#disclaimer: we do not endorse violence

[howtofightwrite]

i feel like, when it comes to people trying to use violence to knock people out - rather than avoiding methods that could cause permanent injury entirely, the previous anon(s) could just go for it while acknowledging the potential consequences in-writing?

so we can say that maybe, a kidnapper knocks another person out via head injury, and the KIDNAPPER doesn't care; but when the person is rescued the rescuers are worried for them because 'what do you mean you were hit in the head?!' and immediately checked for a concussion.

one could also have it so that the person doesn't know what head trauma or other bodily harm can cause and be appropriately horrified if/when they learn - or, if it's a character who uh. doesn't care for their body or health as much, they could hear this and refuse to care. follow what the character would do on that

they don't even need to actually have the person get a permanent injury. there can be a hospital scene or first-aid responder scene where they check the victim's head and go 'you are very. VERY lucky to not have a permanent brain injury from this', and insist on them to keep monitoring for any future symptoms.

there's a lot of other ways to go about knocking someone out, but iirc this will also apply to other methods of forced unconsciousness, like sleeping pills, sleeping gas or chloroform. in real life, it's always going to risk extra consequences because it involves forcing someone's bodily functions to shut down, if temporarily

and that shouldn't stop them from writing anyway, since fiction is often going to stretch the realm of belief a little with improbable situations, y'know? a lot of stories already take liberties with it. but it's both admirable and a good thing when someone wants to be more faithful to reality, regardless, so that's why i'd like to give my own thoughts.

if the person trying to find a non-lethal angle to knocking someone out is really worried, they could just make a disclaimer saying 'unrealistic depictions of violence/recovery' or 'creative liberties taken with the consequences of bodily harm' at the start of the story and go with their previous plans

but it's perfectly fine to just write as is while acknowledging the situation in-story too, is what i feel. or even have the character actually suffer the consequences. that angle is always interesting when explored.

timeskips are also a way to cheat on the recovery period, if you want it to be really realistic. imagine this scenario; a person gets knocked unconscious during a kidnapping. they wake up and manage to escape with a concussion - but they still have the concussion from the initial assault, along with other injuries during the hostage period. they are promptly hospitalised.

timeskip to several months after. the person has recovered! (or mostly recovered, depending).

a new kidnapper enters the scene! but they don't want the victim to actually be hurt, and the waiting period was hell, so they either just get their bouncer to grab them with no chance for reprieve, nab them while asleep, or threaten them via gun to head/consequences for someone else/etc to get in the car. no actual knocking out forcefully, only unconsciousness is falling asleep in the car.

consequences make for an interesting narrative too, is what i'm trying to say; and there's no need to shy away from it, but rather acknowledge that reality as fact.

I normally wouldn't light up an ask like this, but it is doing a lot of mental gymnastics to try to skirt around the central problems with violence.

So, let's start at the top: Acknowledging a problematic behavior as problematic can still result in the author endorsing that behavior, if they present the specific examples of that behavior in a positive light. If you're having characters casually knocking people out, you are endorsing inflicting extremely hazardous, and potentially life-altering injuries onto people, “but, it's okay, because I didn't kill them.”

The problem comes from an author wanting their upbeat, happy-go-lucky protagonist to also be an absolute bad ass, without interrogating the ethical issues inherent to their “heroic activities.” Worse, in many cases, they want their character to be perceived as a good person, regardless of the horrors they inflict on their fellow human beings.

The last time I covered this, I took a passing swipe at Batman, but it remains a relevant factor to consider about a lot of action hero characters. He engages in absolutely disproportionate violence against people who are engaging in criminal activity because socioeconomic factors that are beyond their control.

A lot of fictional violence gets framed in contexts where the nobility of the protagonist is preserved either because, “they don't kill people,” or, they specifically limit their violence to groups that are “socially acceptable,” targets.

In fact, you can even see an example of the latter in the listing above, with the express targeting of, “kidnappers.” Now, I have no love for human traffickers, but seriously consider for a second that this specific, highly-specialized, career path was called out as the group to engage in this behavior. I'm sorry, “why?” What is it about a kidnapper that makes them more likely to be willing to inflict harm on their victim than some other group? But, that's not the point. The point is so that when your protagonist does truly horrible things to those kidnappers, they're still “a good person,” at the end of the day. (There's also a little goofiness about kidnappers in the ask, because they care more about the physical health of their victim than most criminals would. Think about it this way, a mugger wants your wallet, and you're just an incidental obstetrical between you and their target, for a kidnapper, you are the wallet. They want their victim reasonably intact. Whether that is for a later sale, or for a ransom, they don't get paid if their victim is “non-functional.”)

Actually, a really messed up example of this, on this blog, was a few years back, when someone was asking about their “vigilante” characters gunning down drug addicts. Which, yeah, that's pretty fucked up.

When the author botches their, “acceptable targets,” (which is the point of that Batman critique, by the way), the entire illusion can start to break apart. And it can really expose the idea that you're trying to pretend your character is a good person, because their actions target people who the author felt were, “undeserving,” of continuing to breathe.

Falling Down (1993), with Michael Douglas and Robert Duvall is an excellent interrogation of some of these concepts. I don't want to say too much else, because the film is open to interpretations, (some of which are extremely scathing), and I think the film speaks for itself better when no one is telling you how to interpret it. Just be prepared for an uncomfortable viewing.

Back when we were both regularly active, ScriptMedic and I used to have a bit of a back and forth about pharmaceutical means to subdue someone.

Chloroform is a classic example in fiction, and it was popular in crime thrillers from 80-90 years ago, in an era when ready clinical information to laypersons was far more limited. First of all, the rag over the mouth doesn't work. This is a gas used for anesthesia, and you need a lot more than a single vial to keep someone under. Second, you need to keep applying it to keep them under. Again, that rag isn't going to hold enough. Third, if you somehow got enough chloroform onto that rag, it would sedate everyone in the vicinity, because it's an anesthetic gas. (The liquid form is extremely volatile, and will quickly convert to a gas at room temperature. That gas is what is supposed to knock someone out.) Fourth it used to be a common additive in toothpaste, and frequently occurs as an out-gassing from polymers and adhesives. Popular culture hilariously overestimates how potent this stuff is. You need a lot to put someone under, and you need a trained anesthesiologist to keep them under without accidentally killing them. Also, prolonged use results in liver damage and cardiac issues, which is why we no longer use it for anesthesia. If you try to put someone under without an anesthesiologist, and you manage to sedate them... they'll die. Turns out, it also suppresses the respiratory system, and they suffocate.

It's a similar story with most anesthetic gasses, and in fact, chloroform is one of the “sleeping gasses.” Not all of them have the liver or heart issues, but none of them are, “fire and forget.”

ScriptMedic was a fan of Ketamine for knocking out characters. And, to be fair, Ketamine is fantastic for anesthesiologists. Exceeding the necessary dosage just puts the patient out for longer, which may be inconvenient, but it's vastly preferable to, death. The problem is, it's not great for fire and forget tranq adventures. Ketamine does not suppress salivation. Which isn't a big deal on the operating table, as you can pretty easily keep someone from drowning in their own spittle, but if you just inject some poor mook, and leave them on the curb, they're going to drool themselves to death.

Actual tranquilizer guns are a real thing. They're frequently used in animal control. You don't use these on people because TV lied to you. You get darted, and if you decide to keep the dart in your neck as a peculiar fashion statement, you've still got somewhere between fifteen minutes to an hour to finish up whatever you were doing, before someone rudely added a nap to your schedule. Oh, yeah, and if the dose is too high, these anesthetics can kill you. Dosage calculations with these things are educated guesses at best, and it's why sometimes animal control really can't afford to use tranq guns. It's not callousness, it's a calculus between the threat the animal poses to others, and if they have the time to wait and see if the tranqs work.

What you really need to not shy away from, is the idea that if your character engages in violence, there are going to be consequences for that violence. Unlike in real life, as the author, you are responsible for applying those consequences to the participants. This creates a real problem when you have authors who intentionally try to skirt around the parts of the events they find uncomfortable it reduces the impact of that violence.

To drag up that Batman example, the reason it's a slightly peculiar and subversive take is because it's outside the scope of the comics. Batman goes in, beats up muggers, comes out completely unharmed, and it's all okay because we know Batman's a good person, doing this for good reasons, and the muggers are still alive to reform and become better people in society.

Except, if you step away from the idea of a superhero comic, none of that makes any kind of sense.

The story you're trying to tell doesn't need every instance of violence to be followed with an extensive interrogation of the philosophical implications of what your characters did. However, if you're trying to tell a story where violence is a spectacle that happens in a regular rhythm, it's not going to hit in the same way.

I'm pretty sure I've said this many times, but violence has diminishing returns in your story. The more you use violence (particularly non-consequential violence), the less it will matter, and like any other tool you can call upon, the less your audience will respond to it.

There's nothing wrong with putting some violence with your story, but the one thing you do need to do is be honest with yourself about it. You can lie to your readers. (Though, that's something you want to be very careful of.) But, if you lie to yourself it will harm your story. Sometimes that does require doing some serious soul searching about what you're trying to do. Because, what you're trying to do right now is tell me that you want serious violence, without really coming to grips with how that constrains your options about how violence and physical harm work.

Again, there's nothing wrong with popcorn action. But if you want to write breezy fights between superheroes, you really need to admit, to yourself, that's what you're doing. Your story will be better for it.

-Starke

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[ladyeckland28]

Echoes Of Chaos: The Killing Joke

The story finale

The Cast

Batman as himself

Alfred Pennyworth as himself

Jim Gordons As himself

The Joker as himself

@raceyrhymes as Ms Rhymes

@samcrosfaith as Revan

@solesofwonder as Hannah and Sarah

@smallzster as Chimera

@horrorseventhree as Maxwell Pride

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Batman, Joker, and all related characters are the property of DC Comics and Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. This story is not authorized, endorsed, or affiliated with DC Comics, Warner Bros., or any of their subsidiaries or affiliates.

This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not reflect the views or opinions of DC Comics, Warner Bros., or any affiliated entities.

The original characters and plot elements introduced in this story are the property of the author. Any unauthorized reproduction, distribution, or use of this material is prohibited.

This story contains scenes of violence, intense situations, and mature themes. Reader discretion is advised.

The Finale

In the depths of the Batcave, Samantha "Sam" Faith worked tirelessly alongside Alfred Pennyworth. The cave's usual quiet was broken by the soft hum of machinery and the occasional clink of lab equipment.

"Pass me that vial, would you, Alfred?" Sam asked, her eyes never leaving the microscope before her.

As Alfred handed her the requested item, he couldn't help but study the woman who had once been Batman's adversary. "Ms. Faith," he began cautiously, "if you don't mind my asking, how did you come to be... Revan?"

Sam paused in her work, a shadow passing over her face. "It's a long story, Alfred. One I'm not particularly proud of."

Alfred's voice was gentle. "We have time, my dear. And sometimes, sharing our burdens can lighten them."

Sam sighed, pushing away from the microscope. "I was... I was in a bad place. Felt like the world had turned its back on me. That's when I met Bane."

Alfred's eyebrows rose. "Bane? The man who broke the Batman?"

Sam nodded grimly. "The very same. He saw potential in me, took me under his wing. Taught me about strength, about power. And about his toxin."

She flexed her hand, remembering. "I was fascinated by it. The raw power it gave him. But I knew I could improve upon it. Make it better, more controlled."

"And that's what you did?" Alfred asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Sam's lips curved in a humorless smile. "Oh yes. I created my own version. It makes me three times stronger than any man. But..."

"But?" Alfred prompted gently.

"But it comes at a cost," Sam admitted. "The strength, the power... it also brings rage. Violence. It's intoxicating and terrifying all at once."

Alfred nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "And Revan was born."

"Revan was born," Sam echoed. "A masked vigilante with superhuman strength and a penchant for violence. I thought I was cleaning up Gotham, in my own way. It took me too long to realize I was just adding to the chaos."

Alfred placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "The past is the past, Ms. Faith. What matters now is what you choose to do with your future."

Sam's eyes hardened with determination. "You're right, Alfred. And right now, that future involves stopping this Batman-Joker hybrid and saving Gotham."

As if on cue, an alarm blared through the cave. Alfred rushed to the computer, his face paling as he read the incoming data.

"It's him," he said, his voice tense. "The hybrid. He's headed this way."

Sam stood, her decision made. "Then it's time for Revan to make a comeback."

As she moved to retrieve her mask and gear, Alfred called out, "Ms. Faith? Be careful. This isn't the Batman you once knew. He's... something else entirely now."

Sam nodded grimly, slipping on her mask. "I know, Alfred. But someone has to stand against him. Might as well be me."

Meanwhile, across Gotham, chaos reigned. Commissioner Gordon, Hannah, and Sarah found themselves in the middle of a war zone. Explosions rocked the city, mad laughter echoed from every alley, and citizens ran amok, their eyes wild with a mixture of fear and manic glee.

"This was a mistake," Gordon muttered, ducking as a molotov cocktail sailed over their heads. "Releasing the Joker... what was I thinking?"

Sarah gripped her escrima sticks tightly. "It's too late for regrets now, Commissioner. We need to focus on finding my father."

Hannah nodded, her eyes scanning the chaotic streets. "Sarah's right. Maxwell's building isn't far. We need to move, now!"

As they fought their way through the bedlam, a familiar cackle cut through the din. The Joker appeared before them, his purple suit immaculate despite the destruction around him.

"Well, well, well," he grinned, twirling a pistol. "If it isn't Gotham's finest and friends. Enjoying the show?"

Gordon's hand instinctively went to his own weapon. "This isn't a game, Joker. We had a deal."

The Joker's laugh was sharp and cutting. "Oh, Gordy, when will you learn? Everything's a game. And right now, I'm winning."

Before Gordon could respond, a new voice echoed through the streets, carried by hidden speakers.

"Is that so, Joker?" Ms. Rhymes' melodic tones dripped with mockery. "From where I'm standing, you're looking a bit... outdated."

The Joker's eyes narrowed, his grin taking on a dangerous edge. "Ah, the understudy finally speaks. Tell me, my dear, do you really think you can out-crazy the original?"

Ms. Rhymes' laugh was a perfect mirror of the Joker's own. "Oh, I don't think, darling. I know. Care to test that theory?"

The Joker's grin widened impossibly. "A challenge? Oh, you shouldn't have. Very well, my poetic pretender. Let's dance."

As the Joker sauntered off, disappearing into the chaos, Gordon turned to Hannah and Sarah. "We need to move. Now. While they're distracted with each other."

The trio fought their way through the streets, the sounds of battle growing louder as they approached Maxwell's building. As they rounded the final corner, they saw the entrance swarming with Rhymes' thugs.

And there, directing the chaos, stood the Chimera.

"Well," Sarah growled, her grip tightening on her weapons. "Looks like we've got a fight on our hands."

Hannah's eyes narrowed as she studied the scene. "We need a plan. We can't just charge in."

Gordon nodded grimly. "Agreed. But whatever we do, we need to do it fast. There's no telling what they're doing to Maxwell up there."

As they huddled together, formulating a strategy, the city burned around them. The fate of Gotham hung in the balance, with madness threatening to consume all in its path.

In the penthouse above, Maxwell Pride struggled against his bonds, watching with growing horror as the Chimera prepared a massive dose of their toxin.

"Why are you doing this?" Maxwell demanded, his voice hoarse with fear and anger.

The Chimera turned, their mask rippling in the dim light. "Why does anyone do anything in Gotham? For the thrill, Mr. Pride. For the chaos."

As the Chimera raised the syringe, a commotion from outside drew their attention. The sounds of battle grew closer, and a smile spread across Maxwell's face.

"Looks like your plan isn't going as smoothly as you thought," he said, a hint of defiance creeping into his voice.

The Chimera's laugh was a discordant mix of tones. "Oh, Mr. Pride. The real fun is only just beginning."

Outside, Gordon, Hannah, and Sarah fought their way through the throng of thugs. Their progress was slow, but steady, each step bringing them closer to their goal.

Suddenly, a familiar cackle cut through the din. The Joker appeared, his suit splattered with blood, his grin wider than ever.

"Need a hand, kiddies?" he asked, brandishing a pair of pistols.

Gordon's eyes narrowed. "Joker? I thought you were going after Rhymes."

The Clown Prince of Crime laughed. "Oh, I am, Gordy. But first, I thought I'd warm up with some of her lackeys. After all, what's a good joke without a proper setup?"

Before anyone could respond, the Joker opened fire, his aim unnervingly precise. Rhymes' thugs fell left and right, clearing a path to the building's entrance.

"Well?" the Joker called over his shoulder as he sauntered towards the door. "Are you coming, or are you just going to stand there catching flies?"

Hannah and Sarah exchanged a look, then followed, with Gordon bringing up the rear. As they entered the building, the Commissioner couldn't shake the feeling that they had made a deal with the devil himself.

Meanwhile, across town, Revan stood atop Wayne Manor, her enhanced senses alert for any sign of the approaching threat. The wind whipped around her, carrying with it the sounds and smells of a city in chaos.

"Ms. Faith," Alfred's voice crackled through her earpiece. "I'm picking up movement on the perimeter. It's him."

Revan's muscles tensed, ready for action. "Understood, Alfred. Remember, no matter what happens, you need to finish that antidote. It's our only hope of bringing him back."

There was a pause before Alfred responded, his voice thick with emotion. "Be careful, Ms. Faith. And... good luck."

As the communication cut off, a dark figure appeared on the horizon. Even from a distance, Revan could see that this wasn't the Batman she once knew. His movements were erratic, almost playful, and his costume seemed to shift between shadows and garish colors.

The Batman-Joker hybrid landed on the roof with inhuman grace, his eternal grin gleaming in the moonlight.

"Well, well, well," he said, his voice a chilling mix of Batman's growl and the Joker's cackle. "What have we here? A little bat problem? Or should I say, a little Revan problem?"

Revan stood her ground, her fists clenching at her sides. "This ends now. I won't let you destroy Gotham."

The hybrid's laugh sent chills down her spine. "Oh, my dear Revan. I'm not destroying Gotham. I'm liberating it! Can't you see the beauty in the chaos?"

Without warning, he attacked. Revan barely had time to dodge, the hybrid's fist grazing her cheek with enough force to crack the rooftop beneath them.

