#we should not be victim to a system that fails us simply because of our gender and their assumptions

[xerospaced]

I think we need to start putting Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD/EUPD) under the microscope

I think it's high time we really get into it

Let's stop faffing about and get real

Like why do men get diagnosed with C-PTSD but women with the same experiences and symptoms get BPD

Or, hmm, I dunno, maybe why women who are undiagnosed neurodivergent are continually misdiagnosed with BPD without a moments consideration that it could be something else at play

Or how the diagnosis is given so quickly on assumption

It's almost like...

I dunno man

Anyone remember that period in the history of psychology where women who were dealing with trauma from abuse and/or sexual assault and the like were said to have "hysteria"

Ykno how they'd have one conversation with a psych and the psych would be like, "hmm, female, emotionally unstable, difficulties communicating, fragile sense of self. Oh yes yes, hysterical"

RING ANY BELLS!? ANYONE!?

As someone who was misdiagnosed with EUPD/BPD at 21 after one conversation with zero investigation. Who also later discovered they have adhd (diagnosed at 26) and autism (undiagnosed/dismissed due to adhd etc.). I find it pretty fucken sus that all these women are given this bullshit catch all diagnosis that labels them a problem and places the blame entirely on the flaw within themselves and then just... left to it.

I've been a part of BPD groups. I've seen those women. I've seen how the diagnosis has NOT helped them. I've seen how their symptoms have worsened. How hopeless they feel. How they try and try to do or be better but can't seem to get the hang of it.

And I've seen how many of them really need help dealing with their trauma, their symptoms of C-PTSD. I've seen how so many of them have had difficulties with parents friends and partners, always being misunderstood and the problem, almost like... hmm I don't fucken know - neurodivergent people maybe!

Honestly, to anyone who has been given the diagnosis of borderline. I urge you to investigate. Dig deeper. Do your own research. Look into the stats on misdiagnosis (I promise you, they are staggering!) Look at what conditions/disorders are often mistaken for borderline. Just do yourself a favour and question this label. Investigate.

[thyfleshc0nsumed]

hey crazy question, since you said there is no evil what would you call hitler evil? trump? mussolini? genghis khan? jeffrey dahmer? jeffrey epstein? KKK members? IDF? and if they're evil then i guess you're telling me child rapists are the only ones that shouldn't be called evil? why is that?

I'm gonna ignore your bad faith misreading of my ideas and your attempt to insinuate I am a child abuser and answer your first question for other ppls sake, cuz I think it is a reasonable thing ppl might be grappling with.

In a word, no.

In a few more words, I think the question fails to properly interrogate what I mean when I refer to evil. 'Evil' is a component of a moral framework, and I feel that moral frameworks are by and large shallow and not very useful in furthering for understandings of the world around us, or very conducive to creating material change, from an individual scale to a societal scale.

The central idea I put forward in that post is that it is not some grand moral badness that enables violence and abuse, but rather systems of power. All of your examples speak to this. You mention the wealthy, political leaders, a state backed by a global superpower, and a group that was comprised of people with systemic power over their victims.

Viewing them merely as "evil" is frankly uncurious and in some ways, cyclical and thought terminating. It begs the question: "they're bad because they're bad because they're bad."

We have NO disagreement in the fact that what those people do or did have produced violence and harm, many on a scale which is difficult to fully comprehend the magnitude of. It is equally difficult to understand even how one could act with such cruelty towards fellow human beings. But just because it is difficult to understand does not mean it is impossible. They didn't do those things because they were born with some kind of evil gene or soul.

They, like you and I, were created by the context of the world around them. If Adolf Hitler died as a child, would Germany have been rid of its antisemitism or have lost its imperial ambitions? Would war have been averted? Certainly not. There were specific, relatively measurable conditions which allowed fascism to flower. If not him, someone else would have helmed that movement.

If Adolf Hitler were born in another place and time, he would not be Adolf Hitler in any meaningful sense. A person is more or less a sum of their environment. People cannot exist outside the context that they do in fact exist in.

And so to then declare someone as 'evil' amounts to saying just about nothing. It's zero sum. If people do harm simply because they are evil, then what can be done? Create a list of them and then systematically exterminate them?

Many people have twisted my words and claimed that what I am saying is that we should expose our bellies and allow bigots to gut us, or that I equivocate violence against oppressors and violence against the oppressed. This is categorically untrue. When violence is brought against you, violent response can be prudent.

But what happens after the relations of power have been altered? When the abuser or oppressor no longer has the power to harm you? Is there reason to harm them besides to punish or sate a desire for revenge? If they no longer have the means to do 'evil,' then what purpose does violence against them serve besides for the sake of our own bloodlust?

You will not see me shed a tear for Israeli settlers killed by opposition forces, or for abusers killed by a victim defending themself because those relations of power are still in place. Settlers can leave, soldiers can dodge the draft, and abusers can stop abusing.

But if they settle, kill, and abuse because they are 'evil,' then what choice did they have to begin with? And what can be done to stop colonialism, state violence, and abuse in the future? Are evil people just going to stop being born?

The framework of evil adds nothing, gives no solutions, and hinders progress by giving us amnesty for not looking at our own relationship to power structures. But a materialist, analytical framework provides us tools to deconstruct those structures and hopefully move beyond them.

[matan4il]

Hi I read your post about the fallen victims and I had to stop at 5 year old Ido Avigal and just cry. If he was still with us he would've been my nephew's age today (and my nephew is my entire world). And his adorable smile looks like my nephew's so it's even more painful. I can't imagine what his family feels or his friends. Poor thing. I hate all of the pain and suffering in the world I truly hate it.

I'm not Jewish but I will pray for these people and their loved ones. I hope their loved ones have a strong support system and that pain will probably never go away but I hope their loved ones find strength and peace and courage to continue living.

Idk I'm rambly and emotional.

Sending you hugs too. 🫂

Hi Nonnie!

Thank you so much for your very humane response! I have a nephew as well, I know exactly what you mean. I've always loved and adored kids, but there was something about accompanying my sister on her motherhood journey that made me realize just how much more it is to be a parent. And in that sense, an uncle or aunt, too. What it means to raise a child, and love them before they're even born, and be so invested in every single second for years, things I might have known as an idea, but have such a more profound impact when you actually experience them...

Ido Avigal specifically is someone who I remembered even before my sis got pregnant. Like you said, that sweet smile! The contrast before the first pic of him that was shared, in which he's seen in a Purim costume (such a joyous occasion, and you take it in while trying to process such a tragedy). The fact that the family did everything right... When Hamas fired their rocket, the warning siren went off, the family heard it in time, they all got into the bomb shelter, they closed the door and the window... they did everything right. And still, the rocket hit the next door building, a splinter of the rocket flew off and hit their window at such an angle, that it went through the shut metal covers on the window. Ido passed away a few hours later, in a hospital, but the family had to watch him get hit with a lethal strike right in front of their eyes.

How did it happen? Because when the decision was made on how thick the metal covers over the windows in every bomb shelter had to be, Hamas' rockets were less advanced than they are now. Even with all of the effort Israel invests in it, it's simply not possible to keep "updating" our bomb shelters at the same speed Hamas get rocket upgrades from Iran. That's the tragedy. That defense systems, no matter how good, are always bound to fail eventually. And we can talk about statistics (Iron Dome did succeed in intercepting 97% of rocket threats in May 2021), for that one family, nothing is going to ever fix what happened, and bring their kid back.

If Israel hadn't left Gaza in 2005, our soldiers could have done more to intercept what Hamas is getting from Iran, to make sure they can't upgrade their rockets, and become more lethal. But we didn't want to rule over Gaza anymore, we wanted to try giving it to the Palestinians, give them autonomy, give them something to develop and invest in, give them something to lose if they choose terrorism, so that hopefully they wouldn't... So here we are, realizing we have to sacrifice our 18 and 19 year old children in order to protect our 5 year old kids, the kind of choice that no nation, that no parent and family, should have to make.

And you know what's even worse? Since Ido was killed, in May 2021, I've seen his pic more than once, used in anti-Israel propaganda, presenting him as if he was a Palestinian kid (along with Nadine Awad, a 14 years old Israeli Arab Muslim Bedouine girl, who was also killed by Hamas during the same time). Ido's mom publicly spoke out against them doing this, BTW. They're literally appropriating our dead, and using them against us, to de-legitimize our self-defense, and bring about more murdered Israelis. I can't understand that kind of moral failure other than in terms of antisemitism.

I can tell you that Ido's dad wrote and published a song in his son's memory, called "measured hope," and an article from two days ago stated that Ido's mom has been giving interview to explain Israelis better to the world, since Oct 7.

Thank you again for the very kind words and hugs! Sending you big hugs and much love right back! xoxox

(for more of my posts regarding Israel, click here)

[just-horrible-things]

On The Amnestic Issue

The issue of strong amnestic drugs is not a highly publicized one. It is not a polarizing topic of debate like immigration, reproductive rights, or the human pet industry. Most people do not even have a strong opinion on amnestics. They are not front and center in the public view. The pharmaceutical industry and its supporters have done an excellent job of suppressing debate.

This is not an issue to take up lightly as a bit of collegiate activism to soothe the soul. Even to write about the topic is to invite lawsuit, defamation, and harassment. You probably haven’t heard much about anti-amnestic activists, not because we don’t exist but because that is how effectively we are silenced. I have friends who have been jailed for speaking out, and many more who have been publicly targeted, harassed, accused, and made into laughing stocks.

This is not an issue to take up unless you truly feel passionately about it.

But I am passionate, and I think you should be too. I think we all should be. 

Detractors will attempt to paint anti-amnestic discourse as radical left wing pet-lib propaganda. They will attempt to paint us as far right anti-vaxxer paranoids lashing out against the medical industry. But the amnestic issue ought to concern you regardless of your political alignment.#

Whatever your stance on the human pet industry, whatever your stance on pharmacological reform, the amnestic issue goes far further than either of those. This is not about criminals or contractees, although they form part of the picture. This is primarily about the effects of strong amnestic drugs in the general population, the failure of our government and regulators to protect us from unregulated use, and the complete lack of unbiased, verifiable information about amnestic safety even in a medical context.

Use of prescription amnestics has more than doubled in just the last three years, despite the complete lack of any independent studies demonstrating benefits in the vast majority of use cases. Un-monitored, un-reported “home use” is estimated at anywhere between half as many people again, and three times as many, and in many cases these unprescribed drugs are being used to “medicate” entirely non-medical issues such as domestic quarrels.

Crime involving the forced administration of strong amnestics to unconsenting victims is estimated to have increased twenty-fold since these substances were first approved for prescription. The volume of illegal amnestics circulating in the black market is completely unknown, and the lack of separation between the markets for aggressive criminal use and for unregulated “self-medication” is bringing naive would-be patients into contact with hardened drug dealers and organized crime.

In the context of our progressively failing criminal justice system, some victims are even administering the “cover up pills” to themselves rather than face the traumatic experience of trying to push a report through to court. In a recent survey, 20% of university students said that if they were victims of “date rape” they would rather take a pill and forget, than take the issue to the police. Cited reasons included shame, fear of stigmatization, fear that the police would do nothing, and, conversely, fear that the police would respond with excessive force.

Perhaps most troubling of all, the second most popular reason given was simply that taking an amnestic would be “less effort”. The same attitude is reflected in a growing media trend towards portraying drug-induced forgetting as the “easy option” : a quick, effortless, and effective solution to any and all of life’s problems. 

Needless to say there is no evidence to support the idea that amnestic abuse actually improves happiness, health, or any other measure of wellbeing. And it should be beyond obvious that choosing to forget certain problems such as unpaid bills, unsettled debts, or an angry spouse will not actually cause these problems to go away.

Even industry giants such as Santex Pharma and WRU have recently put out statements advising against unregulated, unsupervised home use. These statements describe the medical applications and the use in the pet industry (respectively) as highly controlled, carefully monitored use cases and not comparable to the growing trend of unlicensed use. Santex state, both in their recent statement and elsewhere, that every approved use of their strong amnestics has been rigorously safety tested and found both safe and effective. They cite a number of published studies, in addition to an undisclosed quantity of private, internal investigation.

Every single published study involving strong amnestics was either conducted or funded by a manufacturer of strong amnestics, a business that uses strong amnestics as a core part of their business model (i.e. the human pet industry), or a subsidiary of one of these businesses.

There are no published independent studies. All attempts at independent studies have been heavily suppressed by the above industries, or else taken over by these business interests long before completion. It has long been well known – if rarely successfully prosecuted – that pharmaceutical companies regularly misuse statistics, massage data, and even outright fabricate results to produce conclusions that are favorable to their bottom line.

Even those few independent investigators who have resisted the pressure exerted by the industry have found that no reputable publication – scientific or otherwise – will take on the risk of publishing their results if they fail to corroborate the claims of safety. When such studies are made publically available on the internet they are invariably taken down within weeks or even days, and the authors – if remotely identifiable – can expect a slew of life-ruining lawsuits. In many cases even criminal charges have been leveled against such investigators.

Consequently it is extremely difficult to form an accurate picture of the extent and form of the risks posed by the use of strong amnestics. However, certain themes come up over and over in these vanished studies. The use of strong amnestics, especially but not exclusively long term or at high doses, has been associated with any or all of the following:

cognitive decline or impairment

anterograde amnesia (loss of the ability to reliably form new long term memories)

anxiety and depression

emotional instability and dysregulation

intrusive thoughts

increased rates of suicide

increased mortality (all causes)

false recall (remembering fictive events as if they were real, or events that happened to other people as if they happened to oneself)

nightmares, night terrors, insomnia and other sleep disturbances

migraines, cluster headaches, and other forms of headache

increased impulsivity

increases vulnerability to addiction

impaired executive function (difficulty making and adhering to plans, reduced decision-making ability)

While none of the above symptoms have been conclusively linked to amnestics on account of the industry stranglehold on data, it is worth noting that the incidence of all of the above problems in the general population has increased sharply over the last few years, with no other obvious explanation for the increase.

Some of the most striking evidence has come from the study of parents who made the choice to forget a child when that child entered into the human pet industry. The fact that WRU discontinued this as an official service after only a year and a half speaks volumes. But small numbers of parents (and an unknown number of other friends and relatives of new human pets) continue to seek out this option either under the supervision of a medical professional or independently “at home” with illicitly procured amnestics.

While the desire to forget is perhaps an understandable response to the loss of a child or loved one, the outcomes of such a choice are rarely happy. Suicide rates in this group are extremely high, as are rates of anxiety, depression, and other mental illnesses. 

Testimonials can be found on parenting boards across the web urging other parents not to make the same decision. They describe intense feelings of guilt, crushing anxiety, dread and/or a sense of “impending doom”, and a constant, gnawing awareness of the period of “lost time”. Feelings of hopelessness, futility and lack of purpose or fulfillment are extremely common.

