas that could've made this darker, let me know.

Yandere! Nobara Kugisaki vs Yuji Itadori

Pairing: Platonic -> Romantic - Rivalry

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Jealousy, Rivalry, Manipulation, Slight violence, Dubious companionship/relationship.

Yuji and Nobara are known as the class clowns in their group.

They're very similar to one another, even if Nobara acts like she hates him and Megumi.

Nobara's more serious and brash than Yuji at times, yet they have their moments.

For their rivalry, maybe you're another student of Gojo?

You train alongside Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara, doing missions and various exercises.

This means you're often around the two due to team exercises.

Yuji's often overly friendly, easily excitable, and very caring.

Nobara tends to be overconfident, brash, arrogant... yet can be caring and dutiful.

Nobara doesn't show her caring side often, although it comes out at times when with you.

The two both care for you as friends and team members.

The two could either share or have a rivalry.

I assume romantic intentions have a higher chance of being a rivalry, while platonic intentions may make them share.

These two are primarily just petty at first.

Over time they no doubt see they like you to a similar degree, they don't notice it until they realize they're jealous.

Nobara is envious of how clingy and friendly Yuji is with you during training.

Meanwhile Yuji is upset you and Nobara have private shopping days together.

They collectively are upset when you choose to spend time with Megumi.

Their rivalry definitely starts as just jealous friends.

It's mild enough, right?

It's normal for friends in a group to feel jealous if the whole group isn't together... it just feels strange.

Both of them can be rather determined, although Yuji seems more emotional.

Yuji tries to excuse his jealousy.

Why shouldn't you hang out with Nobara...? He can just... go find you later.

Nobara is more... outwards with her jealousy even though she's usually level-headed.

She doesn't understand... why would you hang out with Yuji or Megumi?

Isn't it obvious she's the better one to hang out with out of the three?

Megumi is most likely aware of the two's jealousy, yet decides it's better not to be involved.

If you wanna hang out with him, he isn't preventing it.

Even if Yuji and Nobara are irritated.

Nobara definitely acts like she's the one you should be around more often.

She hasn't had this kind of bond with anyone since she was younger....

Yuji on the other hand doesn't pick up on the hostility from Nobara at first.

That is until she sabotages your time with Yuji, offering an alternative smugly.

Then Yuji gets it... and he's determined to convince you to be around him.

Again, their rivalry isn't the worst.

It's petty stuff, the two often arguing while you're unaware.

Even if you are aware, they're just continuously trying to get you to pick between them.

Surely one of them is your best friend, right!?

It would be funnier if you said you preferred Megumi more... the two of them are just stunned.

Their arguments obviously get worse when one of their obsessions deepens.

Like, maybe Yuji falls for you romantically?

Nobara would be a bit too prideful to admit she's in love... yet.

Meanwhile Yuji can't help but look lovesick when training with you or speaking with you.

Nobara no doubt notices... she's seen such a look before on men.

The idea pisses her off.

Of course he has to love you.

Why wouldn't he....

So while Yuji is trying to win you over on dating him, Nobara keeps cutting in.

Oh, such a shame, it doesn't seem like you have any time to indulge in Yuji...

Nobara's planned a night out for just the two of you~

Which leaves Yuji... frustrated.

The two have fought in the past when they first met.

Here they are fighting again because they both happen to have an interest in you.

Yuji hides his crush less than Nobara, who keeps it very hidden.

So in Yuji's eyes, Nobara is just being an overprotective friend.

Is she scared he'll hurt you if you date?

What's actually happening is Nobara likes you romantically too and just knows how to mask it.

I can just imagine Yuji trying to make peace by explaining his feelings to Nobara.

"Hey, I know you're worried I'll hurt them... but you know I'd never! I promise to treat them right when I date them! I don't want us to fight too much over this-".

He thinks he got his point across, only for Nobara to grit her teeth and admit her true intentions.

"You're such an idiot... I like them! I'M going to date them...! Keep your hands off..."

Once the two realize they like you the same way... cue more fighting.

The two would bark at each other like dogs over you.

The two may even work to try and win you over, with gifts and plans thrown your way to try and cultivate your feelings for one of them.

Again, it would be even better if you actually had a crush on Megumi... making their efforts amount to nothing.

The two propose shopping trips, walks in the park, training, dinner...

At some point you'll get suspicious.

Even more so if they get physically affectionate.

Yuji has a tendency to hug you and hold you tight... while Nobara is more subtle by putting an arm around your shoulders or waist.

Eventually you'll pull them both aside and ask what has gotten into them.

Only for them both to suddenly try confessing, putting down one another while they try to make you pick between them.

Their voices are hard to discern as they're speaking over one another, pleading for you to pick who you'd want to date.

Maybe you're not interested in them... or maybe you need time... either way, until you pick someone they'll be at each other's throats.

If you pick Nobara, Yuji's disheartened but will try to accept your decision... for now.

Nobara definitely rubs it in his face

If you pick Yuji, Nobara is sent on a tirade, yet accepts just being friends... for now.

Yuji's too overjoyed to care, holding you tightly while sticking his tongue out at Nobara.

The two wouldn't hurt each other physically... hopefully...

But they'd probably even sabotage the winner of your affections.

If you liked someone other than them... there's a temporary truce.

After all, they can't allow someone else to have your attention... can they?

Overall their rivalry is petty but not anything too violent.

It's a competition to see who will be the better friend/partner for you...

Even if one of them wins, the other probably won't give up their feelings for you unfortunately.

[couldtransitionsaveher]

Archetype Exploration: Perfect Soldiers

(Hey, please look at this blog's pinned post before reading this post; it gives a lot of context for the lens I'm looking at these characters through, k thx. also, shoutout to @finalgirl-nihilbliss for guessing the archetype)

CW: Abuse, Projection, Surface-Level Media Analysis

If your comfort character exhibits any of the following symptoms:

constant brooding

face frozen in a perpetual scowl

possession of a "dark past" they don't like to talk about

frequent blank stares into the middle distance

constantly trains for something uncertain

You may have just found yourself in the presence of a Perfect Soldier.

Perfect soldiers are characters who were groomed, often from birth, for the sole purpose of inflicting harm on their fellow man. These characters are efficient, tactically-minded, and above all else, violent. Perfect soldiers will often excel at combat and strategy, but struggle with emotional sensitivity.

Note that just because these characters are violent and closed off now doesn't mean that this is their natural temperament. Often, perfect soldiers have some kind of natural compassion that was stomped out through years of abuse training. This can come in the form of a sole loved one who tragically died, but more often than not, it simply manifests as a soft side sanded away.

If the Perfect Soldier doesn't start that way, who is to blame for their transformation? In sci-fi and fantasy, this transformation is usually caused by a morally corrupt institution built to churn out perfect soldiers (the Jedi Academy, the Galalunan Military Academy, the Space Marine Legions, etc.). Other times, perfect soldiers are groomed raised by a cruel and abusive father figure (Endeavor, Bro Strider, Belos, etc.). Some settings even blend the two by having an institution with a twisted general (think Shadow Weaver from She-Ra).

Typically, if a perfect soldier has a character arc, it's usually one of healing and letting go of their anger. This almost always contains at least two of these three steps in the order of your choosing:

The perfect soldier leaves the institution of their torment, either by circumstance or by excommunication. Once on the outside, they'll typically find that their raw might is irrelevant to their survival, and they'll instead need to rely on their lacking social skills. This exit from the comfort zone will prompt the soldier to learn a lot of people skills, typically leading to a "softening up" of sorts. Note that this doesn't have to be a literal escape from a physical place. Rather, it could just be a character being outside their guardian's zone of influence.

The perfect soldier discovers some imperfection with their guardian/institution. Perhaps there's some kind of inconsistency in its moral values. Other times, the soldier finds a secret the guardian/institution has been covering up. Whatever it is, this will prompt the soldier to question their leaders' infallibility.

The perfect soldier meets a person who shows concern for them in spite of the soldier's outward hostility. This outside party will likely witness or hear about the perfect soldier's tumultuous upbringing and take pity on them. This will likely prompt an attempt to reach out to the soldier, something which may or may not be rejected. Whatever the case, this act compassion will likely stick with the soldier, and prompt them to think about their own worth.

An arc like this usually resolves with a direct confrontation with the abusive mentor(s) who turned them into a weapon of war. If the soldier is a member of the supporting cast, this may come in the form of some heroic self-sacrifice, usually to protect the aforementioned outside party. Alternatively, if the soldier is a protagonist, their confrontation will likely be much more active, and may even be a proper fight. The soldier tends to win this fight either with the power of friendship or compassion but this isn't a strict requirement. If the writers really want to get spicy with it, they might even spare their tormentor, really leaning into the idea of abandoning violence (note that this runs the risk of coming off as a "forgive your abusers" narrative).

Alternatively, the lack of a grand confrontation can be a form of narrative resolution in and of itself. Living well is the best revenge, after all, and showing that our former perfect soldier has moved on to a happier, more peaceful life can be a far stronger statement of growth than a glitzy fight to the death.

(This is the part where I tie this whole thing back into the gimmick of the account. If you just wanted a Trope Talk style summary of the archetype, you've seen all there is to see. Thanks for reading, and don't forget to do your daily clicks.)

Why do you keep submitting this?

So, out of all the characters that I've seen submitted, this is easily the most prolific character archetype. At the time of writing, somewhere between 40-50 characters that have been posted roughly fit this archetype, and that's not including any of the characters I haven't posted yet.

Why do submitters connect this particular trope with trans women so damn much?

Firstly, it's important to consider that in most western fiction, the soldier is an inherently masculine archetype. From the classical epics of the Odyssey and the Iliad, to the superheroes and action stars of modern-day blockbusters, there's a very real conflation between a character's manhood and a character's capacity to do violence. A lot of mainstream military propaganda does the same, suggesting that men who enlist are more "authentically masculine" than those who don't. This archetype serves as a critique of that idea; it shows us that this masculine ideal can be, and often is, a soul-crushing experience. In a sense, the idea of transitioning serves as an escape from this image.

Furthermore, it's important to consider what this character arc is actually about: a miserable character discovering that a better life is possible, and making steps to achieve personal peace. Often, these characters are fiercely loyal to the institutions that take advantage of them. These characters are often fine with it because they can't conceive of a better world. Once that's presented to them, that's when they start to leave. Frankly, given that a lot of people still don't end up knowing about trans folks until they're adults, I'm surprised more trans people don't connect to characters like this.

Finally, this arc gets back to the core question at the center of this blog: could transition have saved her? The archetype, in its construction necessitates a level of misery, ergo it implies that the character needs saving. It's no wonder these characters tend to garner a lot of Hurt/Comfort fanfic (Anakin Skywalker alone has more Hurt/Comfort fic than some of my favorite fandoms period). There's an inherent desire for these characters have better lives, and maybe some estrogen could do it.

