#and i hope that this was understandable and informative. i hate making assumptions about international things so...

[son-of-avraham]

hi, I've never heard of the progress pride flag, could you show what it is/tell a bit about it? thank🤍

Quick note that I'll be speaking a bit about the queer scene in the U.S., so this may not be applicable internationally

The progress pride flag, before I delve into this a bit further, is this:

This was created around 2018 as a reinterpretion/reimagining of the Philadelphia pride flag:

Essentially, these flags were both created with inclusion in mind. The black and brown stripes were made specifically to call to mind inclusion of queer PoC (though there are interpretations of the black stripe also representing the people we lost in the AIDs crisis). In the U.S., there has been a long-standing history of racism within the queer community - many PoC within the community don't feel safe or welcome within the broader queer community.

As time went on, there was also inspiration to explicitly call attention to the inclusion of trans people, as well, largely for the same reasons. With that in mind, Daniel Quasar created the progress pride flag. What's cool about it is the chevron/triangle represents progress moving forward.

And in 2021, the most recent progress iteration was made:

The first thing many people notice is how cluttered this flag looks. I'm not someone who uses this flag often, however, I think inclusion is often messy and often is explicit like this. You can have any opinions about these flags as you can - but I'd encourage everyone to remember the flags stemmed from real struggles that marginalized people within the community faced from the people who were supposed to be our own.

Using these pride flags does not inherently mean someone is actively being inclusive to every type of queer person. Using flags alone is not activism. However, I think these can be good calling cards to be aware of as a way to potentially signal, "hey, we're normal about queers who aren't made visible within the community!"

[bthump]

I’m not coming from a place of hate at all, I enjoy your takes on Berserk homoeroticism and appreciate your refreshing ability to make well informed, intellectual analysis so accessible for other fans. It is an important resource to have when dudebros try to make their homophobic bias sound like good arguments. However, when it comes to your analysis of Casca, I find myself disagreeing with almost everything you say. I’m usually only reading your blog quietly because I enjoy the discourse, but I feel like I need to add my two cents. I agree that Cascas writing falls flat to a degree, but I can’t help but think that you’re downplaying her character and arc because you don’t enjoy the parts of Berserk that aren’t about homoerotic tension between Guts and Griffith. Their homoerotic tension is also what is most interesting to me, but it’s not what Berserk is inherently about. We could dismiss Casca by saying ˋMiura can’t write women´, but then again characters like Farnese exist who have an entire complex thematic arc tied to religious extremism, authoritarian character and freeing herself from dogmatism and Berserk as a story is not punishing her or asking for redemption and is instead inherently ridding itself from moralizing judgements of characters. She’s allowed to evolve by herself. As a queer person, I see myself in her. Theres so much queerness and comphet in her story, I’m sad that there’s not many meta posts about her on here. Does Berserk have ideological streaks of conservatism and misunderstands women because Miura has a misogynistic bias? Yeah, unfortunately. But the story and many of the main characters are too complex and ambiguous for me to write them all off based on how some of their arcs are not feminist enough and could need improving. Imagine writing such a complicated and long story with so many characters as just one simple Japanese dude who never leaves his house and who was born in the 70s or whatever. Like, I get separating the story from the author and impact versus intent, but dismissing Casca because of her flaws in writing is dismissing all of Berserk because of some thematic flaws. It sounds like you’re expecting the perfect story for her to be a valid female character and that’s just not possible. I for once made peace with her flaws and am not rejecting her. I think Cascas story works for what it is and I empathize with her as someone who has experienced misogyny and SA. Farny and Schierke working through her trauma magically was a nice metaphor for solidarity between women and it’s rare to see that coming from a male author, I don’t think it’s less valid just because Miura has some gender bias. Casca still experiencing PTSD afterwards is also realistic and shows that Miura is willing to give Casca enough agency to work through that by herself without magic some time in the future of the story. Her story is uncomfortable and her character arc is long and flawed, but that’s what makes it impossible for me to dismiss her. I’m a bit disappointed that so many fans on the tumblr side are willing to basically rid Griffith from all his wrongdoings but then empathize the flaws in Casca and don’t understand that maybe they also have some internalized misogyny that doesn’t make them understand that bias. Especially with the argument that I often see with She Should Have Died. Why? Because she’s uncomfortable? Maybe explore that within yourself. Other than that I am happy to have this queer part of the fandom where we don’t judge each other for liking Griffith and enjoying GriffGuts as a ship. And I hope that you don’t think too harshly of my criticism, for it is only to improve our fandom discourse culture and not to throw stones. Thank you for existing!

Okay look, while I do appreciate the appreciation for my non-casca blog content, I can't look past this coming hand in hand with a lot of pretty insulting, and frankly baseless assumptions about my motives. I'm glad you're not coming from a place of hate, but from the sounds of it you're coming from a place of presumptive judgement, and I want to address that.

I've always been very direct and clear about how I don't think someone's tastes or opinions about a story reflect on them personally. I don't judge someone's character by their fictional interests, I judge it by their words and actions.

If you're going to be interacting with my blog, I'd appreciate being extended the same benefit of the doubt.

You seem to see someone who doesn't enjoy Casca's storyline and make assumptions about why, rather than taking the reasons I provide at face value. I have explained why, very thoroughly, quite often, and quite recently, while constantly referring back to the text and to Miura's comments to justify my conclusions. I literally don't know how I can possibly be more direct about how I am discussing the narrative of a story on its own terms without going full dry academic language lol, come on.

I like to think I'm also very clear about when I'm expressing my subjective opinion (eg i dislike het romance; I'm super into romantic betrayal as a trope, etc) vs when I'm analysing the story based on direct textual evidence (eg casca has no active involvement in the narrative post-eclipse; casca's sexual abuse is eroticized; etc). I certainly try to be. And frankly it is genuinely pretty insulting that you think I'm incapable of judging Casca's story on its own merits or lackthereof, and must be over-emphasizing the flaws of her narrative because I only care about griffguts.

The truth is I genuinely believe that Griffith and Guts' relationship is the thematic core of Berserk, based on the text of the story, and I also genuinely believe Casca's storyline sucks ass in most ways. And it's okay to disagree with one or both of those takes, but yeah I'm gonna take a little bit of offense at the insinuation that I'm too biased by shipping or misogyny or both to analyse the story.

If you love Casca's story despite its flaws, good for you. I'm happy for you. I have no desire to argue with you to make you change your mind. And I don't think it makes you misogynist or ableist or racist, even though I think Casca's storyline contains all of the above to some degree - but if I was going to respond to you in the same vein that you've responded to me, that would be fair game as an assumption. It would also be fair game to assume that you only like Casca and are dismissive of or blind to many of the story's faults because you're projecting or you ship gtsca or you think good feminism is all about stanning certain designated fictional characters regardless of their actual depiction. And I think that is something wrong with fandom culture. I think those are all shitty assumptions to make about someone based on which fictional characters they enjoy reading about most. So like, straight up, you're the only one throwing stones here.

So I want to ask you: why is it that someone discussing offensive fictional tropes makes you assume they are the real misogynist? Why are you equating criticism of writing with criticism of real women, as though media trends and narrative framing don't exist? Why do you think it even matters if I "reject" a fictional character because I don't like how she's written lol?

This strikes me as the same line of thinking that leads to shutting down all criticism of misogyny in media - how dare you say this outfit is unrealistic for a martial artist, some women like to wear high heels! How dare you criticize the average husband/model-esque wife trope, some beautiful women love their average husbands! How dare you criticize comics for fridging the girlfriends of superheroes, women sometimes suffer horrible fates in real life! How dare you criticize the born sexy yesterday trope, some women are naive! etc etc etc.

And this is why it's important to have at least some understanding of narrative framing and greater media trends when discussing media on any level beyond headcanon and projection. Casca isn't real, and as a construct she is not a sensitive or realistic depiction of a traumatized woman, regardless of whether someone identifies with her. She's not a sensitive or realistic depiction of a disabled women either. There are literally "funny" cartoonish background gags involving her shoving random things into her mouth. She gets sexy fanservice while regressed to the mentality of a toddler. She is sexually assaulted by and then shipteased with the protagonist. I could go on all day lol, lbr here. I should not be obligated to brush all that aside and pretend it doesn't irritate me and sometimes offend me in order to valorize a woman who doesn't like, yk, exist.

You and anyone else are free to project on her and relate to her and sympathize with her and love her, and I think that's great and what fandom is all about, but that still doesn't make her writing strong. And I think it's worth discussing how and why her writing fails, the same way it's worth discussing any other flaw of Berserk, like Guts' character flattening with the Eclipse, or Farnese's sudden personality 180, or the awkward pacing, or the prominent scary black man trope, etc, all of which I've also discussed plenty. If you feel like I've disproportionately focused on Casca criticism, then there are 2 reasons for that: 1. I respond to asks 99% of the time, so it's what the people are asking about. 2. Casca's storyline is the most prominent bad and offensive writing in the story, like it's the number one thing that's likely to drive new potential fans away, so of course people are going to want to talk about it.

Also I've written like, a lot of meta and speculation and headcanons etc about Casca beyond criticism of her narrative lol, so if you're sad about the lack of discussion and meta about her it's ironic that you're coming to me with that complaint. Be the change you want to see in the world, start your own Casca centric blog if you want more meta about her to exist, or read more of what already exists. I'd say I'm doing my part as far as I'm concerned lol, but I don't like the way that phrasing implies that anyone has an obligation to focus their interest on any particular fictional character.

I'm glad you enjoy other aspects of my blog, and if you stick around after this admittedly irritable response I hope you continue enjoying them. But if you feel the need to engage with me to defend a fictional character from my criticism again in the future, I'd appreciate it if you engaged with that criticism directly and analytically, rather than speculating about my character and motives.

[sophieinwonderland]

thought you would appreciate the data in this study, its a small sample size but, its nice to see it among the scientific literature, using the word plural, acknowledging endos leaving behind the structural model of dissociation, and advocating for a better understanding of plurals and dissociative trans people.

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S246874992300042X?dgcid=coauthor

thank you for the good work you do citing sources and combatting misinfo towards endos.

im traumagenic, but my partner is a tulpamancer, and i cant get over the hate they suffer.

good luck, and keep going strong ✌️

Thanks!

It's moments like this that I'm sad Sci-Hub doesn't work for articles past 2021. 😢

Even still, the introduction was interesting even if that's basically all that's available.

The first thing I check on a lot of these articles is just the authors.

And I'm happy to see that these look like mostly new names from reputable clinics and universities. As it concerns debates about endogenic plurality, I'm glad to have more people researching this across the field.

More acknowledgement by more people is incredibly vital.

Beyond that, I love that the connection between plurality and gender is being explored here with the goal of helping systems who are seeking gender-affirming care.

For those who identify as both transgender and plural, the likelihood of receiving affirming care is low. Medical and mental health care often does not meet the needs of the transgender community, frequently reinforcing stigma (Noonan et al., 2018; Rees, Crowe & Harris, 2020). People with dissociative symptoms also have trouble accessing mental health care (Nester, Hawkins & Brand, 2022). Providers’ implicit biases regarding both gender identity and plurality may contribute to these disparities, leading to non-affirming treatment (Price et al., 2022). There is movement toward a more inclusive, affirming approach to this population, one which does not start with an underlying assumption of pathology. One transgender and plural mental health care practitioner noted that dissociation for them was not unreal or pathological (Henkin, 1998). Ribáry, László, Demetrovics and Maraz (2017) interviewed six systems and concluded that, in this cohort, “most systems function relatively well in everyday life” (p.1). The 13 participants with DID in Hunter's study (2016) reported they preferred a client directed approach that honored their subjective experience. Yarbrough (2018) observed that many plural systems did not experience distress from the existence of other internal headmates, and recommended shared decision making among headmates when pursuing treatment. Rivera (2002) concluded that transgender clients with dissociation could “make reasoned choices and they could live relatively peacefully” (p. 51) about gender, asserting that while mental health clinicians should assess for DID, clinicians should not presume that dissociation precludes transgender clients from providing adequate informed consent for transition-related treatment.

I hope research like this helps will help better inform healthcare for systems. This is obviously specific to gender-affirming care but other care, but with luck it can impact result in research into other forms as well.

Added it to my new Studies and Research page.

Thanks again for sharing! 😁

[mimzy-writing-online]

Hello. I had a question regarding your post about blind characters. I have a character in my WIP that must cover their eyes.. but it’s blind. He may need to tell people he is blind to explain why he covers his eyes though. I was wondering how I might write this character without offending. Thank you :)

I think I want to start by explaining the “covering blind eyes” trope and why it has become a harmful trope. I think understanding why it’s hurtful helps everyone learn how to handle it better.

I would guess that the “blind people wear sunglasses” trope comes from Hollywood for the specific reason of 1. wanting to signal to the audience that the character is obviously blind and 2. avoid breaking the suspension of disbelief by preventing the audience from catching the sighted actor look at visual stimuli (because disabled characters are almost always played by able actors).

But this changed the way the public expects to experience blindness. If watching a sighted actor wear sunglasses and say he’s blind is all the exposure to the blind community a person has had, that’s the only model of blindness they’ll recognize. If they meet a blind person in real life who doesn’t wear sunglasses, it’s going to break this built perception and cause an uncomfortable cognitive dissonance. 

And then there is the common “cloudy-white blank gaze” that pops up in media. It stems from the fact that cataracts is the most common cause of blindness and the appearance of severe cataracts is a cloudy film in the eyes obscuring the iris and pupil. It can also alter what color a person’s eyes appears to be, making them appear paler and grey in the beginning and then as the cataract advances it becomes more yellow/brown and alters a person’s vision to appear more yellow tinted.

There are lots of other eye conditions that makes the eyes look visibly different. Albinism for instance affects the color and structure of the iris. Eyes might be congenitally misshapen. The muscles might be weak or not work and one or both eyes point significantly outward. Someone who was born blind and experienced no visual stimuli might also have weak muscles around their eyes because they never had a reason to focus their eyes on anything.

And unfortunately humans have the habit of feeling uncomfortable when they meet someone who looks very obviously different from the norm, whether that’s a personal style choice (hair color and style, tattoos, clothing choices) or something they can’t help (a visible disability, skin color, scars). 

To the paragraph above, @gothhabiba replied with:  “it's very weird & ahistorical to claim that racism or ableism are some kind of natural "human" trait.. like frankly it's apologia”

You’re right, I wasn’t thinking beyond that generalization or assumption.

Perhaps a better way to put it is: I was raised in a society where I was taught from childhood to think that there was only one kind of human being to be. White, cis, straight, abled, conservative. That’s a very western thing and that’s a thing I’m going to constantly be unlearning.

Racism and ableism and homophobia aren’t innate, that’s a western thing that was forced onto the rest of the world by colonialism. And because western media created this idea that the world is white, abled, cis, straight, and Christian-value leaning, it taught people to think that was the norm so that seeing someone different from that archetype would cause a cognitive dissonance, which causes discomfort.

And instead of working past that cognitive dissonance to learn more and realize there’s so much more to life than media taught you, society encourages you to ignore that cognitive dissonance by sticking your head in the sand-- or TV screen.

So combine these two tropes or common beliefs together and you get something a little dangerous: the idea that blind people cover their eyes because they look obviously different and they’re ashamed (or should be ashamed) of that.

And if you’re someone who’s just gone blind or who was born blind and you have little to no contact with the blind community, then this societal belief that you should be ashamed of how your eyes look becomes detrimental to your self-esteem and further builds internalized ableism.

I’ve lost count of the times I’ve read or watched a blind character cover their eyes with sunglasses because they were ashamed of how their eyes looked. And I distinctly remember a few times where a sighted friend of the character was trying to convince them to stop wearing sunglasses because there’s nothing wrong with looking different--which is true, but it plays into this fantasy of being the perfect abled ally who saves the blind character from being miserable. 

In an ideal world, the character has no reason to believe looking different is a bad thing or diminishes their worth or makes people dislike them. And if they develop this belief, it’s more likely that someone more involved in the disabled community, most likely someone disabled themselves, will set them straight. Or that the character will learn to accept themselves on their own, looks included.

But there are some perfectly valid reasons for any blind person to wear sunglasses. They might have an interest in fashion and sunglasses complete the look they’re going for. They could want to protect their eyes from UV rays while they’re outside. They may experience light sensitivity and sunglasses reduces any discomfort or pain. Those are incredibly common reasons to wear sunglasses whether you’re sighted or blind.

