#like I understand the metrics of it now

[jackdaw-and-hattrick]

What’s with the trend in comics of Jason going on this long, insightful rant on Bruce’s behaviors and shortcomings only for B to respond like “but murder bad” and that’s considered a valid counter argument?

[foldingfittedsheets]

Sigh. Spent an hour or two reforging my resume to try to spiff it up for 2024, and applied to a few jobs. I should probably apply for animator jobs too but it’ll mean another resume and a different website and another reel. I want to cry just thinking about it.

[bl-bracket]

Im lovinggg the bracket I love disagreeing clicking buttons and overall having opinions and being a little bitch about it 🙏 thank you for doing these brackets !!

hee hee thanks <3 arguing over meaningless things you have disproportionally strong opinions about is necessary for enrichment. as the poll runner I try to keep things more objective on my end and not reveal too much about my opinions on the characters during brackets as well as make sure all the things posted directly onto the blog are all positive and whatnot. but I also read ALL the tags to ALL the posts and sometimes some of y'all are soooo wrong and sometimes a lot of y'all are soooo wrong and it becomes a true exercise of self restraint to try to keep up the whole impartial positivity thing I've got going on lol

[vaugarde]

what do you mean that rgu, the show everyone claims is so much more feminist than torture porn male gazey pmmm, which is bad bc it was directed by a man which means its for men apparently so none of its messages abt misogyny are worth taking seriously…….. was also written by a man.

[neverbelessthan]

Just saw a post quoting that HBO douchebag on how they're trying to figure out if it makes sense to renew for s3 based on bullshit metrics.

How about you crunch the data on how many people dropped their Max or Binge subscriptions the same day s2 finished fucking airing.

[violinfantasy]

love studying oe bc you come across words at are really fucking cool like 'uhta' as a word for 'the last part of night' or 'the time just before daybreak' hello??

[transmutationisms]

ive been saying this for Literally Years Now but the most direct medical comparison to covid probably is never going to be HIV on any metric, overall it's probably the SARS outbreak of the early aughts (related viruses, similar transmission, what appear thus far to be similar rates/experiences of post-viral conditions and disability) and politically i do understand why people reach for HIV but like you really need to understand that our current situation is similar to how EVERY SINGLE pandemic / epidemic / outbreak has 'ended' in recent / capitalist history. these are political designations, that tend to get made once the ruling class considers itself safe, and it is typical that workers, global southerners, racialised people, &c continue to bear the brunt of diseases that would be treatable or preventable, were imperial countries and their ruling classes to care. we should be furious every time this happens and in every case where it is still happening: flu, TB, malaria, ebola, zika, plague, on and on, even the smallpox eradication campaign championed as a definitive triumph for public health occurred unevenly and the US and europe allowed the disease to continue to exact its most brutal toll on people in the Horn of Africa and southeast Asia until it was finally eradicated. covid is not unique in its medical OR political properties or ramifications, if you think it is you sorely need to do some more reading and this is why it is both unhelpful and yes, often homophobic to see how often 'covid communicators' jump straight to making alarmist and poorly contextualised comparisons to HIV, Specifically.

[homostacis]

Lowkey frustrated about the direction that ai art has gone, mainly cause I feel like the conversation has gone in a direction that makes sense but one I wish it didn’t have to go to.

Ai art can’t be a medium because fundamentally I don’t think that the art is really any persons - it’s the ai’s. The way that stable diffusion works is conceptually really similar to the way humans create, and like, that’s insane. AI can now do one of the things that defines us as humans-it can create.

[regainingparadise]

Relistening to TMA Season 5, I am again struck by how goddam badly Martin and Jon need couples counseling.

I love them both. I ship them very much. But oh lord they have issues

Like, these are two individuals who, under the very best of circumstances, would really need therapy both individually and together. They are both people with plentiful quantities of relational trauma from childhood that neither of them have worked through even the slightest bit.

And then you throw them into the apocalypse. And you add a metric fuck ton of guilt, helplessness, and the dynamics of being "The Antichrist and +1"?

On a surface level--Jon is in a perpetual state of information overload. Martin is in a perpetual state of "can you please just explain the basics of what's' going on in a given situation and not just say "it's complicated" or launch into a gruesome monologue"

But on a deeper level, their childhood relational traumas have left them each with opposing avoidant tendencies: Jon is unwilling to broach a difficult conversation, which leads him to hide information until he's confronted. Martin, on the other hand, has a finely honed ability to ignore information that he doesn't like until he no longer can hide from it.

Biggest example of their avoidance tendencies: Martin's Domain

Way early on, when we barely understand any of how the hellscape works, Jon mentions it, Martin shuts it down hard and deflects quickly with a bid for affection from Jon

Martin is in deliberate denial, but Jon admittedly wasn't particularly clear to start with.

