#that was a horrifying experience and one i do not wish to repeat

[littleabriel-blog]

Why You Shouldn't Watch Loki S2

With Season 2 of that show making its debut tomorrow, I thought I would make one last ditch effort to convince people not to watch it. It's not just because it's a horrible show that makes a mockery of my favorite Marvel character. There are a lot of problematic elements that contribute to the long list of reasons why people should not give Disney their money or ratings.

I am imploring people, one last time: If you must hate-watch the season, pirate it. If you must watch with some lingering hope that the real Loki will somehow make an appearance (and based on the reviews I have seen, that seems very unlikely), pirate it. Please don't contribute to Disney's ratings. Disney isn't going to care if you're hate watching or if you are only watching it hoping to get a glimpse of the Trickster we all know and love. They only care about numbers, and high ratings might mean we'll get stuck with another season of this utter dreck.

That said, here are some reasons why you should rethink giving this show your views:

It glorifies abuse and torture

In this show we are treated to the sight of Mobius using torture as "therapy", emotionally beating Loki down to the point where he capitulates to the TVA's demands, punishing him for having a crush on someone else by sticking him in a room for hours (at least) with an illusionary Sif who kicks him in the balls and punches him on repeat while further hammering the whole "you'll always be alone, you don't deserve good things" message, and generally working for an organization that subjects Loki to mockery, bullying, sexual assault (being stripped without his consent--that scene wasn't hot. It wasn't sexy. It was horrifying and I really, really have to wonder about the mental state of anyone who is at all turned on by it. Think about it, if Loki were a woman who was being forcibly stripped, there would have been loads of hatemail filling up Disney's servers), and slavery.

That's even before we get into the atrocious way Sylvie treats him. I've gone into how she treats him many, many times, how she belittles, invalidates, silences, and oh yes tries to kill him for daring to ask her to reconsider killing HWR. If the roles were reversed and Loki treated Sylvie like that? You ladies who love the ship so much would be boycotting Disney. It's no less abuse just because it's a woman doing it to a man.

It glorifies fascism

The TVA is very much Nazi coded yet they are framed as heroes...well, except when they're picking on Sylvie of course, since she's all pure and good and can do no wrong (Mary Sue powers activate!) They torture a character who is very much Jewish coded, an effeminate man who is very much the Other in the home he grew up in.

And what the hell is this?

As a Jew, I find this image deeply, deeply disturbing. It's a fucking gas chamber, y'all. It. Is. A . Gas. Chamber.

I don't know how anyone can NOT see how problematic it is.

It has Jonathan Majors in it

I really don't give a flipping shit if they're "only" allegations or if they wrapped up filming before the allegations came out. People boycotted Flash for Ezra Miller doing basically the same thing, so I don't see why it should be any different with Majors.

But then I know from experience that some of you so-called feminists out there are only about protecting or believing women when it suits you. Can't have a little thing like not supporting a domestic abuser get in the way of your wish fulfillment self-insert fantasies of beating the crap out of Loki before fucking him.

The first season was written by a total creep, and that same creep is producing the second season

'Nuff said.

Selfcest/Incest

I don't want to hear how "selfcest doesn't exist", especially in a fictional universe where you have sorcerers, witches, men with super soldier serum running in their veins, magic plants that turn individuals into superstrong Cat People, and talking raccoons.

And even without the selfcest, that ship is a very problematic one, as I stated above, and have continued to talk about at length.

It's just plain awful

The plot is predictable, full of holes, and not even that original (it's cribbed directly from a script Waldron wrote that was so awful, even SyFy wouldn't produce it, plus see my post with the clip from Batman Returns). Loki is grossly OOC in it...seriously, there is not a single hint of the character I had grown to love from Thor 1, Avengers, and the Dark World. He's nerfed all to hell (an Asgardian god who can take on Thor easily is beaten up by human rednecks?), and he's lost all his cunning, wit, intelligence, and grace all in favor of turning him into a sophomoric slapstick clown and the butt of everyone's jokes. The newer characters are poorly mapped out and one dimensional.

It's just...bad.

So there, that's my last ditch attempt to convince people to boycott this piece of shit. I realize my pleas might be falling on deaf ears, much as Loki's pleas fell on Sylvie's, but I had to get it out there.

Other Loki show antis can add to this or elaborate if they want. I'm too tired to be too coherent right now.

[pollunam]

Flaws. Part 4.

The morning was overcast. Leaden clouds hung over the ocean. I woke up, stretching. The room was empty, and for a moment, I thought that last night had been just a dream. Perhaps it would have been easier to avoid the potential awkwardness, which already horrified me. I covered my head with the blanket, burying my face in the pillow—a complete nightmare.

Taking a deep breath, I exhaled loudly. Maybe it was just a dream after all. However, the crumpled pillow beside me thought otherwise. The door opened quietly, and I froze, continuing to hide from the world under the blanket. And from Lassen. Mostly from him.

Water started running in the bathroom. Perfect, I could run away now and wander the port cities for the rest of my life. I peeled back the edge of the blanket; the coast was clear, but it didn’t help much.

“Y/N, may I come in?” Gus’s voice sounded from behind the door.

Damn. Duty calls. I could still climb out the window. The bathroom door opened, enveloping the room in warm steam.

“Yes, Gus. Come in,” answered Lassen.

I hoped it was a fully dressed Lassen.

“Breakfast is waiting, and then we’re off. Twenty minutes should be enough to get ready, right?” He peeked over Anders’s shoulder and whispered, “You didn’t kill her, did you?”

“Wanted to a few times, but no,” the Viking replied skeptically.

“Did you settle everything?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The whole pub heard her scolding you last night, and rightly so,” Gus nodded smugly.

“Get out if you’re giving us only twenty minutes to pack and are holding everyone up. This can be discussed later. And privately,” Anders added with emphasis, closing the door.

“I know you’re not sleeping. The bathroom’s free if you need it.”

“I’m sleeping,” I replied.

With one swift motion, Anders yanked away my blanket fortress. “No, you’re not. Alright, you’ve got about fifteen minutes left.”

“That’s enough to cross the Atlantic,” I muttered, darting into the bathroom, still warm from the steam. After washing up and getting ready, I was prepared for a bracing cup of coffee. Everyone else was already seated in the dining room.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Graham handed me a cup of coffee.

“Thank you, and good morning, everyone.”

“Quite an evening we had last night, huh?”

Everyone looked at Graham, shaking their heads.

“And who’s the fool among us again?” Anders remarked, spreading his hands.

“I see you have a new vest. Nice, but clearly not your size,” I sat down next to Gus, who grinned like a satisfied cat.

A plate piled high with hot pancakes was quickly emptied by four hungry men. The landlady appeared in the doorway, smiling as if she knew something no one else should.

“The whole town’s buzzing about your fight in the pub,” she began nonchalantly. “They say it was over a woman.”

I felt myself about to blush. Of course, she spoke about it as if she wished to experience it herself, not with disapproval.

“Tell me how it happened,” she sat down nearby, staring intently at us.

“A drunken man offended our dear friend, so we stood up for her,” Gus began, indicating me and the rest of us. Anders noisily sipped his coffee.

“Oh, how interesting. What did he do?”

“Insulted her.”

“And touched her,” Lassen added, raising his cup.

“Yes, and touched her,” Gus repeated.

“My goodness! In my youth, it was even worse than now. But I heard you knocked him down yourself,” she looked at me.

“No, absolutely not. That’s just a lie. I detest fights and everything related to them.”

Graham snickered, turning away to hide his smile.

“I understand, of course, it’s not for a lady.”

I nodded. Yes, yes, not for them at all. Good thing it doesn’t actually concern me.

“Well, you did well; at least there’s some news in this place. And you did the right thing. But dear, may I ask one personal question?”

“Of course.”

I don’t like such beginnings.

She leaned in closer but still asked loudly enough, “So, which one did you say is your husband?”

Anders nearly choked on his coffee. “Excuse me,” he said, coughing.

I was just about to open my mouth to object or maybe it opened in response to yet another batch of astonishing facts, when Graham stood up, wrapping his arm around Anders’ shoulders, and said, “This big guy! They got married two weeks ago.”

“Two months,” Gus corrected.

“Right. I always forget.”

The landlady looked Anders up and down. “Good choice, dear. You make a great couple. But why don’t you wear a ring?”

“Because he—” I started, but this time Gus interrupted me.

“He hasn’t bought it for her yet.”

Wonderful. Now my imaginary marriage was getting even worse.

“Oh, that’s no big deal. The important thing is that you love each other.”

“Excuse me, but that’s not how it is at all,” Anders began, but Graham nudged him in the side. “He means to say they don’t just love each other; they can’t live without each other.”

If I were in the shoes of this charming old lady, I would have realized by now that this was just a circus.

“Buy her a ring, dear. Fighting in the pub isn’t enough. All the good my husband did was build this house, but you know, a little more wouldn’t hurt.”

“Definitely. I’ll buy it tomorrow.”

“And lots of diamonds, honey,” I added. Who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky. I could sell it and use the money to disappear into the mountains out of shame.

“Of course, of course, you’re right. Look at all the men surrounding her; she might just leave.”

Now it was my turn to choke on my coffee.

“That’s out of the question, believe me. She’s not going anywhere,” Anders said. This phrase didn’t sound like the others; it was as if he was sending me a code that needed no deciphering.

“She’s just too scared to leave him,” Freddie shook his head. “I wouldn’t leave; he’d catch up.”

The landlady laughed. “Thank you, boys. You’ve brightened up our lives. And you, dear, be happy.”

I smiled warmly, thanking her.

“Does anyone want to explain?” I asked as soon as we left the hotel.

“About what?” Graham spread his hands in confusion.

“It’s obvious, this is your doing.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m his wife again,” I hissed at Hasey, not noticing Lassen approaching us: “That’s starting to feel a bit insulting, dear.”

“Besides, you chose him yourself; I had nothing to do with it. It could have been any one of us,” Graham shrugged.

“We’re just having a family crisis, don’t mind us, sailor,” Anders said cheerfully, throwing a bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go, darling.”

I rolled my eyes, turning away and descending the hill. What an astonishing person.

That evening, the wind howled like a wild beast once again, but there was a sense of tranquility on the ship. Graham and I were playing chess, chatting about nothing in particular, while Gus, Anders, and Freddie played cards. The tension was palpable on their side of the table, while we laughed and sipped hot ale.

“That’s it, I’m out,” Freddie threw down his cards. “You’ve cleaned me out, Lassen.”

Anders laughed. “You’re a terrible card player.”

“Want to switch? I could go for a game of chess.”

“I’m not playing with him. Don’t even ask. He still owes me from last time,” Graham protested firmly.

“I’m a serious competitor, but you deprive me of any triumph from victory,” Anders shook his head.

Gus smirked. “You’re always hungry for more, my friend.”

“Well, it’s just you left, dear. Shall we play?” the Viking winked.

“Why not? Surely you wouldn’t torment your own wife,” I replied slyly.

“Oh!” Graham rubbed his hands together. “This will be interesting.”

Gus moved aside, giving me his seat. He puffed on his pipe. “He cheats often, watch out,” the captain whispered.

“God, guys, you don’t know how to lose with grace,” Anders spread his hands.

“I’ll shuffle,” I deftly shuffled the deck in the air, drawing a whistle from Graham and utter surprise from Lassen.

“Now that’s graceful, gentlemen. You’ve got some growing to do,” he said.

“Where did you learn that?”

“Certainly not at a posh school,” I chuckled, dealing the cards.

“I know someone who does it exactly like that,” Gus drawled.

“Now you know two.”

