#And it might just be irony poisoning

[wolf-tail]

"Hey, you should check out [media], It subverts a lot of clichés of the genre."

Me:

[halfusek]

THERE'S SEVEN OF THEM NOW??

YEAH ToT

my friend bought me . the third one and after i finished it they instantly hit me with the seventh

so naturally i played them for less than 2 hours in less than 14 days and marked the gift as to be returned so that friend could do the refund process

i dont wanna be mean to people who genuinely enjoy it, all the power to you but oh my fucking god. as a game developer it just made me gnash my teeth and pull alllll my hair

[snekdood]

remember when it was the norm on here that if someone said they wanted to kill themselves, people would try to convince them not to and anything other than doing that was seen as fucked and wrong by default no matter what?

yeah.... i miss that

[caruliaa]

girl u r so misery irony poisoned and playing further and further into tht mindset and spending time with people with tht mindset bc u blatantly hate being vulnerable and open to the point of pushing away someone whos told you time and time again tht its okay to be open and vulnerable with them and that theyd be with you as long as it took for you to be vunerable having lied to them by saying vulnerable things and acting vulnerable in ways u didnt even mean then taking them back after pushing them out of your life without ever having the courage to admit the obvious reason that its that you have issues with being vulnerable that you have to work on in order to have proper relationships with others its insane

[drchucktingle]

a moment to check the gears and cogs

feel like i want to talk a little on the message of a recent post because i think it is an important point. when i say that you do not need to QUALIFY OR DEFEND your love of tinglers or my work in general, i am pointing out an interesting social anomaly that happens with my art and with queer art.

as an autistic buckaroo i notice patterns, and on social media i see them a lot. little phrases that come up again and again with my art. ‘yes THAT chuck tingle’ ‘its ACTUALLY good’ ’my favorite author i have never read’ ‘so bad its good’. these are always added after a POSITIVE comment about me

they also all have something in common. they are trying to distance the posters SINCERE JOY and give them an out socially. it is very very very subtle, but they are all saying ‘yes i like this but here is a sliver of acknowledgment that it is also weird or bad or ironic. in not REALLY fully in'

essentially these are added because it means the poster can escape their very real joy if needed. try applying these phrases to any other popular author. its much more subtle with the first two: ‘i liked all fours by miranda july, yes THAT miranda july. its ACTUALLY good’. what does this imply?

the other examples are a little more blatant but lets try them with other authors anyway. imagine saying ‘youre my favorite author i have never read’ to stephen king. would you EVER say that to someone? what does that imply? how about 'i love your books theyre so bad theyre good'. horrifyingly rude

lets dive into saying 'CHUCK TINGLE is my favorite author i have never read’ sounds unusual when substituting other authors because theyre usually not queer or autistic or making outsider art. to be blunt, why CHUCK gets it all the time is because it really means 'i like chuck tingle but im not gay’

while we have mostly culturally evolved past the idea that saying ‘no homo’ is some kind of joke, that FEELING is still around. it has just burrowed a little deeper. honestly it might never go away, or at least take centuries. remember these people GENUINELY LIKE MY BOOKS but feel they MUST qualify

should also be pointed out that LEFT and LIBERAL people are the ones who say this stuff to chuck. they do not MEAN to harm, and if you ask them directly how they feel about queer or neurodivergent people they would not express the same opinion as their subliminal comments might imply

the final elephant trotting by is while some of this is homophobia and fear of a neurodivergent other, it is also just plain old IRONY POISONING. its conditioning from being raised on an internet where sincerity was ‘cringe' and loving something was a weakness or joke. these problems work in tandem

so whats the point? what can we do? first of all, just recognizing these patterns is a start. i didnt HAVE to write all of this today but i think its important to be aware and to look inward and think about the gears and cogs that churn behind the things we say. NEXT step is trying to push past it

if you have done these things in the past, i want you to know i am NOT AT ALL UPSET. i am not mad or hurt and i do not think any less of you. you can trot by my side any day and you are trying your best to prove love. we are ALL just tryin our best, just consider this a friendly chat between buds

proving love can happen in BIG WAYS and it can happen in SMALL WAYS that we barely see. just take a moment and think ‘WHY am i saying this? WHY am i in this pattern to distance myself from outsider or queer art?’ a little moment of consideration goes a LONG way buckaroos. LOVE IS REAL

[watcherintheweyr]

I saw a post earlier talking about how Alicent is not being rewarded by the patriarchy she has served so faithfully, and how the son she and Otto raised to the throne 'to protect his life in the way they knew they must' and I just... I have Thoughts so I'm gonna say em.

Alicent thought that by weaponizing the patriarchy against Rhaenyra and by serving it and it's goals, she'd be the exception to their sexism and disdain of women. She thought she'd be rewarded by signing with the oppressors and the oppressive system and it's values, and she's now facing the reality and the consequences of what's happened. And she's also getting a taste of the undermining and humiliation that she turned against Rhaenyra for years.

Honestly the fact that she even has a seat in the Small Council makes no sense at this point - it barely made sense with Viserys, given Alicent's views on women having power. That they should not have the power but should 'gently guide' those that do. In truth it's tragic irony and yet somehow comedic, seeing her realize that she will not be rewarded or exalted in Any way for all she's sacrificed and betrayed.

But also: Otto knew that Rhaenyra wouldn't turn on her siblings. He never really believed she would kill them. Those were lies he fed to Alicent that she in turn poisoned her children with in order to serve his ambition: which was originally to have his blood ruling on the throne but has become to have his blood on the throne as a puppet-king that he can control.

The MOMENT they moved forward with the usurpation, Otto attempted to have Rhaenyra and her entire family- including two toddlers- assassinated- the very thing he claimed Rhaebyra would do. Because he was never horrified by such a concept, and he never genuinely thought Rhaenyra was the sort to do such a thing. But he absolutely is- and entirely unprovoked. And yet somehow Alicent is shocked by this- somehow she never realized that to 'secure his succession, Aegon and his faction would have to do to the true heir and her family what she thought the true heir would do- which is either incredibly poor writing, or just blind, willful ignorance of what a usurper would have to do to stay secure from rival claimants.

