#the problem didn't end in the 1930s...

[edwordsmyth]

"After the partition of Bengal, a large number of Dalits from Bangladesh resettled in the Marichjhapi area of Sundarban in West Bengal. In 1979, under the Left rule, these Dalits were forcibly evicted and massacred. The Left-led state government at the time neither accepted this massacre nor allowed any investigation into it, and eventually denied justice to these people. In 2025, the Communist Party of India will be 100 years old. But in these many years, the Left is yet to approve that their key leadership carries the identity of the upper caste.

Jyoti Basu, Buddhadeb Bhattacharya, Manik Sarkar, Sitaram Yechury, Prakash Karat and the top brass of the CPI(M), both past and present, are from upper castes. Noted Dalit author and social activist Kancha Ilaiah Shepherd observed in an article, "…I mentioned these names because they are well-known communist leaders past and present. Does anyone find last names such as Sarkar, Bhattacharya, Basu, Mitra among the Shudras (Other Backward Classes), Namashudhras (Dalits) and Adivasis in West Bengal or Tripura?" -Sayantan Ghosh

Anand Teltumbde, Ambedkar & Communism

[sinisternymphette]

everybody loves my baby

an historical au | 1930's florist!reader x dilfgangster!rafe (minors dni)✶

tw: v!olence, sex

✶ gangster!rafe, who makes sure everyone knows that you're off limits. Whether it is by gently placing his hand on the back of your soft neck and slowly caressing it with his calloused knuckles, using one of his large fingers to softly trail down one of your arms while the both of you are sitting next to each other in a restaurant, putting his muscled arm around you like a mantle, giving you warmth and comfort, and even taking your hand in his to plant a kiss on the palm as he closes his eyes and sniffs to take in your scent without the care of what others might think of your intimacy. You were his and he was yours, and that was truly all that mattered.

✶ gangster!rafe, who would do anything to protect you. Literally. If anyone ever laid a hand on his pretty little florist, they'd have to go through him, and it certainly wouldn't end so jolly.

"You dared to touch my woman, hm. Well, not so confident now, are you."

he said in a low, menacing chuckle as he shook his head slowly, cornering the man before him in the lonely and dimly lit corridor behind the bar. He had gone to the washroom for just one minute- one minute without you in his plane on sight, and a man walked over to you and started complimenting you before giving you a rose. That wasn't the problem though. When you thanked him kindly and smelled the rose, he pulled his arm up to brush a strand out of your face. And so, he had to take the matter to his own hands.

"Now now, i'm sure you're a good fella and understand that it was just a minor misunderstanding!"

the man quickly said in a pleading tone, obvious fear in his wide eyes, which were easily comparable to a frightened doe's, before proceeding to pat Rafe's shoulder with one of his shaking hands- almost as if they were old friends. Rafe shook his hand away in a swift motion, as if he had just been touched by a rat who had come out off a trash can. He punched the man on his ribcafe after his fake of a charming smile vanished and turned into a dark frown as if he was no longer who he was before. His other hand reached to the other's mouth as the man made muffled yowls of pain. He, however, didn't even flinch once.

"You're damn lucky i'm a generous man, so make sure to take this as a lesson for the future, yes? to keep your hands to yourself? wouldn't want to cut all your fingers off and make a mess on my shirt."

he then smirked almost playfully, his expression once again changing in a matter of seconds before moving his hand up and shaking it, then putting it inside the pockets of his brown pants and using the other in order to adjust his white, high quality long-sleeved shirt. The man was now practically on the floor, whimpering as he crouched against the stone wall behind him as he shamefully covered his face with his shaking hands. It was truly an embarrassing sight. Once Rafe was finished, he turned his back and opened the back door to the bar, tilting his head to the side and staring at him one last time.

"If you'll excuse me, I have to get back to more important matters- the wonderful evening I was having with her before you, very rudly I might say, abruptly interfered."

✶ gangster!rafe, who likes giving you nicknames that represent your beauty such as 'dollface', 'peach', and his personal favorite, 'dandelion'. You absolutely adore them too- the way they always roll off his tongue so sweetly, like butter being spread on a slice of bread. He's a man who admires and cares for your body, your mind and very being as if you were a princess or a delicate porcelain vase with beautiful painted flowers.

"Look at you, m' pretty dandelion all dolled up for me." he murmurs as he carefully places his head over your shoulder, blue orbs looking into your eyes through the mirror of your bedroom while his hands found your waist and gently nestled around it. His lips were slightly curved upwards, making the hint of his smile shown to you. One of his fingers traced small circles on your waist, making you let out a small and flustered chuckle as you covered your mouth with one of your hands in a polite manner to hide it. You were wearing one of your newer dresses- a pretty light blue polka-dotted dress that perfectly hugged your figure. This, was one of the many dresses Rafe gifted you in the past two weeks. Your lips had red tint and your cheeks had a faint pink color on them- a little bit of makeup, but not too much. His eyes trailed down, all the way to the contour of your legs and to the white leathered heels you were wearing. in his eyes, you truly were a work of art- like a Renaissance painting that had come to life. Now, he was a man that firmly believed that actions spoke more than words, so as soon as his eyes met with yours once again, he planted sweet kisses on your neck alongside little nibbles. This, was his own way of letting you know that you looked absolutely stunning.

✶ gangster!rafe, who, despite having so much blood on his hands, is always careful with you and tries to avoid showing you his darker side as much as he can. Who doesn't want you to know all the sins he has done, all the people he had killed before, in fear of loosing you forever.

''Y'know how much I care about you, right kid?'' he asks after taking a long drag from his cigarette, voice almost a whisper as he's sitting on the sofa of your living room while you laid next to him, head resting on the armrest and legs over his lap while his free hand slowly massages one of your bare feet. He stared at you, blinking slowly. The sudden of a question made you open your once closed eyes and perk your head up to look up at him with an innocent, confused stare. ''Well, certainly. I always have.'' you replied softly, giving him a reassuring smile before it vanished as soon as it appeared. You sensed that something was wrong. After all, why else would he ask this? ''Why do you ask?'' you continued, now scanning the expression on his face, despite the fact that he was a very hard man to read. He swallowed, but maintained eye contact. ''Nothin'. Just wanted to let you know how much I love you all over again.'' He knew he shouldn't lie to you- that he should tell you the truth about where all his money comes from, how his family got as powerful as it is, what kind of person he actually is. But it was too dangerous. Luckily for him, he was a good liar, an actor- if you may call it that. He grabbed the foot he was massaging and placed it near his lips before he kissed each one of your fingers in a slow, sensual manner. This made you relax and soon enough, you were resting once again, breathing calmly as you felt safe in his presence.

✶ gangster!rafe, who tries to stop by the flower shop every single day to say hello. No matter how busy he was, how much trouble he had gotten himself into, what kind of business he was doing that day, he never forgot about you. Ever.

✶ gangster!rafe, who likes to take you back to where the both of you had first met every once in a while. The place, in question, is les deus magots.

✶ gangster!rafe, who might be rough between the sheets, but is as gentle as he can be afterwards and makes your comfort his prime priority.

you let out quiet mews as he pounded into you, you legs wrapped around his hips as your plush breasts jiggled up and down in rhythm with his thrusts. Your plump lips remained parted as you felt out of breath, feeling an intense flutter in your tummy that only got stronger as his movements picked up a speed. It felt so good- too good, in fact. You couldn't help but let out some tears that started to run down your cheeks, eyes closed shut as you listened to his grunts. The bed was shaking, making the crackling sound echo through the bedroom.

''There you go, shhh, you're okay.'' he whispers soothingly as he plants a soft kiss on the side of your cheek, both of you laying inside the warm bathtub. There were scented candles on the bathroom countertops, The lights on the pastel green walls turned off in order to enhance the ambiance of the room. Your muscles finally relaxed, and you felt yourself slowly start drifting into sleep while one of Rafe's hands massaged your shoulders. He seems content, blue eyes full of emotion as he looks down at you, hot breath against your neck and tiny droplets of water landing on your back from his wet and messy hair.

✶ gangster!rafe, who lets you spend his money on whatever you want, no matter what. All you have to do is ask, and he'll give you some cash- no questions asked.

✶ gangster!rafe, who loves the way your eyes brighten up whenever you're at the park and you find a pretty flower. Who later takes it from your little hands and places it on your hair.

✶ gangster!rafe, who gifted you a puppy one day as a surprise .

''So, I got you a little something.'' he tells you while he held in front of you a rather large red box with a big white bow around it between his arms. His tone was blunt, his expression the same as always, yet he was lightly tapping his foot against the wooden floor of your home. You were confused, to say the least, But of course- you accepted it, quickly taking it from his hands- perfectly manicured nails gripping it tightly. It was heavy- very heavy. ''Oh! I wonder what it could be!!'' you said almost in a lyrical shriek, excitement in your voice as you sat down on your sofa, legs crossed while you placed it right next to you. Suddenly, it moved, and your widening eyes drifted from the package to Rafe. ''No...no.. gosh, Rafe don't tell me it's what I think it is'' you murmured, placing your hands over your mouth. You were met with silence. Of course he didn't answer. Instead, he just tilted his head, almost as if he was attempting to hide the sly grin that was beginning to form on his lips. Not being able to control your excitement any longer, you carefully opened the box, taking the upper part away and revealing what was inside. You gasped, and your pretty shrieks of happiness filled the room. Rafe Cameron had gifted you a cocker spaniel puppy. A real puppy- not a plushie. ''Oh my goodness.. oh my goodness! oh wow- I have no words!'' you ran up to him and hugged him tightly- maybe a little too much. The puppy trotted towards the both of you and barked happily. ''Glad to be makin' you happy, peach'' he said before gently taking your chin in his hand to make you look up at him before kissing you on the lips.

✶ gangster!rafe, who wouldn't admit it out loud, but sometimes thinks that maybe.. you really are 'the one' for him...

✶ a/n : GUYS GUYS I DID IT!! I know this is a bit short, but tbh.. I might write more about gangster!rafe in the future :) if anyone wants to request something with him you can feel free to do so too. I tried to include a little smut, but eh.. this was my first ever fic (if you could even call this a fic) so it's probably a bit...meh. Either way, I'm glad I finally finished it, and I hope it was enjoyable to read!!

✶ creds : @amariisflossy for the gangster!rafe idea, @dollywons for the second header

@sinisternymphette 2024

[whetstonefires]

Man sometimes I still think about Alfred's Bandit Anecdote in The Dark Knight (2008).

So, the most straightforward reading of this sequence seems to have been the one Nolan intended, because he is not actually a subtle filmmaker, and the further we got into the series the more heavily he committed to making Alfred a mouthpiece. Old man provides words of wisdom that frame the correct understanding of the situation; you can tell it's meant to be correct because subsequent Joker appearances reinforce its thesis statement.

