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magiefish · 1 month ago

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There is a name oft spoken of in hushed tones within the circles of those who are fans of the Fifth Doctor’s era. It has a rating of 3.5 on the Timescales; it has no plot description; it is the reason why the TARDIS wiki has an article for ‘anal probe’. But, as much as it mentioned and then hushed up, there is at present no further in-depth guide to this novels bizarreness, it’s staggeringly low-quality, it’s unrelenting horniness. If one wishes to understand this horror, one must read it firsthand. Well no more. I, in the name of knowledge and first-hand wisdom, have decided to set out on a journey so that no others may have to undertake it, and with the skills I have honed through my study of English Literature provide a degree of critique and commentary to Keith Topping’s infamous offspring.

I, dear readers, am going to liveblog reading The King of Terror. Starting now.

The King Of Terror Liveblog: Part One

[TW: This being the King of Terror, we will almost certainly be getting into discussions of SA/non-consensual sex. The word ‘r@pe’ will almost definitely come up (indeed it literally comes up on the first page). Also, I will not be censoring it beyond this point because a) this isn’t TikTok, and b) even if I used ‘grape’ or something everyone would still know what I was talking about so there’s no real point. I assume everyone here is a mature adult who doesn’t need to hide behind codes in order to discuss serious and upsetting topics. If you are not, Please God Don’t Read This, it will likely still be here by the time you’re old enough. Go watch the show instead, it’s better and more family friendly (and has well-written violence and kissing in it). If these topics bring up any unpleasant memories for you or will put you in a bad state of mind, then please do not read this live blog, it is not worth it. Furthermore, I imagine various kinds of bigotry will come up in incredibly breezy barely relevant ways (sexism, racism, homophobia, etc.) because this is the year 2000 we’re talking about. There’s also probably something related to medical trauma in here. I will also probably get Very Angry as a lover of literature and Doctor Who at some point, so we’ll see how that goes. Anyways, onwards and downwards.]

Wow, I feel sorry for these guys

Interesting choice. Wonder how this will be relevant to the ‘themes’ of this work.

Huh. Okay. This isn’t actually a bad start. A bit pretentious maybe, but the descriptions are very visceral and it’s certainly a good hook, perhaps this won’t be so bad-

Aaaaand yep not even a page in and we’re already using the phrase “rape”, really cool Keith, very mature and based. Now, I’m not categorically averse to using the phrase ‘rape’ semi-metaphorically. But it is one of those words that has to be handled very carefully and with a proper understanding of the feelings and ideas that it implies.

‘The Things’ (the 2010 short story based off of ‘The Thing’) uses it towards the end in a way that I feel illustrates my point - the alien is disgusted by humanity and our ‘individualised’ existences and decides to forcefully ‘teach’ us why it’s so much better to be like it via the means of, y’know, infecting people with parts of it and then making them go all schlorp. Right before it assimilates one of the men, he calls it a ‘rapist’ which the alien later adopts in the final line of the story: ‘I will rape it into them’. Now, to me, this works because the aliens convictions are painted in a somewhat religious light throughout the story and also because assimilating people is literally a physical violation, so the use of the word at the stories end seems to be used to deliberately conjure ideas of ‘corrective’ SA in a way that feels intentional given the previously discussed themes. It is also, as I have noted, used right at the end as the final line of the story, in a way that indicates to me that the writer understood the very visceral feelings the word evokes and decided to reserve it to be used to reinforce the bleak, foreboding tone of the ending.

Keith does not do this. Keith decides to use the idea of SA and all its violent implications right out of the gate to, presumably, shock the reader and try to grab their attention. He did not have to do this. His abstract, vague descriptions and in-media-res opening were enough by themselves. What this belies to me is a) a belief that violence or shock are inherently compelling and b) a lack of confidence in the strength of his writing on its own. We shall see if I am correct in both of these estimations.

Now, Keith is certainly not the only writer guilty of a very liberal use of SA in the wilderness years of Doctor Who. It seems, from the little I have read, almost inescapable. I remember reading ‘Goth Opera’ and the word ‘rape’ being used to describe what the Mara did to Tegan within, like, the first 30 pages or something. (Which, okay, some critics have definitely compared the scene from ‘Kinda’ where the Mara possesses her to an SA scene, but within the first 30 pages? And without unpacking any of that? Mr. Cornell??) But that doesn’t excuse any of this it just makes him another part of a rather unfortunate pattern.

Oooo somebody wrote this before ‘The Weddding of River Song’. Keith Hopping JNT just called, he wants you to know that fucking with the UNIT timeline is his domain.

So old Keith is aware of Shadows Over Avalon. I don’t really know how much cross-continuity was going on with the PDA / EDA / VNA / VMA writers, so I’m not really certain whether this reference to stuff that has happened in other stories is complacent or unusual. I haven’t actually read Shadows Over Avalon, I’m not that far into the EDA’s (I got distracted before I could read Alien Bodies :( ).

WILL this man ever get to enjoy retirement!

