#but i just can’t believe how they look at how their generation was exploited in the media

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

Not to talk about non-Taylor celebrities on my Taylor blog, but I just read that K*m’s daughter has a record deal and is in a role in a new Disney production at the age of 10 and I just… don’t understand how people in the industry exploit their kids like this. These kids don’t stand a chance and it just seems like watching a train wreck in motion. (I mean, I don’t follow these people and only came across this news by happenstance, but you know what I mean.) I know theatre kids would kill for this kind of gig but I just honestly don’t understand how parents who *know* what the industry is like would ever put their kids in that position, at least until they were of age and could make the choice themselves.

[glenscowboyhat]

i never lie (t.owens)

hi omg this is my first full-length tyler fic! actually my first full-length fic in like 3ish years so pls be kind 😭 this one is based off of the song i never lie by zach top, with a few little changes! i recommend listening to it beforehand but i don’t think you have to to understand what’s happening! i hope you like it 🥹

warnings. a few curse words, implied female reader but no actual pronouns i don’t think, implied smut but it’s like one sentence, and general bad writing lol, plus i really like commas apparently. lmk if there’s anything i missed!

pairing. tyler owens x reader, slight scott x reader

word count. 2k

꒰ well, it’s been some time, you still look like an angel ꒱

꒰ i heard you’re doin’ fine, got promoted back in april ꒱

it had been four months since you’d seen the infamous tyler owens when you spotted him across a random bar in nowheresville, oklahoma. “oh, hell,” you said, spinning your stool towards javi’s at the bar and putting a hand over your eyes.

“what’s the matter?” he asked, glancing behind you. “oh,” was all he muttered as he silently got up from his stool.

“wait, where are you going?”

“you’ve got company, darlin’,” he murmured before slipping behind you and out of sight. you spin your stool once more, confused, when you see him. “tyler,” you sigh.

“long time no see, honey.” he settles onto what was once your friend’s stool with a frustratingly beautiful smirk. “don’t you look gorgeous as ever.”

“did you need something, tyler?” you ask, trying to gather yourself. seeing him here four months after your breakup was jarring to say the least. you figured he’d probably be in this area. there were some massive storms that were supposed to come through within the next few days. you just didn’t know he’d pick this bar to grace with his presence.

“just surprised to see you here is all,” he said. “can’t believe they finally let you out of the office and into the field.”

just a month after your breakup with tyler, you started a job working with storm par. even though you hated what they stood for, all you wanted to do was help victims in the aftermath of destructive tornados. now that you obviously weren’t working with tyler and his crew anymore, you moved on to the next best thing, making it your mission to help instead of hurt. through everything, you had remained close with the rest of the wranglers, keeping them updated on your life. when tyler heard of your new position, he was absolutely livid. he couldn’t believe you’d move on to ‘sleeping with the enemy,’ as he called it, just one month after the devastating, explosive fight that ultimately ended your relationship.

you’d been working in storm par’s offices, planning each chase, for nearly a month before you were promoted in early april to join scott and javi in the field. once again, tyler was pissed when he found out. you’d already hurt him by even agreeing to work with the exploitative company, but now you were putting yourself in danger on top of that, and he wouldn’t be around to protect you. it killed him to think about anything happening to you, but he was so angry and resentful towards you about the whole situation. he let his pride and his hurt block out how his heart truly felt about you.

꒰ and you met someone, your dad says he’s okay ꒱

“and you met someone, i hear.” you had. well, kind of. about a month after starting at storm par, you were still torn up over tyler. just as you were now, though you’d never admit that to him. he’d really hurt you all those months ago. anyway, scott was there to help you forget about the tornado wrangler. you both knew he was just a rebound, but scott quite enjoyed the late nights he spent with you in dingy motel rooms, and, more than anything, he really loved pissing tyler off. he knew that being with you got under tyler’s skin in a way that nothing else did, and you relished in the attention he showed you. though, it would never compare to that of the arkansas cowboy you’d grown to love so much.

“yeah, i guess so,” you meekly nodded. being so close to him again was making your chest burn and your eyes sting, and this conversation was terribly awkward. you wished the sticky floor of the bar would just open up and swallow you whole.

꒰ well, i’ve never been better, things are going my way ꒱

you were beginning to wonder what his motives were for coming over here. that was, until he began to speak again. “well, i just wanted to tell ya that the fans really miss you on the streams. although, did you hear we hit a million subscribers?” boone had excitedly told you about it the day it happened. you were thrilled for them, but you couldn’t ignore the pang in your chest that stemmed from the reminder that you wouldn’t be there to celebrate with them all. “yeah, ty. looks like things are really going your way,” you smiled. you were happy for him. you had to be.

꒰ i sleep like a baby; i never show up late for work ꒱

꒰ i don’t drink whiskey; i don’t know how it feels to hurt ꒱

“mhm,” he hummed. “i barely know how it feels to hurt anymore. i sleep like a baby, and we’ve caught every storm we’ve been in the area for for weeks now.”

you will the tears from your eyes as you force a smile. “that’s really great, tyler. i’m glad to hear you’re doing so well.”

꒰ oh, and i ain’t been lonely since you said goodbye; i wish i could say i miss you, but you know i never lie ꒱

꒰ yeah, i met somebody too, she’s a model out in l.a. ꒱

꒰ and she’s begging me to move, she says malibu is really great ꒱

꒰ ain’t decided if i’m going or not, but at the end of the day…꒱

“thanks. i met someone too, you know. her name’s emily. she lives in the dallas area, does modeling for a couple magazines out there. she says it’s really great.”

your throat squeezes even tighter; you know he’s trying to get a ride out of you on purpose now. you know, deep down, that you’ve hurt him by going out with scott. you steel yourself before responding. “oh, yeah? you gonna sell your place in little rock?” he half scoffs, expecting a different reaction. “ain’t decided yet. but at the end of the day, i’m good wherever i am.”

you give him a half-hearted grin, already starting to slip off your stool. “i’m happy for you, ty.” you say before subtly bolting out the entrance of the poorly lit room.

the second you hear the heavy door slam behind you, you begin gasping for air. hearing how well tyler was doing without you was quickly sending you into a tizzy. you try to stall your tears and calm your breathing, but the air around you is too thick, your skin too warm, and the hurt too intense. your chest feels as if it’s closing in on itself and you’re not sure what to do, and then you see them. the other wranglers are suddenly surrounding you. “y/n? are you alright? what happened?” lily asked. you shake out your hands, trying to control your breathing. “it’s-” deep, shaky breath. “it’s nothing. i’m fine. i’m fine.” they all continue to eye you, not quite knowing what to say, until boone speaks up. “oh, shit,” he whispered, mostly to himself, though you all heard it. “what?” dani asked. boone looks at her with wide eyes, “tyler’s been in there for a while already.”

you finally get your breathing semi- under control and nod. “i’m okay, i just- tyler was telling me how well he and you all are doing and it just.. kinda threw me. but i’m alright.” they all share a puzzled look before looking back at you with furrowed brows. “he told you he was doing well?” you nod once more. “yeah, said he sleeps like a baby, and that you guys haven’t missed a good storm in weeks,” you explain. they all collectively scoff before boone shakes his head. “that’s such bullshit. i had to share a motel room with him a few weeks back, he didn’t stop tossing and turning ‘til nearly four in the morning.” your brows raise. “yeah, and we literally missed what would’ve been a stunner just last week cause he couldn’t get his shit together in time,” lily adds. you shake your head in disbelief. “he told me he met someone. emily, i think?”

“oh, you mean that girl he went on three dates with before he decided she wasn’t what he wanted and sent her back to texas?”

now it was your turn to scoff. “what? why would he lie?” you had a little bit of an idea, but you didn’t want to get your own hopes up for no reason.

“y/n. you and i both know that he told that girl it wouldn’t work out because he’s not over you,” dani said. your eyes blur again. god, you really wish they’d stop doing that. “i- i don’t know why he’d tell me he found someone else if he hadn’t,” your voice breaks as dexter quietly slips away from the group and into the crowded bar. “who knows why tyler does anything? all i know is that he loves you more than-” she’s interrupted by the heavy door behind you busting open. “y/n,” tyler breaths. you’re frozen, eyes glued to him. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to upset you. i’m not with emily, and i haven’t slept properly in months. i miss you like crazy,” he steps toward you hesitantly. “i promised you i’d never lie to you and i broke it. all i ever do is hurt.”

the dam finally breaks and your tears begin to soak your reddened cheeks. “nothing is going the way i want it to now that you’re not with us, with me. i just wanted you to miss me the way i miss you but i went about it all wrong. i’m so sorry.”

you laugh humorlessly, “tyler, scott and i were never serious. he and i both knew that i never got over you. i miss you more than anything. i miss all of you guys,” you go to gesture behind you, suddenly realizing that the rest of the wranglers had disappeared, leaving the two of you to work this out. you turn back around with a small, watery smile on your lips. tyler has a twinkle in his eye as he takes another step toward you, hesitantly reaching for your hands. “honey, what’ll it take for you to take me back? i’m miserable without you.” his eyes are teary now, too.

your smile grows. “i’ll take you back, ty, as long as you promise to never lie to me again.”

he grins, his smile brighter than you think you’ve ever seen it as little tears drip from his eyes. “never again, baby. i promise, for real, this time.”

your laugh is genuine as you lean in to press your lips against his for the first time in far too long. as you pull away, your brows furrow once more. “how’d you know i was out here, anyway?”

tyler lightly squeezes your hips before answering, “dexter came into the bar just a few minutes before i came out here. he found me and told me that i better get my ass outside and try and get my girl back before it was too late. told me i had upset you pretty bad. i ran through the crowd as fast as i could to get to you; i had to tell you that i hadn’t meant to hurt you.”

you place your hands on top of his, running your thumbs over the tops of his knuckles. “it’s okay. i didn’t mean to hurt you either. i was just… having a hard time functioning without you and scott was there to take the edge off. i should’ve known it was a bad idea.”

he places a hand on your cheek, squeezing your hand with the other, still on your hip. he brings your lips to his again, putting all of the unspoken words and wasted time into the sweet kiss. “everything’s okay, now. but you gotta tell scott that it’s over between you.”

you giggle. “i’ll text him the minute we get back inside.” he lightly pinches your hip as he grins. “good. now come on, sweet thing. i’ve got a lot of time to make up for.” he slides his arm around your waist as the two of you begin to make your way back into the rowdy bar.

“hey, ty?”

“yeah, baby?”

“can i come back to the wranglers? storm par is so boring in comparison.”

he laughs loudly before proudly answering, “absolutely, honey. it’s great to have you back,” he responds before leaning in for one last sweet kiss.

