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allmyocsarebritish · 3 months

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Close tonight

Pairing: Goody Addams X reader

A/N: The amount of research I did on the 1600s for a single one shot is ridiculous haha so I'll probably write a pre/sequel :)

Summary: Despite the fact Goody often became lost in her quest for vengeance on Crackstone, you were always there to ground her; to pull her back to safety as she danced along the edge of sanity.

This was one of those nights.

She was a raven, destined to navigate the path of life in solitude. Therefore, she pushed those closest to her away, before they had a chance to leave on their own accord.

At first, this plan she devised worked impeccably. If she kept her distance, she would never feel the immense grief associated with the abandonment of those she loved.

Though nothing lasts forever.

Goody truly didn't understand why you felt such a strong attachment towards her. She did not believe herself to be of that much importance, yet clearly you believed otherwise. Wherever Goody was, there was no doubt you would be near. You simply could not seem to comprehend that proximity to a raven such as herself was essentially a death wish.

What she didn't know was that you understood perfectly, you just didn't care. How could you stay away, when Goody was just so entirely flawless in every way? You were physically unable.

Death would be more than worth the suffering if it meant you could hold her close tonight.

Of course she had attempted to distance herself, but no matter how hard she tried, you were always there. Admittedly, over time, her attempts to push you away faded out, until diminishing completely. If you were so desperate to be with her, then who was she to deny that?

Future agony would be more than worth the pain if it meant she could hold you close tonight.

Being a raven, Goody's mind was a swirling sea of horrific visions beneath violent, thunderous clouds created by Joseph Crackstone. Despite the constant raging storm, you infiltrated your way in and calmed the tempest. You brought her peace and tranquility, something so unusual for the psychic outcast. This was something that frequently proved itself to be essential, as although Goody often became lost in her quest for vengeance on Crackstone, you were there to ground her; to pull her back to safety as she danced along the edge of sanity. Goody was a strong and powerful enchantress: you were entirely aware of her skill in alchemy. Yet her vast knowledge, desire to succeed and extreme thirst for revenge could push her to breaking point, as she devoted her life to avenging her mother's barbaric murder. The headstrong sorceress would spend hours upon hours plotting strategies and studying dark incantations, refusing to eat, sleep or take even the smallest of breaks.

This was one of those nights.

Your legs dangled as you sat on a low beam of wood which formed the hayloft of a delapidated stable once owned by your family, watching as Goody paced and fretted in the space below you. Lying open on a pile of mildly rotten straw was her Codex Umbrarum, or Book of Shadows as you favoured. Despite Goody's insistence that the Latin name was superior, rendering the translation pointless, it stuck, and even she referred to the grimoire as such herself.

She continued to mumble beneath her breath, occasionally frantically scribbling, before once again leaping to her feet and subconsciously policing the derelict shelter. With one final swing of your feet, you pushed yourself from the low wooden beam and down to join her in the main part of the ancient shed. One of your hands reached out for Goody's, your fingers gently interlocking with hers, whilst your other one gently cupped her cheek, turning her face away from her excruciating work, barely stroking your thumb against her alabaster skin in small, comforting circles, as though she were fragile porcelain you were terrified to shatter.

"My sweet Mouse," you spoke softly, "The time is not yet right. Rest now, and I promise the night of your vengeance will soon be upon us."

Despite an overly stretched moment of visible reluctance, Goody sighed gently, and leaned in to your delicate touch, her weary eyes fluttering closed for a few (painfully short) seconds.

"I'll be alright, dearest one," she responded quietly. "I'm simply drained."

"I know, sweet Goody. You truly must rest; do not allow that evil pilgrim to rob you of your health on top of all that which he has already stolen from you, beloved."

Goody raised her spare hand and lifted it until it rested on top of yours, which was still faintly holding her cheek. She smiled at you, a sight that you adored, and you couldn't help but replicate her expression yourself.

You removed your hand from Goody's, in favour of wrapping your arm around her waist, pulling her close to you. She raised her arms, hugging them around your shoulders. The hand that still held her jaw coaxed her head towards yours, and into a soft kiss. When you retreated, Goody leaned forwards again slowly, gently kissing the tip of your nose, before resting her forehead against yours.

It was moments like these that the two of you cherished. Your breathing quickened to match hers, and soon the rise and fall of your chests were perfectly in sync. With another kiss, albeit this one slightly rougher, you pulled back, once again taking Goody's hand.

"Come," You pulled her gently. "Let us ease down for the night." With that, Goody nodded and you began to make your way up the shoddy wooden steps of the worn ladder, and back up into the hayloft.

Naturally, sleeping on a bed of rough, filthy straw was not the most comfortable, but for outcasts in 17th century Jericho, it was the utmost luxury. You lay on your side, facing Goody as she held you tightly. One of your hands reached up to delicately brush a few strands of dirty blonde hair out of her face. Goody raised her arm from caressing you, and you missed the warm presence instantly. However, when she placed her index finger beneath your chin, guiding you into a passionate kiss, you melted into her touch, twirling her nearest plait between your fingers. Without breaking the kiss, you swiftly released the pale ribbon constraining the left side of her hair. You both returned to the surface for a deep breath of air, before returning back to the sea of bliss, as you slowly untangled Goody's hair.

Your lips began to numb as you pulled back fully, pressing one final kiss to Goody's reddened ones. She gently rubbed the tip of her nose against yours, sighing slightly. You cuddled her closer, your lips against her forehead and breath slightly tickling her now loose hair. She closed her eyes as you admired the way the extremely dim light luminated her features.

As you began to slowly drift off into a dreamy sleep yourself, you heard a faint whisper, signalling Goody was in fact awake.

"I love you, my darling."

"I love you more."

The woes of the future would be worth the torture if it meant you could hold eachother close tonight.

#wednesday #netflix wednesday #wednesday addams #wednsday addams #wednesday fanfic #goody addams #goody addams x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday x you #wednesday x reader #wednesday adams x reader #jenna ortega fanfic

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centrally-unplanned · 3 months

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As I am now full-in on the body count section of The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere, I do have growing complaints about how it handles its sort of mystery build-up and reveal aspects. There is an adage for mystery novels to "have your answers ask more questions"; you set up a mystery, you *resolve* the mystery, but that resolution itself just creates deeper mysteries. This of course works very well to keep ratcheting up tension and keep the story moving forward; but it also resolves tension at the same time, you do actually get answers as you go. As an author you can perhaps think of there being a "quota" for the number of active questions for the reader to be considering; if you stack too many at once its both too hard to track them and is frustrating to read about, the story never delivers.

TFTBN breaks this rule; not every time, but a lot. In particular with Su's identity/trauma origin it happens all the time, you get literally dozens of "more mystery" moments behind it before you ever get any answers around it. Its just too coy by half! Why is my narrator like deliberately hiding their own thoughts from the reader across dozens of instances where those thoughts would be extremely relevant? The tension has already been ratcheted to the max, you can set it aside for a bit if you want but if you dangle the question in front of me too often it loses impact.

And even though now we have been getting answers, its *still* playing coy. You have a flashback to a scene of child Su being confronted by Ran over her identity mystery, and she breaks down and starts to explain it, and then the scene just cuts, so you only get a half an explanation. Which is enough to pretty much piece it together, so like the tension is gone? Now when you are coy about it (multiple times after that scene!) its a little lame actually, who ya fooling! But what it did is take away the opportunity to just have a really good scene. You cut away from a character's moment of emotional revelation and interpersonal confrontation.

Mysteries, to simplify of course, do two things for the reader; they make you turn the page in your desire to know more, and they set up dramatic stakes for their reveal in scenes. Its a balancing act ofc but you don't want to sacrifice the latter to keep baiting the former.

I feel this too around the "villain faction" for the story. Right now the villain faction is a virtually-unknown group of actors who have had no interactions or relationships with any of the characters, using mystery tactics to kill people. We are many chapters into that plot, multiple people of note have died, but they are still just strangers - their stated motives minimal and seemingly farcical.

Ofc I am no fool, I understand via meta knowledge and have picked up on the hints they have dropped that they will in fact not be strangers in full - I get how stories work. The problem is that meanwhile we have had like multiple scenes of the group having the traitor debate - "is it one of us?" But that question is silly because I *know nothing about the villains* of substance. Why would any of these classmates betray their group for them? We have no info on that. Oh sure sure I have these like, tiny *mechanical* hints. Like one time Seth? He gave a thumbs up to Ezekiel, when they were supposed to be mad at each other. Sus, my dudes. But that isn't a *motive*, right? Its not a compelling story, its just data. Because the story wont resolve any of its dangling questions, the idea that any of these people is a traitor is just dumb, you would have to like explain the entire plot in one infodump to sell it as interesting. By insisting on drip-feeding every mystery, instead of chained resolution-renewal, these plot threads aren't developed enough to work when they need to.

I do think this comes back to the fundamentals of the pacing issue - there is essentially a desire for this story to be longer than it is. Its a 3000 page book (equivalent ofc), but it isn't, not really. I am ~1000 pages into it I guess, but its probably not even ~500 pages in actual content. I could do this in definitely 400. And this is more than just a padding problem - its that structural thing, to make that length work and still be decent as a story (which it is, its a good story overall) you have to sort of chop up your big moments , which sort of kills them.

Like there is a character, Jia Fang, a fellow student who doesn't go with the group, but is mentioned a bunch as a sort of wild card, and its built up right? They are totally gonna show up somehow, there is tension about what they are up to, and then bam, they literally burst through the door. Its great, they make a huge impact, the chapter ends on that cliffhanger.

And then after maybe a few paragraphs with them the next *multiple chapters* are about a conversation between other people, about other topics where Fang is barely mentioned, and then literally, literally, we get multiple other student's academic thesis presentations, before the plot that Fang showed up to be involved in kicks back into gear. Its self-sabotage right, the literary moment broken apart because the story has to hit quota.

Its certainly a case where the serial nature of the publication would make it ludicrously difficult to fix, that I totally get. Art is really, really hard.

#the flower that bloomed nowhere

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angelsndragons · 2 years

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love how life keeps getting in the way of my control party post but anyway-

the thing, the thing that i love about last night’s episode is:

matt and the rest of cr has always played fast and loose with alignments. sure, there are characters we can map to particular alignments (ie ikithon is definitely CE) and sure, they sometimes use alignments to help demonstrate a character’s growth over the course of a campaign (vex and caleb) but.

but.

it’s mostly been with the understanding that alignment is itself is bullshit. no one person is one or two singular ideals all the time. even if there are general trends which is what alignment can embody, the exceptions to said trends matter just as much if not more so than the trends themselves. after all, should jester be more defined by her chaotic, go with the flow self or should she be defined by the moments she buckled down and said, ‘no, we’re doing this’? do her moments of amazing selflessness better define her than her moments of selfishness and, sometimes, which is even which?

aabria’s time as DM played into this questioning of alignment masterfully. sure, she explicitly called out and used characters’ alignment in a way we hadn’t really seen before. but she’s also the person who introduced and reinforced time and time again that power is power and it’s how you use it that matters. (also let’s take a minute to mourn the fact that calamity is what aabria was gunning for in terms of the lore department but she had to contend with level 3 dumbasses who did not care in the slightest what their place in the world was or how they intersected with the larger history).

all of this is to say: gracious that asmodeus scene last night was amazing. the sheer discomfort of that scene, for me, is how you can’t shove asmodeus or zerxus into neat little boxes and understand what precisely is at play from both of them. it doesn’t work; they both zig and zag too much. asmodeus isn’t even playing into a classic paradise lost interpretation of the devil because unlike the devil even there, he has legitimate reasons and grievances with his fellow gods. this isn’t ‘dad made new toys and now i’m not as special, i’m going to go wreck shit,’ this is ‘we had an agreement, with rules and terms, and they broke them.’

and i know what people are going to say, that we can’t trust a single solitary word out of asmodeus’ mouth. and sure, i agree with you to a certain point. but here’s the kicker, his interpretation of events isn’t wrong. we know that there was a war between the primordials, who, again, were on exandria before anything else, and the prime deities, which the books say occurred because the gods were tired of having to remake their mortals and so sought to make the world more inhabitable for them. we also know that sometime before the schism, the gods taught mortals arcane magic. we know that the efforts of mortals and gods would banish the primordials to specially created planes, or prisons, if you want to call them that, forever.

given the parallels that brennan is weaving into story, how it’s druids, with their connection to nature magic, that wizards have a pact with, to only take so much and to give back so much, given that the wizards resent the hell out of this pact, that they think it beneath them...

