#well it allegedly exists i mean

[crysdrawsthings]

Have just finished Veilguard and genuinely had a blast with the game, subjectively very fun to play, objectively... Could have done a handful of things better, but still, I think, a solid action-adventure RPG.

Absolutely loosing my mind over just how both obsessed with Rook Elgar'nan is, but also about his temper tantrum over being the goddest god to ever god.

Biting him. Chewing him even, like Lusacan chewed Egg

[sunderwight]

A fun prospect for Superhero-themed SV AU's that I don't often see is genre dissonance. Like, Luo Binghe as this edgy 90's style antihero who just straight up kills his enemies and sleeps around and is driven by selfish motives (revenge, ambition, etc) rather than altruistic morality, vs Shen Qingqiu as this kid-friendly supervillain who is "evil" mostly in terms of aesthetics and his ability to make inconvenient problems that are reasonably safe for child heroes to solve. Something like Punisher vs Team Rocket in terms of vibes.

Maybe the reason they meet is because some big publishing house akin to Marvel or DC just bought up the rights to whole bunch of older, discontinued comics titles, and decided to do a Justice League/Avengers style mash-up with a bunch of nostalgia properties and their most recognizable heroes and villains. Which means lots of crossovers condensing several titles into a handful of series.

Luo Binghe's origin always features him as a teenager, so he reboots as the youngest Avenger-equivalent team member in the new continuity. Even in this reboot, however, the writers still mostly go the gritty and dark route with his plots and stick to the same key developments -- his abandonment as an infant, his adoptive mother's tragic death, his tough life on the streets, abusive mentors and backstabbing "allies", and so on.

But Luo Binghe's life suddenly starts experiencing periods of dramatic change in his life when he's brought in for appearances in the lighter, friendlier world of the Junior Heroes continuity. After all, he's a natural choice for tying the two continuities together thanks to his youthfulness. Luo Binghe isn't consciously aware of the fact that he's moving between different titles and different writers. All he knows is that sometimes, when he hangs out with the bright and talented Ning Yingying, he's drawn into "conflicts" with Shen Qingqiu -- the kind of "villain" who will call for tea breaks, never actually hits anyone when he shoots his ray gun, leaves clues for all of his crimes, and can't seem to stop from imparting genuinely helpful advice in between his witty quips and taunts.

When Luo Binghe fights Shen Qingqiu, somehow he never actually gets hurt. Neither do any of his friends. The world in general seems brighter and lighter, as if there is some secret barrier protecting everyone from all the evils Binghe knows only too well exist in the rest of his life. Luo Binghe is increasingly convinced that Shen Qingqiu is the source of this mystical safety net. After all, for an allegedly powerful genius who is able to fool half the world about his wicked aims, he's never won a single fight against a kindhearted but somewhat ditzy teenager and her ragtag bunch of friends!

So what's he spending his actual energy on?

Luo Binghe is pretty sure it's keeping the real evils at bay. Making himself the biggest bad in town, and in doing that, making it so that the "biggest bad" is nothing worse than a slightly judgmental teacher in a pretty costume.

It's not long before Luo Binghe doesn't want to go back to the Justice League equivalent, to his world of misery and strife, even after his visits with Ning Yingying are supposed to be over. Especially as the global stakes of various heroic activities start getting higher, and it becomes clear that the boundary between Shen Qingqiu's safe world and the grimdark reality of Binghe's usual life are getting thinner...

[arabian-batboy]

Its disturbing how Zionists are trying to so damn hard to convince the world that Palestinians are currently on a huge raping campaign on innocent women and girls everywhere, even though there are literally ZERO evidences so far of ONE case of a Palestinian raping or stripping any civilians (and I mean real evidence, not bigots saying its true on twitter), they simply willed it into existence by merely saying it over and over again and thinking that's enough to make it into a real concerning fact

But do you know what has been proven as a legitimate fact for decades on the other hand? Thousands of Palestinians men, women and children being systematically violated and raped on a regular basis by Israeli settlers with no consequences or sympathy from the international community.

Like we literally have videos of Israeli soldiers on camera laughing about how many Palestinian women they have raped and multiple photos and videos of Palestinians being stripped naked and beaten by soldiers. Right now there's even a video of Israeli soldiers pissing on a dead naked Palestinian man on twitter which isn't being shared around or talked about half as much as much that one video of one Israeli woman allegedly being "stripped" to a bra and shorts, even though it has already been debunked by now that she was already wearing just a bra and shorts when she was captured and that neither she nor any other Israeli hostages have suffered any kind of sexual abuse by Palestinians (as you can see by how good they're being treated in this video)

It's really remind me how White supremacists in Europe have started this propaganda that Muslim refugees shouldn't be allowed Asylum because they're here to rape European women and that rape rates in Europe will sky-rocket by their mere existence, even though again, there are zero evidence of refugees committing sexual crimes (or any crimes) on a higher rates than local citizens. In fact, in some European countries and the US, it has proven that Muslim-majority neighborhood actually have the lower crimes rate compared to their counterparts.

One thing is clear here, it seems that it doesn't matter where they live, all White supremacists (especially Zionists) have the same exact trick when shit hits the fan and its: claim that "savage brown men are coming to rape your delicate white women! So you need to kill them before that happens!" each time the people they're oppressing are standing up for their human rights.

-

Palestinians made a document that contains templates for letters to US, UK, & Canadian politicians, media outlets, and companies in relation to current events in Palestine as well as petitions & other resources. If you live in any of these countries then please select a template, edit it to your preference and send according to the instructions on the relevant page.

Here is a link to it (please share it): https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-RUOHHiEtr7uoclQgWN-tCWOihnHIp5hym89aNePi_E/mobilebasic

Aside from that, please protest, support the BDS boycott and spread awareness as much as possible.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

What I Wouldn't Do

This fanfiction is a Valentine's Day exchange gift for the lovely @henderdads. Cass, Eddie absolutely hates Valentine's Day, but for Steve? Well. He's willing to make an exception. Have an amazing Valentine's Day, you deserve it so much!!

Sometimes, it is difficult to reconcile several different truths in our lives. 

Eddie currently has this dilemma. 

Truth A: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson’s boyfriend, allegedly loves sappy romantic things, Valentine's Day included.

Truth B: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington's boyfriend, feels like if the world ever has to end, it should do so on February 14th, for this is the worst day of all days, the day of heart-shaped chocolate that tastes like crap, couples exchanging sweet words and bodily fluids, sometimes even semi-publicly, and don't even get him started about that horrible romantic music. 

After swearing on the Munson doctrine he won’t sell his soul to consumerism for anything and anyone but Steve, Eddie Munson decides to ignore Truth B. Steve Harrington deserves the best Valentine's day in the history of this idiotic holiday and Eddie has a hunch, a massive, Everest-sized hunch, that in all of his previous Valentine's days, Steve was always the one to do all the work. His beautiful and brave people-pleasing boyfriend. 

Then Eddie realizes another very uncomfortable truth. He has no idea how to celebrate Valentine’s Day. He spent the twenty one-ish years of his existence avoiding the holiday, so now he has to do some research. 

He starts small. When they walk together in the Hawkins center, careful not to touch or hold hands because Hawkins still remains a backward hellhole, he notes what Steve looks at. If his eyes linger on a certain flower for a few seconds, he makes a mental note. A mental note means in Eddie's case that he repeats the name of the flower ad nauseum, quickly excuses himself and scribbles it onto his forearm not to forget. He even buys a permanent marker for this. He can't forget anything, not when it's important for Steve.

When Steve asks about the scribbles, he claims it's for the next campaign. He even draws a sword and a shield next to the notes to avoid suspicion.

He asks many questions, most of them under the pretense of helping Gareth with his dates. "I swear, Steve, when he's lovestruck, he gets completely stupid. Not stupid stupid, Gareth's smart, but he can't hold rhythm and we need him to hold it, he's our drummer! So save this suffering aspiring rockstar and tell me, what do you think is the best type of chocolate? Milk chocolate? Okay, and is that like, universal? Did your previous dates like it? I see, a majority then! Sooo...are you a part of that majority?" 

Very smooth. 

See, Eddie doesn't give a flying demobat about chocolate types, he's more into hard candy. He doesn't like cut flowers, they die anyways because you cut them, how is that fair to that flower, huh? To die for being pretty? And of course, he hates the whole EXPECTATION of Valentine's Day. 

But the more he asks, the more he finds out, he doesn't see it as participating in the mindless machinery of lovestruck idiots. Instead, he sees the flush on Steve's cheeks when he talks about dark chocolate with dried raspberries and how his parents once brought it back from dad's trade conference, how it was love at first taste. He scratches out the idea for a bouquet of flowers when Steve mentions he’s always hated them because the flowers are so beautiful and vibrant, but they’re cut for an obligation in their prime. “It sounds stupid when I say it,” he chuckles, “but I want them to live until they’re ugly and withered, you know? They’re worth way more than their looks.”

Eddie could kiss him right there and then. And he does. 

He brings it all together, prepares all of Steve’s favorites with a silly twist because it’s Eddie, and Eddie lives for silly things. It really needs to be his favorites because Steve once admitted to him that most people with the exception of Robin and Dustin don’t really know what he likes, they just assume. And Steve is happy that people even thought about him, he thanks them and treasures those things that don’t mean anything to him. To Steve, being thought about is enough. 

Well, not to Eddie Munson. 

He asks Steve not to plan anything for their Valentine's Day. Or more precisely, he asks him to stay free and available and not worry his beautifully hairy head. He knows that if he didn't say this, Steve would have gone above and beyond for him, he would have likely taken Eddie to a concert with music so loud he’d get a migraine, but he’d suffer through it. So Eddie has to stop that from happening.

On the actual day, Eddie prepares everything. He sends Gareth ("You owe me so much for this. SO MUCH, MUNSON. I actually wanted to watch this tonight!") to rent Steve's favorite movie and goes himself to get access to the Hawkins High with…almost completely legal means, just a little bit of bribing here, some promises for a lengthy D&D campaign there, and of course lots and lots of nougat. 

He gathers everything in his van, waits for the kids and the janitor to get out and then starts setting the scene. 

There are two more incompatible truths that Eddie Munson grapples with: 

Truth A: Eddie Munson fucking HATES the Hawkins High. He wants it to burn down in flames, with only the theater room staying intact. 

Truth B: Steve Harrington sometimes wistfully mentions how he wishes he could have dated Eddie Munson in high school. How they’d share lunches, trade secret kisses in the hallways. He wishes himself and the world had been different. 

And so Eddie Munson grits his teeth, walks those cursed hallways he only managed to escape a few months back and counts on Robin Buckley to deliver his invitation with flair. “Extra points if you get him a trumpet solo, Buckley!” 

Robin apparently delivers because only half an hour after the expected invite, as he is smoking his fifth cigarette - don’t blame the guy, he’s nervous! He’s got a big date! - Steve arrives with a smile that’s equally excited and nervous. He keeps running his fingers through his hair and overall looks just biteable. 

Steve walks up to him and brushes his fingers against Eddie’s wrist, discreetly as they have established. It’s their own version of a kiss. “I thought you hated Valentine’s Day?” he asks and he looks so apologetic that Eddie promises to base all villains in his new campaign on all the people who ever made Steve feel he wanted too much. 

Eddie glances around, deems it safe and pulls Steve into an actual kiss. "It might be Valentine's day for you, Steve. For me, it's the "Steve Harrington Appreciation Day." He winks at Steve and relishes in the slight blush that has crept into his cheeks. “The name is already registered and all. No changes possible or accepted. Follow me, big boy.” 

Steve laughs when he sees a set cafeteria table with something that brings back so many memories. How did Eddie get two portions of school lunch?! The man has to be magical, he decides. They eat together, chat about their day, and then Eddie decides feeding each other is off the table because they’re giggling so much he almost stabbed Steve with the fork. 

They walk the hallways together, hand in hand, and Eddie sometimes turns around, sticks his tongue out at an imaginary girl and sneers “back off! He’s mine!”. 