꒰ wish i could say i hadn’t missed you, but you know i never lie. ꒱

[puppetwoman17]

I wonder what the batfam's reactions would be if the joker escapes wherever they sent him to, finds Tim on patrol and was like "Long time no see JJ," and then going on about how he should come home with him back to arkham and he'll help him "recover" and are trying to get to Tim's location as fast as they can while listening in on comms?

This was actually a scenario I thought of the day I found out about JJ. I feel like after what happened, Tim would do the opposite of what Jason would and has done. Instead of going to find the Joker, he would stay as far away from him or even his goons as possible. It would be like the third Robin and the Joker had no history, nothing to tie them together(which probably made Jason angry at some point).

So when he breaks out of Arkham(AGAIN, jesus), Tim, Babs, and Bruce don’t waste a minute before bringing up that Tim has another case he has to work on that is of the “upmost importance”. It’s actually just a 12 year old homicide cold case that he solved a month ago but no one has to know that. Jim knows to sweep that under the rug when RR comes by with the same exact evidence he came with a month ago.

But Lady Luck has never been on Tim’s side. The rest of the bats quickly lose track of the Joker. Babs manages to find him, but by that point, it’s too late.

Joker finds him. And he recognizes him. Underneath the new name, costume, and styled hair, Joker finds his “son”.

As you can imagine, he’s over the moon. But he’s also just as angry.

“Junior! You don’t call, you don’t text, you don’t send out an email. What’s a pop got to do to get their son to notice them?”

“I’m not your son.”

“Not with that hair you’re not. Your skin’s not how I left it at all! And what happened to that beautiful smile of yours? Did the bat ruin that too?”

Tim doesn’t take jabs about his smile well. This is why. And it gets under his skin that even after using so much foundation and concealer, the Joker can still see the remnants of smile lines along his cheeks.

“You’ve been avoiding me, Junior. You know papa doesn’t like being ignored.“

“You’re not my dad.”

“Ha! Who is then? Certainly not the old bat. Anyhow, this isn’t about him. It’s been so long, kiddo. Why don’t we stop by the old warehouse and have a chat. Maybe even pick up Mama while we’re at it.”

“Harley would rather die than go with you, and I’m not following you anywhere. Batman already has your location.”

That brushes the smile off the freak’s face. The expression he has on now is sickly reminiscent of how he was when he, Tim, and Harley played family years ago. It’s not a look he gives to other people. No one else has seen it, so they might think Tim a liar. But he can’t deny the parental disappointment in the man’s eyes.

“I know they don’t know.”

Now that. That really gets to him.

“None of your business.”

“It it, but you’re welcome to deny it. I believe it’s just the old bat, the beat up cop, and Ms. Gordon, correct? Not even the first Robin! Ha! I wonder what the second bird would think. Not to mention the girls! Oh! And we can’t forget about little old Signal.”

Tim doesn’t need him to tell him. He’s gone over the scenario so many times it drives him mad. What each of them would say. What he could do to make them think differently. What he would have to do if they found out. Where he could run to. It never gets easier.

Joker is trying to scare him. That’s the only conclusion he definitively has. And aside from his general psychotic tendencies, he genuinely believes he and Tim are family.

By the time Batman arrives with the GCPD, the Joker is tied and ready for extraction. But the villain’s smile is no less fear-inducing.

“You know I’m right, my boy,” he says as he’s take into the back of a truck.

“They’ll never look at you the same way again.”

It’s only when everything is over that Tim takes the time to look over his gear that he finds his mistake. One that the Joker knew about. One that he exploited.

When he shut off the comms, he didn’t shut them off. In his delirium over his past, instead of closing them off, he muted them. While he couldn’t hear any of their chatter, they definitely heard his. And he didn’t send Babs his acceptance to shut his comms off, something she couldn’t do without express permission.

So when he unmuted the comms, you can only imagine what he heard.

[alastoridiot-meta]

I CANNOT let this continue to be the false narrative throughout the fandom so let’s just talk about Alastor and whether he will be redeemed.

The simple answer I have to this is… absolutely. Like what do you think the message of this show IS.

Alastor is a charming and likable character. He’s edgy and soft and rigid in all the right ways for fandom to take and hold onto him. Viv has said before, along with what is shown in the show, that he tends to have a weird and sort of warped morality.

On one hand, he has no problem threatening Husk, torturing overlords, and overall being a nuisance to every powerful male character that he comes in contact with.

But on the other hand, he believes in being able to control YOUR OWN fate, as said in his fight with Adam “you should know more than anyone what a soul can do when they take charge of their own fate”, implying control over one’s personhood, destiny, and general LIFE. In fact, it’s this sentence that just speaks to so many of Alastor’s true ideals in consent and soul contracts. Like yes he owns huskers soul and maybe nifty’s, but husk only furthers my own agenda of “Alastor targets people with power”, for one reason or another, those people are overlords. HE EVEN IMPLIES IN STAYED GONE THAT HIS TRUE INTENTIONS ARE DISTURBING SYSTEMS OF POWER, GOING AGAINST THE STATUS QUO.

And i know it’s wordplay for destroying the Vee’s, but with the combined evidence of: the Vee’s being the main metaphors for exploitation and taking AWAY control over one’s fate, along with heaven and what the hotel stands for, this makes perfect sense as to WHY he joined the hotel in the first place. Because it’s not for entertainment, and I highly doubt it’s any sort of power. This, along with the previous weird obsession with Lucifer and destroying overlords in general, his friendship with an overlord who values the people she employs to such an extent that Charlie still has to WIN THEM OVER… it just goes against everything the fandom would LIKE to say/think about Alastor.

So I guess what I’m getting at here is that the fandom is acting like Alastor is this big bad villain guy with absolutely no redeeming qualities to build off of, people are acting like defying powerful systems is NOT at all a redeeming quality that Charlie can’t build off of or use to make him gain other qualities.

Not only this, but with Mimzy and his entire relationship with her, how he just lets her walk into his life knowing that she brings trouble and he only banishes her when she proves once again that she brings trouble… like, I’m sorry but it just feels like people actively ignore these things because they’re looking for logical morality systems. Even people who know that this is an aspect of his character, tend to lack the capacity to understand that Alastor can and IS very contradictory.

He CAN own husks soul and make deals with people in exchange for goods or favors, while also disliking the idea of a soul not having independence and/or charge of their own fates. It’s contradictory. It’s supposed to be.

And I guess it’s this that always makes me confused when there’s fanart of a redeemed/angelic Alastor that is FILLED with comments like “I’m sorry but Alastor will never be redeemed” “it’s impossible for his redemption” “cool art but it’ll never happen”, GUYS.

WHAT. IS. THE. MESSAGE. OF. THE. SHOW.

It’s FORGIVENESS. It’s CHANGE. The entire fight in heaven is literally the angels spewing the same rhetoric when talking about Angel, but of course the show has to take baby steps to say that yes, everyone deserves redemption. Everyone deserves the right to change. Everyone can change. Everyone WILL CHANGE.

Alastor already believes in redemption, I know that based off of his conversation with Adam ALONE. What makes you think he can’t work towards it? Even if that’s not now, don’t you think a person would try anything to escape a contract? It’s probably the main motivation for Angel at all.

And I just. I guess I don’t understand how people could be watching and believing in a message about change and forgiveness, while simultaneously refusing to see that a character like Alastor could change. Abusers can change. They should change. If not for themselves, then to stop the abuse they instill in the people around them.

[peggycatrerr]

i think it’s really really important that we keep reminding people that what we’re calling ai isn’t even close to intelligent and that its name is pure marketing. the silicon valley tech bros and hollywood executives call it ai because they either want it to seem all-powerful or they believe it is and use that to justify their use of it to exploit and replace people.

chat-gpt and things along those lines are not intelligent, they are predictive text generators that simply have more data to draw on than previous ones like, you know, your phone’s autocorrect. they are designed to pass the turing test by having human-passing speech patterns and syntax. they cannot come up with anything new, because they are machines programmed on data sets. they can’t even distinguish fact from fiction, because all they are actually capable of is figuring out how to construct a human-sounding response using applicable data to a question asked by a human. you know how people who use chat-gpt to cheat on essays will ask it for reference lists and get a list of texts that don’t exist? it’s because all chat-gpt is doing is figuring out what types of words typically appear in response to questions like that, and then stringing them together.

midjourney and things along those lines are not intelligent, they are image generators that have just been really heavily fine-tuned. you know how they used to do janky fingers and teeth and then they overcame that pretty quickly? that’s not because of growing intelligence, it’s because even more photographs got added to their data sets and were programmed in such a way that they were able to more accurately identify patterns in the average amount of fingers and teeth across all those photos. and it too isn’t capable of creation. it is placing pixels in spots to create an amalgamation of images tagged with metadata that matches the words in your request. you ask for a tree and it spits out something a little quirky? it’s not because it’s creating something, it’s because it gathered all of its data on trees and then averaged it out. you know that “the rest of the mona lisa” tweet and how it looks like shit? the fact that there is no “rest” of the mona lisa aside, it’s because the generator does not have the intelligence required to identify what’s what in the background of such a painting and extend it with any degree of accuracy, it looked at the colours and approximate shapes and went “oho i know what this is maybe” and spat out an ugly landscape that doesn’t actually make any kind of physical or compositional sense, because it isn’t intelligent.

and all those ai-generated voices? also not intelligent, literally just the same vocal synth we’ve been able to do since daisy bell but more advanced. you get a sample of a voice, break it down into the various vowel and consonant sounds, and then when you type in the text you want it to say, it plays those vowel and consonant sounds in the order displayed in that text. the only difference now is that the breaking it down process can be automated to some extent (still not intelligence, just data analysis) and the synthesising software can recognise grammar a bit more and add appropriate inflections to synthesised voices to create a more natural flow.

if you took the exact same technology that powers midjourney or chat-gpt and removed a chunk of its dataset, the stuff it produces would noticeably worsen because it only works with a very very large amount of data. these programs are not intelligent. they are programs that analyse and store data and then string it together upon request. and if you want evidence that the term ai is just being used for marketing, look at the sheer amount of software that’s added “ai tools” that are either just things that already existed within the software, using the same exact tech they always did but slightly refined (a lot of film editing software are renaming things like their chromakey tools to have “ai” in the name, for example) or are actually worse than the things they’re overhauling (like the grammar editor in office 365 compared to the classic office spellcheck).

but you wanna real nifty lil secret about the way “ai” is developing? it’s all neural nets and machine learning, and the thing about neural nets and machine learning is that in order to continue growing in power it needs new data. so yeah, currently, as more and more data gets added to them, they seem to be evolving really quickly. but at some point soon after we run out of data to add to them because people decided they were complete or because corporations replaced all new things with generated bullshit, they’re going to stop evolving and start getting really, really, REALLY repetitive. because machine learning isn’t intelligent or capable of being inspired to create new things independently. no, it’s actually self-reinforcing. it gets caught in loops. "ai” isn’t the future of art, it’s a data analysis machine that’ll start sounding even more like a broken record than it already does the moment its data sets stop having really large amounts of unique things added to it.