As they traded blows, each more devastating than the last, Revan realized with growing dread that this fight was unlike any she had faced before. The hybrid possessed all of Batman's skill and strength, but with none of his restraint. And underlying it all was the Joker's unpredictability, making every move a potential death sentence.

In the Batcave below, Alfred worked feverishly on the antidote, the sounds of battle echoing through the manor above. His hands shook slightly as he measured out precise amounts of chemicals, knowing that one mistake could mean the difference between saving Bruce and losing him forever.

"Hold on, Master Bruce," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just hold on."

Back in the city, Gordon, Hannah, Sarah, and the Joker fought their way up through Maxwell's building. Each floor brought new challenges, with Rhymes' thugs seemingly endless in number.

"You know," the Joker called out as he dispatched another group of attackers, "I'm starting to think this Rhymes woman might actually have some talent. These goons are almost competent!"

Hannah gritted her teeth, ducking under a wild swing. "Less talking, more fighting, Joker!"

The Clown Prince of Crime's laugh echoed through the stairwell. "Oh, you're no fun. But I suppose you're right. After all, we've got a date with destiny waiting for us upstairs!"

As they neared the penthouse, the resistance grew fiercer. It was clear that whatever was waiting for them at the top was something Rhymes was desperate to protect.

Finally, they reached the penthouse door. Gordon turned to the others, his face grim. "Everyone ready? There's no telling what's waiting for us in there."

Sarah nodded, her escrima sticks at the ready. "Let's do this."

With a powerful kick, Gordon burst through the door. The scene that greeted them was one of nightmarish proportions.

Maxwell was strapped to a chair, a look of terror on his face. The Chimera stood over him, a massive syringe filled with a sickly green liquid poised at his neck.

"Ah," the Chimera said, their voice a discordant mix of tones. "The cavalry arrives. But I'm afraid you're too late."

Before anyone could move, the Chimera plunged the syringe into Maxwell's neck. His scream of agony was cut short as the toxin took effect, his eyes rolling back in his head.

"No!" Hannah cried out, rushing forward.

The Chimera turned to face them, their mask rippling with what might have been amusement. "And now, the real fun begins."

As Maxwell began to convulse, his laughter growing more maniacal by the second, the room erupted into chaos. Hannah and Sarah engaged the Chimera in fierce combat, while Gordon and the Joker dealt with the remaining thugs.

The battle raged on, with neither side gaining a clear advantage. The Chimera's fighting style was a disorienting blend of techniques, making them a formidable opponent even for Hannah and Sarah's coordinated attacks.

Meanwhile, the Joker seemed to be in his element, cackling madly as he danced through the fray. "Now this," he cried out, dispatching thugs left and right, "this is what I call a party!"

But even as they fought, a new sound began to fill the air. A haunting, melodic laugh that sent chills down everyone's spine. Ms. Rhymes had arrived.

She stood in the doorway, her eyes gleaming with manic glee. "Well, well, well," she purred. "Isn't this a delightful little gathering? The gang's all here!"

The Joker's eyes narrowed, his eternal grin taking on a dangerous edge. "Ah, the understudy arrives. Ready for your final act, my dear?"

Ms. Rhymes' laugh was sharp and cutting. "Oh, Joker. You poor, deluded fool. This isn't my final act. It's my grand debut!"

As the two faced off, the rest of the room seemed to fade away. Hannah and Sarah continued their assault on the Chimera, while Gordon tried desperately to help the convulsing Maxwell.

The Joker's grin widened impossibly. "A debut, you say? Well then, let's give these fine folks a show they'll never forget!"

With that, he lunged at Ms. Rhymes, a blade appearing in his hand as if by magic. She dodged with surprising agility, countering with a spray of her own toxin.

As the two criminal masterminds engaged in their deadly dance, their laughter mingled in a cacophony of madness that seemed to shake the very foundations of the building.

Meanwhile, across town at Wayne Manor, Revan found herself pushed to her limits. The Batman-Joker hybrid was unlike any opponent she had ever faced, combining Batman's skill and strength with the Joker's unpredictability and malice.

"Come now, Revan," the hybrid taunted as he dodged another of her punches. "Surely you can do better than that? Or has your time away from the game made you soft?"

Revan gritted her teeth, feeling the familiar rage of her toxin building within her. "You have no idea what I'm capable of," she growled.

With a burst of speed, she charged forward, her enhanced strength allowing her to break through the hybrid's guard. Her fist connected with his jaw with a sickening crunch, sending him flying across the rooftop.

But even as he crashed into a chimney, reducing it to rubble, the hybrid laughed. "Now that's more like it!" he cackled, rising from the debris as if it were nothing. "Let's see what else you've got!"

In the Batcave below, Alfred worked feverishly on the antidote, the sounds of battle echoing through the manor above. His hands moved with practiced precision, years of assisting Batman having prepared him for this moment.

"Just a little longer, Master Bruce," he muttered, carefully mixing the final components. "Hold on, my boy. Hold on."

Back in the penthouse, the battle raged on. Hannah and Sarah had managed to corner the Chimera, their coordinated attacks finally breaking through their opponent's defenses.

"It's over, Chimera," Hannah panted, her fists raised. "Surrender now."

The Chimera's mask rippled, perhaps in amusement. "Over? My dear, this is just the beginning."

Before either woman could react, the Chimera released a cloud of toxin directly into their faces. Hannah and Sarah stumbled back, coughing and gasping.

"No!" Gordon cried out, momentarily distracted from his efforts to help Maxwell.

But as the toxin cleared, something unexpected happened. Hannah and Sarah stood tall, their eyes clear and focused.

"How...?" the Chimera's voice held a note of genuine surprise.

Sarah's grin was fierce. "Did you really think we'd come unprepared? We've been working on an antidote ever since our first encounter."

Hannah nodded, her stance ready for battle once more. "Now, let's finish this."

As they renewed their attack on the Chimera, the Joker and Ms. Rhymes continued their deadly duel. The room was a whirlwind of purple and green, punctuated by flashes of gunfire and the glint of blades.

"You know," the Joker said conversationally as he dodged another of Rhymes' attacks, "I must admit, you've got style. It's derivative and unoriginal, but it's style nonetheless."

Ms. Rhymes' laugh was tinged with both amusement and anger. "Oh, darling. You have no idea what true style is. Let me demonstrate!"

She pressed a button on her wrist, and suddenly the room was filled with a thick, purple smoke. As everyone coughed and struggled to see, her voice echoed from seemingly everywhere at once.

"Gotham trembles, shadows dance,

In chaos' grip, there's no second chance.

The Joker falls, a new queen rises,

Gotham's fate, full of surprises!"

The Joker's laugh cut through the smoke. "Poetry? Oh, my dear. You really are trying too hard."

As the smoke began to clear, the two were revealed once more, locked in combat. But now, there was a change in the Joker's demeanor. His grin had taken on a harder edge, his eyes blazing with a fury that even Ms. Rhymes' madness couldn't match.

"You know," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl, "I've had just about enough of your amateur hour antics."

With a move too fast to follow, the Joker closed the distance between them. There was a flash of steel, a gasp of surprise, and then...silence.

Ms. Rhymes looked down in shock at the blade protruding from her chest. "But...how?" she whispered, her voice filled with genuine surprise for the first time.

The Joker leaned in close, his eternal grin now a thing of nightmares. "Because, my dear, there's one thing you forgot in your little game. I'm the Joker. And the joke's always on everyone else."

As Ms. Rhymes collapsed, her grand plans crumbling around her, the Joker turned to face the rest of the room. The battle had come to a standstill, all eyes fixed on the fallen would-be queen of chaos.

"Well," the Joker said, straightening his jacket as if he'd just finished a pleasant conversation rather than a fight to the death, "I believe that concludes tonight's entertainment. Unless, of course, anyone else fancies a go?"

The silence that followed was deafening. Even the Chimera, formidable as they were, seemed to shrink back in the face of the Joker's unleashed malice.

Gordon, still kneeling beside the now-unconscious Maxwell, looked up at the Clown Prince of Crime with a mixture of horror and grudging respect. "It's over, Joker. You've done what we asked. Now it's time to go back to Arkham."

The Joker's laugh was sharp and cutting. "Oh, Gordy. You're adorable, you know that? But I'm afraid our little arrangement has come to an end. After all, with the Bat out of commission and this upstart dealt with, Gotham is ripe for the taking!"

Before anyone could react, the Joker was at the window. With a mock salute and a final, chilling laugh, he leapt out into the Gotham night.

As sirens began to wail in the distance, Hannah and Sarah helped Gordon secure the Chimera and tend to Maxwell. But even as they worked, a sense of unease settled over them all.

They had stopped Ms. Rhymes and her plan, yes. But at what cost? The Batman was still out there, transformed into a creature of chaos. And now, the Joker was loose once more, more dangerous than ever.

As dawn broke over a battered and bewildered Gotham, one question hung in the air: Had they just traded one nightmare for an even greater one?

As the battle atop Wayne Manor reached its crescendo, Revan found herself pushed to the very limits of her enhanced abilities. The Batman-Joker hybrid was a whirlwind of chaos and skill, each attack more unpredictable than the last.

"Come on, Revan," the hybrid taunted, his grin unnaturally wide. "Is this really the best you can do? I expected more from Bane's protégé!"

Revan gritted her teeth, feeling the familiar surge of her toxin-enhanced strength coursing through her veins. "You want my best?" she growled. "Then let's end this!"

With a burst of speed that surprised even the hybrid, Revan charged forward. She feinted left, then right, keeping her opponent off-balance. As the hybrid moved to counter, Revan saw her opening.

In a move that combined Batman's precision with her own raw power, Revan struck. Her fist connected with the hybrid's solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs. As he stumbled, she followed up with a vicious uppercut that sent him flying.

The hybrid crashed into the manor's stone wall, slumping to the ground. For a moment, the only sound was the wind whistling across the rooftop.

"It's over," Revan said, her voice heavy with exhaustion. "Stay down."

But the hybrid merely laughed, the sound a chilling mix of Batman's growl and the Joker's cackle. "Oh, my dear Revan. It's never over. The joke's eternal, don't you see?"

As he struggled to his feet, the door to the roof burst open. Alfred emerged, a syringe filled with glowing blue liquid in his hand.

"Master Bruce!" Alfred called out, his voice filled with a mix of hope and desperation. "I have the antidote!"

The hybrid's eyes widened, a flicker of recognition passing across his twisted features. "Alfred? No... stay back! I don't want to be cured! This... this is freedom!"

Revan saw her chance. As the hybrid was distracted by Alfred's appearance, she moved. With speed born of desperation, she grappled with the hybrid, pinning his arms.

"Now, Alfred!" she shouted. "Do it now!"

Alfred didn't hesitate. He rushed forward, plunging the syringe into the hybrid's neck. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the hybrid let out a scream that seemed to shake the very foundations of Wayne Manor.

Revan held on as the hybrid thrashed and convulsed, his body wracked by the antidote's effects. Slowly, agonizingly, the garish colors of the Joker began to fade from his costume. The manic grin softened, replaced by the grim determination that was so quintessentially Batman.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Batman slumped in Revan's arms, his body going limp.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred's voice was barely above a whisper.

For a heart-stopping moment, there was no response. Then, slowly, Batman raised his head. His eyes, clear and focused for the first time since his transformation, met Alfred's.

"Alfred," he said, his voice hoarse but unmistakably his own. "What... what happened?"

Relief washed over Alfred's face. "It's a long story, sir. But the important thing is, you're back."

As Batman regained his bearings, Revan stepped back. With trembling hands, she reached up and removed her mask, revealing the face of Samantha Faith.

Batman's eyes widened in recognition. "Samantha? You... you saved me?"

Sam nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. "Consider it my way of making amends, Batman. For everything."

Batman stood, his movements still a bit unsteady. He looked at Sam, then at Alfred, his expression grave. "Gotham. The toxin. We need to-"

"Already on it, sir," Alfred interrupted, producing a briefcase. "I've synthesized enough of the antidote to counteract the toxin's effects on a citywide scale. But we'll need a way to distribute it quickly."

Batman's lips curved in the ghost of a smile. "I think I might have just the thing. Follow me."

As they made their way to the Batcave, Batman turned to Sam. "Samantha, I... thank you. For everything. I know our history is complicated, but what you did today..."

Sam shook her head. "You don't need to thank me, Batman. Just... let me help. Let me be part of the solution for once, instead of the problem."

Batman nodded solemnly. "Alright. Then let's save Gotham. Together."

In the Batcave, Batman unveiled a series of high-powered dispersal units, originally designed to spread fire retardant over large areas. With some quick modifications, they were soon ready to deploy the antidote.

As the Batwing soared over Gotham, releasing clouds of the counteragent, the effects were almost immediate. All across the city, people began to shake off the effects of the toxin. The manic laughter that had filled the streets died down, replaced by confusion and then, gradually, relief.

From their vantage point high above the city, Batman, Sam, and Alfred watched as Gotham slowly began to return to normal.

"It's working," Sam breathed, her eyes wide with wonder.

Batman nodded, his expression a mix of relief and determination. "Yes, but our work is far from over. Gotham will need time to heal, to rebuild. And there are still threats out there. The Joker, the Chimera..."

"And Ms. Rhymes?" Alfred asked.

Batman's expression darkened. "Dealt with, according to Commissioner Gordon's report. But her legacy of chaos will linger for some time."

Sam turned to Batman, her face set with resolve. "Whatever comes next, I want to help. If you'll have me, that is."

Batman studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Gotham can always use more allies in the fight against chaos and corruption. Welcome to the team, Samantha."

As the sun rose over Gotham, bathing the city in a new day's light, a sense of hope began to spread. The night had been long and dark, filled with madness and chaos. But in the end, the light had prevailed.

Batman turned to his companions, his voice filled with quiet determination. "Let's go home. We have work to do."

As the Batwing turned back towards Wayne Manor, the first rays of sunlight glinted off its wings. Gotham had survived its darkest night, emerging battered but unbroken. And with new allies and renewed purpose, its protectors stood ready to face whatever challenges the future might bring.

The war against chaos was far from over, but for now, at least, Gotham could breathe easy. Its Dark Knight had returned, stronger than ever, ready to stand against the darkness that forever threatened to engulf the city he had sworn to protect.

*****

Two weeks after the chaos that had gripped Gotham, Batman stood atop the GCPD building, the Bat-signal illuminating the night sky. Commissioner Gordon approached, his face a mixture of relief and concern.

"Batman," Gordon nodded in greeting. "Glad to see you back to your old self."

Batman's lips tightened slightly. "What's the situation, Commissioner?"

Gordon sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. "It's the Joker. He's disappeared. Vanished without a trace after that night at Pride Tower. We've been combing the city, but..."

"But he's the Joker," Batman finished grimly. "He won't be found until he wants to be."

Gordon nodded. "Exactly. I just thought you should know. He's out there, somewhere, planning God knows what."

Batman's cape rustled in the night breeze. "We'll find him, Jim. We always do."

A small smile tugged at Gordon's lips. "We? I hear you've got some new allies in this fight."

As if on cue, three figures emerged from the shadows. Revan, her mask now a symbol of redemption rather than vengeance, stood alongside Hannah and Sarah, both women looking determined and ready for action.

"Gotham has always had its protectors," Batman said, a note of pride in his voice. "Now, more than ever, we stand united against the darkness."

Gordon looked at the assembled group, hope blooming in his chest. "Well," he said, "I'd say the criminals of Gotham have a lot more to worry about now."

As the group discussed strategies for tracking down the Joker and maintaining order in Gotham, none of them were aware of the scene unfolding across town in the Gotham City Morgue.

In the cold, sterile room, a blonde mortician with glasses worked alone, examining a body on the slab. The tag on the toe identified the corpse as "Rachel Rhymes." The mortician's hands moved with practiced precision, but something was off. A giggle escaped her lips, then another, until she was laughing uncontrollably.

With a flourish, the mortician reached up and peeled away the latex mask covering her face, revealing features entirely different from the blonde persona she'd been wearing. Ms. Rhymes stood there, very much alive, grinning down at the body of her double.

"Oh, my dear," she cooed to the corpse. "You played your part beautifully. A true artist, right to the end."

She picked up the latex mask of her own face, a marvel of nanotech that twitched and moved as if alive. Ms. Rhymes brought it to her lips, kissing it tenderly. The mask responded, its lips moving in kind.

"My precious creation," she murmured. "Together, we fooled them all. Even the great Batman and his little friends."

Ms. Rhymes chuckled, remembering the carefully conditioned decoys she had nurtured over the years. Her "life decoys," as she called them, each one willing to die in her place if necessary.

"The show must go on," she said, her voice taking on a sing-song quality. "And darling, what a show we have planned!"

With practiced ease, Ms. Rhymes stuffed the responsive mask into a bag, along with a few other choice items from the morgue. She took one last look at her fallen decoy, blowing a kiss to the corpse.

"Sleep well, my dear," she whispered. "Your sacrifice won't be in vain. Gotham hasn't seen anything yet."

And with that, Ms. Rhymes slipped out into the Gotham night, vanishing like a nightmare at dawn. But unlike most nightmares, she would return. Gotham's respite was only temporary, and the next act in her grand performance was already taking shape in her brilliantly twisted mind.

As the morgue door swung shut behind her, Ms. Rhymes' laughter echoed through the empty corridors, a chilling promise of chaos yet to come.

[sabugabr]

RRR, Black Adam and the Response of the Oppressed

OR: The Colonial Wound and how to approach Violence as a solution against the mechanisms of oppression

OR: how to get the debate right VS how to ruin it completely

Spoiler: RRR gets it right

So, I was keeping this one to myself because it's a very delicate subject, but rejoicing in RRR's recent Golden Globe nomination, I thought hell might as well talk about it.

First of all, a very important disclaimer:

I am not here, in any way, defending or endorsing any side in this debate. My personal views on violence and armed struggle and guerrilla warfare are not what I will be addressing. Armed struggle, is an extremely complex issue that is still being debated today by theorists and academics much more qualified than I am, so no.

