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jasper-the-menace · 2 months

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Hey, since you're interested in scorpion biology, I thought you'd be interested in the idea of... intersex Chima scorpions! Well, sort of.

There's a specific character that's been bugging me a bit. Scutter is kind of the scorpion equivalent of a centaur; he has two torsos, one anthropomorphic, and another of the scorpion body. With scorpion anatomy in mind, it's easy to reach the conclusion that Scutter's reproductive organ would be heavily altered because of his body, making him intersex to a certain extent.

I hope this makes sense. I'm trying to look for possible trans rep in Chima characters (like in this example). What do you think of this idea?

Oh friend, you don't know the essay you just inspired.

You Opened This Can Of Worms, Now Lie In It

Some important bulletpoints before I get going, just to get all of my followers on the same page:

Disclaimer: I am a transgender nonbinary perisex individual. This means I am not intersexed (to my knowledge), I don't identify with the gender I was assigned at birth, and I don't identify as male or female. The closest thing to describing my gender is literally "no".

I am a strong advocate for making as many characters transgender as possible, regardless of "realism". That's why, in my own writing, half of the Scorpions are retroactively transgender (though they don't understand gender on the whole and most of them would probably be nonbinary if someone took fifteen minutes to explain gender, variable social constructs, and the concept of genitalia tying to gender roles) and also Razar is too on account of I said so.

Being intersexed does not inherently mean being transgender. There is a lot of discussion and individual choice between intersexed people about whether or not they're part of the queer community. It's a very individual thing, and I am not part of those discussions on account of not being intersex myself.

When it comes to humans and other beings with a level of sentience and sapience, the term "hermaphrodite" and its derivates are considered slurs. When talking about animals, hermaphrodite and its derivates are scientific terms. So in something like the Legends of Chima series and other humanoid-animal media, the proper term is "intersexed". (I noticed you used the term "intersex" in your ask, and I appreciate it!)

I know too much about scorpion mating and birth.

We're talking way too much about genitalia and gender tonight in regards to fictional characters.

I am genuinely delighted that you decided to drop in here to discuss this, because boy howdy do I have a lot of thoughts about transgender headcanons/representation and scorpions specifically! Scorpions are just. So damn cool.

Note for my fellow arachnophobes: There are no images attached to this post, but it's really easy to find videos of scorpions doing various things on YouTube, which is actually how I've been studying them.

Scorpion Sex, Mating, and Genitalia

Scorpions of both "genders" have genital opercula (singular: genital operculum), and their asses run up into their tails. In order to mate, they don't just do like horses. No no, buddy, they have a really weird, specific method!

In order to start wooing his potential mate, the male scorpion will lock chelae (pincers) with the female scorpion, and they will start to "dance". The male scorpion will drop a sperm packet onto the ground and lead the female scorpion over it. If the female scorpion is down, she'll basically squat and absorb the sperm packet into her body, which is then followed by a "mating plug" to keep it in while it does the fertilization thing.

(It's important to note that the courting process also contains "juddering", aka the male scorpion doing the dance that the stickbug meme did, and may also contain clerchical "kisses". Honestly, pretty romantic for an arachnid. And possibly tail-rubbing and sexual stinging. Scorpions are very kinky!)

(It's also important to note that some species of scorpions have been reported, though not reliably, to reproduce through parthogenesis.)

Post-coitus cannibalism has not been scientifically seen in scorpions, so the male scorpion is generally safe as long as he scadoodles.

Gestation in some scorpion species can last over a year, and different species can have anywhere from 2 to 100 little scorplings - the physical size of the scorpion is not necessarily tied to how many babies they'll have.

Also, scorpions give live birth!

The baby scorpion is essentially folded like a Fedex package and launched out of the womb. It will then unfold and climb on top of the mother to make way for its next sibling. These will hang onto the mother until their first molt, which happens as a group and launches them into the juvenile stage. After this, they will still stay with their mothers until their carapace finishes hardening and gaining color, at which point they hunt prey on their own and will wander off on their own terms.

Hey, Jasper, That's Pretty Fucked Up, But How Does This Tie Into Chima?

I'm getting there, hold your centaur scorpions!

This is where we get into the worldbuilding of the Legends of Chima series, the Character Encyclopedia, and our poor boy Scutter.

See, the Legends of Chima as a series is very much a product of its time. There is some rife ableism and questionable word choices in regards to the Crawlers (and Sir Fangar, but this isn't about him). According to the Character Encyclopedia, Scutter is "less evolved". There's a looong history of racism in using phrases like "evolution" in regards to other humans, so taking that and applying it to an animal world leaves us with some very strange dissonance, because it's used in Chima to mean animals turned into a more humanoid form by the Chi.

Because really, what is the Chi? It's a magical substance that, depending on how you read it, could be the animist spirit of the land (I say, as an animist myself), or it could be drugs. Or it could be any number of other things! I know one person who writes Chi as the blood of dead gods, which is metal as fuck!

Ultimately, it depends on how one is writing the Chi that makes the usage of phrases like "less evolved" more or less questionable than it was intended. We're all dragging around the corpse of a Lego theme across our writing desks anyway. And the way I go about answering the question of "what is Chi" is definitely different from others. (Again, see the dead god blood part.)

The question of whether or not the Scorpion Tribe, namely Scutter, would count as intersexed relies on 1) defining intersexuality in regards to genitalia arrangement (scorpions don't have penises and vaginas by default; and the Wikipedia article on scorpions just uses "genital orfice" or "genital opercula"); 2) determining if the Chi has magically changed how genitalia works for Scorpions (admittedly, I do this because I didn't want to have to use the term "genital opercula" over and over); 3) determining the humanization extent of the Scorpion Tribe as you write them (I lean more towards human than you do, just from what I've seen of your work); and 4) deciding if such terminology even exists in Chima.

But looking at Scutter and going with the assumption that the back end is fully scorpion... No, I wouldn't count him as intersex by default. Intersex implies landing between the two human biological extremes (which, as we all know, is not as cut-and-dry as high school biology taught us), when really he's kind of a secret third thing (a Scorpion who probably doesn't have either a penis or a vagina).

(Of course, there's also what you said, paraphrased to my own wording: the Chi may have just decided to fuck up this poor man's genital situation and do a half-ass job.)

That's not to say he can't be trans. I mean, I made Scorm and about half of the Scorpion Tribe trans already. That's also not to say they're not all trans by default, considering scorpions without the ability to think wouldn't have the concepts of genders anyway.

Okay Jasper, So How Do You Write Him?

So, here's the thing. I'm aromantic-asexual, and I also write smut and, to a lesser extent, romance, which means I think about fictional character genitalia too much. But thinking about Scutter has left me utterly baffled.

On one hand, I usually write the Chi as a magical animist force of the land of Chima on the whole, and part of that is that the Chi tries to get everyone on the same playing field, physically speaking, which is how we get retroactive transgender man Scorm in my Tales of Chima series.

On the other hand, look at him. Look at him. He's a centaur arachnid. I know he can pass the Harkness Test, but I still feel weird thinking about his genitalia. If I go with my theory of the Chi giving everyone penises and vaginas at random, then I don't want to think about how much that would get in the way for the poor boy! On the other hand, his lower body is still mostly scorpion instead of, well, Scorpion, so who's to say he doesn't have a genital operculum?

Too Long, Don't Want Details About Scorpion Sex

Alright, spoilsport. Here's your TLDR:

It genuinely depends on what the Chi does in your version of the story and how bad it fucks up. It depends on how dedicated you are to scientific accuracy. It depends on how much you want to think about scorpion genitals.

And being intersex is not necessarily trans rep, unless it is, unless it isn't. I'm not intersexed, so I'm not going to say what that falls on myself. There is an intersex pride flag that was created by Morgan Carpenter in 2013.

Trans characters can exist outside of being intersexed, you don't have to conflate the two in order to have transgender representation. Just hit the characters with the Transgenderinator 5000 Beam. Fuck realism, this is a series about walking talking animal people. Who's going to stop you? The fun police? Transphobes? Eat them.

Further Reading

Start at Wikipedia and go from there through its sources for anything of particular interest:

Intersex flag (in case you're curious about it and its history, which can also launch you into further reading about humans being intersex)

Scorpion (morphology section)

Scorpion (mating subsection)

Scorpion (birth and development subsection)

So, uh, yeah! Thanks for coming to me with these questions, it's really touching that you value my thoughts this much, and I love talking about my boys and scorpions and the complicated web! I apologize for any errors or too-crass sections, because I wrote most of this in one sitting after playing wayyy too much Skyrim today.

~Jasper

#answered #olivescales3 #legends of chima #lego legends of chima #lego chima #chima #scutter #loc scutter #scorpions #science #biology #queer #trans #transgender #intersex

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ungodly-amounts-of-godly-trauma · 8 months

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wotw round 1

propaganda under the cut!

leliana:

shes a companion in the first game and a major character in the third. between these games she becomes the spymaster for the girlpope and actively aids in and supports its various atrocities. this is NEVER EVER AKNOWLEDGED BY THE FANDOM. this isnt a bit! i go through her tag on ao3 and tumblr regularly and NO ONE TALKS ABOUT THIS??? all her content about her romance is fluffy and nice (which. Um. Yeah im sure thats not due to lesbophobia at all. (shes bi, but the majority of people who romance her do so as a woman)) EVEN DURING THE TIME PERIOD WHERE SHE IS APART OF THE ORGANIZATION THAT IS DOING LIKE SIX SEPARATE GENOCIDES AT ONCE AND IS ACTIVELY DISENFRANCHISING THE PEOPLES THAT HER LOVER CAN BELONG TO???? HUH??? just because she Says she supports certain things (and to her credit she does later. just way after the helping with genocide) does not erase her active role in furthering the oppression of various peoples in thedas. this isnt even getting into all of her other more minor flaws people erase all the time(i am very tired but otherwise i WOULD) if only because this is enough. Can people please please like women without pretending they dont have flaws come the fuck on

martin blackwood:

listen my memory of this podcast is so loose BUT in canon he's a cunning and competent person, he actively works to sabotage the evil organization he's forced to work for, he gets trapped in a sort of limbo-state version of reality meant to isolate him from the world and decides on his own to try to get out instead of submitting to it, he was literally theorized to be working for the Web by some people and YET everyone just sort of takes the way he was in s1 (in love with the main character, very timid, etc) and ignores all of his character development 👍 there are some major martin soldiers who could explain this better

he's great actually he's committed minor arson. he killed his boyfriend (necessary). he's got incredible mommy issues. he's manipulative. he's angry and wonderful and kind and the fandom has dumbed him down to this uwu chubby tea lover softboi and i HATE IT

Hated by his sick single mother, but still cared for her till she died. Spent two weeks trapped in his apartment by a worm lady and didn't lose his head. Always tries to be kind and give people tea, but beware the nice ones. He will murder you once the apocalypse comes around. Especially if you hurt him or his boyfriend. The fandom may sometimes only remember the tea and the meekness but don't be fooled!

so many things. mainly a shitty mom and Spooky Depression though

#tournament poll #leliana #dragon age origins #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #martin blackwood #the magnus archives #tma #wotw #round 1

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writingwithcolor · 2 years

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Black girl test subject and Black parent stereotypes

Anonymous asked:

Whelp, I’m gonna get my Black card confiscated but, I need help with making my main Black girl’s family situation significantly less problematic.

