#explain HTTP vs HTTPS

[sunnys-aesthetic]

Reminder to contact your reps to HELP pass the impeachment bill:

Currently this bill is offering the 'INTENT TO OFFER RESOLUTION' under the 'Questions to privilege' Rule of the House.

What does this mean?

TLDR: TO IMPEACH TRUMP ON GROUNDS OF QUESTIONING THE EXECUTIVES PRIVILEGE(THE PRESIDENTS SHIELD/WHY THEYRE ALLOWING HIS BLATANT AUTHORIANTARIANISM)

more information here regarding questions to privilege rule: https://govfacts.org/explainer/executive-privilege-vs-congressional-oversight-the-constitutional-tug-of-war/

(P.S. for those more legally savvy than myself, if there's anything i got wrong please do not hesitate to add on to this post that can help!)

CONTACT YOUR REPRESENTATIVE! EMAIL! CALL! DONT LET UP!

[tmnt-ocxcanon-comp]

TMNT OCxCanon Comp Round 5

Learn more under the cut!

Hassan Singh

@morning-sun-brah

In a relationship with Michelangelo (romantic). Rise!Mikey. 

Description; Hassan is a criminal defense attorney who met Mikey in the back alley of his law firm. Thinking that Michelangelo was illegally tagging (graffiti), a small argument ensued- in where Michelangelo explained that he’d been hired to add a mural to the side of the building. After that they bumped into one another at a City Event (Mikey and his brothers were being awarded for stopping a villain), and Hassan began to send Mikey gifts (hair care products and other expensive things), and eventually they began texting. They fall into the enemies to lovers troupe. Eventually they both fall and love and express their feeling to one another.

art created by Sha-Biest

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Ana

@mrabubu

Rise Leo. Dating.

A young girl, Ana, once a friend to the turtles, had feelings towards Leo. She showed him the care and acceptance he long needed, which, in the end, melted his heart. During the Kraang invasion, she was taken away and turned into Kraang zombie, after which was presumed dead. But 10 years later, she still had feelings for the blue turtle, and those feelings were strong enough to retain her consciousness and humanity, helping her to find Leo after all these years. Now reunited, Ana’s living in the resistance’s base, struggling with being half Kraang, and now being the one in need of care. But Leo is determined to do anything in his power not to lose his loved one ever again.

https://www.tumblr.com/mrabubu/755268260842373120/so-i-did-kinda-sketch-ref-for-my-kraang-character?source=share6.

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[mylovesstuffs]

even hell had a heart || lucifer!joshua

outline. you prayed every night not to fall in love with the wrong person, until—he showed up. he says your name like a forbidden prayer. “even your god can’t hate me more than i hate myself for wanting you.” you don’t kiss; just stare, and that feels holier than sin. /// svt 10th anniversary; a reincarnation love anthology

genre: supernatural au, religious/dark fantasy au, romance, slow burn, angst with emotional intimacy, psychological drama, forbidden love

pairing: lucifer!joshua × human fem!reader

content: bittersweet/hopeful ending, lucid-dreamscape/metaphysical elements, gothic spiritual tone, religious symbolism and imagery, prayers as narrative devices, longing and restraint, shadowed pasts and emotional healing, watching-from-afar/guardian dynamics, intimacy without physicality, dream visits and blurred reality, sanctuary as symbolism, mutual yearning and unspoken love, strong mother-daughter bond, confessionals and breakdowns, subtle faith crisis, psychological tension with metaphysical layering, suppressed desire, restraint over romance, near-kisses, forehead touches, temple kisses, somewhat possession imagery, protective lucifer trope, intimate physical closeness, reader finding comfort in the “wrong” being, shadow vs light metaphor used emotionally and spiritually

warnings: religious themes and christian symbolism, spiritual trauma/conflict, possession-like states (chanting, pressure, trance), mentions of past emotional and physical trauma (implied sexual trauma, abandonment), psychological horror imagery (dream sequences, altar bleeding, glowing eyes), mentions of self-doubt, crisis of faith, emotional breakdowns, mild sensuality (no smut but heavy emotional tension and intimacy), mentions of mental health (breakdowns, hallucination/delusion implications), light swearing/cussing, fire, blood, and dark imagery, angels vs lucifer conflict, reader's isolation and vulnerability, reader’s faith being shaken and questioned

a/n: this is the first installment of my series svt 10th anniversary; a reincarnation love anthology! i think i re-edited it to check for my usual silly mistakes… but honestly? i don’t remember anymore 😭 so let’s just call it partially proofread [because i truly don’t know if i finished or not]. i actually finished writing this a while ago, but then completely forgot about it and didn’t get the time to schedule this or the next parts properly. so here i am—posting it directly... please forgive any dumb typos or weird phrasing. i promise the next installments will be properly proof read [will try my best]—this is just my “i-did-my-best-but-my-brain-forgot” edition. hope you’ll still enjoy it despite everything!

Happy 10th Anniversary, SEVENTEEN! even though i’ve only been a carat for 7 months, it feels like i’ve known you forever. in this short time, you've become such a big part of my life—your music, your passion, and your bond with each other have brought me comfort and happiness in ways I can’t explain. thank you for giving your all for the past decade. thank you for being the light in so many people’s lives, including mine.

word count: 7,033 words

taglist: @i-am-confused-about-life @supi-wupi @shirebusking @ateez-atiny380 @jrinbb @thepoopdokyeomtouched @purploozi @reiofsuns2001 @xuhaosgirl @markoplolo @livelaughloveseventeen @dcrlingyou @chanranghaeys @https-seishu @mrsjohnnysuh @iknowimanicon @lavichyne636 [oranged marked blogs can't be tagged :(]

It all began on a day so ordinary, no one could have guessed how quickly everything would change.

The sky wore its usual color that neither blessed nor cursed the earth beneath it, merely watched, indifferent. You had just left the chapel, your palms still damp from prayer, from pleading with something higher than yourself to protect you from falling in love with the wrong person, again. Your footsteps echoed across the worn cobblestones as if the world were hollow, waiting to be filled with something that would either save you or break you, and when you saw him standing at the edge of the alley, half-shadow and half-light, everything inside you paused—breathed in too deep—then forgot how to breathe out.

A man, looking too good to be true, stood there like he had stepped out of someone else's legend, but ended up in your story, looking right back at you. It wasn't even a glance, or a curious flick of the eyes. He looked at you as if he was reading you line by line, like each breath you took was a word in a sentence he already knew by heart. The air shifted, slightly heavier, as if it, too, recognized him.

He didn’t smile right away; that came later. That devastating softness, the lift of lips that belonged on a saint but bled like a sinner's. At that moment, he only looked, as if he already knew you, as if he had seen your soul laid bare on an altar, trembling under the weight of its own guilt, and for reasons that would never make sense, your first thought wasn’t fear. It was familiarity. The echo of a hymn you once heard in a dream, sung in a language your body remembered but your mouth could never speak.

Your throat was dry, and you weren’t sure why. You took a step back, or maybe forward, you couldn’t tell anymore. And still, he said nothing, but just watched with his unwavering gaze fixed on you.

You swallowed. “Do I… know you?”

His head tilted slightly, just by a fraction, like he was listening for something only he could hear. A lie you hadn’t told yet? Then, finally, he spoke. “Your name,” he said quietly, as if it were too holy for the noise of the world, “it’s…” he stopped. You waited for him to continue and not leave in this space of suspense, but he looked at you like he was afraid of finishing the sentence. “It’s yours,” he said, finally. “But it sounds like mine when I say it.”

“What?”

He didn’t have to repeat it, and he didn't. The way he said your name, it didn't sound like just a sound. It was a remembering. It was sorrow and longing tangled into syllables that felt like a prophecy gone wrong. He only just said your name, it shouldn't be a big deal, but it was a big deal because it sounded like a confession. Like he wasn’t supposed to know it, like it had been carved into the walls of his ruin a long time ago and he had spent centuries pretending he had forgotten it.

You felt something curl in your chest. It felt very tight and ancient. “I never told you my name,” you whispered.

“No,” he said. “You didn’t have to.” He said it again, “yn,” like a prayer he wasn’t allowed to say out loud. He took a step closer, “I thought I forgot it.”

Your voice was a breath now. “And?”

“And I was wrong.” 

Something about the way he said it made your fingers curl into fists, like your body was preparing for a storm it had already survived once. “Who are you?” you questioned again, but he didn’t answer that. 

Instead, he asked, “Do you remember me?”

Silence stretched between you while you tried to think of something to say. You feel defeated even though you have no reason to be.“I—” you hesitated. The shape of the answer was in your chest, not your mouth.

And then that soul-fracturing smile finally resurfaced again. You didn’t know you’d been waiting for it. “I knew it,” he whispered. “You don’t know why yet… but you will.”

Your breath hitched that you didn't even realize you’d been holding it. Something inside you stirred like a shadow shifting beneath a locked door. You didn’t know this man, and yet, everything about him felt like déjà vu whispered into your bones. His presence was a verse you'd underlined in some forgotten scripture. You just couldn’t remember where. “You’re scaring me,” you said quietly, but your voice didn’t tremble the way it should have.

“I don’t mean to.” His eyes softened. “That’s the last thing I want.”

“Then tell me who you are.”

He hesitated as a storm passed through his expression, it was grief, maybe, or regret, or something older than either. “I was someone who loved you.” 

Your lips parted. “Loved?”

He met your gaze. “Still do,” and he said it like it was a curse, like loving you had cost him lifetimes.

You took a step back, instinctively, but something tethered you there. Some invisible thread humming between you both that didn’t ask for belief. It simply was.

“I don’t—how?” You searched his face, desperately, for answers. “How can you say that? We’ve never met.”

He gave a slow, bitter smile. “Haven’t we?”

The wind picked up, brushing past you like it, too, carried memory in its folds. “You’re lying,” you said, “or I’m dreaming.”

“Maybe both,” he replied. “Maybe neither.”

Your hands were trembling now, but it wasn’t from fear. It was something else; you just couldn’t name it. You looked away, trying to steady yourself from whatever creepy shit he was spewing. 

He took one cautious step closer. “I waited. I waited longer than I knew was possible. And when I stopped waiting… I started forgetting. Not you though—but what we were.”

You looked up at him again, your voice brittle. “Then why now? Why remember me now?”

He paused before saying, “because you called me back.���

A silence fell between you again, which was thick, reverent. Your chest felt too tight, your thoughts too loud. “I didn’t call anyone,” you said, but it sounded unsure even to your own ears.

“Maybe not with words,” he responded, “but something in you remembered. Some part of you… still aches for me.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

A pause again as he looked at you like that was the final heartbreak. “Then let me earn it back.”

And in that moment, time tilted, something opened inside you, around you. Like the memory of something sacred being reawakened. Your footsteps faltered once, twice, and before instinct took over, you turned on your heel and ran.

The hem of your coat fluttered behind you, your breath catching in uneven gasps. Gravel crunched beneath hurried steps, and the distant glow of the main road flickered. Your heart slammed against your ribs as you glanced back over your shoulder, eyes scanning the path behind you to see it, empty. He’s not following you. You don't know if that makes it better or worse.

Your fingers, trembling and cold, flagged down the first cab you saw. The car jerked to a stop beside the curb. You threw open the door, nearly stumbling in as you rush inside.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

“17th street, Park Road C,” you muttered, giving the address in a voice that didn't sound like your own.

The door slammed shut, and the cab lurched forward. Streetlights blurred past like holy candles left out in the rain. With fingers still shaking, you pulled out your phone and called your mom. She answered on the second ring.

“Sweetheart?” Her voice was lined with surprise, then worry as you greeted her with a trembling voice. “Is everything alright?”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you managed to speak out, “I’m coming over,” you said quickly. “I—I just need to be home. I’ll explain when I get there.”

“What happened?” she asked, her tone was turning sharp and maternal. “Your voice—are you crying?”

“No, I’m not,” you lied. “Just… I need to see you.”

You hang up before she could ask more, and the ride was quiet. Your mind was not.

Every time you close your eyes, you see him. The way he looked at you; like he knew your sins by name, like he forgave them anyway.