“Let the battle begin! If you’ll allow me, I’ll be the dealer,” Graham took the deck from me and laid out the cards before us. “Place your initial bets, gentlemen.”

We placed our chips in the smallest denominations.

Graham dealt the cards. And we were off. Poker is a mix of luck, psychology, and a bit of logic. Anders would be tight-lipped; he plays neither aggressively nor impulsively, so others are easily fooled by his bluffs.

“Anders, you start.”

Thanks, Graham. The one who sets the pace and size of the bets can often trip up.

Lassen made a bet. I matched it. The first card was the seven of hearts. Not bad. Anders and I exchanged glances; I bet he was trying hard to catch any glimpse of my thoughts. Why not, I thought, smiling.

“You’re bluffing,” Anders noted immediately, raising the stakes.

I matched his chips.

The second card—a jack. Interesting.

Anders studied his cards carefully, then tapped, passing the right to play to me. I raised the stakes.

“Someone has good cards.”

“Or a bad bluff,” I replied, not taking my eyes off Anders. He smirked.

The third card—a ten.

“Your bet, darling,” I whispered.

Lassen pushed all his chips forward. “All in.”

I smiled cunningly. “Risk—a sweet word. I’m in.”

“Oh, God,” Freddie took off his hat, crumpling it in his hands. “I’m nervous.”

Graham revealed the remaining cards. I had a pair and a straight; I scanned them quickly. Anders’ cards hit the table—a pair and a set.

I showed my cards. The cabin filled with exclamations and applause. “She’s my hero! Can you believe it?”

“Just lucky.”

“Well, congratulations,” Anders smiled. “I enjoyed that.”

“How about a game of blackjack, all together?”

“With you two?” Gus replied skeptically. “Not bad.”

“You don’t need to beat us, just the dealer.”

“Let’s try. The night is long.”

First, Graham was the dealer. Miscalculating, he lost. Freddie took over, winning but baring too much, then lost. Gus then took the honored seat.

“Winners aren’t judged, guys,” he said calmly, naturally winning. He won twice in a row, while Anders and I broke even with the dealer. However, on the third try, Gus lost.

“Not bad, Captain. Less flashy than Freddie, so you won a bit more,” I took the dealer’s seat.

The guys had good numbers, but Anders was all risk—18 on the first deal.

“Card, darling?”

He thoughtfully surveyed the situation. I had a ten showing. The odds were almost even.

“No.”

I nodded, flipping over the face-down card. A five. If I drew anything higher than a six, I’d lose. The probability of drawing a six was minuscule. It felt like everyone held their breath, eyes shifting between me and Lassen. Gus had 20, very good. Graham had 16, a loss. Freddie had 18. But all that was irrelevant; aside from the card battle, there was another one unfolding between Lassen and me.

“After all, who dares wins,” I drew the card. Five.

“Congratulations, Gus,” Anders smiled, shaking his friend’s hand.

“You’re often lucky,” Graham watched dejectedly as his chips vanished.

“You know, luck in cards is trivial. It won’t get you far.”

“Are you saying you’re not lucky otherwise?”

“Depends on how you look at it,” I shrugged, yielding the dealer’s spot to Lassen. “In some ways, I might be too lucky; the heavenly office didn’t distribute it evenly.”

Anders dealt the cards. I had 20. The limit. Freddie drew another card. It was time for the Viking to reveal his hand. He looked at me, then at his deuce. A good start to draw 21. Lassen drew a few cards.

“18,” I counted aloud. “Your lucky number.”

Lassen pressed his lips in thought. Only God knows what goes on in this man’s head. Perhaps not even He does. Anders drew a card from the bottom of the deck. It was a cheat that escaped the eyes of the others, who were already intoxicated by victory. Lassen drew a king.

“Congratulations, I’m on the losers’ list twice today,” he said, rising and taking a pack of cigarettes from the table.

I took the deck and looked at the top card. A three. The perfect combination for a win.

“Why did you lose?” We stood on the deck, buffeted by the wind.

“Because I drew more than needed. Those are the rules.”

“No, I saw you draw the card from the bottom. The top card was a three. You knew.”

“I wanted you to win,” he said after a moment of silence, turning to me. “I like seeing you happy.”

I looked down, slightly flustered. It was a pleasant revelation and a long gaze that needed no response.

“I’ll try to be happy more often,” I replied with a sigh, looking up again. The wind tousled my hair, tangling it. Anders gently caught a few strands, tucking them behind my ear. “That would be nice.”

We stood in silence. The ocean and its eternal companion, the wind, spoke for us. The sky, lit by a large yellow moon, watched over us like a stern observer, casting its pale light, exposing every heartbeat.

“How did you sleep?” Lassen asked quietly.

“Very well, better than I have in a long time,” I admitted honestly.

Anders smiled slightly. “Well, tonight you should sleep well. Tomorrow is an important day, and,” he paused, “be careful. I know you’re a top-notch fighter and all.”

“Alright, then you promise too.” I extended my hand to seal the deal.

“I promise.” He gently squeezed my hand.

[almightytuba]

I’ve been putting this post off for a while now but it’s becoming increasingly more important as the situation progresses.

I have been a part of the NanoWriMo YWP for four years now. I joined at a generally bad time and found some wonderful companions via the site. In my years there I have made connections, found community, improved and renewed my love for writing. That is not to say that the experience was entirely good, however. I will be forever grateful for the friends I’ve made and the outlet it gave me in rough times but I have been left disgusted overall by the site.

This site is promoted for anyone under 18, the forums available to anyone 13-18. The program is not only readily available with no moderation as to verifying users (allowing for many spam accounts and ‘backups’, as I will address in a moment) but is promoted in schools nation-wide. Without any protection and moderation on a global site, the YWP creates a breeding ground for predatory behavior in a place advertised towards children and teens. It’s my firm belief that yes, the YWP is a fantastic concept- most teens are not able to find supportive communities or allowed to express themselves and the site acts as such, This is a horrifying notion but it’s realistic when children are continuously and purposely overlooked for the purpose of ‘saving face.’ The YWP has done exactly that. It has failed not only me, but my friends, teachers, and schools.

I have been present for a mere fraction of the garbage the site allows to fester within it. I cannot speak from experience in all events but what I can speak for with certainty, I will.

1- Predators and predatory behavior. One of the greatest flaws of the site is that what could have been avoided genuinely avoided if its users taken seriously or given an ounce of respect. Predators being allowed to run rampant is not in the least new to the site and it’s almost entirely up to its users to keep themselves safe. Mods have continued to err on the side of perpetrators. Perhaps if this happened once, it could be excusable by some great reach- but this is repeated behavior from the people entrusted to the site. Time after time I have engaged in “flagging battles”- the only thing users have virtually with no in-site blocking system- against users telling teens to kill themselves, to doxx themselves, to engage in sexual activities. Let me remind you that YWP is a writing site for children- and if accounts can that simply lie about their age, I can assure you there are users younger than the 13 minimum roaming around the site.

2- Harassment and bullying. As I said above, anyone can make an account. This includes troll/spam accounts, and sheer amount of repeat offenders on the site is repulsive. In the rare case mods do anything about what occurs in-site (rather than ban users that are self-moderating and genuinely trying to help), users are just able to make a new account. The sheer amount of times I have seen backup accounts log made for the sake of spamming “KYS” is almost astonishing. I could talk for ages on this; how the same user has come back and perpetuated racism, sexism, homophobia- anything just to ‘piss people off’. The YWP is allegedly a ‘safe space’ for its large queer community and a neurodivergent populous. With this rampant behavior the site only works to perpetuate hate.

3- Moderation. I am aware that this is a subject of controversy, many vocal points screaming out at the YWP- “why don’t you just ignore it if you don’t like it?” And to that I ask you if ignoring a prevalent problem truly makes it dissipate. Although the answer clear, we are still told our anger unjustified or methods fear-mongering. This disgusts me. We are justified. We are allowed to be as vocally angry as we wish because we have been wronged and have virtually no other power to do anything about it.

There are endless ways that the mods have failed us. By refusing to listen to the community they only work to make the space less safe, banning those who speak out and ‘hurt their feelings’ or by kicking dirt over incidents of their own failure. This is non-conducive work and I have no idea how it passed for it for so long.

If you have any questions, feel free to ask me.

[occasionallyprosie]

Thoughts about the blade

—

"What's your opinion about it? You've been on the most quests." Time’s unsaid words of: 'surely that sword only means bad things for you' was clear.

Legend met Time's eyes. He was aware of Sky's silent indignation and Four's amethyst-hued curiosity had been settled toward them.

Legend was good at deflecting subjects, but Time was good at focusing on an answer and getting it. So he wasn't even going to try to subtly deflect.

"You won't like my answer, old man, don't push it."

"You mean to say you like that sword?" Time seemed genuinely surprised, though that surprise was well hidden.

Legend shot him a cold, stern look. "She saved my life a dozen times over and I wouldn't be the man I am today without her influence."

That was clearly not the answer Time expected, nor Warriors either, who just entered the conversation.

"That's surprising," Warriors said. "You had to of been fourteen or thirteen when you started if you've had five nonstop adventures. You're nineteen now, right? No way she raised you."

Legend sighed. He hung his head briefly before raising it to look back at Warriors. "I was nine, actually. And I am nineteen. I had about a year's respite between one and two, no break between two and three, about three years between three and four, and then one year between four and five. I turned nineteen right before I met you guys. So actually, yes, she basically did. My Uncle did what he could until he died during my first adventure and she took over from there."

Time looked away, Legend could see his fist clenched as his eye narrowed on the horizon.

"So yeah, no, this sword is probably the only person I'd ever trust wholly anymore. If you want someone to share your wrongly placed blame, you won't find that someone in me, Time." Legend looked back up at the stars, twinkling in the far off distance. He could remember that chiming voice and the chipped, cracked, crystalline hands pointing out constellations.

"You were nine?" Sky asked quietly.

Legend nodded. That was the first time he'd told them anything. "Turned it right before I started. She almost denied me. She said her former master, the one who died, had been barely older than me and I mean only by a month or two. The thing was, she couldn't wait any longer. I had to reforge her or else she wouldn't have been strong enough to vanquish Ganon."

"Reforge... she broke?" Sky sounded horrified.

"Almost,” he admitted. "Between using her power to try and prevent the former hero from dying, failing that endeavor, and being drained by the Dark Realm that was trying to corrupt her? It's a wonder she lasted as long as she did until me, and then she couldn't wait any longer, not even for me to get older."

Time was quiet before he spoke back up. "If it could have waited, would it have?"

Legend looked the older hero dead in the eyes. "She did, didn't she? She promised me she would."

Time went rigid, Warriors' head snapped toward Legend with wide eyes, Four's violet curiosity grew stronger and paired with some viridian concern.

"You... She promised you?" Time repeated carefully.

"What do you mean?" Sky asked, looking confused.

"She promised me she would do everything in her power to ensure the survival of who I knew to be the Fallen Hero. She would attempt contact with the sages and determine the best method to do so. As I understand, that method was a seven year stasis." Legend didn't look away from Time's eye, the older's piercing azure trying to cut away at the younger's resolute violet.

"Your timeline precedes mine, is what you're saying," said Time instead of what he clearly wished to say.

"It did.”

"I died in yours."

"He did."

"He?"

"You're different people. Even if the blood's the same the experiences are different, blood may be a mold but experiences fill it and affect how it works and functions."

"...You're very wise.”

"Thanks it's either genetics or the trauma."

Four snorted, viridian glittering in his eyes. "I'd say genetics."

Legend shot the smithy a glare. “And I’d say that you ought to shut your mouth.”

