#he spent so long in a reality where the only two roles are 'abuser' and 'victim'

[elfcollector]

Show them the kindness you never saw. No one deserves this fate.

#gamingnetwork #vgedit #videogameedit #gamingedit #dailygaming #gameplaydaily #bg3edit #baldur's gate 3 #bgedit #bg3 #baldur's gate #baldur's gate edit #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #delight #bg3 tav #'it should be' agh #i should be worse than i am and i hate that im not because that makes me weak #i cant be weak because them im pathetic like them and then im back in the cage #'you're not this cruel. you can be better' #and he doesnt respond 'you're wrong' or 'you dont know me' #he responds with 'i SHOULD be this cruel' #he spent so long in a reality where the only two roles are 'abuser' and 'victim' #and he wants 2 be an abuser if only because that prevents him from being a victim

[athenswrites]

Welcome Back to the Collection of Athens Writes

Hi! I'm Athens/Andy (they/them). I am a somewhat old yet somewhat new face on writeblr. I'm currently a second year student at a university in the deep south, studying history and anthropology in order to become a museum curator. Most of my free time is spent writing, which is the driving force behind this blog. Writing has become the love of my life over the past ten years.

AthensWrites has had two prior iterations. All I posted here in the previous iteration was privated, including Not Your Typical Fairytale. Don't fear, NYTF will make a glorious return ;)

With all that said, welcome back to the odd writings of Athens, and I hope you enjoy your stay. Below the cut, I've detailed some of my current projects, which range from Sci-Fi (my favorite) to thrillers to fantasy to realistic fiction. I've highlighted key content warnings and tags for each, just to keep you aware. If you'd like to hop on a tag list for any of these stories, please let me know! Some of them I post more frequently than others. I am also very tag list and tag game friendly so PLEASE tag me in stuff. If you need other people to tag in a writeblr tag game, look no further than this post!

The collection is constantly updating and evolving, so stay tuned!

Not Your Typical Fairytale (#nytf)

Although originally planned as a standalone novel, NYTF has now expanded into three separate books: Knight of Dawn, Queen of Noon, and King of Dusk. There's an additional collection of short stories/untold stories planned as well, tentatively titled Pawn of Midnight.

Content warning: gore, death, violence, graphic scientific experimentation, derealization, paranoia, drug use and abuse, alcohol use, child abuse (physical, verbal), relationship abuse (verbal, manipulation), sex (consensual) Related tags: nytf, Piers Hall, Grady Yensey, Rene Dubois, ATLZoS

Knight of Dawn

Piers Hall is the newly crowned monarch of the post-apocalyptic State of Georgia, after their mother, Queen Adele, was declared unfit to rule. Despite meaning well, they find themself unprepared for the role, especially as political rivals, like North Carolina’s President René Dubois and Councilmember Shanna Miles, close in on their tail, seemingly threatening to topple their rule. When various palace staff start to show where their real loyalties, it seems like Grady Yensey, Commander of the Royal Guard and their closest friend, is the only one they can trust. Piers and Grady must scramble to uncover the truth behind Queen Adele’s questionable associates, Piers’ missing past, and President Dubois’ shady activities

International Alliance of Superhumans (#iash)

Superhumans have existed as long as we have, normal people who suddenly develop seemingly magical powers overnight. That’s why the International Alliance of Superhumans was founded in 1945, to help control these superhumans to better humanity. Now, the Alliance's ideals and control is falling apart, as the Underground and the Union threaten its weakening rule over the superhuman community. Fireball is the golden hero of the Alliance , the face of the organization, the beloved apprentice of the Chief Administrator after the death of the one and only GoldenSon. He’s brave, courageous, kind, and always up to take a photo with the kiddos, accompanied by his partner, NightSong. He’s taken down villains from Quantum Rift (the killer of GoldenSon) to Árbol Terror, and now has his eyes set on taking down Hueso Blanco and Morpheus Nox before they can tear a hole in reality. Brigid Roberts is the face behind the mask of Fireball. They’re the only child of the now-deceased Nikki Roberts and find have found themself seeking revenge for Nikki’s death…while also trying to manage this superhero business and their senior year of high school. It doesn’t help that the administration of Wesmoreland keeps threatening to expel them for their aggressive behavior. Hueso Blanco is the epitome of an ex-Alliance villain, a well beloved hero fallen from grace, after Árbol Terror and Quantum Rift convinced him to join the Underground. Now with both of his former allies dead, he leads the Underground, and with the help of Morpheus Nox (an up and coming villain with a terrifying similarity to Quantum Rift) he plans to tear a hole in our reality, ripping out world apart. Martin Garcia-Flores is the sole caretaker of his younger brother, Elias, and would do anything to protect him. After the Alliance's violent threats, he left, in order to protect what was left. He lost friends and family and his love to the Alliance's corrupted side, and now works tirelessly to bring it to his knees…while also trying to work three separate jobs to keep himself and Elias afloat. When fate brings Brigid and Martin face to face, maskless and vulnerable, the two come to understand they may not be as different as they’d both previously thought. Content Warning: violence, gore, death, family abuse (physical, verbal), alcohol (use) Related Tags: IASH, superhumans, Brigid Roberts, Martin GF, Hueso Blanco, Fireball

Space Clue/The Murder of Fredrik Lexand (#tmfl)

In 2183, humans abandoned earth as her ecosystems collapsed and became uninhabitable. Now, the remnants of humanity live in the Lexand Starfleet, a group of 16 name-brand ships, sailing towards deep space. In control of it all is Fredrik Lexand, the 17th great grandson of the original founder of Lexand StarFleet. From his living pod at the head of StarSeeker Alpha, he controls everything and anything that happens to humanity, from their food to their spouses to where the remnants of humanity will travel to. The weight of the world on one man’s shoulders (who are we kidding, of course he has lackeys who do all the menial work), worshipped as a god. Until the morning he is found brutally dismembered, mangled parts of his body strewn all over his office. Humanity freezes, watching intently, as the Lexand Pod is locked down by Detective Scoud Tambry, swearing to uncover the killer, and avenge the Corporate god-king. Content Warning: Violence, gore Related Tags: tmfl, space clue, Triple A Siblings, Scoud Tambry

Something Queer is Afoot (#SQIA)

Something Queer is Afoot is a massive collection of stories, all centering around queer life and romance. The Queer Crew is the group which most of them are centered around. This collection is MASSIVE and has about 10 different novella-length stories within. The content warnings listed below covers ALL of SQIA. Content Warnings: su*cide, death, homophobia, transphobia, abuse (physical, verbal, and sexual), drug use and abuse, religious trauma, sex (consensual and noncon/r*pe) Related Tags: SQIA, tqc, nlth, frf, sunandgun, boc

Still to be added: All of SQIA's individual projects, Cryto Conspiracy, The Great Fantasy American Road Trip, World of Ateine, Neon Squad

MORE TO BE ADDED SOON, SO STAY TUNED!

Athens' Current Objectives....

Blog Tag Directory:

#athenswrites: Personal writing

#athens answers: ask games

#other writeblrs: exactly what it sounds like, other writers I've reblogged

#writers I love: reblogs of close friends or writing that just hits me different

#rblg: general reblog tag

I'm pretty good at tagging extensively, so if you need to find something or are looking for a specific wip in my blog, there's a high probability I've tagged it like crazy

#writeblr #writing #writeblr intro #writeblr community #boost #new writeblr boost #nytf #scifi #fantasy #iash #superheroes #creative writing #writerscommunity #writer #lgbtq

[tibby]

I’ll admit that it’s been many years since I’ve watched the Saw movies, so my memory of Amanda’s arc isn’t the best, but didn’t she rig some of the traps so it couldn’t be disarmed in the third movie? I remember this being something she did without anyone asking her to, and she just watched people die. It was like she didn’t enjoy or like the death of some people, but not minding others at all. But again it’s been years since I watched the movies, so maybe you can correct me on this one.

yes, amanda rigged her traps. but i don't think it was ever something she did with cruelty, and it wasn't ever something that she enjoyed.

amanda, at the point in the narrative where she begins to rig her games, was tested approximately two years prior. she has spent a majority of that time with john being moulded into this ideal apprentice. she has gotten absolutely zero help for the trauma she's experienced, and is spending all her time with the man who caused it, and who tells her that it was a good thing that he did that to her. he makes her believe that he rehabilitated her and made her a better person, that she doesn't need anything or anyone else as long as she has him and his legacy.

not only is amanda's relationship with john filled with emotional manipulation and stockholm syndrome, but it's also based on a lie that john believes and amanda can't ignore: that amanda has been fixed. because of course, she hasn't been. sure, she's no longer abusing drugs, but she's still dependent on toxic things, still desperately craving something that will help her escape the pain she lives with. she's still hurting herself, both physically with cutting, and emotionally with her dependence on john. she's in an incredible awful state mentally, but the only person who is close enough to her to do anything about it, is also the person who needs amanda to be in a vulnerable position. the more broken amanda is, the easier it is for john to control her.

so amanda is in this place where she's supposed to take on john's legacy, supposed to help prove that people can be rehabilitated and change for the better. amanda is primed to take on this legacy because she was the first one to survive, and is supposed to be the perfect example that john's methods work. but since they don't work, since amanda is still damaged, she begins to view the tests and the motivations behind them differently.

amanda, in her self loathing and her trauma, reaches the conclusion that nobody is good and nobody is capable of change. she decides that john's tests and ideology are absolute bullshit, but by this point she's in so deep that she can't leave. she loves john, and she wants him to love her too. so she has to do what he asks and keep testing people, because she believes that's the way to get his approval.

but how does she play the part of the perfect apprentice for john, even when she doesn't believe in his message? she creates the games, but she makes them unbeatable. she feeds into the delusions of john's work, while never actually giving people the opportunity to change. as far as amanda's concerned, people are inherently evil and won't ever grow or appreciate life. so it's better to kill them when she can, and save them from confronting that horrible reality.

but even when she's struggling with all this, when she's drowning in her self loathing and angry at the world around her, she's still desperately clinging to notions that people are good. she wants to believe that humans will save each other, forgive one another, make personal sacrifices to look after someone else. it's why the nerve gas house absolutely destroys her. she was in there to play a role, but i think she truly wanted everyone to survive. she wanted them to help each other. she was horrified when obi died the way he did, genuinely terrified of xavier, and went out of her way to look after daniel and laura. sure, part of the reason was because daniel needed to make it to the end for the sake of eric's game, but there was still a personal connection there. and if it was all an act, then why did she look after laura? why was she genuinely upset over her death? laura didn't need to make it to the end, but amanda wanted her to. she wanted everyone to. but xavier and his cruelty makes that impossible, and i think it shatters what very little belief in humanity that amanda has left. she still wants to think that humans can be good, but by that point, she no longer thinks it's possible.

it's why she's so thrown off when people are genuinely good to her. she doesn't know how to respond to daniel matthews showing her such kindness (and god, the fact that he was one of the few people who tried to save her, when his father was one of the people who doomed her), because he's supposed to just be a pawn but she can't stop herself from growing attached. adam is nice to her for thirty seconds, and it's enough for amanda to be haunted by his ghost and filled with such guilt over what she did to him that she tries to save him (because, to amanda, a mercy kill is a save). she doesn't want to shoot lynn, lynn who has been sympathetic to her even when amanda was cruel, but she believes she has to, and sobs when she pulls the trigger. amanda wants to see the good in the world and wants to think people are kind, but she is surrounded by so much cruelty that she can't. and so it unsettles her when she does receive it.

being hurt and hurting others, using and being used are all amanda has ever known. and as painful and horrifying as those things are, they're comforting to her at this point. it is easier to cling to them than admit that there is goodness in the world, but she just wasn't worthy of receiving it.

(sidenote: the only death we know that she willingly watches, not just for the sake of the game, is detective kerry's. and there's nuance to that one. i think watching kerry die had less to do with a desire to witness violence, and more...a bizarre act of payback towards eric matthews. eric matthews ruined her life, beat her bloody, and then taunted her that she'll never be jigsaw. amanda would have known that matthews and kerry were close, that kerry was desperate to find matthews, that she still saw him in high regard even after knowing what he did to amanda and others. i don't think amanda wanted to watch kerry die. i think she wanted kerry to know that she was behind everything, that matthews was to blame, that she'd die knowing that she couldn't put amanda back in prison.)

amanda makes her games unwinnable partially out of self loathing and partially because she thinks it's a kindness. it's her self harm on a larger scale, hurting others because she hurts herself in the process. punishing them because she doesn't think she's good or loveable or worthy of forgiveness, and therefore believes that nobody is. and she also wants to prevent people from ever learning this horrible thing she believes to be true. to amanda, it is better to be dead than it is to live in a cruel world where nothing and nobody ever changes. because to amanda, maybe it would have been better if she died in her first game, all those years ago.

#ask #anonymous #meta #amanda young #this doesn't make sense but. she's everything to me.

[reasoningdaily]

In this excerpt from Superpredator: Bill Clinton’s Use and Abuse of Black America, we examine the Clintons’ involvement in the country’s affairs during Hillary Clinton’s time at the State Department. 

Their actions in the country were shameful and shouldn’t be defended…

Bill and Hillary Clinton had long shared a personal interest in Haiti, dating back to the time of their honeymoon, part of which was spent in Port-au-Prince. In his autobiography, Bill says that his understanding of God and human nature were profoundly transformed when they witnessed a voodoo ceremony in which a woman bit the head off a live chicken. Hillary Clinton says the two of them “fell in love” with Haiti and they had developed a “deep connection” to the country. So when Hillary Clinton became Secretary of State in 2009, she consciously made the redevelopment of Haiti one of her top priorities. The country, she announced, would be a laboratory where the United States could “road-test new approaches to development,” taking advantage of what she termed “the power of proximity.” She intended to “make Haiti the proving ground for her vision of American power.” Hillary Clinton selected her own chief of staff, Cheryl Mills, to run the Haiti project.

Mills would be joined by Bill Clinton, who had been deputized by the U.N. as a “special envoy” to Haiti. Bill’s role was not well-defined, and Haitians were curious about what was in store. Mills wrote in an email to Hillary Clinton that Haitians saw Bill’s appointment as “a step toward putting Haiti in a protectorate or trusteeship status.” Soon, “joking that he must be coming back to lead a new colonial regime,” the Haitian media “dubbed him Le Gouverneur.”

The project was heavily focused on increasing Haiti’s appeal to foreign corporations. As Politico reported, Clinton’s experiment “had business at its center: Aid would be replaced by investment, the growth of which would in turn benefit the United States.”

One of the first acts in the new “business-centered” Haiti policy involved suppressing Haiti’s minimum wage. A 2009 Haitian law raised the minimum wage to 61 cents an hour, from 24 cents an hour previously. Haitian garment manufacturers, including contractors for Hanes and Levi Strauss, were furious, insisting that they were only willing to agree to a seven-cent increase. The manufacturers approached the U.S. State Department, who brought intense pressure to bear against Haitian President René Préval, working to “aggressively block” the 37-cent increase. The U.S. Deputy Mission Chief said a minimum-wage increase “did not take economic reality into account” and simply “appealed to the unemployed and underpaid masses.” But as Ryan Chittum of the Columbia Journalism Review explained, the proposed wage increase would have been only the most trivial additional expense for the American garment manufacturers:

As of last year Hanes had 3,200 Haitians making t-shirts for it. Paying each of them two bucks a day more would cost it about $1.6 million a year. Hanesbrands Incorporated made $211 million on $4.3 billion in sales last year, and presumably it would pass on at least some of its higher labor costs to consumers. Or better yet, Hanesbrands CEO Richard Noll could forego some of his rich compensation package. He could pay for the raises for those 3,200 t-shirt makers with just one-sixth of the $10 million in salary and bonus he raked in last year.

The truth of the “economic reality” was that the Haitian undergarment sector was hardly likely to become wildly less competitive as a result of the increase. The effort to suppress the minimum wage was not solely a Clinton project. It was also a “concerted effort on the part of Haitian elites, factory owners, free trade proponents, U.S. politicians, economists, and American companies.” But it was in keeping with the State Department’s priorities under Clinton, which prioritized creating a favorable business climate. It was that same familiar Clinton move “from aid to trade.” Bill Clinton’s program for Haitian development, designed by Oxford University economist Paul Collier, “had garment exports at its center.” Collier wrote that because of “propitious” factors like “poverty and [a] relatively unregulated labor market, Haiti has labor costs that are fully competitive with China.” But the Clintons’ role in Haiti would soon expand even further. In 2010, the country was struck by the worst earthquake in its history. The disaster killed 160,000 people and displaced over 1.5 million more.

(The consequences of the earthquake were exacerbated by the ruined state of the Haitian food economy, plus the concentration of unemployed Haitian farmers in Port-au-Prince.) Bill Clinton was soon put in charge of the U.S.-led recovery effort. He was appointed to head the Interim Haiti Recovery Commission (IHRC), which would oversee a wide range of rebuilding projects.

At President Obama’s request, Clinton and George W. Bush created the “Clinton-Bush Haiti Fund,” and began aggressively fundraising around the world to support Haiti in the earthquake’s aftermath. (With Hillary Clinton as Secretary of State overseeing the efforts of USAID, the Clintons’ importance to the recovery could not be overstated; Bill’s appointment meant that “at every stage of Haiti’s reconstruction—fundraising, oversight and allocation—a Clinton was now involved.”

Clinton announced that Haiti would be a laboratory where the United States could road-test new approaches to development, taking advantage of “the power of proximity.”

