#unholy partnership

[girl4music]

Is anybody gonna talk about how he seemed to believe that he had a soul when he lost his memory?

Innate monster, my ass. Just give him a blank slate and he is literally Angel. Without the brooding…

BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER | S6E8: Tabula Rasa

[ozzgin]

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[More Monsters]

[roamingwildflower13]

the solo era, my somewhat incoherent ramblings….

There is constantly so much ridiculous, inane discourse and nonsense about the ‘solo era’, from both tkkrs, haters and solos alike, even sometimes insecure jikookers, both on twitter, and here. I have had enough of it, so here is what I think happened in early 2023, using mostly facts, and some potential logic.

(disclaimer – for this suspend any disbelief you hold about Jikook as a couple, for this purpose, and in real life, they are)

Jimin came back from Paris in late January and went into full Face mode. I think that it was around this time that they either made the decision to not see each other, or barely, likely so Jimin could focus, or as a consequence of his business. If the former, I imagine this would be for around two months, so February and March. 

JK is on a break from work. Come February 1st, JK decides to randomly start doing lives, at home, without ‘company permission’. As an aside - despite people subsequently getting used to his lives, and him doing a few of them, he didn’t really do that many during February. He did one on the 1st, one on the 3rd, and then the 11th. There was then a big gap, and he next came live on 28thFebruary. That’s it. It wasn’t as if it was everyday. (I’m saying this as a way of highlighting that it’s not as if he were bored and going live every single day during this period).

So from the get go, Jimin commented on the lives. Often Jimin would say where he was, what he was doing, and used terms of endearment (my ‘shrimp’…I want to tie your hair back, have fun with Army and Bam, I will be back after work). Hardly what you would do if you were broken up/avoiding someone/distant/fell out etc etc. Equally, every time Jimin commented, JK would light up with his Jimin Hyung smile ™. Again, not something you would do automatically if you were broken up/distant/fell out etc etc. 

This continued in all three lives, the live at the Boxing class especially stood out, due to the obvious familiarity between JK, the coach, and Jimin. JK saying Jimin would come with him again when he has time (highlighted especially because Hobi was also in the comments but this attending boxing lessons applied only to Jimin, thank you K Army for highlighting the nuances of the honorifics or lack there of). 

There was then a big gap between lives, with JK at this point, as we now know, going to visit Tae in Hawaii to sky dive and hang out. There is some debate whether this is also where he went to the USA to do the CK shoot – which was filmed by late March, so the timeframe fits for this. At some point, we found out in April, that JK also visited Jimin whilst he was practicing his dance for SMFP2, he was wearing full CK, which links to the fact the partnership was underway, and I would estimate this was either mid-February or early March before Jimin flew out to USA for Fallon. 

Either way, my point being, Jimin was obviously very busy, JK was on a ‘break’ from work, but did actually do his CK work during this time frame of Feb/March. 

JK went live next on 4th March, and this is where he gets drunk and fell asleep on his live. This was probably the first live that was hard to watch for me, as it did seem like he was struggling. I know people like to avoid this somewhat, but it did seem like that to me, and that is fair enough, heck he is human. He was also struggling with people stalking him at the gym, and at his home, which he addressed in such a beautiful way. Boundaries people.

I want to add here, that Jimin also went live a handful of times during this period, in the lead up to Face, at the company. He would often mention JK in his own lives, though to my knowledge/memory at that point, JK didn’t comment on his much. During one, he fondly spoke about JK and Euphoria and would often recall what JK did in his last live, including farting, falling asleep and singing ‘unholy’.  On Hobi’s birthday, at the company, Jimin joined him for a bit, it was extremely cute to see them, and Jimin dancing to ‘killing me softly’ is just (chefs kiss). I have seen solos/antis and haters wonder why JK didn’t join them if he missed them, turns out he was actually in Hawaii, so that is why. 

By mid-March, Jimin was gearing up for the release of Face. He flew to NYC on 13th March. JK went live three/four times the next day, White Day, each live he dressed differently, and at one point he explained to Jimin, who was in the comments, what he was doing. I don’t think I personally will ever forget the Prince Eric (cough my og gay awakening) vibes he gave with that white shirt, but moving on…. 

During this series of lives, JK became increasingly melancholic, in my opinion. He had his mood lights on, he was playing music, he had a candle, and he was drinking. By the time the lives ended, he told Army to look forward to midnight, because ‘something amazing is coming’, that something being Jimin’s teaser for ‘Set me Free Pt2’. And he was right, it was truly amazing. 

Face was released 24th March 2023, and just wow. It took the world a little while, but eventually we realised that there was a hidden track on the physical album, one which had background vocals that sounded eerily similar to JK’s. Turns out they were. On the beautiful song ‘Letter’, JK providing background vocals towards the end of the song. The  weverse version of the album containing a booklet of handwritten original lyrics from Jimin’s notes (again K Army, thank you for the context of words used). The track listing in the booklet hidden in white so you can barely see it. Jimin never speaking on the fact that JK provided those background vocals (not until we saw the production diary later on in the year). A fan song. Yeah…moving on.

At some point, I cannot remember the date, but in late March OT7 had a dinner together. Yoongi posted a pic on Instagram of 5 of them, stating Jimin and Tae had gone off earlier. A day or so after this, JM posted on wevserse ‘I miss you’, to which JK replied ‘me too’. 

(side note- my memory is fuzzy at the best of times so if any of this is the wrong way wrong I apologise, but this is the jist of it all)

28th March, JM went live on the way back from a music show recording in the car, he said he was on his way back to the company. He thanked fans for coming to see him. Someone in the comments asked him if they had seen JKs pictures – to which he replied, yes, with a phew face. JK appeared in the comments not long after this, he commented a total of 19 ish times on the live. JM engaging from that point only with him, it was like we ‘fans’ ceased to exist. JK said he wanted to ‘come see Jimin’s next show’ to which Jimin replied, this was the last one, he told JK not to worry as he had come see him practice (at this point, we fans hadn’t seen this by way of any SM or BB, that came later…), and Jimin said that ‘time flies’. Anti’s/haters and solos like to use this quote as meaning JK had no clue about JM’s schedule – I think these people lack common sense. The most important part of the conversation was when JK declared himself as Jimin’s fan. The rest is whatever re schedule, heck at one point in a live prior Jimin himself said he didn’t know what time a life was planned for the next day, so there we go.

Later on, in the early hours of the morning after the 28th March conversation, JK went live. In this live he spoke about CK, the pictures just having been released. He then asked himself what he came live for…turns out it was to literally just watch Jimin on Suchwita. Boy got a bit frustrated when he couldn’t find the video on YouTube, when he did find it, he settled back to watch Jimin on the show, and had to apologise later to Army because as he said ‘he tends not to talk when he’s focussed’. Recently K Army have also pointed out the way JK describes Jimins way of thinking here in this live. It’s truly lovely and endearing to hear he speaks so fondly about Jimin.

This ends March, and Face promotions come to an end. In essence, we are talking potentially about two months. Two months where they didn’t see, or didn’t see each other very often. Not to minimise how hard this would be for them, I am sure it was, it seemed to be especially on JKs part, but as Jimin said ‘time flies’. 

By mid-April, after JK had been to California and Coachella, (he was starting to officially to work), Hobi enlisted, and this is where we get to see them on a bangtan bomb, in real time, with the hug that was felt around the world. K Army letting us know that they were most certainly spent the night before drinking together. 

I know in reality after this as fans we still did not see them together much, but it my believe that this is when they began to spend more normalised time together. Why? Call it a gut feeling, and the fact that JK was brighter, his whole demeanour changed once he was back working, and likely that he was seeing Jimin more often again, what with Face promotions being over, and likely planning for the show and his work was starting. To contextualise this, we now know that Jimin was finishing Muse during this period after Face, we know he went to the USA again, attended Yoongi’s concert, recorded ‘Who’, and then went to London in May. The next time we saw them together, is in late June, at Yoongi’s concert in Seoul, with Tae. They looked normal, happy, and touchy. Weeks later, mid-July, JK flies to NYC, and a day later Jimin follows him. We didn’t know why at the time, we now know, and the rest, as they say, is history. But for JK and his lives, they did continue, and he often would just go live when Jimin flew out of the country, he did this in April (specifically after the premiere he attended with Tae), in May (he had also done this in March). It became a running joke within the jikook space, but once is a coincidence, 4/5 times is not. 

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A post shared by Jikook Universo (@jk.jm13_)

All of this to say, I personally think there was only really those two ish months, February- March, that they truly did not see each other much, if at all, but by late March, they were. So really, we are talking about Face preparations and promotions. We do know they saw each other a few times from that we saw as fans, because JK went to see Jimin’s dance practice (though we didn’t see his arrival…side eye), and they met at the OT7 meal in late March, and then Hobi’s enlistment BB.

What I do also think, and it is obviously what they said about the show, that the show was born from this period of time. They hadn’t been anywhere together in a while. By that though, I mean it was planned in advance (anyone who thinks otherwise is daft, because they would have needed coordination of staff and equipment , permits, and plans – the Forbes article said both were involved in the planning. Jimin certainly made clear he made it happen.) I know this whole narrative of it being last minute/sprung upon, was from JK and what he said to Yoongi in Suchwita, but nah, that cannot be what happened in terms of the planning. They may have waited until a right period of time, the logistics planed out, and the timing left to the last minute, but otherwise no. second to this, a mutual informed me an Army on X, who visited the kayak place, was told by the owner that the location was scouted three months prior to the shoot, which would be around April/May time. 

