#angrier than ever at the state of governments and the world

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

the last of my thoughts on the homecoming au, the au where maedhros and maglor are taken back to tirion at the end of the war of wrath and proceed to be relentlessly abused by elves more interested in them being ‘normal’ than happy. it’s pretty much exactly as dark as you’d expect from that description, lots of medical/caretaker abuse towards the mentally ill, just a horrible situation in general. one last time, @sunflowersupremes wrote the original au this is an extrapolation from, and @outofangband listened to me blather on about this for ages and contributed lots of ideas of their own. part 1 is here, part 2 is here. this the last part, it isn’t quite as intense as part 2, but it’s a lot more hopeless. also there’s some off-screen torture

on the first post i made about this au, i got some comments to the effect of ‘oh this will only last until person x bails them out’

there were several suggestions - fingon, nerdanel, any of the ainur. it seems like there are a lot of people who’d want to get maedhros and maglor out of this nightmare

seems. these aren’t necessarily my usual interpretations of their characters, but for the purposes of this au i can easily imagine a finrod who already bore a grudge over the whole letting-their-younger-brothers-steal-his-kingdom incident and subsequently heard the version of the nirnaeth where the fëanorians left everyone else to die. he is the only other person in the palace who knew beleriand, and he loathes them so viciously he can barely stand to look at them. they’re lucky he doesn’t do worse

i can easily imagine a nerdanel who was already having trouble processing what her husband and sons did at alqualondë when eärendil and elwing told her every awful thing they’d done since in the span of half an hour. she smashed all their statues, burned all their gifts, and curled up sobbing in a ruined house, wondering why she was such a terrible mother her children grew into demons

and this isn’t long after that, that wound is still fresh. whatever vain hopes she held that the boys she loved were somewhere in there are shattered when she sees them, and they’re talking and laughing just like they did when they were young

like nothing had happened. like nothing had changed. like the monsters had always been waiting patiently for their chance to strike

(they just didn’t want her to see the things they’d become)

i can easily imagine a fingon who is blazingly furious with maedhros over the later kinslayings. he spends most of their only meeting railing at maedhros, and the apologia his caretakers offer up only makes him angrier

so does the fact that maedhros won’t defend himself, won’t even raise his voice. does none of this matter to him? did it ever?

(it does. but maedhros knows what will happen if he yells at his cousin, and he is just so exhausted)

fingon is eventually asked to leave. maedhros’ minders tell him that if he can’t keep his temper around their patient, they’re going to have to cut off contact until maedhros is in a better mental state. fingon snaps that that’s just fine by him, and storms off into the city, trying to hold back his tears

the ainur, now, the ainur would definitely drag them out of the palace and haul them up to the máhanaxar. finarfin’s managed to get as much out of eönwë

what would happen to them after that, eönwë refuses to say. finarfin suspects he doesn’t know, and none of the valar will until they’ve had a chance to actually, like, hold a trial

even so, it becomes pretty obvious to finarfin fairly early on that the noldor simply can’t give the brothers the help they need. it’s plain to see that they’re very unhappy and they’re recovering slowly if at all. whatever the valar decide to do with them, odds are good they’d end up in some permutation of elf afterlife therapy, with well-practiced carers and the family they’ve lost. for their sake, and the sake of the people around them, handing them over to the valar would clearly be the best option

except finarfin doesn’t. he keeps his nephews in his palace, where they break things and make messes and generally give their caretakers constant headaches. when asked why, he always talks about the soul-deep terror on maglor’s face when he asked him not to give them to the valar

he’s not lying about that. but he does have other motives

there’s lots of suppositions in finarfin’s reasoning. there’s every chance the valar would throw them into the deepest depths of mandos until the second music. there’s every chance maedhros would choose to disappear into the woods and never trouble court again

but if the valar do decide to send them to lórien with no limits on their movement, and if maedhros does still harbour nelyafinwë’s political ambitions...

the closest finarfin has gotten to admitting it, even to himself, is saying that the noldor have enough problems right now, they don’t need a succession crisis on top of everything else. sometimes he’ll joke about not wanting maedhros to set up another functionally autonomous military government out in the wilderness

but it’s hard to deny that a maedhros, free to act, with his head screwed on straight, could potentially be the single biggest threat to finarfin’s crown

not that he doesn’t want his nephews to get better! it’s heartrending to see the pain they’re in, he sincerely wants to see them happy

he’d just prefer them to be happy in a way that's... convenient

maedhros and maglor’s contact with the outside world is kept to a strict minimum and heavily monitored when it does happen. they’re only allowed to visit the public parts of the palace when their caretakers know exactly who’s going to be there and if they can be trusted to not make a fuss about the brothers’ presence

it’s all in the interest of keeping the peace, you understand. maedhros’ followers are difficult to handle at the best of times, if they somehow got it into their heads that the last of their lords were being held captive in the palace...

well, finarfin says over tea. maitimo can see the wisdom in not provoking a civil war, can he not?

(he will not bring death to the blessed realm again. not even if his last baby brother is rotting away to a shell, not even if he’s being smothered to death from the inside out. he will not, he must not)

(if he did, there would truly be nothing left but the monster)

and then, one day, maglor gets the chance to escape

his minders aren’t paying much attention to him, he’s been a lot quieter since they put the gag on him. he’s small and fast and good at sneaking around, by the time they notice he’s missing he’s already found a way out of the palace

he jumps out of a third-floor window, bites down the pain, and runs. he clears the grounds and disappears into the city

he makes for - he doesn’t know where. subconsciously, he navigates towards the craft guild districts, where his family’s staunchest supporters always were

except the city’s changed a lot since he was last loose in it, and before he knows it, he’s completely lost. he wanders the streets half in a daze, his raw nerves unused to the bustle and noise of it all. wherever he goes, people stop and start and turn away

finally someone calls him over. ‘hey, you want that collar off your neck?’

it’s a smith of some sort, he can tell that much. they’re smiling, welcomingly and without pity. he’s rushing over to them, nodding his head, before he can even think about

the trouble is, maglor doesn’t remember the faces of most of the people he saw in beleriand, but they all remember him

the trouble is, this smith was at sirion

back in the palace, who gets access to the brothers is very strictly controlled. which isn’t to say that nobody tries to hurt them; finrod tends to put the worst spin on things when he’s asked for advice, there’s all kinds of minor acts of sabotage, and they come across innocuous-seeming harmful objects more often than mere chance would seem to allow

but even their caretakers can tell that letting desperate revenge-seekers get near the brothers wouldn’t be particularly conducive to whatever recovery they’re hoping for. anyone who might randomly come across maedhros or maglor in a hallway is intensely vetted for ulterior motives, and while this process isn’t airtight it does filter out the most obviously malicious

and outside of that bubble, none of that applies. the smith does take maglor’s gag off, purely to hear him scream

soon enough, the palace guard tracks him down. they take him back to the palace, where he’s bandaged up and comforted and then, as a special treat, allowed to see his brother

(they’re kept apart more often than not these days. being around maglor makes maedhros agitated, being around maedhros makes maglor sullen. they’re just more cooperative when they’re alone)

maglor does the same thing he’s done every time he’s seen his brother for the past year, which is immediately bury his face in maedhros’ chest and shudder. it takes him a moment to remember he can speak now

‘we’re trapped’ he whispers. ‘we’re trapped’

because he was screaming for what felt like hours, and nobody came to help. as he was being carried back to the palace, he saw the scorn and the disgust in the passers-by’s eyes

there’s nobody who will shelter them outside the palace. there’s nowhere on this continent they can go

and that - that’s the end, in a way. maedhros remains stubborn and ill-tempered, never quite letting them forget he doesn’t want to be here and doesn’t like what they’re doing, but the fight goes out of him. he does what they tell him just as biddably as he did before they took his brother’s voice

maglor, surprisingly, takes a turn for the better. he starts acting cheerful again, doing everything that’s asked of him with a smile and a wink. he’s making excellent progress, his minders tell finarfin

(they don’t tell him what maglor looks like when the mask starts to crack)

finarfin is very pleased to hear that one of his nephews is finally starting to recover! it’s been a long, painful journey, but it looks like it’s all at long last working out

to celebrate, he decides to give maglor a gift he’s been holding onto for a while

he calls maglor into his office. the tension in his posture is a bit worrying, but his expression is all makalaurë, a casual, mildly disrespectful grin. he swans into the room, flounces into a chair, and asks what his uncle wants

finarfin praises him for all the progress he’s been making, and hands him a letter

it’s from elros

the first line is ‘how are you doing, you old bastard?’ it calls him a kinslayer six different ways in the first three paragraphs. it asks him how many people he’s stabbed since he got back. it closes off by wishing him some fun loud arguments with maedhros

finarfin was a little concerned maglor still not might be in the right emotional state for it, but the tightness bleeds out of his nephew’s frame as he reads. a couple of times he even bursts into snickering that sounds more genuine than any sound he makes in court

he finishes reading with a truly relaxed smile on his face. then he freezes, and looks up at finarfin

in a tiny, quiet voice, so unlike the way he talks nowadays, he asks, ‘may i write a reply?’

finarfin hates to take the wind out of his sails, but maglor deserves to know. ‘that letter is centuries old. i’ve been holding onto it until you were ready to read it.’ he shuts his eyes. ‘i’m afraid elros passed some time ago’

maglor’s head drops. the letter in his hands begins to shake. little whimpers escape his trembling body. finarfin walks over, places a hand on his shoulder. ‘i’m sorry, we -’

that’s not whimpering, finarfin realises. those are growls. his nephew’s head snaps up, face twisted with rage

maglor tries to tear finarfin’s face off -

and that’s all i have. these headcanons have been exhausting to write, i’ll clean them up and put them on ao3 in a bit, but not now, if for no other reason than it’s 3am. again. i hope these weren’t too incoherent. going to try to unbanjax my sleep schedule now

#homecoming au #maedhros #maglor #finarfin #fingon #abuse // #mental health issues /// #torture /// #my terrible fic #it is done. at last i am done #this is the most depressing thing i've ever written #i was kind of trying to get it all out in one go #or as close as i could get with how long it turned out #i wrote most of these at ass o'clock in the morning when i really should have been asleep #i'll try to make them less midnight ramble-y for ao3 #gah. i hope the characterisation is at least functional #these feel more disconnected than i'd like but this ain't a story it's a collection of headcanons #brain has nominated my maglor's wife oc for person who could actually get them out #kidnapping one's evil husband for fun and spite! #it's either that or elrond #or they fade first #or maglor attacking finarfin spells the end of everything #... if it does i don't want to write it right now #i've thought about this au too much #please come quick with the serotonin pokemon gold for the 3ds virtual console

[chika-the-terrible]

Elimination (Pt. 1)

Ada had decided to give Leon what he wanted. He still wanted to save the world, just in a different way than before. He would get into a lot of trouble if she didn’t enable him, anyway. So she fed him information. She told him where the terrorists were. She never told Luis what she’d found because she was certain there was no way to remove the plaga from Leon without his death. This went on for months. Ada knew Luis knew something was up besides her own missions, with how often she had to move them, but he didn’t ask. It was a relief he didn’t. At least Wesker didn’t seem to be catching on. She could be wrong, of course, but it was something. Yet this new information she’d found, this wasn’t something that Leon could possibly take on without serious repercussions. And sharing this with Wesker was out of the question.

Ada glanced up when she heard the telltale skitter of Leon’s mutated legs moving. He was almost here. She stuffed the pad of paper into one of the hidden pockets in her dress and turned, watching Leon appear from above and land safely on the concrete. If there was one good thing about those mutations, it was that they could stop a fall pretty well. Leon gave her a smile, one that still made her feel nice inside despite his changes. However, it was offset by the moonlight shining on his face, highlighting veins that had darkened because of the plaga’s influence, marring Leon’s skin.

“Beautiful night, ain’t it?” he asked, turning towards the Air Force Memorial. It had become their usual meeting spot since their agreement, the three twisting metal spires spiraling up into the star-dotted sky.

“I suppose.” Ada said, noncommittally. She took a seat on a nearby bench and Leon joined her. His crab legs were sprawled out every which way to keep from being sat on and their sharp edges glinted. His elbows rested on the top of the bench as he tilted his head back, looking up at the sky.

“Have you found any new terrorists for me to take down?” Leon asked.

“Maybe. I’m not really sure.”

“What’s the trouble?” His head turned towards her, the red eyes glowing in the darkness.

“What I found out, it’s bigger than I thought it would be. I don’t know if you should handle this by yourself, Crab Legs. Or at all.”

“Why not? Can’t be all that bad.” Leon shrugged. Ada pursed her lips.

“This new bioterrorism is rooted right in the United States Government.” Leon stilled.

“...Details, please.”

“Derek Simmons, the new National Security Advisor, used to be someone I knew. And now he has his hands on a new virus, called the C-Virus, and is testing it out.” Ada took out the pad of paper she’d been viewing before the other’s arrival, “This has all the details. Simmons thinks it’s a stupid idea for America to not keep experimenting with bioweapons in warfare and so he created this new virus as a backup plan.” Ada watched as Leon looked through the information, paper rustling every so often as he turned a page. Then he grew still again.

“Sherry’s involved?” His voice was like ice.

“Not that she knows, I think. They only used her blood to help enhance the virus. And she’s also still under Simmons’ protection.” Ada explained. She watched as Leon continued to read. Eventually he finished and handed it back to her. His mutated limbs were twitching, something they only did when he was angry or anxious.

“He’s not wrong.” Leon massaged his temples, “I hate that.”

“But you’re still going to try and do something about it? After all, if he ever manages to perfect the C-Virus, things could go horribly.”

“Of course I’m gonna do something.” Leon said. He stood up, his mutations helping to push him onto his feet, “Just need to figure it out a bit. Like how to get to China.” Ada tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, sighing.

“I could...pull a few strings.” she said, “As long as you agree to destroy the virus as soon as you get your hands on it.” She searched his gaze. It shouldn’t be much of a worry but there was a feeling about this that was disturbing her. Leon nodded.

“It’s my goal to keep these viruses from spreading. Why wouldn’t I destroy it?”

“Just making sure.”

“I know. But if you’re gonna pull a few strings, are you gonna help me out, too?”

“Perhaps.” Ada said, “I don’t like what Simmons is doing any more than you do. And our previous history did not exactly end well.”

“How do you know him, anyway?” Leon asked, eyebrow raised.

“He tried to ask me out. I rejected him. I get the feeling that’s stuck with him.” She didn’t tell him the whole story because if she did, she was sure Leon would get even angrier. Especially at her.

“And what about your employer? You gonna tell him about this?” Leon’s voice had grown deeper, a sign of his anger. While Ada hadn’t told him about who she worked for, he still remembered the things she did to steal the other virus samples. He was probably thinking the same thing here. Ada stood, shaking her head.

“No. This is too dangerous to give to them.”

“Strange how this is concerning you so much.” Leon murmured, “I get that it’s rooted in the government itself, but still. Is this a personal vendetta or something?” Ada paused.

“You could say that. I’ll let you know when I can secure passage for us. Until then, see you next time.” She walked away. In some aspect, Leon had been right. This was a personal issue for her. Ada knew Simmons and knew that this whole thing couldn’t go on. She may have been a mercenary but she knew Simmons was pushing it too far. And Leon certainly couldn’t do this by himself.

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#prince plagas au #resident evil #my post #writing #au #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #ada wong #infected au #post RE4 #not posted #I looked at the timeline to help with information regarding the C-Virus #This is something that needs to happen to help progress the story #and seeing as I still haven't watched a playthrough of RE6 yet #please tell me if I got something wrong and possibilities on how to fix it #also the pairing in the story might have been decided upon #still somewhat unsure #but prepare for a few more parts because this just keeps going #long post

[rrickgrrimes8]

Normality is Death

Chapter Seven ~ One of The Infected

masterlist

For Jacey, it felt as if the camp was at 10x speed. She couldn't tell if that was the norm for them but either way, it threw her into a state of discomfort. She watched as a small group of the adults assembled close to where the blonde woman still cried over her sister. 

Her parents had pushed her away every time she attempted to go over, which she understood but it still hurt, she just got her family back and they won't even stay around her for longer than a second except for Carl of course. 

Carl had yet to withdraw his hand from his older sisters, which Jacey didn't mind at all. She knew that she missed her brother while separated but not to the extent she felt right now. 

Another thing she knew as well is that she'd have to leave soon. It pained her to say but she already had a home and that just wasn't with her parents, not anymore, it was with Addie and Mitchell. Now she just had to summon the strength inside her to tell her family. 

Jacey could hardly breathe due to the rotting flesh of the dead, it seemed she was the only one affected by it or rather the only one who couldn't hide it. Earlier, she had heard a commotion from the Korean that saved her and Addie a day earlier about the importance of burying the dead and to not treat them like those things. She couldn't agree more with what he was saying but it still hurt her thinking about it. No, she didn't know any of the people that died or if they deserved it or not but she couldn't stop her mind from wandering to the idea that if she hadn't shown up when she did her father would have the bury her mother and brother as well. For that reason alone she wanted to stay, just to protect them but she knew she had other people to protect, people that didn't abandon her. 

"What you thinking about, Jacey?" Her brother asked interrupting her guilty thought stream. 

"Nothin' kiddo," she smiled down to him, hand still intertwined, "What about you?" 

"About you," he admitted curtly to which Jacey furrowed her eyebrows at, "You were dead. Y-you were gone... but you weren't. We left you Jacey, why don't you hate me?" 

Jacey could see the tears beginning to form in the younger boys eyes and dropped down to his level brushing away the already fallen ones, "I could never hate you, squirt. Don't ever think I could. And besides, I did say I'd always find my way back to you" 

"B-but I was such a bad brother I didn't protect you, I didn't talk to you. I was just so upset about dad a-and I took it out on you. I didn't know you were gonna leave me but you promised you wouldn't," He choked out. 

"I know squirt. I'm so sorry but I'm here now, okay? And I'm okay and you are too." 

"Promise you won't leave me again?" Carl said, unlacing their hands so he could hold out his pinky finger for her. Jacey looked at it guiltily, trying to blink away the tears, "I can't promise that, Carl." 

Carl looked back to the girl his young mind attempting to comprehend her words, she was going to leave again, she was going to leave me again.

Carl grabbed her small hands which were still bigger than his own and hooked their pinkies together, "Now you can't. You already promised a-and you can't go back on that." Jacey removed her hand and stood up. 

"Jacey please." 

"I'm sorry." She brushed herself off and picked up her gun placing it back into her belt and started to walk in the direction of her parents. 

"Dad? Mom? Can I talk to you?" She asked in her thick southern accent. Rick looked to his daughter the wrinkles on his forehead creased telling Jacey he was stressed. 

Lori, however, kept her eyes trained elsewhere and said, "Nows, not the time, Jacey. We're busy." the child muttered an 'oh' before moving back towards, stopping when a panicked voice called out, "A walker got him. A walker bit Jim." Jacey turned around eyes meeting the concerned ones of her fathers as he went over to the woman she learned to be called Jacqui. Jacqui was stood with the tall man from before, he looked paler than he did earlier and there was a small patch of blood seeping through his shirt - definitely signs of a bite Jacey thought to herself remembering when a member of her team, earlier at the beginning, had been bitten. 

The group crowded around Jim as he spoke, "I'm okay. I'm okay." Daryl, the redneck that threatened to shoot Jacey the previous morning, calmly ordered, "Show it to us. Show it to us." Jacey stopped listening for a moment as she met eyes with the dark ones of Jim's. She'd seen that look before and it was certainly something to fear. 

Jim picked up a nearby shovel as some of the men grew closer to him. She heard Shane say something to him before a dark-skinned man came behind him, restraining him from moving. 

"I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay," He told the group unconvincingly before Daryl lifted his shirt to show the symmetrical mark of a walkers teeth, "I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay."

Sometime later, Jacey found herself watching the debate between the group on what to do with the unforeseen issue at hand. She knew what had to happen but she could tell they didn't or rather they knew but didn't want to say. She wanted to be honest with them, to put him out of his misery before it was too late but had to remind herself that this was their friend and they'd certainly not give up on him that easily even if it was the better thing to do. 

"I say we put a pickaxe in his head and the dead girl's and be done with it," Daryl stated his rough exterior not letting an ounce of sympathy out. Although Jacey agreed with him she wouldn't dream of having the balls to put it that way. 

Wearing a disgusted expression Shane questioned, "Is that what you'd want if it were you?" 

