#and its not even a situation where I can say with any level of confidence if they would or not because god if I fucking know

[nohoperadio]

That cool bee book I was talking about a while ago mostly refrains from philosophical digressions (which I think is a strength, I appreciated how the author had total confidence that just clearly presenting the facts about his subject would be enough to make a fascinating book without the need for any "...and here's why that should blow your mind" editorializing, and he's totally right), but there was one towards the end I've found myself thinking about a lot, which is: he wants people to stop using "self-consciousness" (i.e. the concept exemplified by the mirror test but used implicitly or explicitly in tons of other contexts) as a criterion for which animals can be considered sentient/morally relevant/having significant inner lives/however you want to describe it. Not, as you might expect, because he thinks it's an unreasonably high bar to meet, but because it's such a low bar that it produces no distinctions: he argues that basically any animal with any kind of developed central nervous system has to have some kind of self-consciousness almost by definition.

The example I remember best is: imagine you can see an object in your visual field getting closer to you. No matter the specifics, it's obviously always going to make a huge difference to how you evaluate this situation whether the cause of the object getting closer is a] the object is moving towards you, or b] you are moving towards the object. If a, then something might be pursuing you or falling on you or a thousand other things that are just not even worth considering in the case of b. But visually the two cases are indistinguishable; if you're going to be able to track the difference, your brain has to be putting at least some work into keeping tabs on what your own intentions are and what choices you're making as you move through the world, predicting the expected consequences of those choices, and maintaining a fairly tidy mental separation between stuff in the world that you're making happen and stuff in the world that's just happening of its own volition. Otherwise, every time you walk towards a rock you'll freak out and think the rock is rolling into you, or vice versa.

And it's not hard to see how this applies to your entire sensory world right, it applies to sounds and tactile sensations and even feelings internal to your body to some extent, if you're going to both perceive the world and take actions in the world then it's mandatory to mentally separate yourself and the world before that's going to yield even an ounce of helpful information, you just can't function successfully on the most basic level if you're processing stuff that you're doing on the same level as stuff that's happening, if you're in that state then you simply don't have a usable model of the world at all, you just have chaos.

So you can very easily eliminate a certain seductive narrative about the evolution of consciousness, which starts with very primitive animals who are mentally processing nothing but basic sensory inputs, then as you rise up the chain more complex animals are forming concepts of objects and building up a more nuanced understanding of the world, until finally you approach humans and the mind becomes so subtle and sophisticated that it gains access to this special advanced meta-level of thought where it can even understand itself! No, the self is precisely the one idea that has to be in place from the very beginning, before any of it has even the most rudimentary practical value. Self-consciousness isn't the pinnacle of the mind's evolution, it's one of the lowest, most basic foundations that everything else builds off of.

I think this is really cool stuff! I don't know enough about the relevant academic philosophy of mind debates to say how far all this does or doesn't speak to that, maybe someone will tell me the "self-consciousness" concept being attacked here is a strawman somehow, I don't know. But it's definitely impacted the way I (just a dumb guy who likes creatures) think about our small small cousins and what their lives might be like and I think it's super interesting. If you think it's interesting too then maybe you wanna buy The Mind of a Bee by Lars Chittka and read it. It's mostly not about this stuff, as I say it's light on philosophy and heavy on bee-life immersion, but if you actually read this whole post then you're probably in the market for that I feel like.

#creatures: they've got a lot going on #I think we'd better just let them get on with it #nohopereadio #uninteresting

[arolesbianism]

Every now and then I remember that oni in fact will eventually have more lore added and I get so excited and scared for a moment and then I remember that it could take months until we see any of that and I proceed to forget abt it again and the cycle repeats

#rat rambles #oni posting #now it does sadden me a smidge that itll probably be in paid dlc but thats a problem for future me #the bright side of new lore is new lore #the downside of new lore is the eternal fear of canon jackie and olivia designs #not because Im opposed to them getting canon designs its just so scary #like what if klei made them white how would I move forward from that #and its not even a situation where I can say with any level of confidence if they would or not because god if I fucking know #like they have until very recently seemingly deliberately avoided including anything Too lore relevant in any animated trailers #but that can kind of just be explained by well. the fact that most of those updates didn't include any lore. #and those that do involve it stay strictly in the dupes perspective #so I can't rly use that as any sign that theyre deliberately avoiding giving olivia and jackie canon designs #I would highly prefer they dont get designs even without fear of designs I dislike mostly because narratively it just works better that way #but hey its not up to me so whatever happens happens #I mostly assume future lore is going to mostly relate to the dupe donors we havent met yet and elaborating on some of the ones we have seen #but dont see a lot of if anything at all #I hope they dont mess with jackie and olivia too much but I do think itd be nice to give jackie just a smidge more like Ive talked abt #and other than that I could see them adding maybe new story traits and if they're feeling real generous more dupe lore #oh and if we're mega lucky we could get a dr.holland first name #honestly I hope that for dr.holland specifically they either just do a hard name drop and move on or just dont touch him #rly my main concern with any added oni lore is I Really dont want them to start telling us too much #I really really like all of our information being very fragmented and unclear as it adds to the post end of the world vibe rly well #and this is in fact a problem that they had in older versions of the story that they seemingly went out of their way to solve #so I rly want to have faith that they wont fuck it up but I have been burned before and oni has yet to have fully earn my trust #its not far off tho just the scrapped logs themselves give me faith that they are aware what story theyre writing and what needs done #again the scrapped logs are cool but would have dampened the narrative quite significantly from how straight forward they are #so them being full one scrapped early on makes me hopeful that they realized that too #rly I just dont want too much expansion on the stuff we already know #some names and work ids would be splendid and Im all for new fragments to try to place in the timeline #I just dont want a log where nikola stares at the camera and monologues abt the duplicant project or smth

[highdramas]

a house in nebraska | j.m.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: language, canon typical sadness, canon typical violence, age gap but it’s not really mentioned, sweet sweet yearning, sexual situations but not explicit (yet hehe)

word count: 4704

summary: by joel’s side, you make your way to the midwest, and find yourself inching closer to a house in nebraska you once called home. you and joel have always been okay keeping your pasts to yourselves, focusing on the now. but a roadtrip stirs up feelings, ones that even you cannot deny any longer.

notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. this is part of the creature comforts series but can be read on its own! house in nebraska in particular is a two part story. this is set 12 years after the outbreak began. joel is 48 and reader is 31.

you still thought about that house.

in most ways, it was rather unassuming. it wasn’t rundown, nor was it like the house that nancy mcnamara had on the other side of town. you remember that first time you had gone to nancy’s house for a birthday party. it was strange to imagine that people lived that way.

no, your house was simple, if not slightly dated. your parents never got around to modernizing it, and you didn’t want them to. it was beautiful in it’s dated nature. it was your home. more than a house. it was a home.

it’s days like today when you think about that house. sometimes you wonder if it’s still standing. oh, what you wouldn’t give to walk up those steps, to run your hand along the railing of the porch. it was a luxury to have these fantasies. that you knew more than anything.

you run your plate over the lukewarm water and you feel joel’s eyes on your back. sometimes, you wonder if he can read your mind. you wonder if maybe he’s harboring this secret power from you that allows him to know your deepest secrets, the history that you hold near and dear to your heart. you don’t know why it is. why it is you don’t tell him. it would be easy to lay all of it down at his feet, to come apart and know that he wasn’t going to judge you or hurt you for it. feelings are a weakness. longing is a weakness. but joel was never going to stab that soft underbelly. you were confident in that.

but you keep it bottled up anyway. you keep him placated with your smiles and the murmurs that everything’s okay, just tired and you know that he sees right through you but you both know that he’s not going to push it. that’s one thing, of many, that you love about joel. he doesn’t push. and in return, neither do you. not hard, anyway.

you dry your hands off and you settle on the couch beside him. you can tell that there’s something on his mind– his eyes don’t give anything away, and maybe he thinks that you’re the mind reader out of the two of them. “talk to me,” you say with that smile of yours that you pull out of the closet only for him, wear it like it’s your finest gown.

he sighs and leans forward, muscled arms against strong knees. he doesn’t meet your gaze. you wish that he would. “i don’t want to tell you because i know exactly what you’re going to say.”

“well, then at least you won’t be hit with any surprises.”

joel looks at you and you already have a wry smile on your face, and he has to fight the urge to match it. “you’re such a shit, you know that?” his humor dies off and he goes back to examining his hands. “gotta head out west.”

you straighten at that. “oh.” confusion riddles you– what is he not saying? “well, where?”

the looks says everything and you’re opening your mouth but he cuts you off before you can get a word out. “no. no. you’re not comin’.”

“if you’re going to nebraska,” you say, your voice perfectly level. “you’re going to have to chain me to the bed in order to get me to stay put.” you rise from your spot and walk towards your bedroom, rustling around to find your backpack. you don’t even know when he’s leaving and you’re preparing yourself.

he knows next to nothing about where you come from. what your story is. it’s not all that special, all things considered– for someone to be alive means that they have had to endure unthinkable hardship to get to that point. but he knows two things: you’re from nebraska, and you never knew what happened to your family.

“joel,” you say, folding a t shirt and laying it flat in your bag. “i’m coming.” when you look at him, there’s something in your eyes that he doesn’t recognize. a whole different you. “you don’t know the things i did to get to boston. so don’t fight me on this. i won’t be a nuisance.”

“i didn’t think you would be,” he steps closer. “i just don’t want you getting your hopes up. that’s all.”

you swallow and you look at him. there’s no fight on his face– you think he probably gave up this fight the second he decided he was going to tell you. after all, he could’ve up and left with a note and nothing more. hell, he didn’t even owe you a note. you weren’t anything. you were friends. you shared something. but beyond that, there was no reason for him to tell you shit. “joel,” you whisper and you step closer to him and you watch the way his throat bobs, the way his lip twitches. “you of all people know that my hope’s gonna have to be pried from my cold, dead hands.”

“i know,” he says quietly. you turn back to your backpack and then he’s behind you and his hands are on your shoulders. things have never been said so explicitly– what you are and what you aren’t, where the lines are drawn. all you know is sometimes he does this; he touches you and it lights you up with a warmth from the inside out. sometimes, you lie in bed beside one another and your foot draws up his calf and his hand smoothes over your waist and tugs you closer to him. sometimes he gives you his ration cards despite your protests. you will wake and he’s long gone but they rest on the dining table. the dining table where his belongings, meager as they are, mingle with yours.

joel cares. joel cares and he knows you more than anyone else could ever fathom it.

you show your care in different ways. once, on an abandoned vehicle in the qz, you found a texas sticker. you had taken dutiful care in the way you peeled it off. you found an old book and ripped a page from the back and laid the sticker down onto it. when you presented it to joel on september 26th, you could see the emotions pass over his face. sorrow and longing and then something else. a sidelong look at you, one that was mostly curious.