Otto suggested Rhaenyra as heir to further distance Daemon from the throne (which was due to his hatred of Daemon, his knowledge that Daemon saw hom as he was, and his.. greed and possessiveness of Viserys, which was referenced now on s2e2 in how Otto spoke of Viserys, the man he puppeted, controlled, and manipulated for decades with total reverence.)- and because he thought she would be immediately displaced once his daughter gave Viserys the son that Aemma was killed for.

He never thought that Viserys would seriously hold her as his heir- and never thought she would be so difficult to manage or control, either. We see the horrified realization in his eyes in episode 2 when she shows him up at Dragonstone- that she is actually something formidable, that she just succeeded at something he did not- and saved his life from Caraxes in the same breath. That she, a girl, was taking this role as heir seriously, and that she might actually be able to play the part, and do it well.

So he made a new plan- to fill Alicent's mind with poison and lies about her once best friend, to ensure she would turn her children against Viserys' heir, and thus help him to further his goals.

But he miscalculated. Deeply. Because now Aegon's jealousy, insecurity, and hatred are running unchecked as he sits as the most powerful man in the realm. Now his grandson's depravity guides his choices, and Aegon's hatred and jealousy of Rhaenyra, his desperation for love and attention, and the power cirrently goong to his head... All are far stronger than any respect he may have once held for his grandsire- and his mother.

She betrayed and destroyed herself and Rhaenyra for nothing. She will never be rewarded for what Otto made her suffer or for what she did to disparage and demean Rhaenyra in the eyes of the men of the realm. She has served her use, as far as the men she thought to guide are concerned.

[communist-hatsunemiku]

I like to think Miku took over the internet and world with nothing but Her pure charm, but VOCALOID came out at probably the perfect time. A few years earlier and there might not have been a sizeable internet audience to become enamored with Her. A few years later and She would have risked being rejected by the irony poisoning that was starting to take hold of the internet. Of course we'll never know and this is all very unsupported speculation, but it just makes perfect sense doesn't it? She showed up at the right time.

[carlyraejepsans]

Ok im trying to make a character and really struggling to make them fit the vibe of undertale, do you have any thoughts on undertale's character design philosophy? or know anyone who does? tips? idk you know alot about undertale, im kinda at the design phase of "throw shit at the wall and see what sticks"

undertale character philosophy rule number 1) get silly with it. rule number 2) be fully, whole-pussedly earnest. do not half ass do NOT undermine your genuinity with useless irony it is the POISON of whimsy. actually no rule number 1) think of every possible wordplay you could make outta them. visual gags included, those are important. undertale is a comedy before being anything else. you know what these aren't in order of importance anymore, who care.

anyway, UT characters are all somehow stuck in their patterns and cycles. either through mistakes, through circumstances outside of their control, past trauma, regret, etc, but they're stuck in that. what breaks them out of that cycle is a crucial aspect of their personality and set of beliefs. keep that in mind while you brainstorm their backstory.

give them speaking quirks. you're gonna feel a little silly at first, but there's not one main character in the game whose identity you can't discern by their dialogue lines alone. no soundbit, no portrait, no context. the way they say it by itself is distinctive enough to make them recognizable. let that guide your writing process.

....ok just realized you probably meant character design as in visual character design. ok, new try: puns and double meanings and things that are not what they seemed at first sight. there's a lot of design repetition with alterations in undertale's NPCs; froggit and final froggit, the dogs in the guard, snowdrake and knight knight. see what aspects are kept and what is altered. remember: while the main characters skew towards more humanoid designs (bipedal, upright, 4 limbs, recognizable face), they all have extremely different body types, often simplifiable in a single geometric shape for the stockier ones (toriel, sans, box mtt being rectangular, toby saying how he wanted to make alphys look like a triangle), while the ones with more complex silhouettes get really fucking weird with it (papyrus is self explanatory, undyne's tall and gangly noodly shape). get creative and get diverse. consider buying the art book, even! i feel like that might be a good choice. have fun, hope this helped!! (very likely didn't lol)

[dykells]

𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐈𝐙𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 | 𝐀.𝐀

𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✷ she hopes im cursed forever to sleep on a twin sized mattress never graduating up in size to add another 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,1k ✷ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: religion, homophobia n’ nsfw content

abby feels owen’s hand on her waist like a brick to her chest weighting her body down, it wouldn’t take much for the drowning to begin but your face across the room was both oxygen and the final anchor of her demise. she weighed her options as their personifications stood before her, father smiling brightly at the happy couple unaware his own daughter forced her chirpiness while she yearned in the deepest aching to be swept off her feet by the girl just a few away– who now refused to face her much understandably. you cursed her for inviting you to their preppy engagement party, cursed her for multiple reasons more, yet your heels stuck to the ground like they clung for dear life anticipating a plot twist shaped by regret.

“excuse me” she finally croaked out mid conversation, the place where her fiancé’s hand once held onto now burning her skin like a rotting poison. she wished to bathe herself clean in the rain like a baptism, wished owen didn’t felt like sin tainting her body from being with you, her holiest of experiences, wished she had not known heaven between your legs so she may live on her life guiltless and not as someone who has felt blasphemously like a god herself. your fingers brush past eachother as she walks up behind you and fireworks bloom from your fingertips like lily flowers at spring. lillies, her favorite, your perfume.

you follow her to the bathroom, breath unsteady, and regardless of how long the affair has been happening no familiarity prepares you for the crash of her lips against yours as you twist the doorknob. sometimes you think these moments might make you understand her, to have abby anderson’s tongue exploring your mouth, hands by your neck to keep you still, perpetual apple cinnamon smell, was nothing short of a religious experience. perhaps that is what the church brought out in her, this same inextinguishable fire at the pit of your stomach with understanding of icarus and his hope for the sun. if all sins felt this sweet it did not seem so big of a sacrifice to die for them– you’d die for her if asked.

“abs, stop” you whisper once her lips are on your neck, long wet kisses all across the exposed skin warming up your body from the winter cold better than any cloth could have, she’s hungry, biting you down and her fruity scent doesn’t let the irony of forbidden fruit to die on you even as she hums in fake confusion allowing herself more time in her feast begging it to cloud your judgement as it almost does “abigail, we have to stop”

“don’t do this to me” she begs, voice cracking “please don’t leave me, you’ll take all the sunshine with you and it’s cold, it’s a cold winter i need your arms, your limbs, your body, my sunny girl-“

“you’re getting married, abs” you sigh with the exclamation, it seems nearly as though you’ve just reminded her of it like someone who forgot to turn off the oven before they had left the house, someone destined for burnt flames, your reality scares her into kneeling submission and you’re laughing because it looks like a proposal and it’s absurd, her hands gripping yours, her gaze doe-eyed and unconditional. you are missing a ring but you see hers, diamond, and the ache doesn’t easen.

