#this was not supposed to be an ongoing endeavor

[transkingcobra]

When you go back to an unfinished scene, reread it so you can remember and re-find the flow of it, only to be upset when it is indeed unfinished and stops abruptly

[linkspooky]

overhaul with his quirk likely never had to face consequences if he accidentally injured one of his subordinates he could just heal them

Hello, kiddos.

This is the perfect time to explain the new term I just coined called: Narrative Gaslighting.

Narrative Gaslighting is not:

Breaking Show Don't Tell: A story failing to properly demonstrate in story something, usually a narrator tells you about a character, or setting. For example: Telling us Endeavor is on a journey of atonement, but never having him take any action in story to show this.

Retcons: Short for retroactive continuity, an ongoing story, a new story detail revising something in the past often changing or imposing a different interpretation of previous described events. For example, in doctor who the reason why Wilf wasn't at Donna's wedding in "The Runaway Bride" is because he apparently had the Spanish flu. Retcons aren't necessarily bad, because sometimes you get cool new ideas, like Wilfred objectively the best doctor who character.

Plot Holes: An inconsistency in the narrative. These are sloppy storytelling but they're not usually done onpurpose.

An Unreliable Narrator: The classic example of this is the Agatha Christie novel "The Murder of Roger Ackroyd" where the narrator / perspective character is the murderer, and hides his role in the murders the whole novel until hercule poirot exposes him. This is a character in the story deliberately misleading the audience, either to conceal a twist, or sometimes unreliable narrator adds to characterization, like a character says something untrue and you're supposed to go "no that's wrong" and it turns out the character is lying to themselves.

Narrative Gaslighting is when a narrative deliberately tries to mislead you, straight up lies, or just insists that that did not happen totally happened guys. Much like real gaslighting it makes you question what you just read. The intent is to just manipulate you into read the story way the author wants you to instead of what's written.

The ask that anonymous sent to me is an example of narrative gaslighting because it's insisting upon something that's blatantly untrue. Overhaul faced consequences, he lost both of his arms and could no longer use his quirk, he was jailed and kept in isolation so long he was reduced to a state where he couldn't do much more than beg for someone to help restore his father figure from his coma. The main character also seeing Overhaul in such a desperate state, instead of agreeing to help wake up Pops who was in a coma (and innocent of the whole affair with Eri mind you, he told Overhaul to stop) instead put a condition that Overhaul is only worthy of human sympathy if he apologizes to Eri first.

Another example of Narrative Gaslighting is the narrative insisting that Deku is someone who "is possessed by a drive to save others that eclipses all common understanding" because his action of not wanting to save Overhaul directly contradicts this, but Horikoshi still wants us to believe Deku is an all-loving hero who's the embodiment of "Heroes who Saves" so he just straight up lies to manipulate us into seeing Deku the way the narrative wants us to, even if it doesn't align with his actions at all.

Here is another example of narrative gaslighting, where a story just insists upon events that are patently untrue to the point where it makes you question what you just read.

No he didn't. No he did not. You're lying. You're a liar.

[sapphic-agent]

I keep seeing post about BNHA's missed potencial and about how it's one of the few stories out there to pit abuse victims against each other and yeah. Absolutely agree. No comments there. But I haven't seen it pointed out how much worse that gets if you are still willing to give Horikoshi some benefit of the doubt... which sadly I am since he wouldn't have had a career if he'd always been Like That. And to clarify I'm not saying that he shouldn't be EXTENSIVELY critizised, I'm just saying that (depressive as it may be) we shouldn't forget how heavily character popularity rankings can affect the writing of an ongoing manga.

Bakugou was literaly introduced bullying kids and suicide-baiting the MC but he also consistently ranked N1 in the pools and Shouto N3 so bye Iida and Ocha these three are the main trio now. Envore was literaly introduced through his familial abuse, referred to Shouto as cattle to All Might's face, and even in his disturbingly self-serving flashback (y'know the one where he acts like he's a poor little meow meow for neglecting any kid he can't force into "hero training") it's still heavily implied he commited marital r*pe... but after One "Cool" Fight he kept breaking Top 10 so redemption it is anyway, I guess.

You have no idea how much I hate that this is where BNHA ended up. But amongst the many things that pain me over it one of the biggest ones is the knowledge that Horikoshi didn't get here Alone.

You aren't wrong in that fan opinion are a big part of why Horikoshi tanked the MHA narrative. However shifting blame from the author to the fans doesn't sit right with me at all.

It's, like, writing 101 that you aren't supposed to pander to a specific group of fans. Horikoshi chose to do that. He chose to cheapen a decent story to appeal to the masses. As a writer, you (and your editors) are supposed to decide the direction of your story. Not your fans.

I would also like to point out that while Bakugou WAS getting very popular among a lot of fans, he had almost as many critics in the beginning. Most of Bakugou's fans at the time were literal kids who didn't know any better. Taking that into consideration is a complete blunder on his part.

And in regard to Endeavor, by the time that "cool" fight happened, he had already decided to redeem Endeavor. In fact, I'm pretty sure that fight was deliberately meant to show off how good of a hero he was to the audience. Endeavor didn't really start getting fans until his redemption arc started.

Also, while Izuku does get a lot of flack, he's been consistently high in character popularity polls and Horikoshi still treats him like shit. Same with All Might and Uraraka.

(Character polls are consistently rigged, so we really shouldn't count them anyway)

So yeah, the fans aren't great judges of character. But it was Horikoshi's literal job to know his narrative and characters better

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

mr rollo how many hours of sleep do you get each night because you look awfully in need of more

Like Fire, Hellfire.

If he was insulted by your question, his expression certainly didn't show it. His tone, soft and even, his face, unchanging, as he conjured a reply for your query.

"Enough to function. That is all the detail you need to know,” he said, fingers knitted together. "I am a busy man, so I follow to a strict schedule to ensure upkeep of my duties. Losing sleep is of little consequence, for I serve a far nobler cause.”

Rollo spread his arms out. With the light of a new day at his back, he was haloed like a saint in a stained glass window. But no—you knew from experience that this man was no savior, but a demon in disguise.

“There is no rest for the wicked, and therefore those that combat the wicked such as myself are also granted little rest. It is an ongoing endeavor between good and evil, and I must remain diligent in that conflict.”

“It still can’t be good for you to lose this much sleep. You can't exactly fight evildoers if you fall over mid-battle from exhaustion. Try to catch up on those Zs when you can," you suggested lightly.

"Hmph, for you to so comfortably proposing such a thing... What a carefree life you must lead." Rollo shook his head. "It's a wonder that you're able to get any sleep at all. Were I to be the one trapped in this den of depravity, I’m certain the nightmares would keep me awake for what little time I can afford to rest.”

"It's really not so bad being here," you shrugged. "I get a roof over my head and free entertainment every day. I guess I can sleep well cuz life’s chill.”

Rollo’s brows furrowed, seemingly troubled by the comment. “Chill, you say… Your mind has been more poisoned by those villains than I feared.”

“Hey, I know!!” you suddenly cried out, snapping your fingers in realization. “Maybe you can’t sleep because you’re so stressed and grumpy all the time!!”

Rollo frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, you take everything so seriously! When you’re all tense like that, you can’t settle into a good night’s sleep. You should try a weighted blanket, or drinking warm milk before bed. Oh, and maybe bring a plushie with you to hug!”

Rollo stared at you as though you had just sprouted wings and taken off to the skies. Surprise and suspicion lined his eyes, set even deeper than the dark circles that ringed them.

At last, a sigh.

“… You truly do have such a carefree existence. Well, I suppose ignorance is bliss.”

[copperbadge]

Endeavor OTC game for ADHD

antidoteforreality

is it really different from a standard FPS game? I’m curious about it!

Hope it's okay that I popped this into its own post, I found I had a lot to say :D

Context from the earlier post: EndeavorOTC is a paid app based on EndeavorRX, which is a prescription game for kids with ADHD. RX is FDA-approved; OTC is the version that hasn't gone through FDA approval, but it's a fork of the same code. It's fairly repetitive but that's because it's a training module shaped like a game, not a game that happens to do training.

It's less of an FPS and more of an infinite runner, like Sonic Dash or Temple Run. You're in a little ship that flies along a waterway, and you're supposed to hit "energy fields" which help you speed up to catch a critter you're chasing. You can't control your speed; you tilt your device to swerve left or right to hit the energy fields, but that's it. This is the "Steering" skill.

Your other, simultaneous task is to shoot critters that jump out of the water at you, called "targeting". It's a misnomer since you don't tap ON the creatures, you just tap anywhere on the right side of the screen and it shoots them for you, no aim required. These critters come in three colors, and at the start of every mission they tell you only ONE color to shoot. If you shoot the wrong color or miss an energy field while steering, you slow down very slightly. The goal is to speed up so fast that you catch the critter you're chasing, which is, to be fair, quite challenging.