i don’t think asmodeus is lying here. spinning, certainly, framing himself in the best light possible, yeah, no shit, trying to play on zerxus’ desires to protect and to avenge, absolutely. but i don’t think he’s lying or playing up his injuries or trying to break down zerxus’ defenses directly. zerxus already doesn’t believe in or worship the prime deities. the whole city of avalir has moved away from that. all asmodeus is doing is confirming what zerxus has believed and known to be true all along: that gods are just other beings and they’re not necessarily worthy of worship nor are they working from an objective good or truth.

part of the scene’s tension comes from audience knowledge and anticipation. we know that asmodeus will pull this same ‘trick’ on raei the everlight and damn near destroy her and her followers in one swoop. but that’s the thing, isn’t it? the calamity was a war and both sides did terrible things. we noticed that asmodeus promised zerxus nothing save to remember him, even as he wound zerxus up and sent him back to avalir like a laser-guided missile.

but the major kicker of the scene for me is: zerxus is trying to play asmodeus just as much as he is being played. he asks asmodeus to remember the mortals on the material plane, to not take his wrath out on them now that he’s free. he tries to heal and form a bond with this man, this being, and he talks about evandrin. he talks about how much he loves him still, how he couldn’t do anything to save evandrin, how he doesn’t buy that nothing could be done for him, in this, the great city of wonders. mechanically speaking, zerxus doesn’t yet have access to 5th level spells like greater restoration or raise dead. he will never have access to true resurrection, which is what he requires to bring evandrin back without his body. and yet. and yet.

there are oracles in this city. clerics. clerics only need to be 9th level characters to gain access to those 5th level miracles. and they didn’t do it. for whatever reason, zerxus believes that someone intentionally withheld potentially life-saving treatment from his husband. and then when he was gone, zerxus believes that the city continued to withhold that power, that 9th level spell to attempt to bring evandrin back. evandrin was first knight, he was the front line defense for the entire city and served honorably, is remembered fondly and painfully even five to ten years on. zerxus still doesn’t know what happened to his husband. and looking at how this city functions, yeah, i get it. this city has the wealth and power to work this miracle, this one act that would mean the world and more to zerxus and their son elias. but it’s so panache, so pedestrian, so boring. bringing people back from the dead is old hat, darling. godhood is where it’s at and even then, why would you want to try that when it’s already been done?

zerxus has been looking for a target, someone he can blame, and, potentially, someone he can force to fix this injustice. who better to ask for this information than the father of lies, the being who encompasses lies and deceit? so when asmodeus points him back at his friends - friends that we the audience know are actively lying to him about what happened to his husband (laerryn carries the guilt of his loss and convinces herself that the interplanar travel she gained is worth his loss, quay actively removed something from that reporter’s records about evandrin, and isn’t it interesting that this guilt, of all things, might be what drove them apart in the first place) - well.

it’s called the calamity for a reason. and we’re watching it play out in miniature in front of us.

#cr spoilers #exu #exu: calamity #calamity meta #cr meta #exu meta #exu spoilers #zerxus #lord of the hells #long post #my meta #zerxus wasn't being tricked #he was walking in ready to make a deal

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titleknown · 7 months

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HELLOWEEN #9: GENTIFLACCIO

-GENTIFLACCIO is a Great Mesne-Lord of Hell, with 144 Buroughs and 1,285 individual dwellings to his name. He may create mansions and fotresses in a night, and may be called to extract unpaid debts and transmute the flesh of others into gold piece-meal.

He appears as an ugly giant with a mouth in his chest, a great castle sprouting from his back and siege engines jutting from his upper body. He requires blood for his summoning, freely given by its owner as payment for a debt, though this blood may be taken from the summoner and given to Gentiflaccio to pay their debt to him-

...The author of the Final Testament seemed to struggle to understand the appearance of Gentiflaccio, as rooted in modernity as his construction-equipment arms and horrible McDonalds-Mansion-meets-post-modern-skyscraper acme may attest. Though, at least they tried, which as an author who is also a book is an effort most appreciated.

One might make the joke that "Of course there are landlords in Hell," but that would perhaps undercut the true gargantuan nightmare of Hell's land-lords. There are depths of rent-seeking depravity that would chill you to the bone, innovations that break the very laws of life itself. I have seen a streamlined biomechanical demonic Human Centipede as a rooming arrangement. I have seen a potential tenant call it "a good deal, for this side of town"

In that respect, the horror of Gentiflaccio's operations might seem superficially tame. But the scale of his operations and the gaudiness of his actions was evident in our conversation.

His office was gaudy in a way that went past charmingly tacky into grotesque, not helped by the majority of the architecture being the bodies of certain tenants transmuted into gold, twisted and screaming. This was apparently common enough that he had developed a process for warping them into the positions he desired as they coagulated "A great asset to any showcase" he said.

The place was at once gargantuan and lonely, containing only him and me and the ugliest furniture excessive quantities of money can buy. He was easy to speak to, as my superficial flattery convinced him this was a puff piece, but the casualness with which he spoke of atrocities was in itself revealing.

He spoke of tenants forced to give up their limbs to afford increased rent, leaving them crawling like worms to offer their tongues in exchange, of homes flattened (Perfectly legally according to the laws of hell) with the tenants still inside in such a way that their flesh was perfectly preserved to sell or; of course, transmute, of the efficiency of the boxes he built where "nobody knows anybody, so they don't have anything to distract them," and spoke elegaicly at the violence over two individuals eating each other alive over a singular apartment that he was offering.

He in particular was proud of the innovative home system he had based upon his own crainium. At the lower-level (As is considered the acme of Hell) was a simple suburban pseudo-mansion, which he described in the most glowing of terms in a way that boiled down to it being bloated, tacky, soulless, and built for the semiotics of wealth without any purpose therein, then ascending to the apex of skyscrapers as designed by a worm-ridden mind, studio-apartments into cubicles into pods, in an inverted pyramid that both conveyed excess and blocked out competition.

In particular he was proud of the rental arrangement where, at random, one individual studio was given to the dweller in the pseudo-mansion to do with as they wished, tenants included, "It's like they get to be little landlords" he said after describing something done by one bottom renter that was so profoundly hideous that I do not dare share it here.

He spoke with pride at the violence at which accompanied his housing plans, oblivious to any veiled criticisms I spoke of, thanking me whenever I voiced them. I recall him saying "The thing you oughtta know, and I say this as a gift most people don't get this for free, is that business is violence! And If i can inspire one person to go into business, I know I've done my part."

As he spoke to me, he was shoveling money into his gullet. Just, eating money, right in front of me. His mouth was full as he spoke as well. At one point he broke a tooth eating a particularly large jewel. He ate both the tooth and the jewel.

Expected, but unpleasant.

-Xavier X. Xolomon , Monsterologist and Understudy to The Librarian Of Babel

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So, I had that brainworm of the castle-headed guy Wayne Barlowe previewed in his old Guide to Extraterrestrials, and I figured I might as well combine it with the horror that is McMansions for this guy.

I will say, I may re-write this later, or at least further revisit Xavier's meeting with this character, as I feel unsatisfied with it in terms of conveying what a big deal this guy is and how his operations hurt people, at least with it rushed on this deadline. Even if I did include a little dude next to him for scale.

The buildings I used for the skyscraper part were actually mainly from PD/royalty free pictures of Frank Gehry's work because... God I hope I don't come off as reactionary for this, but his buildings look like if skyscrapers had tumors and then those tumors were extracted to become their own buildings.

They look like if Everywhere at the End of Time was a Dr Seuss book. They look like if Cool World underwent gentrification and Barry Jackson was always offscreen weeping a single tear like in a political cartoon.

And for the record, yes the money-eating was inspired by a very specific ProZD sketch, and yes the use of a McMansion as a base was inspired by the great @mcmansionhell

As per usual the whole descriptions, designs, ectcetera from this project are free to use as you see fit under a CC-BY 4.0 license so long as I; Thomas F. Johnson, am credited as their creator!

#my art #my writing #helloween #demon #demons #creature design #character design #gentrification #landlord #landlords #skyscraper #frank gehry

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chilly-me-softly · 2 years

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HI!! can you do a part 2 of this please? maybe mason’s daughter asks about her mother because they are doing some tasks for mother’s day in school and she does not have one to give a present etc.

Hope you like it x

Things have been calmer since the little one started kindergarten, Mason doesn't have to plan in advance who to leave her with or whether to take her with him, but he does have a schedule to keep and most of the time he finds himself running around the house to get out in time. He really wants to always be able to take things slowly, but the bed is always so comfortable after the alarm goes off. And the little one enjoys watching him move quickly from one side to the other or jump up to put his socks on with his toothbrush in his mouth while she is already in front of the tv watching cartoons.

On the whole, he's not doing too badly, his daughter's well-being comes first; but there are things, or rather thoughts, that haunt him when all is quiet in the house and darkness surrounds him that he hasn't mentioned to anyone yet. Perhaps he should, to have an opinion other than his own, but at the same time he isn't ready to face certain things yet.

One of these however presents itself overbearingly in front of him one evening when after a bath, Mason tucks his daughter in ready to read her a story. The little girl just watches him as he searches for a book among the many on the shelf and finally returns to sit satisfied with the object in his hand.

He starts reading and inventing funny voices for each character, lower for papa bear or squeakier for mama bear, unable to hold back a smile when the little one anticipates a few words or giggles.

"Baby bear has a mommy" the little book ends its pages but the little girl's eyes are still open.

Mason smiles at her, "Yeah, sure sweetheart"

"Daddy... why don't I have a mommy like the bear?" Mason swears he was out of breath for a moment, he knew that sooner or later he would have to deal with so many uncomfortable conversations with his daughter but he thought he still had a few years on his side.

And it's hard to explain to a little girl, who looks at him with those innocent eyes and who looks a bit like the woman who made him suffer.

"Why are you asking me this?" he tries to buy time as he thinks about how to formulate a simple sentence using the right words.

"We're doing Mother's Day stuff at school and I don't know who to take it to" she admits putting on that adorable pout that Mason can never resist, which is why he's never taken seriously. He moves the blankets to the side so he can settle the baby on his lap, aware that bedtime that time would be well past.

"You can give it to whoever you want. To me or even grandma if you like, she's a mum too"

"Really?"

"Of course - he chuckles - she's my mum" he leaves a kiss on her temple enjoying her little body against his chest before sighing.

"But can't we call her? Maybe she loves me now" his heart loses a few pieces, he doesn't want to hate her because if she had stayed thinking it wasn't the life she wanted it would have been worse; but inside he feels a huge annoyance and he has to call on all his strength not to break up right now. Whatever he feels towards his daughter's mother must not affect his child.

"Listen when you are old enough to understand how things are I promise you we will talk about it. Just know that sometimes people make hard choices that we may not even understand most of the time. But you know what, in life it's better to be surrounded by people who make us happy and who really want to be with us"

"I love you daddy and I want to be with you forever"

"Me too little one, me too" and he holds her tightly to him feeling even stronger the desire to protect her from everything and everyone.

"Can daddy sleep with you?" the girl nods almost immediately, stepping over him to rearrange herself in bed. But at the end she's the one who saves him from the outside world.

#thank you anon #mason mount #mason mount one shot #mason mount imagine #mason mount imagines #football imagine #football imagines #little mounty

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charlieslowartsies · 7 months

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Hello!

Director's cut about how the flashlight works, please? It's really interesting!

Awrighty!

The flashlight wasn't the Crying Child's light until, I wanna say Ghost Strings. It wasn't Michal Afton's that he unthinkingly gave to Arthur until he debuted in Lies Within. So its role evolved over the stories lol.

But it's always been in the series. I always considered it sort of it's own character, tied to the Crying Child and to the Marionette.

The flashlight is based LOOSELY on the concept of tsukumogami from Japenese folklore. The base idea is that "an item that lived long enough would eventually become alive and turn self-aware." I emphasize loosely cause, well, 100 years has absolutely not passed. Nor is it housing a spirit. The flashlight is not technically by-the-book haunted, it is still a tool. Although finicky, it can pass as ordinary when it needs (or wants to.) The flashlight is also based off Thor's Mjölnir, and the Master Sword from LoZ.

I asked myself "what happens when residual spooky stuff clings to objects in the restaurant? What's good symbolism for light/night guards? Oh duh, the flashlight!"

Before Arthur's death, it was very normal. Just a plastic, light yellow flashlight that Max gave his brother one night, not realizing the importance of his words on the child. Quite often we say something off-handed that children cling to with all their might. This is how the flashlight's powers were planted and how they grew, if rather oddly. Arthur believed it could do things like chase away the Nightmares, and so it did, and still does in the series. He brought it to the restaurant on the day he died, setting it by the Prize Puppet and, of course, never picking it up again. The Marionette took it and hid it in it's box on some strange, unbidden instinct as the chaos of the day unfolded.

