#autonomous and top-down control

[mulloey]

cherry on top • matz

they know you’re your own person, as independent and autonomous as them. but when their baby is this sweet and innocent, how could they possibly resist?

this is not a healthy relationship and will not be to everyone’s taste. if you choose to read, that’s your choice and responsibility. any hate will be deleted and blocked, so don’t waste your time.

warnings: matz throuple, manipulation, slight dollification, pet names (doll, baby etc), a couple of slaps, slight infantilisation, matz are Very weird in this, could be dubcon but no sex in that section, controlling behaviour, unequal power dynamics, don’t like don’t read

word count: 1k

—————

It started with a nickname; balls deep inside you with your legs held down firmly behind your head, Hongjoong had gasped out a ‘feels so good, doll’. In the heat of a moment it had meant nothing, especially when he’d unloaded in you mere seconds later rendering everything else unimportant. But later that night, when you’d been sufficiently used by both of your boyfriends and were clean and cosy in bed, your other boyfriend, Seonghwa, holding you in his arms, had remarked, “She really is like a doll, isn’t she?”

Seeing the look on Hongjoong’s face, Seonghwa smiled, recognising the reaction of the younger — he liked it. He liked that you were so doll-like — pliant, submissive, and sweet to the point of delirium — and he liked that Seonghwa knew it too. They both knew, from the silent look they shared in that moment, that an agreement had been formed. You were going to be their doll, whether you knew it or not.

They started with small things. The first was the nickname — doll, falling from their lips like honey, purred with a fond smile and a soothing touch. They said it so often you began to respond to it as if it were your own name… actually, what is your own name? It doesn’t matter, you thought. Because to them, you’ were doll.

Then it escalated, still slowly and subtly; they started treating you more and more like a doll — brushing your hair, choosing your clothes, doing your makeup. Each passing day they did more and more for you, taking more and more of your independence. They had their reasons, they told you — at first it was ‘just easier this way’, then gradually the mask slipped. “We’re older, baby,” Seonghwa had said, pulling your hair into plaits. “We know better.”

“We know how to take care of you,” Hongjoong had said. “You don’t think we do?” And the sadness in his eyes had made you cave instantly, never wanting to see him down like that; especially not because of you.

You knew what they were doing; at some point you’d realised they were dumbing you down, making you less and less able and more and more dependent on them for even basic tasks. But what you didn’t understand was why. Why did they want you to be stupid and useless, so much so that they’d whisper it in your ear each time you came on their cocks? Why did their eyes get so wide, pupils dilated and breaths hitched when you ashamedly asked them for help with something you used to be perfectly capable of doing yourself? Why?

Was it a humiliation thing? Some weird, perverted kind of negging? No, they weren’t like that. They’d always been so loving, and as you slowly went dumber and dumber for them, that only increased. They couldn’t walk past you, touch you or even look at you without telling you how pretty you looked, how much they adored you, how perfect you all were together. So it couldn’t be that — it couldn’t be malicious. It had to be something good. But what?

You found out a few weeks later. Sat on the couch, sandwiched between your boyfriends as they watched some boring movie you’d no interest in, you found yourself playing absentmindedly with the hem of the skirt they’d put you in that morning. It was white and lacy and hardly covered your ass even when you stood straight; when you’d complained, Seonghwa had swatted your thigh and in that gentle, sickly sweet voice of his, told you to shut your mouth.

After a while, when boredom and hunger crept in in tandem you decided to make yourself some food. You’d scarcely stood up before strong hands dragged you back down again. You made a noise halfway between confusion and indignation, and Seonghwa swatted your thigh again. “Bad girl,” he said, as sweet as ever. “Where are you going without us, hm?”

“To…make some food?” You say weakly. You didn’t know why you felt so guilty, so admonished and… caught. Like you’d done something wrong just by trying to stand up and go to the kitchen.

Your boyfriends chuckled, patting you fondly like you’d suggested the most ridiculous, childish thing in the world. “You don’t know how to do that, baby,” Hongjoong said.

“What?” You asked. “That’s ridiculous. Of course I know how.”

They chuckled again, and something in their voices felt sinister. “Silly baby,” Seonghwa whispered. “You still don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

Seonghwa smiled, running his hand gently up your torso until it came to rest loosely on your neck. You gasped softly and involuntarily at the sensation and he smiled. “Hongjoong,” he said lowly. “I think it’s time we gave the little one some proper care. Don’t you think?”

Hongjoong hummed, stroking your leg up and down. “I agree,” he purred. “Proper guidance.”

“I don’t need—”

“Hush now,” Seonghwa said. His tone didn’t change — just as sickly sweet and caring as before — but you saw a flash of anger in his eyes. “You don’t decide that anymore, honey. Only we know what you need now.”

Somehow his words were as reassuring as they were nauseating — something about them was sickening, unnerving and yet just hearing them from his mouth made you feel so… warm. So cared for. So protected. Fuck, this was so confusing.

“We’re really smart, you know,” Hongjoong added. “It’s okay that you can’t keep up. You just need to follow our lead and trust us. You’re not too dumb to do that, right?”

You stared at him for a moment. You didn’t know what to say, what they wanted you to say. You didn’t even want to have to say anything at all. You just wanted them.

They noticed. They’d been noticing this whole time; monitoring your reactions to each card they played, watching you as you slowly, steadily regressed without your knowledge. They knew everything. They saw everything. And they knew exactly what you needed now.

“Good girl,” Hongjoong purred. He pulled you into his arms, nuzzling against your neck almost like he was claiming you. “I knew you could do it, baby.”

And despite everything in your head, your heart warning you, telling you this was wrong, this was dangerous — you didn’t listen. You shut it all out. Because what did they know compared to your loving boyfriends, who spoke so sweetly to you and held you like you were such a precious, fragile gem?

So you relaxed. You relaxed into his hold, into their control. You gave yourself away to them, knowing they’d take better care of you than you ever could. And when you finally gave in, finally surrendered to them, they made sure to treat you so nicely that you’d never want to be your own person again.

—————

i’m back with… whatever this is. i’ve been very busy with school/life etc so haven’t had the chance to post anything til now. i thought i’d drop this random bullshit i had in my drafts while i get back to work on the wips/requests i have piled up. bear with me:)

comments/reblogs are appreciated as always. love🖤🖤🖤

[mabelstone]

Common Tongue

hozier x f!reader

part five of lullabies <3 | part four | masterlist

cw: 18+, oral sex, a lot of this is sex ok u should know me by now, the word 'balls', not much plot tbh

word count: 4.1k

taglist: @princezty @somethinglikero @jimihendrixpopfigure @the-imperfectgirl-blog @l1nd3n @yunonaneko xo

I woke in the delicious warmth of Andrew’s arms, his soft breaths against my neck sending a chill down my spine. I gently nuzzled into his touch, his arms autonomously holding me tighter. For the next week and a half, this was my morning routine. Also part of the morning routine was the part where I would slip out of his grip as gently as possible when I was on the verge of weeing myself.

I’d slip back into bed, entranced by the way sleep drenched breaths swam through the small parting of his lips. The way his muddy greens danced under his eyelids as he dreamt, and the way his thick lashes swept along his high cheekbones made it near impossible for me to look away.

We danced around the fine line of being lovers, friends, and fuck buddies, not even entertaining the thought of defining what we were. I knew it was all probably moving too fast considering I’d just gotten out of a relationship. Not that I really cared - Andy had a way of numbing me. Numbing the heartbreak in a way that I didn’t even have to acknowledge it. He made me feel happy and sexy and loved, if that’s what you’d call it.

Like he could feel it, he’d wake to me watching him, causing me to blush profusely and apologise. He’d either pull me in and kiss my neck and forehead, or remind me with a grin, “staring is rude, y’know,” in his deep, groggy morning voice. It was rare to catch him watching me sleep as I was the early riser of the two of us. But during the day, I’d swear I was his favourite sight. Maybe that was just wishful thinking.

This past week also consisted of numerous phone calls to Andy, all from producers begging to sign him to their labels. I was so ecstatic for him, but of course, he was overtly humble as always. After doing his research and attending a few meetings, he decided to go with Rubyworks.

“Andy!” I threw myself into his arms excitedly, squeezing him so hard, I thought he might implode. “I’m so proud of you… we have to celebrate!”

“I’dunno, baby…” he sighed, raking his hands through the back of my hair while I melted into his touch. “This all might blow up in my face yet.”

“Don’t talk rubbish!” I scolded him, peeling my face away with my arms still around him so he could see me frown. “And you deserve to be celebrated. And we have no plans for dinner. Please?”

“Because you’ve twisted my arm,” he gave in, bending down slightly to capture my lips in his. As if I had any control at this point, I autonomously kissed him back, a squeak leaving me when he effortlessly picked me up and sat me on his kitchen island.

He deepened the kiss, one of his hands squeezing my thigh, the other tangled in my hair. I sighed against him, my hands skating across his abdomen. His tongue slipped into my mouth, forcing me to swallow a grunt of his. Both of his hands now slipped up my thighs, stopping just at the crease of my hip with a firm squeeze.

“You’d better stop,” he warned, pupils blown.

“Or what?” I teased, hands now gripping his biceps. Fuck dinner. I’ll give him something better to eat.

“You’ll see later,” he promised with a kiss to my temple, sliding his hands off me. “Let’s get ready now, or it’ll be impossible to drag me out of this house.”

“Fine,” I sighed in faux disappointment, hopping off the table and dragging him behind me by his hand.

I put on my favourite dress; a flowy black number with a corset like top that did me lots of favours in the breast department. I wore some simple three inch heels, sheer black stockings, and a faux leather coat. My hair was slicked back into a wavy ponytail, complimented by some chunky gold jewellery to break up all the darks I had on. I wore Andrew's favourite perfume of mine, Jimmy Choo's Eau De Parfum. I'd always had an illustrious love for fashion, but oftentimes Joe had an issue with my style. Not Andy, though. His jaw just about hit the floor and he looked as if he were close to calling off our plans and just taking me to bed instead. Not that I would have protested... but no, tonight was about him.

He looked edible in a black button up and brown jacket, with those white converse's that were basically fused to his feet at this point. He trimmed his beard down and has doused himself in Tam Dao by Diptique, and when I say he smelt divine, I mean, I considered calling off our plans as well.

At first, we found ourselves in a cheesy karaoke bar that was walking distance from his house. We threw back a couple shots, laughing and cheering on both the good and… not so good performances. Andy always said that despite the voice he was gifted with, he hated singing karaoke. I eventually convinced him to duet Islands in the Stream with me. It was the most fun I’d ever had. He then gave his own rendition of Sex Bomb, and I hate to admit it, but it did something to me. We snacked on shitty street food as we passed through the weekend markets, enjoying our tipsy people watching.

After that, we found a dim lit bar in the west end with live music and cheap drinks for happy hour. We caught a taxi and walked hand in hand from the car to our booth. For once, I loved having everyone's eyes on us. I wanted everyone to see us together, though we weren't really together.