[starknife-starmimi]

here’s a number for motivation to write,10!

I am very new to writing angst, so here's to hoping this will help gain more experience in it!

“ What part of ‘I want you, and only you’ do you not understand? ”

Starline pleaded. He couldn't comprehend how after everything he's done for him, how after everything they've been through and done together. How could he not understand this?

Mimic remained silent, merely turning around and beginning to walk away.

Starline followed after him.

“ What else must I do for you to understand this? What must I say to get this through to you? I- Can you at least look at me? ”

Starline quickly reached out to his webbed hand to grab Mimic’s shoulder, only to be swatted away with a tentacle.

“ I DO UNDERSTAND! And that's the fucking problem here… This wasn't supposed to happen, Starline. None of this should've happened.”

Starline froze, finally beginning to comprehend this twisted situation. Mimic did understand. He always did. This experience, this desperation — it was all a shared struggle. It was all a scattered mess. Every clue and hint they needed was in clear sight, yet they never saw it. They were too blinded by their own motive and gain.

Oh, what this all could’ve been if their vision wasn’t so fogged.

The platypus found himself feeling more emotionally vulnerable than ever. He was weak and open to strike. He hated it. He hated this feeling, it was too much. He couldn't ignore it, he could barely hide it. He didn't know what to do. His mind was spiraling into a mess.

“ Mimic- ”

“ No- Don’t you try to bullshit your way out of this, Starline! Do you really think this could fucking work!? How the fuck am I supposed to stay hidden when I'm following a fucking glitter bomb into a revenge plan I never wanted to be apart of? Did you ever think about that, Starline? Or were you just thinking about your own damn self? Wanting the one damn thing you couldn't have with Eggman? Just searching for some bastard to finally give into your plea? ”

“ For goodness sakes, I HAVE been thinking about you! Every mission I have planned for you to lead me into was stealth, because I knew that's where your talents lie. Yet every mission I tried to take on my own, YOU followed me without accepting my input or refusal because, and I quote,

‘You're going to get yourself killed out there, Starline.’

‘You'd be dead in two weeks if it weren't for me, Starline.’

‘The only thing I'm allowing you to kill you, is myself, Starline.’

So don't turn to me to blame for your own sense of protectiveness because the only thing you could've done you allowed no other force to do. ”

Mimic took a few steps back, horrified by how much he had let his facade go. The platypus was never supposed to see this much of him. No one was. Mimic had foolishly convinced himself to trust in Starline’s occasional oblivion and here was the payment. His own words being repeated against him.

Mimic shook his head, it didn’t matter now. This will all be over soon. None of this will matter once he gets the fuck out of here.

“ And yet you went out of your way to make it no easier to give a shit about you! You ran into every damn plan like a death wish because you're this high and mighty genius who can’t step down for one fucking second to question his own thinking! Do you even know how many times you could’ve died in these past missions? Do you even know how many times I’ve had to save your sorry ass from yourself?! It’s like you want to get yourself killed! ”

Mimic’s glare deepend as he watched Starline’s eyes begin to water. He was breaking. As if he wasn’t already broken.

Starline began to brush his right hand through his permed fur, attempting to provide himself comfort as he felt his thoughts slipping away. He was speechless. Was Mimic right? Did his search for revenge and control really result in him being so self-destructive? He used to have such a strong sense of self-preservation, rarely risking anything before Eggman came into his life.

Starline looked down at his left hand, knowing how damaged it was under his thick glove. How much pain had he caused himself in order to live up to expectations?

Mimic was right. Starline had lost his sense of worth so quickly despite holding himself so high. Every step to power was a trip to death. All this time he had been balancing ego and destruction on a thin blade of fate. But then Mimic came, and eventually that blade tipped. He had taken his care for granted. He had ruined everything.

Wiping the tears from his face, Starline focused his vision only to see his body shaking. He was spiraling and it was only getting worse. He needed to stop this somehow.

Hugging himself and attempting to calm his breath was of slow but eventual help, yet by the time he had brought himself back from it all, Mimic… Mimic was gone. The octopus had vanished without a trace to leave Starline in his own suffering.

Despite the obvious conclusion that could’ve been made, Starline activated the Tricore and began searching the base for Mimic. The doctor wasted hours that day, looking for any trace of his former ally, but there was nothing to find. Mimic had erased all hints of his existence, as if he was never there to begin with. Yet Starline continued his search into the night as if trying to track down a ghost.

How long would he let himself roam in denial? He may never know.

[ria-writes-stories]

Dripping oil

Ship: Dizzy

Genre: Obsession + Love

------------------

(No one's pov)

Desire. The mortal sin of the flesh, but what happens when the flesh plays God as if it's the same as the greater power of the universe, as if it's the same embodiment of light and darkness. The flesh is flawed, whatever it will create will be flawed, always, forever, doomed to repeat or represent it's own tragedy, mirroring it's creator in it's own cycle of empty misery.

Doll would find herself staring at the ceiling for hours, laying on her bed with her arms resting on her abdomen, but then, one day, those hands began to warp around a certain someone. Talking nonsense for hours even when that person long fell asleep, still, their presence was comforting, as slowly they imprinted on each other so much that they felt together even separated.

Lizzy, her eternal love. They grew up together, whatever curiosity they had they'd go to each other and experiment. Both had loving families, but Doll's desire of this world was so big followed by Liz's silly wish to be popular brought them to learn of things before they were age appropriate for them, nothing too serious or morbid, just stuff like 'what's a cigar?' and why do people use it, that's all, but then they had curiosities that emerged from their own initiative.

'What do her lips state like? What do they feel like?' 'This feels so strange...can I still hold hands with her?' 'She's mine, I don't know if it should be known, but people should know to keep away from her.' 'She's so beautiful and amazing, her accent... God that accent, and I've known her my whole life yet she has such a mysterious charm...' 'I don't care who sees, does or say something about it, if they slip towards her, my hand will slip as well.'

I believe there is no need of explaining who said what.

Doll was darkness itself. Born in light, always living in it, and yet deciding to hide into the shadow of her best friend, the light was too blinding, yet nothing was brighter to her than this wicker girl. 'Ewww it didn't kill her!' 'Look at that freak!' 'Oh, my, robo-jesus! You won't believe what she did!' Lizzy, oh Lizzy you clueless girl, how you made Doll fall for you, a wicked weed, so beautiful that you can't even tell it's one, adored and loved by a literal monster, a catastrophic beast filled with inexplicable and horrifying thoughts, desires that had no justification, yet they stayed deep into the shadows that she built, why? Because the light surrounding this vial brute being was enough to ease it to simply wicked, whatever it took to hold that girl into her arms she'd do without hesitation or remorse.

One day, alone in the locker room of the cheerleaders she warped her hands around her waist. "Doll?" Lizzy asked puzzled. Doll wasn't one to go in for a hug, let alone to grab her so closely like that, but it felt like she saw Doll for the first time in her life. She was smiling widely, nothing like her usual soft gentle smiles. A large, sickening, psychopath smile spread across her face and Lizzy's answer...? She simply looked at her puzzled and confused as she slowly felt heat rise in her body as Doll buried her face in her neck. "Doll..." Lizzy whispered quietly as she felt a slow kiss being place upon her soft delicate skin. Doll's lips were cold, freezing compared to her skin, causing a shiver go down Lizzy's spine as she looked at the ceiling terrified yet she didn't oppose to any of this.

A kiss, one after the other, again and again, they didn't end, they didn't stop even when the bell rang, and it rang, and those girls stayed in the locker all day as Doll kissed her over and over again, on her cheeks, on her neck, her shoulders, her forehead, her lips.

First she held her closely by the waist, then she pinned her to the wall when Lizzy slightly shifted her body, trying to find a justification to stop all of this with an embarrassed blush resting on her cheeks but the smile on her face spoke louder than her words did, and that is what Doll listened to.

Then when she noticed Lizzy's legs shaking, Doll sat down on one of the benches and placed Lizzy on her lap, kissing her shoulders over and over, of tender loving kisses of passion, yet pure and innocent, as if with each kiss Doll told Lizzy 'I love you' over and over again.

When Lizzy closed her eyes, shivering from every inch of her body feeling her body boil, Doll laid down and she laid Lizzy on top of her as she limited herself to only kiss her on her forehead and cheeks seeing how much of a tool this all took on her precious golden treasure. "Shhhhhhhh." Doll hushed her softly as she rubbed her back affectionately while reassuringly giving her light soft innocent kisses all over her face.

Next thing you know these two are holding hands every time they are alone, giving each other loving kisses but never on the lips. Doll would kiss the back of Lizzy's hand each time they saw each other for the first time of the day, regardless if it was in public or not, she was a charming devil and she was subtle about it.

Doll was obsessed but Lizzy was so intoxicated she couldn't even acknowledge it. The two were happy together, and that's all that mattered.

The ceiling was stained with oil, slowly dripping down on the floor and down the walls as Doll stood in the middle of it all motionless until Lizzy found her.

The AS has activated, the hunger broke out for the first time, and Doll only felt herself in control again when Lizzy was there.

The two began to work together but Lizzy's consciousness began to work, making her ask herself how wrong all of this truly is.

After the prom night she still found herself crying into Doll's arms as Doll hush her softly, rubbing her back and kissing her tears away. "It's alright. I've went too far with it all. Everything's going to be alright from now on. I have a plan, just stay away from Uzi, promise me, alright? Can you do that for me?" Doll asked as she gently cupped Lizzy's cheeks as the blond girl simply nodded with tears staining her prom dress before receiving a soft kiss on her cheek.

Oil had stained the forest and the snow while Doll held Lizzy tightly. "I told you to stay away from Uzi." Doll lightly scolded Lizzy as she peacefully slept in her arms in the comfort of her bed, happily enjoying the warmth emanating from Doll.

Doll simply sighed as she kissed Lizzy's cheek.

"Where are you going?" "I found something." Doll said as Lizzy fixed her button. "You're always leaving!" Lizzy complained. "Would you rather I don't?" Doll asked bluntly as she saw Lizzy's face reveal all of the mixed emotions she felt all of this time. Doll simply sighed as she kissed the back of her hand softly. A kiss each time they saw each other for the first time of the day...a kiss for seeing each other clearly after so long.

Lizzy looked at Doll terrified, because she could feel that she would be gone for a very long while. Therefor she needed a promise from Doll that she will return, so, Doll bit her own lip until oil came out and then she stained Lizzy's lips with it as the oil dripped down and mixed with Lizzy's tears. "I will come back, for you, we'll be happy, and my parents will be there when we marry." At this words Lizzy broke into tears again. Doll's parents were dead, and either death would bring them together again, or whatever Doll planned out would work out.

The two stayed like that, embracing each other for so long before finally saying their last goodbye with another kiss, afraid that it will be the last one they made it last for as long as possible.

Despite the sadness in their heart whenever they thought of the other they could only smile. Doll with her sickening wide one and Lizzy with her sassy prideful one. They didn't know where their own self started and where the other one ended, but they could care less as they simply yearned to see each other again the next time that it is meant to be.

Oil flowing through their veins, and yet...

Only the oil flowing through the veins of the other one could satisfy them.

The end

[demonprincezeldris]

I was originally going to post this on my alternate blog, however I quickly decided against it. Instead it's going to be a gift to a very special friend of mine (and coincidentally my internet wife).

@north-sta, thank you so much for supporting me throughout my writing journey. And thank you for providing us with the most incredible artwork. From fluffy rare pairings to NSFW works, your art is amazing. You have made talented art pieces based on my fanfictions. Now it's time for me to return the favor.

Thank you again, and I hope you enjoy the angsty comfort.