I was never under the impression that the Brigadier was a straight up Tory but I haven’t seen that much of him so what do I know? Also, ‘a smile of admiration’? What, cause being a Tory is just such good old lovable nostalgic Britain? And patriotism too? Ugh. Anyway, the set-up for this narrative is seemingly that a bunch of UNIT files have been decommissioned. This journalist is initially interviewing the Brigadier about a case involving the Waro (who were in Keith’s last book “The Devil Goblins From Neptune”, so, nice self-repping Keith).

This then moves into the two of them discussing the Doctor and his involvement with some company called ‘Intercom’, setting up the events of this story. I also don’t know what the Brig is on about here with the Doctor being ‘a man of peace’ because *I* definitely saw Three’s Venusian moves but okay. Anyway, this section is attributed to an in-universe book so it seems like Keith is trying to a bit of a meta-textual House of Leaves thing. Let’s see how he succeeds in the next post, which will be a reblog of this one.

#ohhhh boy this is going to take me a while #but it’s not like I have much else to do in the evenings. so.#idk if the next part will come later tonight or sometime tomorrow #depends on how I’m feeling #anyway #the king of terror #past doctor adventures #doctor who #the brigadier #brigadier lethbridge stewart #classic who #wilderness years #liveblog #vislor turlough #tegan jovanka #fifth doctor

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muder-boner · 9 months ago

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♫♪.ılılıll|̲̅̅●̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅●̲̅̅|llılılı.♫♪

➤; ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪs ʙʟᴏɢ.↶

⬆︎ made by : @rainydayzxd , my beautiful child and best friend

Tws for my blog : mention of $h, mentions of fighting , a lot of venting bcuz I hate my life, cigarettes, uh strict parents and they're shitty asf, past shit that still haunts me, swearing, sometimes me being hard on myself, I do not post $h pics.

NO CREEPS, PEOPLE OVER THE AGE OF 20 I AM A MINOR AND I'M NOT LOOKING FOR ANYTHING LIKE THAT (ifykwim) (exeptions for ppl w alters, and age regression but like.. U turn into adult idk how to explain. )

TW FOR UNDER READ-THINGY, GIFS, WEIRD GORE BAND NAMES, also I'm sorry if the colors above r triggerringg, I'm coloring so it's noticeable (the tws)

...tw, please don't tell me I didn't warn u.

Fucking welcome !! Have a drink 🤘

This profile ain't a vent one even though most of the time I complain and whine on here, I'm actually really nice if you interact with me, ask @rainydayzxd . (They're my child and my baby I'll protect them at all costs) I often pet regress, so like..please don't be weird. Only *REALLY* close moots can call me pup,..( @agirlfr0msomewhere @rainydayzxd @raytorosguitarstrap @s1l4s-w0rsh1ps-t0m4t03s @jordanikeepforgettingtheurl... if anyone else calls me pup and I don't trust them...like..tell them.).

I suffer with $h, I find it hard to find anything i deserve in this world, I don't post $h pics, if there's a post I didn't tag (like a tw) please DM or send me an ask, I'm trying my best to have a safe spot people can interact with.

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KoRn , Green Day , Weezer, Tokio Hotel, Mitski, Eminem, Esophagus, Steve Gabry, Your Favorite Martian, The Smiths, Epic Rap Battles Of History, Pink Floyd, BabyMetal, Gorillaz, The Strokes, LMFAO, Arctic Monkeys, JT Music, IC3SPEAK, My Chemical Romance, Metallica, Anal Vomit, System of a down, Slayer, Slave steel, Mortician, Slipknot, The Anxiety, Darkthrone, Burzum, S3rl, Dot dot Curve, BABYMETAL.

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Trigger warning, weird gore names.

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I might add more in the future !!

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#ezras' interests !!#ezras' moots !!#ezras' friends !!#ezras' day !!#ezras' food !!#ezras' vent !!#ezras' embarrassing facts !!#ezras' art !!#ezras' outfits !!#Spotify

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secret-fungi · 11 months ago

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All those wretched things

rating: M

pairing vesper/ nova

words count: 4478

tws: self harm (kinda), emotional distress, mentions of religious abuse/ trauma, interalized homophobia/ racism(??? are witches a race??) nova hates herself.

summary: have u ever been so horny for someone it made u revaluate ur religious beliefs? nova has and now shes cryin abt it.

When Vesper came around she was greeted with the soft sound of someone snoring coming from the sofa, and upon investigation the woman found that the sight before her was quite amusing, the catcher laid stretched out on the sofa, hair all about, sticking her face in odd and random places, her familiar resting on the dip of her waist, a blanket over her, and the lamp in the corner of the room still on, casting shadows on the woman’s cheeks. Small signs of care laid all about, and for only a moment did she find herself wishing to catch a star, but the thing with stars is that they are so very far away, and in all the time it takes for them to reach us, it is already too late for some of them, if a star falls you can never catch it, no matter how hard you try or how far you reach into the sky the star has already fallen.