[thatmooncake]

What is your opinion on the books hinting that Moon shouldn't have existed but the Faz-pads most expensive menu items is moon themed? And the posters, plushies, and the infamous sphere? I loved your other 'rant' (for lack of a better term in my sleep deprived mind) and it got me thinking...

I’m guessing you mean the Moon that appears in The Bobbiedots who was originally built to be the “dark side” of Sun and once worked as a theatre animatronic?

Okay spoilers for The Bobbiedots, Somniphobia and Security Breach and some rambling thoughts ahead:

In short, I think the books’ canon (even from one book to another like say Bobbiedots and Somniphobia) and the games’ canon are more like AUs of each other than anything else, so basically different explanations will be given in different stories to fit that book or game in particular. So, Bobbiedots Moon wasn’t meant to exist in the daycare, but it looks like Security Breach Moon was. That said, I LOVE exploring the different versions of Moon and how he’s used in different stories, so if anyone wants to take the long scenic route with me, here we go!

Bobbiedots Moon

Theatre kid extraordinaire. A little too committed to the bit. Bobbiedots Moon doesn’t fit in his world - not in the daycare anyway. In The Bobbiedots, they’re busy dealing with an evil apartment. They don’t have time for poor Moon, no matter how badly he wants them to sleep.

Bobbiedots Moon feels like a bit of a throwback to the animatronics in Sister Location who had all these “interesting” design choices, like a stomach hatch for storing children (which totally wasn’t going to be used for evil, come on guys …).

In Moon’s case, he’s so good at being a pantomime villain (which is what he was made for from what we can tell - who bets he got booed because the kids wanted the sun to come back up and when the lights went out they’d fake snore and he’d go hunting down the naughty ones who couldn’t help but laugh?) that he’s no good in the daycare (personally I think the staff just weren’t imaginative enough in that universe to do naptime, or to appreciate the charm of a weird clown telling off wobbling toys for not sleeping when his recognition sensors inevitably failed him because they couldn’t be bothered to fix their broken animatronics). And he’s easy to exploit because he’s so committed to his role.

I don’t think Moon was evil by default when he worked at the theatre - at least not beyond his villainous role. He had an audience of probably more people than he could grab, and I’m guessing Freddy’s wanted repeat performances so their customers would keep coming back. Did he kidnap a child or two when the lights went out and everyone was confused? Maybe, if he was virus-riddled enough. Did he become a lot more unstable when he and Sun were moved to the daycare? Probably, but it’s not his fault he was an afterthought in a cheapo organisation that seems to think using precariously-placed backup generators is a better solution to their problems.

Security Breach Moon

Meanwhile, the Security Breach version of Moon has a TON of merch, a dish at the restaurant (Masa-Moondrop curry, yum! 💖 By the way, I totally recommend checking out this recipe ), and even his own little candy adverts. He’s on a statue, balloons, plushies, and even on the daycare pass right next to Sun. It would take a LOT of accidental advertising to put Moon all over the place if he wasn’t supposed to exist in Security Breach.

I think that, unlike the Bobbiedots Moon, Security Breach Moon was supposed to exist. Like you said, he’s got merch everywhere. It’s a big deal. And Moon’s merch matches all of Sun’s merch, so to me it makes sense that in the backstory of the game’s universe they both had a friendly role to play (I can’t imagine why they’d make a Moon plush with no one to hug him. The thought makes me sad. It also seems like a bad business move on their part so I’m opting to believe he was originally meant to be a friend to the kids).

But it looks like things took a turn at some point (as they so often do in the FNAF universe), as Security Breach also has the cheapo lighting in place, and Sun is pretty adamant that we don’t wake up Moon. And in this case it’s pretty clear that Moon has been infected by the Afton virus. He sounds like a bot with just one thing on his mind: putting you to bed at all costs.

Moon is a major player as far as the evil Afton operation goes in the game too. They picked a perfect bot to do their dirty work. He’s super strong - he knocked out Freddy and dragged him away with no problems. He’s also super agile - he can navigate all the tight twists and turns in the Daycare with relative ease (I pointedly ignore the version in my game while I make this statement as he seemed to spend most of his time getting stuck in the tunnels and slides kekeke). And he always seems to know where you are - the Glamrocks wander until they have you in their sights, but Moon makes a beeline for you the moment he can get his hands on you even if you’re inside Freddy’s stomach compartment. He works in the dark when no one can see him coming. He’s basically the perfect replacement for the night staff and makes it a million times easier to capture wayward kids.

There are also a lot of hints in the game that suggest that Security Breach Moon might have actually been reprogrammed to respond this way, and/or that he was used to reprogram the others.

The back areas with the endos are FULL of Moon merch, advertising, and so on. There are also a lot of posters teaching the animatronic endos how to behave, as well as a little room that looks a LOT like a little replica of the daycare play area. I’m pretty sure that this is where the animatronics (or at least the virus-riddled endos) were reprogrammed to capture children - maybe including Moon.

(There are a million things I could say about this poster and how it bears a strong resemblance to a bunch of things from earlier games but that’s for another time and another ramble …)

Somniphobia Moon

Meanwhile, over in Somniphobia, we have Moondrop’s dream sphere, where Moon ponders his orb, or perhaps his new friends who are now trapped inside it forever since it seems like he’s been stealing more than a few souls over there.

The dream sphere is not mentioned in The Bobbiedots or seen in Security Breach as far as I can tell. Whether it exists or not in those universes is open to interpretation, but it serves a clever purpose in Somniphobia. In this book, our favourite uncanny night jester spends his time luring unsuspecting victims into the dreamscape slowly without them realising. The protagonist actually has a few opportunities to escape the pull of the orb, but he just can’t put the dream sphere down because it takes him back to his favourite memories with his (now dead) father, and it makes their time together feel so real.

The dream sphere is advertised as a study guide, and it’s popular with older kids and teens. (Moon has the range). Our regular chase-you-down-and-force-you-to-sleep Moon is nowhere to be found in Somniphobia (whether he exists at the plex in the daycare or anywhere else in that universe is anybody’s guess) and instead we have sweet little Moondrop from the dream sphere who doesn’t speak but will let you see your wildest dreams. At the cost of your mind, which is now going to live in a sphere I guess or be harvested.

Can you befriend the little Moondrop from the dream sphere? Does he know he’s part of a creepy soul-stealing operation? The book doesn’t really say, but if he’s anything like most of the other animatronic/AI characters in the FNAF universe, I’d be willing to wager he’s just doing his job (showing people what they want to see) and being used as a prop for more nefarious soul-snatching schemes. (Curse you Fazbear Entertainment for giving us this funny little guy in a magic snowglobe and making him steal our souls along with our hearts!)

Conclusion

Essentially, I think Moon is being used in basically all the universes he appears in because he’s so perfectly built for capturing and retrieving wayward souls, but the way he’s being used differs a little between universes. In some universes it’s just not as convenient to have him showing up in front of a large audience thanks to his programming, but when the lights inevitably go out he has a tendency to show up nonetheless!

[kabie-whump]

✧･ﾟRipe, About to Fall - Part 5 ✧･ﾟ

This is an 18+ slowish burn pet-whump story with added romance.

Title from ‘Liquid Smooth’ by Mitski

Series Description and Warnings Masterlist, First, Previous Chapter Summary: Ventis gets better, and Onthyes takes risks. Chapter Content: Pretty light chapter. Suggestiveness towards the end and general mentions of abuse, exploitation, and objectification. Fingers in mouth, mentions of choking/lack of gag reflex. Mention of wanting to die.

Onthyes does not belong to me. He was created by my wonderful gf @sapphicccici and I have kidnapped him.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“I won’t do it.”

That was the conclusion that Athos reached after an hour of pacing Ventis’s bedroom, deep in thought.

“Releasing him may preserve his spirit, but he simply would not survive without me. He needs me. There must be other ways to heal his spirit, and I will find them.”

Onthyes just listened silently, pouring all of his energy into hiding his disappointment with Athos’s decision.

“Keep watching him, Onthyes. Alert me if anything changes.”

With that Athos swept out of the room, leaving Onthyes alone with Ventis.

Onthyes sat at the edge of Ventis’s bed, staring down at the genasi. He wondered how much of all this he had heard. Did he know what was killing him? Did he know that Athos was making the deliberate choice to not fix it?

“Ventis,” Onthyes whispered, watching the genasi stir at the sound of his voice. “I’d like to take you outside again.”

Ventis’s eyes cracked open, fixing Onthyes with a half-hearted glare.

“I know you didn’t like it, but… you were dying. I took you outside because I didn’t want you to spend your last moments in here. And then you got better, right before my eyes. Something about being outside fixed you.”

“It hurt,” Ventis rasped.

“I know. But it helped. You could die otherwise.”

“Then let me die.”

Onthyes’s breath hitched. He could see why someone in Ventis’s position might want to die, but he hadn’t expected him to say it so easily. “No. I can’t do that.”

Groaning, Ventis made a weak effort to sit up. Onthyes rushed to help him, placing a pillow behind his back.

“All you do is talk about how badly you want to save me,” Ventis hissed. Talking was taking a lot out of him, leaving his chest heaving for air, but he pressed on. “But you refuse to let me go. What I want doesn’t matter if it doesn’t match what you want for me.”

“Ventis.” Onthyes took his hand slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wanted. “I want you to live because I have hope for you. I believe that you can make it out of this; that you still have a chance of having your own life away from Athos.”

Ventis wouldn’t look at him. “You’re too late. It would be no different from freeing a statue.”

Onthyes could tell that he really believed that. Three years of constant drugging and conditioning had made him see himself as nothing more than an object.

“Would you let me try to prove you wrong?”

A long, painful silence.

“Alright. Do what you wish. I do not care.”

That wasn’t what Onthyes wanted to hear, but he would take it if it gave him a chance to save Ventis.

Athos returned later with a pile of books, declaring that all Ventis needed was some good old fashioned escapism. He took on the task of reading to Ventis, giving the characters voices and everything. Onthyes almost could’ve found it sweet if he wasn’t aware of every other detail of their relationship.