This is my best guess, anyway. If you have thoughts, feel free to share them.

[gz-missfit]

So I wanna talk about tazercraft cause their characters are so incredibly interesting to me in the best way possible. To preface this I don't speak a word of Portuguese (I'm learning tho! And have been picking up on sentences a lot more) and my native language isn't English so I may get some things wrong and if I do feel free to correct me!

More under the cut:

I'll put this in 3 separate parts, them individually and then their dynamic!

Mike:

Mike is interesting to me, he's definitely the outward instigator of the 2 when it comes to causing trouble and as many have already pointed out the brains behind a lot of it! He's managed to master the create mod in ways I genuinely never expected them to be used and it's a cute way to say that mine (his wife) was also a cause of that as the goddess of creation. To move to his personality more he's definitely the lead talker in the duo, he's a lot more confident in his voice and speaking in comparison to Pac and can often seem like the lead of the duo, tho this is the cause for people missing his weaknesses! Mike is not a fighter, far from that actually, he freezes in danger and fumbles. His hand tremble when he holds a sword and sees mobs closing in and when big threats appear his whole body turns into ice. He gets overstimulated by danger he couldn't prepare for or was the cause of. Just to name 2 examples here, the first is in the dungeon on the day the timer ran out you could hear him panic, he was a lot more shaky and especially his sword being the cause of injuries to his friends is what made that worse, it went so far that he even typed in chat that he was overwhelmed (fun fact to note is that through all of that he basically vanished from pacs pov but I'll get to that). Another example is when the code showed up to him and pac to drop Richas cow head to them, he later on explicitly state having frozen in fear to i think Fit if i remember correctly and even when ttt was typed in the chat and pac had jumped down to follow Richas to make sure he could teleport Mike was again, nowhere to be seen.

His fear of a fight that revolves around his family and death especially is so interesting to me cause it's obvious that a lot of that comes from Richas first death and how he still blames himself for it, the fear of failing his loved ones again being set deep into his bones whenever a danger for their lives comes up. This is why the prison stream actually was even more interesting to me than I initially expected, because his personality in that sense took a complete 180! Now it's been shown time and time again that Mike has an intense distaste of the federation and hasn't been fond of them for a long time, he's incredibly hostile to them and not scared at all when threatened by them to the point where it's a game for him and he's retaliated with threats that could lead to a ban for him multiple times. Before I move on I think the reason as to why this is is because the federation never showed to kill or take lives, I think that's why Mike has a lot more confidence in confronting them rather than things that have shown to be fatal with all intention of killing. Back to the prison though, Mike's personality to threats definitely took a turn in there, from the moment we saw him he looked pissed beyond believe and his tone was always threatening and almost mocking, his mind quickly was set on getting him and pac out as soon as possible and the realization that Walter Bob, someone who both have seen be the first federation worker that showed them kindness and an interest in what they do after willingly showing up for a haircut is what devastated him. Mike sees Walter as a close friend due to that and it showed because as soon as the realization of Walters long term treatment hit him he did everything to protect the worker he maybe met a handful of times, you could see him get more and more agitated the more the guards hit him and ironically enough I think if Walter hadn't been there idk if he would've killed the guard, but he was so set on finally setting Walter free as well as make sure Pac doesn't have to relive the past they shared that he was willing to do everything to get those 3 out and that all is perfectly encapsulated by his behavior once Walter got taken again, Mike wasn't sad or distraught like Pac was, no, he was fucking fuming to the point where he didn't respond to Pac. Ya know, the person he talks to 24/7 and that's attached to his hip to the point where most of their words are shared telepathically above all. It was obvious that he was angry beyond believe and I'm sure he's got a lot more plans up his sleeve now to get revenge. Cause if there's one thing about Mike it's definitely that you do not want him as your enemy. He may be an outwardly social guy who is definitely more focused on making people laugh and showing off the things he and Pac created but he's still a fugitive and would destroy the world for those he holds dear as they help him feel stronger in the moments where fear does get the better of him.

Pac:

Pac is honestly incredibly fascinating just due to how many levels his character has. He's outwardly the person that appears more shy in comparison to Mike and stumbles as well as gets flustered quick. This has also been the main cause of people seeing him as a weaker player (which also got added onto by how during the earlier days he'd be the one to die a lot) which in turn has caused an interesting dynamic between him and a bunch of the others players because he's far from that. Pac is full on the brawns when it comes to situations that mean fighting for someone's life, his brain goes into focus mode once a life is on the line and there's many examples to show that! Which is why I find it so funny that he often gets handed things due to seeming and behaving weaker than he actually is (main example here being etoiles who not only gave him a custom diamond sword early on which Pac has kept to this day but also the Scythe which he nowadays uses as his only weapon).

Now to the examples of how he can very much carry his own weight In fights and how fascinating it is to watch him, the first big show of him effortlessly carrying himself and doing his best to support others was during the timer dungeon, he was at the front with Bad,Etoiles and Cellbit and even when a lot less geared than those 3 with a weapon that did a lot less damage he didn't go down once even tho he wasn't even holding a totem at any point. It's genuinely impressive with how well he carried himself through that and used movement to attack big groups of mobs from behind only to have vanished out of their sight again before they could corner him. The only time he got truly cornered was at a point where even Etoiles had to back up a little and ended up next to him and the way Pac casually mentioned being fine only to instantly jump at the opportunity of humor through small talk sticks in my brain to this day due to him having stayed mainly silent the whole time before that. The 2 other examples are about Richas and how quick Pac is to defend his son, like I mentioned before when the Code showed up to him, Mike and Richas, Pac instantly jumped into aggressive, he wanted to hit it but fell due to underestimating the jump and as soon as he laid eyes in Richas he became Pacs priority sticking to his sons side until he was Tp'd away and only then returning to the Platform. The same thing happened during the dinner! Every parent except for him crashed when the codes revealed themselves and as much as Richas was quick to start running the speed at which Pac laid eyes on the egg and started to follow right next to him was genuinely mind blowing, he stood at that elevator once Richas left ready to die if it came to it just to make sure one of those things didn't follow him, and as soon as Mike relogged he became Pacs priority with the latter hovering around him will he was loading in.

Now to compare this to the behavior in prison is interesting. Pacs still as good as ever when it comes to putting on a persona to get what he wants but I do believe that the prison brought up a lot of trauma for him, from what I know his time in prison was a lot worse than Mike's and you could hear that through his voice throughout the whole stream. Pacs a physical fighter not a mental one. But in the end he still has that survival instinct, he still knows he needs to get out to protect his family and he doesn't want to be separated from his other half and best friend anymore so he plays sly. The way he stole the keys from the guard genuinely is the most slick maneuver ever and his ability to portrait his behavior in an exaggerated way that makes him seem like no threat at all has worked in his favor multiple times during this too. He was definitely suffering through that whole experience but his determination to protect the ones he loved still slipped through, his hesitancy when he called to the guards not to hit his friends only to have his voice go small once he was physically threatened. He's not at all comfortable when he doesn't have anything to fight back with. Pacs underestimated A LOT, he let's himself be pushed around for bits with a smile and definitely enjoys appearing a bit dumber and less skilled than he is just due to the perks of it and not really caring for bragging about fighting skills when he'd rather show off the project he and Mike have spent time on, only those with a keen eye can see how he's got the heart of a fighter (Etoiles being the first to vocally call this out) he's not weak by any means and definitely a lot smarter than he'd ever admit. He'd die to protect his family and the ones he cares about and would never back down if push came to shove for them.

To sum this all up and not make this too long (which it already is pfff) for both of them together their dynamic is very clearly the "do not separate" but funnily enough Mike is the one who definitely leans onto that more. During each fight where he panicked, got overwhelmed and/or froze he was missing from Pacs pov, they were split apart and it was Mike who was terrified of not being able to hold his own, the same happened in the prison just differently. In the prison Mike definitely put on a cold facade but it broke everytime he asked if they could share the same cell, the underlying fear of him having to fight alone lacing his words through moments like that. This doesn't mean that Pac isn't the same tho! He's just less outwardly vocal about it in comparison and shows it more through actions and looks. It was obvious to hear his distress when he called Mike's name in prison but his constant turning around to see where the other is and his hesitancy to go into areas that implied separation are what showed how hes just as scared as Mike is about loosing the other.

To go more into headcanon and theories I'd like to think of the 2 as 2 hearts and a shared soul, their telepathic communication is borderline Canon at this point and it's obvious that the thought or implications of being separated doesn't sit well at all with either of them. Their bodies and life's are separate but they're still connected by a soul. And whether that's shown through jokes like not being able to be in one spot without the other or through genuine things like Mike having to remind Pac that only he can hear him unless he uses his voice or their ability to flawlessly work around the other is up to interpretation of each viewer in my opinion but there's something to be said about the fact that without the other they'd never had the determination or confidence to get out of that prison, that without the other their weaknesses would show a lot more and end up causing a lot bigger of a struggle than they currently are. Without the other they wouldn't feel whole.

[qsycomplainsalot]

Recently the French news cycle has been dominated by us patting ourselves on the back from refusing a racist law project from some dickhead in parliament, and a frankly shameful debacle where a teacher took their students to the Louvre and took them without warning to see a painting featuring naked people, with the students being eleven to twelve years old in that context. I invite you to read about it yourself although you should keep in mind that a lot of sources show a very strong bias in their language describing the event.

What we see with that whole nonsense is that 130y after Alfred Dreyfus' trial, we still have the proceedings over controversial facts and statements be ruled over by some clique with obvious conflicts of interest passing judgement by telling us that no everything's fine we swear, it's the minorities that we need to worry about. A teacher shows artistic nudes to 12yo's with no warning but no no it's their fault you see, and the fault of their religion, this eternal enemy of the Republic (except when it's fairweather catholicism)/s. The students complain that this is part of a pattern of hostility from said teacher, but it's okay because the teachers tell you that it's not. And now the minister of education wants to punish the students. Classy.

It's honestly not hard to see a pattern of abuse towards these kids and we don't need to have this teacher personally involved in it either, because if even a single student in this class was Muslim, or Jewish, or literally any other religion than Christian, there are laws that should be unconstitutional in nature that already bars them from even harmless outward displays of their religion, because of a fundamentally moronic, stunted understanding of what secularism and the separation of church and state was about. It was supposed to stop discrimination, but instead it hits on the head any and everything that might stick out to a white Christian point of view with absolutely no self-reflection on how hypocritical it is. France has had a deeply religious culture for as long as it existed, our national myth STARTS with our people's conversion to Christianity, but because it is our culture and we're used to it we do not see it, we do not question it, and any attempt to point it out is an attack on the values of the Republic, you filthy non-assimilated foreigners. Ignore over half of our holidays being literal Christian holy days, all of our stores legally having to close on sundays and wearing cross pendants in school literally never being prosecuted, we're so fucking secular it's beautiful.