The small familiar stared at the woman stretching its limbs before settling back into the catcher as if asking her business with the sleeping witch, keen eyes watched her as she reached forward and pet the top of its head.

“Have you been guarding her?” she asked the familiar, her only response was a lazy blink, as if offended that she would ask such a thing, the poor thing hadn’t strayed too far from the catcher since her return, and whenever it did it would be rather anxious, rushing into wherever she was as if the familiar didn’t truly believe that she was safe.

“I know… me too.” she admitted, her eyes drifting to the witch below her letting her mind wander as she sat on the coffee table.

The catcher stirred, and in response her familiar made a soft noise as if to say it was okay, that they were still with her. And absentmindedly she wondered how many times throughout the night had the catcher asked for reassurance. As if responding to a command she hadn’t realized she had given, her hand reached out on its own to play with a strand of hair that had fallen in the catcher's face, gently tugging it from where it was stuck against her full lip before coaxing the knots from the strand as she watched the woman’s expression darken, her lips pulled into a small frown, tears wetting the catchers dark lashes, but they didn’t fully fall, as if aware of her presence they were stopped by her lashes, only small streaks escaped and fizzled out.

She was told that upon her return, the catcher didn’t like to be alone, and that no matter how late you came home she would be sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea in hand, often admitting that she couldn’t sleep, and if you stayed a while she would act as if you are a life preserver, and though she promised she would be right behind you, that she just had to wash her dishes, she would not return to her room.

And as the older woman’s finger traced the other’s face the catcher moved closer, chasing the small touch without waking.

What a horrible thing it is, to want something and not know it. One woman thought to herself. What a horrible thing it is, to want something you are undeserving of. The other corrected.

Who decided that you are undeserving? The first woman asked. Me? Came the unsure reply. Where did you learn that? The first urged. I was born knowing.

No. you were taught to know.

In truth the catcher was only half asleep, as soon as she felt someone approach her she was pulled from the endless sea that she found sleep became when you pushed it off until you couldn’t anymore and when the older woman’s touch lingered too long for the catcher to bare it, she opened her eyes, if just to stop the feeling the woman’s gentle touch left on her skin, if just get the woman to retract her hand, but when her eyes found the other’s the woman did not pull away, nor did she seem to feel any sort of embarrassment for having been caught. For a while, the pair looked at each other in silence before the older woman parted her lips but at the sight of the small flinch that the other gave in return she remained silent, withdrawing her hand from the other’s hair. And so they sat together, swallowing their words.

Eventually though the older woman spoke up, “Why are you sleeping out here?” she asked, watching as the catcher straightened herself up almost self consciously before she shrugged. “I must’ve fallen asleep while drinking.” she explained, gesturing with her chin towards the discarded mug on the coffee table beside the woman, the last few sips had long gotten cold.

The catcher didn’t bother to explain why she stayed up, she didn’t think she could even find the words to explain why – or how when you stayed up so long, sleep felt like floating in an endless sea on the darkest night, no moon or stars in sight, just the sounds of silence and the feeling of water pushing her back and forth. And only sometimes did her thoughts crash into her, but that was only rarely and that was a mercy, for she always got swept up in them. Maybe she simply couldn’t stop them from catching up with her when she slept. It seemed that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t escape. It was as if her thoughts were a great beast banging against a door and with each of the hits the hinges bent and weakened, and whenever that door broke a flood would come sweep her away.

Sometimes the flood would lead her to the woman, and whenever it did she could never decide to fight against the current or let it push her into the vision. But each time she reached the shore that the woman waited for her on and when she did, she felt as if the sand was made of broken glass and hot stone and the older woman was made of hell fire and thorns, as soon as she wrapped her arms around the catcher the whole island would be consumed.

Other times, the flood wouldn’t waste time on a pretty illusion, it would bust through the door and wrap it’s arms around her, consuming her without a kiss, and though she struggled, still she drowned.

The catcher looked to the other woman and considered that maybe she didn’t have to explain, instead she watched the woman’s hands as they fixed her sleeve before she casted a grave look to the catcher’s makeshift bed before saying; “If you make it a habit we’ll have to get a better couch.”

“Sorry.” the catcher mumbled “I wasn’t angry.” the older woman corrected, and for a moment the catcher caught her looking at her intently, something a bit far away in her eyes before she looked away, chasing away a thought she shouldn’t have had.

The catcher took in the scene before her with a quiet reverence, her eyes wide and jaw slacked, Like a starved man at the sight of a feast, like a man lost at sea at the sight of land, like Mary Magdalene at the sight of Jesus.

The pair sat in silence, both caught in the moment and chasing away thoughts with a series of rapid blinks, a nervous swallow, fidgeting with their fingers – anything to stop them from acting on their thoughts. but as the light caught stands of the older woman's hair, as her eyes lingered and her mouth dried, the catcher's thoughts caught up to her.