One mother described the feeling as not only having lost her now-unremembered child, but also having lost herself.

The wider societal impact of amnestic abuse is also making itself felt as the prevalence rises year on year. Courts have already agreed that forgetting a crime or other offense does not absolve the perpetrator of any guilt or responsibility, but how exactly to handle such cases is far from settled. 

Detractors of pharmacological reform are quick to point out the double standard here. Amnesia can be enforced by the state in the name of correcting entrenched behavioral patterns and preventing reoffense, but those who have already self-administered this treatment are still considered just as guilty and just as likely to reoffend as if they had not forgotten.

Neither is it clear how to help or compensate victims of amnestic-related crimes. The use of amnestics to cover up crimes – most commonly date rape – is nothing new. Even prior to the invention of the modern drug class, weak amnestics such as alcohol and benzodiazepines have long been used for this purpose. However, the rise of the strong amnestic has both expanded the criminal’s toolkit for cover-ups and opened entire new spheres of crime.

Every month it seems that allegations of a new kind of crime hit the courts, from corporate espionage cases in which corporate agents are accused of using amnestics to wipe ideas, trade secrets, or experience in the field from their competitors, to domestic abuse allegations involving the long term use of amnestics to keep the victim ignorant of their own abuse. While some of these cases are clearly less plausible than others, there can be no doubt that criminal elements are hard at work finding new ways to abuse these substances.

If you follow the mainstream news cycle, you are also doubtless already aware of the rise of “perpetual amnesiacs” – a small but highly visible minority of amnestic “addicts” who take the drugs repeatedly in high doses to forget practically everything. 

(While strong amnestics are not physiologically addictive drugs like heroin or cocaine, phenomena such as gambling addiction and pornography addiction have long taught us that people can become addicted to all manner of things that are not physiologically addictive drugs.)

These “perpetual amnesiacs” usually have substantial problems before the amnestic abuse. They may be homeless, in debt, stuck in abusive relationships, or addicted to other substances. They begin taking the amnestics to forget their very real troubles. What separates the addict from other “home users” is the very high doses involved, and the taking of additional doses as soon as further difficulties arise. 

These afflicted individuals become increasingly disengaged from life, drifting from one short term pleasure (often other substances of abuse) to another, and taking additional amnestics whenever consequences threaten to disrupt their existence in the moment.

Most become homeless if they were not already, and over time almost all develop severe symptoms from the list above. Reporting has focused particularly on impulsivity, cognitive decline, and anterograde amnesia. We hear of the violent deaths of addicts killed attempting the wildly ill-conceived crimes that their impulsivity leads them into.

Eventually the “perpetual amnesiac” needs no further doses of the amnestics, because their ability to form new memories has been completely destroyed. 

Despite industry insistence that these sobering results are only a result of the extremely high doses taken by the addicts, the recent news coverage has awoken public fears regarding the safety of strong amnestics. 

However, reporting of these concerns has been notably muted and seems to have almost ceased as I write these words. All major news agencies seem to now prefer to parrot the company line that it is the quantity and the frequency that is the problem, not the drugs themselves. One can only imagine that money or favors have changed hands to facilitate this shift in focus.

One can only hope that the public will remember nonetheless, and that the plight of these most severely affected “perpetual amnesiacs” will prompt at least a few to look into the effect that amnestic drugs are having on us as individuals and as a society, and that we might start to look beyond the horizon of the company line.

-- A. Correspondent

[dailyanarchistposts]

The Path Forward

The human rights discourse that has hijacked the political left in recent decades has drawn us away from a framework of liberation and effective action. It is now clear that we must track back from liberal thinking in order to reestablish strategies that disarm and deconstruct power. The moral complicity with Israel’s crimes that is represented by the ICJ’s refusal to order an immediate cease fire forces us to do this. It offers a convincing argument that we all need to break with the current failed system.

On the other hand, reality will not wait for us to figure things out. We cannot simply take our time and wait to take action until we have developed and popularized new narratives and conceptual frameworks. We have to use whatever means are available to us to act right now.

Does the ICJ offer us any tools we can use? the ICJ is considered the highest instance of international law. Although it has no independent enforcement mechanisms aside from the United Nations Security Council, its rulings and case law are considered the bedrock of international law jurisprudence, and they are often incorporated into the rulings of national courts on these matters. Despite having ordered very few measures against Israel or the ongoing genocide being carried out, the court did determine that there is considerable cause to believe that genocide is taking place.

Because the court did not take any real measures against Israel, it should be evident that the responsibility to act falls upon us and our movements. Fortunately, the ruling might also give us some tools to use in the here and now while we are developing new frameworks of liberation. One such example is a recent lawsuit at a California federal court aimed at ordering the US administration to halt military support to Israel. The case was dismissed on the grounds that US foreign policy is outside the court’s jurisdiction, but it did determine that Israel is plausibly committing genocide in Gaza on the basis of the ICJ ruling.

The legal case that governments must refrain from complicity in genocide is not unsubstantiated in US law, as well as in many other countries. A Dutch court recently ordered the government of the Netherlands to halt the delivery of parts for F-35 fighter jets that Israel is using to bombard the Gaza Strip. It might be plausible now to force more governments to impose arms embargos, sanctions, or other measures through national courts.

However, such strategies still reduce us to relying on so-called experts; they will not help us build movements. The genocide will not be stopped from within Israeli society. Pressure to do so must come from outside. It is now time for direct action and bottom-up efforts, like community-driven boycotts on Israeli goods, vendors who trade in them, Israeli cultural and propaganda exports, and anything else that feeds into the global boycott, divestment, and sanctions movement. The blockading of the port of Tacoma or the actions of dock workers around the world who refuse to load Israeli ships and cargo and transport arms to Israel are examples of how we might be able to move forward, building towards a proactive grassroots movement.

We must do everything within our power to stop the genocide that is taking place now, but it is important that we approach doing so as a step towards promoting Palestinian liberation and the dismantling of Israeli settler-colonialism. The portrayal of Palestinians as little more than victims at the mercy of Israeli repression is sometimes well intentioned, but it erases their personhood and agency. While we strive to bring Israel’s war machine to a halt, we must articulate that this is part of the struggle to end Israeli colonialism, and center Palestinians as the protagonists of that story.

[mrsaltieri-real]

His Perfect Victim (Mickey Altieri x OC!Dahlia Levine)

Chapter 8: Scars and Secrets

Words: 3k

Warnings: language, angst, PTSD, fluff, stabbing, blood, arguing, violence, making out, suggestive, mickey actually being sweet, etc

This chapter was both sad and fun to write. My girl has so much trauma and it’s so hard to write but at the same time, so necessary for future chapters. Thank you one again to @bisexual-horror-fan for beta reading and editing this for me. Your additions only made it hurt so good even more. I love you dude.

@lizey-thornberry for tags.

Secrets. I have never much liked secrets.

My own, or other peoples, I’d rather people just not tell me anything. My reasoning was that it was better not knowing, so I wouldn’t accidentally run my mouth or feel the overwhelming, bone breaking and soul crushing pressure of having to lie about something.

But this is one secret I didn’t mind keeping, not at all.

Mickey and I decided to keep our “relationship test run” on the down low, and I honestly preferred it this way. It wasn’t because either one of us were ashamed or conflicted, it was simply because it was easier.

I didn’t need the disapproval from Randy, I could picture him sitting across from me, his expression tattling on his extreme displeasure and when questioned his lips would purse, eyebrows would raise, hands up he would say, “Nothing.” But it’s not nothing, I know it and he knows it, his fucking shitty tone showing it as clear as the sky is blue. I also couldn’t take the pressing questions from Hallie, could practically feel her hand crushing mine as she talks a mile a minute, it was enough to make a headache crop up if I lingered too long. I just wanted to remain in the newly blown bubble that was being with him.

There was a small kind of thrill in the sneaking around. He took me on secret dates to the movies or for dinner, always met me before and after classes, walked me to my lectures, just hanging out in the square and we talked.

Fuck, we talked about anything we could think of. It was mainly about him, that being my own choice. I didn’t like talking about myself, because the questioning will always lead to the one thing I didn’t want to talk about. That one thing, or rather one person, should be obvious.

Stu.

Even back then, I wasn’t stupid. Mickey knew Stu was my cousin and how close we were, so it was only natural for someone to be curious about the missed signs and warnings that he was who he was. He’d asked gently a couple of times, but I’d simply shrugged off the question or made a small dismissive comment and swiftly changed the subject back into his affliction with movies.

No matter how much time I spent with him, I never understood how he got so into his films. He’d watch the same ones a thousand times over and over again and be just as eager and engulfed as the first.

It was endearing, but I never understood. He would try to explain the complexities and deep-rooted meanings behind the films but was met with nothing but a blank stare which just made him laugh. No matter how much he expounded it never clicked for me, but he didn’t mind, if anything it seems like he relished the challenge and hoped it might happen, or, he was at least into the fun we had along the way while he kept trying.

I liked how he made me feel normal. How he didn’t look at me like the crazy girl from Woodsbro, but instead with intrigue and an intense curiosity that should have made me uncomfortable, instead of that though, it made me feel seen for the first time in my entire life.

But the thing that I liked most about him? Mickey never pressured me, never tried to coax me into absolutely anything I didn’t want to do. Honestly, his patience surprised me. He never failed to surprise me. If I continue to be honest, the annoying thought in the back of my head was consistently that he wouldn’t be able to hold out, wouldn’t be able to wait and would simply have to fuck it out of his system with somebody because I just wasn’t ready. I liked him, but I didn’t fully trust him enough to hand over that part of myself to him just yet.

But he never did.

Spending time with him was even more fun, even more playful. He told awful jokes, sending me into fits of laughter over and over again. But although we talked, there was always something… Off. Everyone had secrets, but there was just something about him that seemed a little more closed off than the average person.

He’d occasionally get phone calls and excuse himself on dates, coming back and being oddly quiet and distant afterwards. It was disconcerting, but I tried to not let my imagination go into overdrive. It was hard, but like I said. I hated secrets, so I remained blissfully ignorant.

Stupid, right?

One morning, after a couple of weeks of seeing Mickey, I got a phone call from Randy. I realized, over the last few weeks, I hadn’t really seen much of him. Of course, that was completely my fault and I felt terrible, so I eagerly agreed to meet up with him to talk.

I sat in the library, picking at my nails, and I felt nervous. Why did I feel so worried about seeing Randy? Because the kid saw straight through me. He’d know instantly if I lied to him about absolutely anything, and I hated knowing that I couldn’t tell him about one of the few things that brought even a small smattering of joy to my life.

He wouldn’t understand.

When I heard the doors swing open and glanced up and saw Randy walking down the small aisle, a halfhearted smile on his face as he sent a little wave my way as he approached me.

I smiled widely back at him before he settled down across the table from me with a sarcastic, “Long time no see.” My smile falls, and he asks, “Where the hell have you been?”

“I’ve been busy.” I replied with a dismissive wave of my hand before dropping it to fidget with one of the rings on my fingers. His eyes dropped to the action, eyebrows raising a fraction.

“Busy with Mickey?” He asked, a strange and almost biting tone to his voice that made me give him a look. He was refusing to look at me, as if caught up in how nimble fingers twirled the ring around and around.

“Don’t start, Randy.” I said with a sigh, I stopped fussing with polished sliver, leaning back on the chair.

His eyes are back on me as he insists, “We don’t talk anymore, Dahlia. We haven’t in weeks, and I’m assuming that’s thanks to him.”

I said nothing, simply staring at him with narrowed eyes.

A beat of silence, heavier than I’d like. He breaks the tension and says just what I expected him to, “You lied to me, you told me nothing was going on between you and Mi-“

“Why the hell do you care?” I interrupted him, my voice sharper than I intended it to be. I don’t soften my tone as I continue, “So what I’m hanging out with him, why the fuck does it matter, Randy?”

“Jesus Christ, Dahlia. Don’t be so transparent, you’re a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them.” Randy rolled his eyes, before his hand came up, rubbing over his face before he continued, “He’s a fucking asshole, why would you waste your time on him? After everything you’ve been through with-“

“You know what-“ I interrupted him again, standing up, palms smacking against the wood as I did, Randy jumping slightly at how loud and sudden it was. I leaned over, snatching my bag off the seat next to me with a scoff, “- Fuck this. You’re the one who told me that Mickey makes me seem like a person again, and now you’re telling me I’m wasting my time with him? Fuck you, I don’t owe you or anyone else an explanation, so get off my dick.” I snapped as I angrily walked behind his chair toward the exit.

“Yeah, spoken like a true fucking lady. You know what, don’t come crying to me when he breaks your heart, Dahlia.” Randy swivelled in his chair, staring at my retreating form as he yelled after me, earning a few angrily hushed whispers from other students.

I ignore him, hands hit the door hard, swinging it open and stepping out into the bright sunlight again. As soon as I was outside, I sucked in the fresh air, the door swings closed, and I stepped to the side, my eyes closing as I leaned against the cool brick of the building.

I loved Randy, he meant the world to me, but his growing dislike for Mickey at that moment was killing me. I hated it. I hated that my best friend only somewhat tolerated the guy I was seeing and vice versa. Mickey had had plenty to say about Randy over the last couple of weeks, stuff I instantly shut down.

“Come on, Dahl,” Mickey had said with a roll of his eyes as he sat on my bed, snatching up my pillow and shaking it out, before putting it back down and leaning against it, he was looking at me with an amused expression, “Meeks is down bad for you and everyone can fucking see it!”

“Someone jealous?” I’d asked playfully, walking over to him, a knee hitting the mattress, his eyes dropped momentarily before flicking back up to meet my gaze, as I get onto the bed. A few easy moves on my knees and then perching myself on his lap. His hands automatically rested on my waist as the breathtaking smile took over his face.

“No, I’m just observant. I don’t do jealousy.” He’d said nonchalantly with a slight shrug.

“Oh, you don’t do jealously?” I scoffed, hands moving to the back of his neck, fingers lacing together and pressing over his spine. “Bullshit.”

His smile shifts slightly, more of a half smirk as he asks, “What have I got to be jealous about? I’ve got you, he doesn’t, and he never fucking will.”

He had an edge to his voice, something I didn’t catch on to, and now? I desperately wish I did.

After I got home from the awful meeting with Randy, Mickey was already waiting for me, sat on my bed with his eyes glued to a television that definitely didn’t belong to me.

“How the hell did you get in here?” I asked with a sigh, tossing my keys into the bowl by the door and dropping my bag next to the door.