Steve turns after Eddie and nods. “What he said,” he whispers and squeezes Eddie’s waist. 

Eddie then hands Steve a sports bag he stashed in the changing rooms and winks at him. “What are you waiting for, Harrington? We have some balls to toss! Baskets to score. That.” And before Steve has a chance to protest, he gets his own bag and starts changing into those awfully familiar PE shorts in all their green and white glory. 

Steve just watches him, mouth hanging open. “Now I get why I never saw you in these,” he mumbles as he also starts changing. “I would have realized I’m bi like, at that moment.” 

But Eddie just laughs and pulls his hair into a loose bun. “Oh, Steve. You have no idea what those shorts on you did to the little closeted me. The thoughts they gave me.”

“Lucky for you, baby,” says Steve and pulls Eddie to his feet, “this time you’re allowed - and strongly encouraged - to both watch AND touch.” Then he cocks his head to the side and adds: “Well. If you score at least one point.” 

Eddie tries. Fails. Tries again, even with Steve helping him. Eventually, they settle for a quick game of tic-tac-toe which Eddie wins and happily squeezes Steve’s butt. 

Their final destination is the only class they ever shared, history. All desks are empty, except for one - the middle one in the second row, where Steve used to sit. There’s dark chocolate with dried raspberries, Steve’s favorite, and a pot of flowers. Yellow, another favorite. 

“The lady in the flower shop said they should live, like, really long,” shrugs Eddie and moves the chair for Steve so he can sit down. “I forgot their name the second I got them, but Buckley knows and she was asked to deliver a booklet with how to care for them.” 

Steve drags him down to his level and kisses Eddie, deep and long. He’s either crying or laughing into the kiss, maybe both. “I don’t know what to say,” he whispers into Eddie’s cheek. “All of this…is right. It’s me. You remembered.” 

“Eh…kinda. Tried to.” Eddie gives up and lets himself be seated on Steve’s lap. “Actually, I had a small…cheat sheet. Let me show you.”

Steve watches as Eddie takes off his bracelet and watch and sets both on the desk. He gasps as he sees a coiling pattern around Eddie’s wrist, something that looks like a dotted or scratched tattoo all around, but that’s not it. Because then Eddie moves his wrist closer and he can read all the words on Eddie’s skin. 

DARK CHOCOLATE WITH RASPBERRIES

NO CUT FLOWERS! YELLOW IS GOOD

COFFEE WITH ONE DROP OF MILK

NO ICE IN DRINKS - TRIGGERS MIGRAINES

BELTS AND SHOELACES - GOOD GIFTS TO WEAR

FREDDIE MERCURY

GOOD OLD FASHIONED LOVER BOY

NO KETCHUP! 

STRAWBERRY ICE CREAM

These and so much more. All of Steve’s favorites, all what made him feel like himself, forever preserved in Eddie’s skin. 

He buries his head in Eddie’s shoulder and holds him so tight Eddie has trouble breathing, but then he decides that oxygen is overrated. “You’re so crazy,” sobs Steve into his shoulder. 

Eddie laughs again into the quiet of their former school. “I know.”

“And I love you so much.” 

He kisses Steve’s forehead. “I know. And I love you too. That’s why I had to do this, you know. Because even when I’m old and ugly, just like these flowers will be one day, when I’m senile and can hardly remember my own name, I will look at my hand and I’ll know all that is important.” 

Steve holds him even tighter if that’s possible, but maybe oxygen is needed just a little. Eddie gently kisses Steve’s head again and whispers: “We’re not done yet, love. Can you let me go so I can play us a movie? Something nice.” 

The arms crushing him loosen their hold and Steve briefly turns away to wipe at his eyes. “Sure. Sorry, I just…this is new for me. But good. So good.” 

“You deserve the good. All of it.” Eddie means it. And if seeing Steve appreciated as he should have been all of his life is redeemed by something as mundane as ignoring some truths about himself? Eddie is ready and willing. 

As he puts Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom into the VHS player, he realizes something terrifying - he’s actually LOOKING FORWARD TO THE NEXT VALENTINE’S DAY. 

Oh well. Time to adjust the Munson doctrine. After all, it might become a Munson-Harrington doctrine one day, so it deserves some revision.

[some-teeth-in-a-trench-coat]

I think I need to accept that I'm not knowable and not unknowable but a secret third thing and I need to romanticize, idolize, and fetishize that third thing because I think it might be the default state of anything real anyway

ever since I was a little girl* I knew I wanted to be something I could explain to people in a single sentence and be understood

*who wasn't a girl and knew that it was something else instead but at the time in many ways he was only almost not a girl, but now is fully not a girl and entirely a type of man but separately and only additionally is several other things partially which do not add up to a second whole but in no way complete the man who is already an entire thing of its own

[creature-wizard]

What the Project Monarch alter programming conspiracy theory is (and what it's not)

When I talk about alter programming conspiracy theories, people often get confused as to what I mean, so I figured I'd write a post to clear things up.

First of all, I am not saying that DID systems can't be indoctrinated or conditioned the same way literally any other human being can be, or that abusive people would never try and manipulate or exploit specific alters. That's not what I'm saying at all.

What I am talking about is a set of alleged practices first described by a number of far right conspiracy theorists, who claimed that the CIA was operating a program called Project Monarch, which was allegedly part of Project MK-Ultra.

Now, the existence of Project MK-Ultra is very well-known. The CIA did in fact conduct unethical human experiments in an effort to actually practice mind control. However, it didn't work out because drugs and the human brain don't actually work the way they thought they did. It's worth noting that these experiments were in part fueled by a fear that Russians were already masters of mind control, because as far as they were concerned, communism had to be more than just a political ideology that was at odds with America's own capitalist system; it had to be something so evil that it could only be forced on people using the most diabolical of methods. They were terrified that American POWs were being turned into Manchurian agents, and they figured that if this a thing the Russians were doing, then they should try and take advantage of this, too. Again, Project MK-Ultra was horrible, but it didn't produce the results they wanted, because Manchurian agents are nothing more than the fever dream of a terrified western capitalist.

Meanwhile, there is no evidence that Project Monarch ever existed. None. Nada. Not a shred. Despite allegedly being practiced by thousands of people in all levels of society since at least the mid-20th century, not a single piece of primary literature or documentation has ever turned up. Keep this in mind going forward.

If you've never heard of Project Monarch before, here's the gist of this conspiracy theory: Supposedly, Nazi scientist Dr. Josef Mengele wasn't actually performing eugenics experiments, and the Holocaust wasn't actually about genocide at all. It was actually a cover for mind control experiments. After the war, Dr. Joseph Mengele was brought over to the US in Operation Paperclip, where he taught the CIA everything he knew. Project Monarch was established by the CIA in order to plant programmers and programmed slaves everywhere in society for the purpose of establishing the rule of the New World Order, which had supposedly controlled Nazi Germany and had now infiltrated the US government. Supposedly, one of the New World Order's big goals was to destroy American conservative Christianity, especially Protestantism. Literally anything that a white American Protestant hyperconservative would find objectionable was supposedly the work of the NWO.

The alleged practices conducted under Project Monarch were broadly labeled "trauma-based mind control," or TBMC. While some people today use this term to refer to any form of punitive conditioning, the term originally had a very specific meaning. Let's talk about how TBMC in its original context allegedly worked. The basic concept goes like this: a very young child (sometimes even a baby) will be put under brutal torture in order to force them into dissociation. If the procedure is successful, the victim's mind will split and form a number of completely blank alters. Somehow, the programmers know which blank alters are potentially useful for programming, and which aren't. Each usable alter will be programmed with a code or trigger that will allow programmers to access the alter (force it to front) later. Supposedly, the host alter will have no memory of any of this.

During each programming session, the victim will be tortured into a dissociative trance, and the desired alter will be accessed. At this point the alter will be taught (typically as traumatically as possible) whatever they're supposed to learn, like how to assassinate someone, how to do complex mathematics at superhuman levels, or how to pose as the perfect Christian housewife.

So theoretically, someone who's basically your regular churchgoing mom could be sent a greeting card with a picture of something like a cute little Scottish terrier, have her assassin alter triggered, and go kill some local politician with some futuristic piece of technology that makes it look like he just died of natural heart attack.

Allegedly, millions of people have been programmed like this, and the average Monarch slave has an average of 1000 alters. Meanwhile, the supposed symptoms of alter programming are so broad that just about anyone with any kind of trauma or mental health issue could be diagnosed with it, and there is nothing they could do to falsify it.

Again, there is literally no evidence that Monarch programming is real. Josef Mengele was not brought to the US in Operation Paperclip; he fled to South America and died in Brazil. The Nazis (including Mengele) were very much all about those eugenics, and claiming otherwise is laughable. Not a single group, institution, or individual has ever been found in possession of programmers' manuals, nor in possession of the codebooks and books of programming records that supposedly (and would have to, if this was really happening) exist out there. Not a single person claiming to be a deprogrammed slave has ever demonstrated any of the numerous skills they were supposedly trained to be hypercompentent in.

Additionally, once you start digging into the actual sources of this conspiracy theory, you start seeing the exact same tropes that feature in The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion and early modern witch hunt manuals. They've been given some updates to resonate with the fears of post-WWII American WASPs, but it's ultimately the same scapegoating and fearmongering that sent millions of people to their deaths.

It's obvious that most of the people who believe that Monarch programming exists haven't actually read works like Trance-Formation of America (1995) by Mark Philips and Cathy O'Brien, and They Know Not What They Do: Illustrated Guide To Monarch Mind Control (1995), The Illuminati Formula Used To Create A Total Undetectable Mind-Controlled Slave (1996), and Deeper Insights Into The Illuminati Formula (1997) by Fritz Springmeier and Cisco Wheeler. If they did, they'd be pretty hard-pressed to deny that these books are some of the most hateful garbage ever written. These books are chock full of xenophobia, racism, and a general hatred of anyone who isn't a hyperconservative Protestant. Pseudoscience and pseudohistory are rampant throughout, as are now-failed predictions about the alleged future plans of the New World Order.

Some people out there have asked me, "well, what about this other person talking about it?" I promise you, the stuff they are talking about ultimately comes from these books, which were published throughout the 1990's. This includes Unwelcome Ozian, whose books Chainless Slaves and Rules of Programming contain text that's straight-up copied from some of these books. People like Dr. Alison Miller and Dr. Ellen Lacter cite Svali, and Svali's own work describes the exact same NWO conspiracy theory as the works of Springmeier and Wheeler.

I encourage anyone who isn't likely to get triggered by talk of extreme violence (including sexual) to actually read these books so you can see for yourself just how bad they are. A huge part of the reason this conspiracy theory has so much traction is because few people actually know where it comes from, and just how completely ridiculous the whole damn thing is. Just about everything QAnon was on about is packed into these books.

And finally, while dissociative amnesia does indeed exist, we also have evidence that people can confabulate memories of events that never actually happened. Rock-solid evidence, in fact. This is literally what happens every time someone goes under hypnosis to try and remember a past life, and "remembers" a past life in the medieval period filled with anachronisms and historical misconceptions. If you'd like to see some extremely obvious examples of memory confabulation for yourself (some of which don't even involve hypnosis), you can click here and here.

(By the way, the terms "RAMCOA" and "OEA" were created by the ISSTD, for the purpose of making these types of conspiracy theories sound respectable within legitimate psychiatry.)

[engeorged]

The Sugarman’s House

A Halloween sequel to Obi’s Place, Santa’s Otto and prequel to Aster’s Maze

As it’s Halloween, I thought I’d tell you the story of one of my near misses in my search for Obi. You’d think by now I’d have learnt my lesson. I mean, if chasing down fae-related clues across multiple countries isn’t a red flag that my life has taken a bizarre turn, I don’t know what is. But there I was, chasing another clue like some kind of enchanted scavenger hunt. This time, it was a tip I’d received in a seedy little café in Strasbourg, where a man with a thick German accent and a glint in his eye mentioned that if I were truly looking for the fae, I should check out a market in Munich. He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, like I’d find the secret to magic between a bratwurst stand and a booth selling antiques.