But there are some more complicated situations.

In your words, your character must cover his eyes. You never specified why, so my primary guess is that he has some kind of power that is unpleasant or has devastating affects and the only way to prevent it is to keep his eyes covered. My primary guess stems from this post where an anon and I discussed a retelling of Medusa, a hypothetical blinding of oneself to avoid ever killing anyone ever again, and what I think I would do if I was in that scenario.

So how do you write a blind character who must cover their eyes and avoid some of the complications?

1. Your character must always have the ability to say “fuck off, it’s my business, I don’t have to tell you why I’m blind or why I cover my eyes.”

Most blind people really, really don’t want to get into the nitty-gritty of why they’re blind and how they feel about it and what it’s like being blind with a stranger they’ll never see again or a new acquaintance they don’t know well yet. You have exceptions to that rule where sure, educating the public about blindness is a thing you want to do and you’re committed to helping your community, but I still have days where I don’t want to talk about being blind or disclose my medical crap.

And if someone doesn’t respect their right to their privacy or pushes too much, the blind character is allowed to be angry, is allowed to tell them off and complain without anyone else in the situation vilifying them or saying they’re “overreacting” and “should have just disclosed private information because big deal or whatever.” If they are angry, that’s their right, and it’s not unreasonable, it doesn’t make them a bad person.

2. Your character should not be ashamed of being blind or of covering their eyes. It is a part of their life, they’re used to it by now, even if they weren’t in the beginning.

The shame and internalized ableism is something that should be written about, but that’s for an own-voices story with a blind author. I don’t think an abled person will ever be able to understand how much society expects you to hate yourself and your disability because “being disabled is a tragic thing that ruins your life” and how that does affect your mental health, self esteem, your relationships with others, your medical care, and what kind of accommodations you can get.

3. It wouldn’t hurt to have a few sarcastic lines in response to uncomfortable conversations.

Stranger: so what’s with the...

Blind Character: what’s with what?

S: the... you know

BC: you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific

S: Your eyes?

BC: They’re... eyes

S: but you’re...

BC: Blind?

S: uh...

BC: yeah, I’m blind. *walks away*

Or this conversation:

S: *to some other character* so why are his eyes covered?

(author’s note: which, honestly, that’s fucking rude. At least have the guts to ask me yourself)

BC: If I look anyone in the eye they instantly perish.

*awkward silence*

BC: instantly.

Friend: It’s truly tragic

BC: *melancholic* that’s how I lost my sister. *chokes up* She was so young

Or this conversation:

S: Why are you wearing that?

BC: It’s called fashion Karen!

Or this conversation:

S: are you like... blind?

BC: yes?? why wouldn’t I be?? Wait, are you sighted? Are you one of those sighted people? You poor thing! What caused you to gain your sight? Do you have a car? A bike? Were you born sighted? What’s it like to see color? Do you miss not having to see 

God, I want a chance to try that last one. I haven’t interacted with a stranger in almost a year. One day...

4. Honestly, it’d also be cool if someone’s reaction to your character covering their eyes was like, “cool sunglasses,” or “cool *insert random character, even one you made up* cosplay,” (which is ten times funnier if this character is a notable figure in modern society like an actor who people might cosplay). 

5. You know, if he’s covering his eyes with some kind of blindfold, he should totally have custom blindfolds for his moods. Like, I have a mask that says “suck it up buttercup” and another that says “not today” because sometimes that’s the mood. And sometimes the mood is one of my floral masks, and sometimes the mood is my cat mask.

So, just some thoughts. I hope that helps.

Edit: a commenter said: “op, unless i'm mistaken this kind of reads like anon meant the character ISN'T blind but lies about being blind to explain covering their eyes? it seems like they made a typo on the word "isn't"”

So my original response to the question was based on the assumption that the character is blind. However,

If the character is not blind, then do not under any circumstances have them lie and say they’re blind to escape a mild inconvenience. 

It’s better to have the character actually explain the situation or straight up leave the conversation or invent a more ridiculous lie than to perpetuate the very real stereotype and misconception that there are people who fake being blind and therefore it’s okay to discriminate or harass them if you even suspect they’re faking.

Do not under any circumstances perpetuate that stereotype. Do not harass someone because you don’t think they’re blind enough.

[forsakenoathkeeper]

I Am Alive (chapter 30/?)

Chapter 30: Where the Skies End

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • 13 • 14 • 15 • 16 • 17 • 18 • 19 • 20 • 21 • 22 • 23 • 24 • 25 • 26 • 27 • 28 • 29 • 30 • more coming soon

[ You can also read on AO3 ]

Unsurprisingly, and much to your frustration, Connor had finished the move without you. There might not have been much left to move at that point; but, it was your stuff at a house that you rented, and not Connor's responsibility in the slightest.

But, there was no telling the android that, and you knew that he would have been well equipped with plenty of reasons as to why he could handle the rest of the move alone: you needed rest, he didn't require sleep, etc, etc.

When you stepped off the elevator into the android's - and now your - apartment, Connor had a look on his face, as if you had come home for the first time in years. You had only spent a week at Hank's place, and only a day and some odd hours at the hospital prior to that, and Connor had been nearly inseparable from you the entire time; yet, it felt like ages since you had been here.

It was only then that the weight of your near death experience became apparent. Before, your life, or the loss of it, wouldn't have impacted anyone else. It was just you in that little house, trying to make a living, picking up the pieces of a war and watching humanity change astronomically.

Now, there was a life that would be changed if you were gone. You let yourself imagine how Connor would cope, what would become of him, and struggled to keep the sorrow to yourself.

Perhaps, for the first time in your life, you knew what it was like to be needed.

Your wound healed remarkably in the weeks that followed. The scar left behind was star shaped and your skin was darkened around the sunken surface. But, you didn't find yourself hating it as much as you thought you would.

It wasn't something you looked at with pain or regret, but rather something prideful. Maybe there was something masochistic about it, not that you found yourself bothered by that realization.

Your coworkers thought it looked 'pretty cool' and declared that it made you 'quite the badass'. Now, you could wear the badge of 'I've been shot', with a bizarre story to tell. You didn't care if people thought it was strange, letting yourself get shot for an android.

Connor was much more than 'just' an android. He was the man you loved, who carried an astronomical burden you could barely understand. Sure, you could judge the weight, the pressure; but, you, an ordinary human, couldn't possibly understand what he felt as the target of a revolution that would change humanity forever.

The thoughts became clearer as you and Connor stepped into Haven for the last time, and you took in the emptiness, the quiet, and the cold.

"One moment," Connor advised you, stepping away and into the open space in the center of the room.

RK800, like all androids, had no true sense of temperature. Connor couldn't feel cold the way humans did. His artificial skin wasn't going to prickle with goosebumps and his muscles wouldn't shiver from the discomfort.

His HUD could report the weather if he enabled it and he had various feedback modules to inform him of how the temperature would affect a human, with the rightful assumption one would be in his presence.

Yet, despite this very well known limitation of his being, Connor couldn't explain how he managed to feel so cold as he stood there in the very abandoned Haven.

He was aware that warmth could be metaphorical, symbolic of belonging and comfort. His sense of cold was both literal and figurative in this sense. Without any machines running, all the lights turned off, Haven had become very cold. The halls, once busy with androids, were now empty, and the building was silent if not for the creaking walls.

-until someone walked through the distant corridor, their quiet footsteps rattling in Connor's acute hearing module.

There was an apology on the tip of Connor's tongue when he caught the sight of Markus. However, the RK200's stare wasn't cold or untrusting. There was something undeniably regretful on his face, conveying sympathy to the fellow android.

Markus' mismatched eyes caught the sight of you over Connor's shoulder, and spared a sad expression.

The two androids had agreed to meet here, for the last time in circumstances like this, hopefully. Once the final bill was passed, and androids would be proper citizens, there would be no need for this.

However, Connor had yet to obtain a definitive lead on Reaves' accomplices. This, at the very least, could provide some security for the androids that came before him.

"I know you didn't want me to," Markus began. "But, I will tell them it's from you. They should know."

"It's... your choice," Connor replied quietly, hoping to mask the uncertainty in his tone.

The two androids took each other's wrists, pushing the fabric of their jackets out of the way to touch skin to skin. Connor knew that Markus trusted him. He took the file without even bothering to scan it first. Only once it was already saved on his local system did he bother to analyze it.

The detective android had worked on that during your recovery week, while he laid beside you in low power mode. He reviewed the log files on his internal firewall over a thousand times, and crafted additional security protocols, specifically designed around write protection. Factory defaults, if he could help it, would be near impossible.

Markus could share this new code with other androids. If Connor failed to stop it in time, at the very least, their memory modules would be protected from brute force attacks, cyberlife certified or otherwise.

As their hands parted, Connor seemed to understand why he felt so cold. He had grown accustomed to how your skin felt - how human skin felt. Even when you weren't acutely aware of it, you were always warm.

"You're one of us," Markus declared, his hand dropping to his side. "We couldn't have done this without you. Your sacrifices need to be known."

"Sacrifices," Connor parroted quietly, doubtful.

He thought about Reaves' disbelief, at how he prioritized saving your life over securing the future of his kind. He could have killed you, carried on the mission, secured all of the chips and brought the android protestors to absolute surrender.

But, he didn't.

Before you, what had he gambled, if not his own life? A life that, by the very words of his creators, didn't exist, was meaningless, just programs executed in succession. He had questioned the very existence of his own life, but so had every android before him.

Still, the determined look on Markus' face didn't falter.

"Until we meet again," he offered, nodding at his fellow android. His eyes landed on yours before he turned away, and you offered him a sad, small wave.

As Connor passed, he took his hand in yours and guided you out of the building with careful steps. It was unnecessary to bring you here, but he understood the importance of goodbyes, and didn't want you to believe your efforts here had been in vain.

You expected to be driven home after that; however, as you climbed into the car, Connor asked, "would it be alright if we went to the park for some fresh air?"

"-'course," you replied softly, shifting your gaze from the android's face to look out the window.

Connor was uncharacteristically quiet during the drive, his hands gripping the steering wheel in a death lock. You didn't pay much mind to it, figuring he was stressed after everything that had happened. You had been the one on death's door; yet, Connor was the one seemingly always on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

It was worrying; but, you knew he needed to work through it in his own way.

At the park, Connor had hoped you would head straight for the bridge, to a place you had cherished so much. If his research was accurate, this needed to be done at a special place. As he followed you slowly up the curve, feet tapping against the boards, a wave of doubt washed over him.

You looked stunning, standing upright for the first time in weeks, with pep in your step, the sun soaking up your hair. Could he really have this? Could he even think himself allowed for such a thing? Could an android truly understand the needs of a human?

"You alright?" you called out to him, pausing before you reached the apex of the bridge.

It snapped him out of his stupor, and Connor replied softly, "I'm fine."

You continued and he followed, counting the steps despite how unnecessary it was. The android knew he had never been this scared in his life. This type of sensation was really, really unpleasant. His processors were giving him ridiculous warnings that didn't pertain at all to the situation.

He shut off the alerts and met you at the top of the bridge. His hand slid over the railing, analyzed the material as a strong timber, coated with a lacquer color called 'cedar brown', manufactured by-

Connor quickly closed the analyzed results, realizing how pointless that was. He was distracting himself, busying his processor with his manufactured purpose to avoid something he was definitely not made for.

At the top of the bridge, you turned to the man standing beside you, just in time to see him deactivate his human skin. His gaze met yours, and you smiled at the sight of RK800, as he was made, without the imitation of human-likeness.

For a moment, he stood there and let the heat of the sunlight catch on his sensor processors. The human tone of his factory issued skin flickered back on briefly before shutting back off, as Connor mentally questioned if he should do it like this.

The sudden nervous expression on his face, and his flickering pallet, had you concerned. In the sunlight, you could catch the subtle flaws in the design of his optics: the faint glimmer of a camera lens hidden beneath the almost perfect human appearance.

"Are you sure you're okay?" you asked, suddenly reaching for him. Your hand fell into the curve of his elbow.

"There's-" Connor began, stopping himself when a jogger passed the bridge. He was silent until they were gone.

"There's something important I need to ask you," Connor explained, his voice quiet and hoarse. "I'm sorry for not being more forthcoming. I was afraid."

Despite the obvious implications of what that question was, your head swarmed with the worst possibilities. The detective android, who had stormed a building of armed men to rescue you, who never hesitated to take a bullet for anyone, was afraid of something?

"Connor," you murmured, his name falling from your lips without purpose. The concern, however, was heavy in your tone.

"Before I ask, you need to know that you can refuse. There is no obligation, despite what we have been through. I won't hold any negative feelings towards you. From my research, this is premature, and I apologize for that," Connor babbled.

"What?" you blurted. "Connor, what are you - what's wrong?" you insisted, pitch rising as you started to panic.

"Nothing is wrong," he replied sharply.

He stepped back, just enough to create a few inches between you. You watched him reach into his coat pocket and pull out a small box. Mind hazy with the aftermath of Reaves' attack, you feared Connor was going to present you with evidence, that the case had taken a dangerous turn, or even inform you with the worst possible news.

But, then, Connor, cupping the small box in his palm, knelt down onto one knee. He looked up at you, brown eyes bright in the sunlight, android skin white as freshly fallen slow, failing to conceal the crease in his brow as worry sank in. The box opened, but you were too focused on his face to bother looking inside.

"Will you marry me?"

You could have laughed, at yourself, really, for thinking he was going to talk to you about Reaves, about factory-resetting computer chips, and the potential downfall of androids.

Instead, you let out a choked gasp. It was pathetically wet and embarrassingly loud. It all came pouring out before you could even think to stop it. Connor's nervous expression melted into panic when you started crying hysterically.

He was shifting to stand up, an apology hot on his tongue. He could feel his processors heating up, threatening to lock up at the sight of your tear-soaked face. It had his internal processes soaring, questioning if he had misinterpreted your relationship, your feelings for him.

You flung yourself into him before he could stand up, knocking the jewelry box right out of his hand. It clattered noisily on the bridge. If Connor was human, he would have followed; but, he was sturdy and, even unprepared, managed to stay upright as you crashed into him. His knees hit the bridge and his hands cautiously cupped your back.

"Yes!" you cried out, pressing your cheek into his coat, some odd centimeters from his thirium pump.

Your arms squeezed at his back, hands clawing into the thick fabric of his coat. Connor was unmoving, stiff where you clung to him. The artificial movements he made to appear more human had ceased, and you briefly feared he had powered down.

"Yes," you declared again, softer this time, squeezing him even tighter.

Finally, his systems relented and he properly relayed to his processor what you had just said. His arms wound around your back and, for the first time in weeks, Connor hugged you tightly, as if he wasn't afraid that he might hurt you. You could feel the tightening of his fingers tugging at your blouse, the thirium pump in perfect beats inside his chassis.

"Yes," you said again.

His cheek fell against your hairline and he closed his eyes. He wanted to dig his fingers past the fabric of your clothes, to feel your skin in a hopeless attempt to interface. Even if he could only reach your body, even if your mind was out of reach, that was good enough.

"Yes," again.

For now, the ring laid forgotten in its case, the jewelry box sitting some odd feet away, flipped on its side.

[fytheuntamed]

I used to see WWX as sunshine incarnated and how it hurt me when I realized that it's mostly just fake and he's really not. I thought he was such a genuine person and when I realized that he hides so much of himself that he's not very genuine at all my heart broke a little and I needed to share my feelings. I still love him though, but it was a huge shock to me that everything I initially fell in love with was actually wrong. I hope this little ramble wasn't a bother.

Hello, anon! First off, you’re not bothering me at all; even if I can’t reply to all of them, I read and appreciate every ask I get. I’m sorry to hear you’re feeling a bit disillusioned with WWX; I know some would say he’s just a fictional character, but I think all of us here can attest to the power fictional characters have in impacting the lives of real people. Your ask made me think a lot about who WWX is, so I hope you don’t mind me sharing my own thoughts on the matter! Just a few disclaimers before I get into it: all analysis is based off of drama!WWX, as that is the adaption I know best, so keep this in mind as you read because I know his characterization varies a bit from adaption to adaption. WWX also happens to be my favorite character from the show, so this could will get long :’) I’m also going to continue on with the assumption that you’ve seen the show in its entirety!

