#i just think they should have gay sex every time they kill a survivor

[tuxxydo]

[sassykinzonline]

naruto and i spent yesterday watching drag race, i would like to do a roast to celebrate kakashi's hokage inauguration:

kakashi is the only hokage in history to fumble the bag for both his homosexual AND heterosexual love interests; however, he continues a long line of hokages to completely fail their students--or if youre tsunade, fail at picking a student.

many people have been wondering why kakashi wears his mask. it's really simple: hes hiding the smell of might guy's "youth" on his breath from iruka.

kakashi was born an old soul, as you can tell by his grey hair. and just like every old man in our village, hes a publicly indecent sex pest. hes been carrying around that porn novel of his for as long as ive known him. i guess he was inspired by naruto's motto: "never give up"....trying to cure your erectile dysfunction.

as many of you know, kakashi's notorious for 2 things: his sharingan and his dogs. there's a saying that goes "you can't teach an old dog new tricks", and it must be true given kakashi uses the same 3 jutsus over and over. watching him fight is more painfully repetitive than itachi's tsukuyomi.

speaking of itachi, kakashi's name means "scare crow". fitting, given not too long after joining kakashi's anbu team did itachi get fed up and decide to kill our entire family.

the time after that was extremely difficult for me, and im grateful kakashi took me under his wing because we have a lot of things in common. i once asked him what he would do if i killed everyone he loves, and he told me they were all already dead. so i guess instead of "hatake, scare crow", we should be calling him "hatake scares the hoes".

as a teacher, i learned so much from him. i'd like to think if he wrote a book about his teachings, it would be called "how to lose friends and influence people to defect from the village." some of the things hes taught me include chidori--which should be used to stab directly through the heart of those you love and who love you, permanently disfiguring the person you love so you know its real, and how to let survivor's guilt cripple you and define your whole life.

but i also learned from his mistakes. my inspirational loud dumb gay bestie is still alive (not for lack of trying on both our parts), and we successfully communicated our feelings. plus, the girl that is bafflingly in love with me despite me being obviously gay is still alive (again, not for lack of trying).

so thank you, kakashi, for all that you've done for me. you are the best man for the job--considering everyone else is dead, cut in half, in jail, or danzo shimura. you will do your village proud.

i wish you a long life of continuing to inspire and annoy generations of uchiha.

[urproblematicfav-arsonk]

There's a lot of things about Borderlands 3 that makes it kinda a garbage game. And all of those things are valid and true but a aspect of bl3 that deeply bothers me isn't something I've really seen people talk about?? Maybe they have but I missed it but I want to say my interpretation. (Also like, spoiler warning throughout all of this post)

To start off with: hi, I'm a autistic afab nonbinary person and this is relevant for this little rant I'm bout to go on.

I want to begin by stating why I love this franchise so much.

Borderlands, whether you like it or not, is INCREDIBLY queer. And not in a coded kind of way, it's just flat out gay as fuck. And that means so fucking much to me. Borderlands 2 was one of the first times I ever felt fully represented in a game. Zer0 being this dumbass making Yugioh references and generally being a fun garbage boy and also being nonbinary meant a lot to me and I adore him to this day (nonbinary people can use gendered pronouns fuc off). And getting more and more into this series and finding out that basically every character was on some level queer was really cool to me. Maya being asexual and most of the characters being attracted to multiple genders so honestly and off handily was so refreshing and amazing to get to play through. The casual mentions of a woman's wife or some man's husband in the echo's you find or Moxxi talking about her ex girlfriends was one of the reasons I loved this so much.

Another thing I loved particularly about Borderlands 2 was how feminist it was. I can not tell you how quickly I lost my shit at Mr. Torgue talking about the friend zone being misogynistic(it is btw). And the repeated jokes about fully murdering men for being rude to women was some of the highlights of my first playthrough. Punching a guy till he explodes because he disrespected a sex worker?? Fucking immaculate.

SPEAKING OF SEX WORK.

Mad Moxxi is a icon. She is a mother of MULTIPLE children, a survivor of rape and assault and a fucking bad bitch who runs a now intergalactic titty bar. Getting to have not only a sex worker be respected in a narrative, Moxxi is fun and a genuinely complex character who isn't defined by her job or her appearance. She is emotional and strong and funny and flawed but amazing person.

And then there's the way the male characters a represented and treated. I'll be honest here, I haven't really played Borderlands 1, mostly because have been spoiled by auto pick up and also I just didn't feel like it. So my idea of most of the men are based entirely off of Bl2, the pre-sequel and Tales. Anyway, Mordecai in particular is a character I really liked upfront. I love how a lot of his motivation and character is driven by his love of animals and Bloodwing. He's kind and though troubled knows when to get his shit together and be there when he needs to be. His casual "are you okay?" After the latter falls in the Arid Nexus was such a nice moment and the way he genuinely tries to be there emotionally for all of the people around him who he cares for is so fucking rare to see in a male character. And his arc of giving up alcohol to focus on being a better bird dad and you getting to help Brick make Mordecai a special gift to celebrate his sobriety is so amazing and I'm so proud of him.

Mr. Torgue is my dad and I love him. As mentioned, he is normal and believes that the friend zone is absolute garbage talk is ICONIC™ and the best scene in that game fight me. Torgue is a crybaby. He is an emotional person who is not afraid to express his pain and hurt when people are mean to him. He respects women and loves unicorns. The fact that is physical appearance is a big muscle guy who screams but is the literal opposite of toxic masculinity will forever make him the best male character of all time and I love him and he is my dad.

Roland was a character that I was never in particularly attached to but I still respect him and did enjoy his presence. I really appreciated his leadership style being primarily based on empathy and logic as opposed to him being a big meanie man with a HUGE dick who yells at people. I always really resonated with the echo from Tannis talking about how she came to Sanctuary. Roland going out of his way to bring Tannis to safety while completely respecting her autism and struggle with socializing really made his death hit harder when Tannis was very obviously distraught by losing him. It really seems that Roland was the only one who didn't treat her differently. And as someone who's autistic, finding people who legit 100% understand and respect you and just let you live the way you want/need to is kinda hard and those are the qualities I'd personally want in a leader.

Angel is also a big spot of affection for me. Handsome Jack being a irrefutably horrible person who Angel flat out says gaslights people and killed her means a lot to me considering 99% of Bad Parent stories end with "I forgive u" getting to see an abusive victim take that narrative and say fuck you was powerful and meant a lot to me coming from my own abusive home life.

There's a lot of other things I love about Borderlands but if I keep going I won't stop lol so let's get into why Borderlands 3 makes me so uncomfortable.

One of the main things that bothered me was the sexism. Its nothing too horrifying but given how feminist bl2 was it was really shocking and a bit hurtful the number of times women are called bitches or made to seem crazy. If you recall I brought up how you punch a man to death for calling a woman a bitch? Yea no, in this game we mock women for having boundaries and opinions because lol she's just a CRAZY BITCH who just needs to stop acting so hysterical am I right guys?

Yea the whole mission with that stupid bear thing and his ex robot girlfriend made me insanely uncomfortable and upset. I kept waiting for the gotcha moment where it says actually this bear guy is a dick and he shouldn't use language like that but no we just,,,,,, are supposed to laugh along. I hate it.

Even though Borderlands 3 is still very much queer, this game introducing 2 new trans characters as well as a whole DLC about a gay marriage and one of the playable characters being a lesbian there was this some shit that bothered me.

The mission where you crash and ruin a lesbian wedding.

That mission made so upset and uncomfortable. I hated how traumatized and hurt Tumorhead was as I murdered her family and wife. I hated how unfulfilling the mission was where PLOT TWIST the lady was actually a spy or whatever. I hate how there's a mission about ruining some poor psycho ladies wedding. I would've much more preferred a mission where Idk Bloodshine asks you to help her kill a spy who's causing problems and then fucking go around Promethea collecting wedding decorations or something. OR MAYBE JUST NOT A MISSION WHERE YOU KILL LESBIANS FOR NO FUCKING REASON.

I'm mad, anyway.

I also hated how Tannis was treated in this game. Under absolutely no circumstance would Doctor Patricia Tannis ever willingly take up a position of leadership. She is a severely autistic woman who gets nose bleeds from talking to people she wouldn't just be like "I'm in charge now pls talk to me!!!" Fuck off. And the joke about her dating a minecart isn't funny. The whole thing with the chairs, though funny in its absurdities was still a very important and powerful moment of character exploration. Tannis is insane. She is traumatized and hurt and in a moment of severe torture, she humanized some inanimate objects to cope. Tannis crying over the echo over Phillip is a heartbreaking moment of true vulnerability. It is also funny, because that's how good dark comedy works. It can be both hysterical and emotionally ruining at the same time. So what exactly does Tannis divorcing a minecart mean? What is this saying about her character? Why is it funny? Because lol lol reference??? Again, fuck off.

I hate how the Calypso twins childhood is handled. Troy implies it was horribly abusive and traumatic. But when we met Typhon whatever, he acts like it wasn't that bad??? He acts like he just didn't buy his kids the latest iPhone and oh no whoopsie now they're evil, my bad guys. It feels super weird and I don't like it.

Speaking of abusive parents. THEY DID MY GIRL ANGEL DIRTY SO BAD. This was literally when I decided I hated this game. Angel being the one who killed her mother and not Jack was fucking horrible. Especially after the literal foreshadowing in borderlands 2 implying he did. The fact that Jack is treated like a fearful man making what he thought was the right decision was insulting. I get that MattPat manipulated the fandom into thing Jack is a uwu bean but fuck you, you're the writers and you should fucking know better. Handsome Jack saw his daughter had power and turned her into a living battery for him to use as he saw fit. He was not scared and he was NOT right. Fuck you and fuck you for framing child abuse as chill and ok if your spooked enough like that. And the mission directly contradicts the echo's in Get To Know Jack. If Angel killed her mom why does she ask Jack where her mommy is when he's putting her in her chambers?? Why is it in the echo Jack is aggressive and forcibly and hurtfully makes her go into her chambers but in the memory, he's quiet and passive about it?? That's literally just flat out bad writing. Also fuck you.

Anyway,

I think that's really all I wanted to say about this topic. Obviously, there are also things that suck about bl3 but I'll try to chill and not make this too long.

I mostly wanted to make this to see if people cared/are bothered by the same things I am. I've seen how some of the fandom treats the more emotional and gay aspects of this franchise(the people throwing a fit over Amara, the friend zone line, not respecting trans peoples pronouns, sexualizing and being gross about Moxxi)

Anyway that's it byeeeeeeeeeeeee

[reallyverynormal]

hey im a proshipper, but i have a friend who isnt either proship or anti. she wants to know more about the anti side of things, if you dont mind could you tell me why you are anti ship? and why you believe others should be? i wanna let her make this decision on her own, but idk how anti shippers think and i cant find informational posts on it

this ended up getting kind of long so i’m just going to put it under a readmore but basically anti shippers are people who say this: don’t fetishize minorities, abuse and abuse survivors and also don’t write paedophilic porn and act like that’s a normal thing for cishet women to get off to.

-don’t fetishize abuse and act like it’s hot or cute. by that i mean don’t take a character that is canonically abusive to another character and write some romanticized tortured love story about it, or act like victims have to or can forgive their abusers for abusing them (not saying they can’t, but perpetuating the idea that they can/have to is bad, actually). just fucking don’t -don’t fetishize paedophilia and act like it’s hot or cute. by that i mean don’t write porn of children, don’t write porn of ‘aged up’ children, don’t write porn of adults raping/being in sexual contact with children and act like it’s hot or cute or something normal to get off to -don’t dehumanize gay men, lesbians, trans people--basically the entire LGBT community--by fetishizing them, calling porn of us “sin”, only writing smut fics about us and nothing else, trying to constantly find ways to ship two men in every piece of media, hate literally any female character that could potentially be a love interest just because she gets in the way of your ship. don’t fucking fetishize us, actually! -don’t act like rape/sexual abuse/sexual assault is hot. period. -also don’t write porn about real life fuckin people without their permission, especially, in the cases of people like dan and phil, when they are very clearly deeply uncomfortable with it and the abuse/harassment they have received from this, (tomska and tord from the eddsworld team and 1direction as a whole are also good examples of this shit affecting real life people).

and by these things, i don’t mean that you can’t write about these subjects ever or portray characters involving some of these subjects ever, i’m saying don’t fetishize them. don’t act like fiction doesn’t affect reality, because it does, (look up the jaws affect, as a huge example), and don’t act like you are above the law, because even the law (in the US and canada, at least), can and will punish you for drawing and writing porn about children. 

fetishizing minorities is, you guessed it, dehumanizing and wrong! black people, asian people and the LGBT community especially get this kind of treatment, and if you go around agreeing with the black and asian people who are talking about the fetishization of their races by white people, and you don’t agree with actual LGBT people talking about the fetishization of their gender/sexuality, you’re a fucking hypocrite*. fetishizing any fucking minority is bad, even in fiction.

note that there is also a difference between LGBT people going out of their way to ship two characters together in a queer/gay/etc ship and a cishet girl going out of their way to constantly ship two men together in every piece of media no matter what, especially if those two characters are white/light-skinned, skinny, conventionally attractive cis men. in the case of LGBT people, we’re doing it to create the representation we don’t get in media. for a cishet girl to go out of their way to ship two men in every fandom they join is just fetishization and it’s dehumanizing because we are not your fetish, we are not here to entertain you, we have lives to live outside of entertaining you and getting you off and often times we have spent years trying to get out of circles where people only see us as sex objects. fuck off. 

fetishizing people’s abuse and turning something horrific into something you can get off to is also extremely shitty and spits in the faces of actual abuse survivors because you’re acting like it’s cute, hot, something to get off to when we’ve often spent years trying to forget what’s happened to us. when we’re still going through this every fuckin day. when people have killed themselves because of the abuse that we’ve gone through. when you do this, you act like what we went through is just something for you to get off to when it is often so bad we are left permanently scarred, our consciousnesses permanently broken, struggling with life-long mental health issues directly caused by the abuse we went through. that is not your fucking fetish.

again--i’m not saying you can’t write about these subjects, i’m saying don’t fetishize them, i.e. don’t act like any of these things can be a good thing, don’t write them like they’re something to get off to, don’t write them like they’re something to strive for or can be in any way, shape or form healthy. write them as they are: horrific, scarring, mentally and physically draining, terrifying, and nightmare-inducing. do not portray these things in a positive light is all we are fucking asking.

inb4 “so we’re not allowed to write characters who think their abuse is good???” or some bullshit like that, no, that’s not what i’m saying. you can write a character who has an extremely complicated relationship with their abuse, for example being sexually abused from childhood and “liking” it because that’s how they were trained to respond to sexual situations, that’s how they were introduced to sex and their body responds to sexually violent situations by being aroused, even if the person doesn’t want to be because biology =/= consent, and that’s how sexual trauma works, albeit not for everyone, but for some people like me. you can write about a character that struggles with “liking” their trauma because sexual violence and being a victim of it is what feels safe, “normal” and familiar to them, while healthy sex is foreign and terrifying because they don’t know how to behave in a healthy sexual environment. that is a normal thing to write about and should, in fact, be written about more because i don’t see anything like that being written by anyone anywhere, and is, in my opinion, FAR more interesting than forcefully writing a character to be in love with their abuser and entirely romanticizing their abusive relationship, (that isn’t to say that you can’t write a character that’s in love with their abuser and wants to forgive them/make it work/ignores the abuse/doesn’t know it’s abuse/etc, just stop acting like their relationship is in any way healthy or something to strive for or cute/hot/etc, just don’t fucking romanticize the abuse they’re going through, portray it as a bad thing because that’s what it is--a bad thing).

that’s the anti-shipper argument: don’t fetishize people, don’t fetishize (sexual) abuse, don’t fetishize (sexual) abuse survivors, and don’t fetishize paedophilia.

it’s pretty simple once you break it down, but i hope my relatively detailed explanation shows you why you’re an asshole, and i desperately hope your friend doesn’t turn out to be like you in this regard :)

*i’m a white person, so if any POC finds this statement racist or offensive or knows of a better way to word it, feel free to let me know and i’ll delete it/change it/etc

[dancinginadaydream]

ANGSTY DRACO AND HARRY HEADCANONS ((TW))

so im writing this with caution. these are some *really* sad and possibly TRIGGERING headcanons for some. but they've been bouncing round my head for days (i fckn thrive on angst and sad shit) so i wanted to share.

triggering themes to be aware of before reading ARE:

alcohol abuse

drugs; cocaine misuse

eating disorders; anorexia

self-harm; cutting

suicidal ideations 

imprisonment 

hints at abuse

rough sex

if any of these topics trigger you, i urge you to use your own judgement and exercise caution. please do not read these headcanons if you fear they will trigger you and/or you cannot read things like this. i have given you all these warnings so they don't just appear out of the blue. I have added the keep reading option so that nobody sees them accidentally. The last thing I want is for people to be triggered by even having to scroll past and catching a glimpse of it. Please take care of your mental health! 

most of these are headcanons for draco because i just fckn love draco and think about his life more than any other characters. 

ive put a lot of thought into these. ofc i accept constructive criticism and would be happy for healthy debate if anyone disagrees with any of my hc's!  

DRACO MALFOY:

draco suffers from anorexia. as a slytherin, he desires control over situations (particularly his own). however, his entire life has essentially been mapped out for him and he has lost a lot of his control over his life. as a result of this, when he was around thirteen and had a little more control over his outward appearance, draco started to obsess over his body image. nothing was every quite right. he decided to take control over that and make it to his vision of perfect. so he didn't eat unless he absolutely had to, or he was in important company and his father told him he had to keep up appearances, and even then he would go for a jog and feel ultimately guilty for it afterwards. this ended up worsening during his sixth year of school. all draco wanted was to have some control and often it felt that the only control he truly had was his body image,

draco was imprisoned in azkaban for a year following the trials and the war. it doesn't sit right with me that the malfoys got it lightly, they still did wrong. but draco was only imprisoned for a few months to a year to set an example and to teach him a lesson. he then spent two years on probation/parole. of course he knew that he'd done wrong, he accepted the punishment and it nearly destroyed him,

following his imprisonment in azkaban, draco pretty much changed his entire perspective- he smeared the feared malfoy name according to his father. draco became an activist for muggles and muggleborns, supporting hermione in securing more rights for them. he had intense amounts of guilt for what happened and his imprisonment made him realise that. he had a lot of time to reflect on the man he knew he should become,

after azkaban, draco essentially looked like machine gun kelly. he got a nose piercing, he covered himself in tattoos (mainly to distract from the dark mark on his arm) and he tended to kick about in muggle clothes (like a baggy jumper, hoodies, skinny jeans, doc martens, converse etc). of course that would all settle down as his anger towards his father and family settled. it was an initial act of rebellion to what his family stood for that he didn't agree with,

despite trying to do good in the world and support hermione in her multitude of causes, draco was still haunted by the ideals he grew up with. so he turned to drug abuse, namely cocaine, to distract his mind and still feel a buzz instead of depression. the cocaine addiction also becomes part of his anorexia, leaving him without food because he feels he doesn't need it,

throughout school, draco was a self-harmer. he would cut his thighs to have some form of relief. the reasons for this were almost always depression, but were triggered by individual events such as; not getting a perfect score on an essay (fear of punishment from his father), the issues with his body image, the forceful nature of his parents, the rise of the dark lord, dealing with his sexuality (i see draco as exclusively gay, but tries to be heterosexual for his family's sake and that has a lot of issues within itself). the self-harm subsided after azkaban and when he'd discovered the effects of cocaine (which could be argued that his addiction to coke was in itself an act of self-harm).

basically, no one punishes draco more than himself for his role in the war

HARRY POTTER

harry's never had a normal, easy life. he's either been abused by his aunt and uncle, or he's been fighting the dark lord and his goonies for the entirety of his school career. so after the war, things are settled for him. he's famous, he's being handed things for free, he's got the job he wanted, but he's not happy. because most of his formative years he was constantly fighting to make the wizarding world a better place, the sudden calm and quiet post-war has caused him some major depression issues. this it not to say harry wasn't depressed and anxious before, it's merely been amplified post-war. after the war he experiences feelings of worthlessness and paranoia. he's both ready and not ready to fight again. the world isn't the same and he's not settling well into the new way of living, the calm. his feelings of worthlessness accumulate and harry's friends and family are essentially on suicide watch for a few years post-war. they're worried that harry is going to kill himself. not only is harry suffering with feelings of worthlessness, he has survivors guilt. so many people died in the war and he blames himself. he should have been the only death, in his opinion. he's stubborn so won't believe any of his friends when they say that it's not his fault they died. he's attempted suicide a few times when the survivor's guilt gets too much and due to this he cannot live alone, his friends always have someone with him,

harry becomes an alcoholic post-war. its his way of dealing with things. he rely's heavily on alcohol for the feeling of numbness. it started out, in his opinion, as harmless fun but he became reliant on it. it becomes a problem and on top of his  suicidal ideations, his friends are unbelievably worried. they eventually manage to get him into rehab and he becomes sober, but then he turns his self-depreciation onto something else,

sleeping with draco began as a way of releasing anger and sexual tension. they started sleeping with each other after meeting at a wizarding club - draco was coked out and harry was drunk (probably on something too). their sex started in club bathrooms, anywhere dirty and messy because they just didn't care. then when they eventually went somewhere with a bed (hotel room, one of their flats), the sex became angry and was extremely rough (choking, spanking, scratching, slapping, hair pulling). the type of sex they had was bordering destructive as a result of their pent up anger at the world and each other. but after both of them became sober from their addictions, they continued seeing each other and it blossomed into something special and caring. of course they still had rough sex, but they had plenty of aftercare instead of a rough fuck and go,

not entirely related to the headcanons, can be separated or go hand in hand, but transgender harry potter. imagine harry growing up known as "the girl who lived" and it caused a lot of dysphoria growing up in a world being reminded that he wasn't cisgendered. he came out and the majority of hogwarts was accepting (even draco, he may be a dick but not that much. he would stop bullying harry using she/her pronouns and then use he/him). imagine harry constantly being reminded that he was the girl who lived. after the war, they started coining him as the boy who lived, but there were still pockets of people who refused to accept him as trans.

basically, the reasons i have these headcanons is because i don't think draco or harry would be entirely okay afterwards. they suffered a lot of trauma in the years leading to, during, and post war. that would have massive effects on their mental health and there's no way they would continue being arrogant and cocky - internally at least. they could be that way externally as a result of their trauma, anger at the world, and the need to make people believe they haven't been affected as much.

[ober-affen-geil]

So I mentioned in my reaction to the Roswell finale that Michael and Alex went through a lot of development this season, and how they both started and ended in different places in respect to the other. I’m going to dig into that here (CW for discussion of abuse and homophobia) but I want to be clear, this is not a post where I will be talking about my feelings on Maria. That will be a future topic. As always if you have questions, ask!

The thing is, neither one of them starts the season in a healthy place. They have both isolated themselves for different reasons and in different ways.