By the time the cab stopped in front of your mother’s house, you threw cash at the driver with fumbling fingers and left without waiting for change—you, who would argue over ten cents, but right now, none of that mattered.

She’s already at the door when you arrived, concern written all over her face. Her eyes took in your disheveled hair, the sheen of sweat still clinging to your skin, the way your chest rose like you’ve run from the devil himself.

“Oh, my baby,” she breathed.

You fell into her arms, and she immediately drew you inside. She didn't even ask—just took a towel from the kitchen, gently patting the sweat on your forehead, your cheeks. Her hands were cool, calloused from years of care. Her touch was the closest thing to sanctuary you’ve known.

Once you're seated on the old floral couch, she kneeled in front of you, still holding your hand. “Tell me,” she urged with motherly love and caution. “What happened?”

And you listen to her urge as you always do. You tell her about the chapel, about the man who looked at you like a psalm remembered, about the way he said your name like it had been carved into him, about the fear, the familiarity. The strangeness of it all.

She listened in silence, then, wordlessly, she stood, pulled out her Bible from the cabinet and sat beside you. She opened to Psalm 91, the same passage she used to read when you were afraid of thunder. “Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty…” Her voice was steady, and each verse a balm poured over your shaking soul. “Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day…”

You closed your eyes, your head rested against her shoulder. You wanted to believe the words, wanted them to fill the empty place inside you that opened the moment he looked at you. And yet… How did he know your name? You keep telling yourself it’s a coincidence. Some cruel trick of the universe, but the tightness in your chest refuses to ease.

The whole day, it lingered like the aftertaste of smoke in a holy place.

By evening, you asked her, “Can I stay here tonight?” Your voice broke on the last word.

Your mother, alarmed, cupped your face. “Of course. You never have to ask. But… what’s happening to you, sweet girl?” Her eyes searched yours. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

You shook your head, unable to explain. 

Later, you retreated to your childhood room. Everything’s smaller now, dustier. The wallpaper faded, the bed too short, but the air smelled of lavender and old memories.

You begin your nightly ritual.

Knees to the floor, rosary between your fingers, beads sliding like rain through trembling hands. Bible open in your lap, the spine falling naturally to Isaiah 43.

"Fear not, for I have redeemed thee. I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine." You whisper prayers through clenched teeth, through breaths that shake and falter.

You mouth verses between silent screams. Words crash into the hollowness inside you like waves against cathedral stone. You don’t ask for peace; you ask for forgetting. You open your eyes, and he’s there.

Standing by the edge of your bed like he never left the chapel; as though time itself had bent backward to let him in. 

You freeze, trembling from the marrow outward, the chill crawling up your spine like a ghost pressing its lips to your nape. The blood drains from your face, your ribs forget how to expand, as the rosary drops from your hand.

You gasp, voice strangled with fear, stumbling back as your knees knock against the side of your bed. “You—how did you get in here?” Your fingers tremble as you reach blindly behind you, grabbing the Bible you had just been praying over moments ago. You grip it tight against your chest, its cover warm, as though your desperation had set it alight.

Heart hammering, you inch backward toward the window, hand groping for the latch, the scream clawing its way up your throat like a creature trying to be born. But then, something presses against you.

It wasn't a hand, or even air. An unseen weight pins your lungs. It isn't painful, but it's like there's an invisible palm over your mouth and another over your soul, and you can’t scream. Or move—which makes it worse. Because you’re a physics professor, for God's sake. You understand energy, pressure, forces, mass. But this is not science; this is blasphemy made manifest.

Your lips part to cry out, to mutter a Psalm, but instead, a voice you don’t recognize escapes your mouth, thy light hath no hold on He who knew it first…

Your eyes widen in horror. The words fall from your lips like black honey. Ancient, terrible, but beautiful. You try again, though the arch be sealed, I know thy name, oh First-Forgotten… Again, and again.

Every time you open your mouth, this chant, this liturgy from some who-knows-what age, pours from you. You begin to hyperventilate as your knees buckle. He takes a step forward.

His eyes… glow. Not metaphorically or symbolically. They glow. Red. No—deep, like the core of the earth. Anger so old it forgot what it was angry at; the color of damnation wept into velvet.

Your throat tightens, and you really, really think you’re going to pass out, what the hell is this? Oh God, am I dying? Is this a dream? This is not happening—this is not—this is not—you keep on spiralling inside of your head.  But the man in front, no, not a man—just watches you with something devastating in his expression; it didn't look like cruelty, not even satisfaction. Sorrow it was.

“You called me,” he says softly, voice like smoke, making it sound like it used to be a hymn but came from heaven with him.

Your knees hit the floor with a soft thud, not sure if it's fear or faith that brought you down. You're still clutching the Bible like a lifeline and whispering prayers, but they melt into more of that cursed chant. You try to scream again, to call your mother, but your voice falters. Only silence comes, not even a whimper. Then suddenly, the pressure lifts. You inhale so sharply your lungs scream, and you look up at him, voice trembling, “Who… who are you?” You again crawl backward, the Bible shaking in your hands.

He tilts his head slightly, and for the first time, his expression shifts just faintly. A crack in the mask, something like nostalgia, like regret. “A shadow,” he says, “of what I once believed I could be.” His voice carries the weight of centuries, of battles lost, of names erased.

You hear wind in it, fire. Angels sobbing into the void. He takes one last look at you, and the light in the room flickers. You blink—and he’s gone.

The moment he disappears, your body collapses into a heap. You gasp for air as if it were your first breath in years. Your mother rushes into the room, footsteps urgent.

The moment you see her, the dam breaks in you. You crawl to her like a child, tears hot and fast as you wrap your arms around her waist, clutching her like the earth after a long fall. She holds you, shocked, and concerned. She crouches and cradles your face in her hands.

“Sweetheart, what—what happened? Tell me. What’s going on?”

But you can’t speak, so you only cry. She leads you to your bed, sitting beside you, pulling you into her arms like she did when you were small and afraid of the dark. She wipes the sweat from your brow with the hem of her sleeve, humming softly, her voice cracking seeing her daughter like this. Then she begins to tell you stories of childhood things. About the first time you prayed, how you’d cry if a bird fell from a tree, how you once said you wanted to marry the sky because it never seemed to lie. She holds you like you're her baby again; but you’re not. You’re a woman broken by something no priest ever prepared you for.

And as your eyes finally drift closed from exhaustion, and sore heart, you begin to wonder if you’re losing your mind. Because when you finally fall asleep…you dream of him.

At first, it’s alright, you are in a field of dusk which seemed colorless, shapeless. The air is thick and warm, humming with a strange music that you don’t hear with your ears, but your soul. Above you, the sky is full of stars, but they’re not still. They’re falling one by one, but it isn't even shooting stars. Each one descends with a long, echoing scream, a light extinguished mid-cry. You cover your ears, but it doesn’t stop the sound from crawling into your head.

When your eyes move around, you see, in the center of the field: an altar. Old stone, ancient, and cracked, but it bleeds. Blood, thick and glistening, seeps from its edges, trailing down like vines. You feel the earth pulse beneath your bare feet. You take a step forward, and the stars fall faster.

“This place is sacred, and yet, it suffers.”

You turn around to see the owner of the voice, and he’s there standing at the edge of your bed—but it’s not your bed anymore. You’re still in the dream, and the field has wrapped around you like a memory. He stands in shadow, half-light playing against his face. His eyes glow again, dim now, but the sorrow in them is still unmistakable.

“Why are you here?” you whisper, or maybe you don’t, maybe it’s only a thought, you’ve forgotten how to speak in dreams.

“To see,” he says, “if you still kneel.”

You do, but not because of him, because the weight of the dream, the altar, the stars—all of it presses down on you, compels you to your knees. You feel small, fragile, and very mortal, and yet part of something divine.

You look down and your hands are suddenly stained red. You know it's not your blood. “You were never meant to carry this,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “But you keep praying like it’ll disappear. Like it isn’t written into you.”

You look up at him. You want to scream at him, you want to cry, want to reach out. “Why are you haunting me?”

He kneels, finally, before you, “because once,” he whispers, so close now you can feel the chill of his fall, “I believed in the light. I saw you.”

The stars crash louder, the altar shudders, the earth splits—and you fall. Falling into black. Into memory, and fear. Into the scent of fire and old books, of sanctuaries burnt and prayers unanswered. You scream, and wake up.

You're gasping, drenched in sweat. The room is dark, and your mother is not found to be in your room anymore, but the Bible still rests on your nightstand. And at the foot of your bed, a single white feather, charred at the edge.

-

He never meant to get close, meant to feel. It started with your voice; your whispered prayers in empty chapels, your trembling Amens in the dark, your quiet pleading to a God who never answered. He watched from the shadows at first, not behind walls, but behind time, just far enough to not be real, just close enough to ache.

You reminded him of something he’d spent eternity trying to forget. Grace. Not the kind sung about in hymns, but that bled, that knelt even when it didn’t have to, that forgave even when it was breaking. She still believes, he’d murmur into the silence of his exile. What a dangerous thing.

He told himself it was curiosity. When you wept in the stairwell at work, unseen by the world, you weren’t unseen by him. When your hands shook, lighting the Sabbath candle, and you prayed for strength with trembling lips—he watched from the other side of the veil. When you clutched your Bible like a weapon, knuckles pale and face wet from nightmare, he was already there, in the corner of your room.

Your pain mirrored something he thought he no longer possessed, a heart. And somewhere along the line, he stopped counting your sins, and started memorizing your smiles.

He sits now, cross-legged in the middle of a decayed cathedral, wings long burned to bone,

his hand holding the white feather from your bed. "Why her?" a voice hisses from the shadows.

He doesn’t flinch. "Because," he says, eyes half-lidded, "she prays like it’ll save her from me. And I keep hoping it might save me." He appears only when you break, not to offer solace, but to see if he still can’t stop himself from touching your name in the air. "She makes me soft in the places I’ve sealed with ash."

But it’s getting harder to stay away, because one night soon, you will kneel in prayer and say, please don’t let me fall, and he will answer without thinking, "Then stop calling for me, little light. Because every time you do, I come closer. And I am not your salvation. I am the thing your salvation warns you about."

He still stays, because even Hell, in the hollow left by Heaven, had a heart once. And its last beat might just be you.

-

By the time you realize what you were seeing, it was too late to pretend you hadn’t. He was there again, standing on the chapel stairs.

You froze mid-step, breath catching in your throat. The late afternoon sun bled amber through the high cathedral windows behind him, but casting no shadows across his figure. 

Staying still for a minute, looking at each other across the space, you dared to walk toward him. You stopped halfway, cautious, trembling, as if speaking to him might undo the very air around you.

“Why me?” you asked, voice thin and dry.

He turned his head slightly, a ghost of a smile teasing his lips. “Because you still kneel,” he murmured, eyes not leaving yours. “And I missed how that felt.”

You inhaled sharply, heart galloping in your chest. Frustrated, you looked around—half-hoping someone else might see him. Half-hoping you were just imagining it all again. You don’t even know him… but you know you should fear him.

There hasn't been a single day since that night in your childhood room that you haven't felt that sliver of fear lodged beneath your ribs. And now, seeing him again, tangible in the light of day, the fear twisted into more dangerous: fascination.

You swallowed, “Why are you so obsessed with kneeling? It’s not like I’m kneeling to you, I kneel to God.”

His smile darkened into something else, you take it as wicked, slow, and unbearably calm. He took a step closer with no shadow clinging to his boots like living things. “Do you think it matters who you mean to kneel to?” he says, “when the ground already belongs to me?”

His voice slid through you like warm oil over cold steel; seductive in sound, terrifying in weight.

“It’s not sin I tempt you with,” he remarked. “It’s understanding. I see you, entirely. And you’re still not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.”

Your breath hitched. His eyes flickered red, a molten glow blooming in their depths. You stumbled back, remembering all over again why you were supposed to fear him. “Wh-who are you?” you stammered. “Do you have a name? What… what are you?”

He stepped into a beam of stained-glass light, and for a moment, you could see the ancient exhaustion lining his face; the weight of centuries etched beneath flawless skin. “They called me Lucifer,” he said softly. “But you can call me Joshua, if it makes you feel safer.”

