#NONE OF THIS HAPPENS FOR REAL. THIS IS ALL A CONSTRUCT OF A HUMAN PERSON'S IMAGINATION

[jessicas-pi]

look, I've decided that everything george lucas was involved in is canon star wars, and everything else is basically fanfiction that I can approve of or disregard at will.

This is going to be a very important part of my life philosophy come this August.

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

I'm still saying Afton is not the Mimic

Spoilers for the Ruin DLC under the Cut. I wanted to include this in my mega post... but I know that the fandom is flooded with "the Mimic was Afton all along" theories right now actually.

There will be a lot under the cut, explaining some personal theories and the ending of the RUIN DLC so... be warned.

The Mimic, if you read the books, (but you probably haven't so I'll explain it in a few short sentences) is a character from the Tales of the Pizzaplex Books that was built by a Faz Engineer who made a robot to mimic his son to keep him company while he worked long hours while he lived in a factory. The child died in a car accident, and the Mimic kept miming his son's behavior. So in his grief, the engineer beat him to death in rage and grief. This infused rage in the machine.

So now the Mimic mimes behavior of a four year old, but it's corrupted and twisted. It will mime the action of 'scooping icecream' but will be scooping out your brains. It also has an adaptive learning AI so the violent pain it experienced, along with a four year old teaching it, it's a very dangerous thing.

It's also buried into the foundation of the Pizzaplex. And was reprogramed by some dumb lazy tech to clear the debris down there. By disassembling the robots and putting them in a pile. Which it did to all the human construction workers by disassembling them and putting them in a pile.

"This pile" I think is the Blob. Or as the game files refer to it.... "THE TANGLE."

(hard to see but take my word for it. that's him)

(cheating camera angle)

I think "The Tangle" is a infused pile of machinery, robots, and bodies that have all wound up down there.

So, we know that the blob is real. But I really think it's "The pile" that the Mimic has been stacking in the Book Epilogues. And it got out. Gregory/Mimic or Grimmick, says that something tunneled out of the building... And I believe this is 100% true. Because in Base Security Breach, we see this thing in the underground where Afton's room is.

But in RUIN.... This thing is on the top level??? HOw Did he get up here???

Easy..

He tunneled up.

So... the reason why RUIN looks like it does, and HOW it looks how it does...

Is because The Tangle got loose. And has been using the Pizzaplex as it's own series and network of tunnels like a burrowing snake or ant. Causing the entire building to fall in on itself. The Pizzaplex is it's ecosystem now. So that's why everything is falling apart how it is. He's breaking the very foundation and walls of everything.

So we do know the Blob IS real.

And let's assume that he's "the pile" that the Mimic has been building in the Tales of the Pizzaplex Epilouges. Just... sorting all the garbage, bodies, and endos into piles that he can find and stack.

So we know the Blob is real... but is Afton Burntrap real?

Forgive me I don't have the proper collectable screenshots so I'm pulling from the Wiki:

Throughout the game, you collect these real collectable comics that include all of the endings of Security Breach. And Cassie can recognize this as Gregory's art style, and has no idea when he had the time to make these or when he made them. EXCEPT Princess Quest. Which is pretty important I think. Which I think cements that Princess Quest is the definitive three star ending.

It's also worth noting that in Vanny's Room in the RUIN DLC... there is a book of "Fazbear History" by Vanny's Bed. So if Vanessa was freed and got out... we can assume she was talking to Gregory about the Fnaf lore as she knows it.

Also, it makes sense why some of these endings are a little insane now. cause it was just Gregory trying to process everything that happened to him at the Pizzaplex.

Gregory: So, I thought you had a twin sister for the longest time and-

Vanessa: Try again...

But anyway... if None of the previous endings were real.... Is Burntrap even real?

We collect this before we face the Mimic.... of Afton and the Blob. So we know The Blob/Tangle is real.... but was Afton ever real? Was Burntrap ever real? That's what we need to answer...

But if he isn't.... Why is his charging station down here in the furnace room all clouded up? ....As if it never was opened. As if he rotted inside with no more remnant to collect???

Cause here's the thing... I can accept the soft retconning of Afton. And if he was never real to begin with, and this is just Gregory's personal interpretation based on what Vanessa told them about what she was suffering through, I will take that. Or maybe Gregory saw the Mimic and interpreted it as this... I will take that as well.

However....

From what I said earlier... The Mimic... All his motivations in the game don't line up with Afton's.

He is doing exactly what he wants to do.

The Mimic is sealed in the back with Concrete... he's using Helpi and the VANNI Network to get Cassie to let him out. He just wants to get out of the basement and get Free.

Now... if Mimic is Afton the whole time...

and there is a case for it... they have almost the same idle animations as an endo, the Mimic does have Burntrap's claws on one hand. And he does have a similar pawed foot to Burntrap's design and they're practically identical height and pose.

And the Mimic is almost one-for-one linked with Hepi and the VANNI network. And I don't doubt that Vanny the person was using the VANNI network to get around the pizzaplex and become invisible to certain animatronics.

.....But...

here's a big But...

If the Mimic's goal is to kill people with his bare hands... and to get out of the concrete sealed basement, and break all the Security Nodes so he can get free???

WHY DOES THE PIZZAPLEX HAVE SO MANY MISSING PEOPLE/CHILDREN?

Why was the Human Staff all killed in the Pizzaplex?

Why are their children missing?

Why is Vanny hunting children and adults alike to kill in the first place?

This is not the Mimic's MO.

Because Vanny WAS working under influence of Glitchtrap and not the Mimic.

Because if the Mimic just wanted to get out... He would have told Vanny/Vanessa... head of Security.... To break all the Security Nodes A WHOLE LOT SOONER. Cause she literally has a VANNI Mask/suit and access to all of that.

The Mimic has no need for remnant or child killing or human killing if they aren't doing it themselves. The Mimic has always been very hands on with their kills.

But If Burntrap Afton is REAL... HE DOES have a reason for gathering this much Remenant.

He is growing in the charging station and trying to regrow his body.

And while the Mimic moves in a similar fashion to Burntrap, I think that's because he witnessed his behavior at one point and is copying it. But he never saw Afton in his prime. So he literally can't mimic the serial killer behaviors Afton is known for. Just likely his walk and how he breathes.

Because He literally can not copy Afton as a copy-cat killer, if there is NO Afton to Copy. There is no way that he could have learned who Afton was from all the way down below into the foundation. Especially with MXES keeping it hidden down there. And by "hidden" I'm sure it's hidden from Glitchtrap to even possess or check out that low.

People have to remember. The Mimic doesn't have access to illusion disc technology from the books. he can't replicate a corpse face. He's just a learning killer AI who has access to crappy mascot costumes. He can't look one-for-one like a person, even if he can sound like one.

So, there is a possibility that Burntrap Afton DID exist... He just rotted into dust once Vanny stopped collecting remnant for him.

Or there's also the possibility he was never real to begin with.

But.... Glitchtrap certainly was at one point. And Vanny was working with Glitchtrap to kill employees and children.

Not the Mimic.

Just their motivations and modus operandi don't add up if they are one in the same.

It wouldn't make sense for the Mimic to just tell Vanny to parade around in a bunny suit, kidnapping children and killing employees.

He would be telling her to disable the Security Nodes.

There is also the possibility that Vanessa sealed the Mimic in concrete after the events of Security Breach. But even then, I really don't think that she knew about it before hand until she went down to the basement to unplug Burntrap from his charging station.

Anyways... The only way I will see "Mimic is Afton" is that if Afton was using it's body. But then, it's not the Mimic anymore, it's just another Afton-clone.

And from everything from how I've seen the behavior of the Mimic in the DLC, it is operating completely divorced from Afton with it's own motivations and morals of it's own accord.

Oh, just to be clear, I'm not mad at this soft-retcon of burntrap. It's fine. Lol I actually prefer if he didn't exist.

And even if Burntrap was never real in the first place....

Then it means that Vanny was purely an agent of Glitchtrap.

Then when the Glitchtrap Virus got destroyed.... the Mimic hijacked the VANNI network and took it's place.

[goosewriting]

I had this idea and now I'm kinda obsessed with it,, can you do Leo in a relationship with a reader who's big Mama's kid? The others have recently found out and they have their doubts on if the relationship can last (they're not unsupportive or anything, they just have doubts) the reader says to Leo the 9th and 48th pink prompts. ("Reader: they say we're not going to last")

Prove them wrong (rottmnt Leo x reader)

prompt 9: “You make me feel alive. For the first time ever, I feel like I can breathe.” prompt 48: “They say we won't last.” “Then let's prove them wrong.”

summary: the turtles find out you're Big Mama’s kid.

relationship: Rise!Leo x GN reader

warnings: none

word count: ~670

A/N: i actually kinda like this idea? has a lot of potential for going a bit deeper into the whole “is blood thicker than water?” concept. but i had to keep it short for this one, hope you like it!

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

After the whole Big Mama and Oozesquitoes fiasco, the turtle brothers made it back to the lair where you were waiting for them, and they told you about her betrayal. Out of all the possible responses, they had not expected you to confess to them that Big Mama was, in fact, your real mama.

They knew you were half yokai, half human. But you bore no real resemblance to her arachnid person. You came more like your father, looking human on the outside, but you did have more resilience, strength and agility, as well as the ability to climb walls. 

Now that your secret was revealed, the brothers, especially Donnie, were rather sceptical towards you. You were Leo’s partner, and they had liked you since day one, but their attitude towards you changed after you told them about your mother, and it saddened you. You regretted telling them who you were at that moment. But you could hide it no longer, trying to explain why it would be hard for you to engage in a fight with Big Mama.

Leo asked you if that’s why you always wore a hood when you accompanied them to the Hidden City and always declined to enter the Nexus Hotel. You confirmed his suspicions, telling him about how you had essentially escaped from home and didn’t want Big Mama to see you there.

You pulled Leo with you a couple of steps away from the rest so you could talk in private.

“I’m sorry I’ve been hiding this from all of you for so long” you whispered, cupping his face. “I just wanted to leave it all behind. I didn’t mean to betray you guys’ trust.”

He wanted to interject, but you tilted your head with a slight shake and furrowed brows. Your eyes mapped out his features, coming back up to meet his gaze, and you gave him a sad smile that made his chest tighten in pain.

“You make me feel alive, Leo. For the first time ever, I feel like I can breathe. I don’t want to lose that.”

Leo could see in your eyes that you were telling him the truth. Meeting the turtles and hanging out with them had made you feel like you finally had a place where you belonged, and you had never been so happy as you were with them. And you loved Leo, whole-heartedly. So it hurt to see the other brothers putting distance between them and you because of a relationship you had no real control over.

But you also understood that Big Mama had now become kind of an enemy to them, with her being in on the whole Oozesquito situation. And apparently she didn’t care about humans all that much either. To make it all worse, she was now on bad terms with Draxum too, which made everything so much more complicated.

You let out a shaky sigh thinking about this, wanting nothing more than to go back to how things were before: simple and happy. This whole situation was convoluted and weird and the others probably thought that at some point you may have a conflict of interests when it came to choosing sides. Sure, she was your mother, so you didn’t want anything bad to happen to her, but you couldn’t support her… business.

Leo pulled you in for a proper hug after you explained all of these fears to him, and gave your temple a kiss. He admitted that he was also scared about you having to face the situation of choosing sides, but he assured you it would all work out in the end, no matter what happened. 

You looked to the side, seeing the turtle brothers doing their own thing with their shells to you. You had heard what they said when they thought you couldn’t hear. 

“Your brothers” you pulled back to look up at Leo. “They say we won't last.”

He gave you a lopsided smile, taking your hands and giving them a reassuring squeeze.