The combination of the sultry jazz band in the background mingling with the effects of too much alcohol too fast had me sliding my foot up his leg, getting a high from watching his eyes darken as he squirmed. He gave me a warning look, to which I innocently sipped at my drink and averted my head to the band, gently applying pressure to his crotch. I felt his hand grip my ankle, and when I thought he'd move me away, he ran his hands up my leg instead, stopping only when he reached my knee. I turned my head back to him quickly, my core growing hot at the feeling. He looked gorgeous, curls framing his face, his eyes fixed on me as if I were the most interesting thing in the room.

His stare challenged mine, almost daring me to keep going. The look in his eyes screamed, "see what will happen," and I have never been one to turn down a dare.

Drunkenly, I slid my finger around the rim of my glass, bringing the salt to my lips as I sucked my finger clean, making effort to show my tongue at first. I pushed it in far deeper than necessary, almost able to hear the way his breath hitched in his throat. His grip on my ankle tightened, and I applied a bit more pressure with my heel.

"I swear to God, I will throw you into a cab right now," his eyes were hooded and narrowed in on me. It felt like a stand off between a predator and prey, despite feeling nothing but safety in his presence.

"You wanna take me home, big boy?" I teased, relishing in the way his cheeks flushed when I used the ridiculous pet name. He loved a good double entendre. Well, triple entendre, really.

I reached across the table to grab his hands, running my thumb over his knuckles. Despite the often heated nature of our exchanges recently, I'd never felt more loved. Maybe that was the wrong word, it was too soon. I'd never felt more secure.

He abruptly got up from the booth, dragging me to the dance floor with him. I laughed wildly, the alcohol buzzing through both of our veins like a freight train. “You hate dancing!”

“I know!” He shouted back over the music, pulling me in close to him by my waist. “But you’re beautiful and you’ve been force feeding me whiskey.”

“Hardly force feeding,” I scoffed, slapping his arm playfully. We swayed to a cover of I’d Rather Go Blind by Etta James, giggling uncontrollably at how uncoordinated we both were. It didn’t matter, it felt good.

Then there was the feeling of someone bumping into me hard, followed by the cold of a drink soaking the back of my legs. I gasped, pushing myself further into Andy to get away from the feeling.

“Sorry,” the woman spoke with no sign of remorse in her tone or expression. Andy was quick to grab a handful of napkins from the table beside us, wiping me down as I blushed embarrassedly. I was sure I was hallucinating when I looked up and saw Joe smirking. Fucking loser.

“Andy,” I pulled him up by his coat from where he was wiping me down. “Let’s go.”

“It’s okay, darlin’, you can’t even tell-“

“No, Joe is here. Let’s leave, please.” I felt hot and nauseous immediately, the glint in his eye from across the room all too familiar. He was going to make me pay for leaving him.

Andrew’s expression turned unreadable, yet he still nodded and stayed close behind me as I quickly fled the bar. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I nodded, acutely aware of how dry my throat felt. “He’s just unpredictable, I’d rather not deal with him tonight. Or, ever for that matter.”

He just hummed in response, lacing his fingers with mine. He pulled out his phone to order us an Uber. I tried to protest, insisting that we hadn’t celebrated him enough. He shushed me with a kiss, reassuring me that tonight was wonderful and he was grateful. I leaned into his body while we waited in the cold, his arm around my shoulder as we watched the traffic pass us by.

“So you are with him?” Joe scoffed, seeming to appear out of thin air. I startled at his voice, scolding myself internally for peeling away from Andy so quickly. “And you couldn't fuckin' wait for the chance to steal her, could you?"

“We aren’t together,” I quickly interjected, ignoring the way Andy’s face faltered at my clarification. “And even if I was, we are over. It’s over. Don’t you understand?”

“I understand that you can’t keep your legs shut.”

I was taken aback by his comment, unable to think of a snarky reply as my cheeks warmed and my jaw slackened.

"That's no way to speak to a woman, show some fuckin' respect," Andrew growled, stepping closer to my ex, absolutely towering over him. Joe tried to get in his face, both of them puffing their chests out like two pigeons. It was kind of sexy. Is that horrible to say?

"Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?" Joe bit back, grabbing a fistful of Andrew's shirt.

"Stop!" I shrieked, grabbing Andrews' wrist, trying my hardest to get him away from Joe. "I want to go home."

"Home?" Joe seethed through gritted teeth, his face red as a traffic light.

Andrew shoved Joe back, sending him stumbling, barely finding his footing.

"Andy, I want to go home," my voice was fragile as I tugged on his wrist once more, his expression immediately softening when he saw tears in my eyes. He took my hand in his, leading me away as he checked to see if Joe was hanging around. Looks like the security guard saw him, thankfully.

The Uber rolled up two minutes later and I couldn't have climbed in any quicker. I was beyond grateful to be in a warm car rather than out in the cold with Joe.

"That was fuckin' scary," I huffed, throwing my head back against the headrest.

"I'm sorry," he cooed with a gentle hand threading through my hair. "I shouldn't have said anything to him."

"That was not your fault," I assured him, turning to look at those big, doe eyes that were starting to make me weak.

He gave me a half hearted smile and sat in silence for the rest of the drive. I wondered what he was thinking, but felt it was probably best to just let him feel how he needed to. When we got home, we thanked the driver and walked into Andrews house in silence.

"Are you okay?" I asked gently, standing by as he shucked his coat.

"Yeah," he sighed with a shake of his head, though it wasn't convincing in the slightest.

"Did I do something? Or, say something?" I prodded further, softly taking his hand so he'd look at me.

"Really, it's no big deal," he gave me a half hearted smile, squeezing my hand once before heading for the stairs. "I'm gonna go shower."

I watched as he walked away, wracking my brain for anything that could have happened. Surely seeing Joe didn't upset him.

Then I remembered how fast I was to reassure my ex that Andy and I weren't exclusive. Fuck. I planned out my approach in my head for a while so I didn't dig the knife in deeper.

When I made it to his room, he was in his closet with dampened curls and a towel around his waist, looking for clothes, I presume. I knocked softly to let him know I was at the door.

"Andy?"

He hummed in response, turning only his head to me.

"Is it because I said we aren't together?"

He huffed some half witted laugh, almost as if he were embarrassed.

I walked closer to him, taking his hand into mine. "Well we aren't officially together, Andy." I sighed. "But I guess we kind of are together, aren't we?"

That caught his eye.

"And," I continued, "I can't think of anyone else I'd rather be with right now." I took his face into my hands, pulling him close as I softly kissed him. His mouth was much warmer than mine and he smelt so fresh and delicious.

Each time we kissed, something deep inside of me sparked like a flint and steel. The near palpable electricity of that spark conducted its way through my lips straight to his. We found a steady rhythm that was soon forgotten, replaced by tongue and teeth, desperate for more. Without breaking contact, we staggered back onto the bed, only the cotton of his towel and the nylon of my stockings keeping our bodies separated. My hands tugged at his soft auburn curls, eliciting encouraging hymns of appraisal that I wished I could devour. His hands dug into my hips harder than he ever had. Not hard enough to hurt me, but hard enough to let me know he wanted me just as bad as I did him.

I moved my mouth to his neck, sucking at his delicate skin, feeling his pulse against my lips. He shuddered and gasped, desperately trying to grind my body against his. The sinful noises he made only made me crave him more, only made me yearn for his beautiful rhapsodies. To hear them alone, without the deafening ring of my own pleasure in my ears, to hear them without my own pants and sighs overwhelming his. Just him, all of him.

"Andy, I really want to suck your cock," I blurted, pulling away to look at him through drooped eyelids. "May I please?"

"Good manners," he joked, his eyes even more lidded than my own. "Of course, baby." He pulled me in for another kiss, his tongue gliding against mine as I let a hand trail down his stomach and underneath his towel. I felt him twitch in my hand as I started to stroke him, his groans reverberating in my mouth.

I had never wanted to knob somebody off so bad. I always hated it with whoever else I was sleeping with. There was something about Andy. He was such a giver that it felt wrong not to give him something back. Like I'd be missing out on a sacred experience if I didn't do it right now. There was no part of me that didn't get pleasure out of pleasuring him.

I pulled my lips from his, sliding down between his legs. I kissed from his jaw to his collarbones, to his chest and then his stomach, watching goosebumps form along his creamy skin, his calloused hands skating along my forearms.

I finally freed him from the towel, watching his cock jump against his happy trail. I took him into my hand, pumping his length a few times to see his facial expression change. My God, was it the most divine sight. Unable to hold off any longer, I licked a flat stripe over his tip, his precum dancing on my tongue.

"Fuck," he practically gasped, gently grabbing the back of my head.

I slowly wrapped my lips around his tip using one of my hands to guide him into my mouth. Without taking his eyes off me, he reached behind his head for a pillow, staring at me like he might die if he looked away. I didn't dare take my eyes off his.

I slowly took more of him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around him as I did so. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, borrowing a whimper from my mouth working around him. I pulled off briefly to blink up at him, "tell me how you like it, please."

He whimpered some response, nodding desperately. I put my mouth on him again, looking up for further instruction.

"Stick your tongue out a little," he breathed, the faintest of smiles on his face. "Good, now start movin', baby."

I nodded best I could with my mouth full, bobbing my head at a steady rhythm. I looked up at him through my lashes, my stomach flipping at the sight before me.

"Gooood girl," he praised me, freeing one of his hands from my hair to brush his thumb over my cheek. "Can you go a little faster, angel?"

I hummed in agreement, moving my head along his length faster, keeping my tongue out along the base the way he liked, making sure to hollow my cheeks the best I could. Not that there was much room for that. I moved one hand to steady myself against his thigh, the other slipping down to massage his balls.

"Jesus Christ," he moaned, throwing his head back. "Yeah, that's it. Just like that." My stomach flipped, my core on the verge of boiling over. I swear I could get off on the sight and sounds of him alone.

I took him as deep as I could, fighting off the urge to gag as he repeatedly hit the back of my throat. My jaw was aching and tears were threatening to fall from my eyes, but I was determined. I could tell he was close by the unsteady rhythm of his breathing.

He gave my hair a firm tug, a warning, almost as if to give me the option to pull off. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum if you keep going."

I hummed in acknowledgement, no shred of intention to stop in my body.

"Where, baby?" He breathed, the muscles in his stomach beginning to tense. I traced a few shapes with my tongue as a form of communication, my way of showing him where, looking up at him. "Christ, Y/N," he groaned, spilling hot ribbons onto my tongue, his hips stuttering beneath me. I kept my mouth on him as he rode out his high, his face contorted in ecstasy, brows furrowed, mouth agape as his euphonious appraisals slipped from it.

I pulled off, my lips swollen and red, mascara no doubt running down my cheeks, and now uncomfortably horny.