I do also think, and this is a bit controversial, that the show was an idea prior from Jimin, but probably also as a grand gesture of sorts. Hear me out, if I am right, Jimin was busy with Face, and bless him, barely had any time – P Dogg told us how hard he was practicing daily, JK was concerned for his health already in Feb. He often told BB about his eating, and what meal he wanted to eat. He was working so hard. And yes, in periods like this, especially considering this was solo work, but in any line of work where your partner is busy, the other party ‘suffers’ so to speak. (by that I do not mean that JK was unable to survive without Jimin, (or vice Versa) he did just fine, but it was obvious to anyone with eyes, that he was missing him, especially on the late March Jimin focussed live and his ‘miss you’ reply (kinda gives it away), that and his eye crinkles of happiness hugging Jimin at Hobi’s enlistment). But yeah, Jimin was busy, he was promoting, and I think as a gesture Jimin pulled through with the show idea. My timeline also links well with this, given that the Kayak place said the location was scouted three months prior to July, so April/May, just as Jimin finished Face promo. 

I also think, again, controversial maybe, that Jimin did this as a grand gesture of putting JK first. By that, I mean we know that he did spend a lot of time in the solo era with Hobi, Yoongi and others. He mentioned speaking to them often, in lives (Hobi and Yoongi), he went to D-Day a couple of times, he supported Hobi, and they supported him at his shows and shoots. He mentioned to Fallon that he kept most in contact with them both, not Tae, not Joon, not JK, and despite Jin being enlisted, we know Jimin visited him with Hobi. Now I am in no way saying that is a bad thing, or that is not allowed, or that he did not in fact see JK, we simply do not know. But, I do think that part of the reason for the show is that they could be seen together in content. I have held his belief for a wee while now, but I am almost certain that is a part of it. I think this feeling was reinforced seeing the different perceptive of Jimin entering the restaurant in JK’s documentary ‘I am still’ and the smile on JKs face to the camera. His ‘finally’ – to me means not only that he is getting his Jimin for quality time. JK said over and over how happy he was, how these were the best trips of his life, how grateful he was to Jimin for joining him in the USA. This thought is also reinforced with the sheer confidence JK asked to go to Jimin’s or for Jimin to come to his, in his ‘bed live’ in late July, after filming he must have thought, why not. Turns out, for whatever reason, Jimin was not willing to go that far, but he tried bless him. 

I feel that it was a choice, a choice they made for what reason only they know, to essentially go from seeming like they were not seeing each other (if they did or did not), to state that in the show in the car conversation, and to make out like they hadn’t in lives – to literally enlist together late 2023, (to the shock of all the fandom) and then in 2024, to have content show that no, they did see each other. It was such a 180 switch, quite dramatic in fact, that the only thing I can think of is that it was a choice made on purpose. Someone in fact asked this in a post, why did JM release Muse whilst he is in the military? But similarly, why the timing of all of it? I know it was for content whilst they were away, for fans to enjoy, but the timing of all projects is obviously worked out and discussed, this is no different, the choice to film but not state what they were doing at the time (for JK to go live and Jimin being in the same room/hotel ready to film but we got nothing, so much for fan service). It was a choice to deny they saw each other much if at all, to have Jimin tell Joonie in MMM2 (content which came out in Muse promo June 2024) that he and JK drink together often, to have Jimin saying in the behind of Jeju that he spent the night prior to flying out, at JKs and he cooked for him, despite having just landed from NYC (where he ran in the airport). In the Muse puzzle, that his fave food was by JK, as if Army and solos could guess that? 

It was a choice. 

It was also a choice to film the show at all, they didn’t have to, they didn’t need to, and seemingly a lot of the fandom sadly didn’t care that they did (side eye solos, haters and the cult) So although they said they filmed it for fans, they didn’t need to at all. We would never have demanded, never have suspected either. They are already famous, they already are wealthy, talented and have both Army and solo fans (mostly rude ignorant ones unfortunately), so why? We could get to the chicken and egg of it all, about them needing permits to travel abroad around enlistment, but still it’s a choice. It’s a choice to film, a choice to travel and film, etc. Just food for thought.

To conclude because I’ve rambled long enough, no haters/antis/insecure people and solo muppets, they did not not see each other, they did, and they are only the bits we know by the way, same for all the members. We only know what they want us to know. This is not a case of ‘pic or it didn’t happen’, they don’t owe us anything. (Please repeat that like a mantra).

When they speak about not seeing each other when busy, perhaps also just sit back and think about them having to navigate their solo work, being a (potentially) queer couple in SK navigating that, how they chose to present themselves in comparison to the others, their upcoming enlistment (and the fact they were applying to do that together behind the scenes, and they did it). The planning and execution of a show, etc etc. When you wonder about why they did not go live together, maybe watch the minute or so they were together for Jimin’s live watch of ‘production diary’ and take notes. 

I also want to add, because again, there is some inane discourse by solos going around here about support, and JK’s supposed lack of towards Jimin in this era. Firstly, it is not up to us as fans to decide what level of support that either Jimin or Jungkook are happy with, and what they want or require from each other, as friends or otherwise. And secondly, it is simply just not true even from what we did see, that they did not support each other. So, just stop. Grow up, stop hating real people with a very real bond, and go out and get some life experience, for your own benefit if nothing else.

&& use common sense please, oh and be respectful at all times to our 7.

Thank you

💜

[wildernessworship]

Misty and Lottie is a really underexplored dynamic within the show and fandom, which is a shame, because I feel like they're different enough to keep things spicy, but similar enough that they could really understand each other. Friendship or romance, they could make for an extremely effective yet dysfunctional partnership that would be an unholy terror for everyone.

On the surface, they don't seem to have much in common. Misty is calculating and practical, acting on cold hard logic and the appearance of rationality. Lottie basically operates on vibes alone, letting feeling and intuition guide her. Misty has an overeager enthusiasm that people find off-putting and fake, and she has to establish her competence before anyone bothers to take her seriously. Lottie has a steady, calming energy that's like a magnetic force, and her earnestness makes her very persuasive. 

But at heart, they're both weird, intense, and lonely neurodivergent girlies who crave validation and a sense of community. They want to be close to people but are always on the outside, struggling to truly connect. At school, Misty was a social outcast, regularly bullied by her peers. Medication and years of therapy helped Lottie mask enough to fit in and appear normal, but she flew under the radar by floating around without any close bonds. Before she moved to Wiskayok with her mom, she probably attended a private school in the city, and I wouldn't be surprised if she had experience with bullying too. 

In the wilderness and beyond, their similarities become more apparent. They take on roles as healers, but they also have a capacity for violence that they employ to "help" the group. They totally lack boundaries and can be very persistent and pushy in getting what they want. They're people pleasers that value themselves in terms of what they can do for others, and they give a lot but get very little back. People use them--Misty as a fixer, Lottie for emotional support--while simultaneously writing them off as aggravating, annoying, dangerous or crazy. And I mean, they both are pretty fucking crazy, but in their minds, they're totally normal and being very helpful. Nothing to see here, just girls doing regular girl things, sometimes with an axe!

Lottie's also one of the few people that hasn't treated Misty badly, excluded her, or acted like she's a singular nutjob. She's generally been pretty kind to her. Misty hasn't always reciprocated and has sometimes been harsh to Lottie, but lbr, Lottie is kind of drawn to that anyway. Misty too. For both of them, the more you push them away and resist them, the closer they want to get. 

They really haven't had a lot of direct interactions, but every time they do, it's intriguing. Misty panicking while Shauna's in labor, and Lottie swooping in, putting a hand on her tiddy chest, calming and refocusing her. Misty gently tending to Lottie after the beating, but also tearing in to her when she's horrified over Javi's death and purposefully mistranslating her to the group. Meeting in Lottie's compound as adults, and Lottie being a bit wary but still giving Misty free run of the place. Meeting at Shauna's house, and Lottie going straight in for a hug and trying to assuage Misty's guilt over Nat's death. The comedic gold of their slumber party with Callie. Lottie dying, and Misty being the one to truly give a fuck and dedicating herself to finding the killer.

I'm just saying, there's the potential for some interesting stuff here. The good ship Mistylot is a sturdy vessel and ready to sail, we just have to provide the wind. Oddball friendship or strange romance or a secret third thing, I'm perched.

[necrotic-nephilim]

for the ask game, an AU where (somehow…) jason and tim (begrudgingly) team up in the search for a hero/battle for the cowl era (either when jason says tim should work with him on the gang stuff or when batman jason asks tim to be his robin) :]

for the ask game!

god, Search For A Hero my beloved. for the Search For A Hero version of their team-up, I think I'd write it something like this

I think the biggest reason Tim says no when Jason asks him is Jason asks Tim too early in the arc. as the storyline develops, Tim gets more and more desperate to best Ulysses, which is what pushes him to make the mistake that gets Ulysses' siblings killed. he's in a tight spot and he misjudges the situation. (i think the guilt he carries from that moment is one of the biggest inciting incidents for becoming Red Robin) so, i'd introduce Jason to the plot just a little later. just as Tim is on the edge of desperation. Tim isn't entirely adverse to working with villains if he thinks he can stay on top of them. so instead of sending Jason to prison, i think if Jason came to Tim at the right time, Tim would begrudging accept Jason's help

part of Tim's plan would be leveraging Jason's power with the mafia/mob scene in Gotham. they'd agree that topping the gangs would just cause a power vacuum (i'm pretty sure that's actually addressed in SFAH but i could be misremembering) so it's more about a balancing act, which is where Jason thrives. Tim is right on the cusp of being willing to do more morally questionable things, so it'd be a fun internal war for him to second-guess himself at every turn.

there would be such a delightful lack of trust in their partnerships. TIm has *zero* reason to trust Jason, and while Jason likes Tim enough, i don't think he's naive enough to put any trust in Tim. so there'd be moments where they don't fill each other in on aspects of the plan. Jason kills people behind Tim's back, Tim keys in his cop friend behind Jason's back. it builds the tension between them with a lot of hot arguments that get more and more charged.

the jealousy. there would just have to be a scene where Jason gets wildly jealous over Ulysses' complex over Tim. Ulysses tries so hard to pit himself as like, Tim's biggest adversary, his opposite. and Jason would *despise* that. sure, Jason is working with Tim, but part of the fun is that they're still enemies as they do it. i think it'd be sort of fun to have the moment where Ulysses blows Tim up be something Jason witnesses and he raises unholy hell about. because if anyone is going to kill Tim Drake, it's going to be him. and that angry possessiveness is what makes the romantic/sexual tension something neither of them can ignore anymore.

