#also interested in whether people share their real name and face but there are only so many options in a tumblr poll

[socraticcryptid]

because i'm curious about the current state of privacy norms on tumblr (clarifications below)

yes this is inspired by age/sex/location

Clarifications:

by share i mean: you've written it in tags (e.g. on posts that say "let me know where you're from in the tags!"), you would provide that information if asked, it's in your bio, you don't actively hide it, etc.

if you lie about one of them, i consider that to be not sharing.

for location, if you share your country (or state/region, if in the US, considering the sheer number of USAmericans on here) then i'd consider that sharing.

for age, if you share a rough age range (like 'early 20s'), I would consider that sharing.

yes i know that gender does not necessarily equal pronouns, but it's similar enough for this silly little poll.

for example: my pronouns are in my bio. i would be open about being an adult, if asked, but don't specify my age any further. i am not from the US but don't share anything more about my location. therefore, i would pick 'gender/pronouns only'.

[lippmannssplatteredblood]

Was it ever confirmed Lippmann was based on Walter Lippmann?

No.

But wait, there's enough evidence! (Ty anon im using this ask as an excuse to ramble and getting these off my chest)

As we all already know, most of the characters in BSD, especially ability users, are based on real life authors. Stormbringer explicitly stated that bsd!Lippmann was "an extremely powerful skill user" so he must be based on someone. And guess what? There happens to be a writer with the exact name as his.

Walter Lippmann was an American journalist, politician, and writer. He was deemed as "the most gifted and influential American political journalist of the twentieth century". His works mostly took the theme of public relations and stuff. Sounds familiar?

I'd like to add this part from the etymology section of his(bsd) wiki btw, just in case you didn't know.

Does it end there? No, not quite.

Let's take a look at his most popular work; Public Opinion.

"...The pictures inside the heads of these human beings, the pictures of themselves, of others, of their needs, purposes, and relationship, are their public opinions. Those pictures which are acted upon by groups of people, or by individuals acting in the name of groups, are Public Opinion with capital letters."

"The pictures in our heads", page 29

People, generally, have some sort of "persona" of themselves that they would try to plant on other people's minds. Kinda like the Japanese "three faces" proverb, you may say. And how do they achieve it? By only presenting that persona; by masking; by acting.

"Royal personages are, of course, constructed personalities. Whether they themselves believe in their public character, or whether they merely permit the chamberlain to stage-manage it, there are at least two distinct selves, the public and regal self, the private and human."

"The pictures in our heads", page 7

Simply said, him being an actor might be a reference to (or a representation of) that human nature which P.O. talks of. An actor acts—they dive into the role of another character that's not them. (Which, when you think about it, is just what us humans do on a daily basis, except they do it professionally and for a living, which when you think about it again—)

Mr. Lippmann also published books titled "A Preface to Politics" and "A Preface to Morals" which is....interesting.

Okay, "preface" and "face" technically are different. Though they still share somewhat a similar meaning.

But hear me out. Let's go back to the persona thing. Generally, what people would want to be perceived as is as the perfect, ideal versions of themselves. To make that happen, they would have to put on a good first impression. And what's usually the first thing that people notice about a person? Correct—their appearance; their face.

Lippmann(bsd) was multiple times described as "perfect" (like okay asagiri, he's pretty, we get it), especially regarding his looks (and capabilities). See what I'm saying?

Lippmann was the stage face, the public image of the Port Mafia. He was the preface to the Port Mafia. He created the pictures in people's head of the Port Mafia.

As a verb, however, "face" has another meaning:

He negotiated with front companies, met and talked with political figures, and even dealt with the press if push came to shove.

I feel like this might be merely a coincidence or a pun, though. But the fact that his field of work in the Port Mafia was specifically negotiating with the "real world" is definitely not something Asagiri just pulled out of thin air—or so I believe to be the case, at least, having read this paragraph.

"This is the underlying reason for the existence of the press agent. The enormous discretion as to what facts and what impressions shall be reported is steadily convincing every organized group of people that whether it wishes to secure publicity or to avoid it, the exercise of discretion cannot be left to the reporter. It is safe to hire a press agent who stands between the group and the newspapers. Having hired him, the temptation to exploit his strategic position is very great."

"The nature of news", page 344

Oh, by the way, remember this scene?

It's just a silly, filler interaction that seemed not to reference anything, but just you wait.

"Men cannot long act in a way that they know is a contradiction of the environment as they conceive it. If they are bent on acting in a certain way they have to reconceive the environment, they have to censor out, to rationalize. But if in their presence, there is an insistent fact which is so obstrusive that they cannot explain it away, one of three courses is open. They can perversely ignore it, though they would cripple themselves in the process, will overact their part and come to grief. They can take it into account but refuse to act. They pay in internal discomfort and frustration. Or, and I believe this is to be the most frequent case, they adjust their whole behavior to the large environment."

"Intelligence work", page 383

Then again, these are but my interpretations and/or speculations which I'd like you to take with a grain of salt, as I could very well still be wrong (because Asagiri loves to trick us, apparently).

I could go on and on and on and on and on but I'm afraid I'd just be blabbering nonsense at some point. Thank you for reading my (hopefully coherent) ramblings.

[andreafmn]

I'm Not Afraid | Chapter 20

Word Count: 3.1K

Story Description: (Y/N) Argent arrived at Beacon Hills to put to rest her father’s sister, Kate Argent. For the first time, her family has decided to settle down and sustain a life in this interesting small town. After 17 years, (Y/N) has the opportunity to establish interpersonal relationships but will she be ready to face the complications that come with relating to her cousin’s, Allison, friends; especially, the infamous Derek Hale. She will face the adventure of being associated with the Derek and McCall pack, as well as being faced with the discovery of certain aspects of her life she never imagined.

A/N: so, I was planning on updating three stories this week but my body decide otherwise and put me out of commission for the past three days. I had a fever of 102.4 that lasted all of tuesday, accompanied with a wide array of other symptoms. Then wednesday and today, I had a mind breaking migraine. I was able to finish this chapter and I hope I can finish the others too 🤍

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They were late.

No. They were later than late.

By the time Isaac and (Y/N) rolled up to the school, the game had already started and was going in full swing. Cheers and screams were heard from the parking lot, and they hoped nothing had gone down just yet.

“Get to the locker room and get the rest of your stuff,” (Y/N) said as they hopped off her motorcycle. “I’ll go down to the field and see what’s going on.”

“Be careful, (Y/N),” Isaac worried. “We don’t know what we’re facing yet.”

“I’ll be fine. Just go,” she affirmed. “I’ll see you out there.”

She waited until he had disappeared into the school before tucking a gun in the back of her waistband and her knives inside the holsters on her ankles. One thing was certain: if anyone, whether it be the Kanima or her family, tried something that night, she was going to fight back and defend the people she cared about.

In the field, there was a shared nervousness between all those who knew the truth of the world that was hidden in plain sight. But no one felt the pressure more than Scott. Not only was he forced to sit out of the game, putting everyone on the field in danger, but he also had to protect his mother and his friends from Gerard and Jackson.

“Let’s put a real clock on this game, Scott,” the boy’s ears twitched towards the man’s voice. “I’ll give you until the last thirty seconds. When the scoreboard clock begins counting down from 30, if you haven’t given me Derek, then Jackson is gonna kill someone.”

Dread settled in the pit of the boy’s stomach. The man listed off potential victims, putting in the pool his mother and Stiles’ father. Even Lydia’s and the coach’s names were mentioned. What he had not expected was the last person he said. He knew the man was cruel, but he never thought Gerard would stoop so low. “Or maybe I’ll send him off on (Y/N),” he said. “Maybe Derek will hand himself over if I do that. You know how much he likes the Argent girls.”

Scott’s head snapped behind him, his gaze colliding with a frantic (Y/N). She was speaking into her phone, at a tone so low even he couldn’t hear, but he could tell she was worried. He just hoped it had nothing to do with what was going to go down that night.

“It’s up to you, Scott,” the man instructed. “But you are going to help me take Derek down. Because if you don’t… I’ll have Jackson rip someone’s head off right in the middle of the field and drench everyone you love and care about in blood. And I’d really hate for that person to be my own granddaughter.”

Even without the Kanima, there was a slaughter on the field. With Stiles' little to no experience actually playing the game, the team had no chance of winning, much less of benching enough players to get Scott in there. It was wrong move after wrong move, and there was nothing he could do—at least, not just yet.

As the coach forced him to sit back down when he tried to join the team, he felt a presence next to him. Someone he wasn’t quite expecting.

“You came to help.” 

Surprise was splattered across his face as the other boy smirked at him. “I came to win,” Isaac said before his eyes fell on Gerard’s threatening gaze. “Do you have a plan yet?”

“No,” he sighed, “right now it’s pretty much just keep Jackson from killing anyone.”

“Well, that might be easier if you’re actually in the game,” the blond stated. “We have to make it so coach had no choice but to play you.”

“How do we do that? He’s got a bench full of guys he can use before he ever puts me on the field.” All it took was one look before both boys knew what had to be done and how. “Can you do it without putting anyone in the hospital?”

Isaac took a deep breath, knowing he could not lie. He said, “I can try,” before sliding on his helmet and joining the team on the field, and setting off to work.

Whoever saw him on the field would think Isaac was playing for the opposite team. With jabs, swipes, and kicks, the boy got his teammates out one by one. He knew they’d be hurt, their bodies and their egos, but there was a greater good to be fought for. A couple of bumps and bruises would heal a lot better than a dead body.

The plan was working and working well. One by one, his teammates were driven on and off the field. It was going too perfectly. Until Jackson rammed himself into Isaac, sending him to the ground and dislocating his arm while inconspicuously nicking him with venom. Either way, Isaac was out of the game, and Scott was in. He was out his only supernatural advantage, but he would protect everyone like he had an entire army behind him.

(Y/N) couldn’t stay in her seat as she saw Isaac being taken away. She sped down the bleachers to follow the medics but stopped dead in her tracks. She wasn’t the only one that was heading back to the school. Gerard and two hunters followed the men back to the boys’ locker room, their sights set on the werewolf.

The girl knew where her grandfather’s head was at. He was going to torture information out of the boy and kill him afterward. He had no need to let Isaac live once he got what he wanted. He saw no need to let anyone live.

The medics had left Isaac by himself in the recovery room after putting his shoulder into place. But it wasn’t enough to completely trigger his healing and not fast enough for him to protect himself from three men and a sword.

“It was a good effort, Isaac,” Gerard called as he motioned to his hunter to hand him his sword. “This would be so much more poetic if it were halftime.”