Despite appearances, the Clinton-Bush fund was not focused on providing traditional relief. As they wrote, “[w]hile other organizations in Haiti are using their resources to deliver immediate humanitarian aid, we are using our resources to focus on long-term development.” While the fund would advertise that “100% of donations go directly to relief efforts,” Clinton and Bush adopted an expansive definition of “relief” efforts, treating luring foreign investment and jobs as a crucial part of earthquake recovery. On their website, they spoke proudly of what the New York Daily News characterized as a program of “supporting longterm programs to develop Haiti’s business class.”

The strategy was an odd one. Port-au-Prince had been reduced to ruin, and Haitians were crowded into filthy tent cities, where many were dying of a cholera outbreak (which had itself been caused by the negligence of the United Nations). Whatever value building new garment factories may have had as a longterm economic plan, Haitians were faced with somewhat more pressing concerns like the basic provision of shelter and medicine, as well as the clearing of the thousands of tons of rubble that filled their streets.

The Clinton-led recovery was a disaster. A year after the earthquake, a stinging report from Oxfam singled out Clinton’s IHRC as creating a “quagmire of indecision and delay” that had made little progress toward successful earthquake recovery. Oxfam found that:

…less than half of the reconstruction aid promised by international donors has been disbursed. And while some of that money has been put toward temporary housing, almost none of the funds have been used for rubble removal.

Instead, the Clinton Foundation, IHRC, and State Department created what a Wall Street Journal writer called “a mishmash of low quality, poorly thought-out development experiments and half-finished projects.” A Haitian IHRC members lamented that the commission had produced “a disparate bunch of approved projects. . . [that] do not address as a whole either the emergency situation or the recovery, let alone the development, of Haiti.” A 2013 investigation by the Government Accountability Office found that most money for the recovery was not being dispersed, and that the projects that were being worked on were plagued by delays and cost overruns. Many Clinton projects were extravagant public relations affairs that quickly fizzled. For example, The Washington Post reported that:

…[a] 2011 housing expo that cost more than $2 million, including $500,000 from the Clinton Foundation, was supposed to be a model for thousands of new units but instead has resulted in little more than a few dozen abandoned model homes occupied by squatters.

Other Clinton ventures were seen as “disconnected from the realities of most people in the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.” Politico reported that many Clinton projects “have primarily benefited wealthy foreigners and the island’s ruling elite, who needed little help to begin with.” For example, “the Clinton Bush Haiti Fund invested more than $2 million in the Royal Oasis Hotel, where a sleek suite with hardwood floors costs more than $200 a night and the shops sell $150 designer purses and $120 men’s dress shirts.”

Predictably, the Royal Oasis didn’t do an especially roaring trade; The Washington Post reported that “[o]ne recent afternoon, the hotel appeared largely empty, and with tourism hardly booming five years after the quake, locals fear it may be failing.”

In a country with a 30-cent minimum wage, investing recovery dollars in a luxury hotel was not just offensive, but economically daft.

Sometimes the recovery projects were accused not only of being pointless, but of being downright harmful. For instance, Bill Clinton had proudly announced that the Clinton Foundation  would be funding the “construction of emergency storm shelters in Léogâne.” But an investigation of the shelters that the Foundation had actually built found that they were “shoddy and dangerous” and full of toxic mold.

The Nation discovered, among other things, that the temperature in the shelters reached over 100 degrees, causing children to experience headaches and eye irritations (which may have been compounded by the mold), and that the trailers showed high levels of carcinogenic formaldehyde, linked to asthma and other lung diseases.

The Clinton Foundation had subcontracted the building of the shelters to Clayton Homes, a firm that had already been sued in the United States by the Federal Emergency Management Administration (FEMA) for “having provided formaldehyde-laced trailers to Hurricane Katrina victims.” (Clayton Homes was owned by Warren Buffett’s Berkshire Hathaway, and Buffett had been a longstanding major donor to the Clinton Foundation.)

The Nation’s investigation reported on children whose classes were being held in Clinton Foundation trailers. Their semester had just been cut short, and the students sent home, because the temperature in the classrooms had grown unbearable. The misery of the students in the Clinton trailers was described:

Judith Seide, a student in Lubert’s sixth-grade class [explained that] she and her classmates regularly suffer from painful headaches in their new Clinton Foundation classroom. Every day, she said, her “head hurts and I feel it spinning and have to stop moving, otherwise I’d fall.” Her vision goes dark, as is the case with her classmate Judel, who sometimes can’t open his eyes because, said Seide, “he’s allergic to the heat.” Their teacher regularly relocates the class outside into the shade of the trailer because the swelter inside is insufferable.

Sitting in the sixth-grade classroom, student Mondialie Cineas, who dreams of becoming a nurse, said that three times a week the teacher gives her and her classmates painkillers so that they can make it through the school day. “At noon, the class gets so hot, kids get headaches,” the 12-year-old said, wiping beads of sweat from her brow. She is worried because “the kids feel sick, can’t work, can’t advance to succeed.”

The most notorious post-earthquake development project, however, was the Caracol industrial park. The park was pitched as a major job creator, part of the goal of helping Haiti “build back better” than it was before.

The State Department touted the prospect of 100,000 new jobs for Haitians, with Hillary Clinton promising 65,000 jobs within five years. The industrial park followed the Clintons’ preexisting development model for Haiti: public/private partnerships with a heavy emphasis on the garment industry.

Even though there were still hundreds of thousands of evacuees living in tents, the project was based on “the more expansive view that, in a desperately poor country where traditional foreign aid has chronically failed, fostering economic development is as important as replacing what fell down.” Much of the planning was focused on trying to lure a South Korean clothing manufacturer to set up shop there, by plying them with U.S. taxpayer funding.

The Caracol project was “the centerpiece” of the U.S.’s recovery effort. A gala celebrating its opening featured the Clintons and Sean Penn, and it was treated as the emblem of the new, “better” Haiti, that would demonstrate the country’s commitment to being “open for business.” In order to build the park, hundreds of poor farmers were evicted from their land, so that millions of dollars could be spent transforming it.

But the project was a terrible disappointment. After four years, it was only operating at 10% capacity, and the jobs had failed to materialize:

Far from 100,000 jobs—or even the 60,000 promised within five years of the park’s opening— Caracol currently employs just 5,479 people full time. That comes out to roughly $55,000 in investment per job created so far; or, to put it another way, about 30 times more per job than the average [Caracol] worker makes per year. The park, built on the site of a former U.S. Marine-run slave labor camp during the 1915-1934 U.S. occupation, has the best-paved roads and manicured sidewalks in the country, but most of the land remains vacant.

Most of the seized farmland went unused, then, and even for the remaining farmers, “surges of wastewater have caused floods and spoiled crops.” Huge queues of unemployed Haitians stood daily in front of the factory, awaiting jobs that did not exist. The Washington Post described the scene:

Each morning, crowds line up outside the park’s big front gate, which is guarded by four men in crisp khaki uniforms carrying shotguns. They wait in a sliver of shade next to a cinder-block wall, many holding résumés in envelopes. Most said they have been coming every day for months, waiting for jobs that pay about $5 a day. From his envelope, Jean Mito Palvetus, 27, pulled out a diploma attesting that he had completed 200 hours of training with the U.S. Agency for International Development on an industrial sewing machine. “I have three kids and a wife, and I can’t support them,” he said, sweating in the hot morning sun. “I have a diploma, but I still can’t get a job here. I still have nothing.”

For some, the Caracol project perfectly symbolized the Clinton approach: big promises, an emphasis on sweatshops, incompetent management, and little concern for the actual impact on Haitians. “Caracol is a prime example of bad help,” as one Haiti scholar put it. “The interests of the market, the interest of foreigners are prioritized over the majority of people who are impoverished in Haiti.”

But, failure as it may have been, the Caracol factory was among the more successful of the projects, insofar as it actually came into existence.

A large amount of the money raised by Bill Clinton after the earthquake, and pledged by the U.S. under Hillary Clinton, simply disappeared without a trace, its whereabouts unknown.

As Politico explained:

Even Bill’s U.N. Office of the Special Envoy couldn’t track where all of [it] went—and the truth is that still today no one really knows how much money was spent “rebuilding” Haiti. Many initial pledges never materialized. A whopping $465 million of the relief money went through the Pentagon, which spent it on deployment of U.S. troops—20,000 at the high water mark, many of whom never set foot on Haitian soil.

That money included fuel for ships and planes, helicopter repairs and inscrutables such as an $18,000 contract for a jungle gym… Huge contracts were doled out to the usual array of major contractors, including a $16.7 million logistics contract whose partners included Agility Public Warehousing KSC, a Kuwaiti firm that was supposed to have been blacklisted from doing business with Washington after a 2009 indictment alleging a conspiracy to defraud the U.S. government during the Iraq War.

The recovery under the Clintons became notorious for its mismanagement. Clinton staffers “had no idea what Haiti was like and had no sensitivity to the Haitians.” They were reportedly rude and condescending toward Haitians, even refusing to admit Haitian government ministers to meetings about recovery plans.

While the Clintons called in high-profile consulting firms like McKinsey to draw up plans, they had little interest in listening to Haitians themselves.

The former Haitian prime minister spoke of a “weak” American staff who were “more interested in supporting Clinton than helping Haiti.”

One of those shocked by the failure of the recovery effort was Chelsea Clinton, who wrote a detailed email to her parents in which she said that while Haitians were trying to help themselves, every part of the international aid effort, both governmental and nongovernmental, was falling short. “The incompetence is mind numbing,” she wrote. Chelsea produced a detailed memorandum recommending drastic steps that needed to be taken in order to get the recovery on track. But the memo was kept within the Clinton family, released only later under a Freedom of Information Act disclosure of Hillary’s State Department correspondence.

If it had come out at the time, as Haiti journalist Jonathan Katz writes, it “would have obliterated the public narrative of helpful outsiders saving grateful earthquake survivors that her mother’s State Department was working so hard to promote.”

The Clintons’ Haiti recovery ended with a whimper. The Clinton-Bush Haiti Fund distributed the last of its funds in 2012 and disbanded, without any attempt at further fundraising. The IHRC “quietly closed their doors” in October of 2011, even though little progress had been made. As the Boston Review’s Jake Johnston explained, though hundreds of thousands remained displaced, the IHRC wiped its hands of the housing situation:

[L]ittle remained of the grand plans to build thousands of new homes. Instead, those left homeless would be given a small, one-time rental subsidy of about $500. These subsidies, funded by a number of different aid agencies, were meant to give private companies the incentive to invest in building houses. As efforts to rebuild whole neighborhoods faltered, the rental subsidies turned Haitians into consumers, and the housing problem was handed over to the private sector.

The Clintons themselves simply stopped speaking about Haiti..

After the first two years, they were “nowhere to be seen” there, despite Hillary’s having promised that her commitment to Haiti would long outlast her tenure as Secretary of State. Haiti has been given little attention during Hillary Clinton’s presidential campaign, even though the Haiti project was ostensibly one of great pride for both Clintons.

The widespread consensus among observers is that the Haiti recovery, which TIME called the U.S.’s “compassionate invasion,” was a catastrophically mismanaged disappointment. Jonathan Katz writes that “it’s hard to find anyone these days who looks back on the U.S.-led response to the January 12, 2010, Haiti earthquake as a success.” While plenty of money was channeled into the country, it largely went to what were “little more than small pilot projects—a new set of basketball hoops and a model elementary school here, a functioning factory there.”

The widespread consensus is that the Haiti recovery was a catastrophically mismanaged disappointment.

The end result has been that little has changed for Haiti. “Haitians find themselves in a social and economic situation that is worse than before the earthquake,” reports a Belgian photojournalist who has spent 10 years in Haiti:

Everyone says that they’re living in worse conditions than before… When you look at the history of humanitarian relief, there’s never been a situation when such a small country has been the target of such a massive influx of money and assistance in such a short span of time… On paper, with that much money in a territory the size of Haiti, we should have witnessed miracles; there should have been results.

“If anything, they appear worse off,” says Foreign Policy of Haiti’s farmers. “I really cannot understand how you could raise so much money, put a former U.S. president in charge, and get this outcome,” said one Haitian official. Indeed, the money donated and invested was extraordinary. But nobody seems to know where it has gone.

Haitians direct much of the blame toward the Clintons.

As a former Haitian government official who worked on the recovery said, “[t]here is a lot of resentment about Clinton here. People have not seen results. . .. They say that Clinton used Haiti.” Haitians “increasingly complain that Clinton-backed projects have often helped the country’s elite and international business investors more than they have helped poor ‘Haitians.” There is a “suspicion that their motives are more to make a profit in Haiti than to help it.” And that while “striking a populist pose, in practice they were attracted to power in Haiti.”

But perhaps we should be more forgiving of the Clintons’ conduct during the Haitian recovery. After all, instead of doing true harm, the Clintons simply failed to do much good. And perhaps it’s better to have a luxury hotel than not to have one, better to have a few jobs than none at all. Thanks to Bill Clinton, there’s a gleaming new industrial park, albeit one operating at a fraction of its capacity.

Yet it’s a mistake to measure Clinton against what would have happened if the United States had done nothing at all for Haiti. The question is what would have happened if a capable, nonfamous administrator, rather than a globetrotting narcissist, had been placed in charge.

Tens of millions of dollars were donated toward the Haiti recovery by people across the world; it was an incredible outpouring of generosity. The squandering of that money on half-baked development schemes (mainly led by cronies), and the ignoring of Haitians’ own demands, mean that Clinton may have caused considerable harm through his failure.

Plenty of people died in tent cities that would not have died if the world’s donations had been used effectively

Democrats have bristled at recent attempts by Donald Trump to criticize Hillary Clinton over her record in Haiti. Jonathan Katz, whose in-depth reporting from Haiti was stingingly critical of the Clintons, has now changed his tune, insisting that we all bear the responsibility for the failed recovery effort. When Trump accused the Clintons of squandering millions building “a sweatshop” in Haiti in the form of the Caracol park, media fact-checkers quickly insisted he was spewing Pinocchios.

The Washington Post said that while Clinton Foundation donors may have financially benefited from the factory-building project, they benefited “writ large” rather than “directly.” The Post cited the words of the factory’s spokesman as evidence that the factory was not a sweatshop, and pointed out that Caracol workers earned at least “minimum wage” (failing to mention that minimum wage in Haiti remains well under a dollar). PolitiFact also rated the sweatshop claim “mostly false,” even though Katz notes “long hours, tough conditions, and low pay” at the factory and PolitiFact acknowledges the “ongoing theft of legally-earned wages.”

Defending the Clintons’ Haiti record is an impossible endeavor, one Democrats should probably not bother attempting. As the Center for Economic and Policy Research, which has studied the recovery, noted, when it comes to the Clinton-led recovery mission, “it’s hard to say it’s been anything other than a failure.” Haitians are not delusional in their resentment of the Clintons; they have good reason to feel as if they were used for publicity, and discarded by the Clintons when they became inconvenient.

None of this means that one should vote for Donald Trump for president. His tears for Haiti are those of a highly opportunistic crocodile, and his interest in the country’s wellbeing began at the precise moment that it could be used a bludgeon with which to beat his political opponent. As we have previously noted in this publication, one does not need to be convinced that Hillary Clinton is an honorable person in order to be convinced that she is the preferable candidate. It is important, however, not to maintain any illusions, not to stifle or massage the truth in the service of short-term electoral concerns. It remains simultaneously true that a Clinton presidency is our present least-worst option and that what the Clintons did to Haiti was callous, selfish, and indefensible.

More on Clinton involvement in Haiti can be found in Superpredator: Bill Clinton’s Use and Abuse of Black America.

#What The Clintons Did To Haiti #Haiti #clinton foundation #theft of a nation #superpredator #Superpredator: Bill Clinton’s Use and Abuse of Black America.

[write-ur-wrongs]

Facing Your Demons

Jaskier x Reader 1785 words

TW: implied sexual assault, seeing an abuser in public, panic attacks, and references to trauma. I did my best to avoid explicit details but tread carefully. 

A huge thank you to @bubblegumfanfics for trusting me with this request - I hope I’ve done it justice :”)

Request: Something where the reader was a*saulted in the in the past and has a flashback or she sees her ex that did it and Jaskier ends up comforting the reader, telling her how much she means to him (accidental love confession? Maybe? I love those) while Geralt is dealing with her ex. The reader says she feel the same way but she can't give Jaskier anything sexual because it makes her uncomfortable. But jaskier says he'll be with her regardless and that he loves her and if she ever wanted to try he will oblige and if she doesn't like it he'll stop

It was only one contract, meant to last no more than a fortnight. It should have been an easy in-and-out arrangement; your client got nervous, enlisted a Witcher’s help, and you agreed against your better judgement to stay on and split the earnings. While you’d dealt with this type of apparition before, you were tired, and figured it wouldn’t hurt to work alongside someone tailormade for the trade.

It was only supposed to be for the one job. It should have never gone on like this. You should have never allowed yourself to be charmed by the Geralt’s friend, the bard. You shouldn’t have grown comfortable working alongside Geralt, earning twice the coin by doubling your work. Hell, you should have refused to travel with them while working that first contract. Because maybe if you’d done that, you wouldn’t have found yourself so heavily linked to the pair of them.

Maybe if you’d had kept your distance, you wouldn’t be where you are now.

And you so desperately did not want to be where you were now.  

Cowering in the dank, stuffy corner of this horrid tavern, trapped between Geralt’s gargantuan frame and Jaskier’s far-too-close body, you were stuck looking the devil in the eye.

Okay, don’t be dramatic, you thought desperately, clinging to whatever silver lining you could get your trembling hands on to stay afloat, you haven’t actually looked him in the eye.