Like he could read my mind, he sat up pulled me into his lap, now kissing my neck. His beard scratched across my collarbones in the most tantalising way, his hands working quickly to unzip my dress. He did so with ease, slipping the material off my shoulders where it pooled in our laps.

"You are perfect," he sighed against my skin, kissing me hard as he palmed one of my breasts. I whimpered against him, my hands in his hair as he buried his face in my chest. One of his hands cradled the bottom of my skull, the other guiding my breast to his mouth as he flicked his tongue across my nipple.

"Andy," I whined, pure need unmistakable in my tone. "Mmh, need you, baby."

He flipped me onto my back without warning, sliding down the bed between my thighs. His eyes were hungry, almost primal. Despite his release only moments prior, he had determination written all over his face as he buried his face between my thighs, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses through my stockings. "Please, I need you now. Please, please," my voice was whinier than I'd ever heard it, so much so I almost didn't recognise it.

My dress was still bunched around my waist, but he didn't seem too inconvenienced. My stockings, however, had no chance of surviving this one. In one fluid movement, he ripped through the crotch of my stockings, tearing them thigh to thigh. I gasped, my stomach flipping at the gesture. He pulled my knickers to the side, sliding his tongue over my clit without warning. Instantly, my back was arching autonomously, my head already thrown back against the mattress.

His tongue flitted against me with expert precision, switching between sucking and licking. "Tell me how you like it," he spoke against me, the vibrations from his voice combined with his soft lips against the most sensitive part of my body making my head go fuzzy. I couldn't even respond, only able to fumble around for his hand.

He slipped two fingers in with ease and I nearly screamed in pleasure. Lewd, wet noises filled the room, my whines and moans somehow even louder than the physical proof of my arousal. His deft fingers worked me to the fastest orgasm known to man, hitting my g-spot with each thrust, his tongue signing love letters onto my clit.

I chanted his name like a mantra, desperately clinging to the bedsheets beneath me as I completely lost myself under his touch. The most incredible feeling ever ripped through my every nerve ending, every fibre, every atom of my being. I shook uncontrollably beneath him, toes curled, eyes screwed shut as I made noises nobody else had ever torn from me. This must be what heaven feels like.

I finally came back down to Earth, panting like I'd ran a marathon. Andy wiped his mouth on the towel, the most satisfied grin I'd ever seen plastered to his face.

"Andy, I-" I stammered, genuinely lost for words as I laid my head on his chest. "I owe you the world. What do you want? Whatever it is, it's yours."

"Are you kiddin' me?" He laughed exasperatedly, kissing my forehead. "I should be givin' you the world. That was the closest to a religious experience I've ever had."

"You'd better write a song about this," I half joked, shimmying my dress off finally.

"Way ahead of ya', darlin'," he sighed in content. "I need to do that more."

"You ruined my stockings, Andy," I sighed in faux disappointment, "but that might have been the sexiest thing I've ever seen."

Then he was back to his shy self, a bashful grin on his face that he covered with his arm, leaving my heart to soar within my chest.

Fuck. I was catching proper feelings. Like... proper. Like, L-Word feelings. The realisation hit me like a tonne of bricks. Andy was to go and record some songs next week. What if he didn't feel the same? What if he got really famous and left me behind? Was I just sex? Was he just a rebound? It all has really moved fast, I shouldn't be getting attached...

"I'm gonna shower," I smiled politely, excusing myself before he had a chance to say anything.

A million thoughts raced through my mind at once. Was I trying to sabotage this for myself? It felt nice to be clean, a nice reset. The water defrosted me, made me feel centred again. I dried off and slipped into one of his hoodies.

"I need to tell you something," I blurted, unable to stop the words from coming out as I walked back into his room.

i did some googling and there might be some confusion (or maybe not, but just in case) when i say stockings i mean toe to hip tights/hosiery. i'm australian lol i apologise if some things don't make sense... i don't like the word hosiery ok

[seokjinsonlyone]

mostest to leastest down bad members over their partner go!

tae: he'd wear a collar with your name on it if you let him like he couldn't possibly be anymore yours than he already is; willing to do any and everything for you frfr; and if u remember on jinny’s kitchen there’s this one point where seojin did like an employee evaluation for each of them and for tae he was like he’s very diligent and never complains about his work and that just made me think like if you were with him he’d do/go/wear whatever you asked no complaints all you gotta do is love him in return

jk: he's next in line bc i have him on the record saying 📋 🤨👓🤏 "i give my all to those i love until they break my heart" so it's safe to say that if you're his partner there's nothing he wouldn't do for you; like we've seen the work he's done with bangtan it don't matter how many times each of them call his name and ask him to help with something even if it exasperates him at times he always show up; so we know he's on the submissive side; also we know that he's a little brat that likes to play hard to get but a hopeless romantic at the same time so if you managed to get him he's bound to be head over heels

yoongi: next is our former tiktok star min “i do whatever they ask me to do” yoongi; like he did all the challenges his hoobaes asked him to do, he complained to iu face about her not inviting her to do eight on tour, whenever there was a ridiculous request from armys on live like show me your teeth or your hands or play us a song he always did it; he just really likes to be wanted so if you want him you have him and i'm pretty sure he'd be wrapped around your finger while he's at it

jin: i'm placing jin right in the middle bc we see just how much he's been on his i love army i live for army ever since he's been back and he does whatever we tell him for the most part so i do believe he'd have a good measure of down badness; however he is still very much an autonomous individual so like you'd have his heart in your hand but sometimes you'd have to squeeze it a little to get what you want LOL

jimin: this man is a baby and he enjoys being a baby so i feel like on the spectrum of down badness i think he'd more enjoy the feeling of you being down bad for him; he loves the power he'd have over you he'd relish in it giggle over it plot evilly over it get his rocks off to it fr; but honestly he's got that dominant protective nature running through him too and he likes to make other people his babies; so he'd definitely adore you as well you'd probably be equally down bad over each other but he'd try his hardest not to let it show (it'd be obvious to everyone)

hobi: second to last is mr i smile while i'm correcting; now he loves you for sure no doubt about that but he is nawt about to let you get away with any and everything LOL; he gives very much 50/50 in a partnership; a very balanced give and take; a very controlled push and pull; he seems like he'd thrive with someone very cool and independent who doesn't need or want him to primp and preen and fawn over them all the time; he'd still do it tho bc that's just who he is but it wouldn't be an excessive amount and like you got it but not too much now not too much

joon: i'm surprisingly putting joon last; it really is surprising bc he has all the makings to be at the top of this list; the loving, the longing, and the desperation; however it's all that that leads me to believe he would end up with someone who could ground him completely; like he frfr needs to be taken care of bc bro can be emotionally volatile; have you listened to rpwp????? like i know you've heard it but did you LISTEN???????; so anyway it is my prognosis that joon would end up with a partner that is all about him like they would go together real bad and they would not play about him; and it goes without saying that he would appreciate that immensely and at times he would probably literally kiss the ground you walk on (sex life would be insane); however i just believe he got a lot going on personally to be excessively down bad over his partner at all times

[retrowitchy]

Thoughts on snowbaird?

okay so: tldr --- > complicated but also not really

i view their relationship as like narratively necessary and crucial to the arcs of both characters and the overall hunger games story. obviously coriolanus' lost connection with and betrayal of lucy gray dictates the way the story goes and has sort of a ripple effect through the timeline as well. so in that way i can appreciate their relationship and the tragedy of it being the inciting point for a lot of coriolanus' decisions throughout the series and ultimately resulting in his downfall. there's a poetic justice there, a haunting love story that wasn't fated to be, that was destined to be the end of him in a literary circle sort of way.

if we're talking like...fandom terms, though. do i ship them? nah.

coriolanus doesn't really view lucy gray as an autonomous, free-living free-breathing person of her own. he's in constant awe of her, putting her on this pedestal of being something more than human (which is delicious narratively because it makes us feel as the audience that lucy gray really is a mystery, a fleeting moment, a song that disappears) and viewing her as a force that can save him, can help him escape from his misery. in a lot of ways they are textbook male manipulator and manic pixie dream girl (from coriolanus' own point of view). he has turned her into this dreamy angel when really she is just a 16 year old girl doing what she knows how to do to survive and live the best she can. and at the same time he also views her as an object, something he owns, something that he possesses. coriolanus is constantly thinking in terms of loss and gain, and how he can claim and gain as much as possible. claiming lucy gray, her being his, is a huge deal for him, a win. he's conquered the unconquerable. the girl who has charmed thousands, who has left trails of tears behind her, who has eluded the jaws of death is his. he views lucy gray as a win, as a prize. he's so caught up in his pride that he has barely any room to view her as a human person.

to be fair it has been a minute since i've reread tbosas, but the way i've always viewed it is that lucy gray will do what she wants and cannot ultimately be controlled and therefore had all the real power in the relationship, despite coryo having a much more literal power over her. the fact that her disappearing caused him to completely lose his mind just kind of solidifies that for me. snow might land on top, but a bird flying free doesn't really have to worry about that.

i also have some pending thoughts that i need to chew on a little more before i form any decisive opinions about how billy taupe's betrayal might have incited snowbaird in some ways. i kinda think lucy gray might have played up the flirting, the charm, the connection between her and coriolanus for the cameras and the audience, knowing billy taupe would be watching. i'm not saying their whole relationship was a sham- more that she started being extra friendly to coryo to get on billy taupe's nerves, which then led to coriolanus catching feelings and eventually lucy gray feeling something of her own back towards him. good for her, use him, abuse him, lose him! this is also interesting because a games-centric relationship played up for the cameras spiraling into something real? i wonder where we've seen that before. and we all know suzanne loves her parallels.

long story short i think the truth of snowbaird is that they were never meant to last. i don't think there's any possible timeline in which they could. because coriolanus needs to lock her down and lucy gray needs to be free.

[thefixations-ofmine]

Mister June and the globetrotter

Bucktommy | 3.3k | Rated G (sexual inuendos) Entry for the @bucktommywinterfest, round 10 February 2-8: Tommy in the firefighter calendar and Buck 1.0 meets closeted Tommy This Idea comes from this post right here, with a twist. Note: Bold italics are texts. Dash changes POV, star cuts time.

Main Masterlist | Winter fest Masterlist | AO3

So, were you hoping for anything from this date? Buck reads the text, surprised. The person on the other end - who isn’t Jodie - has definitely been woken up at three in the morning on a Wednesday and wants to keep talking? Well, he’s bored and could use the distraction, considering he just lost a very good fuck opportunity, so he goes on in good-old Buck fashion;

Not really. I don’t ever give it too much thought. It’s just sex for now. Buck presses send and then realizes that makes him sound shallow. Pot meet kettle. He goes on to defend himself: I move around a lot, settling down isn’t in the 5-year plan. The little white lie reaches its destination, then he sets his phone down to get the shower started.

