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mychapel-004 · 9 months ago

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I think the most interesting and under-explored part of gf canon is the formation of the blind eye and I'm tired of pretending it isn't: a long post

Because hear me out here, if we really take a look at the timing of the only concrete source we have (mcgucket's video diaries), it doesn't... line up at all?

The clear implication here is that he started making the diaries after the first portal incident on January 18th 1983, so this would be our "day one"

"For the past year I have been working as an assistant for a visiting researcher... But something went wrong. I decided to quit the project, but I lie awake each night, haunted by the thoughts of what I've done... Test subject one: Fiddleford."

But this makes no sense. We know from J3 that the memory gun was actually invented after a series of traumatic events with Ford, months before he left the project. Further, the timeline the video diaries set up of the blind eye show that he began to deteriorate and founded the blind eye on day 22, which would be February 9th, but in J3 the blind eye is already a full blown cult by then.

In addition, where is he in this video? we know from TBOB that he isn't on good terms with his wife after Christmas of 1982 and he likely didn't leave GF after the portal incident, but he was living with Ford up until this so where is this room? If he had somewhere else to stay, why only stay there now?

Now, realistically the answer here is that the lore was changed and slightly retconned between the writing of this episode and the publishing of the book (which alex discusses in some of the commentary for this episode when discussing fidd's character), but I think a more interesting theory to solve this contradiction can be found in the source material.

If we play this all completely straight, there are two options here, both involving Fiddleford lying in his diaries. this isn't entirely new to the series, unreliable narration is a big theme, especially in Journal 3 and TBOB. the only real explanations are that:

A) Fiddleford was lying about this being the first time he used the gun, meaning this video diary takes place after the portal incident.

B) Fiddleford was lying about leaving the project, and was filming these diaries while still working with Ford.

Now, either of them is plausible, but ultimately Fiddleford is a scientist. He has dedicated his life to engineering, and it seems to be his lifelong passion considering it's one of the only character traits that he continues to practice after losing his mind. Would a man who is this talented, this dedicated, really lie about testing results in a video diary he chose to make?

If he had used the gun before, any kind of result he is trying to observe would be ruined. It would be a pointless venture, since we know for a fact that by the time he leaves the project he has used the gun on himself, Ford and other civillians multiple times. It's a complete failure of the scientific method, and I don't think it makes sense for the character we know, the man who quadruple checks his own calculations just to be sure they're right.

However, the other explanation feels like something he might do. We know he invents the gun after the Gremloblin incident likely sometime in August, and seems to use it immediately as evidenced by J3, on both himself and Ford. We know from the audio commentary that for Fidd, the memory gun is very much an addiction, it's something that he uses to curb his anxiety and appear like a better partner, to try and keep himself together until the project is over. But ultimately, he's known something is wrong with the project for a long time, and Ford mentions his tendency towards self destructive anxiety when Fidd rips out his own hair after Ford reveals the tip of the weirdness iceberg to him.

All this to say, I think it's far more realistic for Fiddleford to lie about leaving the project rather than his results. He knows that something is wrong, that he should leave and be with his family, and on the other side of that we know that Bill is using this anxiety to whisper into Ford's ear that Fidd is unreliable and will leave. He's been through a severely traumatic event with the Gremloblin, trapped for days in his worst nightmares, to the point where he is prepared to cause himself potential brain damage to un-see it.

But despite all of it, he doesn't leave. He is determined to stay, maybe out of loyalty, maybe out of fear for Ford's safety, maybe he needs the money from the project for his family. He has a wife and son who need him and we know that he feels guilt for his treatment towards them, he even cites them as his sole reason for backing out of using the gun immediately before he does it anyway, and uses it on Ford to cover his mistakes up. Fiddleford is a man who is wracked by anxiety and shame and is such a bad way by this point that he is absolutely willing to self-destruct and lie to just get through this project.

I think he absolutely would start documenting his use of the memory gun, even if that meant lying that he had followed his instincts and left the project when he should have done. After all, he says himself that he wants to use this gun on a wider scale as a therapy tool, assuming the gun doesn't turn his brain to mush, surely the tapes of his initial testing will need to be peer-reviewed? He's presenting the reality he wishes was true, the one where he is brave and stands on his principles and doesn't fall into step beside Ford on his path to destruction.

So, where does this leave the timeline?

Finding exact dates is difficult, mostly because the only concrete numbers in J3 are few and far between, but we do have the dates of the tapes to go off as follows. This isn't concrete but it's a fun way to recontextualise the events of J3:

Day 1:

First usage of the gun, followed by it being used on Ford

Sometime after the Gremloblin incident, Fidd's arm is either healed or on the mend from the incident as his cast is gone, so likely towards the end of August.

Note on the cast: It could also be gone as a result of him removing it too early, he doesn't seem to take a lot of time to recover from the incident before he gets back to work in fear of disappointing Ford.

The room he is in is likely his bedroom in the Shack, or whatever location he initially uses to form the blind eye, maybe a room in the museum? The "probability of failure" graph in the back is the same one that he shows Ford the night before the Portal test, albeit a bigger version, meaning he has likely been tracking the output results for a while.

Day 5:

Still exhibiting postive results, no deterioration yet.

Day 22:

First signs of mental deterioration

First mention of the blind eye, Fidd draws the symbol onto a notebook but it is already scribbled in the background over a diagram of the portal. The blind eye symbol is first mentioned in J3, when Fidd hands it to the carny who becomes the eventual leader of the cult, so this diary likely takes place after he has begun using it on other people.

Official formation of the blind eye as a group to help people forget traumatic memories.

His room in the shack is in a state of disarray, his plants are dead and there are handprints in oil or ink on the walls. Notably, he seems to be connecting the idea of a single eye and the portal despite not being aware of Bill at this point, which I'll touch upon later.

The carnival is likely in September according to the timeline by @fordtato

Day 74:

Slight physical deterioration, more physical anxiety

It seems that Fidd has been regularly using the memory gun at this point, to erase even minorly distressing images from his head, and his anxiety has taken a nosedive. Likely explanation is that this diary is after the bunker, where he had another severely traumatic experience (kidnapped by a shapeshifter and reduced to mute from anxiety) and seemed to become obsessed with doomsday planning. During the bunker arc he also used the gun on multiple workmen and Ford once again.

Likely takes place in October/November

His room is a complete mess by now, with the walls covered in papers and "Help Me" scrawled on the walls.

At this point in J3, Ford has made his deal with Bill and is allowing him to possess his body whenever he pleases. Bill has also sucessfully driven a divide between the other two by making Ford doubt that Fidd will be able to make it to the end of the project, and Ford describes his frustration with him.

According to Ford, Fidd is just as agitated and nervous before the portal test as he was during the Gremloblin attack, and obsessively checks and rechecks his calculations, causing Ford to worry for his resolve.

In between this diary and the next are the stolen pages from J3 that are in TBOB, which give us slight insight into Fiddleford during this time but not much. We see that he tries multiple times to reach out to him the only way that Fidd knows how, through invention and creation, with the snowglobe and the six-fingered gloves. Ford, however, treats them carelessly as a result of his increased attention to his muse. At the same time, he tries to visit home but is kicked out by Emma-May after he forgets to get her a Christmas gift. This is played as an example of his connection with Ford, him remembering two gifts for the man and none for his wife, but if he really is suffering from his use of the gun at this time, the forgetfulness makes even more sense and his argument with his family means he doesn't have a support system outside of Ford who is paying all of his attention to the project. After this, Fiddleford is more reclusive than ever as he spends early January compiling a thesis for Ford to publish

Day 189

Physical deterioration is in full effect and he can't hide the result of his addiction any more, even just to keep up appearances.

His arm is broken, likely due to the car accident he mentions accidentally causing, but its the same arm he broke during the Gremloblin attack and could be a result of him taking his cast off too early for it to have healed right in the first place which could explain why he wears it for so long.

Significant mental decline as he has started exhibiting signs of brain damage or swelling (decreased vocabulary, forgetfulness, loss of motor functions) however, he is seemingly lucid enough to question if the memory gun is causing negative side effects.

There are actually bottles visible in the back of the room, possbly referencing the addiction metaphor being used here

This would take place after the portal test, likely late January. Ford is at the height of his paranoia, Fiddleford has left the shack and taken every trace of his research with him except his college picture with Ford, and the blind eye is a fully established and seemingly self-governing cult.

Day 273

At this point, Fidd has relocated to a motel and is seemingly completely mentally gone, ripping out his hair and developing his hunched posture. This likely takes place after the blind eye takes his memories, or he continues erasing them himself. It's possible that the blind eye continues visiting him and taking his memories even after he is ejected as a member, or at least until they forget who he is after using the gun on themselves too many times.

It appears to be snowing outside? Which doesn't line up with either the canon timeline or this timeline, so potentially the days on the video diaries could be incorrect assuming he isn't filming them every day, or has lost so much of his mind by this point that he isn't labelling them right and has lost track of time

The final two entries are a similar story, serving only to show us the end of his decline and him eventually becoming fully homeless, retreating to the junkyard he lives in for the next 28 years (jesus, he really deserved that mansion).

Ultimately though, this timeline asks a lot of interesting character questions.

Why did Ford not realise how bad Fiddleford's decline was becoming? Maybe a mix of circumstances, he was falling deeper into his worship of Bill at the time, to the extent that he was regularly being possessed and judging by the lack of journal entries at the time, very pre-occupied. We also know that Fidd used the gun on him at least twice in canon, and possibly used it more than we know in order to convince Ford he was okay.

If Fiddleford was erasing parts of Ford's memory, did Bill know? Personally, I feel that Bill was aware but knew that ultimately it would serve him. Fiddleford, without ever encountering Bill at this point, created the blind eye symbol which is eerily close to Bill's symbolism, how would he know that when we know Ford is possessive of his muse and doesn't share anything with Fidd about it? How does Ford have visions of Fidd in a red cloak without ever knowing that the cult and Fidd are directly connected? My thoughts are that Bill, who we know has erased Ford's memory himself before when he stole the journal pages we see in TBOB, was using most of this as fodder to drive a divide between the two, mentally creating associations in both of their minds so they stop trusting the other. Chess but with troubled gay men.

All in all I think Fiddleford's decline is such an interesting way to approach a theme of addiction, particularly a high-functioning addiction. If this really is how things played out, we know that throughout his use of the gun and even 30 years later when he is considered a write-off, the one thing he maintains is his engineering prowess and his smarts. It makes sense that even when actively using the gun and hiding it from Ford he would be able to keep up in terms of building the portal, especially when we know he secretly hired workers. It's also a great example of someone drawing others into their addiction, even if it was unintentional and he didn't believe they would be hurt in the long run.

I feel like sometimes there's a lil bit of a push to see Fidd as a naive or morally good character even through his mistakes and to demonise Ford in response, but ultimately both of them are very morally grey and have their own vices that they develop and grow from.

#eden rambles #gravity falls #fiddleford mcgucket #fiddauthor #billford #gravity falls meta #society of the blind eye #geiger counter au #eden writes #bill cipher #stanford pines #thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com

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infiniteglitterfall · 4 months ago

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this is my most autistic half-birthday ever!

I gave myself the day to pursue a special interest and fulfill an offer I'd made last year.

The Jewish Virtual Library has a page listing all the rocket and mortar attacks on Israel since 2001 (which was when they first started). But it's incomplete. Last fall, I noticed it stopped in August, so I wrote to them offering to help update it. They thanked me and gave me some places I could look.

Today, I finally did it. I ended up cross-referencing with the lists on Wikipedia, digging through multiple Twitter accounts and outside news sources and NGOs, and sending them an email with my updates... plus an html file where I'd updated the code on the page so they could just check it and upload it instead of typing in all the data themselves.

I am such a huge nerd.

There's definitely more research to do. But I think I found a strong stopping place that let me actually send what I found and post about it. Which is always the hardest part. As my drafts folder could tell you.

I have more than two thousand drafts on here.

Anyway, I'm going to put my findings under a cut tag. Before you read on, I want you to try to guess.

Because one of the things I've been told most often by people who wanna Argue About Palestine Without Having To Learn Anything About Palestine (Or Israel Or History Or Imperialism Or Fact-Checking Or ?????) is that the reason for October 7, the reason for literally anything in fact, is that "Israel bombs Palestine constantly."

I want to put together a list of Israeli airstrikes next. I would love to reblog this with that information. But first, I want you to guess:

Note that this DOES NOT include terrorist car rammings, mass shootings, mass stabbings, bus bombings, suicide bombings, etc. It therefore excludes almost the entire Second Intifada.

After correcting the most recent four years and sending in my corrections, I made a list of the totals using the most complete collection I could find for each year. (Sometimes it was Jewish Virtual Library, sometimes it was Wikipedia, and sometimes they matched.)

2024: 12,629 (an average of 35 per day)

2023: 12,295 (34 per day)

2022: 1,180 (only 3 per day)

2021: 4,425 (12 per day)

2020: about 203

2019: 798+

2018: 348+, 0.95 per day

2017: Only 47!!! Why, it's almost like living in Canada!! 0.1 per day.

2016: Wow, only 20. See, if you go through the years backwards, it looks like progress is being made. Very exciting. Until I get to the Second Intifada, probably. 0.05 per day.

2015: 58.

2014: oh right, that war. 4,778. (Wikipedia's 2015 list claims " In August 2014, Operation Protective Edge was ended after 4,594 rockets and mortars launched toward Israel. From the end of the operation came into force an unofficial cease-fire between Israel and Hamas." but there were three more after that, and 181 before it, listed on wikipedia alone. so like. 4,778 actually, for 13 a day.)

2013: 70 total. Wikipedia notes this was the lowest number since 2001.

2012: 2,442, or 6.7 per day.

2011: 680, for 1.9 a day.

2010: 365, for exactly one a day.

2009: 858, or 2.4 per day.

2008: 3,107! that's 8.5 a day.

2007: 2,807: 7.7 a day.

2006: 1,275, or 3.5 a day.

2005: 858. An average of 2.4 per day.

2004: 1,158.

2003: 637.

2002: 472.]

2001: "These attacks commenced in April 2001, although the first rocket to hit an Israeli city was on 5 March 2002, and the first Israeli fatality was 28 June 2004." I count 173 mortar attacks in 2001, however. Which makes the first fatality a critically-injured baby in 2001. And as soon as I make 250+ more edits and have the power to edit Wikipedia articles on "controversial" topics, I'll make it say so.

Grand Total: 51,685.

An average of SIX PER DAY.

FOR 24 YEARS.

I've been saying four.

But there were actually thousands that weren't listed on the Virtual Library site yet. It really cranked up that average.

Now consider this: between 10%-30% misfire and either crash into the sea, or hit Gaza.

A surprising number of Gazan casualties in every "conflict" have been from Hamas & Co's own missiles.

And they know this. And not only do they not care, but they keep using everything from mosques to humanitarian zones as rocket launch sites.

And why shouldn't they? You have to really dig to find information on how many Gazans die that way. Almost everyone just attributes the deaths to Israel. Hamas is never going to get any actual flak for accidentally killing its own civilians. It barely gets any flak for intentionally killing Israeli civilians, for pete's sake.