But still, you’d seen him, and the memories you’d spent so long trying to scrub away were worming their way back into the forefront of your mind, traveling down your body like furious snakes. Each memory burning with venom over everywhere he’d touched you.

“Hey, Y/N, you alright?”  Jaskier asked, reaching over to lay a comforting hand on your arm.

At the contact, however, you recoiled so violently away from him that you practically slammed yourself into Geralt. The combined sensation of Jaskier’s warm, calloused fingers on your arm and Geralt’s broad, hard chest against your shoulder sent blaring alarms of panic through you. Everything was too loud; everyone was too close.

You jerked your knees up in an attempt to curl yourself into a ball but ended up slamming both knees, hard, under the table. Surprised by the sudden ruckus, Geralt swore loudly beside you as Jaskier yelped, jumping back as his beer spilt and splashed across the table and onto his lap.

Both knees were now throbbing angrily, your head felt as if it had been filled with cotton, and your mouth watered dangerously as panic-induced nausea crashed over you. I can’t be here, a voice screamed inside your mind, I can’t be here with him.

“Y/N, what the hell-” Geralt started, stopping short when he finally saw the state you were in; the pallor of your skin paired with your wide, vacant eyes were horrifically familiar. It was something he’d seen in the faces of traumatized villagers whose lives were ruined by war, and in soldiers who’d just seen their comrades killed.  

Geralt met Jaskier’s eyes over your head and knew that they were thinking the same thing.

Without speaking, Jaskier pushed the table away from you as Geralt scooped you up and began marching steadily towards the exit. Once outside, Geralt gently set you down on a bench as Jaskier materialized by your side with a cup of water.

You’d been so focused on the devil’s face that you’d barely registered the change of scenery, but when your back hit the cool rock wall behind the bench, you were pulled back to reality. Startled, you blinked back unshed tears and let your eyes focus on the two concerned faces before you.

Your breathing slowed, and as you were coming too you heard Jaskier as Geralt whether he should splash the water he’d brought onto your face.

“N-no,” you breathed, feeling more grounded with every passing second, “please don’t.”

Geralt hummed knowingly and smacked the bard upside the head, scolding him for his ridiculous proposal, eliciting another yelp from Jaskier. “It was just an idea!” he hissed defensively, earning only a vacant stare from you and a glare from Geralt.

Frustrated and inexplicably jealous to see Geralt assume the dominant protective role, Jaskier knelt in front of you and scanned your face for a sign. His brows furrowed as he watched your lips mumble something inaudibly. “What is it?” he encouraged you gently, resting a hand next to you on the bench, but decisively not onto you.

“I can’t be here,” you said, barely above a whisper, “I can’t be here with him.”

Jaskier looked back at Geralt inquisitively, as if assuming he’d know you better since he got so defensive earlier. But when Geralt shrugged unperceptively in response, Jaskier felt strangely vindicated and turned back to you confidently.

“Be here with who, love?” he tried, meeting your eyes and doing his best to communicate non-verbally that you could trust him.

“The devil,” you murmured, your eyes finding the man over Jaskier’s head, through the tavern’s window.

The two men turned to follow your gaze. Upon spotting the man they assumed to be devil – a pompous soldier, gesticulating wildly as he held audience in the tavern – their eyes met briefly, eyebrows quirked, before coming back to you.

“You mean, that ridiculous ass?” Jaskier asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“The one in red? you asked.

“That’s the ass,” he replied, eyes sad as a tentative smile played at the corner of his lips, hoping you’d mirror the act.

You nodded silently, eyes meeting his fleetingly. “We, um, I mean he –” you broke off unable to continue, your eyes now closed as memories washed over you like acid.

“You were… together?” he tried, looking back to Geralt for support but getting nothing back but a non-committal shrug.

“I was, I mean he – um,” you swallowed thickly before going on, “we were.”

“And it was bad?” Jaskier was whispering now, meeting you at your energy.

You hesitated before responding, and that brief moment of silence broke Jaskier completely as he imagined the worst.

“It was,” you replied finally, meeting his eyes head-on, “not consensual.”

What happened next happened quickly.

Geralt swore loudly, his hands closing into tight fists as Jaskier swore in a way you’d never imagined him capable.

“Geralt!” Jaskier called over his shoulder, saying his name more like a command, begging his friend to take action.

“Way ahead of you, Jask,” he replied, already stalking his way back into the tavern.

When the tavern door slammed shut behind Geralt, Jaskier sprang to his feet before tentatively sitting by your side. His hand hovered over yours momentarily before he thought better of it and brought his hand back to rest on his own lap. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“I can’t,” you choked out, putting your own hand over his, surprising both of you.

“That’s alright,” he breathed, placing his other hand over yours lightly, “you don’t ever need to think about it ever again. Geralt is taking care of it.” As he spoke, he swung a leg over the bench and turned so that his body faced yours squarely.

“But Geralt doesn’t get involved in human conflict,” you said, swiping at the tears that had managed to fall as you tucked a leg under yourself to angle yourself in his direction.

Jaskier’s eyes flit momentarily to the tavern’s window before quickly coming back to meet yours. “No, but he does kill monsters,” he assured, “and specializes in demons.”

“Do you think he’ll kill him?” you ask quietly, crossing your arms defensively over your chest.

“Hard to say,” he tried to answer, but was interrupted by loud crash followed by shouting coming from within the tavern, “but, huh, I think it’s fair to say you won’t ever need to worry about him again.”

You nodded lightly, trying and failing to hold Jaskier’s gaze. He was looking at you with such intensity, with a warmth you definitely didn’t think you deserved.  “Don’t look at me like that, Jask.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, bringing his eyes down to your still-intertwined hands. “I just hate to think of anything bad ever happening to you. I wish I could have known you then… that I could have protected you, that I could have,” he hesitated, considering his next words carefully, “that I could have loved you the way you deserve to be loved.”

“Oh, Jask…”

“No, no, darling, you don’t need to say anything. Please don’t feel obligated,” he blurted out, immediate regret burning at his cheeks, “I’m so incredibly stupid and selfish! I’m so sorry I-I just, seeing you like this it just, argh! I shouldn’t have said it-”

“Jaskier, please,” you interject, placing a feather-light hand over his chest, the pads of your fingers ghosting over the flesh exposed at his collar, “it’s not that. I’m… honestly I’m glad you said it.”

“Yeah?” he asked timidly, looking up at you through his thick lashes.

“Yeah,” you breathed, “I think I feel the same way… about wishing I could, know your love. Be able to love you, freely.”

“Yeah?” he murmured once more; eyes hesitantly alight with hope.

“Yeah,” a teary laugh escaping your lips. “But Jaskier, I’m afraid that I won’t be able to, you know, love you in the way you need.”

“Y/N, hey,” he cooed, your confession bolstering his confidence, “all I need is to know your heart. Knowing you love me is enough.”

“Jask, I don’t think you’re understanding me –”

“My sweet girl, look at me,” he pleaded, bringing his head down to hold your gaze through the curtain of your tear-soaked lashes, “so long as you’ll have me, I’ll be by your side. And I promise you, nothing will happen unless you’re ready and you want it. Nothing.”

“Yeah?” you ask, your eyes scanning his for any hint of mal-intent or deception but finding only earnest adoration.

“Hell yeah,” he whispered, bringing his forehead to rest against yours. 

Just then, Geralt immerged from the tavern and wiped his blood-soaked blade against the tall grass as he spoke. “We’re leaving.”

“Way ahead of you,” you parroted in a small voice, letting Jaskier pull you to your feet, before you ran to your horses.

You didn’t feel ready to ride out yourself, so you hopped behind Jaskier as Geralt led your horse behind him on Roach. As you put more distance between you and the tavern behind you, you found yourself growing ever calmer. Until finally, with your arms wrapped tightly around Jaskier’s waist and your face pushed between his shoulder blades, you took your first full breath of the evening and realized, incredulously, that you knew you were going to be okay.

#the witcher #the witcher series #the witcher fanfiction #witcher fanfiction #jaskier x reader #jaskier x y/n #jaskier fanfic #jaskier fanfiction #Jaskier #fic recs #dandelion #geralt of rivia #witcher geralt

[kaile-hultner]

Nihilism is so easy, which is why we need to kill it

(I initially published this here a couple weeks ago.)

So last night it dawned on me that, after over two years of being relatively symptom-free, my depression snuck back up on me and has taken over. It’s still pretty mild in comparison to other times I’ve been stuck in the hole, but after 24 months (and more) of mostly being good to go, I can tell that it’s here for a hot minute again.

How do I know? Well, it might be the fact that I spent more time sleeping during my recent vacation from work than I did just about anything else, and how it’s suddenly really hard for me to stay awake during work hours. I don’t really have an appetite, and in fact nausea hits me frequently. I don’t really have any emotional reactions to things outside of tears, even when tears aren’t super appropriate to the situation (like watching someone play Outer Wilds for the first time). And I’ve been consuming a lot of apocalyptic media, to which the only response, emotional or otherwise, I can really muster is “dude same.”

For a long time I was huge into absurdist philosophy, because it felt to my depressed brain like just the right balance between straight up denying that things are bad (and thus we should fix them, or at least try to do so) and full-blown nihilism. This gives absurdism a lot of credit; mostly it’s just a loose set of spicy existentialist ideas and shit that sounds good on a sticker, like “The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.”

In the last couple years, while outside of my depressive state, I went back to Camus’ work and found a lot of almost full-on abusive shit in it. Not toward anyone specifically, but shit like “nobody and nothing will care if you’re gone, so live out of spite of them all” rubs me the wrong way in retrospect. The philosophy Camus puts out opens the door for living in a very self-destructive fashion; that in fact the good life is living without care for yourself or anyone/anything else. The way Camus describes and derides suicide especially is grim as fuck, and certainly I would never recommend The Myth of Sisyphus to anyone currently struggling with ideation. That “perfect balance” between denial and nihilism is really not that perfect at all, and in fact skews much more heavily towards the latter.

Neon Genesis Evangelion has been a big albatross around my neck in terms of the media products I’ve consumed in my life that I believe have influenced my depression hardcore. It sits in a similar conversational space to Camus’ work, in that it confronts nihilism and at once rejects and facilitates it. A lot of folks remark that Evangelion is pretty unique – or at least uncommon – in its accurate portrayal of depression, especially for mid-90s anime properties. The thing I notice always seems to be missing in these discussions is that along with that accurate portrayal comes a spot-on – to me, at least – depiction of what depression does to resist being treated. This is a disease that uses a person’s rational faculties to suggest that nobody else could possibly understand their pain, and therefore there’s no use in getting better or moving forward. Shinji Ikari is as self-centered as Hideaki Anno is as I am when it comes to confronting the truth: there are paths out of this hole, but nobody else can take that step out but us, and part of our illness is that refusal to do just that. Depression lies, it provides a cold comfort to the sufferer, that there is no existence other than the one where we are in pain and there is no way out, so pull the blanket up over our head and go back to sleep.

Watching Evangelion for the first time corresponded with the onset of one of the worst depressive spirals I’ve ever been in, and so, much like the time I got a stomach virus at the same time that I ate Arby’s curly fries, I kind of can’t associate Evangelion with anything else. No matter what else it might signify, no matter what other meaning there is to derive from it, for me Eva is the Bad Feeling Anime™. Which is why, naturally, I had to binge all four of the Evangelion theatrical releases upon the release of Evangelion 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon A Time last month.

If Neon Genesis Evangelion and End of Evangelion are works produced by someone with untreated depression just fucking rawdogging existence, then the Eva movies are works produced by someone who has gone to therapy even just one fucking time. Whether that therapy is working or not is to be determined, but they have taken that step out of the hole and are able to believe that there is a possibility of living a depression-free life. The first 40 minutes or so of Evangelion 3.0+1.0 are perfect cinema to me. The world is destroyed but there is a way to bring it back. Restoration and existence is possible even when the surface of the planet might as well be the surface of the Moon. The only thing about this is, everyone has to be on board to help. Even though WILLE fired one of its special de-corefication devices into the ground to give the residents of Village 3 a chance at survival, the maintenance of this pocket ecosystem is actively their responsibility. There is no room or time for people who won’t actively contribute, won’t actively participate in making a better world from the ashes of the old.

There are a lot of essentialist claims and assumptions made by the film in this first act about how the body interacts with the social – the concept of disability itself just doesn’t seem to have made it into the ring of safety provided by Misato and the Wunder, which seems frankly wild to me, and women are almost singularly portrayed in traditionalist support roles while men are the doers and the fixers and the makers. I think it’s worth raising a skeptical eyebrow at this trad conservative “back to old ways” expression of the post-apocalypse wherever it comes up, just as it’s important to acknowledge where the movie pushes back on these themes, like when Toji (or possibly Kensuke) is telling Shinji that, despite all the hard work everyone is doing like farming and building, the village is far from self-sufficient and will likely always rely on provisions from the Wunder.

As idyllic as the setting is, it’s not the ideal. As Shinji emerges from his catatonia, Kensuke takes him around the village perimeter. It’s quiet, rural Japan as far as the eye can see, but everywhere there are contingencies; rationing means Kensuke can only catch one fish a week, all the entry points where flowing water comes into the radius of the de-corefication devices have to be checked for blockages because the water supply will run out. There is a looming possibility that the de-corefication machines could break or shut down at some point, and nobody knows what will happen when that happens. On the perimeter, lumbering, pilot-less and headless Eva units shuffle around; it is unknown whether they’re horrors endlessly biding their time or simply ghosts looking to reconnect to the ember of humanity on the other side of the wall. Survival is always an open question, and mutual aid is the expectation. Still: the apocalypse happened, and we’re still here. The question Village 3 answers is “what now?” We move on, we adapt.

Evangelion is still a work that does its level best to defy easy interpretation, but the modern version of the franchise has largely abandoned the nihilism that was at its core in the 90s version. It’s not just that Shinji no longer denies the world until the last possible second – it’s that he frequently actively reaches out and is frustrated by other people’s denials. He wants to connect, he wants to be social, but he’s also burdened with the idea that he’s only good to others if he’s useful, and he’s only useful if he pilots the Eva unit. This last movie separates him and what he is worth to others (and himself) from his agency in being an Eva pilot, finally. In doing so, he’s able to reconcile with nearly everyone in his life who he has harmed or who has hurt him, and create a world in which there is no Evangelion. While this ending is much more wishful thinking than one more grounded in the reality of the franchise – one that, say, focuses on the existence and possible flourishing of Village 3 and other settlements like it while keeping one eye on the precarious balancing act they’re all playing – it feels better than the ending of End of Eva, and even than the last two episodes of the original series.

I’m glad the nihilism in Evangelion is gone, for the most part. I’m glad that I didn’t spend roughly eight hours watching the Evamovies only to be met yet again with a message of “everything is pointless, fuck off and die.” Because I’ve been absorbing that sentiment a lot lately, from a lot of different sources, and it really just fuckin sucks to hear over and over again.

It is a truth we can’t easily ignore that the confluence of pandemic, climate change, authoritarian surge and capitalist decay has made shit miserable recently. But the spike in lamentations over the intractability of this mix of shit – the inevitability of our destruction, to put it in simpler terms – really is pissing me off. No one person is going to fix the world, that much is absolutely true, but if everyone just goes limp and decides to “123 not it” the apocalypse then everyone crying about how the world is fucked on Twitter will simply be adding to the opening bars of a self-fulfilling prophesy.

We can’t get in a mech to save the world but then, neither realistically could Shinji Ikari. What we can do looks a lot more like what’s being done in Village 3: people helping each other with limited resources wherever they can.

Last week, Hurricane Ida slammed into the Gulf Coast and churned there for hours – decimating Bayou communities in Louisiana and disrupting the supply chain extensively – before powering down and moving inland. Last night the powerful remnants of that storm tore through the Northeast, causing intense flooding. Areas not typically affected by hurricanes suddenly found themselves in a similar boat – pun not intended – to folks for whom hurricanes are simply a fact of life. There’s a once-in-a-millennium drought and heatwave ripping through the West Coast and hey – who can forget back in February when Oklahoma and Texas experienced -20 degree temperatures for several days in a row? All of this against the backdrop of a deadly and terrifying pandemic and worsening political climate. It’s genuinely scary! But there are things we can do.

First, if you’re in a weather disaster-prone area, get to know your local mutual aid organizations. Some of these groups might be official non-profits; one such group in the Louisiana area, for example, is Common Ground Relief. Check their social media accounts for updates on what to do and who needs help. If you’re not sure if there’s one in your area, check out groups like Mutual Aid Disaster Relief for that same information. Even if you’re not in a place that expects to see the immediate effects of climate change, you should still consider linking up with organizing groups in your area. Tenant unions, homeless organizations, safe injection sites and needle exchanges, immigrant rights groups, environmental activist orgs, reproductive health groups – all could use some help right now, in whatever capacity you might be able to provide it.

In none of these scenarios are we going to be the heroes of the story, and we shouldn’t view this kind of work in that way. But neither should we give into the nihilistic impulse to insist upon doing nothing, insist that inaction is the best course of action, and get back under the blankets for our final sleep. Kill that impulse in your head, and fuck, if you have to, simply just fucking wish for that better world. Then get out of bed and help make it happen.

