#so i don't condemn it for going into heavy subject matter

[clamorybus]

honestly i thought i was doing better with myself but last night i merely read the tv tropes page for the movie the whale and i broke down sobbing

[geniemillies]

Yearning For Spring | Ch. 1 | Tamlin x Oc

— Chapter 1 - The Green Handkerchief

Summary: It was always doomed from the start. Before the fall of the Spring Court, before the horrors of Amarantha's reign, and before Tamlin could even become High Lord. Fate played its hand long ago and brought them together, the string loose and the bond one-sided. Choiceless and caged, Niamh bears the weight of this secret as a heavy burden, this cursed bond she will take to the grave, condemned to only dream and yearn for spring.

A/n: The first chapters of this story is a very.. very long prologue for their meeting, centering around Niamh (pronounced Neeve) throughout the events of pre-acotar to acowar in Hybern’s setting, showing her side of the story, her struggles and her yearning. I'm attempting to expand/rebuild the world of Hybern, give it the story it deserves because I am baffled that the main villain location of the first books are never further built, and the people are depicted as cartoony villains. Like. The entire land, everyone is born evil. No no. Justice for Hybern. So I will be trying to write Hybern, The King, add actual people, lives and struggles, lots of struggles, and might also write Hybern a new future. But don't worry there is.. a lot of yearning. It's in the title. The girl is fighting for this man-

Ch. Warnings: implied sexual harassment, implied animal cruelty (I swear not by any mc), things get extreme in Hybern ok, Hybern as a place should be a warning on its own :^

__ Ch.2>>

Hybern Castle — Two years after the Treaty

Another party. Another night of standing beside his chair on the dais, overlooking the crowd of Hybern officials as they partied, their faces a mask of joyful expressions, their bodies too rigid as they moved about the floor like puppets under their marionette's gaze.

“Incredibly uneventful.” I hear Brannagh whisper beside me. Her twin mimics her dead expression beside her. Guess I'm not the only one who thinks so.

“Quiet. Don't slouch or he will punish us again.” I scold through gritted teeth and feel their posture shift at the command. “Just until past midnight and we are dismissed.”

I feel them sigh in unison before stepping off the dais to stand in some corner away from the throne, away from where the King might see them. Yet I stay still, unmoving despite my legs and neck beginning to sore at the lack of movement.

Just until past midnight.

The ball went on as usual, the music getting louder with each hour while the dance floor remained filled with rigid dancers. Wine continued to flow and stomachs filled and this party seemed to go on for an eternity.

I hear the King's laughter echoing throughout the room, followed by several others as they clash glasses and exchange vulgarities. Mainly discussing political and military matters that did not need a child's attention but I listened in anyway. Nothing eventful. The King would find a way to spin the subject towards his hatred for humankind to which his circle were more than happy to indulge him in.

In a corner of the ballroom, I spy through the tiny slits of my mask a servant tripping over a lady's gown, echoes of breaking glass did not do as much as startle the dancers but their nervous eyes dart to where the servant was dragged to the kitchens, crying and spilling his apologies, his voice muffled as the door closed and then– nothing.

The dancing and laughter did not stop.

In a corner of the ballroom, I spy through the tiny slits of my mask, the twins gossiping amongst themselves in quiet solitude. They spot me from all the way over here with pleading eyes, I want to leave. But I only shook my head and they already knew my answer. Not until we are dismissed. And with that, they continued to sulk.

In a corner of the ballroom, I spy through the tiny slits of my mask… Amarantha. With her wavy locks of red hair and a dark dress that outshined every other lady in the room. As always, heads turned as she walked, whether or not it was out of respect or admiration or fear, they turned their heads and I knew she basked in the attention.

Before I could roll my eyes and turn the other way I spotted— green amidst a sea of dull colours. Amarantha makes her way to a boy.. strikingly close to my age. His hair was gold in colour. Gold like I've never seen before. It is a rare thing. Hybernians mostly have dark hair but there is the occasional rarity born with red locks.

Right. The King has once again invited a Prythian Lord, our closest ally from the neighbouring island. The High Lord sits with him now in his circle of friends, bearing the same golden hair as the boy Amarantha’s currently harassing. I felt unease as her hand brushes against his shoulder, how he'd shiver and say words I could not hear. Stop, maybe. Most likely. Because she always does this. To him especially, none of the other brothers are treated that way, much less spared a glance by her.

“Niamh.” His voice jolts me from my thoughts and I almost flinch to his direction. “More wine, dove.” The King orders, slouching in his seat.

“Yes, my King.” I turn to one of the servants ready at my command. “Three more bottles of Crimson Oathe. And tell the others to fetch a dozen more from the cellar. We'll be here for quite a while.” Seeing as they're already drunk and craving for more.

The servant came back in a flash with what I requested and I hurried to the King and his little circle of friends. “Pour.” He orders simply and I could feel his friends’ gaze in my direction. I do as I'm told, pouring scarlet liquid onto everyone's golden goblets before pacing three steps away, standing straight with the bottle still in my hands.

They continue their conversations and I stand there until I am dismissed. It is the rule. I cannot walk away from him unless I am told so. Sometimes I thank the Mother for the mask on my face, hiding the discomfort in my expression. I never liked being too close to his circle. Do my best to avoid them, really. His group mainly consists of highborn Lords of Hybern, however few they might be, and military officials that control his armies.

I stay there with my head down, listening to their horrid conversations, unable to mute out their loud voices.

Then I felt it. Felt it before it could even touch me— the hand of an older fae hovering up my arm that I felt all the hairs on my body stand.

Go away. Go away. Go away. Go—

I grabbed his wrist before he could go any further, earning a grunt of pain from the older male. The conversation ceased around the King's circle and all eyes were on me and the death grip that was my small hand around his bedazzled wrist.

“If. You could refrain. From touching me. Good sir.” I do not look at him. I do not do as much as move. I cannot. I might kill him.

“My hand! My hand!!” He cries out. I feel his pulse on my skin, the blood desperately flowing in his wretched veins. I felt my nails digging into flesh, scratching against skin and drawing blood. I smelled it, rotten and unsweet.

“My King!” He looks to the King, hoping to find his aid.

But he only looked, a simple grin on his face as he watched red seep out of his wrists, tainting my own skin. “Niamh. Drop the poor thing's hand.” I hear a chuckle leave his throat. Being used to following his orders— I do just that.

“Careful with this one, Lord Galdiir. She is.. a fascinating one. She will not hesitate to feast on your bones right at this very table. Perhaps then we'll have a real show.” The King laughs once more and other people follow. He snatches the wine bottle out of my hands, his eyes wandering to the blood that smeared my palm. And even with the mask I spot his smile curling into a smirk.