Mind you this is borderline irrelevant in this context though, because a teacher decided to shoulder the responsibility to show nudity to children, not all of whom were Muslims and they were obviously made uncomfortable by the experience. There's probably an age at which one can expect students to look at tits in a painting and be able to contextualize them with their art history lesson, I'm going to be honest though it's not gonna be twelve years old. Reframed without the racist "their obscurantist beliefs can't handle our beautiful art of chubby ladies in what I can only assume are poses an Italian man four hundred years ago thought were sexy", it's not an attempt against the sanctity of the republic not to show tits to children without warning them and their parents. But apparently some fucking dullard did a dumb, and rather than address it or any of its systemic issue the French education system is circling the wagon and shitting on its students twice as hard.

“At French schools, we do not challenge authority, we respect it! At French schools, we do not contest secularism, we respect it! ! At French school, we don't look away from a painting, we don't cover our ears in music class, we don't wear religious dress, in short, in French schools we do not negotiate the authority of the teacher nor the authority of our rules and our values!”.

--Gabriel Attal, French minister of education/Macron simp, showing how becoming minister at age 34 might be a bad idea and an indictment to the institution you claim to represent by ignoring the past some two hundred and forty years of French history.

"Shut up and do as we say, after all the French system as an impeccable record of mediocrity so clearly we're doing everything to merit your obedience !!"

I cannot stress this enough, kids this age are NOT COMFORTABLE WITH NUDITY AND SEXUAL THEMES, it is not a purely religious thing and not all kids who complained were Muslim. The school and media are brushing over that because it doesn't fit their racist framing job, because it would not be convenient for them to report the news accurately because it would expose how the education system in France is rotten from top to bottom, from underpaid teachers who stopped giving a shit all the way to a political appointee minister who couldn't pour water out of a boot if the instructions were written on the heel.

[cas-kingdom]

Twist of Fate

A/N: The Artful Dodger briefly took over my life, so here is a self-indulgent (questionable quality because I am ill) little story. Featuring our favourite thief-turned-surgeon and the girl (my OC) he took in as his own.

Title: Twist of Fate

Summary: When Daisy Dawkins overhears Jack and Fagin discussing a bet with money and a severed hand, she decides to step up.

Words: 1924

When Jack Dawkins had rescued the girl from her father to raise her as his own, the one condition he had given himself was that she would grow to become someone as far removed from his past as possible. The thievery, the tricks, the Artful Dodger – Jack had failed at many things in his life, but he had convinced himself in the twelve years since that to go back on such a condition would be his biggest yet.

Of course, when living under the care of a single person, one cannot help but be like them. Though his blood did not pass through Daisy’s veins, people regularly remarked on their likeness; how their smiles mirrored the other, how their voices carried the same quick-witted sharpness, and how their steps were so often in tandem without even realising. It seemed that, despite his best efforts, parts of Jack had leached onto Daisy. He could only be thankful they were the parts of himself he did not completely hate.

Take medicine, for one. At fifteen, she couldn’t very well perform surgical procedures like him, but if Jack ever struggled to find her, his ward was the first place he looked. She had a wonderfully pure heart, and liked to sit with his patients, ask how they were feeling, if there was anything she could do to help. Jack often liked to hide himself in the doorway just to listen to her. It reminded him he hadn’t gone back on his condition.

So, when Daisy found him in the hallway after a surgery and presented to him a handful of golden coins, he couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit taken aback. Because while she wore the happiest of smiles, staring up at him with those big blue eyes, she had not had those coins that morning, and the only time he had ever held the same amount in the palms of his own hands, he had obtained them in a less than moral way.

Absentmindedly he let her drop them in his hands with a chorus of little clinks. He stared at them, all seven of them, sitting heavy in his palm, glinting at him in the candlelight, and finally looked at her. Slightly disoriented, her name was the only sound that could leave his lips, and even then he sounded unlike he expected she had hoped.

“Dizzy…”

Daisy’s face fell immediately. “What?” she asked. “What is it?”

With a final look at the coins, Jack shoved them in his pocket, glanced around the empty hallway, and gently took Daisy’s hand in his. In the next moment, without a word from either of them, they were hurrying – more so Jack than the rather perplexed Daisy – up the stairs and towards the staff’s quarters. Jack’s mind was racing. Once he had ushered Daisy inside their room and shut the door, he turned to face her.

Daisy crossed her arms firmly over her chest. “What?” she all but demanded.

Jack revealed the coins again. “How did you get this?”

The look that washed over Daisy’s face could have melted the iciest of hearts. Slowly, she seemed to deflate, her shoulders sagging. If anything, guilt vaguely flashed in her eyes before she turned them to the floor. “That… that doesn’t matter,” she said. “Jack, why does that—”

“Did you steal it?”

He had asked the question gently, so as not to accuse her. He had not asked it with the same bite as the man who had caught him fifteen years ago and tossed him in a cell. He had learnt everything from that. But defensiveness clouded her immediately and she stepped back, away from him, her body suddenly rigid.

“No, I did not!”

The abrupt and unfamiliar hostility between them unsettled Jack, and he rushed to assure her with a shake of his head, spreading his arms outwards, free palm up, in appeasement. “That’s good,” he said. “I believe you. But we don’t have this sort of money, Dizzy. You need to tell me how you got it.”

It was then her hand reached for her neck. Jack thought nothing of it at first – the notion of reaching for her locket whenever she felt disconcerted was was as familiar to them both as breathing – but when her hands fumbled and he looked closer, he realised she was searching for something that wasn’t there.

It took him only a moment of silence and careful thought to realise what had happened, and when he did, he let out a long sigh. He put a hand to his forehead and stared at her. “You didn’t.”

Daisy shrugged and dropped her hand, letting it swing by her side.

“Why?”

“I heard you talking with Fagin,” she said simply, as though it explained everything. “If you don’t pay that awful man then he’ll chop your hand off.”

“Oh, Dizz, it won’t come to that. It was never going to come to that.”

“Yes, I know, because you have the money now.” She nodded her head in the direction of his closed hand, and Jack was once again reminded of cold metal against his skin. “You can give it to the man and everything will be fine.”

Jack’s face only grew more tender, a sad sort of smile replacing the disappointment of learning she had sold her locket, the only connection she still had to her mother. She was so innocent, so good, that Jack just wanted to envelop her in his arms and shield her from the rest of the world forever.

Daisy blinked at Jack for a moment, trying to gauge his expression. Then, she sighed and shook her head, pressing her lips in a thin line, her fists balling at her sides. “It’s not enough, is it?”

“Quite far from it, love.”

“But I thought…” Her eyes welled with tears and Jack immediately closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his chest. She hid her face in his waistcoat as he put a hand to the back of her head.

“Please don’t worry,” he said quietly. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll get it back. Alright? I’ll find the person you sold it to and I’ll get it back. I promise.”

Daisy thumped a fist lightly against his chest. “I don’t care about the locket.”

“‘Course you do.”

She made a sort of groaning noise as she ducked from beneath his arms and stepped away from him. “I care more about you, Jack. They can’t chop your hand off. I won’t let them chop your hand off. I’ll—I’ll sell something else, anything I can—”

He grasped her forearms before she could get ahead of herself and ducked to her level, forcing her to meet his steady gaze. “Daisy Dawkins, did I not just say it wouldn’t come to that?”

Daisy scrunched up her nose. “You and Big Lump are coming up with a plan, is that right?”

Jack would not say that Big Lump was an affectionate name for Fagin, but it certainly was better than some of the names he’d given the man since their unhappy reunion.

Smiling, genuinely this time, he took her hand in his and dropped the coins in them, closing her fingers around them. “You know me,” he said. He leant forward to press a reassuring kiss to her forehead and then brushed past her to change out of his clothes, the dried blood on his sleeves long outstaying its welcome. “Now, how many times have I told you never to worry about anyone but yourself? To leave the tricky parts of our life to me and only me?”

Daisy rolled her eyes and carelessly tossed the coins on her bed, watching them bounce and settle in different places. Her disappointment was evident, even more so as her hand automatically went to her neck once more.

“Well, you make that hard,” she said.

Jack chuckled and glanced over his shoulder as he changed into a cleaner shirt. “Oh, really? Do I?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Oh, yeah. Hm. I understand. It’s my fault for giving you a bed to sleep in and food to eat.”

“Yes. And for making me love you.”

“ You wound me.”                                 

“Well…”

He pointed a finger at her. “Don’t you say it.”

“It’s a good thing you’re a surgeon.”

Jack lunged for a pillow and threw it straight at her, laughing as the force of it sent her stumbling backwards and onto the bed. She shot up and tossed it right back at him, after which a most undignified pillow fight broke out, and ended with the both of them laying on the bed amidst a wreckage of feathers and seven strewn coins.

They were both out of breath, and the fight had ended a good two minutes ago, but Daisy used the last of her energy to grasp the pillow by her head and aim it to whack him.

“Alright, little weasel." Jack laughed as he blocked it before it could come down on him. He wrenched it from her hand with little effort before grabbing her and pulling her half onto his chest, fingers tickling at her sides for one more moment of impishness. She squealed as he kept her pinned to him, letting her grasp his hands after a few seconds to stop him.

She settled eventually, head laying contently against his chest, hands still firmly wrapped around his own.

Jack flicked his eyes down at her mop of hair, leaning forward to press his lips against it. “Thank you for trying,” he said quietly.

Daisy made a noise of disapproval. “I don’t want you to thank me,” she said. She lifted their hands to rest against his stomach, stretching his fingers out so she could lay her palm against him. “You couldn’t hug me if you didn’t have two hands.”

“I could. It just wouldn’t be as good a hug.” He smiled. "I couldn't tickle you with—"

"Oh, yes, do you think he would cut off both your hands if I asked very nicely?" Daisy turned her head up towards him, resting her chin on his chest and offering an impish smile, to which Jack made a face in mock consideration.

"Perhaps if you provide a detailed medical report on the trauma you have received from it."

"That's a good idea."

"Of course, you would need the medical report to be written by a medical professional." He twisted his lips in thought. "Sneed?"

"Absolutely not."

"The Professor?"

"Never."

"Well." Jack reached for her ribs. "Since I can't very well provide a report on my own crimes—"

Daisy snatched his hand up again before it could touch her skin. "Stohop."