“Then let's prove them wrong.”

~~~~~

🐥 taglist: [more info in my pinned post!] @hearteyedracoon, @koalaray, @maribatshipper, @whygz, @xnorthstar3x

[sleetkissed]

❝ Your 𝐜𝗿𝐢𝐞𝘀 , a symphony. Your fear , my 𝐦𝘂𝘀𝐞. ❞

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# 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 , an independent , selective   &   crossover friendly RP blog for Dark Urge 𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈  —   a frost sorceress  &  artist from Baldur's Gate 3 , Mun   &   Muse +21 , composed by Fungi [ she/her; they/them ]  , heavy topics, gore, potential nsfw warning  ,  personals DNI

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Follows back from @bloodyarn 

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𝐈𝐈𝐈. interest tracker. 𝐈𝐕. Wall (Guestbook)

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𝐑𝘂𝐥𝐞𝘀  &  𝐀𝐛𝐨𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐨𝗿𝐚𝗿𝐢𝐥𝘆 𝘂𝐧𝐝𝐞𝗿 𝘁𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝘂𝘁.

Past (BG3): here ♥

RULES:

[ Hey, I'm Fungi [she/her], 25 years old and living in Germany. [GMT+1] ]

❅ Mun ≠ Muse ; I think that much is clear. Any statements that come up ic are not specifically my own. ❅ No God modding ; Small liberties like change of scene and such are totally fine and do not have to be discussed. You can hurt her, shove her or whatever, just keep in mind that my muse will react accordingly. Do not assume reactions and write my muses actions. ❅ Feel free to continue asks! I will be the last one turning one down. ♥ ❅ You can always message me for plotting or headcanons if we are mutuals. ; However, I prefer if things play out naturally. We do not necesarrily have to plot out every thread till the end. I am more than happy writing and see how things develop. ❅ You can always send a starter, no need to ask! ; Again, if we are mutuals. Same goes for sending me rp prompts to my inbox, memes or whatnot. You are also free to tag me in dashgames! ❅ OC - and Tav friendly of course. Just be sure to have a little bit of information ready and visible on your blog so I can look it up before we interact. We stan OCs in this household. ❅ Post trimming. ; I use XKit Rewritten to trim my posts. It is not a MUST but I would be thankful if you have a way to trim your posts. Just to keep it nice and clean on the dash. Other than that, I use the usual small text, cursive and bold text edits. You do not have to match my writing or editing style, as soon as everything is nicely readable. ❅ I won’t write NSFW with minors. Mun or muse. Please make sure to have the age somewhere on your blog before interacting. If smut happens, it will be tagged and under 'keep reading'. ❅ Shipping: I am a huge sucker for ships. If said thing happens, keep in mind Esteri is multiship, means that every ship takes place in its own universe. I do have to see chemistry between muses tho, let it be through rp or just nerding about them. ❅ No racism, homophobia, transphobia and so on. Don’t be an ass. I can definitely tolerate ic biased opinions on that in threads, just don't bring it into the real world.

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ABOUT:

Basics:

Name: Esteri Venla Väisänen Nickname/Alias: Ester , The Dark Urge Age: 34 years Date of Birth: 5th december Gender & Pronouns: female, she/her Orientation: pansexual/romantic Race: human Nationality: baldurian Class: sorcerer [dragonic bloodline - cold ]

  Appearance:

Height: 180 cm / 5'11'' Hair: white Eyes: pale red Scars: none visible Other: several beauty marks all over her body, subtle freckles

  Personal:

Positive Traits: • honest • creative • patient • mature Negative Traits: • snobbish  • indifferent • lack of empathy • slightly narcissistic

[wildcards1407]

Travel Documents 118: Solarpunk Winters

Heya folks! Once a week (or when I can) I write book reviews of other folks' stuff. I call them the Travel Documents. Here's this week's!

by Sarena Ulibarri , Wendy Nikel , et al.

Genre:  near-future, solarpunk, social change, climate change

The Dust Cover Copy

This anthology envisions winters of the future, with stories of scientists working together to protect narwhals from an oil spill, to bring snow back to the mountains of Maine, to preserve ecosystems—even if they have to be under glass domes. They're stories of regular people rising to extraordinary circumstances to survive extreme winter weather, to fix a threat to their community's energy source, to save a living city from a deep-rooted sickness. Some take place after an environmental catastrophe, with luxury resorts and military bases and mafia strongholds transformed into sustainable communes; others rethink the way we could organize cities, using skybridges and seascrapers and constructed islands to adapt to the changes of the Anthropocene. Even when the nights are long, the future is bright in these seventeen diverse tales.

The Scene

Worldbuilding

I’ve heard it said in the last few years that what we’re setting ourselves up for isn’t ‘global warming’, as an experience. It’s ‘climate weirding’. The hots will get hotter, and there’s every chance that the colds will get colder. In this world, we’ll need our community connections to get stronger, our coping mechanisms to get clever, and our solutions to get really, really good. In these stories, that’s just what happens, in all the best possible ways.

The Crowd

Characterization

Given that this is a story collection, I won’t dive too deep here, except to say that each of these stories has in it real and wonderful people. Whether it’s the desperately eager and incredibly klutzy Halps of Halps’ Promise, the sweet and angsty Tommi in On The Contrary, Yes or the powerfully grounded and wise Meri of Oil and Ivory, all these stories are full of wonderful characters. I have a few particular favorites: the aforementioned Halps, the sensible and smart Doc Katie of Recovering the Lost Art of Cuddling, and the wonderful crew portrayed in VIAM INVENIEMUS AUT FACIEMUS, IE Stabby, Loopy And Friends Save The Day! But none of these tales falters in their portrayal of the human condition.

Writing Style

Some stories are spare and melodic. One is written as a funny first-person admission essay begging a university to accept a kid who’s either going to invent something amazing or blow himself up. Some stories are raw, and some are kind, and some are cold and crystalline as the world they’re set in.

All of them are delightful.

The Moves

Plot

None of these stories fell down on the plot either. What I particularly appreciated was the immediacy of the problems: this wasn’t saving the whole planet, this was getting through the snowstorm to save your neighbors from freezing to death and then trusting your sled dogs to get you home. This was hiking a mountain to fix a broken pipe that creates power for your community, or figuring out how to fix the transformer before the temperature crashed in the pod, or helping migrating narwhals deal with thick ice. Each of these stories was small and immediate. And read together, each story weaves into a portrayal of the small daily acts that will let us clean up our act and help the world heal from our actions.

Overall Rating

Put on the kettle the next time it snows. Make something hot. Make some toast. Grab your favorite blanket. Get comfy. Then open up this powerful book, and dive into a world of cold hands, warm hearts, and bright hopes. You’ll be glad you did.

[cafecourage]

The Tree of Legacy - Chapter 2

Previous chapter - Next Chapter

There are many stories passed through the generations of Hyrule, of heroes and of gods. The first ever dated legend happened many era’s after the Calamity in the time of myth. While historians do debate on the legitimacy of these stories, none can argue with the story of the Creation of Hyrule. When humans return to the surface.

As Hyrule grew, information became muddled together. One could wish that a better system would have been implemented to keep things organized. At last, that’s not the world that Link lives in annoyingly so.

Hands lowered down as green eyes scanned the classroom. Students hurried away writing what notes their professor just wrote on the board and signed to them. It was a class of fifteen in a small cozy room, bookshelves lined the cobblestone walls, the biggest light source was in the front of the room behind the teacher’s desk, the light from this giant window filtered through. Link leaned over to look at some notes he wrote for this class. His shadow made it easier to read against the dark oak table.

It was the homeroom for his class. Link’s class topic was simply ‘the Heroes of Hyrule.’ It was a topic that most youths training to be knights love to talk about. ‘Though talking isn’t the same as learning about them.’ Link thought to himself with an exasperated sigh as he closed a leather-bound notebook, hoping that this class's lecture came across well enough. Even with the knowledge given to the people of Hyrule, information has been lost and what was kept are stories about nameless knights saving nameless princesses. In the common person's head these debatably real individuals were only wife’s tales that didn’t need to be complex. Stories to scare children into behaving or to give them hope in the world.

Noticing a figure in the corner of his eyes, Link could only hold back a sigh as he turned back towards his class. ‘It’s the scarred one again’ they all have scars to an extent, but this spirit’s scar was the first thing he always noticed about him. It was unlike the Champions where it’s the entire right side of his body, this one was different.

This man appears differently each time he shows up in the corner of Link’s vision. When Link first met him when he was ten and the hero was of the same age. Then when growing up he has seen him as a young adult and now as a fully grown man around his 50’s. No matter what the age was he always had a scar on his right eye that kept it permanently closed.

“Professor!” Link’s train of thought paused as a young Lurelian girl had her hand raised. “I have a question about the final paper.” Aryll Lynde, she was someone that Link grew up with as he went to class with one of her brothers. Link gestures for her to continue. “Can we add on to our last year's paper?”

‘As I wrote on the board,’ He walks to the chalkboard with their class assignment. A lot of teachers would argue that his teaching wasn’t the best. There are no tests and no true homework. However at the end of the class the students are to construct an essay about a portion of Hyrule’s vast history with research to back up their statement. He only asks for them to hand in something for periodic check-ins. ‘Hero’s aren’t the only thing in Hyrule’s history. Instead of limiting you to one topic, if something in this class or classes in the past year catches your eye then go for it. So yes Aryll you can research the minish forest and the inhabitants.’ He signs smiling.

A knock rang out. He looks up to see a familiar looking blonde woman in a blue turtleneck and a lab coat. Zelda. A fellow teacher of the academy and the Princess of Hyrule. She had her arms crossed as she leaned on the arch, gesturing her head towards the grandfather clock.

It read Eleven o’clock.

Link stiffens, pales and shoots an apologetic look to Zelda. She shakes her head laughing softly pushing off of the arch. Clapping gets the students attention. “Alright everyone. Your professor has torture you enough about curses and hero’s tales.” She finally arrives at the front of the class, stopping and turning around. “It’s time for class to be over.” Link quickly flipped through his notebook and nudged Zelda showing her the homework the students had to do. “And be sure to have your final paper topic’s in for the check up next week!” She yells after the students who were packing up, giggling and whispering at their professor’s flustered expression.

After the last students, Oha and Buiell, thanked him for the class and hurried out. Link braced for impact. ‘I’m sorry’ he signed.

Zelda gave out another airy laugh, “I figured much. So, I came to help those poor souls.” She holds out her hand. “Come on. We have to catch this train if we want to have enough time at the temple. Do you have your stuff ready?”

Link rolled his eyes and took her hand after throwing his bag over his shoulder.

The streets of Hyrule’s Castle Town was as busy as ever. The pair held hands while weaving through crowds, Zelda was on a small rectangular slate that was a family heirloom from the Hero of Wild. From what she told him it was called the Sheikah Slate adding her two cents right after on how it wasn’t the best name for it. Either way it played a vital role in the last Hero’s adventure, and since it still works all the same Zelda is now using it to document and compare the ancient tech to the new. The small device also contained a lot of documentation from the Hero of the Wilds Era. Which caused this interest into the Forgotten Temple in the first place.

The dream is still in the back of his mind though and going to the Forgotten Temple made his stomach drop. It’s not like he didn’t want to go. He would have loved to do some personal research on the heroes without the feeling of existential dread.

“-Ether way, I just want to make sure everything is ok.” Ah. He zoned out on Zelda’s briefing. She looks over her shoulder. “Are you feeling good?” Link nods, lying about the bubbling anxiety he was feeling. “It will be quick, then we can come back for the start of the Festival of Farore.”

‘That’s today?’ He totally forgot. ‘I thought Claus was just coming home.’

“He is. But it’s also the Festival.” She turned back to her slate. “Which is also why Vita and Iris couldn’t come with us.” He just hums in acknowledgment. They fall into a comfortable silence as Zelda subconsciously swings their locked hands together gently. Occasionally the Princess would show him some old pictures from the past. Annotating with musings on how things changed in 500 years. Which was true, it was interesting and is why the Forgotten Temple would be nice to examine.

The Forgotten Temple.

As the name implies was an abandoned ruin that the people of Hyrule could only assume was a temple at one point. Due to its architecture and how it housed the oldest Goddess Statue in all of Hyrule. A lot of the scholars of Hyrule couldn’t date it and theorized that the ruins were here after Hylian’s settled down in the area. There wasn’t much to it after the Hero of Wilds got rid of the remaining guardians for the last time.

Even then there wasn’t much here to begin with. The Goddess statue wasn’t anything special. There were journals talking about the shrine that lay under the ground after the calamity was defeated but that would be almost impossible to dig up without ruining the structure.

However, that was not what Zelda wanted to come here for. Shockingly. Link really thought it was with how obsessed his friend was with ancient tech. If he was honest, he still had no clue on why they were there in the first place. The Doctor said that something was bothering her for a while now about this place and that was it. He was brought along because of his knowledge of the history of Hyrule’s past.

A green haze started to form in his vision, subconsciously Link rubs his eyes. “I guess I was wrong.” Zelda lowered the old slate in her hands.