Tim deciding to put on the Red Robin suit to fight Ulysses would be where Jason just. goes full tilt possessive "he's mine i marked him that's my suit. see. mine. i said so." and Tim would push back but. what ground does he have to stand on bc he could've picked any suit with any cowl to protect his head after the blast, but he did choose Jason's. it was his own open invitation to Jason in a way. and well. they fuck nasty about it. and then Damian becomes Robin, so why not Tim keep the suit and just maybe, keep Jason in his back pocket.

and!! for the Battle for the Cowl version. man on one hand i love "Tim accepts Jason's offer to be his Robin" fics but i feel they lack a bite to them, so this is personally how i would try to pull it off, while being relatively in character.

so the biggest thing for me is, TIm agrees to be Jason's Robin not because he trusts or likes Jason, but for the same reasons he became Robin in the first place: to keep Batman stable. being Jason's Robin isn't about wanting to work with Jason, it would be Tim knowing there's no world Jason is ever going to stop and seeing Jason slowly tip over the edge of madness and well. if Tim was self-sacrificial enough to do it for Bruce and attempt to do it for Jean-Paul, he can do it for Jason.

him agreeing would i think startle Jason. like, Jason's offer was never particularly serious because he's at the point he knows Tim wants nothing to do with him. so when Tim says yes it sort of. snaps Jason out of the rage BftC puts him in. he's so startled but enticed by the thought, he willingly agrees to stipulations Tim sets, like no murder. like even if just to see where this goes, Jason jumps on the chance.

i'd really want to keep Dick and Damian as Batman and Robin, and the weird divide that would exist with Dick/Damian and Jason/Tim both running around as Batman/Robin and how off kilter that puts Gotham. like Gotham is so baffled by it, it actually makes criminals easier to handle. because they have no clue if they're getting the Batman who needs Robin to keep him in line, or the Robin who needs Batman to keep him in line. people know there's two Batmans, two Robins and no one knows quite what to do with that information. who's the "real" Batman? who's the "real" Robin? and on the personal level, the divide between Dick and Tim would be unmistakable. Dick would know what Tim's doing and try to convince him Jason is a lost cause bc well, Dick at this point *really* believes Jason is a lost fucking cause. So Dick's genuine care and concern for Tim just drives a further wedge between them.

i think there'd need to be a scene where Tim flat out asks if Jason even *wants* to be Batman. in a sort of attempt to slowly ween Jason off of being Batman, but also because i don't think Jason ever really wants to be Batman, he just wants Batman to be what his vision of justice is. and it'd be the first real heart to heart they have, discussing the legacy of the Robin and Batman mantles and how it's affected them. it'd be heated, but it'd be their first real conversation as just. Jason and Tim.

to me, i think the end goal of this AU would be Tim successfully "taming" Jason, and not in like a soft way, but in like a manipulative way, where even Jason knows that's what Tim is doing, but he just goes along with it because it's the first real human connection he's had in a while. also, i would work in Scarlet, Jason's sidekick in Batman & Robin (2009) as like. a pseudo daughter figure for them to help Jason find his humanity a bit. so it's not just Tim as Jason's rock, but also this misguided girl they'd both try to help. and well, then they ride into the sunset and all that, but still have a complicated, toxic dynamic they're both aware is unhealthy, but as balanced as it can be.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The surveillance advertising to financial fraud pipeline

Monday (October 2), I'll be in Boise to host an event with VE Schwab. On October 7–8, I'm in Milan to keynote Wired Nextfest.

Being watched sucks. Of all the parenting mistakes I've made, none haunt me more than the times my daughter caught me watching her while she was learning to do something, discovered she was being observed in a vulnerable moment, and abandoned her attempt:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/blog/2014/may/09/cybersecurity-begins-with-integrity-not-surveillance

It's hard to be your authentic self while you're under surveillance. For that reason alone, the rise and rise of the surveillance industry – an unholy public-private partnership between cops, spooks, and ad-tech scum – is a plague on humanity and a scourge on the Earth:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/16/the-second-best-time-is-now/#the-point-of-a-system-is-what-it-does

But beyond the psychic damage surveillance metes out, there are immediate, concrete ways in which surveillance brings us to harm. Ad-tech follows us into abortion clinics and then sells the info to the cops back home in the forced birth states run by Handmaid's Tale LARPers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/29/no-i-in-uter-us/#egged-on

And even if you have the good fortune to live in a state whose motto isn't "There's no 'I" in uter-US," ad-tech also lets anti-abortion propagandists trick you into visiting fake "clinics" who defraud you into giving birth by running out the clock on terminating your pregnancy:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/15/paid-medical-disinformation/#crisis-pregnancy-centers

The commercial surveillance industry fuels SWATting, where sociopaths who don't like your internet opinions or are steamed because you beat them at Call of Duty trick the cops into thinking that there's an "active shooter" at your house, provoking the kind of American policing autoimmune reaction that can get you killed:

https://www.cnn.com/2019/09/14/us/swatting-sentence-casey-viner/index.html

There's just a lot of ways that compiling deep, nonconsensual, population-scale surveillance dossiers can bring safety and financial harm to the unwilling subjects of our experiment in digital spying. The wave of "business email compromises" (the infosec term for impersonating your boss to you and tricking you into cleaning out the company bank accounts)? They start with spear phishing, a phishing attack that uses personal information – bought from commercial sources or ganked from leaks – to craft a virtual Big Store con:

https://www.fbi.gov/how-we-can-help-you/safety-resources/scams-and-safety/common-scams-and-crimes/business-email-compromise

It's not just spear-phishers. There are plenty of financial predators who run petty grifts – stock swindles, identity theft, and other petty cons. These scams depend on commercial surveillance, both to target victims (e.g. buying Facebook ads targeting people struggling with medical debt and worried about losing their homes) and to run the con itself (by getting the information needed to pull of a successful identity theft).

In "Consumer Surveillance and Financial Fraud," a new National Bureau of Academic Research paper, a trio of business-school profs – Bo Bian (UBC), Michaela Pagel (WUSTL) and Huan Tang (Wharton) quantify the commercial surveillance industry's relationship to finance crimes:

https://www.nber.org/papers/w31692

The authors take advantage of a time-series of ZIP-code-accurate fraud complaint data from the Consumer Finance Protection Board, supplemented by complaints from the FTC, along with Apple's rollout of App Tracking Transparency, a change to app-based tracking on Apple mobile devices that turned of third-party commercial surveillance unless users explicitly opted into being spied on. More than 96% of Apple users blocked spying:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2021/05/96-of-us-users-opt-out-of-app-tracking-in-ios-14-5-analytics-find/

In other words, they were able to see, neighborhood by neighborhood, what happened to financial fraud when users were able to block commercial surveillance.

What happened is, fraud plunged. Deprived of the raw material for committing fraud, criminals were substantially hampered in their ability to steal from internet users.

While this is something that security professionals have understood for years, this study puts some empirical spine into the large corpus of qualitative accounts of the surveillance-to-fraud pipeline.

As the authors note in their conclusion, this analysis is timely. Google has just rolled out a new surveillance system, the deceptively named "Privacy Sandbox," that every Chrome user is being opted in to unless they find and untick three separate preference tickboxes. You should find and untick these boxes:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/09/how-turn-googles-privacy-sandbox-ad-tracking-and-why-you-should

Google has spun, lied and bullied Privacy Sandbox into existence; whenever this program draws enough fire, they rename it (it used to be called FLoC). But as the Apple example showed, no one wants to be spied on – that's why Google makes you find and untick three boxes to opt out of this new form of surveillance.

There is no consensual basis for mass commercial surveillance. The story that "people don't mind ads so long as they're relevant" is a lie. But even if it was true, it wouldn't be enough, because beyond the harms to being our authentic selves that come from the knowledge that we're being observed, surveillance data is a crucial ingredient for all kinds of crime, harassment, and deception.

We can't rely on companies to spy on us responsibly. Apple may have blocked third-party app spying, but they effect nonconsensual, continuous surveillance of every Apple mobile device user, and lie about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

That's why we should ban commercial surveillance. We should outlaw surveillance advertising. Period:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2022/03/ban-online-behavioral-advertising

Contrary to the claims of surveillance profiteers, this wouldn't reduce the income to ad-supported news and other media – it would increase their revenues, by letting them place ads without relying on the surveillance troves assembled by the Google/Meta ad-tech duopoly, who take the majority of ad-revenue:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-ban-surveillance-advertising

We're 30 years into the commercial surveillance pandemic and Congress still hasn't passed a federal privacy law with a private right of action. But other agencies aren't waiting for Congress. The FTC and DoJ Antitrust Divsision have proposed new merger guidelines that allow regulators to consider privacy harms when companies merge:

https://www.regulations.gov/comment/FTC-2023-0043-1569

Think here of how Google devoured Fitbit and claimed massive troves of extremely personal data, much of which was collected because employers required workers to wear biometric trackers to get the best deal on health care:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/04/google-fitbit-merger-would-cement-googles-data-empire

Companies can't be trusted to collect, retain or use our personal data wisely. The right "balance" here is to simply ban that collection, without an explicit opt-in. The way this should work is that companies can't collect private data unless users hunt down and untick three "don't spy on me" boxes. After all, that's the standard that Google has set.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/29/ban-surveillance-ads/#sucker-funnel

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[secular-jew]

Reza Pahlavi, the future leader of Democratic Iran, made a brilliant speech today. Everyone should pray hard that he is successful getting Iran (Persia) back.

"I am not here to ask for your permission to get rid of the Islamic Republic nor am I here to ask you to do it for us.

The true Iran, the ancient Iran, and the soon-to-be free Iran doesn’t seek your patronage, it seeks your partnership. It doesn’t seek your funding, it seeks your friendship because our interests are aligned in the most unique of ways.

So as opposed to the growing threat of this unholy alliance of the red and the black, what, my friends, might a partnership with the Iranian nation look like? What will it look like when sovereignty over our ancient nation is returned to its true sovereign– the Iranian people?