Gerard and the hunters made their way toward Isaac, the older man dragging the tip of the blade on the ground. It was intimidating, sure. But not when the boy knew he had backup. As the older Argent raised his weapon toward him, Isaac smirked, making him stop dead in his tracks.

In the reflection of the mirror behind the blond boy, (Y/N) stood, knife in hand and a smirk on her face. Before the younger hunters could do anything, she hit one on the back of the neck with the handle of her knife, knocking him out cold before turning to the other.

The second man put up more of a fight since he knew what was coming. He was strong and agile; she would give him that, just like she gave him the first punch he threw to her jaw. But he had no idea who he was fighting. (Y/N) had been trained her entire life for that type of situation, even if she didn’t know it.

(Y/N) went low, using his height to her advantage. She drove a punch into his abdomen, making him hunch over in pain. As he bent down, she grabbed the back of his neck before slamming her knee one time on his nose, making a bloody mess of his face, and another on his temple, right between the bridge of his nose and his eyes. The man tumbled to the ground as though he weighed nothing more than a doll, succumbing to the blow she had managed to land.

“You know this looks very predatory,” she said between pants. “Three grown men cornering a teenage boy in a dark room, not a great look. Especially the principal of the school! What will the parents say?”

“(Y/N),” Gerard announced. “Can’t say it’s a surprise to see you here. I should have known you’d betray the family. At the end of the day, you do have your father’s blood running through you.”

“But this is not about that, is it?” she questioned, slowly making her way toward him. “This is about you using innocent kids to get to Derek Hale because you can’t do it on your own.”

“None of this concerns you anymore, (Y/N),” he said. “Maybe you should take a page out of your cousin’s book and accept your fate. You’re a hunter. You always will be. These people… these things, they are not your blood. They will turn on you the second they need to protect themselves.”

“Weird,” she chuckled dryly. “The only people who have done that is my own family.”

“That’s because you have no sense of loyalty, granddaughter. But I can’t blame you. Not when your father turned out the way he did,” he sighed. “Although, he seems to have learned his place now.”

“Enough chitchat already, old man,” the girl exhaled. “Why don’t you show me a real fight? Something those two clearly didn’t have in them.”

“Come on, (Y/N). You wouldn’t hurt your dear old grandpa, now, would you?” Gerard smirked deviously. “I don’t think that’s a line even you would cross. Not when I have the information you have been dying to know.”

“What could you possibly know that I don’t already?”

“I know all about the mystery woman your parents always talk about,” he smirked. “I also know why you’ve always felt so… different. Especially this past year. Everything is just so… heightened.”

(Y/N) wanted to accept his offer. Something in her told her that his information was reliable, that he knew everything her parents were hiding and more. But as much as she wanted the truth, there were bigger things in play.

“Tell you what, I’ll give you a piece for free,” he said. “Ever wondered why you don’t look quite like us? Like your mother? Ask your father about Raina, and maybe you’ll find out. Or let me go, and I will tell you all you want to know. And something tells me you’d prefer the latter.”

“Wanna test your theory out?” she threatened as she pulled her gun from her waistband and pointed it at her grandfather. “Because you may have the years of experience, but I have my health.”

The words made the man stumble in his stance, the phrase sending shivers down his spine. There was no way she could know what he thought she was implying. Her choice of vocabulary had to come from a catalog of random remarks she could use to hurt him. Because she couldn’t know, no one could.

“I think it’s best if you just go while you still can, Gerard,” Scott called out as he came into the locker room. “I’ve seen her fight, and it’s better if you just go.”

The man didn’t think twice as he took steps back, his gaze set on his granddaughter. “This isn’t over yet,” he said. “But the game almost is.”

As Gerard ran from the locker room, (Y/N) took a stumbling Isaac into her arms. “Okay, I have to trigger your healing, okay?” she told him. “Just, please, don’t fight back.”

She sank her knife into his arm, flinching as he let out a painful scream. Blood ran down the knife and onto her hand, but she knew it was the fastest way he could recover. “Hold on for just a bit more,” she said. “Gotta make your body work hard.”

“It’s fine,” he winced. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“What did Gerard mean about the game, Scott?” (Y/N) asked as she turned her head to face the boy. “He said the game is almost over. Why?”

“Jackson’s gonna kill someone if I don’t give up Derek,” he said. “Gerard gave me until the last thirty seconds of the match.”

“Then take these two out back and get to the field,” she instructed. “I’ll clean up here, and Isaac will be with you as soon as possible.”

Scott set off quickly to work, pulling one of the men onto his shoulders while dragging the other out. But he stopped as (Y/N) called out, “Be careful, Scott. Night’s not over yet.” And he was gone.

“Alright, Isaac, I’m gonna pull this knife out now,” she said as she turned back to the blond boy. “It will sting, but it’ll hopefully be enough for your body to metabolize the rest of the venom in your body.”

Just as she had said, the girl slid the blade from her friend’s arm, holding her hand over the wound as it healed. She could feel his blood pool under her hand, warm and sticky, and all kinds of uncomfortable. His body was slowly healing, but it was still healing.

Slowly, she removed her hand from Isaac’s arm, letting out a breath of relief as the cut disappeared before her very eyes. Only then, when she was sure he was recovering, did she set off to get towels and a mop to clean off the trail of blood the hunter had left behind. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to warrant concern if anyone else saw it.

“Somehow, I keep forgetting you were raised to be a fighter,” Isaac muttered as he helped (Y/N) wipe away the last of the water on the floor. “Really saved my ass back there.”

“I told you I could protect myself,” she smirked. “Maybe now you’ll stop worrying about me.”

“I’ll always worry,” he said. “I can’t help it.”

“Well, at least you’ll know I can hold my weight in a fight,” she chuckled, bumping her shoulder against his. “I’m okay, Isaac. I’m gonna have a pretty bruise on my jaw, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Suddenly, the sound of a whistle echoed through the room, signaling the end of the game. Terror washed over the pair as screams followed soon after. Fear infiltrated the locker room, sending waves of dread through the teens. Something had happened out on the field, and Scott hadn’t been able to stop it.

“Go,” (Y/N) instructed. “I’ll finish up here.”

“What if Gerard comes back?”

“He brought a sword to a gunfight,” she smirked. “I think I know which of the two is most lethal.”

(Y/N) finished cleaning up the floor, making sure there was no evidence that a fight had ensued there. Her jaw ached and her limbs throbbed but there was an exciting rush that flowed through her. She knew she was good. She had bested her parents in sparring matches since she was only fifteen, but being able to prove herself in front of her grandfather made her feel proud of the progress she had made. She was strong, and that was something no one could take from her.

But Gerard’s words hung at the back of her mind, taunting her. Mocking her. Raina, he had said. It was a name she had never heard before, much less from her father’s mouth. But he’d known exactly what question it would answer, and what information she craved for. If it hadn’t been for the situation at hand, (Y/N) knew she would have gone as far as torturing even the smallest detail from the old man.

Still, as much as her brain yelled at her for answers, she knew she had to focus on that night. Whatever Gerard had planned would change everything between the hunters and the wolves, and they had to do everything they could to stop him.

Once she was satisfied with her work, (Y/N) ran out of the locker room and into the commotion of the lacrosse field. The lights of an ambulance van and police cars flickered in the field, painting the groups of concerned people in red and blue. She quickly spotted Isaac and Scott close to the ambulance, and she ran to them for an update on the situation.

“What do you mean Jackson’s dead?” she questioned. “And Stiles is just gone? None of this makes sense.”

“I know,” Scott sighed. “When the lights turned back on, Jackson was on the ground, and he’d stabbed himself in the stomach. My mom checked him, and he had no pulse.”

“But Gerard needs him,” she muttered. “There has to be something we’re missing here.”

“If there is,” he said, “I have no idea what it is.”

“What about Stiles?”

“He disappeared,” Isaac answered. “He won us the game and was gone by the time the lights turned on. We’re gonna look for him after we change out of our uniforms.”

“What can I do? How can I help you find him?”

“Hang around the locker rooms until everyone else is gone,” Scott said. “We’ll get his scent, and you and Isaac can look for him.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she agreed. “This is gonna be a long night, isn’t it?”

“You can bet on that.”

(Y/N) waited in the dark hall as boys left the locker room, doing her best to keep out of sights. From where she hid, she could hear the Sherrif’s heartbreaking plead to Scott and Isaac to let him know if anything came up about his son. She had not felt as useless as she did at that moment. She could fight, she could defend, but she could do nothing to find someone who had seemingly vanished. 

When the man walked out of the room, she fought the urge to tell him she’d make sure his son came home. On the one hand, she didn’t have a lead on him yet. And on the other, she wasn’t even supposed to be there.

“Coast is clear, (Y/N),” Isaac called out. “Get in here.”

Inside the room, Scott and Isaac both held something of Stiles—a shoe and a shirt. “You know I could have just picked the lock,” she said as she noted the twisted locker door on the ground. “Save the school a couple of bucks.”

“I’m gonna need your resumé for future occasions,” Scott chuckled. “There are too many things you can do.”

“You have no idea,” Isaac smirked before his gaze turned back to the shoe in his hand. “But how come you get his shirt, and I get a shoe?”

Before he could answer, a sudden presence made the hairs at the back of (Y/N)’s neck stand up. And the wolves had noticed. Their attention was no longer held by the items that could help them find Stiles. Instead, their sights were set on the man standing before them. The very man who had been avoiding (Y/N) like the plague.

“Derek,” she breathed. “What are you doing here?”

Next ->

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[a-suspicious-lack-of-bagel]

"List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers (ू•‧̫•ू⑅)♡" Thanks to @daydream-dryad-13, @dorianbrightmusic, and @0rchidrose for sending me this! I'll also be tagging rather than leaving in askboxes so I can better keep track of who I've sent it to.

When someone lets me know about something they think is interesting - this can be something as small as "hey look at this cool rock I found", or it can be someone explaining a topic they're interested in in considerable depth. i LOVE it when all you amazing people share interesting things with me!

People responding to stuff i've put out in the world - whether that's a "you ok?" after a vent, or a "ooh that reminds me of this!" after a blurble, or a "but hear me out, what if this" after an idea - you're telling me that a REAL PERSON not only LISTENED but JOINED IN??!? amazing.

I have recently discovered that there's a gluten-free French bakery about 15min walk from my house, and i am DELIGHTED. you're telling me there's this dude who heard we can't eat croissants, and not only did he go "damn that sucks" he went and STARTED AN ENTIRE BAKERY ABOUT IT??!? and there's sourdough?! which i haven't got to try yet cos it's only baked a few times a week and it sells fast and i'm busy but there are also ham and cheese croissants. which are ABSOLUTELY DELICIOUS??!? granted, i am still suspiciously lacking in bagels specifically but I GET TO EAT CROISSANTS AGAIN AND THEY ARE DELICIOUS. this is a VERY good thing and i am VERY happy about it!

