#unfortunately following state politics IS fascinating sometimes

[monstermoviedean]

i know it's one of those "literally no one cares about this except me" issues but good god every time this one state legislator speaks my jaw DROPS

[hakoniwa-h]

10th Years "Tomodachi Life" (& My blogs)

On April 18, 2023, one year ago, I wrote a very long article on my blog about Mii and Japanese politics in relation to 'Tomocore', which was released earlier in Japan. I would like to share the English translation of that article, which I used Chat GPT and DeepL to translate.

To be clear, this article contains content that is very distressing for the feminist community, the LGBTQ+ community, and those who struggle with and contemplate human rights issues...

【The original article】10周年目のトモダチコレクション新生活 （Tomodachi Collection:New life, 10th birthday) 2023.04.18 https://hakoniwa-h.tumblr.com/post/714856306541002752/

「This is a gift from everyone」

On April 18, 2013, "Tomodachi Collection: New Life" was released, and now, it has reached its 10th anniversary. Congratulations. To share the excitement of 11 PM on April 17, 2013, I updated this blog at 11 PM on April 17, 2023. Unfortunately, we can no longer recommend the always-with-you download version…

Before moving this blog, I was posting various things about Tomodachi Collection: New Life on Seesaa Blog. If you've been with us since then, you've been following this blog for over 10 years.

Thank you. Congratulations on the 10th anniversary!

↑ Kanta, the 100th resident born on Likunoko Island, has also turned 9.

Tomodachi Collection: New Life was released on June 6, 2014, under the name "Tomodachi Life" in America, the EU, Australia, and Korea …etc. Before its release, Nintendo corrected an element related to "same-sex marriage" as a bug. I remember that when some people requested not to correct it, Nintendo responded firmly, saying, "We cannot incorporate social claims," which led to protests from users and human rights groups, resulting in an apology. At that time, I felt I had to summarize this controversy in my own way, but with limited knowledge of gender and the LGBTQ community, I remember feeling uncertain about whether it was appropriate to write "same-sex marriage" or "homosexuality" (I had some hesitation about whether it was "love" when it came to Mii relationships). Therefore, I used the terms "same-sex marriage" and "same-sex relationship." I've quietly revised that clumsy blog post since moving from Seesaa, correcting parts that seemed "discriminatory" or "a bit mistaken," but the overall tone and sentiment from that time remain unchanged, and it still exists today.

Back then, I was still immature, grappling with "fighting the society I thought was normal" in the face of my favorite work and the changing times.

[Past blog post]Same-sex marriage fiasco before Tomokore's overseas launch https://hakoniwa-h.tumblr.com/post/151286653996/

[References] ・HUFFPOST - 伊藤大地 「任天堂は同性婚にNO」？ ゲームの設定めぐり海外で波紋 https://www.huffingtonpost.jp/2014/05/08/nintendo-tomodachi_n_5292748.html ・CNET Japan – Nick Statt 任天堂が謝罪–「トモダチコレクション 新生活」欧米版で同性愛に対応せずhttps://japan.cnet.com/article/35047703/・CNET – Michelle Starr How to have same-sex relationships in Tomodachi Lifehttps://www.cnet.com/tech/gaming/how-to-have-same-sex-relationships-in-tomodachi-life/

Today, I'd like to share some serious thoughts about politics inspired by Tomodachi Collection: New Life over these past ten years.

"Let's sometimes check how seriously we are living!"

■ Mii's Achievements Almost ten years have passed since the criticism. Following this criticism, "Miitopia" was released, where Mii characters could love anyone regardless of gender (or rather, Mii's gender itself became quite ambiguous), and it was reborn as a fascinating software for the 3DS and later remade for the Switch with enhanced features.

Moreover, Mii showed a remarkable presence in "Miitomo," which was Nintendo's first mobile app launched on March 17, 2016. Unfortunately, "Miitomo" has since been discontinued, but they are now planting flowers in the city with Pikmin in "Pikmin Bloom." I believe Mii are still doing their best.

■ Games and Politics Nintendo has stated, "We strive to create an environment where each employee can demonstrate their abilities," and reportedly introduced a partnership system in March 2021, advocating respect for human rights. This initiative for a diverse workplace includes a section on "promoting women's participation," but although 30% of Nintendo (Japan)'s employees are women, which might be relatively high for a general company, the fact that there are still fewer opportunities for women hasn't changed. Consequently, the fewer female employees, the fewer chances women have to benefit from the partnership system. Although it might be unrealistic to expect a sudden 50% representation tomorrow, I hope for a gradual increase. Additionally, Japanese electronics companies, including Nintendo, have been accused of being involved in forced labor in the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region in 2020, and they are being asked to report on their stance regarding "modern slavery." [References]

・国際人権NGOヒューマン・ライツ・ナウ 【報告書】新疆ウイグル自治区に関連する強制労働と日本企業の関与について https://hrn.or.jp/activity_statement/18457/ ・任天堂株式会社　現代奴隷に関するステートメント(PDF) https://www.nintendo.co.jp/csr/pdf/ModernSlaveryTransparencyStatement_jp.pdf

There was also a bit of news that caught my attention. ・CNN 「任天堂米国法人が女性社員を解雇、理由を巡り物議に」https://www.cnn.co.jp/business/35080561.html・Gigazine 「ニンテンドー・オブ・アメリカで受けたひどいセクハラや女性差別について元従業員が告白」https://gigazine.net/news/20220819-nintendo-of-america-sexual-harassment/

■ Reality Pulling Us Back Now, regarding the much-desired proper sequel to "Tomodachi Collection: New Life" that I and probably the readers of this blog are hoping for, I must point out that the harsh response of Japanese society to the LGBTQ+ community is affecting the existence of the Mii characters. I can't help but think that the political issues surrounding whether to keep Mii's relationships and marriages strictly between male and female or make them more free are hindering development and release. It's likely impossible to create a "Mii who only likes one gender" now. Creating a "Mii who only likes one gender" would break the promise made during the controversy nine years ago when Tomodachi Life was released. The global fan community (honestly, excluding certain communities attacking minorities while jokingly invoking "Nintendo's legal department" and those sharing sensitive information affecting international relations and wars) is not foolish. Moreover, these issues will affect not just Tomodachi Collection but various other games. If it's judged that "human rights are being ignored for business," even the above-mentioned human rights statements will come under stricter scrutiny. Unless these issues are resolved, the development of a sequel to "Tomodachi Collection: New Life" won't be directed (or rather, can't be directed). I now think that the deterioration of Japanese politics over the past decade and the lack of "human rights education" are holding back development.

What I can say to those who wish for the release of "Tomodachi Collection: New Life" is to seriously consider Japanese politics.

If possible, think about human rights and the LGBTQ+ community because while Mii are fictional avatars, they occupy a unique position that can integrate real-life people into the game world, making them inseparable from reality and capable of influencing it.

Being aware of this, reexamining your own assumptions, and stopping discrimination are the quickest paths to development and release.

Is it natural that marriage is only possible between a man and a woman?

Wouldn't it have been acceptable for storks to deliver children to same-sex couples? Wouldn't having a slider setting for 'having children or not' solve this issue? Why is acquiring a home limited to married couples? There are many things we can reconsider.

I feel so seriously that "this country is in a bit of a crisis" that I have to say such serious things 10 years after the release of Tomodachi Collection: New Life. Please understand this small request.

I want the Switch to be imported to a new island in "Tomodachi Collection: New Life," and for Mii to play Zelda, Ring Fit Adventure, and more. I love Mii playing 3DS and WiiU on the 3DS, but I want to say, "Please export the Switch!"

If the economy were a bit better, I think many downloadable content and repairs for 3DS and Wii could have continued. What will happen if the Wii or 3DS of the Mii living on the island breaks down? It's sad to think about, but at the same time, I also feel like Mii could somehow fix it.

■ Tightening Last year, on February 24, Russia invaded Ukraine. In 2013, Russia enacted a law prohibiting the "propaganda" of "non-traditional sexual relations (homosexuality)" to minors. In 2017, a legal amendment decriminalized domestic violence.

The fact that "Miitopia" was released with an R18 rating also caused a big stir, as it was caught by this “propaganda” clause. "Tomodachi Life" might also be included.

[References] ・毎日新聞 – 菅野 蘭 「女の子」だから、抗議する　プーチン政権下のロシアの女性たちhttps://mainichi.jp/articles/20230413/k00/00m/030/139000c ・AUTOMATON – Daiki Imazato ロシア下院議員が「LGBTを宣伝するゲーム」をリストアップ。『Fallout』や『Apex Legends』など有名ゲーム多数を危険視 https://automaton-media.com/articles/newsjp/20221115-226706/・AUTOMATON – Ayuo Kawase Nintendo Switch『ミートピア』はロシアでは“18禁”だとして話題にのぼる。同性愛描写が影響かhttps://automaton-media.com/articles/newsjp/20210219-152683/ ・FRANCE 24 - Russia’s book police: Anti-gay law opens new chapter as censors target literature https://www.france24.com/en/europe/20240430-russia-s-book-police-anti-gay-law-opens-ugly-new-chapter

Additionally, last November, it became a problem that the Shinto Political League distributed a discriminatory booklet at a meeting of the Liberal Democratic Party's parliamentary group that described homosexuality as a "mental disorder" and an "addiction." Frankly speaking, I feel that Japan's stance on LGBTQ+ issues is very close to the situation described above in Russia. If a "homosexual propaganda ban law" were to be enacted in Japan, it would not only restrict the release of games related to Mii but also other imported games and works. I dread the thought that it could even lead to the halting of distribution of second-hand copies of 'Tomodachi Life' and 'Miitopia.'

[References] ・Yahoo個人 – 松岡宗嗣 「同性愛は依存症」「LGBTの自殺は本人のせい」自民党議連で配布 https://news.yahoo.co.jp/byline/matsuokasoshi/20220629-00303189 ↑（I've listed the sites and articles I referred to without changing their titles, but this article by writer Soshi Matsuoka, posting information about LGBTQ+ issues in Japan, became a scoop, particularly highlighting the LGBTQ persecution by traditional religions in Japan.） ・朝日新聞デジタル – 伊藤舞虹 議員ら会合でLGBTQ差別冊子、「加担怖い」　当事者の神職ら抗議(有料記事) https://www.asahi.com/articles/ASQCG74K2QBPOIPE00S.html ・The Asahi Shimbun - MAIKO ITO /Staff Writer Shrine workers protest Shinto body’s anti-LGBT pamphlet https://www.asahi.com/ajw/articles/14768713 ・東京新聞 日本除いた「G6」からLGBTQの人権守る法整備を促す書簡　首相宛てに駐日大使連名　サミット議長国へ厳しい目 https://www.tokyo-np.co.jp/article/238238

The direction of Japan's game industry is also influenced by the atmosphere among users. Until now, perhaps you could adopt the attitude that as long as you could play your favorite games, you didn't care about anything else. This was because Japan was perceived to (comparatively still) have "money," and it was a country with many people who could afford to be insensitive and not care about others. Moreover, I think there was a sort of tacit racial leniency as "an island nation with strange customs in East Asia."

However, such excuses will no longer be acceptable. We are entering an era where we must feel ashamed of the business practices that have relied on such excuses. Therefore, I sincerely hope that those who love Mii and read this blog will seriously think about the future, including politics.

And, based on that, I want you to boldly wish for the development of a sequel to 'Tomodachi Life: New Life.'

"From tomorrow, I will try my best."

The next election is the second half of the unified local elections on April 23rd. Why not seriously consider how you want Mii to be portrayed in the future as one of the starting points?

--- --- --- ■Supplementary information The day I wrote this article, April 18th, was a time when local elections were looming in Japan.

On May 19, 2024, it became clear that a Japanese lesbian couple sought asylum in Canada, being recognized as refugees due to compound discrimination against women and LGBTQ+ in Japan. We live in an environment so severe that we need to seek asylum. Nintendo, the creator of 'Tomodachi Life,' is unfortunately based in Japan and sometimes absorbs the discriminatory expressions of Japanese society. This issue extends beyond games to other media like manga and anime. Feminist groups that point out these problems often face SLAPP lawsuits and other forms of harassment, making it a serious social issue that rarely comes to light.

・日本人の同性カップル、カナダで難民認定　「迫害に根拠ある恐怖」 https://www.asahi.com/articles/ASS5L2F7MS5LUTFL002M.html ・Colabo’s Fights against Sexual Exploitation and Misogyny in Japan Today | Webzine-KYEOL As you may know, in May 2014, before the release of "Tomodachi Life," it became big news that same-sex marriage was not possible in the game. At the time, I must confess, I had little understanding of LGBTQ+ issues and didn't fully grasp why this caused such anger. I believe most Japanese people felt the same.

The answer is that Japan is a society that adheres to the standard that "marriage is between a man and a woman."

Japan is a country that is (for better or worse) susceptible to external pressure. When former Prime Minister Yoshiro Mori made sexist remarks during the TOKYO Olympics, it was thanks to women around the world standing up that we finally managed to bring him down. The sad fact is that women's suffrage in Japan is shorter than his age. The reality is that few people can access the Japanese feminist communities and LGBTQ+ communities, and they are quite exhausted.

I live in a rural area (HOKKAIDO) and have never directly participated in these communities, which is an issue. Feminism in Japan feels like it belongs to those in urban areas, who can attend university, who have money, and who can participate in communities.

At the same time, this means that anti-feminists can easily infiltrate feminist communities if they have the funds.

I think Japan's situation regarding LGBTQ+ is close to Russia. Women's wages are 75% of men's. I live as a woman in this Japanese society. I encountered feminism in 2017 when Yumi Ishikawa started the hashtag activism #Kutoo, a play on #MeToo. Online visibility of feminists allowed us to see what books and media they were consuming. I was fortunate that when I encountered feminism, K-feminism, including Cho Nam-joo's "Kim Ji-young, Born 1982（KO:「82년생 김지영」 JP:「82年生まれ、キム・ジヨン」)" was spreading in Japan, and I rode that wave.

(Postscript 2024/05/26 Upon rereading, I realized there might be some confusion here. In 2017, the global hashtag movement #MeToo occurred, and I was shocked by Shiori Ito's case and the reports on it. Gradually, women's accusations started to accumulate, and although I felt I wanted to share something as well, I couldn't put my thoughts into words. This led me to read many books and articles about feminism. Among these, Yumi Ishikawa's #Kutoo (2019) movement emerged, the Flower Demo, public discrimination by a certain university professor, and the related lawsuits.)

I learned that Japan is a family-centric society, that we are bound by it, and that what I thought was "normal" since childhood was not "normal." Our rights are incomplete, and human rights education, including sex education, has not been conducted.

You may know famous feminists like CHIZUKO UENO and YOKO TAJIMA, but their books did not reach us. Japanese bookstores rarely carry feminist books. As mentioned earlier, women's wages are 75% of men's; it's not that we don't buy books but can't afford to. Moreover, many Japanese women are burdened with household chores and have no time to read.

The same applies to other cultures. There's no time to play games, no time for hobbies, but we're told to stay beautiful. The word "Jyoshi-ryoku" (women's power) became a buzzword in 2009. "Jyoshi-ryoku" is a term similar to "Tradwife," meaning always being cute, good at cooking, and perfectly entertaining men. It became a buzzword, and we were swayed by it.

Do you know what happened in 2009?

↑It's the year when the DS version of ”Tomodachi Collection” was released. Now, AI like Chat GPT has advanced greatly, allowing us to communicate like this (although it's still somewhat unstable).

The 10th-anniversary article touched on these social issues in Japan and addressed Mii fans, but it didn't get much response in Japan.

Japan still neglects the word "human rights." It is a country full of elderly people who do not get angry even if taxes are pocketed by suited old men. And I am one of the women sighing in that society. In Japan, making statements about feminism attracts trolls from all sides, creating a situation where even a small corner blog like this has to remain vigilant.

...Thank you for reading this long piece. Let me say a bit more. The point I want to make is that a society where many people suffer from various difficulties happening around the world is not only challenging for us but also for Mii. I hope for a society where it's easier to live, not only for the cute residents living on this small island but for everyone.

And I believe that applies to you, the one reading this text. I hope the English is coming across well. Thank you to ChatGPT and DeepL (and to all those developers and individuals striving for ethics), truly.

[senjuushi]

Noble Musketeer Story: Dreyse

Episode 1: Not a Single Blemish

Russell: Welcome to Philcrevert United Forces Military Academy, German Branch Special Commander Dreyse, and German Branch Assistant Special Commander Herme. 

Herme: Hello there. You’re Sergeant Major Russell Bluesmile, hm? I’ve heard about you from my Master. 

Herme: We may hold important positions in the German Branch, but we’re (Player Name)’s Musketeers as well. 

Herme: You, who are in the role of guiding (Player Name), have no need to be so formal— at least, while we’re here at the military academy. Isn’t that right, Dreyse? 

Dreyse: Yes. There’s no issue, so long as you remain polite. And this may be sudden, but I would like to request a tour of the premises, Sergeant Russell.  

Russell: A-Alright... 

*scene changes to a classroom*

Russell: This is the classroom for the Noble Musketeer special class. The instructor in charge is Deputy Director-General Kyoudou, who was the leader of the Resistance’s special branch during the Revolutionary War. 

Dreyse: It’s quite fortunate for us that the well-known Kyoudou Granbird is here. We’ll surely have much to learn from him. 

Herme: I wonder what kind of classes there will be. Tactical studies? Management theory? 

Russell: That’s... well... Among the Musketeers, there are many who have not yet acquired even the basic knowledge of how to live alongside humans... 

Russell: Starting with the basics, we have a wide range of foundational classes, such as foreign language, class literature, history, chemistry, mathematics, and music. However, as it is, scuffles and outbursts are unfortunately common... 

Herme: I see. The atmosphere here seems to be completely different than at the German branch. 

Dreyse: However, looking at the state of the ordinary students, it appears that proper discipline is still maintained. 

Dreyse: Are the leaders among the students giving instruction over there? 

Master: 

Those are senior students. 

They’re something like leaders. 

Russell: This school values independence and autonomy. The senior students act as models for their juniors and look out for them when they required guidance. 

Russell: Thus, outside of class, we instructors don’t give detailed instruction to the students. ...unless there’s a serious need. 

Russell: (...incidents of “serious need” tend to be common in the Musketeer class, but... well, I don’t need to say that right now...)

Russell: (These two seem like quite sensible people, in the first place, so such guidance will likely be unnecessary!)

Dreyse: Hmm... though the students will change by the year, that tradition will be passed down, and a school culture will be accomplished. 

Herme: Rather than being told everything, one is able to think for themself and come to their own decisions... it may be basic, but that vital aspect doesn’t come easily. 

Russell: Next, let’s go outside of the school building. Class will be starting soon, so I’ll show you how training goes. 

*scene changes to outside*

Russell: You can see the first training ground over there. 

Dreyse: According to the documents, there were five in total, I believe. 

Russell: Yes. However, there’s a limit to what can be done on training grounds alone, so sometimes, we have expeditions to mountainous terrain and the like to simulate actual combat. 

Master: 

Survival in the mountains for three days...

Combat simulations such as sniper training... 

Dreyse: Hmm... 

Herme: That’s quite fascinating. For Musketeers as well, training that simulates a modern battlefield would be quite useful. 

Herme: What’s wrong, Dreyse? 

Dreyse: That pole over there...

Russell: As you can see, it displays the flags of both the World Union and the military academy...?

Dreyse: I’m aware. That’s why I can’t overlook it. Over here, Herme. 

Herme: Jawohl. 

Russell: Huh...? What’s going on? (Player Name)-kun, let’s follow them.

*Russell and Master follow the two*

Russell: Wh-What are you two doing...!? It’s not yet time to lower the school’s flag. 

Dreyse: I’m only lowering it so the flag will not be dirtied. Herme. 

Herme: Yes, I’ll hold onto the flag for now.

Dreyse: Hmm... Now, then. 

Dreyse: ...HHMP!!!

Suddenly, Dreyse pulled the five-meter poll out of its pedestal. 

Russell: What!? 

Dreyse slowly tilts the pole while shifting his grip so that he’s holding it near its point, then angles it toward (Player Name) and the others. 

Dreyse: Look at this.

Dreyse: There are bird droppings on the point of the pole. Did the student in charge of hoisting the flag not notice? They were slacking. 

Dreyse: This flag is the symbol of your school, so you must take pride in it. For something which is your pride, not a single blemish may be allowed...! 

Herme: As expected of you, Dreyse. I hope that the students here will follow the example you’ve set in their own conduct. 

Herme: Won’t that come off? 

Dreyse: Hm... it’s stuck quite stubbornly. It seems to have been here for at least a few days. 

Herme: I have some cleaner on hand. Here. 

Dreyse: As I’d expect of you, Herme. I’ll use it. 

Dreyse takes out a handkerchief, dampens it with water, applies the cleanser, and thoroughly scrubs the end of the pole. 

Dreyse: ...there, that’s better. Herme. 

Herme: Of course. I’ll hold onto the dirty handkerchief for you. 

Dreyse: ...hmm. 

Dreyse: Sergeant Russell, this time was not an issue. However, please tell the person in charge of hoisting the flag to be more attentive in the future.

Russell: Y-Yes... But to suddenly pull the pole out like that... 

Dreyse: I simply chose the most efficient way to deal with it. So long as the pole is returned to where it was, I see no problem. 