“you are everything that i want…”

“then leave him, abby. don’t sit on the dirty bathroom floor of a venue for your engagement party and promise me a love you are too scared to give me, i can’t keep excusing your cowardice for the sake of sanity. take off that ring and walk out of here with me, we’ll figure it out, we’ll be happy together, your winter won’t be cold”

she pretends to take in your words, analyse them as if her nights haven’t been filled with scenarions and possibilities all of which there is pain unbearable. you’re searching her eyes with a hope unbeknownst to men and suddenly you feel the line between dream and desperation blurring itself into oblivion. abby lets go of your touch and slides the ring from her finger out onto it’s demise on the tiled floor. you think you won. you think god exists when she locks the door behind you and presses you against the wall, believe he had heard your prayers once her fingers dip between your thighs. when she’s thrusting inside you, you cry out for god instead of her name, moan louder at the sight of her wedding band far away on the ground, feel your walls clenching around her digits and her warm breath against your neck, she’s mumbling so many i love yous you barely notice how multiple sound like im sorrys.

with your hands curling around her loose hair she gets sloppy, deprived, wants you to tug on her and beg for her mouth without needing the plead to taste you and you do so eager it burns her scalp. she’s back on her knees and she thinks for a moment not admited this might be her holy repent. tugging on your jeans till their ultimate glide towards the floor, shes sucking on the wet patch of your underwear as a tease, letting her senses flood of lillies and pussy. she finally pushes it aside and dives in, godhood in the shape of your swollen clit grazing her teeth, you tilt your waist to give her further access and there are stars and angels behind your fluttered eyelids.

she calls your her sunny girl as you rain down her face in white honey, her muscles spread your legs further apart and suck it in till it has destroyed her makeup, part of her wishes to leave this bathroom and still smell of you, part of her is scared owen might kiss your heavens from her tongue and catch it all. she’s putting her ring back on at your climax, and you’re confused and heavy breathing. a sob clings to your throat.

abby tells you all she’s ever known is the cold. tells you girls like her are unworthy of the sun. tells you owen is waiting and maybe you should leave. she doesn’t tell you she thinks god isn’t real once you’ve turned your back because he would never have created something to purely magnetic to have it ripped from her hands, she does not tell you the only thing worth worshipping is the gap between your teeth, the crook of your neck and the dimple in your cheek, doesn’t tell you she thinks hell is this. but she almost does. she almost does. on your way out, you just sob and hope she’s cursed. hope god is angry. think god is her.

© dykells twentytwentythree

[dorky-kawa]

was it ironic when megumi said sukuna's fingers were deadly poison, that it had to be a one-in-a-million chance yuuji wouldn't die eating it? except, yuuji was never that miracle; his entire existence was carefully planned from the start by kenjaku. but megumi, he was the true one-in-a-million chance.

fushiguro megumi, gifted with a name that holds the meaning of "blessing," born with the treasured inherited technqiue of the zenins, with a body that by a one-in-a-million chance of luck had the potential to be a compatible vessel for ryoumen sukuna - in the end, was megumi more blessed or cursed?

there was a line from the mechamaru chapter in the 2nd light novel that said, "a name was the first 'wish' bestowed onto someone when they were born." did toji and mamagumi's wish for their son to live a blessed life turn into a curse in the end for megumi? did love, once again, become the most twisted curse of all?

but, nanami in the airport also said that curses can save people. so, megumi might have been cursed by love, but he was also ultimately saved by this curse called love ('it'll be lonely without you, fushiguro').

(so maybe a blessing and a curse are just two sides of the same coin.)

p.s. i have a headcanon that megumi actually has pretty good luck with mundane things in life: like winning raffle/pachinko/etc (with the irony being toji was always so broke because he had shit luck at gambling). except, almost like a heavenly restriction, all of megumi's "luck" would save him from the worst horrors of his life.

[14thcommander]

seashore | hange zöe x reader

summary: a rainy day at the beach with hange. the shitty weather somehow leads to confessions of love. (idiots in love, friends to lovers, not beta read, a shit ton of symbolism, tooth rotting fluff)

i suggest listening to the song do you think I’m pretty by kingfisher

wc: 1.5k

The wind is gentle when it blows against your face — light, careful like a mother’s touch.

It brings the smell of cigarettes, the one Hange is currently smoking. They attempt to point it in the opposite direction, in order to avoid its terrible scent reaching you. It fails, but it’s the intention that counts something.

The beach is empty — well, mostly. There is a group of teenagers that are close enough to be seen, but too far to be heard. The sound of waves is the only thing you hear.

The ocean is a green, grayish color — the line that separates it from the sky, in the horizon, is blurred.

It is a chill day, one you consider the perfect atmosphere to go to the beach. Hange knows you like gray, moody days — the ones in which the sky looks like a warm, soapy bath. You were never a fan of sunlight anyway. Perhaps that’s why you admire Hange so much.

“Too bad Levi and Erwin are missing this sunny, hot day at the beach. Bet they’re sad just thinking about it.” Hange’s words are filled with irony, waiting for a reaction. The sarcasm that drips from their tone doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

The two of you are friends — well, sort of. You are part of the same friend group, consistently hanging out. Over time, you grew closer: what was supposed to be a collective hangout, turned into just you. It feels complicated these days.

“Oh, fuck off. You’re the one who agreed to come with me.” You offer them a middle finger, to which they throw their hands up in surrender.

The both of you are sitting on an old beach towel you brought, the fabric is wrinkled from being shoved on the bottom of your bag. None of you are dressed appropriately for the beach: Hange is wearing a thick flannel, protecting them from the chill breeze. You are wearing a beat down pair of converse, the ones you have since high school. Somehow, you match with each other. You try not to think too much of it.

“Call me crazy if you want, I wouldn’t let my friend go to this mopey beach all alone. I’m loyal like that.”

And that’s why you are at the beach, with Hange and no one else. Levi and Erwin were supposed to come along, however you are glad something came up for them. Nothing would be more awkward than ending up on a double date with your sort-of-friend.