Zeldris was jolted awake, his upper body lurching forward from the nest of plush pillows, gasping loudly. His emerald eyes darted frantically around the darkened room, the glow of the moon illuminating the floor. His fingers dug into his chest as he fought to control his ragged breathing, his heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears.

The fire that had been lit long ago was smothered, not even the faintest flickering of an ember left. Zeldris scanned the room, gazing over the familiar items in the bedroom. A small oak desk was situated in the corner, papers from the previous day’s work scattered across the surface. A few clothes were discarded around the floor haphazardly. 

As he looked around the bedroom, his eyes shifted to the man sleeping peacefully next to him. Arthur Pendragon. The king of Camelot. His bright ginger hair was tousled from tossing and turning all night, his features smoothed into a calm, serene state as he slept. Zeldris slowly reached out a hand, lightly brushing his fingers against Arthur’s cheek. As he looked upon his lover, his mind continued to repeat the same phrase over and over again. 

It was just a nightmare. Arthur was alive. And he was safe. 

It had been several months since Arthur had been awoken from his brutal attempted murder, and awakened into the King of Chaos. The Holy War had finally drawn to a conclusion, with all the races living in peace. Although there was some initial distrust and hostility towards the Demon race, Arthur did everything in his power to prove to his people that Demons weren’t going to hurt them anymore. The time for violence and bloodshed was over.

Even after the end of the Holy War, Zeldris still had nightmares about that day. The day he thought he lost his second love. Zeldris had begged and pleaded for Arthur to stay away from the castle, saying that it was a death wish if he were to come back and demand Meliodas and the others left. The raven-haired male starkly remembered the sickening feeling that churned in his gut when his mentor had described to him how he disposed of Arthur. 

However tonight’s night terror was one of the worst ones that Zeldris had ever experienced in a long time, and even now he was unsettled. Instead of his usual nightmare, where he would walk up on Arthur’s bleeding body in a dark cave, Zeldris was forced to watch as Cusack stabbed Arthur himself, his feet glued to the ground. Zeldris was unable to move from where he was standing. His screams were silent, nothing coming out as he desperately tried to get Cusack to stop his assault. All he could do was watch through his own salty tears, horrified, as his own mentor stabbed Arthur through the heart with Excalibur, gazing upon the crimson blood that stained his uniform. 

For a fleeting second Zeldris thought of waking Arthur up to help him calm down from the hellish experience. However he hesitated, biting his tongue as he gazed upon Arthur’s sleeping form, his hand inches away from Arthur’s shoulder. The ginger had been working nonstop for weeks on end for his kingdom, barely getting enough sleep as it was to get through the exhausting days of politics and peace talks and fancy dinners. Arthur was one of the hardest working people he knew, giving it his all when he set his mind to a task. Zeldris did not want to disrupt what precious rest he got, not for such a trivial matter such as a nightmare. 

Feeling his hearts finally slowing from their rapid rate, Zeldris kicked the velvety covers off, slipping out of bed and padding silently across the wooden floors to the ornate glass doors. The cold of the metal handles nipped at the tips of his fingers as he briefly glanced over his shoulder to look at Arthur’s sleeping form one last time, before slipping onto the balcony. 

The evening was cool, autumn already having a firm grasp over the land. Winter was still several weeks away. The trees were washed in a stunning blend of orange, yellow and red as their leaves began to die. The full moon above cascaded a silver light upon the land, shedding the entire land in its glow. Zeldris leaned against the wooden railing of the balcony, feeling the autumn breeze shift against his hair. He closed his eyes, his breathing slow and steady as he immersed himself with the nature around him. 

The door gently opened behind him, Zeldris quickly turning around to gaze upon Arthur. Arthur blinked sleepily at him as he too stepped onto the balcony, stifling a yawn. “What are you doing out here, Zel?” Arthur asked quietly, his voice still groggy from sleep. “You should go back to bed,” Zeldris murmured as he faced Arthur fully, watching his lover grab his hand softly. Arthur shook his head, a soft smile playing on his face as he ran his thumb over Zeldris’ knuckles. 

“I’m not going to bed until my boyfriend tells me what he was doing out here.” Gazing into Arthur’s amethyst eyes, he felt himself getting choked up again, the memories of the nightmare coming back to him jarringly. He quickly looked away, unable to say the words that tingled on the tip of his tongue. Arthur was quick to wrap both arms around him, bringing the demon in close as he softly nuzzled into Zeldris’ raven hair. 

Subconsciously, Zeldris twisted in Arthur’s grip, his own arms snaking around Arthur’s muscular form. He pressed his forehead against Arthur’s chest, his fingers digging lightly into Arthur’s shoulder blades. Finally, Arthur broke the silence. “You had another nightmare, didn’t you?” Zeldris nodded, unable to hide the secret from him anymore. He swallowed, his eyes fluttering shut as he felt the ginger’s fingers weave through his dark hair, massaging his scalp in slow circles. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Arthur asked quietly. The demon shook his head, grunting softly as he responded in a low tone. “I didn’t want to bother you with such nonsense,” he muttered, his eyes downcast. “You’ve been working nonstop for several weeks now. You barely get enough sleep as it is. I didn’t. . . I didn’t want to wake you up for a childish thing.” Arthur snorted comically, pulling away to look Zeldris in the eyes, an eyebrow raised incredulously. 

A playful smile donned his face. “All living creatures have nightmares, Zeldris,” he whispered. “ From street mutts to even you demons. There’s no shame in getting comfort from a nightmare.” His hands drifted back down, grasping Zeldris’ in his own as he gazed into his emerald orbs. “It’s not a bother at all, Zeldris. You’ve comforted me more times than I can count when I have a nightmare. I don’t mind losing sleep in order to help my boyfriend calm down and make sure he knows loved and alright. I always have time for you, even when it’s the middle of the night.”  

Both men fell silent, Zeldris tucking himself under Arthur’s chin again as he sighed. Arthur’s arms wrapped around him once again, cupping his neck as he kissed the top of his head softly. “The nightmare was about. . . that day,” he whispered. Arthur made a small noise of understanding in the back of his throat, subtly holding Zeldris closer to himself, his hand rubbing up and down his spine. The ginger always knew how to calm him down, the fingers that stroked lightly along his back making his mind melt. 

 “Just listen, Zeldris,” Arthur murmured, “Listen to my heartbeat. Feel my fingers stroking along your skin. Massaging your scalp. My whispered words in the chilly autumn night. I am alive, and I am safe. You have nothing to worry about anymore. Cusack is gone, and cannot harm me anymore.” Arthur brought Zeldris’ head up, his fingers gently cupping under his chin as they brought their heads in for a soft kiss. Blinking away fresh tears, Zeldris pressed the side of his head against Arthur’s chest. He could hear the faint beating of Arthur’s heart as it pumped blood throughout his body. 

Arthur was alive. He was here. They were safe.

Zeldris gazed out at the expansive meadow before them, gazing upon the navy sky that was dotted with stars. The horizon was starting to glow faintly, sunrise approaching rapidly. And yet Zeldris had no intention of going back to bed. He was at peace here, wrapped in Arthur’s arms and watching the world slowly wake up from its slumber. 

[adamwatchesmovies]

Nope (2022)

Nope once again confirms Jordan Peele as one of the most interesting storytellers working in Hollywood. Once you learn what this movie is, you think you know in which direction it’s headed but you’re dead wrong. Even if you think you know what tone Nope is going for, you’re wrong. There are some big surprises within so it's best to go in knowing as little as possible, but if you need more information, read on…

In Agua Dulce, California, Otis “OJ” Haywood Jr. (Daniel Kaluuya) and his sister Emerald “Em” (Keke Palmer) experience a strange power outage. Soon after, they spot an unidentified flying object. After the ship takes away one of their horses, they decide to record the UFO and sell evidence of its existence.

This isn’t the classic horror alien abduction story you think it is. I wish I didn't have to tell you this so the turns this film takes would be even more surprising. Then again, I also don’t want you going into Nope thinking you’ll get one thing when you’re actually getting another. I will tell you that this is a horror movie - at least for the most part. The UFO is frightening, particularly once you realize what it’s doing with the things it abducts.

There’s another scary idea at play here too, which is where the film’s title comes from. Now more than ever, our culture is obsessed with looking at and documenting things. Countless people have achieved fame and fortune without any “talent”. They've simply shot something that went viral and managed to turn that luck into gold. Everyone wants that because it seems so easy. This has made us all a little bit more prone to horror-type scenarios. When you see something weird, how many of us – because we carry high-quality cameras on our persons at all times – might go “Let me start shooting” instead of saying “Nope!” and following our instincts to run away? Haven’t we spent years telling people in horror movies NOT to investigate because we know there’s something scary making that noise? That’s what Nope is about. It’s about people who see this dangerous thing and say “I can profit off of this” when they should know better.   This theme is echoed in a subplot that is gripping… but arguably unnecessary. Steven Yeun plays Ricky “Jupe” Park, a former child actor who has been exploiting an on-set tragedy from his early career for years. When you hear whispers of the horrifying incident, you desperately want to know how it went. It’s all told in flashback so you know he makes it out alive but you forget all about that as the scenes play out. It's a great side story and it fits in with the theme but this film is also 130 minutes, and I’m not sure it needed to be. The other “flaw” is the tone of Nope. The film shifts from one kind of story to another so much that by the end, it almost feels like you’re watching a completely different film. I say almost because the shift is logical, it’s organic and it makes sense based on the characters. I love that I had no idea how the movie was going to end but some people who are accustomed to more traditional forms of storytelling will likely feel like they got sold something different than was advertised.

Like Jordan Peele’s other films, you could sit down for hours talking about Nope. Its characters, what each little detail means, the stories within the story, the reinvention of ideas we thought we’d seen mined all the way through, the performances, cinematic techniques, and more importantly, the way it explores its themes of exploitation and spectacle. There is a lot to digest here, which makes it a rewarding film. While repeat viewings will not have the same impact as that first watch because the surprises are so important, there is so much going on here that there’s no way you can catch all of Nope in one go. (February 12, 2023)

[softpine]

i mean, elaine was also there when that women committed suicide. and obviously jada is affected the most by her mother’s death (and not preventing that other women’s death), but they all saw her mom die in a car crash at a very young age iirc. now, i know this is a story where we have characters who see dead ppl all the time, but like damn.

i get what anon meant kinda, so don’t wanna claim they said that in bad faith. nor do a wanna pit the gangs traumas against each other. but also idk the phrasing “she doesn’t have anything bad going on” is weird/lacks depth to me; yes elaine is the most immature and she’s been through less, but also she’s still impacted like everyone else from the shit she’s been through. if anything i’d argue she’s partly like that not from innocence but because of trauma.

like part of her and stevie’s friendship is built on the trauma that they probably feel like no one else will understand besides the 4 of them. so while i don’t agree with her, i understand why she said stevie is her problem.

and i’m saying this a someone whose least favorite character in the gang is probably elaine, and who agreed with austin through 90% of that argument until the end. also, i repeat, i’m not trying to bicker with anon as a fellow frozen pines enjoyer 🤝 i hope i didn’t misread yours or anon’s points.

tldr; idrc that that anon doesn’t like elaine, but yeah their reasoning could’ve been way better (also u don’t have to post this if u rather move on from the convo)

okay yeah i have to answer this because i 100% agree. me when i have no trauma 🤪

originally i had written a paragraph about how the bar for being considered "traumatized" in frozen pines is extremely high by comparison, so even though she isn't being re-traumatized every day, she's still been through hardships. if we plopped her in an ordinary teen story, elaine might actually be the one who has seen the most shit. but i erased it because.. idk. it feels icky to say that there's a certain amount of trauma a person must experience before they're allowed to act a certain way / be forgiven for the way they act. but let's talk about it, because you're exactly right that part of the way elaine acts is a trauma response.