After Arthur's death, it began to run without batteries. It won't turn on for just anyone, although you do not need to be a Suit to work it, especially if you're deemed worthy of being a security guard by it. It's a bright light when being held by a strong spirit, and generally is used for warding off Nightmares, tearing at shadows to reveal the Truth, to expose what is trying to hide in plain sight. It can force Mike and Gold to Switch, and as such could be used as a weapon against them in the wrong hands, or even the Marionette before it was Revived.

It's relentless and terrifies William Afton, because even though he was able to manipulate the Marionette and the Crying Child early on, he could never quite seem to get the flashlight to not hurt him when it's beam touched him. Nightmares loathes it, because he cannot hide and pretend to be bigger and scarier than the rest when it's light sends away the shadowy smog around him.

It's able to move with relative independence, teleporting like Marion to it's desired destination or rolling. It prefers to stick with Mike unless for some reason he's in grave danger, in which case it seeks out Danny Fitzgerald, the day guard. In Ghost Strings, it was tied to the Marionette and Arthur, and so when they began to break down together, it got weaker until it attached itself to Mike as a new host, a sort of passing of the torch. It will pass again in Lies Within.

It's level of sentience I settled on is limited but clear enough to understand usually what it wants. It has a job to do, and it will accomplish it without fail, and illuminate the darkness. Mike can control Goldy, at the very least direct him, but the flashlight isn't really something you command. It doesn't think in gray scale, rather in black and white. This can be tricky, since life is not black and white.

It's something you wield, so that does make it a bit of a wildcard. Like Suits that are varied with different powers, the flashlight has different tactics it tries based on what it's aimed at, but there's little way of knowing what it will try or making it do something you want, which makes it kind of unreliable and Mike tries to use it as nothing more than a normal flashlight, and far less as a weapon.

Mike uses it secondarily to open doors that connect to other door ways, typically inside the building he's in. This is great trick for moving across a location rapidly, and is an offshoot of Goldy's teleporting powers. (It's thought to augment certain powers the ghosts already carry because of this.) If Max used the light, it could potentially create stronger illusions. If someone else used it ON Max, it could likely destroy his illusion instead.

It's twin is Max's cassette walkman, which is also why they're the same shade of yellow in drawings. The walkman was Max's most important possession when he was alive, connecting him to music and offering an escape when he needed it. Like Scraptrap, the walkman symbolized escape. The flashlight was Arthur's, and it stood for protection like the Marionette did.

#kga #knight guard au #ask #answered

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wartakes · 10 months

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Why We Fight (Old Essay).

This essay was originally posted on December 20th, 2022.

This essay was written after a particularly draining year in all aspects - foreign and domestic. In this one I dig deep to offer up some encouragement to go on, in thinking about why I (and others) keep up the fight against a world that seems dead set on grinding us into the dust in new and cruel ways.

(Full essay below the cut).

Well, folks. It’s been a hell of a year, hasn’t it?

I feel like since 2016, every year has been “the longest year ever” (or maybe 2016 itself has just been the longest year ever and is still going on). But I really do feel like 2022 has taken the cake so far. We have an ongoing major land war in Eastern Europe involving a nuclear-armed totalitarian imperialistic aggressor, fascist anti-LGBTQ terrorism running rampant in the United States, and everything else bad that you could imagining kicking off all over the world. It’s been an exhausting year that’s felt more like a decade than 365 days. With the state of things, it’s understandable that some folks may be feeling very burned out, grim and dour about our future and the future of the world in general.

As many of you well know, I oppose doomerism in all its forms – for a variety of reasons, but if for nothing else out of spite and a desire to spit in the universe’s eye. I do still truly believe we can make the world a better place – though that will require a great amount of blood, sweat, and tears on our parts. But I recognize things will likely get worse before they get better. I too, still go through periods of being discouraged or temporarily or tactically “doomer” even if I still have hope in the long run. It’s understandable and inevitable as a human being.

It was in one of those slumps recently when I started thinking about what I wanted my last essay of 2022 to be. Thinking about how I felt in that moment and how others felt at home and abroad, I decided maybe what folks might need is a reason to keep going. We spend so much time being bombarded with media meant to break our will and get us to give up whatever struggle we’re involved in to make things suck less, that we could do with a few explicit words of encouragement. Everyone needs a reason to keep up the struggle in whatever form that takes, against the forces that would seek to bring destruction and despair to all corners of the earth. In so many words, sometimes we need to be reminded of the answer to the question “why we fight” or “why should we fight?” That’s what I’m hoping to give you in this last essay of the year before I go sleep for two weeks straight and hope things are better when I wake up.

The Thing That the Essay Title Promised You

So, I’m going to do you all a favor right now (you’re welcome). I’m going to give you the bottom-line up front(ish) so if you just want the basic takeaway of this essay and don’t feel like reading the rest, you got it:

We fight because we’re worth it.

That’s it.

Whether its ourselves, or our friends and loved ones and others who matter to us, we all have inherent meaning and value as people. As we go about our daily lives, we all have the capacity to create and do amazing and beautiful things in the course of our existence; things that make ourselves and all those other people we care about feel a wide array of positive emotions. Whether it’s writing a book or drawing a picture or even just hanging out with someone and telling them a joke or a funny anecdote and making them laugh or taking the time to listen to them if they’re having a bad day, we all have the capacity to do things that make living worth it – both for ourselves and for others. In a way, it’s the world’s most positive feedback loop.

Maybe I’m being soft and lame and cringe, but I think that’s wonderful and worth protecting so that it can continue and flourish all over the world. We fight because we all have the capacity in us to do good things for ourselves and others and that’s absolutely worth protecting. We fight because we can make the world a better place in which for us to do those things that make life worth living and to show our inherent value and worth and meaning as people.

In a perfect world, we wouldn’t have to fight for our inherent right to exist and live our best lives. However, as it’s become painfully obvious to us, a perfect world is not possible and just a better world is a struggle to get to. There are those who would deny us this right for a variety of reasons.

For some it’s just a matter of simple greed in regard to money, power, and more; people who in order to achieve their goals requirement need to exert their control over us and deprive us of the means and freedom to be ourselves and be happy.

For others, they have convinced themselves or been convinced by ideology of various kinds that their happiness and self-worth can only come through a world in which they have total control to exert their world view on others and can subjugate and destroy all those who they see as a threat to their goals or conflict with their worldview – particularly minority groups of various kinds.

Others still – for one reason or another, be it nature or nurture – are just full of hate and want to do harm.

In some cases, it may be “all of the above” (and more) motivating certain people to launch campaigns of political, military, and economic domination all over the world. Whatever the motivation, there are those who would deny us the right to live as ourselves and they must be resisted in order to protect our worthiness to exist and do what we do.

Ok, So Now What?

Alright. I’ve told you why we fight, but you’re still here because you want more. Rather: you’re asking, what are you actually supposed to do now?

Naturally, as an analyst, my instinct here is to throw down a smoke bomb and disappear in the ether because I am allergic to giving definitive answers. I am going to fight this impulse and at least try to give you some broad ideas of what we should be doing (“we” just being people the world over in general), with the major caveat that there is no one size fits all solution to the myriad problems we face internationally in the fight against the forces of reaction. We have a great many tools in our toolbox, some of which are ideal for some situations, and others not so much. It all depends on the nature of the threat and the environment it’s occurring in, among other factors. There are no quick and easy fixes that apply in every single case.

To elaborate a bit more on “use the right tool in the right situation” analogy, it helps to think of what we’re involved in as a global total war on the forces of reaction. In some cases, we fight back using non-kinetic political and economic means; in other places and situations, violent or military force may be necessary. But it has to be understood that all of humanity is in the midst of a struggle against the forces of authoritarianism, totalitarianism, fascism – whatever you want to call it – in all aspects, be they physical or otherwise. That means we will need to fight back in different ways at different times depending on what is more appropriate, expedient, or necessary. With all that in mind, the battles we fight and the means we use to fight them will vary widely.

To start on the softer end of things, while I know many of you are likely disillusioned with electoral politics and feel as though your vote doesn’t matter, in many cases your vote does in fact have an impact and is necessary – if nothing else, as a tactical act to minimize harm against those who are the most vulnerable.

I harbor no illusions about the flaws in our system – nor do I believe that voting alone will save the world and change society. But to disregard the tool of voting completely is foolhardy politically speaking. At the end of the day, I am in fact a democratic socialist with an emphasis on the democratic and while I will continue to advocate for a more just and equitable democratic system than the one we currently have, it still has its uses and applications and we have to deal with it. So, as much as it may make you roll your eyes, voting is still one action you can and will often need to take.

However, as I said, voting alone does change things for the better. Once again, while I am very much a democratic socialist with a heavy emphasis on the democratic, I am not an electoralist. To put it plainly, while I believe in participating in electoral politics as part of politics I do not believe that voting alone will save us and bring about the change for the better that is so badly needed in our society.

Political and economic action beyond voting is not only possible but necessary in this battle. Labor organizing, strikes, and other industrial action have been and will be crucial in achieving change for the better. Beyond action among labor, other forms of civic activism and organizing to bring about change and apply pressure on authorities regarding key issues will also be essential – as it has been in the past for issues like civil rights and voting.

In some cases, around the world, certain situations occur that when all else fails and there is no other option, armed resistance and organized military action is necessary and the only way to defend yourself. Obviously, this is has been most visible in Ukraine following Russia’s unjustified, imperialistic invasion earlier this year, which has required mass resistance in Ukraine on a national scale among all its people.

As I often say, even if your country as a whole doesn’t want war, sometimes an outside aggressor will see fit to bring it to you regardless for whatever reason, and your only option for survival is to defend yourself with force of arms – be it in your country’s officially mandated military and paramilitary forces or by other methods of armed resistance. For those of us not present in places under attack in this manner, expressing support and solidarity through fundraising, donating of essential supplies and equipment, or encouraging elected officials or those in power to provide aid are all measures that can be taken to assist those that are fighting for their lives and rights.

Aside from an outside invader, we have seen all too often when the armed aggressor seeking to deprive you of your civil and human rights is not an invading army attacking your government but your government itself. You can pick from a wide variety of examples ongoing in the world today, but one of the freshest and also consistently escalating in the civil war in Burma (Myanmar) which has seen large sections of the population – with many young people desiring a better future – rebelling against the fascist military junta that seized power in a coup.

I feel like the threshold for violence here can sometimes (not always, but sometimes) be higher and murkier in comparison to the more cut and dry cases of being outright invaded by a foreign power. However, we’ve seen plenty of cases where a government has turned against peaceful and non-violent movements for change with overwhelming violence and murder that leave its people no choice but to take up arms against them in defense of their rights, such as the initial protests of the Arab Spring that led to the civil wars in Libya, Syria, and elsewhere. It’s not something to be taken lightly, but in many places unfortunately ends up being the only option.

The shoe, of course, can be on the other foot as well. Sometimes the forces of reaction deadset on oppressing and killing you aren’t coming from within your government (though they may have allies within it) but are in fact actively trying to subvert it or destroy it and replace it with their own twisted vision, causing a rebellion and civil war in the process. There are historical examples of right-wing rebellions or insurrections elsewhere in the world, such as theocratic groups like the Islamic State or Taliban in Southwest Asia, or the Lord’s Resistance Army in Africa. But here in the United States we still have a recent experience of this in an unsuccessful attempt at seizing power in the January 6th Insurrection following the 2020 Presidential Election – which at time of writing, the Congressional panel on the subject has just recommended charges to the Justice Department against former President Donald Trump for his role in the attempted coup (we’ll see if anything actually comes of it).

On the topic of the United States – where I live, and I imagine most of those reading this essay live – I don’t think we’re on the brink of a civil war like we’ve seen in Burma or Syria or elsewhere (as much as some in certain corners of the internet who fetishize the idea of that kind of collapse may wish that were true). I still think the risk of something like this happening here is somewhat low, though A.) it’s not near as low as I’d like it to be or it should be; B.) that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be vigilant to make sure things don’t escalate to that point.

But it is increasingly hard to deny that even if we are not in a “civil war” as we might imagine that we are in the midst of some other kind of campaign of politically motivated armed violence. I used to think that, rather than a full on “civil war”, we were fast approaching something more in the league of The Troubles of Northern Ireland or the Years of Lead in Italy. Its only lately that I’ve realized that we’re already well into that kind of situation and probably have already been there for some time before I finally came to terms with it.