Intended takeaway: some men (like the Joker) don't have rational motivations, they just 'want to watch the world burn,' and you have to account for that when trying to counter them. Chaos agents, basically unstoppable by reasonable means.

But the thing is. This is not a story that stands up to even mild interrogation. The number of assumptions Nolan wants us to swallow without blinking is kind of stunning.

First of all the obvious timeline questions that arise: the Anglo-Burmese Wars and periods between and leading up to them where this kind of white man's burden 'delivering jewels to local elites In The Burmese Jungle to sway them toward British interests, but getting waylaid by bandits' scenario makes any sense all, happened in the 19th century.

The Burmese resistance in the 1930s was centered on university student protests and that sort of thing; it was reasonably successful in moving Myanmar toward independence by increments, though who knows what would have happened without WWII. But it did not provide anyone with reasons to be hand-carrying huge gemstones through forests.

Even if we assume this was somehow a 20th century event, it has to have been before WWII unless we want to postulate a complete alt-history setting, and since The Dark Knight leans heavily into being a modern 21st century story with like, cell phone networking as a major plot point, this still makes Alfred old as balls. Born no later than 1920, and probably earlier.

But that's whatever; comics time. Batman Begins did some fun stuff (possibly in imitation of Batman (1980)) with making it ambiguous what decade it was supposed to be set in, though the sequels dropped that conceit. And anyway, people can be 90 years old.

So that's basically fine, although good god Wayne hire some more servants, this man should be fully retired already.

More problematic is the unfettered colonialism of it all, the confident proclamation that since this guy's motive wasn't profit, since he didn't keep the jewels, he had no motive. Because 'inconveniencing the Raj and weakening their control over the locality' isn't a Real Person Motive that a real person could have had. During or soon after failed wars to resist colonial subjugation.

Like. Come on??

The place where this story utterly shoots itself in the foot, though, is the clever bit at the end, where Bruce asks how Alfred's military unit solved the 'bandit stealing jewels he didn't even want' problem and Alfred's like: 'we burned the forest to the ground.'

Because this is so punchy! In screenwriting technical terms, it's quite well done. It's useless advice that loops the story back to its themes; obviously Batman can't burn Gotham down to get the Joker. Even in a Batman movie that doesn't like Batman very much, this is still obvious.

But at the same time this totally takes the legs out from under Alfred's words of wisdom about human nature. Because if that bandit 'wanted' to 'watch the world burn' then what his unit did wasn't so bad, right; he was basically asking for it. Burning a forest down with all the inevitable collateral damage and economic and ecological cost, all for the sake of horribly killing a group of people in the name of government revenues was totally okay guys!

It transforms the whole thing into a pretty obvious post facto rationalization of colonial violence. Which makes the Insights Into Human Nature bit real questionable!

But the movie gives absolutely no sign of having noticed this.

[too-antigonish]

Endeavour and Fascism

There's a thread of history running through Endeavour that's been on my mind a lot recently. It's a somewhat unified arc that runs through 3 episodes: Coda, Colours, and Raga. I was curious to learn more and did some research.

It's probably nothing new for folks in the UK, but for most of us in the US, it's not something we learned about in school.

So here goes...long post...

S3E4: Coda

We get the first glimpse in in Coda when Thursday comforts Trewlove with the offer of a cigarette as she copes with the murder of a fellow officer:

THURSDAY: All right? TREWLOVE: They just shot him. Like it was nothing. THURSDAY: Here. For the nerves. Keep the pack. Stick 'em behind your notebook and nobody'll know. TREWLOVE: Thanks. THURSDAY: Tip my old governor gave me. Sergeant Vimes. Cable Street. “No Pasarán!” All right? Let’s have that jacket buttoned up, then. TREWLOVE: Sir.

It's such a little exchange, but it delights me in so many ways. There's the sweetness of the interaction between Thursday and Trewlove. There's the irony in hindsight of his "thoughtfulness" in helpfully encouraging her to smoke. There's the nod to Terry Pratchett's Discworld with the references to both "Sergeant Vimes" and "Cable Street." And finally there's the nod with “No Pasarán!”  to the actual Battle of Cable Street that occurred in the East End of London in 1936.

A nostalgic reference to “No Pasarán!” is actually a bit ironic coming from a former Met officer. As the unfortunate party charged with keeping the two opposing sides "peaceful," the Met faced some of the worst violence on that day. However, Fred Thursday would not have experienced it as a police officer.

We know from the episode Home that he didn't join the police until two years later, in 1938. We find out in Cartouche though, that he did grow up near Shadwell Basin—about a ten minute walk from where the main showdown in the Battle of Cable Street occurred—so there's a good chance that Thursday would have witnessed the events of that day and maybe even participated.

Here's my understanding of what happened: The British Union of Fascists—a group openly aspiring to create a British  state in the style of Hitler's Germany or Mussolini's Italy—attempted to stage a march through the middle of London's East End. Their leader was Oswald Mosley, a horrible but charismatic minor aristocrat with a Hitler-wannabe-mustache, his own cadre of paramilitary "Blackshirts," and—unbeknownst to him—a major problem in his ranks with deep infiltration by Special Branch. 

Why the East End? It was the poorest area of the city and thus home to the most recent immigrants—in particular, the UK's largest Jewish population—many of whom had escaped rising persecution elsewhere in Europe. At the same time, the East End was also home to the Londoners hit hardest by the rising unemployment of the 1930s.

Mosley's rhetoric had finally become openly and unapologetically anti-Semitic in 1935 and the idea that Jewish immigrants were the ones responsible for stealing jobs from the "native" British was a simplistic explanation offered by the BUF that unfortunately resonated with many East Enders. So ultimately, the East End was home to both the main target and the BUF and some of its biggest supporters.

In October of 1936, Mosley planned for his Blackshirts and their supporters to march through the heart of the East End. Determined to both defend themselves from threats of violence and stop the march from passing through their community, Jewish leaders and others mobilized, successfully recruiting thousands of their East End neighbors and others allies to assist.

© Jewish East End Celebration Society

On the day of the march, despite a massive police escort, the BUF was turned back repeatedly. The slogan of the day, borrowed from the Republican fighters in the Spanish Civil War was, "They shall not pass" or "No Pasarán!” 

Eventually, things came to a head at the junction of Cable Street and Christian Street. Multiple barricades were erected and the BUF marchers were pelted with rotted vegetables and the contents of chamber pots. It became a pitched battle at one point. Unable to break through the East End, Mosley was finally forced to relocate his followers to Hyde Park.

© Copyright Jim Osley Detail from a mural painted on the side of the former St George's vestry hall

S5E4: Colours

The Battle of Cable Street was a humiliation for the fascists and for Mosley, a victory for the Jewish community and their allies. Sadly, the happiness was very short-lived. Mosley was able to frame Cable Street in the press as an attack by the left on his right to free speech.

There was an immediate increase in support for the BUF in the greater London area, particularly in the East End, and an increase of violence against Jewish people in the UK.  Oswald Mosley himself travelled  to Germany only two days after Cable Street. There he married socialite Diana Mitford in a secret ceremony at the home of Joseph Goebbels with Hitler attending as the guest of honor. 

Mosley and Mitford CC-BY-2.0

However, the increase in support that occurred right after Cable Street was brief in itself. As the threat of Nazi Germany became more apparent in the UK, the popularity of the BUF declined. Once the war began, the Mosleys were interned under a provision that applied to active Nazi sympathizers.

Post-war, Mosley attempted to once more find a place in politics but fortunately never moved beyond the fringe. He and his wife became prime movers in advancing various Holocaust denial theories and later espoused rather unpleasant opinions on topics such as the forced repatriation of immigrants and mixed-race marriages.

If this all sounds familiar, it's because it all crops up in the storyline of Colours where the character of Charity Mudford, Lady Bayswater is a stand-in for Diana Mitford.  RL's dialogue very much captures the sheer banality of the real Diana Mitford's  evil:

BAYSWATER: I can't change the past. If Winston hadn't been so eager for office, all the unpleasantness might have been avoided. My husband had Hitler's ear. We could have persuaded him. Softened his resolve. He wasn't immune to reason.  THURSDAY: Charming conversationalist, no doubt. BAYSWATER: Actually, he was a very good mimic. Terribly witty. MORSE: Sir, is it time for that telephone call? To the station? I can take it from here. THURSDAY: The unpleasantness, as you call it, cost me six years of my life, and untold millions a great deal more.

S7E2: Raga

But we're not quite done yet. The BUF had a successor. The National Front was founded by a former member of the BUF who then joined forces with John Tyndall, the leader of the Greater Britain movement which had a big anti-immigration focus.

As with Jewish immigration a generation earlier, heavy South Asian migration to Britain in the 1970s made it an easy target for those seeking to pin all of the nation's economic and social problems on "outsiders."

The National Front eventually came out with an agenda that called for the revocation of citizenship for all non-whites in Britain and forcible repatriation to their "native" countries. NF rallies were frequently accompanied by violence whipped up by the kind of rhetoric we hear in Raga where the character of Gorman serves as a stand-in for Tyndall and his ilk:

THURSDAY: Well, we're very concerned about young Pakistani lads getting knifed on the street. GORMAN: Terrible. But I can't say that I'm surprised. You cram all of these incompatible cultures together on one small island, of course it's gonna lead to blood. And worse. MORSE: Sounds like a threat, Mr. Gorman. GORMAN: It's just an observation. If the police can't keep the streets safe and defend the indigenous population against outsiders, well, no wonder people take it into their own hands. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a seat to win.

If anyone sees anything that I've gotten wrong here, please let me know. This was my first time reading through any source material on this whole topic and it's complicated (and depressing as hell).

I haven't got any pithy, final point to make except to say that there are certain ideas that seem to cycle back with horrible regularity every time certain conditions are in place. They're wrong. They're simplistic. They're hateful. And they need to be stopped every time.

[kesia-stupid-arts]

Post-Constant AU Masterpost: What happened to each survivor after they left the Constant?

If you're falling by parachutes here, this is an AU (Alternative Universe) elaborated by me and very biased, imagining what would happen to each survivor after they leave the Constant, so none of this is canon (but I wish it would be). I made this also to give context to some of my comics.

Context: This all happens when they reach the Ancient Gateway and it brings them back to Earth, all of them ended up at the same place, somewhere on the United States... And they have to return home. 6 years have passed since the last survivor mysteriously disappeared (reminder that the survivors probably got abducted at different times), around 1926~1930.

By the way, I will be considering DST survivors only (except Wilba) since the DLCs barely have lore about them, I find it hard to elaborate.

After you read, feel free to send an ask if you have any suggestions or critic!