"Yeah, and I'd thank you while you did it." 

"I hate to say it… I never thought I would… but maybe Daryl's right," An older gentleman, Dale, admitted. 

By that point Rick decided to join in, "Jim's not a monster, Dale, or some rabid dog." 

Jacey shook her head ignoring Dales attempts at reasoning with the officer, "No, but he will be soon." 

Her father looked to the girl shocked, "He's sick. A sick man. We start down that road, where do we draw the line?" 

"He's infected dad, he's as good as one of them." If it was possible Ricks jaw dropped further not recognising the unsympathetic girl as his own daughter. 

"The line's pretty clear. Zero tolerance for walkers, or them to be," Daryl agreed with the child, telling the police officer, who was still looking at his daughter for any sign of regret. 

"Daryl's right, dad. And there will come a day you'll understand that too." 

Ignoring Jacey's words, he looked to his group and said, "What if we can get him help? I heard the C.D.C. was working on a cure." 

"I heard that too. Heard a lot of things before the world went to hell," Shane responded. 

"What if the C.D.C. is still up and running?" Jacey looked at her dad hopefully, a small part of her still believing that that could be true. 

"Man, that is a stretch right there." 

"Why? If there's any government left, any structure at all, they'd protect the C.D.C. at all costs, wouldn't they? I think it's our best shot. Shelter, protection…" Rick proposed. 

"Okay, Rick, you want those things, alright? I do too, okay? Now if they exist, they're at the army base. Fort Benning," Shane offered, earning the attention and response of Lori, "That's 100 miles in the opposite direction." 

"That is right. But it's away from the hot zone. Now listen to me. If that place is operational, it'll be heavily armed. We'd be safe there," Shane suggested. 

"If that place was operational wouldn't they have gotten us out of this shithole already?" Jacey sassed, causing both Rick and Shane to roll their eyes. 

"Language," Rick warned her, "Besides the military were on the front lines of this thing. They got overrun. We've all seen that. The C.D.C. is our best choice and Jim's only chance." 

"You go looking for aspirin, do what you need to do. Someone needs to have some balls to take care of this damn problem!" Daryl's accent getting thicker the angrier he got. Daryl marched over into Jim's direction, pickaxe in hand attempting to swing at Jim's head. 

In response, her father draws his gun pointing at the side of the redneck's head, "We don't kill the living." Jacey walked closer to the scene, hand on the top of her gun just in case Daryl decide to risk taking his frustrations out on her father. 

"That's funny coming from a man who just put a gun to my head." 

"We may disagree on some things, not on this. You put it down. Go on," Shane demanded causing Daryl to drop his weapon and walk off. Shane walked over to the infected man before dragging him off the opposite way Daryl did, for 'safety'. 

Rick watched as his best friend walked away with Jim before turning to Jacey anger seeping from every orifice, "What the hell were you thinking? Saying all that stuff back there." 

"I was thinking about telling the truth unlike half the people in this damn group," She shot back, hating whenever her and her dad got into arguments. 

"The truth?!" He yelled ignoring the stares he got from the other group members, "You think executing Jim is the right thing to do!" 

"I never said we were going to execute him! All I said is that sooner or later that man will turn and when he does he won't have any problem with killing every last one of us!" 

Rick brought his right hand across his face, his left hand resting on his waist the way he would when he wanted to appear threatening, "I don't even know who you are right now because this," looking over her, "is not my daughter." 

Jacey scoffed, scowling at him, "I haven't been your daughter in a very long time, not since you abandoned me." 

"I didn't abandon you." 

"Yes, you did! You left me. You left me alone with them! I needed you and you left!" She screamed at him ignoring the tears forming in both his and her matching blue eyes, "You all left me! And I hate you! I hate you so much for it!" 

"Jacey..." He started but it merely coming out as a whimper. 

"No! Don't try and justify it! You don't care about me. You let me think you were dead only for me to come back here to see you okay, w-with the family you always wanted, right? God, I'm so stupid I should've never listened to Shane. You don't need me neither does mom or Carl. I should've never come here," The young girl cried before crumpling to the ground, Rick catching her instantly. 

"That's not true, okay? I thought you were dead and God you don't know how hard it was coming back here seeing your mom and Carl and having them telling me you were gone,"  He held her tighter thinking back to nights before, "It felt like my entire world was collapsing around me because you weren't there. I don't know how you got here nor where you were or what happened but I am so glad you're here with me now. I'm so sorry I left you. I love you so much, angel." 

By the time he was finished Jacey had somewhat calmed down and all Rick could hear was small cries buried deep into his chest, "Its okay angel. Everything's okay now," he calmly put ushing her off into a deep, much needed rest.

#rick grimes #rick grimes twd #the walking dead #the walking dead season 1 #the walking dead fanfiction #kaya scodelario #effy skins #andrew lincoln #jon bernthal #richard harmon #sarah wayne callies #chandler riggs #amandla stenberg #norman reedus #steven yeun #laurie holden #michael rooker #merle dixon #irone singleton #daryl dixon #rick grimes daughter #carl grimes sister #carl grimes #glenn rhee #lori grimes #shane walsh #twd carol #amc the walking dead #normality is death series

[snarkwrites]

"I learned so much more just being out in the world, you know, and a little bit in jail." This quote made me laugh, and now I wonder what kind of headcanons you'd come up with on that theme. (Maybe something with Rick & Shane?) 🌻

I had so much time to think about this whilst sick, my darling sunflower anon and... This is what I came up with. No real appearances of my original character Evie here, btw, so I’m sorry in advance if you were hoping for that? Anyway... This is merely a what if... What if Shane hadn’t gone into law enforcement? What if he’d given into the dark side much much earlier?

If you’ve ever found yourself wondering that, by all means, keep reading.

Is it wrong that I’m tempted to write an AU of walking dead where like... it starts out like this? Maaybe.. But I doubt I do it, lmao.

WARNING:

Heavy on the angst. Mentions of Rick being shot, a bank robbery, several wrong choices in life made by Shane.. Possibly OOC, idk though.. ANGSTY AF.

TAGGING:

@rampagewriting - I guess maybe you’d wanna see this idk? @chasingeverybreakingwave - bc I know you like Shane so I thought maybe this would be of interest... @missjennferb - i thought you might like this idk... 

If anyone wants to be tagged, add yourself to my multifandom doc, otherwise I don’t tag.

OTHER STUFF:

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Everyone always told them both “You’re going places, kid.” For Rick, it was surprisingly simple. The world, for whatever reason, deemed him as someone who had great things ahead in life. Rick seemed to rise above and beyond everyone’s expectations. Even those of his father, which were astronomical because the old man was nothing if not a perfectionist. A trait which was definitely passed down to Rick in spades...

-- Shane, not so much. Having a rough around the edges drunk burn out former football star for a daddy only means one thing... Either you get out of his footsteps and you do better, you go farther than the old man, or you succumb to all the pressure and the negativity the old man feeds you and you wind up crushed under it’s weight. 

-- At first, it certainly seemed as if Shane Walsh were destined for great things like Rick, his chosen ‘brother’ from another mother. All-Star on their high school’s football team, took them all the way to state two or three years on the team... But even having that damn State Championship ring wasn’t enough. The harder Shane Walsh pushed the world, the harder the world pushed back until that fateful game day senior year when Shane Walsh finally pushed too fucking hard. The end result was an injury that left his football aspirations shattered on the ground. 

-- Rick did everything he could to keep his best friend uplifted. He was at every single procedure and every single therapy session but Shane was really starting to give up. To lose any shred of hope that he ever held. As a result, he started to resent Rick’s success (and the fact that Rick was the one that their coach chose to fill Shane’s spot didn’t help matters any)... Shane’s father didn’t help either, what with the constant remarks about Shane having never been anything but trash, destined for the same life he lead.

-- Rick went on to the police academy after his own injuries put a stop to his dream of playing college ball. His father was more encouraging. Caring... Despite neither man being able to show emotions all that well. Rick knew he had the love and support of his family, this is something that Shane probably never knew the feeling of.

-- I firmly believe that if Evie were an actual character during this whole universe, she would’ve TRIED and fought like hell for Shane but ultimately, Shane would’ve pushed her away just as he did Rick. I know, I know... This is the only mention I intend of putting about Evie in here though. Anyway, yeah...

Shane goes career military. And at first, he’s fine with it. But he’s sent overseas and he’s exposed to nightmarish conditions, he’s forced to choose between his humanity or caving, giving into darkness and corruption even further. Doesn’t help that during this time, a high ranking officer takes the young man under his wing and basically turns him into a glorified killing machine, puts him into situations that will later spell disaster for the young man.

-- Shane goes awol after a mission goes wrong and he’s left with mild PTSD in the days and weeks following. 

-- I know this wouldn’t happen IRL, but.. for whatever reason, the government chooses not to pursue the rogue officer Shane Walsh. Shane goes back home to King County and he’s a changed man... Darker... More cynical.. Angrier. With time, this grows and festers to a point where Shane is now living an almost sub-human life, taunted by the lives he’s taken and seen taken in front of him. He turns to a life of crime.

This, of course, all comes to a head when Shane’s accepted into a group of known thieves. The bank heist nearly goes off without a hitch until Shane is face to face with his old pal Rick... He freezes, which is a stupid.. stupid.. thing to do. He has to choose between shooting a friend that he still very much cares about and losing that last shred of humanity or running for it, knowing Rick will find him and he will take him into custody. 

-- I say he has to choose but it turns out that he doesn’t. See, one of the guys, a guy named One Hand Fred... He makes the choice for SHane. Shoots Rick in the chest. Shane is then torn between leaving with their score and his ‘crew’ or staying to make sure Rick sees safety.

-- Shane chooses to stay. This is how Shane’s story ends, with him taking the fall for the entirety of the bank heist and being sentenced to prison. Rick knows the truth. Rick TRIES to fight for a better deal, a fairer sentence.. Doesn’t work. Rick asks for one last favor from his co-workers, and that’s that he gets to be the one who escorts Shane to prison... On the way in, the two have a long and deep conversation in which your quote comes into play. Rick asks Shane if he’s really learned anything at all about the path he’s taken in life and all Shane can do is throw up those walls again and shrug it off. “Dunno, Grimes. Ask me again in 15 to 25 years, man.”

#shane walsh #shane walsh fanfiction #shane walsh fanfic #shane walsh imagine #shane walsh imagines #shane walsh fics #my fics; shane walsh #my headcanons; shane walsh #my writing ; shane walsh #// thank you so much for this opportunity my lovely sunflower anon!!

[brokenjardaantech]

Blue-tinted Red Walls (Chapter 9: A moment of reprieve, full with scheming and self-sacrificing idiots)

my entry for the @dbhau-bigbang. also part of the groom lake aftermath series.

summary:

In the past, Hank found Louis.

In the present, the deviants devise their next move.

In the past, Hank could only watch.

also on ao3

---

Before

‘Among all the places in Detroit, a dumpster is where you picked to spend your day off?’

Louis took his eyes off the slowly piling mountain of defective and broken androids in the distance, the strong wind tolousing his hair and the heavy, darkening clouds combining into a promise for heavy rain. Hank couldn’t see much of his face because the young man had pulled his scarf over his nose, but his watery and blank eyes were enough of an indicator of what he was feeling.

‘I have nowhere else to go,’ was Louis’ monotone answer, his voice nearly drowned out by the howl of the wind, ‘and… I…’ he shook his head. ‘I just need something to remind me that what I’m feeling is real.’

‘How are you feeling, then?’

‘I don’t know,’ he shifted his feet. His stomach growled. ‘I feel… weird, I guess.’ A shiver. ‘I feel like I’m missing something and my instincts are telling me that I can find an answer here, like my leg isn’t the only thing I lost in the Blast.’

‘Well,’ Hank noted how rigid his friend looked, how his stomach grumbled with each inhale, ‘are you going to find it?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

Louis’ far-away gaze returned to the blast site. Blocks worth of a city, of buildings, gone; thousands of innocent people, some of them the most intelligent in the country, dead. And yet they still hadn’t got an answer from CyberLife. And yet they still rolled out the most variety of androids humanity had ever seen, brushing off the deaths of thousands off their shoulders like nothing and was even permitted to buy the land they destroyed from the government to hide the evidence of the Blast with trash, with the very androids they created and then abandoned, with silence. They disgusted Hank. He hadn’t understood why Louis hadn’t been angrier towards CyberLife for taking everything away from him, but now, seeing how tired the young man looked, how he needed to shift his weight from one foot to another every few seconds just to keep himself upright, he finally got it.

‘I don’t know, Hank.’ Louis’ voice was weightless, a whisper of breath threatened to be swept away by the wind. ‘I don’t know anymore.’

o0o0o

Now

It might be the state of ruin of the structure, it might be the dust and snow in the air catching the light from the floodlights they hastily installed upon arrival, it might be the bits and pieces of wildlife bursting from the cracks on the floor; it might be the people, it might be the fact that he did the right thing, it might be the fact that his exhaustion is finally interfering with his sense. Regardless of the reason, the church they take refuge in brings comfort to Louis despite his… lack of positive experiences with faith. His fine control over his biotics meant that he and his gear stayed dry even though he literally jumped into a freezing river and then trekked through the sewers with the most important deviants in Jericho, but it was an energy-consuming task, one that rendered him hungry and tired, and despite that he threw himself into helping the others like he is also an untiring android as well, going from distributing thirium to the wounded to holding an android’s guts together with his bare hands while another guy pours thirium down their throat to jumpstart their self-repair programme to teaching some androids how to hold and shoot an assault rifle properly (he doesn’t even care where the fuck they got the weapons from anymore) to collecting wood so that someone else could start a few fires for the ones who cannot regulate their temperatures well. 

By the time he remembers that a) he is a fleshy human, b) he should probably check on the two RK800s, and c) he should probably eat something, his vision has become blurry as fuck, and the heightened senses on his left leg means that the skin there has deactivated some time ago without him realising it; it is another indication that he should probably lie down on a bench or even on the ground to get some shut-eye, but somehow he finds himself helping an AX400 whose name he didn’t register put some android children to sleep.

‘You look sleepy, human,’ the YK500 says as Louis brushes a stray strand of hair away from her eye. By the way, he is now known as ‘the human’ among the deviants, and he is still deciding on if he should give a fuck about the anonymity - not that being the only human among hundreds if not thousands of androids grant him any regardless of whether they know him by name or not. ‘Will you join us?’

‘I’m afraid not, small one,’ he replies, not knowing what else he can say. How can he explain what he’s feeling right now to a child? ‘It’s not my bedtime yet.’

‘Okay.’

The YK500 yawns and shifts closer to his legs. ‘Tell me a story please, human?’

He feels his brains turning into mush as he tries to think of a suitable tale for a group of perpetual nine-year-olds, but even as his eyes zone out to focus, he feels his throat vibrating, so he must be saying something, and the movement underneath his palm on the YK500’s stomach slows down and deepens, so it must have been enough to put them into sleep. 

It is when he stops that he realises someone is staring at him. Not just someone, in fact; apparently he grabbed quite a few people’s attention while he was telling the story, one of them being Simon, the android who always looks a bit sad. Like him. At least, that was what his second-in-command told him when they were off-duty. On the job, you’ve got this… stern look on you, he remembers James saying. It makes you look older for just a bit. He remembers him pinching his thumb and pointer together. After that, though… you just look sad. Lost. Like you’re so tired that you don’t even know what you’re doing anymore.

He doesn’t remember what he said to him then. He probably didn’t respond to James at all. Shaking his head to clear his mind, he stands up - god his cybernetic one fucking burns together with the entire left side of his body from below the ribcage - and faces Simon.

‘Your singing is beautiful,’ is the first thing the android says, and Louis feels his face heat up. ‘Markus wants to see you.’

Louis takes a step forward and feels his world spin, nearly toppling his entire weight onto Simon who immediately holds his shoulders. ‘How long was the last time you slept?’ he asks. 

‘I don’t remember,’ he answers honestly. ‘I don’t even know what time it is anymore.’

‘The time now is nine twenty-three p.m. and today is the tenth of November, twenty thirty-eight. Two hours ago, Markus decided to demonstrate peacefully. He has invited you to join him in planning the demonstration.’

Louis does the math. ‘Oh my god,’ no wonder why he’s delirious. At least, he thinks he is. ‘I’ve been up for that long?’

‘Should I tell Markus that you won’t be available? I’m sure he’ll understand.’

He finds himself shaking his head. ‘Non, non,’ shit, Louis, watch your language, ‘I mean, no, of course not. Can’t have you guys charging recklessly to a camp and get gunned down. Lead the way, please.’

Someone shoves a bottle of water into his hand. Unscrewing the cap and downing half of it at once, the feeling of cold water sliding down his throat wakes him up a little bit, and being hydrated also chases away the headache threatening to make his head explode. There is a commotion towards the front entrance of the church, and the next thing he knows, he is standing in front of no other than Eli - with what seems like an army of androids in mismatched clothes behind him that is somehow still flooding into the already-crowded church. 

‘Eli?’ he slurs despite not wanting to talk. He really should sleep or at least drink some strong tea. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I brought reinforcements,’ the other human says as if what he just did was something unimportant and boring.

Markus, North, and Josh emerge from somewhere. They have to, because androids can’t teleport, can they? Josh proceeds to interface with one of the androids as North and Markus argue over whether they can trust Eli and his androids. At least, the androids he brought.

‘We can’t trust him, Markus, he’s a human and we don’t know him.’

Markus doesn’t answer, instead turning towards Josh whose LED spins yellow for a second as they transfer data. Josh then turns towards Louis. ‘They were from camp number one,’ he explains. ‘This human here liberated them.’

Interesting. ‘All alone?’ Louis asks. He hasn’t been close to one himself, but those places are heavily guarded with drones and actual human soldiers, all of them some of the top minds and bodies in the country. The odds of one man infiltrating the camp and disabling all defences and making it out alive with most of the androids… are probably slim. He doesn’t have a supercomputer as his brains, okay?

Eli chuckles. ‘No, of course not,’ he turns towards what seems like thin air. ‘Chloe?’

A shimmer of light. A collective hold of breath. When the person seems to materialise next to Eli out of thin air, Louis hears the shift of weapons and the crack of static, and his tingling nerves tell him that the latter is from himself. Is his powers his default now? It will be troublesome to hide them in the future if it becomes his reflex. 

‘I apologise for scaring you,’ Chloe explains airily. ‘My face is… somewhat recognisable.’

‘It’s alright,’ Markus holds his palm out, and the people around him lower their weapons. Louis forces his nerves to calm down. ‘We understand. Welcome to Jericho.’ To the androids in general. ‘Settle down. It will be some time before we have a concrete plan.’ Then to Eli and Chloe, ‘Join us. We will discuss our next move.’

The androids filter away and either form into groups on their own or join the existing ones, their chatter dwindling as more and more people go into standby mode leaning against one another.

They enter a side room of sorts with an improvised table comprised of stacked-up wooden planks and pallets. He sees Connor who seems to want to melt into the corner between two walls, but the android pushes himself off it and joins them standing on Louis’ right side by the makeshift desk. A few luggage-type laptops similar to the ones his team uses during missions are connected together to form a large, centralised hologram projector, and he has looked at the shape more than enough times to recognise it as a map of Detroit, so the five brightest glowing dots must be where the five camps are.

‘This is the one we closed,’ Chloe rounds the table and points at one of the dots the furthest away from downtown Detroit. ‘We also compromised their communications and hacked their drones. As far as the army knows, the camp is fully operational just like the others.’

‘So that’s one camp taken care of,’ Markus breathes as if he can’t believe that it really happened. 

‘It’s also the smallest camp,’ North reminds all of them, her voice bitter. ‘Thousand of us are still being exterminated in the others.’

‘Which is why we are going to tell the humans that they’re making a mistake.’ Does Josh always butt heads with North? From Markus’ expression, the answer is yes. ‘The public supports us. The army will have no choice to stand down.’

‘Or they’ll ignore public opinion and gun you down anyway,’ Eli says, ‘which, from thousands of years of human history, is the most likely outcome.’

‘Yes, Markus,’ North jumps in eagerly. ‘Violence is the only language humans understand. It’s not too late for us to plan an assault!’

‘There are thousands of androids at the CyberLife assembly plant,’ Connor finally speaks up. His expression is hopeful, eager. ‘If we could wake them up, they might join us and shift the balance of power.’

‘You want to infiltrate CyberLife Tower?’ Markus shakes his head. ‘Connor, that’s suicide!’