Wretched are those who are born without love, those with no soul to burn or rot, for they will hunger forevermore and never shall they be satisfied for they will seek the comfort they have lost with the fruits of the flesh, and it will never be enough.

This lesson was hard learned, and still with a smile, a light touch… a laugh, with just her presence, she caught herself believing it less and less. And what use was it to believe there was no worth in being as she was? Of slipping into the shadows and never letting the sun kiss your cheeks, When tomorrow it could be gone, it could be the last chance to lay in the sun and watch the clouds roll by, and selfish as it was she didn’t want to give it up. She knew that It wasn’t right, she knew she was only making things difficult, for herself, for Vesper who didn’t deserve what nova would have to do – No she deserved it, she must’ve because she was a wicked thing, even if she was beautiful and kind. Even if she felt like coming home – Nova knew her kind, she was warned that They were vicious. They were cunning and would do anything, like wild beasts that waved a knife blindly at everything and everyone.

The devil was above all things, seductive and all his creatures must’ve been too.

But even still, even knowing this… what had kept her up most of all was the knowledge that there were no other monsters amongst those who resided at the nest, they did not hide under beds, waiting for a chance to eat the young and innocent, they did not hide horns under hats or hoods – and despite their nature they were hopeful, desperate for a chance to be known, loved, a chance for the tears and each strike they were dealt to be heard and acknowledged.

At this realization a truly terrifying thought came to her mind; Even wretched creatures reached for warmth, even they wished upon stars, and hoped for love and a place to belong, this she had learned more and more time she spent with them. She was always told that she was different, special. She was chosen to right the wrongs, she was going to –

The realization came like a leaky pipe, a slow drip that caused big issues and as she looked at the other woman fixing her hair – a meaningless habit she likely did out of anxiety – the realization finally hit her once and for all; That even she, wretched as she was, desperately wanted what couldn’t be.

By the time the catcher came back to reality the older woman was looking at the other now, watching every micro expression flit across the catcher’s face with her legs crossed and hands held tight together as if every expression she saw was bad news, like she was watching, waiting, Nova couldn’t place hope as one of those emotions that tugged at the woman’s lips or furrowed her brows, no it didn’t seem like hope at all.

The two women stared at each other in silence, ignoring the truth and pretending that a lie could be true. Sat in the living room, with all the soft noises of people’s early stirrings, the shower starting, a bed creaking- and the breathing of the two women.

Vesper kept her eyes focused on hers and in turn Nova kept her eyes focused on the space between the other woman’s brows as she shifted uncomfortably.

They could wish for the same things, after all the heart was deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked and even the damned cried, but they are not their hearts, and she was not one of them. She was a sheep amongst wolves, She was –

“When I couldn’t sleep I would read and play chess.” Vesper told, and for a while Nova stayed still, nervously picking the skin on her finger before she smiled “I’ll try that… got any good books you recommend?” She asked and at this the older woman gave a look as if she was naive to the world that she was asking about. Her lips curled into an amused smile and there was something so mischievous in her eyes, in an instant nova knew that she wanted to tease her.

But instead the woman only nodded. “I’ll send over my favorite.” she promised, “it got me through many sleepless nights, I hope it’ll give you a similar peace.”

Peace. The catcher repeated the word mentally as she pinched her wrist under the blanket. Nova would have rathered the other woman teased her, she never minded it one bit whenever she did, she would be able to make sense of the feelings that her teasing smile inspired.

What was peace supposed to be like? She questioned. Nova didn’t think about supposed-to-bes often, she wouldn’t allow it, because supposed-to-bes always led to trouble, because she would imagine what her birth parents were like, she would wonder what language she was supposed to grow up with, what home, then she would think about her family out of guilt for wondering about the people who abandoned her, and she’d think how he wasn’t supposed to adopt her, and how if he did, he was supposed to – She didn’t think about supposed-to-bes, because it would always end with her brain reminding her that she wasn’t supposed to exist.

The catcher always lost track of time, losing it to her thoughts had been an issue ever since she was young, she was always scolded for being in a dreamland, so often that she gained a reputation, but the woman pulled her back with a gentle hand on her knee. And there was something a bit bitter in the realization that that touch was all she needed to pull the catcher back.

A simple, tender gesture to let her know she wasn’t alone, and still she flinched, wide eyes snapping to the other woman, tensing up as if she was waiting for a punch, a slap, harsh words or mockery – and at this moment, Vesper frowned and found herself once again wishing for that star, wishing not for the first time that things were different.

And that micro change in the other woman’s expression didn’t escape the catcher, and yet it still was misinterpreted as something very different than what it truly was, rejection and disappointment.

“Are you… feeling better?” Vesper asked “oh, yeah. I’m all fixed up.” she replied quickly, and at this the other woman gave a knowing expression, a smile falling onto her lips. “You sure?” she asked pointedly, her eyes landing on the blanket the younger witch was wrapped in, a silent acknowledgement that she knew that the catcher didn’t simply fall asleep on the couch by accident.