"We all have a domain."

Jon means it, presumably, as "Me, You, and other 'Avatars.'" Jon is used to being grouped with those empowered by the Entities. Martin isn't. (see also: MAG185: Martin" Is that how these creatures see us now? As one of them?") But that's not what Jon says. And this is MAG167--they've only been through four domains, at least that we've seen. Jon is speaking from a place of knowledge, and assuming his listener has that same knowledge.

And when this issue comes up much later in MAG183, Martin has spent 17 episodes ignoring or forgetting that he has a domain, not letting that information in so that he has never processed it. (See also: Mag170: "Sometimes I wonder if I forget things on purpose. Easier not to think about them, I guess. Easier to just let them… slip away. They can’t hurt you if you don’t think about them.").

Martin confronts Jon on his avoidance (because while Martin may be good at ignoring things he doesn't like, he's far better at bringing up challenging topics), Jon is able to manage some A+ communication on his feelings and the genuine challenging of figuring out how to share upsetting information when he has All The Information, Martin accepts that. I just desperately want a therapist to be there and make them continue this conversation and practice ongoing good communication skills!

Though they resolve this, even though Jon has an explanation that makes sense...he was really leaving this conversation to the last minute. Would he have "[brought] it up at the crossroads" as he claims to Helen? Or would he have avoided it entirely, as she accuses, or waited till they were at the threshold, as he does with The Desolation and the Hunt, leaving Martin to confront terrifying situations without forewarning or planning or explanation.

Again, Jon kind of tried to bring up some of the potential issues with Basira and Daisy before entering the Hunt domain, but kept it Vague and Ominous ("Things aren't...good"). Martin took that vagueness as an opening to avoid engaging with potential bad news. The teensiest bit of therapy for either of them about their communication issues could have let Jon add "I know you're exited but FYI here are some specifics that you should know" and/or Martin go "I'm excited to see them but given that nothing is good right now, can you be more specific?"

Instead, Jon approaches difficult conversations by being Vague and Ominous, Martin gets snarky or passive-aggressive at the vagueness, upset or aggressively avoidant at the Ominousness, Jon closes back up like a turtle into his shell, and the conversation only comes back up when the situation has drastically escalated, leaving them both more upset.

Jon wants Martin to trust him, because explaining what he knows implicitly is an ordeal for him, and because his upbringing by his grandmother has suggested that communicating is generally unwanted and burdensome (See: MAG081 A Guest for Mr. Spider).

Martin wants to know what is going on, because he's in an awful hellscape of shifting rules about what can and cannot hurt them, completely dependent on a brand-new romantic partner for his survival and purpose, and also because his upbringing and coping mechanisms as a caretaker rely on him knowing enough to help, and his time as an archival assistant has given him some not-inconsiderable trauma about being left in the dark (See: MAG118 The Masquerade) (There's also another post in my head about how MAG118 primed Martin for both the Lonely and his development as a more confrontational character in S5)

All that to say.

Martin needs therapy to deal with the way he chooses not to absorb information he doesn't like. Jon needs therapy to understand that sometimes it's ok to bring up important topics even if the other person will be upset. They both need therapy to cope with all the guilt and helplessness around the apocalypse so they stop taking it out on each other. They need therapy together to learn how to work through their conflicting coping mechanisms.

[catcas22]

Remembrance of the Wild Boar Rider - Messmer and Gaius were both close with Radahn.

Ritual Sword/Shield Talisman - The gladiatorial games had been banned in the Lands Between by the time Radagon and Marika married.

Duelist Shield - The games were never abolished in the Land of Shadows.

So this pretty strongly suggests that Messmer was banished during or immediately after Godfrey's tenure, right? Since Radahn was already around and old enough to train/bond with Messmer, that would mean that the Carian family and the Golden Lineage not only existed simultaneously, but they were by all appearances on good terms with each other. See Radahn's friendship with Messmer, Rennala's apparent sanctioning of Rellana's service to Messmer, ect.

Pre-dlc I'd been imagining Caria and the Golden Lineage more along the lines of two feuding royal families, loosely stitched together by a political marriage with poor Mal and Miq caught in the middle. It's starting to look more like a blended family, even before Radagon and Marika's union.

Pre-dlc, I'd also assumed that Messmer's existence was some long-buried secret that Rykard discovered and based his cult around. Now it's almost certain that they knew each other personally, and that Rykard was fully aware of why Marika had a sore spot regarding snakes. It's also almost certain that Rykard would not have gotten his job in the Inquisition until Radagon became king consort, i.e. shortly after Messmer's banishment.