For each survivor:

Starting by survivors who stayed at the Constant:

Wurt - She stays at the Constant to create her Merm empire that she dreamed about.

Wilba - In her thirst for adventure she always had, she ends up finding the way for the main land in Constant (the one the survivors were at), and (unfortunately for her), the place that the Merms rules. She eventually became friends with Wurt and they created an alliance between Pigs and Merms.

Wortox - Wortox actually occasionally jumps between the two worlds. He sometimes checks on Wurt, and sometimes go to Earth to bother and prank other survivors.

Wagstaff - ███ ███ ███ █████ ███ ███████ ███ ██ ████ ████

Characters who left the Constant (I will leave Max and Wes for last because they're the ones who I elaborated the most, I wonder why.)

Wilson, WX and Wormwood - Wilson returns to his lab and returns to his scientific experiments, trying to keep away from forbidden knowledge (he has learned his lesson). He keeps WX and Wormwood with him, to keep them out of trouble, as the world is not yet ready to meet a talking plant, and he keeps WX from taking over the world. With the help of both, but most especially the leftover knowledge from Woodrow, he becomes a successful scientist, he reforms his old lab to make it an actual home.

Warly - Warly returns to his Maman, who is now cured of her dementia, thanks to Maxwell. (See here: Link) He goes back into being a successful chef in France, moving with his mom.

Wickerbottom and Wanda - Wickerbottom returns to her home, and tries to rebuild her library with the knowledge she acquired from the books (without the forbidden knowledge). Wanda gets cured of her constantly age problem, and no longer needs to use her clocks, she is currently around the same age as Wickerbottom, and has to get used to age normally. She occasionally helps Wickerbottom with her books, which is kind of a boring job, but it's fine because she doesn't need to rush anymore.

Wolfgang and Woodie - I didn't elaborate much on these two, basically, Wolfgang goes back to being a strongman, and Woodie goes back to his home with his lumberjack job, he now has control over his curse, and only uses it when it's convenient.

Walter - Walter returns to his mom and officially adopts Woby (they don't have Monster Meat anymore so Woby is just a regular dog), back to his badge collecting! Walter sometimes visits Webber and he loves it because there's so many bugs.

Webber - Speaking of Webber, he's back to his mom and dad. His dad actually likes his new form, because he loves bugs (or arthropods, to be exact). He helps his dad eventually, as he can communicate with regular spiders, which helps his dad to study them better. As Webber grows up, he takes his father's office and becomes an entomologist, specialized in spiders.

Wendy - Wendy goes back to her dad, but unfortunately, she no longer has Abigail. Jack and Wendy are more united than ever, since they're the last family they have. (I will elaborate more on Maxwell's session).

Wigfrid - As Wigfrid's saga is over, the actress goes back to being a star, she wants to expand on her roles a bit.

Willow - Willow goes to live with Wigfrid, but Wigfrid's personality is very different from her actress, Willow feels like she's living with a stranger, instead of the girl she fell in love with. (See here: Link) She eventually moves from Wigfrid and re-meets Charlie. (See here: Link)

Winona - Winona goes back to her home now that she finally found her sister. She works now on a different company, since Voxola has gone bankrupt without Wagstaff, she's basically the CEO (and she hired Genny).

Charlie - Charlie is no longer the Shadow Queen, she now travels and explores the world like she always wished. She occasionally visits her sister to not leave her worried. She still has some sequels of her time as shadow queen...

Maxwell and Wes - After they left the Constant, Maxwell takes Wendy back to her dad, because he was her only family at the time. Maxwell brought Wendy back to Jack, and he welcomed them both happily, Wendy and Maxwell decided to not give too much details on what happened, and Jack decided he didn't want to know either, at least not at that moment, he was just happy to have his family back. Wes didn't go with Maxwell, due to some conflict after he found out Maxwell was working with Charlie during their last days in Constant. Maxwell was also conflicted internally, because he couldn't decide if he wanted to go back to Charlie, or stay with Wes. After a conversation with Charlie, he decided that their relationship could not work anymore after all that happened, and after they realize they don’t feel anything romantic for each other, Maxwell searches for Wes. Wes is back in France, he was having trouble to make a living after his room was sold during his absence, he had to find another job that is not a street performer, Warly helped him to get a job in the restaurant he works on, but he didn't have much luck due to his speech impediment. Wes was miserable, poor, and heartbroken. Maxwell knocks on his door one day, and they have a chat (mostly Maxwell does the talk, duh), and they make amends, and go back to being in a relationship after they accept they really love each other, and that they want their relationship to be more than an emotional-dependent mess. Maxwell brings Wes to live with him and his brother, but he decides it's best to move out with Wes and get their own home, since his presence was making Wendy feel bad (despite their collaboration in the Constant, Wendy can't help but to feel a bit of a grudge against him).

That's it for all, I think I'm not forgetting anyone, sorry if I forget your fav! And sorry for having too vague stories about Woodie, Wolfgang and Walter, they are characters who don't have their lore explored too much and they are characters I barely play as, despite the fact I like their characters very much, so I had a bit of trouble elaboraring stuff for them. There's also a few things I have to decided about Wilson's career, but I'm keeping the fact that he adopts WX and Wormwood LOL

[macgyvermedical]

Magic Bullets: The Antibiotic Story

The year was 1907 and a Dr. Alfred Bertheim was trying to make arsenic less toxic to humans.

Why? Because in addition to killing humans, arsenic also kills trypanosomes- single-celled protozoa that cause the life-threatening infection trypanosomiasis. By creating a version of arsenic that still killed the protozoa, but not the human they infected, Dr. Bertheim could create a drug to treat the disease*.

This was not a fully new idea. About 50 years earlier, a drug called Atoxyl had been created in France. About 40 times less toxic than pure arsenic, it had been shown to not only successfully treat trypanosomiasis, but also the equally devastating syphilis infection.

But 40 times less toxic than pure arsenic is still not great. About 2% of people treated even one time with the drug ended up blind, among a myriad of other side effects. It was a start, but not ideal.

And Dr. Bertheim (under the direction of better-known Dr. Paul Ehrlich) was setting out to change that.

And it just so happened that the sixth compound from the sixth group he tried did so. Known as "compound 606", the new Arsphenamine could treat trypanosomiasis, relapsing fever, and syphilis very effectively- and it didn't leave its takers dead or blind.

Most of the time, at least. See, arsphenamine, also known by the brand name salvarsan, was a pain in the ass to administer. It had to be dissolved in several hundred mililiters of water under a nitrogen atmosphere to prepare it for administration. If it touched air, it would rapidly react, causing toxic byproducts that could cause liver failure, severe skin rashes, and even death.

But both trypanosomiasis and syphilis were definitely going to kill you, so it was worth the risk.

And the seed had been planted, so to say. The idea of a chemical able to kill infection-causing agents without killing the host was a true possibility for the future of medicine.

And by 1912, Neosalvarsan, a drug somewhat less effective -but far easier to administer and with significantly fewer side effects- was on the market. Over the next decade, Neosalvarsan would be responsible for a massive drop in syphilis cases worldwide.

But neither of the drugs could treat deadly infections from staph or strep or the hundreds of other bacterial or viral infections that still had no cure in the 1910's and 1920's.

Then came the first of the heavy-hitters. Bayer was a dye company when it started, and in 1932, three and a half decades after switching mostly to pharmaceuticals, chemists at Bayer were testing the company's dyes for anti-infective properties. They went through thousands of trials, finally finding a dye that could kill streptococcal bacteria without killing a mouse host.

Pre-1930s, streptococcal disease was a major problem. It caused strep throat, cellulitis, scarlet fever, childbed (purpural) fever, some forms of toxic shock syndrome, impetigo, necrotizing fasciitis, rheumatic fever, and many others. The skin infections may have been at least somewhat treatable with a hot compress, but the rest were prone to cause blindness, deafness, loss of limbs, and for many, loss of life.

In 1936, sulfonamide antibiotics changed that. Protosil, the first of the sulfonamides, became available to treat many of the infections listed above. These would be used for wound infections throughout WWII. Unfortunately, they would also cause the untimely death of nearly 100 people via the Elixer Sulfanilamide tragedy.

Sulfanilamide was a similar drug to Prontosil and was safe and effective for treating strep infections. However, when mixed with diethylene glycol (now used as standard car antifreeze) to make it into a liquid suspension, it was deadly. See this letter from a doctor who had prescribed the liquid form of the medication, not knowing it was poison:

[to read more about the Elixer Sulfanilamide Disaster, see here]

Despite the sulfanilamide tragedy, the race was on for more antibiotics. Three years before they went on the market, researchers had found evidence of bacterial resistance to sulfonamides. What would happen when these new bacteria, that didn't die when exposed to the new wonder drug, made up so much of the bacterial population?

In 1942, the Cocoanut Grove fire in Boston caused over 492 deaths and 130 injuries. The injured were among the first to receive a remarkable new drug called penicillin. The fire and the fate of the victims were publicized throughout the world, and penicillin became a household name overnight. But once again, even before it went on the market in 1943, just in time for the end of the Second World War, there was evidence of resistance.

But fortunately, the fire had been sparked. Over the next 30 years, many dozens of antibiotics would come into clinical use. If you've taken it, it probably came out between 1940 and 1970. Tetracycline, isoniazid, metronidazole, ciprofloxacin, erythromycin, vancomycin, amoxicillin, and dozens more you've never heard of.

And then? Nothing.

Well, not completely nothing, there were a couple that came out in the 1980s and a few in the early 2000s. But nothing like that 30-year golden age.

But now we're running into problems due to drug resistance. About 1.27 million people die annually directly from antibiotic resistant infection, while antibiotic resistance contributes to about 4.95 million more deaths.

The good news is that the drugs that are being made today are directly targeting those antibiotic resistant infections. In fact, as I'm writing this, a new drug (Zosurabalpin) is being tested for a bacteria called Carbapenem-resistant Acinetobacter baumannii, which up until now has had no antibiotic that works against it.

*as you may imagine for the time period, this was not necessarily a benevolent act. See, most of the reason Europeans wanted to treat trypanosomiasis in the first place was because they kept dying of it when they went to colonize Africa. And they wanted something that would give them a leg up on the people who were already there.

[nunalastor]

Buckshot Anon here! As the second option on the poll, I'm going to cover the death of Nunalastor blog creation, Detective Guy Winters. His death was attributed to a vague terminal disease from months-long exposure to a highly toxic black mold.

Something that needs to be clarified right off the bat is that mold does not cause cancer on its own. Black mold may cause a plethora of other problems, but there is no evidence mold directly causes cancer. Contrary to what anyone would believe when they hear about a terminal illness, cancer may not be the culprit.