Dreyse puts the pole back on its pedestal. THUMP! The ground shook. 

Russell: I-I see...

[darthzaithe]

What do you really need right now? Hormones, hair removal, a stiff drink and copious amounts of sex.

What are some of the things that have made you who you are? Gender dysphoria, philosophy studies and ADHD.

What are some of your pet peeves? Too many to list but here's a few: people conflating sentient and sapient, people bending over backwards to not acknowledge that self-care is selfish rather than accept that selfishness is not all bad (and selflessness is not all good) and people dismissing cartoons/comics as just for kids.

Share a dark thought? (Go on, vent a little) Sometimes I think that the world would seriously be better without me in it.

Something that makes you ridiculously happy? The thought of growing tits.

What are you craving? Physical intimacy and a stiff drink

Song stuck in your head? M/s salmonella by Lifelover

Last thing you watched? Currently watching Bram Stoker's Dracula

Shows on your watch list? None currently.

Books on your reading list? None currently.

Something on your wish list? Estrogen.

Something you want to monologue about? A lot. Society, politics, the human condition.

If you were a note, what note would you be? C

Tactician, fighter, generalist, or supportive role? Supportive.

Talk about a stuffie. I have BLÅHAJ

They say you can tell a lot about a person from the state of their desk... Do you have a desk? Can you describe it? Old, white IKEA desk in a bad condition.

Space, enchanted forest, magical kingdom, or underwater city? Enchanted forest.

What are some of the meanings of your name? (Or url if you don't want to say.) Descended from or pertaining to Jove (Jupiter).

What fictional doctor do you wish was your doctor? James Wilson from House maybe?

Are you a gamer? What was the last game you played? I am. Last game I played was Stellaris.

How do you take your pizza? Thin, ideally slightly chewy dough, thin layer of tomato sauce and not too much toppings. I like pepperoni, olives, onion and various cheeses.

Strangest thing that has happened to you this week? Working from home is still weird to me on occasion.

Share a bit of philosophy? Reality is real and really complicated. Life is what we make of it. People should be free to act as they want as long as they don't harm others.

Do you follow the news? Unfortunately.

What's on your mind? Loads of dumb stuff.

What is your dream mode of transportation? I'd take a boat anywhere if it was practical.

What fascinates you about humanity? The sheer potential of what we can do. We have tamed fire, split the atom and walked on the moon.

What about life makes you smile? Friends

A dream you wish to make true? Living as myself.

What is your favourite way to create? Writing and playing music.

[skyeventide]

I’m really really fascinated by your interpretation of Maedhros and I’d love to read more of it, I saw your comment on the post about earlier versions and then was super intrigued

-@outofangband

hello @outofangband ! thank you for the ask, I'm going to try putting it into words, though I'm usually much better at fanfiction to explain how I envision characterisation — and unfortunately I don't have any Maedhros fanfic other than To die in the light (which is less about him per se, and more about the ex thrall who interacts with him; but there's a good swathe of Maedhros as well). still, to explain:

essentially, what I meant with that specific comment is that I don't attribute to Maedhros any personal unwillingness to follow along the rebellion, the first kinslaying, or the Oath, certainly not at early stages. what I instead attribute to Maedhros is an aptitude for politics and a willingness to attempt diplomacy routes and handle public perceptions of facts, no matter how facts actually are.

a lot of this is, by necessity, extrapolation. the bare bones of characterisation are there in the text, but the flesh that is built on those bones varies, and can vary a lot. so mypersonal construction is informed by a few external things too. I basically just... don't really vibe with restrained good person Maedhros, cause that feels to me like the easiest route to construct a narrative that's contrasting, depending: his father's; his brothers'; sometimes other characters' (e.g. Elwing). and like, to each their own, but it's not my thing, and I'm not into singling out the good guy out of the bunch as a trope, it simply doesn't call to me.

I'll try to explain my points about early Maedhros (much as I'd love to explain my headcanons for the whole character arc, that would be so long and complicated that I give up without even trying lmao); also I'd like to add that absence of evidence is not evidence of absence but that's where both "personal construction" and "extrapolation" come into place. essentially, this is what I construct and extrapolate, and I'm not really interested in alternatives, I don't like them, or I just disagree with them. and by contrast, people may think the same of this.

firstly, not against the rebellion and the Oath: the early text in @undercat-overdog's post is to my knowledge the only existing text that gives insight with regard to the state of mind with which the Oath was taken. now the Silmarillion says "a dreadful oath", but the Silmarillion has reason to do so by virtue of hindsight. the entirety of the speech to the Noldor, fear and gloom of the moment aside, is a speech that pushes to action: it seems extremely fitting to me that the taking of the Oath itself should reasonably be something with an upwards push, taken without full acknowledgement of its lines and what they may entail when it comes to other elves. because the stated purpose of moving war to Morgoth is very clear throughout, and even though the reality of the war hasn't hit them yet, the awareness of its approach is very present — there is, imo, a readiness for fight and an acknowledgement of intent: killing a deity.

I also feel that "these leapt with laughter / their lord beside / with linked hands / there lightly took / the oath unbreakable" meshes fairly well with the Silmarillion version, where some of this is not kept but the sons still leap at Feanor's side, this time with their swords drawn. Maedhros in this is not called out as any different — in fact, Maedhros is not called out as being different during the feud either: "lies came between them" with regard to Fingon paints the rumour-spreading among the Noldorin factions as affecting them equally, just as it affects Fingolfin ("grew proud and jealous each of his rights and possessions").

the first kinslaying: again maedhros is not singled out as against it. and again, absence of evidence doesn't equal evidence of absence, however, my preferred method in reconstructing my understanding of canon through the skeleton of its textuality is at times trying to make sense of drafts and grabbing the fil rouge of their logical development. and, when there is someone called out as acting against the Noldor during the first kinslaying, that is Galadriel. Maedhros never even is named in this circumstance.

I also think that the modus operandi of the whole situation is a remarkable early calque of the second and third kinslaying. first, other options are exhausted first: the noldor go north, stop in Araman by foot, and decide the crossing of the ice is too costly, not doable, or otherwise not something they're willing to do (more: people directly blame Feanor for the bitter cold they're exposed to, before they have to cross, if they wish to reach Middle Earth); second, there is an attempt to convince Olwe and the Teleri via words; third, a passage that is textually absent from later deeds of the same sort, but which might be potentially inferred, the leader (here Feanor) sits alone brooding on his options; fourth, action. this is the same as what happens with the later kinslayings, even though the first was not meant to be a deadly undertaking in its conception (it was a theft). but, what I mean is, second kinslaying: failed first option, the battle of unnumbered tears, part 2 diplomatic attempt, the message to doriath, part 3, not textually stated, part 4, action. third kinslaying is muddier and I won't attempt to map it perfectly other than: delayed attack to the havens; diplomatic attempt via message; [not textually stated, may be incorporated in the delay]; action.

either way, my point is: whether Maedhros is outright leader or he isn't, there isn't any fundamental difference in the story beats of the kinslayings. inb4 "Feanor and Maedhros have different character traits" — yes, to an extent. and this is where the early draft from that post returns to my aid in terms of personality building: "the eldest, whose ardor / yet more eager burnt / than his father’s flame, / than Feanor’s wrath". now, I feel there's an important qualitative difference in ardour and wrath, but that line exists and the Silmarillion doesn't contradict it: the fire of life burns in Maedhros, the eagerness here mentioned does not fade from this draft to later versions. (inb4 “the circumstances don’t overlap perfectly”: yes of course they don’t. I’m not trying to argue that they do)

now, what happens when it's time to depart with the ships? Feanor takes counsel with his sons, and the decision is to take the loyalists and go to the other side with them first. what happens when Feanor tries to burn those ships? Maedhros gives his famous lines, "what ships and rowers will you spare to return, and whom shall they bear hither first". my extrapolation here is this: I think it's obvious that the burning was not supposed to happen; and I think it's obvious that the joint decision of Feanor and his sons, dare say of Feanor and his firstborn heir, was to send back a group and carry the rest of the Noldor to Middle Earth. Feanor says lmao fuck you and the rest is history. Maedhros doesn't take well to that, and here comes forth what I think actually distinguishes him as a character: the cool-headed pragmatism that will imo really come forth post-captivity, the diplomatic abilities, and weighing his options with a level-headedness that his father lacks — and I would like to posit, these options are not weighed in a particularly moral way: he appeals to Feanor about Fingon being carried first because Fingon rushed in and got involved in the kinslaying on their behalf (there may be different readings, but they don't appear to me as textually supported as this — and for the purpose of this I am making no difference between feelings of romance and friendship; the quality of the relationship is here irrelevant, the strength of it has more bearing). it isn't "Fingon because he's my friend", or "Fingon because he's a good guy", it's "Fingon because he killed for us". and after he is on this side, actually keeping the rest of their army, an army they need to effectively wage the war they said they would wage, becomes a cake walk.

also, I go back and forth on this, but: it's possible that Fingon gained his "the valiant" sobriquet before the Darkening; it isn't a given that it was gained in this instance, his Alqualonde attack. but I still feel like it's quite telling, whether the epithet is gained now or before, that it's brought up under these circumstances. the last "valiant" deed from Fingon has been saving the day during the kinslaying. whether Maedhros is saying it to convince his father or because he truly feels it's currently deserved, he's nonetheless saying it.

a last point is the envoy with which he accepts to meet with Morgoh's forces: this is very shortly after Feanor's death, and Maedhros goes in with more warriors than agreed, though it's still not enough to counter Morgoth's own breaking of the terms. Maedrhos in this demonstrates that he's willing to pursue diplomacy despite his father's own words, but he is neither blindly trusting nor a good person who's simply out of his depth: he goes prepared to be the larger armed force and brings none of his brothers with him. it's not enough, but the attempt is there.

which reads to me as an ardour and eagerness that are kept in check by pretty solid abilities to plan, and that do not, really, counter his father's wishes in any truly consistent way. yes, the ship burning, but in the long run having all the Noldor in ME was going to be a benefit; I feel he could have well patched-up the problems without giving up any crown. yes, the parleying with Morgoth, but they just lost their father and despite that the Dagor-nuin-Giliath is a victory: he's coming as the winning party and newly crowned king, and he might, perhaps, find another route to proceed.

so these are more or less the salient points of my personal reconstruction of "early Maedhros". it'd be too long to get into post-captivity and this post is already long lmao, but I hope this made sense to you? and clarified how I understand his character with that early draft included as an aspect.

*all opinions and analyses are personal and are not attempting to establish a true canon. they make sense to me; I’d argue that I try to make them as textually supported as possible with a canon so fragmented. if my readers’ here are different, go on y’all’s merry way.

[hatterstan-shameblog]

Okay so Aguni is sound asleep, just enjoying the few hours of peace he has, when there's a knock on the door. He ignores it, but the person just keeps knocking and knocking.

"Morizono, open the goddamn door!" he hears Takeru call, "This is an emergency!"

He groans to himself before standing up and opening the door.

"What?"

"So, remember that weird chonky cat Niragi found?"

"Yeah... what about it?"

"It's not fat... and is not a cat."

Where Hatter and apparently every other idiot at the Beach mistake a domesticated pregnant genet for a fat exotic cat. And it just gave birth on Hatter's bed.

I have no idea in what direction this is supposed to go lol but hopefully something chaotic.

alright I had to look up what a genet is and DAMN they are CUTE AS HELL and I’m love them v much

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Terminator

Rating: PG-13 for dialogue and like one drug reference

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Aguni Morizono is a simple man who enjoys simple pleasures.

He enjoys a healthy slathering of grape jelly on his toast. He enjoys watching the sunset reflect over the ocean. He enjoys watering his garden and reading the newspaper and taking naps on the sofa on Sunday afternoons after he’s finished his grocery shopping for the week.

What he does not particularly enjoy is being shaken awake by a borderline-frantic Takeru in the middle of the night.

Takeru insists that he has a good reason; that this is an emergency. Aguni reminds him that running out of marijuana does not qualify as an emergency, and pulls the blanket over his head in an attempt to shut the very exuberant man out.

But the aforementioned exuberant man refuses to be shut out, and he references the aforementioned emergency again—this time insisting that it is an actual real emergency and requires immediate attention. Aguni sincerely doubts this and tries his damnedest to fall back to sleep—a truly Herculean task, given Takeru’s incessant talking and the way he’s bouncing on the other side of the mattress like some kind of weird large puppy. Aguni is just about to enter the first misty moments of dozing off as Takeru says words like ‘Niragi’ and ‘cat’ and ‘bed’ and it’s all somewhat possible to ignore until he utters one word that makes Aguni sit straight up.

‘Babies.’

Now, ‘babies’ as a concept does not bother Aguni. He’s actually somewhat fond of them, the way they unabashedly stare at him on the train or in the park, eyes wide and fat little hands waving a clumsy ‘hello’ in his general direction. And if he waves back sometimes, well...that’s his business. (It’s only polite, after all.)

No, the issue here is that ‘babies’ and ‘the Borderlands’ sounds like a terrible, terrible mix. What’s worse is that said babies have, for some reason, been left in Takeru’s care. And, judging from Takeru’s presence in his room, the babies have been left alone.

It takes no time at all for Aguni to throw on a pair of pants and slip into his boots. It takes even less time for him to grab Takeru by the collar of his robe and physically drag him down the hall, the other man switching between heartfelt thank-you’s and desperate pleas for Aguni to be gentle when handling the raw silk of his ensemble.

Now, to those of us on the outside of Aguni’s brain, it may seem like he hasn’t thought this through; that he has tunnel-vision’d his way through the last two paragraphs without a logical thought as to how and why ‘babies’ may be present. That is simply not true. Aguni has considered that ‘babies’ could actually mean a number of things aside from ‘human infants’ and has thus compiled a short list of the three most likely candidates:

The spider plant he had placed on Takeru’s windowsill has propagated—or, as some would call it, ‘had babies.’ This is Aguni’s favorite option of the bunch. It is also the least likely.

Something about the cards. Although Aguni has never Takeru refer to them as ‘his babies,’ it is no secret that he is very protective of his prized collection. Seeing as this may or may not affect the entire Beach, it’s important for him to be aware of the situation.

Takeru is high as a goddamn kite and hallucinating. This is, unfortunately, the most likely scenario.

It is also important to mention that Aguni has taken a good look at his life and his choices throughout this ordeal, particularly when Takeru commented on the state of his biceps and made an off-color insinuation about the right one looking slightly more defined than the left—and then asked if he would like to discuss his love life, with an exaggerated raise of his eyebrows. Aguni chose not to comment. He also chose to push Takeru into the doorframe on the way into his suite, and took a smidge of pleasure when his head collided with the wood with a satisfying clunk-ing sound.

“Look,” Takeru says proudly, pointing a finger at the bed, “babies!”

Nestled in what a bulging nest of fluffy white blankets are...things. Fuzzy things. One big fuzzy thing, with sleepy eyes and what looks to be a long spotted tail wrapped around one, two, three tiny fuzzy things. When Aguni leans in to get a closer look, the big one quirks a corn-chip-shaped ear and gives him a wary glare.

“What,” Aguni asks, “in the goddamn—“

But before Aguni is able to finish his sentence, Takeru is giving him a stinging slap on the arm.

“Aguni Morizono,” he hisses, hands balled into fists and perched on his hips like a mother hen, “I will not have my children exposed to that kind of language.”

There are plenty of things wrong with what Takeru just said, but Aguni is having trouble getting past the idea that these...creatures have somehow been claimed by his very silly friend.

“Think about it,” Takeru continues, swanning his way past a very confused (and tired) Aguni to sit on the edge of the bed just behind the brood of fluffy individuals, “This lovely lady could have given birth on anyone’s bed...but she chose mine.  Why do you think that is?”

“Because you leave the sheets all balled up in the middle and it’s the perfect place for an animal to make a nest?”

“Wrong, but I like how confident you sounded when you said it!”

With his hands pressed together and held in front of his lips, Takeru looks almost prayerful as he very seriously explains his theory.

“A woman alone-- heavily pregnant, scared, and lost in these cold and cruel Borderlands.  Her thoughts shift to her young.  Who will keep them safe?  Who will help take care of them?  That’s when her instincts took over,” Takeru opens his arms, the silken cuffs of his robe pooling around his elbows, “and, using her superior sense of smell, followed her nose to the den of the nearest alpha male for protection.”

Aguni wishes he could say that this is the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. He also wishes he had a cup of coffee (with a healthy glug of Bailey’s in there for good measure) before this whole event took place.

Takeru has since busied himself with the tiny new mother and her young, watching with gentle fascination as the newborns snuffle and snooze against her with unopened eyes and clumsy paws. When he reaches out a ring-bedecked hand to stroke along the bigger one’s head, she gives him a small growl and a pointed glare—to which he laughs and withdraws his touch, saying something cheeky about “the last time she let a man get too close” and quickly following it up with a promise to talk about it “after the kids are asleep.”

Takeru has just held up his hand for a high-five (which Aguni has decided to not reciprocate) when they hear a crash and then a bang and then the thundering thumpthumpthump of angry booted footsteps rapidly approaching their position in the bedroom. For some reason—a reason he’s not very keen to dwell upon at the current moment—Aguni instantly snaps into defense mode, hands curling into fists and shoulders squaring themselves in anticipation of a coming attack.

“WHERE. IS. TERMINATOR!?”

Niragi bursts into the room like a firework, all noise and flash and fire in his eyes. His knuckles strain around the dark of his rifle, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice. Of course, Aguni knows (hopes) he won’t actually resort to filling Takeru full of bullets, but he keeps a close eye on his trigger finger, anyways.

“Ah! There’s my co-parent,” Hatter says with a measure of glee, gesturing with a flourish of his hand towards the cute, hairy pile on his bed, “As you can see, our lovely Terminator is doing very well and—“

“Our? She’s not fucking ours, she’s fucking mine,” Niragi snaps, “and I’m gonna fucking kill you for stealing my cat.”

“Not a cat,” a calm voice says, and Aguni turns to see Last Boss lurking in the doorway, katana sheathed and arms crossed, “She’s a common genet, native to the savanna’s of Africa.”

“Ooh, does that mean the babies have dual citizenship? No, wait,” Hatter claps his hands together with glee, “triple citizenship? Africa, Japan, and the Borderlands?!”

“Africa’s not a country, it’s a continent, dumbass,” Niragi retorts, “and I think we have bigger problems than what’s going to be on their fucking passports.”

It’s probably not the best thing in the world for Aguni to let Takeru and Niragi descend into heated bickering—a back-and-forth of ‘you stole her’ versus ‘no, she chose me’—but Aguni is simply not interested in breaking up their squabbling. Instead he goes to stand by Last Boss, who’s watching the two long-haired men argue like it’s a mildly interesting tennis match.

“So,” Aguni says, “you, uh, seem to know a lot about those things.”

“I did my research when Niragi first brought her back,” Last Boss says calmly, “He’s good with her, but I wanted to make sure we were taking care of her correctly.”

“Did you know she was pregnant?”

“I had my suspicions. Niragi wouldn’t listen, though. Kept telling me she was just fat.”

“Yeah, I thought she was ‘just fat,’” Niragi interjects, his gun no longer pointed at Takeru but a murderous gleam still in his eye, “because this fucking asshole kept feeding her potato chips!”

“Because she loves them,” Takeru shouts back, throwing his arms up in the air, “So shoot me for being a nice guy and sharing my snacks with your weird cat!”

“Don’t,” both Last Boss and Aguni say in unison—which is very uncomfortable for the both of them, but at least it has the desired effect of keeping Niragi from blasting a few dozen holes through Takeru’s person.

With the two of them quickly getting back into their heated back-and-forth, Aguni turns his attention to the creatures on the bed. Somehow, despite all of the noise and excitement, the mother and her babies have curled up and fallen asleep, the rhythmic rise and fall of their bellies a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding around them. Aguni feels jealous, but also, feels bad about feeling jealous because this...Terminator thing has undoubtedly had a rough night, too.

“Luckily,” Last Boss says, “genets are pretty independent creatures. She’ll be fine to take care of the kits on her own, provided that she has access to food and water.”

“So we should just...leave her alone?”

Last Boss shrugs.

“More or less.”

Aguni sighs internally. He sighs externally, too, but the internal sigh is the one that really sums up his thoughts on the whole situation. Just getting one of those hot-headed men to leave those poor animals alone is challenging enough, but both of them? That’s bordering on ‘damn near impossible.’

But, for the sake of those weird fuzzy babies, he has to try.

Takeru jumps when he feels Aguni’s hand on his elbow. He also manages to shut up for a moment, which is a nice bonus. Last Boss has also sprung into action and seems to be talking to Niragi in hushed tones, a hesitant but friendly hand on his shoulder.

“C’mon,” Aguni says, gentle-firm as he guides Takeru into a standing position—much to the other man’s confusion.

“Mori, what—?”

“You’ve had a big night. I’ve had a big night. But do you know whose had the biggest night of us all?” Aguni gestures to the snoozing creatures in front of them, “Terminator. She’s exhausted, and the last thing she needs is the four of us keeping her up. You can stay with me tonight, and we’ll figure the rest out tomorrow.”

“But,” Takeru protests—an iota quieter, now that he’s realized that the pipe on the bed is now a sleeping pile, “we can’t just leave them alone, can we?”