Bob Mintzer's piece Computer. The computer-y sections pop and bounce just like the inside of my brain and it's SO fun; and the opening chords never fail to bring a smile to my face. (It's now stuck in my head, which i'm looking forward to enjoying for the rest of the day!)

Silly bad jokes/puns. When someone gets me with the 'hi X, i'm name' or similar - like, fuck you (on principle) but I love it. and when i get someone in a similar way - it's just so good! another one that always amuses me is "where's my fucking [item]?" "over there next to your regular [item]" - you understand the style? yeah.

there are many other things that make me happy (singing, in general; for one) but those are 5 specific examples that came to mind! now, for the 10 people who've reblogged me most recently that haven't sent me this yet: @atimewillcomeforsinging @musicalyikes @chilly-moss @mac-attac @verycisdragon @amastelaire @astronomical-bagel @most-definitively-a-human @thefairfeline and 1 other who I can't seem to tag, so I'll leave it in their askbox instead! And anyone else that would like to join - what makes you happy, you amazing people?!

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

furthering my evil plan mwahahahahahahah 📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚

HERE WE GO!

114 sentences for Ravi:

---

“Wait. What?”

“It’s called Hollywood Dream Homes,” Anil continues. “The network’s answer to Selling Sunset and Buying Beverly Hills.” 

“Wow,” Ravi exhales. 

He’s in utter disbelief. Namely because their father hates those kinds of shows. Says they’re embarrassing, unprofessional, you name it. Reality television in general, their parents just don’t get. What do their parents think? They often ask about literally any reality television star across almost every sub genre. He imagines that if Anil has told them about this, they already don’t approve. 

“Yeah, it’s kind of a huge deal,” Anil says. “They’re figuring out who they want to focus on, and it could be me. You know, I could be a main cast member.”

Every show needs a villain.

“Again, wow.” Ravi says. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

Or why being yelled at by literal firefighters didn’t run him out. 

“The producers want a story,” Anil sighs. 

“A story?” Ravi parrots. 

“Like a hook, for me. To make audiences connect.”

Because his personality is so abhorrent they can’t be sure audiences won’t wish for him to be set adrift on a sinking boat? 

“Again, what does this have to do with me?” Ravi asks.

Anil has the nerve to look sheepish as he speaks next. 

“Well, I was thinking… You know, our family went through a lot.”

“We grew up in Beverly Hills.” Ravi frowns.

“But with your cancer,” Anil says. “That was difficult.” 

Ravi blinks. “My cancer?��

“I’m sure you remember having it,” Anil says flatly. 

Ravi wants to defy the natural order of his profession and light his brother on fire.

“Of course I remember having cancer,” he snaps. “I only mean, what the fuck does that have to do with your reality show?”

“That could be the story!” Anil offers, like it makes perfect, easy sense. “How we rallied together as a family to support you. How that early childhood experience has impacted me, shaped who I am.”

Ravi’s jaw drops. 

“You’re kidding, right?” 

Anil furrows his brows. “I’m not.”

“Well, you should be.” Ravi replies coolly. “Because you’re crazy if you think I want that on a show about selling houses to C-List celebrities.”

Anil’s expression falters at this description of his show. But - and probably in the interest of accomplishing his goal - he lets it go. 

“It could be good for you, too.” Anil explains. “Get your face out there. Your name. You could appear in the show.”

Ravi shrugs. “I don’t need that. You’ll have to do it without my blessing or involvement.”

Anil groans. “I can’t.”

“You can’t?” 

“I talked to our parents about it.” Anil explains. “They’ll only agree to talk about it if you do. They say it’s up to you.”

Oh. Well. Isn’t that fucking interesting. Anil needs him. He needs him. He needs the part of Ravi he despises. The part of Ravi he resents. And for once, his parents aren’t giving into his whims. That’s… New. 

Ravi nods, feeling somewhat self-satisfied. “What an inconvenient time to have burnt a bridge.”

“Ravi, come on, man.” Anil tries. “I’ve never asked you for shit. And you know how stubborn they can be. How set in their ways.” 

Ravi scoffs. As if they can share their mutual woes over their parents. Like real brothers might. No fucking way. Ravi may have his issues with his parents. His grievances. His hurt, caused by them believing in Anil and ignoring the harm he does. But his parents are good people. They love him. Nothing they do, they do out of malice. Ravi can’t say the same about his brother.

“The answer is no,” Ravi says again. “And not just because I don’t care whether or not this is successful for you. But also because, even if I did care, the thought of reliving that for someone’s minor shot at celebrity makes me very uncomfortable. If you knew shit about me, you’d know that.”

“So that’s just it, then?” Anil demands. The shocked, pissed-off look in his brother’s eyes is as good as gold. “You’re going to ruin this for me?”

Ravi mock winces. “Guess that’s sort of what I do, right?” 

“Should’ve known better than to think you’d be anything but a jealous, toxic dickhead,” Anil shakes his head. 

And, normally, Ravi might have tried to refute this claim. Now, he just shrugs. What more can Anil do, really? He’s already alienated Ravi from one family. He tried and failed today with a second. Today, Ravi is the one with the upper hand.

[tinyladofladdies]

welcome to tinyladofladdie's ! blog . . 𖦹°‧★🐚

about this page . . ˙✧˖° 🫧 ⋆｡˚꩜ :

i felt compelled to make a blog centered around sharing ✞the Gospel of Jesus Christ✞ on tumblr. the internet and technology oftentimes tend to be the source of a lot of evil and secular living, but i believe that for modern-day Christians, with a sudden inability to avoid technology in most spaces, if we are going to use social media, we can add a lot to the internet space to glorify God in the way we present ourselves online.

i want my page to be a safe space to share the Gospel, share testimonies, talk about Christian issues as well as how to navigate modern topics as a Christian, ask questions, and seek help 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 ( keep in mind, i am no mental health professional nor pastor. if you are facing a serious crisis, i will pray for you and do my best to help you with biblical advice, but i would highly recommend seeking immediate sources of help if something is more troubling than any help i can provide. )

🌊☆⋆｡🪼 if you’re a Christian and want to participate in this blog by testifying of God’s goodness, sharing advice, answering questions, or just interacting, feel free to stick around! please remember to operate through God’s grace and truth and represent Christ well as you interact with this blog. 𓆉︎ ࿔*

𓇼🧉❀🐚 if you’re a non-believer and find my page interesting, or a non-believer interested in asking questions / finding information (whether for the sake of skepticism or for the sake of seeking salvation), you’re also welcome to stick around! you’re so loved here regardless <3

𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧🫧 heed . . while this page may eventually contain topics that are controversial at times, i believe there is a difference between conversation and argument. all people are welcome to exercise their opinions, questions, etc., but the last thing i want is for this page to become a place of toxicity or for anyone to feel mentally drained after a conversation. arguing for the sake of insulting or bringing anyone down, asking questions in bad faith with the intent to trap, mock, etc., are not what this page is for. disagreeing in a conversation is normal and not discouraged! starting an argument for the sake of bringing toxicity to my page is not welcomed or encouraged (see below for more details on how to interact with this blog!)

🌊☆⋆｡🪼𖦹°‧★ how to interact . . ˙✧˖° 🫧 ⋆｡˚꩜

｡ﾟﾉ 🪸🪼`◌ some ways that i encourage anyone to interact: come as you are, share what’s on your mind regarding the topics spotlighted on this page, ask questions, share your perspectives, seek safe space, reassurance, or advice. <3

Ꮺ °˳◌🫧`˳ how not to interact: trolling, bad faith “questions,” only entering or starting a conversation on this page for the sake of disrespecting Christianity (vs. asking a genuine question and simply disagreeing on a topic), insulting others, anything along these lines.

while i understand that the culture of today commonly uses certain phrases that many don’t think twice about, i respectfully ask that whether you are Christian or not, you do not in any way use the Lord’s Name in vain when commenting, asking, or submitting on my page. any blasphemy or disrespectful remarks about God will be removed & blocked. thank you.

◌🌊🐚Ꮚ°˳´ about me !

๋Ꮺ🗯️ you can call me scotty or little lad! the former is not my real name and the latter obviously isn’t, but both are alias’ i would like to be addressed as here on my tumblr. i commonly use little lad or something along those lines as an online username, and that phrase reminds me of scotland, which is part of my heritage and scottish gaelic is a language i am currently attempting to learn, hence where “scotty” came from.

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚 i am a ✞follower of Christ✞, currently attending and serving a non-denominational Christian church in socal. i am an 18 year old girl and still a senior in highschool as of now (graduating soon!). some of interests of mine include: learning about history, theology, and religion as a whole, marine biology & chem, music/choir, certain video games, TV shows, and movies [franchises], the ocean & sharks !! i have many miscellaneous interests and things i eek ! over, so honestly either ask more if ya want or wait to unlock the lore as i casually show how much i love some random small thing online from time to time. i love making friends so please don’t ever feel intimidated to interact with my blog simply for friendship purposes!

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊🦈 if you’re ever interested in learning about my viewpoints on specific theological topics, feel free to ask in the ask box or in a comment or message! theology, Christianity, and religion as a whole is such a complex topic that i cannot list every in-and-out of what i believe regarding church history, theology, etc. however, one other label i would give myself is “Bible-believing Christian,” on all topics of all time periods, what God defines as right and wrong remains regardless of culture or personal feelings!

◌🌊🐚Ꮚ°˳´ some other resources:

what is the Gospel? ✞

my testimony ✞

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

｡ﾟ 🪸🪼 creds!

copy & paste symbols: xiaosworld & moontslight

dividers: roseraris

[majaloveschris]

I see no point in talking, reading, or writing about someone you dislike so much.//

THANK YOU!! 🙏. I just don't get it either Maja, but if you call them out on it, they want to get in their feelings and soap boxes about somehow being above this and can do as they like, especially a few blogs in particular! I will never understand it, except to think that there are some awful people who just take pleasure in being cruel to others, especially celebs and want to use them as some virtual punching bag. Some of these people have even been outed for the lies they’ve spewed but still continue to spread those lies and be hating.

I can’t imagine coming here everyday to call someone a p…. or other names. Wouldn’t you much rather spend that time on something better or beneficial? It’s like they don’t understand that just because “he may not see” or whatever doesn’t give them a right to be nasty to him or that they won’t somehow get the same energy they’ve been putting out about him returned to them in some way.