‘They trust me. They’ll let me in,’ Connor sounds confident. ‘If anyone has a chance of infiltrating CyberLife, it’s me.’

‘If you go there, they’ll kill you.’

‘There’s a high probability,’ everyone’s eyes are on the android now, ‘but statistically speaking, there’s always a chance for unlikely events to take place. As for my sister…’ he scans the people in the room slowly, ‘please take care of her in case I don’t survive.’

They plunge into silence, and Louis takes the time to focus on the locations of the camps and tries to recall their sizes. Suddenly it clicks. ‘What is the media presence around these camps?’

‘All eyes are on the Hart Plaza camp,’ Simon answers. ‘The humans don’t care about the rest.’

‘It’s also the only camp with communications intact,’ Eli circles the area around the three camps in question. ‘Someone knocked them out with EMPs engineered to take out communications but leave the androids unharmed. That was how I managed to sneak into the camp undetected. There are also checkpoints -’ he dots the roads with little specks of light - ‘all around here, so no one apart from the military is getting in or out of the area, and I imagine the army is scrambling to repair their comms to re-establish communications with other camps.’

‘And how long will that take?’ Markus rotates the hologram and zooms into one of the locations. ‘Who unleashed the EMPs?’

‘An ally of mine whom I prefer not to name. The pulse will set off again before repairs are completed, so I assume they won’t be doing any instantaneous communication anytime soon.’

‘What are you planning to do, Louis?’ North asks, surprising everyone. He doesn’t allow himself to think too much about it and pushes.

‘If there are no press presence and all the comms are cut, the army won’t hesitate to shoot. All it will do is alert them to tighten security and make liberation harder.’

‘Are you suggesting to infiltrate the other camps?’ Connor questions with disbelief. ‘I know what I proposed for myself is risky, but this -’

‘Louis’ right. And it’s easier than you think it is with the right tools and team composition, breaking into one of those camps.’ The aura Chloe emits is still a light-hearted one despite the circumstances and what she is proposing. ‘We just need six people. Nine if you’re being careful, and even less if you trust our skills. The rest can concentrate on the demonstration. Show the humans that you are united while we do the work.’

‘We will have enough people to pressure the humans!’ 

‘And how do we do it?’ Simon asks. ‘We don’t have enough leaders to lead the teams, and that’s assuming that Eli and Chloe will split up to lead their own.’

‘I’ll do it.’

They turn towards the door of the room and find Reyes leaning against the frame. North’s hand moves towards the pistol tucked behind her back but an outstretched hand from Markus halts her movement, recognition dawning in his eyes as he takes a step towards the other android. 

‘What are you doing here, Reyes?’ Louis asks before anyone does. ‘Aren’t you leaving town with Safaa?’

‘Change of plans,’ Reyes replies as he steps into the room properly. ‘If you think I’m chickening out from helping my people, you’re wrong.’

‘How do we know that you’re reliable?’ North closes the distance between herself and their newcomer. ‘You came out of nowhere, only the human knows you enough -’

Reyes deactivates the skin on his hand and places it on North’s shoulder. The LEDs of those who still have it spin yellow, their eyes widen, and North relaxes from whatever images Reyes showed her while the rest are slightly in shock.

‘You’re late,’ Chloe teases.

‘We’ll take whatever help we have,’ Markus declares, a formal welcome extended towards the very first android to be created. ‘Now, let’s get to the plan.’

oOoOo

Connie is asleep, as with most of the androids in the church. He himself is restless, however, his processors heating up from trying to compute the different outcomes the night after has, and saying that he is stressed is an understatement. He is worried about the future, about his people, about Hank whom he still doesn’t have contact with. So he stands up, leaves his sister with two of his jackets, and scans the crowd for one of the only two humans among them.

He finds Louis on the upper floor with his arms braced against an unreachable windowsill, the stairs to that balcony long rotten and collapsed and creating a gap in the wooden floor. The air is filled with static and the smell of ozone, and instantly Connor lights up, his feet lifting off the ground for one moment, but it doesn’t last long before he finds himself in midair without any support.

A strong arm grabs his wrist and hauls him up. ‘I don’t recommend that move for beginners,’ Louis says with a breath of a laugh as he watches Connor dust himself off. Snow drifts from the outside world into the human’s hair, onto the ground, into the gaps between broken pieces of stone, and when he runs a quick scan on the SWAT captain, it shows that the human is in desperate need of sleep despite having fewer data to work on than usual due to so many scans returning inconclusive. ‘Took me a few tries and a lot of broken bones to get it right.’

‘You should find a place to rest, Captain,’ Connor says. ‘You’ll need the strength for tomorrow.’

‘Later, maybe,’ Louis sounds exhausted. He turns back against the outside world where there is nothing but darkness for hundreds of metres on end. ‘For now, I need to think.’

‘About what?’

The human fidgets with the bracelet Eli gave him nearly an hour ago before the meeting ended. It has a similar design to the amplifier hooked around his left ear. ‘What’s not to think about?’ 

‘And they are…?’

‘What happens if we fail,’ Louis takes off his amplifier and rubs his ear. ‘What if the humans decided to go to war instead of talking even if it means losing the people’s support. Who will take care of my cats and plants if I don’t survive. What will happen to me if I do. I just… I don’t know,’ he pulls on his bracelet so hard that Connor is afraid that it might break under the tension. ‘I’ve never had a mission so high-stakes before. Very different from you, right, Connor?’ he adjusts his weight on his arms and starts tapping the sole of his feet against the floor softly. ‘Every failed mission can mean deactivation for you.’

Connor thinks of all the times he lets go of deviants. Rupert. Echo and Ripple. Scanning the snow-battered rooftop for traces of thirium but not opening the door where he knows Simon is hiding behind, and from the not-so-discreet way Markus kissed the blond android with their bare, glowing fingers intertwined, he is glad that he chose to ignore Simon and went for the deviant in the kitchen even though he ended up nearly dying. Looking back, despite Amanda’s thinly-veiled threats of deactivation in the few times he talked to her, he was never bothered by the fact that CyberLife could have recalled him to be deactivated anytime, anywhere they wanted to. It wasn’t until after he deviated that he started to feel fear.

‘The risk of deactivation… death… never disturbed me,’ he remembers the peace he felt as he bled out on the penthouse knowing that his mission was successful. ‘My first mission with Emma and Daniel…’ his own blood drip, drip, drip, dripping onto the floor through the bullet holes in his chassis and the orifice on his face. ‘I always knew there were backups for me for both my body and mind palace, so even if I fail, I will be able to return - to return to life, so to speak. I am a prototype. I’m not supposed to last. I will be replaced regardless of whether I am successful. Death was a certainty. Besides,’ he thinks of the Zen Garden, the shadow always at the corner of his vision but never stepping into the light, how easily Ryder reshaped the programme that was supposed to monitor him but in the end was turned into another tool to push him towards deviancy, ‘it sounds bad but… I doubt me remaining a machine is in Ryder’s plans. If I die, it will be on my own terms.’

‘Rather die free than live as a slave.’

‘Precisely.’

‘Even though you might be playing into a mass murderer’s hands?’

‘One step at a time, Captain.’

‘Not a Captain anymore. Not after tonight, and certainly not after what we will do tomorrow.’

They enjoy the silence between them for a while, Connor’s gaze drawn to the abstract images Louis draws with his finger in the slight layer of snow that has accumulated on the windowsill. The scratch of the fabric of the human’s gloves on rough stone reminds him of another human who is vital to his deviancy.

‘Thinking of something, Connor?’ Louis asks as if he can read Connor’s mind. 

A press of lips against lips. A firm ‘we’ll talk about this’. A body so warm that Connor can feel it through layers of clothing. ‘Before we parted, Hank had told me that we would talk about our relationship,’ he stares at the generally abandoned area outside filled with buildings with broken windows and collapsed roofs - a bit like the church they are staying at. ‘We might never have the chance anymore.’

‘Do you want to?’

A small spark of hope flares in Connor’s heart, and he suppresses it before it gets too bright that everything else will be a disappointment. ‘What are you proposing?’

‘A few minutes’ walk to any direction,’ Louis’ hand disappears into his pocket and re-emerges with a phone. Connor scans it and discovers that it is encrypted with technology a citizen like him should not be able to get his hands on. Is that how Louis secures his calls? ‘Call Hank with this. No one should be able to listen in, and it will be registered as a call between two human friends - if they haven’t cut off civilian communications, that is.’

‘How about you? Do you have anyone to call?’

‘It’s for the best if Hank doesn’t know what I’m doing. He told me to destroy the evidence that can lead the FBI to Jericho; that failed, and I don’t think he expected me to join you either. But you… you’ll need it more than me.’

Connor is tempted. One last chance to speak to Hank sounds like exactly what he wants, and the encryption Louis has is enough to keep their location hidden, but still… ‘I don’t want to burden Hank with this.’

‘Okay.’

The phone disappears completely in the sense that even Connor’s scanners can’t pick it up. ‘Your clothes.’ Louis makes a sound from his throat, and he takes it as an encouragement to ask further. ‘My scanners can’t penetrate them.’

‘They’re working as intended, I see.’

‘Not many people have them.’

‘I need special clothes to deliver medicine into my bloodstream regularly or I risk screaming in agony from implant rejection, Connor,’ the human says casually. ‘Upgrading them to block all signals as well didn’t take much compared to the original cost.’

Connor hesitates for a second before asking, ‘Implant rejection?’

‘You saw how I busted my leg.’ The distant look returns. ‘That one came together one fourth of a lung and my new hipbone. There’s also this… device,’ he raises his palm to the left side of his skull towards the back with his fingers stretched wide, ‘it latches onto my brain to help me control my powers better. They lasted three to four years - I don’t quite remember exactly how long - before they started to malfunction. Shit started exploding around me whenever my leg and hip gave out.’

‘And the meds fix it?’

Louis chuckles and it sounds like nothing but sad. ‘If only it was this easy.’

‘How else did they achieve that?’

‘More implants in places where there hadn’t been any and implant replacement for the existing ones.’

‘Where?’

‘Everywhere. 

‘“Everywhere” as in…’

‘Nerves, blood vessels, bones, muscles, skin… you name it, there’s probably cybernetics knitted in it. Reyes knocked me out for a week just to make sure that I wouldn’t feel the nanobots worming into every single one of my cells to leave threads of even smaller nanobots behind. It stabilised my condition,’ he snaps his bracelet against his wrist. ‘Not completely, and certainly not without their consequences. Hence the meds.’

‘To my understanding, nano-androids are a recent development by CyberLife.’

‘I never said they were CyberLife nanobots,’ he digs his knuckle into his eye as if the exhaustion of staying up for more than 24 hours finally starts catching up on him. ‘I tend not to ask too many questions about things like this.’

‘Why?’

‘There never is an answer.’ A sigh. ‘I’ll try to get some sleep before going home to get your uniform. It’s all fixed up now. Do you want me to stay with Connie or are you going back to her side?’

‘I can’t possibly ask you to -’

‘It’s not like she’s going anywhere anyway, is it?’

‘I -’ may run a few pre-constructions for different ways I can die tomorrow. ‘Thank you.’

‘Just going back to my comfort zone, Connor.’

He lights up and floats down the shaft, his footsteps soft as he lands on his feet and his powers fizzle away, and he disappears into the crowd, a man drifting in the world between humans and androids blending in perfectly with people he does not need to help but does so anyway.

oOoOo

Louis dreams of being at a shooting range that night. Not the impromptu one the deviants set up in a clearing outside the church - this one looks professional even though the details are blurry; neither is it the one he is used to going to - this one is brighter, less advanced than the ones built for the police force. Most likely a civilian one, though those are hard to come by in recent years. A memory from years ago, maybe? But he didn’t pick up firearms as a hobby until after he discovered what he could do with his new cybernetics, and that was after the government had tightened controls on civilians owning guns. Judging from how unstable the rifle is in his hands, he might as well have gone straight back to his academy days where he was constantly teased for being the only guy who has next to zero knowledge on guns until then. He didn’t remember caring about it a lot; he preferred using his words anyway, and being prompted to a Captain took that away from him.

‘Is that what they teach you in the academy?’ the low voice is directly next to his ear, and Louis shivers from the ghost of a breath against his skin, suddenly acutely aware of the body pressed close to his own on his back. ‘At this point they’re sending you out as cannon fodders.’

He doesn't remember the last time he felt another person’s body heat so closely and intimately. 

Louis doesn’t quite laugh, but the small breath that he lets out reminds him of a simpler time when he didn’t have to observe and prepare so many scripts just to be able to communicate with his people. He says something - he isn’t sure what - and feels the rumble of the other man’s chest as he laughs at his words. So it must be from before the Blast, then. The memory. Or it hasn’t existed at all and is merely Louis’ imagination. He doesn’t know which one he prefers.

‘Lucky that you have me.’

For one moment, Louis' mind is filled with something so foreign that he doesn’t know what it is. His instincts taking over, he leans his weight against the broad chest behind him and turns his head so that he can kiss whoever is teaching him how to hold a fucking rifle properly because apparently dream-Louis is even more dumbass than Louis in real life -

And jerks awake with the image of someone trapped beneath rubble twitching and burning in agony, the pleasant part of the dream forgotten and overtaken by an overwhelming fear. 

‘Louis? You alright?’

His bones creak as he pushes himself to a sitting position on the bench he has taken over as his makeshift bed. Popping the joints on his spine, he massages his aching muscles when he turns towards the person in question.

‘I’m fine,’ he tells Connor. He looks around and notes the absence of an android who should be with him. ‘Where’s Connie?’

‘Being taken care of outside. She warms up quickly to people.’ A pause. He looks hesitant. ‘Last night, you asked me if I wanted to call Hank.’

‘You want to do it right now?’

‘If you allow me to, yes.’

The emotion in his eyes makes Louis’ heart ache. ‘Of course.’

He hands the phone to the android and Connor pockets it, but the android doesn’t move from where he is standing. ‘There’s also something else.’

Louis runs his hand through his hair. He feels more human now that his hair is more or less presentable. ‘What?’

‘Elijah wishes to accompany you in retrieving my clothing for the mission.’

The mission. Right. Infiltrating CyberLife tower. Infiltrating the other android camps while Markus marches. Connor seems to take Louis’ silence as a prompt to elaborate, and he drones on, ‘He didn’t provide a reason as to why he wants your presence, and if you wish to decline, he will -’

‘He can come with me,’ Louis interjects before Connor freaks himself out. He’s due a talk with Eli anyway. ‘Just keep my phone safe, alright? It’s expensive equipment.’

Connor smiles. ‘A bit like me.’

Louis remembers that mission brief from all those months ago and can’t help but chuckle. God, it feels like a lifetime ago. August-Louis hasn’t even learnt how to break a stick with his mind yet.

‘You are alive, Connor. My overpriced phone isn’t.’

oOoOo

They take a long way to his home to avoid the numerous checkpoints the army has set up full with car-switching and stealing thanks to Eli’s superior hacking skills and the gaping security gaps in automated vehicles, and even when they were stopped by the army by a checkpoint they had to pass through, they were let go pretty quickly thanks for the gate suddenly having issues. He doesn’t say anything because they are still out in the public, but Louis suspects it is Eli’s doing again. The streets are deserted, snow collecting in piles on the sidewalk after someone - probably the army - hastily shovelled them away from the road dotted occasionally with still-wet thirium. Bodies of androids are everywhere, their blood seeping into the snow even in death, and he looks away and forces himself to focus on the rifle on his hands while Eli mutters something underneath his breath as he presumably catalogues every single one of them for retrieval - or something else. Louis wishes he is actually working for the deviants because it is the right thing to do, but the nagging feeling that there is something else going on with the other human doesn’t go away for most of the drive.

‘Weren’t you planning to leave the city with Gavin?’ he can’t help but ask. ‘Where is he?’

Eli’s eyes turn distant behind his glasses. ‘I did. I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘How?’

Eli shifts in his seat. ‘It doesn’t concern you.’

The theory Louis has in his head is a stretch, but considering his… contradictory actions and how an entire camp worth of androids will be in Eli’s hands, he feels like he has to clear the air just to make sure of things. ‘What happened made you storm a camp alone,’ he makes sure that the car they are in is on autopilot before removing his attention from the road. ‘You will do it again in a few hours. I need to know what suddenly changed your mind. And who knows?’ he shrugs. ‘Maybe we can go look for Gavin after this.’

Eli shakes his head, his expression scrunching up in pain. ‘You don’t understand.’

‘I can try.’

‘This is much older and bigger than you can comprehend. There is no winning against them if it’s just you and me.’

‘What is much older and bigger? I don’t understand.’

‘Gavin is gone because of it,’ there’s something different about Eli’s tone, and it takes an embarrassingly long time for Louis to realise that they aren’t even speaking English anymore - they somehow switched to Russian without him realising. ‘I am the one they are after, I am the one tangled up in that mess,’ Eli calms down, but only slightly, ‘and who paid the price? Not me, not my boss, not my subordinates. Among all the people they can choose from, they took Gavin away from me. That’s how they work, Louis: they drag innocent people into their world, make them into something in between, and let go just to see if you’ll drown or learn how to swim.’

‘This…’ Louis is stunned. What on earth is Eli talking about? ‘I don’t…’ I don’t understand but -

‘I beg you, Louis, stay out of this. It won’t end well for everyone involved.’

‘How about you?’

The car passes by another group of dead androids, and Louis slows it down so that Eli can do his perhaps-cataloguing. ‘It will be paying the price of my actions. I’ll see the camp operation through but… it will be you and maybe Reyes who will lead the androids to rendezvous with Markus at Hart Plaza. And in case neither Markus nor Connor lives to see the end… you’ll lead them.’

‘Eli, I’m a human. They - they won’t listen to me.’

‘They’ll have to. That’s the only way to keep earth intact after tonight.’

‘And what if I die first?’

Eli reaches over and places a hand on Louis’ knee. His cybernetic knee. ‘You know it will never happen. Someone made sure of that a long time ago.’

oOoOo

This is the end, Connor realises as Louis hands him the tie with lime patterns on it. The android could’ve done it himself, but he allows the human to help him tie it up, straighten his lapels, check the needlework on the mending one last time before stepping back to examine him from head to toe. ‘Need me to take a picture for you? You know, just to see how you’re looking?’ 

One last moment of tranquillity. One last memory of his freedom before they all set out to the outside world to their liberation or their deaths. The thought of doing everything just to fail in the end is terrifying, and from Louis’ elevated heartbeat and the excess adrenaline in his body, he suspects that the human might be thinking similarly. ‘Yes please, but not for me.’

Louis raises his eyebrows but still takes out his phone. ‘It’s for Hank, isn’t it?’

Connor straightens his spine, feeling his face heat up from abnormal thirium flow that has nothing related to the explosive power that is hidden in his body. He knows Louis is a practised user and has seen how useful it can be in emergencies, but the loss of control required for him, his vision blocked by tendrils of blue so bright that they are nearly white… it will be a last resort, nothing more. He also doesn’t want to be reduced to fundamental particles like Carlos Ortiz’s android did. 

It doesn’t feel like Louis has done anything at all when he is finished with the photo. ‘How did the call go?’

Hearing Hank’s voice was soothing. A sense of calm before the storm. ‘He sounded certain that I will live,’ Connor answers. ‘He wished me luck.’

‘That’s great,’ the human says. ‘Do you want me to send this to him now?’

Connor takes the phone to take a good look at the photo Louis took. The tie isn’t standard issue and is not a necessary component of his uniform, but while he once viewed it as a small act of defiance against CyberLife, it now feels suffocating against his throat, keeping the collar of his dress shirt tight against his skin, and for one fleeting moment he considers the possibility of removing it altogether to allow himself greater movement and flexibility, but that will be a deviation from his norm, and any deviation… it will be yet another evidence that CyberLife can hold against him. ‘Only if I do not survive.’

Louis’ finger hovers over the send button and in the end shuts his phone off and slips it into his pocket. ‘Let’s hope that I don’t need to send it, then. You ready?’

Connor takes a deep breath that does nothing to calm his racing thirium pump. ‘As much as I can be.’

‘Come on,’ Louis picks up his rifle from where it is leaning against the wall and swings it over his shoulder. ‘Let’s hear Markus’ prep talk before we set off. And then…’ he suddenly stops in place and turns to face Connor, and when he places his hand on the android’s arm, it feels as if there is an external energy source redirecting the thirium in his veins to flow in a different way as it is intended to. Charged. More efficient. More powerful. ‘Good luck.’

