#ethics like. we don't need that!!! this is not america!!!!!!! don't do that!!!!!!!!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

skylarsblue · 1 year

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I still have more. More Incorrect Quotes.

(Accidentally had a lot more fem!Y/N than intended but it's overall GN!) Alex: What made you think you’d be good for the military? Y/N: I worked at a Waffle House in America. Alex: Ah, alright, that makes sense.

-- (Interrogating Valeria)

Y/N: Look, Gaz, you know me. I can't- I can't do it. Gaz: Why not? Why can't you interrogate her? Y/N: Because I'm a bisexual with mommy issues, Gaz. And she's as pretty as she is scary. I'm already not that intimidating, she'll laugh at me when I start stuttering and then I'll just be horny. It can't be me. Gaz: ....okay, I'll ask Alejandro-

-- Y/N: I just realized something...I had a bad childhood. Gaz: Yeah we know. Y/N: What do you mean you know? Soap: Look at how you stand! People who had good childhoods don't stand like that. Y/N: How do I stand?! Gaz: Like Ghost. Ghost: ...I don't appreciate the call out but fair-

-- Price: Where are you going?! Y/N: To either get ice cream or commit a felony, I'll decide in the car!

-- Ghost after watching Fem!Y/N do an incredibly risky move: I just...Is she blind?? Suffering some form of brain damage?

-- (Tw; Hollywood Undead unalive song)

Y/N: My legs are dangling off the edge, the bottom of the bottle is my only friend, I think I'll sli- Price: EXCUSE ME?! WHAT ARE YOU ON ABOUT?? Y/N: Wh- No Captain, it's just a so- Price: GHOST GET THE BASE PSYCH ON THE PHONE Y/N: CAPTAIN IT'S A SONG I'M FINE- Well I'm not bUT NO WAIT HANG ON-

-- Valeria: *screaming in spanish* Y/N: ... Gaz: Don't. Y/N, blushing: I'm trying-

-- (During movie night; watching Venom)

Y/N: *pauses on that scene where Venoms sticks his tongue out at the guy in the street* ....Hear me out- Gaz: NO! NO. Y/N: NO NO LISTEN, LISTEN- Soap: Let them speak. Gaz: Don't encourage this! Y/N, pointing at the screen: LOOK AT IT! LOOK! Objectively you have to understand- Gaz: NOOO, it eats people! Soap: THAT TONGUE IS THREE FEET LONG AT LEAST! Gaz: No, I will not be hearing anyone out! I- GHOST, Ghost, back me up. Tell them they shouldn't want to fuck the ALIEN. Ghost, looking at the screen: Ethically, it's wrong. Gaz: Thank you. Ghost: ...objectively- Y/N: AHA! SEE?!

-- Ghost: *bends over* Y/N: *silently flips out* Soap, quietly: Wh-what? What are you-?! Y/N: SHHH *grabs Soap's jaw and turns him to look* Soap: *slack jaw* Damn- Y/N: fuckingdamnindeed- Ghost: *turns around* Soap: So it's your turn to pick dinner, what're you thinking? Y/N: Oh I dunno, maybe something pork related, uh, or cake- Soap: Aha, yeah...cake. Ghost: ....??

Fem!Y/N: I am not the mom of 141, that's ridiculous. Someone: You make all of them lunch every day with fruit cut into shapes, IN PERSONALIZED LUNCH BOXES Fem!Y/N: They need nutrition! Someone: You color code their items- Fem!Y/N: Look, if you were there for the item mix-ups you'd understand. Someone: YOU ARE LITERALLY FOLDING AND LABELLING THEIR LAUNDRY WITH A SHARPIE ON THE TAGS. Fem!Y/N: *holding Simon's skull boxers, writing his name on the tag* That- ...oh my god I'm the mom.

-- Ghost, watching Soap run past: WHAT DO YOU HAVE?! Soap, grinning & sprinting: A FUCKIN' BOMB Ghost: NO!!!

-- Price: Y/N, this is Lieutenant Riley, you can call him Ghost. Ghost: Y/N, looking him up and down: ...you got daddy issues? Ghost: ....maybe Y/N: Cool, same. Pleasure to meet'cha, sorry life gave you shit. Ghost, shaking their hand: Ditto. Price: *concerned sigh*

-- Price, walking into the common area at 10 pm: What in the world- Gaz, Soap, and Y/N: *all in there pyjamas with face masks on, eating snacks* Y/N: *slowly keeps chewing* Gaz: ...heeeyy siiirr... Price: It was lights out an hour ago, what are you lot doing? Soap: *slowly raises another face mask* ....Self care, sir? Price: ... Ghost, walking in at midnight for water: ....what. Soap, Gaz, Price, and Y/N: *stop gossiping* Gaz: ....hey. Soap: Evenin' L.T. Y/N: Howdy. Ghost: *looks at Price with a face mask on* Ghost: ...*sighs and sits down* Pass the Goldfish. Soap: Yeaaaah, good man! Welcome to the party!

-- Shepard: Is anyone here straight?! Price: ...*hesitantly raises hand* Laswell: *pushes his hand back down*

-- Valeria: *angry ranting* Y/N, a captive: Stop being so mean to me or I swear to god I'm gonna fall in love with you!

-- Ghost: What in the hell are you doing? Y/N: Laying in the rain. Ghost: Why? Y/N: If I lay here long enough, it feels like it washes the sad away. So I'm gonna lay here until the sad is gone. Ghost: You'll get sick. Y/N: Better sick than sad, sir. Ghost: ...*looks at the sky, back down, sighs* Ghost: *lays down on the tarmac* Y/N: Got a lot of sad? Ghost: ...Yeah. Y/N: If the rain doesn't take care of it, let's trade sads. Then it'll at least be a different kind of sad. Ghost: Not sure you want my sad. Y/N: Maybe not, but I don't think you should have to handle your sad alone either. Ghost: ...alright. Y/N: Cool.

-- Price: Simon, it's three o' clock in the morning. Why on earth are you making chocolate pudding? Ghost: Because I've lost control of my life.

-- Soap, with a gunshot wound: Do I regret it? Yes. Will I do it again? Most likely.

-- Y/N after doing something so badass it would fit in a movie: ...DID EVERYONE SEE THAT?? CAUSE I WILL NOT BE DOING IT AGAIN.

-- Ghost: You kidnapped the prime minister's daughter? That's illegal! Soap: Okay, Ghost, but what's more illegal? Briefly inconveniencing the prime minister's daughter, or destroying 141? Ghost: KIDNAPPING THE PRIME MINISTER'S DAUGHTER, JOHNNY! Fem!Y/N: Do you guys have like, a water or something? Snack maybe? No?

-- Y/N: I think there's been some confusion. I'm not the one in trouble here. Enemy Soldier: ...What? Y/N: There are only four of you. You'll need more than that. Gaz, hearing it over the intercom: ...they're gonna whoop-ass but we should probably go help them.

-- Someone: Why are you doing their straps for them? Price: They don't like velcro. Someone: Just do it yourself! Y/N: I'm not touching that stuff! I'll get neurotypical cooties.

-- Y/N, high on painkillers: If yo leg get cut off, would it hurt? Soap, in a hospital bed beside them: ...DUH Y/N: How though? Soap: Cause your leg got cut off! Y/N: Where you gonna feel the pain? Soap: In your le.... Y/N: Exactly bro! How you gonna feel the pain in yo leg if- Both: If your leg is gone! Soap: Whoooaaa... Y/N: Bro I swear, we're geniuses. Ghost, on his last brain cell: Fuckin'ell.

-- Ghost, about to lose his shit: Dear lord, I know we haven't spoken in a long time but if you could give me a little patience-

-- Gaz: Do you believe in God? Y/N: ...Yes & no. Gaz: Yes & No? What do you mean? Y/N: I believe there is a higher power, I believe a God exists. But...believing in God? Now that...haven't done that in a long time.

Gaz & Y/N: *dancing* Ghost: Can you two be serious for five seconds? Gaz, bustin' a move: Dunno sir, can you have fun for five seconds? Y/N: *stops and looks at Gaz* Gaz: *stops and is filled with instant regret* ...uh, sir, I- Ghost: Tell you what. I'll give you five seconds...to start running- Gaz: *turns to run and sees Y/N already yards away* YOU LEFT ME?! Y/N: I WANNA LIVE!!!!

-- Ghost: What are they doing? Price: Arguing in morse code. Soap: - .... .- - .----. ... / .-- .... -.-- / -.-- --- ..- .-. / ... .... --- . ... / .-. .- --. --. . -.. -.-- Gaz: -.-- .- / -- --- -- -- .- Soap: YOU FUCKIN' TAKE THAT BACK-

-- Soap: Keep your eyes closed, I have a surpriiisee!~ Ghost: You did your paperwork? Soap: I said surprise, not miracle.

-- Y/N, on tiktok: FOR ALL YOU NASTY ASSES IN MY DMS- *shows the team* THIS IS MY TEAM. STOP SENDING MY DICK PICS OR I WILL SEND THEM AFTER Y'ALL. Ghost: You've been getting dick pics? Soap: Who the hell's been harassing you online?! Y/N: SEE?? THEY'LL WHOOP YA ASS, SO LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!

-- Y/N, on tiktok again: Alright, backfired on me. For all of y'all who are now trying to be nasty by THIRSTING for my teammates, uh, no. Stop askin' for my Captain's marital status, I'm not gonna tell you. No you may not get my teammate's dicks, I will not be giving you their social media, stOP ASKING I KNOW THEY'RE HOT BUT NO-

-- (I've fallen down the rabbit hole of Karen compilations, so, that's why I thought of this)

Y/N: Goodbye sir! Male Karen: Fuck you bitch! Go suck off your captain you fuckin' whore!! Y/N: Sure, I'll do that, goodbye! Male Karen: Suck my dick, whore! Y/N: Can't! It's too full of military dick, you'll need to make an appointment, GOODBYE!! Soap: *wheeze* Gaz: Jesus. Christ. Ghost: I told you all America is shit.

(Bonus Note cause I can't put in anywhere else; on the topic of Venom + C.o.D. I know we have Soap in place of Eddie & Ghost in place of Venom, but hear me out. Y/N! being Ghost's host and Johnny being a third part. P o l y ! A u !)

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evertomorrowart · 4 months

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Best of YouTube 2023

Yes, I did spend the first week and change of January on this. I wish I could have had it done for New Years, but too many people came out with incredible work in December, so waiting turned out for the best.

What these creators do are a huge influence on my life, I would honestly have difficulty doing what I do without them. That isn't to say that my favorites of the year are *only* on this image--It was almost impossible to narrow down my favorites. Many creators I wanted to include couldn't fit on a single page, and too many of them made more than one video I wished I could draw too!

But, to all of you, thank you for what you do. You're an inspiration.

For those who don't know, further is an explanation.

At the bottom center is an artistic masterpiece by Defunctland: "Journey to EPCOT Center: A Symphonic History." Over the last several years, Defunctland has risen from delightfully-entertaining commentary on decommissioned theme park attractions to occasionally dropping profound statements on the creation of art itself. "Journey to EPCOT Center: A Symphonic History" is worth treating like the cinematic experience it is: No second screen, you sit your ass down in front of a TV, set down the phone, and then you *watch it.* Any Disney, theme park, or independent film fan needs to pay attention to this one.

Bottom left is Caelan Conrad with their piece "Drop the T - The Deadly Consequences of Gay Respectability Politics." While I do think they've done more visually or artistically-daring pieces before, "Drop the T" is one of the most important videos released on YouTube in today's current climate of hate. We as queer folk (and our allies) need to understand how integral every identity of the queer experience has been since the start of the Civil Rights movement (and before!). While we are not identical, we *are* inseparable, and we deserve having our real history easily accessible.

TERFs and other conservative mouthpieces need not reply. Your opinions are trash. 😘

I cannot stop watching and rewatching this video by @patricia-taxxon, "On the Ethics of Boinking Animal People." It's not just a defense of furry fandom and its eccentricities, it's a thoughtful and passionate analysis of what the artform achieves that purely human representation can't. Patricia goes outside of her usual essay format to directly speak to the viewer about the elements that define furry media (the most succinct definition I've ever heard) and just how *human* an act loving animal cartoons really is.

