#that's harder to articulate concretely...

[babacontainsmultitudes]

So I made this post a little while ago regarding dndads characters and the tma entities and didn't really include any explanations cause that would have been very very long for a somewhat niche post. But, if you'll humor me, I feel compelled to make the quickest case for Vast! Taylor cause I'm thinking about him lol, and specifically without even getting into personality traits, I just want to point to Taylor's track record and note that he (off the top of my head):

Climbed to the top of the tallest tree he could find and shot a clone of himself off of it

Had to be physically held back from jumping off the highest floor of a twelve story building

Did a high-dive into an ocean of paper and abandoned Normal in said ocean of paper.

Had the chance to at least partially spare Scary from the damage of a very high fall. Didn't.

Submitting this as evidence to the court, people of the jury thank you for your time.

#dndads #taylor swift dndads #posting this at the weirdest time but that's fine I just needed to ramble about this lol #but I like Eye! and Hunt! Taylor too those make sense to me #I'm just saying that if there's someone who would willingly yeet them-self into the void it'd be him (...And Hermie that one time but-) #it's also a personality thing though #that's harder to articulate concretely... #but idk he's *resilient* the way a lot of the vast avatars tend to be like he just moves forward lol #life is long after all #he's got Crew's determination... and Fairchild's... w-wealth and cane lmao #I think there's definitely something to be said about all the space stuff I just can't put a proper finger on it atm #even the fucking showering outside in the rain thing hahaha he's a ranger! he likes the great outdoors! the wide open spaces! #well was a ranger but you know what I mean lol

[gaogaigoatgrrl]

i hope that in the wake of predstrogen/predesterone's back-to-back deletion we don't forget about the ongoing building wave of seemingly organic transmisogyny from the userbase leading up to it, some of which may or may not have been the result of terf psyops but all of which certainly wouldn't have been possible without the eager participation of a significant proportion of users, including but probably not limited to:

the entire concept of transandrophobia (if this offends you, think long and hard about why you want so badly for it to be real)

the ongoing backlash against the terms tme and tma (if they offend you, think long and hard about why they might have practical value to trans women and people with similar social positionality)

the ongoing trend of trans women's blogs getting flagged on the flimsiest of pretenses and generally receiving far more scrutiny for "adult content" than anyone else's

the seeming unironic revival of "baeddel" as a slur for outspoken trans women, on the basis of a long-dead clique that, ironically enough, self-applied the long-dead (and tbf, etymologically questionable) slur from the middle ages to reclaim it

the entire "trans women should be fucking trans men instead of complaining about transmisogyny" genre of post

the backlash when tgirls finally started calling out the aforementioned bullshit

the copypasted anons sent to several trans women (many of whom were lesbians) sexually harassing them and threatening corrective rape for calling out the aforementioned bullshit

the backlash when tgirls called the aforementioned bullshit sexual harassment

the expansion of flexible queer label use (which to be clear, i am generally all for) to include "afab trans women", muddying the waters and making transmisogyny harder to articulate

the backlash when tgirls started calling out the aforementioned bullshit

the aita incident in which a trans woman described a cis woman claiming to be a trans woman in a group chat and giving other trans women terrible medical advice based on no actual qualifications or experience, and got a huge backlash for warning them about the aforementioned bullshit despite the stakes of, you know, following terrible medical advice

everything from the sixth point onward happened within the past... week? two weeks? my sense of time is a bit fuzzy. who knows what the rest of this week has in store?

people on this website are so incredibly hostile to trans women even being able to name our own oppression, let alone resist it in any concrete way. and i know it's not just this website. don't you get tired of the crab bucket bullshit? holy fucking shit.

like, i've been lucky, i've overwhelmingly managed to dodge it (probably on account of frankly being a pretty boring and inconsistent poster). this time last year, i was actually bored that i didn't have anons in my inbox to argue with. but i've seen it happen to so many other women now, it's absurd. even if it never hits you personally, you can never shake the awareness that it's happening to so many of the cool girls on here, people you like and whose posts you laugh at and who you look up to. they just kinda seem to drop like flies over time. don't you get tired?

[professorspork]

Hey, a little while ago, you reblogged that post about AI learning when people insert fics into AI text generators, and I wanted to offer good news and bad news: the good news is that AI learning models mostly don’t work like this. The publicly accessible text generator isn’t the whole learning model, it’s a single machine that the learning model generated. It won’t get fed directly back into the AI.

The BAD news is that there’s not really anything stopping them from saving that information separately to use later, and (much worse) anything that’s publicly available has probably already been scraped and saved. The good-in-this-context-but-depressing-overall news is that these models operate on the scale of billions of words, so, like. Idk. Individual fics ending up in a database mostly isn’t going to matter. That’s part of why the data-scraping isn’t something devs think about, ethically. This info is a paraphrase of another post I’ve seen going around saying the same thing, but I can personally corroborate it; before AI was a “crypto people hate when artists can earn a living” thing, I took some college courses on it and followed blogs about AI stuff for years. The last year or two of AI news has been really shitty :P It’s been really cool to me for a long time, but it is now clear that it’s even-more-vulnerable-than-usual to “capitalism uses every tool for oppression first” Knowing how it works is exhausting because anti-AI people are sometimes not all that much more accurate about how it actually works than the fervently pro-AI “I think chat-gpt is a person and human-generated art is dead” people, and then both of them skip talking about the more concrete problems like the “chat-gpt is propped up by slave labor” stuff.

I really appreciated this series of asks and wanted to make it available for all!

I think what we run into here is where like. A rhetorical device to invoke a sense of stakes and a bit of a guilt trip ("this is plagiarism because it feeds the AI" and its many permutations) can run up against misinformation (it's not literally becoming part of the AI's knowledge base, though as you noted it certainly COULD.) Because like

Where that post was coming from was someone being like "but why shouldn't I do this?" and the answerer resorting to "because it takes my work away from me" and this is still true in like, the rules of community and creativity if not necessarily in the hard lines of code. it's harder to articulate "this makes me uncomfortable because it's violated my ineffable sense of mutual belonging with and ownership of my own work, which I already felt on shaky ground on because it's fanwork but still FEEL with my WHOLE HEART" than it is to say "this concretely makes my words fuel for the machine" which I think people grok as a more sort of understandable breach of that social contract.

Which is why I like this post a lot because it gets at the WHY of why this is so perturbing and violating and isolating

Fandom was never meant to be a solo endeavor! when I write fic and put it out into the world, it's like echolocation. the words I put out are only half of what gives it shape and meaning to me-- the other half is the sound of it reverberating back to me as it bounces off the people it hits by way of comments, tags in reblogs, and DMs and they tell me their reactions and interpretations. that's what makes it a complete picture and not just screaming into the void.

to be removed from that process at all is a heartbreak to me; to have my words taken without my consent is insulting and misses the point and just. ultimately makes all of us that much more alone. which is to say that it's factually correct to say individual fics ending up in a database won't matter because it's probably already been scraped anyway because that's true for the AI and for the data. but individual fics DO matter insofar as like, these are choices people are making about what this hobby is and means and why they like it and what they think it's for and how they enjoy it, on a communal and social level, and THAT matters to me a great deal, in the same way that like, people now might end up getting videoed for a tiktok without their consent or whatever. it's about the erosion of privacy and respect.

but also yeah ChatGPT also runs thanks to exploited and underpaid workers, consumes horrific amounts of water in a time of increasing drought crisis and emits tons of carbon to boot.

[credince--writes]

Beth

JITTERSVERSE

AO3

A/N: Merry Christmas.

“I can continue this for as long as needed.” The man stated- Ghost would simply refer to him as Goon.

The one behind him?

That was Twit.

The third was Lopez, sauntering into the room with a disinterested, maybe annoyed look on his face as he approached. His boots were white, with gold stitched detailing, stiff pants, and a suit jacket on top of his button-up. He shuffled the jacket off of his shoulders, Twit quickly scampering over to him to take the coat and tuck the fabric away somewhere safe.

Soap’s hands were bound, all he could do from his position was hold his head up and stare at Ghost, the men in front of him trying to save his energy. Keep his senses alert. It was a lot harder to escape when you were unconscious. 

Lopez’s presence lingered, taking small but articulated steps closer and closer to Ghost. From this angle, he couldn’t exactly tell what the man was looking at. At one point or another, they’d drug a chair in, the two men fighting against the trashes of Ghost’s body until they were able to secure him to the metal chair scraping against the cold concrete floors.

He was used to having the hard shell of the mask in front of him. A safety net in a way- or a shield. The plastic shields him, creating a dark visage that would strike fear into the poor sods who have been graced with the misfortune of being in his warpath. 

It is what made him the Ghost. 

A feared creature. 

You can not lose a Ghost.

You can not kill a Ghost.

You can not find a Ghost.

But without the mask?

Maybe, that just means he is just a man.

This wasn’t his first hostage situation, where he landed up in a situation like this, far from it. But there was something different that stunk, rancid, in his nose as he tensed his muscles in anticipation of a strike to the body from the Goon.

He was betrayed.

But it wasn’t like Graves.

Yea, Graves had worked with them, become bonded with them to some degree- forming some layers of trust.

“Jitters was the rat. She escaped, MIA.”

Maybe he was dead, this was just some twisted form of Hell he would endure, maybe a nightmare. But it couldn’t be a nightmare, he knew that. The feeling of his blood pounding in his ears, the scar on the lower left of his abdomen right above his hip ached like it did when it was humid outside- ready to rain. The ache in the joints of his fingers, and the pain. Oh, the pain. The pain that blossomed all around him, the hunger. The gnawing feeling of his gut as he tried to keep his wits.

He’d been hurt worse.

He’d survived worse.

Hungrier, 

More deprived of sleep.

But this?

He’d sworn to steel himself from any potential harm, not let anyone close enough to drive a spike through his hard as if he were some kind of vampire. His only weakness- to be struck through the heart. 

Maybe it was true.

It was a feeling, he’d been told. To know when you would die. Your body would accept it before your brain did- sometimes the other way around. But your body would communicate, and your brain would scream. Soul aching in longing of potential to finally move on to find some kind of solace in whatever afterlife there may or may not be. 

Standing in front of himself, 

Simon Riley.

He was but a man, was he not? Clutched in his hand he would look down, holding the hard, damaged plastic of the mask before glancing back up to stare at himself. Only not to find it, to find a void- the cold, emptiness of longing of something.