I see. I guess that’s fair and keeps people from having expectations. Has to feel lonely though, no?

Buck reads the messages and there’s a pinch in his heart he can’t control. Yes. ‘Yes’ is the answer but he’s never said that to anyone, even to Maddie because he doesn’t want her to fuss over him on top of everything else - much of the reason he’s running around is to stay out of people’s hair.

The only thing he can come up with is to be Buck, again – or rather this persona he’s allowing himself to be – so he takes a photo of his naked chest from a low angle and sends it with a caption: Wouldn’t be lonely if you wanted to join. 

He feels himself grow hard as a pavlovian response to the sexual chase, and his brain absentmindedly captures a few extra shots, one precisely showing his back in the mirror down to the dip of his ass crack and sends them. His thumbs linger over the screen to add another quirky line, but the dots on the other end appear, and disappear, and this goes on too long for his liking. Before he loses his entire rhythm, Buck decides to leave it at that and jump into the shower, the scalding water feels good on his back, his hand finds refuge around his dick, the comforting gesture sending a jolt up his back and his low hum carries the desperation of a long day.

-

Tommy’s body goes so warm when he receives the pictures he swears he can hear the AC start running in the room. One photo shows the dips and valleys of his abs perfectly, and Tommy loves that he’s not dried-out and cut either. Despite the very short attempts at flirting when he was younger, this was the first time he got such explicit pictures and his body shudders when he goes back down to the edge of the screen where a very apparent bush peeks barely.

The second photo breaks his composure but his hand is quick enough to shut off the groan that creeped up his chest. That kid (Evan - his name sits in the raunchy greeting at the top of the conversation) is giving him everything he wants and it’s pumping up blood around his body at an alarming rate. He studies the way Evan’s back arches against the counter and how Tommy’s thumbs would look amazing in those dimples, and fuck-

This is affecting him more than it should. He usually has to go digging through pages of porn to find a body he likes and he shouldn’t, but he lets himself linger a little too long for his liking. He shifts in bed, not entirely sure what to do or even what to say.

He wants to play along, ask for more, but the poor guy probably thinks he’s volleying with a pretty woman and Tommy’s a fan of not building expectations. And, well, nobody knows Tommy is gay, maybe not even himself entirely but the way his hands are getting damp feels like a very autonomous bodily response to him, so he has to do something about it. Or nothing at all. Pot meet kettle, again.

He needs to push himself to do so but Tommy sets the phone down on the little table next to his bunk and forces himself to wait this out as he tries to catch up on sleep. He usually has no trouble falling asleep, but he finds himself counting sheep this time. Or maybe it’s to keep the impending truth he was growing in his pants at bay.

A call comes in just before his alarm, twenty minutes before they would all be free to go home. Chim grunts from the bunk below, seemingly more aggravated by the situation.

“Rise and shine, superstar,” Tommy teases, grabs his phone and jumps into his boots before running to the truck. The call came from across town so he gets a few minutes to scroll through his aviation forums as the engine carries them out. When the screen turns on, a notification tag shows that Evan had sent him four texts during the night. He can’t say he has forgotten about him, the pictures still haunting his thoughts, but Tommy hadn’t come up with an escape plan either. He has a quick look around and holds his breath even though Chim and Hen are sitting across from him - from the way things were headed, he could definitely have a dick pic waiting for him. He lets his thumb unlock the screen.

Shit. I’m sorry. That was too much.I guess I was still in the mood, you know…Fuck, I shouldn’t say that either. I’m a douche.Anyway, um. I have to be up early to catch a flight. So maybe talk later?

Tommy grins stupidly and the breath he held comes out in a broken chuckle. Evan has to be in his twenties. Early twenties, even, because if the pictures weren’t indication enough, that rambling nailed the coffin. And Tommy does want to keep talking to him, for selfish reasons or to see how this pans out, he’ll have to figure that out, but he has to be honest about the situation, for Evan’s and his own sake.

So, he sends a few texts and puts the phone in his turnout, not expecting an immediate reply;

All good. I get the fun behind this.I need to be honest though, I’m a guy. My name’s Tommy. I’m 36 and a firefighter in LA. I’m still up for a chat, just thought you should know.So I’m sorry you sent those photos, but they’re safe with me.Oh! And I have a safe flight, Mr. Globetrotter. ;)

Tommy feels the vibration of hope as soon as the phone hits the bottom of the pocket, and his heart picks up a few beats per minute knowing he might have a text from... No, Tommy shakes his head, don’t go there. Not a second ago he was trying to convince himself this whole deal should be left to a short and silly conversation about a wrong number. The truck pulls up to their destination and he can focus on doing what he does best.

It’s only two hours later when Tommy can have another look at his phone, and his stomach flips when the notification on the screen is just a random email. He chuckles, really shouldn’t be that bummed out, he thinks as he opens their conversation. His thumb hits the three dots next to the number and he goes to add Evan’s name as a contact.

Yeah, he’s fucking done for.

*

Evan puts on the blue LAFP t-shirt and lets his hands run down his front, admiring the color on himself and it’s evident how hopeful he is for the road ahead. He starts the academy in less than a week and it’s nerve wracking, but Tommy has been sure to guide him through the steps like a great mentor. And it’s been great finding a reason to keep talking to him, finally. 

“Tuck in the shirt. I know it’s not the army, but they still care about little details,” Tommy says over the speaker as he watches Evan try on the uniform. He loves how eager he is. He’s already noted that down on his recommendation letter. When Evan had mentioned moving back to LA, things just clicked and Tommy was the one to start talking about the job.

“Uh, yeah. Th-thank you, Tommy.” Evan proceeds to fix the uniform and huffs proudly as he twirls in front of the mirror. Tommy still thinks the boy is in on the joke and is trying to see where his self-control will break, then Evan grabs the phone and smiles and Tommy knows he’d forgive Evan anything. “What would I do without you?”

“You want an honest answer?” Tommy says and they both laugh easily.

They facetimed once or twice, or maybe five times over the last weeks, and each time the conversation gets deeper and more genuine, and Evan doesn’t know it yet but him being careless about his sexuality is doing wonders for Tommy on his end of things. He had been more than okay with seemingly sending risky photos to a man, and he even complimented Tommy at large when he got a basic selfie back for a profile picture. There was still one thing to figure out;

“Want me to drive you to your interview?” Tommy offers boldly, only slightly regretting it. They hadn’t had the talk about meeting in person and that could be crossing boundaries. Maybe Evan saw the wince on his face just then because he starts giving him an excuse.

“My sister, um Maddie, she just moved to town also. We haven’t really seen each other in a while. I asked her to come with me.” Tommy nods and smiles. Still, he waits for the moment Evan realizes he’s being pushed against a wall, like Tommy is out to play some trick on him. “I’d much rather see you at my graduation. If you’d like. Of course, um, no pressure, I-”

“I will be there, Evan.” Tommy says the words calmly even if his mind screams of excitement. He promises himself to tell him he’s gay before then. Maybe even let the station in on it as well; if he wants to believe in chosen families, he’s going to need to be honest and open.

It’s five months. He can do it.

“O-okay. I gotta go. I have a few things to do before I get there.”

“I’ll see you around, Evan.”

“Honestly, I never thought I’d love to hear my name out loud so much,” Evan answers and dips his head down. Tommy melts when he does that. He wants to kiss the top of his head and tell him he’s being so adorable. Then Tommy wonders how Evan’s name would sound coming out like thick honey on his tongue as he moans and okay, Tommy needs to end this video call right now or risk embarrassing himself.

“Think of a nickname, then. I call dibs on your name,” he adds with a wink and ends the call.

Tommy goes back to his living room where a pile of paperwork waits for him. The forms to be recertified for flying had been in his office for months, maybe a year, and talking to Evan had made him realize that every dream deserves a chance. So when Tommy convinced Evan to join the firefighting academy, Evan had dared him to get into flying again. Then Tommy talked to Bobby, and things started to piece together like a puzzle. He’d be transferring to Harbor station just before Evan graduates, and perhaps Tommy used his charms and wits to make sure his empty spot was warm and ready for Evan to make his probation.

-

“Maddie, you don’t get it. I-I don’t want to make a bad impression!” Buck waves his hand around as he refills his sister’s coffee. He sits at the end of the table and prepares for the older-sibling advice to be laid on him.

“Evan, I’m not sure I understand, didn’t you just meet Tommy? Actually, you haven’t even met him.”

“Well, it’s been months now technically. The academy alone lasted five months! And-and he’s been there every step of the way, I just-”

“Okay, okay. But let me say that again. This is the first time you’ll see him in person, Evan-”

“Buck! Um- ha. Everyone at the academy called me Buck, and I think I like the nickname.” Maddie sighs, annoyed. But she smiles anyway and proceeds;

“Buck,” she says the name with a faint grimace, “I just want to make sure you’re not expecting too much. I mean it’s one thing to get along over the phone a few times a week. Maybe it won’t be as sugar-coated in person. I want you to know that.” Buck takes a sip of coffee and a bite in his bagel. A quick look at his watch: two hours left before the ceremony. He needs to iron his uniform and grow out some balls. And convince his sister that he’s not reading too much into it even if his stomach does a weird thing now - like when he eats something that disagrees with him - whenever Tommy says his name because it’s his to say and that perhaps he recorded one of their conversations so he could listen to it on repeat while he fucked some pent-up anger into his cheap fleshlight. Shit.

Maddie is right, this could all come crashing down. Buck never thought he would find such a connection with someone, but it seems so obvious now; Buck had never given anyone a flying chance at a conversation, let alone parts of his brain he had never exposed. He’s not certain what that says about him just yet, but he’d lie if he said he didn’t hope for this to pan out well. Knowing someone in the LAFD right out the gate will be detrimental, and hopefully the coffee dates will also be fun.

“Anyway, I appreciate this, Maddie. I do. He’s just a friend. Someone I can rely on and who’s made substantial efforts to help me. I need that in my life. Everything is so volatile.” Buck feels all lovey-dovey now, and he reaches for his sister’s hands. “And I need you. So tell me, how do you like LA so far?” 

-

Tommy fidgets. Tommy never fidgets. But he’s sitting on a little white wooden chair in the back rows of this open-field ceremony and his leg won’t stop bouncing and he’s biting the inside of his lips and he’s looking around frantically and… maybe Tommy does fidget now. The ceremony is about to start and he needs to get his shit together because Evan will be one of the firsts to come up alphabetically and Tommy knows he’ll be scanning the crowd for him. It doesn’t help that today of all day the sun decided to be a menace to humanity. His hands are damp and his collar scrapes around his neck and Tommy needs to remember that he’s not at an army boot camp and he’s safe and sound.

He looks at the gift he brought to ground himself, but he wonders if that or his eagerness might freak Evan out. Then again, he’s meeting the man who shamelessly sent him pictures bordering on nudes for the past month and he hadn’t returned the favour, so he hopes that this gift can bridge the gap.