As an artist who can draw furry characters, but never really got into erotic furry art, this video is a treasure. Why did I choose to have her drawn as a Ghibli character, hanging out with one of the tanukis from "Pom Poko?" Guess you'll have to watch, bruh.

Philosophy Tube continuously puts out videos that I would put on this list--I'm not even sure that "A Man Plagiarised my Work: Women, Money, and the Nation" is the best work she released in 2023. However, this video got many conversations going between myself and my partner, and the twist on the tail end of the video shocked us both to such a degree that I had no choice.

At the very tail end of the year, Big Joel released "Fear of Death." On his Little Joel channel, he described it as the singularly best video he's ever done, and I'm inclined to agree. However, for this illustration, I ended up repeatedly going back to a mini-series he did earlier in the year: "Three Stories at the End of the World." All three videos are deeply moving and haunting, and I was brought to tears by "We Must Destroy What the Bomb Cannot." While it may be relatively-common knowledge that the original Gojira (Godzilla) film is horror grappling with the devastation America's rush to atomic dominance inflicted on Japan, Big Joel still manages to bring new words to the discussion. Please watch all three of the videos, but if, for some reason, you must have only one, let it be "We Must Destroy What the Bomb Cannot."

Y'all. Let me confess something. I hate football. I hate watching it, I associate seeing it from the stadiums with some of my worst childhood experiences, I despise collegiate and professional football (as institutions that destroy bodies and offer up children at the feet of its alter as a pillar of American culture)--

I. L o a t h e. Football.

But.

F.D. Signifier could get me to watch an entire hour-plus essay on why I should at least give a passing care. AND HE DID IT. I might think "F*ck the Police," the two-parter on Black conservatism, or his essay on Black men's connection to anime might be "better" videos, but this writer did the impossible and held my limited attention span towards football long enough to make a sincere case for NFL players--and reminds us that millionaires can *in fact* be workers. That alone is testament to his skill.

Sit down and watch "The REAL Reason NFL Running Backs Aren't Getting Paid." Any good anti-capitalist owes it to themselves.

CJ the X continuously puts out stunning, emotional videos, and can do it with the most seemingly-inconsequential starting points. A 30 second song? An incestuous commercial? Five minutes of Tangled? Sure, why not. Go destroy yourself emotionally by watching them. I'm serious. Do it.

Their video Stranger Things and the Meaning of Life manages to to remind us all why the way we react to media does, in fact, matter. Yes, even nostalgia-driven, mass-media schlock. Yes, how we interact with media matters, what it says about us matters, and we all deserve to seek out the whys.

Folding Ideas has spent the last few years articulating exactly why so much of our modern world feels broken, and because of that his voice continuously lives rent-free in my brain. While the tricks that scam artists and grifters use to try to swindle us are never new, the advancement of technology changes the aesthetics of their performances. Portions of Folding Ideas' explanations might seem dry when going into detail of how stocks work in This is Financial Advice, but every bit of it is necessary to peel back the layers of techno-babble and jargon and make sense of the results of "Meme Stocks."

Jessie Gender puts out nothing but bangers, her absolute unit of a video about Star Wars might be my new favorite thing ever, but none of her work hit so profoundly in 2023 than the two-parter "The Myth of 'Male Socialization'" and "The Trauma of Masculinity." There's so much about modern life that isolates and traumatizes us, and so much of it is just shrugged off as "normal." We owe it to ourselves to see the world in more vivid a color palette than we're initially given.

Panels drawn after Kate Beaton and "Ducks: Two Years in the Oil Sands."

"This is Not a Video Essay" is one of the most intense and beautiful pieces of art I've ever put into my eyeballs. Why do we create? What drives us to connect?

I don't even know what else to say about the Leftist Cooks' work, it repeatedly transcends the medium and platform. Watch every single one of their videos, but especially this one.

The likelihood you are terminally online and yet haven't heard of Hbomberguy's yearly forrays into destroying the careers of awful people is pretty slim. Just because it has millions of views doesn't mean that Hbomberguy's "Plagiarism and You(Tube)" isn't worth the hype. Too long? Shut up, it has chapters and YouTube holds your place, anyway. You think a deep dive into a handful of creators is only meaningless drama? Well, you're wrong, you wrong-opinion-haver. Plagiarism is an *everyone* problem because of the actual harm it creates--the history it erases, the labor it devalues, the art it marginalizes--which you would know if you watched "Plagiarism and You(Tube)".

Watch. The damn. Video.

In fact, watch all of them!

Thanks for reading this if you did.

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steve-faglan · 4 months

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Cat // Mouse

Reader x Steve Raglan (William Afton)

TW: NON CON!! DUB CON!! DRUGGING!! HE'S MEAN!!!!!!!!!

SUMMARY: You get a job working for an old man you want to fuck. Are you misreading things? Where did that vibrator come from?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Is this considered a slow burn? It felt slow to write. It's supposed to be like will they? Won't they? But it's... Well yeah. Look at this gif??????? My PUSSSY????????

WORD COUNT: so many.

Daddy issues. At least, that's what they call it. That's what your ex screamed at you about before he left you in a state thousands of miles from the one you were raised in. He said it was because you made him feel immature; less than. But maybe he was. All he ever wanted to do was drink and play video games, you craved more.

After he left, you realized you'd have to get a better paying job to cover the portion of rent your ex was paying. You take a day to really let it settle in. You cry and drink an entire bottle of wine while watching Dirty Dancing, and then you schedule a meeting with a local career counselor.

You sigh as you hang up the phone. It's embarrassing to need a temp agency's help finding employment, but you're new to this area. You don't know anyone and you're barely sure where to start.

Your alarm blares throughout your room, startling you awake. You barely remember falling asleep at all, and somehow, it feels like you couldn't have possibly slept enough. You're sluggish and groggy, but you still find the energy to get ready for your interview. You're hoping a little extra effort will get you further in a small town like this, so you spend a little more time on your makeup before heading out of the house.

The drive across town to the agency is quick and easy. You pull into the parking lot and emerge from your car, shielding your eyes from the sun to read the rickety sign that's hanging on for dear life outside the building. You huff, unsure if this was the best place to go looking for higher-paying work. When you step inside the door, a petite old lady greets you with a smile. She points to an office down the hall and tells you to knock.

*Knock, knock, knock.*

You push the unlatched door open slightly and a warm voice invites you in.

"Come in, have a seat." The man instructs. You scan over his office. It's dated, and decorated with styles reminiscent of corporate America in the 80's. You read the name tag on his desk, Steve Raglan. You take a seat in one of the muted yellow chairs opposite Steve and await his introduction.

"Steve," he extends an arm over the desk and you shake his hand, telling him your name.

"Thanks for having me, Mr. Raglan. I'm new to town, well, new to the entire coast, really."

"Wow, a little far from home, aren't we?" Steve chuckles kindly, smiling with a tightly closed mouth, spreading his mustache across his lip.

"You have no idea," you laugh exhaustedly and Steve tilts his head as if he's pondering something, but he doesn't mention it. "Anyways, here's my resume. It's not much, but uh..." You hand him a folder with your work history document professionally stored inside. Steve happily takes the folder and begins to read through your papers.

Your resume is impressive. You're well educated with a strong work streak. Your work ethic stands out to him. He's reading through your accomplishments aloud, commending each one. You're unsure why, but his praise fills you with a very specific need. You crave more and something in you tells you that you'd do almost anything to get it.

"A course in robotic engineering?" Steve's voice sounds surprised. He looks up at you with raised eyebrows. A grin spreads across his bearded face. "Huh."

"Yeah, I actually took a few courses. I never did anything with it though."

"Do you remember a lot from those classes?" He sets the closed folder to the side and casually places other papers on top of it, distracting you enough to keep you from asking for it back.

"Oh, sure. Mostly coding, I guess." You shrug.

"Coding." He repeats to himself, nodding knowingly. He can think of a million places in this town that could use a smart, pretty little thing like you. A strained silence grows for just a moment before he speaks again. "Well, Y/N. I think I have an offer for you, but it's not much of a pay raise like you'd hoped."

"What is it?" You ask, hoping for at least a dollar difference.

"Did you see Mrs. Penneman out there?" Steve points in the direction of the kind old woman who greeted you.

"Mrs. Penneman?"

"She's at the front desk. She's retiring in exactly one week. That position will be open." He goes on to talk about the ways you could incorporate what you learned in your engineering classes as they switch from mostly paper to computers after Y2K.

"What's the pay like?" You ask, already knowing you plan to agree the second he stops talking.

"Not great, but!" He pauses for a moment. "Plenty of opportunities for overtime." Steve's not an idiot. He saw how looked when he was praising you. The way the red in your cheeks was flaming hot at the mere mention of you doing a good job. He knows what he's doing to you, and he loves it.

"Overtime?"

"Of course. Switching the entire employee records from paper to digital isn't an easy feat. It's going to take a lot of time you may not have during the work day. Does this suit you or should I keep looking?"

"Oh, uh," you hesitate. Steve stifles a grin as he watches your inner battle decide between being around him or possibly making more money. "Yes, that's perfect. Thank you, sir."

"Excellent. You start Monday." Steve ends the conversation abruptly. A jarring switch from friendly and conversational to busy and indifferent. It triggered something in you. A desperate need to get that warmth back.

"Right, okay. I'll... See you Monday." You leave the office, yearning. And Steve is well aware. He sits alone in his office, staring forward as he makes plans for you. He folds his hands together and rests his chin on them as he imagines the way he'll pick you apart like a toy. You're already so desperate for his approval, you've done the hard part for him.

Monday rolls around and you, of course, wake up a little early to get ready. Of course, you don't want to come off as desperate, so you're very tactful in the way you dress and present today, your first day. You've all but forgotten your ex was ever here, let alone the fact that you moved all the way to Hurricane, Utah for him.

Nervous, but good at hiding it, you walk into the building with a beaming false confidence. You're trying to remind yourself that while Steve is attractive and older and something mysterious about him draws you in, you're still here to work and you really can't let rent slip because homelessness is not an option when you're this far from your home state.

You brace yourself for what you assume will be an extremely long day, and you hope it is. Not only for the money but the view as well. When you walk up to the desk, Mrs. Penneman is nowhere to be found. All her belongings are missing from the desk, leaving a generic canvas of an office. You glance down the hall to Steve's open office door.

"Mr. Raglan?" You knock lightly on the door, stepping inside slowly so as not to intrude. He's not there. The entire building seems eerily empty. Just as you turn to leave his office, you run flat into a broad, solid figure. Steve. You stumble before finally falling backward. You sit on the floor for a moment, red-faced, but keeping your composure to the best of your ability.

"Someone's punctual." Steve extends a hand to you, helping you up to your feet.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Raglan. I couldn't find-"

"Mrs. Penneman decided an early retirement was in store. I'll be training you, if that's alright." Steve smirks, knowing he relieved his previous secretary of her duties early specifically to have this time working so closely with you. He dressed it up as a gift to her.

"Oh, okay. Of course. Where should I start?" You smile, awaiting instruction. You cling to every word he says, the guidance, the leadership. The way his dimples deepen when he smiles in the slightest. You become dependent on making him smile simply for this reason.

Steve sets you up for data entry and asks that you let him come check your work every so often to make sure things "meet his standards." You've never been more determined to do something perfectly in your life. With unbreakable focus, you start the first few tasks. You're mindful, double-checking, efficient, and fast.

"Mr, Raglan?" You appear like an angel in his doorway. He looks up from his papers and waits for you to continue. "I finished the first portion. Could you come check it for me?"

Steve smiles warmly as he stands to follow you to your desk. The warmth of his gaze melts you from your head to your pussy.

"This looks great, Y/N. Good job." He adds the last bit just to see the way your eyes shift and sparkle when he compliments you. He leaves you to do the rest of your work in peace, but he lingers a little longer in the hallway, watching you for a moment, carefully hidden from your view.

You pick up on the data entry rather quickly and finish the very last employee record by the end of your first week. When Steve comes to finalize the task, he grabs a chair and slides it next to yours so you can both look at the screen together. You're poised and collected by now, the initial lust seeming to die down after a week of seeing him every day. Though his words of approval still cause a knot to form in your stomach.