Theoretically: If his disease was cancer from the beginning, what would need to happen is for the mold itself to have cancerous traits. Fungi can develop a type of nucleus cancer, though this almost never happens under natural conditions and is more likely to occur from being cultured in a lab. If the mold had cancerous traits, any mold that lingered in Guy's system from breathing it in would have to die and then metastasize throughout his body, giving him cancer not with his own cells. Just to give you all something new to fear besides sepsis and coconut water.

For this to be viable, Guy would need a highly compromised immune system, or his immune system would have fought it off long before it reached that point. There was a man who got fatal cancer from a tapeworm, but it’s believed the foreign cancer only managed to kill him because he also had HIV. There is a way for Guy’s immune system to not have fought it off without having HIV, and that would be because he was exposed to the mold for so long that his body no longer registered it as something foreign to fight against. His immune system would still need to be some level of compromised, just not with the intensity of HIV. All of this being said, the chances of all of the appropriate factors lining up to make this possible are so slim that this was more a thought experiment than anything else.

Realistically: The disease that killed Guy would likely be pulmonary fibrosis. For those who haven't heard of this disease, pulmonary fibrosis is referring to scarring in the lung tissue that makes it significantly harder for the lungs to properly function. This disease is considered to be terminal because it is a progressively worsening disease with no known cure.

How quickly pulmonary fibrosis progresses and worsens in a patient varies from person to person. Some people may become ill very fast while others may be relatively stable for months or years with nothing but some shortness of breath and a persistent dry cough before it becomes a life-threatening problem. The average survival rate for someone with pulmonary fibrosis is between three and five years after diagnosis, closer to three in the cases of those who go without treatment or have very little.

Regarding treatments, Guy is in an interesting position. Pulmonary fibrosis didn't have a clinical description until 1944, which might make it seem like no treatments existed. However, silicosis is a type of pulmonary fibrosis, and this was a great health concern during the 1930s. While there wasn't a cure for this disease, variants of it were in the public consciousness, and that could have a positive impact on Guy's life expectancy because even if not much, doctors would be attempting treatments. As Guy would be able to confirm he wasn't breathing in silica, he wouldn't be diagnosed, but his symptoms would be similar enough that he might be given access to the same treatments being attempted for silicosis.

His life expectancy would still be automatically on the shorter end because of quality of medicine, but if his condition was stable for a longer period beforehand, he could still live for around five to seven years.

The decisive factor in what would finish him off also varies, as death from pulmonary fibrosis on its own would be respiratory failure once there is too much damage for the lungs to function at all. However, just as commonly death comes from a complication related to the disease and not the disease itself.

Remember when I mentioned mold doesn't directly cause cancer? If Guy were to develop cancer, it would be because pulmonary fibrosis comes with an increased risk of lung cancer. This is still not the most likely thing to happen, but it's worth mentioning.

What is more likely to finish Guy off if not respiratory failure or heart failure as a result of the heart overworking to compensate for partially blocked pulmonary arteries, is other complications or diseases in the lungs. As the disease progresses, other problems may appear such as blood clots or collapsed lungs. Another issue would be lung diseases like tuberculosis and pneumonia. Tuberculosis and pneumonia just so happened to be some of the leading causes of death in the 1930s, lower than they were in years past, but still up there in terms of fatality.

In summary: Guy suffered from the incurable disease pulmonary fibrosis. His disease may have progressed into cancer, but that is less likely. He most likely died either from respiratory failure or from a disease like tuberculosis or pneumonia he couldn't properly fight off.

If he became sick in 1929, his date of death would be anywhere from 1932-1936.

👀

[therealvinelle]

Tom Riddle but he takes time after school and gets a muggle science degree through sheer stubborn determination, because damn if he isn't going to learn how all those bombs work. Still Voldemort?

Those who remember my Tom, possible creator of requirement rooms (or who have read this blog at all) post, will know that I like my esoteric Tom theories.

In other words:

Who's to say he didn't?

A bit about Tom's prospects

As an orphaned child growing up in poverty in the 1930's, Tom would have had no prospects, no future, nothing whatsoever. Being the lowest of the low in a rigidly classist society he was never going to get into any of the good schools, no matter how well he applied himself, and he wasn't going to get a prestigious job, nevermind a well-paying one.

If he hadn't been accepted into Hogwarts, I imagine he would have ended up on the fringes of society, using his abilities and underground network to become that guy you pay to make your problems go away. I... can't think of a more lucrative, nor a more probable, venue for Tom, not when every conventional path would have been infinitely harder and with less payoff.

I also imagine that he knew this even then, that even if he hadn't formed the specific plan of becoming the neighbourhood witch he knew he was going to have to figure something out if he wanted to live a comfortable life.

Along came Hogwarts, however, and with it the promise of a future Tom could never have hoped to touch otherwise.

When plots thicken

Tom would have had two problems, though.

The first: Hogwarts does not teach a Muggle curriculum, nor does it provide diplomas the Muggle world would accept.

The second: Expulsion leads to the confiscation of your wand, and the student is forbidden from practicing magic. In other words, the past few years' worth of education will be completely wasted, and the student will be unemployable in the wizarding world and completely without qualifications in the Muggle world.

To a pureblood, or even half-blood child, this would be harsh but survivable: I imagine the student either finds work the way Hagrid and Filch did, doing something non-magical within the magical world, or they become the family hanger-on, the one who never moves out but who, in a world where food can be duplicated indefinitely and expansion charms exist, never becomes much of a burden either. Put differently, if expulsion ruined the lives of wizard children irrevocably, it would only have taken one pureblood child being expelled for the rules to be changed (remember, the school board and the Wizengamot are made up of the wizarding world's most influential, and Wizarding Britain being what it is, these people are all related).

To a Muggle-born, however, there would be nothing. Their only network in the Wizarding World would be their peers, who themselves are teenagers and can't take responsibility for them. They would have to return to their Muggle parents and- figure something out, it's not the Wizarding World's problem.

An expelled Muggle-born is, essentially, made Muggle again. (Make of that and the punishment for expulsion being what it is what you will.)

Tom Riddle, having no family to take him in should he be expelled and having been told in no uncertain terms by Albus Dumbledore that Hogwarts has a no-tolerance policy, and being from the working class which is disproportionately punished by law enforcement, would realise in time that attending Hogwarts means putting all his eggs in one basket. If he gets expelled, his options would be the sea or joining the mob.

But if he doesn't, then he loses out on the greatest opportunity to come his way and declining the school invitation might get his wand confiscated and him prohibited from practicing magic anyway. Certainly, the Wizarding World won't be as forgiving of him practicing magic openly among Muggles the way they were when he was a child. In other words, making a living off his magic in the Muggle world is no longer a feasible future for him.

He has to attend Hogwarts, and hope to God that he doesn't get expelled (cut to Dumbledore side-eyeing his spotless behaviour because way to be a sociopath, Tom).

(And let's keep in mind that everything went well for Tom at Hogwarts (basilisk incident excepted). He made prefect, Head Boy, and had top grades in every class. He still wound up working at Borgin and Burkes in the "So you thought merit mattered in the Wizarding World" of the decade, and only achieved greatness under a different identity with no ties whatsoever to Tom Riddle.

There was never a future for Tom Riddle in the Wizarding World.)

And this is where we enter headcanon territory: because I think Tom, who famously made a horcrux when he was fifteen and then five (or more! Who knows!) more horcruxes just in case, would have a backup plan.

Mrs. Cole, can I attend summer school?

I don't know what Tom might have said, how he did it, or anything, really. I don't know enough about how British schooling in the 1930's and 40's worked, period, if private exams were offered and how much they might have cost. Considering how there have always been children sick or otherwise unable to attend ordinary schools, I should think the possibility would have been there, though difficult if not impossible for Tom to attain.

Or it might have been as simple as telling Mrs. Cole that the school is teaching him nothing useful and clearly only exists for the wealthy to network, and hopefully he'll be able to network himself into a job that pays the bills but uh it would be nice to have actually learned algebra. Please sign him up for private exams.

Or something.

Regardless of the how, I believe that Tom would have done everything within his power to get exams in Muggle subjects. He would have had to study on his own, and perhaps not get any exams at all while he was at Hogwarts but be knowledgeable enough that he could take them as an adult: should Hogwarts for whatever reason not work out for him, he would depend on this.

My, that fellow's magic is quite something, isn't it?

Purely headcanon now: but Tom is noted again and again as being a true visionary, someone whose magic is unlike anything anybody has ever seen before.

I therefore raise the following theory: Tom's mysterious years where he was completely under the radar and no one knew where he'd gone, those years where Dumbledore could only shudder at what dark arts he was leaning, might just have been spent learning the wicked ways of physics.

Quite relevant to this theory is my belief that magic in the Harry Potter is not at odds with the laws of nature, but laws Muggle scientists haven't uncovered yet. But as wizards have become further removed from what magic truly is, choosing instead to swing their wands and spout nonsense Latin hoping it'll make their chair levitate across the room, their understanding of magic and ability to form it becomes increasingly distorted and obscured.

Tom, who would have the background for this (And who screams STEM. You don't become a powerful wizard and innovator if you wouldn't in some other universe be a programmer or a physicist), who would find himself in a world where every source of knowledge he sought out was less able to answer his questions than the next, might just have decided to find his own answers.

And what better place than to start with the basics, learn what the Muggles have uncovered and build from there?

I'm a Tom Riddle has an MA in physics truther.

[chronicbeans]

Hazbin Rewrite - Angel Dust

I've made a few big changes here and made a few early concepts of Angel much more prominent (mainly his drag queen performances). For one, Angel is not under a contract with Valentino, but Val is actively pursuing a contract at the moment. That, and Angel is half Italian half Russian and lived in the USSR, which has an effect on his personality in the afterlife.

TW: Mentions of the USSR and Communism, Period Accurate Homophobia/Internalized Homophobia, Sex Work, VALENTINO, Mentions of Drugs, Brief Mention of Gender Dysphoria, I changed his real name to Anatoly to fit his new home country

In life, Anatoly worked as a drag queen and gay prostitute during the 1940s, sometimes stealing a few extra Russian Rubles from his clients when his family was in hard times. This was dangerous work, considering the USSR banned male homosexuality in the 1930s, and prostitution was already illegal, but he wanted to pursue it. It was his way of trying to make extra income for his family as well as try to express himself. He kept it as secret as he possibly could. He never really saw his homosexuality, sex work, and drag as a problem until he did get caught. He ended up passing away during his "5 years of hard labor". He was ratted out by his father, who got scared the rest of his family would be punished for housing him.