“Why does this feel like some reality TV show and you’re about to meet someone your mom picked out for you?” Chim jokes beside him, obviously aware of his nerves. He pondered bringing someone with him, but this was a good idea - Buck would have his sister, so he could have support as well. Who better to take that spot than mister comic-relief himself.

Plus, Tommy had made some efforts on his end, as he promised himself, so he came out to the station over one of Bobby’s amazing dinners as well as letting them know about the transfer, reinforcing how proud and privileged he feels to be part of this house. Their acceptance and encouragement had both been amazing and heart-breaking, bringing Tommy back to his childhood and how he wished someone had hugged him the way Bobby did. Tommy didn’t cry often either, but he did that day.

“He hasn’t been picked out for me. It was a weird turn of events, Chim. We’ve been talking for months. It just… feels like it could work out.”

“Yeah, some like to call that fate!” Chim proclaims with a nudge of the elbow. Suddenly, some bells ring and both of them startle, dragging their attention back to the stage. Tommy sits up straight and glares at Chim when he feels his shoulders bounce against his.

*

Chim is chit-chatting with Evan’s sister as they all wait for him to come out of the building. Which he does, twenty minutes later and suddenly Tommy wishes he had taken longer. He needs to calm the hamster doing a marathon in his brain. He needs to go back home and wear more ample clothing and leave the goddamn gift on the kitchen island, but those long legs straddle quickly and Evan joins them before Tommy can even swallow his fears.

The itching on his neck comes back but Tommy is good at ignoring it. He bounces on his heels a couple times as they lock eyes and let the rest of the world fade around them. He knows Maddie says something cheerful to him, and perhaps Chim joined, but for now Evan is beelining towards him and Tommy’s mouth falls open.

“Hi, Evan.” He finds the courage to say.

“Hi,” he whispers before crashing his face against Tommy’s and backing them into the truck. The kiss is clumsy and heated and perfect. Tommy curses the damn gift in his hands as he can’t let them roam over Evan’s back the way Evan’s exploring his chest. They pull apart just before the rest of Tommy’s body could start to respond.

“Was, um. Was that okay?” Evan asks, eyes amorous and fixated on Tommy’s mouth. Tommy manages to look around then and finds their guests gleefully looking at them. He never wants to leave this bubble, but-

“I’m so sorr-”

“No.” Tommy realizes he hasn’t said a word. “No, fuck, that was. That was… how did you know?” Evan gives him a face then and the details of their conversations come crawling back, or maybe Tommy knows he wasn’t very subtle on the ogling despite being behind a screen. His body feels heavy and grounded and he wants his lips back on Evan’s.

“Listen,” Maddie chimes in. “It’s warm, and it’s just shy of happy hour. You guys wanna join us for beers?” Us? Oh. A double date? Yeah, Tommy can do with that to ease the nerves and get a more sensible conversation going. He nods, then turns to Evan.

“Y-yeah, that’s okay,” the young man answers and before he can head to the car Tommy grabs his wrist.

“I have this for you. Special graduation gift.”

“The firefighter calendar?” Evan looks perplexed despite the smile on his face.

“Well, I never sent any spicy photos back so… I’m mister June,” Tommy says. The knot in his gut tightens when Evan’s cheeks go flaming red and he chokes on a laugh.

“I promise to make good use of it!” Tommy and Chim start laughing and it takes a moment to register in his mind. He goes; “Oh, no! Not what I meant, I-”

“Please. I hope so.” Tommy can finally bring his hand to the back of his neck and close the space between them in another searing kiss. One that promises so much, yet leaves everything to be discovered. Chim whistles and that’s a good thing, because Tommy has years to catch up on and he’s not above using the spacious back seat of his truck.

tags: @weewoo911 @hmg621, @chococara25

[paganminiskirt]

haii gooseberry number one fan here. whats yr thoughts on phylis ... i lov lov lov yr posts abt picking apart coyles character and lore hehe

“You're too delicate! You're too precious! You can't go!”

Well first of all, I love that she’s fat, in part because you can bet your ass that if she wasn’t, she’d be overeroticized and made the object of those shallow copy-pasted “awoooooooga step on me mommy” screeds that fandom regurgitates to avoid having to put coherent thought into female characters. Much like queerness and the role it plays in Coyle’s storyline, fat characters that are conceptualized to act as fonts of horror have traditionally reinforced fatphobic social norms. And because of the gory, grotesque conventions of horror as a genre, these cases are often distinctly more damaging and offensive than, say, a fatphobic character in a sitcom. (You can read more about this topic here and here.)

The voice acting carries all of her appearances, too. Her now infamous cocaine song is the first example to come to mind; that overwrought, wavering tone she adopts makes it sound like she’s always on the brink of breaking down entirely. The sustained anxiety created a harsh juxtaposition between her tone and the lewd lines she’s parroting (“fucking and fighting.”) The quote that I highlighted at the top of the post also shines. Gooseberry’s great vocal performance is cool not least of all because the last major fat antagonist in the series, Chris Walker, didn’t get a lot of lines. I’m midway through replaying the first Outlast, and I think the game treats Chris Walker with a lot more pathos and significance than many games treat fat characters of his kind, although that assessment falls apart once you get to The Murkoff Account.

Chris is the main villain of Outlast. He’s portrayed as brutal but also competent and deliberately ruthless, which implies that he’s capable of complex thought in spite of the dehumanization he endured as a variant. The contradiction there underscores the game’s main theme & the overarching tragedy and atrocity of Mount Massive. In the end, Chris is brutally murdered on screen, and you could argue that the imagery incorporated in his death scene - that of expanding and blowing up - has fatphobic undertones. But unlike Rick Traeger and Eddie Gluskin, who meet similarly grizzly fates, the audience surrogate Miles directly suggests that the viewer should sympathize with Chris after his death. Somehow, Chris emerges as the least monstrous of the three, no matter how much abuse was piled onto his body and mind, and no matter what crimes he committed under that duress. Overall, Outlast presents him as a relevant, memorable, and fully autonomous character. Not bad, for a game that came out while The Biggest Loser was still airing on NBC.

But the comics have a lot less time to develop Chris than the game did. In The Murkoff Account, his main purpose is to act as a human example of broader institutional cruelty, much like Billy Hope did in Outlast. That position naturally invites the audience to view Chris as victimized and, to an extent, sympathetic, but his only notable characteristic outside of that victimization is a childish inability to control his aggression or prevent himself from being bullied. Those two details seem to form a paradox, right? Chris is a former military police officer, he brags about knowing judo, he should be able to get his coworkers to shut up and stop making fun of him. But he lacks the drive, conviction and strength of will necessary to do that. He’s basically a big baby, characterization which is reinforced by the comics’ art style.

Compared to the thin characters, Chris isn’t allowed to act with nearly as much autonomy as he did in the game. What happens to him in the comics could happen to anyone, and the only distinctions relevant to him as a person are crass stereotypes revolving around his body. The cost of expanding on the game’s lore was that the main villain got whittled down to the latent antifat tropes which had always lingered just below the surface - Chris doesn’t get to be a mad doctor like Trager or an abhorrent admirer like Gluskin. Instead, he’s the stout strength trope, he’s the fat idiot trope, and he expands on the pig imagery. Not great times.

And Gooseberry was probably influenced by Chris. She’s fat, she’s strong, she’s associated with an animal, and to an extent, she’s infantile! Although I think that her characterization as hysterical and not fully in control of herself is less a manifestation of fatphobia, as it was with Chris, and more a direct allusion to antiquated perceptions of mentally ill women. “Goose” is itself old-world slang for a silly or witless person. If one thing has emerged from my thoughts on Coyle, it would be that the writers of Trials are a lot more conscientious of social perceptions and stereotyping than the writers of Outlast were. It’s natural for a series that’s been going on for this long to begin to develop redundancy, but Trials’ 1950s setting and new game mechanics help gloss over that. Phyllis’ asserted sexual relationships with in-game characters struck me as unnecessary, but fat women (like dark skin women) are often depicted as masculine and drained of eroticism, so. You win some, you lose some.

You can read Gooseberry as a sort of a combination between Chris and Eddie, with her body and maturity interconnected to present her as disturbingly naive and immature in contrast with the great violence she enacts. This is a concept also explored with Eddie Gluskin: his hand-wringing need to preserve his would-be victim’s “chastity” becomes bizarre and unsettling when pushed up against the graphic, vindictive misogyny. Similarly, one reason the chases with Chris are so unbearably scary is because the sound of his clinking chains gets louder and louder as he gains on you, but he also does this laborious breathing when he runs which emphasizes his weight. When Phyllis chases you, you hear Futterman’s drill and the sound of her mindless shrieking - it’s terrifying in a way that doesn’t incorporate her fatness into the fear factor. Love that. The same unfortunately can’t be said for her implied DID, a demonization which is unfortunately very common, very old and very damaging all at once. (You can read more about that here, and in tons of other places.)

Michel Foucault used a two-pronged framework to examine popular narratives about The Plague and pandemics in general. Within this framework, there is one “political” story model which is defined by a controlling environment and another “literary” dimension which is defined by a collectivized, frenzied environment. Perhaps because Outlast: Trials was developed amidst a pandemic, I think Foucault’s framework translates nicely to examining Trials’ narrative about the cold war and the red scare. Some common themes include mass hysteria, xenophobia, heightened interpersonal suspicion and a seemingly unprecedented increase in government control.

On the surface, Coyle would represent the “political” dimension of Trials’ horror, acting as an exaggerated, kinda ridiculous extension of the extreme social control that white supremacy & patriarchy enforce. Within this dichotomy, Gooseberry would represent the “literary” dimension of the game’s horror, acting as a chaotic dissolver of all social barriers rather than an enforcer of them and creating a frenzied, carnival-like effect within anyone who comes under her spell. The children who watched her old show and took to violence and drug consumption come to mind; regardless of background, parenting or culture, Phyllis changed them. She didn’t even have to see them in person. She did it over the TV.

Gooseberry [hosted] a children's variety show known as 'The Mother Gooseberry Hour” [produced by Futterland Studios] which started airing in 1951. Following Dr. Futterman's death, the cause of which is still unknown, she had a hysterical episode and began experiencing dissociation. The tone of the Mother Gooseberry Hour shifted accordingly. Throughout her tenure on the show, she used her television platform and mail-order "dental drops" business to get children addicted to narcotics, violence, theft, and possibly murder. Over the years, the children watching her show became cult-like, engaging in immoral behavior, drug use, and other shenanigans, leading to larceny and assault. In 1955, Futterland Studios was raided by the police, after which she was charged with racketeering, kidnapping, and conspiracy to commit murder. The raid left two police officers dead and five others injured, as she escaped into the tunnels beneath the set to attack them with drills. It is unclear exactly what was inside Futterland Studios, but police captain Stanley Hoad described the contents of the studios as "The most grotesque architectural perversion since H.H. Holmes’ Chicago Murder Castle.”

