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fateinthestars · 10 months ago

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Yeesh has it really been nearly a week since I did a review/ramble post for SCM?

Well as I've replayed some stuff as I'm working on something (I fear due to the way I've decided to do it in the end that it's gonna take a while!), I may as well cover one of the ones I replayed yesterday...

So let's cover 'Whispers of Love from the Stars'

This set includes stories for: Leon, Scorpio, Teorus, Dui, Huedhaut, and Ichthys

Spoilers under the cut

Whispers of Love from the Stars

This whole set goes into specific human myths to do with the constellations and it's rather interesting to see some more of those combined with the Gods' reactions to them.

LEO: Catching Lions with Honey

I'm struggling to think of stuff to say about this one (especially without switching the mature filter on) but the other Gods getting MC into awkward situations in Leon's route does feel rather common!

Ichthys, Teorus, I really think you ought to find a way to apologise to MC.

SCORPIO: Under an Aphrodisiac's Spell

Oh for goodness sake MC! The last thing you saw Scorpio doing was making something. Dui told you it was a poison. Why the hell did you even pick that glass up?!

Still Scorpio was straight and to the point and helped quickly. I am wondering how this would have gone down had it happened with one of the others.

(Yeesh for that matter considering what God's poison does to Humans, what would Zyglavis have done in this situation if it was early on in his route???)

TAURUS: Sweet Prince, Take Me Away

Pffft. Okay this might be one of my favourite Teo stories but I have to admit it's not really because of Teo.

I would say I don't want to spoil the beginning but I think as long as you've played any main story it's pretty damn obvious who the Teorus at the start of this really is.

And I'm still laughing at the fact that a major part of what gave him fully away (even if MC already had doubts) was using his own full name rather than the nickname Teo would have used.

It is interesting that Ichthys does make so many mistakes here though... usually he has impersonating the others voices and mannerisms down really well. The food thing I'm not surprised at, but not thinking about the fact that Teo calls him Ikky? I wonder whether that implies Ichthys doesn't actually really like that but doesn't bring it up with Teo because they're friends and he just lets him do it but might not from anyone else. (Actually Teorus seems to have an ability of getting the others to let him call them by different nicknames - Scorpio doesn't pull him up on calling him Scorpy but the one story where Ichthys does it he bit his head off!)

GEMINI: Lost Between Two Stars

And now we're onto the first of the three in this set where MC isn't dating the God in question yet.

This is a nice sweet trip for MC and Dui with quite a bit of insight into how Dui feels.

I'd be interested to know whether anyone read this one before they read Dui's main story, because the 'dream' sequence in this probably hits slightly differently depending on how much of his backstory you are aware of in advance.

AQUARIUS: Intoxicated by the Deep Blue Night

Ow, my heart. *hugs Huedhaut tightly*

The start of this is an interesting talk between him and MC, and of course Hue knows the human myths for his constellation well because, well, he's Hue... but then suddenly everything is focussed on the past and you can really feel the heaviness in Hue's heart, especially as this is set pre main path.

Sometimes it feels really hard to not want to go and find Hue and just shout tell her! at him. 😅

This does have one of my favourite light-hearted moments though, and that's this:

Pfft oh Hue. 🥰 Guess I was right in my post where I basically said it felt like sometimes you should ask Hue and Karno to step away from the others to trick them into having a break.

PISCES: The Tangled Red Thread of Fate

Oh I utterly adore this chaos. Yes it's another Ichthys story before he's with MC but this one really does feel like it could have been the start of something.

Although, Ichthys? You really do get a rush out of infuriating Scorpio don't you? There was no reason to use that specific thing to act out the myth!

I adore Hue's reaction to the situation in this too. (Although his comment about fate specifically? My heart's breaking again...)

Attempted ranking thingy:

Aquarius

Pisces

Gemini

Scorpio

Taurus

Leo

Odd, the three that are pre-relationship on the top? But I think even though these are really close together in enjoyment level (apart from maybe Leon's) for me, that those three are the highlight of this set. Scorpio's also adds some interesting lore which is probably why I've put him just above Teo's even though here Teo is charming and sweet and even Ichthys' prank can't really dampen his mood because it showed him how well MC knows him.

Those top three though: Dui's is almost like a missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle that rounds off the start of his path nicely. An actual attempt to suggest to MC that there is a problem and what she would think if she knew... Ichthys' is the least consequential of the three but there's just something here that really sparks for me (I do wonder whether that is partly due to Hue's reaction - it's almost like he's realised something has started between the two of them and is happy to step back and watch. Like you get in some of the other main paths - he never interferes but is always making sure in his own way that MC is happy and not in danger)... which leads us nicely onto Huedhaut's own story - it just encompasses everything Hue is as a character in one short burst: from his vast knowledge (even of stuff like human myths) to his winemaking abilities, to his sarcasm (but ability to stop when he realises he's taking it too far), all the way to his complete and utter inner turmoil at having to see MC every day knowing something that he doesn't dare bring up but still cannot stop himself from vaguely murmuring stuff related to his secret.

#scm #star crossed myth #scm ramble #star crossed myth spoilers #star crossed myth character review/rambling

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windvexer · 2 years ago

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Hey! I don’t usually send asks but I really love your posts and was wondering if you had any advice.

I’m having a situation at school with some ex friends gossiping about me and I was wondering if you had any thoughts/spells about stopping gossip etc.

Feel free to ignore this ^^ I hope you have a lovely day :)

Good morning!

For some reason I actually feel sure that @breelandwalker might have a spell related to this? Did I just make that up?

Well, anyway. Many ways to go about this.

How do you conceptualize gossip? If you had to embody gossip as something from nature or your culture, how would you embody it?

Our goal here is straightforward: we want to find a strong association between what we seek to control, and what we are able to physically manipulate and work with. By using magical words and actions we can embody gossip into something we can then control (using further magical words and actions).

Your magical practice may be able to bridge the gap for you - if you work with the four Western elements, you may associate talking, communication, and gossip, with Air.

Air makes sense to me. The air from our lungs. The gusty breeze of gossip. And so on.

If you don't particularly feel like investigating your own reflections on the matter, I think Air works just fine as an embodiment.

(But perhaps on further reflection you would say that based on where you stand in the Universe and the curve of your personal mirrors, your true reflections upon the matter are that gossip is best embodied by twisting, rotting roots - or some pop culture character, etc. Also I completely forgot about sigils, which is how you directly capture something when you don't want to use other associations. Well, anyway. Find that gossip a suitable body! That's the goal.)

So whatever body you choose, you've got to get the gossip into it. This isn't a very difficult operation. Perhaps you've got your own method. Try this one if you like:

Observe (look at, feel, be aware of) the body you will put the gossip into. Yes, even if this is the air floating in front of you! (If you're having trouble with conceptualizing the air thing, try lighting a candle and imagining that the air above the candle flame is more dense and magical, and that's the "body" you're working on).

Observe and be aware of it, and then simply say, sign, or think: "You are the gossip of [x, y, z, etc]."

Perhaps that isn't enough. Does it feel like nothing happened? If so, try More. Hover your hand over it. Speak at length. Get worked up if you would like; or stay calm if you would like. Describe the gossip. Describe what it has done to you. Describe how horrible and awful such-and-such people are.

And at every turn, put it in the magical effigy you have chosen. "...and all these horrible things are in the air before me. They are trapped in the air. I put them there."

Yes, speak with authority.

Go on with this until either you're over it, feel something has happened, or are getting worn out, and then. There you have it, embodied gossip.

You've got the gossip in front of you now, isn't that creepy? Before it was abstract and conceptual: a collection of words, behaviors, actions, and reactions that shared a common theme but flowed through time and space as their own discrete events.

Now you've scooped them all up and stuffed them into a body.

A body that's under your control!

A spooky moment, in my opinion. All the better if you feel like a mad scientist.

What to do with the body, now there's a question. If you're working with air, why not tie it up in a knot? Wind and knot magic are closely intertwined and using knots to control the wind is still a practice some people employ.

You can work over the thread, too, but you may not find it to be necessary. ("this thread is an agent of binding, it will capture the winds of gossip," etc etc).

Then, throw it away. Or do whatever you like with it.

If your body is air, why not sweep it out the front door? Brooms can stir up quite a little breeze. And don't forget to inform the gossip what is happening to it. ("Like dust in the wind I scatter you away." etc)

Suppose you've used water. And now a jar of water is the body of the gossip. Put a lot of bleach in there to sterilize it, why not?

Maybe the body is a stick. Break the stick.

I don't do much sigil magic, but perhaps you could pin the sigil to something with an iron nail.

And so on.

It is I think relevant to note that in every operation, banishing and conjuring may both be employed to good use - banishing, breaking, or destroying gossip leaves a bit of a vacuum around you, yes? Why not fill up that space with a protection worked against wicked tongues? Hermes or Mercury may serve you well in that matter.

#answered #theory #spell crafting #spellcrafting #gossip #tbl

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deathfavor · 11 months ago

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ADDRESSING COMMON QUESTIONS because even though I've said and state this in my rules, i want to make it clear by actually writing it out myself.

HOW MANY MEMES CAN I SEND? I genuinely mean it when I say send as many as you want. I've had several people send me 20+ memes at once and i sit there Delighted to see them every time. More memes often means multiple dynamics and different situations, and can give me a lot more to work with if i'm feeling a certain genre of writing. The question is how often do you want to see me in your notifs because i do try to answer all the memes I get. So it's a challenge. You spam me, I spam you. mutual exchange. ( and 4 is NOT spamming okay, you gotta hit at least 8 before you can call it spamming in this establishment. )

YOU REBLOGGED THIS MEME AGES AGO, CAN I STILL SEND SOMETHING IN? My memes don't have any time limits on them. I could have reblogged it back in January and if you want to send it in, go for it. The only ones might be like the 'next ten asks' memes since those are for 10 but the common, typical meme? Go wild.

IS IT OKAY TO TURN THIS INTO A THREAD? I literally write my meme replies with the intention of making it easier for people to continue if they want to. New post, and i try to end my meme responses in a way that lets people continue them with ease. I LOVE threads, I've legitimately had 15+ threads with just one person ( not including all my threads with others). So please, if you want to turn something into a thread, literally just take it and run. I'm genuinely thrilled every time someone is inspired or liked a response enough to continue it.

SOMEONE ALREADY ANSWERED THIS OPEN - CAN I STILL ANSWER IT? Yes! This isn't a lottery ticket or first come first serve. If you see an open and you want to answer it, go for it! I encourage it! People can take one open and make them vastly different and its so fun to see how people interpret or build the scenario or how different characters and dynamics lead to different things even from the same open!

I WANT TO WRITE WITH [MUSE] BUT I DON'T KNOW THEM. CAN I STILL? / DO YOU WRITE CROSSOVERS ? Yes! I'll be honest here. I am FAR, FAR more prone to straight up crossovers than making fandom specific AUs. Sure, I sometimes might. But I love straight up crossovers way more, whether its your muse coming to my world or mine going ot yours. Most of my muses come from sources where ending up in another universe could genuinely happen as well so its not hard to do. I'm always happy to discuss who goes to what world. I think its fun ; plus it makes muse interactions all the more genuine for me in a way since if I don't know the muse, it doesn't somehow influence my muse either. And I'm always happy to share any relevant information to them!

DO YOU WRITE WITH OCS / CANON DIVERGENT / ETC. I do! I genuinely love writing with OCs and I know sometimes it can be hard. I've personally dropped all my OCs because of that. So I try my best to give them attention and build bonds between the characters. And same goes for Canon Divergent! It might need some discussion depending if it effects my muse somehow, but I am genuinely absolutely here for it !

I hope some of this might offer relief to you guys who might have been wondering about these things. I tried to think up common questions / sources of anxiety that people have in the RPC and really write it out here. I'm sure I've missed some and you can feel free to write in the comments or send an ask if there's a question / topic you're wondering about. I definitely feel like i'm missing some pretty obvious ones, but I think these are ones that I've had come up most frequently when interating with new people so maybe this will offer

#i have no idea if this helps at all #but i hope it might help some people #᛭ — [OOC] angst is the game and tears are the currency

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drrutherford · 2 years ago

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giordirossi:

Did it really bother you so much?

Not at the time, no. Bruised pride and the lingering humiliation occupied most of her thoughts until proven otherwise, and while Vincenzo made the suggestion to meet, she’d also accepted it. Delving any further into that choice spelled out a litany of questions that Giordana refused to answer, even in the confines of her own head. “I wouldn’t spend my energy coming down here if it didn’t.”