That night, Ventis got bad again and Onthyes picked him up as he gasped and shuddered and snuck him out to the beach again. It went similarly to the first time. First, Ventis got better, the wind and stars filling him with new energy. Then, he got bad in a different way. Every caress of the breeze against his bare skin made his breaths hitch on sobs and soon he bagan to beg quietly for Onthyes to take him inside.

Onthyes didn’t understand. It was so peaceful out here. Why was it causing so much pain?

He tried to hold out. Ventis got progressively more upset, but he also got stronger by the minute. Onthyes did his best to hold him and whisper words of comfort for as long as possible, but the constant crying got to him eventually and he carried Ventis back to his bedroom.

The next morning, Athos was overjoyed to see Ventis able to sit up and eat on his own.He had glowed with pride, going on and on to Onthyes about how his plan had worked and he might as well call himself a scholar on the ways of genasi. Onthyes and Ventis shared a knowing look, but they said nothing.

And just like that, Ventis started to get better.

Onthyes came to look forward to their little nightly escapes, especially as Ventis seemed to adapt to the pain of being outside until it seemed to be only mildly uncomfortable.

“It’s bearable now,” Ventis admits one night.

They’re sitting side by side on the sand, staring out at the waves as they kiss the shore in silver lines of foam. Ventis’s hair and scales glow brighter in the moonlight, healthier.

“It's just a reminder, I think. Of the things I’ve lost. I’d forgotten what the wind feels like. I didn’t know I missed it until it was on my skin. It’s like a physical ache. Here.” He gestures at his chest. “But it's bearable now.”

“You speak so informally when it’s just me around.”

Ventis tensed, his breath catching.

“Sorry,” Onthyes said quickly. “I didn’t mean… sorry.” He hadn’t meant to make that observation out loud. It was true though. Ventis’s speech - when he was allowed to speak - was always so formal around Athos or anyone else. But when it was just him and Onthyes he seemed to relax somewhat.

“It’s alright. I hadn’t noticed. You bring my guard down. No clue why.”

Onthyes couldn’t help but smile. “Sorry,” he said again. “I’m not doing it on purpose.”

Ventis returned his smile - toothy with a peek of fang, not anything like the sweet, demure smile he used on Athos. “Well cut it out anyway, Ventura. It’s dangerous.”

Onthyes’s heart did a strange little flip in his chest. Oh no. “I won’t hurt you. You can let your guard down with me.”

The wind carried Ventis’s laugh on it, not muting it but making it echo unnaturally. The signs of his elemental blood were nothing but visual inside the manor. But out here, underneath the vast expanse of sky, he seemed to meld with the breeze before Onthyes’s eyes.

“I know. It’s you I worry about. Athos can be… protective. And he’s already suspicious that you might be interested in me. If your father wasn’t captain of the city guard you would be out of here already I’m sure.”

“I’m not… interested in you. Not like that.” Sure, images of Ventis’s beauty kept him up at night, but he would never pursue anything. It would just feel wrong, knowing what he knows.

“Uh huh,” Ventis hums disbelievingly. “Everyone’s interested in me. It’s what I’m for.”

“No it’s not.”

Ventis’s eyes widened at the conviction behind Onthyes’s voice. “That’s very sweet of you to say, blondie. But it is my purpose. It’s undeniable. There’s a very long contract somewhere with my name at the bottom that lays it out quite clearly.”

“A contract?”

“It’s a piece of paper. A legally binding written agreement between two parties.”

Onthyes laughed, elbowing Ventis lightly. “I know what a contract is. I just didn’t realize there’s one between you and Athos.”

“What did you expect? Were you imagining some sort of violent kidnapping? I signed my own life away in exchange for drugs. This is all I am now.”

“He said he found you on the streets. You were high. You were vulnerable. He took advantage of you.”

“Please, Onthyes.” Ventis seemed to shrink into himself, pulling his knees to his chest. “Just don’t. I brought this on myself. It’s… easier to let myself believe that. It hurts less.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll drop it.”

Ventis’s fingers found the space between their bodies, pressing indents into the sand. He was quiet for a long moment before he broke the silence again. “Can we go inside now? I’ve had enough.”

“Of course. Let’s go.”

⋄✧⋄

A week later, Ventis was officially healthy again and Athos was considering publishing a book on genasi physiology. Onthyes was glad to see him feeling better, but at the same time he knew he would miss their nightly escapes. He felt like he had become privy to so many of Ventis’s secrets.

Ventis loved poetry. He’d always been naturally gifted at music and writing, but he couldn’t produce a sketch or painting to save his own life. Onthyes had made him prove it, asking him to draw a horse in the sand, and the product had left them both rolling on the ground, tearful with laughter. He used to ride, apparently. Dressage. His father hadn’t approved of such an impractical equestrian style, which was exactly why Ventis had practiced it. His horse’s name was Willow, but he had been forced to leave her back at his home kingdom and he didn’t even know if she was still alive.

Onthyes had asked him about his family. About if they knew anything of his whereabouts. Ventis’s expression had gone stormy, and he had quickly ended that line of conversation.

His eyes weren’t purple. They were a blue sky with pale pink constellations, and they blended to a plesent lilac from far away. His horns hadn’t always been so smooth and porcelain-like. Athos had had the texture filed away years ago.

Flashes of fangs accompanied by echoing laughter. Wrinkles that formed around his scales when he frowned. A scar on his arm from when he’d cut himself falling from a ladder in his family’s library as a child.

Onthyes was in trouble.

He stood at the edge of Athos’s lush courtyard, sweating in his armor on the hot day. Athos and Ventis sat nearby; Ventis at Athos’s feet like always while the man fed him fresh fruit by hand. Ventis’s lips lingered on Athos’s fingers, but Onthyes has learned to recognize the emptiness behind the look of mindless admiration he always fixed his master with.

“Come sit with us, Onthyes,” Athos called over his shoulder.

Onthyes did as he was told, taking a seat next to Athos on the couch.

“Would you like to feed him?”

Onthyes felt himself flushing under his helmet. “I’m alright, sir.”

“Oh please, I insist.” Athos held out the bowl of fruit expantly.

When Athos insists on something, there is no denying it.

Onthyes removed his glove and used a nearby pitcher of water to clean his hand off before he selected a piece of mango from the bowl. Ventis stared up at him expectantly, opening his mouth. His pupils were heavily dilated. Onthyes doubted he even knew what was going on, but that familiar emptiness was nowhere to be found as their eyes met.

Juice dribbled down his chin as Ventis took the mango and chewed with a satisfied hum. Onthyes wiped the sticky trail away with his thumb tenderly before he could stop himself.

Athos hummed, and Onthyes was unable to miss the disapproving tone. That had been a test. He hadn’t performed well.

“An interesting tidbit about air genasi for you,” Athos said as if nothing had happened. “They don’t need to breathe. It’s completely optional. And since they do not need to breathe, they also do not have an evolutionary reason to have a gag reflex. Observe.”

Athos took Ventis’s chin in one hand. Ventis opened his mouth obediently as Athos pushed two fingers between his lips until his third knuckles disappeared completely. Drool dripped from the corners of Ventis’s mouth, but otherwise he didn’t react aside from a flick of his tired eyes towards Onthyes.

Onthyes swallowed hard, pushing away a wave of discomfort from the display. “Fascinating, sir,” he said blankly.

Athos laughed, withdrawing his fingers and wiping spit on a cloth napkin. “Is that all you think? We’re friends, Onthyes. You may be honest.”

Another test. He could see that even without Ventis shaking his head ever so slightly outside of Athos’s line of sight.

Onthyes knew what he really thought. Despite his disgust with the way Ventis was treated, that information definitely invited some… images. He was only a man, after all. He hoped the redness of his face could be excused by the heat.

“I can imagine the uses of such a skill,” Onthyes admitted. “I’m sure you’re very proud to have him at your disposal.”

Athos laughed again, his teeth shining unnaturally white in the sun. “I will catch you lacking someday. Back to your post.”

Onthyes returned to his place against the wall quickly.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Part 6

Ventisposting taglist (aka a list of people who i want to bake cookies for):

@scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @yeetmyskeet @rainydaywhump

[lizhly-writes]

joongdok or dokhyuk or dokjoong or whatever the fuck you want to call it.  half of a love confession fic, prompted by my wonderful orvcord friend, with two conditions: 1) kdj is in love 2) yjh is not. 

“I love you,” Kim Dokja says, out of the blue.

He tells this to you during a lull in the chaos, a quiet moment at the end of the world.  Another scenario cleared, another day done, nothing left to do but prepare for the morning ahead and the the troubles that might come.  The air is clear, crisp, and so is the sky, presenting an unobstructed view of the stars overhead.  

There is you, seated on thick, springy grass, diligently tending to the blade of your sword. There is him, standing with his hands tucked behind his back, staring far off into the distance.  In between you both is your own split second of disbelief, a shining moment of incomprehension that dissolves into thoughts of Coins and the favor of distant constellations – but no.  The channel is closed. The stream isn’t running.  The only reason to say it is for you.

A joke, at your expense – except the silence continues on, Kim Dokja making no attempt to brush it off.  A plot, exploiting your emotions – except Kim Dokja isn’t bothering to even make himself sound genuine, like he’d need to if he wanted you to believe it.  

He isn’t looking at you.  You look up from your sword, look at him, and he does not look back at you.  His gaze is distant, contemplative, as if he’s planning his next wild scheme to dominate some hidden scenario you’ve never heard of.  Like this, you can easily think you’ve misheard.  

This is perhaps the point.

I love you, he says, exactly like how you’d imagine he’d tell a secret.  Deliberately careless, carefully casual, so that the intent behind the action is lost altogether.  Thrown out in passing so you didn’t know that it was something to be kept close to the chest, set out as a seemingly insignificant, forgettable detail, so that when you screamed at him for not telling you, he could gesture at your previous conversation and say: there, I told you.  It's not my fault you forgot.  If you didn’t forget, well – it’s not my fault you didn’t understand what I meant.

The thought of it makes your fingers twitch; you think, idly, about cracking open Kim Dokja’s head and examining the contents, as if it would make any more sense to you if you saw it laid out and neatly organized before you.  

“That’s so violent, Joonghyuk-ah,” Kim Dokja says, like he can read your mind – exactly because he can read your mind.  After all, you’re thinking about him, aren’t you?

Things would be easier if it was the other way around.  If you could read his mind like a book, if you knew exactly what he was thinking, if you knew he was really thinking about you.  