‘Was there something here in the first place?’ Link looks around at the limestone structures. ‘The whole place looks like it’s been flipped upside down.’ An offhand comment since the ceiling really did look like the flooring to the place and vice versa.

A lightbulb almost physically lit up in her head and she looked up, then to the flooring. “Goddess your right.” Now with new found inspirations he watched as she bounced around the room to taking pictures. He rolls his eyes and looks up observing the walls. There was truly nothing here.

A blue glow from above caught his eye as he faced the back wall of the temple. There was a hole in the wall it was coming from. There was scaffolding leading up from a previous venture inside and was left so others could get through. He turns and whistles for Zelda’s attention. She faces him confused at first but seeing what he was pointing at her eyes widens. “Just as I thought.” She bolted towards him. “Come on.”

‘Just as you thought?’ He signed quickly catching up to her.

“I had this feeling something weird was happening here.” She admitted as they climbed up the wooden structure. “It’s not dangerous obviously. However, I knew I couldn’t ignore it.”

They walked to the edge of the crack facing the other side of the temple. The blue glow was in the last room where the goddess statue stood tall. Green haze came back into Link's vision making him shut it. Anxiety bubbled up. He didn’t want to see anymore. No more spirits. No more memories that weren’t his. No more dissociative episodes. He took a deep breath when he opened his eyes again. Ignoring the questioning gaze of Zelda and continued forward.

The hollow corpses of guardians always put him on edge but seeing them in this second room was unnerving. There was so much damage to the temple and it was clear that most of it was from the automated tanks. It was a shame really.

“Hey Link?” Zelda stopped before the goddess statue room where the blue glow was. He turned to her concern writing on his face. “I…” She desperately tried to look for the right words to say. But instead, just shook her head. “Let’s hope that we find something interesting.” Link stared blankly at her as she walked past. There was no doubt in his mind that she wanted to say something different at that moment, but confronting her about it wasn’t something he wanted to do.

So, he just followed her in.

The statue room was the smallest room in the temple. There was an indentation in the ground where the shrine used to be and was subsequently covered up due to the 500 years that have passed since then. But in its spot were 3 dark blue rectangular crystals. It wasn’t a luminous stone or sapphire, but something that Link had never seen before. There were markings that reminded him of the markings on the few shrines he saw in pictures. The light blue glow disappears when they get closer.

“Do you recognize this?” He shook his head. “Same.” Zelda bent down as Link hovered around her, not sure how to help. Looking around there was much to the surrounding area that was new. Until he stopped to look at the base of the goddess statue to see a small golden harp resting at the base. However, when he turns to let Zelda know, she was in the process of tapping the gem with her knuckle.

One hit made the room explode in light and color as a blue bubble formed around them. Everything that was in the case inside the orb had time turned on it. What once was a yellow stone walkway turned into a marbled garden path up to the statue. The ceiling became open and sunlight shined through. Everything outside was what it was in their present. “A time-shift stone…” Zelda whispers as a soft harp melody slowly fills the room. They both stared up here and turned to the base of the goddess statue.

There was a sandy blonde-haired man standing at the base holding the harp. He couldn’t be older than 45, wearing a cream knit sweater, brown pants and a soft white cape with an old version of the Hylian crest embroidered in. He pauses and turns around.

“It’s nice to see you again Professor” the older man wore a gentle smile towards Link. Gears started to turn in his head.

“Who…how...” Zelda was as speechless as Link.

“My Queen had a vision that we would meet again, Hero of Legacy.”

There was a pause as the two started to process the information. Link and Zelda shared a glance as the same thought ran through their heads as the Queen's Prophecy.

“The Hero will awaken with the blessings of the Goddess. He, who had already befriended my daughter, will help in their fight with the darkness.”

The dots slowly connect. The dreams and spirits were a blessing. A blessing from a goddess. This man was an early King of Hyrule. The King must have picked up the confusion as he continued. “Link you are the Hero of this generation,” it wasn’t a question to the situation. “Your journey will have you travel throughout time and space-”

“Hold on” Zelda was the first to cut in, “who are you and what do you mean to travel time and space?”

“Time travel.” The King replied quickly “I don’t have all the answers but I know he would need to time travel back and to help the heroes of Hyrule’s history.”

“So, to be transparent here. You don’t actually know what he needs to do to get back in time.” Zelda’s statement caught the King of guard. His expression turned bashful as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“I only know one way to time travel and I can assure you he didn’t use that.”

Zelda sighs and faces Link “This isn’t my forte. What do you think Link?”

Link wanted to sass her but kept his hands to his side. There were a lot of items that can theoretically time travel. The Harp of Ages and the Ocarina of Time were the top two that came to mind. However, both are lost to the ages. The Gate of time was a myth and the War of Era had the help of the Guardians of Time. Help is a strong word to use. Link paused his train of thought.

He was the hero of this Era.

‘Wait are you sure I’m the hero?’ He signed.

“We can only assume you are,” Zelda said exasperated. “We’ll get to it, when we get to it.”

“It was you Professor.” The King said with confidence. “You were the one who, I met on my adventure.”

“Adventure?”

Alarms triggered in Link’s mind.

‘Are you the first King of Hyrule?’ His hands were shaking as he panicked, but the King just stared at him.

“I- uh… can’t understand you.” The king was back to being sheepish. “You had someone else acting as your voice, and when they weren’t there, I had a companion who learned that translation for me.”

Zelda fills in, “he asked if you were the First King of Hyrule.”

“Ah. Yes, that’s me- well kind of.” King paused to think about it. “Hyrule isn’t established yet on the surface.”

He tugged on Zelda’s lab sleeves ‘He’s The Hero of the Skies.’ Link added the context. ‘He was the reincarnation of a Hylian knight that fought alongside Hylia here during the war against the demon god Demise.’ His signs were messy and quickly, Zelda grabbed his hands and lowered them.

“I didn’t come here for a history lesson, Link.” She said pinching the bridge of her nose “and what I’m getting from this whole conversation. Is that Link is the next iteration of the hero and we need to figure out how to time travel back to meet the other heroes?”

“I don’t know about the others. From what my wife has spoken to me about. Yes.”

‘Then the question is how, I’m assuming your way was the gate of time?’

“He asked about the Gate of Time.”

“That is no more, but I know this.” The King holds up to play a short song on the harp. A part of Link screamed with recognition as he was pushed into a green haze.

Ocarina notes flow around him as he hears a child’s voice “If something should happen to you, remember this song...” it almost sounded like Zelda when they were children. “The Goddess of Time is protecting you. If you play the Song of Time, she will aid you..."

Was that it? The Song of Time?

Link feels the presence of the Hero from the Dream again as he stares into the hazy void. There were others there as well, but he didn’t know which was who.

He was asked to focus on something but he couldn’t pinpoint the voice. But the hand he was holding was warm. He closed his eyes and focused on that warmth trying to steady his breath.

“Jus- … ld- end” the voice slowly dissipates the fog. His breath was steadying out.

“Lin…” Zelda. It was Zelda. He opened his eyes as he was facing down to the floor. “There we go.”

Link lifts his head and relaxes his shoulders. ‘Sorry.’ He was shaking, ‘that was the Song of Time, correct?”

“Link-“Zelda wanted to argue but he put a hand up.

‘We might not have enough time to keep talking about this.’

Her lip tightened and sighs. “Right. Fine. But we can’t ignore this.” There is a threatening tone in her voice that made him flinch when attention was off of him. “He asked if that song was the Song of Time.”

“Yes, I think?” The King also was startled now that he was under Zelda’s harsh gaze. “Zel- Er, my wife taught it to me.” The bubble began to shrink slowly as they were running out of time. Noticing this the King held out the Harp smiling. “Though it won’t help you please take the Goddess Harp.”

The duo stared at it for a second. Link took a breath and nudged Zelda to her ancestor. ‘It’s your family's instrument not mine.’

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You’re the apparent Hero, you should have the honor.” The tone was teasing as she stepped forward to take the golden harp. “Thank you for meeting with us.”

“I’m still shocked that I got a chance to meet you both.” The King smiled “but I’m happy we did,” as the bubble quickly shrunken down and he disappeared.

There was a pause between the pair now that they were truly alone. Zelda slowly turned around with a smile that gave Link a shiver down his spine. “You got a lot of explaining to do, mister.”

[coffeedrgn87]

On Gender And All Things Non-Binary

Note: Indirect mention of gender dysphoria and the struggle of living in a binary world.

During my recent (and still ongoing) recovery from gender-affirming surgery, that’s given me so much joy, and the feeling of wholeness, I’ve lived in this perfect bubble of blissful ignorance. Sorely lacking energy, I spent most of the time at home, making only small trips into the outside world. These were carefully planned trips; a coffee from the coffee place next door, Kombucha from the corner store, a few rolls of toilet paper, a sweet. None of these required much human interaction. So, for the most part my bubble of non-binary bliss stayed intact.

I devoted my recovery time to a carefully curated queer-AF TikTok feed, queer literature, art, queer movies and series, and queer fanfiction. Some five weeks into my recovery, I met a friend here and there for coffee, for brunch, for a chat. But all these friends had something very important in common. They saw me, the real me. They used my pronouns, supported my choice to have gender-affirming surgery, and were genuinely excited about all the progress I made with having my gender marker and legal name changed (by the way, that’s all done! 🥳)

So, over the past month and a half I didn’t have my normal experience. I lived in this utopia-like world where nobody misgendered me, used the wrong pronouns, or had any negative impact on my non-binary experience. Sure, I kept up-to-date on developments within the LGBTQIA+ community, especially surrounding rights, trans rights, and more. And yes, some of my favourite TikTok creators reacted to transphobic/homophobic comments, but they did so calmly and with the intention to educate. But my world still consisted of respect, for my person, for my pronouns, for me. A few weeks have passed since a friend sent me a voice message to tell me about a dream, yet I remember it as vividly as though it happened five minutes ago. Why, you wonder? Because throughout the message my friend used my pronouns, and it gave me so much joy that I’m still riding high now, several weeks later.

However, my recovery is at the stage where I am able to return to work, and this means venturing out of the house for several hours at a time. It means frequent and longer interactions with other humans, more exposure to this blasted world that still insists gender is binary, and thus too many opportunities for all those little moments where I am (unfortunately) reminded that I could have my pronouns along with the sentence: ‘I’m not a woman’ tattooed on my head, and some folx would still get it wrong.

For instance, where I live pet names for strangers are common. This means I regularly get subjected to the following: pet, babes, darling, honey, hun, love etc. While these are all cute in their own right and have a time and a place, they aren’t for strangers. They are for people you are familiar with, people who want you to use these names. I don’t want a cashier to refer to me as ‘love’ or ‘darling’. Especially, because in this world that still stupidly sees gender as a binary thing when it’s nothing more but a social construct, these types of nicknames are usually given to those people this world presumes identify as female. If I go to my local corner store to get a breakfast roll, the person behind the deli counter chooses to direct those words at me. Why? Because my features are more feminine, which I, personally, I am fine with but having a more feminine appearance doesn’t mean I identify as female. The construction worker in the queue behind me, in muddied work clothes and with a masculine appearance doesn’t get any of those nicknames. They don’t even get called ‘handsome’.

And the above is not the only example, it’s just one of many. In my personal experience, it’s generally cis men who are exceptionally thoughtless when it comes to these absolutely stupid and outdated notions that a feminine-presenting individual should be given priority swiping their public transport card, or should enter a building or a room first. And the list goes on and on. Personally, I utterly dislike it when someone opens a door for me. Mind you, if I am carrying a bunch of things, I am all for it, but otherwise, no, thank you.

I know that these gestures don’t generally come from a malicious place. They are reactions that have become innate, that folx perform without thinking too much about what they are doing. Yet, that’s exactly the problem. This outdated and not at all inclusive social construct of gender being binary has let so many people to walk through the world with blinders on. While I’m almost always happy to answer questions and to educate people (often unprompted), living in a world where I have to fight to be seen (not just once but on multiple occasions throughout a single day) is emotionally and mentally draining. It zaps my energy, forcing me to withdraw for longer periods of time just to recharge my batteries. And I shouldn’t have to do that. I shouldn’t have to come home in the evening and require a solid hour of some mindless activity or other before I am able to function on some semi-normal level.