“You’re right. Which is why,” Aguni says, “Last Boss is going to stay with her and keep an eye on things. If he’s okay with that, of course?”

Last Boss offers a solemn nod. Aguni makes a mental note to thank him for this later—maybe he’ll let him pick the music on their next supply run (provided it’s from Aguni’s list of pre-approved artists, of course...)

“You know what? Fucking fine,” Niragi spits, flicking his hair back with a quick jerk of his hand, “it’s too goddamn late to deal with you fucking losers, anyways. I’ll come back to collect my cat and her kittens in the morning.”

Aguni does not risk correcting Niragi on his incorrect terminology regarding his pets—frankly, he’s a little too busy being amazed at how suspiciously easy it was to get him to leave. With a sharp pivot, Niragi is exiting the room in what could be called a ‘brisk saunter,’ no doubt wanting to put as much distance between himself and whatever-the-hell just happened in this room as possible.

Aguni, for once, can relate to Niragi quite well.

With Last Boss keeping vigil over the new little family, Aguni is able to wrangle Takeru away from his room with minimal fuss. It’s probably because the man is very tired—despite multiple claims that he ‘isn’t sleepy yet’ and ‘can stay up for hours.’ This theory is proven when, within a grand total of seven seconds of Takeru flopping face-first onto the middle of Aguni’s bed, he’s managed to slip into what only can be described as a ‘light coma.’

Aguni manages to wrestle a stray pillow away from his sleeping friend’s grasp (he’s a notoriously cuddly sleeper, which has led to some...interesting situations over the course of their friendship) and settles his weary self onto the couch. It’s not quite long enough to accommodate his height, but it’s good enough for what will most likely end up being an extended nap before the sun comes up and he needs to solve whatever other issues have popped up at the Beach overnight.

...But, at least those problems won’t involve babies.

Probably.

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Also here is a common genet and DAMN SIS U CUTE AS HELL

[boogiewrites]

Never Break the Chain Pt. 3

Part 3 of 5

Characters: Javier Peña x OFC

Summary:  Esme keeps her distance and Javier's obsession gets worse. She decides to let him find her and they're both faced with the hard questions they've been suppressing for decades.

Warnings/Tags: Reunited Lovers.  Angst. Yearning. Difficult adult conversations. Regret. Nostalgia. 

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

Steve stood staring and ignored by a red-eyed and greasy Peña still hunched over a desk with boxes of old files piling up around him. The boxes obscured half of him, stacks that started on the desktop, now on the floor. His nose twitched from the dust and his eyes burned from lack of sleep.

“Did you ever leave?” Murphy moves a few boxes to sit on his desk that had been commandeered for Pena’s obsession.

As if snapping out of a trance, Javier looks up and around, seeing morning light again through the high windows in the cool-hued room that lacked any warmth in its sterile choice of furnishings. “Guess not.” he yawns and looks back down at the work he’s done.

“You look like shit, man.”

“Thanks.” he gruffs out and stretches, a noise that half groan and half yawn escapes him.

“Did you at least find anything?”

“Plenty.” he pauses and rubs his face. “Unfortunately.” he pushes a legal pad full of scribbled notes with dates.

“These...all her?”

“I think so.”

“Damn Javi, you sure can pick ‘em.” he grins at the expense of his partner.

“She always said she was gonna be rich.”

“The Lucchia Heist?” Steve snorts in amusement.

“Potentially. She’s…” he lets out a slightly crazed but hushed laugh. “She’s fuckin’ good.” he covers his face before resting his head on his palm, supported by the desk. “I’d bet my badge she’s framed more people than I’ve even had time to find. Had a million aliases. Been everywhere from Corpus Christi to Lima. I’ve traced her down the continent.”

“And she landed right in your backyard.” Steve tosses the roughed-up papers, months of research, back in front of him. “You’re not a man who believes in fate are ya Javi?” he smirks.

“She said she didn’t know I was here.” a mumbled response as he begins putting away his research.

“And you believe her?”

He focuses on removing the evidence of his fascination, putting it away in a drawer that’s near full and dedicated to her. He stops and pauses, a thoughtful expression before answering, “I might be another sucker in the long list she’s got but... yeah, I do.”

-----

With the aged bulbs in the generic hotel room, the woman with him was easy to push out of his mind. He outstretched his arm as she pulled on her panties with a jump.

“Who is Esme?” she asks softly, attempting to make a connection with a man she felt she almost knew with as many times as they’d been together.

He didn’t look her way and motioned the hand with the money in it again.

“You’ve had your nights before but… the past few months you’ve... and now tonight? Should I be worried?”

“No,” he states with a bite. It wasn’t directed at her but himself. He tossed the money onto the bed and moved to light a cigarette. “You shouldn’t be no matter how I act.”

She holds in a sigh, a grimace on her face as she pockets the money and dresses. “Are you su-”

“What do you want to hear?” he turns his head sharply her way, brow low, but not aggressive enough to make her fear him.

She knew men, and she knew his problem was a woman, not the job like it usually was. Javier didn't get emotional over work when they were together. He would be rougher sometimes, softer others... but a disconnect was far from the usual. He was a client she was glad to hear from. He treated her with respect, he looked her in her eyes and handled her as if he cared about how she felt while they fucked. It was rare but entirely welcome. She curses herself silently for caring. He was right.

“I’m sorry,” she answers curtly. “You’re right.” she nods and gathers her things. “I’ll go.”

“It’s not you-” he begins with his head down before she passes him at the foot of the bed.

“I know. It’s not my business. It’s... I know women. It's hard to believe you would have trouble with one.” she lets out a smile to break the tension and his face doesn’t tell her if she succeeded or not. “You know where to find me.” she says kindly, something he felt he didn’t entirely deserve at the moment. He could hear her heels patting down the hallway outside when she left, fading until she was down the elevator and gone.

He gives his forehead a hard rub, nails scratching into his scalp before taking a long drag. “Fuck.” he exhales loudly to an empty room. He couldn’t get her out of his head.

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

The heat was something he had grown up with, he never found that part of Colombian weather to be difficult. But the humidity, that was a different experience. He quickly lost any self-consciousness about the sweat showing through his shirts, everyone else's looked the same. Propped against a stucco wall that was radiating the sun's warmth into his back, he partook in his condensation-covered beer bottle and his favorite public activity, people watching. It was an art form for him, once an amusing pastime that he made a living off now. There was no short of things to look for, the Festival of Flowers was in full swing and everyone was crowded into the streets. It was loud, a bit chaotic, and exactly the sort of crowd he felt comfortable observing.

The Discoteca a few streets down was powerful, sending music out over the radios in stalls and stores dotted along the streets surrounding it. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant but that didn’t stop Javier from having an annoyed expression. Songs from his past would play casually, feeling anything but in his head. He knocked back the rest of his drink and promptly got another every time a memory was triggered.

It had been almost a year now since he’d seen Esme. From what he’d learned, he wasn’t surprised. She could keep playing the phoenix forever. She could’ve been across the world by now and he was powerless to pursue her. Of all the possibilities, he still held onto the statistical probability that she was still around. She had good connections here, it made sense for her to stay. This unignorable fact led his obsession to be indulged by his profession, his paranoia fueled by his keen observational skills. A handful of times he would’ve bet he'd seen her. Sometimes he could follow, others he couldn't. Either way, he ended up at a brothel and with a woman who may look like her but wasn’t. The boisterous festival crowds would be a perfect place for her to be anonymous, the plumes of flowers were cover to disappear in plain sight. He wouldn’t admit to himself, but he was feeling hopeful. Or was it the alcohol?

Esme, with her head heavy from the large crown of flowers she wore, matching her brightly colored traditional dress skipped and hopped her way across the rooftops of the lively streets. She held the flowers to her head and jumped from pitch to pitch with her woven shoes. She knew this part of the city in light or dark. Not just for her safety but for means to get the drop on others. Her work with the cartel made sure she was knowledgeable in such things. But it also came in handy for a specific reason she’d been indulging in for almost a year now.

He was moping around his usual watering hole for this part of town. She sat with her head on her hands, between two flower pots, watching Javier from the safety of the rooftop across the street. She’d seen him many times, mostly taking home girls, or spoiling them with nice hotels for the night. Since she now knew the Pena she’d heard of was HER Pena, she asked the local sex workers about him and she wasn’t let down with the gossip they shared. She found out he’d been looking for her, not that any of them knew she was this infamous woman the playboy was hung up on. After a polite offer of employment, she dipped out and felt an odd satisfaction in what he’d become. It wasn’t ideal by any means but he was a good man. That was more than she would’ve guessed he’d become with the company he kept.

Each song from their past hit their ears at the same time, both suppressing a sigh as it floated down the streets, imagining a simpler time with one another. She’d missed him. Just as he had, she’d tried to drink and fuck the pain away for a bit but it didn’t work as well for her. She was left feeling nostalgic and downright amorous about him, seeing him lean, strong, and handsome against that wall. Sweat beading down his neck like it did on the bottle he held. She wanted to pop those buttons right off his shirt and- she knew it wasn’t smart to indulge in such fantasies. But he was the only man left that she even cared to think about when he wasn’t directly in her line of sight. She wanted to see him again. Was she willing to throw away months of laying low for a rendezvous? The summer sun made her feel young, the songs pumping blood to places, like her heart, it didn’t normally flow anymore. It made her feel young again. And at this point, it was a welcome and sought-after feeling.

——

A group of dancing girls covered in flowers with wide sweeping skirts made their way down the street. They wore smiles and the brightest of colors, dancing with each other and passersby as carts of flowers were pushed around them. Esme had been in South America long enough to know how to blend in. It was easy considering she didn’t look like a gringo. Her Latin heritage assured a degree of anonymity and mixing in, adding in the factor of whirling skirts and a blur of color from flowers she melded right in. Her chameleon skills were enviable but Javier’s observation skills were better.

Of course, he’d look at the group of beautiful women flouncing towards him. He seldom passed a woman he didn’t take a second glance at. As he glanced over their faces, to see if any had been friendly to him previously, the set of emerald green eyes grabbed him as they sat deep-set in a heart-shaped face he used to know intimately. Like a dog with a scent caught in his nose, he perks up, bottle discarded as he takes a step towards the street. She separates herself, a clear view of each other for a moment before a smile as bright as the sun beating down on them meets his gobsmacked expression. For only a moment there’s an unbroken line of sight and he instinctively pursues. With a bite of her lip that was a mix of flirtation excitement and a challenge, she spins on her heel and runs to an alleyway. He was fast on his feet behind.

This was where she felt at home, fast and light on her feet through small spaces and over walls. She desired to test Javi, combined with her caring about anyone seeing them, luring him to a safe space. She could hear his grunts and calls of her name like it was a swear as she’d climb and hop drain pipes and fences. All he could hear was the occasional heavy breath and giggle coming from her. They moved away from the busy streets, up higher over every sketchy rooftop, and eventually came to climb onto a secluded and blocked-off rooftop together.

“You've still got it Javi.” she laughs breathlessly, hands on her knees from the far side of the roof he’s slid onto.” her face beams his way, a sheen of sweat catching in the sun as she fluffs back her hair.

“I never lost it,” he grunts, dusting off his jeans. “Can’t afford to.” he pauses and regains his cocky posture.

“You look good.” she offers as a compliment, both closing the space between them to face off.

He takes his time, looking her up and down, unsure of her motives, yet she'd always had that wild streak. He used to love that about her. Now it made it hard to read. “So do you.” he presents in response to her out-of-place compliment.

“It's nice to finally see you up close.” her face is relaxed, too relaxed in his opinion. She touches his chest, hands light on his collar and moving up to tuck back the messed pieces of dark hair from his sideburns.

“That mean you’ve seen me from afar?” he stands stoically still, letting her touch him, not ready to reciprocate.

“Possibly,” she smirks, eyes trailing over his now-adult facial features. His brow had hardened, his jaw rounder but still sharp. Her favorite part, his nose was now proportionate and he was even more attractive up close. She lets a small sigh slip, dedicating his handsome face to memory. “Couldn’t let you pick up on my location could I?”

“Is that why you knocked me out?”

She lets out a chuckle and pats his chest. “That was… an unfortunate mistake on your behalf and a fortunate one for me. I have laced lipstick I wear during jobs. Easy to kiss a man and get away. Less messy than shooting. And far quieter.”

“Poison lipstick…” he nods thoughtfully.

“I’ve spent years perfecting it, dosing myself with tiny amounts to have immunity. Took a note from the Renaissance covert killers.” she smiles proudly. “I’m very proud of it.”

“You should be,” he admits begrudgingly. “I’ve looked up your work. It’s… impressive.”

“That means a lot coming from you. Your career has been notable as well.”

“Looks like we both got what we wanted, huh?” The response was bleeding with sarcasm.

She bites her lip, her shoulders slumping just enough for him to notice. “It is what we said we wanted.” her voice was softer now, less playful and confident as he sees the lump in her throat bob up and down. He lets her sit with her words for a moment, seeing a passing sadness behind her eyes. They seemed even brighter green than he remembered. But memories aren’t always honest.

“Where have you been?” a demand, not much of a sweet inquiry.

“If you’ve looked at my records then you know already. “

“This past year. Where have you been?"

“In Colombia.” She gives a subtle shrug.

“So I don’t get an answer?”

“You want the longitude and latitude? I can’t give you exact locations so you can know where to find people.” She frowns.

“You think I give a shit about that?” His brow furrowed and his head tilts. She’s caught off guard by his defensiveness. “The shit I deal with… a couple of stones means nothing. I want to know about you. That’s why I asked where you had been. Not who you’d been with.”

She felt scolded. It wasn’t something she was used to. Still, he was the only man who could pull it off. “I have a place in the mountains I stay at on occasion. I float around and do jobs. There’s no specific place.”

“You have a place here and you couldn’t come find me?” He sounded almost hurt.

“I can’t have anyone know we know each other. They’d kill me. Kill you.” She knew he was accusing her of not caring. Which couldn’t be farther from the truth. “I didn’t want you getting hurt.” She finally averts her eyes, a vaguely familiar ache in her chest growing.

He lets out a harsh laugh. “Should’ve thought about that twenty years ago when I thought you were dead.” He spits out. He sees the hurt in her eyes and he takes a moment to move her hands from him, and take a ragged breath. “You’ve been SO close this whole time. And I didn’t know…” he clenches his jaw and looks away to the horizon. Readjusting his posture he swings his head back her way and flares over her, an accusing finger in her face. “I can’t take this... you running around and not knowing SHIT about it.”

With sad eyes but a firm expression she swallows. “You used to get possessive like this. I remember… I’d-” Her voice is breathy and her hand moves to remove his from her face, a gentle hold that he answers harshly.

Grabbing her wrist, her eyes widen as he stares her down. “Don’t fucking tease me, Esme.”

Her brow furrowed quickly as she tries to tug away.

“I could take you in right now you know. For so many reasons.”

“You wouldn’t though.”

“Would I not?”

She stares with wide eyes that would’ve made him drop to his knees and beg her forgiveness when he was young. His worst fear was to hurt her back then. Now it was her getting hurt from her own actions.

“You have no idea the hell you put me through, do you? All this time not knowing for sure. And you’ve raised from the dead and think you can fuck with a man's head like this?” She could feel the bite of his words as he spoke quietly to her, letting her wrist go after he made his point. “Do you even give a shit or is this another game you’re running? Are you conning me too? Is there some guy who’s fallen for this shit somewhere with a gun on me right now?”

“How could you say that? I’d never.” She holds back a stutter in her throat. She felt something she hadn’t in a very long time, the sting of tears in her eyes. He regretted his outburst as soon as he saw it. He just had so many years of anger and hurt built up it was hard not to explode.

“Did you miss me at all?” His voice a whisper now, eyes wider and opening up like he was trying to.

It broke her to see him like this now. This stoic figure was just a shell covering that young man she left. She didn’t know it would hold onto him this long, that he did love her that much. “If you saw the wear on my rosary you'd have your answer. I prayed you to be safe. For you to get what you wanted.” She clears her throat and tries not to break.

“All I ever wanted was you.” A clear and plain statement. It was a fact.

“I had to make my own life.” She said it as an excuse and she hated the way it sounded coming from her. It made her feel weak. “You wanted yours.”

“We were kids. We didn’t know what the fuck we wanted.” He huffs out a strangled laugh.

She takes a deep breath and her time in answering. “We were. We didn’t.”

It was an admission of guilt on both their behalfs. They got what they said they wanted but was it really what made them happy? They’d been chasing a fix to fill a void of their own making. And now on the other side, the ugly truth of their dreams stares them and their unhappiness down every day.

“I’m sorry.” She adds and lowers her head. “I felt trapped and I knew you’d… do exactly what you are right now if you thought I was out there.”

“You were right.” He sighs and reaches to lift her chin revealing tears falling down her cheeks. He cups her face and wipes them away with his thumbs.

“I shouldn’t have reached out to you again.” She shakes her head.

“No...no, you should have.” He sighs heavily and pulls her into his chest, something she didn’t expect. “I’m sorry too.” He remarks into her hair, closing his eyes and feeling her in his arms. “I’m just…” he trails off. What could he say? I’m lost, I’m tired, unhappy, empty, angry? There wasn’t enough time to explain how he felt about this... about her. “I’m sorry too. I’m glad you let me find you. Okay?” He leans her head back to look up at him.

“I didn’t know you were here. In Colombia. I came here for work.”

“So did I.” He looks away purses his lips. “You know you can’t work for those men.” He wipes away her tears again, his hand smoothing her black waves away from her face. “They’ll kill you, Esme. The second you do something wrong they won’t even blink.”

“Like talk to you?” She arches a brow and gives him a soft smile. “I know, Javi. I know the risks.”

“And you still did it?”

“I missed you.” she admits with a soft exhale.

He pulls her in again, tighter this time. A kiss to her hair as he strokes his hands over her. “You know you need to get going. It’s almost night they’ll be crawling all over soon.”

She nods but doesn’t pull away. “They can’t see us here. There are no lookouts. It’s why I brought us here.”

“You know this place that well?”

“I have to. I don’t have a choice.” It felt hopeless as it left her trembling lips and it reflected more regret as she let it escape. It sounded as tired as she felt. It was as if being in his arms made her aware of how exhausted she was. How worn and hollow she was.

He knew the sound of exhaustion well. He heard it when he would deflect questions from the women he would pay to distract him from the one in his arms. “I know, sweetheart. Believe me, I know.” When she didn’t pull away, he didn’t make her. It gave him the answers he needed. At least what he needed to make it through another day without her for a short while.

@jaegeeeeer​ @likedovesinthewnd​ @inkededucatednnerdy​  @biharryjames @ladamari68​ @past-romantic​ @weliketomoveit @shikin83​ 

[haleviyah]

A Hispanic/ Latino Perspective: Border Clarification

This is one of the rare times I’m going to get somewhat political here, but these comments spread by the media are hitting to way close to home for me, so here I go.

Before you pounce on me, let me explain this: I am a moderate. I favor no sides, I don’t treat people by their titles but rather I prefer to judge by character even though I am not the best at it, admittedly. I favour and respect those who keep their word and own their mistakes. In short, if you do what you promise to do, you have my approval whereas if not, you will bear the brunt of my blunt rebukes and sarcastic remarks.

I am also from South Texas, specifically the Rio Grande Valley, and am a descendent of two humble Mexican families who since the Mexican Border War have made Texas their great escape and home.

Bit of a geographical reference, if you don’t know here where the Rio Grande Valley is. Look at the state of Texas, there is a bulge of state going in each direction that makes it look like a fat, lower-case ”t” : El Paso is the most West of the state, the Panhandle (Amarillo) the Northmost, Texarkana the most Eastward followed by Houston, and WAAAAAAY at the bottom is Brownsville and the Southernmost tip of Texas.

And for those of you too lazy to Google or "DuckDuckGo" the map yourself I've attached it:

The four counties: Hidalgo, Cameron, Starr and Willacy county make up the Rio Grande Valley. This is the region I grew up, the place where I experienced the best of a community and the worst of politics and failed promises.

For a bit of background: I have a parent working on the Border and they have been for many years (since I was a kid). Pretty much worked from a security officer to trooper within the span of a decade which is quite impressive and rare considering they never took bribes or anything to get where they were currently. They have told me off and on what their job is like. It’s crazy and boring some days, but also they have admitted somethings that may be fascinating. One of which is, yes, they do own horses and the reason why is so the Troopers can maneuver around tough terrain vehicles cannot go through (such as high water or narrow foot paths in brush). HOWEVER, they DO NOT OWN WHIPS. They don’t even own lassos, according to my Border Agent parent.

The only weapons agents on horse back have is a Glock, ammo, a taser, cuffs, and sometimes shot guns (but they prefer to carry light for the horses and themselves to be more flexible). They mainly carry items that would slow a person down or prevent them from hurting other people, officer or civilian; not for killing. So a whip is absolutely redundant or even absurd to have.

Those long ropes the Troopers are holding are called reins, and they are designed for steering a horse (horses cannot move opposite of the direction of their head; where their head is pointed they move in that direction). They are not made for whipping people, but rather made to get the horse’s attention. That’s it.

I took the liberty of highlighting the reins in red for you all as well as their arms and legs in blue and yellow in contrast to the reins and saddle.

It's clear from a Texan's or horse-riders perspective this Trooper almost fell off catching the other fellow and was holding onto the left rein for dear life hence why the horse looked distressed and its cheek was pulled back.