“it’s okay to miss it,” you had said then. “that life.”

you’d seen his reactions when others had made mere references of his life before. they were shut down. they were stopped, right then and there. and while you didn’t like to poke the bear… you wanted him to know. wanted to bestow this one thing. there was nothing else to say in that moment, all there was was you and joel and his arm slowly wrapping around your shoulders and tugging you in closer. there was his lips against your temple and your fist gripping his flannel shirt. and that was all you needed.

but in this moment with him just behind you, hands beginning to rub into your shoulders, you feel it. that deep chasm of need deep within you, the one that you’ve been ignoring. your hand goes and covers his and you wrap his arm around your chest, kissing the skin of his forearm. strong, steady joel. protective joel. while you’ve laid awake and wondered what it is he felt for you, you never had to question if he would protect you. if he would save you when it all boiled down to it. you squeeze his arm and he squeezes you back, a heavy, reassuring weight. “just let me have some hope, joel.”

and he would.

–

you stop at bill and frank’s to do some trading. you’d heard the stories of their compound, but had never experienced it yourself, and there was a twinge in your heart. what was stopping you? what stopped you from moving in next door, earning your keep, being of service in some way? what stopped you and joel from settling? sitting around the table, music playing and eating a meal that was more than jerky and dried fruits, it was hard to remember your reasoning. why you two played by the rulebook that you did.

you’re admiring the house when frank found you. he gives you a smile and gets in the wine cabinet, pulling another fresh bottle. “astounding, isn’t it?”

turning to him, you remember that he was so warm. warm in a different way than joel. not better or worse. just different. “it’s amazing,” you admit. “almost hard to believe that there was a time where we all lived like this. took it for granted.”

he steps into the spot beside you, following your gaze. “i’m lucky. bill and i– we’re lucky.” he looks at you for a long time. you could feel the imprint of his gaze on your cheek. “how long have you been with joel?”

smiling to yourself, you say, “three years.” you pause, examining a painting on the wall. “feels like it’s been forever. he’s aging me. stealing my youth.” it’s a joke, and you give a crooked grin. “no, he’s… he’s made everything easier. much easier.”

frank hums at that. “i don’t want to pry,” he begins slowly, giving you a sidelong look. “but are you…”

feeling your cheeks grow warm, all you can do is shrug. “i’m not sure,” you admit. “but i don’t need to be sure. he’s my best friend.”

he nods his head, as if this answer makes more sense than anything else that you could’ve said. “well, for what it’s worth–” you both look out the window of the house where joel and bill stand, practically mirroring one another. hands on their hips. staring out at the fence. “bill’s my best friend, too.”

frank touches your shoulder and you smile at him. for some reason, his words are reassuring.

–

you end up staying the night. there’s a guest bedroom with an adjoining bathroom and frank says you’re welcome to anything you need while bill scowls. you shower before joel does– and, to be honest, he doesn’t give you an option in that regard. he puts his hands on your shoulders and he walks you into the bathroom, pushing the fluffy towel into your chest with a smile. “you stink,” he says and he does something that’s almost a wink that makes your heart sing.

so you do. you shower and you lather yourself in all of the fine soaps that frank had prepared for you. you think that joel must’ve told him about your dry skin– lotions of every scent line the counters, and you lather yourself in them post-shower. when you come out smelling like lavender and vanilla, joel’s head shoots up from his book. he stares at you for a long, long time. you shiver under his gaze, shifting in the clothes that frank had given you.

for a moment, you feel like you’re playing house.

joel clears his throat and he stands up, approaching you. his big hand goes to the side of your face and his thumb runs over your cheekbone, drags down to your lip. when you shiver this time, it’s much more noticeable, and you can see something flash behind joel’s eyes.

there are things that the two of you have done together. but never this. close– but never this. you’ve dreamed about what it might be like for his lips to brush yours, but you’ve never had the luxury to linger on it too long. you were both fighting, tooth and nail, for your own survival. the survival of each other, for tess, for tommy. a makeshift family if you’ve ever heard of one. but in this house, where the walls have art and the linens are clean, and you feel fresher and more clear headed than you ever have…

“go. shower.” you squeeze his wrist. “you stink.”

he scoffs out a laugh and shakes his head at you. but when he casts his gaze upon you again, when he nods his head and moves into the bathroom, you feel anticipation like you’ve never felt before.

joel takes less time in the shower than you did. but when he emerges, all wet hair and glistening skin, you have to physically stop yourself from standing. he doesn’t wear a shirt but sweatpants hang low on his hips, and every thought has to be written all over your face. he walks up to you slowly and your grip the duvet, but when he stands before you and nudges your legs apart to stand between them, your grip slackens, he takes your hands and he puts them up on his shoulders where you glide them across his tanned skin, lace them behind his neck.

“i’m going to say this once, because i don’t want to waste our time with it,” joel begins. “and i know– i know i’m not good with my words. i don’t know if i ever will be. and i know i’ve got walls up, i know i’m fucked up–” you open your mouth but he shakes his head. “let me finish. i know i’m fucked up. and i don’t know if i can give you everything that the man twelve years ago would’ve. but i am a selfish man, and i want what i can give to be enough. and i want to try and give you more.” he brushes a piece of your hair back. “if that’s what you want.”

“you’re more than i could ask for,” you reassure. your hands go to his face and your thumbs stroke against his cheeks. “so let’s stop wasting our time with talking about what we both know.”

joel pushes you down against the mattress and you pull yourself up the bed, towards the pillows, and he hovers above you. “can’t remember the last time i was in a bed this nice,” he murmurs, and he’s so handsome above you, you don’t know how you managed without it. you’ve slept side by side, limbs tangled, but this…

“me neither,” your needy hands reach out for him and then his brown eyes are level with yours, a hand splayed beside your head, holding himself up. “i don’t want to waste it. do you?”

the smile he wears would’ve belonged to the joel from before. mischievous, almost, a smile that reaches his eyes. “what ideas did you have?”

you open your mouth but then his lips are closing over your pulse point and it’s been so long, it’s been forever, it’s been a lifetime ago since you’ve had such true and real intimacy. you start to shake and you stammer to try and reply and he pulls away, shaking his head, running his hand through your hair. “i’m gonna take care of you,” he says seriously. “you gonna let me take care of you, nebraska?”

with a shaky laugh you nod your head, but that’s not enough for him. “words. give me your words.”

“yes,” you breathe. “please.”

and joel, your unsung hero, stays good to his word. he’s a passionate person, deep in there, so it shouldn’t have surprised you that he would be a good and passionate lover– but it did. it made you giddy, every touch, every drag of his tongue. but nothing was better than the first kiss.

joel makes sure to take care in tipping your face up to him. there were candlesticks lit around the quaint bedroom, illuminating you in a golden glow, and you’d never felt like an angel before– not even before this world had made you a killer. but under his eyes and in this room, you feel the closest you ever have. “so damn pretty,” he murmurs to himself, shaking his head. “you know that? how pretty you are?”

your foot runs up his leg. “don’t spend much time looking in mirrors anymore.”

“you’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” he answers for you. one hand goes to the side of your neck and his thumb brushes your pulse and it’s like every single thing in this broken world finally clicks into place with him. and that’s when he does it. that’s when he lowers himself and his lips find yours.

it’s slow. it’s like for the first time since 2003 he has allowed himself to enjoy. he savors you like he savored the meal that bill and frank served you that evening. he drinks you in like their delicious wine, the taste of you better than the heavy red had been on his tongue. a hand slips under your head and caresses, holds you, kisses you like there’s nothing else left to do.

your hands become explorative. across his chest, his stomach, down his spine. he shivers when you hit that sensitive spot just above his tailbone, and it makes you smile against his lips. “like that, huh?” he asks with a laugh. he falls down onto the bed beside you and he tugs you closer, his lips still attached to your jaw. “like knowin’ what you do to me?”

you’re helpless, nodding your head, mind foggy with pleasure. “oh, poor thing,” he coos with another cheeky grin, tapping your bottom lip with his thumb. “i’ll stop bein’ mean.”

“you’re evil,” you say but there’s no bark behind your bite, not when his lips start to move southward, down your chest, pushing up your shirt. your hips begin to raise involuntarily and everything is better than you could ever expect–

the door bursts open. “bill–” joel bellows, rearing back to look at him. you’re not even naked but joel is effortlessly protective, shielding you from his view. but you peek past his arm anyway, and what you see astounds you. bill’s scared. he’s trying to fight it, but you can smell fear like a bloodhound.

“raiders,” bill says and it’s the simplest thing he could’ve said, but it makes you move.

joel is on his feet and you’re tossing him a shirt and he’s tossing you your jacket, you’re moving around each other like you know the exact move the other will make next. and maybe you do. maybe you have memorized the way that he uses his body as a weapon and as a shield.

with guns drawn you help take down raiders. it’s not a fair fight, not with the set up that bill has built and not with you and joel by his side. joel has never had to see you fight. not really, anyway– he’s known of the knife that you keep on you at all times, but bill had tossed you a gun and you knew your way around it and while joel didn’t have time to watch, you could sense it. could feel his eyes lingering for just a moment too long, long enough to risk survival.

and then your gun lowers and your eyes lock and there’s something that passes there, between you.

you don’t know if love is the right way to describe what you feel towards joel. but if it is, then maybe you had just fallen a bit more in love with one another.

–

any mood that existed prior has been shot by the time that you get back into the guest room. with a long, heaving sigh, you start shucking your clothes off. there’s nothing wrong with them– no blood on them, no dirt, no grime, but the mere act of wearing them while you have killed someone makes your skin crawl.

joel exits the room but he returns with two new sets of clothes. he passes one set off to you before he starts changing himself, eyes heavy on one another.

and when you’re both in fresh clothes you inch towards one another and you collapse onto the bed together, and there’s nothing hesitant in the way that he pulls you to him, tugs your body close to his and wrap you up in his dutiful hold until you both drift off into a sleep, one not fueled by pills or booze, but by the safety of one another.

