#<- a distinct possibility with me cause i have brain problems that make my words get jumbled sometimes

[ectopuppy]

which ben 10 series do u like best??!! im a sucker for the original series bc of nostalgia personally, but they are all good in their own ways

this is an impossible question to answer so im just gonna talk about why i love each series im sorry and thank you anon for gifting me this opportunity to ramble about The Hyperfixation (tm) o7

This is going under a cut btw. It's a little under 3000 words of unedited thoughts so like, just a heads up lmao

Why is the Original Series Good?

So first! Before I get into it! I overall just fucking love Ben 10 conceptually in general! I've always loved aliens and sci-fi and superheroes so you can imagine how excited I was to stumble onto this show airing on teletoon when I was just a tiny Kiki.

The OS has a lot going for it, but the big one is, of course, the nostalgia factor. Iconic as fuck! Fun theme song! Max is there! Yay!!

The BEST character in the OS is Max and I WILL die on that hill. Even as a kid I fucking loved him. Ben and Gwen are fun characters, but Max is the much needed reprieve from them constantly bickering. (Which is one thing I'm glad there's a lot less of in later series.)

Ben is a compelling hero, and the OS is an amazing START POINT for him. While he does have character growth in the OS, I would not be THIS obsessed with him if the OS was the only Ben 10 media that existed. He's a kid. A bit of a brat, but always TRYING to do the right thing. Which he's not always great at considering he's, you know, 10, but he really does try.

Something a lot of people seem to brush past when talking about Ben is that at the beginning of the series he was actively friendless and being bullied at school. I feel like that's a huge factor in why the Omnitrix is so important to his identity in later series. (or even in the Xylene episode when he finds out the Omnitrix was supposed to be for Max) He really didn't have much going for him before that. Being a hero is very likely one of the first times he's felt like he belongs somewhere, you know? Anyway..

Gwen is also very fun in the OS. UAF filed down her teeth just a little too much in my opinion. A lot of her personality in the OS is her THINKING she's sooo much more mature than Ben despite also being a fucking grade schooler. (They are literally the EXACT same age, right down to sharing a birthday.) She's is just as immature as Ben, no matter how much she thinks she isn't. It's just that her smug "I know better." attitude doesn't cause outfacing issues as often as Ben being impulsive and a little self centred.

The OS also benefits from being the "spaghetti on the wall" series. Things just kinda worked however the writers wanted at the moment. Big point here: Magic got to just be magic. (I have made a whole ass post RE: Anodite Gwen so I wont get into it here, but I like the retcon. That statement does not conflict with the above.) Gwen getting fed up being sidelined and going "Fuck it I'm learning magic." is so good and I love it.

I feel like it is impossible to not like the OS in some form, because it's the Original Series. Everything that happens later can only have happened BECAUSE of the OS. Is it my favourite series? No. But it's charming and silly and fun and I love it. c:

Why is Alien Force Good?

Alien Force is a tonal downshift for the series. The era it was made in was the era of Gritty Cartoons for Cool Boys, and it shows. Now, this is not a bad thing to ME, but I know a lot of people don't like the heavier atmosphere of Alien Force, especially in its opening arc. Like... episode 1 (or 2 not sure, but it's in the premiere) of AF has a dude straight up just fucking die, which is kinda. A lot. I can see where people are coming from.

HOWEVER.

Personally, I love the entire DNAlien arc, and it's use as a coming of age story for Ben. A big part of AF is Ben realizing that he needs to grow up. In the OS he was a kid. Max was the leader and the beacon of morality. In AF Max is MIA from episode 1. Gwen is more mature, and has mellowed out a lot, but she just isn't a leader. Kevin should never be put in charge of other people, so he's out. So it's Ben. He has to step up and lead, because there IS nobody else.

But, also the show is not gloomy! It has it's moments, and I get why people might watch the premiere and think "Hmm, too dark.", but AF is silly as hell. I will point to the Alien X episode as my basis here. It's smack in the middle of the DNAlien arc, and it's dumb as hell. Again, I have made a whole ass post about this, but the gist is: I love Alien X being a god being with the ability to do LITERALLY anything, but Ben gets so frustrated that he refuses to use it unless the universe is actively collapsing. (Also, the incurseans are there, and they are never not silly lmao)

But to me, the best thing AF did for the series was give it structure. The OS was extremely episodic, but the front half of AF is held together with a tight plot line. The back half not so much, but it does have a lot going for it character wise. Case in point:

Let's talk about Kevin. c:

Kevin was always a fun villain in the OS. Any time he showed up I knew we were in for a fun time, so him becoming part of the main cast (As a hero and friend no less!) in AF was a major selling point to me personally. Unlike with Gwen, I feel like they sanded him down just enough. He's still kinda sleazy and a bit of a shithead, but now he's trying to do better.

I'm aware the explanation for this behaviour is that the Omnitrix energy he absorbed in the OS drove him crazy or whatever, but that's not something we get up front if memory serves. He really does seem like he naturally just grew up and realized acting how he did when he was 11 wasn't exactly getting him anywhere good.

Kevin's arc in the back half of AF plays really well with Ben's arc. Ben is at an all time high after saving the universe, while Kevin gets mutated again and has a really shitty time. Ben getting humbled while Kevin gains confidence just works really well in tandem, I think, and they end AF on somewhat equal footing.

AF also gives us some of my favourite side characters so I really love it on those grounds alone tbh. Mostly talking about Paradox here, but also Albedo, and The Plumber's Kids (especially Alan I love him he's so baby <3), and Sandra. God, I love Ben's hippy dippy granola mom so much it fits him so well.

I could make a whole fucking post about Paradox to be honest, and this post is already insanely long so I'll be brief here. He made it a billion times easier for the writers to play with timeline bullshit without having to sneak retcons past the audience every time. He's also just insanely fun. Silly Time Man. I loves him!!

I also really love Julie and Omniverse did her so fucking dirty, but that's a whole thing and I'm sure I'll get into it when I get there in my rewatch so I'll save it.

Again, I don't know that I would say AF is my favourite series, but I will say AF DOES happen to have my favourite EPISODE of the entire continuity though. "Con of Rath" is the best Ben 10 episode and I will fight you on this one.

I'm about to pivot into Ultimate and seeing as I haven't gotten there in my rewatch I am going to have less to say about it (and Omniverse) since they aren't fresh in my mind and I don't want to be spouting half remembered nonsense or go dig through the wiki to fact check (and spoil myself on things I don't remember). I know this post is stupid long, bear with me a bit longer.)

Why is Ultimate Alien Good?

Every new series of Ben 10 does something to change the status quo in some way. In AF it was aging up the characters and relegating Max to side character status. Omniverse does much the same, giving Ben a new partner and pushing Gwen and Kevin aside. Ultimate changes things in a different way, though, and I'm NOT talking about Ultimate forms.

Ultimate's big shake up is actually the name of it's first episode: "Fame".

Now, in this house we love a secret identity, lemme get that out up top. For Ben, though? The fame works. He never really honestly HAD a secret identity the same way most superheroes do. He'd always just kinda done his thing, and had it work out. All of his villains knew who he was. (To the point that "Hit 'Em Where They Live" kinda makes no fucking sense? Zombozo is dumb as shit so like maybe he didn't? But Charmcaster DEFINITELY did, and Ben was famous OFF earth already? It's whatever, but like ',:| ya'know.)

The important thing about making him famous is that it gives him a new avenue for character growth. As in my dude needs to get his fucking act together good god. Like, it's Ben, when it comes down to it he buckles down and does the right thing, but fuck man. This is a character trait that will haunt the rest of the series. There are episodes of OMNI that focus on Ben needing to get his head on straight wrt being famous.

It circles back to my point from earlier, though. Ben was NOT popular before "Fame". His friends included: Kevin, Gwen, and Julie. That's it. He's on a soccer team (At least at the beginning of AF I feel like it never comes up later.), but he never talks about his teammates. That one bully whose name escapes me is on okay terms with him after "The Gauntlet", but I wouldn't call them friends. But after his identity is leaked suddenly everybody likes him. He's gone from absolute nobody to celebrity overnight. Of course he would love this.

This is also an extension of one of Ben's core character traits: He NEEDS to be a hero. Actually he needs to be THE hero, because that is his entire self identity. It comes across (both in universe and from a meta standpoint) as Ben being conceited and selfish, but underneath it is really just a sad little boy who is clinging desperately to the ONE thing he's ever been that people liked. The Hero.

If Ben isn't the hero then who is he? He clearly doesn't know as of the AF finale. He loses the Omnitrix and completely breaks down. Even though he's an expert tactician and a damn good leader, he doesn't even know who he is without the Omnitrix.

Azmuth of all people is the one to tell him to get his head out of his ass. I don't think any other character could have done it, though. Azmuth does not care about Ben's feelings, but he's also someone who (whether he likes it or not) sees ALL of Ben's worth. Max or Gwen would be too soft and Kevin's words wouldn't hold the same weight. Azmuth is someone Ben looks up to while also being someone who won't pull his punches. If he's telling Ben he can do something it has to be true, you know?

That aside, lets talk about the "Ultimate" in "Ultimate Alien".

The Ultimatrix is... weird. It's interesting, don't get me wrong, but it is so completely and clearly just a marketing gimmick. The Ultimatrix can be as cool as it wants, it is not making it out of this series alive. Also, everything I find interesting about the Ultimatrix gets dropped. The first episode has Ben be apprehensive about using the Ultimate forms, but then it's just never brought up ever again for some reason.

Also this shit:

WHY DOES THIS HAPPEN????? WHY IS IT NEVER TALKED ABOUT? 😭

It all just feels so fucking meaningless knowing the Finished Omnitrix is going to replace it. Like, Albedo made this peice of shit. So even if I hadn't watched parts of Omniverse first I would have put together that Azmuth would inevitably replace it, right? But it doesn't really matter I guess. That's my personal gripe with Ultimate forms, though, so I wanted to get it out here. Ultimate's does give us "The Ultimate Sacrifice" which is an episode I remember enjoying though, so its not a complete wash.

The thing with Ultimate as a series it that it's really just Alien force... 2!! to the extent that fans refer to them as a collective. "Ultimate Alien Force" Like, my header up there ^^^ was "Why is Ultimate Alien Force Good?" when I first started writing the AF part, and I only changed it so I had a smooth transition to talk about "Fame". They are so intrinsically linked in my brain that I didn't even blink lumping them into one. It makes it hard to find fault in Ultimate when I love so much of the things introduced in AF that carry over, you know?

Now onto the one I was soooo close to saying was my favourite:

Why is Omniverse good?

Omniverse is very, very special to me. I did not watch UAF as a kid. It started airing just as I was hitting my "I'm too old for cartoons" phase, so I just.. never watched it. I wouldn't have ever really gotten into Ben 10 as much as I have if not for someone talking about how much they liked Omniverse on my timeline when it was airing. I watched a large chunk of Omni before doubling back to watch all of the OS (Which I had only seen bits of growing up.) and then UAF.

I fucking love Omniverse and a big reason is:

Him 👆 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

I would kill and die for Rook Blonko.

He is mine moste beloved boy. My babygirl. My right hand arm etc.

But beyond The Boy 💖 Omniverse has a lot going for it. It's another tonal shift for the series, this time back to the more innocent and silly tone of the OS. Like I said, I like the tone in UAF, but Omniverse is just so bright and charming it's hard not to enjoy it.

The art style is also very fun in Omni and matches that lighter tone really well. (There are some stylistic choices I'm not personally big on, but it's whatever.) Where UAF had scaled back a lot of designs to give off a pretty generically American Comic Book style, Omniverse lets characters look interesting again! I'm thinkng specifically about Animo and Charmcaster here (Charmcaster's UAF design is so boring. Omniverse puts her back in her cool robe/tunic thing from the OS.), but in general the characters in Omni just have more interesting designs than they did in UAF. Like, Paradox isn't just Guy in Labcoat in Omni lol

I also think the ten episode arc structure does Omniverse a lot of favours. It gets to have the fun silly episodic nature of the OS while also holding onto the structure AF gave the series.

Beyond that, based on my memory of the series (which I have not watched since it finished airing so it's not exactly perfect) I don't really have much more I can say about Omni. It's fun, and has good characters and plot lines. It's just a really good entry and was a solid ending to wrap up the whole four series continuity.

And so, finally, I can wrap up this fuck off long post.

Like I said up top, I can't definitively say which series is my favourite. They all have their own strengths and weaknesses, and are good in their own ways. If pressed, I would probably say "Um... Omniverse maybe?", but I love the OS and UAF so so much it's not a confident answer. (having not watched Omni in a hot minute also doesn't help lmao)

Thank you for reading my big dumb post. If you got all the way to the end, I love you. I mean, if you stopped reading it I also love you, but if you managed to get through all, uh, 2800ish words of this post without tapping out, you are on the top shelf. <3

I'd love to hear your thoughts, or answer more specific questions if you have them!

[oricreature]

Okay a couple points because I thought abt this a lot when I was first learning the lore

Union legitimately has made a utopia for residents of its core worlds. All their needs are easily available and they can do whatever work they want, even if thats no work at all.

The problem is, unions hand is limited and the other corporations are far more ambitious, and greedy. Union would barely have to fight if IPS-Ns terrible treatment of entire planets workers didn't massively increase the number of pirates, or if HA.... didn't exist, or if SSC... wasn't like that, or Horus...

Lancer makes the important distinction between easy and possible

Making a utopia for its people would never be easy, but union is trying damn hard to make it happen (except seccom, seccom sucked this is objective fact)

One thing that actually really annoys me about the Lancer community is a lot of people want to paint union as evil. And I get it, I get defensive whenever I hear "government will fix all your problems" as much as the next person. The trick is, union actually wants to do that. They've seen humanity almost get wiped out, go to war again, get to space, and then squabble endlessly for 5000 years.

Union send out chassis to do battle yes, but union (except seccom) doesn't ever send out chassis to take a world. The mechs are used to do what union thinks will help the most people possible

I'm aware that sounds word for word like American propaganda, but the trick is to remember that union ISNT AMERICA. Union is what America wants to think it is. Union doesn't erase the culture of a world it brings into the core world, it JUST gives the resources it needs to become what is considered a core world.

Union isn't great at its job, it acts slowly and has to push through a lot of beurocracy. However the last time (seccom) it went bad for everyone. Union has to resort to violence yes, but my question for you is this: how do you stop a pirate raiding group terrorizing a cosmopolitan ship fleet WITHOUT fighting them? Paying them off wont work, more oirste groups will just pop up, IPS-N makes too much poverty in the long rim to prevent that. Do you attack IPS-N, the corporation that causes most of the pirates to lop up? No you can't do that because IPS-N is as likely to surrender as it is to throw a dozen sekhmet mechs onto an unsuspecting planet as a method of quelling resistance. So what then, asking them to stop won't work, paying them off would lead to an increase in piracy, and unions reach is too small to stop IPS-N from doing their shit.

Union isn't great at making a utopia, it's a slow and often painful process, but it is happening, and at least from my point of view, they're doing it in a way thats about as morally good as you can get in the world lancer is set in. When you're facing space fascists and eugenics Lamborghini, you've gotta get a bit creative.

Moral of the story: union can draw a lot of parallels to the idealized form America says it takes, but the difference is, union actually does it. Union doesn't have a massive mech or weapons manufacturing complex because of printing. Union does go to war, yes, but it is a last damn resort. The time the game takes place happens to have particularly strained relationships between everybody, but if it was always war for the 5k years union has existed, union wouldn't exist.

I don't know if this is remotely coherent I'm kinda just putting whatever my brain says into text.

Also don't support war guys

Free palestine, and the "war on terror" was an excuse

Uuuh that's all folks

The devs for Lancer (the mecha ttrpg) say that Union is a utopia-in-progress.

Put aside all of the lore painting Union as Space USA, including all of the very non-utopian parts of the USA.

I don't think you can have a game about mecha warfare set in a utopia. Building giant war machines and sending them out to fight a war is about as far from utopia as you can get.

[ibis-gt]

I honestly would love to read about the first time Cam finds out Luther is shrinking because he has feelings for him. In that hanahaki disease au.