The word friend tastes bitter on your throat, poisoning your lungs like Hange’s cigarette.

“You’re the only person I know that thinks this is appropriate beach weather.” They say, breaking the lack of dialogue between you for the past minute or so. Not that you’re counting or anything like that, of course. “Are you a vampire or something?”

It earns them a chuckle from you, almost a laugh — it drips like honey from your mouth, and Hange desperately wants to know how it tastes like. They want to hear it again.

“I doubt you like having fun in the sun either.” You reply, watching as the wind blows their hair — brunette locks dancing in the air, enhancing the messiness of their ponytail.

“Touché.”

Hange says, while burrying the remains of a cigarette in the sand, and you don’t point out how wrong it is — not with words, at least. Your eyes seem to translate your feelings either way.

“You’re so expressive.” It’s Hange’s turn to chuckle. “It’s adorable.”

Their words almost make your face heat in embarrassment. Almost.

“Oh, shut up.” Your tone is playful, not pointed at all. Avoiding their eye contact, you turn your face in order to pretend the ocean before you is a better sight than Hange.

“I mean it. I like it.”

Hange might tell you a joke, but they would never tell you a lie. Something about the honor of a scientist, you guess. It’s a beat of silence until you speak again.

“Yeah, well, you’re the opposite. I can’t read you at all.” This comment, though, this one is pointed — not like a knife, but similar to thorns on a rose. It comes with something beautiful, too: honesty.

The truth is palpable, swimming in between you. It’s all a funny, weightless banter, until it isn’t.

“My resting bitch face doesn’t help. Guess I’m better with words or something.”

This time you laugh, genuinely. It isn’t mean, you don’t mean to mock Hange at all — it’s just that the irony of it all is funny to you. Almost unbelievable.

“Oh, what a poet you are.” Your eyes are glued to the sea before you, admiring its chaotic beauty. The waves crash against the shore, becoming a conjugation of white bubbles.

It’s silent again, wordless tension building around you like a sand castle — ready to crumble at any sudden move.

“You’re really pretty.” They admit, which sounds like something in between a secret and a confession. It seems out of nowhere, but it truly isn’t. Lately, this is all Hange can think about. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The waves crash again, destroying the metaphorical sand castle you built around yourself, trying to protect you from whatever it is you’re scared of.

“Hange.” The sound of their name leaving your mouth isn’t a threat, although it isn’t an invitation either.

“No, I mean it. Truly.” They reach for something inside their bag, something important in the mess of papers, headphones, and a cigarette pack.

They’ve found it: a small, worn out notebook.

“Here, take a look.” They offer it to you, opened on a certain page. “Then tell me you think I’m lying.”

There are doodles of you. Your face, distracted, frozen in the moment, probably when you were laughing at something crude Levi had said. There is your silhouette, too: you guess it’s the view of when you walk in front of them, hurriedly trying to arrive on time for a move you went to see.

Your smile, your eyes. Every detail of your face, something that cannot be translated by a photograph. The traces Hange has memorized over the years you have known each other. This is what they picture before going to bed, or early in the morning when they wake up.

“Hange.” This time, when you say their name, it is softer — it warms them up. “Hange…”

It’s like you’re hypnotized, unable to say anything but their name.

When you look up, they are closer, nose brushing against yours. Hange looks at you through thick glasses, with curiosity. This time, they can’t read your expression.

“Kiss me.”

And they do. It is gentle, soft — their lips move against yours like the waves move against the shore, as if it was nature’s reason for your own existence. Their warm palms find your face, holding you preciously. It is brief, however. The kiss ends as quickly as it came.

Neither of you speak, too afraid to break the moment. Hange brings their forehead against yours, and like that you stay. You taste like salt air, warm like whiskey. It is fiery, overtaking them as a whole. They wouldn’t mind being swallowed by it, drowning in the overwhelming hotness that is your touch.

This time, Hange says your name, warm brown eyes looking into yours and finding nothing but love. Admiration. Devotion.

It’s a humorless chuckle, what comes next. It leaves their lips nervously. For someone so careless like Hange, it sure is a new sight to see them like this — a pink tint covering their cheeks, a loopy smile on their lips. They have never looked so soft.

“I have wanted to do this for so long.”

“What, go to the beach on a rainy day?” You ask in attempted humor, beaming when it earns you a laugh from them.

“Kiss you. Couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

You smile, breaking eye contact and looking at the sand. It looks damp, cold. Unlike what you feel right now.

“Me too.”

Hange looks into your eyes again, scanning it from any signs of mischief. They find none.

“I get the appeal of this now. If anything, the shitty weather makes it feel more romantic.”

You give them an I know, right? look, and they fight the urge to kiss you again.

“Glad I could change your mind. We could do this again, if you want.”

The words that leave your lips are soft, but confident. Just like you.

“What, are you asking me on a date?”

“Depends on your answer.”

Hange offers you a toothy smile, feeling like a child. They feel on top of the world now. How could they not, after all?

“Yeah. Obviously, of course. I would love to go on a date with you. Multiple dates, even.”

You smile again, cheeks already hurting from so much happiness.

“Can’t wait to make you mine.” They say, bringing your palm to their lips, pressing a gentle kiss on your warm skin. “Cause I’m already yours.”

You believe them.

[some-stars]

you know what really fucking grinds my gears about how queerbaity and--let's be honest--homophobic Deadpool and Wolverine was?

(because i loved it a LOT, and i know hugh and ryan gave it their all, but if you think every last second of that script wasn't Disney yanking their hand away from the hot gay stove of Deadpool 2's slightly less irony-poisoned queer shit and the character's inconveniently canon pansexuality, you're lying to yourself.)

it’s that you could fix the whole thing with one tiny addition to the big fight scene, and you don't even have to taint your precious wolverine IP with the suggestion that he might be queer too. all they had to do was have wade kiss logan mid-fight for maybe three seconds, with enough tongue to show that he's genuinely enjoying it but short enough that logan can just freeze in surprise without either pulling away in disgust or reciprocating. then wade pulls away, makes a joke, and shoots/stabs him again, and they go back to fighting. that's all it would take. they don't even have to talk about it later. hell, you can even film and edit that part so it’s easy to cut out when you send it to china. boom, problem solved, i have zero professional screenwriting experience and it took me less than thirty seconds.

but no, all we got was deniably camp music, jokes about blowjobs, and two straight hours of winking and nudging. fuck disney forever, if they make a fourth movie i don't think i'm even going to bother with it.