It didn’t. You blinked. The name itself felt like a trick. “You’re… a devil?” you whispered. “What the hell is a devil doing…” you trail off realising the situation you're in and that you shouldn't be talking like this right now. “What do you want with me?”

“I didn’t choose to fall for you,” he said. “But your prayers—they reach places they shouldn’t. You ask not to fall for the wrong person. And I… I shouldn’t hear that. But I do.” Your hands trembled, the air grew too thick. Your knees weakened. “What if the wrong one falls?” he added, voice nearly a breath. “And your beloved God just... lets it happen?”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. You backed away instinctively, stumbling through the chapel doors and collapsing at the altar, desperately searching for sanctuary, but even here, it felt compromised—tainted by his presence still lingering on your skin. You were scared, but not of damnation. You were scared because your faith wasn’t cracking from lust; it was breaking from the longing to be seen.

In days passed, he became your paradox. Your tormentor and your comfort. You felt him in flickering candle flames, in reflections that didn’t match your movements. On rooftops at night, watching, not interfering… most of the time.

A car swerved one night and missed you by inches. You knew it would’ve hit you, but it didn’t, because something, to be more specific —someone, stopped it.

At your weakest, when your hands shook too violently to lock your door or strike a match,

a warm whisper brushed your ear: that's enough, you did it.

You never told anyone explicitly; they’d lock you away in an asylum if you did. And besides, who would believe something so foolish, something that they can't make sense of?

You broke down in the confessional one rainy evening. You couldn’t explain why, just sobbed, endlessly, hands twisted in your lap, eyes clenched shut. You didn’t notice something passing through the wall. Didn’t feel the pew shift under someone else's weight.

Until his warm, impossibly warm hands wiped the tears from your cheek. His palm still radiated heat like a dying star. The scent of fire lingered, smoky. “You remind me of a time before,” he whispered.

“Before what?” you choked.

“Before I was only what they feared. Even Hell had a heart once.”

He wasn’t trying to drag you down, he was hoping, desperately, that you might reach back.

-

You let him stay a little longer in your room. You told him about your life, about your nights studying under dim lamps, about scraping your way through a system that wasn’t built for naive people, about the exhaustion, the loneliness, the little victories.He listened to your rambling unblinking. You could tell he already knew, but he let you say it anyway.

“You make me question everything I’ve ever believed,” your fingers brushed a physics journal lying beside your pillow.“The laws of motion. Time. Reality. God.”

He tilted his head. “Maybe I’m just a new variable,” he offered.

You exhaled shakily; not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. “Maybe I’m losing my mind.”

He reached out, fingertip just barely grazing your wrist. “Or maybe you’ve finally opened it.”

You looked at him, something tender stirring where only fear had lived before. He wasn’t just a nightmare with red eyes anymore. He was—broken. Human, in a way that terrified you more than horns and hellfire ever could. “Why do you come to me?” you asked.

His gaze flickered to the floor as if the question pained him. “Because you pray for peace,” he whispered slowly, “and I hope you find it. Before I ruin it.”

Your fingers moved of their own accord, tracing the back of his hand, so warm it bordered on scorching. He didn’t flinch, and neither did you, and before you knew what it meant, your forehead rested against his—your first true touch. It was innocent, reverent even. You could hear nothing but the clock ticking on your nightstand and your own heartbeat skipping like a frightened thing. He stayed there, unmoving, as though if he dared shift even slightly, he might break something sacred between you.

He fell for you in that silence; not because you feared him, or even because you saw him. But because you still knelt, still prayed, even when the world burned around you.

He was Lucifer. But around you, he was a shadow with soft eyes, full of restraint that cracked at the edges. “I can’t touch you without burning,” he let you know, voice tight.

“And yet you still try,” you whispered back, your hand trembling as you laid it on his cheek. You could feel it—the molten resistance under his skin, the air around him warped slightly like heat on pavement. You could see it in his eyes too, the agony of holding back, of containing a force that once defied the Almighty.

His forehead remained pressed to yours, until you leaned back slightly. He reached to keep you close, hands hovering at your shoulders, not daring to grasp. “Are you still scared of me?” he asked.

You swallowed. “Yes… but it’s not the fear of what you are—it’s fear of what this could mean. But it’s better. It’s better than the time I didn’t know you. Better than that first day on the chapel.”

He closed his eyes. “You always remind me of a time. You remind me of a time I felt grace.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you prayed, silently and internally. The words tangled with your breath as you pleaded for peace, for understanding, for something beyond this impossible intimacy. He stayed perfectly still, listening; not to your voice, but to your prayer. He wasn’t trying to damn you.

He began to visit you in dreams, but not with sin. With silence, and seeing.

And your prayers turned confused—full of contradictions, of longing for someone you weren’t meant to long for. He wanted redemption, but the closer he got to grace, the more violently Hell responded.

You had noticed it first in the mirrors, your own reflection watching you too long. The sound of wings, but not his—fluttering behind your ears when you knelt. The angels didn’t comfort you—they judged. That was cold, bright, cruel. They didn’t understand why you still let him near, and when they came, it wasn’t with harps or halos; it was with wrath.

The ground cracked under them, with wind and holy fire erupting in your bedroom. Your rosary shattered on the floor as they advanced. That’s when he stepped forward.

He didn’t flee, but stood between you and the divine, hand raised not in violence but in defiance. “I won’t let you harm her,” he growled, and the room trembled at his voice.

His fire didn’t scorch you, it instead shielded you arching over your body like a barrier, his wings unfurling in a storm of black smoke and crimson light.

Later, when the angels vanished with seared feathers and scornful eyes, you collapsed. “God never loved me like you do,” you choked.

He didn’t reply, but he looked ruined. He sat on the edge of your bed. “You don’t understand what you’re saying,” he murmured. “You’re asking to walk beside something that even heaven cast out.”

“And you,” you whispered, reaching for his burning hand again, “are asking me to walk away before you break me.”

His eyes flickered red, then human, then red again. “Yes.”

But you shook your head. “I would rather walk through fire beside someone who sees me than kneel in a church that ignores my ache.”

He stilled, making the universe held its breath, and in that stillness, he looked at you as though you were made of light he was never meant to touch. As though he could finally understand why angels fell: not for rebellion.

You were the temptation, and yet, you were tempted by him. The irony burned; you were falling—not into hell, but for it.

Joshua stood at the edge, between damnation and redemption, and neither path looked holier than the way your eyes held his. 

He moved closer, until there was no air between your breaths. Until his presence became heat, and that heat became longing. “You pray not to fall in love with the wrong person,” he muttered, voice low and wrecked. “And your God… not only didn’t answer—but made the wrong entity fall for you.”

His words struck deep. It wasn't with mockery, but a bitter kind of awe, as if even he couldn’t believe it. You looked him in the eye and reasoned, “At least it’s a wrong entity… and not a wrong human. For that, I do thank Him.”

That broke something in him, and in you. He touched your face slowly, hesitant, reverent. A hand that had once ended worlds now trembling to touch your cheek. His thumb brushed your lower lip, as if asking for permission he had never dared to take, and still, you didn’t pull away. You tilted your head into it; permission.

He exhales, ragged and stunned, like the contact burned him, and maybe it did. You don’t speak when his fingers trace the line of your throat. You just breathe as he studies your reaction like a man terrified of ruining what little good remains in his hands. “This is wrong,” he whispers. “You know that, don’t you?”

“But so was everything that hurt me before you,”

"You were never meant to be touched by fire like me."

“Then why,” you ask, your voice barely a thread, “does it feel like warmth for the first time?”

He leans in closer than close, and your lips don’t quite meet, but the air between you sizzles with the proximity. His breath is hot against your mouth, and when you close your eyes, you feel him flinch as if trying not to touch you, yet.

He’s trembling—not from lust, but from the sheer restraint of it. “I could destroy you,” he says against your lips. “Easily.”

You press forward, just enough to whisper against his mouth, “Then destroy me gently.”

And that undoes him. “Say it again,” he demands.

“Say what?”

“That you thank your God… for sending the wrong entity.” You smile, half-shattered and half-defiant. Something wild flickers in his eyes, something ancient and starving.

He lifts your hand and presses it to his bare chest. "Feel that?" he murmurs. His heart, thudding against your palm, which felt erratic and alive. "That’s for you. You, the one thing in this world I can't touch without burning, and still, like you said—I keep reaching." You are fully clothed, and yet you’ve never felt so bare beneath someone’s touch. And still, there is reverence. Always reverence. He touches you like a priest at the altar, like you are a sacrament he is forbidden to hold but worships anyway. “I never wept for heaven,” he confesses. “But you—you make me weep.”

You cling to him like an answer you weren’t supposed to find, and that was when the darkness crept in. It wasn't from him, but from the echoes of your past.

His breath hitched. “Don’t let me ruin you,” he rasped.

“Maybe I’m already ruined,” you said softly. “Or maybe you’re what kept me alive.” Your voice cracked at the edge of truth.

You remembered the nights you couldn’t breathe. The silence that swallowed you whole when no one came. The sharpness of words meant to raise you, but instead left bruises. You remembered the cutting cold of abandonment, the nights someone touched you when they shouldn’t have, the ache of a body that didn't feel like yours anymore, and the prayers you muttered into your pillow, prayers for sleep, for peace, for escape.

The world didn’t break you all at once. It did so slowly, cruelly, as if daring you to notice, and when the world forgot you, he didn’t.

You didn’t realize how you got back to breathing properly, how you started lighting candles instead of hiding from the dark, until you traced it all back—to him. To the nights he just sat there invisibly, to the moments his gaze, heavy and broken, told you you weren’t invisible, to the way he listened, even when you didn’t speak.

He never told you to forgive the world, he never asked you to stay. He simply healed. And it was that, that stitched you back together.

It was him. He was the answer your prayers were too broken to phrase. You gasp, not from fear but from remembering, and he sees it. He pulls back, alarmed, the heat in his eyes replaced with concern.

“You okay?” he asks while his eyes searching for discomfort or fear, and then forehead to yours again, grounding you.

Tears on your lashes now, you nod. “You brought me back,” you reply. “I didn’t realize it… but you did.” He presses a kiss to your temple, then your closed eyelids, like comfort; like home. But then he stiffens.

You feel the shift, and the warning. “I need you to walk away,” he said, voice suddenly hoarse. “Right now. Before I break you for real. I’m close… too close. And I can’t—”

Before, there were moments when he almost reached for you, when his hand would hover an inch from yours, trembling like the air between you were on fire, like touching you might scorch him but not touching you might kill him slower; and there were moments where you swore you saw tears, not fire, behind his eyes.

He never kissed you, never let you fall. Never let himself fall either. And that was the tragedy, pretending the view was enough. But God, if staring could be a sin, you were both damned tenfold.

You tried to walk away before he even asked for it, days and months ago. You blocked his number, even though he never called. You stopped looking in shadows, stopped waiting for something you wouldn’t get even though you wanted, started keeping your rosary closer, like faith could be armor thick enough to keep his memory out—but mid-prayer, your hands would shake, trembling open in the air, and your heart, traitorous and tender, would whisper his name before your lips could finish the verse, and you hated yourself for it. And then, then you’d lift your head and there he would be, sitting quietly, as if he had never stopped watching, as if you belonged to a story that wouldn’t let itself end.

I told myself I wouldn’t come back, he said back then, his voice was barely there, but your God… He still listens to me when I ask not to love you anymore. He just won’t answer.

And that’s when you broke finally and violently—you screamed at him, threw the nearest book, told him he ruined you, told him you hated him for making you feel like this, for making you question everything you thought was sacred, for pushing you into a place where nothing felt safe, not even your own faith.

He just looked at you like he’s been waiting for this; for the rage, for the ache, for the truth—and he looked at you like you’re his religion he doesn’t believe he deserves but still kneels toward. I hate me too, he said, and it’s not an excuse or a plea, it’s a confession.

He doesn’t say he loves you. You don’t say you love him. Because that’s not the kind of story this is.