I think one of the most important things to understand about people, fictional or real, is that we, like ogres, have layers. This is just what happens when you exist in a world where different settings with different people bring out different sides of us as dictated by societal norms. Does this make someone fake? I would say no, mainly because I think there’s a difference between acting “fake” and being fake. Anytime I speak on the phone with a stranger I automatically assume my “telephone voice,” which sounds quite different from my talking-with-friends-and-family-voice. I don’t leave such phone calls thinking to myself, “wow, I’m such a fake,” because I know that when speaking with strangers, being more polite than I would be around close friends and family is respectful. I think what it comes down to for me is, regardless of how I am presenting myself, am I staying true to my beliefs and values? This is why I think WWX is in fact very genuine, and I would also argue that it is his genuine nature (once revealed) that attracts LWJ to WWX.

Returning to the idea of people having layers, we must recognize that people are not static; we are constantly reacting to our settings and thus our moods fluctuate accordingly. WWX is sunshine incarnate, but he is also someone who has suffered a great deal over the course of his life. To expect him to smile no matter what is a cruel burden to impose on him, and I believe it is a burden he feels in canon. Because both Jiang Fengmian and Madam Yu impress upon WWX that he must keep Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng safe, that they are the priority, WWX feels compelled to smile and put on a strong facade so that he doesn’t crumble and fall apart, thus “failing” his adoptive parents and siblings. So while these smiles may simply be masks to hide his pain, thus not “real” smiles, they do not make WWX himself fake, but rather (imo) reinforce his genuine nature because his motives are genuine, even if his smiles may not always be.

There are also times when he smiles and acts extremely cocky in front of others, only for this facade to immediately fall away the moment he is alone/out of the public eye. One of my favorite examples of this is in episode 26 when he questions Jin Zixun about the whereabouts of Wen Ning. The entire time he is there, he exudes a cocky disregard for formality and the established hierarchy, even going so far as to say, “If I, Wei Wuxian, want to kill someone, who can stop me? Who would dare to stop me?!” Once he has the information he needs and turns to leave, however, we immediately see the cockiness fall from his face to be replaced by one of...remorse? I’ll let you guys decide for yourselves.

[gif credit]

I think it is worth noting that his facade fades once he looks at LWJ, because LWJ is one of the few people at this point in time who WWX respects, and whose opinion of WWX still holds value to WWX. And so again we see that WWX’s outward behavior does not seem to align with his inner feelings. Look at the situation that WWX is in, though. He is just one man, albeit a powerful one, going against the biggest, most powerful clans. If he shows an ounce of weakness, they’ll eat him alive. And so in order to stay true to his beliefs, WWX puts on a show. In episode 25 we also see WWX put on a show of shooting many arrows simultaneously while blindfolded. @cal3ris made an excellent post on here stating that WWX was not just doing this to show off, but that he was ensuring the temporary safety of the Wen prisoners by pulling off such a feat so as to ensure no other cultivator would attempt the challenge after him. In situations such as this one, it works in WWX’s favor that the vast majority of the cultivation world believes him to be nothing but a showoff with a big mouth. And of course, there is a part of WWX that does enjoy being in the spotlight! Especially if someone he wants to impress is watching~

At the beginning of the Gusu days flashback (ep 3), we see WWX before everything goes to hell. He’s constantly smiling, goofing around, and is a genuine gremlin of a lad. This is real! He’s a teenager in the flush of his youth, he’s with his beloved siblings, he’s smart and talented, the list goes on and on. For people who don’t know WWX, he comes off as a shallow person with no real depth who thinks of nothing but goofing around all day. For those who know WWX intimately, like Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng (though he’s less vocal about it), they know this is not the case. The point is, WWX doesn’t care what people think about him. He doesn’t care because he knows who he is and what he stands for. This is a huge part of who WWX is as a person: “I don’t care if they slander me, as long as I have a clear conscience.” It is also one of the defining things that connect Wangxian to one another, which brings me to the point of LWJ being someone whom WWX hates to deceive, because he greatly values LWJ’s good opinion of him. We see how much it pains WWX to put distance between himself and LWJ, but we also see that WWX is willing to do so if he believes it is for the best. In episode 20, after being reunited with Jiang Cheng and LWJ, we see WWX purposefully push LWJ away with cold precision. Once more he plays his role with practiced ease, but we see his mask fall as he watches LWJ walk away.

WWX goes from this:

[gif credit]

to this as soon as LWJ isn’t looking at him:

[gif credit]

Having just returned from the Burial Mounds, WWX is very unstable, both physically and mentally. For the past months that he’s spent in the Burial Mounds, survival has been his priority. We see this instability and the signs of PTSD manifest quite a bit throughout the Sunshot episodes. In episode 20 Jiang Cheng hugs WWX, who honestly seems at a loss as to how to respond. In episode 20 we see LWJ step towards WWX, who immediately steps back. We also see WWX shrink away from Nie Huaisang’s touch. This is incredibly telling because WWX is someone who likes physical touch and proximity. He’s constantly putting his arms around Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang and constantly puts himself in LWJ’s personal space (much to LWJ’s initial chagrin). I believe WWX’s behavior post Burial Mounds comes from a desire to protect himself from those around him as well as those around him from himself. [apt gifset here] Nothing about this WWX is fake to me. He is acting differently here because he is different. Trauma does not define a person, but it does change a person. Post Burial Mounds WWX is a different person, but he has not lost what makes him him, which is his strong commitment to his beliefs and morals. For WWX during this time, I don’t believe he has the emotional strength to relive his trauma to those closest to him, so he settles for brushing them off with excuses and yes, fake smiles. This also ties into WWX’s habit of internalizing his own struggles so as not to burden those around him. Hopefully at this point a clear pattern has revealed itself: no matter how WWX presents himself on the outside, he never compromises his beliefs.

After being resurrected in Mo Xuanyu’s body, we see a WWX who is far more reminiscent of the carefree teenager back in Gusu. We see WWX slowly heal from the traumas of his past life and we see him begin to smile again, not because he needs to, but because he can’t help it. We might be tempted to look at this WWX and think, “ah, this is the real him,” but I think this does a disservice to the complexity of his character. The point is, it’s all WWX. The pranks, the smiles that crinkle the corners of his eyes, the creativity, the cockiness, the way his laughter bursts out of his body at times and at other times comes out like a sigh or an afterthought, the way he looks out for the juniors, and both his quiet and loud rage are all what makes him who he is. Certain aspects may be muted at times, but that’s to be expected. WWX is by no means perfect, but I would say he is painfully genuine. Just think, would LWJ feel so strongly about him if he weren’t?

As I feared, this got way too long and I probably rambled and repeated myself and got off track, but it’s fine…..

[pocketfulofrogers]

When Gods Fall

Part 2

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Summary: Hoping to outrun the worst day of your life, you found home within the Avengers, in Tony. Now, your days are filled with lies and you can only hope your nights won’t bring back the tragedies of your life as you prepare to follow through with what may be the last decision of your very long life. 

In the middle of the night, sounds of you grunting and thrashing carry down the hall. Your body is caught and twisted in the sheets, and your forehead covered in sweat.

“No, Sol!” You scream and rush into the room. She lays still, her eyes cold and lifeless. You graze a tentative finger down her face and gently shake her. A trail of blood seeps from between her lips. “No, no, no.” You cry. “Please, please. Come back, please.”

You reach for her body to cradle her to you, the blood from her abdomen soaking your clothes, and wail into her neck.

“Oh, Gods, bring her back.” You sob.

You awake breathless and in a panic- the sheets constricting your body doing nothing to help your situation. The fact that Tony hadn’t awaken or come rushing to your side hurts, but when you sit up, you realize you’re in an empty room.

“Jarvis? Where’s Tony?” You ask once you’ve gotten control over your breathing.

“I’m sorry, Miss, Mr. Stark has requested he not be disturbed.”

You pull your knees to your chest. “That’s two nights in a row, J. What’s he really doing?”

“I’m sorry, Miss-“

“Yeah, I know. I’m not privy to that information.” You rest your forehead on your knees and groan. “He’s still mad, isn’t he?” The question is muffled.

“I think that’s a reasonable assumption.” Jarvis replies. You lay back down on your side, curl up, and try to fight back your tears. “Miss?” You hum your response. “Would you like me to contact him for you? Ask that he return?”

Yes. Right now, he was the only thing you needed but if he were to know that, if he were to see you like this, he’d disable every form of transportation just to keep you grounded.

“Thank you, but that’s alright. I’m sure he’s busy.”

**

“Alright, last one. I got three pancakes with blueberries, crispy bacon.” You hold out the plate and it’s only a few seconds before the grateful hands of Sam Wilson take the fresh breakfast.

He sticks his nose directly above the sticky sweetness and inhales deeply. “You are a god amongst men.” He drools.

“Goddess.” You correct him with a smirk and he salutes you with his fork.

“Something smells good!” Clint announces when he rounds the corner. “I have something for you.” He smiles wide and pulls a small trophy from behind his back. A golden little girl chasing after a soccer ball. ‘1st place’ written across the bottom.

“No way.” Natasha tries to say around a mouthful of eggs.

“Lyla’s team won the tournament?” You beam.

Clint’s nod mirrors the excitement radiating from you. “Award ceremony was last night. I was promptly instructed to show her favorite aunts.”

“We better be her favorites.” Again, Natasha’s mouth is full. She reaches for the trophy and starts to ask Clint questions about the game. He was very proud to announce that not only did she score four goals, he got each one on film.

Your excitement is cut short when Steve approaches you quietly from behind, and you groan internally.

“Can I talk to you?” He asks low, being mindful of the ears around.

Curtly, you nod and your shoulders tense. He can see the shift in your eyes, and that’s all he wants to know. Why were you playing this so close to the vest?

Thor told him that he was overacting, that you knew exactly what you were doing, but Steve wasn’t so convinced. Even if he was willing to agree that he was protective of you, saying that he was overreacting just didn’t sit right with him.

In all the years he had known you, he had never once seen you try to take on a mission solo. Tony was usually your partner, it didn’t take a genius to figure out why, but you had never turned down a volunteer. ‘I’ve been around a long time, Rogers. There’s a lot for me to show.’ You used to say.

For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why he was the only one who seemed to be pushing back.

“What can I help you with, Captain?” There’s a hint of disdain in your voice, but it doesn’t surprise him.

He holds a file out to you, but pulls it back when you reach for it. “Fury gave this to me. He told me it was the latest update for us. ‘Us’, as in you and me.” He raises a brow and suddenly you feel like a recruit getting reprimanded. “Which is funny, because I definitely remember you telling me you were going in ‘dark’ and ‘alone’.”

He waits for your response with that same look on his face, but you’re not sure you have one. So many stories you were juggling. He’s a revenge seeking inhuman, you’re not going in for combat, it’s a simple in and out take down.

Never had you been so careless, so scattered. Steve was so much more intuitive than the others gave him credit for and it was only a matter of time before he started talking to the rest of the team. When you drop your head into your hand and close your eyes, he thinks it’s the first time you’ve been honest in days.

He’d be right.

“Talk to me, Y/N. Whatever it is, you know I’ll help you.”

It’s his face, so honest and caring that does you in. “I can’t.” You whisper. “I just, I can’t.” He follows you when you grab his arm to pull him farther away from the group. “This is just something I need to do and I need you to trust me.” He looks out the window and doesn’t seem to have been swayed. You can almost hear the speech you’re about to get. “You can’t tell me there’s never been something you’ve been driven to handle yourself because it just means that much.”

Steve’s gaze snaps back to you. “That’s not fair.”

And it wasn’t. Bucky had always been a touchy subject with him, but you had promised to help him in his search. The amount of times Steve had left without warning for days though, was, well you had lost track.

He holds up the file. “Are you trying to tell me that this man is some long-lost friend that got dragged into something and needs your help?”

You frown. “Something like that. He won’t come willingly if he’s ambushed. It has to be me, and I have to be alone.”

His heavy sigh almost says as much as his eyes. “Why not just tell us?”

Tilting your head back, you try to stay as close to the truth as possible. “I will. Someday when I’m ready, but that time in my life? I’m not exactly eager to revisit it.”

“Look, I-“

“Ah, Y/N, there you are. I have something to show you.” Tony peaks around the corner. It takes him a moment to recognize the mood of the room. “Unless I’m interrupting something?”

Plastering a smile on your face, you turn from Steve. “Not at all, I’m all yours.”

**

Tony flits around his lab erratically, pulling up schematics and what seem to be prototypes.

“Alright, I figured I have better odds of figuring out time travel than I do changing your mind, so I’ve decided to stop fighting you.”

“Oh?” Not exactly what you were expecting. When he knocks over a picture frame of you and him in the Maldives, your curiosity merges into confusion. “Tony, when was that last time you slept?”

He looks back to you and smirks. “Probably about the last time you did.”

You face falls flat. “That would be the last time you slept in your own bed.”

He raises his hands. “I know, I know, but I think you’ll be a little more forgiving when I show you what I’ve been doing.” He gestures to your hands. “I know you have the fists of fury-“

“They’re just my hands, no name.” You interject to remind him again that he may be witty with nicknames, but he was terrible at giving your powers their own.

He waves you off. “Very badass. Now, I know you hate carrying around extra gear, but I made you a few things anyways and I’m hoping to guilt you into taking them.” He shrugs and throws the first one on a bigger screen next to you.

You examine the blueprint. “Brass knuckles?”

“Similar, a little bit. New stark technology, and material. Not only is it weightless when it conforms to your hands, it also conducts electricity very well.” He tosses it to you, but as you catch it, it wraps around your knuckles. “Already have another pair in the works for Nat.”

It felt as if it was barely there, even as you twirled your fingers, sparking the tips. “Fire proof?”

“Fire tolerable, I wouldn’t say proof.”

He lights up at your smile. “Alright, I like it. What else did that big brain cook up?”

“Well…” He beams as he shows you a sword, some kind of staff that does something too complex for you to understand, a shield, and a few different explosives.

“It’s impressive, Tony. Even for you. You didn’t have to do all of this.”

He shrugs. “This is my way of protecting you without being there.”

You look around, feeling slightly overwhelmed. It’s a declaration if you’ve ever seen one before. One of love, and support, and trust. It warms you soul and breaks your heart in one fell swoop.

When you turn to face him, a tear falls. “I love you. So much. You know that right?”

It only takes him a few steps to reach you and wrap his arms around your waist. The smile he gives you is almost enough to knock you breathless. “I do. Almost as much as I love you.”

**

Tony’s a worrier, this isn’t news.

So, when he walks you towards the Quinjet in silence and pauses just at the entrance, you begin to feel a little voice start to gnaw away at you. Stay, it whispers feather light. Don’t leave him. His sigh pulls you back, but he can’t seem to meet your eyes when you turn to him.

You grab his hand, rub the pad of your thumb gently over his knuckles. “Three weeks.” You tell him. “We’ve survived much worse.”

He frowns. “Two and a half and then I bring you home myself.”

You laugh, trying to imagine Fury attempting to reign in a very angry Tony, and press your lips to his cheek. “Two and a half it is.”

“It appears you have another goodbye to endure.” Tony nods his head behind you.

You sigh and make your way towards Steve. “It’s a little late to be talking me out-“

He raises his hands. “I come in peace. I wanted to catch you before you left so I could give you this.”

He holds out a necklace, a silver sunflower hangs from the delicate chain.

“Uh… Thank you?”

He laughs at the confusion prominently displayed across your face. “It’s a tracker.” He stops you before you can scold him. “Only when you activate it. Just push the center and it will send a signal here, we’ll come get you. The chain and the pendant are made of adamantium, so you’ll have to actually try to break it.”

“Oh.” You examine it closer. “That’s actually really nice of you without falling into controlling. You can learn.”

He rolls his eyes. “Tell me you know at least half of all of those new toys Stark sent you with have some kind of GPS?”

You glance back at Tony and smile. “I do. I’ll be leaving them on the Quinjet, you know I prefer my hands anyways. Hopefully I don’t hurt his feelings too bad.”

Steve still didn’t like any of this. A sinking feeling in his gut was telling him that something was going to go terribly wrong, but everyone kept telling him to just trust that you knew what you were doing and you weren’t going to leave Tony broken by doing something as stupid as getting yourself killed.

“Just promise me you’ll actually use it if you find yourself in real trouble.” His frown doesn’t disappear when you nod. “I still don’t like it.”