So, off to Munich I went, because at this point, I was following even the faintest whispers that might lead me to Obi. It wasn’t that I’d given up on finding more practical clues; it was just that nothing else had panned out, and desperation can make even the most ridiculous leads seem plausible. Besides, the idea of magic hiding in plain sight among lederhosen and steins of beer was almost charming.

The market itself was sprawling, a maze of colorful stalls and wares that seemed to stretch on forever. It was the kind of place where you could find anything from hand-carved wooden toys to dusty antiques, and probably a cursed amulet or two if you knew where to look. But that wasn’t what I wanted. I wandered through the stalls, trying to seem casual while discreetly searching for…well, anything that felt off. As I walked past a bakery the smell of the pastries made my stomach rumble but I didn’t come to have a snack, I had to find something. I didn’t have to look for long.

Amid the piles of yellowing postcards and forgotten family photos, one card stood out seemingly calling to me. I mean literally calling, I’m pretty sure I heard to shout my name! Its edges were crisp, and the colours were strangely vivid for something allegedly old. It depicted a charming little house, tucked away in a forest, with icing-like snow on the roof and a glowing warmth emanating from its windows. The scene looked more like a holiday card than a genuine photograph, which should have been my first clue that it was a little too perfect. It had the title ‘Der Zuckermann’s Haus’ on the bottom in a neat rectangle. But what caught my attention was the writing on the back, penned in elegant, old-fashioned script: Für den, der wirklich sucht—“For the one who truly seeks.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity. “For the one who truly seeks,” huh? If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear someone was mocking me. But I knew better than to dismiss a clue when it practically fell into my lap. Sure, it sounded ridiculous, but I’d chased stranger leads. What’s one more mad quest in a forest when you’re already balls-deep in fairy tales?

The back of the postcard had a smudged postmark and what looked like a set of coordinates scribbled in the corner. I pulled out my phone, plugged in the numbers, and found that they pointed to the edge of the Black Forest. “Great,” I muttered, “just where I wanted to go—deep into a dark, possibly cursed wood.” Still, there was a tugging in my chest, a feeling that this was the kind of crazy I needed to embrace if I ever hoped to find Obi.

I found myself at the edge of the Black Forest, a strange calm settled over me. There was a stillness in the air, as though the world had paused just beyond the tree line, waiting for me to take the next step. It wasn’t just the chill that ran through the air; it was something deeper, something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I couldn’t help but think that if magic existed anywhere, it would be in a place like this—a place that seemed to hold its breath, as if it were keeping secrets.

I took one last glance at the postcard, then tucked it into my pocket. “Here goes nothing,” I whispered to myself, and stepped into the forest.

The deeper I ventured into the forest, the more the air seemed to shift around me. There was a damp chill that crept through the trees, but I could also feel a warmth radiating from somewhere up ahead, like the promise of a fireplace at the end of a long walk. I’d been wandering for what felt like hours, and I could feel every step. My legs ached from navigating the uneven ground, and the extra weight I’d picked up from the last year wasn’t helping. My growing belly had rounded out somewhat and I had noticed that my shirts were starting to feel a bit tighter around the middle. The irony wasn’t lost on me—here I was, searching for the fae that made me fat with a lot of extra fat they had put on me.

As I trudged further into the woods, the scent of something sweet floated on the breeze. It started out faint, just a hint of something spicy, but as I followed the trail, the smell grew stronger, richer—almost decadent. I could practically taste the caramel in the air, the warmth of cinnamon and cloves wrapping around me like a soft blanket. It felt like the woods were trying to lure me in deeper, coaxing me forward with promises of warmth and sweetness.

Then, I saw it.

The house came into view as I rounded a bend in the trail, and for a moment, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. It was beautiful—picturesque, even—like something you’d see on the front of a biscuit tin at Grandma’s. It had steep gabled roofs, tall windows with little wooden shutters, and ivy crawling up the sides in a way that seemed almost too perfect. As I drew closer, however, I noticed the details that weren’t quite right. The walls didn’t look like wood at all, but a dark, rich brown that seemed almost edible. I squinted and stepped closer, peering at the surface. It wasn’t wood—it was fucking gingerbread. The entire house was covered in thick layers of icing, with candy canes lining the corners and massive gumdrops studded along the roof’s edges. I even spotted what looked like strips of marzipan wrapped around the window frames.

This couldn’t be real, could it? Who would build an entire house out of sweets in the middle of the Black Forest? It was absurd, and yet there I was, standing in front of it, breathing in the intoxicating aroma of freshly baked gingerbread and sugar.

I circled the house, looking for a way inside. The front door was made to look like a giant chocolate bar, with squares that seemed ready to snap off. I tried the doorknob, but it wouldn’t budge, and the windows, though invitingly decorated with thick icing, didn’t give me any way to see inside. If there was any sign of magic or fae, it was well hidden. But then again, in stories like this, magic often required a little… participation.

I glanced at the wall next to me and reached out, breaking off a small piece of gingerbread. It crumbled in my hand, still warm to the touch, and as I brought it to my mouth, the flavors hit me in waves. The sweetness of the icing blended with the deep, spiced richness of the gingerbread. It wasn’t just the taste that overwhelmed me; it was the sensation of warmth spreading through my whole body, as if the bite had ignited some kind of inner glow. I hadn’t tasted anything so comforting, so perfect, in a long time.

Encouraged, I broke off another piece, this time from one of the candy canes lining the doorway. It was surprisingly soft, and when I bit into it, the peppermint flavor burst across my tongue, refreshing and invigorating. I couldn’t help but take another bite, and then another, sampling different parts of the house as though I were at a dessert buffet.

But as I continued to eat, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. I paused, a piece of chocolate-coated marzipan halfway to my mouth, and glanced around. The clearing was empty, and the only sounds were the wind rustling through the trees and my own heavy breathing. Still, the sense of being observed lingered, like the hairs on the back of my neck were trying to warn me of something I couldn’t see.

I hesitated, then shrugged it off and took another bite. If this was some sort of enchanted test, I figured I’d already thrown myself into it by eating half the front porch.

I was just reaching for another piece of candied fruit embedded in the windowsill when I noticed him—a figure standing at the edge of the clearing, half-shrouded in shadow. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a surprisingly muscular frame that looked almost out of place in the delicate light of the forest. His dark hair fell in thick strands, just long enough to brush against his collarbones, framing a face that was both rugged and striking. His eyes, a vivid shade of purple, gave his nature away and they seemed to glow faintly in the fading light. There was an intensity in his gaze, something that made my breath hitch and my pulse quicken, though I couldn’t quite say why.

“Hey,” I said, swallowing the bite I’d just taken. “Do you, uh, live here?”

The man’s expression didn’t change, except for a small, closed-mouth smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. There was a mystery to that smile, as if he knew something I didn’t—a secret that he had no intention of sharing.

“Right,” I continued, trying to fill the silence. “I’m, uh, looking for something. Someone, actually. Maybe you could help?”

Still, he said nothing, just stood there watching me with those strange, captivating eyes. It was unnerving, but I found it hard to look away. There was a power in his gaze, like a magnet drawing me closer, making it difficult to think clearly. I felt a strange flutter in my chest, a mixture of curiosity and… something else.

“Okay, well, if you’re not going to say anything,” I muttered, glancing down at the piece of gingerbread in my hand. “I guess I’ll just—”

“Eat.”

The command hit me like a physical force, reverberating through my whole body. It wasn’t just a suggestion; it was a deep, urgent compulsion that I couldn’t resist even if I’d wanted to. The word echoed in my mind, sinking into my bones, filling every crevice of my thoughts. Without thinking, I brought the gingerbread to my mouth and took a bite, then another, and another. I couldn’t stop. It was as though my hands and mouth were no longer mine to control.

The flavors seemed to grow richer with each bite—caramelized sugar, dark chocolate, buttery cake—melding together in a symphony of sweetness that was as intoxicating as it was overwhelming. I felt a warmth spreading through my chest, trickling down into my belly, which had already begun to swell slightly from all I had eaten. The sensation was… familiar. Comforting, even. But as the moments passed, I could feel my stomach pushing against the waistband of my jeans, the fabric beginning to strain.

I tore off a piece of peppermint railing, biting into it eagerly. The coolness of the mint mixed with the lingering spice of the gingerbread, and I could feel my body responding, a heaviness settling in my limbs, my movements becoming slower, almost languid. As I continued to eat, my belly pushed out further, pressing against the front of my shirt. I could feel the buttons straining, the fabric pulling tighter and tighter, until finally, one of them popped loose, flying off into the underbrush with a soft ping.

I paused, just for a moment, my hand hovering in front of my mouth with another chunk of gingerbread. “Is this… some kind of test?” I managed to ask, my voice thick and heavy. But the man—whoever or whatever he was—only watched, that same enigmatic smile curving across his lips.

I took another bite, then another, unable to stop myself. The swelling in my stomach grew more pronounced, a deep, full feeling that seemed to fill every inch of my being. My shirt strained and stretched over my expanding middle, and I could feel the seams digging into my skin, cutting across the surface as my belly rounded out further. It wasn’t painful, exactly—more like a slow, relentless pressure that was both unnerving and oddly pleasurable.

The man’s smile deepened, and his eyes gleamed as if lit from within. He took a step closer, his presence somehow filling the clearing, making it feel smaller, more intimate. “Eat,” he repeated, his voice soft and smooth, like velvet sliding over my skin. The word wrapped itself around my thoughts, dissolving any hesitation I had left. I ate for what felt like minutes but must have been hours judging by the size of my gut. This man had to be one of them, and there was only one way I would find out. I took a deep breath and leaned in, tearing off a chunk of chocolate-coated marzipan from the doorframe. As I chewed, I could feel the weight of my belly pressing outward, stretching the skin taut and forcing my waistband to dig deeper into my sides. Another button popped, then another, until the front of my shirt hung open, exposing the round curve of my stomach.

I reached out again, this time for a piece of glazed fruit decorating the roof’s edge. I didn’t even bother to question the absurdity of it anymore. I was lost in the rhythm of eating, the compulsion to keep going, as my belly continued to swell, heavy and distended.

The figure’s voice seemed to deepen as he spoke again, a low murmur that sent a shiver down my spine. “Come inside.” There was no room for resistance in his tone. I obeyed, my legs moving on their own as I followed him through the front door, which swung open as if by magic.

Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of freshly baked pastries, chocolate, and cream. It was as though I had walked straight into a bakery’s dream. In the center of the room stood a long, wooden table, and it was covered end to end with cakes, tarts, pies, and other treats. Rich chocolate éclairs, fluffy cream puffs, golden-brown strudels glistening with sugar—every imaginable dessert was laid out before me, and the sight of it made my mouth water, even though my stomach was already straining from all the gingerbread I had eaten outside.

“Sit,” the figure commanded, and I found myself dropping into the chair at the head of the table. Without hesitation, my hands reached for the nearest dish—a slice of dark chocolate cake that oozed rich ganache with each bite. I ate greedily, as though I hadn’t eaten in days, and the compulsion that gripped me grew stronger with every mouthful. My belly pressed outward, swelling more with each decadent morsel I consumed, and I could feel my shirt tightening again, though there was hardly anything left of it to hold me in.

As I continued to eat, I felt an odd mix of sensations stirring within me. There was a familiar enjoyment—something about the way my stomach filled and stretched reminded me of those strange, thrilling moments back at Obi’s place, when I’d let myself indulge in ways I never had before. But there was also a creeping dread in the back of my mind, a small voice whispering that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

I swallowed the last bite of a sugar-dusted pastry and reached for another slice of cake, but then I noticed something in the corner of the room—a large, brick oven, its iron door glowing faintly red as if there were a fire raging just behind it. The sight of it pulled me back from the fog of pleasure, and for the first time, I started to question what was happening. Why was this here? Why was I here?