#Neon Genesis Evangelion #existentialism #philosophy #media criticism #cultural criticism #spoilers

[buffintruder]

can you imagine what the untamed would have been like from Lan Sizhui’s pov because that would have been so funny

like first of all, you’re just going about your regular business, hunting evil spirits with your squad, and you meet this guy who used to be part of the Jin sect but got kicked out and apparently is crazy and always wears a mask? but he’s also clearly being mistreated by his family, and you know that whatever got him kicked out, he does not deserve this humiliation and abuse

you feel sorry for him, even when he stomps a spirit-summoning flag into the ground and runs unprotected into the middle of a fight and generally causes mild distress and irritation to your fellow juniors.

except then it turns out he actually seems quite competent and he even figures out a lot of what’s going on with the goddess statue, and sure he has weird habits, but he is nothing like how Jin Ling describes his bastard uncle. also maybe he summoned and sent away the Ghost General with his flute? but that’s impossible because the Ghost General should be ash, and anyway, the only one who could control the Ghost General was— 

And that’s not even the weirdest part, because then Hanguang Jun arrives. You are certain the two of them have not been close in the past, because surely he would have mentioned it, and besides, when would their paths even have crossed? 

But Hanguang Jun is your adopted father/mentor figure, and even though he has shown you nothing but kindness, you know how stoic and reserved he is to the rest of the world. Yet he treats Mo Xuanyu with a care you have never seen him offer to anyone besides yourself and his brother. He is never like this around strangers, and you don’t understand what is going on. 

(edit: now on ao3)

You part ways, then meet back up again not too long afterwards, and any pretense Hanguang Jun might have had at not being incredibly close to Mo Xuanyu dissolves. When they fight together at Yi City, there is a familiarity in the ease of their movements, the way they never have to look to make sure the other has his back. Sometimes when Hanguang Jun looks at Mo Xuanyu, you see more open emotion than you possibly have ever seen before. Hanguang Jun never flinches away from Mo Xuanyu’s touch.

Any pretense Mo Xuanyu might have had at being anything less than an expert cultivator also vanishes. He slips into the role of mentor and protector with ease, joking to keep all of you calm while he teaches you how to save your lives, always putting your safety above his. You wonder if it would be weird to consider a near-stranger fatherly.  

He feeds your poisoned fellow Juniors ridiculously spicy congee, and it does cure them, despite all their complaining about how it murdered their mouths. You had tasted some when helping him make it, but even with how strongly it burned your tongue, there was a strange part of you liked it. For some reason it taste familiar, like home somehow, even though you have lived in the Lan sect for as long as you can remember and they only have bland, spiceless food. 

That’s when the memories begin coming back, slow and weak, like a faint flute melody in the wind, too quiet to fully make out.

You do not remember your early childhood. This is hardly an unusual phenomenon, but you still feel its loss. You were not always a Lan. That development came when you were around four or five, according to what others have told you. Four seems an old enough age that you always thought that you should have at least some idea of what happened before, but you never have.

But now you have the faint impression of a different vendor in a different city selling a similar grass butterfly to the one you bought on impulse despite being far too old for toys. You think of the familiarity of congee, of the reedy melody you heard the night you met Mo Xuanyu and then again as the Ghost General stopped attacking the juniors and ran off into the trees. You have a handful of clues, but they paint no coherent picture.

These thoughts haunt you for three months, but since Mo Xuanyu returns to Cloud Recesses as you continue on your night hunts, there is nothing but the occasional sparks of familiarity around random items or phrases to fill in the missing parts. 

And then the word comes out that Mo Xuanyu is actually Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch, the founder of demonic cultivation. This is the man who killed thousands, who betrayed the clans, who murdered his own family, including the parents of your—your friend? the boy you’ve run into a few times and survived life-or-death situations with?

Except when everybody else reacts with anger and fear, you... don’t. You can’t explain why, but the name Wei Wuxian brings an echo of comfort, half buried under all the horrible stories you’ve heard about him. 

Part of you wonders if it has anything to do with the whispers of memories, that faint deja vu that has started haunting you. Or maybe it’s the way that Hanguang Jun has always turned sad at the mention of Wei Wuxian, how he never speaks a bad word about him despite their alleged rivalry. All your fellow juniors are terrified and furious and hurt at having been deceived, at having grown to like this eccentric man who teased them and saved their lives then turned out to be the monster from all their childhood bedtime stories, and even though you understand them, you feel none of that.

He saves all of you not too long afterwards, and you can’t say you are surprised. Even when all evidence pointed to him being the one to trap you and your friends in a cave for days, it never seemed quite right to you.

It was a set up you learn, as he and Hanguang Jun and the Ghost General save you from an army of corpses and reveal the true traitor. All those terrible deeds you’ve spent your whole life hearing about are not explained away, but this one is, and you have faith that Wei Wuxian is not the villain everyone has made him out to be.

His Ghost General, Wen Ning, certainly isn’t. A living corpse who has slaughtered armies sounds terrifying, but in reality he’s rather sweet. There is something so soft and hopeful in his eyes as he approaches you and asks you for his name. Your friends keep their hands on their swords, but you offer him a smile and an answer. There’s something familiar about him too.

Maybe that’s why you talk to him, despite the intense look in his eyes. Or maybe because he seemed so sad, alone, separated from everyone else, and the intensity seems anything but dangerous. “You—look like my cousin,” he says, and you start to wonder, everything so close to sliding into place.

You don’t know who your parents are or where you came from, but there is something about the clan name Wen that feels so close to something right, despite all the tales you’ve heard about the destruction they wrought.

Then he gives you a grass butterfly, so similar to the one you bought at the market, so similar to something you know was important to you long ago. And like one last pebble taken out from the base of a wall, this small token brings everything above it crumbling down, and suddenly the memories start spilling in. You look at him properly now, because this was your relative, and you once lived with and played with him. He sees the recognition in your eyes, you know, because he steps forward, trembling.

Of course, Jin Ling has to ruin the moment, but now that you know, there is nothing in the world that could keep you from talking to him and finding out more. You were a Wen, you think. You must have been raised in the Burial Grounds by Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch. You were one of the people he betrayed all the clans to protect. No wonder you never feared the stories of the monstrous Wens and Yiling Patriarch. How could you when they were your family, when you were one of them?

You never could have lived among the Lan Sect if people knew, so you understand why it had to remain a secret.

Still. You have to know more.

“Did Master Wei really put a five year old child in the soil like a turnip?” you ask Wen Ning, at the nearest opportunity. That child was you, and both of you know it, even if you can’t say it out loud, not this close to all these people who would be willing to turn on Wei Wuxian on any excuse, who would be willing to turn on you if they knew the truth.

Wen Ning smiles and nods, and there is more life in the glow of his eyes than any corpse has the right to have. “Just like this!” he says, gesturing, as sparks of memory come back even stronger than before.

And then of course everything goes wrong. Wen Ning throws you into the temple where all the leaders of the four main clans plus Wei Wuxian and Hanguang Jun and a few others are. Jin Guangyao is holding a thread around your friend’s (you think you can call him your friend by now) throat and there is blood, and so many secrets spilled, confessions made.

In the midst of it all, you see Wei Wuxian for the first time since you started to remember, and now there are more memories, sharper, clearer. You remember his spicy congee, the toy butterfly so similar to the ones you hold now that Hanguang Jun bought for you that day Wei Wuxian took you out into the city. Back then, you hadn’t really understood the significance of all those things, why you lived on a mountain full of buried bones, why Wei Wuxian hadn’t bought that toy himself, but now you are older and you know some of the history behind it. Not all of it, you are sure, since so many assumptions of the past have just been proven wrong tonight, and the history you were told had never mentioned the existence of a small child among the supposedly evil remnants of the Wen clan. 

You do not know the full truth, but you want to.

Even once everything is over, with the enemies dead and gone, there are a million things going on, relationships being broken or repaired for the first time in over a decade, injuries to be treated, people to reassure that you are okay, that you made it out alive. It takes a bit for you to peel away from everything, to speak to Wei Wuxian, but you find Wen Ning, and the two of you manage to catch up before Wei Wuxian and Hanguang Jun can go far.

Your thoughts and memories are still chaotic and scattered, little bursts of images and sensations that only barely form a coherent picture. But you summon all your determination, sixteen years of questions that are now clamoring for answers in your brain. You take a deep breath. “I have something important that I must ask you.”

Your heart is pounding, and in the past few days, you have faced an army of fierce corpses and fought against the Ghost General (for which he has apologized a thousand times) and helped confront a master manipulator, and somehow this is the most terrifying thing you have done. You are so sure of the truth, but some part of you doubts. How can you truly be sure when you were so young? And even if the man in front of you helped raise so long ago, how can you know if he still has any affection for you, that he is willing to recognize you? These are irrational fears, you know, but they weigh heavily.

Still, you meet his gaze with eyes that are already starting to water and begin to speak of your long-buried memories, the words spilling out with more and more ease as you continue to talk, as his expression changes from confusion to something full of grief and slow realization.

“Wen was my surname,” you say, now confident of this fact, your previous doubts melted away in the face of Wei Wuxian’s teary eyes.

He looks away, blinking as if he can’t believe it and mutters, “Wen was your surname? Isn’t Lan your surname? Lan Sizhui... Lan Yuan... Lan Yuan.” Then he looks up at you with so much hope, full of a scared longing that you know is the same as what fills your own heart. “A-Yuan.”

It has been a lifetime since you last heard your name called out in that voice, and you wonder how you could have gone so long without even knowing you were missing it. You nod. Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes, but you can’t be bothered to fight them.

You can tell it doesn’t seem quite real to him, the way he looks so afraid to believe it. He thought you were dead this whole time, you realize when he turns to Hanguang Jun for confirmation. And that breaks your heart a little more. He had lost so much, and you had lost so much even if you weren’t fully aware of it, but now you have found each other all over again, and the miraculousness of that is almost too much to bear.

You rush forward to hug him, sixteen years of Lan propriety forgotten. You are a child again, clinging onto a man you have always loved, except you are also an adult with so many years of separation only hitting you now that you are finally reunited. You are both and neither, and as his arms come up to wrap around you, you know that all that matters is that you are home.

#the untamed #lan sizhui #lan yuan #wei wuxian #lan zhan #lan wangji #wen ning #wen yuan #my post #my writing #mo dao zu shi #mdzs

[the-badger-mole]

Hero to Zero

Sit down, kids. I want to have a rap sesh with y’all. 

There is no such thing as a perfect show. Even if you think there was a perfect show, it’s rare it holds up to multiple viewings. Still, Avatar: The Last Airbender probably got as close to perfect as any children’s show could hope to. All this to say that ATLA is a good show. A great show, even. But it is not a perfect show.  and they missed some pretty big opportunities.

Specifically where Aang was concerned. 

So, here are the Top 3 Opportunities ATLA Missed with Aang:

1. Having Aang actually work for his victory.

If you’ve followed me for literally any length of time, you know that I hate,hate, HATE the LionTurtle/Rock of Destiny Deus Ex Double-Team ( ™ ©  ®) in the last episode. Now, I know some of you think that I- and others like me- just wanted to see Aang kill Ozai. To you I say...

Look, some of my favorite superheros have a no kill policy. I have no problem with the idea of Aang capturing Ozai and having Ozai stand trial. What I have a problem with is the fact that Aang didn’t have to work at finding that solution at all. There were plenty of chances to set up the finale in a way that wouldn’t have made it a complete and utter cop out. It wouldn’t have even taken that much. Aang was confronted by the terrible realities of war all throughout the series. He knew everyone expected him to end the war. He was involved in the deaths a lot of Fire Nation soldiers at the battle in the Northern Water Tribe. At any point, there was room to have Aang face what was expected of him as Avatar and consider what it meant for him as the last Air Nomad. 

What I- and others like me- wanted was not for Aang to become a compunctionless killing machine. What I wanted was to see Aang realizing his duty and working to find a solution that would end the war and keep his values in tact. Instead, he waits until the last minute to consider what how he would end the war, snapped at his friends for pushing the obvious, and (until the magic Lion Turtle arrives) best solution to the problem that the world’s been facing for 100 years, and is rewarded for (let me be frank) his absolute laziness and refusal to accept responsibility.

Aang’s whole arc was supposed to show that he had to stop running away from his problems and accept his role as Avatar. The thing is...he didn’t. He had one moment where it looked like he was ready to stop running and do his job (DoBS), but that moment is robbed of any power by the finale. Why didn’t Aang have this moment then? Why wasn’t the rest of the series spent with Aang putting in work towards finding a solution? As the story stands, Aang looks inexcusably stupid, even for a 12 year old who didn’t grow up with a war. Not having Aang actively working towards a solution, freaking out over the solution presented, and then stumbling on the one being in the whole world that could help him undermines his entire journey. Aang was not the Real Hero of the series. Plot convenience was. 

2. Having Aang learn more about how the war affected his friends personally.

This kind of ties in to my first point, but Aang never really had a moment where he realized exactly what was at stake. Not just for the world in general, but for his friends. Heck, he never really reckoned with what happened to his own people (but we had time for a nonsense Footloose pastiche???). Had Aang made any effort to understand the war from his friends’ perspectives- particularly Katara, with whom he was allegedly in love- it might have occurred to him sooner what they expected of him. 

There’s no real moment of Aang understanding how much Sokka and Katara and even Toph have lost because of the war. He meets war refugees and is there when Katara rescues the earthbenders from the Fire Nation prison ship, but it never sinks in how much damage any of these people have survived. I don’t think I’m asking for that much here. I understand ATLA is a children’s show, but look how they were able to show us the devastation of war and abuse through literally every member of the Gaang except Aang. Even finding out that his mentor had been murdered washed over Aang like a summer squall.

It’s great that he had the perspective of someone who got to live in a world without war, and that he got to be a kid a bit longer than his friends, but at some point it would have been nice to see something stick to him. There were moments where I thought Aang was finally starting to understand the enormity of what the war had done and what it would take to end it (like in DoBS), but then the very next episode would have him goofing off (remember when Aang wanted to take off and play the day after a bunch of people- including the father of two of his “best friends”- sacrificed their lives and freedom for him? Pepperidge Farm remembers.) Nothing seemed to stick to him, which is why his refusal to kill Ozai and lack of preparation with another solution is both infuriating to me and honestly not that surprising at all. Aang is the most static character in ATLA (a show that included Mai, cardboard puppet brought to life by dark magic). He learns nothing. And honestly the fact that he stays the same from the beginning to the end of the series makes him look incredibly unempathetic. Who remains so unmoved by the tragedies of his friends?

3.Having Aang not get Katara and having the hero of a popular TV series handle unrequited love in a mature and realistic way.

Even less secret than my hatred of the Deus Ex Double-Team ( ™ © ®) are my feelings about Kataang. ( Shut up! You knew this was coming. Don’t act brand new). Now, normally, my focus is how bad Kataang was for Katara (the canon did my girl dirty, and I will NEVER forgive or forget), however this time, I want to focus on what the show lost by forcing this pair (Kataang was only developed if you only care about Aang’s feelings. Fight amongst yourselves. My mind is made up on this point).

Avatar: the Last Airbender was amazing in a lot of ways- groundbreaking, even- but it also perpetuates the idiotic myth of the Friend Zone, and those lucky fellas who break out of it. Throughout the whole series, we see that Aang is super into Katara, but the show also drives home pretty clearly that the feeling is not mutual up until that last scene (which makes it clear that the show runners didn’t give a crap about Katara). The showrunners had a golden opportunity here to show a young boy graciously accept that his crush isn’t into him, and remain good friends with her despite the fact that romance is off the table. Instead they chose to push the message that a guy can, through persistence, intimidation (lava fissure anyone?), and a healthy dose of arrogant entitlement, win the girl in the end. It’s not even that this was a terrible relationship for Katara and Aang; it’s that it’s such a boring and typical conclusion for this show to end on. Following through on Aang needing to let go of his unhealthy attachment to Katara would have been a much more powerful move. 

That’s not to say he had to stop being her friend. In fact, I think had he actually let Katara off of that pedestal he’d set her up on, they could have formed deeper bond based on mutual understanding and respect. Instead, we got “Hero Gets the Girl, Because...Hero?” Instead we got a pair that upholds the dangerous Fiend Zone myth, which arrested Aang’s development, turned Katara into a hollowed out trophy wife and produced three maladjusted adult children. It would have been a fascinating direction to take the story...if it had been done on purpose. 

Anyway, kiddos. I’m done here. If I pissed you off, call my lawyers. You can rebut me if you’d like (I’ll be honest,I probably won’t read it if it’s too long), but if you’re rude in my comments, I will delete and block you. Smooches!

#atla #anti-kataang #anti-aang #aang critical #atla critical #master katara #master Katara deserved better #anti-mai #slightly #I was supposed to dedicate this to the nonnie who was trying to harass me a couple of weeks ago #but i forgot their name and I blocked them #you know who you are though #this is for you #on the off chance you see it

[wyrmmaster]

I really like Haru’s presence in Anemono because she’s just a lesser demon Yuu’s uncle got stuck with when he was trying to summon Chiyo, who’s the Outer Goddess Shub-Niggurath and next to impossible to summon outside of some massive ceremony (or if you’re an orphan twink, I guess).