Not only are we well into such a state of affairs, but it is also increasingly obvious that – barring some massive sea change in national sentiment and political will – that we can only sporadically count on the authorities to do anything to challenge the waves of fascistic terrorism we find ourselves victim to, if at all.

The state of affairs we find ourselves in now was most recently demonstrated by the act of right-wing terrorism against a drag show at a LGBTQ bar in Colorado that occurred earlier this month. In the case of that shooting, more loves were kept from being loss by the patrons of that bar aggressively fighting back against their attacker. This demonstrates what I think is the only option in this case of holding the line while we fight for change on other fronts. While I believe we shouldn’t seek out trouble in the current environment, we should be by all means prepared to deter it from occurring and fight back against it as communities where it occurs to enable ourselves to be able to live our lives.

Those supporting the forces of reaction that would seek to destroy LGBTQ and other marginalized peoples and their allies for whatever insane reason, need to be shown that people will defend themselves and that there can and will be consequences for their actions if they insist on following through with their violent fantasies and that they take their life in their own hands when attempting violence against the innocent. Quite simply put, the only sensible solution here is a domestic version of what I have been advocating in foreign policy: “don’t start none, won’t be none” or “fuck around and find out.” It’s a somewhat grim proposition, but when we can’t depend upon the state and other authorities to do the right thing, folks should be prepared to defend themselves when in vulnerable situations.

In Case You Forgot Already: We’re Worth It.

We live in “interesting” times to put it mildly. There is much to be discouraged about, to be angry about, to be fearful of. But we can’t let those emotions be channeled into despair. We can’t let all of the manmade horrors beyond our comprehension swirling around us like ghastly apparitions at home and abroad distract us from the main point: we’re worth it.

We as people have inherent value – and by “value” I don’t mean value in the way a venture capitalist or economist would think about it. we have emotional and philosophical value. We are worth protecting so that we can enable ourselves and others to flourish and reach our full potential. So, the next time you’re doomscrolling your way through a major historical event on social media, try to keep that in mind. Keep that in mind when you’re at the ballot box, on the picket line, in the midst of a protest or act of civil disobedience, or learning to defend yourself by whatever means against those who would threaten your life. We are worth it. The struggle for a better world is far from over. Our future is far from set in stone and time is not, in fact, a flat circle. Those who would seek to oppress or destroy us are far from victorious and their victory is far from certain. We are worth fighting for. Keep fighting the good fight in all its forms all over the world.

To all of those celebrating anything this time of year, I wish you a peaceful and restful holiday season. To everyone out there, I wish you all a Happy New Year that hopefully – if nothing else – brings us somewhat closer in some way to the better future we all deserve. Thank you for taking the time to read what I had to say past, present, and future. Stay safe.

#essay #War Takes #War Takes essay #socialism #leftism #democratic socialism #far-right #fascism #terrorism #domestic terrorism #insurrection #internal conflict #civil war #war #anti-fascism #authoritarianism #anti authoritarian #anti doomerism

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kiaracarrera · 2 years

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The Summer I Turned Pretty

Interrupting your OBX regular to talk about TSITP. Some light to medium spoilers about to follow.

I need people to talk about this series with because when I say this is the first series that made me fall in love with reading at the tender age of 14, just over a decade ago I mean it. The excitement I’ve been holding in, in anticipation for this series far outweighs any other and now that I’ve binged the show from 9am to 2am I have THOUGHTS.

- First of all, I loved it. Book to tv/movie adaptations are always a risk and almost never a comparison but with Jenny Han actively at the helm this series felt safe and it was - there were changes but mostly they felt for the better and the parts that I preferred in the book even felt understandable in the series.

- The casting! Amazing. 10/10. Admittedly I was apprehensive over the Conrad casting initially but a few teasers/trailers in and I was sold, Chris Briney does the broody/longing/lost so so well. Jeremiah’s casting took the longest and it shows because Gavin Casalegno IS Jeremiah, the perfect golden boy/sunshine kid. Lola Tung is radiant, this is Belly’s series and she is the main character is all the ways. Susannah/Laurel/Steven/Cam/Shayla, all just so wonderful I really couldn’t fault this cast.

- Unpopular decision I know but I have been a Jeremiah girl ever since I read It’s Not Summer Without You, Chapter 8 and I have stood by that decision to this day, ignoring book 3 because my Jeremiah would never. Howeverrrr, dare I say I have been converted Team Conrad? 🫣 The chemistry between this cast is just insane and all throughout the show I found myself flip flopping over who I was rooting for, I am still processing my ship thoughts but whilst I’ll always always have a special spot for Team Jellyfish that last scene with Conrad and Belly at the beach was just 😩 *chefs kiss*.

-But ummmm for all the absolute HATE that Jeremiah Fisher gets in book 3 over what happed when they were on a break why you gotta make Belly be actively kissing both brothers mere hours apart from each other? Like I loved it but also I hated it because now I’m going to have to watch that golden retriever get his heart absolutely smashed when Belly initially picks Conrad over him next season (assuming of course) I think I preferred the books where Belly wasn’t making out with Jeremiah and giving him false hope before driving off into the sunset with his brother.

- Taylor! I absolutely loved all the Swifty (and Olivia) songs and that in itself could (and possibly will be) it’s own post but I want to actually take a moment to acknowledge Rain Spencer’s Taylor. I actively chose not to re read TSITP before the series came out in order to be able to fully appreciate both mediums but I feel like from memory Taylor, at least in book 1 was not my fave. In the series however, I absolutely adored her. Whilst she fucks up a little bit I feel like Taylor is a true ride or die and her character is very reflective of a 16 year old growing up with insecurities and desires and I for one fucked with the way she didn’t fuck with Conrad. Because she didn’t see Conrad in the way viewers did, she saw him as someone who’d played with her besties heart and I absolutely would have been the same if I was her.

- Speaking of relationships I loved to see - Susannah and Laurel finally got their moment to shine and I loved loved loved them. There’s not much to say here because imo they were just the best. Also I really liked Shayla and Steven, Claire Cho who?

- Cam Cameron I love you.

- Redsox girl! Nicole was great, we stan female friendships and women who know their worth. I much preferred this version of them the one in the books, even if the clothes stealing thing did leave me feeling all the rage towards the deb girls.

- Cleveland Castile was okay. I liked having someone that Conrad could confide in and escape too but like I would have preferred to see more of the Conrad/Laurel relationship? Hell I think I would have preferred to see the dynamic between Conrad and John than introducing someone new. Speaking of parent/children relationships I wish we got more Susannah and Belly, they didn’t feel as close in the series as I had imagined they might and that was slightly disappointing.

- Adam sucked. John was fine, I liked him even. John and Laurel seem like soulmates on some level, whether that be as deeply connected friends or more, I’d be interested to explore this relationship in future seasons. Obviously the true soulmates are Susannah and Laurel, I just loved that John knew that and loved Susannah too.

- The infinity necklace being in this book was an interesting choice. I’m not mad about it but it will be interesting to see how this progresses the future story. Also did Susannah agree to doing the trials in the book? I’m due a re read but for some reason I feel like she didn’t? Either way I feel like we all know what’s going to happen if they intend on following along with the books in any way, which is *cue the Vanessa Hudgens clip* terrible but like inevitable? I cried in episode 7 heaven forbid anything heavier.

- The one thing that made me cringe was a few of the camera shots e.g. the weird flashback transitions and the binoculars scene 🤭 someone tell me they found those as cringe as I did 😂

- Overall, I know I’m missing some things and I might come back later to add to this post but I really loved this series and I’m so so excited for a season two. Someone come talk to me about it!!

#the summer i turned pretty #TSITP #Conrad fisher #belly conklin #jeremiah fisher #TSITP spoilers #the summer I turned pretty spoilers #Lola Tung #chris briney #gavin casalegno

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thejuniperparable · 1 year

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((request)) stanley is bored and tries to get new endings by doing stupid shit around the normal office (using vending machines, making forts, breaking mugs?) if you do writing for this one i might draw a comic or smth for it! also merry christmas if you celebrate :DDD

(Sorry for the long wait! Hope everyone had a nice Christmas!)

(For this prompt, I decided to write a oneshot for it :D)

Stanley had found, clicked, discovered, and broken absolutely everything in the parable. Yet that somehow didn't deter him from messing with the vending machine in the Employee Lounge for the umpteenth time.

"Stanley kicked the vending machine. Stanley shook the machine. Stanley screamed at the machine. But his exertions proved futile. The only thing that would come out of this was the loss of his job."

The office worker huffed, settling for a cup of coffee. Which tasted absolutely terrible.

"Blame that on your unrefined palate," the Narrator shot back. "What are you even trying to accomplish here?"

He shrugged, signing, New endings. New anything.

The voice gave a derisive snort. "Well, Stanley, I'll say that your behavior here certainly isn't new. Your antics aren't going to magically change the course of the narrative."

Stanley responded by pouring his coffee into a nearby plant. It probably wouldn't die. Probably.

The next reset, Stanley managed to convince The Adventure Line™ to join him in a fort. Built in the employee lounge of course. It was haphazardly thrown together, with the couch cushion roof threatening to collapse, but at least Stanley and the Line™ fit comfortably under it.

Eventually, both Stanley and the Line™ got bored, with the Line™ breaking several holes in the ceiling before leaving. This destruction caused the game's graphics to malfunction, and soon the game itself crashed. Stanley swore he heard the Narrator's irritated groan as everything reset.

Maybe next time he wouldn't invite the Line™ to join him. But hey, Stanley marked this as a new ending in his book.

...

"Besides blatantly ignoring the fact that all his coworkers were gone, Stanley also decided to destroy company property. Which would probably result in him getting fired. Or in legal trouble."

Another loud shatter filled the Mind Control Facility. Stanley leaned over the railing, casually dropping coffee mugs into the dark abyss. He cheerfully ignored the Narrator.

"You do understand that I'll have to clean that mess, hmm?" The Narrator groused. "Seriously, how is this entertaining to you?"

His only answer was yet another mug plummeting into oblivion.

Having run out of mugs, Stanley decided to go through the Freedom Ending. Nothing new happened there, but he could clearly hear the Narrator struggling to rein in its anger.

"And Stanley was... happy." As Stanley's vision turned white, he heard the Narrator grumble, "Even though he's making me absolutely miserable at my expense."

...

When Stanley spawned in, he found himself standing in a dark room in front of a wooden table. The fluorescent light overhead flickered, barely illuminating the small room.

"Stanley," The Narrator began. "This is me being serious. In fact, this is my serious room. It's where I come to be serious."

Seriously?

"Yes, serious-" it stopped. "Oh, you know what I mean. I've been thinking very deeply these past runs. And I believe I've found a solution to your anomalous desire for something 'new.' Oh yes, you've been seeking something... different, haven't you?"

Stanley nodded, a little worried about the direction the Narrator's monologue was going.

"Well, here's my proposal. One hundred, billion, trillion years standing here in the serious room." He paused for dramatic effect. "How's that for a new ending, hmm? You chose to tamper with my game, desperately seeking something, anything to satiate your boredom. So here! Here's your prize. Congratulations."

That's a long time, Stanley commented, now perched on the table.

"Oh, certainly. That's about... hmm... I don't have an exact number, but yes, it is a long time. Perhaps even forever. I'll check back here every hour or so, alright? Have fun."

With those words, the Narrator went silent, presumably leaving to go to his third swimming pool. Or whatever omnipresent voices did when they weren't busy trapping hapless office workers in "serious rooms." Stanley began humming a tune to himself. It was just him, the table, and the light.

As if on cue, the light abruptly went out with a sharp crackle. Ok... now it was just Stanley, the table, and the shadows.

One minute down, at least a trillion more years to go. Stanley laid down on the table, staring up at the ceiling. He was going to be here a while.

#the stanley parable #the narrator #stanley #oneshot #looks like stanley won't be available for the next few eternities #whoops!