Maybe in another world, if the devil had a heart and heaven wasn’t so far out of reach, maybe you would’ve been his salvation, and he would’ve been your first prayer, and you, his last chance at being saved.

-

Even your God can’t hate me more than I hate myself for wanting you, he told you once, not under the safety of night, but in the unforgiving clarity of day, when sins cast long shadows and truth had nowhere to hide. He said it with that maddening calm, like a man already condemned, no longer pleading for heaven, but still aching for a taste of light before the final fall.

You didn’t touch him then, not for a long time. But you stood too close, and shared silence the way others shared skin. He hovered, always, his hand never quite reaching yours, as if even that would be too much; a blasphemy neither of you could bear. And somehow, that restraint, that impossible ache wrapped in reverence, felt holier than the kiss you never dared to steal.

You tried to tell yourself that he was the test. The devil’s whisper clothed in tenderness. That his eyes, red not with fire but with sorrow, were the markings of your downfall. But what kind of demon stood between you and temptation, not pushing you forward, but holding you back, whispering, you don’t deserve this kind of ruin, even as his own heart splintered beneath the weight of wanting you?

Because he did want you. And you—shaking, stubborn, shrouded in your prayers and your guilt and your half-sung hymns—you wanted him back.

You began to learn the small things first: that he didn’t like loud noises, that he found church bells both agonizing and beautiful, that he sometimes stared at stained glass for hours, chasing memories he couldn’t hold on to. He flinched at kindness, laughed like it surprised him. He didn’t sleep, instead, he watched; you, mostly—and when he thought you weren’t looking, he wept without tears.

He had a heart, you realized. That was the cruelest part. Even hell had a heart, and it beat for you.

[psformybss]

hiii, sweetie <3

i have a request 🤸🏽‍♀️

could you write something based on the tik tok trend "Telling my husband I Signed him up for '100 men vs gorilla'" , please? like you make this joke to rafe/drew, how do you think he will react? ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

example:

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSkmUUpfr/

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSkmUmsSo/

So I Signed You Up for Something…

rafe cameron x reader

a/n: hi, im so sorry this took me so long to write 😭 i loved the request tho and it was so funny to think of all the possible reactions rafe could have had to it

The phone is perfectly hidden, angled behind a candle on the dresser like it’s just part of the aesthetic. You check it twice, make sure the red recording light is tucked safely out of view. Then you inhale, smooth out your expression, and walk into the living room like nothing’s going on.

Rafe’s sprawled across the couch in his usual position. Hood up. Legs draped over the cushions like he fell there and decided to live forever. He’s snacking on something crunchy, completely oblivious.

You lift your phone to your ear like you’re in the middle of a Very Serious Call. Calm. Focused. Methodical.

“Yeah,” you say, loud enough for him to hear. “He’s confirmed. I already sent in the paperwork this morning. Should be all good to go.”

There’s a pause. He shifts slightly but doesn’t look up. Yet.

You pace a little, just to sell it. “Uh-huh. Six two, athletic, decent pain tolerance. Pretty competitive. Bit of a short fuse, but I think that’ll help in this situation.”

That gets him.

Rafe’s head tilts. He doesn’t speak, just stares at you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re talking about him—or about someone you’re cheating with. Both seem equally concerning at this point.

“Wait,” he says, mouth full of pretzels, “who’s got a short fuse? And what situation?”

You give him a dismissive little wave and keep going, completely in character. “No, I haven’t told him yet. I figured I’d wait until the waiver comes through. He’ll be fine, though. He doesn’t scare easy.”

That’s when he puts the pretzels down.

“Okay, seriously,” he says, sitting up like his whole body just remembered how to move, “what’s going on? Who doesn’t scare easy? What waiver? Why are we using words like waiver in this house?”

You end the fake call with a casual “Alright, cool—talk soon,” and slide your phone into your back pocket. Then you look at Rafe like this is the most normal Tuesday of your life.

He’s already staring at you like you’re a stranger who broke into his house. “What was that?”

You settle on the edge of the couch beside him. “So, I signed you up for something.”

His face does not say “Oh, fun.” His face says, “I knew it. This is how I die.”

“What kind of something?” he asks, eyes narrowing, voice cautious.

You hesitate just long enough to build suspense. Then:

“It’s called 100 Men vs One Gorilla.”

He blinks once. Twice. “…The hell did you just say to me?”

“It’s like a controlled test,” you explain, perfectly calm. “You and ninety-nine other guys in a stadium. One adult male silverback gorilla. You don’t get weapons. Just teamwork. And adrenaline.”

Rafe’s mouth falls open like his soul just left his body.

“Excuse me?” he chokes out. “Did you just say no weapons?! Against a gorilla?!”

You nod solemnly. “You’d be surprised how far human coordination can go in a—”

“STOP.” He throws his hands up. “Do you know what a gorilla is? Do you?! That’s not a raccoon. That’s not a confused bear. That’s muscle and rage in a fur coat! You put me in a ring with a gorilla, you might as well start digging the hole now!”

You bite your lip. “I thought it’d be a fun challenge?”

“A fun ch—are you insane?!” He stands up like the very idea offended his bloodline. “This is how you surprise me? Not a weekend trip. Not a PS5. You hand me a death sentence with a smile?”

He’s pacing now. Talking with his hands. Completely gone. “I got shin splints walking through the mall yesterday. And you think I’m gonna square up with something that can bench press a car?”

You’re wheezing now. Laughing so hard your face hurts.

He pauses mid-rant, staring. “Why are you laughing?”

You try to breathe. Try to talk. Fail.

“No, seriously. Why—why are you laughing like that?” His voice cracks. “What kind of joke is this?”

Finally, between gasps, you manage: “Because… it is a joke.”

He blinks. “What?”

You gesture toward the dresser, tears in your eyes. “I was recording a TikTok. It’s a prank.”

He stares at you. Looks toward the dresser. Doesn’t spot anything. Turns back to you with the most betrayed expression of all time.

“You’re kidding.”

You shake your head, still laughing.

“You made me think I was gonna get murdered by a gorilla, for a TikTok?!”

You fall back onto the couch, gasping.

Rafe runs a hand down his face, grinning now despite himself. “I was already accepting my fate. I saw my life flash before my eyes. I resigned to death. I was about to Google if gorillas respect eye contact.”

You sit up, wiping your tears. “So… you’re not mad?”

“Oh no,” he says darkly, collapsing next to you. “But I am plotting. Enjoy peace while it lasts, baby girl.”

You smirk. “Worth it.”

He glares at you with a smile twitching on his lips. “You are unwell.”

taglist: @kieeslove, @wuluhwuhmaster

[greekmythcomix]

EPIC vs The Odyssey - The Troy Saga infographic

Full infographic on main site - https://greekmythcomix.com/comic/epic-vs-the-odyssey-the-troy-saga/

Accompanying post with text - https://greekmythcomix.com/2024/07/22/epic-vs-the-odyssey-the-troy-saga-infographic/

I love EPIC the Musical, LOVE it, and have been following its progress for some time now.

A few weeks ago I was watching a video post where Jorge Rivera-Herrans was talking about how it’s not a direct retelling, and fans shouldn’t base their knowledge of the Odyssey on EPIC, especially if they’re at school.

SO I made this - an infographic explaining the differences.

Why? I’m going to be teaching the Odyssey again myself in September (for the 15th…16th time? I forget) and I’d love to introduce my students to EPIC… BUT I also want them to know the Odyssey well and not write the wrong thing in their exams (I used to teach English Lit too and remember well the Romeo and Juliet vs Baz Luhrman ‘no, they didn’t have helicopters’ essay debacle), hence this loving infographic series. I figure other teachers may get some use out of it too!

Full comic-infographic in a better-looking format (and a post containing all the text as it’s too long for ALT) is on the website - GreekMythComix.com (You’ll also find comics about Nostos, Xenia, and a big chunk of the Odyssey retold and explained for students!)

Now to go consume The Thunder Saga which I’ve been saving for the Summer Holidays!

EDIT: I’ve fixed it on the main site but can’t here: I’ve written Eumaeus instead of Eurylochus on the character scroll under Full Speed Ahead. Damn, too many Eury-prefixes!

[idiomagic]

Horse Story #8 for @elodieunderglass

Michael Vs. The Stanford Linear Accelerator, Part Two

(Part one is here: https://www.tumblr.com/idiomagic/785703810504015872/horse-story-7-for-elodieunderglass?source=share) When last seen, Our Heroes were confronted with the Unholy Sights, Sounds, and Stench of Monkey Hell. I had dropped my reins in shock, and Michael had decided that whatever the fuck was going on, it was Very Bad Juju and exited the vicinity posthaste. He got the bit in his teeth, and bugged out at full speed. Michael was not remarkably fast for a racehorse, but I had never before ridden at full racing speed. The fact that we were going cross country, on uneven ground, up and down hills, did not help matters. My reins were flapping everywhere, I immediately lost my stirrups, and my world narrowed down to an urgent imperative to Not Fall Off. I clung to the saddle, somehow, as we charged through tall grasses and prickly bushes. I managed to get my feet back in the stirrups, and got my brain working enough to assess the overall situation. It was Not Good. Michael was bolting at full speed, I had zero control, and we were aimed directly at the site of the linear accelerator. I had maybe half a mile or so to get Michael calmed down and regain my steering before we would plunge off the steep banks and plummet ten feet or so onto concrete at approximately terminal velocity. The Stanford Linear Accelerator extends for over a mile. It looks like this, though in places the banks are vertical, and in some places they are much closer to the building:

By the time I processed our Impending Doom, I knew we were fucked. I managed to get the reins into some semblance of order, but Michael was in no mood to respond to my suggestions that we slow the fuck down. He kept charging through the brush, we hit a downslope, then suddenly we were on the precipice of the bank, with a ten foot or more drop to the concrete, and the roof of the building about 15 feet away. So Michael did the only thing possible, and jumped. And landed on the metal roof. And, somehow, skittered to a stop instead of plunging off the other side. The roof was metal, and he slid a bit, all four legs splayed out, but we made it.

When we landed, the metal horse shoes hitting the roof at speed made the most colossally apocalyptic BOOM! CLANG CLANG CLANG! noise I've ever been unfortunate enough to hear. So, there we were...standing precariously on top of the most delicate, expensive, government run scientific installations in the world. With no obvious way down. I was aware that very soon, angry military types with guns would be heading our way, and that it was going to be very difficult to explain what the fuck we were doing there. The only plan I could think of was to sneak along the roof until we found a place where the banks were close enough to jump to. I wanted to attract as little attention as possible, in the hopes that maybe no one noticed the giant clanging noises that had heralded our arrival. I kept a very firm grip on the reins, but Michael had no intention to go his own way. He was baffled to be on top of a building, and eager to take any directions from me. He had confidence that I would have A Plan, which was heartwarming but sadly misplaced.

I picked the direction I hoped was away from the control building, and nudged Michael into a slow, sedate walk. A quiet walk. A sneaky walk. CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG Oh shit. The noise was unreal. It was like being inside a steel drum during Carnival in the Caribbean. Only much less melodious and charming.

Well, I thought, no point in sneaking. And kicked Michael into a slow canter. Michael did not like the noise, at all, and when we came to a spot where the bank was more gentle and only about 8 or so feet away, he turned of his own volition and jumped. The quiet was such an intense relief. Michael was blowing hard, and covered with sweat, but I felt a strong need to make tracks and get away from the scene of our crime. We alternated between a jog and a slow canter, until we reached a clump of trees. We hid there for a couple of minutes while I took my bearings, then headed back towards the stable, walking and then jogging. We finally made it back, I gave Michael a bath, then wrapped his legs and got him back in his stall. Which is when the big black government sedan rolled up, with two Very Serious Dudes in full Men In Black suits and sunglasses. There were only a few people around at that time, and they were blissfully unaware of my crimes. I hid in the doorway of the stable, and listened. Very Serious Dude: "What do you people know about the incident at the linear accelerator? If you confess now, we will go easier on you." No one had any clue what he was talking about. Except me. Innocent Horse Person: "We have no idea what you're talking about. We've all been here all day. What's going on?" Very Serious Dude: "There was a horse on top of the accelerator. The noise and vibrations and dust from the ceiling disrupted an experiment that was three years in the making. We're going to all the stables to find the guilty party." Innocent Horse Person: "No one in their right mind would ride onto the accelerator. There's a lot of pasture up there...it must have been a loose horse. Or a deer. Or even a bull or something. It sure as hell wasn't any of us." The Very Serious Dudes left, unsatisfied. Later, one of the people from the barn came up to me. "What the hell were you up to? It had to be you and that Damned Horse. As soon as I realized that no one in their right mind would do it, I thought of you. It couldn't be anyone else. You're just fucking lucky to be alive." And I am.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ If you like the Michael Stories, please reblog my pinned post and donate if you can. https://ko-fi.com/idiomagic

[hellenicrisis]

Altars vs Shrines

Altar — Where the household builds a relationship and interacts with the gods; a place for general worship.