“And next time I hope you'd be wise enough to remember not to touch something that is not yours. I will have your head ripped from your shoulders if you ever touch her again.” He threatened and the circle went quiet.

“Now.” He doesn't face me, only flicks his wrist. “Go.”

And so I left that corner of the room, my left hand shaking, the smell of blood that isn't mine violating my nose. I did not return to the dais and as I passed guests I saw a glimpse of the twins’ face, riddled with worry. Yet they do not follow me.

The music and chatter from the ballroom faded as I now find myself in the empty terrace just outside. I let myself breathe in air that I couldn't find inside that wretched room. Yet, not even fresh air could calm me down. Couldn't really call it fresh as there's always a rotting smell that came with it.

Because this place is rotten. Void of light, life, anything, really. It is a cage.

The terrace overlooked a large garden of shaped trees and bushes that formed a maze. I'm glad for the night's darkness as I knew the dead colour of the leaves in morning light would only sour my mood. At least the sky looks peaceful. Though, I wish the fog would show more stars. I could not even see the moon, only a blur of reddish white light.

I look down at my hands, dark crimson taint the my palm. I press my fingers to it, feeling it sticky and warm and vile. Then my touch lowers down to the golden cuffs etched on my skin, smudging red on it.

I urge to curse, to rip this stupid mask off my face and storm to my room. More often than not, I think about it. But I know the consequences of leaving the King's presence without permission. And so I suck it up and inhale the rotten air, rubbing my bloodied palm, willing myself to believe that midnight would come soon and I could return to my room.

But I sense a presence approach, quiet footsteps make their way to the terrace. Then the intruder stops, standing at a good distance from me.

I froze and thought that if I turned around and left it'd be considered rude. So I shift uncomfortably, looking to the side and to my hands below, glad for the mask on my face for once. But when I caught a glimpse of gold at the corner of my eye, I was forced to look to to the person who had interrupted my solitude.

It's him.., the youngest son of Spring.

He dons on green fabrics, golden accents throughout his outfit that matched his long locks that cascaded down his shoulders. He smells like flowers and morning after a storm. His gaze is fixed to the garden forward and I wonder if he felt my gaze on him.

“Good evening.” He says, his voice quiet and soft and nice.

I snapped out of my thoughts and did a subtle curtsy to the young Lord. “Good evening.” I was told to treat our guests from Prythian with the warmest welcome and yet I forgot to greet him first or address him by his name.

“Forgive me, I was simply–”

“In need of some quiet?”

“I've been in search of it all night.” He said, his gaze torn away from me again. There is a stiffness on his shoulders, a longing for home in his eyes. He does not wish to be here any longer. And neither do I.

“It was beginning to feel suffocating. In there. With all the tense dancing.”

I slightly turn to face him again.

“Sorry. I meant no insult. It's a nice party.” A nice attempt at a lie.

“No.” I hesitate. But no one else is here. No one to hear me speak ill. “It is not.”

I hear a pause, a flicker of surprise maybe. That someone actually has a mind of their own around here. “It is not.” He repeats and maybe I heard a smile in his words, a quiet relief that someone understands.

“Perhaps we could enjoy the silence together?”

I look at him again, my face betraying the look of surprise at his suggestion. I did not say anything when I looked away from him.

But I stayed. And quiet company has never been so peaceful.

My shoulders relaxed as the minutes passed us by quietly. I could still hear the music in the throne room, the sounds of the King's laughter and the clink of glasses. In the stillness of the night, away from the noise and commotion of the party, the gardens below lay silent, and the only sound to break it was the gentle breeze rustling the leaves of trees.

And for a brief moment, I felt respite. I don't know why. Maybe because of the silence. Maybe it is because of him and his very presence that brought a calmness that I didn't know existed. The air seemed more bearable in his presence and for the first time tonight my heart was at peace.

My eyes faltered ever so slightly as I fiddled with my palm, the blood now cold on my skin.

I never want to go back inside.

“I'm sorry that that male has made you uncomfortable.” He quietly said as I felt him extend an arm to me. So I looked and he handed me something..

A green handkerchief.

I stared at it for a good while, confused as to why I am being given such a present. Then I realised that my bloodied hand was still visible and he had seen my outburst earlier.

I take the handkerchief slowly, inspecting it as if it were a strange thing. And it was strange, this kind gesture. I felt my lips curl up into a soft smile.

I began wiping the blood off my palms, smudging red onto the green fabric. “I'm sorry, too.” I mutter.

“About what?”

“About Amarantha.”

He goes silent and looks away in discomfort. “She always does this.”

“I know.” I continue to wipe, fighting the urge to scoff at the mere thought of that female. “She does not take kindly to ‘no’.”

I hear no reply. As I finished wiping the blood off my hand and cuff I looked at the fabric sullied in crimson. “Thank you..,” I trail off, forgetting his name despite going through the guest list just hours before the party.

“Tamlin.”

“Tamlin..” I finish wiping off the blood and I hand him back his handkerchief, completely facing him this time, letting myself see his face through the tiny holes of my mask. “Prince of Spring.”

He only seems to look towards the cloth in my hand. “Forgive me but I do not know your name either..”

“Niamh.”

“Miss Niamh..”

I nod my head and offer him back his handkerchief. He looks at it for a moment.

“Keep it.” He said, reaching for my hand with both his, closing my fist around the piece of cloth. A gift.

I was taken aback for a mere second. I've never been given a gift before. Never had much to say thank yous to. Never had to be grateful. A very foreign and yet.. welcome feeling.

He closed my fist and my eyes failed to remain averted. I look back to his face to see emerald eyes looking back at me. An expression of gentleness that couldn't be found in the eyes of Hybernians. I wonder if there are more like him back on the land he hails from. More people with genuine smiles and golden hair. I wonder if he deems the garden before us a pathetic piece of land compared to the endless fields of flowers back at his court. And maybe if I look into his eyes long enough I could see a glimpse of what that may look like.

I felt myself lost in them. Because I’ve never really seen green like that. Green that swirls with other colours of the earth. Strange and pretty. Even Hybernian trees are of lifeless colours. So I couldn't help but let my gaze linger for a moment longer.

“I cannot–” I gasped.

I flinched, my back arching slightly, the words stolen from my throat.

'What–?'

I grip my neck as I felt something pierce through my back, to the centre of my chest. Like a sword, a needle—No. A spark. Like lighting from the calmest of storms—struck me, right through the heart.