Mickey’s eyes flickered to me, a small smile on his lips as he shrugged, “Not gonna tell you that, let’s just say I’ve got my ways.” He replied, arms automatically opening to me. I obliged him, strode forward and fell onto the bed and into him, letting him take me into his arms and kiss me softly on the lips, the smile still present on his face.

“I got you a television and a VCR.” He mumbled against my mouth before pulling away and gesturing to it, “I’m going to get you back into movies if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Sure. And it’ll be the last thing you ever do if you try and get me to watch Halloween again.” I muttered back, making him chuckle and lie back down on the bed, carefully pulling me next to him.

“You look sad, what’s wrong?” he asked straight away, the smile quickly turning into a frown.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I said softly, raising my finger to trace the small frown lines appearing on his face. “Let’s do something else then.” He said gently, moving to hover over me a little, his lips touching my throat, my jaw and then my lips softly. It had no hidden meaning behind it, just very tender and sweet, so much so it made my argument with Randy almost entirely leave me.

Almost.

The ending credits to a movie on the VCR were rolling, how long had he been here? We were making out in my bed, his hands were moving over my body, light as a feather and honestly, it felt good. I felt normal, no trauma, no pain, no memories. That was until, Mickey’s fingers lightly grazed over the scar of my stab wound.

Everything changed very quickly after that. It felt like all the air was sucked out of the room, stomach drops and heart pounds, sweat springs to the surface of my skin.

I could see everything. It was like I was there again and Billy Loomis stood over me, face furiously excited above me, his brown eyes wild and menacing as his body loomed over mine.

I felt his body lower, one of his hands gripping my throat as the cold steel of his knife embedded in my torso, once, twice, three times. I gasped, pathetically trying and failing to move, to push him off of me, but he just held me there, his strength far too much for me as he twisted the knife inside of me until I screamed soundlessly. My head twisting to the side and my eyes meeting Stu’s wide blue ones. He looked away, flinching just slightly at the weakening sounds of my agonized gasps. I could feel my own blood spilling from my stomach, staining the linoleum beneath me with a rapid flow, completely coating my skin, soaking into my shirt.

“Billy-“ Stu spoke, his tone strained as his eyes shifted to Billy, unable to look at me.

“She’s a loose fucking end, Stu! Family or not.” Billy spat, forcing his weight onto the knife as my body began to go limp, eyes still fixed on my cousin and unable to move away. If I was going to die, I wanted him to be the last person I saw. Not this part of him, but the fond memories. Growing up together, playing together in his backyard, wreaking havoc during family gatherings, “What? Do you really think she’s just not going to tell anyone what we did?”

“She wouldn’t-“ Stu tried uselessly to argue, but that’s the last thing I heard before everything turned black, and I gasped out a final breath.

“Dahlia? Dahlia- Ow, fuck, Dahlia!”

My eyes snapped open and Mickey had my hands pinned over my head. I gasped breathlessly, head falling down to look at my exposed stomach. No blood, just the healed over scar slightly protruding above the smooth surface of my skin.

Mickey’s eyes were confused and concerned as he stared down at me, finally releasing my wrists as he watched the realization wash over my face, the tears welling in my eyes.

I didn’t cry, I wasn’t that person anymore. But fuck, the tears suddenly wouldn’t stop as I stared up at Mickey, completely frozen as I noticed the slight faint red mark beginning to blossom across his cheek.

“What happened there, huh?” His voice was gentle as he slowly sat back on the bed, hair messy and ruffled from my fingers previously woven through the thick dark strands.

I shook my head once, arms shakily moving to wrap around myself protectively as my eyes moved to fixate on the wall, counting one, two, three, one, two, three over and over again in my head to try and relax myself.

“Dahl?” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant as he leaned forward a little, head tilted slightly to the side.

“I’m sorry.” I mumbled quietly, still not being able to look him in the eye.

“For what? Oh, this?” His hand rose to his cheek and he chuckled gently with a shake of his head, “I’ve had worse.”

I sniffed once, forcing myself to look at him and reached out my fingers to lightly touch the flushed red skin and I sighed, cringing in embarrassment and guilt. “I’d never do that on purpose. I just-“ I sighed, dropping my hand and pulling my legs up to rest my forehead on my knees. He stayed quiet, waiting for me to continue.

“It hasn’t happened in a while, but sometimes I get these… Flashbacks of what happened in Woodsbro. It’s like I’m there again. So when you touched my scar, I guess it just brought it all back.”

My voice was muffled, but I knew he understood me when I felt his hand rest softly on my shoulder, and he said lightly, “Hey, we’ve all got our demons. It’s not going to be like that forever, Dahl.”

“I know. I’m sorry I hit you.” I peeked up at his face and was surprised to see he was half smiling at me, expression torn.

“Pfft, you’re sorry? You got a mean right hook on you baby, don’t apologize for that. At least I know you can protect yourself if-“ His voice trailed off quickly, and he shook his head, gently gripping my bicep in his large hand and pulling me next to him, “There’s no rush, okay? If you aren’t ready, if things are too much right now, we can wait.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, eyeing him and feeling a little skeptical. At that moment, Randy’s previous statement about Mickey breaking my heart couldn’t be ringing further from the truth.

His smile warmed, and he nodded, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into my arm. I didn’t miss the quick glance downward to my stab wound before his eyes flashed back to mine.

“It’s gross, I know.” I sighed, gently moving so I could tug my shirt down, self consciousness rife in the motion.

“Gross? No. I think it adds character.” He commented, letting go of my arm as his phone buzzed softly on my bedside table. He grabbed it quickly, eyes scanning whatever text he received with a small frown before he stood up, sliding his cell into his back pocket. He stood over me for a moment, his finger moving under my chin to lift my eyes from his disappeared phone and to his face as he spoke, “I gotta go ice my cheek,” he half joked, but his expression remained the same, “Are you going to be okay?”

I nodded, not trusting my voice as his head ducked down, responding to his lips halfheartedly, which he didn’t seem to notice as he left my dorm, leaving me sat on my bed staring at the closed door.

CHAPTER NINE HERE

[cosmicjoke]

What do you think about ash’s fate on banana fish? On one hand, he will no longer suffer and did die knowing that at least one person cared about him. On the other hand, it is death and he doesn’t have a chance for a happier future either. I kind of dislike how some people say that ash suffered so much that he was better off dead. The ending feels so tragic but people dying suddenly and unexpectedly happens very often in life.

Hi there,

I've written a few posts about this specifically. Obviously, Ash's death is incredibly tragic, but I also feel it was the only ending that Banana Fish could have and should have had. It's the right ending. I often hear people who complain about the ending say "But it wasn't fair" or "Ash didn't deserve to die", and I'm like, no shit, Sherlock. Nothing that happened to Ash in his life is fair. If you're going to say his death wasn't fair, then you have to say the entire story wasn't fair. But that's the point. Child abuse isn't fair. The consequences of it aren't fair. The fact that any child has to fall through the cracks the way Ash did isn't fair. None of it SHOULD have happened to him, just like no child who in reality ends up homeless or abused should. The entire point behind the story is to show the injustice, cruelty and unfairness of children like Ash ending up where they do.

I feel like the ending is deeply important to the story working as a whole, because by embracing the tragedy of Ash's life and ultimate death, it refuses to let the reader undermine or brush off that tragedy. They don't get to ignore the brutal and horrible reality of the kind of life Ash was forced to live. They don't get to ignore the violence of it, the cruelty of it, the devastation of it, and in the end, the tragedy of it.

I also feel like people who insist that the ending of Banana Fish enforces toxic belief systems about abuse victims having no chance at happiness fail to understand or acknowledge that, for SOME victims of abuse, it's just not that simple or easy to move past what's happened to them. I know that makes a lot of people uncomfortable to hear, but I've heard people who have experienced abuse in their lives say they relate to and love Ash specifically because they see their own struggle to overcome their trauma in Ash's struggle. The fact he isn't, in the end, able to move past it is reflective of a very real percentage of real life abuse victims who aren't ever able to move on. I've talked at length about how this doesn't make them weak, or failures. It just makes them human. Each person has a different capacity and ability to cope with the things that have happened to them. Ash wasn't weak or a failure for being unable to just let go or move beyond what was done to him either. That's what makes Ash such a real and deeply moving character. This insistence by some that if you just work hard enough, or try hard enough, or go to enough therapy, you'll be able to move beyond your trauma is, in my opinion, infinitely more harmful to people who CAN'T move past it than just accepting that they can't, and allowing them that, and acknowledging that what they've been through is too tough and too horrible for them to "get better". Because what are we telling those people when we insist that they CAN get better when they just simply can't? We're telling them they're failures, we're telling them they just aren't doing enough, we're telling them it's some failing in THEM that's preventing them from magically finding happiness. That's not how trauma works.

Some people can't get better. They can't ever move past it. And again, that doesn't make them weak or a failure. It's just an acknowledgment that everyone is different, and has different capacities to cope. It's our own inability or refusal to accept that, that exposes so many's supposed desire to see others "get better" as nothing but it's own selfish coping mechanism, to make US feel better, because it's simply too hard to accept the reality that, for some, certain trauma's just can't be overcome.

And truly, in the end, we should never put pressure on anyone or undermine anyone's trauma and abuse by insisting to them that they can get better, as if they haven't tried, or as if it's that easy. We should never make anyone feel like a failure or like what they've been through isn't that bad by telling them, even badgering them with the notion that all it takes is hard work, and they'll be right as rain.

Again, that's why I feel like the ending of Banana Fish is integral to the story working on the level that it does. Because it shows us, in Ash, those people who couldn't get better, and it shows us that it's okay, and even important, to acknowledge those people. It might make all of us work harder ourselves to prevent anyone from ever having to go through what Ash went through in the first place.

[gatekeeperwatchman]

Has Money Ever Failed in a Society in the Bible?

Yes, there is a record of money failing in a society in the Bible. You can read the story in Genesis Chapter 47.

Genesis 47:15  “And when money failed in the land of Egypt, and in the land of Canaan, all the Egyptians came unto Joseph, and said, Give us bread: for why should we die in thy presence? for the money faileth.”

There was a famine in the land during the time that this happened. However, God had raised a man named Joseph who was the Pharaoh’s right-hand man and he had wisdom from God and had stored up food for hard times for the people of the land since he was given knowledge from God that the famine was coming and how long it would be. Today, there are Prophets and people of God that are telling people there will be food shortages and that they should store up food now while we have a window of time to do so. In the coming days, food could be more valuable than gold or money.

Yes, God will take care of His children no matter what happens, but perhaps He wants to help us prepare ahead of time, so we will not be a victim of what the devil is planning and it will be easier for us than those who do not prepare or plan.

China has implemented cryptocurrency in some of its cities, but it comes with the cost of the total loss of financial privacy and government control. The same plans are in the making for our country. China, being a communist country, has always restricted freedom, so it was easy for their government to manipulate the masses there, to implement this new monetary system. However, we are a free nation and it will be harder for the government here to deceive the masses, but people are vulnerable when it comes to the need for money and food. Several Christian business people in our nation are aware of these plans and are positioning themselves not to become a part of them. Several moral people feel the same way. The testimony below is one of those people. (I do not know if they are Christians). These are not Christian testimonies per se, but rather common sense testimonies.

The Lord has led me to some very revealing things that are going on right now in financial circles that need immediate prayer. Many other things are happening as well, which confirms we are in those perilous times mentioned in the Bible. We are definitely in the time of the end right before Jesus comes to this earth again. But remember that day comes after a period of great tribulation according to Matthew 24.

2 Timothy 3:1-5:

1 This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come. 2 For men shall be lovers of their selves, covetous, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, 3 Without natural affection, trucebreakers, false accusers, incontinent, fierce, despisers of those that are good,  4 Traitors, heady, highminded, lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God;  5 Having a form of godliness but denying the power thereof: from such turn away.

Banks are getting prepared because they expect to lose control of inflation soon “This new system will enable the Fed to deposit money directly and give them absolute control of their policies. This coming UBI stimulus scheme will be the fuel that starts the hyperinflation fire since we are a consumer-driven economy; they have to get us to consume,” Also, if you want an understanding, the world is on the brink of a total financial collapse, Peter Schiff shares those reasons in this video link below. God is shaking everything that is not built on His Word and our biggest problem financially is that we, as a nation, are headed for bankruptcy without divine intervention from God. It is because of the enormous amount of debt we have with no way to pay it off. Simply put, the outgo is more than the income. Record-high government debt is projected to hit $31.4 TRILLION by 2030. This is impossible to sustain in the natural. Only God can save us. He is waiting on us to individually and corporately repent of our sins so He can show us the way out of destruction.

 What happened in Greece? For the sake of brevity, during the years 2009 to 2016 Greece faced a national bank crisis which led to it facing total bank collapse. Greek voters said “no” to austerity measures (cutting back on spending), so instability created a run on the banks. Greece sustained extensive economic damage during the two weeks surrounding the vote. Banks closed and restricted ATM withdrawals to 60 euros per day. They were not allowed to withdraw their money from their checking and savings accounts. Instead, the bank proposed they would give them only a portion of their deposited monies and would give them bank stock for the rest of their funds to keep the bank from going bankrupt. The people had to accept this deal or they would have not received any of their money at all. Can this happen in the United States?

The Fall of a Democracy

Quote below by Alexander Fraser Tytler, Lord Woodhouselee who was a Scottish advocate, judge, writer, and historian who served as Professor of Universal History, and Greek and Roman Antiquities at the University of Edinburgh

“A democracy cannot exist as a permanent form of government. It can only exist until the voters discover that they can vote themselves largesse from the public treasury. From that moment on, the majority always votes for the candidates promising the most benefits from the public treasury with the result that a democracy always collapses over loose fiscal policy, always followed by a dictatorship. The average age of the world’s greatest civilizations has been 200 years. Great nations rise and fall. The people go from bondage to spiritual truth, to great courage, from courage to liberty, from liberty to abundance, from abundance to selfishness, from selfishness to complacency, from complacency to apathy, from apathy to dependence, from dependence back again to bondage.”

The government and corporate greed and lust, with no restraint, have led us to this place. It is only a matter of “when this will happen,” not “if it will happen.” Our government has broken all the biblical financial laws, especially in the area of debt, so this federal system can no longer stand. If we break those same financial laws, we too will fail financially. Our debt can also bring destruction to our nation. Debt is not sinful, but failing to repay our debts is. We can sin by not obeying God with our money. If you are having financial difficulties, there is a checklist on this page as to what you may not be doing regarding your finances.

One major financial sin Christians are committing is their failure to tithe and give to the works of God. Sin has led us to this place and only repentance will save us. However, God has a remnant of people who are hearing His voice and God will save them as He did Noah and his family in the time of the flood that swept away that violent society. (Genesis 6 & 7). Right now the devil is trying to set up people for the future “mark of the beast.” Things are now unfolding rapidly that was predicted in the Bible thousands of years ago. Men will be marked in their minds long before they will be marked physically unless they are putting the Word of God into their hearts and minds.