Rather, my aim here is simply to address how this debate has been represented, and my take on this issue: media portrayals of social, historical and most importantly, decolonial debates. And recently in 2022, we've had two approaches (And yes, I am fully aware that this topic is much better covered in dozens of media that have this debate entirely as their main focus, but I am talking about superhero blockbusters here, so keep that in mind) that may seem similar, but are fundamentally completely divergent:

The Telugu movie RRR (Rise, Roar, Revolt)

And curiously, DC Film's Black Adam

No need to say, there'll be major spoilers ahead, so be warned

1. THE RESPONSE OF THE OPRESSED

Before I start, I would like to clarify as briefly as I can some terms and concepts that I consider necessary to begin to understand decolonialism and the response of the oppressed, a term that was coined in the famous quote by Jaylen Brown during the height of the BLM movement, "Do not confuse the response of the oppressed with the violence of the oppressor".

Pierre Bourdieu differentiates the violence of the oppressor into two categories:

explicit violence – in which the action of the dominant subject is visible (and therefore, in our current society, subject to questioning and legal or moral limitations)

and symbolic violence – conceptualized by Bourdieu when he addressed the issue of male domination in society and all the faces in which it presents itself – and we see it everywhere, from racial demographics in income distribution to that homophobic joke your uncle always makes.

This relationship of systematic domination can be understood as a chain, and in view of the necessary rise of awareness and consequent rupture of this chain, Audre Lorde presents the uses of anger.

By connecting the idea of symbolic power and the breaking of the domination relationship with the use of anger, we have the explosion of a natural reaction of the oppressed triggered by centuries of imprisonment in their own fear and, bringing this reality specifically to colonial relations, using anger over your own fear results in liberation. (source)

And although it wouldn't hurt to address the revolutionary terms in its most famous roots in the French Revolution and etc, here it seems more fitting to comment on Marx. And class struggle.

Briefly, Marx and Engels saw revolution as the result of organized political action by the exploited. Therefore, one can only speak of revolution when there is a rupture with the old political, social and economic order; and in its place, new standards of social relations are established whose principle is to ensure freedom and social equality among men.

This is what we mean when we talk about inverting the social order, and Marx will also use the terms infrastructure (productive forces + relations of production) and superstructure (politics, police, army, law, morals, religion, etc.).

The superstructure, for Marx, is created by the most favored and dominant class, but determined or conditioned by the infrastructure.

Therefore, the revolution would happen when the working class (and in that logic, any oppressed group) reversed the order and took control of the superstructure.

In short, this can be understood as the basis of revolutionary thinking.

Now apply this to the invasion, colonization and genocide scenario, and you'll see where I'm going here.

KKKKKKKKKKKKKK THAT'S A BIT EXTREME EXAMPLE SORRY but actually in Black Panther I the plot could very well be read through Marxist lens (and that has certainly been done), but I won't even go into that here, god forbid Wakanda Forever hahahah imagine that, anyway going back to my thread

2. ARMED STRUGGLE

A quick definition of armed struggle, which can be found in dictionaries, is armed resistance against oppressive regimes. In the armed struggle, the militants understand that the situation of society requires drastic action so that it can be modified, and for this reason they decide to take up arms and declare war on the oppressive regime. Guerrilla warfare is an example of armed struggle.

In the armed struggle, a group of militants opposed to the current regime in a given society, organize actions that can be strikes, attacks on barracks or public buildings, etc, aiming to destabilize the current power with the aim of overthrowing it and placing a different regime in its place, like a democracy, for example – in general, the armed struggle follows a leftist tendency. (source)

In Brazil, for example, the armed struggle appeared mainly as resistance to the Military Dictatorship between 1964 and 1985.

All of this goes along the idea of using violence as resistance to oppression (as already pointed out before): fire is answered with fire. In the specific scenario of the guerrilla, the French philosopher, journalist, former government official and academic Jules Régis Debray writes the controversial book Révolution Dans La Révolution, where he points out that "The main objective of a revolutionary guerrilla is the destruction of the enemy's military potential"; the enemy is stripped of it's military power (it's weapons) to ensure a greater chance of victory.

"To destroy an army you need another army.", Debray says. "Precisely because it is a mass struggle, and the most radical of all, the guerrillas need, in order to triumph militarily, to gather politically around themselves the active and organized majority, since it is the general strike and the generalized urban insurrection which will give the coup de grace to the regime and destroy its latest maneuvers - last minute coup d'état, provisional junta, elections - by extending the struggle throughout the country." (source)

Does that all ring a bell?

Sure it does.

Now, these are all historical scenarios, and nowadays the moral debates about armed struggle have become extremely more complex (as they should), and the disarmament discourse is taking more and more space in these debates. Is armed struggle the only solution? Wouldn't there be others?

But it is still a complex debate. The Brazilian rapper (and political thinker and, dare I say, philosopher) Mano Brown, a strong advocate of disarmament, staunchly defends that violence, most of the time, bounces back on the oppressed, not the oppressor.

Look at him all precious

He argues, however, that one cannot simply condemn the oppressed who react violently. Already in 2006 he presented in an interview that:

"I am in favor of disarmament, but this argument is difficult, things should be done differently […] People are coming as a class struggle, you know? Rich people don't want poor people to arm themselves and remain unarmed. And poor people don't want rich people to arm themselves and remain unarmed. Did you see the kid's argument: "How are the police allowed to carry guns while I remain unarmed? " It's kind of uneven. It's confusing." (source - translated by me)

Mano Brown is part of the Brazilian rap band Racionais formed by 4 black men from the periphery, who revamped their music after realizing that it could be used to foment violence. They front a series of social programs, and revolutionized the way peripheral music is seen and consumed. Nowadays, in 2023, Mano Brown hosts one of the biggest political interview podcasts in Brazil (having even interviewed Angela Davis), is considered one of the most active leaders of the racial struggle, and along with the other members of Racionais, has taught open classes in estate universities.

The Brazilian educator and philosopher Paulo Freire, considered one of the most notable thinkers in the history of world pedagogy, inaugurates in his book Pedagogy of the Oppressed (you can read it translated right here) the idea of the liberation pedagogy. He strongly emphasizes that liberation pedagogy is a political process that aims to awaken individuals from their oppression and generate actions for social transformation – through education.

NOW WITH ALL THAT IN MIND WE CAN FINALLY MOVE ON TO WHAT MATTERS,

3. THE MOVIES

I'm going to talk about RRR here first because it makes me happier, but for reasons of time and your patience I'm not going to extend myself so much in the analysis of this film technically, and if you want a more detailed look at the grandeur and the importance and the genius of this film, please watch any of the many videos that are now appearing on youtube on the subject (I recommend RRR: Make Movies EPIC Again, by Jared Bauer, and The Importance of RRR, by the wonderful Accented Cinema)

ONCE AGAIN ATTENTION FOR BIG, MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD

The story therefore revolves around two men: Raju, who infiltrates the British army to steal fireguns and deliver them to the people's guerrilla, and Bheem, a Gond leader who is after Mali, a child of his people who was kidnapped by the British to basically serve as a pet.

They meet under false identities, and unaware that they were both fighting for the liberation of India (through different methods), the two men form an extremely strong bond of love and friendship, which results in their struggles coalescing into an evocation of patriotic unity and popular resurgence against the colonial forces.

First of all, RRR is a fictionalized biography of two real-life Indian revolutionaries, Alluri Sitarama Raju and Komaram Bheem. So, in real life, Alluri Raju actually stole guns from the British to stage uprisings against the British Raj, and Komaram Bheem really was a Gond revolutionary leader who coined the slogan Jal, Jangal, Zameen (transl. Water, Forest, Land) wich became a call to action for Adivasis (or Scheduled Tribes) peoples.

You can see the flag in the last scenes

This "historical aspect" (in addition to the incredible, completely impossible and impossibly glorious action scenes) makes it plausible to draw parallels between RRR and Tarantino's historical revisionism films like Django Unchained (2013) and Inglourious Basterds (2009), where in all cases we see scenes of extreme violence that somehow feel justified, or cathartic, for being directed against oppressors (slave masters, Nazis, British colonizers, etc etc)

The parallels are just there.

Black Adam, on the other hand, states in its synopsis that "After nearly five thousand years of imprisonment, Black Adam, an anti-hero from the ancient city of Kahndaq, is released in modern times. His brutal tactics and righteous ways attract the attention of the Justice Society of America, who try to stop his rampage by teaching him to be more of a hero than a villain, and they all must band together to stop a force more powerful than Adam himself."

So we have a superhero story set in the present day in a fictional country on the Sinai Peninsula (that means, right there besides the Gaza Strip and the Suez Canal), occupied by a mercenary crime syndicate called Intergang, who brutally oppresses the Kahndaqi people while robbing their mineral resources. All good, all great.

But as stated in the synopsis, the film's great moral conflict revolves around whether the use of violence against mechanisms of oppression is justified or not.

Basically,

And while these two scenarios may seem similar, the approach the two films take to this debate, which, as I've said before, is EXTREMELY DELICATED, and EXTREMELY COMPLEX, is completely different. Firstly, because RRR is the only one of the two that treats it as, well, a debate.

From the beginning, RRR establishes the two characters as essentially polar opposites; Raju is fire

Look at the scenery with the european buildings in the background

Bheem is water

And here, the native, untouched forest with pure cristaline water

Bheem is the god Bhima, immovable, patient and resilient

(like water)

And Raju is the god Rama, heroic, springy and skillful

(and hot)

Bheem is the legs (the foundation) while Raju is the arms (the action)

They ✨ complement ✨ each other

And this is translated into their different approaches to the revolution: Raju with his arms policy (inherited from his guerrilla father), who operates within the system to overthrow it, and Bheem with his native philosophy, using the land, the fauna, the culture, the religion, the people themselves as agents against oppression, operating from outside the system to overthrow it.

At the beginning of the film, Raju dresses Bheem in western clothing so that he can attend a British party (which allows him to know the building and locate Mali), and at the end of the film, Bheem dresses Raju in the traditional clothing of the god Rama, and arms him not with european firearms but with a sacred bow and arrow, evoking his native homeland in what configures the real defeat of the colonizers.

Not even getting into the merits of comparing these two films technically, just talking about the discourse itself, what for me fundamentally separates RRR from Black Adam, and even Django and Inglourious Basterds, is precisely Bheem's character. It's the other way to fight (but fight nonetheless)

This does not mean that the armed struggle is delegitimized, or diminished. On the contrary, it is explained, justified (within that historical and social context) and respected. People who fought in the armed struggle, and died in the armed struggle, are honored and respected. It allows you to understand where the idea of arming the population is coming from (in a certain parallel with Mano Brown's interview that I mentioned above), but it also presents other discussions on the subject, that happened at the time, and still happens today.

And above all, as I mentioned before, the film presents and reinforces the idea of inspiration. Even if education is presented only very briefly, in a popular assembly, in the long term, the film still gives extreme focus to the importance of raising awareness among the oppressed people.

This can be clearly seen in the scene where Bheem is being tortured in a public square by the British government, and refuses to kneel.

So when the torture becomes too much to bear, he starts to sing

Now, this is the most important scene in this movie and I'll die on this hill

And then, this happens

Bheem inspires not only the population, but also Raju, who even after years of enticement by his own father, steps back on his original (armamentist) plan when he realizes that "I was under the impression that guns would bring us freedom. But Bheem inspired a whole crowd with one song"

Even though in the context of the film the "path of choice" was still violent (this still is, after all, an action superhero movie), the message of this scene is extremely metaphorical. The idea of a song (art) inspiring all people to "become a weapon" against an oppressive regime is very powerful, and it resonates deeply in anti-opression movements all over History. It is, literally, the power of the people.

Furthermore, at crucial moments in the plot, both Bheem and Raju put aside their collective struggles for the other's individual good; Unlike his father, who readily accepts the militarization of his child son for the greater good, Raju, when questioned by his guerrilla companion for abandoning 15 years of work to save Bheem, says that "I will bear it for another 25 years, but I won't sacrifice Bheem for my goal".

Bheem, here, represents not only the friendship and love between them, but, metaphorically, an entire ideal of the people. Ultimately, one can say that this film addresses the idea of "what are the limits in my revolution": I will not sacrifice the other for my revolution; the limits of my revolution must be the wellness of the other (and in our metaphorical reading here, the wellness of the people).

Parallel, the torture scene can be metaphorically read as: the only valid sacrifice is my own, never that of the other. (and I won't be commenting on the revolutionary character of ideas like martyrdom and self-sacrifice, but yes). That's what Bheem and Raju do throughout the entire film, they put the other above themselves.

And in the end, they kill the british defeat oppression together✨

Now, as I've mentioned before, yes, this movie still ends violently, yes, it still glorifies and celebrates this violence in some of the best action scenes I've seen in my whole life, yes, it is heavily patriotic and sometimes a little bit too on the nose about it, yes, and did I rejoyce in it? Yes.

But it cannot be denied that RRR at least presents a reflection not often seen in films of the genre, which is the mere existence of real debate. In addition, the film is placed in an extremely specific historical context, portraying real historical figures, real life revolutionaries, folkloric parallels, a gigantic symbolic charge, in short, a whole other deal.

Besides it, the only difference between this film and idk, Braveheart, or Star Wars, is that in this film the social and racial parallels, the guerrilla warfare and class struggle (and the colonial wound) become clearer – and perhaps this is a more responsible way of representing a revolution.

NOW, BLACK ADAM ON THE OTHER HAND KKKKKKK

As mentioned in the synopsis, the background of Black Adam is curiously similar: we have an oppressed people, we have the militia, a clear racial reference to a real-life conflict, which affects thousands of people daily, and the figure of a mythologically evocative hero with super powers who will free the people from oppression through violent means. And yes, there is debate: we have the Justice Society, which condemns Black Adam's methods and questions his use of violence, only to be proven wrong at the end of the movie.

But the "proved wrong" isn't really built, or developed (as Intergang is quickly forgotten when they all start fighting each other and then… Satan? For some reason??), and it basically boils down to this:

KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

And that's so funny because he actually just… killed like 3 soldiers in the second act of the movie. That's all he did.

And it gets even funnier because at some point we have a scene that genuinely makes a VERY VALID point that made me very hopeful when I was in the theater watching it

Like, this is SO VALID and she is SO RIGHT and this is such a great argument and a great debate point and then it just... goes nowhere

He just killed like 3 guys he didn't even talk to the people he just, quite literally, killed some pawn soldiers and went on to fight his own individual battles that had nothing to do with the actual opression state of the country besides them telling you that "it was bad".

The problem with Black Adam's is ac how shallow the argument is. Nothing is justified, nothing is not even debated, we just have Hawk Man going "killing is bad" and Black Adam going "yeah but I do it caused I'm disruptive like that", and even when we have this "inspire the people" moment is just... this kid with a cape doing this symbol and yes, symbols of struggle are a great tool in fighting oppression, and yes they work and they're so, so great, but this one specifically kind of just…was there?

LIKE OK THIS IS ALL GREAT but then it lead to people… fighting zombies?????

zombies ??!?!??!!!????

Like, how, seriously, how does this have to do with any of your previous state of opression? How does this change absolutely anything??? Are we going to have elections after the zombies thing, or... ?

And that, to me, is such a poor and wasteful way of representing people power that, even though I didn't take this film seriously, I couldn't help but feel mildly frustrated. Much of the recent wave of blockbuster media about decolonialism, in my opinion, has been making this same mistake, which is apparently thinking that just because a movie is made to be a blockbuster, or a superhero movie, or an action movie and easy entertainment, it cannot tackle complex topics. It cannot deepen a discussion. It can't take 10 minutes off a fight scene to establish a full dialogue. As if that would, idk, tire the audience maybe? Idk.

As if a universe of superheroes, or fantasy and action, couldn't contain a scene like this:

This scene seems so simple but it is so, so huge

Andor is perhaps an example out of the curve, because Andor is a series that makes a great effort to represent the fight against oppression in a very serious and responsible way, making it its main theme, of representing what a fascist government is,how a fascist government acts and affects all layers of a population, what is the immigrant cause, what is the armed struggle, what is it like to be a person of color in an far-right government. And it does all of this in an unprecedented way in the genre so far, indeed.

But as I said before, perhaps this should be how all media represent these themes. Because otherwise, even the best of intentions can turn against the causes you sought to defend. And ok, I know that Black Adam is "just a superhero movie" and that maybe it's unfair to demand so much from a movie that only came to propose a simple entertainment with fight scenes and jokes, and I had fun watching it indeed. I love Dwayne Jhonson we all do. But the thing is, if you're going to represent that debate, I genuinely believe it can't be done as simply, or as poorly explained, as it was in this film. A poorly presented arms discourse can become an attack on the legitimization of the armed struggle in its historical context, it can become a justification for a shootout against anti-oppression demonstrations, it can become the excuse for why a policeman mistook an umbrella for a rifle, or a piece of wood for a gun, and killed innocent (and peripheral) men.

In the best of scenarios, the intent is simply forgotten, or it's so hidden in the metaphorical layers of the work that it's easy to miss them. If that weren't the case, there wouldn't be so many racist, misogynistic, right-wing Star Wars fans, for example (just to be clear, I'm not attacking Star Wars here at all, ok, I'm just using it as an example – you'll agree with me that I've never seen any Cambridge professors attack Star Wars)

And fair is fair, Luke did explode a moon-sized military base full of millions of people and all that...

SO ANYWAY

Armamentism is an extremely serious issue, and it must be handled very, very carefully. As I mentioned before, RRR has a historical context, and an argument builded throughout the entire film; I hardly think anyone comes out of RRR, or WomanKing, wanting to pick up a gun and simply shoot someone (I hope). But the way this idea was presented in Black Adam, it is not an exaggeration to say that someone might have had this impression after watching it. At the very least, the movie took no care making sure this wasn't the case, and that for me is troubling enough.

The struggle against oppression and decolonialism are extremely important topics, and I am happy that these themes are increasingly making themselves present in more and more media works (and we have had several very good ones recently) – and Black Adam does have good ideas in the middle of the mess. But if you're going to make a film to talk about oppression, without actually commiting to approach it responsibly, why do it?

And ok, RRR does have a very imperative call to action but well, look at them, would you not answer???

[ohdudedhesflirting]

Lots of people on tik tok, and tumblr and probably Twitter as well, have been saying, me included, that zerobaseone is going to debut with a Greek mythology concept.

Which I believe is very likely.

Here is what I feel like each member is going to be assigned to a god/goddess. (yes i am including goddess, bite me.)

Disclaimer ! I am basing this from my memories of my class on greek iconography and not of work adapted from it. And i am not going to talk about everything that is SA, abuse and violence the gods are surronded with and created. I am not going to do a whole class on greek mythology so good luck. Its also my opinion. And I am not pretending to know everything, I may even be wrong.