I am lucky. People who know me through my writing and friends I’ve made online and offline respect me and my pronouns. My video blurbs on TikTok don’t get bombarded with hate. I work in a company that tries very hard to respect me and works to better itself, to improve and change. I have some family that accept me for who I am and very dear friends who support me fiercely. I have a therapist I regularly yell at (not literally!), and while I desperately want a cat in my life, I have friends who share their purring fluffballs with me. I have so many things I feared I’d never have, and I am beyond grateful, but those daily reminders that too many people are so very blind when it comes to seeing that gender is most definitely not binary hurt. I still brave this world, day in and day out, but often, it’s with a heavy sigh and with a desperate wish that things were different.

I have most definitely reached the toughest part of my recovery.

[onecentwriter]

☀️ JUNE ☀️

✨ Writing Prompts ✨

***PLEASE CREDIT ME***

Romantic

Enemies-to-lovers where the superhero falls in love with the supervillin. A is the number one hero/ine, and after they encounter B, the number one villain, bleeding out in an alley, they take a chance and decide to help them.

5 times A didn’t tell B they were asexual, and one time they did.

A works in a flower shop, and they are an expert in the language of flowers. 5 times they send B a bouquet that quite literally screams “I LOVE YOU” while B doesn’t get it, and one time B does and returns the gesture.

A and B are rival politicians, but when both of them start losing popularity, their boss constructs an elaborate scheme to convince the world that A and B are dating. A and B go along begrudgingly, but what happens when they slowly start falling for each other?

PRIDE MONTH BABEY!! Another grumpy-one-is-soft-for-the-sunshine-one fic! Similar to the previous prompt, A is a moody English teacher, and B is a bubbly Art teacher. But here’s the catch—they’re the same gender. And both very gay. This story would probably touch on a lot of themes of pride in a school and in a workspace, and how a little bit of sunshine can light up the darkest places.

[title idea for above fic] ‘oh, sunshine (won’t you light me up?)’

Angst

A is a famous singer online, with millions of views and followers, but it’s a complete secret—none of their friends know about it. They think it’s for the better, but when their fame grows, some of their secrets might start to catch up to them.

A is told that they’ve contracting a fatal disease. At first they are heartbroken, but when they tell B, B decides that the two of them are going to go on a road trip to make the most of A’s limited time. This story would probably have a sad/bittersweet ending, where the epilogue is B attending A’s funeral.

A and B are old rivals-to-reluctant-allies who have been caught in their lives as criminals and are about to be executed. The reason they got caught was because B made a huge mistake, and A doesn’t want to forgive them. However, neither of them want to enter the afterlife angrily, so they slowly apologize to each other. This story would probably be told by alternating between ‘present tense’ (the execution date) and all of A and B’s past interactions/experiences. The ending could be with them getting saved, but I think it would be better to have it end with the execution. Maybe each of them saying weakly, “Friends?” “Friends.” Right before they die.

It’s the apocalypse, folks. A is rough, battle-worn, and is determined to be solitary, as to not have any weaknesses. B is a helpless kid, alone in the desert. A stumbles across B, and reluctantly nurses the overheating child back to health. Slowly the two bond, after A promises B to help find their family. Unfortunately, it’s revealed later on that B never existed—that A was just hallucinating and that A is dying. I think this would be such a heartbreaking plot twist to stab your readers’ hearts. Maybe the reveal is a dream where B says sadly. “Oh, A. I’m not here.” “Wh-no, you are. You’re real.” “I’m not. I never have been.”

A character study of Death, and the easiest, hardest, happiest, and saddest lives they’ve had to take. Could touch on animal deaths, but to make this as heartbreaking as possible I’d stick to humans. Some of the memories could be: easiest: a villain; for example, ‘Death doesn’t even falter as they brush their deadly fingers across [villain]’s forehead—in fact, a satisfied smile grows on their face as they watch [villain’s pronoun] crumble into dust.’ hardest: a person who begs Death not to take them. ‘“Please,” they gasp, “please no, I’m not ready, I can’t, no, please—” They break down into sobs.’ happiest: you might want to read this chapter of my fic to understand fully, but maybe Death taking the life of their mortal lover, who was separated from them by the disapproving gods. Probably a very happy reunion. saddest: Death taking a newborn child, and mourning what that baby will never get to be.

Fluff

Summer Olympics AU! Person A is a gymnast, and one of the best in the country. There’s a lot of pressure on them, but when they meet B + B’s friends, A learns how to enjoy their sport and have fun. Also A’s horrible coach gets yeeted.

Put your characters in a musical! Pretend as if they’re actors in the production. Drama, heartbreak, you name it—all leads up to the climactic Opening Night. Will the cast be able to throw together a performance, or will they ruin everything? This show is brought to you by HBO Max (just kidding, just kidding).

Slice-of-life my beloved!! A is a teenager who’s mourning the loss of their mother. They move to a small beach town hoping to find something to distract themselves from the grief—they didn’t expect to find a family there too.

A is a strict middle school teacher, and B is the student they teach. B is, long story short, really struggling at home, and A finds themselves acting like a parent figure to them. Or, eventually, a real parent--because apparently, this kid's an orphan. Why. Why does A just want to shelter B and hold B tight so they'll never be hurt again gah--

A runs a newspaper, and so does B. Enemies-to-friends but with extra drama columns and roasting competitions over the span of daily papers. This could also touch on more serious themes like media bias, or you could keep it fluffy and humorous.

[franettifritz]

None of this will matter

I tend to stay relatively silent in social media when it comes to trans rights and lgbtqia+ because I get my words so badly muddled if often doesn’t come across right.

What really gets me is that the bigotry, the transphobia, the homophobia the basic nastiness that comes from people who can’t even respect pronouns or hate being referred to as “cis”, because how DARE we specify we mean those who identify as their assigned gender when we speak out… none of their b.s. is gonna matter a penny when they kick the bucket. When any of us shuffle off our mortal coil.

They’re speaking with their whole chest that the alphabet mafia are shoving gay and trans and drag queens (and kings) down their throats and never once do they look in the mirror at themselves to see they’re doing the very same by pushing their binary and beliefs on everyone.

Times are changing, and we have so far to go but we’ve also come so far, and I think it’s important that we as a community don’t lose sight of that and to keep pushing back and continue fighting for our rights.

I see a fair amount of in-fighting in the queer community and it hurts to basically see a civil war when we all want the same thing. To just live, as ourselves, without fear of other’s hurting us at the bare minimum… we want to live.

It doesn’t matter what you believe happens after we pass; on the basic level we all end up as skeletons or dust and it comes down to what you want to leave behind.

Do you want to be remembered as someone who, if it came down to it, your own child wouldn’t feel comfortable opening up to about their struggles? Or a safe space who accepted a person for who and what they are and loved them unconditionally?

Do you want to cause trauma or help heal it?

A lot of the arguments I see include Christian’s citing bible verses and lines and they forget a very important one… love thy neighbour.

Not love thy neighbour as long as they conform to your bigoted beliefs. Just love thy neighbour… and you can’t do that when you fight against your neighbour’s rights as a human being and brand them a predator simply because they present themselves a certain way.

Just say you don’t understand and then be OPEN TO LEARNING. Be open to an actual conversation and a learning experience. It can be scary to say you don’t get something, AND THAT’S FINE. The important part is how you react when someone tries to explain their truth and their being to you.

Don’t leave behind a memory of you as a person who had hatred in their heart towards a group of people who aren’t doing harm… and if you’re so worried about the safety of children maybe start doing something about actual predators (look into the Catholic Church, law enforcement, school coaches to name a few) not some perceived danger because a “man in a dress” used a ladies restroom to pee!

I’d rather share a restroom with a trans person than a TERF any day.

Nobody is threatening womanhood or manhood because both of those perceptions are socially taught to us. They’re not real!

Gender is 100% a social construct and the sooner people learn that the better.

Trans, gay, lesbian, queer… we’re not going anywhere and while we will do no harm… we’ll also take no shit.

[stolz-und-aufrecht]

Some of my (core) beliefs about myself & the world

Some of my (core) beliefs about myself and the world caused by my upbringing in a toxic family system. I work on changing the negative ones; but it’s hard.

Raise your hand if some of these resonate with you.

Trigger warning (death, suicide)

I believe that every person, regardless of their actions, deserves love in some capacity.

I am not allowed to be angry. Anger as an emotion does not exist for me. I never get angry at anything at all. I don’t feel it. I have the patience of a saint and then some.

I feel like I don’t belong here and the privileges of humankind do not extend to me. Because I don’t belong and I’m inherently flawed, I feel like I do not have the same fundamental rights as others. I, in contrast to others, have to work for them. I am, as a person, not good enough to receive them. They have to be granted to me by someone else.

Seemingly obvious facts (for example, “I am worthy.”, “I deserve to have boundaries.”, “I am allowed to disagree with someone.”, “Anger is normal.”) do not resonate with me. They feel wrong, like they don’t apply to me. Incorporating them into my personality and daily life makes me feel guilty; like I’m doing something I’m not supposed to do. I feel like an imposter trying to take things away from people if I asserts my so-called rights. I truly feel like I have none and do not deserve them.

Expressing my anger or disagreeing with someone would reveal to them that I’m, in fact, no human being, but three racoons in a trench coat pretending to be one.

One should have empathy for every living being, even for truly horrible people. No person is completely evil. There are reasons why they act this way. Because I’m quite good at sensing where their negative traits come from, I have compassion for them. Sometimes, too much.

One should treat every person with kindness, even, if one doesn’t agree with their opinions and life choices.

I feel like I was born to serve. That’s my only purpose. I was born to serve every person I come upon, regardless of what they want from me. They have a right to it. They have a right to me.

No one else is truly evil, but I am. If people were to see this dark, deep abyss inside of me, where I have hidden all my anger and frustrations, they would come to the same conclusion.

Going to extra mile for people is the norm for me. Even if they don’t deserve my care or help. It’s an automatic feature God created me with. One time I forgot to do something at work for a colleague and although she said that it was no big deal, I could do it tomorrow, I still ran 2 miles back to work to finish it. I commute an hour by bus from and to work and hoped out as soon as I got off the phone with her. On my sprint back to work I got shit on by a bird. Talk about signs.

Others are always right. I’m always wrong.

I can’t stand someone being angry with me.

I know nothing. I know too much. I never know quite enough to even qualify to speak up during a conversation.

If I disagree with someone, state my boundaries, or express my anger in any way, shape or form, I will surely lose control of myself and either start to cry, have a full-blown panic attack or destroy the person I’m talking to by releasing all my supressed anger on them. I can never let that happen. I would embarrass myself and give away that I about three seconds from going completely mental, and not the carefully constructed personality that they know. That woman who always smiles, is super kind to everyone, easy to get along with and has definitely not a tragic past with family members that are either dead or in jail.

I am not allowed to be myself. I can’t make friends or form genuine connections. I must lie because no one really wants to know me. They say they do but will judge me a minute later.

I can’t tell them about my real hobbies because they are unconventional. I can’t tell them about my past, even if I have known these people for several years. They say they want to deepen our friendship, but I have experienced that they don’t want to hear about my true past:

I wanted to die when I was 5.

My father, an alcoholic, tried to kill my mother several times, chasing her with a knife around the apartment.

I can’t tell them that my mother was a hoarder.

I can’t tell them that I was depressed from age 12 to 23.

I have tried and failed several times. So I lie and keep things surface level.

I wish a had a best friend.

[randomclam24]

Why is it that the subconscious mind, underlying even religious truths in that they are repurposed, is exclusively in the hands of liberal-agreeing, in the exact sense of "I'm With Her" as the *slogan*

We can say "our problems began when we attempted to publish our findings", as I've been parroting the article title on circumcision for a while a while back

But no one alive will ever have made the connection that, *oh*, liberals getting butthurt, as they call it, over having their headspace ruined by what in their heads I guess is Republican *Zionism*, is actually this exact *construct* - liberals get their arguments across not by being the argument it is in their heads, but in pushing, and pushing, and pushing until that argument as it is by proxy is pushed in to the subconscious brain of the onlooking victim. *We* cannot do this, as all of the resulting forces as a comeback are too much for our feeble existence

Essentially, depersoning only happens when a Republican, Zionist by associating, does the subconscious insertion that a liberal does as the sure constant of their banter, for the first time, as that is the *only* time it takes before personal derailment begins as a liberal-agreement zeitgeist upon the *fundamentally*-unsuspecting host **population**

Unfortunately, what has built up over the years, being considered the same way as generational experience, by this paradigm is fundamentally inaccessible to us, as it only intensifies to the point of people, in solidarity with (whatever this implication is(?)), reducing their very existences to ham spinning on a rod to splitting to tiny pieces