Black OP test subject, her father part of that

For some context, she has Retrograde amnesia which was induced by (spoiler) so she wouldn’t remember the event that awoken her powers and lived as a test subject during her days in an underground organization her father was a part of. She ends up joining a rival organization during a “rescue” mission and Her dad was an indirect antagonist for a short arc before becoming a morally nuanced person later on.

War God Black Mother

Her mother on the other hand was reworked recently as her original take on her character felt way yikes for me and I made her more of an intelligent goddess of combat and wisdom than a battle-obsessed war god. I’m fresh out of ideas on what to do with her character apart from her wanting her daughter to follow along her footsteps but the she feels like she couldn’t hope to match up to her.

Neither had much time to look after her so she looks up to others who filled in similar parental roles like her partner and her best friend.

Identity and internal issues

Now granted I’m debating if this sort of co-dependency is healthy since her internalized issues could become problematic later on. I didn’t want my story to come off as massive trauma fest (like stories such as worm) since she does seem like a generally happy and mostly well-adjusted individual if a bit sensitive sometimes. There’s some other Black woman characters with parents who are still with them and I wanna find ways to show this is the exception to the rule rather than yet another expected cliche.

First of all, and I know you were just joking, but never feel like you’re not “Black enough” just because you have things you’re questioning in your story. It’s always good to get another perspective and this blog is for all! Now, to your story:

There are ways that I feel that you can improve this:

Handling suffering and hardships

I feel as if you have more “Authority” as a Black author if you wanted to cover such a topic area for a fellow Black character. However, you seem to purposely want to be careful about not overwhelming the character with hard times.

For that reason, be mindful of how explicit you get with details of pain or torture, especially compared to other non-Black characters. Some things can be implied heavily or left to the imagination, with the focus instead pointed towards the impact, emotions and aftermath overall.

Alleviate moments of hardships with joy and relief. Add sweet amongst the bitter, whether that is in terms of:

Healing and making peace with the past and present

Having the support of therapy, family, friends, a romantic partner and/or a faithful animal companion

A happier ending and new beginnings

Add nuance

There’s some things that I don’t necessarily feel you even need to try to redeem (for example, a father who would allow his daughter to be a test subject). You could explain his possibly twisted reasoning, if you want, but it would not excuse it. However, characterization-wise, you can do your best to present multi-layered characters that are not just war-gods and Strong.

See our other posts on stereotypes and the specific tropes you may have concerns about.

Show a diverse range of Black characters

For every possibly negative or typecast you have Black characters in, from Strong Black Women, a betraying Black father, and neglectful parents, show us Black characters that do not meet these traits or deal with being experiments, face explicit tragedies and heavy burdens.

~Mod Colette

#Asks #submission

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blaiddraws · 2 years

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SUBMAS/Pokemon AU masterpost

putting most of it under the cut because there are Many

( Creature AUs: )

Ghost Worm Au

Ingo Dies in Hisui, but gets turned into/reincarnated (??) a pokemon. Train shaped. Living the life as a ghost worm train, exploring the world's railways until he catches up with his original time and reunites with Emmet

Original post [here], as well as a couple additional posts [here] and [here] about How Exactly he got Worm'd

And here is the whole tag ("ghost worm au")

Fulcrum AU

A Twin Dragons AU (wherein the train men are Zekrom and Reshiram in some way or another) where. The twins Are the dragons, always have been, but Are also one hundred percent human. (And can change between forms)

But when Ingo gets sent to Hisui, he somehow gets stuck in a half-transformed state (with amnesia) despite that should have been impossible. (And, due to their connection, this weirdness kinda. backlashed onto Emmet. And he gets stuck like that as well.)

Original post [here], and the entire tag link [here] (fulcrum au)

Giraingo AU

Not really an AU I'll be playing with much, since I created it more for the sake of "haha what if i made TWO ghost worm aus' but!

Ingo ends up in the distortion world, fatally wounded. Giratina comes across him and feels bad for the guy, but it. doesn't know how to fix a human body. Doesn't know how basically any organic/living creature works at all, really, since it lives in the distortion world.

so, it does what it can. Gives him a body that it knows. and now ingo is a tiny shiny giratina.

original and Only post [here]

( Crossovers: )

UTsubmas

Undertale Crossover! In which I shove Emmet down a hole.

Most of the content is posted as a fic, which can be found [here] on AO3, (and I also have a writing blog where I post the occasional snippet or update, [here]) but i DO post the occasional art here on my art blog, which can be found in the tag [here]

Gunsmoke AU

Trigun Crossover!

On a desert planet full of outlaws and bounty hunters, Nobori the Eclipse is just trying to live a peaceful, unobtrusive life. The only problem is the $$60,000,000,000 bounty on his head.

or, I stick submas/pokemon characters into the Trigun setting and roles, and play around with the worldbuilding and plot of both the anime and manga and add and change things to my own whims until things are almost unrecognizable. (the characters replacing the original characters are SO very different, and so things happen SO very differently)

Original post [here], full tag [here].

( Other: )

Guns Georg

Amnesiac Unovan in Hisui finds a gun left behind from a spacetime distortion. Hides it away in a cave because something in him is screaming about gun safety.

oh no

he's found more

there's so many guns

(not a serious au lmao. original posts [here] and [here] and full tag [here])

#au masterpost #submas au masterpost #masterpost

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fates-theysband · 2 years

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2, 3, 9, & 16 ~ rebeccaselfships

@rebeccaselfships thank you!! i'm gonna answer this for my neoscum s/i rigoletto bc i need to flesh them out some more.

2. when in canon does your self insert come in? do you have a scene in mind for your entrance?

i am actually not sure of the "when" part of their appearance, like i'm constantly waffling between like "i think it'd make the most sense for them to join up during the denver arc but i don't want them to come off as some sort of replacement goldfish for max in terms of skills since they're a technomancer like he is and also i want them to be able to meet max and rhon and lala in person but any earlier than denver feels like it wouldn't offer many organic chances for the scum to meet them but AUGH"

so the "when" is undecided but everything else i've kind of figured out. basically their decker alias and mmo username are the same name (realistically a terrible idea but i never said they were smart) and it comes up on a matrix perception check z does on something (what exactly that thing is depends on when i want to write them in) and he's like "Is That My Fucking Dragonstorm Guildmate. because if it is they're in trouble and also have information" so he reaches out to them through game chat and finds out they actually live in the area so the team makes arrangements to meet them. and the five of them pass a very pleasant visit until, this series being what it is, shit gets real and rig has to flee with the scum and is like "shit i don't have anywhere else to go here, i have family in [City That's Nearby But Not Too Nearby], can I stick with you until we get there?" and they agree and by the time they get to that city rig doesn't want to leave and the rest of the scum don't want them to leave either.

3. how do the other characters generally feel about your self insert?

rig did not get out much during the events of the series and kind of has to fight not to clam up in social situations (especially awkward or tense ones, which with the neoscum around is every social situation) so a lot of less plot relevant npcs think they're weird. like if you interviewed an npc that spoke to the neoscum after rigoletto joined the party they'd be like "yeah there was some big burly guy with cat eyes who wouldn't shut up about his truck, some dude in a wizard costume drinking out of a huge fast food drink cup full of neo-raising cane's sauce, a guy with a fucked-up eye who kept trying to convince me he was a robot, a girl who asked me for candy and then tried to steal my wallet, and also some weirdo with a stitched-up face petting this fuzzy purple worm thing wrapped around their shoulders and looking at me like a fuckin tbh creature" (all of those canon character descriptions are based on things the party has actually done, albeit not at the same time usually)

people they have not majorly clammed up around (so either guest characters or friends of the scum) see them as being more of a very friendly person who is several years out of practice interacting with other people.

9. who are your self insert’s closest friends?

they were really Close Good Friends with the neoscum after they joined the party, even before they officially Got With dak, tech, and z. pox is like the little sister they never had, and idk if max is actually going to rejoin the party but i feel like they'd be close to him in sort of a mentorly way because he's like. only very recently realized that his abilities are actually rare and not everyone has "brain internet" so i feel like they immediately try to be the role model to him they wish they'd had at his age. also due to them and lala being metamours the two of them have some opportunities to interact with each other and they become good friends too.

16. freebie! name a fact about your self insert you want everyone to know.

they would like to build more robotic animals that look like large living versions of Funny Meme Toys.

#i: rigoletto #long post //3543 #thanks for the ask!!#food ment kinda //34543

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retvenkos · 2 years

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we truly dig our own graves.

#olive rambles #i'm doing a group project and we were assigning roles just now right?#and there was this One Specific Job i really didn't want to do but i got the vibe that these two girls were going to try to pawn it off to m #*me #i was trying to worm my way into the role of like..... the organizer or something. like the one who takes minutes and keeps track of dates.#but then in the discussion the one girl whose been doing A Lot of the leg work was like......#'i know i've kinda been the leader in getting everyone's numbers and offering ideas but........#i'd rather be a researcher for that One Specific Job (the one i didn't want to do.) '#so of course i was like yes!!!!! do that job!!!!!! it's okay someone else can pick up the slack #but in the process... i picked up the slack; i kinda sorta made myself the group leader #🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃#i made this bed and now i must lie in it #(i mean i'm kinda overreacting. leader isn't /that/ bad. i'm just.... very awkward and don't understand how to use discord.)#(but on the bright side - every leader i've ever had in group projects just rides on the coattails of others..... so maybe i'm living?)#did i choose right? did i dig a grave? am i laying in it? am i standing above it triumphant?#who knows? i certainly don't.#anyway group projects are hell and truly if you enter a class and see you have to do group projects... then decide to sTAY -#you've truly dug your own grave

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i-am-worm · 2 years

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Inktober 52 2022 - Week 7 - 'Tiger'

So this week's prompt gave me an excuse to illustrate something I used to explain what 'worms' are in my personal little universe.

Even better; since their conception when I was a teen (in like 2003-2005 or so), the world has changed and science has grown and rather than type loads of paragraphs, I can do this:

TLDR: What if an organic replicating AI transformed into a tiger entirely based on information it got from the internet on what a tiger was for, not what it was.

Because the internet can already show you what that's like with AI generated things.

But the more detailed version of what's going on is below:

'Worm' stands for 'Wholly, Organic, Replicating, Molecules' but the 'species' itself does look like a worm (because most biological things start out as basically a tube). This was a bioengineered organism and with cells in built with an organic computer system. They were designed to 'fill in the gaps' in a world with a dying ecosystem. Cloning was acceptable up to a point, but if you wanted to replace Bengal Tigers in the wild, you'd need something that could be ready to survive and thrive with inherent knowledge on how to behave and live.