Imagine Rykard putting on his most diplomatic face and approaching Radagon. "Father, I understand that this new state of affairs is a necessity, painful though it may be. As a token to show that I bear no ill will, might I take up the burden of the inquisition that Messmer is no longer present to carry? Let me put my talents to use -- I will devise new and more efficient means, and set my own smiths to their construction. Neither you nor my dear stepmother need lift a finger."

Later...

Radagon kicks down the door and bursts into Rykard's study, wild-eyed and nearly tearing his hair out. "WHY IS IT SNAKES, RYKARD? WHY IS IT ALL SNAKES????"

Rykard. "Too late, I already ordered a hundred more. They are in production as we speak." Hands Radagon an invoice for a plethora of snake-themed torture devices and several metric tons of red candles, then walks out.

You know he would be petty like that.

[hazeltongzhi]

How does one argue against, for the lack of a better word, materialist defenses of capitalism (like for example "capitalist countries have higher GDP than noncapitalist countries, which means they're Better"). I used to appeal to morality when critiquing capitalism to some success in the past, but now I've been reading Real Theory more and speaking with more educated people, now I have zero faith in my ability to properly critique capitalist ideology without falling back on moralistic arguments. How does one avoid moralistic thinking, especially when talking with one not already versed in materialism?

While appeals to morality do work on some, it won't work on everyone and it sits on relatively shaky ground compared to scientific explanations. Before you do any convincing or arguing remember to know your audience. Trying to convince some bourgeoisie to support socialism won't work since it's asking them to abandon their class interests. 9 times out of 10, this simply won't work (once in a blue moon, you'll get a class traitor but don't rely on it). Do a proper class analysis of your audience before continuing.

In short, you need to scientifically and rigorously study and understand socialism, as it has and currently exists; from the Paris Commune to the PRC.

You have to know the total steel output of China in 1949 versus 2023. I kid, but understanding how the living standards of a country improved under socialism is crucial to add context. You have to understand the metrics that capitalist economists use and why they're inadequate. You have to be able to replace that with a metric that actually matters to everyday people; average lifespan, child mortality rate, electrification rate, poverty rate (not defined by IMF or world bank metrics), literacy rate, home ownership rate, etc., etc..

Another important skill is being able to identify, understand, and provide solutions for the contradictions under capitalism is also incredibly important. Anyone, including the defenders of capitalism, say that the capitalist mode of production has flaws. The question, then, is to propose a solution. For example, houselessness is an ever increasingly acute problem faced by advanced liberal democracies across the globe. The liberal answer is that this is a supply issue as having more supply should drive down the price. However, pointing out that having more supply simply makes it so that those with the economic power to purchase units will snap up those excess supply and return the market to the same equilibrium. The socialist solution, then, is to abolish the commodification of housing, getting rid of landlords or having rent caps, nationalizing developers, etc..

For most people you encounter, assuming they're proletarians, you will have to teach them the basics of materialist analysis. That means breaking them out of liberalism. To do this, you yourself need a solid understanding of dialectical materialism and historical materialism, the foundational framework of analysis for Marxism. The basics of which, being able to recognize distinct classes, their material needs, how these needs conflict with each other, and what material actions each class does to try and resolve these needs. To start breaking someone out of liberalism, you have to be able to identify and attack liberalism as an ideology. Point out how it fails to explain the world then replace it with scientific socialism. For example, liberalism posits that problems with greed, e.g. billionaires and companies exploiting workers more and more is that individual billionaires or companies are the problem and that by replacing those individuals, those systematic issues will be fixed. You have to show that those individuals act that way because the profit motive forces them to; that if they fail to bring in profit, they will be sacked by the investors or board of directors for someone who is willing to exploit. Then show that these are the material reasons for why bourgeoisie exploit, instead of inherent evilness or some immaterial thing.

It is not an easy or quick process and I myself took several years to read and learn before I started coming out in full offense on the side of scientific socialism. But this process is necessary in order to agitate, organize, and fight for a proletarian future.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

End Game 10

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: the best way to spend you Tuesdays is pissed at an old man.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You sleep for a few minutes here and there. The rushing traffic, the motion of the car, and the general unease of your circumstance wakes you several times over until you give up. You recognise the highway signs and sit up, rubbing your temples as you try to focus your vision. 

You gulp as you contemplate what’s ahead. You peek over at the man next to you. How do you explain this? 

You mull it over as you peer through the windshield and daze out at the license plate ahead of you. Kara isn’t easy to lie to and you’re a horrible liar. You don’t lie, you just don’t always tell her everything. You sigh and Andy shifts in his seat. 

“You alright, sweetie?” He asks, “we’re almost there. Can stretch our legs soon.” 

“She can’t know,” you say abruptly. 