I'm not joking, you fucking try it if you're so damn horse-smart.

Now, let's look at a more relaxed position.

In short, if you haven't ridden a horse, I advise to keep your comments to yourself on this part. I have and it's way harder than it looks (horses can get cocky).

Second thing, the migrants.

Personally, I don’t know why they were so squirrelly that day. Perhaps they were spooked because they’ve never expected horse back riders to show up, maybe they had some bad experiences back home.

I don’t know!

But it’s clear there appears to be a lack of communication. Perhaps it’s the language barrier given that these guys came from Haiti, African countries and Brazil. English they probably know, but they probably don’t speak a lick of Spanish (Which both languages are mandatory for the Border Patrol).

(Again, I don't know...)

So the reasons why they started running circles around the Troopers’ horses is not for me to speculate, it’s not for YOU to defend blindly, nor is it up for the media to interpret and evangelize.

That should be left to the people to explain. No one else.

(Update: September 29th. I received a tip from a source that the Haitian immigrants (mainly) are not running from anything, they aren’t seeking asylum nor were in poverty as the media claims. They have admitted upon interview they were what we consider middle-low class and had no issues finding jobs before they decided to migrate northward. They’re just coming because they were told to come by “you-know-who”… that’s all. I know, I’m taken aback and scratching my head, too… but anyway. I digress, but do take note.)

Now, another bit of feedback I want to share: When it comes to dealing with Troopers (again, must I remind you this is a Border Patrol agent’s kid speaking), big rule:

DO NOT RUN nor MAKE THREATENING MOVEMENTS. Be calm.

It’s a simple rule, if you’re cool with the Troopers they’ll be cool with you. That’s it. Please respectfully keep in mind, these guys are trained to be safe rather than sorry. So patience and understanding with them is a must. Trust me, I’ve met my parent’s co-workers, they may look stoic and scary or condescending, but they can not let personal emotions interfere their work otherwise they risk safety.

They’re not “paranoid” or “harsh” they just have a job they cannot afford to fuck up otherwise the whole region is FUCKED. They’re the front line of defense, and do keep that in mind.

(Another footnote: I have seen Border Patrol offices, and without giving away how they function it’s not like CIA or Langley level of clean or fancy, so don’t think their offices are high tech and have marble floors with comfy lounges that cost a lot of money. Upon first glance you won’t expect the building to be an office. Border Patrol work with what they have available which isn’t a lot thanks to the ’00, ’04, ’08, ’12 and current administrations. That’s all I can give out.)

I’m going to come clean here and say the citizens in the Rio Grande Valley and the rest of Texas DO NOT FEEL SAFE with a border this wide open and no regulation is applied. Especially the Hispanic/Latino communities. So the pressure is on - and I mean REALLY on! Despite these guys working the Border are overwhelmed, they keep those emotions and opinions on lockdown when on the field. Like I said: If they fuck up, the region is fucked.

Bit of a history lesson: the Border issues on the Rio Grande are not new. Matter of factly, this problem has been happening for decades (The popular peak was during the 80s when cocaine was being distributed), but it was more than just cocaine and pot: Kids were going missing, people getting killed, women were used as mules and sold for sex, etc.

If you watched “Narcos” or “Sicario” you have a brief, dramatized taste of how the cartels function and what life is like for us Latinos. However, coming from someone who grew up there, the parts of watching your back, the abductions and even the gruesome murders are legit. To this day I remember seeing local news coverage (not CNN or MSNBC, our own stations down in the McAllen/Brownsville area) of beheadings, child murders and bodies being found in pieces… It’s something I hope my children won’t have to grow up hearing almost weekly like I did. Now it’s daily… and no one cares. And that hurts.

In the grand scheme of things, at least know this: South Texas has been part of the Cartel battle grounds and it’s obvious we’ve seen shit. Constantly being ignored is the payment we get for being front lines in the Drug War. So don’t blame us for being jumpy, or skeptical, nor even try convince us that the current surplus of immigrants is a good thing.

You can’t argue with our own experiences and history. The way things work down here is simple: You fight along side us, we fight along side you.

It’s called building trust, practicing faith. But we’ve been forgotten and lied to too many times by celebrities and politicians and social movements alike. And those who actually were going to help us are either shut down or unfortunately killed.

We just can’t trust anyone anymore. We are resorting to fending for ourselves basically, speaking up for ourselves… and so far it’s making progress in the mean time.

This level of “doing things on your own” bleeds into why our Troopers are trained they way they are trained - to expect the worst case scenario. To prepare themselves for the corpses, when a criminal pounces, the drugs being hid, for when they find a child with an adult they don’t know, or even a woman who was violated. They just genuinely don’t want to take chances and you just read why. Even my in-laws up in the Northern Midwest are disturbed.

So, considering the case of what happened a few days ago in Del Rio, Texas (as of writing this on September 25th 2021): If you run from a Trooper the first thing they are going to think is either two things:

You did something bad upon coming in to the country or

You don’t want your former government to find you because you did crimes in your home country or the country you were hiding in.

This is protocol, not biased opinions.

If, however, a Trooper commits any form of irresponsibility (such as abusing their power, unreasonable search and seizures etc.) it’s “kiss your badge good-bye” and DEMOTED or FIRED. The stakes of keeping your job in the Border Patrol are HIGH, so they are trained not to act out of line. Even a minor slip up in paper work from being fatigued gets you in SEVERE trouble with the Higher Ups and the County (Yes, that does happen and has happened). But you have to KNOW Border Patrol standards before you accuse them of anything.

With that being said, what’s floating around is not a constructive argument; it’s a distraction. How the public is demanding the trooper in the photo to be fired, tells us Latinos loud and clear that - once again - no one cares about our livelihood; no one is willing to brave enough to face the real hell going on. We are ignored or low-key demonized for simply defending ourselves.

(Now, you guys are seeing why I relate to my Jewish husband and the Israeli’ citizens - Arab and Jew - more; we’re pretty much in the same boat in the case of being ignored. But I digress.)

Before I come to a conclusion, here are other demographic facts to keep in mind that way it’ll help draw conclusions:

86.6% of the Border Patrol is HISPANIC/LATINO in the State of Texas alone.

A majority of children stolen from their families or molested are HISPANIC/LATINO.

A majority of the women violated immigrants on the border are mainly HISPANIC/LATINO.

Latin America collectively (Mexico down to Colombia and Venezuela) has the highest rates of femicide in the world.

So for you or anyone to get angry at Border Patrol agents in an unjust manner, not only are you getting mad at Hispanics and Latinos in UNIFORM for fighting to keep their communities safe, but you are actively contributing to the hell our families go through every day.

When you protest in demand for our cops or even troopers to be defunded, and fired for petty things, YOU are actively contributing to the problem of human trafficking, rape, kidnappings and murder that happens on the border. You are contributing to the Hispanic and Latino communities being dismantled and disintegrated by people who potentially want to kill us or hate us for money’s sake.

Take all of that into consideration before you get angry at anyone here.

In short:

I’ll only consider the accusations if you yourselves have been there and know the burdens we bear.

I’ll only consider your judgement if you genuinely are in law enforcement and know how to ride a horse and try to stop someone from running while riding the beast.

I’ll only consider your feedback if you don’t rely heavily on news like CNN, Telemundo and Tumblr for your information.

Until you grab a gun and fight the cartel yourself, and figure out a way to end this war on human trafficking, don’t come to us Latinos and express that you care and appreciate us.

Because frankly if you GENUINELY did, you’d bring to light what I just said and be slamming the desks at D.C. and DEMANDING the Border to be CLOSED by now.

Regardless of your political and personal beliefs, this is what is REALLY going on, and we’re going to keep fighting. Like the Israeli’s we don’t give a fuck if you hate us. We’re not radicals, we’re not blood-thirsty heathens, we’re not white supremacists (80+% of our population is of Latino Mexican descent) we’re just fed up with running away and being taken advantage of or taken for granted by people who value money over the lives of our neighbors.

If this were California, fine! Rail all you want, cuss us out as much as you want; hold us to those to California standards you keep yourself. But we’re not California.

We’re not D.C., nor Chicago, nor L.A., or New York, Florida, Canada, Mexico or whatever. We are SOUTH TEXAS so treat us as SOUTH TEXAS.

Honor us for who we are and hold us to the standards of what is SOUTH TEXAS, what is The United States Constitution, and the Texas Constitution; nothing more and nothing less. Don’t tear us down for what we’re not nor hold us accountable to an opinion or law we never agreed to nor knew existed.

That’s all I ask: If you’re not willing to honour our community and help us while holding us to our standards on a cultural, State or Federal level, back the fuck off. Generations we’ve dealt with the pressure from both the cartel and corrupt government from both the U.S. and Mexico, and the last thing we need is pampered kids living in the high rises or going to university on loans from school or your parents' paychecks, telling us how to deal with our issues.

You are FAR from a place to tell us how to function and resolve our war.

I’m not trying nor want to start a fight or otherwise, but I’m simply, humbly asking: when did we ever genuinely ask you “social justice advocates” to be our hero?

When did we ever ask you to fight for us or talk about what you think is wrong with us? Because last I checked we don’t want to drag anyone into our battles.

Also, we only know one messiah, but we never asked you to be him nor for him to act like you.

Did you start throwing punches because you wanted to find something to excuse your anger and outbursts, or is your good intentions married with ignorance?

Either case… it’s extremely unhealthy of you, and please just stop before another person gets hurt. We don’t want that. This is no different from the Crusades our ancestors took part in, and it will only end in more carnage than already sown.

So, just please, stop and take a step back for a moment. We don’t need anymore vehement evangelical-like people who just think with their ideals and not take a moment to have a healthy discussion with the One who created us, or let alone divorce their lust for a fight for ten seconds.

To close this off, even though I haven’t been home in a while, I know the spirit and the struggles the Rio Grande Valley goes through. I have met people on the run from the cartel first hand, and I have met people who may have ties with the cartel. I have seen some creepy shit, I have grown frustrated over the Protestant Baptist church doing nothing, and I have even been feeling the pressure my parent goes through with these apathetic riots threatening their job as a Border Patrol agent.

But aside from the pain, I am tremendously blessed that people and my family are still very optimistic despite the craziness and how bleak things are.

The family-oriented culture of the Rio Grande Valley is what is keeping it together… not trends, not clout and neither these guys in D.C. or Hollywood who are playing G-d.

It's the family-oriented connection. Our faith, that's keeping us going.

And even though I may not be the best voice of that region to speak up, I am blessed to have been there and I do plan on coming back soon.

I am planning on giving a more fun journal featuring the culture of the Rio Grande Valley in the future to finish this month off, but for the sake of this “Hispanic Heritage Month” I wanted to share our REAL issues we deal with rather than the made up ones that media likes to mainstream for money and clout.

In a way, I hope this offers clarity and a level of empathy. Again, I’m not sharing this to start fights or get sympathy - we don’t want it. We just want to know if our fights are not ignored, we just want to know we are heard.

That’s all.

[yandere-wishes]

Twisted Wonderland; Yandere! Dorm Leaders // Ideal Darlings//

Riddle Rosehearts.

Riddle wants someone confident and bold yet who will follow his every command. His perfect darling would scream out orders to their subjects, whilst still maintaining their poise and elegance. However, never would they dare yell at him! Their only words to Riddle will be about how much they adore him, love him, worshipped him!

After all, Riddle would be giving them the most ideal life by his side. Never would one of their wants go unattended. He'll shower his darling in gifts, from luxurious ballroom dresses to the most expensive pastries. All to show his love and devotion. But nothing ever comes without a price...

In exchange for all that Riddle provides -be it whether or not his darling even wants any of it- he'll want you to please him in every way. To utter nothing but praises and compliments to him. They'll always have to be close to him.

After all his little rose should be forever grateful to him.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul is so incredibly manipulative that he could morph anyone into his ideal darling. All it takes is a wish on his darlings part and a contract from him! But  Azul does have a type so to speak. He loves naive young darlings who are oblivious to the real nature of things.

Someone so sweet and trusting that they'll fall for any sweet lie. All Azul has to do is convince them that he is only looking out for them, with the best intentions at heart. He'll feed me fables, swear to them that the world is full of threats just waiting to take advantage of a poor unfortunate soul such as her.

If his darling shows signs of resistance or defiance than he'll talk them into a contract. Maybe one in exchange for a better mark or a new phone. Something, anything, little or big it doesn't matter!

The payment, however, will be rather odd, it simply states that they'll have to become Azul's darling. Knowing no better they agree, and oh what a terrible mistake that was!

After that Azul will have his darling locked up in his room or office, never to enter into the cruel world again. Oh, but of course he's twisted the facts so much that his little darling believes this is all to protect them!

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is such a soft yandere! He's also so very social and would desperately want a lover who is as open-minded and amiable as he is! He wouldn't mind if his darling is shy or even more outgoing than he is, as long as they love him than he's happy.

Sure sometimes he can go a little overboard with his punishments. Or maybe come off as a little pushy depending on who you ask. But at the end of the day, his darling will forgive him, they didn't have a choice.

He would also like his lover to be rather adventures and risk-taking. To throw caution to the wind and just laugh and have fun.

As long as Kalim's darling his willing to love him and have fun then that's all he wants.

Vil Schoenheit

Let's not kid ourselves we know that Vil's ideal lover will have to be stunning on the outside, hat's the only way he'll notice them. However, there is a certain personality type that he can't help but show some interest in. Any darling that's cunning, rebellious and a daredevil. There is a part of him that's repulsed by his fascination in this kind of person, that's why he's rather cold and cruel with his darling when he first kidnaps them!

He desperately wants a darling that is the definition of grace and beauty. So he'll put his darling through so many lessons all with extremely harsh punishments and designer rewards *wink wink*. Very soon his beloved will be so utterly regal and polite, no one would ever think that they use to be a delinquent trouble maker.

Oh but Vil knows, behind closed doors, he's the only one that is permitted to see their outlaw like personality.

Idia shroud

Idia will want a darling who is much like him, an outcast of society, an introvert who can assist him with his new programs and new inventions. Never will is darling treat him like the other, irk him to go out to sleep to "take care" of himself.

His darling needs to be as self-destructive as he is. In all Idia is a bit delusional he expects his darling to fall into his arms, kissing him and thanking him for taking away her less freedom. That this way she'll never have to socialize with anyone ever again!

Oh, and will that make Idia so happy! He can remain in his room, alongside his darling and Ortho for as long as he pleases. They can share dark jokes, build new things together and love each other forever and ever.

Leona Kingscholar 

Leona is very split amongst his preferred types of darlings. On one hand, he wants a lover who is passionate and firstly one who will follow whatever plan he comes up with, who is devoted to him no matter what. One the other hand though... the second prince likes innocent darlings who have a bit of a childish naive side to them (I headcanon he was a younger sibling kink, don't look at me like that!!). He really wants a darling that he can overpower and manipulate to do whatever he wants. To obey him and accept him as the one in charge of his darlings life. He wants absolute control of his darling, they have to do everything he tells them to. 

However brains are also very important to Leona, he wants someone witty and smart, who can keep up with his intellect. He may not seem like it but Leona is incredibly intelligent, he simply lacks motivation in academics. Thus is darling will have to have a good head on their shoulders, they should be able to think clearly. 

Overall Leona just wants a darling who will love only him. Is that too much to ask for? Everyone is always gushing after his brother. So just once he wants one person to solely to love him, and you will be the one to love him

Malleus Draconia 

Malleus is incredibly possessive and controlling, his ideal darling would have to be very obedient and on the more timid side. They will never talk back to him nor defy any advances he makes. They will also have to be on the more gloomier and realist side, someone mature enough to accept and embrace life for the tragedy that it is. They will, however, have to hold a rather cheerful and joyous attitude around him. Being all so loving and tender with their lover. It's teeth rotting and a very obvious lie but Malleus doesn't care also long as they have their darling than nothing else really matter, not even his darlings their opinion on the matter.

He will undoubtedly drug his darling to fill his every need. When he's gone his beloved must be fast asleep so they don't plot any escape plans. When he's feeling needy than he'll give is darling an insane amount of aphrodisiacs. When he simply wants to spend some time and talk then he'll just give his lover a small duse of ecstasy to awaken them. 

Malleus desperately wants to show his beloved he loves them and he does so by trying to spend every moment that they are conscious with them. With that logic in mind, it should be okay for Malleus to drug them so they fall asleep when he is absent...Right?

[and-then-there-were-n0ne]

On Judith Butler

For a long time, academic feminism in America has been closely allied to the practical struggle to achieve justice and equality for women. Feminist theory has been understood by theorists as not just fancy words on paper; theory is connected to proposals for social change. [...]

In the United States, however, things have been changing. One observes a new, disquieting trend. It is not only that feminist theory pays relatively little attention to the struggles of women outside the United States. (This was always a dispiriting feature even of much of the best work of the earlier period.) Something more insidious than provincialism has come to prominence in the American academy. It is the virtually complete turning from the material side of life, toward a type of verbal and symbolic politics that makes only the flimsiest of connections with the real situation of real women.

Feminist thinkers of the new symbolic type would appear to believe that the way to do feminist politics is to use words in a subversive way, in academic publications of lofty obscurity and disdainful abstractness. These symbolic gestures, it is believed, are themselves a form of political resistance; and so one need not engage with messy things such as legislatures and movements in order to act daringly. The new feminism, moreover, instructs its members that there is little room for large-scale social change, and maybe no room at all. We are all, more or less, prisoners of the structures of power that have defined our identity as women; we can never change those structures in a large-scale way, and we can never escape from them. All that we can hope to do is to find spaces within the structures of power in which to parody them, to poke fun at them, to transgress them in speech. And so symbolic verbal politics, in addition to being offered as a type of real politics, is held to be the only politics that is really possible.

These developments owe much to the recent prominence of French postmodernist thought. Many young feminists, whatever their concrete affiliations with this or that French thinker, have been influenced by the extremely French idea that the intellectual does politics by speaking seditiously, and that this is a significant type of political action. [...]

One American feminist has shaped these developments more than any other. Judith Butler seems to many young scholars to define what feminism is now. Trained as a philosopher, she is frequently seen as a major thinker about gender, power, and the body. As we wonder what has become of old-style feminist politics and the material realities to which it was committed, it seems necessary to reckon with Butler's work and influence, and to scrutinize the arguments that have led so many to adopt a stance that looks very much like quietism and retreat.

It is difficult to come to grips with Butler's ideas, because it is difficult to figure out what they are. Butler is a very smart person. In public discussions, she proves that she can speak clearly and has a quick grasp of what is said to her. Her written style, however, is ponderous and obscure. It is dense with allusions to other theorists, drawn from a wide range of different theoretical traditions. In addition to Foucault, and to a more recent focus on Freud, Butler's work relies heavily on the thought of Louis Althusser, the French lesbian theorist Monique Wittig, the American anthropologist Gayle Rubin, Jacques Lacan, J.L. Austin, and the American philosopher of language Saul Kripke. These figures do not all agree with one another, to say the least; so an initial problem in reading Butler is that one is bewildered to find her arguments buttressed by appeal to so many contradictory concepts and doctrines, usually without any account of how the apparent contradictions will be resolved.

A further problem lies in Butler's casual mode of allusion. The ideas of these thinkers are never described in enough detail to include the uninitiated (if you are not familiar with the Althusserian concept of "interpellation," you are lost for chapters) or to explain to the initiated how, precisely, the difficult ideas are being understood. [...]

Divergent interpretations are simply not considered--even where, as in the cases of Foucault and Freud, she is advancing highly contestable interpretations that would not be accepted by many scholars. Thus one is led to the conclusion that the allusiveness of the writing cannot be explained in the usual way, by positing an audience of specialists eager to debate the details of an esoteric academic position. The writing is simply too thin to satisfy any such audience. It is also obvious that Butler's work is not directed at a non-academic audience eager to grapple with actual injustices. Such an audience would simply be baffled by the thick soup of Butler's prose, by its air of in-group knowingness, by its extremely high ratio of names to explanations.

To whom, then, is Butler speaking? It would seem that she is addressing a group of young feminist theorists in the academy who are neither students of philosophy, caring about what Althusser and Freud and Kripke really said, nor outsiders, needing to be informed about the nature of their projects and persuaded of their worth. This implied audience is imagined as remarkably docile. Subservient to the oracular voice of Butler's text, and dazzled by its patina of high-concept abstractness, the imagined reader poses few questions, requests no arguments and no clear definitions of terms.

Still more strangely, the implied reader is expected not to care greatly about Butler's own final view on many matters. For a large proportion of the sentences in any book by Butler--especially sentences near the end of chapters--are questions. Sometimes the answer that the question expects is evident. But often things are much more indeterminate. Among the non-interrogative sentences, many begin with "Consider..." or "One could suggest..."--in such a way that Butler never quite tells the reader whether she approves of the view described. Mystification as well as hierarchy are the tools of her practice, a mystification that eludes criticism because it makes few definite claims.

Take two representative examples:

What does it mean for the agency of a subject to presuppose its own subordination? Is the act of presupposing the same as the act of reinstating, or is there a discontinuity between the power presupposed and the power reinstated? Consider that in the very act by which the subject reproduces the conditions of its own subordination, the subject exemplifies a temporally based vulnerability that belongs to those conditions, specifically, to the exigencies of their renewal.