“I know. Believe me, no one does, not even me. But this is something I need to do. Thank you, Steve, really. Thank you for always looking out for us, for being a great, albeit pain in the ass, but still a great friend.” You embrace him and lean into his ear. “Keep him safe from himself.”

When you pull away, he looks alarmed enough that you’re afraid he’ll stop you cold. But you smile anyways, gesture to Tony behind you and laugh.

“You two try to keep each other out of trouble.”

**

Twelve days later, Tony is in the middle of cracking a joke at Steve’s expense when your mayday rings out over the compound’s intercom system- crackles static in the air above them. Your voice fades in, hushed and desperate. Tony can here the tears thick in your voice, but realizes it’s only one way when you don’t respond to the countless times he calls your name.

“Jarvis, get a trace!” He yells.

There’s a grunt from you followed by shuffling. You don’t tell them where you are, Tony thinks you may not know. There’s only an apology when you ask that they don’t come looking for you.

“I won’t be around much longer.” The calmness that emanates from your voice sets the whole room on edge. “It’s almost done. I’m sorry, Tony, I’m so sorry.”

“The feed is untraceable.” Jarvis tells them. Tony is sat frozen in his fear, listening to everything as intently as he can.

Another voice is picked up on your end. It’s inaudible, but the deep laughter that follows rings out wicked enough that Natasha feels a wave of nausea hit her. You grunt again and something with glass breaks during what they can only assume is a violent struggle.

Your scream is the last thing they hear before the line goes dead.

[justjimedits]

elandrialore

This reblog is not actually directed at jimtremor because I don’t give a shit about them and have had them blocked for a while. I’m only reblogging because their post absolutely encapsulates every conversation I have ever had with a “liberal” racist, including the ones where I was the “liberal” racist.

1. “I wasn’t biased”

This is factually untrue, always. Every single person has biases, there’s no way around it. Biases aren’t inherently bad, they’re how we make sense of our experiences. However, if you do not know the ways in which you are biased it is easy to believe that your opinion is based on impartial fact. Do the work to figure out what your unconscious biases are so that when you get into situations where they might be hindering your ability to see the facts as they are you can take a step back and reevaluate. I found this to be an interesting place to start:

https://implicit.harvard.edu/implicit/selectatestv3.html

2. Me! A racist!

There’s this implication in the U.S. specifically that racism is a finite thing: you either are a racist or you aren’t. Racism is bad and if you did or said something racist (and specifically meant it as racist) then you are a racist and are morally repugnant. If you did or said something against racism then you are clearly not a racist and should never be labeled as such. If you are labeled as such it’s clearly a personal attack on your character and you should fight back.

Except, here’s the thing. All of that is bullshit. If you grew up in the U.S. you grew up racist. In hundreds of different ways every day you are exposed to it and you internalize these beliefs. It is not easy to unlearn all those beliefs. It takes work, and there is no end to that work. Being anti-racist is not a noun, it can only ever be a verb. It is an active process because passivity only helps maintain the status quo, which is riddled with racist policies and systems.

People who have black friends/lovers can still be racist. People who have learned to enjoy people from all cultures can still be racist. People who teach their mother not to say racist things can still be racist. I can say this with absolute confidence because I have literally done all of those things and yet sometimes I am still racist. It doesn’t matter that I don’t mean to be and that I don’t want to be. I still am sometimes and all I can do is apologize and learn from it.

3. “How easy is it to shut up a white person [by telling them their behavior is racist]. It’ll shut people up quickly, make them apologize.”

Based on over twenty years in fandom, both my own experiences and reading about the experiences of people of color around me, this is 100% blatantly false. Overwhelmingly white people in fandom will do exactly what jimtremor did and will both play the victim and then go on the attack for years and years. It’s obviously not just a fandom trait either, this is absolutely a white people thing in all areas of life when they are confronted with their racism. People have written books about it.

4. “It wrecks the possibility of discussion.”

Also false. If someone says you’re being racist, look at what you did/said. Try to remove those unconscious biases and re-examine. If you still can’t see what they mean then tell them the work you put in and ask them for more information. People like to pretend that “accusations” of racism shut down conversations, but mostly it’s because the person being accused isn’t putting in the effort to understand. If you actually put in some effort, conversations will open up.

5. “Others found me, they assured me it was okay to have my own opinions…they made me feel welcome…”

This absolutely reads like one of those articles on how white supremacists recruit online. Like, straight up.

And while it’s comforting to be around people whose opinions align with your own, I think it is the responsibility of white people to seek out those uncomfortable books/discussions/documentaries about race. Like, for real, discussions about race should 100% not be based around the comfort of white people. If you’re only looking for comfort in discussions about race then you are doing yourself and your community a disservice.

“It is best to challenge ourselves by dragging ourselves before people who intimidate us with their brilliance and constructive criticism.” - Dr. Ibram X. Kendi, How to Be an Antiracist. ------------------------------------------------------------------ My add: Obviously I can’t reblog since I’m blocked and this person I don’t even know doesn’t care that I can’t defend myself. If you go through the trouble of blocking, then don’t bother reblogging their things. 1: In the manner of Scott McCall, I wasn’t biased. I’m not saying I’m not biased in certain things. Like here in the Netherlands a lot of Moroccan youth are problematic and fall to abusive and violent behavior. And I have to remind myself when I think they’re all alike that that’s not the way to think. So yes, I’m aware of certain bias. Again you make assumptions about a person you don’t know and don’t care to know. 2: I’m not American. There are also non Americans on this site. And to assume that everybody is racist, well, to each their own I guess. So we’re all racist and our dislikes stem from racial bias and nothing else. Good to know. I’m sorry that I like a white character, it’s very racist of me. 3: Again, I’m sorry for being white. I mean, all white people are inherently racist and must always prefer POC characters in a fandom above all white characters or their racism is showing. Just like everybody else, I had no say about the color of my skin and I’m sorry that I want to treat all respectfully, that I don’t look at skin color or gender. I will have to acknowledge my racial hate from now on because I’m white. 4: I have asked actually. Since I didn’t understand at all. I was presented with the usual facts you all keep using, which make no sense at all. Scott IS NOT Mexican. Tyler Posey is, know the difference. Melissa’s maiden name is Delgado, that’s not a Mexican name. Google it. But you won’t. And you’ll ignore this part as usual because you dislike facts.  5: Seriously? Now you’re lumping us all in the group of white supremacists? I hope you realize that we actually have POC’s in the Sterek part of Teen Wolf, I don’t think White Power would allow for that? And we all don’t discuss skin tones, we actually don’t discuss that at all. The fact you’re willing to go this far to get your right....well, it says more about you than it does about me. Nor have any of you blinded me with brilliance and certainly not constructive criticisms. 

[funkymbtifiction]

Seeing as people are still mistaking Ne for non stop brainstorming i.e. recent ask: what is the equivalent for the other functions? Like Se being constantly physically active etc. I'm thinking this probably stand in the way of accurate self typung a lot.

Let me clarify Ne for a moment. It does not work, without something activating it. How mine works is, I will think I have no ideas. Nothing on my mind. Let’s watch something new. I pick an old Film Noir thriller, and various things that happen on-screen trigger “ideas” in my head. “I could write a story similar to this, but running with this idea instead.” The idea floats away. Two minutes later, another idea comes to me. “What if instead of this, that happened?” I keep watching. “Hey, I could use this old movie to talk about ____ in a blog post.” And so on, the bottom line being I can have various ideas related to the subject at hand in a couple of hours of watching a movie, but my brain lets most of them go. It’s like my Ne is entertaining me just as much as the movie, because part of the enjoyment of the movie is being “stimulated” in a Ne way. It stops just watching the movie and starts playing with Ne thoughts instead.

Let me give you an example. A family member died last week, who had been estranged from various other family members. My Ne-dom idealism thought, “Maybe this will show the family how precious and short life is, and get them to reconcile,” while my more literal, realistic Ne interpretation was, “I doubt it, in fact I doubt these people are invited to the funeral.” They were excluded, and that came as no shock to me – just a disappointment, because I hoped for better even though I was realistic about the situation and the people involved. That’s how my Ne works – a realistic big picture focus that went from news of a death to the potential in the situation (reconciliation <- an abstract concept) followed by the bigger picture (these people all hate each other, and this will not change that, so proceed with caution <- an accurate interpretation of what ‘is going on between the lines / behind the scenes’ / prediction of an outcome).

Make sense? That’s how intuition works. It’s big picture focus, it assumes it knows the motives of what is going on “behind” things (and is often right, if it has the right information), and it moves away from a sensory event (in this case, a person’s death) into an abstract realm (potential outcome) instantly.

So, when you reduce Ne to stuff like “brainstorming, scatterbrained, etc,” you are missing the point, because that isn’t what Ne is. What Ne is, is what I just described to you – abstract big picture thinking the minute things happen. Instant revision of expectations based on new information. My perspective shifted about four times with additional information as the events unfolded but it only “proved me right.” And because it’s Ne, I was right “faster” (like, instantly) in predicting what would happen next than the NJ in my life.

Now, Ne is the function I most “understand,” since I’m using it all the time and aware of doing so – but I can only conclude that if descriptions of Ne that much miss the mark, the descriptions of the rest of the functions (including my own) are shallow interpretations. So, when considering functions, you have to look at the descriptions as a baseline and consider them “a fictional equivalent,” with you potentially being the “real” thing – like reading about a toy bike and you recognize it as a bike, but then you put your hands on a REAL bike.

Various stereotypes:

Se always being active (someone who goes skydiving and shark diving and is always courting danger) – no, a Se can lay on the couch and daydream or play video games or do nothing all day long, and still be a Se, because Se is about sensory awareness and a focus on hands-on experience and learning. I read in one book that Se believes experts learn through hands-on experience, and are ten times more likely to listen to someone who “has done it, and knows what it’s like” than someone who is just lecturing about it. Why? Because THEY learn by DOING IT. Getting hands involved. Feeling it in the moment. Being present.

Si being about the past and memories – no, it’s about learning systematically and through experiences, by stockpiling information and sensory experiences. It’s almost instant in its form of comparisons – like facial recognition software but for everything it encounters on a daily basis. Si can be eccentric in its interests and a lot of Si’s become “experts” in whatever draws their fascination, from costuming (inaccurate or accurate?) to stamp collecting. It’s not about wanting to do the same things all the time, or family, or anything like that, it’s about accuracy of sensory recognition.

Ni being psychic or knowing everything instantly – no, it’s an internal filtering process a lot like Ne, only it happens inside the head and with a delayed reaction to external information, since it’s filtering it against what it has already predicted as forthcoming. Just like Ne, it operates on the assumption that it knows what is “really going on here” and it can be incredibly accurate, but it’s often more specifically accurate in its predictions and slower to change them. (Ne’s process of “This is what I think is going on, but this information contradicts it, so I’m going to re-calibrate a bit…” vs Ni’s “I think this is going on, and am going to wait and see, since I suspect the evidence will bear me out”).

Ti being about analyzing all the time – no, it’s about creating an internal and consistent logical framework by which you compare the outside world and use to determine what is, to you, rational or not rational. It’s about the desire to understand something (people, computers, clocks, systems) from the inside out so that you can hack them and create solutions to any problem.

Te being only about the end result or making money – no, it’s about objective factual knowledge and the resolution of problems using baseline approaches. It’s about streamlining and seeing the quickest way to reach the end. It’s about tangible goals and measuring yourself through external means. It is literally the “DUH” logic. I do not mean it is stupid, it isn’t, but that if it sees a problem with an obvious instant rational solution, it looks at you like, “DUH, SHUT IT OFF.” There’s no ifs, ands, or buts, dude… facts are facts, and the facts are these.

Fi being about selfishness and not thinking about others – no, Fi is often kind, compassionate, and empathetic, but it is all about defense of the self / remaining true to the self, even if it means defying others’ expectations. It has an inconsistent internal process of some things upsetting them and other things not, which makes no sense to an outsider. Fi knows it cannot compromise on certain things, and that those things set off a NOPE reaction, but it rarely knows these things in advance, because it must encounter them to recognize them as a “no crossing zone.”

Fe being about unselfishness and morals contingent on the situation, rather than having things they will or will not do – no, Fe can be just as selfish as Fi, but it manifests in another way, and they also have lines they will not cross, like a Fi, but they are more willing to discuss these lines. Fe is about seeing yourself as responsible for the feelings of someone else or as inseparable from others. The focus lies “outside self” on the emotional dynamics of the situation, in an impartial manner. Fe’s often appear to others to be “speaking for others and not on their own behalf,” but in reality, they are speaking on their own behalf, because emotional harmony matters to them.

- ENFP Mod

[danganronpa-21]

Naegiri Week Day 5: Fidget

Oh boy. This one is my personal take on the intimacy conversation. As such is the case, I guess I should warn of slight references to  “spicy” stuff, but really it’s pretty tame. In fact, it’s probably the fluffiest conversation about physical intimacy you’ll read. 

I hope you enjoy it!

__________________

This wasn’t the first time Makoto geared up to have a conversation about his and Kyoko’s intimacy. 

No, they’d been forced to have this conversation before. Years before, when they were both younger, and more naive… More willing to promise things to one another that led to breaking the ones they couldn’t keep. 

“Let’s try for our one year anniversary,” Kyoko had said, her voice confident, “It should be enough time by then. We were friends for so long before we started seeing each other. From a sensible perspective, we should be able to do it then.”

That was the first promise to him Kyoko broke. Not that he cared all that deeply. Really, it stung his heart to think about the way she looked that night, trying desperately to be okay with everything that was happening. Her lips smushed so uncomfortably against his own, and her arms wrapped around his back tightly. He could feel the tremors in her body as she forced herself further onto him; he struggled to tell whether she was overly eager or forcing herself to do it at first. Her legs suddenly wrapped themselves around his waist, and she guided one of his hands towards the strap of her silky red dress. He remembered the way he swallowed uncomfortably at the thought. He wanted this. He wanted her. How could he not? She was right in front of him, her violet eyes sparkling and her ruby lips offering themselves to him… her body wrapped around his own, and her hands guiding him to remove her clothing, but… No. He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it. He forced himself back, breaking their kiss, and bursting into a melody of panting.

“What’s the matter?” Kyoko questioned, raising one of her brows at him. It amazed him that she wasn’t struggling to catch her breath like he was. “Why did you stop?”

“Why didn’t you?” He recalled shooting back, his chest heaving slightly as he tried to catch up with himself. God, he must have been holding his breath the whole time they were making out. 

“Why would I?” Her hands drifted slowly down from the back of his neck, towards his shoulders. A signal that things were getting less and less sexual by the second. “I thought you wanted to make love tonight.” 

Makoto couldn’t help but clench his jaw. Did she think he couldn’t tell? Was she convinced that he wouldn’t want her to stop if they were uncomfortable? He hoped she knew him better than that. He kept his fingers crossed, praying that wasn’t the case.

“I do, but…” He paused, his brows lowering in concern, “Kyoko, you don’t, do you?”

Silence. Her features twisted; her gaze darting away from him. She could feel him start to clutch onto the dress jacket he’d worn out to dinner. God, why didn’t she say something? He hated seeing her so distressed like this. He could barely find it within himself to look at her, with her whole body trembling like that.

“I…” She licked her lips, suddenly squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” She released him from between her legs almost immediately; the two of them wiggling into a more comfortable upright position. “It’s okay.” 

It’s okay.

And it was. Of course Makoto had wanted to be intimate with her, to connect with her in that way, but he would never force it. He wouldn’t let her force herself into it, either. Sex as a concept between the two of them had already been hard enough for Kyoko to wrap her head around; the last thing he desired to do was make it worse for her. Letting her force herself into the act would have done just that. 

So he did the only thing he could think to do; he ensured that they closed that conversation for awhile. Three years, to be exact. The same length of time it took for Makoto to pop the big question. That was what placed the conversation on the table for them once again. 

Having gotten so close to doing it before did not make this conversation any simpler to have. If anything, it made it dramatically worse. Makoto wasn’t sure what he should say or do to make sure she prepared more than she did last time, yet he knew Kyoko would fail to lend him a hand in this. It was strange, he thought, that it was just hitting him now that he was unaccustomed to taking the lead. 