You aren't ever penalized, really; the critter sometimes gets away, but you get points for trying. You don't have "lives", but you are time-limited -- once you've played for 25 minutes (a "dose"), the game locks down for the rest of the day. Something I REALLY like is that once you've paid the subscription price there's nothing else to buy: no ads to watch for bonuses, no microtransactions, no loot crates. You can earn coin to buy different outfits for your avatar, but that's it, and you can't buy coin, you just get a set amount per day for completing the dose. Every 15 missions or so, your ability to steer-target is evaluated and your score adjusted, which lets you know how you're progressing in terms of treatment, rather than skill at the game. You're supposed to play at least five days a week for six weeks as an initial treatment.

The reason I was willing to give it a shot was that the "targeting" aspect is based on the Go/No-Go Task, which is a legit tool they use in ADHD testing, and the aspect of the test I bombed the hardest when I was evaluated. Ongoing Go/No-Go task training has been shown in some research to help emotional regulation, although it's cognitive and not mindfulness. Overall the game is meant to improve focus but it was the Go/No-Go aspect that I found most compelling as a reason to try.

It's not cheap; you can get a 7-day trial but only if you pre-emptively subscribe, and if you don't cancel the subscription at the end of the 7 days you are charged $130, which I admit is a sneaky move to pull on a population not known for remembering to cancel subscriptions. The first thing I did after signing up was go to google play and cancel the subscription -- I still got to keep the trial -- but honestly when my trial is up I'll probably subscribe, it's a fun little game and I'm willing to risk the money to see if it helps (but I'm also in a position to spend $130 "just to see"). You can also do month-to-month for $25 but obviously the $130 yearly sub is much cheaper in the long run.

I've seen a wide variety of reactions to it, from delight to frustration, although a lot of the frustration seems to be from people who are more accustomed to intense gaming and are treating it like a video game and not a training tool. I'll keep you guys posted on how it goes.

[delawaredetroit]

Look, narratively this is supposed to be part of an ongoing theme for the Todorokis and eyes. That for both Shouto and Endeavor, they spent most of their lives blind to what was in front of them because they couldn't stop looking far ahead towards the object of their icy hatred. There's a reason one of the most impactful lines directed at Shouto (other than it's your power not his) is "where are you looking?" Izuku shouted this to Shouto at the sports festival and Inasa repeated it here. Because Shouto was still learning to face the people directly in front of him at this point in the manga.

But Inasa harboring a years long grudge over two people glaring in his general direction funny makes him one of the pettiest men alive. In the end, what he was doing here wasn't different from Shishikura (Shiketsu's meatball guy). Inasa was also attempting to be the arbiter of who was worthy of being a hero. Shishikura just decided based on who upheld the dignity of the profession of heroics versus Inasa's belief that that heroes should be passionate and present in the moment.

[numptypylon]

hi numpty i re-read your cottage cuddles au and it’s really faster and cheaper than therapy, in general, I wanted ask if you are continuing to write a sequel? no rush or complaints, it's just one of my favorite stories and I'm curious. thank you!

It’s ongoing, yeah. It’s been half-written for YEARS, and it’s not even supposed to be very long, I just accidentally wrote a prequel instead and then a bunch of other stuff 😅 I wrote words on the sequel within the last week though, it’s not abandoned, just these days are ridiculously busy, ALL my fandom endeavors are on pause right now. It means a lot to hear you return to the fics, I wrote them to be comforting (pain can be comforting, leave me alone XD)

All the sequel teaser are in the [where the heart is] tag and I’ll post more soon 😊

I also have a few other cottage cuddles fics in the works, at least 2 far-future ones, one wedding based and one first day of school for cottage kiddo and Callum both (he'll return to uni in his 30s). I'll probably post a teaser of the wedding fic next wip wednesday, it's too late for today.

Have a teaser of the sequel though! You thought the sequel would be sexy? Nah, it be dumb. Very very dumb XD under the cut bc mildly nsfw but mostly very dumb

“Um. It’s… just… been a while. For me.”

“Callum. Dummy.” She cupped his cheeks. “We live together. I know it’s been a while. I know I joked about… how good I am at sex but… I’ve never had sex with you. I don’t expect to know everything or for you to. I like you a whole lot, and we’ll make it work if you have the two-penis phenotype, you know I’m flexible in the penis-count department-”

He sputtered, choking on a bit of toothpaste, and the nervousness lifted like magic, because laughter was like that and… Rayla was like that.

“I love you,” he said, relishing in saying it, in letting it spill over as it came to him instead of getting bottled up inside him like a heartfelt-speech-timebomb. “And my junk is… very average. Average size and amount of everything. My hands are big, and I know there’s a stereotype, but it doesn’t hold up, in my case.”

“So you have 1.928 balls? Plenty of men have less than two, and more than two is a lot rarer-“

“Median!” he laughed. “I have a median amount of everything!” Rayla had so resented her obligatory statistics class she had resolved to use it in her daily life because it was so irrelevant to her work life. “Now, who’s a dork?”

[garagepaperback]

innocuous

It’s not entirely different from learning a new language.

Or, maybe it’s closer to decoding a series of complicated runes. More like disarming a trap, blindfolded with three fingers on your wand hand tied tightly together with string. Draco ties the bow very neatly, at least. Painfully neat with two perfectly even loops. A gift-wrapped impairment, intentional, well-dressed. Failure served on a polished silver platter.

“Just tell me,” Harry argues the first time after an entire Saturday is lost to the glacier of passive-aggression. And, the second time. The sixth time. “Use your words.”

“Disgusting, childish, slovenly,” Draco says, face stone-carved, smooth. 

“I mean how you feel.” Harry bites out, “I can't automatically know what you're feeling-” The callus of his tone is peeled back, raw pink skin revealed underneath. “I statements. Like the therapist said.”

“I feel you’re disgusting.” Draco says, so slowly Harry has plenty of room to sink, second by second, into a vivid vision of strangling him. “I feel you’re childish. I feel you’re slovenly.”

“You’re so fucking dramatic. They’re socks.” Harry rolls his eyes, times one through six, and leaves.

The argument runs on a loop. Harry’s done and then Draco seals up the doors of himself, bolt sliding into strike, ears red. He retreats fully, up early and coming back to bed late. 

Standing in front of two black, balled-up socks, one on the floor, its partner jammed into the couch cushion, the seventh time, Draco’s hand goes up, sweeping in a wide gesture - Look, disgusting, childish - and then before he can actually put the words to breath, Harry grabs his hand, “I’m sorry, you’re right.”

Suspicious and un-won-over, Draco’s spine remains strictly structured and Harry goes on, anyway, turning Draco around, stretching up on his toes a bit to tip their foreheads together. “I know- you grew up in that huge, spotless mansion- it's gotta be physically painful, devastating probably, to endure something as awful as used socks on furniture. Maybe the worst thing that ever happened to you.” He’s getting there. Draco breathes a strangled laugh, only half-annoyed. Harry kisses him, threads one hand into his hair, and then pulls back, big grin in the small space between them. He does a terrible impression of Draco’s accent, “You poor, posh thing.”

That’s it - Draco laughs fully, leans in and kisses him, too.

It’s not a solution. It’s an ongoing endeavor, and so stupid - all those wasted hours of cold shoulders and vitriol-laced good morning’s - over fucking socks of all things. But that’s home, Harry supposes. That's doing this, for real. Lingering laundry and not a solution, always, but a way to move around it, to stay near and close and together, to keep from splintering apart with blame and whatever else.

The thought is thrilling and sudden: this could very well take the rest of his life, figuring this out, navigating the river with its rapids, curves, sudden shallows. What a dumb, lovely thing.

for day 7 of @microficmay

[mariacallous]

In mid-September, Russians at War, a documentary by the Russian Canadian filmmaker Anastasia Trofimova, was supposed to be screened at the Toronto International Film Festival. At the last minute, after protests from the Ukrainian community and the office of Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky, the festival first pulled the picture, only to return it to the program a week later.

What made the documentary so controversial was that, although many films have chronicled the devastation caused by Russia’s ongoing invasion of Ukraine, including the Oscar-winning 20 Days in Mariupol, Trofimova’s work focused on the invaders. The filmmaker, embedded with a Russian unit for seven months, humanized Moscow’s troops as lost, confused, and disheveled. The men joke, miss their families, and even criticize the Russian government, though they never speak against Putin. A love-on-the-front-lines plot trains the viewer’s sympathy on the soldiers, even while the film avoids any reference to atrocities committed by Russian forces in Ukraine.

So is Russians at War a propaganda film, as its Ukrainian critics argue? Financed in part by the Canada Media Fund and produced in partnership with Ontario’s public broadcaster TVO, Russians at War avoids the trope of “Russian savior liberates ancestral lands from NATO invaders” that is typical of Kremlin propaganda. But all of Trofimova’s previous documentaries, filmed in Syria, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and Iraq, were made for RT—the Kremlin’s global propaganda network. In an interview with Deadline, Trofimova claimed that she embedded with a Russian unit without any military authorization, and just “stuck around.” In a country where a Wall Street Journal reporter gets sentenced to 16 years for merely handling a piece of paper, an independent filmmaker roaming the front lines, filming military installations, and interviewing soldiers without facing repercussions raises questions. Trofimova did not respond to a request for comment for this article.