Alex has spent the last 10 years isolating a part of himself. I don’t think he ever denied to himself that he was gay, and I don’t think he hated himself for it either. But his father had made it clear that if he couldn’t beat it out of Alex, he would take it out on anyone Alex went near as well. Alex tucked his queerness out of sight because it was a liability to others, not himself. But silencing yourself has consequences, and a decade is a long time. Alex has never allowed himself the opportunity to reach out and be vulnerable with someone because the last time that he did was one of the worst things that ever happened in his life. He doesn’t know how to.

Michael, on the other hand. Michael spent the last decade just isolating himself. He never had a real home having spent his child hood being bounced from terrible foster care to terrible foster care, and his one family link was shattered when he and Max covered up what they thought was Isobel’s triple homicide. It’s made clear that his and Max’s relationship never really recovered, and while he is still close with Isobel he is having to keep a secret from her. The only connection Michael still feels he has, the one person who still makes him feel at home and loved is Alex Manes. The boy who was kind to him for kindness’ sake.

Then they are thrown together again.

When they have their moment at the reunion (god I will never get over that symbolism) it’s hugely indicative of where they’re both at. Once Michael sees a single spark of the boy he knew he seeks Alex out “somewhere more private”. And he gets closer and closer, magnetically drawn to the one person who he thinks has even a possibility of loving him back. Alex lets him come but makes no real outward move to encourage him. This is his vulnerability, he will not allow access to it easily

But this is Michael Guerin. The boy who saw a part of him he had shown few willingly, and who loved him for it. The man who is looking at him like he still does. If Alex will crack the door for anyone, it is Michael.

Finally Michael can take it no more and throws himself at Alex, desperate in his need to have a connection. @chasingshhadows described it like this: “Michael [leaps] at Alex and [kisses] him like he’s been drowning and Alex is the only air left in the universe“ and damn if that isn’t the best summation I’ve ever heard.

Humans are herd animals, we need social interaction to survive. But Michael isn’t human, he’s part of an alien race that seems to have an innate low-level psychic connection to each other. He can feel the other aliens before he even enters the prison in 1x12, and once inside he can identify specific emotions. Max and Isobel have their own connection, and I’d bet my bottom dollar that had Michael had the chance to grow up with them he would share one just as strong. Michael is not designed to be isolated. And doing so has left him broken.

Alex is the one person who Michael thinks will even consider allowing him in and he clings to him like a shipwreck survivor adrift in a storm. In their moment of peace after their kiss, Michael is emitting relief like a beacon. x

Meanwhile Alex is looking like he is desperately trying to savor every second of this moment with Michael because he knows his walls will come down again when they separate. And they do. The following day, Alex shuts Michael out again. He is compartmentalizing, this is damage control. “What happened at the reunion cannot happen again.”

These are the points where their characters begin. What happens over the course of the season is very real and incredibly nuanced development for both of them.

Alex is methodical and steadfast. He does not act until he is sure of his options, and once he chooses a course of action he follows through. His process with Michael is slow, but it’s there. In the beginning we see him trying. And it’s almost painful to watch because you can tell this is like forcing open a rusted door. (I talk about the early days more here.) First he goes to talk with Michael about if he’s leaving, and that leads to sex. This evidently continues, and eventually he stays the night. It culminates at the drive-in, which in every way is Alex asking Michael on a date. The progress is slow but he is making it. 

The turning point, for Alex, is in 1x09. I have talked about this before, but this is the first time we really see Alex take a stand. He’s been avoiding Michael since he walked away at the drive-in and earlier in the episode he effectively breaks it off with him. Then, after he makes the decision to actually talk to Michael, he nearly backs off again after he realizes that Michael has had rebound sex with Maria. But, and this is crucial, he turns around and says “no”.

This is the moment that Alex decides that he will pursue a relationship with Michael. He knows he loves him, and Michael has made it clear he loves Alex too (I never look away), but until this moment their connection was for Alex a physical one. A cosmic one, but one that makes him feel like he’s being tumbled inside of a breaking wave. He barely knows what to do with that, Alex needs structure. What he is proposing in this scene is to start again from the ground up; to build a foundation. This is healthy. This is how relationships should work. 

The horrific irony is that Michael took Alex at his word in the bar; he has written Alex off as a lost cause. He doesn’t recognize the moment in the junkyard for what it is; all he sees is an olive branch, not the seeds hidden within. In 1x12 when Alex asks if he’s sure he wants to go through with going into the prison, his face closes off. x

Because Alex doesn’t get to ask questions like that, not if he wants to be friends. That’s a question from a lover, not an acquaintance. And it’s what makes the scene at the end so monumental: Michael didn’t see it coming. Alex was forced to show his hand (you don’t tell someone you love them, not on the first date) and Michael is taken completely by surprise. He never considered the fact that Alex might feel for him what he feels for Alex.

But what is more important in terms of Michael’s arc is the (entirely too brief) connection with his mother. It is the second of two crucial turning points for Michael, the first is in the bunker with Max when he insists that Michael is his family and he is not alone. This post does a truly excellent job of spelling out why that is important, so I will move on to the impact of both of these moments.

Michael has spent most of his time on Earth feeling unwanted and unloved. I’ve said before the only person he seemed to think had any amount of genuine affection for him was Alex. And Alex left. Michael has dedicated his life to the goal of leaving this planet in search of someplace where he might be wanted. The conversation in the bunker with Max opened his eyes to the fact that there was more than one person on Earth who loved him. And in finding his mother, as absolutely heartbreaking as it was to see, Michael found his biological family.

He was wanted, he was loved, and she was here. 

Finding his mother on Earth shattered the dream of a homecoming by making it a reality. It grounded Michael, in every sense of the word. 

And this is where we see Michael at the finale. He has finally realized that there is more than just one person he can turn to, he is not alone. And it allows him to process his feelings for Alex in a more healthy way; he was leaning on Alex before because he thought that Alex was all he had. And it’s not that he realizes he doesn’t love Alex, the exact opposite in fact. It’s that he allows himself to look at all of the places where their relationship is tied up in excruciatingly painful memories. 

When he’s telling Max the truth about his hand, he says “Alex Manes’ father.” When he’s telling Max about the other aliens being killed he says “on the order of Alex Manes’ father.” Michael loves Alex. It doesn’t mean that Alex isn’t associated with some of the worst moments in Michael’s life; that’s how trauma works. 

The Alex we meet in the pilot is closed off, shutting Michael out because he’s not used to letting anyone in. By the finale, Alex is choosing to reach out, to talk and actively work towards a relationship. This is healthy.

The Michael we meet in the pilot clings to Alex, mindless of the pain caused by the barbs of these memories because he thinks this is best he can hope for. By the finale, Michael is taking the time to step back temporarily and give himself some space to breath, to heal. This is also healthy. 

These two characters started in two different places and ended in two completely different different places, and it was all done in a way that was not only faithful to the characters but also realistic.

I know people are angry at Carina right now, and I have more than one opinion about some of the things she’s said. But on one point I will defend her until I’m blue in the face; when she said she would bring the queer characters “out of the darkness and into the light” she damn well did.

Maybe I’m delusional, but I still strongly believe Michael and Alex are endgame. Judging by how their characters were handled this season when they get together it will be real, it will be solid, and it will be earned. And boy howdy I can’t wait to see it happen.

[listen-to-miracles-again]

For people that hate stereotypes: If you think people should just shut up and stop, put this on your profile. I'm SKINNY, so I MUST be anorexic. I'm EMO, so I MUST cut my wrists. I'm a NEGRO so I MUST carry a gun. I'm BLONDE, so I MUST be a ditz I'm JAMAICAN so I MUST smoke weed. I'm HAITIAN so I MUST eat cat. I'm ASIAN, so I MUST be sexy. I'm JEWISH, so I MUST be greedy. I'm GAY, so I MUST have AIDS. I'm a LESBIAN, so I MUST have a sex-tape. I'm ARAB, so I MUST be a terrorist. I SPEAK MY MIND, so I MUST be a bitch. I'm a GAY RIGHTS SUPPORTER, so I WILL go to hell. I'm a CHRISTAN, so I MUST think gay people should go to hell. I'm RELIGIOUS, so I MUST shove my beliefs down your throat. I'm ATHEIST so I MUST hate the world. I don't have a RELIGION, so I MUST be evil and have no morals I'm REPUBLICAN, so I MUST not care about poor people. I'm DEMOCRAT, so I MUST not believe in being responsible. I am LIBERAL, so I MUST be gay. I'm SOUTHERN, so I MUST be white trash. I TAKE ANTI-DEPRESSANTS, so I MUST be crazy I'm a GUY, so I MUST only want to get into your pants. I'm IRISH, so I MUST have a bad drinking problem. I'm INDIAN, so I MUST own a convenient store. I'm NATIVE AMERICAN, so I MUST dance around a fire screaming like a savage. I'm a CHEERLEADER, so I MUST be a whore... I have Big BOOBS, so I MUST be a hoe. I'm a DANCER, So I must be stupid, stuck up, and a whore I wear SKIRTS a lot, so I MUST be a slut. I'm a PUNK, so I MUST do drugs. I'm RICH, so I MUST be a conceited snob. I WEAR BLACK, so I MUST be a goth or emo. I'm a WHITE GIRL, so I MUST be a nagging, steal-your-money kind of girlfriend. I'm CUBAN, so I MUST spend my spare time rolling cigars. I'm NOT A VIRGIN, so I MUST be easy. I FELL IN LOVE WITH A MARRIED MAN, so I MUST be a home-wrecking whore. I'm a TEENAGE MOM, so I MUST be an irresponsible slut. I'm POLISH, so I MUST wear my socks with my sandals I'm ITALIAN, so I must have a "big one". I'm EGYPTIAN, so I must be a TERRORIST! I'm PRETTY, so I MUST not be a virgin. I HAVE STRAIGHT A'S, so I MUST have no social life. I DYE MY HAIR CRAZY COLORS, so I MUST be looking for attention. I DRESS IN UNUSUAL WAYS so I MUST be looking for attention. I'm INTO THEATER & ART, so I MUST be a homosexual. I'm a VEGETARIAN, so I MUST be a crazy political activist. I HAVE A BUNCH OF GUY FRIENDS, so I MUST be fucking them all. I HAVE A BUNCH OF GIRLS WHO ARE FRIENDS, so I MUST be a player. I'm COLOMBIAN, so I MUST be a drug dealer. I WEAR WHAT I WANT, so I MUST be a poser. I'm RUSSIAN, so I MUST be cool and that’s how Russians roll. I'm GERMAN, so I must be a Nazi. I hang out with GAYS, so I must be GAY TOO I'm BRAZILIAN, so I MUST have a BIG BUTT. I'm PUERTO RICAN, so I MUST look good and be conceited I'm SALVADORIAN, so I MUST be in MS 13 I'm POLISH, so I MUST be greedy I'm HAWAIIAN so I MUST be lazy I'm PERUVIAN, so I MUST like llamas I'm a STONER so I MUST be going in the wrong direction I'm a VIRGIN so I MUST be prude I'm STRAIGHT EDGE so I must be violent. I'm a FEMALE GAMER, so I MUST be ugly.. or crazy. I'm BLACK so I MUST love fried chicken and kool-aid. I'm a GIRL who actually EATS LUNCH, so I MUST be fat. I'm SINGLE so I MUST be ugly. I'm a SKATER so I must do weed and steal stuff I'm a PUNK so I must only wear black and date only other punks I'm ASIAN so I must be a NERD that does HOMEWORK 24/7 I'm CHRISTIAN so I MUST hate homosexuals. I'm MIXED so I must be screwed up. I'm MUSLIM so I MUST be a terrorist. I'm in BAND, so I MUST be a dork. I'm BLACK so I MUST believe JESUS WUZ A BROTHA I'm MORMON so I MUST be perfect I'm WHITE and have black friends so I MUST think I'm black I'm GOTH so I MUST worship the devil I'm HISPANIC, so I MUST be dirty. I'm NOT LIKE EVERYONE ELSE, so I MUST be a loser. I'm OVERWEIGHT, so I MUST have a problem with self-control. I'm PREPPY, so I MUST shun those who don't wear Abercrombie & Hollister. I'm on a DANCE team, so I must be stupid, stuck up, and a whore. I'm YOUNG, so I MUST be naive. I'm RICH, so I MUST be a conceited snob I'm MEXICAN, so I MUST have hopped the border. I GOT A CAR FOR MY BIRTHDAY, so I MUST be a spoiled brat. I'm BLACK, so I MUST love watermelon I'm BI, so I MUST think every person I see is hot. I'm an ASIAN GUY, so I MUST have a small penis. I'm a GUY CHEERLEADER, so I MUST be gay. I'm a PREP, so I MUST be rich. I don't like the SUN so I MUST be an albino. I have a lot of FRIENDS, so I MUST love to drink and party. I wear tight PANTS and I'm a guy, so I MUST be emo. I couldn't hurt a FLY, So I MUST be a pussy. I support GAY RIGHTS, so I MUST fit in with everyone. I hang out with teenage drinkers and smokers, so I MUST smoke and drink too. I have ARTISTIC TALENT, so I MUST think little of those who don't. I don't like to be in a BIG GROUP, so I MUST be anti-social. I have a DIFFERENT sense of HUMOR, so I MUST be crazy. I tell people OFF, so I MUST be an over controlling bitch. My hair gets GREASY a lot, so I MUST have no hygiene skills. I'm DEFENSIVE, so I MUST be over controlling and a bitch. I'm a NUDIST, so I MUST want everyone to see my boobs. I read Comics, so I MUST be a loser. I hang out with a FORMER PROSTITUTE… So I MUST be a whore myself. I'm TEXAN so I MUST ride a horse I’m a GOTH, so I MUST be a Satanist I’m a CROSSDRESSER, so I must be homosexual. I draw ANIME so I MUST be a freak. I am a FANGIRL so I MUST be a crazy, obsessed stalker. I WATCH PORN so I MUST be perverted. I'm an ONLY CHILD so I MUST be spoiled. I'm INTELLIGENT so I MUST be weak. I am AMERICAN so I MUST be obese, loud-mouthed and arrogant. I'm WELSH so I MUST love sheep I’m a YOUNG WRITER, so I MUST be emo. I’m CANADIAN, so I MUST talk with a funny accent. I’m QUIET if I don’t know you so I MUST be emo or anti-social. I'm a GUY, so I MUST ditch my pregnant girlfriend. I'm CANADIAN, so I MUST love hockey and beavers. I'm DISABLED, so I MUST be on Welfare. I'm a FEMINIST, so I MUST have a problem with sexuality and I want to castrate every man on the earth. I'm a TEENAGER, so I MUST have a STEREOTYPE. I WEAR A BIG SUNHAT when I go outside, so I MUST be stupid. I like BLOOD, so I must be a VAMPIRE. I'm an ALBINO, so I MUST be an evil person with mental abilities and is A MURDERER! I'm ENGLISH, so I MUST speak with either a cockney or a posh accent, love tea and cricket, and have bad teeth. I’m WHITE, so I MUST be responsible for everything going wrong on the planet: past, present, and future. I don't like YAOI or YURI, so I must be a HOMOPHOBE I’m not the most POPULAR person in school, so I MUST be a loser I care about the ENVIRONMENT...I MUST be a tree hugging hippy I have a FAN CHARACTER, so I MUST be an annoying Mary-sue. I CHAT, I MUST be having cyber sex. I'm PAGAN so I MUST sacrifice babies and drink the blood of virgins I'm PAGAN so I MUST worship Satan I'm CONSERVATIVE, so I MUST be against Abortion I'm SWEDISH so I MUST be a tall blond blue-eyed lesbian. I'm a LESBIAN so I MUST want to get with every single girl that I see. I like CARTOONS, so I MUST be IRRESPONSIBLE. I like READING, so I MUST be a LONER. I have my OWN spiritual ideology; therefore I MUST be WRONG or MISGUIDED. I am WICCAN, so I MUST be a SATANIST. I DISAGREE with my government, so I MUST be a TERRORIST. I am a WITCH, so I MUST be and OLD HAG and fly on a broomstick. I love YAOI, so I MUST be GAY. I'm a PERSON, so I MUST be LABELED I DON'T CURSE, so I MUST be an outcast I like GAMES, ANIME and COMICS, so I MUST be childish I'm SWEDISH, therefore I MUST be WHITE. I SPOT GRAMMATICAL ERRORS, so I MUST be a pedantic bastard. I'm GOTHIC, so I MUST be mean. I’m STRONG so I MUST be stupid. I'm Australian so I MUST hunt crocodiles and talk to kangaroo’s I go to RENFAIRES, so I MUST talk weird, be a loser, and not be up with the time I don’t want a BOYFRIEND so I MUST be Lesbian. I'm NOT CHRISTIAN so I MUST just need converting. I love marching band, so I MUST be a friendless freak. I DRINK and SMOKE, so I MUST have no life. I am friends with a CUTTER, so I MUST be a CUTTER too. I cry easily, so I MUST be a wimp. I can't help pointing out mistakes so I MUST be an over-controlling perfectionist I'm a PERFECTIONIST so I MUST check everything ten times, them burst into tears at one mistake I’m GAY so I’m after EVERY straight guy around. I CURSE A LOT so I MUST be a bad kid and have problems I DON'T LIKE to talk about my personal life so I MUST be having problems PLEASE READ WHAT'S UNDER THIS!! I am the girl kicked out of her home because I confided in my mother that I am a lesbian. I am the prostitute working the streets because nobody will hire a transsexual woman. I am the sister who holds her gay brother tight through the painful, tear-filled nights. We are the parents who buried our daughter long before her time. I am the man who died alone in the hospital because they would not let my partner of twenty-seven years into the room. I am the foster child who wakes up with nightmares of being taken away from the two fathers who are the only loving family I have ever had. I wish they could adopt me. I am one of the lucky ones, I guess. I survived the attack that left me in a coma for three weeks, and in another year I will probably be able to walk again. I am not one of the lucky ones. I killed myself just weeks before graduating high school. It was simply too much to bear. We are the couple who had the realtor hang up on us when she found out we wanted to rent a one-bedroom for two men. I am the person who never knows which bathroom I should use if I want to avoid getting the management called on me. I am the mother who is not allowed to even visit the children I bore, nursed, and raised. The court says I am an unfit mother because I now live with another woman. I am the domestic-violence survivor who found the support system grow suddenly cold and distant when they found out my abusive partner is also a woman. I am the domestic-violence survivor who has no support system to turn to because I am male. I am the father who has never hugged his son because I grew up afraid to show affection to other men. I am the home-economics teacher who always wanted to teach gym until someone told me that only lesbians do that. I am the man who died when the paramedics stopped treating me as soon as they realized I was transsexual. I am the person who feels guilty because I think I could be a much better person if I did not have to always deal with society hating me. I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don't believe, but because they closed their doors to my kind. I am the person who has to hide what this world needs most, love. I am the person who is afraid of telling his loving Christian parentshe loves another male. Re-post this if you believe homophobia is wrong. Please do your part to end it Sorry for the long post. I just think this is important. I got this from Ivory’Lee Lambskank on m.fanfiction.net

[jojotichakorn]

HIStory3: Trapped: Review (& General Info)

About the Series:

Summary: A police officer and a gang leader were killed in a gunshot attack four years ago. What's the secret behind this case? The only survivor, Tang Yi, is now the gang leader. Shao Fei is a police officer, who’s been following Tang Yi around for the past four years, trying to figure out what’s really happened during the attack. Will he be able to get to the bottom of the case? And can something unexpected come out of their rivalry? (Trailer)

Couples: Main gay couple, as well as two side couples - one gay, one straight.

Running Time: 10 episodes - around 45 minutes each - 8 hours in total

Cast (& their Instagram pages): Jake Hsu (Shao Fei), Chris Wu (Tang Yi), Andy Bian (Jack), Kenny Chen (Zhao Zi), Diane Lin (Hong Ye), Sphinx Ding (Dao Yi), Zhang Guang Chen (Andy), Stanley Mei (Li Zhi De), [more].

Where to watch? VIKI (if you watch on mobile, you’ll have to download the app).

Related Shows: HIStory is a recurring Taiwanese BL series, however, each season is separate from the others and none of them are connected in any way, so there’s no other Trapped content out there.

My Review:

Rating: 9.5/10

Short review: Trapped is my favorite BL of all time. It has a good plot, fantastic acting, the most wonderful couple ever (whose intimacy is handled incredibly well), amazing characters, awesome friendships and a whole list of other great things. Despite having one controversial character, a slightly questionable background couple and a not-so-satisfying (though still not bad) ending, I don’t think there’s anything that could stop you from enjoying it. And though, as usual,  it’s obviously your own decision to make, it’s definitely a must-watch in my book. 

Extended review (under the cut):

I consider Trapped the best BL that exists to date – without a shadow of a doubt. Not everyone agrees with me and that’s entirely understandable, however, I assure you that even though someone might prefer one or a couple of other BLs to this one, everyone considers Trapped one of the best ones for sure.

The plot of Trapped is thought-out and actually good. It obviously isn’t a masterpiece of modern cinema, however, unlike so many other BLs, the plot actually matters. It’s interesting, gripping, well-thought-out, with a nice mystery and some unexpected reveals that might actually surprise you. Everything gang-related isn’t just there for show – it’s done tastefully and doesn’t seem cheap at all, you truly believe it. So many moments are hilarious, especially in the beginning. And the show is very meticulous and careful with all its little details, so there are no annoying minor plot or aesthetic inconsistencies that could take you out of immersing into it. The pacing of the plot is a tiny bit slow in the first couple of episodes, but it needs that to build itself up properly, and it quickly picks up as soon as it can.

The characters in this show are amazing. You will not only fall in love with the mains, but also adore most of the background characters and hate the rest of them, which just goes to show how much each of them can impact you emotionally because they’re that fucking great. All the details about the characters are well thought-out and awesome too. Tang Yi is not just a gang leader in name – Chris, the actor who plays him, does a fantastic job of showing just how intimidating Tang Yi can be and generally convinces us of him being the Big-Bad-Gang-Boss through so many brilliant subtle acting choices. The villain is actually threatening and terrifying too. Shao Fei can be rather embarrassing and cringy, however, Trapped certainly manages to show that this is truly just his personality, and they’re not just doing this for laughs. Besides, I’ve heard many people who usually get second-hand embarrassment all the time say they didn’t feel awkward for Shao Fei at all – he isn’t embarrassed since this is his true, authentic self, so no one else is embarrassed for him either. Finally, two background queer characters are fantastic. Usually, in other BLs background queer characters, who aren’t there for a romantic plotline, are never anything beyond a stereotype and are always there for laughs. That’s not the case in Trapped. Both of the characters are absolutely incredible, authentic and beautiful – most certainly one of the best background characters I’ve seen in any BLs.

I must note that one character definitely caused some controversy in the fandom, and I can’t say much else beyond this without giving you a gigantic spoiler. However, even though I do think they could’ve handled the topic better overall, I don’t find there’s anything wrong with having one of the many queer characters in the show be a bad person. I’ve talked about it many times and, considering the fact that we still have at least six positively-portrayed queer characters, the seventh being a piece of shit does not affect the representation in any way and doesn’t suddenly give all queer people a bad name. There are shitheads among us too, you know. And it’s important to talk about it.