Here is the hyung line : (below the cut)

Jiwoong endorsing Zeus

Zeus, if we put away his tendency to be a major idiot and globally a serious menace for everyone and everything, is the god of the gods. He is one of the first three god with his brothers Hades & Poseidon. They are the ones that defeated their father Kronos.

Zeus is always represented with his Thunder (Foudre in french). We also can notices that he is very often represented with an eagle which symbolizes him. If he is not clearly shown on a piece/artwork his presence will be symbolized by an eagle. He is also represented as a man with a beard which can be a symbol of widsom but also of age (being one of the most proeminent gods)

On a kind of level power Zeus is the big boss. He is the first olympian. The god of the gods. As well as the god of the sky, he reigns over the sky as the total master of it.

Eagles are as we said his symbol as well as his Thunder, his weapon with which he defeated Kronos.

Now why would Jiwoong be his representative ? Well firstly because Jiwoong is the oldest and Zeus (for gods not titans obv) is also one of the oldest with the 12 olympians. But also if even Zeus is an ass he is still a brother (that gives terrible advice but still) and watches over his brothers. But also because he is powerful and globally respected (lets not talk about all the coups tho)

I feel as well that Zeus representatives colors would be silver and a dark blue which I feel are Jiwoong's colors as well.

I feel like we could expect something where his age and experience could be put forward as well as his relationship with his members and the kind of guide image he has.

Zhang Hao endorsing Hades :

Hades is also one of the first three gods, with his brothers Poseidon & Zeus.

I know what you are going to say "he is the god of death blah blah" no. He is the god of the dead. Its different. And he is as well the god of wealth and he is the king of the underworld.

In his iconography Hades is represented with his helmet which his attributed weapon as it is with it he defeated Kronos.

A good part of his iconography is actually him kidnapping persephone, working or just like statues so I feel like the part we know of him through text is more important.

Why am I pairing Zhang Hao with him ? Because Hades is a good guy, vehemently, he as a cute dog. He is I believe one of the only gods who didnt SA someone, he is faithful and respectful.

But what truly achieved of conving me is the fact that Hades is litteraly (in my mind) an introvert, a kind of mr darcy if you will. And Zhang Hao is an introvert, invorted person.

But also because from the outside Hades is like grrr underwold dead people and inside he is like my wife <3 giving better conditions to the dead <3.

Its Zhang Hao energy for me okay ?

I feel like we could expect something badass that could be a good break from his usual good boy image. Something darkish with leather, the helmet and obviously dogs. Or a more soft version alongside his sweetheart.

Hanbin endorsing Persephone

Persephone is a character in greek mythology which depending on the interpretations is a dumb maiden that got kidnapped or a lovely wife and person capable of talking sense into her husband or a badass lady (rare tho)

Persephone is the godess of spring but she is as well the queen of the underworld. She is 1/3 of the year in the underworld with her husband and the other 2/3 in the human world with her mother.

In an iconographic point of view there is not that much about her. At the beginning she was only represented getting kidnapped. Now in her iconography it's more the side of flowers cute that is put forward or her intelligence.

I feel like Hanbin matches her because he just exclude this energy of sunshine happy but also a more severe side if anyone dare hurt someone that matters for him (we saw it at the airport when they got mobbed)

We could expect something that could be more of a badass concept such as (queen) King of the underworld. Or something more sweet focused on springs with lots of floral and pastelish colors

Matthew endorsing Apollo

Now this one is easy. We already have lots of hints about that one.

Apollo, god of the sun, poetry, medicine and music.

He is the twin brother of Artemis as well as the son of Zeus.

In his iconography Apollo is representated as a young man, without a beard, not too muscular. He generally has a bow and arrows as well as a lyre (as he is the god of music). The sun and the lyre is what represents him.

Now we saw in Matthew birthday post that he has an arrow and a bow. However there is the presence of hearts. With hearts we could make the supposition that it is actually Eros (God of love) that he actually embodies. Which is not the case. One of the main symbol of Apollo is the sun. And what is Matthew nickname ? Sunshine.

Putting Matthew as Apollo is actually quite clever because he is someone that is devoted to his sister. Has multiple talents, is handsome and warm. Lots of common points with Matthew.

I feel like we could expect maybe something truly solar and full of warmth that would truly highlight his nickname but also Apollo and his particularities. I imagine totally Blond Matthew (this aged well lol) with a bow and arrows or with a lyre. Apollo is a good character because he is truly complex and can show very various stuff.

Tae Rae endorsing Eros

I actually hesitated a lot for Tae Rae. He was nearly Hestia but I changed my mind.

Eros is the son of Aphrodite, godess of love and beauty. As you can guess Eros is the god of love but his task is very unique because he is the one that send off the arrows to make people fall in love.

Globally I feel like if there is a greek mythology concept they might do little focus on a more "historic" aesthetic kind of concept with armors and weapons. But I feel like it might be globally modernised and simplified with the global ideas of what I've started to developp.

He is a loverboy actually because he had a love story with a mortal which he was supposed to kill but didn't because he fell for her.

He is someone very tender but clever and determinated.

I dont have much on his iconography because I didn't saw it in class so just trust me lol

In my eyes Tae Rae is the perfect fit because he is a loverboy. Yall saw the way he looks at people? Loverboy. But also because Tae Rae is someone very tender and sweet, easily emotional.

We could expect something in pastel colors with like discret symbol such as the rose (even if it came from Aphrodite lol), arrows and very hearty tender looks.

I globally believe they will debut with the Greek mythology concept but it will be heavily modernized and focusing only on the most important points. I think it will be or very badass with like lots of leather or very sweet with lots of pastel

Maknae line will be out by next week or in a few days depending on how I progress.)

[baelpenrose]

Nihilus Rex 35: Escalation

Nils crosses one of his first major lines here. That plan about swatting a hate church comes to fruition. TW for gun violence. Also we're gonna repeat the disclaimer that we feel increasingly obliged to as Nils keeps escalating. Especially since this is probably one of the few actually imitable atrocities he commits. Hey, I know I harbor a massive hate for evangelical churches but don't do this in real life. It's awful, and just like in this chapter? It will hurt innocent people. Afterverse Studios does not endorse anything with this kind of collateral damage. The hate preachers may deserve it, the families they're brainwashing don't. Do not do this. If the morals don't convince you, the legal rammifications might. You will get caught. Nils & Co. have villain protagonist powers, you don't.

Co written by @canyouhearthelight.

Do you believe in God?

Written on the bullet

Say yes to pull the trigger

Do you believe in God?

Written on the bullet

And Cassie pulled the trigger

“Cassie”, Flyleaf

Nils

It was a few days after the party, and the preparation for the SWAT attack was ready. Gray had been in constant contact as we’d prepared the attack to turn the churchgoers against the government, give the Christians an actual persecution to be afraid of - and escalate the armed contingent against the police.

Now, I sat in our little abandoned mall, behind a wall of VPNs, and prepared to ignite something that set fire to my veins with an excitement I couldn’t believe I felt at what I was about to do.

Shot up gay clubs. Kids kicked out of their homes. Kids committing suicide because of peers and parents who couldn’t accept them. People dying, the word “faggot” or “dyke” or “tranny” the last they’d ever hear.

Today, retribution. 

Somewhere, some spoilsporting part of my mind recognized that I was about to cause a mass shooting, and I could hear a voice that sounded suspiciously like Father Rivera’s speaking that old proverb. Something about how those who make use of the devil's tools shall, by degrees, come to serve his ends.

They should have listened to you then. Today their tools are mine. 

I keyed off the bot that started the SWAT call. Pre-recorded. A hostage situation in the church. Then another. Another. VPNs would cluster the calls as coming from that area. After about four or five, with more and more 911 calls that rapidly hung up, I terminated the bot, and waited, my eyes on the screen.

“Keep an eye on online chatter, everyone. Things are about to get real exciting.”

The church’s own livestream let us watch what unfolded. SWAT burst through the doors, and the pastor found himself interrupted. A fanatic right wing pastor who had spent years swearing the deep state would eventually come for Christians, who swore up and down that Trump would save them. A gun toting flock, allowed to carry in church. Cops charging in, keyed up to fight.

I didn’t see who fired the first shot. I don’t know that anyone did. I don’t know that history ever would know, as we never figured it out.

What mattered was that in minutes, the screen was consumed with a brutal firefight between an armed SWAT squad and dozens of armed church goers. Before anyone was doing more than reacting to the chaos,  three of the dozen armored officers and a score of the churchgoers were down, some silent and some thrashing and screaming, blood covering them. As the Evangelicals were diving behind the pews and shooting, they began catching other churchgoers in their shooting, randoms getting it in the backs, the legs. A flashbang caught a section of pews on fire, and the pastor caught a round high in the chest, gore spattering the wall behind him.

Lash looked away, turning so she couldn’t see the feed from even the corner of her eye.  She hunched over her laptop, pointedly focusing on online chatter.  “Mass shooting reported… Nothing about SWAT, which is wild.”

I didn’t take my eyes away from what we’d - I’d - done. “Give it a sec. News will have to break the story. Bishop - what are you seeing? And can you seed anything? Ghosts of Ruby Ridge, maybe?”

Gray’s voice came over the call. “No need. Already there. Bunch of people screaming about how this is why they need guns in church, government coming after worshippers. There’s already a few militia types moving towards that church to fight SWAT if they can get there in time.” His voice was smug. “I thought you were full of shit, but you weren’t kidding. The perfect gambit to give the right what it needed to finally decide playing nice with police was making them weaker, not stronger.” 

My attention snapped. “Bishop, monitor police bands.” This was gonna get real good, real fast.  At this point the SWAT team was falling back toward the exit, though it was apparent that more damage had been done in the church by its defenders than by the SWAT team - something that would be left out by the online reports - the ones that would be believed by Gray’s crowd, the side we were going to be using for our muscle.

Bishop snapped up. “Police closing on location, more SWAT, normal officers.”

I took a breath. “We may have brought more fire that we intended on this one but no sense in stopping now. Drop away from live feed - follow comments. We don’t need to draw attention to the fact that we were paying attention.” I disconnected from the live feed and switched to news coverage - it was supposedly a “breaking story” and CNN was already scrambling to fill the air with as much talking-head-speculation as they could to draw eyeballs for ratings while they waited for reporters to get to the scene and for facts to come in.

“Left wing chatter is coming down pretty harshly.  The kindest thing I’m seeing is ‘thoughts and prayers’, escalating all the way to ‘how are those guns in churches working for you’ and ‘at least no one will protest these funerals’,” Lash updated from her view. “The trolls are out in force.”

Gray snapped. “Better than the lack of guns at most left-wing gatherings usually go, apparently.”

“Not really. This entire plan relied on undisciplined shooters in the crowd starting a firefight, which wouldn’t have worked in a left wing crowd.” Bishop said, mildly.

I listened to the arguments among them for a second, then snapped back. “Police are reporting they had multiple localized calls about a hostage situation in the church and are already looking into this. They state they are still looking into who fired on them.”

Gray smirked. “Of course. That’ll do them a world of favors in a community that believes the government lies like it breathes and knows most mass shootings are false flags. Who just survived a government attack on a place of worship. Them being told a terrorist who hates them took advantage of their weapons to get them to fight the police, and that it wouldn’t have worked out if they’d been unarmed? They’ll just believe that’s obvious government attempts to manipulate them into disarming. Thanks for the suggestion, Bishop.”

Lash smacked her headset to mute it and started muttering in at least two languages I didn’t understand.  I was still pretty sure she was either swearing profusely or wishing a lot of ill on Gray.

I muted myself and turned to Lash. “Okay, that keeps our pawns in line, but this is gonna keep the FBI on us, or on our general direction - this is the second time police and right wingers have fatally drawn down because of some kind of digital manipulation. FBI lady is gonna come around here again. We need to have Weasel trussed up and ready for her when she gets back. And we need to be ready for whatever bullshit she’s gonna pull on either of our families. Let the skull collecting enthusiast worry about the gun nuts for a minute.”

She turned to me. “We still haven’t solved for how we are planning to frame or hack the ‘King of Icebreakers’.”

“Socially, at a guess. Behold, our mark: A single, college age man, who would be a reasonably attractive twink but for his repulsive personality and lack of personal hygiene. Technically brilliant. We have multiple instances of stochastic terrorism in the last few months - and by right wingers who spend too much time online. Some of whom clearly acted out of a sense of personal despair and a desire to make a mark on the world. What other instances of stochastic terrorism does this sound like?” 

“Elliot Rodger,” she answered, immediately realizing where I was going with it. “It’s Isla Vista all over again.”

“Right. Now, with shit this high profile, especially if they didn’t already get us for the banks, the higher levels of the Bureau are probably looking for a way to close the case - that whole thing with the Anthrax back in 2002, when there was no way to figure it out but they needed an answer. It got pinned on a dead man inside the Bureau who no one liked, despite the fact that weaponized Anthrax was a closely guarded Soviet secret that American intelligence never quite reverse engineered. And, wouldn’t you know it, Weasel’s icebreaker was used for the bank job. We just need to socially hack him through some other means to get him to stick his neck out, a little, in a place where FBI lady might see it. The rest takes care of itself. Weasel’s a coward - he’ll dust himself in a panic when the fibbies come for him. Guilty party dead, no further attacks, peace and victory in our time. We’ll lay low and launch more attacks later - and they won’t be looking for the same pattern.”

Lash drummed her fingers, thinking. “While we lay low, we should take the time to expand our network to other countries.  Keep doing small hacks here - the kind of stuff we did before that just didn’t hit the radar - but also scale so they don’t seem as connected.  You got anyone overseas?”

“Uh…One in Japan, one in the Netherlands, two in India, a German, and I had one in Algeria but haven’t heard from her in ages.” I left it at that, leaving unsaid that anyone in this business who suddenly went silent in most of the colonized world had probably been caught and wouldn’t be back.

“North Africa, Mumbai, Philippines, and China.” She offered in a distracted tone. “Clean water initiatives invite those types, surprisingly.”

“The German and Japanese guys are both ‘ethics in tech’ types who really wanted to work on preventing surveillance technology. Both Indians were people who liked the stuff I was doing with education access - neither originally came from money. Side note, whatever we do here still needs to get enough notice we can keep recruiting - I need on the ground left wingers so our eventual plays here have people who answer to you, so we’re not just stuck with minions who break shit for Gray.” 

“Keeping that in mind and already have feelers out.” Shaking her head to snap out of her daze, she looked at me with laser focus. “Pronatalists, yes or no? We need to decide that early on, because they are growing in non-religious tech spaces.”

“Of the ‘people should have resources to reproduce instead of being barred from doing so because of poverty’ type, sure, of the ‘I need 80 children for my ideology, religion, race, or whatever so that my particular neurosis can be soothed or politically dominant’ not only no, but no in a phrasing that implies we think everyone doing that should be sterilized.”

“We’ll have to closely vet them… if you throw a rock in a Pronatalist crowd, you’ll hit one of each.  Probably the same person, to be honest.”

Bishop groaned as he stretched. “Advocating for access to housing and resources to have big families is going to draw them in.  You’re going to get them either way.”

I grunted. “Same bucket as Gray’s goons, I suppose. Problem for tomorrow.” 

I slapped my headset. “New shit, Gray?” 

“I’m already playing. Check the boards.” 

I groaned internally and pulled up the boards Gray frequented. Same trick - new accounts. One account was clearly meant to be the idiot - playing up the heel leftist, who was mocking the victims for being stupid enough to have guns in a church.

Another was playing a conspiracy theorist who was claiming that he’d heard a left wing terrorist had done this as a false flag to get the right and the government to fight each other because the heavily armed church would shoot at the cops and the cops would shoot back. A third person was already arguing with that, pointing out that the government was already auditing that church’s taxes, and the deep state had never liked pro-Trump churches. 

A fourth guy was saying the police were sick of the right getting wise to false flags and were going to try to make up a ‘false flag’ narrative for them to buy into that would end in them seeing guns as an exploitable weakness. Unsurprisingly, this was the most popular comment - a bunch of responses about how already they’d heard rumors that a terrorist had tried to set up the fight to get cops and churchgoers killed. 

I seethed for a minute that he’d gambled on that - then reflected that it had worked. Using nothing more than something that would be counted as wild speculation in court, plus police reporting, he’d turned the crowd’s hostility back on the government.  I was surprised it was working, on one level - you’d think they’d go in on ‘cultural Marxists used us and the government against each other’ but then I realized why they wouldn’t. Not one of them would ever accept that they’d been fooled or tricked. 

And I was perfectly happy to see Gray making himself useful. Making the truth a joke but in a way that would make these people useful to us. Picking up enough momentum we could hijack these people and make them ours. Beginning the countdown to retire himself from relevance. I was perfectly aware that keeping him around too long increased the risk of this whole plan going wrong, of him corrupting our goals, and I needed to make sure he was dealt with well before things really got going.

“Alright. Fibbies next.” 

Bishop shook my shoulder and gestured at the newsfeed. “Hey, Nihilus,” he said, carefully emphasizing my handle as though to remind me to tailor my reaction. Gray was still listening. “Prelim casualty figures.”

I looked at them. 

Sixteen dead, thirty-three injured. One of the dead and eight of the wounded were children.

“Oh, God,” I heard Lash gasp.  “They were babies.” Before I could say anything, she was on her feet and out the door, all equipment left behind.

I felt like I was falling, but I forced myself to not react. What had we done?  What had we just done?

[hjellacott]

"Because political takes go viral more easily than aesthetics assessments do, we end up with rafts of commentary on whether an artwork is problematic, with the question of whether it’s interesting or well made trailing a long way behind. Some of the Hogwarts Legacy reviews barely touched on its gameplay [...] because they were so busy delivering a verdict on its political credentials. I’m currently 40 hours in and having so much fun kidnapping hippogriffs that I haven’t finished the game’s main quest, but unless something catastrophic goes wrong in hour 41, no remotely fair-minded reviewer would rate this game as low as 1/10."