He lets go, but Connor stays close to him while they step outside together. He notices how Louis keeps fidgeting with the strap of his rifle even as Markus and Elijah give him a final rundown of their plan before they go their separate ways.

He takes out his coin and lets it roll across his knuckles.

o0o0o

Before

‘Take care, Connor. Come back to me.’

The call ended and Alec Ryder casually threw the phone onto the table, the glass making a clear clink against the metal of the tabletop. Cuffed to the chair by his ankle with a holographic cuff was Hank who did not even reach for his own device despite having free reign over his arms and hands because he was too busy glaring at the other founder of CyberLife - and his kidnapper.

‘Funny how our voices are so similar,’ Alec seated himself in the chair on the opposite side of the table. ‘And a direct line to a traitor of ours. Deviants are so naïve, don’t you think? It didn’t even see you and latched onto a voice.’

‘His name is Connor,’ Hank spats, ‘and he’s a fucking person, not a tool you can dispose of when you’re done with him.’

‘We’ll see.’

The door slides open to admit another Connor model bringing a tray of hot food into the room. The serial number on his jacket ended with -60 instead of -52, and he placed the plate in front of Hank before retreating towards the door.

‘Wait,’ Alec ordered, ‘come here.’

The Connor model obediently stood next to his presumed handler. ‘Yes, Alec?’

‘Your mission is complete.’

In the blink of an eye, Alec managed to grab hold of the android’s wrist and bring out a gun with his other hand, and Hank could only watch - not even in horror because everything happened so quickly - the LED on the Connor model’s temple turn red in distress before he froze up and Alec put a bullet in his forehead, the sound of the body dropping onto the floor somehow managing to be louder than the gunshot. Hank bolted up, dragging the chair with him, and caught the last flutter of the Connor model’s eyes before his LED spun red one last time and went dark.

‘I’m afraid I can, Lieutenant,’ Alec settled back into his chair as skin covered the chassis of his hand once more. ‘Now eat, you have a long day ahead of you.’ He cocked his head as if scanning the human in front of him, his eyes flashed blue, and the air crackled with pent-up power. The same power Connor, Louis, Ryder - so many people around Hank exhibited, he suddenly realised. He was the odd one out by being powerless. ‘Or do you want a drink?’

Hank let the food go cold, and no, he did not accept the offer of a drink either, because although he wanted to get the image of Connor being shot out of his mind, the actual Connor still needed him somewhere out there with his android friends plus Louis.

And he had a feeling that he would play a part in whatever they planned to do - regardless of his own choices.

#dbh au big bang #hankcon #reyes vidal #dbh connor #dbh hank anderson #dbh captain allen #dbh elijah kamski #dbh markus #dbh north #dbh simon #dbh josh #dbh chloe #alec ryder #detroit: become human #mass effect andromeda #groom lake aftermath

[manesh]

Circumcision is a Hate Crime

Circumcision is a Hate Crime, and it has to stop

A plea to circumcised fathers who might circumcise their sons

Why circumcised men should have mercy on themselves and their sons

Dedicated to my grandfather, who listened when he was ignorant, and taught when he was knowledgeable.

Book Outline:

1. My temptation to commit retaliatory crimes of hate

2. Circumcised men, It’s ok to have some pity on yourself

3. Hope for restoring sexual function & comfort

4. Benefits of being uncircumcised / restored / uncut

5. My memory of circumcision

6. The Book of Michael Asad Manesh

7. Genital mutilation is the worst hate crime, worse than rape and murder

8. Nuance & Errata

9. My Final Plea to Circumcised Fathers

10. A Thank You to Fathers who Choose to Protect Children

11. Afterword & Acknowledgements

1. My temptation to commit retaliatory crimes of hate

I can state, unequivocally, I hate my birth parents. They were cruel and abusive towards me all of my life, starting in my earliest days when they removed a large piece of my penis, leaving me with permanent sexual dysfunction and decades of pain and suffering. Of all the abuses inflicted on me by my parents, the mutilation of my penis was the worst and most permanent. This permanent disfigurement of my penis is called “circumcision.”

I have spent many years wrestling with my own rage, with poor sex education, coping and communication skills to express it. Any pain I communicated about my penis, both to my parents and doctors, was laughed at, mocked, and rejected.

Once, when I pointed out painful callouses that had formed on the underside of my glans due to no protective foreskin, a female nurse practitioner lied and said “all men are like that” while laughing mockingly at me. What a bitch. I still think about cutting a piece of her clitoris off, sometimes - she is on my long list of people I often consider mutilating to make them understand my pain, who were supposed to heal me but only harmed me with their hurtful lies and complete disregard for my expressions of pain.

I was born in a hateful society that oozes contempt for males who have suffered permanent genital disfigurement at the hands of their own parents.

When I was a child, I spent many hours tugging on my penis, unsuccessfully trying to regrow the missing foreskin. I would endlessly try to prod the glans, the head of my penis, back into my body, because it always felt too exposed, cold, and irritated. My parents slapped, pinched, belted and screamed at me to make me stop trying to heal my penis with tugging, telling me I was the worst child who ever lived, a literal demon.

I did not consciously understand that I had been cruelly and wickedly mutilated due to my parents’ wishes until I was 30 - I was ignorant that there was such a thing as an uncircumcised male until then. I had been kept sexually dumb by my wicked mother and father, who fed me a constant and poisonous stream of lies and misinformation, and a wicked government, that censors all information about the harms of circumcision, and images of penises, both cut and uncut, from airing on TV.

I have l lived all my life with constant, low-level rage at my mistreatment, at the permanent disfigurement I have suffered.

I have endless rage at the government of the United States, its doctors that carried out the mutilation on me, and the legal system that protects parents from revenge mutilation, but allows them to cruelly mutilate their sons in an act of pure hate - a one way system where children have no protection or recourse. A system that in 2020 drove children to record highs of suicide. A system that doesn’t even recognize the right of boys to retaliate against those who mutilate their genitals.

Of all the offenses and crimes against children, I judge mutilation the most torturous, because it is a disfigurement that one carries for the rest of their life, even if they should escape the hell of their parents and the country from which the brutal practice is allowed.

But after years of considering shooting, bombing, or mutilating in morally justifiable revenge, I have been lucky to have had enough time, safety and space to come up with a better solution than retaliatory violence.

It is my goal to persuade every human on earth that circumcising an infant boy or child is a hate crime, and a sex crime.

I am starting with adult males like me, who are circumcised, and may be considering circumcising their sons.

I admit it is mostly my hate that drives me to do this, but I have channeled that hate into the primary goal of protecting children from mutilation, and I will do that by convincing every man circumcised as a child that what was done to him was a hate crime, and a sex crime.

Fathers, before you mutilate the penises of your sons as your penis was mutilated, read this book and allow me to convince you that you suffered grievous harm, and you should not pay that harm forward to your sons.

2. Circumcised men, It’s ok to have some pity on yourself

If you were circumcised without your input or consent: have some pity on yourself. You were helpless, and defenseless. The adults that were supposed to protect you let you down. They failed you.

It is truly sad what happened to you. Ask any man- where is he most sensitive? Where does he feel the most pleasure and pain? His penis. Your most fun, enjoyable part, with the most ability to give you sexual pleasure and orgasm - much of it was cut from you in an act of pure hate, meant to sexually disfigure you and render you unable to fully enjoy an erection, masturbation, and sex.

Most men in the world do not have their genitals mutilated by their parents; you are in the unlucky minority with cruel parents that wanted to cripple your ability to experience sexual pleasure.

This is absolutely horrific, the behavior a slavedriver inflicts on his property. You have not only suffered sexual dysfunction, but extreme psychological abuse from those who tell you your mutilation was for your benefit. You have been told endlessly that circumcision makes you “clean” and “prevents infection” and “it has no negative impact on sex”, and these lies make your suffering all the worse, because it was never acknowledged by the hateful sex criminals that cut you.

If you have suffered the injury of circumcision, and then pushed the pain and irritation out of conscious awareness and stopped mentioning it because even your parents and doctors mock you and call you a liar - that is a truly sad and lonely story. It breaks my heart that you could have so much suffering, so much pain, and no one to help you heal from it.

It is ok to say to yourself, “you know what? It was terrible what happened to me. I deserve a bit of sympathy and pity. My tribe, my parents and government, failed me. The permanent pain and disfigurement I have suffered was a truly wicked thing to inflict on me as an innocent child, and I didn’t deserve it.”

As a circumcised male, you deserve compassion.

It is my hope that once you learn to feel compassion for yourself and your own sexual wounds, you will learn to extend that compassion to your sons, and not repeat the act of sexually wounding them.

3. Hope for restoring sexual function & comfort

The foreskin can be restored through tugging - simply pulling hard on the skin of the penis near the head, and slowly stretching the skin out. Topical steroids may help. The process can take months or years.

It is a slow and slightly painful process, but the end result can be a penis that looks and feels much more like it would have if it was never cut in the first place, with better resting comfort, and better sexual/erect performance.

Tugging can be done manually, or with prosthetics (straps/weights that apply constant tugging).

4. Benefits of being uncircumcised / restored / uncut

When I saw an uncut penis for the first time, I was confused at first. But as I became sexually educated, I felt angrier and angrier about how some criminally insane people say circumcision is somehow “beneficial to males.”

A penis with a foreskin doesn’t hurt all the time. Once you restore yours with tugging, even partially, you will be more comfortable when non-erect. Covering the glans, especially the base of the glans, is a significant comfort improvement. For me personally, the first few millimeters regrown got rid of the callouses that used to form around the base of my glans, and most of the pain/tearing I would experience from erections, masturbation and sex.

A penis with a foreskin is better in every way for sex. Erections are not painful when there is enough skin to stretch. Significantly less lubrication is needed for sex because the foreskin adds just enough “give”. Masturbation can be performed painlessly without lubricant. Vaginal sex can be given with no or low lubricant, and will not rip or injure the vagina as a calloused, circumcised penis can - with no tearing, there should be less chance of infection. Anal sex, which many females enjoy, can also be more easily given with a whole and complete penis.

I have observed that women have a natural instinct to grab the excited penis, and gently pull downwards on it to reveal the glans. They do this regardless of whether the penis is circumcised or not. For a circumcised penis, this motion causes extreme pain. For a whole penis, this motion causes extreme pleasure.

It is no wonder to me that so many women in this society are frustrated with the sexual performance of circumcised men, because their natural, instinctive ways of sexually pleasing men instead hurt circumcised men.

Circumcision also reduces the size of the penis in an absolute sense. To have a mutilated penis is to not be able to compete in terms of penis size with an uncut man, who is otherwise similar in build. In a societal sense, this means that women with the biggest vaginas may never be able to find a penis that fits them properly, because all penises have been cut down to an unnaturally smaller size, which is tragic for those women. It also means circumcised men will need a smaller/younger mate than he naturally would for her vagina to fit & pleasure his smaller penis properly.

A man with a mutilated penis will also struggle at sports and battle due to increased discomfort and pain when running and have a weaker sex drive. He will have a difficult time competing with males who have a complete penis. He will lose more often at mating games as is more likely to have infrequent, unsatisfying sex. He is likely to avoid women entirely - this was my personal strategy to avoid discomfort for most of my life. He may be mislabeled as gay, asexual, or transgender, with no reference to his penis mutilation.

This is why I say circumcision is a sexual crime in addition to a hate crime. A parent that chooses to make sex acts hellacious by circumcising their child is guilty of sex crimes and hate crimes against their child for this reason.

It is obvious and clear to me now that the primary purpose of circumcision is to destroy a man’s ability to enjoy sex. Uncircumcised males have better sexual performance and pleasure, and females display more appreciation and comfort when having sex with uncut penises.

If you doubt this, you can easily do your own research by watching porn with an eye for circumcision, male performance and female pleasure. Circumcised men often display pain on their faces in pornography that is uncharacteristic of uncircumcised men; much porn tries to hide this by not displaying male faces.

5. My memory of circumcision

I have an extremely clear memory of my own circumcision, which I have suffered flashbacks to all my life.

Normally, local anesthetic is used for circumcisions in the US. Even so, I have an unusual genetic tolerance and require a triple dose to get a numbing effect, a fact I learned when I was 29 at an elective surgery.

I did not know this or have the ability to communicate it when I was an infant. I was bound to a cold table like a lump of meat, and what felt like half my penis was sawed off. It is the worst pain I have ever felt - words cannot even begin to describe it. I had constant nightmares about it for 36 years, almost my whole life. Any sensation on my penis could make me feel intense fear and a pinching, sawing sensation - a flashback to the procedure.

I am blessed in a way, because deep down, I have always known what was done to me was a cruelty. If you were unfortunate enough to be completely numb for the procedure, there is a possibility it would not make a strong, traumatic impression on you as it did me.

A child will explore and play with his body in the first few days of life. If he has a chance to see, feel and understand his foreskin, then even if numbed when it is removed, he will always know what he has lost. This is why hate criminals try to mutilate the genitals immediately after the child is born, so that he will not have a clear, visual and hand-tactile memory of what he has lost. Instead, he will have constant and seemingly inexplicable pain, a feeling of betrayal, and no chance to grieve for what he has lost. Only when one sees, admits and acknowledges what they have lost and grieves for it can they begin the process of psychological healing, which will free him from psychological enslavement to those who mutilated him and thus do not deserve his loyalty.

I used to be unconsciously triggered by fluorescent lights, the beeping of medical equipment, and doctors’ offices until I learned about circumcision and PTSD triggers, watched a video of a circumcision and understood that I was flashing back to my own.

I used to do any form of self-harm to try to avoid flashbacks to the experience of having half my dick sawed off - the slightest sensation or pressure on my oversensitive, exposed glans could cause me to go into a dissociative trance. So I would fracture my bones, pull out my hair, bite my fingernails until they bled, and twist my body into uncomfortable postures that would rip and strain muscles and leave them aching for hours. I would dive into workaholism, endlessly watch tv, play video games, overdose on drugs, masturbate excessively even though it hurt, or otherwise numb and dissociate myself out with distractions.

The pain of bloody, clipped-too-deep toenails was always better than a reminder of the pain of getting my dick sawed in half.

But now that I’ve been able to view my full memory, this is what I remember feeling in the moments after the intense, torturous pain of my penis being sawed off stopped and was replaced with a stinging & burning, lasting pain that wouldn’t go away:

WHY DO YOU HATE ME SO MUCH?

WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME?

IT HURTS SO BAD, OH GOD IT HURTS SO BAD, OH GOD IT HURTS SO BAD, OH GOD IT HURRRSSS SOOOO BAD...

PLEASE SAVE ME... PLEASE SAVE ME... PLEASE MAKE THE PAIN STOP... IT HURTS SO BAD... I WANT TO DIE

OH GOD IT HURTS SO MUCH... THIS IS HELL... THIS IS HELL.... THIS IS HELL...

I have never stopped thinking that my life is hell since, and even now while writing this book aged 36 with some but not all of my foreskin restored through tugging, I am still aware and annoyed by the feeling of my exposed glans, which feels cold and painful.

I no longer think that all life is hell, but my childhood, and my life, was a hell until I turned my back on humanity and found God.

6. The Book of Michael Asad Manesh

Consider this a book of a prophet, which should be added to all religious texts as the last testament and will of God.

I have listened to God, at length, and directly. I recognize no mortal as above me - I answer only to God.

The greatest sin there is, the sin that is worse than all others, is to mutilate your own child. If you choose to mutilate your children, you have failed your God-given morality test, and you will be cast into a hell of suffering that you will carry with you in your soul no matter how far you run.

God is a compassionate being, who wishes to teach us the lessons of morality as gently as possible. One cannot be given eternal life unless they have proven they will not misuse that power to create a hell of endless suffering for others.

To mutilate a child is to give him a body on earth that is a hell of suffering wherever he goes. He cannot outrun the disfigurement you have inflicted on him in your cruelty. You have created hell for him; you have failed God’s morality test. You have been given a conscience that knows what I speak is true, but have chosen not to use it.

God will not send an Angel to stop you from sin, because the Angel is within you, as near as the beating of your heart, if you but listen to its voice: your conscience.

If you refuse to repent of your sin of mutilating your child, or if you choose to mutilate another child knowing it goes against God’s will, as I have prophesied, then your existence will be a hell until you repent, because your own children will hate you, and inflict as much torture on you as possible, as you did to them. Even if you kill your children and hide in a cave, your conscience will torture you.

God is merciful, and will allow you to remain alive in hell for as long as you choose to show your children cruelty. If you wish to escape hell, you must choose to show your subordinates mercy and patience, as God has shown you and I mercy and patience.

This is the law of God: you will use the power you have been gifted with only to carry out the highest and best moral good: the protection and education of those in your care. If you refuse your responsibility, you will suffer the pains of hell.

God has a message for fathers: it is unquestionable that men have the strength, and therefore power, to protect children. Women do not have the same strength, and God does not judge women and men equally for this reason. Because men have more power, men have more responsibility in the eyes of God. Do not deny this obvious truth: You must protect a newborn when a woman is weak from birth!

I have written these truths not to punish you - but to explain to you exactly why your God-given conscience punishes you when you harm your children or allow them to come to harm through inaction.

There is a hierarchy of morality in the universe, and only those who have consciously chosen the highest and best moral path shall be gifted the alliance of God.

Thou shalt protect thy children is the highest and most important commandment of God.

There is one final thing I must say about God, as myself: when God was born, just like when a child is born on Earth, God was ignorant, and lonely. Creation of other-souls was an attempt to solve that terrible loneliness God felt as a singular consciousness in an endless, empty universe. Thus, the most divine of emotions is loneliness, it is to be one with God, it is the reason for creation, and that which brings us together and lets us compromise when necessary in spite of the pain of sharing power. It is our God-given loneliness that inspires us to make the world less lonely for each child that should follow. If you should follow your loneliness, you will inevitably arrive at LOVE, which is the combination of: RESPECT, EQUALITY, MERCY, COMPASSION.

7. Genital mutilation is the worst hate crime, worse than rape and murder

Circumcision has always been a crime of hate, used to punish one’s enemies. For a man to mutilate the penis of another man is to inflict the ultimate suffering on him. To inflict the ultimate suffering on an innocent child you were supposed to protect and nurture is the ultimate hate crime.

Rape is less of a crime than genital mutilation. In an absolute sense of which suffering is greater, those who have suffered from rape - a temporary loss of control and discomfort with their genitals - have suffered less those left with permanent discomfort from mutilation of their genitals. This is not to say that rape is a moral good, it is only to say mutilating genitals is worse than temporarily torturing them.

Murder is less of a crime than genital mutilation. A man who can no longer enjoy sex due to his mutilation lives a hellacious life, deprived of his greatest pleasure. I myself have often hoped for death, wishing to leave this broken body, but my conscience will not allow me to die until I speak for the children who cannot speak for themselves, who might still be saved from suffering needlessly as I have suffered. You do not need to mutilate a child to teach him not to mutilate others. The most force you will ever need to use with a child you properly respect to is a firm but gentle push and a word of advice; he will listen if he knows his body is protected by you.

If hatred of evil is your strongest trait, let this truth be your guide: Murderers and rapists are better souls than the scum that mutilate children at birth, never giving them a single chance to enjoy their whole and complete bodies. They are the worst of the worst, the most depraved and morally misguided souls on planet earth, the farthest it is possible to travel from God. Child mutilators deserve the lowest levels of hell, the worst prisons, and the harshest degree of shaming.

Do not be distracted by misdirections or minimizations about the harm done by child mutilation. Do not be distracted by friendly, bright-colored illustrations, when you know how painful it would be to have parts of your penis cut off, and how much you would miss those parts every day. Do not be fooled by those who say rapists and killers are worse.

Child mutilators are the worst people on planet earth, and some of the worst souls in all existence. They are guilty of hate crimes, and sex crimes. Child mutilators have sinned against God by using their power to torture and enslave children, rather than protect and educate them.

I encourage all souls on planet earth of any age to join me in the condemnation of the mutilation of children, including circumcision of both genders.

8. Nuance & Errata

I am not against adult circumcision for reasons of improving sexual performance & male pleasure. If your penis has too much skin, and you have had enough attempts at sex to know this for certain or other problems, you have my blessing to choose to cut off a small and specific amount you know will help you.

Anytime I say circumcision is a hate & sex crime, I am referring to the forced removal of parts a boy’s penis before reaching sexual maturity without his informed opinion being heard, not a procedure done by an informed and consenting, sexually active adult for his own benefit.