I have spent the day writing this as it was urgent in my heart. I do not know how much time we have before these events begin to unfold, it could be days, weeks, or even a year or two. Since God is merciful, He gives us more time to repent and obey Him when we pray and seek Him. I just know the Lord wants to help us get ready in the natural, as well as get ready in the spirit as well. Please pray about how the Lord wants you to respond to the information I have shared with you in this article. As I said, I am not a financial counselor, but I have learned and practiced what the Bible says about finances so I am not afraid as I know the Lord will not only provide for us in hard times but will also use His people to help others in the days ahead. He is sending His glory on His people in the days ahead to show Himself as the mighty God Who preserves His people. We are shifting into supernatural guidance and provision for all who are fully committed to the will of god. I am listing some additional links below that you might want to read as well. A Warning to Rich Men Who Look to Their Riches Instead of God

James 5:1-8:

1 Go to now, ye rich men, weep and howl for your miseries that shall come upon you.  2 Your riches are corrupted, and your garments are moth-eaten. 3 Your gold and silver are cankered, and the rust of them shall be a witness against you and shall eat your flesh as it were fire. Ye have heaped treasure together for the last few days.  4 Behold, the hire of the laborers who have reaped down your fields, which is of you kept back by fraud, crieth: and the cries of them which have reaped are entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth.  5 Ye have lived in pleasure on the earth, and been wanton; ye have nourished your hearts, as in a day of slaughter.  6 Ye have condemned and killed the just, and he doth not resist you.  7 Be patient, therefore, brethren, unto the coming of the Lord. Behold, the husbandman waiteth for the precious fruit of the earth, and hath long patience for it, until he receives the early and latter rain.  8 Be ye also patient; establish your hearts: for the coming of the Lord draweth nigh.

Bottom Line

If none of this applies to you or has spoken to you, my last word on this subject is this. No amount of money will save any of us in the days ahead. If we are trying to protect our money, without submitting completely to the will of God (being willing to go anywhere, give up anything and do anything He asks of us); then we shall surely lose our worldly possessions. He wants us to trust Him. God is dealing with lust and idolatry in the hearts of His people and He loves us enough to chastise us so we do not end up backsliding or miss our blessings or even end up in hell. Remember the parable of the “Ten Virgins” in Matthew 25. Five of them could not enter the wedding chamber with Jesus. This chapter also talks about those who hid the Lord’s money and what happened to them.

God wants you to hear from Him regarding all things so I encourage you to surrender totally and unconditionally to Him today. He wants to make you into His image and cause you to overcome all things that are hindering your walk with Him.

For those who are overcomers and make up His bride, He has great things in store for them. One of those is that He wants to make us rulers over all of our goods according to Matthew 24:42-47:

42 Watch therefore: for ye know not what hour your Lord doth come.  43 But know this, that if the goodman of the house had known in what watch the thief would come, he would have watched, and would not have suffered his house to be broken up.  44 Therefore be ye also ready: for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of man cometh. 45 Who then is a faithful and wise servant, whom his lord hath made ruler over his household, to give them meat in due season?  46 Blessed is that servant, whom his lord when he cometh shall find so doing.  47 Verily I say unto you, That he shall make him ruler over all his goods.

From: Steven P. Miller CEO/ Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups Jacksonville, Florida., Duval County, USA. Instagram: steven_parker_miller_1956, Twitter: @GatekeeperWatchman1, @ParkermillerQ, Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gatekeeperwatchman URL: linkedin.com/in/steven-miller-b1ab21259 Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ElderStevenMiller

GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller,#Eldermiller1981

[seriously-mike]

LeCun thinks that today’s AI models, while useful, are far from rivaling the intelligence of our pets, let alone us. When I ask whether we should be afraid that AIs will soon grow so powerful that they pose a hazard to us, he quips: “You’re going to have to pardon my French, but that’s complete B.S.”

This WSJ article shows how much bullshit is going on in "AI" these days.

LeCun says such talk is likely premature. When a departing OpenAI researcher in May talked up the need to learn how to control ultra-intelligent AI, LeCun pounced. “It seems to me that before ‘urgently figuring out how to control AI systems much smarter than us’ we need to have the beginning of a hint of a design for a system smarter than a house cat,” he replied on X. He likes the cat metaphor. Felines, after all, have a mental model of the physical world, persistent memory, some reasoning ability and a capacity for planning, he says. None of these qualities are present in today’s “frontier” AIs, including those made by Meta itself.

Exactly. No matter what the sales pitches say, no matter what magical thinking you're applying to them, current "AI" models work from a pre-baked set of data that can't be modified, they can't use any reference to already generated output data, or even consistently explain the origin of the output data beyond general pointers to single sentences that can be wildly misrepresented (as I noticed running several of my Tumblr posts through NotebookLM - Deep Dive into the post about Tears for Fears parody was something to behold). Not that it was obvious in all those cases where ChatGPT utterly failed as a paralegal, making up case references and misquoting the sources so badly that people sued OpenAI for slander (mistaking the victim of the crime for the perpetrator, for example).

As each generation of models has become much more powerful, some experts have concluded that simply pouring more chips and data into developing future AIs will make them ever more capable, ultimately matching or exceeding human intelligence. This is the logic behind much of the massive investment in building ever-greater pools of specialized chips to train AIs. LeCun thinks that the problem with today’s AI systems is how they are designed, not their scale. No matter how many GPUs tech giants cram into data centers around the world, he says, today’s AIs aren’t going to get us artificial general intelligence.

Actual research into artificial intelligence, even the fields covered by current models, calls for drastic paradigm shifts instead of just throwing more hardware at the problem. Meanwhile, I noticed how Flux Dev achieved the improved rendering of hands and text: by reducing the variety of input data. Most of the time you're getting photorealistic human characters on a painted background, because despite the ballooning data model size, the actual reference pool is smaller and certain keywords just don't apply to the entirety of an image, just the portions where they won't ruin the selling point (normal-looking hands). It's as if the algorithm is being sold to certain kind of clients for certain purposes, like editorial shots for third-rate clickbait websites.

Today’s models are really just predicting the next word in a text, he says. But they’re so good at this that they fool us. And because of their enormous memory capacity, they can seem to be reasoning, when in fact they’re merely regurgitating information they’ve already been trained on. “We are used to the idea that people or entities that can express themselves, or manipulate language, are smart—but that’s not true,” says LeCun. “You can manipulate language and not be smart, and that’s basically what LLMs are demonstrating.”

Lately, I dropped a zinger that "Artificial Intelligence is most often used by people lacking actual one", and it shows.

[avrotf]

Based on those messages sent to me, this is a game test scam that pressures you to download a “game” disguised as a stealer. Please do not interact with hacked users (utilize block and report feature). Since I already knew about the scam from the past, let me review the screenshot that I’m showing.

Most introductory messages use social engineering tactic, in which scammers utilize typical social media chats sending slang or other informal words to online friends. For example, the “heyy” contains an extra ‘y’, to grab friend’s attention. The beginning message is somewhat of a signature message starters to begin the conversation. Not all scammers say this line.

The scammer who called me “mate” indicates that we have been friends for a long time. However, we do not share anything in common, and we are never friends in the beginning, which creates suspicion about this scammer. No friend would ever send a message in a way to grab attention.

The quote, “Yes, we haven’t met. I found you on our shared server,” indicates that the scammer fails to mention any servers that I am associated with. This gave away more suspicions until the next message claims to be a “game developer” and wants “feedback.” These messages are a red flag across Discord communities.

Due to the removal of Discord’s Trust and Safety ticket, I cannot make any reports that involve using Discord’s attachment system and/or outside messages that violate TOS and Community Guidelines. Instead, I have to wait for the scammer to send the scam link, which I get a chance to utilize Discord’s new inconsistent reporting system.

The link provided is a page to itch.io, which is a game publishing website for most game developers. However, scammers have utilized this platform by publishing copyrighted games with different titles and stolen footages. Currently, Sweet Dream is a game made by devflipstudios, but had its contents copied by scammers and reuploaded with the same description but attaches malware. devflipstudios has since filed a DMCA takedown request to itch.io, although itch.io has yet to respond to the developer’s report.

Note that the link that I received is a fake game, which lead you to another download link. The download link redirects to services like MediaFire, Dosya, and Discord’s attachment systems. Since this link and malware is visible to anyone, at least one or more people can report the malware that is being distributed to other victims. MediaFire provided the fastest response that immediately blocked the file within 10 minutes to 3 hours. Dosya can take up to 24 hours to respond back to me, but declined to reply to any of my emails sent. Discord’s attachment system fails to detect any malware that scammers used to distribute, which makes it hard to report files.

Throughout those conversations, I pretended to make some excuses and other nonsense talk to stall the scammer for about 10+ minutes. Yes, these scammers get impatient all the time trying to steal my account. However, I am just here to waste their time, and simply block them because they gave up on me.

Now what about me? No files have been downloaded into my computer or anything. I am playing it the safe way since I am not bold enough to go deep beyond stalling scammers. After all, I have filed multiple reports across platforms and users that were hacked in order to get them disabled.

Once again, my final reminder is that you should not open links or download attachments from users, even if it’s your friend that telling you to download or open the file.

Hope that blog states why you should not trust messages in a way they send you messages to get scammed.

[marlasomething]

(my) Mag a Week: Banished Future

Hello there!

I am participating in the "a mag a day" idea which is BRILLIANT and I decided to do "statement a week", rolling dice with the characters and fears that were ftw that week in the episodes I have listened.

For today I rolled Archivist!Martin Blackwood and The Extinction (Eps. 140-146).

As usual, please do forgive my quick tipper and non-native speaker mistakes, Marla

Allons-y!

CW: death, destruction of public property with no regards for human victims, discussions of losing the will to live, swearing, mild gashlightning

Also on AO3!

Statement of anonymous student, regarding the future burning to the ground of their university.

Audio recording by Martin Blackwood. The Archivist, I suppose?

Statement begins.

 I don’t know how you people work. Maybe you are like those bloody priests and fucking shrinks and have to tell what I am about to confess since it hadn’t happened yet…but, let’s be honest, you are a bunch of goth nerds on your old ivory tower: you must have so many skeletons in the closet you don’t want any relationship with the literal rotting and also actual burning of a public building.

Sorry, not building: Institution .

Anyways, I have absolutely nothing to lose, as I am going down with it. This World has nothing to offer to any of us, so, why bother staying in it? I am just writing to you people because…well, I don’t really know why . I’ve just heard about your existence and it sounded like a fun thing to do.

I used to never do fun things. Actually, some might argue that I am going to embrace death without having done a single fun thing in my entire life. It is not my fault, though. I had to be…maybe not the best, but more than good enough. Constantly, tiresomely excelling…if I followed the path marked for me, I would have my reward in the end. A would earn my reward…

…I just can’t figure out what that would have been. Maybe it was just death in my own terms, and I have simply chosen to speed-run towards it.

Still, I bet you are wondering what on Earth is this all this rambling about…well, how it all begun. That was, as many things do when you are studying almost any degree in any Western country, with a midnight mental breakdown.

 I was at my ridiculously small dorm room, trying my best to barely pass a subject I was supposed to enjoy. A subject I had been looking forward for years , in the hope that, maybe, this one was actually half as well-taught as it should have been…to find another dumpster fire of organisation and topics that we were meant to learn as parrots instead of by reasoning the statements learnt.

I wanted to cry myself to sleep, but that would have meant to lose another night of studying and hard-work, which I couldn’t allow myself because there were another five subjects also waiting for me to be studied…was this really how Superior Education meant to look like? What was the hope of all of us if this was our base for Real Life ?

I was about to restrain myself from getting up and throwing my chair against the dorm’s window when a voice behind me asked, in a rather cynical tone, if I wasn’t ashamed of still getting disappointed at a System that had been failing me since primary education. Upset at the rather accurate argument (mainly about not having had it first) I turned to face one of my classmates, a pretty regular boy that would very likely enter that category commonly known as twink . He had always been shy, nice, and well-put; never top of the class but not as terrible at all tests as me. He had his group of friends, a couple teachers that treated him a little bit better than it was usual and another pair that seem to believe he was public enemy number one.

In other words: the most mundane boy of my class, just stating something I already knew, even though I only acknowledged it completely very deep down. Obviously, I asked him what on Earth he was doing in my room and why bringing that subject just before exams. For all answer, he gave me a pill, smiled with a fake kindness that froze all my blood streams and told me that it was a present: if I ate it, exams would become considerably easier.

In the stupidest yet smartest movement of my entire life, I did so.

 Since then, my marks improved wildly and even my proficiency when it came to deal with works for uni was better beyond all measures. I was the student I was supposed to be, with a bit of free time every other week!

And nothing else changed . Everything was equality shitty, just while I was being perceived as much smarter by people whose opinion I didn’t value that much, if at all.

Exasperated, one night, while at a bar, the boy from class came to me. At first, I didn’t recognise him, for he was that level of dull and mundane-looking, but then, the cynicism in his voice was unmatchable and he asked me if I tried to drink while the pill was still keeping its effect.

I jumped, yelling about how stupid he thought I was: I wasn’t about to OD for the shake of an experiment whose purpose I hadn’t even been explained and he…he just shrugged and told me, once again, what was the other option I was so hell-bent on preventing from changing. He might have called me a coward while he took something that looked a bit too much like degraded plastic from inside his irregular fingernails.

Was this the first time he had such poorly preserved nails or I was just seeing him clearly for the first time?

I didn’t waste more time in thinking about that. Somehow, the fact that there was something extremely dirty and broken about him, as small as it was…just made him much more compelling as an actual human being I was interacting with and not just a delirium for the barely slept nights.

Without contemplating why I was doing what I was about to do, I took the stronger pill, the one he was now offering, asked for a Whisky on the Rocks and drank while shallowing.

Nothing happened (apart from the theft the prices of all kind of brewages), until I went back to my bed and felt asleep.

Do you know our buildings are filled with insects, extremely flammable and with foundations as weak as a nonagenarian’s pair of knees? My dreams did; they were just documentaries, à la History Channel and, somehow, I knew they weren’t lying.

Not about the poorly made buildings that had cost me my sanity and hopes in mankind, but also about how the current human body was far weaker than it had been various generations before, so overprotected while being destroyed by the junk we put inside of it that it had basically become a ticking time-bomb against its owner .

I decided to prove whether this was as true as I believed it to be.

You have heard about the latest deaths of local students? The one that had the most random allergic reaction to a very particular clothing material? The one that couldn’t digest too much vegetables out of lack of habit?