[bonefall]

For Flowerstem vs Maplewhisker, maybe they're both present and one is like… an aide to whichever is the deputy? Not officially, but in the midst of All That they just happen to be helping/supporting the other, and are a clear choice of new deputy once the dust settles.

They're not necessarily friends at the start, either acquaintances that grow closer through a shared sense of "someone has to keep things working", or maybe even rivals of a sort- they don't get along great initially, but they respect each other, and it turns out they're willing to back each other up when it matters (+ the value of having a second-in-command who's willing to disagree with you)

idk i'm just spitballing here tbh

I layed around and daydreamed about it for a bit, and I think this is a great idea. I have even more thoughts to share as fragments;

To start with, I'm thinking Flowerstem is going to be the Winner of the Conflict, and Maplewhisker is going to become her friend and future deputy. Mothpelt is going to be the oldest heir*, who dies of poisoning along with a few of his children.

And to reiterate, Jumpfoot is the descendant of Riverstar's firstborn child, and Mossfire is his adopted heir.

Renames to get the names more in-line with where they were at this period in history;

BB!Flowerstem -> Flowers Came First. Nickname: Flow. A River Kingdom title. Comes from a translation quirk. "Stem," prryem, is the place where plants erupt from the ground in modern Clanmew. Over many generations, influenced by the story of Redscar's sign, "Came" and "First" merge into a single word, Prryem. Eventual winner of the conflict.

BB!Maplewhisker -> Maple Whisker A Mountain Cat name. Actually a reference to the odd saplings that were planted in SkyClan's territory (and is now ThunderClan's). Maple might be a migrant from SkyClan or a second-generation descendant of them, so a more accurate translation would be Sycamore Whisker, but the translator chooses to abide by the precedent set by Mapleshade. Flow's future deputy. (FUTURE ADDITION: Design draft 1 here) (I don't currently have a Mountain family with the Whisker last name, I might end up making it something that came from a Mountain x Forest/Park blended family, as a Mountain cat wanted to name half of the kits for their mate as is tradition.)

BB!Mothpelt* -> Dead Moths Pelt. Nickname: Moth (though I'm easily tempted by funny into making it Moe.) Another River Kingdom title, for the irony factor. It's actually a reference to how he rescued a ton of pelts from a moth infestation, by recognizing they were laying eggs and stopping them before they hatched. Hard to translate into just three words, because in Parkmew it was "Killed (the) moths (to save the) pelts." * = Watch this space. Might change in a future draft.

BB!Jumpfoot -> Jumping Foot Nickname: Jump Actually from WindCo. I haven't worked out the meaning behind this title yet. I'm going to make it so Duststar is supporting this cat for leadership; they might even be slightly related. Cousins, perhaps.

BB!Mossfire -> Mossfire Alight Only given recently, when Moss set her own fire for the very first time. Barely out of apprenticeship, but very popular. Riverstar's adopted child.

(I also need to pick the ThunderClan "Diplomat" character.)

More fragments and assorted thoughts;

(Three parts: Opening, Middle Stuff, and Redscar's Choice)

Opening and political setup:

BB!Flowerstem, Flow, is kind of like an older sibling/nanny of Moss. She was an apprentice of King Riverstar, and unofficially trusted to watch over Moss, who is considerably younger than she is. She wasn't formally adopted by King Riverstar but he always felt like a father to her.

BB!Jumpfoot, Jump, is from WindCo. Riverstar's firstborn was not legitimate, who lived a long and happy life as a traveler going between the various groups.

Riverstar is actually Jump's great-great-grandfather, but Jump is an accomplished, confident warrior who's just young enough to have a long rule, but experienced enough to make Mossfire look like a child in comparison.

And, importantly, Duststar wants Jump in power.

When Riverstar is on his deathbed, Flow, Moth, and Moss are there. Jump actually blows in later, and the Unnamed ThunderClan Diplomat.

The Diplomat is going to be one who does the poisoning later. Jump is REALLY easy to pin the blame on, because he's aggressive and kind of arrogant.

Through the story, Flow is trying to protect both Moss AND keep the River Kingdom functioning. Without even realizing it, people keep coming to her for advice.

Maple Whisker is her really good ally through all this. I'm not sure how they're going to begin, they COULD be rivals, but the important thing is that Maple and Flow naturally end up supporting each other.

While Flow is trying to keep Moss safe and fend off the other Heirs who are showing up looking to make claims to power, Maple is handling a lot of the logistical things.

Flow is an excellent "face." Her judgement is generally influential.

She's kind and compassionate, and it means that she's able to smooth out conflict in a way that King Riverstar used to be able to.

And there are a LOT of fights to break up.

Jump is a complete troublemaker already trying to assert his claim, and he's got cats to back him up.

Moss, who is really trying to be fair here, often gets pulled into fights.

FLOW'S biggest "flaw" is that she's honest. At some point she even admits, "Moss is really not ready for leadership. She needs more time before she has this responsibility."

unfortunately, opportunists and blood-loyalists who don't believe "adopted" can count as legitimate jump on that. Mossfire resents this, even though Flow is right, and she IS in waaay over her head.

But, thankfully, there's still an option.

The Eldest (currently living) direct child of Riverstar, Dead Moth Pelt, Moth, is the obvious alternative. He's older, speaks highly of his father, has connections to the River Kingdom.

And, importantly, he's got kittens of his own. Easy choice! They'll continue the dynasty and we won't have to worry about this again.

They're Just Like The Wind Runner

(jump and duststar disliked this)

.....hmmmmm. You know what would be cool?

The ThunderClan Diplomat being one of these kids.

Maybe in a future draft the Diplomat will be Mothpelt, and the ELDEST will be Beechstar. Maybe their name can be Beech Shore.

Add some more messy dynamics here, have it that Mothpelt "wants to avenge!" the father he actually killed.

(Notes from the future: The Diplomat's name is Bright Whisker. We committed to her being related to Maple Whisker.)

But ANYWAY. This draft first.

Moth is a showman and a people-pleaser. He decides he wants to have a party to honor his father's life,

At this celebration, Moth's direct family all eats from the same, very special pot.