 But too long for something to come is better than to mourn for the loss of something you’d once had.

Instead of a void, he was now sat in a dingy little flat. Nothing on the walls, a single chair tucked up next to a weak-legged table in the kitchen. Everything was neat and orderly, the corners of cabinets worn with the exact location he would open them from. No plants, no decor, no photos.

No Mirrors.

To look into the mirror sometimes he would look directly into the eyes of what he’d mourned long, long ago.

But then that warmth came.

A pestering, irritating warmth.

His name was John MacTavish.

At first? He snuffed out the spark, refusing to allow the potential of any harm to come to him. A long, drawn-out battle as if he were defending his safe space from a wildfire, the air full of propane. Any spark coming nearby would be a certain death sentence.

It took time.

Patience.

More than he knew a human could have within them.

Anger, and a lot of it.

But soon enough he found himself holding a box with a small little flame, the flame burning strong and bright, even if it were small. A strong base under the fire that gave it the foundation to prosper.

And he protected it as if it were his only goal in life. Even if it meant isolating himself in that little dingy flat, cowering in a corner while holding the flame to his chest in hopes of feeling the heat radiate into his chest. Sometimes, he would even throw the flame back, fearing the potential of relying on its heat, horrified of the potential he would freeze without its warmth. A punishment, in a way. To of once lived in the cold, too worked like a dog to tend the fire, bring in the wood, stoke it, care for it, only for it to be snuffed out too soon. Left in the cold once more.

To toil again, would it mean to result in the same fate as Sisyphus? To always fight to reach the top, only to end once again at the bottom in pain?

But then there was that ember, almost suffocated out that drifted into his peripheral one day. Not one to sit idle on potential threats, no matter how small he inspected the ember. Deeming it no threat. But as he remained in close proximity the ember burned its surroundings, spreading across the landscape and erupting into a fire of its own. Without any tending- without any toil. So he approached it, silently, as if to sneak up on it. Exchanging a hand and placing fuel on the fire and watching what would happen.

God, the heat that it created was beautiful.

And it scared him.

As if he were a little boy again.

But his little flat was warm already- the heat comforting. He’d ignore the fire, hoping it would die out on its own. So he protected in in the best way he could, building up walls around it and refusing to allow it to spread.

It didn’t.

Maybe it was all a guise of luring the man into a sense of safety, to not fear the cold.

But he blinked-

And it was gone.

There was no fire, at least not anymore.

He saw it, with the cold look in her eyes as he stared at her that day.

“Why? Or you’ll have me benched?” She spat back, the volume of her voice rising.

“You an I both know that you couldn’t handle it out there.” His hisses out, body going surprisingly stiff.

“Maybe it’s because you fucking killed children?” She laughs, throwing her hands up and hopping off of the couch. “Last I remember I was the stable one.”

“You do not belong on the field.” He states again.

“And maybe you don’t either, remember, in the room, oh who was it? Was it Be-”

The cold look in her eyes.

The fire was gone.

And his heart ached and brain screamed because the worst of it all was he wasn’t ready to go back into the cold. 

When you leave the heater running in your flat, and the entire space- the bathroom even behind shut doors becomes too hot you’ll cut off the source of the heat. 

Doesn’t mean the heat leaves immediately.

He was sitting in that dingy little flat clinging to any remnants of heat while it still drifted through the air.

The feeling of Lopez’s boot kicking him in the chest, sending him tilting backwards and gliding with the floor. His head rolled to the side, staring at the white boots in front of him. The shiny white leather tainted with a smear of blood across the toe.

The two men picked the chair up again, as he was questioned more and more.

His refusal to speak was consistent.

“I know who you are.” Lopez laughs. “Thinking you could catch me, detain me, stop me? Do you know who I am? I am the fucking king!”

Silence.

“Tell me…” He voice droned. He stared.

He didn’t care to listen primarily because he knew he would keep his mouth shut.

A strike lashed out, coming into contact with that soft spot where the highest part of his ribs gave way to meet with his abdomen. Ghost’s chest heaved, trying to keep up with his body’s demand for oxygen.

Just keep breathing.

Just keep breathing.

“If you don’t want to talk then I will fucking blow you’re friends brains out.” He hisses, grabbing Soap by his hair and lifting his limp body up, stuffing the barrel of the gun into his mouth. 

He would not speak.

This would no be in vein.

He squeezed his eyes shoot, hands clenching as he refused to even look at the pitiful way Soap’s eyes flashed open, looking at him in agreement to not speak. They would not break, they would die here regardless. It would not be for nothing.

The crackle of the radio on his hip broke his train of thought.

“Hello, Mister Lopez.”

Jitters?

Ghost’s eyes trailed up, watching as Lopez’s body stiffened before looking to the two men who fed him a confused look in response. He stepped back, dropping Soap onto the ground as he strode back a foot or so before pulling he radio off of his hip and lifting it to his mouth.

Soap’s lead lolled over, looking up at him as if questioning the integrity of what they both heard. As if it had been a hallucination, it couldn’t of been. Was she here?

She sold them out?

“Who the fuck is this?” He snarled into the radio.

“You know.” The radio paused, the sound of the audio crackling as the feed was cut off. “It’s rather rude to blow off a meeting.”

Meeting?

She was meeting with him?

“I have no meeting with you.” He said. He lowered his hand, yelling to the two men behind him who were scrambling to grab there weapons and stand at attention.

“You do, and your fifteen minutes late actually.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are talking too? Huh? Do you not know who I am?”

“Your name is Farhad Lopez. You primarily make your money from drug operations but have decided to branch out into the realm of the internet to spread you influences of sex trafficing. You’re also an incredibly dull man who enjoys the subtle pleasures of large gaudy ash trays. You’re wearing a pair of hideous boots with slacks, taking off that cute little coat jacket of yours really emphasises the weight you carry.”

Lopez’s body language falters for a moment, looking around and yelling something in Spanish. The men begin charging for the door.

“Those two men need to stay put, or there will be consequences.” Jitters spoke calmly into the radio.

“Where are you!” He yells, not into the radio.

“Everywhere.” The radio crackles.

Lopez’s eyes are wide, and he circles the room, looking to the doorways and back to the men before lunging and kicking Soap with all of his might. “You knew about this! Huh? Think your friends can save you? You’re as good as dead!”

“I’m still waiting on my meeting, Lopez.” She speaks into the radio.

“I have no meeting with you.”

“Ah, I’m filling in for Antonio.”

“Where is my boy?”

There was a pause.

“Dead. He’s right next to me, actually.”

“I am going to gut you, hang you from the power lines and watch you rot.” He spits into the radio.

“I think we should have a conversation.” She replies. “I have some information that would be very useful to you about the two men in front of you right now, actually.”

His head snaps towards Ghost. “And what kind of information would that be?”

“That if they are harmed from this point on in any way. Any chance of that information is useless.”

“Where are you?”

“Where am I? I am at our meeting, in your office.”

He waves his hand at the two men, who then charge out of the door towards his office. He follows shortly after, allowing the door to slam shut leaving them alone.

Ghosts eyes dared to glance down to meet Soaps. Muscles in his shoulders straining as his chest continued to heave trying to keep the panic flooding through his senses at bay. She was here. Betraying them- actively. In front of his eyes. He didn’t want to think that it was possible- that this could ever happen.

“That if they are harmed from this point on in any way. Any chance of that information is useless.”

What?

Her eyes felt heavy, standing in front of the window staring down at the busy hands of the workers below her. Her hand clutched onto the radio as if it were a lifeline. She was sure that if she was bigger, stronger, that the detah grip she had on the little black plastic would shatter into tiny little bits.

She was alone in a room, with two corpses. 

She was alone in a room, pondering her life choices.

Could she maintain the facade?

Her stomach growled.

Her body ached.

She didn’t dare keep her eyes closed for anything longer than a moment because she knew that she would fall asleep.

But she needed to do this.

To save them.

Or at least try.

Insert herself to be a hero of a story that she was never meant to be in. To be discarded and tosses aside, picked up by the wind and to be thrown right back into the bowels of the lines. To be a hero would mean to be brave.

She couldn’t say she felt brave.

She couldn’t say she felt anything at all really.

It was all just a dull throb.

Two frantic knocks on the bolted door behind her caught her attention, in one hand, she held a radio, in the other hand she held a gun. Walking over slowy, she unlocked the door to stare down the two men in front of her, nodding, they turned and quickly ushered into the room, one grabbing her and reaching the gun stuffing it into his own waistband and shoving her back. She lifted her hands up as she moved back over by the window waiting for Lopez to grace her with his presence.

“You.” He paused for a moment, stalking forward and grabbing her by her shirt. “You know them. You were there.”

She glanced down at his hand on her shirt, decicing not to dwell on it too much for the time being. “I was.”

“I should kill you.”

“You could try.”

He pulled the gun, pushing it up against her temple. The contact of the cold metal against her skin made her eyes close, almost shattering the thin layer of strength she had left. 

“You are a walking corpse.” he stated.

“With information you seem to want.” She replied.

He let go of her, removing the gun from her temple and pushing her back. Nearly faltering for a moment before laughing- hearty enough to pinch his eyes shut as he stepped over to his chair behind the desk to take a seat. “You are insane.” He states, waving his hands lightly before kicking his feet up on his desk and lighting a cigarette. “So. You wanted a meeting? Let’s have a meeting.”

“Are you aware of what a Deadmans Switch is?”

The cigarette lingered in his mouth just a  moment longer than what would’ve been that of confident body language. His hand gripped the little white paper, pulling it from his lips and immediately ashed the cig, lowering his legs from the table and glint of his eyes shifting in a way that she knew that she had his attention.

“Yes.”

“Good.” She nods, glancing at the two guards. One stood a few feet away from her, other posted up by the door. She no longer had a gun on her person- nor a knife. The knife burried in the throat of the corpse splayed ut on the floor. Blood long sense pooled and straining into the rug beneath the table.

“Antonio knew what a Deadmans switch was, willing to die to make sure that what I knew wasn’t released.”

“So.” His hands folded together. “What do you know?”

“Ah. That’s the thing, you don’t get to know that. Not yet at least.”

“Listen-”

“Antia.” She stated simply, watching as his eyes widened focusing on her.

“That means nothing.”

“All detained hostages will cease any forms of interrogation from this point forward. Starting now.”

“Is that all you want?”

“For right now.” She nods.

He reaches over, grabbing the radio and speaking into it in Spanish.