Ah, so she isn’t the only person capable of parroting another’s words back at them. Wonderful play on his part, inspired even. Her smile lowers into something a little more forlorn, lacking the coy familiarity from the last time they stood in this position. “You have an exceptional memory.” Much to her chagrin, they both did.

He questions employment and her chin dips into a wordless nod, unable, or perhaps unwilling, to offer more than acknowledgement. What could she tell him anyway? That it’s “freelance” work? That her greatest skill is knowing what a body sounds like when it hits the floor?

Honesty swallows at the base of her throat, nearly choking outright when he follows up by shooting to the true heart of any upset that day. Neither of them are walking away from this conversation unscathed, and as with everything else related to Gideon Rutherford, she should’ve known better.

Finally her gaze returns to him and Giordana queries back, “What else was I supposed to think?” Only it’s a smidge less controlled than before and she can sense the tectonic plates momentarily shift in his favor. If the doctor was looking for a foothold, he’d gone and built himself a staircase. Most of her days are spent reading the internal monologues of others, so rarely do they read her back; the experience is strange and off-putting.

Because I’m a Rutherford?

“No, because I hardly know you–– I mean, I do, but not…” Like that. Not enough to trust his motives, or yes, completely disregard the acidity in his last name. A bewildering hint of frustration knits her brows and she feels startlingly like a real fucking person. It’s jarring enough to push herself off the rail in search of distance. Only two steps, but enough to recover as both arms fold across her middle. “Obviously my assumption was wrong.”

‘I wouldn’t spend my energy coming down here if it didn’t.’

He can’t help it, he scoffs at that. What is it about those in mob circles that makes them think their time is so priceless a commodity?... She’s at a party, for heaven’s sake. It isn’t as though she’d be curing cancer if not standing here, talking to him.

“Please, don’t put yourself out on my account.”

Had circumstances been different between them, he might’ve been able to afford her more mercy. After all, it isn’t as though she’d committed a capital sin by cutting him to the quick in their last encounter, even if it had stung his pride. Gideon could have overlooked it, had his last name not become such a fixture in the conversation, then... And because of that, he doesn’t trust her; doesn’t trust any situation which has the ground shifting perpetually beneath his feet, the way it’s doing now.

‘What else was I supposed to think,’ Giordana asks, and for all his affront, the man doesn’t have a ready answer for that. None he’s willing to admit, anyhow. What was she supposed to think?... That he was genuine? That he had no intention of hurting her, both before and after the nature of her allegiances came out or the contempt she bore against his family? That he thought he’d felt some common thread of kinship that night, when the armor was down and the high had worn off?...

He wasn’t even sure what he believed himself, anymore. How much was fact and how much fiction; the projections of a man who’d gone without real companionship for years now. Two lonely souls, he’d thought, except she doesn’t look so lonely tonight.

“Listen,” The Rutherford begins, turning on his heel to look her squarely in the eyes. He doesn’t let his gaze wander to her hourglass figure this time. “If you got snappish because of what happened with your boyfriend, because he said something about a scuffle back in December — I can set the record straight. It was an accident. It wasn’t premeditated – I don’t care what Vincenzo’s told you – it was having to react to an unexpected threat the only way that made sense at the time. And we didn’t start it.”

The last part’s grit between his teeth, a testament to how much he’s had to point it out when their Italian friends seem conveniently determined to overlook that detail.

‘Because I hardly know you – I mean, I do, but not…Obviously my assumption was wrong.’ The surgeon studies her for a moment, saying nothing as she looks for the right words; the right assumption. All around them, the sounds of the evening; water lapping against the ship, the swell of upbeat music, dozens of voices humming over top. “You’re doing it again.” He points out. Quietly this time, without any ire.

“Do you ever let people tell you who they are?... Or do you always decide it for them?”

#this would be rly awks if she was just a rando neutral italian who'd come as vinnie's date but didn't actually know about any mob shit #G x Giordana #events #event: Awards '23 #after-party #March '23

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mrsgiovanna · 4 years ago

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The Escape Route (Yan! Don Giorno x Fem!Reader)

A request from a lovely nonnie mouse asking how the Don would handle his darling attempting to escape from his home. A bit of a drawn out scenario... I really hope you enjoy the read.

TW: Manipulative relationship dynamics, possessive behaviour, yandere behaviour

Word Count: 2.7k

Your brisk walk was slowly turning into a run as you worked your way through the busy streets of Naples. With your breathing ragged and eyes darting around to make sure nobody was on your tail, you tried to think about how best to put your escape plan back on track.

You knew that Giorno’s influence extended further than most, but you hadn’t expected him to have the power to derail every single option you had thought of to escape from his overpowering grip. You had been running around for hours now, from station to station, none would book you a ticket to anywhere, every cab ride was hastily halted after a dubious phone call… resulting in you being unwillingly ejected from the vehicle each time. So there you were, running into the more dangerous parts of Naples, frantically looking for some kind of shelter to house you while you thought of what you would do next.

Thankfully, you found a tiny inn, sparse amenities, small and far removed enough you thought, to not be on Giorno’s radar. The kindly old lady didn’t ask many questions, and you paid with the cash you had been slowly hiding away for such an event.

You couldn’t pinpoint when your relationship with Giorno had descended to this but you knew that if you stayed any longer his charming brand of captivity would best your common sense and you would be trapped forever. With Giorno, you had access to anything, no request was too demanding… in exchange though he required you to be within his confines at all times, listen to and obey his honeyed instructions with minimal fuss, and to not run off in the occasions when he did take you out of the mansion. I’m just keeping you safe he said… little did you know that the most dangerous one of all was the Don himself with his hypnotic gaze.

To give him the benefit of the doubt, it could have been much worse, he never harmed you physically, never pushed the intimacy boundaries further than you allowed… in your moments of weakness, it was you who had sought out his embrace. The absurdity of it all- vacillating between love and hate for this man, and so to protect the fraying thread that held your sanity together, you decided to make a run for it. It was not an impulsive idea, you had spent the better part of the year planning your grand escape, trying to imagine every way in which your plan could go awry and possible solutions to the problems. Ironically, this was a habit that you had picked up from Giorno himself, and should your plan actually work, it would be quiet poetic- escaping using the traits of your captor against him. You had gathered small amounts of cash here and there, not enough to rouse anyone’s suspicion, and made sure that any and all evidence of you memorizing the layout of the surrounding areas was completely erased. Perhaps the most difficult task of them all, was to lure Giorno into false sense of security regarding your disposition towards your situation. In the weeks leading up to your escape, you had flawlessly played the part of the dutiful ‘wife’, listening attentively, spoiling him with gentle touches and loving gazes, making sure to build up your affections gradually, as if they had been blooming naturally so as not to trigger any suspicion.

Finally, you saw your opportunity to make your move that morning. Giorno had to leave early to meet with a few associates from Japan, so you rose with him, and watched as he got ready, helping him with his hair and doing up his tie. Looking up to meet his crystalline eyes, you noticed he considered you with an expression you haven’t seen on him before.

“What is it tesoro? Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked in a gentle tone.

“You’re… just so beautiful… would you like to come with me today? I’m sure they would love to meet you… I call them associates but in actual fact one of them is a relative of mine. You’ll only be bored for a little while; after that we can do whatever you would like to,” he asked with a gentle smile. You thought about how you were going to answer, ultimately you knew you didn’t want to go, favoring your grand escape instead, but denying him that quickly would definitely set off alarm bells in his mind.

“Ah! Perhaps next time my love, I’m not going to be good company today, I woke up with a bit of a headache… I’ll probably go back to bed and sleep it off after you leave,”

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to make you feel any better bella, I hate the fact that you’re hurting,” Giorno cupped your face in his hands and gently stroked your cheeks with his thumbs, “get some rest bella mio, I’ll be back to check on you as soon as I can,” kissing you on the forehead he left without another word. Waiting for him to be completely out of the villa, you watched as his car exited the driveway before quietly packing what you could, mentally going over your checklist more times than you cared to count. Since your change in attitude, the staff at the villa were more accepting of your whims, partly to do with the fact that Giorno had instructed them to do so - within reason, but also, because you had won over their trust and if you had to be honest with yourself, there was nothing you could fault them for. The dynamic Giorno had with them was not ruled by fear, but rather by admiration… all of them being drawn in by his charisma. Managing to maneuver your way through the mansion and out an exit that saw you climbing over a hidden portion of the eastern wall surrounding the villa, you had finally been outside the confines of the villa on your own for the first time in well over a year.

In the car on the way to meet with his guests Giorno was preoccupied. He had noticed the gradual change in your behavior and as much as he would have loved to give you the benefit of the doubt, a nagging inclination that you might be lying always clouded his thoughts. He loved you- entirely- even though there were days in which you rejected his affections, he was patient with you… eventually you’d understand, the dangers that lurked in every corner made your captivity, as you so unceremoniously called it, a necessity. He had grown so accustomed to making decisions with little to no advice, he had adopted that stance in his personal life as well. He rationalized that once you had accepted the fact that his actions were all borne from his desire to protect you, your lives would be peaceful, until then, he would be patient, enduring your tantrums and snide remarks with the grace of an aristocrat… which only upset you further. To Giorno, you were to be looked after, protected- treasured, and so no matter how much you had tested his patience in the beginning, not once were you ever hurt or taken advantage of. Violence and shackles were much too unrefined for a gem like you, so to correct your behavior, the young don resorted to other, less threatening means of discipline.

“Don Giovanna? We have arrived,” shaken out of his musings by his consigliere, his attention was drawn to the fact that they had arrived at their destination ready to discuss the matters at hand.

“Thank you Lorenzo, would you check if the staff has everything ready while I greet our guests?”

“Of course, excuse me,” with that, Lorenzo had left, hastily attending to a call as he walked.

“Ah, welcome to Italy, I take it you and your associates have settled in well?” said Giorno with a polite bow, being mindful of the cultural conventions of his esteemed guests. Drinks were ordered and everyone present had settled down in the private lounge, except for Lorenzo who had been animatedly conversing on the phone for enough time to make his absence felt. Frustrated by what he was tasked to do, he abruptly ended his conversation and sought out Giorno to give him the news, finally, the staff at villa Giovanna had realized you were gone.

“Don…”

“The expression on your face can only mean one thing… when did they notice?”

“A few minutes ago, she couldn’t have gotten too gar given the timeframe… what would you like me to do?”

“You stay here and keep our guests company, I’ll handle this…” not even bothering to alert the driver, Giorno collected the keys from the valet and zoomed off. Making a short drive even shorter, he arrived home in foul mood, although he did assign some of the blame to himself, recognizing his fatal error when he ignored his gut feeling, he was disappointed at how easily you had managed to slip from his grasp and wondered if his staff had been plotting with you all along. He would have to address that later on though, his primary concern now was to locate you and bring you back home.

“Mista, I have a special request to make, please come to the villa, bring Fugo with you,” said Giorno in a quick call, there were few who he trusted more than his underbosses, and this task was something that required only the most competent people. After a short explanation of the situation at hand, both men had already started making calls to the relevant people in an attempt to thwart your plans.

You would think the most frightening thing about Giorno would be his god-like requiem ability. But over and above the raw power he possessed was his reach, the world seemed so small, as if it had rested comfortably in his elegant hands- and you had been getting reminders of this inescapable fate over and over again. By the time you had given up on the idea of escaping through any traditional means of transportation, you must have tried fifty different avenues, each attempt failing more spectacularly than the last. Having had enough, you resigned yourself to the fact that you would not be leaving Naples immediately, and found refuge in the outskirts of the city. You climbed the rickety staircase behind the lady as she prattled on about her day.

“Shall I get you something to eat dolcezza? You look like you could use something warm and comforting in your system. In fact, let me do just that, you get settled in so long,” said the innkeeper before you had a chance to interject. Deciding to take a shower to wash off the day, you took comfort in the fact that this place was so remote, you were almost certain you were safe for the meantime. The tiny bathroom was a far cry from the palatial one you had grown accustomed to while being in Giorno’s villa, but it served the same purpose, only this time, you had your freedom. The place was peaceful though aside from the sound of what must have been a car backfiring and the small creaks from the natural expansion and contraction of the dwelling, it was quiet enough for you to calm down and organize your thoughts. Now that you were comparatively more at ease than before, you felt the strain of the day in your body, aching muscles, sore feet and cuts and scrapes that began to smart affixed a slight grimace to your face as you rummaged through your belongings to find some sort of pain relief.

A sharp knock on the door disrupted your search. You stayed silent for a moment, contemplating if you should ignore it or answer.