Moving on, let’s talk about relationships. For starters, the main couple is hands down the best enemies-to-friends-to-lovers you’ll ever see – that I personally guarantee. Their romance is developed well and treated with the care it deserves, and they end up being the most adorable, wholesome couple ever. I also want to especially point out how well Trapped handles their intimacy. A lot of other BLs have their couple treat each other like friends half the time, be dating another half and kissing/having sex on rare occasions. In reality, though, a couple is always intimate with each other. And I don’t mean that everyone fucks like bunnies – no. I mean couples have intimate conversations, hold hands, kiss each other in a million different ways (and on a million different spots), cuddle for no reason, hug, express emotions and, of course, sometimes have sex. Not every couple does absolutely everything I’ve just listed, of course, but you get the overall point. Couples are intimate. And Trapped gets that. It shows that. And that’s wonderful. As for others, the straight background couple takes up just enough screen time to not annoy you and it’s actually kind of cute, which is super rare for me to say. Now, the gay background couple is rather questionable. One of the guys is kind of oblivious and juvenile, while the other pushes him too hard. It’s not so critical that I’d tell you to skip their moments, however, it is definitely food for thought and I’d say pretty problematic.

The friendships in Trapped are sort of a double-edged sword. On one hand, we have Shao Fei and Zhao Zi, who were proclaimed to be best friends, but don’t end up having any meaningful moments together and are really out of the loop with each other’s lives by the end of the show. This can be explained and justified, but I still feel like it’s a little unrealistic. On the other hand, though, we have Tang Yi and his friends – mainly, Andy, The Doctor (whose name I, apologies, don’t remember), as well as Hong Ye and Tang Guo Dong. Despite only seeing a couple of moments with each of them, we get attached to every character and their relationships with Tang Yi very easily. His friendships with Andy and The Doctor are familiar and realistic. His relationship with Hong Ye is deep and authentic – you can truly see they are like siblings to each other. And his relationship with Tang Guo Dong is so beautiful and raw that you end up falling in love with the “found father” trope and wish you had the same relationship with your parents or any mentor figure, really. Despite Tang Yi and Tang Guo Dong only having four small scenes with each other – all of which are flashbacks, their dynamic is my second favorite in the show and their relationship is one of the best father/son relationships I’ve ever seen.

Finally, the show is shot beautifully and the acting in it is on a completely different level. Seriously, you will say, “Holy shit, this actor is so good!” like every other second. I literally grabbed my pen to write some version of “the acting is so good” in my notes, while rewatching the show for this review at least twenty times, and the only thing that stopped me is already having it written down thrice.

The very last note I have is about the ending. Now I will say immediately that this show does not have a bad ending – I could not have it as one of my favorites, if it did, I’m strictly a happy-ending kind of person. However, the ending is still a little too vague for my taste and I wouldn’t say I’m satisfied with it. It’s not the end of the world and overall it’s an alright ending you can live with – nothing bad happens. However, I wouldn’t call it the best ending this show could have – and that’s all I can say without giving any spoilers.

Finally-finally, should you watch this show? Fuck yes! Absolutely, my guy! Have you heard all I’ve just said? It’s brilliant. An absolute fucking masterpiece, I’m telling you. So yes, I recommend it to literally everyone. There is legitimately no other series I want to show everyone as much as this one – this is fucking mandatory in my book. Regardless of however I feel about it though, at the end of the day, it’s obviously your own decision to make.

[letstalksymphogear]

Symphogear, Ep. 6 (Cont.)

Hibiki, having seen a horror upon horrors, immediately asks Tsubasa if she’s okay. Tsubasa points out she’s a hospital patient, why would you ask this question, you insensitive prick. Hibiki points to the following scene:

Now, you may be asking yourself. “How does a formerly comatose person who is now bedridden on an IV drip manage to do this much damage?” Simply put, Tsubasa has a very chaotic aura. She doesn’t even have to take stuff out of her room; the places she goes to just naturally wind up like this. It’s a metaphor for how much of an absolute mess this person is simply by existing.

“l-look i just- its hard to organize things and- im more of a visual person and-”

“BITCH YOU LIVE LIKE THIS?”

Hibiki unwittingly gets her revenge on Tsubasa. She doesn’t realize it, but her lecturing Tsubasa on what an absolute mess every facet of her life is could possibly be heralded as her lowest point in the entire series.

No, wait. Thinking about it now, this is her second lowest. We won’t see her lowest until GX comes along.

“hibiki, every single bone in my body is broken, you dont have to break my pride too”

Hibiki, being an absolute darling, actually picks up Tsubasa’s mess. This is more than she can say about her own messes.

“haha, miku usually does this for me! wait- wait a minute.”

“i dont get it. i tried to kill you. i tormented and ignored you. i refused to help you for months. i failed to train you on any facet of combat as your senior. i nearly let you get kidnapped and, failing that, nearly killed myself while making you watch, which ALSO didnt help you not get kidnapped aside from scaring the shit out of that weird lady. why are you... helping me?”

“because either we’re going to be very good friends or im going to toss you out the window personally!”

“oh god, that aggression screams kanade. i cant not like her.”

Absolutely annihilated. Just kick her while she’s down in her Taco Bell spiral of humiliation and self-discovery, Hibiki.

“it’s okay, tsubasa! you may be a terminal dumbass, but im sure if we all work together, we can share our braincells and become collectively smarter, for each other!”

“interesting theory. how many ya got?”

“ZERO!”

They trade the kind of banter two people with 0 brain cells would have and then Tsubasa points out Hibiki is doing a great job in her place.

“hey hey HEY HOLD THE PHONE IVE LEARNED MY LESSON IM NOT TRYING TO REPLACE YOU OKAY IM NOT YOU, IM JUST HIBIKI, DOING HER JOB, ALRIGHT”

Meanwhile, in the library, Miku is looking at books, as she does what she says she’s gonna do, unlike a certain other person cavorting with cute idols.

“The Gay Way: How to Get Your Same Sex Relationship Back On Track, by Dr. Lesbe Honest. wow, this one is right up my alley.”

Okay, I’m gonna be honest with you. I literally forgot they show you the title in this. Imagine my face when I made up that title on the spot only to be hit with this little number. Holy shit, Symphogear. There’s this thing called subtlety. I’m begging you. We get it.

OH, AND IT GETS BETTER, BECAUSE

THE AUTHOR OF THE BOOK IS THE WRITER OF THE SHOW

IT’S LITERALLY GOT HIS NAME ON IT

THIS IS THE EQUIVALENT OF WRITING A STORY AND THEN INSERTING A BOOK CALLED “LEARN THE PLOT” WRITTEN BY YOU, IN UNIVERSE

KANEKO STOP THIS BALONEY, PLEASE

AND LIKE FUCKING CLOCKWORK SHE JUST- SHE TURNS HER HEAD AWAY FROM THE BOOK TITLED “THIS IS THE PLOT MOTIF” BY “AUTHOR” AND THEN FUCKING

SHE CONVENIENTLY LOOKS OVER TO THE DISTANCE

AND SHE SEES HIBIKI WITH THE HOT IDOL MIKU WAS INTO, THAT THEY WERE BOTH A FAN ON, AND SHE’S JUST CHILLING THERE AND MIKU WAS TOLD HIBIKI’S ON SERIOUS BUSINESS

AND THE HOSPITAL QUARTERS ARE SOMEHOW CONVENIENTLY CONNECTED TO THE FUCKING LIBRARY ON FULL DISPLAY BECAUSE GOD KNOWS EVERYONE IN A LIBRARY HAS TO WATCH SICK PEOPLE DIE IN REAL TIME

AND NOW MIKU IS THINKING “OH MY FUCKING GOD IM BEING CHEATED ON” AND HER FEELINGS ARE HURT FOR THIS TOTALLY CONTRIVED FUCKING COINCIDENCE

AND SHE’S ALL “BOO HOO HOO I’VE BEEN NTR’D! THIS WAS A CUCKING PLOT THIS WHOLE TIME! WOE IS ME!” FUCK YOU. THIS IS THE WORST. THIS IS ABSOLUTE GARBAGE WHY WOULD YOU- WHY DO YOU EVEN NEED TO SET THIS UP? THERE’S SO MANY BETTER WAYS TO DO THIS!

AND SHE’S JUST STARING BACK AT THE BOOK WRITTEN BY THE SAME ASSHOLE WHO WROTE THIS ENTIRE DAMN SCENARIO IN THE FIRST PLACE, AN EVIL GOD MOCKING HIS SUBJECTS IN THE FACE OF SCRUTINY FOR DRAMA WITH THE MOST CLICHE LOVE NOTES IN A GODDAMNED SOAP OPERA

AND HIBIKI IS NONE

THE

FUCKING

WISER

SYMPHOGEAR SURE IS GREAT, HUH? I SURE DO LOVE SYMPHOGEAR WITH ALLLLLL MY HEART. WHAT A WELL WRITTEN MASTERPIECE! FUCKING BELONGS IN THE FUCKING MOMA!!!!!

Okay. Okay. Let’s get that out of our system. The worst is over. This is the, uh, crescendo of the bad side plot as it inevitably sets itself on the road to resolution. I’m not going to have an aneurysm. My brain is not going to split itself in half. We’re good. I swear, we’re good.

Tsubasa, meanwhile, wants to understand why Hibiki fights, wrestling with the Da Vinci code that is her own emotions. She points out the fight against the Noise isn’t a game, and it ain’t no comic book bullshit either. It’s real, it’s out there, and it’s not pretty yet easily marketable as cute mascots. And what does our protagonist say? No making it up, she literally says:

“i dunno”

Not a damn brain cell in her body, but props for keeping it real. I’d likely say the same thing.

This is the face of someone currently sucking air through their teeth at the raw frustration that someone would be dumb enough to risk their life for the sake of only helping others.

“listen. im gonna keep it real here. i suck at literally everything. math. social studies. writing. helping people is all i have, because its not a competition. you just... you do it. you dont get better at helping people, you just help. like, thats it. i dunno what else to tell you.”

Then Hibiki points out that she feels it all started with Kanade saving her, and the speech implies its a ‘pay it forward’ sort of affair. She was saved, and so she should save others. Unfortunately, it comes off more as a guilt complex. “I lived, and I feel bad about that, so I gotta save everyone else” kind of stuff.

“its my coping mechanism for my countless traumas!”

“i get it now. you’re just as much of a mess as i am. you just dont show it as much. that kinda thinking’s gonna get you killed.”

Tsubasa then correctly points out that it is a kind of survivor’s guilt, where she wants to be released from the pain of old wounds, completely unaware of the irony of her statement.

“yeah. i get ya. we’re both wrecks. but... we can be wrecks working together.”

This would be the part where she says I’M SORRY but apparently we just don’t fucking do apologies in Symphogear, huh? Too good for ‘em, eh?! God.

Then they go outside and talk more about stuff and Durandal. The summation:

“do you have the capacity to live a life forever kicking ass?”

“yeah”

Hibiki, coming to terms with how she wants to deal with shit, manages to sharpen (haw) her resolve as to who she is and how she uses her abilities.

Meanwhile...

“i cant believe hibiki is having an affair with an attractive idol popstar. especially my favorite one from their old band. not only is she cheating on me, but she’s cheating on me from one of the five people on my lists id immediately get with if i had the chance. it feels like a double betrayal. a real life one, and a fantasy one... why do i find this weirdly hot...?”

“HEY NEWCOMER WELCOME TO THE CUCK AND BUCK WHERE WE SELL FRESHLY FRIED CUCKS FOR ONE BUCK, REAL EASY, REAL CHEAP, GOOD OL’ FASHIONED JAPANESE SOULFOOD”

“ive come to take my throne. i’ll take the ‘one flew over the cuckoo’s nest” and have the three eggs over easy with the ‘easy sleazy pancakes’”

“make it an extra lonely helping. this is gonna be a long afternoon.”

“ahhh. a freshly cucked newcomer coming to the cuck and buck to duck amongst their bad luck run amok, huh?”

“listen dont sass me about my busy girlfriend with your dr. seuss antics just gimmie the food and lets get this over with”

“no problem! sorry, they just come easy. it’s hard to buck at the cuck and buck when rhymes you huck make you wanna fu-”

“FOOD. NOW.”

Miku then ponders about how her feelings may have spiraled from a process of over thinking, or possibly hunger. Maybe both. Maybe Hibiki isn’t cheating on her. Maybe the reasons are more complicated than she knows. She briefly contemplates communication; a futile gesture when it is Hibiki safeguarding a secret she is forced to keep for incredibly stupid reasons.

“thanks for the food, miss. it really helped sort my feelings out.”

“no probs, kid. here at the cuck and buck, the only thing we cuck here is... our hearts.”

Meanwhile, Hibiki is still hanging with Tsubasa. Hey, if you’re gonna hang out with a critically acclaimed popstar, might as well squeeze every minute out of it, right?

“so... taco bell, huh? im surprised you actually like taco bell now. maybe you just like fast food styled psuedo-mexican restraunts? have you tried chipotle?”

“i... maybe you’re right, actually. i’ve grown to love taco bell, but... maybe i should expand my horizons. kanade did say... singing makes you hungry. maybe thats what she meant. i should take to new life experiences...”

“yeah! i can take you to all the good fast food places i know!”

“dont you have a girlfriend?”

“she can join us! she’s a big fan of you after all!”

“hey- hey wait! m- more friends? more... more friends... more friends.....”

“more friends...”

Meanwhile, a crisis develops.

Chris, having heard the f-word (friendship), is heading immediately to do the exact opposite of this.

She’s taken some pointers from Tsubasa, t-posing to assert dominance.

“how the fuck is she even flying”

“i cant wait to tell hibiki how much i love and appreciate her despite the weird NTR aura surrounding this whole situation”

“yeah, that’s right! i’m meeting the Gremlin in the park for an asskicking, don’t worry!”

“oh, speak of the devil! hibiki! i love and appreciate you despite the weird ntr auras!”

“miku- wait. oh no. i saw this happen in sam reimi’s spiderman 3. im fucked.”

“YOU GUESSED CORRECTLY, PIDGEON BANGS”

I know I’ve joked about homewrecking, but this is ridiculous.

Chris realizes there’s someone else around she may have potentially hurt. This is surprising, given murder is not something she has shyed away from, but she’s slowly climbing that ladder of morality, so cut her some slack for taking it one rung at a time.

“im losing my girl. losing my grip. now im about to lose my life. this NTR business truly is the worst.”

Chris has accidentally employed the Dio Brando style of disposing of people, which consists of throwing a vehicle and smashing them until dead.

“you’ve taken one step too close to my heartstrings, Gremlin, and for that you’re about to understand the full definition of an ass kicking.”

Hibiki fucking punches the car. Everything is forgiven in this episode for now.

“i... hibiki... are you... a street fighter character? holy shit. oh my god. hibiki oh my god you’re a street fighter character. thats been the true problem here. you’re a street fighter character now. oh my god. cheating? how could i have thought cheating was involved? you were literally just becoming a straight up superhero! oh my god. the abs! the washboard abs! the signs were all around me! the only thing you went to do behind my back was kick ass!”

“i’m sorry. i need to go kick ass now.”

The good news is all that tension just got evaporated. Miku sorta gets the truth now: her girlfriend hasn’t been cheating on her, she’s just been trying to save the local tri-county area from the grips of inter-dimensional alien eldritch entities controlled by a Gremlin and her Mistress. It’s a lot to take in, though.

These two are about to fight head to head. Last time, Hibiki was but the pupil. Now, she is the Master.

“can’t touch me, goldie locks. lemme do you a favor and CRACK THAT WHIP!”

“oh my god hibiki’s gonna fight that weird looking person”

“naruto running deeper into the woods isn’t gonna stop me from beating your ass senseless, fists for brains”

“thats because i wanna talk, asshole”

“wait. wait, what? you... you want to talk? to me?”

Hibiki proceeds to aggressively describe herself to her. Name, identity, blood type, age, the works. This is because she’s trying to befriend her, because Hibiki feels fighting people is bad, and that talking is more useful than fighting. This is a recipe for suicide, normally, but in this instance...

“what in the goddamn hell... i... um... nice.. to meet you...?”

Hibiki deploys a counter-T-Pose to show kinship, feeling that they don’t have to fight like this since they’re not Noise.

“talk may be cheap but it’ll make kicking your ass all the more easier, nerd”

Chris learns this, in fact, does not make the ass kicking all the more easier. Hibiki’s fresh new moves manage to dodge whip after whip of Chris’s attacks, and it’s really starting to annoy her a lot.

“pain in the ass. so you learned how to fight, huh? fine. you’ll tire out eventually.”

“let’s just talk, seriously! or maybe we can bond over board games-”

“i FUCKING hate board games. the fuck are you, a grandma? just fight already! people cant understand each other anyway!”

“JUST DIE ALREADY!”

“i was told to kidnap you. but im exerting a loophole today; no one told me to do it alive”

“the only kidnapping going down is me, sleeping in on a thursday afternoon forgetting class exists, you neon porcupine. so come at me. can’t kick me ass if you dont come any closer, right?”

“WITH PLEASURE!”

“ive watched the entirety of dragonball z, i know exactly how this fight’s gonna go down”

“finally. looks like i got y- hey, wait, what?”

“ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY JANKING MY LEG? THIS BITCH IS LITERALLY GOKU? PULLING KAMEHAMEHAS AND SHIT? WHY? god. its me. yukine chris. why do you hate me. why do you drag me through all this shit only to be hit in the head with some real anime baloney. why. please. have some mercy.”

“i dont know what a goku is but sure, yeah, why not”

“im going to kill her. oh my god. she doesnt even know who goku is.”

“get that tentacle shit away from me. im not fucking around anymore. we’re going to have a heart to heart whether you like it or not!”

“oh shit she found my weakness. really close melee combat.”

“MADE A FRIENDSHIP GIFT FOR YA. IT’S A FRESHLY MADE KNUCKLE SANDWICH, STRAIGHT FROM THE DELI”

“OH GOD, PLEASE, NOT MY FACE”

“REQUEST ACCEPTED, PAL”

Hibiki punched her so hard that she physically destroyed the entire armor Chris was wearing in a single blow.

“she... she doesnt punch ME like that... i mean, probably because she loves me, but..”

“did... did she just kill that person...? hibiki...? you, uh... you alright...?”

[weremarkable]

Armie's tune on the cmbyn sequel has changed but nothing really changed? It's all still up in the air like it has always been!

Armie Hammer has done sun-soaked gay romance ("Call Me By Your Name"), offbeat social satire ("Sorry to Bother You") and feminist legal drama ("On the Basis of Sex"). But with "Hotel Mumbai" (in theaters Friday in New York and Los Angeles, expands nationwide March 29), the actor takes on one of his most grueling roles yet, playing an American tourist in India who tries to protect his family when their hotel comes under siege by Pakistani terrorists. 

The real-life attacks that inspired the film lasted four days in 2008, killing 174 people. The thriller's release is sadly timely: 50 people died last week in a gunman's massacre at two mosques in New Zealand, where the movie has been pulled from theaters by its distributor. 

Hammer, 32, chats about "Mumbai," his hesitation around a planned "Call Me" sequel, and whether he's the next Batman. 

Armie Hammer: I'd 'jump' at Batman, but 'you can only say yes to projects you're offered'

Patrick Ryan  USA TODAY

Published 10:01 AM EDT Mar 20, 2019

Armie Hammer has done sun-soaked gay romance ("Call Me By Your Name"), offbeat social satire ("Sorry to Bother You") and feminist legal drama ("On the Basis of Sex"). But with "Hotel Mumbai" (in theaters Friday in New York and Los Angeles, expands nationwide March 29), the actor takes on one of his most grueling roles yet, playing an American tourist in India who tries to protect his family when their hotel comes under siege by Pakistani terrorists. 

The real-life attacks that inspired the film lasted four days in 2008, killing 174 people. The thriller's release is sadly timely: 50 people died last week in a gunman's massacre at two mosques in New Zealand, where the movie has been pulled from theaters by its distributor. 

Hammer, 32, chats about "Mumbai," his hesitation around a planned "Call Me" sequel, and whether he's the next Batman. 

Armie Hammer stars as “David” in director Anthony Maras’ HOTEL MUMBAI, a Bleecker Street release. Credit: Kerry Monteen / Bleecker Street

KERRY MONTEEN/BLEECKER STREET

Question: This film arrives in theaters a week after the Christchurch mosque attacks in New Zealand. Does it resonate any differently with you in light of that event? 

Armie Hammer: The film always felt pertinent and now, unfortunately, it's even more prescient. It's the unfortunate reality of the world we live in, that this kind of thing happens. Whether it be a Pakistani group that’s against India or a radical white supremacist who’s against Muslims, it’s all emblematic of the same problem we have of (miseducation) and bad ideas. It’s about damn time that we as a society and as people just stop all this (expletive). We should just stop (expletive) shooting each other.  

Q: Despite the challenging subject matter, why should people see this movie? 

Hammer: The thing that should encourage people to see this is exactly what's going on now with Christchurch. We hear there's a shooting in New Zealand and everyone goes, "Oh, man, that really sucks," and then the next headline that pops up on their phone is something dumb Donald Trump said or the amount of money Beto O'Rourke was able to raise, and we move past it really quickly. But if you watch this movie, which gives a first-person perspective on exactly how atrocious an attack like this is, it forces you to emotionally sit inside an event like this. 

Q: You had an opportunity to speak to survivors of the Mumbai attacks but chose not to. Why was that? 

Hammer: Out of respect for these people, there was no need to pull them back into what they went through. This is one of the first terror attacks that actually played out in real time (on TV). So we had news coverage, clippings, first-person memoirs, all that stuff. The director (Anthony Maras) really approached it with a documentarian dedication, and had thousands of pages of research material for us. 

Q: Did you get to do any sightseeing while you were shooting in Australia and India? 

Hammer: Shooting in Adelaide was great, because it's the wine capital of Australia. At the end of shooting these really difficult days, we'd get to have amazing wine. And then when we shot in India, several of us went and explored Mumbai, and had multiple adventure days. We made sure to decompress as much as we could, because the days were long and tough. But at the end of the day, we were shooting a movie and the director would call “cut," so it was very different from the experience of people who actually went through it.

Armie Hammer: I'd 'jump' at Batman, but 'you can only say yes to projects you're offered'

Patrick Ryan  USA TODAY

Published 10:01 AM EDT Mar 20, 2019

Armie Hammer has done sun-soaked gay romance ("Call Me By Your Name"), offbeat social satire ("Sorry to Bother You") and feminist legal drama ("On the Basis of Sex"). But with "Hotel Mumbai" (in theaters Friday in New York and Los Angeles, expands nationwide March 29), the actor takes on one of his most grueling roles yet, playing an American tourist in India who tries to protect his family when their hotel comes under siege by Pakistani terrorists. 

The real-life attacks that inspired the film lasted four days in 2008, killing 174 people. The thriller's release is sadly timely: 50 people died last week in a gunman's massacre at two mosques in New Zealand, where the movie has been pulled from theaters by its distributor. 