“Tell me how you’re connected to Russia.” 

“No.”

“Jose.” She states, watching him falter once more.

“I can’t tell you.”

“I’m sure you can, really. Farhad Lopez, Jr.”

“They will kill us all!” He yells.

“Rose.” She states. “Thats the list, is it not?”

“I will not!” He slams his fist down on the table.

A few things vibrated- jolted even with the collision of his fist into his desk. To find out, from the source the involvement of him tangled up in bed to Russia. Right from the tap. For him to betray that, to provide an assured death sentance to his status- his notariety in the criminal word he would need more than a list of names of his children.

Maybe he didn’t truly understand the gravity of the situation.

A man who was used to being in control.

Maybe he needed to be shown just how out of control he was in this situation.

“Kill them.” She states.

The guard next to her stiffens, head glancing over to Lopez at his desk eyeballing her as if she just barked and chased her tail.

“Who?”

“Them.” She nods her head over to the guards. “If you’d like to have a real conversation, you and I both know they already know too much.”

He stood up, trying to get up in her face. “I am done playing games, little girl.”

“I was never playing a game.” She replied. “Shoot them.”

He pulled the gun from his waistband, pushing it forward and pressing it against her chest. “I can kill you right now.”

“But you won’t.”

“That is a wager, do you not value your own life?”

“I think you and I both know that this is not a wager I will loose.”

There it was. The shift of tension. The slight tremble in his hand when he relaizes the gravity of the situation. That everything led up to this single day- this failure. The corpses- the stench of blood filling the stuffy office. She’s sure it wasn’t always stuffy, but it seemed that the flow of hot blood would fill a room with the stench of iron and make it a little stuffy. It was a little intoxicating, in a way.

To see the fear.

Of a grown man.

A man who was regarded in power.

She took a step forward, grabbing the barrel of the gun and using a finger to point it away from her, pointing it at the guard across from her.

“One thousand, three hundred sixty seven. Mangrove way. San Franciso.” She said, softly. So softly. As if she was brushing her hand against the cheek of a baby- a little bundle of fragility and innocence. She looked from her finger, to the barrel of the gun now pointed across the room to the guard. To his trembling hand, the color paling from his face.

You try to keep the things that are close to you as far from harms way as possible. Your wife-

Your children.

“See?” She asked, ever so softly. Fighting against the urge to offer him a soft smile, smugness creeping into her voice as she spoke. “Now you have to kill them. They heard me say it. Now they know it.”

No one should know it, really.

They were innocent.

Slightly.

Maybe they had never felt the blood drip into their hands, splatter against their face and heard the wails of agony that scratched and bounced off of the cement walls Lopez haunted. But they’d survived off of the blood money. They’d lived their quaint little normal life. Gone about their days as if the man of the family wasn’t committing acts of atrocity- he couldn’t have. He was a good man, taking care of them filling her belly with children and heirs to his empire.

So he kept them safe.

Hidden away.

Maybe it wasn’t safe enough.

Or maybe she was a demon lurking in the shadows of this story. Clinging onto the biggest fears around her-

Betrayal.

Loss.

Defeat.

 A deadmans trigger.

He knew what it was for now. He wasn’t desne.

If he killed her, she would kill his family.

“So.” She spoke again, rattling him from his thoughts. “Do what I told you to do.”

He pulled the trigger, shotting the guard closest to him and stepping forward. The guard at the door scrambled, reaching behind to grab hold of the door and try to throw it open, bring himself to safety. Lopez shot him in the back three times, blood splattering out and painting the door in front of him before he slowly slid down the wall, crumpling almost as if to make a new doormat.

“I knew you’d make the right decision.” She praised him, watching as he stared at the corpse of one of his men- one of his right hands blood splattered against the wall.

It was like the saying things fall apart.

He was watching it fall apart.

Crumble into his hands.

He was normally the one who would cause the chaos. And it always hits the ones who inflict the most paint the hardest. To relaize once again that you were human- that you could be harmed. This egotistical godhood created around you visage of power and money was worthless with the right strings pulled, the right incentives dangled over your head.

“You’re going to tell me about the Russians now.”

“I won’t!” He yelled, pointing the gun back at her.

She stared at the barrel, a dull, distant expression crossing her face as she stared at the gun metal.

“I’ll auction off the information, to the highest bidder.” She explains. “Before you have time to even contact her- in the dead of night they will be captured. Maybe if they are feeling kind they would kill them all in their sleep. Mutilate their corpses and display how they killed Commander Lopez’s family.” She paces, moving out of the line of gunfire.

“The other option, personally my favorite. Is that you kill me. The deadman is initiated and a predetermined list of your top competitors are given all of that lovely information. Fuck, even some of the local gangs there in San Fransico will get that information just to throw them a bone. They’ll turn it into a warzone, and it will be long, painful, confusing, and all your fault. It will get media attention- unable to be bribed and covered up. And I know that the Russians don’t like it when anything gets media attention. Shit, they don’t like any of their partners having weaknesses, or at least ones they arent able to control. That’ll leave you, Mister Lopez, in the worst situation of them all. You’ll probably try to flee, escape somewhere. But they will catch up to you, find you. And you know what happens when they catch you, don’t you?”

…

It was morning.

Price sat at his desk- cup of stale coffee at his desk as he read what was displayed on the screen in front of him.

-HELLO

-JITTERS

-I DON’T HAVE A LOT OF TIME

-JITTERS WHERE ARE YOU

-THE GENERAL IS BEING BLACKMAILED. WHOEVER BROKE LOPEZ OUT IS AFFILIATED WITH RUSSIANS AND HE IS COMPROMISING MISSION DATA

-JITTERS ARE YOU ALRIGHT WHY DON’T YOU COME BACK

-HE’S PUT A SHOOT ON SIGHT ORDER ON ME LASWELL *UNKOWN* I DIDN’T GIVE HIM WHAT HE WANTED. THEY THINK I’M A TRAITOR. A RAT I CAN’T GO BACK THEY’LL KILL ME

-YOU NEED TO COME BACK

-HE SENT ME TO A A DRONE IN A TREE. A DATA DROP *UNKNOWN* IT HAS ALL OF THE DATA HES GONNA BURN ME I’M A LOOSE END

-YOU’RE NOT A LOOSE END YOU NEED TO COME BACK SO WE CAN SORT THIS OUT

-SO THEY CAN KILL ME I AM NOT A TRAITOR AND I AM TIRED OF BEING TREATED LIKE ONE

__________________________________________________________________

__________________________________________________________________

CALL ENDED

He didn’t know how many times he had read that log over and over. 

Each times his eyes would graze across the screen trying to find what he was missing. Laswell was unable to get to the General, but it had been confirmed he was in the states dealing with something with a much larger priority than a rogue PMC.

Whoever broke Lopez out.

His eyes narrowed.

Did he do something wrong? What had led to this point of her not being able to ask for help? Laswell was alreayd doing her best, digging up any potential leads on connections to Russia from any angle that would be relevant in this situation.

“What the hell is going on here?”

She stopped, glancing over to see Price walking in through the doorway, face plastered with a thoroughly irritated expression.

“I don’t know, Captain .” She replies bitterly.

“The hell has gotten into you?” Price asks, hand reaching out to grab her shoulder.

“Maybe the fact that you all don’t fucking trust me- and think I’m some kind of helpless, traitorous rat!” She yells, slapping his hand away.

Ghost stood still, rigid watching her movements.

“Calm down.” Price said evenly.

“No, I’m not going to calm down. You all are treating me like im mental-”

“I am ordering you to stand down.” He speaks again.

To have the weight of lives on your shoulders. To be their leader. It carried guilt, a strange breed of it. One that mixed with anger, sorrow, envy. He’d remain strong, never waver his strong facade of leader.

The coffee was stale, not that it mattered. He wasn’t drinking it for the taste, can’t remember the last time he had the ability to savor a consumption of caffeine out of anything other than desperation to get back to work.

“Sir?” A voice at the door caused his eyes to snap up, seeing Miles standing in the doorway, a frantic look in his eyes.

“What is it?”

“We have an issue.”

“Spit it the fuck out, what kind of issue?” He snapped.

“Jitters has hacked our network and left us a message.”

Miles scuttled over, all but tossing his laptop onto his desk and showing the message displayed on his screen.

_____________________________-

_______ MESSAGE_

__FROM: J1tt3r5

987654ftfr6789098___________________

CORD. XXXXXXX.XXXXXXXX XXXXXXXX.XXXXXXX

DL

REQUEST IMMEDIATE MEDICAL EVAC, HOSTAGE

END INPUT_________________

____________________

“Where did you find this?” He asked.

“She put it… Basically everywhere. I ran the coordinates it is a warehouse fourty miles from here.”

“Send me those coordinates now.” He ordered, pushing past him and running out in the hallways dispatching a team immediately calling for air support and medical.

It wouldn’t be wrong.

"There was this one time- you can't tell anyone." She lowered her voice.

"I'm listening." He responded, blinking a few times as Price pierced his skin with the needle.

"I went fishing."

"Where?"

"On a lake, and I caught a fish."

"What kind?"

"I think it was a bass."

"Love me a bass." Price commented, Jitters shot him a look.

"This is a secret Price, you aren't in this conversation." She laughed out lightly. He shrugged in response, continuing his work.

"So I caught the bass, and I tried to kill it, because I didn't want it to suffer. I tried bopping the fuckin' thing like three times. Didn't die." She starts laughing nervously.

"You couldn't kill a fish?" Gaz asked.

"Not the point."

"That's the point I'm getting."

"So I threw it back in the water-"

"After you beat it?"

"Yes, after I beat it."

"That's rather cruel."

"No- what was cruel was when I tossed it back in the lake it didn't swim away. It just kind of fell over on its side and started to float." She started laughing again. "And while it was floating, I kept trying to splash water on it to get it to swim away- but it wouldn't. And then this fucking bird flew down and ripped it out of the water."

Gaz snorted. "Sounds like I shouldn't take you as my fishing partner."

"Yea. I'm good never fishing again." Jitters agrees.

He wouldn’t let this one go.

……..

To be in power. The kind of power where the money is flush and the vices are plenty. The kind of power you can taste. The kind of power that is earned through blood.

That is what it seemed like everything ended with these days.

Blood.

“And you’d kill children?” He sneers.