“Dolcezza, I’ve brought you a small snack, you’re going to enjoy it,” you just wanted to crawl into bed and forget the day you had, but you also didn’t want to snub her kindness, you reached out to unlock and open the door.

“Buongiorno tesoro… enjoying your little excursion? Marina here was kind enough to show me to your room so I could surprise you… seems like it worked, look at this charming expression,” turning to the smiling woman, Giorno nodded for her to leave. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, you wanted to cry, to run, to jump right out through the hazy window but your feet were rooted to the ground.

“Well (y/n) … you’ve been running around Naples for the entire day, have you found what you’re looking for?” his usual honeyed tone was laced with derision as he critically eyed your surroundings. “is this what you were so desperate to escape to? Look at this place… look at the condition you’re in… how is any of this better than everything I’ve given you?”

“I have my freedom here…” was all you could muster as your mind raced thinking of how he had still managed to find you despite all the precautions you had taken. “Giorno, how…”

“How did I find you? I always have my ways…” he said, sauntering over to the window, opening it just enough to make eye contact with whoever was outside, dismissing them with a nonchalant wave of his gloved hand. Pulling out his cellphone, he showed you the opened application, explaining that he had been using it to track your location, following the signal from the diamond earrings he gifted you on your birthday, carelessly left on when you had made your hasty escape. In all fairness, you hadn’t considered that the dainty gems were anything more than that. Feeling your legs starting to give out under you at the revelation that you were the cause of your own undoing, you sat on the bed hanging your head in defeat.

“Freedom, you say? Tell me how has that worked for you?”

“That’s not fair! You’ve basically controlled every single encounter I’ve had, and even when I thought I had escaped you by coming here, you still somehow managed to manipulate the situation…” you shouted, tears of frustration running feely down your face.

“Stop being dramatic, the world is full of horrible people, everyone is looking out for themselves, I wish you would realize that… tell me tesoro, how many people turned you away? Threw you out of their cars, made up excuses to deny your requests? Not one of those people looked into those pleading eyes and thought you were worth helping. Why? Because people are selfish…”

“You… you threatened them all, you…”

“You give me too much credit, it’s not like I was going to kill them, I hate violence, despite your disappointingly low opinion of me, even you have to admit that I’ve never done anything to physically harm you… all I want is to protect you, you don’t understand how things work out there,”

“It’s not like you’ve ever given me the opportunity to find out how things are… I”

“Some people are just meant to be loved and protected tesoro, isn’t that enough? Why would you want to risk being hurt to get a taste of something that’s actually not even worth it… you’re not cut out for this life… I’ve been here so I know this isn’t what you deserve. You’re coming back home with me,”

“But, I- “ you attempted to interject but his intense glare halted you.

“(y/n), I’m very patient under most circumstances, but please don’t test me now, I won’t say it twice…” said Giorno with a slight bite to his voice, it was clear he was growing tired of this conversation, and you were losing your will to fight back. With a quivering lip and misty eyes, you moved to gather your belongings but was stopped by the young don, arguing that he can replace whatever is there, wanting no other reminders of this transgression to follow you both back. Resigning yourself to this fate, realizing there was nowhere beyond his reach, you grasped his outstretched arm and followed him to the car to return to your life of opulent captivity. Months and months of planning all resulting in nothing, it became glaringly obvious to you that escaping was futile…

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themaribatpit · 3 years ago

Text

Hanging by a Thread: Chapter 4

Rated M: DC canon-typical violence, suggestive threats, alcohol (drink responsibly)

Author’s Note: Thank you to @rebecarojas07 for calmly and patiently trying to explain American things to us in the comments of the last chapter.

Content Warning: Adrien/Chat Noir salt, mostly references to his actions in Syren, there will also be some Chloe and Lila salt. All for the purposes of making Marinette’s own self doubt and angst clear. This is going to be a very angst-heavy chapter, you have been warned.

Ships: Jason Todd/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Dick Grayson/Barbara Gordon (side ship).

Taglist:

@aespades, @neakco, @ladybug-182, @seraphichana, @zalladane, @luminous-carrot, @jayjayspixiepop, @cap-noodles, @livelifeauthorstyle, @thepaceperson, @moongoddesskiana, @vroomtaka, @laurcad123, @prettylittlebutterflie, @twsssmlmaa

Chapter 3 - Chapter 5

Chapter 4

On one of the nights she went out searching, Marinette found the Red Hood perched on a rooftop next to a gargoyle. A gargoyle that was probably looking a lot less serious than he was at that moment. There was no doubt as to how they found each other. It was how they found each other at the warehouse, at the dockyards, and now here on a rooftop. She slowly approached him from behind. “I know you’re behind me.” spoke the Red Hood without turning his head to look behind him. Ladybug froze as the Red Hood addressed her, as if he had eyes on the back of his head. Ladybug remained silent, unsure of how she should proceed, until Red Hood broke the ice. “Y’know I wonder, how you always seem to find me no matter what. It’s almost as if you have some kind of Me Detector.” Ladybug stuttered, trying to think of an answer. She grew silent and looked down. He looked towards her ”You don't have to answer, I figured it out. You can see the red thread that ties us together as well, right?” she nodded her head. “Only way you seem to find me each time. I’ve been able to see it for as long as I can remember, what about you?” He asked.

“Me too, I was always able to see it, and it went grey when you...” Marinette said, as if she still found it hard to believe that such a thing could happen to someone. “Did anyone ever tell you how I died?” he asked. Marinette looked away, as she tried to hide the look on her face. “Yes,” she answered meekly. She sighed and shook her head, trying to remember why she went looking for him at all. She took a couple of steps closer towards him. “What matters is I wanna help,” she said. “Why? You don’t even know half of what I’ve been through.” he growled, he turned to face her. His helmet was still on, but his low harsh voice made his emotions very clear at that moment.

“Then tell me,” she said calmly, “trust me I’ve dealt with people who gave into their negative emotions, I can help you.” She had come too far to give up now, and she wasn’t about to turn back over something that she could help him with. “Not like this,” he said, “listen to me when I say the boy you got matched with died that night. He died because he was an idiot, who got himself killed by a psychotic clown.” Was she supposed to turn back and abandon him now? Should she have just settled for someone else back in Paris? The answers were no and absolutely not. The person who stood before her might not have been the person she had imagined her soulmate to be, but she didn’t have the heart to abandon him now. She could help him, whatever it was she was sure that she could find a way to help him, maybe with Tikki and Plagg’s help. If what she was told about him was true, then he surely understood what they both went through in the past. They both became crime fighters at a young age, they were thrust into situations where the fate of their world rested on their shoulders. They were alike in a lot of ways that neither of them realised.

"Please tell me, let me help you Jason." she begged.

"Do. Not. Call. Me. That." He growled and stomped towards Ladybug, their faces mere centimetres apart. "So who was it that told you? Was it Dick? Babs? The old man?"

Jason knew it would take a lot more than that to push her away, but he had to. Even as Robin was still inside him, railing against the bars that kept that part of him caged. But he was dead in every meaningful sense of the word, and in his place was a cursed monster. For both their sakes, he was trying to keep Ladybug at arm’s length, he was nothing like the gaudy rogues gallery she dealt with back in Paris. A part of him wanted her help, but he doubted that neither she nor her fairy pals had any idea what they were dealing with. To top it off, she was probably already under the Bat clan’s protection. They weren’t even on the same side, so that added another complication into their already tangled bond. He looked up at her and there it was again, that wide eyed sad look on her face. Jason tried not to look at it for too long, no matter how much it made his heart ache to do so. “What would it take for you to leave me alone?” he asked, “Want me to cut my own foot off?”

“I’m not even sure it’s that easy,” she said “I was always told that it will stretch and tangle, but never break. That and it goes grey if one of us dies, that’s all I know.” “Look, I don’t wanna hurt you, Pixie,” he told her, “even I have limits.”. “Oh yeah? And what are they? Am I just small fry to you, is that it?” she asked, Ladybug looked away as tears began to form in her eyes. “Are you just disappointed to find out that I’m your soulmate?”

Marinette had come too far only to be told no, and no one has given her a clear answer as to why she couldn’t help him. It seemed to be something more than the fact that he was a crime boss. What brought her here in the first place was the fact that their soulmate bond had reignited. It was truly at that moment where the two sides of herself felt like they were merging. Marinette was trying to make sense of what everyone was telling her. There was a reason why even he was refusing to let her at least try to help him. Ladybug would have been able to fix this problem in no time at all, while Marinette was on a gargoyle adorned rooftop begging her soulmate to let her help him.

She barely noticed that the Red Hood was suddenly standing very close to her, she felt a gloved hand tilt her chin up to look at him. She was still looking into the two white lights in his helmet. “Do yourself a favour, and get as far away from here as you can.” he told her in a low but gentler voice, “I’m telling you this because you’re my soulmate, I don’t want you getting hurt because of me. You got that?” he let go of her and turned away, going back to the spot he was perched on. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” she said whilst on the verge of tears, and with a twirl of her yo-yo she swung away into the night. Jason tried to ignore the ache in his chest, he was telling himself that he had to keep her away from him. He was already used to not being trusted, but at that moment her sincerity and kindness were just too much for him. There were other people out there who were far more deserving of it. If she got too close to him, too close to the flame that was only stoked by the Lazarus pit, she would only get burned. He already knew he would never forgive himself if she got hurt, their soulmate bond would probably just end up adding salt to that wound. In a way he was starting to see why they were bound together, that’s what made it hurt even more. They were very different people, that much was obvious. Maybe the divine being that bound them together thought it would be funny in a “opposites attract” kind of way. Unfortunately for him, one of the things they had in common was that they were both very stubborn people. That became clear when he realised it would take a whole lot more to get her to stay away from him. Over the next few days, Marinette threw herself into her design work, trying to take her mind off of her encounters with her soulmate. Tikki was looking increasingly worried as she avoided talking about it, preferring to stay up all through the night working on her design projects. Her designs tended towards soft fabrics and pastel colours. It was possible this was an attempt to avoid thinking about a certain someone who wore a red helmet and was dressed in Kevlar and leather.

One night, Marinette got a text from Zoe, telling her that they were going out drinking with some friends. She invited Marinete to join her, and she thought a night out would help take her mind off things. As she looked through her wardrobe for something to wear, Tikki tried to approach her. “Marinette, we need to talk,” she said, looking over at Plagg who was more interested in devouring the slice of camembert that Marinette had given him. ”You’ve been busy lately, and I just wanted to know if you were okay.” she said.

“I’m fine, what’s there to talk about?” Marinette said flippantly, holding the two different dresses up to her body as she decided which one to wear. She didn’t want to talk about her soulmate, or even the mountain of work that she had just completed. She wanted to go out and have some fun with her friends.

“It’s just that you seemed distraught by what happened, we tried to warn you not to get your hopes up...” Tikki began. “I’m fine,” Marinette said in a harsher tone of voice, “I don’t want to talk about it.” “Marinette, it's probably for the best, we...”

“I said I didn’t want to talk about it!” Marinette snapped, “I came all this way to find my soulmate, only to find that my soulmate doesn’t want anything to do with me. You were right Tikki, I should have just stayed home in Paris, is that what you wanted to hear?” Tikki looked to Plagg for help, but Plagg didn’t say anything in response. “Listen Marinette, maybe whoever tied you two together made a mistake. Maybe this Red Hood is right and it will only end in tragedy. ” “Choosing me to wield the Ladybug Miraculous, hell, choosing me as your Guardian could have also been a mistake. Did you think of that?” Marinette argued.

“That was different, you proved yourself to be worthy of the Miraculous.” Tikki piped up, “This boy...”

“What? I’m good enough to wield magic jewelry but I’m not good enough for a guy who isn’t Chat Noir?” Marinette argued. “No!” Tikki cried, “I meant that this person might not be worthy of you. Our magic, it did something to him, Marinette. I can sense it, I can’t quite put my finger on it but something is wrong here.”

“I know, I have spent my teenage years fighting people who have been turned into supervillains because of their negative emotions! Why should this be any different?” Marinette yelled. “I managed to do it mostly by myself, with a partner who would rather spend most of the battle joking around and getting in the way!” Marinette was getting heated, but she had far too much pent up emotion to care at that moment. “And the way he would go on and on about us being soulmates, I hated it. Now I hate it even more because now I know for certain that he was wrong.” Marinette recalled. If she was still in Paris, she might worry about an Akuma finding her in this state.