He winces and shakes his head, “what do you mean?” 

“Kara. She can’t know... you’re a lawyer. My grandmother knows you. Or you’re an old friend of my parents. You’re doing me favour but in front of her we’re not... not...” you struggle to push the truth through your tight throat, “together.” 

“Right, makes sense.” 

“You’re getting her off the hook. That’s all she needs to know.” 

“Got it,” he replies crisply. 

You close your eyes and cringe. You shake your head. This is humiliating. You’re negotiating with him for your own pride. You can’t imagine telling Kara everything. You know that creep I told you about, he owns me now. Ugh. The thought makes you want to hurl. 

“I understand, sweetie, you gotta ease into this. I think it’s better we keep it on the down low anyway,” he speaks over the steering wheel. ‘Down low’, is he trying to be hip? “Wouldn’t be very ethical for me to represent your friend based on our relationship so...” 

“Yeah,” you mutter. Ethical.

It’s more than that. It’s that you would have to say it all out loud. That you would have to admit that you are nothing. That even though you want desperately to say no, to tell him to go away, that you did over and over, that you have no ground to stand on. The only person that wants you in this world is him and that’s just pathetic. 

“How about once we have everything sorted, you spend the day with her? Catch up with your friend? I’ll be at the hotel, give you some space to get your head on,” he offers gently, as if he’s doing a favour. In his eyes, everything he does is generous. “I mean, who knows the next time you’ll get to see her.” 

That last part hits you like a kick in the stomach. Will you see her again after you go off with this man? You still don’t understand what’s in his head. What exactly does he have planned? Are you going to be his plaything? His dirty little secret? He’s an attorney, rather famous by Google’s metric, so can he really be flaunting around with a woman half his age? Less. 

“Yeah, I guess,” you agree flatly and cross your arms. 

Your stomach lets out a long growl, filling the silence. You turn your face to the window, embarrassed. He chuckles and reaches over you pet your arm. 

“Hungry? Me too,” he goads. 

“I’m fine,” you insist and lean away from him. 

He puts his hand back on the wheel and switches lanes as you approach your exit. He sighs and merges onto the ramp. You grit your teeth to keep from screaming. He knows you don’t want this but he continues to pretend like it’s so normal. You don’t know if he’s gaslighting you or if he’s actually delusional. 

“How about you and Kara go get lunch? I’ll venmo you some money and--” 

“Jesus Christ!” You throw your hands up, “I get it! I get it! You’re such a good guy and I’m the poor fucking girl who can’t take care of herself, but goddamnit Andy, let me think. I still have a fucking brain.” 

He sucks in sharply through his nostrils and juts out his chin. The quick glance of his profile startles you. His anger ripples hotly in the air and makes you shiver. Why did you say that? 

“I’ve already told you not to talk like that. Profanity isn’t cute,” he snips as he grips the wheel tighter, his knuckles paling. “I know you have a brain, sweetie. That’s why I like you. You’re smart.” He takes measured breaths as you hear the tenuous control in his timbre, “I’m not trying to control you, I’m trying to help. I think I’m being pretty nice. Hm. I could just drag you back onto the road without stopping, couldn’t I?” 

You look down at your lap and squirm. Something flickers inside of you. A memory itches in your head. Another car ride, another angry man, telling you what he’s done for you, telling you he’s done giving and not getting. Your cheeks pinch with the threat of tears. 

“Sorry, dad,” you choke out. 

“What?” He hisses and nearly swerves. 

“Andy,” you cough and sit up straight, “sorry, I was mumbling. I’m sorry. Alright. I’m stressed and I haven’t slept.” You shake as you make yourself say what he wants to hear. “I know you’ve done a lot for me and I’m not... I’m not good enough. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Alright? I’m sorry. I just--” You swallow and roll your eyes up, “I’m sorry.” 

He lets the silence hang over you. He slows as he joins the local traffic. You recognise the streets. You’re reminded of the convention and how it all turned sour. All because of him. It feels like a rotten sort of irony that you’re back there together. 

“Sweetie, we’re both exhausted and it’s been such a long road,” he says quietly, “I forgive you but you need to watch your mouth. It’s not pretty when you talk like that.” 

You flinch. What the fuck? You try not to let the frown break through and flare your nostrils. 

“I’ll do better,” you utter. 

“I know you will,” he declares victoriously, “you’re a good girl, sweetie.” 

You don’t say much else. As he pulls up to the station, you mentally prepare yourself. You wish you could tell Kara everything. She was always the best shoulder to lean on but you know that’s too dangerous. She would flip out. You can imagine her confronting Andy and getting herself right back into trouble. No, this is your problem. 