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geaesaekki · 18 days

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@clemencetaught sent :

“Have you been reading the tabloids lately?” He asks her rather nonchalantly while flipping to the next page of his book. As usual, they’re sharing the same train car on the journey over to the Capitol. “They think we’re dating. Oh, and apparently you have a thing for bald men.” A glimmer of amusement flashes through his eyes. “Shall I tell them anything else? Worst comes to worst, we can always tell them that your preferences also include men who wear socks with sandals.” ( and last but not least, devrick in the thg verse <3 <3 <3 okie that's all i got for now lynnie, but i'll be back with more :D HAVE A GOOD ONE IN THE MEANWHILE <3 <3 <3 )

"Wait wait wait what- Already?" In a sharp move she puts her own book down and catches one of the tabloids placed on a pile she hasn't touched. Devora never reads any of these even after being advised multiple times to care about the public opinion. Him and her : dating? It has been discussed with the public relations team quickly after her victory : how to metamorphose her image from a bloody heartless soldier to an example for the young women in Panem. Having the 54th victor as a boyfriend appeared as the beginning of a strong strategy, an entire lore to give a better image to the games outcomes as well. Their public appearances as a "couple" has been discussed however Devora was not expecting the team to already make the move without her agreement. As a victor she has privileges but isn't quite in charge of everything she would want to be ... Yet. Two weeks ago, she has finally confessed her feelings to Aeri... What an unfair timing. Devora did not have the time to break the news of this fake couple strategy to her newly girlfriend before Aeri reads it all in PanemHotGoss - or whatever the magazines names are. She has to call her, later, when she's alone. Flipping the pages, Devora's annoyance couldn't be hidden, her features twisting in unease. "The first public appearance of the most coveted victors couple is spectulated to take place at the Capitol's Annual Autumn Ball. Ew. Fucking hell." Devora comments in disgust before looking at Patrick above the pages she's holding. "Don't get me wrong. You are ... adequate." She speaks to reassure him : it isn't the idea of being together with him that digusts her that much but the article itself. Devora's delivery of compliments also needs a little more of polishing. "I just do not like the angle they are using to make me more... What word did the PR team used - Relatable? I Am a fighter, I'm a soldier, I'm not some pretty bubbly tabloids girlfriend. If I have to stand as an example for my District, that is Not the example I want to give... Do I even have a choice." An heavy sigh. It will take years for her to forge her image and responsabilities the way she desires to. Thankfully Patrick is here to help her cool off, he makes her laugh too, which she appreciates. One silly line about bold men. "Fuck they really said that?" And his add on about socks in sandals, this one makes her laugh out loud. "Shut up." Devora speaks in an amused tone of course as she is still laughing. Her laughter trails off a bit as she marks a pause, her eyes still down on the pages, pensive. The tabloids said it "men ; Patrick said it too, "men". She breathes in. "I hm. I don't like men." Devora blurts not truly looking at him in the eye. He might be the first person she admits that to - first, it isn''t her type to open up about her privacy and secondly, the Capitol would never accept it. It must all remain a secret. Patrick, he understands right? Devora believes he does. They are friends now too, aren't they.

#鹰 : 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐚 / the eagle.#鹰 : 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐚 / verse ; for glory.#鹰 : 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐚 / interactions.#I love young Devora and young Patrick #I think Devora has always been rough around the edge but veery much when she was young #Like tomboyish and swearing all the time and short with words #She learns how to be more of a lady when aging and to control her mouth #Even if she will always have temper #Thankfull as she grows she is more heard too and position herself as a decision maker

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abyssalpriest · 1 year

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Leviathan: Catholicism II 1/4/23

(Continuation of this topic)

Background: I've been asking Leviathan his opinions on Christianity (chiefly Catholicism) and trying to get across, from him, what exactly his connection is to to the religion and aesthetics. We'd been dancing around the topic before this; he seemed to always be avoiding it especially when I would poke about people who work with his brothers & royal families using the aesthetics in their workings, but then for some reason he'd always be skirting the topic, not fully leaving. At some point, this was left written on my hard drive. Accompanying art: (link)

My thoughts on this are confusing and twisted in with eons of expectations and disappointments, and an apparent, admitted, inability to actually concretely put my ties to this down into a form I’m comfortable looking at. This is a twisted mirror I’d rather not look at, like it has become for many, many people in this day and age. It’s a living thing that burrows like a parasite into the host by attempting to assimilate and then replace the core functionings of the being, the whole concept of equating Christianity to a set of cults echoes through my mind, but it is also a safehouse, a home, a reverent blissful thing for a lot more. On one hand you have the use of punishment and praise as the left and right of the reigns on the bridle slowly wrapped around the head, on the other you have a place like no other.

But I guess that’s not my own personal connection to it, still that’s avoiding the question and avoiding the mirror.

It’s a grand mockery of despair, is what it is. The images of Christ hammered up on to the walls wailing, the distorted figure of the Mother Goddess sculpted so she cries like some camera filter over her actual face… The entire thing is a game of gathering around the sad and the tortured as if we were all at a party watching him strung up. The congregation pretends to be sad with him but it’s a complete other world, and of course it is. The tiny humans paraded around his imagery are barely old enough to comprehend what they’re doing, they’re nothing in the timeline of the Church. They don’t get it, they weren’t there, of course they don’t really feel it.

It’s an image of an understanding of despair for a voyeuristic audience. And a mockery: Where this came from is a place that is so much more befitting of celebration and yet it has to circle back to despair, forcing this image into a box mould until it's black and blue and then continuing further, cramming it into somewhere it just does not fit. But they make it work.

The chasing of light by the casting out of darkness is a sickening thing. It could be perfectly beautiful, it could be its own, natural thing, but it pins the despair as the producer of light. It pins stress of an object as the emitter of light, it seeks to consume them, therefore it sees, ashamedly, abashedly, erotically auto-humiliatingly to seek what it refuses to admit it's seeking in order to consume, both without true persecution and with a roleplayed persecution, the light it desires. It is not a reverence for despair, it is serving despair up on a platter like the rich fucks who pay thousands to access expensive themed dinners that talk about animal cruelty and slavery as an accompaniment to a dish, before moving on to the next as if nothing happened. It’s a game of attaining inspiration and a game of choosing from an old dusty book a mask, a cause, for each emotion.

True despair does not have time for discernment. It does not sit at the table and debate sin, it embodies it. It does not decorate itself and throw itself at the feet of others, it breaks the throat and the mind under its stress… Oh, no, but those in despair do decorate themselves and throw themselves at the feet of others, only in a desperation to be forgiven and to be changed, to be gutted, disembowled in an act both exact enough to identify and remove the biological cause of sin and brutally inexact enough to make the act penance for having caught sin, and intimate enough to give the despairer one final attempt at the only sort of connection and grounding they, a piece of filth in their infection, deserve. And it sickens me that an entire cult has sprung up around becoming a venus fly trap luring in those who feel the intrusive siren’s call pounding in their head so that they may feast and get off to the curing process, the invasive surgery, the mindgames.

The allure, the mimicry, the disjointedness between ecstatic surrender and embodied fear in such an alien juxtaposition… It seems like I’m watching at a distance a madness I was never ready to understand. Colours and lights a thousand times more hues than I could guess at, centuries of distorted lore, and at the centerpiece an inwards spiralling paradox of an allure and a repulsion that somehow, magnetically, alchemically, switch places and align with themselves and distort the doorway back out. Magnets bring you in and block your way out. That’s why I tend to avoid the topic entirely or I ideally want to, since it by its very nature clings like impurity to the consciousness… But so too does trauma, and upset, and connection. It’s hard to tell the difference between the flash of a lure dangled into the mind, and a fish.

I also find it hard to stomach in the way that it is, to an extent, a party I was not invited to with social rules I do not care to understand nor ones that were made to accommodate my ways of playing. There’s an air of having to know the rules and using them to play being the core of this, it seems less about the dressings and more about what lies underneath, less about the skin and more so treating that as if it’s some essence of foreplay to the act of feasting on the meat within… It’s a dance of feigned, enforced, brutal simplicity and elaborate and dressed up and playful lies, where I prefer to approach things in an opposing manner. Funny how that works. I don’t have the patience for it.

So it comes down to this: What am I seeing myself as - where am I seeing myself - in this? Because obviously it’s somewhere. Obviously something lingers, clings on to my own being. I just so happen to be in places where this exists, liminal spaces I mean, because of course I have landed in many places this toxin has spread physically, and interpersonally.

This has gone so far beyond what any one essay or diary or series of encyclopedias could contain. The interplay between the major pieces of the chessboard of this planet in this spacetime location is complex. The simplification of it is that any major religion is going to echo major players either of the planet or of local spirits in some way, and every religion that hears and heeds the magnetic call of Polarisation is going to push complexity out of the way in order to condense the poles into obvious and observable things. As Poles are the same, you end up with equation, I am drawn to the liminal vicinity of Christianity as a figure on the outskirts of their collective consciousness… Don’t mistake that as causal, but also don’t mistake it as unrelated.

Christianity is a Solar cult in the way that a pack of wolves is a sheep cult. The sheep are always brought back to relevancy no matter how far they spread or how big the fences are between them and the wilderness. And really, at what point does the mind of the predator separate from that of the prey? Doesn’t matter. The Sun is always drawn back to the centre of things. And also there is an extravagant, noisy power in the settled and stationary core of the Sky Father who looms over everything this planet and plane accomplish that needs to be fit into any major narrative. The Creator, the Father, needs to be assigned a role, strung somewhere along some major line of thought…

I just don’t care for this. The gap between the lines speaks as loudly as any words do, the places where the white of the paper is left pristine is a more visceral cry than what the order and perfection of the black ink can embody. Did I say already it’s a mockery of despair? There is nothing embodied in the Sinner and the Despairer and the other brazen bull Forms except the daily feast. Oh God, even the confession booths that act like takeaway box containment for the type of energy exchange that goes on between willing gods and their recipients. The total lack of consent on behalf of all those who are dragged into the false whirlpool mess.

But we have always been tied together. From the moment a Creator was assigned and a Destroyer was Polarised in order to weave a narrative, and the goal of feasting from the damned was set as the narrative’s purpose, the hunt began for the End. It would be a disservice to the innumerable consumed souls swimming now as one blind, raging creature to say that it is personal, because really, it was never about one person - and it was about other individuals to a far greater degree than me. But there is always the glint of that self-sadistic lust directed in my direction by the congregation, there is always that fury of the magnet when it attempts to draw me closer and it fails.

I guess, in some perfect world, there’s a part of me that wishes to be housed, to be connected to the modern world of humanity - ‘modern’ being a bit of language issue because I have many places in modernity so I guess it’s more so, during this time period, I feel like I’ve been cast aside to presume rather than know what a third of humanity is doing right now. I’ve found homes in the likes of rivers and rocks for millennia before Christianity even stirred here and yet for some reason I find myself always looking at the churches and such from the outside. Is that selfish? Billions sing my names in other forms, I don’t need the energy. I don’t have to follow humans everywhere either, but some part of me aches at knowing they’re somewhere I can’t keep watch. And to know they’re being fed imagery and lies about me much less because I care what any one group of people have to say about me negatively, and so much more because the people who seek their roots may only find it in the mouth of a Christian priest who uses it like a lure to consume their attention.

What draws me in with my closest companions is the reverence for the rain, the blurring of the Sun with the Sky, the ancient rites of give and take that feed the land blood and feed the blood the land. There’s an image there so partially complete… We were Polarised as opposites for a reason.

Really there’s a masochistic side to this. An opportunity to play some sort of game that leads to forgiveness through the extraction and punishment of sin. Sometimes the weight of self-hatred and judgement on past actions becomes so intrinsic and so unavoidably heavy that it feels innate, like metal in blood. It’s less about believing in the sin and more about the relief of roleplaying omnipotence and submission. And the idea of the reverence towards a despair eons old, older than I am, intrinsic to Creation itself, and the burden and Burdened of it is a siren call.

Not to mention I am by right of birth opposing the Creator as the Undoer, it is within my hands to kill the switch at the end of things, it is my duty to drown the churches, I am the head of the hoard of now faceless bodies beheaded by those who seek purity. And the lights are alluring, the call back to a home in Eden that is so far removed from anything actionable or local that it becomes as much of a fairytale as the shining stained glass promises it will be - will be? It was. It’s not a thing that will come again.

#Channellings //#Leviathan //#Possession //

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soul-controller · 2 years

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there’s this guy in my physics class that i suspect is stealing my muscles, every time i see him i get smaller and he gets buffer. at the start of the course i had perfect washboard abs, huge steel biceps and a juicy chest, but now i’ve lost a lot of weight.

is there any way i can get it all back?

As the end of the school year was fast approaching, you were understandably shocked and furious about what had happened to you. When you first started the school year, you were a 6’1” jock that weighed in at over 190 pounds of pure muscle. Given your incredibly buff form though, the muscle loss had been too small in scale every week for you to realize what was going on. But after months of this occurring though, its impact was on full display and completely altering your life.