Well, I must say, my dreams were right.

 And that is why I am destroying the University next week. That and the fact that, now that I am literal top of my class, my opinion towards it has not changed in the slightest. I must thank that boy; he has an extremely ragged raincoat, had I mentioned it before? I hope so…it just matched him .

Circling back: I am doing what my dreams showed me. Well, more precisely, two of the most likely scenarios simultaneously. There will likely have no repercusion when I finished, except for some that will lose jobs and lives in the process but…there is nothing in this life that could make me feel responsible for cutting the thread that connecting them to this plane of existence before time. And I really don’t care about it not mattering in the end.

Maybe, even, they should be grateful to me. You all should. Just as I am.

  Statement ends.

  Well…this person had obvious mental issues and yet…it is a clear example of how Jon described the Extinction to me (he was so adorable being excited with something that took his mind off The Web and the rather bizarre new direction The Institute is heading towards).

I also can understand why Floyd Matharu, even being a Desolation Avatar, can be so scared of what might happen if they got enough power. Sad to have to agree with the new boss…

Fear of the screw-ups of mankind itself…I just hoped I could get better the whole University bit. Even as they described it, it sounded better than my personal alternative.

Uh…this is harder than I expected, I just hope Peter’s idea of bringing the whole staff to have a drink is still on (he is quite talkative for an End’s avatar, I must say).

  End recording.

[weirwood]

At a surface level, Jon and Jaime certainly share a number of parallels. Young commanders, great fighters, threatening babies. All of these are superficial compared to how they navigate their arcs.

Jaime sends Brienne to rescue Sansa, not because he cares for her well-being, but because her rescue would restore his honour and good name:

Sansa Stark is my last chance for honor.

In contrast, Jon sends Mance to rescue who he believes to be Arya, risking the neutrality of the night’s watch and his honour as its commander for her safety:

I pray you, let Mance find her and bring her safe to me.

(Of course, if Jon knew the truth about Jeyne’s identity, he would not be taking the same risks. However these are still intentional contrasts, used to explore how intentions of honour are not necessarily born out of morality or authenticity).

Another anti-parallel between them is their loyalty to their respected institutions. Jaime fights to restore the crown’s control over the Riverlands; he pats himself on the back for hanging outlaws, and even threatens to catapult an infant. Is this the honourable path? He certainly seems to think so:

It felt good. This was justice. Make a habit of it, Lannister, and one day men might call you Goldenhand after all. Goldenhand the Just.

But is it the right one? The crown under the Lannisters is a corrupt and tyrannical institution, contributing to the devastation of the Riverlands, paying men to pillage and rape the people it should be protecting. Septon Meribald tells us we should have pity for the very men Jaime had executed:

Broken men are more deserving of our pity, though they may be just as dangerous. Almost all are common-born, simple folk who had never been more than a mile from the house where they were born until the day some lord came round to take them off to war.

The Night’s Watch faces similar criticism. It is decayed and failing, enforcing backwards laws separating one group of humanity from the rest, simply because they were born on the wrong side of a wall. Jon challenges the traditions and laws of this institution by allying with and protecting the wildlings. He learns that they are no different from other men:

Free folk and kneelers are more alike than not, Jon Snow. Men are men and women are women, no matter which side of the Wall we were born on.

Compare to Jaime’s pride in hanging the outlaws. Both wildlings and outlaws are victims of circumstance. They are all broken men, ostracised by a system which created them. Jaime’s attempts at honour are hollow by themselves, but especially when compared to Jon, who makes peace with the ‘enemies’ of his institution not by suppressing them, but by allying with them.

��Once the free folk are settled in the Gift, they will become part of the realm,” Jon pointed out. “These are desperate days, and like to grow more desperate. We have seen the face of our real foe, a dead white face with bright blue eyes. The free folk have seen that face as well. Stannis is not wrong in this. We must make common cause with the wildlings.”

The most obvious anti-parallel is their reaction to their sisters’ struggles. Jaime leaves Cersei to her fate, while Jon finally breaks his vows to the night’s watch. Whether Jaime’s decision is the right one is up for interpretation. It seems unjust to abandon his sister to a mess he helped create… but he is finally cutting out the part of his life which caused him to justify so much harm.

Jon’s own decision culminates with his death… but death leads to rebirth:

Kill the boy and let the man be born. 

He is no longer the servant of a dying institution, he is no longer beholden to its outdated laws and conservative ideology. His love for Arya may have led to his death… but it also led to his salvation.

[aronarchy]

So far there have not been any criticisms of furiousgoldfish’s posts themselves apart from the ableism. General consensus seems to be along the lines of “her advice is (very) good, she would be a net positive if she weren’t ableist and transphobic.” A few more dedicated and detailed users might examine her other harmful radical feminist beliefs (i.e. her being extremely anti-kink), but of course no one would ever go so far as criticizing her casual stigmatization of that other group we don’t talk about which she also constantly scapegoats as inherently abusive because of course no one cares about us we’re an acceptable scapegoat (yes I am extremely salty, no that’s (hopefully) not what this post of mine is primarily about, sorry for getting off track).

One person attempted to criticize Fish’s advice as harmful because it “convinces children they’re being abused when they’re not actually being abused,” among other things. I had that individual blocked, and I won’t name them because I don’t want to get them attacked and their posts were extremely triggering, but hopefully we can all agree that they’re wrong and that’s shit reasoning.

I would, however, like to try my hand at a criticism of my own.

Of course, we know that Fish’s anti-abuse advocacy fails when considering intersectionality: what about trans/cluster B/kinky/para youth and abuse survivors, how are we to be treated? Ostracized and called monsters and sterilized, or coddled as poor helpless victims? To people like her, there are no nuances, no gray areas, no in-betweens; people are classified into either monstrous sub/inhuman perpetrators undeserving of any rights, or poor uwu little victims who could never be abusive or have traits she deems abusive themselves. When encountering someone who does not fit neatly into either category, they attempt to rewrite our narratives for us to maintain their cognitive dissonance.

But there are also some more areas in which Fish’s bigotry limits her anti-abuse advocacy. Mainly: that radical feminism and other bigoted reactionary ideologies mentioned above have a not-particularly-progressive view of civil rights; they call out problems only when they are present in individual cases without examining why they were able to happen in the first place. They assume problems with systems are mistakes, accidents, rather than signs that systems are flawed by design.

Her solution to rampant parental abuse is, simply, “get rid of all the bad parents” (whom she can magically identify by specific neurological traits). With someone like her in power, the nuclear family stays, adultist hierarchies stay--only a few demographics which are mostly victims and not abusers, and who make up a tiny percentage of real abusers, are forced to go.

There is very little examination on her end of the systemic structures which teach abusers they should abuse and allow abuse to run rampant unchecked. Like all other carceral feminists, she believes the system can be reformed and hierarchies can remain as long as the people holding the authority will Use It For Good and not abuse it, and she knows they won’t because they are an Inherently Good Person and don’t have a specific biological difference.

It’s not a coincidence that radical youthlibs tend to overlap with the pro cluster B, pro para etc communities and vice versa. Those of us who are severely hated and marginalized by all of society, including the ostensibly “progressive” groups, are far more likely to have been abused as youth and far more likely to be skeptical of liberal “reform > abolition” moderates because we have been through it all, we have tried it all and we know by now that it doesn’t. fucking. work.

Radical feminist, ableist etc beliefs rarely stand on their own. They bleed over into the “anti-abuse” advocacy you do. And until you deconstruct that you are no ally of mine and your solutions will not work and you’re just enabling more abuse. There is no true child abuse prevention without complete youth liberation and abolition of ageist hierarchies.

[beroli]

...And Now

...For Laura and me, those were the elements that truly defined Strahd von Zarovich--a selfish beast forever lurking behind a mask of tragic romance, the illusion of redemption that was ever only camouflage for his prey. Initially we were going to title the adventure Vampyr one of a series of games we called Nightventure that Laura and I were self-publishing back in 1978. The castle was called Ravenloft, and when Halloween came around each year, our friends asked us if we could play "that Ravenloft game" again ... and so the better title won out. It was, in part, because of this design that I was hired by TSR, Inc., to write DUNGEONS & DRAGONS adventures in 1982. Soon thereafter, 16 Ravenloft was published. Since then, fans of Ravenloft have seen many different creative perspectives on Barovia (a country which, by absolute coincidence, is featured in a 1947 Bob Hope movie called Where There's Life). It continues to be one of the most popular DUNGEONS & DRAGONS adventures of all time. In its various incarnations, each designer has endeavored to bring something new to the ancient legend of Strahd, and to each of them we are grateful.

But the vampire genre has taken a turn from its roots in recent years. The  vampire we so often see today exemplifies the polar opposite of the original archetype: the lie that it's okay to enter into a romance with an abusive monster because if you love it enough, it will change.

When Laura and I got a call from Christopher Perkins about revisiting Ravenloft, we hoped we could bring the message of the vampire folktale back to its original cautionary roots...

I would entirely sympathize with “people are treating or writing Strahd, this character we created, with a degree of sympathy that suggests they misunderstood the original character.” I roll my eyes at efforts to pretend that famous vampires like Dracula, Carmilla--and Strahd--can be divorced from sexual predation without ripping the core out of their myths. I have much less sympathy for “everyone must write vampires as one-dimensional monsters.” Twilight is, of course, the easiest of easy targets (and if there was any ambiguity in what Hickman was getting at, Tracy and Laura Hickman’s personal blog has an old post titled, “Will The Real Vampire Please Stay Dead?” with the caption, “VAMPIRES    real ones don’t sparkle...The End”), but older works than that have presented vampires who are not simply one-dimensional monsters. However, staying focused on this one vampire as Hickman really should have, Strahd is still the epic villain he was since he was introduced, right? Well...

The nature of Strahd’s curse and his existence were described in my last post. Strahd tried to own Tatyana because that’s the sort of person he is, alive or undead. Strahd made a pact with a mysterious entity which causes Tatyana to be brought back to him again and again, so he can fail to win her love, which is his obsession.

Curse of Strahd, on page 25, explains that Barovia is a closed system. Anyone who dies there is reincarnated. Any time an infant is born there without a formerly-dead-person’s soul waiting to inhabit the new body, that person simply has no soul, because an infant only has a soul if that soul is reincarnated from someone who died there. Tatyana is not specifically brought back because of her ties to Strahd, but reincarnated like everyone who dies in Barovia. Strahd is not obsessed with causing her to feel things for him that she never could; rather, he will tell PCs who ask that Tatyana’s soul belongs to him, and if the adventure ends with the PCs’ defeat and Tatyana’s current reincarnation without Strahd’s reach, he simply turns her into a vampire spawn and puts her in one of the crypts below Castle Ravenloft. In Vampire of the Mists, Strahd yells at his murder victim, blaming his actions on Sergei, and protests at the denouement that he loved Tatyana. In Curse of Strahd, “He feels neither pity nor remorse, neither love nor hate. He doesn't suffer anguish or wallow in indignation. He believes, and has always believed, that he is the master of his own fate. When he was alive, Strahd could admit to letting his emotions get the better of him from time to time. Now, as a vampire, he is more monster than man, with barely a hint of emotion left. He is above the concerns of the living. The only event that occasionally haunts him is the death of Tatyana, but his view of the past is bereft of romance or regret. In his mind, her death couldn't have been prevented, and what is done cannot be undone.“

Curse of Strahd describes Strahd as having made a pact with “the Dark Powers of the Shadowfel,” but it also features a section, in the Amber Temple, where the PCs can discover a number of vestiges, each offering boons at a terrible price. One of them offers the “dark gift of the Vampyr” to any humanoid creature of evil alignment, requiring that person to kill someone who loves them and drink their blood, and then be killed by someone who hates them, requirements the module writer unambiguously based on Strahd’s murder of Sergei and subsequent death at the hates of the castle guards. Thus is all the mystery dispelled. This version of Strahd did not accept a pact he did not realize would not give him his heart’s desire: far more prosaically, he followed a recipe to become immortal, knowing exactly what the result of his actions would be.

What kind of man was Strahd in life? In previous works he repeatedly says that he was good and just, but of course he is always an unreliable narrator.  In the Roots of Evil module, the PCs travel through time and briefly meet the living Strahd, whose listed stats describe him as Lawful Good, but this is only one interpretation. In Curse of Strahd, there is, again, no mystery: he is repeatedly described in omnipotent voice as a brutal conquerer, and, of course, his immortality recipe would never have been offered to him if he was not evil-aligned when he came to the Amber Temple.

The Fifth Edition D&D Monster Manual entry on vampires has this to say: “Whether or not a vampire retains any memories from its former life, its emotional attachments wither as once-pure feelings become twisted by undeath. Love turns into hungry obsession, while friendship becomes bitter jealousy. In place of emotion, vampires pursue physical symbols of what they crave, so that a vampire seeking love might fixate on a young beauty.”

So are all the pieces of Strahd’s dark fate separated and laid out. He is a vampire, because he followed a specific formula of which the result is becoming a vampire. Tatyana is reincarnated over and over, because people who die in Barovia are. He is incapable of love not because of the all-consuming selfishness of the choices he made previously and reaffirms every day, but because vampires are. It seems clear to me that the whole which exists in portrayals of Strahd prior to Curse of Strahd was far more than the sum of the parts which exists in Curse of Strahd. Annoyance at a vampire having too few motivations caused Tracy and Laura Hickman to turn Random Encounter #34 into an epic villain. Annoyance at other people writing vampires with too many motivations caused them to turn an epic villain into Dungeon Boss #34.

[okay-j-hannah]

Part 1: The Sun God

Doctor Who : Multishot

Tenth Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 6756

Warnings: There are descriptions of burns and burn victims. Also some talk of drug addiction

Request: This is just from my own head 😊 ​

A/N: One step closer to understanding what’s ailing the reader... meanwhile *lovestruck sigh* the bickering and flirting between the reader and the Doctor is ✨giving me life✨

Prologue: The Dying Girl

Part 1: The Sun God {You Are Here}

Part 2: The Tonic

Part 3: The Ending Song

Life with the Doctor went by in a blur of rescued planets, saved species, and TARDIS accidents. The hospital visit planned so many months ago was long forgotten.

(Y/N) and the Doctor were simply swept away with adventure after adventure. After partaking the famed gouda of the moon and dancing the night away in the Blankar System, their companionship became less of a requirement and more of a favorite pastime.

There was still the looming mystery of (Y/N)’s alien tainted particle trail and the Reapers around every corner. But the pair of them found themselves rather enjoying spending their time exploring rather than hunting.

And the longer she spent on the TARDIS, the harder it became accepting she should go home at some point. It had been months. Months: and thoughts of her fiancé were knocking at the door in the back of her mind.