But the catcher smiled nonetheless, pinching her palm as she shrugged at the other woman. Nova found that she switched between wanting the woman’s keen gaze to never leave her and never landing on her to begin with. Because it was as if she swallowed a ball of fire and it settled within her stomach and that heat rose to her cheeks and the tips of her ears, it made her heart drop to the soles of her feet and simultaneously get caught in the back of her throat. But its absence was worse, and made her wish to do something stupid to get her attention once again.

It seemed that the world about them slowly awoke to threaten their fragile peace. Each chirping of a bird only was another ticking clock, reminding Nova that the moment the world truly started this moment would shatter, and she would go off again.

“Are you waiting for someone?” Nova asked. Again the other woman gave a smile before she replied. “Yes.” “Then, I won’t keep you.” Nova replied, casting off her blanket before she rose to her feet and as she folded up the blanket once again the other woman watched with keen eyes.

“Stay.” she instructed, and so the catcher remained, unsure of what to do.

I’ve never found arms that didn’t hurt when they held me, where is the poison you’ll slip in my drink? Where do you hide the knife you’ll cut me with? Where have you hidden your fangs and claws? Is the poison already drunk? Is the knife already stuck?

“You can cry if you need to, no one will judge you.” Vesper said. The catcher scoffed, making a dismissive gesture with her hand. “I don’t need to cry, I’m fine.” she denied, but the woman only arched her brow. “Then why do you smile like that?” she asked

She didn’t have an answer to this, because the truth was one they both already knew, and she didn’t know what it would mean if she admitted that.

“Like what?” she asked “don’t you like my smile?” she joked, batting her lashes but the woman only seemed to be amused, a mischievous smile stretching across her lips and the spark in her eyes seemed to be all too delightlighted, and in that half a second before she replied Nova could almost hear the battle she had between being genuine and teasing the catcher, and before the catcher could dismiss her comment vesper answered; “It’s beautiful, even more-so when it’s genuine.”

Heat rose to the tops of her ears, and the whole of her cheeks. “It’s genuine.” she denied. Vesper arched a brow at the other as if to warn her off from lying to her. “I know the difference.” Vesper said, and for some reason Nova felt like screaming.

“Oh, and what's the difference?” She asked the woman, and never one to neglect a challenge, Vesper readily accepted the challenge that the catcher leveled with an arch of her brow. “You light up, you smile with your whole being, when it's fake you make eye contact, and when it’s real you never do, always looking around nervously.” She said at this the catcher tensed, as if she had to remain stiff or else all her pieces would scatter. But the other woman didn’t stop, for whatever reason she seemed to want to prove just how much she knew the other, like she had drawn her weapon just to show her that she had one too.

“It's subtler but somehow more substantial.” She added, The catcher gave a look so skeptical Vesper had to suppress a smile, her face scrunched up and her brows raised high, you could hear her disbelief so clearly it was as if she had the words painted across her forehead, as if her very soul had joined in to exclaim it’s skepticism too.

“Well, you have my vote if you ever run for office.” she joked sarcastically. Vesper only laughed, and Nova once again looked at her, that same reverence, that desperate adoration so evident on her face that it wasn’t truly any wonder why the other woman teased her, because even the blind could see what the older woman meant to the catcher, you couldn’t miss the way her gaze lingered, and even if the catcher wasn’t aware herself, everyone else was very aware.

“Are you afraid of being known?” Yes. “Are you afraid of not knowing?” she asked in return, making vesper smile in response. Yes. “No, because I do.” “Oh? Is that so?” the woman nodded, smile still on her lips as if she was waiting for the other to catch up, to understand what she hadn’t yet.

And in her smile, Nova found the truth, and the sinking feeling returned. “Is this what this is? Being known?” she joked “you didn’t know?” Vesper asked, and with that same grin – as if she was telling a joke only she understood but was amused all the more by the fact that no one else caught it. “Well you’ve never asked for my favorite color.” she joked. “That hardly counts as knowing someone.” Vesper argued. “only if you don’t know it.” Nova replied with a triumphant smile.

“Blue.” the woman replied easily. “What?” “Your favorite color is blue.” She explained, and this simple acknowledgement was enough, maybe it was only the last drop in an overflowing pitcher, maybe it was the fact that knowing she was known only served to claw at her chest, a ringing, traitorous thought came through the blood that pounded in her ears.

So this is what it feels like. But if this was what it was like, and she had never felt it before… then was she never known before? Of course she was known – she was loved.

But why did being known feel so different when it was her that knew? When had she gotten to know her so well to be able to tell things that not even her father could? Did this mean that she knew her better than her father did… or that her father just didn’t know her at all?

How well did anyone know anyone? And at what point did knowing become a burden that hindered love? At what point did Nova hinder people from loving her?

Had she been loved as a child? What was love if not pulling your loved ones to the right path even if it might leave bruises? What was love but doing what was needed, even at the temporary pain of those you loved.

Love and cruelty were one and the same, and Vesper was cruel in her own way. Nova wished she had shot her. She wished she would strike her down, take her out of the game so that Nova wouldn’t have to pull the trigger herself.