I staggered backwards and I stared at him like he might've inflicted such pain on me, the mask I wore hiding the horror on my face. But when I looked at him again, my heart beat so strongly against my rib cage I thought it might've broken out of it. Every bone in my body seemed to falter into brittle stones as if every part of me was faltering then and there. I wanted to touch him, grab his hand and take him away–

“Miss N–” He reaches out to me, his face riddled with concern. But before he could touch me again I gathered every bit of my common sense and— disappeared.

I panicked and winnowed away, appearing in my room disoriented from the sudden shift of my surroundings, as if I hadn't winnowed all of me, my back hitting against a table as I breathed heavily. I fall to the floor and grip my throat, desperate to stabilise my breathing before letting that hand fall to my chest where I could very much feel the beating of my heart. I still feel it. The spark. Like it's sentient, living inside me, telling me to go back to him.

The thrill of that spark dies inside me when realisation sank, replaced with nothing but dread and fear as I recall back to the books I've read on the matter. The romantic, forbidden tales of fated mates. Libraries are a rare thing in Hybern, the King deeming it worthless to record our histories when he alone exists to remind every single soul in the island just how we were robbed of everything in the Treaty that happened just two years ago. He does not care much for stories outside of those that he only thought mattered. Education of the most basic things are not encouraged, instead he favours military training, condemning all fae, high or lesser, young or old, to be trained ruthlessly into military submission.

Father thought the concept interesting albeit useless. Brannagh thought it a curse. Dagnan doubts its existence. How the Mother bonds two souls together on a whim, on a baseless calculation that the two might work well together. And now she dares pair me up with the youngest son of Spring. Someone so different. So out of reach. So out of my league.

Someone I can never ever have.

She dares play cruel jokes on me. Or perhaps she is simply cruel. That would make more sense. She’s always been cruel when dealing with my fate in her hands.

I did not return to the party. I lay in bed awake that night, my head filled with nothing but images of his face. There wasn't a moment where I wandered to other thoughts, afraid that if I did I couldn't burn his face into memory hard enough. And a hundred years may pass and I might forget his face. The thought alone broke my heart.

The bond didn't seem to snap for him and I could only sigh out of relief. Good. It's for the best. I know well what happens to the things that bring even the smallest amounts of joy into people around here. He takes them, breaks them, ruins them in the cruellest of ways and he makes sure there is an audience to bear witness to his acts. I still remember how her growls of pain echoed throughout the throne room while my body froze, my eyes locked into the eyes of a direwolf I had secretly snuck into the palace. I stood and cried as she whimpered, the light, the life fading from her darkened eyes, her head rolling to my feet as I tried my best to hold the vomit urging up my throat.

The King does not like hope festering the hearts of his people. Says that hope makes way for want. A want for something other than what he has to offer. He seeks only for total control. That is why every waltz at his parties are always rigid, always controlled. He liked it that way. Liked puppets more than people.

He would ruin me in ways that will kill me slowly if he ever finds out. Because I was born into a life of servitude. Everything, even my body and mind, leashed to the King. And this bond swirling inside me, this string of fate.. He will take it too.

And so I held my aching heart as I closed my eyes. And in the darkness it's not a wolf’s head before my feet that I imagine.

It’s his..

I will take this bond to the grave.

[lucianalight]

Thats probably what odin meant by how frigga told him not to use "asgardian justice" on loki and instead use ultra super heavy duty grounding in the dungeon

"Asgardian justice" was mentioned by Thor in Avengers. But it is curious that Thor was so sure about Loki not breaking under torture, when Fury mentioned pain. I have always headcanoned that this is because Thor and Loki as princes of Asgard must have been captured by enemies a couple times and went through sth horrible. Then you remember how Loki in the first movie says a guard must be flogged for taking so long to inform Odin of their travel to jotunheim. But he actually never tries to punish someone physically when he has the highest power in Asgard. Moreover Loki expected to be tortured by Shield and wasn't fazed about it. He also expected to be executed by Odin. And Odin tells him as much. He tells Loki that the only reason he's still alive is Frigga. So considering how well Loki knew Asgard and Odin, it wasn't far-fetched.

But Odin also knew Loki well enough. He wouldn't have subjected Loki to a physical form of torture. It wouldn't work anyway according to Thor. No, he condemned Loki to sth far worse. The pain and fear that broke down Loki in the first place.

Besides, I wouldn't call solitary confinement for life -literally one of the worst forms of torture- "grounding". But I do think that's how Odin meant for people to see it. As a sign of kindness for his eViL child.

All of this tells us that torture and execution wasn't frowned upon in Asgard.

Still you could say that Thor wouldn't let sth like torture and execution happen to Loki and considering his characterisation before TR, this was true(I don't think he knows solitary confinement is in fact a form of torture). No matter how much Loki and Thor fought and hurt each other, there were lines they wouldn't cross. Thor also didn't believe Odin would do that to Loki. He still held Odin in high regards and considered him a wIsE kInG and a gOoD fAtHeR.

But then Marvel has Thor talking about torturing a child nonchalantly and refer to it as "standard stuff" which makes the whole picture looks very very ugly and worse than what you imagined before. So does that mean it's standard stuff for Asgard? Was this how Thor and Loki were treated growing up? Loki mentions Odin favoring Thor and always forgiving him. Does that mean it was Loki who was always punished? Was he flogged and that's why it's the first form of punishment he can think of? Would Thor let Loki be tortured facing Asgardian JuStIcE? That's not the Thor I know. Even not the Odin I know. At least not his mcu version. And I don't think mcu Frigga would ever let sth like that happen to her children.

So I'm not going to consider What If as canon. Many of its episodes directly contradict mcu canon anyway. It's only a good inspiration for writing fanfics.

[thief-with-the-teef]

Now that I've seen all the scenes related to the Gur children, I have to agree that the way it's handled leaves a really bad taste in my mouth.

He's SO flippant about having abducted children from a marginalized people. If I'm being honest, I don't think the Gur subplot is necessary at all - there's literally no reason for this game to include such violent anti-Romani racism - but we AT LEAST should be able to confront him about it. Instead, he just brushes it off like "yeah haha. I did abduct children I guess. Oopsie!" and that's it. Now, compare that with how he feels about Sebastian, one of his first victims. Don't get me wrong, I understand why Sebastian would be a sore spot for Astarion, but when you put the Sebastian scene next to the children one, it makes the latter feel particularly egregious in its disregard for the seriousness of the subject matter. The fact that we can't confront him about how fucked up his behavior is indicates to me that Larian didn't seem to think it was worth following up on either.