Steve picks up on your dwindling excitement and decides this is war. As the two of you sit next to each other, he carelessly allows his legs to take up more and more space. Normally a man's obliviousness in a situation like this would boil your blood, but when his thigh grazes yours so softly, you freeze. His touch lingers and he looks at you with half-lidded eyes. His face is dangerously close to yours. He leans in even closer, boldly placing his lips mere inches from your ear.

"You're a very impressive young woman. You know that?" His warm breath brushes against your ear, inviting a million little goosebumps across your skin. It takes everything in him not to chuckle at your visceral reaction. You're frozen, staring straight ahead, basking in the closeness to this man you desire so badly. A few moments pass and a light chuckle leaves his lips. Still ever so close, he speaks again. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"S-sorry! Thank you, Mr. Raglan. Sorry," you nervously laugh, wishing so badly you could go back in time and rip the sticker off your forehead that says "Fuck me, Mr. Raglan."

"Don't mention it." He suddenly withdraws from your personal space, leaving you clinging to the dwindling body heat he's left behind. His tall figure towers over you, especially so when you're sat. He's gone just as quickly as he arrived and you can't help but feel perplexed. Was he not just coming on to you? Did you project all of that onto a perfectly normal interaction? He warps your reality without even touching you.

"What the fuck?" You question aloud to yourself. Your heart is racing. Your mind is constantly replaying the moment. His voice, his words, all of it.

The next day, it starts as any other. You're replaying the day before over and over again, just as you did when you shamelessly touched yourself last night. The sound of his voice so close to your ear, the way his leg brushed against yours. Just thinking about it feels like butterflies in your stomach.

"Good morning, Y/N." Steve walks right past you. You try to return the greeting, but you're cut off by the sound of his office door closing. He's frustrated, but you're not sure why. Disappointed, but not really the probing type, you decide to just get to work. Today was supposed to be the day he trained you for a "side project" utilizing your coding skills, but you're hesitant to ask about it while he's so visibly upset.

The day continues as usual, though it does seem to drag on a little longer for you when you don't get to stare at Steve. You're straightening up the waiting area, bent at the waist to fan out the magazines. When you stand, there's suddenly a tall figure behind you. Steve is pressing the entire front of his body directly against you. You involuntarily release a small gasp when you feel what you're sure is his half-hard cock pressed against your ass. Steve takes only a second to inhale your scent and feel himself pressed against you before he whispers in your ear once again.

"You're my secretary, not my maid." He steps away and you frown, still facing away from him.

"I'm sorry, sir. I've run out of things to do." You shrug and you turn.

"Out of things to do? Already?" He raises his eyebrows.

"Yes, sir." Your formality is adorable to him. And something about you calling him "sir" makes him hard just hearing it.

"Well," Steve steps closer to you now that you're facing him. He's so tall, towering over you, craning his neck to keep his eyes locked on yours. "You're such a good girl," there it is. His words make you shudder. There's no way he's fucking with you right now, right? Wrong. He once again creates a gap between the two of you.

"Good kid with a good head on your shoulders. Try not to overthink it." He smirks at your beet-red face and swiftly disappears to his office. You're becoming frustrated. It's as if by the time he walks away, you're so enthralled that you can't remember whether or not your degenerate, horny brain over-dramatized the memory. Angry and even a little embarrassed, you make your way back to your desk.

Steve sits in his office carefully listening to the sounds of your frustration. He loves the way you'd fall to your knees for him right now if he asked, but he likes fucking with you more. He hears you sigh away the sexual tension and he grins. Having this much power over someone like you. You're so smart and beautiful, what are you doing melting in his hands like that? His strong hand finds the growing bulge in his slacks, hoping to relieve any of the pressure he's been building up for the both of you.

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply through his teeth still palming himself, picturing you bound and gagged in front of him. Maybe that's why he's so insistent on teasing you instead of fucking you on his desk like he knows you dream about. Maybe he wants the chase, the restraint. You're too easy, he wants you to be scared.

At the end of the day, you decide to say "fuck it" and see what he'll do if you match his energy. He's grabbing his things to leave when you slip into his office and close the door behind you. You're shaking-nervous, your heart is pumping at an inhuman rate. You have no idea what your plan is until it happens.

"Mr. Raglan, can I ask you a question?" You make your way across the room, passing the boundary of the front of his desk, standing with him behind it. Steve tilts his head in a bemused expression.

"Y/N, feeling a little comfortable, are we?" His sarcastic question leaves you a little more unsure of yourself, and you take a step back. "Ask away." Steve smiles innocently.

"Forgive me if I'm wrong, but..." You're shocked at how steady your voice is as you fall into this sultry character you've created for yourself. It's never failed you before. "I feel like there's something you're trying to tell me. It's not very subtle." You lean against the desk casually. "Am I wrong?"

"Oh, wow," Steve can't help but grin, but he quickly replaces it with a smug, sarcastic expression. "You must be the queen of subtly, right?" His snarky words catch you off guard. "No, dear. Sorry about any miscommunications on my part. See you tomorrow, Y/N."

Steve steps around you and walks out the door without another word. You're stunned silent and extremely embarrassed. You consider leaving a resignation letter on your desk and never coming back. Furious, you slam the door to your car and drive home. By the time you get to your driveway, you've calmed down and accepted that everything you thought he was doing was just your imagination.

You're still angry, unable to fully accept that you'd be that delusional, but who really knows? From then on, you put away your fantasies and focus on work and getting money set aside for rent. The next few days continue like normal, with no more "misunderstandings" or advances. Until... Steve reaches for a binder off a shelf behind your desk. As he slides in behind you where you stand, right behind your pushed-in computer chair, and reaches his long arm up to the shelf, his other arm searches for a surface to brace on. That surface is your pencil skirt-clad waist.

You gasp quietly, but you don't allow yourself to react any further. Steve has the binder in his hand, but he doesn't remove the other from your waist. He lingers, staring at the back of your head trying to read whatever emotion must be displayed on the other side. You're rigid, like you usually are when he pushes these boundaries, but he also senses your frustration and boredom. He can't help but chuckle as he steps away.

"Thank you, Y/N," he says, waving the binder as he walks away to his office. Did he even need the binder? No, probably not. You huff at your seat, officially deeming him untouchable. You decide he must just be a weird old man that doesn't understand personal space and you can accept that now that he's no longer the object of your desire.

This is what he wanted. Your indifference. It's all part of his plan. As the days continue and your attraction settles to dust, he waits for you to make a mistake, any mistake. To his surprise and perhaps even dismay, you're nearly perfect. Then finally, you accidentally double-book a client meeting that leaves someone jobless with no way to reschedule. You're horrified and apologizing left and right to the man who is more than understanding, making you feel worse.

The man finally leaves, with no job, and no meeting. You sit at your desk and mentally scold yourself for being so careless. The stress of the approaching deadline of your rent seems to be taking a larger toll on you than you realized. Steve's client meeting ends and he sends the temp on his way with high hopes. You wish him a good day and try to focus on your computer.

"Y/N, can I see you in my office?" Steve appears from nowhere in front of your desk. He moves so silently when he means to, it's unsettling. You shamefully look up from your work and nod, following him to his office. You both sit in the appropriate seats and he releases a sigh.

"I'm disappointed in you, Y/N." His opening statement crushes you. "That was a huge fuck up, was it not?" His voice is stern and the use of cursing lets you know this is not a formal scolding. You're in trouble.

"I-I know, but it's the first one I've ever made since I started, sir."

"So that means I should just forget about it, right?" He leans back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him. "A man can't feed his family because he doesn't know when he'll have a ride back here."

"I know, sir. I'm... I'm sorry." You sigh, eaten alive with guilt. "He was very kind."

"Did you deserve it?" He's angry.

"No." You look away from him.

"What was that?" He tilts his head, eyebrows still arched. You glance at him, confused for a moment.

"No... Sir." You add.

"I think you're getting too comfortable here, Y/N. 'It's not very subtle.'" he quotes you and your face ignites with blush.

"O-Of course, sir. I'm so embarrassed. I'm sorry."

"Well, don't be embarrassed. Do better." You nod and begin to stand to leave when he leans forward with a softer expression. "Coffee?"

"What?" You don't even mean to ask him to repeat himself, it was just such a jarring switch in tone.

"Coffee. I just made it." Steve stands and crosses the room to a little black coffee maker in his office that you'd never noticed before.

"Uh, sure." You accept, hoping the caffeine will give you some sort of drive to improve your current work performance. Steve pours you both a cup and passes one to you. They're the same cup, but his looks comically small in his large, nimble hands. You take a few sips of the hot, dark liquid and begin to feel light-headed.

Everything around you seems to melt away. You've completely disregarded where you are or why you might feel this way. You try to stand and you drop the still-full cup on the office floor. Steve watches it all leaning against the table across the room. He nonchalantly sips his coffee as he waits for you to collapse. Just as he planned, the minute you get to your feet, your knees buckle beneath you. You're out before you hit the floor.

"Look at this. Look how little you think of yourself the second you hear how disappointed I am." Steve chuckles as he lifts your unconscious body. You're bound and gagged in the back seat of his '79 Ford Fairmont as he makes his way to an undisclosed location. Yeah, that one.

You wake up with a deep, sharp gasp as if you'd been holding your breath the entire time. Your head is spinning and your vision is blurry as you try to scan your surroundings. It's a dank grey room littered with failed attempts at his "side project" he'd mentioned to you weeks ago. Crumpled endo-skeletons and half-built robot heads cover each corner while wires and bolts cover the rest. Your heart begins to race and you try to rise from the cold, metal table you reside on, only to find that your wrists and ankles are strapped in place with thick leather binds.

"What the fuck?" You mumble to yourself as you continue to try to wake up. "Hello?! Help! Help me, please!" You scream and thrash on the slab.

"They all say that, you know? They always scream for help as if anyone's coming." Steve slowly enters the door. His tie is loose along with a few buttons, and his sleeves are haphazardly shoved halfway up his arms. His normally carefully combed hair is disheveled and damp with sweat as if he'd been hard at work before entering this room.

"'They?'" You tremble, rattling the metal.

"Of course, you're the first for this type of venture, I guess. Normally I just skip to killing," he chuckles, removing his tie. You're in a state of shock, sheer disbelief. Hearing that last word sends you into hysterics.

"Please don't kill me, sir. I- I won't fuck up again, I promise. Please-"

"Shut. Up." Steve's stern voice cuts directly through your pleas. "I haven't decided yet."

Tears flow steadily down the sides of your face as he begins to grope you. His rough hands explore every inch of you. His calculated hands knowingly leave bruises on your tender skin.

"Please..." You whisper with your eyes tightly shut, afraid of every movement he makes.

"Sweetheart, if this part scares you, I'm not sure you're gonna survive what comes next." He's only inches from your ear as he whispers. Your body shudders with terrified sobs. The cries only get louder when you feel Steve cutting off your clothes. You're too afraid to fight him off, unsure of whether any injuries you may acquire would be accidental or not.

"Why are you doing this? I-I literally came on to you!" You try to find reason in his actions, mostly to distract yourself from the fact that you're completely exposed, the remnants of your clothes a tattered mess beneath you.

"Where's the fun..." he drags the tip of his knife softly from your ankle to your navel as he steps closer to your blushing face. "In that?" He continues, positioning the weapon to stab through your abdomen, should he press down with any effort at all. Goosebumps erupt over your skin. "Now, are you going to shut your fucking mouth or do I need to shut it for you?" He places a gentle hand on your cheek. You nod frantically, looking into his eyes. They look so calm.

You hate to admit it, but the way he touches you seems to attempt to dig up that insatiable attraction you felt for him not long ago. Your fantasies never ventured to this genre, but you used to dream of him making you orgasm. You're torn from that memory when you remember his admittance to murder and how you know that means you probably won't make it out of this room.

Steve places the knife to the side and slowly slips his middle finger inside you. You gasp, and he plunges away, growing rougher with each stride. He curls his knuckles and watches your face closely as your crying eyes roll back into your skull. You yank against your restraints, trying to squirm away from him, but he's ruthless.

"You're so... Peculiar, Y/N." He removes his fingers from you and cleans them of your undeniable arousal with a pocket handkerchief. "I almost caved when you confronted me in my office. So bold. It's been a riot just picking at you." Steve reaches a hand into a desk in this mysterious room and retrieves an unknown device. You gasp as he slips the small, cold object inside you.