Every single piece of clothing had become too big for your much smaller frame, causing you to drop down in sizes from extra large to mediums or even smalls depending on the brand. The reason behind this was that your juicy and prominent chest had been drained completely, leaving you with a flat torso that lacked absolutely any hint of strength. Not only that, but your biceps had been sapped away of all of their bulk to leave you with two twigs for limbs. Given the fact that you used to be a beast in the gym capable of deadlifting hundreds of pounds, it was absolutely pitiful for you to suddenly find yourself struggling to even carry your backpack. Not only that, but you found yourself quite depressed to feel the constant discomfort caused by the book bag hanging around your now-bony shoulders due to the complete evaporation of your trap muscles.

Moving further down on your body, your abdominal muscles were one of the first areas to disappear completely. Within just the first few weeks of beginning your class, those abs had somehow completely faded away and left you with simply a flat stomach. Given the fact that a concept such as muscle theft seemed impossible to you, you couldn’t help but try to attribute the loss to a sudden laxness in your gym schedule or overreliance on fast food in between classes, practice, and your job. But as those aforementioned changes followed after the disappearance of your abs, it wasn’t long before you realized that something peculiar was going on. The cause for this was your loner classmate Jacob’s sudden desire to shift out baggy sweatshirts to graphic tees that now seemed to be ill-fitting against the man’s sudden growth of pecs and biceps.

Keeping a watchful eye on Jacob, it quickly became apparent after returning from winter break that he was somehow draining you of several key areas and applying it to himself. Firstly, your cock had undergone a severe downgrade, losing several inches and a girthier appearance until it became an incredibly narrow 5” fully firm cock. Your thighs had lost their broad and thick status, becoming frail enough to make it a struggle to allow your pants to remain on your dwindling body without the assistance of a belt. These changes also continued down to the bottom of your feet, causing your out of place calf muscles to dwindle away and complete the total twinkification of your body. Meanwhile, Jacob was suddenly wearing bigger pants that still struggled to contain his meaty thighs and prominent bulge.

While this was most certainly a nightmare for you, the biggest blow came when you realized that reality seemed to alter itself around you and your ever-changing form. As time passed, you found your friend group dwindling down as your equally jock-like best friends seemed to no longer have any connection with you and the popular cheerleaders that used to crush on you no longer paid you any mind. After a few months of these changes, you were forced to gain a brand new friend group of average students and the few occasional nerds who more closely resembled your new build.

Just in the nick of time before the playoff season began though, the team found a much needed replacement in the form of Jacob. Despite knowing that the man was the source of your downgrade in both body and life, you couldn’t get up the nerve to confront the man. No matter how hard you wanted to beg him to stop what he was doing to you, you couldn’t convince yourself to confront the man during the team’s after-school workout sessions. While there was most certainly a level of fear that you had that the man could possibly make your life worse, the reality of the situation was that he had also stolen your innate confidence and given you his indecisiveness and severe anxiety that had made him the school’s biggest loner. Before too long, your final status as a frail twig of a man had caused your coach to finally cut you from the team due to being a perpetual benchwarmer.

Now instead of spending your nights hanging out with your jock friends and hooking up with gorgeous cheerleaders, you were a complete loner too anxious to go out and meet new people. Instead, you’d go to class, go to work, come home, and then just masturbate until either your enhanced sexual libido was satisfied or your weak wrist couldn’t endure any more stroking.

One night as you began to go through the same old routine that you’ve adopted over the past few months though, one final change occurred that rocked you to your core. As you hopped into bed and began to get yourself off while watching your favorite erotic film, you quickly began to realize that your attention was shifting to strange new places. Instead of getting off to the curvy blonde bombshell moaning while being rigorously fucked, your eyes darted past her and began to focus in on her scene partner. The man’s hunky muscles were an immediate turn-on to you, especially as you watched him flex for the camera and use his strength to easily pick up the woman and push her up against the wall while continuing to fuck her.

Although you knew something was wrong, your increased libido prevented you from taking inventory of this fact at first. So as you continued to stroke your diminished manhood, you couldn’t resist envisioning the man in the film interacting with you. Closing your eyes, you allowed your mind to create the image of you filling the role of the female in the film, allowing him to carelessly manhandle your frail body and fuck your tiny yet perky little ass. After finally cumming and satisfying your sexual desires for the night, it finally dawned on you what had occurred as you cleaned up the mess. While you weren’t ok with any aspect of the theft, you most certainly weren’t going to accept the fact that Jacob had stolen your body and unwavering status as a heterosexual man. So as you finally began to pass out, you convinced yourself to finally muster up the courage to approach the man and demand for him to finally leave you alone.

Upon waking up the next morning though, your morning scroll through social media after getting ready for the day revealed a shocking surprise. Overnight, it appeared that your reality had undergone a complete revamp overnight to fully finalize your shift into the frail loner while Jacob became the school’s most popular and hunkiest jock. Instead of having thousands of followers and a photo gallery composed of your jockish physique and football-related content, you were now struggling to get past 100 followers and had none of your usual jock-related content. Despite still enjoying these things, your new identity as an anxious loner left you with profiles that no longer had a display photo of yourself showcased. Instead, all of that sizable following and football-related content was on display on Jacob’s pages, which also included several thirst traps of his gorgeous physique.

To both your surprise and horror, you found your miniscule cock quickly firming up at the sight of his gorgeous and chiseled body. Even though you knew that all of that musculature was actually yours that he had stolen from you, you couldn’t deny that he looked incredible with it. Although your mind urged you to destress with a pre-class wank session, you refused such pleasures due to your desire to finally end this. With reality erasing every record of your former jock self along with your newfound attraction to the loner-turned-jock, you were pissed and desperate to get your old life back. So while fumbling with your shaky fingers, you quickly rattled off a message demanding for Jacob to meet you after school to discuss what had happened to you.

Luckily, the man had agreed to your terms and met you at the designated spot of the school’s workout room. As he made his way towards you and leaned up against a machine though, your cock immediately began to throb and grow rock hard. In an attempt to be sly, you tried to adjust your new smaller-sized wardrobe to try and conceal the clear as day boner. But to your horror, it was quite obvious that Jacob picked up on this as he let out a slight chuckle.

In an attempt to appear strong and dominant still though, you stomped your foot down and demanded for him to turn you back to your old self. Just as you had deep down expected though, the brand new jock was unwilling to sacrifice this new life he had taken for himself. In fact, Jacob was quick to remind you about the many years in which you and your friends had tormented the poor man due to his loner status and even publicly humiliated him a few years back at an after-school event. As a result, the man said that he had no real sympathy for you and he believed that this was the universe’s way of dishing out your comeuppance. Although memories informed you of the validity of the events he was talking about, you were unwilling to accept no for an answer, getting down on your knees and beginning to beg for him to turn you back to even a moderately buff jock.

But as the man suddenly pulled up his shirt and revealed his gorgeous and buff torso, it quickly dawned on you that he was only being nice so he could further the punishment by having you admire your former physique. Despite how badly you wanted to say no though, your cock was leaking at the thought while your mind begged for you to agree to the terms. As Jacob’s deeper voice tried to convince you to come over and get “re-acquainted with these muscles,” you found yourself unable to mentally stand your ground. The desire to be close to your former physique along with your insatiable thirst for the man was too much to bear, so you refused to even get upset over the man’s cocky smirk as you rushed over to him and began to feel up and admire Jacob’s buff 215 lbs body.

As he slowly pulled down his pants and presented his large and girthy cock to you, you wasted no time tapping into your newfound submissiveness. Opening your mouth and looking up with a grin, you continued to make eye contact with the man as you took in his cock for several minutes until your throat was suddenly coated in his warm seed. Throughout the entire journey, you couldn’t resist staring at the overhanging pectoral muscles and running your fingers along the grooves of his abdominal muscles.

Given the fact that Jacob would soon be leaving in a few months to go play football at State, you suddenly found yourself eager and desperate to interact with the man as much as possible before he departs. Although this was most certainly not the life you were envisioning for yourself, these last few months would provide you some time to have some enjoyment before the soul-crushing reality of the situation finally reappeared. While you had no idea how you would proceed with your life moving forward, you knew that there was one thing that you were sure of: you would most certainly be the most experienced bottom by the time you finally moved to undergrad.

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#muscle theft #male transformation #straight to gay

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yandere-daydreams · 3 years

Text

Title: Karma.

Pairing: Yandere!Xiao/Reader (Genshin Impact).

Word Count: 2.1k.

TW: Imprisonment, Mentions of Kidnapping, Codependence, Possessive Mindsets, Non-Consensual Touching, Physical Abuse, Slight Victim-Blaming.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Xiao knew that this was what he deserved.

This, all of it, everything. Whatever the world had to throw at him, all the things he’d earned over centuries of bloodshed and death and guilt that grew more crippling with each passing day. He’d come to terms with that, and if he was being honest with himself, he might admit that he was growing numb to the pain, that despite his distaste, violence didn’t seem as utterly unpalatable as it used to. He wasn’t thankful for it, he didn’t want it, but he was resigned, apathetic, too used to it to care the way he used to, when fighting left him as battered as his enemies. He'd grown accustomed to it. He’d adapted.

He just wasn’t used to this. A new sort of discomfort. A different kind of pain.

He just wasn’t used to you being the source of his karmic suffering, whether or not you realized it was quite that poetic.

He’d earned it. He knew that. He’d earned every part of his current punishment – your glare, your locked jaw, the unadulterated loathing that emanated off of you in waves, unignorable from the moment he shrugged open the heavy, wooden door to his crowded room on the inn’s top floor. He’d managed to stave off the urge to use chains, ropes, anything more solid and more restraining than an idle threat and a locked door, but you were smart enough to stay balled up in the furthest corner, your knees pulled into your chest and your eyes on the floor, narrowed with an intensity he’d only ever seen in demons, moments before their deaths. It hurt him to see, the stance too defensive not to be learned, but it was better than the alternative. He’d caught you on the balcony, once or twice, leaning over the railing or admiring the view, and…

You could’ve slipped. You could’ve tried to jump. He shouldn’t have lost his temper, but you shouldn’t have been so reckless. It’d been dangerous, even you were still too naïve to see that.

Xiao grit his teeth, shaking his head as he forced himself to focus on the matter at-hand. You didn’t move as he approached, only shrinking further into yourself, becoming something small, something timid, a form of passive resistance you’ve perfected, in the weeks since you last put up a real fight. If he was feeling any less patient, he might’ve resorted to less honorable methods, throwing you over his shoulder and dragging you through his routine of self-indulgence despite your attempts to struggle against him. He’d tried it before, broken his own promises countless times, but it was almost never worth the way you’d cry afterwards, like he’d hurt you, like he’d done anything wrong. Like you could expect him to do anything less, when you were determined to be so stubborn.

So, instead, he tried talking. Talking was more peaceful. He didn’t like talking, but you did, and he was trying to be more considerate of what you liked. “I’m back.”

He waited, but there was no response. That was fine. He was fine. He couldn’t say he’d never given you a reason to ignore him. “You’re not reading,” He tried, again, fighting to keep his voice even. You tended to flinch, whenever he got too loud. “It’d be a better use of your time than sulking around, like this.”

You didn’t look at him, your voice muffled by your self-made haven. “You keep burning my books.”

Burning? That sounded like something he would do, as an act of precaution or anger or the same petty vengeance creatures so far beneath him were so prone to. It’d probably been one of the anthologies you were so fond of – folklore hiding under the guise of real history. Usually, he didn’t pay it much mind, the liberal retellings of events no living mortal could possibly be old enough to have witnessed, but he didn’t care for it when you found value in such trash. Stories about the Adepti were far too common in Liyue literature, and you’d always been the type to ask questions, to try to pry your way into subjects you could never hope to comprehend. It was better to eliminate the problem entirely. That was how he’d survived for so long, among humans -- terminating issues before they could arise.

But, you wouldn’t understand that. And even if you did, it wouldn’t do anything to heal the wound he’d already created.

He was beginning to think nothing he tried would ever be enough to mend your anger, not when you were so content to tear at the stitching yourself.

“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” He wasn’t sure if he had, but you didn’t correct him, only squaring your shoulders, digging your nails into your legs, going even further to block him out, push him away, isolate yourself and leave him to suffer for your insubordination. Xiao rolled his eyes, scowling to himself, but whatever irritation he could summon was quickly replaced by his exhaustion, that perpetual desire to fall into your arms and have you welcome him willingly, lovingly, the way you used to before he decided he had to ruin it. He was tempted to touch you, to reach out, to cup your cheek or wrap an arm around you or draw you close by force, rather than natural attraction, but he thought better of it, crouching by your side, instead, letting his back hit the wall with a heavy thud.