ask and ye shall receive.... cam figures it out. just shy of 2000 words.

~~~

“Aaaand… there,” Cam said, and gave the screwdriver one final twist. He pulled on the little contraption in front of him a few times to test its stability and sat back on his haunches, finally satisfied. “You’re all set.”

It is one of four little rope and pulley elevator systems that he’d set up around Luther’s apartment. It consisted of a small wooden plank that Luther could stand on and use the rope system to raise or lower himself. Each one was operable at height ranges between about a foot and a half to four inches. They let him get up onto his sofa, his bed, the kitchen counter, and the bathroom sink.

“You really didn’t have to do all that,” Luther protested from his position just behind Cam. “I mean, I don’t get that small that often, I probably won’t use them that much.”

Cam laughed and pushed a stray wisp of hair out of his face, looking up at Luther. “What are you talking about? You’re always shrinking around me. It’s okay, I’m happy to help. That’s what friends are for.” He watched the usual blush spread across Luther’s face, the telltale shiver run down his spine, and smiled as Luther shrank another inch. He’d lost some height here and there during the installation process as they chatted, and had gone down to about five foot even, if Cam had to guess. “Anyway, you let me know if you have any trouble with these, and I’ll be over to fix ‘em as soon as I can. And there’s the bells if you’re in any real trouble - those strings there, see? They’re hooked up to a bell in my apartment, ring that and I’ll come right over.”

“My cat’ll have a field day with them,” Luther murmured, brow furrowing. “Maybe we should do something other than string.”

Cam chewed on the end of his screwdriver in contemplation. “Hm. Good point. I’ll figure something out later.” He slipped the screwdriver in his toolbelt and slapped his hands on thighs as he stood up. “Well! I’d better get back to my place and start dinner. You’re coming over, right?”

“Oh! As long as it’s not an imposition? I mean, I don’t want to be any trouble…”

“Nah, s’alright, you’re always welcome. Spaghetti and meatballs tonight. See you in an hour?”

Luther’s blush deepened and he lost another two inches. “S-see you then,” he managed.

Cam chuckled fondly to himself as he left. He tried not to think of Luther’s condition as cute or funny, because when the shrinking was really bad it put the poor guy in danger. But he couldn’t help but find it amusing when Luther lost just a little height, ending up just a slightly shorter version of himself. And when he went on one of his long rambles and shrank a little bit at a time all throughout, it put Cam in mind of a deflating balloon, which was just too silly not to laugh at. And when he ended up really tiny, and he was just like a little doll, and fit so perfectly in the palm of Cam’s hand…

Cam shook his head to clear his thoughts. No, that was too far. He shouldn’t think like that, no doubt it was terrifying for Luther to be so small and vulnerable. He sighed as he shouldered his door open, hands full of leftover wood and string. He set them on the little table where he kept his keys by the door, then unbuckled his toolbelt and hung it on the coat rack, lost in thought.

He’d been puzzling over what caused Luther to shrink for a while now. Was it just at random? Was it like an allergic reaction, and some kind of food or environmental thing kicked it off? He had a brief vision of Luther sneezing and instantly shrinking down to bug size. No, knock it off, he chastised himself, not funny. A little funny. But don’t laugh at it.

Anyway, he hadn’t seen Luther ever sneeze when he shrank, so that probably wasn’t it. What were the symptoms? He’d make a list, that would help him narrow it down.

Cam slipped an apron over his head - one of the novelty ones his sister kept getting him, he didn’t bother to read the witty joke about buns printed on the front - and started on the dough for his spaghetti. Whenever possible, he liked to make things from scratch. Besides, having something to do with his hands let his mind work better. He worked the problem around in his mind just like he worked the dough in front of him, kneading it, pushing it around, looking at it from different angles.

So. What were the warning signs? Luther tended to get awkward and shy just before he shrank. He’d blush, stammer or trip over his words, either avoid eye contact or stare like he couldn’t look away, and of course the final sign was that signature shiver right before a loss of height. A lot of those symptoms could be attributed to anxiety as well - was that what triggered the shrinking, just whenever he was anxious? But that couldn’t be it, Luther had been anxious plenty of times without shrinking. Not to mention he worked a high-stress job, waiting tables at a local diner, and wouldn’t be able to make it through the day if anxiety made him shrink. So that wasn’t it.

Cam rolled the dough out flat and cut it into strips. He hung the fresh noodles up to dry and put water on to boil, then opened the fridge and pulled out the meatballs he’d shaped that morning.

His brain kept chugging along on the issue as he worked, hands going on automatic. He came back to the present long enough to taste the sauce he’d made, hem and haw, and add a little more garlic, then went right back to it. There was something tugging at the back of his mind, trying to get his attention, but he couldn’t quite grasp it.

A sound startled him out of his thoughts - the ringing of a bell.

“Shoot,” Cam hissed, dropping the sauce spoon. It clattered onto the stove and left little pools of sauce cooling on the glass surface. He’d deal with that later though, Luther needed him now. He switched the burners to low and headed for the door.

Luther’s door was locked, so he had to duck back inside his apartment to grab the spare key. He opened the door slowly and called out.

“Luther? Was that just the cat, or do you need me?” Cam scanned the room, looking for that distinctive neon green jumpsuit. It clashed horribly with everything, but it was useful for spotting him when he ended up tiny. Sure enough, there he was by the strings for the bell, waving an arm to get Cam’s attention. He was easy to spot, as far as things went, standing about a foot tall. Cam hurried over.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Do you need help?” Cam took a knee in front of Luther and leaned in close, inspecting him for injuries. Luther took a step back, startled by the sudden rush of worry, and Cam made himself pull back as well. It had to be scary to have someone looming over you like that, he told himself, give him a little space.

“I-I’m fine,” Luther said. “I just… well, this happened, and now I can’t really open my door, so I was hoping you could give me a lift over for dinner? Sorry, I shouldn’t’ve used the bell. I could’ve texted you.”

The tension flooded out of Cam and he laughed in relief. “No, that’s fine, I just jumped to conclusions. I can give you a lift, sure.” He cupped his hands and held them out to Luther, who climbed on and settled in, sitting down with his legs crossed. Cam rose slowly, being careful not to jostle Luther, and began to amble back towards the door. A thought occurred to him.

“What did it?” Cam asked.

Luther looked up, startled. “What did what?”

‘“What made you shrink this time? I’ve been trying to work it out on my own and I’m just not getting it. There’s gotta be a common thread, right, you’re not just shrinking at random?”

Luther stared at him in open-mouthed shock, face growing steadily redder.

“I mean,” Cam continued, “if you were just shrinking at random, it’d be hard to hold down a job, y’know? Do you ever shrink at work? And anyway, didn’t you say - ” His eyes widened as that thing that had been nagging at him finally became clear. “You said you don’t shrink all the time! But you shrink pretty often whenever I’m around. Am I doing it, somehow?”

“No, no, no,” Luther said hurriedly, but Cam could feel him getting smaller.

“Oh, liar!” Cam chortled. “Nice try, Pinnochio, but I’m literally holding you right now. Is it actually me?”

“It’s - it’s not - not always?” Luther was practically cowering away from him now, and Cam realized he’d been a little harsh.

“Oh shoot, I’m sorry. Look, we don’t have to talk about it, okay? It’s your business, I shouldn’t’ve pried.”

“No, I… I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, it’s just… hard to say out loud, um…” Luther fidgeted with the collar of his jumpsuit, avoiding Cam’s eyes. He was red as a tomato, mouth drawn up in an adorable little pout, and so small and cute that Cam’s heart ached. Then it clicked.

“Oh. Is it me, like… because you like me?” Cam asked. “Like, you have a crush on me, is that it?”

Luther let out a sound like a tea kettle whistling, shrinking down at an alarming rate to only five inches tall. Cam couldn’t help himself. He laughed so hard he snorted. When he finally got a hold on himself again, the wounded look on Luther’s face sobered him instantly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, but you don’t know how long I’ve been trying to work this out, and the answer’s been right in front of my face the whole time! I swear I’m laughing at myself, not at you. Anyway, you wanna go out sometime?”

Luther gaped up at him for a long moment. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but nothing came out. Finally he shut his mouth and nodded furiously. Cam grinned.

“Or this could be like our first date, right? I’ll get some candles and dim the lights. We could even 'Lady and the Tramp' it with the spaghetti! Or - okay, okay, sorry, I’ll stop.” Luther had started to shrink again, and Cam didn’t want his cooking to go to waste just because his guest was too small to eat it. “Hey, I joke a lot, but I want you to know I’m being serious here,” he said gently. “I’d like to go out with you, if you’re alright with it. Is it going to cause problems, though? Like are you going to shrink every time we’re together?”

Luther shifted and looked away, finally finding his voice. “I - I don’t know. The doctor said if I told you about how I felt, it would get easier. But he didn’t say it would go away entirely… if that’s not something you want to put up with, we don’t have to - ”

“No, no, that’s fine, I don’t mind it. Just if it was a problem for you, is all. I like you a lot, Luther. I’d love to be your partner, if you’ll have me.”

Luther looked back up at Cam with a huge, genuine, relieved smile on his teeny tiny face. Cam’s heart melted.

“I’d like that.”

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

hey so i'm hoping to get some writing advice about creative burnout? like i seem to write in fits and spurts. some months i can churn out a oneshot or chapter everyday and some months i can do one (1) creative thing only. so i'm wondering how to prevent creative burnout and how to just create more smoothly <3 thank you!

Creative Burnout & How To Ward Against It

First, I’d like to preface this all by saying you’re definitely not alone. You probably already know this, but sometimes it’s nice to be reminded.

I know from personal experience that creative burnout can leave you feeling hopeless, detached from yourself—the kind of identity crisis no one needs in 2020. 

So buckle in, folks. It’s a dosy.

I. The Symptoms

Not to be the local WebMD page here, but signs of burnout can include:

Procrastination (more than usual)

Dreading writing and feeling stuck or overly perfectionistic when you try

Physical tiredness and/or irritability

Feeling like everything is monotonous

It’s more than just writer’s block. It’s a physical and emotional exhaustion response to something that goes deeper than a simple lack of inspiration. In my experience, and from a bit of research, I’ve found that what your brain is really looking for is dopamine.

Dopamine is essentially your brain’s chemical reward system for doing something interesting or exciting to you. As someone who is diagnosed with ADHD, I have chronically low levels of dopamine, so this is a constant struggle for me—but it is absolutely made worse by creative burnout.

II. The Problem

Studies have shown that the more we do A Thing the less that thing will give us dopamine (unless a component of the activity changes regularly). This is because eventually our brains desensitise to the stimuli provided by the activity, and subsequently, we become disengaged.

But it’s not necessarily The Thing (i.e. writing) that becomes boring. Actually, more than a few factors could be at play here, and the first step to finding a solution is to identify the problem.

1. ENVIRONMENT LACKS EXCITEMENT/CHANGE—

Sometimes, the monotony of everyday life can feed creative burnout. This becomes especially applicable in quarantine when you’re not leaving your house.

What we don’t realise is that even something as small as the variables of driving to and from work, or interacting with passing coworkers, gives us dopamine. So if you have the same routine every day that does not involve any added variables, your brain will begin staunching that dopamine supply.

2. EITHER TOO EASY OR TOO CHALLENGING—

In 1975, Hungarian-American psychologist, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, coined the term “flow”, which refers to a heightened state of creativity and concentration on an activity. Csikszentmihalyi posited that if your skill level is equal to the level of challenge in any given activity, you will experience this state of flow.

The chart below is taken from Csikszentmihalyi’s own study on the subject of flow and motivation. It examines “your skill level” on the x axis in relation to the “challenge level” on the y axis.

Essentially:

Too much challenge + not enough skill = anxiety, worry (which might lead to procrastination and perfectionism)

Too much skill + not enough challenge = boredom, apathy (which might lead to monotony, irritability, and other depression-like symptoms)

Skill level = Challenge level = Flow

3. NOT ENOUGH “ACTIVE” STIMULATION—

When it comes to dopamine seeking, there is a distinct difference between active and passive stimulation in the brain.

Active stimulation is any form of activity that you have to actively engage in. For instance; exercising, doing a crossword puzzle, or reading a book. These kinds of activities not only give you dopamine, they also facilitate critical thinking and problem solving thought processes, which act as catalysts for creativity.

Passive stimulation, on the other hand, comes in the form of television, social media, and YouTube. It’s anything you can consume without having to actively engage. Passive stimulation will indeed give your brain dopamine, however, it won’t activate your creativity.

The problem also lies in the speed at which you receive the dopamine from passive activities. Passive stimulation is so easy to access that the more you consume, the harder it becomes to pick up active stimulation. Your brain expects a hit of dopamine just by picking up a phone or turning on the TV—it becomes addicted to the quick fix of a Netflix binge.

III. The Solutions

Based on the problems mentioned above, I am going to list a few solutions. Keeping in mind that not every solution will work for everyone, these can act as both preventative measures and remedies for someone who is currently burned out.

1. CHANGE UP YOUR ENVIRONMENT/ROUTINE—

Aim to do at least one thing per day that will add “variables” to the monotony. This can be as simple as going on a long walk, dressing up in that bold outfit you always wanted to wear to the office but never did, or sitting at a different workspace in your home.

Anything you can do that’s simple, but might provide an extra variable to your day to spice things up. Note: this shouldn’t be the same thing every day.

2. CHALLENGE YOURSELF MORE—

If you find yourself bored by your work, try challenging yourself more. This could mean setting goals for yourself that go a bit beyond what you’ve been doing. 

For example, if you’ve been writing 500 words per day, see if you can beat your own word count every day for the next week. If you’ve been writing mainly fluff pieces, switch it up and do an angst piece. See if you can write a book in a month, or start a blog where you don’t write fiction at all!

Anything you can do to add a little kick to your workload. Note: Beware of challenging yourself too much! This can lead straight back into burnout.

3. CHALLENGE YOURSELF LESS—

If you’re on the flip side of that coin, and find that you are anxious, procrastinating, and perfectionistic when it comes to writing, fret not. Just because you’re experiencing any of these things, doesn’t mean you’re incapable of doing the job with your skillset.

It just means your perception of the job needs to be shifted.

Procrastination, at its heart, is a fear of failure, which results in actively avoiding the negative emotions associated with the task that causes this fear. Perfectionism is a type of procrastination that is a combination of a fear of failure and a fear of success (or, more accurately, other’s critiques of your success) all at once.

Neither have anything to do with your actual skillset, but they have everything to do with your perception of your skillset. Obviously, this is a harder thing to fix, as it has to do with deeply ingrained levels of self-esteem.

What I can offer you is a tactic to trick your mind into thinking you’re capable.

If you have a task, big or small, and you are feeling overwhelmed by it (like you might go curl up in bed and scroll Tumblr), immediately break that task up into smaller tasks. Keep breaking up the smaller tasks until you have the smallest possible part of the bigger task without doing nothing.

Then do that smallest possible thing.

If your goal is to write a 2000 word one shot, a small part of that task is writing half of it. An even smaller part of that task is breaking the one shot up into “scenes” and writing one scene. For instance:

Jude wakes up to a sore throat, a runny nose, and a fever.

She tries to go to work, but Cardan, being the mother hen that he is, threatens to never make her another grilled cheese sandwich (her favourite food) ever again if she doesn’t stay home.

Jude agrees begrudgingly, and Cardan sits her down in front of the TV with a bottle of Gatorade. He leaves to go get medicine from the store.

When Cardan comes back, Jude is worse than before. He makes her soup and saltine crackers and spoon feeds her.

She complains the whole time and, in her feverish state, threatens to never buy him another bottle of wine (his favourite food) ever again if he doesn’t let her feed herself.

Each bullet point represents one “scene” of about 200-400 words each. Obviously, there will be more details that you work out as you write. But with these five smaller scenes, your goal is no longer writing the 2000 word one shot. Your goal is writing the first of the five scenes.

If you complete the smallest possible task, you can stop, and you’ll still feel like you’ve accomplished something because you can cross off that task from your list. But chances are, by the time you cross off one task, you may have inspiration enough to keep going.

4. ENGAGE IN ACTIVE STIMULATION—

Since active stimulation has been proven to turn on the creative “tap”, try incorporating more of these activities into your daily routine:

Exercise: As the resident couch potato, I hate to say that exercising is good for creativity, but it is. Even if it’s just going on a short walk, so long as you’re moving.

Reading: Sometimes you have plenty of ideas, but no words to fit those ideas. Fill your well of words by carving out an hour or two each day for reading a good book.

The Creative Process: In the writing world, the creative process is a process of about 20-30 minutes that the writer partakes in every day before they start writing. This process should be creative, but also have nothing to do with writing. You can try colouring in a colouring book, painting, organising a page in your bullet journal. Anything that is creative but does not make you think about everything you have to do that day. Think of it as creative meditation.

Listen to music: Having APD, I personally can’t listen to music while I write. However, studies have shown that if you listen to at least ten songs per day, it will significantly benefit your dopamine levels and overall mood. If you’re like me and prefer to work in silence, maybe stick on a couple songs during your creative process. If you can manage music and writing together, get out those headphones!

5. KEEP A REGULAR SCHEDULE—

I know this is the most cliche point in the book, but it’s valid. This doesn’t mean do the same thing at the same time every day over and over, because ultimately we’re looking to avoid monotony. 

But having pillars of structure to bolster the excitement can definitely work to keep you from slipping into burnout. Going to sleep, waking up, and having your meals at relatively the same time every day are good examples of this. 

Feel free to change up the things you do between breakfast and lunch, but make sure you have those pillars of consistency so your brain knows that a break is on the horizon and doesn’t get tired.

6. PACE YOURSELF—

This is particularly difficult for those of us who are coming out of a creative burnout, but I urge you to pay special attention to this one. If we are suddenly hit by inspiration and the writing is flowing and flowing and flowing, eventually we will hit the point of highest dopamine capacity for writing.

Not putting a check on the flood of inspiration coming out of a creative burnout, I’d argue, is actually a guarantee that many of us will experience burnout all over again. It becomes this vicious cycle in which we are trapped.

While it feels great to write non-stop and receive immediate validation for that work, try to limit yourself to how much you’re writing and how immediately you post your writing (if you plan on posting it).

Whenever I finish a one shot or a chapter of something, I like to allow at least one day for editing before I post. This timeframe is important, because it acts as a buffer of rest between writing marathons. 

You can take however long you need for the editing process, but definitely make sure you have a set amount of time in place. Otherwise, your brain might not have enough time to come down from what is essentially a writing high, and you will always need to reach greater heights in order to achieve that same level of dopamine.

~~~~

Overall, the most important things to take away from all of this are: 

Change up your environment

Keep your brain actively stimulated 

Have pillars of structure between which you can run about chaotically to your heart’s content

PACE YOURSELF!

Hope this helped. Happy writing!

-Em 🖤🗡

Writing Tip Masterlist

Fic Masterlist

Celebrate 2K with me!

[xenospacebabe]

Broken Wings

Hawks drabble

A/N: So I imagine for some reason that regular doctors and surgeons are capable of treating Hawks to a fault. But when it comes to his wings, they’re a bit...lost?

Summary: After coping with treating injuries to his wings by himself, Hawks finds himself with a more serious injury than he can handle. He can’t open his wings, or fly. The pain is mind numbing. He finds himself breaking into an animal clinic for some help.

Warning: Broken bones. Mild language

HawksxReader

7am. The doors don’t open until 8:30, but you still had things to do from yesterday that weren’t even started. Clutching your steel tumblr full of coffee that’ll barely scratch the surface of your exhaustion, you stifled a yawn and crawled out of your car. Barely remembering to lock it. You always parked on the side of the building so as not to take up any spaces in front. The key missed the lock a few times before eventually sliding inside and turning to the side.

The moment you turned on the lights, a couple of dogs in the back already started barking, hungry for breakfast and ready to go home. Your veterinary clinic was modest in size, but it was always busy. It was your father’s practice before he retired and passed it down to you after finishing school. Now it was all yours. It was hard work, but your clients were loyal. Many of them have been around since the place opened almost 30 years ago. You were the vet that people would recommend to their friends who needed help and had struggles affording it. Your clinic was the one that everyone knew cared the most about patients rather than money. And it showed. While your profits were great, it wasn’t what you were concerned the most about.

After setting down your things in your office, you tied back your hair into a high ponytail and took a long drink of your “breakfast.” You looked at the white board on your wall, deciding which surgery from yesterday to start on first. Picking the cat spay, you headed towards the back to get started. Passing surgery and into the kennels, you found your patient and greeted her with a sweet voice and scratches on her cheeks.

“Good morning, Sadie. You ready, sweet girl? C’mon.” The cat whined tiredly as you scooped her into your arms to bring into the surgical room. But when you lifted your head and looked inside you screamed. Unfortunately, this spooked your cat and she bolted out of your arms to hide under the kennels.

“AH SHIT! Sadie! Sadie c’mere girl! Who are you?!” There sitting on your operating counter was a man. A shirtless man with enormous wings that nearly filled the small room. He was covered in decently serious lacerations and wounds that made the surface of his skin look like a blue, black, green, and purple water color canvas. He looked terrible with deep bags under his eyes. However, he looked at you through messy strands of hair that hung in his face with a tired but smug expression.

“Really? You don’t know who I am?” He said, his voice croaking out with a subtle groan of pain. Your eyes shifted from his, those golden pools that shined like the sun, to the massive crimson wings. They, too, looked to be in disarray. Feathers stuck out in random places, others crumpled, many painted in blood. However his left hung in a slightly abnormal manner.

“I’m sorry. You shocked me all of a sudden. You’re Hawks right? What are you doing here? How did you even get in? The doors were all locked.” As you finished your statement, a single red feather lifted in mid air and hovered, showing you its bent up quill. He picked the lock with the feather and locked it behind him.

“Sorry. I just-..mmgghh...I think it’s broken. And the clowns at the city hospital the commission would send me to aren’t capable of fixing it. I found you online, you do exotics, right? Birds and stuff?”

All the while he was explaining his situation, you were assessing his condition. The area that connected the wing to his back appeared incredibly swollen, and slightly out of place. Without thinking, you reached out to palpate the area causing him to immediately flinch and groan out loud.

“Sorry! Sorry. I’m used to my patients being-...well animals. But yes, I’m a small animal and exotics vet. There’s a couple birds I’ve been treating for a long time.” Now this time, as you were talking, Hawks had his eyes trained on you. He was listening to every word you spoke intently. “Some of them were my dad’s patients before he retired. Shows how old they can get.”

Hawks braced the cold steel of the table, crouching forward some. His skin seemed damp with sweat, the pain he was in must have been affecting his body temperature. You needed to act quickly if you were going to save his wing.

“Okay, so. I have to touch it. I need to get a couple xrays to see if we have any breaks and we’ll go from there. I don’t....all I have are sedatives for animals. Would that..?”

“It’s fine, ain’t no pain out there that I can’t handle.” He looked at you with a charming smirk, clearly flexing his pain threshold to impress you. Because he looked you up and down and liked what he saw. Even in those scrubs which were relatively form fitting but patterened in cartoon cats and dogs.

“I’m serious. This is really going to hurt. Are you-“

“I said I can handle it.” Hawks snapped, frustrated with the questions now. He just wanted the pain to stop. And besides, that cute look on your blushing face was too good to miss.

“Alright...well...first you need to help me find my cat that you scared off.”

“You mean this one?” Appearing in front of you held under the arms and the butt by a trio of feathers was your very angry, very sleepy cat. You sighed in relief and retrieved her into your arms. It took some settling to calm her down but you were a natural with all animals. It came so easily. She was comfortable in her kennel when you set her back inside and you felt your brain shift gears.

You first had to get your hands on the wing. Just to get a feel of what you were working with. You’d never seen such beautiful, red feathers before. Even though you saw parrots and other birds daily. These were just...breathtaking. But even the most beautiful wings didn’t stop the pain of broken bones. Hawks groaned behind tight lips when you gently palpated the swollen wing. Inside you felt the distinct break and slight crunchiness that accompanied it. The growling in his throat didn’t frighten you, after all, you dealt with aggressive animals day in and day out.

“Y-you almost finished there, Doc? Agghh...” He finally outwardly complained when you flexed his wing. Your hands were gentle but it was still nearly unbearable. Slowly and carefully, you folded his wing back down into its natural resting position.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I know it hurts. But thank you for holding still. Alright. Let’s do some xrays.”

After some struggling and repositioning, and many awkward brushes of hands and faces, you and Hawks were successful in taking some clear shots of what you determined was a broken wing. You didn’t notice his eyes on you as you explained it to him. The room was dark, illuminated only by the backlight box that made it possible to see the xray photos. But he was studying your face quite intently.

The space between your eyebrows crinkled a little when you would point to a specific spot on the xray in concentration. When you were quiet in thought, your tongue pressed against your cheek or you nibbled your bottom lip. The slope of your nose was accentuated by the pale shine of the light box to make it look like you had a cute button nose. Everything you were saying filled his ears but didn’t register as anything coherent. Eventually, you noticed.

“Hawks? Are you okay? Are you in pain?” Your voice brought him out of the trance he’d slipped into and he blinked rapidly to soothe his eyes. He hadn’t blinked once.

“Oh! Uh-...aheh...I’m fine. And please...call me Keigo.”

“Keigo?”

“Yeah, that’s my real name. Hawks is just my hero name. I can trust you, yeah?” He looked down at you with those eyes that you swore were glowing and swallowed harshly. Suddenly your throat was dry.

“R-right! I knew that. Keigo...so...like I said. The break is pretty clean. Luckily there’s no fragments or splinters that would make a problem.”

“So what can you do to fix me?” He lied, though, about being in pain. Broken bones were painful enough. But a broken bone that carried the heavy weight of his wing was absolutely agonizing. However, years of working as a pro hero conditioned him into hiding his pain from his enemies.

“Well, there isn’t a lot we can do. Other than immobilize the wing so the bone can heal back together.”

That got his attention.

“Immobilize? You mean I can’t-“

“Fly. Yeah. Not forever, but for a while. You’d have to come back every now and then for xrays so I can see how the healing is progressing. Given the size, I’d imagine...6 weeks?”

6 weeks? Of no flying? Hawks hadn’t spent that long out of the sky in so long that he wasn’t sure he remembered what it felt like to walk anywhere. You could see the panic in his eyes, beads of sweat formed on his neck and forehead. So you reached out and placed your hand on his shoulder to try and comfort him. He froze, not sure of what to do.

“Sorry! Sorry.” You quickly withdrew your hand. “That’s a habit. I always try to comfort the parents of my patients when they get difficult news.”

“No no, it’s-...you just surprised me.” He reached for your hand and returned it to his shoulder which was still bare. You hadn’t even realized he hadn’t redressed after finishing the radiographs. Your palm rested on his shoulder, his skin was warm to the touch. Your thumb gently stroked the end of his collarbone as you often did to support your clients. Beneath your fingers you felt the impressive muscle he had, in spite of appearing relatively lean, the muscle tone of his torso was quite defined. You imagined it had to be in order for him to fight villains and hold himself aloft while flying.

“I know it’s a difficult thing to hear. Your wings take you everywhere, I’m sure. But this won’t last forever, okay?” Something about your voice was so soothing to his fried nerves. But you’d never know because of how cool and composed he made himself appear.

“You don’t mind?” Hawks felt his anxiety dissolve when he thought about getting to see you next. It was a strange feeling, but he knew he could trust you. Those pretty eyes of yours really spoke volumes.

“Of course not. Now let’s get you taped up and on your way. I’m sure you’re exhausted, no doubt whatever broke your wing has you worn out.”

“Heh you can say that again.” There it was, his suave and too-cool demeanor. But you didn’t mind it. You were sure it was just a front he was used to keeping up. After all, you were just a civilian and he couldn’t afford to let anyone know just how weak he was.

You managed to tape and place Hawks’ wing in a makeshift splint. He refused any medication but you could tell by the way he white knuckled the table that he was in pain. A majority of the time, your patients were under anesthesia when setting broken bones. So you had to be careful this time about how heavy handed you were. By the time you were finished, you had less than 10 minutes to get him out the door before your techs and kennel attendants showed up for work.

“Come see me in a week. We’ll take more xrays and make any adjustments if you need them. Try to keep the splint dry, and rest. I mean it, Hawks.”