“Might take a while,” Andy warns as he gets out. He opens the back door and takes out his jacket. As he pulls it on, there’s a marked change. The full suit completes that attorney picture. “Did you wanna come in? You’ll have to wait in the lobby.” 

“That’s fine,” you shrug. You’re restless. You just want Kara out and safe. “Are you sure you can fix this?” 

“Trust me, honey. I do this stuff all the time. Bonds and whatnot. I know what I’m doing,” he assures you. Oh, he definitely is all too aware of what he’s doing. 

“Alright.” 

“This shouldn’t be too hard. First offense, young, hanging out with the wrong guy,” he checks his beard in the side mirror, “easy.” 

The way he talks to lightly about the situation makes you sick. Does he think so little of other people and their lives? Is that why he just demolished yours? You nod and look away. 

“Okay, let’s just do it then.” 

You follow him past the police cruisers and to the front door of the precinct. He enters with confidence, holding the door for you. He points you to the chairs along the wall and promises he won’t be long. You sit and watch him, arms crossed as he marches briskly up to the front desk, shielded by panels of plexi-glass. 

“Andy Barber,” he says as he gets his wallet out, “my client is here. She’s asked for her right to an attorney...” 

You shrink in the chair. You are small compared to him. Look at how sure he is. Of everything. Of himself. He has had a lifetime whereas yours is already over. You barely keep from breaking right there. You could just keel over and dissolve into a puddle of self-pity. 

Andy’s led behind the heavy metal door to the left of the desk and you turn your attention to the wall. You drift into a mindless trance. You don’t want to think. The time ticks by as you lean back, your head against the cold brick. 

The ambient noise of the station buzzes around you and fades into the background. The ceiling turns fuzzy in your vision and your body detaches from your mind. You just sit there, waiting. 

Your name carries across the lobby and you snap up, nearly tipping yourself out of the anchored chair. You stand up as Kara runs across the tiles and throws her arms around you. Andy walks calmly behind her, keeping a good breadth between them. 

“Oh my god! You saved me,” she releases you, her eyes tired and swollen. She’s still in her pajamas. You can only think of the chaos that consumed her the last day; of how frightened she must have been. “How?” 

“Uh...” you look at Andy then at Kara. “Family friend. I was so worried, Kara.” 

“You were? I was,” she squeals, “I can’t believe...” she stops herself and spins around, “Mr. Barber, thank you.” She scurries over to him and shakes his hand, “thank you so much.” 

“Well, you know, I owed her grandma a favour,” he smiles. 

“I know but... oh, I’m just happy to be out.” 

“Nothing at all,” he assures and sends you a smug smile. “Unfortunately, I do have to get back to my other clients, so...” he checks his watch. The way he plays his role so smoothly unsettles you. “You two have a good day. You got my number if you need anything else.” 

He struts off and you stand in uncertainty. Shit. You need to come up with a story. Ugh. Your purse buzzes as Kara turns to you and you reach into it. ‘Andy Barber has sent you money.’ Fucker. 

You exhale and do your best to smile, “crazy...” 

“Oh my god, you have no idea. It was so cold in there. They took my shoes!” She looks down at her fluffy slides, “or slippers.” 

“Jesus, Kara, that must’ve been so scary.” 

“Yeah, it was. I didn’t think... I... I can’t believe did all this.” 

“Er,” you glance over at the officers behind the counter, “let’s get out of here.” 

“Happily,” she agrees and skips past you to the door. 

As you come outside, she sighs and stretches her arms above her, “wait, how did you even get here?” 

“Andy drove me... but I have a bus ticket for the way back. Tonight.” 

The lies are too easy. You hate that. You don’t want to lie for him. 

“He’s so nice,” she says, “wow, I... I’m just still so fucked up about this.” 

“What about Calvin?” 

“Oh, he got out last night. His parents. Loaded,” she sniffs, “left me in there all by myself.” 

“Oh, Kar--” 

“Whatever,” she snarls, “I’m about done with him anyways.” You plod along, aimless as you follow her lead. “Wait, alright, wait,” she snaps her fingers, “girl, you never told me what happened with that guy.” 

You’re speechless. You don’t know what to say. Fuck. 

“The catfish? Some old creeper? Ew. Nasty.” 

“Right,” you murmur and clear your throat, “you know, I blocked him. Told him to get fucked.” That’s true, you did, it just didn’t work. “Ugh, the magic of technology, huh?” 

“Sure,” she says, “some men are so nasty. Most of them, I swear.” She huffs and yawns as she checks her phone. It’s all she has on her. “We can catch a bus on the next block. Oof, fuck Calvin, I’m getting me a sugar daddy. I can’t do this shit no more.” 

“Kara,” you groan. 