One thing that the confused response to Russians at War makes clear is that eight years after the revelation that Moscow attempted to influence a U.S. presidential election, most Westerners still don’t really know how Russian propaganda campaigns work. Americans have become familiar with AI botnets, salaried trolls tweeting in broken English about Texas secession, deranged Russian TV hosts calling for a nuclear strike on New York, and alt-right has-beens. But what to make of a French and Canadian documentary, tucked between Pharrell’s Lego-animated film and a Q&A with Zoe Saldaña, that seems cozy with the Russian military and blurs the line between entertainment and politics?

Here is a clue: The Kremlin’s information war in the West is reminiscent of the one it fought—and won—on the home front. I know this because I was in that earlier war, and, regrettably, I fought on the wrong side.

I began working for Kremlin-linked media during my junior year in college. At the time, the Russian government was apparently hoping that by leveraging high energy prices, it could regain a bit of the influence it had lost after the Cold War. The state called this being an “energy superpower.” In practice, high oil and gas prices abroad translated into more Michelin chefs, German cars, and Italian suits for the select few at home.

In 2005, a close friend introduced me to Konstantin Rykov, known as the godfather of the Russian internet and, later, the man who revolutionized digital propaganda in Russia. In 1998, he launched a website called fuck.ru, which included a provocative magazine and mixed Moscow nightlife, humor, and art. With a blend of pop culture and media savvy, Rykov built an empire of news websites, tabloids, and even online games.

Rykov’s latest endeavor at the time of our meeting was The Bourgeois Journal, a glossy luxury-lifestyle magazine aimed at Russia’s affluent class. He hired me to head up the St. Petersburg bureau, not because of my background in student journalism, but in large part because I grew up in Boston, meaning that I was fluent in English and, apparently, the ways of the West. During my interview (a sushi-and-vodka breakfast), the word Kremlin never came up.

Rykov made the Journal available, for free, only at the most exclusive restaurants, gyms, private clinics, and five-star hotels. Inside, between ads for Richard Mille watches and prime London real estate, were interviews with figures such as Vladimir Medinsky and Alexander Dugin—now the ideologues behind Russia’s war in Ukraine. In a single issue, you could read a review of a restaurant located in a 15th-century building in Maastricht, an essay about the West’s fear of a strong Russia, and a report from Art Basel. The Bourgeois Journal used luxury to mask propaganda aimed at Russia’s elite.

Like many people working in Russian propaganda at the time, I didn’t agree with the narrative that my publication was spreading. And, as most people in propaganda will tell you, I was simply doing my job. I was there a little over a year—selling ads, reviewing restaurants, and occasionally interviewing a Western celebrity. The tedious essays on Russia’s place in the world were outweighed by the benefits of running a magazine for the rich: private palaces, private parties, and escapes to the Caribbean sun—something that the birthplace of Dostoyevsky had little of.

After the success of The Bourgeois Journal, Rykov launched Russia.ru, the country’s first online television network, in 2007. Here, pro-Kremlin news ran alongside obscene reality shows, attracting nearly 2.5 million viewers a month. The network’s slogan, “Glory to Russia”—now a battle cry in Russia’s war in Ukraine—demonstrated just how seamlessly Rykov blended patriotism with entertainment to reach an enormous audience.

Building on this, Rykov introduced ZaPutina (“For Putin”), a movement designed to help Vladimir Putin secure an unconstitutional third term. The project included an online platform that aggregated news from various sources, including original reporting from its own correspondents; a ZaPutina campaign bus to take Kremlin-loyal bloggers across the country; and attractive women—proto-influencers—who attended press conferences, introducing themselves by name and their outlet (“For Putin”) before asking their questions.

My biggest contribution to Russian propaganda came in 2009. By then, Russia was positioning itself as an inventive, Western-oriented economy. Vladislav Surkov—an adman, a poet, a columnist, and a Kremlin ideologue—dubbed this period one of “managed democracy,” which will likely be remembered as the midpoint between Russia’s post-Soviet anarchy and its modern-day fascism. Political parties were numerous, but all controlled from the Kremlin, as was almost every form of media. Yet the country sought a veneer of freedom. That’s where Honest Monday came in—a prime-time talk show that I co-created, wrote, and co-produced.

Our remit was to reach the sorts of viewers who ignored the in-your-face messaging of broadcast talk shows. Each week, the Kremlin assigned these shows a topic it wanted highlighted, and most would comply in a very blunt fashion: Do this, vote for that, Russia’s great. With a young host and a flashy studio modeled on French TV, Honest Monday took a different approach. Every week, I wrote up a summary of the left, center, and right perspectives on the topic we were given; I also delineated a viewpoint that reflected the Kremlin’s stance on the matter and sketched a justification for why this view was better than the other three. The producers would then scour the country for guests whose views reflected each of the three perspectives. The three speakers—politicians, celebrities, or pundits—had to defend their stance to, say, a factory worker we flew in from Siberia whose experience was relevant to the topic we covered. The debates were real, many of them heated, and with views contradicting the Kremlin’s. Still, the house always won.

Toward the end of our first season, the ratings for Honest Monday dipped, and the Kremlin’s tolerance waned. The network introduced a new director. As I recall, he outlined for us his vision of the show’s future: “When the viewers tune in, the first thing they should do is shit themselves.”

The Kremlin instructed us to take aim at the powerless Russian opposition, and in a matter of weeks, the messaging turned into outright bashing of everything that stood against Putin. I resigned—publicly—by sanctimoniously calling the show’s producers and host “Kremlin shills.” A couple of years later, two people connected with the Russian propaganda machine lured me outside and assaulted me in broad daylight (one of them later tweeted that he was motivated by a personal issue rather than a political one). When I hit the ground, half a mile from the Kremlin, I was finally out of the game.

Perhaps Rykov’s greatest contribution to Russian propaganda remains his cadre of media managers and propagandists, who now grace Kremlin corridors (and U.S. Treasury sanctions lists). One such protégé was Vladimir Tabak. Formerly a producer at Russia.ru, he rose to prominence in 2010, when he organized a now-infamous birthday calendar for Putin, featuring 12 female students posing in lingerie and captioned with quotes like “I love you,” “Who else but you?,” and “You’re only better with age.” The calendar, designed to create buzz and cultivate Putin’s image, dominated the news cycle for weeks. In an interview with the model Naomi Campbell, Putin even commented on how much he liked it. Legend has it that Surkov personally approved the project.

Although Tabak’s initial endeavor may have seemed playful, his later efforts illustrate just how insidious his propaganda techniques have become. Since 2020, Tabak has led Dialog, a powerful, Kremlin-affiliated organization tasked with controlling and shaping all social-media narratives in the country. If someone uses social media to criticize, say, the mayor of a small town, Dialog knows about it. According to a joint investigation by the independent Russian outlets Meduza, The Bell, and iStories, the organization took on a significant role during the coronavirus pandemic, virtually monopolizing the flow of COVID-related information in Russia by launching the website Stopkoronavirus.rf as the primary source for daily pandemic updates (the investigation report notes that Dialog denies being associated with this site).

At the height of the pandemic, the Kremlin decided to hold a vote on constitutional amendments that would allow Putin to serve two more terms, and Dialog immediately shifted to encouraging people to go to the polls, downplaying COVID-19 concerns. Later, after the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Dialog was reportedly tasked with spreading fake news about the war not just in Russia, but in Ukraine. Some of the narratives included Ukrainian soldiers selling their awards on eBay, high-ranking Ukrainian officials owning expensive property in the European Union, and Kyiv ordering the mobilization of women.

Tabak’s organization has become a key player in Russia’s digital warfare abroad, including in its most recent campaign targeting Western audiences. On September 4, the U.S. Justice Department seized numerous internet domains allegedly involved in Russia’s Doppelganger campaign—an influence operation designed to undermine international support for Ukraine and bolster pro-Russian interests. The domains, many of them made to resemble legitimate news outlets, were linked to Russian companies, including Dialog. According to an unsealed affidavit, the goal of the operation was to spread covert Russian propaganda, manipulate voter sentiment, and influence the 2024 U.S. presidential election.

Doppelganger appears to be a sophisticated operation that used deepfakes, AI, and cybersquatting (registering domains designed to mimic legitimate websites). But the Kremlin’s real innovations were those it employed in Russia in the 1990s; in the West today, it is simply repeating the same playbook using new technology. Washingtonpost.pm, a fake news website created to spread Russian propaganda, was an evolution of the fake newspapers that circulated in Russia during the ’90s ahead of elections. The purpose of those outlets—made to resemble legitimate media but filled with kompromat, gossip, and propaganda—was to get the right people elected.

Since the start of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Russian propaganda has churned out absurd and repulsive lies, such as that Ukraine has biolabs where NATO scientists are working on a virus that targets Slavic DNA, and that Zelensky, who is Jewish, presides over a neo-Nazi regime. Yet, in a way, it has become honest with itself—at least for the domestic audience. There’s no longer a need for platforms like Russia.ru or The Journal, because the message is clear: This is who we are, and you’re either with us or against us. And yet, the entertainment aspect didn’t disappear. Rather, it was absorbed into the propaganda machine through the Institute for Internet Development.