"For me, the most interesting question is: Why single out Hogwarts Legacy for so much opprobrium? I’ve been playing games for decades, and the panicked tone of the disclaimers distancing websites from J. K. Rowling’s views is striking—particularly when so many other titles are potentially objectionable for their actual content. Where were the earnest postscripts stressing that Polygon, GameSpot, and the rest did not endorse ripping out someone’s spinal column (Mortal Kombat); running down blameless pedestrians (Grand Theft Auto); or committing genocide against an entire species of rhinolike warriors with a biological weapon (Mass Effect)? [...] Hogwarts Legacy is set in a boarding school. Its violence is stylized and bloodless, and much of my playing time has been spent growing shrivelfigs, rescuing nifflers, and using a magic loom to upgrade my extensive collection of scarves. The landlady of the pub in Hogsmeade is a trans woman. Dark wizards are the enemies. This is not Triumph of the Will: The Video Game."

"The difference in the treatment of Hogwarts Legacy, and Rowling, from any other blockbuster game is instructive because it demonstrates that trans issues have become the No. 1 progressive touchstone among Gen Z—and particularly its nerdier fandoms. The fact that Rowling’s views on gender spring from her feminism, and her own experience of male violence, does not register strongly with an age cohort in which half of respondents say that women’s rights have gone too far. The specialist sites’ disclaimers also reflect the very male culture of video games, which persists despite the fact that players are now about evenly split on gender lines—48 percent identify as female, according to the latest figures from the Entertainment Software Association. The right-wing version of gamer hostility to feminism became apparent nearly a decade ago in Gamergate, the sexist backlash to the perceived feminization of games; the left-wing version today is the refusal to listen to Rowling’s actual, stated views as a left-wing British feminist and instead to hold her responsible for anti-trans bills in red states. The implication is that she should not raise her widely shared concerns about women’s spaces or child gender medicine because Tennessee, Texas, and Florida have elected Republican governors."

[...] "That’s one possibility. Or it might be that activists, trapped in their critical bubbles, have failed to make the case for Harry Potter’s untouchable status to the general public. Hogwarts Legacy is a huge success. The attempt to force a consensus that J. K. Rowling is a bigot, however—that has been a miserable failure."

[spider-xan]

What’s the beetle

Okay, so I've decided to answer this in good faith, more for the benefit of my mutuals and followers than anything bc I suspect this was meant to be bait given that (a) I never once said the title of the book in any of my recent posts, yet anon knew exactly what I was talking about (which means you already know what the Beetle is, don't you, anon?), and (b) at least two other people received this exact same anon at the same time and there is a clear pattern to who received these messages, though I seem to be the only POC who got this.

Anyway.

The Beetle is gothic horror novel written by Richard Marsh that was published in 1897, which is notable bc that is the same year that Dracula was published - but while the Beetle is obscure and Dracula is a major pop culture phenomenon today, it actually outsold Dracula back in the day; the plot is similar to Dracula in that it is a xenophobic and racist reverse invasion story, this time featuring an Arab villain who turns into a beetle and uses mesmerism (similar to hypnosis) on a British man whom he sexually assaults to help him get revenge on another British man; (as a side note, I think there has been confusion about the villain being Muslim, but as far as I can tell, he seems to worship the Egyptian goddess Isis); there is a reveal at some point where the villain, an Arab man, turns out to have a vagina, which is both transphobic and Orientalist; (I think people get why it's transphobic, but the Orientalism is in Eastern men being 'feminized' as a negative comparison to Western men being 'masculine' as part of the broader idea of the Orient being 'decadent' and 'feminine'); the book is also very badly written, at least by modern standards.

I have no problem with people reading the novel bc ofc consumption is not endorsement and reading 'problematic' (I hate that word, it's so fucking vague) books isn't inherently a reflection of personal morals, and there is value in studying a novel like the Beetle for its historical significance (and how not to write a novel) and what it says on a Doylist level about important topics like colonialism (specifically the British in Egypt), Orientalism, gender, popular tropes during the Victorian era and what they say about Victorian society and its social anxieties at the turn of the century, etc.; for all of its faults and bigotry, there is a lot of thoughtful commentary to be written about the book itself on a meta level.

However, what does and did make me uneasy last year was the fandomization and memefication of the book, which is part of a larger phenomenon I won't get into right now, and fandom analysis often focuses more on Watsonian analysis, especially of characters like real people; I'm not saying you can't have fun or that you need a racism disclaimer on every post or should self-flagellate if you're white, but there are some books where fandomizing might not be the best way to engage with the material or certain aspects of a book - like, joke fanart of an Arab man as an animal molesting a white man is a really weird way to engage with the Arab man as a rapist and animal tropes (definitely Orientalist in at least two ways), especially if you are white and not the target of that kind of racism (like, quick, why is it funny to you?), and I saw very little grappling with how maybe there should be context provided for why that shit is racist, in stark contrast to how Dracula Daily did frequently discuss the bigotry in the novel.

Like, maybe I guess people thought the racism was so egregious, everyone would get it, but as we saw from DD, a lot of people genuinely don't know these things, and that's how you get serious racist, xenophobic, and Orientalist tropes that do very real harm to actual people - we're seeing this happen right now where Orientalist beliefs about Arab men being violent rapists and the idea of Arabs being a threat to the Western world are being used to justify violence and genocide - either being glossed over bc it's not fun or treated as a joke; and I'm not saying the Beetle is responsible for current geopolitics, but while fiction is not reality, fiction can reflect, affect, and reinforce beliefs that shape reality, and it's naive and denying the power of literature to act as if that isn't true.

Anyway, all that to say that I just think people should be a little more sensitive and thoughtful about how they engage with the novel instead of jumping immediately to irreverent fandomizing and memes, especially with what's going on in the world right now.

[blindinjustice]

BLINDINJUSTICE is an independent, mutuals only & selective interpretation of M.ATT M.URDOCK from marvel comics' SPIDER-GWEN. written by ej (22) / she/her.

THIS BLOG CONTAINS VIOLENT THEMES AND SHOULD BE APPROACHED WITH CAUTION!

DISCLAIMER 1. This blog is 18+ and I will not follow or write with anyone under the age of 18.

DISCLAIMER 2. I am not my muse. M.urderdock as the Kingpin is, y'know, a villain and not a particularly likeable person. Please don't view anything he says or does as an endorsement of him. Roleplaying boundaries are important to me, though, and I make a point to reread your rules or our conversations as I write.

DISCLAIMER 3. I won’t tolerate bigotry in any form, which includes (but is not limited to) ableism, sexism, racism, transphobia, homophobia and religiously motivated bigotry. Also, I believe in a free Palestine and in dismantling Israel, so zionism or any other imperialist beliefs. It’s also worth mentioning that I completely anti J.ason L.atour despite writing a character from his run of the comic. These rules also apply to faceclaims. If you see me writing with someone you think breaks these rules, privately let me know and I’ll escalate the situation.

PRIVACY. I'm mutuals only, so please only interact with my memes, starters, starter calls, edits and whatever else if we both follow each other. I reserve the right to be selective with who I follow back, because I'd like to keep this blog as a relatively quiet space for now.

UNIVERSE. In terms of the multiverse, this particular M.att is from Marvel’s Earth-65, which appears exclusively in Spider-Gwen comics. His nature as a multiversal variant of a typically heroic character means that this specific origin is important to my portrayal of him, but it's easy for me to write and justify crossover scenarios. In fact, because I know I write a character from a niche universe, I expect 95% of my threads will be crossovers.

WRITING STYLE. I'm naturally very descriptive. I tend to write multi-para, in third-person present tense. Also, as M.att is blind, I tend not to use visual-based descriptors in my writing, unless it's something he's aware of or can deduce with his radar sense. I also prefer not to interact with accounts that use messletters fonts.

ACTIVITY. My activity can be incredibly spotty, so you may have to bear with me at times. I can go from several replies a day to none within months. But I never expect fast replies from the people I write with. Writing, to me, is very much built on mutual respect.

SHIPPING. I ship based on chemistry from our interactions, as well as plotting. If I'm honest, I much prefer to write platonic and antagonistic dynamics over romantic ones, but I'm open to your ideas as we play them out. I don't write anything of a sexual nature though. That's just not for me, but I have no issue with people who do.

COMMUNICATION. I typically like to start discussions in tumblr direct messages, although I do have a discord that you can ask for if you like to talk on there! I'm much more active on my discord and have no issue sharing it. Just note that I can be a little anxious when it comes to talking with new people, so you may have to bear with me at times.

EXCLUSIVITY. I’m duplicate friendly (particularly if you write 616/nmcu M.att) although I probably won’t follow single muse blogs first if we write the same character. In general, I have no exclusives because I don’t personally like to ask anyone to be exclusive to me. The one exception to this rule is E.lektra N.atchios, just because my girlfriend writes her.

TRIGGERS. I currently have no triggers but I will tag common triggers as "tw trigger" as well as anything I know may trigger my followers. It is worth noting, however, that M.urderdock is a ninja assassin crimeboss and has canonically attempted suicide, so tw violence and tw suicide will be common on this blog. I won't force these upon you, but they're important to the character.

VERSES. I'm going to add information later. But for now, please know that I typically write within Spider-Gwen canon when M.att is the Kingpin (the status quo of vol 2. 12–19 in particular) but I am open to pre and post canonical threads for him too, and I'll be providing thorough verses soon enough. I'm crossover and oc friendly too and love the idea of mixing with muses from all sorts of origins!

That's all for now! I may add more as I settle back in to this blog. Feel free to let me know if there's anything major I may have missed. And I look forward to interacting!!!

[musings-of-a-lit-student]

The Sheik: Part 3

Disclaimer: I don’t own Maus or any of Spiegelman’s work. I have attached the photos from the work itself, but do not claim to own the scanned version either. I highly recommend purchasing the book to support the original author. My thoughts do not represent the author's work and are merely my own interpretations.

Warning: MAUS is a graphic novel based on the author’s father’s experiences during the holocaust and includes anecdotes and scenes including violence, blood which may be considered triggering. 

Introduction: The work MAUS by Art Spiegelman is a novel that tells the story of Vladek Spiegelman and his experiences during the holocaust using an allegory and parallel storylines to depict the Vladek's past and Artie's present as he hears the story from his father. This work includes an autobiographical and biographical element due to the inclusion of two main characters - Vladek and Artie. Spiegelman makes the decision to introduce himself as a character in the work as a mouthpiece for himself.

Main Characters: Artie: The author Vladek: Artie's father Anja: Artie's mother Mala: Vladek's second wife Françoise: Artie's wife

Navigation ->The Sheik Masterlist -> Previous Part

MAUS by Art Spiegelman

Points of Interest:

Allegory Updates

Here we see pigs as poles for the first time clearly and it contrasts the United States which is populated with dogs. The allegory is unfolds over time through the work, and by introducing more races Spiegelman depicts the vast world that Vladek and Anja lived in.

Vladek's Health

Vladek is seen sweating and tired after the first few minutes of cycling, and this depicts his fragility and old age. Spiegelman does this to further distance Vladek's present from his past. However, another explanation for this sweat is his embarrassment since he might be flustered after informing son of his youthful indiscretions.

Role of Money

Vladek's comment about Lucia's family seems unnecessary and informs the readers that a lack of dowry was a factor discouraging him from marrying her. Money is a very important topic for Vladek, and this is seen through his frugality in the present, which is why when Anja's family is "revealed" to be rich, Lucia's impoverished family serves to be a greater foil to hers.

The Train Ticket

To present a change in setting, Spiegelman illustrates the movement by using an image of movement - trains. These show up at different points of the book and often refer to a new beginning. Here, the use of train ticket is used to break the flow from the Lucia storyline, and draw attention to his trip to visit his family.

Closeness in Introduction

While Lucia was introduced by a friend over the phone, Anja was introduced by a close cousin in person. This contrast in introduction is very relevant in the overall comparison. Additionally considering Lucia's name was first introduced over the scratchy telephone speech in the work, and Anja's name is mentioned by a close cousin who Vladek embraces, we see the endorsement for the two females is at two different levels through graphical elements too.

America

The idea of Vladek going to visit American is a telling since it reintroduces the ideas of the past beyond the facts of the present. This ambition furthered by learning English shows the readers Vladek's motivation and enthusiasm in living in America. However coupled with the events in between and the obstacles Vladek faced, the cost of achieving those dreams of his seems to be very high and even more bittersweet given Anja is no longer there with him. Additionally, his use of English to surprise Anja with his knowledge makes him appear more appealing to her and to the readers, and almost appears to be bragging about understanding them.

Zooming in

The last page keeps on coming closer and closer to Anja and Vladek, showing different details that grow intricate, to develop a sense of intimacy and closeness between them. This gradual zooming in shows the tentative start of their relationship which highly contrasts Vladek's body language when with Lucia. The first page emphasises the gap between them despite being seated on a bed after the height of intimacy. As Lucia comes closer to bridge the gap, Vladek bends further away to tie his shoes, and this body language is effective in presenting Lucia as a foil to Anja.

Next Part

[womanstudiesforwomen]

Summary of V. Solanas’ SCUM manifesto

By @womanstudiesforwomen

Disclaimer: this is a section-by-section summary of the manifesto. It is not a substitute for reading it oneself and forming one’s own opinion, it is merely a tool to aid in the organising of the ideas represented.

Section: summary of the statement made in the section

Opening : it is the responsibility of women (humans of the female sex) to “overthrow the government, eliminate the money system, institute complete automation and destroy the male sex”.

Several paragraphs of what appears to be satire: reversing the script of many male philosophers who posed that women were inferior to men in make and mind, Solanas poses that it is instead men who are inferior to women in make and mind.

War: men resort to violence to prove their worth.

Niceness, Politeness, and ‘Dignity’: to conceal the feelings of self-hatred and contempt created by their poor self-worth, men have devised a social code which prioritizes emotionlessness and the absence of opinion (objectivity).

Money, Marriage and Prostitution, Work and Prevention of an Automated Society: there are only six reasons for there to be a money system, and they are all generated by men. Essentially, money buys (1) companionship, and gives men (2) purpose (usefulness), (3) power and control, (4) a substitute for expressing love and affection, and (5) an “eternal, never-ending goal” as well as (6) a basis for fatherhood.

Fatherhood and Mental Illness (fear, cowardice, timidity, humility, insecurity, passivity): through emotional distance and frequent absence, the father becomes a figure from which children seek approval. Since men disapprove of emotions and opinions, children are trained into passivity. Particularly, young girls become Daddy’s Girl, that is, girls who praise their fathers and are unwilling to examine their flaws (and by extension, those of all men).

Suppression of Individuality, Animalism (domesticity and motherhood), and Functionalism: men are utterly dependent upon mothers, turning every woman they encounter, even their own daughters, into substitute mothers. For this reason, men seek to keep women interchangeable in function with every over female.

Prevention of Privacy: men do not care for women’s privacy and, in fact, seek to invade it at all times. Indeed, the familial structure is characterized by the constant “(violation of) the females’ rights, privacy and sanity.”

Isolation, Suburbs, and Prevention of Community: through keeping society divided in family units, men keep women isolated from the rest of civilization. They fear sharing women, their favourite commodity.

Conformity: men define themselves through a strict set of rules which they are afraid to cross when seeking individuality. Thus, they do their best to establish themselves as a Man, and define women as the opposite.

Authority and Government: wanting guides (mothers) in their lives, men put in place authorities. But since they refuse to accept their dependence upon women, men make all the authorities male.

Philosophy, Religion, and Morality Based on Sex: in order to give their lives meaning, men invent philosophy and religion. Men use religion as a tool to “keep women tied to men” and to “try to expiate the guilt and shame (they feel)… at being male”. On the other hand, male philosophy only represents the perspective and realities of men, not those of women too as they like to believe.

Prejudice (racial, ethnic, religious, etc) : the choosing of scapegoats by men creates a hierarchy where the men on top have the greatest access to women.

Competition, Prestige, Status, Formal Education, Ignorance and Social and Economic Classes: the men who have these appear to have the greatest worth, and they may keep women company because women are kept ignorant and unable to detect the incompetence of men. Additionally, men favour the status quo and only ever upend it if they want to be on top.

Prevention of Conversation: “Male ‘intellectual conversation’ is a strained compulsive attempt to impress the female”. Daddy’s Girl was taught to pander to men and so she keeps her conversational skills on the same level.

Prevention of Friendship (Love): since contempt is rife in society because of men’s imposition of rules which define men and women, friendship cannot exist in society, and neither can love, of which friendship is the basis. Men offer two substitutes: ‘Great Art’ and ‘Culture’ and Sexuality.

‘Great Art’ and ‘Culture’: male art and culture are believed to be the epitome of great thinking. Their greatness cannot be contested: their appreciation is a mark of superior thinking.

Sexuality: when sex is sacred, it reinforces women’s attachment to men. When women banalize sex, they stop associating it with male holiness.

Boredom: society as engineered by men for men is utterly boring because men themselves are boring.

Secrecy, Censorship, Suppression of Knowledge and Ideas, and Exposes: to keep their feelings of worthlessness hidden and to maintain their dominance in society, men censor ‘dirty’ words, suppress anything which reveals their weakness, and expose others as Others to divert attention away from themselves.

Distrust: since men lie about their self-worth all the time, they distrust others and think them to lie as well.

Ugliness: the results of men’s decorating skills are ugly.

Hatred and Violence: violence allows men to express their hate and gives them “a little sexual thrill”.

Disease and Death: the cures to aging and death are findable, but male institutions won’t be able to find them due to (1) the need to prove one’s Manliness, (2) the exclusivity of education, (3) the guarding of knowledge, (4) the lack of female scientists, (5) the lack of automated sorting of data, (6) the fact that the institutions are money-driven, (7) that men like death, and (8) that money-bias means the hiring of male-superiority thinkers.

Closing paragraphs: men are eliminating themselves through a variety of means. More and more men are encouraging women so that men can claim as their own the achievements of women. Eventually, men are going to decide that women are not necessary for reproduction. SCUM proposes women take control of the country through criminal disobedience (rather than civil disobedience) whilst never being a nuisance to the necessary institutions of society (ex: hospitals); that the money system be eliminated and automation occurs, both of which would negate the need for a government. During the takeover, SCUM suggests women kill the men who do not adhere to SCUM’s principles.