Jack turned his eyes up to the ceiling, his mind wandering back to Daisy's locket. When he had removed that tiny child from her incompetent father after the death of her mother, he could never have imagined the extent to which she would wrap herself around his heart. That she had taken the one blood connection she had to family and sold it for his sake...it both warmed and terrified him. But he decided to focus on the former for now.

"Tell me who you sold your locket to," he said, carding his fingers gently through Daisy's hair, "and I'll get it back."

“Okay.”

“And, really, Dizzy��thank you.”

He supposed he could accept that Daisy was part him. After all, that meant he was part her, and to be quite honest, he couldn’t have asked for anything more.

Artful Dodger Masterpost

[fourovcups]

I've been reading Edward Abbey's Desert Solitaire as research for a project of mine, and it has certainly been an experience.

Desert Solitaire was one of these titles I'd heard bandied about in American nature literature growing up (the kind of thing teachers recommended once you finished Hatchet), but I don't here his work mentioned as much anymore. I recently re-encountered the title on a literal ecofascist reading list. While Abbey doesn't sound like an ecofascist himself, I can easily see why nature Nazis like him.

The book chronicles Abbey's time as a seasonal park ranger at the Arches National Monument in Utah There is a kind of uncertainty and inconsistency in the way he writes, even in the way he acts towards his surroundings in the desert. Silent Spring had only been published a few years before Solitaire was, and the eco-cultural revolution was not yet in full swing. Abbey writes lovingly about his desert environment. He describes in stunning detail, for example, the everyday beauty of a bumblebee alighting on a cactus flower, and decries the reckless "development" initiatives of the Bureau of Public Roads. But on the next page, he will say something like this: "...it's a foolish, simple-minded rationalism which denies any form of emotion to all animals but man and his dog. This is no more justified than the Moslems are in denying souls to women." Sure dude. Okay, fine, he was writing in the sixties. Some insensitivity is par for the course. But then, after pages and pages of decrying humans driving desert flora and fauna towards extinction, he describes with glee an instance where he stones a rabbit to death for no apparent reason.

It's a bizarre passage, and shows Abbey at his most unhinged. He describes the rabbit as "cowardly" for running away from threats, unlike the brave mountain lion, who stands and fights. He throws the stone and hits the rabbit's head: "He crumples, there's the usual gushing of blood, etc.," and the creature is dead. "I continue my walk with a new, augmented cheerfulness which is hard to understand but unmistakable [...] I try but cannot feel any sense of guilt." Reflecting on the incident, he concludes that his killing of the rabbit has made him a part of the desert, a membership bought by killing or being killed, being "predator or prey". Even so, he decides not to eat the rabbit, which he says is probably diseased anyway. He also describes using his walking stick to crush and stir up an ant colony, also without any reason beyond not liking ants. "Don't actually care for ants. Neurotic little pismires." These are far from the only times that Abbey violates his personal philosophy of reverence for all living creatures.

It's clear that Edward Abbey came to Arches National Monument already dissatisfied with the outside world, and with some authority issues to boot (some quick googling on his background shows two demotions as a military police officer for clashing with higher-ups). The freedom of the desert, its simplicity and balance, is a significant part of what makes it appeal to him. But its harshness, the hostility of its sandstorms and lurking rattlesnakes, draws him in just as much.

Edward Abbey is not an ecofascist. If anything, his ill-defined political beliefs can be vaguely defined as anarchistic, if they can be defined at all. Deleuze and Guattari write in A Thousand Plateaus that fascism is "a cancerous body rather than a totalitarian organism". It is fluid, mutable. Sometimes it lies latent, benign; at other times it rushes outward, colonizing piecemeal and erratically, in "flows capable of suffusing every kind of cell". Elements of Abbey, and of Desert Solitaire, contain such microfascisms.

Let's turn back to the linchpin of it all: the killing of the rabbit, which he sees as a joyous, cosmic act; one that links him into a (circular? pyramidal?) chain of being he was previously alienated from, in the atomized world of civilization. His joy is only augmented when he realizes he is not guilty for killing the rabbit. In per-modern hunting customs across the world, the taking of animal life is never free and unmediated. Thanks may be given to the spirit of the animal itself, or to the unseen powers that led the hunter to their quarry. Naturally, the sacrifice of an animal to a god was just that: for a god, not the human involved. What Abbey describes in the killing of the rabbit is something utterly different.

In Federico Finchelstein's Fascist Mythologies, Finchelstein says that in fascism, "consciousness was not a repression of inwardness (as Freud understood the workings of the Ego and the Id) but its actual distillation. [...] [Fascist consciousness] was not contemplative but similar to that of a sublime sensation of ecstasy."

The fascist subject is most "conscious" precisely when they loose themselves in the ecstatic abandon of the act. Such fascist consciousness is the foundation of the free, easy violence it facilitates.

When Abbey describes casting the stone at the rabbit, it is in a Meursault-like twilight of awareness. He sets up the encounter as a game, one in which he is a scientist experimenting on a rabbit that has been "volunteered" to him, and whose death is justifiable through its natural cowardice. He hardly realizes that the action he is carrying out, and when the rabbit dies he is shocked out of his reverie for a moment.

"For a moment I am shocked by my deed [...] but shock is succeeded by a mild elation."

For Abbey, primordial violence is what at last allows him union with the sacred world of the desert.

"No longer do I feel so isolated from the sparse and furtive life around me, a stranger from another world. I have entered into this one. We are kindred all of us [...] Long live diversity, long live the Earth!"

By carrying out this act of bare violence, Abbey frees himself from the civilized world and achieves union with the world of Nature, in which violence is a simple act: one that creates its own order rather than supporting existing ones. It is this union that, while the moment lasts, allows him to rejoice in his newfound "innocence and power".

That is where I will leave things for now. There are other, more overt themes that Abbey explores that are the chief reason Desert Solitaire appeals to many ecofascists, such as its characterizations of industrial society and "Progress". Abbey's later work, such as The Monkey Wrench Gang, set even more explicit examples of direct action and sabotage that inspired right-wing accelerationists as well as left-wing environmental activists. This is my first long-ish post; if you're interested in these kinds of posts on ecofascism and ecocriticism, let me know and I might make more in the future.

[mybiasisexo]

Heey! For the drabble game: 7 & 32 with Lay 🥰

Fighter 🔪

Genre: angst | obsession!au | xexo!zyx Pairing: Lay x f.Reader Length: 2.2k Warnings: language | mentions of blood & death

a/n: im too burnt out for a sequel sorry! I cannot believe this is the FIRST x-exo au ive ever written!!!! xing fits this concept so well ugh we're always being robbed 😔 and its extra long because my man deserrrrrves it!!!!!!! as always thank you for requesting and youve been so so sos o patient. I made sure that this was the next thing i posted 🙏 hope it finds you quickly 🥰

DRABBLE GAME | MASTERLIST

You awoke with a loud gasp, lurching upright.

Working on pure instinct, you reached for the discarded knife beside you, holding it out as you sensed danger. You blinked the blurriness in your vision away as you tried to catch your bearings.

“That’s not a good idea,” a gentle caress of a voice warned.

“Yixing.” You relaxed once realizing who accompanied you. You wiped the liquid dripping into your eyes, pulling back to see dark blood staining your gloves.

Vision fully cleared, you saw the man sitting against a wall across from you. One of his legs was stretched out before him, the other bent at the knee for him to rest an arm on. He appeared rather comfortable for someone amidst a battle he despised.

He clicked his tongue. “Not quite, Darling.”

Dread filled you as the reality of his words dawned on you and you sprang to your feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness and the scattering of black dots across your vision from getting up too quickly. You held the knife you carried more firmly, prepared to fight.

“Hey now,” he started as he slowly raised to his feet. “Is that any way to treat the man that just healed you?”

You hesitated as the memory of getting stabbed came back to you. It was a fatal blow, right in the side of your stomach. You’d reassured your team you were fine and to continue without you. It took some coaxing, but after promising to send Yixing back to help, they retreated. Once they left, you crawled into this abandoned room, knowing that Yixing would be too late to save anyone once he arrived.

Yet, you were alive.

With your free hand, you checked your side, being met with smooth skin. The knife in your hand clattered to the ground. You couldn’t hold it after realizing it was used to kill you.

“You saved me.” It wasn’t a question. The man that wore Yixing’s face tilted his head curiously. The action left you uneasy, feeling like helpless prey in the presence of an apex predator. “Why would you do that?”

A cruel grin stretched his lips. “Consider it me returning the favor.”

“You’re Lay,” you questioned. You already knew the answer, but needed him to confirm it.

That wicked smile of his grew. “They also call me Subject Ten.”

'They' being those who worked for the Red Force. A large group of scientists who were working on Operation Blood Orange, the illegal experimentation on innocent people. Those people became your friends, when you helped them escape years ago. They weren’t too thrilled when they found out the red force somehow held on to their DNA, allowing the creation of cloning them. Being an unfamiliar face, you were able to infiltrate their ranks, disguising as a nurse. For eight months, you spied on their illegal practicing in an attempt to discover what they were planning to do.

The clones were uncanny to their donors. Their features, voices, and powers were exactly the same, but that was where the similarities ended. Unlike the originals, these men lacked empathy, and only expressed a sick joy when causing harm to others, even each other.

Subject Ten, or Lay as most of the doctors addressed him as, was the most compliant of them all. The others liked to taunt and terrify, putting up fights whenever you had to check their vitals. Never Lay. He’d just silently watch you. You found that far more sinister than the outward hostility the other’s met you with. When Lay first spoke to you, it was startling. He sounded so much like Yixing, it was easy to forget that wasn’t actually him. Yixing was a kind and compassionate soul who only saw the good in people, even one’s who barely had any left in them. He was far from a fighter, it made him sick to cause pain. Healing was in his nature. Life was what he cherished.

Lay favored death.

You’d seen him do it. You had no clue Yixing’s ability of healing could be reversed. But, on the day the clones escaped, you saw Lay twist that gift to take a life. It was only a matter of time, you supposed. The doctors had fallen for Lay’s calm demeanor, and had started letting their guard down around him. On that day, a doctor had gotten too close, and Lay used it to his advantage. You didn’t realize what was happening. One moment the doctor was fine, then Lay placed a palm over his chest and he fell to the floor in a lifeless heap.

Then Lay’s attention turned to you. His dark eyes were hard and spiteful, but there was a flicker of something in his expression that held him from attacking you. He gave you an out and you were fleeing the scene before he could change his mind. You knew you weren’t strong enough to defeat him on your own, that only the ones like him could. So, you went to them and revealed everything you knew.