“This way!” The Doctor grabbed her hand and started to run. They were always running.

Though this time she was feeling a bit winded.

“You shouldn’t have pointed out their sham,” she laughed, disregarding the angry human mob behind them.

“Well, they shouldn’t have tried to scam the money off of you. The way they were groveling you, trying to pick your pocket – honestly.”

She gave him a silent look of admiration and scolded herself. “Could you have parked the TARDIS any farther!” There was a burning tickling her lungs – she didn’t normally get this fatigued so quickly.

The Doctor scoffed, gripping her hand tighter and spotting their blue box ahead, “Running’s good for the heart, (Y/N). And what with you only having one of those, I’ve got to keep your cardiovascular system in shape.”

They slammed into the TARDIS doors. Locked.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” (Y/N) said, leaning into the box heavily, “Shouldn’t it open at your command?”

“Oh hush,” he snipped, “Extra precautions aren’t a crime.”

The mob scrambled closer, finding them stationary at the end of the street. (Y/N) nudged the Doctor’s elbow, “If they aren’t a crime then why is our punishment on its way?” The Doctor fiddled with his silver key.

“Don’t rush me.”

“We don’t exactly have the time, Doctor.”

“You’re less fun when you’re grumpy.”

“I’ll be grumpier if we’re on the end of those pitchforks!”

The doors swung open as the mob roared. (Y/N) and the Doctor entered and felt as the humans pounded against the police box outside. Their torches could be seen ablaze through the window.

The Doctor didn’t hesitate to jump to the controls and put the TARDIS in an orbit while (Y/N) tried to catch her breath.

Her lungs were still burning, a stitch in her side. It felt like there was a pulse entering her brain, so loud it drowned anything else out. She didn’t feel good. Really didn’t feel good.

“That was a close one.”

She laughed, though her face pinched into a wince, “No thanks to you.”

“Like I said, if only they had kept their grubby hands off of you… (Y/N)?”

She was holding her head with both her hands, her face going slack. Her knees shook as she felt a comforting pressure on both her shoulders, “I feel a bit faint.”

It was the Doctor holding her steady, “You look it. What happened?” And as her knees buckled, he caught her smoothly, wrapping his arms around her. “Woah, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Did something hit you?”

(Y/N) sighed, her head reeling – she couldn’t open her eyes; the light was so bright now. “I – I don’t know. I don’t think so. We just started running and I couldn’t breathe.”

The Doctor looked at her with bewilderment, but with her eyes closed, he snuck some fear into the gaze. “Well, up you get. Lets get you to your room.” With his arm slung around her, they sloppily made it to the ladder lowered beneath the grates.

“I’m finding the lack of stairs here very inconvenient,” she joked, practically falling into the Doctor’s arms at the bottom of the ladder.

He smiled though his brow was tense, “I’ll keep that in mind when I do renovations.”

(Y/N) was dragging her feet by the time they entered her bedroom. It was quite a bit different since she first moved in. After a few shopping trips and cleaning sprees, it was positively habitable. At least that’s what the Doctor called it.

He gently laid her on the bed and went to pull off her sneakers, “I’ll get you some water. Maybe you’re just coming down with something.”

“I never get sick, remember.” She had a hand over her eyes.

The Doctor pulled the sheets to her chin and gave such an intense look of concern he knew she’d make fun of him if she saw. But that was always the Doctor’s way. He waited for when she wasn’t looking.

“You also are adjusting to a new lifestyle,” he muttered, noticing the TARDIS lowering the brightness of the lights. “Maybe you’ve finally hit a wall.” When he turned to give her time to rest, she raised her voice.

“Don’t go,” she called, regretting how it made her head pound, “I hate it when you leave me alone. I know you’re off having more fun without me.”

He grinned, a feeling of elation and triumph centering in his chest. He scolded himself.

“I know you’re not used to the sickbed, but usually this is when the ill rest.”

“I thought we just agreed I’m not ill.”

“You are fatigued.”

“And see how you didn’t use the word ill?”

He sighed out that easy smile that came whenever she bickered with him. He ran a hand over his face and returned to her bedside, “You’re growing as stubborn as me.”

“You know I fall asleep faster when you tell me stories.”

“Oh, great. Thanks,” he laughed, choosing one of the comfy reading chairs (Y/N) furnished her room with – he pulled it closer to the bed.

She smirked, settling into the covers, “You know what I mean. They’re not boring… they’re soothing.”

“You just like hearing me talk,” he cheekily intertwined his fingers before him, “Besides, I shouldn’t be disturbing your rest.”

“Then why have you pulled up a chair?”

He observed that her eyes were still closed, though her brow was no longer pinched in pain. “Maybe I’m just making sure you don’t sneak out of bed before you’re properly feeling better.”

“Nah – you’re just in denial.”

The Doctor felt his joints freeze into place. It took a few moments for him to ensure his voice was steady, “Denial?”

She fisted the sheets and tucked them under her chin, it was ridiculously adorable. “You won’t admit we’ve become friends despite our agreement when we first met. You care about me more than just someone who has a mystery about them.”

Did she think because she had a ring on her finger she could toy with him like this?

“I thought I didn’t need to say it aloud, (Y/N).” He stared at her serene face, propping an elbow on the armrest of the chair. He put a finger to his chin, “Did you believe I didn’t think that?”

“Oh, I knew you cared from the moment Jack offered to take me dancing.” If her head weren’t about to explode, she might have burst into a round of giggles.

The Doctor held back a frustrated groan at the memory, “I was only looking out for you – Jack can be…”

“A catch?”

He paused, staring at her with more longing than he ever allowed himself, “A dog.”

She grinned but winced. Almost instinctually the Doctor leaned over from his seat and rested an arm on the mattress.

“You okay?”

(Y/N) took a deep breath, attempting to relax her face. “Tell me about Shakespeare again. Did he really have a full head of hair?”

The Doctor made sure her eyes were still closed as he lightly grazed a few fingers along her hairline, “He also was a terrible flirt.” He pushed the strands of hair away from her face.

“Bet Martha didn’t mind.”

“She said he had bad breath.”

“Then tell me about the mannequins – that one always gives me the creeps.” She felt her heart stutter as he continued to lean against her mattress. “Or maybe the TVs that sucked your faces off!”

He hummed, a deep sound from his chest, “Those stories won’t help you sleep.”

There was a moment of silence as (Y/N) simply took in the calming presence of him. One of the first things the Doctor promised her upon meeting was that he would keep her safe. And she felt it. She was safe with him.

“Tell me about the orange sky then.”

His chest ached. He knew exactly what she was asking for.

“The silver trees and the red grass,” she muttered, snuggling into her pillow, “Remind me how many times you failed your school exams.”