–

bill and frank send you with food (bill begrudgingly, frank happily) and a truck. your end stop is the omaha QZ, outside of which you’ll be meeting with a smuggler who joel has been in contact with since you knew him. but you were a long ways away from nebraska, and it would be many days on the road.

it’s two days in when you find the tape, rustling around through the truck. it was a forgotten thing beneath the passenger seat, and your entire face lights up when you see it. joel glances over at you with a furrowed brow and you lift jeff buckley’s grace. in tandem, you and joel say, “yes.”

mojo pin starts from the top and you find yourself gazing out the window. you prepare yourself for the northeastern beauty to turn into the plains of the midwest, reminding you of a life of before. 

you’re crossing into ohio when he asks, “you like this album?”

slowly, you nod your head. “it was all i would listen to,” you say, remembering who you were before. “maybe jeff buckley’s lucky. to have died before all of this started.”

joel stares at you for a long time. “do you really mean that?”

swallowing, you meet his gaze. do you mean it? “no,” you finally say softly. “there are things that i miss. people i miss. but i don’t think i’d be luckier dead.” you huff a laugh and look back out the window. “if i felt that way, it would be a bit silly to live the way i do.”

“and how do you mean?”

“we fight to live,” you say easily. “we fight to survive. we’re not people who want to give up, even if we pretend we are. being alive is having some hope, contrary to what you may believe.”

“never said i didn’t have hope,” joel begins, his voice all gruff.

“joel, please.” you look over at him and you smirk. “i know you. you may fool other people, but you’re not gonna fool me.”

the two of you fall into an easy silence at that point. there’s nothing pointed about what you said to him, and he doesn’t have any fight in him. he doesn’t want to fight with you, he never does. and, besides– despite what he says, he knows that you’re right.

at some point you fall asleep. you wake up to joel’s hand in your hair, his voice slowly coaxing you awake. you wake with a start, snapping up and looking around. “sorry,” you mumble, the last bits of sleep still clinging onto you for dear life. “didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“s’alright,” he mumbles back to you. “would probably good to stop for the night. we can take turns keeping watch.” he smirks. “it’s your turn first.”

you roll your eyes but he turns the car off and reclines his seat and you can’t help but stare at him. how does anyone expect you to be diligent and alert when you get an opportunity to stare at him uninterrupted? when he opens one eye to look at you you lean back and smile at him, shaking your head. “don’t do that,” you murmur, reaching your hand out and touching his hair, somehow soft still despite everything. “get some sleep.”

joel hums. “keep doin’ that,” he says while your hand is working through his hair. “feels good.”

you’re not going to deny joel what feels good. not for one moment.

–

the days pass faster than you were expecting them to. it’s just you and joel and the open road. occasionally you roll down the window and you stick your head out and let the wind rustle your hair, let jeff buckley fill your ears with his beautiful melodies and you pretend like you and joel are two normal people on a normal road trip together. the one thing that you will never be, you pretend you are.

an ominous quiet grows over you when you pass over the nebraska border. when you see that sign.

joel senses it in you instantly. and for a man who says he’s cold, who says he’s fucked up, who says that he doesn’t know if he can be what you need– you don’t feel that when he lays his big hand on your thigh and squeezes. and he doesn’t make a hasty exit with it, either. no, it lingers there. it stays there until your hand goes and lays on top of his, and only then does his hand turn over and he grasps your fingers. laces them with his own, and his thumb draws across the back of your wrist.

when you look over at him, you don’t see a man who’s fucked up. you see a man who’s fighting an eternal, internal battle with himself, to love and let himself be loved. you’ve been there. hell, you’re there now, fighting your own similar battle. but perhaps your armor is weaker, because this touch has melted you down to the bone and made you forget why you wanted to fight in the first place.

the words beg to release from your mouth. i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you so much i’m willing to risk the safety of not loving another soul.

“we’ll go wherever you need,” he speaks up. “and then we’ll go to omaha.”

with a curt nod of your head, you pull the map out of the glove compartment and you scour it. you see your teeny tiny hometown, and you circle it, passing it back to joel.

instantly, you recognize the way that he takes a turn, towards your home. towards your old life.

it’s in the stirred silence that you say, “they call seward the fourth of july city,” you smile a little bit at the memories. memories of fireworks and the smell of a grill and celebrating a patriotism and nationalism that you would resent every day after september 26th, 2003. “my friends and i used to joke about that city part. seward was barely a town, let alone a city.”

joel watches you intently. you wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “i lost my virginity on the fourth of july.” there’s something glassy behind your eyes. “one year before the outbreak. i was eighteen– all my friends joked that i was a late bloomer, but i didn’t care. my dad was a preacher and i always got teased because i was the cliche. the rebellious, preacher’s daughter. but that night…” your words drift and you suck in a big breath, watching as dusk overtakes the night ahead of you, casting joel in pretty purple hues. “he wasn’t a bad boy. he was kind. and he took care of me.”

“he was in my senior year english class. i was taking ap lit– didn’t even take the ap test. anyway– he had kind brown eyes, and it was his first time, too. we went into one of the cornfields in his truck after a big fire party. there were always the biggest parties on fourth of july, but i just wanted to be with him.” you pause and look out the windshield and his thumb is still a warm feeling over the pulse of your wrist. “we kept seeing each other that summer. but then i went to college and so did he and… well, the rest happened. i don’t know what happened to him. but i like to believe that he’s somewhere out there and when he starts getting nostalgic, he tells his…” you look at joel. “whoever his you is, and he smiles a little. i just hope that.”

he squeezes your wrist, once more, before he lets go to put both hands on the wheel. he pulls off and you recognize that he’s pulling into the parking lot of a boarded up church, and god if that isn’t hilariously ironic. “thank you,” he says after you’re parked, looking right into your eyes. “i hope that, too.”

hope. what a funny thing.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfic #joel x reader #joel miller x y/n #tlou imagine #tlou fanfic

[whchenlvr]

omgg hellooooo ! just had an idea for a hc and was wondering if u could write about it!! so the hc would be about the union boys dating the reader but they gotta keep it secret bc they are kinda afraid someone would use their gf as blackmail or hurt them eventho they can defend their so (i hope u get me hfjfj) and if u wanna do one with the eunjang boys i thought they probably could be dating someone who is close to the union or wtv !! its up to u ofc

secretly dating him ;

weak hero x fem!reader

donald na

➤ he’s scared. like genuinely terrified by the thought of anyone finding out who you are, especially since he just declared war against eunjang, and his union is falling apart

➤ you’re thankful that he feels safe enough with you to confide these thoughts to you, and you know how dangerous it can be for him

➤ before, he would have kept your relationship a secret to show his strength, but now, he’s unsure how far people will be willing to go to hurt him, and he doesn’t want to take any chances with you

➤ sometimes it makes you sad that you have to sneak around, but despite all that, he treats you like a princess

➤ “y/n, do you want to rent a movie?” “want me to order us some dinner, darling? or would you prefer if i cooked for you?”

➤ it’s definitely not always easy, but donald makes you feel you feel safe and loved no matter the situation <3

gray yeon

➤ he didn’t mean to fall for you. he didn’t want to, either

➤ you were someone close to the union. the only reason gray contacted you was in hopes of you being able to help him in taking the union down, and though you refused, you found his ambition attractive

➤ you decided to help him after wolf betrayed the union by joining eunjang. it was the perfect opportunity for you to play both fields, and you did

➤ “i overheard kingsley say he was going to try and have ben abducted before the fight to make it seem like he ditched you guys.” “what? where do they plan to take him?”

➤ you take part in helping your boyfriend train eunjang to fight against the union; giving them little tips and tricks about each member they may have to fight

➤ when gray has every possible outcome thought up and planned in his head, he sits you down and finally takes a second to breathe. “what if this doesn’t work?” you knit your brows in confusion and look at him as he continued, “will you be okay?”

➤ you have to assume him that nothing will happen to you, just like how nothing will happen to wolf. you don’t know how true that really is, but it’s enough to calm gray

ben park

➤ he saved you, and now you feel you’re returning the favor

➤ you’d been wanting to leave the union for years, but it’s impossible with your family ties. because of this, you had to keep your relationship with ben a secret

➤ you thought it would be ben trying harder to keep you a secret, but it turns out to be the opposite in your case

➤ you’re so worried that ben will get hurt if anyone finds out you’re dating. the part of the union you’re affiliated with isn’t as forgiving as the portions under donald

➤ “y/n… i hate seeing you stress yourself out with this… it isn’t healthy.” “ben, i won’t let anything happen to you… i wouldn’t survive if it did and it was my fault.” “aw, baby. lucky for us, i’m pretty good at protecting myself.”

➤ still, you’d be triple checking everything whenever you go out with ben, and even scan your room with a bug detector before talking to him on the phone

jake ji

➤ after what happened with his brother kenny, jake doesn’t like talking about the people he loves and cares about with anyone. not even his closest friends in the union

➤ he thinks it’s too dangerous, too much of a risk, and you can only agree as you know how devastated jake was to hear about his brother

➤ you do your best to stay safe and cautious when you meet jake, but he is on a completely other level of paranoid

➤ sometimes, you have to sit him down and take his face in your hands and remind him that you’re safe and nothing is going to happen to either of you. and if it does, it isn’t his fault

➤ that always seems to calm him down until another situation happens. like the time you thought you were being followed and it turned out to be a random student who wanted to compliment your shoes

➤ despite how nervous he can be, jake never hesitates to make sure you feel comfortable at all times. “i kind of want to go out tonight… can we?” “yes, of course y/n. i’m sorry for being so annoying lately.”

gerard jin

➤ you were named the leader of yoosun high after jimmy lost to ben. donald wanted to put someone he trusts in place to teach jimmy a lesson, and he chose you

➤ unfortunately, you’d been seeing the lead singer of slam for nearly a year beneath the union’s nose

➤ while you were quite proud of yourself and gerard for not getting caught, there were a lot more eyes on you now than ever, and you found yourself constantly looking over your shoulder

➤ you don’t know this, but donald had you followed when you first joined the union and knew all about you and gerard. he didn’t tell anyone for three reasons: 1. he trusted you. 2. he didn’t see gerard as a threat to the union. 3. if things did take a turn for the worst, he wanted to see how your story would play out

➤ “what would you do it they found out about us?” gerard would ask as he plays with your fingers, and you’d just sigh. “i don’t know. but i wouldn’t let them tear us apart. i don’t care about eunjang, or yoosun, or the union. all i care about is that you and i are safe.”