Like, Haru’s easy to summon to the point where it can happen accidentally so she’s got a lot more experience with the human world and is intimately acquainted with the rules of their summoning, as opposed to Chiyo who’s so far above literally everything outside of Yog-Sothoth or Azathoth that she’s utterly oblivious to everything since she’s never needed to care at all (a point she makes in Yuu’s favor is that he’s one of the only interesting things she’s seen in the eons of her existence because he’s a weirdo that’d call her an angel)

And there’s just this wonderful set of interaction between them that’s just like

Haru tries to screw with Yuu, Chiyo utterly curbstomps her in seconds and it only takes that long because she’s gonna make her suffer first

Yuu begs Chiyo to spare her, and instead of backing off entirely like you’d expect Haru’s just like “oh so she just can’t kill me at all now no matter what I do, huh? Thanks little dude!” and spends the first chunk of her screentime getting on Chiyo’s nerves for kicks by reminding her that despite being a goddess, she can’t just do whatever she wants because reality still exists even for her, and because of her power she’s pretty oblivious to her own place

Or showing off her skills at Being Human™ and making Chiyo feel inadequate at the role Yuu had her assume by the contract (his big sister)

Then over the next couple chapters it morphs into a pretty chill relationship with casual teasing and Chiyo tolerating more and more from her and generally Everything’s Fine so long as the rules of the parody of a family they’ve made aren’t broken

and they do end of confiding in each other to some extent, because even with the massive discrepancy between them in their world they’re still forming similar roles with their respective humans and whether they want it or not, eventually that will end

And then to cap it off she’s the first person to spell out Yuu’s situation to him and spares zero punches by being like “Yeah I stole your mother’s face because your uncle loved her and I figured it’d make him happy, I’m actually a horrific eldritch being and the one you summoned is an extremely evil and powerful Goddess”

She does this because, given her experience with humans and people, she sees something Chiyo hasn’t noticed and doesn’t feel the need to try and keep things from him because of it

Yuu is Insane™, he’s way off the deep end

Of course he is. Not only has he spent months living with not one but two eldritch horrors, his entire childhood has been a horror show of yokai and evil spirits and getting abused by his extended family. Haru’s not afraid of breaking him because that ship sailed a long time ago

She’s just a super good addition to the narrative and I really like the perspective she brings to the situation

#long post

[turtle-paced]

Appreciation post: Sansa Stark

Sansa’s needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so.

We first see Sansa through Arya’s PoV. Arya is jealous of her sister, who has no difficulties performing the femininity that Arya finds constraining and unfulfilling (not helped by Septa Mordane loudly praising Sansa and disparaging Arya). Sansa through Arya’s PoV is…not the most immediately appealing of characters.

Sansa through Sansa’s PoV is also not the most appealing of characters, at least initially. There are definitely debates about how well GRRM handed his first truly unreliable narrator. In any case, an analysis of Sansa that does not account for how she grows up over the course of the novels is incomplete to the point of uselessness. She doesn’t start out so immediately sympathetic, hell, she doesn’t start out immediately and consistently kind, but as her situation becomes worse, Sansa herself becomes better.

In AGoT, Sansa is under the impression that she’s living in a fairytale. She is the beautiful princess, she’s going to marry the handsome prince, she’ll have the approval of the beauttiful and kind queen, and her life is going to be lemon cakes and happiness forever. She does not take kindly to information that conflicts with this rosy picture. Her sister is one consistent such source of conflicting information, something that results in Sansa lashing out, sometimes quite cruelly, and ultimately to Sansa going to Cersei with information that allows Cersei to detain Sansa herself as a hostage in King’s Landing.

What saves her as a character, and what should lead readers to think about her role in the story, are the glimpses of courage, empathy and genuine kindness she displays. The most noticeable of which is shown when she’s alone at night with a strange, angry, violent man. 

The rasping voice trailed off. He squatted silently before her, a hulking black shape shrouded in the night, hidden from her eyes. Sansa could hear his ragged breathing. She was sad for him, she realized. Somehow, the fear had gone away.

The silence went on and on, so long that she began to grow afraid once more, but she was afraid for him now, not for herself. She found his massive shoulder with her hand. "He was no true knight," she whispered to him.

- Sansa II, AGoT

Who Sansa is in the dark indeed.

What Sansa shows throughout her arc are the vulnerabilities in conforming to her unjust social system. Her status as a “good girl” who needed little supervision or discipline from her father and authority figures arguably resulted in her never having certain realities of her situation explained to her. She was allowed out unsupervised at the Ruby Ford with Joffrey, where he promptly got her drunk, and unsupervised at a major feast at the Hand’s Tourney, where her chaperone got drunk. The final lines in her AGoT PoV are killer.

"Here, girl." Sandor Clegane knelt before her, between her and Joffrey. With a delicacy surprising in such a big man, he dabbed at the blood welling from her broken lip.

The moment was gone. Sansa lowered her eyes. "Thank you," she said when he was done. She was a good girl, and always remembered her courtesies.

- Sansa VI, AGoT

Courtesy may be a lady’s armour, but here it has left her vulnerable to things that real armour might have protected her against. Or real knowledge. Now all she can do is thank someone nicely for helping her clean up after she’s been whacked across the face. 

The extent to which Sansa’s social system and training has left her vulnerable is a major feature of her ACoK arc - and so are the limited extents to which she can learn to manipulate that system. Though we see the failure of her attempts to protect herself from regular beating, we also see her play on “bad dreams” and her apparent fragility to lie to Tyrion and hide her escape plans, and play on her piety to excuse her frequent visits to the godswood for the same. Hell, her very first ACoK chapter features her rescue of Ser Dontos Hollard, with an assist from Sandor Clegane.

The king stood. "A cask from the cellars! I'll see him drowned in it."

Sansa heard herself gasp. "No, you can't."

Joffrey turned his head. "What did you say?"

- Sansa I, ACoK

If this is not a change from Sansa I, AGoT, I don’t know what is. The reversal helps to emphasise that Sansa is not inherently bad. She was sheltered and spoiled and naive, but equally she is capable of growing past all those things. Her quality shows in adversity - something that is also very important thematically in ACoK, as she interacts further with Sandor Clegane. 

Sandor’s thesis is basically that nobody can remain good and honourable and kind when the world is so unbearably shitty. Sansa proves him wrong. What Sandor sees at the end is her willingness to offer him comfort via song when he’s broken into her room, drunk, and scared her spitless. What the reader has also seen is that Sansa spent the evening comforting scared people in the Red Keep while a battle is going on outside (when the queen couldn’t manage it) and finding help for Lancel Lannister, one of her captors, because he was hurt and neded it. 

ASoS plunges her into murkier water still, as Sansa develops her ability to see the undercurrents of her situation in the Red Keep, and is more obviously drawn into the plots of people around her. First it’s the Tyrells, who have questions about Joffrey that don’t quite add up for Sansa. Then she herself is married to Tyrion against her will as part of a Lannister-Tyrell power struggle.

Sansa’s wedding to Tyrion is another powerful example of the double-edged sword of conformity. There is nothing she can do to evade the marriage itself. She tries to run and is promptly hauled back. She cannot talk her way out of it. But her refusal to kneel at the altar, this targeted deviation from the script expected from her, is a devastating insult to Tyrion personally (only possible because of his disability, it’s worth remembering) and a potent symbol of her unwillingness and her pride.

I won't. Why should I spare his feelings, when no one cares about mine?

- Sansa III, ASoS

The first half of Sansa’s arc comes to a climax at Joffrey’s wedding. Sansa’s role in the plot thus far has been a passive one - it sounds simple, just requiring her to wait and to wear a certain hairnet to Joffrey’s wedding. What it actually required her to do was maintain her symapthies and her nerve through months of imprisonment and both physical and emotional abuse, through the news of the deaths of four family members and the total vanishing of a fifth, and through the loss of hope that she’d have a home to go to when she did escape. She does this, and wearing a Stark dress to a Lannister wedding (another targeted fuck you to her captors), she escapes.

Things become more morally perilous for her afterwards, even as physically, they generally become safer. Nevertheless, Sansa’s emotional release from the Red Keep results in one of my favourite scenes in the entire series, where she can at last express some of her grief and longing for her home.

The snow fell and the castle rose. Two walls ankle-high, the inner taller than the outer. Towers and turrets, keeps and stairs, a round kitchen, a square armoury, the stables along the inside of the west wall. It was only a castle when she began, but before very long Sansa knew it was Winterfell.

- Sansa VII, ASoS

The matter of her new caretaker is the ongoing source of external tension in Sansa’s arc, which also serves to fuel the internal tension. Littlefinger has been shown to have an interest in Sansa before that point (even requesting her hand in marriage). Now he shows that he is the one who engineered her escape from the Red Keep. More than that, Sansa’s role in the plan was to smuggle the murder weapon to the scene of the crime, with regicide providing the minor distraction needed for her to leave. Littlefinger then takes Sansa under his wing and reveals he lied about taking her to Winterfell, instead taking her first to his home and then to the Eyrie. In the process he reveals Sansa’s unwitting complicity in Joffrey’s murder.

There’s more and worse than even that. Sansa witnesses Littlefinger murder Lysa Arryn, who seconds before revealed Littlefinger’s role in Jon Arryn’s death and by extension the entire War of Five Kings. Littlefinger then enlists Sansa’s help in the cover-up of that death too. AFFC gives us the information we need to see that Littlefinger is also arranging the murder of Lysa’s son Robin Arryn, current Lord of the Eyrie, by urging the overprescription of medicine with a lethal accumulating effect. Sansa does not appear to be aware of the last one. Yet.

Littlefinger is also offering Sansa lessons in politics, which she’s taking to very well indeed. This provides her with a skill-up consistent with and complementary to those of her younger sister and younger brother over the course of AFFC. What Littlefinger has to teach Sansa can help her gain agency in the mundane power systems of the world.

Sansa’s method of coping with trauma is an established one: she tries not to think about it. Yet her story has given her the information she needs to work out the human evil most responsible for her father’s death and the war that resulted in the deaths of her mother and eldest brother. She may also learn who it was took her best friend from the Red Keep and sold into sexual slavery. Whether she likes it or not, she’s also in the middle of a plot that has claimed the lives of two Arryns thus far and seems likely to claim a third. There is a limit to how often and how much Sansa can remain blind, especially as Littlefinger urges her ever more active involvement in his plans.

Sooner or later, in order to keep her soul and her identity, Sansa will have to stand up to Littlefinger.

Sansa is one of my favourite characters in the series. She’s overtly feminine and she does not find much satisfaction in violence, but she’s still portrayed as clever, courageous and strong. If you see characters like her, they’re often in the background, not needing the benefit of an arc to learn and grow. Not treated as if their skills and strengths are worth a major place in the story. And Sansa, who appears to be set up to bring down one of the major forces in the fall of House Stark as well as helping to relieve a looming food crisis, definitely has a major place in the story.

#ASoIaF #valyrianscrolls #sansa stark #a game of thrones #a clash of kings #a storm of swords #a feast for crows

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

Wandering around the Raindrop Park

Lately I've been feeling kinda off - I can't quite put it into words. The weird thing is, the events that happened over the past few days don't affect me directly - as in it's directly related to stuff happening to friends that have little or nothing to do with me. It's basically me being somewhat emotionally invested in someone or something even though I barely know the person. Kinda like the whole how do you miss someone you never even knew sorta thing.

Maybe part of it has to do with a lot of changes happening around the same time in the span of roughly a year or two. By that, I'm talking about a specific group of people - Jamie's entourage, to be exact. Since the entourage disbanded, everyone has still been keeping in touch for the most part. And since then, a lot of members have moved on, pursuing bigger things, working on new projects, coming a long way since the entourage days. A lot of them were just starting out back then and now here they are.

A couple weeks ago, Roselle passed away. It wasn't a surprise since she told us about her prognosis last year, but still sad nonetheless. She was a former teen idol actress and singer turned director with her own production company that she co-founded with a friend. I became a fan of her during her Amanda Savannah days, a role that shot her to stardom as a kid. Like many in her position, she had a sort of love-hate relationship with the character who made her famous.

After Amanda Savannah ended, Roselle wanted to take a break from acting to focus on college. During that hiatus, Roselle was going through a lot of changes, including being diagnosed with stage four cancer. Nearly a decade after Amanda Savannah, Roselle reemerged from the public, starting from the ground up as a director. As for acting and singing, she was willing to keep that open, but realistically, the chances of her going back to either one were slim to none.

I remember when I last hung out with Roselle, about a year ago, when we visited Windcrest Wolf, not too long after the beginning of the end. Roselle has been keeping us updated with her video diary, Business as Usual, which is basically about her final year. The end was quick for her, which is what she had hoped for, so she was able to carry on for as long as she could. In her final entry she said that she was at peace with her life and that she was ready to go, ready to see her mom again after all these years. A few days later she was gone.

That's why I'm here with Jamie and Nedra at the Raindrop Park. Well, part of the reason - there's another thing too. Another death unfortunately, one of someone who I never got to meet.

Two former entourage members, actress Nedra Aylen and stuntman Allan Townshend crossed paths due to a tragedy. Allan's cousin Stef was one of Nedra's close friends at Starling who was gravely injured in a motorcycle accident. The crash left Stef in a coma for years before passing away weeks ago, a few days after Roselle's death.

According to Nedra, Stef and Allan didn't have a good relationship as Stef was abused by his parents. I don't know Allan as well as Nedra, but he comes across as someone who's making an effort to right his wrongs. It still doesn't make up for his past actions, which he is aware of. The two visit Stef at the care center but other than that, they don't interact with each other much.

Given how different Nedra and Allan are in terms of their social circles/personality/upbringing, and such, it's unexpected that they ended up crossing paths through Jamie. Nedra's a classical actress, preferring the stage over the screen while being prolific in both. Allan does stunt work, which I don't know too much about, but basically it means he and Nedra, although they were in the same entourage, had absolutely nothing in common other than Stef.

People always talk about how important it is to form connections, especially through tragedy. You'd think that Nedra and Allan would at least be able to bond over that, but in reality, you can't always share your burdens with someone. In the case of Nedra and Allan - at least the way I see it through Nedra - them being friends won't do much with that burden they carry. That's not to say they're dealing with their problems alone - in fact, they're quite well adjusted despite the circumstances - it's just that they don't need to seek each other to help cope.

It's not that they dislike each other, it's just the fact that they're so different in such a way that forming a connection would feel forced. Nedra says they do keep in touch but other than that, they don't feel the need to keep up with each other. It's good to form connections, but sometimes there's people you just don't feel the need for a strong bond with, and that's okay.

I have a feeling that's the case with Nedra and Allan - they share a struggle but don't need to rely on each other to pull through. Sometimes it just works out like that.

Nedra believes that Allan wants to make peace with Stef, which is why he visits her regularly. Although he and Stef were never friends, they were close to coming to some sort of a truce, with Allan more likely to side with Stef than against her. After all, why would Stef decide to intervene on that fateful day when Allan backed himself into a corner? I imagine the guilt of surviving the accident as well as being the reason why it happened is what pushed Allan over the edge. Nedra says it's not up to her to forgive him for how he treated Stef, but she's willing to give him the benefit of the doubt as what he's going through is punishment enough.

Like with Roselle, Stef's death wasn't unexpected either. By then, Nedra knew that she was already long gone. She says it feels like a weight off her shoulders, the relief of knowing that Stef can finally rest in peace instead of being stuck in limbo. I can't imagine being in Stef's position, stuck to machines keeping me alive even though it's futile. I don't think I'd want to be kept alive on life support if it won't do anything except prolong the inevitable.

When I'm gone, let me go. I don't want to die a slow death where I become nothing but a husk of who I was.

Nedra stuck with her to the very end. Allan was there too but he kept his distance. The end came quickly and quietly, her heart stopped beating and that was it. She says it's been rough, but not as difficult as she thought it would be. Then again, she said she already made her peace with losing Stef so I think that helped a bit.

I can't imagine losing two friends in a short time like what Nedra's going through right now. That's why Jamie invited her along her travels so she can take some much needed time off, leading to us crossing paths at the Raindrop Park. Before coming here, Jamie and Nedra spent the weekend at the Sparkling Spa Resort, which they said they enjoyed a lot.

After the Raindrop Park they weren't sure where they were gonna go next before deciding on the camp. The timing happens to be perfect as another entourage member's gonna drop by later on along with some other friends for a fun event. It'll be good for Nedra and Jamie to see Jean again as we were talking about how she's one of the busier members.

Maybe one day I'll get Marlo to meet Jean and Nedra as she's big fans of them. She and Don are planning to come back, likely during a camp event, so maybe I can finally make her dreams come true. I told Nedra about Marlo and she's totally down for a get together with her and knowing Jean, she'll be all for it too. Now, if only we can find a date and time when all three are available...

The Raindrop Park is one of those places where it's easy to get lost in. Watching the raindrops fall is strangely mesmerizing, I can't take my eyes off them. In a way, I think it's a good thing, probably because I've had so much on my mind regarding the stuff I just mentioned, so maybe I needed to take the time to process the information. That, and of course, writing my thoughts out once I finally found the words.

Along with the mesmerizing raindrops, another thing that sticks out to me is the decor, like the benches. I really like the leafy designs of the benches and lampposts - a lot of art inspiration around here. The foliage is lovely too and the raindrops really add to the aesthetic. I'm partial to rainy days so of course I'd be drawn to something like this. The cloudy, somewhat gloomy sky seems fitting enough as well. Even though it's gray, there's still some sunlight poking through, so it's not completely dark.

The fog in my mind's clearing up a bit, even more so now that I've put my thoughts on paper. I also think being with Jamie and Nedra also helped, especially knowing that Nedra's gonna be all right. It's rough, but as she said, she's made peace with it. And as for Roselle, she was able to make the most out of the time she had left so she was able to leave with no regrets.

I hope that when the end comes for me, I can leave the world the same way Roselle did. Is that asking for too much?

#animal crossing #animal crossing pocket camp #Diary of a Junebug #headcanon ramble

[dindjarindiaries]

Thunder - Chapter 1: Warm Front

gif via @hvitserkk

summary: Frankie and Luciana escape a party for some much-needed peace and quiet spent with each other, and unspoken feelings start to stir.

warnings: mentions of death, alcohol abuse, drunkenness, partying

rating: R

word count: 3.816k

masterlist

chapter 1: warm front

“I fuckin’ hate parties.”