“Alright, Doc. I’ll be a good little bird just for you.” The winged hero winked at you as he slipped out the back door. You felt your heart leap into your throat and cheeks burn up as a result. Just as he disappeared, you heard the sounds of your employees coming in and quickly closed the door and composed yourself.

“Morning, Doc!” One of them said as you appeared in the exam area. You smiled and waved, reaching into the pocket of your white coat with your other hand. Something was in there. You looked inside and saw red. A feather. Unbeknownst to you, Hawks had slipped one of his feathers into your pocket. You couldn’t fathom why, but you felt a strange sense of comfort when you ran the tip of your finger along the center spine. It quivered when you did so.

“Ungh...” In an alley a block away, Hawks had to brace a brick wall with one hand. His insides trembled as he sensed you touching his feather. Even he didn’t know why he left one with you. But the thought of parting made him remarkably...sad?

“Get it together, Keigo...” He muttered to himself, shaking his head and continuing back home. It would be a long 6 weeks out of the sky, but at least he’d be able to see you.

A/N: This was longer than I anticipated omg. Does anyone think I should continue?

[theothin]

And I’d expect people who have followed my blog to understand my POV on art more since I talk about it quite regularly and yet here we are!

I don't think I've ever followed your blog. I remember interacting positively with you in the past, but I don't follow many people.

-I- don’t just replicate and vomit it back up. And I do art that is freakin derivative as HELL and can STILL explain all sorts of symbolism and choices made to create it the way it was created. assuming that’s “all” artist do that is not only disrespectful to artist but to art as a whole. If some artist do nothing but replicate…that’s on them, but with respect to the artist of that comic, if all they are bringing to their art is copying maybe they SHOULD be navel gazing about what they bring that an AI doesn’t. Mosy artist stop being replicate machines once they learn the technical skills and start using then to SAY something.

I didn't say anything about artists being replication machines who don't have distinct symbolism and choices they can explain. My point is that beneath those choices, there's so much more you're taking for granted. Can you name every piece of art that might have had the tiniest subconscious influence on your choices of symbolism, or on developing your understanding of art to think to use symbolism the way you do in the first place?

When I write a scene, my idea of what that scene might consist of is shaped by any number of my previous experiences with media, to teach me about elements a scene can have and how they can impact it. When I write a sentence - even one outside of a story, like this one - I come up with a concept for what the sentence is meant to accomplish, and rely on subconscious parts of my brain to fill in gaps as needed, extrapolating from its existing information to come up with words likely to meet the criteria. That is exactly the same as the process of prompting an AI.

Does your art not SAY something? Are you not DOING something with all those references and skills? Why do you think all art is summed up only by the technical skills used to create it?

In order: of course it does, of course I am, and I don't think any such thing. I'm not sure what prompted any of these questions, but they seem to be a response to a thing I didn't say.

UBI is great, AI is effecting my rent now. I’m not living in a perfected future, I’m living here and now. How does UBI fix the issue happening currently? would YOU like to call my mortgage company and explain I won’t be paying my bills because UBI is the most ethical system? i’ll DM you their number, I’m sure they’ll take philosophical possibilities for my rent payment.

My condolences.

Also, gimme a break about “taking it personal” when you’re talking about my profession AND passion. This isn’t theoretical, you are talking about ME when you talk about artist and AI art. i’m sorry your uncomfortable that you were talking down about a skill and profession and didn’t expect someone from that profession to react. But that’s what happens when you put out negative opinions publicly. The weird “Oh you’re getting too personal~” tactic isn’t going to work cause yeah ofc this is personal. I am very passionate about art and paying my bills.

If this topic stresses you out that much, I would not recommend reading my posts on the matter. Have you considered blacklisting relevant tags?

Everyone uses or is gonna use AI. It’s inevitable. It sucks. You won’t have much of a choice anyway. Much like fast fashion. But just admit you want the pretty pictures and don’t want to pay to commission them and/or work to learn how to make them yourself.

I want to use AI to more conveniently complete projects that I probably could not feasibly bring into reality any other way. I have no problem acknowledging this. But I was advocating for AI art well before I became interested in actually using it myself, not for that reason at all.

@sailor-kaiju if you're that interested in having this argument, fine, let's go.

You dismiss the comic I brought up and its subsequent discussion as meaningless insecurities, but they are nothing of the sort. The artist is absolutely correct - not just about his own art, but about how art works in general. Your art has just as much reason to be considered "stealing" from whatever you take inspiration from, as does my writing. Recognizing that fact is something all artists should do, and I see plenty who do so. Your lack of that self-awareness does not make you any better than those of us who have it.

Meanwhile, I'm surprised you see the idea of UBI as unrealistic Marxism. It's a lofty goal, but trying to put a stop to the use of an effective piece of technology is even less practical. I've been saying for years that it's the real answer to concerns around automation, as have many others - starting long before generative AI got as big as it is now.

If you're not convinced by those arguments, good news - I have plenty more of them! Multiple tags' worth, even. It's a common topic on this blog, one where I've said and shared all sorts of things I don't feel the need to reiterate. I'd expect people who've been following me for a while to be familiar with them by now, unless they're avoiding engaging with the topics entirely.

Whatever is the case, I would recommend against perceiving someone posting things on their own blog as them coming into your house and spitting in your face. Doesn't seem like a healthy perspective.

[casual-eumetazoa]

How do you write your video essays? I'm working on one, but I can't figure out how to make it longer than 2~ minutes. I'm autistic too, but I struggle with not being as brief as humanly possible. I love your essays btw, they are really excellent, and you provide good insight. Sorry if this is a really vague question. Thank you so much! Also if you wouldn't mind @/ing me in your answer, that would be great, tumblr notifs kind of suck.

Hi @wooliebirds ,

thank you for sending this ask, this is actually a great question that made me think about my own creative process, and I’m always in favour of meta-cognition!

I will caveat this entire thing with a “that’s just from my perspective”, cause with my own stuff, my problem is always writing too much. I have this with literally everything, from academic writing to fiction to YT essays – so I’m not sure how much this will help, but maybe it will.

So… with video essays, you have to approach them like a narrative or a story. I know there is no consensus on what even counts as a video essay, but the vast majority of them are more similar to indie documentaries than they are to a lecture or an informative video. They aren’t similar to something like ASAP Science or Crash Course, they are journalistic or artistic or educational narrative works. Therefore, they tell a story. They have a “plot” for lack of a better word; there’s a natural flow to them, and they combine many different elements into a coherent whole. Usually they are a mix of facts, opinions, and narrative devices – just like any other documentary or journalistic piece. Different essays have different proportions of those elements: some are focused on the facts (like Cass Eris’s “Psychologist Responds” series), some have a mix of facts and opinions (like most Contrapoints videos), and some lean heavily on the narrative (like Abigail Thorn’s Cosmonaut essay for example).

How you adjust this mix depends on what you are trying to do. Any combination of those elements can work, as long as you have a distinction between them. As in, you don’t want to (accidentally or on purpose) blur the line between fact and opinion, or drown the facts in so much narrative that it starts to twist them. Of course humans naturally operate on biases and heuristics and some amount of this is unavoidable, but I think we still have a responsibility as creators/educators to minimize it as much as possible. This is why I have almost as many citations in my videos as in my master’s thesis (and display them on screen as well) – I know that I naturally lean quite heavily on the narrative so I try to make sure it is still grounded in reality.

I do approach the essays as narrative pieces: I start with some general main idea, then let it roll around my brain for a few days and see what it will stick to. For example with my NiTW essay, obviously I started with NiTW and its general vibe, and then it got connected to optimistic nihilism, and then to cosmic horror, and to meaning and storytelling and wham you’ve got an outline for an 8k long script. Based on that main structure, as I am writing the outline and doing my research, more and more ideas connect to it, and then I actually have to trim down the outline and figure out what I will include. Additional things also pop up while I am writing the script and sometimes even when I am editing and citing it. It really is a case of constructing a sort of an inter-connected web of ideas, concepts, facts, and narrative elements that comprise a coherent whole, rather than just picking one thing and talking about it at length.

Sometimes I don’t even completely know what I want to talk about, even after I’ve written an outline and done the research. I usually write “in flow” and quite often I have no idea what I will write until I sit down and do it. It’s always good to remember, with any writing, that first drafts always suck, and that writing a first draft is an exploration of your own thoughts and ideas more than it is an attempt to communicate them. Communication comes later at the editing stage. First drafts are just for getting stuff out of your brain and on paper/computer screen.

I don’t know whether you do any other writing, for me all types are more similar than it would seem at first glance. As in, I feel like my process in writing a science article or a fiction novel or a YT essay is broadly the same – and every kind of writing I do helps the other. I literally use the same method both for writing a scientific report and outlining a YT essay. So I would say, if you are more comfortable and/or experienced in other kinds of writing, you might be able to adapt that process for video essays as well.

And last thing is that having fun and harnessing the power of passion always helps. Being autistic, you probably have special interests, and you probably infodump about them in some form – use that! Infodumping is basically what I do with these essays. I’ve always enjoyed having long, rambly monologues about various topics, and a video essay is a perfect format for it. All I do is just check my facts very thoroughly and structure those rambly monologues so that they make an actual narrative rather than a verbal representation of the Pepe Silvia meme.

So tl;dr of this is:

1) video essays are closer to indie documentaries than to lectures – think about them as narratives built on facts and opinions that explore many different interconnected ideas rather than an explanation of one specific idea

2) first drafts always suck and exist to explore your own thoughts; use drafting, whether of an outline or an actual piece, to figure out what you want to talk about

3) if you do other kinds of writing, adapting that process might help

4) use the power of special interests / passion in general and you will always have something to write and talk about

In the best traditions of me, I’ve somehow ended up writing a thousand words on this question… hope you and maybe other people will find it helpful. And thank you again for the ask and for watching my videos, it is greatly appreciated!

[cher-writes]

Silver Screen / Silver Pole | Robert Sheehan x Reader (18+)

Summary: A night of celebration in a LA strip club takes an interesting and unexpected turn when a contrarian actor winds up offending the wrong stripper. But night is long and the possibilities are endless, where will it take them?

Word Count: 7.3k

CW: Mention of sexual harassment, Consensual slapping, NSFW smut

A/N: This one is surprisingly not bloody at all and the smut isn't wild either so like most everyone can read it. Although it's emotionally very heavy. So, get ready to feel some shit. Hopefully you'll enjoy.

Special thanks to @crisis-of-joy for being there for me the whole month I took to complete this emotionally taxing fic and also for being my kind beta reader & editor.

Burning on it’s way down, the third glass of whiskey finally gave her some life she desperately needed. Deafening music throbbed throughout her veins, drowning the club in the background. She wanted to drown with it too but she couldn’t, she was there to work and rent for the month was already due. The fourth glass was on the verge of meeting with her bitter mouth when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t drink so much, you’ll trip on the stage,” Coco practically shouted in her ear. Coco was the only friend she had in that goddamn place and It wasn’t a very rare occurrence that Coco had to drag her blackout drunk body out of the club. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say she had a problem. Considering that she was already on her third strike of the month and the third drink of the night, Coco knew better than to let her get drunk this early.

 “I can’t stay here and be sober at the same time,” she shouted back at Coco, “especially after...nevermind,” but decided against talking about it and instead focused her energy on finishing the fourth glass, which was gone just as quickly as the words stopped coming out of her mouth.

 She could read the concern on Coco's face and sense the questions brewing behind it as Coco spoke up, “I want to know what the fuck is up with you but I have to go now, Caleb came home from school hours ago, it’s pretty late and I have to cook him dinner.”

“What happened to Larry? Can’t he take care of the kid? He’s fucking jobless anyway.”

“He got in a bad fight again. I can barely afford Caleb’s school fees and now the medical bills.”

“If only you had divorced him, you wouldn’t need to worry about it.”

“And if only you had been less violent towards customers, you wouldn’t be on the verge of getting fired. But, here we are.”

She furrowed her brows at this sudden sharp stab of truth by Coco and dealt with it the only way she knew how to, by ordering another drink. Coco crossed her arms letting out a deep sigh and said, “Look, I'm only trying to help you, (y/n). Sam wanted me to go up. You see that group seating in the fifth VIP booth? Up there. They are celebs and celebrating something so, ya know, good money. I said no cause, as I said I gotta go home, but I convinced him to let you go up there. It was hard given your recent less-than-favorable behavior, but I managed to.” Coco snatched the already empty glass from her hand and continued, “So stop drinking, go up there and get that money. And for the love of God, behave yourself or this might be your last night here.”

Giving her hand a quick but tight squeeze, Coco got up then soon after disappeared into the crowd. She thought to herself about how a last night there wouldn’t be so bad if she could afford it, and wanted another drink immediately to kill that thought, but Coco's words haunted her ears. She looked over her shoulder to see three men sitting in the booth, laughing.

------------

Her head was in a violent swirl, vision blurry. She was way too drunk to be spinning around the pole, but she had an audience to entertain and had no one but herself to blame.

When you walked around your house wearin' my sky blue Lacoste, the song was thudding against her skull. Pulling herself together, she counted every second, waiting for the song to end. She could feel the eyes on her, sticking to every bit of her, just as invasive as it was the very first day yet, she couldn’t care less. She had to live through it if she wanted the money and she needed the money if she wanted to live. The room was dancing circles around her as the tips came flying in, she kept counting the seconds, sliding down the pole, and your knee socks.

------------

She was swaying dangerously on her way down from the stage. If the song didn’t end when it did, she would have thrown up without a shadow of a doubt. At that point, she didn’t even know how or what she danced, only the awful sickness in her stomach let her know that it was more than she could take.

She needed to chat up the men, try and convince them to buy a champagne room before the next song came on, which she feared was way too soon for her liking. Nevertheless she tried to steady herself but the big glass platforms messed with her earnest efforts, nausea kicking her in the stomach once again, letting her know of her limits. 

She didn’t ever really look at the men who sat in front of her, leering at her, they all looked the same, smelt the same and talked the same. So she followed the same old routine, bending down just enough to give them a view up her tits. Pressing her arms closer, she slurred, “What are we celebrating, gentlemen?”

 She absolutely hated how she sounded pandering to men, two pitches higher. “My friend over here landed a role in a Spielberg film!” the middle one spoke up and pointed to the one sitting on the right side. The one in question grinned in response and repulsion licked the back of her neck at the sight of that. Yet she needed to please him, “That’s amazing! I’m sure I’ll be seeing your face on the billboards everyday now while driving,” she said and fantasized about having enough money to burn down all the billboards in LA and maybe LA with it too.

 “Hell yeah you will!” the one in the middle spoke up and broke her reverie so she pretended he was supporting her fantasy instead. “Oh please! Speak for yourself!” the one on the right perked up in his seat and continued, “He’s literally working with Fincher AND he got engaged!”. The one in the middle gave a revolting smirk at the very humble revelation of his accomplishment and it was enough to turn her stomach or maybe it was the alcohol, she couldn’t really decipher.

 “Oh really?” she looked at the man, tilted her head and said, “And you came to a stripclub to celebrate your engagement?”, her face deadpan. Notes of contempt stuck out like thorns from her voice, making her sound way more intense than she intended to.

 He tensed up visibly at her sudden razor-edged tone and, even though she didn't want to, she had to ease the situation. I can’t piss off these bastards again, she kept repeating to herself like a mantra. “Boys will be boys!” she said, not being able to think of something better that wasn’t inherently insulting, and laughed the most disgusting laugh of her life. If she could she would pour gasoline down her throat just for uttering those words.

 She couldn’t bear to linger at that conversation point anymore so she turned her attention to the man sitting on the far left. He looked distant and foreign, staring but not really looking at her. There was a peculiar absence behind his distinct green eyes, which she would even call beautiful under different circumstances. And that, something about that absence, made her want to zero in on him.

“And what about you? Did you win an Oscar or something?” mockery ringed clear in her voice, which brought his attention back to the presence. Startled slightly, he straightened his posture while saying, “No, not really... not yet at least,” he smiled sheepishly and continued, “I’m just here with them”.

“Come to think about it, I’ve never really seen you anywhere,” she said without thinking too much. In fact, she didn’t really pay enough attention to how he looked to recognize him even if she did. 

Something intense flashed his eyes for a brief second. She couldn’t quite put her fingers on what it was but she could feel the energy shift very quickly between them.

“Oh I’ve been in things but I’d be surprised if you did see any of them,” his voice now stripped of the delicacy it previously held. She could feel the air between them getting unusually heavy, his words penetrating through her skin a bit too effortlessly, a bit too swiftly that it was unsettling.   

“And why exactly would you be surprised?”

“You know...cause people like you don’t usually watch the kind of films I do.”

“What do you mean by ‘people like me?’”

“You know...people of your...stature,” he trailed off. Blood rushed the back of her neck as soon as the words hit her ears. She could feel her vision burning, a hot wave washed the crown of her skull, something unruly building at the base of her being. Clenching her jaw so as not to let it take over her, she said, “Stature huh? Fancy! I reckon from your accent that, wherever the hell you’re from, people get a kick out of looking down on others with such wispy language.”

 She could sense the same unruly substance dancing behind his chest, but he was far better at keeping it on a leash.

“I wasn’t looking down upon you. What I was merely getting at is that some people aren’t cut for apprehending particular types of films,” he sounded snarky but calm, the type of calm that’s tainted with scorn, which only sent ripples of rage down her ribs.

  “Oh so you think just because I’m a stripper by profession that I wouldn’t understand your low-budget dumb indie movies?” she was getting visibly worked up now. Traces of her seductive posture vanished long ago but there was a new hostile energy flowing through her stance.

“I didn’t say that -”

“No, of course you didn’t say that, you only meant that. You meant what you think and every one of you think that we aren’t people with brains and emotions. No, no, we’re just sacks of meat to ogle at in exchange of money, and then grope when you can’t keep it in your pants.”

“I think you're trying to put words in my mouth, this is -”

“God! you think you’re fucking better than me, don’t you? You contrarian little shit!” she could feel it in her bones. She knew what was coming. There were people behind, or maybe beside, her, trying to talk to her, probably. She could hear no one, not even the previously unbearable blaring music. She had tunnel vision and it was fixed on him. The air she breathed chafed her nose. Her nerves thumped as her heart leapt at irregular rapid intervals.

  “Excuse me! but i neve -” he said as his body went alert. Posture anticipating something violent, flight or fight.

  “You think you're better than me because I'm a stripper and you got enough money to buy me?” her voice was icy as she spoke, “You LA people are all the fucking same. You get a little money in your pockets and you think you own the world and anyone who isn’t jerking off to your pretentious bullshit isn’t worthy enough to deserve basic fucking decency. Huh is that it?” she quickly jumped on top of him, straddling him.

He was frozen under her as she leaned in and murmured, “Well then allow me to show you”, she pulled away, her left hand clutching his shoulder as right fist rose the air, “HOW FUCKING BETTER THAN ME YOU ARE!” then her fist crashed on the side of his mouth with all the force she could muster, releasing a knot built in her chest since she checked in with the manager in the evening. Hot, sweltering adrenaline was coursing through her veins.

 The impact resulted in him burying his face in his right shoulder so she grabbed a fistful of his hair and forced him to face her. His lips were starting to swell up so she decided to help it. His eyes went blank as her fist met his face once more.

 Involuntarily, her hand was raising in the air again when she felt a strong pull from behind. The security guard, twice her size, yanked her away from him. People gathered around them staring at her, the music stopped to her relief. The guard twisted her arms behind her back, enough to leave bruises that’ll sting for days to come. She couldn't move, her sight went hazy yet she felt this strange cool serenity soothe her tensed muscles. His friends were crowding him, probably consoling him. She could neither hear them nor make out their faces from her almost closed eyelids. She was pretty sure she was falling asleep in the guard’s painful hold until she heard a certain voice and the hair at the back of her neck stood up. 

“What the fuck! She’s at it AGAIN? Sir, I'm so sorry -” Sam, the manager’s voice pierced her ears as he rushed into the booth. As he was talking to them, commotion rose in the background. She could feel blind rage beating with every thump of her heart. If it wasn’t for the guard holding her in place, she would have skinned him alive by now. She was struggling to free herself when Sam turned to her and said, “You! That’s it!” pointing his left index at her. “I’ve had just about enough of your drunkass assaulting fine gentlemen. You’re fired. Get out right now! And be grateful we’re not reporting you to the police.”

Suddenly everything went quiet in her head. She smiled, nothing behind her gaze. Grinning ear to ear like a maniac, she said, “I’m fired? Aww what’s gonna happen to you now Sam?”. She cooed, ''Whose tits and ass are you gonna grab from now on? Stella? I wonder if she’ll compare to me though.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sam almost hissed at her.

“Ohhh right! Of course, you don’t know what I’m talking about,” she said while still tussling with whatever little strength she had left to loosen herself from the guard’s excruciating grip. “You don’t know anything about how you sexually harassed me day after day, how your disgusting, slimy little hands grabbed my body against my will at every chance that you got. You knew how much I need the money from this job and you used that against me to keep me silent, threatening to fire me every time I made even a sound. But guess what fucker? I’m fired now! And I’m gonna tell everyone about HOW YOU TRIED TO -”

“Take her to the staff room!” Sam cut her off, “NOW!” And, as soon as the words left Sam's mouth, the guard put his palm over her mouth and started dragging her back. The hand over her mouth muffled her screams and she glanced at the man, now with swollen lips, looking at her with eyes filled with, what looked like, concern.

As she was getting dragged, she finally managed to sink her teeth into the guard’s palm resulting in him withdrawing his hand just enough to give her a small window of time to scream at Sam: “YOU MOTHERFUCKER I’LL BE BACK AND I’LL PEEL THE SKIN OFF OF YOUR SCALP FUCKING SON OF A BITCH I’LL -” Before she could finish, her voice got cut off again and she faded into the dimly lit passageway at the back of the floor.