➤ fortunately, the secret of you and gerard is one donald keeps with him until the end </3

wolf keum

➤ you were an anomaly in wolf’s life, and he liked to keep it that way

➤ he never had any big secrets. if there was something on his mind that he wanted, he’d get it. he wasn’t quiet in the way he did things, so it’s not like people weren’t always in his business. that was, until you

➤ you were so unlike anything wolf had seen before. you were truly good, through and through, and wolf refused to let his private life corrupt you in any way

➤ not only was wolf keeping you a secret from the union, but he was keeping the union a secret from you

➤ “you trust me, don’t you?” “of course i do, wolf. should i not?” “no, you should. if anyone comes up to you and asks if you know me, you know to tell the no, right?” “right.”

#weak hero webtoon #weak hero #weak hero manhwa #weak hero class 1 #weak hero x reader #wolf keum #donald na #jake ji #ben park #gray yeon #gerard jin

[ante--meridiem]

Post is under the cut for typical Creepy Ex Landlord content but there's nothing new on that front, just me processing stuff that had happened while the situation was ongoing.

I've been half considering telling my new roommates the real reason I moved out from the previous place because I have reason to believe they'd be understanding and we've definitely reached the level of friendship where that kind of thing can be shared but I hesitate to even call it "sexual harassment" out loud and not on tumblr because to do so I have to interrogate whether I ever actually said no clearly and firmly enough, though at the end of the day I'm fairly confident I did and its failure to get through to him was him just not wanting to listen. I laid out my discomfort to him several times and he apologised and seemed really genuinely guilty/upset and I told him I didn't want him to apologise or feel bad I just wanted him to stop and then he'd go straight back to what he'd been doing before.

I guess what I'm stuck on though is, maybe it's just autistic inability to fully comprehend that people can be lying to me but his belief that he's done nothing seriously wrong or against my consent seems fully genuine. He seemed honestly hurt and confused when I blocked him as soon as I could because he'd really believed we'd still be ""friends"" after I moved out. There was this one time when he was telling me about a news article about a woman who got sexually assaulted and he was all wide-eyed I-just-don't-understand-how-people-could-do-that innocence about it and I truly understood what emotion the phrase "look into the camera like you're on the office" expresses, because really?

I'm pretty sure most of it runs on technicalities and plausible deniability because ok, if you do things without asking that you have plenty of reason to think I wouldn't be ok with then technically I didn't say no, and you can even be proud of yourself for stopping once I do get around to saying it. And if you plead and wheedle with me until I decide it's easier to give you what you want than keep arguing then technically I said yes. But what really throws me is how much he seemed to genuinely believe he was morally in the clear, rather than just having legalistic plausible deniability.

Like, by the end of it and by the time he found out my sexuality, even he couldn't convince himself that I secretly wanted him. Even before he'd found out, he'd mostly switched tack from "so what if you have a boyfriend, he can't tell you what to do" to "what's so wrong with me that you aren't attracted to me? :( I've been so nice to you :(" but he never seemed to have any level of cognitive dissonance over, if I had never had any shred of attraction to him and repeatedly expressed discomfort with him being sexual towards me, why I would have ""consented"" to all the things that I totally definitely freely consented to and he totally definitely never forced on me and pressured me into (please note heavy sarcasm). He really thought I'd stay friends with him, "friends" of course here meaning "we cannot have a conversation that stays for longer than five minutes on a topic other than him commenting on my appearance and asking me for pictures". Like, I get missing signals other people think are clear, but if I found out someone I'd thought was freely consenting to physical intimacy with me (giving him benefit of the doubt that he actually thought that) felt that way my reaction wouldn't be "too bad you're not attracted to me but we'll still be friends where I constantly talk about how pretty you are and what you should wear. I never pressured you into anything btw! Me going oh come on whenever you said no to me was just me being cute!", it would be "oh shit, did I pressure you? I'm so sorry and will leave you alone immediately if that's what you want." And then actually leave them alone.

And this "you cannot honestly believe you're innocent can you? If you really believe that maybe I somehow wasn't clear enough?" doubting on my side is all pretty standard stuff as these kind of situations go I'm pretty sure, and I feel reasonably confident most people would still take my side given full details, but at the same time... even on tumblr I see people making fun of the idea that you should ask verbal consent for every little thing as "puritanical", and while I'm reasonably sure those people are talking about "someone who's been flirting with you leans in for a kiss so you don't ask before going for it" situations and not, this whole thing, I can only think that Creepy Landlord had somehow convinced himself it was that kind of situation.

....anyways.

#personal #the landlord situation

[iraprince]

From what I've seen from surveys and bits of news, Spain seems like it's pretty good with trans acceptance and stuff. Is that true?

Relatedly, you've said you started in Ohio and ended up in Spain. How would you reccomend someone else from Ohio do that?

oof, haha. this is a tough time to ask this -- for the past three years that i've lived here my answer would have been an enthusiastic and pretty confident yes, but recently we're all pretty worried bc in recent elections there have been gains made by the far-right + conservative parties. things where i live are still okay, but in other regions there is reason for concern. if you end up seriously planning on moving to spain, i would heavily advise you to do research on the political situations of different autonomous communities (essentially like provinces or states; catalonia is the community i live in, valencia is a community, madrid has its own community, etc) bc they all have individual governments and the experience of living in one community can be vastly different from another regardless of what's going on on a federal level. as an example, madrid is only a 2 hour train ride away from where i live but in comparison covid has been a million times worse there, absolutely fucking nightmarish, bc they have an extremely conservative government and their healthcare systems were privatized + managed differently by that government in a way that caused a lot of suffering.

i would still say it is resoundingly better than the united states, especially on the front of LGBTQ+ safety. i'm not "visibly trans" -- i believe 99% of the ppl who see me out and about probably perceive me as a cis woman -- but i'm very visibly gay, my wife and i are often affectionate in public, and the worst we've ever personally gotten have been frowns and disapproving glares. most of the time, even when ppl stare at us, it's more harmless curiosity than anything else. this doesn't mean hate crimes and discrimination never happen here, bigotry is everywhere, but in comparison i am frankly in a constant state of anguish and fear about what's going on in my home country.

(asked my wife to read this over for accuracy and offer his input and he wants to add that while on a legal level things are pretty stable -- a lot of laws that have been passed that protect LGBTQ+ rights would be difficult to revoke or repeal -- on a social level things have gotten noticeably worse and violence has objectively risen over the past few years. 2022 was the most violent year in a decade, specifically in terms of homophobic hate crimes. we both feel that this is more about rising fascism worldwide than about anything specific to spain, but still.)

as for immigration, i'm afraid i can't really offer any help or advice on that one! my residency here is based on my marriage to my wife, who is a spanish citizen, so i have no knowledge at all on other methods of obtaining residency.

#cw homophobia #cw transphobia #cw hate crime mention #not rebloggable bc i am still learning myself as a non-citizen + i def dont have the knowledge or authority to be like. Disseminating Info #pls do ur own research as well!!

[seth-shitposts]

*slides you an infodump pass* tell me something cool about defectors au :3

FRIEND I LOVE YOU

I have to tell you that when I read this I jumped up and had to do a stim pace around my house. I did a little dance >:]

I am so GLAD YOU ASKED-

Lemme roll through the information I'm pretty sure I haven't spoken about yet. Or at least not much of.

I've spoken quite a bit about Tseebo, laid down some of the ground work for Morad and (especially) Marida, done some stuff for Mira & Ephraim but I'm still developing that situation over there.... in a similar vein I've done some very basic foundation beginning for the spectres...

Let's... see....

---

I do want to state that Kallus is very simply found family among the Lothal gang. The only ones who have a clearer and more nuclear definition to it is Morad & Marida viewing Kallus as a son they never had. And that's a sentiment the two of them share for a very brief amount of time because Morad takes to Kallus much earlier than Marida, Marida opens more up to Kallus only when he defects from the Empire, and even at that point its very reluctant. With Kallus and Ezra, it's not father&son but not quite brothers. Not very defined and in that similar vein of Zeb and his found family among the ghost crew.

---

Also, there's an idea I've been debating back and forth over since creating the au.

Of the development of Kallus. I'm still debating it, but how the basics go is as followed:

Kallus's first night on Lothal, there's a merchant and an officer having some sort of disagreement that results in the arrest of the merchant. Kallus simply observed for a moment before returning to his course of action (which was going toward the Bridger Household). [A week or so later, that merchant is one of the first people Mira and Ephraim ask him to look into for the case of improper arrest.]

Later on, this is mirrored. He's doing case work for the bridger's cell mates inbetween his own paper work and on his way to another building in the city. There's a very similar situation and he decides to intervine, to descalate the situation. Its probably a misunderstanding like the other one. He saves the merchant from arrest, but later gets in trouble with superiors in the sector for interfering.

Some time just before Lasan, he watches am officer purposefully antagonize a merchant into a fight, Kallus interferes again and is pissed at the officer. And again, he gets reprimanded.

On Lasan, in the very beginning if the march he watches as an officer antagonizes a group of "rioters" to be the ones to start a fight. This time, however, there isn't anything Kallus is able to do to intervine because they're gone before he can even change his direction.

There's another he comes across while searching for Mira & Ephraim. It's one of the first imprisoned civilians he sets free while trying to find the Bridgers. He has to be careful and not get caught or seen.

And then again during his time as Fulcrum. This time, instead of simply just cutting them lose, he gives them instructions on where they can go to either join a rebel cell or a group of refugees.

The next time he sees an officer antagonizing a merchant, it's when he's a captain and intelligence officer for the rebellion. He jumps in to defend the merchant, covering their successful escape. This happens just before the liberation of lothal.

It's a running idea I've been playing around with.

---

At one point, during a marriage ceremony in the capital, Ezra is explaining customs of lothal marriage to Kallus and asking Kallus about customs from his homeworld. Kallus explains some of the lower levels marriage customs and the only thing Ezra picks up on and tells Kallus with full confidence is that Ezra is going to be Kallus’s Best/Made of Honor. And Kallus absolutely does not have it in him to correct any word Ezra just spoke so he says he looks forward to it then. And it makes Ezra so damn happy that Kallus is almost willing to get married just because Ezra wants to be his Best/Made Of Honor.