Founded in 2015 with Kremlin backing, and currently under the direction of the former Journal producer Alexey Goreslavsky, the IID helps direct state funds toward producing everything from box-office releases to YouTube videos, blogs, and video games. With a yearly budget of more than $200 million, it dwarfs any private film studio or streaming platform in Russia.

Since the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the institute has become the go-to hub for content. Initially, its output was dull and overtly propagandistic, but that has changed. Its catalog now includes 20/22, a TV series about a soldier fighting in Ukraine and his anti-war girlfriend, as well as A Thug’s Word, a 1980s period piece about a street gang, which became the No. 1 show in Russia and surprisingly popular in Ukraine—much to the dismay of the Ukrainian government. A Thug’s Word contains no politics, no war, and no Putin, yet IID—a propaganda organization—considers it its greatest success, because it legitimized the institute in the world of popular entertainment, which it fought so hard to break into.

One reason Russian propaganda is running circles around the West is that the internet was one of the few domains where the Russian state arrived late, forcing it to co-opt those who understood it. RuNet, the Russian segment of the World Wide Web, was created—and run—by people like Rykov: artsy 20-somethings, filled with cynicism, post-Soviet disillusionment, and a cyberpunk mentality. The collapse of the Soviet Union taught them that truth was whatever they wanted it to be, and that survival was the ultimate goal. The advertising executives, philosophy students, and creatives who once made video art, lewd calendars, and scandalous zines are the same minds who in 2016 said, “Let’s make memes about Hillary Clinton,” and in 2024 suggested using AI to flood X with believable comments. In many ways, this confrontation mirrors what’s happening in Ukraine: This time, however, the West is the massive, unwieldy force being outsmarted by a smaller, more tech-savvy adversary.

The good news is that the Kremlin is a graveyard of talent. In time, every gifted person I knew who went behind its brick walls was devoured by deceit, paranoia, and fear of losing one’s place in the sun. Konstantin Rykov was exceptional at his job, so much so that the Kremlin offered him a seat in the Russian Parliament when he was just 28. He accepted the offer. But being a member of the Duma Committee on Science and High Technologies and the Committee for Support in the Field of Electronic Media wasn’t the same as being the editor of fuck.ru. Despite being involved in some foreign influence operations, Rykov, now 45, hasn’t produced any significant work for Russian audiences since he joined Parliament.

Asked by an audience member in Toronto whether Russia was responsible for the war in Ukraine, Trofimova replied, “I think there are a lot of other factors involved. Yeah, like they are definitely sending troops in to solve whatever grievances there are.” Even if it wasn’t financed by Moscow, Russians at War reminds me of a Rykov production: slick, scandalous, and with a ton of free press. The message the film conveys is that war, not the country that started it, is bad in this scenario. Trofimova seems to portray Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, and the astonishing scale of the atrocities it has committed there, as something impersonal and inexorable, like a tsunami: We can only accept it and sympathize with the victims, including Russian soldiers.

I stopped working for the Kremlin long before the Russo-Ukrainian war, and whatever I did as the head of a magazine bureau and as a talk-show producer pales in comparison with what some of my former colleagues are doing today. Still, I know that in every bullet flying toward Ukraine—the country where my parents were born—there’s a small part of me. I wonder if Trofimova sees that she’s part of it, too.

[fightabear]

okay here's a backstory dump for this fatui!kaveh... fucked up au idea. i've got like... an animatic planned because i'm in desperate need of refreshing those skills, but there won't be like a linear ongoing comic like my other projects.

'potentially a fanfiction? maybe? but 'potentially a fanfiction? maybe? but there will probably be like. drawings of key moments.

TL;DR

everything is the same up until the night they meet at the bar, kaveh does not go with alhaitham. either alhaitham bungles the proposal, or kaveh is simply too proud to accept the help being offered and views it as an admission that he should be living selfishly.

instead, after a dream conversation with nahida, he becomes involved in the very early stages of planning for the sabzeruz festival.... and is killed, both as a warning to alhaitham to learn his place, and as a lesson to those of sumeru who wish to worship lesser lord kusanali so openly.

ill dottore revives him as part of his experiments with the akasha terminals. this is a success, and kaveh retains little to no memory of his life in sumeru. he is given a new name and a new purpose - yahya of the fatui, sworn to serve the tsaritsa and her goals. he re-enters the story at the same point, after the crisis in sumeru has ended. he remains behind as the eyes and ears of the doctor and one of the only holders of a functioning akasha terminal.

LONG VERSION OF HISTORY AND BACKSTORY:

that night at the bar, at his very lowest, kaveh refuses the invitation to stay in alhaitham's home. it feels too much like giving up. too much like accepting that he was wrong, that his beliefs are wrong - not the way he went about enacting them. to accept the invitation feels like co-signing onto alhaitham's view of the world as he understands it, and that is so grim and bleak he declares he would rather die than live in a world where people live only for themselves.

he has no idea how prophetic the words are to be.

that night, camping in the wilderness, lesser lord kusanali meets kaveh in his dreams. he does not recall most of the dream, only that she is a warm and comforting presence. everything he believes knowledge should be. a light in the dark, the tools to give the suffering some sense of peace. the people of sumeru are lost, he declares, and the akasha terminals have ruined their capacity to think for themselves. to see the world beyond puzzles that must be solved, and people are hurdles rather than assets.

and when he wakes, he no longer feels as aimless. there is a path forward that he sees all too clearly, and all he grown tired of in sumeru is the akademiya and it's overreach.

the efforts to revive the sabzeruz festival gain much more traction when the light of kshahrewar himself joins in. the actual festival is months away, but the fact that it being planned - that a famous scholar has joined in on the efforts - immediately gets traction.

people who hadn't previously seen kaveh's vision now see it at his hip, and rumors start to spread. he has been chosen by lesser lord kusanali to bring them into a new age of wisdom. kaveh had never minded the whispers of others much, as the only expectations he had ever worried about failing were his own and his client's - but if he'd heeded those warnings, he may have been better prepared for what happened.

when word came from the akademiya that his proposal had been approved, he has confused. what proposal? he had been funding this work on his own and with the aid of the desert folk - who were more eager to assist an endeavor for kusanali if her people were kinder than that of rukkadevata. still, he goes to the meeting place that the head of his darshan asks. they have a pleasant dinner, a few drinks - the taste of which is off - and kaveh grows concerned that questions about his supposed proposal are dodged.

they walk the docks of port ormos afterwards, though kaveh insists that he is not feeling well after that meal and wants to go home. thjat kind nature is taken advantage of, as the man says he wishes to discuss something important. he has been carrying a heavy weight and wishes to share it.

they stop short and stare at the water, and the man laments that kaveh has thrown away a bright future in pursuit of fruitless dreams. he was always a dreamer, that's what made his work stand out, but he does not care for or respect the spirit of knowledge. it brings him no joy to do this to the most promising alumni in centuries.

what he says is truly upsetting is that in the end, kaveh hadn't even earned this through his own merits. it had been his friendship with the scribe that sealed his fate. he would be a message to all.

there's no room for elaboration. kaveh can't even process what he's being told, uncertain if alhaitham ordered this or - if this is meant ot harm him.

regardless, there in the docks on a dark summer night, kaveh meets his end.

he flings mehrak as far from himself as he can once it takes too much damage to pull his sword free. they deliver death unto him brutally, and staged to look like angry debt collectors. and as he lay dying, the doctor steps from the shadows and asks if they have any further use for him once the message has been sent.

he's found in the morning, laying haphazardly on the shores. a dumped body that resurfaced. those lovely hands smashed and broken.

the details of the architect's ruined financials filter out, that he was less a light and more a bringer of ruin. it looks cut and dry. a debt collector had come to collect.

rumors of non-existent fundraisers slip into the conversation, leaving people to assume him nothing more than a charlatan and a fraud. destroying the budding reputation that the festival had.

before an autopsy can be performed, the body goes missing. those dedicated to recreating the sabzeru festival do not give up, and they are determined to see it through. not believing for a second that kaveh was taking them for a ride, and determined to not let his death be in vain.

elsewhere, the doctor carries on with his work.

a broken bird of paradise awakens in his laboratory. the glittering green vision resting atop his chest no longer gives off a glow, but the light at his temple does. this akashic terminal glows with the blue of cryo. all the information that could possibly exist within it has been downloaded into his mind, most of it partitioned away so it doe snot overwhelm him. this process, and the modifications to the terminal itself, makes up for the parts of his brain too damaged to continue to function on their own. the terminal regulates the processes his body should know how to do, allowing him to breathe, his heart to beat, his body to move when he wants it.

the drug slipped into his drink done a decent job of keeping him in a death-like state without actually crossing that threshold into death, but the damage was extensive. recovery, too, would be a nightmare. impossible were it not for this little gift.