The first few worm based tigers were a success. At first, the worm-tigers maintained their tube-like bodies, but they eventually looked, acted and twisted their DNA to match a tiger.

However, things went awry when a worm-tiger in the wild looked up an observer and spoke in a clear yet guttural tone: 'Burning Bright...'.

Soon, some worm-tigers were taking on new forms, or reverting to their worm-like bodies. When one worm-tiger was examined and the internal computers showed no errors, it was queried what was wrong. The Worm's data responded with 'No errors. Fitting empty niche - striped, large ambush predator with feline qualities'. It would then add: 'Variety is the spice of life'. Parroting a line often used by the head scientist and those involved with the worm project. It was never coded in; it was learned.

The worms had not only decided to form their own conclusions for what would best replace the void left by the tiger; stranger yet-each individual instance of worm had a different idea. Some would have a close to or identical form to a normal Tiger. Some would wildly change forms with little connection to a tiger. Their data modified from the strict lines coded in the labs and taking on ideas from around the world as to what Tiger was for, not what it was.

However, these 'feral' worm-tigers would indeed fill the empty niche of a Bengal tiger, hunting the other fauna and even humans of the forests.

But some started to display very memetic qualities. One worm instance tried to best replace the mascot 'Tony the Tiger' from an outdated form of food product. Some were even taking on supernatural or god-like qualities to fill in for forgotten tiger deities. But by that point, the worm have spread and escaped the original controlled lab grounds, filling in the empty niches around the world. The world thrives with verity like never before, but there are few 'species'. You would know if you had found an original animal, though, for the worms collectively seem to revere and protect them. As if they understood their purpose was to uphold their image, even if they were not copying their form.

... So say a worm was trying to be a tiger- it might still have the stripes, the fur and whiskers. Maybe even feet and claws and a distinct feline quality. But it'll only be trying to form a tiger in its most basic form. So it will still likely be tube-like. Potentially have no eyes (possibly just eye patterns), as it senses in different ways. It'll behave like a large ambush predator, and fill the role with a tiger, but still be a worm. The worm might argue that, technically; the tiger is just a tube too.

#tiger #worm #inktober #creature #monster #inktober52 #alien #worm creature #mutant #mutation #monster tigers #sci fi #scifi #science fiction #biopunk

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wildflowers-of-trolberg · 2 years

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What are your 5 personal favorite Hilda fanfics?

Oooh okie so:

5. There Beneath The Maple Tree by ThePoeticWalrus (@trolbergoraclecolumnist)

Frida and Hilda sit beneath a tree to watch the clouds. When questions get asked, new feelings are found.

You'll notice this in most of my choices, but this is just a really soft and fluffy fic that warms my heart. There's a real sweetness to the whole thing, and something about how the pair's feelings are described is just so soft and earnest. This fic is in no small part responsible for Spare Room Safety, and I love how it handles Hilda and Frida's bond.

4. A bump in the night by Smart_heart (@the-hilda-librarians-wife)

Victoria Van Gale is a serious scientist. Even after her laboratory and workplace is destroyed, she remains the sort of person to look for the reasons behind everything. She likes being in control, she makes stern analyses and important experiments, and she… goes trick or treating with a bunch of kids?

I love Victoria, and this fic has everything I want to see for her; her playing the role of a guardian figure to Hilda, and the blue-haired girl and her friends worming their way into her heart, forcing her to ultimately reflect on herself. It's fun and cute, but it's also a genuinely really good redemption fic that doesn't push things too far and keeps all the characters perfect. And as much as I would love a sequel to see how much that halloween has changed her, Victoria's open ending is really good :))

3. Mum's the Word by Great_Raven_Parade (@great-raven-parade/@starlit-lion)

Alfur finds out ‘Mum’ isn’t Johanna’s real name. Tontu won’t stop teasing him about it.

This fic is honestly canon to me; it just feels like something that could happen in an episode of the show, from the subject to the tone to how all the characters are written, and it's just a really sweet and funny fic to explain a detail that the show never did. It's also where I got the phrase "not-hands" from, and I love the implication that Alfur will be adopted at some point.

2. The 5+1 Runaway Hilda AU by Nach0 (@nach0/@ultimate-kaisa-simp)

Thinking her mum wanted a better daughter, Hilda ran away from home. But deep down, she still misses Johanna.

Johanna was distraught when her daughter ran away. But she will keep searching for her, however long it takes.

The 5 times Hilda almost went back, the 5 times Johanna almost found her, and the 1 time they found each other.

This is the first fic someone ever wrote for me, and it's for one of my favourite AUs, so of course it's going to be on here. But why I really love it so much is how right it got that AU; Nach0 put in details that I hadn't even told them about, and got the details of Hilda and Johanna's separation and how they both coped (or didn't) so perfect. If it wasn't for this fic, the Runaway AU wouldn't exist as it does, and I love it to bits.

1. In Your Arms by ThePoeticWalrus (@trolbergoraclecolumnist)

An entire summer has passed since Trevor was taken in by Ms. Hallgrim, and out of the clutches of his mother. With a new school year comes a fresh start, and a chance to become who he really wants to be. When a new girl is introduced to the class, Trevor realizes that more has changed than he'd thought.

This one is another fic for one of my AUs; it's the sequel to Learned Behaviour, and honestly? It's the better fic of the two. I just love Trevor's arc so much, how he grows, makes amends for his past mistakes, and faces his fears now that he's free from his mother's abuse. His feelings for Lucy were also just really organically handled; it's adorable when you first realise he has a crush, and when he's trying to fix his hair to look cool for her, even though he hasn't realised his own feelings yet. And although they aren't major, I really love Hilda, Frida, Johanna, and Hilda's other family's roles in this whole thing; it's just perfect.

Also because this is me, you get some honourable mentions that I also think you should check out:

This is Somewhere by Great_Raven_Parade (@great-raven-parade/@starlit-lion)

"thank you, mom" by zayheathers (IDK if she's on tumblr)

The bells chime faintly, upon family found anew. by levi2207 (who I also don't think is on tumblr, although we have talked on discord)

A Familiar's Bouquet by Furashu (@furashuban)

Littlest Keeper by Nach0 (@nach0/@ultimate-kaisa-simp)

#ask pika #hilda the series #hilda netflix #fanfiction

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asktheheirofslytherin · 2 years

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(For mun) Thank you for being a non-toxic Bellamort shipper. I love your blog, the way you respond to asks while staying true to the character, the different relationships you've developed with RP blogs, and the meta posts in your own voice. I know it's always going to be a safe space.

TBH, I've struggled a bit to find people to follow who love this pairing because a couple of the more prominent ones can be very rude to non-shippers, treat their headcanons like facts, and/or reblog TERFs and other radfem nonsense. I love Bellamort in all its angst and toxicity but could do without the metas that treat their master/slave relationship (where the master routinely punishes or humiliates the partner for disobedience) like it's wholesome and empowering. One of these bloggers routinely berates other fans for "misinterpreting" canon while doing massive mental gymnastics to align the characters with what they want them to be. They are also radfem-adjacent, reblog TERFs, and push the interpretation that Voldemort was a feminist.

Don't get me wrong. I absolutely adore the character and make excuses for him all the time. I read several Voldemort ships (and really enjoyed your OC Cassie and the way you interpreted V). But not only is there no support for the feminist reading in canon, the structure of his organization and implied pureblood natalism/eugenic cleansing flat-out contradict it. Or perhaps the person doesn't realize fascism and feminism are diametrically opposed in their politics? I wouldn't have an issue if they didn't treat their headcanons as gospel and didn't try to reconcile their politics with what they ship -- that way lies frustration and much brainsquinting -- but they berate others without realizing they sound like a poster on r/iamverysmart.

And they're not the only one who sounds this way; it's a communication style that I've seen on other non-RP blogs that post about V and B. Anyway, it's off-putting to the HP community and makes us look bad on the site. Most importantly, TERF, radfem and "kink critical" rhetoric is a blight on a fandom that already has a massive creator problem. We don't need the fandom exacerbating that problem and making others feel unwelcome.

[[OOC: This ask has been sitting in my box for a couple of days, but I've been thinking about it a lot. Knowing that people see my blog as a safe place to go really means a lot - it is what I have always hoped I was building with this blog, and I am glad it is a reality. I also am thrilled that you actually took the time to look up my A03 when I had mentioned it, then read my fic, and now made a point to tell me how much you liked it! I cant get over how much that fills me with joy.

Fandom is one of the most amazing things that has ever happened to me, but at the same time, fandom can get...ruthless. People in fandom become attached to their headcanons, ideas, perceptions, and can get quite...combative. Especially the HP fandom right now, as we all grapple with and come to terms with the JKR nonsense.

(And to some degree, I can relate to that knee-jerk passion and defensiveness. When I was in high school, I actually was anti-bellamort and made excuses to hate her because I was jealous, lmaoooo.)

In terms of the Bellamort ship, it sounds like you have some issues with one blogger in particular. While that's unfortunate, it sounds like that individual is not going to change, and instead of engaging, trolling, or rage following, I do urge you to utilize the unfollow button with that blog.

(In terms of feminism, I personally feel as though pureblood society is inherently sexist because of its conservative values and traditions. I believe it is slowly evolving because of the shift in generations, and my personal HC is that Bella wormed her way into a fighting role and pioneered the way for female death eaters, and has influenced Voldemort's views on what women can and can not do for the better. Still, Bella also adheres to many of the strict rules of pureblood society; the importance of blood, the necessity of marriage, the family. I am sure she has some lingering conservative ideas regarding the role of women, as well.)

I believe everyone is welcome in fandom, and because of this, there is bound to be a variety of contradicting opinions. While no one has *the* number one opinion, (though I have my favorites and personal headcanons), it gets volatile when people see their thoughts as law and try to force their opinions, interpretations, and headcanons on others.

I've learned you cannot try to change other people. You can certainly let people know if they said something actually harmful (esp if they ask for criticism/input or seem to genuinely not know) and I also support engaging in a healthy exchange of ideas and banter, but ultimately, fandom only works if we treat differing opinions and one another with respect. This means unfollowing as needed, as in the case of TERF's.

Anyway, thank you so much for your ask, and your kind words about my blog, my voldy, and my fic. I hope you have a lovely new year. <3 ]]

#discourse #bellamort #shipping #fandom #fandom critical #not voldemort #praise #well wishes #fic #fans #bellatrix #feminism #headcanons #opinions #ideas #thank you again

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thepapergirlandthespiegelman · 3 years

Text

Might stop reading Worm.