Trials is the first Outlast game to allow us to have character customization, and unlike the previous protagonists (who both get stand out from the other characters by being in some way Special within the setting,) the Reagents are intended to act as an endless supply of nameless, faceless grunts, the vast majority of which will die gruesome deaths during the guinea pig stage. In this game, we play as the people who would’ve been those nameless, faceless heads we see on the shelves in Outlast, or hanging from a tree branch in Outlast 2. The game’s customization elements are justified in-universe by the notion that they’re so addled that they can’t even establish a stable perception of their own features: an example of the collectivizing, depersonalizing nature of the literary dimension if I’ve ever seen one. As the popularity of the customizable character feature ebbs and flows, other franchises pull it out just out of laziness in the creative department. With that in mind, I’m really glad Trials did something cool and innovative with the concept instead of just dumping in RPG elements for no reason.

Phyllis’ multiple personas mimic the changeable qualities of the Reagents themselves, though they’re grounded in her stated backstory: there is the doll, the dead abuser, and there is her, the child-turned-woman reenacting that trauma seemingly without fully grasping what’s doing. We’re left with this character who’s genuineness we’re always unsure about, in hard contrast to Coyle’s blunt, undisguised self-servingness and complete lack of conscious guile or shame. The first time the player gets up close with Phyllis will be in the kill animation, where she nods at the puppet she thinks is her father before slaughtering you unceremoniously. Who can say for sure, if Phyllis is more malicious or misguided? Not us, not the other Reagents, not Murkoff, and least of all herself. I’m glad she was included.

[if-loki-was-a-fox]

Thinking once again about my headcanons on John vs the usage of his hand,, I have so many vibes in my head about it but it's so hard to put into words for no reason

I just like the idea that with how badly Arthur reacted to the idea of John controlling parts of his body in s1, and how bad they are at communication after that, that John just spends s2-4 making a conscious effort to be as unobtrusive as possible with his hand. At first mostly because it's impractical for manipulating Arthur, but then because he starts actually caring about Arthur's comfort and autonomy, and giving him whatever small happiness and relief from The Horrors is available

Which ofc becomes a significant issue in s4 when he's getting frustrated with his lack of agency for all those other reasons, being just a voice confined to someone's head, having secrets he's not allowed to share, deals he is forced to complete... Because now on top of that, he's also been suppressing his own bodily autonomy for Arthur's sake w/o realizing that Arthur hasn't even wanted or cared about that for so many seasons atp (and would probably be actively supportive of him being more autonomous with his arm, so long as it's not gonna get them in trouble in public or such). So then John's just kinda unfairly resenting Arthur a little bit for that, and wanting to metaphorical claw his own non-existent skin off over feeling like he can't even use his own fucking body parts to do what he wants w/o feeling like he's going behind Arthur's back and/or taking advantage of him further

And then s5 they finally, finally start to communicate and work on the balance of agency and autonomy in their dynamic, and John's finally allowing himself to accept and rely on Arthur's love and trust for him, and his own for Arthur, now that those emotional walls are finally coming down (especially post part 43). And John finally gets to internalize that Arthur does actively want him around, and has been saying "your eyes/hand" for the last four season for a reason, and does actually want John to consider himself as belonging here and sharing ownership over their body. (hence John's own finally switching over to "my")

Anyways. So many paragraphs to say "I think jarthur only hug each other post part 43" the handshake in s3 is the only on-screen physical affection we see with them, and john stutters and stammers over it for a reason

(I could probably word this better if it weren't night, so I'll probably remake this post later)

[itz-pandora]

i hope u know that i am so so fascinated with ur android shadow in the misc au, i love him dearly and i need literally every morsel of lore about him please infodump about him as much as you want 😭💖

-🤖

AW IM SO HAPPY YOU LIKE HIM, THAT MAKES ME FEEL SO JOYOUS!!

In his debut, he's mostly following directives, trying to be the soldier he was coded to be, until Amy helps him remember his original directive, to help others. It activates his failsafe, MARIA, and he's flooded with false memories of her. This causes him to help the rest save the day!

Shadow doesn't learn he's an android until Heroes, (which he might learn through Neo), and it's a TOTAL mindfuck. It really makes him feel awful, and that negative feeling gets multiplied exponentially after Prime, where Shadow gets reprogrammed by Nine (which causes him to be deathly afraid of Tails). Shadow, who had grown very close to Amy at this point, decided to separate himself from her as to not hurt her, since he feels like he can't truly ever feel love like she can love him, because of how heavy the weight of being an android isn't him.

SHTH rolls around, and him and Hazard are the protags! This is where Shadow learns he's partially organic, with Black Arms dna. They both end up getting briefly mind controlled by Black Doom, which is TERRIFYING!!!! Shadow literally can't remember anything while being controlled because it doesn't register in his system! Just results in corrupted files. This cements to Shadow that he's never truly free, that the most autonomous part about him is still something that's controlled, just another drone.

He projects his insecurities onto Emerl when Sonic Battle happens. I think I might make this the part where Shadow gets really broken down, to a point the self-repair of the black arms in his circuits just takes too long, so despite protesting, Sonic brings Shadow to Tails for repairs, and Shadow has a PANIC ATTACK. He's actually so terrified of Tails tampering with him that his system overheats and he crashes. After Shadow is repaired, he's less afraid of Tails, because he realized he'd been too harsh, but he's angry at Sonic, and he feels so violated from getting repaired without his consent when Sonic KNOWS what happened with Nine!

Mephiles in 06 doesn't help the feeling of being artificial LMAO, but I don't have specific ideas yet! Shadow gets MAULED in Unleashed by Sonic btw lmao. Also, I don't have ideas for forces yet!

I dunno when this happens, but Shadow does Sonic's top surgery! Shadow wants to go into the medical field so doing this didn't take too much convincing.

After Forces, Metal is freed from the Eggman Empire, and Amy finds her. Amy gets Tails to repair Metal, and she ends up getting cosmetic upgrades to look like Neo! Shadow feels conflicted about Neo, but takes solace in the shared artificialness. Neo dates Amy, and Shadow feels conflicted, since he wants them to be happy, but a part of him never quite got over Amy. Neo and Shadow become close, and Neo is the one who suggests the polycule! They're all nice together 💕

Shadow, Amy and Metal move to Earth when Sonic retires as a hero! (Mobius is different from Earth). Shadow takes college classes to be in the medical field. Even though technically he could download information directly into his memory, he prefers learning in an organic way to feel more real.

When Eclipse comes to Mobius, Eclipse wants to be social with Shadow and Hazard, but struggles. When Eclipse loses his temper he accidentally mind controls Shadow and Hazard in the same way Black Doom did. After a while, he stopped, and Shadow and Hazard were terrified of him. Shadow spent so many years trying to convince himself if autonomy just to be stripped of it again and needing to start back at square one. He has to take a few days off college because it leaves him barely functional due to the sheer stress and trauma he relives at once.

And that's most of what I have planned!!!

[tanadrin]

current fort screenshot (or one floor of it, anyway).

for this fort i purposefully embarked with a nearly-dead civilization, one that had only a handful of survivors and no sites. we chose an isolated spot near a volcano, on level ground, and undertook a project to ensure The Tufted Abbey would never be destroyed again

step 1: dig deep into the earth, just above the caverns (i like worlds with only 1 cavern layer)

step 2: start mining iron and flux in massive quantities.

step 3: start making as much steel as we can get our greedly little mitts on. turn it into chain leggings.

step 4: melt down the chain leggings. repeat step 3-4 to use the infinite metal exploit. we need a lot of steel for this project!

step 5: excavate a very large vertical space, and build our fort in it. line the walls of the cavern with steel. make the floors and walls out of steel. make the whole damn fort and almost everything in it out of steel. iron would do, of course, but any old human can work iron. steel is dwarfier.

the fort has a single egress, from which the deeper mines, the caverns, and the surface are all accessed; it can be sealed through a lever in the control room, cutting the fort off from the outside world completely. the fort is wholly self-sufficient once the switch is thrown.

but since we're roleplaying paranoid survivalists, we also need to consider what happens if something gets into the fort and is there after it is sealed off. what do we do then? well, that's why we embarked near a handy volcano. it didn't just allow us to build magma forges from the get-go (although it did also do that), it gives us a handy source of magma for the purge system.

the four grates at the corners of the main chamber all connect to pump-fed magma pipes and, through fortification-vents throughout the fortress, these allow us to swiftly purge the fort of any [CONTAMINATION] that might threaten our survival. the control room at the top of the fortress is the only room that isn't subject to [CONTAMINATION] control, allowing for a continuity-of-government situation for selected officials and soldiers who we know are trustworthy. it has its own small dormitory and food supply, long enough to hold out indefinitely in case a purge is necessary. once the [CONTAMINATION] has been dealt with, the magma can be drained into the caverns.

(although the fort has an autonomous internal power supply fed by turning an underground lake into an underground river, this power supply is designed to be flooded by magma last in the event of a [CONTAMINATION] event. although the fort, most furniture, and some of the more valuable goods like metals would survive a purge, some rebuilding would still be necessary.)

[slaughterhouseoflosers]

Hi yeah so I have a sims 3 save where I made all the kc characters so why not have explaining how that's been going be my first post on this sideblog.

Misaki and the writer failed at rollerblading together at the summer festival.

So I'm playing with performance/qol/bugfixing mods but no custom content so far. This means all the hair and clothing options are very '00s. Which I love, honestly, but it does make characters a little tricky to translate. Create a style is amazing though.

This is my first proper sims save in the sims 3 since I was a kid and,,, I've not actually finished making everyone because the actual gameplay part of the game. You know. That part. Is so fun that I stop making new sims so I can play the sims? Wild. Revolutionary. Sims 4 could never.

The other thing is I'm putting everyone in different households. This is great because they'll do stuff without me and bad because they'll do stuff without me. Vince did send his neighbour, the writer (Wren), a fucking love letter.

Sir please. Your wife. Your children.

Another downside to having everyone split up across households is that there's a lot of other sims in the world! This means you aren't guaranteed to stumble across any of them. Because there's other guys too! On top of this: half the time when I track down someone's house to visit them in order to force meeting them it says no one's home.

There has been one major occasion where showing up unannounced worked out: I had Wren visit Ronin.

This is when the mac and cheese incident occurred. I had no control over Ronin. He made that mac and cheese. He ate that mac and cheese. Wren autonomously decided they would also eat the mac and cheese. I did not prevent Wren doing this.

Do not ask me how I got here I was going to have Wren date V or perhaps Misaki but the relationship bars were rising so slow. And then Wren met Ronin, ate his horrific mac and cheese and proceeded to fall madly in love I guess?

Also I had V buy a goldfinch. He immediately put it in his pocket. No wonder it keeps pecking his fingers.

[patchwork-crow-writes]

I've had an interesting thought about Ralsei's manual.