Basically, *as* they're piledriving the subconscious focus into you, even the Biblical passage about all things of nature calling to the glory of the Lord is undergirded and repurposed by *nature* by the zeitgeist which is basically the zeitgeist of the *rap* culture, which is "we're still in that place, come and test us" on every *rhetorical* point.

Liberals have this entire thing like, yes, you're actually a person *except* until you're (now that the unconscious aspect is laid out, set up camp and lay out the progressive stack here arbitrarily(you could really put any shitpost)) In reality that's the precise feeling I'm having when people I trust finally just decide to cave and show their ass on real-world metapolitics

Unfortunately, something underlies, manufacturing the ensurance of consent that all this was underlied by something I did not have the intellectual fortitude in order to ultimately find myself in *compliance* with, being in the first place for its own sake seeing as I have no association - but by that right my points on projection reset back to things being as they were, as they were, as personal fallings-through are preassumed as fact to have no relevance when posed with these metapolitics

The point is I as an individual who is more than a job with metapolitics associations (or considerations of anyone in that depth for realism's sake (meaning recognizing projection, as I prioritize it more highly when in context of seriousness when it gets just ambiguously applied to muh big(?) world events)) have no right to exist before the momentous weight of references to the context of the seriousness when it gets applied to muh big(?) world events and figures as they apply to subconscious headspace specifically. [I think if God *loved* us, he wouldn't have made a human subconscious, as this is the being of these things.] Other people bear too many momentous accusations, my whole life being a mere kaleidoscope effectively bearing *witness* to these, my actual life not anything more than theoretical if and when left by itself

People act like there's something special in (whatever association this is(?)), so that it's a real shame and that I have to get my life together for bureaucratic mental gymnastics for obviously their own sake and none ever other than this for its own sake repeating at all times for its own sake which is repeating in order to drill into my subconscious acting directly countered against my conscious will, but I very most obviously, even by simple way of this description, have no motivation to want to begin to associate with these foundationally fallen creatures. Like they say America is fallen by design - that is exactly what I mean by saying this thing

What do I want? "Here's this thing you have - I'm going to fuck it up, like crumpled paper." "You'll never recognize the motivation that went into it, only the glorification of myself that came out of it."

That's everything. People outside to myself don't **have** motivation like I do.

The subconscious guilt by association *always* takes precedent to human imperfections factoring into the equation in people's subconscious - so it's implied by effect projection is a canard, even though it's the universe's guiding axis all along the entire durating that is self-insisting.

How hard is it to break to people that what you associate subconsciously by your nature does not guarantee any relationship to knowledge

When a scientist starts to speak outside their jurisdiction, it tends to be pretty quick they get criticized for going outside their expertise

But everyone, "absolutely" everybody, says positively - subconscious affectation is *absolutely* jurisdiction That's why laymen will sotter themselves out like ham disintegrating on the spinning rod, knowing they do it without shame. They *know* they can do this because they can get away with no negative effect - ability for "I'm With Her" subconscious to manifest forcefully in the *other* is all that matters.

You can't just demand people have open minds like liberals always have succeeded in doing. That's not natural. We'll spend hundreds of years figuring and not figuring out what they've really done to us. What *have* they done? I don't *realize*. But no liberal ever told me that, so I discount any valuation of their open-mindedness as a virtue. [It is a baseline requirement to keep you off the streets though - that will snake you in the ass certainly]

Without "I'm With Her" jewish noses in our subconsciousnesses, we would have:

More of the exact singularity we perfected, because people have to still have jobs for arbitrary made-up reasons by bureaucrats ultimately

Speaking reasonably, either way you get labyrinthine garbage insisting upon itself for its own sake for its own sake, implying *by that* something esoteric which it ultimately then just won't *help* you on. It's all the same. You get to the sophomore year of college education, and nobody can help you without lazily disproportionate levels of time-wasting and going back-and-forth for its own sake for its own sake in a personal meeting with the college professor who can't ultimately *help* you if you don't help yourself which would have to just come from without like *most* people's assumptions, just like seeing any psychologist who isn't even highly regarded in the *first* place in that sense

Update We're not allowed to acknowledge the existence of people as figures that don't just ultimately signpost to an abstraction. For the most part, though, there would only be negative effects from doing that, like acknowledging projection as the universe's new guiding principle in all things more so than any other law. People's theories don't translate into activity, because if they did, the cover of plausible deniability we all exist under under the "I'm With Her" subconscious agreement system we all exist under that's already *complete* would then and thereby have been fully and completely retracted by ourselves. Who would be willing t-

We want our kids to be protected (*do* we? under this toxic environment?(but now that that's out of my head and into writing, it's been assimilated to saying what the police already think when they're storming a man's house for his "transgender" child(only naturally))), under this umbrella of plausible deniability that we would *never* rectify action against "I'm With Her" singularity consensus - is it that they're just (now) garnering this consensus, like it hasn't predominantly existed throughout actual real-life experience througout my entire life?, so that they're the victims? - I don't know what's going on

On the Earth *I* come from, those of the uniparty who are of the "I'm With Her" singularity consensus ultimately, revealed through caving and showing their ass on metapolitics issues in casual talk where for some whatever reason they felt the need *in* their ass to do this specifically to save face somehow?, this being the need to save face at where I am not existent by sheer evidence of the treatment in the situation?, are the ones lifelong-dominating us and nitpicking our every *thoughts.* I just want to be gone(and that has *left* the opinion singularity intact spewing on overdrive mocking us for our every attempt at effort, as nitpicking-posting *online* like on 4chan has been our *only* comeback at salvation. What a hoax! That's the real hoax, folks.)

You keep tweezing - maybe we'll quit being *meat* packets one day

You - oh, *not* you, because of what I'm about to describe - do *I* - specifically and *exclusively* I, because of the same description Do I want to know what is really happening with that? No one else I've associated with has any *awareness* to these fallings-through because they've had no desire to do any action at *all*, which is a requirement by which to see, because actualization reveals these kinds of things, that we're fucked utterly beyond all resuscitating, and in the speech of the "I'm With Her" singularity shills, which are most generally just common people, so no shilling, it's because we're failed. Really, I don't know what that means, as I have no affiliation with any persons living or dead. I never *have* What I'm doing is just the exceptionalism from a purely abstracted state by what we can do *despite* whatever the foundationally fallen state is or might prove to be in process, acknowledging in process and moving right on, because we don't have *time* for these things. If you want to foundationally make your state fallen, then you just move right on, because you have no *place* here What's that? Everyone who cared about actual action is dead? I'm just going to keep *denying*

I've only ever heard of it when invoked at the most extreme level, but it's really the stance taken at every level of proactivity taken against the "I'm With Her" establishment: If you want civil war, we start at your house - specifically state your name and address - they're *not* taking what (look - nobody cares what [I'm trying to redirect their focus after the fact of them making that as their very thing their very first own move, hand-having the act of doing so at a subliminal level - like I'm not even registering what specifically it is in the first place they're *doing*, so why can *I* be allowed to attest to human activity as the focus in the first place (in any case if I acknowledged what was really being done spiritually at that subconscious level, I would never be able to contain the hatred resulting directly ensuing from it and be sent to prison right away, so there's no profit throughout this run in doing *that*)] Focusing to specifics is not a concept. [This is already debunked in advance - the act of doing so in itself is hand-had to the act of depersoning a person and singling them out] It's like I live on a different planet. Why would I *ever* then relate to other people? It's insane! There's *no* context provided. [And then they singularly repeat ad infinitum then if there's no reason for them to be upset at me, then there's *no reason* for me to be *upset*, as I'm evidently from experience no more than the projection sum described previous]

I don't *know* my history. I'm actually a first-generation partly because my dad was born somewhere else and moved at a young age. I can only see the current state as fundamentally divorced from all past circumstance, and that makes it appear exclusively akin to *demonic* possession

And at the end of the day, what I'm thinking and feeling is actually divorced from what I'm writing, so all the reference to all the best of what other people in their writing have afforded is lost and wasted while the establishment just has to step in saying my personal atomization as an example monitored keeps being their best *asset* - by that, they can justify openly tyranny on earth, because I'll just keep *coping* - I have to manually put a stop to that. I felt the requirement to prevent myself washing in the shower this morning until it was completely too late with all the shower water cold.

I don't know what context then I'm supposed to *do* things in, because at some point you get stinky, and the priority to get things done is still in place unconsciously, tampering with the way things are perceived, priority-wise. That makes things malicious when I do them forcedly as I know to *always* do, because otherwise I wouldn't have survived In reality, that's a coping mechanism against people who want me, preemptively, *destroyed*, and not-personed, foundationally, by their fundamental nature [I'm positive this is where they're calling it their "common humanity", the thing that proverbially should be enough, the ignoration of which leads to branches of lashing out by them which can be taken the easy way or the *hard* way]. Looking at the human subconscious, there's *nothing* genuinely deep between us (like, at *all*) What an interpersonal relationship *is* (in the modern worldbuilding) does not translate to action at *all* - in the sense of "I'm With Her" presupposedly-required tagging-along does that translate in their minds to compulsive *action*, otherwise they send you to a *group* home - they're just, as it's been said, when you try to go doing that yourself, going to stab you compulsively targeting preemptively the back of the neck when once they see the *opportunity.*

[deviant-nomad]

Here's what I think is probably up with most of you, it's what was up with me,

you have done the thing other people have told you to do for your entire life

and now you don't know what to do, because guess what? 

Freedom is awful and I can't decide what to have for dinner, much less what to do with the rest of my life. You have an infinite number of paths ahead of you, pick! Join the army or the Peace Corps or the clergy. Go to grad school or business school or a horoscope school, where astrologers go to school? Do your side hustles and start a podcast and follow your dreams, until you realize that your dreams aren't actually that great because work is much more to do with the people you do it within your own attitude than whatever it is you're actually doing. 

I love science, and I got a job doing science after I graduated and it was miserable. Not because I didn't like the science, it's because I was the only person in the lab. All the time, just me and my pipettes and a family of armadillos and a giant canister of liquid nitrogen, and yes, that sounds kind of awesome. But after six months, it's a little lonely. If you are very lucky, you have discovered something you like doing. It is very easy to get through life without discovering a sale-able skill that you enjoy, and that is, by the way, how dream jobs actually happen: you find a thing that you like doing, at least most of the time, and you do it enough that you get good enough at it that people will pay you to do it. So, if you like doing a thing that has economic value, continue doing that thing. You are one of the lucky ones. 

If you don't, welcome to being most people. To you, I offer only this: you are normal. We evolved for a world so unlike the one that we find ourselves in that it is amazing any of us can function at all. Humans are, above everything, adaptable. But, the idea that any of this stuff -- careers and job interviews and diplomas and the jobs themselves -- is like a normal human construction that like, that you're designed to ta--ngh-- it's crazy! It's all brand-new super weird cultural constructions that didn't exist, like 300 years ago. This stuff all seems very normal, it's not! And if you base your self-worth on it, which we do -- we are asked to! It's what society says our value is -- but if you do, it's going to be real hard to be happy. 

You don't need a job that changes the world and that's environmentally friendly and that is creatively fulfilling in every way and that uses any diploma, much less the diploma that you happen to have. You need to feel valuable, but all of the different constraints that is being placed on like what a "valuable life" looks like -- it's not! It's way too much to expect from anyone, much less everyone! It takes so long to get it in your head! You didn't go to school to learn how to get a job, you went to school to learn! And you did it! You know more stuff now! 