Content warning: bugs/insects/arachnids and related horror, body horror mention, miscellaneous violence mention, sexual violence/assault mention

My thoughts on the first ten arcs of Worm. (contains spoilers)

So, I finally got around to reading Worm. It was kinda big when I was in high school, and I still know some people who are/were into it, so I thought it was time that I gave it a serious shot. I did actually try to read it in high school once, but I couldn’t get into it and stopped reading after the first chapter. I tried to be a little more persistent this time to give it a fair evaluation.

When I started reading Worm this time around, I kind of just breezed past the warning at the beginning (“This story isn’t intended for young or sensitive readers. Readers who are on the lookout for trigger warnings are advised to give Worm a pass.”) I don’t consider myself someone who really gets triggered by media. I think it’s important to talk about stuff, including fucked-up stuff. It’s uncomfortable, but that discomfort is part of the point. I think it probably should bother you to read about terrible things, even fictional ones, given that those fictional atrocities almost always have real-world counterparts.

I think I vastly underestimated the amount of fucked-up-ness that is in Worm. When I read that warning, I thought, “Okay, this story’s probably dealing with some dark themes, and there might be some particular scenes that are really disturbing.” After reading the first ten arcs, though, I feel it’s more accurate to say that fucked-up-ness is Worm. It is the core of the story, and there is really very little else.

So it’s not that any particular thing that happened in the story triggered an immediate, strong, psychologically-damaging reaction in me, but as I continued reading, I began to notice that not only was I not enjoying myself, I was actually finding it subtly unpleasant. When I read about something bad happening, I get hit with a small dose of negative emotion. As it turns out, that adds up over time, especially when there aren’t any positive scenes to balance out the negative stuff. Without me even noticing for a long time, Worm was making me unhappy.

Here’s what I did like about Worm:

Impressive world-building - Wildbow is exceptional at inventing different locations, groups, and individual actors and thus creating a detailed ecosystem of capes and civilians.

Lots of characters, lots of superpowers - Directly related to the previous point, Worm contains a lot of characters...arguably too many characters. I generally prefer stories that focus on a smaller number of characters in order to give each character more room for development, but I appreciate Wildbow’s talent for coming up with vivid, if simplistic, characterizations. There are also some really interesting superpowers and interesting takes on common powers.

Inventive use of Taylor’s superpower - Taylor is always coming up with new uses for her power: having black widow spiders spin silk for her suit, using her bugs are a sixth sense to keep track of her enemies and environment, using venomous bugs to take hostages, covering her body in bugs as a disguise, coating her bugs’ stingers in capsaicin for extra punch, using human-shaped swarms to fake out her enemies...The list goes on and on, and I really appreciate how Wildbow took this oft-overlooked superpower to the next level.

Danny Hebert - The only character in the story who I can say I genuinely like. Danny Hebert is a union organizer whose pet project is getting the ferry up and running again so that there can be more interaction between the poorer and wealthier parts of Brockton Bay. I also loved the scene where he supports Taylor in the “mediation” with her bullies and their parents at school. Even if he was impotent, unable to protect her, I could tell he was on her side. His one screw-up is when he locks Taylor in the living room and tries to force her to talk to him, but it definitely makes sense with his character (a little bit of a pushover) and the story (Taylor was shutting him out and seemed to be putting herself in danger) that he would end up letting Taylor’s grandma convince him to take a forceful approach. Don’t get me wrong, locking up your kid is a horrible thing to do (I should know, my parents did it to me, and it fucked me up), but I still ended up feeling bad for him when Taylor just up and disappeared. She didn’t even call her dad to let him know that she was still alive after Leviathan! I mean, on the one hand, I do actually appreciate that she started making an effort to protect her father from the dangers of her cape life, something that I was kind of appalled to see that she never even considered before. But damn, did I feel bad for Danny.

Here’s what I didn’t like:

Way too much fucked-up shit happening - Name an atrocity, Worm’s probably got it. The plot is mostly just terrible thing after terrible thing and reveals of how terrible all of the characters are, with many terrible things that aren’t directly treated in the plot peppered in along the way.

Lots of capes, no heroes - This is one of those themes that sounds deep on paper but is really just cynical and fatalistic. Even if all the capes are corrupted by power (or by the toxic power dynamics between capes), what about civilians? Where’s the thoughtful therapist or the brave fire-fighter? Danny Hebert is one notable exception to the “Everyone is terrible” rule, but we don’t see all that much of him. Other than him, the only person I can think of who could possibly fit this “civilian hero” role is Aisha’s social worker, who I don’t think even has a name.

All superpowers are evil - This is arguably just a rephrasing of the previous point, but I think it’s important to mention. Worm contains so many superpowers, but it seems like they’re all being put to evil purposes. Panacea, the superheroine with healing powers (really just dominion over health and illness of the human body in general), makes some really despicable threats (e.g. giving someone cancer with a touch, or giving someone a disorder that will only manifest at an unknown time in the future, leaving them to anguish over their fate). Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing inherently wrong with writing a character using this type of power for evil ends. There’s a lot of interesting stuff to explore there, and I actually love that Panacea is a character that acknowledges the burden of having a healing power, feeling unable to take any time for yourself while simultaneously growing to resent those you feel obligated to help. My issue is not with Panacea but with the fact that literally every superpower in the story is painted in a negative light. It just feels absurd to suggest that, for example, someone like Gallant couldn’t use his power (carefully and thoughtfully and with consent) to heal people with emotional trauma. Superpowers in Worm are only for violence and conflict and crime, and I just don’t understand that. Again, the rogues form a token exception, but we rarely actually see them, and one of the first rogues we meet, Canary, is immediately subject to harsh and unjust punishment and never heard from again.

A misguided focus on only certain types of crime/violence - Worm deals with gang violence, robberies, and general chaos-inducing terrorism. It focuses on crimes perpetuated by working-class individuals and small to medium size illicit groups. There’s some commentary on state-sanctioned violence in terms of the corruption of the Protectorate and Dragon’s worries of having to obey a despot should one take over the government, but it’s not exactly framed in a way that highlights the struggles of the average person; the focus is almost entirely on capes. Worm doesn’t discuss things like wage theft, illegal rent hikes, or, dare I say it, the inherent violence of capitalism, which, while less flashy, are important problems with far-reaching consequences. It’s weird, and honestly kind of unrealistic, that there’s not a single anarcho-communist cape. Whether you agree with that kind of politics or not, it’s still a glaring omission if the setting of the story is trying to emulate real life. Again, Danny Hebert’s role as a union organizer and interest in restoring the ferry and reintegrating the city pay token attention to some of these ideas, but the vast majority of the story is unconcerned with addressing the source of, or solutions to, poverty and crime in Brockton Bay and the wider world of Worm.

So those are my thoughts. There’s a part of me that still thinks, “But so many people like this so much! Maybe it’ll get better!” I have a really strong drive to understand why others like the things that they do, to be able to share in their appreciation. But from what I’ve seen in a couple memes I happened upon, things are getting worse, not better for the world of Worm. And even if things start to resolve at some point, I’m not sure it would be great for my mental health to continue reading up to that point.

The breaking point for me, if you’re curious, was when a main character was just casually revealed to be a serial rapist. That wasn’t even the point of the chapter, it was just kind of thrown out there as an extremely-not-fun fact. So I was still reeling from that reveal while also experiencing all of the atrocities said character was committing in the moment, and after that was when I realized, “Hey, maybe this is not the kind of content I should be reading.” It even took reading a few more chapters into Arc 11 for it to really sink in, but I had this weird revelation of like, I get to choose which fictional worlds I spend my time in, and the world of Worm isn’t one I relish.

If you do enjoy Worm, I’d be curious to hear your thoughts on what makes it appealing to you.

#text #long text #review #thoughts #web serial #fiction #Worm #superpowers #parahumans #superheroes #supervillains #morality #evil #violence #capitalism #systemic violence #grimdark

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geekgirl24 · 3 years

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New fics to read &

My top three favorites

So we all love good story to read on our free time and the good thing is you can never get enough of it but the down side is that it some time can be hard to find a good fic so I want to start a trail.

The rules are like this name three fics and tag there author than tag three random blogger. Those who get tag will then do the same thing (if they want to)

Tag me as well because I will collect every fic in a pined post

My top three

Daggers from the mirror

By @nostalgiaruinedme

This fic is a 2012/2018 crossover and it about the Kraang’s evil plan to finally defeat the turtles that always put a end to their plans to take over Earth. The kraang decides to fight fire with fire and with technology, interdimensional portals and mind control devices ... and so they hatch a plan I mean after all who would be better at killing the than the turtles them self.

This fic will get anyone hook specially if you love angst, action and evil turtles

A long way to go & Free from shadows

By @sammyheroes

A long way to go is a possessed Leo AU that takes place after splinter announces Leo as the Leo there for after the series finale.

Summary:

The turtles have noticed Leo suddenly growing tired, not eating and his eyes glancing boringly over things he used to like. Fevers become more frequent and nights become endless with cold shivers and sticking his head inside a bucket. Now a turtle with a mysterious yokai disease damaging his very soul, Leo and his family must endure a long way to recovery while trying to fix broken brotherhoods and figuring out what… or who… made Leo this sick...And why?

This fic has a prequel called free from Shadows which continues this captivating story.

Summary:

Right after Leo’s possession and the discovery of his dormant mystic abilities, Draxum requests an old friend to take the turtle in as an apprentice because Leo, magic and chaos combined are a chef’s recipe for disaster and he will NOT deal with that can of worms. Leo is excited to learn all that he can from his new teacher. However, the awakening of his powers attracts a LOT of unwanted attention and bad people.

Again a lot of angst in this story and if you read it you’ll just wanna hug Leo

Nothing without them

By CaptainLlewellyn

This story is so good BUT it has a lot of trigger warnings as suicidal thoughts, self harm and suicidal attempt so if you’re in a dark place and you feel like this might even the slightest you should read this.

Summary:

Everything was changing too much, too quickly.

Leo was still traumatized from the battle - still grieving what they’d lost - still not feeling at home in the new sewer lair they’d found - still feeling far too much pressure from the sudden responsibility of the position that was thrust at him.

And to make matters worse, he was pretty sure his brothers hated him for it. Becoming leader wasn’t even his choice, and he didn’t want it, but he acted like he was proud of his new role because that’s what the over-confident character he played would do.

The other chosen once:

@2k18leo @milkytheholy @ithiliam

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #supportrottmnt #saverottmnt #rottmntonnetflix

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rosy-cheekx · 3 years

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Dragged from the Deep

I will update with an AO3 link, two chapters, but I really wanted to get this out!

This is from @voiceless-terror‘s prompt: “ Been a tough few days. How are you holding up?” with jmart in the safehouse...Not what they expected but I am VERY VERY proud of this!

Martin awoke to the sound of Jon mumbling in his sleep. “I took my hand, and I reached down into the darkness.” Jon’s voice is quiet, reverent. Its barely his own; his voice of the Archive.

Really should have heard from Basira by now, Martin thought, trying to tamp down the frustration rising in his chest.