"What are you-" your question is swiftly silenced by the small remote in Steve's hand activating a powerful vibration from the item in your pussy. His free hand rubs rhythmically up and down your clit, stimulating you further. Steve stares down at you as you melt away into pleasure, ashamed and silently begging for more. He's laughing at you, hovering his head over yours as you anxiously avoid eye contact.

"Look at me," he demands, but you can't. You shut your eyes. He releases a breathy chuckle and raises the intensity of the vibrating gadget. "Don't start enjoying yourself or I might have to really scare you." You don't want to know what that entails, so you force yourself to look into his soulless blue eyes. The eye contact deepens the red shade that washes over your cheeks and Steve shakes his head, laughing at you again.

"Why are you so embarrassed now? Would you still be this shy if I'd bent you over my desk like you wanted? You're so much tighter when you're scared." Steve abruptly removes the vibrating toy from between your legs. You whimper pathetically in the absence of stimulation. He leaves the room and returns with yet another machine. This one's larger, a box.

He places the box down between your legs, as close to your throbbing entrance as he can get it. The side of the box facing you is adorned with a hole housing a phallic shape made of soft, silicone material. Your heart is bound to give out at this pace. The box itself covers a mass of gears and wires, a motor to power the rod in and out of its destination. You.

"We'll start it out slowly for you, how's that?" Steve presses a button and the machine pushes into you, slipping in easily as your body clearly craves it. You whine and cry out in pain as the machine stretches you out, slowly boring in and out of you. "If this thing's too big for you, what makes you think you could've taken me?" He laughs as he leans against the desk and watches the mechanism fuck you out. Every so often, he increases the speed.

Finally, it's maxed out. You're squirming and wailing in overstimulated pleasure and pain.

"Please! Please, I can't take it- I can't-" your begs are ignored. Steve places a rough hand around your neck, carelessly cutting off your oxygen and blood flow while his other hand delicately flicks your clit. That's it, that sends you over the limit. You climax harder than you ever thought possible, drenching the machine that's still fucking into you as your body quivers. Steve allows you to breathe again and takes his sweet time powering down the penetration machine.

You're shaking. Your tear-stained face is frozen in a look of exhaustion. The last thing you're able to do is move or speak. Your breathing is a plethora of hitched coughs and gasps and you flinch at even the possibility of being touched again at all.

"I think you might be ready now." He unfastens your bindings and takes a step back to observe. You don't move at all, not a single muscle. The truth is, you can't, even if you wanted to. Steve smirks, pressing a foot-lever under the table that lowers you right down to his waist. Two powerful hands hook under your legs and pull you so your beaten hole is perfectly accessible to him. You cry out as he moves you.

"I-I can't, Steve. I-" Your nearly inaudible mumbles are knocked from your mouth as he lands a hard open palm slap across your face.

"You're going to." He makes quick work of his belt and quickly aligns himself with your entrance. At one point all you wanted from him was this, but now you'd rather be anywhere else. Your cheek is ablaze, covered with a spreading stinging sensation. You're too distracted by the pain to notice Steve rearing back. He slams into you at full force, throwing his head back in ecstasy.

"Nooo!" You whine, unsure of how much more your body can truly take.

"Fuck!" He's almost primal when he's inside you, digging his fingertips into your flesh like he intends to take it off your body. "After all of that, you're still so fucking tight."

He reaches to your breasts and roughly gropes at the delicate skin. Your weak hand tries to tug at his wrist, but he simply flicks you away like a pest, continuing the assault. He slams into you, hoping to do more harm than anything, smiling at your sobbing face. Your makeup is a smeared mess and your hair is in disarray from the way you fought back on the table. You look pathetic to him and he loves it.

"You want to be filled up, don't you sweetheart?" He huffs, slowly approaching his climax. Your eyes open wide and a new wave of fear and adrenaline shoots through you, but you're still too weak to manage. Steve easily pins your wrists by your shoulders and thrusts deeper and deeper, hooking his hips to temporarily reach the very limit of your cunt.

"Please don't! Mr. Raglan, please!" You beg between gasping sobs as you listen to his labored breaths become unsteady. His agonizing thrusts lose their rhythm and suddenly you can feel his thick erection twitching inside you, brushing your G spot and carrying you over the edge again as well. You didn't even think that would be possible at this point.

You and Steve ride out your highs. He continues to pump into you making a heinous sound as he fucks his cum deeper inside you. To his surprise, he remains hard, so he continues to rut into your destroyed pussy until his legs threaten to give out. Steve finishes inside you a second time, laughing as he watches your horrified face realize how full of him you are. He's taking his time pulling out of you, playing with your cum soaked clit until you finally pass out from exhaustion.

Steve releases a breathy laugh as he fastens his belt and collapses in a chair nearby. You're lying there, naked and dripping cum from your swollen, demolished pussy. He can't get enough of this view. His original plan was to just get rid of you when he was done here, why not? But this is too much fun for him. Maybe he needs a new pet.

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lassieposting · 2 months

Text

So like, Poppy Playtime is one of those things that I enjoy watching whenever a new section drops, but don't usually get particularly invested in, but if there's one thing guaranteed to give me brainrot, it's a codependent friendship between a deeply damaged, morally questionable killer and a lonely, mixed-up kid who idolises him. So naturally Chapter 3 has me in my feelings about the Prototype and Theodore Grambell.

And that got me thinking in general, which gave me a theory.

The Prototype - or, at least, whoever became the Prototype - had a military background.

If you think about it, the Prototype's skillset - while horrifying in an escaped monster on the rampage - would be an asset in a soldier, and more than once we see him use abilities that would probably be best explained by military training.

We know he's tech-savvy, mechanically skilled and good at improvising under pressure and time limits: he strips down an alarm clock in his cell - which he'd have to do quickly, because he's under constant surveillance - and makes a laser pointer from its parts to disable the cameras. These seem like skills that would benefit a soldier, who would be familiar with stripping his equipment - his gun, for example - down to parts to clean and reassemble them, and who might need to know how to fix a vehicle or a radio or use improvised parts in an escape from hostile territory.

Based on the fact that he's appeared unexpectedly multiple times now to claim the bodies of dead and dying mascots at exactly the right time, it's likely that he's been tracking the Player - silently and without being seen - since they entered the facility. He's doing recon, watching to see what the Player does, what their goals are, whether he needs to worry about them, and whether or how he can use them to his own benefit.

He can stay silent under torture. The tapes confirm that Sawyer continued experimenting on him even post-transformation, and the Prototype's description of these sessions makes it clear that there is nothing ethical or humane about them: "You stick us...beat us...tear at flesh." But Sawyer himself confirms that - other than snarking at him on that one tape we see - the Prototype has been silent, stubborn and uncooperative throughout. Soldiers can undergo Resistance to Interrogation training to teach them to cope with torture tactics; the only thing they're allowed to reveal is their name, rank and ID number. If the Prototype has already had this kind of training, it would make a lot more sense why he's able to keep silent when most people, adult or no, would be desperately cooperating and begging for mercy.

He's fiercely intelligent, excels at manipulating situations to his advantage, and is shown in Project Playtime to be capable of marshalling and directing the other fight-capable mascots. He's also a creative, ruthless tactician who seems to favour surprise attacks - the Hour of Joy works because it takes the entire facility unawares. The escape attempt where he hides from the camera relies on the security specialists panicking at his having vanished in a matter of seconds and rushing to do damage control, forgetting the camera has a blind spot. This thing is a strategist, and he's good at it.

Now, from what I've seen, it seems to be a popular theory that the Prototype was created from Elliot Ludwig. I'm not sure whether I really buy into that, but if it were true, it would actually work well with this little theory of mine.

We know that Ludwig was a young adult - probably in his 20s and 30s - in the 1930s and 1940s. He's old enough to have gotten married and to get divorced, and to have started his own company.

And where were all the 20- and 30-something men of America during the 1930s and 40s?

Conscripted. Fighting World War II.

So if he was created from Ludwig, or from any adult in Ludwig's age bracket, it is very likely that this is not the Prototype's first ugly war. Playtime Co are not the first monsters he's ever seen doing horrific human experimentation on captives and trying to cover it up. He'd have seen it all before, and he'd know there would be no stopping any of it without collateral damage. So when he gets his opportunity - the Hour of Joy - he's ruthless about it. He wipes out every human in the Playtime factory. If he fought in one of the major wars of the 20th century - WWII, Vietnam, etc, depending on the age of whoever was used - that would also explain why he goes to that extreme. Plenty of guilty, awful people escaped justice after those major conflicts, and he doesn't want that for the Playtime scientists. He'd rather massacre every employee, whether or not they knew about the experiments, than risk one who deserves death getting away.

idk I just think that whole idea makes his behaviour and motivations make a lot more sense

#poppy playtime #vidya gaems #the prototype #experiment 1006 #poppy playtime meta #poppy playtime headcanons

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jack-kellys · 10 months

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so i am gonna talk abt the delanceys. and i don’t want that to make you scroll away at the speed of light. i want to talk about them in a broader sense, view them in a broader sense, in the way that we talk about jack and his existential need to leave where he is for the west- and, further, going into analysis, like how “the west” in america in the 1890s is a capitalist venture that is sold to jack as this idea of a new home, a better way to live, something that he needs, when the real home is new york with his chosen family and where no one needs to call him “son”.

i think what matters most in the world of the delanceys, and what puts them into a nuanced political stance as well as a personal one, is their father, the striking trolley worker.

i think it’s fair to assume that as a striking worker demanding better wages, as a union member, he deserves those wages. it’s good that he’s striking, that he’s demanding what he’s owed and doing so with his fellow workers. strikers are the right people to support especially based on the historical context of the trolley strike.

but this guy is… an asshole. he dumped these two children into the refuge and left them there to rot, presumably. there’s a possibility he didn’t know about how abusive snyder is, sure, but he knew it was a detention center and that’s not… where u put ur kids when u care abt them lmao.

so this man is a striking trolley worker who doesn’t give a shit about his own children. he’s an underpaid union member who deserves his dues but also lets his two sons suffer for years alone in a children’s jail. he fights the system to his benefit while submitting his two kids into a different one. the dichotomy is important here- it’s essential to the foil the delanceys are for the newsies.

the delanceys are strike breakers. strike breakers are, obviously, paid under the table to disperse union-led strikes and protests to uphold a system that benefits the rich- who of course will always benefit from underpaid work. the delanceys take money from this upheld system when they get the opportunity and beat strikers bloody who don't get to benefit from this system like they do. because they do benefit from that elitist system, since they are choosing to make money off of it outside of their usual job. right.

but within those strikers is their father. the father who left them to rot, who let wiesel scrape them out of that jail and enlist them at a dead-end newspaper gig. so the brothers hate this father, this striker, this piece of family. and this father is making all this noise with these other people- these people who support their father as his coworkers and fellow union members, and the delancey brothers' leave that strike with their fists red with more blood than solely their father's, since they're angry and good at it and the money is hefty.

and their childhood is semi-revenged, but at what ethical cost? they've served broken bones to plenty of workers just trying to fight for their fair pay- something that the delanceys can relate to, by the way, since it isn't like their wages are too stellar for how many hours they're forced to put in. but they put down these people--innocent sans their father--because they have the opportunity. opportunity for them is bringing others down, and when they have the choice, they take it. gladly. "it's honest work" is shrugged off and believed. "i take care of the guy who takes care of me" is snide. uk costuming has them wearing nicer work coats over their newsie-like attire, concealing their similarities and choosing to align themselves more with the elite, since that's...the only protection they can turn to besides each other. the elite gets them extra pay, and keeps them one rung above the newsies to sneer down at them from. they fight via using the system, since systems are all they've ever been apart of, and when they see one that might benefit them for once, they latch onto it.

and, of course, they're strike breaking again, with adult men and their uncle at their side, against their personal foils- the newsies.

the newsies either don't have family like the delanceys, or frequently have to be apart from theirs. lots of them don't have a sibling they can return to daily, or any at all. most don't have parents or family members. or homes to go back to after work. the system they are stuck in is one that does not work for them unless they make it work, making their own numbers and cash by gambling how many papers they can sell in a day to earn every cent back and then some. creating a system within a system--whereas the delanceys mold themselves into one that exists, again, to the elite's benefit--to survive.