there was a huge time skip after aileen died, so we don't know exactly how elaine dealt with the aftermath, but we do know this:

elaine's only goal was to cheer jada up, so she didn't get into her own feelings about aileen's death, she just wanted jada to know that she's not the only one haunted by the memory. their friend group is bonded by this memory that no one else understands – hell, even the girls don't understand what happened that day. only asa knows the truth. so they're bonded in uncertainty too.

when austin fails to show up to a date on time, elaine thinks: "What if he got in an accident? Did he forget his seatbelt again? Oh, God, I told him! He’s dying in a ditch somewhere and I’m sitting here all annoyed at him!" and when she visits austin's house for the first time, she realizes he lives right next to the train tracks where aileen died, and thinks, "I wish he didn’t live so close to the train…" (btw he lives VERY close to the train, so elaine has to hear it outside his window every time she spends the night)

it's been years, but aileen's death is still at the forefront of elaine's mind. it also shows that she turns that trauma into worry for other people. we've never seen her worry about her own safety in this way, even after she starts driving.

after she witnesses the woman die from jumping off the bridge, austin gives her a bunch of advice for how to survive a big fall, which comforts her a lot, but she's horrified to learn that austin has also jumped off that bridge for fun. it's one of the only times we've seen her be truly pissed off, and it's because the fear of losing austin in that way terrifies her. she can't believe he's being so casual about it (and cocky, honestly. he says: "It was sick. I didn't break anything. [...] You could do it too if you practiced.") again, elaine doesn't find it distressing to imagine herself in a dangerous situation, but as soon as she imagines someone she cares about doing it, she panics.

no doubt about it, elaine lacks awareness when talking about gruesome deaths with other people. while stevie makes jokes about her trauma, jada avoids the subject like the plague, asa channels his trauma into helping ghosts... elaine overshares and downplays death. she's interested in true crime because she's already seen the horrors of death and now she just wants to understand the why and how of it (she even says: "Death isn't so scary when you understand the science behind it.") she doesn't believe in religion, she's not spiritual, and she doesn't believe in ghosts. all she can do is cling onto the physical effects of dying and everything that she can learn from it. the way she's able to cope with the things she's seen is by treating it like something that happened to someone else, far away from her. can this be insensitive? yes, absolutely. but this is something she can definitely learn from and change. again, she's only 17... she's gonna have some wacky views about mortality.

so that's what we know so far about elaine's trauma and how it changes her behavior. but without spoiling anything.... in a short time, you're about to see the effects of her trauma in a big way, so it's good to put this out as a refresher!

[starfishbloom]

"Do you wish to fight the Zionists, or the entire world?" was the question the Palestinian terrorist recruiter poses to Charlie (Florence Pugh) in The Little Drummer Girl, John le Carré novel adapted to a TV series by Park Chan-wook. She knows what the recruiter wants to hear, but her simmering resentment against the world is barely masked beneath the surface. This inchoate rage against the world is not unique to this character, and I found this was a particularly accurate and disturbing representation of the tourist radicals of the early 80s provincial European youth.

These children left their villages and trotted off to the big smoke for university, where the '68 fantasies still burnt strong. They read some French theorists, a few political pamphlets, and somehow got it into their heads that "the people" needed to be "awakened". This meme lodged itself into their heads obstinately, and they reacted resentfully when their parents - probably still heavily shaped by the experiences of WW2 - responded with derision to the new ideas their kids brought home for the holidays. Depressed with the drudgery of provincial life, embarrassed by their naivety and their unremarkable, almost cookie-cutter upbringing, these kids vowed to disown their past and make themselves interesting.

But innocence can't be willed away by fiat, and there was no shortage of extremists and cult leaders ready and eager to funnel these restless little babies into their malevolent arms. These kids' anger at provincial Europe, for well, being provincial Europe, didn't need a specific ideology, any contingent extremist signifier with some message of disrupting the sleepy status quo would do, it really just depended on which predatory guru they encountered first.

For brainwashing, team Palestine resorts to traditional methods that are ever popular in successful cults, such as extreme isolation, repetition, strictly enforced idiotic rules, deliberate chaos, and the cult favourite: the good cop bad cop routine. Create attachment and a sense of belonging with a pleasant maternal figure, rip it away violently by means of an authoritarian patriarch, and then back to mama for soothing, rinse & repeat..

Conversely team Israel, ever the consummate rationalists, appear to have scientifically distilled a repeatable mind control process, leading to more subdued and subtle methods which they can claim to be mildly more ethical, but when Charlie falls in love with her handler it's difficult not to be reminded of the horrifying final pages of 1984.

The Euro kids resented being tourists and amateurs in these movements, which made them willing participants in a game of escalating mind control exercises masked as hazing rituals to prove their mettle, their dedication to their newly-acquired, yet entirely contingent, cause. This made them perfect extremists of the most dangerous and frivolous kind. Of course, many didn't go to the levels of extremism portrayed in a riveting spy fiction like this one, but the unexamined beliefs, cliches, slogans, and signifiers (such as wearing a keffiyeh) of radicalism of the time were common to an entire demographic, and they were directly influenced by the counterculture and radical cliches of the late '60s.

Without the internet of today and its protective sheen of knowledgeable irony - where posing as a radical means engaging in largely innocuous and highly performative (thankfully!) activities such as re-sharing posts on social media - radical posturing in the 80s in continental Europe was likely to get you into some very strange situations, with brutal and often irreversible outcomes.

[joytheboi]

The people I love. I am lucky enough to have been told by several people how much I mean to them. I know how close many people, inside and outside of my family, find me to be. I know exactly who would be horrified by my absence. It might seem narcissistic to assume all that many people care about me, but I trust the words and actions of those who have in one way or another made me feel like it's worth it to be around me.

Then there's my goals. If I die before getting to put a story out there in the world, I'd be sad. I want to tell my stories, y'know? Make people feel what I've felt experiencing the stories in my favorite games or shows. If I could inspire that feeling in anyone; that excitement, that sadness, that happiness, especially the self-realization and discussion of ideals that I'd like my work to inspire, only then will I have lived as I wanted to. And I have so many; how could I leave after just one? When I have so much to say through all the different ones?

The desire for my situation to get better is a big one. My current situation doesn't let me express my identity as much as I'd like, and I'd like to keep living until I can get to a situation that does. Once I'm there, I have to live my life that way. It's only fair to the me that kept wishing he could be himself.

And lastly, my belief that live is made to be lived. My optimism that things will get better, and that if the world around me only gets worse from here and I weren't able to change it, that I can always work on making life as enjoyable as possible for me and those around me. I love the idea of just continuing to live for the sake of it. I don't do anything particularly exciting, I spend most days stuck to my computer, repeating the same routine. That life might seem boring or dreadful to some, but I could live every day that way, honestly. I'd love to, in fact. I know I'll cry, I know I'll experience loss and anger and that I'll get frustrated with things that will never go away. But that'll fade. The happiness beyond those moments will make life worth living. Even if I didn't experience those positive emotions for a long while, the idea that I possibly will feels like enough.

I'm very sorry to ask something like this, I've really been struggling with this question, and I wanted to ask the combined wisdom of the people on this site

I would like to know why you keep going, and what drives you to keep living. I know there are a lot of reasons to stay alive and enjoy life, I can think of a few that personally resonate with me, but I really want to know what your reasons are

You do not have to comment on this if that's too big of an ask, and I'm very sorry for asking something like this, I really need someone's help, I feel like I don't have much purpose

Also if I may ask, please don't post any suicidal ideation in the comments of this post, I really can't handle something like that right now

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Dr. Withrow Replies To "Pen" Questions," Toronto Globe. October 6, 1933. Page 1. ---- This series of questions and answers conducted by Dr. Withrow will conclude with tomorrow's instalment. Their purpose was to clear up for readers of The Globe any any points requiring elucidation following his disclosures of conditions at at Kingston Penitentiary. This purpose has been served. The indictment of penitentiary administration, as illustrated by Kingston methods, is complete, but both The Globe and Dr. Withrow will continue the crusade for reforms, the need of which has been demonstrated so fully. Inquirers wishing to reach Dr. Withrow may do so through The Globe or at his home address, 38 Albany Avenue.

(Copyright, 1933, by The Globe and O. C. J. Withrow.)

After reading your many letters in The Globe of the past, I am interested as yourself in the better conditions necessary for the human being that is so unfortunate as to get into the clutches of the so-called law.

I notice where you lay stress on officialdom of the penitentiary and the great need for reform on its part. I fully agree with your idea, as I was a victim of the same treatment as yourself, only at Burwash instead of Kingston. The same conditions exist at Burwash as at Kingston. The only difference is that Burwash is in the backwoods and there are no high walls walls around the prison property. The treatment to inmates is identically the same and the officialdom the same, only more ignorance exists, if possible to be.

Just let you and me, dear doctor, think for a moment: Is there not an investigation long past due? Inside Observer.

---

An investigation is long past due. But, what is of is of more importance, action could have been taken long ago by Constituted Authority on reports that have been placed before it during the past twenty years. In 1914. and again in 1921, to mention no other dates, able men made suggestions for improvement which were were ignored. No amount of pressure has been able to move the powers to a sane sizing-up of the situation. Then came the riots of 1927 and 1932. Public opinion has been aroused as never before.

Action must come soon. We are being told that reforms have been made. They are too superficial for serious consideration by an incensed public, and with a deeper knowledge of what really exists behind the stone walls a more efficient probing is necessary. and then suitable legislation to make our Canadian penal system the best that can be evolved. It is satisfactory to notice that the Attorney General of Ontario has graciously subscribed to the need along one line, and that is for stopping the disparity of sentences handed by out Magistrates and Judges. This has been a real blot upon the administration of justice. An acknowledgment such as this only makes the necessity for a thorough investigation into the whole penal system more insistent. May I repeat that superficialities will not suffice. You are calling attention to conditions at Burwash. I am insisting that the probe should go more deeply than into our penitentiaries. They but house the products of our courts, those who are very often graduates of our reformatories and industrial schools. There are occasions in the life of every commonwealth when drastic changes in institutions must be made. We have come to such an occasion in Canada and we must seize the opportunity for reform. Why do the Premier and the Minister of Justice still stand shivering on the brink when they know the plunge must be made? You and I, with hosts of thoughtful Canadians, would like to know.

///

I have followed your articles with horrified interest.

I am a public school teacher of twelve years' experiences, having learned a lot from experience, and knowing I have a lot more to learn.

In today's article, "M. A. В., Barrister etc." touches upon sterilization of the unfit. I cannot think this is sound biblical teaching. My reading of the New Testament has lead me to believe that:

(a) Sterilization of unfit,

(b) Capital punishment,

(c) Our penitentiary methods, are in direct opposition to biblical teaching.

We teachers in Ontario and elsewhere have now in our schools each day the boys and the girls who will make up the jail population of tomorrow!

If each teacher were allowed to have no more than twenty pupils in his or her room, then that teacher could take a personal interest in every child and give special attention to those who are dull and 1 of wayward tendencies.

Sterilization of unfit is the lazy man's way of dealing with the trouble. Sympathetic men, interested Boards of Education, plus a broad curriculum, with much hard work for "mentally defectives" (?), plus good teachers with suitable equipment, I believe, could solve the mentally unfit problem so called. But a universal characteristic of the human race is laziness. So, when a child gives trouble we thrash him, because we are too lazy to find the cause.