when the bird is finally well enough to take wing, Il Dottore bestows upon it a new name, yahya and the codename uccello del paradiso. and with this name, a new mission - to serve the tsaritsa and burn away the world.

yahya does not know what happened to him, only that the cruelty of the existing world is what caused his suffering. he knows that he would have died, were it not for Il Dottore intervention. he is grateful to have been saved, though he remembers so little about his life before he feels he may as well be a new being.

his hands are strong enough to hold a sword, but the fine motor control necessary to write or paint has been lost due to a mixture of the damage to his mind and hands. he is still deceptively strong despite that willowy frame. even more so than before, as the modifications to his body and brain allow him to use more strength than what a normal person should be capable of without harming themselves.

his mind is sharp as ever, and the modifications to the akashic terminal allow him to more directly interface with ancient technology. most of his work has been in the investigation of king deshret's ruins and the so-called 'forbidden knowledge'.

he is most often seen in a modified version of a fatui agent's outfit, though the colors mirror that of ill dottore's harbinger uniform. he is also most often seen with a mask, meant to cover up the altered color of his akashic terminal and to hide his face from any who would recognize it in these lands. though there is light scarring across his face, he still looks like himself... though his eyes have changed. they're flat and lifeless.

the most concerning feature of his new existence is that at any point, his eyes can be looked through. his ears lsistened through. his voice used to say another's words. his autonomy hijacked and used used for the fatui's goal's. and he won't remember anything about it.

i'm still working out where this goes from here.

alhaitham and fatui!kaveh (yahya from here on out) have some encounters where they come to blows. yahya just seems to have it out for him and alhaitham has no earthly idea who this could be, but he pisses so many people off in the run of a day he doesn't pay much mind to it.

alhaitham definitely gets mehrak working in the aftermath of everything and hears the conversation with the doctor because mehrak recorded it, so he knows that the man has kaveh's body. but he assumes its just the body and he's disgusted at the idea that kaveh's corpse is being used for cruel experiments, and he just wants to get it back to give kaveh peace.

it isn't until he speaks with wanderer that he finds out that the experiments were a success and kaveh is alive.

WHAT IS FATUI!KAVEH LIKE?

yahya is still kind at heart, though no longer the sort of person who burns himself alive just to warm others for a second. he is still compassionate to the deserving, but far more willing to lash out at those who throw their weight around to punish the unworthy. in many ways, he is the version of himself alhaitham wanted him to be. he priortizes himself and his safety above all others, though that leaves a coldness to him that is difficult to ignore and hard to witness to those who knew him before.

he is far more quick to violence. pacifism obviously did him no good in the past. and what good is doing good if the evil are still there to reap it's benefits? there is a greedier, hungier edge to him - all to fill the void of loneliness and grief for a life that was robbed of him. yahya can't remember anything about who or what he was. he was told that he was killed for debts owed, and that he should blame the gods for it. as if the god he so loved had helped him, this could have been avoided. thanks to the modifications to the akasha terminal keeping him alive, nahida can't even enter his mind to set the record straight.

he can't pursue the softer things that brought him joy due to the damage he sustained before his death and revival. he collects mora as some holdover of the stress he used to have around it, though he has little to spend it on. nothing really sparks that joy and passion beyond the idea of creating, and he finds his new limitations too frustrating to deal with to pursue that.

while he is far from hostile to most people, he holds little love for sumeru. what he can recall - the phantoms of memories, nothing concrete - does not speak of a life filled with joy. but of loneliness, abandonment, and an untimely end at the hands of people he had trusted. he doesn't think he was much mourned, and doesn't realize that his death set both alhaitham and cyno on a path that ultimately lead to the changes in sumeru he had long desired.

DOES FATUI!KAVEH HAVE A VISION?

sort of. his vision expended most of its power keeping him alive, and is still kind of doing that. he wears it around his neck now, but it looks like the dead visions that we saw during the vision decree. it does start to glow when he starts to remember who he was and the convictions he used to hold.

DOES FATUI!KAVEH HAS A DELUSION?

yes! and he can use one without the negative effects because he's already basically dead. i'm torn as to whether i want it to be pyro or hydro.

WILL HE AND ALHAITHAM KISS?

probably yes.

the core idea here is that alhaitham always fucking knew that kaveh was going to give too much and get himself killed, and alhaitham is grappling with guilt.

kaveh is also feeling a lot of guilt, though he can never place the emotion or figure out why. the fight in the akademiya and the conversation at the bar are recurring moments for both of them.

but the tl;dr is that kaveh eventually realizes that despite how much of a dick he can be, alhaitham wasn't telling him not to ever help people. because alhaitham himself does help people when he can spare the bandwidth, he just... believes people need to also be willing to stand up and help him help them. and that he has to care for himself first so he's not dragged down and drowned.

he was trying to tell kaveh that he needs to take care of himself too. and that he can't drive himself into the ground over the guilt he feels for his father's death. because that wasn't his fault. that was kaveh trying to take responsibility for a situation he didn't create, which is ultimately what he does every time he rushes to save someone. he's trying to take control of an uncontrollable universe, to give all people an equal footing in the world without noticing that he himself is falling off the fucking cliff.

so yes there is probably a big climactic speech and then kaveh's vision flares back to life because he remembers why he lived the live the way he did and all the good he got out of it. and how inspiring it was. and how even if he mcfuckingdied, so many people cared enough to get justice for him. his actions had impact, had weight, and the ripples they caused made sumeru better for everyone.

and then the kiss.

[spaceasianmillennial]

There's a scene where Deku tells Shouto that his father fought and survived the Nomu valiantly.

Then Shouto agrees, but it is so cold and uncertain. His father surviving isn't a cause for celebration. Just relief... and then the reality of the ongoing bitterness.

To me, that was the scene that conveyed this: Yes, my Old Man can fight like a good Hero and I'm glad he survived, but I now also have to go home to his unbearable temper and the traumatic history he left us and it's never pretty.

Honestly, that was the moment in the anime where I felt the Todoroki storyline captured the ambivalence of your abuser also being your loved one. We're supposed to be uncomfortable. It refuse to let Endeavor's on-field heroism gloss over the deep pain seeped into his family.

[tobiasdrake]

Moving along, let's see what other recorded secrets we can find in the House of Backstory.

Well, if my Makoto theory is correct, he might have been previously bonded to Shinigami. In which case, he may not have a high opinion of the new Shinigami host. Or he could be projecting his own experiences with Shinigami.

Hey, it's Zilch! What's up, buddy? Are you still a bad pupper? Or, no, I suppose you'd be a hungry pupper, right?

What, we don't want to say hi to our old buddy-pal Zilch? I want to see if he still has his pupper hat. It's hard to make out from this distance and I never did get to scritch his ears.

HINT HINT. Yuma learned his lesson from his first altercation with a "zombie" and wasn't about to take the bait, so Makoto had to nudge him.

He DOES. He does have the pupper hat. Hey, buddy. How's it going? Murdered anyone interesting lately? 'Cause I have. I killed my boss earlier today, in fact! It was heartbreaking.

That checks out. So it wasn't just Master Detectives. Anyone trying to enter Homunculus City had to be put down. That was Fake Zilch's job. He was pretty good at it too.

Interesting but not surprising that Yomi specifically was his client. That makes sense. The WDO made arrangements with Amaterasu to bring Detectives in, but Yomi wanted to keep them out. Bet you Makoto was the one who signed off on bringing us here to begin with.

Which would then make sense. Makoto's repeatedly said he has a lot of faith in detectives and believes they're the key to "saving" this city. That. Would follow. As something he believes in, if he previously worked for WDO to begin with.

...

...

YES. Yes, I am. Let's talk company secrets.

So help me, Yuma, do not correct him.

Goddammit Yuma, your overwhelming honesty and integrity makes me want to throw you down a flight of stairs sometimes!

At least he's too delirious to listen. That's good. Let's see if we can get him talking about things we don't know.

Wow, that lines up with when Huesca began doing corporate espionage. Yomi stepped into his office, took a big whiff, and went, "Mm, smells like corruption dough ready to be baked. And I am a hungry boy!"

Be funny if they sold homunculus secrets to WDO, allowing Makoto to get ahead and then come back and take over Amaterasu. Whole-ass self-made karmic comeuppance for Yomi.

Aww, this guy was one of Yomi's besties until we out-of-nowhere wrenched his soul from his body and fed it to a howling abyss. I hope he and Yomi were having a nice debriefing lunch when he suddenly dropped dead for no explicable reason.

Huh. That's. Fascinating, actually. So he wasn't selling corporate secrets for profit; He was. Like. Doing espionage mercantilism. Info-sharing between companies to build a stronger information base from which to carry out Amaterasu's research.

But still a fucking fascist, just in case anyone starts getting ideas about Yomi being the better alternative to Makoto.

Oh, he's an attack pupper. Suddenly, the dog imagery makes a lot of sense. He's Yomi's hound.

So he was directly involved. Makoto was confident he wouldn't tell us shit when he was setting us up to talk to the crotchety old bastard.

There it is. The three-year point, when Makoto and Forever Rain came to the city.