(And yes, I absolutely will make everyone cry about this later on)

---

I'm not sure if I've talked about this or where I may have spoken about this, but the Prophecy of Lasan still very much happens even if it's not about Kallus hunting down the ghost crew. Now, that is my personal favourite episode and ngl I may have to change bits around. I'm still figuring this all out. So it's not set in stone.

But at the time that the prophecy is being run through, Kallus still very much is Bold & Blood thirsty, it just isn't in the pursuit of rebels.

Kallus just lost Mira & Ephraim. They're dead. He'd been searching for them for almost four years now, and by the time he locates them, it's too late. That had been the task he was so focused on, it was often the goal that got him through the utter isolation and icy hostility of the empire. The goal that might make the fact that he had to leave Ezra worth it. Ezra might not forgive him for leaving him, but as long as Kallus can reunite the Bridgers as a free family, it will be worth it. It would have been worth it. But they're gone. He failed so miserably. He left Ezra, who suffered in the streets just as Kallus had when he was a child, and doesn't even have anything to show for it. He had one goal and he failed.

For a period of time, Kallus becomes much more reckless. To the point where Ezra notices even from the other side. And Zeb notices too. He notices Ezra’s reaction. At one point, Zeb and Kallus cross paths and Zeb saves Kallus from getting himself caught. Zeb still doesn't know anything that's up with Kallus, or what history Kallus and Ezra share. Just before saving Kallus, he quickly pieced together that whatever the man is doing, it sure as shit isn't for the empire.

Zeb chides him for his recklessness, for acting as though there isn't someone who still very obviously cares about him.

It's slightly around this point that Kallus stages a "trap" to pass information to Zeb and they end up getting trapped on Bahryn. There's a continuation of that conversation, and also of Kallus admiting fault in his reactions to Zeb when they first met. Zeb still shows him kindness and honor and something about it saves Kallus from himself.

After leaving bahryn, Kallus is much more careful and he becomes Fulcrum.

---

Also I'm still so ill about the relationship that Tseebo and Kallus have with each other. Like damn bro. Everything about it hurts. How much they care for each other and how that entire arc happens and plays out.

And then AND THEN- ALSO

I'm so ill about post s2 all the way through to early s3 when Ezra is having to cope with another parental figure in his life leaving him. And Kanan isn't even physically being taken from him. He's right *there* and yet the distance is suffocating. And Ezra’s trying so hard to cope with the feeling like it's his fault, that this was an unforseen result of *his* actions. And no matter what he does, nothing is bringing Kanan back to him.

His parents got taken away from the empire, and even during the 5 years that followed, and he got to see them, they were never truly together because of the circumstances. They were never truly his again. And then Kallus having always been a slight distance, and then grew so close just to be yanked so far out of his reach to try and chase something that Ezra couldn't see. Its been so long that he isnt sure who or what Kallus is fighting for. Tseebo was supposed to be with him while he waited for Kallus to return, but Tseebo ran for a very different reason. And then Ezra thought that it would finally be fine because here's Kanan and Hera, but Kanan isn't even physically separated from him. And he's losing him too. And he's pretty sure it's his own fault.

Just the flavor of angst-

#star wars rebels #swr #defectors au #alexsandr kallus #ezra bridger #garazeb orrelios #zeb orrelios #star wars

[theambitiouswoman]

Do you have any tips on dealing with anger?

I tend to act on my anger ,for example I end up saying really hurtful things to others which just makes the situation worse

I actually get this question a lot, either online or my friends. I used to have the same problem, and just finished giving a friend advice on this yesterday.

Before, I was very reactive and lived in a triggered state. Would speak without thinking, or better argue/react. Eventually, I realized that just by having the wrong reaction, even if I would have been right- made me wrong. How we handle situations matters more than the situation itself (there are obviously exceptions to this i.e. an argument with an abusive partner etc.) I started practicing by, and this is advice is always give, removing myself from the situation immediately. breathe in and breathe out and process the whole scenario in my head, along with the outcome i wanted to achieve. Sometimes, returning to those conversations would take me a day or two to process. other times, i would consciously decide to wait to make sure i was right or wrong. Some experiences that i wasn't exposed to or had experience with, i would wait a second time for the situation to happen before i reacted. I knew if i felt upset about it more than once, that something was wrong and needed to communicate it.

I also imprinted in my mind, how much control the other person would have over me if i couldn't control my own emotions. Absolutely no one was going to upset/hurt me, then also know they had the upper hand/power over me. No way, no ma'am.

Emotional control is very powerful. It makes you a very powerful person. Also speaks to your level of confidence. You don't win when you lose control. You also don't want to ruin relationships.

It really depends on the situation that upsets us, but we are not always right just because we are upset. Its not that your feelings aren't valid, but sometimes they come from something else. It could even come down to us misunderstanding.

In short, I would recommend you start practicing removing yourself from situations where you feel like you are going to explode on someone. Take time to process your thoughts and decide on the outcome you want to achieve regarding that situation. Recommend you repeating to yourself "i control my feelings, my feelings don't control me."

Other ways you can learn to manage your emotions:

Identify your emotions: The first step in controlling your emotions is to identify what you are feeling. Try to name your emotions and recognize their intensity.

Practice mindfulness: Mindfulness involves paying attention to the present moment without judgment. It can help you to become more aware of your emotions and to respond to them in a healthy way.

Use cognitive restructuring: Cognitive restructuring involves changing negative or irrational thoughts into positive or rational ones. This can help you to manage your emotions more effectively.

Practice self-care: Taking care of yourself physically, emotionally, and mentally can help you to manage your emotions. Eat a healthy diet, exercise regularly, get enough sleep, and make time for relaxation.

Develop healthy coping mechanisms: Identify healthy ways to cope with your emotions, such as talking to a friend, practicing relaxation techniques, or engaging in a hobby.

The next time you are in the middle of a discussion and start feeling angry, try these methods instead:

Walk away: If you feel yourself becoming angry, take a break from the conversation. Take a few deep breaths, go for a walk, or do something that helps you relax.

Listen actively: Listen to the other person's point of view without interrupting or becoming defensive. Try to understand their perspective and feelings.

Use "I" statements: Use "I" statements to express how you feel instead of blaming or accusing the other person. For example, say "I feel hurt when you do this" instead of "You always do this and it's annoying."

Practice empathy: Put yourself in the other person's shoes and try to understand their feelings and perspective.

Avoid personal attacks: Avoid personal attacks or name-calling. Stick to the issue at hand and focus on finding a solution.

Take responsibility for your emotions: Take responsibility for your emotions and reactions. Acknowledge your feelings and express them in a healthy way.

[valfeathers]

OMG YOUR ART IS SO GOOD! Gonna go on a reblog spree tomorrow or something <3<3<3

Anywho, care to share some (more) of your opinions on Wammy's House? Saw a few text posts and they caught my interest 👀

Like, how do you think L feels about his successors or something. Or just rant about why you hate Watari and Roger (omg or more BB talk LOVE that). I dunno I can just ell your opinions/takes are *chef's kiss*

i'm so sorry this took so long but!! i had no idea where to start lmao

i spend so much time just thinking about L in any capacity,, i mean it, he occupies a scary amount of my waking thoughts (blame the autism)

so for starters, as much as i shit on wammy's and its terrible negligence, i find myself putting L & the successors into little found family scenarios & i often draw them all together

(eg. here's some older sketches of L & the kids)

now i know that canonically they probably (definitely) weren't like this but,, i want them all to be loved

i can understand why/how other people would have a different interpretation of their dynamic, but portraying L as a mentor/brother/father figure is very near & dear to my heart :'))

(this is also partly projection as i'm an eldest son who loves their sibling & wants the best for them, who also deeply relates to L so do with that what you will haha)

most of my wammy family art is for comfort! and maybe it can comfort other people too :')))

maybe one day i'll come back & explain the extent of my hcs about this dynamic but i'm not confident in my ability to like. word my thoughts coherently yet so !! for now u get art & some surface level stuff :)

but anyways, sometimes i question what being at the centre of a program like that must feel like. i try not to overanalyse L's backstory and dictate what he must have thought because i know that he's a complicated character and a lot of his morality/actions are up for debate but like,,,

having your guardians look for a replacement for you while you're still alive? that's like saying 'we're just waiting for you to die/mess up/become useless to us and then when that happens, we can instantly replace you with a new & improved version'

even if they were trying to do a classic 'heir' system where a person inherits L's position and this wasn't meant to send that kind of message,, the environment that was produced is still incredibly toxic. that still isn't good. they used children. malleable, vulnerable orphans. that's no coincidence.

and idk that's a little messed up to me.

i don't really know how else to word my thoughts on this situation rn? i just acknowledge that that's no way to treat a person and move on bc,, what else can i say? :'/ it's a terrible situation for everybody involved and watari (& roger) are fucked up for creating a cycle of abuse and putting L right in the centre of it.

and a prime example of how damaging this system was is B. he wasn't born hateful and vindictive and violent, something made him that way. we are all products of our environments, and his was inhumane by definition.

this post is getting long as fuck, jesus,,, okok i'll wrap this up by saying that i'll expand on B at a later date

and reminding u that this is my interpretation and you're free to disagree! we all read into characters & their relationships differently

but yeah a lot of my thoughts about them tend to be really sad so i pad it out with sweeter stuff like above!

#asks #death note #LONG POST #so so long #im so sorry #i hope this was worth the wait haha #i might redraw those 2 imgs and post them separately #we'll see :')) #v wammyposting #wammy house found family fic recs when #let them all have some comfort in that shithole #thats what i think

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

I'm having trouble writing a personality for my 'raised by g7' yuu, what kind of personality should they have? I'm kinda leaning at a manipulative type

I'm open to suggestions

🐱

Based on what I've read here's some suggestions— some may contradict each other since they're just ideas and you prolly shouldn't add ALL of them

I'm imagining them to be much more soft spoken and introverted— not shy though. They don't get nervous around people they just don't really see the point of small talk/are more quiet. Maybe when they speak is an "Everyone listens" situation depending on how rare it is for to speak without prompting.

Manipulative and Influential are two different things. (Ur smart but I feel like making this point since ppl confuse them.)

+Maybe if you go more influential you can tie in the "Everyone listens" more.

As for manipulation:

They would probably mostly speak the truth and if they give their opinion, they say so. They also never say bold faced lies maybe dancing around the subject. (Think Alhaitham/Ayato). It would be more subtle and people can just see them as being private/ weird like everyone else at school.