When he opened his mouth, his tongue felt heavier, his throat hoarse. Like the weight of his conscious had found yet another way to make itself known. “You hate me.”

It was a fact, like the color of the sky or the scent of the air before a storm. It was true, both of you already knew that, but you were kind enough to hesitate, lifting you head just high enough to see him. For him to see you, tiny and terrified. A trembling rabbit that knew better than to hope for mercy from a hawk. “I do.”

It stung more than it had any right to. “And there’s nothing I can do make you stop hating me.”

You laughed, at that, the sound breathy and sardonic, melodic and unabashed, akin to bird songs and wind chimes and every other beautiful thing Xiao could think of, even in its most beaten down state. He wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to deafen himself because he knew nothing would ever be half as lovely as that laugh, but you were talking before he could act on the impulse. That was for the best, really. Acting on impulse was what got him into this, and he wasn’t eager to drive you away any further. “I don’t have any other choice,” You started, your tone light, your anger softened into something playful. The kind of tender rage only you were capable of. “If I could choose not to hate you, I would. You were my friend, and if I could find any way to justify your actions, you’d still be my friend. I don’t want to think of you as anything else.” You paused, letting out a deep breath, relaxing slightly. Xiao couldn’t bring himself to celebrate the small victory. “I don’t want to hate you, but I have to. You see that, right? After everything you’ve done to me, I have to hate you.”

He deserved this, and you deserved to say it. He deserved to have his heart broken, crushed and shattered in his chest, and you deserved to be the one to break it. “I don’t want you to hate me, either.” It felt more intimate than it should’ve, a confession rather than common knowledge. You might’ve teased him for it, months ago, smiled and said something about softening him up. Now, your frown only deepened. “But, I need to do this. Your safety comes first. If something ever happened to you, I’d—”

Even in his own mind, his logic faltered. ‘If something ever happened to you’, like he hadn’t already done more damage than any monster ever could. It might’ve been more redeemable if he was honest, if he admitted he was doing this for himself, because he wanted to, because just for an hour, a minute, a few key seconds, he was idiotic enough to think he deserved to have you, permanently, whether or not you wanted to have him.

But, he couldn’t say that. He didn’t know how. His mouth wouldn’t form the right words, so he was left to say the wrong ones, his tone taking a sharp turn towards hostile as he spoke. “The door isn’t locked. I’m not keeping you here. You can leave, if you’re really that miserable.”

You shifted, and Xiao’s throat went dry. He knew the answer, and yet, it still hurt to hear it in your voice, to know you were capable of inflicting such insufferable pain. “If I try to, will you let me?”

He wouldn’t. Of course he wouldn’t, he couldn’t even tell himself he’d try. He’d hunt you down to the ends of Teyvat if he had to, spend the rest of his immortality finding you and making sure you never had the chance to do something so short-sighted again. He could make the guilt more bearable, promising himself he’d take care of you, that since he couldn’t do away with the cage entirely, he’d do his best to make your prison a comfortable one, but you’d still be unhappy, you’d still hate him. He’d hate himself, too, but that might be the one aspect of your relationship he thought he could stand. If nothing else, Xiao didn’t make himself a stranger to self-loathing.

“I love you,” He mumbled, as if that counted for anything. “So much. More than you could possibly understand.”

“I know.” You were the one to bridge the gap, this time, a hesitant hand coming to rest over his. Something in his chest tightened, and for a moment, Xiao had to wonder if it was possible for a mortal to be so cruel. “But, I don’t love you. There’s nothing you can do to change that.”

You moved to pull away, fear fading into sympathetic pity, but Xiao didn’t want your pity, he didn’t want you to go back to hiding from him, trembling and screaming and treating him like some monster, a beast waiting to lash out. That’s what he was, really, but he didn’t have to admit it. He didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to let himself believe he’d fallen that far, and he didn’t want to let you treat him as if he had.

His grip was too tight, a whimper escaping your parted lips as he caught you by the wrist, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not when it was so easy to jerk you towards him, forcing you out of your pathetic, laughable shelter and into his lap, his free arm latching onto your waist before you had a chance to pull away. The remorse was reflexive, immediate and instinctual, but for the first time, he allowed himself to ignore it, to bury it underneath the pleasant warmth of your skin against his and the bliss that came with being so close to you, with burying his face in your shoulder, with indulging every necessity he’d denied himself in the name of your comfort. Your hands were already on his chest, your entire body shaking as you made a weak attempt to push him away, but Xiao was stronger than you, and he loved you so much more than you could ever hate him. This was fair. That had to be enough to make it fair.

You shifted, the air catching in your lungs, but Xiao only bared his teeth, letting pointed fangs ghost over the side of your neck before he could regret scaring you. Maybe he wanted to scare you. Maybe it’d be better, if you were scared of him. At least then, he wouldn’t have to keep playing dutiful lover.

“Don’t move,” He snarled, and instantly, you went still. He could feel your heart racing in your chest, hear the cracked sob you failed to swallow, but he wanted this, he needed this. You’d get used to it, with time. You might even begin to appreciate the weeks he spent coddling you, once you were exposed to the alternative. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I need this. I need you to let me have this.” He paused, giving you just enough to time to stiffen, to realize he wasn’t letting go. To realize he was never letting go, even if that meant you only grew to hate him more. “I don’t care if you love me. I need you.”

Because he’d already gotten what he deserved. He’d already suffered, anguished, submitted himself fully to karma and reaped the consequences. The lesson had been drilled into him a thousand times, by his own hand another hundred. He already knew pain.

He’d already gotten what he deserved.

For once, he wanted to know what it would be like to get what he wanted, instead.

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smhalltheurlsaretaken · 3 years

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Sorry but what exactly is up with the bad batch arc? I've heard people talk about the issues with echo's white skin but I haven't heard that many bad things about the arc itself? (ik you said you don't want to be negative on your blog so I would absolutely understand if you didn't answer this ask)

Oooooooooooh boy. Well I just had a long, long, LONG rant about it with someone, but I guess I’ve got an excuse to put all of my points onto a post and talk about it publicly now that I got an ask x) I’ll keep it under the cut so I don’t throw my salt in people’s face. I really don’t want to upset people who love that arc - it has redeeming qualities, but overall it pisses me off so much for so many reasons. So here:

The first issue is obviously two members of the Bad Batch (minus Echo) being being just about the furthest thing from maori no matter how much you're willing to stretch it.

Like... yeah, nah. I wouldn’t even accept Crosshair and Tech (grey haired guy and goggles guy) as Jango’s natural biological sons, nevermind as his clones.

The problem is that their different appearances are justified by them being described simply as clones with desirable mutations (i.e superpowers). But why the hell did the creators have to change their appearances for that to be a thing? How does that correlate? Sure, the concept of clones with different faces is interesting, except... no, no it’s not, and I’m gonna rant about it in a few secs. But basically it's like they thought giving them different faces would be a good substitute for having different personalities (another thing I’ll come back to). If they really wanted to have buff clones with super eyesight or whatnot they could have just done that, without making them lose what little melanin the lighting of the show had allowed the other Clones to keep.

But the gigantic problem is... showing that the "regular" clones have VERY distinct identities despite their identical faces has been one of the themes of the show from episode 1. Literally, the first episode of TCW has Yoda taking time out of a mission with galactic stakes to tell the three clones he’s with (who tell him they’re all the same because they have the same faces) that they’re wrong, and that they’re very different in the Force, that their appearance doesn’t matter, that they’re all equally unique and important, and he lists all of their individual skills, strengths and weaknesses.

And it’s not just me being bothered by that, here’s a post by @cacodaemonia saying the same thing.

Introducing the Bad Batch as "unique" clones who are "different" and "not like their brothers" because they have different faces and skills completely breaks that theme of the show!! Because the entire point of the Clones in TCW is that their faces don't matter, they ARE unique!

(Plus the Bad Batch’s character designs are so cliche and uninspired it’s just laughable to try and justify bleaching their freaking skin for the sake of visual diversity.

This took like 10 seconds. I found the first guy by literally googling “soldier movies,” and the other two are Team Fortress characters that look a LOT like Wrecker and Crosshair. One is “Heavy” and one is “Sniper” lmao.

And behold:

The above picture is a Team Fortress reference that I found just by looking up “bad batch clone wars,” so I’m not the only person who sees it.)

And the batchers don't even have personalities to justify calling them unique! They have no character traits beyond the most cliché american soldier tropes ever. We have a token loner sniper, a token "smart tech guy" who knows everything from xenoanthropology to biology to Separatist computers to sound waves to encryption, a token Badass Brooding Leader and a token “dumb muscle guy.”

I dare anyone to find more about their personalities than this: - Crosshair is the perpetually grumpy sniper who looks down on "regs,” - Wrecker likes to blow up stuff and doesn't like heights, - Hunter is the leader and is friends with Cody, - Tech is smart doesn't trust Echo.

That’s it, that’s literally it. Four episodes about them and that's all we get. These character tropes are literally the least inventive ever. FFS, Hunter even has a freaking KNIFE! Not a vibroblade, mind you, like in kriffing Star Wars. A knife. Against metal droids. Why. They couldn’t make this more of an american-war-movies cliché fest if they tried. (And sure, he can feel electromagnetic waves so maybe it does make sense for him not to carry a vibroblade and maybe this is nitpicking, but he looks like a ripoff of a Predator character and it pisses me off).

Another thing is that when you introduce characters you have to make them likable - and them despising the normal Clones is a terrible way to do that! And they don't even grow from that because at the end of the 4 episodes arc they just see Rex as not bad "for a reg" and they see Echo as no longer a reg, and both of these things are infuriating!

The worst thing imo is that Echo then becomes part of them (and irreparably loses his melanin in the process, uuuuuuuuugh) when there is nothing to justify this.

The dialogue goes like this:

ECHO: You coming? TECH: Not really our thing. CROSSHAIR: Accolades. WRECKER: Yeah, we're just in it for the thrill. Yo! HUNTER: You sure it's your thing? ECHO: What do you mean? HUNTER: Your path is different. Like ours. If you ever feel like you don't fit in with them, well, find us. (they leave) REX: Those are some of the finest troopers I've ever fought alongside. Echo. You and I go way back. If that's where you feel your place is, then that's where you belong.

Echo doesn't feel like he belongs anymore, okay, but why would he feel like he belongs with the assholes who up to the last five minutes of the mission thought he was probably a traitor, and also verbally expressed that he was not worth saving?? In all of the arc, Echo himself never voices that he feels he’s not ‘like the other Clones’ anymore and that he feels it’s a problem. His relationship with Rex immediately picks up where they left things off - the first thing he does upon being lucid again for the first in over a year is cracking a joke for Rex’s benefit.

Why would Echo feel like he doesn’t belong in the 501st anymore, when we don't even see him interacting with anyone from his past life except for Rex and Anakin (who are both extremely very supportive of him)?? If there had been one scene of a “regular” Clone (ugh) looking at him with horror and disgust or something, or just Kix and Jesse cracking jokes with Echo awkwardly standing by the side not getting it, I could forgive the show trying to make it feel like he has an identity crisis, but this was so shallow!

The only thing that makes Echo and the Bad Batch’s experiences similar is that they *look* different. It’s so against the themes of the Clones I’m seething just from thinking about it. And what the hell? Echo ALREADY didn’t fit in. That was the WHOLE POINT of Domino Squad. They didn’t fit in because they thought they were better than anyone else because they had trouble getting along with their brothers, so obviously it had to be their brothers’ fault (ahem, Bad Batch?). And you know what happened? Domino Squad OVERCAME that. And Echo and Fives still didn’t “fit in” because their personalities were unique and creative, and they became ARC Troopers because Cody, Rex and the Jedi VALUED THEM FOR PRECISELY THAT. Echo having new and unique skills and a modified appearance is the most bs justification for him feeling like he doesn’t belong!!

And that brings me to my biggest issue: Rex telling Echo the bad batch are some of the best troopers he's ever met. I'm sorry, based on WHAT? What Rex values above everything is loyalty and brotherhood, and the Bad Batch DOESN'T DISPLAY ANY OF THAT. We never see them even expressing concern for each other! Wrecker treats saving Cody’s life like a trivial issue, because it’s just ‘sO eAsY’ for him, and beyond that we never see them supporting each other or genuinely expressing affection for each other beyond boasting about each other’s skills...

Sure they can destroy a lot of droids, but they're dismissive of Rex's brothers, and the entire Umbara arc and this arc showed what he thought of that. They keep saying things like "not bad for a reg,” don't show any trust in Rex's skills or experience (even though they can't have been fighting in the war for more than a year and a half when he’s been there from the beginning, and he outranks all of them), they are essentially guerilla fighters which has only minimal value in a galactic war, and they never grow beyond their views of what regs are, and can and can’t do.