------------

The cherry of her fifth cigarette shone brightly in the shivering cold as the smoke drifted up in the air and sluggishly faded away. Mouth agape, her eyes meticulously followed the faint trails left after their disappearance. She wondered where they went, where she’ll go. If it wasn’t this late, and the water wasn’t so cold, maybe she could have gone for a swim in the ocean. If the water wasn’t so cold maybe she would have let it swallow her even. She was calculating the probable temperature of the hypothetical water she’d marry someday when the sound of slow approaching footsteps entered her field of perception. She would have preferred to ignore it but the, somehow already familiar, voice spoke up, “Hey erm...” and left her no choice but to look. And there he was, the foreign man with the swollen lip, looking culpable. There were distinct imprints of guilt in his voice as he continued, “I saw you across the parking lot…um I was actually just leaving with my friends,” he pointed at a black Mercedes parked at the far end of the lot. “They’re waiting in the car anyway so I decided -”

“So you decided now that she’s fired from being a stripper, she's probably a hooker! Lemme go ask the price she’s selling at,” her gestures and voice was comical, “you know, dude if you’ve got a kink of getting beaten up non-consensually then you’re really good at getting it cause I might just be up for round two.”

He stared at her for a good few seconds with a perplexed face, as if trying to process her stream of logic. When he started speaking, he sounded genuinely hurt, “No! Jesus Christ I came to apologize. Can you just not be defensive for one second? I’m not a monster ya know!”

His sincerity caught her off guard. She had about five thousand ways of dealing with assholes prepared and ready to go but an actually decent person? Now that was rocky territory for her.

“Well, uh, that’s a first. Go ahead I guess?” she shrugged her shoulders.

“I apologize for saying what I said back in the club. I shouldn’t have insinuated that you aren’t intelligent enough to understand my films just because of your choice of profession. It was really shitty of me to say that, and nothing can justify it either. And I feel like I caused you to be fired, that’s also weighing heavily on my soul and I don't know how to make it up to you. Just, I hope that you can forgive me and, again, I apologize, earnestly. Please tell me how I can make it up to you,” he said and looked at her with a rueful expression.

She was at a loss of words. It had been years since anyone apologized to her, let alone that sincerely. After a considerable amount of silence, she gathered her fragmented thoughts and spoke up, “Whoa, whoa man, chill. You didn’t murder my family or anything so calm down,” she held up her open palms, the cigarette almost at it’s end. “Apology accepted, okay? And don’t feel bad, I would have been fired sooner or later given my questionable behavior ever since I joined, so it’s not on your conscience. And I’m sorry too,” her index and middle finger holding the cigarette gestured at his lips, “for, um, punching you so let’s call it an even.”

“Okay,” he nodded, “yeah okay,” sounding clearly more relaxed than before.

“You know it’s a miracle how long it took for me to get fired,” she mused, “oh no it wasn’t a miracle it was sexual harassment, ah I see now. Wonder what Sam saw in me though that was worth not firing me for this long even though I pulled so much shit,” she took a long drag of her weary cigarette. “Maybe I've got a talent for getting harassed or something...who knows?”

His face tensed up again as he said, “That’s...not right,” eyes pooling with the same worried look as before.

“I was joking, chill. Humor is an excellent way to deal with most everything really, especially trauma.”

“I am sorry for what you had to go through, it’s gut-wrenching. Can’t you lodge a complaint to the police?”

“Going to the pigs? As a sex worker? Who just got fired for being drunk and punching a man in front of many eye witnesses? Now that was humor, you’re quite good at it actually.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Besides, that’s like one of the first things you gotta learn to put up with if you’re working in this business. As unfair and grim as it is, men, no actually, people don’t see sex workers as human beings and I’m just too obstinate to accept that simple fact, or maybe too much of a pussy, depending on where one’s priorities lie.”

“I…don’t know what to say.”

“There is nothing to say.”

 It was just setting in for her how beautiful he actually was. His crestfallen face was graced by two stunning green eyes, lush unruly curls sticking to his forehead, sharp jawline kissed with a  scruffy goatee and the swollen lip throwing off the symmetry just right to make him look captivating, to say the least. In the chilly December ambience his face was a soothing sight to her eyes, his sweet voice kind to her drudging ears, his presence warm to her existence. And she wanted to hold onto the warmth, just for a bit longer.

   “You said you wanted to make it up to me, right?” she said as the cigarette fell on the ground then died out under the crushing embrace of her cruel heels.                         

------------

“Well I'm Ro -” he said leaning against the passenger seat window, sitting half facing her.

“If you’re trying to say your name then don’t,” she cut him off quickly without averting her gaze from the road.

“Why?” he asked, staring at her intently yet without any emotion in particular.

“‘Cause it doesn’t matter. It’s better if we don’t know each other’s name. Names individualize people and that’s not necessary for tonight,” she answered nonchalantly as the neon lights of a passing by road sign illuminated her face and then faded into the past just as nonchalantly. 

“Okay.”

She could feel his eyes on her, but it didn’t bother her, it wasn’t tainted. There was this unusual tranquility in the atmosphere of the car, this obscure but consistent serene rhythm. She felt a bizarre comfort in his presence and she could drive like this forever, on a never-ending road spiraling towards heaven or winding down pandemonium or just dissolving into the ether, with him sitting lazily on the side.

    “Do you ever feel like that?” he spoke up absentmindedly, breaking into her almost fever dream.

“Huh?”

“The song, I feel like that often.”

She didn’t realize the radio was on, playing at quite a significant volume. She wondered if he had turned it on at some point and how long she was driving for without being present mentally.

This place will be the end of me. Take me out, LA. Take me out of LA, the voice from the radio filled the car to the brim.

 “I don’t feel like that, I know that. I know I'll die here, kinda intrinsically...do you hate this place?”

“No, not hate. I just feel like I don't fit in here. It’s the way of life, it’s quite significantly different to what I was used to. The people and the city, it all feels hollow sometimes and every now and then i catch myself yearning for what I left behind me.”

“I see. Beautiful people and their beautiful problems.”

    Silence fell in the car again. Except for the voice through the radio, Well this place is never what it seems.

 “You don’t have to make small talk, you know. I'm fine with silence,” she said, finally looking at him for a brief second.

“Oh I know,” he was looking right into her eyes, unruffled. “I wasn’t making small talk, I just wanted to talk to you. That’s all.”

------------

The bleak fluorescent tube above buzzed in solidarity as the fatigued clock on the chipped convenience store wall dragged its hands and finally managed to tick at 2 am. The attendant was leaning on the counter, trying not to fall asleep when her voice echoed in the store: “$20 on pump 2.”

“I’ll pay”, he cut in, reaching for his wallet. “Okayyy...” she replied, narrowing her eyes at his benevolence and looked around the store which was significantly emptier that other nights. She closed her eyes for a second and the memories flashed behind her lids. She used to come here frequently, around this time, with someone when everything in her world was right, just right enough for her to not to seek out falling stars every night and wish for death over and over again. When she opened her eyes a shiny pack of Parliaments caught her gaze and she quickly gestured behind the counter, “Since you’re paying, can I get a pack of those also?”

“Sure”

“I remember surviving on those alone while writing my thesis papers,” she said wistfully, “good times.”

“You went to college?”

“University actually, but yeah.”

“Good lord.”

“But I had to drop out so I couldn’t complete my Master’s in Biochemistry.”

“Why?”

“Life.”

“I flunked out my first year of college so you did way more than I did in that regard.”

“Welp, look where that got me.”

“Don’t say that!”

“What?” she scoffed.

“Anything else?” the attendant interjected, visibly tired and clearly annoyed at their conversation.

She swiftly grabbed a lighter, “Can I get this too?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“That’ll be all,” she tossed the lighter towards the attendant and continued, “You’re clearly doing way better than me in life.”

“Are you being sarcastic?” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

“No. I meant that seriously. I’m the one who fucked up my life and that’s a fact. Say, how did you know what you wanted to do?”

“That’ll be $30”, the attendant interjected again.

“I don’t know. I started acting as a kid and it just seemed right. It’s all I've known really and I can't see myself as anything else,” he said as he passed the money to the attendant.

“I envy that.”

“I do sometimes ponder what I would have been if not an actor.”

“Wondering too much isn’t good,” she grabbed the goods and shoved them in her coat pocket, “It might make someone into me.”

She stopped right before the glass door, pulled the lighter out and flicked it on, “I’ll use it later,” she leaned in close to him with a frivolous smirk and whispered, “to burn this city down.”

He chuckled at her sudden gaiety, “I’d gladly assist.”

Pushing the door open, she continued as he followed behind her, “Did you see the way that dude rolled his eyes to you? He definitely thought you were with a blabbering hooker and to be honest, my make up probably didn’t help either. Oh well it's not like -” her voice slowly evaporated into the gloomy gas-station lights. 

------------

“So beautiful,” he said with awe looking over the vast and apparently endless ocean which the full, eternal moon bathed with its silver glory.

She clutched at her coat sleeves as the chilly wind sent shivers down her body and said, “I know right? I’ve always found the sea to be peaceful during this time of the night.”

“It’s lovely, I’ve never been to this beach before.”

“It’s my favorite spot actually, I used to come here pretty often,” melancholia dripping from her voice. She paused for a little while as if going over a mental checklist and said, “let’s go sit down there,” and pointed towards a vague place in the distance. 

They walked down the beach for a bit side by side, knuckles occasionally brushing against each other’s, making them want to hold hands, feel the warmth of another being. But the hesitance of the yet to be known, the uncertainty of a nameless stranger clouded their minds and prevented them from reaching out.

She stopped, sat down and gestured to him to do the same by tapping the cold sand beside her. He sat a bit too far for her liking so she huddled up closer to him saying, “You blaze right?”

“Sure.”

“Cool,” she said, taking out a small bag from an inside pocket of her coat, “keep an eye out for me while I roll it.”

They sat in silence as she rolled a joint meticulously. The waves kept crashing on the shore as if fulfilling some ancient duty. Wind rustled through the empty beach. Sand glimmered sporadically under the warm light of the moon, creating a transcendental atmosphere.

He sighed and thought out loud, interrupting the intoxicating stillness of the night, “Where do we go from here?”

“Other than plotting the murder of Sam, I don’t know about me,” she replied without looking up from the task at hand, “Don’t really wanna think about it tonight. That’s why I took you along with me. I wanted someone to keep me distracted from my thoughts and I had no one to go to...then you came to apologize, like my knight in shining armor.”

He smiled wryly and said, “I see.”

“What about you? What are you gonna do about your not fitting in or what was it?”

“I don’t know either. I just miss my people. I’m not meant for here, I think.”

“So can’t you go back there? To your home I assume?”

“I can...”

“Then go. Why the fuck would you stick around if you had the option to go back?”

“Maybe.”

“Huh! I wish I had a home to go back to too.”

She could see him from the corner of her eyes, clenching his knees tight with his fingers at her words, bringing them closer to his chest. She looked up to see him staring at her with his big, beautiful, hurt-puppy eyes.

“Did that make you sad or something?” she asked, almost amused. 

“Yeah...yeah it did.”

His apparent empathy for a literal stranger who also punched him not so long ago struck her as odd and oddly enticing. He looked unreal to her in the strange moonlight, as if a remote but vivid memory. She felt as though if she reached out and touched him, he’d turn to dust and drift off with the wind. Those intense eyes and his fey beauty were getting too much for her to bear so she averted her gaze towards the ocean and said, “There’s no use for your or anyone’s sadness. You see, sadness changes nothing. Unless you can start a capital R revolution tomorrow, everything will be the same. It’ll be the same day with slight variations over and over again, things will repeat and go on and on and on until one day humanity just goes poof somehow and then the universe will go on as if we never even happened. There’s no significance of our lives, there’s no point in feeling sad about anything in this set up. One must always imagine Sisyphus happy.”

“That’s quite pessimistic, isn’t it?”

“Kinda absurdist actually, but It’s hard not to be pessimistic or defensive, when you have to lead a life like mine.”

“I understand.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do, “Glamour Boy,’” she said, licking the rolling paper.

He put his hand over his chest and feigned being hurt which made her laugh; a clear, hearty laughter. The beach echoed with a faint sound of the laughter of two stray souls as he joined in.

The joint hanged from her lips, sensual and reckless like an erotic magazine model, burning bright as she took a long drawn-out drag.

“Say, do you think the water is cold?” she said, passing the joint to him.

He took in a drag, inhaling some of her used up smoke with it too, tasting her cheap but obscenely sweet fruity lip gloss at the filter tip, “Yeah...very much so”.

She huddled up even closer to feel the heat of his body as he passed the joint back to her. Taking in another drag, she leisurely put her head on his shoulder.

The sedating smoke sank into their lungs as the sand anchored them from floating off in the elating static of the enveloping darkness.

------------

“Is this it?” she said, pulling up to a posh apartment complex, something she wouldn’t be able to afford even after paying off her debts. 

“Yeah, that’s me,” he replied absently and unbuckled his seatbelt. 

She was looking ahead at the road, expecting him to get out of the car, but he sat in silence. She looked at him and saw him laid back on the seat as if being consumed by it, tracing the edge of the left air vent softly with his fingers. He sighed and said, still looking at his busy fingers: “I feel strange and fucking awful.”

“It happens sometimes after coming down a high.”

“It’ll be a pain in the arse going to bed feeling like this.”

“I know,” her eyes travelled down the flow of his posture, giving birth to an urge of some aboriginal origin in her loins, “but you don’t have to.” 

He turned his head towards her slowly, lethargy clear in his slow breathing pattern, “What do you mean?”

“Push your seat back.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

He furrowed his brows, alarmed by her sudden gratuitous command. He looked at her; motionless as if not even breathing awaiting his compliance and her eyes glinted with expectancy. He pushed his seat back, as far as it could go then parted his lips to say something but before the words could get out, she virtually jumped on top then sat astride him.

 A deathly stillness engrossed the car as her previous bellicose energy returned to the atmosphere, only this time rather ardent in nature. His heart, instantaneously racing, almost audible to her. 

“You know,” she said taking off her top, “dopamine is a hormone and neurotransmitter that’s an important part of your brain’s reward system, and it can elevate your mood and make you feel really good.”

Eyes wide with surprise, he struggled to keep his gaze fixed on her face as she unbuttoned his shirt. Her fingertips snaked up and down his smooth chest as if caressing a sumptuous painting one is not allowed to touch. She felt his taut muscle tighten at her touch, veins kindled with a hot rush pulsing under. Burying her face in the hollow of his neck, she felt the heat of his body as she pressed her chest against his. His breathing picked up it’s pace even more at the contact with her flushed skin.

“Do you ever get lonely?” she spoke up letting her lips skim over his bare shoulder.

“Terribly,” his voice breathy as he placed his hands on her hips hesitantly, not possessively, but affectionately.

“I do too.”

���What do we do about it?”

“Maybe we don’t do anything.”

“Maybe.” he said resting his right cheek against her head, “or maybe we keep each other company.”

“But for how long?”

“However long we need to.”

A mirthless laugh rippled from her lips then through his skin. She pulled back to look him in the eyes, curious green mixed with an unfamiliar kind of sorrow, a sorrow too costly for her. “Lust and attraction shut off the prefrontal cortex of the brain, which includes rational behavior,” she said, knocking softly on his temple.

“Makes sense.”

Cupping his face, she stroked his swollen lips with her rough thumbs, making him wince in response. The purple bruise steadily forming on the side of his mouth marred his flawless complexion yet his allure only enhanced. Her thumb rubbed on the bruise with reckless abandon, his flinches testifying to that. Withdrawing her hands from his face, she left a light peck on the bruise and said, “Slap me.”

“What?”

“Slap me, come on, I'm giving you a chance to get back at me for earlier.”

“No!”

“Prude!”

“Hey! I just don’t want to hurt you, especially not as revenge or what not,” he sounded genuinely offended.

She leaned in, “But I want to get hurt, silly,” her lips ghosting over his as she whispered, “Endorphins are our body’s natural pain reducer and it so happens to increase when we engage in reward-producing activities, such as eating, working out, or having sex.” She pulled away and continued, “So hit me. Hard.” His adam’s apple bobbed up then down as he searched at her face, as if trying to find some sort of sign. His fingers dug in her hips, indicating the upcoming crude impact. Her palms laid flat against his chest as his left hand rose then crashed against her face. Her fingers curled in response as she gasped weakly, eyes shut closed but the tensity clear in the lines on her eyelids and forehead. 

“Ah... that was good,” she said as if talking to herself, caressing her cheek. When she opened her eyes, she found him staring with uncertain eyes, the doubt readable in the way he bit his lips. 

“Just like that, once more,” her firm voice ringed in the vehicle. His hand cruelly collided once again with her face, leaving her face warm and red. 

“Good boy,” she cooed as the sharp sting eddied on her cheek and then through her whole body, easing her off some unknown yet intrinsic discomfort. Her chest pounded in sync to his as she spoke up, “Do it for me once again, won’t you?”

Pressing his teeth even deeper into his lips, he struck her once again, with as much strength as he had. A white light flashed before her eyes, her ears ringed as she sat in silence for a bit. When her vision became clear, she held his face between her palms. Leaning closer, she rested her temple against his and murmured, “Such a good boy.”

Sweat dripped down as her nose grazed up the side of his neck, she could feel him growing hard through his pants. She buried her face in his curls and breathed in. He smelt sugary, sweet to the extent of almost making her nauseous. She whispered against his ear, “You’ve got a boner...it turned you on this much to hurt me?”

“It’s, um, n-not really that part it’s the -” he stammered in embarrassment.

 “Ugh men,” she cut him off and rolled her eyes playfully. “But since we’ve got a situation at hand, and you’ve been so good to me, I think you deserve some relief for yourself,” she said, tugging at his waistband. To which he responded eagerly, elevating his hips just enough so she could slip his pants off as much as possible. His head sank back into the headrest as her hands wrapped around his cock. Her hand gilded up and down his length as her other hand ran through his hair, pulling lightly. Resting his forehead on her shoulder, he quivered and moaned softly as she lovingly yet mercilessly worked on him. His breath hitched sharply as she stroked the tip of his cock with her thumb, making him groan and twitch under her touch. She was about to pick up the pace when he grabbed her wrist abruptly. “Wait!” he rasped, “I wanna...feel you.”

He panted, trying to catch his breath and said, “Let’s take this inside, there might be people around.”

“Why? Are you afraid of getting photographed with a hooker by the paparazzi, Mr. Actor?"

“No”, he answered, the same hurt as earlier could be heard in his voice, the type of hurt when one is misunderstood by someone they love, “I just - I just want it to be nice.”

“Let’s not make it too nice lest you fall in love with me,” she said sternly. “Besides, you should be more concerned about getting STDs. There should be some condoms in the glove box and also tissues for later.”

He brought his face closer to hers, looked at her lips and said, “You’ve got such a mean mouth, you know that?”

“And you like it?”

“Perhaps”, he replied then kissed her, deeply. Holding her face in his head, he bit her lips which made her moan in his mouth. After running out of breath she pulled away, still tasting his saliva on her tongue as he reached behind her and rifled through the glove compartment. Having found what he wanted, he turned on the radio then returned his focus to her; she was hiking up her dress and awkwardly slipping off her panties in the short space.

Heavy bass filled the car, I wanna be your vacuum cleaner breathing in your dust, as the sky started to light up with shades of azure and tangerine. Her tongue blended with his as she took his cock in her. Their bodies pressed and flushed against each other as a steady rhythm flowed through them. Her nails scratched his nape, as he kissed her neck, nibbling at her collarbone. Her head shot back as he thrust up into her, frantic and keen. His groans muffled in her chest, her moans melting into his hair as their hips clashed against one another.

Maybe I just wanna be yours.

I wanna be yours.

------------   

The sparkling rays of the breaking dawn illuminated his face as he cleaned himself off and got dressed. She marveled from the driver’s seat at the magnificence of the sight of him in afterglow. There was something in him, something innate, that made him stand out from anyone she ever came across. He was made for the screen, he was made to shine, and she wondered whether or not he’ll remember her afterwards. It was for the better if he didn’t, she thought to herself, as this was probably one of the lowest points in his life, while that night was most definitely one of the highlights of hers. The sheer dichotomy was glaring at her soul when he spoke up, bringing her attention back to the present, “I was wondering if you’d like to -”

“Look if you want my name or number, then that’s just not gonna happen,” she said with a sigh, “It’s the oxytocin flooding your brain. Increased levels of oxytocin facilitate attachment and bonding and shit so, like, don’t be fooled.”

“But it’s not that, I feel a connection between us...something I haven’t felt with anyone here before.”

He averted his eyes from her and looked out the window. His hand lingered on the door handle for a second before he stepped out of the car. Turning his back towards the car, he walked into the apartment complex, without saying anything further. Her foot pressed on the accelerator, as the car drove past the buildings. A Parliament washed out the leftover taste of him in her mouth as she rolled down the window to let the nauseously sweet scent dissipate into the cold morning air. 

“It is that. Believe me, I know. There is nothing between us. Whatever connection you feel is your hormones doing bullshit things.”

“You’re just evading me”

“I’m not. I do actually know. Okay, for instance you feel really tired and sleepy right now, right?”

“Yeah”

“That’s the parasympathetic nervous system down-regulating your body and a shit load of vasopressin coursing through you”

“But that could also be because we stayed up all night and got high and just had sex”

“Why don’t you understand? It’s all chemicals, everything! There is nothing called love and whatever the fuck people feel is just their chemicals doing somersaults. There is nothing between us, we don’t know each other. There can be nothing either, look at the circumstances. People like you shouldn’t have to do anything with people like me unless it requires a monetary transaction.”

“But i can help, with whatever you’re dealing with”, he said reaching to place his hand over hers, “we can help each other”

“and what exactly do you think i’m dealing with?, she asked, withdrawing her hand, eyes narrowed at him.

“I don’t know yet”

“Exactly. You don’t know anything. I’m not some sad little girl who went to college then got depressed but in a sexy way so maybe she did drugs or whatever and dropped out and now strips for fucking aesthetic reasons probably. No honey, I’m involved with shit that can drag you down faster than a meth withdrawal and my life is a living testimony of that, take my word for it. So, go get some rest. Sleep out your saviour complex and live out your promising life when you wake up.”

[whatifxwereyou]

The Oncoming Storm Part 18: Nemuri Hime

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

Kung Lao gets serious. But forgets to tell you all the important things. Boy, he's good at talking. Lol. Hope you guys are still loving the Lao time! Liu will be back soonish. Planned out his whole part last night and then the future. Question! Are you guys READY for the choice or do you want it drawn out more? Also, for the future of this tumblr, is anyone interested in oc x reader stuff? I have so many ideas that I have never shared Lol. Anyway, thanks for reading. Much love. Update Sunday!