“Don’t look at me as if you haven’t destroyed families- killed the innocent for no reason other than to see the look of despair as you stroked some kind of ego with your power. You have no stones to cast from your glass house!” She yells. “You were sloppy. You’re paying the price for it now.”

“I will never pay the price.” He spits, voice dripping with venom as he grabbed the gun. 

“Not even maggots will touch your corpse.” She replies.

“I will not die.”

“Maybe you won’t.”

The sound of an explosion was heard in the building. His head quickly jerking to the side to see a swarm of black- special forces charging into the building and shutting the whole of his operations down. Rifles raised, mowing down anyone who dared to turn a weapon upon them and face their rage.

“Why are they here!” He screams, waving the gun at the window. “You are a traitor! A rat! Why would you help them!”

She pondered.

Why?

Why was she helping them?

“I want to watch you fuckin’ burn.” She replied. “You took it all. All I had left.”

He laughs. Dry. Strained.

“If I burn, I will take you with me.”

“Fine by me.”

She lunges to he side as he fires, bullet grazing her side. Both of her hands slap onto the table grabbing hold of the large glass ash tray sat stop the table as she twists, swinging it and cracking the patterned glass against his head. His hand twitches, pulling the trigger and sending a bullet directly into her core.

It was like a beautiful dance, choreographed in slow motion.

Ghost heard the commotion, arms struggling against his ties when he saw Gaz leading a team of men into their room rushing towards him. Soap was unconscious, but Ghost had managed to listen to the sound of his breathing and at least the sound of his shallow shuddery breaths was enough to give him peace he was alive. Once Gaz got hold of his arms, getting the ties off of his body he was pushing up.

The scream of pain made him want to vomit- but the surge of adrenaline muted the screams of his nerves.

“Ghost!” Gaz said, grabbing for his arm as he pushed pst men.

“She’s here.” He said, storming out of the door.

He ran.

It was the adrenaline, the sound of blood pumpking through his ears as he rounded the corner into the main processing flat of the warehouse. The look of Special Forces cuffing down workers and gunning down guards bringing him some kind of solace. 

Where is she?

Jitters?

Jitters where have you gone?

The sound of crashing glass alerted his eyes upward, staring as the glass framed by black metal broke out, a corpse falling through the air back first. A display of limbs, his hands holding onto the gun as he continued to shoot up at the ceiling in rage as he pulled the trigger. Body falling, life fleeting.

Until he came into collision witht he ground. The sound of a skull coming into contact with concrete from such a heigh creates a sickening crack. Not that he had any time to thing of the wet soun of brains splattering against the floor, relishing in the feeling of seeing the prick who caused so much pain dead on the pavement and wishing that he had been the one to do it himself. To be the one watched as his life drained from his eyes and to be the one who would inevitable meet him once again in Hell.

His eyes drifted upwards, narrowing on the office space the glass came from. His legs were moving before his brain could fully compute it, lungs expanding and contracting his his muscles burned- screamed, giving it all that he had left. He needed to find her. 

He didn’t even know what he would do if he found her.

Kill her?

That seemed to be on the table. 

Legs screaming as he ran up the stairs, arms reaching out to the door and pushing as hard as he could- resistance meeting the door but it being no match the his body weight slammed up against the door. The corpse sliding to the side as he pushed into the room, his eyes frantically scanning the various corpses in the room until it fell upon her.

Fallen backwards, deep red blood gushing from her middle pooling over her coat and onto the floor. 

She was alone in the room, with four corpses.

She watches had his body slid backwards, lifting as he became airborne with the strike. She registered the feeling of falling backwards befor ethe could register the feeling of pain coming from her middle. And it didn’t hurt. It was just like everything else-

Dull.

She watched as the glass broke beneath his body weight, sending him hurdling towards the inevitable meeting with the cement below him.

That’s when her hand reached down, spreading out over the expanse of the warmth now dripping out of her and seeping into her clothes. She fell, slowly. Knees bucking underneath her as she came into contact with the ground.

She hoped they were safe.

She hopes Price got her warning.

She didn’t want it to be in vain.

They were here.

Maybe she’d die before they’d get to her.

Maybe that would be the best possible option in this scenario.

For her to die like this.

Like some kind of faux hero.

Maybe they wouldn’t even recognise her struggles, the effort to protect a family that had cast her aside.

She tried to push herself up, tried to really move anything-

It was cold.

She didn’t hear the sound of boots stomping against the ground but suddenly she could feel hands wrap around her, pulling her body up into a chest that she knew was too familiar.

“Ghost…” She smiled, looking up to see his eyes glimmering- some expression she couldn’t be bothered to read at the moment. It was a struggle- it took so much effort. To lift her hand, lift it off of the wound and to press a single finger against his nose. “You’re missing your face.” She sighed out happily. “You’re alive.”

She couldn’t hear him yelling.

She couldn’t hear him begging.

“Hey… Can you make dinner tonight? I’m so hungry.” 

“Jitters. Look at me. Keep your eyes open!” He yelled. “Medic! Medic!” His voice was strained- it was almost unfamiliar to him to hear the emotion in his voice as her cradled her body up to his chest.

“I’m so tired Ghost…” She all but whispered.

“Keep your fucking eyes open!” He yelled. “Please! Fuck- Don’t you want to know who Beth is?” He asked, the desperation in his voice evident- maybe not to the two of them, but to the heavens above. The fates watching the scene unfold before them.

“...Beth?” Her eyes opened, slowly, trying to focus up on his face.

“My Sister- Sister in law. She came into my family- she gave me a nephew. Made my family so happy. Just stay awake and I will tell you anything you need to know.” He begged.

“Where… Where is she?” She asked.

The tears welled up in his eyes, pouring over the grease paint and down onto his mask. “She isn’t here. She isn’t here right now but I will take you to meet her. Just keep your eyes open.”

Her eyes closed.

“Open your eyes! Medic!” He screamed.

“I did it.” She smiled.

“What? What did you do?”

“I left. I’m sorry I left.”

“It’s ok… I’ll meet her.” She said, hand reaching up and clutching onto his torso. “I’m so tired…”

“Don’t. Go. To sleep. Please.”

Please

Is this not what she wanted?

She did it.

She did something about it.

She finally, finally stood up for herself.

But was it all worth it in the end?

To feel the fear of man. To feel the power in that moment- to redeem yourself, prove a point with bloodshed.

"Only the good die young." He adds.

"That's not comforting." She sighs. "I want to be good."

"And the maggots that eat my flesh will eat yours too! But they won't eat until I'm good and fucking ready- because I can't even say I'm good anymore!" 

“Now you have to kill them. They heard me say it. Now they know it.”

Please

Was it all worth it?

Would she do it again?

Jayme sat, fingernails digging into her palms as her wrists rubbed against the metal handcuffs anchored to the table in front of her.

“But I ask one thing.”

Laswell looked up, closing the folder and tucking it into the bag that sat at her side. 

“You aren’t in a position to negotiate.”

“It’s a request.”

“Then ask.”

“That all of that.” She nods her head towards the table, the folder. The secrets contained inside. “All of it. Stays a secret. I don’t want to be Jayme when I’m there.”

“Then what- who do you want to be?”

 “One thousand, three hundred sixty seven. Mangrove way. San Franciso.”

“I want to be the one they fear.”

#Jitters Au #john price #cod mwii #gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #simon riley x oc #john mactavish #cod #task force 141 #modern warfare

[flockrest]

wow. finally here to talk about my take on forms of rito languages!! it's a doozy, folks. there will be four i'll be exploring: rito script, rito shorthand, rito key, and birdsong. all under the cut, so here we go!

RITO SCRIPT

i believe this would most likely be cuneiform in nature, if only due to the constraints of rito morphology. i doubt they have any innate, very fine motor control in their wings ( "hands" ) given how big their feathers ( "fingers"? ) are, so impressions and/or inked signs that can be made with wedge-tipped styluses seem a little more logical than the more motion-heavy strokes needed for, say, something like hylian script — which they still use around the village for the sake of non-rito visitors ( notably carved into wood ), but many rito are better readers than they are writers of hylian script! not all, but that's the general trend!

okay, now...i am not a linguist. but i'm thinking the old system ( like. prior to, during, and a little after dineli's time ) was more logographic, and was used way, WAY less than rito was spoken. over the millennia, through language contact ( especially applicable to the rito, who were traditionally nomads and a bulk of whom are still travellers by nature ) and the natural evolution of their spoken analogue, rito script has developed into more of a logosyllabary! still used notably less than its verbal equivalent, but not to the extent of back then; all fledglings in rito village are taught to a decent level of literacy now.

i don't have a physical demonstration in mind because i don't have the brain juices for creating a whole conlang...but i want to emphasise that this script is reflective of spoken rito, which is a tonal language ( THIS IS IMPORTANT ) and not alphabetical.

RITO SHORTHAND

rito stenography of rito script! finds even rarer cases of use than its longhand, but that's just how it is with most shorthands, isn't it? penn is especially proficient in this — his draft notes for reporting are exclusively in this shorthand. makes it harder for those who might want information when he isn't willing to give it to read, and speed is a critical thing when you're on the field! also his notebook is tiny. his pen when it's in his "hand"? tiny. he is not writing longhand in that thing.

i have a more concrete image in my head about this system! it's primarily informed by and based on modern musical notation!! it would still vaguely resemble rito script ofc, but i think this would be neat given how music-entrenched rito culture is...and it's fun to think about possible uses for it as a code! is it sheet music or a message? it will be obvious to rito ( even to those unfamiliar with shorthand, if only in that "huh, this does not read like music" sense ), but to most non-rito? a mystery they don't even realise is a mystery slkfjkdf

RITO KEY

separate from any scripts; this is nonverbal rito communication! misleading title, i know ( <- weak for connecting music to the birdies in any way i can ). their signed language, so to speak, in that words and meanings are conveyed through manual/physical articulation rather than verbal — but there are still some vocal aspects to it as well? very little, and less defined in that it's just like...whistles, trills, warbles, and other actual bird noises ( almost dipping into birdsong ). these aren't necessary most of the time; they're used to accentuate or clarify signs, not outright replace them.

i like to think that their signs, when grounded, place heavy emphasis on wings, shoulders, head positions, etc. there's not a lot of individually bending wingtips/"fingers" — "hand" movements are mostly ( but not all ) fully splayed or fully clenched, if that makes sense? and facial expressions would be very important too, as it is with most signed languages.

and signs when flying...i'm thinking maybe flight patterns? possibly whole flight motions? this is where the vocal side of rito key might really come into play, but again isn't strictly necessary — especially if you're a good flier. does convey less specifics than its grounded form though.

most grown travellers and warriors know rito key. it's a useful language to learn! can offer the advantage of subtle but active coordination on the battlefield and such.