and then, the newsies and their chosen family of brothers choose to revolt against their system in an attempt to dismantle it, or at the very least negotiate it.

and the delanceys' reaction to this, to another strike, to a group of kids going against their system (of which would benefit oscar and morris to join, tbh, unless they don't classify as "working kids" of the city, perhaps putting them at around 18 years old...)?

disdain and more snide comments! "not that i'm complaining, my skull busting arm could use a day of rest" "you working, or trespassing?/what's your pleasure?" and putting pressure on scabs to keep with the system- specifically more with uksies, oscar and morris are sort of dusting tommy boy off and whispering to him. trying to split apart the family the newsies have made with each other. and then ofc they beat the actual shit out of the newsies and in uk they have bats they are full on swinging, whole shoulder into it. you did not uphold this system, and it will destroy you for it.

and it nearly does, because then jack scabs, right? and oscar and morris are in pulitzer's office as the man talks jack through the deal, through the cash. as he must've to oscar and morris earlier that week about strike breaking the newsies. and all three of them all have these nearly matching bruises and cuts on their faces.

and then all three of them go to the cellar, the lowest floor of the elite. together the three of them are in this location with this context. two strikebreakers and a scab. taking the elite's money for their benefit, be it in a moment of fear, resignation, or greed. all the oldest kids in the play, the three who've seen the scars and rips and tears in this world more than any of the others. and for like twenty seconds of stage time jack oscar and morris are the same brand. until of course oscar and morris punch into jack's gut--since they're only "given discretion to handle him as they see fit" if he misbehaves, which jack hasn't, so they punch where people won't see/check--and remind him that he's still below them (literally shoving him to the floor ofc), that they're still closer to the elite.

and yeah, they are, because later, jack again refuses the system, and tosses the money back on the table after rebelling against his terms. in true foil fashion, once jack recognizes that his actions align that which he needs to destroy, he renounces them, while the delanceys remain on the other side of the coin they share with jack.

the delanceys, as a storytelling device, right, are meant to represent what the newsies could fall to, seen with the three initial scabs and then jack in act ii. they are this constant threat of sort of equal size to the newsies through the whole show, always kinda lurking. always being a possibility to become if the newsies ever forget what they fight for and against.

also, jack is....kind of.... like their dad, in their perspective. he's parental with the newsies, he leads them, guides them, and protects them, as well as constantly getting the better of the delanceys. why should someone like a father get to fight the system again? not on their fucking watch.

i think it's pretty clear that oscar and morris are meant to represent corruption on the small scale, thematically, while pulitzer is corruption at the top- since it all trickles down. and i think it's really important that this motif is consistently upheld within the brothers, since it sort of alters the message of the show to at least drastically change that abt them. they are the nearest branch of corruption to the newsies guys. that is so fucking cool

#see guys it's possible to talk abt these guys without centering discourse i believe in u #the delancey brothers #morris delancey #oscar delancey #delanceys #newsies #analysis #fizz freaks #fizz writes #jack kelly #🥳🎈🎁#lmaooo #anyway iiiiii. have these guys in a petri dish under a microscope. gathering the facts and making hypotheses #reaching conclusions #long post

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ariaste · 9 months

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Are you, perchance, a 2013 BBC's Sherlock veteran

No particular reason I'm asking

I watched it and I think I probably reblogged a few things back in the day because I had mutuals who were into it. But I don't recall ever really feeling like I was in the fandom myself.

I'd guess that you're asking because you've recently read my Good Omens essay and your next question is about whether I was a supporter of The Johnlock Conspiracy, and the answer is a hard nah. At least to me personally, all the textual and meta-textual evidence made it abundantly clear, even a decade ago, that the show was not only inhospitable to queer fans, but actively and deliberately hostile towards them (one recalls that utterly mean-spirited depiction of what Steven Moffat thinks a "fangirl" looks and sounds like, as well as more than one occasion when he and others involved with the show mocked fans/fandom/fanfiction in interviews, on camera, with their actual human mouths). I do vaguely remember coming across people on tumblr in those days who were convinced that there was something else going on, that somehow Moffat was going to suddenly change his tune and start loving them back the way that they loved his show, that they would be rewarded for their faith by having their ship made canon, but that seemed extraordinarily unrealistic to me and not based on any concrete facts.

Now, don't get me wrong -- wishful thinking can be really fun, and you're not hurting anyone by hoping for the best and daydreaming about a happy ending. That's just basic human nature. But when someone shows you what kind of person they truly are, pay attention. Balance dreaming with prudence, and don't put all your eggs in one basket--or, rather, don't pin all your hopes on one stranger's artistic decisions.

Part of me wants to say that Steven Moffat is one of several significant contributors responsible for the deep-rooted media trauma that still afflicts thousands of fans today (consider how so many people watching the first season of Our Flag Means Death as it aired were utterly convinced that it was going to queerbait them and exploit their sincere, heartfelt desire for a queer love story on screen, the same way that nearly every other show had done already. So many people met that glimmer of hope with cynicism and pessimism, because when you've been not just disappointed but outright punished for wanting something, the natural trauma-response is to assume that you're not going to get it until you're proven wrong, because that's the only way you can protect your bruised, exhausted heart.

It is true that Moffat's cruelty to the fans of his show contributed to our collective media trauma. However, it is not the only thing that has done so: Particularly in America, we are in the midst of a literacy crisis. Schools have been failing us for more than two decades: They have increasingly failed to teach nuanced reading comprehension and to adequately equip young people with robust and agile critical thinking skills, and this means that an entire generation has been robbed of the tools that would help them to protect themselves from the psychic damage of media trauma before it happens. Moreover, it means that many people now insist on looking to canon to "legitimize" their ships, as if their own interest and enthusiasm was not sufficient. Instead of feeling empowered to reimagine the stories handed to us in order to suit our personal needs, we give away our power into the hands of strangers who do not feel any ethical responsibility to care for their audience as if the audience is a guest in their home. And thus, we get hurt. Media trauma is real, and it sucks.

To return to your original question, no, I don't consider myself a veteran of BBC Sherlock, because I wandered through town, saw that it wasn't worth the fight, and left before the war started.

Remember: In literary criticism and in science, you don't do good work by cherry-picking evidence that supports your pet theory; you do good work by assembling all the data and asking what theory would unify them into a cohesive whole. And if you're really good, you make the effort to be skeptical and look for evidence that might disprove your theory, and you invite others to check your math, because at the end of the day, you are a beautiful, imperfect human and sometimes you make mistakes.

#sherlock #steven moffat #media trauma

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homochadensistm · 4 months

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if israel requires a jewish majority to exist, but it isnt possible to maintain the majority thru ethical means, what do you think will happen in the future if jews become a minority in israel?

also would you mind sharing your criticisms of israels basic national law?? i read a bit about it a few months ago and i dont entirely understand how it was so controversial... it didnt look like it erased arabs or other non-jewish minorities protected status as a minority in israel? idk if something is getting lost in translation or if im missing out on important context bc i dont live in israel and its something ive been very confused about ever since i first learned about it lmfao

I think 2 things can happen in that future - a civil war, or, if Arab-Israeli society manages to pull through the final stages of secularization and liberalization, and Jewish-Israeli society weeds out its batshit insane Kahanist cancer growths, israel could become a Jewish-Arab 'America' so to speak, and become a bi-national state, or a מדינת כל אזרחיה in Hebrew. I'm rooting for the latter, but I don't think I'll be alive to find out as that future, if we do a lil statistical projection, is quite far away. It's a question that Noone wants to think about which imo is tragic, because if we don't start thinking about it and planning for it right now, we'll face option A.

The problem with the Law of Nation is that it's symbolic, and it symbolizes exclusivity. It's a populist law that doesn't really change anything on paper, but it excludes non-Jews with its language. The main 3 points that ppl find bothersome are the ones talking about self determination, language and land: jews have a right to self determination, Hebrew is the official national language and the state needs to invest in and create more Jewish towns and cities. All of these are already A Thing, but the fact none of Israel's minorities are mentioned here rightfully bothers ppl, in Hebrew we call it לתקוע אצבע בעין. This law was proposed to appease the extreme fringes of Israeli society that have made their way into the govt, and could've easily been replaced by giving the declaration of independence the status of a constitution - it says all of that^ already AND it includes nonJew minorities and their equal status in the state. The move to ignore the declaration of independence and make this dumb law is purely political and textbook populism.

#israel #law of nation

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general-klumpp · 8 months

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DuckTales THEORY: 'New Scroogea' Cliffhanger (S4+)

TLDR:

S3 cliffhanger: discovery of unseen continent, New Scroogea

Whether inhabited by Scrooge wannabees, clones or stans, Webby WILL play a part to bring them together, Donald tagalong

Ma Beagle and Rockerduck are almost certainly the main villains

Ending might seem a bit lackluster and must pave way to S5

If they went this far, S5 would have May and June as the main protagonists while tackling the multiverse.

Hello Duckblr! Although I'm currently working on my own take on a hypothetical Season 4 of DuckTales, I just found out a strange tidbit of information from the artbook. Combine that with already existing speculation online and I have a nearly perfect picture.

Courtesy of violetganache42, That's right. Had DuckTales not been canceled, the cliffhanger would be the discovery of an unseen continent known as New Scroogea. It's been speculated that this could be the location the cast could have originally been planned to fall into.

The question is...what is New Scroogea?? Some believe it's a place where everyone dresses up or acts like Scrooge. Some believe Scrooge will colonise the place. Some believe it's a place where its inhabitants idolise Scrooge. Some even believe it was the result of F.O.W.L. dumping treasures, which could substantiate the defeat of Bradford.

Since it's a common word now that S4 was planned to be Webby's season, she could fit the plot with a few of these examples with New Scroogea inhabitants in mind. Scrooge wannabees, or dopplegangers? Webby can help them while solving an internal conflict within Scrooge, seeing that she, May, and June represent his troublesome side. Scrooge stans? Webby can teach them the proper way to follow in his footsteps. Scrooge colonises? Webby gets Hortense for a word or two about ethics. Donald is 100% our adult protagonist because he has May and June.

While we now understand how Webby will fit as the main protagonist, what about the villains? A better question is, what two villains know about owning a new land, and who may be of interest in taking over a new continent? That's right, Ma Beagle and Rockerduck! Ma Beagle makes perfect sense as there was a comic, 'His Majesty, McDuck' which involved the Beagle Boys trying to take over Killmotor Hill which was declared as a separate country from America. Also, Beagleburg and the fact that she never got her season. Rockerduck because we need to see Rockerduck Estates and there was this gift made for John Hodgman depicting him as a lawyer, perfect to defend Ma Beagle. Other than that...maybe there'd even be a New Scroogean gone rogue...

So...how would the New Scroogea plotline end? I'll be brutally honest, (it's not sour grapes because I found out about this after I started DuckTales MMM) I don't really like it. Why? Because it would destroy all this foreshadowing made earlier teasing us about more important ideas. Poe De Spell? Waddlemeyer? Negaduck? What about characters who need to find a new purpose or peace such as Magica, Manny, Gizmoduck, etc? Unless New Scroogea was kinda affected by the Ramrod or something, I believe these ideas would have to be pushed aside for a fifth season, giving it a lackluster or predictable ending where the New Scroogeans just laugh or swim in gold or something... Considering they had at least 87 more ideas in mind, a fifth season would tackle May and June's pursuit of a social network while going into the multiverse plot teased by the Darkwing characters.

So...yeah...what do y'all think?

#ducktales #scrooge mcduck #webby vanderquack #donald duck #ma beagle #rockerduck #taurus bulba #poe de spell #waddlemeyer #negaduck #may and june duck #ducktales s4 #ducktales season 4

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xoxiu · 11 months

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my house of stone, your ivy grows - yoongi x reader

chapter three table of contents masterlist

join the taglist

summary: yoongi carried himself with a sense of pride within himself and his belongings. he worked hard to get to where he was- ethically or not, it made him the man he is today. his latest toy, a young college girl from america, will become his magnum opus. he just needs to work out the kinks.

tags/warnings: mafia au, kidnapping, daddy dom!yoongi, smut, autistic!reader, spanking, stockholm syndrome, little!jimin, vminhope, drug mention, namjin, fluff, domestic discipline, age gap

Yoongi laid out on Namjoon and Seokjin's couch, eyes glued to his phone as he watched Kiwo's location move as she walked around the city. The man was so focused he could barely hear Namjoon's sigh from across the room.