They'd been doing homunculus research for seven years at that point, but their big new homunculus research project for the ongoing homunculus endeavor was Project: Homunculus? The hell were they calling it before? Project: Immortal Abomination? Project Alchemic Puppetry? Project Fuck Happened To Your Eyes?

Yomi holds that same belief. These two hate Makoto for what he's done to their city and company. Making me buy in more and more into my "Everyone in Kanai Ward is homunculi" theory. I think Makoto did that on purpose because he sees it as some brilliant new wave in human evolution or some shit. Yomi resented him for it.

I said before that Makoto's talking a lot about what he's against but only offers platitudes for what he's for. "Making and maintaining homunculi" is probably what he's for.

Was that when everyone became homunculi? Maybe the entire city was killed in the toxic gas leak from the mine, and Makoto then had homunculi made to replace them? Or something?

Must be easy to seize control of a corporation after everyone dies and gets remade by you. Makoto's sudden takeover seemed sketchy, but now it seems even moreso. The Blank Week is probably a week of time that the entire city collectively blipped out on, because that was the period of time during which the originals were dead and the homunculi were in production.

Having no way to know what happened, they'd have little recourse but to eventually write it off as a collective WTF.

...well, that's a curve ball. So. Maybe Makoto was anti-homunculi from the start after all? Or he already made his masterpiece and didn't want Amaterasu's trash science to intervene. Or something. I don't know. I wasn't prepared for this.

[jessource]

THE MENU ( 2022 ) * sentence starters.

“please don’t smoke, it’ll kill your palete.”

“(name), tonight is huge.”

“when you smoke, you ruin your ability...”

“oh, come on!”

“thank you.”

“thank god.”

“is that gonna fit everyone?”

“a night?”

“you’re fucking kidding, right?”

“what, are we eating a rolex?”

“come on, let’s not ruin this by talking price, yeah?”

“just go with the flow, let it be magical.”

“not bad!”

“oh, thanks man.”

“you deserve this, baby.”

“you know who’s gonna love this? (name)!”

“fuck. we’re dicks, huh?”

“great. a power tasting.”

“they’ll be wasted by the amuse.”

“hi guys.”

“look at you on a gangplank in heels.”

“holy fucking shit.”

“(name), oh my god.”

“who’s (name)?”

”okay, well, it’s official.”

”tonight will be madness.”

“all aboard!”

”wow.”

”please make yourselves comfortable...”

“ahoy!”

“and avast, me hearties!”

“let's hope she’s seaworthy, eh?”

“yes, sir. yeah.”

“boat jokes... we’re on a boat.”

“yeah. we’re on a boat.”

“hey, we got a famous person on board, huh?”

“hey, aren’t you supposed to be running interference for me?”

“make sure people don’t bother me, then?

“god, we both know you were not bothered.”

“i saw all his movies when i was a kid.”

“hey, listen.”

“apparently, he’s a big foodie.”

“beautiful. thank you.”

 “it’s one of his classics.”

“the lemon pearls are made with alginate.”

“alginate, as in...”

“pond scum.”

“it’s laughable.”

“it’s actually fucking laughably good.”

“think i prefer just the oyster, though.”

“please don’t say ‘mouthfeel’.”

“too late. mouthfeel.”

“jesus, this is like prom.”

“yeah? i never went to prom.”

“really? why not?

“‘cause none of the cool girls like you said, ‘yes’.”

“aw, poor baby.”

“well, fuck those bitches.”

“welcome.”

“it’s a pleasure to have you.”

“you gave my real name?”

“what about the paparazzi?”

“paparazzi? we’re on an island.

“i’m (name).”

“we’ll endeavor to make your evening as pleasant as possible.”

“that was really awkward, i’m so sorry.”

“don’t worry about it.”

“we’ll just go straight to the restaurant, if you don't mind.”

“we’ve seen the tour many, many times.”

“thank you. please follow me.”

“so, like, what are you working on now?”

“aw, hey, thanks for asking.”

“see, people still know me.”

“we have the bounty of the sea surrounding us.”

“out there, right now, we are harvesting scallops. you’ll eat them tonight.”

“hey, harvest harder, me dude!”

“we’re starving!”

“this is insane.”

“smell that.”

“yeah, i’m a huge embarrassing foodie.”

“i love this stuff.”

“and i’m close, personal friends with the chef.”

“can we pop in here?”

“dude, i read about one of these online.”

“can i check it out?”

“but please, do not touch our proteins. they're immature.”

“so, what happens if you serve it on the 153rd day?

“does all hell break loose, or...”

“well, i suppose the bacteria would introduce itself... to the consumer's bloodstream and spread into their spinal membranes... after which point, he or she would become incapacitated... and shortly thereafter expire.”

“so, yes, all hell would break loose.”

“i’d like to work for her.”

“this is where we live.”

“you actually live here?”

“here we are family.”

“we harvest. we fement.”

“we slaughter.”

“dinner is typically four hours and twenty five minutes.”

“it’s best that we all live here.”

“burned out?”

“there is food at the end of this, right?”

“who lives there?”

“isn’t the GOAT the greatest of all time, though?”

“look at that view.”

“wanna take a picture?”

“just... you should have the better view.”

“well, i don’t need a better view.”

“you know my name?”

“well, the attention to detail, it’s like, fuck!”

“yeah, i noticed you didn’t ask his name.”

“this ongoing obsession with snow.”

“it’s officially a plague, and no one is immune.”

“i want to hear your pitch for the show...”

“come on. i’m trying to do a goodbye toast. can you please just let me do that?”

“i told you this two weeks ago.”

“we’re doing this? the ‘talking about our lives’ thing?”

“me and (name) aren’t good. it’s not good.”

“are you at fault?”

“i’m an asshole.”

“we’re pathetic, aren’t we?”

“so it’s okay... that i’m not as into this as you are?”

“i’m sitting with the coolest girl here.”

“they play with the raw materials of life itself. and death itself.”

“that was beautifully put, (name).”

“i think i’m starting to get it.”

“i have to beg of you one thing.”

“do not eat.”

“is he serious?”

“be mindful.”

“and look around you. here we are on this island. accept. accept all of it. and forgive.”

“here they come.”

“we, the people on the island, are not important.”

“what happens inside this room is meaningless...”

“nature is timeless.”

“are you crying?”

“it’s just that i find it all very moving. it’s all so beautiful.”

“i’m pretty sure he doesn't even know about your existence.”

“relax. just eat your rock.”

“oh, my god. for crying out loud. it’s not brain surgery, okay?”

“okay, so we go to italy, right?”

“i eat the cheese, and then...”

“that’s a disaster.”

“whatever. at least we can say we’ve been here, right?”

“my dad used to say that you buy the experience.”

“i mean, this looks like... a suburban landscaping.”

“is he gonna keep doing that?”

“bread has existed in some form for over 12,000 years... especially amongst the poor.”

“ancient greek peasants dipped their stale, measly bread in wine for breakfast.”

“and how did jesus teach us to pray if not to beg for our daily bread?”

“he must be joking.”

“it’s gotta be a bit.”

“are you fuckin’ serious?”

“he’s basically insulting you.”

“it’s a concept.”

“i know what a concept is, (name).”

“call me the girl next door... but maybe there are some rules that you should give a fuck about...”

“this is all very clever, and i  didn't want to pull this card... but you know who we are, right?”

“i know who you are.”

“we won’t tell a soul.”

“you will eat less than you desire and more than you deserve.”

“that is not what i meant, and you know it.”

“i am perfectly capable of deciding when i eat and what.”

“you shouldn’t be so fucking rude.”

“where do we know her from?”

“ so, let me tell you a memory of mine.”

“i finally had to stab him in the thigh with kitchen scissors.”

“we’re not so smart when we’re young.”

“no, the pictures. they’re all of us.”

“what the hell are these?”

“how did you get these?”

“yeah, a fucking taco that might hold up in court.”

“stop talking and let me think, okay?”

“did you just fucking snap at me?”

“you do not send shit back to this kitchen, you child.”

“what did you just call me?”

“i called you a child... because you’re fucking acting like it.”

“(name), you need to apologise to me right now. you cannot speak to me that way.”

“actually, i can because, ding dong, i’m the one who’s paying.”

“how can i assist you?”

“what’s behind that silver door?”

“you shouldn’t be in here.”

“why do you care?”

“i’ll ask again. who are you?”

“i’m (first name) (last name).”

“so, where are you from, (name)?”

“you want the address for mom’s trailer park, you asshole?”

“no, it’s not who you want me to think you are.”

“you shouldn’t be here tonight.”

“please get the fuck out of my way.”

“he aspires to greatness, but he’ll never achieve it.”

“there is no way to avoid the mess.”

“the mess you make of your life... of your body... of your sanity... by giving everything you have to pleasing people you will never know. ”

“what are you doing?”

“what’s wrong with you?”

“the fuck is that?”

“that was a shock. i didn’t see that comin’.”

“what happened?”

“it’s just part of the menu.”

“it’s part of the show.”

“that’s a stunt? what was that?”

“this is an exclusive experience.”