When a 'teen-age boy goes wrong, we are too lazy to look for the cause and too stingy to provide the means to see to it that other boys avoid the danger spots.

Solomon said it was all in training:

"Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it."

Ignorance is one of the greatest curses. You are doing a wonderful thing in the way of enlightening people.

May your efforts bring immediate results.

Could not our schools do a great deal more than they are doing at present to to aid in preventing children developing into criminals? In fact, could not every person, no matter how humble, If he would do a little thinking. do his bit to train to train the rising generation in right ways of living?

Eastern Ontario.

---

Your question came in after article in yesterday's issue of the Globe was written, but although I do not agree with everything you say. I feel that your side of the question should be given a place in this column. Sterilization of the unfit is a scientific method of helping to solve this great criminology problem, not a lazy way, as you suggest. Would it be a lazy way to plug up the hole in the bottom of the boat instead of continuing the laborious process of balling out? As a teacher you should have already learned the futility of trying to train pupils of definitely low mentalities beyond a certain standard. And the propagation of the mentally defective by parents who are proved to be of this class has up to the present made an endless procession of actual criminals, which may be stopped if we will only make it impossible for such defectives to produce children of like calibre. I would not deprive any human being of the possibilities of full enjoyment of the things of this life. but this sterilization of the unfit is bound to find its rightful place in our Commonwealth. The school has a great mission to perform in training for citizenship. When our teachers take the long view and endeavor to picture their pupils in the years that are to be, much can be done. I feel sure, to prevent crime. A close association between the school and the home will help materially. Home and school clubs are performing an excellent service here. Our Juvenile Courts, where the funds have been forthcoming for their establishment, have made a link between the youthful offender and the home or the school. The possibility of probation, with the watchfulness and sympathetic care of the Big Brother Movement, has kept many a boy from a life of crime. I am delighted that you and many like you are willing to study fundamentals.

///

A thousand thanks for the wonderful work you are doing. I believe every word you have said. One can only read your letters and believe all. What you have passed through was terribly real, and now you are striving to bring about at a reform for the betterment all. God bless you. We are with you and I feel sure soon your of heart and ours will be gladdened by a new order of things in our prisons. I do not wish to ask any questions; enough has been said. I am now looking for action. May God's richest blessing rest upon you and yours. He knows. He cares. He understands this great desire to help others. This is Christian. You are in God's will; therefore we are bound to come out on top. I am enclosing a cutting from one of our papers. I know you can answer the cry of this poor mother, although you cannot help directly. There are many cases like this one How can such things really happen and why? With you all the way.

E. B.

----

My boy of 18, having no work, decided to try the West, hoping to find something to do at the harvesting. Having nothing to eat for thirty-six hours, he took food that did not belong to him, and for doing so he was given a reformatory sentence. We knew nothing of his plight. Homesick and more than 1,000 miles from home, he ran away, was caught and given a sentence of two years In a penitentiary, and was told he could write for or a a parole in a year's time. He had been a month there when he wrote home and told us that, had he had counsel, he never would have been convicted. The first year completed, his parole papers were sent in. He had n good good home to come to, steady work assured, yet his parole is refused without any reason. Seemingly, one needs to be a bank robber or thoroughly bad to gain a parole.

What has my boy done that ninety-nine out of a hundred wouldn't do in the same circumstances? Where here is our far-famed British justice, that such things can happen and no parents be notified? ? Why give a boy false hopes of parole, only to refuse one? Can any one tell me, Is there anything one can do in such false case? Mother.

///

I can only repeat that the Remission Branch of the Department of Justice, which refuses applications for parole and recommends those that are granted, is sorely in need of a thorough cleansing. But that will be only my too apparent when the sweeping investigation takes place.

[nyarmand]

my curiosity was piqued. i have now compiled a list of shared voice actors between the hxh 2011(and movies) and bsd dubs. there may be more that i have missed. bsd characters are in bold, hxh characters in italics.

nakajima atsushi = max mittelman = meruem

dazai osamu = kaiji tang = koala + dwun

kunikida doppo = patrick seitz = uvogin

tanizaki junichiro = spike spencer = gido

miyazawa kenji = lucien dodge = imori + sedokan + barry + katzo + matthew

tanizaki naomi + yosano akiko = erica lindbeck = pakunoda

haruno kirako + yamagiwa + huckleberry finn = abby trott = machi komacine

izumi kyouka = cherami leigh = cheadle yorkshire

fukuzawa yukichi = jamieson price = leol/hagya

ozaki kouyou = cindy robinson = chimera ant queen

higuchi ichiyou + elise = carrie keranen = baise

yumeno kyusaku = tara jayne sands = biscuit krueger

mori ougai = keith silverstein = hisoka morow (how incredibly fitting...)

francis scott key fitzgerald = chris hackney = illumi zoldyck/gittarackur + nick cue

lucy maud montgomery = cristina valenzuela = killua zoldyck

john steinbeck = kyle mccarley = pariston hill

nathaniel hawthorne = matthew mercer = leorio paladiknight

louisa may alcott = erica mendez = gon freecss

herman melville + taneda santoka = john demita = satotz

edgar allan poe = todd haberkorn = genthru

oda sakunosuke = david vincent = phinks magcub + assam + zetsk bellam + rabid dog (heh.)

hirotsu ryurou + souseki natsume = greg chun = zepile + ikalgo + kess/dopple + stick dinner + owl

akutagawa gin = allegra clark = zazan + kurt

sergeant sugimura + tachihara michizou = benjamin diskin = knuckle bine

andre gide = kirk thornton = dalzollene + puhat

fyodor dostoevsky = ray chase = hanzo + geretta + squala

taguchi rokuzo + shibusawa tatsuhiko = xander mobus = shura

detective minoura = doug stone = garcia

[ghostfilecabinet]

Tis the season! This month we’re doing HOLIDAY fic, set during the December-January season. (A few repeats on here, and I’m also breaking my no-over 1k kudos fic for this one just because ‘classics’ are definitely part of the holiday charm.)

Onwards!

The Devil You Know by ma_malice | T, 19k | “There will be no sacrifice,” Shane said for the third time since they’d landed in Illinois. “Not so much as a chicken. Stop being weird.” Shane takes Ryan home for the holidays. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

what are you doing new year's eve? ✨ by PhyllisDietrichson | E, 20k | And Ryan knows. He knows that it’s probably been obvious for a while, how he and Shane have been circling around each other, pulled into a tighter orbit as the years have passed. 

fate is against me by bodhirookes | T, 27k | Ryan's bosses hold a series of Christmas-themed competitions in the office, and along the way he learns about the true meaning of Christmas, experiences how satisfying it is to prove TJ wrong, and possibly wins himself a boyfriend.

Deck the Halls by colazitron | T, 2k | Ryan wants to spruce up the office with some festive decorations and some holiday fun. It doesn't go exactly as planned.

The Christmas Curse by MiraclesofPaul | E, 10k | After kissing under the mistletoe, everyone in the office assumes they've slept together. They didn't, but now Shane can't stop thinking about Ryan.

Oh, Ryan by VictoriaAGrey | T, 10k | Ryan thinks the holiday season is going to be a predictable affair until Ned calls in a two year old debt Ryan owes him. Honoring that two year old debt sets into motion an avalanche of bad decisions and miscommunications that land Ryan at his parent's house on Christmas Day with a baby and a best friend pretending to be his boyfriend. Did he also mention Shane's living with him?

Like Wildfire by makemadej (santamonicayachtclub) | E, 20k | Or: the one where Shane accidentally tells Ryan's mom they're a couple and they commit to the bit.

Where Every Wish Comes True (and you would be there too) by velarisstars | T, 31k | It was completely normal to fly across the country with your best friend to celebrate Christmas with their family, right? At least, that's what Ryan kept telling himself everyday leading up to said trip with Shane. Everything would be fine. Normal. A simple vacation with Shane and his family in Chicago.

Mistletoe by quackers | T, 4k | There's only room for one very specific cat in Ryan's life.

sweatshirt by uneventfulhouses | T, 1k | “All I’m saying,” Ryan huffs, into his phone as he serves himself another tamale, “is that I wish you were here. And now you’re making it weird.” “I’m not making it weird,” Shane protests, laughing on the other end of the line.

"fear not, then," said the angel by orphan_account | T, 5k | Five times they took part in holiday traditions for a video, and one time it was just for them.

Last Christmas I Gave You My Heart by LovelyLittleNothing | G, 6k | Shane leans in conspiratorially, “My older brother said Santa isn’t real.” “And you believe him?” Ryan asks horrified. “Course not! He’s a dummy. I know he’s just sayin’ that so I won’t act good enough to get onto the nice list.”

Tinsel and Lights by orphan_account | T, 13k | Ryan beamed. “I thought the season was…how did you put it? Oh right, ‘nothing more than a drop in temperature and a surge in capitalist nonsense?’”

You can call me babe for the weekend by iBubbles | T, 5k | "I didn’t have “fake date Shane to cone his family” on my 2020 bingo card, but I think it’s the perfect ridiculous thing to end this year with,” Ryan smiles. Shane's aunt Ada mistakes Ryan for being Shane's partner as opposed to his work partner.

Snowed In (Minus the Snow) by FireflyAndTheStoryJar | T, 2k | Ryan’s mother would often ask why Shane would leave early on Christmas Eve, but with some half-truths, she was usually polite enough not to push for more. This Christmas, though, she was determined to keep Shane there until Christmas Day. Ryan realized that as soon as Shane couldn’t find his coat and shoes by the door hook and shoe shelf.

Modern Rustic by beethechange | E, 21k | Ryan’s thinking about Beauty and the Beast. He’s thinking about the wi-fi network, “Be Our Guest,” and about talking teapots and grumpy clocks and matchmaking candelabras. That’s how this cabin feels: not haunted, enchanted. 

made of glass the way you see through me by uneventfulhouses | E, 19k | Now he’s hearing things. We should probably start thinking about how to save this trip, maybe Ryan— “Are you talking to me?” Ryan asks again. “No,” Shane says, more adamantly. “What’s wrong with you?”

raspberry-tender and mint-leaf sweet by abovetheruins | T, 5k | Jen looks like Christmas has come early. "I know you so well, Madej. Picked out the perfect gift and everything." "You know, I don't think Ryan would appreciate you talking about him like he's an object," Shane says, a flippancy in his tone that's more for show than anything else.

you shine like silver in the sunlight by Anonymous | G, 2k |  Ryan laughs, even though that wasn’t funny at all. Shane can tell that he’s a little tipsy already, because he’s more giggly than usual, and he’s just—he’s absolutely endearing when he’s like this. He hates Ryan for making him feel this way—soft and completely infatuated.

may your days be merry and bright by bodhirookes | G, 19k | Ryan gets Shane for Secret Santa and has a subsequent breakdown about what to get him.

stand there like a ghost (shaking from the rain) by loudwheezes (orphan_account) | T, 3k | It's snowing in Southern California, Shane Madej is in love, and Ryan Bergara's parents don't mind.

we don't need no mistletoe by uneventfulhouses | T, 2k | It’s their second Christmas as a couple, and Shane’s just ridiculously happy that it’s working out so well with Ryan. It can be a tricky thing, integrating a partner into family, but Ryan fit so seamlessly, like he’d been there the whole time.

(Not Quite) Home for the Holidays by sequence_fairy | T, 2k | Shane’s not going home this year. He’d decided in early September that he wouldn’t be, that he didn’t want to deal with the hassle of travel and rushing through a parade of family gatherings. And he’s fine with it, he is.

[aikoiya]

YES!!! Say it louder for the dumbasses in the back!

Like, do I like it when a villain gets a redemption arc? Absolutely!