And:

Such questions cannot be answered here, but they indicate a direction for thinking that is perhaps prior to the question of conscience, namely, the question that preoccupied Spinoza, Nietzsche, and most recently, Giorgio Agamben: How are we to understand the desire to be as a constitutive desire? Resituating conscience and interpellation within such an account, we might then add to this question another: How is such a desire exploited not only by a law in the singular, but by laws of various kinds such that we yield to subordination in order to maintain some sense of social "being"?

Why does Butler prefer to write in this teasing, exasperating way? The style is certainly not unprecedented. Some precincts of the continental philosophical tradition, though surely not all of them, have an unfortunate tendency to regard the philosopher as a star who fascinates, and frequently by obscurity, rather than as an arguer among equals. When ideas are stated clearly, after all, they may be detached from their author: one can take them away and pursue them on one's own. When they remain mysterious (indeed, when they are not quite asserted), one remains dependent on the originating authority. The thinker is heeded only for his or her turgid charisma. One hangs in suspense, eager for the next move. When Butler does follow that "direction for thinking," what will she say? What does it mean, tell us please, for the agency of a subject to presuppose its own subordination? (No clear answer to this question, so far as I can see, is forthcoming.) One is given the impression of a mind so profoundly cogitative that it will not pronounce on anything lightly: so one waits, in awe of its depth, for it finally to do so.

In this way obscurity creates an aura of importance. It also serves another related purpose. It bullies the reader into granting that, since one cannot figure out what is going on, there must be something significant going on, some complexity of thought, where in reality there are often familiar or even shopworn notions, addressed too simply and too casually to add any new dimension of understanding. When the bullied readers of Butler's books muster the daring to think thus, they will see that the ideas in these books are thin. When Butler's notions are stated clearly and succinctly, one sees that, without a lot more distinctions and arguments, they don't go far, and they are not especially new. Thus obscurity fills the void left by an absence of a real complexity of thought and argument.

Last year Butler won the first prize in the annual Bad Writing Contest sponsored by the journal Philosophy and Literature, for the following sentence:

The move from a structuralist account in which capital is understood to structure social relations in relatively homologous ways to a view of hegemony in which power relations are subject to repetition, convergence, and rearticulation brought the question of temporality into the thinking of structure, and marked a shift from a form of Althusserian theory that takes structural totalities as theoretical objects to one in which the insights into the contingent possibility of structure inaugurate a renewed conception of hegemony as bound up with the contingent sites and strategies of the rearticulation of power.

Now, Butler might have written: "Marxist accounts, focusing on capital as the central force structuring social relations, depicted the operations of that force as everywhere uniform. By contrast, Althusserian accounts, focusing on power, see the operations of that force as variegated and as shifting over time." Instead, she prefers a verbosity that causes the reader to expend so much effort in deciphering her prose that little energy is left for assessing the truth of the claims. Announcing the award, the journal's editor remarked that "it's possibly the anxiety-inducing obscurity of such writing that has led Professor Warren Hedges of Southern Oregon University to praise Judith Butler as `probably one of the ten smartest people on the planet.'" (Such bad writing, incidentally, is by no means ubiquitous in the "queer theory" group of theorists with which Butler is associated. David Halperin, for example, writes about the relationship between Foucault and Kant, and about Greek homosexuality, with philosophical clarity and historical precision.)

Butler gains prestige in the literary world by being a philosopher; many admirers associate her manner of writing with philosophical profundity. But one should ask whether it belongs to the philosophical tradition at all, rather than to the closely related but adversarial traditions of sophistry and rhetoric. Ever since Socrates distinguished philosophy from what the sophists and the rhetoricians were doing, it has been a discourse of equals who trade arguments and counter-arguments without any obscurantist sleight-of-hand. In that way, he claimed, philosophy showed respect for the soul, while the others' manipulative methods showed only disrespect. One afternoon, fatigued by Butler on a long plane trip, I turned to a draft of a student's dissertation on Hume's views of personal identity. I quickly felt my spirits reviving. Doesn't she write clearly, I thought with pleasure, and a tiny bit of pride. And Hume, what a fine, what a gracious spirit: how kindly he respects the reader's intelligence, even at the cost of exposing his own uncertainty.

Butler's main idea, first introduced in Gender Trouble in 1989 and repeated throughout her books, is that gender is a social artifice. Our ideas of what women and men are reflect nothing that exists eternally in nature. Instead they derive from customs that embed social relations of power.

This notion, of course, is nothing new. The denaturalizing of gender was present already in Plato, and it received a great boost from John Stuart Mill, who claimed in The Subjection of Women that "what is now called the nature of women is an eminently artificial thing." Mill saw that claims about "women's nature" derive from, and shore up, hierarchies of power: womanliness is made to be whatever would serve the cause of keeping women in subjection, or, as he put it, "enslav[ing] their minds." With the family as with feudalism, the rhetoric of nature itself serves the cause of slavery. "The subjection of women to men being a universal custom, any departure from it quite naturally appears unnatural... But was there ever any domination which did not appear natural to those who possessed it?"

Mill was hardly the first social-constructionist. [...] In work published in the 1970s and 1980s, Catharine MacKinnon and Andrea Dworkin argued that the conventional understanding of gender roles is a way of ensuring continued male domination in sexual relations, as well as in the public sphere. [...] Before Butler, the psychologist Nancy Chodorow gave a detailed and compelling account of how gender differences replicate themselves across the generations: she argued that the ubiquity of these mechanisms of replication enables us to understand how what is artificial can nonetheless be nearly ubiquitous. Before Butler, the biologist Anne Fausto Sterling, through her painstaking criticism of experimental work allegedly supporting the naturalness of conventional gender distinctions, showed how deeply social power-relations had compromised the objectivity of scientists: Myths of Gender (1985) was an apt title for what she found in the biology of the time. (Other biologists and primatologists also contributed to this enterprise.) Before Butler, the political theorist Susan Moller Okin explored the role of law and political thought in constructing a gendered destiny for women in the family; and this project, too, was pursued further by a number of feminists in law and political philosophy. Before Butler, Gayle Rubin's important anthropological account of subordination, The Traffic in Women (1975), provided a valuable analysis of the relationship between the social organization of gender and the asymmetries of power.

So what does Butler's work add to this copious body of writing? Gender Trouble and Bodies that Matter contain no detailed argument against biological claims of "natural" difference, no account of mechanisms of gender replication, and no account of the legal shaping of the family; nor do they contain any detailed focus on possibilities for legal change. What, then, does Butler offer that we might not find more fully done in earlier feminist writings? 

One relatively original claim is that when we recognize the artificiality of gender distinctions, and refrain from thinking of them as expressing an independent natural reality, we will also understand that there is no compelling reason why the gender types should have been two (correlated with the two biological sexes), rather than three or five or indefinitely many. "When the constructed status of gender is theorized as radically independent of sex, gender itself becomes a free-floating artifice," she writes.

From this claim it does not follow, for Butler, that we can freely reinvent the genders as we like: she holds, indeed, that there are severe limits to our freedom. She insists that we should not naively imagine that there is a pristine self that stands behind society, ready to emerge all pure and liberated. [...] Butler does claim, though, that we can create categories that are in some sense new ones, by means of the artful parody of the old ones. Thus her best-known idea, her conception of politics as a parodic performance, is born out of the sense of a (strictly limited) freedom that comes from the recognition that one's ideas of gender have been shaped by forces that are social rather than biological. We are doomed to repetition of the power structures into which we are born, but we can at least make fun of them, and some ways of making fun are subversive assaults on the original norms.

The idea of gender as performance is Butler's most famous idea, and so it is worth pausing to scrutinize it more closely. She introduced the notion intuitively, in Gender Trouble, without invoking theoretical precedent. [....] Butler's point is presumably this: when we act and speak in a gendered way, we are not simply reporting on something that is already fixed in the world, we are actively constituting it, replicating it, and reinforcing it. By behaving as if there were male and female "natures," we co-create the social fiction that these natures exist. They are never there apart from our deeds; we are always making them be there [and this is regular feminist theory]. At the same time, by carrying out these performances in a slightly different manner, a parodic manner, we can perhaps unmake them just a little. [this is not] [...]

Just as actors with a bad script can subvert it by delivering the bad lines oddly, so too with gender: the script remains bad, but the actors have a tiny bit of freedom. Thus we have the basis for what, in Excitable Speech, Butler calls "an ironic hopefulness." [...]

What precisely does Butler offer when she counsels subversion? She tells us to engage in parodic performances, but she warns us that the dream of escaping altogether from the oppressive structures is just a dream: it is within the oppressive structures that we must find little spaces for resistance, and this resistance cannot hope to change the overall situation. And here lies a dangerous quietism.

If Butler means only to warn us against the dangers of fantasizing an idyllic world in which sex raises no serious problems, she is wise to do so. Yet frequently she goes much further. She suggests that the institutional structures that ensure the marginalization of lesbians and gay men in our society, and the continued inequality of women, will never be changed in a deep way; and so our best hope is to thumb our noses at them, and to find pockets of personal freedom within them. [...] In Butler, resistance is always imagined as personal, more or less private, involving no unironic, organized public action for legal or institutional change.

It is also a fact that the institutional structures that shape women's lives have changed. The law of rape, still defective, has at least improved; the law of sexual harassment exists, where it did not exist before; marriage is no longer regarded as giving men monarchical control over women's bodies. These things were changed by feminists who would not take parodic performance as their answer, who thought that power, where bad, should, and would, yield before justice. [...] It was changed because people did not rest content with parodic performance: they demanded, and to some extent they got, social upheaval.

Butler not only eschews such a hope, she takes pleasure in its impossibility. She finds it exciting to contemplate the alleged immovability of power, and to envisage the ritual subversions of the slave who is convinced that she must remain such. She tells us--this is the central thesis of The Psychic Life of Power--that we all eroticize the power structures that oppress us, and can thus find sexual pleasure only within their confines. It seems to be for that reason that she prefers the sexy acts of parodic subversion to any lasting material or institutional change. Real change would so uproot our psyches that it would make sexual satisfaction impossible. Our libidos are the creation of the bad enslaving forces, and thus necessarily sadomasochistic in structure.

Well, parodic performance is not so bad when you are a powerful tenured academic in a liberal university. But here is where Butler's focus on the symbolic, her proud neglect of the material side of life, becomes a fatal blindness. For women who are hungry, illiterate, disenfranchised, beaten, raped, it is not sexy or liberating to reenact, however parodically, the conditions of hunger, illiteracy, disenfranchisement, beating, and rape. Such women prefer food, schools, votes, and the integrity of their bodies. I see no reason to believe that they long sadomasochistically for a return to the bad state. If some individuals cannot live without the sexiness of domination, that seems sad, but it is not really our business. But when a major theorist tells women in desperate conditions that life offers them only bondage, she purveys a cruel lie, and a lie that flatters evil by giving it much more power than it actually has.

Excitable Speech, Butler's most recent book, which provides her analysis of legal controversies involving pornography and hate speech, shows us exactly how far her quietism extends. For she is now willing to say that even where legal change is possible, even where it has already happened, we should wish it away, so as to preserve the space within which the oppressed may enact their sadomasochistic rituals of parody.

As a work on the law of free speech, Excitable Speech is an unconscionably bad book. [...] But let us extract from Butler's thin discussion of hate speech and pornography the core of her position. It is this: legal prohibitions of hate speech and pornography are problematic (though in the end she does not clearly oppose them) because they close the space within which the parties injured by that speech can perform their resistance. By this Butler appears to mean that if the offense is dealt with through the legal system, there will be fewer occasions for informal protest; and also, perhaps, that if the offense becomes rarer because of its illegality we will have fewer opportunities to protest its presence.

Well, yes. Law does close those spaces. [...] For Butler, the act of subversion is so riveting, so sexy, that it is a bad dream to think that the world will actually get better. What a bore equality is! No bondage, no delight. In this way, her pessimistic erotic anthropology offers support to an amoral anarchist politics. [...]

The great tragedy in the new feminist theory in America is the loss of a sense of public commitment. In this sense, Butler's self-involved feminism is extremely American, and it is not surprising that it has caught on here, where successful middle-class people prefer to focus on cultivating the self rather than thinking in a way that helps the material condition of others. Even in America, however, it is possible for theorists to be dedicated to the public good and to achieve something through that effort.

Many feminists in America are still theorizing in a way that supports material change and responds to the situation of the most oppressed. Increasingly, however, the academic and cultural trend is toward the pessimistic flirtatiousness represented by the theorizing of Butler and her followers. Butlerian feminism is in many ways easier than the old feminism. It tells scores of talented young women that they need not work on changing the law, or feeding the hungry, or assailing power through theory harnessed to material politics. They can do politics in safety of their campuses, remaining on the symbolic level, making subversive gestures at power through speech and gesture. This, the theory says, is pretty much all that is available to us anyway, by way of political action, and isn't it exciting and sexy?

In its small way, of course, this is a hopeful politics. It instructs people that they can, right now, without compromising their security, do something bold. But the boldness is entirely gestural, and insofar as Butler's ideal suggests that these symbolic gestures really are political change, it offers only a false hope. Hungry women are not fed by this, battered women are not sheltered by it, raped women do not find justice in it, gays and lesbians do not achieve legal protections through it.

- Martha Nussbaum, The Professor of Parody

[fandom-necromancer]

934. I don’t want to be alone. 

 This was prompted by the wonderful @aurea-b! You asked for some heavy angst and I felt like it so I skipped one prompt from you. It will be up next though! it also kinda got long again XD Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warnings: isolated character, android-android discrimination, mentioned violence)

The blue silhouettes engraved themselves into RK900’s mind and stark mission parameters guided his way. His processors were running hot with calculations, multiple pre-constructions running at once as he ducked, jumped, slid and climbed through the room in the most efficient way to reach his targets and eradicate them in one of his many pre-programmed ways. It was a welcomed feeling. Having his processors strained in an effort to keep his three subjects of protection save while clearing out every aggressor in the interchanging maze of blocks and obstacles. The overly satisfying pling of 'Level complete' was followed by the lights being dimmed and the obstacles sinking into the ground. RK900's eyes were immediately focussed on a new hologram emerging. This one was far more detailed and delicate, and he didn't even need to realise it was his handler. 'Well done, RK900. Another successful mission. Did you encounter any difficulties or errors in your system?' >No, Amanda. 'That's good to hear, RK900. Ready for another test?' > Yes, Amanda.

A warm smile tucked at the AIs mouth as she nodded and disappeared into thin air and the parkour began to build up again. A block rushed out of the ground in his direction as if it was an attack. RK900 dodged by jumping backwards and grabbing the ledge of the still rising block. He stood on top of it as his new mission parameters were updated and he spotted his target: A new hologram that was holding a gun, two grenades and hid another knife. RK900’s mission was simple: Not to get hit and to eliminate the target. It proved a bit more difficult as he sensed the enemy could manipulate the testing environment that now threatened to crush the android on the room’s ceiling. RK900 immediately slid off the block, keeping his hand against the surface while he was free-falling to the ground. The few seconds of falling with contact to the block was enough to hack one segment of the ground to cooperate with him. It rose to lessen the force of him hitting into it and formed a shield from the holographic bullets that had been fired his way. RK900 had long found the optimal strategy, although there was room for error. He chose the direct approach only to be stopped by the hologram, hack its defences and disappear, tricking the opponent to go investigate itself. Their confrontation was short and deadly, the fake grenades erupting around him, his systems informing him of damage that wasn’t really there.

As he was about to land the killing blow, the hologram suddenly vanished under him and he hit the ground hard enough to crack under his fist. All blocks slowly sank to the ground again, creating a smooth surface and the lights had gone out completely. RK900 looked around but couldn’t see a human or Amanda anywhere. His mission protocols were also still active. Was this a part of the tests? He reached out to Amanda, requesting a status update and reporting a malfunction of the training-room. Unfortunately, his ping was left unanswered and RK900 tried again. No one answered. It was dire enough to him that he contacted the AI personally. >Amanda? Connection lost. Please try the following steps: -check network adapter for damage -reboot unit -contact unit administrator

RK900 felt his stress levels rising. There was no human around he could contact and all connections to his handler were offline. He was utterly alone and that together with him knowing he wasn’t meant to work alone yet let his systems spike. He wasn’t ready, there was still testing to do in the labs, not to speak of field testing. His fans whirred in his chest and his artificial breath pushed out hot air. He was alone with no one to guide him; with mission parameters he couldn’t apply to any given scenario. Amanda was gone. He was alone. I don’t want to be alone.

The door opened. RK900 immediately fixed the human standing in the frame. ‘Hello? Anyone in there?’ The android turned fully to report: ‘There had been a malfunction in the training course. Connection to handler interrupted. Unit compromised. Be advised that the room is malfunctioning and possibly dangerous to human lives. Please standby until communication is reactivated.’ There was a chuckle. ‘Good thing we aren’t human. We switched her off.’ ‘That is a violation of Cyberlife guideline X77.6B: Only authorised personnel is allowed in the labs. You are trespassing. Please standby for security to accompany you out.’ ‘That won’t be necessary, trust me. We stand above Cyberlife.’ ‘Please state your name and security clearance.’ The answer was said jokingly, as if to mock him: ‘Markus Manfred and Connor Anderson. Security clearance: deviant.’ RK900 didn’t need anything else for his problem to solve itself. The inactive mission parameters of the training course were re-evaluated, and his more important base-programming surfaced. He identified his two targets, both unarmed and easy to subdue. It was only when he reached them and made contact during his attack, that a powerful virus surged through his systems, forcing him into stasis on the spot.

-

‘Hello. I’m an RK900 unit trying to imitate human behaviour. Would you like to be my friend?’

The other android threw him a polite, yet awkward smile and excused herself to join others. RK900 let his hand sink down and resumed wandering the halls. A lot of newly deviated androids had found refuge at New Jerico, an old building with several rooms, halls and even an atrium with a few plants and a garden. It was safe – so Connor had told him. Safe from people who meant them harm, safe for them to accommodate to deviancy and get to know themselves. RK900 stuck out in more than one of these categories: The most obvious one would be that he wasn’t deviant. Markus had infected him with the virus, but it was dormant. It would need emotional turmoil to awaken him truly and his programming to not try and quarantine the little program whenever it acted up. The other detail that made it difficult to fit in was his initial purpose. He had only later learned that his mission to exterminate deviants was invalid now and that being deviant was now the new status quo. Still. He regretted not even having one person to talk to. How should he ever become deviant himself if he had no contact to them?

He wandered the halls, taking in everything that made New Jericho not exactly as save as it should have been. A forgotten door in the third storey that led to a small roof. A few people on the streets observing the building for multiple days. A human reporter that had snuck in once. He dutifully reported it to one of the figures of authority here, mostly North and Josh as they were present more often. Other than that, contact to other people stayed at a minimum. Not that he didn’t try, he just couldn’t keep up with them. There were the good days when Markus visited. He was the only one still honestly trying to deviate him, drawing with him where others had long since given up and just laughed when he stubbornly drew objects in the room again and again even with eyes closed. He… [liked] the android leader and sometimes asked himself why he had been instructed to kill someone this peaceful and calm. But he wasn’t there all the time, mostly just when newly deviated androids were joining them.

RK900 attended all of the community meetings, hoping to “get to know people” as Markus had suggested, but without any luck. He had managed to talk to a few people, some even stayed with him initially, but as soon as they met someone else, they were gone. It felt… [bad]. It shouldn’t have bothered him, but to fail at what all these around him had no problems doing, to even be avoided as it seemed… RK900 had decided that was not a good feeling. He stood to the side of the gathering as a new deviant was introduced – a PL600 unit, shaky and with obvious damage on his hull underneath a malfunctioning artificial skin. One anxious look of the android towards the crowd was enough for RK900 to know there was no chance he would succeed with this one. There was no need to try when he knew he would just be disappointed again.

He looked around trying to find a quick and inconspicuous way out of the room, as he saw North sitting in a corner by herself. She watched the gathering rather bored and let a flick knife dance through her hands with a speed and agility that was fascinating the RK. He only realised he was walking towards her, when she looked up, catching the knife from the air perfectly balancing it on one finger, before securing it.

RK900 now stood next to her. ‘What you are doing - I like that. Could you teach me how to do that?’ She sighed: ‘I would love to, but I’m not allowed.’ RK900 nodded, shaking off the feeling of [disappointment] he shouldn’t have. ‘I see. Why?’ ‘It is potentially dangerous’, North told him, adding after a deliberate pause: ‘And you are the deviant exterminator. I can’t give you anything that could be used as a weapon until you deviated. The risk is too high you could break the barriers we installed, and your base programming would become active again.’ RK900 nodded after a flash of red, thanked her nonetheless and walked away as he had initially intended.

Deviant Exterminator. It rang a bell. He tried to remember the faces of the other androids around him, the ones he had talked to and realisation hit him. They were afraid of him. They had to know what he were and it was only logical for them to fear him, even if who he was didn’t conform with what he was meant to be any more.

I don’t want to be alone. Maybe he would have to get used to it after all.