[hollybell51]

Worse ways to cope

Series masterlist, masterpost

Minho x fem!Reader

The Death Cure (2011 novel - James Dashner, 2018 film - Wes Ball)

Word count: 4658

Summary: “lightly buzzed” confessions leading to making out leading to sex on a shitty couch. Set post-canon (hence The Death Cure as source media)

Content: smut. A massive amount of backstory for absolutely no reason. A lot of angst, talking about Newt dying (so violence, bit of mentioned blood/wounds etc). DRINKING! ALCOHOL! Unhealthily used alcohol! Don’t read this if you don’t wanna read about using alcohol as a coping strategy (disclaimer! I’m not endorsing or romanticising this at all, and I don’t encourage it! If things are rough, you should just spew your thoughts to strangers on the internet. Substances = bad coping mechanism). Kinda friends with benefits, feelings confessions, porn with feelings, making out, blowjobs, hickeys, light dirty talk, missionary, sex on a couch, safe sex (condoms! Yay!), first time 

Notes: I got like three people asking for the others after I posted the Newt one so here you go, enjoy! Also apologies for the really bad summaries, I just suck at doing them and I can’t exactly get a friend to read my stuff then do it for me lmao

You set down the bottle with a soft “clunk”, leaning back against the couch. It was old and battered and a lot of the coverings on the cushions were coming off, not to mention the countless holes, but compared to the last few months it was heaven. The whole Safe Haven was heaven. 

“That better not be empty,” Minho said, eyeing the (not empty) bottle between your feet. 

“Half full,” you replied. “Is it Gally’s?” 

He nodded. It sure tasted like the god-awful moonshine Gally used to make in the Glade, but you couldn’t be sure. Horrible as it was, the burn and the bitterness was familiar and welcome, a tie to the life and the people you’d left behind. 

You glanced at your friend. He was slumped beside you, idly fiddling with the hem of his shirt, staring at the wall. You’d done this before, in the days since you’d arrived at the Safe Haven. But today was different, or he was different today. You could feel it. Maybe it was the warm breeze that had picked up around lunch time, maybe it was the prospect of the group of people who had volunteered to leave the safe haven tomorrow. Either way, you were restless and fidgety and there was definitely something tense in Minho. 

It had been exactly a month since you’d arrived, and there was something heavier about everyone who’d been there in the city that night; you, Minho, Brenda, Thomas and Gally. Newt’s absence was like when you lost a tooth and you couldn’t stop running your tongue over where it should be, only to find empty space. And pain. 

Even now, you could still see every detail with perfect clarity. The blue of the lights mingled with the orange of the fires, debris raining left and right as the walls came tumbling down and the desperate people from outside stormed the city. You didn’t want to think about your friend, lying on the ground, the handle of the knife sticking straight up from his chest. You didn’t even want to think about Teresa, sinking into a pit of flames as you all watched, helpless. You wanted to block the whole thing from your mind. 

“I should’ve been faster,” Minho said, snapping you back to the present. “I could’ve saved him.” 

You snorted. “We all could’ve saved him.” It always came back to this, no matter what. You’d sit down, have a normal conversation, maybe even crack some jokes, but then there was that massive pit yawning inside you that inevitably sucked everyone back to that night. It was like a black hole, so dense that nothing could escape its pull, devouring everything around it. But it was something that tied you together, and as much you hated it, you didn’t hate it. 

He turned to look at you, his brow furrowed. “Do you blame me?” 

You slowly bent, picked up the bottle and took another mouthful. Did you blame him? You couldn’t say you didn’t think it was his fault Newt had died, but Thomas had been the one with the knife and anyone else in the party had failed to see the signs or notice the scratch on his arm. You felt a bit bad for laying it all one someone who was dead, but really it was Newt’s fault for not telling anyone. 

“(Y/N)?” Minho was looking at you, and though he tried to keep his face neutral, his eyes were pleading with you. Say no, he seemed to be screaming, say it wasn’t me. You knew the feeling all too well. You’d played the whole thing over and over, trying to work out if you could have done anything, and had come to the conclusion that if you’d been quicker getting the bloody berg to the rendezvous point, Newt probably still would have been alive. It ate at you even though you’d decided to put the responsibility on his shoulders. 

“A lot of things could’ve gone different,” you said at last. “If he’d just told us straight off the bat, chances are we’d have gotten the cure. Simple as that.” 

“You’re right.” He nodded, blowing out a breath between his teeth. “You’re right.” 

“I wish I could just scratch the whole thing off my brain. It’s like…” you hesitated, struggling to find the words. “It’s like this coating over everything, you know?” 

“Yeah,” he laughed, taking the bottle from between your legs. “I know what you mean.” 

You were feeling lighter, softer. You supposed it was the alcohol hitting, but nothing really seemed as dark and real as it had just minutes before. It was like someone else’s memory, still sitting uncomfortably in your mind, but duller. You leaned over, resting your head on Minho’s shoulder and tracing a lemniscate on his thigh. Or an eight, depending on how you looked at it. 

“This tastes so bad,” he whispered, as if the stuff in the bottle might hear him and get offended. “But it’s so good.” 

“We should save some for later,” you whispered back. But you knew you wouldn’t, you never did. Thomas would frown if he saw you now, if he could hear your thoughts. He’d told you countless times to lay off the drinking, that he knew it was an escape but that that was bad, that it was better for everyone if you all just toughed it out sober and miserable. You had to disagree with him there. 

Minho passed you the bottle, and you clumsily replaced the lid. You slid it onto the ground, groaning as it toppled over. But it was stoppered, so it would be fine. 

“Keep doing that,” he told you, gesturing to your hand. You’d stopped tracing patterns on him to close the bottle, but at his words you resumed. He sighed, watching your fingers raptly. 

“I’m happy you’re here,” you said eventually. It was true, he’d been your pillar of support over the last month. You’d sat together at almost every meal, worked on whatever it was you were doing together, talked about whatever you wanted to talk about, walked together and, yes, gotten drunk together. It was ridiculously comforting to have someone you liked being around who wanted to be around you. 

“I’m pretty stoked about it too,” he grinned. You lightly punched his arm. “Seriously though,” he went on. “I’m happy you’re here.” 

You looked up from your tracing, meeting his eyes. He was sincere, for once, and totally open. You hadn’t realised how important that was until recently, but now you treasured the fact that you could see his thoughts on his face. He could see yours too. 

He glanced around quickly, but the recreation-room-turned-second-storage-shed you haunted was far enough from everyone else that nobody was going to disturb you. That was what you liked about it. Minho’s eyes found your own again, then flicked down to your lips, so fast you thought you’d imagined it. Were you that kind of drunk? Did you want to be? Then it happened again, and you were sure it was real. 

Oh, was all you could think as he leaned forward, closing the gap between you with a kiss so gentle you could hardly believe it was coming from Minho, who never did anything by halves, and was always so loud and quick to add his five cents to anything. But his mouth was hesitant against yours, giving you plenty of time to draw back and tell him no, tell him that this wasn’t what you wanted. 

Ironically, it was that very gentleness that cemented in your mind that yes, you very much did want this. You were angled awkwardly, twisted in the middle of your body with your legs beside his and your chest pressed against his shoulder. As you returned the kiss you shifted, your hands finding purchase on the front of his shirt, your fingers tangling in the material. 

His own hands moved lightly down your sides, pulling at you to come closer. Without breaking the kiss, you slid a leg over his and shifted to straddle him, your hands still firmly planted on his chest. He was solid, real and warm and fuck he felt good to touch. Your earlier restlessness had migrated down to sit between your legs, uncomfortably warm and not entirely welcome. 

“Fuck, (Y/N),” he whispered, pulling back for air. “I’m sorry, I don’t wanna take advantage of you or anything like that–” 

“You’re not,” you cut him off. 

“You’re drunk.” 

“I’m buzzed, and not any more than you.” 

A muscle twitched in his jaw as he looked from your face to the empty space behind you, the cogs whirring in his head. Damn him and his morals, you thought. Why did he have to choose now to be the perfect gentleman? 

“If you don’t want to…” you started, but stopped when he shook his head. “You don’t want to?” 

“I do,” he practically growled. “And that’s the bloody problem, isn’t it? We’re supposed to be friends, but every time we do this I end up thinking about you and then I want you and I don’t wanna want you like that cause you’re my friend, (Y/N), and we’re supposed to just…” He waved a hand helplessly, trailing off into nothing. 

“Do you want me to shut you down?” you asked after a pause. How the hell were you supposed to respond to that? Minho wasn’t one for big sappy speeches, he dropped casual little bombs into everyday conversation, or let you pick up on things yourself. He didn’t pour it all out like that. 

He laughed, a bitter huff of breath that still smelled like Gally’s moonshine, gesturing at your thighs either side of his hips, your hands knotted in his shirt. “Do you wanna shut me down? Cause you’re not doing a great job.” 

You bit your lip. You could feel the heat of his kiss like it was still happening, and God you wanted it to still be happening. You couldn’t stop now, couldn’t just say “no, I don’t want you,” and go back to your business, least of all because it’d be a fat bloody lie. 

“I’m not gonna shut you down,” you said eventually. “I’m gonna give you till ‘three’ to shut me down, and then I’m gonna go right back to kissing you. Got it? One, two—” 

His lips collided with yours, so hard and fast you couldn’t stop the moan from escaping you. It was a mess of tongue and teeth and lips as he pulled you even closer, his fingers digging into your waist almost painfully. Almost. 

“Jesus, Minho,” you panted between kisses. How long had he wanted to do this for? Was it just when he was drunk, or did he think about you while he was eating lunch beside you, while you two were doing your various jobs, when he was sleeping. Maybe he did, you’d sure felt the evidence that he was thinking about someone some mornings when you woke up wrapped in his arms, and you were right there… If it had been anyone else the idea would have made you feel gross, somehow violated, but right now it just turned you on. 

“Say it,” he murmured, his kisses moving away from your lips and down your jaw to your neck. 

“Say what?” 

“Say you want me.” 

Again, you couldn’t stop the moan from escaping you. You were sure gonna have a hickey in the morning, but he felt good and he wanted you to tell him you wanted him… “I want you,” you whispered. 

“Again.” 

“I want you,” you repeated. “I want you to—” You broke off in a sigh as the hand that had been running over your thigh found your ass and squeezed. 

“Want me to what?” he asked, still paying attention to your neck. 

“I want you to touch me.” 

He paused, and for a moment you thought you’d overstepped. Then he tilted his chin up to look at you, and smiled. He took the hem of your shirt between his fingers, not touching your skin, but close enough that you still got butterflies. 

“Can I take this off?” he asked, then at your nod, pulled it swiftly over your head. “God, you’re hot,” he whispered, bending to pepper your chest with more kisses along the line of your bra. 

“Gonna make me blush,” you laughed, but the joke was lost between the breathiness of your voice and the fact that you were, in fact, blushing. It wasn’t that he – or anyone else – had never paid you a compliment, but when he said it here, like that… well, your drenched panties could speak to its effect. 

Minho’s hands were at the waistband of your pants now, and sweet Jesus you wanted him to just hurry up and touch you. You nodded frantically as he met your eyes in a question, and without further hesitation he slipped his fingers into your pants. 

“You weren’t lying, huh?” he grinned. “You want me.” 

“I want you to stop being such a tease,” you muttered. 

He grinned wider. “Sure thing,” he said, his fingers brushing over your clit. You sucked a harsh breath through your teeth, your hips twitching involuntarily. 

“There,” you gasped, “right there.” 

“Here?” Minho raised an eyebrow, his fingers circling the sensitive bundle of nerves again. 

“Fuck you,” you half laughed, half panted, only to be cut off in another moan as he moved his hand, sliding the tips of his fingers around your hole, his palm pressing against your clit. You briefly wondered if he was doing it deliberately and if so where he’d learnt it, but who really cared when it felt so damn good? 

“Please?” he whispered, watching your face carefully. 

“Yeah, yeah whatever just— please.” The word was torn from you in a way that definitely made Minho blush, even as he smiled, when he pushed his finger into you. The heel of his hand was still pressing on your clit, and you ground down on it in a desperate search for friction as he added another finger, your fingers digging into his shoulders and your breath coming in short gasps. 

“Like that?” he asked, as if your reaction wasn’t enough to tell him. 

“How the fuck are you so good at this?” you asked. It was ridiculous, unfair. There really hadn’t been anything to learn from in the Maze, and this was the first time either of you had done this with anyone – that you could remember. 

He frowned for a second, but (mercifully) didn’t stop. “I dunno. Am I really that good?” 

It was your turn to grin. “Yeah,” you said simply. Then he moved his hand again and all you could think was fuck, because he was that good. He was kissing your neck again, sucking at the spot where it met your shoulder, his other hand resting on your hip. He guided your movements as you rocked against him, his own soft moans mixing with yours. 

You could feel the hard, tight coil building in your stomach, your thighs and stomach already twitching as Minho’s fingers curled inside you. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back, the little movement sending shockwaves of pleasure down to your toes, making your whole body spasm. 

“Fuck, Minho,” you said as you came down from your high, still trembling. He’d stopped moving, his warm palm cupping your sensitive pussy gently. He was being really gentle with you, you reflected. It wasn’t that he was rough any other time, it was just not what you’d expected. It was nice. 

“You alright?” he asked. 

“Better than alright,” you whispered. “That was… really good.” You glanced down at his hand, now withdrawing from your pants covered in your wetness. Your gaze flicked up slightly to the now very noticeable bulge in his own pants, and you felt a bolt of heat go through you once more. “Can I…?” you trailed off, your fingers resting lightly just beside his zipper. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to?” 

“Yeah.” You nodded, already beginning to undo his belt buckle. “God, yeah.” 

Minho’s eyes stayed on your face as you slid backwards off his lap, settling on your knees between his legs. You were careful and precise as you pulled his pants down, then his underwear. He was hard, you’d guessed that much, and it wasn’t that you’d never seen a dick before, but something about Minho’s dick made you hesitate. You weren’t really sure how this was supposed to go, and only knew that you wanted to touch him, and you wanted to make him feel as amazing as he’d made you feel just minutes before. 

“Do I use my mouth?” you asked, then blushed. “Sorry, dumb question. Want me to use my mouth?” 

“As long as you don’t bite me,” he joked. 

You shrugged. “I’ll try,” you said, smiling up at him before taking his cock between your hands and lowering your head, placing a gentle kiss on the tip. You checked again, and at his nod, opened your mouth and slid as much of him as would fit into it. He cursed, his hand flying to your hair and his fingers tangling in it. 

“You alright?” you asked, drawing back. 

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Don’t stop.” 

You nodded, going down on him again. You were mindful of your teeth, instead using mostly your tongue and your hands where your mouth wouldn’t fit. You didn’t want to choke on him or, God forbid, make yourself sick on his dick. But the movements were easy, and Minho was guiding you. You let a moan escape you, which in turn made his hips jolt. You hummed again, and his hold on your hair tightened. 

“God, you’re so good,” he whispered. “You look so good.” 

That really made you moan, an embarrassingly desperate sound to accompany the embarrassingly desperate way your thighs rubbed together in search of any friction. This boy was driving you insane, and you were completely helpless. 

You didn’t stop your increasingly messy sucking and licking, completely enraptured by the little breaths and gasps your attention was conjuring from Minho, revelling in his hand in your hair and the occasional curses or words of praise he let slip. You probably could have stayed there forever, listening to him forever, feeling his hot weight in your mouth forever, if he hadn’t brought his hand to your face and gently eased you off him. He surveyed your face carefully, running his thumb across your reddened and swollen lips. 

“Hm?” you asked, tilting your head to the side. Were you doing something wrong? Did he want something else? 

“If you kept that up I wouldn’t get to fuck like I want to,” he said softly. 

Now it was your turn to be the teasing one. “And how’s that?” you asked, delicately licking your lips. 

“On the couch, on your back, without your clothes.” 

“Do I get a say in it?” you joked. 

“Oh shit, sorry,” he said quickly. “If you don’t want to we don’t have to, it’s fine–” 

“I was joking,” you cut him off, your cheeks flaming. “I want you to do whatever you damn well want to me.” 

“Oh,” he said, his face equally as pink as your own. “Ok then.” Then he frowned. “We don’t have a condom.” 

You cursed, rising from your kneeling position to glance around the shelves. It was a storage shed, right? Surely there’d have to be a first aid box somewhere. You spotted it next to a tub labelled “fire”, quickly crossing the room and rifling through it until you found what you were looking for. The packet was sealed, and while you didn’t exactly keep track of time how people used to, you had a feeling it was a bit past the expiry date. Still, semi-expired condom was better than no condom. 

You threw it to Minho with a “catch!” before returning to your place next to the couch, reaching behind you to your bra clip. “If I take my clothes off will you take yours off?” 

“It’s gonna be a bit hard to make this work through clothes.” He rolled his eyes, spinning the packaged condom between his fingers as he pulled his shirt over his head and quickly kicked off his pants. You gave yourself a moment just to look at him, to take in the perfectly formed muscles moving so smoothly under his smooth golden skin. The odd scar from various exploits did nothing to detract from how fucking gorgeous he was. Now you knew what people meant when they said someone had the body of a God, because that was the image Minho evoked in your mind. 

“You’re so…” You trailed off, unsure how to say it without sounding corny. Then you shrugged. Who cared if it was corny when it was true? “You’re beautiful.” 

Minho didn’t quite seem to know how to respond to that, he just laughed and ran a hand through his hair in a way that if you didn’t know better, you would have said was almost bashful. “So are you,” he said, meeting your eyes earnestly. Then he grinned, patting the couch next to him. “Come on, just get up here.”

“Ok,” you smiled. You stripped yourself of your remaining clothing, casting it carelessly aside and sliding down next to him. You nodded at the condom. “Do you know how to do that?” 

He frowned. “Yeah.” He tore it open and put it on with a few fumbles and awkward joking (both from you and him), then looked at you and smiled as if to say “see? I got this, I know what I’m doing.” 

“Good?” you asked, returning his smile. 

“Good.” He kissed you again, holding your face gently in his warm hands. You grabbed his wrists, moving those hands down your jaw, your neck, your chest to rest on your breasts. He gave an experimental squeeze, and you hummed against his lips. Yes, that was good, that felt good. 

You moved your own hands to his shoulders, pulling him with you as you tipped backwards to lie on your back, wrapping your legs around his waist. It took you a moment to get yourselves figured out and comfortable, but you finally settled with his hips slotted between your thighs, his arms propping him just above you. You could feel his hardness pressed against your still dripping centre, and you pulled him even closer, rocking your hips gently. 

“(Y/N),” he whispered, his breath warm on your skin. 