He did what he could to make the situation comfortable. The conversation would already be hard enough; he assumed it to be the least he could do. He set up the scene as nicely as he could in their living room; even going as far as picking a sunny day to make the mood lighting cheerful. The windows were thrown open, welcoming a fresh spring breeze into their home. Since the weather was just getting warmer, he figured they wouldn’t leave them open for too long. Just enough to make Kyoko feel like she could breathe. On either side of their plush couch, he’d set up a cozy spot for her. No matter where she chose to sit for the conversation, she would be comfy against two feather throw pillows. Before she’d come down, he’d even gone as far as brewing them each a cup of coffee the way they liked it. Kyoko’s was totally black, as always, while his was mixed with sugars and creams. He’d even picked out her favourite mug to serve it in, and ensured that it was not too hot nor too cold. Just the right temperature to enjoy with an awkward conversation about sex.

Still, all of his attempts, right down to the coffee temperature, would be in vain. In spite of the sunny window, the fresh air, the pleasant seating, and the warm drinks… Makoto found himself fidgeting uncontrollably when they actually sat down to talk. No matter how relaxed he hoped it might be, he knew that some things just weren’t going to work in his favour. 

“Kyoko, before we start, I wanted to ask you how you’re feeling.”

Her grip tightened on her cup’s handle almost immediately. If he guessed, he would probably say that that was a sign of malaise. Her avoidance of eye contact only clued him in further, and he wanted to kick himself. Way to put your bride-to-be on the defence in one sentence, he scolded internally.

“I… It’s a large step forward for us…” She stuttered, trying to find the right words, “I find it challenging to even think about myself being vulnerable to you in such a way…”

Makoto swallowed. Quietly, he prayed to himself that that wasn’t her way of stating that his behaviour in the bedroom worried her. If their first attempt should have been anything to her, it should have been evidence that she could trust him to not take advantage of her. But maybe that wasn’t what she meant. He held out hope that she meant something else.

“I understand that… This is kind of hard for me, too,” He confessed, swirling around the coffee in his mug, “I’ve um… I’ve never actually…”

“You’re still a virgin.” 

He blushed at her finishing for him, but nodded softly. “Yeah. I’ve never been with anyone else before… and I’m guessing you haven't either…”

She nodded, bearing down on her lip with her teeth. “You are correct. You will be my first.”

You will be. Although it was something small, those words made Makoto comforted, albeit only marginally. Clearly she intended to engage in the act somehow; he just wished it to be of her own volition. Like he said a million times before, he wasn’t interested in sleeping with Kyoko unless she was one-hundred percent interested in sleeping with him. 

“So that’s some common ground we have. That’s good, right?” 

She shrugged unhelpfully. Jeez, he’d almost forgotten how silent Kyoko could be when she wanted to. Rather than paying close attention to what he was saying, she picked at the studs on her gloves nervously. A sign that them both being virgins wasn’t helpful enough.

“Can I ask what about being vulnerable to me scares you?” 

Had there been coffee in the detective’s mouth, she definitely would have choked. Hell, Makoto could have sworn that she choked on her own spit. Judging by her reaction, he figured the chances were that the response would be a short one. It all but showed in the way she flicked her head up at him; her gaze strangely fearful.  

“I suppose a lot of it comes from the fact that I haven’t done this before, and it’s an act that… requires a lot of trust in the other party.”

Makoto felt his heart drop into his stomach. “Do you find it difficult to trust me…?”

Alarm flickered across Kyoko’s face with an instance. Before he knew it she was shaking her head frantically, and raising a hand up so quickly that she sloshed coffee on her skirt. “Oh, no! That isn’t what I intended to say at all!” She fumbled, “What I meant was that… I have to trust that I will trust you in the moment. Going into uncharted territory with someone is always difficult, and I often fail to trust myself when things start. I know that I’m secure, when I’m with you, it’s just that I…”

She sighed and brushed a strand of hair away from her face, her shoulders slumping sadly. The poor thing’s words caught in her throat as she attempted to explain them, but Makoto felt as if he had a bit of a sense of what she was conveying. 

“Are you worried that you’ll freak out in the moment because it’s scary, and you’ll worry that you can’t trust me?” 

 Her hand flipped back and forth. “M-More or less…”

Maybe he didn’t have it to an exact science, but at least he could partially read her. He’d just need her to guide him the rest of the way. He placed a sympathetic hand on her thigh, and watched her expectantly. As much as he tried to decipher what little information she gave him, her words would have to be the thing that took his comprehension all the way. With something as delicate as this, reliance on assumption would break them. Being overt was the only way to go. 

“What else bothers you?”

The detective’s head bowed once again. “What you said is a piece of it, but the other part is that I…” Though she did her best to hide her face, he witnessed the blush that spread across it. All over it, really. She turned beet red in a matter of seconds. “I want to be good for you. I want to please you, and I… I want this to be an experience that you enjoy, because I know how badly you want this. If I get nervous, and I pull back, I know I’ll have failed you. I don’t think I could stand to do that. I want to make you happy.”

Makoto shook his head, leaning forward to lift her chin. “Hey, you’re not failing me if you decide you’re not ready for sex.” He smiled softly at her, mustering up the kindest tone he could manage. “This isn’t just about me. If I want this, I want it for both of us. All I want with this is to connect with you, and… and to be with you in a way that is enjoyable and pleasurable for the both of us. But if you want to wait, that’s okay. Hell, Kyoko, if you never want to have sex, then let’s never have sex. Some traditional rite of passage means so little to me in comparison to you.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Kyoko’s mouth, as well as a rosier blush. “Thank you, Makoto,” She paused, “But I want you to know that… I’m really in it, this time. Though I’m absolutely terrified, I want to do this. I just... need to find a way to make the situation less overwhelming.” 

A soft chuckle escaped him as he moved to plant a quick kiss on her lips. He couldn’t help but notice how she leaned into it a little herself. Clearly, the affection was appreciated, for she giggled cutely. “Then let’s figure it out together… We can think of it like another one of our investigations.”

Her brows raised at the word. “Investigations?” 

He never really realized how easy it was to pique her interest in something. It turned out all he had to do was throw in detective words. Maybe I should throw in words like ‘clues’ and ‘evidence’ when she inevitably forgets that it’s her turn to do the dishes, he thought. But he tried not to let thoughts of chores impede his judgement of what to say right then. 

“Yeah! Think of it like... investigating a body. But instead of trying to figure out what killed the person, you’ll be trying to find what makes them feel good. And instead of a corpse, you’ll be working with your partner.” It was a weird analogy, Makoto knew that. But still, he figured it would work as he needed it to. “You and I will just work together like always, searching for clues and answers on each other’s bodies to reach a conclusion. And in the end, we’ll come up with a solution to the mystery, which will… y’know… draw us closer to the light.”

Blushes crossed both of their faces at that point, and the couple turned away from each other. They didn’t need words to know where they were leading themselves. Anything more would just be pushing beyond the self-explanatory, and Makoto felt that to be unnecessary. Just the basics of the analogy was all they needed.

“Does that help at all?”

His fiance stopped for a moment to think, tapping her chin. Then, with a cheerful grin on her face, she nodded. “Indeed. I think that helped plenty.”

It became his turn to smile as he scooched closer to her, placing his head on her shoulder. “I’m glad.”

“As am I,��� She snickered, leaning close to kiss the side of his head, “I look forward to our investigation.”

[thousandeyesand-one]

S08E01

Ok so here's where D&D suck. They try to create an "open to interpretation" kind of scenario with most female characters, arya is definitely there but nobody is given a hard time over it more than Daenerys. They never explain or make her explain the why's & how's, because they want daenerys to be the "bad ass dragon queen whose impulse has given the show it's many epic cinematic moments"

GRRM does something quite similar too. He writes characters as faulted as human beings are supposed to be, he likes to conflict a reader's mind in the most tiring way possible. He said afterall he believes Faulkner's words "The only thing worth writing about is the human heart in conflict with itself".

He makes his character do an action/say some words that more or likely they HAD to. But then he introduces the consequences of the said action/words while at the same time he gives a reason & understanding of why such a hard decision was made/tough words were used. GRRM creates conflict in such a way that it is upto YOU. The Reader, to decide for themselves what they make of the situation. Which ultimately means it's only one's assumption to choose to believe the character was wrong because you choose to ignore the reason behind their action/words. While the one's who support the character chooses to accept the character not only with the reason behind the action/words but also with the consequences of it.

Your "hate" towards daenerys is just YOUR assumption, your villainization of daenerys is just YOUR assumption, your degradation of daenerys's efforts & experiences is just YOUR assumption. Not the actual story definitely not the author's intent.

The scene where daenerys takes the unsullied is the most bad-ass, jaw dropping & inspiring scene centered on a female character ever. When it dropped I remember GA being taken by how "bad-ass" she is. But now I see haters using Astaphor as a "brutality" condoned by daenerys. All because the show never cared to reflect upon a deeper more sympathetic thought process behind doing what she did. While tge book reading haters like I said above choose to ignore her reason & only care about the consequences.

Tv Show: "we never really get this sense .. of her capacity for cruelty. They are surrounded by people who are terrible people but haven't done anything to her personally. It's interesting to me how the sphere of her empathy widens the sphere of her cruelty widens as well."

-Dan Weiss ( X )

Books:

"I was alone for a long time, Jorah. All alone but for my brother. I was such a small scared thing. Viserys should have protected me, but instead he hurt me and scared me worse. He shouldn't have done that. He wasn't just my brother, he was my king. Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can't protect themselves?"

"Some kings make themselves. Robert did."

"He was no true king," Dany said scornfully. "He did no justice. Justice . . . that's what kings are for."

– Daenerys III ASOS

The show never showed this side of daenerys's story GRRM is literally giving a reason behind what she is doing at Astaphor while in the future books you get the consequences of those actions, THAT'S HOW YOU CREATE AN INTERNAL CONFLICT IN A READER (&/or) VIEWER.

What D&D do with dany all the time is leave her reasons behind & only show her actions & the consequences. Which over time lead everyone to believe she is descending into some form of madness, that she is an entitled power hungry monarch & that she is actually being a villain! Ignoring the fact that D&D draw inspiration for the show from a book series whose author treats all of his characters in a conflicting manner. 

Something like that happened in s08e01. Am not talking about the s@nsa vs daenerys situation. I think it's a call back to Alaric Stark & Queen Alysanne Targaryen's relations. Alaric Stark was known to be cold & hard towards Queen Alysanne at first but eventually softened towards her in time being as he got to know her more. S@nsa stans don't need a reason to hate on daenerys so this storyline was like a gift to them to continue that petty hate.

No matter what their relationship prospers into I have to say s@nsa was being unnecessarily rude towards daenerys. Alaric Stark actually had a reason to be cold towards the Targaryens, his brother died defending the wall against a mutiny caused by some prisoners King Jaehaerys had sent to the wall. But there is nothing that daenerys did to harm the Starks?! S@nsa herself has no reason to hold a grudge towards daenerys or the Targaryens. The northern lords are being a bunch of ignorant fucks still dwelling on the politics of the past that which a "smart" person would overlook given the state of emergency they are in. Instead s@nsa is using that ignorance to incite more segregation in Winterfell. Knowing well that the wall was breached she is treating the dragons as a burden when girl! they are your best defence against the undead one that Night King controls. S@nsa might be smart but right now she is not acting smart!

Regarding the matter of food, I don't think s@nsa understands the level of danger that the oncoming army of the dead possesses against the living. Alaric Stark was judgemental of Queen Alysanne & the party that travelled with her because she wasn't necessarily there to defend Winterfell against anything, she was there on one of the many royal progression's that the king & queen did all over the kingdoms. But daenerys isn't here on some progress she is here to stand her armies beside the North men & Knights of the Vale in the fight. It is S@nsa's duty as the Lady of Winterfell to arrange for the food & other commodities for perhaps the greatest alliance northerners have.

I don't much tread into the doylism aspect of things but the way s@nsa said that she didn't account for the dothraki & the unsullied did she mean she was expecting Jon to die in the south? Because there was only two ways Jon's southern trip would go he might return with allies hence more mouths to feed or he might die. That sure don't sound all that smart of a deduction though!

When daenerys said "whatever they want" she defended her children reminds me of how everyone used to tell the direwolves don't belong inside the castle walls but out in the wild but the stark kids defended them anyways. Daenerys did the same thing too she defended her magical wild beasts who, just like the direwolves are dangerous & different.

Daenerys expecting respect from sansa isn't entitlement, Jon is S@nsa's king & daenerys is Jon's Queen. By that it is a certain decency to give daenerys that respect. In inside the episode video David nutter & Sophie say that s@nsa wants daenerys to know that this is HER home??! I mean daenerys doesn't want her home she wants your respect, she has a home it's called Dragonstone!

“No man has ever died from bending his knee,” her father had once told her.

“He who kneels may rise again, blade in hand. He who will not kneel stays dead, stiff legs and all.”

-the Kings Prize ADWD

I just can't wait until s@nsa softens upto daenerys like Alaric did towards Alysanne. So people can actually focus on other more important things in the storyline.

Then about the reaction Sam had when he learnt about his father & brother's death.. THAT WAS ABSURD. He clearly wasn't that sad when he learned of randyll's death but his brother's death affected him most. Which reminds me of a quote..

He wondered whether Dickon would shed a tear for his brother who died in the snow, somewhere off beyond the edge of the world. Why should he? A coward’s not worth weeping over.

-Samwell I, ASOS.

Do it now. Stop crying and fight, you baby. Fight, craven. It was his father he heard, it was Alliser Thorne, it was his brother Dickon and the boy Rast.

Craven, craven, craven. He giggled hysterically, wondering if they would make a wight of him, a huge fat white wight always tripping over its own dead feet.

Do it, Sam. Was that Jon, now? Jon was dead. You can do it, you can, just do it.

-Samwell I, ASOS.

Sam remembers his brother in the books with the likes of Ser Alliser Thorne & Rast. It is understandable that his heart might be broken to listen of his brothers death but to do what he did especially to the last remaining family of his mentor, Maester Aemon  Who treated him 1000x times better than both his father & brother.. Maester Aemon felt so passionately about Daenerys & he only trusted that information to Sam.

"No one ever looked for a girl," he said. "It was a prince that was promised, not a princess. Rhaegar, I thought... What fools we were, who thought ourselves so wise! The error crept in from the translation. Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it." Just talking of her seemed to make him stronger. "I must go to her. I must."

-Maester Aemon, Samwell IV, AFFC.

Daenerys is our hope. Tell them that, at the citadel. Make them listen. They must send her a Maester. Daenerys must be counseled, taught, protected."

-Maester Aemon, Samwell IV, AFFC.

Alleras stepped up next to sam. "Aemon would've gone to her if he had the strength. He wanted us to send a Maester to her, to counsel her & protect her & fetch her safely home." "Did he?" Archmaester marwyn shrugged. "Perhaps it's good that he died before he got to oldtown. Elsewise the grey sheep might have had to kill him, and that would have made the poor old dears wring with wrinkled hands." "Kill him?" Sam said, shocked. "Why?" "If I tell you they may kill you too" marwyn smiled a ghastly smile the juice of the sourleaf running red between his teeth.

-Samwell V, AFFC.

It is so awful that Sam has infact put the last two family members of Maester Aemon's blood against each other. He is treating Daenerys the way he treated Alliser Thorne when Sam realised if Ser Alliser becomes the Lord Commander his life would be hell so he literally uses Jon & raises him to be a Lord Commander in the hind sight to protect himself. When Jon actually (in the books) decides to fight for Winterfell & take stannis's offer.

Instead, he blamed Jon Snow and wondered when Jon’s heart had turned to stone. Once he asked Maester Aemon that very question, when Gilly was down at the canal fetching water for them. “When you raised him up to be the lord commander,” the old man answered.

-Maester Aemon, Samwell III, AFFC

“Dragons,” Aemon whispered. “The grief and glory of my House, they were.”

- Maester Aemon, Samwell III, AFFC

Not only was Sam's reaction a little over the top but it was wrong how he channeled it upon Jon as well. He ruined the most important revelation of Jon's life because of, again, himself. Jon also didn't seem to care about the fact that daenerys is related to her (lmao) but was more taken aback by Sam suggesting him treason against daenerys.

I do not want to play the oathbreaker, even for good reason.

- Jon VIII, ACOK.

Jon Snow flexed the fingers of his sword hand, remembering all he’d lost. Sam, you sweet fat fool, you played me a cruel jape when you made me lord commander. A lord commander has no friends.

-Jon X, ADWD.