Tbh I'm less interested in what this says about Astarion as a character and more interested in what it says about Larian as a studio and what their values and priorities are. The way Astarion's story is written makes it pretty clear that they don't understand the heaviness with which such violently racist acts should be treated if they're going to include them (again, it's not fucking necessary!!!). The only moment where I feel like the evil of Astarion's actions is treated appropriately is when Ulma tells him that he can't ever make up for what he's done despite having a second chance. I'm glad they included that, but it's not enough.

I still like Astarion a lot, I find him compelling for a lot of reasons, but this aspect of his story is not handled appropriately at all imo.

EDIT: I also want to make it clear that I know Astarion absolutely sucks ass and is a shitty person and I don't want him to be a good person nor do I need the narrative to condemn him for his actions!!! But shit like this affects real people and it should be approached with a lot of care that I feel the game lacks.

[midnight-in-eden]



This subject matter is heavy... but I was wondering if you or any of your followers could explain what they were taught, concerning "Outer Darkness." (aka: a Hell Mormons invented so can still say 'we don't believe in Hell! :DDD' to potential converts). Through the 90s, I was told it was reserved for those who knew the 'truth' of the church but denied it. Isolation in darkness, a lot of scary things lurking, implied pain. Though at the end of all things eventually those souls, would be saved no matter what, it simply would just take much longer and they would struggle and suffer for a long time in isolation before being forced to accept the truth. I was told recently that what is being taught is different, that the souls in Outer Darkness have one last chance but then their souls/spirits just dissapear, forever. Is this unique to one wacky bishop my friend was subjected to, or is this more widespread? Am I the odd one, here?

I’m sorry this took a while to get to! Apologies in advance for the essay. Feel free to ask clarifying questions bc I’m not sure if I explained this very well, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I tried.

In recent years, I have heard members try to redefine outer darkness as a punishment only for people who have literally seen God and still rejected the church. This is not what the church has always taught.

The Gospel Principles manual describes people who will go to outer darkness:

These are they who had testimonies of Jesus through the Holy Ghost and knew the power of the Lord but allowed Satan to overcome them. They denied the truth and defied the power of the Lord. There is no forgiveness for them, for they denied the Holy Spirit after having received it. They will not have a kingdom of glory. They will live in eternal darkness, torment, and misery with Satan and his angels forever.

Notice that it doesn’t say “These are they who have seen God in the flesh.” It says “who had testimonies of Jesus through the Holy Ghost.” In other words, people who genuinely believed at one point but have rejected the church. The only unforgivable sin is to deny the Holy Ghost, meaning to have a testimony through the Holy Ghost and reject it. That’s what earns a person a one-way ticket to outer darkness.

After death but before physical resurrection and final judgment, spirits who have rejected (or simply not received) the gospel will go to spirit prisons, whereas baptized Mormons will go to spirit paradise. Spirits in spirit prison will be given the opportunity to repent and choose to accept the gospel (and accept the temple work Mormons have so graciously done for them by proxy, at which point they can upgrade to spirit paradise). What you’ve described—a place akin to hell, where people will suffer but ultimately be able to be saved—sounds like spirit prison to me. Outer darkness, however, is something different. Outer darkness comes after the final judgment, and the people in it will not get to repent. They’ve missed their chance.

You can think of spirit prison as Mormon purgatory while outer darkness is actual permanent Mormon hell.

And no, souls in outer darkness will not disappear/die forever. The bishop who said that may have been confused by the fact that, while everyone will be resurrected from physical death, people in outer darkness will not be saved from spiritual death. But “spiritual death” in LDS doctrine just means separation from God (you can read about that in the Gospel Topics essay on “Death, Spiritual”, if you are inclined).

As you can probably tell, this was of great concern to me when I was a believer 😅 I was pretty convinced my sexuality and my inability to “repent” of it meant I was denying my testimony and I was therefore condemned to outer darkness. Ironically, as someone who had a testimony and now rejects the church, I now actually do meet the criteria for outer darkness…but I feel much less anxious about it now lmao.

Anyway. Tl;dr outer darkness is the permanent destination for people who had a testimony of the church and then rejected it, while everyone else including Hitler will end up in one of the various castes of heaven.

[lebrookestore]

Honestly there's a lot of conflicting information regarding the censorship, some people say only the ebook version is censored, but Korea does have strict laws when it comes to graphic s*xual content. So, hmmm. I completely understand people who cannot support the idols involved due to personal matters and the fact they even watched/read MIA is enough for them. The unfortunate part is, since it's widely popular and acclaimed a lot of people engaged with it, I can guarantee that many idols who are into animanga did it, so technically no one is safe. The smart thing to do is simply not mention it publicly.

Even saying "I don't recommend it" brings attention to it, and when you have a lot of young impressionable fans you have a certain responsibility. Tyong's situation is tough, because on one hand he has never spoken about it, most people overlooked the manga copy in his story, I definitely didn't notice it, because the fucking boots were the centerpiece of the photo. So it's not like he said "hey, look at this manga I bought, it's so good" that would make me go "are you fucking insane man?!"... but the copy is still there. Is it his? Probably. Does he own all volumes? Idk. It'd make sense if he at least read them. Anyways, censored or not it's still a very disturbing story, but it's important to remember the awful treatment of children technically isn't the main point, it's still there, some volumes or episodes are more focused on other things though. I still don't see the appeal, but I saw a few episodes... against my will. I know people who engaged with MIA in some shape or form and none of them condemn the terrible violence and s*xualization. So, acting like everyone is a p*dophile is a deranged take, it's not only a serious mental disorder, but a heavy allegation too.

All in all, am I disappointed? Yeah. Am I surprised people watched or read a popular piece of work? No. I'm only shocked it got so many volumes and translations as well as 2 season of anime considering the author is actually a p*do. But if you're not into little kids then you'll definitely not find the s*xual aspects enjoyable. I don't believe you're a horrible person for engaging with MIA, but it's definitely not something you should be proud of.

This controversy once again proved that not only kpoppies can't hold their idols accountable without baby-ing grown ass people, but that many of them have hidden agendas and hate b*ners for certain idols and don't care for the actual issue. Dismissing the feelings of concerned fans is very insensitive, but so is sending threats to to people...