And before she could stop or hide them, tears started to run down her face, and their appearance surprised even her, as she hastily tried to wipe them away. “I’m sorry - I don’t know why-” she said, trying to walk past the woman and that too, proved futile as the woman caught her elbow, pulling her back as if she had been waiting for this.

“I thought...” she whispered, her voice trailing off into the air, falling flat at her feet as the rest of her sentence stayed trapped in the back of her throat. Although the words gave no context for the other woman, still she nodded. The expression that fell upon her face wasn’t truly a single expression, but rather what seemed to be a thousand micro expressions all flashing for not even half a second, like the flapping of a humming bird’s wings. Sympathy, understanding, pity- amusement, anger, sadness, resentment, resolve. As if she understood, remembered how it felt and was displeased that it happened again. Like a fly watching yet another of its kind be caught in a web, like the catcher was a vase precariously positioned on the edge of a surface that she could only watch fall, unable to catch it from shattering in time.

But she wrapped her arms around her as if that could hold her together even just for a moment, maybe she thought better than saying what she thought, the words that so clearly knocked against her teeth. Maybe it truly was sympathy the other woman felt– maybe it was something else.

“I’m sorry.” Vesper replied, holding the catcher just that much tighter. Nova wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for, maybe that she was taken in the first place. She wasn’t sure that the woman understood why she was crying but then again there was something so knowing that she doubted the woman believed she broke over being taken.

There was a cruelty in her being so close, to have her arms wrapped around her, to be able to be consumed by her perfume, for the loose strands of soft hair to tickle her cheek, to be able to notice the small details you miss when you’re not this close.

The catcher curled her fingers into the woman’s top, and as she cried on the woman's shoulder she bit her lip so hard in an attempt to stifle the tears, and as she did she felt that somewhere within her, wherever it is your soul is kept a fire had started and as it spread it tore a horrible hole through her. The black smoke clawed at her throat and as she heaved and gasped in an attempt to stop it – to stop the flames from consuming her whole, but as she coughed out the thick black smoke the clouds spelt out a truth –

She wasn’t like them. She knew her place. She…. couldn’t outrun her shadow.

– Even she, wretched as she was, was more like them then she was anyone else.

She was one of Them.

And now she never would be. How could she? She thought of a million things, each thought coming all at once, mixing together in a disjointed choir like hell’s symphony but as she held the woman tighter, feeling the other squeeze her as if she had a place in her arms, the soft way vesper muttered, the way she hadn’t stopped stroking the other’s back since she was in her arms, it all caused so many thoughts but one rang clearer above the rest; it felt right.

and Nova hadn’t felt right in a very long time– She didn’t know if she ever had before this, and although she really shouldn’t have, she let the other woman distract her from this thought, because if it all must end at least she could…

The catcher's arms suddenly dropped like lead, and as she took a breath she asked herself just what the hell she thought this was? What was she doing? And who did she think she was fooling?

“Don’t leave.” Vesper instructed, every part of her said that she knew the other, the curl of her lip, the arch of her brow, the glint in her eyes as if she knew more than the catcher cared to tell, even the way she held herself was as if she considered herself rome, either you seek her out or you’ll find your way to her accidentally but no matter what you did, you came to her. She looked at her as if she was a stray dog that thrashed about when offered kindness.

But the catcher fled, tripping over her feet to get away from the other woman, as if she had burned her, as if she was all that she was said to be. And if the catcher had turned around she would have seen the expression that the other gave, she would see how she never left the other’s sight. But the catcher didn’t turn around.

Wretched is your heart for it lies and burns, it whispers truths in your ear that you can’t unhear. wretched are your feet for they ache to walk down paths unknown. Wretched are your lips, for they long sin.

But amongst the those wretched things the most abominable is you, for the most contemptible sin of all is to have fallen in love,

#my fic #romance club #rc vesper #w time catcher #truly my magnum opus #got three compliments on this so i can basically go to the moon

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k0sk1 · 1 year ago

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Guys I'm so sorry to ruin the fun but uhmm did you know sbn3 aka the creator of co09 said the n word multiple times (he's white and 30) and is kind of an incel and also apparently called ppl cosplaying HIS OWN CHARACTERS sluts and allowed cp on a chat he was in? There's a whole thread on it actually and I think it's important to mention it bc uhmm... It's really weird. The n word and incel rethoric ones are def true bc there's literal recordings of him saying those but the calling cosplayers sluts and allowing cp on a chat I haven't seen any confirmation for it so take it with a grain of salt if u want but I def dont doubt it

also, pls reblog so more ppl get to see it! i dont know how many of u also have a twitter acc and i didnt see anyone on tumblr talk abt it besides me soo pls let ppl know!