Part 17 Part 19 Chapter Index

“They’re going to have someone in there keeping an eye out now.” Kung Lao kicked a loose stone on the walkway, arms folded over his chest. “So much for that idea.”

“For now. We weren’t getting anywhere anyway.” You were still in wonder that any of that had happened. It felt like a fever dream. Your whole life kind of felt like a fever dream now. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it isn’t in there. I tried to trust the vision and my gut, but it led us in circles. Nothing looked the same as it did back then.”

“Why would it lead you there otherwise? Maybe this shrine has changed more over the years than we thought.”

“You think so?” You furrowed your brow. He had pushed you like you’d been doing something wrong for a small moment inside the shrine but there he was, preaching his belief in you. It’d been easy to escape the frustration of not knowing where you were going with all that had happened in the shrine, but it was back in full force now. You were grateful to Kung Lao for not making it weird, but it was also a little weird to act like it hadn’t happened. You had a feeling that he knew exactly what he was doing.

“I trust your gut, Y/N.” He shrugged as if it were nothing. That was nice. You weren’t sure anyone trusted you those days so to hear it put so plainly as if it were no big deal was wonderful. “Let’s take a walk and rethink our strategy.” Together you walked around the shrine and along the path slowly, making your way toward the volcanic cauldrons.

Some were surrounded by posts and signs, expressing what they represented and why the water was the way that it was, but you didn’t stop to try and read any of them. Many of the cauldrons had small statues lined up surrounding their edge, placed there for prayer. You didn’t speak much. It seemed that rethinking your strategy was mostly just thinking. You were okay with that. Your head was still buzzing.

It was important to try and clear the fog from your mind. Between the disorientation of this place being so different from the vision in your head and then everything with Kung Lao, you were dizzy. You stopped before one of the cauldrons and Kung Lao read the sign above it.

“One of the hells of Mount Osore…” He was not good at silence, it turned out. He hadn’t been when you were younger either. You’d asked him once back then and he’d said silence was too loud. The dizziness became a buzzing, and the buzzing became darkness. You thought that you’d drifted to sleep to the hum of Kung Lao’s voice.

When you opened your eyes again, you gasped for breath. Your lungs were on fire, as though you had been deprived of oxygen for too long, as if invisible hands had reached into your chest and grasped your lungs to force all the air out. You lost your footing and stumbled forward but before you fell, Kung Lao had his arms around your middle and was pulling you back to him with a forceful yank. You lost your balance and collapsed into him, grasping his arms in surprise with a yelp. He held you upright.

“What the hell, Y/N? You can’t just do that!” He scolded. You gasped to refill your sore lungs and the ache began to fade. You weren’t where you’d been when you’d been listening to Kung Lao but you recognized the place immediately. It was the lake of blood from your vision. You turned in his arms to apologize but the words didn’t come. How did that happen? How had it happened? His expression went from frustration to concern quickly. You wanted to ask what happened, you wanted to ask him how you’d gotten there, but in your mind’s eye, you could see your body falling into that pool and the horned creature staring over you as you drowned beneath the red water.

You shuddered and covered your mouth. Maybe Raiden was right. It hadn’t felt like there was a shadow hanging over you until then when your body had moved beyond your control.

“Y/N, did you hear me?”

“What happened? What are you talking about? What did I do?” The words came out extremely fast, all at once almost. Bless Kung Lao for understanding a word of it.

“I was reading about that cauldron over there.” He gestured down the path. It seemed so distant now but that was the last thing you remembered. “And you walked away. I followed you and you stepped up and just went to jump right in. Right into the blood lake. Didn’t respond to me when I called you.” He tried to joke but there was an underlying concern that neither one of you could shake. “If you wanted to take a dip, Y/N, then you just had to say so. There’s those bathhouses.”

“No, no Kung Lao. I… I’m confused, that’s all. I don’t remember coming here. I closed my eyes to listen to you talk.” His low and deep voice was soothing, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that right now. “Then I felt like I was falling, and I couldn’t breathe. Then you and… here we are.” You gestured to his arms that still held you and you felt his fingers sink a bit further into the clothing at your waist as if that would protect you somehow.

“You really don’t remember walking up to the creepy blood lake and almost throwing yourself in?” His face was flooded with concern. You shook your head no. “Okay.”

“You believe me?”

“Of course I do, Y/N. You’re white as a ghost. Why would you lie about something like that? Also, you’re terrible at lying.”

“Thank you?” You couldn’t decide if that was a dig or not.

“Okay.” He exhaled and you watched his face contort as his tongue ran over his teeth. “In that case no more wandering away from me. You stay with me at all times. Got it? We tell Raiden as soon as we can.”

“Okay except that I don’t remember wandering away from you, Kung Lao. You were reading and then…”

“What do you think caused this?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. Honestly, afterward I saw this part in my vision. I’d been choking on ink but in my head, I was drowning.” You pointed toward the red volcanic cauldron. “In there. And I could see that creature. He was watching me. I… I thought it was just my brain interpreting the ink in my throat but… what if… Raiden’s right?”

“You doubted that Raiden was right?”

“This has been a lot, Kung Lao. Accepting it all at face value is difficult.” You responded somewhat defensively.

Kung Lao finally let you go and turned away. He pulled off his hat, pushed back his hair, and then cursed. That would have been funny had you not still been coping with almost drowning because your body had decided to try to kill you. “Okay. We’ll deal with that as we go. I’m changing the subject now because I’m not sure how to process what you just did without talking to Raiden.”

“Smart. Avoiding the problem. Like it.” You were happy to go back to thinking about literally anything else. Up until now you’d handled all this nonsense with relative poise. You’d like to keep it that way.

“Let’s discuss strategy. What do you remember from your vision about the room where this artifact is supposed to be?”

“There was a well. The creature placed something inside of it and I heard this horrible ringing in my head. It was… sad?” It was difficult to describe a ringing as having emotion, but it had been sad. You’d had the distinct feeling that it was sad.

“Back up. What about the well? There was no well in that room. In fact, the whole shrine is elevated. There was a step down in the back for dining, maybe? Could the well have been in that area?”

“I think the floor of the shrine used to be level with the ground. Maybe they built over it? I read that it was abandoned here for some time.”

“That’s a very distinct possibility. Great. Now we get to desecrate a holy place. Loving this more by the second.”

“Or we can hope there’s a hatch above the old well or a way to get beneath the shrine without destroying it.”

“There are way too many people here for us to search that thoroughly without being caught.”

“You’re right. We need privacy.”

“And I’m all out of excuses, honestly.”

“The excuse you came up with earlier only really works the one time before it becomes incredibly suspicious.” You felt your face flush despite yourself. Kung Lao stood just behind you and bent over to be closer. You could feel the smirk on his face.

“You kissed me back so… didn’t feel like much of a lie.” He made a kissy sound near your ear and you tilted away and swatted at him.

“Stay focused, Kung Lao! So, we spend the rest of the day and then pretend to leave ahead of everyone. Then we can sneak in after the monks are at rest, right? Hopefully, we find an easy way to get to where we need to go.”

“That’s as good a plan as any.” Kung Lao began to lead you away from the volcanic cauldrons and you were grateful. The air was thicker there and, quite honestly, the more distance between you and the blood lake the better. “And if we’re caught tearing up the floor of the shrine in the middle of the night, then I’m pretty sure that no amount of making out will get us out of it without getting into trouble.”

“If we’re caught then we could try to be honest about it like I wanted to be in the first place.” You stuck your tongue out at him. “You could try it every so often. It works.”

“Wow.” Kung Lao sounded truly insulted but also laughed as if surprised you had the audacity. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Let’s just talk like adults for a few seconds. I’m not that little girl that you teased all the time. You don’t have to come up with crazy fake-date schemes. Hell, I’m surprised that you didn’t say we could only afford one room at this point.”

“Oh.” He straightened his posture and furrowed his brow. You nodded as if to confirm that he was far more obvious than he thought he was. “Does it really bother you?”

“Bother is a strong word, Kung Lao. Sometimes you’re just… all over the place. You go from pushing me too hard to not listening to me to having unwavering faith in me. Sometimes in a span of like ten minutes. I don’t mind the teasing, honestly, but it’s difficult to focus when I can’t tell what’s going on with you.”

“Okay.” He puffed up his cheeks as he thought and then exhaled deeply. “So, I don’t quite know how to act around you.” You were genuinely surprised that he was speaking so candidly. You’d expected him to laugh it off and move on. He didn’t.

“Why? I only expect you to be yourself.”

“I know. That’s not on you. I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“You don’t always act like there’s a whole lot going on in there.”

“Wow.” He winced.

“Sorry, it was easy. I get it though. I have a lot on my mind too, but you are all over the place since you got back. You tease me like we’re kids, then you flirt with me like we’re very much not kids, then you push me when I tell you that I can’t be pushed anymore. It is a rollercoaster spending time with you.”

“I guess I didn’t realize I was so all over the place.” He laughed and you walked together again. The further you were from the cauldrons the better you felt. “It’s funny. I’m still a little shocked that you’re here with me. Little Y/N. My Y/N. Weirder than that is that you are the person I found peace in when I returned home to clear my mind. I never thought I’d see you again. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you.” He avoided your eyes, and you got the chills but refused to shake them off. Him speaking so fondly of you in such a serious tone was freaking you out. These were things that you probably should have talked about far sooner. Instead, it felt as though he’d gone into some weird unspoken competition with Liu Kang for your attention. It wasn’t a competition. You just wanted to talk to him. “Your hair threw me off, I think. You didn’t keep it white. Same face now that I know. Cheeks aren’t so chubby anymore, though.” He pinched your cheek playfully and you scrunched up your face and swatted his hand away.

“I… didn’t recognize you either and you came into my store at least a dozen times over the last couple years. And the dojo just as many. I remember you fondly. You were always very kind with the students. And you look way different, I mean I can still see it, but you had these… dimples as a kid.” You poked the sides of your mouth. “They were so deep then. You still have them but they’re much more subtle.” It was funny. Something about his honesty cleared the air at least for the time being. “Also, I thought you were dead. So, I never considered I’d see you again.”

“You would have been crazy to have guessed it was me.”

“Sometimes I think that I have gone completely crazy and I’m in a hospital somewhere. That this is all an elaborate fantasy that my mind has conjured up to help cope with my madness.”

“I could see that.”

“What? The wild improbability of the truth?”

���No. You being in a nuthouse somewhere.”

You laughed and shoved his shoulder. He nudged you in return. “Some things don’t change, I guess.”

“I defaulted to sarcasm with you. Being together reminds me of when life was simpler. It’s easy to joke and get carried away but I understand that there is also distance with time and age and that this is extremely complicated. And that we haven’t talked about it. Talking about this kind of stuff makes me feel… uncomfortable.”

“What? No. I couldn’t tell.” You walked peacefully along the stone path. Across the way the monks were giving a demonstration and others were setting up tables for a meal near the white beach.

“Can I confess something?” He led you off the stone and down onto the white sand that bordered the beautiful, but absolutely artificial looking, lake. He offered you his hand to help you down and you took it. He didn’t let go of it as you walked together. Fun new game again: fake date or Kung Lao being affectionate? Your brain hated this game. Your heart hated it even more.

“That depends. Is it appropriate to say? Will I smack you when you make this confession? Will you be getting smacked and are you ready to risk being smacked?”

“Maybe. It’s hard to gauge how grown-up Y/N will react to most things.”

“Go ahead, Kung Lao. I’ll try not to smack you but no promises.”

“I uh…” He hesitated and then let go of your hand in favor of grasping the air in front of him as if trying to reach for the words to say what was on his mind. “I hate that you have the dragon mark.” You stopped in your tracks and Kung Lao stopped with you. Of all the things you’d expected, it hadn’t been that.

“What?”

“Yeah. Little Y/N. The girl with the gift, mom called you. You had enough problems. Now you’re here. A warrior chosen to fight for earthrealm alongside me and a bunch of other misfits with the same mark. Lost your home. Your life.”

“I could see your logic, Kung Lao, but I’m tough.” Your heart was racing again. Was this serious conversation better or worse than the rollercoaster ride that was Kung Lao? You couldn’t decide.

“Yeah, Liu showed me the bruises you’d left on him. I was a little impressed. However, you, just moments ago I might add, unconsciously almost drowned yourself in a lake of blood. Went completely gray, weren’t breathing, just walked over and almost threw yourself in.”

“Yeah, that is concerning.” He was right. The dragon marking and your arcana had awoken things within you that were beyond anyone’s control, especially yours. You were scared. You couldn’t imagine how it had to have felt to be watching it happen to someone you cared about. “You know, Lao, it’s probably not actually blood. I’d guess it’s algae making the water red…” You tried to joke but it was a feeble attempt. Kung Lao didn’t even smile.

“That’s not the point.”

You stepped in front of him and offered him a tired and forced smile. “I don’t regret where I’ve wound up, Kung Lao.” It was your turn to speak honestly. To say things that you’d meant to say and had been afraid to say for a long time. You’d kept waiting for the ‘right time’ but the time would never be right. “I’m terrified.” You searched around them just to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. “I killed people, Kung Lao. I never thought I’d be capable of such a thing. My dojo? My shop? They’re gone. I probably won’t see my family ever again or any of the people I associated with home. That life is gone. It scares me. Everything I knew is… being unlearned and relearned. At the same time? I feel like this is where I’m meant to be.”

“Yeah. You didn’t really get to process much of that, did you? Just went straight to studying and training with Liu Kang.” Kung Lao sounded almost bitter. You hadn’t thought about it that way. Liu Kang had been a beacon of comfort to you but was that healthy? Maybe some of what had escalated your whatever-it-was you were had something to do with your sudden lack of control. You were attracted to him, sure, in a crazy way even, but you were also vulnerable. Maybe the attachment between you had gone from big to huge because of it. You felt guilty. Liu. Oh, no. You’d kissed Kung Lao. Not just kissed him but kissed him. Things were instantly that much more complicated and messy. You had to talk to Liu. You had to sort out your thoughts. You had to do the same with Kung Lao. But you didn’t know how and just kept kissing them. It wasn’t like you’d ever been good at romance.

“It’s been difficult. But also surreal. Easy to forget some of it.”

“I get it. Really, I do. Because I’m not done confessing things yet.” He still sounded uncomfortable but urged his hand to your back and continued your walk. “I’m also super grateful that you have the dragon mark.”

“Well, that’s conflicting as hell. I’m having a hard time processing that.”

“I never would have gotten to know who you were or get to know you again at all without the mark. It’s brought me closure, in a way. I never thought I’d see you again.” You walked in silence and you felt your eyes burn just enough with tears that you thought talking was a mistake. You breathed through the sudden urge to cry until it faded.

“I’d like to state for the record, that you being this serious is freaking me out a little.”

“It’s been known to happen now and again.” He bowed his head politely to you after tucking his hat beneath his arm. “I’m sorry that I’ve been weird since I got back.”

“It’s okay, Kung Lao. This has been difficult.”

“Y/N?” He started, as though he had something important to say. He hesitated then exhaled and replaced his hat back on his head, tucking the strap under his chin. “Let’s keep walking.” He turned away and did just that as though he’d said nothing at all. There was clearly something on his mind that must have been difficult to share. You caught up to him.

“What aren’t you saying?”

He turned to you and searched your face with a glint of worry that faded so fast you weren’t sure if you’d imagined it or not. Then he smiled.

“I’m starving. That’s what I’m not saying. The sun is going to set anytime now and they’re setting up food so we should grab some.” He started back across the sand. You grasped his hand and pulled him back. That was not what he’d struggled to say.

“Lao, really. You can talk to me.”

“I know, Y/N.” He smiled so you let go of his hand. Whatever it was, he wasn’t ready to talk about it and who were you to say he should be? “Let’s get some food. You’re still gray so I’d like to see you eat.” If nothing else, he at least seemed less all over the place. What were you going to do? You didn’t know so you couldn’t think about it right now. You’d take everything one step at a time. It was all you could do.

[belit0]

Commission for @GlitterBomba!

Part 2 of this!! I don't feel it's as angsty as it should be, but for some reason, my creativity wanted it that way? It's been a long time since I've last written, and this was definitely a challenge... First part was produced way too long ago, so it was also challenging to connect with what I felt when I wrote it! But here it is, and I hope you like it, GlitterBomba. Thanks for trusting me!

My Ko-fi page~ Buy me a coffee if anyone wants part 3 ❤（っ＾▿＾）

It took you days to awaken from your deep sleep, days which became weeks, and weeks transformed into months. There was no hope for your life among the healers, but the tenacity and insistence of those elders who saved you forced them to continue providing methods and energy, herbs, talismans to keep you breathing.

Impossible to explain how that mortal blow did not steal your last breath, not when the perpetrator was the greatest tyrant in the current world, the monster everyone learned to fear and flee from. In the small place where you are kept hidden, rumor has it the treacherous one repented as soon as his hand affected your body, causing you not to succumb immediately.

It wasn’t until after he vanished, shrouded in lightning and hatred, when one of Ashura’s subordinates came upon the scene of your sad fate. A pool of blood acting as a bed over a pale body, devoid of any warmth and life. Everyone was quick to write you off for dead after such an event, and only when one of the village elders took your pulse did he find your incredible attempt to resist despite all odds.

Keeping you along with the new leader and his people would not be a good idea. Not when you barely escaped with your life from the beast. In case he came back and besieged his younger brother, it would be better if he didn’t find you there. That man proved to have an unquenchable thirst for revenge.

Tempting fate once is more than enough.

That led a group of elderly men, those who defended your slight pulse when everyone thought you were dead, to ask Ashura’s permission before disappearing and taking you to a safe place, making use of some of the village healers to ensure your health. 8 men of different ages vanish with you, swearing on their lives to do everything possible for you to open your eyes again.

Winters turned into warm seasons, and autumn leaves were waning. Two whole years quickly go by before your consciousness returns. The world is different. You understand through your guardians that life passed with you as a ghostly presence, a bedridden legend they fought all this time to preserve.

No one mentions what happened to you, though. No one names him.

To everyone’s surprise, you don’t really ask about the village; you don’t ask about your birthplace and your home. You don’t ask... about him.

Your healers discover you memory was damaged after exhaustive examinations beyond your comprehension. Theories why this happened are various in your little home; some argue the loss of blood hurt your brain, others believe the trauma of that betrayal forced you to block it all out, and there are those who think maybe you ignored the past on purpose.

Still, there is an unspoken rule forbidding the mention of what happened, of the village, of those two brothers. After experiencing hell, what would be the benefit of forcibly bringing you back to that horrible past? In this remote place, you have the chance to start from scratch, and your rescuers believe it is the least you deserve.

Little by little, you gradually learn everything all over again. Your own name, your age, information about those around you. You ask with animosity about everything you don’t understand, and the only thing there is reluctance to answer is when you want to know about who you were before... this.

Healers get the problem off their shoulders, rushing you to ask such questions to the older people. They shoo you out of their humble hut with nervousness and red faces, panic in their eyes.

Seniors sigh as they stare into nothingness, sadness and nostalgia, painting their countenances with something you cannot grasp. Some even drop a couple of tears to the rhythm of a depressing whisper, “oh poor child...”

The scene makes you feel so guilty you end up consoling them, assuring it’ s not a big deal and you don’t need to be told. That your life in this small place with them is all you need to be happy, past or no past.

Regardless, it is the scar monstrously painting your stomach which makes you uneasy. While tracing the edges of that sensitive skin with your fingertips, you feel its reason for existence is on the tip of your tongue. As if reminders of what happened to you are lingering there, buried in your head, but creeping closer to your memory every time you look at your navel.

What happened? What terrible thing could have left such an enormous mark on your skin, but not in your head?

It’s frustrating.

Eventually, curiosity to explore beyond your own narrow world peaks. It’s quite natural, considering four older men and four medicine buffs rarely make for an interesting group of company. Older men drink tea most of the day, when they’re not napping in the sun, of course. The rest read rigorously and debate among themselves about their newly gained knowledge.

Getting permission is a complicated task. They are terribly afraid of your departure, scared of your fate, frightened of what dangers you might encounter.

But how to keep you there forever, when you have seen the vivid movement the closest town has?

Perhaps it was your rescuers’ mistake for allowing you to go exploring within the boundaries they considered safe, yet you inevitably discovered such a place, so close and yet so far away, so full of people and... life. Persons of all ages walking from one side to the other, food you never saw before displayed in various stalls, children playing with each other, unaware of the surrounding universe. Everything looks completely natural, as if folks are used to this kind of lifestyle since long ago, and you wonder if you ever lived in a similar environment.

Just what hides in your past?

After insistence and great pleas against the overprotection imparted on you, they understand it is simply hopeless to make you give up your idea unless they expose all those shocking events, unless they explain from what kind of danger it is necessary for you to hide, from whom it is imperative you escape.

No one knew anymore about that demon after his disappearance the same day, and it is uncertain where he is. Whether he is hiding or far from your current home, it is unknown to anyone, and it would invoke bad luck if your guardians expected you to meet him face to face once you get away from them.

Preparation of weeks and many directions, you finally depart from your unnoticed hideout in the world, leaving behind anxious seniors and worried healers.

It was agreed you could explore for a couple of months, but your eventual return is a binding closure on the deal you reluctantly struck. Each new destination brings with it new discoveries, tastes, experiences. You always find charitable souls willing to help when you are short of food, water or shelter, people who offer to give directions when you get disoriented, people who share stories with you on lonely, nostalgic nights.

With each step you take in the outside world, less you understand what your guardians are afraid of. Everyone is well meaning, and no one seeks to take advantage of your innocence. It is incomprehensible why this was denied to you for so long, and every time you think of your precious little home, an emptiness grows in your heart.

Weeks slowly pass, and having experienced so much in such a short time, you find the need to recount it to those you consider your family. As initially agreed, it may be time to return, to prove the world is not as terrible as they feared.

A few miles from homeland, just as you feel you are walking the grounds of your family again, you stop at a stream to get a drink of water, determined not to slow down until you reach your destination. It is too much of a thrill to witness those 8 insane people bickering and arguing. You absentmindedly smile as you rinse your face.