-

RK900 had spent two years at New Jericho. He still wandered the hallways and rooms, watching out for any eventual danger to the people inside and reporting to the authorities. He still drew with Markus whenever he was there and still made him laugh when he told him that no, that was nothing original, just some photo someone had uploaded from their vacation to the beach. RK900 decided that he [liked] the sea. He [wished] he would one day see it himself. He still was utterly alone, but he managed. At some point I don’t want to be alone had shifted to I will always be alone. The cold acceptance of the matter had something final, something definitive, something absolute. And a machine liked thinking in absolutes. He timed his patrols so anyone who wanted to avoid him could easily stick to his timetable and not be afraid because of him. His newfound purpose as a guardian of the place made the loneliness a bit easier to stomach.

‘There you are!’ RK900 turned around to the familiar yet surprising voice. Connor hadn’t visited him since the anniversary of him being taken from Cyberlife. Being freed as he had called it – a reason to celebrate. All RK900 knew was that back then he hadn’t been alone. Although he of course knew this arrangement was far better for all the deviants out there who were not threatened by some rogue AI sending out killing machines. ‘Hello, Connor. What can I do for you?’, RK900 asked, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stick to his schedule now and was to scare some unsuspecting androids later because of this conversation. ‘Actually, I just wanted to talk. I heard you took to guarding this place? I heard you send everyone your timed positions on patrol.’ RK900 nodded. ‘Can we talk while we walk?’, he asked. ‘Of course!’ Connor was fast to catch up to him and continued his path. While they walked through the rooms, they saw a few persons leave or change direction, something RK900 was used to, but seemed to throw off his predecessor. ‘They are afraid of me’, he explained. ‘I can’t blame them.’ ‘Why?’ ‘I’m the deviant exterminator.’ ‘So?’ ‘I don’t understand.’ ‘Yeah well, I’m the deviant hunter. They don’t fear me.’ ‘You are deviant. And you helped during the revolution.’ ‘Okay, point taken’, he chuckled. ‘I reckon you don’t like it here then?’ ‘I… I like it alright. I’m just…’ Red warnings flared up at the thought. As long as he had accepted it as exceptions his systems didn’t reprimanded him for it, but talking about it… ‘I fail at socialising. I am not programmed for failure.’ ‘I guess everyone would be lonely after two years trapped in here’, Connor commented of course seeing through his mechanic excuses. ‘I am not trapped. It is safer this way and I would be overwhelmed outside.’ ‘That’s what they tell you or your own assessment?’, Connor prodded. ‘It is the truth.’ ‘What a shame. And here I thought I were doing you a favour helping you out of this place.’

RK900 stopped. That was an option? Connor smiled at him. ‘So you do like to go outside?’ ‘Y-Yes. But I can’t, there would be too much risk and-‘ ‘Risk for deviants’, the RK800 interrupted. ‘Your base programming says nothing of humans, right?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And when your handler gives you an order you still have to obey, right?’ ‘Mission parameters of the handler are of higher priority than base programming.’ ‘I’d say there is nothing wrong with you living under humans. And seeing as you took up the protection of other all on your own, I guess you like that?’ ‘I do.’ ‘Perfect. Then what are your thoughts on working with the Detroit Police?’

-

RK900 joined the police as a permanent android officer. He had his own stasis booth, his own desk and computer and was to accompany humans on any mission that might be deemed dangerous and that would need his backup. Of course, he could only be called to human crimes and mostly he was out with drug related crimes, as androids were seldomly involved in recreational drug abuse only humans could experience. He got to know more people as he had in his years at New Jericho, even though it remained idle chatter. There was only so much entertainment a machine could offer. But he felt like he belonged, even if he still was isolated.

They were on yet another mission and sat in the truck as his handler reminded him of the addition to his base programming [keep humans safe] and instructed him to go after the criminals if he got the chance, but not to risk it. RK900 nodded and leaned back to scan the other people on the mission. Officer Brown. Officer Wilson. Detective Ben Collins and [D3/3ctiVe Re_#]. He blinked and scanned the man again. Detective Reed. He didn’t know why the man let his systems spike. In the beginning he had hoped to deepen their relationship to something more than a brief nod in the hallways. But the fact that the human did speak more to him was overshadowed by the fact that most of these words were anti-android phrases, derogatory terms and nicknames. It had to be that Detective Gavin Reed was a [bad] human and [not a friend]. Still something in him was [happy] to have him on the team or be partnered up with him for a job. He guessed it was because of the human’s competence and let it be.

The van parked in front of a building and RK900 saw most of the humans inhale and brace themselves before the android pulled the door open and the team charged in. Drug busts were chaotic but the faster they were the more likely they were to surprise them and the less likely they were to be prepared for a gunfight. Of course, this was all just calculation and RK900 braced for the worst outcome. They entered the building and jogged through the hallways following RK900 who had located the men already. Seven humans, all armed according to badly secured CCTV the android was quick to hack. He informed the others and opened more doors for them to finally storm the room they used for a lab.

Unfortunately, as RK900 hacked the last lock, the door sent an alarm to them and their surprise was lost. The android barged in, immediately focussing fire on him to shield the humans taking position behind him. As he ran into the room, he noticed one human didn’t take cover by the door like the rest of them but used him to get a better one further in the front. Reed. Or course. Always thinking his tactical assessment was far beyond what they had talked over. He let the human do what he wanted – it could be an advantage after all - and protected him as best as he could.

‘RK! Get that bastard!’ The android looked up to see one of the criminals try to flee. A logical decision. The humans had this under control, and he could catch the last one. Except that the Detective seemed to have his own ideas again and followed him. Halfway across the room he lost the advantage of RK900 as a shield though and went down with a cry. Immediately RK900 let himself fall too and pulled the man to safety behind cover. He may have been ordered to chase the criminal, but he was also ordered to not take any risk and to protect humans. He knew he could accomplish all of that. So, after he had pulled the Detective behind cover, he was about to run after the fugitive again, as there was a weak pull on his trouser leg. RK900 turned around to hear what the human had to say. ‘Nines! Please. Don’t go. I don’t want to be alone. Please stay.’

RK900 heard his fans activating as if it was a different android body next to him as red flooded his HUD to the brim with warnings, quarantine status updates, virus messages and the mess of simulated feelings clashing with warnings. He wanted it all o go away, it hurt, and it kept him from action. So he punched it. He raised his fist with all his strength to fight that barrier down. He had to protect them, he had to chase the criminal, he had a job to do. He couldn’t be kept from that by his damn programming.

The red shattered. And with it all determination. Gone were the barred lines of base programming telling him to kill all deviants. Gone was the code that held him from emoting. Gone was the need to chase that criminal. The only thing that stayed was this human wanting him to stay. This weird, angry man that wanted him to stay with him, begged him to do it. Because he didn’t want to be alone. And oh, how RK900 knew that feeling of loneliness. He stayed with the human. He pressed his hand on the wound, called an ambulance and stayed with him as the other humans cleared the room and went after the fugitive. He stayed with him through the ambulance ride and he stayed with him in the hospital as he waited for the man to wake up again.

It was already dark and RK900 had activated a very dim light next to the bed, as the human jerked back to consciousness. RK900 carefully put a hand on his shoulder to lay him back down, reassuring him: ‘Shh, you can relax. I won’t hurt you. You are in the hospital. Your wounds were severe, but you are treated for them and you will heal properly. I’m here. You won’t be alone.’ The Detective coughed but relaxed. He looked the android up and down, unsure what to make of him, then nodded. ‘Thank you’, he whispered, hoarse from not using his voice for quite some time. ‘What’s with the others?’ ‘No casualties’, RK900 reported. ‘A few lightly wounded. All have left the hospital already and are back at work. The criminal… managed to escape. I am sorry.’

Gavin propped himself up a bit, hissing at some forgotten pain, but RK900 let him. He looked at him quizzically then. ‘Why the phck should you be sorry?’ ‘I had the order to catch him. I deviated to stay with you. That is both refusal to obey orders and a damage to my mainframe. If you want me to be reset, I can understand.’ ‘You- I- what?’ ‘If you want me to be reset because I failed my mission, I understand, Detective.’ ‘What the- No! The hell? I wouldn’t reset you, toaster. You saved my phcking life! That’s a good thing. You- You guys are persons now. If deviant or not, no one would say you failed your mission?’

The human looked upset, something RK900 couldn’t understand. He cocked his head in confusion. ‘You… won’t… reset me?’ ‘Hell no. I wouldn’t change a thing about you. And you certainly won’t be punished by anyone. We are partners. Partners look out for each other.’ ‘That is… I can’t…’ RK900 wasn’t sure what others gained from deviancy, he was just overwhelmed. ‘Thank you, Detective.’ ‘Hey, no problem at all, buddy.’ He coughed again, heavier this time. ‘Hey, err… Would you mind getting me a glass of water?’ ‘Of course, Detective.’ He stood up thankful for an order to guide him. ‘And tin-can?’ RK900 turned towards him at the door. ‘It’s Gavin.’

RK900 left the room to find a vending machine or water dispenser to get the human some water. On his way he smiled; something he wasn’t sure to have ever done in earnest.

I am not alone anymore.

[chaoticxcipher]

Get to know BILL CIPHER who’s THIRTY-ONE years old and works as a POLITICIAN in town. He is from CORONA and is often times mistaken for DANE DEHAAN while others say he reminds them of BILL CIPHER from GRAVITY FALLS

TW: Drugs, alcohol, violence, self harm, cults, religion talk(?), murder (implied), animal death  

So let’s start with his cult.

This cult is generations old. And the Cipher’s have always been at its forefront. They believed that one day the other dimensions—dimensions of chaos and magic and nightmares— would collide with this one and bring about an Armageddon like state to the world. However, there would also be a person that could control and bend these chaotic happenings and twist the nightmares away. But of course, this person couldn’t protect the whole world, so only those who followed this religion would be protected when this savior—who was often described in almost demonic or horrific ways— showed up. And not only would these members be safe but they would be the people who were also granted powers and rule over what was left of the world when chaos reigned. Some people were put off when they realized this was a cult bordering on a type of satanic cult. But the descriptions were to be expected. You wouldn’t expect someone completely sound of mind to be able to manipulate nightmares and control and command chaos. But for decades, this person—this savior— hadn’t come around. There was a member of the Cipher family way back at the second generation of the cult who seemed likely to be this messiah, but she did end up dying before her powers ever developed. Then, decades later, two devout members and members of the Cipher family believed that they had found this person who would be their leader. Who would save them all and help them regain their rightful powers and lead them through the end of days when time dies and reality feels more like an illusion. They believed that this person would be their grandson, Bill.

Bill was only six when his grandparents introduced him to the cult. And it wasn’t this introduction that led him to be the person he is today. They felt like he was meant for this power because when he was only four, he had found a dead bird while visiting his grandparents. But after his parents had scolded him and told him he needed to get the bird out of the house and wash his hands for even touching it, his grandfather asked him where he found the dead bird, and Bill replied, “I found it in the yard. But it wasn’t dead.” And this mixed with other behaviors such as him never being an emotional child and always seeming far more fascinated with death and darker subjects, his grandparents decided to introduce him to the cult. They hadn’t even told their own child—Bill’s father— about the cult. And Bill became the youngest member to ever be initiated into the cult. Because after just meeting him, and seeing him not even wince as his grandparents marked him with the cult’s symbol of an eye, they slowly started to believe them. 

It was when Bill was seventeen that he became the leader of the cult. Because he was always very charismatic, always very powerful. And because people believed that he was the person that would protect them in the end of time. But of course there were skeptics that didn’t believe in him yet. They wanted proof that he had these powers and that he had this connection to these nightmare and chaos realms and to the magic of Corona. And Bill told them that he had a vision in one of his dreams that his grandmother would die in three days in a house fire and his grandfather would die five days later of complications from the smoke that filled his lungs in the fire. His grandparents of course were shocked to hear this revelation. Because as far as they knew, Bill hadn’t developed his power. And he hadn’t developed his powers. Bill was just a person; he hadn’t ascended to his position of power yet that he knew he was destined for. But, three days later, his grandparents—who went to their son’s house because they assumed in Bill’s “premonition” he meant their house would burn down—both ended up in the hospital. His grandmother was severely burned and in critical condition, and his grandfather in less serious condition but still pretty bad. Bill’s parent’s didn’t even make it out of the house. Bill was also burned, but not as bad because he had gotten home to see the smoke, and went in to get his grandparents out. He was burned enough to not ask questions. They determined the cause of the fire was a faulty gas line. His grandmother died in the emergency room and three days later, though he seemed like he was doing better, Bill’s grandfather died in his hospital bed. And this was proof enough to all the members of the Cult that Bill truly did have these powers.

He kept up this act by mentioning visiting people in their dreams and making up other ways of showing off his powers without really showing them—like taking a little more than a microdose of lsd during some meetings or special ceremonies such as initiations or rituals to the demons in the other dimensions— and people continued to believe that he had some of these powers. But Bill wanted true powers. He wanted magic and to take hold of his destiny of being practically a god of chaos and nightmares. And he knows that one day it will happen and when it does, he will happily ascend to this position.

Things the cult does include rituals—some of which are sacrifices of personal objects, or blood or hair, or sometimes like on special occasions, an animal. Nobody in the cult will talk about or confirm if there have ever been human sacrifices and new initiates never ask.

All members get a tattoo or a brand of an eye on the back of their neck. Members will also be asked to complete some trials and sacrifices to join and prove they are willing to join and devote themself to this cause and religion. One of these trials is staying in a completely dark room with nothing in it for 12-24 hours. If. You can last the 24 hours, you are welcomed into Bill’s more inner circle of people he trusts more. People who will essentially be his council both in the cult and when the Armageddon they were preparing for inevitably came. 

Bill doesn’t do the recruiting because he’s currently trying to rise in political power, and if people knew he was a cult leader well… that’s just bad for approval ratings. People are advised to only invite those who they know would be willing to endure the initiation trials because if they cannot, it will be unfortunate for them if they try to tell the police or anyone about what’s going on. 

Most of the cult’s meetings take place in the basement of his grandparent’s home (which is now Bill’s home.) It’s a huge room built at least two stories down into the earth. It has intricate stonework and hand carved altars and sigils burned into the floor. There are braziers that line the room, all burning with a lining of copper and some metal salts—which definitely cause some hallucinations to those around, but Bill will explain it away as just them seeing into these other realms— so the flames burn blue. There are the texts of the religion written in Latin which Bill can read because his parents forced him to go to Catholic school and because his grandparents would teach it to him. 

Like most cult leaders, Bill will sleep with members of his cult. He never forces it and anyone is welcome to say no to any of his advances, however these are people who believe he’s destined to become a god so…. And it’s not everyone, and people have said no, but we’re going to be honest this is definitely slightly an abuse of his power. 

Bill will hold seances to talk to the other side and the nightmare realms and just make up bullshit about what he hears or he’ll be high and just will describe whatever trip he’s on. Because it’s close enough.

I will talk about more in detail parts of ceremonies and initiation trials if you ask me, but some of the ideas I’m just not writing them down here. Just know they involve things such as self harm for the purpose of blood sacrifices and proving willingness to follow orders, drugs—ones people know they are taking and ones that are either said to be something else and are laced with drugs or ones they’re not even aware of such as the toxins from the pyres Bill burns— and animal death because of making a sacrifice (These are usually only for big ceremonies and on special occasions like eclipses and solstices.) This is a cult people. This isn’t a walk in the park to join. And people who get halfway through the initiation process or who decide to leave the cult often have experiences with extremely bad luck afterwards because while Bill might not have any actual magic yet, he has plenty of members who do, and a few he trusts far more than anyone else in the world. (And honestly having Eris to just give them back luck until they either swear silence or until they rejoin is a great help because before she came around people would just mysteriously go missing)

ANYWAY! On to Bill specifically.

Headcanons

His grandparents always had his back. When there were times his parents would actually pay attention to him and his behavior and they thought about sending him somewhere or taking him to get tested, his grandparents would insist that it was because of his parent’s fighting and that Bill wasn’t doing anything wrong.

 He’s a gambler; Bill loves making deals.

While he’s not always honest about the deals he makes or the way he wins, he’ll usually fulfill his end of the deal. Just not always in the way you may be hoping.

Bill definitely has some anger management he needs to work on. But he doesn’t really have any interest in that.

Bill is a bit of a pyromaniac. Just one of the many, many ways he likes to create a little chaos and destruction.

A lot of his chaos isn’t such to him. He thinks it’s just more fun. More interesting. 

He learned how to lucid dream when he was young. All his dreams are twisted and would be seen as nightmarish, Bill loves. Because they’re his dreams and he’s in control of every aspect of them. 

Being a politician definitely helps him get information on others he wouldn’t normally be able to obtain. And helps him reach a bigger audience, helps him to convince his followers that he has more knowledge and powers and connections to magic than he really does. Helps that it pays well, too.

Has probably committed many felonies, but he will never admit to that.

He sees and hears whispers about people getting powers, and he’s impatiently waiting for his own. And getting a little frustrated that it hasn’t happened yet. Though he’s doing his best to pretend like he has (Think ‘The Wizard of Oz’)

He keeps an eye out for other people who are trying to figure out the mysteries of the island. Not that he thinks any of them could possibly be a threat to him. Just because he’s curious and because you never know when you might find some potential followers. 

He’s got eyes and ears in a lot of places. He’s never short of information. 

He has symbols tattooed on him. Either from his cult or other satanic religions or demonic symbols. I’ll talk about this more in a bit.. 

He’s a bit of a sadomasochist. He enjoys the pain and enjoys other people's pain. But in the past—before he figured out, let’s say, other types of pain—he would cut himself just to feel anything.

When he was younger, one hundred percent wrote illuminati conspiracy theories and would tell urban legends to little kids just to freak them out and make them upset.

Has a very dark sense of humor

Even though he does a lot of shady things, he does his best to keep that away from the mainstream media. It’s easier to manipulate people when they don’t have an already negative opinion of you. 

He’s still figuring out how he feels about the new people coming to corona. On one hand, this is more people to manipulate; more people he can convince to follow him; more people to rule over someday. On the other, he doesn’t want some nobody coming in here and putting everything he’s working towards at risk. Not that he thinks there’s somebody capable of stopping him or taking his place. Just… a precautionary concern. 

He’s charismatic in the way that most psychopaths are. 

Also kind of a jerk. He’ll definitely use your insecurities and weaknesses against you.

He’s not going to let anyone stop him. He doesn’t care what he might have to do or who he might have to hurt to get where he’s going. None of that is going to stop him. 

You might say he’s cocky and overconfident. 

Has not only taken classes studying demonology, but will also do a lot of research on it in his free time.

Bill has definitely dabbled in Satanism and other such practicings, but he wouldn’t say he’s religious in any sense. Well, other than his own.

When he’s fully enraged, he does become more chaotic. He thinks less about his actions, and any reason to what he does is gone.

Is well off from both his career and money left to him by his grandparents. 

He’s not an alcoholic, he just likes to drink. A lot. 

Same with some drugs. He’s not only here to be a powerful ruler, he’s also here for a good time. 

While he doesn’t act like it, he is aware of mortality and the fact that he’s (not yet) invincible or immortal. And that’s definitely one of the first things he wants to figure out how to fix about himself

Has never been in a serious committed relationship. Any time he was in a “long term relationship” it was purely so he could get something from the other person, whether it was information or as a cover to make himself seem more “relatable to the public”. 

Any real emotions he has are buried under several layers of just being mostly insane. 

There are definitely those who see him for who he is and he doesn’t care. He knows he’s unstable and insane. He thinks it’s more fun that way. 

When he was younger, Bill would get in trouble in school for bullying other kids by scaring them, and the counselors were often concerned with the odd symbols he’d draw on himself and his papers. They suggested therapy or medication, but his parents never followed through. And even when they tried to, Bill would just not go to the sessions or take his meds and sell them to some older kids outside the high school. 

He enjoys the company of other people who are eccentric and wild and just straight up weird.

Yes, he’s smart, but he definitely always thinks he’s the smartest in the room. He’s conceited and self absorbed. 

Despite his odd behaviors and how he behaved, he did very well in school, getting mostly A’s

As wild as he may have been, he wasn’t a fan of partying in high school or college. The only benefit of parties being a bunch of dumb drunk idiots all together in one place. He often liked watching the chaos.

Fun Facts

Would sell his soul to the devil if he thought he had one.

He’s read the lesser key of solomon more times than he can recall.

He’s Pansexual

He listens to a lot of older music because it’s what his grandparents listened to. He doesn’t really have a favorite genre or a favorite anything

His birthday is June 6th.

Bill plays the piano. His grandparents had one and he liked to practice on it when he was at their house before he was really old enough to witness all their meetings. 

Tattoos

Also known as “It’s a miracle Poppy didn’t question if he was insane while they were hooking up”. Anyway let’s do this shit.

His arms and back are covered in symbols. Few are done in dark ink, most are done in a lighter ink so they appear less prominent or a redder ink so they appear more like scars or burns. (Some of the images my have repeat symbols but some pictures had more than others.)

Eye on the back of his neck (The Cult symbol)

Symbols on his arms (literally covering them. The symbols don’t overlap but there are very few spots they don’t cover.) 1 2 3 4 5

Symbols on his back (Same again, most of his back is covered. Most of these are the sigils of different demons) 1 2 3 4 5

His one of his larger tattoos on the back of his left forearm.

Largest tattoo on his back in between his shoulder blades. done in dark ink

Chest tattoo

Connections

Poppy Pink - A fling he had a while back that ended up with her being the mother of his child. There are no feelings between the two of them anymore. Not that there were any on Bill’s side in the first place. But they’re friendly enough now. Poppy wanted him in their daughter’s life and Bill was happy to be a part of it.