At some point in development, we were supposed to be able to actually read it in-game, but this idea was scrapped. Instead, when we try to read the Manual, the narration says it makes your head spin and nothing happens. And I'll be honest, I thought that was a little odd. After all, though the manual we can read reflects a potential older build of Chapter 1, much of its contents are fairly accurate and could have been corrected within a short timeframe - on top of which, it is clear that some parts are meant to be gags (i.e. the whole Dog status condition that removes all your controls). But there isn't anything contained within its pages that proves particularly challenging or confusing...

...not for US, anyway.

Think for a moment about what the Manual is supposed to represent - it is essentially a spoof of an old video game instruction booklet, complete with an overview of the story, a basic rundown of the controls and the various functions that a player can perform with those controls. For younger folks who might not appreciate the significance, these things were ubiquitous back in the 90s and the 00s, and were often ignored by kids who just wanted to get into the game - that's the main aspect of the joke behind the Manual, that it's seen as entirely superfluous since Ralsei already goes over the main mechanics of battle in his own tutorial.

But imagine for a moment, if one day you were going about your life and you met someone who said a whole lot of stuff about destiny and prophecies and heroes, and then handed you what looked like a video game instruction booklet. Reading through it, you see that it breaks down your every action into button prompts for an interface you have never once seen in your entire life, suggesting that some force entirely beyond your comprehension is manipulating you through this said interface, and that you are not only have zero actual control over the actions you think you're performing autonomously, but also that the apparent goal of said actions runs entirely at odds with what you even thought your life was leading up to.

Makes your head spin thinking about it, right?

And I think that it's telling that when controlling Kris, we are not permitted to read the manual, but the data for the manual itself still exists in the game's code, and can be viewed by us through directly accessing it. I think this is significant, as it suggests that there are certain objects or concepts that exist in Deltarune that Kris is either unable or unwilling to properly comprehend, which in turn forbids us from comprehending those same things when attempting to interact with them through Kris. But poring through the game's code directly allows us to bypass that limitation, giving us crucial information and insight which would otherwise be denied to us.

In case it needs to be spelled out - the fact that the manual cannot be read by Kris, but CAN be read perfectly fine by us, might have in fact been a deliberate choice designed to reinforce the notion that Kris is a separate entity from us, and additionally to remind us that our goals (to play the game and see the story through to its conclusion) are not exactly aligned with Kris's goals, whatever they might be.

Thank you for attending my TED talk about an optional series of images hidden in the code of a hit indie game.

[ms-scarletwings]

New (Cursed AF) Invader Zim Headcanon:

Barring the potential for major acute blood loss, Irkens can actually survive a full decapitation.

And I brought substance to make the case with.

Cockroaches, one of the most infamously durable of real life animals, can live for several days, sometimes even weeks without their head. And for the most part, they still even act like normal roaches- crawling about, reacting to touch, standing around, etc. it seems the only reason this eventually catches up to the critter is because no mouth = no way to keep bringing necessary food and water into the body. If that were bypassed, however, it stands to reason the little zombie could thrive just as much as a headed roach.

Almost disturbingly, the head itself can actually last a surprising amount of time solo as well. Experiments with decapitated roaches show that after body separation, roach heads can still move their antennae for hours before succumbing- much longer even if kept refrigerated and supplied with nutrients.

One of the neat things about roach bodies that makes such a feat possible is how their nervous system is set up- simplified ref against what yours looks like below

Now, anyone who has ever said a roach can survive for a while without its brain is not being entirely accurate. Functionally, they actually have two sort-of brains: the main point of nerve centralization is contained in the head, which for the most part is a primary brain responsible for movement coordination, certain technical functions, interpreting stimuli that comes in from the antennae, and more. The second main point of interest in this system is a series of nerve clusters running down the insect’s abdomen known as ganglia (singular: ganglion). These bundles of neurons are not exactly brains in their own right, but they do function as an extended CNS that handles the control over the digestive tract, reacting to stimuli, leg movement, and other more basic bodily functions. These can operate the body on a primitive level after the loss of the main brain, up until thirst/starvation begins to run the wind out of the sails.

You know what sort of creature actually DOES have two entire complete brains? One up top, and an auxiliary backup a little further down?

If you were nodding along and saying “irkens!” Then you would be correct! One peanut and five more days in the bunker for you 🥜 ~

As is obvious to anyone familiar with the show, the PAK is an essential cybernetic addition to Irken biology, holding their gear as well as an entire digital backup of their personality and memories. While it serves many functions to the user, the first and foremost priority of one is to protect the existence of the meaty entity it needs in to carry itself around.

To that end we’ve seen some autonomous acts from time to time with Zim’s close calls. If you recall “Plague of Babies”, he… kind of died for a moment there, caught up in a wave of GIR’s lethally amplified stupidity. In response, his PAK appears to resuscitate him with a quick jolt. The would-be events of “10 Minutes to Doom” emphasize the necessity of the PAK for any Irken’s survival beyond several minutes, which directly implies PAKs facilitate a major biological process their natural bodies are no longer capable of alone. Personally, I think it might be something either neurological or related to respiration, on a hunch.

Well, whatever it is, they are toast without it in swift manner, and the PAK doesn’t prefer to be without its other piece anymore than the body does. Dib’s revelation about the technology described their relationship with its body like that of driver and car, but I think he’s missing something. The PAK is actually more than capable of carrying itself around without the body… at least for a time.

When I think about those things, a little dilemma pops up in my head concerning how they.. well, how they’re powered. It is never explained or demonstrated that they are given time off of the body in order to charge; however, irkens are probably advanced enough to have some smaller and sci-fi wildly potent and small energy source up their sleeves, but actually, that wouldn’t quite make sense here. Because Irken bodies still produce their energy the same way every other lifeform in the known galaxy does, with food. Lots of food, actually. They can mow through snacks at about the same rate as Augustus Gloop. PAKs don’t need to produce their own independent energy source, they just need to efficiently make use of what this organism is already evolutionarily fine tuned to do naturally. Now that’s smart engineering.

And so, like any respectable auxiliary life support feature, they hold some of that energy in a reserve for those crisis moments like in “Plague of Babies”, and also in a deleted scene made for “Abduction”!

Fun trivia fact, but originally that episode was supposed to feature a sequence where Zim nearly game overs again. He takes a gnarly hit and a literal plunge through open flames that knocks him out in a free fall.

Despite his incapacitated state, the PAK extends its spider legs in order to catch a walkway railing, both saving his life and proceeding to keep carrying his limp body to a safer location, until of of course, he comes to about a moment later and carries on.

And neither of these are the only times it’s sprung into action the moment it detects something has gone horribly wrong. When accidentally detached from its own host, an emergency response will be triggered within the PAK in an attempt to reattach with its body. Failing that, it attaches instead to… well, whatever it can find.

In “10 minutes to Doom”, this was unfortunately Dib, an incompatible match (or maybe it just picked an improper attachment site), and in the comics… things got interesting at a point or two.

So, I already know what happens when you separate an Irken from their spinal brain, but what about the cranial one?

Because, they actually don’t seem on the same level of urgent necessity? Now that I think about it?

The time machine kerfuffle and the brain eating parasite escape were both events this guy evidently survived, albeit not comfortably or ideally until the problem was fixed (I have to assume in part with GIR’s or the Computer’s help). Now that I think about it Zim’s incredibly fortunate that most of these more serious mishaps happened inside of his base. But it’s theory time.

So, we do this, to a hypothetical green bug bastard

For fun let’s say, hypothetically again, like the hardy earth roach, he blood clots quickly.

Well, first and foremost, that higher up nervous system blackout is probably going to cue the PAK in to begin the following protocol:

1. Activate an emergency response to quickly access the situation.

2. Immediately scurry the body the hell away from whatever manner of threat just shaved a little too much off the top, engaging in all possible defensive measures if necessary.

3. Devote the entirety of its remaining backup power (of which it would have much more stored within the headless body than if it were itself detached) into making a beeline for the coordinates of the nearest Irken source of assistance. On the homeworld, or any fully colonized planet, this would be a cut and dry matter of finding the nearest theoretical space clinic or whatever those freaks have (maybe those dbz regeneration tanks? Idk that would be cool wouldn’t it?). For the lone invader… home base is the next best alternative, being a secured location with plenty of resources and advanced technology at the ready. I would bet my own head that situations like this are a huge highlight to the prime value of a personal SIR companion.

Now, best case scenario for what this help looks like depends on whether we can save and bring the head along too. Reattachment and repair at that point should be a pretty simple matter at the tech level we are working with, afterall. But that’s again, the ideal case scenario. Could they just… regrow the head eventually? We don’t really have a clear answer on what the limits and capabilities of what the Irken healing factor is, but I want to at least guess that having a personal lab and assistant on hand is going to help. Bare minimum, a solution can get worked out to supply the body with needed blood sugars again to buy more time.

The PAK itself retains a pretty much perfect digital backup of its body’s memories, experiences, and identity, so it’s not like information has been permanently been lost with primary brain damage. Replacing the primary brain entirely might be as easy as backing up your iPhone and downloading everything into some shiny new hardware. Hell, it may not even need be Irken hardware!

Do you know the real disturbing things from “Dark Harvest” NOBODY brings up are???

Why the fuck was an instantaneous organ-swapping device already just something Zim was carrying around in his toolset?

And

Zim’s morphology was horrifically receptive to those dozens of xenographs.

Those human organs were actually beating, pulsing, absolutely redundant and unnecessary in his body, but completely still functional and healthy in the name of selling his act to the school nurse. He didn’t just clumsily cram a bunch of offal into himself, he competently integrated them into his biology and somehow wasn’t suffering like… the tons of complications you’d expect from trying a stunt like that.

And in the comics, there’s this other fella I just adore for how skrangly he looks, and believe it or not, his actual fucking name is Skrang.

He’s a smart guy, though. Don’t be fooled. And I mean like, a smart guy. And it’s all thanks to a little help from a little upgrade he’s been fitted with :)

So, I hope you take all the implications I’ve been building here and make what you will of them. I genuinely think an Irken has a decent chance of making it out of a beheading alive to seek sadistic vengeance another day. Do I think ZIM could do such a thing? Tbh, I think he’d have to rely on GIR to come in clutch, and we may know that’s a complete roll of the dice in any case.

Wow, this got morbid, but, par for the course really.

[fictional-library-tournament]

Prelims round 2, poll 5

Propaganda

The Lines Between, Dimension 20: Neverafter:

Contains all versions of every story ever written, told, or imagined - free existential horror with every checkout!

"You're nothing more than scratches of ink on someone else's piece of paper."