“is he dead?”

“it’s not funny.”

“it looks so damn real.”

“this is just theatre, right?”

“he just fucking shot himself, okay?”

“it looked very real, (name). quite real.”

“we’re leaving. now.”

“is something wrong?”

“there is no boat to leave on.”

“that would be very difficult without phone service.”

“fucking move.”

“i’ll handle this.”

“with which hand, (name)?”

“with which hand will you handle this? left or right?”

“what the fuck are you saying?”

“shall we choose?”

“come on. leave the guy alone.”

“what the hell’s goin’ on?”

“do you need assistance finding your seat?”

“there’s a finger right there.”

“it’s not funny, lady! jesus christ!”

“this is real, isn’t it? i can’t do it.”

“i can’t do a hostage thing. i can’t.”

“then why don’t you go talk to him?”

“because you know him, right?”

“i made that up.”

“because i’m a name-dropping whore.”

“your husband’s ring, madam.”

“i honestly think that this whole thing is just for our benefit.”

“that’s why he texted me.”

“why are you doing this?”

“i’ve served many (name)’s. you’re not a (name).”

“what the fuck does it matter?”

“you were not a part of that plan.”

“with us, or with them?”

“and then you’ll let me live?”

“let you live? no!”

“we’re all gonna die tonight.”

“so, the question is, do you wanna die with those who give, or with those who take?”

“it’s arbitrary.”

“these decisions are important...”

“god damn it. it’s not fucking fair.”

“you smoke all day. can’t even fucking taste it.”

“we’re cornered. let’s focus.”

“wait, what’s the play here?”

“what are our options?”

“the door is guarded... but that could be a play.”

“hey, guys. we gotta do something.”

“we can’t be cowards.”

“this worked in a movie i did once.”

“when they bring their knives and forks, we just storm the kitchen, okay?”

“you think we have better knife skills than them?”

“what other choice do we have?”

“fuck it. i’m gonna break this fucking window.”

“there’s a saying. ‘sometimes all you need is a good cup of tea’.”

“i’ve found that not only does tea cleanse the palate, but it offers a soothing balm when facing some hard home truths.”

“but before we continue... are there any questions about me?”

“i think i speak for everybody here when i say that... i wanna know... i mean, we wanna know...”

“why the fuck is this happening?”

“you loved that i texted you an invitation for this evening.”

“your ego was fed.”

“it wasn’t cod, you donkey.”

“and i’ve been fooled into trying to satisfy people who could never be satisfied.”

"just say how much, and we’ll give it to you.”

“do you hear that silence?”

“listen, can you hear it?”

“and what have you decided?”

“i shouldn’t be here.”

“all of this... is not meant for me.”

“you’re not sure i’m brilliant, so don’t say it.”

“i’m not sure that you’re brilliant.”

“i was expecting more.”

“i guess i’m gonna have to make your decision for you.”

“you thought i couldn’t tell?”

“i know a fellow service industry worker when i see one.”

“how do you know him?”

“you’ve been eyeing him all evening.”

“you don’t rattle easily. so, how did he rattle you?”

“if we can find a boat, we can make a break for it.”

“into the tranquil night air.”

“i’ll send for help. first thing.”

“i’ll leave you to it.”

“it’s getting chilly.”

“yes, well... there was a time that would have meant a lot to me, (name).”

“you know, it’s the emoji for me.”

“don’t fucking run next to me.”

“you’re running next to me!”

“it’s a big fucking’ forest! fuck off!”

“are we all really dying tonight?”

“everyone dying was my pitch, actually. i’m super proud of it.”

“anybody want any wine?”

“i heard a pop.”

“not that you guys give a single, flying fuck... but my name is not (name). it’s (name).”

“party’s over.”

“welcome back.”

“what did you get?”

“how’d you do out there?”

“i did great. i killed it.”

“i’m the only one who got away.”

“i’m sorry. i’m a fuckin’ failure.”

“i’ve been stealing money from you.”

“i know. you cc’d me in on it.”

“tell me why you’re here.”

“and what were you told?”

“what were you told ahead of time?”

“‘everyone would die.’”

“i seem to remember you had a date.”

“so, you hired her knowing she’d die?”

“you entitled piece of shit.”

“i’m gonna kill you, (name)!”

“calm down.”

“you can’t blame her, can you?”

“you’re not like the others, are you?”

“come with me.”

“i have something for you.”

“mr handsome boy.”

“i’m proud of you.”

“what do you need? we have everything.”

“shit? would you like some shit?”

“we strive for perfection... which of course does not exist, and that is a hard truth for me to accept... so please forgive me.”

“and that concludes our demonstration.”

“do you see a barrel?”

“look, i’m not trying to sound, like, all whatever here or anything... but i just don’t think it's really fair.”

“do you wanna know why you’re being punished?”

“i saw the film calling doctor sunshine, and i did not enjoy it.”

“it was a sunday.”

“seeing you again now haunts me.”

“what happens to an artist when he loses his purpose?”

“what school did you go to?”

“i’m sorry. you’re dying.”

“motherfucker.”

“do you think you’re special?”

“you’ve disobeyed this rule.”

“you’ve been a nuisance since you have arrived.”

“you will not replace me.”

“i didn’t forget.”

“happy birthday to you.”

“you told them it was my birthday?”

“seemed funny about three hours ago.”

“i am a monster. no, was a monster. and a whore.”

“and at last, the pain is almost gone.”

“i can no longer be hurt, (name).”

“as dr. king once said, ‘we know through painful experience... that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor. it must be demanded by the oppressed.’”

“did he just quote martin luther king?”

“i see you found our radio.”

“it’s a boat!”

“did you call someone?”

“why didn’t you all try harder to fight back? to get out of here? honestly, you probably could have. something to think about.”

“are you the owner?”

“come on. clearly, there’s a misunderstanding.”

“on your knees with your hands over your head. now.”

“you’ve betrayed our sacred bond of trust.”

“you’ve shown your craft to be careless.”

“you’re an eater. you’re a taker.”

“i don’t like your food.”

“what did you say?”

“for starters... you’ve taken the joy out of eating.”

“every dish you served tonight has been some intellectual exercise... rather than something you want to sit and enjoy.”

“when i eat your food... it tastes like it was made with no love.”

“oh, this is ridiculous.”

“you’ve failed.”

“you’ve bored me.”

“and the worst part is... i’m still fucking hungry.”

“you know what i’d really like?”

“tell me.”

“yeah, we can do a cheeseburger.”

“the cheap ones your parents could barely afford.”

“american cheese is the best cheese for a cheeseburger... because it melts without splitting.”

“is the fryer still on?”

“one moment, please.”

“thank you... for everything.”

“i told you, you weren’t leaving.”

“the s’more.”

“it’s everything wrong with us, and yet we associate it with innocence.”

“but what transforms this fucking monstrosity is fire.”

“i love you all!”

[originemesis]

@deathinfeathers xxx

Yeah, he'd made it easy to forget the kind of damage he could do with that vitriolic, venom sodden tongue of his. The last handful of months they'd spent together had been relatively friction free, as far as their personal relations went anyhow. Textbook honeymoon bliss, she supposes. And it's funny, actually, because nothing really changed to warrant such a peaceable lull. They'd lived their lives like conjoined twins for hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of years. They shared a profound familiarity, the kind that allowed them to communicate from two different ends of a room full of people without ever mouthing a word. She could gauge his state of mind at any given moment by the tempo of his breathing, the lilt of his voice, the trajectory of his gaze. They lived together, slept, ate, bathed, laughed, cried and screamed together and They'd plumbed the niches and the hollows of each other's bodies so thoroughly there did not exist a square inch of his flesh that she had not pampered, with her hands, her lips, her tongue.

And yet, in spite of this, there was an uncertainty which hung over them like a suffocating mist. Maybe it was because nothing in this world had ever belonged to her and the things that had belonged to him were always swept away by the tide of time, or the whims of cruel creators. All it took was a promise. Nothing really changed—but it did. She felt secure. Perhaps for the first time in her life.

All it took was a lie.

And now she has to decide how much that lie devalues their promise.

"Why even scratch at it at all? Are you fucking serious right now, Adam? You're dreaming if you think I'm going to let you sweep this shit under the rug!? I have turned a blind eye to a great many of your irresponsible, half-baked antics throughout the centuries but this is where I draw the line! If what we had was anything more than a masturbatory endeavor on your part to balm the aches of your GARGANTUAN goddamned inferiority complex you are going to wrangle your head out of your ass right this fucking second and explain to me—"

The tirade peters out in the face of this sudden and quite frankly alarming surge of aggression. Aggression which twists his warped but still familiar features into something barely recognizable. She knows what he is trying to do, of course. A year in his absence has not made him any less predictable. He wants her gone so that he won't have to face the repercussions of his actions, so that he can keep wallowing and gorging himself on fleeting divertisments to keep himself good and numb to the reality of his situation. They have sung this song and danced this dance a thousand times over. If he thinks that he can intimidate her into submission, he's got another thing coming.

Another thing taking the form of a deeply unimpressed glower.