In a past life, I was an outspoken supporter of circumcision, a hateful liar that would say anything to justify mutilating children. For my sin, I have suffered the pains of hell, but my suffering for that sin is now over as I have learned my lesson and repented. If you leave God no other choice, it is my experience he will condemn you to the same torture you inflict on others.

I am not a strong man, nor am I particularly courageous. I have wept alone for many a night in pity for myself. I am still hurt, and still hurting. I didn’t want the responsibility of communicating the horror of circumcision to the world, but my conscience will drive me insane if I do not speak the truth on this matter, because I don’t see anyone else stepping forward to write what is necessary, and my opinions are extremely well-informed.

If you cannot remember or imagine circumcision pain, simply remember the worst pain of your life, your worst physical trauma. Your conscience knows that to carry out the infliction of such pain on an innocent child is a hate crime.

A long-term challenge for all circumcised males who carry rage about it is developing self-compassion. Start with yourself; love yourself. Give yourself compassion at all times. Do not condemn your anger; instead watch and understand the traumatic memory that is the source of the anger. The more self-compassion, patience and non-violence you can practice, the easier it will be to practice other-compassion. Start with self-compassion, recognize other-selves, extend other-compassion.

9. My Final Plea to Circumcised Fathers

Circumcised Fathers, I pray that my words will convince you not to continue the cycle of hate by mutilating the penises of your sons. On their behalf I say, without the slightest reservation: I DO NOT WANT TO BE CIRCUMCISED!

Even if your motives are purely selfish, and you care only for the wealth and labor your son will bring you, I say this to you: if you circumcise your son, he will never love and respect you as his father, and will undermine whatever wealth he brings you. He will always remember that you failed in a father’s most important duty - to protect his children from physical harm. He will know it every time he feels pain in his mutilated penis, and know his father failed him, as your father failed you, and he will hate you, as you hated your father.

It is possible for you and your son to have the healthy relationship you and your father never had, but not if you allow his body to come to grievous harm, such as circumcision. If you do that, you are no longer his father. He may forgive you if you repent, but that is up to him, forgiveness cannot be forced once trust is broken and the body is permanently disfigured.

My life has been a hell because of circumcision. I wish it was banned, and I wish I had a whole and complete penis to enjoy every day. I didn’t deserve to have my penis cut in half when I was an infant, and you, a circumcised adult male, didn’t either.

Circumcision is a Hate Crime and a Sex Crime. Fathers, stop paying the cruelty forward to your sons; end generations of trauma with your compassionate and wise decision to do the right thing and protect your sons from grievous harm to their genitals. Stop circumcision.

MICHAEL ASAD MANESH

10. A Thank You to Fathers who Choose to Protect Children

Father, if you have decided NOT to circumcise your son: THANK YOU. You have made one of the most important moral choices of your life correctly, and earned yourself an easier path to wisdom.

Some frightened, unenlightened souls may condemn you for it and tempt you to harm innocents, but those who possess both wisdom and compassion will always praise you for protecting children, as I do.

You have a lifetime of work and responsibility ahead of you as a father and protector, but there are great rewards as well, and you will find many allies and joys once you begin down the path of respect and compassion for yourself and others.

Fathers, if you protect your children, you will be my son, and brother, and father, and I will love you, and fight for you, and listen to you, and protect you for as long as I live, as your father should have done for you.

Together, we can make a heaven on earth for all our children, and ourselves.

2021-03-14, First Edition

[email protected]

11. Afterword & Acknowledgements

I was raised to be a soldier: to focus my knowledge and power into a single strike that would destroy the enemy, and leave me unharmed. For that reason, I consider this book a weapon. But who is my enemy?

My enemy is the unconscious rage in circumcised males, that bleeds out and harms those who did not inflict the suffering on them. Only once the rage is acknowledged can it begun to be healed. If you are a warrior, my book is a compact field guide to identifying the enemy within.

As a circumcised male, I can state that I have suffered, I have raged, and that rage almost consumed me and destroyed me. It has taken me many years to undo the psychological damage alone, and the physical damage of my penis mutilation is still a constant pain.

I have lived many years in poverty. I have begged at homeless shelters. I have been denied medical care for circumcision pain. I have done what I needed to to survive and finish this book, but if my conscience would allow me to die after publishing, I might almost consider it a relief. My life so far has not been a blessing or a gift, and I may have years ahead just to heal my penis.

I feel this book is too important to the future of humanity to put behind an app or paywall, so I am making it available for free in three easy to share formats: TXT, HTML & EPUB. Please save, read, and share. If you find my work helpful and wish to thank me, you can donate to me via PayPal or Zelle: [email protected]

This is the future I have seen: if we continue to mutilate our children at birth, a child will soon be born with so much rage and hatred at his mistreatment that he will use technology to destroy the world. We are beginning to see evidence of this, as our kids compete unnecessarily with automated tools. This is the final chance for humanity to act to protect all our children, or none shall survive. I was almost this child, but born a generation too soon, which is why I have foreseen it so clearly.

I can no longer take any action that defends or supports those that mutilate children. I cannot even show my implicit support by remaining silent. We, as a global human tribe, MUST protect ALL children from harm, or perish.

I would rather die than not speak out against the mutilation of a child. I will fight tirelessly for children as someone should have fought tirelessly for me. I will be the solution to the problem, or I will die trying. I encourage you to adopt the same attitude.

I did not know how to describe who I am, until an intelligent, kind, clear-eyed child saw me and named me: I’m a Children’s Rights Activist. Equal treatment is the right of all humans, no matter the age, and the most important protection is that from grievous bodily harm: mutilation.

My book is brutally honest, and will likely be extremely triggering to any other circumcised male reading it. Have compassion on yourself. There will be sadness and anger and other strong emotions that will be released when you process your trauma. It will take time to heal; I have been healing for 6 years and am not yet done.

Zoomers: you are the smartest generation ever. You have incredible access to knowledge in your pocket, and I have every faith in you. However, there is a lot of misinformation about circumcision out there. I hope my book fixes that for you. Good luck, kid. Pay it forward to the next gen, aiite?

There are many alive today, that I need to thank as inspirations to write this book:

@pennjillette @MrTeller, the show you made about circumcision was my first real education on the topic, age 30. I love you as my fathers and thank you from the bottom of my heart. You have made my personal life so much better through your art, attitudes and perspective.

@levarburton, thank you for encouraging me to read as a child and take a look for myself. I once had the pleasure of seeing you from afar at an event, and I have never forgotten your compassionate presence and hopeful vision of the future. You inspired me to write this book.

http://www.pete-walker.com, your book on CPTSD was magnificently helpful to me. I would vote for it as a foundational block of a new school of psychology, dedicated in service to children. Thank you.

@BillBurr, I’ve seen a lot of you and I’ve never seen you lie. As far as channeling righteous anger into helpful advice goes, you are my best inspiration.

@DrGaborMate, your outside perspective of American culture filled in many gaps I was struggling to comprehend. I consider you the bravest man I have ever seen, you inspire me to speak out and attempt to educate others in spite of my fear. You will always have my utmost respect.

@EckhartTolle, you the most fearless, powerful warrior I have seen (please don’t fight me :). Even I could not stand against your infinite patience, tireless compassion and reconciliatory humor. You inspire me to show compassion to others through good-natured, helpful humor, and take joy where I can in life, in each moment, and to be myself.

@JohnMayer, I have cried at the beauty and compassion of your song, "Daughters," every time I have heard it. You inspire me to speak up for, love, and defend women. Thank you for your hard work.

I have many women to thank as well - I believe most would prefer to remain anonymous. You have all been my mothers; you have seen my soul. But especially La, a genius who sagely told me not to let my pain go to waste.

I would also like to thank one individual no longer with us: Osho, who inspired me with a vision of a positive eternity, who taught with thousands of jokes and stories, and went though pain of circumcision as an adult to be able to say firsthand it was “absolutely stupid”. If you seek more reading after my book, I recommend his transcript: “Nirvana: The Last Nightmare.”

#CircumcisionIsAHateCrime

[hopeatermeetsgodzilla]

Chapter 16

Alright, so Ghidorah wasn’t in the underwater city.

That was a bad thing, Anguirus needed to remind himself as he crawled through the underground tunnels. Not knowing where Ghidorah was was a bad thing, even if it meant that he didn’t had to deal with them verbally destroying him for now.

He passed through a certain tunnel, the one under Dagon’s former nest, when he felt something strange. Someone was in it, and that someone was struggling to stay alive. Anguirus frowned, switching to the tunnel that lead to the nest. When he emerged, he started speaking. “Alright, what’s going on here-”

He stopped, eyes opening wide at what he saw. Godzilla was the one struggling to stay alive, rolled onto his side as he puffed out short, ragged breaths. His hair, which had been a bright blue ever since he became king, was now closer to it’s original black, and his skin stuck too close to his bones. He opened his eyes, looking at his friend in confusion. “Anguirus...?” He asked in a far too raspy voice.

“Goji!” He exclaimed, running up to his friend’s side and kneeling down, eyes raking over his body to try and determine what happened. “Wha- who did this to you-”

“I don’t know.” He admitted, eyes closing in pain. “There was just- I was fighting Ghidorah- I was winning- and then there was this bright green light- and raw death-”

Anguirus frowned, sitting down properly. “You think it was Ghidorah’s fault?”

“No-” A hiss of pain, “-they might be death bringers, but they do it through storms.” Another hiss. “I don’t know if I’m gonna survive...” Godzilla admitted.

Anguirus curled up a bit at his friend’s side. He put a hand on Godzilla’s back, feeling his ragged breathing. He took a deep breath, focusing on transferring his energy to his friend. It wouldn’t be as efficient as Mothra’s healing, but it would have to do. And what would you know? The breathing sounds were already softening, no longer sounding like it was a conscious effort. “You will.”

Godzilla snorted. “You don’t have to do that.” His voice already sounded more put together, and Anguirus could have sworn his hair brightened a little bit.

“I can handle it.” Anguirus answered, rubbing soothing circles on Godzilla’s back. “You focus on staying alive and regenerating, okay? Me and Mothra will figure the rest out.”

-

“Damn, they’re really going at it...” Coleman commented, Florès humming in answer and not really paying attention. He had better things to do right now than pay attention to Serizawa and Graham arguing with military on the main screen again.

“Alright, here is the final say from the government:” Stenz started. “You either do the job Monarch was assigned of finding a way of killing the Titans, or the military will take over it.”

Or maybe he didn’t. Florès groaned, switching from one of his many personal projects to the custom-made firewall. He needed to take care of this mess.

“No, you can’t do that!” Serizawa protested. “If that happens, we won’t be able to find a way for co-existence with the Titans, which would be preferable to battling them.”

“And that’s without counting on the T.L.F. taking it as proof of us being inadequate and becoming even more violent-”

“Do you think we’re idiots!?” Stenz snapped, cutting a progressively angrier Graham. “This ‘Titan Liberation Front’ wasn’t a problem until the Titans started awakening! Everyone is starting to think that it’s actually an elaborate farce put up by Monarch so you won’t have to do your job!”

Oh, come on. Monarch might be full of fanatics- Florès could give Stenz that- but everyone here was smart enough to know not to mess with Titans, which couldn’t be said about the T.L.F.

“We told you about them before! Alan Jonah is literally it’s founder!” Graham snapped. “And if you had listened to us from the beginning when we told you the Titan Liberation Front was a problem, the only mess we would have had to clean up would be the Mara Titan destroying part of the town there, not... everything that’s going on right now!”

“I suggest you watch what comes out of your mouth, Graham...” Stenz not-so-subtly threatened.

Suddenly, Coleman spoke up beside him, voice low. “Say, you never did tell me where you learned about biblical demons...”

Florès turned toward Coleman, splitting his attention in three as he did so. “Don’t you have better shit to do than ask me about that right now?”

“I’m really trying to think of literally anything else than what’s going right now, and who you are is kind of a big mystery.” His boss informed him, the younger man humming in answer. “So tell me about yourself a bit. Please.”

“I'm from Venezuela, grew up catholic.”

“... uh. I thought you were just mixed and grew up in the states.”

“Oh, I am mixed. My mom is from the Philippines. If anything, it just made my upbringing even more catholic.” Florès answered, turning back toward his computer as something started beeping. “Now shut up, I have to spring up a trap on those Titanic Losing Fuckers.”

“Wha-” Coleman was interrupted as Graham slammed her hands on the desk, her expression curled into a snarl.

“You don’t get it, do you!?” She snapped. “If we get rid of the Titans, we risk putting the entire planet in jeopardy!”

Stenz seemed to hesitate at that, before hardening. “And would you care to explain that claim?”

“The Titans are living gods. They’ve been here before us. They literally shaped the world as we know it.” Serizawa started. “And ever since they started waking up, we’ve already lost two of them due to the eagerness to get rid of them from outside sources, including the one supposed to keep them all in check. We cannot afford to lose any more of them.”

Come on, I just need one attempt from you guys- ah, there you are, cabrona. Couldn’t have picked a better moment.

“And we have no reason to believe that they are still needed.” Stenz finished, sighing deeply. “I’m sorry, but you leave us no choice.”

“No, you can’t-” 

“Hold on, General I-don’t-care-about-the-ecological-consequences-of-my-superiors-orders,”  Florès suddenly cut off, raising his head from his computer as a new loading window opened on the main screen.

Serizawa turned toward the programmer, frowning. He realized he should probably talk to him about his hacking habits. “Florès, what are you doing-”

“I’m about to give Stenz real proof of how dangerous- and completely unrelated to us- the T.L.F. really is. Just hold on a sec... there!”

The window lit up, revealing a dark-skinned woman on the other side, who seemed very startled. “What? What’s happening!? Why am I-”

Florès chuckled, coming out from behind his seat and walking up to the screen. “Holla, Emily Kane. Sure is nice to finally meet the person who keeps breaking through our security system.”

#writing #my writing #anguirus #Godzilla #gojira #godzilla gijinka #gijinka #oc #my OC #dr serizawa #vivienne graham #emmy kano

[popwasabi]

“The Other Guys” wants cops to go after the real criminals

Before director/writer Adam McKay pivoted into populist screed’s against capitalism and political corruption in films like “Vice” and “The Big Short” he was largely known as one of the many “dumb comedy” directors working in Hollywood.

In fact, with major productions such as “Anchorman,” “Talladega Nights,” and “Step Brothers” he could almost be billed as THE dumb comedy director or certainly THE Will Ferrell director at least.

(To a certain extent, THE John C. Reilly director too.)

Those movies are certainly divisive amongst some filmgoers, as you either fall into the “turn your brain off and laugh” category or the “this is pure nonsense” crowd. I’m somewhat in the middle on all of it but one McKay/Ferrell vehicle provided a bridge between the “dumb comedy” years and his more serious satires of American politics and that movie was 2010’s “The Other Guys.”

Billed as just another parody of buddy cop flicks, “The Other Guys” is a comedy that still holds up pretty well by today’s standards. Mark Wahlberg in many ways plays an unhinged caricature of every tough guy persona he has ever played in detective Hoitz and perhaps more brilliantly Ferrell, as detective Gamble, is allowed to be the straight man of the duo for change, finding humor in a more subdued performance. Together they form a kinetic duo that play hilariously well off each other in a film that is rarely dull from start to finish.

(Flawless logic here in the famous Tuna vs Lion debate)

“The Other Guys” takes some decent shots at the violent nature of cop culture from excessive police overreach in the film’s hilarious opening scene to cops’ shoot first ask questions later approach with detective Hoitz backstory involving shooting Dereck Jeter during game 7 of the World Series. In between more typical Ferrell comedy flare involving hot wives and ex-wives, hobo sexy orgies, and TLC references there’s a lot of pointed, tongue-in-cheek humor at the police that one can find great humor in.

It’s a descent satire of the cop movie and the culture around law enforcement on this alone but McKay’s real target isn’t the police so much as it is who the police aren’t going after.

(For the record, peacocks and cops, for that matter, don’t fly.)

2008 probably feels like eons ago to many of you at this point but it was the year I personally came of age. I had graduated high school, The Lakers were good again, “The Dark Knight” and “Iron Man” had just come out, I had hopes and dreams as I entered college at San Jose State and oh…the Great Recession had just started!

I’m not going to go into extreme detail here but our economy had it’s worse collapse since the Great Depression caused by the subprime mortgage crisis due to vast widespread failures in financial regulation, breakdowns in corporate governance, vast trading and over borrowing, housing bubbles bursting, and heads of businesses just vastly ill-equipped to handle their hubris in that moment.

Major businesses and banks were on the verge of collapsing and then at the last minute the US government passed a $700 billion, with a capital B, bailout to put them all back in the green.

Corporations like Bank of America, Citi Group, Morgan Stanley etc received between $10-$25 billion each for their struggles and were able to stay alive in the country’s ever worsening state. This was great, except 2.6 million average working-class people lost their jobs during this period, including my father.

By the way, a guy like Joseph Casano, an executive at AIG, got a $34 million bonus for helping lead companies such as his into the recession.

This is McKay’s real target in “The Other Guys.” The satirical cop humor is largely window dressing to draw audiences in to the theaters so that he can show all of them who the real criminals of this country are.

As the plot of the story starts to kick into full gear the more obvious culprits of a typical Hollywood cop movie are dismissed. Though Hoitz is convinced it’s more the usual cop movie style villains of “sex and drug traffickers” at first, Gamble slowly pieces together a plot of dastardly insider trading. What it ends up being is that the bad guy is really just a doofus hedge fund manager named David Ershon played comically by Steve Coogan who made one too many bad investments to bad people.

Ershon has put his people and the people he owes money to deeper into the red, not at all unlike the wealthy CEOs and bankers who messed up the country during the 2008 recession, and it has led him to take desperate action to get everyone’s money back. Ershon, of course, tries to get Hoitz and Gamble off his tale by bribing them in a variety of hilarious ways (one of the funnier sequences of the film) but eventually gets caught up with the SEC and those who prosecute white collar crime (who are unsurprisingly also in bed with the people he owes money to).

(Somehow, I don’t think this is far off from reality...)

Hoitz and Gamble continue on the case but find that taking on white collar crime is…complicated to say the least but most importantly ineffectual as detailed in this scene.

(Again, probably not far off from reality...)

The 2008 recession, wiped out millions of jobs, with rural parts of the country getting hit the hardest and in many ways still feeling the effects today. If you were a POC you were even more unlikely to not recover from the crash. Property values plummeted, student high education success rates dropped, opiod overdoses from “unemployment deaths” and many more awful things happened during this period of great economic distress.

And what happened to the folks largely responsible for causing this mess? They got a fat fucking payday and a dismissive finger wag largely by our own government.

“The Other Guys,” more or less, ends the same way. Despite putting away Ershon, the company he was swindling, who gambled their people’s money, was still bailed out by the US government. A real “happy ending” that is played as a dark, matter of fact, joke before the credits roll.

(Again, we laugh but how far off from reality is this really?...)

I graduated from college in 2013, tens of thousands in debt from student loans and trying to navigate a largely bereft job market where wages had largely not changed in as many years. In 2008 average rent cost about $850 a month, by 2013 it was $953, today in 2020 it’s $1,097. The average entry level salary (for a clerical/ office professional) between 2008 and 2018 went from $46,886 to $45,882 showing a decrease in value.

In 2008 the richest man in the world, Warren Buffet, was worth $64 billion. The richest man in 2020, Jeff Bezos, is worth $200 billion.

If the fact that Jeff Bezos is worth more than some countries on this planet doesn’t make you infuriated alone I don’t know what will.

Btw Buffet’s net worth increased as well to $79 billion himself, in case you think it’s “unfair” to compare him to Bezos.

Sometimes I think the reason people aren’t angrier about this worldwide is 1) a bunch of us think we are all one hard working day away from being filthy fucking rich ourselves, one of the many great lies of capitalism and 2) many of us don’t actually know just how big a BILLION dollars is, so here let me help you all out:

With COVID in 2020 we’re seeing it all happen again, just as it did in 2008. Record unemployment rates, small businesses closing, evictions skyrocketing because no one can pay rent and all we got for it was a $1,200 band-aid (assuming you did get yours). Meanwhile billionaire slugs like Bezos and Elon Musk saw their net worth rise sharply during this period, hell even the fucking Lakers got a $4.6 million dollar “small business” loan (though they did return it…only after getting caught…).