#actuallyautistic #jumblr #fuck hamas #and all the other groups that form its coalition #i love data

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astracora · 6 months ago

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EVER's Tool

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc (Sylus POV/MC POV)

Warnings: Hurt/No Comfort, Angst, Talk of EVER Experiments and Torture, Violence, Gore, Spoilers for multiple anecdotes and all current story.

Word Count: 10348

Written: 10th January 2025

Notes: Established-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. A lil AU almost, set after cat curse and turning point. I had the mental image of EVER making MC into a personal weapon, using the fact their memories reset so it's easier to manipulate them. I also think about the line that 'sincere emotions are hard to forget', and how the LADs are basically EVER's worst problem when it comes to controlling them. As a side note, I fucking hated Leon when I read the anecdotes, so so much. The creepy way of calling a child 'little bomb' just set me wanting him smacked in the face. So I'm channelling that dislike into ruining his day. The way I screenshotted so many main story things to pull into this. It's upsetting... I had to double check so much stuff cause I have a terrible memory. My final lil note is I have no idea how MC's resonance works, but there was a line in one of the anecdotes that EVER wanted it to absorb Xavier's, so I've run with the concept.) I have no idea if anyone else will care about this lil brain thread, but hey, have at ye. Will there be more? Gods only know. Now I can finally sleep its 2am and my brain refused to let me rest.

Now Playing: Bite Marks, by League of Legends (ft TEYA)

Masterlist AO3

Next ->

Missing for months now… He's reached out to every source he can find. Has sent Mephisto all over Linkon, the N109 Zone, beyond.

He has looked in every shadow, every dark hole he can find. He has searched and searched, and still found no trace of you. He has never felt this powerless, this lost, to have all the resources of Onychinus and still unable to find answers to the only question he really cares to have answered.

How can you have disappeared? Vanished on him, on them, when you have built a life together? The house has emptied, the halls are quieter, the bedroom you all share is hard to sleep in.

It is like they have acquired ghosts. Griefs that will not rest, that cannot settle… because they have no answers. No response, no way to seek you out to soothe open wounds, and apply salve to scars.

He cannot stop, he cannot stop looking. He looked for you through time, and space, he will not stop now.

If you are out there, he will find you, and bring you back home. To them.

He did not vow and share his soul with you, to lose you.

He has spent most of his days looking, and searching. When he is not forcing himself to keep being Onychinus' leader, he barely sleeps for investigating. If he stops for a moment he thinks of an empty bed, and cold sheets. Of limbs no longer tangled with his. Of fingers no longer soothing through his hair.

Sylus cannot bring himself to tremble and to crumble, he does not have time. Not when the answer has fractured his home. His loved ones.

He watches Xavier hunt, carry out his job. Kill and fight. Mindless and driven, because he wants to protect the Linkon you cared about too. He wants to keep his blade busy, so that his mind does not wander. Then, Sylus knows he searches and he looks. Under rock, across desert, in the mountains. Everywhere his missions take him, he searches.

He comes home empty handed, and tired, but never seems to sleep properly anymore. Restless and unsettled, no matter how often someone soothes his hair and holds him. Xavier sits in the cycle that Sylus knows they cannot break.

He has tried to reach out to Rafayel, the fish beached and unbreathing. He sits in his art room and stares at paintings he cannot finish. Empty canvas and snapped paintbrushes. There are days, he tears them, dry sobs in his chest, eyes burning for tears he can't quite shed. He splatters paint up walls, and stares at what remains. His hands cut and torn from violent actions.

He finds no inspiration, and he ignores all of Thomas' calls, and he sits as the doctor tends to damaged skin, and clings to hands to keep himself grounded. Whispering things that he doesn't want them to hear. Fears of it being his fault. They can only respond with tight arms, and affirmation. It is not, they're sure. It is not.

He watches Zayne pick up more shifts than he should handle, only home when forced to be. Sinking into work, and sleeping in call rooms. When he does return, he waters plants you have left behind, feeds the cats outside the house that seek you out, and keeps your things neat. He traces trembling fingers over photo frames, looks through albums, and reminds himself. So he can stop mistaking every hunter he sees as you.

His sleep is more uneven, and he trembles awake with nightmares, hands reaching out for comfort, and clinging to chests to cry. To weep, to shake. He cannot find solace no matter where he looks, and Sylus can only offer presence and love because he does not know where the solace is found either.

His home is torn and hurting, and he cannot fix it. He will not stop trying to fix it.

He has to fix it.

It is a late night, ninety-two days after your disappearance, when Mephisto's feed flashes. He watches, and he waits, and he sees a flash of familiar white hair and jagged scar down your cheek, through your mouth.

His hand tremours in front of the screen, as he reaches out with tentative fingertips. As though he can reach through it, and pull you through…

His legs force him up before he can second guess himself, before he can waver on the edge of unsurity. Before he can hesitate to long to miss you. He calls the prince, and he leaves. On the first winds of hope, since you vanished.

—-----

The prince stands alert outside the building, while Sylus breaks in. It is old and condemned, the same kind of building that collapsed down around you. Landed you in hospital as they put you back together.

It is not a place he would normally spend his time at. Yet he trusted Mephisto's eyes better than he trusted most things.

The perks of a robotic bird, that he has upgraded even further after your disappearance. Desperate, though he isn't sure he can admit that. Not without falling to pieces, as he digs and he digs and he searches.

Sylus is quiet as he ascends floors, his mist drifting up walls and through broken door frames. Seeking and searching for the familiarity he can never mistake. No matter how many floors he climbs, he cannot feel you. Cannot seek out the sparks of gold he knows so well, and the soul that cannot complete without his. He finally approaches the final door, and pushes it open. An apartment in ruins, but the smell of acrid blood hits him. Familiar and cloying. It does not appeal to his sense, nor to his hunger.

He looks at the walls, where blood has splattered, across the floor where bloodstains mark it. There is a body, throat cut, arm torn partially off. It takes him a second to assure that it is not you, but it is a second too long. The fear drops his heart before he can pick it back and place it where you placed your own.

Approaching the body, he cares little for the blood on his hands as he rummages through pockets, inspecting the wounds. Another stab mark through the temples. A dagger, curved. Familiar. He's seen it before. Designed by the fish, for you to use, adjusted lightness for the metal of your arm. Replacing the trusty claymore he used to witness you swinging with abandon.

Cleaving through enemies.

Cleaving through him.

He presses his fingers against it, assuring himself that he is not seeing what he wishes to. It would not be the first time he has caught glimpses of you in shadows, in alleys and chased the ghast. It is never you, it is always a cut into an already fragile heart, and he rights himself quickly.

To keep moving forwards.

This, however, he is not mistaken about. So he takes photos, sends them to the fish to evaluate, to the prince to be on guard. That someone is here, with your dagger. If it is not you, it has been stolen from you.

He will greatly enjoy cleaving through whoever has taken something precious to you. To lay their dirty hands on something that is theirs. His home, his family.

Footsteps approach him, and he hears a song he knows is yours. The notes though, they are buried in dust. The tune is not familiar. Your feet shouldn't make that noise, your heart is too familiar to him to be mistaken. To be misheard.

He whirls as a knife flies past his head. Stabbing into the broken sofa behind him. Sinking into moulding fabric. Releasing a smell he wishes he hadn't experienced. It fills the air as you step forwards, twirling a dagger around your fingers like he knows you've seen him do.

Like he taught you when you poked fun at him, asked him how he made it move so smoothly.

'Is it a crime lord aesthetic thing?'

'You have quite an image of me.'

'Am I wrong?'

'You just haven't looked closely enough.'

You are a flash of light, and a chill. A ghostly vision against the dilapidated backdrop. The dagger is dripping blood with each spin, splattering it against the floor and against your clothes. Black and loose. Harness over shoulder and around your chest.

You look as you should, jagged scars and crooked lips, mismatched eyes, arm of meta-

His eyes halt and hold on your form, there is no metal. He looks at the twisted carapace of a wanderer. Segmented into a limb, and long clawed fingers. Sylus feels as though he is staring at his own limb, long ago. When his claws could cut through your flesh with ease, and he could not feel the heat of your skin properly through his own.

It is black and twisted and cracked. Like a well used tool.

It is not yours.

Yours was silver, painted by the fish, well worn and trusted. A tool as well as a part of you. A shield and a weapon in one.

It could trace his face gently, and swing a dagger with ease.

This is not yours.

The chill that you bring becomes ice down his back. It feels like the cut of a sword through his skin. Tears away at flesh and bone. Your eyes are empty, there is nothing in them but the glow of a gold he recognises. The resonance lurking under skin like a serpent waiting to strike. He levels his look on the dagger, and then back to your eyes. Seeking something out. Seeking you out.

You're in there, you have to be in there.

"Did you forget to check your phone, kitten?" He manages, but his voice is weak and cracked. He wants to grab you, to tell you it's fine, as long as you're safe now. He reaches out, and barely pulls his hand back quick enough before the dagger slices through where it was.

You tilt your head, then look down on the floor, "I was curious to know who sought out my target." The smile is crooked, it's wrong, it's twisted at the edges and broken. Like the horns he cut off years ago. "You're not on my list though."

It's a dismissive shrug, and a turn away. As though he is a stranger… as though he means nothing.

He barely holds the growl, though he is not angry, he advances on you, moving himself out of the way when your dagger darts out again. "Claws out kitten? Watch it, you could hurt someone." He manages, voice low, but pulling his tone to heel. He looks down at you. Reading at the empty gold glow, looking for something. Anything.

Disgust even, if there is disgust… you know of him.

There is nothing. Empty and cool. The abyss he should recognise but it is nothing he has seen before. Like you are missing. Like your body is empty.

You look back at him, unflinching, unbothered, watching him stare at you. It is the EVER symbol on your collar, he notices, it is like a brand against you. It is the flaming fury in his chest. It is not you.

It is them.

"Are you done?" You offer, stepping back out away from him, so he grabs your arm. The twisted skin against his flesh. Warm and pulsing under, but hard as stone. It is a painful thing to touch. It is not yours.

He looks at it, stares, and as he goes to speak, you tug it away from him. Spin, and kick him in the side.

The force makes him see stars for a moment, falling to knees. He gasps before he rights his body, before he forces adrenaline into his veins to catch the next kick you aim at him. The gold glitters under your skin, as you attack, and the leg he catches shakes his limbs. Throwing it away from him, as you spin and back away.

Sylus stands, and advances as you back up further, "That wasn't particularly nice, Kitten, we were having a chat."

"You shouldn't grab someone you don't know. It's impolite." You growl back, showing canines, and narrowing cool eyes at him.

Don't know.

He almost laughs.

He knows you, more than he knows himself. He knows you because you are part of him. He has lived with questions for who he is all of his life, has struggled to decide who he should be and who he is. You? You he knows.

He knows every piece of you, inside and out. He will always see you.

This is not you.

This is them.

"Then we should get to know each other." The words burn to say, and he reaches his hand out, ready to pull you to him. With skin, with mist. He cares little. He will capture you again, and he will make you wake up from whatever nightmare EVER have placed you in.

"I have orders, you're not part of them." You incline your head. He's used to a smile accompanying such an action, a tease, a lilt in your voice. Yet you are flat.

Then with the elbow of the wanderer's limb, you smash the window… and fall back.

He follows, on quicker feet than he has ever moved, melding into mist. Over the edge of the fall, watching you fall back. He has caught you so many times in his life. On the winds, with his wings, with his EVOL. He has followed you over the edge of many cliffs.

He will follow you over any others.

As he reaches out, you twist, hand on his wrist, pulling and turning, so that his back is to the impending floor. "You're determined." You snarl, actually snarl at him. His EVOL catches the dagger you aim for his chest, pushing it back, and he grabs your other arm, keeping the claws from closing around his throat.

You sink your teeth into his hand, biting down hard enough to draw blood, tearing at his flesh like he is a piece of meat you could devour.

The pain shoots up his arm, but it's not important. His wounds can heal, and while you can kill him, you have not levelled that fiend blade at his chest yet. Getting you back is all that matters, no matter the blood seeping down his wrist. You have bitten him before. You have come for him with daggers. You have shot him in the heart. Stabbed him through his joined heart. Cursed him.

Every drop of his blood that you bleed is another drop that belongs to you.

"Want to mark me that badly?" He laughs. He can only hope the prince has rested enough to hear the shattering glass. That he is still capable of hunting.

Your resonance bursts out of the wrist he holds in his mist, shattering it, and you kick, pulling away. Reaching out with claws to grab at the building. Grooves left behind you, as you slow your descent, he watches the gold shimmer again. Watches as the limb hardens further, claws thicker, digging deeper.

Spitting blood from your mouth, as you do.

He slows, balances himself. Without wings he cannot hover, can only slow his descent by a margin. His mist reaches out to yank you back. Into arms that cage around you, tighten around ribs he would normally be scared to break.

He holds, tight, and squeezes as much as he can. He feels you writhe, an angry cat held in a grip you do not want. Clawing and scratching. Willing to draw blood to escape. He feels the jagged claws of your hand grab at his wrist, digging into his flesh, tearing. Your EVOL bursts, and shatters, but it cannot shatter his bones, and he keeps the grip as you fall with him, as he ties you to gravity with him.

"Get off!" You growl, fury in your tone, and he's glad to finally see something from you. Some spark of who you are, even if it's angry and violent and vicious.

He sees a flash of light reflected off the glass of the buildings, and then he is caught and swiftly righted. Alongside a curse, and a huff.

Sylus turns to Xavier, who makes to speak before his eyes focus on you. Yowling and clawing. He reaches out a hand, only to have it knocked back by mist, "Don't. Your wounds don't heal like mine."

You snarl, "No, go on, let me slice you up." Claws flexing against the flesh you're serrating.

He'll heal. The pain is harsh, and burning. He's fought wanderers, but they don't have your mind. The knowledge of where to slice, the strength behind your anger.

"Starlight?" Xavier's voice does not waver often, he is used to seeing things that have hurt him. He has killed people who once followed him, he has fought those that were his loved ones. He has blood on his hands that burn to feel, but can never be washed off. Now, he wavers, watching someone who wears your face, but hisses and snarls to bite and snap. To cut and rip.

You kick back, into Sylus' shin. He avoids the second one, he knows is aimed to break his leg. Squeezes harder to creak your ribs. "EVER did something to them." He manages, using the mist to move the mark on your collar so Xavier can see it. He watches a jaw tick, the muscles jumping, blue starry eyes turn to ice, and focus on the point.

"We need to get them back." The prince approaches, and Sylus tightens his arms once more. If you have to be knocked out to get you back, well he can live with that. He's done it before. Hand around your throat, watching the life flickered in your eyes. Can your disgust hurt him more than the lack of any personal acknowledgement?

It is too soon for him to think, as you let out a snap of teeth at the prince, then smash your head back into his nose. The pain jolts up into his skull, so you reach your hand up, grab him by the hair and yank, then snap back one more time.

He's fought you before, he knows you. He knows you can beat him, he's been pinned by you in a test match before. Watching the glee in your eyes, seeing the fire at your victory. He has watched you practice swordsmanship with the prince. He has seen you cross daggers with the fish.

Everytime, you are cunning, you are ready to win. Everytime joy lights up your face if you succeed. Thrilled and happy to learn and improve. Crooked smile and bright eyes as you thank them for taking time for you to clash with.