Hammer, 32, chats about "Mumbai," his hesitation around a planned "Call Me" sequel, and whether he's the next Batman. 

Armie Hammer stars as “David” in director Anthony Maras’ HOTEL MUMBAI, a Bleecker Street release. Credit: Kerry Monteen / Bleecker Street

KERRY MONTEEN/BLEECKER STREET

Question: This film arrives in theaters a week after the Christchurch mosque attacks in New Zealand. Does it resonate any differently with you in light of that event? 

Armie Hammer: The film always felt pertinent and now, unfortunately, it's even more prescient. It's the unfortunate reality of the world we live in, that this kind of thing happens. Whether it be a Pakistani group that’s against India or a radical white supremacist who’s against Muslims, it’s all emblematic of the same problem we have of (miseducation) and bad ideas. It’s about damn time that we as a society and as people just stop all this (expletive). We should just stop (expletive) shooting each other.  

Q: Despite the challenging subject matter, why should people see this movie? 

Hammer: The thing that should encourage people to see this is exactly what's going on now with Christchurch. We hear there's a shooting in New Zealand and everyone goes, "Oh, man, that really sucks," and then the next headline that pops up on their phone is something dumb Donald Trump said or the amount of money Beto O'Rourke was able to raise, and we move past it really quickly. But if you watch this movie, which gives a first-person perspective on exactly how atrocious an attack like this is, it forces you to emotionally sit inside an event like this. 

Armie Hammer walks the "Hotel Mumbai" red carpet in New York on Sunday.

CHARLES SYKES/INVISION/AP

Q: You had an opportunity to speak to survivors of the Mumbai attacks but chose not to. Why was that? 

Hammer: Out of respect for these people, there was no need to pull them back into what they went through. This is one of the first terror attacks that actually played out in real time (on TV). So we had news coverage, clippings, first-person memoirs, all that stuff. The director (Anthony Maras) really approached it with a documentarian dedication, and had thousands of pages of research material for us. 

Q: Did you get to do any sightseeing while you were shooting in Australia and India? 

Hammer: Shooting in Adelaide was great, because it's the wine capital of Australia. At the end of shooting these really difficult days, we'd get to have amazing wine. And then when we shot in India, several of us went and explored Mumbai, and had multiple adventure days. We made sure to decompress as much as we could, because the days were long and tough. But at the end of the day, we were shooting a movie and the director would call “cut," so it was very different from the experience of people who actually went through it.

Q: You've said that Luca Guadagnino's "Call Me By Your Name" sequel is still years away. Ideally, would you like to revisit the characters Elio (Timothee Chalamet) and Oliver (Hammer) every decade or so, kind of like Richard Linklater's "Before" movie trilogy?

Hammer: I'd love to revisit working with Luca and Timmy and everyone else that was involved more than I would necessarily love to revisit the material. The reaction to that movie and the emotional connection that people felt to it is really strong, and that's a beautiful thing. That being said, the first one really struck a chord, so maybe it’s best not to revisit it, I don't know. Then again, "The Godfather 2" is better than "The Godfather." But that's also the only example I can think of a sequel being on par with the first one. 

Q: Do fans still give you peaches (a fruit that figures into the film's infamous sex scene)? 

Hammer: (Laughs.) Yeah, every now and then I’ll get a peach and it’s still very funny.

Q: You also shot down rumors that you were offered the lead in Matt Reeves' upcoming "The Batman." Would you like to play the character, if given the chance? 

Q: Of all the great actors to don the Batman cowl, do you have a favorite take on the character? 

Hammer: Yeah, that’s the problem: I’ve never been approached, but if I was, I would jump at the opportunity. You can only say “no” or “yes” to projects you’re offered.

Hammer: They're all such different animals, which is great. Michael Keaton was obviously my first Batman, but the Christian Bale version was also absolutely incredible. But no one will top the Batman nipples that George Clooney had. (See above lol)

USA today ▶

[zeciex]

Obsidian & Angelite Chapter 16 Part II

Oya has spend centuries bound to one single plot of land when one day a stranger with a voice of velvet and presence that can only be described as dark and outmost interesting. He comes with an offer she can’t refuse and suddenly her entire world changes, both for better and worse.

But what does Langdon need of her? And how can she use him to get what she want? Maybe they’re bound by something bigger than fate.

Warning: Dark themes, smut, penetrative sex, creampie 

A/N: Since tumblr kills everything with links, I’ll reblog this post with the links to previous chapters and archive link

Oya had returned to the library the moment Gallant had finished his interview. As soon as he stepped in he was bombarded with endless questions to which he all explained the basic rules for the interview and some of the questions. Apparently, Michael had struck quite a nerve, Gallant seemed positively distort, unsure what to do with himself until he found the way to mask his exposed soul with what he did best. He began speaking of the sexual tension, how Michael had made a hit on his… ‘gay-dar’ or whatever he called it, to where Coco began to prompt that he couldn’t possibly be gay if anything he was bi.

By then Oya had lost interest in the direct conversation and instead seethered in her own sexual frustration and blatant jealousy. In this expiration she walked with intent through the halls, her purple skirts basking around her as she stormed up the steps, only to halt when she saw two hunched over shadows tip through the hall.

The anger evaporated and turned into curiosity. She stepped behind a pillar, hidden from the two teenagers clearly lurking eyes. They snuck into what she expected to be Michael's room, closing the door after them. So they were spying on him… It was laughable with the knowledge she held. If they found anything it wasn’t my mistake, it was with full intent.

He’d been here for a day and there was already anarchy in the air. Oya made a face between impressed and glee before continuing on her way, a little less angry than before. This was going to be fun.

The teens weren’t the only ones that had been up to mischief or so it would seem when the day after Oya watched Gallant be dragged away in his undies with a bothered expression upon his face that was slightly concerning given the severity of the action. Whatever he had done he looked pleased with himself and Oya could only imagine what’d he’d been up to. Which she did with a frown on her face.

Alas, she breathed out to calm herself and rolled her neck again before passing through the hall to her room.

It wasn’t before Oya was sitting in the library ignoring the stupid conversation between what Coco labelled the other team as the old people and her own team of ‘youths’ over who had it the hardest, that she was to see Gallant again. This time there was something unhinged in the way he held himself, eyes distant and still there with obscure anger. She leaned forward and sipped at the water waiting to watch the show unfold.

If she weren’t the goddess of the underworld she’d be the goddess of chaos, strife and mischief.

Evie stopped fanning herself, eyes widening at the sight of her grandson. The air shifted to one more tense and severe, with everyone but her holding their breaths waiting for what was to come. Gallant picked up a glass of sparkling water with a childish pout on his lips.

He breathed out harshly before speaking. “Surprised to see me breathing, Nana?” Now his eyes were set ablaze, his anger unquenchable. “They usually shoot people for fucking...or,” He made a face at his ‘Nana’ looking mildly manic. “Did you not remember that when you turned me in?”

Evie smiled at her grandson, though there was no love there, indifferently shaking her head. “No hard feelings, darling. I wanna live and the only way to achieve that is to get rid of these 10 little Indians who stand between me and the golden ticket out of here.”

“Umm, we’re sitting right here,” Coco intervened offended.

“I knew you were a bitch but I underestimated how big of a bitch you were…” Oya commented earning an agreeable ‘Yeah!’ from Coco and Dinah. In all honesty, she didn’t know whether to be impressed or not by how cunning Evie really was. She set her own grandson up, watched as he’d fall and find his death to be entirely justifiable. If it weren't for how much Oya hated Evie she’d think there’d be a slight chance of her joining the Sanctuary.

“It is not my fault you can’t control carnal urges,” Evie threw at her flesh and blood, trying to justify her behaviour. This was the signal, it was kill or be killed. This was battle royal, what would you do to survive?

“YOU have LIVED!” Gallant shouted pointing violently at his grandmother. “I haven't.”

“Oh yes, you have! You have crammed 10 lifetimes of failures and screw-ups into your 30 years!” Evie rose to challenge Gallant with her own raised voice. Call it a byproduct of having been locked up with them for a year but Oya felt a pang of sympathy for the man who was standing up to his bitch of a grandmother. She wondered if he’d smash the glass on the table and jab it into her wrinkly neck. Gallant wasn’t bad, he was lost and had always been.

Where Michael might have been cruel or indifferent, Oya could be much softer, it all depended on the person.

“Am I the only one who makes mistakes?” Gallant blatantly asked to the room, holding his hands up. “Hmm?”

“No, but I’m always the one that has to clean up after you. Let me see 3 expensive rehabs on my dime, fancy lawyers to keep you out of prison. When your grandfather rejected you because of your perverted lifestyle-,”

“Gay’s have been around much longer than you’re propaganda history books tell you so shove that ‘perverted lifestyle’ up your cobweb cunt,” Oya defended with deep annoyance. She always did hate how humans disenfranchised everything they didn’t perceive as natural and made it so it was permanent, especially when it came to sexuality when it is so clearly fluid and more nuanced than black and white. They did the same with cultures and skin colours, and she had seen it all with her own eyes.

“As I was saying,” Evie dismissed Oya’s comment with a scoff. “ your ‘perverted lifestyle’ I took you in! And what did I get back?” Gallant turned away from her attack, swallowing the water with clear discomfort. “Yes, you went and you bankrupted 2 salons and then you snorted the third one up your nose.”

Evie turned to the room not a hint of regret on her face. “I deserve to live. I am the bridge between the past and the future. I mean when those poor survivors arrive what do they know about culture and music, and art? And I will be there to tell them all about it.”

“You’re a rich old white hag 99% of your ‘culture’ is stolen,” Oya mumbled under her breath catching an approving glimpse of Dinah.

“One lifetime of me is worth 50 of yours! Humanity may be in a sorry state,” she stared Gallant up and down with a diminishing look. “It deserves better than you.”

With a shaky breath, Gallant drew in a breath before speaking. “I should have put you in that motion picture home years ago. The only thing I ever wanted from you was for you to love me and accept me. Why couldn’t you just give me that?”

“Sorry, darling, it’s just not in my nature,” she spoke without regret. It was like watching a painting fading, the colours drained out of Gallant with his last hope of love. Evie patted her grandson on the cheek before leaving, knowing she had devastated him.

What she didn’t think were that with every last hope of love stripped away, with the betrayal and disappointment she had caused her grandson, she had also made an adequate enemy. Gallant was now a hairpin trigger and she had a target on her back. It wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge and knowing Michael, he’d see to that it’d happen.

Disappointment and betrayal make the perfect enemy. In Evie's desperation for survival, she may very well have caused her own downfall.

“Well it's a good thing you convinced me to bring your nana,” Coco commented with no feel for the tension in the room. Either that or she didn’t care. Gallant ended up falling to the cushions between Oya and Coco who so rudely rose up biting that he should sit on the other couch. He sank until his head rested against the back of the couch, eyes empty and breath still.

“I didn’t know you were gay,” Coco spoke loudly and looked at Oya.

“I’m not,” she shrugged. “Sexuality is fluid. I’m not gay or straight, I’m just…” Oya made a hand gesture that was meant to mean ‘something’. A headache was forming just behind her eyes making her pinch the bridge of her nose frowning.

“That’s a shame,” Coco blabbers.

“Why?”

“Because that means you’d be willing to fuck your way into the Sanctuary.”

She isn't wrong on that one. Oya doubted that if it stood between fucking for survival and death that anyone would choose to fuck regardless of their preferences. It was just funny how Coco thought she’d stand a chance when Michael so clearly wasn’t interested in anything more than playing cat and mouse.

But the statement brought back the nib of jealousy and possessiveness both of which were irrational and if Michael were to know of it there’d be endless teasing.

“We can count Gallant out, he already tried it.”

“He’s right there and he still breathes,” Dinah commented at the distasteful words. “I’d say he’s ahead of all of us.”

“He’s the only one who’s been interviewed,” Coco barked in her usual tone of voice. “It’ll all change when the rest of us is called in. Gallant can’t be the only one Langdon chooses and he most definitely will not be on the radar if I get my chance.”

“We don’t know if it was Langdon he fucked,” Oya injected. Coco waved her hand dismissively before striking up a less intelligent conversation with Mallory. In sympathy, Oya patted Gallant on the head before leaving.

Whomever Gallant fucked remained a mystery, though Oya had her suspicions, much clearer than her co-inhabitants, but Gallant proved not to be the only one who let the desire run wild.

Through Mallory, she found out that Timothy and Emily had both been dragged away by Venables henchmen followed by the ruler herself. Their salvation came in the form of Michael who shaved them from the bullets that were going to be planted in between their eyes. Why Michael choose to save them remained a mystery but she had the suspicion that he was setting up something bigger and if anything he was just toying with them.

Soon others were called into Michael’s appointed office Oya awaited her call in the library sitting among the other residents awaiting the news of each person's interview.

There was an unease creeping under her skin, her heart beating faster each time a resident entered the room. Each had a different reaction to the interview, Mallory being the one that seemed the most jarred, while others came back sexually frustrated.

“Oya Jeon,” the voice travelled from behind the slide doors, sending a shiver down her spine and straining her heart. She drew in a deep breath and entered the room with her back held straight and head held high, hands calmly connected in front of her.

He was sitting behind the desk, eyes studying papers that couldn’t possibly be hers with disinterested eyes and waved his hand as he spoke to motion her towards the chairs. “Please take a seat.”

“I’d prefer to stand,” Oya spoke cooly, feeling the wave of emotion collide with her body. The anger was the most prominent feeling and the one easiest explained. When it burned hot it burned blinding hot and at this moment she settled for anger and pushed any other feeling away.

Michael looked up through his lashes, blue eyes catching the orange flicker and darkening. Oya listened to the doors being closed behind her. The trap snapped shot. She masked herself perfectly with a cool expression one to rival his own. Then a Cheshire smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, eyes swallowed up by his pupils. Slowly he stood, body stretching out before her and suddenly it was as if she was seeing him for the first time in… well, a year. The hair had grown well past his collar, all the way down to his collarbone, with soft waves that fell down around his face. He looked older somehow, his features sharper and eyes more calculating. With a predatory stalk, he walked nonchalantly towards her.

“Stop.” Her voice was firm. She glanced towards the door with a lingering question.

“No,” Michael spoke with a charming drawl. “They can’t hear us.”

Her eyes turned towards him once more, eyes burning holes in him. The only thing that could be heard was the crackling fire, the orange flames licking at the air and sending waves of warmth out into the otherwise cold room. There wasn’t a way to be sure if the room would have frozen over or been set ablaze had it not been for her powers being locked away.

Michael raised a brow at her.

“You lied to me,” she broke the silence, voice stern and unflinching. “You left me here with these people! Do you have any clue as to how fucking excruciating it’s been? And for what? For spying on them?” Her voice began to waver and it broke towards the end when Michael took a single elaborate step towards her. She held her hand up and stepped back. “Stop.”

Michael’s head fell to the side, eyes eating up every micro-expression she made and caught on to when her voice wavered with emotion. He remained silent and she wasn’t really sure as to why.

“That old hag Evie is quite possibly the most insufferable person I’ve ever met, Coco is impossibly shallow and superficial and I’m not sure if the obnoxiousness is to hide something else. Then there’s Gallant whom I’m pretty sure you’ve got all figured out by now. Dinah is elusive but quite possibly the one candidate to put a bet on. Mallory is the only interesting grey solely because her whole character seems to make herself impossibly small all the while glimpses of something else shines through. Dinah’s son is just whiny and annoying. Then there’s your choice to lead this outpost!” Her voice grew louder as she was allowed to revel in the fire of her anger, letting it all out in angry sneers and elaborate arm movements ending in aggressive pointing. Michael allowed all of it. He didn’t stop her, never attempted to. “Mrs. Venable… Why do I continue? You already know all of this, you already made up your mind about them.”

Oya was breathing heavy, eyes wild and bitter. She could feel the confining embrace of the corset straining at her ribs and thereby her lungs. With each breath she took the shadows dug into the skin of her shoulders, edging out her collarbones that had become more prominent at the lack of proper food. The fire dimmed, if only a little, quenched by the feeling of hurt.

“You abandoned me here with them,” she expressed and swung her palm through the air, the sound of it smacking against skin ricocheting through the room before the stinging set in. There was a flicker of something wicked in his eyes, an entertained tug to the corner of his lips before he brushed it away with a swipe of his thumb. His cheek burned red and so did her hand. He pressed forward and Oya took another step back swinging the other hand only for it to get caught in a firm grip. Weakly she tried to pull it to her but Michael refused to let go, his grip as iron and yet without the promise of a nasty bruise. Oya spoke again with a wavering voice trying to retain the flicker of rage that had started to slip away. “I-I thought something had happened. I thought you were dead.”

“No,” Michael countered, eyes never leaving hers, ever-changing. At this she was speechless, gaping at him with wide eyes. No? What does he mean ‘no’?

“No? No?!” She pulled her arm to her and almost stumbled when he let go.

Her eyes caught the sight of his tongue darting out to wetten his lips before he spoke again. “If I were dead you’d know.” He began stalking towards her. With each step he took, she took one backwards.

She would have thrown poison at him, spoken with violence that maybe it would have been better if he were dead because then he had an excuse to abandon her here. Instead opened and closed her hand, palm still stinging from her attack but also with a need to be swung once more. With clenched jaws and a pointed glare she spoke. “Tell me, Michael, did you fuck him?”

His lips parted to draw in a breath, the corners of his mouth pulling upwards in the most wicked way all the while his eyes drowned in mischief. His head tilted a little before he purred. “Would it bother you if I did?”

The question hummed inside her mind, tickled and grew. With another step backwards she felt the wall stop any attempt of retreat, efficiently trapping her between it and him. Michael only stopped when the tip of his pointed boots touched the skirt of her dress, all too close for her liking and not close enough. Oya realised something when she searched his eyes, read his face, almost leaned into his presence and the warmth he radiated. He was like a playful cat but far more dangerous.

The realisation was quick, the humming inside her mind stilled and soothed the sliver of jealousy that had set root within her by the lusting humans that wanted nothing more than to sink their teeth into him. It should be them that was afraid if Michael were to sink his fangs into them. But it wouldn’t of one very simple reason, it’d give them exactly what they want and there’d be no satisfaction in that. He wouldn’t just let anyone touch him. Even though Michael were the embodiment of sensuality he found no interest in sex, not with anyone but her. Sensuality was a weapon turned towards everyone else.

“No,” she drawled just like he so often did. He pursed his lips tilting his head to the other side. “You could fuck him -you could fuck any of them if you so desire.” Michael blinked at her intrigued. “But you won’t… and even if you did, I know I’m the only one you’d ever find ease with.”

“Have you thought about it a lot?” His voice was a low rumbling thunder that sends electricity throughout her system. Then she felt it, a tug at her skirt that ever so slowly hitched higher. Never did his eyes leave hers.

Her heart drummed against her fragile ribs, adrenaline spiking her system and enhancing her senses. His scent engulfed her, the familiar spice pricking at at her tongue that made her mouth water. Her red lips were parted, soft breaths filling her lungs. More than ever before were the restraints of the corset present, she felt that with each breath she filled out the confined only to feel it loosen when it left her again. She was wet, she’d lie if she said she wasn’t wet the moment she stepped into the room but now the ache became more prominent.

It had been 18 months since she was last touched, her body ached and longed for his touch, it would revel in it. For 18 months she had tried to subdue the growing want for him.

“Tell me, Love,” he purred, hitching her skirt up higher. Even though the Victorian knickers she felt the heat of his fingers burning through the fabric. The first touch was light as air, trailing up her thigh ever so slowly.

“I-I’ve been here for 18 months, of course, I’ve thought about it,” she stammered wrapping her fingers around his scorching wrist forcing him to stop. It was getting increasingly harder to think, to keep up all the pent up rage she had been building. The castle of anger she had built around herself came tumbling down with one blow from the big bad wolf.

“All those long nights,” he continued voice lowering. His hand began to move again and she felt herself weaken her grip. “Did you touch yourself?”

“Yes,” she breathed licking her lips while his eyes darted to his.

“Did you think of me?”

“Yes.” Her knees felt weak as if they could give in any moment. Fire burned on her skin, his fingers leaving a trail up her thigh, slowly inching towards where she needed him the most. He was playing with her but unlike the other inhabitants, she was the only one to taste victory. He could leave her, just stop all of it and it would be entirely within his character, it’d be cruel and merciless, but it would also make for great sex later on.

But the thing was, she wasn’t the only one who had gone without the touch of someone else. She wasn’t the only one who felt the desire burn through her veins. And by far she wasn’t the only one affected by the presence of the other.

Michael’s pupils were dilated, blown out of proportions and swallowing up the blue of his gaze. Even though his breathing was normal he felt the air strain in his lungs. When she let him go completely he let his fingers travel to her mount and watched as her head fell back against the wall, lips parted in a silent breath and eyes fluttering. He marvelled at the sight of her, the shimmer of her lips, the flush colour building under her skin, her black eyes reflecting the fire. Under his touch she pushed her hips forward greedy for more, it made a chuckle form in the back of his throat.

“Did you miss me?” The question was light but it was like having thrown a bucket of water over you. Oya stilled, body tense and heart galloping all the while skipping beats. It felt as if she would surrender her anger to him, forfeit the grudge that had been building up in her, to give him her bitterness of being lied to and left for what felt like an eternity. Honestly, she’d have taken her little plot of land in Korea over this outpost any day.

“I can’t forgive you,” she began quietly. She reached for him, cubing his cheek and felt that he leaned into her touch just a little. “And I will make you pay for it.” She licked her lips before continuing, eyes softening with affection. “But I did miss you.”

“I’m sure you’ll make me pay in all sort of ways,” he rumbled pressing into her.

Their lips met briefly, her lips chasing his only to part in a low moan as his fingers circled her clit. The fabric stuck to her uncomfortably, cool everywhere but where his fingers touched. The ache pulsated between her legs, begging for her to just spread them right then and there so he could get between them.

“You’ve been playing a lot of games,” she purred, fingers hooking into the smooth fabric of his jacket, pulling him to her. “It’s been very entertaining to watch unfold.”

“There’s more to come,” he said, lips brushing over her jaw, nibbling at the skin of her neck. His fingers travelled downwards, pushing shallowly into her. She could have unravelled right then and there, it had been long since she came finding it difficult to bring herself to the edge and over.

Michael removed his hand, the skirt falling to the floor now that nothing was blocking it. Oya almost broke out in protest, no not protest more like sobs. A whine managed to escape her quickly shut lips. Michael merely grins at her, taking her hand and guided her through the room. With one tug she swung around, hands harshly placed on the wooden desk in an attempt not to fall straight on her face. Her nails scrapped over the wood when she balled her hands into fists, biting her lips as the skirts were thrown up over her ass, his hands gripping at her hips.

Michael knocked at her heels in a silent order, making her spread her legs more. Then she felt it, his large hand going from her hip to run down her ass, gripping it tightly. She held back a moan, melting further into the stance. Once, twice, thrice he ran his hand up and down her ass feeling her up before his fingers brushed against the wet cloth.