Everyone in this family is poisoned with wolfsbane. None of them are able to make the trip to the Moonstone, and one-by-one, Moth and his kits succumb to it.

(except, of course, the diplomat, if he ends up being a descendant of The Eldest.)

The Diplomat, whoever they are, makes the obvious accusation;

Jumping Foot did this.

MIDDLE STUFF

All this while, I think Flow should be realizing there's something wrong with the Diplomat. But there's ALSO a lot wrong with Jumping Foot

As Jumping Foot becomes unpopular, his supporters are rallying around him and the accusations are starting to get thrown around

Re: It's VERY useful that Flow remains the only POV here, realizing that the fighting and the fracturing factions are starting to affect the function of the River Kingdom

Maple Whisker is by her side, constantly running to come fetch her to break up fights and arguments

Dens aren't getting maintained, cats are going hungry as there's no one really "in charge" of making meals for everyone

I want to make sure it's clear that it's not an "ABANDON OLD PEOPLE" situation. It's Flow laying it out directly;

"Everyone who isn't part of a large family is suffering. You HAVE to pick a side in order to have access to good food and shelter... and Jumping Foot is backed up by the Wind Coalition!"

In this shuffle, she's having a hard time protecting Moss, who's getting sick and tired of her Kingdom being yanked around.

She's growing up quick, having to work with Flow to take care of the cats in the Kingdom, but it's also making her more aggressive. Less patient.

Through The Diplomat, ThunderClan also begins to stick their nose in, which The Diplomat frames as "aid, they are our allies after all. Ties to them run deep, unlike those of the Wind Coalition."

Flow starts to realize that between these two huge coalitions, backed by outside forces, the River Kingdom will get absorbed.

In the shuffle, Flow and Mossfire Alight are starting to break apart. They used to be close, but the stress is making Moss aggressive and short-fused.

She NEVER used to start fights like this, but now Flow is finding herself trying to stop her previously so openminded charge from escalating conflicts.

It's a complete lost cause. There's no way Mossfire is going to be able to come out on top between two very powerful choices, backed up by other Clans

Most River Kingdom cats DO actually believe that it would have been King Riverstar's will for his adopted heir to take over. They disagree on if that's the right choice, or if an adopted one can be legitimate at all, or, WORST of all, if they even CAN support her when a lot of their food and supplies are coming from ThunderClan and WindCo

This comes to a boil when SkyClan charges in for a surprise attack, seeking to claim the territory before it's fully absorbed by the other two.

Because the River Kingdom's camp was on the Sunningrocks, an island in the middle of the river, this battle is CHAOTIC and DEADLY

The island was almost too small to hold all of the reinforcements and MORE AND MORE kept coming, packing in like sardines

The fighting was spilling over onto the banks, over the log bridge, a fight almost as dense and even more SUDDEN than The First Battle

Noncombatants were getting swept up into the fighting, no one knowing who they were supposed to be fighting against, some cats just jumping on those they didn't like, cats who couldn't swim were getting launched into the water

Flow and Maple Whisker can't SAVE all of them

And in the brawl, Mossfire leapt on the cat who she felt had been making her life hell, who KILLED Moth and his children, who needed to DIE

Jumping Foot was happy to return the sentiment, ready to eliminate this bloodless brat once and for all

As they tussled and tumbled, they crashed into the waves, biting and scratching, not realizing that their crowns had become tangled.

Mossfire tries to break the water for a breath, but Flow only sees her back breach the surface before getting dragged under

She leaps back in to try and save her, trying to pull her up, but Jumping Foot is a WindCo cat who doesn't know how to avoid drowning. He grabs at Mossfire in a panic, joined at the crown, and Flow can't pull them both up

The last time Flow sees Mossfire is in that terrified, tangled image, sinking down to the depths, seemingly locked in eternal combat down to the bottom of the river.

Redscar's Choice

When we cut back to Flowers Come First and Maple Whisker, Flow is absolutely haunted.

It seemed like the "obvious" choice was The Diplomat... but after that awful fight, an emergency gathering had to take place.

EVERY Clan lost warriors. ShadowClan was demanding to know why-- as they were the only one not officially involved in the fight, and even THEY are missing warriors.

WindCo has the most losses, and Duststar is VERY quiet. Jumping Foot's death shook him. There wasn't even a body to bury, and he hasn't gotten word on if Jump's gone to StarClan or not.

He's quiet because the guilt is eating him from the inside out. He's doing some sort of prayer behavior, quietly, as if he doesn't even seem to realize he's doing it.

(probably keeping his whiskers tilted upwards at the stars, twitching whenever the breeze hits them.)

ThunderClan's leader seems more frustrated than anything. Flow interprets this negatively, like they just want to get on with it and claim River Kingdom as their own.

(in truth, it's more likely this leader is annoyed with The Diplomat's meddling, the Kingdom isn't a prize they really want, they just honored an alliance and lost a ton of warriors for the trouble. But what matters is what Flow feels about them.)

SkyClan got absolutely humiliated. They were the catalyst for the battle but were quickly overwhelmed, and the current leader just took a MASSIVE reputation hit. It's not the Era of Skystar any longer.

(someone makes a xenophobic comment about "Jump back up into your trees, gray squirrels")

Maple Whisker, in a quick-thinking effort to avoid The Diplomat being officiated, calls upon a neutral party. Redscar of ShadowClan.

If mortals cannot figure out the rightful heir, then surely, StarClan must.

Duststar jumps on this immediately.

Diplomat doesn't like it, but it doesn't matter, because the ThunderClan leader does. Speaks right over them.

Over a couple of days, Redscar "deliberates" by visiting River Kingdom to "spend time under their stars."

But what he's REALLY doing is checking out how the Kingdom runs. And he's really gentle with Flow, in particular, like he's very interested in her.

When she questions why, he lies, "You have spirits around you."

This gets her to open up about how close she was to so many of the cats that died, explain how hard she's worked to keep it all together. How much she misses Mossfire, how she feels she failed her.

And King Riverstar, and Moth, and his poor kits.

I feel like The Diplomat is probably constructing signs to try and appeal to Redscar, thinking he's looking for them, but Redscar is NOT looking for signs. He's actually ignoring them completely.

This is going to be remembered as "seeing through false omens" but in truth, he was not interested in what StarClan actually had to say here, if they even did say anything.