“You became a hero to help those people! It’s why you were suited to become a Guardian.” Tikki said. Marinette wondered what good those powers were to her now? What was the point in being a hero who couldn’t save people? “I wouldn’t know,” Marinette spat bitterly, “right now I just remember you telling me that I had to be the perfect Ladybug, and an even better Guardian.” It was true in a way, she already knew that Ladybug was perfect while Marinette was not. Ladybug was confident, strong, and smart, she was able to save the day with nothing but her wits and whatever tool Tikki gave her to improvise with. Marinette was the one who got bullied by Chloe and Lila, and Adrien did nothing to stop them. Their adoration for Ladybug added salt to the wound, at times it almost made Marinette despise her other persona. “You don’t mean that,” Tikki said before she turned to Plagg, “Plagg, say something, please.” she begged. “I mean, she certainly took it a lot more seriously. One time Chat Noir threatened to take off his Miraculous if I didn’t tell him a secret Ladybug was keeping at the time.” he said flippantly, before devouring the last of the cheese. “Only thing that stopped him was Master Fu showing up with a potion.” He recalled, there was a silence that followed. Plagg looked up and saw the two of them staring back at him. Tikki looked shocked by the revelation, while Marinette looked absolutely livid. “So I couldn’t do anything, step one foot out of line without you,” she pointed at Tikki, “breathing down my neck about being perfect.” she said in a harsh voice that was seething with rage, “Meanwhile, Chat Noir threatened to just toss the Miraculous aside and Plagg drew the line at being blackmailed into revealing a secret that was not mine to tell?” Marinette’s fists were clenched tightly, her knuckles were bone white, and Tikki was a little afraid of her. “Marinette, please...” Tikki begged. “No,” Marinette growled, as she took off the Ladybug earrings and slammed them into the Miracle Box. She didn’t want to hear what Tikki had to say to her at that moment. She was going to go out and have a nice night with her friends, where she wouldn’t have to think about any of this. She stuffed them back into the box, before she looked over at the pink and white polka dotted dress that was strewn over her bed.

There were two kinds of people who went to bars that didn't card: college students and legally dead people. Jason was in the latter group, and long before that, he knew the location of every bar in Gotham that wouldn't card him. Right now, he was trying to enjoy a few cold beers by himself. It was usually quiet, he could sit, drink and drown out the the memory of the sad look in his soulmate's eyes whenever it flashed in his mind. It was probably for the best, at least that's what Jason told himself. Even if she was a superhero herself, what worried him the most was showing her the full force of what the Lazarus pits turned him into. He didn't even think her fairy friends knew about that, the League of Assassins certainly didn't see it coming.

A small group of college aged girls made their way into the bar. Out of the corner of his eye, the group looked like they were about to form a rainbow. He heard a mixture of English, French and Italian bubbling from their little group. He looked over to see that among them, there was a brunette dressed all in black and grey, a blonde with dyed pink streaks in her hair, and a dark haired girl in a pink dress. They were a colourful bunch of people, probably Gotham University students on a night out. One of them went to go and get the first round of drinks while the others gathered round a table in a separate booth. Sometimes Jason would look over and his eyes would fall on the girl in the pink dress, who was now holding a glass of wine in her hand. He told himself it was because she happened to be facing towards him. If he stared too long, the blonde next to her might notice and point it out to her. So he looked away, taking a deep drink from his own bottle.

Zoe’s invitation couldn't have come at a better time. Marinette drank deeply from her wine glass, as she tried to enjoy herself and drown out the argument she had with Tikki. She took her role as Ladybug and Guardian of the Miraculous seriously, it infuriated her that the person she considered her partner didn't feel the same way. She tried to drown out the possibility that not only had Master Fu chosen wrong, but that whoever had chosen her soulmate had too. At the very least, her soulmate seemed to think so too. Maybe it would be easier to throw the Miracle Box into Gotham Bay and hope that it would take her memories with it.

By the time Marinette was a couple of glasses deep into her efforts, Zoe leaned in to whisper something to Marinette. "That guy's been staring at you for the past 15 minutes now." Zoe told her. Marinette was pulled from her thoughts, as she looked over at Zoe.

"What guy?" Marinette asked.

"Okay don't look now, but he's literally right in front of you." Zoe told her, "I'm sure he'll buy you another glass of wine if you bat your eyelashes at him." Marinette playfully pushed Zoe away. As she took another sip of wine, she looked over the rim of her glass at the guy Zoe pointed out to her. Across the room, she could see the guy had dark hair framing a very sharp and angular face. He wore a leather jacket, dark jeans and a t-shirt, he was certainly handsome, she'll give him that. She wasn't going to just walk right up to him and ask him to buy her a drink.

"He looks all right," Marinette said, trying to ignore Zoe's raised eyebrow.

Just as the other guy was getting ready to buy another drink, Zoe saw her chance. She grabbed Marinette by the shoulders and pushed her towards the guy staring at her. As the two ploughed towards the bar, people stepped back to give them a clear path towards the man sitting by the counter.

Jason turned back around, curious at the ruckus behind him. Both Marinette and Jason froze as their eyes met, the two looked down to see the red string of fate. Zoe took this as a good sign, maybe this was love at first sight. As the two remained silent, Zoe nudged Marinette. When that didn't work, she dragged Marinette by the wrist and sat her down on the nearby stool. Zoe then gave Marinette a light tap on the shoulder, a wink and a thumbs up before going back to her group of friends.

#jasonette #maribat #maribat adrien salt #maribat chloe salt #maribat lila salt #ml x dc

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anarchy2021 · 3 years ago

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PSA Day! (Rp etiquette)

{ID: A person standing next to a flipchart. They're thin, and have medium-length brown hair, pale skin, and dark brown ears. The ears are angled horizontally. They're wearing thin-rimmed glasses, and their expression reads as confident. Their hair is partially tied up in a bun. They also have a long tail the same brown as their ears, with brown fur the same color as their hair on the end. They're wearing black trousers, a black waistcoat with a white shirt underneath. Additionally, a black overcoat with gold edges is draped over their shoulders. The inner lining of the overcoat is red, and partially visible behind the person. They have their right hand on their hip, and with their left hand, they're holding a stick up to the flipchart, which reads "RP 101 :)". The 101 is underlined. END ID.}

Greetings! You may not recognize me (unless you were watching the debate perhaps, then, sup) as I admit I’ve been a bit…. Behind the scenes as it were (as secretary of VOID there is a lot of looking at the void, usual routine for me mhm mhm). Regardless, I’m Days (or Nights, either or) and for today’s PSA I’m here (along with some words from our recently freed from totally-not-prison president, Graphite, at a later date) to talk to you about roleplay! More specifically, rp etiquette and terms and how that relates to the DSMP and how it should be talked about.

Now now, you might be wondering “oh but what is your experience?” Glad you asked! I’m a long term text rper with over 5 years of experience- and my main avenues of rp are rps similar in structure to that of the DSMP- long term improv driven sandboxes that also have important events planned ahead of time in some regard but are often player driven most of the time. Now, let’s get into it!

Head writers/admins

Let’s start off with a pretty hot topic regarding the server, which is the existence of a ‘head writer’ (usually in reference to Mr. Soot). Now, mainy take this as meaning quite literally a writer- like in a show, but, with what information we have I think it’s safe to say he’s not really that and more along the lines of an rp admin/head. The admin’s main purpose is to keep things structured and organized, as well as putting together the events they’re in charge of. This is pretty much how everyone treats the man anyways, BUT, while an admin is in charge of a lot they do NOT have the final say over everything, particularly in regards to the characters and their players.

Players in an rp for the most part have full control over their characters (within reason and the confines of the rp setting) and an admin enforcing their will onto a character (such as enforcing certain backstory choices that don’t seem particularly wanted. For example, the fridge with c!Phil) is often frowned upon unless there is a good reason for it and discussed with the rper.

It is also notable that just because there is an admin, that doesn’t mean they’re the sole writer/organizer/etc. It is not at all uncommon for specific subplots and or other important events to be headed by players involved in it in this type of rp. This can be seen in practice with how the Eggpire plotline was headed by BBH and the prison plotline was mainly written by Dream and Tommy.

Summary:

- head writer/admins do not and should not control everything

- organise and structure events

- players might admin their own smaller plots within a rp

Narrative consequences

Now, another hot topic- especially in regards to character discourse (my abhorred personally). Narrative consequences. These are generally referred to when someone thinks a character is not getting the consequences for their actions in the story that they should, or (more rarely in my experience) when they feel a character is being punished too hard for their actions. While this is an understandable feeling to have, at the end of the day narrative consequences just aren’t much of a thing in roleplay, at least not to the same extent as a book or tv show.

This is for one simple reason, consequences rely on the character’s actions and how they respond to others around them, if a character does not feel like it’s fit to react or if it angers their character- it is 100% within their right to respond accordingly.

However, there is also an argument that can be made if a character responds to something in a way that doesn’t align with a character’s usual actions. For a personal example, one time in a rp I was playing a character who was intervening when another character was being hurt, however, my character was met with scorn from being somewhat aggressive regarding it- I felt that this was unfair as none of these character showed the same scrutiny to characters who did worse things, and none of these characters had been established as hypocrites.

This grudge lasted the entire rp until my character died. This is a point where believing that the consequences to a character are unjust is more or less fair, but, a character simply not getting immediately smited or a character getting scorn is not automatically a point against the character, especially since an rper cannot reasonably make their fellow rpers react a certain way.

Summary:

- narrative consequences are not the same in RP as in other mediums

- can't force characters to react, or force players to react in a way they don't feel is fit

- but can critique RP if things feel unfairly ooc/inconsistent

Retcons

Next up, retcons. What is a retcon? It’s short for retroactive continuity, in essence it’s when in a piece of media something is changed retroactively- such as a character’s personality, how an event occurred, etc. for an outsider audience perspective retcons are often looked upon unfavorably, as it’s changing something already established which can cause friction among those attached to certain ideas, but in reality retcons are both a neutral concept and fairly normal to occur in rps.

Rps are (generally) not professional writing, they’re things made up on the fly with perhaps a base to work off of (and depending on the rp, not even that. However in the rps I’ve done we generally had character sheets and the like for backstories and all) and thus sometimes mistakes happen. One of the main causes for minor retcons is when details are confused or left out that would have realistically affected the situation or how characters would have responded to it, unless in severe cases these usually happen on the spot and don’t cause much of a fuss.

Major retcons often fall along the lines of players and how they choose to present their character. This is especially common when a player is using a character for the first time or even if they’re just new to an rp in general, sometimes as we rp we simply decide to take things in a new direction and sometimes that direction may cause things already established to be retconned, even if not outright stated.

A good example of this is the enderwalk with c!Ranboo, the enderwalk as it was first introduced is very different than it is portrayed now, likely as a result of Ranboo taking a new direction with his character since then. More widespread retcons may happen if people are unhappy with a certain plot thread, in this case an example would be the canon status of SBI, Wilbur used to push it but Techno (and later Phil) didn’t want it to be canon, so anything about it previously said has been soundly retconned.

In my own case character retcons very often happen to me when I first use an oc, as the character takes a different shape than what I put on the paper in practice, even sometimes within the same rp (one of my first ocs was practically unrecognizable as the same character in the beginning of an rp as compared to even just a few weeks later).

So, retcons are fine and normal to occur, but, like I said- they’re neutral. A retcon can very well be done poorly and cause problems. This is mainly in issue with retcons made that affect highly established and built upon aspects without discussion with all those who’d be effected, this can cause confusion, plot holes and cause characters to be in a weird limbo if they don’t know how to have their character act without whatever was retconned. Major retcons need to be discussed in order to prevent these problems, and in some cases should be avoided entirely- instead it being better to work for a compromise and rework events rather than removing them.

Summary:

- retcons are normal and neutral

- small retcons happened frequently in RP to help keep things going in an improv heavy medium. Usually unnoticeable

- large retcons tend to have with new players, or if the story is taking a new direction.

- large retcons require a lot of communication, and sometimes whould be avoided, instead working to compromise and rework the direction of the RP

Metagaming and godmodding

Metagaming and godmodding are two very important terms to know for rp etiquette and if you’ve done any rping you’ve probably seen these words thrown around in rules lists and such already. These are both ultimately negative things that should be avoided at all costs. What are they? Metagaming is when you use information that you know OOC and use it IC even though your character should not have that information. Godmodding is when a character is taken over by another person for one reason or another against the player’s will- such as having a character react to something without letting the actual rper do it.

The former is a big issue when it comes to discussion of the DSMP and how people interact with it, mainly in the chat and donos. When you are trying to get a character to react to information that they shouldn’t have you are trying to get them to metagame, which is heavily frowned upon in an RP. This is also important to note in discussion, a character not responding to certain important events is not a mark against them if the character has no way of even knowing what was going on, or would not reasonably respond to it with the information they have.