“Are you gonna fuck me?” you asked, still holding him close against you. 

“I sure plan on it,” he grinned. He reached between your bodies to his dick, carefully lining it up at your entrance. He looked to you for permission, and at your nod, softly slid inside you. You both gasped at the feeling, the stretch and the warmth of it. It was like he was made for you, the way he fit. 

“Fuck,” you whispered, your fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulder. 

“Alright?” he asked, and you nodded. 

“Move,” you practically pleaded. He did, slow and steady as you got used to each other. Everything he did seemed to be so smooth, you reflected. Every little movement he made – whether it was walking, throwing you a roll of bread at dinner, and yes, fucking you – was so precise and even, perfect down to the last atom. It was the same easy grace that made him such an amazing runner, such an amazing athlete in general. Maybe in another life he could have even been a dancer. 

“You feel so good,” he murmured, bending his head to deliver more sloppy, open mouthed kisses to your neck and chest. Yep, you were gonna have hickeys when he was done. 

“You feel good,” you replied. Your breath was coming short, a light sheen of sweat gathering over your skin even though you weren’t the one doing all the work. You reached down, running a finger in tiny circles over your clit. 

“I wanna hear you,” he said. “Stop tryna be quiet, we’re far enough away.” 

“Shit, ok,” you replied. Something about his words really got to you, sending a bolt of heat shivering down your entire body. He was so unintentionally good at it – talking – it was obscene. Your own hand combined with the steady thrusting of his dick was almost too much, not to mention you were still sensitive from cumming on his hand earlier. You weren’t going to last long, and judging by Minho’s shuddering breaths and muttered curses, your name sprinkled throughout, neither was he. 

“Fuck, (Y/N), oh my God,” he moaned, his hands balled into fists in the couch’s worn out fabric. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasped as you felt the tightness coiling inside you, more, more, more– “Holy fuck, I’m gonna–” You released with a frantic cry of his name, your spine arching and your legs locking around his hips. You felt yourself contract around his dick, the stuttering of his strokes as he too reached his climax. 

He slowed eventually, coming to a stop as the tremors receded from your body and your brain returned to your head. You were spent, content to lie there with his warm, comforting weight on top of you until the world stopped turning. 

But alas, he pulled out of you after a minute and took off the condom, tying a neat knot in the end and placing it beside a screwed up piece of newspaper that had held the pieces of dried potato – Frypan’s miserable attempt at making chips – that you’d brought with you when you’d come up here hours ago. You’d hide it in the bin later. 

He sat on the edge of the couch, hands folded neatly, elbows resting on his knees. He looked just as beautiful as ever, you thought, though slightly less sure of himself than usual. You supposed this was new, and neither of you really knew what you were supposed to do. But you wanted to touch him again, wanted to feel his skin on yours and hold him close. 

“Are you just gonna lie there and stare at me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. You were jerked back to the present moment, realising that maybe you had been staring. But it didn’t matter, if you got an opportunity you were going to take it. 

“Maybe,” you replied, a smile playing about your lips. “Maybe I’m waiting for you to lie down with me.” 

“It’s a small couch.” 

“We’ve slept on it before, it works fine. Will you just…” You trailed off, exasperated by how needy the words sounded in your head. “Come here and hold me, hug me or something, just lie down beside me” was what you wanted to say. You wanted to grab him and pull him down next to you and wrap yourself around him like some kind of demented python. “Come here,” you said instead. 

Minho only hesitated a moment longer, then smiled and slid onto the decaying cushions beside you, pulling the blanket – or rather, the three badly stitched together blankets that served as a quilt for you when it was cold – over you both. He wrapped his arms around you, his chest warm against your back. 

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted this,” he murmured. 

You ran your hand down his arm, lacing your fingers with his own. “Did you?” 

He nodded. “I’d be pretty happy to just stay here forever,” he said. 

You laughed. “Maybe not forever…” 

“Nah, forever.” 

You bent your head, pressing a light kiss to his hand where it rested over your heart. “Ok, forever.” There were worse ways to cope with what you’d both been through, and if sleeping with Minho on the world’s shittiest couch was on the menu, that’d be what you’d choose. 

[accio-victuuri]

is it me or does china or those so call companies celebrities are signed under needs to do more to protect actors, idols and etc? And I say china because I know celebrities bring a lot of business to china, so they should do more to protect them as well, whether it be a law where fans need to be at a certain distance from celebrities or make it illegal to camp outside their hotels, I don’t need to know when GG or DD goes to work or return, like they legit camp outside to see them pass them

Hello Anon! I would answer all parts of your ask here. looks like there are three sections to this.

I’ll be keeping everything under a cut and just a disclaimer that this is from my own research and opinions.

So what laws are there and what part do ‘Celebrities’ play in the Country?

• An important point I wanna start this answer with is that celebrities in China are very different, in terms of they have values they have to uphold if they wanna continue being allowed to be on air and work. In other countries, of course, a celebrity’s image is still something to watch out for, but it’s not like they are gonna be blacklisted. some of the guidelines they have to follow released fairly recent as follows :

should not "violate ethics, morals, social public order or good customs, causing serious negative social impact"

should not incite hatred and discrimination between ethnic groups, or promote cults and superstitions.

not organise, take part in or promote illegal activities such as pornography, gambling, drugs and violence, among other activities.

There are actors who were blacklisted and had to take a hiatus. At one point, people did support comeback stories but CHN is pushing stricter sanctions for those who fall in this category. They have to submit an application to China Association of Performing Arts (CAPA) if they even plan to make a comeback and be evaluated before they can continue. Also take a look at the recent issue with Xianjiang Cotton and how celebrities were quick to voice out their support and drop the endorsements. It’s part of their job. It’s part of the values they have to uphold. The sense of virtue before arts. They are expected to be more morally upright than the common people.

I wanna start with this for you to understand what’s it like to be a star in CHN. And for GG and Web who are very very popular. If you do a quick search, you will find that there are more rules to control how these celebrities present themselves vs. protecting them. The way I see it, it’s even more dangerous for them to have a dedicated following more than anything. They cannot be so popular that they eclipse certain messages that the gov’t wants to send. There are more laws on online hate and slander against celebrities than the physical suppression of these stalkers. The concept of: The fans reflect the celebrities. This is the infuriating side to this. It is the same challenge GG faced during and post 22*. The logic of: ‘xx fans are causing trouble by blocking airport entrance is the idol’s fault’ . In one such incident, GG was the one who apologized. his team did ban airport photos but he still had to apologize personally to people on the plane. During his shoot with Ace, he had to apologize to the director and crew cause people were camping and taking photos. You see where I’m going here Anon?

The general rules in photos and videos is that it can be taken provided that it’s in a public area. This is why Web, during the shooting of LOF kept pointing out people who were taking pictures to authorities. Earning him the title of Hengdian Hawkeye. There are no iron clad rules to protect them. These celebrities often have to hire lawyers and security team to enforce their privacy. This is where their companies come in. but tbh yh and wjjw did next to nothing in protecting them. It’s their own studios. their own dedicated team that’s doing the work.

who are these people following them?

• The type of fans that you are describing, going to the lengths of putting tracking devices and even secret cameras are sishengs. This is not limited to GG and Web only, it’s a problem for other celebrities too and not just with Chinese fans. For example in Korea, the counterpart to this is sasaeng. They are private life fans. They thrive on sharing personal information, even as far as an address. I don’t see this culture stopping anytime soon. We have more hope on addressing online slander and harmful rumors than erasing sishengs. I’m just being realistic here. The audience to this kind of material is huge and it’s even making it’s way to international platform. It’s the concept of wanting exclusive information. being the first to know a news or a filming tidbit and so on.

I also just wanna add that people you see taking pictures of let’s say at airports in Web’s case or when he’s off to DDU are not exactly sishengs. Some of them are even fansites. provided that it’s a public schedule and he one time even acknowledged them when they greeted him happy bday. Tho they CLEARLY DO NOT WANT to be photographed when filming dramas ( going to and leaving ) + airports.

what can we do as fans?

• I think you answered that Anon. We know what’s right. We know what not to share. It’s hard especially if you see it on your feed, just don’t share it again and distribute to more people. If you notice someone sharing, don’t be so hostile, you can inform them nicely. block sisheng accounts. don’t give them the audience that they want. I know we can be guilty of this at one point or another, knowing flight details and so on. It’s a hard practice to remove but we have to try very hard to not be tempted.

This is why GG and Web are really sending the message for fans to have their own lives. Of not chasing stars too much ( which also is something their gov’t does not endorse and is a whole topic of it’s own ) and neglecting the other people around them. Don’t vote too much. Don’t cause unnecessary trouble in the name of being GG and Web’s fan in public places. It’s what I really feel strongly about when it comes to all of this. If you are a person who can balance fandom and personal life + knows the boundaries, then you’re good.

Thank you for the Ask Anon! ❤️

[ladyeckland28]

Friday 13th: Heart Of Darkness

A fan fiction story by Ecky

DISCLAIMER:

This story is a work of fiction and fan creation. It is not affiliated with, endorsed by, or connected to the owners or creators of the "Friday the 13th" or "A Nightmare on Elm Street" franchises, including but not limited to Warner Bros., New Line Cinema, or any other copyright holders.

The characters of Jason Voorhees and Freddy Krueger are the intellectual property of their respective creators and copyright holders. Their use in this story is for entertainment purposes only and falls under fair use for transformative fan works.

This story is not intended for commercial use or distribution. It is a non-profit, fan-made work created out of appreciation for the horror genre and these iconic characters.

Readers should be aware that this story contains depictions of violence and suspense typical of the horror genre. It is intended for mature audiences familiar with the tone and content of the "Friday the 13th" and "A Nightmare on Elm Street" franchises.

Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, or to actual events, is purely coincidental.

Reader discretion is advised.

"Echoes of the Past"

"In facing our deepest fears, we often discover that the true monsters are the echoes of our own past."

The old truck rumbled down the narrow, overgrown road, its headlights cutting through the encroaching darkness. Sofia gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white with tension. In the passenger seat, Glenn studied a worn map, his brow furrowed in concentration. Miss Darkwood sat in the back, her piercing gaze fixed on the passing shadows outside the window.

"We should be approaching the camp soon," Glenn said, folding the map. "You sure about this, Sofia?"

Sofia's jaw clenched. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

Miss Darkwood leaned forward, her voice barely above a whisper. "Remember, we're not just here for revenge. We need answers."

The truck lurched to a stop as they reached a rusty gate. A weathered sign hung crookedly, its faded letters spelling out "Camp Crystal Lake." Sofia killed the engine, and for a moment, the only sound was the tick of the cooling motor and the chirping of distant crickets.

"This is it," Sofia said, her voice thick with emotion. "The place where it all began."

As they stepped out of the truck, the cool night air carried the scent of pine and stagnant water. Glenn shouldered a heavy backpack while Miss Darkwood retrieved a sleek briefcase from the trunk. Sofia stood motionless, staring at the gate as if willing it to reveal its secrets.

"Sofia?" Glenn's gentle touch on her shoulder snapped her out of her trance. "You okay?"

She nodded, blinking back tears. "Yeah. Let's do this."

With a loud creak, the gate swung open, and the trio stepped onto the grounds of Camp Crystal Lake. The beam of their flashlights revealed dilapidated cabins and overgrown paths. Nature had reclaimed much of the camp, but an oppressive air of dread hung over everything like a shroud.

Miss Darkwood consulted a small device in her hand. "I'm picking up some strange electromagnetic readings. This place is... different."

"Different how?" Glenn asked, his eyes scanning the treeline.

"It's as if the very ground is saturated with... something. Energy? Malevolence? I can't quite put my finger on it."

Sofia's voice was tight as she spoke. "That's why we're here. To find out what's keeping that monster alive and end it once and for all."

They made their way to the largest cabin, which had once served as the camp's main office. Inside, dust-covered furniture and moldy paperwork spoke of years of abandonment. Miss Darkwood immediately began rifling through old files while Glenn secured the perimeter.

Sofia stood by a bulletin board, studying faded photographs of smiling campers and counselors. Her fingers traced the outline of a familiar face – a young woman with her same dark hair and determined eyes.

"I'm here, sis," she whispered. "I'm going to finish what you started."

A sudden crash from outside made them all freeze. Glenn was at the window in an instant, peering into the darkness.

"What was that?" Sofia hissed, her hand instinctively reaching for the hunting knife at her belt.

Glenn shook his head. "Probably just an animal. But we should be careful. This place has a way of playing tricks on your mind."

Miss Darkwood closed the file cabinet she'd been examining. "We need to find the old groundskeeper's shed. According to these records, it's where they stored a lot of the camp's history – including some items that might shed light on the Voorhees family."

They ventured back outside, the moonlight casting long shadows across the campground. As they walked, Sofia couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Every snapping twig and rustling leaf sent a jolt of adrenaline through her system.

"Over there," Glenn pointed to a small, ramshackle building half-hidden by overgrown bushes. "That must be it."

As they approached the shed, Miss Darkwood's device began to emit a high-pitched whine. "The readings are off the charts here," she said, her eyes wide. "Whatever we're looking for, it's close."

Sofia reached for the door handle, but Glenn stopped her. "Wait," he said, his voice low. "Look at the ground."

In the beam of their flashlights, they could see a set of muddy footprints leading away from the shed. Large, boot-like prints that sent a chill down Sofia's spine.

"He's here," she breathed, her heart pounding. "Jason's here."

Miss Darkwood's face was grim. "We knew this was a possibility. We need to stay focused on our mission. Whatever's in that shed might be the key to stopping him."

With a nod, Sofia pulled open the door. The hinges creaked ominously as they stepped inside. The air was thick with the smell of mold and decay. Shelves lined the walls, filled with rusted tools and moldering boxes.

"Start looking," Sofia said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Anything related to the Voorhees family or the camp's history."

They worked quickly, aware that every second could bring them closer to a confrontation they weren't yet prepared for. Glenn's martial arts training had him on high alert, his body tense and ready to react.

Suddenly, Miss Darkwood let out a small gasp. "I think I found something," she said, carefully lifting an old leather-bound book from a dusty corner. "It looks like a journal."

Sofia and Glenn crowded around as Miss Darkwood gently opened the fragile pages. The handwriting was faded but still legible �� the personal account of Pamela Voorhees, Jason's mother.

"Listen to this," Miss Darkwood read aloud. "'The lake holds secrets older than time itself. The Native Americans warned of a dark power sleeping beneath its waters, a force that could grant life... or twist it into something monstrous.'"

A loud thud outside made them all jump. Sofia's hand flew to her knife as Glenn moved into a defensive stance.

"We need to get out of here," Glenn whispered urgently. "We can study that journal somewhere safer."

They hurried to the door, but as Sofia reached for the handle, a massive shape blocked the moonlight streaming through the window. The unmistakable silhouette of a man wearing a hockey mask sent a wave of terror through the group.

"Jason," Sofia breathed, her voice a mixture of fear and rage.

The door exploded inward, wood splinters flying as the hulking form of Jason Voorhees filled the doorway. In his hand, a blood-stained machete glinted in the moonlight.

Glenn reacted instantly, his years of training kicking in as he launched a powerful kick at Jason's midsection. The blow connected with a solid thud, but Jason barely staggered. With inhuman speed, he swung his machete, narrowly missing Glenn's head as the martial artist ducked and rolled away.

"Run!" Sofia shouted, grabbing Miss Darkwood's arm and pulling her towards the back of the shed. They scrambled through a small window, the sound of splintering wood and Glenn's grunts of exertion following them into the night.

Heart pounding, Sofia led them towards the tree line. "Glenn!" she called out, praying her friend had made it out.

A moment later, Glenn burst from the shed, sprinting towards them. "Go, go!" he yelled, his face pale in the moonlight.

They ran through the forest, branches whipping at their faces as they struggled to put distance between themselves and the relentless killer. Sofia's survival instincts kicked in, guiding them through the undergrowth with swift efficiency.

After what felt like hours but was likely only minutes, they paused in a small clearing, gasping for breath. Glenn leaned against a tree, clutching his side.

"Is everyone okay?" Sofia asked, her eyes scanning the darkness around them.

Miss Darkwood nodded, clutching the journal to her chest. "I managed to hold onto this. It might be our only hope of understanding what we're up against."

Glenn winced as he straightened up. "That... thing... it's not human. I hit him with everything I had, and it was like punching a brick wall."

Sofia's expression hardened. "That's why we're here. To find out what makes him tick and how to stop him for good."

A twig snapped in the distance, and they all tensed. "We need to keep moving," Sofia whispered. "Find somewhere to regroup and study that journal."

They set off again, moving as quietly as possible through the dark forest. The sounds of the night seemed amplified – every rustle of leaves and hoot of an owl a potential harbinger of danger.

After about an hour of careful navigation, they came upon an old boathouse at the edge of the lake. The dilapidated structure offered some shelter and a vantage point to watch for approaching threats.

Once inside, Glenn secured the entrance while Miss Darkwood set up a small lantern. Sofia kept watch through a grimy window, her eyes straining to detect any movement in the darkness outside.

"Alright," Sofia said, turning back to the group. "What does that journal tell us?"

Miss Darkwood opened the book carefully, her brow furrowed in concentration as she read. "It seems Pamela Voorhees was aware of some sort of... supernatural presence in the lake. She writes about ancient rituals performed by the original inhabitants of this land, meant to keep an evil force contained beneath the waters."

Glenn, still rubbing his sore ribs, leaned in closer. "What kind of evil force are we talking about?"

"It's not entirely clear," Miss Darkwood continued. "But she mentions something called the 'Heart of Darkness' – an artifact of immense power that was supposedly buried deep in the lake bed."

Sofia's eyes widened. "And let me guess – this 'Heart of Darkness' is what's keeping Jason alive?"

Miss Darkwood nodded grimly. "It appears so. When Jason drowned as a child, Pamela was desperate to bring him back. She... she performed some kind of ritual, using the power of the Heart of Darkness to resurrect him. But it came at a terrible price."

"It turned him into the monster he is now," Sofia finished, her voice barely above a whisper.

A heavy silence fell over the group as they contemplated the implications of this revelation. The quiet was suddenly shattered by a distant, inhuman roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the boathouse.

"He's coming," Glenn said, his body tensing for action.

Sofia's mind raced. "Okay, we need a plan. If this Heart of Darkness is what's keeping Jason alive, then destroying it might be the key to stopping him once and for all."