They have made the fandom toxic, blogs and anons a like but want to completely through the blame on him for some things that just went to far. Also, if it wasn’t this PR thing they would still be saying horrible things about his hair or the rumors of him sleeping around or whatever else they see to “drag” him for. They act as if he committed some crime or done some heinous thing and it’s ridiculous. I have always said that this whole thing has shown/been a mirror to how some people really are on here and off it to others in their daily lives. The way they’ve behaved on here is exactly how they would treat someone else but wouldn’t want anyone else to say/do the things they’ve done during this.

I know for a fact a lot of people that have been hating are going to reap exactly what they’ve sown whether they want to believe it or not and I wouldn’t be surprised if some additional things happened, but I won’t say what. Freedom of speech, gossip, entertainment give anyone the right to assassinate someone’s character or slander them, especially over a silly PR. But as I’ve said, what goes around comes around, so good luck to them!

Look. I get that people are mad at him. I get it. The person he presented himself as wouldn't date someone like her. And everybody is disappointed, no matter what they believe in. He is being associated with them, and that's enough. Obviously, this being PR would make the situation slightly better, but still. It's okay to call him out, but there is a limit to doing so.

I get what you mean, but if this isn't PR and turns out to be real, then he's been also assassinating his own character. I simply don't believe it and find it a stretch to think he's been acting as a whole different person for 20+ years. It's impossible to do so. And I agree that believing every single rumor about him that's ever been shared because of whatever this is also a reach. No-name, no-face people can say whatever they want, and it's always crazy to me to see how quickly people jump to believing everything.

Holding him accountable for this whole shitshow and body-shaming him or calling him names are two different things. Call him out for things he's said or done, but if you dislike him so much, then don't care about him, because coming here and talking and writing about him is caring. I get that there are people out there who are interested in whether this turns out to be real or PR, because that would change things or decide forever if they are willing to support him or not. But some people are just here to hate on him, which is so unnecessary. That's only going to have an effect on their own peace, which should be protected, especially if they dislike him this much.

Some people always get mad when the whole "toxic fandom" thing comes, but bullying him because of his hairline, teeth, or clothing choices is toxic. As I said before, I agree when people call out the hypocrisy of everything that's been going on and how everything he's ever said and done doesn't match this situation, but what does his physical appearance have to do with that? The hairline and teeth things aren't news; he's been like that for years, and nobody seemed to care about it until this shitshow started. Now people left and right bully him for something he can't control.

I think people should focus on what really matters and not on things that have nothing to do with the situation. And if someone hates him so much that every single thing he does or says is wrong, makes them mad, or rubs them in the wrong, then maybe they actually shouldn't care about him. This whole situation just doesn't worth it if you really don't like him anymore.

[ravenadottir]

writing as a producer, not as a writer

to explain that title i need to talk about writing as a writer first. i promise everything will make sense in a bit.

as a writer you have a few steps to follow when writing fiction, whatever genre that might be. one of those steps is characterization. building a solid foundation over a trope so you have a well constructed person. it's called a person because there must be a personality attached to them, and not all writers follow this step... which can result in all those main characters syndromes known as "everybody loves her but she has the charisma of a bag of flour".

now, writing drama requires you to understand people and motivation. if you don't comprehend those concepts, all you have is isolated events and no connections or links to your characters.

let me give you an example using season 2 of litg.

if you trade hannah and chelsea's lines after day 24, will the characters make sense? would you say they're exchangeable? exactly, NO! because both of them have very defined personalities and individual traits. they might share an interest, sure, but they're not the same person.

now that we got these steps out of the way, let's write as a producer, which is what writers of seasons 1 and 2 were doing.

i've always hated seasons 3 and 4, but for one of them i couldn't quite put my finger on why.

season 3 is honestly a rainbow festival where kitties lick your face and shit bombons, i hate it. nothing exciting happens, and when something slightly more filled with energy comes along it's accompanied by your li forgetting your name... it's a laughable attempt on drama, and to me personally, no. it's a fuck off from me dog.

season 4, however, seemed to be coming strong for the drama because so many players asked for it. we badgered them asking for something, and um... the delivery was absolutely, for lack of better word, shit. and now that i've replayed a few episodes i understood why: producing.

seasons 1 and 2 were written from producers' perspective. once you have defined traits and characteristics, you have real people. now, if you want to instigate drama, how do you push those people's buttons?

by introducing raunchy challenges that make sense, bombshells that are irresistible to them, intriguing games that will plant a seed of doubt in their minds about certain people... contests, casa amor, more bombshells right after a brutal dumping, returning islanders.

for the most part the drama in those first two seasons was pretty realistic, and that is the reason! mason and levi getting angry, squaring up because the other is hitting on mc, mc not taking shit from anyone, lucy trying to sabotage her ex's current relationship mostly because she wasn't over them, erikah being mad and jealous and acting out of impulse... and that's to mention only a few of the feuds on season 1.

season 2 had so many classics: roccogate, lottie's explosions, every single fight about loyalty but the one instigating was also a flawed person (sitting on their own ass and talking about someone else). clandestine kisses, clandestine plans, doubt about loyalty through producers' doing, such as the tweet challenge. this season was built so well because the writers were thinking as producers!

it was a powerful combination of producing-writing and realistic characterization.

and after you introduce things or people that will cause the drama, one thing you need to do is to give your characters some development, whether positive or negative, BECAUSE PEOPLE REACT TO THINGS, and depending on who that person is, they'll react DIFFERENTLY.

did we have that on season 4? 3? ex-in-the-villa? did we have anything remotely human such as emotions or people? yeah, didn't think so.

the reason why i was put off from replaying season 3 is because they act like a bunch of pixels, and not like people. the writing is so weak and so convoluted, tired and lazy, i can't bring myself to play those seasons repeatedly. it takes me out of the story because there's nothing serious or entertaining happening.

individually, the characters might be hot, or cute, or both. together, as a group, MOST BORING SHIT I'VE EVER READ.

take the rahim-jo kiss as an example of how to pull your reader in. elisa told chelsea about the kiss because she knew the girl would blab, since she'd done it before (lottie and gary's event). that single piece of gossip goes to show almost everyone's expectations and reactions, consequentially showing us, the players, new things about the ones involved and it worked so well from a writing perspective. this is what it caused:

elisa blaming chelsea even though she was the one who gossiped. we get a pretty good idea of how elisa deals when in crisis, specifically when she's trying to get rid of the guilt.

shannon being sexist and aggressive towards jo instead of bringing rahim to the ordeal, which also reinforces the fact that she didn't want to let rahim go because he was her safe bet to the finale.

chelsea crying out about not wanting to hurt anyone, and dealing with her problems by drinking and trying to pretend nothing is happening, or that it's not that serious (even though she yells about gary in a challenge right after face-sucking elijah).

jo lying about the whole thing, clearly scared of shannon's reaction, and throwing insults around because she doesn't know how to deal with being caught.

ibrahim hiding because he can be such a pussy, and honestly doesn't really care for shannon.

the boys walking out because they don't think this is worth the drama

lottie provoking people by ignoring the questions about the kiss and asking about the towel.

hope trying to minimize the damage, always the mother.

and mc can do pretty much nothing about anything, it's our choice.

finally, the pool dialogue we have with bobby, and how emotionally drained he is despite this not being about him. it shows that he cares about the group.

just by introducing someone that rahim would surely like, the "producers" hit jackpot. they brought a girl that is an athlete, awkward, tattooed, and sent that girl on a date along with the guy that has a taste for girls like that, to a fucking spa. GUESS WHAT? they didn't have to push their lips together, they just knew rahim, and they knew he was frustrated with shannon.

by the way, introducing a strong-minded girl who knows what she wants, and doesn't fiddle in casa amor, is how they managed to make rahim choose her, because at that point, priya was history due to her pass at noah.

there you go, two dramatic events just by introducing people that would turn his head. drama that can last for days, and generate so many meme's, so many gif's, so many quotable pearls and classics to push the show on social media further more.

season 4's drama was like elisa telling chelsea the secret, and then chelsea blabbing about it but never once hinting she was dramatic as hell. on season 2 we have multiple instances of chelsea doing that, and not just with other characters, with us too, so it makes sense elisa would seek her to get the word out.

so when lexi pulled and threatened mc, i was like "yesss, finally, some drama!!" but then the next day she was like "ah yes, i was the little bobeep of the fucking i don't care tv show-shire" and i was so... confused ???? because why would the girl that was so passive-aggressive with me yesterday join me in the kitchen and tell me an anecdote??? one that is not relevant to anything and doesn't tell me how she was affected by my presence there ???

it was SO FUCKING RANDOM.

did we have random chats in the villa on seasons 1 and 2? ABSOLUTELY. but who started those? the crackheads! tim, gary, bobby. it was never hope or lottie who tried to diffuse drama by talking about random things, no! that was always the boys, mostly because they were either bored or uncomfortable, which falls into place with their personalities!

i sincerely can't bring myself to play season 4 because all the drama was apparently fabricated for shock value, and wasn't rooted in a true concise storyline or plot.

again, i'll use lexi and "YOU WILL NOT TAKE MY MAN" ordeal. what did she do after we picked kobi? ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY NOTHING. i was ready for her to pull a butterfly knife and start swinging, mortal kombat style... maybe even try to pull our mc's spine right out of our noses, but instead... she was just there, not saying or doing anything.

the repercussion of our choice doesn't match the promise, or the characterization that was given before. if lexi had drowned my mc i would be like, "ok, work, that makes sense." but she didn't do anything about it.

bobby had to hold lottie back when we chose gary on day 10, and she's incredibly creepy and cryptic the next morning. even takes a few jabs at pissing mc off until the very end, because she doesn't give up on gary and thinks she's entitled to have him. her actions match her personality, and lottie walked so lexi would trip, fall and crack her skull.

the producing worked in so many instances, more than times that didn't, so explain to me, WHY DIDN'T THEY REPEAT THIS FORMULA IN UPCOMING SEASONS.

for instance, boat party. instead of having an episode or two with your li, and building up for them to leave after a serious fallout, and that being the climax in your storyline, NO! that was the setup for the boat fucking party. it happened in 50 taps or less. WHAT WAS THE REASON?

i hate everything fusebox produced after season 2 but like... for different reasons.

everything feels like riverdale, it's a bunch of absurd and over-the-top shit happening, cringe dialogue, only to have zero any impact on the people involved, no consequences, not even vestigial feelings. it's for the shock value and shock value alone.

it seems the writers and writing directors are thinking episode by episode, instead of making an outline for the season, so we're left with a lot of isolated incidents that overall don't make any sense, and don't foreshadow or create any repercussions.

you cannot draw a timeline with any season beyond season 2. and i hate that lazy shit. i truly do.

i was going through the litg s5, the ex-in-the villa tag here, and... so many complaints about the toxicity of the characters! it's giving after saga. no real motivation behind the drama, no real repercussions, over-the-top scenes for no reason, obnoxious and unlikable people. it's a slap on the face of the players, it truly is.

but still, i was pushing myself to persevere and try to play season 5, and then i saw the design.