So, you might never know what you're doing, but do me this favor: get out of bed every morning knowing that no one changes the world alone and no one doesn't change it at all. We are all exceptional and none of us are. And we are all lost, sometimes. So follow a path -- any path -- until you get to a place that you feel like you don't like, and then change your direction. Because there's one thing that you are making every day, no matter what you're doing, and that is yourself. That is your job. And you must do it well. For me, there's a lot of strength in knowing that the wandering that I am doing, that I've done, is normal and kind of beautiful and not something I should be stressed out about. 

You're on a path. You don't know where it's going, and that would be boring if you did.

[bastart13]

I’ve had a lot of fun recently coming with with female mercenary characters for TF2. I really liked where the concept art was going with making them all individual characters rather than simply “if the characters were women”

The design style is fantastic for distinct simplicity so I tried limiting myself to basic colours and shapes to make these

and I’m pretty confident they pass the silhouette test!

Character names/bios under the cut!

Heavy

Name: Marie Jarrett

Age: Mid 30s-40s

Height: 6’5

Nationality: American (Hawai’i)

Bio: Raised in Hawai’i, growing up she developed more and more drastic measures to fend off the tourists swarming her home. Land mines, electric gates, guard dogs, none could stop them for long until she picked up her trusty minigun to send her message. But even still, she hears the click of cameras in the night.

Eventually, she left her home to explore the world. Enthralled with the image of seeing different wonders across different countries, she’s always disappointed. She’s travelled every continent and still finds nothing that lives up to her expectations. No place, no person. She’s outgoing and open to new experiences, only she usually hates them.

Mercenary life is a great opportunity to earn money, see sights, meet new people and kill them after they don’t meet your expectations. She hates New Mexico and takes every opportunity to destroy the buildings and insult her employer’s tastes. She finds some people she tolerates within the mercenaries as she hasn’t yet visited where they live. However much she hides it, she has a deep, instinctual fear of the Engineer.

  Soldier

Name: Linda Smith

Age: Early 40s

Height: 5’10

Nationality: Canadian

Bio: Canada’s perfect woman… or so she claims. The star of war propaganda posters and clearly decided for the role because of her great tactical assets. She’s there to motivate people into the fight. To spread the glory of Canada and inspire her allies. She believes she has higher orders than anyone else she’s working for (ignoring the fact she hasn’t heard from them for a good few years) and is determined to follow them to the letter. She may have lost the letter but she remembers it good enough.

She represents the ideals of Canada: polite, friendly, apologetic, and pacifistic. None of these are contradicted by how she throws around rockets. That’s not what Canada means. She’s superior to everyone around her and graciously educates them on how to improve through example. She loves her French and British allies and will kindly tell the Americans how to be better.

She’s motivating and actually fairly competent, it’s just that competency might be misdirected. She’s damn good at rocket jumping, shooting her shotgun, and supporting her team, it’s just that you really need to get it in her head when she’s meant to be doing it.

Scout

Name: Patricia “Pat” Herald

Age: 50s-60s

Height: 5’4

Nationality: English

Bio: In her years, Patricia has learnt fear… and she’s learnt to laugh in its face. She wakes up at the crack of dawn, ready to leave at the drop of a hat, boots polished and laced the night before. Her years have taught her that with a gun and Jeremy by her side, she can survive!

The postal route of Appleby-in-Westmorland.

She’s been chased by geese, dogs, cows, elderly ladies, and when her postal route had her delivering post during the war, she developed a taste for blood. Nothing will stop her from delivering her post on time. Every day before 6am, every postbox will have their letters and parcels. One chucked across barbed wire, another house jumped over a river, another house miles into the country with dogs on her heels, she WILL get there and she’ll get there FAST.

But after a couple of decades, she needs a change of scenery, and the Gravels wars are just the holiday she’s needed. With her trusty black and white cat by her side (ignoring the yowling and scratches) she reckons it’ll be great time to enjoy herself.

Quotes: “Oh, hello, Human Jeremy.”

“Bloody fucking Ethel! Building her house out in the country… surrounded by bloody hills and rivers!”

Pyro

Name: Nikephoros Papadopoulos

Age: Late 20s

Height: 5’11

Nationality: Greek

Bio: Survival of the fittest. Nature gives and nature taketh away. If you’re not prepared for that, well, Pyro is more than happy to teach you the lesson. They embody the old values of the Greek gods: f*ck or fire. She indulges her every whim and unfortunately for the people around her it often involves arson.

One year for the Olympic games, she was given the noble title of torchbearer. On complete coincidence, the Olympics shifted to primarily water sports. Underwater sprints became the hot new trend!

She’s merry and chatty, never missing the opportunity to talk to other people about herself and her world view. She can’t wait to spread her gospel to help other people improve themselves (though she always gets a laugh out of those who go out screaming in the flames). She can’t help it if she has a sadistic side.

Engineer

Name: Mikawo Kojima

Age: Early 20s

Height: 5’0

Nationality: Japanese

Bio: Japan’s early-rising industrial revolutions in technology are best exemplified in Mikawo, a young upstart determined to rise to the top, learning everything she can and building the best of the best. Unfortunately, she’s never been the most creative but when you happen upon other people’s blueprints and happen to construct them first, what does it matter who came up with the “concept”?

At first, she appears to be every bit the quiet and demure young woman people expect, only when silk hides steel, that steel is a massive automatic sentry gun. She’s motivated by a distinct contempt for the people who get in her way. Especially those who try to be better than her. She enjoys the flexibility of English, especially the cusses, and she has no reservations about swearing up a storm, even if she still refuses to give a straight rejection, preferring instead to give a small “I’ll think about it.”

Quotes: “This GUN is fair use on your head!”

Demo

Name: Qingzhao Zeng

Age: Late 40s

Height: 5’3

Nationality: Chinese

Bio: The Zeng family has a long-standing family trade in demolitions and explosives, traced down the line all the way to the Song dynasty. Luckily, Qingzhao has sisters so, you know, it’s not all that important. She doesn’t even have to stop smoking and drinking. She hasn’t blown herself up (that much) so clearly, it’s working. Precision is for other people to worry about. She’s apathetic to a T, having seen everything. Measurements come from the heart. A pinch of gunpowder there, a splash of paint there.

Her family has a deep-seated rivalry with the DeGroots. Long ago in ancient China, a Zeng matriarch woke up in a cold sweat, a message from the stars to let them know of their Scottish rivals. Due to being a continent away from each other, the families have actually met each other only a handful of times, but the hatred needs to be kept up because, what if?

Turns out, Qingzhao has met Tavish even before finding employment under the Mann brothers. One drunken night, the two of them had a short, whirlwind friendship, sharing secrets and declaring each other to be their best friends. Luckily for them, they both forgot the night, merrily hating each other as tradition dictates. However, headaches and flashes of this terrible night haunt them both. Could they really get over centuries of hate and become friends?

Absolutely not.

Sniper

Name: Ansa Aaltonen

Age: 27

Height: 6’2

Nationality: Finnish

Bio: Snow. Sugar. Cocaine.  Her life is run by many white powders. Ansa is a professional sniper, with a sharp eye and a steady hand… when she isn’t also high as a kite, lost in the snowy wilderness of Finland and screeching to the sky. When you’re up in the dark and cold, you need something to give you a little pep in your step. It just so happens Ansa liked having a bit more pep than most.

She’s there for a THRILL. There’s nothing better to get your heart pumping at 200 beats per second than a good headshot, embracing the chill, and a hit of sugar. She no longer feels the cold or heat or even pain, shrugging it off until she collapses. It just makes her feel alive. She’s efficient, fast, and determined to get her kicks.

She has an unusual taste, living off fermented fish and tree bark. To most people around the Finnish wilderness, she’s nothing more than an urban legend, but she’s very real and she’s looking for some excitement, happily found in employment in the Gravel wars.

Spy

Name: Yvonne Pleshette [Real name N/A]

Age: 30s

Height: 5’8

Nationality: American (California)

Bio: The silver screen calls to his woman and she’s happy to answer. She trains herself to act in every possible role she can, having a wide range of accents, body languages, and backstories. To truly test herself, she gave up her identity long ago. Lately she’s been going by the name “Yvonne.”

The world of Hollywood is cutthroat and full of backstabbers so she learnt to cut throats and stab backs. While some people tell her the terms are metaphorical, nothing else has given her more roles. Living the mercenary life is simply gathering research for her roles (and earning some much-needed money in the process).

She presents herself as a classic film star, despite being a minor name at best, mostly because she’s always changing it. She has high standards but a cheapskate personality. She’s a bit of a bitch, happily criticising others, especially if they’re working with her. What can she say? She’s a diva.

[Slutshames other spy]

Quotes: “Ugh, actors these days, they know nothing about getting into character. They still have names.”

“’AHHHHH—’ Wait, no. Once more from the top. Scream in agony.”

Medic

Name: Susan Monks

Age: 30-40s

Height: 5’7

Nationality: American (New Jersey)

Bio: The American Healthcare system. Is there a more glorious sight? The exploitation of pain. The money. The debt. The fear it strikes into the entire population it’s designed to help. To Susan, there’s nothing better. She squeezes every last drop from the people she helps, working on a purely transactional lifestyle. She’ll never help someone unless she has all of their insurance information and the payment secure in her bank, and god forbid she ever accept help. It’s not like she can afford her own prices.

She’s very self-aware of her own corruption and proud of it, though she refuses to be exploited in the same way, suspicious of anything “free” but also doing her best not to pay for anything.

That said, she doesn’t much care for how good a job she does. In her eyes, asking for surgery is one thing. Asking for successful surgery is another. She has a variety of skills in both cosmetic and military medicine. She just wishes the license board would stop sending her “malpractice” letters. Ugh, stick to your own business. “Disappearing” all their messengers is becoming a pain.

Quotes: “Why get someone else to do something for you when you can scrounge a way to do it yourself?”

[delimeful]

mere monstrosity (1)

warnings: spiders, misunderstandings, captivity

-

Logan woke up to the familiar soft chime of his alarm, and rolled out of bed bleary-eyed but ready to get the day started. He kept quiet as he crept out of the room.

He didn’t bother grabbing his glasses, knowing that they’d only be of use after his shower. His feet knew the way from his bedroom to the bathroom by heart, and he preferred to shower in the dark to avoid the likelihood of getting one of his light-sensitivity migraines, so he didn’t reach for the lightswitch either.

Instead, he pushed quietly past the half-open door and fumbled for the shower knob, cranking it up to exactly the point before it turned scalding.

The water flickered on a moment later, and amidst the clamor of droplets against ceramic, he heard an indistinct, high-pitched noise, like a chirp or squeak.

“A mouse?” he muttered to himself, squinting at the dark, blurry interior of the shower.

He couldn’t hear anything else over the spray, so he quickly turned the shower off and stepped back to flick the lightswitch on, potential headaches be damned.

He pulled the shower curtain fully to the side, and blinked at the sight of a blurry black splotch in the corner of his bathtub. Leaning in a little further, he could briefly make out individual legs, long and numerous, before they were pulled closer and blended in with the rest of the shape.

“You are… a considerably large spider,” he informed it, grateful that it was him and not Patton who had found it. The resulting terrified shriek would have woken him and Janus, and probably most of the neighbors for that matter. “Are you a tarantula? Are tarantulas even native to this area?”

The spider, rather predictably, didn’t respond, and Logan recalled that he’d just doused the poor thing with jets of cold water. It was probably curling all its limbs in a mock death-curl, trying to process the unexpected threat to its breathing and body temperature.

He reached over to the counter and carefully removed the collection of multicolored toothbrushes from the plastic cup next to their sink, tapping it against the side of the counter to clear out any remaining dust.

“Try to stay still, alright?” he coaxed in a low voice, crouching and leaning over the tub to get a better angle. “I don’t want to catch any of your limbs, just keep them all tucked in close like that and I’ll get you out of there.”

To his surprise, the spider really didn’t make any sudden moves, remaining frozen as he settled the cup over it. The only reason he was sure it was still alive was the tiny motion of its front legs, two little investigative nudges against the edge of the cup.

“Excellent job,” he praised, his curiosity only growing. Most of the spiders he had cupped would immediately run at the glass with arms lifted in threat, or run in frantic circles along the edges seeking an escape. Of course, none of them had been this large. Most wild tarantulas were hunters, though, not spinners. Aggression would serve them well, so why was this one so docile? Was it an escaped pet? Had the cold water been that shocking?

He quickly retrieved a folder from the living room, returning to find that the plastic cup had shifted a couple of inches. It was large enough to push it, then.

“Just a little bit more,” he continued to soothe, carefully sliding the folder under the cup bit by bit, allowing the spider time to shift its legs onto the folder so the tips wouldn’t be pinched. He then carefully lifted the whole ensemble up, keeping a cautious hand on top of the cup. “There we go.”