None of that should make them good troopers in Rex's book. Going back to Echo not fitting in, remember who taught the Domino Squad the importance of seeing all of your brothers as important and equally valuable? Shaak Ti, true, but more importantly? 99! The guy the Bad Batch are named after. He did have value and was important and was no less of a trooper than his brothers, even though his mutations made him LESS powerful, not more. (And btw, just from a writing standpoint, the batchers don’t have any weaknesses, which is shit.) Cody and Rex mourned 99 as a true soldier even though it wasn’t his sacrifice that brought them victory (which would have implied that he had value as a soldier and a brother because he saved them, as opposed to him having that value intrinsically), because that’s what a fine trooper is to them. A BROTHER first a foremost, someone altruistic, brave and loyal. The Bad Batch distort the meaning of 99's character with their behavior. They’re not altruistic, their bravery is mitigated by the fact that they’re freaking invincible, so of course they take risks (again, see Wrecker saving Cody without a care because it’s easy to him, as opposed to Rex being ready to run into a burning ship about to explode because his brother is in there, and having to be physically dragged away). The Bad Batch denigrate their brothers for being less skilled, thinking their own abilities make them unique somehow, when 99 could barely fight and was still the one who taught Hevy about being a good soldier.

And again the batchers don't grow from that. Which is all the more frustrating because the original ending didn’t have Echo joining them, from what I remember of the unfinished episodes, and the arc actually ended with them receiving their medals in front of regular troopers who cheer for them, as opposed to them smugly ostracizing themselves and dismissing the ceremony as trivial and meaningless. (original ending vs s7 ending: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ab1eCfzKamw)

It’s so annoying. Do you know what characters never had an entire arc dedicated to them and still have far more personality and more interesting designs and more symbolic weight??

Jesse, for starters. Kix. Dogma. Cut. Slick. Keeli. Ponds. Rys, Jek and Thire. Commander Doom. Commander Fox. Wolffe. Hevy. Hardcase.

Cody was a more interesting character just in his RotS appearances.

Waxer and Boil had one episode about them and then only two cameos plus Waxer’s death, and they’re still some of the most memorable, beloved Clones of the whole show. And Boil was grouchy and prejudiced like Crosshair, but he has so much growth that we could make a whole thread about it.

I'd say the last problem with the Bad Batch is that it has cash grabbing money hungry vibes. Different faces are more marketable, cliché personalities are more toy-friendly, and it's basically a big ad for the Bad Batch series. And they throw Echo in the Batch at the end for bs reasons (again, it wasn’t in the original ep from what I remember) and they tease Cody in the show to make sure fans will still watch even if they notice the lack of soul. And less melanin sells more at Disney apparently.

So that’s my whole pissed rant.

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troquantary · 3 years

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Cutting Hair as Punishment in the Twilight Saga

Okay, I’ve been trying to organize my thoughts around this into a sort-of-essay format for a while, because I find it disturbingly mean-spirited: Meyer has a pattern of using hair-cutting as a form of punishment for characters, especially female characters, who fail to embrace Bella and the Cullens with open arms. I’m talking particularly about Leah and Lauren, both of whom, while not outright antagonists like Victoria or James, are situated along with Rosalie as “against” Bella throughout the series. The Quileute pack, meanwhile, is situated largely “against” the Cullens, meaning Jacob and the rest of the pack get the Haircut of Shame, too.

(Also, I’ve been creeping through @panlight ‘s blog because I thought she had a recent post relating to this -- I was probably thinking of this submission and her addendum, which does discuss Meyer’s “punishment” of certain characters, but that post was about characters suffering for not waiting for True Love, or daring to do the Devil’s Tango before marriage. Still, it’s on-theme and very much worth reading, like all her stuff!)

So here’s the general outline: first I’m gonna talk about the shapeshifters and how their overall lack of choice frames cutting their hair as something forced on them and therefore punitive. Then I’m going to discuss Meyer’s FAQ response where she reveals that Lauren was tricked into cutting off most of her hair over the summer before New Moon, and how this adds an extra fun misogynistic element to the hair-cutting theme with respect to Lauren and Leah. I also use way too many words to do it, sorry.

Punishment | The Shapeshifters Are Given No Other Option

I don’t have the background or knowledge to discuss the significance of long hair to indigenous culture and identity in detail, and my understanding is that different tribes ascribe different meanings to it. What I’ve read it about it suggests that, generally, long hair represents strength of one’s individual spirit and of the community. It’s a source of pride, and is only cut off voluntarily in extraordinary circumstances, often as an expression of grief, or to mark a significant life change.

This sort of works in the context of the shapeshifters all cutting their hair -- phasing into a giant wolf, discovering the existence of the supernatural, and assuming the role of protectors is a major life event for these characters. But the negative associations make it a troubling choice on Meyer’s part, and that’s without even getting into the problem of her imposing her own worldbuilding onto the legends and culture of a real tribe. Because of the lack of choice involved in becoming a shapeshifter, the whole situation feels like a scenario in which the Quileute characters have their hair forcibly cut -- a degrading and traumatic act that (depending on their particular tribal belief) might symbolically sever them from their sense of cultural identity and connection with the rest of their tribe.

It all kind of begs the question: why does Meyer even have shapeshifting work this way? What narrative utility is there in having the length of their hair in human form determine the length of their fur as wolves, thereby compelling the shapeshifters to cut it so it isn’t a physical impediment? It’s another sign of the changes in Jacob, sure, but he’s already being uncharacteristically cold and distant, plus suddenly has the physique of a fit twenty-five-year-old; Bella already knows something’s very wrong. His short hair is just another jarring thing for Bella to notice and mourn, like the loss of Jacob’s “baby face” and general sunniness.

It does work as a symbolic thing, representing another sacrifice Jacob has to make and the change in how he now has to perceive himself -- but he’s already got a literal giant wolf form to represent that change in identity/self-perception. Forcing him to cut his hair too just feels like piling on. My argument here, which I hope will be supported when I discuss Lauren and Leah further in, is that it’s not just piling on, but actively punitive -- because much like Leah and Lauren are “against” Bella, the pack at large is “against” the Cullens pretty much through the end of the series.

The Quileute pack is definitely not a Cullen fanclub. The entire purpose of their existence is to destroy vampires, and the truce they have with the Cullens isn’t friendly. They still don’t particularly like or trust the Cullens even after allying with them in Eclipse, and in Breaking Dawn Sam is fully prepared to go to war against them to enforce the treaty. Bella expresses frustration with Jacob and the pack for not appreciating the Cullens more, yet is curiously less willing to scold Alice, Edward, or Rosalie when they call the Quileutes dogs and complain about their smell. (I think she might reprimand Edward for it at some point, but I don’t remember the exact passage.) Bella even starts throwing around “dog” and “mutt” as an insult herself -- I think we know whose side ol’ “Switzerland” is on, here, and whose side Meyer is on as well. The Quileutes aren’t exactly enemies, and in fact are crucial to the Cullens’ survival in both the newborn and Volutri conflicts, but they’re punished nonetheless because they aren’t wholeheartedly Team Cullen from the get-go.

So to explain why I’m so convinced that there’s a link between hair-cutting and punishment in particular, let’s talk about Lauren. There’s a definite gendered element to it this time, too -- by being tricked into cutting her hair, Lauren isn’t just diminished/shamed, but rendered (*thunderclap*) unfeminine.

Lauren Was Rude To Bella Like Twice, Let’s Humiliate Her

I think Meyer’s answer to the question “What happened to Lauren’s hair?” on her FAQ page speaks for itself:

Ha ha. I had fun imagining this one—I only wished that it had fit into the book somewhere. Lauren fell victim to the “model discovered in the mall” scam. An alleged modeling agent approached Lauren in a mall in Victoria, B.C., and told her she was a natural model. Lauren ate it up. The agent told her that if she did something edgy with her hair, and took some high quality head shots, her future was assured. Lauren followed the instructions—dropping fifteen grand on the pictures taken by the agent’s partner—and waited for her career to begin. She’s still waiting. Snort.

It’s pretty obvious that this was done spitefully. Here’s the list of Lauren’s crimes against humanity Bella at this point in the series: 1) she was jealous of the attention Bella was getting as the new girl; 2) she talked behind Bella’s back once, saying Bella might as well just sit with the Cullens now (and she isn’t wrong); 3) she eyed Bella “scornfully” the day of the La Push beach trip; and perhaps most damningly, 4) she’s blonde.

Post-haircut, she has the gall not to be thrilled that Bella’s deigning to speak to the lowly non-Cullens again, then sides with Jessica after Bella uses Jessica to make a point to her dad, is shitty company, and then risks getting them both raped and murdered in Port Angeles so she could get off on her hallucination of Edward’s voice.

I think it’s pretty common knowledge that long hair is tied to patriarchal notions of femininity and attractiveness. Women with short hair are still derided for being ugly, or assumed to be lesbians in a derogatory sense, or simply considered less feminine and therefore less desirable/worthy (because a woman’s worth depends on her desirability, after all). For many women and girls, losing their long hair -- whether because of illness, or gum getting stuck in it, or whatever -- is very upsetting and a hard blow to their self-esteem. Just look at Alice as an example of Traumatic Short Hair; her hair was shorn like that because she received electroshock “treatments” in an asylum. (Although in Alice’s case, I don’t think her having short hair is punishment, but a facet of the traumatic backstory all female characters in Twilight have to have for some reason. Plus, she started the series with short hair, which distinguishes her from the pack and Lauren, who were tricked or compelled into cutting their long hair during the series.)

But Lauren’s so bitchy, so she deserves it, right? Ha ha, she was mean to Bella and cared about her appearance too much, so now she’s ~ugly!

Leah Has It the Worst and It Makes Me Want To Burn Everything

The misogynistic aspect of hair-cutting as punishment is taken up to like, twelve with Leah. Not only does she suffer for being “against” the Cullens along with the rest of the pack (and Bella, too, so extra sinning), but she suffers uniquely for being the only female shapeshifter. A bunch of teenage boys regularly see her naked body against her will. Her previously devoted boyfriend imprints on her cousin/best friend, Sam dumps her and can’t even explain why, and the whole pack -- including her own brother -- resents her for being upset about it, even though she can’t help the lack of mental privacy. Because of that same lack of mental privacy, she has to hear every gripe the boys have about her, plus every enthralled thought Sam has about Emily while she’s still deeply wounded by their breakup.

She blames herself for her dad’s death, because she phased at the wrong time. We don’t get any indication that her fellow shapeshifters or the elders are trying to reassure her otherwise.

And of course, because she’s a shapeshifter, she has to cut her hair. In addition, because Leah’s a woman, this has the same misogynistic connotations as it did with Lauren. In Leah’s case, though, the de-feminization is compounded by her sudden infertility. It’s clear that Leah attaches her sense of womanhood to her fertility, rightly or wrongly -- she bitterly calls herself a “genetic dead end” in Breaking Dawn and thinks of herself as a freak. She feels like there must be something wrong with her, some un-womanly flaw, that made her one of the shapeshifters at all.

Then, just when Jacob starts to see her as a human being worthy of compassion, he imprints on Renesmee and doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything else anymore. No more bonding with Leah, no blooming friendship to help her heal and come to terms with the new realities of her life. (This is one of those dropped threads that aggravate me to no end -- what was the point of having Leah opening up to Jacob, or starting Jacob on the path of realizing he was being a dick to her this whole time and that she’s a person with value, if he was just going to spend the rest of the book as Renesmee’s love-zombie and never think about it again? Disgusting.)

Leah was a lot more forgiving of Jacob than he deserved at that point in the story, for all the good it did her -- I think she’s mentioned maybe once in Book 3 of Breaking Dawn. At least she got her god-tier moment of yelling at a deranged, pregnant Bella Swan.

Speaking of Bella...

I’m just going to note, for no particular reason, that in Breaking Dawn we get to hear explicitly that Bella’s got hair that falls “almost to her waist” and that she looks like “a freaking supermodel” because she’s so “beautiful and pale.” It just strikes me as a telling contrast at this point.

#twilight renaissance #i stared too long and the twilight abyss gazed back #leah clearwater #lauren mallory #jacob black #the wolf pack #long post #i felt myself getting petty about bella okay -- i'm aware it's happening but i have no self control #i also know i sidestepped the racial element to this and it's because i don't feel qualified to speak on it #so any additions from more knowledgeable people on that score are much appreciated

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