"Hyung, it's been two weeks now," Namjoon stated, tired of Yoongi's newest obsession. "Two weeks and you've only talked to her once."

While Namjoon was right, he had only spoken to her one time, he had followed her around her college campus numerous times. He knew her classes, what route she takes to them, and where she and her friends hang out. He needed to see her at least once a day to feel complete.

"Why don't you just take her? Like just swoop her off the street. You know where she is." Seokjin chimed in. Yoongi thought about that. He could just force her to be his.

"I don't want to make her hate me." Yoongi blandly said, his focus still on Kiwo's whereabouts. She was rather far away from the Yonsei campus for it being nearly nighttime. She was walking back from a museum and was about a half-hour bus ride away from her dormitory.

"We'll just have one of the grunts do it," Seokjin suggested, "like, I don't know, Kang?"

"I thought we liked Kang?" Namjoon asked his boyfriend, looking over at him with confusion.

"That's exactly why we trust him with this," Seokjin smiled over at Yoongi, "only that best for my little Yoongs."

Yoongi glared over at Seokjin at being called the cutesy nickname. The elder did have a point. Yoongi wanted her and wanted her now. Kang could easily nab her off the street and bring her to him. But then what would they do? He knew she wouldn't come easily, so Yoongi would have to majorly control her and get her to settle into her new life.

Yoongi sighed before shutting his phone off. "She'll be at Yeonhui Junction in 20 minutes. Have him meet her there."

Yoongi sat in silence in his bedroom. The room was dark, with the only light emitting from the lamp next to his bed. He waited for Kiwo to be brought in, and the chaos that should be. Her screaming would break the silence, and Yoongi had to think of a plan to keep her docile. Perhaps he could keep her tied up for the night, or threaten her into silence.

While lost in his thoughts, the bedroom door busted open to reveal Kang carrying a tied-up Kiwo. There was a blindfold over her eyes, and what seemed to be Kang's tie wrapped around her face, covering her mouth and preventing her from screaming too loud. Her arms were neatly tied up in front of her, and her ankles were zip-tied together. Yoongi was surprised at just how quiet she was, and Kang picked up on his confusion.

"I had to drug her when I got her in the car. She's super sneaky and agile and kept getting up from off the car floor and tried to open the car door multiple times," Kang said, walking over to Yoongi's bed to place the passed-out girl down. "She should wake up in the early hours of tomorrow."

Yoongi dismissed the grunt with a nod and wave of the hand. Soon enough, it was just him and Kiwo. He softly sat down on the bed next to the passed-out girl. She wore a large sweatshirt and leggings and had her hair up in a high ponytail. At some point, she must have lost her shoes, as her pink and blue socks were fully visible.

Not knowing what exactly to do, Yoongi readjusted her in the bed so she was laying properly. He gently removed her hair tie, allowing her hair to flow out. Very carefully, he laid her head down on the pillow and just stared. He truly couldn't believe this was real.

She was his.

Yoongi removed the tie from her mouth, allowing him to see her pretty pink lips. He played with her hair and lightly traced his fingers along her face. She was real. Her chest moved slightly up and down with each deep breath, and her mouth was slightly open and pouted like a baby's, allowing soft breaths to escape.

God, Yoongi was whipped.

Fingers moved down to her wrist, tracing over the tight red paracord that bound her hands together. It dug into her skin, leaving bright red imprints on her pale skin. Grabbing the pocket knife he kept in his jeans, Yoongi carefully cut through the cord and removed it from her wrists. The blindfold and ankle ties remained, and Yoongi was unsure whether or not to get rid of them. He knew she would be dangerous and try to escape as soon as she woke up, and these precautions would be better than none. But at the same time, Yoongi wanted her to be comfortable and remain asleep even after the drug's effect ended.

Ultimately, Yoongi decided to cut the zip tie from around her ankles and remove the blindfold. Kiwo squirmed in her sleep, turning her body ever so slightly to lay on her side. Yoongi paused in fear of her waking up. When he deemed it safe, he carefully removed himself from the bed and headed towards the bedroom door.

He noticed Kiwo’s backpack had been placed right next to the door. Picking it up, Yoongi rummaged through its contents to see what exactly was in it. It held some textbooks and notebooks, a cute pen set, some money, her laptop, and her phone. A rather normal school bag. Deciding what was best to do with it, he brought it down the hall to his office.

The laptop and phone were promptly reset and turned off, just out of safety reasons. He then placed it on the very top shelf of the tall bookcase. Kiwo was rather short, even shorter than Yoongi, so she would never be able to reach that high.

Yoongi returned to the bedroom to find Kiwo cuddled up in the comforter and her thumb in her mouth. The older man nearly died of a heart attack at the sight- it was simply too cute, exactly what he was looking for in a young girl. A childlike persona, a Little some may say. Jungkook often teased him in his rather juvenile preferences, but Yoongi knew the youngest would pounce at the soonest opportunity to experience a girl like Kiwo. Young, naive, innocent. She was perfect for Yoongi.

Yoongi went to the opposite side of the bed next to Kiwo. Sneakily, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her into his chest. He expected her to wake up at the sudden invasion of privacy, but she cuddled in nicely into Yoongi.

Oh god, Yoongi thought, this girl will be perfect.

#bts fanfic #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #mafia au #bts little space #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #bts #vminhope #namjin #my house of stone your ivy grows

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a-dinosaur-a-day · 8 months

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I feel like the argument that “we’ve always kept birds” is kind of weak though? Yes humans have kept birds for a long time but we’ve also kept various monkeys as pets through the ages and that’s undeniably unethical as it causes a lot of distress to the animals. You admit that there are probably very few people who can keep certain high need birds as pets, but for every person with the skills+money+time there’s a hundred schmucks who get a high need parrot because they saw a funny video on the internet and they’re easy to acquire.

There is nuance to be had here but I think that a complete dismissal of welfare concerns surrounding wild (non domesticated) birds as pets as “pearl clutching” is disingenuous.

I would agree with you if there wasn't an active shelter crisis right now with countless domestically-bred parrots who do not have homes, largely as a result of this anti-parrot-owning backlash

and I bring up the longevity of parrot ownership to indicate it isn't a fad or something new, but a long running practice. And like, parrot and bird ownership has been waaaay more common than monkey ownership. it's not a fair comparison. Especially given plenty of parrots actively seek out human companionship on their own (the stories I hear from my friends from South America...)

I don't dismiss welfare concerns - far from it. I dismiss people who say "no one should have a pet bird" because they're being a) controlling and impractical and misunderstanding human nature and b) ignoring the nuances of parrot ownership itself and c) actively causing a major crisis that apparently no one outside of the bird-o-sphere knows

like, you should have seen the shelter I got my most recent rescues from. It was packed, they didn't have enough volunteers, everything was running thin. They were actively grateful we could take home this pair of birds that had been there for over a decade.

I use "pearl clutching" because all of this moral panic stems, ultimately, from a very evangelical/protestant black and white ethical view, and gets perpetuated through this website's unfortunate tendency towards Moral-OCD. And these hard rules (no exotic pet is ethical, etc.) have real consequences, bad ones.

It is important to communicate nuance. And too much of nuance in the "pro parrot owner" column has been completely lost, or treated as anti-animal. I'm merely indicating that is an oversimplification.

#parrot ownership #aviculture

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moregraceful · 15 days

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firebirds don't do a thing but sing // roads in the desert, take me home

;;

Ron Francis signs a Czech goalie midway through the Pacific Division semis. Chris can see the writing on the wall and it gives him a headache through June.

Even before training camp in the fall, even when they’re still in the fucking valley, everyone knows: Joey’s getting the call-up next year, not Chris. Philipp is guaranteed a spot, if not the starter position. Bylsma doesn’t have to say it, but he does anyway, because he’s a good man: “we need you down here. The boys need you down here.”

He says it firmly, but gently, a couple days after their loss to Hershey.

Chris doesn’t drink to excess anymore and is done with drugs completely, so mostly what he’s rocking in that meeting is minor league fatigue. Bylsma looks exhausted, but he’s kind throughout it. “Take the summer,” says Bylsma. “Train, work hard, but take some time for yourself too.”

Chris’s fiancee broke up with him and took the dogs with her right around the time the doctors said he’d be out for the season last year. He’d been nurturing some grief about it, but maybe it’s good that he doesn’t have anyone else to worry about, if he’s staying in the minor leagues another year.

Actually, it’s starting to look like both franchises want him in the desert full time. That gives him a headache too.

Campbell’s way less gentle than Bylsma when they go out for drinks before the team splits from town. But she’s only two years older than him, so she can get away with being kind of a jackass to him. “Yeah, it fuckin’ sucks,” she says, over her beer. “I know it does. Don’t—” she says, when Chris makes a face at her. “I know it does, Chris. But you have a lot to teach whoever comes next.”

Chris says, flatly, “who’s next, Jessica?”

The Czech goalie Francis signed in May is 26 years old. That’s a vet. That’s a signing because Francis can’t find anyone better to back Chris up.

Campbell cringes.

There’s no one else in the pipeline. All two of their teenage goalie prospects are abroad, not ready for North America, too young. The Kraken’s goalie prospect pipeline was Joey. At least Chris will be the starter in Palm Desert, provided the Czech goalie isn’t taller, hotter, with a reliable body and a clean history, a good work ethic and propensity for joy that feels increasingly out of reach for Chris.

Maybe he’s feeling some kinda way about it. He hates it when he gets bitter. Nothing good ever came from him being bitter.

He wishes he could drink all this shit away, wishes drugs didn’t fuck with his head, books a two-week-long trip to a hot spring in the Northwest Territories for his achy joints and bad attitude instead and leaves his phone off the whole time. Alone. All alone. Turns his phone back on when he gets to Winnipeg and finds himself in a new Kraken goalie groupchat with Philipp, Joey, and Aleš Stekza, courtesy of Joey, who never knows when to stop.

Aleš Stekza is a charmer. His written English is careful and precise, but when Chris meets him at rookie camp, he’s intense and effusive, slapping Chris on the back like they’ve been friends for years in the first 30 seconds, bumping shoulders with him in the locker room, grinning at Chris like Chris means anything more than another vet he’s fighting with for a roster spot.

Joey’s great at making guys feel at home in the organization, Chris thinks, but when he says as much to Joey, Joey says he learned that from Chris in his first year with the org. Aleš gets a training camp invite after rookie camp, which makes all three of them pretty happy, because Aleš has a steady attitude, and he’s a hard worker, and a good culture fit.

He’s also very, very good. It makes Chris restless about whether he’s a back-up in Coachella again, or it’s going to be a 1A-1B thing. He looks up Aleš to see his stats from his play in Czechia, and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Why a guy goes from being voted Czechia’s best goaltender to wanting to play in the AHL, he’s not sure. At least in Extraliga, they house you.

Philipp has all the goalies, rookies, rostered, invites, all, over to his house for a barbecue that he has catered. Chris makes merciless fun of him when he gets there early to help Philipp set up; Philipp smiles at him like he wants something from Chris, and Chris can kind of guess what, but then the doorbell starts ringing.

Aleš spends a lot of time badgering Chris about Coachella at the party. Is it warm, what is the food like, where does he live, what is the team like, what size are the cars, how are the fans, what is California like, how far away are they from Seattle, what is it like, how does it all fit together, where does Christ fit in, where will he. Philipp watches from the other side of the yard, drink in hand, and even though he’s surrounded by kids destined for the ECHL, he still raises his glass to Chris. Good luck, he mouths.

Chris and Aleš get sent down shortly after, surprising absolutely no one. Joey looks hurt, somehow, when Briere tells them all in a meeting, all the goalies left at the end of camp, who is getting sent down and where. Like Joey really thought he could keep Chris with him. Chris wonders where the kid gets it. Joey’s too old to think that he can play with his friends if he’s good enough to the world around him.

Aleš and Chris go to the desert. Philipp and Joey stay in Seattle. Chris drives Aleš and Marian down from Seattle to Palm Desert in his SUV and learns 50 new swear Czech and Slovak insults in a day and half. They don’t stop anywhere for the night; no time. Him and Marian switch off driving, since Aleš doesn’t have an American driver’s license, and Marian is a trooper, doesn’t complain at all.