The kitchen was dimly lit, the small light under the microwave still on so that anyone getting water in the middle of the night wouldn’t trip or run into anything in the dark. Logan glanced at the front door for a long moment, and then gave in to the urge to investigate his catch a bit closer. It would be irresponsible to just release a domesticated tarantula into the wild, after all.

He set the cup and folder down carefully on the counter, and then placed a heavy ceramic plate on top of the cup, reasoning that it was better to make sure the spider wouldn’t push the cup-- and itself-- right off the counter.

“One moment.” That done, he went into his room to retrieve his glasses, leaving the light off so as to not wake up Janus, who had only gotten in from his night shift a few hours ago. His roommate normally slept heavily once he managed to get to sleep, so Logan didn’t have to worry about waking him by climbing out of their shared bed, but better not to risk turning the lights on in the first place.

The world came into a much clearer focus once he’d pushed his glasses into their proper place atop his nose, and with his vision improved, he had no problems finding the hall closet and rummaging through it for one of Janus’s old terrariums.

He set the glass case down on the kitchen counter without any furnishings inside-- he was only planning to get a good look at the specimen, after all-- and flicked on the kitchen light before carefully moving the trapped spider into the terrarium and then lifting the cup away.

The spider frantically scuttled back, smacking thorax-first into the glass wall of the terrarium, and Logan frowned contemplatively at the sight of it.

It was certainly a tarantula, one that he’d probably be able to find online fairly easily with the distinctive white stripes along it’s eight fuzzy legs. Concerningly enough, there was an odd swelling protrusion on the anterior part of the body. It was a similar dark shade to the rest of the body, but almost larger than the thorax, and it blocked off any sight of the pedipalps, fangs, or eyes.

The texture didn’t seem to match the carapace… Perhaps it was a piece of garbage or organic waste that had gotten stuck on the creature? If it hindered movement, that could explain why it had been so still earlier.

It wasn’t still now, exhibiting an odd vibrating throughout its body that Logan had never witnessed from a spider before. He would certainly be doing some research into arthropods after this.

Well, at the very least, he could see if that protruding material would come loose.

Logan carefully pulled on one of Janus’s thick leather gloves, one of the more worn sets in case the spider had urticating hairs, and then reached down. The spider seemed to spot his shadow, going by the way it stiffened, and he reminded himself that though he didn’t know the species and many tarantulas were venomous, it was incredibly unlikely their venom would be able to do more than hurt him.

Confidence restored, he continued reaching down until his fingers met the odd lump, at which point a low, guttural hiss sounded, and the spider threw its front legs up and lunged, slapping its limbs down against the floor of the terrarium in threat.

Logan remained undeterred by the small tantrum, instead focusing on the fact that the obstruction was loose, almost like shed skin on a snake. Studying the spider carefully, he pinched it gently between two fingers, trying to discern what in the world it could possibly be.

The next three movements happened in rapid succession.

First, Logan tugged lightly at the material caught between his fingers. Second, the spider recoiled sharply, pulling away from his grip with surprising strength. And third, the covering came loose, the spider pulling free from it and leaving a limp swathe of fabric hanging from Logan’s fingers.

Below him, now uncovered, there was pale skin, a mop of bedraggled hair, and a tiny, terrified human face.

Logan froze, staring down at it-- them with wide eyes.

The being he’d mistaken for a spider was actually a drider, a creature of myth that was apparently all too real. Logan couldn’t help how stunned he felt. Even apart from the shock of the discovery, there was the shock of their size. Driders were said to have a human-sized spider half, not the other way around!

Below, the drider was still frozen in place, staring right back up at him. He could see the way their little chest was heaving with quick, panicked breaths, could feel the way the tiny makeshift poncho in his hand was sodden and cold, and he felt guilt strike him like a ruler across knuckles.

“I-- Hold on a moment, please,” he managed, his mind racing as he stepped back, turning and hurrying out of the room.

Once again, the hall closet held exactly what he needed, and he mentally rescinded all his past complaints about the amount of extra snake care items Janus had stashed away in their storage closet like a dragon’s hoard.

The heat lamp was compact enough to fit easily in the terrarium, where the spider-person had scuttled back to press themself into the furthest corner, limbs pulled in tightly in what had to be a fear response.

Logan set the lamp carefully inside and plugged it in, sighing in relief when the bulb lit up and began to glow orange. “This lamp is designed for reptiles, not arthropods, so it may be too hot for extended use. However, it will work temporarily as a heat source to get rid of excess moisture, so I encourage you to use it.”

The drider was glaring up at him with the tiniest scowl he’d ever seen, front legs still lifted up defensively, but didn’t say a word.

“Do you speak?” Logan asked, and received only silence in return. “I suppose I should have guessed as much, seeing as you haven’t responded to any of my previous statements. Do you understand me? Do we speak the same language?”

The drider glared harder.

“I find it hard to believe that you have animal-level intelligence,” Logan continued, now mostly to himself. He lifted a hand, displaying the poncho he still held. “Although some birds can ‘sew’, construction of clothing to cover one’s form is a complex and distinctly human sentiment.”

Still, nothing. Their gaze was caught by the poncho for a moment before they looked away entirely, looking for all the world to be sulking.

Logan sighed, and then slowly moved to place the poncho next to the heat lamp, laying it out flat for easier drying. “I’m going to attend to my morning routine. It should only take me a few moments, but please feel free to call or make noise if you need my attention between now and then.”

The drider’s expression had eased into confusion at the sight of their garment laid out before them, but their legs remained warily upright as Logan left the room.

As promised, he only made a brief stop to make sure both of his roommates were still soundly asleep before climbing into the shower and preparing himself for the day, roughly fifteen minutes behind schedule.

It wasn’t too disruptive-- it had eaten into the time he normally allotted for sitting at the table and eating breakfast, so that would have to be skipped today, but it wasn’t the end of the world.

Honestly, he’d likely spend the rest of the day thinking about the surprise addition to his morning. There were so many questions he’d love to ask, but seeing as the creature had attempted to hide their existence even at risk of being perceived as a normal spider (and therefore possibly squashed), he expected he wouldn’t be receiving any answers.

Talkative or not, the drider clearly had sapient levels of intelligence, and Logan was loath to start off humanity’s relationship with a vulnerable and secretive species by keeping them trapped in a snake terrarium against their will.

Even if he was willing to weigh scientific advancement over his morals, his roommates would never allow it. Patton would naturally be terrified and possibly sympathetic when witnessing their clear terror, and he’d had enough extensive debates on ethics with Janus to know that his opinion on keeping them captive would be much the same.

So, when he returned to the kitchen and saw them toppling over and scurrying back from the heat lamp that they’d clearly been attempting to use as a makeshift ladder to freedom, Logan didn’t bother commenting, simply moving forward and looking them over.

“You seem to have mostly dried,” he stated instead, able to appreciate the subtle design work of the poncho better now that it wasn’t being used as camouflage. The drider gripped it like they thought he might take it away.

They would react fairly badly to him reaching out with his hand, and reasonably so. Logan hadn’t exactly done much except douse, capture, and then gently interrogate them. Not exactly trustworthy behavior.

He studied the terrarium for a moment before grabbing a washcloth and draping it over the side, providing an easy textured surface for the spider to climb up. There. “You are free to go.”

The surprised expression that flashed across their face was almost comical.

“I’m not sure what your purpose in the bathroom was, but I’d ask you to be more careful in the future. One of my roommates…,” Logan sighed through his nose, exasperated even imagining it. “Well, suffice to say you should avoid him at all costs.”

The tiny drider continued to stare at him, gaze occasionally flickering over to the towel with clear suspicion. It was saddening to be so distrusted, but perhaps this show of goodwill would help prove that he didn’t intend any harm? He hoped he hadn’t frightened them from the residence entirely-- he shuddered at the many, many potential dangers the creature would find outside.

“My roommates will wake later in the day, so if you intend to avoid their notice, I’d suggest leaving the enclosure as soon as I have departed for work,” he gave a little farewell wave, not reacting to the slight flinch it elicited from the little guy. “It-- well, you probably don’t share the sentiment, but still-- it was nice to meet you. Goodbye.”

Forcing himself not to turn back and get one last look, Logan hurried out the door.

[belovedharringrove]

so i made a post saying that if you want proof that billy is abused by neil, that you should watch the scene where neil's asking him where max is with an abuser (but, like. don't actually do that if you can avoid it) and @sonneillonv asked to see my perspective on it.

okay so start this off properly

TRIGGER WARNING

there will be discussions of abuse to both a real person (me) and a character (billy).

i'm putting my thoughts in order as i write this so this may either be extremely short or very long.

right. i am 21 years old and i work and make my own money, and during all these years i have been abused physically, verbally and let's say financially. the physical abuse has slowed down but from the time i was 6-7 to when i was about 17 my father abused me physically almost every day, sometimes for what i considered to be the dumbest reasons but he considered to be disrespect. my dad worked in construction his whole life so he didn't have the lightest hand in the world either.

when i watched s2 e8 (correct me if i'm wrong but i believe that's the episode) i was with both of my parents.

in the episode, billy's getting ready for a date and neil knocks on his door demanding to know where max is, start insulting him, etc.

the moment i saw nail hit billy, i immediately went "see? billy lashes out at everyone because he's being abused. that is abuse." and my 60 year old father immediately disagreed with me. he said that no, that's not abuse, but billy was being disrespectful and maybe if billy had spoken better to him, neil wouldn't have had to punch him, billy could've gotten away with a slap to the wrist!!! which is a form of manipulation that he's used with me before. you know, the apologies that go "i'm sorry i yelled at you in public, but if you hadn't pissed me off i wouldn't have had to scream at you!".

then we get to the part where neil asks billy to repeat himself and i say "that's a tool that abusers use as a way of holding power over their victims" and my father once again disagrees with me. says that sometimes as a parent, you need to ask your children to repeat things so "the lessons stick better" and "they don't keep making mistakes". when i asked what mistake billy made, he floundered and then said billy lost max and when i pointed out that, in me and my older siblings case, we could both be home at the same time and be none the wiser because we're always in our rooms. perhaps the same thing can happen to billy and max? y'know, because they're humans and billy can't be expected to helicopter over a moody teenager the whole day unless he wants her to throw her skateboard at him? he just got quiet and told me to shut up.

then we get to the part that billy goes to the byers' house and he gets into a fight with steve. when max grabs the syringe and injects billy with the medicine, i say "she shouldn't have done that, that was very dangerous thing to do. billy could've died." and my mom says "but they were using that to put will to sleep, it wouldn't have hurt him." i then have to explain that we don't know billy's medical history. he could've had an allergic reaction to the medicine and simply just died. i am 100% certain that none of them have cpr training or even would've known what to do if that had happened. then they go and take billy's car, leaving him drugged and with no mode of transportation.

at this point my father is not very happy and says "well, billy is a grown man! if he hated being abused so much, he could've just fought back!" and- no. he couldn't.

billy looks like a grown man because dacre montgomery was around 23 years old in 2017 when season 2 came out and, let's be honest, the man is pretty fucking fit. but billy was a teenager. only 17 years old. it's not he didn't want to fight back, it's that he couldn't.

as a 21 year old, i have my abusive father financially dependent on me while he waits to be retired. i could easily deny him a single cent that he asks of me but i cannot. not because i'm incapable, but simply because my mind goes 'he's your father, he raised you, he loves you, do you really wanna turn into him? he did his best while raising, he wasn't perfect but who is?' and that's only a few of the thoughts that go through my mind. billy is 17 years old and similar things probably go through his mind, plus maybe 'i don't have anyone' because max proved she doesn't care for his wellbeing back at the byers house, susan wouldn't come to his defense and neil is his abuser. he's far from california, he has no friends and no other family. he's completely alone.

i really hope this made sense and i put it in a way that people understand. i am emotionally drained now because this is a difficult topic to breach for me, but if you have any questions or need me to clear anything up, just reply or send me a pm and i'll be happy to answer.

[rowanaelinn]

Safe Place

rowaelin month day four : librairies @rowaelinscourt

warning: not descriptive nsfw content

Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius could be described as a calm male. Out of all his companions, he probably was the one with the most self-control and he thanked the Gods for it every time one of his friends said something stupid.