Or you can pull a Cater and give Yuu a "speaking face" to put on during interactions. Granted it won't be as fake.

People rarely see them put too much effort into things.

^^ like maybe they never do assignments but Ace tests. Or they never participate in PE but are peak condition for exams. (Seriously they refuse to run laps but here they are with 80+ pull ups in their record)

Maybe their grades can be purposely low but never failing.

They tend to pawn off work to others after making them think it's their issue/convincing or by simply being in the right place in the right time. They can easily hide from Crowley making him give work to others.

^^^ "Oh you're gonna talk to *sworn enemy at school 1* Azul? Oh nothing he just had some choice words about you... Ah no no it was nothing... well fine ill tell you since I'd hate for something similar to happen to me"

No one knows anything about them and aren't even sure if "Yuu" is their name. Take advantage of it. They can easily make up stories about their origin to excuse how out of touch they are. "Damn I didn't know that rule. Where I'm from its considered rude."

I can see them being very calm. Really hard for them to make them show too much emotion.

Or maybe they're creepy calm. Maybe they always have a slight smile on their face no matter how they're feeling. How creepy would it be to be attacking someone who's smile doesn't drop for a moment? Or someone smiling while crying.

Blunt and explains things easily or they're more expressive in words and maybe make metaphors for people to derive meaning from or as a method to explain things.

^^ "You see Deuce to say magic is like *that* is to say that Floyd is either fully human or fully eel at any given moment wheh it reality its much more complicated— an analysis like that is surface level, blah blah blah"

Or maybe they're like Columbo. They allow someone to speak. They give their two cents and then point out a fatal flaw in what was said or bring up something that contradicts them. (Have a meme to basically explain it)

Extremely analytical?? Like they know who would be most suited for any situation and plans around people's personalities/how they clash.

"Oh you said you couldn't feel yourself move when you got into an accident. Hey Grim remember when ruggie approached you, what was that like"

"You can tell Leonas lying cause his tail swisher left instead of right." Ect

They either underplay/are modest about their magic or they're confident. I can't see them boasting but they wouke jusy be like. "I can do that without issue." Or "Ace stop, let me do it, I can do it faster."

Idk 🤷‍♂️ hope it maybe helped

#not writing #not requests #🐱 anon #i also feel like they gotaa get along with animals #or be a lil creepy/eerie as a treate

[myrskytuuli]

please do share your thoughts on small talk 👀

I just feel like people get weirdly smug about "not doing small talk" Yes, there are wild differences between cultures about where and when small talk is expected. I hated the "how are yous" from cashiers of uk and usa, because they are not expected in my culture. But if I want to get to know a new person, or navigate unexpected social situations, now matter where I am, it just has to be done through small talk. It's just a necessary component of how human interaction works.

And yes, many people are bad at this. Being bad at small talk is fine, but trying to jump over it straight to the "good parts" usually always makes things worse. Small talk very much has a purpose, and its social calibration to scope out the feel of the person. What kind mood are they in? What kind of energy levels they are at? Where the conversation veers from there depends a lot from what you suss out during the lighter small talk topics. If someone is already tired or sad or melancholy, I would not want to bring up depressing existential topics, while a more energetic and positive tone gives me a green light to veer the conversation to more silly topics. A little bit of small talk when you approach a new peron you don't know that well can save you from very unplasant moments of saying something completely tone deaf and embarassing. It's also that if you approach a new person with a really heavy conversational topic already locked and loaded, they might feel trapped by it. It's easy to just casually slide out of small talk, if you don't want to talk to someone, but if that someone has started the conversation with "do you believe in free will" or "let me tell you about the life-cycle of the hummingbird" it is difficult to just leave without looking like a dick. That's why I would never be brave enough to jump over small talk when starting a conversation, because I'm terrified that I've locked someone into listenign to my infodumb against their will. I feel much more comfrotable sequieing from meanigless chatter about the weather into more spesific topics after I've gotten a bit of read on how the other person is responding to me.

Also, and this is just my own experience speaking, but I do feel like people who are loudly proud about being above small talk have the tendency to think that everything they say is deep and meaningful and everythign you say is shallow and meaningless. I think most people who have attended house parties have at some point met this person. The one who loudly proclaims that the world would be a better place if we all just discussed philosophy more, and then goes on a two hour monologue about their last breakup with full confidence that this is a philosophical discussion instead of a onesided ramble. And don't even get me started on all the tinder profiles with no other text expect "don't approach me with a hello, say something interesting or gtfo" Like, call me a boring normie, but I don't want to start every interaction with coming up with a new and clever quip that's measured as the only indicator on whether any conversation should be even started.

And if you are locked in a situationship with total strangers, I don't want to hear about their hobbies or philosophies. I want to hear friendly noises, that assure me that we all feel friendly towards each other, despite being stuck in an elevator. Just meaningless chatter that tells me that no one here is about to throw a random temper tantrum, while we wait to be let out.

And sometimes I just want to lightly chatter with my loved ones, even if we have nothign of really importance to say, to just exchange some idle gossip or telling about mundane things that have happened, just for the pleasure of getting to hear the voice.

I used to be firmly in the camp "I hate small talk, it's dumb" untill I met too many obnoxious people who have made it a weird point of pride to be condescending towards other people who are just trying to navigate social interactions in a completely logical way. Nobody needs to be good at small talk, or even enjoy it, but in my opinion overenthusiastic small talkers are much more preferable to the cynic who doesn't waste time with small talk.

#anon ask #personal opinions

[fioras-resolve]

I wanna talk about how developers have gone about making new games out of Minesweeper.

You know, I love Minesweeper, been playing it for over a decade, but it's the kind of game where you've probably had some problem with its design. Its core interactions are that of a puzzle game, but it's also very common to get into situations where you just have to guess. And if you guess wrong, you die instantly and have to start over. It sucks!

It's very strange design, coming out of the game's random board generation. But that randomness is how the game keeps its variety. Minesweeper is a roguelike, I'd say. It's a turn-based, grid-based, exploratory game with permadeath and random environmental generation. It fits the Berlin Interpretation better than a lot of modern games bearing the moniker. But it's also a logic game, where you spot patterns in abstract numbers and use deduction to solve logical puzzles, even if they're generated. There's a contradiction there, and the games I wanna talk about resolve it in very different ways.

DemonCrawl by Therefore Games is a fun little game that leans into the roguelike aspect of Minesweeper. It's an RPG, kind of, where you play several small Minesweeper maps while gaining items and equipment over time. One item might let you take a hit unscathed, and another might reveal the location of a mine or three. It is a more "fair" version of Minesweeper in many ways, in that it gives you a healthbar so you don't die instantly to mistakes, and that the items let you clear the board in more interesting ways. But at the same time, this RPG layer is unfair in its own right. It's very common to enter a board with negative effects, and to get items that are either unhelpful or detrimental. It improves on a lot of the roughest edges of Minesweeper, but like... Adding this whole extra layer of management and decision-making can make it feel like the mine-sweeping gameplay isn't really the point anymore. It's just the hook to another indie roguelite. An enjoyable one for sure, but not what I really want from Minesweeper. Also, DemonCrawl's method of achieving longevity is to have an account leveling system and like, materials collection. It feels like the game isn't confident in its gameplay.

On the other hand, 14 Minesweeper Variants by Artless Games is very confident in the game it's trying to be, and that game is often terrifying. It is exactly as the title says. (Well, it's more than 14 now but those are secret variants.) Tens of thousands of puzzles with different rules, most of them hard, but all of them solvable. So you might get, for example, "Every clue is either one more or one less than the actual number," or "There cannot be a straight line of three consecutive mines." These are often very intimidating, and make me groan out loud, "Oh, god." But it's a unique sense of accomplishment, figuring out these variants, and learning their intricacies. It's a kind of puzzle that I've never seen anywhere else. It leans hard into the logic game aspect of Minesweeper, by completely ditching the roguelike element. As with most Artless games, it cuts to the bone if you're not deep into puzzle games. But as someone who is, it's a lovely time. Also, Artless Games has a Discord server, where you can actually suggest new variants! Honestly, this dev is really underappreciated, give them their flowers.

The last thing I wanna talk about is actually much more straightforward than either of these. It's a Minesweeper Probability Calculator, by Merrick Huang. It's Minesweeper, but at any time you can press a button, and see the odds of any given cell being a mine. It's still Minesweeper, no modifications to the rules, but it feels more honest than Minesweeper usually is. It actually reveals how much depth there is even to guessing, as true 50/50s aren't as common as you'd expect. It also belies the truth to guessing, that there is always a chance you're just wrong. You can make an educated guess, but sometimes the cards don't fall in your favor.

Now, I could talk about plenty more. There are the various attempts to repackage Minesweeper aesthetically, including through porn. (I have two separate hentai minesweeper games and I will forever bear that curse.) There's the kind of garbage Microsoft Minesweeper you can get through the Windows Store, like they tried their best to sand off the rough edges but that just kind of makes it weak. And there are plenty of small devs making their own variants, to varying degrees of success. But I think I've done what I want to here. This is Angie Nyx, and I have a play to go to. Peace.

#Minesweeper #Demoncrawl #14 Minesweeper Variants #game design

[thefangirlofhp]

21. o’ my rage (“Think! For once!”) requested by anon

The fragility of anger left many things to be feared in its wake, and as it unfolds its poisonous branches to curl around them. For some, an easy emotion to manage, but when tempers flare and patience is lost, it leaves much delicate handling to be required because, fragile as thin ice, just as frightening in its unknown consequences–to risk the break or not step another?–anger of the powerful is veangeful, and egos are harder to deflate than they are to blow up.

An angry man was frightening for the might of his fist, an angry High Lord, on the other hand. And a stubborn, defiant shadowsinger of unknown origins and an unelaborated arsenal?

Feyre can scarcely breathe, for fear of escalating the situation where it cannot be saved. Her hands tremble as she holds them out, wracking her mind for the suitable words to say. She’s never seen her mate this enraged–it’s a different sort of anger, purely conceited and personal, and it is not something she knows how to manage.

Not with Rhys holding Azriel against the wall, fists tight on the collar of his shirt, and teeth bared in a tense snarl that warns of letting the beast within come out from his skin.

“I fucking warned you.”

Azriel’s hands are loose at his side, and his calmness is what offers Feyre’s mind a novel kind of fear to be felt. Where does it snap? Where does he put his hands on the male he swore an oath to?