It is not joy that lights your eyes, it's savage and it's gleaming. You do not extend your hand, or press a kiss to his cheek in your victory. You let him fall away from you, as blood sprays, and then you reach out with a clawed hand to rip at the prince's chest.

As soon as both have stumbled back, you turn, and you disappear.

Sylus' patience is strong. He has lived a long time, waiting, and living, and managing. It is when he has his prize so very close, that his desperation comes through. It was moments where he asked if you truly wanted him. Voice trembling and begging.

To touch, to taste, to hold, to seek pleasure with.

It was times when he had found you at last, growing impatient to feel your resonance against him. Moving too quickly, too desperately. Seeking memories locked behind a seal. Greedy for his beloved to look into his eyes and see someone worthy of flowers again.

It is the moments where he waits for your missions to end, and the message that you are returning, that he can no longer sit still.

It is when he saw your new home for the first time, a life built where he was not a monster, a family where he had nothing. Need bubbling to the surface to paint it in colours and fill it with song.

His patience has held until the last moment where relief is in sight. That it shatters, and it demands.

As he holds his bloody mangled arm, and spits blood on the floor, it breaks into shards. As he reaches out to Xavier, checking the wound, turning his face to check for others, he tears his already torn shirt to hold to the jagged claw marks.

As his fingers tremble and he shakes at where he is holding, he reaches for where his patience has gone and finds a small boy with broken horns. The absence of his calm, built on the back of his agony, lost to the fear and the doubt that circles his head.

It is the memory of the empty eyes, and the snarl that he can still hear in his head, the warm body in his hands, even though you had not been you.

You were finally so close, and now you are gone.

A hand tightens over his, the prince pulling his focus, and reaching up through the pain to ease tears that can't fall out of his eyes, "They're alive. We can find them again." He bites out, warming the chill in Sylus' hands, and waking him from the nightmare.

He will, and he'll melt every EVER building until he does. Rip the rot out by the roots, and become what Philos sneered at him for. A calamity.

Their evil is similar, afterall.

—------

He does not find any joy or relief in the information he brings back. As he watches the doctor stitch Xavier closed. Waving off his assistant. He eases the pain with his EVOL. Part of him wants to feel it, a reminder. You were there, he had you, and he let you go.

It does no one any good for him to be useless, or deeply wounded. So while the moon is still high, he repairs the damage, pushing his nose back into place. You'd told him it was beautiful, he hopes you still thought so when you returned. As the blood stops, and his wounds close, he leaves the room to shower.

The heat as high as it can go, to sear his flesh. It leaves his skin pink, as he finally turns the water off. Seeking out clothes that don't bear the ruins of your violence. When he returns to the living room, the prince's stitches are complete and bandaged, and the fish is looking at the photos he sent.

Before you tore at him like a beautiful and horrifying monster.

Had it been you, he would have welcomed your dagger and your claws.

He will not die to EVER's machinations. They will not make you their tool.

When he dies it will be because you have chosen willfully to cut through his chest and his joined heart. It will be your choice to sever your curse, and scatter his soul to the wind like the petals of deadly flowers.

Sylus eases himself into the sofa, leaning back and taking the fish's head into his lap with ease. Fingers finding purple locks and smoothing them out as they look at the photos.

He won't comment on Rafayel's feline-like purrs. He is too tired and worn. His heart hurts more than his arm did. "It was really them?"

"It was kitten, alright… Their body at least."

Zayne helps Xavier ease into a new shirt, cool hands sliding down sore skin, and turns his head to speak, "You think EVER are controlling them?"

The fish snorts, eyes narrowing, flames at his fingertips, "Is it surprising, after everything they've done?"

"That wasn't my question. Nothing they do at this point would surprise me, but controlling a person is…" The doctor flinches, and Sylus can see it. The image of you. Cold eyes, claws extended, tearing through Zayne's jugular. Blood splattering over your face, but you don't blink, or flinch. Simply move onto the next.

"Their eyes were empty, doctor. They didn't recognise or care when they saw me or the prince. They wanted to hurt us to escape… They didn't care how."

He finishes with the shirt and rubs at his forehead, trying to ease a headache that brews. It is better a headache, Sylus thinks, than him focusing on the aching pain in his chest. The fear of someone being broken by EVER. Experiments that defy morality. That twist and snap and destroy anything worthy of protecting.

That left him with twins, bearing scars. Inside and out. Who thought death would be an entertainment worthy of hunting for great prey.

That made you a child with a broken heart and a grandmother who didn't look close enough at what she did to you. Her morality flexible, because of your broken, twisted memory.

The doctor is a moral man, who believes in the power of medicine and science to save and protect the sanctity of life. That has rejected every offer for using his knowledge to twist that boundary. Who stares into the face of loss and believes dying in control of yourself, is better than living as a ghost or beast. Who has healed every wound you have held, and stitched up every injury.

Who nurses your heart, no matter how fragile it can be, or how much work it is.

What EVER stand for is so strongly opposed to the doctor, that Sylus can watch the tick in his jaw. The pain in his eyes. The tremble in his hands. The snowflakes drifting from fingertips, and the chill arching up his hands.

Rafayel removes himself from Sylus' lap, reaching over with heated hands and takes icy ones. Easing the cold back slowly, as the doctor fights for control over an EVOL that is soothed by you. It is a slower process with the fish, but it is worth it, as the chill recedes and the heat returns to the doctor's skin.

His trembling slows before it ceases, and he removes his glasses to rub his eyes, "Thank you."

The fish shrugs, sitting down next to him, ready just in case he is needed. Sylus looks down at his hand, flexing it in his lap, as he thinks about you taking his hand, pulling him forwards. No matter who he has been or will be, your hold has not wavered. It is his job to pull you back.

"We have a target." The prince exhales after downing a glass of water, looking over at him, and he nods, thinking. He can narrow down the search, look for traces, documents, records. EVER have always been simple to understand. Their methods are outdated to gain traitors, their experiments never stopped, no matter the state of the N109 Zone. No matter what destruction they left in their wake.

So he just has to find the thread back to you. While he has no intention of bloodying the doctor's hands, he has a fish who has killed those responsible for his people's suffering, a prince who has hunted any who dared raise a blade to you, and himself. A dragon whose treasure has been ripped out of his palms.

It is a foolish mortal that steals from a dragon.

—--------

Your return to their compound is slower after you've exercised that new EVOL you had been fed. It sticks in your maw, like a bitten on bone. It is uncomfortable, untrained, and aching. Your shoulder aches, your arm is covered in blood, and you need to clean your dagger.

The door swings open as you push through, slamming your fist on the wall to find the light. It brightens the room and you look down. Muscle and flesh in the grooves of your arm, sticking into the carapace. Stuck under segments. The feeling is a violent rejection. You rip the thing from you, throwing it across the room so that it smashes an unused lamp. Splattering some of the gore across the scientists whiteboard.

It is not really satisfaction at the viscera painting pristine EVER surfaces, but it is something. Or it is until a throat clears behind you.

"Little bomb, you should really behave yourself in the labs."

The feeling turns to biting fear, before you grab it by its throat and remind it. You do not fear foolish men. You do not cower to his slimy, disgusting voice. You do not run, or hide. You are not a child.

He is nothing.

You are a weapon.

"I don't recall you being the one I answer to, Leon."

You move through the room, seeking out the sink, and splashing water over blood on your clothes with one hand.

"Is the new attachment that unpleasant?" He points, indicating the weapon you had thrown. "If you want something better, we can provide it?"

The scoff isn't entirely in your control, but it does narrow the man's eyes, "You can't provide me much of worth Leon, don't act like you have any more power here than I do. It just needs cleaning. Drop it in a bucket. I'll care about it later."

"You're in a worse mood than normal, did you even carry out your orders?"

You round, dagger in hand and flick its tip under his soft throat, the tip pricking into skin, and bare canines, "When have I ever failed a job?"

He watches your hand, the dagger, then looks into cool, icy eyes. You can feel the resonance flickering, angry, uncontrolled. It is always harder to control some days. Like the sensations and the feelings are too hard to read, too uneven. You think about it failing when that man with white hair had you in his grasp. Refusing to help you break, to make yourself stronger. The panic of being held, the anger at being weak, the fury that breathed fire into your chest.

You do not know who he is, but you will slit his throat if he shows his face to you again. Tear his throat open with your teeth and drown in his blood.

"Kitten, tch." You hiss, pulling away from the scientist watching you with fear flickering in his gaze. "Starlight… What world do they belong to?" You spit at the floor, clearing more blood that still feels caught in your teeth.

"Seriously? Can you stop that?" Leon looks down at the blood now splattered on the floor, mixed with saliva.

"Clean it up if you're so unhappy. I'm going to clean this mess off me." You push past him, heading deeper into a compound that does not feel like anywhere you want to be.

"Stop, you have another order."

"Give it to me later."

"I'm here now, little bomb. You may as well listen."

It bubbles, it burns. You despise him, you don't really know why. You looked him in the eye when you opened yours for the first time and hatred and disgust and fear, embedded so deeply in your chest that you almost threw it up onto him. Leon greets you with his greying temples, and his sickening glimmer in his eyes as he stares at you, and he calls you little bomb.

It tears at your nerve and chews at your heel.

You want to tear his throat out, but you won't drink his blood. He is sullied, and disgusting…

But you have orders.

"What is it?"

"A doctor, he's wanted to do work here."

"Then offer him money, and immortality, I'm sure he'll jump at the chance." You spit again, this time aiming for Leon's shoes.

He rubs a hand over his face in response, looking at you like he is seconds away from locking you in a cage. You want him to try. The feeling is under your skin.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

It simmers and burns and you want to cut and rip.

If he wants to try to tame your fury, he is welcome to try. To send you to one of EVER's toy boxes. To jolt you, and burn you, to remind you who holds the leash. Maybe the pain will shake out the feeling in the back of your gut. Maybe they'll put you in a ring, and watch you fight someone else like you. A tool, a weapon. Maybe you'll let someone pierce your chest for once. Spilling blood over the floor. Seeking escape in the splattered walls.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

It lurches in your brain, words you don't remember, and irritation that has no place. "What on earth happened out there?" Leon finally asks, watching you wary. Good. Wary is good. Wary is careful.

"Your target had friends." You snap, dagger twirling around the skin of your hand, unbothered when it catches on fingers that don't move fast enough. The pain grounds you, washes out the voices, so you run a finger over the blade, and watch the scientist. He looks away from the blood and you almost have to laugh.

He can torture you, but he doesn't want to watch you bleed on his floor.

"Did you deal with them?"

"They weren't on my list."

"If they were there-"

This time you do nic his neck, dagger fast. His EVOL is worthless, pointless, and has no way to stop you. Not like the mist, not like it curling around your wrist like warm fingers.

"I follow my orders, Leon. They weren't on the list." His blood trickles down his neck and the scent is sour. So you push him away, turning and walking off, even though he protests, hand covering his throat, "Send me the name. I'll capture him."

The walk through the compound is full of people whose names you cannot remember, whose faces you see every time your feet carry you through halls. There are rarely new faces, a close iron grip held over tools in a grand scheme. The dagger twirls and twists, and you are given a wide berth.

Unicorn, Subject 001. It is an easy title to hold. Thanks to it hanging around your neck like a noose, you are unbothered by others. It is like you are a beast that they keep their chains around, but no one is willing to feed you from their hand.

They would rather throw flesh through the bars, and run away.

It is fear and disgust, you muse. As it should be. As if any of them are better than you.

It is bitter hatred that bites at your heels, that reminds you of every experiment, of every time waking up on a cold table, chest flayed as you are dug around in. Heart pressed and prodded.

It is your orders that keep you off that table. You are useful now. If you stay useful, you don't have to wake up in a cage.

It is the closest you can get to relief here, as though the sick doesn't swirl in your stomach still. There is no one to seek out for help, you are alone.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

Your snarl is unbidden, and you shake your head like a cat trying to shake out fleas. As if that will shake out the ghost of voices, for fools who get in your way. Bright red molten eyes, tinged in glossy tears, and star blue constellations, gazing at you in wonder.

No one has looked at you like that.

The scientists have stared at you in greed, in hunger, with curiosity. But it is not wonder, it is hungry and cruel and brings pain.

You stomach and you move forwards.

These voices will fade, you will not see red and blue eyes again, and you will forget the curling mist.

As you enter the room you have been given to clean yourself up, the photo on the side stares back at you. A man you do not recognise, but whose name is etched into the frame. Caleb, your family… You do not remember him, your memories do not summon him. He has died, they've told you. Cut out of your life by people who stand against EVER.

Your home destroyed, so now you stay here. In a compound with cold walls… and a box of a room that cannot be filled because you own nothing. Except a photo frame you have been handed, and the clothes you are to wear when working.

You think you feel grief at the concept of not having him. You think that there are moments where something aches so deep in your chest that you can't find an answer to it. Like you are missing something integral. Seeking something out, but can never find it.

Sometimes in the shadows, when you enter and forget to turn on the lights, you think you see plushies along pillows… you have seen some with them on their desks. They are not for you though, you do not even know where you'd begin to find one.

There is a cold broken feeling in your chest, whenever you turn the lights on and they are gone. Just a mirage from a mind you think is fractured by the tests. You don't know what the feeling is, but it hurts, so you move onto another job, and move forwards.

You wonder if Caleb would look at you with disgust, to see no recognition in your eyes, to see you, with dagger in hand and blood splattered over your mouth and face.

Or was he like you? A tool to be used.

It is a question that has no answer, the dead don't speak. You will never find out. You will never have a voice answer you back, questions you speak out loud, when the room is too quiet and too cold.

So you scald your skin with heat in the shower, and burn away the remnants of the memories of voices calling out for you, and the pain. As the blood rushes down the shower drain, and leaves you as close to clean as you can get.

—------

Leon is cleaning up the blood when you return to the lab to pick up your arm, it is hours later, but he seems harried. Hair falling out from where he normally slicks it back.

You debate saying something, but decide against it, especially when you see that the gore has been scrubbed from your arm. A job you did not wish to have to handle. Even thinking about it, makes you think of the feeling of muscle under your claws. The hissed pain through clenched teeth. The arms pressing around your ribs, tight but wary. Like you would break under them.

You strap it back on, and spin the dagger in practiced claws in relief. No nics, no cuts. You don't remember who taught you, you never taught yourself. It eases you though, something familiar. A motion that is practiced and quick.

"You can get a better weapon than that, you know." Leon sighs, standing, relieved to be finished removing the mess you'd spread. So that he experiments could continue on. His finger points over at the dagger in your claw and you watch as he throws cloth into bucket.

The way he looks at the dagger makes your hand clench around it, slipping it back into its sheath at your side, and glaring, baring canines. It feels like an open wound. To be separated from it. Like it is as much a part of you as… your arm…

Itching in the back of your neck, a feeling of wrongness. It is not your arm.

Silver, and painted. A beautiful red fish swimming over metal.

You shake your head, pulling away from Leon before he can get his hands near you, or near the tool at your waist.

It is yours. It cannot be replaced. "It's killed enough of EVER's targets to be a fine weapon. Perhaps you should be replaced instead."

The bite does not agitate the man, but it does satisfy the little voice asking you to snap him. A little. There is no response but you are done with him, until a question gnaws.

Like a little beast at your heel. Demanding something.

You're not quite sure what.

"Why won't the doctor join you?" You ask, pushing some equipment to the side none too gently to sit on a table.