In your distraction, you cannot hear footsteps approaching at your back. It’s not like you would have detected them if you were paying attention either, for the person stalking you is deliberately careful, calculating.

Turning, your face affects directly into a solid mass of muscle, sending you tumbling down the riverbank again. Any woman would have assumed the worst when connecting glances with a man who invades her personal space unannounced, but from your mouth comes a concerned “Are you okay?”

The man, who is watching you as if a ghost were sitting next to you in the water and you were unaware of it, bleeds. Profusely, indeed. Both of his hands are deeply cut, distinct wounds on his palms dripping thickly to the ground.

There is no answer to your question, and the man’s countenance is difficult to decipher. His eyes glow a red which fades too quickly to analyze, his complexion is completely pale and unhealthy, his hair points in all directions, forming a long brown tangle which you deduce has not been combed for some time. For moments, it is as if there are words trying to pierce his lips, but the stupor of the individual continues.

“Your hands... we really should take care of them, shouldn’t we? Aiya, let this humble one help you heal.”

There is no reaction as you stand up and take him by the arm, guiding him to a large rock away from the water and helping him to sit up. His gaze is still completely fixed on your face, searching for something you’ re oblivious to. His mouth opens and closes rapidly, agitated breaths accompanied by sounds resembling syllables.

“Look at this mess alone... sir, you should be cautious walking along the bed of these waters. They are treacherous, hm?”

Ripping off one of your sleeves, previously dampened when you fell into the water, you use the cloth to clean his wounds. There’s not much you can do here, out in the open and in these conditions, but judging by the man’s appearance, he was probably recently attacked. When you mention your little home a few miles away, the man doesn’t refuse or accept.  

Still, when you head back to the road, you find the fellow following you from behind, head down and staring at the ground. In his hands he tightly clenches the cloth of your sleeve, and blood stains the fabric completely at this point. You talk about the healers in your place, and how they can help him get better, but no matter how much you try, the man never responds. You ponder whether, perhaps, the situation he experienced before he ran into you may have been intense, and you attribute his perturbation to that.

After walking without pause all afternoon, your silent companion always keeping your own pace, your destination appears in front of you. From afar, you can see the elders sitting on the engawa of their cottage, sharing tea and quietly waiting for dusk. All is silent, and your announcement of arrival is the only thing disturbing the atmosphere.

Your arms wave vigorously to catch the attention of those you regard as family, a splendorous smile planted on your face, walking at an increased speed to catch up with them. An extended curtsey bow is given before them, and only after raising your head you dare to give them all a group hug, false formality forgotten as much as your guest.

The man slowly approaches this scene and analyzes the faces of those present as the embrace takes place. Had you not been turning your back on him, you may have noticed the change in his countenance, coldness creeping over his features from one moment to the next. None of the elders noticed his noiseless presence, not even having sensed it to begin with, and it is not until one of them finishes smiling and opens his eyes to come face to face with their worst fear.

Suddenly the hug is interrupted when this old man lets out a shriek, trying to back away and losing his balance. You follow his line of sight while turning, and find that innocent-looking stranger again, disoriented. There are screams all around you. Seniors are horrified and collapse on the floor next to each other, completely surrendered to the gaze of the demon fixed on them.

“Don’t behave like that! It would appear it wasn’t you guys who taught me manners... I’m so sorry, sir, they’re not used to dealing with travelers, let alone wounded ones... if you’d be so kind as to follow me?”

Throwing a withering glance at the group of elders, you direct your guest to the house the healers occupy. True, your little family is not used to encountering men in the state this very one is in, but you never expected such an exaggeration. A bit of unkempt hair and blood, pale skin, and they’re all screaming on the floor?

The reaction of the healers is not much different, and after reprimanding them for behaving so shamefully, you get them to treat the man’s hands. Leaving them alone so as not to disturb the setting, you make your way to the third and final cottage, your own. Since the other houses occupy four people each, it would be problematic to ask them to accommodate your own guest, and you take your time assembling an extra bed, improvising with blankets.

Nighttime is delightfully quiet, and as the door opens without warning, you greet the individual with a smile. Elders have taken the trouble to bring food for both you and him, announcing neither they nor the healers were in the mood to share dinner together.

The man’s hands are bandaged, his palms completely covered, and his thumbs trapped in the wrappings. He looks uncomfortable, and it shows in his inability to do anything on his own. His chopsticks are impossible to hold as he kneels on the floor and tries to eat, and after many urgings from you, he nods silently and almost imperceptibly, allowing you to help him.

“You see... you’re here, eating my food, under my roof, safe and comfortable... and I still don’t know your name...”

Teasing is imminent in your voice, hoping to relax him, if only a little. As he takes another bite and chews, his eyes are fixed on the table, like trying to hide from your presence.

After analyzing the end of your day alongside this presence, you assessed this man must be terribly shy, perhaps someone properly introverted. Still, observing his features, you get a strange familiarity, a feeling making you let your guard down and relax in front of him. A secret knocking at the door of your mind, demanding to burst in front of you but being invisible at the same time.

“... Uchiha...”

Without expecting an answer anymore, after several minutes, his voice surprises you. It sounds like that of someone who rarely uses it, raspy and rusty, as if it had been forgotten long ago, and not even the man himself remembers its ringing.

“Um?”

“Lord Uchiha...”

His name, you realize. Formal, a title.

Lord Uchiha continues in the same position, just like his words had been an illusion. It is impossible to keep giving him food, his attitude surly and refusing, and you wonder if he plans to spend the entire night in the same position if you allow him to.

Demandingly, you get him up and offer him your bed for the night.

He tries to take the spot you set up on the floor, and displays physical strength far beyond what you thought he had. There are firm muscles hiding under his stained white tunic, and they flex slightly every time he tries to change the course you both walk. He is probably holding back, you realize, for the way his forearm tenses. The stubbornness of this individual… as if he were someone unaccustomed to taking orders, leading rather than listening. Either way, he ends up tucked inside your room, buried under sheets and quilts so he doesn’t get cold.

You find your own resting place after closing the door and leaving your guest. There is not much room inside your small home, and yet, the greatest comforts are offered to those who really need them.

That night, a fearsome nightmare assaults your dreams. A pitch-black claw pierces your stomach from both sides, long nails tearing through skin and tissue like cloth. Blood pools at your feet, solidifying and making escape impossible. You feel your lips move in a choked scream, and a single word escapes your throat along with another red waterfall.

“... Indra...”

[mbti-notes]

Hi, I’m from post 649288793015386112. I didn’t do a good job of elucidating the nuances surrounding my question. That’s my aim here. The deal is that I don’t “lack in judgement” in other areas of life. In other cognitive contexts I operate off of the framework that there is an optimal answer that can be derived by critical analysis whether it comes to which distinctions can be made, whether something is rooted coherently, or what have you. 1/8

I'm not going to copy the rest of your message because of the length. Your detailed explanation was helpful for giving me a better idea of what’s going through your mind.

If you are INTP, you should know that Ti-Si loop is a major development problem. You can conceptualize it as a closed system. It doesn't have any meaningful interaction with the external world and it isn't subject to any external forces. When a system is closed, what information moves through it? The only thing available is old information. Old info is input, reused, repurposed, recycled, regurgitated, and then output in worse condition than when it started. You try to jimmy and reconfigure what little you know, every which way, in hopes of finally discovering the solution to the problem that plagues you. The result? A recurring problem. Or worse case scenario, a recurring problem that becomes more severe over time.

When you make a mistake or meet a failure, a closed system can't learn from it. Why? Because a closed system can't get to the root of the problem. If you don't address the root cause, you can't come up with a good solution. To truly get to the root of a problem often requires a complete change in perspective, i.e., a massive structural change to the system itself. You subtly externalize the problem by believing that feelings/people are inexplicably difficult to understand when you should be asking yourself why the system that you use to understand the problem never outputs a successful solution. As you put it, you keep using T to solve F problems. It's nonsensical. Why would you use T to solve F problems when F problems are best solved by using F? I suppose the problem has now recurred enough times that you're finally reaching out to get a new perspective. That's a glimmer of progress.

If you are INTP, using F is risky because it's the inferior function. Thus, the remedy to Si loop is auxiliary Ne development (it is explained in the study guides, so read them). Ne development requires you to entertain NEW possibilities, gather NEW information, and learn NEW ways of looking at the situation. In your analytical process, you somehow always manage to convince yourself that you're trying a “new” method to tackle the problem, but it isn't really new. It's always the same T system in a bad wig. When Ne is poorly developed, you believe that you have the ability to entertain various possibilities, but you don't realize that your imagination is severely limited. In other words, the more immature Ne is, the more blind you are to new possibilities.

Most of the INTPs I've gotten close to have always been kind, helpful, and morally principled people. Sure, inferior Fe makes them quite slow to process information about feelings and social issues, but it doesn't ultimately stop them. They never use inferior Fe as an excuse to relinquish their social and moral responsibilities. You said: "I don’t know why people feel the way they do, and it really isn't an area of interest". It sounds like the real problem isn't inferior Fe but actually something more akin to willful ignorance.

"A person is commonly called willfully ignorant about a matter when he persistently ignores the topic despite its likely salience and even resists learning about it or assimilating facts that bear on it... Willful ignorance connects being ignorant of something with ignoring that thing. Ignoring involves a refusal of attention." (source: Understanding Ignorance: The Surprising Impact of What We Don't Know)

You basically say that emotional life and social life are unimportant or uninteresting to you. It is no wonder, then, that you know nothing about them. People don’t bother to learn when they don’t care. And yet you still (arrogantly) claim to know the general idea of how people's brains work when you really don't. It seems that you want to go through life only caring about the things that you choose to care about and ignoring all the things that you don't want to care about. This is called small-mindedness and it is what makes Ti-Si loop a huge obstacle to personal growth. And if you reach the point of being irrationally resentful about being “forced” to care about things you don’t want to care about, then Fe grip is not far off. If everyone was so small-minded, the world would be worse off. There would be no one like me willing to help out someone like you simply out of kindness.

I intend for my blog to be used by people who are fully ready, willing, and committed to change. Be honest. Are you really willing to change your mind? I don't offer people quick fixes. When it comes to self-help for psychological issues, if you want to learn and improve something, you must learn it for the right reasons. Otherwise, you just end up using bandaids that either don't really last or don't really solve anything. You've already cycled through "surface-level fixes" so many times. You give the impression that you fundamentally don't care about the thing that you're asking me about. You're only asking because it has come to bother you. That's not a real commitment to change.

To understand interpersonal relationships and navigate them successfully, you must: 1) understand emotional life and be committed to improving your own emotional intelligence, 2) be emotionally invested in the lives of others, and 3) have the moral capacity to see people as individuals, each deserving of special consideration (as opposed to just interchangeable objects). When you meet those criteria, you’ll have the right intention for learning. There are plenty of resources out there about improving social skills, including how to build relationships, and how to avoid relationship pitfalls. I’ve already written a lot about it and provided book suggestions for in depth learning. However, if you try to apply those ideas now, when your intention is merely for your own benefit, all the while keeping your closed T system intact, then you will have completely missed the point about what it means to be in a relationship.

To put it more bluntly: 1) If you don't want to pay attention to social interactions, then why would you expect them to go well for you? Do you think that socializing should just magically go well without any attention or effort from you? 2) If you don't care about emotional well-being, then why should anyone care about yours? Is it not hypocritical to expect people to be moral toward you when you treat them with little more than indifference?

When you don’t recognize that you exist in the social world, have an effect on the social world, and care about the social effects you produce, then you signal to people that you are nothing of note in the social world. And people treat you accordingly. You could change that at any time by choosing to care. Then the real learning can finally begin.

[bre-meister]

I need some pre married/family angst

this is early relationship so pre-family and pre-married Cleon. I hope it’s angsty enough I kind of got distracted while writing to fight a huge ass hornet in my room ( I was super terrified ngl). This was such a journey for me to write that I don’t even have an official title for it like I normally try to do lol. This has also taught me that I need to work on angst that is not “person A and Person B fight”. Sorry for the rant here's the actual work:

Claire was mad. No, Claire was beyond mad. Claire Redfield was absolutely furious. Her rage was so blinding that she couldn’t even be bothered to apologize to the nice looking doorman as she barreled through the lobby of the apartment building of the object of said anger. She was sorry - felt the apology in her bones as soon as the smaller man began to cringe and cower slightly in her presence - but again, her anger prevented it from passing her lips.

Secretly, she did take a little pride in the fact that, as she entered the elevator, a young-looking couple decided to “wait for the next one” instead of sharing with her. It gave her a little more time to stew in her anger - pulling from the depths of her soul, every time that she had said it was okay even when it wasn’t - before she came face to face with him.

“What the hell Leon!”

The door to his apartment opened with such force that if circumstances had been different, she would have been worried about possibly putting a hole in the wall. Alas, her attention was not on the wall, but instead on the man lying on the couch in front of her. Leon was clearly either drunk or hungover. Although considering what she’d heard from both her brother - half the reason she was here in the first place - there was a distinct possibility it could be both. Claire wasn’t sure that could actually happen, but if anyone could make it a thing it would most definitely be Leon S. Kennedy.

All that came out of his mouth was unintelligible garble mixed in with a few pained groans. Claire took pleasure in that for a moment and allowed it to further stoke the flames inside of her. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was about to do. She’d kind of just gone on autopilot after getting. Chris’s concerned texts. Apparently, Leon had been ghosting everyone over the last week. So, there she stood, upset and silent until Leon made the mistake of finally speaking real words.

“Red,”

Claire didn’t let him finish. She exploded,

“No! You don’t get to do that, you hear me? You don’t!”

Claire moved towards the couch and yanked off the blanket covering Leon with more force than was probably necessary. The blanket had apparently been completely wrapped around him and, in his current state, that was enough to cause him to tumble to the floor. He let out another grunt of pain as he landed but Claire didn’t care.

“Get your ass up.” Her voice had calmed, steadied to an even tone. Her anger no longer manifested itself in yelling, but instead as a low growl behind her words.

When he didn’t make any effort to move, she said it again,

“I’m not asking Leon. Get up.”

He finally did as told. Standing he slowly moved to the small kitchen behind the couch. There he found a glass that looked somewhat cleaned and began to fill it with water.

This wasn’t the first time that Claire had been there to pick up the pieces whenever Leon fell apart. Safe to say, those instances had never quite played out like this one and Leon was a little jarred and, admittedly, a little afraid of what the red-headed woman might do. 

They stared at each other as Claire gave Leon a moment to swallow the little bit of water that was left in his glass. When he sat it in the sink and she remained silent he let his impaired brain convince him that meant he should speak.

“What’s your problem? Chris piss in your Wheaties this morning?”

The look on her face caused concern. The laugh that followed chilled him to the core. Leon S. Kennedy had faced down and won so many B.O.Ws that he had lost count but at that moment as he looked across the room at a laughing Claire Redfield, he knew that he had quite possibly signed his death warrant. He also knew that if this truly were how he died, several people would help her cover it up, and frankly, he couldn’t blame them.

“My problem?” she continued to laugh, “What’s my problem?”

Leon was getting a little nervous. In yet another mistake, he even let out a few nerve filled chuckles himself.

“No, you don’t get to laugh! This isn’t funny,” and yet she was still laughing. 

Leon was not.

“Do you know why this isn’t funny? Because I don’t think you do.”

He couldn’t have answered even if he wanted to - Claire cut him off as soon as he opened his mouth to fumble through some bullshit excuse.

“You don’t. I know you don’t because if you did you would have had your ass at the restaurant last week, Leon!”

Leon felt his stomach drop. Oh no. He really had fucked up this time.

“Sherry’s birthday.” He felt more than heard the mumbled words slip past his lips.

“Ya, Sherry’s birthday,” Claire turned around to finally close the door and Leon took the opportunity to sit down in one of the few chairs at his tiny kitchen table.

“You know, I was okay with this when it was only me you were fucking over. I know I shouldn’t have been, but I was. I told myself over and over that it was fine, you needed this time, you needed me and I was more than happy to give it to you - everything. I give you everything! But it was okay because you were always there for me too. Most of the time at least. And I get it, Leon, hell I get it more than probably anyone else. What we went through was hell, no one should have to go through that once let alone as many times as you do. But I was there too, I have to deal with that shit too. Sherry has to deal with that shit. She was Twelve Leon.”

“I know -”

“Then where the fuck were you? This was all she wanted! All she asked for for her birthday was for all three of us to be there, together and you couldn’t even get your shit together enough to give that to her. No call, no text, not even a half-assed excuse just nothing. The hurt and disappointment on her face - I’ll never forget that Leon. And to top it off, I had to cover for you and as much as I love you,” she saw that way his whole body seized up at her words, “I’m tired. I refuse to do that anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Claire.”

Claire pulled at her hair which, for once, wasn’t in its usual ponytail.

“Stop! It’s always sorry with you. For once could you just stop!”

“Stop what? Tell me what I have to do to fix this.” He was desperate. He didn’t want to lose her or Sherry. The idea of that - of finally being completely and utterly alone - was almost too much to bear.

“For starters stop making promises if you know you can’t keep them. Stop overcommitting yourself. Stop overworking yourself because that’s always how you get this way in the first place. And stop looking like that.”

“Like what?” he was a little puzzled. He may have also been on the verge of tears but, if anyone asked later he would deny it vehemently.

“Like...like I just killed your puppy or - or like I’m taking away everything from you - it’s making it really hard to stay mad!”

In any other situation, he might have laughed at that but he had sobered up enough between when Claire had burst through his door and now. Now, he really did feel that Claire leaving here like this, Sherry being disappointed with him - that truly was as if everything were being taken away from him.

“I’m sorry. I - I don’t know how to make you believe that I am, but I truly am sorry. I would never hurt you, Claire. I would never hurt Sherry.” He was pleading at his point. He didn’t know what else to do.

“But you did. You hurt us Leon, and I’m not saying that I won’t forgive you, but it’s going to take some time. You fucked up and your usual ‘sorry’ isn’t going to fix it when we always end up in the same cycle again.” She sighed and as the air left her body she could feel all of her anger leaving as well only to be replaced with immense sadness and disappointment.

Claire turned and walked towards the door. A small clang echoed through the silent room and, although Leon couldn’t see from his spot in the kitchen, he knew that Claire had dropped her spare key on the table next to the door.

“Wait! Claire, please, don’t.”

“Don’t what Leon?” She didn’t turn around, she knew she wouldn’t be able to leave if she did. So, head down she gathered her strength and continued,

“Don’t leave? Give me a reason to stay then.”

“ I love you.” It came out in a soft whisper. 

Those three simple words - the first time he had ever said them to her in a non-platonic way. They made her heart soar and ache, both at the same time. She’d imagined this moment a lot but never like this. Never at the end of a fight that had been building for a long time. Never with her back to him, preparing to leave. Never with him sitting in his kitchen, a mess, crying in a way she’d never seen from him. Never like this. And, as much as she wanted to stay…

“ I love you too Leon. But that’s not what this is about. Call Sherry, she deserves to hear from you why you couldn’t do this one thing for her.”

With that, she left. With her, Leon felt a part of him leave as well.

The tears turned to outright sobs as he collapsed on his kitchen floor - dirty. The floor was dirty. He was dirty. He hadn’t cleaned or showered in a while but it was kind of fitting. His apartment was dirty, his clothes were dirty, his body was dirty but he was dirty in a way that was deeper than just the physical sense. 

He’d let them down. The only two people in this world that he still gave a damn about. The only two people he would try for.

Then why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t he pushed himself harder? In the same sense, why hadn’t he taken a break when he had pushed too hard. Why hadn’t he tried harder to stop her? Why hadn’t he?

There were too many questions. If he left himself to ponder them for too long he’d never get up from this dirty kitchen floor and he couldn’t afford to stay here forever. He had business to attend to, phone calls to make.

First, to his job. Claire was right, he needed to stop overworking himself and he’s acquired more than enough hours to take some time off. Then, to Sherry, because he owed her an apology in more than just words. He only hoped she would allow him to make it up to her.

He wanted to call Claire - show her he was trying, that she was right and he would do better. However, he knew that would probably only make things worse. She always gave him the time he needed, now it was time for him to do the same.

But before anything, he had to get up off the floor. The floor was dirty. He was dirty. Leon was tired of the blood and grime that seemed to fill almost all of his waking hours as D.S.O Agent Kennedy. He decided he wouldn’t let it follow him home anymore. So, Leon got up.

On his way to the bathroom he passed by the bowl he kept on his front table by the door. It was a housewarming gift from Claire who knew he was always misplacing his keys and yet never making an effort to get more organized. Always looking out for him, his Claire. 

Leon wouldn’t even let himself question if there even was a ‘his Claire’. Not that he owned her, no one could ever own Claire Redfield. But, looking at the two keys laying together in the bowl, Leon couldn’t help but think they were the same - a matching set. One complementing the other in a way that, while they were separate, they were still part of the same.

Yes, Leon Kennedy got up and as he looked at his dirty face in the mirror, he turned the faucet on because he was tired of being dirty. He was ready to get clean.

[nanapandaz]

Cognitive Impairment in Schizophrenia

Disclaimer: I am not a mental health professional, I can’t diagnose you. If you think you have a mental illness please reach out to your doctor or a mental health professional.

For schizophrenics like myself, some of the most stigmatized, and sensationalized symptoms are the positive ones, meaning delusions, hallucinations, and movement disorders to some extent. You see them in textbooks and in the media; seeing, hearing, smelling or feeling things that aren’t real. Believing strange ideas, and this is my own example, like that the alien government lizard people are coming after you. These draw the most attention from the public eye, and I can’t blame them, alien government lizard people is pretty out there. But what about the less talked about symptoms such as negative and cognitive symptoms? Well, this essay will examine the cognitive side of a schizophrenia diagnosis.