Sorry for the rant, the past few days have been so exhausting and I'm so torn and fed up, but also cannot stop thinking about it. And people's extreme stances and confusing information don't help, lol. I don't wanna be a defender, because MIA shouldn't be a thing, there's time and place to show sensitive subjects, but this story isn't it, but I can't bring myself to act like the idols in question (or any person who watched/read it) are total scums who deserve to d**, because they didn't commit a crime and didn't harm anyone directly (apart from hurting and letting down some fans).

i would like to say that you've worded this entire thing very well anon, i think you've covered all the bases and summarised how i feel about the situation as well. it is a very popular manga and chances are several more people have already consumed it. and exactly, the main point of the manga is to be a horror/gore manga, and an important thing to remember is that there is a difference between consuming media with something and condoning it.

it's been completely confirmed that everything was censored and all the scenes containing anything abusive or anything related to the allegations are not included at all! even so, i'm definitely appalled that something like this exists, but then again, several deranged things exist out here on the internet so. sending threats to people however, is absolutely insane to me.

and its completely alright, don't sweat it!! i definitely understand it weighing down on your mind because it certainly was the same for me until it was all cleared up.

[archer3-13]

Accusing people writing about incest and pedophilia to have a fetish or being into weird stuff when 99% of the time, it's survivors of those who feels the need to talk about it is so fucking tastless, you don't need to condone a behaviour to write about it or else

I apologize if you felt i was unjustly attacking survivors of sexual assault/abuse anon with some of my riffing on the subject, that was not my intention. I was intending to riff on voyeuristic writers who include such subjects for their own and similar minded peoples pleasure, and if you have any examples of writings on the subjects in question [specifically fiction writing in the context of the previous riffing] that treat the subject matter with analytical gravitas or otherwise are expressions of survivorship then i invite you to message me them and ill keep a pinned post linking to appropriate pages.

i do however hard disagree on the assertion that 99% of the inclusion of incest and pedophilia in creative works is done with non voyeuristic intents in mind for a number of reasons. a] porn exists that happily exploits such subjects for cheap thrills or shock value b] in non pornographic material many times such subjects will be included for voyeuristic reasons of aesthetic to exploit and c] even assuming best intentions, mostly in regards to non survivorship individuals choosing to explore these heavy subjects with serious consideration, depending on how a writer or creative approaches such subject matter it can come across as voyeuristic regardless due to such subjects are handled on the writers part.

thats not to make a sweeping statement that its always like this, and in fact i do agree that a lot of work out there that touches this subject intends to do so with weighted consideration for its subject matter. and just because this can fail or go wrong and come across as voyeuristic doesn't mean it should never be tackled at all. but consider say the original lolita novel for instance, a book from the perspective of an unreliable middle aged narrator who kidnaps and sexually abuses a 12 year old girl. I dont doubt Vladimir Nabokov was aiming for a serious work of art about an abusive monster man well taking us through that characters warped perspective. Yet, in terms of the popular zeitgeist surrounding lolita its arguably been largely appropriated by individuals interested in the voyeuristic pleasure to be obtained by the subject matter lolita ultimately condemns.

Just because it can make you uncomfortable that there exists a substantial market for profiting off such despicable acts, doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

[bentnotbroken1fanfiction]

It's officially whumptober, so here's another entry.

It's a loud bang and sudden pressure that awake Billy from an apparently uncomfortable sleep.  He cracks open his eyes to find himself in an unfamiliar and dark room. 

Where the hell is he?  

The noise turns out to be a large metal door slamming shut and the pressure was apparently another person being tossed onto him. 

"What the fuck?" He tries to sit up but he finds that he can't move his arms. They've been bound behind him. And to make matters worse, he feels like he got hit with a mack truck. 

Twice .

Fucking great. 

The other body finally rolls to the side and he is surprised when he can clearly see that he knows this guy. 

It's Steve Harrington. 

Harrington lets out a slew of curses as he too, tries and struggles to sit up."-last fucking time I do Henderson a favor. If it's not getting a flat tire and stranded, it's something else, I swear to god-" The tirade stops when he finally manages to get upright and notices Billy staring. " Hargrove ? What the hell are you doing here?" 

"I could ask you the same question." 

He sort of shrugs."Some shady dude got the drop on me when I was picking up something for one of the kids." he sighs dramatically. "What about you?" 

Billy thinks about it, thinks about where he was before waking up in this room, but he's drawing a blank. The last thing he remembers is drinking a shot of whisky at the Long Branch. His dad is pals with the owner so he gets away with sneaking a drink every once in a while.

But after that…nothing. 

"I don't remember. I drank something and then…I don't know."  He definitely can't remember anything that would make him fucking ache like this, that's for damn sure.

"Well I'm going to take a stab in the dark and say we are in Hawkins Lab."

His interest is piqued at the statement. "I thought they got kicked out and the place was condemned?" 

"Yeeeeah, evil people don't really give a fuck about legalities. If they have money they'll do whatever the hell they want." 

Billy huffs out a tired laugh and attempts to get in a more comfortable position, which he unfortunately finds that he can't . "You do have a point." He knows money talks. 

After a moment of nothing but silence and awkward grunting from him still trying to sit the fuck up, he decides to ask the other boy. Because every time he breathes now he feels like his body is on fire and Harrington looks fine.  "Hey, do you feel OK? Like physically. You're not in any pain?"

Harrington meets his eyes and they look concerned. "No, I'm fine. Are you in pain?" 

"Yeah, but...I was fine..." 

"You must have been drugged. These guys...they're sick. I can't really say for certain what kind of shit they're up to this time, but if it's the same group as before…" he trails off.

Yeah, Billy doesn't like the sound of that. "What did they do before ?" 

His voice is quiet when he replies "Human experimentation." 

All the pain and memory loss make a lot more sense now, but he feels queasy with the thought of someone touching him...experimenting on him while he was unconscious. "You think they've already done something to me..." 

"Yeah. They probably have." 

Fuck. "We're going to die aren't we?"

"No. I didn't go through two years of bullshit just to get kidnapped and murdered. We are getting out of here." 

"And how do you propose we do that?"

He looks thoughtful for a moment. "OK, here's what we're gonna do. I'm going to scoot my back to yours. I can't move my arms, but I can still move my hands. If I can get you free, we can get the fuck out of here. I don't know the layout but I have a general idea of where the exit is. I wasn't knocked out when they brought me in."  

"Fuck it. I'm willing to try anything if it means getting the hell out of here." Billy agrees, even though he doesn't have much faith in the plan, but surprisingly Harrington manages to get the ropes around his wrists untied. 

Hands free, he returns the favor and Harrington quickly stands and makes a break for the door. It's just as loud opening as it was closing, and Billy cringes, waiting for someone to come storming in.

But no one ever does. 

So, they both stick their heads out and glance down the hallway. There isn't a soul in sight.

Either their captors are overly confident in their abilities to contain their prisoners, or they are really dropping the ball here. 

  Whichever it is, it doesn't matter. What matters is that they have a chance to get out of this place unscathed. Or in his case, relatively unscathed. 