"Stop throwing things around, we need those." Leon snaps, "Your temper is too short, little bomb."

Your laugh holds no humour, it is a choke of a noise, that means nothing, "You call me that, and expect my fuse to be long? Unluckily for you, Leon, you are the only one who doesn't fear to talk to me. So you are to bring me orders, and answer my questions. If your things are in the way, that's not my problem."

He rubs the space between his eyes, and for a moment you get a flash. Forests, and snowflakes. Drifting through branches and alighting on white petals. Blending, and freezing, then falling.

Pushing his glasses back up, he speaks, "He doesn't agree with the tests we are running."

"You think capturing him will help?"

"I think capturing him will make him less likely to help, but surely the order came for a reason."

You scoff, but shrug, "Can't imagine what they could offer him, that means enough to make him agree. I suppose all of you science types have a price though. Something they can tug at to make you abandon your souls."

His voice is cold when he speaks, and you watch the spark of irritation. It's rare, he tries to keep his calm false mask, but sometimes. You can poke and prod. Like he is a beast you want to see bite. White hair ruffled and soaked as he laughs through-

You blink, and Leon returns to his bespectacled brown hair, and brown eyes. He speaks but you don't hear, and you push off the table, waving a hand, "Whatever." You don't want to hear it anyway, whatever he has to say won't remove the scalpel. Won't ease scars that don't disappear.

Won't mean you can lay down a clawed arm of beasts that they experiment on.

You're not too different you suppose, if you were maybe your arm would have rejected your body. Demanding something closer to home. Instead it follows your demands, moves smoothly, easily. You were told it was the ideal weapon and tool, and using it has certainly made missions easier.

It does not mean you wish to see it more than you have to.

Fabric catching on the segments of hard stone-like skin. Every sensation through it feels like it's felt underwater. Distant and abstract. A picture you can't fully see.

You step through the hallways, flexing the clawed hand carefully, as you approach the testing rooms. Inside is the usual, an old man with goggles on his head, greying brown hair. Wrinkles. He pushes the goggles up as he looks over at you, "Phi, I need my check." You approach.

His chuckle is low, and he eases you. There is something about him that is familiar, against all other backdrops of the compound. This man is familiar.

Sometimes if you stare at him for long enough, you can hear his voice telling you to stay calm.

You're not sure what it means, if he was there during your hazy wake-ups that you barely remember. Just the pain of the pressure on your heart.

"The Unicorn has wandered over finally. Come on then, you're weeks late." He indicates the black reclining chair beside him.

It normally grates at you, Unicorn. It is not a name, it is a subject title. You don't remember if you've ever been called anything else though. If any other name has ever mattered to you.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

'Cutie'

'Darling'

They swirl and then you shake, like a dog shifting water from its coat. You will not drown to voices.

The chair is cold to the touch as you lie back, but Philip's hands are steady and careful. He checks over you, scans with his tools, checks your EVOL levels. "How are the new additions?" When he asks, you can actually hear concern. It's rare… it's not offered often. He is here just to manage your health, to track it. Leon is here as your keeper.

He proclaims that he knows you best. His little bomb. His reason to be in that lab. The core in your chest is his proudest test subject.

You think about the 'additions'. EVOL's fed into your resonance, powering it, making it more useful. You think about the pain, the snarling voice that wishes to devour and swallow. You would tremble at the sensation of the heat in your core. The ripping and tearing. The gold enveloping, and the rippling power that explodes outwards.

Broken glass and twisted shards of metal.

You think about how hard they are to control.

You think about fiery red eyes watching you as you fall, and the resonance failing to come to your hand at will.

You think about heat from skin like a memory you could grasp if you tried hard enough.

You think about when it finally answered you, so you could leave the call of snapping beasts at heels behind.

Questions left unanswered. Blissful ignorance, so your heart does not shatter. You don't want to know the origin of the fever or the broken splinters.

There is nothing on the other end of the thread.

"Temperamental." You finally answer, "They're harder to control than just my resonance is. I can't call them at will."

He nods, jotting things down, as he reads. As you look at his goggles, you see a leather jacket reflected in it, but when you turn there is nothing there.

Perhaps not sleeping is leaving you as useless a tool as Leon is.

A problem to solve later, when you can finally chase out broken parts of your brain, and swallow something to ease the screeching behind eyelids.

"You need to practice with them."

You huff, turning your head away, "I didn't need to practice with my resonance, what kind of tool can't be used straight away?"

When he doesn't answer, you return your gaze to him, watching as the man frowns. Staring at his tablet, like it holds news he does not want to see, but the tablet is empty. "Phi?"

He looks up, wavering eyes, and tired bags. He also does not sleep, you remember. You've never had it in you to ask why. If he's as haunted as you are. If this place keeps him from escaping his nightmares. You could ask, or you could dig for information… You do neither.

You always do neither.

"Your tests are fine, you should get some rest though, and make sure you take your medication. Leon said you've skipped it for two days now." He extends a hand with pills shaken out into them. Suppressants, for the core in your chest. To stabilise it.

You've taken them since waking up. They taste bitter, and they stick in your throat.

You grab them out of his hand, and throw them back. You feel like spitting them back up into his face, but manage to swallow them down, relieved when he has water prepared. You down the bottle, easing the sensation of the chalky taste, and run your tongue over your teeth to clear the residue.

It's no surprise to you that Leon would rat you out. Like he thinks he is your keeper. Like he owns your soul, and your body. Not just the warden responsible for your pain. The object of your abject hatred.

The cool of the seat starts to burn, so you pull up and step away. Shoving one hand into pockets, claw loose at your side. "Anything else?" The man asks, his expression becoming warmer, a smile loose on his worn lips. The familiar feeling sparks in your chest, and you wish you could ask.

Maybe if you ask you'd understand.

If you ask, you wake up from a nightmare, and you're not sure if the outside is better.

So you shake your head, "No, see you." and turn on a heel, leaving as quickly as you can. You can't thank him, you can never thank him. He is the only one who does not treat you like something to cut open for experiments, and you cannot thank him.

Because it is a low bar to clear?

Because you should not have to thank for that?

Because you blame him too?

You do not go to find food, though there is a cafeteria. You don't need to stay here. With the cold walls. Stared at by wary mad scientists.

You have a job, you can always do some research. Something that requires the movement of your feet, and the use of your brain. Something to distract from the feelings that bubble and overflow. That leave a lingering bitterness in your mouth like chalky medication.

That make you look over your shoulder, and not focus on the target.

It is an agitation you cannot shake out, so you have to focus it.

Your feet take you back to Leon's lab, but his lab coat is over the chair, as his tools are left behind. So you dig into his pockets, and pull out his wallet. Relieved to find cash, and not just card. You could figure it out, but it's always a pain.

Instead you take all the cash he has to hand, and leave, throwing his wallet back on the table.

If he wants to demand a punishment, he's free to. If you get results, he's less likely to get what he wants.

You want to watch him chafe under the pressure.

—------

Linkon is familiar in a way you aren't sure how to word. You've been told you lived here, that you lived with Caleb in a house in a nice little neighbourhood, before it was taken from you. You've walked to the area before, and while you sometimes can feel heat against your skin, you cannot quite bring the image to mind.

Like you're staring at a static tv screen. Sometimes there's a shape you think you can make out, but it could just be the broken image, flicking so fast you've fooled yourself.

It's like desperately grabbing at something, only for it to slip further under sand. One thing you do know, however, is that your feet travel before your brain focuses. That you pass by things called kitty cafes, and hesitate for a moment. Looking through glass, and wondering what it is you're seeing. You almost entered once, before dread settled somewhere in the pit of you. Pushing you back.

A warning.

So you simply look through the windows, to watch the small creatures and the floating OTTOs that tend to them.

It is enough. Perhaps.

The acknowledgement of something that you enjoy. Or think you enjoy. Perhaps you played with Caleb.

Before he was taken away from you.

Would he be able to remind you of things you have forgotten? Records of things you should know, photos of times you'd spent together? Would he be able to spark the image if he stood before you?

Your memory just a casualty of EVER's saving your life… It is a low price to pay, you've been told. That memory can sometimes be reclaimed. That your life cannot.

You cannot help but feel like a haunted ghost though. Sparks and flashes with abstracts and feelings you can't explain or name. Things that lurk along the edges but cannot be grasped. You have nothing for yourself, but the jobs you are given, and the titles you cannot shake.

Perhaps if you keep following the path, you'll find an answer at the end of it. Even though you want to turn from it. Run the opposite direction. Would the answer even make you happier? Or would it make the feelings worse?

Could Caleb really have cared about someone Leon calls little bomb? Could a tool be more than itself? Or were you both tools?

Perhaps it was easy to exist, because neither had anything else to claim.

If that were the case, you think you could accept it. At least then you would not be alone, surrounded by things that want to twist and snap and break and bend you. Make you into a weapon sharper than a dagger.

You still await the moment they pierce your skull with a sword, so you bear the horn of the beast, they're so proud of naming you after.

It is the smell of sweets that draws you to a cafe, and you are relieved that no one bothers to look at you for your arm. Though you have passed at least three people with panda costumes, so you think perhaps, this is a low scale of concern for Linkon residents.

As you enter, money in your pocket, you rattle off as many cakes as you can read, and afford with stolen cash, and then ask for a black coffee.

You pause, and then correct yourself. Cream, two sugars.

You can see it placed next to your head on a bedside table, you can hear a snort of disgust against your neck. You shiver, the sensation of lips on the back of your neck making you scratch at it with sharpened claws.

The blood that catches at the edges, makes your panic rise, but no one is looking at you. Couples too caught up with each other, groups laughing, and people alone working. Linkon, you decide, is an interesting but strange place.

At the compound you are stared at. Watched warily. There is no step you can take where you are not eyed, as though you could begin howling and snarling at a moment. You wonder if they fear you will turn into a wanderer. Will the core in your chest make you as horrifying a beast as the Myst's that EVER manipulate? Augmented protocores giving them powers beyond understanding?

It is an interesting thought. You hope if that happens, someone will silence you quickly. Lest you lose even the semblance of you that you have.

As you find your way to empty chairs, stuffing a macaron into your mouth, hunger tearing at your edges, you feel the aggravation and sensitivity calm somewhat. The itch easing, and the feelings leaving you be.

'Food is important, sweets can fill your heart as well as your stomach.'

The voice isn't familiar, it is a whisper on the edges. It does not bite at you though. The edges softened down, no longer sharp and broken. So you stuff more into your mouth, unconcerned with the world around you. Sating the beast that purrs as you feed it sugar.

As you finally stop starving your body, though you still refuse to let it sleep. Perhaps the confectionery will do for now.

With one hand you continue to claim sugary treats, while the other flicks through information Leon had sent you.

Zayne Li, cardiologist. Highly respected, has rejected offers of work over sixteen times.

You can't imagine why he'd suddenly decide to take up EVER's offer, if he has steadfastly rejected every time they had tried. Perhaps they finally had enough money for him. Money, equipment, a curiosity. It was always something that summoned the science types into EVER's hands.

They never fought or rejected for long. Denied enough opportunities, they would come running. Desperate.

Ice EVOL, uncontrolled, appears to create backlash when used.

Ice shards, tearing through skin, ripping into flesh, and rattling air from the chest. You choke on a sip of your drink, spitting the coffee on the table as you rub at your forehead. You can feel the cold on the tips of your fingers, and you aren't sure why.

It is not one of the EVOLs that was fed to you.

Just more static, things that don't belong to you, that won't stop haunting your vision. The lack of sleep has to be the reason.

Still, to have an EVOL you cannot control… That hurts you when you do. You think of the ones that aren't yours, that have been devoured by your resonance, and you rub at the space over your chest.

The core in your chest will eat anything it can grasp.

The file gives you his main location, Akso Hospital. Kidnapping a doctor from a hospital, would likely result in more mess than you want to deal with. You'll just have to follow him to somewhere else when he leaves.

Surely he has a home.

Why it's not in the file is a question you will have to ask Leon later. You'd expect them to give you more than minimal lines.

It is not as though you will fail… failing means tests. You think of isolation rooms. Of fighting people haunted, with protocore syndrome. That shatter when you fight back. You think of the agony in your limbs when they poke and prod.

You think of shocks, and scalpels. You think of what EVER means when they make you their tool. When you are their test subject.

You think of how, even if you run, they will always be able to find you.

You think of how pointless it is to fight back, when they break you down.

You think of their buildings in Linkon, office workers who mill about with their symbols on their chest.

You think of the news reports you hear, with their technology selling to everyone you pass.

It is an encompassing web, and you are barely a fly.

EVER have reminded you, that being a tool is better than breaking.

You're unsure if that's true, but you know that death never seems to save you. You have plunged your beloved dagger into your chest, trying to cleave the core out, but woken up on a table. Unsuccessful, reminded of your place.

You are hazy, if someone stops you, if you're always being watched that they can grasp you before. You wake up though, staring around you, and it continues. You continue. Dagger in hand, EVER's mark on your collar, and given orders.

It is as you lean back, finished with your bounty, sipping the last of your coffee, that the door swings open.

"I don't think now is the time to eat sweets."

"And I know you're not feeling great, when you can say that doc."

Static.

Like in that broken down apartment building. Staring at a man who looks like a ghost to you. Slowing your dagger long enough to look.

Crackling along the edges, filtering through your vision. Overlaying so many images against the other. It is noise and it is broken images.

It is a force of a wall you cannot break through.

You look, as two men enter. Tired, drawn eyes. One you know by the file in your hand.

The other, you know by the signs and posters.

Zayne Li and Rafayel Qí.

It is an easy thing to sit and watch as the one rubs at his eyes, and the other nudges him, hand easing strain from back.

They do not know you. No matter if they pick out the symbol on your collar, there are countless EVER employees, and your face is only known to the ones you're ordered to kill.

And now capture.

Still, your eyes want to move away. Looking at them hurts. The static is loud, and the feelings are back. An uncomfortable ripping at the fabric of what's inside you.

So you stand to leave, hoping you can pull away and come back another day. It is no use tracking a man when he has company, for all you know the artist is a bodyguard in his spare time.

Complications are not worth testing with.

It is the movement of your chair, and the way you stand, grasping at your chair to push it back in, that draws their gaze to you. It sends a chill down your spine, as they look.

As forest green eyes and burning pink and blue stare at you. Wavering.

You are hit with the static, louder now, pushing down on your head, trying to drown you. You want to cover your ears, but you can't. You can't stand out. You can't be odd. Not out here. Not more than you already are.

No one has looked, or cared. So you put one foot in front of the other, and it shatters the silence.

"Cutie?"

"Darling?"

It tears at the fabric, and it rips at the gauze. The open wound in your chest. You feel the ice though skin, the water in lungs. There is a sensation of falling, and an aching where you land.

They approach, and you wave off. Claw in the ground trying to right yourself, pull yourself together. Remember what you're supposed to do. Get out, leave. It doesn't matter if they remember your face… It won't matter when you knock out the doctor and take him back.

Even if the artist remembers you, EVER can cover it up.

They've never failed to do so before.

You just have to get out. To find your feet.

Why is there so much static?

Someone kneels by you, and a cold hand touches the claw digging into the ground. It cuts through the carapace, rips at the seams. You pull away, and it gives you enough shock to cut through, to give you a door. You back up, and shake your head, "I'm fine, sorry."