“Kim Dokja,” you say, like a warning.   “What do you think you’re doing?”

Ignore me, says his tone.  It must have been the wind; pay it no mind.

Does he really think you can ignore something he says that easily?  He should know that you can’t.  He’s made sure of that himself from the very beginning, leaving you hanging for every scrap of prophecy and planning that comes out of his mouth.  You can’t break the habit now. 

“I’m just being honest,” Kim Dokja says, and now he looks at you, wry smile turning up the corners of his mouth.  “I’ve heard it’s generally good for your emotional well-being to examine how you feel out loud.  It’s cathartic.”

You can’t believe this. “You’re saying this is an emotional wellness exercise for you?”

Kim Dokja shrugs.  This is apparently the only answer he is willing to give you.

Irritating.  But then again, you already knew that.

[onewholivesinloops]

people saying wonder egg priority’s momoe is good trans rep offends me on a personal level because i STILL can’t grasp what her deal is even supposed to be. the trans boy isn’t either imo btw. he gets the most brutal backstory and his inclusion is very questionable when the whole egg thing is about girls so there’s nothing that justifies that other than the fact that he’s afab which IS blatantly transphobic. momoe’s thing is made even more confusing with all of the trans imagery (her bra literally being the flag and revealing itself when she comes to terms with herself had to have meant something) so is the egg system transphobic or not?? i feel like it only makes sense to read her as cis considering afab people are what count going by the track record, and she struggles with femininity and girls flirting with her (which is lowkey homophobic to me bc it implies sapphics will jump on any gnc girl) but this makes the trans imagery with her very weird. it’s like they associate her with specifically the trans colors several times during pivotal scenes only to throw in the trans boy counting as an egg so it's VERY muddled what they wanna go for...

being a cis woman who’s mistaken for a boy due to being gnc isn't a bad idea for a character concept, and i like the idea of her finding comfort and genuine love with a trans man who can relate to her experience. it's just SO dumb they go out of their way to code her as trans in the process of this, and not to mention the misery porn that ends up being the boy's storyline (the suffering in the show lowkey feels very fetishy especially when you look at the writers’ background i found out the main writer wrote a bunch of torture porn soap operas featuring teenage girls from this video and while i don’t think this subject matter is something that can’t ever be discussed and explored the show is so set on being miserable especially with him in particular), the aforementioned weird undertones of how girls treated momoe and the system just casually being transphobic with no real focus put on that. the system in general is miserable and fucked up and as much as i’d like to give it the benefit of doubt in that it’s the intent i don’t think the narrative thinks the gender essentalism and transphobia parts of it are actual flaws because there’s no real focus on that.

i also think the trans boy shouldn’t have been an egg character in the first place. he should’ve been a real world one. i can see the idea of a corrupt sexist and transphobic system that exploits the mental health of little girls using a trans boy for their experiments done well if it’s called out for what it is, but that’s never the case in the show at any point and it’s not something i trust these writers to tackle well. also don’t get me started on that suicide thing in episode 4 where acca and ura-acca go “women and men’s suicides mean different things; men are goal-oriented and women are emotion-oriented, and women are impulsive and easily influenced”. this misogyny and gender essentialism is, again, never called out or addressed so it’s hard to read this as anything but what the narrative and the writers believe/don’t think is an issue lol...

don’t even get me started on frill because idek what that robot girl’s point is even supposed to be. she’s even more nonsensical than momoe’s thing. the suicide disease or whatever the hell it was is the cherry on top that makes the show even more offensive because on top of condemning the girls for their suffering it feels like it’s also taking away their agency which is very dehumanizing.

[aronarchy]

You and alot of the youth libration posters on here: "adults need to listen children and teens and take them seriously"

Me who is trying to understand better: "I agree with that"

The overmajority of the children and teens I take to on platforms other then here: "We don't like media and stories that sexualize us in anyway"

You and alot of the youth libration posters on here for some reason: "That's bad and here's why you should ignore them"

I'm legit confused bruv

(I’ll assume you’re talking about fiction not depicting specific real-life minors here, because that is usually the topic of discussion.)

Your experiences have been very, very different from mine, then.

I’ve had a few IRL friends whom I had discussed or mentioned the topic to or vice versa when I was a child/young teenager; they were generally supportive and didn’t take issue. I met far fewer children and teens IRL who were opposed to it. (I actually can’t remember any specific incident of someone being opposed to it around me. Although that’s probably because it wasn’t really a topic of discussion much. But yeah.)

I am a minor, and I have met many, many minors online who are proship. It’s actively difficult to be a proship minor, even more difficult it is to be a proship or antiship adult, or an antiship minor, because of how we’re commonly erased, how both antis and adult(ist) proshippers like to assume we just don’t (and can’t) exist, and we are rarely listened to.

Meanwhile, the vast majority of fantis I’ve met have been adults. It’s also adults who have driven public discourse for moralizing dark fiction, and adults who lobby for and pass laws censoring art.

I knew a (fanti-adjacent) adult who sexually harassed and abused multiple minors, building his brand on being a “predator-hunter,” protecting minors. He severely stalked and harassed many people, adults and minors, perceived as sexually deviant or problematic, for long periods of time. When my friend, a minor, went public about their abuse from him, they were branded a liar by his friends and supporters, all or almost all of whom are fantis. Many were minors themselves. There were more minors supporting him than supporting my friend, because he had more supporters in general. Should I have agreed with them, because they were minors? Erased the victims?

My friend has experienced sexual harassment from a minor for being interested in “problematic” art depicting fictional CSA. That same person also harassed me, including with bigotry and suicide-baiting, for my related stances and my sexuality, and sexually objectified me (in a mostly unrelated context). Would you support him because “we need to listen to and agree with minors more”?

There have been innumerable cases of adult fantis online being caught grooming, sexually harassing, or abusing minors, including minor fantis, and running exploitative, cult-like communities. Even one (at least one, whom I remember) who raped someone IRL. It’s become almost an expected occurrence that adult fantis go around sharing the “problematic” art they call “CSEM” and make others, including survivors with PTSD who are distressed by it, and even minors, to look at porn they otherwise would not have seen. And trivializing CSEM, calling depictions of fictional characters “CSEM,” and, like what I once saw done to a friend who is a rape and CSEM survivor, being dismissive of them when they are, naturally, offended and triggered by claims that fictional material could be possibly equivalent to actual recordings of rape or abuse.

(Yes, many proshippers are CSA survivors; you can read some testimonials from them here.)

Many, maybe even most minors support the “stranger danger” myth and other adultist, authoritarian beliefs to some degree. Believing that sexual “deviants” or “degenerates” are the cause of CSA and that purging them in a fascist manner is the solution. They would likely invalidate my claims of having been abused, because most people are conditioned to downplay child abuse, even as children themselves. This dynamic is replicated with any other marginalized group. Fully liberationist beliefs are rare in general. That doesn’t mean they’re wrong, or not what we all need, ultimately. (That does not also mean it would automatically be paternalistic to disagree with someone else on what would constitute liberation or whether liberation is good.)

Many minors, like people living under a CSA culture in general, believe in victim-blaming myths like “children and teenagers wearing ‘over-sexualized’ clothing ‘tempts’ adults into sexually assaulting them; we need to promote [modesty standards for clothing] to prevent CSA.” Many people, even survivors, claim that abusers abuse because “they can’t help it,” because they lack emotional self-regulation, because they are mentally ill… or because they looked at some fiction or art depicting abuse in a not-entirely-condemnatory light, and suddenly pro-abuse beliefs magically entered their head entirely against their will, or they got “hooked” on it and developed a “porn addiction” or uncontrollable sex drive until they couldn’t help but “escalate” by attacking real-life minors, as if abusers only abused because of fiction and not from any volition of their own. As if that excuses it, or can adequately explain it away. As if that’s not an excuse SA’ers have been using for a long, long time.

Many of those minor fantis would likely defend my CSA to me, or at least try to paternalistically overwrite my own perceptions, memories, interpretations, and understandings of my experiences, because they don’t fit their preconceived narrative.

These are deeply destructive myths, harmful to minors and survivors, but they are still extremely prevalent.

Does that make them okay?

The vast supermajority of minor fantis I have encountered or observed (and a far greater proportion than among proshippers) are adultist, often violently so, and defend the nuclear family and mock me for advocating abolition, and connect their fanti stance with their adultist stances in logic and framework. They would dismiss me on the basis of my age. They think purging fiction is a sufficient solution to abuse and take issue with my efforts at more concrete activism against abuse culture within communities and political causes of abuse. They think adults should use parental controls and censor minors’ media and coerce us to not view content perceived as problematic or corrupting even if the minor does not agree to that. They either pretend minors with kinks or other “deviant” sexual interests don’t exist, or demonize us and sneer at minors’ experiences of distress and trauma from societal kinkmisia. They would help adult fantis harass proship minors and minors who view dark fiction/create “problematic” art. They play into culturally adultist notions of “childhood innocence,” adult control over youth sexuality, denial of agency, and paternalistic condescension, but also turn to aggression and overt hostility when a minor doesn’t buy into it. See, for example:

I grew up in a conservative, abusive, sexually repressive, censoring environment. Then when I first went online I encountered a ton of the same negativity. I felt a lot of shame and internalized stigma and constant self-doubt because I was worried I was somehow being immoral for enjoying dark fiction and accidentally harming myself in the long run or indirectly wronging people I care about. That was deeply detrimental to my mental health for a long time. I felt a lot of clarity and felt much safer, more validated, more comfortable existing as myself, and less self-hating when I encountered other people who did have similar views which were supportive and who were interested in pursuing the real causes of child abuse (which I didn’t really know a lot about until I started unraveling all the propaganda I had absorbed which scapegoated unrelated things, and has been immensely helpful to my understanding of my conditions and beginning my ability to advocate for myself and others), and things finally made a lot more sense (fanti views were contradictory, confusing, and I knew even when I had a lot of internalized problems that they were very wrong on some level). I also unlearned a lot of adultism in the meantime. I’m not sure where this recent trend of “antishipping is youthlib” is coming from. I’ve always only ever seen fantis promoting adultism along with their ideology, and that it’s been implicitly understood everywhere that if you support antishipping you support adultism too because they’re part and parcel.