"I had a frightening dream last night, m'lord," Dolorous Edd confessed. "You were my steward, fetching my food & cleaning up my leaving. I was Lord Commander, with never a moment's peace." Jon did not smile. "Your nightmare, my life."

-Jon VI, ADWD.

Daenerys: "We all enjoy what we're good at" Jon: "I don't!"

-GOT, s07e03.

Jon doesn't want to have power for the sake of power. Over & over again in the books & in the show he made it clear he did what he did to fight the Army of the Dead not for a crown.

Jon: "Do you think we can beat the Army of the Dead without her? I fought them sansa twice, you want to worry about who holds what title I am telling you it doesn't matter. Without her we don't stand a chance.. Do you have any Faith in me at all?

Sansa: you know I do.

Jon: she'll be a good queen, for all of us. She's not her father. 

Sansa: no, she's much prettier .... Did you bend the knee to save the North or because you love her?

-GOT s08e01

There are two reasons why anyone would bend the knee.

•Out of fear, fear of cruelty, collapse or death.

•Out of love & respect & trust.

Jon bent the knee to daenerys for the latter, that scene with sansa & Jon was cut off annoyingly leaving the argument hanging but there was more than just love, yes Love is there My god if this isn't what every jonerys stan had been screaming since s07 ended. But there was more than love, there was respect for letting him mine the dragonglass regardless of no existing alliance, there is also trust when daenerys actually not only let him go beyond the wall but also flew all the way there, solidifying the trust he placed in her to come to his aid without an alliance in place. 

Jon glanced over his shoulder. The shadow was there, just as she had said, etched in moonlight against the wall. A girl in grey on a dying horse, he thought. Coming here, to you. Arya. He turned back to the Red priestess. Jon could feel her warmth. She has power. The thought came unbidden, seizing him with iron teeth, but this was not a woman he cared to be indebted to, not even for his little sister.

-Jon IV, ADWD.

But instead he chose to be indebted to daenerys by asking for her help without giving her anything in return. Because he trusts her to be a good, reliable Queen & she won his trust.

Sam: "Don't you know?

Jon: know what?

Sam: Daenerys, she executed my father & brother. They were her prisoners.

Jon: ......

Sam: she didn't tell you

Jon: I'm so sorry. We need to end this war.

Sam: would you have done it?

Jon: I have executed men who disobeyed me.

Sam: you've also spared men thousands of Wildlings when they refused to kneel.

Jon: I wasn't a king.

Sam: but you were you've always been. Jon: I gave her my crown Sam. I've bent the knee am not King in the North anymore.

Sam: Am not talking about the king in the north am talking about the king of the bloody seven kingdoms.

.......

your mother was Lyanna Stark your father, your real father was Rhaegar Targaryen. You've never been a Bastard you are Aegon Targaryen true heir to the iron throne.

.............

You're the true king, Aegon Targaryen, sixth of his name, protector of the realm, all of it.

Jon: Daenerys is our Queen.

Sam: she shouldn't be.

Jon: it's treason.

Sam: it's the truth. You gave up your crown to save your people would she do the same?

She literally did the very thing in s07e06 when she left dragonstone with Drogon, Rhaegal & Viserion to rescue Jon.

Tyrion: "You cant win the throne if you're dead. You cant break the wheel if you're dead."

Daenerys: "So what would you have me do?"

Tyrion: Nothing. Sometimes nothing is the hardest thing to do. If you die we're all lost everyone, everything!"

Daenerys: "You told me to do nothing once before & i lostened to you ... am not doing nothing again."

There are moments in the story both in books & show where we do undeniably see daenerys put the people or her children ahead of her crown.

That morning she summoned her captains and commanders to the garden, rather than descending to the audience chamber. "Aegon the Conqueror brought fire and blood to Westeros, but afterward he gave them peace, prosperity, and justice. But all I have brought to Slaver's Bay is death and ruin. I have been more khal than queen, smashing and plundering, then moving on."

"You have brought freedom as well," Missandei pointed out.

"Freedom to starve?" asked Dany sharply. "Freedom to die? Am I a dragon, or a harpy?" Am I mad? Do I have the taint?

"A dragon," Ser Barristan said with certainty. "Meereen is not Westeros, Your Grace."

"But how can I rule seven kingdoms if I cannot rule a single city?" He had no answer to that. Dany turned away from them, to gaze out over the city once again. "My children need time to heal and learn. My dragons need time to grow and test their wings. And I need the same. I will not let this city go the way of Astapor. I will not let the harpy of Yunkai chain up those I've freed all over again." She turned back to look at their faces. "I will not march."

"What will you do then, Khaleesi?" asked Rakharo.

"Stay," she said. "Rule. And be a queen."

– Daenerys VI, ASOS.

Not that she must or she needs to give up her crown for Jon or anyone so Sam can be convinced with her being a good queen. Fuck that! Sam is being impulsive here (something that daenerys is blamed of, turns out everyone does it) she has on multiple occasions put her people first. Sam hopefully learns it in time because his knows I don't want him to be the A-hole he acted like..

If she had been some ordinary woman, she would gladly have spent her whole life touching Daario, tracing his scars and making him tell her how he’d come by every one. I would give up my crown if he asked it of me, Dany thought … but he had not asked it, and never would. Daario might whisper words of love when the two of them were as one, but she knew it was the dragon queen he loved. If I gave up my crown, he would not want me. Besides, kings who lost their crowns oft lost their heads as well, and she could see no reason why it would be any different for a queen.

-Daenerys VII, ADWD.

A queen belongs not to herself but to her people.

– Daenerys V, ADWD.

The red priests believed in two gods, she had heard, but two who were eternally at war. Dany liked that even less. She would not want to be eternally at war.

- Daenerys V, ASOS.

"We will have it all back someday, sweet sister," he would promise her. Sometimes his hands shook when he talked about it. "The jewels and the silks, Dragonstone and King's Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all they have taken from us, we will have it back." Viserys lived for that day. All that Daenerys wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never known.

- Daenerys I, AGOT.

She did take a dozen flasks of scented oils, the perfumes of her childhood; she had only to close her eyes and sniff them and she could see the big house with the red door once more.

- Daenerys VI, AGOT.

"He died for me." Dany clutched her lion pelt to her chest. Underneath, a sheer white linen tunic covered her to midthigh. She had been dreaming of a house with a red door when Missandei woke her. There had been no time to dress.

- Daenerys I, ADWD.

"Is it Daario? What's happened?" In her dream they had been man and wife, simple folk who lived a simple life in a tall stone house with a red door. In her dream he had been kissing her all over—her mouth, her neck, her breasts.

-Daenerys II, ADWD.

Dany had never known a home. In Braavos, there had been a house with a red door, but that was all.

-Daenerys III, ADWD.

Soon Dany was as clean as she was ever going to be. She pushed herself to her feet, splashing softly. Water ran down her legs and beaded on her breasts. The sun was climbing up the sky, and her people would soon be gathering. She would rather have drifted in the fragrant pool all day, eating iced fruit off silver trays and dreaming of a house with a red door, but a queen belongs to her people, not to herself.

- Daenerys IX, ADWD.

Isn't it amazing how the very episode in which Sam raises the question "will she give up her crown?" is the very episode where daenerys said this 

She obviously didn't feel at home neither at Dragonstone nor at Winterfell. This romantic moment is the closest to a house with the red door this show has ever done.

Also notice how throughout the episode whenever Jon is speaking to others he refers to daenerys as Queen. But when he is alone with her by that waterfall he refers to her as "a southern girl". Jon loves the girl daenerys not "the floppy ears" of the dragon queen that she wears..

If she had been some ordinary woman, she would gladly have spent her whole life touching Daario, tracing his scars and making him tell her how he’d come by every one. I would give up my crown if he asked it of me, Dany thought … but he had not asked it, and never would. Daario might whisper words of love when the two of them were as one, but she knew it was the dragon queen he loved. If I gave up my crown, he would not want me. Besides, kings who lost their crowns oft lost their heads as well, and she could see no reason why it would be any different for a queen.

-Daenerys VII, ADWD.

"So we pray. I want to plant my olive trees and see them fruit." Does it matter that Hizdahr's kisses do not please me? Peace will please me. Am I a queen or just a woman?

- Daenerys VII, ADWD.

So the point is neither does it make sense for Jon to turn against daenerys all of a sudden for something like a title that he himself just said doesn't matter to him. Given that the third episode is where the battle for dawn is supposed to take place. Iron throne is not on Jon's mind. Plus I don't think Daenerys will be anything but shocked, confused yet happy to find a family member, none other than the son of her elder brother whom she idolizes, she is in love with Jon as he is with her!

A crown should not sit easy on the head. One of her royal forebears had said that, once. Some Aegon, but which one? Five Aegons had ruled the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. There would have been a sixth, but the Usurper’s dogs had murdered her brother’s son when he was still a babe at the breast. If he had lived, I might have married him.

-Daenerys I, ADWD.

Ser Davos is already planning a better solution to all this. A just woman & an honorable man to probably get married!

Now I need Sam to somehow learn more & more about who daenerys actually is.

[dailytimdrake]

Hi, I loved your nerdy Tim headcanon post about what kind of nerd he is. Especially the part about knowing where everyone is all the time. Only do you think the other Bats KNOW Tim knows all this? If so how do they feel about it (like is Jason mad, does Damian resent him for it or are they happy). Thanks!

Oh boy, this is gonna be long... For clarity, I’m going to define the Batfam as Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Damian. I’ll take it as them knowing about it separately! Some responses are shorter and some are longer, because I’m not super familiar with all of the Batfam. I’m not super familiar with most of them, to be honest. I’m just shipper trash. If there’s anything you think feels off/weird about the headcanons, feel free to private message or send in an ask! I’m always down to be corrected :)

Big B: I imagine he’s already known about Tim’s stalker habits for a long time - perhaps even ever since Tim revealed the existence of his photographs to them. The thing is, Bruce also keeps tabs on his fellow JLA members. Bruce has contingency plans. And he’s up his own ass, but he’s not so blind as to not recognise the hypocrisy. (I hope.) So he wouldn’t be particularly upset that Tim is a superhero nerd who stalks superheros. In fact, he might even think it’s a good thing that Tim’s taking the initiative to ensure he’s got Plans, or at least enough information to formulate one. Bruce thinks Tim is growing into a good Batman-esque crimefighter - it’s kind of sad, but Bruce wallows in the sadness and it fuels his drive to punch criminals in the dark of the night.

Nightwing/Dick Grayson: Dick would freak out internally. This seems out out-of-nowhere, not to mention creepy. He already had an idea of Tim’s stalker schtick, but he didn’t know it went this far. He tries to convince Tim to stop, or at least tone it down, but he tries subtly. Dick needs to have Tim on “his side” first. Here’s an example from RR #14...

So Dick says he understands. He gets it. But he doesn’t agree with it, because he knows it doesn’t work: 

And then, in the comics, he makes it about himself. “I’m not on the list, am I?” The thing about Tim’s files though, is that he does have Dick on file. In fact, Dick’s file has to be one of the most extensive ones. Dick is creeped out, and above all, worried. He makes an assumption: How could Tim not TRUST HIM? Why does Tim need to have so much information on all of them? What if someone hacked Tim’s files? This is dangerous. Dick tries to convince Tim that he can trust them - tries to remind Tim about personal boundaries. And this drives a wedge between the two of them, even more than the fallout with Bruce’s death + getting kicked off the Robin roster did. Because that was understandable - it made sense. This time, it’s like Dick is talking down to him.

To Tim, Dick has always been something of a “hero figure”. Even with his flaws, even through the disappointment, Tim has never been able to shake off his first impression of Dick, his first childhood hero. The fundamental difference between them - both in personality and in what they value - exacerbates the conflict over this “stalker thing”. And this, Dick finding out about Tim’s files, is too much, for both of them. Tim finds it perfectly justifiable; Dick doesn’t. End of story.

Jason: Jason would eat this up. He LOVES the attention. At first he would demand to look through all of Tim’s files, see what he has on Jason. Tim’s files on Jason have a hole between his death and his return as Red Hood, which Tim is slowly trying to patch together. Jason convinces himself that he’s the mystery Tim has yet to solve. He starts posing and saying “cool badass” things when he’s on patrol - he suddenly inexplicably embodies the Mysterious Attractive Femme Fatale. His theatrics reach a whole new level, because he knows Tim’s always watching, and hell if he isn’t going to give him a good show. He takes out Black Mask with a missile launcher and yells out into the night, “YOU SEEIN’ THIS, BABY BIRD?!” Of course he does find it a little weird that Tim stalks people, but Tim stalks him, and it’s only weird in the sense that it’s not something a ‘normal’ person would do. And none of the Batfam are particularly ‘normal’. Jason thinks “It’s just us and our Super Special Stalker Relationship!!!” It thaws his relationship with Tim, for sure - he starts thinking Tim is pretty okay, compared to the rest of the High-And-Mighty Bats. But then he finds out that Tim also stalks everyone else and he flips his shit. “Wait you’re stalking Roy too?! YOU’RE STALKING FUCKING ROY?!”  Their amicable relationship ends there.

Damian: Damian, funnily enough, is the one who gets angry. There’s already an underlying resentment towards Tim on his part for ‘taking’ what is ‘rightfully his’ - his place by his father’s side, his position in the Batfam, his role as Robin. Even after he got the Robin mantle, it wasn’t by Bruce’s hand, and neither was it particularly by Bruce (not that I know of, at least). So Damian is already pissed off at Tim. This tracking habit, keeping tabs on him, not only triggers his assassin-trained paranoia even more - it establishes that Tim (i.e. part of the Bat Family, as much as Damian hates to admit both to himself and others) doesn’t trust him. Here’s another panel from RR #14 showing Damian’s reaction to Tim’s “Hit List”: 

“I have done all that has been asked of me! I control respects of my upbringing that neither of you could begin to understand--and I am dismissed--by him--as a threat to be monitored by some hidden agenda!”

And then: “It isn’t fair.”

He’s insecure about his position in the Batfam, he wants to be accepted, and he wants to be able to fill their expectations of him. By tracking him, Tim makes this insecurity worse and realises all of his worst fears: that he will never be truly “part” of their family. (It’s worse if Damian doesn’t know that Tim keeps tabs on everyone else.) Damian’s response to this betrayal/hurt is to lash out. And he does this in RR #14, where he sabotages Tim’s plans for the night and fights him in the street. He doesn’t understand the reasoning behind Tim’s action, and similar to Dick, he makes an assumption. And that’s why he’s angry.

[storiansmane]

Grantaire’s Modernized Rant

This is a rewrite of one of Grantaire’s drunken speeches from Les Misérables, in Chapter IV of Book Four–Les Amis de L’ABC, which has been modernized not only into current speech but also do to with current issues. I put quite a bit of effort into it, so enjoy!