“Have you thought of me?” She found herself asking before she could stop the words from spilling out through her lips. With her back turned to him she didn’t see how his head fell back, bottom lip caught viciously between his teeth, but she did hear the ragged breath he took before answering.

“Yes.”

“Did you touch yourself?”

“No,” he answered. Confusion made its way onto her face, fisted hands turning into flat palms. She didn’t know whether to take offence or not. Or maybe she should be impressed by his restraint. She herself couldn’t exhibit the same level of it. He did have a lot to do after the end of the world, maybe the time wasn't there. But by god the vision of Michael’s firm and slender fingers wrapped around his cock with the look of desire plastered all over his face, with his perfect lips parted in soft gasps, eyes sultry and half-lidded.

“Oh?”

“I would much rather wait,” he drawled. The air hit her hot wet core as soon as the fabric was tugged down. In the candlelight, she must be glistening. He ran his palm over her mount, fingers wrapping around her swollen clit and pinched. A feeble weak sound escaped her throat, knees buckling a little. Michael dipped a finger into her and curled it, her walls beckoned him further, convulsing around him trying to get more stimulation. Then he added another finger and began to scissor them, each brush drawing out hitched breaths from her, arms beginning to tremble.

The other hand that remained placed on her hip pulled her backwards all the while bending her further over the table. If anyone walked in there would be no doubt as to what was going on with Oya lying bend over the desk, legs parted and ass bare to the world. When he moved his thumb to her clit she let out a moan, feeling just how slick she really was.

With little shame she pushed herself back onto his fingers, efficiently fucking herself. The feeling almost brought tears to her eyes. “Fuck,” she breathed.

For a moment Michael admired the view, the sight of his finger slipping in and out of her pussy with a frivolous need. He swallowed at the sight before adding a third finger, stretching her out further. “It’s almost pathetic your need to be fucked, it’s so human.”

“And you made me this way,” she bit back at him, eyes fluttering when he twisted his fingers while pushed at her clit almost too hard. “Fuck, Michael. Please, I’m ready.”

His fingers left her, her walls clenching around the emptiness. She imagined he’d use her juices to cover himself, pumping his fist a few times before gliding the head of his cock up and down her folds. The feeling was enough to make her mewl. In one upstroke, he caught on her opening and shallowly dipped in making both of them hitch their breaths in unison.

She couldn’t take the anticipation any longer and caved. “Please, Jagi-ya .”

Michael pressed into in one slow fluid motion. His fingers dug into her hips with steel and iron, without a doubt leaving bruises there for later inspection. Oya couldn’t withhold the moan that tore through her throat, nails digging into the wood as Michael pulled out and re-entered with a harder thrust. She could hear it, the low grumble from deep within his chest making its way up through his throat.

“If it wasn’t because you have to remain in the shadows, I’d fuck you until you couldn’t walk,” he grunted speeding up. With each thrust came a wave of pleasure. The feeling brought tears to her eyes, the delicious stretch and the full feeling better than she had imagined for months now. His words almost made her cum right then and there.

“I’m su-sure,” she agreed. For a moment she was afraid that cumming once would be enough after having repressed the aching need for weeks now. Not even when she was bound in Korea would there have gone as much time by before she had to satisfy herself. Then a savage smirk formed on her lips and she clenched around him as much as she possibly could, almost breaking her trail of thought. “But when all this is over it -it is you who won’t be able to walk. I’ll turn your b-bones into that gross jelly they feed us here. S-see what world you’d build when you’re bound to the f-ucking bed, Jagi-ya .” The last word was said in an extra sweet tone.

Michaels strong hand wrapped tightly around her throat, forcing her backwards to him. Her back was arched. The grip was tight enough to make her feel her own pulse but not tight enough to do any form of damage. His breath was in her ear, lips grazing over the shell of her ear. She could hear the smirk in his voice. “I could make you go out there with cum leaking out of you.” He snapped his hips to her making her eyes roll back in pleasure. “Or maybe have your breath smell of cum.” His grip tightened as he snapped his hips to hers, the lewd sound of flesh hitting flesh filling her ears with a low hum of her own pulse. “But I can be nice.” Now his voice was dripping with sweet sweet poison. “So very nice.” She could feel herself clench around him, the wave of hot white pleasure washing over her with vengeance. One hand found its way from the desk to Michael’s fine jacket, clutching the fabric violently as her breath was caught in her lungs. “I’ll let you choose.”

“C-come inside me,” she croaked out, voice dampened by his tight fingers. She heard him take a strained deep breath, she could almost feel him bite his lip and he tried to concentrate.

“How lascivious of you, Love,” Michael moaned thrusting into her one last time, burying himself deep before spreading his seed. The warmth was familiar, it was strangely obscene, but it felt… missed. She didn’t know whether it was him buried deep within her or the feeling of his seed she missed, most likely the former. Michael released his grip on her, Oya falling forward with a relieved breath, hands firmly planted on the desk’s cool surface. She felt him withdrawal, felt the movement of his seed.

Oya swallowed before letting out a breath, slowly beginning to redress herself, putting on the Victorian knickers that she’d have to wash herself to remove the cum stains guaranteed to happen. Cum stains she could handle, what she couldn’t handle was her breath smelling of it when she was to face the other inhabitants.

“You’re enjoying the humiliation of me going out there, asshole,” she said lightly with a faint smile on her face. Of course, he did, he enjoyed toying with people and she was no different, though with his way of toying with her were only between the two of them. The embarrassment came from both of them knowing.

Michael tugged up his pants, fixing the slick fabric to a point where it looked utterly perfect, while she fought with the barbaric ruffles of her dress to make it sit properly. He had the devil on his shoulder, that’s how he managed to look completely perfect while she lacked her own little devil. He was cheating . With a huff, she pulled of the purple fabric and swore that whenever she got out of here she’d never wear purple ever again. Fuck purple and fuck Venable for making them wear it.

Michal sank into the chair behind the desk, palms flat on the surface like hers had been. He watched her as she prepared to fall into the role of Oya Jeon once more. She brushed her tied up hair back in place, the loose strands fastened by tying them into the elaborate hairdo Gallant had managed to give her. Of course, Coco never allowed him to let Oya outshine herself.

Now that everything was in place, she let their eyes meet. “So, do I meet the requirements of the sanctuary?”

Michael tried to repress the smile on his lips, forcing it into seriousness. “You will know in time.”

“Did you miss me?” They looked at each other silently for a moment before Michael went to answer in a smooth drawl.

“Yes.” The answer made her heart flutter. The orange flames caught his blue eyes with warmth. Then the warmth seeped out and he fell back into the role of Michael Langdon, the one mean to pick and choose who to save and who to kill. Oya let herself find the mask she had worn, let his presence affect her negatively to a degree as a cover for what really happened. She brushed her hands over the material of her dress, collecting her hands there and waited.

“You may leave now,” Michael said with indifference, waving his hand towards the door and turned his attention to the papers in front of him. Oya rose from her chair, slipping out of the room and was met with curious stares that picked at every seam of her being to see if they could catch something beneath her blank expression. Oya decided to lean up of the others accounts of what questions he asked, how he had acted and made it convincing by the jaded tremor in her voice.

“Did you hear?” Coco asked after the endless questioning. Oya shook her head with a weary frown. The blond woman licked her lips and inched closer, a smile unmistakable smile on her lips. “The old hag died in her sleep! No more listening to her endless stories.”

This surprised Oya. She thought the bitch would never bite the dust… Unknowingly, her eyes travelled to Michael’s closed doors. Nothing happened in the bunker that he wasn't aware off, nothing happened without him pulling a string. For a moment Oya wondered just how intricate a web Michael had spun, just how deep the game was and if she were a mere piece or puppet.

“These past several months have been difficult for all of us. And perhaps in my efforts to keep us safe, punitive measures have been taken too far. I believe now what we need is a moment of celebration. Comradery. Which is why, this weekend, as a gesture of goodwill we will have a Halloween soiree,” Mrs Venable voiced out loud with a smile on her darkened lips. Coco and Gallant looked at each other in excitement, one seemingly shared with most inhabitants, if not with a mixture of surprise and suspicion.

Oya was the ladder, finding the sudden need to celebrate perplexing, to say the least. For months it had been the same. No holiday celebrated, no birthdays, no celebration of any kind, just the same disgusting jelly, the same vitamin water, the same music over and over. The sudden change was worrying. Not only that but earlier the grounds had once more been breached and no word of what it was had yet been told. It all smelled fishy, or so the Americans tend to say. She couldn’t help but feel strings were being pulled, and she knew exactly who was the puppetmaster. This celebration was not the work of Mrs. Venable, though she might not know it.

“It will be in the style of a Victorian masquerade ball,” Mrs. Venable continued.

“If only my Nana were here to enjoy it with me,” Gallant muttered, the sudden excitement turned into something solemn and dark.

“We’ve all lost track of time a bit. And this festive occasion is the perfect opportunity to remedy this. And I encourage you all to use your imaginations,” Mrs. Venables voice rose with festiveness. “To create what I am sure will be exquisite costumes.” Now her voice fell into the same old track, stern and cold. “Attendance is mandatory.”

With that everyone was allowed to leave, most hurrying to make their costumes. Oya adopted the same vigilance and glee the others held while maintaining the slightest sliver of scepticism. Dinah held the same look in her eyes, the gleam of knowing something the others didn’t, knowing something similar to Oya’s own knowledge. The two women looked at each other, their masks off to reveal both of them being wary, before plastering a polite smile on their lips to maintain the mask once more.

“I know we’ve only just been told of this but do you have any idea what you’ll wear?” Dinah asked, taking Oya’s arm in her own as the two of them headed towards their quarters.

“No,” Oya answered frankly. “I have the six same dresses in my closet that I’ve always had and have no idea how to transform them into something new. It’s not like we’ve got a lot of wardrobe choice nor any excess material to work with.”

“I find it odd that they chose Halloween of all holidays, though I suppose it falls into Mrs. Venables taste,” Dinah shrugged and chuckled at her last sentence.

“Victorian masquerade! Couldn’t she just have called it Masquerade? We’re already in the Victorian,” Oya gestured to the tight garments with puffy skirts. She had lived through the times where victorian was the fashion, she had pale strangers come to her for her abilities, wishing remedies or blessings or curses. She had seen the fashion first hand even without leaving Korea and her plot of land. She had lived through many fashions, many invasions and occupations trying to take the land from the ones living there. Hell, she had seen kingdoms rise and fall, both her own and the in the world around her.

“True,” Dinah agreed. “Admittingly I do look forward to the celebration, we have to take what we can, right? And by the looks of it Mrs. Venable has something in store for us.”

“She sure does,” Oya grumbled, eyes flicking over the firepit in the middle of the room as they passed through the hall and up the stairs. The flames danced with gleeful abandon, the shadows following suit on the walls. Sometimes she had through to put her hand in the flames just to feel the pain but she didn’t.

“Do you think Mr. Langdon will join us?”

“Mr. Langdon?” Oya looked puzzled at Dinah who smiled kindly to her, her dark eyes catching the flames, lips thick and pretty. Dinah was a beauty but she was also that ever so positive talk show host through and through. Sometimes it was too much. Enough to make Oya want to strangle her. But there had always been something else, something hidden, a dark tint.

“Yes, the party would be the perfect time to tell us who’ll join him at the Sanctuary.” Dinah let go of Oya’s arm having reached her door. She brushed her fingers over her purple dress nervously, with hope and something else in her eyes.

“It is a possibility,” Oya commented meekly, not able to agree or disagree. It seemed to be enough for the darker woman, she smiled at Oya as she headed into her room and closed the door behind her. Now Oya was left alone in the hall, the cold creeping along the stone walls, nibbling at any exposed skin. She let out a breath and rolled her neck, heading towards her own room. The door closed and locked behind her with a soft click. Oya trotted to the bed, sinking down onto it with a huff before ripping the leather laces up from her boots, kicking the leather off with a sigh of relief. Those boots might look good but by the gods were they confining and painful. For a little while, she sat and massaged her feet dreaming of planting them on the soft soil, letting her toes dig into the ground as she walked through the garden. She missed it, having something to do, letting things grow and expand. She missed lifeunrestricted but knew it wouldn’t come for many years to come. There was also a bigger part of her that missed her powers, how they flowed through her, how they could twist and curl, how it was mischievous and playful. Michael had them, somewhere.

Oya took of the dress and kicked it across the floor with venom before attacking the corset hidden beneath, that which was thrown through the air and into the wall with just as much venom. “You better have tons of airy clothe in the Sanctuary and much prettier because if I’m forced to wear something like this again, every fucking day, I’ll castrate you.” She threatened the empty room, trotting through it and into the shower. The warm water relaxed the tension in her shoulders while she washed the sex off of her, fingers splashing water between her legs while the dirty imagery of her interview played in her head. He had looked better than ever, more mature and grown somehow, his edges refined and perfect. In the 13 months, she had been nothing but human he had grown to be the master in a lot of things, he had found himself, or rather, he rested in himself. The confidence had always been there but now it was matured. There was still a vulnerability to him but she hadn’t yet seen it fully, just caught glimpses. She supposed it was to keep level headed, being apart so long and with such difference in power and environment would have changed anyone.

But they were still connected, she felt it in that room. Oya had been herself for the first time in months and the relief of that was hard to hide. When she’d get her powers back she could finally breathe again, she knew it.

Oya turned off the water and exited the shower to find a note written on the foggy mirror. Come to my room. She wiped the surface clean, revealing her reflection beneath. Her features were sharper and more edged out due to the lack of food. Although she had always been on the thin side, visible collarbones and ribs, they were now edged into her like a crude statue, showing just how little they got. She couldn’t wait to soften her look, not feel so fragile and delicate. Oya dried her hair and braided it into a long thick braid, then twisting it into a bun held together with what once was a decorative letter opener, forced between the strands. She threw the towel over the side of the tub, one much smaller than what she had grown used to, before entering her room naked and clean. A dress had been neatly placed upon the covers of her bed, it’s look a mix between Victorian and something along the lines of traditional Korean hanbok. The fabric was much softer than the other dresses in her closet, it was without ruffles and strange textures that was nothing more than a terrible fashion choice. No, it was cut cleaner, with lone soft lines, a neck dipping an inch or two lower than what she was used to, with black see-through puffy sleeves.

She drew in a breath and began dressing, the Knicks, the underskirts, the corset and then finally the dress. It fitted her perfectly and she shouldn’t have expected anything less, it was after all Michael who had left the dress there. It was a plum purple that managed not to make her want to throw it in the pyre.

The door was unlocked, daring anyone to enter, with only a few brave or stupid enough to accept that challenge. Oya entered the room, locking the door behind her. She had made sure the shadows had hidden her form as she moved through the halls, no eyes catching sight of her.

The room was like any other, though it was a bit smaller. It had the same furniture, the same bedsheets, the same dark aesthetic. The candles flickered upon her entry, shadows dancing on the walls. Michael silently entered too, a towel wrapped around his lower body while his hair was tied up loosely to escape the water he had just exited.

Oya clenched her jaw at the sight, eyes following his every movement as he stalked through the room, throwing the damp towel he used to dry his upper body with onto the bed.

“If anyone were to have seen me...” She said calmly walking to the wardrobe to pull out one of his black shirts. By the time she turned around, Michael was hitching up his pants.

“They didn’t, although it would have made quite the tale,” he drawled, zipping up his pants. Oya nuzzled the soft fabric of his shirt between her fingers as she waited for Michael to be ready for it.

“What have you been planing? You’ve been puppeteering, I know you have.”

A smirk tugged at his lips, eyes bright blue with mischief. “Now, it wouldn’t be much fun if I told you.” With her help, he slit his arms into the shirt. Her hands trifled over his shoulders, fingers brushing against him as she came around to face him.

“You’ve made your decisions then?” Oya asked and began to button up his shirt, fingers working nimble.

“Yes, I will be making the final draft during the festivities,” he answered her with a slick smile. Oya pursed her lips at him, brows furrowing together in a frown. There was the slightest touch, a simple brush of his fingers against the fabric of her dress. She paid no mind and looked up at him, buttoning yet another button. “You will not be joining us?”

“As much fun that may entrail I still have work to do and I’m sure Mrs. Venable wouldn’t mind my lack of presence.”

“Paperwork even after the apocalypse,” Oya grumbled discontent with that matter. She was now half way up his chest. With a flash of her displeasure shining through her eyes Michael chuckled. “And the witches? They were the reason why we’re here after all, what of them?”

“A few survived the blast, that I’m sure of.” he breathed with a low voice, fingers dancing through the air to motion ‘somewhere out there’. Oya buttoned the last one, prushing her hands over the fabric and ran her eyes up and down to see if she had missed one or it the shirt was crooked.

“How so?”

Michael smiled entertained and began to fidget with the cufflinks. “Haven’t you felt them?”

“I’ve felt a lot of things, Michael, and most of it were pure and utter rage for you, ” she poked him right in the chest in the most childish manner. What was he expecting? That her hair would stand on the back of her neck? A tingle under her skin? Goosebumps? “I’m human, unless it’s in my face and obvious I won’t notice a thing.”

“Dinah Stevens was the voodoo queen of New Orleans before she became a talk show host and Mallory...Mallory is something ,” Michael informed with vague interest in what he was actually saying. Oya narrowed her eyes at him, folding her arms over her chest and made a displeased motion with her mouth. Voodoo queen? Dinah didn’t seem all that powerful and she certainly wasn’t a threat, but it did make sense why the mask of positivity sometimes cracked to reveal someone more clever and cunning underneath. But Mallory, she surprised her in a way Dinah didn’t, mostly because of the way Michael said her name.

“Is she something to be worried about?”

This seemed to draw attention from him, his eyes flashing up at hers. Michael breathed in between his teeth and tilted his head. “No, not that it mattered if she was.”

“Because you’re going to kill them.”

“Actually,” Michael began, a devilish smirk growing on his lips. “I’m not the one to kill them.”

“Venable is,” she finished with an eye roll of his dramatics. There was no reason to get blood on his hands when all he had to do was pull a few strings to watch the whole outpost unravel. And that’s what he wanted, he wanted the humans to be the cause of their own destruction, he simply laid out the tools and waited for them to choose. “I don’t know whether to think it’s going to be a dull party if everyone dies or if its ‘a total banger’ as Gallant would phrase it.”

Oya walked to the closet and picked out a black jacket, helping him in it with ease. Michael released his hair from the small bun, letting it wave down over his shoulders, perfect as always. She was fixing his collar when suddenly he pulled an apple out of thin air, the red fruit catching the light of the candles. Oya paused, eyes growing at the sight of something fresh, it’s sweet smell engulfing her and made her mouth water. Then she looked past it, to the mischievous smirk of her counterpart and withdrew from reach with narrowed eyes filled with suspicion.

“Is it poisoned?” Now she knew of the lure Snow White couldn’t resist, the lure Eve couldn’t resist.

“Not this one no,” Michael answered her, taking her hand and placing the fruit in her palm. He could clearly see the hunger in her, the starvation that had cast shadows over her form and edged out her bones. There were no doubt that he admired her, if she wasn’t so transfixed on whether to believe him and sink her teeth into the apple or to throw it at his head, she’d have seen the abortion shine through the cheeky smirk. He admired her persistence.

“But the rest is,” she concluded and fished out the knife hidden in Michaels jacket. The blade cut through the fruit with incredible ease and she quickly ate the piece  eyes fluttering at the taste. “I suppose this is a nod to the forbidden fruit.”

Michael took hold of her jaw lightly, bringing her sweetened lips to his only to find the touch of her fingers on his lips as she withdrew. Oya tsked and shook her head, rivaling his own playfulness. “I spend too long on this makeup for you to ruin before the party.”

“And I, who gave you a most precious gift! You wound me,” he fauxed hurt, hand on his heart as if to underline what he said. Oya chuckled at him, enjoying the playfulness she had missed so much, the ease of his presence.

“What of the rest of the witches?” The seriousness returned.

“They could have died in the blast although I’m sure they’re out there somewhere. They’re like cockroaches,” Michael said with such an ease it filled her with confidence. If it wasn’t for the makeup or the apple currently being enjoyed to the fullest, she’d have kissed him like there was no tomorrow.

When the apple was carved to the core, Michael took it from her thin fingers discarding the remainder in the fire. Oya placed the knife on the mantle before coming up behind Michael, wrapping her arms around him and pressed into his warmth. His scent was intoxicating.

“We’ll find them. One way or another we will find them and then destroy them,” she assured him and tightened her grip to emphasize. Although she couldn’t see him, a rumble tingled through his back and into her. He turned to her, her hands working around his movements and landing on his chest as he came to face her.

“I think it’s time you wear this,” he said and held up a stone black as obsidian framed by silver so that it hangs as a pendant from a chain. It was beautiful. Oya touched the stone and felt a tingle at her fingertips, warmth radiating off what should have been cold. She recognized it instantly.

Michael opened the chain and led the parts around her neck, the black stone standing out against her otherwise pale skin, lacking the touch of the sun and health of nourishment. It almost hummed against her chest. Was it as alive for him as it was for her? Michael’s hands came to rest against her neck, fingers tracing soft patterns on her skin while he angled his head towards her. “You will know when it’s time to break it.”

“Thank you,” she breathed softly feeling closer to freedom than what she had felt in a long time.

Everyone had on their finest attire and masks placed upon faces. Oya watched as they were all drawn to the perfect red apples that had been rolled in like fine dining to be placed in the small tub of water. They had all drawn in a breath of the sweet smell, mouths watering. She had watched them with amusement and played her part as well. Gallant was right about the symbolism… Something that’d soon turn to irony.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present Mrs. Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt,” Mallory introduced from above in the most expanced way possible clearly tired of Coco’s bullshit. Coco stepped out onto the balcony, lips painted in a heart shape and hair rising so far up from her head it reminded her of the elaborate headpieces back in Korea once upon a time. She stood as Marie Antoinette, or a watered down version anyway. The hair was impressive, even she had to admit that.

“Mhm! Can we clap please, thank you!” Gallant implored for people to clap at his masterpiece, clapping his own hands in the face of others to push their own actions. Oya joined in, eyes following the girl down the stairs.

“You did that?” Mrs. Mead asked in astonishment.

“Without a blow dryer sometimes I even astonish myself,” Gallant beamed with confidence. Clack, clack, clack, the erie sound of Mrs. Venables cain beating against the tiles travelled through the hall and into the library. It was a clear indicator of what came next. The claps slowly died out but Coco didn’t realise the shadow that had fallen upon her, not before Mrs. Venable leaned in beside her ear and said ‘boo’. Coco jumped in chock, the light teasing air within the room now tense with the usual kind of cold that followed Venable everywhere. Intimidation was the perfume she wore.  

“Tonight is all hallows eve,” Mrs. Venable began after Coco had scuttered away like a small mouse, the longing for the spotlight already showing upon her face. Oya breathed in, quietly moving into the shadows.  “-Which marks the beginning of the dark half of the year, when the boundary between this world and the other thins, and lost souls pierce the firmament desperate to find their way home. It is a night to remember the dead and there have been far too many to mourn.” A chilled quiet formed within the room, the losses heavy on their souls. Oya couldn’t count herself a mourner, she had lost far too many and the people that had been alive not long ago, were all mere spectres, mere thoughts.