In Hell, his sins are homosexuality and sex work. However, it's important to realize that my rewrite's version of sin is individualized to what the person perceived as wrong or sinful in life. There's many people in Hell for things like sex work, homosexuality, or being transgender not because it is bad, but because they themselves perceived it as such. There's also plenty of of people in Heaven who are transgender, homosexual, or sex workers because they didn't see being those things as bad while they were alive. It just so happens that there's an influx of people during around the 1600's - 1900's who were taught that these things are sinful, so a lot of the people in there for things like homosexuality are from those time periods. In turn, a lot of the never generations or people from around the time period of ancient Greece or the Roman Empire who are a part of the LGBTQ+/sex workers are in Heaven, simply because they didn't get taught those things or never believed them when people tried.

So, while he may be in Hell for homosexuality, it's not because God sees it as a bad thing. God doesn't really care who you're attracted to, since He loves all his children. Angel is in Hell for homosexuality because he, himself, saw it as a bad thing when he died. Due to the horrible treatment given to him once he was ratted out, he began thinking that there must be something wrong with him if he "deserved" such treatment for it.

In Hell, Anatoly has taken on his drag name, Angel Dust, due to preferring to dress in drag rather than casual clothes when he goes outside. He also much prefers to go by "she" while in drag, even though he identifies as a cis man, because he plays up a character while in drag. A lot of people tend to mistake him for a trans woman because of this, but he doesn't mind because it proves to him his drag is good.

Angel Dust is not in a contract with Val currently, but Val is actively trying to get him into one. He's been saying his club is a safe space for all LGBTQ+ folks, saying that the pornographic material is their way of showing off their pride. In actuality, it's Val's way of profiting off of the fear and insecurities of LGBTQ+ people he comes across. Angel Dust, however, hasn't accepted it because of his own idea that he's somehow massively flawed for being gay. He does hang out with Val, though, due to Val making a safe persona and hiding his true colors from Angel Dust. So, Angel Dust doesn't necessarily see any reason to fear or stay away from Valentino.

Angel Dust isn't into any hardcore drugs while in Hell, nor was he while in life. However, he does smoke papirosa cigarettes, which in the USSR smoking was condemned, even if it wasn't necessarily illegal during the 1940s. It's mostly due to his life in the USSR being extremely strict, which has affected his afterlife heavily. He has many internalized fears, which as he overcomes them may spiral into him getting into drugs and accepting Valentino's contract.

Angel Dust is also a communist. He's from the USSR, so it's basically a given. This has a huge effect on his relationships with others in the Hazbin Hotel. Even if Angel Dust did do illegal activities while he was alive, he wasn't immune to any propaganda that the USSR spread to its citizens. So, when he meets actively greedy or capitalistic guests and staff members, he is much more likely to have a distaste for them or their ideals. Due to this, Charlie and/or Rebecca are often trying to diffuse fights between Angel and other members of the hotel, especially Baxter, Alastor, or Husk.

Angel Dust's native tongue is Russian, and due to having never learned English in life and good English classes being hard to come across in Hell, his English is slightly broken at times. In fact, he used the drag name Angel Dust simply because it sounded cool to him, without knowing the fact it was slang for drugs. His thought process was that he knew what angel meant, and he had heard from friends that dusty or dust was sometimes used by English speakers to describe how powdered blush felt. He has a thick accent, as well, making some of the other members have a hard time understanding his words at times. The only one who actively tries to figure out ways to better communicate with him is Husk, even though Angel often fights with him. Since Husk was alive and fought in the British Army alongside some USSR soldiers, he already has a slight advantage over others in understanding Angel both in terms of his personality and literal speech. So, whilst they have their differences and Angel may dislike him, Husk is still actively trying to get along with him.

Angel's form in Hell is humanoid, with an appearance similar to that of his drag persona. However, while in life he'd wear a chest piece to create a bust, Angel now just naturally has one, much to his slight dismay. It's caused a slight sense of gender dysphoria whenever he's outside of drag and people mistake him for a woman, which is another reason why he wears drag often. It gives him a reason to believe that they're mistaken not for his chest, but for the rest of his drag persona's appearance. He has four eyes, two where a human's would be, and two smaller ones at the edge of his small eyebrows. Then, he has four spider legs at this hips, which he uses as a hoop skirt when he wears more extravagant dresses. He keeps his pale pink hair long, which feels less like hair and more like fur. He also tries to wear blush to give color to his pale skin.

Fun fact: I originally decided to make him half Italian and half Russian just to give the guests a bit more variety in culture. However, once I remembered that I was keeping his death date in the 1940s, I realized I accidentally dropped him smack dab into the USSR 😭. However, I kept it because the idea of living in a society that hates you for who you are impacting someone so heavily after death was something I had already been planning for someone else, and it makes sense for multiple characters to go through such a thing.

[forthegothicheroine]

There's a very 1930s romantic comedy plotline that seems to be about, for lack of a better way to put it, a girl annoying a guy into loving her? It's not the same thing as the lovable golddigger or the manic pixie dream girl, though they can all overlap. I didn't mind it in My Man Godfrey, where she's childish but clearly well-meaning, but it killed Bringing Up Baby for me, where she seemed like a malevolent spirit summoned to destroy this one guy's life.

Thinking about the appeal of this plot, I guess it hinges on genre conventions that tell you everything will be fine, sort of like Pseudolis in A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum telling the audience in the first number that there will be a happy ending. The silliness of the problems (a dinosaur skeleton being destroyed, or a girl faking a breakdown while a man imitates a gorilla) means we don't necessarily feel the secondhand embarrassment of real problems.

I think what makes this work, or not, is whether the audience of these 1930s romantic comedies can believe that despite his protests, the hero really does enjoy the heroine's ridiculous antics shaking up his life. That's down to acting, chemistry, writing, and an individual audience member's feelings.

[let-us-cultivate-our-garden]

With that other ask saying Luz has no future in the human realm right now, especially since she’s a nonwhite LGBT girl who Republicans would want dead for existing, I thought of something else:

If TOH’s finale aired now, would people react more negatively to Luz living in the human realm and going to human school at the end? She was definitely shown to be more at home in the BI, and again, everyone in power would want her dead or deported or *something*. Recently someone made a joke to me about how you couldn’t do The Wizard of Oz nowadays since Dorothy would have absolutely no reason to go back to Kansas. Luz was better off in the Boiling Isles than in a world that hates her for existing.

Please reply.

[Rubs temples]. Guys, guys. Luz is fictional. Her world is not our own. Gravesfield is not depicted as being an unwelcoming place. Her "not fitting in" was just her having trouble in school and two bitchy ladies in the park that she didn't even overhear. She is "more at home" in the BI because it's the place where she can actually do magic, not because Gravesfield was such a horrible place to live in. Camilla and Vee live there full time and no one is worried about them.

Heck, when we do see Gravesfield, it's really not a bad place to live! Masha is able to be out about their gender identity at work, Vee finds friends, Jacob loses his job and gets arrested for assault, two random students praise Luz after her classroom freakout! How is this place so terrible?

Y'all need to stop projecting your own fears and anxieties onto the show, especially when the text demonstrates the opposite of what you're afraid of.

As for that joke your friend made about The Wizard of Oz, you know when that movie came out?

1939.

The final year of the Great Depression. Does the movie go into the world's worst economic crisis? No, because it's about a young girl learning to stand up for herself and not run away from her problems. Kansas is boring and dreary in comparison to the bright and whimsical Oz, but it's still her home, it's where her family is. You could absolutely make it today because it's styled like a classic fairy tale instead of dealing with the gritty reality of 1930s America.

Toh is also a fairy tale. It has straight forward morals, simple characterization, clear distinctions between good and evil, and a happy ending. Any gestures at complexity or subversions are superficial at best. It does not deal with politics or current events. Luz is never in any danger in Gravesfield, she just wants to live out her fantasies and quite frankly, the show is not very good at showing that her life is terrible. We don't even see her get bullied, it's simply told to us.

On a final note, since some people get upset when the hero has to leave the cool fantasy world, the Hero usually has to return home from the Fantasy World because it's a metaphor for growing up/growth/accepting change, etc. Anne is separated from Amphibia seemingly forever. Dipper and Mabel were only supposed to be in Gravity Falls for the summer. Dorothy leaves Oz. Change is inevitable and you can't live in the Fantasy World forever. There are exceptions of course, but that all depends on how the Fantasy World functions in the story. In toh's case, the function of the BI is muddled because there's no clear contrast between it and Gravesfield. The show wants you to think that this place is better for her but it never put in the work to demonstrate why. Luz doesn't really grow much as a character either, her priorities just shift. So in the end, the BI is basically a power fantasy for Luz. She would only find Gravesfield intolerable to live in because she can't do magic, not because of some fault with the town.

Here are the previous asks for anyone curious.

[aonungyoufuck]

omg i love runaway so far and im excited for the next part to come out!! can you do something angsty + fluffy ending in which lo’ak says something mean about his twin sister reader but lo’ak being himself he just brushes it off when the reader confronts him

Twins of a tail

Fem Sully Reader + Twin brother Lo'ak

Synopsis: Angst + Fluff. Lo'ak says some pretty heavy things in the heat of the moment. But You take it to heart. Time for a twin talk.

HI anon! thank you so much for liking Runaway. Im working like crazy trying to hit every plot point so im glad! I hope you like how i worked out your request :3

"Oh come on Lo'ak. Its just We dont know anything about the Tulkun. Who's to say he's not this great killer and you just survived out of luck?"

"no You aren't listening either!" He spoke. Hand now at his head as he just couldn't voice his frustration. Least of all yet. "you are suppose to be my twin. Have my back in this!"

"i am having your back on this! But Its just hard to believe"

"how is it hard to believe? Am i hard to believe for you?"

"Lo'ak that isn-"

"I Know that nobody else believes me. Neteyam only believes me once in a while. And i know Those three Even Tsireya wouldn't believe me. But you are my Twin. My sister. The maker to my trouble." He was more than frustrated. Livid? he couldn't tell. He just knew that something about this wasn't sitting right with him

you had changed. Things have Changed drastically since living here.

"And You aren't believing me when i tell you he is no killer"

"Lo'ak"

"I mean really! We move here and suddenly you're this prim and proper lady. You left me. I dont know why and i dont know how but you have changed more than i. And even here i cant seem to make things right. Cant seem to fit in and yet you take their side on this more than you believe myself"

"Lo'ak!"

"Just go back to the others. Ever since we moved here you haven't been more than a stranger"

That hurt more than anything. And you just stood there and watched as he headed off. You wanted to believe him. You Had to believe him. But what was there to really believe? You weren't there and you had to take the word of the People that knew of Payakan.

Lo'ak was hurt and you knew that. There were enough people that he felt like he disappointed. But right now you were hurt too. A stringing pain in your heart.