~~<><><>~~

Grantaire, extremely drunk, had started ranting at the top of his lungs from the corner of the pub which he had taken over with his volume, shouting: "I'm bored!! I need alcohol, life fucking SUCKS!! It's all so POINTLESS and cheap and short and definitely hates me!! People always talk about wanting happiness, but I mean, how selfish and vain is that!? Hell, it was once said that "all is vanity", and I agree, even if that might not even be a real quote! If you have nothing else, at least you can think about how great you are! People use it to make everything seem so much more important than it is. A kitchen is a 'laboratory', a boxer is a 'pugilist', a doctor is an 'apothecary', even bugs have super extra Latin names!! It can be some good and some bad, I guess. The good is stupid, the verbal and mental equivalent of a participation award. 'You're alive, congratulations!!' The bad becomes too much and people can't stand to be around you. I'm annoyed with one and exhausted with the other. People don't take anything seriously anymore, entitlement leads to making a mockery and a joke of everything! Rich people complain about paying high taxes, happy people write songs about depression and loss and heartache; anything can be 'memed', no matter how serious! Go, then, and enjoy your quote-unquote 'edgy' humor! No one has any respect or integrity anymore. People in relationships cheat on each other, fights over stupid politics ruin friendships, it is our own fault that people die by their own hand! It's too bad I'm stupid, or I'd quote all kinds of ancient wisdom and facts and evidence to prove my point, but I don't know anything. I've always been too much of a smart-ass; when I was put in the most prestigious schools and classes, all I did was fuck around. What's the point of putting so much importance into those things, anyway? Being part of them doesn't make one person any better than another. So even if I'm stupid but privileged, I am fundamentally the same as an intelligent but unfortunate person. It's so fucked, everyone wants to be perfect and have all the best qualities. Every one of those good qualities can be made into bad ones by perspective! Frugality is underneath just greediness, generosity is just attention-seeking in disguise; bravery is an excuse to brag and the pious are also the bigoted. So which are we SUPPOSED to say and understand? Do we applaud the victor or the loser, the Allies or the Nazi's? You'd prefer the victor, right? Great, then I suppose we'll all applaud the corrupt officer who was VICTORIOUS over the unarmed teenager, as well! There's your positivity, but also insanity. That officer did what he did because of human prejudice, just as the Protestant burned the Pagan at the stake because of his prejudice against that which was different. History repeats itself, especially the grimmest generalities. The battle at Palmito Ranch mirrors the battle at Yorktown, the internment of Japanese-Americans inspires the imprisonment of immigrants. I don't see the cause for celebration of victory. You're arrogant for winning and weak for losing. Can nothing be one thing without also exhibiting traits of the other? I'm so done with the human race in general. You expect me to 'help people in need'; what people, then? Should I feed the hungry? What about the homeless, then? Which is more deserving of my help? It's a debate which could go on forever, senseless from the beginning! Our politicians are the reincarnations of the tyrannical emperors of the past, taken straight from our history textbooks. What does one have to do, anyway, to be considered important enough to make it into one of those books? I brush my teeth every day, but I can guarantee you that I'll never learn about the inventor of the toothbrush in my history class. No, instead I'll learn about some of the most horrible men who've ever lived and have done nothing to affect my life. And why? To avoid the repetition of history? Regardless of man's actions, such an outcome seems inevitable in every sense. Not to buy into stereotypes, but the liberal young hopefuls who put so much stock into these dated ideas will find themselves just as stuck. I mention stereotypes with the utmost authority, of course! They make up everything we think about our society on a daily basis! Your clothing, your speech, your actions, and your whereabouts decide for you what kind of person you must be to a thousand strangers a day, easily. Even those who claim to be non-judgemental, their opinions are affected by such stereotypes even if they deny it. Such assumptions are what our society functions on. And it can be beneficial in some situations, of course! A first-impression can warn one of a dangerous person, one to be cautious of, absolutely! It can give one a whole host of necessary information for dealing with a person in a social situation, yes, but can also cause one to miss out on a potentially vital opportunity which now will never be known. And the only thing which MOST PEOPLE will care about is, oh no, FOMO!! Yet this behavior and thinking will never change, no matter a person's intent to block it. It is human nature. You who claim not to judge books by their covers, might you be the uninformed while you claim your superiority to the cautious? And now that you consider that, SURPRISE, what I have just suggested is yet ANOTHER assumption! Even one made about yourself is one which makes you question what you know about your opinions, further proving my point. So what really is different between you and he who judges others by first visual or interactive impression all the same? Dammit, people, I'm telling you!! NOTHING IS DIFFERENT!! The whole human race has an eternal, genetic superiority complex and proves it every day! The other races of the earth are considered lesser races simply because we have taken over what is theirs and made it our own. I do not claim to be immune to such judgment and arrogance! I can acknowledge my faults, that I rely heavily on appearances when I need to! So why not crucify me now!? Where is my judge, jury, executioner!? Oh, so it is you, Louison. Hey, didn't see you there." So Grantaire, far drunker now (if that's possible), caught the girl as she passed just trying to bus the tables, and turned his ridiculous and never-ending rant on her. Bossuet leaned over and tried to clamp a hand over Grantaire's mouth to shut him up, but this started Grantaire off on an even worse rant: "Ugh, GET OFF ME! You're not gonna shut me up or calm me down, not while I'm speaking the truth to the masses, to anyone who will be smart enough to listen! I'm fine, you don't need to do that. I'm just sad. What do you want me to say? Humans are horrible, they just completely suck. Butterflies are great, but humans are failures. God fucked up with this one. You want to see something really screwed up, there's nothing more so than your average joe on the street. Like me. I'm depressed and a hypochondriac and I'm pissed for no reason and I'm sleepy and I'm bored and I'm exhausted and I'm STUPID! FUCK IT ALL!" "Then shut up, please!!" Bossuet tried again to silence him, as he'd been in the middle of trying to have a conversation about work with his friend, in the background as Grantaire threw his tantrum.

[docholligay]

Smoke and Ashes

This is a fic I wrote mostly for me for once but also for @rosepetalrevolution and anyone else who is interested in These Western Fucks, namely Yael, McCree, and Ashe. You can find it in the timeline: here. 3,300 words I would love to know if you enjoy it!! 

“Please don’t!” Tears ran down his face. “For Christ’s sake, please!”

“Wrong audience, motherfucker.” Yael cocked her gun, and fired, an impressive spray of blood spackling across McCree’s boots.

He looked down at them and frowned. “I just polished these, Yael.” He picked some of the brass off the ground. “That was quick.”

“Easy when it’s a bunch a little boys pissin their pants.” She knelt down and rifled through the dead man’s pockets, “Jacinta! You done over there? Quit bein’ so fuckin’ dramatic.”

The echoing fire of a gun was the reply, and Jacinta walked around the end of the truck. “I would think you’d appreciate lingering on this a little bit.”

“It’s not about enjoying the job, it’s a practical matter,” Yael took the cigarettes out of the dead man’s jacket, tapping one out of the pack and lighting it, taking a long drag as she leaned her elbows back onto the dead man’s chest, “Though I don’t hate it. Goddamn, even their cigarettes are terrible, Jesus fucking wept.”

She sat up and put the cigarette out in his cheek.

“Nice cache a weapons, though.” McCree set an AK to the side of the truck.

“Welp,” Yael slapped her knee, “Alls well that ends well, then.” She gave a chuckle and slapped McCree on the shoulder. “We’ll eat good tonight, tell you what. Already have a buyer.”

“Didn’t you,” McCree pushed the brim of his hat back a touch, “Specifically tell me, more n once, not to sell anything you ain’t got in hand?”

“Yael thinks the rules don’t apply to her.” Jacinta put a crate of ammo into the back of the truck, “Thinks she is special.”

“You’d know.” Yael grinned.

Jacinta tried to scowl, but smiled anyhow, as she checked a rifle for a round. “You are not cute.”

“Yael you ever think that the people we sell these to, are gonna go back and sell em to these poor fucks again?” McCree had said it quite without meaning to.

Yael’s internal compass was its own creature, and McCree could never quite puzzle it out. She was happy enough to take the boxes of illegal arms from these people, but the suppliers they sold to probably didn’t exactly ask for an essay on intercultural exchange before they sold them. It’d just fall back, that they’d be back where they started.

“Not those poor fucks,” she tipped her head to the one on the ground, his head split open, flies buzzing around his brains, “cleared that right up.”

And that would be the end of the debate, McCree knew, in the way he knew he’d never stop thinking it. There were certain things, rhythms, in the gang, that flowed through everything they did like a bends of a river, and McCree knew how to point his canoe by now.

McCree had come to them three years ago, but it might as well have been a lifetime. Cody Stenslund was an old man with a scraggy group of hungry young kids, and a smaller band of old men like him. It was the assumption they’d picked up these kids to pass the torch to someone, and it had proved successful, and he hadn’t wanted McCree. No one seemed to, back then.

But Yael was clever, and she was a connoisseur of people who survived when they weren’t meant to, and she’d stood for him. He’d been with them ever since, through his own training and scrapes and Cody’s retirement, and he couldn’t see leaving. Yael was Yael about near everything, but McCree never worried about where he was going to go, what he was going to eat, and the drifting tumbleweed decided this was a fine fence to be caught upon.

Besides that, he’d reflected at Jacinta and Yael’s wedding, it was a kind of a family, and McCree needed all of that he could get.

Carey loaded on an unopened crate to the back of the truck, and flipped up the tailgate, leaning against the back of it and giving McCree a grin, the soft green of his eyes flickering with excitement.  

“Yael said beers are on her tonight.” He tapped out two cigarettes, and offered McCree one, which he gratefully accepted.

“Better be,” he lit the smoke and took a deep drag, “much as she’s had us all runnin around Hell out here.”

Carey chuckled softly. He was a few years older than McCree, like most of the gang, tall and thin, his dark brown hair clipped neatly. He had no idea about McCree. McCree barely had any idea about McCree, even when he thought about walking over to Carey’s bunk in the night and kissing him as the moonlight streamed through the window.

There was nothing for McCree to be ashamed of, and he knew that, but somehow he still couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Yael had done it. No one questioned her or so much as said boo about it.

But the rules didn’t apply to Yael, you know.

“Well boys,” Yael circled around and tossed the keys to Carey, who caught them handily, “let’s get to gettin.”

_____

Ashe stood outside the bar, adjusting the collar of her shirt and trying to get the right angle of the hat on her head. She’d known the Deadlock Gang was going to be here, it was an open secret that they protected this bar and the bar did the same to them, a scrappy outpost at the edge of the world that no one seemed to much care about and that seemed fine to everyone inside.

She walked in the door, the dark and agining place exactly as she’d imagined it, and found the gang immediately. The leader was just as she’d read, when she decided this was the career path she wanted to take, when she got sick of everything her parents expected for her, tired of being a show pony and ready to take it on her own. She was a scary story to tell in the dark as much as she was a person, and Ashe wanted that for herself.

She strode confidently to where she sat, and a lean, green-eyed man to Yael’s right put his hand on a gun.

But Yael just watched, leaned forward onto her elbows, as Ashe approached.

“Yael Rabin?” She cleared her throat, puffing her chest out.  “Been looking for you. “I’m here to join the Deadlock Gang.”

No one said anything for a moment, and Ashe wondered if the entire concept of sound had gone from her, the chatter and music fading away from the space and leaving only Ashe, standing there.

Then Yael drummed her fingers on the table.

“You just looking for trouble in alphabetical order or somethin’? Barstow Boys turn you down already?”  Yael picked up a toothpick from the holder and on the table and placed it between her teeth as she studied Ashe.

It was the sort of look Ashe had not yet become accustomed to, though she would learn it for herself, in time. It was a look that scanned over every inch of her, that took the information and made conclusions, and locked it away until it was needed. It was the searing eye of a hawk setting on a rabbit, and Ashe squirmed underneath despite herself.

“Nice boots you got there, Tex.” A sly smile crept across her face and her collected gang spit out hoots of laughter.

Ashe didn’t give her the satisfaction of looking down, but she noticed the beaten and scuffed hat Yael wore, the way her shirt had faded in rings from being pushed up to her elbows in the sun, and had a sudden moment of realization that the same things she wore that impressed the folks when she did barrel were a mistake here.

Didn’t matter. She was a trick of a rider, she could shoot a gun, and Ashe knew, above anything else, that the infamous Deadlock Gang could only profit by adding her to the group, even if they did make fun of her bright silver buckles.

“Name’s Ashe.” She jutted out her chin and extended her hand.

“Sure it is.” Yael chuckled and leaned back in her chair, and Ashe crossed her arms, her mouth forming into an angry twist, which Yael handily ignored, “You even old enough to be in here? Go home, kid, I ain’t got time to play dolls.”

“How old’s he?” She motioned her chin to the man at her left, though it was hardly fair to call him man, not yet filled in, still gangly with the edge of teenagerhood.

“Jesse?” She turned to him and smiled, “I dunno, how old are you?”

“Forty five this July.” He took a drink of his beer.

“That’s about what I thought, why, thank you Jesse.” she picked up her own beer, “Well, there you have it.”

Ashe popped like a corn kernel.

“You were younger than me, sixteen! When you joined the Deadlock Gang, and now you’re only afraid--”

“I ain’t afraid of shit,” Yael laughed, “You think you can compare yourself to me, Tex? What’s the worst thing ever happened to you, Daddy tell you no new pony this year? Shiiiit.” She chuckled again. “Swear to god, they get stupider every year.” She stood up. “You ain’t hungry enough. You don’t need it enough. You got a net, girl, and we perform without one.” She turned back briefly to her gang. “Gonna go find Jaci and have a smoke.”

She turned her back to Ashe as she left, completely unafraid of anything Ashe could do, and all she could do is stand stock-still, fuming and furious and embarrassed and ashamed and hungrier than Yael could ever know.

___

McCree didn’t ask too many questions, at this time in his life.

It would sound stupid to say it out loud, as he heard the dogs barking in the distance outside the shitty honky tonk, the party having briefly broken up from their reverie, but the last three years had been the most stable in his life since his mother had died. It wasn’t much of a life, rolling along the backroads and still-quiet ways that barely seemed to exist except as corridors anymore, but it was his, and it was consistent, and he knew what he was meant to do and why, and what he brought.

He wasn’t interested in shaking up the flow he’d come to understand in his life, and he wasn’t sure what someone so rich would want with the Deadlock Gang anyhow. Could be that she was an agent trying to infiltrate, but McCree hoped they’d send someone a little better than some little blonde thing fresh out of the ranchwear store. Maybe that was the trick, that they thought it was so stupid Yael’d fall for it.

They didn’t know her very well.

Ashe breezed by him after Yael, having had a few moments to think to herself and still not giving up, and he chuckled. She had plenty of sand, that much was sure, and if he was going to be so stupid as to tell Yael her business, he’d say that a sparrow who’s willing to chase after a hawk with no fear of nothing wasn’t the stupidest idea for the gang. Yael had a kill count that rivaled a small army, and there was no way Ashe didn’t know that. It just didn’t seem to matter. She had an idea of what she wanted, and maybe Yael would have to shoot her to get her to find another one.

They didn’t usually meet people like this, who wouldn’t take Yael’s no for an answer. Yael was particular about her crew, even at the best of times, and though she’d help other hard up folks set up complimentary organizations, or reinstall them their lives back home on their farms and ranches and wilds, her Deadlock Gang was a tightly closed group, only people she would happily sleep with her back to. And this girl was in no way Yael’s kind of people. This was all more stuff she should’ve known but didn’t seem to care much about.

There was a part of McCree that respected that.

Carey walked up next to him and sipped his beer. “What’s the over under on Yael shootin her where she stands?”

McCree smiled over at him. “She’s had, what, three beers? Say ten minutes.”

“You’re a regular optimist, Jess,” Carey clapped him on the shoulder, and McCree looked away from him into the night, “say that much for ya.”

McCree wasn’t sure he’d call himself that, but there was something that told him this girl who called herself Ashe was gonna be a thorn in everyone’s side for a long time.

___

Yael didn’t seem to be listening to her, just walking along and tapping out a cigarette as she looked up at the half-clouded moon.

“You don’t know what I can do!” Ashe spat, the injustice of the situation, the hopelessness of it, drilling into her head.

“But I do know that it’s my gang, and, I don’t like you.” She put the cigarette to her lips and flicked her lighter, shielding it from the wind. “Don’t need no prissy little rich girls whose daddies bought em their titles.”

What Yael needed and what Yael ended up getting could be very different indeed.

“Elizabeth Ashe?” A voice came out of the darkness, and Ashe’s hair stood up at the sound of her name.

She turned around and her eyes met with dark brown ones, ones she did not know but clearly knew her. It was not a question so much as a confirmation, but whatever it was, it furrowed Yael’s brow.

“You know her, Jacinta?” Yael stood up from where she leaned against the beam.

Jacinta took her eyes off Ashe for a moment, meeting Yael’s gaze, and let out an exclamation of rapid-fire Spanish, which Ashe suddenly wished she had opted to take in all of her private schooling.

“Huh,” was all Yael said by way of hint, before asking Jacinta a question Ashe could not understand, and receiving an answer Ashe wished she could know. “I dunno, Jaci, bad idea to me.”

Her ears perked at the English, and she looked back to Jacinta, wondering where she could possibly know her from. She was a handsome woman, dark with glossy in a low, tightly wound bun at her neck, but Ashe could not quite place her name, or where they might have seen each other.

Yael walked over to where she and Jacinta stood, and waved Ashe off. “Git.”

It was the first command of Yael’s Ashe would obey, and it would not be the last, and at her hand she would learn how to give a command so it never seemed like a request, to men twice her size, but right now all she could do was back up until she nearly hit the two young men who had been sitting beside Yael in the bar.

Carey shrugged at her. “Jaci’s your best chance, rich girl.”