Frankie sips his beer to hide his smile as Luciana laughs alongside him. “Yet, you’re always at them,” Luciana reminds him, sipping whatever concoction’s in her red Solo cup as she gives his bottle a flick. “And why don’t you ever use a cup? Are you ‘too cool’ for that?”

“Shut up,” Frankie mutters, biting back a smile as he nudges her shoulder. “I just prefer it ‘authentic.’” Luciana laughs as she lets out a sigh, leaning back against the corner of the wall.

Luciana’s not wrong. Even though Frankie hates parties with every fiber of his being, he’s almost always here at Benny’s frat house, finding himself unable to reject the time spent with his best friends. Over the past few years of college, Frankie’s found a friend group that’s become more like a family, unstable at times but also reliable. Tom, Will, and Benny are all people he met within his first week at school—but Santiago and Luciana have been close to his side ever since high school. Him and his four brothers have already planned to move into their next phase of life together serving their country.

Really, Frankie just wants to fly.

He always has. Ever since he was a kid, Frankie’s dreamed of being able to touch the sky. His gaze drifted upwards no matter what time of the day it was, admiring either the clouds or the stars above. His mother used to tell him he could catch a star if he got up high enough, and it would fit right in his pocket. His father used to say he could paint with the clouds, using the edge of a wing as a brush. Frankie would tell them that he’d paint his dad a portrait of their old family dog, and he’d get two stars—one for his mom and one for himself.

That was until his mother finally gave way to her condition, and his father wasted himself away with Jack and Jim Beam not too long after.

But now, Frankie’s got a new family who cares just as much about his dreams of flying. Being the “dad” friend already promised him a spot as their calm and collected pilot, anyway. Santiago always told him that he was the person who steered the group in the right direction—so it made sense that he’d do the same in the air someday. Luciana agreed with those claims. Even though she’s not going to follow the same path as the rest of them, she’s always said that Frankie needs to be in the air. He’s the only one she’d trust, she often tells them all.

So, it’s no surprise that Frankie’s once again found himself on the fringes of another one of Benny’s wild frat parties, keeping a watchful eye over his four brothers as Luciana keeps him company at his side. She’s not big into parties, either—just one of their many similarities. It’s what’s made Frankie draw so close to her, especially over the past few years at college. They understand each other like no one else does. Her and Santiago have been there for Frankie ever since his father started fading, and they practically adopted him into their family. But Frankie would never use the label “sister” on her. He doesn’t know why he can’t do it.

He thinks he might be starting to get an idea as to why, now.

Frankie looks over to see Luciana bobbing her head to the hip-hop tunes that blare out of Benny’s speakers—a firm rule for his parties: current hits only. Her brown eyes are sparkling as she watches the crowd of drunken college kids dancing in front of them, and Frankie likens the appearance of them to that of fresh honey dripping into a warm mug of tea. She has her dark hair tied back in a loose bun behind her head, and a few pieces fall around her face as her free hand tucks them away absentmindedly. Freckles adorn her nose and cheeks, and Frankie has to try to suppress the warmth in his chest when he thinks about how fitting they are for her.

Luciana soon catches Frankie’s eye, and she raises an eyebrow at him curiously. “What?” she asks, observing his close stare. She covers her mouth with her hand self-consciously. “Is there something in my teeth?”

“No! No,” Frankie assures her, chuckling a bit as he takes a hold of her wrist and brings her hand back down. “I just—” Frankie pauses, trying to think of a way to cover his ass, “—I was making sure you’re still awake.”

Luciana furrows her brow as she laughs at him. “I’m not sure how anyone could fall asleep easily here, Frankie,” she remarks, taking another sip of her drink.

Frankie tries to laugh it off, tipping the brim of his hat on his head before taking a swig from his bottle. “If I wasn’t standing, I probably could.”

“I know,” Luciana agrees, nudging his shoulder playfully. “You’re an old man stuck inside a college kid’s body, Francisco.”

Frankie wrinkles his nose at the sound of his full name. “What did you call me, Luciana?”

Luciana gasps lightly and narrows her eyes at Frankie. “Are you trying to full-name me back?”

“And what if I am?”

Luciana doesn’t get a chance to answer before Benny suddenly stumbles over to them, throwing his arms around their shoulders. Frankie and Luciana both fall back a bit at the sudden taking of his weight. Some of the drink in his cup sloshes on Frankie’s shoulder, and he holds back a heavy sigh as the reeking scent of vodka hits his nostrils. “Franksters! Luci-Goosey!” Benny greets them, his voice slurred. “What are y’all doing in the corner?”

“Minding our own business,” Frankie answers simply, earning a snort from Luciana.

“Oh, c’mon,” Benny scoffs. “You’re always avoidin’ the fun! You should go dance!”

“I’d rather watch people make asses of themselves,” Luciana asserts, gesturing to the main part of the house where some hotshot’s just tried to do a backflip—and ended up kicking one of their buddies in the face while also landing straight on their back.

“Fuck, y’all are boring as hell,” Benny whines, taking his own weight again as he lifts his arms from Frankie’s and Luciana’s shoulders. “But thanks for comin’!”

“We always do,” Frankie reminds him, slapping his shoulder in a friendly manner before he stumbles somewhere else.

Frankie and Luciana share a glance, barely able to contain their laughter as they shake their heads. That was the typical Benny interaction they’ve been waiting for, always being urged to do something other than sit in the corner where they’re more comfortable. Frankie wouldn’t change a thing about it.

“Luce, where’s your brother?” Frankie suddenly questions, looking over at Luciana with a raised brow. He’s lost track of his Santiago, Will, and Tom, and he wonders if they’ve gone somewhere else in the house.

Luciana shrugs. “Probably fucking up a nice game of pong,” she confesses honestly, causing Frankie to chuckle to himself.

It’s true—the minute Santiago gets more than a few drinks in him, he’s an absolute shitshow. Any drinking game he touches turns to chaos. Santiago already has a high energy about him, and so it gets intensified when the alcohol starts pumping through his veins. Frankie doesn’t know how he does it, and sometimes he wonders what it’s like to be the life of a party. It’s a role he knows he’ll never fill.

“Hey,” Luciana’s voice suddenly draws Frankie out from his thoughts. He looks back over to see her looking up at him with a sparkle in her eyes, one that makes Frankie want to smile instinctively. “Are you ready to get out of here? I would kill for some pizza right now.”

Frankie laughs, nodding as he finishes off his bottle. It was his only drink over the course of the hour they’d lasted at the party, and so he doesn’t have to deny her request to go for a drive as they head out to his truck. It’s a rusty red color, worn from its years of use but still going as strong as ever. The guys and Luciana have often told him that it’s a perfect reflection of himself—but Frankie doesn’t try to think about it too hard. Going in deep isn’t something he’s mastered yet.

They get into the truck, and as soon as Frankie starts it up, the classic rock station starts to play. It’s his favorite—his parents loved to blast it when he was growing up. He has to suppress the smile that grows when he sees Luciana’s eyes light up out of the corner of his eye. “Ugh, Frankie, you have the best fuckin’ taste in music,” she tells him, closing her eyes as “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac flows out from the speakers. “I swear to God. Sing it, Stevie girl.”

Frankie chuckles, taking off for the local pizza place as Luciana hums along to the tune. He looks over every once in a while to see her gazing out of the open window, as if she’s lost in her own little world. Frankie’s always admired the way she does that so easily. Luciana often escapes into the worlds of her creation, but she somehow also stays grounded to her reality. She’s always been the person that’s able to get Frankie to escape his reality if even for a little bit—and that’s just one of the many reasons why he’s so drawn to her. It’s reaching a dangerous level, and he knows it.

It’s not a conversation he’s had with Santiago yet, but he knows exactly what would result from it. Santiago and Luciana are practically attached at the hip. They’re the kind of twins that truly share everything with each other—and should his sister’s heart be placed into Frankie’s hands, he knows Santiago would be on his case all the time. To make shit easier, Frankie knows Santiago wouldn’t let that happen in the first place. Luciana is off limits in any sense other than friendship, so Frankie doesn’t even let himself get there mentally. For now.

“Thunder only happens when it’s rainin’,” Luciana joins in with Stevie’s voice, and Frankie bites back a smile upon hearing it. “Players only love you when they’re playin’.” Luciana releases a light sigh, finally looking back over at Frankie as he navigates the dark roads. “I wish it was raining right now.”

“Yeah?” Frankie remarks, raising an eyebrow. “Why? Are you a pluviophile, now?”

Luciana giggles softly. “I always have been, Frankie. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed.”

Frankie shrugs, turning into the parking lot of the pizza place. “When have we ever talked about rain?”

“Fair point. I guess we have to do it more often.”

Frankie nods, putting the car in park and flashing her a quick smile. “I guess so.” He starts to get out of the car—leaving it running so that Luciana can stay inside with the tunes playing—but pauses as he holds up a finger and narrows his eyes in concentration. “A pepperoni eight-cut with the Italian parmesan crust?”

“You know me so well, Morales.” She offers a bright smile, one that involuntarily makes Frankie’s chest warm up as he completely gets out of the truck and heads inside. He places their order and waits for it, trying not to drown in his thoughts as he pictures himself flying high above them. He even tries his hand at daydreaming, attempting to envision himself painting his way through the clouds. He can see the world so small beneath him, putting himself in a place where he doesn’t have to think about everything he’s left there. All that would matter is keeping his eyes on the horizon and steering ahead—and maybe even capturing a star when the sun sets.

His daydream’s soon interrupted by the finishing of his order, and he takes the box with a low thank-you before heading back inside the truck. Frankie sets it on the backseat, chuckling when Luciana dramatically inhales the scent of the freshly baked pizza.

“God damn, do they make some heavenly shit here,” Luciana comments, causing Frankie to laugh harder as he starts to head back to the house. “I can’t wait to devour that.”

“That makes two of us,” Frankie agrees, glancing over at Luciana quickly as he drives on.

“Four slices for each of us,” Luciana reminds him. “It’s perfect.”

“Four?” Frankie scoffs playfully. “Last time, you could only handle three.”

“Oh, fuck off, Flyboy,” Luciana retorts. “Last time we also got garlic knots. I can only hold so much at once.”

“Sure, Luce. Sure.” Frankie laughs as Luciana swats at his shoulder, and he sees her shaking her head with a hidden smile as she crosses her arms.

They spend the rest of the drive listening to the tunes of the radio, sitting in an otherwise peaceful silence. It’s not too long until Frankie’s pulling into the long driveway of the house. It’s a respectively large space, split between the boys and Luciana. Everyone’s able to have their own rooms—save for Will and Benny, but Benny usually splits his time up between staying there and staying at the frat house—and they never let it get too crazy. Parties are always held at Benny’s frat house, which helps to keep their own home in shape. If it’s just the six of them, they’ll keep the party to themselves, but otherwise their home is like a sacred space just for their little family. Frankie wouldn’t have it any other way.

Just as Frankie’s about to turn the engine off, Luciana stops him, keeping his hand from touching the keys as she shakes her head. “Let’s eat in here,” she suggests, already starting to reach back for the pizza. “I’m really feeling these songs right now.”

“I can turn the radio on in the house,” Frankie reminds her, gesturing with his thumb to the house behind him.

“Yeah, but there’s something about it coming through the truck speakers.” Luciana sets the pizza box down onto the center console, opening it and taking a slice for herself. “It just really hits deep.”

Frankie snorts, also taking a slice and folding it in half. “Alright, but if you get grease stains on my seats, I’ll have no choice but to fucking kill you.”

“You got it, ‘dad,’” Luciana jokes, and Frankie shakes his head as she lets out a laugh. They continue to eat and bop along to the songs that play, mostly accompanied by Luciana’s random commentary on the selections. “Have you ever thought about how fuckin’ creepy this song is?” she reflects when The Police’s “Every Breath You Take” starts playing. “Like, it’s a love song, but he’s basically like ‘I’m always watching you.’ That shit is terrifying.”

“What, you wouldn’t find it romantic if someone was watching you all the time?” Frankie teases her while he moves onto his third piece of pizza, pleased to find that he still hasn’t gotten a grease stain on his jeans yet.

“Hell no!” Luciana lets out a cut laugh, shaking her head as she also goes for her third slice.

“Okay, fair.” Frankie pauses to bite off a piece and chew it up, contemplating his next few words as he does so. “Then, what would you consider romantic?”

“Jesus, there’s like… so many things.” Luciana’s gaze drifts to the roof of the car as she thinks, chewing on her food as she does so. Frankie waits curiously for her response, continuing to eat as he watches her think. “I mean, for starters, you can never go wrong with pulling the gentleman card. You know, like opening doors and pulling out chairs.”

“That’s not cheesy?”

“No! If anything, the fact that it’s going out of style is so depressing to me.” Luciana clicks her tongue and shakes her head, and Frankie can tell by the way she’s narrowed her eyes that she’s thinking again. “Honestly, the most important thing is just knowing what she likes. You gotta make sure you’re playing her favorite songs and bringing her to her favorite places—without her having to tell you ahead of time. Picking up on those hints along the way is so important.”

“Noted.” Frankie finishes off his third piece after he speaks, watching as Luciana raises an eyebrow at him.

“Plan on being romantic anytime soon, Morales?”

Frankie scoffs, shaking his head as he reaches for his last slice. “No, not likely. But it’s good to know.” He shovels a bite into his mouth, hoping it’ll keep him from having to speak again. Frankie soon realizes he’s unsuccessful, as Luciana’s head has now tilted in a curious manner at him. He releases a sigh, waiting until he finishes chewing to go on. “Maybe, one day, I’ll be able to take someone up to the sky with me. Show them the clouds. Catch a star for them.” Frankie shrugs. “Just—y’know—that’s probably not something I’ll have soon.”

Luciana smiles a bit, but Frankie easily sees a hint of darkness in her gaze. “That’s sweet, Frankie. But why don’t you think you can have it soon?”

Frankie’s breath catches in his throat. Why does he think he can’t have it soon? Because he’s not ready to let his heart be taken? Because he’s so guarded that only five other people know his true heart, but still don’t even know all of it? Because he’s denying himself a painful truth? Frankie doesn’t have a fucking clue. But Luciana’s still waiting for an answer, her dark gaze glittering as she waits to take her last slice into her mouth. “Not enough time, I guess. And how can I show someone the sky when I don’t even have my piloting license yet?”

“Fair point,” Luciana agrees, finally digging into her pizza. Frankie holds back a sigh of relief, continuing with his slice as well. They finish off their servings in comfortable silence, letting the sounds of classic rock lull them into a rhythmic state of conscious slumber. Frankie’s thoughts solely drift to the words of the singers, and he pictures himself hearing the songs play as he returns home from piloting school—his mother singing along with them as he shows her his license. She would smile at him in that endearing way she always used to and playfully ask if they can play Journey on their way up when she finally gets to fly with him. I want some Journey on our first journey!, she always used to joke with Frankie. Now, he just tries not to listen to Journey at all.

His trance is broken when Luciana suddenly lets out a gasp, and Frankie feels alert for a moment until he realizes that a new song’s come on the radio. He tunes his ears in and hears the beginning instrumental of Foreigner’s “Waiting For a Girl Like You”—a guilty pleasure song of his that he’s not willing to reveal to anyone else. But it must be Luciana’s, too, because she’s looking at Frankie with excitement in her dark gaze. “This… this is my fuckin’ song,” Luciana tells him, clearing her throat as the lyrics soon come in.

“Of all songs, you chose one of classic rock’s cheesiest?” Frankie jokes.

Luciana places a hand on her chest, pretending to be hurt. “It’s not cheesy. It’s romantic. And it’s an absolute classic.”

Frankie raises his hands in fake surrender. “Alright, Luce, you got me there. Go ahead, freak out.”

Luciana narrows her eyes at him, laughing it off as she starts to let herself jam along. “Maybe I’m wrong, won’t you tell me if I’m comin’ on too strong?”

“This heart of mine has been hurt before, this time I wanna be sure…” Frankie murmurs the words under his breath, hoping Luciana won’t hear it over her own singing. He would never hear the end of it.

“I’ve been waiting!... for a girl like you, to come into my life.” Luciana sings the words unashamedly, closing her eyes as she spreads her arms wide. Frankie chuckles lightly—more in admiration of her free spirit than in amusement. Luciana finishes the chorus and shakes her head, looking at Frankie with a raised brow. “I’m telling you. A fuckin’ classic.”

“Hey, I believe you,” Frankie retorts, chuckling as he releases a sigh. He looks around, seeing the dark street around them. “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome in this truck. She’s gonna be begging for mercy if we don’t go inside soon.”

“Shit, I didn’t even think about that,” Luciana confesses, reaching for the empty pizza box. “I’m sorry, Frankie.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Frankie assures her. “It was worth it.”

Luciana simply smiles in response, setting Frankie’s chest ablaze yet again as they walk inside the house together. They remain silent as they settle in, soon heading upstairs to their respective bedrooms. Before they part, Luciana stops Frankie for a moment, her hand reaching for his arm. Frankie faces her with his brow raised. “Thank you, Frankie,” she says softly, her dark gaze looking straight into his. “For always being there for me—and getting some damn good pizza with some hella’ good tunes.”

Frankie chuckles softly, shaking his head at her. “You don’t have to thank me, Luci. I enjoy it just as much.”

Luciana widens her smile, bidding Frankie goodnight before she disappears into her room. Frankie bites back his own, entering his room and preparing for bed. He flops down onto it with a sigh, hating the way his mind feels cloudier than usual. He’s being swept by a feeling he’s had before—but it’s starting to almost overpower him now. Frankie’s afraid he won’t be able to ignore it anymore.