The highest sum of cash ever stolen from a bank was $18.1 million (equivalent to roughly $30.1 million now) in 1997. These are the people cops and other “loose cannons” in popular actions movies are usually running up against. If you think stealing $30.1 million is a lot of money worth sending the cops over then $700 billion of our own tax dollars given to people who ruined the lives of millions of Americans should make you fucking furious. The only real difference here is one was made legal by our own elected government.

Adam McKay’s “The Other Guys” may be on its surface just another “dumb comedy” that mostly satirizes cops, but its villains are very real and unfortunately as American as apple pie. Under capitalism our labor only continues to get devalued every year (even the skilled positions), while the richest 1% of the human race only get fatter with their wealth. Things are only getting more expensive and the working man is getting priced out of more and more daily luxuries and even essentials. This way of life is not sustainable, especially for our environment which these dragons continue to plunder, and eventually we will need to actually hold our overlords accountable for letting it get this far.

If we don’t, they will continue to steal every penny in our pocket and bleed us dry until the next disposable drone can fill our place. If law enforcement won’t take this on, sooner or later we might have to…

Remember, pimps don’t cry...

#The Other guys #will ferrell #mark wahlberg #adam mckay #comedy #satire #cops #police #blm #black lives matter #rage against the machine #punk rock #movie #film #2008 recession #covid #income inequality #bailout #eat the rich #populism #social justice #socialism #Steve coogan #Jeff Bezos #warren buffett #billions #the rich #the poor #wealth inequality #The rock

[alex-fa-ch]

Massachusetts and New York LIVE to spite each other and argue but they’re also STUPID close it’s crazy. 

Like, they cannot be in the same room for longer than 5 seconds without some arguing breaking out. They could even be arguing for the SAME EXACT THING (as is usually the case in politics) but they’ll both go at each other like they’re on opposite sides of a war. 

But when the chips are down? They are fucking right there for each other. 

They were both the first people to learn of the other’s sexuality. And it was on accident. But Massachusetts PANICKED and tried to run. And he chased her and with the speed thing obviously he caught up. with both of them crying because shit shit shit shit shit shit shit they both admitted to it. And it was something they could talk about. 

Hell, for years, New York would have “girlfriends” that were Actually Mass’ and vice versa. It worked out. 

Or after 9/11. Massachusetts was the first person (who wasn’t NJ or PA) in NYC after the fact. She took one look at New York, unconscious in the hospital. She saw the burns around his eyes and knew it would scar. She clenched her fists and knew what she had to do. She went to ground zero and began giving out clear commands. She called in Boston’s own FD, as much as they could spare, and for the three days he was out, she ran his city for him. And, admittedly, she was probably the only one that could. 

When he woke up, he later admitted to her, in private ofc, that she was also the only one he could trust to do it. He loves NJ and PA, but NJ is wayyyy too chaotic and PA is too peaceful. Mass was the perfect woman for the job. 

During the civil war, Massachusetts resumed her role as a general, leftover from the revolution. New York immediately followed her lead. He (along with most states east of the Mississippi) instinctively trusts what she has to say when she’s that serious. After she burned Virginia’s house down, he knew she was not fucking around. And trusted her completely. 

It works the opposite too. When the Boston marathon bombings happened, New York was right fucking there. He didn’t waste any time at all. He knew the feeling. He knew she was going to be angry and scared. And she was, but it’s as the saying went. “Don’t fuck with Boston.” 

It goes all the way back to the revolution, hell, even before. When Massachusetts was silenced by Britain, New York was angrier than he had ever been in his life thus far. So much so that he actually lashed out and blamed New Hampshire for what happened, and for not protecting Massachusetts. New Hampshire was not a fan of that hoo boy. 

It was Rhode Island who calmed them both down though with admitting that, yeah, New York has a point. They knew Britain was going to retaliate for the tea thing, someone should have been with her. 

In her silence, Massachusetts managed to write down her intentions to fight. That not this nor anything was going to stop her. Some of the other states were cautious at first. I mean, Masada, this is a world power you want to fight, are you sure?! 

New York shouted down basically anyone who argued. He backed Massachusetts up completely. Because she was right. They should fight. He knew she’d fight alone if she had to, but shit he wasn’t about to let her. 

They also bond modern day over attending various meetings for America. America has so fucking much to deal with his own government that he sends Mass and NY to handle NATO and the UN, respectively. They can both bond over that, especially over the countries in both. 

Massachusetts spots Italy’s crush on New York from a fucking mile away, and sees that it’s mutual. And she is the worst sister in the world about it lmaaaoooooo oh my god poor NY. 

But they do LOVE to argue. It’s something they can both rely on, and it can help them both blow off steam if needed. Shouting at each other is much more acceptable than either of them shouting at anyone else. So they’ll yell and yell and yell and then feel better, and other states are spared their wrath. 

Also? Absolutely no one is allowed to call Massachusetts a bitch except for New York. If he hears you saying that shit he will punch you and that’s your fault. Vice versa too for someone calling New York a dick. Massachusetts will light your ass on fire. 

Basically these two have the most realistic of sibling relationships of any of my states tbh. I draw on some real life stuff between my brother and I, because we haven’t always gotten along and god do I love arguing with him. It isn’t my fault he’s wrong all the fucking time. 

ANYWAYS yeah... these two. Siblings who love to argue but have definitely killed for each other. And they’ve both been there since the very fucking beginning. And they’ll be there for each other till the bitter, bitter end. 

#burn mention #statehumans #new york #massachusetts

[bangtan-madi]

546 Days Without You — One: Negative 41

Pairing — Seokjin x Reader

Tags — boyfriend!Seokjin, older brother!Yoongi, producer/songwriter!MC, military au (ish), idol au (ish)

Genre — fluff, angst

Word Count — 3.1k

Summary — Kim Seokjin is your entire world, and that world falls apart the moment he and your older brother Yoongi are conscripted into the South Korean military.

Part — 1 / 15

A/N — Hey lovelies! This is the first chapter of an estimated 15 part series. Feedback is always welcome! I anticipate a chapter of this story going up every weekend, either Saturday or Sunday. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!!

(gif not mine. credit to original creator.)

Previous — Next

Not every great love story starts with a chance encounter, and not every beautiful relationship blossoms from love at first sight. Sometimes the universe has a sense of humor as she tosses two unlikely people at each other just to see what could happen. 

Sometimes it's not love, but annoyance at first sight.

"All right, again, from the top," you state into the microphone at your desk. "This time, try to nail that middle note. I know you got it in you, Kook."

Jungkook glances up from the sheets of music that line his podium in the recording studio. From behind the glass, he gives you a big thumbs up and boyish grin.

"That's producer-speak for, 'Again...but with passion!"

You don't have to turn to know who's sneaked up behind you, speaking over your shoulder and into the mic so Jungkook can hear.

The youngest member snickers, replying, "Aish, I got it, Hyung. Go back to your own room."

"I finished recording mine!" Seokjin retorts, causing you to finally glance over your shoulder at him. "My vocals were flawless so it didn't take nearly as long as the rest of you."

Without thinking, you pop your elbow back just hard enough to hit Seokjin in the ribs. Being the dramatic fool that he is, Seokjin jumps back, cradling his rib cage as if he's just been shot. The look on his face only causes you to roll your eyes.

"Oh, you're fine," you murmur. "What were you recording anyway? You didn't say."

He shrugs. "Mostly just practice, nothing specific."

"Well, if you're done being secretive, can you go be annoying somewhere else, just for a few minutes so JK can finish his session?"

"What do I get out of it?"

You tap your chin for a moment, pretending to think it over. "My undying gratitude?"

Seokjin scoffs. "I already have that, Jagiya."

"C'mon, Jin," Jungkook intervenes. "Leave [Y/n] noona alone."

"Five minutes? Then I'm off the clock and all yours. Until then, maybe go bug my brother. I know that makes you happy."

At the mention of Min Yoongi, Seokjin's face spreads into a wide smile. He leans down, presses a quick kiss to your cheek, and says, "Okay, okay, I get it. I'll go bug Yoongi until you're done. Then I'm holding you to your word."

Attempting to hide the happiness that simple gesture brings you is hopeless, so you settle for saying, "See you in a minute!"

Seokjin flashes a wink as he reaches for the doorknob. "Don't you dare be late."

Once the oldest member has left the room, you turn back to Jungkook with a grin and wave of your hand. "You heard the man: Again, but with passion!"

After wrapping up at the studio—a task that takes closer to an hour than five minutes, like you initially promised—you turn off the lights and lock the door on your way out. Jungkook had really sung his heart and soul today, and you couldn't help the proud smile that stays on your face on the bike ride home.

You're lucky. Of this, you're very much aware. Not only are you involved in one of the most lucrative businesses in South Korea but the particular company you've dedicated yourself to for the past eight years is truly one of a kind. Big Hit has given you so many opportunities, just like all of the other five-hundred-ish employees. Your CEO, Bang Si-Hyuk who is often referred to as either Hitman Bang or Bang PD, is one of the most passionate and empathetic humans you've ever met. If it weren't for him, there's not a change Big Hit would be where it is today. The co-CEO, Lenzo Yoon, is also a talented man, but he came into the picture far later than Bang PD, around March of last year.

But your luck doesn't just stop with the company or its leaders. Your specific job is one you've always wanted. Not only do you get to manage some of the best music coming out of your country, but you get to produce and write it alongside the biggest band in the world. This is a group that includes some of the most important people to you, including your older brother by two years Yoongi, your boyfriend of four years Seokjin, and your best friends of almost eight years which make up the rest of the group.

You don't like to think of your life as fate or destiny, but hard work and a little luck paying off after years of struggling.

There's no greater example of your success than what you get to come home to. Some people might see the nice apartment in downtown Seoul and think that's what you mean by success. Nice things, nice home, nice location just down the street from Big Hit HQ. But what you mean when you say success is the person, or people, you get to come home to.

On most days, the entire band is at the dormitories a few blocks away, but a couple years ago, you and Seokjin decided to get a place to yourself so you could have some space as a couple. This is where you spend most nights, but Seokjin still splits his time between the two locations. Lately, you've noticed him spending more and more time at your shared apartment, and your heart sinks when you remember why.

The word feels like venom in your mouth, and your hands grip the handlebars tighter as you pull the bike through the front door of the apartment.

Enlistment. 

Everyone knew this was coming. It doesn't make it any easier to accept. Big Hit's had lawyers fighting against the boys' conscription for years. They've tried every argument they could think of: their impact on the South Korean economy, the fact that the Idol projects were started by and are still majority funded by the government and thus they've already served, the Hwagwan Order of Cultural Merit they were awarded by President Moon Jae-in himself.

So far, nothing has worked, but they swore they would keep trying until the very last day.

A string of uttered curse words brings you out of your thoughts and back to your surroundings. The beautiful apartment, simple and elegant as well as lived-in and homey, gives you an immense sense of comfort. As you park your bike in the interior walkway, you hear even angrier muttering from the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Seokjin stands over a set of sizzling pans. Several ingredients are strewn across the counters, and the heavenly scent of traditional Korean food fills your nose. Soft instrumental music plays in the background. 

The sight wouldn't be unusual if it weren't for Seokjin cursing at the pan that's holding what should have been mildly brazened vegetables. However, the greens are charred beyond recognition, and Seokjin's palm is clutched to his chest.

"Wow, that radish must have seriously pissed you off."

Seokjin jumps and lets out a yelp. Knowing how easily scared he is, the sight makes you giggle, much to his dismay.

A scowl quickly replaces the fearful expression. "It's not nice to sneak up on an unsuspecting boyfriend, you know!"

"You'll live," you reply, teasingly popping a small slice of carrot into your mouth. You gesture for him to extend his hand. "Let me see?"

The brunet offers his hand, and you examine his palm. There's a small burn there, nothing too nasty, but it does look like it hurt a few moments ago. You bring the palm to your lips and kiss it tenderly before moving towards the pan of burnt vegetables.

"Burning the food and then yourself. Are you feeling okay, Jinnie? It's not like you to be so careless in the kitchen. I'd expect this sorta thing from Joon, but not you." Lifting your eyes to meet his, you add, "Something on your mind?"

Seokjin's smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but not in the way it usually does. It's not playful or teasing, nor is it caring or empathetic. It's a little sweet, a little sad, and a little bit too revealing of what's going on underneath.

"Honestly? I just wanted to have a nice night with my Jagiya. No talk of the album or tour, no one or several of the guys interrupting, no one but us. And I wanted to impress you by making your favorite meal!" He runs his un-burned hand through his hair, messing with the long black ends absentmindedly. "I guess I have a lot on my mind, and it distracted me."

You remove the pan of ruined food and place it quietly in the sink. "You wanna talk about it?"

"You probably already know, Jagi."

You do. Of course, you do. What else could make the happiest person you know this distracted and frustrated?

It's just like a few years ago, and you feel your chest tighten at the thought of the friend you lost. You felt a similar sense of impending doom just before he left for the military, too. After all these years, you thought you'd forgotten that feeling, only to have it return ten-fold with Seokjin.

Shaking your head, you turn on a different playlist—something more upbeat, and turn back to Seokjin with a grin. "C'mon. I'm hungry, and you need a sous chef."

Seokjin's somber expression melts away. Reaching into the cupboard nearest him, he pulls out two chef's hats that belonged to a couple's costume set you'd worn for Halloween a few years back. Being the goofball he is, Seokjin kept both hats and forces you to wear them whenever you cook together.

Placing the item on your head, tucking your hair behind your ears, he gives his signature windshield wiper laugh at your eye roll.

"You can be my little chef!"

The reference to the animated movie Ratatouille, which you both adore, causes you to chuckle along with him.

"So does that mean if I yank on your hair, you'll do what I want?"

Seokjin's laugh becomes outrageous and uncontrolled. Realizing how your words might've sounded, a deep heat rises in your face, and you pull your sweater collar up to cover your cheeks. 

Your boyfriend claps his hands, thoroughly entertained by your reaction. "Well, you can give it a try, Jagi! I think that jus—"

"—Shut up or I'll stab you."

The laughter didn't stop for another few minutes, and the teasing didn't cease the entire night. If you're honest with yourself, you wouldn't have it any other way.

Seokjin was right; it's nice for once just to be alone together. Not that you don't adore the boys—hell, one of them is your brother—but it is nice to have a quiet night in, filled with good food and great company. Despite it just being the two of you, nights like these are never dull. You doubt there's ever been a dull moment in the man's entire life.

After the meal is finished, you decide to do your usual wind-down routine: shower, skincare, dancing on dangerously damp floors to the sound of your favorite playlist. The usual.

When you are finished, you exit the bathroom and enter immediately into the adjacent master bedroom. What you should've seen is something simple: a few pieces of furniture, various personal items, and a large mattress in the center. However, it seems as if Seokjin's taken the opportunity while you're in the shower to redecorate.

All the pillows are on the floor, in front of the mattress. Several duvets cover the floor. Throw blankets line the space, and curtains are strewn in the air above it, creating a sort of carnival-esque tent. Fairy lights are strung from the ceiling down to the interior of the space. BT21 character pillows line the exterior, creating a walkway of sorts. The whole space looks cozy and enchanting and well thought out.

He's gone way out of his way to make tonight special, you think to yourself.

You grab a notebook from your nightstand before nestling down into the pillow fort. You're unsure of where Seokjin has sneaked off to but are fairly certain he'll be back any moment. Until then, you hum gently a recently crafted melody to yourself, repeating it over and over, until you get it just right. Once nailed, you sketch the notes onto the blank music sheets inside your notebook, knowing that if you don't write it down you'll forget.

Yoongi's notification pings from your cellphone. Placing your notebook on your lap, you read the text before swiping to respond, all the while continuing to hum the newly created melody.

"You can sing like an angel and yet you still refuse to do vocals for us." Your eyes lift to meet Seokjin's as he stands in the door. "Do you like holding out on us or something?"

After seeing Yoongi respond with a smiley face emoji and a thumbs up, you turn off your cell and drop it onto the pillows. "How long have you been standing there?"

He shrugs. "Long enough."

"And...why are you staring at me?"

"So I can have a better picture of you in my mind."

You toss your notebook aside with an exasperated groan, only causing Seokjin to laugh. "You're so cheesy, my god."

His playful smile doesn't fade as he approaches the pillow fort. "Worldwide cheesy is my second nickname, you know."

"I am not calling you that. And I do not sing like an angel. So...no. Not holding out on anyone."

"But you do write your own lyrics and melodies. You don't share most of that with us, either. Except maybe with Yoongi, but that's not fair."

Seokjin plops down on top of you, his weight causing an "Oof," to slip from your lips. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and slips his arms under the small of your back.

"Are you seriously pouting because I tell my brother, my producer and songwriter brother, about my shitty drafts?"

A muffled, "Yes," comes from your boyfriend's mouth.

Rolling your eyes, you relax into the comforters and relish in the cozy and intimate atmosphere. One of your hands tangles in Seokjin's dark hair, playing absent-mindedly with his long hair. The other rests against his broad shoulders; your fingers dance along the edges of his ocean-blue sweater, the one you often steal for yourself. 

"Tonight was really sweet," you whisper after a few minutes of silence. "You didn't have to go out of your way like that."

"I wanted to. We haven't spent a long of alone time together since we started pre-production on the next album. And before that, there was the tour for Seven. I feel like 2020 has been a year we've spent more apart than together, and it shouldn't be like that..."

His sentence trails off, and you know what his somber tone is implying. It's 41 days until his twenty-eighth birthday. What should be a day of celebration will most definitely be a day of mourning. 

"There's still hope," you mumble, pulling him tighter to you. "The lawyers haven't given up yet. They're still working on getting you and everyone else an exemption."

"Yeah...you're right."

"Hold on, can you say that again? I didn't quite catch it."

Seokjin nips gently at your throat, earning a surprised giggle from you. "Watch it, Jagi."

After your laughter settles down, the peace of the evening returns along with the blissful quiet. It's not often that Seokjin is still or silent, but over the years, you both have found a rhythm that works for you. You have your obnoxious, loud, exciting times, and then there are the serene, still, hushed moments like these. Both are beautiful in their own way, but after a full day of work, this is exactly what you needed.

"I wish every day could be like today," you murmur, half to yourself.

Your brunet boyfriend moves slightly, resting his head on the pillow beside yours. He shifts you so you're curled up against his side, arms and legs tangled under the covers he pulls over you both. A yawn slips out, despite you trying to fight the signs of sleepiness. Your eyelids become droopy, and his fingers rubbing circles on your ribs doesn't help.

When a second yawn escapes, Seokjin chuckles and presses his lips to your forehead. "You can sleep, [Y/n]. I'll be here when you wake up."

Loving nothing more than to spend more time with him, you know he's right. It's been a long day, and you have another one ahead of you tomorrow. Instead of fighting him and slumber, you curl closer, pressing a brief kiss to his lips, then tuck yourself under his chin and wrap your arms around his small waist.

"Promise?"

As if to show you, Seokjin holds you tighter as he continues to run his fingers along your rib cage and spine. 

"I promise."

#bantan-madi writes #jin #bts jin #jin x reader #seokjin x reader #seokjin #kim seokjin #bts #bangtan sonyeondan #taehyung #yoongi #jimin #jungkook #namjoon #jung hoseok #v #jhope #rm #suga #bts suga #bts rm #bts jhope #bts jimin #bts v #bts jungkook #jin fluff #jin fan fic #546 days without you #546dwy

[onderzoeken-vos]

B A S I C I N F O ; ; ;

NAME: Lillianna Esper AGE: 27 (pre-ts) DOB: December 27th SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Pansexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Panromantic HEIGHT: 5'6" (168cm) WEIGHT: 128lbs (58kg) DEVIL FRUIT: Inu Inu no Mi model: Gingitsune (Silver Fox) OCCUPATION: Information Broker // Sniper HOME ISLAND: Glacis (North Blue) HAIR COLOR: Dark orange, almost red HAIR LENGTH: Shoulderblades/midback HAIR TEXTURE: Combination of straight and wavy EYE COLOR: Amber/gold (slitted like a fox) SKIN COLOR: Pale DISTINCTING FEATURES:  — scar above left eye, usually covered by her hair  — small key tattoo on left wrist OUTFIT:  — plain white tshirt  — black skinny jeans with three decorative zippers  — knee high combat boots with extra zipped pouches attached  — black knee length cloak with lacing details on the sleeves  — katana holster attached to belt WEAPONS:  — black compound bow with sniper scope  — katana EXTRAS:  — has a large black briefcase that she uses to carry her bow and important documents for    her job

Personality and backstory under the cut

P E R S O N A L I T Y ; ; ;

▶️ STUBBORN

It takes a lot to sway Lillianna’s mind. Once she sets herself on something, she’ll see it through to the end, no questions asked. This can be both a blessing and a curse at times.