“Rhys,” is what she can manage, with her dry throat, though she forces the words to come out stronger and more confident than she feels. “Taking it out on him won’t change a thing.”

“Yes it fucking will,” Rhys hisses, his chest heaving as his body comes down from the explosive anger that had splattered itself over the walls. Sometimes Feyre wishes his rage wasn’t so visceral and deadly, it’s an exhausting thing to have around. Though she never feared his temper, it’s one of those things she wishes he’d leave behind–just as easily as kindness and forgiveness comes to him, so does venomous deadly intent.

“Beron’s already declared the duel,” Feyre tries to keep a level head. “Losing your temper on Az will only make us lose.”

“WE LOSE EITHER WAY!” Rhys roars, smashing Azriel into the wall, and she flinches, clenching her hands tight in the air. His eyes are wide, hair disfigured and her only wish is that they’d received the news while Azriel was not in the vicinity. Or at least while they had Cassian around–she’s not sure she can subdue Rhys, blind with anger, or even if she wants to.

“Whatever Luc means to us, I’ll remind you that nowhere does he equal Azriel’s importance. To the court, to us, to you.”

“But that’s the thing, Feyre,” Azriel softly breathes, staring his brother down his nose with a vacant expression that only hints at a taunt. “I never was important, never a priority.”

“You’ve crossed the line,” Rhys shoots back. She just wishes he’ll step away, and keep some distance between them because she’s a hair’s width away from a heartattack. Especially when Azriel’s eyes flash and her stomach sinks.

“I fucking what?” his voice drops low.

“You crossed the line,” Rhys iterates again, slowly and loudly. “I’ve had it with your entitled bullshit. Your fucked up sense that the world somehow owes you shit. The world does not, in any version, remotely concern itself with you.”

“Haven’t you made that clear?”

“Not clear enough!” her mate shouts. “I ORDERED YOU TO STAY AWAY. I ORDERED YOU. YOU DEFIED ME.”

“Rhys, please calm down.”

“What do you want me to do?!” Her mate shouts, finally releasing Azriel to round up on her, his eyes wild with black temper.

“Calm down enough that doesn’t make me fear the possibility of you killing him,” she shoots back. “Control yourself, damn it.”

His chest heaves. His face gaunt and pale and drawn. He seems to have aged thousands of years in the span of the ten minutes.

“I resign.”

“What?!” she splutters, her mind malfunctioning as she whips around to glare at Azriel.

“I no longer wish to serve a male who wouldn’t return me the courtesy of taking my side.”

“You forget yourself,” Rhys answers.

“I’ve had it with you,” Azriel lands blow after blow and she wonders then if Rhys’s spluttering anger and haphazardly thrown words are not more merciful. Azriel lands his words knowing exactly where they will land, and how hard they will hit. “You’ve made it plain how little you care for me, and I no longer wish to torture my conscious serving you when you’re not worth the blood I spill. You started a war because of her, and somehow when I do nothing to act on the feelings I try so hard to fight, I cross the fucking line, Rhys?”

“You don’t just serve him, you serve me and the court, Azriel, remember that,” Feyre tries to placate him but how does one change a narrative brewing darkly where she cannot reach?

“I don’t care,” the shadowsinger says simply, emptily, carelessly. “I don’t care about politics. Emissaries. Dreams of a better world. A united people. Fuck it all.”

“Azriel–”

“Why would I toil and work hard when all I’m seen as is a mad dog to be unleashed on those who cross the mighty High Lord?” Azriel holds out his hands to the sides. “I expected your respect, your grace, because you had mine. No longer.”

“Over a woman?” Rhys demands, his face twisted with disgust. “You’re going to throw away centuries of work, your livelihood, because Elain, what? Smiles pretty? Is the last sister? Didn’t run away screaming at the sight of you?”

“All I ever wanted was to call myself beloved, to feel myself loved,” Azriel breathes quietly. “Everything I ever did was for you, and Cassian. And then the others. Never, once, in my forsaken life have I ever given an iota of shit about the cause you fight hard for. I’m not built that way. But I no longer care, and I have little love for you, if any, left. So I’d rather spend my time with whoever next will give a shit about me. I’d thought, falsely supported by the five hundred centuries and twenty years of brotherhood we share, that somewhere along the line you’ll think about me for once. I was wrong.”

“Think, for once in your damned life!” Rhys yells, anger touching him like a madness. “Why else would I want to stop the Duel from happening?! Don’t you dare accuse me of not giving a damn about your sorry life, or I’ll flay you alive–!”

“You want me to lose to Vanserra.”

“LISTEN TO YOURSELF!”

“Azriel, be reasonable.”

“You find it easier in you to mourn a fallen brother than one who turned away from you,” Azriel breathes in deeply. “But I won’t make it easier for you.”

“Everyone needs to calm down, immediately,” she declares. “No one is resigning, no one is flaying anyone alive, and no one is going to do something unreasonable like leaving. We need to face the facts, plain and simple. We can’t change what happened, or what didn’t happen. I don’t give a shit if Azriel’s at fault or not. Beron was waiting all along for an excuse, he doesn’t give a shit about Lucien or his bond. He wants to get to us, which he’s frighteningly succeeding at. Now both of you sit down while I call the others for a meeting to deal with the Blood Duel.”

Rhys’s jaw clenches so tight that she fears it shattering under the pressure.

Come quick, please, Rhys is a second away from killing Azriel, she speaks to every one of the Inner Circle.

“I’m leaving regardless,” Azriel shrugs.

“Like Hell,” snarls Rhys. “You fuck this mess, you clean it up.”

“Beron wants me to answer a Duel, he’ll find me himself,” Azriel makes to walk past them and leave, when the room darkens, and Rhys stops him with an arm.

“Azriel don’t provoke him,” Feyre warns. “Hold your tongue.”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“I’d like to see you try and stop me.”

“I can. I will.”

“Boys,” she pipes up.

Azriel leans close to Rhys, his face frustratingly empty and devoid of any emotion, it is purposefully triggering in its uncaring regard. “Careful now, Rhys, don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of your mate.”

“No one walks away from me,” Rhys’s voice quiets.

Azriel tilts his head a little, calculatingly regarding him with those dead, dull eyes. “I am.”

“You disobeyed me.”

“Rhys–”

“You persistently defy your High Lord. You refuse to follow his orders. You insult both him and the High Lady. Azriel of Ilyria–”

“Rhys shut up–!”

“As High Lord of the Night Court, I charge you with treason–”

“Rhysand!”

“And conspiring against the crown, disobeying orders, and foresaking your oath. I sentence you an eternity in the Prison.”

She thinks, sometime later, that not even Azriel had anticipated an outcome as that, and she wonders if Rhys himself had any idea what he was doing when his temper got the better of him. Feyre sometimes wonders if she should have done something to stop it, but Azriel himself was aggravating in his coldness, and Rhys gets mad with worry and fear when his family is on the line which what was happening, Azriel himself being family and all.

But to watch Rhys’s magic coil around Azriel’s limbs and elbows, stifle the blue glow of his siphons, and tug him into a blackness of space at his back which swallows him whole, and takes him away–it tattoos itself in Feyre’s memory, mostly the broken look finally visible on Azriel’s face as family imprisons him in yet another cell, one with real monsters he’s locked away himself. Only this is permanent, and not even Rhys can bring him out. She doesn’t think about the fact, heartbreaking, that even in anger, Azriel had not retaliated or counteracted Rhys’s magic, or put up a fight, because the chance of harming him stopped him. She doesn’t think.

Cassian barges in too late. Amren runs in too late. Everyone comes too late.

“What happened?” Cassian heaves.

It’s all Feyre can do, sink to her knees on the floor, staring wide-eyed at the spot Azriel stood a second ago.

#rhysand #azriel #feyre pov #in which i choose violence today #i concede the outcome is highly unlikely but it’s not called fiction for nothing #acotar

[howtofightwrite]

How feasible would it be for a character to have a hair whip, as in a long braid with something like a morningstar at the end? There's def some leeway on my end where I could go "their spine is magically augmented to keep this from Literally Killing Them and causing brain damage" but I'd love a more informed opinion on it

I'm going to go with, “no.” “How feasible?” “No.”

The strain on the spine is something I'd worry about, though that's a relatively minor concern. The first three things that come to mind are:

How do you sit down? This is a situation where if your character is knocked on their back, there's a real chance their weapon would end up between them and their spine. Landing on a morning star does not sound like a good time, even if they're wearing armor. Especially if this happens after they're knocked off a horse, a roof, a table, or basically anything else above floor level.

Second, if their weapon gets stuck, or an enemy catches their hair, their foe now has (limited) control over their head. This is a very bad thing.

Third, they need to break eye contact to attack, and because they're whipping their head around, it's going to leave them vulnerable for an extended period where they cannot watch what their foe is doing.

The more I think about this, the more problems I start to see.

If their hair-flail is ever cut, that's it, they'd need to grow out their hair before they could use it again. This is a limitation for a lot of biological weapons.

Of course, actually hanging and swinging heavy objects from your hair would be somewhat unpleasant. It's likely to not be as bad as having your hair pulled, since the flail would probably be mounted on a tight braid or ponytail, but it would still be jerking your scalp around.

It's also worth remembering that, in order to do this, your character would need to have very long hair. Probably, at least, waist length, if not longer.

I'm honestly not sure how great the risk of a self-inflicted concussion would be from using this. Because hair doesn't really transmit the shock of impact back to the scalp.

Since you brought up magic, there are characters who use their enchanted hair as a weapon (I'm failing to remember any specific examples off-hand, but the motif does exist.) In that case, the hair is often semi-autonomous, striking and reacting under its own power. It's a peculiar bit of fantasy, but it's an option, and it can bypass some of the issues I mentioned above. Critically that the hair will be much harder to capture, as it remains active, and may even restrain someone dumb enough to try to grab it. It won't force the character to look away from their foe as they whip their head around to generate momentum, and, ironically, it would be easier to avoid sitting or falling on their hair if they have fine control over it.

Generally speaking, weaving weapons into your hair is a pretty bad idea, with the specific exception of using your hair to conceal weapons. That's a slightly weird concept, but, things like a stiletto disguised as a hairpin, is a legitimate, potential, assassination tool. (Somewhat awkwardly, stiletto hairpins are a real hairpin style, and not a weapon, so it's a little harder to assess the the history, but any sturdy hairpin can be used as a weapon if needed, so I'm fairly confident in saying a character could credibly have a hairpin intended as a disposable assassination tool.)