The Doctor chuckled, that ache threading up and making his throat dry, “All right.” He couldn’t help himself; he moved a hand and cupped her cheek. The same one he held when she woke from her coma.

~~~

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

The usual comfort of her favorite watch wasn’t coming to her this time. She was staring intently at her engagement ring. Pulled off her finger and held to the light, it glittered mockingly.

Months, she reminded herself, months she had been away from home. Didn’t she care about how Andy was doing at all?

Of course she did.

But did she care enough to run home to him and plan that wedding and live the rest of her life as a primary school teacher married to a nurse?

Apparently not.

But why was that? As she stared at the ring, she didn’t feel what she ought to have been. She should feel as though she were engaged to the man of her dreams, anxious and excited to be married. The thought of him should give her butterflies. The sound of his voice should make her heart skip.

Why wasn’t she feeling that anymore?

The Doctor.

No, it couldn’t be. She was losing those feelings long before the Doctor pulled her from her classroom.

Great – now her thoughts were settling on the Doctor. That brown eyed beauty. Did he know how conflicted he was making her feel? The wonderful bastard.

She peered at the engagement ring for a while longer, wondering how she was going to tell Andrew that she was having second thoughts. That there was a reason she was so willing to abandon her earth life and run away with an alien man in a time machine.

She wasn’t in love with him anymore.

A sudden flash of memory fought for room in her head: the Doctor brushing her hair away, gently tucking her in and whispering the story of his home planet. Of Gallifrey beneath the burnt orange sky.

She shook her head. If she were to make a bulleted list of things to know about the Doctor, it would start with:

1.      Stay near him; he’ll know what to do

2.      He will keep you safe

3.      He is incredibly and impossibly alone

4.      He cannot share a life with someone he could lose

No, that’s not quite right. The Doctor cannot allow himself to share a life. Every time he does he gets hurt. Hundreds of years of hurt that she couldn’t possibly understand. He told her in strict confidence about some of his old friends he’d lost.

She couldn’t insinuate, couldn’t encourage, being anything more than friends and companions.

She could handle suppressed feelings when the Doctor had been suffering for the majority of his long life.

Besides – she was an engaged woman.

A sudden bout of boredom overcame her. A sensation so powerful and unexpected that she hopped off the bed and began to pace her room. It reminded her dolefully of the Doctor. He was always on his toes, brimmed with impatience and boredom, looking for the next adventure without any proper sleep. Perhaps she was becoming more like him.

She felt immensely better after her fatigue spell. She might as well go find him on the main level.

And there he was tinkering with some wires at the console. “Good morning.”

He grinned, seeking her face immediately, “Hello!” A spark of the wires and a yelp from his lips made her laugh.

“Lets go out.”

The Doctor sucked a burnt finger, but stared at her with a furrowed brow, “You what?”

“I’m bored!”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised, “How are you feeling?” He came around the console and approached her sulking figure. “Does your head still hurt?”

She smacked away his hands, “I feel fine. I feel bored. Can we go somewhere exciting?”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m not fainting, am I?”

“You could be lying.”

“Since when have you refused to go exploring with me?”

“Since you’ve taken ill and, as your physician, I can’t condone behavior that could make you more ill.”

She put her hands on her hips, “I am not ill!”

His cheeky grin grew, “(Y/N) …”

“Fine!” She threw her hands in the air and made her way towards the innumerable buttons and levers. “I’ll find a place myself.” She started typing on the keypad and twisting a few knobs – the TARDIS immediately responded with a plume of steam and a flurry of flashing lights.

“Woah now!” The Doctor flew over, turning a few things and setting the ship right, “There’s no need to spring a mutiny.” He rounded on her, less kindness in his tone than he’d shown her the past night. But the pleading look on her face had his lungs constricting.

“Please.”

He pondered her expression for a few moments, eyes flickering about her figure to ensure she wasn’t swaying on her feet. As he usually did, he went to stare at the ring on her finger. A painful ritual he caught himself doing regularly.

But the ring wasn’t there.

What had she done?

“All right.” Perhaps she needed to get out of the ship for a while. “I’ve got a planet in mind you’ll find interesting. I haven’t visited in a long time.” He set the course and pulled the lever to start the engines.

(Y/N) beamed, wrapping her arms around his middle from behind. He stiffened. She didn’t notice.

“Thank you, Doctor.” She went to brace herself against the railing and the Doctor cleared his throat.

“It’s called Axiless the First. As you can imagine, the planet is axis – less. It doesn’t spin like many planets do in solar systems. It doesn’t move near as fast because it’s so stationary. That means the day and night cycles last about six months. And the magnetic field that’s usually created from planetary motion, doesn’t exist so there’s no field shielding the planet from UV rays. They have to use sun shields just to go outside!”

The TARDIS bumped to a stop and the Doctor pulled out some shades from a compartment in the center console, “It’s a small colony of people as they do have to live on mid-latitude areas, but it’s fascinating seeing a motionless planet. Imagine if the Earth stopped moving – your oceans would flood the continents.”

He tossed a pair of sunglasses her way. She slid them on with ease, “How do I look?”

It surprised him the amount of heat that crept up his neck. “Uh, f-fine. Suits you.”

She punched his arm playfully, “Come on then.” She bounced towards the doors and missed how the Doctor moved his hand to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly. He pinched himself.

The doors opened and a gust of hot air swarmed the ship.

The planet looked desolate, a desert of sand and rock. A few bare shrubs were scattered amongst the yellowed stones. There were even a few trees, though their branches were needlelike, and they provided little to no shade.

Sunlight was bathing everything in a harsh glow, it almost looked like waves were radiating off the sand. (Y/N) was slightly afraid to step on it for fear of burning the soles of her shoes. She had her sunglasses on, but she couldn’t help but shade her face with her hands.

“Bit hot, isn’t it?”

The Doctor stood beside her, blowing out his cheeks, “Must’ve landed in the middle of a day cycle. There was a fifty-fifty chance of hitting day or night. These glasses can be used in either cycle – day they’re sunglasses, night they’re night vision goggles.” He groaned, slipping out of his coat and throwing it into the TARDIS, “It’s hotter than I remember it being.”

“You don’t have a Hawaiian shirt in there somewhere?” (Y/N) laughed, stumbling as her feet shifted in the sand. “Surely you wear something more than those two suits.”

“I’ve got a dozen dress shirts and ties.” He started rolling up his sleeves, squinting despite having shades on. “Don’t you go bickering on about my outfits. Why is it hotter than before? The planet moves around their suns so it’s not like the sun has gotten closer and raised the temperature. Like I said before, it’s meant to be warmer than usual, the planet doesn’t spin. They have to keep the sun shields up to keep the harmful ultraviolet rays at bay, otherwise everyone here would burn.”

He started paving the way towards a sand dune; (Y/N) followed closely, feeling her feet heat up with how hot the ground was. “Are you telling me we’ve stumbled upon another doomed planet? What are the odds?”

She laughed but the Doctor ignored her. “The only way the planet could be heating up is if the UV rays have reached the surface. Like a microwave the sun is cooking the planet. Which means there’s nothing stopping the sun. Which means…” he put a hand through his hair, “The sun shields aren’t up and working.”

(Y/N) faltered, stopping at the top of the dune and catching her breath, “I don’t fancy being roasted alive, Doctor.” Below them was a small village, one made of glass and metal. “Do you suppose they know they’re living on a microwave?”

The Doctor wiped the growing sweat on his forehead. “Let’s go find out.”

The colony was little but were awed and welcoming at the presence of (Y/N) and the Doctor. It was impossible, in their eyes, for visitors to want to see their scorching planet. They were directed towards the people in charge, a race of humanoid beings; their eyes were a startling purple, and they had no hair. Intricate and beautiful floral patterns painted their skin and bald heads.

The smartly built huts were just as humid and stuffy on the inside as it was out in the sand. But they were grateful for the shade.

“I’m the Doctor and this is (Y/N),” the Doctor introduced, removing his shades, “We’ve come for a visit and couldn’t help but notice you’re… well, roasting.”

One of the humanoid aliens bowed, “You are correct. Our suns are infiltrating the shields. We’ve been suffering in this heat, unable to do anything.”

“What’s your name?” The Doctor asked, making his way towards a compartment of computers and scientific equipment.

The humanoid appeared to trust him near the technology. “I am Peony. This is my companion, Iris.”

“Like the flowers?” (Y/N) asked, eyeing their floral tattoos. “They’re very pretty names.”

“Yes, we’ve been compared before,” the other called Iris stated, “But the only correlation is that we are born of the ground. We’re planted seeds in a garden and sprout into being.”

(Y/N) gave them an appraising look, “Your babies are grown in the ground?”

“They’re a solitary species, (Y/N),” The Doctor called over his shoulder, “They don’t understand physical touch or procreation like you do.”

“There is no need for such intimacy,” Peony said. And (Y/N) could see how there was a purposeful distance between the two humanoids.

She shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know. I’d miss the cuddles.”

“Right then,” the Doctor shouted, “What did you mean the suns are infiltrating your shields? They’re only comprised of hydrogen and helium, only hot plasma that reacts to nuclear fusion. It’s not capable of motives like infiltration. That would mean they’d have consciousness.”

Peony and Iris shared a purple-eyed look before stating, “We believe there’s more to it then that.”

“You believe your suns are alive? Like actual beings?” (Y/N) asked, feeling the back of her shirt stick with sweat. “How is that possible?”

The Doctor peered at the information before him, screens that monitored the strength of the sun shields, “There are beings out there that we don’t fully understand. Gargantuan, God-like beings that are too powerful to observe and communicate with. I wouldn’t believe it – only…” He put a finger to his chin, “This chart here shows UV rays behaving like soldiers.”

Iris nodded, walking towards him, “You see them beating against the shield. They’re using physical force.”

“Like the arms of an octopus, they’re reaching out and tapping on the door,” the Doctor muttered, “Right, okay then. What’s the plan?”

A haziness enveloped (Y/N)’s eyes. Oh, no, not this again. She closed her eyes and tried to stay upright, taking deep breaths. She had felt perfectly fine that morning. Must’ve been the blasted heat.

Heat exhaustion. That’s all it was. (Y/N) didn’t get sick – has never been sick.

“We’ve been working on the theory to get the planet spinning again,” Iris stated, “It would create a powerful magnetic field and shield us permanently.”

“What? No. No! You can’t,” the Doctor said, “Making the planet spin would bring disaster to the surface, you will more than likely kill everything trying to survive here. Besides, you’ve got to have a core…”

“Our core is metallic,” Peony interrupted, “And planetary motion will help it create that magnetic field.”

The Doctor was getting that crazed look about him, one that normally pushed him to do rather crazed things. “But don’t you realize when your planet begins to spin again, whether instantaneous or gradual, everything will change. Tsunamis, earthquakes, volcanos, natural disasters everywhere! The planet surface will slide with the speed, bodies of water will be forced onto land, and plant life will be unable to cope.”

Peony looked at him as if they’d heard such an argument before. “It will also bring balance to the thinning air. We won’t have to only live in certain areas of the planet to breathe. We wouldn’t have to adjust to six month day cycles. And we wouldn’t have to worry about the sun. We are running out of options, Doctor.”

“We are dying either way,” Iris said, “It’s only a matter of which gets us first.”

“What do you mean?” the Doctor asked.

(Y/N) was leaning heavily against the wall paneling. It was a good thing the Doctor had something to occupy his mind.

“It’s either falling into natural disaster or burning from the sun.”

“There must be another way. Strengthen the shields again,” the Doctor muttered.

Iris waved a hand over to a staircase, one that went underground. “Follow me.”

“It’s no good,” Peony said, “We’ve been exposed to these rays for too long. We thought them simply ultraviolet, but that’s false. These suns are living beings and living beneath them has filled us with toxicity.”

“How’d you mean?” They continued down the stairs, (Y/N) still feeling woozy but appreciating the miniscule temperature drop.

They made it to a doorless room that held a wide window. It looked on at what could only be described as a burn clinic.

“What is this?” The Doctor continued questioning.

The longer (Y/N) looked, the more afraid she became. Numerous of the planet’s species were laying there, each to their own cot. And every one of them was covered in harsh, angry red burns. It looked incredibly painful.

Others in yellow hazmat suits were walking around and applying ointment, taking temperatures, and wiping foreheads. A few of the affected people were writhing in their beds, going mad with the heat. They had to be held down.

“It’s a sickness,” the Doctor whispered, mostly to himself.

“No, they’re just sun burnt,” (Y/N) said with an air of desperation, “Nothing some aloe vera can’t fix.”

“You forget we aren’t dealing with a regular sun,” Peony muttered, “Those are not burns from exposure, they’re from a plague.”

The Doctor leaned against the window, taking in the scene, “You’re dying either way. Sun shields won’t stop them because they aren’t only suns. They have motives and biology and warfare.”

(Y/N) felt her knees shake, unable to tear her eyes away from the camp of victims. It was like a horrific car accident – you couldn’t look away. “Are we safe?”

“You haven’t been exposed that long,” Iris said, “We’ve been living here our whole lives.”

“You only have to worry about those already showing symptoms,” Peony went on, “Don’t go near someone with the plague.”

The Doctor rubbed a hand over his face frustratingly. He was deep in thought, (Y/N) knew, he needed to think of a solution. Because he was brilliant. Because he was the Doctor. And he couldn’t turn away.

“What if we manufacture a magnetic field,” he banged a hand against his forehead, “We don’t have to shield the entire planet, only the parts people can survive in. Oh, my head! We’d need to mine enough metal and charge it with positive and negative energy. But a system could be built where that’s magnified to a specific area.”

Iris and Peony were sharing a silent look again, “That is a possibility we had not thought of.”

“We were busy thinking of the entire planets safety.”

The Doctor suddenly grinned, “But the entire planet isn’t habitable. Only parts. And we can secure those parts. I know I can build it - do you have the metal to wield it?”

“We have a metallic core, Doctor,” Peony smiled, “How else do you think we built these structures?”

Hello, (Y/N).

“What?” (Y/N) looked around, not recognizing the voice that addressed her.

The Doctor faced her, “Sorry?” He was still grinning from his brilliance.

“I thought…” she paused, very conscious of the sweat falling down the side of her face. “Nothing, I thought I heard something.”

You did.

“Right, lead the way,” the Doctor said, gesturing towards the staircase, “And while we’re at it, maybe I’ll find some revolutionary antibiotics for your patients.”

Your head is strange. Very dark. Very empty. What is hidden behind this steel door?

“What is that?” she questioned but realized that she was now alone in the small, windowed room. “Hello?”

Hello. How do you stand having so much hidden in your head?

“Where are you?”

I’m here. Inside you.

“Very funny,” she wheezed. Her breath left her, much like the night before. “Who are you?”

Ancient. Ancient like your Doctor. You’ve got quite the thought train dedicated to him, haven’t you?

“What are you called then.” Panic. She mustn’t panic.

We have no name. Only fire and ruin and wrath.

“You’re – you’re the sun. The one outside! Is this you infecting me? Am I sick?” She looked at her arms, fear starting to broil. But there were no angry burns appearing there.

This is our form of communication. We are so far away. The shields have dampened our telepathic field.

“Well, what do you want then? Why are you talking to me?”

There was silence for a few moments before:

I was bored.

The same reason she and the Doctor came to the planet. She was bored.

“And are you entertained now?” the edge of mockery in her voice was satisfying. But her head was beginning to pound.

You’re very strange. Very weak. Are you aware of how weak you are?

“Shut up!”

“(Y/N)?”

She whirled around and found the Doctor at the bottom of the stairs. She was breathing heavy, sweat dripping from her chin and hands.

“Who’re you talking to?” He kept his face calm, void of the real emotion he was feeling. Fear.

She swallowed, finding her throat remarkably dry, “No – no one.”

Interesting.

“Are you all right?” He took a few cautious steps towards her, his shirt sleeves still rolled up and his tie now loosened. She eyed him thoughtfully. Too thoughtfully.

Very interesting.

“I’m fine. The heat – it’s too much for me,” she cracked a lackluster smile, “It’s stuffy in here, isn’t it?”

The Doctor nodded carefully, raising a cautious hand and touching her shoulder. He pulled back almost immediately.

“What is it?”

Clever Doctor.

He stared at her with newfound confusion. The stare was so intense she felt as though she were being x-rayed.

“What have you done to her?”

Curiouser and curiouser.

“Can you hear him?” (Y/N) asked, whispering despite knowing the being could hear perfectly fine.

The Doctor refused to look away from her, “Answer me.”

You have some interesting trains of thought as well, Doctor. Very secret and very guarded.

“He’s in your head too?” (Y/N) looked back at the Doctor, trying her best to stay afloat. Her headache was becoming all consuming, she couldn’t ignore it much longer. Perhaps her wobbly knees will give way first.

The Doctor clenched his jaw, a few fingers to his temple, “You should ask for permission before you go snooping around.”

Ah, Time Lord – you have telepathy of your own.

“You have no right to this world,” he continued, “No right to consume what you don’t need.”

The man that regrets.

(Y/N) could feel the tension seizing the Doctor. She trailed her suddenly tired eyes towards his face. He wasn’t holding back now, he was upset – he was hurting. The label struck a cord in him. It made him think of an impossibly long list of heartaches.

And his companion: the dying girl.

She held her breath. That was a label she didn’t recognize.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t talk to it,” The Doctor said, moving his fingers from his head towards (Y/N)’s. “I’ve shut him out of my mind. Now I’ll shut him out of yours.”

You should be afraid. Be very afraid you weak, dying girl.

“Stop it,” she said. She wrapped her hands around the Doctor’s wrists, shutting her eyes tight against the words he could no longer hear. A burning like nothing else was heating her bones, it started low and began to grow until it was scorching.

“Stop it, stop it! PLEASE.”

“I’ve almost got it, (Y/N),” the Doctor ground out, “Bear with me, I’ve got you.”

No ones got you. You’re alone. Void of memories. Family. Life. Your time is up, dying girl.

Blisters erupted on her arms, searing away her skin. “Please! STOP IT.” Unexpected tears ran hot down her sweltering face. Sweat made her rosy cheeks shine.

There is no help coming. You are meant to die. From the moment you woke you were meant to be dead.

And snap. Her head was silent.

She fell into the Doctor’s arms, trembling and burning. He clutched at her, saying words that she couldn’t make out. White noise was shoving cotton in her ears. There was a scent of smoke in the air. Was that coming from her?

And she fainted.

~~~

It was bright. So bright.

There were shadows passing behind her eyelids and she was reluctant to open them. Every bone in her body, every joint, ached and burned. She was suddenly very aware of her limbs and how sore they were.

“What happened?”

Someone was near her, ready to answer, “You were filled with tendrils of that sun being energy. He stuck a needle into your mind and poisoned you. It was an instantaneous infection.”

She cracked open one eye to give him a look. It almost made him smile.

“He gave you the plague. You’ve been sick.”

She groaned, “If this is what being sick feels like, I’ve been terribly naïve.” She felt a hand on her forehead, and it was cool against the heat of her skin.

“You have been sick for a long while, my child.”

(Y/N) opened her eyes at the unfamiliar voice. She was surprised to see a cat. A blooming cat.

“Novice Hame, this is (Y/N),” the Doctor frowned. (Y/N) swiveled her gaze from the robed cat to his placid face. He had that expression sometimes when he was dwelling on something particularly sullen or painful.

When he dwelled on the past. Or his regrets. The man that regrets.

“Where am I?”

“Remember that hospital I wanted to take you to all those months ago.” His voice sounded tired. His hand trailed to the back of her head.

Novice Hame purred, “You’re a patient at the New New York Hospital. We’ve been treating you the past few days.”

“Days?” (Y/N) questioned. She tried to sit up, her face pinched in pain, and the Doctor helped her. “What’s happened to Axiless the First?”

“I’ve given them the blueprints, the technology. They’ll be fine. The Sisters of Plenitude provided medicine for their plague victims. They’ll be fine without me.”

“You didn’t stay to help?” She watched him pull his hand away, intertwining his fingers tightly across his stomach. He sat more stony as he watched her without much reaction.

“They’ll be fine. I was needed elsewhere.”

The way he stared at her was excruciating. She wished he would tell her what he was thinking.

(Y/N) looked at her arms, searching for the blisters and burns she felt explode on her skin. But they were clear, “I don’t look like I have the plague anymore. Why do I feel so sick then?”

“You’re ill with much more,” Novice Hame said, moving towards the bed and fiddling with a side table of medications. “Like I said, you’ve been sick for a long while.”

“How long? Sick with what?” She put a hand to her head, feeling faint again. “I don’t get sick, nurse.”

The cat smiled with pointed teeth, “We’re still working it out.”

“You don’t get sick with human disease, (Y/N). We’re talking about alien disease.” The Doctor put more inflection in his voice though his face was still flat. “I should’ve taken you to this hospital the first chance I got,” he whispered.

“Alright, now you’re scaring me.” (Y/N) turned towards the novice and asked, “Tell me.”

The cat woman appeared conflicted, as if she didn’t know where to begin. But she shared a look with the seated Time Lord and sighed, “As far as we can tell – you’ve been ill all your life.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

(Y/N) flickered her gaze towards the Doctor and saw the sorrow creep into his face.

“You still feel sick because it wasn’t just the sun plague that was ailing you,” Novice Hame continued, folding her hands in front of her, “The Doctor tells me you’ve been experiencing fatigue, dizzy spells, the last few weeks.”

She swallowed hard, “I’ve been tired is all.”

“You’ve been experiencing withdrawal.”

(Y/N) blinked, then scoffed, “Withdrawal?”

“Your body is dependent on a substance to keep it going. Since leaving Earth, you haven’t been receiving it.”

She glared at the cat, as if saying she’d better keep talking before something bad happens. The Doctor remained silent, sitting as still as he could but never taking his eyes off of (Y/N)’s reaction.

“While you were healing from the plague, we took the liberty of analyzing your blood. Over three-quarters of the cells there were mutated. They were defected, synthesized cells. They were still fully functioning; they just weren’t natural. They didn’t come from you.”

“Is that… is that why you were able to track me?” She addressed the Doctor.

If possible, his frown deepened. “Your particle trail. It was traceable because your biology has been tainted with a traceable substance.”

“What is this substance?”

Novice Hame continued, “The human body depends on constant cell replacement to survive. When you have a cut, the body creates new cells to heal it. When you scrape your skin, your body creates cells to replace it. Blood cells are used for so many things that they tire and die, and then must be replaced to keep the body functioning. Without cell replacement, oxygen won’t get to your organs. Nutrients won’t replenish growth. Nerves would become defective.”

“Alright, I get it,” (Y/N) said, her head aching with the upheaval of information. “Cells are important. I asked what the substance was in my body.”