Iran will once again be the anchor of peace and stability in the Middle East, so you can finally bring your boys and girls home from faraway lands, but, with dignity.

Iran will once again be the center of prosperity in the region and a safe haven for foreign investment – not foreign aid.

Iran will once again be an ally of the United States and a close partner of both Israel and the Arab states and see the Abraham Accords grow to the Cyrus Accords.

Iran will once again be the engine of progress, the defender of freedom and righteousness, not the spreader of terror and evil."

[mushycrouton]

TERFs Announce New Partnership with 4chan

By mushycrouton, Investigative Reporter for the Department of Unholy Alliances

In a development that has both baffled sociologists and sent irony spiraling into a coma, prominent trans-exclusionary radical feminists (TERFs) have announced a formal strategic partnership with notorious internet cesspool and meme factory, 4chan.

The alliance, unveiled at a press conference held on a blank Discord server and immediately doxxed by everyone in attendance, is being hailed by critics as “the ideological equivalent of a vegan marrying a chainsaw.”

“We may disagree on literally everything,” said self-described TERF spokesperson Judith Daggerstone, sporting a scarf made of J.K. Rowling tweets. “But we found common ground in our deep commitment to bullying transgender people and making the internet as uninhabitable as possible.”

Representatives from 4chan, many of whom prefer to speak in ASCII art and riddles, issued a joint statement via a photoshopped image of a frog screaming at a Starbucks cup.

A Collision of Contempt

Experts are calling the alliance a “catastrophic synergy” of two movements that, until recently, shared nothing but mutual disdain and an overuse of the word “biological.” TERFs, long associated with second-wave feminism, artisanal substack newsletters, and a near-religious obsession with chromosomes, had previously denounced 4chan as “a toxic male playground for anime-obsessed crypto-incels.”

Meanwhile, 4chan users had historically referred to TERFs as “the final boss of feminism,” “Karen Palpatines,” and “people who make Reddit look emotionally stable.

But according to insiders, years of shared hatred forged an unlikely détente.

“It was beautiful,” said one anonymous 4chan user who goes by the screen name CisH3ll_Rider. “They posted a badly cropped infographic about how ‘gender isn’t real’ and we were like, ‘Damn. Same.’”

Rebranding Hate with Retro Fonts

To commemorate the merger, the two groups unveiled a joint logo: a flaming lavender biohazard symbol wrapped in barbed wire, with the tagline “Oppression, But Make It Retrograde.”

They also launched a new website, BiologicalFacts.biz, which features:

A chatbot trained on 1990s biology textbooks and the comments section of The Times of London

A merchandise store selling tote bags that say “Gender is a construct (but only yours)”

A 12-part podcast series hosted by a former feminist scholar and a man who thinks The Matrix was a documentary

The site crashed within hours, not due to traffic, but because someone tried to code it using Excel.

Collaboration in Action

Since the partnership, TERF forums and 4chan threads have been working together seamlessly to develop cutting-edge bigotry and digital gaslighting tools.

Some highlights include:

The TERFchan™ Meme Forge, where aging boomers contribute text and 4chan teens provide pixelated rage comics.

Operation Bio-Real, an ill-conceived campaign to sneak biology textbooks into drag shows.

Project MisgenderBot, an AI trained to correct pronouns in Wikipedia articles using Morse code and passive aggression.

There are even rumors of a themed live event tentatively titled “Womyn Fest: No Pronouns, No Peace”, with guest speakers ranging from fringe academic grifters to banned Twitter accounts with anime avatars and emotionally distant fathers.

Critics React: “This is Peak Internet”

Reaction to the alliance has been swift and unrelenting. Civil rights organizations have condemned the partnership as “a hate crime with a business model.” Feminist groups across the spectrum have disavowed the TERFs involved, stating:

“Radical feminism is about dismantling patriarchy, not applying it selectively like Instagram filters.”

Meanwhile, Reddit users attempted to mount a counter-movement but got distracted by a debate over oat milk.

Dr. Beatrix Norn, a political theorist and specialist in Extremist Internet Collaborations, offered insight:

“This is a textbook example of ideological horseshoe theory: two diametrically opposed groups meeting at the far ends of logic and decency, fusing into something that somehow manages to be both self-righteous and deeply online.”

Inside the Discord Server

Journalists gained access to a leaked Discord server titled #TERFchan_StrategyLair, where users discussed topics such as “how to make bullying look like feminism,” “are facts transphobic if we shout them?”, and “can you be gender-critical and still stan BTS?”

One user named RadFemRemington posted:

“We’re finally being taken seriously. Even if it’s by teenagers who think women’s rights peaked with Lara Croft’s original polygonal boob physics.”

Another replied:

“L + misogyny + cope.”

A Union Destined to Implode?

While the alliance is currently thriving in a grotesque sort of harmony, most analysts agree that it’s unlikely to last. Tensions are already brewing over key issues like whether women can exist without baking sourdough and if anime counts as a political philosophy.

4chan operatives have reportedly started inserting anime trans girls into TERF memes just to “see what happens,” while TERF leaders have begun compiling a blocklist so long it now includes most of the planet.

“Eventually,” said Dr. Norn, “one side is going to realize the other doesn’t actually care about women at all, and the other will realize they’ve allied with someone who uses the term ‘AFAB’ like it’s a slur.”

Until then, however, the internet will continue to reel from this collision of vitriol and irony.

Stay tuned for the next press release: a potential three-way alliance with Bitcoin evangelists.

Filed under: Hate Collabs, Internet Dark Matter, Feminism But Make It Hostile

© mushycrouton 2025 – All contradictions reserved

[jodstablet]

fancy footwork & a bleeding bloodline

Chapter 25: An Unfulfilled Vow

Every dancer in the company brought all that they were to a partnership. It didn’t matter if someone had danced with their partner a hundred times, a thousand times, ten-thousand; a dancer only expects to get out of a partnership what they had put into it, a precarious game of scorched-earth cat and mouse. All or nothing. Harrowhark watched with morbid interest the sickening sight of Gideon Nav giving this unholy partnership her all.

Chapter Warning: Explicit

Read on Ao3

divider by @ royallaesthetics

[fantasyandromancelover]

Aaron’s Monologue

Aaron: There are three things you can be that will make life harder for you: A sinner demon, a hellborn demon, and a teenager. But do you know what you can be that makes life ten times harder than that?! Being all three! Which unfortunately is what I am. But let’s start at the beginning…

About maybe twenty or fifteen years ago, I don’t know, time passes differently down here. The radio demon a.k.a Dad, the most ruthless, deadly, and psychotic sinner to have ever existed and the surprisingly, sweet, angelic, hell-born, princess of hell a.k.a Mom, formed a partnership in establishing the Hazbin Hotel for redemption. (And seriously Dad? Hazbin? What, is trolling like your hobby or something?)

Anyway, at first it was strictly platonic, mainly because Mom had a good head on her shoulders and Dad…Well he was a few therapy sessions short of sanity. Not to mention hell born royalty was strictly forbidden to mix their “pure blood”, (Pure blood, right) with what my grandpa would occasionally refer to as “mutts.”

But Mom had a good heart and Dad did have a soft side to him, and they were both theater freaks so next thing you know they’re spending a lot of time together and developing crushes and getting real deep, and fighting the urge to act on their feelings (Soap opera shit. How those are popular, I’ll never understand)

Eventually though they fell in love and decided that they were soulmates. But Grandpa was psycho about the whole not-mixing thing so Dad and Mom had to elope and keep their marriage secret. And for about a year they managed to pull it off, but then the unholy stork paid them a visit. Now I know what you’re probably thinking, how the hell could a sinner conceive?

Well…(And oh God this is so gross) Dad had been holding off getting intimate with Mom until they were married because he was very, very, very inexperienced. And he was a little afraid that he wouldn’t be able to…(Ewww) get it up. So my Uncle Angel got him a special aphrodisiac that is supposed to revive one’s…Ahem…”Special Organ” to its younger and more lively state.

Dad injected that into him every time he went to bed with Mom and it worked, but Uncle Angel had neglected to warn my father about a certain side effect in which that the aphrodisiac could also revive sperm count. And thus I came to be in my mother’s belly and my parents’s secret marriage was out. Of course Mom was overjoyed, Dad was freaked, and Grandpa was pissed but what can you do? Nature had taken its course.

So here I am now. Half sinner, half hellborn, the son of a radio maniac and a demonic princess, raised in a hotel full of lunatics, and going through puberty. You think Hell is bad? Welcome to my world.

[ronqueesha]

Dragon Age hype has me thinking of my beloved OCs that have been living in my head for years.

Kallian Tabris - city elf rogue

A spiteful, angry, hateful elf born with Intermittent Explosive Disorder. The rampant injustices elves suffer only make her worse, especially the unjust murder of her mother. Kallian begins the story hating humans so much it literally makes her feral.

The blight becomes a remedy for Kallian. The gentle positive influence of Leliana, Wynne and Alistair give Kallian a chance to show that her anger is a defense mechanism to protect a very loving heart. She is so angry because she doesn't want to lose the people she loves.

Kallian's story is a redemption arc. She truly becomes a hero, and gets to ride into the sunset with Leliana after a job well done.

Being a city elf means she is almost entirely uneducated. But Wynne teaches her to read and write during the blight. And post-canon, she teaches her father so they can send letters while Kallian is traveling. Later, Kallian teaches herself to speak Orlesian for Leliana.

Sarah Hawke - sarcastic mage

Sarah is too smart. Way too smart. And a magical prodigy. In fact, Sarah is such a talented mage that she hides her status by almost never using her magic. She'd rather deal with situations through quick wit and baffling people with bullshit. Her friendship with fellow wordsmith Varric is the stuff of legends.

Kirkwall never even knows she's a mage until she is forced to use her magic to survive the Arishok fight.

The constant losses and tragedies Sarah suffers in Kirkwall wear her down, until it becomes very difficult to maintain her witty sarcastic persona. Her romance with Anders starts as a mutual partnership of hopes and dreams, both of them wishing for a better future.