According to Columbia University (2016), “many people with [Schizophrenia] also have cognitive deficits, including problems with short- and long-term memory.” They go on to say that cognitive factors can be the most disabling for people, leading to difficulty holding down a job and maintaining social relationships. They don’t have many answers as to the cause or cure for memory problems. Sucks to be us I guess. I personally have a plethora of issues with memory, short term and long term. I find myself lost when the dialogue of TV shows gets even slightly complicated because I immediately forget what was said, maybe that’s just me but it takes a toll on my self-esteem when I can't follow slightly complicated dialogue. But anyway, back to memory. Apparently when a group of healthy controls were compared to a group with schizophrenia, the healthy group, unsurprisingly, did better at memory tasks. In fact the health control groups brains showed increased brain activity the tests got harder and decreased activity when it got easier while the people with schizophrenia showed significantly weaker activity across the board.

According to Bowie and Harvey (2006) cognitive symptoms are the central feature of schizophrenia. As well as that these impairments may even present before the emergence of positive symptoms. They also found that there were “moderate deficits in attention, verbal fluency, working memory, and processing speed, with superimposed severe deficits in declarative verbal memory and executive functioning.” What is executive functioning? Well to quote Goodman (2021), “[e]xecutive functioning skills help you get things done. These skills are controlled by an area of the brain called the frontal lobe.” Things executive functioning helps you do is “manage time, pay attention, switch focus, plan and organize, remember details, avoid saying or doing the wrong thing, do things based on your experience, and multitask” (Goodman, 2021).

I’ll cover some ways to deal with executive dysfunction in a later essay.

Most people with schizophrenia will show some kind of cognitive impairment, but the severity will vary across different people. One interesting thing about these cognitive impairments is that they will remain relatively stable over time. There are some different types of impairments that I will summarize.

General Intelligence

I take some offence at the description that all people with schizophrenia have lower IQ’s, I mean there are/were some very smart people with it, like John Nash, or the people Cernis, Vassos, Brebion, McKenna, Murray, David & MacCabe (2015) studied, finding that there is “a high-IQ variant of schizophrenia that is associated with markedly fewer negative symptoms than typical schizophrenia” However the science seems to be overwhelmingly favourable in the direction that people with it have lower IQ’s as a group. On the other hand, I don’t know what kind of people they picked for their healthy control group, because if they were all university grads then it’s not really fair. So take this with a grain of salt. While the tests say that we are as a group, less intelligent than the “general” population it doesn’t mean you specifically are not intelligent. We can be just as successful as anyone else.

Attention

This one is simple, people with schizophrenia have a deficit in their ability to maintain their attention, this occurs even before the first psychotic episode.

Working memory

I have a terrible working memory, bad enough for it to be considered a learning disability. However I’m not alone in this, many people with schizophrenia have some kind of dysfunction in working memory, and apparently specifically verbal working memory. Bowie and Harvey (2006) state that “Working memory can be conceptualized as the ability to maintain and manipulate informative stimuli.” This is in contrast to attention span, with working memory being more cognitively challenging and attention span being more simple. In working memory, “The information must be held online for processing, but does not necessarily transfer to long-term storage, unlike episodic memory” (Bowie and Harvey, 2006). And poor memory can even affect social and interpersonal relationships because of the inability to pay attention to “multiple streams of information” Bowie and Harvey, 2006).

Verbal fluency

People like us sometimes find it rather difficult to speak in a coherent fashion, I remember many instances where I’ve tried to speak only for word salad to spill out of my mouth, and the looks of confusion and worry on other peoples faces is just great, really what I wanted to happen, not embarrassing at all. This inability to speak is due to “poor storage of verbal information as well as inefficient retrieval of information from semantic network” (Bowie and Harvey, 2006). Furthermore, "information that is stored is not always retrieved as a result of this inability to properly access semantic networks” (Bowie and Harvey, 2006).

Verbal and learning memory

A main impairment of schizophrenia is the difficulty of retaining verbal information. From what I understand, recognition memory seems to be able to work well in most cases, but “the pattern of deficits in schizophrenia tends to be reduced rates of learning over multiple exposure trials and poor recall of learned information” (Bowie and Harvey, 2006). So basically it takes a while for us to learn something but once we do we have good recognition memory. Now, recognition memory is the ability to recall something when you’ve seen it before, so I think what happens is if you’re able to process the information into long term memory you’ll be able to recall when you encounter that information again. Maybe I’m totally wrong, I don’t know.

Executive functioning

Now most schizophrenics have difficulties with most of all of the processes involved with executive dysfunction. Bowie and Harvey (2006) say that “schizophrenia patients have trouble adapting to changes in the environment that require different behavioral responses” which is directly due to issues with executive dysfunction. Furthermore, this “inflexibility” is highly associated with what Bowie and Harvey call “occupational difficulties.” This makes sense, when someone can’t plan, practice self-care, engage in social and interpersonal matters or participate in community functions, it’s gonna take a toll on your work life.

Treatment

Atypical antipsychotics seem to be the best treatment for cognitive impairments, though the results are sorta weak, Bowie and Harvey (2006) admit that “they have had very limited, if any, success in producing cognitive improvements. However, the search for new compounds designed specifically for cognitive enhancement in schizophrenia continues to be a promising area for future research.”

However there is also behavioural treatments, but there isn’t a lot of research on this topic. On the other hand, what little research there is, is very promising. “These strategies include training on computerized tasks similar to existing cognitive tests, teaching new learning strategies, training on novel tasks, and/or performing tasks repetitively” (Bowie and Harvey, 2006).

In the end, it seems that a combination of medication and therapy is the key. On the other hand, research by Everding (2005) states that “memory problems in schizophrenia can indeed be reduced and suggests that helping people use the right memorization strategy is critical to success.” The right strategies seem to be to remember more ‘deeply’ or according to Jantzi, Mengi, Serfaty, et al., (2019) to engage in retrieval practice, also Antzi, Mengi, Serfaty, et al.’s (2019) study is “the first to demonstrate that retrieval practice is also superior to restudy in improving later recall in patients with schizophrenia presenting with episodic memory impairment.” This is great news for us because it presents a real way of improving our memories, which apparently most of us need.

REFERENCES

Study finds brain marker of poor memory in schizophrenia patients: possible key to understanding and treating cognitive symptoms of the disease, (2016). Columbia University. Retrieved from https://www.cuimc.columbia.edu/news/study-finds-brain-marker-poor-memory-schizophrenia-patients

Bowie, C. R., & Harvey, P. D. (2006). Cognitive deficits and functional outcome in schizophrenia. Neuropsychiatric disease and treatment, 2(4), 531–536. Retrieved from https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2671937/

Černis ,E,. Vassos, E,. Brébion, G,. McKenna, PJ,. Murray, RM,. David, AS,. MacCabe, JH. (2015). Schizophrenia patients with high intelligence: A clinically distinct sub-type of schizophrenia? Eur Psychiatry. (5):628-32. Retrieved from https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/25752725/

Gerry Everding (2005). Memory study shows brain function in schizophrenia can improve with support, holds promise for cognitive rehabilitation: need cues, memory aids. Washington University. Retrieved from https://source.wustl.edu/2005/07/memory-study-shows-brain-function-in-schizophrenia-can-improve-with-support-holds-promise-for-cognitive-rehabilitation/

Jantzi, C., Mengin, A., Serfaty, D. et al. (2019). Retrieval practice improves memory in patients with schizophrenia: new perspectives for cognitive remediation. BMC Psychiatry 19, 355. Retrieved from https://bmcpsychiatry.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s12888-019-2341-y#citeas

Goodman, B. (2021). Executive function and executive dysfunction disorders. WebMD. Retrieved from https://www.webmd.com/add-adhd/executive-function

[keys-to-the-kinkdom]

Head empty, just lactation+medical examination+(oh idk *spins wheel*) yennefer or ciri or eskel, someone with lovely tits

Wish I had something better for you for an inaugural prompt set but my brain clocked out early for the weekend - 💛

Your prompt is wonderful even if your brain took off early because it has been living rent free in my head since I got it. I hope you enjoy this filth <3

Eskel squirmed on the hard wooden chair. The door remained firmly shut, no matter how he stared at it. They were using one of the old tower rooms having decreed that Yennefer’s room was too familiar and the old medical suite held too many past terrors. Instead, they’d set up this room. Eskel had helped her to carry in a variety of furniture then left her to it. Really, he had very little idea what lay behind the door and every minute he sat waiting to find out was another moment of torture.

The door opened and Yennefer stepped out. She was wearing a very plain black dress with practical boots and no jewellery. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun. She looked even more intimidating than normal. 

‘Eskel?’ she said, sounding bored.

He stood and made his way through the door behind her. The room was brightly lit by torches and there was a cheerful fire burning in the hearth. One side of the room was taken up by a large, paper covered desk with an uncomfortable looking chair behind it. There were a couple of bookshelves that were filled with esoteric texts on medicine and anatomy. On the other side of the room was a bed, covered in a  sheet of linen that had been treated with beeswax to make it water resistant. It was something he’d only ever seen court physicians use. Beside the bed was a table with a tray of various implements resting on the top. Other implements were arrayed on shelves around the room. He swallowed thickly.

‘Take a seat,’ Yennefer ordered, gesturing to the bed. 

He sat.

‘So. What are you here for?’ she asked.

‘Umm…’ Eskel murmured, ducking his head so that his fringe flopped over his face. 

‘Spit it out. I have other patients to see. I doubt it’s anything I’ve not heard before.’

‘Well, it’s my chest,’ he said, trying to spit the words out as quickly as possible. Even though they’d spoken about this, even although he knew she knew what he was going to say already, a tendril of humiliation still snuck through him. 

‘What about it?’

‘It’s… well, it’s odd. I seem to be… well… I seem to be lactating.’

‘I see,’ she said, looking him up and down. ‘I assume there’s no chance of pregnancy?’

‘No, I mean, I don’t really have the right plumbing.’ To his embarrassment he let out a ridiculous stangled laugh. 

Yennefer simply looked at him until he flushed and bowed his head. 

‘So, I am to understand that you are a male, with a penis and testicles and you have begun experiencing lactation?’ she asked.

He felt a burst of embarrassed arousal at the clinical way she discussed his body. He nodded at her, temporarily unable to find words. 

‘Well, that is unusual. Perhaps this won’t be a complete waste of my time then. Take off your shirt and I’ll have a look.’

He had known he was going to be asked for this. He had specifically worn a soft, loose shirt that was easy to remove, just for this purpose. Yet, still his face burned as he undid his buttons and pulled the shirt over his head. He sat, twisting it in his hands. Yennefer looked down her nose at him. 

‘Set it on the chair,’ she ordered, waving a hand at a low stool that sat by the bed. 

He folded it carefully and set it down. She was kind enough not to call him on the fact that he was blatantly stalling for time. He felt suddenly too big for the room. He hunched over, trying to avoid Yennefer’s gaze. His chest ached lightly and there was a slight draft winding its way under the door making goosebumps shiver into life along his arms. Yennefer stepped closer to the bed and adjusted the thin pillow that lay at the top. 

‘Lie down,’ she said. ‘Have you experienced any pain? Swelling? How often would you say you are discharging?’

He kicked his boots off and lay back on the bed. The sheet was cold and a little tacky under his back. It was surprisingly difficult to resist the urge to cross his arms across his chest. It was an incredibly vulnerable feeling, lying half-naked under Yennefer’s penetrating gaze. For all she was slight, she wasn’t a small woman and his position only emphasised her height. 

‘They ache a little,’ he admitted. ‘They’re larger than they were, but there’s no lumps or anything. I need to discharge at least twice a day, but…’ he trailed off for a moment. ‘Sometimes they leak a little, in between,’ he whispered.

‘Hmm.’

She stepped closer to the edge of the bed, close enough that he could feel her warmth against his arm, even although she wasn’t touching him. He drew in a lungful of her scent, warm and feminine and overlaid by her characteristic perfume. It was familiar, but not particularly comforting. He had no expectation of her being kind.

Her hands were cold when she placed them on his chest. Her fingertips were like little points of ice that made him hiss in a breath through his teeth. She was unsympathetic. First, she palpated the skin around his collarbone, moving out towards his shoulders and down. She worked her way towards the soft mound on his chest and he groaned as she touched them. The coolness of her fingers felt good against the light ache of being overfull. She pressed, gently at first and then harder, and he watched as small beads of milk welled up. 

She pressed her finger to one, sending and electric jolt through him, and then lifted it up. She smelled the liquid and rubbed it between her fingers. 

‘You do, indeed, appear to be lactating,’ she said. ‘How odd.’

She returned her hands to his chest and pressed against the nipple. He groaned. She pinched it between two fingers and pulled. It did very little, other than causing his cock to begin filling in his breeches. She did something, changed the placement of her fingers in some way and tugged and Eskel felt the distinctive sensation of his milk letting down in a stream. He whimpered.

‘Doctor Vengerberg,’ he protested.

‘Hush. It is necessary for me to see exactly how your body reacts to stimulus in order to give you the most accurate diagnosis.’

Eskel rolled his shoulders against the sheet, which had quickly warmed to his body. He endured as she pinched and pulled and tugged and occasionally wiped up a stray drop of milk that threatened to get too near her neat sleeves. Otherwise, she left them to run down his chest and make a wet, sticky mess of his stomach. He breathed through it, trying desperately not to show how much it was affecting him, but there was no way she hadn’t noticed the tent he was pitching in his breeches. Every tug of her fingers felt like it went directly to his cock. 

‘I believe I may have discovered the problem,’ she said eventually, standing back and staring down at him. ‘When was the last time you engaged in intercourse?’

‘Pardon?’ he squeaked. That wasn’t what he had expected her to say at all. 

‘When was the last time you engaged in intercourse?’ she repeated, in a voice that implied she thought he was simple. ‘Have you ejaculated recently? Been fucked?’

The sound of the word ‘fucked’ in her perfect, calm voice nearly undid him, but he held it together long enough to answer.

‘It’s been… some time,’ he admitted. ‘Three months or so,’ he continued when she simply raised an eyebrow at him. 

‘As I thought. You are putting your body under undue strain by not attending properly to your needs. It is expressing those needs to you in unconventional ways. I can cure this, but you must make sure to pay more attention to yourself in the future. I will need to drain the lactate and I will also need to stimulate the prostate in order to clear the build up of hormone that is causing this. Stand up and remove the rest of your clothes.’

His head spun with the technical terminology. He peeled himself off the bed and stood, ducking his shoulders and averting his eyes. Yennefer busied herself over by the shelves of medical supplies while he stripped out of his boots and breeches. He hesitated with his hands on the top of his underthings. It was ridiculous, but he didn’t want to take them off. It felt like clinging to his last little piece of safety.

‘It’s nothing I’ve not seen before,’ she called over. ‘Hurry up.’

He swallowed hard and slid them down his legs. He folded his trousers and placed them on top of his shirt. He paused for a second, then hid his underwear underneath, face painted red with shame. He’d thought he was long past any body modesty he’d once had, but now, for some reason, he felt keenly every little imperfection of his flesh. She was going to be looking at him. Worse, he knew she was going to see him. 

She sauntered back over with two pieces of glassware and a tin in her hand. She looked him briefly up and down and put the things she was holding on the table.

‘Good. Now, I’m going to need you to bend over the bed.’

He stepped up to the bed and bent, so that his elbows were pressed into the tacky sheet and his arse was pointing up. He tried not to think about how stupid it must make him look to her. 

‘Can you hold that position without allowing your chest to touch the bed?’ she asked. ‘If not, I will need you to adjust so that you can. It will damage the equipment if you do.’

He wriggled a little until he knew he could manage what he was asked. He locked his muscles and pressed down into his elbows, determined not to move, regardless of what she did to him. She reached over to the little table and picked up one of the glass things. It looked a little like one of their alchemy flasks, but not entirely. The bottom was a bulbous sphere which tapered into a narrow cylinder with a thick, round lip. She held it in front of his face. 

‘I will attach these to your nipples in order to drain the lactate from your breasts,’ she explained. He flushed at hearing his chest referred to in such terms. ‘It should not hurt, but it may feel uncomfortable. If you experience pain at any point, it is imperative that you tell me at once. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ he mumbled into the silence. 

‘Good. Now hold still.’

The glass was smooth and cold against his skin. She reached underneath him and rubbed at one nipple until it was standing at a stiff peak. Then she slipped the opening of the flask over it and held it in place. Her fingers flared briefly purple and he felt a tight suction as it adhered to him. 

‘Do try not to dislodge it,’ she said flatly. 

He understood the order for what it was and held still as she repeated the process on the other side. Once both were attached to her liking, he saw another brief flare of violet chaos and then he inadvertently moaned as they began milking him. He didn’t know how it was doing it and he didn’t much care either, but he could feel his milk let down as the suction increased and decreased rhythmically, pulling at his nipples and draining them into the empty spheres. He had never quite felt relief like it before. 

‘Excellent,’ Yennefer said. ‘Those will drain your breasts. As they work, I will need to perform the prostate massage to release the build up of unnecessary hormones. It is liable to feel pleasurable. There is no need to be embarrassed if you become erect or even ejaculate. It is a perfectly natural reaction.’

He nodded, still a little distracted by the tugging sensation around his nipples. It felt almost like a mouth, latched on and drinking from him, except it was missing the warmth. Somehow that tiny bit of impersonality made it even better. He was so focused on that feeling that he flinched when Yennefer touched his thighs, encouraging him to spread his legs. Her finger brushed his hole, dragging something slick and silky over it to create a smooth glide. She rested it there for a moment as he consciously untensed his muscles. He wanted this and he trusted Yennefer, but having someone at his back when he had been forced into such a vulnerable position was terrifying. Especially knowing that she was looking at him. His cock twitched and her finger pressed forward. He choked on a groan. It felt so good. He hadn’t lied when he’d told her it had been a while. The Path had been long and hard that year and he’d been reduced to the company of his own hand for much longer than he really wanted to admit. The feeling of her pressing her long, slim finger into his most intimate place was a heady one. 

She pressed gently for a moment longer, then began working her finger in and out, thrusting slowly. The drag of skin on slick skin lit up his nerves and he felt the tip of his cock begin to drool with precum. He felt the tightness beginning to ease, his body accepting the intrusion as pleasurable rather than something to be rejected. Once her finger was moving steadily inside him, she added a second, making him whine and push back against the stretch. She repeated the process of slow thrusting and stretching until he had relaxed enough to take them easily. 

‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now, I will begin the prostate massage. Remember, you must stay still.’

He nodded. He had no intention of doing anything to disrupt the perfect pressure around his nipples. He’d never before considered them particularly sensitive, but ever since he’d started producing milk, the barest brush against them could get him hard. This focused suction was driving him insane. He wanted more. As Yennefer’s fingers pressed deeper inside, he got it. She crooked them and pulled, pressing forward and finding his prostate unerringly. A garbled noise of pleasure fell from his mouth without restraint as she pressed insistent circles into it. 

The torment seemed to go on forever. The suction around his nipples was steady and predictable while the pressure on his prostate was constant but varied in both pressure and speed. He could feel his pulse in his cock, could feel it dribbling a puddle of precum onto the floor beneath him. He wanted to blush, wanted to hide his face and pretend nothing was happening, that he wasn’t getting off on a necessary medical procedure, but it was undeniable. It would have been easier if Yennefer were a less attractive physician, or if he were less pent up and desperate, but she was gorgeous and he needed. The pressure and pleasure built and built until all he could think of was the desperate ache between his legs and the hard press of her fingers deep inside. He could hear the constant dripping of his milk as it splashed into the collection device and it just spurred his pleasure higher. It was all he could do to stay still, to not give into the trembling of his limbs and fall forward or give into his instincts and thrust back, fucking himself on her fingers until he came. He had to do as he was told and hold still though. 

In the end, it was inevitable. One hard press of Yennefer’s fingers, combined with a well timed increase in suction around his nipples and he was lost. His vision whited out in a flurry of sparks and he shouted, his muscles locking up as his cock emptied itself across the flagstones. Yennefer gentled him through it, one small hand pressing between his shoulders, the other continuing to finger him gently. She stopped pressing on his prostate, but left her fingers in his arse to give him something to clench on. As he started to come down he groaned at the feeling. Her fingers were so long and slim and competent. He loved watching her work with her hands, the purple of her magic sparking around them and limning them with light. It accentuated the delicate strength of them. He burned with the knowledge that her hands, hands that casually wielded the power to topple cities and burn empires, those hands were being turned to his pleasure. As the aftershocks of his orgasm rolled through him, he bent his head forward and panted.

‘There now,’ she said, ‘No doubt that will feel much better. Stay where you are for a moment and allow me to properly detach the lactation aids.’

She withdrew her fingers slowly and carefully and he heard her cross the room to the small basin and pour some water out. There was splashing as she cleaned her hands of the slick. He focused on following her movements to distract from the tugging on his chest that was slowly edging from pleasurable into painful on his oversensitised nipples. It didn’t take long before she was back by his side and the pressure ceased. She detached each one with another quick flare of chaos. They were around three quarters full with his milk, the white liquid sloshing slightly as she set them aside. He whimpered and reached one hand up to press at his chest. It was flatter now, no longer quite so full, but it was still tender and aching from the stretch. 

‘You can get dressed again,’ Yennefer said, crossing to her desk.

He stood and began the process of putting his clothes back on. His underthings were first, covering his rapidly softening cock from her sharp gaze. As he redressed, she continued speaking.

‘It seems that the problem is slightly worse than expected. Your breasts are producing a large amount of lactate and your prostate was rather engorged. It is likely that you will require repeated treatments to deal with the issue. You should take care to drain your own breasts at least daily, if not twice daily and you should engage in frequent masturbation. I would like you to return again next week for a follow up appointment. I will assess your condition then, but it is likely that you will require at least one further prostate massage at that point. I would recommend that you take better care of your sexual health in future to prevent issues of this nature arising,’ she said, staring at him over the pile of papers she was looking at. 

‘Thank you, Doctor,’ he mumbled. 

‘Yes, quite. Now, off you go. I have other patients to see today.’

He nodded and let himself out, closing the door firmly behind him.

[the-ghost-king]

Hullo, anon who asked for clarification re: bingo card post here again!