“I’m telling you that’s what the substance does. This substance is acting as those new cells replacing your old ones. For some reason, your body has stopped producing its own cells, it’s completely dependent on outside help.”

“But – but if I’ve been dependent on whatever that is my entire life… how have I been getting it without realizing it?”

There was a long pause as the cat woman debated her phrasing. “Have you been in contact with someone or some place on a regular basis? A regular visit maybe that would give enough time for someone to administer the cells?”

“Well, the only person I see almost every day is my fiancé Andrew. The only person I see on a regular basis is Andrew.”

“And you haven’t seen him in months,” The Doctor muttered.

Novice Hame sighed, her voice delicate and feline, “What do you know of your fiancé?”

(Y/N) stared at her incredulously, “You’re not suggesting… you think my Andy has something to do with this?”

“He’s been with you from the moment you woke up,” the Doctor said with more of an air of thinking aloud. “Said so yourself, he was the first face you saw.”

Not true. And he knew it.

“Then we have reason to believe that this Andrew has been secretly giving you a substance of synthesized human DNA regularly. And you are in dire need of a cell replacement.”

(Y/N) sat there, a strange itch in her hands. She felt like she should be doing something. She felt like she needed to be moving. Her breathing was becoming heavy, her eyes wide and stunned.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, “Why would he make me addicted to something like that? And I need it to live?”

“Yes,” Novice Hame said, “We’ve been trying to get your body to regenerate cells on its own again, but to no avail. This drug substance is powerful and foreign.”

“And you can’t just make more of the drug?”

“I’m so so sorry.” The Doctor had finally put his face in his hands.

Novice Hame remained solemn, “We don’t understand its compounds. It may be synthesized, but we don’t know how to replicate it.”

They were silent again, except for the rapid breathing coming from (Y/N). She could feel the tears trying to creep into her vision.

“So I’m an addict, that’s it? I’m an addict with a drug dealer fiancé. Why would the Reapers want me for that?”

The Doctor stood from his chair, pacing in front of the bed, “And how could my alien tracer track you if this substance is only defected, synthesized human DNA? That’s not alien.”

“The mutations were manufactured by something alien; it always leaves a trace.”

“And the Reapers come after beings they believe have cheated death,” the Doctor continued, pacing with new purpose.

(Y/N) felt her eyes water further, “The dying girl.”

The Doctor snapped his attention to her.

“I was called the dying girl. Apparently I’m supposed to be dead. Meant to have died.”

He looked at her with fierceness, jutting a finger at Novice Hame, “You are going to find a cure.”

“But Doctor…”

“You are going to find a cure and fix this!” a deep seeded power was entering his voice. If she didn’t know him as well as she did, (Y/N) figured she’d ought to have been afraid. “She is going to get better. She has to!”

(Y/N) felt a pang in her gut.

“We’re going to ask dear old Andrew a few questions,” the Doctor continued, an ancient anger in his expression. “And we’re going to get you well. He’s bound to have more of that drug.”

“Doctor, she is very weak, you’re going to have to be careful.”

He put his hands on the railing at the foot of her bed. “Don’t worry. I’m not about to lose her. Not today.”

And (Y/N) believed him. Those tears left salty tracks down her cheeks as she stared at him. But if he didn’t lose her today, then when?

He cannot share a life with someone he could lose. Not so easily.

~~~

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[chibimyumi]

Hi, I hope you're doing well and staying healthy. I've read your post about how Elizabeth attacking ciel is sexism. What about Sebastian getting bully by Frances? Frances is a noblewoman grabbing a servant's hair in front of other people. And fans (including me) are like: oh! What a lioness! Even the devil himself is terrified of her! what if it was the other way around? The idea of a nobleman grabbing a governess's hair calling her nasty and indecent makes me uncomfortable and even angry.

【Response to post: Sexism against men and Kuro Sexist jokes】

Dear Anon,

I’m doing well, thank you very much. I hope you too ^^

Your question is a very good one, and it really had me thinking for a while! I myself admittedly do laugh very hard at Sebastian getting a hard time from Frances. But indeed, like you said, it is still bullying, and bullying is bad. In this post-feminist era, we have been so trained to see women bullying men as ‘funny’ or ‘empowering’, but women getting bullied as unambiguously bad instinctively, that sometimes we forget to check our double standards.

Feelings are feelings, we can’t help what we feel. But how come then that to many of us, Frances bullying Sebas is so funny, but Lizzie almost murdering O!Ciel and Nina bullying men not? This post is merely an attempt to explain this feeling for myself too, but hopefully we can all reach SOME explanation together as well???

Let us first look at in what ways Frances has been making Sebastian’s life hard. From all the interactions we have of these two so far, her main points of criticism seem to be his hair and his lack of professionalism.

Slovenly Hair

Sebastian’s hair is something we’ve gotten quite used to now after more than14 years. In Sebastian’s time however, his hair really would have been the height of impropriety for his profession.

Just like I translated O!Ciel’s looks to 2020 standards, I quickly translated Sebas’ hair to 2020 standards as well. Very clean, innit?! Very professional, innit?!

Even without the translation however, if we look at the worst of wigs from the Kuromyus, we can also see how Sebastian’s hair would be atrocious in any formal setting. Look past the fact that these actors are supposed to represent a drawn character. Just imagine being in a fancy restaurant and encountering a dead-spider feather duster on your waiter’s head.... erm....???

Something that is objectively bad on Frances’ end however, is that chapter 14 is not the first time that Frances has seen his ‘slovenly hair’. If his hair really is so unacceptable, as an authority figure Frances has the right to say something about it. However, as it seems, until this point she has never communicated at all (no, “hinting” is not the same as communicating), so Sebas had no way of knowing what he “did wrong”. She immediately grabbed for Sebastian’s hair without mercy, probably because her crept up frustration got the better of her. This is indeed entirely too harsh for a first time call-out, and entirely on Frances.

Much later in the story Frances criticises and touches Sebastian’s hair again, and this time in public while he was infiltrating as a teacher. Here Frances is even publically humiliating Sebastian in front of his students and other high ranking guests.

Especially when you keep in mind that Frances is a noblewoman and Sebas a mere servant, Frances is indeed abusing her power against a servant who cannot strike back at all.

This is indeed power play. However, though it does not justify anything, in the very least her criticism does have ground; Sebas’ hair is by all measures inadequate for any professional setting. Just be nicer about it, Frances.

Useless Butler

Now, let us look at the other reason Frances disapproves of Sebas. Sebastian is a very competent butler according to most people. To Frances however, this claim is empty. When she arrives, parts of the estate have been destroyed and something very literally exploded in her presence.

Even though Sebas is not the person actively causing the explosion or the destruction, as the senior servant of the household, it is literally his job to manage the other servants. So yes, here too, the fact that things can be destroyed in the household because he either hired inadequate staff or because he mismanages his household, DOES INDEED prove he fails at his job. As the aunt of O!Ciel who cares about her nephew AND her paternal home, Frances is in her right to be concerned and call Sebastian out for NOT doing his job.

In chapter 14, Sebastian’s schedule was all over the place and kept changing the plans for Frances. It is no wonder that she would be quite annoyed and doubt Sebastian’s adequateness. When you know your 13 year old nephew’s household is in the hands of somebody so apparently inadequate, anybody would probably be concerned. However annoyed though, Frances does not overstep any boundaries about this specific issue; she is simply supremely unimpressed. Fair enough?

Compliments where due

Something that is quite interesting though, is that despite disapproving of Sebastian, Frances does also know when to compliment him when due. After Sebastian has saved Lizzie’s life without boasting, Frances recognised how the butler does indeed have some value and the correct attitude as a servant.

She says “though you look indecent what you say is true,” and it is yet another jab at the demon’s expense. But here she is also showing that she is willing to acknowledge somebody’s achievements, looking past appearances.

Before Frances leaves, Frances jabs at Sebas a bit again, but she really is not doing anything dickish this time. Instead of making Sebas think she’s simply chosen him as target to be a prick towards, she concretely states why she doubts his professionalism. She mentions the smashed tea set, bare garden and burnt food; mistakes that are objectively unacceptable. Instead of yelling at him, she actually gives him constructive criticism. So here too, Frances is quite stern, but her grounds are solid.

In the Campania arc Sebas shows up again with the hair Frances disapproved of. Frances clearly wants to do something about it again because in her eyes, the butler simply won’t learn. But given the circumstances and Sebastian’s proven usefulness, Frances actually does shelve her agenda. Just like above, here too Frances shows that she is capable of acknowledging somebody despite their looks.

Later when the zombies dramatically outnumbered the living humans, Frances sends Sebas - who had come to her aid - back to her daughter and nephew. By sending Sebas back, Frances also shows that she in fact trusts this ‘slovenly butler’ with the lives of two children she loves deeply. Sebastian protests, but Frances immediately replies: “don’t you trust our ability as swordsmen?” Here what Frances is functionally saying is: “I trust you with your abilities, so you can trust us back.”

In short, Frances is harsh and doing power-play against a servant, but she can shelve her agenda, and does acknowledge Sebas when due.

Contrast to Nina and Lizzie

So now we have seen how Frances bullies Sebastian, and her motivation behind all her points of harshness. As we have seen, Frances’ only points of criticisms are concrete ones; Sebastian’s lack of professionalism in looks, and his lack of professionalism in management. She goes about them too harshly, but all points are legit criticisms, and something Sebas CAN and probably SHOULD work to improve.

Nina

This is in stark contrast with the way Nina bullies her victims. As far as we have seen, none of Nina’s victims have offended her in any way, nor does she ever give any concrete criticism. She has just decided that because men are men, they don’t deserve proper treatment. Even when providing clothes for men is literally part her job, she refuses to provide the ‘professional service’ she is being paid for. And because she is AN EMANCIPATED LESBIAN!!!!!!! #FEMINISM, it’s FINE (!?!?!?)

Unlike with Frances’ criticism of Sebastian’s inadequate hairdo and managing, being ‘men’ is not something any of these men can do anything about (except Sebas, but Nina doesn’t know). Bullying is always wrong, always low. But it’s EVEN lower when you bully somebody for who they are, and not what they do wrong. What does not help is that Nina seems to only be capable of treating people nicely if they happen to be sexuality-wise compatible with her... but if you are, you’ll get molested. What is wrong with you, Nina????

Yes, Frances is saying: “you are a man, and yet your fringe is so long”. So on the most surface level, it is a woman saying this to a man because he is a man. As we later get to know Frances a bit better though, she would be harsh to anybody who looks slovenly. She just has different hairstyles which she considers appropriate for men and women respectively. Had Sebas been a woman and his hair was the ‘feminine equivalent of slovenly’, Frances would most likely have acted exactly the same. So in this sense, unlike with the jokes using Nina and Lizzie, it is not purely: “Haha, girl bullies boii, lol.”

Something else that is terrible is that what Nina does seems to be systemic. Logically it checks out too; it can’t be that only since the past few weeks she’s decided only women and young boys deserve her kind treatment. For all we know, Nina’s been treating the male Phantomhive staff like this for 2-3 years. Sebastian’s comment about Nina thoroughly ignoring men again with “as always” further supports this theory.

With Frances in contrast, in chapter 14 (so barely a year ago in story time), Sebas seemed to have no clue whatsoever about Frances’ terrors. Sebas announced Frances’ arrival to his master and is very calm about it. It was not until O!Ciel alerted Sebas about his aunt that anybody even guessed what hurricane was headed for them. As such, we can safely conclude that Sebas had only been subjected to Frances’ criticism a couple of times, unlike having had to bear with Nina for years.

Yes, Frances still should have communicated, but I already addressed the details above. Still, the point remains that even though Frances is overstepping boundaries and abusing her power, her criticisms are at least not empty.

Lizzie

Lizzie too just like Nina, had zero grounds for showing that much aggression. She did not give anybody the benefit of the doubt, did not communicate, or even so much as give O!Ciel any chance to explain the situation. So far O!Ciel has given Lizzie no reason to think he’d cheat on her, and yet she hurled so much aggression at him Sebas had to intervene.

Still, Lizzie is marginally better than Nina because she is not systemically bullying O!Ciel. It is a one time event. However, this one makes me more annoyed with Yana because it means that even Yana had to use this stale, stale trope of “LOVE TRIANGLE COMEDYYYY”. Have I ever mentioned how MUCH I hate love triangles and jealousy???

Conclusion

Feeling wise, the most important reason for why Sebas being bullied by Frances is funny is probably because of who Sebas is. Sebas is otherwise an all-powerful demon, but to see him inventing colours to shit at Frances - a human Sebas could crush between his fingertips like a cookie - is just hilarious. Had Sebas been a human though, I would not have laughed so hard personally.

Rationally however, Frances is doing power play against a servant who cannot talk back, so it is still bullying, and bullying is inexcusable.The only bit of “right” Frances has is that she does not seem to be systemically bullying Sebastian, and that her criticisms have some ground.

So if Nina and Lizzie’s behaviours played for jokes are like... a -7 and -9 respectively, Frances’ at least scores a -2 for me?

(Yes, as we’re talking about bullying anyway, I just have to make a jab at Vincent.)

Afterword

Something not really related to why “Frances:Bad”, “Nina-Lizzie:Worse”, but I do wish to mention is Yana’s improved drawing skills. I have no proof, but I think it MIGHT have been where this Frances-joke originated.

Yana’s time in the more traditional mindset of manga-worldview really showed, especially at the far beginning. Besides, she was still in the process of finding a way to draw handsome men. In the more traditional mindset of the early 2000s, handsome men were just not supposed to have slicked back hair - “that was reserved for old men and nasty dudes!!” Yana’s discomfort with drawing handsome men with slicked back hair was clearly visible in Sebastian’s early appearances, and making the ‘”hair, back!!! says old-fashioned lady” was potentially even a way of Yana to laugh at herself.

I don’t know who else is old like me and grew up with 80s to early 00s manga, but at the time, hair for handsome men was a BIG deal. In that world ‘slicked back hair’ just carried a certain laughability about it; a “rule of not-cool”. To me at least at the time this ‘laughability’ really resonated with me, and Yana probably also trusted this same ‘unspoken rule’ to resonate with her audiences.

Much later though, Yana clearly grew more comfortable and  maybe even fond of slicked back hairstyles as she confidently chose to portray Sebas as ‘appealing’ while wearing his hair in the style Yana previously disliked.

Again, I have no proof, but I can’t help but think that if Kuro had started 10 years later, the running gag revolving Frances might look altogether different.

What do you guys think? ^^ Cheers, and stay healthy!

Character analysis Nina Hopkins

Character analysis Vincent Phantomhive

Sexism against men and Kuro’s sexist jokes

MASTERPOST Gender in Kuroshitsuji

MASTERPOST Analyses & Info