That led to this mission. You’d spent a month tracking the duplicates to an abandoned hospital they’d taken shelter, and ambushed them. When your fellow soldiers saw their counterparts for the first time, they all froze in shock before determination settled in. The goal was to destroy them, but even with all your knowledge, they hadn’t anticipated how much stronger their clones were.

Lay’s sudden approach jerked you from your reverie, and you cursed yourself from growing distracted at a time like this. His hand wrapped easily around your neck, but he didn’t add any pressure. Still, you gasped and scratched at it, to no avail. He didn’t even flinch as you tore at his skin.

“Do you want me to take it back?”

Gritting your teeth, you stared into those dark voids he called eyes. They shined with mirth, as though he enjoyed toying with you.

“Save me just to kill me,” you spit. “How typical.”

He barked a surprised laugh. “I knew I saved you for a reason.”

He let you go and retreated a couple steps, allowing you space.

A swell of anger overwhelmed you. “You’re an abomination! A monster!”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” He waved off your insults, but there was a tightening around his eyes and a strain in his voice you failed to notice.

“You’re a sick bastard!” You continued, not even sure why you were antagonizing him when he could easily kill you. “A poor excuse of the original.”

“Is that how you really feel?” He asked with a chuckle. “I don’t believe you do.”

And that was the reason behind your tantrum.

Truth was, all the time you spent with Lay in that cold hostile hospital had made you grow attached. After the first conversation you held, it flowed effortlessly between you. He’d learned to banter and would watch you as though he were undressing you in his head. Yixing never looked at you like that, and you never wanted him to. You’d never grown romantic feelings for Yixing, but Lay? He was different. He was nothing like the man whose DNA he shared, and that drew you to him.

There was one day, when you were drawing his blood, he’d grabbed your arm when you pulled away. Your heart began racing with the fear he was finally going to murder you, but that fear turned into something different when the hand not restraining you started curiously venturing over your arm. His fingers searched across your collarbone, down the swell of your breasts, to the rim of your pants. You’d studied the way his eyebrows furrowed at his exploration, as he experienced new feelings and sensations he didn’t understand. When he met your gaze, he took notice to the pounding of your heart, the trepidation in your eyes, and the shallow intake of your breath. He hummed, ‘that’s not fear, is it?’

You contemplated lying, but relented under his naïve gaze. “No.’

He had nodded before finally letting you go, sinking back into the chair he laid upon. “Interesting.’

The effect he had on you did interest him, as did your effect on him. It was what made him spare you that day he escaped, but he had left you with a warning, a promise that he wasn’t done with you yet.

“Shut up!” You yelled at both him and your twisted thoughts. You pounded your fists against his chest in frustration.

“Touch me again,” he threatened calmly, not showing an ounce of pain under your violence. His lack of reaction only pissed you off further, and you lifted your fist, aiming at his nose this time. He snatched your wrist before you could touch him and yanked you forward so that he could crush his lips against yours. You fought him at first, disgusted by his touch. But that denial only lasted a few seconds before you were pulling him closer, fervently kissing him back.

He growled in approval, devouring you with surprisingly soft lips. Blindly, he walked you back until you hit a table. Unbreaking your connection, he helped you hop onto the surface, and you spread your legs for him to slot between. He pulled at your waist, enjoying the heat of your body against his, especially the haggard rise and fall of your chest.

“Still think I’m a sick bastard?” He cockily whispered against your swollen lips

“Shut up,” you groaned, smacking his shoulder harmlessly. He chuckled huskily and the sound made your thighs squeeze his narrow hips, drawing him impossibly closer.

“Who knew you had such a fighter’s spirit,” he purred. His nose rubbed against the side of your neck, his breath was warm as he whispered against your flesh. “I want to kill it.”

“Of course, you do.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, although half the reason came from the pleasure of his inquisitive tongue. “Kiss me again.”

He did as you commanded, and time fell away as you lost yourselves in each other. You were starting to undress the other when he said your name.

At least, you’d thought it was him, except for the fact his tongue was preoccupied exploring your mouth.

Realizing Lay wasn’t the one who spoke, your eyes sprang open and locked with Yixing’s, who stood in the doorway in utter shock.

“That’s not me,” he warned. He was visibly confused, and that you understood. In no world could Yixing picture the two of you like how you were. You’d never shown him any affection that wasn’t friendly. Guilt overcame you when realization widened his eyes. “But you know that, don’t you?”

Betrayal. A sick look of betrayal contorted his soft features and your stomach dropped.

Lay’s mocking laugh echoed throughout the empty room as he straightened, gaining your attention. He met your gaze with a lifted eyebrow, as if telling you to ‘watch this’ before turning to face his doppelganger.

“No, please.” You grabbed his arm, understanding how swiftly he could destroy Yixing, who lacked your shared fighting spirit.

Lay paused under your touch, calculating his next move. The two scrutinized the other, and for the first time, Yixing truly appeared identical to his clone. There was a hatred radiating off of him that you had no idea he was capable of emitting. He said your name again, and it sounded too much like a threat. The brewing anger in his tone had a chill run down your spine. “Let’s go.”

“I….” Your eyes bounced between the two men. They’re both so still and wound up, looking more like statues forever marbleized in a battle of wits.

“Lets. Go.” There’s no room for argument in Yixing’s repeated demand. He was testing you, testing your allegiance. It hurt that he doubted your loyalty, made worse from the fact you were questioning it yourself.

Lay finally moved, turning back to you. Wordlessly, he straightened the leather jacket you wore that dangled from your shoulders. He fixed your hair, making sure you were presentable. His hands had a calming effect that lead you to believe he was using his healing abilities to make sure any cuts or pain you felt vanished.

When you dared a look at him, his face was stoic except his eyes. What you once saw as voids were now filled with life, and within their depths you saw a secret message. A promise that he’d be back for you.

Self-hatred grew within you from the relief you felt seeing his promise.

“Okay, Yixing. I’m coming.” You gently shoved Lay back, pushing at his abdomen. He rested a palm over your hands as he retreated, giving you the room to slide off the table. You stumbled when your feet touched the floor, and he steadied you by the waist, holding you close. Yixing scoffed behind him, muttering something angry under his breath.

You really didn’t want to leave Lay, much to your disgust.

He sensed as much and gave you a reassuring nod that encouraged you enough to finally pull away from him, to head towards Yixing, your dear friend. He held his hand out for you, but you ignored it. You also ignored the hurt that caused him, exiting the room without looking back.

“Next time I see you,” you heard him threaten his evil twin. “You’re dead.”

You shivered again at his lethal calm. Yixing was unrecognizable at that moment.

You heard the smile in Lay’s voice as he said, “looking forward to it.”

[bozawarriorsposting]

Damned Four AU: Something You Shouldn't Have Seen.

This is a story in the Damned Four AU, from Rootsprings point of view.

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Skyclan was in chaos, a mudslide had crashed down into the middle of the camp, heavy rain bombarded the panicking cats below, winds battered at the den walls, the air was filled with the scent of fear and confusion. Everything was in chaos, and yet Rootpaw could only sit at the edge of it all and stare into one transfixed point.

All his life he had tried to fit in the Clan he was born in, to get away from his fathers status as outsider. To achieve this, he did everything in his power to erase anything others could notice about him that deviated from what was normal.

Rootpaw had always noticed that sometimes shapes that looked like cats flickered in and out of reality, things occasionally forming out of the shadows at the edge of trees, that the forest was just a little bit off in certain places in a way only he could notice.

But Rootpaw had also learned that bringing any of this up rarely worked in his favor. At best, he would get an odd look and quick dismissal as this being the work of an overactive imagination or the strong heat of mid Greenleaf. At worst he would receive a hostile glare as his older clanmates muttered something about ‘rogue witchcraft’ or a mocking insult from the other apprentices.

Tree told him that it was the way the forest is, and that his ability to see that was not something to hide or deny. After nearly drowning in an apprentice prank, he began to suspect that his father was not one for actionable advice.

So when he saw a huge brown tabby with a pelt that seemed to be made of mud and debris appear around the hills and began to shift the earth with its paws, he said nothing.

When a cat shaped gray shadow seemingly made of pine needles floated in the middle of camp, and the very sun began to dim as everything was left as just a little bit worse than it had before, he said nothing.

When an Ashen specter had floated around for a quarter moon beforehand, seemingly whispering in the ears of cats, tensions seemingly rising with its presence as the cats he knew all his life were suddenly turned bitter and tired, he said nothing.

And now Skyclan, Rootpaw's home, paid for his inaction.

 Yet, he didn’t watch the chaos below, he instead stared at the final member of the specters responsible. A pale brown tom, the type of cat that Rootpaw's eyes would passover without a second thought in a gathering, if it weren't for the slight transparency of his pelt and the deep black wound on his throat. The spirit watched the destruction with dull green eyes, no cruel enjoyment, or purpose, or determination, or even casual callousness. Just a flat tired look that reflected nothing more than a desire to finish an unpleasant task.

An anger that Rootpaw had never felt before flowed through him, he marched towards the spectral tom as he felt tears beginning to form in his eyes. All thoughts of concern or caution forgotten as he watched someone passively taking in his home's destruction.

“Why?” Rootpaw said, but the spirit simply continued to stare outwards.

“Why?!” He loudly repeated, the tears now flowing out of his eyes, the guilt and self hatred turning outward.

“Look at me and tell me WHY?!” He yowled as hard as he could, His fur bristling with rage.

This time, the glossy brown tom turned his head to look at him. Its dull green eyes filled with pure shock. Now that he was closer, Rootpaw noticed a light red aura around the cat, which suddenly turned deep red as the spirit acknowledged his presence. The rustling in the tree’s behind him came to a sudden stop, and Rootpaw's nose was filled with the scent of rotting apples, wet fur, and of old blood.

Before he could fully begin to reconsider the wiseness of his rather rash actions, the ash colored specter approached them from the sky, almost looking like it was swimming through the air.

“Appledusk!” It snarled in a harsh voice, “We told you to ward this area, you know what Clear Sky said about not wanting any interference with-”

“He can see us.” The spirit identified as Appledusk said in a voice of dull surprise, still staring with wide eyes at Rootpaw.

The Ash colored specter turned its head to look at him and slowly floated over. If he was previously rethinking his actions, he was now fully regretting them.

The two pale blue eyes stabbed into him like pieces of ice. As the spirit closed distance, Rootpaw noticed that its ‘fur’ seemed to be dripping wet, and that it sported a similar bloody black wound across its throat.

Rootpaw immediately flinched at its stare which only prompted further examination by the spirit.

“Oh... so he can.” The gray spirit said with a tone of confusion and mild concern, as if he had found a thorn in his bedding.

“Clear Sky didn’t say anything about anyone ‘blessed’ or any prophecies, right?” it casually asked its companion.