“Down and down,” Jon continued. “Until my whole arm was inside, up to the shoulder. It was damp and cold, with the rough stone sides scraping my skin, but my hand was stretched as far as I could, and it still gripped nothing but empty air. Then the hole began to close, and all at once the spell was broken.”

“Jon, m’dear?” he half-whispered, stroking Jon’s cheek softly. Jon was a light sleeper, but these times were...tricky. “Hey, Jonathan,” he added, voice at a speaking-volume now. “Wake up, it’s not real.”

“I tried to pull my arm out, to get free, but it held me tight. Not quite crushing me but holding me in place. I screamed and cried for help, looking around for anyone who might be able to hear me, but the only people walking by seemed utterly oblivious to what was happening. Then I felt it, something brushing against my hand from below it in the hole. Teeth. Wet, blunt teeth, which quickly gave way to a rough, slender tongue-”[97]

Martin couldn’t bear to hear any more. He hated witnessing Jon like this, possessed by the statements, by his need to feed. Jon’s voice was like marble, smooth and cold and mesmerizing, but it was heavy and would consume Jon if he allowed it.

Martin would not allow it.

“Jon!” He gave him a shake, firm on his shoulders. “Wake up!”

A drowning man suddenly reunited with his lungs; Jonathan Sims gasped for air. His eyes flashed open (there it was, the cursed glint of green that seemed to glow from within) and he clutched a hand to his chest as he began to cough. Martin pulled him into a sitting position, kneeling next to him and resting a hand on Jon’s lower back as he felt the convulsions double his frame. When his hacking had settled, Martin felt safe enough to breathe again himself, lest he had stolen air from the man beside him.

“H-hi,” Jon murmured, voice shaky, drawing his knees to his chest beneath the comforter. “How-how bad was it this time?”

Martin knew about Jon’s hunger, knew that statements were his fuel more than anything organic. The arrangement with Basira had been working relatively well up until now. Every three to four weeks, Basira would call the mobile they kept stashed in the safehouse for that purpose, only her number programmed in and let them know when she was coming, typically within a day or two. She should have called almost ten days ago. Had she let them go, at last, to fend for themselves? Had something happened to her, to the Institute? Things were getting dire.

At first, a little less than a week ago, Martin thought it was the nightmares; that the mumbling had been Jon apologizing to those so unfortunate enough to have him as a feature player in their nightmares. His words were unintelligible, so Martin had hugged him tightly in the night, in the way they had held each other those first days weeks, whispering affirmations of safety and love.

When he asked the poorly-rested Jon about it the next morning, he had frowned. “Ah, no. I mean, I haven’t slept with anyone—ah, more to say, no one has been in the room while I’ve been asleep to confirm for sure besides you, but I don’t think I usually talk in my sleep.” Martin chalked it up as “Weird, But No Too Weird,” and they agreed to keep an eye on it. Every night since, Martin had repeated that ritual, the words too unintelligible to understand, Martin clutching Jon like a life vest, carrying him safe through the morning.

Jon’s flu-like symptoms had cropped up three days ago. He woke weak, hardly able to move, and couldn’t keep any food down. The tea and water Martin literally spooned him were staying down, at least, which helped combat the dehydration Jon was surely suffering from the 40-degree fever he was running. The fever reducers weren’t helping, and Martin had nearly dragged Jon to A&E before he’d been able to explain to him what was happening. He was breaking down, needed the statements or things would get worse. “And, no, Martin-” cut off by a coughing fit. “I don’t know how much worse. Bad.” Whatever role Martin usually played in Jon’s life: roommate, friend, boyfriend maybe?, it didn’t matter. Or, at least, it came to second to Martin’s new role as nurse. Nurse was a role Martin was good at it. Practically a professional home-care assistant. But caring for a starving eldritch demigod was marginally different than caring for his human mum. At least the vomit cleaned the same way.

The statements had become more distinct the first night of the fevers. Words that had typically barely passed his lips were now being told to the night air with an intensity Martin had sorely wished he would never hear again. If Martin strained his ears, he could typically hear the tired hiss of a tape recorder. He tried to smash it that first night, out of anger and exhausted desperation, but Jon had screamed when he had bashed it with a vase, weeping as if it had been his head smashed and not the spinning dials of that cursed thing. Jon’s migraine had lasted through the night and into the afternoon, with Martin unable to do anything but apologize and stroke his hair, reading to him a novel that just wouldn’t be enough.

“Not too bad,” Martin answered, plastering a soft smile over his tired face. “Just scared me was all, I don’t know if it’s better to wake you or not, but it felt weird not to.” Jon was scratching at old worm scars, skin shiny and taut, and Martin took his hands gently, pressing a kiss to his pulse points in turn. God, he felt so hot against his lips.

“M-I’m sorry,” Jon sighs, eyes already fluttering closed again. His face was pale and his muscles slack; Martin hated how hollow his eyes and cheeks seemed, skeletal in the light of the moon.

“Shh, nothing to apologize for,” Martin assured him, reaching across Jon’s side of the bed to click on the lamp, wincing at the sudden light and the clock. 4:15. Too early, even for a morning person like Martin. “Do-do you want me to read to you some more? I can make some tea, chamomile? Milk and honey? Or we can listen to some music, or a podcast?” He knew it was fruitless. It would all be for naught until he got the damn statements from Basira.

Jon had the comforter drawn to his neck, shivering slightly, eyes closed. He nodded vaguely. “The book,” he managed, voice a broken whisper, so unlike the strong and powerful intonation Martin had just heard. Martin nodded, kissing his forehead, clammy and plastered with baby hairs, and stood, passing the book into Jon’s lap, page marked with a flat-barreled pen, something that had been tucked into a journal in the bedside table. (Jon and Martin had agreed that some things are better left unread.) Martin could see Jon’s hands shaking slightly under the blanket.

The walk to the kitchen was cold and dark, and Martin took a moment to himself, while the electric kettle hummed to life, to press his forehead against the cool plastic of the refrigerator, fingers interlaced behind his neck. God, he was so tired. He loved Jon more than anything, that was true, but he was at such a loss. It hurt to know there was nothing he could do to help, short of kidnapping a random neighbor from the town and begging them to tell Jon their story. He would call Basira this afternoon. He had tried the day the fever started and hasn’t received an answer. She was probably chasing down a lead about Daisy; she was known to go off the grid when hunting after her.

The click of the kettle, and Martin is on task again, portioning out tea and honey, chamomile for Jon, English breakfast for himself; he needs the caffeine. Two travel mugs later, Martin was heading back into the dark hallway, up the stairs, and to the dimly let bedroom.

The task had taken no more than five minutes, eight max. This was apparently, long enough for Jon to rifle in the nightstand drawer, retrieve that little notebook they had found, and to begin scribbling in it furiously. Martin could already see a good quarter of the notebook had been filled already, though what measure of that had been used prior to their arrival was unclear.

“Jon? Writing anything interesting?” Jon’s eyes jerked open and he let his gaze fall on the notebook.

“Oh-ah, no. Just doodling,” the words still weak, but the half-smile on his face lifts Martin’s spirits. See? He told himself. He’s still Jon. Jon closed the notebook and tucked it into his lap, reaching for the spill-proof mug with the hand not holding the pen that had been marking the page number. Martin noticed Jon twiddling the pen between his fingers and elected not to say anything. Whatever helped. And it had seemed to help; Jon seemed a little less gaunt than he had, but maybe that was the consequence of sitting up, letting himself focus on other things than his gnawing hunger. “Page 74,” Jon sighed as Martin resumed his position next to him in bed, tucking his head on Martin’s shoulder. “Second paragraph.”

“Creep,” Martin muttered good-naturedly, before settling into the pages and resuming the book, some sort of cop thriller-mystery (because of course that had been Daisy’s preferred reading material).

Martin had been reading for nearly an hour when, while pausing to sip his tea, the scratching of pen on paper had distracted him from the story. They had been at a rather thrilling part of the chase; the detective had just discovered that his wife, who he thought to be dead, was not actually dead and maybe even a part of the mystery. Martin had felt rather invested in giving Jon a good show, throwing himself into the narration maybe a little more than was necessary for the audience of one (1) ill partner (Boyfriend? Love? Patient? Whatever). Jon had remained quiet, save for a periodic coughing fit, but didn’t seem to be asleep from the way Martin could feel The Eye in the room with him, an inescapable feeling now, consequences of his proximity to The Archivist. With the sound of the pen, however, Martin closed the book, flipping it upside down and open. (Usually, Jon would chastise him for such a horrendous act to a book. Martin wished he would.)

Jon’s eyes were cast on the book, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. He was scribbling furiously, writing continuously in the notebook that had once belonged to Daisy. Jon’s handwriting, difficult in the best of circumstances, was positively chicken scratch as Martin tried to parse out the strings of words on the paper, some he could swear weren’t even English.

“Jon?” Martin asked, placing a hand on the journal gently. “Is everything alright?”

“I-ah, yeah,” Jon capitulated, sighing softly, even as it resulted in a series of weak hacks. “I was trying to remember the dream, the statement I was reading in my sleep. I thought maybe writing it down would help.”

“And? Did it help?”

“I…I don’t know.” Jon frowned and scrubbed his hands over his eyes, blinking wearily. “I need to keep trying.”

Martin frowned internally but tried to keep his face neutral. “D’you think it’s…good? To try?”

“I don’t know, Martin.” Martin is suddenly reminded of a paranoid, frantic Jonathan Sims, angry and scared and not knowing who to trust. “But I have to try something! I can’t just sit here, waiting to wither away and die.”

“O-okay then,” Martin took a deep breath. “It was just a question.”

“A stupid one.” He’s sick, Martin reminds himself. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

“Well,” Martin closed the book properly this time, surreptitiously dog-earing a page. What Jon doesn’t know won’t hurt him. “I’m out of tea. Need any more?”

Jon shook his head, quiet now as he continued to write, eyes glued to his page. “A-alright then,” Martin slid off the bed and frowned, catching a whiff of himself. Yikes. He had lost track of the last time he bathed, so worried had he been about missing a call from Basira. “Would you be okay if I have a shower?”

More silence, the scratching of the cheap pen the only sound in the room. At least there wasn’t a tape running. “Shout if you need me.”

It felt good to breathe in the steam and smell of lather, to luxuriate in the hot water rolling over him. Martin has always been a bit generous with his showers, especially as a teen. They had been his designated times to be off the hook from his mother, chores, his jobs, anything that was causing him stress. Martin felt a bit guilty remembering these things. His shower wasn’t long because he wants to avoid Jon, not at all. It’s just. Jon is clearly in a bit of a mood, so it would be good to give him some space without making it seem like he’s upset. Which, he’s not upset! Just. a break is good. Yeah. A break is healthy.

Martin turned off the water when he started to feel a bit dizzy from the heat, wrapped himself in a towel and splashed cold water on his face. There. He was feeling better already.