He keeps stumbling after Harrington, like he's not used to his limbs, but it's not bad enough that he's lagging behind. It just hurts…. a lot.

And it's weird...He can usually ignore pain. He's played basketball with broken ribs and waited for broken limbs to mend without medication before, but he is quickly realizing that whatever they did to him... It's different, and he doesn't know how much longer he can keep up the pace. 

Thankfully, Steve hadn't been full of shit and led them out a side exit…

...just in time for sirens to blare throughout the whole damn building. 

"Looks like they finally noticed."  He says, trying to hide the sudden fear in his voice. 

"It's fine. There's the woods. We're almost there" Harrington points forward and Billy follows his finger. 

It's freedom, and the only thing standing between it and them is a barbed wire fence. 

It's probably ten feet tall but Harrington scales it like a pro. He's dropping onto the other side in no time flat. 

Billy would usually be right there with him, he's a pretty fit guy, but he stumbles again when he reaches the fence and puts his boots in the holes. His right leg is fine and he gets halfway up, but the moment he puts his weight on the other he falters. The only reason he's not on his ass is because of all the push ups and lifting he does. His upper body strength is nothing to scoff at.

Harrington notices his struggle and climbs up, reaching out to take his hand and pull him over the top.

But the pain is excruciating and after a few tries, he knows he can't get up and over the fence.

His leg is fractured or something. It has to be. Maybe the running just aggravated it. Or...whatever they fucking did is starting to overcome him.

His chest feels tight and his jaw is sore from gritting his teeth through the pain. 

It only takes a moment more for the severity of the situation to set in. 

He's not going to make it.

He stares up at the wounds on the other boy's face and arms from the wire cutting into him. The longer he tries to help Billy, the more injured he'll become….

So, there's really only one option here, but Steve hasn't realized it yet. There isn't a way for them both to escape this. The creeps that took them have already noticed their absence. He can still hear the sound of alarms and now barking dogs behind them. 

"Harrington," his voice shakes despite the bravado he's trying to project. "You have to let go, man."

There's confusion and then anger in those brown eyes as he glares at him. "I'm not leaving you here." He tries again to unsuccessfully pull Billy up, panting out, "You're an asshole, but I don't want you to fuckin die."  

The barks suddenly move closer, making them both shudder. "Look, there isn't another way, and you have a chance to get out of this freak fest. My leg is fucked. Something is wrong with me and I'm slowing you down. So let me go ."

There are so many emotions that cross his face before he finally relents."Fuck you, Hargrove," he hisses, and lets Billy's hand fall from his grasp. 

Something like relief fills his chest as he slumps down to the ground, but the other boy isn't moving. He has to hiss out, "Go!" 

"Fuck. I'm going …but when I find help, I'm coming back for you." 

Billy forces a smile and gives him a wave. "See you later then, pretty boy." 

He watches his back retreat into the darkness and shivers as heavy footsteps stop behind him.

"The control subject escaped," someone says into a radio before roughly grabbing him. He doesnt put up a fight as he's dragged back towards the lab, but he does throw up when the pain becomes too much. "I have subject A." The man speaks again. "But it doesn't look good." 

And Billy sighs sadly, because he had already known the outcome. The only thing Steve will be coming back for, is his body.

[bbq-hawks-wings]

The narrative is not saying Hawks should feel guilty for his parents not wanting a relationship with him.

A concern that started back in 299 but really came to light in 303 is that the story may be trying to infer Hawks should feel bad for not pursuing a relationship with his parents. I completely understand where this concern comes from, but I also don't think that's what's happening here; and once again, I have the perfect disaster that is the Todoroki family to help me explain it.

Horikoshi's writing has been praised for the Todoroki plotline in particular for its portrayals of abuse, neglect, trauma, and broken family dynamics - and in particular how each member of the family has a different response to the traumatic events in their history. May I posit the idea that Hawks and his family is just an extension of that same concept?

While the Todoroki Family is able on some level to put itself back together, even if not completely, and move on in a positive direction. The Takami family is one that didn't mend, didn't heal, will never come back together.

Where Enji, even if decades later, is able to face what his self-centered behavior has done to his family; Thief Takami met the end of his relevance to the story as he tried to run away for good.

Rei owns her responsibility for the nightmare of the household and the scars she inflicted on her children without hesitation - giving validation to the feelings of her children and credit to them for being the ones who allow her to remain in their lives; Tomie was never able to own up to her actions and how she abandoned her son - even refusing to look him in the eye and literally ran away rather than face anything he might have to say about the way she treated him and how she was absent.

Each of the Todoroki children get to choose their response to a parent who's repentant of their behavior and allows them to be in control of the relationship moving forward - Dabi seeks to hurt them back, Fuyumi seeks to forgive and forget, Natsuo wants nothing to do with his father and put the past behind him, and Shouto won't let his father forget what he's done but will let him start over and prove himself with time. Hawks doesn't get parents that want a relationship with him, and he just has to accept that he won't ever get that healthy family dynamic from them, even if he wanted it, and move on with his life.

Natsuo is the important linchpin in this reasoning for me, because if there's one person who is single-handedly proving Endeavor's redemption is about atonement and not forgiveness - it's Natsuo.

Not every panel and stylistic imagery choice in the manga is meant to be taken as objective reality. We saw this in the confrontation between Hawks and Twice. The scary, shadowy way that Hawks was drawn was not objective reality but the way Twice was seeing him.

Some imagery and themes surrounding Natuso and Endeavor have been consistent, no matter who's perspective we're seeing.

In order, these depictions of Endeavor's abuse are from Rei's perspective, the entire Family's perspective, and finally his own as he recounts what he did. Absolutely nothing about what he did is meant to be taken as subjective. Horikoshi will not let us get away with thinking what he did was anything less that the horror that is was.

Which is why as everyone recounts their memories in that hospital room in chapter 302, Natsuo's is the only one not accompanied by supplemental imagery when even Fuyumi has some in her panel. Natsuo's statement doesn't need expounding; he's just right.

And his feelings have been acknowledged and validated in being that the only reason Natsuo even comes to these family meetings is to support his family. His father is the bad guy - the villain - in his story, but he's willing to acknowledge that he isn't the bad guy in everyone's story. For this he's praised as being selfless and kind - not to Endeavor, but to his loved ones. This happens not once:

But twice! Natsuo is acknowledged in the narrative as having major objections to having anything to do with his old man, but is also acknowledged that in choosing enduring it even in the face of the anger and distress it causes him makes him selfless and caring of his his loved ones who have chosen to stand by Endeavor - and even in this second instance it's acknowledged that he's supporting his dad only because people need the Hero Endeavor and his family behind him.