Update (cw for f slur and n word, incel rethoric, transphobia too): someone told me they couldn't see the thread and it'd be nice if i uploaded some pics so that's what I'll do! There are also videos, I'm gonna listen to and write exactly what sbn3 says on those videos here, but for now I'll have to just say a little overview of what he said in those. There are four videos, two are recordings of him singing (one being him saying the n word while singing a rap song and the other being him saying the f slur repeatedly with a Jeffery voice in a song called "homophobia the song" and the lyrics are basically just him saying "I hate f slurs I wanna kill f slurs" it's really bad. The other two are vc recordings. In one he talks about how 18-19 yr old girls aren't mature and are really stupid, but the goes on to say he would date an 18-19 yr old if she was "mature enough" which is weird bc he's almost thirty! But at least not explicitly pedophilic. The other vc recording is of him talking about how women can be friends with people they're attracted to but men can't, basically leaving implicit that it's because men can't "control themselves" around people they're attracted and will always see them in an erotic light. Basically the idea that men are sex beasts which is why they harass people, and that's bad!

Now, onto the pictures! Two of these are claims of things he did, but there are no videos, though I wouldn't doubt for him to do the things claimed + the person talks about how they were seeing those things first hand

TW misogyny, racism, transphobia and mentions of CP and ableism.

Also, just a personal thought, but isn't it weird that every co09 character is white? Just a thought, really, it doesn't mean he's racist but he did say the n word multiple times and then there's a really big lack of diversity in the game he made, despite it constantly talking abt race and racial issues. Idk just found that weird and wanted to leave it here.

#class of 09 #classof09 #co09 #nicole class of 09 #jecka class of 09 #ari class of 09 #emily class of 09 #sbn3 #class of 09 the re up

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barksdalesballs · 6 months ago

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headcanons abt Donnie b.

PART 1.

word count: ≈670.

TW: s/a, domestic violence, the MENTION of racism & homophobia & LITERAL OPINIONS DON'T BE MAD.

Alright, I want to begin this by discussing the way I personally view Donnie Barksdale. Unlike a lot of people who have seen The Gift, I don’t view Donnie as this great and terrible monster. Some people simply see the racism and abuse and run with it, and while I see that, I also take into consideration that Donnie could have REASONS for behaving that way. Of course, nothing actually justifies racism or abusing your spouse/partner.

This post won’t JUST be headcanons, either, but instead it will be a mix of headcanons and some evidence that I have picked up.

---

Starting with evidence that is most believable: I think Donnie Barksdale was molested or sexually groomed as a child, as well as being physically and mentally abused. Why would I believe that? Well, Keanu Reeves himself HAS said those exact words himself. Not only that, but Donnie deliberately cheats on his wife, even though he knows it is “unchristian” and makes him a bad husband, to have sex with another woman. For some victims of S/A, hypersexuality comes from it as a result. Just because he is aware that it could be wrong, doesn’t mean that he will stop. Hypersexuality can override logical thought processes for some. This desire to go out and cheat on Valerie could also be a projection of childhood trauma involving a father figure. There is no telling WHO did it, but it could have been his father on a drunken night, or maybe some of his fathers friends. It could even be his mother for all that we know.

The emotional and physical childhood abuse could come from MANY different aspects. Donnie’s father could have been cheating on his mother and could have hit Donnie to ensure that his lips stay shut, but it could also be something as quiet as his father infiltrating his thoughts with racist thoughts and opinions that he may not have had before. One of the biggest things I think his father engraved into his head is homophobia. BUT, I strongly believe that Donnie is bisexual or queer of some sort.

It may just sound like I am projecting onto him, but if his mind IS filled with those thoughts, why would he be SOOOO insecure about Valerie leaving him? Sometimes, a queer man like that will force himself into a marriage with a woman, happy or not, just to disguise the fact that he is queer. Perhaps he really is so dependent on Val’s loyalty because he is hiding something like that. Also, if his father would have found out about potential queerness as a child, it would give him another reason to hit Donnie. This physical abuse could have left Donnie with a desire to scare “weaker beings” (his wife, Annie, Annie’s kids), because he NEEDS to be seen as a tough, dominant man, not as a queer weakling, like his father would have seen.

On top of probably hitting / S/A’ing Donnie, his father most likely hit his mother, too. Donnie could have been raised in an environment where it was “normal” for a husband to beat wife—after all, sometimes kids don’t know better until they are in their teens.

And lastly, for discussing the reasons as to why I think he behaves this way, I think his fear re-manifests inside of him. I mean, look at the scene where they find the body in his pond. He’s obviously terrified to see her body there, but then a few seconds later he’s yelling and spitting at Annie while he gets dragged away by the police. The one officer, when Annie calls them to her house after Donnie breaks in, quite-literally says that Donnie is “high-strung”. Which…if you don’t know what that means, it means to be nervous and easily upset.

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here's the video of Keanu mentioning Donnie being possibly abused so I don't look crazy:

anddd this isn't everything I want to post, I'll eventually add more head canons about him in the future. for now I wanna focus on his background.