BIRDSONG

this is, essentially, "birdspeak". natural language of birds, including rito! penn proved that rito can speak to birds to such a depth that they are his primary informants, and even though literally nothing in the game indicates this is a universal thing, i am RUNNING with this tidbit and saying yeah. this is an inherent thing for the rito. not in that they're born with an automatic understanding of it, but in that it's the easiest thing for them to learn. like their first language! do you see my vision? do you see it! i get to decide this, it's my sleepover!! ( affectionate )

this is much more simplistic than any other language a rito would know; there are no specific words that would equate to specific meaning. it's all ( bird ) sounds! no nuance to this language. it's very direct, straightforward, and in-the-moment. a major case of interpretation =/= translation, which is why an actual rito language naturally arose sdlfsjdfk

#* arrowhead / study. #* plumule / study. #* powder down / study. #* field notes / study. #* wisps / study. #* roosting / ooc. #not me scouring this thing for the 10th time for anything that could be a contradiction in my thoughts or previous studies lsfkdlg #i think. we are good. i think we are good. #I AM HITTING POST. HERE WE GO. WOE WALL OF TEXT BE UPON YE #ngl though i had fun compiling my thoughts this time :) #special thank you to hilary for getting me to think about rit.o key!! #long post cw #* vanes / study.

[kirans-wonderland]

gush game: 3 and 17!! (for your boy Sebek!)

3. Gush about your f/o's smile!!

Sebek's smile is rare and precious!! He is often so caught up in his determination and duties that he forgets what his face looks like. He's the type of person you have to nudge with your elbow when you're next to him to remind him to look more approachable. (me too babe) His most genuine smiles aren't the ones that go ear to ear. They're the small and soft ones that you might miss if you're not looking close enough. It's the tiny smiles that grace his lips when he looks at something he loves. He will purposefully walk behind me so i won't be able to see the way he smiles at me. It's mostly when he laughs that his smile shows teeth. I love to see his cute pointy teeth <3

17: Gush about how talented your f/o is!!

One of his purest talents is his dedication. If will was a category talent show he would win first prize. It is so impressive to see his devotion and the heart he holds for his family and his waka-sama. Another way this is shown is through his growth with magic. Being a late magical bloomer didn't deter him and instead pushed him to work even harder to become the knight he craves to be. The man is also just smart. He may claim it's just because math and science are "concrete and logical" but in truth he doesn't comprehend that it doesn't come easy to everyone. He also has a secret knack for poetry. Most times it just slips out in his everyday speech. But, when he finds it hard to articulate his feelings in spoken words, he writes little poems that he'll leave in my bag or hand me so i can read them in front of him to understand how he feels.

#curiouser and curiouser #omg please send me more i had way too much fun with this #sebek zigvolt #twst #self ship ask game #ask game #twst ask game #twst sebek

[thethermocline]

TW: DISCUSSION OF CHILD ABUSE

@ fiction writers: pst. Little children do not walk up to strange adults and say "hey I'm being abused. :'( Here are three concrete examples of what's going on. Also, behold my underfed frame and bruises (one of which is in the shape of a hand)."

Abuse and how it affects behavior in children is, of course, a very complex topic. But here are some tips for writers that may be helpful. This is based on my training as a caretaker, experience caring for children ages 0-4, and close friendships with several adult survivors.

Firstly, even once a person knows and accepts that they were abused as a kid, they won't automatically realize how deep it went and all the ways it manifested. When you're friends with survivors of abuse, they will tell you light-hearted anecdotes without realizing that they are revealing another facet of abuse. For example, a friend of mine recently had to be told, 10 years after the fact, that the way her parents failed to handle her need for glasses was, in fact, neglect. She's known for years that she had been abused, but all the medical issues that arose in her childhood and then went unresolved never occurred to her as being another form of that abuse. Which leads into...

1. They probably don't know they're being abused while it's happening. Children come into this world with no frame of reference. They take their clues from those around them; and if those people abuse them, well, that's just how the world is then. Think of older people being like, "well MY parents whipped me with a belt and I turned out fine!!!!" I would argue that they are not fine, and hitting children with belts is abuse. But when they were kids, that's Just How It Was; years later, they still believe that it was their own fault for getting hit. Even if a child realizes that Something Is Wrong, they may struggle to pin down exactly what, and then further struggle to articulate it.

2. Please stop with the hand-shaped bruise trope. Also the black eye trope. It is rare for bruises to be so definite, and promoting this narrow idea of what "real abuse" looks like can make it harder for victims to get help. Generally, if an abuser beats you, they're not going to go for the face or anywhere else easily seen.

Take the case of a two year old child who had four or five small bruises on the inner thigh. Consider: the bruises were not arranged neatly in the exact shape of a hand. But: how many benign ways can a two year old get bruises like that on the upper inner thigh? Also relevant: this child was known to display erratic behavior and a marked and persistent reluctance to go to bed. The evidence for abuse, therefore, is circumstantial. However: if someone messes their kid up in an obvious, provable way, they are probably not then gonna send them to hang out with trained mandatory reporters.

Just like my neighbor who abandoned a cat and then lied about it because she knew what she did was illegal in our area, people do not want to get in trouble. (Do not worry, I took the cat and got him safely to a shelter. Last i heard he's doing well and is "highly adoptable," the sweetheart.) Keep this in mind while you write: abusers will take steps to keep from being detected and stopped.

Let go of the idea that abuse is always unambiguously evident and only present when it reaches an arbitrary "bad enough" threshold. Did you know that if a baby isn't held enough, it can develop a flat spot on the back of the head? Signs of abuse and neglect can be subtle.

3. A small child whose pain has always been received with apathy from adults has no particular reason to suppose that an adult they've not met before would act any differently. Kids take a long time to establish trust with adults. A benign example of this; I once looked after a sweet little girl from age 2 to 3. Her siblings told me that she was outgoing and effusive at home, but with us she was quiet and shy. It took six months for her to start talking, and even then only around me and a specific coworker (we were the ones most reliably taking care of her, as opposed to floaters who came and went). Most kids aren't quite that shy, but it's not necessarily unusual either! An outgoing, friendly child will come right up to a stranger and start interacting. But if they are shy or abused, it is far less likely. If you want your abused child character to latch on to your protagonist, you have to ask yourself why they do. What about the protagonist is different from other adults they've known? Children are not savants; your protagonist might have a heart of gold, but if they are gruff and unfriendly, they're probably gonna scare a little kid.

4. Children are not tiny therapists. Please stop writing this. They are not going to counsel your main couple into realizing how much they love each other. It's not cute or sweet to have kids taking care of adults.

5. People, much less children, often have difficulty identifying what they are feeling and why. A young child may know they are upset but will likely need help articulating why and finding healthy ways to manage that emotion. For example, a three year old child will not say, "I don't like loud noises because it reminds me of my dad being violent towards my mom and screaming at her." They're more likely to simply stand there and cry silently in terror. It is up to the adult to deduce the problem, remove them from the upsetting stimulation, and soothe the child.

6. People are often affected by abuse long after they are removed from the situation. Once your brain has been marinated in that kind of fear, it doesn't easily move on. It is not uncommon for victims of childhood abuse to only start remembering and confronting it around age 30. Your brain can and will shut memories down to protect you - but usually this is only temporary. It's also common for symptoms of trauma to intensify significantly once the source of trauma is removed. This is because, once you are safe, your brain finally feels secure enough to move out of survival mode and start processing what happened. Keep that in mind when you're writing; just because a character is safe does not mean they will act as if they are. Even if their mind feels secure, the body may still flinch. "Irrational fears" may develop; for example, a previous victim of an attempted break in while they were home may develop a fear of uncovered windows. Or perhaps they double and triple check locks, and give anti break-in devices as gifts to loved ones.

Those are my top tips for writing abused characters. I wish you all luck with your stories. Let me know if i need to tag this post differently.

#tw abuse #long post #tw child abuse #writing reference

[artificial-milkshake]

Tokyo Red

Part 2 out of ??

Chapter 1: News.

Introducing: Sugar the Tosa Inu!! (Literally the only Introducing thingy becuz she is bby girl 💕) __________________

The cold night air brushed past you and whisked your h/c locks of hair into your face as you walked down the street. The clouds covered the moon as you made your way down the unlight street. The sound of your boots meeting the ground and your soft breathing were comforting. You were happy, at least for a moment, but then the wind shifted carrying the smell of your past. A smell you could never forget. The smell of blood. You stopped moving for what seemed like an eternity, until the sound of footsteps could be heard moving toward you. They sounded light against the ice and snow covered concrete, and as the individual drew closer so did the smell of blood. You payed them no mind as you began to walk again, the smell of blood was something you got use to. Soon the sound of the individuals footsteps fell in tune with your own, you still payed them no mind as you walked down the cold and dark streets. No one was out except for you and this person who reeked of blood. As you kept walking you began to realize that you could no longer tell if the person behind you was even there, but the strong smell of blood followed you.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Your light articulate footsteps calmed your nerves, but the moon began to show itself from the dark clouds. As the light touched your skin and grazed over your skin, you began to feel sick as the smell of blood increased ten fold. Inch by inch the moon slowly showed it's face, still and red. Despite the sense of sickness, you started to run. The smell of blood never left you as you ran from the unforgiving light of the moon. You kept running despite having no visible place to run, until you tripped. You began to fall. The world around you began to twist and turn, never once did it stop smelling of blood as you began to lose yourself in the cyclone of your mind. You never forgot the light of the hideous moon and its' foul stars.

| End of Dream. Lol. |

You wake up with a start when you feel something wet against your face. You open your eyes to find your dog licking you on the face. "Ah. Sugar down girl!" You say in a groggy voice as your dog licks you one more time before backing off of your tired form. You let out a groan as she begins to tug off your sheets and you instinctively grab at them in an attempt to pull them back on. "Please Sugar, five more minutes!!" You grumble tugging at the sheets in your dogs mouth, hoping she'd give up, but it doesn't work. With a sudden burst of strength Sugar yanks the sheet harder and pulls you off the bed. You land on the floor with an audible "oof," coming from your mouth as you hit the floor. You roll over as Sugar drops the sheet from her mouth and sit on her haunches to stare at you. "You didn't have to pull me off the bed like that." You add as you begin to get up, Sugar barks back in response. You stand on your feet and began to get ready for the day.