As Anders deteriorates, he starts blatantly using and manipulating Sarah. When he fully snaps, she has no choice but to kill him. As the knife slides into his back, something permanently dies inside Sarah. The funny charming mage is gone. Sarah chooses to end her life in the fade years later, defending her friends and the Inquisitor.

Keeran Trevelyan - warrior

Maximum manwhore. Keeran comes from a wealthy, spoiled background. But one where he got very little attention from his family. So he has spent his life acting out just to get noticed. Lavishly spending coin and bedding as many people as possible to fill the void in his heart.

The only reason Keeran wields big weapons is to show off and look good to people who might be watching.

He spends his early days with the Inquisition living in terror. He thinks all of these religious extremists would certainly execute him if they learned the Herald of Andraste was a decidedly unholy hedonist who has no idea where his powers come from.

His anxiety gets worse when he starts to fall for Dorian, of all the people to be in love with when politics is suddenly a major factor in your life.

But over time Keeran matures into a competent yet caring leader. He had no idea that Solas stuck by his side for nefarious reasons, he just thought the two of them were good friends.

The Inquisitor at the end of the story is completely unrecognizable from the selfish and ditzy manchild who started the journey.

[kastlequill]

wrath of the lamb

pairing: sebastian krueger x f!reader word count: 6.9k synopsis: your first time hunting with dr. krueger tags: hannibal au, haunted hoedown, dark, serial killers, a couple that kills together stays together, enemies and lovers, unreliable narrator, unholy mentions of god, religious imagery, no y/n warnings: violence/death, blood/gore, mutilation, body horror, cannibalism, voyeurism (except the voyeur is dead), killing as foreplay, smut (blood + murder kink, hair-pulling, biting) ao3: read here  ← prev

“I am the shape you made me. Filth teaches filth.”

— Sophocles

Bait; that had been your role. The lure, the dangling bit of appetizer to ensnare prey on behalf of another. This particular catch of the day had believed you to be the fish to his fisherman, but you nonetheless had been bait, he the fish, and Dr. Krueger—

The fisherman.

Soon, you would be a fisherman yourself, capable of priming, reeling in, and fatally securing a wide array of aquatic life all on your own. Before that, however, there was much to learn about the sport and the art of choosing one’s hunting spot, of casting one’s net. Naturally, Dr. Krueger had been ever so enthusiastic to help bridge the gaps in your knowledge.  

Currently, the fish was tied up in the foyer, bound by his wrists and ankles to a wooden chair, the same in which you’d sat years ago as Dr. Krueger’s temporary patient. At the insistence of Agent Blaustein and your undiagnosed encephalitis, you had given therapy a shot. These visits had eventually increased in frequency, more so for the psychiatrist’s company than his pseudo sessions. 

Some attributed the progression of your relations with Dr. Krueger to be a product of fate and circumstance, but you knew better than that. Over the past several months, a deliberate and intentional hand had guided you to this very moment, everything meticulously planned and orchestrated by someone with a vested interest in your ascent. 

In your. . . becoming. 

What started as a chance meeting snowballed into a partnership between professionals, identifying and apprehending serial killers across the state together. Thereafter, a friendship did blossom, though this too evolved since your pure empathy made you highly susceptible to internalizing others; him. The line that separated your psyche from his thus gradually became muddied and blurred as you vacated your mind and beckoned in this monster among men. 

You would be hard-pressed to forget just how fervently he had appraised the order and disorder of your headspace. How worshipingly he had looked upon the ever-encroaching darkness that you kept shamefully hidden within the crevices of your bones, stowed away for fear of the day your worser nature might rise to the surface. How eagerly he had called forth that wickedness, that sin, happy to watch you partake and take. 

How easily he had metamorphosed you into the person you’d unwittingly been pursuing throughout all your years of existence. 

“The throat is a double-edged sword. It makes life possible, housing the airways, overseeing the safe passage of air into the lungs. But so too does it make death readily accessible, boasting the jugular vein, exacting a swift end if cut at just the right angle, the right depth,” an accented voice sounded from behind. 

Hopelessly obedient to the pull that locked your soul and his in perpetual orbit of one another, you cast a glance over your shoulder then looked down at the knife in his hand. It was an ordinary carving knife, blade sharpened and thrumming with excitement at the prospective union of steel and meat. More importantly, it was an offering. 

A gift.

Dr. Krueger quite enjoyed showering you with lavish presents, and he preferred the intimacy of being the craftsman in addition to the sender. To court you, he’d sawed off the tongue of the reporter who’d mocked your condition in her crude tabloids, coated the severed organ in poison, and shoved it down her throat until she choked on its toxicity. To express the extent of his devotion, he'd torn out the vocal cords of a suitor who’d made lewd comments about you at the opera house, fashioned them into a noose, and left him dangling from the ceiling to be discovered in the morning by a screeching primadonna. 

And to apologize for spilling your blood on his kitchen floor, he’d Frankensteined together a beating heart, openly baring his affections despite the penetrative gaze of all who sought to imprison the Cut-throat Killer. The sculpture, composed of a decapitated corpse’s inverted musculature instead of typical granite stone, had told a tale of repentance and of yearning.

My heart is yours. Broken and maimed though it might be, you have managed to assuage its ache and mend its pieces. This foreign object no longer fits properly in the cavity of my being, so do what you will with it. Even if you decide to break it once again, the resulting shards are still all for you only, just as it was. 

The twisted love letter had resulted from months of deceptive intentions, divided loyalties, and belated sacrifices. Your inevitable betrayal had struck dead the fantasy of a shared future. In his mourning, Dr. Krueger had gutted you to bestow a matching wound, yours a physical representation of his own intangible pain. However, contrary to previous prey, watching your face lose its vibrancy and a red puddle form around your twitching body had inspired not satisfaction, but fear. 

A certain desperation had seized him then. Losing you, a kindred spirit who had known and seen him, would have damned the man to a lifetime of loneliness. For someone incapable of thriving in total solitude, that was a terrifying notion.

So though the urge to slit your throat and cook you into a feast might occasionally possess him, though he might periodically contemplate cracking your skull open to reveal the beautiful brain that tormented him day and night, such calls-to-action would go unanswered. 

During periods of separation, he could easily convince himself that his feelings for you were an unnecessary suffering. A fruitless agony; a beacon of masochism. Ready to put an end to this mounting misery, a murderous plot would begin to take shape until your mere return resolutely derailed any plans of excising you from his destiny. 

Cyclical, the way he grew hungry in your absence, champing at the bit, gnawing on bone, only to find his stomach brimming with contentment upon spending a single moment in your presence. 

The rude were nothing more than livestock to a refined man like Dr. Sebastian Krueger. Just as the average non-vegetarian viewed chickens, cows, and pigs as rightful staples of their omnivorous diet, he believed disrespectful folk were no different to poultry, cattle, or swine. At least in death, these subhumans could transcend their lowly stations and reach new heights of beauty and value as his culinary masterpieces, as elaborate displays of mutilated art. 

Like God, he played judge, jury, and executioner, wielding the power to decide the earthly ends and undead beginnings of those he deemed lesser.

Between equals, however, consumption was to him the pinnacle of humanity’s capacity for love. Diligently preparing a delicacy of the vessel that housed a loved one, transforming their anatomy into a gourmet meal, was the supreme method of honoring them. Further still, intaking a pound of their flesh meant immortalizing a beloved by becoming the very urn in which the remnants of their existence could always be found. Whether they should depart by nature or by circumstance, a piece of them would forever stay inside this biological graveyard. 

The mixing of bloods, two pulses beating in synchrony, a dialogue between gullets. An irreversible breach of one’s external layer of protection that said, you are mine, and I am yours; the proof resides in the pits of our stomachs.

By his logic, if he were to eat you and satisfy his craving for fusion, then perhaps whatever hold you had over him would denature, eliminating the threat that this love posed to his livelihood. In actuality, a glimpse of you was plenty enough to sate his normally-raging appetite. 

To daily feel a stab of hunger and then obtain nourishment at the slightest bit of eye contact. . . that was how viscerally he loved you. 

Of course, Dr. Krueger hadn’t overtly verbalized these sentiments, but you nonetheless recognized and understood the unspoken truth. After all, pure empathy did not just expose you to the onslaught of his expert manipulation—it also unveiled his best-kept secrets.

“When hunting, one must always consider efficiency. Time is of the essence, as they say. It’s better spent on the artwork itself than on gathering your materials, wouldn’t you agree?” 

Your eyes jerked up to meet his appraising stare. Not the type to waste air on rhetorical questions, he raised a single scarred brow, and it only lowered once your fingertips answered by brushing the palm of his hand. As you plucked the knife from his grasp, its heavy weight took you aback. The hefty task of reaping an unclaimed soul added at least a few extra pounds to the blade, but you adjusted your grip until wielding it became effortless.  

At its core, killing was a fairly quick and simple endeavor. Humans often exited the world as fast as they had originally entered it, and, in a manner of speaking, your lives were just preparation for the inevitable return to that shadowy limbo from which you’d all been birthed. 

The fish had yet to regain consciousness, and you were determined to ensure that his eyes would never again open to anything but a dark abyss. 

You weren’t apologetic in the slightest for what was about to come. This bound asshat had been selected because he’d had trouble understanding the word no at a pub and spilled wine on an intervening Dr. Krueger’s prized coat. Such unprincipled behavior warranted an equally-indecent fate. 

Out like a light, his head was tilted back to rest on the back of the chair, displaying a ripe throat, fresh for the taking. And take you did, aligning your blade at the corner of his jaw and dragging it across the jugular, slitting his trachea, causing it to collapse unto itself. Liquid beads of crimson bubbled to the surface along the laceration, and the macabre necklace enraptured you. 