For Hellenic pagans, where the oikos (household, home, family) builds kharis (grace, relationship with the divine) with the Theoi (the Gods).

Shrine — A place for personal worship dedicated to a favoured deity.

For example, I have an altar for the household gods and shrines for each of the gods I personally worship. (I have been using those two terms the wrong way around for ages!)

Two sources that explained this concept well:

https://ofthespiae.wordpress.com/2013/01/02/whats-that-altars-and-shrines/

https://lykeiaofapollon.wordpress.com/2014/08/26/of-altars-and-shrines/

[bowsandgutts]

Nina VS The Creepypasta Fandom: How A Fandom Turned An Innocent OC Into A Nightmare.

As someone who's been present within the creepypasta fandom since the 2010s, the sudden surge of Nina love within the fandom today is both amazing... and slightly irritating.

Of course, when I say "irritating," I don't mean that I hate that she has become as beloved as characters like Jeff, Toby, Eyeless Jack, etc. I more so mean that as someone who has never hated Nina and saw potential in her character. She was a perfect representation of our fandom!

A fandom that, unfortunately, would be her downfall and lead to the relentless harassment of her creator, Alegotic-twelve.

Note: It should be obvious, but just in case- PLEASE do not harass anyone mentioned below. This post is being made as a critical analysis of the creepypasta fandom, and how they treated Nina/Ale. This is NOT being made to stir up drama.

Our story would start in the year 2013, where on February 5th, the original Nina The Killer story would be posted to the creepypasta website. Technically even earlier, as Ale came up with the concept of Nina in 2011.

To summarize the original story:

Nina Hopkins is an 11-year-old girl who transfers to a new school to be closer to home

She's admires and looks up to the creepypasta jeff the killer

On her first day, she defends her younger brother Chris from bullies, leading to a violent confrontation where she attacks them

After the incident, Nina feels empowered by her actions, realizing that she liked hurting people and wanting to do it again

Nina discovers a note in her locker, someone knows about her violent act but chooses to remain anonymous and not tell anyone

Chris is kidnapped by the bullies and beaten up badly, which makes Nina further fall into her dark desires and want revenge

Nina gets another note in her her locker where her anonymous admirer apologizes for what happened to her brother, saying that she wasn't alone and that they'll "be her friend"

Picture day comes and Nina dawns her iconic outfit

Nina is once again attacked by the bullies

Bully beat down part 2

It's revealed that Jeff is the anonymous admirer

Make over time!

Nina kidnaps Claudia and kills her in her room

Nina kills her mom and her brother, tells Chris's body she's gonna kill more people

The end!

I assure you, this summary is relevant and was done for a reason.

You can read the full story yourself here!

In Ale's post I think it's time to talk about this, she explained that Nina was created because Jeff was a comfort character for her, which is something I'm sure many of us can relate to. (Please note that English is not Ale's first language)

(There's also an interview in Spanish)

When Ale is asked why (at the time) she had abandoned Nina as a character, she explains that it was because of the staggering amount of hate she was receiving ever since the creepypasta was published.

I'm not gonna lie, reading this was absolutely heartbreaking. Ale was only thirteen years old when she created Nina, a minor for the majority of when this all happened. People were directing death threats at a child over an oc they had created for fun. And with all of this... I don't blame Ale at all for wanting to abandon the character altogether (I'm sure it was even worse when the story first came out but these were the only stuff I could find).

So I started digging, trying to find where this hatred first started to circulate, and the best I could find were these journals on DA. https://www.deviantart.com/alotta-stars/journal/Nina-The-Killer-485947249 https://www.deviantart.com/fireant02/journal/Nina-The-Mary-Sue-469951508 https://www.deviantart.com/fallenangelkayaxx5/journal/For-those-who-hate-Nina-the-Killer-like-me-472200933 Disgusting behavior aside, there's a frequent mention of Nina being Jeff's "fangirl."

Now, the definition of a fangirl is a girl/woman who's extremely enthusiastic over someone or something.

The fandom referred to and still refers to Nina as a fangirl... never once was she called such in the original story or by Ale herself.

The detective at the beginning calls her a "crazy fan," but even he acknowledges that she's more than that after an interview with one of the victims.

I even did a word check to confirm it. The word "fangirl" is never used.

Hell, when she finally meets Jeff, her idol, her reaction is rather calm. She doesn't freak out, or scream, or anything. Just kinda acknowledges he's there.

Now, I'd like to address something I know multiple people have said: Jeff was never a hallucination. He was always there.

He'd been watching Nina throughout the whole story, leaving notes in her locker for her to find (as mentioned in the summary). He even confirms to himself that he'd been watching her when he finally makes his appearance.

Which is why it really pisses me off that the fandom shoved Nina into the "stalker trope" and hated her for it, when Jeff was the one that was stalking her!

And there's literally no implication that either of them are "in love" or attracted to each other. If you read the scene in the original story, the interaction feels more like siblings then anything else. Very chaotic siblings at that.

Ale herself confirmed this was what their dynamic was supposed to be in a Twitter (now x) post back in 2024.

Nina's love interest was always supposed to be Eyeless Jack. They even had a kid together! (Which, in a really weird way, kinda makes them the first-ever pasta parents? 0-0)

I unfortunately couldn't find any information about the ship or Eyeless Alice (their daughter), but I did find this post on X where Ale says that she misses the ship (suggestiveness blurred lol).

So, what's the takeaway from all of this? What ruined Nina as a character?

Well... the fandom itself. Because of the misogyny that was rampant in the community back then (and still is unfortunately present today), misinformation being spread, and the mischaracterization of Nina's character. Nina The Killer was the perfect representation of us as a community. And that point completely flew over everyone's heads. Instead, we ruthlessly harassed a minor for a character we mischaracterized so badly that we ended up absolutely loathing her. I think we, as a fandom, owe Alegotic-twelve an apology.

[gaywineauntsstuff]

found this reverse robin au, where like dick not being adopted first changes everything like there was no robin, tim cass and jason were never adopted ( dw cass still has babs) and like birds of prey exist but they don’t work with batman idk if i am explaining myself right here but it is just so good and like i genuinely think it would go down like this in a reverse robin au

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63476209

This was the best reverse robin AU that doesn’t exist in my head

THE ACCURACY!!!

The way that the BATKIDS find ways to do/be good outside of the bat even in shit situations

(Ahhh Jason how you will eternally doomed to exist on the spectrum of gray)

AND DICK AND DAMIANS RELATIONSHIP AND HOW GREY EVERYTHING IS BC WELL??? The LIGHT IN BEUCE WYANES LIFE ISNT THERE YET???

Also dick having an instant connection with Batman vs ‘weird adult I hope he’s not a creep’ and it’s billionaire playboy philanthropist Bruce Wayne. Like bro can just sense that something’s not right with that one??

Also this ties into my lil internal AU. That I will gladly share.

I like the idea that things just inexplicably lighten around dick Grayson. Bc I was looking for a reason in canon that would explain the silly goofy dick and Bruce Batman Robin adventures vs the current dark angsty shit. Bc in canon going ‘it’s been 80 years and media has changed’ doesn’t really work.

So I like the idea that even monsters take one look at Dixk Grayson and decide that yeah even they can’t fuck that up and good men who lose their way look at him and go ‘oh I was absolutely heading the wrong direction lemme just turn myself around and head back on track thank ya kindly’ ya know?

Also every wasn’t at the circus but they all met dick Grayson bro really said ‘multiversal constant’

Anyway this was phenomenal thank you my dear anon for the rec.

Everyone should read this? I will be following the author on all platforms 10/10 you should write the new Batman comics bc you get Bruce and dick better than the current ones do

[stylo-90]

Tamil Linguistics thread (bc nobody cares but me)

but really, if you are interested in linguistics at all, give this post a read, because this shit really blew my mind ...

have been reading the following paper: https://ccat.sas.upenn.edu/~haroldfs/public/h_sch_9a.pdf

"The Tamil Case System" (2003) written by Harold F. Schiffman, Professor Emeritus of Dravidian Linguistics and Culture, University of Pennsylvania

Tamil is one of the oldest continuously-spoken languages in the world, dating back to at least 500 BCE, with nearly 80 million native speakers in South India and elsewhere, and possessed of several interesting characteristics:

a non-Indo-European language family (the Dravidian languages, which include other languages in South India - Malayalam being the most closely related major language - and one in Pakistan)

through the above, speculative ties to the Indus Valley Civilization, one of the first major human civilizations (you can read more about that here)

an agglutinative language, similar to German and others (so while German has Unabhängigkeitserklärungen, and Finnish has istahtaisinkohankaan, in Tamil you can say pōkamuṭiyātavarkaḷukkāka - "for the sake of those who cannot go")

an exclusively head-final language, like Japanese - the main element of a sentence always coming at the end.

a high degree of diglossia between its spoken variant (ST) and formal/literary variant (LT)

cool retroflex consonants (including the retroflex plosives ʈ and ɖ) and a variety of liquid consonants (three L's, two R's)

and a complex case system, similar to Latin, Finnish, or Russian. German has 4 cases, Russian has at least 6, Latin has 6-7, Finnish has 15, and Tamil has... well, that's the focus of Dr. Schiffman's paper.

per most scholars, Tamil has 7-8 cases - coincidentally the same number as Sanskrit. The French wikipedia page for "Tamoul" has 7:

Dr. Schiffman quotes another scholar (Arden 1942) giving 8 cases for modern LT, as in common in "native and missionary grammars", i.e. those written by native Tamil speakers or Christian missionaries. It's the list from above, plus the Vocative case (which is used to address people, think of the KJV Bible's O ye of little faith! for an English vocative)

... but hold on, the English wiki for "Tamil grammar" has 10 cases:

OK, so each page adds a few more. But hold on, why are there multiple suffix entries for each case? Why would you use -otu vs. -utan, or -il vs -ininru vs -ilirintu? How many cases are there actually?

Dr. Schiffman explains why it isn't that easy:

The problem with such a rigid classification is that it fails in a number of important ways ... it is neither an accurate description of the number and shape of the morphemes involved in the system, nor of the syntactic behavior of those morphemes ... It is based on an assumption that there is a clear and unerring way to distinguish between case and postpositional morphemes in the language, when in fact there is no clear distinction.

In other words, Tamil being an agglutinative language, you can stick a bunch of different sounds onto the end of a word, each shifting the meaning, and there is no clear way to call some of those sounds "cases" and other sounds "postpositions".

Schiffman asserts that this system of 7-8 cases was originally developed for Sanskrit (the literary language of North Indian civilizations, of similar antiquity to Tamil, and the liturgical language of Vedic Hinduism) but then tacked onto Tamil post-facto, despite the languages being from completely different families with different grammars.

Schiffman goes through a variety of examples of the incoherence of this model, one of my favorites quoted from Arden 1942 again:

There is no rule as to which ending should be used ... Westerners are apt to use the wrong one. There are no rules but you can still break the rules. Make it make sense!!

Instead of sticking to this system of 7-8 cases which fails the slightest scrutiny, Dr. Schiffman instead proposes that we throw out the whole system and consider every single postposition in the language as a potential case ending:

Having made the claim that there is no clear cut distinction between case and postpositions in Tamil except for the criterion of bound vs. unbound morphology, we are forced to examine all the postpositions as possible candidates for membership in the system. Actually this is probably going too far in the other direction ... since then almost any verb in the language can be advanced to candidacy as a postposition. [!!]