Miss Darkwood nodded. "The journal mentions that the artifact is hidden in an underwater cave system beneath the lake. But accessing it won't be easy – especially with Jason hunting us."

"We'll need to split up," Sofia said, her voice filled with determination. "Glenn, you're the strongest swimmer. You and Miss Darkwood head for the cave system. I'll draw Jason away, buy you some time."

Glenn shook his head vehemently. "No way. We're not leaving you alone with that monster."

Sofia placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's the only way. You know I can outmaneuver him in these woods. And besides," her voice caught slightly, "I've got a score to settle."

Before anyone could argue further, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the boathouse silenced them all. Through the window, they could see the massive silhouette of Jason Voorhees, his machete gleaming in the moonlight.

"Go!" Sofia hissed, grabbing a nearby flare gun. "I'll distract him. Find that cave and destroy the Heart of Darkness. It's our only chance."

With a reluctant nod, Glenn and Miss Darkwood slipped out the back of the boathouse, making their way towards the lake. Sofia took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come.

As Jason's heavy footsteps drew nearer, Sofia burst out of the boathouse, firing the flare gun directly at the killer. The bright red flare struck Jason in the chest, momentarily staggering him and illuminating the night sky.

"Remember me, you bastard?" Sofia shouted, her voice filled with rage and pain. "I'm here to finish what my sister started!"

Jason's masked face turned towards her, the empty eye holes seeming to bore into her soul. With a guttural roar, he charged forward, machete raised high.

Sofia dodged to the side, her survival training kicking in as she led Jason on a desperate chase through the forest. She weaved between trees, vaulted over fallen logs, and used every trick she knew to stay just out of reach of that deadly blade.

Meanwhile, Glenn and Miss Darkwood had reached the shore of Crystal Lake. The water was black and still, like a mirror reflecting the star-filled sky above.

"There," Miss Darkwood pointed to a rocky outcropping near the center of the lake. "According to the journal, the entrance to the cave system should be just beneath that formation."

Glenn nodded, already stripping down to his swimwear. "I'll dive down and find the entrance. You keep watch and guide me with the flashlight."

As Glenn waded into the frigid water, Miss Darkwood couldn't shake a feeling of unease. The lake seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy, as if aware of their presence and intentions.

Glenn took a deep breath and dove beneath the surface, the beam of Miss Darkwood's flashlight guiding his way. The water was murky, filled with years of sediment and decay. As he swam deeper, the pressure in his ears increased, and the darkness seemed to close in around him.

Just as his lungs began to burn for air, Glenn's hand brushed against something solid – a rock face with a narrow opening. He surfaced quickly, gasping for breath.

"I found it!" he called out to Miss Darkwood. "There's an underwater entrance. I'm going in."

Before she could respond, a blood-curdling scream echoed across the lake – Sofia's voice, filled with pain and terror.

Miss Darkwood's heart raced. "Glenn, hurry! I think Sofia's in trouble!"

With a grim nod, Glenn took another deep breath and plunged back into the depths. He squeezed through the narrow opening, emerging in a partially submerged cave. As he pulled himself onto a rocky ledge, the beam of his waterproof flashlight revealed ancient symbols carved into the walls.

In the center of the cave, atop a crude stone altar, sat a pulsing, obsidian-like object – the Heart of Darkness. Its surface seemed to writhe and shift, as if alive.

Glenn approached cautiously, remembering Miss Darkwood's warnings about its power. As he reached out to grab it, a shock of energy coursed through his body, nearly knocking him off his feet.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Glenn wrapped his hands around the artifact. The cave began to shake, rocks falling from the ceiling as he stumbled back towards the underwater entrance.

Above the surface, Miss Darkwood anxiously scanned the treeline, torn between her duty to guard the lake and her desire to help Sofia. Suddenly, a massive form burst from the forest – Jason, his mask splattered with fresh blood.

Miss Darkwood's blood ran cold as she realized Sofia was nowhere to be seen. She backed away, her mind racing for a plan as Jason advanced relentlessly towards her.

Just as all seemed lost, Glenn erupted from the water, gasping for air and clutching the Heart of Darkness. "I've got it!" he shouted, his voice hoarse.

Jason froze, his masked face turning towards the artifact in Glenn's hands. For the first time, they sensed something akin to fear emanating from the unstoppable killer.

"Destroy it!" Miss Darkwood yelled, dodging a wild swing from Jason's machete.

Glenn summoned every ounce of his strength and smashed the Heart of Darkness against a nearby boulder. The artifact cracked, a blinding light erupting from within.

Jason let out an inhuman howl of rage and pain, his body convulsing as the source of his power was destroyed. The ground beneath their feet began to tremble, the very fabric of reality seeming to warp and twist around them.

As the light faded, they saw Jason sink to his knees, his masked face tilted towards the sky. With a final, guttural roar, his body began to disintegrate, crumbling to ash that was quickly swept away by a sudden, unnatural wind.

In the eerie silence that followed, Glenn and Miss Darkwood exchange a look of disbelief. They had done it – Jason Voorhees, the seemingly unkillable monster of Crystal Lake, was no more.

Glenn slowly dressed himself again despite the fact he was dripping wet and Miss Darkwood collapsed back in exhaustion, breathing out a huge sigh of relief at their triumph over Jason.

But their victory was short-lived as they remembered their fallen comrade. "Sofia," Glenn breathed, his eyes wide with worry.

They raced back into the forest, following the trail of destruction left by Sofia and Jason's final confrontation. After what felt like an eternity, they found her – battered, bloody, but alive, propped up against a tree.

"Did... did we do it?" Sofia asked weakly as they knelt beside her.

Miss Darkwood nodded, tears in her eyes. "It's over. Jason's gone."

Certainly. I'll continue the story to its conclusion with the twist you've described:

Glenn and Miss Darkwood gently helped Sofia to her feet, supporting her weight between them. Sofia grimaced, her injuries clearly causing her significant pain, but her eyes shone with the light of victory.

"Easy does it," Glenn said softly, adjusting his grip on Sofia's arm. "We've got you."

As they took their first steps away from the blood-stained tree, a strange sensation washed over them. The air seemed to shimmer, like heat rising from sun-baked asphalt. Sofia blinked hard, wondering if her injuries were causing her to hallucinate.

"Do you... do you see that?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Miss Darkwood's grip on Sofia tightened. "I see it too. Something's not right."

The forest around them began to waver, as if viewed through rippling water. Trees melted away like mirages, their trunks and branches dissolving into the air. The soft earth beneath their feet hardened, transforming into cracked concrete.

Glenn's martial arts-honed instincts screamed danger. "Stay alert," he warned, his eyes darting around as their environment continued to shift.

Within moments, the last vestiges of Camp Crystal Lake vanished. The trio found themselves standing on a dark, deserted street. Dilapidated houses loomed on either side, their windows dark and uninviting. A lone streetlamp flickered weakly, casting eerie shadows across the cracked sidewalk.

"This isn't possible," Sofia muttered, her earlier pain momentarily forgotten in the face of this impossible scenario.

Miss Darkwood's analytical mind raced, trying to make sense of their surroundings. "It's as if we've been transported to another place entirely. But how?"

Before anyone could propose a theory, the sound of metal scraping against metal pierced the night air. The trio froze, their battle-weary bodies tensing for a new threat.

A figure emerged from the shadows, sauntering towards them with a predatory grace. As he stepped into the pool of light cast by the flickering streetlamp, they could make out his features – a severely burned face, a battered fedora perched atop his head, and a red and green striped sweater that seemed to writhe in the darkness.

But it was his right hand that drew their attention and sent a chill down their spines. Attached to a glove were four razor-sharp blades, glinting menacingly in the low light.

The figure's burned lips twisted into a cruel smile as he regarded the stunned trio. When he spoke, his voice was like gravel being crushed underfoot, filled with malicious glee.

"Well, well, well," he chuckled, the sound grating against their ears. "Looks like we have some new playmates on Elm Street. Allow me to introduce myself."

He took a theatrical bow, the blades on his hand scraping against each other with a sound that set their teeth on edge.

"The name's Freddy – Freddy Krueger. And I must say, I've been dying to meet you."

Sofia, Glenn, and Miss Darkwood exchanged looks of horror as the realization dawned on them. They had vanquished one legendary monster only to find themselves face-to-face with another. The nightmare, it seemed, was far from over.

Freddy's laughter echoed down the empty street as he advanced towards them, blades glinting in the moonlight. "Sweet dreams, kiddies," he sneered. "You're going to need them."

As the trio backed away, their minds reeling from this new threat, they knew one thing with certainty – their battle for survival was far from over. The echoes of the past had led them here, to a new nightmare on Elm Street, and only time would tell if they could emerge victorious once again.

The story ends with Freddy's malevolent laughter ringing in their ears, leaving readers on the edge of their seats, wondering how Sofia, Glenn, and Miss Darkwood will face this new, terrifying challenge. The battle against Jason Voorhees may be over, but a new war is just beginning – one that will test their limits in ways they never imagined possible.

[nightcoremoon]

why am I a jerkass who rains on everyone else's parade when I say I don't like gory horror films because I find movies whose plot consists of some dude stabbing a bunch of people to be fucking stupid pointless boring schlock that only exists to stroke the boners of people who enjoy watching other people die vicariously from a good safe distance, especially when their sequels just cheaply kill off all of the survivors from the earlier films thus rendering the plot of the earlier ones L I T E R A L L Y COMPLETELY FUCKING POINTLESS

but when someone says they don't like seeing sexual assault portrayed in movies (valid) and that people who put them in are evil and bad and dumb and bad tasteless artists, everyone is like yes yes good perfect okay you have the correct opinion here have a good star

hey newsflash assholes, if you're watching a fictional movie about a clinical sociopath who butchers animals, beats the absolute shit out of people they don't like until they're crying and shitting their pants and bleeding out the eyes and pleading for mercy, tying a dude to a chair and then slicing his jugular and glaring in his eyes until he bleeds out, bludgeons some guy for no fucking reason until his blood and brain spatters the kitchen floor, stabs his (naked) sister 17 times (after slowly tracing his fingers on her leg no less, ew), stabs a nurse in the neck with a fork and killing her for literally no reason, then a decade and a half later going back to his hometown just to stab a dozen people with ice skates and pitchforks and good old fashioned kitchen knives, and having the film depict this all in graphic bloody detail

and your ONLY problem is that somewhere along the way two disgusting scum workers at an asylum took a brand new catatonic female patient into his room and fucked her until they messed with his masks so he just breaks their fucking skulls open (which define his character as someone who clearly has no compassion for others but will shatter your bones and strangle you just for touching his stuff), and it's that a girl was raped and not that you watched a guy pulverize two men into bloody giblets...

idk man something about that feels wrong. you're okay with watching fictional murder but not fictional rape even though neither are glorified or justified and it exists purely to cause discomfort and distress in the viewer because it's a fucking horror film and horror is supposed to expose you to depravity and as art it serves to comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.

don't get me wrong rape is bad but like

so is fucking murder.

why can't I express my discomfort in society's gratuitous endorsement and desensitization to killing in fictional media without people taking it as a personal attack and then turn around and do the exact same thing to rape

it's a double standard and it's so stupid

you can eat popcorn and watch jason voorhees rip teenagers in half and then berate me for not having a good time bathing in someone else's blood and then in the same breath #cancel rob zombie's director's cut of his halloween reboot because there's a rape scene in it. the violence is okay; you like the violence, no, you love the violence. that's perfectly fine? violence is good. freddy can force a recovering addict to OD on heroin, that's fine. john doe can force a fat guy to eat spaghetti at gunpoint until his fucking intestines burst, that's okay. mark hoffman can lock an innocent woman in a brazen bull and cook her alive just to fridge her and punish her husband for a lie that he made, that's awesome and wonderful and /super cool/. it's bullshit.

I'm not here to say YOU CAN'T like nightmare in elm street. you can like the texas chainsaw massacre. you can like my bloody valentine. you can like the thing. you can like wrong turn. you can like saw. you can DISlike rob zombie's movies. you can fast forward through the rape scenes in halloween, house of 1000 corpses, and the devil's rejects if the scenes make you uncomfortable (as they are intended to do so because it's a fucking grimdark edgy music video inspired horror movie). I'm not here to tell you that YOU CAN'T have an opinion on things.

but it's a special kind of entitled to insinuate that not only is your opinion the divine right of kings and anyone who disagrees with you is wrong and dumb and evil, but that a squicky scene you don't like actively makes the entire film Objectively Bad™.

maybe I don't like the fact that tatum gets crushed in a garage door. maybe it squicks me. maybe it unsettles me. maybe I think that it detracts from the film when all billy had to do was just stab her one and done without making a huge ordeal out of it. maybe I think it only exists to make a spectacle out of death and gorify- sorry, I mean glorify, murder, because it's exciting and intriguing to some who take solace in the macabre. "the effects are cool". maybe I don't like it. but you can like it.

I can dislike it. you can like it. we're both valid. that's how opinions work.

"but people get triggered by rape"

people get triggered by drugs. people get triggered by food. people get triggered by religion. people get triggered by a lot of things. people get triggered by slit throats, strangling, and hanging. you're valid for your triggers and you can avoid whatever fucking content you wish but if you think only your very particular specific trigger is the one that's valid, screw everyone else? go fuck yourself. you selfish piece of shit. you're not the only person in the world. it isn't hard to respect that you're not the only worldview in the world.

but then again, maybe it is hard, considering nobody fucking does it. everyone's trapped in their own little world where they're the only one who matters. they don't give a single shit about anyone else but themselves and others they can project onto because they're similar. they don't care if you can't match them in any way. you're a freak if you're different and you don't matter.

never mind the fact that 90% of slasher horror is misogynist, ephebophilic, racist, exploitative of the mentally ill and physically deformed, in some cases appropriations of the non-christian religions, and in the other 10% it's actually a horror comedy.

but if a white girl is sexually assaulted that's the only time anyone bothers being compassionate

now a disclaimer because I know for a fact that people are gonna put words in my mouth and take shit out of context and point out things I didn't explicitly state outright and try to make me out to be some fucking evil boogeyman

not saying you SHOULDN'T be compassionate to rape victims and I'm not saying I personally enjoy rape scenes in movies and I'm not saying that I particularly like the inclusion of those scenes in those movies and there is certainly a conversation to be had on the very misogynist nature of hollywood cinema as a whole in the horror genre especially and we should keep in mind the thermian argument and it's a complex issue, I know I know I know so shut the fuck up I don't owe you a passing grade on clout or the semantics of discourse or virtue signaling.

it's just stupid that people only get upset if a fictional white girl gets raped in a gore porn movie when it ~doesn't suit the narrative~. ok, this is the narrative: scary man stabs, the end.

scary men stab all the time. scary men shoot. scary men suicide bomb. scary men patent insulin and sell it at an upcharge poor diabetics can't afford. scary men drop bombs on kids in syria. scary men put mexicans in concentration camps. scary men slaughter thousands of men and women for their religion or their sexuality or their skin color. scary men do a lot of bad shit. your silence on these issues does much more harm to society than *checks notes* a scary movie about bad people doing bad things and facing karmic retribution for it.

TL;DR rape is bad, and murder is also bad, and american horror films have 100s of problems, and people need to start voicing their opinions as opinions and not pretending they're facts because it's super fucking annoying

[likeabxrdinflight]

I swear every time I see my childhood best friend I learn some new awful detail about her abusive mother and my desire to fight that bitch grows stronger every day.

like I always knew shit wasn't right there, and as we got older I picked up on the abuse more and more, but there was never anything that could be done about it. there's still nothing to be done about it, my friend is an adult and married and moved about as far away as she possibly could and any confrontation at this point is just a complication that my friend doesn't need. and yet.

disclaimer that I don't actually endorse the use of violence nor do I ever suggest confronting a friend's abuser on their behalf. like actually don't ever do that, you will probably just make things worse.

[mythicalcanary-sketchbook]

FanArt - Happy 4th July, America

Steve Rogers/Captain America (Avengers/Avengers Assemble) (c) Marvel/Disney

Have an incredible 4th July, America! Stay safe and remember your civil duties to be kind to one another, to stand by true justice against oppression, to be peaceful and vigilant against the criminals of today and tomorrow.

Superheroes are a beacon of hope, but the true heroes are the everyday civilians who can say no to bullying and genuinely protect and educate the population. Knowledge is power, stay in school students: dictators hate the educated so show them how smart you are! Your education is vital to being a true hero, even if you struggle to learn, it’s okay. Do your best, we believe in you! Learn as much as you can!

Millions of lives lost in terrible wars should not be in vain. Remember this today in your daily lives. The wars fought in the past are a message to those in the present and the future. Autocrats, whether abroad (like Adolf Hitler) or on your home soil, will never benefit the general populace, not even favouring their right-hand men/women. Protect your democracy from false patriots who wave the flag but desecrate our sacred monuments and systems. Be a true hero and live your lives peacefully. Those who promote violence or obstructions to justice are not your saviors.

Be strong, America! Be peaceful. Stay educated and be lawfully abiding citizens no matter how high up the chain of society you climb. We’re counting on you to be TRUE heroes. Be kind, be truthful, don’t obstruct justice, respect lives lost to protect our democracy, stay safe, embrace education and treat all fellow humans with the respect they deserve!

Now go have fun! You deserve it. :)

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This image was drawn in HB pencil and painted in watercolour paints on the 24th June 2021. It was digitally enhanced in GIMP Image Editor on the 25th June 2021. Paper type = 130 gsm 

[Reference]

Artist’s Note: This art was inspired by real events, a need to express these anxieties and a willpower to share a burst of HOPE in fellow good human beings. Please stay safe and remember than not all that glitters is gold. I also used the American spelling for ‘saviours’, I thought it might gel better with the narrative.

Disclaimer: This art is purely a product of my creative muse expressing emotions related to things not necessarily linked to the inspirational source. It does not hold any endorsement or affiliation with ‘Avengers/Avengers Assemble’ or the comic/film/programme’s creator(s) in any form. The artwork and flavour text is purely storytelling and personal opinionated ramblings from an inspired fan that can be interpreted artistically or emotionally however one views it, although I do hope it has a positive, peaceful influence overall. :)

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Please do not repost, modify or sell this image.

(Reblogging is fine, though!)

[Mythical Canary Info]