I glanced back at the figure, my hands trembling as I set the plate down. His expression hadn’t changed, but there was something darker in his eyes now, a glint that hadn’t been there before. His smile widened, revealing a set of teeth that were far too sharp, too large to be human.

“What… what is this?” I managed to gasp, my voice weak and unsteady.

The figure took a step closer, and when he spoke, his voice was smooth as velvet. “You are the feast,” he said simply, his words curling around me like smoke. “You are the source of power I need—the nourishment that fuels me.”

I tried to push back from the table, but my body felt heavy, sluggish. My belly was huge now, pushing out over the waistband of my pants, which had long since torn open under the strain. The exposed skin was taut and round, flushed red from the pressure of being so full. I struggled to stand, but the weight of my gut made it difficult, almost impossible to move.

“More,” the figure commanded once more, his tone sharper this time, edged with irritation. The word cut through me, sinking in deep, and I felt the compulsion return, stronger than ever. My hands reached for the nearest pastry, and I stuffed it into my mouth even as my mind screamed at me to stop. Each bite seemed to add more to my already swollen middle, my skin stretching to accommodate the relentless expansion. I could feel my belly pushing against the table’s edge, the wood digging into the taut flesh, and still, I kept eating.

I tried to form a coherent thought, but it was hard with the sensation of fullness drowning out everything else. “Why… why me?” I mumbled through a mouthful of cake.

The figure’s smile was all teeth now. “Because you were willing,” he said. “You sought indulgence, and now you will give me what I need.”

Panic surged through me, and I pushed harder against the chair, the table, anything to get away. My gut was enormous now, ballooned out in front of me, hindering every attempt I made to rise. I felt the sweat prickling on my skin, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I stumbled to my feet, finally managing to break free from the spell enough to back away from the table. The figure’s eyes followed me, his expression calm and almost amused, as though he found my struggle entertaining.

I glanced around wildly, and that’s when I noticed that the walls of the house seemed to shimmer, as if they were not entirely solid. The bricks that I had thought were gingerbread now appeared more like plaster, the sugary decorations fading into ordinary paint. It was then that I realized the true nature of my surroundings. The whole place began to dissolve, fading away into the familiar sights of a bakery. The table of cakes and pastries became rows of bread loaves and buns, and I was standing behind the counter, surrounded by shocked customers who stared at me in disbelief.

I blinked, the haze in my mind clearing just enough for me to take in my surroundings. The gingerbread house was gone. I was standing in the middle of a bakery, surrounded by rows of bread, pastries, and wide-eyed customers who looked at me as if I’d just sprouted a second head. My head was still spinning, but I recognised the place almost instantly—it was the same shop I had walked past earlier, back at the market in Munich. Somehow, I had never left.

I glanced down at myself, trying to make sense of what had just happened. My shirt was, hanging open to reveal a round, bloated belly pushing against the waistband of my jeans. It wasn’t as grotesquely swollen as it had been in the enchanted cottage, but it was still painfully full, bulging outward in a way that made each breath feel tight and shallow. The skin of my stomach was flushed red, covered with a light dusting of hair that trailed down from my chest. I could feel the cool air of the bakery against the exposed curve of my belly, the bottom of my shirt riding up to reveal just how far I’d expanded. I must have looked ridiculous.

My hand instinctively reached for my back pocket, where I found the postcard—the very one that had led me to the Black Forest in the first place—crumpled but still intact. I pulled it out, staring at the faded image of the gingerbread house and the cryptic words on the back. It was as if the whole experience had been a waking dream, conjured by nothing more than an old piece of paper and my own curiosity. But the tightness in my gut told me otherwise. I hadn’t imagined any of it.

I scanned the bakery for any sign of the figure—the man with the purple eyes who had commanded me to eat. For a moment, I thought he might be gone, but then I saw him outside the shop, standing just beyond the glass door. He was exactly as I remembered—tall and handsome, with that same closed-mouth smile that seemed to hide far more than it revealed. His eyes glinted with a faint purple hue, and there was a hint of amusement in the way he watched me, as if he found my confusion rather entertaining.

I stumbled toward the door, my belly jostling uncomfortably with each step, but just as I reached the entrance, the figure’s image wavered like a heat mirage and then disappeared altogether, leaving only the reflection of the empty street beyond. I stared out into the marketplace, the postcard clutched in my hand, and felt a strange mixture of relief and dread.

The reality of what had just happened—or what I thought had happened—was slipping away from me, fading like a half-remembered nightmare. But the ache in my belly and the taste of sugar lingering on my tongue were all too real. Whatever magic had been at play, it had left its mark on me. And as I turned away from the door, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over. There were still answers I needed to find, and this time, I would be more careful about what I chose to taste.

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[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

+1 Chance | Short/Oneshot

In which some people get an extra life.

Tags/Warnings: pro Esports!Kook, Teenage crushes to ???, SFW, Short, Open ending, all around fluffy

Length: 2.2k Words

A/N: Yes I'm still writing on existing stuff dw. Just a random valentines day drabble. Not proofread.

—--——--——--——--——--🩷--——--——--——--——--—

You met Jungkook in summer, many years ago, when the sun was hot and your friends turned out to be nothing but situationships.

You’d been seeing the hints of their friendship not being of honest nature for a while now- but as a young girl barely about to graduate a year later, you didn’t want to be alone during your allegedly best years of your life. So you ignored the warnings one after another, always found excuses as to why their behavior was totally justifiable and normal, even if deep down you knew that you were just trying to convince yourself of that.

And then, you met him- a guy showing you honest kindness for nothing asked in return.

It was hot, sun burning, and you’d tried to get out the pool- but your small strawberry floaty had kept slipping from underneath you, making it hard to find the strength to get out of the large pool in your ‘friend’s’ backyard by yourself- when suddenly, a hand had grabbed the red item to keep it still, so you could properly hold onto it for a moment.

“Here- let me help.” He’d said, black nail polish chipped. And you’d taken on the help, too tired to really care about the fact that your friend had told you to just ignore her brother’s ‘weirdo friends’- him clearly being one of them. “Want me to help you get out? The sun is pretty hot right now, you should get out soon.” He had worried a little, and you'd nodded, pushing yourself up on the ledge after having let go of the floaty, finally having been able to escape the pool with his help, as he made sure you wouldn’t slip or end up back inside because of your strength leaving you.

You weren’t sure back then where your friends even were at that point. But somehow, it was like a moment of realization- a clear sign you couldn’t ignore any longer. “your uh.. friends went to watch a movie upstairs now, in Kate’s room..” he says, watching you sit down in the shade, drying yourself with a towel you brought.

“..thanks.” you’d mumbled. “I.. Probably should go home now.” You’d shrugged, feeling ashamed and embarrassed to ever having trusted these people at all. All they did was use your kindness and clear need for just someone to talk to and befriend- and you’d willingly accepted that, blinded by the glimpses of happiness they’d made you feel every now and then.

They knew how to manipulate you- keep you happy and clingy enough with occasional treats never given too often.

“I mean.. I can drive you. It’s late.” Jungkook had offered you. “But we’re also missing a fourth player for mario-cart right now, down in Kate’s brother’s room.” He’d jokingly told you- something that had given you hope.

“..but won’t it be weird?” You’d worried. “They don’t know me.”

“Well, everyone’s a stranger when you first meet them.” Jungkook had laughed, as he gave you a towel from close by, both of you having slowly walked back into the house. “I’m Jungkook. Just in case you didn’t know. “ He’d introduced himself, smiling like he’s the sun itself.

And little did you know that on that day, as you gave him your name, you both also set the foundation for much more than just a friendship.

—--——--——--——--——--🩷--——--——--——--——--—

“So you two have history?” Your friend asks, sitting across from you on your hotel room floor, both of you occupied with making sure your freshly applied nail polish dries well. You’re on a weekend trip for just the two of you, to take some time off the stressful life and to nourish your friendship a little.

“Not really.” You shrug. “I wouldn’t call it that. More so.. An awkward friendship when I was younger, before I moved away.” You answer, explaining your situation as to why Jeon Jungkook, one of the current top e-sports players had greeted you when you randomly ran into each other today in the hotel hallway.

“Oh, so he was the guy you had a crush on when you were younger?” She teases, never forgetting anything it seems like- not even a random confession during a childish game of never-have-I-ever. “I knew it. Damn, you were so close! Imagine your life if you’d bagged that guy.” She swoons, having made it known time and time again that she wouldn’t pass up any opportunity to ‘get her hands on those abs’ if she ever had the chance to do so. You know this is simply a joke, but still, her words do make you think.

How would your life have turned out if you got with him?

Would he have chosen to go against his parents’ advice to just keep his hobby as, well, a hobby, or would he have accepted their wishes to instead study something more steady, to earn a position in a stable company? You’ll never know- but despite that, its still interesting to just humor that idea for a moment.

“Hey, maybe there’s still tickets for the tournament!” Your friend chirps up, having noticed her nailpolish having dried by now, phone fetched and disconnected from the charger as she swipes and inputs her passcode to unlock it. “Or I’ll ask if we can have my brother’s tickets, since he didn’t go..” She mumbles, texting him most likely now.

“It’s.. I don’t know, we wanted to go out for dinner though.” You mumble, checking your polish for any imperfections. “You don’t even like gaming that much.” You also add, teasingly so. She rolls her eyes.

“Just cause I don’t play them, doesn’t mean I cant enjoy watching someone play them instead.” She argues. “Also, you can watch the game- I'll watch the pretty boy.” She winks, making you laugh with her, when she receives a text, phone falling out of her hand for a second before she can pick it up again. “Oh- he said we can have them!” She chirps up, clearly excited. “As far as I know they’re free seating- so if we’re early, we get to choose where we wanna sit and watch.” She explains, texting him some more while you contemplate.

This is dumb. He probably has a girlfriend, a life of his own, hell- you have a life of your own now, far away from him. There’s no reason for you to try and test your luck like this, but you’re also a fan of the game he’s competing at. So, maybe..

Yeah. You’re totally not doing it for him. You’re just going to watch the gameplay.

What’s the worst that can happen?

—--——--——--——--——--🩷--——--——--——--——--—

It’s not even the next day yet, but you already see him again.

On your way down to the reception desk, mission clear in your head to muster up the courage to ask for another pillow instead of sleeping uncomfortably like this, you’ve barely exited your room when your eyes meet again in the hallway.

He says your name. His voice has gotten deeper after all those years, you notice. You nod, and he smiles, the turn of the corner of his mouth pulling your attention to the twin piercing he has placed there, silver rings piercing right through his skin. “It’s been a while.” He offers, hands in the pockets of his pants. He must’ve been out with his teammates, smell of faint cigarette smoke clinging to him as you walk a bit closer.

You nod. You feel awkward, all dressed down like this, having gotten reader for bed hours before, trying to find sleep without the extra comfort another pillow would bring you. “how are you?” He asks, and again, you nod.

You hate this. You’re still terrible at talking to people. “I’m good.. and you?” You answer, avoiding eye contact. Of course he’s obviously doing good- great even, about to bag thousands of prize money tomorrow when he’ll surely win the tournament.

“Good. Great even, now that I.. anyways, do.. What’re you doing here?” He wonders, clearly happy to initiate smalltalk. “vacation or work?”

“vacation. With.. a friend of mine.” You tell him, toes digging onto the fluffy slippers you brought on this trip for yourself. “like.. a girl’s weekend.” You explain, and he nods.

“Yeah.. guess you gotta leave the men at home sometimes to unwind.” He jokes.

“hmhm. Well, she had to- I don’t, you know, have anyone, so I’m flexible.” You tell him, and that seems to make his eyes sparkle almost like you’ve challenged him. Which you didn’t- so why does he look so energized now.

“Cool! I mean.. yeah.” He nods to himself, before he seems to realize something. “Oh hey, if I interrupted you or I’m holding you in a conversation, don’t mind me! You look like you were on your way somewhere-“ he starts, pointing down the gall to the elevator. “But uh.. if you wanna go down, there’s a bunch of drunks down in the lobby, just a warning.” He offers, making you deflate.