Once you are done freshening up, you make yourself a cup of coffee (or tea). Once your done drinking your beverage you make yourself and Sugar some food. You look over at your Tosa Inu as she scarfs down her breakfast. You think about how you and her were made for the same purpose. To shed your blood for the entertainment and greed of others. Made to serve your controllers, no matter how bruised and battered you were. Your entire body shakes with a carnal wrath instilled in you by your makers and your father.

"How can people be so cruel?" You whisper to yourself as Sugar trots over towards you wagging her tail. You didn't even notice you were tensed up and had damaged the table, until Sugar had nuzzled you and brought you out of your thoughts. You had left deep grooves from your nails into the table. It always happened when you thought about things to much, thankfully Sugar was constantly around to keep you from destroying things. Sugar nudged you with her head and let out a small growl, indicating she had to use the bathroom. "Alright girl. I'm getting up." You tell her as you stand up from the table, you clean up your dishes and then grab your keys along with Sugar's leash for her collar. When you reach the front door you find Sugar waiting for you and you smile. "You're such a good girl." You say and give her a pat on the head and put on your shoes. As soon as you open the door you are met with the smell of the woods. As you turn to lock your door you almost trip over something. You look down to see a small box, you bend down and pick it up. Upon closer inspection it has no label except for your name in bold letters. Curious you open the box to find a note insid. You slip the note in your pocket and throw the box away before walking Sugar.

As you are walking to look up at the early morning sky. You can smell all sorts of things from the the gentle breeze. The smell of people camping a far ways away and woodland creatures. You walk your dog for a few minutes, before you decide read the note. You open the neatly folded note and it reads: "To Y/N. Your father is in Tokyo Japan." You flip the note over to find a picture of your father and some muscular man with red hair sitting down at a table, in the background you spot a sign that says ,"Welcome to Tokyo!"

You stop dead in your tracks and fall to your knees in shock...The image of your father and an unknown man ran through your head as you tried to process the information. "My father....is in Tokyo." You mutter to yourself, trying to make sense to it all. You don't get too because you are snapped of your trance when Sugar nudges your shoulder. You look at your dog with a small smile. "Hey, Sugar. It looks like we are going to Tokyo."

_________

Tosa Inu's are a rare breed of Japanese fighting dogs, that are still used in dog fights :( sad about that, but Sugar fits with the plot

#baki #baki hanma #baki the grappler #fanfic #baki x reader #grappler baki

[vaicomcas]

Controversial take but I actually hate Winchesters' grieving so bad... like, the Man Pain aspect of it. The way it is also portrayed in a performative way and a way to look Winchesters good instead of actually giving the dead characters agency. It annoys me especially when Kevin and Charlie died. You know they both died for Winchesters' Man Pain and worst of all (besides the fact that Kevin was a POC and Charlie was lesbian and they brutally got murdered.... especially Kevin who got tortured over and over again....) it is that these characters ALWAYS die to give the Winchesters Man Pain and then the show just makes them pull performative grief and that is it. It simply just sucks. Like, was I supposed to feel like the Winchesters cared for Kevin? Most of the stuff Dean says about ''family'' and ''care'' are simply hollow and performative. These are just words, just like the man-pain grieving that the writers show us over and over again. Like I don't care about the grieving and man pain the Winchesters show when they don't change and continue to be shitty. Why would I?

OK so I do agree with you 100%, that I find nothing organic and convincing about the Winchester grief. And the grief is not really about the victims, it's about their own guilt and angst (oh why do we keep losing people...why always us...).

But there is something curioius I have a hard time articulating. I will try though.

So all my life I don't get absorbed by any fictional show or story, always completely floating above looking at it from a rational and analytical way. Since Castiel sucked me into the SPN insanity, I find it difficult to tell where the characters end where the writers start. I mean of course all of it is from writers. But some scenes feel organic and real and some where you just really see the hand under the puppet. I feel like these hyper emotional ones with the Winchers is where I see the hands of the writers the most; so in that sense it's actually harder for me to hate the Winchesters in such instances. I know I am weird.

I find it so strange that all the fan fics are full of tags like "Dean Winchester is bad at emotions" etc. When the show bent backwards to make Dean perform emotions, and wielding those emotional scenes as proof of his goodness. I wrote about this in another post that there is a long tradition in fantasy shows of equating human emotions to human superiority over other species. Just like, Castiel being able to feel is supposed to be what made him sympathetic and the good guy because that made him more human-like. Not that I don't love that aspect of Castiel. Being able to feel is good in that it opens one up to possibilities, but it is not automatically righteous in and of itself. Castiel followed up on his feelings 1000% with actions, with sacrifice, with accountability, with concrete attempts at correcting his mistakes, with compassion for others. With Dean Winchester (I have almost zero mental energy devoted to Sam so I can't say one way or another) the emotions are like another layer of flannel, just a costume, a badge (and sometimes justification for bad behavior).

Anyway thanks for sending the ask, sorry for the delay in response as I had to leave for work and I don't do tumblr during a work day.

#ask #my rambles #dean critical

[souryogurt64]

tbh i’m guilty of this as well but i think a lot of peoples hatred towards brendon stems from the feeling of being betrayed by an idol they really cared about but also refusing to acknowledge that feeling

i mean yeah but i think that feeling of betrayal is more complicated than it looks on the surface and people point to concrete stuff like videos of offensive jokes from 10 years ago because its harder to articulate such a skeeved out feeling.

like after the burger thing ive learned that whenever someone gets cancelled its cause they 1) did shitty things but also, 2) burned a ton of professional bridges and 3) their egos are inflated so much what they produce takes a massive quality hit. finally (at least in music) 4) they stop caring about giving their fans a good experience and only care about money and themselves to the point of actively seeking to give fans a negative experience.

yeah brendon is a dumbass and a bully thats said extremely offensive things. but what is happening would not have happened if he hadnt burned so many bridges with dallon and if he did not participate in his bodyguard routinely basically hunting fans for sport and calling them fat and smelly online while overcharging them for subpar shit. this is the only reason why enough panic at the disco fans bother to care about videos of him saying awful things over 10 years ago and bothered to make up stories on twitter. this could easily happen to any other band guy who started behaving that way because they all have skeletons in their closets. and any band guy that starts behaving that way deserves it.

[seraphtrevs]

sometimes i forget that most people see straight as the default sexuality for any character and expect concrete “evidence” of anything besides that… whatever happened to Vibes?? to quote the show itself: “there’s proving, and then there’s knowing.”

Yeah, there's always that too. Because there's no proof he's straight either! You could certainly make an argument that he is - like he clearly thinks Kim is beautiful, so maybe that points to attraction. But it's not exactly an airtight case - it's also just an interpretation of something that's never confirmed in canon one way or the other. The idea that all characters are straight unless proven otherwise is not a very convincing argument

And yeah, like - I don't mention the vibes because that's harder to articulate but his vibes are VERY gay

#lalo salamanca #better call saul #asks

[silyabeeodess]

Fusionfall Headcanons: Mean Behemoths

Mean Behemoths are one of the more articulated types of fusion monsters, capable of moving their joints pretty organically in a manner similar to an ape.  They’re also heavy hitters, swinging their arms to knock back opponents as their main means of attack. However, since their feet are hoof-shaped, they can’t use items or pick them up except with their mouths.  They have a large maw with two rows of sharp, concrete teeth that they’ll sometimes use as a secondary means of attack.  Anyone unlucky enough to find themselves caught in these jaws is in for a world of pain.  

Electric-based weaponry won’t work well on them.  Much of a Mean Behemoth’s body is comprised of telephone poles, which are made of wood to act as an insulator.  (Still, this naturally also means they are weaker to fire.)  Based on the concept art for the monster, it seems that the telephone poles they’re made from have been chopped up to act as separate parts of their limbs and fused together with concrete throughout the torso. Their feet are made from transformers.  As for the spikes on their back, from what I’ve looked up, telephone poles can often have anchor rods since they are partially buried underground: While the shape isn’t the same, the spikes are likely from the remains of some type of anchor.  In-game models show that they can have these spikes on their limbs as well, which can cause additional damage by piercing through enemies.  

Since the typical person wouldn’t be able to handle the strength behind their attacks, it’s best to fire at them from long-range.  Incendiaries are very useful against them. Still, this isn’t often recommended since they tend to roam residential areas.  It’d be easy to cause collateral damage by mistake.  

Their heads tend to be harder to damage than other areas of the body since they consist more of concrete than wood.  Meanwhile, their weakest spots are at the joints.  In the concept art, they have simple, exposed ball-joints holding their limbs together.  For the in-game models, it’s fusion matter.  In either case, they aren’t all that well-protected.  

In the mission “The Littlest Fusion (Part 3 of 3),” we learn that one of their roles is to guard Fusion Mayor, so it seems that he has a small mob of Mean Behemoths under his command.  I’d like to think that, due to his own weaknesses, he’s also used them for transport.        

#fusionfall #headcanons #fusion monsters #video games #mean behemoths

[nanalations]

I think about my first love a lot. His name was Russell. I was freshly fourteen and many boyfriends and flings and crushes have come and gone since then but my personhood (as I perceive it now) sprouted that year; like the very essence of who I am was planted the February evening he dumped me. My entire world spiraled into complete chaos!

In hindsight, of course, when I think about the way I humiliated myself through that entire heartbreak, I want to slap the old me and shake her by the shoulders, yelling “Was it all really worth it?!” 

We were thrown into several dangerous, high-drama situations that would be challenging to navigate even for an individual with a fully developed brain. It scarred me deeply. I think he and I both were traumatized continuously, although we didn’t know it at the time. Nothing about our relationship was normal. I often wonder why, and I often wonder if things would have been different if it had been. 

By my exclamation, I mean the fact that at the end of the day, he wasn’t really special. He was as handsome as any fifteen year old can be, got good grades, and he was a bit of a class clown, but he was unpopular with our peers. He didn’t treat me well. I had my first kiss in the 1100 hallway and lost my virginity on dirty concrete stairs, and continued to have mediocre sex in the cold (and often against my will) for the next six months. I don’t like to talk about it. 