But a key part of that is the villain acknowledging that they did wrong & not only others holding them accountable, but themselves holding themselves accountable!

As much as I love Steven Universe, I hate that Rose is seen so badly while the rest of the Diamonds are forgiven & don't have to face any real consequences!

Admittedly, I think that part of the reason why they had to get away with it was because they were too powerful to realistically be punished. But that doesn't mean that I like it!

And dear heavens, DO NOT get me started with effing Undertale! I will effing rant for so long about the sheer hypocrisy of the message until I get a freaking headache!

Now, I love Asgore, but it's because I understand what the motivation was. I understand that the call to genocide was a grief reaction & then he kept it up, not because he wanted to, but to give his people hope.

Does that make it okay? HELL NO!!

But I get it & the reason why I am so willing to forgive him despite the absolutely heinous crime he committed. Despite the fact that he is basically a serial killer & a planned terrorist.

Is because he admits outright, fully, & completely that it was wrong & apologizes. And in certain endings, even backs it up.

If you do a neutral run & kill Flowey, if you go back & fight Asgore again, he literally offers up his soul so that Frisk can leave the Underground.

When you fight him, he is straight to the point & incredibly solemn.

Everything about him tells me that this choice to do what he did? He did not want to do it. That he legitimately believed that it was the only way to free his people & as the king, it fell upon his shoulders to do everything he could for them. Because that was his responsibility.

Yet, he does not pretend that it is some good thing, he acknowledges that it was a necessary evil that he would not have done if he saw any other way around it.

And he holds himself accountable for his actions.

Now, that doesn't mean that I'm okay that he got away scot free! In all honesty, I'd prefer it if not only him, but every monster that called for genocide & who tried to kill Frisk, I wish that they'd all been tried in a court of law for the attempted genocide that they planned. That they all be found guilty & subsequently jailed.

And they make sure that each & every one of them are under no illusions about why that is.

But they aren't.

All of the blame is put solely upon Asgore & that isn't right. The rest range from complicit, to conspirators, to attempted murderers, if not outright murderers themselves!

Yet none of them are held accountable!

The fact that they conspired to kill children & later to commit genocide is never acknowledged. They just get their happily ever after.

Not once do they acknowledge that what they were doing, what they planned to do, was wrong!

And very few times is it brought up in the fandom just how horrifying this experience must've been for Frisk! How traumatizing it must've been!

Man, the thought of dying is terrifying FOR ADULTS & this poor kid is living it constantly on repeat!

Where are the fics focusing on the existential dread of Frisk's existence? What about the fics going into the nuance of their behavior where someone notices trauma bonding & abuse victim behavior & extreme PTSD??

At the very least, Steven Universe acknowledges that the things that Homeworld & the Diamonds did & were planning to do, were evil.

Undertale just sweeps that shit under the rug for the sake of a happy ending.

This is why I am willing to forgive Steven Universe, because the fact that what they did being wrong wasn't ignored. I am also able to acknowledge that there was no reliable way to punish them as the Diamonds are the literal top of the food chain with no one above them, so the only real way to stop them is to find some way to shatter them, which as far as anyone knows in the show, is not possible. Or to rehabilitate them.

I don't like it, but it was the only real, viable option available to them given the information available.

However, I can't forgive Undertale for its bs pacifistic platitudes about how kids shouldn't be allowed to defend themselves against people trying to kill them & use their soul to kill all humans. A game that paint the monsters as "good" & never let's its characters take accountability for their actions.

One thing I do not like about Steven Universe, is the continued wailing that PD's name took.

Yes, she did a butt-load of bad things, but what a lot of people are forgetting is that the series starts with her at her best & ends on seeing her at her worst. That those terrible things took place thousands of years ago & that she'd changed in that time.

That she genuinely regretted her actions & did damn near everything in her power to make up for it within her understanding at the time. FOR 6,000 YEARS!!!

Do I think that she should've told the Crystal Gems the truth herself, especially before it got so twisted?

Yes, absolutely!

But I also understand that she was very messed up in the head & was doing the best she could at the time.

That doesn't make it okay, but I understand it.

So, really, I'm more so upset at the fans for demonizing her while letting the actual genocidal maniacs off!

this was originally targeted at blizzard but you know what? forgetting the importance of narrative in grey morality seems to have become a trend.

also i don’t know how to tilt the text in ms paint send help

[electric--blanket]

a place where the heart rests

so, because @thekaiserroll drew fanart of my fanfiction i decided to return the favour by writing a long Wintersberg one-shot based off of her short comic! i hope you enjoy touch-starved Heisenberg.

warnings for death (not for main characters) and some angst.

read on ao3

--

Mama… I want mama. It hurts.

Where’s mama?

Karl Heisenberg always suffered from nightmares. Even before he was taken in by Mother Miranda — as a child, Heisenberg often experienced night terrors that had him screaming in his bed. There were distant memories in the back of his mind, where he’d wake from a terrible dream that had him screaming for his mother — and she’d always come to his side. In that terribly large, cold estate that Heisenberg once called home, it always felt so lonely. But, his mother always eased his fears; with her silk nightgown and the distinct smell of expensive soap. Her soft fingers would comb through Heisenberg’s locks of ashen brown hair, hushing him in a soft tone of voice — a voice he could no longer remember.

During the experiments, it was the only thing Heisenberg begged for when he felt the cadou infesting his body. It felt like a worm wriggling around in the wet soil during a storm, curling and writhing through his organs. He screamed for his mother, wishing she would save him from the pain and take him home again. A seventeen-year-old boy screaming for his mother to come and save him looked utterly pathetic from Mother Miranda’s perspective, and the feeling of fear only intensified when she stroked Heisenberg’s hair whilst he screamed. A soft whisper that uttered, “I’m your mother now, child.” It made Heisenberg nearly vomit.

That was the last time someone had ever touched him so tenderly. He’d not felt a loving touch since then and ducked away from Miranda’s so-called ‘motherly’ touches.

At first, Heisenberg coped with the intense trauma of his bodily changes by taking it in stride and calling his newfound power of magnetism a ‘gift’. He knew deep down it was the opposite: it stopped him from ageing, rendered him infertile and stripped away his dignity by becoming a slave to Miranda. It took a long time for Heisenberg to fully process what had happened to him. His father had left him in the clutches of a madwoman, and his life only got worse from there.

In a fit of rage — perhaps at the age of twenty-nine — he revisited his parent's estate to confront the man he could no longer call ‘father’. He had aged since Heisenberg last saw him, but those steel eyes he’d inherited were still as hard as ever. His mother lingered in a doorway just down the hall, but she didn’t dare come to greet her son as he snapped with a short, interrupted breath. Heisenberg had grabbed his father by the neck and pinned him to the nearest wall, knocking down a beautiful oil painting his mother adored. His fingers didn’t seem to stop, squeezing on the skin and bone until he felt a sickening crack vibrate beneath his fingers.

Heisenberg hadn’t meant it, not really. It was as if a demon had taken control of his body and sought revenge that barely mattered anymore. He didn’t realise what he’d done until he heard the sound of his mother screaming; distraught and fearful of her own son that she’d once coddled so long ago.

That was the last time Heisenberg saw his mother and father. The estate was quickly abandoned not long after, and from what he knew, his mother took her belongings and moved to Austria with some distant relatives. That large house teased Heisenberg every fucking day, with how it towered near the factory grounds and reminded him of what he’d done. Arson wasn’t exactly on his bucket list, but Heisenberg couldn’t resist taking a match to the place and watching it burn. Whatever childhood remained in that house was left in a pile of ashes, and he never looked upon it ever again. All of the silly dreams and hopes he’d had for his life were gone.

That was until Ethan Winters showed up. Nearly a hundred years later, Heisenberg felt something he’d sought after for so long — hope.

**

“Karl? Karl—!”

Mama. I want mama. Everything hurts.

Heisenberg forced his eyes open. It felt like his life was replaying in front of him whilst he was passed out; like watching an old film reel repeating itself and becoming more distorted each time. Up until that very night, Heisenberg’s life had been a series of traumatic events and unforgivable actions.

That night, he’d turned it all around just by laying his eyes on Ethan Winters. A man so incredible, resilient and insane… He’d do anything to get his little girl back. It was the man Heisenberg had oh-so wanted his father to be, and he admired that about Ethan. He’d never been so good at expressing his emotions honestly, or even laying out his ideas in a proper fashion to others… Oh, but Ethan was special. He’d shown Heisenberg patience that he’d not been offered before and decided to join him at his side to kill Miranda. Together.

“Karl… Fuck— Don’t die on me, asshole.”

Ethan… Ethan…

Above the metal remnants of what his mutated body had used as a shell, he could hear Ethan pushing the scrap aside to try and find Heisenberg buried beneath it. He could also hear the distinct cries of a distressed baby, something that brought him back to Earth. Heisenberg reached up through the metal until his bare, calloused fingers brushed up against Ethan’s soft knuckles. There was a moment of silence when their skin touched, but Ethan didn’t waste any time in grabbing Heisenberg’s hand and pulling him out.

The moment the pressure around his body ceased, Heisenberg felt the telltale feeling of sickening warmth seeping from many wounds across his body. The cadou inside him didn’t react too well to it, trying to cope with the trauma done by squirming and pulsating inside of him. Heisenberg drank in the expression of Ethan’s relieved face for just a moment, only until it warped into one of worry and horror. Heisenberg was weak, and his knees buckled beneath the weight of his torso before he fell back onto the ground.

The baby cupped carefully in one of Ethan’s arms began to cry again as Ethan jostled her accidentally in an attempt to help Heisenberg. A baby crying wasn’t really helping Heisenberg’s already distressed state, but it made him realise just how fucked he was. There was no way they would get away in time together, and Heisenberg was too injured to walk. The cadou might have helped to some degree, but it didn’t ease the burning pain in his body, and the loss of blood that was making him dizzy.

Ethan’s horrified expression was pinned on an appendage from the Megamycete, which rose up from the cave systems like a flower bud in spring, ready to bloom. The small, red flashing light alerted him to the fact that Chris Redfield had succeeded in planting the bomb. They had to leave.

“Go.”

A silence hung in the air for just a moment, and Heisenberg didn’t realise what he’d just said. For the first time in his miserable existence, he was being selfless and urging Ethan to leave him behind. It was the last thing Heisenberg wanted.

Don’t leave me here. I’m fucking scared. I don’t want to die yet.

“Fuck you,” Ethan’s voice trembled with venom, “I’m not leaving you here now. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

Heisenberg let out a bitter chuckle, tasting the blood seeping from his gums as he grinned, “I don’t think we have any time to be arguing about this, buttercup.”

“No. I— Mia’s dead, Karl. I need you.”

That’s right. Heisenberg briefly recalled Miranda’s kidnapping of the not-so-innocent woman and the experimentation that followed. Unfortunately, her body gave in due to her state after giving birth and she died on Miranda’s operating table. Ethan’s wife was dead, and Rose was now left without a mother’s loving touch.

“I said go. Rose needs her papa intact, not blown to pieces.” Heisenberg insisted, slumping back against the pile of scrap metal.

“Damn it—” Ethan looked hesitant to leave Heisenberg. It was a truly sweet sentiment: to see someone care about him after all this time. After all of the terrible things he’d done, and the love he’d been deprived of… Someone cared about him. Maybe that was enough. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to die like this.

“Fuck.” Ethan stammered again, licking his dry lips and swallowing, “Karl… I… Thank you.”

“... Yeah. I know, Ethan.”

That was all he needed. A trembling, watery smile shot his way before Ethan held Rose close with both arms and turned to run.

He’s going to be a great father.