What Schiffman does next is really cool, from a language nerd point of view. He sorts through the various postpositions of the language, and for each area of divergence, uses his understanding of LT and ST to attempt to describe what shades of meaning are being connoted by each suffix. I wouldn't blame you for skipping through this but it is pretty interesting to see him try to figure out the rules behind something that (eg. per Arden 1942) has "no rule".

On the "extended dative", which connotates something like "on the behalf of" or "for the sake of":

I especially find his analysis of the suffix -kitte fascinating, because Schiffman uncovers a potential case ending in Spoken Tamil that connotes something about the directness or indirectness of an action, separate from the politeness with which the person is speaking to their interlocutor.

Not to blather on but here's a direct comparison with Finnish, which as stated earlier has 15 cases and not the 7-8 commonly stated of Tamil:

What Schiffman seems to have discovered is that ST, and LT too for that matter, has used existing case endings and in some cases seemingly invented new ones to connote shades of meaning that are lost by the conventional scholar's understanding of Tamil cases. And rather than land on a specific number of cases, he instead says the following, which I find a fascinating concept:

The Tamil Case System is a kind of continuum or polarity, with the “true” case-like morphemes found at one end of the continuum, with less case-like but still bound morphemes next, followed by the commonly recognized postpositions, then finally nominal and verbal expressions that are synonymous with postpositions but not usually recognized as such at the other extreme. This results in a kind of “dendritic” system, with most, but not all, 8 of the basic case nodes capable of being extended in various directions, sometimes overlapping with others, to produce a thicket of branches. The overlap, of course, results from the fact that some postpositions can occur after more than one case, usually with a slight difference in meaning, so that an either-or taxonomy simply does not capture the whole picture.

How many cases does Tamil have? As many as its speakers want, I guess.

[kisssaturn]

Follow me to the rabbit hole of the Anuradha Nakshaktra 🕳️ 🐇 🐾

I got inspired by Anuradha threads from Talia🦋 (@Astrotalaya) & @opalblade blade on tumblr

I found helpful posts from different sources I linked them below so you guys can check them out they’re awesome.

Anuradha diety is Mithra god of sun & is the god of friendship.

Anuradha is ruled by Mars & Saturn. Mars is known for survival, aggression, action and courage like a warrior.

Saturn represents discipline, obstacles, lessons and time.

The director of Si-Fi movie “Lucy“, has Jupiter in Anuradha. “Lucy” is played by Scarlet Johansson she’s a Anuradha sun, she’s a Anuradha asc like @opalblade mentions on her post & Claire Nakti.

The lyrics remind me of Mitra as they mention the sun and I also found out Miley Cyrus who is also a Anuradha sun did a cover to this song :)

The article noted that the song is a known reference to LSD. They mention Lucy experience sounds like someone coming down from a LSD trip. It made me recall the Anuradha theme of Alice in the wonderland. Alice follows the rabbit to the rabbit hole. (Anuradha animal yoni is a Hare bigger than a rabbit but similar.) Alice consumes a mysterious cake that has side effects for example making her really tall. The article states in the end “Alice enters the twenty-first century, there’s no sign of her influence abating. She seems to be everywhere at once” Similar to Lucy.

https://x.com/tia_visagie/status/1833259302406209752?s=46

^ She explained the connection between Anuradha and Saturn in detail.

This article “The Hidden Spirituality of Lucy” explained the movie very well and its connection with the evolution of species and human consciousness.

In the beginning of the movie they show clips of animals in the wild, prey vs predator describing the situation Lucy would find herself in. After witnessing her boyfriend being shot dead, she is captured and forced to become a drug mule. Anuradha is a Scorpio Nak the rasi is mars. Lucy was led to intense situations, in need of perseverance and survival instincts. One bag of the CPH drug is sewn into her abdomen for transport to Europe. However, she is kicked in the stomach, breaking the bag and releasing a large quantity of the drug into her system. Lucy’s cells began a process of mutation transmuting her physical and mental capabilities, with time she reached higher levels of consciousness going from 10%-100%. What came in mind was a Saturn quote “With great power, comes great responsibility.” Lucy acquires enhanced physical and mental capabilities, such as telekinesis, telepathy, and mental time travel. Lucy negated her emotions. She was able to regenerate and use the drug to transform herself even her looks.

Themes of phoenix,regeneration, accession & deccession like Talia explains in her posts.

Lucy needed advice on what to do with all the knowledge she has. She asks Professor Norman he tells her she should share her knowledge & ignorance is worse than not sharing it. “The whole purpose of life has been to pass on what we learned, and there is no higher purpose.” When’s Lucy said, “I don’t feel pain, fear, desire, it’s like all things that make us humans fade away, it’s like the less human I feel all this knowledge about everything,quantum physics applied mathematics the infinite capacity of a cells nucleus.” Reminded me about how Ketu feels more comfortable in Scorpio because Ketu is linked with detachment/seperatin & letting go. This article below explains what Ketu is associated with they mention ”Ketu is often associated with the concept of moksha or liberation from the cycle of birth and death. It is believed that a strong Ketu placement can lead a person towards spiritual liberation and ultimate freedom.“ Some astrologers say Ketu exalts in Scorpio because Scorpio is about deep, intense/extreme situations & letting go, surrendering and things related to spirituality. Lucy also says we never really die throughout the movie.

Lucy says in the movie “Every cell knows and talks to every other cell. ”They exchange a thousand bits of information between them per second. Cells group together forming a giant web of communication, which in turn, forms matter.”

https://x.com/maxdemlan/status/1860000754859487578?s=46

Lucy mentions “web of time” & “without time we don’t exist” ,“time is unity” it coincides with Anuradha for its devotion and it being the star of friendship with Saturn being a co ruler of Anuradha along with mars, Saturn rules time. Lucy obtained a venom spider abilities Anuradha has a connection with spiders.

Clairnakti made a post about the actors who play Spider-Man & the girls from Madem Web have Anuradha placements.

The article “Lucy: An Underrated Summer Blockbuster Overflowing With Brains & Complexity” said Lucy is like Spider-Man “Like Spider-Man after the iconic spider bite, Lucy is reborn within her old skin—privately transformed into a fully-embodied mutant. “

Lucy was dragged to a place she didn’t want to be in but ended up attaining higher consciousness. Themes of (descension & ascension like Talia mentions).

A symbol for Anuradha is the Lotus flower. 🪷 Lotus flowers can’t grow without the mud they need the mud in order to grow. The lotus has a connection to the Ajna chakra the third eye, the movie theme was her activating her mind / consciousness.

^The thread is also very interesting.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Neven Paar (@wingedshoespublishing)

Anuradha has a connection with kundalini in his post he states, “Once the kundalini rises from the Muladhara, it seeks to leave out the body through the crown, resulting in Sahasrar’s Petals unfolding like a flower ready to receive the Light.” “Sahasrar is named the “Thousand Petalled Lotus” because there are theoretically a thousand Petals, each connected to with countless minor Nadis or energy channels that carry Pranic energy from different areas of the Body of Light that terminate in the head area.”

Talia also posted that Anuradha constellation looks like a serpent.

Claire Nakti also has made an article about this Nak she explains that Anuradha can ”understand the secrets behind scriptures, that are written in code..”

Lucy mentally begins a spacetime journey into the past, eventually reaching one of the oldest discovered ancestor of mankind, Del Rio asks Norman where Lucy is, immediately after which Del Rio's cell phone sounds and he sees a text message: "I am everywhere." Lucy's voice is heard stating "Life was given to us a billion years ago. Now you know what to do with it."

Lucy was able to evolve to her highest potential of her existence in the movie. This relates to Anuradha themes of accession, transforming & evolving. Going through the tough situations & ego death, Lucy was able to bloom admists challenging situations she had a powerful determination like the lotus flower.🪷🪷

Lucy 2 is in the works right now I’m excited I’m hoping it’s just as good as the 1st one.

Hope you guys enjoyed🐰

[elodieunderglass]

Allow me to be earnest and therefore deeply uncool in your inbox. (This is about Killie, as per the usual.) I’m still rotating in my head the ridiculous fight Killie and Derek had over grey vs white horses and how it kind of grew to encompass not-silly things like Killie’s rigid worldview and Derek’s inability to hear Killie trying to explain that there’s a reason for his stubbornness.

(Thank goodness Charlie was there to be a Killie-terpreter. In the hospital we have iPads keyed to language lines so we can face time interpreters 24/7 for the patients who don’t speak the same language as their healthcare team. Charlie should be on speed dial for these emergencies but I digress.)

But after the blowout, they literally kiss and make up. They apologize and show they care, not only to each other but to Charlie as well. I may have said something like this before, but it bears repeating. It’s pretty revolutionary to me, as someone who grew up in a dysfunctional family, that someone can be mad at you and not throw you away.

In fact, considering Charlie WAS actually thrown away and Killie was pretty deeply traumatized by it, I’d say it was pretty revolutionary for THEM that Derek can get mad and still expect, as a matter of course, that the love and respect will still be intact. (Maybe the vet question was triggered by Charlie wondering what his life would have been like if his family had accepted him?)

Anyway. I like the layered complexity and abiding love and actual human messiness of Derek and Killie’s relationship. I like that it’s not a grade-school crush that can’t weather a single argument, but it’s also loving and kind and nurturing. I like that they challenge each other to grow as people. As always, thanks for sharing Charlie and Killie and all the rest with us.

(Grey Horses comic: https://www.tumblr.com/elodieunderglass/783729047862640640/something-something-how-youre-born-isnt-always)

I think we should define “cool” to be about whatever brings us growth and joy 😤 and it’s very cool of you to tell me that you were touched by what I made. Are you kidding? Nothing could be more motivating or encouraging. It’s a privilege to share.

And it’s an incredible to pick over the things I think about and hold them up to the light, and have them mean something - anything - to someone else.

Thank you.

[testyqwcde]

Morgoth's crown melted into One Ring?

Just read this theory on Reddit and I think it can work out. It may explain as to why the One ring is so powerful. Unlike the Elven rings made of the dagger (with Mairon's involvement) that embody the light and healing energy, the One ring is a symbol of corruption and destruction (Sauron's field of work). Once Sauron falls into darkness completely by binding himself to the ring, he will kill this tiny Mairon's part in himself. It means there will be no longer of Mairon in the Elven rings and they will be ruled by the One as the others.

Furthermore, the Crown has Sauron and Galadriel's blood on it and if melted, it will just coax them together bound by darkness (crown itself=darkness).

This plot twist can give further prominence and explanation to Galadriel's desire to have the One ring as to embrace her other self.

Sauron will bind himself to the ring while Galadriel will keep resisting until she passes the final test and departs to Valinor.

It's been already implied that the Crown is something that both

divides them, serving as a barier between them (good vs evil) and

binds them in the darkness as they both have it in them.

PS: it doesn't make sense to have 2 objects with the same magical power in the hands of the same villain. They will have to get rid of the crown anyway.

Thanks for the gifs :)

https://martanis.tumblr.com/

https://tolkiensource.tumblr.com/

[sgiandubh]

Check against delivery

Marie Claire France finally released, on their Instagram account, the reel of C's short interview they already published on paper and in their digital edition (https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/780651199669174272/premiere-vs-preview?source=share) :

[Source: https://www.instagram.com/reel/DIb3jF3MAA-/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==]

This is, from the 🐈's mouth, what she said in this reel - the 🦴 of contention, so to speak:

''My husband...we watched it last night at the premiere and my husband said that when I first was in the first scene that I was in, he didn't even notice it was me. So I'll take that as a compliment. And coming from him, that's a big compliment, so yeah...'

This reel was released yesterday evening, so I had only the digital/print transcription at the time I wrote my post. Just a reminder- this is is what made it to print, in French:

But perhaps some could explain this screenshot from the above clip?

She said 'premiere' in English, they translated 'avant-première' in French. I don't know why, of course. What I do know, is that I translated it in all good faith, as it still is on the website (& probably also in print) and still captioned on the clip. I am certainly not responsible and will not admit being called out for what now looks as the French journalist's negligence, of course.