The lyrics to the song are stuck in his head. It’s a torturous reminder of himself and his own heart—and that’s why he’s annoyed when the lyrics run through his mind. It feels so right, so warm and true, the words taunt him. I need to know if you feel it too. Does he, though? Because Frankie’s pretty damn certain he’s content with ignoring every feeling he has. He’s been doing it ever since his mother passed—and he’s pretty sure he can keep doing it.

But then he thinks on that chorus: I’ve been waiting for a girl like you to come into my life. And Frankie can’t help wondering if that’s exactly what’s happening. As he hides himself underneath his covers to sleep, he hears distant thunder rumble outside, and he smiles for the fact Luciana will get her pluviophile moment—even if she’s asleep.

next part: chapter 2: cold front

thunder tag list: @youhavereachedtheendofpie​ @charmantbarnes​ @theindiealto​ @fangirl-and-stuff​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @maybege​ @amarvelousmandalorian​ @seawhisperer​ @mrsparknuts​ @saltywintersoldat​ @softpedropascal​ @i-hide-inside-my-head​ @sunshinepascal​

permanent tag list: @mikahid​ @theforceofdarkandlight​ @stilllivindue2spite​ @givemethatgold​ @xbrujita​ @mandalorianspace​ @blushingwueen​ @sevvysaurus​ @myakai13​ @thisis-theway​ @beskars​ @rachelloveseveryone​ @theindiealto​ @hiscyarika​ @burningsoulbloodyheart​ @wickedfrsgrl​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @bookwafflefangirl​ @charliepeaceout​ @lavenderl3mons​

#i know it's like 2 am so y'all won't be around for a while #i'm waiting for the mando doc lol #also i love frankie please #my BABY #i'm making up his canon #we'll go with it #frankie morales #francisco morales #catfish morales #frankie morales fic #catfish morales fic #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #thunder fic #dindjarindiaries

[addercharmer]

Izumi had slept next to Keigo again, he had woken just after midnight with a scream and both Izumi and Nezu had raced their way into his room to find the boy curling up as small as possible under the desk in his room. 

It took half an hour for the stoat to coax Keigo out and back into his bed, where the elder had shuffled around blankets and pillows until it felt more like a true nest. 

Nezu then had Izumi climb into the base of the bed, Keigo had quickly snuggled into her side, Nezu then climbed into the nest and settled above their heads. They had all fallen back asleep and no other nightmares had woken them. 

Izumi's inner alarm woke her and she groaned a little at the weight that was sprawled on her chest. A squeaking laugh from near her head had Izumi sighing at the fact that Nezu now would have photo evidence of them sleeping together. 

"Morning dad." Izumi croaked out, then she started to wiggle her way out from the nestling. 

"Bathroom, then we gotta talk." She tells him, there hadn't been any time the night before. Nezu had gotten an emergency call to do some analysis on a well known villain group of this time. 

Izumi stumbled to the bathroom, she emptied her bladder and washed her hands, before making the snap decision to take a shower. 

She didn't let herself linger under the spray no matter how much she wanted to, she washed her hair and put in the conditioner to soak in as she washed her body, then rinsed out the creamy substance. 

Wrapping her hair and body in towels she then scurried to her room. Izumi had no plans to do anything today unless it involved her rosefinch so she pulled on a pair of black leggings and a lightweight sweater dress. She stopped in the bathroom long enough to grab a brush and hair ties, and hang her towels up to dry. 

Skipping down the stairs Izumi was greeted with the mingling smell of coffee and tea, in the kitchen there were cereal boxes and a half liter of milk already on the table, along with bowls and spoons. 

Izumi sat quickly and combined the cereal and milk into a bowl, she dug in with a hum of enjoyment at the sugary meal. Nezu slipped a large cup of coffee on the table by her elbow before taking his own seat. 

"I didn't get to tell you, but some stuff happened at the mall." Izumi started the conversation after they had both finished their food. 

"When we got the preening brushes I suggested we look at the ones for hawks and Keigo flinched pretty hard." Nezu's eyebrows scrunched a little and he let out a hum. 

"The specialty stores for physical mutations had hardly anything for winged people, but when I was little originality my mom was friends with fashion designers...if you were okay with it I could try to make contact, they were family friends and I could maybe tell them that Inko is my sister, aunt Mitsuki never had the best memory, and if we could find and doctor some photos it would work as evidence." Izumi rambled, she was a little nervous about suggesting this, but at the same time she believed it could be good for the future if she could put herself in an older sibling or aunt role for some of her friends. 

"Good idea, what would you say about wanting to get back in contact?" Nezu asked her. 

Clearing her throat a little, Izumi thought carefully as she sipped her coffee. 

"Aunt Mitsuki has always had a huge soft spot for kids, not that anyone could tell. Inko from what her medical history says had been in and out of rehab for the last four years, it's caused a lot of problems with her mental health. It would make sense to say that you adopted me after you found me bleeding from being bullied at a foster home, and not in Inko's care." 

Izumi sighed deeply. "But that's more the in depth story, in reality I could simply explain I am Inko's sister trying to get in contact with Mitsuki because I remember she was into fashion and I need help with my newly adopted siblings wing mutation." 

"Hmmm, good good." Nezu's tea cup clacks when it's put back on the table. "Let's go braid your hair and we can work more on the back story and get those photos ready." The stoat directs already moving to the living room.

Izumi followers close on his tail, sitting in front of him after putting the hair brush and ties on the couch. She's also pulling the coffee table and her laptop closer so she can find pictures as her dad works his magic on her hair. 

"Lay out your life as Inko's sister." Nezu tells her as he starts running the brush through her hair. 

"Well, I was a sickly child, I spent most of my early life in hospital. It wasn't until I was ten that I got better, I was back in my parents care for a year and a half before the accident that took their lives happened. I was quickly placed into foster care when Inko refused to take me in, five months later you found me and adopted me. Then we can just say the truth from there. My quirk developed under extreme stress, I had a lot of healing, I finished school within six months of living with you, I have several degrees, I am a fashion disaster, and now you are adopting a severely abused boy." As Izumi speaks she's hacking through Inko's computer, phone and cloud account for photos.

Nezu is finished braiding her hair into twin tails when there are feet thumping their way down the stairs. Nezu gets up and goes to help Keigo in the kitchen as Izumi starts doctoring the photos to include her. 

She can hears dishes flatted as Nezu loads them into the dishwasher, then he's dragging a box into the kitchen, it's one of his case file boxes that he gets from the police force to help solve crimes. 

 

It takes two hours for Izumi to doctor the photos, replace the originals with hers in both Mitsuki and Inko's devices and cloud account. When she's done Keigo is just sitting down next to her with his hair and wings still wet and a towel in his hand. 

"Let me help rosefinch." She laughs lightly. 

Gently she rubs the towel through her hair, it's not as thick as her own so it takes less time to get it only damp, with his wings she carefully runs it down in the same direction that his feather go, it takes time but soon they are only slightly damp as well. 

"Give them a fluff and a shake for me." Izumi tell Keigo, she had looked up some care tips before she first went to bed last night. 

Keigo follows her direction without any hesitation, when he's done he looks like a fluffy baby bird and Izumi falls a little more in love. 

"Go get your oil and comb, I'll give you a preen before we figure out what to do today." Izumi drops the towel she had been using over Keigo's head and it earns her a laugh before the boy is sprinting away.

He's back faster than Izumi thought he would be, just before he sits again Keigo fluffs his wings and Izumi spots his hair fluffing up with the feathers, Izumi has to work hard to stop herself from laughing. 

Once the oil is in her hands and the comb is sitting on the couch between them Keigo stretches his left wing out, Izumi opens the bottle noticing it's a light vanilla scent as she posts some out into a cupped hand. 

Snapping the bottle shut again she puts it beside the comb and then runs her hands together. 

Making her hands into loose claws she starts at the joint where wing meets skin, she takes her fingers through the feathers twice just to be sure she has them all coated before moving on to the rest with the same care. Izumi needs to recoat her hands with oil three more times before the whole wing is finished. 

Next she picks up a wide toothed wooden comb and starts to drag it through the feathers again, realigning any with her free hand as she goes. Izumi does this twice before she and Keigo switch sides to do the right wing. 

The longer Izumi presents Keigo's feathers the more relaxed he becomes, little chirps and coos leaving him. 

"All done." Izumi tells Keigo, she hands him back the preening items and gets up herself to clean off her hands. 

"Nee-chan, what are we going to do today?" Keigo asked Izumi from the stairs. 

"What do you want to do?" Izumi asks right back, as she starts pulling out things to make sandwiches. "Lunch first though. You too dad." 

Izumi quickly puts the sandwiches together and on one big plate. Keigo had come and grabbed smaller plates for each of them to use. 

"Can we play a game after?" Keigo asks as he grabs a sandwich. 

"What kind of game? I know my friends picked a few out, those should be in your room. But we can go outside too." Izumi eyes Nezu who still hadn't taken a sandwich, as he hits to reach for another paper Izumi taps his paw and pointed looks at the food. 

"Really?" Keigo asks, sounding more excited about being outside than he had about playing a game. 

"Mmmyep, I even know where the park is." Izumi tries to sweeten the deal, and with all the cyber stalking she has done on Endeavour she knows that Rei takes the kids there every Sunday afternoon. 

Nezu must hear something in her voice that has his head snapping towards her, she lets her grin turn a little feral. 

"Mmm dad will even come, I saw a family there, two children had ice quirks and one had a really powerful fire quirk, the fire user looks about your age." Nezu's answering toothy grin is enough for Izumi to know she was understood. 

"I haven't been to the park since I was taken." Keigo says with a sad sniffle. 

"Why don't we make it even better and I can invite my friends too, then you can meet Oboro and Nemuri." Izumi offers, she knows that it's going to be hard, Keigo had been deprived of so much that everything was going to be a new experience again. 

"Shō-nii and Zashi-nii?" Keigo perks up a little, and Izumi is so happy that her little rosefinch liked them. 

"Yep!" Izumi says back just as chipper. "I just have to message them and ask, dad has to clean up his papers and the dishes."

Mouse?Bear?Human?: My rosefinch hasn't been to the park since the commission took him, he would like to play with you all. 

IBreakGlass: be there in under 2 hours gotta finish my chores ಥﭛಥ

FemFatale: shō and I will be there in 30

LoudAssCloud: u sure? 

                           : I just mean what if were 2 much?

Mouse?Bear?Human?: He will be fine, he loves Zashi and Shō. 

                                        : He's already dubbed them Zashi-nii and Shō-nii, and I'm sure you will be Obo-nii soon enough. 

LoudAssCloud: (　-_･) ︻デ═一 ▸

                           : (*ฅ́˘ฅ̀*) .｡.:*♡

                           : be there when I can

LoudAssCloud is offline.

#rewound #female midoriya izuku #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #shirakumo oboro #dad nedzu #kayama nemuri #takami keigo #time travel #bnha

[inviral-a]

Actually  wanna  talk  about  some  stuff  about  William’s  life  &  the  people  in  it  rn  so  I’m  going  to  smash  out  a  big  messy  post:  

In  my  hc  Williams  mother  was  pretty  awesome,  she  was  a  single  mum  but  she  did  everything  right,  up  until  Umbrella  got  rid  of  her  so  they  could  have  total  access  to  William  since  he  was  a  minor  (14) when  they  first  contacted  her  about  him  participating  in  the  training  facility.  It  wasn’t  anything  Linda  did  wrong,  she  was  a  good  person  & did  her  best.  William  has  extremely  fond  memories  of  her. &  maybe  it  was  this  positivity  &  warmth  in  William’s  early  life  that  ‘sheltered’  him  from  becoming  the  same  breed  of  monster  that  a  lot  of  his  collages  became.  

Anyway  we  also  have  his  wife  Annette.  She  was  smart  as  hell  &  also  apparently  a  bad  ass.  A  lot  of  people  judge  Annette &  make  fun  of  her  but  like  her  motive  for  behaving  as  she  did  in  RE2,  particularly  in  the  remake,  was  because  she  was  thinking  of  the  greater  good,  not  just  of  herself.  She  is  a  very  complex  character,  she  was  wracked  with  guilt &  took  it  upon  herself  to  try & stop  G/the  spread  of  G /  the  outbreak  in  the  city  herself,  which  though  seems  kind  of  silly  from  an  outside  perspective,  is  entirely  understandable  from  HER  perspective  given  how  closely  she  worked  with  William -  like  it  does  actually  make  sense  that  Annette  would  feel  full  responsibly  for  what  was  happening  & feel  driven  above  all  to  try & stop  it. I  also  think  she  was  a  huge  factor  in  William  being  motivated  to  leave  umbrella & take  G  elsewhere.   Annette  seemed  to  be  the  “voice  of  reason”  between  them  since  William  was  so  invested  in  his  work,  another  thing  that  made  sense  given  this  had  been  an  enormous  part  of  William’s  life  since  he  was  15-16.  William  needed  that  influence,  Annette  was  really  a  lot  of  William’s  connection  with  “reality”  or  with  the  world  outside  of  Umbrella  in  a  lot  of  ways. Makes  sense  for  them  both  though  given  it  seems  the  two  of  them  didn’t  actually  intend  for  G  to  be  a  weapon.  That  seems  to  be  very  much  in  line  with  Annette’s  character.  The  two  of  them  clearly  wanted  to  be  able  to  spend  more  time  with  their  daughter  as  well.  Annette  is  the  one  who  reminds  William  how  long  hes  spending  at  the  lab &  that  Sherry  misses  him.  Honestly  the  whole  letter  is  a  pretty  good  insight  into  the  Birkin  family  &  what  was  really  going  on  with  them.  I  think  it  really  shows  how  normal  they  were  outside  of  Umbrella. Honestly  it  doesn’t  make  sense  for  Annette  or  even  William,  to  be  genuinely  evil  people  with  this  in  mind -  I  mean  the  fact  Annette  &  William  ever  had  a  relationship  with  this  in  mind  indicates  that  William  wasn’t  the  same  breed  of  megalomaniac  sociopath  as  what  is  common  in  the  series.   Annette  seemed  to  love  William  because  he  wasn’t &  they  appeared  to  share  a  vision  of  improving  the  human  race,  genuinely,  genuinely  seems  they  had  the  idea  of  ultimately  helping  all  people,  rather  than  wiping  out  select  individuals  they  didn’t  agree  with  or  who  weren't  “worthy”  of  “evolution”  & putting  themselves  as  the  rulers  of  this  ‘new  world’.  That  wasn’t  at  all  the  Birkin’s  shtick.

&  speaking  of  Sherry  herself.  Though  she  was  a  little  ‘neglected’  at  times  her  parents  clearly  both  loved  her  dearly.  Sherry  is  a  really  smart,  mature,  well  adjusted  kid  in  RE2.  I  mean  be  freshly  12   &  survive  what  Sherry  did.  She’s  not  a  child  who’s  ever  been  abused  or  who  has  not  been  treated  or  ‘raised’  right.  She  is  a  little  lonely  because  her  parents  worked  so  much  but  overall  she’s  credit  to  them &  you  don’t  often  have  a  kid  turning  out  that  way  if  you  don’t  love  it  &  nurture  it  to  some  extent.  Speaking  of  its  something  Annette  gets  mad  hate  for,  more  than  William  weirdly  enough  (  🙄 ),  this  idea  that  Annette  was  never  there  for  Sherry.  Not  true.  Out  of  the  two  of  them  shes  clearly  the  one  who  spent  most  of  the  time  with  Sherry.  Though  she  went  to  work  &  put  a  lot  of  time  into  her  work, out  of  the  two  of  them  its  obvious  Annette  is  the  one  who  went  home  at  the  end  of  the  day  &  cared  for  their  daughter.   William  was  the  one  who  worked  ridiculous  hours,  like  spending  almost  an  entire  week  at  the  NEST, without  coming  home.  He  was  also  noted  to  frequently  go  at  least  a  whole  day  without  sleep.  William  was  the  one  doing  all  the  hard  hours  at  the  lab,  away  from  Annette &  Sherry  who  were  obviously  at  home.  It  seems  Annette  only  worked  of  a  day  time &  came  home  during  the  end  of  the  day  to  obviously  look  after  Sherry.

I  also  find  it  super  funny/stupid  how  the  fandom  seems  to  pretend  that  the  Birkins  were  totally  cold  to  each  other,  with  William  being  totally  uninterested  in  Annette  who  was  just  there  because  she  couldn’t  take  a  hint  or  that   Annette  was  this  controlling  woman  &  William  was  just  her  dumb  bitch. Like  to  some  extent  maybe  but  overall  William  was  still  the  “breadwinner”  so  to  speak.  Like  what  I  think  was  common  for  most  families  during  this  time  period  William  was “the  man”  who  worked  stupid  long  hours  &  was  expected  to  handle  the  finances &  business  /  “important”  aspects  of  their  lives  &  Annette,  while  also  working  herself,  handled  the  family  aspect,  ie  raising  their  daughter  &  looking  out  for  the  welfare  of  all  of  them  ect.

Although  unlike  what  is  “expected”  of  such  a  family  I  think  Annette  did  have  a  big  influence  in  everything  because  William,  regardless  to  his  position  at  Umbrella,  respected  her  thoughts  & opinions  &  thought  she  was  fully  capable  of  making  decisions  for  them.  William  was  definitely  a  “ask  your  mother”  kind  of  guy  & I  don’t  think  he  was  doing  too  much  without  Annette’s  knowledge  or  approval  but  it  also  seems  that  was  actually  a  mutual  thing.  Annette,  apparently,  greatly  admired  William &  never  felt  he  was  incapable  of  anything  or  that  she  had  to  control  anything.  They  actually  read  to  me  as  equals  in  their  relationship,  not  one  dominating  too  extensively  over  the  other.