Heisenberg looked up at the plant-like form the Megamycete had taken, looming down upon the ceremony courtyard with writhing mold creeping closer to Heisenberg. It was then that he decided that giving in like this wasn’t who he was: he was a fighter to his last breath.

In a last attempt to preserve his life, Heisenberg parted the pile of scrap metal and shuffled beneath it all. He rolled his wrist, the cocoon of metal surrounding him and tightening. The metal creaked, drowning out the sounds of the mold writhing around the metal to try and get inside. Heisenberg closed his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth. I won’t die. Not yet.

The explosion that followed shortly after was deafening, causing the entire ground to shake beneath him and the metal to shudder against his body. It felt painful, rippling off his injured skin like that… But, fortunately for Heisenberg, the explosion wasn’t nuclear — the blast was enough to do the job and wipe out the mold and the Megamycete.

A silence followed the explosion, brick and ash collapsing against Heisenberg’s metal cocoon. Each noise made him flinch, and his fingers twitched instinctively as some final line of defence. He didn’t know how long it was before he felt brave enough to let his guard down and release his telekinetic grip on the metal. The scraps suddenly slumped, collapsing around him as Heisenberg pushed the metal off of his body and emerged like a phoenix rising from the ashes of its former self.

The smoke and dust still remained, causing Heisenberg to cough heavily as he took a sharp inhale of the air. He squinted through the dust and remains of what was left of his home town and realised how much he’d lost. It hit him all at once; his childhood, his parents and his fucked up little family. Even though he hated Miranda and his makeshift siblings deeply, they were all he truly had left to call ‘family’. It was over in the blink of an eye, and Heisenberg suddenly felt like a child all over again. Like a child waking from a nightmare, scared and alone.

Heisenberg’s fingers twitched into tight fists, clamping his mouth shut as tears threatened to spill down his face. Even after all this, he tried to will himself not to cry, to never let down the walls he had so carefully built. But, at that moment there was nothing left to keep the foundations upright. Heisenberg’s fists loosened, and he brought his hands up to cover his face instinctively. A knot seemingly untied itself in his chest and throat, and a guttural sob left him. Maybe — just maybe — it was okay.

**

Navigating the woods was even worse during a snowstorm at night. It was bad enough that Heisenberg’s body was weak from his healing injuries, but it felt haggard from his intense emotional breakdown. In a strange sense, he felt relief from it but at the same time, it felt awfully inconvenient. Heisenberg was sure he looked like a terrible mess; his clothes were torn and his hair was damp with clumps of ash hanging from his silver locks. Not to mention the blood staining his clothes, and his valuable dog tags that hung low on his chest.

In his many idle chats with Ethan before they fought Miranda, he could recall the other man mentioning he didn’t live too far from the village. It was a fair distance away, but not too far that it would be impossible to reach if your car broke down on the road between them. Still, it wasn’t a pleasant or short walk.

By the time Heisenberg even managed to reach a place that looked like a livable home, he was close to collapsing in the snow… But, he held out. The lights were turned off inside, but a motion sensor light on the property turned on once Heisenberg got close enough. The bulb blinded him briefly, and he held a hand up to shield his eyes as he walked up the porch to the door. Heisenberg sluggishly lifted his hand, knocking on the door as hard as he could and leaning against the frame. It took a few moments before he could see a light turn on inside from the windows, and the sound of someone walking down a wooden staircase slowly.

The person on the other side of the door stopped before they reached for the doorknob, and they spoke out.

“Who is it?”

Ethan Winters. That voice Heisenberg had missed so dearly; in all of its glory and full of caution. It almost made him laugh.

“Let me in, Ethan. I’m freezing.”

“Karl?”

“As smart as ever, Ethan. Can you hurry up?”

Ethan was quick to unlock the door and remove the security chain, twisting the doorknob and pulling it open. There, Ethan was standing in a pristine white shirt and some boxers that hung low on his hips… Along with a pair of comical slippers that seemed to resemble a cartoon dog. Heisenberg’s lips twitched into a tired grin.

“Oh my, too much skin, Ethan. Back in my day—”

“Shut up and get in here!”

Ethan grabbed Heisenberg’s arm, tugging him inside to shield him from the snowstorm outside. He slammed the door shut and quickly locked it back up, and the two men finally stood face-to-face. There was a silence that hung in the air, with so many unanswered questions on the tip of Ethan’s tongue, but none came. Without any further hesitation, Ethan threw his arms around Heisenberg’s neck and tugged him close for an embrace.

It was the first time Ethan had touched him in such a way. So full of affection and genuinity, it made Heisenberg’s fingers tremble with uncertainty. He didn’t know what to do with his hands: so overcome with the touches that smothered him. His brows creased into an expression of relief, and Heisenberg’s steel eyes fluttered shut as he succumbed to the hug. He wrapped his arms around Ethan’s waist, squeezing him carefully and burying his face into Ethan’s shoulder. The smell of talcum powder and formula milk permeated his shirt, giving Heisenberg the comfort he craved. He never wanted Ethan to stop touching him, and he was content to stay like this for as long as he could — to make up for all the time he’d lost aching after affection.

“I thought…” Ethan mumbled slowly, “I thought you were dead.”

“Mm.” Heisenberg hummed lowly in response, curling his fingers into Ethan’s shirt. “So did I. Turns out I’m hard to kill.”

Ethan snorted softly.

**

As it turned out, Heisenberg wasn’t too bad with kids.

It was a tough adjustment for the two men at first; Ethan had to keep Heisenberg a well-guarded secret as he was moved to a new location with Rose (courtesy of the BSAA). Heisenberg followed their steps at a safe distance, but he was never too far from them. Understandably, Ethan was moved into a smaller home: a humble bungalow in a quiet German village. Once the BSAA had left Ethan in peace with Rose, it didn’t take long before Heisenberg settled into the bungalow with them.

Ethan had insisted that if Heisenberg was going to stay there with him and Rose, then he’d need to learn to help take care of the baby. At first, he was extremely hesitant to do something akin to a parental figure… But, Rose was a surprisingly sweet baby. She didn’t fuss too much and rarely threw a tantrum over the little things. Rose was the right amount of responsibility for Heisenberg, and that made him a patient parent.

He’d been taught how to properly hold her (after many lectures), how to prepare her formula and change her. Rose was understandably unhappy with Heisenberg’s presence at first, perhaps longing for her mother that was no longer around… But, after a few months, she took to Heisenberg very well.

Because of Karl’s lack of mortality and infertility, he never thought he’d take the figure of a father like this… But, it wasn’t exactly an unwelcome opportunity. He’d even upgraded from sleeping on the couch to Ethan’s bed.

The first night Ethan invited him to bed, Heisenberg could tell from the flustered look on Ethan’s face that it took a lot of courage to ask him to bed. A sexual joke lingered on the tip of Heisenberg’s tongue, but he bit it back in favour of keeping the proposal on the table. Instead, Heisenberg had nodded with a cheeky grin and followed Ethan to bed.

There had been some nights where the loss of Mia hit Ethan harder than he’d liked it to — even after Mia’s work with The Connections was revealed, he had still loved her to a degree. Those nights were the hardest. All Heisenberg could do was hold Ethan in his arms and comfort him with nothing more than his presence.

This invitation into Ethan’s bed was far more intimate than a comforting hug. At first, they stayed a polite distance apart on either side of the bed, with Ethan turned on his side whilst Heisenberg stared up at the dark ceiling. In the darkness, his eyes created shapes that danced across the ceiling and warped before him. Much like the mold that infested him, it was as if it continued to taunt him with its presence. After a moment, Heisenberg finally turned onto his side and glanced at the lump that was Ethan with his back to him. That urge to touch returned to the forefront of Heisenberg’s mind. It was that deep ache in his chest, like a lump of flour stuck in a smooth dough that needed to be coaxed inward.

He reached out but stopped himself before he could touch, trying to plan the best way to move forward with what he wanted. Heisenberg pursed his lips, shuffling his body closer to Ethan’s back until he finally slid his arm over Ethan’s waist. He could feel Ethan’s body freeze and tense up a little, which made Heisenberg’s heart feel like stopping altogether. Had he gone too far?

But after a moment, Ethan relaxed, pressing his chest back into Karl slowly. It was all the permission he needed to slot himself fully against Ethan and quietly seek out his hand. Once Heisenberg found it, he carefully laced their fingers together as he held Ethan like that, tugging him close with his elbow.

No words were spoken in the darkness, but a silent understanding of what they both wanted. Heisenberg finally felt complete like this, closing his eyes and exhaling tiredly. His body suddenly felt tired, releasing all the tension it had been holding trying to psyche himself up to do it.

A feeling of affection swelled in Heisenberg’s chest as he held Ethan, finally giving in to the darkness and drifting away with their bond now stronger than ever.

**

“Are you fucking insane, Ethan?!”

Chris Redfield. A thorn in Heisenberg’s side, but not as bad as Miranda. His voice filling their home put Heisenberg on edge, but it didn’t really matter too much to him. It was around ten in the morning, and the couple had just had breakfast. The television was on, playing some cartoons in the background as Rose was sitting on the soft carpet of the living area with her toys, and Heisenberg sat close to her.

When Chris made an unexpected visit, and he spotted Heisenberg in the living room, the yelling began. Ethan had kept Chris just outside of the room so that Rose didn’t see her father getting angry, and Heisenberg made sure to keep her attention on her toys. Heisenberg was wearing a pair of tartan boxers, along with a button-up pyjama shirt with a white tank top beneath it. It wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of bedtime fashion, but it made him comfortable enough at night.

When the yelling only got worse and Rose seemed irritated by the noise, Heisenberg carefully brought Rose into his lap and crossed his legs.

“Hmm,” He hummed in feigned thoughtfulness, “Does ol’ Karl need to perform for little Rose again?” Heisenberg sighed dramatically, “Oh, the things I do for you.”

He turned his body subtly to the kitchen area, holding his hand out and focusing on one of the drawers. It slid open, a few tablespoons floating out from a cutlery tray. Heisenberg pulled his hand back, the spoons floating across to the living area and bringing them to a stop in front of him and Rose. With a simple, slow roll of his wrist, the spoons began to twirl and move in a circular motion above Rose.

Her eyes widened with fascination, the corners of her mouth opening into a gleeful smile. Absently, she reached up with her soft, pink hands and tried to reach for the spoons half-heartedly as they continued their motions. A soft laugh bubbled from her, causing Karl to smile softly.

“He’s a dangerous bioweapon, Ethan. He could hurt Rose!”

Heisenberg managed to hone in on those words; a sharp pain digging into his chest when he realised the implications Chris was trying to make. That Heisenberg was a monster. A bioweapon without feeling. A creature that would kill a child.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ethan pointing wordlessly at the soft scene of Heisenberg with Rose in his lap, entertaining her with spoons. That was all he needed to say, really — without even saying it. Even Chris was at a loss for words, and he quietly relented. Ethan was surely in for an afternoon of lectures.

It made Heisenberg smile a little more, turning his head subtly towards Ethan and catching his gaze. It was his quiet way of saying thank you. It went beyond thanking Ethan for trusting him with Rose but thanking Ethan for listening to Heisenberg, taking him into his home and loving him. Even though they’d never spoken those three little words out loud, maybe they didn’t need to. Their actions, affections and closeness spoke those words loud enough.

Truly, after all this time, Heisenberg didn’t think he was capable of ever being loved or trusted. Now that he’d left that horrible life behind, he was now a father, a friend and possibly a lover. The trauma would always remain, yes, like the cadou and the mutations. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be happy like this, in this simple little life he’d started to build with Ethan.

Maybe it would be okay.