Late night driving through some fuck ass part of the Central Valley, when the car is quiet except for a playlist Philipp made for Chris in the background and Marian snoring in the backseat, Chris glances at Aleš. Aleš had tasked himself with keeping the two of them awake at night, but he’d been silent for so long that Chris wondered if he’d fallen asleep.

Aleš has his face pressed to the window. Chris clicks his tongue to get his attention. Aleš looks over. He looks fascinated.

“I have never seen so many cows in one pen,” he says.

Chris pulls off at a rest stop to stretch his legs; four hours left in the drive and Marian is passed the fuck out in the third row. He gets out of the car and Aleš follows him to a picnic table under fluorescent lights.

He’s wearing a Kraken hoodie Chris lent him for the drive. It has Chris’s number on it. Chris feels something curl tight in his chest at the sight.

He sits across from Aleš at the picnic table. Aleš hands him some weird Pacific Northwest stimulant drink that’s supposed to fuck with your gut less than Red Bull. It tastes like flat carbonated water, but Chris has to admit it has not yet given him stomach upset.

Chris takes it and cracks it open. He drinks half of it, making a face, before handing it back to Aleš.

Aleš actually likes that kind of PNW granola shit, is the problem. He’s a good culture fit. Philipp had whispered it in Chris’s ear when he hugged him goodbye; take care of the guy, he’s a good fit for the franchise, just like you.

Chris sits across from Aleš. He studies Aleš: the laugh lines around his eyes, his strong jaw, his thinning hair that he doesn’t gel outside of game days, sticking out from under Chris’s hoodie. He looks at Aleš’s hands, his strong fingers, his thick wrists. His knees bump against Chris’s because the picnic table is small.

Aleš looks back. Whatever he sees in Chris makes him smile.

#i decided this was simply no longer any of my business and wish to set it free not on ao3 #unfortunate birdcage fanfictions #the ahler poster is coming through...

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max1461 · 10 months

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Broadly agree with your response to WN anon but not really sure "influential and respected academics don't actually want to genocide you, they are just embedded in social structures where their peers (presumably other, slightly less-influential academics) think talking like you want genocide is 'cool' and a source of 'clout'" is going to be terribly reassuring to many people. You seem to be damning your own position with faint praise.

Well I'm saying what I think is true; I don't think it's damning to my position, but if the truth were damning to my position then my position would be no good, so saying what I think is true would be correct anyway.

In any case, what I think is that academics in certain fields (not all fields, not most, but certain fields) gain clout by sounding "radical" or "revolutionary". This has its roots in, like, the bourgeois appropriation of Marxism or whatever, but it manifests in whatever they are talking about. That's just a thing that they do.

But it's frankly really obvious that it's just words, at least to me. Like half of these academics are white men anyway, they don't actually believe all white men are evil and blah blah blah in a way that matters, because they clearly don't behave as someone would if they thought their very existence was bad. It's self-serving, self-flagellating shit. And it isn't even new! Christians have been doing the "all humans are evil, oooh we must repent" shit for two millennia. That didn't stop them from making more Christians!

Slavoj Žižek, who is often full of shit but is occasionally insightful, has a good point about why people do this. By self-flagellating in this way, you actually gain a kind of rhetorical ground. You get to posture as caring so much about the needs of others that you would advance them even against your own self-interest. If someone is really fucking credulous, this makes you sound very ethically serious. People doing this is not new, the fact that it happens along race and gender lines these days is a quirk of America's present neuroses.

But anyway it's all a big self-serving game, it's plainly evident these people don't believe it; as I said I've talked to these people and they don't believe it (or, more accurately, they believe it but have redefined all their terms so that the thing they believe demands no sacrifice on their part, basically making it meaningless. Which is also what most Christians have done!).

The sooner one realizes that much of human society is just people saying words recreationally, the better one's understanding of the world will be.

#anon #society

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reysclowncare · 2 years

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🎪American Society for the Wellbeing of Clowns (ASWC): Harmful Rhetoric and Mistreatment of Clowns

While I would normally stay quiet on this issue, due to recent events, and the fact that this organization has become the fourth largest clown organization in America, I feel the need to comment and inform clown lovers and owners of the ASWC's dangerous rhetoric, as well as harmful actions they've taken in past years.

ASWC's Perpetuation of "Clean" Pedigrees

This point is the most popular criticism of the ASWC, but I thought I'd go ahead and explain it in this post.

One of the most prominent values of the ASWC has been "protecting the sanctity of purebreds." This claim is fueled by the false belief that crossbreeding results in more birth defects and genetic mutations, which simply isn't the case. A study conducted at the Center of Clownology by Dr. Faxenmacher reported that purebred clowns and mixed-breed clowns have the same rate of mutations/defects, thus disproving this uneducated claim.

The current head of the ASWC, Charles Kasperle, had made a concerning tweet on his personal account 3 years ago calling for the euthanization of mixed-breed clown breeds, stating that their "quality of life" is poorer than purebreds. This level of extremism might not actually be something the ASWC stands for, but this careless eugenic rhetoric by the very head of the organization should be addressed.

The Mishandling of Larger Breeds

The first physical ASWC center was established in 2015 in Jonesboro, Arkansas. In the years following, their centers have grown in number, spread out across the continent. These centers are dedicated to the rehabilitation of injured/sickly strays and act as a shelter for said clowns.

As well-meaning as these centers appear to be, they, unfortunately, don't provide adequate care and sustenance for their clowns. In an interview with former volunteer Lindsay Possenreiser on the "Clown of the Town" podcast, she explains that any clown that wasn't of the teacup variety didn't have nearly enough enrichment or space, and were kept in the same kind of cages as teacup breeds. As we know, most large varieties of clowns need at least 30ft of space to themselves, as a vast majority tend to be territorial. This can usually be achieved by a small to medium-sized circus tent.

Possenreiser also commented on the lack of time they spent outside of their confinements. She stated that the only times they were out of their quarters were for an hour of outdoor time, or for check-ups. Mistreatment of clowns by an organization meant for clown wellness can lead to mass amounts of misinformation spreading amongst the clown care community like wildfire. Always do your own research, and consult professionals if necessary.

Endorsement of Unethical Clown Milk Companies

As of 2020, the ASWC has opened its doors to companies that sell clown products, such as milk or clown hair, giving an "ASWC Approved" seal to companies they deem "ethical." While I don't believe that it should be sold for human consumption, I do appreciate that certain companies go the extra mile to ensure the comfort and quality of life of their dairy clowns.

The ASWC has given the majority of its seals to companies that care for their clowns correctly, but a lot of these seals have gone to a few brands that don't prioritize their dairy clowns. There are quite a few out there, but I will be focusing on the largest seal-holder, Shamhonk Farms.

I won't get into the mistreatment of dairy clowns in this post (check out @bowling-with-skulls PSA on clown milk for more extensive information), but a recent documentary by Keira Spassmacher of one of Shamhonk's farms shows the caged conditions their clowns are forced to live in. I will spare the gruesome details, but it's dirty, small, and horrifying.

If you take a look at the top 5 beneficiaries of the ASWC in the past 3 years, you would probably notice Gooftacular, the parent company of Shamhonk Farms, being their #3 top beneficiary. A few other unethical companies with this seal, such as Iridium Inc. and Juggler's Premium, are also large donators to ASWC. This cannot be directly proven, but it can be implied that a few of these companies bought their seal.

*This is a reminder that just because a product has a "seal of approval" on it, doesn't mean that the seal is FDA-approved or an official term used by the FDA.

If you are looking for clown organizations/charities to volunteer for/donate to, please consider these alternatives:

The Goober Foundation: Inspired by the founder's late clown companion, Goober, who unfortunately passed from early-onset Madcap, this organization is dedicated to the care of clowns with severe to fatal afflictions, donating its earnings to families in need.

Chucklet Care Association (CCA): This association is grounded in care for sickly/stray chucklets to ensure they grow up to be healthy, full-grown clowns. This organization offers artificial Clown Milk, physical therapy, and even on-site care for chucklets that fall into their care. Please consider giving the CCA extra love, as their sponsors have been declining in the last year. It's getting harder for them to keep their doors open.

Ethical Clowns United (ECU): The ECU is dedicated to ending the mistreatment of clowns that have been bred for product, and to stopping the recently proposed legislation to end the ban on clown meat from being passed. If you feel especially for clowns bred for product, I'd suggest donating here.

Always be wary of what you are donating to. Just because it's a big name in its industry, doesn't mean it can't cause mass harm and perpetuate harmful misinformation. Thank you for reading.

#clown husbandry #clown breeds #clowns #clownblr #ASWC #American Society for the Wellbeing of Clowns

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whatsthebird · 3 months

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FAQ

We've compiled a set of common questions that we hope to demystify through this page. If a question you have isn't listed here, shoot us an ask.

Submissions

Can I submit a photo for fun?

If it's your own bird photo, then it can be submitted as either a Bird ID photo or a Quiz Bird. Our General rule of thumb is, if you know what the bird is, then submit it as a bird quiz. If you don't know what bird it is, submit as a bird ID.

Are anonymous quiz submissions ok?

Absolutely! We just ask that you specify that you wish to stay anonymous, so that we don't think it's a Tumblr glitch.

Are submissions limited to America or some sort of specific regions?

Not at all. Submissions are open to anyone who's taken a bird photo.

Where's my submission?

It's possible we just haven't gotten to you yet. Each submission is selected via lottery, and scheduled two weeks out.

Additionally, not every submission will be used. Sometimes the image is lacking key identifiers, or the submission did not follow the guidelines.

Can you tell me if my submission won't make it on the quiz?

WTB will not be proactively reaching out to users. The lack of options to contact the person hinders our ability to do so. Multi person blogs can't direct message, and not every submitter has their ask box open. If you'd like, you can send us an ask about your bird's status that we will gladly answer.

I'm not American, do I still need to follow the ABA guidelines?

The American Birding Association code of birding is a general set of guidelines that can be practiced anywhere in the world. We expect our submitters to practice ethical birding while out photographing birds.

How high quality are the photos required to be?

We value all levels of photography. As long as the key identifying features are present in the photo, the photo can be used.

General

Is it okay to use resources?

Absolutely. This quiz isn't graded. Pull out whatever you want (apps, books, your grandma...) to help. If you're really stumped, throw a lifeline to your fellow players. Some have even been leaving hints in the tags.

How do I play?

Pick the correct answer choice. How you get to the correct answer is up to you. Play this game in a way that would be the most fun to you.

Why have a "None of the Above" answer, choice?

We wanted to a way to promote further discussion between players.

Blog

Are you accepting mods?

At the blog's current state, we have a proportionate amount of mods to work ratio. As the blog expands, we will reevaluate the needs and go from there.

I can't click any of the links, what's happening?

iOS users have been experiencing a bug where the hyperlinks to the submission button are unavailable. To accommodate, we have now allowed media asks.

#WTBGuide #FAQ

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terrence-silver · 4 months

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What do you think Terry's idea of "rock bottom" is? Like we know Dynatox was doing some shady deals, and Terry was paying people off to cover his tracks all willy nilly. But do we think he actually lost all of his money? Or was his version of rock bottom moving out of the Ennis house to a more "humble" appearing mansion?

---

I think his definition of rock bottom is the World changing.

The dissonance of values.

The depression that came with.

Now, stay with me on this one. Could be fakedeep, but I truly believe this:

No, I don't think Terry Silver was ever here struggling to pay bills, buy groceries on a discount and make rent like an average Joe Schmoe; that's not the type of struggle he meant, I feel. Don't figure this is something that ever happened to him. It's just not that realistic. 🤷‍♀️

Terry Silver's 'rock bottom' is more of the deeply existential sort.

A sort of dread you can't shake off or control. The same way many people miss the 2010's. Or the 90's. Or the 70's. Or whatever period in their life was meaningful, important or deeply impactful. This sense that time is ever changing and it cannot be stopped or contained; that maybe the best days of your life are already behind you and they're never coming back. The melancholy and fear that comes with it; this is, actually, a re-occurring theme for several characters in the show (Johnny Lawrence, anyone?) And we all know that if Terry loathes one thing it is not having control over things. Passage of time being chief among them. In his own words vaguely paraphrased; you can buy back everything but your youth...or something like that, don't quote me.