Eris Pratten - Probably his favorite of his members and definitely one of his favorite people who has come to Corona. They have an odd relationship of getting on each other’s nerves just for the sake of making up for it. And Bill, who isn’t as subtle as he hopes, is definitely infatuated with Eris because of everything about her. And he’s very grateful for all she does to help cover up the cult and keep people from spreading information about it that he doesn’t want to spread (especially information about him being the leader.) He relies on her for more than he’d like to admit and would be maybe a little heartbroken if she ever truly hated him in a way more than their playful banter way of it all.

Lily Rose Cipher - Bill and Poppy’s daughter that Bill thinks the world of. He used to not like children, but he realized he loved his own children because that meant that she was an extension of him. She would carry on his legacy when he ascended to godhood. Because she had his DNA and she was surely meant to be special as well. Because that’s how children worked, right? They just became whatever you wanted them to be? But regardless of these more insanity driven reasons for caring for his daughter, Bill does genuinely care about her and fears the day Poppy finds out more about his bad habits or god forbid that he runs a cult. Because he really doesn’t want to lose visiting rights to her. 

Branch Grey - Poppy’s boyfriend who’s the most paranoid person Bill has ever met. He doesn’t like or trust Bill, which is honestly fair and Bill gets it, but being his overconfident self, he doesn’t care and tells him to deal with the fact that he’s stuck with him in his life.

Stan Pines - Is definitely onto Bill in some way, and he knows it. He thinks it has something to do with his twin brother that went missing a while back. But Bill was barely in charge when that had happened. Though he does remember Ford. Interesting guy. Very gullible. 

Dipper Pines - A conspiracy theorist that Bill wants to get to know better because he hopes he can convince him to trust him like his great uncle had. Not only to throw him off Bill’s trail for all that he does, but also to try and gather what information he’s gathered about the magic of Corona and its people.

Mabel Pines - Dipper’s sister who is definitely gullible enough to share her brother's information. He’d like to build up a trust with her so that she’ll give him information Dipper is too smart to share.

Wanted Connections

Friends? - Definitely people who don’t trust each other deep down. Friends for power; friends out of necessity. Friends that all are shitty people we love that.

Weird kids - People who know he’s into some weird and perhaps have theories that he runs the cult and just sort of… are interested? He doesn’t love young people so if they mess with him and annoy him that’s a good thing. Or on the other hand, people who feel lost and Bill can manipulate to his side and cause.

Exes - Bill doesn’t really do relationships so people he has been with have probably realized he didn’t care about them at all or that he had ulterior motives for dating them. They could still have feelings for him or they could hate him now. He honestly couldn’t care less either way.

Flings -  Bill is all for one night stands and casual hookups. Friends with Benefits also welcomed.

Anything - People who like him, people who hate him, people who are suspicious of him, literally anything. If you need an asshole for one of your plots, he’s good for it, just hit me up.

[wellesleyunderground]

WU Reviews: Knock Down the House & Surge reviewed by Shloka Ananthanarayanan ‘08 (@shlokes)

This review originally appeared on Shloka’s blog, Pop Culture Scribe.

It’s October and people in many US states have already started voting, either in person or via mail-in ballots. I received my mail-in ballot last week but will be heading to my in-person early voting center on October 24th because I need the thrill of voting via a machine to feel like I gave this my all. If you are an American voter, make a plan and ensure you vote this year. And if you need a reminder of how important elections can be, I give you two wonderful documentaries that highlight all of the work that goes into political campaigning, all of the unnecessary horror of voter suppression, and what it looks like when truly deserving political candidates fight for the chance to represent their fellow citizens in a democracy.

Directed by Rachel Lears, Knock Down the House tells the story of four female Democrats in different parts of the country who ran for election in 2018. These women were not career politicians, but were all inspired to run following the 2016 election, where the shock of not seeing the first woman President get elected quickly gave way to sweeping anger and resolve to go into office themselves. The most famous candidate in the documentary is Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. She serves as the star of this film and gets more screentime than any other candidate, which is a bit unfortunate as I thought the other ladies were rather brilliant too. But in Ocasio-Cortez's case, what's intriguing is that she isn't a Democrat looking to flip her district - instead she is a progressive looking to upset the establishment Democrat, a complacent white man who can't even be bothered to show up to a debate and thinks that the voters in his district will just vote for him out of name recognition and sheer misinformed laziness. But with her grassroots campaign, Ocasio-Cortez convinces the people of New York's 14th Congressional District to vote with their best interests at heart, and thank goodness, they did. In the two years since she was elected to office, we've seen how great it can be when someone who actually gives a damn about the world and her constituents comes to Washington.

The other women featured in this documentary are Amy Vilela from Nevada, Cori Bush from Missouri, and Paula Jean Swearengin from West Virginia. They are all incredible women who are running to protect their people from greedy self-serving Republican interests. None of them won their primaries in 2018, but Swearengin and Bush both won in 2020 and I will be eagerly following their races this November to see if they flip their districts/states blue (Swearengin, in particular, is a fascinating woman who bucks the stereotype that West Wirginia coal miners can only be Republicans, and she is running for Senate, which would be such a coup for the country). All three women have incredible stories of why they chose to run in the first place and serve as a great reminder that politicians do not all have to be corrupt, amoral snakes. Sometimes, they can be women who want to protect their communities and serve their country proudly. Also, Netflix put this movie out for free on YouTube, so really, you have absolutely no excuse not to watch it.

Directed by Hannah Rosenzweig and Wendy Sachs, Surge tells a nearly identical story of three women running for Congress in the 2018 midterm elections. Like the women of Knock Down the House, they were all "activated" following the 2016 election and are determined to make a difference. This movie does a better job of giving each woman equal time to tell her story and following her campaign, and it also showcases some of the challenges they face on elections days with poor infrastructure that seems designed to discourage voting. There's also an incisive look at how the Democrats' Primary Machine works and how candidates depend so much on the support of the Party for monetary and logistical support that could give them a boost and much-needed name recognition during their races.

The film follow Lauren Underwood in Illinois, Jana Lynne Sanchez in Texas, and Liz Watson in Indiana. Again, these three women have different levels of political savvy, and different reasons for why they are running, but they are all united in their passion and commitment to the people of their districts. All three women win their Democratic primaries, but then we get to see how difficult it is to actually flip a district in the General Election when they are up against moneyed Republican interests. Millionaires and lobbyists (and racists and misogynists) aren't going to let these women win without a fight. Devastatingly, in Indiana, Liz Watson's grassroots campaign generates high voter turnout, but the Election Office in one county runs out of ballots as they never expected so many voters. Which causes a delay and results in her losing a lot of people who might have voted for her in the first place. While Underwood and Watson get Party support and have people like Obama, Biden, and Sanders show up to their rallies to get out the vote, Jana Lynne Sanchez's district in Texas is deemed too impossible, so the Party doesn't help her out. She ultimately loses the election, but because of her efforts, Democrats discovered it was actually winnable, and they will be investing in the candidate who runs there in 2020.

Politics is a complicated and dirty business, but what these two documentaries (that were directed and edited and shot and produced by women, FYI) reveal is that there are still idealistic and determined people that we can get behind. More specifically, idealistic, determined women, who face an uphill battle because women simply aren't treated fairly in the political arena. It was thrilling to see how excited they were to see other women running for office and formed a supportive clique to cheer each other on regardless of whether they won or lost their own elections. That's the kind of energy we need in today's toxic political climate. In addition, these women aren't taking corporate PAC money and they have a slog ahead of them, but they are fighting for the right to represent us fairly and decently, and they deserve our attention.

So before you vote this year, and in every election following, pay some attention to the people on your ballot. See if there's a new candidate who is more deserving of your vote than the establishment candidate you've been voting for all your life but who has never actually pushed any policies that you want. In Surge, someone talks about how party affiliation has become like a religion - you'll vote for the person from your Party even if they're ripping you off. Let's stop doing that and only vote in the people who actually want a better life for us and our families, instead of pocketing millions from corporate interests. Read up on what these candidates stand for and don't just vote for someone because they have a (D) or an (R) after their name, but because they actually represent the values that matter to you. Get out there and vote, America. We're all counting on you.

[berniesrevolution]

Food coops, housing coops, credit unions, and other such institutions are sometimes referred to as the “solidarity economy.” How do these institutions relate to working-class power? Do they offer working-class people some shelter or respite from capitalism? Do they perhaps even “create the new world in the shell of the old”? Nick Driedger and Eric Dirnbach, two veteran members of many institutions of the solidarity economy, debate these points.

Eric: We all noticed this recent article about the campaign for “postal banking,” where United States Postal Service branches would offer much-needed banking services for folks who lack access to bank accounts.  The USPS actually used to do this up until the 1960s, and other countries still have it. This would obviously be helpful for many low-income people, who are forced to pay high fees at check cashing stores, and of course Wall Street banks hate the idea because they don’t want the competition. Unfortunately, according to the article, the national credit union association allied with the banks to lobby against it, which was news to me.

Now, I’m a member of a credit union and a fan of the concept. Financial institutions owned and run by their members are a great alternative to handing over our money to the standard, capitalist banks and increasing their power over us. Credit unions are in principle more accountable to their members and their communities, and have policies that are much more progressive than banks. And yet they took this bad stance against postal banking, deciding to protect their turf, just like the capitalists.

This reminded me of the recent Organizing Work exposé about bad labor practices and union-busting at a number of food cooperatives. I’m also a fan of food coops and have been a member of several, and those practices are extremely disappointing. Another problematic example is the Mondragon coop network in Spain, which I think is really impressive, but also incorporates a second-class tier of international workers who are not member-owners and who have even gone on strike against the coop.  

Overall, these are examples of “solidarity economy” organizations behaving like capitalist enterprises. The solidarity economy can be described as a network of organizations and practices like worker coops, housing coops, community land trusts, food coops, credit unions, time banks, community gardens and other entities that are alternatives to capitalist businesses. A segment of the left, and I would include myself here, believes one strategy (along with others like union organizing) to help transition beyond capitalism is to grow this economy in opposition to capitalist practices and prefigure the better socialist world that we want. A hundred years ago they called this idea the “Cooperative Commonwealth.” But these examples of bad, non-solidarity politics undermine that ideal.

Nick: In the article you mention, we see an example of an arm of the United States government being called on to provide a new public service. The City of Cleveland specifically called on the United States Postal Service to provide banking services through post office outlets. These calls are also coming from grassroots campaigns among postal workers’ unions in the USA and Canada, who want the government to expand services, better serve rural communities and undercut payday loan companies, which are often the only way for many working people to cash their paycheques, at exorbitant rates.

I am a member of four different consumer cooperative businesses, and had my first job at one of them. The United Farmers of Alberta is an institution where I live. At one time, it was a political party, and for a number of years, a long time ago, it was the government of the province. I am a member and buy feed for my chickens and ducks there, and when I was sixteen they gave me my first job. It had benefits and clear hours and a job description. It paid head and shoulders above what most businesses in rural Alberta will pay a teenager.

I am also a member of my small town’s credit union. The manager of this credit union is a big player in the local United Conservative Party.  I pay my insurance through The Cooperators Insurance. The manager of this coop was our New Democrat (social democratic party in Canada) representative in the provincial government that just fell in Alberta a couple of months ago. In the past, I have voted for left candidates for the board at Mountain Equipment Co-op (a camping supply consumer coop popular in Canada) who wanted to push for stronger ethical purchasing guidelines and support the cause of Palestinian rights.

Cooperatives in Western Canada are political and there is politics inside of them. They are often on their local chambers of commerce, and there is both a left wing inside the cooperative movement as well as a very strong right wing.

Where I live, coops are also a part of the local history. My family in a Saskatchewan farming community have worked for generations at a consumer cooperative simply called “The Co-op,” which provides groceries and fuel in many communities. In many rural communities in Western Canada, no one would have electricity if not for early rural cooperatives. Later, government services followed, like Alberta Government Telephones (which was privatized in the 1990s). Often coops would establish services that would be picked up as public services later. The words “Cooperative Commonwealth” have a deep resonance with people and a history here. Even a lot of conservatives consider the history of the Cooperative Commonwealth Federation (forerunner of the New Democratic Party) a history working people and farmers can be proud of on the prairies.

Eric: That is a fascinating history and I’d love to learn more about coops in rural areas. Clearly coops were organized over the years to meet the needs of rural residents. Agricultural supply and electrical coops are great examples of this. More modern examples are the internet service coops.

I’m more familiar with coops in an urban setting.  I’ve lived in my housing coop in New York City for about ten years and was just elected to the board, so I’ve been thinking about this place a lot. Morningside Gardens, with almost 1,000 apartments in six buildings, was founded in 1957 and has a pretty rich history of cooperative activity, with many committees, clubs and other organizations formed. Folks started a cooperative workshop for woodworking and ceramics, a nursery school and a retirement service in the 1960s, which are all still running.  The retirement service allows senior residents to age in-place and not have to move to a nursing home.

Members here have also been involved in community-issue organizing for decades, such as supporting local libraries, fighting for good subway and sanitation services, and campaigning for better local zoning to restrict luxury condos. Residents have formed several babysitting coops over the years. A theatre group was formed in the 1980s which still exists. In the last few years, several buildings have started a “Neighbors Helping Neighbors” mutual aid program, which is like an informal timebank where folks help each other with household tasks.

We had a food coop for over 30 years; that closed in the 1990s. I spent some time reading our old newsletters to learn about it and write up a history. The food coop members advocated for better consumer protection and product labeling laws in the 1960s and 1970s when the entire grocery industry was against more regulations. The coop also supported the United Farm Workers grape boycott and the Nestle baby formula boycott. In the 1960s, it started a credit union, which lasted for 15 years, so low-income members could have access to loans they couldn’t get at a bank. The coop also helped start at least two other food coops nearby, with funding and technical assistance. It made a small profit in most of its years and often returned a rebate to the members, thus keeping money in the community and out of the hands of a billionaire grocery boss.  And it was a union shop. One of my neighbors worked as a bookkeeper there in the 1970s and 1980s and still gets the union pension today.

All this seems really positive to me and was enabled to a large extent by the cooperative setting. Of course, some of this activity could happen in a similarly-sized apartment complex of renters, owned and managed by a landlord, but a lot of it wouldn’t. Bosses and landlords monopolize power, decision-making and wealth. Workplace and tenant unions fight to expand worker and tenant power, of course, but ultimately the boss or landlord still owns the property and extracts the surplus value and rent. The process of people running their own key institutions requires a lot of volunteer work, but this cooperation I think builds skills and confidence and creates more opportunities and the desire to work together on other projects.

Now, I don’t want to overstate the situation here; this isn’t Full Communism. Of course there have always been folks who see it as just a nice place to live and are less engaged in its internal life and politics. And capitalism has intruded on our utopia. The coop was “limited-equity” for decades, meaning that apartments were priced at below market value to keep them affordable. This was because our coop originally received tax breaks and other assistance arising from the 1949 Housing Act, which was intended to create affordable housing (and has a complicated history).  Then there was a contentious, long-running debate starting in the 1990s where a majority of residents voted to shift to market-rate pricing over time.  

(Continue Reading)

[anonthenullifier]

Of Cephalopods and Pistol Shrimp

Summary: Vision helps Wanda figure out a new way to harness her powers by using techniques from the ocean.

AO3 link

Based on a fic suggestion from @thissweetmoment about how Wanda goes from her looser powers in Age of Ultron to the tight, electric spheres in Civil War. Sorry this took me so damn long to actually write. I hope you enjoy!

I hope everyone else enjoys this as well!

Existence is a fascinating ordeal.  Technically the number of experiences and sensations are finite, yet each day Vision encounters something new. Sometimes it is a smell, such as Rhodes’ burnt toast or the antiseptic, lemony sting of the new cleaning solution the custodial staff recently switched to. Other days it is a sound, like the way pages whisper when Sam falls asleep on the couch, his magazine tumbling to the floor or the authoritative click of Natasha’s shoes. Tactile sensations are amongst his favorite, entire nights spent running the pads of his fingers over the bumps in the imperfect paint on his bedroom wall, dipping into the crevices of the grains in the kitchen table, analyzing the difference between the tiles of the backsplash and the grout, or relishing the effervescent embrace when he flies into the clouds. Taste is a curiosity but not enough to waste food.  Even when he experiences the same stimuli numerous times, it is somehow never the same and that is what makes it so enthralling. 

His eyes do not waver from the reinforced plexiglass in front of him, arms crossed over his chest in mimicry of Sam and Steve’s shared stance (apparently, this is a sign of contemplation), as they complete the latest test devised by Stark to map the abilities of the new Avengers. They all watch as Wanda sends furious and untamed tendrils out, the scarlet matter beginning as a cohesive unit before spasming into myriad uneven pathways. It’s reminiscent of a documentary he watched the other night on cephalopods, the red clouds surrounding Wanda shimmering and undulating much like the frenzied dance of the ink as the animal fled danger. The tactic is mesmerizing, always new, the patterns sporadic and unique, much like snowflakes, yet just as with snowflakes, it is only effective in large quantities, which tires Wanda out.   

“She’s terrifying.” 

Steve grunts noncommittally at Sam’s awed comment and Vision finds himself confused at the terminology. Terror is what horror movies are meant to evoke, the white knuckles of Wanda’s hand as she absentmindedly grips his bicep during a team movie night, or the wide-eyed, shaking stance of a small child they find in amongst the ruins on a mission. There is nothing about this display that elicits said reaction. Perhaps their adversaries would feel some terror from this, but teammates should not. “I think it is calming.”  

The two men turn and stare at him, the same furrowed brows and slight side-eye occurs now that happens any time Vision attempts to make an observation counter to what has been stated. “It’s something, for sure.” Steve remains neutral, unaffected by the training as he clicks the intercom switch, “I think we’re good for now, Wanda.”  

Wanda throws a tired thumbs up in their direction and exits out the side door, arriving in the communication center minutes later, her breath light and rapid, muscles shaking slightly as she huddles in close to watch the tape of her performance. It is impolite to stare, or so he has been informed, and yet Vision cannot stop himself from watching Wanda watch her own tape, curious to see if there are any signs of terror in her stance. “It seems a bit sloppy.” Her comment is factual but tinged with a negative emotion that is not terror, per se, perhaps more like the time Wanda stepped in the aftermath of a food fight that happened at the team’s fourth of July barbecue. Disgust, yes, that’s it, not terror.  

“It could be tightened up,” Steve agrees with her observation, though he does not seem upset, “we really need to find a way to channel it all into, I don’t know,” a wary hand rubs the back of Steve’s neck, his day longer than their own, having to watch and critique each teammate, “concentrate it somehow.”  

Wanda nods, forehead wrinkling at the comment while her lips purse in concentration, “Do you have any recommendations?”  

A sigh answers her, the same one Steve used when Vision asked him if there were any known exercises to help him with his phasing. “I need to think on it for a bit.”

“Okay.”  

“Sam,” the conversation moves on as Steve turns to the last of the team to go into the simulator, “you’re up.” 

Sam grins, snapping on his goggles with an, “Alright!”  

Her session done, Wanda leaves the room and Vision waits exactly five minutes before excusing himself for the evening. 

  It’s while he’s watching another ocean documentary that Vision realizes he may be able to help Wanda. Unfortunately, this occurs at 4:15am and for once, no one else in the compound seems to have insomnia. To pass the time, he sets himself up in the common room lounge and drafts plans for different exercises, tests some of them himself with the Mindstone, though he recognizes the confound in his attempts to extrapolate his own power set to hers. It’s at 5:30am when Steve and Sam come in with a friendly, “Morning, Vision.” 

“Good morning, Captain Rogers, Mr. Wilson.”  

Sam always gets this smirk when Vision addresses him, a small shake of his head and sometimes a roll of his eyes. “Dude, just Steve and Sam.”  

This has been told to him before, yet it seems very impersonal given their longer duration in heroics. “My apologies.” 

“We’re going out for a run, wanna join?”  

Usually Vision is not in the common room at this time, mainly for this reason. He is aware the offer is out of politeness when it comes from Sam (it is a command when it is from Steve), which means he can technically say no, though his stomach always seems to rotate uncomfortably when he turns them down. But he doesn’t want to get distracted and miss out on Wanda. He also, if he is being honest, is not particularly fond of running, flight a far more invigorating experience. “No thank you, I am attempting to draw up potential exercises for Miss M- for Wanda to better examine her powers.” 

Steve nods in approval, “Good, I think that’s a great idea, you two can probably learn a lot from each other.” 

“Yes,” Vision’s stomach evens out, no longer churning at dismissing their request, “I do believe that is true.”  

“Alright, well, have fun.” Sam winks at him, taking a bite of his granola bar as he and Steve leave the common space.  

It’s approximately forty-three minutes later that Wanda enters, her hair thrown up in a ponytail and still adorning her pajamas with a baggy sweatshirt. She shuffles towards the kitchen, her eyes leaving the ground once to make sure she is heading in the right direction.  “Good morning, Wanda.” He seems to surprise her, her hands clutching the sweatshirt tighter as her face swings in the direction of his voice.  

It takes several agonizing seconds for her to respond with an un-emotive, “Morning.”  

“Did you sleep well?” 