“But also to celebrate,” Mrs. Venable continued with a smile on her lips. “That we have yet to join them.” The tap of her cain began anwe, Venable passing through the room with the air of superiority surrounding her, shoulders almost razor sharp with the edge she had on them. “We delight in the small things, that were once taken for granted. To eat, to drink, music and dance. Everyone! -and I mean everyone, should savour this night as if it were their last.”

Oya wanted to burst out laughing or quite maybe just yell. Venables whole speech was littered with cues and indications, like any villainous speech. The idea of throwing one of the candles at the redhead crossed her mind, but she remained quiet, the itching in her fingers never subsiding. It was a speech Michael would have liked, just for the fact that he knew exactly what was going on. He’d love the irony, appreciate it even. In this instance, she didn’t.

The music began, a new song and slowly the room began to move, bodies dancing throughout the space. Oya herself began to sway, taking a glass of sparkling water that quite honestly tasted like ass. Timothy and Emily swayed together, eyes connected in loving gaze. It was nice, she had to admit that, regardless of the end in sight.

“It is bewildering is it not?” Mrs. Venable said approaching Oya, whom eyed her over the rim of her glass nothing how revived the woman before her had become by the decision to play god with her own garden of Eden. Venable would present herself as God and the snake lureing starved humans to their own ruin. Poetic. “What little it takes to change everything, something so simple as apples.”

“I believe the promise of hope is what brings this change,” Oya voiced, fingers tapping with the rhythm on the glass. Venables eyebrows rose slightly, dark eyes fiery.

“Hope?”

“Hope is the smallest of things, it’s almost impossible to get rid of and it brings the biggest of change with it. Hope, want, desire, they all set root and grow.”

“And Mr. Langdon brought all of this? Hope? Want? Desire ?” The way she says the word, like it burns her mouth and leaves nothing but ash. Venable had always been opposed to desire, it was so easy to see in the way she gripped at control that desire was the fundamental of which the world was brought to ruin. That desire was the thing that made everyone who possessed it no better than rats. They were beneath her, those who were controlled by it and she was so far above because she was in control.

“Mr. Langdon brought many things, didn’t he?” Oya asked, following Venable through the room. They walked slowly, with sure steps although Oya trailed a few inches behind letting Venable control the pace. There was no need to look at the taller woman, she already knew the look of loathing upon her face mixed with the knowledge that she was soon to be rid of the thing she found so displeasing. “There’s been desire.” Oya said looking out into the room. “There’s been want.” They passed Mrs. Mead by the radio. “There’s been hope…All of this brings chaos of course, and this unabided is what brought the world to its knees, isn’t it?”

Mrs. Venable looked slightly surprised halting. “The old world was built on desire and the constant need to fulfill it. There was no control. People just did whatever they wanted. They were without discipline and those who was supposed to be the authority disregarded rules and mismanaged entire countries.”

“The world was ended because of men like him.” Venable looked over Oya with contemplation the younger girl giving no nod to her own thoughts. She wasn’t sure if Oya was taunting her, if the girl had some sort of knowledge and was now just toying with her or if she revealed for the first time her true thoughts. To her Oya had always been dubious, her intentions had always been unclear, she was a mystery that presented herself as simply another body that inhabited the place and her file had revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

Then Oya continued. “So why should we follow him?”

“I am not sure what you are saying, Miss Jeon,” Venable said ambiguously. “Do you not believe in the Sanctuary? Or do you not believe you’ll get in?”

“I am as sure as my position as any,” Oya said. “But these days it’s hard to know who to trust.”

“Indeed, which is why it makes me question your intentions. You’ve never been interested in the politics of this place, while the others have thrown their childish fits you’ve remained quiet. Now, however, you’ve decided to voice your views. You say men like him were the cause of the apocalypse and yet you’re willing to put your life in his hands?” Venable shook her head, eyes dark with fiery teeth ready to sink into any weakness presented. It was admirable what she was willing to do to be the queen, paving the way to her kingdom with the corpses of those who got in her way.

“For survival, I’d do anything. Wouldn’t you ?” Oya answered with a tone Michael would have been proud of, the same nonchalant mocking he had mastered so well. Venables eyes narrowed. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”

Oya send Venable a sweet innocent smile before turning around and joining Gallant and Coco on the dance floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Venable return to where Mrs. Mead was, the two clearly sharing a few unknown words. If Michael had been there he would have been proud.

Mrs. Venable was a fox in sheep's clothing but there were other bigger and more dangerous creatures mimicking sheep as well.

A dark tall figure entered and began dancing with Coco. It wasn’t Michael that she was sure of but it could be one of this tricks, Oya simply shrugged and joined Dinah by the fire, chatting together as the mood began to brighten even further. It wasn’t before Coco’s disappearance down dim lit hall that Oya excused herself, disappearing as well. She had done her part, she had shown her face and now was the time to withdraw into the shadows while the attention was elsewhere.

“Let’s begin the bobbing for apples!” Mrs. Mead voiced out loud, turning down the music and gathered with the others around the small body of water. Oya looked over her shoulder one last time before walking to her own room.

Death had been invited in with open arms, a feast was thrown as a welcome and now was the time kiss death on the lips and take his hand for the festivities were for a goodbye and another world awaited.

When the door opened and Mrs. Venable and Mrs. Mead entered, Oya stood by Michael, she had one hand that rested on his shoulder in a familiar touch. Already she could feel the hardened glare of Mrs. Venable, the eyes that cut like glass and pricked at her back. The cane tapped at the floor, one after another until it came to a rest and then the door clicked closed.

“Ladies I’m a little busy right now formulating my selections,” Michael voiced with a nonchalance Oya couldn’t match. She was after all human and her body reacted to the threat of these people by sending a spike of adrenaline through her body even though her mind knew that Michael wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

“This won’t take long,” Venable said with a cold venom. Oya turned to face her, mild entertainment showing on her face. Venable’s eyes cracked to her the hostility almost unnerving. Michael shut the laptop gently, turning towards the intruders with the same nonchalance that he had spoken with.

“What’s this?” Michael asked with faux obliviousness, one that tugged at the corners of Oya’s mouth as Venable narrowed her eyes at him. The cane clicked as she came closer, invading the space of the two.

With one last click of her cane Venable answered with a victorious smirk. “We’re making the selections now, Mr. Langdon.” Her eyes traveled to Oya with sharp accuracy, the anger towards the other woman apparent. “I see you really would do anything for survival, Miss Jeon. I will admit, I am a little disappointed by your choice, you were after all supposed to be the smart one…. But you’ve made your choice.”

“And so have you,” Oya responded in a tone equal to Venables.

Venable drew in an unbothered but still strained breath before speaking, her eyes once more on Michael, who remained in his mask of faux confusion and obviousness. It was so apparent that it was faked. “And I’m afraid neither of you made the cut.”

Oya and Michael looked at each other and burst into chuckles that was neither warm or friendly but rather mocking. It was hard to keep the chuckle in when faced with someone who thought they were the puppeteer when in reality they had as many strings as the ones they thought they controlled. Venables power had been as superficial as Michael’s confusion.

“I’m sorry, I wanted to let you have your moment but I just couldn’t hold it in,” Michael said carelessly. He could be looking down the barrel of a gun and know it’d not be enough to take him down. Venable thought herself superior in the face of a god. That was better entertainment than what she had seen the last year. Still the arrogant smirk remained on her dark lips.

“You think this is funny?”

“I think I’m impressed, Mrs. Venable,” Michael answered. “I wasn’t sure you had it in you.” Stretching his body to the fullest of his height, Michael stood. He glanced at Oya before returning his eyes towards the enemy. “You passed the test. You’re perfect for the sanctuary.”

The woman behind him made a face of disagreement but remained silent. If Michael wanted her to go with them, then she’d accept it but that didn't mean she’d like it. Maybe he’d forgive her for killing Venable because that certainly would be the case if Oya had to live with that wretched woman for the rest of her human life. But of course, the woman she knew would never agree to fall in like under the heel of a man like Michael, any man actually.

“Mrs. Mead,” Venable breathed with annoyance. The smaller woman with ink hair and paper-pale skin fished a gun out from under her jacket, the sound of it clicking following quickly after. With her human body, Oya reacted to the sound, a wave of goosebumps washing over her. Unconsciously she stepped behind Michael, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket, the motion of it without a doubt known to Michael. She knew he felt her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Michael warned and by doing so extending another chance for survival. He wouldn’t give another one. Venable’s smirk grew, the fire in her eyes burning bright by the victorious end in sight.

Michael tilted his head towards Mrs. Mead, brows rising in anticipation. By this show of what some would call carelessness but in reality a certainty, Oya felt a boost of confidence. It was strange to watch Mrs. Mead with her ghosty blank expressions as if a million thoughts were going through her head.

The delay became too much and Venable’s delight turned to impatience. “Mrs. Mead.” Venable turned to glare at her companion but found that the gun was now pointed at her. Before she could register it went off, the expression of her face changing to surprise and then betrayal. One Oya recognized all too well. The sound of the shot resonated through the room and ran a cold finger down her spine. The air smelled and tasted metallic, a small gush of blood exploded into it.

Oya couldn’t help but breathe relieved, the joy of seeing Venable fall from her pedestal to lie on the ground among all those she had killed. If she believed in karma this would be it. But there were also surprised bubbling within by the reveal that Mrs. Mead had been the one among all of them to protect her. That she hadn’t seen coming.

Mrs. Mead, however, looked as shocked as Venable, her actions a complete surprise to herself. She shook at it, body trembling while she watched the woman she had thought she was to protect now lying dying on the ground, gasping for air as she drowned in her own blood.”I don’t know why I did that. I was always so loyal to her.”

Oya felt sympathy for the woman but remained standing in silence while Michael crouched down to look Venable in the eyes as life left her. Rarely had she felt pleasure to watch life leave a person but a few occasions changed that.

“It’s alright,” Michael said with a calm voice. “You were obeying command. Like you’re programed to do. My commands.”

Oya stepped up to him, placing a hand on his back as he stood and looked at Mrs. Mead, satisfaction shining through his eyes and the corners of his mouth turned into a delighted smile. “Did you enjoy executing the poisonous apples plan as much as I enjoyed coming up with it?”

Mrs. Mead was at a loss of words for a moment. You could see everything going through her head, how disoriented her thoughts were. Her body was frozen in time, still pointing the gun as if Venable was still standing. “You wanted everyone dead?”

“I’ve never been a fan of getting my hands dirty,” Michael explained with a drawl. “Learned that from my father.”

Oya looked down at Venables dead body, the bullet torn through clothing and skin as if it were the same and left a bloody gaping wound in her chest. From the looks of it it had tron through her chest plate and into her lung. There were no blood splatter nor any bullet hole behind her, so the bullet was still inside of her. Either she drowned in her own blood or her heart gave in. By the time Oya looked up, Mrs. Mead was trembling even more, bottom lip quivering and tears streaking down her pale cheeks.

“-Always more fun to entice men and women to dirty deeds. Confirms what I’ve always believed.”

“W-wa-what do y-you believe?”

“That all people, if given the right pressures or stimulus are evil motherfuckers,” Michael continued. Oya made a face and pursed her lips. Whether there was a flaw in Michael’s belief or not, were not hers to dispute. To her humans was oblivious little creatures capable of great monstrosity or kindness, each holding their own value. Humanity was flawed and just maybe a new set of rules, a new world, could make up for that flaw. In chaos, there were always the greatest fun.

“I-I’m having trouble with this,” Mrs. Mead stammered. “I know, I’m just a machine-,”

“Never say that!” Michael broke, the tremor in his voice indicating how emotional he was in this moment. It cut into her, the sudden realisation that this woman was more important to him that she initially thought. “You’re not just a machine. Not to me. When I tasked the Cooperative’s R&D department to have you constructed…” Oya put a hand on the small of his back, coming up to stand beside him. Michael glanced at her and revealed the tears in his eyes, the pain and sadness in the blue. “I gave them a prototype to model.”

“A prototype?”

“Someone from my childhood,” Michael said gently. “This one very dear to me.”

It was like she was watching the sun rise for the first time. Pure and adulterated realisation shining through every ounce of her. It looked like a door had opened and all that was hidden behind it washed over her.  

Oya couldn’t help but feel a strange sadness at the bottom of her stomach. This woman was created in the image of someone else, someone human and she had been lost to him. This woman was made out of his pain and sorrow and loneliness to replace the one he had lost. But in the end, to Oya at least, a robot could never replace a human.

“The beautiful boy,” Mrs. Mead said calmly.

“That was me,” Michael said back, voice barely above a whisper and breaking. “But I had to keep the most important part of you hidden from your mind.”

“Why?”

“To protect you,” Michael answered. “And the plan. But now it’s time to remember it all. I lost you and I couldn’t bear it. I can’t imagine a new world without you by my side. One of two women who ever really understood me.”

There were no other way to explain it other than pure happiness showing upon her face. “Who ever really loved you.”

Michael embraced the woman, hugging her tightly. The sight moved Oya, her heart swelling in her chest. He looked like a child, a boy who was finally hugged by their absent parent that had returned to them. She had seen the boy in him before, seen the loneliness and heartbreak. If a simple thing like a rose or an embrace could bring this sort of happiness, belonging, she’d shower him in it. For all he had gone through he deserved better.

Michael sat Mrs. Mead down and told her about the woman in which image she was created. The conversation was intimate, between the two, mother and child, and Oya felt strangely out of place. She watched as the two were hunched together, the aura around them thick and warm. Standing back she wrapped her arms around herself and looked away while nibbling at her bottom lip.

“...Who better than the one person who I never stopped trusting,” Michael said with a gentle drawl. “Or loving.”

Mrs. Mead smiled, eyes sparkling with artificial life, with joy and prosperous love. Truly, it was like she was looking at her son, with the same proud eyes mothers had when their child achieved greatness. An oddly jealous ache settling in her heart. The woman stood and Michael with her, she took his hands with a gratified smile upon her lips.

“Mrs. Mead, I do believe you’re glowing,” Michael smiled at her.

“For the first time I feel like I know my place in the world,” she said. At this Oya smiled, knowing exactly what that felt like. She walked to Michael, wrapping her arm around his and smiled at the both of them.

“Oya,” Mrs. Mead said and looked at Oya who’s eyes widened a little unsure what to expect. The woman simply smiled and brushed a hand down her arm and squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being here,” She answered. Michael smiled down at Oya only for his smile to stifle, slowly turning into a frown as his eyes unfocused out into the room. The air changed, electricity filling it up making the hairs on her body stand. Not even the candles and fireplace managed to warm the air that seemed to be forever chilled.

“What is it?” Mrs. Mead asked.

“A powerful presence,” Michael answered.

“What do you mean everyone is dead.”

“Not anymore.”

[placesthatchangedpeople]

Titus’s Diamond Ranch Academy testimony

I attended Diamond Ranch Academy (DRA) for 10 months from 2017-2018. My parents were lured and manipulated into sending and keeping there. I was well-liked for the majority of my stay but still would've rather been shot on the spot than attend this 'Treatment Center'.

My Experience [Simplified]:

Why was I there?

My family and I butted heads before DRA, and more so after.

Pros:

Got work experience in the kitchen.

Comically easy school-work boosted my GPA (The curriculum makes common core look amazing), (My GPA was a 3.6 before DRA).

Cons:

Harrassed almost daily (To be fair, this is the standard).

Constant fear of Physical harm, Rape, Harassment via human bi-product (Urine, Feces, and Semen are the main issues).

Contacted a disease at least once a month.

Physical harm or power abuse via staff (Staff are constantly being fired and are leaving because of how often this happens).

A constant sense of hopelessness as my parents were caught in these snakes trap.

Most of the food (They provide laxatives in medical because of this).

No contact with the opposite gender whatsoever.

Constant theft and damaging of personal items.

No access to music (Unless your child has been attending DRA for over 10months or has mental issues. Side note: If your child has mental issues they will for certain be harassed).

No access to [real] technology. (More on this later)

Many more...

[Simplified End]

Things to know before reading:

The Watches:

Note: All the watches are just detention in special clothing (Bumble Bee attire). This is not a joke, they put your kid in the same room where they put the kids who have been misbehaving and make them sit there for weeks at a time.

Suicide Watch: Suicide Watch is exactly what it sounds like, kids are watched more closely (not actually) so they do not kill themselves. The fact that kids try and kill themselves while they're here should raise some flags to you as a parent.

Run Watch: Run Watch is also exactly what it sounds like, if a kid of suspected of or has tried to run and been caught, they will be put on this watch. Many kids have been caught running, they have what they call bounty hunters to go and track down kids who have ran. The locals often help out when a kid tries to run, but not in defense of the kid. Every kid who ran while I was there was caught, brought back, and punished.

Gay Watch: Gay Watch is when your kid is caught having, or doing, sex/sexual things with/to another kid. I personally never saw it, but it was said you'd get a rainbow shirt.

My Experience:

The beginning of my DRA experience started with being kidnapped and driven to Utah. Luckily I got through this unscathed (I mention this because it's not uncommon for new kids to show up beaten or bruised). As soon as I got there, I was given a tour of my prison and assigned a therapist. My therapist immediately put me on Suicide Watch (SW) and Run Watch (RW) telling me it was because "I'm new" (Spoiler: this rarely happens and while I'm not 100% sure why I think it was just because he was having a bad day). They made me wear a yellow t-shirt, black shorts with no pockets, and flip-flops. We nicknamed this outfit "The Bumble-Bee". While I was a Bumble-Bee I got the joy of sitting in a classroom with all the 'bad kids' doing almost nothing for about a week. I say ALMOST nothing because they managed to get my scholarly agenda setup. I completed almost an entire quarter of most of my classes during that week (Remember what I said about the school-work being comically easy?).

After I was taken off the watches, I got to participate in regular DRA kid things. It only took me a day to be targeted and harassed by other DRA kids. I later learned this was a regular thing and didn't think much of it until after I left the place. This continued throughout my stay but wasn't really a problem as I was easily able to harass back, as most of the staff don't really care.

The regular weekday schedule is, wake up at 6:00-6:30 am, take morning medication if needed, eat breakfast, go to school until 3:00 pm (lunch is in the middle of the day), participate in clubs, sit and do nothing in dorms until dinner (this was supposed to be used for studying, but as I said, the school-work is comically easy), eat dinner, go upstairs and clean dorms and occasionally do non-dorm chores, Netflix and showers (if everyone had been behaving correctly, the staff love blanket punishment and if a kid in your dorm or a group of 8+ kids had been misbehaving would take your tv cord), then lights out at 9:00pm.

The weekend schedule is, wake up at 7:00, take medications if needed, eat breakfast, back to dorms for deep clean (an hour of dorm cleaning), after that, if we everyone was good, we could watch Netflix or do an activity until lunch. Activities included going to the weight room, basketball gym, and sometimes the field. Back to the schedule, from lunch, we would have nap time (people rarely napped), after naptime is benefit if you made it (more on that later) or if you didn't, detention until the end of the day or more Netflix until dinner, after dinner its Netflix and showers until bed at 10:00 (I think).

We did get some holidays off. Just not the whole week or anything close to that, just the day of the holiday. To give you an idea of what holidays are like; For Christmas, we got the day off, two boxes of cosmic brownies or oatmeal cream pies and assorted treats (total value of about 10$), played dodgeball and got to watch a movie in the commons area.

Notice how I haven't mentioned the barn/ranch yet. Even though the name of the place is called Diamond RANCH Academy and you are paying a minimum of 66,000$ [Maximum I believe is around 120,000$] for your kid to attend, they ask I think another 10,000$ per month for your kid to have access to the main gimmick of the place. On the topic of money let me go into what you'd be paying for.

The administration would have you think are paying for whatever problem with your teen you told them about to be solved. What you are actually paying for is very likely to be a huge waste of your teens time, detriment to your teens health, and massive detriment to your relationship with your teen. Why do I say this? Well, I have kept up with fellow DRA survivors and observed their lives as well as my own.

I keep up with about 87 of the about 130 people I attended DRA with via Instagram, Snapchat, Twitter, and Facebook. Out of the 87 I know, only 2 have stopped their drug usage (but both continue to use Marijuana) and are better versions of themselves (I must note when I asked them about it they told me it's not because of DRA, but because they decided themselves that they were going to stop). Of the 87, 59 of them said their relationships with their family had worsened and the other 28 (I could not get ahold of all 28 of them, probably not a good sign) had said their relationship was the same as when they left. The 85, in my opinion, have become worse versions of themselves then when I knew them at DRA. My own personal relationship with my family has worsened since my return from DRA.

Out of space so here are some important notes:

DRA kid testimonials on their website:

We are forced to smile in all pictures.

All of the kids giving video testimonials are bribed with treats and candies (highly valuable to us because we'd rarely get any), I know because I knew (and know) them and asked about it.

DRA testimonials on this website:

Not sure about all of them, but I find it highly suspicious that most of them are from California. Not going to name the one but there is one that says 'Trust the staff and program' which seems VERY suspicious to me. I'd say, if you do decide to send your kid here, trust your kid and read through the lines of what the admin will be telling you at the same time. Remember they are running a businesses and make money off of you sending and keeping your child there.

Administration Lies:

Note: Most aren't direct lies, just not full truths. Note: They will tailor what they tell you to you specifically

Example: There was a regular kid they tricked into coming, they told him DRA had school dances, access to phones, girls, and regular hikes.

DRA has a seasonal dance club, for girls campus only.

The Staff alone have access to smartphones and kids can rarely talk on wired phones, and only to family or people the family has cleared (Not an easy process, also they will usually hang you up if you try to tell them about how terrible DRA really is).

There are girls there. But they are on a whole separate campus, and you will be heavily punished if you get caught trying to or making contact with any of them and vice versa.

There are hikes, sometimes, for benefits (I never went on a single one).

They have an Ice-Cream Machine - They do, but it has been broken for years.

They have dogs, cats, horses, and more. - They do, but you have to pay the extra 10,000$ per month to access them.

They have Xbox - They do, but you have to progress pretty far into the program to get access, and the only games are Minecraft, StarWars Battlefront 2, Skyrim, Mirrors Edge, and Batman Arkham Night. All which you are not guaranteed to play and are likely to have to share with someone else.

I'm out of space, to sum this all up, if you have to send your kid anywhere, please consider somewhere else.

[medievalcat]

ok. I finished Children of God (sequel to The Sparrow), and while I was able to follow it better than when I first read it (I think I was really distracted a few years ago, and had trouble focusing).....I didn’t like it as much as the first one, which I’m aware isn’t an unpopular opinion, even though I didn’t hate all of it. Here are my thoughts on why it didnt work imo and what I did like about it.