And we now know both interviews (to Marie Claire France and to Meg Hughes, the Irish influencer) were recorded the same day, on April 1st. C's attire is the same, relaxed one in both. Wanna bet Marie Claire France was the first one to get in, as a bigger media outlet than an Irish influencer's Instagram account certainly has priority?

Anyways, Meg Hughes covered the premiere and the interview her own way, with no doubts possible:

[Source: Meg Hughes' Instagram page, https://www.instagram.com/reel/DH9SL-mIq-Q/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link]

Unfortunately, Tumblr would not let me post more than one reel, but you can watch it at the above link. FYI, Meg Hughes' participation was part and parcel of a 20th Century Fox press trip (London treasure hunt and fancy lunch on top). This tells me all I need to know about her impartiality and confirms what I said in my prior post: she is an influencer, who (as all influencers) is very sensitive to PR's suggestions #sponsoredcontent.

Whether he was there or not is of no particular import, to be honest. It is still strange she did not mention him on BBC Four, the same next day, and it is still strange he was not pushed front and foremost. It is always funny to see the same bitchy people rely on a shipper's (@asilookedupatthestars-blog-blog) testimony, and an unfazed one at that. I still think she was honestly giving her sentiment, but I was not there to confirm McGill's appearance and there are zero pics, so we'll leave it at that.

Lesson learned: you should always check against delivery, whenever possible. Unlike many, I always own my shortcomings, even if this time I am not exactly guilty of anything.

[hakethishere]

Why Lena doesn’t figure out Kara is Supergirl - psychoanalysis

A psychological reason for which Lena doesn’t realize Kara is Supergirl is that when faced with two similar objects the human mind likes to categorize and therefore looks for differences over similarities, especially when similarities are obvious.

Theory

Consider this thought exercise, imagine two groups of similar looking people but with completely different biology. It would probably make sense that as an observer you would try to find the smallest differences between these two groups in order to be able to tell them apart. It happens often in the world, it is part of the human developmental psychology. It helps infants be able to tell apart similar faces, and it perfects in time based on expertise through synaptic pruning.

In other words it is what makes bird enthusiasts able to figure out which birds are female or male in the same species. Or how car enthusiasts are able to tell apart similar cars. If you’re interested look up the FFA (fusiform face area) and it’s role as visual the expertise module, there are many neuro scientific studies on it.

This categorization becomes increasingly clear when the sense of me vs them in social psychology comes into play.

Lena’s Case

Now applying the same theory to Supergirl TV. Oftentimes we hear Lex’s emphasis on how kryptonians look like humans and how they are actually different from them. Us vs Them. Would it be plausible to believe that Lena growing up in the Luthor household, bearing a scientific mind would be rather inclined to look for dissimilarities rather than similarities between supergirl and other humans? Please consider her first invention in National City, the alien detector device. A little device designed to highlight these dissimilarities, coded by Lena herself. She is a scientist her expertise lies (also) in telling humans apart from aliens, biologically, not visually.

Taking it a step further. Would it be plausible that when faced with Kara and Supergirl, two people similar in so many ways (driven, ethical, stubborn, blonde, blue eyes) that she would overlook the similarities and try to find the slightest of differences in order to latch on to some small sense of security by categorizing Supergirl as “the other”.

(I could also expand on how Kara explains that Supergirl is what she can do and not who she is, further emphasizing my point on obvious emphasis on biological “otherness” over appearance) yada yada but i won’t :))

It does all boil down to cognitive dissonance and Lena’s will to overlook the similarities if we were to simplify it all. But I just thought it would do the story some justice if I could explain how neuropsychology supports that these simple disguises are more effective than one might think.

Im such a nerd, pls forgive my rant. I have a link to the study i’m referencing :) I am nothing if not thorough :)

https://www.sciencedirect.com/topics/neuroscience/fusiform-face-area#:~:text=Several%20functional%20neuroimaging%20studies%20have,configurations%20(Kanwisher%2C%202000).

[princessgarnetxvi]

Everything Johan did was For Anna/Nina

Everything Johan did was for Anna. 

                      A “Monster” capable of love.

“What I’m most afraid of is…forgetting Anna. The strange lessons we have everyday… are making my memories fade. Please, don’t make me forget Anna. It’s only Anna and me in this whole world. Just give me that - please. Please.”  – Johan Liebert”

I was very confused about the complexities of Johan's character up until the last handful of episodes. After rewatching the series for a 3rd time and exploring how Johan is portrayed in the manga, it became very clear to me that my initial opinions about Johan were basic and devalued the intricacies of Naoki's writing. From the beginning we are only TOLD by conflicting views, who Johan was. His character, in the fictional world as well as our own, is simply defined by an individual's perception of him and the story presented. However, if we dissect ALL of the themes and even the undertones Naoki presented to us through the world of characters; I think it would be evident that Johan was not committing heinous acts for superficial reasons such as simply being evil to be evil.

So what was the method to his madness? 

I believe... Everything he did was for Anna.

(Yes this includes erasing himself from existence too )

Author's Note: I want to preface before you read on that although these essays are written in a sympathizing light that Johan has done PLENTY of wrong. This is not written in an attempt to dismiss his heinous acts lightly, but to simply understand the "Monster" of the series by tackling Johan's crimes deeper than the surface. I tried to make sense of Johan's every action in regards to his OVERALL PLAN and why Naoki presented them to us as viewers. For those who will nitpick the term "everything" quite literally, I want to make it clear that not E V E R Y S I N G L E A C T I O N Johan has taken coincides with his love for his sister; his actions towards the children specifically - because there are some things that had nothing to do with his "perfect plan" but more to do with attempting to build Johan's character and his view of the world us as viewers. Justifying ones actions vs. rationalizing ones actions are completely different. I am in no way attempting to discard the accountabilities that Johan should face for his actions, but instead trying to make sense of it all. I've analyzed Johan's crimes against children here: https://xprincessgarnetxvi.tumblr.com/post/691678531250487296/i-really-love-reading-your-essays-i-can However, this will explain the root of Johan's character and the core of his overall plan(s) that was committed for the sake of his sister from the very beginning to the end. The overarching theme and message of Monster is that there are no such thing as Monsters, only broken human beings capable of great evil; so we will humanize this great Monster in order to understand not only Johan Liebert, but the hows/whys Tenma/Nina was able to forgive him and ultimately find value in saving the life of this supposed Monster.

Before we begin, I'd like to take the time to thank you for reading! I can't wait to review your comments and further discuss this magnificent series of Monster!

-

Anna was set up from the beginning to become The “Monster” given she was the one who actually endured the experiments. Her tendencies are shown in glimmers throughout the show. The heartbreaking twist to it though... is that the only reason why she DID not become the beast, was because SHE ( unlike Johan ) HAD KNOWN REAL UNCONDITIONAL LOVE.

-Johan’s love and sacrifice is what kept her safe from the darkness he knew very well. He got his hands dirty to shield her. He chose to leave her behind in the care of her foster parents, knowing she would forget him, in order to heal.

He chose her than himself over and over; becoming her shadow; choosing to lose his only attachment to his already weakened identity in order for her to heal.

His love for her is why she never became a monster...and tragically, why Johan had.

Which reflects exactly what Mikhail Petrov (whose real name is Reinhart Biermann) said about his "PROFOUND DISCOVERY" concerning his current experiment on the children he had in his home; he said the children did not become animals because he gave them LOVE.

(Mikhail Petrov telling Grimmer how the children in his current experiment did not become Monster - it was because they had LOVE.)

In his own twisted way and view on things, he was protecting her. He killed every "parental" figure they had because he was betrayed by every adult figure in his life so far. People who mentioned calling the police, ended up finding out about their past - anything that could lead the man, who Johan referred to as “The Monster” into finding them, he disposed of.

The adults in their lives thus far would betray them, torture them, hurt them, throw them away- and forcefully separate them. In his severely abused mental state, any adult figure was a potential threat to his and Anna’s safety. So he’d kill in order to runaway from "the monster" and protect Anna. Then when Anna found out about the blood on his hands that fateful night the Monster paid them a visit, he realized that now he had become someone Anna feared - a different kind of Monster but all the similar to the one they were running from.

So he rationalized that now he needed to die.

In that moment, I think we should focus on his body language and expressions. Johan faced the ground. hardly picking up his eyes. His shoulders were sunken and he did not have that menacing little smile he usually had. Johan has killed in secret various times with Anna and back at Kinderheim.

So why was he so messy with the Lieberts?

Because he did not want to kill them - he said HE HAD TO.

It was not a calculated murder, because he was not truly calm and collected; He was afraid.

Lets not forget who Johan was up until that moment: the infamous little boy who provoked an entire riot and massacre by simply opening his mouth. With mere words he was able to sway the adults and children into doing what he wanted. BUT IN THAT MOMENT when Anna caught him red handed, he could not, or rather, would not - try and manipulate Anna.

(He has never once been shown trying to manipulate or abuse her throughout the entire series as he has done intentionally with the rest of the world.)

Instead, he asked her to shoot him and run - in an attempt to finally liberate her from the horrific life they had to lead up until now - blaming his existence for the constant chase their predator (Bonaparte) gave way to them as prey because in that moment, his memories were distorted and he believed he was the one who went to the Red Rose Mansion. **** (X) (this theory is challenged referenced below)

To Johan, him living was a danger to Anna and that night made it evident to him.

But when he was brought back to life and realized the gravity behind his methods, seeing how terrified Anna was of him - he started to cry. Because despite his initial feelings of finding his death absolutely necessary for her to be safe, he still wanted what he had with her; the only bond of love he ever knew.

What set his entire ADULT plan into motion (wiping out everyone who ever hurt Anna and created HIM) was Anna's rejection at the hospital. That was when he realized internally, he was beyond forgiveness and that he was nothing more than a monster. A Nameless monster in her reflection that needed to die in order for her to live in peace. (Referencing the God of Peace storybook. )

Johan was the one who gifted the God (Anna) her hat and then she saw herself as the Monster she was supposed to be due to the Red Rose Mansion experiments. This would NOT have happened if Johan did not give her the hat (the red hat which can symbolize the blood he spilled for her. ) so in this instance, Johan is also the reflection (you are me and I am you. They are both nameless monsters)

From that moment on, he wanted to wipe out his entire existence, and that meant those who ALSO "created" him so that Anna could heal as Nina.

I believe this is what is depicted in the Nameless Monster storybook. 

Initially, we are made to believe Johan wanted to “consume everyone” so he would be the last one standing. The Monster known as Johan in the book also devours his counterpart, the Monster who went West and then there is no one left to call him by his name. But clearly, Johan never does this, because Johan never attempts to kill/devour Anna/Nina - because what it symbolizes is entirely different in nature regarding Johan’s intention. 

A quick reminder that both Johan and Anna were considered Nameless Monsters. HOWEVER - by Johan’s hands, Anna does not remain “Nameless” nor does she ever become a “monster” the moment Johan decided to not only leave her behind in the hands of a loving family, but by her changing her name and her identity to Nina. The Fortners never made any implication that they knew of Nina’s past concerning the Lieberts murder and I believe this is because Johan introduced her as Nina to the Fortners and never allowed them to see the trail behind her identity as Anna Liebert. 

Symbolically, Johan, as the Nameless Monster, consumed the Monster inside of Anna and became the only Monster left. This is what is mirrored in Johan’s intentions and the Nameless Monster storybook. 

With Anna forgetting him and Johan leaving her behind thus losing his only connection to someone who truly knew him, now all that is left is Johan, without absolutely anyone to call him by his name - the one and only Nameless Monster.

And this is heavily referenced in Another Monster:

(This reinforces that Johan was trying to make Nina forget her past as Anna)

There wasn’t some sick satisfaction from any of his killings done when he was a child. To him, it was needed for the sake of her safety. This was Johan’s initial “plan.” set in motion. He wanted to be the only one left in the world with his sister - so that they wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore. 