“What? Men don’t give a fuck. If I’m gonna get anything out of them, may as well be money,” she scoffs. 

“Kara,” you repeat as your stomach churns. You need to explain things, not the real things, but you need to give her a good story. She’s clever and you can’t leave the ends untied. “How about I buy us lunch?” 

“Oh fuck yeah, I’m starving,” she exclaims, “I couldn’t handle that shit they gave me. The egg salad smelled like feet.” 

“Mm, we can order to your place?” 

“Sure,” she smiles, “what time are you out of here?” 

“Bus doesn’t come til eleven,” you dart your eyes around. 

“What’s wrong with you? I mean, I know it’s been a weird ride but you’re not telling me something.” 

You stop by the sign for the bus. You look this way and that. Just say something. 

“I’m moving.” 

“Moving?” She echoes. 

“Yeah, um, my grandma, she’s kinda done with me,” you speak quietly, carefully, weighing every word, “I got a transfer to a different school and uh, they offered me a scholarship...” 

“Wow, you really sound excited,” she remarks dryly. 

“Well, it’s a big change,” you shrug, “I’m still... tryna figure it out.” 

“Of course. That’s huge. Is it far?” 

You nod. 

“Oh,” she hangs her head, “right. Yeah, that’s shitty. But good. Good,” she smiles and lifts her chin, “you need to get out on your own. Away from your grandma. It’ll be great.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you agree softly. “But I’ll miss you.” 

“Miss you too but I mean we’re already in different towns, so what’s a few extra miles,” she says, “when do you leave?” 

You stare across the street and your eyes glaze with tears, “tomorrow.” 

[flimsy-roost]

I realized the other day that the reason I didn't watch much TV as a teenager (and why I'm only now catching up on late aughts/early teens media that I missed), is because I literally didn't understand how to use our TV. My parents got a new system, and it had three remotes with a Venn diagram of functions. If someone left the TV on an unfamiliar mode, I didn't know how to get back to where I wanted to be, so I just stopped watching TV on my own altogether.

I explained all this to my therapist, because I didn't know if this was more related to my then-unnoticed autism, or to my relationship with my parents at the time (we had issues less/unrelated to neurodivergency). She told me something interesting.

In children's autism assessments, a common test is to give them a straightforward task that they cannot reasonably perform, like opening an overtight jar. The "real" test is to see, when they realize that they cannot do it on their own, if they approach a caregiver for help. Children that do not seek help are more likely to be autistic than those that do.

This aligns with the compulsory independence I've noticed to be common in autistic adults, particularly articulated by those with lower support needs and/or who were evaluated later in life. It just genuinely does not occur to us to ask for help, to the point that we abandon many tasks that we could easily perform with minor assistance. I had assumed it was due to a shared common social trauma (ie bad experiences with asking for help in the past), but the fact that this trait is a childhood test metric hints at something deeper.

My therapist told me that the extremely pathologizing main theory is that this has something to do with theory of mind, that is doesn't occur to us that other people may have skills that we do not. I can't speak for my early childhood self, or for all autistic people, but I don't buy this. Even if I'm aware that someone else has knowledge that I do not (as with my parents understanding of our TV), asking for help still doesn't present itself as an option. Why?

My best guess, using only myself as a model, is due to the static wall of a communication barrier. I struggle a lot to make myself understood, to articulate the thing in my brain well enough that it will appear identically (or at least close enough) in somebody else's brain. I need to be actively aware of myself and my audience. I need to know the correct words, the correct sentence structure, and a close-enough tone, cadence, and body language. I need draft scripts to react to possible responses, because if I get caught too off guard, I may need several minutes to construct an appropriate response. In simple day-to-day interactions, I can get by okay. In a few very specific situations, I can excel. When given the opportunity, I can write more clearly than I am ever capable of speaking.

When I'm in a situation where I need help, I don't have many of my components of communication. I don't always know what my audience knows. I don't have sufficient vocabulary to explain what I need. I don't know what information is relevant to convey, and the order in which I should convey it. I don't often understand the degree of help I need, so I can come across inappropriately urgent or overly relaxed. I have no ability to preplan scripts because I don't even know the basic plot of the situation.

I can stumble though with one or two deficiencies, but if I'm missing too much, me and the potential helper become mutually unintelligible. I have learned the limits of what I can expect from myself, and it is conceptualized as a real and physical barrier. I am not a runner, so running a 5k tomorrow does not present itself as an option to me. In the same way, if I have subconscious knowledge that an interaction is beyond my capability, it does not present itself as an option to me. It's the minimum communication requirements that prevent me from asking for help, not anything to do with the concept of help itself.

Maybe. This is the theory of one person. I'm curious if anyone else vibes with this at all.