(King Riverstar, as a patron, is remembered as NOTORIOUSLY silent. He never says anything directly.)

What Redscar ultimately concludes is, "It seems you and Maple Whisker have ruled together this whole time, with your leadership and her stewardship, it was almost strong enough to keep the Kingdom together."

Flow makes a remark that it sure didn't turn out well, if that's the case.

"Through no fault of yours."

Shortly afterwards, he constructs the False Sign which selects her as a leader. Redscar also insists that, because she did not rule alone, Maple Whisker must become a "deputy," as they have in ShadowClan.

She agrees to this term, justifying it by saying that it is sort of like an advisor role, which she used to be... but it's not. It's quite different.

This law is eventually adopted as Commandment 3: The Law of the Deputy. That all Clans must have a Leader, and a Deputy. The Deputy must be appointed before Moonhigh, and to become a Deputy, you must have once been responsible for young lives.

(This is in honor of Flow's relationship to Mossfire. It will be tweaked over the generations to specifically mean a mentor/apprentice relationship, but the first draft of the law could also include being a Mi or Ba.)

Thus, the River Kingdom is no more. RiverClan is born, and in agreeing to the terms, WindCo becomes WindClan.

Something changes on this day, with so many cats dead and the group now being something very different. The era of charitability and open relations between Clans... is starting to seem like a bad idea.

The current of the river is the same, but somehow, the water is different.

Last plot thread left to wrap up is The Poisoning.

It's GOTTA be a dramatic reveal of some sort. The Diplomat makes one last grab at power. I think it would actually be a BIG power move if Flow came back with her lives, receiving the wisdom from Redscar that Diplomat was constructing false signs, putting two and two together...

A feast is thrown, she decides to eat in the same exact way Moth did, makes it very clear she's "repeating" the mistake because Jumping Foot is dead and that means that the assassin is not here to put down poisons. The Diplomat falls for it, hook, line, and sinker, tainting her food in between servings.

And when they do, Flow INSISTS that The Diplomat come, and have a bite with her.

She's got nine lives to spare now. She can give one up, just for the satisfaction of locking eyes with them as they both have a bite of the same poisoned food. The horror, the panic, in their expression is the most delicious thing Flow has ever tasted.

If seeing Mossfire's crown tangled with Jumping Foot's was like a stag who dies with antlers locked, then Flow dying next to The Diplomat, sticking around in StarClan to watch them damn them and send them to the Dark Forest, and then rise again to attend her Clan, this moment was like being a stag who outlives their foe and wears their skull as a second crown.

Long Live Flowerstar.

[pocket-deer-boy]

There’s like a thick layer of mucus between me and the things i interact with. I have to imagine that all of the things i like and care about might be embarrassing to like and care about to someone who must be smarter than me, and i have to adjust my tastes to whoever i decided is the next smartest person i know. If i like something enough to speak positively about it, it feels almost like i’m defending it or justifying it moreso than just speaking positively about it. Did i ever tell you i was bullied a lot in school and got a lot of mixed signals from the irony poisoned youths on wether my interests were actually cool and fine to them

[lovelynim]

Shocking, isn't it?

Genshin Impact - Scaramouche x Tartaglia

A/N: This was greatly inspired by @ikimaru's post. It's literally living in my head rent free, so I needed to do something about it.

Summary: Tartaglia is nervous and all that tension might ruin such a good moment... So Scaramouche decides to tweak things a little.

Word count: 1204 words

Warnings: Midly suggestive content, nothing explicit tho

Tartaglia's back hit the wall, with so much strength that it forced the air out of his lungs. And before he could recover, the assault went on. It was hard for him to stand on his legs, to keep himself together and not fall apart like a castle of cards.

“What's the issue, newbie? Can't keep up?” Scaramouche scoffed, taking a moment to laugh at his ‘comrade’.

To his and everyone's surprise, this wasn't a fight. However, Tartaglia couldn't help but to think that there was some murderous intent directed to him - but, if anything, those only made it more exciting. “H-hah, you sure aren’t… all talk, balladeer,” he gasped, wiping off a little drop of drool that was pouring from the corner of his lips.

Scaramouche clicked his tongue, amused. Despite their height difference, he was the one cornering Tartaglia against the wall. “Can’t say the same goes for you,” he teased, his hand reaching for the door knob next to them and effortlessly pushing it open. There was no need for words or gestures as they both already knew what to do. 

Tartaglia barely stepped inside the bedroom and Scaramouche was already latching himself onto him. The same hand that tightly groped his red shirt pushed him towards the bed, barely giving Tartaglia time to kick off his boots. Damn, this guy really was something else, Tartaglia thought, whining a little into their vicious kissing.

Scaramouche pushed him into the mattress, rubbing the corner of his lips with the back of his hands. “You look scared, did I go too hard on you?” He cooed, irony poisoning his voice while he started to shed his own layers of clothes. “I thought you could ‘take me wherever, whenever’, no?”

Tartaglia chuckled - hoping it would help him hide his uneasiness. He wasn’t so sure of those words anymore. “And I can, balladeer, heh…” That didn’t even convince himself, but oh well.

Scaramouche tilted his head, getting his knee on top of the mattress and slowly approaching the ginger. Tartaglia leaned against the bedpost and watched in silence, at the verge of cracking under the tension and the pressure. Now that it was really happening, could he sustain all of his claims for before? Despite his looks, Scaramouche clearly knew what he was doing and was going to do, while Tartaglia, on the other hand…

Before he could sink any further into these thoughts, Scaramouche straddled one of his legs. Shit, he was so close—

“Eyes on me, newbie,” the other’s voice broke into Tartaglia’s head. He had a playful, yet dominating look on his face. “You might learn a thing or two…” So cocky, Tartaglia thought, but he wasn’t in a position to talk back.

Sighing, as he was forced to follow orders, Tartaglia closed his eyes and leaned in, kissing the balladeer’s lips again. Their lips crashed into each other - without passion, but burning with desire.

Despite not knowing his “coworker” that well, here Tartaglia was. However, as inexperienced as he was, he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Should he hug Scaramouche? Or just keep them away? What if he messed up? Archons, that would be so embarrassing, and what if Scaramouche spread that he was a virgin and—

“...hey,” Scaramouche sighed, breaking their kiss. He looked a little annoyed, but mostly because they stopped kissing. “What are you thinking about? Pay attention, damned newbie…”

Tartaglia’s cheeks flushed in a bright shade of pink. Did he mess up their kissing? He practiced for so long… “I-is something wrong?” Tartaglia dared to ask, his fingers digging into the mattress, tightly holding it.