(I also believe at that point when they were kids, Johan's very first plan he referred to when telling Anna "Remember, I have a plan." was to run to another country with her so that the Monster will never find them. It is the only logical idea of a plan that a child could conjure following what he actually leads them to do, which was cross the border. Simply destroying the world is unreachable in his current state and Johan is smart enough to not be delusional in his endeavors. With that being said, he had to kill that old couple to erase any trail they may have left of "two beautiful blonde twins." But this plan fails because they nearly die at the Czech Border and was discovered. )

(Johan telling Anna he has a plan.)

RUHENHEIM:

One of the biggest moments in Ruhenheim has been misinterpreted and lost due to the mistranslations in both the English Dub and the Japanese subtitles. 

I clarify and mend this by breaking down what Nina unraveled in Boneparte’s house when she looked at the portraits by correctly translating the Japanese script/text in depth here on this post:

 But to summarize it for the purpose of this essay, it was revealed to us as viewers that Johan apologized to Anna when she returned from the Red Rose Mansion, revealing the overwhelming weight of guilt he carried when Anna had been taken that day. 

(That day depicts the moment their mother made the terrible 'Choice')

and then Johan accepts his mother will never return to them (assuming she abandoned them) and goes on to tell Anna this:

Johan is the one crying because soon after, Nina tells us that Johan was in that room crying.

This information provides clarity as to why Nina was finally able to understand Johan, empathize with him enough to be able to forgive him. She remembered he was a boy who felt guilty over what happened to her; a boy who cried when he realized they were now all alone in the world.  She understood that Johan desperately did anything and everything to ensure he and Anna survived despite it all.

That Rainy Night:

I want to GREATLY EMPHASIZE the important factor I missed my first time watching the scenes with Johan/Anna - the scenes shown to us were ONLY through her recollection as fragments due to her memory loss. They were told from what she COULD remember, so her take on what really happened that rainy night the first few times the events are unfolded before us should not be taken as absolute. At least...up until it is revealed in the final episodes that Anna realized that on that night instead of seeming like an empty shell of a person asking for death, Johan was crying and crying before she shot him.

The scene where Anna finds the portraits reveals what truly happened between them and its so important. She said “Johan was crying “here” just like before.” She was mimicking a memory she had just recalled in its entirety. “Why are you crying, why are you crying?” She sounded in distress. Directly after she reveals that she remembers him crying, it shows the image of him pointing at his head that rainy night.

Even though Johan told her to shoot him, it is IMPORTANT that he was crying and the author highlights this for a reason.

I believe that, finally being able to vividly remember that day finally revealed to her that Johan wasn’t the “face of absolute evil” she initially dismissed him to be; he was a boy/man who could cry and mourn - he was human. He was a terrified boy protecting Anna and himself the only way he knew how. and instead of showing him forgiveness/love - she added on to his collection of wounds scarred upon his soul from everyone else who chose to harm him.

Tenma...was ultimately the ONLY one in his life who showed him kindness.

Johan's intentions and reasons behind many crimes: Essay II.

( I will summarize it here as the extension essay was far too long to put on this post)

**** (☓) I want to ask, did Johan truly believe he was the one who went to the Red Rose Mansion or was that simply a masquerade he performed to make sure Anna did not remember?

(I wrote an essay on this being a possibility here: PART 2 OF THIS ESSAY. This will explain Johan's intentions in depth)

(this is a theory I FIRMLY believe and have completely adopted. But for the sake of argument, I will entertain both concepts behind Johan's memory in this essay.)

If we entertain the idea that Johan never misconstrued his memories about the Red Rose and pretended he did, I can dissect Johan’s intentions a bit more intricately.

Throughout the series you see that he is trying to wipe everyone who knew of what happened to Anna off the face of the earth, that included himself. He did not want Anna to remember. So when it was revealed she did remember, he mourned. It was subtle but evident in the anime when she reveals “you are wrong.” something in him shifted - for once he was reacting to the words of another.

She said "he had a smile but seemed like he was crying. I never seen such an expression on his face before." That entire scene, Johan’s eyes expressed something we’ve never seen from him throughout the series - a sense of mourning or longing?

Johan in front of Anna always appeared the most human and I feel Naoki did this with purpose.

(Naoki specifically told the directors/animators of the anime series to never stray from how he expressed Johan's eyes for a very important reason. )

Johan's expression finally meeting Anna after 13 years apart.

-

If, however, Johan DID truly think he was the one who suffered at the red rose mansion, his “perfect suicide” plan still relates to his twisted-selfless feelings for Anna.

Johan learns it was not him that suffered at the Red Rose Mansion...but Anna instead. and then Johan goes on to commit the "perfect suicide." In his plan to die, he wanted to take The Monster with him, forcing Bonaparte to endure the same exact hell he forced Anna to suffer as a child.

Call it an act of revenge. Some may think Johan is incapable of being vengeful but I cannot see this cruel and calculated act as anything other than malice. After Bonaparte was finally dead, the monster disposed of - Johan was ready to die.

But you can see his conviction began to slip away when Anna forgave him. What made it worse was realizing he was wrong about Tenma because even now, Tenma was still hesitating on killing him ruthlessly like he always presumed would happen. Johan thought he had humans all figured out - after all, all Johan has EVER known was the darkness in people’s hearts. That is why he was so confused/moved by Tenma and wanted so desperately to prove him wrong.

The manga portrays Johan’s expressions 1000X BETTER THAN THE ANIME. As soon as Anna arrives, Johan is just staring at the floor, unable to look at her - Repeating everything from that fateful rainy night when they were kids. But this time, Anna doesn’t kill him, she chooses love and compassion. and when she says she forgives him - his reaction is something the anime does not do justice

(The subtle shift the artist expressed in his eyes from her words is so significant but missed in the anime; but he reacts rather deeply, moved and shocked by her words.)

Because "Forgiveness is the remission of sins. For it is by this that what has been lost, and was found, is saved from being lost again."

In the manga he isn’t quick to reply. He ponders over her words carefully and I think this is when his mind starts panicking.

Anna realized that forgiveness was the one thing he wanted that night she shot him, despite him also thinking his death was needed. His value depended on her view of him; and what she once robbed from him was now returned - a human being worthy of forgiveness instead of a monster.

He is telling her the evident truth that he cannot turn back because he TRULY believes Tenma is going to kill him any moment.

Johan refuses her forgiveness not because he resents her or thinks its too late for her to redeem herself - but because he doesn’t think he deserves it. “There are somethings that cannot be undone.” Because it is too late, Johan is going to die - he WANTS to die. Then you see the fear and helplessness in his eyes after getting the one thing he always wanted [ Anna’s forgiveness] because he desperately wanted to die as the only thing he knew himself to be: the nameless, nonexistent monster. But both Anna and Tenma rob him of that by bestowing upon him the gift of compassion, mercy and empathy; for the first time treating and valuing him like a human being instead of a monster,god,experiment, devil etc., as everyone around him has his entire life.

(The Monster inside of Johan begins to crumble.)

Johan in his final moments was cracking and finally falling apart. You see it in the final expression he makes: the distraught, confusion and sadness. Because he realized, he was wrong about people, he was wrong about the world. But how can we blame him for his view on humanity when all he has ever been shown since birth was how ugly, selfish, cruel and inhumane people can be?

How can we expect someone who has only seen darkness to be able to find the light?

I want to clarify one thing I noticed: Johan has never shown to take any kind of sick satisfaction from killing unlike all the other serial killers being interviewed in the series. (aside from Richard) Specifically, Johan is without "the lust for murder" as Lunge explains in Another Monster - which is why Johan hired other people to kill for him instead. Especially contrasting Johan with Roberto, specifically, when Roberto tries to kill Anna.

(that is until Richard, which makes Johan's dealings with him stand out for a reason. He doesn't even take pleasure in killing the Red Hiddenburg, he leaves before witnessing her death instead of reveling in his 'checkmate' coming to fruition.)

Despite his callousness and his lack of care for life - Johan, despite how much of a "monster" he was, very clearly had humanity and had love....for his sister most of all. Johan saw when his mother choose, how little their lives meant to her and this instilled his nihilism at such a young age. He watched Anna get tossed to the wolves like nothing and in that moment, he probably thought his mother chose Anna over him for a reason. (even though the question on her intention would haunt him for the rest of his life) But her being able to choose is what hurt him the most and it's probably what instilled his self sacrificing mentality to care for Anna above the world in order to never make the same mistake his mother had.

That is why after she got back from the Red Rose Mansion, he cried for her story and apologized as if it was his responsibility to feel guilty over what happened to her. It should have been him that suffered. Then after, he treats her with the upmost care, telling her everything is hers, no matter what she will win everything because he would deem it so. He is kind to her, never letting go of her hand even when she is dragging behind - he sacrificed all of himself for her...

Because she deserved everything in the world to contrast their mother throwing her away.

(it should be noted that the Lieberts did not want Anna either but only adopted her because Johan refused to leave the orphanage without her. Which is also why I believe he killed them when Bonaparta came because he thought the Lieberts were conspiring with Bonaparta to get Anna)

🌰 (The ‘Acorn game’ represents their Mother's choice, a child in each hand. But in this version, Johan would ensure that no matter what hand Anna chooses, she will NEVER choose wrong. He manipulates the fate behind her choices by holding two acorns instead of one; never letting her make the same mistake as her mother.)

He wanted her to know above all else, she was loved.

A clear indication of this adoration/attachment he has for her is the fact that he DOES NOT forget her even after enduring the hellish experiments in Kinderheim that aimed at wiping out / messing around with his memories.

-

I wrote this because I was astounded to see various posts/Wiki pages implying that Johan’s intentions were to torture Anna and make her kill herself. Telling her to shoot him was his first attempt to drive her insane? They twisted a lot of things Johan did to try and make this statement true. But I cannot comprehend how they drew this conclusion? The series has characters mentioning on more than a few occasions that Anna is dear to Johan. "He is lost with you."

Everyone knew Anna was important to Johan, Professor Geidlitz was the first to mention this besides the old blind man. Roberto was aware of this which is why he tried to kill her as mentioned in Another Monster. Which is ALSO why Peter Capek tried to hold her hostage to prevent Johan from killing him.

and for the first time, Johan DOESN'T kill him.

Johan cried when he awoke at the hospital after he reached for his sister and she screamed in fear of him. His face full of tears - his heart completely broken. If his intention was to drive Anna insane, he would have triumphed in that moment she screamed and fell to the ground after he reached out to her. But instead he mourned.

Anna has mentioned several times that Johan has cried for her, like when he was in the room full of their happy portraits, he was crying. He never once tried to bring harm to Anna - not intentionally towards her person. Explaining the Fortners murder - either he killed the Fortners after they decided to keep lying to her, thus keeping him in the shadows when he wanted to return. OR he killed them because they were going to tell her the truth about her identity, which was something Johan worked to conceal. (this theory is explained thoroughly in essay #2 )

Regardless, if he wanted to torment her, he would not have tried to lure her away to the castle when he set up the Fortners to be killed.

They imply that Johan wanted to torture her and then kill her at the end. But that makes absolutely no sense. Where in the storyline does Johan give off this tendency towards her? Even at the end he told her where to meet him in Ruhenheim and not once did he try to shoot her or Tenma. Honestly, if he really wanted to provoke Tenma to shoot him, he would have held the gun to Anna instead of a random child. But even though being shot by Tenma was his greatest endeavor, he refused to point the gun at someone who was important to Tenma...because Anna, is important to Johan too.

To say Johan, despite being hailed as the Monster of the series, had no love or humanity in him and was merely the Devil himself...completely missed the point of the story...

I’d like to point out the constant mentioning of Hitler in this story and draw another important factor...Hitler brainwashed people to commit mass genocide. Under his rule, millions perished in horrific ways. But despite that...Hitler was capable of loving others. Hitler was also loved by others. The terrifying truth about people who commit atrocities...is that they are not monsters or demons or devils...

they are merely human.

-

Here’s two passages from ANOTHER MONSTER [novel post Monster written by Naoki] that really drives this point:

- PSA: My twin brother FINALLY finished his 2 HOUR Johan Analysis Essay, that dives deeper into Johan's character. This essay and essay #2 will be included in this analysis video as we both worked on it together. However, this lays out the details visually and with beautiful music. Please watch!