Summary:

- both frowned upon

- god modding is taking over someone elses character

- metagaming is using out of character information to do in character acting

- Meta gaming is relevant to DSMP particular in how it relates to donos and chats. Don't encourage meta-gaming

All of these factors are important to consider when discussing the DSMP and it’s narrative, it’s not going to function the same as other forms of media nor should it- as once you go in that direction you’re competing with the big boys over at tv and at that point things would fall apart. Improv and it’s unique variables is what makes the DSMP, and anything else like it, special and interesting to follow!

#dsmp #dreamsmp #rp etiquette #mcytblr elections #anarchy2021 #mcytblr election 2021 #PSA day #art by Days #long post #editted by zaph :]#first post from yours truly #(thats days not zaph... i post a lot i will not shut up <3)

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themonotonysyndrome · 3 years ago

Text

REDACTED verse - The games we play

Prompt: any fandom/any character/telling a lie isn't always wrong

Word Count: 1,503

Author/Team: LadyMonotone

Fandom/Original: Redacted ASMR (Vega/Warden. Mentions of Ivan/Baby, Sweetheart and Camelopardalis)

Rating: T

Triggers: Possessive behaviour. Obsessive behaviour. Mutual subtle manipulation. Explicit implication.

Summary: The greatest happiness to a Sadism Daemon is ultimate submission, and Vega has his eyes set on his Warden.

ConCrit: Y

With this oneshot, I just want to remind everyone that this blog is 18+. There are some sexual implications down below in Vega's scene, and I just want to give everyone a heads up.

Also, I just want to write something sexy with him after listening to his Patreon audio yesterday. Yum!

Oh! And another thing, I wrote this in one day, and it's super late now. So I'll go through the editing process tomorrow.

An hour before his regular visitor arrives, Vega contemplates a human phrasing he has learned over his time here on Elegy.

'You are what you eat', a common human phrasing that Vega wholeheartedly agrees. For all of their cognitive dissonance, Vega supposed he should give credit where credit is due. After all, he's nothing but true to his Daemonic nature.

But what about his dear Warden?

"I'm curious, Warden. As an Ichoate, you can survive by feeding a variety of human emotions. So which is your favourite, hmm?" Vega inquiries, lingering close to the wards. Close enough that the Warden could feel his presence yet distant enough to be out of harm's way from being electrocuted. "Are you leaning towards our more Serene kin, or are you the type to hop from one bed to another? Ah. Judging by that stoic look on your face, you're making me work for my answer." He chuckles, deeply amused despite his situation. "You always know how to make my day a little better, my beloved Warden."

See, here's the thing: Vega is intimately in tune with the unsavoury emotions that humans try so hard to hide; he loves basking in a storm of humanity's darkest sides. But what he's fascinated with the most is the nature of obsession. Nudging Ivan in the wrong direction and watching him give in to his jealousy and possessiveness was terrific. An experimental success with results that makes Vega one satisfied and full Daemon.

And now? The same obsession that he nurtures within Ivan is starting to bloom within Vega.

And it all thanks to his darling Warden.

When Vega first laid eyes on the Inchoate Daemon as they introduced themselves to him with all the pomp and circumstances of a senior Department employee - if not an overworked one - he was... a little intrigued. His eyes roam their body, appreciating the eye candy that the Department had so ignorantly given to him. Every tiny frown on those pouty lips because of his sly remarks sends tiny euphoria inside of Vega's twisted heart; lust tinted with dark intentions start to spread within him. Every clenched fist as he readily admits how easy it is to tug humanity's dark threads send shivers down Vega's spine; his hunger gradually expands more than just food.

Obsession is a form of hunger too. Too bad the Warden doesn't know that little fact or how much they fuel his hunger.

Even though Ivan is a human, Vega watched him fill his own hunger with his sweet, captive lover every night; whispering sweet nothings in one ear while the other made them believe that no one else in this world loves them more than him. That no one else in this world could make them happy the way he could. Ivan would've made a fine Sadism Daemon, albeit one with a romantic heart.

But Vega is self-aware enough to see that the road he's taking is similar to Ivan's, and he's looking forward to dragging his Warden along.

Vega wonders what they are like on the bed. His comment about their feeding habits instantly raises walls around the Warden. It's cute how they always become stoic when it comes to topics that they refuse to entertain. He's so tempted to ask if he struck a nerve; there's really no shame for an Inchoate Daemon to feed like an Incubus.

When Vega is left to his own devices, he indulges in his fantasies where his darling Warden is wanton to his touches; open and eager for him. Would they sweet writhe when his hands are around his neck? Would they buck wildly every time his hips slam with theirs? Vega's no Incubus, but pleasures had never seemed sweeter before the Warden came into his life.

But what's sugar without a bit of cyanide?

Sometimes, Vega likes to spin his fantasies with a hint of cruelty. He dreams nothing more but to overwhelm his Warden, bind them and take whatever he wants while they're helpless to do anything but moan. Transform them into his cute sex kitten who can't do anything but cum again and again... and again until he's satisfied.

Until nothing exists except for Vega.

'You are what you eat' after all.

So Vega continues to play his waiting game, letting the Department believe that they could rehabilitate him; undo the sin that he was coalesced with. It's a futile attempt, but as long as they continue to allow his Warden to come and visit him, Vega is more than happy to play the part of a perfect prisoner for them. Give them the kindest answer because telling a lie isn't always wrong; especially when the prize is just too enticing.

But for now, he'll cultivate his hunger right until he could break out from the wards, and his darling Warden would finally be his.

During their last work hours on Friday, Sweetheart comes across a colleague occupying the more secluded garden of the Department. It's a hidden place you can only find if you're tight with employees working here for more than five years.

Or if you are a Daemon who can see through the invisible wards around the garden. Sweetheart is the former, unfortunately.

They walk up to their colleague, whose back is facing Sweetheart. "Hi. It's been a while since I saw you hung out here. Long day?"

The Inchoate Daemon inclines their head towards Sweetheart with a tiny smile. "You can say that. How about you?"

"I was just getting ready to call it a day and go home when I saw your horns." Sweetheart explains. When the Inchoate Daemon scoots aside on the bench, the Stealth takes a seat beside them. The garden is very beautiful and serene. Speaking of which, "Were you with Cam? I remembered he wanted to catch up with us for a lunch break, but I was drowning with paperwork today. Urgh."

The Daemon shakes their head. "Unfortunately, no. My session with Vega lasted longer than usual, so I had to feed nearby before rushing back to work."

Sweetheart lowers their eyes to some documents on their work buddy's lap. The name 'Vega' and 'Sadism Daemon' are bolded in big letters and highlighted on top of the paper. "Wait. We have a Sadism Daemon in our custody? They're so rare!"

"An Incubus reported him a few months ago, and they've assigned me to rehabilitate his feeding habits ever since. It's been a... slow progress." The Inchoate Daemon sigh and rubs the bridge of their nose in exhaustion, thinking about their earlier session with Vega.

"The bad apple of the bunch, eh?" Sweetheart gently nudges the Daemon's shoulder in a show of sympathy and solidary. "Is he as bad as those comments written in red ink? It seems to me that the guy is a walking red flag."

"Oh, he is. Manipulative as can be and solely driven by his hunger. I did quick profiling of him on our first day together, and it's enough for me to organise a worst-case scenario team on stand by." Warden enlightens Sweetheart in a deadpan tone, to which Sweetheart grimace at the thought.

As the two enjoys a comfortable silence, Warden lets their thoughts wander, yet soon enough, it trails to Vega. It always returns to him.

When they're in the same room as him, Vega moves with the grace of a feline predator, pacing back and forth behind the wards as they talk. His long legs always move slowly and with a purpose to intimidate them.

Warden makes sure never to give him that satisfaction.

They're no stranger to Vega's game and the hunger that drives him than Camelopardalis, a renowned memory modifier within the Empowered world.

Even when their back is turned, Warden can feel his red eyes drilling through them. His gaze is always heavy, waiting for any moment of weakness that he can devour.

The Department has given Warden a monster capable of destroying countless lives in a blink of an eye with the heavy expectations to declaw him.

And this monster hungers for them, constantly watching his Warden with dark desires that it could be to their advantage if they play their cards right.

They're the prize. They're everything Vega wants and more.

And during that moment of realisation, Warden sets their own plans in motion.

No one can declaw a monster; the best they can do is tame it. Even a Daemon believe this. Warden can buff the rough edges and give him a longer leash if Vega promises to play nice. It's a long shot, but it's a risk worth taking.

Vega wants them? Then he needs to play by their rules, not his. He can stare, mock, flirt and threaten them all he wants. As long as the wards remain strong, the field is even between them.

Patience is everything in both Vega's and Warden's game. The question is, which one of them will succumb to the other first?

#redacted asmr #fanfic #they/them pronouns #gender neutral s/o #vega #warden (listener)#ivan #baby (listener)#sweetheart (listener)#camelopardalis

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fortunatelyfresco · 4 years ago

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A Holistic Integration of Type 1 Narcolepsy into the Reading of Moist von Lipwig

Literary Interpretation, Disability, and Finding Yourself Between the Lines

As it goes, "I wrote this for me, but you can read it if you want." It might be a fun ride for anyone who is very interested in Moist von Lipwig, or narcolepsy, or both, and/or anyone who enjoys collecting small details from within a body of work and arranging them into threads that are supportable by the text, without being actually suggested by it.

Personally, I find it very interesting to read the meta behind different headcanons, and see how creators can unintentionally write a character who fits certain criteria. There are only so many traits, after all, and some of them tend to travel in groups! Humans are pattern seekers, etc etc.

The first step of reading Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic is wanting to read Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic. Being narcoleptic myself and relating heavily to Moist, this step was very easy. I invite you to take my hand and come along, at least briefly, if you were interested enough to click the readmore.

Once you have taken that step, things start falling into place. At least they do if you're intimately familiar with narcolepsy, or if you first learn about it in detail through, for instance, a Tumblr post with an agenda :)

I'll break this down symptom by symptom, citing only the ones I both have personal experience with and see textual support for.

I'll be using OverDrive's search function to catalogue "evidence" in (the American editions of) Going Postal, Making Money, and Raising Steam, so I might miss passages that don't use certain keywords.

Please take any statements along the lines of "being narcoleptic means X" with a huge grain of salt. Sometimes it's just more succinct. Narcolepsy can manifest in many different ways, and is still being actively studied. Don't base your entire understanding of it on a fandom essay I wrote to cope with the crushing pressures of capitalism. I have not even fully read the scientific studies linked here as sources.

Here we go! Spoilers abound.

I. Excessive Daytime Sleepiness (EDS) and sleep attacks.

Being narcoleptic means (salt now, please) that your brain does not get adequate rest while you sleep, no matter how much you sleep. This is because of a disturbance in the order and length of REM and NREM sleep phases. This leads to constant exhaustion. Some sources describe narcoleptic EDS as "comparable to [the sleepiness] experienced by a healthy individual who has been sleep-deprived continuously for 48–72 hours."

(Source.)

Sleep attacks can come on gradually or suddenly. In my case, I become irritable and easily overwhelmed, and nothing matters except finding a place to lie down. A more severe attack, under the right circumstances, can put me to sleep while I'm actively trying to stay awake and engaged.

Moist refers to 6:45 am as "still nighttime." He is "allergic to the concept of two seven o'clocks in one day" and is "not good at early mornings," and the narration even cites this as "one of the advantages of a life of crime; you didn't have to get up until other people had got the streets aired."

In Going Postal, he repeatedly falls asleep at his desk. I can only find two instances, but the first one describes it as having happened "again," so it happens at least three times over the course of one week. Both of the times I found were after Mr. Pump cleared his apartment, giving him access to a bed, and I can't find any reference to the fire destroying it—just that his office is "missing the whole of one wall." His presumably wooden desk is still intact, even, just "charred."

There's also no build-up either time. No direct narration of the time right before he falls asleep, just retroactive accounting for it.

Which is primarily a function of stories not showing us every boring second, and secondarily one of the smaller ways we're shown Moist being overwhelmed and racing to keep up with himself, but tertiarily it's a great set dressing if you've already decided he's narcoleptic. Sometimes sleep is just a thing that happens, without any deliberate transition. Sometimes you sit down to catch your breath or get some paperwork done, and wake up several hours later.

I've found only one example in GP of Moist waking up in his actual bed at the post office: the morning after being possessed by all the undelivered letters. Presumably either they put him there, or Mr. Pump did.

There are two points in Making Money where Moist, in an effort to be a comforting and/or guiding hand, advises people to get some sleep. First Owlswick Jenkins, and then one of the clerks (Robert) who is worried about Mr. Bent.