That's what Terry was plagued with when he told John he 'hit rock bottom'.

Sure, he lost an unimaginable sum of money due to various fiscal crashes and had, effectively, for a while, less zeroes attached to his already immense networth which he for sure could've considered a state of decline compared to what he used to have, living quite literally overlooking all of Los Angeles like a sort of self-proclaimed Emperor, but the fact that the morals and the ethics of 1970-80's America which birthed The Terry We Know became so very different at the turn of the millennia that he might've felt that the economic boom and the very values that underlined a prime in his life were now over and that he, along with them, would either change, shed skins, or be over as well was what led Terry to sense that he had to begin again, from rock bottom, reinventing himself.

It was an end of an era.

First thing he had to do, is change mansions.

He couldn't just live in an unsustainable concrete brutalist castle anymore without people rightfully considering him bad for it...or telling him he should house some homeless people in there since he clearly has ample space. He needed to make a shift to something acceptable. Something digestible. He needed to box himself in.

No, he couldn't just slam coke, be driven around in a Rolls Royce, drop around racial slurs, make a living off of literally polluting places, lounging naked in front of his elderly secretary in a hot tub without facing some serious allegations later and coming dangerously close to what would be considered grooming today either. Those days were over. The days in which Cobra Kai as an upper crust extracurricular boy's club was considered aspirational and cool leading to a post-millennial pipeline where most people would consider it a militant cult was the new norm. The days in which you could send your friend to an all-expense paid trip to Tahiti to be entertained by two masseuses without both you and your friend being promptly branded sex tourists were gone too.

Martial arts were at their height in the 60's-80's, but by the time we're reintroduced to Terry at his garden party, it's a relic of the past people laugh and cringe at at best and bring up as a quirky joke. Hey, even his ponytail would just promptly be laughed at because men's fashion changed too; what was badass then ain't so badass now.

Everything changed.

It's like everything that made Terry Terry was just...finished. Passe.

In a sense, Daniel Larusso's lines proved to be prophetic:

Terry Silver wasn't even a memory anymore.

Yuppie culture was dead and Terry Silver was so intrinsically tied to this culture that I do believe he suffered what we would consider a mental breakdown due to it, the same way I believe he was facing so many lawsuits, indictments, scandals and legal issues thanks to his accumulated less-than-stellar behaviors and dealings in the past few decades that he would either 'clean up' his act or suffer the consequences. Become one of those creepy Billionaires shunned from society entirely. It would be social suicide. And I do believe Terry Silver had many, many, many skeletons in his closet. So many in fact, that him going to therapy, letting go of narcotics, quitting smoking, presenting himself as mellow, not really talking about his time in Vietnam (whereas, in the 80's, he's out there, openly saluting John at an airport) and ultimately surrounding himself by a veneer of Liberal upper class 'acceptable rich diverse people' was legitimately needed to hide himself. Even the way he dressed was different; he appeared less like a Bond villain and more like an elegant, approachable old man on a sea-side porch, hair in his loose curls.

Presentation; it matters.

The man who knew how to dress up as 'poor' and even instructed his stylists to deliberately ruffle the collars of his 'working class attire' when tricking Daniel would understand this like an intricate science. Really, just think of celebrities in real life who were awful in the past and who tried to polish up their image with the advent of social media and the internet. Yeah. Just like that. That's exactly what happened to Terry Silver.

He was bad and he loved it, but he couldn't be bad anymore.

Everything that brought him joy was gone, a cancellable offense (for good reason too) something that would ruin his life and have him viewed in an unfavorable light and everything that was considered positive nowadays were things that didn't make him happy in the least bit. Not at all. He wasn't happy eating vegan screws in a vegetative, fake existence. He wasn't happy pretending therapy worked. He wasn't happy letting go of all the markers of insurmountable wealth to seem relatable; he earned that shit. He deserved to flaunt it! He wasn't happy discarding his vices. He wasn't happy dressing like a retired grandpa wearing khakis sadly counting lettuce leaves in his plate and in equal measure counting the days until he died as the last vestige of the 80's. He wasn't happy not mentioning Vietnam. Martial Arts. Cobra Kai. Not when that's his life. It is who he was. For better, or for worse. His rock bottom, was such, feeling he had to become a blank slate and start over in a great many ways; returning to everything he was was him recapturing the old glory days and having one last go at everything that ever sparked him joy. Better to burn out than fade away and all that jazz.

#terry silver #kk3 #cobra kai #character analysis #tw; values dissonance

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 6 months

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youtube

Konstantin Kisin - The Speech The World NEEDS To Hear

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn once said that the strength or weakness of a society depends more on the level of its spiritual life, than on its level of industrialization. If a nation's spiritual energies have been exhausted, he said, it will not be saved from collapse by the most perfect government structure, or by any industrial development. A tree with a rotten core cannot stand.

When he was allowed to leave the USSR Solzhenitsyn went to the US, where he was given a hero's welcome. But he quickly realized that American society was far from perfect. He started lecturing Americans about the problems he saw. Americans don't like that. Like Solzhenitsyn, I come from the Soviet Union, but I have no intention of repeating his mistake. That's why I've come to Britain, where you love being told what's wrong with you by foreigners.

But I do have to be honest. Six months ago, when Jordan and Philippa asked me to come here and speak at ARC about the importance of audacity, adventure and a positive vision for our civilization, I was honored and delighted.

But as I stand here today, after watching crowds openly celebrate mass murder on the streets of our cities, after watching the police spend more time debating Islamic theology on Twitter than enforcing the law, I'm starting to lose faith. I don't know how long our civilization Will survive.

For years now many of us have been warning that the barbarians are at the gates. We were wrong. They're inside. Now look, I'm not going to be all doom and gloom, there are positives as well. I mean, say what you want about Hamas supporters, at least they know what a woman is.

But joking aside, I have to be honest. I've been in a dark place these last few weeks, so I did what I always do when I don't know what to do: I talk to my wife. It's not the only time I talk to her, but you know, get the point. And she said, look, you need to clear your mind, take a few days off, let's go on holiday. And I know, it's a weird thing to say, I don't like going on holiday, cause I love working, and I hate spending money. Protestant work ethic in a Jewish man's body. My wife is exactly the other way around, unfortunately.

But she was right. She's always right. That's her best and most annoying quality. So, we went to Barcelona. Beautiful city. And as we were walking down the main tourist street, La Rambla, many of you will know, when you get to the bottom, you hit the Christopher Columbus Monument. It looks like a giant column with a pillar of Columbus on top pointing towards the New World. And this reminded me of my son, Nikolai. He's 16 months, and this is what he does, he sits on my hip and points in the direction he wants to go. Treats me like a horse, basically. And if I don't act quickly enough, or if I don't comply, he does what all toddlers do: he throws a tantrum and starts screaming. How dare you! You have stolen my dreams with your empty words! And when he does, we read him a story and put him to bed. We don't give him a standing ovation in front of the UN.

Anyway, trigger warning, I am going to talk positively about Christopher Columbus. I know he committed some pretty sizable microaggressions, but he also changed the world. Do you know why he changed the world? Yeah, he tried to reach India and by accident discovered America. But why go west to India? Europeans had been trading with India and China for centuries via the Silk Road. Why risk your life to go out on a limb? There were many reasons of course, but the main one was the decision to try and reach Asia by going west, was not made out of choice. Europe was desperate. Only a few decades prior, in 1453, the Ottomans sacked Constantinople, and they cut Europe off from the Silk Road. The West Was facing a huge challenge and a new threat. No smaller than the one we face today. And like us what they needed was another way.

But when Columbus took his idea to go west to India to the kings and queens of medieval Europe, they laughed at him. They didn't laugh at him because he was some misunderstood genius, he wasn't Galileo. They laughed at him because he was wrong. If you go out in the street and ask a random person why Columbus discovered America, they'll tell you he worked out that the Earth was round. Not true. By the time Columbus set off on his voyage in 1492, people had known the Earth was round for two millennia. There's probably more flat Earthers now than there were in the 15th century. God bless the internet.

The reason Columbus discovered America is not that he'd worked out that the Earth was round. The reason is that he massively underestimated the size of the planet. They were right to laugh at him. He was wrong. But he took that wrongness, he persuaded 90 other men to get into three boats smaller than the size of this stage, and sail into the unknown. And he persuaded Queen Isabella of Castile and King Ferdinand of Aragon to fund his voyage.

The moral of the story is, it doesn't matter how wrong you are as long as you've got rich friends.

That's not the moral of the story. The moral of the story is, the history of our civilization was not made by people who always got everything right. It was made by people who'd made mistakes too. It was made by people who dared to believe that they could solve the problems they faced. The story of the West is a story of audacity.

The big debates of the last decade, the culture war, the polarization, are about one thing and one thing only: the future. There are people like us in this room who believe that our future is to be prosperous, powerful and influential. We are the majority. But there are also some people whose brains have been broken by an excess of education, who believe that our history is evil. That we do not deserve to be great, we do not deserve to be powerful, that we must be punished for the sins of our ancestors. To them, our past is abominable, our present must be spent apologizing, and our future is managed decline.

My message to those people is simple: how dare you. You will not steal my son's dreams with your empty words.

But Jordan is right, we need a positive message too. So here it is: from the dawn of time, human beings have had to work to make the world a better place. We captured the mystery of fire. We invented the wheel. Today we build buildings that would shock and awe almost every human being that has ever lived. We split the atom, we spliced the genome and we connected the world through microcomputers that fit in our pockets, that allow us to do amazing amazing things.

This morning, I destroyed someone on Twitter with facts and logic from the toilet. It's magic! Remember your grandparents? Remember them? If I could go back in time and transport the grandparents of your grandparents into this room, just four generations ago, they would think they'd been abducted by aliens. that's the progress we've made. We haven't made that progress by whining and acting like victims. We've made that progress by unleashing the creativity and talent of people like us here in this room.

But I do think we've forgotten what adventure is. Being adventurous is not ordering extra-spicy chicken at Nando's. Wrong reference for this room. Let me try again. Being adventurous is not ordering extra-spicy chicken from your personal chef.

When Columbus and his men got on those boats and took a journey into the unknown, they sailed to certain death. You know why? It's not because they were braver than you and I, it's because they knew something we forgotten: all death is certain. And so I say to our friends in the world of business, you've made your fortunes by maximizing your returns on your investments. We are in the fight of our lives. there is no greater return on your investment than to protect and preserve our civilization.

And so I invite you to follow in the footsteps of Elon Musk and Paul Marshall and Ben Delo and many of you here who are using your fortunes for the betterment of humanity.

I say to our friends in the media: truth matters! We are in the fight of our lives. There is more to life than clicks and downloads. Let’s move beyond the culture war where all we do is bat away the litany of slanderous allegations about our history. Let’s set the agenda. Let’s remind our fellow citizens why we are where we are. Let’s remind them that we are the most tolerant, open and welcoming societies in the history of the world. We’re not embarrassed about our past, we’re proud of it.

And to my colleagues in new media especially I say this. The legacy media is dying for a reason. They cannot be saved, they cannot be reformed. Let’s stop complaining about them and start building the media empires of the future ourselves. We have everything we need. We’ve even got rich friends now.

I say to our friends in education and academia: I understand that many of you feel like the French Resistance or Soviet partisans, stuck behind enemy lines, undermanned and out gunned. And you’re right, we are in the fight of our lives. So keep fighting for every young mind you can. It will be worth it.

And finally, I say to our friends in politics. Many of you here are conservatives. I’m not, I look terrible in tweed. That’s why I identify as politically non-binary. But I can tell you conservatives something. You will never get young people to want to conserve a society and an economy that is not working for them. We will not overcome Woke nihilism as long as young people are locked out of the housing market, unable to pair up, unable to have kids, unable to plan for the future.

I know it’s difficult, and I know that whoever solves the housing crisis may well pay the price at the ballot box. This is true of many pressing issues too, or at least you think it is. But you did not get into politics to get re-elected. You got into politics to make a difference.

We are in the fight of our lives. And if courage means anything it means doing the right thing and being willing to take the punishment if you have to. Let me say it again: all death is certain. We do not get to choose whether we live or die. We only get to choose whether we live before we die. Thank you very much.

#Konstantin Kisin #western civilization #the war on the west #war on the west #religion is a mental illness

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