When an injured character is too weak and exhausted to even scream so their pained noises come out as little mewls and whimpers and whines; in too much agony to hold them back but scarce able to communicate it except though these animalistic wounded sounds; so lost in a haze of injury and pain the specific noises are inarticulate and involuntary.
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this never fails to take me out. like jesus fucking christ kojima did you really have to word it that way 😂
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there are, of course, so many reasons to love gideon as a person. but her taking a moment to -- in the middle of a life or death situation -- mentally give 'a private prayer of thanksgiving for service rendered' to her rapier and knuckleknives as she's dropping them even though they've all this time kept her from her beloved longsword that she's finally about to pick up again... is one of the Most reasons for me personally
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is machete an albino dog? if so.. does he have poor vision like some albino animals do?
Yes, actually! His vision isn't quite as bad as it could potentially be considering his condition, but he's definitely at least nearsighted enough that he'd benefit from wearing glasses. He has trouble seeing distant objects clearly and reading in particular gets challenging if the text is small enough and/or farther than, say, an arm's length away. He tends to hold items very close to his face when he's inspecting them, especially if he's not actively paying attention to how he looks at that moment.
On top of that his eyes are highly sensitive to bright lights. Direct midday sun gives him the worst headaches very swiftly. If he has any say in it, he prefers to go out on overcast days, early mornings and evenings.
He probably has a pair of custom spectacles ready for those occasions when he absolutely can't manage without them, but he's reluctant to keep them on his person consistently (let alone be seen with them). His body keeps finding new ways to let him down and to him, surrendering to wearing glasses would be like admitting another defeat. So he squints and fumbles and does his best to hide the fact he can't see that well. He has a lot of health anxieties and he's worried about the possibility of his vision weakening further and potentially preventing him from doing his job, after all most of it is centered around reading and writing. It's the one thing he enjoys, is very good at, and that makes him feel useful and needed.
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When staying quiet and undiscovered is imperative but a character is too out of it to realise the situation or be able to constrain themselves:
Whether overcome by unendurable pain so they can't help but moan; gritting their teeth against a scream that forces its way past clenched lips while enduring painful wound-tending; too concussed or drugged to retain awareness of the need for stealth despite frequent reminders; or so lost in feverish delirium they mumble and whimper and cry out at things that aren't even there;
Forcing their companions to desperately try to quiet them, clapping a hand over their mouth, pressing their face to their chest and muffling their cries against their shirt, frantically shushing and soothing them with hands made clumsy by panic, whispering urgently into their ear in a fervent attempt to calm them,
Everyone heart-in-mouth at the character's condition, the companions' helplessness, the possibility of discovery and its consequences, and the sheer tense worry of the situation.
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NO BECAUSE LET ME TELL YOU WHY THIS HURTS ME.
lo’ak feels less than. neglected. misunderstood and unloved. he does not feel seen, which is the most important thing, the deepest form of connection, to the na’vi. he tries so hard to be what his father wants, what he sees neteyam get praised for being.
a warrior. a protector. a fighter.
and who’s the mightiest warrior around?
Toruk Makto. His dad.
so he goes around to the seasoned warriors and the elders of his clan, asking for stories of Toruk Makto, specifically how he dressed. and the morning before the raid, away from his family’s eyes, he paints on pigment.
he wears his fathers image with pride, flying straight into a battle like a warrior.
and he stands in front of his father, upset but understanding in some way. he’s apologetic, but he doesn’t regret his decoration.
that is, until Jake says
get that crap off your face.
because when jake looks his son in the face after the explosion, eyes unfocused and body trembling, he doesn’t see a warrior.
he sees a soldier of war, battered and bloody.
and his fourteen year old son should not be celebrating that.
he sees himself in the worst way possible. no elder tells the story of those that died in the War.
Trudy. Grace. Tsu’tey. Eytukan.
they sing the songs of their lives, sure. but their deaths are never the focus.
when jake sees his son, decorated as he was, he sees heroic ignorance. he sees a child playing war.
he sees crap.
and jake is so tired of war, so tired of fighting. but he misses the point of lo’ak’s efforts.
look at me, father. do you see me?
and jake, terrified and fraying at the edges after seeing his sons in the middle of an aerial attack, says
get that crap off your face.
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I did a silly thing.
My disassociated ass didn't notice my wrist was subluxated. I've just been sitting here trying to type like, "wow, I don't seem to be making much progress today. Everything seems to be slowing me down."
That would be why.
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