He was unkind, immature, manipulative, incendiary, self-pitying, and selfish and yet placed on a pedestal of moral and intellectual superiority above not only myself, but everyone he encountered. 

And yet I grieved. Harder than any fourteen year old girl is equipped to. That summer I was disconnected from all technology against my will by my mother, who had discovered the horrors her teen daughter was up to after school every day. She didn’t know what to do with everything she had discovered about me, so, naturally, she punished me. I grieved alone in my basement. I had only grief to occupy myself with. 

I have always liked to consider myself a rational person with a tendency to intellectualize every thought or emotion that comes into my head. Even though my freshman year is fuzzy with gaping black holes in my memory, and I can hardly remember its significance, I know it is there because I managed to intellectualize every bit of it before trauma started to erase all recollection of it. As a result, I told myself that it was never love, and that it had been nothing but teenage fever sealed by a trauma bond. I grow, and look back on the first version of myself. I am quick to draw every psychological conclusion. Then I grow again and this time I am more romantic; I laugh at the second Nana’s scientific evaluations of her feelings and circumstances because I know she is coping. Now that the wound is closed, I am safe enough to know that as ugly as it was, it was raw; it was emotional and artistic, it was authentic and soul-making, and I also know that such passion is never wasted, never for a second. 

My point– Recently I saw a quote. It said, “What is love if not grief persisting?”

I liked it because it made me wonder: how could I have grieved Russell so much if I had never loved him? And with that, the analytical statement I had made before was overthrown by something less articulate but a hundred times more meaningful.

 Maybe I had given it away too recklessly, maybe he didn’t deserve it, and maybe it wasn’t beautiful or romantic or even right, but it had been love. I’m capable of dishing it out in the darkest circumstances. I like that about myself. I am allowed to feel as much as I think. I will continue to love. My life will always be better that way.

[thedigitalnavigator]

Sales Funnel Mistakes to Avoid for Course Creators: Lessons from the Experts

For course creators, constructing an effective sales funnel is essential for converting prospects into paying students. However, even with the best intentions, certain mistakes can undermine the effectiveness of your funnel. Drawing on insights from experts in the field, this article highlights common pitfalls in sales funnel strategy and offers guidance on how to avoid them, ensuring your course reaches its full potential.

Mistake #1: Not Understanding Your Target Audience

One of the most fundamental mistakes is not having a deep understanding of your target audience. Knowing your potential students’ needs, preferences, and pain points is crucial for creating content and courses that resonate with them. Avoid making assumptions and instead, conduct surveys, interviews, and market research to gather concrete data about your audience.

Mistake #2: Lack of a Clear Value Proposition

Your sales funnel must clearly communicate the unique value your course offers. A common mistake is not defining or articulating this value proposition effectively, leaving potential students confused about what makes your course different or worth their investment. Ensure your messaging highlights the benefits of your course and how it addresses specific challenges or goals of your audience.

Mistake #3: Overlooking the Importance of a Landing Page

A landing page is often the first impression potential students have of your course. An ineffective landing page that is cluttered, confusing, or fails to convey key information can deter sign-ups. Focus on creating a clear, compelling landing page that articulates what your course offers, why it’s valuable, and how visitors can enroll.

Mistake #4: Ignoring Email List Building and Nurturing

Failing to build and nurture an email list is a missed opportunity in any sales funnel. Email marketing allows you to maintain contact with potential students, providing them with valuable information, and warming them up for the sale. Use lead magnets, such as free mini-courses or eBooks, as incentives for signing up to your list, and then engage your audience with regular, valuable content.

Mistake #5: Not Leveraging Social Proof

Social proof, such as testimonials and success stories from past students, can significantly boost your course’s credibility. Neglecting to include these elements in your funnel can make it harder to build trust with prospects. Showcase positive feedback and outcomes prominently in your marketing materials to reassure potential students of the value and effectiveness of your course.

Mistake #6: Inconsistent or Off-Brand Messaging

Consistency in your messaging and branding is key to creating a cohesive sales funnel. Inconsistent messaging across different stages of the funnel can confuse potential students and dilute your brand identity. Ensure all communications, from emails to landing pages, are aligned with your brand voice and messaging strategy.

Mistake #7: Not Optimizing for Mobile

With an increasing number of users accessing content via mobile devices, a sales funnel that isn’t optimized for mobile is likely to lose out on potential enrollments. Make sure your website, landing pages, and emails are responsive and offer a seamless experience on mobile devices.

Mistake #8: Skipping A/B Testing

Not utilizing A/B testing to refine your sales funnel is a missed opportunity for optimization. Testing different elements of your funnel, from email subject lines to call-to-action buttons, can provide insights into what resonates best with your audience, allowing you to make data-driven improvements.

Mistake #9: Giving Up Too Soon

Building an effective sales funnel is a process that requires patience and persistence. A common mistake is giving up too soon or not being willing to test and tweak your funnel over time. Continuous analysis and adjustment based on performance metrics are essential for long-term success.

Mistake #10: Neglecting Post-Purchase Engagement

Finally, the relationship with your students shouldn’t end at purchase. Neglecting to engage with students after they’ve enrolled can lead to missed opportunities for upselling, repeat business, and generating referrals. Implement post-purchase follow-ups, offer additional resources, and seek feedback to keep your students engaged and satisfied.

Avoiding these common mistakes requires a strategic approach and a willingness to invest time and resources into understanding and engaging with your audience. By focusing on creating a targeted, cohesive, and user-friendly sales funnel, course creators can significantly increase their chances of success, turning prospects into passionate, paying students.

#sales funnels #content marketing #website

[nctsworld]

skateboard love

✩‌ yangyang x reader | skater boy!yangyang | college au | fluff | 2.2k

SUMMARY | yangyang tries to get you to skateboard for the first time and in doing so, you’re taken back to when you first met him. // for @notnctu​’s beginning collab! WARNINGS | slight injury (reader trips over a curb), one swear word, kissing RATING | teen+ TAGLIST | @infnteen​

“I can’t do this,” you mutter, shaking your head in defeat.

The ocean waves clamour nearby as you stare down at the skateboard and concrete pavement beneath your sneakers in frustration.

The weight of your helmet and the wrist guards are blatant in your every movement. Sure, it’s a little embarrassing at your age, but it’d be best to rather be safe than sorry.

Thankfully, they’ve been coming in handy during the times you almost fell and slipped off of your boyfriend’s skateboard. It may have been his idea to try to learn, but you weren’t opposed to it, thinking it’d be easy.

They say things are easier said than done, and now you’re forced to admit skateboarding definitely falls under that list.

“Yes, you can,” Yangyang softly says. Beside you, he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, causing you to peer into his gleaming eyes and bright smile.

Despite the recentness of your relationship, your boyfriend’s patience and encouragement feels like routine, like he’s been by your side for your entire life. His words don’t fall on deaf ears; you parrot his smile and muster a small nod, albeit glancing away shyly.

“Just think about all the times you’ve watched me skate past the library and copy what I did.”

Petulantly, you stick your tongue out. “It wasn’t that often.”

Disbelief reflects back at you in the form of an eyebrow raise.

“Really?”

“Really!”

Around mid-September, in the most modern, glass-structured library on campus, you found a studying area that was perfect for you.

Main floor, nearby the entrance doors for an easy exit when class was about to roll around. A high stool chair that was cushioned comfortably for endless hours of equal parts studying and procrastination. Plugs and desk space galore.

Above all, it was perfect because you had the picturesque view of the boy who always skated every other day around 11:50am towards his next class across the wide stoned boulevard in front of the library.

You noticed him the first few times when you initially sat upstairs. Even from afar and above, your interest was piqued over how coolly he skated past all the students. There were only so many students who biked to their next class, and even less who skateboarded.

And after you decided to sit downstairs for once to finally steal a closer glimpse of him, you were completely smitten upon capturing his handsome features.

Thus, your heart constantly raced in anticipation when 11:50am hit, as students scattered all across campus during this transition period. 

With a thumb tucked in his pocket and headphones over his ears to boot, the mystery skater boy often slid past around 11:55am, making your mind wonder where his former class was and where he was going. Was he in Engineering? Arts? Business?

The latter option didn’t seem likely since his style didn’t echo the stereotypical look of the faculty. Dark coloured hoodies and sweaters, bomber jackets, and skinny jeans were his usual choice of fashion, alongside the occasional baseball cap. And on the days he wore his cap backwards, he was truly in his skater element.

No matter, you always swooned with your chin perched atop your fist or resting inside your palm as he passed by. The brief sighting of him easily became the highlight of your day.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t try to look for him in your classes, but to no avail. You had to live with the fact that you’d only get to know him in passing as he skated on by the library.

When the mere hoodies and sweaters were exchanged for heavier, thicker jackets and coats, he still continued to traverse across campus via his unsurprising mode of transportation. You especially admired his dedication on the days filled with rain and wind, wishing there was some way for you to ease his trips to his next class.

All throughout the couple of months, he was consistent in attending that one class.

Except one day.

It was a Friday, about a week or two near finals season. The weather was quite chilly now, but snow wouldn’t be an issue until after winter break and well into the next semester, so there wasn’t any reason for him to not use his skateboard still.

Maybe he was sick at home, you thought. Pouting, you tried not to dwell over the stranger because that’s all what he was. 

Someone you didn’t know, someone you only watched from afar. Someone that filled your daydreams, pondering what he’d be like and what’d you two could talk about... but nevertheless a stranger.

Oddly enough, about an hour past noon, someone dragged you out of your thoughts momentarily as they unusually sat nearby your spot. 

The unspoken library etiquette was to sit as far away from others for more personal space, especially in the area where you frequented. You tried your best to ignore the shuffling of the person placing their laptop and books onto the elongated wall-length table, feigning laser-focus on your notes.  

But a few moments later, you heard a whisper coming from their direction.

“Is this your favourite spot in the library?”

“Hm?” you hummed, dragging your headphones down to your shoulders as you swivelled towards the seated stranger. Air seized in your lungs and your eyebrows shot up.

The gorgeous skater boy glowed with rosy cheeks from the cold air outside, paired with his stunning smile. You realized this was the first time you’ve ever seen him smile—preciously, by the way, with his teeth on full display—and your heart stirred like crazy.

A beat stretched out. Your jaw hung in shock and you blinked blankly. Guess you solved the mystery as to where he was today.

He beamed more intensely at your awe struck and continued to whisper, “I always see you sitting here when I get to my next class.”