As for something larger, you'd be playing for unrealistic absurdity, which may align with your goals. For example: A character who casually whips a katana out of her hair, would be pretty goofy, but it would solidly establish the kind of story you'd be trying to tell.

Also, it's probably important for me to point out, if you're going toward the fantastic end of the spectrum, this is a fantasy that works better in visual media, so comics, games, animation, and film. It can be done in prose, but it will be considerably more difficult.

So, like I said at the beginning: “How feasible?” “No.” This is a specific kind of fantasy that really only works if you commit to the extreme. Trying to make it, “grounded,” or dial back the insanity, is very likely to be underwhelming. I guess an alternate answer would be, “How feasible?” “Only if you go big.”

-Starke

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#Starke Answers #writing advice #writing reference #writing tips #hair whip

[whumpfish]

Do you have a favorite/much loved whump movie/tv show/book/etc?

Aaaaaaaaa

Okay, I am rewatching Invisible now (basically the Japanese version of The Blacklist) and it has some of my favorite kinds of whump in it:

The Feral Wolf With A Heart Of Gold: that one character who will go to absolutely any lengths for their friends and their values, who will (and does) endure any type or level of whump. The character who, if they think the situation warrants it, will (and does), inflict... not any type of whump, but a significant level of whump nonetheless... on anyone who poses a threat to those friends and values, or stands in the way of their efforts to save those things if they are in jeopardy.

A very specific team whump trope that I die for every time, any time: when a whumper has a weapon trained on team member A and one on a hostage/innocent, and demands that B (or the rest of the team as a unit) choose which one to save, because the other will be killed once the choice is made. And B/the team is horrified and anguished and wavering and can't decide or think of a way to save them both--and then A makes the decision for them. That unspoken communication, that look of an entire life's worth of caring like they're paying up their balance before they leave and that small, serene smile of permission, just... 💯💯💯

So much electric shock whump that even the characters comment on its frequency. And accurate portrayals of getting up after taking a significant charge, where they stumble and trip and fall several times because the nerves are still scrambled and their limbs don't work quite right at first. A lot of times, it's just bzz-plop-boingg!! and they're off. It's so rare to see the floundering, and it's such good whump.

Poison whump, complete with being strapped into a chair while it's administered, fraught moments when ally/ies demand antidotes with panic in their voices

Nail guns! I can't believe I had to add this in an edit. This show was my introduction to nail gun whump, and I can say with confidence that I am hooked for life

Multiple kidnap/forced to watch/forced to choose moments, including one whumper who puts people in a poor man's Saw traps

Escapes both successful and failed, abandonment, grief/emotional whump, human shield whump, PTSD, raging vendettas.... Even on this, my 3rd watch, I'm in awe of how much top shelf whump they crammed into just 10 episodes!

My favorite movie for whump is Dario Argento's Opera. By far and away the best forced to watch I've ever seen (needles taped to the face to hold her eyes open and make sure she can't squeeze them shut to block out the horror the whumper wants her to witness,) just... augh I love it so much!

I feel like The X-Files has a lot of good whump, too. Lots of good restraints of various types and degrees, The X-Files was awesome at restraints. (Whumpee bound to a makeshift table with chicken wire? Yes, please!)

Books, I like Darren Shan's Cirque du Freak series and the prequel Saga of Larten Crepsley. Vampires, freak shows, hedge witches, eldritch beings with apocalypse fetishes, and all the physical and emotional whump that implies (do not get attached to innocent bystanders.) Also the Aubrey/Maturin series by Patrick O'Brian. Sailing ship whump, abduction, fever and adjacent illnesses, it's 20.5 novels long, just about anything you want within the late 1700/early 1800s, it's there.

I do have another favorite whump series but the Scorpion quartet is 18+ so I'll make a post on @femalewhumper701 later for those old enough who are interested. (It's actually where the blog name comes from >.>)

Thank you for the ask!!

@stalecabbage

#ask answered #whump #my faves #invisible (2022) #the x files #aubreyad #whump community #whump scenario #whump tropes #whumpee #whumpblr #whump ask

[coldnessinheart]

Theodore Nott comforts Slytherin girl

Slytherin was famous for its impeccability. With his cunning and absolute self-confidence. What can we say about the significance of purity of blood. This was the most important difference between the Slytherins and all the other students from other faculties - only purebred wizards and witches could get into the serpentine faculty. And so it was almost always like that. But times change, people change and new views on life and a new vision of the world appear.

Y/N has never regretted being a half-blood. Even when she noticed the contemptuous or dissatisfied looks of students from her own faculty. Even when her mother who was a witch herself found out that her daughter was Slytherin (her beloved mother studied at Ravenclaw, so her daughter's dream to enter the same faculty was quite obvious).

The manifestation of feelings in public was not typical of Slytherins. All this was well hidden behind a veil of sarcastic smirks, secret glances and skillful hints. But sometimes even the proud students of this faculty allowed themselves such insolence - they exuded this spicy smell of hatred and anger towards others, not even hiding behind their friends, but throwing all the quips in the face of the enemy or just the competitor.

Y/n was in a similar situation. And it was impossible to call it pleasant. The value of blood was still second to none, according to some of the Slytherin students. And Felicia Shine was one of them. Seeing Y/N, she slowly lifted her chin and nodded in her direction. A few minutes before, she was chatting with her friends in the Astronomy class with such a haughty look, as if she was the most important person here. The classroom was half empty, so no one was really going to intervene if something happened.

- Y/N, honey, you forgot to wipe the stain off your robes again… ah, sorry, dirty blood can’t be washed off just like that, you were just unlucky to be born like that.

Felicia broke into a slight arrogant smile, glancing at Y/N's blushing face, who had a small blood stain left on her robe sleeve after a difficult Care of Magical Creatures lesson where she had to deal with a mini version of one of the most dangerous dragons - the Hungarian Horntail. A bunch of girl friends, running after Felicia, giggled in unison. The young man with dark curly hair sitting at the last desk frowned, but remained out of the field of this "conversation". He slowly twisted in his hands a small flask with a cloudy liquid, more like mud from a swamp. The wand lay on his desk unnecessarily. Y/N, deciding to ignore another taunt from the Slytherin girl, sat down at her desk and quickly cast a cleansing spell, after which the speck immediately disappeared. Felicia frowned, but didn't show it and immediately decided to act even more decisively. Standing up abruptly, she pointed her wand at Y/N.

- Y/N, I told you, dirty blood is not easy to clean up.

The spoken words alerted Y/N, who did not even have time to put up a defense, but it seemed as if nothing had happened. Only her head was spinning from a sharp clouding of consciousness. And then she realized what spell the nasty Slytherin student had decided to test on her. Blood gushed out of Y/N's nose, so much so that the robe got wet almost instantly, and the milk-colored blouse under the robe began to soak in red. Staggering, Y/N tried something to stop the flow of blood, but only managed to squeeze out an awkward hum.

And from the back of the desk, anxious brown eyes watched her. The counter spell, after some delay, was cast almost silently without any use of the wand, which testified to the high level of the young wizard. Felicia turned to the young man just as sharply.

- Theo, you're ruining all the fun! Again you pry where you were not asked.

Felicia pouted, but instantly her face lit up.

- Okay, I forgive you, you probably wanted to play a joke on this half-breed one yourself.

Nott stepped forward, hid his anxiety for another young girl behind a charming smirk, and said:

- Felicia, you have no idea how wrong you are. Let's start with the fact that people usually have scarlet blood. Dirty, or, as I would put it, black, it happens when it is polluted, which, for a moment, happens to all people. Such blood usually travels through the veins, and then clears itself. Now let's turn to noble blood, or as you say - pure blood. Well, such a phenomenon really exists, this is also the name of blue blood, which usually flows in the veins of octopuses, spiders, crayfish and scorpions. Do you consider yourself one of those species, Felicia? Or do you have very thin skin that shows blue veins?

Some of the interested students glanced at Felicia's wrists, which looked normal and did not acquire a blue look at all during this time. But the face of the Slytherin young girl became covered with red spots, and her lips trembled slightly.

- I think this conversation can be ended. If you want to read about the colour of blood among your relatives, go to the library, Madam Pince will be happy to help you.

Theo, grinning his most charismatic smile, was already heading towards Y/N. Grabbing her by the arm, he quickly led her out of the classroom into the corridor and dragged her to a nook between the pillars in the wall. There you could hide from prying eyes.

Y/N was doing well all this time: after suffering a decent amount of blood loss in such a short time, she was still on her feet, and even her mind was not clouded.

- Are you okay? Nott asked deliberately cheerfully, holding Y/N by the shoulders.

- Yes, I seem to be fine, - Y/N said in a hoarse voice.

- You shouldn't let her do this.

It was only now that Y/N saw how angry Theodore was. His milk chocolate eyes now radiated real distaste, but not for her. Seeing that the Slytherin girl was looking at him, his gaze changed dramatically, and he even somehow became embarrassed and cooled down. He gently stroked her cheek and said softly:

- You have to take care of yourself next time. Otherwise, she will continue this bullying. Show her that you didn't end up in Slytherin for nothing - the faculty of cunning and arrogant snakes.

Theo's eyes sparkled with laughter. And her lips stretched into a smile.

- Well, now I'll show you exactly how to stop it.

Theo glanced cheerfully at his watch and after a couple of moments nodded and said, "Now." Immediately after that, a stunned Y/N, starting to fall into unconsciousness, heard Felicia scream, and then saw her in all her glory. Swamp-colored mucus spread all over her skin, starting at her hands, slowly drifting up her forearms, soaking inward. Theo twirled the empty bottle with the dark liquid that had previously been there in his hands and grinned charmingly.

- I just took the mucus of magic snails for testing, I heard that the skin becomes so elastic after it! Perhaps I could overdo it with the quantity ... although it looks flawless to me.

Y/N began to chuckle softly, but the loss of blood still made itself felt, and the girl somehow suddenly went limp in Theo's arms, who was still holding her by the shoulders. The young man noticed the condition of the girl and, without wasting a second, picked her up and hurriedly carried her to the hospital wing, from time to time looking at her pale cheeks and listening to her labored breathing. However, he had no doubt that Madam Pomfrey would easily heal the girl he was going to take to Hogsmeade next Saturday.

The gif is not mine.

Your coldnessinheart, xoxo

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