Ashe fumed, but didn’t say a word. There was someone, for whatever reason, who was fighting for her, and the argument seemed to be growing more heated, Yael shaking her head, her eyebrows in a knot as she looked to Jacinta, who waved a hand in fury even as she tried to cross her arms in front of her.

“If she wants you,” McCree drawled, “well, Jaci’s the only one Yael’l ever listen to.”

“I don’t know why she does.” Ashe hadn’t meant to say it, but it had slipped out, her thoughts as to all the reasons why filling the space in her head meant for a tough showing.

McCree looked over to her, a brief recognition of her inability to understand that made her blood boil, and chuckled. “Best not to.”

Yael threw her arms in the air and kicked the dip bucket by the side of the back porch, spraying wet tobacco across the wood. Jacinta seemed unimpressed.

“¡Bueno! Christ,” She took her hat off and nearly threw it into the dirt before reconsidering. “You win, alright?”

Ashe felt a swirl of excitement rise in her chest, and pride. She was going to be a member of the Deadlock Gang, the kind of gang that people whispered about, the kind of gang that even someone like the Barstow Boys held in high regard. And she would be, in no time, she was sure, be at the right hand of the hawk, Ashe, a legend in her own right.

These fantasies of her own grandeur were quickly brought back into the reality of the situation as Yael walked up to her and grabbed her by the collar, almost pressing their faces together. Yael and Ashe were nearly the same size, but Ashe was shocked by the sheer strength of her, the grip of her claw next to Ashe’s neck.

“Now listen here. This is against my better judgement or will, Tex, so I want you to take very careful notice of what I’m bout to say.” Ashe nodded as Yael stared deep into her eyes, but she did not break her gaze or let her lip quiver, “You want to be a part of this gang, you’ll come to find there’s work to be done that ain’t all in the papers and glory, and when I say jump, the only thing I wanna hear out of your goddamn mouth is how high. I will teach you to be a gunslinger and an arms runner and every terrible thing you wanna be, and you had better pay me back with your unending goddamn loyalty or I’ll shoot you myself.”

She let go of Ashe’s collar and half-tossed her back into Carey and McCree, who caught her gently by the shoulders.

“Married life’s a whole thing, ain’t it, Yael?” Carey laughed good naturedly.

“Carey, I will leave you in the ditch I found you in.” But she sighed, seemingly forcing herself to make peace with the new, shiny-booted, crisp shirted, silver trimmed reality in her life.

“You won’t regret it, I promise.” Ashe tugged at her shirt, rolling her shoulders back.

“And I ain’t callin you Ashe, so best get used to that idea.” She grinned, and her voice turned sickly-sweet, “Elizabeth Caledonia, pretty little miss of the Texas debutante set. Jesse!”

“Yeah?” he took off his hat and ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair before looking back to Yael.

“You’re off smoker duty tonight, other’n showin Bitsy here how to scrub it.” She waved her hand to McCree, “God knows you’ve earned it. And God knows you will, us having to teach her an honest day’s work.”

“She’s alright once you get used to her.” Carey gave his usual casual grin and shrugged. “Give her a year or two to warm up. Carey.” He gave a tip of his hat.

“Jesse.” He nodded to her.

She gave a snort, jutted her chin out, and looked at the two men who were now her teammates.

“Ashe.”

Carey chuckled as he turned to go. “S’not what Yael said.”

Ashe crossed her arms across her chest in frustration. When she had planned out the life she was going to create for herself, the infamous legend and outlaw she was going to become, this was not how she’d seen her first day on the team. She would learn, at Yael’s hand, how to scramble, how to deal, how to play a low card, but now she was a frustrated trainee.

“Welcome to the team,” McCree said, tipping his hat, “Come on then.”

Ashe gave the smallest smile, and she remembered she had won a victory today. It didn’t matter if she were Tex or Bitsy or whatever Yael wanted to call her today, because she had to call her one very important thing.

A member of the Deadlock Gang.

[scienciersnewz-blog]

Democracy Index 2019: The largest democracy India slips the list along with Hong Kong & Singapore

The country known as the largest democracy in the world fall the list of "Democracy Index 2019". India's overall score fell from 7.23 in 2018 to 6.90 on the index that provide the current situation of democracy worldwide for 165 countries and 2 territories. Norway topped the list whereas North Korea was in the bottom. India slips 10 places & got the 51st place on the list. The current cause for democratic regression was an erosion of 'Civil Liberties' in the country.

India slipped 10 places to achieve the 51st place on the list of 2019 Democracy Index's Global Ranking. The main cause of slipping 10 places is "Erosion of Civil Liberties" in the country, according to the Economist Intelligence Unit.

India's overall score fell from 7.23 in 2018 to 6.90 in the current list. The index is based on five categories-- Electoral Process or Pluralism, Functioning of Government, Political Culture, Political Participation, & Civil Liberties. We will discuss these terms in details in the further of this article.

Based on their total score the countries are categorized as one of the four types of regimes: 'Full Democracy'(scores greater than 8), 'Flawed Democracy'(scores greater than 6 & equal to 8), 'Hybrid Regimes'(scores greater than 4 or equal to 6), & 'Authoritarian Regimes'(scores less than or equal to 4). And, in this list India was categorized as one of the 'Flawed Democracies'.

The currently ruling government in India is a Hindu Nationalist government. And, this government has responded very harshly to the ongoing protests against a controversial, a religion based citizenship law(Citizenship Amendment Act - CAA) many Muslims have said that their neighborhoods have been targeted, while the central government has attempted to ban protests and urged TV news channels not to broadcast the "Anti-National" content.

Harsh action of police against the student protests, brutally beating students inside college campus, library & toilets, hate speech by different leaders of ruling party, internet shutdown, shutting Kashmir and detaining the leaders in Kashmir by the Central Government, all these reasons are responsible for the downgrade of democracy in India.

Now, we have discussed what is going on in India, and we will discuss about China, Hong Kong and Singapore too. But, first let's know and understand what the "Democracy Index" really is!!....

What Is Democracy Index??

The Democracy Index is an index compiled by the Economist Intelligence Unit (EIU), a UK based company. It intends to measure the state of democracy in 167 countries, of which 166 are sovereign states and 164 are UN member states.

The index was first published in 2006. The index is based on 60 indicators grouped in five different categories, measuring Pluralism, Civil Liberties, Political Culture, Functioning of Government, & Political Participation. In addition to a numeric score and a ranking, the index categorizes each country in one of four regime types; Full Democracies, Flawed Democracies, Hybrid Regimes, Authoritarian Regimes.

Electoral Process or Pluralism

Pluralism as a political philosophy is the recognition and affirmation to diversity within a political body, which permits the peaceful coexistence of different interests, convictions and lifestyles.

Civil Liberties

Civil Liberties are guarantees and freedoms that liberal governments commit not to abridge, either by legislation or judicial interpretation, without due process. Though the scope of the term differs between countries.

Political Participation

Participation in social science refers to different mechanisms for the  public to express opinions- and ideally exert influence- regarding political, economic, managements or other social decisions.

Political Culture

Political Culture is defined by the International Encyclopedia of the social sciences as the "Set of attitudes, beliefs & sentiments that give order and meaning to a political process & which provide the underlying assumption and rules that govern behavior in the political system.

We are not discussing the fifth term, "Functioning of Government" as it is not that complex to understand the meaning of this term.

Four Regimes  

1) Full Democracies

Full Democracies are nations where civil liberties and fundamental political freedoms are not only respected but also reinforced by a political culture conducive to the thriving of democratic principles. These nations have a valid system of governmental checks and balances, an independent judiciary whose decisions are enforced, governments that function adequately, and diverse and independent media. These nations have only limited problems in democratic functioning.

2) Flawed Democracies

Flawed Democracies are nations where elections are fair and free and basic civil liberties are honored but may have issues (e.g. media freedom infringement). These nations have significant faults in other democratic aspects, including underdeveloped political culture, low levels of participation in politics, and issues in the functioning of governance.

3) Hybrid Regimes

Hybrid Regimes are nations with regular electoral frauds, preventing them from being fair and free democracy. These nations commonly have governments that apply pressure on political opponents, non-independent judiciaries, widespread corruption, harassment and pressure placed on the media, anaemic rule of law, and more pronounced faults than flawed democracies in the realms of underdeveloped political culture, low levels of participation in politics, and issues in the functioning of governance.

4) Authoritarian Regimes

Authoritarian Regimes are nations where political pluralism has vanished or is extremely limited. These nations are often absolute monarchies or dictatorships, may have some conventional institutions of democracy but with meagre significance, infringements and abuses of civil liberties are commonplace, elections (if they take place) are not fair and free, the media is often state-owned or controlled by groups associated with the ruling regime, the judiciary is not independent, and there are omnipresent censorship and suppression of governmental criticism.

Reason For Hong Kong's Fall On The Index

The EIU group said,"Hong Kong fell three places to achieve 75th rank out of 167th of total, because of the long period violent and disruptive protests rocked the Asian Financial Hub. Also an aggressive police response early in the unrest, when protests were mostly peaceful, led to a "Marked  decline in confidence in government-- the main factor behind the decline in the territory's score in our 2019 index".

Reason For Singapore's Fall On The Index

In Singapore, which also achieved the same rank as Hong Kong, 75th out of 167, a new "Fake News" law led to a deteriorating score on Civil Liberties.

"The government claims that the law was brought just to prevent the dissemination of fake news, but it somehow threatens freedom of expression in Singapore, as it can be used to curtail political debate & silence critics of the government".

Reason For China's Fall On The Index

China's score fell to just 2.26 in the list, making China to the 153rd spot out of 167th, which is almost the bottom. And, it happened because of China's discrimination against minorities, repression & surveillance of the population intensified. "Still, the majority of the population in the China think that the democracy is not going to benefit their economy, and support for democratic ideals is absent".

Top 10 Countries With Their Total Score On The Index

Norway-             9.87

Iceland-             9.58

Sweden-             9.39

New Zealand-    9.26

Finland-            9.25

Ireland-             9.24

Denmark-          9.22

Canada-             9.22

Australia-          9.09

Switzerland-      9.03

Thanks A Lot for reading. I hope you got some useful information. 

Sources:-

www.ndtv.com

www.bloombergquint.com

www.nationalheraldindia.com

scroll.in

www.wikipedia.org

www.livemint.com

[nerdy-bits]

Outer Wilds and Millenial Dread

Playing Outer Wilds prompted a mental reaction I have never had before. 

Somewhere in the space between planets, as I sought out the clues to solve this rapidly decaying universe, I found the answer to a question I never asked. 

I have as much trouble describing the mental distress Outer Wilds caused as I do just describing the game itself. There is nothing quite like the first reveal, the slow burn of you realizing what it means, all followed by the slow and meticulous uncovering of hints and clues. It all plays out like this very intimate mystery, despite its clear implications for the universe the game takes place in. 

I remember the first time I saw my uncle play Metal Gear Solid and fight Psycho Mantis. I often think about the implications that a game could encourage the player to do something physical, in the real world, to interact with it. I am even often disappointed by the fact that very few games actually prompt such interactions. 

Outer Wilds never asks you to do something in the physical world to complete it. Nothing I saw. But what I did encounter was a strange and deep urge to disengage with the game entirely.

The impending doom of Outer Wilds, and its 22 minute time-loops, triggered a particularly millennial, frighteningly familiar fear: You will never have enough time to get to everything done that needs to be done. Every time a new loop starts, you head into your ship and read through your discoveries from the last loop. As the game progresses, each time you repeat this process the questions become more vague at the same time they become more precise. Putting together the mystery you are tasked with solving does not, innately make the game less obtuse. In fact, there are several moments where learning something scrambles the assumptions you previously had, leaving you staring at a bowl of plot spaghetti rather than the network of info highways you thought you had. It is through this process of misdirection and partial learning the game gets you to keep saying, “one more loop.” 

However, there was a moment about twenty hours into my playthrough, when I realized I had never ventured to Giant’s Deep. Here I was hours and hours into trying to solve this mystery, and I had left an entire fucking planet out of the equation. 

I remember sitting in my office, staring at the screen thinking, “But, I felt so close…”, and then turning my xbox off. I didn’t return for an entire week. It was crippling. 

When I came back, aside from kicking myself for such a strange lapse in memory, I began to panic. I scrambled to Giant’s Deep hoping to earn some kind of reward for showing up and found absolutely nothing. Of course, the result I should have expected. Outer Wilds is adept at making players take their time, despite their being a constant invisible timer. You will want to rush while playing this game. Don’t. The music denoting the end of the loop began to play, I stared at a room I couldn’t access, realized how to get there in the same moment I realized my time had run out, and I just waited for the supernova to wash over me.

It was this strange battle I fought with myself over time which led to a lot of my stresses playing Outer Wilds. Each new loop, I wanted to break through in some way, find another clue, discover something new. The strange and cryptic messages left behind by the Nomai would feed me just enough information. Without failure, the loop would end just as I realized something else and I would have to wait for time the pass in the next loop for the conditions to be just right to access the info my revelation 22 minutes earlier had clued me in to.  

All of this led to a vicious love/hate relationship with the title. I loved finding clues and I despised running out of time. I loved the feeling of discovery and hated the overwhelming feelingI would never have enough time to discover it all. 

Then I got to the end. 

This entire game was offset, oddly enough, by the release of an album I latched onto in a way I have never experienced. Thank You Scientist’s album Terraformer came out on June 14th, a little over two weeks after Outer Wilds’ release and almost exactly when I found the time to start playing. The album is incredible, which I realize is subjective, but I couldn’t help but hear the songs as I thought of the game. Track Everyday Ghosts breaks into a chorus which says, “Sometimes I feel so ordinary / Sometimes I struggle with who I am.” I felt this in most every moment of Outer Wilds. I felt overwhelmingly normal, tasked with solving a mystery so far beyond me. 

The album rests firmly in the Progressive genre, and I found a great deal of pleasure figuring out when and how the many time changes would play out. Without going into laborious detail on the album’s lyrical choices, suffice it to say I felt the words of each song spoke on some level to a facet of the game. No song better than Geronimo, a track devoted to helping its listener learn the best way through life is to understand there are some things that are just outside of your control. The end of Outer Wilds drove this home tenfold. 

When you finally piece together the final parts of the mystery Outer Wilds sends you on one last trip. And boy is it a trip. As I pieced together the last moments of the game I was hit by this unavoidable wave of relief, accomplishment, and oddly enough, reassurance. The game is full of heartbreaking discoveries. As you traverse the solar system you encounter the remains of Nomai scientists who have been trying to solve the same mystery as you, and who have obviously failed. You see their jubilant cheers when they make a breakthrough. You see their somber replies when they hit walls. 

But then you figure it out.

I found myself trekking the pine needled earth of a forest, a single light source ahead of me, and infinite night sky overhead. The stars tumbling in the infinite black. As I followed the prompts I found instruments playing in the dark. I brought them back to the fire. As I brought each instrument back, their musician would appear, sitting around the crackling wood and flickering light. I assembled them all and then went to speak to them. “Should I start playing?” They would each ask this question. One by one I said yes and each instrument began to hum, strum, and drum. Each added a stream of smoke above the fire pit. When I went to speak to each of the players again they said something I’m not quite sure I was ready for. 

“Even if it’s over now, I had a great time learning.”

“The past is past, now, but that’s…you know, that’s ok! It’s never really got completely. The future is always built on the past, even if we don’t get to see it.”

“I tell you what, this has been really fun. And I got to help make something pretty cool, so I’ve got no complaints.”

Each statement an admission that, “I didn’t get everything done, but that’s ok!” It was a prescription to a sickness I didn’t want to admit I had. All of this fear I would never have time to get it all done began to wash away. I saw the face of my grandfather, smiling, happy that, while his chapter was over, he was given the opportunity to play a part. All at once I was made to realize, it’s not about doing it all in one go. It’s about playing your part to the best of your ability, lending to the next crescendo, contributing to the confluence. 

As I internalized this I stepped into the smoke above the fire, detonated existence, and set the ground work for a new universe to come. The futility of my endeavor to stop the end of existence was replaced by the satisfaction that some things simply must happen, and it is our responsibility to make sure when they do, even before they do, we just do our best. 

All the time I spent with this game was fraught with tension and trepidation until I knew what I was meant to do; A lesson with surprising connections to one’s journey through life. One which hopes to help you find pleasure in trying to figure it all out. 

~Caleb @LubWub

Outer Wilds Website

Thank You Scientist