The Sparrow would naturally be a hard act to follow, and I get that sometimes sequels do different things than the first installations. book one is about Emilio and book two is about Rakhat. Okay. I think there’s a lot of interesting material that could have been made of Emilio, John, and all the new guys visiting Rakhat years after the first expedition. It’s what the author did- and, really, this was present in the first book as well, and one of the first book’s issues, but here it’s really one of the main points of the story and far more prominent than ever before- that didn’t succeed. It’s the story of Rakhat....but given how Rakhat is written, maybe it shouldnt have been. This book honestly ranged from “enjoyable” to “disappointing” to “implicitly or explicitly expressing horrible views”.

It’s one thing to make an oppression storyline in a fantasy setting- FMA for example does this. But in that, the victims are humans. In this, not only does the story do an oppression narrative about fantasy creatures, which is already a very difficult thing to pull off, she repeatedly draws comparisons between nonhuman aliens and things like the Holocaust and genocide and oppression of Native Americans. She even has her one native character draw this comparison and *stay behind on another planet instead of going to earth* for some “reservation” plotline at the end.  This is a good example of why when we criticize media sometimes we have to focus specifically on the writers who choose to make these events happen, who choose to write certain stories and who choose to frame them in certain ways. I’m kind of glad this book doesn’t have a fandom, really, because tumblr types would focus on which aliens’ side is “right” and not on the fact that the author chose to write some fantasy creature oppression story with incoherent imperialism commentary while trivializing real genocides. I remember a really uncomfortable paragraph in the first one that implied the Ottoman Empire was some kind of safe haven for all ethnic/religious groups as well as a line (keep in mind these were written in the 90s) about how Bosnia is violent because of ............ “blood feuds”. Many people have said this story is weak because it focused on these new alien characters and the Rakhat storyline so much. This, for me, is the main reason why that storyline was so weak.

One thing I liked was some of the new characters. I liked Danny and Joseba and Nico and Sean and Gina and Pope Gelasius. I think this book kind of did a “later season of Vikings” so that there were suddenly all these new people but few of them got good development. So that was a weakness but I didn’t mind many of the characters in and of themselves and enjoyed these new additions. Sure they weren’t like the people in the first book but that’s okay. They added new perspectives. Danny had a lot of interesting stuff about forgiveness that I liked. I also liked initially how Sofia was revealed to be alive but....she was shafted. We barely see her in favor of her badly offensively written written son (I know this was written 20 years ago but. the way he and his disability are portrayed as like...literally “alien” even though ths is supposed to be a “positive”.... is honestly....why  the living fuck did she do this....) and Supaari’s daughter who he CONCEIVED FROM RAPE and we’re just supposed to be ok with that bc the author very conveniently wrote the victim to be as unsympathetic as possible and because “uwu miracle of life!! yay children!” I’m supposed to buy that Sofia, a child trafficking survivor, is allies and friends with a man who not only is a rapist but sold a person she loved into sex slavery.......after the narrative called to attention how similar Sofia and Emilio’s experiences were, and the first book was an imperfect story but a deep introspective exploration of the effects of SA.....lol ok. And then she gets killed off at the end offscreen in a single sentence.

There’s also....I really doubt she intended some of this but it’s clearly in the story .... it really has bad implications, that the only relations between men are abusive in both books. there are literally no other relations between men, even though there is a gay character (who I understand  is a celibate priest, and having a gay priest is cool!) but....it just doesnt have good implications that relations between men are only ever presented as bad. especially because the thing that truly “heals” Emilio is being with a woman and I think in our society (and thus our media) we have a real problem with thinking that “healing” as a sexual abuse victim means having sex with a man if youre a woman and with a woman if you’re a man, and that male sa victims of men are only really victims if they like women (and, of course, women sa victims in general just have to like men). Of course there is nothing wrong with Gina, I loved her, and nothing is wrong with writing an sa survivor who is able to have a relationship after. But MDR killed her off for no good reason. The other crew members dying in the first book, those were well written character deaths. and how many times did she do the “this woman died but thats whatever narratively, because she has a kid uwu miracle of life” thing in this sequel. I think MDR is like GRRM in that she has good intentions clearly, and has such good sff works/characters and takes oh the Human Experience and everything, but doesn’t always know how to handle issues in a responsible way and it’s really glaring even if there are obviously worse people in media. To be honest (and again, here Im glad there’s no fandom, because people are so weird about this stuff) MDR should have just had Emilio and John be together. “Your friendship should have been proof enough of God” ???????? hello??????  Their relationship was one of  the things that actually was well fleshed out in the sequel until John and all the other guys who weren’t in the Camorra  just.....stayed on Rakhat forever.

Part of the handling of Sofia seemed like a broader pattern of the plot being completely forced. Everything happens for some sake of The Plot- this is something later seasons of GOT have been criticized for. This plot in particular, in addition to the alien oppression metaphor, seemed to want to make everything about the story in particular its end be some kind of “bookend” to mirror the first book. Sofia dies (for real this time. honestly....her death in the first one was good writing!), Emilio and his unlikely escorts go home, no one else gets to go home, there’s a huge societal upheaval on Rakhat because of the humans, a huge reveal about Rakhat’s “divine” music. I have nothing against this kind of narrative device but when it’s this forced to the point where the story is blatantly constructed for the sake of this......it didn’t work. The “music” plot twist was like..............really??? All of that? They’re staying on this planet? If they had all gotten more time in the story (because this book is the same length as the first book but has far more different subplots and far longer of a timespan and far more narrators) we might  find that more plausible. I don’t think everything needs to be spelled out for us. In the first book when everyone is stranded, it’s clear that they think this is tragic, but they are trying to make the best of it because they all love each other and are together. In this one they don’t all have that kind of bond and it’s dependent on the long-winded and incoherent Rakhat political storyline. Because a lot of it isn’t even that well developed in addition to the earlier addressed things. We go between random one-off characters. So much is about the war but it’s written so anti-climatically. Sofia broke down in the first book when she learned they were stranded, and now she doesn’t care at all about returning back to Earth because the Runa are “her people” now, but how much of that is really what she tells herself to cope with what she lost- and what she experienced on earth in her youth? we don’t know. The Pope just....sent Emilio who became probably the most infamous person on Earth, back into space, and it wasn’t a big deal for the Church or at all? And all it took for it to happen was a handful of Camorra men with Vatican connections, who were just adapted so well to space travel and extended time on a new planet that initially made the people in the first book sick when transitioning into life there? And let me reiterate we’re supposed to accept that the divinely ordained reason all this happened was because Isaac wrote music inspired by human and alien dna and it sounded wonderful? 

This just felt very forced. “Emilio never wants to go back to Rakhat so obviously this book has to be about how he goes back there and accepts that it actually happened for a Good Reason bc of some music, and music was the way they found it in the first place.” How about how he accepts that it happened and comes to terms with what happened to him without either hating himself for his actions or thinking it was all For The Greater Good Actually, because you cant undo the past, aka what the first book was building up to and culminated in? idk. the first book was all about how bad things happen and that this doesn’t mean we have to give up our faith even if we question our faith. this was more like “every cloud has a silver lining lol”.

There were many nice things- Emilio’s friendship with Nico, many of the moments with Sofia towards the end and her reuniting with Emilio, John getting more to do, the new Pope, Celestina ending up having an important job as a theater and leaving a trail of men in her wake lol. I don’t want to say don’t read this. But if you like the first book you might not like this one, and if you’re considering reading the first book, it.....works best as a standalone.

[fanguine]

the reason i'm so invested in pointing out the unfairness in feminism is because every day i see more and more evidence that especially western cultures (coming with western feminism) are using men as scapegoats for anything.

if there's a report about a paedophile you'll instantly think of a gross old man molesting little children, but rarely does anyone pay attention to the cases of adult women raping and abusing boys, playing it off as that they should enjoy it/be happy they got laid instead of recognizing that it's still a paedophile who traumatized (probably repeatedly and many) by sexually abusing them.

when you hear about domestic violence, you’re most likely to think of a man beating his girlfriend, wife, or life partner. so: usually a man physically assaulting a woman. yet many people don’t know that more than 40% of domestic violence victims are men (and those are just the numbers that came forth with the abuse they experienced). not only that, but if they call the police, it’s as certain as death that they’re going to be arrested even though they’re not the perpetuator. recently, shelters for battered men are opening, after an insane amount of time of few to none existing. so what happens? women complain that since male shelters are opening, the money isn’t going to female shelters, of which there are plenty and receive quite a lot attention already. then claim that men could just seek shelter in women’s shelters, which is nearly impossible considering that most male domestic violence victims are going to get laughed at and brushed off, or sent away as they’re seen as a threat, rather than a victim in need of the support that women are granted.

“Maybe I am wrong about this, and maybe this is a super feminist men's shelter. I hope that I am. Even though all survivors of domestic violence deserve safe spaces to heal and services that will help them with whatever needs they have, in a reality where resources are scarce, we need to be careful with what we prioritize. It is also crucial that the gendered aspects of domestic violence are at the forefront so we can attack the toxic elements of masculinity at its roots as we work towards a world without interpersonal violence.”

this is the last paragraph of the link above. to sum it up: women are more important than men, they should be prioritized at all costs, they’re humans of higher value and men are not. instead of just sharing and trying to help everyone, we’re supposed to let male shelters run out of support so that they soon won’t exist anymore, and men are back to having absolutely no support, right? that’s a great priority there, really...

masculinity is also not toxic. it’s been made to be seen as toxic, but the only unhealthy thing i can see here is the extreme narcissism and self serving attitude that comes with femininity (for women, of course, because men who are feminine get called pussies anyway). besides, lesbian couples have the highest domestic abuse rates of all, yes, higher than heterosexual couples, whereas gay couples have the lowest rates, so i doubt that toxic masculinity is really that real. but i won’t be getting further into that.

now, back to the abuse.. we see it in media and in real life: when a woman defends herself from a man who is attacking her, she will be applauded even if she kills him (sometimes especially, but i understand that most people get that sense of “got what they deserved” when such a thing happens).

when a man acts in self defense, he’s called a monster. this is one of the more scary and, to me personally, stomach churning topics. not only does this render the victim helpless and unable to fight back at all, forcing them to bear the abuse. when they do fight back it’s usually because they’re pushed to their limits. just like women, right? except for a few little details, because the woman can accuse the man of having hit her first and the majority of people will believe her and condemn him. she could also call the police, hell, the victim could call the police, and it would be the victim that gets arrested.. not to mention that everyone knows the connotations of hitting girls. the man could get blackmailed, the woman could hurt herself and claim it was him who did it, alienate him from friends and family who want nothing more to do with him, etc etc... not to mention that this “men aren’t allowed to hit women” thing isn’t something that goes both ways. never have i ever heard someone say that women aren’t allowed to hit men, to hurl things at them, and ruin their self worth with verbal abuse.

you see this double standard often. it manifests in many shapes and forms. one of them is that when a man checks his partner’s phone, it’s a red flag (that it is, indeed), but when a woman does it, it’s okay because “she’s just making sure he’s not cheating!” not only am i a firm believer in that if you can’t trust someone, you shouldn’t be with them, but also that this is invasion of privacy regardless of who does it and what gender they are. it’s weird, it’s scary, and a bad sign generally if someone is obsessed with knowing anything and everything you do. it’s not okay for men, so it’s not okay for women either.

another thing would be sexualization and objectification. we’ve seen it everywhere: feminists fighting for women to be seen as more than just sex objects, as people of their own right. this sounds great, doesn’t it? i fully support it! what i don’t support however, is the sheer hypocrisy in it. for every article or story you find about how gross this objectification is, you’ll see one about men’s bulges, stars revealing the size of a man’s penis, and there’s various other examples like women grabbing men’s asses or crotches without a warning, demanding they take off their shirt/show their abs, and so on..

another sexist thing that many will not notice until they go through divorce is how the mother always gets favored when it comes to child custody, regardless of whether or not she is fit to raise a child (or more). around 82.2% of custodial parents are mothers, whereas only 17.8% are fathers. towards the middle/end of the documentary “the red pill” you can see more on this. though i recommend the movie as a whole, which is about a feminist getting involved with the men’s rights movement to find out what they are fighting for, first skeptical, but then realizing that it’s not just a bunch of fedorabros protesting for their right to make kitchen jokes - these are men, people, with legitimate issues that are being shut down entirely by a feminist movement that claims to fight for equality, but really only aims to empower women. in the end, she no longer considers herself a feminist (neither did i, after that movie), and i believe also joined the men’s right’s movement.

now there’s so much more than i have mentioned, this is just a scratch on the surface of a mountain of issues. i don’t believe in screaming the loudest in order to be the most right. but these are real issues men face, and it’s heartbreaking that they get ignored because “women need it more” or “women are more important” or even “men don’t deserve support”. i hope that someone listens.

[blaineinblood]

Run and Hide || Klaine

It had been centuries since Blaine had been anywhere near Ohio. It wasn’t because he had bad memories of the place, nor was it because something was keeping him away. It was because it was Ohio, and why the fuck would he bother being in Ohio? It wasn’t that it possessed a lavish culture that he thought he might enjoy, or that the people were at all going to change his opinions on the human race as a species, so there was no reason for him to stop…

But for whatever reason while he was traveling, on foot, from Calgary Canada, he came to a holt as he approached a sign, stopping inches in front of it as he stared at the words. Blaine’s head tilted slightly, the words “Welcome to the Lima Community” on a large stone plaque looked him back in the face, almost taunting him, before he glanced up toward the sky. It was nearly sunrise, and not that it mattered, he wouldn’t burst into flames or anything stupid like that, but any mild annoyance for Blaine meant problems for anyone around him. With a clenched fist, Blaine punched through the stone sign, feeling nothing except the dull irritation that stuck with him throughout the days before he ventured into the city.

~

He’d been here for a few months now, and to say he thought highly of the city now than he did when he arrived would be a lie. The constant cloud coverage meant that day, or night, Blaine could wander around without any sort of negative repercussions if he so desired, but more so, the excessive stupidity and excessive drinking that some of the residences in this fine city seemed to partake in, meant that with each feed Blaine was not only drunk from the blood, but also just plain ol’ drunk. 

The only problem was there was no hunt. They fell into his lap easily. 

Which meant that Blaine had to get creative.

Human life meant little to Blaine, other than the fact that if he killed everyone he’d have nothing to eat. That thought alone was probably the only reason, to date, that Blaine didn’t just instantly wipe out entire towns. He didn’t, for a second, doubt that he couldn’t do it. He never doubted what he was capable of. But, he knew eventually someone would come for him, and he didn’t care. 

He wanted them to.

Death would finally take him and he’d be free from this nightmare.

Though, as much as Blaine wanted it to end, the pain and suffering that clawed away at his insides, that tore every shred of his humanity and turned him into this, he refused for it to not be on his own terms. The survivor inside of him would always switch on at the last second, and he’d end up completely unharmed. However, which each of these encounters he would lose more and more of himself, and considering he’d never “had” himself to begin with, he fell deeper and deeper into nothingness. All that was left inside of Blaine was a body, a curse, and anger. He searched for things that would please him, blood worked for a few hours, but it was generally short lived. Music worked sometimes, but even that lately seemed so irrelevant. So when the hunters started to zone in on him, Blaine tried to find the enjoyment in that. Hunting the Hunters was a game that he was going to play.

... and he was going to play it well. 

At first, Blaine sent a clear message to them to back off by feeding from them, and sending them away, still alive, to tell their friends to leave him alone.

He wasn’t sure if it was pride, or if they were truly stupid, but they came back, with more people. Like lambs to the slaughter Blaine took them out one by one, leaving one to once again, tell his friends to back off.

But they came back… with more people.

By the third time, and any time that followed, Blaine started to get creative. Severed heads on doorsteps, bodies stacked up on flag poles like a kebab, watching as the hunters, and police tried to cover it up quickly before anyone noticed. Nothing was too small, or too big, when it came to Blaine.

It wasn’t that he enjoyed killing people.

… Okay, he did enjoy killing people, but it wasn’t that it had to be like this. People just needed to leave him alone. Leave him to feed in peace. No one needed to die if he was left alone.

He was old, irritated, and didn’t want company. The only company he wanted was for either food, or sex, sometimes both at the same time if he was in the mood.

However, the more that the Hunters came after him, the more he made it his mission to fuck with every single one of them, holding their lives in his hand if he decided they should live or die. He’d yet to offer anyone the “live” option, though occasionally he’d be sloppy or someones will to fight was stronger than he had been expecting, and while he left them to bleed out, they’d somehow survive.

Those ones Blaine kept a special eye on.

Blaine would often make a game out of it, leaving trails, and little clues, that would lure hunters in, and while they thought they were being the grand hero, trying to save the poor damsel in distress whom he would have gagged and would be sitting idle on a chair, almost as though Blaine had left her unattended, a perfect opportunity for them to recuse the person, the real victim would be the hunter.

When it came to his victims, Blaine rarely went after women. It wasn’t because he felt bad about it, or because he was gay and therefore wouldn’t feed on a woman, it was because if he did they always fit a certain mould, unless they were a hunter, of course. Small frame, long dark wavy hair, light brown eyes… anything that reminded him of his sire would result in an almost instant death.

Blaine knew he wasn’t the only vampire in town, and here were often times he would watch a hunter take out one of his own. He felt no need to “defend his own kind” nor get involved. If anything, it was live action TV. It offered little entertainment, but anything was better than nothing. He did find it ironic that of all the places he decided to stop on his travels that it would be the town with a thriving hunter community. 

Blaine did try to interact with a few vampires when he would cross their paths, in the beginning he did make an effort, but since he wasn’t interested in the whole “join our coven” type of ordeal, he tended to stay away from it.

Plus, young vampires irritated the fuck out of him more than the humans did.

Even though Blaine tended to keep to the shadows and his attacks were always done elsewhere, the excessive amount of abandoned warehouses or buildings made for good stomping grounds, he did have a home inside of the city limits. He had bought it with the help of compulsion. As far as the residence of Lima knew, some private, “Celebrity type” person had moved in, that was guarded by a security gate, manned 24/7 by a security guard. The building was fenced off with not only high fences, but spiked, and the house sat at the end of a long winding drive way. No one was likely to step foot onto the premise without Blaine knowing.

And that’s the way he was going to keep it. He may value nothing, but he did still enjoy being surrounded by nice things.

~

Blaine walked around his home, running his fingers along anything in his path before he glanced out the window. It had gotten dark early, and the sounds of the city were already starting to flood his ears. Blaine got dressed quickly before he took off on foot, his body almost instantly moving toward one of the local strip joints. The men who walked out of there were generally drunk, generally larger, and generally were the ones who screamed and cried, their fear making the blood so much sweeter, and the hunt being that much more rewarding.

Thankfully, Blaine didn’t have to wait long as his victim walked out. Blaine untucked his shirt, lowered his tie a little and shook his hair a little to break it out from the gel.  He had been dressed in a relatively nice ensemble, but that was part of his act.

“Hey! Hi! Sorry, sir, can you help me?” Blaine said innocently, waving his hand around. “I got a flat tire and I don’t know how to fix it, and my cell died” he said, sounding exhausted. He waved his hand while he spoke, his tone was slightly flamboyant, enough for some of the pigs in the city to refer to him as “Fag” before he killed them.

The man laughed, they always laugh, before he shook his head “You don’t even know how to change a tire?” he slurred a little “Where’s your car, kid?”

“My dad never taught me” Blaine said, a little over the top, pointing backwards for the man to follow him “It’s just around the corner. Thank you so much for helping though”

“See that’s the problem with some of these blokes” the guy said, with a small huff “they don’t teach you how to be men and then wonder why everyone is turning out to be a fag” he grunted as he walked.

Blaine’s fangs threatened to pop out then and there, his fist clenching as his neck craned a little, but he kept it together… this would now be more enjoyable.

As Blaine turned down the alley, the guy seemed a little hesitant to follow “I don’t see a car” he craned his neck a little “You’re not like trying to get me down here to try something? I mean I’ve got a massive cock and I bet your fag ass wants it, but I’m not into that. ”

Usually Blaine could hold off, but tonight, not so much.

“I really wish you were into it though” Blaine smirked as he charged forward, his mouth instantly latching to the man’s neck, before he started to drag him backwards while he fed, spilling blood along the way, the man kicking his legs out that one of his shoe fell off, his arms swinging violently until Blaine had successfully gotten inside the building. He threw the man’s body across the floor, watching how it slid, almost gracefully, before Blaine charged forward again, this time straddling the man’s large chest “Maybe you should be nicer to people! Bad things happen to bad people” Blaine laughed as looked down at the man’s face “And to think, I would have let you suck my cock and I may have called you daddy. You know, homophobes think about sucking cock more than I do. Isn’t that funny?” Blaine smiled again, letting the man not only see his fangs, but to watch a small amount of blood that he hadn’t quite swallowed yet dribble down his chin “Oh well! Too bad, so sad!” Blaine laughed as he started to bite down again, moaning a little as the blood filled his mouth, his tongue lapping it up quickly, only stopping a few moments before his heart stopped.

Blaine stood up, glancing over the body before he started to straighten out his tie, looking down at his clothes before he noticed the pocket on his shirt had gotten ripped in the process “Man, you ripped my shirt” Blaine kicked the body a little before using his finger to push a bit more of the blood into his mouth “But god did you taste good” Blaine laughed as he stepped a little deeper into the building he’d walked into, finding somewhere to sit quietly, his eyes closing a little as he started to ride out his buzz.

[roatsww]

Living With AIDS – My Journey Through Hell.

   I lived through the plague that shook the world to its core and brought it to its knees, miraculously I survived against all odds when all my peers were taken, I survived because it's all I know, survival. But, to what end, as I have survived alone, and I live in a world peopled by loneliness, I carry it all alone, I cry in the middle of the night from my loneliness, the loneliness of being a survivor. June 5th – (HIV Long Term Survivors Day) is not a day that I celebrate, it is a day on which I remember, it is a day when I remember a time so long ago, a time when a strange virus decimated the best in the world, when a virus that the world and the medical fraternity knew so little about changed the way that people would think about life, Long Term Survivors day is a day that I remember when a virus changed my world forever when a tiny little virus brought me to my knees and changed my whole outlook on life.

  25 years ago, I lay in a hospital bed, with Rosie who was not only my sister, but also my best friend, my soul-mate and my life-long protector at my side, when a doctor came through and pronounced the death sentence over me, with Rosie holding my hand I heard those terrible words,

  “You’ve got AIDS, your lungs are flooded with puss and streptococcal bacteria, you’re dying and there’s nothing that we can do for you, there’s no cure and there’s no treatment, you are terminal, it’s just a matter of hours if not days, I’m sorry!”

  It was to be the longest night of my life, because I decided there and then that I was not going to accept it, I was not just going to curl up and die, I decided to fight and to live, but in hindsight, perhaps I should have just given up and saved myself this journey through hell. When I was released from that “Death-bed” I went into ‘AIDS denial’, I refused to accept anything to do with AIDS, I tried to not only drive it from my body, but also from my mind, I refused point blank to accept this one-way journey with no return ticket.

  The saddest thing for me on that day was that neither Rosie nor I knew it, (7 months later Rosie was diagnosed with benign melanoma ‘Skin Cancer’, but that although I had been given a death sentence by the doctors on the first of August 1995, I would be the one to pronounce a death sentence over my beloved sister on the twenty-ninth of September 2011’, 16 years later, and that I who was supposed to die would outlive my sister who would finally lose her fifteen year battle against cancer on the 22nd of December 2011.