The Lines Between is a massive place between stories, and staffed by diverse and deific librarians who are just doing their best, such as Glossary, Key, Legend and Index. The library is physically made of books, scrolls, and parchment. Its areas include the Hall of Stories, the Canonade, the Tower of Tales, and perhaps most remarkably: a brilliant view of the Auroratory. It is a beautiful aurora borealis of voices, preserving auratory stories that aren't necessarily written down. It is possible to swim up and into the Auroratory

The Library, Clue/Cluedo:

Easily in the top 10 places to get mysteriously murdered.

The Incorruptible Republic of the Immortal Library of the Grand Architect (aka The Incorruptible Library), Girl Genius:

So it's an autonomous government under Paris, dedicated to protecting and giving access to books, who are willing to lend out any book to anybody. Their collection holds a lot of dangerous/important relics. The librarians are incredibly dedicated to their ideals and will fight to defend them. They are a powerful organisation and opposed to the main antagonist of the comic, who uses mind control ("to read what you want, you have to be free!"). They also have giant cats. The cats are giant and they protect the library and accompany librarians on detached missions. Enough said. Very cool library

It's a library hidden underneath Paris that basically serves as an independent country, because everyone knows better than to mess with them. They also serve as explorers and historians of the crypts and labyrinths that are underneath the city, and go on retrieval missions to collect rare books from dangerous places. There are also large cats that are protectors of the library, and all of the librarians are reasonable people who are both protective of their collection and supportive of general mad science shenanigans if they're for a good cause.

[philosophicalconservatism]

Response To Comment on Socialism And Radical Politics.

radical-libertarian

If you take the attitude that untested systems should never be tested, we would be stuck in feudalism or barbarism.

Philosophicalconservatism

I take the attitude that politically directed experiments upon millions of human beings is unethical. The free market system was not tested in this way. It was tested and established through a process of organic social development, not by political fiat. An emergence of full individual property rights over many centuries was followed by a technological-industrial revolution that made the cultivation of inherited land less vital, and other processes more important to the creation of wealth (processes which required the continual productive input of the individual owner in order for his position of wealth to be maintained, unlike the cultivation of feudal land). This was an unanticipated natural development.

The issue with radical ideology (of all kinds) is that a radical revolution which instantaneously unravels the entire existing order and replaces it with a new one (never before known within that society) is only conceivable in a context of top down political dictation and control. On their own, societies change gradually, and from the bottom up. An individual human being (a single autonomous person) can, at a particular moment in time, choose to completely change himself or his lifestyle. Entire societies, which are made up of millions of independent individuals and the immensely complex relationships that have developed between them, do not just decide at a single moment in time to completely and fundamentally change the way they function as if they were individual personalities.

Now a society may reject a specific government if that government has been widely abusive and oppressive, but they will either make superficial changes (usually in personnel) that still keeps the gist of the old system intact, or they will throw their entire fate into the hands of a tyrant-dictator to restructure their lives (Napoleon, Lenin etc.). The father of modern Conservatism Edmund Burke warned the fomenters of the French Revolution that this artificial ideological push toward a radical ideal would simply lead to an even purer political authoritarianism and of course it did. The Conservative is one who understands that freedom and lasting progress are conditions that must be grown into; they are a product of social development over time and not of political contrivance. Societies can be tweaked slightly for the good by political action in the short-term, but they cannot be remade in that way.

Here is a piece I did a while ago which may be of interest to you given your politics.

[mariacallous]

Five years since Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s government stripped Jammu and Kashmir of its autonomous status, the central government’s iron-fisted approach to the region has left it more vulnerable to regional and geopolitical threats.

While Kashmir Valley, which has withstood the brunt of armed insurgency since 1989, continues to simmer with militancy-related violence, the theater of terrorism has now extended into the otherwise peaceful province of Jammu. Since 2019, at least 262 soldiers and 171 civilians have died in more than 690 incidents, including the February 2019 Pulwama terrorist attack. The unsustainable and disproportionate loss of lives underscores the risks to both regional stability and India’s national security.

In 2019, the Modi government revoked Article 370 of the Indian constitution, which granted the state of Jammu and Kashmir its special status, annihilating the contested region’s symbolic autonomy. Concurrently, the central government also imposed an indefinite curfew in the region and used internet shutdowns and arrests to control and suppress the local population. The result was a transformed landscape. Already scarred by militarization, Kashmir became enmeshed in barbed wire.

This undemocratic exercise, though later stamped and endorsed by India’s Supreme Court, has since spurred further legal changes. For example, the local population no longer has access to exclusive protections that previously allowed only permanent residents of Jammu and Kashmir to apply for government jobs and buy property in the state.

In March 2020, the government repealed 12 and amended 14 land-related laws, introducing a clause that paved the way for a development authority to confiscate land and another that allowed high-ranking army officials to declare a local area as strategically important.

Local residents are appalled at the ease with which government agencies can now seize both residential and agricultural lands in the name of development and security—enabling mass evictions and the bulldozing of houses that are disproportionately affecting Muslim communities and small landowners.

Meanwhile, the ecological fallout from introducing massive road and railway networks, coupled with the addition of mega hydroelectricity projects, is polluting riverbeds and causing villages to sink. Since 2019, there has been a lack of local representation which could act as a buffer against massive development projects, most of which now fall under New Delhi’s governance. Meanwhile, the region’s unemployment rate, as of 2023, remains high at above 18 percent, as compared to the national average of 8 percent.

Over the last few years, the Modi government has also squashed dissent in the region by redirecting the military to maintain surveillance and control of the civilian population. According to the Forum for Human Rights in Jammu and Kashmir, over 2,700 people were arrested in the region between 2020 and 2023 under India’s contentious Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act and the Public Safety Act. Those arrested include journalists like Fahad Shah and Sajad Gul, human rights defenders like Khurram Pervez, and prominent lawyers like Mian Qayoom and Nazir Ronga.

Modi’s repressive policies have deepened the trust deficit between Kashmiris and the Indian government. The top-down administration has further sidelined local bureaucrats and police officers, further widening the gap between the central government and local ground realities.

All of this has not only pushed the local population into distress, but also jeopardized India’s already fragile relations with its two nuclear neighbors, Pakistan and China.

The Kashmir conflict, rooted in the 1947 partition of India, has led to three major wars and several military skirmishes between India, Pakistan, and China. And though the region has always been contentious—India controls more than half of the total land, while Pakistan controls 30 percent, and China holds the remaining 15 percent in the northeast region near Ladakh—Modi’s aggressive handling has further provoked its neighbors.

Following the revocation of Article 370, the region was split into two separate union territories—Jammu and Kashmir forming one and Ladakh forming another, with both falling under the central government’s control.

This redrawing of the region’s internal borders, which signaled New Delhi’s assertions of reclaiming the Chinese-occupied territory near Ladakh—as well as India’s increasing tilt towards the United States—resulted in a deadly clash between India and China in 2020 and another one in 2022. Despite diplomatic efforts to resolve tensions over the disputed Himalayan border, New Delhi has accused Beijing of carrying out “inch by inch” land grabs in Ladakh since 2020.

Meanwhile, Pakistan-administered Kashmir has been rocked by mass protests of its own this year, owing to the country’s political and economic crisis, exacerbated in part by the abrogation of Article 370. Those living in Pakistan-administered Kashmir fear that Pakistan may similarly try to dilute the autonomy of the region.

With refugees flooding in from Afghanistan on its west amidst Imran Khan’s standoff with the Pakistani Army, Islamabad has been on edge and looking for diversionary tactics. The deepening of Pakistani-Chinese relations, including military ties, has contributed to a volatile mix.

But Kashmir’s vulnerability has worsened partly because of India’s own tactical blunders, too. The last decade witnessed a spurt in home-grown militancy, but since 2019 the landscape has been dominated by well-trained militants from across the Pakistani border who have access to sophisticated weapons and technology.

Indian security forces, including paramilitaries and the local police, have turned a blind eye to these emerging threats, especially in the twin districts of Rajouri and Poonch along the border with Pakistan. It is in this area that the impact of terror attacks has been most felt.

The region is home to the nomadic Gujjar-Bakerwal communities and the ethnolinguistic Paharis. These groups are parts of divided families straddling the India-Pakistan border, and this shared cultural linkage between the Indian and Pakistani sides has been weaponized in the past by intelligence networks of both countries.

The Indian armed forces have historically relied on the Gujjar-Bakerwal communities for intelligence gathering in part because of their nomadic lives and deep knowledge of the region’s topography. However, since 2019, the evictions of nomads from forest lands, following the amendment of several land-related laws, as well as affirmative actions for Paharis, a rival ethnic group, have led to the disenchantment of the Gujjar-Bakerwals—and an eventual loss of traditional intelligence assets for India.

Another blunder has been the redeployment of troops from Jammu to the border with China in the northeast, following China’s incursions in Ladakh’s Galwan Valley in 2020. This has left Jammu dangerously exposed to militants who have been infiltrating the region from across the line of control on the western side and carrying out their operations with a fair degree of success.

In 2024 alone, Jammu has witnessed numerous attacks which have resulted in the deaths of 16 soldiers and 12 civilians. In June, for example, the region experienced one of its deadliest attacks when militants opened fire on a bus carrying Hindu pilgrims, killing nine and injuring over 30.

Kashmir’s internal politics has the potential to spill over and push the region into disaster. While India has made some significant strides in international diplomacy under Modi, it tends to neglect the neighborhood where the risks to India’s national security remain the highest. Its diplomatic engagement with China comes in fits and starts but diplomacy with Pakistan remains nonexistent, despite the resumption of a ceasefire in 2021. And while India considers the removal of Jammu and Kashmir’s special status an internal matter, Pakistan sees it as a provocation. All in all, there is a dangerous lack of engagement between the two nuclear rivals in South Asia.

In theory, the ongoing regional elections in Jammu and Kashmir provide a glimmer of opportunity for the people to choose their own local government for the first time in a decade. However, irrespective of who wins the elections, the local leaders will lack the power to enact meaningful change, given that the region remains under the control of New Delhi following its demotion from a state to two union territories.

For instance, Ladakh does not have a legislative assembly, and while Jammu and Kashmir have an elected assembly, the real powers are vested in the hands of a governor, who was appointed to lead the region by the Modi-led central government. As recently as July, the Indian government ruled to further expand the governor’s oversight powers, delivering a blow to local politicians and voters.

Much more needs to be done to change the status quo. Though it remains unlikely, New Delhi must consider meaningful solutions that could assuage some of the political wounds inflicted by the complete erosion of Jammu and Kashmir’s autonomy, including, for example, the restoration of statehood to the region. In order to win back the trust of Kashmiris, the Indian government must reinstate civil liberties and deliver on its promise to provide economic development and jobs.

To improve the region’s safety, Indian agencies must acknowledge their security lapses and repair their broken intelligence networks. And while the Indian security forces must not lower their guard against terrorist activities, terrorism should not be proffered as an excuse when it comes to the normalization of relations in the neighborhood.

Neither Pakistan, nor India can afford the war which is looming over their heads. Diplomatic negotiations, including over Kashmir, must begin with a sense of urgency.