You knew that you had to talk to him. But you figured you needed to give him time. To think? to cool off? or maybe you were just scared. But you decided not to push it.

You haven't changed... you didn't change.

You just had to put on a role now that you didnt have one. Lo'ak should know. You did no Tsahik training. You had to learn things a new just like him.

You were on new ground. You were on different territory. And yet? did he expect no change at all? You were doing this all for your family. Sure you wanted to have fun. You wanted to get in trouble too. Wanted to be free and wanted to have it all back.

But things had to change. And it hurt more than any to have your brother. Your best friend since before your first breath, have to tell you that You were the problem.

"skxawng" is all you muttered. You were pissed. Probably beyond that. But you decided on heading home and maybe going to bed early.

just to cool your head.

Just to forget the stinging words of your Twin.

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

Lo'ak Had come home a little after Eclipse. Didn't really have the thought of what he had said.

Being him he figured it would work itself out. Getting home seeing you and eating along side with your family. But he didnt expect you to already be asleep. Everyone still awake. Eating and talking. But you were off in the corner. Away from everyone.

"Why is Y/n Asleep? They not feeling well?"

"Y/n said she is quiet angry. Upset and frustrated. Ate earlier and headed to bed" Neytiri spoke. She didn't need an explanation. She knew her kids well. And knew when you were upset. It mostly had to do with something Lo'ak said or done. Tho she would admit. This is the first time she saw you two not stuck together at the tail like you would be.

Lo'ak sighed. Hoping. Praying that what he had said earlier was not the cause of it.

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

By morning you had the time to think. You always found yourself awake before everyone else. And for today that was okay.

As you had tried to reason and understand why it hurt so much.

Yes Lo'ak was your Twin. Always clinging to each other's tails when ever the change. You swore since your first memory that The two of you would tangle your tails together. A bond so strong that would always be true to each other.

Perhaps thats why you were angry. Or upset? to be honest with yourself you never understood the difference. You just knew you had to talk with Lo'ak.

"Y/n!"

Speak of him.

You turned to look. Not at all happy with how he seemed so happy. "Lo'ak"

"oh come on you're still not upset about yesterday right?"

"Oh i dont know. How would you feel if i told you My twin that you were a complete stranger?"

"i....upset i know but"

"Listen to me Lo'ak and listen well because i dont want to have to repeat myself to you"

And he shup up right away.

" You are My Twin. But above all else you are my best friend. And i dont want to have to argue with you about this. But this isn't home. I haven't changed. You dont think i dont want to have fun too? But things are different and i have to listen to those around me instead of just you. Its not that i dont believe you. Its just If it were true. If what they say about Payakan is true you could have died too. And where would that leave us? Sky people are after us. And things are different here than home. And i cannot and will not let you push me aside and think i am different because you refuse to change too. If all else We are all we have. And i dont want you to push me to Stranger. When all we've ever been was each other's driving force. He may be your Spirit brother. But i am Your Twin sister. So dont you Dare say that i am any less than that. Got it?"

Lo'ak pondered. Paused and thinking long and hard. He hadn't meant to upset you the way he did. And he knew you were right. Knew that Things have changed. And he really didnt think.

How long had you been pushing down the urge to cause trouble? How long have you longed to feel the sky as he once did.

How long had you been pushing it all aside while he had cause trouble in this new found land.

He really didn't think.

"i am sorry Sister"

"i am your sister. And you are my brother. And i hate having to argue with you. But please. Dont ever say i am a stranger to you. Alright?"

He could see the faintest of red on your eyes. Had you been crying? He swore it now that he would do better to understand.

"i understand"

"now come on. Show me Payakan oh mighty warrior"

"shut up you skxawng!"

and it would all be okay. Attached at the tail as you always would be.

[the-rewritten-railway-au]

The Two Smallest Engines

May 1930

The Adventure Begins (2015)

Word Count: 3,543

Since the end of the 1920 Locomotive Crisis Loan, the North Western Railway has been struggling to continue operation with its five engines. Sir Bertram Topham Hatt II makes a big decision: purchase a tank engine for the railway.

~

On a sunny afternoon, Edward, the smallest engine on the North Western, was working in Tidmouth Yard. He was chatting with Emily, who was slightly larger than him. The smallest of the two was waiting to be uncoupled from a train of empty trucks when a grand blue tender engine rolled into the yard with-

"A goods train, a goods train! The shame of it! Oh, the shame of it!" he complained. His voice boomed throughout the yard, reaching the station.

The pair of smaller engines sighed, annoyed. "For guidness sake, it's no yon most shameful thin’ ye're doin, Gordon!" Edward reprimanded as he looked at the express passenger engine. "Ye ken thon we've been havin’ more guids trains every year."

"And why can't James take them? Wasn't he bought for that reason?"

"He wiz," replied Edward, "but traffic has grown more than expectit since, especially durin’ the summer season."

Gordon huffed.

"Oh, get over it!" called out the Stirling Single. "You didn't have a problem with it before. What's so different now?"

"Other engines did most of the goods work," replied Gordon. "You should've been glad that was the case back then."

"How come?" She squinted suspiciously.

"You're very outdated, Emily," he sneered. "Old, weak, and slow. Those large wheels of yours are nothing but an inconvenience to your performance."

Emily gasped, and her face scrunched up in fury. "I-!"

"Wrap it, both o' ye," scolded Edward. He looked at the larger cerulean engine. "Start headin’ tae the station, Gordon. I'll shunt the Express coaches in a moment." He looked over to the GNR green engine. "Emily, yer guids train is ready. Please, jist git tae it."

Emily sighed. She wheeshed, a final blow towards Gordon, before leaving to pick up her goods train.

Gordon huffed, heading to the station to wait for the Express coaches. "Once the new engine arrives, I better not keep pulling them."

Edward froze. "New engine?" he exclaimed, rolling forward. "Whit new engi- Och!" He suddenly jerked back, having not been uncoupled yet. The little tender engine quickly shot an apologetic smile to the workman who had approached him with a shunter's pole.

Once Edward was uncoupled, Gordon continued. "He bought a new engine. Might replace you or one of the others."

His nose twitched. "Excuse me-?"

"Wouldn't be surprised, especially with James when we all found out about his wooden brakes."

"That doesn’t make me useless!" someone exclaimed.

Suddenly, James screeched to a halt into the yard. Gordon and Edward halted as they neared the track the black tender engine rolled on.

"James…" muttered Gordon.

"I'll have you know, my brakes work just fine! My stops are much better than any of yours."

"Oh, but at what cost?" he asked mockingly. "What about that black cloud coming from your brakes the other day?"

The ex-L&YR Class 28 huffed. "I may not be as 'grand' as you," he replied, avoiding the question. "But I'm bigger and stronger than the smaller two," he finished with a prideful smirk directed at the smallest engine.

Edward could only be unamused.

"You may be stronger but you're barely any bigger,” argued Gordon. “Your ego is, though, by a long shot."

James jerked his smokebox door open. Steam blasted out and spread throughout the surrounding area. Fuming and scrunching up his face in fury, he glared and wheeshed steam at Gordon.

"James, could ye please move along?" asked Edward, not wanting to have to separate the pair if needed. He wasn’t sure what happened between them. Five years ago, they got along just fine, minus the minor disagreement. "Gordon, jist go wait at the station. I'll be there with the Express coaches."

"But-" said Gordon.

"Go. Noo,” he repeated sternly.

Just as he expected, both engines grumbled. Once James shut his smokebox door, both larger engines left.

“My brakes work just as good as yours!” He heard James holler at Gordon in vain.

Edward wheeshed the very little steam he could and sighed before he fetched the Express coaches.

…

Days went by as the engines waited for the newcomer but there was no sign or announcement about them. While the others didn't think much about it, Edward would occasionally look around as he worked in the yard, hoping to catch sight of the new engine. Unaware of his crew, Charlie and Sidney were humored by his behavior.

A few weeks later, a tank engine rolled into Tidmouth Yard. He peered around the yard, looking for something, or someone. His new crew let him do his thing, as they were informed by the previous crew that this particular engine liked to get to know his surroundings.

"Tidmouth, Tidmouth, Tidmouth…" he murmured.

Earlier, at the crack of dawn, he asked his crew not to show him the way to his final destination once they reached the Vicarstown Drawbridge. There was no ship available from Southampton Docks to the Island of Sodor, not until August, so he was sent by land. Once the ex-LBSCR E2 reached the bridge, he was bored so he challenged himself.

He was really regretting it now.

Suddenly, a loud shrill rang throughout the yard. The lost newcomer was startled, trembling on his six-driving wheels.

The little tank engine frowned. What a way to welcome some-engine, he thought with a huff.

An engine came from the turn up ahead. "Hey, you!" he exclaimed and laughed.

"Bloody hell, ya bloke!" the little engine exclaimed. "Some manners ya have."

"Alright, sheesh! I didn't mean to frighten you like that."

"Of course, you didn't."

"Well, I didn't!" James exclaimed, in a "matter-of-fact" tone. "You seem lost. Where are you heading?"

Meanwhile, Edward was being uncoupled from a set of giggling Troublesome Trucks, having played with them for a bit, when he overheard them.

"Tidmouth!" A voice, unknown to Edward, exclaimed. "Do ya know where it is?

Edward stilled and stayed quiet, quickly shushing the Troublesome Trucks. Surprisingly, not to him, they listened.

"But you're already in Tidmouth!" chuckled James. "Where are you from?"

"The Southern Railway. All the way down south in Brighton." He eyed James quizzically. "What's up with your eyes? Why are they different colors? Did something happen? Were they like that since ya were built-?"

As the engine continued to ramble on and James fumed, Edward gasped. He whispered excitedly, "Bertram's new engine!" The elder blue tender engine whistled as he backed up slowly. Charlie, his driver, gently pet his outer cab and chuckled along with the fireman, Sidney, seeing the excitement of their cerulean engine.

Once Edward backed up to line up to James and saw the new engine, he was shocked and gasped.

The new engine was tiny. He had no tender, his coal box being right behind the cab on the back of the engine. The little engine had a short stumpy dome, a short stumpy funnel, and six small, blue wheels, but they was as tall as he and James were. A normal tank engine, Edward realized.

His livery was a pale brown, Khaki, Edward figured, with white lining. The letters "SR" and the number 107 with a small B above it were painted white on the side of his tanks. His eyes were dark teal, looking around the yard excitedly as he rambled on.

"...I've heard so many things about Sodor. What's it-" The new engine noticed Edward, who was slightly smaller than James, staring at him. "Hello? Is something the matter?" He scrunched up his face, looking at his round nose. "Do I have soot on my face?"

"Och, whit? Naw, naw… It's jist… ye're… small," said Edward awkwardly, slightly confused and still shocked.