“No, he didn’t.” The brown spirit replied briskly without ever glancing away from Rootpaw.

“Well then, must be the Forest kicking up something weird.” The ashen specter said in a conversational tone, as it began to sharply approach Rootpaw.

These were just things he was seeing, they weren’t real. They were all just shadows. Why was he so afraid, they couldn’t hurt him.

“I am going to handle this, we don’t want a mess down the line, especially with how ‘covert’ this is supposed to be.” In one of its paws, a set of brightly blue ‘claws’ unsheathed, reality itself seemed to crackle as strings with what almost looked like hooks on the end emerged.

“Ashfur.” The pale brown spirit warned in a quiet, tired voice.

“What? Do you have any better ideas?” Ashfur answered casually without turning his head.

Rootpaw was completely frozen, fear laced through his body and instincts told him to run, but his mind staunchly refused to process this. It wasn’t real, it can’t be real. He wanted to run, but everything that he had always told himself didn’t let him see this as a scenario that could be happening.

“Why are you doing this?” was all he could manage with a shaky voice.

To his surprise, the rapidly approaching spirit actually stopped. It cocked its head to one side in thought, then turned back to him. 

“It is Starclan's will.” The Ashen spirit said with nothing but pure sincerity.

Rootpaw ran.

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Rootpaw sat curled beneath a tree, far away from Skyclan territory. He didn’t exactly know where he was, he just ran until he was sure that nothing was following him. He briefly tried to come back to the clan, but as he drew close to camp Rootpaw swore he saw a blue tint in the eyes of his clanmates that wasn’t there before. After that, he didn’t dare try to approach the territory again.

So he just found some shelter, and lay there. Fear was curled in his stomach, matched only by the overwhelming feeling of shame. Here he was, a warrior of Skyclan, doing nothing.

He should be out there, he should be back in his clan, helping them and trying to…

 trying to… 

What was there to do?

He began to cry.

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There is no current cannon, so I sort of am making it up as I go, anything is up to change.

Please send asks if you are interested int he AU or anything else!!!

[ru5t]

(Tech's Annotated) Map of The Zones

There is an official/presumably canon map that was created and circulated around the time of the music videos (viewable here). However, after playing around in this sandbox it quickly feels deeply and entirely too small (the city only around 3 miles across, and then around 15 miles from the city to the edge of the zones — it's simply not enough space) for all of the madness going on inside of it. So here's the headcanon/blog canon version of things!

The zones of the west coast center over Battery City, and are roughly 300 miles in diameter, making for over 30,000 square miles of potentially habitable ground.

Note: "Old world" locations visible purely for irl reference, the city names wouldn't still be in wide use or marked on an official map. The annotations are approximations in some cases, based on info I got from people who made up the locations — if it belongs to you and you're thinking 'hey that's not where that is' please let me know! I will scooch. I absolutely recommend opening this in another tab for better viewing, as it is massive and maybe slightly unreadable at tumblr dimensions. (Oops.)

The roads -some old, some new- are generally passable, but many are very rough. Detours are common as the desert, and killjoys, shift obstacles around. Moving straight east from the city, it would take a person about 5 days to get to the edge of zone 06 on foot, 1-2 days on a bike, 6-8 hours by motorized vehicle, and less than 2 hours by helicopter. Since Better Living patrols are almost never moving in a direct line unless they're hunting specific quarry, they tend to pack heavy, and take multi-day or multi-week patrols that sweep the zones, looking for 'rescues' to make and hostile settlements to squash. There are also a number of Better Living outposts in the inner zones: permanent encampments where employees are left to watch over particularly desirable or troublesome locations, such as the robotic dumping grounds in southern zone 02, and the borders of the annex.

A lot of the livable area is characterized as desert or steppe, partly due to the regions natural inclinations, partly due to the environmental devastation wrought by the wars. To the west and south, the old coastline now marks the start of the salt flats: empty stretches of ground that end at the current coastline some miles out from where it once was, turning the former channel islands into a spattering of rocky, mountain-esqe outcrops surrounded by hard, packed earth too salty to bear much life. Many settlements and travelers prefer the north and east, where the terrain protected some of the valleys and so echoes of the forests and other natural resources remain — as well as echoes of the wildlife. To the south(east), conditions start dry and get drier, providing massive challenge to anyone who doesn't know the way to carve out safety and make use of the weather.

BATTERY CITY

Ten miles in diameter, closed off by a barrier wall with fixed entry points, all of which are heavily monitored.

Battery City is a self-contained and somewhat* self-sufficient city. In the early days -before they built the walls- the plan was always to expand, crawl outward and establish a new world from the rubble of the old. However, conflict with early rebels led to the division of city from 'zones', and the heads of the corporation at the time chose a ten mile diameter to lock behind their main wall. Largely prevented from expanding and lacking the room for urban sprawl, the city has gone vertical to keep up with the demands of its population. Buildings and entire block levels extend both up and down, in sky scrapers as well as some subterranean levels (the latter of which are mostly used for synthetic farming and detainment.) Rather than divide by production, the city is designed so that, in the event of failure or invasion, no one zone of it can be commandeered to cut off the rest. Factories and power plants are interspersed with dwellings and other means of production, and the divides dictate the city's class system more than occupation. The outer wall is dozens of feet thick; the only roads in and out are tunnels guarded around the clock by S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W task force. For more detailed city notes [I will make another post which I will come back and link here.]

It can be easy for things to seem small, with the city so dwarfed by the zones as it is on this map, but the city inside the wall alone covers roughly 320 square miles of land [compared to L.A. (503), New York (469) or Chicago (234)] and hundreds of thousands (if not millions) of people live in Battery City. Many of them are descendant of people who never left, and the walls went up around them; many others migrated there, in out of the wild and destruction. Of the three remaining (official) settlements in the US, Battery City has the largest civilian population.

*Battery City does do its own farming, but is supplemented by resources from Fort FISK and the Fishery, another Better Living establishment in the southern US. In a crisis situation where FISK was unable to send supplies, the city could sustain without lifestyle changes for approximately five years.

ZONE 01

Ten mile wide band around the city, marked and separated from the other zones by a series of border walls and fences. Regularly patrolled.

There are many buildings, most of them crumbling, that were once urban sprawl and the suburbs. Thanks to the city's tampering with the weather, zone 01 shares most of the benefits, and can rely on slightly lower temperatures, regular safe rainfall, and even a four-season year (while the outer zones tend to have more like two seasons, dry and wet.)

Despite the city's attempts to section it off from the other zones, 01's borders aren't secure, and a small number of killjoys regularly move through the wreckage of the area. These are the most hostile and often least recognized killjoys — extremists even by the standards of arguably violent killjoy culture. They launch attacks on the city, the walls and patrols and citizens alike, and keep the rubble of the suburbs too unstable for the city to continue to expand. Many die young and unrecognized.

Zone 01 also contains the city's two expansions, as acquired in 2020: the Neon District and the Annex. The Annex is largely agricultural in nature, a proto-version of the much smaller greenhouses the city tried to establish in later years. The Neon District is an expansion of the outer city, mostly containing civilian dwelling. Where once the slums and Neon were the same, now the slums are at least inside the main wall, and Neon has become adjacent to the city. Neon houses almost exclusively registered neutrals, many of whom commute into the city to do undesirable jobs for low pay. On BL/ind paperwork, the Neon District is both a neighborhood in the zones and the expanded dwelling, but among citizens, the Neon District "Slums" of the city and the district's expansion, "Neon", are different places entirely. [Also more details for this in the city post.]

ZONE 02

Fifteen mile wide band around zone 01, marked off in some places by (often unmaintained) border fences. Regularly patrolled.

As in zone 01, what remains of the old world's sprawling boroughs make up most of the landmarks, though here in zone 02 they're less stable. More spread out, and prone to one day shaking apart for no entirely clear reason. The landscape begins to shift in the north and northeast, turning hilly. The city's weather control effects taper off within this zone, so that the inside mirrors a lot of zone 01's weather, while the outer sections reflect more of the desert. Overall, the two often clash, and weather in zone 02 changes at the drop of a hat. It's rarely dangerous in and of itself (typically no acid rain or poisonous fogs) but the speed and frequency of the changes make attempts to travel through and settle in zone 02.... interesting.

Scattered around zone 02, amidst the crumbling infrastructure, there are both Better Living outposts, where patrols sent out from the city stop or bed down, as well as some more permanent installments. The unlucky are sometimes shipped out for a few weeks at a time to man these watch points, such as the Better Living building that overlooks the robotics dumping ground south of the city, just beyond the old coastline. Just as equally, there are killjoy encampments dotted across the zone, populated like a forward front, often taking in anyone who manages to escape the city, and serving as an early warning system to the rest of the zones. Zone 02 is often considered a "buffer" zone: too chaotic for the city to really want it, but too valuable to leave untouched — too controlled and close for the killjoys to claim it, but too dangerous to let it be absorbed. Thusly, it sits as something of a no-man's land, and is arguably the most dangerous part of crossing the zones in either direction.

That is, it's the most likely place to get killed by a person in the name of the grand conflict, anyhow.

ZONE 03

Twenty mile wide band around zone 02. Occasionally patrolled.

Many of the old buildings are gone, dusted away by the bombs of the wars or scorched up by the fires or crumbled away in the time since. Those left are the most sturdy, or else the ones rebuilt by dedicated zone dwellers. There's a few old neighborhoods, but mostly things aren't so closely or neatly laid out as the old-world neighborhoods used to be. Weather takes a turn for heat and dust and desperation: desert standard from here out.

As the beginning of proper killjoy territory, zone 03 is the most densely populated, and what most people think of when they're imagining the chaos of large groups and the vibrant party scene. Despite a decent number of permanent settlements, Better Living patrols don't sweep though very often, in part because they almost never find any actual killjoys, only the signs of life. (The rest, because it's simply too large and push back is too strong for the company to dedicate the resources to trying to lock it down.) Rebels living in 03 are heavily interconnected, and experts at avoiding patrols. With a whole system of bells and whistles and warning phrases, entire trading grounds empty in minutes ahead of patrol warnings only to go right back to their dealings the moment the coast is clear.

Popular destinations include Tommy Chow Mein's place, an old motel repurposed into a trading market in the east, Regal Riotess's Battlegrounds, a sparring and entertainment venue in the north, and the Hyper Thrust, a club and musical venue to the south. The Sun Sandbox, a music and event venue famous for its reflective quality, shines out in the west here. Many other traders center themselves in 03, coordinating into pop-up markets or setting up more permanent locations -such as the Wind Stop on the fence to the northeast- as killjoy movements across the zone support or demand.

ZONE 04

Twenty-five mile wide band around zone 03. Rarely patrolled.