  I suppose I should begin at the beginning, In 1984, I packed up all my things and sold everything I could to buy a ticket to Europe, I needed to escape the abuse of my childhood, and the abuse I had already experienced as a young gay man in this country because I was Gay, a country which I loved, but also needed to escape, a country where it was a crime to be gay.

   I met Reynir Mâr on Prinzengracht strasse, Amsterdam in October 1985, Reynir was my first love he was charming, cute and stole my heart, six weeks later I was on a plane to Reykjavik in Iceland, young ignorant of the world, and totally ignorant of gays and gay life, but I knew what I was, and I knew what I wanted.

  Reynir and I set up home in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, first I worked nights in a factory which made fishing nets, and then I worked in a clothing company as I slowly tried to build a life for myself, it was six months into our relationship when Reynir announced that he had AIDS, and had been living with it for some time, and just as the world was still desperately trying to learn about this disease, so were we, and all of Reynirs friends who were also living with AIDS, and here it was 34 years ago that I began my journey with AIDS, and even though I didn’t know it at the time, I was infected with the HI-Virus, and so began my life of living in the shadow of AIDS. Even though I lived in a community of artists performers and fashion models, a community which was being hardest hit by this terrible epidemic that was sweeping the world, I just feigned ignorance, and wouldn’t acknowledge its existence, I suppose I may as well admit that I was STUPID in the first degree, and never even thought that it would touch me, Reynir and I had an active sex-life, without any condoms, and I just never thought to get tested, the world lived in fear, yet I lived on in feigned ignorance, because for the first time in my life I was happy and not being brutalised.

  December 1987 Reynir introduced me to Linda Petursdöttir, the new reigning Miss World, and I entered the world of designing for the beauty queens. In late 1988 my relationship with Reynir came crashing down, and as young and stupid as I was, I walked away from a life and a career that could have taken me to the top of the world, I walked away from it all to return to Johannesburg, where I again took up fashion design. In late 1992 Reynir finally succumbed to AIDS, I had still not taken the step to be tested, until this terrible disease struck me down for the first time, and I received my first test for AIDS and my first “Death Sentence on 1st of August 1995”. The first day of my journey through the depths of Hell.

  AIDS has affected my life in so many ways, AIDS stole my youth, it stole my dignity, AIDS has at times dragged me to the depths of despair and several failed suicide attempts, AIDS has made my life one of isolation and loneliness, AIDS has not only taught me just how very cruel human beings can be but also how loving and caring a very few of them are, AIDS has even shaken my faith to its very core, but today after thirty four years, I AM STILL HERE because after all that AIDS has taken from me, AIDS has given me an indestructible inner strength without which I would never have survived these past 34 years, I am a survivor when those I knew and were close to me, never made it, I am still here in spite of the odds which were stacked against me.

  I remember those early days, after my first diagnosis, going to Helen Joseph Hospital to see a doctor, I would sit in a queue for hours, just to get a file, and then up to the “AIDS Ward”, where I would sit for another few hours waiting to be seen by a doctor, in those early days in South Africa it was very few gay men who were visiting the “AIDS Ward” in South Africa, gay men all had money, and were seeing private doctors, I on the other hand was poor, and had no choice but to visit a Government clinic or hospital. When I finally got to be seen by a doctor in the consulting room, I was asked to strip naked, I even had to remove my underwear, and I would be examined by which-ever doctor was on duty, in those days the doctors seemed to have an obsession with my genitals, and I’d have the family jewels prodded and  examined over and over again, the worst was that I’d be told to sit on a chair and wait, and then a squad of doctors and nurses would be dragged into the consulting room, where I would once again have to stand and parade every orifice and every inch of my body to the ‘watchers’, some even went as far as to request that I “Get it hard, so that we can see what it looks like.”, I am a private person and very shy, so they had no luck with that request, it was humiliating and degrading, as there was nothing wrong with my genitals. This happened on two subsequent visits, and after the third humiliating visit, I vowed to never go back to a government clinic again where the medical personnel had absolutely no respect for the dignity of a human being.

  In November 1998, I got sick with a Streptococcal infection for a second time, with puss streaming from not only my mouth and my nose but also from my eyes, I refused point-blank to go to a government hospital or clinic and borrowed R400.00 from my church so that I could see a private doctor, at the time I was working as a missionary in the informal settlements for the Dutch Reformed Church, I survived another “Terminal diagnosis”, my second death sentence from the AIDS virus, I am allergic to penicillin, and although every human being on this planet is a carrier of the Streptococcal bacteria, I am one of the few who are actually susceptible to it, and actually get sick from it, as a very young child, I constantly suffered from “Boils” abscess’ and AIDS was a perfect vehicle for the bacteria to thrive in my compromised immune system. I have no idea why I survived this second terminal diagnosis, I don’t know how, but I did, and I am still here.

  Working as a missionary in the informal settlement, one of the donors to the projects I ran was Dorcas AID Southern Africa, and in October 2000, the regional director of Dorcas Aid asked me if I would be willing to help out in Kwa Zulu-Natal where the rural areas were being ravaged by a Cholera Epidemic, so I packed my bags and went off into the heart of a Cholera Epidemic, when some of the doctors in the area found out that I was a person with AIDS in a cholera area, they told me that I was mad because if I became infected with Cholera I would have no chance of survival, yet I stayed for six months to save lives and make a difference. I returned at the end of April 2001 and went back to working with AIDSLINK in Hillbrow, where I spent my time scouring the streets for people who were dying of AIDS so that they wouldn’t die alone, I’d make home visits, and bring those who were ambulatory to the Essellen Street centre, where I ran a skills development project and where AIDSLINK provided a cooked meal every day. I sat with so many in those dark days, just holding some-one’s hand while they died, and there was no treatment at that stage, it truly was a death sentence which first made you a social outcast before it killed you.

  At this time I must say that the South African government was in total AIDS denial, treatment was not being provided, and South Africa had a Health Minister who advocated eating “Madumbi’s” (An African Wild Potato) and beetroot as a cure all for AIDS, it was a farce and unforgiveable, thousands of lives could have been saved.

  In 2003 I had my next “Brush with Death” and I was pronounced terminal for the third time, with a raging fever, pneumonia and a streptococcal infection and again I was given days to live, but a friend stepped in and got me to see a doctor in private practice, who pulled me through with massive doses of antibiotics, Anti Retroviral Therapy was by now available in South Africa to private patients who could afford it, state patients were only given ART if they had a CD4 count of less than 50, and even though my CD4 count was at 230, my viral load was at greater than >500.000, I was unable to suppress my viral load, and I no-longer had any immune system, yet I was denied ARV’s, here again a friend stepped in, and offered to pay for my ART (Anti-Retroviral Therapy), and I slowly recovered enough to go and work for Sparrow Schools, where AECI took over the financial burden of my ART and 1 year later they discontinued there support as they claimed the treatment was too expensive. In 2006 I developed internal abscesses, once again thanks to the streptococcal bacteria which flood my body, I was in incredible pain, with no money for private doctors, so Rosie took me first to Helen Joseph Hospital, where, I was eventually examined after a full day of interminable waiting, and referred to Johannesburg General Hospital, here again I faced a long day of waiting in a queue, it was only by 3.00pm that I finally received a file and was passed on to the surgical department, here Rosie sat with me in a long queue to see one of the surgeons, at 2.45am the following morning, still sitting in a queue that was going nowhere, I was told to go home and come back later in the morning, and that I would again have to wait for my file at registration, By 7.00am we were back, Rosie had to go to work, but told me she would find me again at Lunch time, and when she came back I was still in Reception and doubled up in agony on the floor, still without a file. Rosie loaded me into the back of her Landrover and drove me to Helen Joseph Hospital, where the doctor on duty eventually told me at seven thirty pm that night that I would have to come back in the morning to see a surgeon. I kept my file, took it home with me, and the following morning I reported directly to the surgical department, where after a five hour wait in agony and fever a surgeon examined me, and told me that I would have to leave, as Cancer patients took priority over all other surgery.

  By this time I could not walk, and Rosie helped me to crawl to her Landrover, and into the back, where I travelled back home doubled over on my knees. The following morning Rosie came to see me, I was pale and in agony, so she phoned a friend who was not a practicing GP, but was working for a company as their health consultant, he examined me and told Rosie that I needed to be operated on immediately, or that I would die, Again I crawled on my knees into the back of Rosie’s Landrover, and was driven to a private consulting room in the neighbourhood, where Rosie’s friend spoke to the practicing doctor who examined me, and agreed that I needed instant surgery to save my life, but there was no money, Rosie went and withdrew her last money from her bank account, and I ended up being operated on under local anaesthetic in a doctors consulting room for R1,300.00, I have never screamed so loud and so much, as I did that day, the pain was unbearable, but, I am still here, despite the cruelty and lack of compassion of the South African Government health system.

  In 2009 I developed an Inguinal hernia, and had to walk 2 kilometres to the local clinic to see the clinic sister (Registered Nurse) so that I could be referred to a doctor in De Aar so as to have surgical repair, I went the first day, and sat until lunch time, when I was eventually the last patient in the clinic, but the Sister went on a Lunch break, when she returned there were no other patients, I was the last patient, I was kept waiting until 3.15pm when a clinic assistant eventually told me to come back the following day as the Sister would not be seeing any more patients. I went home in agony, and returned the next day, only to go through exactly the same process, and the following day for the third time, I went back to the clinic, and when the sister left to go on her lunch break, I had had enough and I went home in tears of frustration as well as tears of agony. The following day I went to see a private doctor with money I could not afford, and I was immediately referred to a private doctor in De Aar who agreed to see me pro-bono, on examination, he told me that I would need to be operated on immediately to repair the hernia, because by this time my intestines were filling my scrotum, This doctor arranged with a surgical team that they would do the repair only at the cost of hiring the State Operating Theatre at the De Aar hospital, and one of my friends agreed to pay for it. I went into the theatre at 6.00am, and an operation scheduled to last at most an hour took 4 hours as the damage was so great, I had developed a double hernia and the hernia had damaged one of my testicles which had had to be repaired, instead of going home, I was placed into high care, and immediately on being placed into the hospital bed I complained to the nursing sister in charge of the ward that the mattress was wet, she retorted that if I wanted to ‘piss’ in the bed, then I must lie in it, yet I had only just climbed into a bed a few seconds previously which had a mattress soaked from head to toe, nevertheless, by the next day my friends came to fetch me with a dose of bronchial pneumonia on top of the surgery, and I don’t think anyone could ever imagine the constant pain of pneumonia coughing on a fresh inguinal hernia repair, it was agony from hell.

  My dance with ART has been a hard one in that I am one of 5% of people who react badly to Anti-Retroviral Therapy, in the early days I suffered severely from headaches, diarrhoea and nausea, which was so bad that I wanted to scream from the pain and would have to sit on the toilet for hours on end holding a bucket between my knees as the vomit spewed out front and the liquid simply just ran out my ass. My doctor at the time told me that I had reached undetectable with a CD4 count of 300, and that I would either have to learn to live with the side-effects, or stop ART and die, it was a choice I had to make, in those early days there were not many choices to make as the availability of different types of ARV’s were limited. Drug companies all have it listed in the drug stat sheets that one of the side-effects of ARV therapy is pneumonia, even I could read that, and I suffer continually from fluid on my chest, at one point it was so bad that I was literally drowning in my bed, and when I stopped the pills and went to the clinic, the clinic sister referred me to De Aar hospital to see a doctor, I spent a day sitting in the corridor waiting to be seen, but at 2.15pm the ambulance driver came and told me to get in as he had a letter for the clinic from the doctor. the following Monday when I went to the clinic, eventually the sister told me that the doctor had prescribed stopping my ART until such time as I learned compliance, I couldn’t believe it, without either interviewing me or examining me, a state doctor had recommended that I be taken off of ARV’s because I was not compliant, these were a new regimen prescribed by the clinic sister, and thus were expected to cause some side-effect was I to continue the pills that were trying to drown me in my bed? My friend sent me back to the private doctor in De Aar where I was put back onto my old regimen.

  In April 2015 I developed a fever, and had no clue what was causing it, and I refused to go back to the clinic to be treated like shit by the Nursing staff, eventually on Easter Saturday, a friend came round and loaded me into her car, and then drove me to the local hospital, where I was verbally assaulted by the doctor on duty, so badly that eventually as I left the matron put her arms around me and apologised that a doctor could treat a person who was so sick, so badly. I discovered the following week that I was suffering from Hepatitis B, which the private practice doctor in De Aar told me, and put me onto the appropriate medication.

  To ease the financial burden on my friend, against my better judgement I went back to the local clinic, at this point on my current regimen I was down to viral load = undetectable with a CD4 count of 750 my highest ever, I was really well for the first time, aside from recovering from HBV. The state doctor immediately changed my ART, and gave me the new one pill a day regimen, although I was only given enough pills to last a week, and told to come back the next week for more pills, which of course included 3-4 hours of interminable waiting, by the second week, I had diarrhoea so bad that the shit was running down my legs like water, at times I would be walking down the street and without warning I’d suddenly feel the wetness running like a river down my legs, I would go to the clinic, and the nursing sister would give me 6 diarrhoea tablets, not enough for one day, I’d have to go back the following day for more, and shit myself while waiting through the long queue, on the third day I tried to see the doctor, and even though I was the first patient at the clinic, the doctor was calling all the other patients and ignoring me, went I felt the shit start running down my legs without being examined by the doctor I left, and now, no matter what, I will never ever set foot in a state (government) clinic ever again, I would rather die than ever allow those people to humiliate me again or to impair my dignity any further as they have no respect for human beings, and I might be poor, but I do at least still have some self-respect. I went back to my private doctor, who was livid at the treatment that I received, and put me back onto my old regimen.

  As a Christian, AIDS has shaken my faith to its core, I have been through times when I have railed as a useless Don Quixote at God, at times I have tried to run and hide from God, I have known despair and anger, and if you asked me where I my faith stands today I can honestly tell you that I don’t know, I believe with my whole being with my heart and my soul I believe that God exists, and that all I need to enter the Kingdom of Heaven is to believe that Jesus Christ is the saviour. If you ask me what my relationship is with God, then in that too I can honestly tell you that I do not know but, what I do know is that God loves me very much, and were it not for the Grace of God, I would not have been able to endure this journey through Hell. I have a lot of soul searching to do on the questions of God and my faith, I have to re find myself after having endured this terrible journey through the depths of hell, but somewhere, somehow, I will find the answers.

  Because of AIDS my life has been anything but normal, for the past 24 years (since I first became ill) I have learned to live with never knowing when my ass is going to try and fall out and expose me to indignity, I have learned to endure crying in frustration because the vomit has spray painted the walls and the floor and there is nobody to help me clean it up, I have learned to live with long nights crying my eyes out because of the loneliness of isolation, I have learned to live with the pain and the depression. Because of AIDS I have had to endure years of pain because as a result of my body continually trying to fight this virus my body has remained in a state of inflammation, because of what the ART does to my bones I am having to accept that I am currently losing all of my teeth at an alarming rate, and because I am poor, there simply just isn’t any money to visit a dentist, I can’t even get the complete comprehensive health care that I should, simply because there isn’t any money for it, but, I survive, after all, I am still here.

  Because of AIDS I have had to endure the abuse of state health-care workers, I have had to endure the indignity of the contents of my medical file being discussed on the streets in public, of me and those contents illegally being discussed by correctional services staff with convicted criminals in the local prison, which in itself is a crime, I have had to endure poverty and rejection, stigma and discrimination, but after 34 years I have simply had no choice but to endure, I have learned to live with the whispers, the scandal and the pointed fingers, but who is anybody to whisper a word or point a finger, for not one of them have had to live with AIDS and travel the journey through Hell which I have and will continue to do until my time is up. I have never spoken out about what I live through, because I simply learned to accept and to endure, even as a child when I grew up being so viciously abused by my father, even then I never said a word to anyone, I simply endured. It is hard for me to trust people, and I never know if people are being genuine or not, so I simply just keep quiet, I have learned to endure the worst that life can throw at a human being, and I have learned to do it alone, how can I be expected to ask for help, when I expect that it will never come, and I learned that it wouldn’t come when I was just a little boy growing up on the wrong side of an abusers fists?

  As a creative I have had to struggle with trying to find money to be able to work, this year I decided to give back in the only way that I can, and I donated one of my works to ART for AIDS, and had it accepted by their jury of artists, collectors and gallery owners, but at the last minute, I had to withdraw my entry as I could not afford to deliver my entry to San Francisco, two weeks later I lost the use of my kiln in an electrical fault, R25,000.00 worth of damage, and I cannot recover, I will not be able to work as an artist again, and that is for me the saddest thing which I have to endure as I reach this 24 year milestone of living with AIDS and 34 years of living in the shadow of AIDS.

On the fourth of January 2017 I suffered a very bad fall on Loop street, at first I thought I was only bruised, but when the pain persisted and walking became increasingly difficult, I went to see the state doctor, and after describing my symptoms to him, he refused to either take X-Rays or do any further examination, eventually a friend once again took me to a private doctor in De Aar, who on examining me said: “It looks like a fractured right Ilium, which if it hadn’t healed within four months is going to need to be surgically repaired, by an orthopaedic surgeon, and that is why the state doctor refuses to look at it, they don’t want to have you in ICU for 6 weeks.”And so I continue to walk and sleep in constant pain, simply just enduring as always. At the end of October 2017 I developed an internal abscess on the left side of my jaw; I was put onto first one, and then a second and eventually a third series of antibiotics but the state doctors have played so many little games with antibiotics, at times giving me children’s antibiotics, and then when I question it, they tell me to “Oh, just double the dose.”, that I am now drug resistant to most antibiotics, I was sent to De Aar where the state dentist removed a tooth above the abscess, and yet 19 months later I am still swallowing puss from the same abscess. The state doctor told me that there was nothing that they can do about it.

Unfortunately at the end of 2017, my friend could no-longer pay for my ART, and I have been living at the mercy of the government clinics, with severe diarrhoea every day, a return to constant abscess break-outs, and deep depression. On the 27th of April 2018, I stepped off of the veranda at Richmond Info, and broke my foot, it was a Thursday afternoon, so I hobbled all the way up to the hospital where the Sister on duty told me that she refused to call the doctor and that I must go to the clinic the following day, so I hobbled back home and spent the night in agony. The following morning, a Friday, I hobbled the 1,3 kilometres to the clinic at seven am, when the doctor arrived at 11h45, he promptly told me that he refuses to look at broken bones on a Friday, and that I must go to the hospital the next day, again I hobbled home and spent another agonising night without so much as even a panado. On Saturday morning, I hobbled back across the N1 Highway all the way up to the hospital, and when the doctor finally arrived, he took a cursory glance at my foot, and told me that there is nothing he can do and that I would just have to live with it, so I hobbled back home with nothing for either the pain or the inflammation. Finally, living with AIDS had broken me, I quit my ARV’s on the first of April 2017, and have been waiting to die ever since, and yet in July of 2017 I developed pneumonia, desperate to die, not having had any treatment, I went and sat on the veranda at Richmond Info, hoping that the Icy Cold wind would finish me off quickly, and yet, without having so much as a vitamin pill, never mind antibiotics, three days later I was well. I must add here about the loneliness of AIDS isolation, whenever I am sick, and I usually get Bronchitis twice a year and pneumonia once a year, all those who know me, just disappear, nobody comes to ring my doorbell and ask if I need anything, nobody comes and offers me a cup of tea or a sandwich, they leave me in my loneliness and isolation, they see me struggling to breathe as I walk all the way to the municipality to buy electricity, but, not one will come and help me, no-one will even offer to got to the municipality or the shops for me, so I just bear my personal hell on my own.

  In February 2019, I developed a second abscess in the centre of my lower jaw, the pain was unbearable as I now had two, the original abscess on the left side of my jaw, and one in the centre, I couldn’t bear the pain and limped up to the hospital (Still limping from my broken foot and pelvis), and even though the nurses could see that I was writhing in agony, not one of them offered me even a panado they simply walked up and down ignoring my agony, when I saw the new doctor two hours later, he sat himself down two metres away from me, and that was the examination, he didn’t even look into my mouth and he didn’t even bother to page back through my file to see what treatment I had previously been given (if he had he would have known that I was drug resistant to the antibiotics which he prescribed), I was given 3 Azithromycin tablets, panado and brufen and told to get on the ambulance the next day and see the dentist in Victoria West. the next day, still in agony, I arrived in Victoria West, and when the dentist saw me, she extracted the tooth above the front abscess, but, refused to remove the tooth above the original abscess, which had now been draining puss into my mouth for 19 months. Now March 2020 and I now have three constantly draining abscess’ in my mouth, I live in pain from the infection which has spread throughout my body and I have sores all over my body and my scalp, but, I am poor, so what can I do? On the 22nd of December 2019 I broke the small toe on my right foot, my third broken bone in three years, as AIDS experts around the world discuss the phenomenon of Long Term Survivors losing bone density because of the early Anti-Retrovirals, the local state doctors tell me that there is nothing to be concerned about in the fact that I have broken three bones in three years. These days I struggle to eat because of the pain caused by the abscess’ in my mouth, I am a man broken by AIDS and  medical practitioners who do not care whether I have life or even quality of life. In all my years of living with AIDS not a single doctor has ever done a thorough examination of me, so I ask myself, “Am I the most neglected AIDS patient on the planet?”. Perhaps if the employees of the Government health-care System actually tried to practice medicine instead of practising arrogance then, just maybe I would have a chance.

  Because of AIDS I have been where most fear to go, I have seen what most wouldn’t even dream of seeing, Because of AIDS I am battered, I am bruised, I have been broken, I am no longer the man I used to be, but I am still here, even if I am only a man, with all that I have left, being the love in my heart for this broken world.

  Against all odds, I am a survivor of the deadliest epidemic ever to ravage the world so far approximately 32 million [Statistics are inaccurate as many AIDS deaths were never listed as such UN AIDS estimates somewhere between 23.6 million–43.8 million] people have died of AIDS and today more than 37.9 million people are living with HIV, and I so often wonder why did I make it when so many didn’t, perhaps my surviving is not because I am courageous, perhaps it is not because I am determined, but simply because I am a survivor, and all I know is to survive, how-ever lonely that survival might be, I am here because a few people have loved me and cared enough to keep me alive.

  I share my story with love for those very few who have stood beside me and held my hand through this difficult journey of my own private hell.

  I love you all, and I am privileged and blessed to have had you on this My life with AIDS and my journey through Hell, without all of you who have played a part, I would not be here, but, I AM, I AM STILL HERE, I have endured because there are still a few people in this world who are filled with goodness.

  On June 5th, World Long Term Survivor day, remember those of us who were there at the beginning, remember those of us who have survived against the odds, we were really there, and we survived the plague that shook the world and brought it to its knees, and yes……..  we are still here! Michael Drysdale

  Remember ;- U = U (Undetectable is Un-transmittable) please try to keep up your ART, no matter how difficult.