However, it didn’t apply when his wife was concerned. Around Aelin, Rowan’s self-control seemed to vanish. She had the ability to get him angry, to become a blushing mess or a soft idiot with just one sentence. There was no control around his mate and it was one of the reasons he loved her.

But when he woke up in the middle of the night to an empty bed, Rowan lost the little human part he had in himself. Rowan lost all control the moment he smelled a lingering scent of fear. Her fear.

Has she been taken again?

Has it all been a dream? Had he not got her back?

In a second, Rowan was standing, knives at the ready around his waist. He would fight to get her back if he had to. Not having Aelin by his side made him feel like all the air in the world was gone.

Rowan wanted to yell at himself for falling asleep, he should have protected her.

In all the times her Fireheart was in danger, Rowan was never there to protect her. What a poor excuse of a husband and mate he was. He still didn't know why his queen was keeping him and hadn't already thrown him out. He was useless. Completely useless.

He kept complaining because of the royal duties, kept saying he liked being a prince just fine because it didn’t bring him any mess. His only role as King Consort, mate, and husband was to protect Aelin and he had shown the world how bad he was at it. Multiple times.

She wasn’t okay, he could feel her sadness from her side of the bond. Rowan felt like a prick for being relieved at the feeling of her emotions just because it meant she was still alive and not in a damn iron coffin that blocked every chance for them to communicate.

First, he came out of the royal apartments, following Aelin’s faint scent. She had become so damn good at hiding herself with her magic, a trick Fenrys taught all of them. It was a useful skill to have, Rowan was relieved most of the time no one could track her with her scent but he wasn’t tonight. Not when he needed to see her.

Thankfully with Aelin’s condition lately, her scent was stronger which meant she couldn’t cover up all of it. He refused to imagine she had been taken away until he had searched the entire castle twice. She had to be here, somewhere.

He went first to the kitchen, hoping to find her behind the counter, a plate with chocolate cake in front of her. She would look up, fork still in mouth and she would smile guiltily at him. She would apologize, saying she was always so hungry lately and he would shake it off, taking another fork and join her even if he hated cake. Just to show her she wasn’t alone.

But when he opened the door, the kitchen was empty, making Rowan’s heart clench.

Next, he went to the throne room, hoping to find her sitting on her throne, a sad smile on her face she would try to conceal with a smirk. He would ask her what she was doing here and she would tell him she needed to be alone and to feel in power, and what better than her throne to make her feel powerful? But this room was empty too, and Rowan’s heart crushed a little further.

Maybe she was in the inside cemetery, kneeling between both her parent’s graves. She would look up at him and wouldn’t try to hide her tears. She would have a smile on her face, telling him she needed to feel close to them. To be between the two of them without waking up with blood everywhere. Rowan would nod and sit behind her, letting her rest her back on his chest and he would let her cry bringing her all the comfort she needed. But she wasn’t here, and Rowan didn’t know where to look for her now.

If they were in Rifthold, he would probably think she was speaking to either Sam or Nehemia, telling both of them everything about what happened in their court since the last time she spoke to them.

But they weren’t in Adarlan so it left only one place where she could be. His walk to the library was slow, slower than he wished. He could just shift and fly instead of taking all the stairs but if she was there she would make fun of him for it, she had enough to tease him already.

When he arrived at the library, as always, he was dazzled by the splendor of the room. The last time the librarians counted, Aelin and Rowan owned three hundred thousand books and that was a decade ago, just after the construction work was finished.

Aelin had cried and laughed and smiled for hours when she first saw it, walking through all the sections to see every book, then made love to Rowan on the floor, more tenderly than they were both used to, to thank him.

As if seized by a frenzy, Rowan walked like a mad man through the library to find her. He regretted giving her something so big, having to look at every fucking row. There were so many places to hide.

After what seemed like hours, Roan saw familiar blonde hair. He let a sob come out in relief. She wasn't gone. There was no Valg Queen that had pulled her away from Rowan, no, his Fireheart was just sitting on a couch that looked very comfortable, six pillows behind her back.

"Rowan?" She asked, raising her eyes full of concern. "Is everything okay?" Her eyebrows were furrowed.

Instead of answering, he rushed to her side, falling onto her lap to be on the same level as her and scanning her entire body to make sure she was okay and truly in front of him.

His eyes fell on a small scar on her right knee, a scar she had made during one of their training sessions. He remembered kissing the mark every night for weeks when he noticed it after enjoying his wife's goddess body. He hadn't noticed that she was injured during their workout and he felt terrible about it.

Aelin kept telling him he was fussing, but he knew deep down she liked it. She loved to be cherished and protected. He dropped his head to her lap, unable to fight a sob. She put her book aside, sitting straighter and one of her hands found her way in his hair. Rowan hated himself for the tears streaming down his face as he looked up at her, he hated himself even more for the look of agony on his mate’s face.

“Speak to me, please.” She begged him, her hand still playing in his hair.

He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice even and strong but he couldn’t. “I thought you were gone.” He breathed deeply, trying to calm down and focusing on where he touched her, his hands and arms on her legs. “I woke up to an empty bed and your fearful scent and I panicked.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Rowan.”

“You weren’t supposed to go anywhere either last time but you still did.” He hated the poisonous words the moment they felt his mouth but his mate didn’t seem hurt, knowing anger was his way to cope.  “I’m sorry,” He hid his face on her leg, not wanting to see her hurt face.

“Don’t be,” Was the only thing she said as she kept stroking his hair. She was too good to him, she had always been. She had known so much pain her entire life but she was still an amazing person, Rowan didn’t know how much strength it must take her. The Gods knew Rowan lacked that particular strength when the time had come, he had turned into the worst version of himself. He admired his Fireheart.

After a moment, Rowan looked back at her and she smiled, his entire world brightened at this. She was okay, she was right here with him. She was safe.

“How are you?” He asked, feeling selfish for crying when she was the one who had a nightmare.

“We’re both okay, Rowan.” She reassured him as her free hand came to rest on her slightly rounded belly. Rowan’s heart swelled at the sight, he still couldn’t believe it. After years, decades, of trying Azlin was pregnant. She had been glowing for the past four months, even if she said otherwise.

“Is she still kicking?” He asked, one of his hands joining Aelin’s.

“Your son is restless, I hope you slept enough in your life because he’s not going to let us sleep much once he’s here.”

Both Aelin and him had a divergence of opinion on their baby’s sex. Aelin was sure it was a boy, whereas Rowan believed it was a girl. A girl had been their oldest in the vision he had for months when Aelin was gone. It had been too realistic to be a dream, had felt too real.

Yrene knew and had asked them if they wanted to know, but both of them agreed they wanted to keep it secret. They had too many surprises in their lives and none of them had been good, but this one would be. No more surprises unless it’s a good one.

“She’ll be worth every sleepless night.” His lips turned into a smile at the idea of a little Aelin and Rowan.

Aelin snorted. “Wait until you have to change diapers.”

At that, Rowan laughed, soon followed by Aelin. When he saw a hint of sadness in her eyes, his smile faded. “What did you dream of?” He asked, needing to know why his wife had left their room after a nightmare instead of waking him up.

She lost her smile too, her body tenser than moments ago. “Nothing important.”

“Please, tell me.”

She took a deep breath and some time to answer. Rowan didn’t mind, he’d give her eternity if she needed as long as he knew what troubled his wife. He got up, lifted Aelin's legs so he could sit next to her, and then rested her legs on his while he caressed her thighs in comfort. “I was you.”

“With Maeve?”

She shook her head making his confusion grow. She had already told him about nightmares of him being taken on that beach, of him being whipped and tortured for months. He had held her as she cried, as she told him the pain of losing him would have been so much more than the pain she experienced all these months away from him.

“In Arobynn’s cave.” She whispered as tears pooled in her eyes. He wouldn’t take her in his arms, he would wait for her to do it first, no need to overwhelm her. “With your eyes missing, whole body destroyed and a cold body.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Fireheart…”

“Have you ever dreamed of me like that?” She asked and he knew she didn’t mean just dreams of her, dead.

“I did.” He admitted, his heart beating faster at the thought of it. “First in Wendlyn, when you left for Rifthold. Every time I closed my eyes I lived the day I found Lyria over and over again. But it wasn’t her small body that I saw, it was yours. It haunted me for months.” He took a deep breath, controlling his emotions. Aelin was crying, she didn’t need someone else to become a wreck. “Then when you told me you were pregnant, it started again.”

It happened more than he wanted to admit. He knew it wouldn’t happen, it was impossible, but he still could see her dead body in front of his destroyed mountain home.

Aelin didn’t say anything but she straddled him, his hands finding her waist as her fingers slipped through his hair. Her forehead came to rest on his as they both closed their eyes, enjoying each other’s company. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

His hand stroked her back, his fingers drawing the lines of his tattoo he knew by heart now. Every part of her body was written in his mind. “You were sleeping so peacefully, I know it’s rare lately.” Her warm hand cupped his cheek and he sighed in her embrace. “Whenever I don’t feel okay and you’re not around, I come here.”

“The library?”

“Or the theater if I feel like walking.” Which wasn’t a lot lately, his wife’s pregnancy was taking her so much energy they didn’t go to the theater in months. She was always so tired or in pain, he knew she missed it. “Whenever I’m here, I feel so close to you, as if part of your soul was here between these walls.”

His heart clenched at it, he lifted up his head, his lips settled gently on hers. He kissed her languidly, generously, putting as much love and passion as he could. He loved her so much he felt like dying. He would die without her.

Slowly, she began to unbutton his shirt, her tongue continuing to play with Rowan's. The kiss turned from passionate to needy. He needed the reassurance she was here, she was with him, and his mate knew it.

In a matter of moments, Rowan was shirtless and had pulled her nightgown over her head, revealing her naked body. Aelin had gained weight in the years since the war, her body that had once been too thin was now full. She had had a hard time adjusting, she had been starving most of her life. Even during her years with Arobynn, she was always under a strict diet to stay the best. She had never been in a stable enough place for her to thrive.

So when her flat stomach rounded out, thighs grew and cheeks filled out, it was a shock. Rowan had been there to worship her body day and night, reminding her that she was just living, and seeing her happy was the most beautiful thing Rowan had ever seen.

One of Rowan’s hands was teasing Aelin’s sensitive nipple, tearing little cries out of her perfect, delicate, lips. Her hands undid his buckle quickly as Rowan lifted his hips to slide his pants and underwear down, freeing his hard member.

Aelin didn’t waste time before taking him, her hand around him applying just the right amount of pressure. His hand slipped between her legs, directly finding her wet and warm entrance. They moaned together as Aelin’s hand movement quickened and Rowan plunged two fingers in her warmth, hitting that spot inside of her that made her scream every time.

As good as it was, Rowan craved something else, so when he groaned Aelin understood. He pulled out his fingers, bringing them to his mouth to taste her. No matter how many years had passed since the first time, Rowan kept being surprised at how good she tasted. He moaned around his fingers as Aelin teased her entrance with his erection before sinking down, making both of their heads drop back.

Being inside of her had always felt so good, had always felt so right, as if he had been born just to do this. Her belly prevented their chests from touching but Rowan didn’t mind as he ran his hands on every inch of her skin as she started moving.

Aelin kept bouncing slowly on top of him, taking her time as she chased her pleasure, and once again Rowan realized how much he loved her. His Fireheart, his mate, his wife, and his best friend.

He loved her so damn much and he told her so, repeated it over and over again as they both fell over the edge, gripping the other’s skin as they reached the peak of pleasure.

They were both breathless as he lifted her up, pulling out of her and he used his shirt to clean her up. He didn’t want to get dressed not yet, anyway. He lied on his side, tucking his Fireheart next to him. That way, every inch of his front could touch her back. One of his hands came to rest on her belly as he took her book, opening it to where she had left a bookmark.

“What are you doing?” She asked him, her voice sleepy. He used his magic to extinguish most of the candles in the bookstore, leaving only the ones behind him lit to give him some light. "Shhh." He said softly into her ear, moving slightly to be more comfortable, and pulled her even closer to him. "You don't have to come back to reality now."  He told her then began to read her book aloud.

He couldn’t see her but deep down, he left her smile as she put her hand against his, both of them holding their baby as they hugged each other.

Aelin fell asleep quickly but Rowan didn’t stop reading, even if after many hours his voice became hoarse and his throat hurt. But if his Fireheart heard him maybe she would know he was still here, even in her sleep.

—————

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