"...I'm looking."

There is grief there, too. Veiled thinly behind the umbrage.

There is grief there, too. Veiled thinly behind the umbrage.

"I see you."

"Always have."

The good. The bad. The ugly. It didn't change a thing. She was so irrevocably his.

Is this what she wants?

Yes, in fact.

This is the only thing she has ever wanted. For him to stop trying so desperately to convince her that he is something he is not. To let himself be unabashedly flawed and let her adore him all the same.

She might have looked back on the past six months of their ongoing 'situationship turned possessive' and thought nothing warranted the shift from cackling about how many chicks or dicks she took home and railed as opposed to his outstanding first man record, but it wasn't like she was aware of all his dirty, unaired secrets. Heaven had hurt him, sure. Strung him along like the puppet for humanity he was destined to be. Promised carrots - delivered sticks, and cared little for the brash bleat of a black sheep settled among its flock if only because it would serve a purpose. The sheep - to draw predators from the desired livestock. Him? To posture perfection in the picturesque image of the Creator. An image hidden under mask and robes to convince a choir that his crass demeanor was only surface deep and designated to the design he chose.

It stung to see her now- gaze fixed upon him like his own half lidded glare cocked skyward...wondering what all of it was worth in the end. He'd wanted so badly to turn his resentment towards the divine vortex he was caught within at heaven themselves. To show them that he wasn't just a token for breeding them new souls to torture and nothing else. And yet in his haste to do so, he'd become exactly what they determined him to be. Exactly what he strove to struggle against. The Exorcists were tools- a means to an end for him to feel some level of eminence among supposed peers he could never sidle the same pew height with. But he'd grown to care for them... in that stupidly human way that convinced him they were more than heaven's anti virus. In that way that knowing her touch was what he needed to wake up to every morning - guaranteed perfection from heaven be damned...he knew that he'd been what he'd opposed all along. Using them...using her like heaven had used him. Only heaven couldn't come to care for him like he had his girls-...even if he could sense hints of the concern in the corners of the high seraphim's gaze.

It's the pain of realizing he was what he fought all along that helps edge him over. Her vicious remarks don't help- however founded they are. "Then fucking LOOK!" He snarls, agitation whipping with the tempo of his feathered tail as he eyes her down with the dripping menace of a demon discovered against its will. "Look at what I fucking did! I filled hell with my SPAWN- countless centuries. To kill them again - all my mistakes... to feel like I wasn't just some trophy soul to display FOR NO FUCKING REASON while my family BURNED - ! " Despite the increase in his size, he felt small. Looking down at her - trembling with a rage that could decimate all that he applied it to if only it weren't her staring him down.

Despite it all- she knew him. Every gritty corner. Because she was him in a way - facing heaven now with all its expectations of her worth...while knowing it to be a lie. And now she knows - she's looking.

His canines nearly crack with the pressure he grits down on them, lip trembling. He'd shown her the inner most ugly part of him, and yet - ... his gaze clouded. And yet that wasn't the finished product -...the finale. All of what he was and would always be-... Adam.

An harsh snuffle interrupts the intensity between locked gazes. The off golden yolk of a spoiled egg wells in the corners of his eyes as he flashes her his teeth in a last ditch effort to remain relevant. It doesn't work. A wet set of snuffles escapes- his shoulders shuddering with their tempo. This was who he really was...

Adam.

"A-am I... pretty??"

[monsteraaureaqueen]

(Excerpt, fic in progress)

"I really think you need to work on..." Jimmy gestures, somewhat vaguely, in Carmy's direction. "On how you handle things."

"How I handle things?" Carmy echoes, defensiveness rising in his throat.

"Yeah. How you, you know, respond to negative events."

"Respond to negative events?"

"You're just gonna repeat what I say? I feel like I'm training a fucking parrot here. All I'm saying is, this place is clearly stressful as fuck and I think you need to work on managing your stress."

Carmen huffs a mirthless laugh of disbelief and crosses his arms.  “Managing my stress. That’s rich, that's fuckin’ precious, Jimmy, coming from the guy who’s holding all the chits, the guy waiting in the wings for me to fail so he can get his mitts on this property so he turn it into a-- a--  I dunno, into a fuckin' Firehouse Subs.”

Jimmy doesn't reply at first. He stares at Carmy for a long moment, then closes his eyes briefly before exhaling audibly. He opens his eyes again, fixing Carmy with a level stare.

"Carmen," he says. His voice is low, controlled, cordial. Carmy, already knowing he overstepped, finds it actually way more terrifying than shouting could ever be.

"Jimmy," he replies, endeavoring if not quite succeeding in keeping his own voice equally calm.

“First of all,” Jimmy begins, “and I say this with all the familial love and loyalty in my heart, we’re only sitting here in your fancy-ass restaurant because of my ongoing and generous financial assistance. I know it’s lunch time but can you maybe not devour the hand that fucking feeds you?” 

Carmy opens his mouth to speak, to defend himself, but Jimmy raises a hand, eyes steely.

Carmy closes his mouth.

“Every single piece of overpriced fucking furniture in this room –”  Jimmy looks around. “-- what is this, Danish Modern?”

“It’s not Danish Modern,” Carmen mutters, feeling sulky and shitty and smaller with every passing moment.

“Well,” Jimmy replies evenly, “I think we can agree it’s Scandinavian-influenced, yes?” 

Carmy knows he’s not supposed to answer, so he doesn’t. He stares at the wall behind Jimmy's head, unwilling (unable) to meet his gaze.

“As I was saying," Jimmy continues, "Let us remember that every single thing in this room – every single thing this entire goddamn restaurant, down those fucking brushed nickel dimmer switches over there – is here because I have spent very close to a million fucking dollars of my money in order to help you succeed, against both my own better judgment and a veritable Everest of irrefutable evidence that statistically you are absolutely certain to fail, and spectacularly at that.

“And second of all, nephew, I want you to understand something very important.” Jimmy leans forward, serious, intent. “I promise you, from the very bottom of my blackened heart, that no matter what happens, no matter how all of this turns out, when I get my mitts on this place I will never, ever turn it into a fucking Firehouse Subs.” Jimmy sits back and shakes his head, mouth turned down in distaste. “Jesus Christ, Carmen, what kind of a monster do you think I am?”'

****

God I really, really love writing Jimmy, he's a blast.

[autumn-foxfire]

Its canon. Uraraka throws up a huge amount of blood after getting gutted (like in Toga's dream? Where the bird did it. Maybe since Hori retconned Toga as never having killed the bird but drunk blood from a dead carcass she found. Toga was the sparrow all along). The next panel is literally only Uraraka's boob and the hand encircling it. Twice flashback asks Toga what her villain name would be which will be revealed after a short break of one week. Hori might retcon it to being about Toga needing to support them midair or pivot them around since they're floating just like rn Toga is on the path to having been simply a completely misunderstood girl who committed zero crimes. And Uraraka's shining moment is ignoring every pro-hero like the Pussycats who were shown being stampeded underfoot of the Twice clone wave and her own injuries and molestation to still want to help Toga as Tsuyu declares Uraraka's deep want of understanding and helping this tantrum throwing sad girl who like Touya has never had anyone who hear her side.

In terms of foreshadowing the volume extra special card had a Toga sitting on a pile of stabbed dolls. https://twitter.com/myheroacademia/status/1664059181253419014/photo/2

The Uraraka doll stabbed through her abdomen and left side(which breast is Toga's hand. So possibly the next area to be stabbed?). Hawks was stabbed through the dead-center, presumably heart. While Deku and Endeavor were stabbed through the forehead. No one else shown had stab wounds.

I'm not really all that surprised to hear it was the truth...

I hate how Horikoshi has handled Toga. She's a female incel but one that fandom comes to excuse and defend without fail everytime.

Hori never needed to make Toga's blood-drinking urge sexual but he did which brings up massive issues with consent about her actions against her victims BEYOND just the issue of her hurting them. If she was a male character, fandom would be jumping over themselves to proclaim how disgusting she is.

I don't really see the point in adding that she didn't kill the bird, she might not have but she still showed unhealthy urges by drinking it's blood. Are they trying to say that her parents made her into the monster that now kills for blood? That taking blood from a bleeding person without their consent was ever any good?

I also saw the panels with the Quirk Counselling she received and it's clear that they're just Hori's attempt at trying to make her more sympathetic for not getting the right help however again without proper set up in the world with this being a genuine issue, it falls very flat.

We've had many characters with "bad" quirks, why not show us how Hitoshi has experienced the same issue with counselling to show us that it's an ongoing issue that isn't being tackled?

What side of Toga is Uraraka supposed to hear? How she was able to fit in with society until she decided "fuck it" and hurt people? Or that it's okay that Uraraka has been a victim of harassment by this girl because of her "crush" on her because she's just "misunderstood"?

It feels very... gross.

I'm a firm believer that urges and problematic thoughts aren't bad for people to have as long as you don't act upon them. It's when you act on these urges to hurt others when you've crossed the line and Toga hasn't just crossed the line, she's danced all over it.