"No, I'm not," huffed the E2, annoyed. "I was one of the larger shunters on the Southern Railway!"

"Oh really?" James teased.

"Well, I was big enough to do my job just fine in Victoria and London.” Maybe too big… “I can do the same here!" the tank engine fumed and he moved along.

"Wait, wait! Thon's no how I meant it!" Edward quickly chuffed backward. "It's jist… ye're very different tae everyane else… I huvnae seen a wee tank engine like ye in years."

The little khaki tank engine huffed again. "I may be a 'wee' tank engine, ‘sir,’ but I'm very hardworking!" he expressed pridefully.

"S-Sir?" Edward exclaimed, startled and flustered as he saw James backing up with boisterous laughter.

“Old…” murmured James.

Edward’s glare was all in vain.

Suddenly, Gordon thundered into the shunting yard. He came to a halt with a whistle and laughed. "And who are you?"

"I'm Thomas," the khaki tank engine puffed pridefully. “Your director named me!”

"The new engine!" Edward emphasized with excitement as James reversed, stopping right next to Edward.

"Oh dear," the grand express engine mourned mockingly. "The Fat Director must've made a terrible mistake. I think he was expecting someone really… useful."

"I am useful," Thomas huffed. He didn't like this grand blue engine. He didn’t feel welcome. So full of himself. So disrespectful when he’d only just arrived!

Edward noticed and felt guilty for Thomas, especially for his own words. He hadn't even introduced himself properly.

Gordon laughed dismissively. "For fetching coaches, perhaps. Oh well. If you stick around long enough, you might be lucky enough to see me pulling the Express,” he boasted before he whistled and departed. "That will be a fine sight for you."

Thomas glared at the Gresley experimental Pacific as he passed by. "Without me, he wouldn't have an Express to pull," he muttered and rolled his eyes. He didn't like him at all.

Edward sighed. "I'm sorry aboot Gordon. I'm afraid he's like thon." He inched forward. "I'm sorry for whit I said earlier. I dinnae mean any offense tae ye. Where were ma manners… I'm Edward."

“And I'm James,” introduced the larger mixed-traffic engine, following Edward.

Another voice spoke from a distance. "Hello there, hello!"

"And there's the Fat-"

"Sir Topham Hatt!" Edward forced a smile as James scoffed at him, muttering “Rude.”

"Hello there!" A short, well-dressed, chubby man exclaimed as he and his assistants approached the newcomer. He was excited to see Thomas once again. "I’m glad you three made it safely. Welcome to the North Western Railway, Thomas," said Sir Topham Hatt II with pride, gesturing to the surrounding area. "Pardon me for the introduction a few days ago. I am Sir Topham Hatt, the director of this fine railway. You will become a great addition to the place. I expect you to do very well as Edward will be mentoring you."

"Of course, sir!" replied Thomas.

"Alright then. Go on with your work! I shall be checking up on your progress now and then for the first week," exclaimed Sir Topham Hatt II. He dismissed the engines before walking away with his two assistants.

Once Sir Topham Hatt II was gone, Edward said, "He's right. The others will be arriving soon."

"Fine, fine," huffed James as he rolled away from the yard, heading to the Main Line.

"Where's he going?" Thomas asked.

"Tae Brendam Docks, I presume," Edward replied. "He diz'nae hae any passenger duties until later."

"Passenger duties?" Thomas flipped his smokebox door open and looked at James. "Isn't he a goods engine?"

"Well, his class was meant for goods trains…" Edward replied and hummed. "Things are different here."

Thomas thought for a moment. "Will I be able to do that?"

Edward hummed. "Maybe. But right noo, ye need tae focus oan whit I need tae teach ye during your trainin."

"And what are we going to start with?"

"Shuntin."

"Shunting? My class was practically built to shunt."

"Well, it diz'nae hurt tae practice, especially in a new railway. No everything is the same as oan the Mainland."

"Really? How come?"

"The Troublesome Trucks ur more tedious and difficult tae deal wit, thon's ane thin'. And the yards ur much smaller here than oan the Mainland, if ye take a quick look around. And this yard is the largest oan Sodor, besides Vicarstown," Edward replied. "Give me a moment, I need tae git the Express coaches ready for Gordon. I'll be back in a bit."

Thomas hummed in response as Edward chuffed away. The steam shunter looked around, examining the yard. It was much smaller than the ones in the Southern Railway. It was slightly smaller than the smallest yard in the Southern Railway.

"How much smaller is the smallest yard here?" he mumbled to himself.

He chuffed around Tidmouth Yard, struggling with the tight turns. Hopefully, Edward and others didn’t take notice. He didn’t need to be reminded of how troublesome his performance was. He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t his fault that he performed this way. 

As Thomas wandered about, he heard two voices. His eyes followed the sound, eventually landing on two auburn passenger coaches, tucked away neatly in what appeared to be a carriage shed.

"I'm worried about James' brakes, Annie. Honestly, I smell nothing but ash whenever he brakes!" The coach with the name "Clarabel" painted in white on their sides whispered.

Annie, the other coach with her name painted on as well, replied, "So do I, Clarabel! It bothers me so much. I do hope the Fat Director figures something out…"

The two auburn coaches were unaware of the khaki shunter looking at them. From his own experience, coaches could either be sweet with reasonable sternness or absolutely hostile. There was no in-between, just a game of chance when it came to them. He nervously approached them as he felt lonely. "Hello there.”

Annie and Clarabel suddenly went quiet. "Who was that, Annie?" the latter asked.

"It's a new engine! Hello there, little one!"

Thomas huffed. "I'm not little!"

The pair giggled at the newcomer’s fussiness. "What's your name? You must be new around here," said Clarabel.

"I am! My name is Thomas," Thomas replied. "I'm from the Southern Railway."

"Hello, Thomas. I’m Annie," said Annie.

"And I'm Clarabel," Clarabel greeted.

"And we are the Ffarquhar Branch Line’s coaches," they said in unison.

"Figures," said Thomas. “I don’t think two coaches can handle mainline passenger service.”

"Smart, smart!" said Clarabel.

"Indeed," said Annie but froze as she noticed a familiar face through Thomas' front cab window. "Mr. Perkins?"

"Mr. Perkins?" exclaimed Clarabel.

"Mr. Perkins?" asked Thomas, confused.

A soft chuckle came from Thomas' cab. His driver, Gilbert Perkins, popped his head out of the cab. "Hello, you two. It's been a while!"

"Hello, Mr. Perkins!" greeted the auburn coaches.

Thomas was confused. "You know each other?"

"Oh, of course, we do!" exclaimed Annie. 

"He was our old engine's driver," giggled Clarabel.

Just then, Edward returned.

"I'm back, Thomas!" Edward exclaimed as he chuffed into the yard. The elder blue tender engine took notice of the scene. "Och, I see ye've met Annie and Clarabel- Mr. Perkins?" he exclaimed.

"Hello there, Edward!" replied Mr. Perkins.

Edward flabbergasted. "Ye-"

"Looks like I’m a permanent driver from now on!" he exclaimed with excitement. “Can’t wait to work with this fella,” he continued, petting Thomas' cab, who laughed at the interaction. “Nice to see you’re doing well, old boy.” With that, Mr. Perkins popped right back into the tank engine’s cab.

"Oh, hello, Edward!" said Clarabel. "You're guiding Thomas, right?"

"Be sure to teach him well, Edward!" Annie exclaimed.

"Please do!" continued Clarabel, before dropping her voice down to a whisper. "And maybe James while you're at it."

"Noo, I dinnae ken aboot thon last ane, but I will try, ma'ams. Noo, git some rest. It will be a while before James comes back," Edward replied, reminding the two auburn coaches.

Annie and Clarabel hummed in reply.

"We shall chat some other time then!" exclaimed Annie.

"Indeed! It was a pleasure meeting you, Thomas," said Clarabel.

"Goodbye, Thomas! Goodbye, Edward!" The two sister coaches exclaimed before getting some shut-eye.

"Goodbye!" the two engines replied. They puffed away as quietly as they could from the carriage shed.

Once they were far away enough, Thomas asked, "So, where do we start?"

"Wit’ the regular freight trucks!" replied Edward.

…

Edward and Thomas spent the rest of the afternoon shunting. Though Thomas grew a bit exhausted, that didn't mean he had no energy to be cheeky.

During the late afternoon, Gordon was resting in the yard. Thomas was beside Edward, resting from the day's work when the little khaki tank engine noticed.

Thomas sneaked up on Gordon on the track next to him as Edward looked at him, confused. He was shocked when Thomas' whistle shrilled throughout the yard.

The loud noise startled Gordon awake as Thomas exclaimed, "Wake up, lazy-bones! Why don't you be as useful as me!" Cheeky laughter tumbled off his tongue as he raced away.

Edward couldn't help but laugh at the little tank engine's cheekiness, following him and leaving behind an annoyed Gordon.

…

Evening approached when Emily pulled into Tidmouth Yard. Thomas noticed her, in awe of her shape. She looked very different from the other engines. "Who's that?" he asked with curiosity as he backed away from a few trucks.

Edward followed suit from the train of empty cars, lining buffer to buffer to Thomas on a different track. "Thon's Emily," he replied. "She's the ane wha pulls the mornin’ Wild Nor' Wester."

“The what?”

“The Express.”

“Really? She-”

The Stirling Single’s whistle shrilled throughout the area, grabbing Edward and the tank engine’s attention. Within minutes, she approached the other two.

"Good evening, Edward! Who is this?" Emily excitedly asked.

"Guid evenin’, Emily! This is Be- the Fat Director’s new engine!" he replied.

"Hello, I'm Thomas!" the E2 greeted.

"Hello! My name is Emily," the ex-GNR Stirling Single replied. "I'm about to head back to the shed. Are you two heading back?"

"In a bit. We jist need tae finish up here," Edward replied.

"Ah, alright then. I'll see you two later," Emily said before lowering her voice. "I just hope the others aren't there already…"

"James and Gordon ur. Henry's no due until much later."

"I was hoping it wasn’t either of those two. Henry's much more bearable…" she grumbled.

"Dinnae worry, Emily. Dinnae mind em."

Thomas spoke up. "What's wrong with James? He seemed nice!”

"James is a bit…" Emily hummed, "...rude."

"But he can be nice, like earlier," Edward pointed out. "It's jist… rare tae see him be like thon…”

"Oh," Thomas said. "So you pull the morning Express?"

"Ah, I see you've heard," Emily replied teasingly. "I used to pull it all the time until Gordon arrived to help. The Other Director was concerned about my age so he bought Gordon from my old railway."

"So Gordon's the Number Three?"

"That would be me!” piped up Emily, gesturing towards her tender. “Henry's number four. Then Gordon's number five. James is number six, and, well…"

"I would be number seven?"