“Jon!” He called, cracking the door and letting steam roll out around him. “I know it’s a bit early, but I thought maybe I could start on breakfast. Maybe you can stomach down some crackers today?”

After a few beats of silence, Martin called out again. The loo, while not an en suite, was pretty close to the master. “Jon?”

Must be asleep. Martin smiled softly to himself and shook his head, ruffling his curls, more white than auburn anymore, and pulled on a fresh pair of sweatpants. Not like they were going anywhere today.

Tinged pink from the hot shower, Martin rounded the corner into the master bedroom and stopped, momentarily confused. “Oh, did you not hear me?”

Jon was awake. He was still writing, bent over the notebook and scribbling furiously, murmuring to himself, too quiet to hear. He didn’t look up. Martin frowned, shivering as a wave of static rolled over his body like a cool wind. “Jon. Jon, a-are you in there? Are you okay?”

The muttering continued, unceasing. Martin edged forward carefully, hands in front of him like he was buffeting back a storm or trying not to scare a wounded animal. Honestly, Martin wasn’t sure which sentiment was more accurate. He crept his way to Jon’s side of the bed, still apparently unnoticed by the Archivist. There was a bloody tape recorder on the bedside table. Martin knew better than to touch it.

He bent down, kneeling on the floor and craning his neck to look up into Jon’s face. His shoulders slumped as he gazed up into an emerald glow as Jon’s own eyes, usually a deep brown, lit the page in front of him like a torch, bathing it in harsh light. Jon’s own form was crackling slightly, seemingly more solid than a usual body should, silhouette a little too crisp against the wall behind him.

Martin could hear him now, too, and his voice was the same low, consistent monologue that Martin had first loved, but had grown to hate in his years working in the Archives.

“As I said, it was one of the last boxes I opened on the second day. It was late, and I had already made my way through most of a bottle of wine. The more I think about it, the more I think that opening that box felt no different to any of the others. No hard feelings, no smells, nothing. It was just a box empty of everything except a single typewritten note and an old hand mirror.

It lay inside, utterly innocuous. If it was a trap, there was no way to tell.” [60]

That one sounded familiar. An old statement, it must be. Something about a mirror and seeing things in a reflection? Punching a camera? he wondered. Martin felt another shiver roll through his body; he turned his attention towards the notebook, towards what he knew would be there. Now that he knew what to look for, he could read the handwriting with little trouble. As the Archivist spoke, he wrote the words in Jon’s handwriting, transcribing the statement.

“Jon,” Martin’s voice was soft. “If you can hear me, I’m going to take away your pen now. I think…I think that will let you rest. I’m going to count to three, okay? One. Two. Three.”

As soon as Martin reached for the pen, he felt himself being thrown backwards, as if by a tidal wave. He felt his body hit the wall, heard his skull hit the wall with a sickening thud.

------Chapter 2------

When Martin woke, he was confused. Last he knew, he had gone to sleep in bed, right? Not on the couch watching telly or drunk in a bathtub. So why was he so stiff—ow. He rolled his neck. And sore. He was on the floor, for one thing, head against the wall and legs splayed in front of him. God his head hurt. Was he hungover? No, he hadn’t drunk anything. Just eaten dinner in bed with Jon, done dishes, read, and fallen asleep.

Oh shit. Jon. It rushed back to Martin in a dizzying spiral; Helen would be proud. The mumbling, the writing, the pen, the eyes. Had Jon pushed him? Not physically, maybe. But hadn’t he heard through the grapevine something about Jon and the delivery man—Breekon? Or maybe Hope? Whichever one hadn’t died in the Unknowing. Something about him shoving him backwards with sheer force of a word? Jon had thought they were exaggerating. But maybe…maybe not.

Martin’s eyes were still closed, he realized. He was afraid to, he realized. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see: maybe a big, unblinking Eye where the body of Jon had been? A torrent of books and pages spinning around Jonathan Sims in a dramatic flourish as he commands them? Hundreds, if not thousands, of tape recorders piling around their bed, drowning them both in magnetic tape and words? Slowly, painfully, Martin opened his eyes.

None of those were there of course. There was just Jon. Sitting in bed, gaunt and frail. Writing and reciting as if nothing happened. That was almost worse, in a way, that he had flung Martin against a wall and continued as if it hadn’t hurt him to do so. The Archivist’s movements were stiff and mechanical as he turned the page and continued to write, voice now in a language Martin couldn’t understand but was probably Chinese.

Stopping the writing was no longer an option, he supposed. But what else could he do? Maybe it could recharge Jon a little, like sucking the marrow from a bone. Only Martin wasn’t sure if the statements or Jon was the bone in that scenario. God, he wished he could Eldritch Google “Eye statement starvation: stages of bad?” Unfortunately, his Eldritch Google was out of service and there was no one else he could ask who wasn’t also trying to actively kill him.

What were his options then? Wait and hope Jon doesn’t die. Call Basira again. Kidnap a stranger and have them read a statement. Well, he wasn’t that desperate. Not yet.

Martin sighed, running a hand through his hair and feeling a lump throbbing gently on the back of his head. He checked the rest of his body for injuries and was grateful to find nothing too bad. Probably just a concussion.

Hauling himself to his feet (using the floor and doorknob to a closet as his supports), Martin teetered his way to the kitchen. He threw open the cupboard beneath the sink and grabbed the small black phone with Basira’s number saved.

Dialing, he slid himself into a chair at the kitchen table, resting his forehead against his free palm and closed his eyes again.

“Hello?” The faint voice Basira Hussain rang out into the air.

“Basira? It’s Martin. Any word on the statements? It’s getting a little dire here.” He could hear the exhaustion in his own voice.

“Dire? How do you mean?” Basira was always a little too direct for Martin’s taste; couldn’t she hear how drained he was?

“He won’t stop repeating and writing old statements. I tried to stop him and he—well. It wasn’t on purpose…But he threw me into a wall.”

“Shit.” Basira was quiet for a moment. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he bit back. “I would be better if we had the statements.” There wasn’t time for him to feel guilty about his delivery.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I caught wind of Daisy being in Italy, so I’m there now. If I take the first flight out of Rome, I can be at my flat tomorrow and yours the next. Two days, max. Less if I can. Can he make it that long?”

“Better bloody hope so.” The fight drained from him. “Please, Basira,” he added, sighing. “I don’t know what to do. He was sick and feverish and I could handle that but now he’s just…empty.”

“Maybe it’s like a diet.” He could practically hear her mind spinning through the phone. “You know, how when you starve yourself for too long? You start losing weight and all’s dandy. But the longer you wait, your body starts taking nutrients from your own organs?” Martin hummed an affirmation. “Maybe he’s sucking out every bit he can from himself to survive.”

“So…how do I fix that?”

“I mean, when I get you the statements, we can force-feed him. But until then? I dunno. I’m at a loss too. Keep him safe, I think? But don’t let yourself get hurt either.”

Martin nodded, momentarily forgetting he was on the phone. “Oh, yeah. Um, thank you Basira. I’ll do my best. Call me when you’re at the flat?”

“Of course. Call me if you get lo-bored.”

“Please hurry.”

Martin hung up and dropped his head to the table unceremoniously, wincing as the impact rattled the back of his skull. Now what? He didn’t want to sit in the room while the Archivist worked, but he was afraid to leave him alone. He hated how it felt to be in the room, the low wave static and the feeling of being known permeating every pore. He was afraid what staying in there would do, if Jon would Know him too well after he came back. Looking around, Martin grabbed the egg timer Jon used when he cooked and spun it to an hour. If he checked in every hour, that would be fine, right? He could let the Archivist have the bedroom; he’d stay downstairs, and check in every hour.

The first few hours crept by, but each ding of the egg timer was much too soon for Martin’s liking. He iced his head, wincing again when he realized it was the late morning and he had been unconscious for quite a while. He made himself an unassuming brunch, cheese toasty and curry left over from dinner a few days ago. Made some more tea, obviously, and took some acetaminophen to reduce the swollen goose-egg on his head. Read, watched an old DVD of some American TV show Daisy must have liked. Tried to keep his mind off whatever had taken over his boyfriend in the upstairs bedroom.

Each time the timer went off, Martin would repeat the same process. He would ascend the stairs, knock on the doorframe of the bedroom, tell Jon he was coming over to check on him, and would watch and listen to him for almost a minute. Some of the statements he recognized, some he didn’t. His eyes were always that throbbing, blinding green, staring into nothing, his face hollow and gaunt. Around two in the afternoon, Martin went in to see that Jon had moved from the bed. The notebook lay abandoned, filled to the last page. The Archivist was standing, in baggy sleep boxers, facing the wall, still intoning the fears and terrors of those who had contributed their stories to the Institute. Their stories were stark when written against the robin blue pant. Martin left the room before he could Know he was crying.

Afternoon turned to evening, and Martin continued his ministrations. The egg timer ran his day and he got little done, managing maybe half of a book from the meager shelf downstairs. He wasn’t even sure what it was about; he had to keep rereading the same pages over and over. The writing had grown to cover half the wall in Jon’s slanted script. Martin wasn’t sure he wanted to find out what would happen if he tried to smudge it. Between checking up on The Archivist, he half-heartedly ate scrambled eggs and chugged some wine; he figured he’d earned it. It was weird to feel strangely like an Archival Assistant again; knowing things were bad for the man he desperately wanted to be there but not knowing how to help.

KRRRRRRRRRRG!

Time to check on him again. Martin trudged up the stairs for what felt like the hundredth time that day. The Archivist was in a different position this time. He was kneeling, head bowed. Martin could have sworn he was praying; the monotony of words slipping from his lips as easily as the nuns Martin had seen growing up. Martin paused. It was…almost beautiful, in a way. The slight form of a man paying his service to a god to whom he was so completely indebted. The green light reflecting off the wall, covered in his scripture, casting a glow on his skin and through his curls, mussed from fever.

Would’ve been, anyways, if Martin hadn’t seen the drop of blood snaking its way down Jon’s thigh, creasing where his leg was folded along the calf. All at once, the beauty he had been caught up in was gone and all he saw was a helpless, broken man, compelled to write the words of the desperate, the lost, the broken. Martin shook a pillowcase from the bed, letting the pillow fall unceremoniously, and cautiously moved to the Archivist. As worried as he was, he needed to know what was going on before he could help.

The sight made him slightly sick. Jon was bent over his thigh, holding the pen as if it were a dagger, and was using the ballpoint tip to carve words into the meat of his leg. He hadn’t gotten far, apparently the effort took more out than the body of a weakened Jon could take.

“a fac-” [54]

Confused, Martin looked up to the wall where he had been writing and figured out the problem. The pen had run out of ink. The words got paler and less distinct until they were barely readable. Judging from the smears, the Archivist had tried to use Jon’s blood to write, using the pen as a quill. It clearly hadn’t worked, judging by the thin, weak curves of red and brown. Jon was still mumbling the statement, eyes blank and voice even, but the lines of his face seemed frustrated and dark.