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

"Mind my own business"

Sure. Right as soon as you stop advocating for people with mental health issues to be able to slip through the cracks and cut off body parts before they understand the gravity of having it happen.

The medical oath says to "do no harm" if a 14 y/o, decides "I don't want kids" you'd be a MORON to even consider it. Biology is a funny thing. And when your clock starts ticking, you tend to want to have kids. However how most people or doesn't kick in until they're late 20's early 30's. After 36 for women, there's a lot of risk in both child birth, and the health and development of the child.

By the same metric kids can't make those choices. They CAN'T understand the gravity of those choices. Because those choices sterilize them, can damage their growth, cause chronic illnesses like early onset osteoporosis. But you wouldn't know that would you. Of course not. And sure bodily autonomy is a thing but not when that requires the actions of another person.

You can shove your bullshit. My friend almost killed herself because of rhetoric like yours. Goes of to college, meets new people. Thinks they are her friends. She's a tomboy. They slow rolled her into thinking she was a man. They got her on T within 4 months of her being there and the day before she was going to get her BREASTS REMOVED she called me naw bawling her eyes out. Saying she wanted to die. She didn't recognize herself. Realized she was pushing me away because all her new "friends" said I was a bad influence on her.

Her, "found family" as it were. I was on the phone with her for THREE FUCKING HOURS trying to make sure she didn't kill herself. Texted her mother to go get her. Low and behold. NOT A FUCKING MAN just a boyish girl. And under your "it's not your business" mentality, had she gone though it, she probably would be dead right now. Her choice right? No therapist needed right? No road blocks right? Just let them get a testosterone high then when it wears off and they realize what they've done.

No more love bombing. No more, "you're so brave". Just left with your thoughts and removed body parts. Staring a stranger down in the mirror with a likely litany of other medical problems other than the chemical depression.

So how about you mind your own fucking business. I care about people's health. You clearly don't. And more over kindly remove your head from your own ass. You DON'T get to tell me what's my business. How many people have to die for your bullshit. How many have to live with medical issues for the rest of their lives? How many have to never be able to have kids. How many get to NEVER experience a real intimate relationship. But sure. "Bodily autonomy".

Cut the crap.

[ddarker-dreams]

random yan chrollo blurb because i can't stop thinking about him even if i try . 🙏

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“… Are you still sure?”

“I’m still sure.”

“Swear to me.” 

“I swear.”

“That wasn’t sincere enough… swear… swear on the Troupe. In the name of their, uh, honor, or whatever.”

“Honor?” The word sounds humorous coming from Chrollo’s lips. “Very well. I swear on the honor of the Phantom Troupe that I won’t go back on my word.” 

You sit across from a formidable opponent. Fate has decreed this your lot, so you’ve taken what has been forcibly thrust upon you and sworn to crush it. However, at this stage, you’ve modified your parameters to be more realistic. The new, somewhat more obtainable goal is to leave a dent. Or a scratch, perhaps. 

For this dream to be realized, risks must be taken. The risk in this case is a willingness to interact with a man named Chrollo Lucilfer. His is a species defined by its tenacity. Through trial and error, you’ve concluded that typical avenues of escape aren’t in the cards. Nothing concerning the life you lead now is ordinary, so creativity and a solid vision are paramount. 

Your adversary sits leaning forward, his elbow on the table, forearm extending upward, and palm open. He observes you with the degree of amusement he always does, content in waiting for you to make the first move. 

You take a deep breath. Oxygen floods your being and blood circulates in full force. Every system in your body is primed and ready, there’ll be no better window, so you take it, springing into action. 

Contact is made with his outstretched palm. You steady your footwork for better balance, then pull, demanding everything your muscles can deliver and then some. This immense exertion of force is the culmination of your efforts. Hours of scheming by the window, exercising self-control not to pour salt on his strawberries so he’d be more affable to your requests, running mental calculations and simulations… 

… Alas, it’s not enough. 

You pitched a pseudo arm wrestling competition where you could use any means necessary to make him budge. You didn’t dare stipulate that you successfully pull his arm down, your hubris doesn’t extend that far; but the slightest movement on his part would spell your victory. A victory that’d have him fulfill any request your overactive imagination could conjure up. These terms and conditions were smoothed out in a verbal binding contract. 

His countenance is the same as it would be if he were flipping through a book or pulling his phone from his pocket — entirely casual. He isn’t even straining himself to maintain this stalemate. It’s possible that his physical strength is simply beyond your understanding, as is that parapsychological phenomena he refers to as Nen. 

“What,” you heave, disbelief coloring your tone, “Is your body made out of?” 

“Oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen—” 

“It was rhetorical, Mr. Alchemist,” you cut him off. 