"Yes," replied Edward quickly.

"You really like to ask a lot of questions, don't you?" chuckled Emily.

"I just have to know!" huffed Thomas defensively. The tender engines laughed at his fussiness. "It's a new railway. I don't want to be wandering around like a fool! I want to know what I’m doing!"

"And ye will wit’ time, Thomas! Wit’ time," chuckled Edward, just as Emily yawned.

"Sorry," she quickly piped. "I'm chuffed! I'll see you two back at the shed. Bye!" The apple green single pulled out of the yard, onto the mainline, and headed to Knapford Shed.

"Bye, Emily!" Edward and Thomas said in unison before getting back to work.

…

That night at Knapford Shed, Thomas was now the smallest engine of the North Western Railway. He was exhausted by the time he and Edward pulled up to the Shed. They saw Emily watching James failing to talk to Gordon while a grand green tender engine was fast asleep.

I guess he’s just like that with everyone, Thomas mused as Gordon shot a glare at James, quickly shutting up the black tender engine. Said engine pouted and reversed into his berth, calling it a night.

Knapford Shed was like any normal engine shed. It had a turntable next to it. There were doors to each berth. From what Thomas could see as he approached the turntable, it looked like the structure had sections. The roof seemed to split into three, and each one looked identical. Each section had three berths.

"How did ye like yer first day?" asked Edward as the little khaki tank engine was turned around.

"I enjoyed it!" he exclaimed, catching the attention of the other three tender engines. However, the unknown engine stayed asleep. "I can't wait to start pulling trains and exploring the island!"

A grumble was heard, and the two smallest engines looked to find a disgruntled Gordon.

The Edwardian-styled engine sighed. "Listen, Thomas. Yer dedication is great but ye need tae learn the basics first," said Edward. The guilt of grounding the newcomer's hopes down struck him. "Neither o' us want ye tae get intae trouble because ye dinnae ken ‘em."

"Oh, I'll get them down! It'll be easy!" claimed Thomas.

Edward chuckled but his worry for his mentee persisted. The pair talked for a while longer as the others slept. They giggled and whispered as quietly as they could before sleep finally took over.

What a great first day.

~

Notes:

Imagine rewriting a rewrite you did, haha-

I wasn't satisfied with the rewrite. It was the one story that kept pestering me so I finally got the chance to sit down and fix it.

I decided to split it up into multiple stories and heavily edited the parts I didn't like. Most of it was down to the dialogue and cutting out parts like Henry's story and the scene with Edward and Gordon.

Another thing that really irked me about my rewrite was Emily. She created more dead space so this is intended to fix that, as well as other continuity errors from James' arrival arc and connotations to IRL basis/facts, such as James' wooden brake blocks and the problems with the LBSCR E2s.

Thank you for reading! Have a wonderful day! <3

[quasi-normalcy]

A while ago while I was in tumblr jail, you posted that you had a masters in science fiction literature (unless you didn't, I have been known to be mistaken), and I am wondering, what do you consider 'important' works of science fiction? Like the science fiction literary canon? I am so curious. Feel free to ignore, I will not harass you.

Yes! I do. I can tell you the ones that I was assigned (I'm afraid that the list skews extremely male and (especially) white).

Mary Shelley, Frankenstein (1818)

Olaf Stapledon, Last and First Men (1930) and Star Maker (1937) [You can probably add Odd John (1935) to this list]

Jules Verne, Journey to the Centre of the Earth (1864) and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (1870) [You can probably add From the Earth to the Moon (1865)]

H.G. Wells, The Time Machine (1895) and War of the Worlds (1897) [Though you can probably go ahead and add The Island of Doctor Moreau (1896), The Invisible Man (1897) and The First Men in the Moon (1901)]

Charlotte Perkins Gilman, Herland (1915)

Catherine Burdekin (writing as Murray Constantine), Swastika Night (1937)

Karel Čapek, R.U.R. (1920)

Isaac Asimov, I, Robot (1950) [You can probably add the first three Foundation novels here as well]

Yevgeny Zamyatin, We (1921)

George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949)

Arthur C. Clarke, 2001: A Space Odyssey (1967) and Rendezvous with Rama (1973) [Add: Childhood's End (1953) and The Fountains of Paradise (1979)

John Wyndham, Day of the Triffids (1951) [add: The Chrysalids (1955) and The Midwich Cuckoos (1957)]

H.P. Lovecraft, "The Call of Cthulhu" (1926) [add The Shadow over Innsmouth (1931)]

Richard Matheson, I Am Legend (1954)

Alfred Bester, The Stars My Destination (1956)

Robert Heinlein, Starship Troopers (1959) [Probably Stranger in a Strange Land (1961) and The Moon is a Harsh Mistress (1966) too, depending on, you know, how much of Heinlein's bullshit you can take]

J.G. Ballard, The Drowned World (1962) [Also, The Burning World (1964) and The Crystal World (1966)]

Phillip K. Dick, The Man in the High Castle (1962) [Also Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (1968) and several of his short stories]

Frank Herbert, Dune (1965)

Michael Moorcock, Behold the Man (1969)

Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-5 (1969)

Ursula Le Guin, The Dispossessed (1974) [Also The Lathe of Heaven (1971) and The Left Hand of Darkness (1969)]

Brian Aldiss, Supertoys series

William Gibson, Neuromancer (1984)

Kim Stanley Robinson, Red Mars (1992) [Also Green Mars and Blue Mars]

They also included Iain M. Banks's The Algebraist (2004), but I personally think you'd be better off reading some of his Culture novels

Other ones that I might add (not necessarily my favourite, just what I would consider the most influential):

Joe Haldeman, The Forever War (1974)

Matsamune Shiro, Ghost in the Shell (1989-91)

Katsuhiro Otomo, Akira (1982-1990)

Octavia Butler, Lilith's Brood (1987-89) and Parable of the Sower (1993)

Poul Anderson, Operation Chaos (1971)

Hector Garman Oesterheld & Francisco Solano Lopez, The Eternaut (1957-59)

Liu Cixin, The Three-Body Problem (2008)

Robert Shea and Robert Anton Wilson, The Illuminatus! Trilogy (1975)

William Hope Hodgson, The House on the Borderland (1908)

Neal Stephenson, Snow Crash (1992)

Joanna Russ, The Female Man (1975)

Orson Scott Card, Ender's Game (1985) [Please take this one from a library]

Edgar Rice Burroughs, A Princess of Mars (1912)

Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid's Tale (1985) and Oryx and Crake (2003)

Aldous Huxley, Brave New World (1932)

Osamu Tezuka, Astro Boy (1952-68)

Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451 (1953)

Madeleine L'Engle, A Wrinkle in Time (1962)

Walter M. Miller, A Canticle for Leibowitz (1959)

Douglas Adams, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (1979)

[ultramaga]

Lately, the government and the top banks of Australia have been pushing for the eradication of payments by cash, leaving phone apps alone, and possibly a medical implant as well.

I have fought against it as best I can, buy there's not much I can do.

It's illegal to have large amounts of cash, and self defense is a crime, so storing at home is not really an option. Besides, I am a disabled pensioner, and the government decided long ago that going through the bank is mandatory.

Covid was the best opportunity they ever had to eliminate personal freedom - I mean, to force everyone to use insecure apps on insecure phones that had insecure operating systems on insecure hardware.

There were scandal when apps were exposed data harvesting, accessing information they didn't have the rights to, and even hacking the microphone and camera of the phone.

https://www.consumerreports.org/electronics-computers/privacy/how-to-protect-yourself-from-camera-and-microphone-hacking-a1010757171/

But the push to do the thing was relentless. You can't stop progress! Nobody else is complaining, the bank told me.

Except people do complain, helpless and hopeless. I worked in tech support, and would hear all day long the agony of those whose assets were cleaned out, and that was in the days of internet banking, when the scammer call centers of India were just a sparkle in Satan's Eye.

You see, the reason banks existed was that they took money in exchange for the service of PROTECTION.

Now, they take your money, and if you get robbed, that's a YOU problem.

And the government is backing them up. Remember the GFC, when most governments expressed their hatred of capitalism by backing banks no matter how badly they embezzled customers?

The Bank and the State had merged.

Mussolini's vision had succeeded.

Fascism took a century, but it in the end, it won. But I am not sure even the 1930s fascists could see this coming.

[iwillfightgodandwin]

(Minor spoilers for Renfield. Warning: This in a small rant about Renfield and how people criticize harshly on things that don't need to be.)

As an actor, I fucking love Renfield (2023). There is the beautiful colouring of the movie, the blending of 1930s film techniques with 2020 techniques, interwoven story telling with even little things coming up later, perfectly crafted relationships dynamics and each character has their own motives through the movie.

That being said, A LOT of things I've seen people talk about in the movie is generally negative. People agree that it's a decent movie, but some of the things people have a problem with don't make sense from a film/acting standpoint.

I've seen people say that Rebecca was unnecessary as a character and that her arc didn't mesh with the rest of the movie. I disagree. Renfield needed someone to show him that he didn't need to bow down and he COULD stand up for himself. However, the vampire hunter trope has been overdone. It would be tiring if Renfield teamed up with someone who knew what they were doing. So they gave us a parallel story. Someone who was heading in the same direction with the same goals, but not the same path.

I saw one person complain about how many different genres they stuck into the film. Let me be clear, it's a Comedy/Horror. They added Action into for several reasons. One of the main ones is because in a good action sequence you can get really good comedic bits. I also believe the person made a comparison to Marvel with it's setup. Honestly? It's just the way the film industry is heading right now. More action, more banter, more real in a way. Marvel is just one of the few big ones jumping onto the bandwagon, give it a couple more years, you'll see everyone doing it.

I also saw someone say (negatively) that Renfield was a bit of a thriller as well and to that I say "please google what a thiller is." You could classify 90% of action or horror movies as thrillers.

And to the people who say "what about the drama and romance? Those are in the film too!" Every movie nowadays has to have a romance arc. Trust me, as an aroace, it bothers me too. However the romance in the film never went anywhere. It was basically onesided and was pretty authentically dissolved into a friendship by the end. As for the drama, you try making a movie about toxic relationships without it getting too real.

All in all, there are some thing about the movie that aren't the best. There are some moments where too much was put in, and there were a couple where not enough was. But that's the beauty in film making, not everything has to be perfect, especially in a comedy.

I've noticed a growing trend in the past few years where movies (especially independent ones with a small fanbase) will get heavily criticized. I can barely enjoy movies nowadays without someone talking about how a movie was trash, or how it failed. It's disheartening, not only as a fan but as an actor as well.

I don't know, maybe this is a sign to start making videos on film techniques in movies. Balance out some of the negativity.