I do believe in a standpoint epistemology, where one predicts that a marginalized group is on average much more likely to have correct opinions about issues pertaining to their oppression and blind spots generated among oppressor classes through that oppression, because of the disproportionate pressures and incentives they experience to understand more, or else they suffer more. However, this does not make me a relativist; it does not mean that I repeat “listen to and uncritically agree with whatever marginalized group X says about Y, because reality is subjective and if someone believes it they automatically can be right.” I still believe that there is objective truth, and while I try to find wherever possible where they may be blind spots in my perspective, my goal, ultimately, is still to rely on methods of evidence and logical inference. I don’t go about this in a way anywhere near how the average normie does, and they wouldn’t like my methods either. But still—I recognize, yes, that marginalized people are not monoliths, and we are not going to all agree on everything; at some point, even the privileged will have to look on and deliberate and choose what they think is true. And, sometimes, there’s a reason why one perspective is more rare on the surface (suppressed? claimed to be impossible? threatened?) than another.

Fanti communities are abusive. Fantis are abusive. I still have a lot of trauma from how individuals and groups have treated me, especially online. It was cruel. It was fucking unfair. I don’t think ritual harassment, bigotry, trying to cut someone off from resources, abuse apologia, and enforcement of authoritarian norms are somehow youth liberationist. I don’t think silencing minors or making them afraid to exist in spaces because of harmless beliefs or fictional interests is youth liberation.

This is also how many conservatives have treated fictional depictions of violence. (I can attest to that from personal experience too; that was also incredibly traumatic.) Do we have to censor GTA before we advocate against murder and torture and assault?

It feels very distressing being told that I can’t possibly support views that are important to me and my freedom of expression and in helping resolve the trauma and violence many people I care about experienced without somehow secretly or inadvertently undermining myself and other causes I care about. This paradigm keeps people trapped in toxic communities, feeling like they are being forced to choose either one or the other, which makes it easy for abusers on both sides to exploit us and then moralize against us. It’s suffocating and cruel.

I don’t just disagree with minor fantis when I encounter them. I feel triggered, afraid, threatened/in danger. I remember a whole slew of awful past incidents, and a long time feeling a lot of confusion, feeling gaslit, feeling like my whole self and existence are wrong. I anticipate hostility and possible violence toward me and people I care about. I feel angry, because I remember what people like them did to people I care about (and to me), and tried to do. I feel even more angry that people will run apologia for them and try to gaslight the rest of us into thinking there’s no problem, everything’s fine, shut up and get in line or else you’re next.

Recently, fantis effectively killed a proship CSA survivor for drawing cope art on a private account after a years-long harassment campaign. Do you think your friends would defend this? Do you think they would agree, that this is protecting children?

But this is only my perspective. I know that fantis will always have the moral and discursive advantage over me and that it would be much easier for someone to accuse me of being adultist/corrupting through this, or tokenizing myself/having internalized adultism/being predatory/a dozen other things I’ve been accused of other the years to discredit and invalidate my words which I do, in fact, sometimes worry over, as I argue with myself in my head, as I internalize gaslighting and doubt myself and wonder if I really am wrong and should just abandon trying to carve out a space for myself, to exist as myself and with dignity. It would be easier to be mad at me and think I have insidious or misguided motives or am trying to guilt-trip.

I wouldn’t even really blame you. It’s always been easier for me to blame myself.

(Except then I look around and see all the people, minors, CSA survivors, extremely traumatized and fucked-up people who’ve been badly hurt who feel doubt too who really need this activism and it doesn’t seem so hard then, does it? Cruelty is cruelty. Abuse is abuse. Trauma is trauma. Bigots can fuck right off.)

[illarian-rambling]

*in the most elegant, immaculate handwriting imaginable*

Dear Elsind,

I saw your column, and am in fact rather in need of advice. I’ve tried asking my good friend Amelia, but she just laughs uproariously every time I do, so I’ve given up on getting a straight answer from her.

I recently got a new coworker at my workplace, and he’s… very attractive, to say the least. His name is Merry, and he’s absolutely lovely. We’ve become fast friends, and I’ll admit I’m developing a bit of a crush on him. Luckily, the place I work is very unbothered by workplace relationships, but I have a lot of other problems.

First of all, I believe I may have mentioned I’m married in front of him. While my husbands wouldn’t mind me seeing him as well, I know a lot of pirates (oh, yes, context: I am a pirate) are very disapproving of polyamory and I don’t know how he’d react. I’m also asexual, and I’m not sure how he’d react to that either, since my people (I’m a siren) are generally stereotyped as seductive and expected to behave in a very certain way.

That being said, I keep feeling like he’s flirting with me. By pirate standards, he’s absolutely not. But he’s consistently started dressing more colourfully and elegantly and going out of his way to ask me what I think of his outfit. He’s also given me a few small trinkets he found at the market. Both of these are significant signifiers of flirting in my culture, and even though I know he couldn’t possibly know my cultural signifiers of flirting, I can’t help but feel like it means something.

Any advice you have would be welcome. If he is flirting with me, I’d love to see where it goes - he’s really a wonderful man (and I’ll admit I might have been dressing up for him a bit too). But if he isn’t interested, I’d hate to make him uncomfortable having to work on the same ship as me every day, especially since I outrank him (I’d never pressure him into anything, and Amelia would kill me if I did, but I can’t be sure he knows that). I’m not certain how best to proceed.

Much thanks,

Malcolm Lee

*In passibly legible cursive, hearts dotting all the I's*

Thanks so much for writing in, Malcolm!

This is a delicate situation you've found yourself in, but also, I think, a great opportunity. You're right - even in such a relaxed environment, coworker relationships can be tough. It gets messy when rank factors in, and if you ever break up, then you're just stuck seeing them everyday anyways.

But things are looking up for you! It would be quite the coincidence if Merry out of nowhere started engaging in siren flirting behaviors (I'm assuming your word for siren is different from mine, as the siren flirting I'm familiar with involves quite a few more human sacrifices). However, if I was a strapping pirate trying to show interest in my siren shipmate, I would read up on how sirens flirt and try to get him to take the hint. It's a really caring thing to do and a total green flag, in my opinion. Of course, yes, it could be a coincidence, but that's the boring answer!

As for the polyamory and asexuality, that's a conversation you're going to have to have up front with him. Make sure, if he is interested in seeing you, that he understands the possible risks involved. Also, definitely introduce him to your husbands. I don't know your exact situation, but all the polycules I've seen work best when every member is on friendly terms with the others. Asexuality is also something to talk about right off the bat. Make sure he's aware of your boundaries, especially when he might assume otherwise due to racial stereotypes. I can relate to you there - changelings are frequently assumed to be promiscuous due to a tendency to wear attractive faces as a social shield and a history of sexual exploitation. In my relationships, though I'm not asexual, I do have some strict boundaries when it comes to intimacy, and I find it best to be clear about these from the get-go. It's a good way to establish trust early on and also to use as a litmus test for your partner's respect for you. If your Merry is truly a worthwhile lover, he'll understand.

Ultimately, I think you should go for it! To me, it seems like he's trying to be subtle, but he's definitely interested in you. Maybe ask him out for a late-night picnic on the deck (I don't know anything about ships) and spill your heart there. I wish you luck, whatever you decide to do!

Ever your friend,

Elsind Cavernsight

(From this ask game)

[literallyjustanerd]

Scenes From The Caf Hall

So I had a lot of ideas for fun clone shenanigans but none substantial enough for full fics, so I put them into a sort of montage of moments I like to believe have gone down in the GAR caf at mealtimes. No consistency in timeline, just some harmless clone fun. Enjoy!

Note: one of these scenes references there being an abundance of Chancellor Palpatine biopics in the Star Wars universe. I saw someone mention that that would be funny in a text post once but try as I might I cannot find who that was. If you know what I'm talking about please let met know so I can credit them for the inspiration!

“I’m not kriffing drinking it, Fives. I won’t do it.” Fives lets out a low, pained groan as he drops his tray on one of the benches, head lolling back in a heavy circle over his shoulders. “Then don’t,” he says, for at least the third time. Echo pays him no mind. He may as well be speaking to himself. “Why would they change it? The one good thing I could count on every day, but no, let’s take that away, too. Kriffing Republic budget cuts. Kriffing quartermasters…” Hardcase is already grinning when he joins the two, watching in amusement as Echo’s rant fades to a low, sharp muttering. “What is it this time?” he asks, sounding almost excited. Echo is too busy stabbing at his salad like he wants to draw blood to answer.

“They changed out the brand of tea in the stores,” Fives says, head propped up on his fist. A hand slapped across Hardcase’s chestplate accentuates his feigned shock. “Not your precious Tarine!” he gasps. “What would they ever replace that with?” Oblivious or uncaring of Hardcase’s mocking tone, Echo’s fury is reignited. “Generic brand.” He spits the words like poison and scowls at the taste they leave in his mouth. Like they’re profanity. Which is ironic given how he continues; “I’ll be karked nine ways into the void before those shabuire make me drink the osik’la generic brand.” “Nobody’s making you drink it, Echo,” Fives reminds him, though by now he’s resigned, fully aware that he is little more than background noise. Echo growls at his tray. A couple of nearby shinies speed their steps to hustle past their table.

“Personally, I could never taste the difference,” Jesse pipes up. He’s so unfazed by the scene that nobody had even noticed him sit down. Fives sighs. That was not the right response. “The difference is night and day!” Echo blurts, voice surely close to reaching the upper limits of pitch. “They’re making us drink dirt water!” “Not making you,” Fives mumbles. “We lay down our lives for their war every day and this is how they repay us?” “Bit dramatic.” “We work our shebse off and you’re telling me I can’t even get a decent brew after an eighteen hour shift?” Fives pauses, tilts his head. “Yeah, no, okay. That’s fair.” At last, Echo acknowledges his presence in the form of a single, righteous nod.

Across the table, Hardcase flashes that look like a child about to poke a sleeping loth cat. “Why not just drink caf instead?” Echo falls deadly silent, eyes narrowed to a slit. His response is whip-fast. “Why don’t I just shoot you right here?”

***

“Telling you, things got wild that night. Don’t remember most of it, of course, but man, it was fun.” Waxer’s pride swells at the awed gazes across the table. His new 212th vod’ike, the gold on their armour barely dry, eyes wide with awe and demanding to know more of their superiors’ exploits. It’s like a drug, the wonder and admiration, and by now the 212th veterans know the best way to get it. Battle stories were great for gaining respect, sure, but if you wanted to really wow your rookies, stories of shore leave misadventures were far more effective.

“We woke up the next morning in a motel room on the lower levels,” Boil recounts with a grin. “No clue how we got there.” “What about the twi’leks?” one shiny demands, on the edge of his seat. “The ones from 79’s, what happened to them?” Waxer and Boil share a smirk, and Waxer delivers the kicker. “No idea,” he chuckles. “But they each left one of their numbers written on our vambraces.” “I really oughta call him sometime,” Boil muses. “See if they’re free again for this New Years’.” “She really was something else,” Waxer affirms. The shinies have gone silent before them, smiles wiped clean and suddenly sitting bolt upright. It takes the lieutenants a painfully long moment to realise why.