“Oh.” You hum, defeated. Well, maybe you cal roll up your sweater or something.

“If you.. I can go with you, if you’d like.” He offers. "I’m still pretty fit. Still boxing. So.. I can be your meat-shield basically.” He jokes, making you giggle, his eyes brightening up at the sound and sight.

“I.. that would be nice, actually.” You accept, and he happily walks next to you into the elevator at that, faint music drowning our the heavy buzzing of the mechanics.

“so uh.. how’s your family?” He wonders. “is your dad still making your mom’s life harder every day?” He jokes, but you shake your head, smiling fondly.

“No, they surprisingly settled these days. They’re.. on a trip themselves. For valentines day and all.” You explain, and Jungkook nods.

“romantic.” He teases, and you giggle, nodding along.

“they.. ask about you a lot. It’s kind of funny.” You tell him. “I can only ever tell them what I see online though.” You shrug.

“You.. know what I do?” he wonders, and your eyes widen as you look at him.

“are you kidding me? You’re the top player at my favorite game.” You say, making his expression moron into one of both wonder- and slightly bashful.

“I uh.. didn’t know. Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.” He laughs it off. “I.. have a tournament actually, tomorrow.”

“I know.” You nod, elevator doors opening. “I’ll be there. With my friend.” You say.

“Oh wow.” He chuckles. “I better win, in that case.” He.. flirts? As he walks towards the reception desk with you- drunk group of friends luckily only being loud, but not aggressive. “where will you sit?”

“its.. free seating, so I’m not sure.” You mumble, before you ask the lady at the desk for another pillow for your room number.

“I could probably reserve some good seats.” He says, and you smile.

“You really don’t have to.” You reassure him, when he suddenly asks the lady for something else as well- a flower from the last bouquet left over from the hotel’s valentines sale for the guests. She happily gives it to him, free of charge, before she tells you that housekeeping will bring you the pillow shortly, before she resumes her own work again, letting you and Jungkook walk back into the elevator.

You’re not sure what you think of this- but junkook has liked flowers back then, so why wouldn’t he still like flowers now. Or, maybe he’s staying here with his girlfriend, and he’s just wanting to gift her something on his way back to her- it’s valentines day, after all.

“I’ll.. can I have your number? To text you where you’ll sit tomorrow.” He asks, and you nod, walking into your room to fetch your phone, showing your number for him to type into his own, screen cracked a little in one corner. “awesome. Now then, the only thing I gotta do is..-“ he starts, slipping the phone in the pocket of his pants. “-ask you to be my valentine?” He wonders, holding the flower out to you. "Don’t have to say yes. I’m a big boy, I can take rejection.” He jokes.

“Can I.. ask why?” You wonder, and he grins, shrugging.

“I feel like, maybe the universe is trying to tell me something.” He simply answers. “..giving me a second chance, to ask you out for real this time.”

“wait.. you mean-“ you stammer, and he nods.

“I had.. kind of a huge crush on you back then. And, seeing you again.. it all just.. flared up again. Exactly the same way.” He confesses. “I’m not.. asking for something big. Just one date- and we’ll go from there.” He asks, and you slowly take the flower from him, smile on your lips as you think about his words. Fate, huh? A universe’s second chance? What are the chances?

You decide you don’t care.

“okay.” You answer him,-

And his eyes sparkle brightly, while he smiles at you like you’re the sun.

—--——--——--——--——--🩷--——--——--——--——--—i

[nerdishpursuits]

The novelita really hit the gas pedal these episodes and everyone is still reeling (worth mentioning, maybe, that this post is hella lengthy and rambles about various characters and plotlines) And by everyone I mean the fandom, because the characters themselves jumped through some mental hoops and, allegedly, stuck the landing? Kinda. Sorta. Maybe. 1. I think it makes sense for Fina to have spent the night at the colony. They are, after all, trying to keep a low profile as much as possible, even if it hurts to be apart. And Marta couldn't have visited Fina's room without raising suspicion or confirming rumors. Therefore, because their circumstances are as painful as they are? Marta has to fall apart on her own and Fina ends up finding out from the newspaper.

2. Marta's devastation when Fina all but begs her to please, marry Pelayo? To please do it for them, for herself and for Fina too? Because the rumor-mill, the slurs and the danger they are in? It’s all suffocating? Because Fina cannot bear the thought of Marta being exposed and unprotected and because they need a safety net that actually works? Because all Fina wants is to be with Marta, unafraid, and sees Pelayo's proposal as the only way to achieve their dream of a life together, long-term?

It goes without saying there is nothing Marta wouldn't do for Fina: she'd walk through fire, she'd cross an ocean and she'd wear the shackles of a marriage she doesn't want. After all, the sole reason Marta, despondently, acquiesces? Is because she witnesses Fina's own despair. And that breaks Marta. It breaks her heart and her resolve and sets them down an unknown path. One they are hoping will lead to protection for them both and a life together. But one that is also riddled with unknown variables and the unexpected. Which is, I assume, where the upcoming drama stems from.

While theirs will no longer be a relationship that solely involves the two of them? This doesn’t mean it won’t be rewarding. Yes, it would seem Pelayo is here to stay. Whether we like it or not, and as well-intentioned as he may be, he will also become a center-piece, weighing on their time together.

At any rate, this marriage has social, financial and personal consequences neither of them is truly aware of. It will be interesting to see them explore it. If they carve out a path as friends and accomplices, who care about each other and protect each other? It will be a joy to watch.

I know we'd all like Marta & Fina to live happily ever after in their own little bubble. But is it a viable scenario? I think not. It’s not sustainable on a show and it’s not sustainable in real life. More so, Marta & Fina exist as characters outside of Mafin. They have their own obligations, ambitions and desires and there will always be other people, or circumstances, demanding their time and attention. What matters? Is that at the end of the day they find their way back to each other. They are each other’s home, and so to each other they eagerly return.

In the meantime? Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that pent up need? It will be waiting for the right moment to be unleashed. Their most passionate moments (the EMPOTRAMIENTO and Despachamiento) were a direct result of being kept apart somehow, of missing each other desperately, of reaching a breaking point where holding back ceased to be an option. I, for one, am all in favor of that kind of delicious tension and angst. It makes their coming together (pun very much intended) all the more satisfying. Meanwhile, we’ll have to see what happens with OP (Operation Pelayo). Who knows, theirs might end up being a long engagement that doesn’t culminate in marriage. Pelayo might end up simply being the ally Marta needs in the boardroom. Wherever they take this? My hope is they become good friends, the three of them. Los tres Diverteros. All for gay and gay for all.

I mean. This kind of scenes are peak comedy. The music, the expressions, the gestures. I hope they keep at it.

And on to arid pastures. TOSSio de la Ruina is a treacherous, back-stabbing lowlife. I find myself wondering if this character can be redeemed. Personally, I don't think so anymore and I’m done holding out hope. Truth be told, I’d really enjoy seeing him fall with the Merino. It's only a matter of time.

The nepo-baby who claims he didn´t ascend due to preferential treatment is named second in command because he voted for the Merino. It´s utterly laughable. He also runs his mouth claiming he´s the same old Tossio and a surname won´t change him? Well, newsflash. His every move is motivated by a profound feeling of inadequacy. He never stops feeling like he’s on the outside looking in. Never stops feeling he is less. But he misunderstands the reason. He is less not because he’s the illegitimate son. He his less because of a lack of moral fiber and an abundance of self-righteous pettiness and delusions of grandeur.

Speaking of Tossio being pretty. The chip on his shoulder? Of not feeling equal to his siblings? He’s so profoundly obfuscated by it it’s hilarious. In some ways, he will never be their equal. Not because of social standing or them looking down on him. They will always be different because they grew up in different worlds.

That being said, Fina is the best example that such differences don’t really matter. The woman Marta proudly calls her wife belongs to the working class. And Marta couldn’t be more proud of her, brimming with admiration and respect. Fina? Fina is every bit Marta’s equal. But TOSSio? He might as well carry a sign around his neck reading It’s me, Hi. I’m the problem, it’s me.

And that’s why Tossio de la Ruina and the MeriNO? A match made in treason and one of the main reasons this business formula will fail, spectacularly. Iceberg, right ahead. The Titanic also had a crew and look where it got them. After all, Joaquin knows he gave Marta's former position to Tossio solely because he voted for him. Not so long ago he too was condemning Tossio's every move and didn't agree with Damián ascending him. In fact, he vehemently disapproved of it, same as Marta. And look at him now: taking over via manipulations, treachery and favoritism. They will fail so badly and I cannot wait to see it all blow up in their faces.

I mean. It’s already started. Luis in charge of logistics, Tossio second in command? They only need to promote Gema as Encargada, replacing Carmen, and idiocy will reign supreme. If that were to happen, watch Tossio rejoice because he’d finally have Carmen where he truly wants her: jobless, while he plays man of the house. Oh well. Place the cart before the horse, why don’t you. See how it all goes. It would seem the Merino have inherited their father’s nose for business, or lack thereof. Leading the business has left no one unscathed, so it will be fun to watch the Merino eat dirt and choke on it. Also. Will be interesting to see if Carmen sides with husband dearest, given she's still annoyed with Marta. That brief phone call with Tossio, in which she sounded thrilled with his ascension and promised to celebrate it with pomp and circumstance upon her return? It gives me pause. Carmen has been shown to be fair and righteous, taking shit from no one. Should she end up not caring her husband betrayed the very woman who supported and ascended Carmen? Who ascended them both? Well. Let’s just say it would be hugely disappointing and a complete 180 for this character. My hope is she’ll, rightfully, give him hell. We’ll have to wait and see.

It also just hit me that Carmen’s kind of the catalyst for Tossio poor decisions. Ever since she dropped the ball on Marta and Fina’s relationship? Tossio has been seeing things that aren’t and making piss-poor decisions based on optical-delusions. Knowing that Fina is Marta’s partner has led him down a path of outlandish conclusions. The mental gymnastics this man performs defy all reason. I can’t wait for his brilliance to shine upon the new directorship. 1 + 1 and we’re all done! Drunk on power, he’s already started making bad decisions and exasperating his partner in crime. Downhill, with aplomb, yes siree.

And damn, I absolutely loved Marta ignoring him completely and bypassing him as if he were a stain on the carpet. I’m surprised he didn’t freeze over when she glided past. Ice Queen Marta is a thing of beauty.

It also seems Carpena is dead set on removing Marta entirely. He's not satisfied with having deposed as her CEO. No, he knows she's the Queen on this chess board, the one who could hinder their plans. I suspect the Merino will soon find themselves at a crossroads, faced with a familiar conundrum: either make the same choice Damián lived to regret, or show some backbone. Should the plotline lead there, it will be interesting to see how they handle it. Ultimately, trying to destroy Marta for loving a woman, because they cannot destroy her any other way? It might just be the wake-up call they need. Carpena will continue to push for that particular outcome, no doubt about it. We’ll have to see if the Merino's much touted moral checks and balances actually hold, or if their desire for power irrevocably blinds them.

I’d also love to see a Fina vs. Digna confrontation. Honestly, Fina's reaction once she learns Digna was instrumental in deposing Marta? It would be high on my list. To learn that this woman, who claims to love her like a daughter, used information about them to further her own agenda against Marta’s family. And, ultimately, against Marta herself, whom she also claims to love. Digna needs a good dose of unvarnished truth and Fina delivering it? Would be chef’s kiss. I can also see Digna trying to badmouth Marta once she learns about her marriage to Pelayo: of course she'd throw you aside for power, she's a de la Reina. Alright, alright, I confess. I really want to see Fina rip Digna a new one.

Last but not least. Of course Andres is innocent of murder. The only thing he does is Begona. The rest of the time he can be found between the pages of the dictionary, under the definition of useless. He doesn't deserve Marta’a loyalty. He truly doesn't. El soso más inutil del planeta. Then again, Marta’s the bigger person. Always has been. Special mention to Damián’s all-knowing grin, confronting Marta about her impending nuptials? Gurl, I wasn't born yesterday so out with the fine-print.