The two specific phrases I'm a bit confused on are "you need therapy" and "brain rot"

Both of these are used in my friendship group (everybody in this group is neurodivergent and/or mentally ill, if that's at all relevant)

- "you need therapy" is just something we occasionally say to each other in a joking manner

- "brain rot" is an inside joke we came up with, referring to when one of us is distracted and thus does something silly that we wouldn't have done had we been paying attention

I'm not asking for some kind of Free Ableism Pass, and I apologize if that's how this comes across! I genuinely want to know if these joking comments are causing harm

Right out of the gate I just want to say, don't apologize for trying to learn more! Not all disabled people will agree, but I do personally think context and intent matters (both in regards to your ask, and the content you're asking about).

You are asking this with the knowledge that you may have personal biases, and the intention of educating yourself further to help others- this is a positive thing, you are taking action and that's not something to apologize for. You're putting in the first steps to harm prevention and that eventually leads to helping other people learn to stop harm. You've also worded the rest of your ask in a way that shows you're not baiting or anything and are actually interested in making individual change, to me (personally) an apology isn't necessary!

I don't think "you need therapy" is the most extreme form of ableism out there or the most harmful, there is also the important distinction between saying something with the intent to hurt vs the intent of humor. In some cases, hurt and humor are inseparable- for example, even among a "closed" demographic slurs would be hurt no matter what they're coupled with.

The problem with "you need therapy" is outside of contexts where people are all in full agreement that they are friends and that they trust each other it's used in extremely ableist ways not giving the full understanding that therapy is for many people a very serious thing.

Telling someone they need therapy is often used in such a way that people "armchair diagnose" and they may throw other derogatory remarks in with the statment "like oh you must be psychotic" which just further stigmatizes a variety of disabilities.

There's also the issue that stating someone should go to therapy in a derogatory sort of way removes agency from them, you can think of the statement in this context being framed less like "you need therapy" and more as "you do not have the capabilities to determine what you need I will determine for you" which is definitely a problem.

On top of this, "you need therapy" makes assumptions about neurotypicality or individual capability. Someone who's neurodivergent doesn't need therapy because they have a "cringe" interest, etc.

It can be used against many demographics though, for example someone could use this against someone who's queer with the intent of telling them they should go to conversion therapy which is undebateably wrong.

I think this post lays out the issue in a coherent and clear way if anyone is still confused!

As for your friend group, or friend groups in general, this is a different situation that will depend on each individual and the group's functions as a whole. It is of my opinion, that your friend group isn't doing anything wrong as people who do face ableism (because you all have mental illnesses/neurodivergencies/mental disabilities/etc), in my opinion you have the right to reclamation if you want it.

In that same token, I do (personally) think it's important to be aware of the possible unintended effects of reclamation no matter the context. For example is there group trust and consent around these jokes and the contexts they're implied in? If everyone in the group feels comfortable with that being reclaimed, and comfortable with the way they're referred to in the context or content of these jokes then there's no issue. You haven't violated someone's autonomy, or put someone down, or invalidated their capabilities because everyone has consented to the joke. If you're ever concerned someone is uncomfortable, it never hurts to ask- "hey is this okay?", "is this particular topic not something we should jokes about?", etc. If anyone is ever upset with you for reaffirming boundaries that's a personal issue that they need to handle.

Alongside this "you need therapy" is a put down to people who need therapy and therapy itself as well. I do think this makes it possible for some friend groups to reaffirm that societal bias accidentally with their jokes, even when consent to the jokes has occurred. In this situation someone might unintentionally create or harbor more guilt about needing or wanting to attend therapy, worsening an internalized issue. In this situation it's not anyone's fault this happened, we live in an ableist society, but is this is noticed or brought up it's definitely a good place to recheck and reaffirm boundaries about language and jokes used at that person, and around them.

As for "brainrot" I think this post gets the general idea of the issue, but I think it's important to note that "brain dead" or "brain damaged" may also be used in this context.

I'm also going to note right away, that I just hold a personal bias against this word and reclaimation. Not that reclaiming any derogatory word or slur or phrase is inherently a good or bad thing with a "right" decision. Just take note of that fact that I, personally, can't ever see myself comfortable enough with this word to reclaim it and although I'll try to avoid that influencing my answer it may a little bit.

I think this post gets down into the specifics of it quite well! (I will say that personally, and that I am also not the voice to be prioritized here, I don't think there's anything wrong with dumb/stupid/idiotic/etc being used because they've made their way into general lexicon, but I do think it's an issue to use these words to describe people, especially individuals or marginalized groups. Personally, the solution I've found is using the word silly, illogical or ridiculous, or something similar- and I've noticed that I'm more intentful in what I mean by doing this as well).

There's also a lot of disabled people who feel this is just a fancy way to say the r slur and get away with it, and personally I agree. Often times it's not used to describe interpersonal issues but is used to just throw something negative at anyone who disagrees with the original speaker or main point of a conversation. So essentially even if it's not a new way to reference people being like a slur, it's saying that "thinking oppositionally/different/etc is bad and that the correct way to think is the way everyone else thinks". It's like the culmination of ableism, purity culture, and in my opinion therefore it's also about supremacy. Essentially, "normal people think like this, why aren't you normal? you should just be normal because not being normal hurts you" which is a huge red flag.

I'm not going to get too much into whether or not it's appropriate for this to be reclaimed and/or by who, but I will say it is a word/term that definitely requires a lot more thought and care when determining whether or not it should be used/said/reclaimed than something like "you need therapy". I can't however tell you what's right or wrong, and I can't tell you whether or not you have the right to be using this word that's something you have to work out for yourself.

[bestworstcase]

my most controversial tangled opinion is that the sundrop/moonstone lore isn’t confusing, it’s just a soft magical system in a story that wanted a harder one.

what i mean by this is: there are zero theoretical limits on the powers of the sundrop and moonstone, but their actual established powers are nebulous and controlled by vague concepts (“faith” and “feelings”) without any hard explanation. this works as long as the magic is a mysterious quest object and its actual use is largely incidental, but once cass takes the moonstone, the magic becomes a central component of the plot and the system fails.

for those unfamiliar with the soft/hard magical system distinction, in the most general terms, a hard magical system is explained—it has defined rules and limitations so the audience can understand How It Works—while a soft magical system isn’t. neither is better than the other per se, but which type works best for a given story depends a lot on how the magic is used in the plot.

to give an example, bending in avatar: the last airbender falls into the “hard” category. bending is a martial art with a strong spiritual component; there are four types of bending, each tied to one of the four nations; with one exception, benders can only bend a single element, and the exception is explained and given his own set of rules, like the requirement that he must learn the four types of bending in a particular order. even the last-minute introduction of a fifth type bending is logical within the context of the universe: humans learned the other four types of bending from powerful magical creatures, so the lion-turtle’s ability to gift energy bending to aang follows the established rule for how humans acquired bending abilities in the first place; and aang himself has long been established as valuing and prioritizing the spiritual aspect of being the avatar, so it makes sense that when he entreats the spirits for a way to defeat ozai without killing him, the spirits basically go “sure, here.” 

and of course, we the audience need to understand these rules, because bending is integral to the plot and to the way characters solve problems. if the characters in atla were constantly pulling new powers out of their butts to deal with the problem of the week, would that be as satisfying a story? characters do discover new powers (katara’s healing, toph’s metalbending, iroh’s lightning redirection, hama’s bloodbending), but when that happens the series is quick to establish how those powers fit within the framework of what we already know. we see this happen in fanworks too, because the audience understands the underlying mechanics and we can extrapolate new powers that fit within the defined rules, eg: could a sufficiently skilled and motivated firebender manipulate the electrical signals of the brain? taking control of a pre-existing electrical discharge and manipulating elements inside the human body are both possible, so i don’t see why not.

now back to rta.

the magical system in the series is very soft. for the purpose of this discussion, we’re going to focus on the sundrop, moonstone, and zhan tiri, because those are the core pillars of the magical system—the assortment of enchanted artifacts that pop up are sort of tangential and irrelevant here. 

let’s start with what we know. 

the sundrop and moonstone are two halves of an ancient cosmic power (hereafter ACP). the ACP was destroyed by an unknown calamity, the two drops fell to the earth, and they have been longing to reunite ever since. 

whether this “longing” implies a degree of sapience or if it’s simply an attractive force like a pair of magnets is never specified, but based on the way the two forces behave i think the magnets explanation makes more sense.

the sundrop and moonstone are said to be inverses of each other. the sundrop heals, the moonstone harms. simple enough. 

...but the moonstone also has a secondary protective ability, which it gifts to rapunzel in the form of her unbreakable hair. and the moonstone has the black rocks, which seem to exhibit both the destructive and protective/invulnerable facets of the moonstone’s power. 

and the the sundrop also has a secondary destructive ability in that it. explodes.

so...

sundrop heals ↔ moonstone harms sundrop destroys ↔ moonstone protects

now this internally contradictory set of powers for the drops does make sense when you remember that they were originally just one thing. the ACP was theorized to have basically unlimited powers of destruction and creation, so it makes sense for its two halves to exhibit that duality within themselves as well.

if we consider the wording of the four incantations (and the events of BVA), we can kind of get a sense of what else the drops might be able to do: 

i think there’s a strong argument to be made for understanding the healing/decaying capabilities of the drops as temporal manipulation. the sundrop doesn’t “heal” so much as it reverses time so it’s like the damage never happened (“make the clock reverse!”)—which incidentally would explain how gothel stayed fertile for two thousand years a lot better than “healing”—and the moonstone’s decay does the same but in reverse, so fast forwarding rather than rewinding.

they both alter/manipulate fate (“change the fates’ design”/“end this destiny”). this may be a metaphorical reference to the temporal manipulation thing, or it could be that the tangled universe truly is deterministic and the drops powerful enough to literally change fate.

a case can be made for a third dichotomy of sundrop faith ↔ moonstone will. by which i mean that the sundrop runs on belief/faith while the moonstone runs on feelings/willpower. the sun incantation focuses on hope (“and let our hope ignite”) and eugene having faith in rapunzel in LAF is what allows her to activate the sundrop nuke even without the incantation. meanwhile, the moon incantation focuses on willpower (“bend it to my will”) and in BVA, the moonstone is shown to react intensely to cassandra’s feelings and is also able to manipulate the feelings of other people (meaning that, presumably, the sundrop could also inspire faith). 

...but notice, here, how much of this is postulation. very little of this is explicit textual information; instead, i’m drawing connections between the lore given in LAF and the things that we see the sundrop/moonstone do on screen in an attempt to line up what we see with the loose, vague framework of “two halves of a broken whole that are opposites/complements of each other.” 

and i really think this is what people mean when they say the sundrop/moonstone lore is “confusing.” unlike in a hard magical system like atla, the series dedicates no time to explaining how it all works. it’s just There, and while we can make some extrapolations based on what we see, it’s not really a system that is meant to hang together in a coherent, rules-based way. and—unpopular opinion—that is FINE. hard systems are not innately better than soft systems. 

do i personally have a preference for hard systems? yes. are hard systems in vogue in modern fantasy? also yes. does that make soft systems inferior to hard systems? no. can i suspend my disbelief enough to enjoy a fantasy story with a soft system? absolutely, yes, though no force on earth can stop me from picking over it with a fine-toothed comb to develop a personal theory on how it all works, or from breaking it down into its component parts and then building a hard system from scratch for my own fanworks like i did with bitter snow. 

but—the key thing is—it’s not confusing if you go into it with the understanding that the magical system is soft. the nebulous vague what you see is what you get thing is a feature, not a bug. 

the same goes for zhan tiri. i’ve already expounded at great length about her canon lore and i’m not going to get into it again, but suffice it to say: she’s some sort of powerful ancient shapeshifting demon with nature-based magic, a side helping of dream/mind-based magic, and a penchant for deceit and manipulation. and again, the underlying mechanics of any of this are not explored, because rta has a soft magical system.

but farran, you said rta needed a harder system, so why are you now saying that soft magical systems aren’t bad? 

i did say that, yes, but it’s not because soft systems are bad. it’s because soft and hard systems are different tools used to accomplish different things, and rta as a series tells a story that, ultimately, would have been better served by a hard system rather than a soft one.

let’s start with cassandra’s control over the moonstone. in RR, she uses its powers instinctively and effortlessly. then, she loses that ability, and zhan tiri tells her that it’s because she needs to focus on her rage because that’s what the moonstone responds to (this is an obvious lie ziti uses to get cass to wallow in her anger, but the basic principle that the moonstone responds to emotion appears to be sound). and then, in BVA, cassandra’s fear about attacking rapunzel causes her to spontaneously manifest a completely new ability that sends magical fear-empathy rocks all the way to corona where they start giving people nightmare visions and petrifying them. 

that’s huge! we had no idea the moonstone could do something like that. but then they go away and cass never uses them again. why? who knows!

next, zhan tiri (off screen -_-) evidently tells cass that it’s not actually a matter of trying harder to master the moonstone’s power, she needs to use the moon incantation to unlock it. this is inconsistent with what we’ve seen before (RR and BVA proved that she could access the full range of the moonstone’s power, she just doesn’t know how), and could be explained by zhan tiri lying again... except that when cass recites the incantation it works as-advertised. 

and “mastering the moonstone’s power” turns out to be... black rocks and lightning, but bigger and more elaborate. that’s it. there’s no expansion on the withering incantation, or the empathy-rocks or petrification abilities introduced in BVA, it’s just black rocks and a light show. and black rocks shaped like dogs that one time in plus est. 

the same thing happens with the sundrop. it glows and it blows things up and it heals things and that is all it does. it just does it... bigger, and flashier, after rapunzel recites the sun incantation. 

and when zhan tiri acquires both of the drops, something that we are told grants her the (undefined) “ultimate power,” she... uses them to make rocks, but they’re golden now. what do the golden rocks do? who knows! and she uses the decay incantation, which works exactly as it did when rapunzel used it except faster and bigger and not uncontrolled. 

and then she’s beaten by whacking her over the head with a frying pan and tricking her into clapping her hands together, which blows her up. and then rapunzel takes the unified drop and revives cass everyone before letting it fly off into space. yay!

but... do you see the problem here? why so many people felt so dissatisfied with the lore surrounding the drops and zhan tiri in season three? people say it’s “confusing,” but i think that describes a symptom, not the root of the problem. a good, well-utilized soft magical system doesn’t cause confusion; it blends into the story and doesn’t call attention to itself. it’s like... lighting. it’s just there and it just works and it enriches the story but we don’t question it. 

whereas a hard magical system is an actual component of the narrative, almost like a character in its own right in the sense that we understand what makes it tick. there are rules, and we understand the rules, and because we understand the rules we can make predictions about what influence or role the magic will have in the plot. to use atla as a very simple example again: when iroh teaches zuko how to redirect lightning, we can predict that this ability will become a vital form of defense against azula and ozai. atla sets up lightning bending, then sets up a defense against lightning bending, and we don’t need to wait around for it to happen to understand that this is going to become Very Important later.

now compare this to rta season three. a whole episode is dedicated to establishing that the moonstone is connected to cassandra’s emotions in a pretty significant way. after bva, there was a lot of speculation about how this fact would play out in the events to come; speculation about other types/colors of rocks and what effects they might have; speculation about how this would tie into cassandra’s emotional arc; speculation about how zhan tiri’s manipulation might interact with the moonstone’s emotion-based magic. and... absolutely none of that happened, because that was rules-based speculation built on the assumption that rta’s magical system had definitive rules. and that was an assumption made because, in s3, rta’s soft magical system started to behave as if it were a hard one. ie, it jumped into center stage and went “look at me! i’m important.” 

except it was still a soft magical system with no definitive rules, so any rules-based speculation was impossible and pointless. it is like trying to build a house out of beams of light. you can make a house shape, but if it rains you are still going to get wet. 

and i made this mistake, too! i also made the assumption, after BVA, that answers were coming and we could expect the magic to continue to develop into, if not a hard system, at least a hybrid one, and a lot of my speculation after that point came from a place of expecting answers (and trying to unravel the answers on my own before the series showed them to us). 

but rta’s magical system just was not built that way. it wasn’t set up to play this central role in the plot, it didn’t have definitive rules, it didn’t have a preexisting framework that could be used to expand and elaborate on characters’ abilities in a naturalistic, predictable way, so... as is often the case with mis-used soft systems, the magic just got vaguely Bigger whenever the narrative called for escalation, and the “ultimate power” ended up being completely underwhelming because it was just More Of The Same, But Make It Yellow. 

as... a point of comparison here, because i’m struggling to articulate what i’m driving at, let’s consider my take on the sundrop/moonstone lore—the hard magical system i created for bitter snow. 

1) magic is drawn from a powerful magical entities (deities, demons, spirits).

2) magical abilities are based on the abilities of the patron.

3) the sundrop and moonstone are artifacts belonging to/created by a solar deity (huma) and lunar deity (turul). they are basically teeny tiny shards of those deities that fell to earth when it was still a molten lump of raw material and then molded it into a world capable of supporting life. the drops themselves can serve as direct conduits to huma/turul, and both have extensive root systems; the sundrop’s roots support the outer crust of the earth, while the moonstone’s roots (the black rocks) form the inner core. 

4) the magic of the sundrop is restorative, and it also “casts” a shadow in the form of destructive magic. the restorative/destructive magics are always equal (hence the “shadow” metaphor). the restorative magic heals, creates and nourishes life, offers strength. the destructive magic is the opposite: it destroys, it kills, it weakens. 

5) the magic of the moonstone is transformative. it takes the sundrop’s “shadows” and refashions them into the black rocks. it adapts, it moves, it alters things. it is neutral, centered, and stable in comparison to the sundrop’s intense extremes. 

6) both huma and turul (and by extension the drops) are also connected to zhan tiri, as all three formed very early in the beginning of the cosmos. like huma and turul, zhan tiri’s magic is centered around change; hers is corruptive. zhan tiri’s magic manipulates strengths into weakness, and weakness into strength. it gives by taking away. it feeds.

7) to put these three types of magic into more concrete terms: let’s say alice, bob, and carol all break their arms. alice calls on the power of the sundrop to heal herself, and her arm is instantly and perfectly repaired, but some destructive, uncontrolled magic is unleashed into the world to balance the scales. bob, meanwhile, calls on the power of the moonstone, and it transforms the broken arm into solid stone; the pain is gone and the arm is no longer broken, but it is also no longer, strictly speaking, a human arm. and finally, carol entreats zhan tiri for healing, and zhan tiri sets the bone but also infuses it with her own magic, so it festers/grows into a well of power for carol.

now, if we apply these rules to a plus est en vous type of situation where zhan tiri claims both of the drops for herself, what does that look like? it’s the power to instantly unmake and re-make the entire cosmos. it’s the power to transform the entire world and everything on it into stone or ice. it’s the power to cure every disease and heal every injury suffered by every living thing on the planet instantaneously, and to inflict those same sufferings on everyone and everything with a snap of your fingers. it’s, literally, limitless. (it also fuses zhan tiri, huma, and turul into a single entity called jinarche but that is a little beside the point for the purpose of this discussion.)

and... how do you beat a creature like that? well. you sort of can’t, on paper, but in practice the overwhelming shock of the fusion of that much power into a single being would cause a few minutes of intense disorientation and that creates a window of opportunity to break the fused power apart again... but this isn’t a “win” scenario either, really, because when you do that it is going to cause an explosion of power violent enough to shred the entire cosmos so it is basically hitting the reboot button on the whole universe.

so, operating within the bitter snow magical system, the key to defeating a zhan tiri who wanted to acquire the sundrop and moonstone (and fuse with huma and turul in the process) would be to stop her before she gets her hands on both drops. because of the framework created by this hard system, the plot of this alternate plus est en vous is all about preventing zhan tiri from acquiring the drops, because the second both of them are in her possession it’s game over even if you manage to kill her. you either get an unkillable, omnipotent god or you get the entire universe self-destructing. the stakes are that high.

*deep breath*

with this in mind, let’s wrap this back around to canon. when zhan tiri takes both the sundrop and moonstone, what... are the stakes?

in TOTS, when zhan tiri revealed her plan to take both drops for herself, did the stakes feel high? we are told at several points that the drops have the potential to destroy the world, but does the stinger at the beginning of TOTS feel like an “oh, shit, the literal planet is at stake here” moment? 

does zhan tiri in plus est feel like a super-powered demon who has just acquired the ultimate power of creation and destruction? no! the golden rocks and turbo-charged decay incantation don’t even feel like an escalation over the cassandra vs rapunzel battles in CR and earlier in plus est—in fact, frankly, they feel like a downgrade by virtue of being less flashy!

the series has given us no frame of reference for what the ultimate power looks like while simultaneously providing no internal scaffolding on which to build that kind of escalation. this is the biggest downside of a soft magical system—it’s really damn hard to keep raising the stakes if you don’t have the basic framework of “here’s what the rules are, here’s the limitations.”

back to bitter snow: neither zhan tiri, turul/the moonstone, nor huma/the sundrop on their own are powerful enough to rip the whole universe apart. zhan tiri is the most individually powerful of the three, and while she could probably destroy the planet if she really put her mind to it, that would take centuries to come to fruition. it would be a matter of planting the right seeds, worming her magic into the right cracks, growing and feeding and hollowing it out from within, and then hitting the pressure points at just the right time. it is only in combination that these three become strong enough to just unmake the whole cosmos in the blink of an eye. this kind of escalation is possible because i know what the limits are. 

in a soft magical system version of bitter snow, it’d be more like “well zhan tiri is really powerful, the sundrop and moonstone are pretty powerful too, if you put them all together they’d all be... like, Really Really Really powerful.” because the whole point of a soft magical system is that it’s vague. it’s not supposed to have this level of clarity and precision in how it works. this doesn’t make escalation impossible, just super difficult, because it’s so easy for escalation or new powers to come across as plot contrivances (BVA) or deus ex machina or purely aesthetic in nature like the gorgeous and dramatic fight in CR or the golden rocks zhan tiri uses. and from an audience perspective, there is literally no way to guess what might happen next because there are No Rules. you can predict character beats and plot developments, of course, but you can’t make accurate assessments about the magic.

and when you’re using a soft magical system in this way, where escalating stakes based on magic use are integral to the plot, you are basically inviting your audience to go “hey, wait a minute, how does this work...?” for the same reason audiences try to analyze and understand why characters are acting the way they do. 

and that’s why rta’s magical system ultimately failed. not because it’s confusing, but because it was too soft for what the story wanted to do with it.