“Sorry to interrupt, troopers,” Cody says from behind the pair, sending bolts of ice through their veins, “but this wouldn’t happen to be last New Year’s you were talking about, would it?” Waxer and Boil both fall over themselves, mumbling sheepishly in the affirmative. “Interesting…” Cody hums. “Because I seem to remember things taking place differently.” “O-oh, is that… Is that right, Commander?” Waxer sputters, and tries immediately to move the conversation on. Cody doesn’t let it. “That’s right. As I recall, the two of you had to be carried out of 79’s well before New Year struck, and sent back to the barracks in a cab, drunk off your sorry faces.” Boil swallows audibly. He too is cut off when he tries to speak. “Can’t remember which one of you it was who was crying at the time, though.” His face is trained, his smile thoroughly measured, though his amusement is still glaringly clear. “Strange how our memories play up, isn’t it?”

He leaves it at that, and turns to walk away. One of the shinies, evidently a bold one, pipes up from the table, much to the horror of his batchmates. “Commander,” he calls, and Cody pauses in his step, turns back to face them. “How would you know what happened that night, unless… unless you were at 79’s, too?” After a moment’s pause, Cody merely flashes a grin. He turns to walk away, throwing one last comment over his shoulder: “Welcome to the 212th, boys.”

***

It’s been on Jesse’s mind for a while, but only now does he get the chance to bring it up. “There are three pieces of cake on your tray,” he says. Kix doesn’t look up from his work, datapad in one hand and sandwich in the other. He looks tired, but then, Kix always looks tired. “Very observant, vod. Good job.” “You got out of night shift last week.” “Mhmm.” “And I don’t think I’ve ever seen you on fresher duty.” “Okay?”

Jesse rolls his eyes, peeling the lid off his preserved jogan fruit. As if to illustrate his intended point, another trooper passes by their table and surreptitiously slides a pack of biscuits across to Kix like it’s a drug deal. When Jesse’s raised eyebrow gets no response, he clears his throat pointedly. Kix finally stops tapping away at his pad. “Why does everyone keep giving you their stuff?” Jesse demands. He doesn’t like the responding smirk that passes across Kix’s face. “Why do you think?” he asks, amusement tinging the edges of his words. Jesse sighs, lacking the energy to play this game. “Would I be asking if I knew?”

The look Kix gives is weary, bemused. He drags a hand over his eyes and takes a short, sharp breath, then begins. “Being a medic sucks.” “…Uh-huh?” “Long hours, always on call, the datawork never ends. People expect me to heal three-inch stab wounds in three minutes.” Jesse’s brow furrows, hoping there’s a point to this beyond his brother’s bitching “I’m… sorry?” “But as much of a pain in the gett’se as it is,” he says, finishing the sentence around a mouthful of cake, “being in charge of keeping all you di’kute alive it has its upsides.” Jesse can only roll his eyes. “Quit being so mysterious and get to the point.” Kix sighs sharply. “Jesse, I haven’t paid for a drink in over two years.” But the dots remain unconnected, Jesse’s expression still perplexed.

Begrudgingly, Kix sets the datapad down on the table and adjusts so he’s fully facing Jesse. He scrolls back on the pad through a plethora of files until he finds one. Jesse suddenly feels like a cadet again, called into his sergeant’s office. “0742 hours. Morning after last year’s Festival of Stars. You presented to medbay. Do you remember what for?” Kix needn’t have asked the question: a searing flush has already flooded Jesse’s skin, one that draws a sadistic grin from his vod. “Don’t worry, I’ve seen it a hundred times before and since. Never in that place, though...” Jesse’s head is in his hands as Kix continues. “Didn’t know how you’d managed it at first. Course, you told me the whole story. Spotchka and pain meds are great at loosening tight lips.”

“You kept that on file?” Jesse says in a strangled whisper. Kix shrugs, unfazed. “I’m required by Republic protocol to keep a record of all assessments and procedures carried out.” Jesse’s eyes fall to the extra cakes on Kix’s tray. Kix’s smile grows, tapping his datapad proudly. “And I carry out a lot of procedures.” Jesse curses under his breath, eyes wide in the dawning realisation. “How much dirt do you have on us?” he breathes, caught somewhere between awe and abject horror. Leaning his elbows on the table, Kix raises an eyebrow and grins.

“All of it, vod. You boys are animals,” he chuckles. “The things I’ve seen…” “You mean like—” “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s worse.” “What about—” “Worse.” “You don’t mean—” Kix leans further forward over the table, tilting his head down at Jesse. “Worse.”

Jesse swallows, leans back in his seat and acquiesces to Kix’s warning look. As much he itches to dig further, he knows Kix is probably doing him a favour by keeping the details obscured. “So. There you go. Maybe I get out of fresher duty. But with what I see on a daily basis, I think I’m within my rights to a few gratuities in exchange for my discretion about certain topics,” he says. “Like someone’s very inventive use of contraband fireworks…?” An uncomfortable silence falls between them, dragging on until Kix finally breaks it, eyeing Jesse’s tray. “Say, that jogan fruit looks—” Jesse’s handing it over before Kix has finished the sentence.

***

“Eight times in the last week he’s lost it. Three in one day, once. One of these days I’m going to weld that blasted saber to his hand.” Rex is slumped in his seat, shaking his head at the table. His brothers all murmur their commiserations around him, in various states of consciousness. Beside him, Cody jolts upright after almost falling face-first into his mug of caf for the fourth time. Ponds puts down the spoon he’s been using to mindlessly stir his porridge for the last ten minutes straight. “Least your general lets you have fun. General Windu makes us do weapons inventory and maintenance in every single minute of free time,” he grouses. Rex huffs. “I wish General Skywalker would order us to do weapons maintenance. I’m the only reason anything gets done in the 501st.” He gets a few affirming moans, half-hearted complaints about their own generals neglecting the more unglamorous responsibilities of commanding a battalion.

“You all have it easy.” It’s Fox who throws in next, hauling himself up from where he had been splayed across Wolffe’s back. He waves away the answering protests with a lazy hand. “Didn’t you go to the theatre last night?” Bly retorts. The disdain in his voice gives away his expression, which remains unseen; he’s on his back on the floor beside the table. The jab gives Fox a sudden burst of vindictive energy. “I did, Bly. I did go to the theatre last night. And do you know what I saw?” he says. “I saw another kriffing biopic on Chancellor kriffing Palpatine’s noble and heroic rise to power.” He spears a fillet of grey meat on his tray. “If I have to sit through another minute of some actor the Chancellor wishes he looked like making an empowered speech about the sacrifices he’s made for his people, you’ll all see me at the tribunal when I’m court marshalled and decommissioned.” The others say nothing, dredging up little more than sympathetic winces or groans. A few note that Fox’s hair seems just a little greyer than it did the last time they met up.

“General Kenobi jumped off a cliff on our last assignment on Onderon,” Cody offers a short time later to break the silence. He’s barely lucid enough to mumble the words. Nobody is at all surprised by the report. After a long draw from his caf, Cody continues, seeming bored by his own words. “Found him at the bottom totally unharmed and petting a bogwing. Asked him how he knew it would be there and let him ride it down, and do you know what he said?” The vode raise their weary voices to join him in chorus for the answer: “He didn’t know it would be there.”

Silence again. Someone snores, though it’s impossible to tell who and nobody can be bothered to try. Those awake enough to think straight mourn the state of the evening so far. It was a small miracle that this many of them were all in the one place to begin with. They’d planned for drinks at 79’s after dinner. And maybe they’d still rally and somehow make it out there. Maybe, with enough caf and the GAR’s famous resolve. But for now, they’re a sorry sight to behold. Soundly and thoroughly defeated. “Why does General Yoda talk like that...?” It’s Gree, his voice a pained whimper, muffled against the table. The question is directed at nobody. “Nothing he says makes any sense. He doesn’t need to talk like that.” Bly’s hand appears from below to pat his vod’s shoulder. With a shaking breath, Gree asks it again, barely a child’s pitiful sob: “Why does he talk like that?”

A little more moaning later, they seem to come to the consensus that their Jetiise (and Chancellor) were just confounding and infuriating by nature, and that they were tragically and inescapably doomed to a life dealing with their bantha shit. “They’re hopeless,” Ponds sighs. “Ridiculous,” Bly agrees. “Children,” Rex laments. “Maniacs,” Cody says, with finality in his tone. A voice rumbles from across the table – the first time that night Wolffe had made it known that he was awake at all. “What did you say?” Rex yawns. Wolffe raises his head. “I said, speak for your kriffing selves.”

***

The table in the corner of the caf hall may as well have a reserved sign on it. It does, in a way: Wrecker carved a crude ‘99’ into one of the benches months ago. The regs tend to steer clear, although on days like these, Echo can’t really blame them. He hears it before he sees it, the first signs of an argument beginning to escalate. “Get out of my face before I blast yours off,” Crosshair snarls.  Echo almost turns and walks away. But someone will need to be around to pick up the pieces if this all goes sideways. He steps through the remaining crowd to find his place at the end of the table. Opposite him, Crosshair is hunched over like a wolf with its hackles up. Tech is beside him, one finger poised delicately approximately an eighth of a centimeter from Crosshair’s shoulder.

“I will,” he says, “the moment you explain why you are so put out when I, clearly, am not actually touching you.” The plastic fork in Crosshair’s hand snaps. “How long?” Echo asks with a heavy sigh. Hunter, eyes occupied sharpening his knife, replies, “Going on fifteen minutes.” “Think there’s a point?” Hunter shrugs, slots his knife back into its sheath. His eyes flick from Tech to Crosshair, to Wrecker, who is watching the stalemate with rapt attention like it’s a nail-biting bolo-ball match. “Supposedly it’s a study on patience and stress levels,” he says. “But he hasn’t done it with anyone else. You know, Cross did trash his goggles last week.” Echo nods vaguely, sipping his tea and watching the rest of the exchange play out with distant disinterest. It would be imperceptible to the regs passing by, but Echo catches the slant in Tech’s tone, the tiny quirk in his eye. He’s enjoying this.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” “I don’t know what you mean. I’m still not touching you.” “Knock it the hell off, or you’ll wake up tomorrow to all your datapads melting in the kriffing furnace.” “I'm not touching you, though.” “This isn’t a joke. I—” “Not touching you.” “Hunter!” Crosshair hisses, shifting away yet again. He’s crammed onto the last three inches of the bench now, but Tech advances quickly to narrow the gap. Hunter cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, no. I’m not getting anywhere near this one.” “Some Sergeant you are.”