He simply shrugs and smiles. Somehow, his arm still hasn’t moved an inch throughout that exchange. The thought of this metric gives you pause. An idea is sown and imbued with life in the span of a few seconds. 

“Ah, that’s the expression you get before you say something endearing,” he comments, almost dreamily. 

You ignore him and straighten up, ready to argue over technicalities like your life depends on it. Seeing that you’ve abandoned your previous scheme, he relaxes back into the chair. 

“I have a case. How do we know your arm didn’t move… an atom to the side?” 

Chrollo tilts his head. “An atom?” 

“Yes. If an inch is a unit of measurement, there has to be something smaller. So maybe your arm didn’t move an inch, but it moved the width of an atom. Are you following me?” 

“...” 

You barely comprehend it. 

One second, you’re standing, the next, you’re sitting, with arms and a familiar cologne engulfing you. You can feel the low rumbling of his chest. He chuckles into your ear and secures you tighter against him upon sensing your instinct to struggle. Scowling, you cross your arms while he regains his composure. 

“Don’t be cross with me, dear,” he smooths out your shirt, as if it’d exonerate him of his transgressions. “I’m not laughing at you. You’re just… everything. Everything I need. I’m sorry. Please finish your point.” 

“Court’s adjourned.” 

“That’s a shame. When might it reopen?”

“Never, you’re sentenced to death. No appeals.”  

“I thought you opposed capital punishment?” 

“Each second that has passed since this conversation began has regressed my views by a decade each.” 

"I'll just have to hold onto you for the time being then."

All you can muster the strength to do is sigh.

[olderthannetfic]

Until I read the comments on that one post I had no idea the Bechdel Test was a joke and wasn't supposed to be a serious measuring stick by which you gauged if something was feminist or not. Everywhere I'd ever heard it brought up, it was brought up as a very serious thing, and it was a failure of media if it didn't pass it. I remember the debate about Mako Mori from Pacific Rim and if she was a character you were "allowed" to like as a progressive person despite the fact that Pacific Rim doesn't pass the Bechdel Test, the discourse, the discussion of if the director was sexist for not writing in another woman for her to chat with about non-men related stuff, the camp of people trying to insist that having a fully realized character arc and being as developed as any of the male leads = good writing even if she doesn't talk to another girl...

And I've also had the remark about my writing not passing the test, just not to my face. I searched my fanfic's name once, curious to see if anyone was discussing it outside of tumblr and AO3, and found a Tiktok complaining about it not passing the Bechdel Test. The top comment was "motherfucker YOU don't pass the test but we still watch your ass". I cackled and moved on, but neither the commenter, poster, nor I had any awareness this wasn't Feminist Media Critique 101 theory and was, in fact, a goof.

Right now there's a segment of fandom debating if Blue Eye Samurai is feminist since when Mizu and Akemi talk, they do bring up men, since, y'know. Women aren't considered people with rights in their era in Japan and thus it's something they mention instead of only talking about being cool girlboss badasses who never bring up gender. If something doesn't pass the Bechdel Test, a smug segment of the internet high-fives itself and congratulates one another on being More Feminist Than Thou.

They then get really angry if you disagree, even though by this metric, Sleeping Beauty (the original animated one, where Aurora has only 16 lines of dialogue) is more feminist than Blue Eye Samurai.

--

*DYING*

Okay, so, nonnie....

Dykes to Watch Out For (1983-2008) was a long-running comic and major piece of lesbian media. I grew up buying compiled volumes at the bookstore. To be honest, that kind of 90s-ish lesbian culture isn't really my scene despite me being bi, but it was very nice to have this slice of life-y somewhat realistic, occasionally somewhat parody, look at the queer communities around me. It's up there with Tales of the City for me in terms of being a window into a particular culture and time and place.

If anybody is interested in queer history, in addition to looking up factual info, I think a read of the complete Dykes would give a really good overview of how people were thinking about things and what issues came up a lot. You'll see things like Barnes & Noble increasingly putting feminist bookstores out of business in the 90s, attitudes towards porn in lesbian circles—all kinds of cultural issues of the day.

I drifted away as I got later in my teens and found more genre fiction I cared about, but at one point, this comic was a very welcome antidote to the glurgey coming out stories that made up a lot of the more realistic media.

Anyway, here's the comic itself, reproduced in its entirety because I think it's important to actually understand the context.

This is from 1985, so the era of Rambo, Conan, and Death Wish, each of which you can see being made fun of here. It's based on Bechdel's friend Liz Wallace's actual rule for seeing movies.

That's it. That's the origin of this whole stupid test.

"LOL, fuck 80s action movies". That's it. That's the joke.

The fact that blockbusters still routinely fail to pass in the 2020s is shameful, but that was never the point of the strip.