YOU CAN'T BE BAD AT THE WRITING AND THE DESIGN, PICK A STRUGGLE.

so... to sum it all up, writers were successful on early seasons because characterization and situations walked hand-in-hand. one caused the other and we were able to witness the consequences, and whether positive or negative, they EXISTED. they PRODUCED the show after coming up with characters that felt human, then just wrote the consequences for whatever it was.

anyway, just wanted to talk about this because it had been a while since i last touched an litg season, and when i realized why i hate recent ones, i had to write about it.

[good-beanswrites]

Okay, kyanako said that I can ask for a director's commentary on the fic you wrote for me.

Is there anything you’d like to share about writing this fic? Any thoughts during the writing? Maybe any questions for me?

Not you too 😭😭😭 Haha, but thank you for the option to ask you questions, because I actually do have a few! My normal commentary is in pink, but I put questions in blue :) Some of them are specifics about your characters, but I also just want to hear your takes on writing Es 👀 I don't write them super often, so I'm curious how you characterize them...

Es clutched at their head. Their fingers tore through their hair. It was the middle of the night, so they resisted the urge to shout. They didn’t want to draw any attention to themself. If they remained completely silent, though, they wouldn’t need to refrain from crying.

And so they cried.

I wanted to start off right away by setting the theme of Es experiencing the typical pain of a child in their position, but refusing to be treated like the are.

You see, there is only one sensation worse than waking up from an awful dream: waking up from a very, very, good one. 

I'm kind of relying on readers understanding this feeling already, I didn't really know how to put it into words 😅 (Is this common for people?) It's happened to me several times, and it genuinely can hit harder than a nightmare.

Es had grown accustomed to the nightmares that Milgram produced. In these dreams, Es might take the place of the prisoners. Their stomach would twist with horror at the blood on their hands. Other times, they found themselves in the victim’s shoes. They’d wake in a cold sweat, feeling hands closing around their throat, or weapons swung at their temple. 

I feel like a lot of fics (rightfully) focus on all the messed up things Es experiences on a daily basis, like this. I'm usually more upset by their canon lack of interest in their past and future. Their refusal to miss/hope for anything better is really what hurts me, and it took a while to figure out what may push them to the point of finally acknowledging it. I thought a dream was a good start. When you picture them, are they wondering about their identity a lot? Would certain things be enough to jog their memory, or do only extreme situations get through to them?

But they weren’t prepared for a dream of absolute peace. They were happy. They were laughing. There were people nearby, smiling. It was all emotion and no detail – not a single face, place, or voice, was clear – but they knew for sure what the dream had consisted of.

Es was with their family. 

I debated so long on naming specifics about what they saw, whether it was glimpses of your characters or small lines of dialogue... I still hadn't decided if I wanted the dream to be a real memory or just their imagination, though, so I kept it up to interpretation. (Also, I was so afraid of getting something wrong about who they'd be close to or how they'd react in your mind 😭 "he wouldn't fucking say that" fr). In an early draft of this, Es had fallen asleep while cataloguing the prisoners' family members, and dreamed that they were a part of some of those families. It wasn't as effective as I'd hoped, so I got right to the point and made it their own family here.

So uh, I guess, what would they dream about if it were 100% accurate to their real family? I also thought about making the dream a vision sent from them to communicate a message -- is this something that a family member could/would do? And which relative is Es closest to? I've heard you talk more about their father, but I wasn't sure if that necessarily meant they were the closest. (I wanted to make a more specific parallel with one of the prisoners. I'd pair them with Amane if they were close with their father, Haruka if it was their mother, Mikoto if it was a sibling. Since I wasn't sure, I thought Haruka was a safe bet.)

They choked out another sob. 

For the longest time, they wondered if they even had a past to remember. But that was all foolishness – Milgram was in the business of judging humans, not creating them out of thin air. They’d tried asking Jackalope, once. He turned out just as cryptic as some of the prisoners in their interrogations. Another time, they had considered using the prison’s mysterious machine on themself. There was no way to operate it alone, though. And when it came down to it, they were always alone.

Yeah. So. I made myself upset realizing the isolation Es feels :((( They're at Jackalope's mercy as much as the prisoners are, but they can never truly bond with the others over it. They're different from the prisoners, but they don't even have that much power over them (only responsibility). I thought about including an actual attempt to use the machine without someone watching over them, and what a risk that would be. It ended up taking the story way off-focus, but I wonder what could actually drive them to the point of doing something dangerous in the name of getting memories back, or would they always be accepting of the situation, given their personality?

They curled themself tight, dragging the bedsheets with them. Usually when they wondered about their past, mere curiosity washed over them. Now, they were flooded with an entirely new type of longing. It filled their chest. No, that wasn't it. Rather, the feeling left a wide hole through them.

I'm glad you thought the curling up was cute ;--; I just wanted the reader to remember how young and small they are ;----; I was sad writing this and needed everyone to remember along with me 😭

If they did have a family, had Es been stolen away? Could there be someone else out there right now, crying in the middle of the night, just as hard as Es was crying for them? The thought was not comforting.

Or, like Es, had they forgotten all traces of their connection? That possibility also did more harm than good.

Es tried to reassure themself – if this family hadn’t come looking for them, maybe it meant they weren't wanted in the first place. Maybe Es had been willingly turned over to Milgram, their parents glad to be rid of them.

That thought didn't help at all.

I had a lot of fun evilly choosing the most painful possibilities for Es to consider >:3 (<- SHE'S LYING SHE MADE HERSELF CRY). The uncertainty would hurt any any reader, but as my target, I hoped to pinpoint some exact things you'd mentioned in the past. I was picturing the art of Es' father hunting Milgram down, and some of your comments about them remembering and missing Es.

Something clattered out in the corridor. That must have been what woke them. They rose from bed, ready to raise hell. How dare one of the prisoners rip them from such a dream. Es could never return. The offender would pay for this. 

It took only a moment to put on their uniform and wipe the tears from their cheeks. They swung the door open to find Haruka stumbling down the hall. 

I'm always a sucker for the uniform being a symbol of Es' obsession with their role -- putting it on is the same as them putting up an act, even if they don't quite realize it.

“Prisoner number one, what the –” they grabbed his arm. Only then did they notice the dazed look in his eyes. His body flinched, waking from what must have been sleepwalking.

“Ah! W-warden!” He blinked, his mind still stuck somewhere else. “I’m s-sorry! What, ah… I was dreaming... She was – she was right here…”

After this part I tried ending the drabble with Haruka saying, "I was dreaming," and Es replying bitterly, "me too." Haruka then says, "it was about my family," and much quieter, Es repeats "me too." As much as I loved the exchange, I wanted the gut-wrenching pain of Es rejecting their family rather than missing them at the very end 😎👍

Es took a measured breath. They steeled their expression. There would be no unleashing hell tonight. They had lost sight of their role. They had gotten distracted with childish emotions and silly dreams. They were Milgram’s warden, not some kid like Haruka who wandered around the prison late at night looking for his mama. 

Es adjusted the hat over their hair. It was good, they told themself, that they couldn't remember a thing from the dream. They didn't need any of those people. They were perfectly fine on their own. Such a distraction would not happen again.

I had to mention the uniform hat again because I'm just too obsessed with the symbolism asdfsdfs. And yeah, like you said, all of this was an attempt to convince themself. They don't really believe it, but they have to make themself believe it, or else they'll be in even more pain...

“Let’s get you back to bed.”

“But, my p-parents, they were–”

“They’re not here. Nobody is. Back to your cell, prisoner.”

Of course "they're not here" is reflecting Es and Haruka both missing their parents, but I hoped the last line would also continue the parallels between them -- at the end of the night, Es is a prisoner here too :(

[afterthefeast]

terror ep 7 rewatch

ok kind of funny hodgson was the one who let hickey on to the terror. all things considered.

“are these our own choices, cornelius? or are they being made for us?” kiiiind of a thesis statement methinks. cause like tbh yeah their choices are being made for them, there’s no real counter to that. and while i do think the mutiny is supposed to be read as crossing a moral line, turning one’s back on the bonds that make one human, at the same time hickey et al are all products of a victorian class system which has confined them to a certain strata of society and only encouraged resentment and ruthless competition between those born in the same class as you for very little reward. hickey’s whole logic for the mutiny is rooted in this competition; the idea that the correct response in the face of resource scarcity is to maximise your share regardless of the cost. capitalism moments i guess.

billy being the first to suggest the mutiny, though hickey starts to take control of the overall idea once tozer indicates he’s in favour — good demonstration of hickey’s general opportunism rather than machiavellian scheming.

“we’d prefer to die under english blankets, smelling english coal.” — the interesting thing is that the show pretty neatly balances the harsh truth that this doesn’t really matter because they’re equally dead with the fact that it sort of does matter in that if they’re dead either way at least they died with that comfort? but also on the other hand that attitude is really what doomed them from the start

ship as confessor is cool — from now on there’s nowhere for crozier to hide, figuratively or literally. not only does his survival succeed or die based on his own physical strength but also the entire expedition lives or dies based on his flaws.

collins & goodsir conversation — “my stomach doesn’t know horrible from supper, but i do” wooo the horrible logic of cannibalism. eating other people does necessitate on some level a loss of identity (as human, as someone who was friends with those people etc etc) — and in fact probably on some level requires that breakdown in identity (material necessity overriding in-group ties at the very least) to become justifiable.

goodsir begging crozier to send out hunting parties — crozier is sort of becoming franklin here a little, i think? while i personally hate franklin i really don’t think he’s intended to be completely dislikable and probably this is supposed to show how for all he was a dick about it he was dealing with very difficult questions. but crozier does then later send out hunting parties once morfin dies so he’s not fully there yet.

deeply tattered british flag.

tozer asking for weapons is kind of a lose/lose situation for crozier because at this stage tozer’s still somewhat loyal, though probably the mutiny was a foregone conclusion. arming a group including hickey is obviously dangerous, but as little and crozier admit tozer’s reasoning is sound, so refusing to arm them only further distances tozer and strengthens the argument that sticking with crozier will not ensure their survival.