The letters on his skin were weeping dark red now and Martin could see his hands weren’t the only ones shaking. He was afraid to touch him, afraid that trying to press a cloth to his wounds could quite literally be both of their deaths.

The more he stared, trapped in indecision, he watched as the decision was made for him. Jon had been ill, dehydrated and fever-laden, and the assault to his body was more than he could handle. His face, an ashen brown-grey-green from the glow of his eyes, went slack and as the emerald lights went out, Jon slumped, falling into Martin’s lap and shoulder as his body gave up. As soon as their skin touched, Martin’s mind snapped into focus. Fix this. You have to fix this.

Martin was immediately comforted by the fact that Jon was breathing. He hadn’t run out of fuel, not yet. Martin pressed a kiss to his hair (still hot) as he gently laid Jon flat, tearing open the sealed end of the pillowcase clutched in his fist so he could slip it up Jon’s leg and press it down, trying to stem the blood flow. You need something better, he thought, mind racing. It was oozing, not squirting, so Jon hadn’t hit an artery. That was good. Thank god Mum’s hospital soaps were worth something in the end. He needed a thicker fabric; the sheet wasn’t doing any good. Martin scoured the room, looking for any sort of thick fabric.

His towel from his shower. Thank fuck for his laziness. In less than ten steps, he had retrieved the towel from where it was haphazardly abandoned by the dresser and brought it back, folding and pressing it to his thigh, exchanging it for the thin white pillowcase. Sorry, Daisy.

Kneeled beside Jon, Martin lent most of his upper body weight to pressing down on the towel, keeping a cautious eye on Jon’s face and his chest, each shallow breath another blessing. He’s not sure how long he sits there in, that position, whispering platitudes to the pallid-faced man laid in front of him. Maybe an hour? Maybe three? Maybe twenty minutes? Time is blurry, intangible to him.

It’s dark when Martin felt okay to cautiously lift the towel and examine the letters carved in his leg. They’re starting to clot, he nodded to himself, feeling safe enough to leave Jon there on the floor to get the first aid kit from the lav. Carefully, lovingly, Martin pulled the ace bandage tight around the cotton pads on his leg, freshly doused and swabbed with cleansing alcohol. Daisy was nothing if not prepared for injuries.

Satisfied with his care, he gently pulls Jon into his arms and takes him downstairs. He didn’t want Jon to wake up and see the room like this—bloody and covered in the writings of the Archivist. Between the carpet and walls, it would take a while to clean anyways. The couch was certainly big enough to hold the man he held in his arms (and god he was way too light).

One Jon was laid on the couch, Martin made a fresh cup of tea, black tea with as much caffeine as he could stomach and pulled a cold compress from the freezer. Lifting his shoulders carefully, Martin situated himself to act as a headrest for the unconscious Jon, a cold compress acting as a barrier between them to hopefully aid the fever. One hand in Jon’s curls, the other holding a book open (still, no idea what it was about), Martin settled into the evening, saying a prayer to anything that was out there that Basira would hurry the hell up.

Martin read aloud to Jon all night, trying in vain to keep himself awake. Apparently, the book was a romance novel, some trashy erotica about a woman and a werewolf. Martin was just graceful it wasn’t sci-fi and horror. He annotated it as he read, giving Jon his stream of consciousness thoughts. “You know, I haven’t done that,” he chuckled to himself, brushing Jon’s hair from his face. “Especially not with a woman, but I don’t really think it’s anatomically possible.”

His eyes were starting to droop around three or four in the morning, the adrenaline draining out of him. Resting a hand on Jon’s neck, he felt for his pulse point and, after finding it, light and shallow as it was after the coma, let his eyes close, comforted in feeling the life fluttering beneath his fingers.

Martin woke up to a pounding on the door and he snapped awake like the knock had been a gunshot. The care he took to lay Jon’s head back down was deeply contrasted by the way he bolted to the door, unlocking it with haste and resisting the urge to throw his arms around Basira, wincing at the bright daylight that streamed inside.

“Woah—Martin,” Basira took a step back involuntarily. “Is there a reason your hands are covered in blood?”

“What? Oh-yeah, I’ll tell you about it. Things were bad. It’s fine now. It’s-It’s not my blood.” Martin swung the door open, letting Basira in. “What time is it? How did you get here so fast?”

“It’s quarter-three; I may or may not have found a plane that wasn’t on the official flight plans. And there’s more than one way to get in the Institute besides a key.” Martin shook his head and decided it wasn’t worth asking about. He beckoned her to the couch, where Jon lay, limbs limp.

Basira handed him the first statement on the pile and opened one for herself. “Ready?”

“Statements begin.”

Jon’s first thought was how wet his neck felt. His second was why he heard so many words. His brain floated between living dolls and a message in a bottle, washed up on the beaches of Greece. His teeth were chattering and he felt so cold. He grasped his hands out, reaching desperately for the comforter. Martin must have stolen it, he smiled to himself. Oh, that’s Martin. Martin’s voice.

“Hmm…Mm’tin,” he murmured, shifting towards the sound of his voice. Martin’s voice continued, telling him a story about a doll with painted lips and angry eyes. A hand reached out and cupped his face. Jon leant into the touch hungrily, grateful for the heat on his skin. He let Martin’s words carry him away again.

When Jon woke again, he felt more alive than he had in days. If his illness recently had been him submerged, he finally felt like he was breaking through the surface. The Choke released him, and he felt oxygen return to his lungs. But he was not in the Buried, he was on the couch. He was not drowning, he was breathing sweet air and felt it wafting over him in the drafty house that felt like a home when he was with Martin. Martin. God, he could hear his voice and he didn’t think he had heard anything so sweet than Martin speaking and reading to him. He was reading, yes, and Jon knew immediately what it was: the statement of Herbert Conklin, an Irishman who watched his son turn to plastic before his eyes, piece by piece. Jon’s eyes flew open and he craned his neck to find Martin’s face. His eyes were cast down on the statement in his lap, but his hand was folded in Jon’s, running his fingertips over the smaller man’s knuckles gently.

Jon felt paralyzed, unable to move as he let the statement wash over him, hating how good it made him feel to hear the statement, lavishing in the words. He felt a sharp pain in his leg throb to dull ache as the healing words flowed through him. As Martin uttered those forsaken words: “Statement Ends,” he brought his eyes to meet Jon’s, a pale smile ghosting his face before it solidified into something more real, more Martin.

“Hi love. Been a tough few days. How are you holding up?”

Jon was lost for words for a moment, gaping like a fish before he brought Martin’s clasped hand to his lips. Kissing it, he pressed the words into his skin, begging them to impress themselves there forever.

“Better that you’re here.” His memory was a blank, sure, but he knew it must be true and didn’t need to ask the Eye to confirm. Martin was here. All would be well.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #cw self harm #spooky #not mental health related tho #cw blood #cw canon typical violence #hurt/comfort #whos the one hurting tho #jk its both #ill post AO3 link in the morning

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entrapdaknation · 3 years

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Racism, Misogyny, and Pathologic 2

Note: this commentary contains spoilers for Pathologic 2.

Trigger warning for violent content.

Weeks ago, someone in my Tumblr feed had been praising a video game called Pathologic 2, about a doctor in early 20th century Russia trying to stop a plague in a Russian steppe town. The game sounded intriguing, and the commentary I found online was positive, so I bought the game ... and got a nasty surprise.

Pathologic 2 depicts indigenous steppe people, especially indigenous women, in deeply offensive ways. At first, the indigenous steppe people (the Kin) are depicted as hyperspiritualized and superstitious. Their culture is frozen and stagnant, rather than a vibrant, evolving culture. Several of the kin, such as Aspity and the Worms, are quite literally inhuman. The “magical Native American” stereotype comes to mind when the ways of the Kin are introduced in the game. They come across as mystical, alien, and at times inhuman, but rarely as three-dimensional people.

As I delved deeper into the story, depictions of the Kin became even more offensive. We meet Worms who mindlessly obey their elder’s commands to murder a doctor. We meet Worms who murdered someone (it’s unclear if their victim was innocent or evil) so as to provide the main character with human organs for medical use. We meet a Kin man, Oyun, who likens the Kin to cattle who need a strong leader to dominate them. These NPCs make the Kin seem mindlessly obedient and savage.

The Abbatoir scene depicts Kin religious mysteries as blood-soaked and murderous, all in the service of an eldritch abomination Earth deity who wants to keep humans in a mindless, animalistic state. The Sand Plague ravaging the town was created by this Earth deity, and the disease strikes down Russian and Kin townsfolk alike who do not live in harmony with the Earth. Years before, the plague was deliberately introduced into the town by a Kin man, Isidor (the main character’s father), as a deranged means of bringing about the town’s rebirth. The unspoken message seems to be, “See? The Kin are stupid. They worship an evil god who kills them and keeps them primitive.”

The most prominent Kin women in the game are the Herb Brides, depicted as young women scantily clad in shredded dresses. Herb Brides practice a spiritual tradition that involves ecstatic dancing out on the steppe so as to encourage the Earth to bring forth herbs. Their dancing is so wild that their dresses rip, revealing a lot of skin. The idea of Herb Brides was creative, but the execution was objectifying, as they seem to be an excuse to introduce cleavage and nudity into the game. Yep. The Herb Brides were definitely designed by and for cishet men, I thought.

Herb Brides play a major role in the Kin religious mysteries of the Abbatoir. The Herb Brides of the Abbatoir are indifferent to death, both their own and those of others. Their words and worldview are alien. They dance with the Sand Plague in disturbing eldritch rites.

Around the world, real-life indigenous women experience astronomical rates of violence, but Pathologic 2 trivializes and eroticizes violence against indigenous women. At the start of the game, panic-stricken townsfolk murder several Herb Brides, convinced that the women are monsters from folk lore. A cinematic scene depicts an Herb Bride burning at a stake, but the scene seems intended for titillation rather than horror or sympathy. Another murdered Herb Bride is found naked, likely for titillation purposes. Their deaths are inexplicably forgotten afterwards.

In the Abbatoir scene, a trio of Herb Brides instruct the main character to dissect another Herb Bride alive. The dissection victim goes along with the dissection willingly, indifferent to her own life and death. (The fact that the player must perform this dissection to secure ingredients for a plague cure and escape the Abbatoir makes the scene even worse, as it robs the player of the moral self-determination they previously had in the game.) Throughout the game, the Herb Brides are depicted as alien, titillating, dehumanized, and expendable, but never truly human.

In the hands of better game designers, the Kin of Pathologic 2 could have been used to offer commentary on the plight of indigenous people and violence against indigenous women. Instead, the game depicts indigenous people as inhuman, subhuman, objectified, alien, and barbaric.