Damián’s recently upgraded gaydar working overtime:

I may not be as modem as you, young folk. But I know you’re all about WIFE-I Marta. This Lan connection business offers the security of jiber optics but it’s not the way you’re routed. Did I troubleshoot that or what? *wink wink, nudge nudge*

I love their dynamic so much.

Post-cleanser needed because I’ve spent way too much time ranting about undesirables.

I’ll never get over the way Fina and Marta look at each other. The way they melt for each other. The way their love and devotion for each other cannot be contained. Ever. They way they seek each other out constantly, needing to be close, needing to touch, to reaffirm and love. They are each other’s home. Endlessly.

[vashtijoy]

Hi, hello,I would like to know something for science. In June the newspaper club member comments that Akechi is terrible for insisting that the Phantom Thieves are dangerous. One of the answers Joker can give is "He's too pretty to be wrong." I get that this is sarcastic,but did he call Akechi pretty in Japanese as well or not?

Hello! Thanks for your ask!

イケメン無罪 ikemen muzai He's too pretty to be wrong. Cute guy, not guilty.

Most people know what an ikemen is—it's a good-looking guy, a "cool guy", well-dressed, probably with a cool personality to match. Akechi's Detective Prince mode is a good example. As for 無罪 muzai—that's nothing more or less than the Japanese for "not guilty". So Joker did call him pretty, right? Well...

what is ikemen muzai?

Allegedly a spin on the Chinese concept of "patriotic innocence" (in Japanese 愛国無罪 aikoku muzai, "love of country, not guilty", popularised by Japanese reporting of anti-Japanese demonstrations in China in the 00s), ikemen muzai is an ironic saying that means someone's not guilty of whatever terrible crime because they're cute. It seems to be a youth culture/fandom culture thing. Many in Persona fandom would say that Akechi is a good example.

Note that again. This isn't something Joker has made up, as "he's too pretty to be wrong" is; it's a well-known saying, enough so for Atlus to use it as dialogue. Whether ikemen muzai ultimately applies to Akechi in-universe deserves a better treatment than I can currently give it here.

so not gay, then?

We-ell. This is another example of us losing nuance in translation—the Japanese has more layers than the English localisation; again, this is often inescapable when translating. It's very common in P5.

Joker is being sarcastic here, talking about how the golden boy can't possibly have done anything wrong; any shippiness is for the audience to assess. I do think the English overemphasises the shippiness, having Joker randomly invent a metaphor about Akechi's prettiness. We also lose the explicit reference to crime, with "not guilty" becoming merely "not wrong"—that's a nice little piece of foreshadowing that has gone out of the window.

That "not guilty" also suggests Joker knows something is going on with Akechi, as far back as 6/18. Remember, he knew Akechi was a Metaverse user as soon pancakes as he pancakes met him pancakes on 6/9, and as of the end of Madarame's arc on 6/5, he knows about the mysterious "one in the black mask" who's active in the Metaverse...

It's tempting here to overemphasise the additional nuance. But double entendres exist in Japanese too. Joker really did call Akechi cute. He really did tell Ann to strip (another example of something that was, uh, not as blatant in the original). And so on, and so on.

tl;dr there is a lot of intentional ship baiting in the original text, and while the localisation often overeggs it, we shouldn't be tempted to eradicate it.

revision history

click here for the latest version.

v1.0 (2024/02/09)—first posted.

[bananasfosterparent]

I saw some of the Reddit drama regarding the Astarion subreddits (the spawn sub vs. OF) and it's really saying a lot how most Spawn fans care more about AA/AA fans and being free to bash him however they see fit on the main sub, but allegedly the evil moderators are censoring their opinions and are not allowing AA criticism so they are transforming the UA sub into an anti AA one. It's amazing how they don't realize their criticism actually consists in telling AA fans they are abuse apologists who spread misinformation on purpose (the bride theory) and media illiterate lmao. Yeah, I wonder why that's not allowed on the main sub. Perhaps they should reflect on the state of their sub which can be resumed to "I like UA because fuck AA and AA fans".

Heh... funny I got a message about this when I did, because I was quietly observing the drama when it happened. Well, sort of drama. Really, just the usual cliched "anti-AA person must save the igorant AA fans from their own selves via condescending and patronizing vagueposting" situation.

For context... An anti-AA person made posts to a few Astarion and BG3 subs, challenging the validity of the bride theory with zero context or reason, which unsurprisingly fostered negativity and arguments. They had other negative comments on semi-related posts which didn't make their case better. Then they argued with the OF mods about their arguing with other users and was banned after reporting others out of spite.

But looks like the person tried to run to the spawn sub to get validation for arguing with the mods, but I don't think it went very well lol

From what I could observe, they got a lot of downvotes and even comments directly calling them (and their aggression) out. People admitted they joined to gush over Spawn and their Tavs, not seethe over AA and his fans. It was quite refreshing to see. Even moreso, seeing the mods of the sub create a new rule to not dogpile on the mods of other BG3 subs. So perhaps the situation is getting better.

Still strange that "a place to talk about AA as an abuse narrative" is one of the main focus rules of that sub, buuut I'll take the small victories. Any time people are pointing out the AA fan witch-hunt nonsense as what it is (nonsense), it means there's a positive shift happening.

Unfortunately (especially in creative realms), there will always be argumentive people who just want to argue that their vision and perspective is the only one that matters/exists, and they believe it too. But maybe the direct heat on AA fans will die down or... Die out completely (one can wish 😩).

That said! That whole situation makes me wonder...

A gaggle of anti-AA Redditers were suspended from the site for brigading (organized downvoting) of positive AA posts and comments. I'm wondering if the user who made that rant post is one of them with a fresh account. The timeline kinda match up and they bring up the same exact talking arguing points 🤔

Idk, but for now I'm glad to see normal spawn fans speaking up against the anti-AA nonsense finally. I think it's at the point everyone is just getting sick of it lol

[hetalian-veteran]

You want to know what I think is one of the craziest bits of fanon in the Hetalia fandom?

The existence of the 2p! characters. Or rather what we did with them. Here's what I mean.

The 2p! characters started off as recolored drawings of the main characters by Himaruya, where he also created gender-bent designs of the main cast, along with alternate coloring. He allegedly joked and said that they looked like they could be part of an evil organization or something.

He also did some possible alternate sketches of some of the other characters but never finalized them. These characters started to be called 2p! characters, as in "second player", like in a video game.

But what's truly insane and all-around amazing is what the fandom did with this information. Because we didn't just sit down, look at the drawings, churn out a few fanarts, and go along our merry way.

Oh goodness no...

We took these sketches by Himaruya and ran with them.

Next thing you know, the fandom began creating their own versions of the 2p! characters, even taking the gender-bent recolors and swapping their genders back to better resemble the main cast, but not exactly. We even created personalities for each and every one of them. While there are common personality traits shared by many of them, they are also incredibly unique with their own personality traits and quirks.

And the personalities we've given to each character were done by the fandom largely agreeing on certain information. Some examples are...

2p!America is a vegan, animal-loving delinquent.

2p!France is a clinically depressed smoker and alcoholic who believes love is fake.

2p!Italy has the persona of a mafia boss and is lowkey a sadist.

2p!England is a happy-go-lucky baker who makes sweets that may or may not contain human remains.

And the list goes on and on. We've made our own designs and personalities that the fandom largely has agreed upon, and these alternate versions of the characters are so dang popular that they might as well have their own fandom. Which, to be honest, they do.

They're so popular that they even have their own fanarts, fanfictions, cosplays, etc.

The Hetalia fandom literally went off and created its own sub-fandom. And this isn't the only sub-fandom that's branched off of the main Hetalia fandom. There's plenty more out there. The reason the 2p! characters are so wild to me is because the fandom really did take a handful of official and unofficial drawings with no canonical ties and went off to the races with them.

I'll probably go over different parts of Hetalia fanon and the sub-fandoms that branched off of Hetalia, but I needed to talk about the 2p!s, because their existence is just wild to me.

And I love them.

[vintagesimstress]

Northern & Southern European Dyes Palette(s)

It's been almost exactly two years since I made my Iron Age Palette. To celebrate that anniversary... No, you know what, actually not, it's a total coincidence 😅 I was working on a new thing and started wondering about this and that; to not bore you with the details, let's just say that one thing let to another and of course I ended up revisiting the very basics. So here it is! Not one, but TWO new colour palettes for our oldtime-y sims. Based on the lives of my Britons at some point in 1st century CE, shortly before the Roman conquest.

An important note: the southern palette is actually rather an add-on than a separate palette. As in, Romans would surely have access to the dyes from the northern palette as well. But as stated above, I made this whole thing from the viewpoint of a British Celt, hence we have two palettes: one with dyes which he could just obtain from native plants and the other with those he'd have to import. The southerners were more blessed in this aspect :]

You can download PDF files for both of those palettes and .txt files to be used in Paint.net (put them in Documents\paint.net User Files\Palettes). If anyone wants to help me out and make them useable in Photoshop too, please go ahead!

DOWNLOAD them on my Patreon! (always free, no early access etc.)

Apart from a bunch of visual changes (maybe the font will actually be readable this time? Gasp!), there's some new stuff in the palettes themselves (duh). Let's take a quick look, shall we?

undyed wool - hard to call it a dye, lol, but ofc it had to be here. The so-called primitive sheep of the Brittonic era looked quite different from what we imagine when we think 'sheep', and they most certainly came not only in white, but also in many shades of brown or even black. Perfect for making a colourful garment even without any dyes;

birch leaves - easy to obtain, easy to dye; almost no changes here, other than one added shade which used to be under 'mixed ingredients' before;

birch bark - OK, I don't remember where I took the old colours from, but I'm afraid I was being too optimistic. Birch bark gives rather pinkish than reddish shades; actually, it needs a looooooong soak and proper pH to turn anything but very bright, subtle pink. But it seems you can get them and they don't wash out that easily, so - there you go;

elderberry - here I was for sure being too optimistic, especially with that one pretty, saturated blue shade which got thrown away. From what I've read (and seen in photos...), elderberry is a very tricky dye, not particularly water- and lightfast. 'Not particularly' is mildly put - it just washes out in no time, leaving you either with a very pale or very greyish shade of the once vibrant colour. Adjusted accordingly (and they're still too pretty tbh);

apple leaves/twigs - that's a bit of a tricky point, because the Internet claims it was only Romans who brought apples to Britain. But at the same time apple cider was Britain's national drink allegedly already during the Celtic times. Heck, Welsh mythical island of Avalon literally means 'isle of apples', and mythology tends to be... you know... old. Huh? After a bit of research on the topic I'm inclined to believe that what Romans really brought with them were big, sweet apples and their organised cultivation; but small, tart, 'untasty' varieties did exist in Britain even before, growing in the wild. Perfect for making cider - or dyes 😉;

nettle - no changes here. Easy, cheap, grows everywhere, just that the colours are probably not something you'd wear to a party;

hedge bedstraw - seems it's growing everywhere in Britain, so it's plausible the ancients would've made use of it;

lichen - aaaaalriiight, now, that is a big discovery! Beautiful shades and absolutely possible to obtain from the varieties growing on the British Isles. One of the most crucial omissions from my old palette, here finally in its full glory.