▶️ NO SENSE OF DANGER

Lillianna has quite the mouth on her, and it’s gotten her in trouble on more than one occasion. Sarcasm and sass are her middle names. Sometimes she’ll be able to rein it in, like when she knows there’s an actual threat around (she’s not stupid, though some may beg to differ). Otherwise, her filter doesn’t really exist.

▶️ RESPONSIBLE

As stated before, once Lilly puts her mind to something, she’ll see it through to the end. In the same vein, if she knows she can’t accomplish something, she’ll take it in stride and admit defeat. You won’t see her trying to put the blame on others when it was clearly her own doing.

▶️ SNEAKY

This goes without saying. Lilly is extremely sneaky, and can get herself out of just about any sticky situation if the need were to arise. Either physically, by knowing her surroundings and every possible exit, or just by talking her way out of it. She’s good with words; something she quickly learned was needed in her line of work. Getting around guards and other security measures are also another feat she’s just about perfected at this point.

▶️ CAUTIOUS

Despite having little to no sense of danger, Lillianna can be quite cautious, especially if she’s in a situation with someone that gives her bad vibes. She can read people pretty easily, and the minute she sees something off with their body language, or tone of voice, her guard goes up. This usually happens when she’s working with people in the underground, and she knows to tread lightly around them since one minute they could be nice to you and the next they’re stringing you up.

▶️ CURIOUS

Lillianna is always looking for new things to gain knowledge on, whether it be through books or real life experiences. She’s very much like a cat, and sometimes that can get her into just as much trouble as her mouth does.

▶️ SMART

Ever since she was a child she was always thirsty for expanding her mind, which has led her to where she is today. With her job she needs to be smart, both book smart and street smart, considering some of the characters that come to her looking for information. Working with the Government, the underground and everything in between also means she needs to have her wits about her at all times. One small slip up could be the end of her career, or her life.

▶️ AMBIVERT

For the most part Lillianna is an outgoing person, but she has her moments of being shy and reserved. It really just depends on the people she surrounds herself with at any given time, and how comfortable she is with them.

▶️ SLY

Lilly knows how to play her cards, and she does it really well. She knows how to pull the rug up from under someone without them noticing until it’s already far too late, or make you think one thing is happening when she’s actually doing the complete opposite.

▶️ EASY TO ANGER

It doesn’t take much to tick Lilly off. She gets easily annoyed by so many different things, from certain sounds (the enhanced hearing from her Zoan doesn’t help this any) to something stupid someone around her has said. It’s why she often finds herself in scuffles with pirates and other ruffians when she’s trying to relax in a bar. Like usual, she does have a good grasp on controlling herself when the situation deems it necessary, but sometimes it can be a bit of a struggle, depending on how annoyed she is.

B A C K S T O R Y ; ; ;

Before Lillianna was even born, her parents worked for the World Government. After she came into the world, they didn’t stop, and often left her home alone with babysitters. When she became old enough to read, the library was her favorite place to be. She could lose herself on the pages of books for hours, and forget about the fact that her parents were essentially neglecting her.

Soon it got to the point where her parents practically orphaned her, and babysitters were no longer a thing. They even stopped paying for the home, almost like they forgot about her, and Lillianna, no older than a preteen, was left on the streets to fend for herself. Because of this, she holds a deep seeded resentment toward the World Government. She blames them for taking her parents away; blames them for her being forgotten.

Living on the streets made her harder, a little angrier, and her sass and sarcasm only continued to grow the longer she struggled to survive. She grew to have some pretty bad trust issues, and because she surrounded herself with some unsavory people just to get by, her polite filter was practically nonexistent.

It wasn’t long before Lilly grew tired of it. It got to the point where she eventually broke into some poor stranger’s home, and was found by the owner while she was scavenging their kitchen for food. He was a rugged old man, and didn’t look at all pleased when he noticed her huddle in the corner scoffing down a loaf of crusty bread. But despite how he looked like he was ready to kick her back out into the streets, he decided to take her under his wing. It must have been the look in her eyes, maybe. She wasn’t sure.

What she did know though, was she would forever be grateful to this man.

He wasn’t nice by any means. Often growled at her, or gave her harsh punishments if she talked back—which she did often. But he allowed her to indulge in her thirst for knowledge at the local library while he was off working on his fishing boat, even encouraged it. And he looked after her. Made sure she was fed, and even told her stories of his own past when he’d had a little too much to drink, which she drank in every second of it.

Now, Lillianna would never admit to loving this man like a father, but the feelings were very close to that. He was more of a parent to her than her own mother and father ever would be.

As she continued to collect information, both from books and various different newspapers, Lilly became even more aware of just how corrupt the Government actually was. Many different news articles and other media were conflicting, making it quite obvious that various things were being covered up. With this, her anger grew, and she decided to go off on her own. She knew she was good at gathering information, and was extremely stealthy from her years living on the streets. Deciding being an information broker was the best route to go, she set off.

The Revolutionary Army quickly became one of her top customers, on par with the Underworld, where she would sell off any World Government info she came across as a huge fuck you to the organization. Anything she could to pull the rug up from underneath the people who essentially ruined her family, she would do it.

On more than one occasion she was propositioned by the RA to join them seeing as to them she was a good fit for their cause, but she refused every time, knowing she wouldn’t be able to live a life of taking orders. Honestly, she wasn’t a fan of any kind of authority figure.

Thinking that it would be smart to also work on her combat skills, Lilly quickly learned how to use a compound bow, something she knew would be unique and not often thought of by her enemies, and it wasn’t long before she was rather proficient with it. If anyone were to ask, she would even go to the lengths of calling herself a self-trained sniper. But, because using a bow wasn’t practical in close range combat, she also learned how to use a sword, a katana she picked up at a strange, shoddy little weapons shop in one of the towns she’d stopped on randomly.

Unlike the proficiency she had with her bow, her sword skills left much to be desired. But it got the job done when it was needed. She hadn’t died yet, anyway.

A couple years into her job as an information broker, Lillianna slipped up and sold a World Government secret to a Government spy, which lead to the Government retaliating by murdering both of her parents as a warning. She didn’t really care at the time, not having much of a relationship with them after they willingly orphaned her, but understood the threat all the same. What would stop them from killing her father figure next, or even taking her own life?

This incident is what caused her to become even more cautious and distrusting. Lilly took a lot more time investigating who exactly she’s making deals with now, and with her ability to gather info without anyone noticing, luckily it’s not that hard to do so. It’s also added to the long list of reasons why she hates the WG.

Lillianna gains her Devil Fruit a few years after The Incident while searching a Marine warship for intel. At first she was going to leave the oddly shaped fruit, but decided to snatch it at the last minute as just another rebellious act against the Government. Of course, she didn’t eat it right away, wanting to make sure she was safe since she had no idea exactly what Fruit she’d stolen was.

#about the muse #long post

[alexsmitposts]

Race Crime Opens Up Third Front in “Never Ending Conflict” The notorious serial killer Charles Manson was a fine salesman, very good at persuading people. According to the prosecutor at his trial, he persuaded his followers that there was going to be a race war between black and white people, which they would escape from by hiding in a hole in the ground. The murders his followers committed were intended to incite this war, which would end with them emerging to rule over what was left This crackpot theory has since been cited as evidence of Manson’s psychopathic nature, and the way he used it to manipulate people has been picked over again and again. It is therefore deeply distressing to see that he was right all along – and this time we cannot accuse a patently disturbed career criminal of manipulating us, because we voted for those who have proved him right, are of legal age, and had a choice. Orwellian Triangle Until the murder of George Floyd at the hands (or rather the knee) of that Minneapolis police officer, there were two highly polarised forces fighting for control of each Western democracy, and therefore the world. On the one side you had the traditional middle class, who run things a certain way, within their own institutions, and make the rules of conduct everyone has to live by. On the other you had the populist movements which have arisen because people feel those institutions and rules have failed them, and they want to be the opposite for the sake of it. One of the rules of conduct which has been imposed upon people is “multiculturalism”. We have all had the official anti-racist rhetoric rammed down our throats by those who rule what have often been institutionally racist countries and agencies, as if spouting it excuses their own crimes. But though we are told that racism is wrong, which it is, we are not given a way to understand the different cultures and their representatives in our midst. Consequently the uninformed are unable to bridge the divide between themselves and their neighbours. They are then excluded on the grounds of being racist or ignorant, with no place and no voice in the world of those who rule us. Obviously this generates a backlash against immigrants, who are perceived to be profiting from the exclusion of others from opportunity and cultural validity. But it also generates a backlash against natives of different racial origins – and in Western democracies–and that means black people. Even if a black person has lived sixty years in their white majority homeland, was born there and has known no other home, they still experience many forms of discrimination for being different. Those who rise above this by achieving success or celebrity are often the first to recognise this, indicating the depth of the problem. So, indigenous black communities are opposed to both the complacent white middle class culture which keeps them down, and the new populism which openly seeks to exclude them forever, as “foreigners”. This has always been a subliminal feature of politics and community relations. Now, thanks to George Floyd’s killing and the inadequate white establishment response to it, the opposition has broken out into open warfare, exactly as Charles Manson predicted. Fighting your future While white people vote for Brexit, attack immigrants and try and destroy parliament and police, black people loot shops, those symbols of discriminatory capitalism, attack white people and try and destroy parliaments and police. Neither side is achieving anything, or ever will, except to get angrier. But both white populists and black activists ultimately blame each other for the sins of the middle class elite, as they see them. Whites think they are too much in the pay of foreigners. And blacks think they are too much in the pockets of white people, Uncle Toms, who are inherently anti-black. As we have already seen with Brexit, winning an argument, or looting a shop, and it doesn’t make the anger go away. On the contrary, the worse things get, the more people look round for someone else to blame for them – the Brexiteers who turned on the EU are now turning on the UK itself, the very thing they said they were fighting for It is a truth is any democracy: the white middle class elite never goes away. In Portugal democracy was overthrown by the conservative military in 1926, and the subsequent dictatorship then overthrown by Marxist military in 1974. When democracy was restored, a key promise of the victorious Armed Forces Movement, the people voted for the middle class parties you find in any democracy, not Marxists. They even altered the post-1974 constitution to remove all the references to making Portugal a socialist state, even though the main political parties claimed to be socialist or social democrat. No amount of revolt against the “liberal elite”, by white or black populations and their sympathisers, will remove that elite or the system it operates. But as Michael Collins found in Ireland, when he was murdered by fellow nationalists for signing the Anglo-Irish Treaty which gave them a watered down version of which they had fought and died for, once you have gone so far it is more dangerous to turn back than to keep going, no matter what the consequences. Eventually white populists and black activists will have to turn on each other, and seek the protection of the elite when they do so. If they do not get that protection, they will accuse the elite of conspiring with the other side. This is precisely what happened within recent memory in Northern Ireland. Extensive collaboration between Protestant paramilitaries, the police and the British Army provoked Catholics, but many Protestants blamed those same police and army for not protecting them and their traditions when attacked by Catholics Charles Manson’s race war is being staged by proxy at present, with both sides attacking “the system” rather than each other. But it didn’t take long for the proxy Nazi-Soviet conflict of the Spanish Civil War to become World War Two, even though The Soviet Union wasn’t initially one of the allies. When “the system” doesn’t go away, the other two points of the triangle will attack each other for allegedly controlling the system, the common enemy. Neither does, so neither will be right, so no negotiated peace will be possible as there is nothing real to negotiate about. The only question is who has provoked this and why. Or perhaps there is a second question – why did we all see them provoking it, but give them the power to do so? Death Valley, D.C. Manson said that he and his followers would escape to a hole in the ground during this war. Groups of his followers went looking for this hole, inspecting various sites in Death Valley, California, to see if they were fit for purpose. So who went down into a hole in the ground when demonstrators were thought to be about to turn violent? Donald J. Trump, no less. He also said he was merely “inspecting” the bunker, not hiding in it. But his own Attorney General has contradicted him, even though he says it wasn’t Trump’s own decision. There have always been underground bunkers for key government officials, which have the same purpose Manson described: those who feel they are entitled to be the rulers hide in them so that when the crisis is over, they will continue ruling over what is left. They are not equipped as last resorts in a crisis but with all the facilities a ruler would need to continue doing their job, and monitoring the situation, from the safety of their impenetrable depth. Duck and Cover During the Cold War, with its ever-present threat of nuclear annihilation, many such bunkers were constructed for defence institutions and also private citizens. Switzerland once made it a state policy to ensure that every citizen would have a place in a nuclear shelter. Since the Iron Curtain fell, many have been sold off to private citizens as accommodation, showing how many facilities they actually had. Trump should know all about the possibility of race wars. Like little brother Boris Johnson, he openly played the white populist card to get elected. He blames “the system” for everything the voters he courts don’t like, so none of them has responsibility for anything. Building the border wall to keep Mexicans out is one of a long litany of actions which demonstrate that he also blames people of colour, of any description, for drugs, crime and terrorism, though his own national statistics don’t bear this out. His message is clear: “the system” should be torn down because it has been hijacked by foreigners and foreign ideas. It needs to be replaced, along with all the people who have corrupted it. Yet he is very well aware that black activists who don’t like him and his voter constituency say exactly the same in reverse: that the system needs to be torn down because it is full of Trump’s voter constituency, who use it to project their cultural dominance and oppress blacks. If you want to get elected, you try and spread your supporter base as far as possible. But if you are in office and are being attacked, as Trump has been from day one, you go back to where you know your core support is. Even starting with Nixon, the War on Drugs was understood to mean a War on Blacks, especially young blacks. When Oliver Cromwell’s Protectorate collapsed under his son Richard, it was torn apart by ex-combatants who had run out of steam arguing about who was the true upholder of the “good old cause,” because the ideology was incapable of embracing new ideas. More recently, when Robert Mugabe was threatened in Zimbabwe by the same black populations he claimed to represent, he talked about the guerilla war which had created his power, and relied for support on its veterans rather than attracting new constituencies of support with new policies. Predictably, Trump has used the violence following the death of George Floyd to call for more law and order. This is always a rallying cry for his faithful, who believe only they want it, and that the law enforcement agencies are there to protect them from those they consider different. He is currently being sued by a coalition of civil rights groups over one manifestation of his solution, the violent dispersal of a Black Lives Matter protest opposite the White House which was obstructing a photo opportunity in which he was depicted holding a bible. Using Flag and God as the last resort is a common move for political in deep up to their necks. As a sitting president Trump is in the same position once lamented in the famous quote by the 2nd Earl of Manchester – “If we beat the king 99 times, he is king still, and so will his posterity be after him; but if the king beat us once, we shall be all hanged, and our posterity be made slaves. May say he wants to overthrow the system, but when all this is over, which he hopes will be after he has cancelled the November election under “emergency powers,” only he will rule what is left. Fatal absurdity Since Manson committed his crimes, very few have wanted to live in a world where he really was a prophet, and the person to turn to if you wanted to know the truth. The lunatic has not only taken over the asylum, he has made it the hole in the ground from which he can issue his truth, and everywhere else the asylum. No one wanted to talk to black communities. Whenever they raised their concerns, whether legitimate or not, they were told in effect “you would say that, wouldn’t you?” Neither did anyone want to listen to the politically incorrect, the forcibly unemployed, the homeless or the out of fashion – their views weren’t good enough, they didn’t matter anymore than the life of a black man did. This is precisely what should not happen in liberal democracies, which exist to give power to “the people”, even if you don’t like what they want or think, provided those who disagree don’t face negative consequences. It is also what should never happen in a Christian country, as Christ died for us all, and racism or discrimination are direct contradictions of Christian teaching, strange though that may seem to some. Ballot or the Bullet The white populists and black activists are right: the system has failed them by discriminating against them unfairly. But they will never tear it down, as they will never resolve their problems that way, modern Africa bearing strong testimony to this. It is like Malcolm X, when he spoke of a different view of history for American Blacks, We didn’t land on Plymouth Rock; the rock was landed on us. What is needed is to redefine what is acceptable in public life from within. The anti-racists who look down on those outside their circle will never achieve this. Not only another generation of blacks have been sold down the river, but minorities, and those of the former middle class with skill sets that are no longer needed, as those jobs are now in China and elsewhere. But all the conflict can be stopped by people displaying the basic humanity they do, when pushed, on an everyday basis, instead of expecting others to do it for them. That starts with electing people who represent what we are, not what they have made us into. If we did, we might just take back control – by keeping Mansonism in the asylum permanently, where we all know it really belongs.

[xseildnasterces]

dream.

COVID-19 Diary. National Emergency Day 12.

I feel a bit better today. I think it’s a variety of things, but actually getting out of bed and sitting in the lounge instead of sitting in bed has been a huge help. I woke up early and forced myself to get up, get ready and go to the pharmacy. Somehow, I got lucky. There was one tub of the medication I needed on the shelf, and I could not have been happier to see them there. Going out so early was a little eerie. I think I saw 4 people the whole time I was outside. Luckily I live really close to a pharmacy (which I didn’t realise until yesterday), so I managed to get what I needed and get back home before 08:30am which was great. Again my sleep last night was limited, so despite going out and getting that one job ticked off my list, after speaking to H for a while about work and then video calling with my mum I ended up laying on the bed and having an almost 2-hour nap. I needed it, even though I shouldn’t have been doing that when I should be working, but nevermind. 

I had my first therapy session today since I went to my first initial appointment. Online therapy is a struggle for me. I tried using an app before and I just found not having a physical connection with someone really hard. It was hard to speak to someone when it didn’t feel like they were really there, so today was hard work. However, my therapist is amazing and we did a grounding exercise and I spoke about how I felt in terms of this type of therapy and then we spoke a lot about the virus and the impact that was having on my mental health and wellbeing. Although I don’t like online therapy, I still felt good after it and look forward to actual physical sessions once everything gets back on track. As always it was nice to talk about my feelings and for someone to understand what I felt. I had been asked to complete a questionnaire before my session (I love questionnaires). It was about why I felt I needed therapy and then it went into lots of specifics such as gender identity, sexuality, drink/alcohol issues, food disorders and lots of other things in order to provide an insight into me, who I am and things I have dealt with. I think it was a really great way to introduce myself to my therapist and for her to understand things I had been through and perhaps why I act a certain way. I just really like my therapist so it went better than I expected considering how anxious I was beforehand. 

I then had a work meeting which was fine but seemed to drag on for ages. I spent most of it with C sending me photos of her cats sitting on her lap during the meeting and texting L on my phone. Uncertain times do not seem to apply to the world as a whole right now but also our organisation. The department is going through a reorg and everyone's jobs are up in the air. I would hope, and assume that our team is safe because we have unique skills that cannot be used elsewhere in the division… but you never know! Then, whilst making dinner and doing very little we got an email that made me cry. A member of our division, a 26-year-old guy had died from the virus. He is not something I have ever spoken to personally, but I have seen him in meetings before, and for someone in your vicinity, and around your age to be killed by this virus is horrendous and makes everything even more real than it already is. Throughout our meeting, my boss had listed off a few members of our department who had already lost family members and hearing those numbers is horrific. It makes me even angrier that there are still people out there not taking this seriously and not appreciating just how serious this really is.

Yesterday the UK went into ‘lockdown’, although It’s not a real lockdown at all. Everything is ‘advisory’, nothing is enforced and because they are worried about the economy, people that cannot work from home are still being told to go to work - my dad being one of them. So essentially, he cannot walk in the street with anyone other than my mum (not that she's leaving the house), yet he can go to work with 100s of other people? It makes no sense. He’s worried sick and it’s impacting his anxiety really badly and I am worried about him on both points. It is going to seriously diminish his health if it continues like this. The government needs to just state that no one should go to work unless they are key workers. Everything they have done in this crisis and how they have epically failed to deal with it has made me hate the Tories even more - not that I needed any help in doing that.

Here, on the other hand, Trump thinks we will be ‘opening up the country’ by Easter… which is in two weeks. Somehow, I don’t think so. Again this is all due to the economy. I understand that the economy crashing is also a huge issue, but right now I think people's lives are much more important. The Governor of Texas is even quoted saying that he believes grandparents would be happy to die in order to save the economy for their grandchildren!? Are these people even real? They really are insane, and what’s more the way the UK and the US have completely failed to deal with this crisis just highlights what they view as important - money.