I take the optimistic view that this is Moist genuinely caring about these people, not just trying to get them to do what he wants. He has always done some combination of those things (GP opens with him having befriended his jailers, after all), but there's definitely a thread of him learning to treat both himself and those around him more like real people. (See also.)

Looking at this thread through narcolepsy-colored lenses, you get Moist perhaps drawing from his own experiences in an effort to be helpful. In Owlswick or Robert's position, what is something he would want to hear from the man currently in charge of his fate, or at least his job? "Get some sleep."

If we accept this as a pattern, it culminates in Raising Steam, when Moist starts to worry about "Dick Simnel and his band of overworked engineers," fixating particularly on their lack of sleep.

What sleep they got was in sleeping bags, curled up on carriage seats, eating but not eating well, just driven by their watches and their desire to keep the train going.

[...]

"People are going to die if we push them any further," he said to Dick. "You lot would rather work than sleep!"

[...]

The young man swayed in front of him and Moist's tone became gentle. "And I see now that part of my job is to tell you that you need some rest. You've run out of steam, Dick. Look, we're well on the way to Uberwald now, and while it's daylight and we're out of the mountains it's going to be the least risky time to run with minimum crew. We're all going to need our wits about us when we get near the pass. Surely you can take some rest?"

Simnel blinked as if he'd not seen Moist the first time, and said, "Yes, you're right."

And Moist could hear the slurring in the young man's speech, caught him before he fell and dragged him into a sleeping compartment, put him to bed, and noted that the engineer didn't so much fall asleep as somehow flow into it.

Moist then recruits Vimes to help him talk the rest of the engineers into getting some rest. The two of them briefly commiserate about people not realizing how important it is.

"I have to teach that to young coppers. Treasure a night's rest, I always say. Take a nap whenever you can."

"Very good."

II. Insomnia.

This is a lesser-known but very common symptom of narcolepsy. Or a comorbidity, depending on how you look at it. It seems counterintuitive if narcolepsy has been presented to you as "sleeping all the time," but it makes sense once you know it's really a matter of disruption in the brain's ability to regulate sleep cycles.

The case for this symptom is flimsier, and I fully admit I'm just reading my own experience into it. But here are two excerpts from Going Postal that I find quite suitable for my sleepy agenda:

1. "A man of affairs such as he had to learn to sleep in all kinds of situations, often while mobs were looking for him a wall's thickness away."

I latched hard onto this detail the first time I read GP.

At my worst, I could not get more than a couple hours of sleep in my bed. I kept taking naps in the bath because it was one of the few places I could sleep. It seemed to fulfill some of the criteria (isolation, temperature control, etc) that my brain demanded in exchange for playing nice.

We're told over and over again, throughout Moist's books, that he functions best under pressure.

(Brief aside: This is often cited as a reason to interpret Moist as having ADHD, which I'm also fully on board with. Not coincidentally, narcolepsy and ADHD share a few symptoms, have a notable comorbidity rate, and are treated with some of the same medications. Source.)

So again, if you're already inclined to read Moist as narcoleptic, the following is an easy jump:

"Moist thinks he's good at sleeping in strange places under strange circumstances. This is because A) his basis for comparison is a disordered attempt to sleep in normal places under normal circumstances, B) something about danger satisfies his brain into running more smoothly, and C) he's a resourceful person who is 'not given to introspection,' and so is less likely to wonder why his body demands sleep at strange times and more likely to focus on finding a place for that sleep to happen, and chalk this up later as a skill."

And returning briefly to EDS: Why would someone like Moist waste time finding a safe place to sleep while people are actively trying to kill him? At the beginning of GP, he leaves Vetinari's office and immediately goes on the run. In multiple books, when he feels threatened, his brain instinctively launches into complex escape plans. We see him successfully blend into an Ankh-Morpork crowd at least once after becoming a public figure.

So why bother? After all, a safe place to sleep is also a safe place to change clothes, or at least remove whatever distinguishing features he's given himself. Why wouldn't he just become someone else and leave town immediately?

The obvious answer is that sometimes things just happen, and an author doesn't need to know or explain every single detail of a character's past.

I would suggest, though, that one of those things might be Moist reaching a point where sleep is just not optional. A point where he not only doesn't, but can't, care about anything else. Where he is too tired to think straight, too tired to talk his way out of trouble, too tired to even contemplate the long journey from one town to the next.

2. "Moist knew he ought to get some sleep, but he had to be there, too, alive and sparkling."

Sometimes (especially in combination with underlying mental health issues) narcoleptic sleep deprivation can bypass everything I've described so far, and lead straight into a manic state. You won't necessarily find that on Google, but it's been my experience.

That's obviously not what the text is implying. "Alive and sparkling" is just a very relatable description. And we do often see Moist getting away from himself, speaking without thinking, making absurd promises that he justifies immediately afterwards as Just Part Of Being Him, always raising the stakes.

And here are a couple of excerpts from Raising Steam that could be interpreted as Moist being a light sleeper, AKA struggling to get deep sleep:

1. "And slowly Moist shut down, although a part of him was always listening to the rhythm of the rails, listening in his sleep, like a sailor listening to the sounds of the sea."

2. "All Moist's life he'd managed to find a way of sleeping in just about every circumstance and, besides, the guard's van was somehow the hub of the train; and although he didn't know how he did it, he always managed to sleep with half of one ear open."

Moist is exactly the kind of opportunist to see that as a useful tool, isn't he?

III. Hypnagogic and Hypnopompic Hallucinations.

These are hallucinations that come on as you're falling asleep or waking up. They can also happen during REM intrusions while you're awake. My most memorable ones include piano notes, someone calling my name, being trapped in the waves of a large body of water, and a huge truck going over a guard rail and tumbling down a hill. These are often, but not always, accompanied by sleep paralysis (and sleep paralysis is often, but not always, accompanied by hallucinations).

In GP, Moist casually cites his own hallucinations as proof that what is happening at the post office is not one.

"They're all alive! And angry! They talk! It was not a hallucination! I've had hallucinations and they don't hurt!"

Obviously that's not true for everyone, but it's true for Moist, and he has enough experience that he immediately recognizes the difference.

At one point while awake, Moist "[snaps] out of a dream of chandeliers" to realize someone has approached him to talk, while he was busy having visions of what the post office used to look like/could look like again.

Now, that's cheating, because we're probably supposed to assume it's a side effect of being possessed, but... I'm putting it here anyway.

There is also perhaps a case to be made for the tendency of Moist's internal monologue to lapse into extremely specific and prolonged hypotheticals. The lines between hallucinations, waking dreams, and "regular" daydreams have always been very blurry to me. I'm especially curious about the example at the end of Going Postal, which goes like this:

"Look, I know what I'm like," he said. "I'm not the person everyone thinks I am. I just wanted to prove to myself I'm not like Gilt. More than a hammer, you understand? But I'm still a fraud by trade. I thought you knew that. I can fake sincerity so well that even I can't tell. I mess with people's heads—"

"You're fooling no one but yourself," said Miss Dearheart, and reached for his hand.

Moist shook her off, and ran out of the building, out of the city, and back to his old life, or lives, always moving on, selling glass as diamond, but somehow it just didn't seem to work anymore, the flair wasn't there, the fun had dropped out of it, even the cards didn't seem to work for him, the money ran out, and one winter in some inn that was no more than a slum he turned his face to the wall—

And an angel appeared.

"What just happened?" said Miss Dearheart.

Perhaps you do get two...

"Only a passing thought," said Moist.

In-universe... what is Adora reacting to? What did just happen? The fact that these incidents are not isolated to Going Postal is a point against it being some sort of literal timeline divergence caused by The Spirit Of The Post.

So maybe Moist visibly zoned out. Maybe he had some kind of minor but noticeable cataplexy attack (more on those later) as part of a REM intrusion, brought on by the intense emotions he's currently struggling with.

IV. Vivid Dreams.

Again, at least some of this is probably supposed to be part of the possession, but I've been professionally projecting myself onto the surreal dreams of magically afflicted characters for years. Do try this at home.

1. "Moist dreamed of bottled wizards, all shouting his name. In the best tradition of awaking from a nightmare, the voices gradually became one voice, which turned out to be the voice of Mr. Pump, who was shaking him."

2. Moist is uneasy about the Smoking Gnu's plan, and then he has an extremely detailed dream about the Grand Trunk burning down.

This culminates in "Moist awoke, the Grand Trunk burning in his head," followed by a paragraph of him thinking things through and starting to form his own alternative plan, followed immediately by "Moist awoke. He was at his desk, and someone had put a pillow under his head."

So he fell asleep at his desk, woke up from a vivid nightmare, was awake just long enough for a coherent train of thought, and then passed back out. Which once again is not "proof" of anything, but fits the predetermined interpretation like a glove.

V. Cataplexy.

Cataplexy is a sudden loss of muscle control, usually triggered by strong emotions. This is thought to be a facet of REM intrusion—waking instances of the atonia that is meant to stop us from acting out our dreams.

The most well-known manifestation is laughter making your knees buckle, but it's not always that severe. My own attacks range from facial twitching, usually when I'm angry or otherwise extremely upset, to all-over weakness/immobilization and near-collapse when I laugh. My knees have fully buckled once or twice.

This is the biggest stretch. This is the one that is absolutely only there if you've already decided to read entire novels between the lines. It's also not even necessary for the broader headcanon; plenty of people have narcolepsy without cataplexy (or such mild cataplexy that it's never noticeable, or very delayed onset, etc).

However. I am doing this for fun. So I want him to have it. It's also become a major part of how I imagine Moist engaging with emotion, and I'd like to make a case for that.

There are a few scattered references to Moist's legs shaking, or being unsteady, or outright giving way, but there's usually an external physical reason, and/or enough psychological shock to justify it without a medical condition.

The most compelling example I've found so far comes from Moist and Adora's conversation about people expecting Moist to deliver letters to the gods.

"I never promised to—"

"You promised to when you sold them the stamps!"

Moist almost fell off his chair. She'd wielded the sentence like a fist.

"And it'll give them hope," she added, rather more quietly.

"False hope," said Moist, struggling upright.

"Almost fell off his chair" at first sounds like casual hyperbole, but then "struggling upright" implies it was a bit more literal. It's also an accurate description of me recovering from my more severe attacks, supporting myself on a wall or my spouse, or pushing myself up if I've fallen over in bed.

That happens to me multiple times per day, by the way. It doesn't bother me, and I didn't realize there was anything unusual about it for a long time. I barely think about it, except to fondly note that my spouse is good at making me laugh.

Which is to say, even severe cataplexy is not always noticeable or debilitating. Sometimes it absolutely is! It can be downright dangerous, depending on where you are, what you're doing, and whether you have any other conditions it might exacerbate. I don't want to undermine that.

I am just hell-bent on justifying the idea that this fictional character could have repeated attacks throughout the canonical narrative that are so routine they don't merit an explanation, or even a description. Especially for someone who is used to hiding his few distinguishing features behind false ones that are much more memorable. (See also.)

(That link goes to my own fanfic. Sorry.)

On the milder side, between Going Postal and Making Money, there are three instances of Moist's mouth "dropping open" when he's shocked, upset, confused, or some combination of the three. This is the kind of thing that shows up a lot in fiction, but rarely happens so literally in real life.

(There's technically a fourth instance, but I'm not counting it because it seems to be a deliberate choice on his part to convey surprise.)

And then there's laughter. Or rather, there isn't. I could be missing something, but I've searched all three books for instances of laughter and various synonyms (not counting spoken "Ha!"s), and what I've come up with is:

Moist laughs once in Going Postal, when he receives the assignment for the race to Genua.

Two packages were handed over. Moist undid his, and burst out laughing.

There's also an instance earlier in the book where Moist nearly "burst[s] out laughing."

I find the specifics here interesting, and, for our purposes, fortuitous. Cataplexy is complicated and presents differently for everyone. In my case, when laughter triggers an attack, one of the effects (which is sometimes also a cause) is that I laugh very hard, with little or no control. "Burst out laughing" is quite apt.

Let's move on to Making Money, and start with a quick tangent:

Mr. Bent explains that he has no sense of humor due to a medical condition, and that he isn't upset about this and doesn't understand why people feel sorry for him.

Moist immediately starts in with "Have you tried—" before getting cut off by the frustrated Bent.

Out-of-universe, "Have you tried" is such a well-known refrain to anyone with an incurable condition, I'm not at all surprised to find it in a book written by someone who had at least begun the process that would lead to a diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer's. And Pratchett has certainly never shied away from portraying ignorance in his protagonists.