While the issue was still just their family, Natsuo's boundaries were respected by Endeavor, the rest of the family, and ultimately the narrative; and these boundaries will once again be reinforced when the situation blows over.

So riddle me this: if Natsuo is allowed to hate and abandon his father who is repentant and does want a relationship with him, I don't understand how the same story is turning around and condemning Hawks for simply letting them go when he acknowledges he didn't even get the same opportunity?

I really think the order of his thoughts matter.

"I didn't get to confront my parents. They're gone."

"So I left them there behind me and moved on."

More than likely Hawks has some choice words for his genetic donors if he got the chance considering he praises Shouto for taking steps that are tremendously difficult for a child in those circumstances to do - especially towards his father who Hawks now knows is guilty of some major sins of which his family has zero obligation to forgive. He recognizes that Shouto's parents placed the power to redeem or destroy their relationships with him into his hands, and instead of cutting them off as was his right, he reached back out and met them halfway.

Yeah, man, that makes you a pretty cool dude.

In conclusion: I think Hawks is just another example of how this kind of family dynamic could go wrong and how sometimes the child just has accept what they can't control and move on, even if he wishes he could get closure. We can't always get that, and so in another way he's painted as being strong for doing that emotional heavy lifting alone without the promise of closure and not let it consume his life.

[popcornbutterflymedia]

it’s a little before seven in the evening as i am attempting to begin writing this post on the day a former president has died. in other words, i am winging it and praying it comes out half decent. i have been winging all my the posts for this show, but writing this post about this particular episode at the tail end of the last week is interesting, to say the least.

upon first viewing on iwanttfc, i had already tweeted “consider this the soul of the show.” at this point we’re not even halfway to the entire series. that declaration carries such weight, but this episode did prove to be the soul of the series. this is also the first episode i’ve had a visceral reaction to, beyond the understandable kilig. i was lightheaded, stumped, and on the verge of tears after the first episode viewing, that’s probably why this is taking awhile to put out.

this also feels like an episodic answer to a lot of questions.

max has entered the lion’s den, lost, but with her defenses up. deib was less than prepared to fight back, considering the circumstances, but he was quick to gather his wits about him, pinning max where he is at an advantage. even now, as i am writing it, i feel it - it’s a notch above giddiness, it’s an awareness, it’s pushing the envelope in a way that’s right for their age, but still surprising, and refreshing. it’s the naughtiness of the sly smiles, the role reversal, and the trading of banter, all of them collectively are building blocks to max and deib’s dynamic.

the banter graduates to actual conversation, that, for people who are considered arch rivals, is surprisingly decent, and seemingly cordial. both max and deib give as good as they get, much like a tennis rally where either one refuses to be on the losing end. this amuses to no end, and ups the kilig factor in such an intelligent and substantial way. this is how you know, this part of the series is their story. more on this later.

outside of the boy’s room, the banter becomes a challenge, a daring as represented by a pool table, and the number of games that such table hosts. these pool games between benison’s star player and mindoro’s top billiard player, and pool center fixture, these games are metaphors, with the stakes higher each game, for their rivalry, and their curiosity about each other. more so his curiosity about this slip of a girl who he finds difficult to win against. i daresay, at some point he gave up trying to win, and just gave in seeing her in a different light. deib’s eyes give him away, and as for donny’s eyes, finally doing the work, this is it, and it’s a sight to see, a growth to enjoy.

it’s a given that belle makes donny’s job easier for him. four episodes in, and i am still in awe at belle’s ability to transform. it’s still surprising, how she willingly gets lost in character. i am watching max, but she doesn’t make me forget that i am watching belle. it’s a weird thing i have watching actors in character - i am aware i am watching both the character and the actor wholly and simultaneously, and belle is one of the few who makes me do that with ease.

deib’s mother announces her presence, interrupts the pool tournament shaping up between taguro and sensui.

in front of his mother, deib the star bear, the alpha disappears. he signals for max to leave, and just when she was about to, max is invited to join them for dinner. it is insisted that she join her for dinner. he warns his friend: 'don't say anything that will get us into trouble' prompting said friend, max to wonder, what could she ever say that will put them both in trouble?

at the dinner table, the silence weighs heavy between mother and son. a silence foreign to the lone guest, a silence she attempts to diffuse, by talking about anything other than subjects, as touchy as family, and the like. then again, between this mother and son, the line between touchy and permissible topics of conversation are blurred and fragile.

food! food is a free for all, food is a benign subject. the food's delicious, is it her own recipe? max is genuinely curious ma'am. the woman across the table laughs off such a formal honorific. call her auntie, she says. 'tita' is more like it. 'tita' it is, max decides. not stopping there, max asks if she'd gone to one of deib's games to see his lay ups and three pointers. she regaled him with embellished stories of his reputation, of being an all around star student and an instant friend. this, much to the mother's relief - her son is apparently surrounded by good people. max was able to do all this, when all deib asked of her was to not get both of them, into trouble. just like that, the girl single handedly broke the tension and dispelled the air of formality, in a way no one else has. if that isn't enough of a surprise for deib, max held the door open for him, and granteded him access to his own mother's heart, and let hope spring in his own.

after dinner, we find max and deib in his room, steeped in the assigned work. it's an easy silence between them, proof that from that dinner encounter, something new and beautiful and unnamed grew between them. he pays her his due, and thanks her for not damaging his reputation more in front of his own mother. so he knows how to say thank you, after all, she's surprised...in jest. he allows it. and so insues an exchange of histories, and fears and lessons. she reads him so perfectly, he's supposed to be scared, or condemn her, or banish her from this earth, or whatever it is the deib lhor enrile does to those who get a bit too close for comfort. he, instead allows it, giving her unprecedented access to his friends, his brother, his heart. and his heartbreaks. he dares to get closer himself, in the most physical sense so the curiosity planted at the pool table grew exponentially. that is until she breaks the spell. there is resistance in letting him in, which he knows to hold against her. he wins, and she relents. we learn of a ghost of a past love, a young love. a better player than deib is.

just a note though: for a past love who ghosted her, max boasts of rj being the better basketball player still. this could be true, based on who I am guessing rj is, but consider this: could she be clinging onto the untarnished memory she has of this first love, disregarding the pain she was caused, because straying away from that memory will allow her the space to fall, and that's what she promised herself she would never do? if that's the case, max is just as complex as deib is, maybe even more so.

after knowing her story, he did promise to go up against this ghost of a lover, in a one on one game of basketball and win it for her. someone is making her promises now. that's unsettling.