You don't look at teary eyes, or stop long enough to be grasped at, you don't want to know why they looked at you, or saw something.

You don't want the static.

You just have to get back, and do your job… Then shake out the voices who call out names that settle softer than Unicorn.

#zayne #zayne x reader #rafayel #rafayel x reader #xavier #xavier x reader #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace #lnds #lads #wonder writes #lads x reader #Zayne lads #rafayel lads #Xavier lads #Sylus lads #lads x mc #poly!lads

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would-you-punt-them · 7 months ago

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Anyway some new updates on the Beast situation were made. Not going into specifics but a few of the things Dogpack was going into were either fabricated or slightly manipulated. Obviously this doesn't change what Jimmy did is still shady

Yeah, I've been seeing people saying that, so I'm guessing this is about SoggyCereal's 90-minute video "exposing" DogPack from 4 days ago.

But having seen the video, I think it is itself ridiculously manipulative in a lot of ways, and as of right now I'm hesitant to consider the source trustworthy.

In the final third of the video Soggy flies out to America and goes to MrBeast HQ in North Carolina to conduct some interviews with current employees who used to work with DogPack. He also later admitted that a MrBeast employee paid for his international flight.

These interviews take place in a room at MrBeast HQ, with people who are currently working for the company.

In other words, SoggyCereal contacted MrBeast and requested an interview with employees who worked with DogPack for his YouTube video responding to DogPack's specific talking points and calling him a liar for an hour and a half.

So, MrBeast prepared an interview space in their headquarters (with professional lighting, sound, and cameras all set up) and hand-picked some of their current employees to give pre-prepared anecdotal evidence that they thought DogPack was a douche who made them uncomfortable, and then heavily-edited snippets of these interviews featured in the video.

Soggy did an interview himself the next day (it's also where he revealed his flight was paid for) where he insisted that these employees weren't selected and the interviews were fully unbiased and unprepared, but that is impossible to believe. As far as I'm concerned, this entire portion of the video can't be trusted.

But unsurprisingly, MrBeast has been pushing this video like crazy. Multiple drama YouTubers (including Pyrocynical and Spill Sesh) have revealed that Jimmy had personally messaged them with a link to the video, and encouraged them to cover it.

People have been theorising that this whole thing is part of a ploy by the MrBeast company, who knew that this positive video was being made. The suspicion is that the MrBeast company had employees reach out to SoggyCereal and supply him with "evidence" that discredits and slanders DogPack.

He even managed to get a hold of the full audio recording of DogPack being fired, where he begs for his job back. He presents this as proof that DogPack is a disgruntled employee, like what MrBeast's PR team have been implying.

Okay, but like... how in the hell would he gain access to that kind of sensitive information? He doesn't cite any kind of source, he doesn't even claim it was an anonymous leak. He also gives a lot of other very specific behind-the-scenes information that disprove various individual claims made by DogPack, even claims that were mentioned for like five seconds in DogPack's original video.

In contrast, Coffeezilla, who was making a video on the allegation that Jimmy has been conducting fraudulent crypto scams (it came out 5 days ago), reached out to MrBeast repeatedly to fact-check, and MrBeast refused to reply, other than with a single statement from their legal team. MrBeast hasn't responded to any other allegation publicly. And yet SoggyCereal suddenly has access to a mountain of insider information and full cooperation from MrBeast. It seems likely they're using SoggyCereal as a mouthpiece to slander DogPack while avoiding making any kind of statement themselves.

Jimmy also commented on SoggyCereal's video itself on the day it was first posted, even though it still only had a couple thousand views at the time.

He later deleted that comment, because it's just a terrible look, and supports what we already knew: that Jimmy was well-aware that this video was about to come out.

There are legitimate reasons to criticise DogPack, as he has made serious errors over the course of this drama, a lot of which he has acknowledged (including the James Warren thing, which he was rightfully criticised for heavily).

And this video shouldn't be discounted in its entirety, as it has raised some questions about DogPack. It does expose some worrying factual inaccuracies in the major accusations, and does seemingly expose some shady behaviour on his part. So, those points are valid (although I do consider the way Soggy presents them as manipulative).

But people have been saying (mostly in clickbait titles) that this somehow exonerates MrBeast, when that couldn't be further from the truth. That's just how drama YouTube works. To get people's attention, there has to be a hero and a villain. Either everything DogPack and Rosanna say is true, or nothing is and they should burn in hell. There is no middle ground.

As it stands, take any of the clickbait tweets, videos and articles saying anything has changed with a grain of salt.

That's all this is: clickbait.

In my opinion, the situation hasn't changed significantly. The main takeaway is that MrBeast is even more desparate than we thought.

#mrbeast #mr beast #influencer drama #asks #not a poll #dogpack404 #youtube

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kitweewoos · 6 months ago

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safe and sound

There was a mouse in Tommy's house, and he couldn't sleep. He was so tired, but every time he closed his eyes, he swore he could hear tiny squeaking and little scratching in the walls. He had to eliminate it. He laid out a series of traps, and he waited for the tell-tale snap of victory.

Except Evan was due over for the night - and arrived earlier than he expected. He whistled as he pushed through the front door to find Tommy on his knees in the middle of the living room floor with his ear to the ground, probably looking more than a little insane.

"What are you doing?" Evan asked lightly.

"Uh, there's a mouse."

"Oh-kay, and that means you're ass up in the living room why?"

"I'm trying to find where it keeps running off to, so I can set a trap, and it can stop tormenting me with it's little gnawing and squeaking every time I close my eyes."

Evan blinked at him and then set his bag down on the coffee table.

"Okay, where are your traps?" Evan asked.

"Garage," Tommy said, and he stood up to dust himself off, and then showed Evan to the garage where he kept the spare mouse traps. He had a few, not nearly enough, but if they were laid out right, he didn't need an army.

Except Evan frowned.

"You have the kill traps," he stated and looked at Tommy as if Tommy had done something awful. "You shouldn't use those. Those are inhumane."

Tommy blinked, surprised at the sudden seriousness in Evan's tone.

"I want the mice out of my house," he replied.

"Yeah, but the poison traps, first of all, can harm pets and kids, it can harm local wildlife like foxes, birds of prey and other predators, and it can do damage to water sources and soil if they go and die there. Overall, bad. And then the snap traps, sometimes they don't die right away, and they're left there to suffer as they die. It sucks. No, we're getting some catch and release traps."

It was Tommy's turn to frown and he murmured, "and they'll be gone?"

"Tommy," Evan said, stepping up to him and taking him by the hips gently, "are you afraid of mice?"

"No!"

"Thomas, are you?"

He sighed and looked at Evan before he said, "maybe. It's just - I used to live in this really rundown house with rodents everywhere, and I woke up multiple times with rats or mice just scurrying around my room, one time on my bed. It was - it was awful. So, yeah. I am."

"Okay," Evan said, and he squeezed Tommy's hips so softly. "Okay, baby, that's alright. I get it. That must've been really awful, and I'm so sorry you went through that. Let's get some non-lethal traps, though, and we can relocate these little guys into a place they'll love and they won't try and come back. We show them a little bit of kindness, and maybe if I can share some little facts about mice with you, they won't seem so scary. How's that sound?"

Tommy looked at Evan, at his earnest eyes, his sweet expression, and the lack of judgement in his face.

"Yeah, that sounds good. Thank you, Evan."

"Don't even worry about it, baby, I've got you. Now, let's get these thrown out, and we can order those non-lethal traps to be delivered. I'll set them out and check them every day, I'll take care of it. You don't have to worry about anything."

"There's traps already laid out, too, and I can show you where I put those out," he admitted.

"Thank you," Evan said.

Tommy smiled, and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against Evan's. It was the first time he'd ever been honest with someone about his childhood fear, but he knew he could trust Evan with it beyond anyone else.

"C'mon, Tommy," Evan said softly, walking him backwards into the house, "let's make your home feel safe again."

#911 #bucktommy #tevan #Kinkley #Evan Buckley #Tommy kinard #ficlet #I read a fic once where Buck helped Tommy kill the mice in his house and I took great offense to that especially after the beenado episode #so here's this instead

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marsprincess889 · 8 months ago

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Real talk:

Is astrology entertainment, science or spirituality to you?

I have been studying astrology since 2015, vedic since 2020 and at this point I don't know if this post will be wasted, but I'm writing it anyway.

I have seen too many blogs that get multiples of thousands of notes for observations that are honestly very questionable to me😭 very questionable. Like, mixing western outer planets with vedic nakshatras, divisional charts or other concepts and then basing the observation on what? I've come to notice that a lot of them are just theoretical and based on experimental formulas.

I mean, I'm not a close-minded person in any way, but even I scratch my head at some of them 😭😭 and then there are apparently blogs that use AI which is a whole another story.

Let's be real: no matter how many times someone claims that astro obsevations should not be taken that seriously, most of the people who read them are hungry for any knowledge that might calm their uncertainty down, and therefore take it in without their own reserach or fact-checking. Plus, most of them are teens 😐 not to demean you guys but at that age knowledge like this might be a high-stake thing, because I've been there, and I know. And whatever, I might be projecting, but misinformation is very harmful even to full-grown, well-established adults.

To me astrology is an evolving knowledge and while we should definitely be open-minded, some structure is straight up imperative. And the responsibility should be on those who share their knowledge first, and then on the consumers. Unfortunately, that is how it works. We make the posts and we spread our thoughts, and they find their way into the audience's mind somehow, a lot of the times in ways that were not intended.

So maybe, we should take more responsibility for what we write or claim to be true. How would you guys feel being fed a lot of nicely packaged content that gradually but quickly turns into widely accepted axioms? Like, what the f*ck.

I mean this in friendliest most understanding way guys, I am one of you, but hopefully not the one who misleads others. I try very hard not to. I really hate when online people boost their egoes because of a growimg audience and assume a position of superiority, and feel entitled to guide others without real claim. And then what about very flashy blogs/posts that spread that misinformation in the name of fun? They too quickly turn into realiable sources of knowledge in people's minds.

In no way am I calling anyone out, unless I find one of those AI using blogs and tag them after😭 but for now, and for others, I just want to reach well-meaning people who get joy from this, like me.

This is the post where I am really asking to politely share your opinions, politely being the key word, and also respectfully. This is my position on this, and I'd love to know yours, just for an honest discussion. 💕

THIS IS A WELL MEANING POST

Well, take care.☺🥰

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makingqueerhistory · 1 year ago

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what makes you so motivated? how do you verify your sources?

I'm honestly just a very passionate person, and I'm lucky enough to have seen the direct effects of my work. I have seen the stories I tell change people's minds in real time, I've been able to offer lifelines from queer history to friends in times of trouble, and I've allowed queer history to transform my own life. It can be hard work at times, but the rewards are so visible and ever-present.

As for sources, there are a lot that I have found over the years that I trust, and otherwise, I read from a wide variety and make sure everything lines up. I have a good memory, and I often find myself double and triple-checking facts before I write them into an article. I think my biggest weakness is that I have a limited time on each story, and I can't read everything so sometimes I miss important facts. Sometimes, I get told by my audience things I have never heard before, even after reading multiple books about a person.

#queer #lgbt #queer history #lgbt history #answered

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rainbowsky · 7 months ago

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[redacted] asked: Hey there rainbowsky, hope you're doing well :). So, I came across this one [redacted] where a bxg had shared some proof of gg and dd KISSING?? [allegedly (redacted)] Idk if it was caught on cam (if it was then OMG) or if it was caught by proxy shooters, but it looks kinda sus. Can you check it out and see if it's legit? Cause I haven't seen this one circulating on weibo or YT, and my brain feels like it's going to EXPLODE without being able to wash it. I'll attach the link here. Thanks in advance :).

[redacted] asked: Hello rbs ❤️ I wanna know this. There is photos of wyb and xz kissing in parking lot. And they take down after that. Is it true. ??

Hi you two!

Yeah, the GGDD 'parking lot incident'. Fans get really excited about stuff like this. Well, here are the photos so you can decide for yourself:

Both of these are much clearer than the alleged 'parking lot kiss'.

😅 Sorry, I really do have a point though.

The photos behind this and many of the other supposed sightings of GGDD together are so blurry you can hardly make out humanoid shapes in them, and even if you suspend disbelief and accept that the shape might be a person, it could literally be anyone. The only thing we ever have to support the idea that it might be GG and DD is the word of the stalker scum who claims to have taken the photo/video. And they have a lot to gain by lying about it, or even staging these sorts of things and making the accompanying material conveniently blurry and indistinct.

Consider the source and what they might have to gain by lying. Consider the possibility that the source might themselves have been misled or misreading what they were seeing. Consider the power of mob mentality and wishful thinking. Consider whether you need someone else to tell you what you're looking at in order to be able to even 'know' what you're looking at, and what that might say about the BS level involved. Consider whether you have any evidence at all in front of you.

And I'd like to remind everyone that this kind of thing is a knife that cuts both ways. If we're willing to take seriously a blurry photo where we can't even make out humanoid shapes let alone identify who those people might be or what they might be doing, then what's going to happen when antis show us a fake photo that they claim depicts an actress wearing a bone necklace, for example?

Please be careful out there, and learn to evaluate 'evidence' in a rational, critical way. There are plenty of free resources for learning critical thinking, and even many free university level courses available online. I can't possibly overstate the importance of understanding these concepts - not just as a fan but as a person trying to navigate an increasingly fact-averse world.

Where are GG and DD in all this?

But on to the bigger issue with this particular type of material, which is our attitudes toward GG and DD's privacy and well-being.

I've talked about this a lot over the years, and I've even answered this exact 'parking lot' question multiple times in the past (this claim isn't from 2024, it's actually many, many years old - I think it goes back as far as 2019 IIRC). This kind of invasive BS is far, far beneath our dignity to explore and dig into. I hope we can all strive to be better people than this.

If GG and DD were actually ever photographed kissing in a parking lot somewhere, would you not think the kinds of people who would get excited about this and share it around and breathlessly comment on it are total assholes? Because I certainly would. This is stalker behavior, and people having a wank off of an invasion of GG and DD's privacy. It's putting fandom insecurities and 'proof-seeking' above GG and DD's well-being.

As fans we should always have GG and DD's best interests at heart. There is no leap of logic where going after this kind of thing can be perceived as being in any way in GG and DD's best interests.

We shouldn't be dupes, we shouldn't be stalkers. Please always remember that GG and DD are human beings, not characters in a drama. If we don't see photos of them together it's because it's not in their best interests to be seen together. Sit with that for a moment. Take it to heart.

I know this kind of response from me can feel harsh to some people, but I really feel that these ideas will be totally self-evident to anyone who centers the humanity and well-being of GG and DD in their fandom experience. It's sad when people's first thought isn't for GG and DD's safety and privacy, especially when we're talking about a gay couple under a queer-hostile government.

Whether the photos are real or not, the attitude we have toward them and the way we discuss them creates a climate and a standard for how fandom handles such things. Treating this type of thing as exciting and salacious rather than as invasive and disrespectful gives people social license to pursue and share stalker material. It helps fans disassociate GG and DD from their humanity and treat them as objects or fictional characters rather than as people.

I understand that it's easy to get swept up in things and I don't want you to feel judged or disliked by me. I don't feel that way at all - I truly don't - and I hope you don't take my feelings about this topic personally. I just get so angry when I see stuff like this.