#donnie barksdale #keanu reeves #the gift 2000 #biggest donnie barksdale kisser #keanuverse #he's so cute #keanu my beloved #keanu characters #i love keanu #headcanons

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werosmyss · 4 months ago

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I've mentioned a little bit about writing on here, but it occurs to me that I haven't actually shared any of my writing yet. (Which is odd, because I don't consider myself an artist and I've already posted two little doodles.)

So I've been working a little lately on a period radiostatic fic (1930s-1950s). I'm thinking I might start posting it on Ao3, but I would love to gauge interest a little bit beforehand. All fic info + brief excerpt below cut. Would love to get some preemptive feedback and make edits before I go posting anything :)

No title yet; though I was inspired by the song Friendly Neighborhood Poltergeist by Rory Webley

Potential CW/TWs for the first arc: Alcohol, PTSD (Military flashbacks; WWII specific), Nazis, Period-typical racism, Period-typical homophobia, light violence/descriptions of death and gore. I don't write smut so there would likely be implied sex but no details. General TW for Valentino but he will be OOC from hellaverse (i.e. not abusive and rapey); Period-typical American patriotism; Police being Police (ACAB)

WIP Tags/Characters/Ships, etc.: RadioStatic; Chaggie; HuskerDust; Minor StaticMoth; Lucifer, Vox, Alastor, Charlie, Vaggie, Husk, Angel Dust, OCs used as plot devices/background characters (no major role in the story), Niffty, Rosie, Mimzy (Mentioned as of right now, not sure if she will be important yet), Valentino, Velvette.

Obsessive Alastor; Obsessive Vox; Demiromantic Asexual Alastor; Bisexual Vox; Protective Alastor; Human AU (kinda); Alastor Can't Control his Shadow; Alastor and his Shadow are different entities (but are still the same person); Possession.

(Can't think of any others right now)

Brief summary for what I'm going for: Vincent Olcott (Vox, though I likely won't be calling him that in this fic) gets home from the European front and wants nothing more than a shower and to curl up in bed with his beautiful wife, but he's rebuffed at the door and forced out on the street. Grappling with his demons, Vincent tries to move on and ends up with a job at the local paper. Just when his life is looking up, he's transferred to a neighboring state and forced to rebuild his life all over again. He catches his big break with a story on a serial killer, exposing police incompetence and helping to catch the person on the loose. But he quickly becomes more trouble than he's worth, and he's forced out of the paper. Vincent bounces around the midwest for a bit, chasing cold cases and selling his stories to the highest bidder, until he ends up in New Orleans with his biggest mystery yet.

Alastor Wiles is shot and ripped apart by dogs while disposing a body one evening in the muggy Louisiana summer. He doesn't expect to wake up, as one usually doesn't wake up from a bullet to the head. But awaken he does, with a new body and a whole host of powers to boot. It isn't long before the old house he's tethered to– his old house– is sold, and his first ever roommate is surprisingly easy to possess. With free rein of New Orleans once more, Alastor and his roommate team up to lure all manner of bad men to the cottage at the edge of the woods. Because who, really, would miss them if they were to disappear off the face of the earth? Tenants come and go. Some stay for longer than others, some end up buried in shallow graves just behind the treeline. It seems that even in undeath, a higher power is allowing Alastor to continue his righteous mission to eradicate the scoundrels and scum of the earth, and who is he to look a gift horse in the mouth? But his newest tenant is sticking his nose where it doesn't belong and threatening to unravel the tenuous house of cards that Alastor has only just erected.

Excerpt:

1945 - May

The war was over– well, the war in Europe was over. Vincent breathed a silent thanks to whatever higher power may be listening that he had been stationed in France for the past year and not the Pacific front. He’d heard horror stories through the grapevine about the kinds of things that were happening to the men over there, and he really didn’t want to find out if they were exaggerated.

He had been all smiles coming home, picking up a bouquet from the florist almost as soon as he’d gotten off the train, and walking with the faintest skip in his step through the streets of Chicago. He could have hopped on a streetcar, but his house was only twenty minutes from the station and he was relishing in the smell of clean air and smiling faces in every window, American flags billowing in the wind.

An involuntary shudder wracked his frame as his gaze slid over a dilapidated row of brownstone townhomes. Shadows flitted across the darkened glass, ghosts of people he’d never known, voices he’d never heard crying out in pain. A sharp grin, a red armband, the glint of cold steel and the flash of gunpowder. The countless lives of the innocent occupied just as much space in his mind as his fallen comrades.

Vincent hadn’t realized he’d been staring at the cold and empty window until he was jostled forward by a passerby with a grumble. He didn’t realize he’d been crying until the tears dribbled off his chin and splattered against his navy blue suit. Shaking away the ghosts of his past, he set back down the sidewalk. The skip in his step was gone, his smile was fading. The stems of the rose bouquet in his hand had broken under his grip, but it didn’t matter. Eileen would want to cut them to fit her favorite vase anyway.

Inspo playlist [Spotify]

(its set to private since this is just for writing inspo. let me know if the link doesn't work)

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