meanwhile, the barb is winding down as alpha two plus lorde strolls in. they keep it open for the boys who are in for a later night shot of caffeine, sweets, a shot at love perhaps?

art and sweets and flirtatious, funny quips are choice ammunition in this game of love, or something like it. naih's confidence is legendary. she gets away with her boldness because of criza's charm. joao, you know, that boy always makes it work.

tob and michiko are easy, because rhys and kaori make it easy. i understand the visual. I get the chemistry. I swear I get the hype. I have been waiting for this. you all know that. they've only cemented their place in the industry as new partnership, and there are hardly any words for it, a chemistry this strong. theirs is an unspoken connection and sincerity that cannot be taught. they are all that.

it is clear, though, that this is deib and max's story. see, I have been hyping myself up for thst tochiko moment, probably from the time when we still had very little news in the junket about donny and belle. and they did deliver, they did not disappoint. max and deib's chemistry surprisingly captured my heart from the get go, though, especially in this episode (as they should, this is, again, their story anyway). if I was a teenager, I would be fawning over tochiko's eye to eye silent conversation and up to now, I still do to some extent. I'm just older now. give me substantial kilig more than anything any day. give me kilig in context. kilig that opens up the heart. kilig with emotional intimacy.

max and deib in the fourth episode is kilig (just as tob and michiko are), but I can't stress enough, just how much and why. from the entire conversation from the banter to the interaction with the mom to the entire encounter in the room, they aren't trying to make us kilig. it isn't exactly sweet, but you'll reach a point where just the mere act of people wanting to have a conversation with you is life changing, when someone cares enough not to put you in more trouble than you expect, matters so much more. it shows you your worth. and that to me is the sweetest most loving thing ever. that is, even before both of them acknowledge that love between them.

a breakthrough has been reached. walls have been shattered.

the day of their school presentation, the event is met with an air of uncertainty, not for the two's lack of skill, but because two people from separate ends of the social spectrum are to work together, which up to that point is unprecedented.

the presentation started out shaky even for max and deib themselves, but once they got drafted, they had the audience, most of them, at least in the palm of their hands.

'we are all bullies, yet we are also victims. the cycle never ends...because we are all trying to survive this cruel world, trying to succeed, trying to grow. trying to discover who we really are. trying to accept who we really are. trying to be accepted for who we really are...'

this was followed by definitive apologies from both deib, for bullying, and max, for judging, and not necessarily helping to make things better. this prompted the entire community to mingle, and make their own apologies.

a few things about this whole moment:

there is such power in calling things as they are, calling things by their name. 'bully' and 'victim' are such weighted words and there is such a relief in taking responsibility for your disgressions and through that responsibility allowing your victim to embraced their pain guiltlessly.

there is also such power and humility, that while one did not do anything explicit, to stop the cycle, they did not do anything to make things better, easier. there is humility in realising that even as a victim your own pain, might have caused more pain to others.

apologies matter. the word 'sorry' matters. and it matters across the board. while metaphorical apologies are in some ways acceptable, and poetic, sometimes, the simpler, the better. a sincere 'sorry' should suffice. no one is ever too old to apologize.

now, even the sincerest words have parameters that are dictated by how many listen, and how many don't. and that's what we cannot control. there is power in recognizing who you are in the community, and that, especially when you are in a place of influence, you have the power to create change. the power to stop the cycle. there is peace in knowing we've done all that we could to make things better, just like deib had his own moment of reckoning.

as for max, the moment she stepped into that school, she was meant to be a trailblazer, and even at this point, she had been nothing but an agent of change.

I am curious now, how she is changed by the newness of her surroundings and the possibility of a budding love?

everything is well and dandy for everyone else, max and deib even had that little moment by the tables, again with the simple but powerful chemistry. everyone is changing (this is a shoutout to melizza again. every time the camera pans to her, especially when max was speaking at the auditorium, you could sense an internal transformation. she knows the assignment well, huh? )...everyone else, but aimee. I feel sorry for her. it makes me want to know more of her story. what makes her cling to being mean? why the volatility? more than anger, there's curiosity. I feel sorry for her. there's more to be told. breakthroughs open the narrative up for more, newer stories.

this was a fast one to write, but I held off until these last few moments, because it's incredibly triggering and just as healing. more than the kilig I understand and we all enjoy, the real message is the importance of communication, telling people how you really feel. don't let them assume and don't assume they know. it's also important to call things as they are, even if it's ugly, even as it hurts. some days, there is no replacement for a 'sorry,' a genuine apology.

be gentle. be kind. listen. everyone, after all, is a story.

[bunny-bard]

I know there was a post circulating not too long ago about "trigger warning for Maus is so stupid I hate validity uwu culture" and it kept sitting with me wrong because... While I understand the ire from saying a piece of art meant to disturb as a warning and sincere expression of horrors done to real people in much more recent history than we like to admit, I think there isn't anything wrong in wanting to ensure that people taking up the task of reading something heavy in subject matter aren't caught off guard by the severity.

First of all, trigger warning was never supposed to mean "100% don't read this because it's violent." If it's taken as that, that's more a failing of the understanding of the language than anything. Second, trigger warning as opposed to content warning is for PTSD sufferers. A trigger can be as mundane as (this is a real example) being self deprecating.

I do believe the post specifically said content warning, so I'm pretty sure the OP understands the difference, that's more general clarification for anyone who might not have known that.

My bigger point is, a content warning for violent, graphic, and upsetting imagery is a good thing not to discourage people from reading it, but to prepare someone for what they're going into. To remind a person experiencing a piece of media that they can and should take breaks if they feel like it is affecting them in a way they can't handle. There are a LOT of important narratives out there that simply cannot be a one sitting kind of deal.

I don't want people to see content warnings as "don't read this EVER because it's BAD" or like take it as a condemnation of the content itself. Content warnings are just as much for people to make informed decisions in how they engage with media as they are also for people who might have genuine triggers. Mental health isn't something we can fully control, but we can control our exposure to difficult subject matter in a way that makes us both able to appreciate the piece of work and it's message AND not spiral from panic attacks or flashbacks.

The big issue of the book bans in general is that these ill informed parents would rather their kid not read something PERIOD than to have a genuine conversation about what their child is reading. And if we cannot even discuss that, yes, for some people it is difficult to even get through because the reality is that horrifying to face, then I think we've actually lost some of the impact. Because that is such a huge point to see and understand: this stuff really happened and for some people just knowing and understanding the extent of it brings visceral panic and pain. That to me just goes to show comprehension of the horror we are meant to feel, not some moral failing because a person maybe decided this particular book on the subject was too much for them.