You are by no means the first people to get caught up without thinking, and you won't be the last. I just hope you'll reflect on it and understand why it's not a good path to go down if you want what's best for GG and DD.

I firmly believe that everyone should engage in fandom in whatever way best aligns with their values and interests. I just think that choice should ideally be a conscious, informed one.

Sorry for not answering these individually, but they're the same question and some of the information in one of them needed to be removed. I've also removed your names out of respect for your privacy.

Protecting GGDD, and candies and material I won’t discuss on my blog

Just. No.

The bone necklace

BXG Fandom Etiquette

Why it's important not to share harmful material

#bjyx #yizhan #hundred holes curse on all stalkers #fandom reflections #ggdd in the public eye #ask

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ask-whitepearl-and-steven · 1 year ago

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Um, hi! Regarding that other anonymous asker wondering about the comic's enjoyability, I actually WAS one of the people who voted "I've never watched the show but I do read the comic" in that poll; all my prior knowledge about Steven Universe was from passive osmosis. I don't know anyone personally who likes it either, my baseline is limited to, like, the premise and 'hey I think that one's a major character?' every now and then (this was most recently Lapis Lazuli. Peridot I'm prettttty sure is canon, but I didn't recognise her right off. Betting that Sea Glass isn't. No clue about Jasper).

So if it's of any help, from my experience I do think that your comic is fairly accessible to folks outwith the Steven Universe fandom! I read long-form fanfiction for media I know nothing about on a regular basis, and it does a good job of explaining the core concepts required for the plot to hold water; it makes it much harder to spot foreshadowing that I feel may have been more obvious to experienced readers (e.g. I didn't get anywhere near working out Earl's issue because I didn't know that A. White Diamond could do mind control, or B. what societal role Pearl-class gems (is that the term?) hold relative to the Diamonds), but the actual narrative itself holds up well so long as you're willing to put the thought in. Actively following your blog helps a bit too, I've gotten extra context clues from the FAQ and asks you've answered.

My one warning would be that reading a long-form story for a fandom you don't know is a very different experience. The best way I could describe it is akin to reading Arthurian stories or folkloric retellings without studying the source material: while the main narrative is comprehensible, you become distinctly aware that certain parts are name-checking their original culture in a way that the author expects to be apparent but isn't, not to you. I spend a lot of time faintly baffled when I'm not cross-referencing between multiple fics for commonalities to reverse-engineer (also do that regularly, would recommend), which is fine! It's fun! Might not be for everyone, though.

I just want you to know I love this ask, and I was enraptured reading this. It's a very cool insight! Especially as someone with the exact opposite reading philosophy, this is extremely valuable.

It's neat to also get a confirmation about the fact that a lot of over-the-top stuff that was meant to echo the original show might not get pinged by those who aren't familiar with the original. Though to be fair, people didn't quite pick up on what was happening with Earl even when they knew what White Diamond's powers were.

I also find it hilarious to realize that Jasper might not be a recognizable original-show character to most outsiders. DEMOTED!

#chekhov answers

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charrfie · 3 months ago

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no offence but the fact that normies found clinical trial is my 13th reason

Please forgive me anonymous, your use of the word "normies" made me giggle quite a bit..... but rest assured I understand your sentiment and I most definitely agree with it (even if I wish you had been a little nicer about it, lol). I have a lot of issues with the way clinical trial has been approached by a vast majority of fans, honestly. It's hard to know what to start with even. But I do feel that at least part of the reason people have had such a hard time understanding the source material is due to popular creators covering the game and exposing it to a general audience that otherwise would not engage with the game. Not to say I find said creators themselves at fault for this, since it's partly the reason I discovered it as well. It is a double edged sword, for sure. And there are a lot of people who DO understand it! Excellently, at that! This just sometimes seems difficult to appreciate if you- like me- check the tags every morning/night like the newspaper and come across multiple posts in a row either misinterpreting characters personalities, intentions, or.... you know. A million other things. Expected for a game with layers of nuance intertwined with each story beat, but still. For those that do understand, I appreciate you haha

One thing that I believe a lot of people don't understand when analyzing the game is that..... it's not exactly meant to be. Pretty? I guess? And that's part of the reason I connected with it as much as I did. In a majority of the media I've come across in my lifetime that has to do with people who aren't "good" at being people (for lack of a better term), never have I seen something so shamelessly depict the way isolation and mental illness make an impact on every single little aspect of someone's life. There is no self-censoring, no cushioning of the blows, nothing. And its fucking genius!!!!!!! I have seen so many arguments about angel's reactions to certain things being outlandishly stupid, lee's actions making him undeserving of his true ending's fate, etc, but I couldn't disagree more!!!!!!! People are weird. Weirder, when they are lonely and often taken advantage of. And that is SUCH a core part of what clinical trial is all about. The game makes you sit down and swallow the fact that lee is not an innately evil person without feeling the need to make his actions more palatable. Without making angel need to excuse it. Clinical trial has such respect for both parties and their feelings/experiences/autonomy, while not needing to say "this is bad" or "this is good" about anything. And especially when handling such a delicate topic. It's fucking genius. And I could talk about it for forever. But before engaging at all with ct, people HAVE to acknowledge this shit. That maybe good people can do bad, bad things, and that maybe "good" and "bad" aren't concepts applicable at all sometimes. Maybe sometimes, people are just people.

This sums up my thoughts on the general game here well enough for now (especially given how short of an ask it was haha), but before I conclude this post I do have to speak on how much the common perception of angel's identity bothers me. Especially considering how much of a core element of the story it is; I would be remiss not to bring it up at least once. Please note that I very intentionally use the word "identity" here rather than "gender" because that's only a singular element of who they are as a character. I'm talking about everything: their identity as someone that's mentally ill, as someone who's physically ill, as someone nonhuman, and as a nonbinary individual. Even still, I leave certain facets of their identity out that I can't possibly cover in the scope of this ask right now!!!! But bear with me in what I do feel equipped to talk ahout currently.

It is- without hyperbole- IMPOSSIBLE to understand angel without taking into account all the external and internal factors impacting who they are, what they think, and what decisions they make. IMPOSSIBLE. You, the person reading this right now, are an individual with YEARS AND YEARS of experiences, memories, and interests. The way your brain works, how you label (or don't label) yourself, how you think and do things, how you even talk... ALL of this is a culmination of the people you have known and the experiences you've lived through. That is a beautiful thing. A gift. Would it not be ridiculous of someone to claim that all of that is entirely irrelevant in the way you live your life? You might think that asking you to understand everything intricacy of a character before engaging with the material they're from is asking too much, but I disagree!! Clinical trial is about complicated people and complicated relationships that have been molded by their surroundings. I do not feel that asking that be acknowledged is a bad thing. Do your reading homework to prepare for the quiz, essentially.

All this is to say that I wish- just once- people would consider why angel chooses to act the way they do. I wish I could see even one piece of art of angel having to get up slowly from seated positions or wearing compression stockings all the time lest their orthostatic hypotension gets the best of them. I wish the shit that messed with their every action in the game had more of an impact in the fan media I see. I wish people might stop addressing them as human at all, because when angel says that they feel inner peace thinking of existing as an animal, that's not symbolism, that's not metaphor, that's truth. I wish every other post I see of them wouldn't address them as a girl or a boy. I wish nonbinary people stopped getting fucking erased. I get wanting to project. I get wanting to see yourself reflected in fiction. Trans representation is much more rare than cis rep, but I promise you there are infinitely more binary/binary-leaning trans characters for you to project onto than the things that I and others have. I wish people would GET who angel was before bothering to have anything to say about them.

I think angel and lee are some of the most authentic and transparent real life people I have ever seen in fiction. It is a crime they are difficult to be recognized as that.

I fear that I sound sort of pretentious talking about the game in such a manner as this but....... alas. I am allowed to be a little bit pretentious about media that speaks to me on such a level, I suppose. Please don't think I mean to diminish the efforts of those who DO get it. All of your work is fantastic. At the end of the day, this is just the internet. You are allowed to have fun on it. I am in no position to stop you. I even hope that you might find the joy you seek in doing so! But if I might ask you to consider the story and characters with a bit more depth.... I would very much appreciate the effort :^]

I hope that for both your sake and mine, anonymous, that people will start engaging with clinical trial in a better, more earnest way soon! Thank you for your ask~ peace and love

#clinical trial game #glancing over this like yeah my favorite line in the game is the “it's like you're trying to convince yourself you're a creep” one #how could you tell #ask #diary #ct

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velvetvexations · 2 months ago

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On multiple occasions I've seen people say that charities can never be trusted and it's better to just donate to online fundraisers, as if there aren't any ways to vet a charity(there are) and it's simply impossible for someone posting about needing money online to be a scammer lying out of their ass(has been happening since the creation of the internet) and on top of that if you prefer to donate to vetted charities rather than impossible to truly vet fundraiser posts so you can be certain your money is going to someone who needs it and protect yourself from having your info stollen you're a horrible bigot who hates minorities.

It's awful, but I'm genuinely not even a little surprised that someone would tell others that all the trans charities in the UK are worthless including, I assume, Mermaids which helps trans children, because they haven't reached their arbitrary transfem quota. Fucking ridiculous fawning behavior, play-acting at being a good ally by being a shithead, especially since again, OP of that post did not offer any sources or names for which charities are the bad ones when there are fairly easy ways to vet them online. Which charities are the ones shafting transfems? Which only offer job help?? Do you have any links to testimonials from transfems who have dealt with these charities you won't name talking about being mistreated or refused help??? You can't be out here telling everyone that all trans charities are worthless specifically because they don't help enough transfems with so little proof you don't even include the names of the charities you're talking about. It's sickeningly irresponsible to tell people to blindly distrust every single trans charity because helping trans people apparently doesn't count if you aren't primarily helping transfems.

Like fuck if I were transfem and saw someone saying that giving me, a whole entire adult, money was more important than helping trans children I'd lose it. Trans kids are one of the most vulnerable minorities on the planet regardless of sex or gender and the idea that we should take money out of their hands and throw it at random fundraisers that have a 50/50 chance of being a scam because the money only helps if it goes to transfem adults is such a horrid suggestion. Real "fuck you I got mine" energy. Leaving all other trans people, including kids, without help for the sake of transfems just makes me think we really have reached a point where some people believe transfems are the only trans people that have problems and not prioritizing them over everyone else is the same thing as being a nazi.

(Also losing it at "if you find one that actually helps transfems you can donate ig" without providing any suggestions of charities or ways to vet them??? OP surely could have spent a bit of time on finding a charity that primarily helps transfems, vetting it themselves, and including the link in the post, but nah we have to constantly scaremonger about queer and trans chariries without proof until we just hand our money to the nearest transfem. Spending time vetting charities and fact-checking statements is silly because you should just be donating your money to transfems, please do not mention how this makes it sound like you have less of a problem with tfems not getting the help they need and more with making sure no aid or support goes to any trans person who isn't tfem until idk they give up on being trans or die. Makes me think these folks would legit suggest that if there was a trans-friendly shelter that only had one bed left but two people who needed help, a transmasc person and a transfem person, and the bed didn't go to a transfem it would count as transmisogny because no one but transfems really needs those resources.)

To Long, Didn't Read: People really will just go around discrediting trans charities and not for a single second think about how conservatives and transphobes do the EXACT SAME THING and maybe you shouldn't HELP them in their mission because you think if the fucking miniscule amount of aid offered to trans people from charities that are one bad week away from being shut down while their tiny staff continues to face threats of doxxint and horrific violence every hour isn't going directly to transfems then it shouldn't go to anyone at all.

Very well said anon!

#transandrophobia #exorsexism #discourse

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infiniteglitterfall · 1 year ago

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the worst part about the i/p discourse

it's NOT the posters of Nazis with the swastikas on their flags replaced by stars of david. or the pages and pages of blood libel conspiracy theories in instagram posts about why local pride organizers are such big meanies. or the newfound insistence that jews just exaggerate and make up antisemitic incidents to smear the pro-palestine movement....

it's the fact that every. single. time. i try to post anything about any of these things, i end up in a rabbit hole SO DEEP IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO GET TO THE BOTTOM.

Yesterday, I saw a --

YOU SEE? I went to Reddit for a second to find the link to the post about the Melbourne protest this week that had people carrying the Nazi-star-of-David posters. But first, I saw a post that began, "All I see on social media and the news is more and more attacks. Who beat up a Jewish family here, who stabbed a 1 year old in front of a synagouge. Those are two examples, I've lost track of all of the other ones."

and I was like, SOMEONE STABBED A ONE YEAR OLD IN FRONT OF A SYNAGOGUE?!?!

And I started to look that up. AND THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENS. EVERY SINGLE TIME.

Two days ago, I saw an article about Cincinnati Socialists setting up a table at North Kentucky Pride without asking, it sounds like, to hand out flyers saying the war in Gaza was Netanyahu's "Final Solution" for Palestinians. Cincinnati Pride organizers alerted the NKY Pride organizers, who kicked them out.

I was like, "okay, well, let's see what Cincinnati Socialists say about it." Then I discovered that their instagram not only "names and shames" the two Cincy Pride organizers and one NKY organizer. Which led to the Cincy ones getting so much harassment and violent threats that they resigned....

But also has a related post that goes on for pages and pages of pure blood libel.

So then I sat there fact-checking all their blood libel and finding out that not only was it untrue and impossible, but half the stuff they referenced didn't even exist.

Then I ended up fact-checking things in the "article" that they'd clearly used as their source. Fact-checking things I found while fact-checking those.

Trying to write a Facebook post about how fucked up it all was. Giving up on the Facebook post after several hours because it made more sense to write it on Tumblr, or at least to write it on Tumblr FIRST.

Then I'm also looking at the post they made "naming and shaming" the organizers, which is like... "the Cincy ones are partners! two days after Hamas's incredibly violent and brutal massacre, one of them changed his profile picture to a photo of them honeymooning IN ISRAEL two years ago! they did it through some group that COVERS A LOT OF THE COSTS FOR HONEYMOONS IN ISRAEL!!!!" and "the other one went to a protest of Hamas's massacre!!! with a sign saying to free the hostages!!!"

oh no. the fucking horror. truly how did these genocidal monsters even end up on the pride organizing committee. this is a shanda scandal.

then I'm responding to people's comments, trying to talk them down from horrible positions. telling people things like, "I know it's asking a LOT, but if people could grasp the idea that "going to Israel for your honeymoon" ISN'T "committing genocide," it would be really great. Or that wanting the hostages freed is actually something that both Israeli AND GAZAN protests have called for, and it's only Westerners who are opposed to it. Or that in fact, saying you "Stand with Israel," a few days after an incredibly brutal attack that burned multiple towns to the ground in one day, killed entire families and their pets, an attack which Hamas has promised to repeat "again and again and again" till Israel is violently destroyed... is opposing that attack, NOT calling for genocide."

then i'm like, "oh, i should edit these images to show the correct info, and i can explain that I drew arrows and added the correct info!" so then i'm doing that and working on writing alt text, and holy shit??? how many fucking hours??? did i spend on this?????? just because i read a frigging reddit post that linked to an article about it?????????

and like. i can go through and debunk all that shit in the comments. (and did. i responded to every single comment that believed this shit.) but ultimately, everyone who pulls this shit has way more reach than I do.

just. like. THAT'S ONE ORG IN ONE PLACE. And it was bad enough that I persevered and finished debunking it and commenting on it today and started telling people about it. Do you even know how many more of those I've seen?! How many I would see if I looked for them on purpose?!