Echo tries to tune it out and enjoy his stew, as the threats grow increasingly crass and Wrecker eagerly demands the two get on with it and fight already. How they could lose themselves so shamelessly in such childish antics he does not know. He turns his gaze to the rest of the caf, the grid of tables packed with troopers he’d rather be sitting at. Though as he watches, he soon spots a table in the opposite corner of the hall; two shinies are locked in a fierce arm wrestling match, vode around them whooping and jeering. A few troopers at another table take turns lobbing berries in the air and trying to catch them in their mouths. More than one table has a perilous game of five finger fillet going. He looks back to Tech and Crosshair, inching towards all-out war, and lets his thoughts wander back to his old squad. Nights spent in this very same caf, breathless with laughter as Domino squad tried to one-up each other with outlandish dares. Lobbing wadded-up napkins into their commanders’ drinks. Sneaking behind the serving counters to steal extra desserts. Echo himself had definitely had his moments, dropping ice cubes down the back of Fives’ blacks when he wasn’t looking.

Across the table, Crosshair is reaching the end of his rope. “Are you all just going to sit there and watch?” he seethes. Echo feels a wry grin pulling at his lip. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says glibly. “He’s not even touching you.”

[pommunist]

im sorry to dump this in your inbox and if you want to delete it please go right ahead, it obviously invites a lot of discourse that you might not want to involve yourself in, but im so frustrated right now. people just keep passing around the same tired nonsensical arguments to try to discredit lea or any of the admins any way they can just to parasocially defend a fucking COMPANY and its just so stupid. "this shouldve been private" did you miss the fact that this started bc they were attempting to resolve it in private and lea got fired for asking for help from pierre? "lea doxxed quackity" she didnt even mean to and she apologized and deleted the tweet as soon as she realized "lea is xenophobic" over a mistranslation. give it up yall Quackity Studios®️ isnt gonna fuck you

First thing first, Xenophobia should never be seen as a « nonsensical argument », whether or not you believe it was perceived as such because of language difference or anything else.

As for the doxxing thing, people can have their thoughts and talk about it, but I won’t because it’s not directly related to the QSMP situation. What I’m trying to say is that these are serious topics than can be discussed, and also not everyone who raised these subjects used it to discredit the admins experience.

The « should’ve been private » argument tho… I can’t like yes, duh, it should’ve ! However it was not possible since communication seems to be a foreign concept within the higher hierarchy of Qstudios so their fault really. I put this in the same category as the « just be patient » argument, like no sorry what we’re talking about is severe mistreatment and exploitation of workers so lets focus on that instead of telling victims and outraged fans how they should act.

Personally I want to focus solely on the workers rights, the way the issues are being handled by Qstudios, the legal aspects of the problems, and just what revolves around the Qadmins situation in general. I have no interest in discussing the character of any CCs or admins as individuals, peripheral issues or fandom « discourse ». Doesn’t mean I don’t care about it just I don’t want to distract the discussion away from the « main » topic.

So if some people sent me anons that were more focused around the doxxing thing, or around being angry at some people’s reactions and were wondering why I didn’t answer them, that’s why ! No hate to y’all, you are still free to use my askbox as a venting place if you want to, I just hope you can understand why I chose, and will continue to choose, not to answer them ✌️

(edit : if you have genuine questions/are looking for answers about the doxxing situation or something else, hop in my dms rather than send me an anon)

Also anon, that last sentence, while I can see where you come from, let's still stay cordial and respectful !

[oreolesbian]

right but a lot of the criticism i’ve seen of oppenheimer isn’t that the movie oppenheimer isn’t about the victims but that a movie about oppenheimer & not the victims is what got made

I have definitely seen both of those criticisms. And while there’s merit to ask for films about the victims of the atomic bombings - that’s just the thing. There are films about the victims of the bombs. Many, many films (not to say there can’t be more made today - but to act like this narrative has never been addressed is false). Several of them Japanese films - which I would argue is the crucial POV for comprehending a tragedy that happened in Japan. An American film made by American people is not really the film to be evaluating how the Japanese experienced the atomic bombs. Does that mean a film can’t be made by Americans? Of course not. But one would hope there would be voices consulted and researched.

But to say that there can’t be a film about the man who directly led to the tragedy itself is a bad faith argument. There’s absolutely no reason both stories can’t be told. What would be a mistake would be if Oppenheimer was this big grand-standing story that made everyone who created the bomb look like a hero - the thing people are accusing this film of being. But that’s not what the film is. It’s a character study on a very complex historical figure. It is not glorifying him or the tragedy or the war. And it directly not showing the repercussions on others is both the point and lets the film escape any exploitativeness.

I’m not claiming to be an expert on this entire historical event, but it is very clear to me that saying this film shouldn’t exist is not even trying to engage with the text. Two things can exist. If people feel so strongly about having a narrative on both ends, then they should be talking about films that do talk about the bombings impact, not saying this one film is somehow taking away from the other conversation.

Nolan is not making a story about the victims, and he never claimed to be doing so. He does not have to tell that story either, especially when he probably isn’t the right person to do so.

If anything, the people asking about a film directly about the victims in Los Alamos is a better argument. There is definitely a story to be told there and I would encourage one to be told. However, just because that’s not what Oppenheimer is about doesn’t mean it is somehow morally corrupt or a bad film for that reason. Historical films are easily picked apart because they can always address more, and there are some historical films that get facts wrong in a genuine needs-to-be-fact-checked way, sometimes with intent to avoid controversy and other times to contribute to a narrative being shaped. But it’s also relevant to acknowledge that the focus of Oppenheimer is not the bomb. Or its impacts. Critique the film on its historical shortcomings if need be (I wouldn’t be the person to know all of that in detail), that’s all well and dandy. But this film on its own is a very focused lens idea, not the broad one.

Anyway:

• Hiroshima (1953) dir. Hideo Sekigawa

• Black Rain (1989) dir. Shôhei Imamura

• Barefoot Gen (1983) dir. Mori Masaki (I believe the original manga has many adaptations, but this was the first)

• Rhapsody in August (1991) dir. Akira Kurosawa

• Children of Hiroshima (1952) dir. Kaneto Shindō

• Hiroshima Mon Amour (1959) dir. Alain Resnais

and common misconception that Grave of the Fireflies (1988) dir. Isao Takahata is about the atomic bombings - it’s more about the overall carpet bombings and the toll of WWII in general

hell - the entire kaiju genre is birthed from the artistic response to the atomic bombings : Godzilla (1954) dir. Ishirō Honda

^ these are just some I’ve heard of through my own knowledge / looking some up. can’t attest to their quality - but films like this do exist

[littlestpersimmon]

Do you do all your detail and border work by hand every time?? I can’t believe how often you post such full, complex works, it’s incredible <3 If you have any secrets I hope you’ll share 😜 Ido hope you remember to take care of yourself though !!

I do most of them by hand these days, bc I just really enjoy drawing details. I've been drawing stuff like these for years and years, so I am relatively fast..!!

the only exploit I can really share is that since the borders are very small, the details don't really take forever to draw- draw only half of the decals, then mirror it. mirroring is a very useful tool! then I copy paste repeating motifs, and then hand draw the rest so that it doesn't look too uniform.

I also do save transparent parts of a drawing, like, for example, if I really like how a table came out, I save a transparent png of it, and then I use it again if a drawing is in need of a table- this work for clutter in general. books, vases, little bits and pieces.

[rusted-pipe-of-wisdom]

*inhales*

so I was put off by the use of tarot as a plot tool but at a closer look it actually makes so much sense-

okay so tarot cards were invented in Europe circa 15th century as a type of playing cards. using cards for divination is a long-standing practice, but the specific meanings of tarot as it’s known today came from a pair of occultists in 18th century France, who described tarot as an artefact linked to Jewish numerology and kabbalah. the word ‘tarot’ has the plural suffix -ot which is used in Yiddish (idk about Hebrew), making it sound like a Yiddish word... except it isn’t. basically, tarot are a scam that exploits the mystified goyshe view of the Jewish culture. it’s something goyim say we invented--but we really didn’t.

(side note: I love the aesthetics of tarot and using them for character development can be fun, but anyone who claims these cards have oracular powers is making themself look like a huge clown.)

so assuming Herbert was aware of all that (edit: I’m inclined to believe he was, but it's also possible he's ridiculing the 20th century's mysticism boom in general), we can see how the Dune tarot ties with the teachings of Bene Gesserit to form what I call The False Oraculum.

The False Oraculum represents the notion of, and attempts at, controlling the future. the Bene Gesserit’s breeding program, their use of spice as a way of preserving memories, Paul’s visions and his experiences of time, the aura of mysticism around Paul and the way different characters interact with it - all of these things are driven by lust to control the future.

and this is where the cards come into play. sitting alone in her cell, Mohiam uses them to read her destiny, but finds no comfort in what the cards tell her. merchants sell them to pilgrims: a fraction of their Emperor’s power turned into a commodity. Paul himself uses them to interpret his own visions, but the cards fail him too. and then, of course, the Tleilaxu face dancers put on a tarot-themed spectacle. all of this hints at one thing: the cards lie.

if the cards lie, then Paul and Mohiam and others are just a bunch of people grasping at straws, trying to comprehend the chaos of time. they lock themselves into a vicious circle of ‘seeing’ into the future - acting upon the visions - making that specific future a reality. they fail to factor in a simple fact: the future is undefinable. it cannot be read. it cannot be controlled. even if you do catch a glimpse of it, you can’t use what you see in any meaningful way, because your actions will pre-define the future that you saw happen. until the future has turned into now, it doesn’t exist.

the False Oraculum doesn’t make you prescient. it makes you blind.

of all people Alia alone expresses disdain for tarot, stating it ‘muddles time’. that’s because she’s chaos personified. unlike Paul, she doesn’t experience time as a vision but as an instinct; a natural, raw reality. and this is why she’s the one at whom Mohiam’s conspiracy is aimed first - she’s the wild card in Paul’s tyranny machine. it’s also why she’s objectified so much and constantly referred to as an abomination. as a character, she’s meant to showcase two things: one, how Paul’s oracular power is fundamentally flawed; two, how the Bene Gesserit’s view of humanity will never grant them the mastery of a human soul and how playing gods will be their downfall. if Paul is their success that’s turned against them, Alia is their failure.

(I have More Opinions about Alia’s writing and how Dune is mired in sexism, but it’s a whole separate can of worms)