Your psychiatrist-turned-mentor had earned the moniker of Cut-throat Killer due to his apparent fixation on the neck and its surrounding regions. His kills were linked by this common denominator, whether a body was headless, or had a ripped-apart larynx, or had died by asphyxiation. Sometimes, Dr. Krueger liked to experiment with different finishing blows to keep the FBI on their toes, but his modus operandi never failed to involve the throat. 

It made sense, then, why you too had developed a similar appreciation. 

“Well done,” praised the doctor, now beside you, and the words set alight your bloodstream. His tone held no surprise; your profession had revealed your natural aptitude for the hunt and erased any reservations he might’ve had. From the very first day your paths crossed, he’d recognized what you were, what you could become. “Now, where do you wish to go from here?” 

A loaded question, one that dictated how the rest of the night would unfold. If you stayed in the foyer, cleaning up the grime and gore out from between each plank of wood would be an absolutely dreadful ordeal. If you went to the main room, splatters and stains on his Persian rug and fine fabric drapes would undoubtedly irk the man, and you quite preferred staying on his good side for the time being.

That left his extravagant kitchen. It was the ideal location—the freezer was conveniently placed, and the tools for harvesting meat were at your disposal. Also, in the not-unlikely event of blood running off the table’s edge, you could simply scrub the tiles spotless.

“The kitchen.” You diverted your focus from the dead man to the one who had mastered death itself. Although you were unsurprised to discover Dr. Krueger’s deep brown eyes already intent upon you, a chill cascaded down your spine nevertheless. He’d sooner gouge out the organs that granted him sight than stop his lingering stares, you knew. “Removing the skin from a fish this slimy is messy business. I wouldn’t want to ruin your nice hardwood floors. Black walnut?” 

His wide smile told a tale of predation tempered with adoration. “Wenge.”

You softly shook your head in fond exasperation. Of course he who settled for nothing but the best would choose one of the most rare and expensive species of hardwood in the world. 

The doctor held your gaze as he removed his outer layer, not wanting to sully a tailored, dry clean-only suit jacket. Once it was safely out of range, he cut loose the body from its restraints and dragged it to the kitchen with you trailing behind him. 

After hauling the corpse onto the center of the marble island, Dr. Krueger rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt to his elbows and slipped on surgical gloves from his vest’s pocket, handing you a pair as well. He used scissors to reveal the man’s flesh beneath his clothes, took the murder weapon from your fingers, and made an incision that started at the collarbone and ended at the navel. Wrenching open the ribcage, snapping any resistant osseous matter, the doctor efficiently primed the carcass for harvesting before it could stiffen in rigor mortis. 

His work done, he unsheathed a sizable butcher knife, handed it to you, then stepped out of reach, content to watch you pick up from where he’d left off. You imitated his previous motions, careful not to sink the blade too far in lest you ruptured any organs. The last thing you wanted to do was accidentally ruin the meat. 

Meat. 

You’d discovered a couple of months ago that the delicious protein scrambles shared with you by the kind Austrian man had actually contained bits of strangers. Initially, the revelation had repulsed and angered you in its violation of your right to informed consent. But now, while you didn’t see the appeal of human cuisine, you could admit there was something uniquely intimate about a shared hunt, about the subsequent communion, the breaking of bread and bone. 

It was with this logic in mind that you proceeded to dissect the body according to the anatomical direction given by the doctor. First, you extracted the lungs, then the spleen and liver, next the stomach and gallbladder, the intestines and kidneys, and, lastly, the heart. 

The turn of the hour quickly came and went. You moved to push back some hair that had fallen out of place, wishing you had worn a hairnet, when you caught a glimpse of your lover’s current state. He stood to the side of the counter a few feet away, hunger plain on his face, erection evident through the fabric of his slacks. 

As ravenous for your fill of him as he was for a taste of you, you set the knife on the cutting board and started to walk over to—

“No.” 

The lone, measured syllable echoed throughout the large kitchen, ringing in your ears, and you instantly halted mid-step. A trait that separated the doctor from so many other men of his stature was his refusal to resort to yelling. He’d done a lifetime’s worth of it in the Austrian Armed Forces, had been his explanation, and it was beneath him. It signaled that one lacked omnipotence and control, that they didn’t have an effortless dominance with respect to the masses over which they resided. 

Dr. Krueger, however, had no shortage of charisma and no trouble garnering an obedient audience. The personification of sin beckoned you forward. “Crawl to me.”

Without hesitation, you slowly descended to the floor, gaze steady and stuck on his looming figure. Your clothed knees met tile first, then your palms followed suit as you navigated your way towards him through a pool of blood and innards. Something unnamed coiled tight in your stomach the nearer you drew to him who looked down at you, stoic and unfazed. From here, a passerby might think you a worshiper bowed in supplication to her god.  

For what purpose did you plead? 

If I should die, let it not be his blade that strikes the finishing blow. 

To what end did you pray? 

If he should rot in a cell, let it not be my testimony that sends him away.  

When your fingers brushed against his shoes, imprinting red on the fancy leather, the doctor leaned forward to snake a hand around to the nape of your neck, lightly massaging your scalp. The soothing pressure made your eyes roll back, but the false sense of security it had given you evaporated at the following sharp tug on the roots of your hair.

His grip firm, Dr. Krueger pulled you up until you were on your feet once again. Before you could properly calibrate to the change in orientation, he spun you to face the kitchen island then sandwiched you in between his pelvis and the counter. Squirming against him, your instincts commanded you to escape, but you remained steadfastly in place. Trapped.

Ensnared.

Skillful hands made quick work of your attire, throwing your belt to the ground, shoving your jeans and panties to bunch at your ankles, unbuttoning the flannel he’d called hideous yet endearing, snapping free your cheap bra. Satisfied with your current state of undress, Dr. Krueger used his teeth to tear off his gloves so that he could begin exploring the treasures he had uncovered.  

You never let him touch you with gloves. The sensation of latex on skin was too reminiscent of a butcher prepping slaughtered livestock to be further chopped up into refined cuts of meat. And you were not foolish enough to think you could ever be the butcher in this scenario. 

His hands journeyed up your front to your neck, rubbing at the splatter of blood there that had yet to be cleaned. Adamant on dirtying you further, he smeared it downward as he cupped the heft of your breasts and rolled your nipples between his fingers. You must’ve looked like a sacrificial offering to some deity, back bowed, though the only who would partake in the enjoyment of your flesh was him.

Once you were sufficiently marked, the man wiped any excess blood off his right hand and onto your stomach then continued his descent to the epicenter of your heat. When he finally reached your mound and dipped an explanatory finger inside, he found you wet and wanting. 

“Filthy thing,” Dr. Krueger admonished with a click of his tongue. “I’ve barely touched you, and yet here you are, already dripping onto the floor. Tell me, how long have you been like this?”

“Since you—” The rest of that sentence died in your throat, cut short by the featherlight brush of his thumb against where you wanted him most. A sudden jolt traveled through your body, and you struggled to form a coherent thought, let alone string together a sensical series of words. “Since you rolled up those stupid fucking sleeves, you bastard.” 

His answering smirk could be heard in the gravel of his voice, smug and self-assured. “I didn’t know my forearms had such an effect on you.”

Said forearms came into view as he encased you, both of his hands relocating to either side of yours, flat on the countertop. A knee replaced where his hand had been between your legs, and he ground it upward, pulling back whenever you tried to reciprocate, relief just out of reach. 

“Like hell you didn’t,” you snapped, your frustration getting the better of you. “Don’t play dumb, Doctor. It’s not a good look.” 

All traces of his humor evaporated at the snark. Announcing no warning, your lover sank two fingers into your weeping core, curling them to stimulate the spot within that never failed to make you see stars. He scissored you open and gathered enough slick to begin working in a third finger, intent on making you plead for forgiveness. Absolution. 

Most nights, Dr. Krueger prided himself in his patience, in his ability to draw out one, two, three orgasms from you before his cock got anywhere near your cunt. But tonight, you knew, would be different. It would be hard and fast. 

Carnal. 

Upon deeming you ready to take him, you heard the unclasping of a belt buckle followed by the zipper of his pants coming undone. A soft caress along the notches of your spine, and then he aligned himself with your entrance and immediately surged to erase the distance between your bodies, filling you to the hilt. 

The force of it caused you to double over, and your elbows buckled at the sudden shift in weight. With the side of your face now pressed against the counter’s cold surface, you couldn’t help the way your ass slightly elevated and protruded. This position felt explicit, dirty, and you gleaned from his sharp inhale that you looked as much from his perspective. Rather than allowing you to rise, Dr. Krueger dug a hand into your hair and pushed you further into the granite. 

“Have I neglected you, mein Schatz?” Each thrust was punctuated by a tug on your hair, a scrape against the surface, the repeated motion jostling you forward, while you fucked back into him. “Have I left you wanting? Is that why you’re so needy tonight? So rude?” 

When you didn’t answer, he retracted his hips until the tip was all that remained nestled in your warmth, leaving you empty and unfulfilled. Then, as though sensing you were on the verge of complaining, the doctor slammed home, yanking from you a pitiful mewl of agonized desire. 

“Please.”

This particular word was a shapeshifter; it adopted a different meaning based on ite context. Here, it served as a Hail Mary, as a cry for mercy, but you weren’t sure whether you were imploring his punishing rhythm to abate or for him to give you more. Regardless of your intention, Dr. Krueger intensified his torturous movements, a dark chuckle tumbling from his lips. 

Damn sadist. 

“Begging will get you nowhere. Not tonight.” At your despairing whine, he laughed again. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, you’ll get your wish. Eventually.”

So attuned to the ins and outs of your body, was this man, so intimately aware of where to press, where to pinch to elicit sweet melodies and moans. And yet, he toyed with you, glossing over these erotic zones, waiting for you to confess something before he might grant you penance, a token for your suffering. The thread of your sanity was wearing thin. 

“Stop teasing, or I swear to God.” 

You’d expected him to ignore your pleas as he had done before, but instead, you felt him thicken inside you. “Do it, then. Swear to me.”

His ego almost earned him an eyeroll, but you couldn’t help giving into his demands. The relentless pace he’d set was very persuasive, and you were only human.   