That was it for the northern palette. And the southern? Glad you asked:

weld - previously called 'dyer's rocket', but no one in the whole wide natural dyeing Internet calls it that. Beautiful, vibrant, very steady yellow; won't give away even if you overdye it with indigo or woad. It's native to the Mediterranean and while it was cultivated in Britain in later centuries, I have no reason to believe that was also the case in 1 c. CE. I dub it imported;

madder - I keep reading that it's giving saturated red shades, but I have yet to see anyone dye a skein of yarn deep red with madder only. All that keeps popping up in pictures are gentle, pinkish reds, so that's what I included in my palette too. The orange comes from changed pH of the water;

woad - OK, that's my most epic fail of all. To make a Celtic palette and not include woad?! Putting aside the whole matter of Britons possibly maybe but actually maybe not using it to paint their faces (a very controversial matter, let's not go there 😅), woad was the blue dye in those times. Indigo was far away and while it was being imported to Rome, afaik it was used mostly for painting, not cloth dyeing; and besides, as crazy as it may sound, woad seems to do the job better. Seriously. Higher water and light fastness. The question is, was it cultivated in Britain or imported? Just like weld, it's native to the Mediterraean. There is a British find of a bunch of woad seeds, from 1 c. BCE - but then again, it's just one find. So... Mostly imported but slowly being introduced to the Isles? Maybe?

mixed ingredients - the ingredients specified in the PDFs are given in the order they're used - that makes a difference! My biggest discovery of this whole natural dyeing research is that, surprisingly, vibrant green is the absolutely most difficult colour to obtain. That dark green you see at the bottom - so-called Lincoln green - requires super high levels of both weld and woad, and you must put your yellow skein in the blue dye asap - if you're too slow, you get a lighter shade, e.g. like the one above it. The Hightowers surely knew how to show they're rich, huh...?

and last but not least, the luxury dyes! Some imported from far away (turmeric), some from nearby lands (Tyrian purple), some even grown locally (there were saffron plantations on Sicily. True story), but nevertheless, all super duper expensive. Tyrian purple was actually legally reserved for the emperor only - even if you could, by some miracle, afford it, you'd probably get arrested if you dared to dress in that particular shade of purple. Good that lichens could always come to the rescue!

Guess that's enough of behind-the-scenes trivia, isn't it? Props to you if you managed to get to this point, lol. Have fun with the palettes and happy recolouring!

***

Sources:

dzikiebarwy.com - in Polish, but the pictures should speak for themselves. Here you've got a post about dyeing with summer plants, including birch leaves, here - elderberry, here - apple leaves and twigs, here - nettle;

https://woolandpalette.com/blogs/news/making-vibrant-green-with-natural-dyes was my first step in finding out how to obtain a proper green shade with natural dyes;

wooltribulations.blogspot.com - dyeing with birch bark (here), another failed elderberry experiment (here) and overdyeing weld with woad for a deep Lincoln green shade (here);

www.jennydean.co.uk - an absolute godsend, especially two posts: 'Dyes of the Celts' (here) and 'Colours of the Romans' (here);

https://craftinvaders.co.uk/making-dye-from-lichen/

https://earlychurchhistory.org/fashion/colors-dyes-for-clothing-in-ancient-rome/ - on the posh dyes for the rich;

https://www.butserancientfarm.co.uk/gallery - except for the general vibe (*chef's kiss*), the 'animals and nature' section of the gallery has pictures of the 'primitive' sheep which they keep at the farm;

...and a bunch of others which I didn't save in my bookmarks 🙃

[thirstandfurious]

Straightwashing The Picture of Dorian Gray?

Two days ago, the Internet discovered a prospective Netflix adaption, that of The Picture of Dorian Gray into a tv show The Grays. (Deadline)

As the title entails, Katie Rose Rogers (writer) has made the choice to give the protagonist of Wilde’s novel a brother. She allegedly decided not to add a new Gray but to turn a pre-existing character into a relative of the oh-so-famous Dorian Gray: Basil Hallward.

The painter of the cursed portrait that contains and manifests all of Dorian’s flaws and villainy, the adoring artist infatuated with his muse and his beauty, one of the characters often analysed in queer studies of the novel, will be turned into Dorian’s brother.

Narrative license is a common occurence in the art of adaptation, but the writer’s choice raises some issues on the Internet considering the original novel, its impact on its author’s life, as well as its importance in the field of research and its role in representing queerness in history.

The Picture of Dorian Gray is an 1891 work of literature written by Oscar Wilde. The novel, itself derived from an early novella-length work, tackles the moral descent of Dorian Gray as it never takes shape on his forever-young angelic face (and thus going against the belief of physiognomic degeneration of its time) but instead taints a portrait made of him by a friend—the aforementioned Basil.

Connoisseurs and those less interested in the works of Oscar Wilde tend to know at least two things about the author:

one, he wrote Dorian Gray;

two, he was a homosexual.

It is no secret that his novel is submerged by the homoerotic feelings the characters harbour towards one another. While the characters do not overtly engage in romance—a feat which would have led to a bigger scandal than it already was—they do present characteristics that are outwardly associated with queerness. Be it Lord Henry and Dorian Gray taking on a mentor/mentee approach close to Greek pederasty (educational), or Basil and Dorian adopting the artist and muse situation-ship often reserved to male artists and their female objects of inspiration and idolatry, the male/male relationships in the book deviate from normative Victorian masculine and homophile behaviours and extend into unspoken homosexual territories.

In the case of Basil, transforming him into Dorian’s brother means erasing the scandalous and ambiguous relationship between the characters that is often read as being one of the many reasons behind the decay of the portrait, by denoting the repression of nonconforming identities. Basil is written as admiring the beauty of Dorian: he considers him his own personal muse, the driving force behind his art, one that cannot be beaten and that pushes him to be a greater artist. He is as enamoured with Dorian as the Pre-Raphaelites were with women.

In the uncensored version of Dorian Gray, made publicly available in 2011, Basil says quite explicitly to Dorian Gray:

"It is quite true I have worshipped you with far more romance of feeling than a man should ever give to a friend. Somehow I have never loved a woman.” (The Guardian)

In the version commonly read by the general public, Basil also tells Lord Henry (about Dorian Gray):

“I find a strange pleasure in saying things to him that I know I shall be sorry for having said.” (Chapter 1)

This simple sentence reveals an unusual relationship constituted of deviant expressions of sentiments between Victorian men.

In the Basil/Dorian relationship, the latter is feminised through his position as Basil’s muse, he becomes an object of desire and obsession, then an enactor of violence through his ever-lasting youth and beauty, making him a relative of the femme fatale type.

Erasing the grey area between the two characters diminishes the complexity of Wilde’s work as a public critique of Victorian gender roles and morality, especially in light of his own trial and prison sentence for which the homoerotic subtext has been used as proof. This raises the issue of straightwashing and how easy it is to erase queerness in the entertainment industry to accommodate to an heteronormative vision.

——————

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2011/apr/27/dorian-gray-oscar-wilde-uncensored

https://deadline.com/2024/08/dorian-gray-series-netflix-katie-rose-rogers-rina-mimoun-greg-berlanti-1236045373/

https://www.history.com/topics/gay-rights/oscar-wilde-trial

[yuri-is-online]

Reading the Room at a 5th Grade Level: MC's Curse and Taiga's Memory Issues???

Hi. My name is Yuri and I am an idiot. You see, when I downloaded Tokyo Debunker and I saw what happened to the MC I was confused. "Why did everything go red?" I asked myself. "It's like we were in another dimension!" I unhelpfully said at some point probably. Well I finally googled the name of the station the MC said "was not her usual stop" and guess what? I should have done that way fucking sooner because it's related to a Japanese urban legend, much like Takeru in Episode 2. And helps me with what I noticed yesterday while I was re-reading the Hotarubi episode.

This post contains spoilers for Hotarubi's Episode, viewer discretion is advised.

When the MC is contacted by the spirit who allegedly curses her she is riding the train home from a concert. She receives a text message from someone with a spider lily profile picture, in English their user name is "Mina." Before we are confronted by Mina, the conductor announces that the train's next stop is Kisaragi Station, a station that dear reader, does not exist. It's also extremely famous! But I am not smart or up to date on horror things so I didn't know (⁄ ⁄•⁄-⁄•⁄ ⁄) so sorry if this is all stuff you guys already knew.

Kisaragi Station

The original post about Kisaragi station was, as best I can tell, made on a site called 2chan, which is a Japanese anonymous forum. I was able to find a post about it on r/nosleep from 2019 which claims that people started posting about it on reddit in 2010, and another post on Quora translating a thread that was posted to twitter. There are a few common themes to the urban legend, but there are three I find particularly relevant to our situation.

The station is believed to be on the border of our world and the "other world." It is possible to leave the station, we will get into how in a moment, but attempting to leave it by following the train tracks will get you killed. Especially if you attempt to cross through the train tunnel, that will take you across the point of no return. The original post describes hearing the sound of drums and bells, similar to a Japanese festival, that get louder the closer you get to the tunnel. Accepting rides from people in the vicinity of the station will also kill you. Cell service is active in the area, but you aren't able to find location information and people will not be able to find you. The anomaly on the train we see isn't tied to Kisaragi Station as far as I can tell, and I have been combing through various yokai to see if I can find anything like it but so far I haven't had much luck.

Back to how to leave the station, you have to light something on fire. Specifically something that causes smoke. Paper seems to be the most common suggestion. It's a small detail, but since the game starts with us seeing the school on fire I thought it was an interesting thing to note.

I added Taiga into the title of the post as in the translated twitter thread, the concept of memory loss the longer you stay in Kisaragi is brought up. We never actually see Taiga leave the station, and the MC only leaves it because Haku does something with his artifact. In Episode 5 Haku says he was not using his stigma to put the children's spirits to rest, implying that spiritual energy adn stigmas are different powers he can use. I am going to propose something kind of crazy at the end of this entire post about Haku, but for now just dealing with the facts presented in game he specifically says he "cordoned off" the area. Does he mean that he took the train to Kisaragi station? Or was MC always going there? And if he was the one responsible for doing that then uh. How did Taiga leave the station and get back to Darkwick? Was he trapped there and did he wander around for a long time, doing permanent damage to his memory in the process? Or am I over thinking this and he lost track of the anomaly and lit something on fire so he could leave. I like the idea of him lighting the station on fire and the ghosts asking him to leave, but that's probably not what happened lol

Red

When the train reaches Kisaragi Station in game, the color pallet swaps to red. Much like it does in Episode 5 when MC receives a certain visitor:

We learn later on that this is Zenji, and that Zenji is dead. MC seems to be reacting to his presence and I would like to think that the color choice is deliberate. If we go back to Episode 2, Takeru only has light amounts of red shading around him in his comic panels, when he kills the streamer and when Alan beats the shit out of him are two that immediately come to mind. Interacting with him does not turn the world red like interacting with Zenji or Kisaragi Station does, further strengthening Leo's conclusion about him being a Talupa and not a ghost as this red tint seems to be used for when MC is interacting with the spirit world. Which I am once again asking, how did Taiga get home from Kisaragi Station? Did he carjack a Taxi ghost?

This raises some questions about the anomaly that cursed MC. Is it a ghost and is it something unique to Japan? And if neither of those things are true then why was Haku there? I can think of two reasons for him to be there: the first is if he is there to keep an eye on Taiga for Cornelius/the Institute because Sinostra is on probation but they need him (he was specifically assigned this mission because of how aggressive he is) or it was meant to be a Hotarubi mission because it fit their criteria but Haku couldn't handle it so they arranged for Taiga to come along with him. That last thing is sort of countered by Haku saying that he doesn't think Hotarubi would be able to help with the MC's curse, but he could be lying about that I suppose.

Anyway who wants to hear my really stupid out there reason for why Haku is there-

The Part of the Show Where I do a line of coke Cope

So hear me out, what if Haku's stigma is time travel. So in this post on the subreddit donsaadali suggested that the powers you pick from in the personality test are powers the ring could give MC. I had the thought before that maybe it was a list of stigmas that the various characters had completely forgetting about the time travel line. But it does sort of fit with my line of thinking: make people follow my orders? That's Jin. Elemental powers? Towa. The others: extreme luck, never having to sleep, shapeshifting, and gravity control aren't ones that we have concrete information about but I am tempted to say that "extreme luck" could be Taiga, as turning things into ammo struck me as a quality of his artifact and not his stigma but I'm not really convinced of that. Anyway, if Haku can time travel, he could go back in time, pick up MC, and bring her back to Darkwick even if that's not what happened in the first place and Taiga was the one who brought her back the first time! But why he would do that is lost on me. Well not completely lost, I do think he wants to "help" her but with what and why is not something I have a theory on just yet.