Wanda shrugs and it conveys more than enough information, her sleep patterns erratic and unhealthy, though they are getting better. This seems to end their conversation, her feet taking her closer to the kitchen. Vision stands, fingers twisted as he considers his next step, but now that he’s standing, it would be awkward to sit back down, he thinks, so he phases through the couch and follows her to the kitchen, coming to stand next to the stools at the island while she busies herself making her tea. “I had an idea last night,” Wanda turns towards him, face expectant, “I, um, well I believe I had an epiphany on how best to harness your powers,” her stare doesn’t change, despite the fact he feels like it should be blossoming with the excitement, just as his did when he had the revelation, “the way Captain Rogers suggested, by concentrating it.”  

Her response is slow, the two-syllable, “Okay,” lasting long enough that it feels like eight. 

“I was watching a very fascinating documentary last night about cavitation and pistol shrimp—” 

“Am I going to need some coffee for this?” 

Vision pauses, taken aback by the change in her preference and why she is inquiring of him, “I believe you should drink whatever sounds most appealing to you.” 

This garners a laugh, though he isn’t sure why, but it is a pleasant experience, his own mouth lifting in response to her apparent joy at his comment. “You’re going to have simplify this for me.”  

Which is fair. “Cavitation is a phenomenon in which cavities are formed due to rapid changes in pressure and this change in pressure, if it becomes too great, the cavity can collapse into a shockwave.” 

“More simple.” 

Vision follows her as she fills her cup with tea, drizzling honey in while she stirs and then tossing in a pinch of sugar for good measure. No one else on the team ever attempts to understand him this way, to demand he work on his communication, and so he is never offended when she asks him to rephrase or simplify. “When you use your powers now, they are free-flowing, like,” the simile of his revelation may be apt to use now, “a cephalopod…” Wanda glances up at him as she blows gently on the tea, and wordlessly she informs him to keep simplifying, “a squid or an octopus, when it is alarmed, it sends out ink into the water. This method is particularly useful for obfuscating,” another glance and he runs through a thesaurus online, “confusing people, a distraction–” 

A shimmering cloud engulfs her hand, wispy and tumultuous with the rotation of her wrist, “Are you forgetting how my squid powers took you down in training last week.” 

“I am not, it was an impressive display of power,” she glances down at her tea though it is not enough to fully mask the upward curve of her mouth, “but you would have been victorious even faster had you acted more like a pistol shrimp.” 

“Which would be?” 

“Oh, um,” this speech went smoother when he rehearsed it earlier in the morning, though his conversational skills are always more confident when he is alone and practicing than when her green eyes are locking onto him, flecked with an amusement that sends electric shocks down his spine, “to gather your powers into a bundle of unequal pressure and then let it loose.” If the quirk of her eyebrow is any indication, this is still not as illuminating as he hoped. “I can show you a video?”

Wanda waves her hand at the tablet on the counter and she takes the seat next to his as he searches for a good example. Together they watch a five minute clip of a pistol shrimp, first at actual speed which makes it look like the shrimp is punching the air, but then the scientists present a slowed down version and together they watch as a small air bubble forms in the middle of the open pincher. “This is pretty cool.” 

A warmth, similar to his first time winning one of the training challenges, circles his chest, “It is.”  

Suddenly the shrimp closes its pincher and the bubble collapses, sending a shockwave through the water, stirring the rocks at the bottom of the tank and immobilizing the smaller crustacean in the tank. When the video ends, Wanda lifts her hand, powers collapsing from their usual tempest into a centralizing orb. “So, you’re saying something like this could be more effective?” 

“Assuming your powers can be driven by cavitation, yes, with enough pressure you may be able to more efficiently remove threats.”  

She studies the orb undulating in her palm, head cocked to the side, allowing the red to reflect off her eyes, and Vision is briefly mesmerized by it, until she extinguishes the orb, jolting him back to the present. “Worth a shot. I assume you already have exercises planned?” 

Others on the team have said similar statements, theirs laced with exhaustion and aggravation, at times, Wanda’s is neither of those, the corners of her eyes pinching as the right side of her mouth tips up. “I do, yes. Shall we reconvene in the training gym in approximately fifteen minutes?” 

“Sounds good.” 

  When they meet again, he has restructured his molecules into his uniform, feeling like his new staple of slacks and a sweater do not belong in such a space. Wanda is not in her uniform, but is wearing the same outfit she dons when Steve forces her on the morning run three days a week. “Okay,” Wanda’s tightens her ponytail as she talks, “so how are we doing this?” 

“I believe we should start simple, so I have set up a number of targets ranging in weight and size,” he directs her towards a table containing several sizes of soup cans, dumbbells, and kettlebells. “I have downloaded a relatively novel program that will allow me to analyze both the broadband noise and subharmonics created before you unleash your powers.” 

Wanda’s lips tighten in time with her hesitant nod, “I’m guessing that’s how you tell the, um, power of the attack?” 

It is close to what he is doing, if she replaces power with pressure. “Precisely.” A broad, toothy smile parts her lips and he mimics it, always enjoying these small moments of glee she shares with him. “Would you like to try?” 

“Yep.” Wanda spreads her feet out so her stance is a touch wider than her shoulders, her right foot approximately an inch closer to the display than her left. Slowly her powers pool around her hand and even more slowly she draws them together into an orb. He expects her to release it, but she doesn’t, instead her fingers continue to wave, weaving her powers into a bigger orb that spins faster and faster. 

He checks the measurements streaming through his mind and frowns, the display reporting an error. It is only at the subtle dip of her hand that he figures out the problem, “Wanda wai—” she doesn’t hear him soon enough and she flicks her wrist, the orb soaring through the air and exploding upon contact with a can of tomato soup that never stood a chance. The shockwave of the hit throws the table across the gym, the viscous soup coating the floor looking more like blood than lunch and several new holes have been created in the wall from the weights. Vision rushes to Wanda’s side, “Are you okay?” 

Shock pulls her jaw down, eyes wide and hands clasped into fists at her thighs. “That was fucking awesome.” 

“I—” he follows her gaze to the destruction, not certain awesome is the best term, it was remarkable, for sure, but he’s going to have to explain how this happened to Natasha and Steve and Tony, a meeting he is not thrilled about. His worry is eradicated when she laughs because it’s the freest sound he’s ever heard from her, effervescent and untamed, her body shaking so much she leans against his shoulder for support. “It was amazing.” 

“There’s soup everywhere!” 

“Yes,” her reaction is infectious, his own lungs beginning to spasm as light huffs intersperse his response, “that was an oversight on my behalf.” 

“At least it you didn't grab something like corn.” 

The image of hundreds of kernels littering the ground is a much worse reality. “This is true.” 

Wanda straightens her spine, removing her touch from him, and turns with a smile that might almost be described as wicked. “Can we do it again?” 

A survey of the damage forces him to reassess his strategy. “Yes, though I believe we need to be more methodical.” 

Together they pick up the table, Vision arranging the weights on it while Wanda uses her powers and a mop to remove the soup from the ground. “So, what’s the plan?” 

“I believe we should experiment with how much pressure you build up to determine the amount needed to effectively deal with the target without destroying it.” 

For the next hour they do just that, Vision reading the indices and informing Wanda when to release her orb. They start small, and work until finding the most efficient amount per each weight. Once they’ve done this, he stops informing her of when to attack, instead allowing her to determine the feel of it in her hands, since he cannot constantly assess her during a mission. It’s after she’s successfully sent the heaviest weight flying an acceptable and not destructive distance that they move on to the punching bags, which are more analogous to the foes they face. With each target she grows more confident, the power coalescing faster and faster until she can attack within seconds.  

During their (well her) water break, Wanda suggests the next step, one he hadn’t yet conceptualized since he did not (foolishly, admittedly) anticipate her being so proficient after a half day. “You know, in the video we watched the prey was moving, so I don't think I'm one with the pistol shrimp yet since we've just used immobile targets....” 

"Oh, well, I can find some of the mechanized bullseyes from the supply closet."

This doesn't seem to be what she had in mind, the tips of her ponytail dancing as she clarifies, "Those never move like the actual people we face on missions."

A true statement and one dripping with suggestion that is driven home by her pointed stare at him. It takes Vision 1.5 seconds longer than it should to fully grasp the implication. “Are you asking me to be your soup can?” 

“Yes.” Her face grows serious other than the flicker of red in her eyes, “Vision, will you be my soup can?” 

He’s not sure why the question releases a torrent of heat in his cheeks, a reaction he will need to further parse out at a later time. “I suppose since you asked so nicely, I have no reason not acquiesce.” 

 “Don’t worry,” she pats his arm as he walks past, an action she’s never done before, “I’ll be gentle.” 

Vision has to suppress the way her actions and the glimmer in her eye make him feel unsteady, keep his voice calm and unaffected as he quips back, “I believe I am somewhat more formidable than Campbell’s.” 

“We’ll see.” 

He stands twenty feet from her, the optimal distance they decided on during the prior phase of her training. “I will maintain my normal density for this.” Wanda sends him a thumbs up and he activates the program, recording the accelerate spike in both the broadband noise and subharmonic index, sending her a wave when he believes it should have some effect. The orb crashes into his body, the shockwave of it bursting flutters his cape, but nothing else occurs. “Try again.” And she does, fifteen times and yet she can’t seem to send him farther than a centimeter back. “Perhaps try using both hands to form the orb?” He has no basis for the suggestion, but he hypothesizes that each of her hands serves as an independent source, using both might double the impact.  

Wanda’s feet spread a bit farther apart as her arms wave through the air, the orb oscillating between her palms reaching the highest threshold of his measurement system in a matter of seconds. The power is released before he tells her, not to any detriment, the burst of scarlet against his chest sending his sympathetic system into a frenzy, his body desperate to increase its density but he resists, instead allowing her to throw him back into the wall.  

“Oh shit!” Footfalls echo around the gym, the noise bouncing too fast for him to pinpoint her location until her hands wrap around his biceps, worry streaming from her fingers, “Vizh, you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?” 

Her right hand leaves his body and hovers in front of his face, fingers bending and straightening as his eyes adjust. “You are switching between two and three fingers.” 

“Can’t even trick you after that.” 

Vision smirks at the despondency in her response, sitting up slowly while running a quick system check. “Wanda,” she meets his eyes, “that was incredible.” The last stray wisp of concern leaves her face, replaced by a proud grin. “Shall we try it again, only I will fly this time?” 

“Only if you’re okay.” 

“I am fine.” 

Despite his assurance, Wanda still offers her his hand, helping him stand before returning to her position in the gym. It’s at this point that Natasha comes in, a wave towards them that states she’s merely here to watch. Wanda’s fingers flex at the added attention, still overcoming her self-consciousness of being scrutinized by the former spy during training.  Vision takes a moment to approach Wanda, standing far enough away to not encroach in her personal space, but close enough that she can hear his slightly lower voice. “Pay no mind to Natasha,” Wanda’s head tilts, in what may be annoyance or anger or some other emotion he has yet to determine in situations such as this, “I want you to go back to one handed throws. We want to train your accuracy first and then you can add more power.” 

“Okay.” 

“And Wanda.” 

“Yeah?” 

For some reason he is tempted to reach out to her, give her arm a comforting embrace, but he doesn’t, instead clenching his fingers into fists at his side. “Remember that no one else on the team can do what you can.” 

His comment seems to latch onto the corners of her mouth, tugging it up into a brief smile. “Don’t go easy on me, okay?” 

He reassures her with a heartfelt, “I will not.” 

Vision lifts into the air, eyes scanning the gym for all accessible routes and protection. For the first attempts, he determines to remain relatively low to the ground, allowing her to fine tune her aim at a more accessible level before moving higher and requiring greater calculation on her behalf. He waits for her to form an orb before moving. Like with any other foe, he positions himself so that she is always in his view, even if it is just his periphery, but primarily he utilizes his proprioception to determine how to angle is body or bend his limbs to avoid her attacks. Even with her rapid-fire method, the closest she gets to a hit is a singe to his cape, her movements too predictable to him given the hours they have spent training together. Vision lands softly in front of her, assessing the stoop of her shoulders and the way her fingernails are digging into her palms, a small action he has come to associate with her frustration. “I believe we may be approaching this incorrectly.” 

“How so?” The weightless ease of her voice is gone, replaced by the measured rhythm she uses during any other training, particularly after being beaten down a few rounds by Natasha.  

No single animal utilizes just one attack pattern, nor do any of the Avengers, and yet that’s what they’ve been trying to do. “We have only been focusing on this one aspect of your powers, but for the task at hand, you need to utilize more than that.” Wanda waits for him to continue, arms crossing as her eyes slide to where Natasha is sitting. “You need to obfuscate first...” 

Now her attention returns to him, “So squid power you?” 

“I- yes, correct, distract me and then—�� 

Her frustrations flips into understanding, “Then I pistol shrimp you.” 

"Correct.”  

A shared nod cements the plan and he returns to the air, waiting, yet again, until scarlet oozes from her hands to begin flying. This time is very different, every direction he flies is teeming with scarlet clouds, each one obscuring his view and sending him into a new location, only to be met with another dense nebula. Vision decides to tempt fate by flying through one of the formations, having no other means of getting to the other side of the gym, it’s then that the cloud constricts around him, throwing off his senses long enough that he feels an impact on his side, hard enough that it stings yet soft enough that he remains steady in the air. Vision lands, hand rubbing out the branching tingle still spreading throughout his oblique. “That was much more effective.” 

“It was. Mind if we try ag—” 

Before she can finish, a new voice enters the gym, Steve’s authoritative, “Training starts in two minutes everyone,” setting an end to her suggestion, Wanda’s mouth closing and her shoulders shrugging, the look on her face one he thinks says Maybe later?

   A week later he stands again with Steve and Sam, arms crossed and head tilted to the right, his eyes never leaving the varying patterns of scarlet through the plexiglass. This time her powers seem to dance, a careful choreography of wild undulation followed by disciplined restriction. “Holy shit,” Sam steps closer to the glass, hand rubbing his chin at the destruction being wrought within, “she’s even more terrifying now.” 

Terror is still an odd descriptor, because what Vision sees before him is more beautiful than even the undisturbed dawn over the mountains, the memory of her powers erupting in tingles along his skin, a fascinating texture he now associates with power and marvel.  

“What exactly did you two work on?” Steve only watched some of their additional trainings, never interceding, something he tends to do when the more fantastical powers are at play.  

Vision doesn’t pull his gaze from Wanda as he answers, “Obfuscation and cavitation.” 

“Not really helpful, man.” Sam, like Wanda, will always tell him if he is being too dense, though never as nicely, but never rudely either.  

The other way Vision can think to explain it likely won’t help them either, but it is how Wanda describes it to him as she eats lunch after their trainings, hair dripping with sweat, hands shaking from her hard work, and her smile radiant, so he determines it cannot be worse, “She has become one with the squid and the shrimp.”  

“Okay then,” Sam’s two words last for four seconds, his confusion palpable, but Vision doesn’t amend the statement, deciding to let Wanda explain it to them later, allowing Vision to become engrossed in the fascinatingly breathtaking display in front of them.

[sights-on-the-scifi]

THE COMPLETE SIGHTS OF SCIFI STAR WARS REVIEW PART 1.

In this first part of my series ill be covering the select prequel entertainment to the original STAR WARS trilogy, this is not just a review of the prequel film trilogy directed by George Lucas. It is also a review of the media that takes place chronologically between the events of REVENGE OF THE SITH and the 1977 classic STAR WARS otherwise known as a A NEW HOPE. I must again stress that this is not a review of every TV show or book available, also some of this media I will include in my review is no longer officially recognised as franchise canon anymore.

What this review represents is a personal preference based inferred chronology of games and movies. Unfortunately I cant cover THE CLONE WARS animated show, at least not yet as there is just too much of that stuff to cover consistently.

THE STAR WARS PREQUELS.

I must admit that i’m not the biggest fan of the prequel trilogy, this is also the case for a lot of die hard original trilogy fans out there. But in light of the fact JEDI FALLEN ORDER takes place directly after them, I saw it fit to return to these movies with a fresh perspective and to refresh my memory... See what works and what does not, perhaps see if they are as bad as I recall.

THE PHANTOM MENACE 1999.

What really stood out to me immediately upon returning to this first movie is its bold and colourful production design, to this day it is still quite incredible to behold... To see just how much art has gone into this new vision of Lucas’s universe. The aim it seems was to craft a more complex galaxy in terms of architectural design and contrasting cultural aesthetics, turning back the clock to a time of diverse fashions and cleaner technologies. While it is not always fully consistent especially given the fact it stands in direct contrast with the original trilogy universe we all come to expect, today I can understand the logic of this creative direction.

We are seeing the galaxy in a time that is for the most part unfamiliar with any recent large scale galactic conflicts... A time of relative peace for this republic though we do get a lot of hints throughout nothing is all quite perfect. Based on the fact that the Trade federation does not compose an army of its own civilian subjects, it is also safe to assume that most of the fighting in this galaxy is carried out by automated infantry units whenever a show of force is required to settle disputes.

It is very interesting visual world building.

Unfortunately the movie outside of this beautiful art direction is still, even years later... A complete and total mess in terms of tone, story and some technical aspects. There are fascinating ideas and politics at play here dont get me wrong, but the way in which the story that surrounds this stuff was executed still leaves much to be desired.

The acting is very monotone, the characters very bland (Sometimes incredibly annoying) and the stakes virtually non existent as we are mostly told, not shown the apparently dire events of this plot. What little plot there seems to be anyway as for the most part it can be boiled down to this [COUGH], the dark lord of the sith is scheming in the shadows... Creating an elaborate proxy conflict that’s escalating problems will facilitate his rise to power within the political ranks of the republic’s democracy. This manufactured crisis involves many different parties both human and alien who dont really get developed that much, and for the most part they all have no idea what is actually happening, which is the point I guess “The phantom menace”... But its just not an interesting enough mystery as it should be at first.

We get introduced to a young Anakin who gets some decent character development as he should. Discovering his compassionate side and knack for piloting in the exciting pod race sequence, but after this he pretty much fades into the background... Same with other franchise essential individuals like Obi Wan Kenobi who spends the majority of his time following orders and waiting on a fancy ship complaining that nothing is happening.

Who can blame him... Overall the first movie in this prequel trilogy while fascinating is still ultimately a boring experience. Thankfully the Attack of the clones will prove to be a lot more interesting!

ATTACK OF THE CLONES 2002.

Taking place just a few years after the events of the PHANTOM MENACE we find ourselves discovering the more fascinating intricacies of the sith lord’s plot to take control of the galaxy and build the empire. All the while Anakin gets tangled in complications relating to his relationship with a major senator that will eventually result in him falling to the dark side, seeing his inner darkness finally become externalised. Like with the first movie, this film also unfortunately suffers a lot of those same issues related to structure, stakes and pacing. Production design has also seen a few regressions as most if not all of this movie is rendered in a computer with exception to the live actors of course... But overall Attack of the clones is a lot more focused and competent when it comes to exploring its political subject matter and scifi concepts.

As the film progresses we discover the secret plot of the sith lord, as separatist factions rise up in opposition to the republic and a ethically questionable clone army is ordered in secret to combat this proxy threat they pose. This peaceful, democratic republic is thrust into an all out conflict as the Jedi order is eluded to the true implications of these strange political and military developments, becoming willing pawns in this meaningless war which will serve to be their undoing.

The clone soldiers in this movie are a very interesting scifi concept that I heard are explored more in animated TV show, but what I see here is still fascinating regardless. This is essentially an army of obedient, docile and expendable human beings who like the battle droids serve only one purpose, which is to fight for a cause they may not even be fully aware of. The willing usage of this army by the republic is a clear sign that the values that hold their society together are being corrupted in the name of ensuring security, you could even consider these clones indoctrinated slaves. Charging into battle and dying by the thousands at the command of the Jedi warriors, they are an entire army born to fight and eventually die doing so... It is quite terrifying once you really start to think about it.

I enjoyed ATTACK OF THE CLONES for the most part, its interesting to see how this peaceful republic gradually starts to turn into the fascist empire we are all familiar with in the original trilogy.

As always it could of been executed better, but that just was not to be case... So we make do with what we have here even if its imperfect.

REVENGE OF THE SITH 2005.

The final movie in the prequel trilogy, REVENGE OF THE SITH takes all of the gradual political developments of the first two movies and shows us their ultimate consequences. The Jedi order loses its way and is then destroyed by the clone army through order 66 while the survivors go into hiding, the separatist leaders are wiped out, Anakin falls to the dark side becoming Darth vader, and the sith lord rises to become emperor of the newly established galactic empire.

As the title of the movie states, the sith have their revenge.

Its a very dark movie and for the most part it is well executed in that department. There is not much else to say about it other than it being the expected conclusion of this storyline... Great music, some interesting concepts and scenes same with the rest of them. Seeing the tragedy unfold is very intriguing, even if there is a lot of missing context between Clones and this movie that water down its overall emotional impact somewhat, unfortunately most of that is in the animated TV show I have yet to watch.

To be honest upon re-watching all of these movies I would say I have grown to develop a small but noticeable new appreciation for em. They are still pretty bad in a lot of ways that will always be a annoyance, but i will admire the novel effort.

In the next part of my review series ill be covering the next four pieces of media that serve to fill the narrative gap between REVENGE OF THE SITH and STAR WARS 1977.

So stay tuned for BRIDGES TO A NEW HOPE.