“Sebastian—”

It had the desired outcome. Hardly ever did you call him by his name, so if you did, that meant something. Due to said infrequency, using his name had a kind of Pavlovian effect on the man.

“Scheiße,” he groaned out the curse, hips stuttering forward and reaching a newfound depth that made you both gasp. “Yes, my heart, that’s right. You’ve made me your god, and I’ve made you. . .” 

. . . mine. 

Because that was the truth, wasn’t it? Dr. Krueger had plucked a rib from the cavity of his chest, sharpened it into a blade, and carved you into his vision of perfection. In turn, you had turned him into a conduit for your enlightenment, for your becoming. He was your tangible nirvana, and you were his sole gateway to heaven. 

The two of you had found religion in each other, and there was little else more dangerous than that. 

“Is this what you wanted? What you were so impatient for?” At your jerky nod, he seized your slackened jaw and tilted your chin up to direct your attention towards the kitchen island where the corpse still laid. “My, we haven’t even cleared the table yet. Can’t let the meat sit out, or else it’ll go sour.”

When your brain finally caught up to what—or to whom— he was referring, an epiphany struck you with startling clarity: 

This dead man was evidence of what had transpired here tonight. Better yet, he was the first witness to this taboo consummation. Perhaps it was stupid to believe that gave your relationship any real legitimacy in the world’s eyes, beyond the perimeters of this manor. Nonetheless, the thought caused you to involuntarily tighten, and you prayed the correlation would go unnoticed.

Dr. Krueger froze, because of fucking course nothing ever got past him. “Oh, you like that, do you? You like that we have a guest for dinner, that another finally sees the truth of what we are. Hunters. Lovers.” 

Oftentimes, being known was a riveting experience that bridged the gaping chasm of solitude. But there came moments when you wished to conceal the ugliness. You lowered your head, mortified that he might at last realize you were unworthy of his affection, his touch. 

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of when you’re here. This home is yours, Liebling,” he murmured, reverent as he resumed his torturous ministrations, regaining momentum. “I can think of no more beautiful a sight than you happy and honest in it. Never hide from me.”

A horrific prospect, baring one’s heart to someone so well equipped to tear it to shreds, but your walls were already beginning to crumble. Brick by brick, he dismantled you, intending to undo a lifetime of repression then reconstruct you in his image. 

Sex with Dr. Krueger wasn’t just a physical release. It was near ritualistic in its conjoining of two souls. It was a collision between two supernovas, a calamity in progress. 

It was an inevitability.  

What a pair you made—serpent and Eve. Ravisher and ravished, entangled in a web of debauchery and death. 

In spite of everything, you didn’t believe that he made you worse. He made you real. 

Time after time, warnings that this should never happen again would echo throughout your mind, but time after time, you found yourself in this same position, wrapped up in him. Coaxed by his sweet nothings and consumed with the way he alone understood what you still refused to speak aloud, it was through this union of flesh and bone that you elevated each other to art. 

And hell, if he made you worse, then you accepted that to be worse was to be honest. In this realm, you were closer to God than to the Devil. 

And was it not so that every devout follower hoped to be in league with their god, to be rewarded for their unshaken faith? What better way to actualize that hope than to devour?

A well-angled thrust brought you back to the present. Man or monster, God or Devil, neither distinction mattered as he pummeled into you, a fusion of the ultimate caliber. In this room, he was not your enemy, just the equal who helped you ascend to great heights, who guided you until your eventual arrival to the precipice. 

Lucifer before the fall. 

“I—” The word broke off in an airy gasp. Second attempt. “Sebastian, I’m—”

That too went interrupted, for it was then that your lover decided to circle your swollen clit with his calloused fingers. Dazed and nonverbal, you felt him wrap your hair around his fist and use it as leverage to assist in his corruption of you, tugging your head to his chest, baring your throat, arching your back. 

“I know, it’s alright,” he lovingly hushed your cries, lips nibbling on the rim of your ear. The wet roughness of his tongue licked away the tears that had begun to flow freely from your eyes, glossy and unfocused. “You can let go now. I’ll be here to catch you, yes? I’ll always catch you.” 

It shouldn’t have been a comforting sentiment. This was a man who killed people for being rude, who had seriously told you it’s only cannibalism if we’re equals. And yet, hearing that he would be there to envelop you in his arms if and when you plunged into the deep end was what at last sent you over the edge.  

Before him, no partner had successfully brought you to an orgasm. He loved to lull you into a state of la petite mort, compensating for his inability to actually kill you by inducing several little deaths whenever you laid together. But he had your brain short-circuiting as you came apart, your thighs trembling and jaw unhinged, your nails notched into the muscles that rippled across the expanse of his back, a bright light behind halfway-closed lids.

Thick fingers crawled across your left cheek to enter the black hole of your wet mouth, and you instinctively closed your lips around the intruding appendages. As you sucked and lathered them with spit, you pushed your ass further back into his pelvis, wordlessly encouraging him to use you to chase his own release. Several strokes later, his pace grew desperate, erratic, and he removed his fingers to cup your face, angled it just right, then bit down on the side of your neck, drawing blood. The brief flare of pain made your walls flutter and take his cock even deeper, your bodies reluctant to separate. 

Harvest me, and don’t waste a single drop. 

The moment of stillness that ensued when he at last emptied his seed in you was something holy, you decided. Ropes of cum seemingly endless, the pulsing of his member combined with his low groans brought you unparalleled bliss. While he descended from his lustful high, he lapped up the metallic trail along your throat, and the pressure of his tongue soothed the wound’s mild ache. Dr. Krueger, the man who had no qualms about eating within his species, was content to stop his consumption of you here, at a bite and a drop of ichor. 

Is my taste as divine as you imagined?

His hips continued to jerk and lurch in the aftershocks, and the noise of skin ricocheting off skin was more audible now that your senses were starting to return. Some might consider it to be an obscene sound, blatant and crude, but its obviousness appealed to you. Anyone who heard these echoes of anatomical convergence would have no misgivings regarding the recreational activities in which you and the doctor participated. 

I fear I would give you the most tender parts of myself, if only you were to ask. 

One hand caressed the top of your head, smoothing back your sweat-slickened hair. The other used his pristine white shirt to wipe the sweat from your brow, the gore from your body. Its fabric was rough against your overstimulated skin, but his movements were gentle. 

So please—

The doctor finished remedying the mess he had made of you and tossed the clothing aside, murmuring something about how he would have to explain to the lady at the dry cleaner’s that he’d spilled red wine again. Wrapping both arms around your waist to pull you impossibly closer to his chest, he then pressed a soft kiss to your nape. 

Your eyes fell shut. 

—do not ask. 

The manor was silent save for heavy breathing, yours and his. A sudden foul stench of rot and decay reminded you of the gruesome company on the kitchen island across the counter. You forced yourself to meet the vacant stare of the fish whose death had started this spontaneous coupling session, passion fueled by elevated adrenaline and a godlike rush of power.  

“I thought you didn’t get off to killing,” you murmured, energy half spent. 

An affirming hum vibrated through your bones, and you felt him rub his forehead against your back, up then down, nodding. “You thought correctly. I do not.”

A snort escaped from your throat since very recent evidence pointed to the contrary. Still inside you, his cock twitched at the sound. 

Perhaps he found the noise undignified and the response rude. The man had probably killed people for far pettier reasons; nonetheless, you continued to push the envelope because he continued to let you. 

This risky game would someday reach its limit. Someday, you might cross a non-negotiable line, and then you’d be dead before you knew what hit you.  

But today was not that day. 

“There is no sexual gratification in my hunts,” he further clarified. “Such perversion indicates one who is subjugated to the whims of his more primitive nature, one who is being controlled rather than doing the controlling. 

“Arousal at its most basic implies common ground. It drives us to seek a favorable mate with whom we can sire offspring to carry on our legacies. Should the hunter find this kind of pleasure in the hunted, it would mean a debasement of the self. Dethroned from the top of the food chain, he would forever live among his lessers. Since my prey are not and never will be my equal, killing is a strictly nonsensuous act.”

You are my equal, my mate, were the words you heard him omit. 

“But I keep discovering how much you defy my logic. I did not expect to be so. . . moved by that insatiable look in your eyes, by your presence in my kitchen, holding my knife.” The sigh he exhaled contained genuine frustration, not at you, but at himself. At his lack of self-control, at his underestimation of your ability to undo him. 

His right hand strayed from your midsection to ghost over the swell of your ass, vexation having seemingly passed. “And what a lovely painting you made of yourself. The only improvement is for you to coat your bodily canvas with my blood instead of that unworthy pig’s.”

Your brows furrowed at the thought of him gravely injured, stained red, and you grabbed his wrist, gave it what you hoped was a reassuring squeeze. “I don’t want to hurt you, Sebastian.”

The rare occurrence of you using his first name outside of sex had him nuzzling deeper into the crook of your neck and lightly nipping at the soft skin there. Although his teeth were eager to pierce flesh, his canines maintained a respectable distance. In the afterglow, he was always so, so careful not to cause undue damage. You were at your most vulnerable, and he was at his most untamed; a dangerous combination, like fire and gasoline.

Who was the struck match that would sacrifice wholeness to ignite the other, and who was the ignited that would disappear without a trace post-explosion?

Did it even matter?

“Very pretty lies, Liebling, though not quite as beautiful as you.” 

Despite his sardonic delivery, the fondness with which he uttered the term of endearment betrayed his affections. Complicated relationship with the Cut-throat Killer aside, none could deny that there was genuine love between the two of you. 

An unconventional, tempestuous love, true, but love nevertheless. It made the dichotomy between your loyalties all the more messy. 

Because yes, you appreciated his craftsmanship and were awed by the artistry behind his kills. Yes, you had moments ago indulged in your first hunt alongside him and had enjoyed it.  

Yes, you would probably do so again in the future.  