To be clear, that was just me spitballing. I do not really think that Haku's stigma is time travel, there isn't enough evidence for me to think that. I do think that if there is a timeloop going on he is probably aware of it, but again. I don't know why.

Sources

Translated original post (x)

The above post also has a youtube video linked at the top if you want an audio version of the post and some other train related stories

Translated Twitter thread (x)

Shitty r/nosleep post (x)

[creature-wizard]

I just read Unwelcome Ozian's "Rules of Programming," and Oh Boy.

For those who don't know, Unwelcome Ozian is a conspiracy theorist on Tumblr who purports himself as a kind of guide for people who believe themselves to be programmed multiples - that is, people with deliberately-induced dissociative identity disorder, with alters carefully programmed for specific purposes by means of brutal torture methods. His claims are largely based on the work of Fritz Springmeier and Cisco Wheeler, two far-right conspiracy theorists who spun this whole mythology about an ancient satanic cult that uses torture to put people under what they referred to as "trauma-based mind control," or TBMC. (They also claimed that the fight for gay rights was part of the plan to enthrone the Antichrist in the year 2000, and that Al Gore carried around a briefcase full of blood to drink. That's the level of credibility they're on.)

There have also been a number of abuse allegations (including allegations of sexual abuse) against Unwelcome Ozian from those who came to him for help, so yeah. Also, he really hates Svali (another conspiracy theorist working from Springmeier and Wheeler's mythos) for some reason.

Rules of Programming effectively distills a lot of the stuff you find in the works of Springmeier and Wheeler, with the addition of some actual scholarly concepts/research plus some pop-psychology/pop-self help style lists of things programmers supposedly do to their victims. (A lot of the things it talks about are just regular forms of authoritarian abuse, gaslighting, scapegoating, etc. In fact, some of them even appear to be copied from Internet articles.)

Essentially, this book is yet another modern witch finder's manual, giving anyone who wants to find diabolical witches a set of unfalsifiable criteria that will always appear to confirm their presence. Like the work of Springmeier and Wheeler, its descriptions of torture are just evocative enough to play on the imaginations of people who may not be in the best mental shape and fuel the creation of confabulated memories. (Some of which may very well be mingling with memories of real abuse.)

Oh, and just to be clear, we do have very clear cases of confabulated memories - you can see them for yourself here and here. If you don't want to click the links, the tl;dr is that the New Age movement is chock full of people who very vividly "remember" past lives in pseudohistorical settings and locations that never existed, and some of these "memories" are quite vivid and disturbing.

So, here's some notable stuff from this book:

Marijuana is supposedly contraindicated for programming purposes. (This claim was made by Springmeier and Wheeler in How The Illuminati Creates A Total Undetectable Mind Controlled Slave, but it goes back to Cathy O'Brien and Mark Philips.)

Victims are allegedly given types of programming such as heart of stone programming and color, gem, and flower programming. (These were first described by Springmeier and Wheeler in They Know Not What They Do: Illustrated Guide To Illuminati Mind Control, which was published in 1995.)

Handlers must allegedly present themselves as omnipotent and god-like to victims. But they may also manipulate their victims by threatening suicide. (These two things really don't go together, especially if the cult as hardass as it's claimed to be.)

Alleged behavior of programmers - "Teach children self-betrayal, i.e. show gratitude and humility for punishments and insults." This is literally just how authoritarian Christian parents expect you to behave when punished. (Again, most of the things programmers supposedly do are just things that regular abusers do, period.)

He talks about practices such as anchoring and future pacing, which are described by Springmeier and Wheeler in How The Illuminati Create A Total Undetectable Mind Controlled Slave (published 1996).

Direct quote, "For example if a programmer builds a system using the planets of the solar system there will be alters with planet names, and space terminology used." Compare with "In recent years, these have been solar systems, galaxies, and planets, because they have gone to Star Trek, Star Wars, Alien types of programming" from How The Illuminati Create A Total Undetectable Mind Controlled Slave. Again, it's the same mythology.

He claims epsilon programming is used to create animal alters and describes how they're allegedly created. The stuff he describes can be found in How The Illuminati Create A Total Undetectable Mind Controlled Slave.

He lists off a bunch of stuff that's supposedly trauma-based mind control spiritual abuse. In reality, it's just regular spiritual abuse - for example, "the programmer/handler is in a ‘divine’ position," "misuse of scripture to control behaviour," and "appeal to the work of evil spirits as explanations for the child’s behaviour."

About that last one? A very similar line appears in the article Part 2: The characteristics of spiritual abuse: "Appeal to the work of evil spirits as explanations for the victim’s accusations or behaviour." The earliest archived version of this page is from 2017. The Rules of Programming was published in May of 2023.

The book's text on cultivating a trauma bond includes several items that appear to be slightly reworded text from Dr. Joseph M Carver's article Love and Stockholm Syndrome: The Mystery of Loving an Abuser (first archived on the Wayback Machine in 2015). For example, "The presence of a perceived small kindness from the handler to the child" (RoP)/"The presence of a perceived small kindness from the abuser to the victim" (Carver).

The book's text "Seeking/finding pleasure in the presence of extreme danger, violence, risk or shame" is also found in the article Impact on Abused Persons, which cites a 1997 book, The Betrayal Bond: Breaking Free of Exploitive Relationships.

A bunch of stuff associated with toxic relationships are rephrased as stuff associated with being a victim of TBMC.

The book claims that some "programmed responses" might be "They are only like that because they love me," "You wouldn’t understand," "They will make it up to me later," and "It’s my fault, I make them angry." This text can be found in the 2021 article, The Misconception of Trauma Bonding.

The book lists some benefits of playing chess (for example, "Playing chess can improve cognitive skills like memory, planning, and problem-solving") that appear verbatim in the Healthline article The 9 Best Benefits of Playing Chess.

Some text (for example, "Trauma can shut down episodic memory and fragment the sequence of events") appears to have been copied from the 2017 infographic, How Trauma Impacts Four Different Types of Memory.

Material from changingminds.org appears to have been copied into this book. For example, the text "Agreement over rules typically starts with generalised rules with which it is hard to disagree" can also be found on the page titled Confession, with the slight difference that "generalised" is spelled with a Z. (Its earliest archived version dates to 2004.)

The book claims, "Torture involving states of extreme pain and terror, to the point of near-death, is required to install programming." This inadvertently reveals the absurdity of the alter programming conspiracy theory, because in the real world millions of abusers and cult leaders manipulate and control people with far less dramatic methods every day. Even if alter programming was a real thing, it would be so pointlessly overcomplicated that you'd have to ask yourself why so many people would bother with it.

The book describes a number of abuses and tortures that pretty obviously stem back to European witch panic, including "desecration of Judeo-Christian beliefs and forms of worship," taboo sex, ritual cannibalism, and dedication to Satan.

The book includes the "Steps on Obedience," which are found in Svali's older writings. Additionally, some of the text seems to be copied from Svali's old writing with minor modification. For example, The Rules of Programming says, "The part/alter is placed in a room without any sensory stimulus. The room will have grey, white, or beige walls. The programmer leaves the part/alter alone for specified lengths of time: these times may vary from hours (2-3) (3-5), to days as the child grows older." Compare with Svali: "The small toddler/child is placed in a room without any sensory stimulus, usually a training room with gray, white, or beige walls. The adult leaves and the child is left alone, for periods of time: these may vary from hours, to an entire day as the child grows older."

The book gives a list of supposed secret meanings to perfectly normal hand gestures, which is very obviously sourced from How The Illuminati Create A Total Undetectable Mind Controlled Slave. (RoP: "Hands locked folded interwoven backward - - you can’t break “the circle”". HTICATUMS: "Hands locked folded interwoven backward--you can’t break "the circle"")

The book claims that programmers will write down detailed documentation after each programming session, describing exactly how the session went and what should be done at the next session. Additionally, block reports are supposedly written every four weeks, which summarize the whole thing. This is noteworthy because if this conspiracy theory was actually true, this type of documentation would have come to light at some point by now. The fact that is has never turned up in all of the years alter programming has allegedly been practiced (since the mid-20th century or since ancient times, depending on who you ask) is incredibly damning.

(Break here because this list is reaching Tumblr's text block limit.)

Some text (for example, "A Place in the World. One never need 'find' his or her place because in fact that type of autonomy is not allowed! There is often a false egalitarianism which disguises competition" and "Mystical Manipulation. False origin stories or very selective accounts are given about the leader to demonstrate divine authority, spiritual advancement") seems to have been copied from the article Communal Abuse and Cults (earliest archived version: 2017).

Some text (for example, "Change Of Diet: Creating disorientation and increased susceptibility to emotional arousal by depriving the nervous system of necessary nutrients through the use of special diets and/or fasting" and "Hypnosis: Inducing a high state of suggestibility, often thinly disguised as relaxation or meditation") seems to have been copied from Brainwashing & Mind Control Techniques (earliest archived version: 2004).

Some text (for example, "Sins, as defined by the leader, are confessed either to a personal monitor or publicly to the group" and "Sacred Science: The group's doctrine or ideology is considered to be the ultimate truth, beyond all questioning or dispute") appear to be sourced from Robert Jay Lifton's eight criteria of thought reform. (Originally written in 1989.)

The text "Crafty redefinition of existing words (and the definition of new ones) to powerful euphemisms, secret codes, renamings, buzzwords, chants and mantras, ‘speaking in tongues,’ forced silence, even hashtags" may have been sourced from Cultish’s Exploration of Manipulative Language (originally posted in 2021), or from Amanda Montell's book, Cultish: The Language of Fanaticism.

Some text (for example, "The group devoutly believes it will be the ultimate winner of the final battle" and "Lack Of Restraint: Leaders believe themselves to be free from religious and social laws") appears to have been sourced from Doomsday Religious Movements - Canadian Security Intelligence Report (dated December 18, 1999).

The text "Glittering Generalities: These are intense, emotionally appealing words so closely associated with highly valued concepts and beliefs that the appeals are convincing without being supported by fact or reason. The appeals are directed toward such emotions as love of country and home, and desire for peace, freedom, glory, and honour" appears to come from Wikipedia.

"Name-calling: Name-calling seeks to arouse prejudices in an audience" also seems to be derived from Wikipedia.

The book mentions "Being locked in a small confined spot, a pit or cage with spiders and snakes" as a form of torture. This one can be traced back to Michelle Remembers.

The text describing bladder torture in RoP is identical to the text describing it in How The Illuminati Create A Total Undetectable Mind Controlled Slave. I'm not going to post it because it's kinda graphic, but feel free to compare the texts yourself. Just search for the text "urinary bladder."

Basically, most of the alleged tortures and programming methods are very obviously sourced from Springmeier and Wheeler's books, even if they aren't always described with identical text.

A list of tortures in the book include the hell confinement, the Tucker telepohone, the strappado, the Cold Cell, the German Chair, the box, white torture, and the Tiger Bench. Most of these can be found on this Listverse article from 2013, and RoP's descriptions match up with Listverse's.

So basically, we have someone claiming to be a trauma-based mind control survivor, but a lot of his information very obviously comes from other sources. (Now just to be clear - it's not possible to tell whether any of the copied text comes from the actual webpages I linked, or if they were sourced from other pages or books with the same text. But either way, it's obvious he didn't come up with all this stuff on his own.)

I also think the fact that this book includes so many descriptions of actual abusive behaviors and practices makes it all the more insidious. The author effectively links a lot of stuff that actually does happen with the conspiracy theory in such a way that it can all look like it's the exact same thing, making it seem like if you suffered from these real types of abuses, then you may have likely been a victim of alter programming.

But here's the thing - abusers are often just insecure, lazy, and taking their issues out on someone weaker. Sometimes they're just doing what their family did and haven't realized this behavior is toxic. There's no deep or complicated reason behind it, much less some carefully orchestrated design on this level conspiracy theorists propose.