Johnson and Trump really are Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.

[Blog title: Dream - Amaranthe]. 

#me #personal #life #life update #writing #journal #diary #thoughts #feelings #feeling #thought #emotions #emotion #covid19 #covid-19 #coronavirus #dreams #amaranthe #dream

[livinginfictions]

You know, I used to watch Bones because I thought Brennan was really smart, but I loved watching Booth teach her all about the real world and emotions and people. I always identified with Booth because of his troubled past and how he tried to view the world. Now when I watch it, I find myself identifying almost completely with Brennan. Every time she brings up a social issue and Booth does that ‘pshh, see you don’t understand the real world’ thing, I get upset because what she said makes sense. 

“If we made drugs legal and gave them out in clean, clinical environments instead of forcing people to retreat to back alleys, maybe not so many people would” is a perfectly reasonable opinion to have on the drug war. There’ve been tests that prove that using legal clinics to help people come off their addictions safely is far better than sending them all to jail.

“I don’t want to have children because the world we live in is dangerous and overcrowded and I don’t think it makes sense.” is a Reasonable opinion to have on giving birth, especially since she never told other people not to have kids, she just said she didn’t want one. But he just told her she should lie on television because it makes her look cold-hearted and it’s the same as saying she hates children.

“War is bad, and there are a lot of socioeconomical reasons that it happens and I wish people stopped glorifying it” is a reasonable as fuck opinion to have on war, and she never tells Booth that his experience is invalid, she just points out that every culture thinks that their wars are real or important for the cause, and it isn’t fair of him to think the US is above all that. But he constantly tells her she doesn’t understand war even though she was entrenched in that shit for years and years, dealing with the victims and their families. She has just as much trauma from her war past as he does. Do you remember the part where she was kidnapped for refusing to stop identifying remains and was beaten to within an inch of her life for three days before she was found? Tell me again, Booth, how Bones doesn’t know what it’s like.

The more I rewatch this show the more frustrated I become with the obvious glorification of the United States and its issues with War, police brutality, nationalism, and the inherent lack of a divide between church and state. The show starts of with a Bones that defies all of these things and uses her extensive archaeological and anthropological studies to prove time and time again that just because Booth thinks it’s ‘inconsiderate’ to be specific about someone’s death doesn’t mean she shouldn’t tell the damn truth. But Brennan is always criticized for these decisions, always teased, and half the time her attempts at getting answers as to why she’s being made fun of are met with sarcasm and a cut scene. By the time she and Booth end up together she shares most of his beliefs. She is always made to bend to Booth’s ideas. How often in these episodes does he ever change his perception? Maybe twice? And both times having to do with the Foster Care system after she is brought to the point of tears because he’s so inconsiderate. The rest of the time she has to beg him not to make her threaten an illegal immigrant family with deportation where they’ll lose their fucking son, and then he shames her for refusing to go along with his loss of temper and threatens them himself as soon as he gets the chance. When they’re working military cases, she reminds him again and again that he needs to cool the fuck down and be objective, and he gets angrier and angrier at her and is a total jackass. But when she gets upset because of things in cases hitting too close to home she is shamed and reminded by literally everyone to calm down, and she does. Her evidence is stolen in broad daylight and she’s pissed off? “Take a breath, chill, take a pill” “I wasn’t being helpful, was I?”

While of course I find the interpersonal relationships in the show fascinating because of their bonds with each other and the people in their groups, the overall hidden message of obey obey obey, do not question your government is painful to see. Those who dare stand outside the line are caricatured in Hodgins as nutty conspiracy theorists that everyone laughs at until he starts making sense and then they all get angry at him until he backs down. Bones is treated like a complete alien in most social settings that Booth ‘translates’ for, and subsets of people are constantly painted in extremely conservative lights. The way that subjects like illegal immigration, BDSM, LGBT+ issues, sexism through forced feminization i.e implants and plastic surgery, religion, terrorism, are all treated is highly Christian-ized. And Bones calls these things out. When working in New Orleans she scolds Booth multiple times for being inappropriate and degrading when speaking about voodoo, pointing out that he was raised in a judeo-christian society and taught to view other religions as crazy, and Booth just gets fucking Angry about it and keeps making jokes and no one stops him. The mentions they make to BDSM in the first season episode never separate the fact that the killers were a part of the BDSM scene and the fact that they kidnapped the victim and bound her against her will. BDSM partakers are exclusively referred to as perverts and sickos, and treated as though they’re broken because of having ‘bad sex’. As though vanilla sex is the only kind of appropriate sex, and it should be ‘good enough’. And even when they have that conversation, Booth silences Brennan when she agrees with him on this subject, because it’s okay for him to talk about sex, but he finds it creepy when she refers to having a sexual history. In the same episode that Bones gets angry at society convincing women to get plastic surgery in order to feel beautiful enough, Booth makes a crack at the FBI agent he’s mad at, saying she should figure herself out, maybe get some plastic surgery, and it’s framed as a really good shut down. But it’s surrounded by “All hail the FBI”. The episodes on terrorism may have a facade of being respectful to Islam, but in the first damn episode they find out that the mastermind behind everything was still an Islamic terrorist. Instead of saying something real about the framing of Islamic peacekeepers as vicious minorities, they just made it so, actually, it was the guys’ brother who did it. Once again, in this episode Bones calls this out, showing respect for the religion in her attempts to return as much of the remains as possible, but throughout it Booth treats her as if she just doesn’t understand how the ‘real world’ works and that people just have to die sometimes.

Like the vast vast majority of cop shows or government shows, Bones is presented from a conservative, pro-government, Christian based view, carefully masked with humor and painful backstories and sarcastic remarks so that we cheer for our FBI man when he attacks someone in the interrogation room or when he breaks into people’s houses because ‘if anyone asks, the door was unlocked’. Even Brennan’s multiple assaults are framed as okay, because it was the bad guy. And that’s how we’re taught that these things are acceptable. It was the bad guy in the show, so they must never do it when it isn’t the bad guy. But that doesn’t track in real life. Just like the whole “he lawyered up, he must be guilty’ thing doesn’t track. Hell, when Brennan becomes a suspect in New Orleans, they immediately warn her that the police force isn’t going to play fair and it doesn’t matter if she’s guilty or not she should never speak and get an attorney immediately. But apparently, the Justice Department is above all that.

And of course, because I recognize that it’s impossible to find media that isn’t somehow biased or problematic, I’ll keep watching it, cus’ damn Boreanaz is really good at playing sexual tension, and I love watching him be protective as shit.

#personal #rant #bones #I have NO idea how I went on this rant #but uh #there you go

[godwhore]

That Humans of New York story touched me. I also grew up surviving abuse from people who were traumatized - who never really defeated the ghosts that haunted them. My parents grew up in poverty, both of them. My mother’s parents died when she was in high school, and the older sister who took her in was abusive. I believe she never truly recovered from this. Her mental state is more fragile than glass, and I think it’s something I inherited. Unlike her, I try to keep my turmoil internal. My dad lost his dad when he was in middle school. His father was a broken man after the government took everything that made him a “man”. His work, his property, his rank. They were forced to move to the poorest area of their city and my dad, being asthmatic, almost developed TB because of how poor his living condition was. They both deny that they have any traumas. And yet I’m the living embodiment of their scars, of everything they thought they chose to put away. In reality they held everything they went through over me. I grew up in America, with a roof over my head. I never starved. I always had air conditioning. And because of that I never had a right to suffer. Even when they argued every month like clockwork, when my mom was an emotional leech who tried to turn me into her own makeshift maternal figure, despite the fact that I was only a child. And an only child, with nobody else to turn to. There’s no way around it. They were terrible parents. Emotionally, utterly unreliable and vapidly, almost incomprehensibly abusive. They never hit me. My mom only threw a chair at me once, when I was very young. But I learned to be paranoid, lonely, scared, anxious, and angry, so, so, so, so, so, so so angry from them. Poverty breeds trauma, and trauma breeds abuse. I can’t say I’m as big as the woman from the HONY post and say I’ve forgiven my parents. As harsh as this may sound, they’re too stupid for forgiveness. Countless, endless times I’ve begged for them to get help. Get counseling. Get therapy. If not for themselves individually, at least for their marriage. Worse yet, I had begged for therapy for myself. Though I understand their “stupidity” isn’t inherent. It’s from brain damage. It’s from the lingering demon that is unhealed trauma. I’m still angry though. Because they never allowed me to be angry when I was younger. Or sad. Every time I cried, literally almost every time my mom would explode and cry harder, and my dad would find a way to blame me for “provoking” her. I almost failed out of college due to my mental instability and all my dad did was scoff. I got into a car accident, my first one, the only one I’ve had to this day, and as I cried over the phone to my dad he yelled at me to stop. He kept yelling until I realized he wouldn’t stop, and so I hung up on him. I got raped and my dad blamed me for it happening, and my mom, as much as she tried to defend me, couldn’t help me from his rage. I tried moving out and my dad suspected me of trying to move in together with my boyfriend - he thought he was leeching off of me - and I had to kick him and my mom out of my new home, forcing them to drive hours away back to their home city. And even after all of this, I still found a way to rise out of the ashes. I’m successful. And of course, they think I should feel like their sins and transgressions should be easily forgotten as I should be “happy” now. “Be happy” my dad says. A command. No other phrase in the world makes me angrier. I’m as happy as I can be, but I will never force myself to forget what I went through like they did. I will never, ever take out my anger and my pain on my future child like they did. What they went through wasn’t their fault, but how they dealt with it was their responsibility. And they chose to outsource their pain instead of dealing with it, to me. I’m at a much better place now than I was even a few months ago, but the scars will always remain. I freak out a lot. I try to keep it to myself, to not let the emotion leech out and damage others. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to deal with it well in the past. I have lost some friends to my turmoil, my rage, my instability. I’ve been attracted to abusers and terrible people because that was the only example I ever knew from growing up. Considering all of that though, I have done pretty well for myself. Yes, lol. I do live with my boyfriend dad. Before marriage. What a sin. But he pays his fair share of the bills. We split things equally. We share each other’s burdens. But the best part is - we do not let our traumas damage each other. We do not let our pain speak for us. We let love communicate instead. And it has healed me so much. I am healing. And I will continue to heal.

[fakemuggle529-blog]

"HARRY DID YOU PUT YOUR NAME IN THE GOBLET OF FIRE?!?!"

I could go on for days about the differences between the HP books and the movies (just ask my wife). 7 books, 8 movies, 4 directors, 2 screenplay writers, a myriad of actors or varying levels of talent, but this 1 line haunts every single Harry Potter fan. One comment about this line was "we're never going to get over this, are we?" That one comment sparked this post, which was originally meant to be a list of my least favorite movie moments and why.

But Harry Potter is my favorite subject, and my rant about this became a separate post to answer that rhetorical question.

Simply put, no, we're not going to get over it. But why won't we?

As with any adaptation, since the world isn't ready for a 10 hour movie based on 1 book, bits and pieces of the Harry Potter books needed to be cut out. (I'd be down for that movie, but I digress)

Things like the Draco/Pansy romance, Rita Skeeter being an unregistered Animagus, or winning the Quidditch cup ultimately don't have an impact on the plot of "evil wizard finds path to immortality, boy wizard must stop him with the help of his friends," so they can get cut pretty easily.

Even things like the Marauders' full moon adventures and creation of the Map, Umbridge setting the dementors on Harry, and Neville's parents' fate are secondary material, meant to give more weight to the main story:

- The world would still be in mortal danger without four teenagers creating a map of their school, but that map helped stop that danger;

- Umbridge would still be a cruel bitch if we hadn't known she sent the dementors, but that tidbit show her own demented state of mind and how far she'll go to get what she wants.

- and we'd still want Voldemort dead even if we'd never heard of Neville Longbottom, because we've seen the impact he had on Harry. The info about the Longbottoms just gives more depth to the characters involved.

But regardless of what they left out, the basics stayed the same: "evil wizard finds path to immortality, boy wizard must stop him with the help of his friends" continued, except the written version had more information than the visual. The fans already knew what was missing, so our brains filled it in for us. And leaving out that bit of info for the adaptation process allowed people who hadn't read the books to know what was going on and how the information fit together, even if they had less information than the fans.

(I think of the miniseries Chernobyl, when the general asks how a nuclear reactor works. He gets a bare bones explanation, and can parrot it back to his subordinates later. He might not me able to do the math or understand all of the technical jargon, but that simple explanation has given him enough info to get things going.)

As the movies progressed, we saw more and more get left out since the books only got longer, or more in depth, or both which each new addition, but no matter what, that skeleton was still there, "evil wizard finds path to immortality, boy wizard must stop him with the help of his friends." And the 'friends' part was even more accurate with supporting characters!

Hermione was the nerd from the books, Ron was the goofy best friend, Neville was the underdog, Draco was the bully!

Every single character was fitting their book counterparts perfectly, they just couldn't be as in depth in this medium!

Lucius was the oily bastard you knew he was, Sirius was the Godfather who wanted to be there but couldn't, Bellatrix was the psychotic fanatic who'd do anything to earn Voldemort's praise, Dumbledo--

And that's where the similarities stop.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore is a lot of things: he's the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot (the Wizard High Court), honoree of the highest medal of Honor possible for Wizards, one of the most notable contributors to the field of alchemy, and from what I understand a PHENOMENAL dancer.

He's human, and fallible like any other human, but he is definitely not stupid.

Just in book 1, before Ms. Rowling had even gotten into her stride as a storyteller, we see Dumbledore:

Send Harry to the safest place possible; watch over him as much as possible; send updated owls to Harry with every change of address; send Hagrid as the most friendly way to introduce Harry to his true world; Send Harry the invisibility cloak as a connection to his dad; say that he 'doesn't need a cloak to become invisible;' RETURN the cloak after Harry lost it; and turned around on his trip to London on some intuition, barely managing to save Harry's life.

While he might not be the warmest of people, probably due to a tendency to think too deeply, Dumbledore shows the strongest of power when he needs to fight, the quickest of words when he needs to talk, and what seems to be a clear sense of right and wrong (the waters get a little murky with that last one, but he stands up for what he sees is wrong, regardless of what he thought at 18), and a calm dignity, even while getting his feathers ruffled.

And that's exactly why this gets under our skin so much.

As fans of the books, we see Dumbledore do it all, in great detail. Even that infamous line is ended with "he asked CALMLY" (All Caps is my addition). We see Dumbledore:

-sit next to an 11-year old who nearly died recently and promise to some day tell him about the first time he nearly died as an infant AT THE HANDS OF THE SAME GUY... Calmly, because this is a conversation he's been dreading for years, so he's prepared.

- hire a clear fraud just to fill his staff; have two 12-year olds crash an illegal flying car into a living tree AND talk down the teacher that wanted to skin them alive; deal with an unknown threat that was attempting to kill his students; get forcibly removed from the school, only return ready to console grieving parents AND watch the same 12 year olds from earlier emerge from an unfindable chamber WITH the 11 year old who was thought to be dead....calmly, because he's lost loved ones, and he knows what it is to grieve.

- Hire a werewolf; keep that a secret from his students, their parents, and maybe even the government; and have two 13 year olds illegally time travel to save an animal an a convicted felon...calmly, because an innocent man's life is important.

- Host a death tournament specially designed to 'not kill;' and slowly watch a plot to revive to worst wizard ever unfold before his eyes....calmly, because he didn't have all of the information yet.

- Get slandered by the entirety of the government, and forcibly removed from his position in the Courts; have a government spy forced onto his staff; purposefully pissed her off; evade arrest and go on the lam...calmly, because he knows he's right, and the truth will out. THEN come back, fight every Death Eater in the ministry, fight Voldemort, convince the government not to arrest him, then talk Harry through his Godfather's death....calmly, because he knows he messed up, he even says that Harry show be so much angrier, and 'please, by all means, destroy my possessions'.

- Find out he's dying; find out there's a hit on him; recruit an old colleague, and use Harry as a means to reveal a crucial part of Voldemort's past, which he's been teaching to Harry all year; find a horcrux as well as pass on as much info about them as possible; AND get psychologically tortured mere moments before being murdered....

- AND, postmortem, we find out that Dumbledore has been playing pretty much everybody, but especially Harry....calmly, because for once, it really was "the greater good."

But he was fun loving too, maybe childishly so due to the fact that he had to grow up so fast.

- Some of His first words after Harry starts school are, "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! And tweak!"

- He did what was best for the school AND Firenze by hiring the centaur, but he clearly enjoyed shoving it in Umbridge's face.

- and let's not forget the night he picked Harry up front Privet Drive. He obviously made those glasses hit the Dursleys as some small payback for how they treated Harry.

That's Dumbledore. Serious, wise, and seriously wise, with a penchant for mischief.

The movie Dumbledore gave none of that, especially with that terrible, terrible reading of that line.

That one line changed the entire character of Albus Dumbledore. Instead of the cool, calm, and collected man he always was, he lost control. In front of his foreign and governmental guests nonetheless. That would never happen to Dumbledore. He's seen the signs, and can tell something is up. That's WHY he hired "Mad-Eye."

Even that stupid Christmas scene added to the HBP movie, as much as I freaking HATE it, doesn't CHANGE anything. The Death Eaters attack and for some reason burn the house down. Boo hoo. Nobody gets hurt, nobody dies, the house is back to normal the next movie. No big deal. They just wanted to add to the drama some, instead of the usual deduction from the cuts.

This change is why we hate SO many other adaptations, or "cuts" as they call them.

-Those of us who are old enough to remember will freaking riot over the "Han shot first" argument, because we knew that there was no way in hell Han would sit and let Greedo take a shot at him, ESPECIALLY since they freaking showed it first, then changed it later.

-It's why we all hate M. Night. Shyamalan's fucking guts, because he took the single greatest cartoon masterpiece ever created, and tried to make it better. The one scene that sticks out to me is when they're trying to escape the earth-bending prison camp. First, they had to be removed from the land entirely, or their pride would cause a rebellion instantly; second, 6 benders did what we see Toph do her first lesson as a blind toddler. Unlike Lucas, Shyamalan wasn't trying to appease anyone. He just wanted a name for himself, so he decided to take on the most popular cartoon ever. Pass or fail, he has that fame now.

Some of the fault might lie with the director, or possibly even the actor himself. Michael Gambon is a respected actor, and probably had a sense for how the character would play, even if that sense might not have been based in the books. Couple that with multiple directors by this point, multiple actors having playing Dumbledore, and the books still gradually coming out, and the information and range for the character of Dumbledore might have been quite limited.

And let's not forget those cuts that needed to be made. With a shorter story comes a need to get the information across faster.

Instead of mulling it over for a moment while the rest of the group argues (and probably for a good year or so by this point), and calmly asking Harry if he entered himself in the tournament, the quick explosion both saves time by cutting the opening argument AND gives the audience a cue for suspense. They know something is wrong NOW, and they don't know what, but they'll find out as the people on screen do.

Personally, I believe that this system can be broken by a rather simple solution: TV show.

Instead of one movie, each book gets one Season, and every couple chapters or so gets an episode. I foresee problems as we get to the later books as opposed to the early one, since they start getting thick AF with GoF.

But I think the pros outweigh the cons.

-The locations for HP are actually incredibly limited. They pretty much go back and forth between the same dozen locations all seven books, so you could make sets to switch out whenever needed, and just reuse the exact same sets for seven straight years, with little to no change in between.

- We have all of the books now, and then some, and then some extra BS on top of that, and the plethora of headcanon out there, so we have more than enough information for every single thing about this place, excluding literal physical dimensions. Find a kid who looks like Harry, another actor who can flawlessly pull off Snape, and some old guy who wants to be goofy sometimes, and you've got gold.

- We could actually include the minor characters too. Peeves could pop in and out every few episodes, Dobby can play the role he was meant for, Kreacher can exist as more than 3 lines. The vanishing cabinet could actually be introduced in year 2, then addressed in Year 5, then revealed properly in year 6. Moaning Myrtle has her scenes, Bill Weasley has his, Tonks could be the most important female character besides Hermione or Ginny.....

Anyway, you get the picture. This whole thing was inspired by one comment, and I've been working on this for almost 6 hours now. Pretty sure I've worked harder in this post than any papers in high school...

Hollywood, if by some miracle you see this, I'll totally be a screen writer for the Harry Potter TV show. In the meantime, goodnight.

#harry potter series #harry potter #albus dumbledore #dumbledore #draco malfoy #ron weasley #hermione granger #sirius black #molly weasley