Yet somehow, the FBI profiler in you still felt obligated to confront the man, to put an end to his reign of terror. Why your lover would forever be visited by the need to eat and savor every inch of you, why you couldn’t ever entirely relax in the breadth of his embrace. . . it all tied back to this:

You couldn’t reconcile your ethical code with your want for him. The enormity of your desire approached suffocatingly-absurd levels, and the extent to which you ached for and craved this man was sickening.

No matter your personal feelings, the bitter reality of the situation remained unchanged. Before you could irreversibly walk the path of either love or duty, you needed to perceive your brain as something other than deformed, to conceive that the unnatural was a natural product of the universe in its own right. You needed to believe that the person who returned your stare in the mirror was not a disfigurement of humanity, nor a bastardization of goodness. 

But what constituted good, and what qualified as evil, anyway? Who had the right to decide which was which? Was it Agent Blaustein, who had pushed you to the point of breaking, who saw your mind only as a tool, caring not if he damaged you beyond repair in the field? 

Or was it Dr. Krueger, who had made you question your sanity, who wished for you to access and become indivisible from the rawest pieces of your marrow, even if it damned him in the process?

One thing was for certain: until you unabashedly accepted the darker elements of yourself—the same facets that he reflected back at you—this game of cat and mouse was cursed to resume and repeat, over and over. The roles seemed to reverse each time; you had first been the mouse to his cat, then you’d briefly turned the tables as the cat to his mouse. 

Recently, neither of you could puzzle out who was who. 

And the scariest part about all this was that you had never known yourself as well as you knew yourself when you were with him, a fucking serial killer. How frightening, that your ability to acknowledge and make sense of your own existence might hinge on whether or not he was in your life. 

Even a fool could see how you had changed under the gravity of his influence. In the beginning, you’d shunned the ugly bits, the chunks of you that proved too abhorrent to swallow. Now, you were learning how to indulge, how to see the beauty in the so-called horror. During the day, outsiders reminded you of your malignancies, of the shame that accompanied the sin of authenticity. However, at night, with him, you at last shed these social shackles and basked in fantasies of what could be, for the mere weight of his stare had the power to propel you toward self-actualization. 

Obviously, Dr. Krueger was well aware of this war between your moral duties and your innermost shadows. You expected as much, considering he had almost killed you for it. 

In your quest to unmask the Cut-throat Killer and confirm your suspicions, you’d nurtured a budding friendship with the doctor. You had wormed your way into his good graces by telling him exactly what he wanted to hear, nevermind that it had been you at your most honest. When the scheme eventually fell apart, murdering you had surprisingly not been his immediate reaction. Instead, he had offered you the chance to come clean so as to leave all the secrecy in the past and move forward anew. 

Together. 

It made perfect sense for Dr. Krueger to try holding onto his one true companion in life after getting a taste of reprieve from loneliness. Except, oblivious of your blown cover, you had doubled down, giving him no choice but to clutch you to his chest and carve his heartbreak into your gut. As you drifted toward Death’s door, as regret and fear willed him to frantically press onto your wound, the man had realized just how much you’d changed him, too.

Although you were indeed the harbinger of his ruination, he’d concluded that imprisonment paled in comparison to the grief of losing you. He loathed to imagine spending the rest of his days in a jail cell, but he could not commit to killing you, his greatest weakness and threat. You sought to cleanse this town of him, but you too could not pull the trigger on this evildoer. 

Two halves of a whole, locked in a stalemate. 

Can’t live with him, can’t live without him. A grotesque and ghastly piece of work, this man you called lover. And yet, you wouldn't dream of leaving his side. 

Because Sebastian Krueger was never going to get better without you. And you were never going to become better without him. 

“Apologies, but I insist we skip our entrée tonight.” 

That caught your attention—an absurd statement from someone who would probably make the time to properly dine even if the FBI was actively storming the gates of his manor. You twisted your spine to at last come face to face with him, and awaiting your curiosity was his hungry brown eyes, his dark blond hair freed from its gelled confines. 

“I know you worked hard to provide us this meal, and the meat will not go to waste,” the doctor assured, expression neutral, the perfect picture of calm if not for the way his fingers dug further into the meat of your hips. “The problem is me. I simply cannot curb my craving for dessert anymore.” 

You nearly scoffed. “Was this not dessert?” 

“No, mein Schatz,” he chuckled, as if you had just told a funny joke. The low timbre of his laugh caused a wave of desire to pool in between your legs, and you pressed your thighs together to trap the renewed heat.  

Ever intuitive, Dr. Krueger moved one arm away from your body to rest flat and steady on the countertop then dragged the other down to pinch your inner thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. 

“That was only the appetizer.” 

fin.

[the-heart-of-the-house]

Alpha and Omega. Wish World/The Reality War

Once more, we return to this and conclude the show.

Doctor Who has concluded for good a number of times throughout the modern series, with many an episode serving as an ersatz series finale before this one. The End of Time (Pt. 1&2) put a capstone to RTD1 (but really Tennant’s populist Golden Age) so absolute with the final farewell tour it was hard to see what could even come next, even as everybody knew it would be something from the mind of Steven Moffat. The Time of the Doctor was, kind of, a series finale too. It’s a lesser conclusion, because everybody knew Moffat entirely stayed and refused to go and made a dangerous partnership with a punk old man who he invited to play with the magic box. “Don’t stop me now.” But the episode did conclude definitively the war of the Silence and the Academy of the Question against the Doctor, and resolved conclusively and tautologically the central question of the series dating back to its very first frames in the year 1963; “Doctor who?” In Hell Bent the Doctor has finally fulfilled the promise established in the beginning of the modern series and come home to Gallifrey (like Odysseus, the long way around) and immediately left with Clara Who by his side, the woman who saves the Doctor. Then came Twice Upon a Time, which concluded the story of Doctor Who with the main character ascending into becoming a woman and gaining unlimited power.

The Power of the Doctor was meant at one point to end on a black screen, and at one point this current series finale we have on hand was also meant to conclude on a black screen as well. We’ve come full circle since the end of the Chibnalllian Epoch, coming round to the exact same turbulence that gave birth to RTD2 in 2021. “The history book on the shelf is always repeating itself.”

Yet the concluding story feels different this time. This series finale is considerably more absolute than all the others that came before it, because it represents the Unholy Trinity of Moffat, Chibnall, and RTD finally uniting, written by Russell T Davies himself.

No wonder nobody likes it.

Keep reading

[thealogie]

look I haven’t followed Michael sheen much until recently so I can’t comment but David tennant does have somewhat of a record of being insane about his work friends (in different ways sure, but still unhinged). Like take Billie piper for example, or even Catherine tate. But yeah whatever unholy chemistry he has going on with Michael is what happens when he meets his kin (the difference is this time their families are inseparable too and they pretty much decided they’re going to make their double act everyone else’s problem)

David Tennant was born to be in insane and close creative friendships/partnerships and he was just collecting them along the way as he went. It was all genuine and true but it was also all practice for the greatest doubt act of my lifetime

[lovingsoul111]

BEN reacts to reader who is just like them, I wonder what would they do?

If BEN were to meet someone exactly like him, equally cruel, intelligent, violent, and manipulative, it would likely spark one of two outcomes:

1. Massive Rivalry/Enemy: Due to their ego and intense desire for dominance, BEN would likely view this doppelgänger of a person as a direct threat. His need for control and superiority could lead to a deadly competition between the two, as neither would be willing to bow to the other. The psychological and strategic warfare would be endless, with both engaging in a twisted game of manipulation and torment to outdo the other. In the end, it would be a battle of intellect and dominance, with only one emerging victorious. Likely, it would be a fight for dominance and even they both would attempt to ‘prove’ who is the most cruel, possibly.

2. Alliance in Cruelty: On the other hand, if their egos aligned in a shared desire for control and torture, they could form a terrifying partnership. Together, they would be an unstoppable force of psychological and physical torment, using their combined intellect and cruelty to manipulate, break, and control others in ways even BEN alone could never achieve. Their alliance would be built on a shared thirst for suffering and dominance, and they’d enjoy inflicting pain, not for any particular goal but for the twisted pleasure of seeing others bend to their will.

Either way, the meeting would bring out intense tension, whether it’s a deadly rivalry or an unholy partnership. It would all depend on whether their shared ego or shared darkness wins out.

I hope this answered it!! I hope you have a sweet day and bee kind 🐝🐝🐝🐝😊😊😊😊

[worldmediathewhowhatwhen]

TARIFFS

Oh, king hear this, America alone cannot be great living off our own wealth. I have always known America will be great when others trade things of such from without (export). America must have something to trade the nations of the world don't have. America must export or trade in order to succeed. Any nation must export to receive external benefits. Or the nation faces creating currency to pay its bills and charge its people to pay the bills, when its people sell trade to other nations to bring the currency to their nation. From within build essentials to sell abroad to receive debt/currency/resources from abroad. America alone CANNOT survive alone with its own currency. A nation must sell/export/trade to collect resources. America needs reciprocal trades. All countries can eliminate tariff taxes.

The oldest form of currency has been trading thru things made by talents, land, possessions, the wealth of minerals, petroleum, contracts and agreements and signed with seals. Unpaid debt and agreements are latched with interest.

Not having the trading structure partnership WILL led to a decline in a nation's wealth, death, starvation, decline of clans, tribes, people and financial unrecovered losses to the tax collecting government.

Pride comes before a fall. Nations must yield and reason with each other. Whatsoever is loosed on earth is loosed in heaven, whatsoever is bound on earth is bound in heaven. God and His council are aware of sacred agreements of the nations and hold them accountable on earth as in heaven.

(America is the highest grossing GDP on earth we must humble ourselves to deal with the wealth of our nation or can be forced to succeed as the greatest grossing GDP by the quarters. We can bethrown by unregulated and regulated tariffs. Even the unholy Babylon will arise in the beliefs in drinking blood in wine cup of history and economics: TRADE deals.)

Only a humble servant can bow his knee to request a king to lend an ear for GOD to show him HIS way when a king yields. You CANNOT/WILL NOT/ SHOULD NOT be blamed in the history of times for listening to the adjustments of economic stamina and changes.

by Pastor Prevon