Another fairly populated zone, though things spread out as the terrain and crumbling structures demand and groups become more distinguished. Drier, often flatter terrain means dust storms pick up in frequency here, and, though rainfall is typically sparse, flash floods run the risk of sweeping straight over things without much obstacle when they pour down out of the ridges in the northwest.

As opposed to the tight-knit nest network of zone 03, groups in zone 04 tend to be more distinct from and less trusting of each other. Turf disputes aren't entirely uncommon, though conflicting groups usually prefer boxing rings (one 'champion' from either crew battling it out) over all out brawls. Growing distances between settlements means radio contact becomes more important. It's thought, though it hasn't been proven, that Dr. Death runs the WKIL out of zone 04. Better Living patrols only ever cross into zone 04 if they're on the hunt for a specific target, and as such they're usually more hunting parties (colloquial "murders") than route 'patrol' parties.

04 houses a diverse mix of groups and locations: the infamous Fabulous Four's Diner sits to the north, while in the east a neutral settlement, Jasper, has planted their roots into an old lake bed. There's a little less of the party scene here, but it includes the Fuck You!!!! House, an establishment that promises bloodshed every evening, one way or another, and out in the flats there's Electric Starlight, part bar for their regulars who dwell around the old Channel Islands, part destination venue for the massive rave-like parties and shows that take place there as often as can be put together by the owner.

ZONE 05

Thirty mile wide band around zone 04. No patrol schedule.

Ambient radiation levels are a touch higher in zone 05, and pockets of danger exist that travelers and those trying to tame the outer zones should be wary of. Rainfall also takes a turn for the worst, as it becomes more common for it to be toxic to consume and/or cause burns to exposed skin from this point further (a happening not impossible but more rare, in the inner zones.)

To go with growing environmental dangers, there's a sharp drop-off in cooperation around this zone too. Groups tend to be less generous with their supplies, and while the waves remain a vital tool for communication and keeping ahead of things, crews that come face to face aren't likely to trust each other very much, if at all. The stakes are simply too high, the margin for error too narrow. Bad news is all too common: contract killers and more radical groups are easier to find, and easier to bump into.

Somewhere near or perhaps even within the Dead Zone to the northeast, a particularly vile and violent group of DESTROYA worshipers has set up permanent residence. They journey out from whatever base they have to attack others, city and zones alike, without prejudice. They're known to descend on churches or shrines of other desert deities with greater regularity and more demonstrative end results, but won't say no to fucking anyone up just for fun. The wise give them a wide berth, and heavily vet individuals who might only be posing as lost and looking for help...

ZONE 06

Thirty-five mile wide band around zone 05. No patrol schedule.

Sights include sprawling vistas of desert skies and plenty of odd happenings, but not much else goes on in 06 on the regular. The terrain gets tougher, less tame and more churned apart by the wars and the rattling of the ground since. Radiation ticks up a little higher, and the places where it really clings will have an unwary journeyer dizzy and good-as-dead before they can even guess what's going on. It's easy to stumble into a gruesome death, out here.

Many zone dwellers don't go this far. Those who do are often the spiritual (or crazy) type, drawn by the odd sightings and phenomena such as lights in the sky, voices in the air, and landmarks that move. Any of it may or may not be real, depending on which story gets told and who is doing the telling. The other dustkids who travel through 06 are typically only there to pass along messages:

Several churches to various zone deities are tucked away here and there, ready to welcome the lost or, in the case of the unmanned shrines, offerings to the likes of Papa Sol and the Phoenix Witch. The mailbox sits in a little valley due east, and marks the outside border of the zones — "the end of the world".

ZONE 07

Isolated location also called The Anomaly located in the western quadrant.

Plopped down on the coast like something that crawled up out of the ocean and gave up on trying to walk across the flats, 07 is a mystery of a thing. It is consistently drenched in heavy fog no matter the surrounding weather. On approach, the ground quickly gives way to a soggy, sticky mess typically found in bogs or marshes, and it's presumed the ground within the fog cloud is the same.

Presumed, because no one goes into 07. No one who wants to return, anyway. Even Better Living has stopped sending investigative probes, manned or otherwise. The readings never make it out, and the people only rarely do, and only do so greatly changed. Often, reduced to vague shadows of their former selves, or else entirely delusional, sometimes even violent.

The superstitious types often refer to zone 07 as 'the mist', 'the veil', or 'the thin place', believing it to be a location where the world of the dead comes into contact with the living. This rumor is largely fueled by the human-like shadows often seen in the mist. Whether they are spirits or simply shadows or something else entirely, no one can say.

Pursuing answers in the matter of what, exactly, 07 is never ends well.

ZONE SEVEN

An approximate 'safe' band of 5-10 miles around zone six.

So named because the city had already designated the anomaly on the coast as "zone 07", meaning that killjoys could refer to something by that name and it wouldn't immediately set off any alarms. This zone seven is mapped almost exclusively by word of mouth, it does not feature on Better Living maps ((it's only on this one for visual aid)), and is rarely written down by killjoys to better guard their knowledge of things that just might begin to be out of the city's reach.

A hostile terrain pitted with unstable ravines, there is little shelter, even less water than the established zones, and further threats of radiation spikes, electrical & sand storms, and a variety of hostile wildlife drawn in from the wilds by the potential for someone to eat. Even those that know the landmarks, where to find shelter and make use of what little water can be found, take risks going out into this area. So they tend not to, unless things are bad enough.

As things are now, The Haven is the only known establishment of any kind within zone seven. It is, technically, a lighthouse, a location that will offer aid to anyone who finds their way to it, but as you can imagine they don't typically get a lot of outside traffic. (In other words: it was absolutely bananas cage mad behavior to set up a permanent encampment of this size out here. Anyone who doesn't know the Haven for trade reasons probably only hears rumors and thinks they're all insane for trying.)

THE EMPTY ZONE

Officially, anything beyond the edge of zone 06: which is to say, “nothing.”

The perfect truth is that the lines aren't so rigid as is convenient to mark on a map, and there's all of seven to account for, with more gradually being explored, word of more safety spread as it's found. But it's dangerous work. Unforgiving work. Few people dare to push the limits of the outer edge, believing instead that the way to true freedom lies in dismantling Better Living, not running from it. As things are, the empty zone beyond the end of the world, the untamed wilds, really is nothing but nothing. In theory there are livable lands, ways to cross the old cities, looting or building, striking out. In theory there could even be settlements that don't and never did belong to BL/ind, people who survived and continue to scrape their way along, or maybe even thrive. In practice, there's no guides and no guarantees, no promise of anything. In practice, to push beyond zone seven is all but certain suicide. Very few dare try it. Even fewer return, and it's been many years since anyone attempted a major excursion.

Even Better Living goes under the earth to cross the distances between their cities.

[copper-9spurgatory]

what can you tell us ABOUT this au specifically? stuff like 1) what point in the series DOES it take place? 2) we know J here has defective vision!'n seemingly canine ears based on that previous image! but what are the MAIN differences in all compared to cannon J? canine instincts? other physical traits? BASICALLY! I'm asking you to ramble'n give us ALL the details you've come up with! so far! I wanna know EVERYTHING I can!

MANA(mod): I’m so glad someone asked, I didn’t add all of the lore in the intro since it always goes unnoticed and whatnot. 1. The timeline is pretty vague but planet earth is somewhat habitable, though it’s on its last thread. I would roughly say it’s 2995 (The start of Jane’s release), and soon becoming 3017 once Earth is left alone.

2. Yes! Jane acts on instinct rather than logic, which is what kept her going for so long. She’s often more hostile, short tempered, just a hazard in general but that’s just a defensive mechanism against something she sees as a threat (humans specifically). Though, she’s somewhat a better leader, training N to be capable of escaping and hiding whenever he’s outmatched—since he’s been domesticated all his life now he’s out in the wild. Basically teaching N what she knows so he doesn’t die in the harsh climate or unknown circumstances.

Her physical traits—I’d say her bulkier body, SHE’S A WHOLE TANK WITH CLAWS. She does have a more pronounced —jaw? Compared to other drones, their faces are flat while her’s vaguely resemble a dog’s as it’s more pointed and outwards. She has more jagged teeth, pointing out, like tusks. Surprisingly she has a sense of smell, having something similar to a Jacobsons organ.

She’s “flesh in machine” but I haven’t decided on how, not sure if it’s canon she’s able to transform into a human but—if she could, it would mean her body would be full of that fleshy eldritch stuff and would need to break her outer shell.

She uses basic weapons such as swords and claws, she’s at a larger advantage with an encounter anyways and due to her poor eyesight would just waste bullets. She would quite literally drag her opponent around like a ragdoll just by her sheer strength..it would be painful to endure all that damage without any form of armor. She’s better for close range anyways, she’s flightless. Be glad she isn’t airborne. Jane isn’t as loyal to the company as J is, she despises it as it’s a symbol of Tessa and her parents. She’s against all forms of authority over drones since it’s easier for them to get taken advantage of by humans who wouldn’t put her own feelings into consideration.

Even fashion wise she looks unkept, messy, unprofessional and she isn’t a corporate bootlicker for humans who will eventually die soon, as the company will follow suit. Being a rebellious drone is harder than it looks. XP

Hope that provided you with a little lore information. J’s character is limited to a bossy cooperate bootlicker who’s a hypocrite lmfao.

[drstonetrivia]

Chapter 214 Trivia

The two-part connected covers are so cool, I'm happy we got two colored ones in a row!

There's a sneaky rat (or mouse?) on the cover! Unfortunately I have zero idea what this could be alluding to. It could be nothing, or it could be implying that Ukyo (same colors) is the t(ra)i(t)or…

The inside of Xeno's scar is also colored white! New petri-scar theories?

The name of the chapter is a reference to the Earth Defense Force (地球防衛軍) video game series. Its plot is that radio waves from deep space are picked up by scientists on Earth, and a multinational military is formed afterwards in case the aliens are hostile. Sound familiar?

Suika's helmet has a top part! I am wondering where it appeared from though.

Before this moment, they'd always revived whole statues. If it's possible to revive an incomplete statue, and the missing pieces don't grow back as part of the healing effect of the depetrification, it means it's not the end for someone if they're missing a limb.

Senku is using his arm wrappings to pick up the device. I wonder why he suddenly felt the need to use them…

When glass containing a vacuum breaks, the pieces get sucked in along with the air suddenly filling the space at very high speeds. They then smash into the middle before shattering outwards again. Think of what happens when you drop a rock into a bucket of water!

You may have noticed that the resulting glass doesn't quite follow what should have happened there, so the other possible option for how the glass shattered is thermal shock. Cracks of this type begin perpendicularly to the edge of it, which we can sort of see here.