In-universe, it feels a little odd. Moist's tongue runs away from him all the time, but usually in the form of making ridiculous claims or impossible promises. Moist's entire stock-in-trade is People Skills, and it feels strange for him to make this kind of mistake immediately after being told Mr. Bent is not looking for solutions.

But if one were reading with, for instance, the idea in mind that Moist himself has an incurable condition related to laughter and is enthusiastic about, but still relatively new to, the practice of drawing on his own experiences to help people... it is easy to imagine the gears in his head turning the wrong way, superimposing those experiences over the tail end of Mr. Bent's explanation. Disabled people are not immune to these well-meaning pitfalls.

There is another Mr. Bent moment that I want to discuss, but we'll circle back around to it later.

I found two instances of Moist himself laughing in MM.

1. "He said it with a laugh, to lighten the mood a little."

This is deliberate laughter, employed as a social tactic. A polite chuckle, probably. Not the sort of thing that generally triggers cataplexy.

2. "Moist started to laugh, and stopped at the sight of her grave expression."

The first and only involuntary laugh in MM. It doesn't always trigger attacks...

Which brings us to Raising Steam. Compared to the first two books, Moist laughs a lot here. I count nine instances. Two of them are "burst out laughing"s, a couple include him as part of a group, some of it comes off as deliberate, and some of it doesn't.

I've always seen a lot of... rage in Raising Steam. Combing through it for laughter, I realized Moist's emotions in general are much closer to the surface here, and he's much less concerned about letting people see them. He laughs with friends and acquaintances, he cries in front of strangers, he shouts at Harry King, he has that entire conversation with Dick that boils down to "I'm very worried about you," etc.

Opinions vary wildly and sharply on Raising Steam. I have my own hangups with it, as I do with most books in the series. (Every time I make a new Discworld post, Tumblr passive-aggressively suggests the tag "my kingdom for a discworld character who is normal about women and other species.")

But I like this particular change in Moist, and I choose to see it as character development. He's trading in the professional detachment of a conman for the ability to grow into himself as a person and make meaningful connections.

So, what does that have to do with cataplexy? A lot.

I don't want to get too maudlin, so I'll just say I have plenty of personal experience with emotional repression masking cataplexy symptoms. And so, I believe, does the version of Moist we've put together over the course of this post.

Which brings us back to Making Money, and Mr. Bent. He says something about Moist that I find very interesting: "I do not trust those who laugh too easily."

Unless I've missed something, at that point in the book, Moist has never actually laughed in front of him. And Mr. Bent is a man who pays very close attention to details.

So, what is the in-universe explanation for this? I'd like to propose that Moist is very skilled at seeming to laugh, without actually laughing. He smiles, he's friendly, and he makes other people laugh, which is another thing Bent dislikes about him. He gives the impression of being someone who laughs a lot. (He certainly left that impression on me; I was very surprised by the lack of examples in the first two books.)

Even staying strictly within the bounds of canon, it's easy to imagine why this might have become part of Moist's camouflage in his previous life. He wasn't looking to get attached to anyone, and he didn't want anyone getting inside his head. Engaging with people genuinely enough to laugh at their jokes would run counter to both of those things, but some of his personas still needed to come off as friendly and sociable.

Still working within the canon, it makes sense to assume he's similarly distanced himself from emotion in general. He sits in a cell for several weeks without truly believing he's going to die. He's bewildered when Mr. Pump points out that his schemes have hurt innocent people. He has no idea what to do with his feelings for Adora. Etc.

Interpreting Moist as having cataplexy adds an extra element of danger. Moist thrives on danger, but there's a difference between the thrill of a con and the threat of sudden, uncontrollable displays of vulnerability. And so it becomes even easier to see him stifling his own emotional capacity.*

We meet Moist at a moment of great upheaval. He is forcibly removed from his cocoon of false identities, and pushed out into the world as himself. And we are shown and told throughout Going Postal that he does not know how to be himself. (See also.)

He is repeatedly stymied by his own emotions. He gets tongue-tied and confused around Adora, he snaps at Mr. Pump, he lashes out at Mr. Groat, he gets lost in school flashbacks when he meets Miss Maccalariat. This thread continues in Making Money, where the sudden reappearance of Cribbins immediately rattles him into making an uncharacteristic mistake.

I called him Cribbins! Just then! I called him Cribbins! Did he tell me his name? Did he notice? He must have noticed!

Later in the same book, Moist misses a crucial opportunity to run damage control on the bank's public image... because he's excited to see Adora.

The Moist of GP and MM is not used to feeling things so deeply. It throws him off his game. I'm not at all suggesting cataplexy is the only (or even primary) reason for that, but I do think there's room for it on both sides of the cause and effect equation.

With or without the cataplexy, I find Moist's relative emotional openness in Raising Steam... really nice. (It's a work in progress. He's still getting a handle on anger.)

Cataplexy just adds another dimension. A physical manifestation of emotional vulnerability, which would have been especially untenable for a teenager on the run. Just one more facet of the real, human, fallible Moist von Lipwig who spent years buried beneath Albert Spangler and all the rest.

Another piece of himself that Moist is growing to understand and accept, as he learns to more comfortably be himself.

The Moist of Going Postal runs into a burning building to save lives without fully understanding why he wants to, and justifies it on the fly as an essential part of the role he's trying to play.

The Moist of Raising Steam mindlessly throws himself under a train to save two children, and then blows up at Harry King about the lack of safety regulations. Freshly traumatized by the murder of several railway workers and his own violent, vengeful response to it, he still offers, in the face of Harry's own grief, to be the one to inform their families. On a long and dangerous journey with plenty of moving parts to think about, he worries about Dick Simnel and the other engineers, and pushes them to take better care of themselves.

He also meets a bunch of kids who nearly derailed a train as part of a childish scheme. His admonishment is startlingly vivid.

"Can you imagine a railway accident? The screaming of the rails and the people inside and the explosion that scythes the countryside around when the boiler bursts? And you, little girl, and your little friends, would have done all that. Killed a trainload of people."

[...]

"I'll square this with the engine driver, but if I was you I'd get my pencil and turn any clever ideas you have like this into a book or two. Those penny dreadfuls are all the rage in the railway bookshops."

Maybe what he is also saying, between the lines, is:

I left home at 14 and began a life of smoke and mirrors. I was empty inside, and I thought everyone else was, too. It was all fun and games, and then a man made of clay told me I was killing people. Nip it in the bud, child. Write books.

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

*There are studies suggesting that in addition to deliberately employed "tricks," people with cataplexy may experience physiological reactions in the brain meant to inhibit laughter. (Source 1, Source 2.)

Most of the information here is way over my head, but that second link also says "one region of the brain called the zona incerta (meaning 'zone of uncertainty') was only activated during laughter in people with narcolepsy, not in controls. Research on the zona incerta in animals suggests that it also helps to control fear-associated behavior."

The linked article about that (https://www.nature.com/articles/s41467-018-03581-6) is also over my head, but I would certainly describe Moist von Lipwig as having unusual fear responses.**

**Narcolepsy is a fun roller-coaster ride of constant scientific discoveries about exactly which parts of your brain are paying too much attention, not paying enough attention, or trying to eat each other.

#moist von lipwig #narcolepsy #discworld #disabled headcanons #oh my god this got so out of hand #earned itself a title AND a subtitle #mr. cybulskis i'm sorry i fell asleep in your class every day it was at the exact wrong time and temperature and lighting

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asexual-abomination · 4 years ago

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Plat!Yan!Chrollo x Autistic!Reader x Plat!Yan!PT - Soulmate AU Part 1

This is largely self indulgent writing, as I know that very little of this niche exists, if any. The reader here is largely based on myself and my own thoughts of the world, but I hope others enjoy my writing. I have no formal education in writing, so if you have any advice for my writing style, please feel free to send it in.

This idea was largely inspired by the lovely @kiame-sama, who wrote this concept with a romantically yandere Chrollo, though I am aro-ace and changed it just slightly for my own writing. I hope to continue this series with more parts, but they may not all follow the same story thread.

This part just includes the body swap.

-----

You were never going to make the best impression on your soulmate. Or at least, you could never make the best impression on their friends, and that was what mattered largely to you. Talking to people would never be your strong suit, but at least on your end you had many months and other friends to keep your soulmate entertained. Waking up in a stranger's body, talking to other strangers about all details of their life? Horrible.

It should have been a comfort that there was a small yellow flower tattooed just below the date on your back, indicative of a platonic soulmate, but the idea that you would likely be expected to spend time not just with your soulmate, but with their friends as well threw you off so incredibly. Your soulmate would surely need the patience of a saint to deal with you, at least according to most people you speak with about your soulmate.

Your preparations for the switch were over now, all things embarrassing put away for now, some good food prepped, and a letter you had written taped to the inside of your bedroom door. For now, you were going over the final rules for your friends who were under strict instructions of exactly what they could and could not speak about with your soulmate. Even though they chuckled under their breath about your extreme caution, at this point you had to trust that they would follow what you said, since your switch was just minutes away.

Your closest friend, Jo, assured you that they would keep the rest in line. Knowing their authoritative personality and intimidating aura, you were much more reassured that things would go well. Even as you got up to leave, they were giving everyone their famous evil eye to keep them quiet.

Heading into the bedroom, you laid down, only to realize that your breathing was coming short and there seemed to be not enough air getting in your lungs. Were you seriously having a panic attack just before your switch? You tried to calm yourself with the breathing exercises you had been taught, but there was little you could do, which only made your panic grow faster.

You had only seconds to spare, and the reality of the situation hit you with the force of a freight train. Keeping your eyes open, you took one deep breath to hope you wouldn't ruin everything on the spot.

Everything changed in an instant, the position of your body, the tension of your muscles, the temperature and smell of the room. And the last thing to hit you, the fact that your soulmate decided to switch while driving on a highway.

Internally, you felt a massive surge of panic, outweighing the mild anxiety you had been feeling by a landslide. Until you realized that the body you were in appeared to be functioning on its own.

It was common knowledge that during the switch, there was no change to the body's ability to understand and speak languages, though you wondered if you were among the first to find the same thing applied to driving skills.

Slowly, you brought your breathing back to a calm, knowing that a meltdown right now could spell things much worse than humiliation. Once you felt ready enough that you wouldn't cry the second anything moved a moment to fast, you looked up to the rearview mirror to take in the inhabitants of the car.

Seeing the body you were in -- your soulmate -- was jarring, but he didn't appear immediately scary in the mirror. He had slicked black hair, wide eyes the color of granite, and wore a black trench coat with white fur that was open to show his bare chest underneath. But your attention was quickly drawn from his reflection to the fact that there were others accompanying you in this car.

Sat next to you in the passenger's seat was a woman with bright pink hair and a stony face, staring straight ahead at the road, who didn't appear to have noticed that there was any difference in her driver's behavior. Taking up the back seats were three men, one blond with a babyish smile, another blonde much taller than the first with a toughened look about himself, and a man with long black hair tied back looking grumpily out of his side window. All of them gave off intimidating vibes, almost putting you off of speaking at all.

After a few moments of quiet driving, it became apparent to you that these people weren't going to notice you until you spoke up. You were grateful for the time to prepare your first words, but with the menacing energy all these people gave off, you had to put your minimal understanding of conversation to its maximum.

"Ah... This wasn't quite what I was expecting..." Not the best opening line, but at least you had begun to announce your presence.

It was the pink-haired woman next to you who first responded with a questioning hum.

"I'm not sure who this is, but whoever they are, I'm their soulmate." That seemed to incite a reaction from the entire car.

"Soulmate!?" The black haired man jumped from his position, his grumpy mood dissipated and replaced with confusion mixed with excitement. The two other men were looking between themselves, while the woman's face somehow got even tougher, glaring towards you with something that you assumed was suspicion.

"Hah... I'm about as surprised as you are!" You tried to add some joy to your tone, hoping that matching their excitement would somehow dispel the situation faster. However, they continued to glare at you, and you began to wish that you could sink away into the seat, though there was very little that would help with at this point.

It's almost deathly quiet in the car for just a few moments, before all hell breaks loose. The others in the car were yelling questions at you, and yelling in general at each other.

"Would you lot calm down!?" The woman seemed to be your ally here, "If you keep this act up, we're gonna scare his soulmate off before the switch is even over!"

"Why wouldn't the boss have told us about his switch? This isn't like him in the slightest!" The black-haired man was clearly upset, though you weren't sure if he was angry at 'the boss' or at you.

The woman hushed him by saying that 'the boss' likely meant this as a test, which only served to confuse your perception of these people further. After a few moments of whispering between themselves, they finally turned back to you.