goodsir carrying around jacko’s body — he’s so interesting!! like simultaneously he feels so bad but also he’s

crozier remembering morfin’s name and that he’s from gainsborough

actually i think in this episode in particular there’s a strong undercurrent of choice running through it. like broadly that’s a theme in the show more generally but it’s really to the forefront of this episode — obviously with billy asking if they’re even making their own choice, and with collins and goodsir’s conversation throwing into question whether cannibalism can even be considered a choice if you’re just that hungry. and then most importantly with morfin; crozier won’t let him die, and like, yes that demonstrates crozier’s insistence on getting all of his men out of here, but also there’s no reason why morfin shouldn’t get his wish. he is dying, incredibly painfully, and he obviously won’t make it to whatever paradise may be waiting for them. but he lacks the means to kill himself so he’s begging someone to do it for him and crozier refuses. notably in two episodes he will make the exact opposite decision with fitzjames.

there’s a few things here — the first is showing how the arctic will slowly push you towards making harder and harder choices and compromises and crozier hasn’t reached that point. the second is that a lot of the characters are in their position because of the choices of other people. of the admiralty to send the expedition in the first place, of franklin for refusing to listen to crozier’s advice, of crozier and fitzjames deciding to walk, and these choices get passed further and further down the chain of command to little & dundy abandoning the sick. and third i think there’s a suggestion of the arctic as a crucible in which your choices are thrown into stark relief. the cogs of empire tend to make every choice seem very far removed (you don’t see the person who died to get your coffee etc etc, a general won’t see the soldier they ordered into battle actually die, decisions are made by people far away from where they’ll be felt most). but in the arctic that distance is removed and you’re face to face with the reality of your choices. this has implications both for empire in that it’s a site where the structures that supported it break down under their own weight, because they’re no longer protected by that distance. but it also has key implications for the self — you can distill the interactions between crozier & morfin and later crozier & fitzjames into the basic question of mercy killing another human being, and what you do in that situation? initially, in ep 7 crozier is still somewhat protected from the cold reality of that choice and it’s ultimately made for him by tozer, but in ep 9 he cannot hide from it and chooses differently. there’s also the sense, not that your true self is revealed in the arctic, but that it does test you to see how, well, you “measure up”, because every choice you’re faced with is an immediate one. there are no empty choices, and so your responses to them says everything there is to say about who you actually are.

oh and tozer shooting morfin eventually is pretty key; shows that he will make that difficult choice and contextualises his view of the mutiny as really an extension of this.

silna & goodsir — their relationship is sooo fascinating but mostly

in a way hartnell has what hickey wanted with crozier i think — a special relationship, his ear and confidence. hartnell achieves this by working within the system; he has the appropriate response to his punishment, exactly what a good victorian boy should do. whereas hickey’s response is really more reasonable to a modern day viewer; he’s resentful and angry. like yeah hickey is an irredeemable racist and his view of what is fair is ultimately also deeply embedded in a victorian worldview (see his extreme resentment of silna) but he does on some level recognise that the world is unfair and rage against it. this isn’t hickey apologism though and more i suppose suggesting that hartnell (who ultimately dies for crozier in his arms) is an illustrative example of the unfairness of the victorian system, and the only way to get anywhere within it is to meekly submit to indignity and suffering.

jopson getting promoted. fitzjames psyching him out is very sweet, as is how excited the rest of them are. alsoooo breakdown of norms woo

why exactly does hickey say he needs an officer for the mutiny? is it to give it a veneer of legitimacy or because he’s more comfortable acting as second to a leader who can take the fall?

i am actually so confused about what hodgson’s role is. why wasn’t he at the command meeting and why if they’re short of officers is he going in the same hunting group as irving?

irving meeting the netsilik…ultimately he is reduced purely to John, nothing more and nothing else (the arctic will strip away all vanity and conceit).

[agent-cakeshroom]

Trolls Universe TMNT

There's at least 4 of you out there interested in my thoughts on tmnt being in the Trolls universe. SO HERE IS THOUGHTS

To start with, their species! I figured it would be similar to trolls with there being different subspecies of turtle-people(no idea on name yet). Maybe not all the turtles that exist, but some popular ones. We gotta have the obvious: Alligator Snapping Turtle, Softshell Turtle, Red-eared Slider, and Ornate Box Turtle. I'm debating on whether the turtles all live together, or in smaller groups based on their real life habitats.

Generally, they'd be about a head taller than your average troll. However, turtles like the Alligator Snapping Turtle are twice the size of a normal turtle. When designing any of them, I try to keep in mind they have sharper edges. More square vs Trolls who are more round. They only have three fingers, much like in the TMNT cartoons, although if we include Sea Turtles maybe they'd have webbed fingers?? They all have TAILS!

They're born from eggs of course, but it's more of a community thing than with Trolls. The eggs are kept safe in a pond dug specifically to house the eggs, and there's a rotation of turtles on protection duty. Parents will come and bond with their egg by simply holding them in the water, talking to them, and just being close.

Now onto TMNT specific thoughts! I wanna keep the species to the ones from ROTTMNT since they make sense. Raph is an Alligator Snapping turtle. His skin is tougher than his brothers', his shell is thicker with large spikes, and all of his teeth are sharp. His tail is nearly as long as a troll is tall, and he can control it about as much as a cat. With his size and sharp edges, Raph is incredibly careful and gentle around others. To the point his brothers are entirely unafraid and will climb all over him like a jungle gym. Mostly Mikey. Speaking of, Mikey is an Ornate Box Turtle with yellow spots across his skin, maybe like large freckles? And yellow stripes on his carapace. He's definitely the roundest of the bunch, but still more square than a troll. He's about the size of an average troll, being the runt. Leo is a red-eared slider of course, but unlike the ROTTMNT design the red stripes run under his eyes almost like eyeliner and then down back towards where ears would be. And he has two light yellow stripes on each arm from shoulder to wrist, as well as one on each side of his face from under his chin to his collar bone. Donnie, as a soft shell, is more lanky than his 'twin' but has similar stripes down his arms. However, rather than light yellow they're a dark brown, and he has a faint yellow spot on the outer corner of each eye.

The brothers aren't going to wear masks, but they'll all have an article of clothing with their colors instead. Raph has a large bandana neckerchief/scarf that he likes to hide his face in when he's embarrassed, along with dark red wraps on his wrists and ankles. Mikey wears a bright orange short sleeve cropped hoodie, and he has brightly colored stickers across the front of his plastron. He's also got burnt orange leg warmers, and a few brightly colored bracelets. Donnie has a sort of battle shell, still bright purple, but with a lot less features. He also has his goggles, a tool belt, and dark purple leather gloves. Leo I'm unsure about, so if anyone has some ideas lemme know lol. Been sat here for 20 minutes trying to parse out his design. I'm trying to avoid giving them pants because the shells, almost rethinking Mikey's top too, but I keep wanting to give Leo stirrup socks of some kind.

Ok, I'm getting sleepy so I'll stop here. Feel free to share thoughts, suggestions, criticisms, etc.

[thewertsearch]

?CG: WE'RE ALL SORT OF COOKING UP A PLAN RIGHT NOW. ?CG: MY RIGHT NOW. ?CG: WHICH IF SUCCESSFUL, MAY, AND I DO STRESS MAY, END UP WITH ALL OF US MEETING FACE TO FACE.

I'm interested in where, exactly, their rendezvous is going to be. I had a bit of a think, and came up with four plans that could bring these teams together.

The trolls could join the human session, to escape the Demon.

The humans could join the troll session, to help them defeat the Demon.

Both parties could rendezvous in some tertiary location, such as the Furthest Ring.

Both parties could connect to each other, and establish a tertiary, sixteen-player session.

There's a problem with three of these options, though. Namely, if the two teams were planning to share a session, then Karkat would have no reason to be uncertain about whether they would meet.

A plan involving the Furthest Ring, however, requires the cooperation of the Horrorterrors. Who knows how that could end?

?CG: AND WHAT I'D LIKE TO AVOID IF AT ALL POSSIBLE ?CG: IS TO HAVE THIS RENDEZVOUS INSTANTLY DETERIORATE INTO A LOT OF REVOLTING TROLL/HUMAN SLOPPY MAKEOUTS.

There is literally nothing under any sun, Green or otherwise, that could prevent this from happening.

?CG: GOD DAMMIT, IT'S NOT EVEN LIKE YOU DON'T HAVE ACTUAL HUMAN FEMALES NEARBY FOR ACTUAL BIOLOGICALLY VIABLE MATESPRITSHIPS! [...] CEB: rose and jade? [...] CEB: you want us to like, date them?

Jade/Dave has potential, but I don't see Rose/John working out - and not just because of Kanaya. Romantic tension in Homestuck is usually pretty obvious, and I haven't observed any between those two.

?CG: WOULD IT REALLY FUCKING KILL YOU TO CONSIDER IT?????? ?CG: I MEAN GOD. WHAT DO YOU EVEN THINK YOU'RE DOING HERE IN THIS GAME? ?CG: YOU'RE CREATING YOUR OWN UNIVERSE TO GO LIVE IN. ?CG: AND JUST HOW DO YOU THINK YOUR SPECIES IS SUPPOSED TO REPOPULATE ITSELF??????????? IDIOTS.

Four humans can't seed a population, even if they weren't two pairs of siblings. Ectobiology wouldn't help, either - the gene pool is just too small.

This isn't the real reason that Karkat wants the kids to avoid dating trolls - but I also think he'd have trouble understanding why it's not a viable plan. Trolls don't work like that.

CTG: ok youre by far the worst artist out of any of us CTG: and thats saying something ?CG: SHUT UP I DREW IT FAST

ha!

?CG: AS YOU CAN CLEARLY SEE, THERE ARE ONLY TWO SETS OF COMPATIBLE QUADRANTS HERE FOR LEGITIMATE CONCUPISCENT PAIRINGS.

I wouldn't have expected Karkat of all people to go full hetero - especially since the ecto-machines could almost certainly merge John/Dave or Rose/Jade. Methinks he's applying 'not a homosexual' a little too broadly.

CEB: wow, i have to marry rose? CEB: uh… CEB: wow.

Just like with Vriska, this is all new to John.

I don't get the sense he's ever thought about romance with Rose - she's just his friend. Up until now, he hasn't seen her as anything else.

CTG: it was so much cooler when you were asleep and i basically never had to listen to you ever ?CG: I CAN'T GO TO SLEEP CEB: why not? ?CG: BECAUSE I'M TOO TIRED TO EXPLAIN WHY IS WHY. ?CG: YOU'LL FIGURE IT OUT LATER.

What's the problem, Karkat?

No recuprecoon? No dream self? Both, in tandem?

Guess we're about to find out!