The tsunami of deliberate disinformation is SO FUCKING BAD. All of it is SO FUCKING LAYERED. In any single bullshit post, there are SO MANY horrifically bad and wrong assumptions. So many of them are DESIGNED, BY HAMAS, to lead people down the path to "All Zionists should die! Israel should be violently destroyed!"

There were so many comments on a "Free Palestine Melbourne" group's instagram post (Sydney? Could've been Sydney) asking, pointedly, how many Jews are Zionists. What percentage of Jews are Zionists, again?

One (1) had a response telling them it doesn't matter what the percentage is, no percentage would justify collective punishment of Jews.

The rest all said things like, "Too many."

It feels like constantly being lied to. Just constantly being lied to about things I have looked up and verified myself from solid sources, now and in the past, by people I counted as my community.

Then just now I opened Instagram because I hadn't taken screenshots of a couple of the pics I wanted to add. And I'm hit with these:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by jewsinschool (@jewsinschool)

instagram

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jewish on Campus (@jewishoncampus)

instagram

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jewish and Proud (@jewishpridealways)

instagram

Then some brighter posts (including one of a baby bat!!) and then a post which sums up a lot of what I'm feeling right now.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jess Cook (@jessicagcoook)

instagram

It's like, yes, that, plus the uncomfortable sense that some people are getting thisclose to going, "Most Jews are Zionists anyway, so YEAH, I DO think most Jews deserve to die."

#antisemitic tropes #blood libel #depressing discourse #fuck hamas #long post #wall of words #Instagram

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silverryuan · 9 months ago

Text

Azul Ashengrotto with a Bad Genius reader (Part 1)

I accidentally made this fic longer than expected.

Warning: Slight Swearing

• Unlike my previous fics, you are from Twisted Wonderland and currently reside in it. And yay, you're in a dorm!

• You are a prodigy raised by your father. Growing up from the struggles of poverty, you study with tremendous efforts so that your father wouldn't have to pay for the tuition fees. Not only you gained the highest honors, you also gained skills from the experiences attending in multiple clubs. You missed the first month of school at Night Raven College despite receiving a letter from them because you needed a part-time job for financial support for you and your father.

• You sometimes contemplate quitting school for the sake of helping your poor father, but it all changed after you saw an article on your phone... An article of the Octavinelle Dorm's cafe, Mostro Lounge are hiring new student employees! You triple-checked the article, it's sources and even it's photos if it's legit and turns out it is! You immediately grabbed the opportunity to study and work on campus.

• You sit down in your desk to write a letter to NRC requesting to attend school now that you're no longer busy and send it via mail. Why didn't they just send the message through the phone? Because it's tradition. Not even a day passed, they sent you another letter, stating that the Ebony Carriage will escort you. Your father, now jumping with joy, told you to pack up your things. Although you dislike the fact that your father brought your trophies and medals with him, it would be a good proof if they doubt the 100s on your report cards.

• You arrived at Night Raven College via carriage and a ghost appeared to lead you to the headmaster's office. You and your father marvelled at how large the campus is but there's a weight of nervousness on your chest reminding you of how much it costs to attend such a prestigious academy. When you arrive at the front of the office, you grew even more nervous. Your father noticed this and held your hand, squeezing it, and he reassures you that they will accept you as their student. That calmed you down and you squeezed his hand, smiling back. You two pulled your hands back and straightened your posture after you hear a muffled "Come in" from the door.

• The headmaster, Dire Crowley, interviewed you and asked you cliché questions that you can easily answer like- Why do you want to study in this school? Do you know how big the responsibility of becoming a NRC student? If a certain terrible incident occurs on campus, what would you do and would you involve your headmas-- Wait, what was that last question?

Crowley: "Ahem! Now that I've heard your answers, it seems that you are very interested and motivated to be a student here. And judging by your report cards... Sevens, are these digits for real?... Despite having average magical abilities, you are obviously a prodigy of great talent. Is there anything else you would like to add?"

Father: "O-Oh yes, yes... I was thinking of presenting these to you, sir!"

• Your father pulled a box filled with your awards and certificates out of nowhere, meanwhile you're just getting embarassed because he also included the ones you have in kindergarten to grade school. You are rather impressed at how good he is at memorising which award is which.

Father: "... This ribbon is for best in finger painting in kindergarten. This award is from a sports competition at middle school... This one is from a swimming contest at grade school... This trophy is my favourite, it's from a math contest..."

BadGenius! Yuu: "Dad, I already told you many times. The school doesn't have a scholarship. That won't convince-"

Crowley: "Please do not fret! These are enough. I forgot to inform you that Night Raven College does not have a scholarship for we only teach potential mages. The fact that we are the ones that sent you the letter signifies that you fit the criteria. And although you are late, I am willing to enroll you here as a student, for I am gracious!"

BadGenius! Yuu: ".... I-I'm sorry, what?"

Father: "As in... for free?"

Crowley: "Indeed! Now all you have to do is ask the Dark Mirror where to orient you."

Father: "N-No payments whatsoever?"

Crowley: "As long as they study with diligence and work hard with determination to be recognized as the pride of our academy, I assure you that you will not be paying a single dime! Are there any more questions?"

• Your father stood from his seat and shook the headmaster's hand excitedly and you're just there, mouth agape and eyes wide open. Didn't think it'd be this easy to convince him.

Father: "None! Thank you, sir! Thank you so much! You are very generous!"

Crowley: "Yes, yes. My generosity knows no bounds!"

BadGenius! Yuu: "........."

• Press X to doubt. You bet that the headmaster allowed it because he thought if he enrolled you, the college would have a chance against their rival academy. Speaking of academies, you've actually heard of Royal Sword Academy. The students are all gifted and proper there, but you doubt they won't have room for someone who's in the lower-class of society.

• You found your place at the Octavinelle Dormitory and have a... Talking monster thing on fire? He's obviously pretending to be a student here but it's also obvious that he somehow snuck inside the dorm. You were about to kick him out but reconsidered after he offered to assist you with magic lessons in a panic. You decided that he can stay with you until you are able to enhance your magical skills further. "Fnyagh... Fine, deal! Just don't kick me out!" The monster now known as Grim sighed in relief.

• The job, which is the other reason you enrolled, is currently available for hiring interviews. You asked the hyena beastman waiter at the lounge where the interviews are being held. He called a man who's as tall as a fucking skyscraper named Jade and expressed relief since the lounge is running low on employees. You just followed him to the VIP room and observed him like, damn... Is he even in high school? What did his parents feed him? Why does he look familiar... Wait! He's one of the waiters in the background in one of the article photos!

?????: "Ughhh Jaaade! I'm tireeed! Azul keeps telling me to keep serving customeeers! It's boriiing!"

Jade: "Oya? Now, now, Floyd. Have patience. I found a new... Part-timer for Azul."

Floyd: "Hah? That Shrimpy right there?"

BadGenius! Yuu: "...Shrimpy?"

Jade: "Excuse my brother, he's in a bad mood lately. Come this way, please."

Floyd: "Jaaade! Ugh, screw this. I'm just gonna go out and find someone to squeeze!"

• That guy wasted no time and left the lounge. You and Jade arrived at what looks like an office door and he knocked. Once you heard a voice granting permission from the other side, you and him entered. You stopped to admire the business-esque aesthetic of the office and that huge vault at the back... "Ahem!" A voice snapped you out of your trance. A man with glasses and silver hair sat behind a desk waiting. Jade stood beside the man still smiling.

BadGenius! Yuu: "S-sorry."

????: "It's alright. Have a seat. You wish to speak with me?"

BadGenius! Yuu: "Thank you... I was wondering if you're still hiring new student employees?"

????: "Oh, of course! We still are, BadGenius! Yuu."

BadGenius! Yuu: "Oh that's good then... How do you know my name?"

Azul: "My apologies, I almost forgot to introduce myself. I am Octavinelle's dorm leader and I also happened to run Mostro Lounge, Azul Ashengrotto. It's a pleasure meeting you BadGenius! Yuu. The headmage, Dire Crowley, sorted you in this dorm, yes? He's already given every Octavinelle student profiles to me."

BadGenius! Yuu: "Oh... That's right."

Azul: "That aside, do you really want this job? This establishment requires only the patient and quick employees who are dedicated to their work. Are you qualifed?"

BadGenius! Yuu: "Yes, sir. If you have doubts, I have my resume ready. Would you like to have a look?"

• Azul nodded and you hand him your resume filled with experiences from your previous part-time jobs. Azul read your papers, trying to hide his astonishment but you could tell by his eyes. Jade leaned down, covered his mouth, and whispered something you didn't quite hear in Azul's ear. The silver-haired man widened his eyes and looked at Jade as if he's confirming something. Jade nods with his index and thumb finger on his chin, grinning at Azul. Azul straightened his posture and initiated the most uncomfortable eye contact with you, causing you to flinch in your seat.

Azul: "........."

BadGenius! Yuu: ".............."

Azul: "................................."

BadGenius! Yuu: "..............................................."

Jade: "😊..."

BadGenius! Yuu: ".... Is something wro--"

Azul: "You're hired, BadGenius! Yuu."

BadGenius! Yuu: "H-huh?"

Jade: "Congratulations."

BadGenius! Yuu: "Wait- you're just going to hire me? Just like that?? No interviews???"

Azul: "You're qualified enough. You start your work today with the guidance of your senior, Jade Leech. Unfortunately, a certain employee of mine is... Not on duty as of now. You'll be temporarily replacing him. If you don't have any more inquiries, then you are free to leave."

BadGenius! Yuu: "Um... I also have a familiar with me, is that ok?"

Azul: "As long as they don't cause trouble and are well-behaved, it's fine."

BadGenius! Yuu: "Well... Alright then."

Jade: "Let's do our best."

BadGenius! Yuu: "Same. Please treat me well, senpai."

• You exited the VIP room and started working on serving tables with Jade. You could've sworn you heard Azul mumble something as you left the room.

• The work is harder than you expected. There are MANY types of costumers you didn't know a single establishment could have. Ranging from the gluttonous students from Savanaclaw who gobbled down every dish you placed on the table and couldn't wait for more. The Heartslabyul students who can't decide what to order on the menu and constantly ask for recommendations. The antisocial Ignihyde students who prefer to wait on empty tables in the corner. And of course, the Pomefiore students who are Karens that act like they're going to die if their dish isn't 100% organic.

• As if the work isn't already tiring enough, a stubborn Pomefiore student ordered a dish and got angry when he saw shellfish in it and it turns out he is actually allergic. You apologize to the customer but he smashed the plate to the floor, shouting insults at you. The noise made the other students uncomfortable and moved to farther tables.

Pomefiore Karen: "Hey, what the hell is this?! Don't you know that I am allergic to shellfish?!"

BadGenius! Yuu: "I'm sorry, i didn't know--"

Pomefiore Karen: "Don't know?! I'm a regular here! You waiters should have known that by now!"

BadGenius! Yuu: "Listen here, sir. I'm a new worker. So if you could just calm down a bit and stop scaring the other customers, I'll--"

• Your attempt at calming him down failed as he splattered his drink all over you. Your Octavinelle uniform is soaking wet now but the he still hasn't had enough.

Pomefiore Karen: "This is ridiculous! I'd like to speak with your manager! How insulting!"

Azul: "What seems to be the problem?"

• Azul appeared out of nowhere or probably because he heard the noise and went to see the ruckus. He saw Jade, who was supposed to be in the kitchen, stepped out and Ruggie, who was supposed to be serving tables, stopped to observe the commotion as well. He turned his head to see what they're looking at and see his newly hired employee already getting the Karen Customer Special on the first day of work. He groaned in exhaustion... He's got a lot on his plate and he certainly doesn't want to deal with rambunctious people like him right now, so might as well throw him outside.

Pomefiore Karen: "Are you the manager?"

Azul: "Yes, I am."

Pomefiore Karen: "Well your employee here just served me a dish that I'm allergic to! Do they have no shame?! Is this how you treat your regulars?! I demand a refund!"

BadGenius! Yuu: "I'm sorry, sir. I'll pay for the--"

Azul: "Whether you're a regular here or not, it doesn't matter. They've apologized, did they not? Yet you mistreat them and disturb the peace the other customers are trying to enjoy during their meal. I shall not tolerate this. Jade, show them the door."

Jade: "Gladly."

Ruggie: "Shishishi! Finally!"

Pomefiore Karen: "H-Hey! What are you doing?! Let go of me! Get your hands off..."

• Azul then turned to you and asked if you're okay. You insist you're alright and he told you to take a break and go to the kitchen to dry yourself. That's where you met Ruggie, another part-timer in Mostro Lounge and a student from Savanaclaw. He teased you about your predicament, thanking you for sacrificing your uniform for the sake of kicking the Pomefiore Karen out. It seems like the hyena beastman dealt with him many times before judging by the sound of relief in his voice. That man was really hard to please...

• Days later, you finally get the hang of things here in NRC. Crowley has been giving you TONS of favors and he guilt trips you into thinking that you took his "kindness" in enrolling you as an advantage... And you somehow fell for it. Every. Single. Fucking. Time. Seriously, how are you falling for it? I mean, his acting was bad but you accepted those favors or else he'll revoke your father's deal. You made some friends, although they're not great study mates but they still stick with you and Grim.

• And speaking of studies, you actually became one of the most intelligent students at NRC, your grades on par with Riddle Rosehearts and Azul Ashengrotto. Makes sense since you have bigger scores at both written tests AND physical tests than they do. Your participation in multiple club activities made the load much lighter. Your well thought out ideas and suggestions for the improvement of school events pleased even the dorm leaders. You helped your friends with their own studies by explaining the instructions like a preschool teacher to a 5 year old. Your diligence and dedication to your studies easily became the reason why you're the teachers' favorite.

• ........ But Azul didn't like that.

To be Continued...

#Twisted Wonderland x GN reader #Twisted Wonderland x reader #Twisted Wonderland x female reader #Twisted Wonderland x male reader #Twst x reader #Twst x GN reader #Twst x male reader #Twst x female reader #Twst x prodigy reader #Twisted Wonderland x prodigy reader #Azul Ashengrotto x reader #Azul Ashengrotto x GN reader #Azul Ashengrotto x male reader #Azul Ashengrotto x female reader #Azul Ashengrotto x prodigy reader #silverryuan works

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yeetmeoutthewindowdaddy · 9 months ago

Text

A deep dive into Zevlor's devotion (Part 3) Zevlor's actions during Act 1, an analysis of a man who is barely holding on:

THIS POST CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR BG3.

These series of posts were originally one loooooong post— but apparently Tumblr has a character limit, and I found it; so now it's been split into several parts/posts.

(Part 1) Everybody hates tieflings, and how discrimination impacted a young Zevlor.

(Part 2) Elturel's history and culture, the Hellriders, and Zevlor's paladin oath. (Part 2.5)

((Part 3, this post, is where the meat a good chunk of my Zevlor analysis is.))

(Part 4) Zevlor's actions during Act 2, an analysis of a broken man.