In both cases, glass would have ended up on the inside of the container, but we see none. Could the medusa's pressure wave have thrown all the glass away from itself? And if that's the case, why are the glass walls still standing?

Chelsea: somehow stealing Suika's job and traits as much as possible. Why is it detective Gen!? Bring back detective Suika!

There's now a third boat donning the "Perseus" name: Perseus D. Monkey. This one is heavily inspired by One Piece, specifically the protagonist Monkey D. Luffy. The head of the ship is painted like a monkey: a reference to One Piece, the steam gorilla, and the old Perseus design.

The ship design itself is a smaller, more maneuverable version of the original Perseus. It's also a hybrid with an engine, and rather than having the whole mast rotate, they've designed it as a sailboat with a rotating boom.

The Kagoshima prefecture mine they probably went to is the Kushikino mine, which is the only one that has selenium-silver ores (naumannite & aguilarite), but also has ores containing both arsenic and tellurium. Because the area is volcanic, there's likely several skarn deposits.

Kagoshima's mines are in fact most known for their gold deposits, so Senku is probably finding more to replenish Chrome's gold stash.

Senku's video camera tube is based off Japan's saticon from 1973. The "SAT" in its name is derived from "SeAsTe"; the symbols for the selenium, arsenic and tellurium used on its photoconductive (not photoelectric) surface.

Remember the fax machine from chapter 207, how Senku said matching up the timing was important? Well the horizontal distortion in the image here is exactly the same concept: the horizontal lines are shifted to the left or right due to minor errors.

Before anyone says that Whyman can hack their television signal from the moon, remember that these are basically cable TVs, where you'd have to rewire it for a new input if you wanted it to display a different image. Anything sneaky would have to be an inside job…

We have the (Stan)Lee vs Xeno baseball game happening on the field outside the castle. Since the ball smashes through the window of the TV room, and the world record for longest baseball hit distance is 177m, you can tell the batters take after Stanley. (They can.)

A reference to 20th Century Fox, one of the many names for one of the biggest American film studios.

Obviously, the 58th is a reference to their current year.

We got a better location on the computer's house, it's a lot closer to Roppongi than I first thought! I wonder how close it is to Senku's grave and Tsukasa's pile of statues that he wanted to revive…

[manufactoredxbyxdesign]

Usually, Michael is the one coming to the Mastermind with injuries. Wesker was the first one to look at Michael’s injured eye and whenever he ends up dealing with a particularly difficult survivor, he comes to the RPD to receive help. Wesker is the only one he trusts to see him unmasked or nude. Today is different, because when he steps into the police department, he is following a blood trail to Wesker’s office. He realizes the other killer is injured— and he wonders if this was a survivor, or a killer, considering how much blood there is. Michael approaches slowly, and once those uncovered strange eyes look at him, he signs just one thing: “Can I help?”

They're more aggressive and he commends that - things were growing stale. "Too easy" for his liking. Though that does not mean he is calm about the wound that had been kindly left in his side by a bold survivor last trial.

A makeshift knife, likely a scrap of metal they'd stolen from the many abysmal realms The Entity had created. Though most heal right away, Wesker does not. Being as stubborn as he is, the concept of pleading for mercy at the hands of his capture makes his teeth clench. He'd rather bleed. He would prefer the pain twisting around in his flesh over the pitiful act of kneeling.

So he does. And as he hears the door opens and looks towards his unwelcome company he finds himself releived by who it is.

Michael, at least, does not attend the RPD to provoke him. Not anymore. Not since that quiet but notable shift between them which has transformed outward hostility into calm. He grunts as he draws his hand from his side and places it on the desk, smearing it with his blood.

He nods at the sign gestured towards him. Sighing like he has been holding in a deep breath for ages.

"There is a kit in the bottom drawer of my desk. I was attempting to reach it but there's a piece of metal broken off inside of me that has made moving rather tedious."

A polite, restrained way of describing what should agonizing. He doesn't even flinch at the notion, mortified more by being caught unaware than the injury itself.

[bastionbibi]

Hi it’s me Drabble Anon again and here’s the second little Drabble I made, this time in the ghost au, have fun and have a good day/night:

The panic and worry James felt deep in his heart spurs him further and faster than he ever had before, his mind set to one goal that could determine the fate of a life.

There wasn’t a mistake in their plan that led to this, rather it was a series of unfortunate circumstances that led to Vermouth evading capture. James mentally cussed himself for his oversights despite it being logically out of his control. There was no time to dwell on it so he pushed his guilt aside.

Jodie, determined not to let Vermouth slip away gave chase but they lost her when she entered a building, whichever one it is was the question. James knew that Jodie is more than capable, he knows that, yet this dread he felt won’t go away. It was a familiar feeling but one he doesn’t like to experience every day; the feeling of death looming near. He felt it when Shuichi was about to pull off that stunt of his to fake his death and he felt it before Jodie’s parents were murdered.

Cold sweat dripped down his head as James ran around, trying to find any trace of the missing FBI agent or the elusive Vermouth but to his luck, he couldn’t find either of them.

“Please, please let my worries be for naught…” James muttered. He knew that he couldn’t protect Jodie forever but he swore to her parents- his friends that he would do his best to care for her in their stead. Jodie still has her whole life ahead of her, she doesn’t deserve to have it stripped away. The thought of finding his goddaughter in a pool of her own blood…

Wait.. when did he started thinking that? Oh who was he kidding, at this point he might as well consider Jodie as like a daughter to him. A daughter who grew up too fast and now might be- No. he can’t think that. Jodie is fine. She’s going to be fine…

A sudden feeling rushed through him, it was indescribable and yet somehow, James found himself following it. He doesn’t know why or what prompted him to do so, but something about it felt like it knew who he was searching for. That strange feeling led him to a closed parking lot, running up the stairs and begging to whoever is listening that he made the right decision, that this is where he’ll find Jodie alive when he heard a voice from years past, a voice of the dead that James recognised immediately even after all this time.

“STAY AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER!!!”

Jodie’s father roared, his voice sounding like a violent hurricane that echoed down the staircase. James quickened his pace, kicking the door open as he pulls out his gun, “JODIE!!”

Jodie rested peacefully in the middle of the floor, blood seeping out from her leg. Scorch marks surrounded her in a way as though they were shooting outwards to protect her. There was blood a few feet away from Jodie, most likely from Vermouth. James immediately rushed forward, his hand flying to her neck to feel for a pulse before sagging in relief when he did, the tension finally releasing him.

He pulls out his tie to use to wrap around Jodie’s injured leg after ensuring that it’s safe, gently calling out to her in the process, “Jodie, Jodie wake up…”

Jodie stirred slightly, her brow furrowed as she called out, “Papa?…”

James wanted to answer No but he couldn’t find it in him to do so, especially after what he heard before arriving. He looked around again, frowning as he saw no one in the vicinity. It was impossible, illogical for the man to have shouted out, James oversaw the funeral and yet how could he ever mistake his friend’s voice for someone else?

A warm feeling enveloped him like a gentle hug with a strange but familiar pressure resting on his shoulder. James could feel someone smiling at him but there was no one else here, at least not one he could see yet these smiles don’t seem hostile, rather sad, hopeful and relieved all at once.

“Thank you James…”

“Take care of our girl.”

Two voices, one male and one female whispered out before disappearing into the wind. It was hard to make out who it was but somehow, James knew who those voices belonged to. He couldn’t help but chuckle in disbelief, letting a few tears fall as he says, “No, thank you for saving her.”

Unbeknownst to the FBI agents, Vermouth was wrapping her injuries up on the roof before preparing to make her departure. She frowned as she recalled how she was about to shoot after shooting her in the leg only for the ghost of a man she killed long ago rose, surrounding his daughter in the same flames that he and his wife were burnt in to protect her. Vermouth found herself letting out a few laughs at the irony of it all as she finished up bandaging herself up and heading out without anyone noticing, smirking, “I suppose the dead don’t rest after all.”

Hi again drabble anon hehehe I love how we have 2 different aus happening now 

Oof James being the token dad for the FBI squad is such an adorable concept imo. Jodie and Akai are the type that, when they’re determined, would jump head first into fire, poor james. 

HIS OFFICIAL GODDAUGHTER LESSGOOOOOO!!! 

Let’s go jodie’s dad!! Love how the dead parents here are more loving and competent than the ones that are still alive if you know what i mean… 

OKAY SO A FEW QUESTIONS!! 

If the dead can somehow manipulate things that is heavily correlated to their death, (in this case, the fire), does it mean that others might too if they’re strong enough? 

What if they were drowned or something like that? 

This is interesting though, totally giving me ‘Beyond two souls’ vibe. 

[tri-punisher]

i definitely got anger problems. my therapist told me as much. i know specifically because of a combination of emotional neglect + disorder-related emotional dysregulation + being raised by a man who could never resolve things in any constructive way, who's first strategy was to lash out and berate us and call us lazy and worthless, who wasn't the main perpetrator of all my issues as a teenager but definitely had a heavy hand in exacerbating them because he'd use me as his emotional punching bag and offer zero support for anything. i'm very aware i have anger problems and because i spend most of my time online, online is where i come across triggers the most. i take steps to mitigate my emotional responses to things by using this blog to vent and complain about whatever i see, but specifically exclude the names of people who make the most god awful posts i have ever seen in my life, and remove access to things that i know frequently piss me off (like deleting twitter off my phone, blacklisting/blocking things and blogs that are even remotely annoying, and preventing myself from frequenting search terms related to characters that i have a lot of emotional baggage tied up to)

where i'm going with this is i try to make sure my anger isn't bottled up and flows outwards rather than inwards so it doesn't keep compressing and potentially lead to something particularly explosive, and i do this by refusing to pick fights with people every time something triggers me and instead complain about them on my blog within the confines of my own tags with their names excluded. i know my behaviour is trauma-related, i know the way i think is a symptom of cptsd, but i try my best to make sure i don't make that anyone else's problem. if i come across as pessimistic or belligerent because of how i post or how i talk i can't really help that because i know the alternative is me actually picking fights and arguing and trying to make other people feel as terrible as i do. i've been told the way i talk and conduct myself doesn't lend to a presence that is approachable and often appears hostile but like. i really can't help that. as prickly as i seem on the surface i wish people could understand that internally it's significantly worse. i think i'm okay at masking as friendly or unbothered irl but i still think a lot of vile shit about a lot of people for the most insignificant things because my brain has a lot of trouble constructing any middleground for anything that happens, which extends to thoughts about myself and family as well.

i didn't have any point to make when i started making this post, it just felt nice to write about why i think the way i do. maybe i should pick up journaling, that'd probably be more constructive than posting a screenshot of some stupid post and specifying why it's stupid to me in particular