[josefavomjaaga]

Larrey and his family

A while ago I came across a discussion about Dominique Larrey’s family life, in particular, about him treating his two children (daughter Isaure and son Hippolyte) rather badly. I hope people are still interested in the topic, as now we’ve rediscovered the book this bit of information came from. It’s a 1902 biography by one Paul Triaire, "Dominique Larrey et les campagnes de la Révolution et de l’Empire (1768-1842)". Just as a disclaimer, while I will cite some not so nice passages about Larrey, the overall tone of the book is very positive, if not outright adoring. As a matter of fact, I’ve come across a book review from 1902 that vehemently reproached the author of being too uncritical of his hero and of not – as we would say today – fact-checking his sources (often letters and texts by Larrey himself that the author took at face-value).

All credit for this goes to @northernmariette who found the book on Gallica first, I’m merely the translator (or rather, DeepL is, and I’m typing it down).

I had the impression on browsing the pages that Larrey was, as far as family matters are concerned, an extremely conservative man, and had probably always been. For example, he seems to have been very disappointed in Cairo on learning (from the one and only letter from his wife that made it to Egypt) that Madame Larrey had given birth to "only" a girl:

[…] This single letter filled him with a joy that was not unmixed. It informed him of the birth of a girl, instead of the boy, already named Hippolyte in advance, that he had been expecting. […] We shall see later that this daughter, whose arrival Larrey greeted so coldly, was, on the contrary - as is often the case - the delight and consolation of his life.

Unfortunately, we cannot ask daughter Isaure if this was also true the other way around.

And just to show the other extreme: When in 1809 he learned in Spain that Madame Larrey finally had given birth to the long awaited little Hippolyte, Larrey claims to have been so beside himself with joy that he ran from door to door and even tried to disturb King Joseph during his siesta in order to share the news.

At this time, in 1809, young Isaure (who must have been around ten) had already become her father’s preferred correspondent - apparently regardless of whether the topic was suitable or comprehensible for a child. Among other things, Larrey instructed his daughter about how to treat her mother during and after the pregnancy.

[...] One has to look at the letters he wrote, not to his wife, whom he did not want to worry, but to his nine-year-old daughter Isaure, who became his confidante. It was an extraordinary peculiarity of Larrey's character that he had such a way with this child. He obviously lacked the faculty of discerning the ages, and his recommendations were of the kind that are usually addressed only to a grown-up. By the same mental transposition, he was later to send his son, a young schoolboy of six or seven, his "Mémoires et campagnes" (Memoirs and Campaigns), instead of the short stories we are accustomed to having children read. However, these strange methods of early education did not prevent his daughter from becoming an accomplished woman, and his son from one day becoming one of the most distinguished men of his time. He sent Isaure detailed instructions on her mother's hygiene, bed rest, diet and finally the baptism. The child, who was to be a boy - Larrey did not even intend to consider the possibility to the contrary - was to be called Félix-Hippolyte. [...]

This sounds all a little weird, but surely not extraordinary for the time. Apparently, the real problems only started after the Empire, with Larrey now staying home, with his family. Over whom he dominated rather severely. Severly enough, in fact, for the author to use the word "tyrannique", tyrannical.

It seems at first sight, from what we know of his character and the tenderness he showed towards his wife and children, that he must have been completely happy to live among them. He had always hated the extended separations that had kept him away from his family for so long and so often, and he had long wished for peace. In all his letters to his wife from the farthest corners of the world, from the banks of the Sprée, the Danube, the Elbe and the Niemen, he expressed his ardent desire to be reunited with her and to live peacefully as a family. [...] However, it does not appear that he enjoyed this longed-for reunion with his wife and children, as one might think. [...] He had difficulty adjusting to the demands of family life, which was so new to him, where a woman's wishes and desires had to be taken into account, as well as the many delicate conditions of raising children, and, without realising it, he brought the authoritarian aspects of camp life into his home. With his wife, the sweet and charming Laville, whom he had adored and whom he still loved, - but in his own way, - with Isaure, a charming child who had been his correspondent during the last campaign and who had become a beautiful and charming young girl, he was imperious and domineering. He was no less tyrannical and authoritarian with his son, this Hippolyte whose birth he had so ardently wished for, who was to become the joy and pride of his old age and who bore so proudly the heavy heritage of his father's name. [...] His daughter Isaure suffered the most from this despotic yoke. In 1815, she was at the peak of her youth and beauty. [...] Many suitors sought her hand in marriage. This went on for a long time, because Larrey, jealous of his daughter's affection, could find no suitor worthy of her and eliminated them all one by one.

Followed by a longer story about one of her suitors, Antoine Clot aka Clot-Bey, a French physician who would become important for the modernisation and the development of a medical service in Egypt during to 1830s and 1840s. Larrey seems to have originally estimated this man greatly, but immediately dismissed him on realizing that he and Isaure had taken a liking to each other. This story must have caused a bit of a stir as it is also eluded to in an eloge after Hippolyte Larrey’s death.

If Larrey's hand was too forceful for his daughter, it fell no less heavily on his son. But this was a man's education, and its rigour had fewer drawbacks. It is even probable that Hippolyte Larrey owed to this inflexible and authoritarian education, but imbued with the lofty ideas which had governed the entire life of the surgeon of the Grande Armée, a large part of his solid qualities and, in particular, the uprightness and elevation of character, the delicacy of conscience, the spirit of justice, the unalterable feelings of honour and loyalty, which like his father he possessed to a high degree and which made him one of the most remarkable men of his generation. However, this restrictive upbringing had its drawbacks, and it must have robbed him of some of his individuality. It is remarkable that it was by abusing the prodigious originality of his temperament that Larrey attenuated that of his son. This was perhaps not a misfortune; the times were indeed very different, and the dominating energy, the absolute will, the tenacity and the almost superhuman fortitude that Larrey had first shown during the wars of the Revolution and the Empire, could not have been used under the peaceful regimes of the Restoration and the July government.

This lack of individuality in Hippolyte Larrey also is hinted at in the same eloge.

So, that’s the story. I am still of the opinion that of all those men whose entire lives were spent in war, not a single one returned without harm.

But hey, Larrey for once seems to have been the opposite of a henpecked husband, quite contrary to all the marshals 😁.

[dwellordream]

“At least in retrospect, the most striking thing women appeared to have in common in the 1960s was a sense of relative happiness. In 1962 the George Gallup polling organization asked a cross section of American women whether they were content with their lot. Two out of three women said yes. When the question was posed whether women as a group were victims of inequality or discrimination, only one in three women said yes. From one perspective, of course, that level of discontent was very high, suggesting profound problems. On the other hand, the overall level of satisfaction seemed very high, especially in light of other polls in which most women said the greatest fulfillment of their lives was when they gave birth to their children, and a strong majority expressed satisfaction with their roles as homemakers.

One way to read such evidence is to conclude that some, and perhaps many, women did have problems in their lives but that they saw these problems as peculiar to themselves or their own circumstances, not as part of a shared phenomenon based on their being women. Thus they might reflect on their individual family situation, even talk about it with their women friends, and still not see their dilemma as a “woman” problem. In the early 1960s there was not yet even a label for such concerns. As feminist author Betty Friedan would later describe it, it was “a problem that had no name.” Moreover, there was more than one problem--or at least the problem seemed different depending on who you were, how old you were, where you lived, and what you wanted. It was hard to discern unity in the face of such diversity.

…Mothers gathered to keep an eye on the young children, to share gossip, and to have fun. In these backyard get-togethers there was always news to share--whose husband was getting what promotion, the latest addition to the neighborhood, emotional or physical problems among the children. It was also a place where you could talk about your private hopes and dreams or the difficulties you were having in your marriage. Sometimes the conversation would even touch on such topics as sex and divorce. The women formed a close-knit community, solidified each day by shared rituals of coffee, conversation, and child supervision. They were dedicated on one level simply to helping each other get through the day but, in an even larger sense, to building and maintaining the family as a unit and the community as a group enterprise.

It became fashionable in the late 1950s and early 1960s to denounce suburbs. For example, the suburbs, architectural critic Lewis Mumford declared, consisted of a “multitude of uniform, unidentifiable houses, lined up inflexibly, at uniform distances, in a treeless communal wasteland, inhabited by people of the same class, the same income, the same age group.” But such indictments all too frequently ignored the human dramas of creativity and tragedy that were occurring daily. Weekly neighborhood barbecues or church “family” nights might seem to intellectual skeptics to be artificial substitutes for community, but too many of the participants they provided the space within which important bonds could be forged, friendships nurtured, and a sense of identity created.

…Often [women] also shared their feelings of anger and alienation about this way of life. Like the college graduates whom Betty Freidan wrote about in The Feminine Mystique (1963), they felt that their education and talents had been put on the shelf before even being tried out in the real world. Their days took on a uniformity that discouraged the flowering of individual interest and skills. A person trained in design, literature, or political science would well feel that she had entered a time warp upon getting married and moving to suburbs--shut off totally from the life and excitement she had once known.

There were also the problems that came with compartmentalized sex roles--husbands in work situations full of managerial crises, occasional flirtations, and at least the appearance of worldly sophistication; wives frustrated by their inability to have shared experiences to discuss at dinnertime. Where was the partnership everyone talked about in this age of “companionate” marriage? How did people share a life when their existence was so separate and different? And what about the expectations of her? Why did she always change the diapers and do the laundry? What was her goals, her objective to reach? He had his career and the next big law case to spur him on. What did she have, especially when, at the occasional business dinner, she was expected to discuss babies and recipes with the other wives and not to challenge the pomposity of her husband’s colleagues on subjects she knew far more about than he?”

- William Chafe, “Different Audiences.” in The Road to Equality: American Women Since 1962

[m0r1bund]

hey, I was wondering if you have any tips or good resources on writing eco-fiction?

This is a GREAT question that I don’t feel qualified to answer. I have read a lot more environmental nonfiction than fiction, and I'm not really cued in to what other eco-fiction writers are doing. I’m also playing in the margins because creative writing feels like my second language (vs. visual arts, worldbuilding, etc.) So… I can only share what's worked for me. Take the best and leave the rest, chief o7

I think everything circles back to becoming freakishly obsessed with your home environment. This is just the way I was built LOL, if I want to make anything I have to be a little bit obsessed with it. I also just like to read fiction from people who aren’t career artists, who have some kind of niche interest or lived experience that colors their work (whether they want it to or not.)

studying ecology, the natural world, working with your hands in the dirt, whatever-- you can also appreciate how inseparable everything is from place. pick any moment in history and you can make a rich environmental reading of it. We construct stories that obfuscate this, but almost everything we do as humans is motivated by land and water and access to land and water. This really informs how I write. Everything is connected to The Desert even when it isn’t immediately obvious to me.