“You’re too tense,” Scaramouche complained with half closed eyes. Tartaglia wished he could hear the other’s thoughts, it was so hard to read what he was feeling - his face always looked the same, he always seemed so angry. But, this time, he was sure he heard him… laugh. “Let me just…”

Scaramouche quickly reached for Tartaglia’s shirt collar and nearly ripped all the buttons open as he dragged his hand down. The cloth that was being held together quickly fell down Tartaglia’s body, exposing his body to Scaramouche hungry eyes. “Don’t worry,” Scaramouche muttered, gently cupping one of Tartaglia’s cheeks, leaning close to admire his nervous expression. His finger slid down Tartaglia’s jawline, lifting his face by his chin, “it will be fun…”

Tartaglia couldn’t say anything. His throat was closed shut and barely air was making its way through it. He could only watch and shiver, tensing in anticipation as Scaramouche pressed his hand against his chest and slid it down his body. “S-Scaram-”

Crackle.

…huh?

A small purple light came from where Scaramouche’s hand was. Tartaglia widened his eyes as small bolts of electricity surrounded the other man’s finger, crackling as he imbued his hand with electro energy. “W-wait, Scaram- ah!”

All it took was a single finger pressing into his stomach for one of the sparkles to shock him. Scaramouche grinned, letting the electro energy flow into Tartaglia’s body. “What's wrong? It doesn’t hurt, does it? Too much for you?”

“N-nohot reall- ah! But it- a-agh, tihickles..!” Tartaglia whimpered, pressing his eyes shut and clenching his hands into fists. It should hurt, he thought, but it didn’t. All he could feel was an electric pulse flowing, stimulating all his nerves at once.

“Oh, really?” Scaramouche feigned surprised, tilting his head slightly. Pressing his index into the spot just above Tartaglia’s navel, he began to draw little shapes: a circle, a star, a heart… all while sending little bolts of electricity into the skin. “Then laugh, newbie. And relax, yes?”

Tartaglia's body trembled with spasms, jerking his limbs in a weird way. It tickled so bad and it was just a finger, Scaramouche was literally toying with him, mocking, torturing even… but he didn’t dislike those ideas. Again, if anything, those only made it more exciting. “W-wahahait! H-hnngh! P-plehease! It f-feels wehehei- aHAah, c-cohome on!”

Scaramouche only smiled, his finger tracing each muscle of Tartaglia’s abs, moving to his side and then down to his hip. It tickled terribly, terrifically. The ginger curled his toes and giggled his free leg while the other simply trembled under Scaramouche’s weight. That sensation made him want to laugh, to cry, to moan. “S-stahahap, ahAHa, I-I’m seheher- AHAH!!”

Before he could protest any further, Scaramouche added a second finger, pinching a bit of soft skin just below Tartaglia’s ribs, rolling that patch of meat between his digits while showering it with electro energy. “You don’t sound like you want me to stop, newbie,” he whispered softly, watching Tartaglia nearly melt under his gentle-shock-treatment. 

“I think you’re into this, huh?” He teased, finally ceasing the electric flow. Tartaglia's body went limp against the bed, his head spinning and his vision blurry.

Tartaglia sighed, taking his trembling hand to his face, moving it through his hair tiredly. “Y-yeah…” He nodded, a shy smile spreading on his face and adorning it along with his flushed cheeks.

Scaramouche laughed, shaking his head for a moment and smirking back at his newbie’s messed up state. “I see,” he then moved his hands, holding both Tartaglia’s hips, “so let’s see how much you can take, newbie.”

Crackle.

[drchucktingle]

reverse call out post

i have noticed that SOMETIMES it really bothers folks to discover i am sincere and not playing a character. that tinglers are deep artistic expression. i think it  because these few buckaroos are often kind and even politically left but had problematic ways just a few years back

these buckaroos are forced to confront their previous assumptions about neurodivergence and queerness, which is bound to happen as time trots on and cultural landscape evolves. but this sudden realization they have about themselves apparently MUST be ignored and pushed away

theres BIG TIME buckaroos on this very platform who publicly made fun of and gatekept my autism. these posts are STILL THERE. folks questioning my bisexuality. and these are buds who at one time worked with chuck and were pretending to ‘like me’ in way that i now see was irony

these are a previous generation of liberal ‘comedy forum’ buds who laugh and laugh at ‘ridiculous bad erotica’ and wrote as a money scheme. those who would later say with concern ‘chuck tingle is homophobic for making fun of queer erotica’. the same THEY might gleefully write

and i think their reaction is a way to deal with truth that THEY were doing these things ironically and have ABSOLUTELY NO CONCEPT that someone else couldve been creating joyful queer neurodivergent art during the same timeline with sincerity instead of irony.

so now as chuck gets taken more seriously they have to confront something. question of ‘wait, was i laughing at a real person the whole time? was i calling someone homophobic when in reality it is much more homophobic to MAKE that accusation, because queerness is not a monolith?’

old posts calling out chuck as fake, dehumanizing me, gatekeeping my place on spectrum of autism AND sexuality are still up. they wont be addressed because these folks cannot ever acknowledge they treated someones very existence as a joke. they will not admit THEY needed to grow

and honestly buckaroos, I FORGIVE THEM. nobody is dang perfect and the internet is swirling with irony poisoning. those folks on old forums were BATHING IN IT DAILY. it does not bother me because it is the past, but pondering on it during moments like this i am compelled to write

i do not bring this up to punish for past, but to hope buckaroos remember lesson in the future: you do not need to gatekeep. you do not need to make yourself the arbiter of others lifestyle and identity. you do not need to score online points as a way of proving your goodness.

proving love is complicated sometimes, and a big part or that complicated journey is accepting there are some unique buckaroos out there, buds who actually ENJOY making neurodivergent art and expressing their queerness in unique ways. who need time to learn THEMSELVES through art

it is my belief and suggestion that buds allow others this space. to accept them as they come. to TROT WITH THEM INTO THE FUTURE. thats a heck of a way to prove love is real. i think we can make this trot of sincerity together and DANG am i looking forward to it. LOVE IS REAL