(Part 5) Zevlor's actions during Act 3, an analysis of a man with his faith restored.

(Part 6) Zevlor's actions during/ after the epilogue, not all endings are happily ever after— especially not for a tiefling.

(Part 7) Zevlor in a romantic relationship.

I don't think many bg3 players understand just how dedicated and loyal of a person Zevlor is. This ADHD hyper-fixation fueled multipart-thesis is meant to show how Zevlor's past is as tragic as any of the origin characters'/ Durge's. It's meant to show how horrifically broken Zevlor was when he "betrayed" the other tieflings. It's also meant to show that our beloved blorbo would probably be fervently obsessive if he was in a romantic relationship.

Most importantly: It demonstrates how our favorite man Zevlor was most likely a fanatical religious zealot my dudes. He was (probably) a part of the Faerûn equivalent of the Spanish Inquisition lite.

I have kept this as factual as I am able to. Please keep in mind that Baldur's Gate 3 plays it fast and loose with the DND/ Forgotten Realms canon and lore, on top of DND/ the Forgotten Realms itself regularly disregarding and changing it's own lore and canon. DND lore and canon as a whole is a mess. It has multiple universes that sometimes interact and are maybe separate from each other. Full disclosure; I've mixed 1e-5e lore together FUCK 5.5e, because parsing through what is currently considered canon is a nightmare. As far as I'm concerned, as long as a piece of lore was canon at some point in the past 50 years— it's fair game. @y-rhywbeth2 in this post has a more in depth disclaimer. Also please check out their headcanons and lore breakdowns, they're so good.

THIS PROJECT TOOK ME OVER A MONTH TO WRITE. I've tried to find all grammatical and spelling errors. I've tried to ensure that I've cited the correct sources in the correct places.

Before reading this way too long post please look at itsclydebitches analysis on Zevlor. [Alt] Which provided me with so much insight to his character and kickstarted my obsession with him. Also, @itsclydebitches puts ideas into words better than I do.

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● (Part 1) Zevlor before the events of BG3:

Here is what we know, for sure, about Zevlor:

Zevlor is a tiefling.

Zevlor achieved the rank of commander in the Hellriders.

He survived the city's fall into the Hells.

He was a paladin.

He does not have Darkvision.

Finally, here are the headcanons I have cobbled together based on the available albeit often times conflicting information I have gathered: (Hard facts are in green, everything else is speculation on my part.)

The youngest I would put Zevlor at is his mid 50's. The oldest I would put him at is his late 60's.

So this means that he was approximately 5-15 years old during the vampire crisis. Mentally, these are very formative years for a person. It really isn't a stretch of the imagination to assume that this, along with the miraculous appearance of the companion, set young Zevlor on the path to becoming a paladin and a Hellrider.

There aren't many elderly Hellriders around because most die in the line of duty. To have survived into his old age is a testament to Zevlor's skill, dedication, and luck divine favor.

(AN: In Zevlor's Sleep Stories, "A non-profit project created for and run by fans of Baldur's Gate 3 and its characters.", in episode # 8 - Oathsworn Glenn McCready, the official VA of Zevlor, (I only point out that the stories are narrated by the official VA because I think it's really cool that he and the fans have collaborated on the project. It is not meant to imply that him narrating the project means he has any opinions on how Zevlor is depicted in them, nor is it meant to lend any weight to the Sleep Stories being regarded as canon. Please check it out, it's an amazing project.) narrated a story in which Zevlor was stated to be 10 years old when the Companion first appeared— making Zevlor ~60 during the events of BG3. Zevlor's Sleep Stories is NOT canon, but I'm going to view this one story as canon in my heart; unless/ until Larian releases content/ info that contradicts it.)

This post [alt] by @nightmarist and @space-blue with contributions from @haru-sen is a wonderful source for some history of Elturel, how the Hellriders and Zariel are connected, how paladin's and their oaths work, and an analysis of how being exiled from Elturel changed/ impacted Zevlor's oath.

Zevlor would have had to devote himself 3x more than a non-tiefling Hellrider would've:

Hellriders were held to a high moral standard in a city that already had strict moral codes of conduct.

The Order of the Companion members took the Hellriders dedication a step further by swearing an oath to the city on a god.

Zevlor would have been under intense scrutiny for the crime of being a tiefling. For him to have made the rank of Commander despite this means that he proved, beyond a shadow of a shadow of a doubt, that he was devoted to protecting Elturel.

For added angst I like to headcanon that he had only achieved the rank of Commander a few tendays before Elturel fell into the Hells. And that it took so long for Zevlor to achieve the rank of Commander because he was rejected for promotions in favor of someone who wasn't a tiefling, even if they were less suited for the job than Zevlor was. And that if he wasn't a tiefling then he would've become a commander many years earlier.

Which means that for the entirety of his adult life Zevlor wholly devoted himself to being a Hellrider. He had to forsake everything else, being a Hellrider was his life's purpose.

That level of dedication cannot be faked or forced. He truly believed in being a Hellrider and what the Hellriders stood for/ represented.

And he was thanked for his years of unyielding service by being

● (Part 2) Banished from Elturel:

Zevlor's years of service, his countless sacrifices, and unwavering dedication to the protection of the city and its inhabitants meant nothing to the people of Elturel after the city was returned from the hells. Tieflings looked like the devils that had tormented them in hell (nevermind that the tieflings were also subject to the abuse from devils) and as such they were blamed for the city's Decent into Avernus.

"Many if not all the city's tieflings were exiled from the city, thanks to a new wave of misplaced fear and newly-formed prejudice."

This hatred from the people he loved so dearly didn't lead to Zevlor breaking his oath, it shattered Zevlor's very faith itself. (FFS, I can't find a clip of the Narrator describing Zevlor's time in/ just after Avernus when you click on him when he's in the mindflayer pod in Act 2. Please just trust me on this one.)

Zevlor didn't break his oath, it was broken for him. Hellriders swear to "Serve the realm of Elturgard, and defend the city of Elturel body and soul.", and he was forced to abandon the city.

Earlier in this series I had mentioned how exiled Hellriders were stripped of their gear before being cast out of the city. Zevlor, and the other tiefling Hellriders at the end of the game, still have some of their Hellrider gear. [alt] This makes me think that the other Hellriders refused to completely strip their tiefling family members of their gear because they did not agree with the city's bigoted decision. Letting them keep their gear would have been a subtle hint (and resistance to the city's authority) that the other Hellriders still considered their tiefling comrades as fellow Hellriders.

Whether the exiled tiefling Hellriders were still considered members of the Hellriders by the remaining Hellriders or not, Zevlor was now a

● (Part 3) Refugee:

But Zevlor still had a purpose, he and his fellow banished tiefling Hellriders swore to defend the civilian refugees on their journey to Baldur's Gate.

Tilses, and I assume the other Hellriders, still referred to Zevlor as Commander, and still considered him a Hellrider. She believed that no one could revoke their membership to the Hellriders, but Zevlor did. "They can [take away our Hellrider membership], and did. Avernus changed things — best we get used to that." - Zevlor

They were attacked multiple times on the road, and they had many casualties, and so Zevlor carried on as he always had— as a paladin sworn to protect his people. The refugees and the other, younger, Hellriders needed him to be a strong leader with unwavering faith, so that's what he was— but it was all an act. An act that got harder and harder to keep up as the days wore on and the rations, and survivors, dwindled.

But then they stumbled upon a possible salvation,

● (Part 4) The Emerald Grove:

They were welcomed in with open arms by the Archdruid Halsin. For the first time in who knows how long the refugees could rest. Sure, most of the other druids seem to barely tolerate the tieflings— but the Archdruid had made his position on their continued sanctuary within the grove clear.

And then the Archdruid Halsin went off with a set of very inexperienced and racist adventures, leaving a woman who could barely hide her contempt for the refugees as temporary Archdruid. Which should have only been for a few days at most, Zevlor knew he could play nice long enough to placate Kagha until Halsin returned, it was fine.

But Halsin didn't return, because he'd been kidnapped. And worse, Zevlor find this out because those inept adventures brought a pack of goblins right to the gate of the Grove.

I think the goblin attack was when Zevlor truly began to crumble. He would've been overwrought with guilt and self-doubt. Had he not spent ~20 seconds berating and interrogating Aradin over leading goblins straight to the Grove, and instead used that time to open the gate, then Kanon's death could've been avoided.

Worse still is that he ordered a man who wasn't wearing any armor to open the gate. Zevlor blames himself for Kanon's death, and he would mentally self-flagellate himself over his own cowardice: How he, a Commander in the Hellriders, took cover while Kanon, a tailor by trade, bravely continued opening the gate while the goblins were firing arrows at him.

After a hard-fought battle, the goblins are defeated. Then Aradin swaggers in acting as though he didn't just do a profoundly stupid thing by leading the goblins straight to defenseless citizens. Not only that, the uppity shithead Aradin blames Halsin for getting himself kidnapped. And then Aradin strikes a nerve, calling Zevlor a coward (and a slur). I think that Zevlor is already contending with his own guilt from thinking that he himself acted cowardly. For Aradin to call him a coward, on top of all the other stupid shit he's been spouting off, is too much to bear, and Zevlor's rage/ self-loathing is about to erupt into violence.

Luckily, the group of actually competent adventures who arrived and saved the day also managed to diffuse the tension between Zevlor and Aradin.

Or not. Leading to Zevlor punching the overtly racist idiot.

Punching Aradin (acting on his inherent desire for violence*, specifically) is something that I believe is wildly out of character for Zevlor. Aradin isn't the first mouthy prick he's come across, and if Zevlor had responded with violence to all of them then he wouldn't have been able to become a Commander. The stress Zevlor's been under has finally boiled over, and now that he no longer considers himself a Hellrider (and is constantly in survival mode trying to keep himself and the other tieflings alive), keeping a tight lid on his anger isn't something he really cares about anymore.

*"Tieflings also had access to an ability known as infernal wrath, which channeled their innate rage and potential for evil into their attacks for added effectiveness."

I cannot emphasize enough how much self discipline and restraint Zevlor has. His infernal heritage in combination with the overt discrimination he has undoubtedly faced his entire life, plus a healthy dose of pride, are a vicious cocktail of honestly justified anger issues. (AN: Based on him having more physical infernal features than the other tieflings do [alt] I headcanon that he possesses a temper closer resembling a devil's than the less infernal-looking tieflings do.)

Zevlor has been unchained. When it becomes clear that diplomacy won't work Zevlor tells the player that Kagha is their main obstacle, and that without her influence the other druids may see sense. The way he phrases this sentence allows Tav to "read between the lines" and see that Zevlor is open to killing Kagha, while also giving himself plausible deniability. Zevlor didn't suggest murdering Kagha, Tav did. Zevlor is "still hoping that Kagha can be swayed from this madness.", but if not... well, surely Tav understands how "Leaders need to make tough decisions. We do what we must."

Notice how slyly he phrased that— "we", subtly putting himself and Tav in the same category/ on the same team. But most importantly he never outright says to Tav "I want you to kill Kagha", it's implied. His 17 charisma and years of politicking around racism and red tape really shows here; because if shit goes south and Tav fails in their assassination attempt then, even if he has ingested a truth serum, Zevlor can honestly tell the druids that he never asked Tav to kill Kagha. If Tav doesn't suggest killing Kagha then Zevlor doesn't bring it up, and instead asks Tav to take out the goblin camp leaders.

(I am only citing this one dialogue tree option. There are more dialogue tree options, but I can't find videos of them and I am currently unable to play BG3 to explore the different options myself.)

Zevlor is proficient in using manipulation tactics and his knowledge of psychology to garner his preferred outcome. To be clear— I don't think he would have acted in such an underhanded way before being exiled, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I do think that pre-descent Zevlor was no stranger to using manipulation/ his psychological insight to achieve his goals, he would've had to because of the prejudice he faced, but it would've been used for more benign reasons (such as being treated with basic respect instead of open contempt).

(AN: Manipulation in and of itself isn't inherently bad, we all use manipulation to some extent in our day to day lives. So long as they are not abused little white lies and benign manipulations, along with having/ using tact, allow society to smoothly function. Like how saying "Please get me a glass of water." is perceived more favorably, and is more likely to convince a person to get you a glass of water, than "Get me a glass of water." Saying please is considered polite, and people are much more likely to acquiesce to a request if someone is polite. 'You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.' Or how you might wait until after someone has eaten to ask them for something, because they're more likely to agree to your request when they're not hangry.)

Zevlor was once a very proud man, and he had every right to be— becoming a Commander in the Hellriders is a remarkable achievement. Becoming a Commander in the Hellriders in the face of profound discrimination? Nothing short of a triumph. The Zevlor we meet at the Grove is a shadow of the man he used to be. The fall into Avernus and everything that happened after it has sucked most of the life out of him.

We still catch glimpses of the proud Hellrider Commander with the power of god and anime on his side that Zevlor once was. This post [alt] by @dimmadoome demonstrates not only Zevlor's pride, but his infernal temper and possessiveness (which I will cover in a different post). Listen to his speech here. This is a man who has lead his fellow warriors into battle. A man who fought for what he believed in and refused to give up even in the face of insurmountable danger. You can see the hell fire in his eyes blazing bright with righteous fury.

And then there's the speech he gives after defeating Minthara. Note his emphasis on the tieflings being not just survivors, but family. When he says 'family' he has a proud, gentle smile. (His high charisma and experience with giving rousing speeches may be the only reason why his mien changes during this part of his speech, but I think he's being sincere.) If you start that video from the beginning you can see him take a moment to collect himself because he's exhausted, but he knows his people need him to be a strong unflappable leader.

(Did you catch how he quickly pivots from hauteur "Tymora smile on me." to deference "We did it. You did it."? Manipulate, mansplain, malewife the hell out of them Zevlor.)

This portion of the video highlights Zevlor's loyalty to his comrades in arms. He calls Tav family— remember, Hellriders are extremely loyal to one another (and tieflings are very loyal to those who prove themselves trustworthy), this is how he behaved towards all his fellow Hellriders before he has cast out of Elturel. His faith is still broken, but Tav/Durge/Origin has reignited a glimmer of hope in him.

I think this is the only time I've ever seen this poor man actually relax and smile. But then he immediately goes back to looking pensive and walled off. I may be delulu and reading too far into things, but I don't think this is merely his character model returning to its default— I think it demonstrates exactly how Zevlor has been living for years: Silently admonishing himself for letting his guard down and his control slip. Desperately wanting to let go and forget himself and his propriety for a while but being unwilling, possibly unable, to do so.

That being said he does somewhat relax at

● (Part 5) The Tiefling Party:

There isn't a lot to say here. Zevlor isn't imbibing (much) to ensure that he keeps his wits about him— both so that he can supervise the people who are partying, and keep watch for potential threats. Even though he's not partying, Zevlor is elated to see the tiefling refugees smiling and relaxing. He knows that the journey ahead of them is fraught with danger/ trials and tribulations. He even looks the other way when his people spike the punch to make purple drank.

In Early Access to thank Tav for saving them Zevlor made a (bugged) light show where every light in it represented a life that Tav and Co. had saved. The party is the last time Zevlor is happy and hopeful before everything falls apart, as we will see in the next installation of this series: (Part 4) Zevlor's actions during Act 2, an analysis of a broken man.

Here's a link to the master list for this series.

Thanks for reading!

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