Which brings me to another thought. Most of my writing is playful daydreaming that asks “Wouldn’t it be fucked up if ______?” AND YET! The natural world is always doing it weirder and cooler. You just get to set up the dominoes in ways that highlight this, I think.

Like, 90% of what happens in Asthaom is motivated by water and access to water, the big limiting resource in a desert. So a false god marches on Scaiuq looking for mythical water. An ex-cactus rustler makes counterfeit versions of a rare cactus dye in order to flood the market and drive down demand for the real thing. your ancestors manufactured a climate crisis and now, 1000s of years later, the desert is fundamentally changed but still worth loving and fighting for. These are hyperbolic lies about real things that, I think, are very poetic and worth mythologizing. Fiction is daydreaming but it’s also about tricking you guys into caring about the boring stuff that I care about, hahaha

In that vein, being part of an eco-art community has also catalyzed a lot of things for me. In 2018 I joined Those Who Went Missing, an art therapy game about nature spirits who are created from lost and missing individuals. you tell stories about your characters and have them interact with others in a setting that's based on the real world. Suddenly I was spending a lot of time reading what others think of their home environment… (And now I’m realizing “I haven’t read a lot of eco-fiction” is a lie)… and suddenly I had this shared space to spew desert propaganda create stories in.

Something I like about TWWM is it doesn’t exclusively attract earth science people, so there are a lot of people who are using this game to learn and write about the natural world for the first time. Through them, I get to put names and faces to places that were once distant and abstract to me, and I also get to relive the thrill of learning what sky islands are, how to identify a mockingbird, etc. I also encounter a lot of dominant narratives about deserts, deserts as wastelands / empty spaces / inhospitable crucibles, the relationship between humans and land, that we’re separate from nature, that we only harm and extract, etc. This is not knocking those stories, they're valuable, it just motivates me to write my personal blasphemies so that I can gently push back.

It makes me think of something I was taught in my oral storytelling class, that storytelling is made by place, time, and audience. You will never tell the same story twice because you’re never going to be the same person in the same space at the same time with the same people, you have to be sensitive to yourself and the needs of those around you. Maybe this is just typical “knowing your audience” LOL but it really is a different process writing for TWWM as a group. leaving the jargon behind, being loud about deserts, insisting on depicting reciprocal human-land relationships even more than I otherwise would, while also grappling with the hurt and frustration of being thrust into an extractive relationship with the natural world. maybe 2 people will actually read/see it, but if it leaves an impression then it’s all worth it baybeeeeee

I don't really have a denouement here, but I hope you found something useful, thank you for giving me something to chew on. Anyone reading this, please share resources that come to mind. I feel poorly-read, haha

[merakiui]

I just realized that we still don't have headcannons about general Yandere! Rollo. What do you think he will be like? Soft or completely sadistic and controlling?

-💫 anon

Omg you're right! Allow me to share my thoughts!! I also recently found this absolute blessing with Rollo in Guchiry's Orthodoxia. I think it's very fitting!

(cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, kidnapping/captivity, gaslighting/manipulation, obsession, mentions of abuse of power)

Rollo is the type of man who has a cold exterior and an equally frigid interior, though once he meets someone who manages to charm him his heart gradually defrosts. His standards are rather strict for both those around him and himself, and he has a penchant for orderly conduct. You'll occupy Rollo's thoughts if you cause mischief within Noble Bell's sacred walls, if you are a constant presence in his life, whether helpful and mannerly or not, or if you're a magic user. Though he's hypocritical, Rollo detests magic; it doesn't matter how secretly fond of you he may be. If you use magic, a large part of him will want to permanently snuff it. Only he is permitted to wield magic, as he is responsible and correct in his judgments.

He clings to pleasant things, yet it is negativity that usually pursues him, especially pleasant things that are fleeting. You are not a permanent fixture in his life. Rather, there isn't much connection between the two of you and for that reason you're more of an unobtainable prize he has yet to claim. Despite living in a city renowned for its romance, Rollo has never thought much of love (though it chews through him when he thinks of you). He was content with all that he had as a child; romance was never an inherent need. Though after the tragic loss of his brother, he's felt empty and incomplete, alone and regretful. Slowly consumed by his own grief and abhorrence. He is a shell of himself, a hollowed, inconsolable man who lives off of spite but also, ever since he met you, the brightness you bring into his gloomy life.

He cannot stand others, especially mages, and when he occasionally displays a more disgusted expression instead of his usual stony-faced look his hatred of the masses only becomes that much more visually apparent. And yet he can't bring himself to truly loathe you in the way he loathes others. When he finds himself conversing with you, he does not scowl or grumble under his breath. At first he simply thought it was because he fancied you because you were new or different or unique or interesting. Now he lives off of you like a parasite. He needs to see you. He needs to know you still exist. He needs to know you won't leave him or fall victim to the foolish whims of childish mages. And if you really did wish to leave, he certainly wouldn't make it easy. Gates are meant to keep people in, you see, and Rollo will gladly cage you if it means he can have you for himself.

A part of him is repulsed by his mounting obsession; he realizes this cannot possibly classify as the sugared love that most inhabitants within the City of Flowers dream of experiencing. But what is obsession if not another synonym for fond devotion? Surely this is justified; surely his feelings for you are understandable. He's in love! Love isn't a bad thing; he is not a bad thing. Rollo will make you see this, even if he must carve this ideal into your very being so that you'll know.

With this newfound "love" of his, thoughts spiral and snowball. Most are intrusive and unwanted reflections of the most impure sins. He looks at you like a starved man seeing a buffet for the first time in weeks. He thinks of you like you are the only one he ought to believe in. And your name tastes sweet in his mouth when he breathes it in like it's the oxygen he needs to survive. He'll chant it over and over when he works himself towards the edge of ecstasy. Sometimes, through the clearing haze of the orgasmic aftermath, he considers seeking you out to have the real thing instead of just a fleeting fantasy. There is the angel on his shoulder who tells him he ought to respect you more, who reminds him that you are not a thing but rather a human being with your own autonomy and that it wouldn't be right to strip that from you. But then there's the devil on his other shoulder who whispers filth, who is giddy at the idea of all that he could do if he just used his position as student council president to do away with the concept of choice.

Of course Rollo never listens to either. He's satisfied with the version of you he's constructed in his mind—the you who diligently waits for him in bed, the you who is so willing to spread your legs for him, the you who utters his name in gasps and sighs as it's the only thing he'll allow you to say. Rollo thinks this might just be madness or a particularly nasty curse because when you plague his thoughts—which is nearly 24/7 now—the slightest thing has him teetering on the precipice. He wants to ruin you so that no one else will be able to repair you, but he also wants to lay himself at your feet and have you card your fingers through his hair, to hear you say "there, there" and banish all that ails him. To judge him fairly and virtuously in a way that the Bell of Salvation cannot. If you could just take his hands in yours and relieve him of all the agony that has burdened him... If you could just look at him and echo his sentiments—insist upon his good nature and reward him for being a saint even though deep down he knows he is far from it—he might feel whole again.

Even devilish fiends are worthy of love, though their love is the hatred that is cast upon them by those who cannot understand or sympathize with their circumstances. Rollo toes the line between friend and fiend. He is fair, as expected of the student council president. He is forgiving, as expected of one who is held in high regard. He puts on a polite and welcoming façade. But he is arrogant and hateful and cruel. He is every bit the fiend and the friend, all wrapped into one, and since he's the only one worthy of utilizing magic he has nothing to lose when the Crimson Lotuses blossom in full. And a man who has nothing to lose is the most dangerous fiend of all.

Rollo has little room in his heart for others. No one is worthy of making a home out of his cold, barren heart. But he will warm it for you; he will create a hearth so that you may be swathed in sweetness when he brings the gavel down upon all mages and subjects them to flowery hell. And you will be there to witness the spectacle. Whoever said he didn't like the festivities of a good tradition? Ah, but taking from others is not very festive, nor is it considered good. But this is what's right. It doesn't have to be good so long as it's correct. You can cry, you can scream, you can object. But he will remain firm in his assessment. Though he fancies you, you cannot sway him on this matter. If he must chain you to him so that you can finally see his perspective from high up in the tower, then he will. And he hopes the fiery sight will scorch itself into your retinas so that you may never forget that this very magic—the magic you seem so fond of—is not as whimsical or cute as you may have initially thought.

Sometimes Rollo thinks he ought to split himself open and place you within his ribs so that you may exist as his heart, fluttery and fluffy like a little canary. Sometimes he thinks he ought to keep you within the bell tower. As its keeper, he's free to do as he pleases. No one would dare question his authority on the matter. Until he makes a suitable space for you within his room or one of the secret, shadowed passages scattered throughout Noble Bell, you will remain trapped in the tower, only permitted to see and speak with him. He frames it amiably—he's saving you, can't you see? Magic is such a potent thing, and he can't possibly lose you like he lost his little brother. He'd much sooner shatter the skeleton that supports him than let you perish.

Rollo does not force your obedience through intimidation or violence. Rather, he twists your perception with eerily skillful persuasion. Every bad thing will be framed in a positive light. This is not captivity; this is protection. This is not hell; this is heaven—or the closest you'll ever be to the skies above at this height. This is not infatuation; this is salvation. Rollo never raises his voice, nor does he raise a hand to you. He speaks softly and patiently, offering very rare smiles that are not hidden behind his celestial-patterned handkerchief. He kneels before you, holds his hands out so that you might place yours in his, and tells you that he is only doing what's best for you. Surely you must understand this. The world is dangerous. The world is unfair. The world is scary. The world devours powerless people like you and him. He knows this because he's seen it. He's lived it. He wouldn't do anything to hurt you, but keeping you here with him must be done because it's the only way he can ensure your safety. The only way he can save you.

Your confinement is what you make of it. If you wish to be difficult and disobedient, your situation and your outlook will never improve. If you wish to keep an open mind and accept the sanctuary Rollo has so generously provided for you, you will feel happier. And when he echoes this lie enough times, it will eventually become the truth. He brings you homemade meals, he brings you pastries from town, and he brings you entertainments like books and board games. He'll sit up there for hours when his schedule is cleared and play cards with you, allowing you to win so that you may feel like you've triumphed over him in some way.

And when all of Noble Bell is consumed in Crimson Lotuses, he extends his hand towards you for a waltz, his pale, sleepless features accentuated in horrible hues of orange and red. Dance with him to the sounds of suffering. Sway with him to the tolls of the Bell of Salvation as the hour of reckoning draws near. Feast your beautiful eyes on the terrors of magic and let it be a cruel reminder that there is no good to be found in malice.

Take his hand and accept him for all that he is, as he is the only mage worthy of safeguarding you with his love.