"So, who are you?" The rougher looking blond asked, not exactly setting a good tone.

It took you a few moments to even notice that he had even spoken to you, as the realization that your soulmate made seemingly no preparations for your switch hit you hard. Even though the day he would switch with you was embedded on his body, he had let you wake up in some random moment of his life, while you had spent months working around this day to get the best outcome possible.

"My name is (Y/N)," you introduced yourself carefully, not quite sure if you wanted to give your full name away to these people, "And who might you be?"

The four looked between themselves, completely ignoring your question. "No-one we know by that name."

They went further into their suspicious act, but were kind enough to also give their own first names before continuing their own interrogation. It was the baby-faced boy in the backseat, Shalnark, who asked the majority of the questions, he seemed to be very pushy and tricked you into giving answers multiple times.

The conversation was very one-sided, as you tried every trick you had ever been taught for keeping interactions equal, only to eventually realize that all four of them were working against you, using tactics for talking that you had never thought of before.

You were quick to become frustrated with their incessant questions. There were no spaces for the others to talk, leaving you feel like bug under a microscope as they stared at you. Eventually, it seemed that they were happy with the information they had gotten from you, which was a lot, including the full name you hadn't wanted to give them earlier, your home nation and your line of work.

Whoever these people were, they were good at interrogation, Shalnark especially good at tricking you with simple questions that he insinuated much greater answers from, which worried you for what these people could do for a living. If your soulmate was their boss, could he be even better at this type of talk? You didn't think you could handle conversations with a man that potentially intelligent.

Now that they were being less interrogating, you tried to take the opportunity to add your own questions, but you could only glean a few things from the way they answered. For one thing, the highway that you were currently on was on the same continent that you lived on, but a few countries over. For another, there were many more members of this group that worked for your soulmate.

Asking questions about your soulmate got a strange reaction each time, all of the passengers of the car taking a moment to look between themselves before giving you vague answers. His name was Chrollo, and as their boss, they didn't feel it was right to tell you too much about him, or so they said. You found that he was well-read, though they still refused to tell you much about precisely what he read.

It felt useless to try and pursue the conversation further, as you were nowhere near their level of smarts in conversation. To try and alleviate some of the tension you were feeling, you attempted to bring up lighter topics, asking them for funny stories, which they somewhat complied with. Although their style of telling stories seemed odd to you, as they left out a lot of details without prompting, but you were at least happy that the focus was off of you.

They told you stories of traveling around the world, and how they saw some of the worlds most gorgeous sights and expensive luxuries nearly everyday. You had to assume that they were embellishing most of it, but they made their lives sound rather fun, and you wondered if your own friends were giving Chrollo anywhere near as good an impression back home.

It had to have been at least an hour before another fear hit you, one that plagued you nearly everyday. From your perspective, everything was going well, they were laughing and telling stories not just to you but with each other, which indicated that they were happy with how how you acted. However, the fear that plagued you from inside told you that they weren't happy, that you had done something wrong and now they were laughing at you. Looking back on every word you had spoken, you felt almost physically sick, seeing every flaw in your word choice and tone in hindsight.

The passengers were looking and laughing between themselves and talking, so they didn't notice right away that there were tears gathering in your eyes, for which you were grateful. Just as suddenly as you were sat there, surrounded by happy voices with tears in your eyes, you were back home, sat amongst your own friends, who laughed perhaps even louder.

Once you came to and realized that you were no longer driving, and in fact were sitting on your own couch with your own friends, the tears really started to run. The letter that you had spent so much time carefully writing was clutched hard in your hand, but not so much that it would crumple or bend.

You quickly stood while mumbling an excuse, rushing to your room as your friends called after you. It felt odd to be back in your own body, the smells and sounds of everything hitting you horribly clearly. There was very little you could do to keep yourself from getting overwhelmed.

Your friends had already been prepared for what to do if you were overwhelmed coming back from your switch, but that didn't stop their concern for the way you were acting.

"Hey, (Y/N)? You okay in there?" Jo's voice came through the door, and you were grateful that your closest friend was here for you. "The others are all gonna start heading home now, but I'm gonna stick around. I don't want you to feel alone at the moment."

With a quick confirmation from you from behind the door, Jo headed to get some rest in the living room. Practically falling into your bed, you pulled the weighted blanket you had gotten as a gift over yourself, staring up at the ceiling as all of the feelings of excitement and fear finally crashed down on you.

-----

Thanks for reading!

#hunter x hunter #hxh #chrollo #yandere #yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere chrollo #phantom troupe #machi komachine #phinks magcub #shalnark ryusei #nobunaga hazama #self insert #self ship #soulmate au #body swap #autistic reader #gender neutral y/n

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jvwhyte · 3 years ago

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SJM's pinterest board. ACOTAR 6/7.

(No conclusion just suspicious stuff lmao)

Here's a photo i found on SJM's ACOTAR pinterest board:

THE MOIRAI (Moirae) were the three goddesses of fate who personified the inescapable destiny of man (and women). The role of the Moirai was to ensure that every being, mortal and divine, lived out their destiny as it was assigned to them by the laws of the universe.

In nearly all mythologies the three Fates, rulers of the past, present and future, are represented and many believe they symbolize the Triple Goddess, Virgin, Mother and Crone (Creator, Preserver and Destroyer).

In Greek mythology, the Moirai—often known in English as the Fates—were the white-robed incarnations of destiny.

“There were at least three dozen priestesses who worked and researched and healed here, though it was nearly impossible to count them when they all wore the same pale robes and so many kept the hoods over their faces.”

Clotho (/ˈkloʊθoʊ/, Greek Κλωθώ, [klɔːtʰɔ̌ː], "spinner") spun the thread of life from her distaff onto her spindle.

(Clotho: the mute priestess at the library)

Lachesis (/ˈlækɪsɪs/, Greek Λάχεσις, [lákʰesis], "allotter" or drawer of lots) measured the thread of life allotted to each person with her measuring rod.

Atropos (/ˈætrəpɒs/, Greek Ἄτροπος, [átropos], "inexorable" or "inevitable", literally "unturning",[13] sometimes called Aisa) was the cutter of the thread of life. She chose the manner of each person's death; and when their time was come, she cut their life-thread with "her abhorred shears". The figure who came to be known as Atropos had her origins in the pre-Greek Mycenaean religion as a daemon or spirit called Aisa. Another important Mycenaean philosophy stressed the subjugation of all events or actions to destiny and the acceptance of the inevitability of the natural order of things; today this is known as fatalism.

The Morrígan or Mórrígan, also known as Morrígu, is a figure from Irish mythology. The name is Mór-Ríoghain in Modern Irish, and it has been translated as "great queen" or "phantom queen".

The Morrígan is mainly associated with war and fate, especially with foretelling doom, death or victory in battle. In this role she often appears as a crow, the badb.[1] She incites warriors to battle and can help bring about victory over their enemies. The Morrígan encourages warriors to do brave deeds, strikes fear into their enemies, and is portrayed washing the bloodstained clothes of those fated to die.[2][3] She is most frequently seen as a goddess of battle and war and has also been seen as a manifestation of the earth- and sovereignty-goddess,[4][5] chiefly representing the goddess's role as guardian of the territory and its people.[6][7]

Mor may derive from an Indo-European root connoting terror, monstrousness cognate with the Old English maere (which survives in the modern English word "nightmare") and the Scandinavian mara and the Old East Slavic "mara" ("nightmare");[14] while rígan translates as "queen".[15][16] This etymological sequence can be reconstructed in the Proto-Celtic language as *Moro-rīganī-s.[17][18] Accordingly, Morrígan is often translated as "Phantom Queen".[16] This is the derivation generally favoured in current scholarship.[19]

The Morrígan is often considered a triple goddess, but this triple nature is ambiguous and inconsistent. The triple appearances are partially due to the Celtic significance of threeness.

(Three is a VERY common number in acotar (might make a whole other post on that))

Could Mor be one of the fates or even something more powerful than them, could she have a bigger part than we thought in the next story with Koschei ?

In the Republic of Plato, the three Moirai sing in unison with the music of the Seirenes. The term "siren song" refers to an appeal that is hard to resist but that, if heeded, will lead to a bad conclusion.

In Greek mythology, the Sirens (Ancient Greek: plural: Seirênes) were dangerous creatures, who lured nearby sailors with their enchanting music and singing voices to shipwreck on the rocky coast of their island. It is also said that they can even charm the winds.

i bet your thinking where tf is this looney going with this....well,

i also found this photo:

Celtic Mythology The GWRAGEDD ANNWN [wives of the underworld]were lake-sirens in Wales. These lovely creatures are known to choose mortal men as their husbands. One legend has it that they live in a sunken city in one of the many lakes in Wales. People claim to have seen towers under water and heard the chiming of bells. In earlier times, there used to be a door in a rock and those who dared enter through it came into a beautiful garden situated on an island in the middle of a lake. In this garden there were luscious fruits, beautiful flowers and the loveliest music, besides many other wonders. Those brave enough to enter were welcomed by the Gwragedd Annwn and were invited to stay as long as they wanted, on the condition that they never took anything back from the garden. One visitor ignored the rule and took a flower home with him. As soon as he left the island, the flower disappeared and he fell unconscious to the ground. From that day on, the door has been firmly closed and none has ever passed through it again.

“My grandmother was a river-nymph who seduced a High Fae male from the Autumn Court.”

Gwyn believes her grandmother to be a river-nymph. Is it possible that she was not but instead a lake siren? We know that Gwyn and Catrin's names are welsh (Lake-Sirens are found in wales) and the spring court has many ties to welsh mythology so is it really that far fetched?

In Celtic and Norse mythology, selkies (also spelled silkies, sylkies, selchies) or selkie folk (Scots: selkie fowk) meaning "seal folk"[a] are mythological beings capable of therianthropy, changing from seal to human form by shedding their skin. They are found in folktales and mythology originating from the Northern Isles of Scotland.

To further back up this, here is another photo of a Selkie woman on SJM's pinterest.

In David Thomson's book The People of the Sea, which chronicles the extensive legends surrounding the Grey Seal within the folklore of rural Scottish and Irish communities, it is the children of male selkies and human women that have webbed toes and fingers. When the webbing is cut, a rough and rigid growth takes its place.

Children born between man and seal-folk may have webbed hands, as in the case of the Shetland mermaid whose children had "a sort of web between their fingers",[25] or "Ursilla" rumoured to have children sired by a male selkie, such that the children had to have the webbing between their fingers and toes made of horny material clipped away intermittently.

“My twin had the webbed fingers of the nymphs—I don’t.”

Once again we see that Catrin posses traits of these water-creatures.

Keep in mind SJM has this on her board - The cover of Celtic folktales which has one story in particular of a 'sea-maiden' whom makes a deal with a mortal man.

I proceeded to continue searching through the board and found this:

Sathariel (Hebrew סתריאל, Greek: Σαθ��ήλ) is one of the Qliphoth, corresponding to the Sephirah Binah on the kabbalistic Tree of life. It represents the Concealment of God, which hides the face of Mercy. The form of the demons attached to this Qliphah are of black veiled heads with horns, with hideous eyes seen through the veil, followed by evil centaurs.

'veiled heads with horns'

The Qliphoth are the shadow of the Sephirot, the chaotic force that exists when the Sephirah is unbalanced. Binah is the Sephirah that gives birth to form, the great mother of the cosmos, the eternal womb. Through her, the spiritual energy of Keter and Chokmah are woven into the matrix that eventually becomes matter.

In Jewish Kabbalistic cosmology of Isaac Luria, the qlippot are metaphorical "shells" surrounding holiness. They are spiritual obstacles receiving their existence from God only in an external, rather than internal manner.

Quiphoth (shadow of sephriot) = Shadowsinger

"shells" surrounding holiness = The shadows protected Azriel

They emerge in the descending seder hishtalshelus (Chain of Being) through Tzimtzum (contraction of the Divine Ohr), as part of the purpose of Creation.

Sathariel had black feathers on his wings and his body was shrouded in darkness.

Honestly idk where tf im going with this 😩😩

I've put in far too much effort to delete it so i apologise if you've gotten all this way to be disappointed but

Conclusion:

Mor =/≠ Three fates

Gwyn = Heritage is sus? could be related to some interesting people

Azriel = Sathariel ?

If anyone has ideas to add pleaseeee tell me lol

i'll probably update this when i can be bothered

(FYI i love Gwyn and i'm not saying she's a siren or luring anyone but you've got to admit her grandmother is a sus lmao, especially with half the shit on SJM's pinterest.)

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