The game developers didn’t have to do this. The Kin could have been depicted as complex, fully human characters. The game could have either dispensed with violence against Kin women, or depicted such violence in ways that evoked sympathy and empathy for the victims. Kin religion could have been depicted as a realistic tradition, rather than a Lovecraftian death cult. Alternatively, the eldritch death cult could have been retained in the game as a cult introduced to the town by non-indigenous parties, allowing the game to keep one of its horror elements without any of the racism.

The sad part is that if not for the racism and misogyny, Pathologic 2 would have been one of my favorite games of all time. The premise is creative, the music is beautiful, the story is engaging, and the game-play is edge-of-your-seat and fun. Unfortunately, the racist and misogynist elements spoiled the game for me, and after one play-through, I won’t be playing the game again.

Ice-Pick Lodge, what were you thinking?

#pathologic 2 #pathologic2 #racism #misogyny #herb brides

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gaawachan · 3 years

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Critical Role 126 Discord Convo

Here, my sibling and I talked a bit about Veth, Caleb, the Cerberus Assembly, and Astrid/Wulf in particular (it starts out a bit goofy at first but gets serious): Sibling: Did you see that animatic I sent you, speaking of that scene?

Me: Yes

Sibling: Like, it'd be great to update it with Astrid and Wulf in a mound just behind the 9

Me: Lol, they would have seen the polymorphed worm, too... And the yeti friends... "They... built snowmen in balenpost?"

Sibling: And had to camp out while they disappeared into the wizard tower... the Beau-shaped hole in Balenpost lol

Me: There was a jester one too

Sibling: LOL. Like, a snowman... a snowman with 2 heads

Me: and sad faces

Sibling: One kicked over snowman and two human-shaped holes in the snowbanks. But seriously, there's no way someone isn't aware that Vess is dead. Her window was open, letting the snow come in

Me: Oh, the assembly knows. At the very least, Ludinus, Trent, and the scourgers definitely know. Astrid "thanked" Caleb because she's assuming he killed her, or she wants that to be the case, at least.

Sibling: Veth is totally missing the point. The writing is on the wall, Astrid is using the shit out of Caleb and I think, at the very least it might be an interesting DQ6 moment where when they come back from saving the world, Astrid's already taken Trent's place and they have to deal with it that way.

Me: Yeah, it's very obvious, especially when you consider how Astrid and Caleb have similarities. Like... Astrid's panic attack in the alley reminded me of Caleb's breakdown in Shady Creek Run. Right after the manipulation is over and they're out of sight, they have a breakdown. Tbh... If Caleb were to replace anyone on the assembly, it shouldn't be Trent. It should be Ludinus. Ludinus is the root of the problems in the empire, pretty much everyone is certain at this point that that is the case. The king is evil but seems incompetent/useless.

Sibling: I wonder, honestly, if that'll be the conclusion to the M9? If Caleb's arc will conclude it?

Me: But at the same time I don't want him to be in the assembly; I don't think he WANTS to be.

Sibling: Rewatching the table scene *Veth: (to Wulf) "When the war was a bit more hot... Were you much more busy?" Wulf: "Not any more than yourselves." Veth: "No I mean, were you out on the lines like a soldier?" Wulf: "I'm not much of a frontliner... More of a scout, if you would."* Wulf is totally tailing them. Wulf is absolutely the person they sent after them, I'm certain of it.

Me: Yeah, I figured. There's going to be a confrontation in Eiselcross when they're traveling with Essek, I'm sure of it. That's gonna be rough.

Sibling: No, I know that, but it stuck out to me. I feel like Matt's dropping major hint bombs... ex vs current bf?

Me: I wonder if Essek has MET Wulf before.Sibling: I like Wulf more than Astrid.

Me: Me, too.

Sibling: I think I'll be sad if he gets gravity crushed, but he better not lay a finger... on my butterfinger.

Me: I mean, I feel bad for them both, but the problem is that they can't be trusted with power, and if the Assembly falls, they may try to seize power. Tbh I just don't see them surviving to the end and that's pretty sad.

Sibling: I could see Wulf being turned if the party spent more time on things, seeing as he seems to be more of a piece to be manipulated than a major player himself... but their focus is entirely on Trent and Astrid, which makes me think that he'll be canned.

Me: Actually, I'm not so sure about that Wulf thing. I think he may be harder to reach in some ways. See the thing is... Astrid wants power. That's understandable. But it's not clear if she wants power for necessarily nefarious purposes or if it's just that the life of poverty she led before coupled with how much she's lost drives her to reach for it, and it's not clear what would satisfy her or whether or not she'd be interested in taking her life in a different direction, so that's complicated.

Me: But with Wulf... Wulf's issues are simpler, which I think arguably makes him harder to reach. Wulf and Astrid have both basically shrugged off their parents' deaths at this point, they've both indicated as much in different ways, but Wulf's a servant of the Raven Queen. He can rationalize the death of anything and anyone under her banner. Unlike Astrid, who is motivated by power/ambition, Wulf is the holy soldier... of the death god. That's uh... zealotry.

Me: Worse still, he has religious motivations for going against those who use Dunamancy, which is likely an anathema to the Raven Queen. He was already following her when he was a teenager, because Caleb was looking to see if he had any symbols of her on him when they first reunited. Honestly I really don't think either of them can truly be reached unless Caleb DOES take over the assembly and even then they might do scummy stuff behind his back out of perceived necessity.

Sibling: If his motivations have been so tied up in his religion, it would make it very difficult to reach him, true. But Astrid seems to have invested so much into her ambitions that I wonder if she might try to quiet those talking her out of it. She seems very aware of her actions' consequences, unlike someone like Essek who had ambitions without understanding where his studies would take him. If they're left alive, which I don't think they will be, Caleb's best scenario would be to avoid the assembly as much as possible.

Me: Honestly at this point I feel like the entire government of the Empire needs to be cleared out and replaced, ideally by the Cobalt Soul. Though that would be very controversial, I don't think any other organization can be trusted with filling that vacuum. The Soul is ultimately an international religious organization, but considering they have shown willingness to weed out corruption within their own ranks, it would be interesting if they pooled their resources and had the Empire taken over by a circle of vetted monks instead of corrupt mages, and then have them transition to a democracy eventually.

Sibling: Considering that Matt has reinforced that the Cobalt Soul is attempting to weed out its own corruption, but can't seem to do so for other organizations... I wonder how long it would last. At least they wouldn't have to operate in secret anymore. Maybe that would lift their final restriction?

Me: Well, the thing that really chafes at me with respect to Caleb potentially joining the assembly is that he just DOESN'T FIT THERE. I've thought this before but Caleb would be more at home working for the Cobalt Soul than the Assembly. He's been talking about burning out the rot in the Empire for ages now, and that's basically the goals of the expositors. I wouldn't object to him being involved in the Empire's government... as long as that government did not consist of anything resembling the assembly. A complete restructuring.

Sibling: I mean, you can't really rework the gov unless you're already in a position like Ludinus, but even then, Caleb I still feel like is not the person for that.

Me: But let's be real, ideally he would be the head of the Soltryce Academy... and that's the thing... One of the problems with Wulf and Astrid is that you get the feel that they could rationalize doing anything. And you have to wonder under all that rationalization and manipulation if there is any malice/sadism... there probably is, which sucks because Astrid is actually far better positioned to be an effective politician than Caleb; she's had experience around it for over a decade, she probably knows politics very well. Caleb is earnest and an excellent negotiator but he is not a politician. He would be best off as an ambassador, if I had to pick a political position for him to take.

Sibling: The government does still need to be overthrown for Essek to come hang out with Caleb though, so it must be done.

Me: It must be done. Looping back to Veth/Astrid... Here are some of the posts on Veth's behavior that I've seen. *posts a bunch of links* It's interesting... the Astrid thing. I haven't seen anyone else point this out, but... Veth probably sees Astrid as being Caleb's Yeza. And if Caleb can go back to Astrid and be happy, it's like a test run for her going back to Yeza. Which is pretty messed up. He keeps telling her "Yes, I care for her, but we've both changed" and that's not something Veth wants to think about because it applies to her as well, except that... well, Yeza really hasn't changed. Just her.

Sibling: 1) Ah, skirting her trauma by attempting to address what she sees as Caleb's? Addressing her issues by proxy? Overbearing mom living vicariously through her son...? ... That kind of makes my stomach churn, but I get it. 2) Another revenge perspective. Considering her knee-jerk reaction to kill people who've wronged her family or the party, I think revenge is totally an aspect that has gone unexplored for her. 3) Eugh, the romance still squicks me out, but I understand. Nott was a different person to Veth, she probably had a hope out for returning to her form and going back to Yeza... But I wonder if she thought he wouldn't accept her, and she had Caleb as like... (ew) a backup?

Me: I mean, it's pretty well-established that she has a thing for Caleb. And yeah, her feelings for him are pretty fucked up because of their dynamic up to the point where they went to Felderwin. The CA did wrong her family, and so did Essek, and Veth is very much a vengeance-minded person in a far more straightforward way than Caleb. Most of the others have told Caleb that if he goes after the Assembly, it should be for the right reasons. Interestingly, Veth, Fjord, and Jester don't seem to agree exactly. Jester sees it as a sort of "why not both?" thing. Fjord seems to have no qualms with vengeance at all (unsurprising considering which parts of his past have not yet been resolved, and yet Fjord has never gotten shit for that like Caleb has, and Sabian has done far less harm/damage than Trent). But Veth? Veth sees vengeance as clearcut, something that ought to be pursued and then when it's done, it's done and she's satisfied. It's interesting that the person who Caleb was most attached to at the start of the campaign is also by far the most unhealthy influence on him in the group at this point.

Sibling: I think it's because Fjord hasn't been molded by Sabian. Sabian wronged him, but the more Fjord found out about himself, the less important that seemed. And the more they found out, the more you begin to call into question whether what he did was to get rid of Vandran, an unsavory figure or... something else? Not to mention, Sabian is insignificant, whereas Caleb's abuser is still abusing people to this day. I can see there are major differences between the consequences of either of their revenge quests.

Me: Yes, but that's precisely my point. Sabian is not hugely harmful in comparison to Trent, so it's interesting that people give Caleb shit for being motivated partially by revenge, while Fjord doesn't get any when that's basically his ONLY motivation for tracking down Sabian.

Sibling: Probably because Fjord might get a reason without killing Sabian. Caleb might be walking into a trap, laid out by his peers. I still am of the opinion that killing Trent is a net positive. Just the act of getting rid of him is necessary to stop the cycle. But what comes next is the most important part. Because if Trent is dead when they come back, and Astrid sits in his place... The perpetuation of this cycle won't come to a close.

Me: Yes. I mean, personally? His entire section of the Empire's government should be outright dissolved. It's absolutely revolting. The thing is that it's not just Trent that needs to go; it's his POSITION. That needs to not exist, and I don't see that ever happening so long as Ludinus exists as well. Edit: Well, you basically said what I meant in a different way, lol.

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