Also  been  meaning  to  talk  about  Wesker . .  .   I  think,  with  all  this  in  mind,  Wesker  was  probably  William’s  only &  strongest  “male”  role  model.  William  didn’t  know  his  father  &  never  really  bonded  with  any  of  his  mother’s  boyfriends.  He  doesn’t  remember  being  overly  fond  of  any  of  them  or  having  really  anything  in  common  with  any  one  of  them.   Keeping  in  mind  William  met  Albert  when  he  was  only  15  & Albert  was  17.  He  very  quickly  became  someone  William  admired  &  looked  up  to  because  he  was  just  that  ‘cool  older  guy’  that  William  was  so  alike  but  so  unalike  in  the  sense  that  while  William  was  a  little  shy  & timid,  Albert  was  confident  & collected  at  all  times,  they  were  completely  opposite  in  that  sense.  That  being  said,  its  probably  true  that  the  Albert  that  William  saw  &  who  lives  in  William’s  mind  isn’t  the  real  Albert  or  at  least  thats  not  who  he  remained.  Its  a  very  idealised  version  of  him.  One  that  was  born  of  William  knowing  him  since  they  were  basically  kids  &  being  so  close  to  him.

Which  is  why  he  does  have  trouble  believing  /  understanding  who  Albert  becomes  in  later  years.  Because  its  not  really  who  William  thought  he  was.  &  it  is  difficult  to  come  to  grips  with  that  or  understand  it  entirely.   William  &  Albert  started  to  ‘drift’  apart  during  the  “Alexia  incident”.  William  fell  into  his  depression  &  Albert  became  more  interested  in  Spencer  in  the  meantime  perhaps  as  a  distraction  for  the  ‘chaos’  Alexia’s  existence  had  caused  in  their  work  place  that  quickly  formed  into  its  own  obsession.  William  probably  always  assumed  Weskers  “odd”  behaviours  were  because  of  Alexia  as  well  as  he  didn’t  seem  too  pleased  by  her  either  but  regardless  if  Alexia  didn’t  happen  &  things  had  continued  at  the  Arkley  facility  its  possible  William  &  Annette  wouldn’t  have  happened  &  Wesker  never  would  have  became  as  focused  on  Spencer  as  he  did.  Just  seems  to  be  a  perfect  storm  of  events  to  me. 

This  is  the  time  where  everything  “changed”  between  them  &  they  began  going  “their  own”  ways.  Regardless,  William  never  stopped  thinking  of  Wesker  the  way  he  knew  him  so  knowing  Wesker  now  feels  like  an  entirely  different  person  &  it  feels  like  a  change  that  has  just  came  out  of  the  blue  for  William.  But  thats  one  of  William’s  problems.  He  doesn’t  notice  a  whole  lot  outside  of  his  little  bubble  so  when  he  does  notice  something  he  tends  to  feel  a  little  blindsided  by  it.  Again,  trying  not   to  speak  too  much  on  Weskers  POV.  I  am  majorly  speaking  about  my  own  take  on  Wesker  here  because  thats  my  default  as  I  don’t  have  one  I  write  with  or  anything.  I’ll  probably  make  a  HC  post  focused  on  him  on  my  multi  at  some  point  that  goes  into  things  a  little  more  too !  But  for  rn.  Wesker’s  probably  the  only  “negative”  influence  in  William’s  life  but  he  wasn’t  always.  Wesker  being  “evil”  is  kind  of  a  new  thing  for  William. 

#⊰ ° ⊚ ● 𝄪 ° ━◞ OUT OF CHARACTER ⊱ #⊰ ° ⊚ ● 𝄪 ° ━◞ HEADCANONS ⊱ #No one: #Me: -all this shit- #man i dont need any more re muses but... Annette Birkin....

[rossodelgiorno]

2020/ Chain of Fools

2020 was the year I adopted a boiler suit and gas mask as a daily uniform. The world had gone into a global lockdown to combat the COVID19 virus which meant we were only allowed to leave our house for essential reasons such as grocery shopping and exercise. When outside, we were government mandated to wear face masks to prevent the spread of the disease. They made me feel like a muzzled dog and I resented no longer being able to smile with strangers on the street. Feeling like a prisoner in his own home and under extreme stress from job insecurity, my boyfriend Jake’s amphetamine addiction began to spiral out of control.

As a result of Jake’s addiction, we had accidentally befriended a posse of drug dealers and prostitutes- bonded by our love of having a good time and a general disregard for consequence. We met Dani through a call girl friend of mine who had realised the difficulty of making a living through writing online fashion content. Dani had big brown eyes, fat, botoxed lips and dressed only in high end labels like Gucci and Balmain. Born into a wealthy family, she had acquired a taste for expensive things but lacked the work ethic to maintain this taste without selling her body for sex. Dani began to visit more throughout the lockdown to deliver Jake drugs, hidden in a bag of a groceries. One night, she played Carole King on our old vinyl player, while Jake rolled us a joint to share. I flirted with them both, knowing that it would lead to a threesome. We smoked Jake’s joint, snorted lines of cocaine off each other and then took turns going down on each other.

A week later, Dani introduced us to a crew of “script kiddies”- long haired, internet hackers with a love of mumble rap, cryptocurrency and ketamine. I made cocktails for everyone and established that one of these kids shared a mutual friend with Jake. They seemed fascinated by the genuine sexual chemistry between myself, Jake and Dani and expressed gratitude for our generous hospitality. Eventually I came to the conclusion that by associating us with this crowd, Dani had managed to successfully pray on the vulnerable- trusting junkies like us who were lax with internet security and keen for a good time. In retrospect, I wish I had known that Dani was a hustler at heart- making money in any way she could without considering the impact of her choices. At the time however, I felt like we were fully living life in the moment- something I was certain would bring me happiness, meaning and didn’t question her motives for a moment.

Ella, Dani’s best friend, had a boyish pixie cut, high cheekbones and was tall and slim. She had gradually joined in on our shenanigans, along with Mark, a dealer with a steady supply of the best gear available north of the river. We all hung out together in our plant-filled, converted warehouse listening to electronic music and sharing stories about our favourite mind-altering substances. My stories were consistently focused on MDMA. As a notoriously private person, I’d discovered MDMA helped me open up and allowed me to dance, free of fear of judgement. It had also helped Jake open up about the sexual abuse he experienced as child, a fact I doubted would have ever come up without the influence of a truth serum and something which I was certain had driven him to substance abuse in the first place.

While we laughed, chatted and danced with Dani and Mark, Ella, who claimed to be a part time poet and part-time model, entered a viral script virus onto our wireless network by requesting our wifi password. Something we provided willingly, without second thought. This meant remote access to every digital device we owned and access to all stored personal information including scanned copies of our passports and birth certificates.

The issue with Mark, despite his criminal lifestyle, was that he was excellent company. Intelligent, engaging and a DJ in his spare time- we thrived off his love of hip hop and old-school funk. Similarly, he thrived off our property location in the Inner North- close to his regular customers and discrete enough from the prying eyes of authority. We welcomed him into our home with open arms, deprived of social contact through social distancing practices enforced by the pandemic. We held COVID19 illegal gatherings where we got high off Mark’s supply, enjoyed each other’s company while Ella hacked our electronic identities. When you’re lonely, it doesn’t really matter if others are using you and you’re using them. As long as everyone is filling a clearly defined role, the maladaptive social ecosystem continues to function.

It’s unclear exactly how many international drug smuggling routes were established using our stolen online identities before Jake clued on that something wasn’t right. He told me that he had been locked out of his email account, that the speed of his phone had slowed and that he could hear clicking noises during his phone calls. He was certain that his was a breach of online security and started to question the motives of our new friends. I wrote him off as crazy, blaming his excessive use of amphetamines and the psychological effect of social isolation. I was determined to keep my online identity public, obsessed by the idea of becoming the next millennial therapist and too blinded by Dani’s beauty to believe that she would want to harm us in any way.

Eventually Jake’s distress became too extreme to ignore and he shook me violently one night, yelling at me to believe what I had assumed was a paranoid conspiracy theory. A sinking feeling in my gut became apparent when he started to coherently piece together his concerns about his online security issues. I realized that my sense of reality had been clouded by my lust for Dani and by a dark depression that had developed through my work as an essential worker during a pandemic. Based on Jake’s erratic behaviour, I knew we had to get out of the warehouse immediately, but I had no idea where to go and was fearful of drawing attention to any law-breaking activity when police presence was so prominent.

We agreed to seek refuge with our friends Trish and Rick, former 90s British ravers who had channeled their drug-fuelled benders into successful and respectable careers. I called them panicked that night, shaking and rambling about what had happened. Without hesitancy, Trish told us to come over right away. Rick’s brother back in the UK had recently killed himself and they were struggling too. Trish and Rick lived in an affluent area in the inner East which meant we needed to blend in quickly through a disguise of expensive athleisure and an almost painful sense of normality. It appeared that our efforts at disguise were successful and it seemed to result in freedom from any unusual online activity on our devices. We bought new phones, changed our phone numbers, email addresses and disconnected from the outside world for an entire week. We spoke about going to the police, however we both agreed that this would place us at too much risk to the criminal world to be a viable option.

When your online identity is stolen, you quickly start to daydream what it would be like to steal someone else’s identity. For example, what exactly would you do with those proceeds of crime? Which tropical island would you escape to, what designer clothes would you wear, which car would you drive? I quickly became entranced and jealous at the thought of this fantasy life, but then spent time reflecting on my own morality and these feelings subsided. Instead, an intense anger developed at the thought of others taking advantage of Jake and his mental illness. High on a sense of ethical superiority and new found fury, I decided to employ my favourite psychological defense mechanism, repression, to cope with my latest traumas. May you rest in peace, memory, I said to myself before engaging in my daily mediation ritual.

While repressing my consciousness, I also began to focus on the importance of social support. I knew this shit was important but didn’t fully understand until Trish brushed my hair one night, my arms too frail from fear and stress to function. Trish and Rick played familiar Britpop, drank tea and encouraged us to embrace the therapeutic benefits of music through use of the guitar and keyboard that we had brought to their house. We took turns cooking for each other, played board games and counselled each other through each personal problems, one at a time.

Jake and I stayed with Trish and Rick for two weeks until we could establish an exit plan from the city. We migrated to rural Victoria like many other Melbournians, traumatized by the lockdown. The pace in the country was slow yet calming and people genuinely seemed to care about your welfare when they inquired “How you going, mate?” After such an extended period of social isolation, many of us forgot how to interact with others. We valued and craved human connection more than ever, and yet we seemed scared of what we might connect with. We continued to develop our own deformed version of sign language to communicate through the face masks and focused on re-developing social skills that had been lost through extended disconnection.

Jake and I continued to battle through the challenges of online identity theft and the consequences of his addiction issues. Jake’s substance use had subsided substantially without the influence of Mark and Dani and we eventually adjusted to living normal, routine driven lifestyles. He had cycled through periods of problematic use before, however I still felt somewhat shell shocked by the intensity of his most recent relapse. However, one day late in December I found myself wandering through the tranquility of the Otways, fully freed from the constraints of the lockdown which had finally lifted and contemplating my progress in life since leaving this place as a teenager. The rainforest sounds were vivid and the smells of the ocean salty in my nostrils. I wasn’t where I had planned to end the year 2020, but I was alive and I had Jake. And for that, I felt eternally grateful.

Rosso Del Giorno

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#2020 shortstory addiction

[yandere-daydreams]

Hi! Could I ask for a bit of a continuation with Tanjiro kidnapping Yuki and what could happen next? Thx!

Of course! If you haven’t read the first part, all you have to know is Tanjirou brought home another *lovely* Darling, even if this one is… missing a few parts.

TW: Mentions of Physical Abuse, Imprisonment, Delusional Mindset, and Implied Violence. 

~

Yuuki never seemed comfortable.

You’d been a bystander to his misery, so far, a voyeur to the complex dynamic between him and Tanjirou, but it didn’t take any considerable vigilance to notice his anxiety. His first day had been spent sobbing quietly, balled up in the far corner of a rarely used pantry, and the second and third had been split between clawing at the windows, clinging to Tanjirou, and tearing apart anything he could find. Tanjirou grew concerned on the fourth, and spent the fifth attempting to ‘help’, but judging by the silence that dominated the next six, he hadn’t been successful.

Now, on the twelfth, he’d been coaxed into the small, open kitchen, and through a series of tentative requests, he’s been convinced to cut up summer vegetables on the counter next to you, his glare towards the barred window never wavering.

You weren’t sure whether or not you should interrupt him, honestly. The only things you knew about Yuuki were what Tanjirou had told you, and separating delusion from reality was near impossible during his rants. You were in a similar situation, really, just as much of a hostage as he was, but the stinging pain of your imprisonment had dulled to a constant, steady ache, whereas his wounds were visible and bleeding, Tanjirou’s betrayal still embedded halfway through Yuuki’s chest. You were the same, but you weren’t. You were both captives, but he was so, so much more captive than you.

With that in mind, you opened your mouth, carefully and cautiously blurting out the first thing you could think of. “Does your tongue still hurt?”

Yuuki twitched, gritting his teeth, giving no warning before stabbing his knife into the counter, barely a hair’s width from where your hand rested. You swallowed, your attention turning back to your own task as he dragged the blade out of the solid wood.

Alright, bad topic. Sore spot. No more tongues.

You bit your cheek, attempting to think of something else. Yuuki was effectively mute, after Tanjirou’s first ‘lesson’, so carrying on a conversation wouldn’t be easy. Glancing towards him, your uneasiness only grew more volatile. Yuuki didn’t seem dangerous, but he presented himself as if he was, holding his thin frame with the utmost pride and keeping his colorless hair pushed away from his face, despite how badly the loose curls wanted to fall in front of his eyes. He’d gather it, occasionally, and move to tie it back, only to drop it again once he realized it wasn’t long enough. You had a feeling Tanjiou had a role in that, too. “I… You’re training under Inosuke, right?” He paused, but didn’t look at you as he nodded. Still, progress was progress. “Really? I don’t know him that well, but he never seemed very nice. I doubt he’d be any better as a teacher.”

Yuuki thought, for a moment, but he didn’t seem reluctant to answer. You watched as his lips parted absentmindedly, but they closed just as quickly, Yuuki leaning towards makeshift signals and body language rather than the strangled, incoherent sounds trying to talk would produce. He made a fist slowly, flexing it with an unsure glance in your direction before tapping it twice against his heart. The message was clear, if a bit rudimentary. ‘He’s strong. Like me’.

You couldn’t help but laugh, making no attempt to stifle the sound. “You two must’ve been close.”

You realized your mistake as soon as the words were off your tongue, but it was too late to take them back, by then. Yuuki’s expression darkened, the ghost of a smile fading from his expression, and you lost hope as quickly as you’d gained it. He dropped his knife entirely, now, taking half a step back before starting to turn, and you grabbed his hand without thinking, suddenly terrified of being left alone. Tanjirou was outside, at the moment, gathering firewood further down the mountain, and if he came back to Yuuki hiding and you alone…

“I’m sorry.” You were talking before you could stop yourself, Yuuki steeling himself, holding himself taller. Making a half-hearted attempt to shrug you off. “I’m not really sure what to do, I’m sorry. Tanjirou didn’t… he didn’t take me. I don’t know what it feels like.”

He stopped trying to pull away. Yuuki glanced over his shoulder, and you felt pressured to continue. You weren’t sure which one of you was the dominant influence.

“He rescued me. My family was killed by a lesser demon, and he saved me,” You admitted, averting your eyes. “I never loved him. I felt indebted to him, so I came willingly, but I never loved him. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I tried to leave when he started touching me, but…” You trailed off, sighing, shaking your head as you gestured vaguely towards the room around you, almost wishing Tanjirou had felt the need to put on your shackles, today. Not that you felt the need to make your point any more apparent. “It didn’t go very well, obviously.”

At that, he relaxed, ever so slightly. You let him go, apologizing under your breath, but Yuuki only rested a hand on your forearm, smiling softly. His form had lost some of its tension, shoulders just beginning to fall, but his relief was short-lived, ending the moment the cabin’s door swung open.

Tanjirou dropped the gathered wood in the entranceway, approaching you first and pulling you into his chest. You sent Yuuki an apologetic frown as Tanjirou kissed your neck, the gesture lazy and affectionate, but he only stiffened, forcing himself not to move as Tanjirou’s attention turned towards him, the man’s grin still pressing against your skin. 

“I missed you both so much,” He started, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “The nearest village is so far… I’ve got to think of a better way to get there. But, I’d hate for either of you to have to without something you need.” You only noticed the sack slung over his shoulder then, realization washing over Yuuki at the same time. Tanjirou only laughed, pulling away from you, taking Yuuki by the wrist instead. “Our new beloved needs his own clothes, doesn’t he, (Y/n)? We can’t expect him to wear mine forever, now.”

With a laugh, Tanjirou started towards the only bedroom, taking your rigid companion with him. Much to your surprise, Yuuki made no attempt to resist, only curling into himself as he followed. His free hand was clenched behind his back, mostly concealed by a sleeve that was far too long. Something silvery caught in the sunlight, shining for a brief moment before disappearing beneath the dark fabric once again, so well hidden you had to wonder if you’d imagined it.

But, one look towards the counter disproved that theory. Among the sloppily cut vegetables and assorted tools, one key utensil was unignorable out of place.

The cutlet knife, Yuuki’s knife, was gone, missing and nowhere to be seen.

You had a feeling you knew where to find it, though.

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