“Uhm,” your jaw snapped up, prior to your dry gulp. “What?”

“Yeah,” his deep chuckling tickled your ear. God, of course a smooth voice matched a face like that. “you stare out the window so cutely whenever I pass by the library.”

A record scratched, then you rewound the moment in your head. Not only did he knew you existed but...

Did he just called you cute?

Catching on with awareness over his own words, the skater boy pouted to one side. His cheek jutted out adorably and red seemed to crawl over them, progressing over to the tips of his ears too.

Light giggling from both parties filled the space, with you tucking your hair behind your ear and him tugging on the ends of his sweater paws.

“So, are you skipping class?” you asked, tilting your head curiously.

“Yeah,” he replied, gesturing towards his busy study set-up ahead of him. It was a similar scene to yours—notes layered and layered upon each other, a laptop which displayed more notes, and a few textbooks were open too. “When you need to skip a class to study for another class...”

You nodded sympathetically, pointing a finger to your organized mess to imply the same. “Finals season.”

He nodded as well in unity and you two exchanged another round of smiles.

“I’m Yangyang.”

With that, introductions were made and bits of information were shared. Your hunch was right—he was in Engineering, but he also had some elective labs that were being held in the Science side of campus. Made sense why he had to navigate across campus from one end to the other.

Before the conversation began to get carried away, he issued a small apology. “Sorry, I really shouldn’t be interrupting your studying. I’ll leave you be.”

Admittedly, it caught you off guard. You wanted to pipe up about how he wasn’t interrupting, that you wanted to dive into getting to know him more. You’ve seen him practically almost every day for the last couple of months and you didn’t want to let this chance slip through your fingers.   

Yet, at the same time, you begrudgingly knew he was right. You had to study for your upcoming in-class final, so you held your thoughts back and unwillingly turned back to your responsibility at hand. 

It was difficult to study with skater boy being in the same vicinity as you—practically an arm’s length away from you—but you eventually tampered down your jitters and honed your attention.

Hours passed. Neither of you really shifted much besides the casual stretching or the much needed break to the bathroom.

Darkness loomed in the winter sky and out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him writing, which he hadn’t done during the time he’d been there.

And then, after an ear-piercing slow rip of paper that echoed in the library, he slid that piece of paper in your direction with one simple question that ignited the spark for the beginning of you and him—

I know we just met, but do you want to go out sometime?

“’Cause if I recall...” Yangyang continues, breaking you away from your bout of reminiscing. He absentmindedly tucks away some loose strands of hair sticking out of your helmet. “You watched me at least since the beginning of last semester—”

“Nu-uh,” you cut in, lying in a childish tone.

“Yuh-huh,” he rebuttals.

Under the warm afternoon sunlight, you two begin to have a staring contest, squinting and playfully seething at one another. When your boyfriend squints harder with a ruffle of his nose, you follow suit. Eventually, you give in with a sigh.

“Okay, fine. Even if I did watch you a lot, it doesn’t mean I can just absorb your skateboarding skills through memory.”

Cockiness fades over his joking exterior as he flashes you a shit-eating grin. “It’s cause you were too busy focusing on my handsome face.”

Becoming second nature for you by now as he’s often like this, you roll your eyes and lightly punch him in the arm, but... he isn’t wrong.

And from your lack of an articulate response, Yangyang knows he’s right.

Sparing you from injuring your pride further, he swings the conversation back to what you were doing here in the first place. 

A hand of his steadies you by the bottom of your back. “Balancing feels weird, I know, but you’ll get the hang of it. Let’s try again.”

Releasing a lengthy exhale, your head bounces fervently in hopes that false confidence and your boyfriend’s support can morph into a successful skateboard run.

The careful push he gives you is ample enough to have you ride down the street by yourself. Your body wavers side by side and you fear that you’ll teeter to a stop like all the other times, but somehow, your foot swipes across the pavement, carrying you further down the street.

It’s not fast by any means, but as you persistently execute it, you gain traction and see yourself finally riding without any issues.  

“Yangyang, I got it. I got it!” you shriek as you quickly glance back towards him.

He radiates in response and gets lost in you, equally proud that you finally found your balance and basking in how stunning you look as you coast down the beach side street.

However, his trance breaks when he sees you’re about to hit the edge of a street curb.

“Babe, watch ou—”

The scene happens fast. You’re suddenly laying on a patchy part of the grass, with the skateboard by your feet. Yangyang bolts to you, hunching down as he daintily tugs you to sit upward.

“You okay?” he pants nervously.

At first, you nod without a thought since the helmet and wrist guards have saved you from any potential major injuries. 

However, your boyfriend’s eyes widen when out of nowhere, you draw in air between clenched teeth. Your butt feels as if it’s on fire, since it was actually the body part that mostly broke your fall.  

He suggests to sit here for a while to let the pain dissipate, reassuring you’ll be fine from his own past experiences. 

As you rest awkwardly beside him on the grass, placing weight on your hip rather than your rear end, he aids you in ridding of your safety gear. Once they’re off, he kisses your hand tenderly.

“Maybe we should leave the skateboarding to me, for now,” he mumbles softly into your skin, leaving another kiss upon your hand.

You mope in agreement. “Maybe so...”

Caressed in his arms, you link eyes with him. Your eyes flutter to a close while he delicately eases you into him by the back of your neck.

The intense pressing of his lips against yours feels heavenly, almost entirely sedating your mild pain. He kisses you deeper, disregarding everyone and everything in proximity. You reciprocate it all back eagerly, cupping his cheek and gripping onto his strong frame as you do so.

Peeling away breathlessly, you tip your forehead against his. “Should we go back to the library and have me watch you longingly from our old spot?”

Yangyang hurriedly shakes his head.

“Nope. Never again,” he replies, his thumb stroking your cheek. “If you’re watching me skateboard, you’ll be doing it by my side from now on, beautiful.”

A chuckle trickles from you. You’re about to retort back, but your one and only skater boy diverts your train of thought, dragging you in for another long, blissful kiss. 

#yangyang x reader #yangyang fluff #yangyang fanfic #yangyang imagines #nct fluff #nct imagines #nct fanfic #wayv fluff #wayv imagines #wayv fanfic #yn brainrot #beginningscollab

[florenzismind]

Re: Why unrequited love as a plotline makes no sense. And more. 

I’m trying really hard here to articulate my thoughts properly and this might be messy but I hope anyone who’s interested can follow my thought process. This will be long, so I’m sorry for the huge post everyone has to endure in the tag. 

As I said in my previous post I think the show wants us to think Sascha is interested in Isi. This is the premise my argumentation is based on, so...if you don’t think that (which is totally fine and nothing is really canon yet, so who knows!), this probably won’t make any sense to you lmao.

We (probably?) know the overall themes of Ismail’s season. We know that toxic friendship plays a huge role here: Not just that Ismail’s friendship with Constantin is toxic for THEM, but also that *they* are toxic to people in their life, too. We know that Ismail hurt (and bullied) Ava in the past, that they were pretty close friends and she was replaced by Constantin. We also know that Ismail has known Sascha since their childhood and they grew closer over quarantine. We’ve seen on screen that Isi can depend on Sascha and Sascha is basically *there* every time Isi needs anything. He’s a dependable person, someone you can rely on. Sascha can’t say the same about Isi, though. We also don’t know yet if he’s aware of the bullying Ismail was a part of, so who knows what will happen about that.

So what needs to happen in order for Ismail to grow? And what will probably happen in what the DRUCK fandom loves to call hell week(s)? 

Well. Ismail will fuck up again. They will probably let Sascha (and/or Ava) down to the point that Sascha (and/or Ava) will not just easily forgive them. Ismail will need to realize that being sorry is not the same thing as actually changing your behavior, so other people can rely on you and believe your apology to be genuine. Ismail will have to decide who is toxic and unreliable in their life and who deserves their time, energy and dedication. 

To this point they were (somewhat) successful in separating their two “lives” but we’ve seen that this is getting harder and harder and Sascha is the one constantly being let down. The narrative makes it clear who we are supposed to be rooting for, who represents peace, safety and reliability: Sascha. 

In my opinion, the only way we (as viewers) will actually believe Ismail’s growth is Ismail actively CHOOSING Sascha (and Ava) and proving that they can rely on Isi. 

Let’s also keep in mind which narrative DRUCK has presented us with these past two weeks: Lou/Constantin and Sascha/Ava as two opposite poles with Ismail in the middle. You can even bring more abstract symbolism into it:

Lou/Constantin clips: fast clips (driving the car, the strange party clip), fast heartbeat/adrenaline, irresponsible behavior (drinking [while driving], smoking, breaking into construction sites etc), loudness/screaming, concrete buildings

Sascha/Ava: lots of green + nature, music, feeling at peace/safety, childhood/nostalgia, quietness, familiarity 

I’m not saying Lou is toxic or that she makes Ismail do things (they can be perfectly toxic and irresponsible on their own lmao). But there is a VERY clear line drawn between those two parties by the narrative presented in the last two weeks.

And there must be a reason why they chose to introduce not one but two new characters. They could’ve easily just introduced Lou as the sole LI and let her be the influence to get Ismail to realize that Constantin is toxic and they shouldn’t depend on him and sacrifice their values for someone else. Constantin and Lou could’ve been the two opposite poles, Ismail in-between. (And Fatou and/or Kieu My could’ve filled the role of someone from the other side.)

So why *did* they introduce Sascha? And why *did* they make us believe that Sascha likes Ismail more than a friend if not for a romantic storyline? 

Why did we have multiple Sascha and Ismail clips and moments before the romantic Lou x Ismail storyline even really started?

I can only guess, but it’s probably to get the viewers invested in one relationship specifically. We were supposed to see Sascha be the good influence, the great (maybe pining) friend. We were supposed to like him and like Ismail with him. 

It makes no sense to end this storyline with Ismail not loving Sascha back. Sascha represents safety, reliability and growth. He represents what a good friend is (and what we as the viewers want Ismail to be). The season can’t end with Ismail not being (close) friends with Sascha anymore, because how would that exactly feel like character growth? Especially if Ismail stays with Lou. The two opposite poles wouldn’t make any sense. 

The only other possibility I can see is Sascha not being in love with Ismail in the first place. But that wouldn’t explain everything I talked about in my previous post and it wouldn’t explain the framing of Constantin/Lou vs. Ava/Sascha.  

#druck #this is so long and i don't even know if any of this makes sense #my brain is fried now lmao