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aquaquadrant · 6 months ago

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grbbrgrr. scurries toward you. I offer thee pathbubs fluff, fresh from my mind fortress.

Patho. falling asleep with dbubs’s clock to his ear.

gives you a cupcake skitters away

(offering received, considered, and accepted. however, i have substituted your fluff for angst. i hope this is satisfactory.)

~*~

"watch this!" dbubs shouts, before leaping off the cliff into the water below.

<player>dat -7063fdce-39ac-4a12-d836-a990c45b2bb0

patho leans back just enough to avoid being splashed. the water in this jungle lagoon is clear and blue, brighter than most bodies of water he comes across. tall, thick trees surround them on all sides, creating a natural barrier from the mobs of the jungle. it’s a beautiful place, and one of his favorites to visit when he’s here.

155 fps t: inf fancy-clouds b: 15x15 3 tx 3 rx c: 695/41672 (s) d: 16, pc: 000, pu: 00, ab: 42 e: 17/109, b: 0, sd: 9 p: 28 t: 109 error fc:0 xyz: -12,683.952 / 39.11563 / 253,589.263 block: -12,683 39 253,589 chunk: -791 15 7,849 facing: south (towards positive z)(1.5/5) client light: 6 (0 sky, 6 block) biome: error:crimson jungle local difficulty: 6.75//0.00 (day error404 not found) sounds: 16/247 + 0/8

dbubs surfaces with a gasp, his wet bangs plastered to his forehead. “did you see that?” he crows. “that was- i must’ve done a- a complete 360 spin about five- no, ten times! world record, first try!”

“oh, yeah,” patho agrees with a smile he doesn’t feel. “yeah, that was very impressive.”

they’re almost out of time.

patho has known this since he woke to find a little weeping vine attempting to burrow into his arm, right at the seam where flesh meets metal. this is an event that only happens when he’s overstayed his welcome, and the jungle can no longer tolerate his presence without trying to claim him. that vine was easily removed, putting off the inevitable for a few more days. but he can’t ignore the sudden restlessness that overtakes him now, a buzzing in his very core that fills his mind with static and his limbs- organic and mechanical alike- with the powerful urge to move.

it’s hard to explain, his need to wander. it’s like every moment he’s not traveling, he can almost feel the infinite borders of hels expanding, spreading into new horizons, and the thought of staying put is unbearable. it doesn’t matter if he actually goes beyond the loaded chunks or not- a feat that’d take years, to be sure. just getting on the move again is enough to quiet the itch.

(it didn’t use to be this way. it didn’t start until after he built his communicator into his new arm, fusing himself with it- but he’ll never admit this, never confront the possibility that it might’ve been a mistake. it’s easier just to leave.)

besides, he still enjoys the various business he gets up to with the other denizens of hels. his services as a redstoner and a data analyst are in high demand, and he has a reputation to uphold. he can’t throw all that away to stay here. that just wouldn’t make sense. it wouldn’t be logical.

patho reaches for the clock at his hip. it was the first gift dbubs gave him. early into patho’s first stay, dbubs decided he needed a clock of his own, so he’d always know when it was time for them to sleep. based on its position, nightfall is only a couple hours away.

“well, c’mon!” dbubs pesters him, his haughty voice echoing off the smooth walls of the cliffside. “what’re you- what, are ya scared of a lil water? huh? just- you just try and beat my record, you- i bet you can’t!”

“alright, alright,” patho chuckles, shrugging his jacket off. “you asked for it…”

won’t be long, now.

~*~

that night, patho leaves his eye on.

dbubs, curled beside him, notices this immediately, and deep down, he knows what it means. it took a while- how long, he isn’t sure- for patho to grow comfortable enough to turn his cybernetic eye off while they slept. but ever since then, he does it every night… up until the last night. every last night, like clockwork.

already, dbubs can feel the familiar weight of sleep trying to take him. caught in the jungle’s day-night cycle, he has little choice in the matter; he sleeps every night without fail. but he fights it anyway, biting back a yawn.

“tomorrow,” dbubs starts quietly, “uh, do you wanna- i- i had this idea for a new build, a perfect build, of course, and i’m gonna need a- a super smelter, for- uh, for all the terracotta-“

“dbubs.” that solitary red eye gazes out from the dark. “you know i’m not made for staying.”

dbubs shies away from the words like an insect from sudden light. “and- and so i was thinking,” he continues, as if patho hadn’t spoken, “we could do a uh, you know, maybe a bamboo farm? for the- for the fuel? i- my perfect redstone prowess could make this easy- easily, of course, but um… i uh- euugh, you- you know they always say, sure enough, that two brains- uh, two geniuses, genii, are better’n one.”

“yeah?” patho breathes a soft, empty laugh. “is that what they say?”

“and- well, yes! yes, of course!” darkness creeps in from the edges of dbubs’s vision; he clings tighter to patho. “and… and uh… n’you can learn all ‘bout my new… new dbubs redstone clock… pat- patented design, a‘course…”

“of course.” patho’s lips brush across his forehead. “better get some rest, then.”

dbubs struggles to keep his eyes open, but it’s as if his lashes are lined with iron. he presses his face in the crook of patho’s neck, breathing him in, that redstone-and-gunpowder scent; bitter and metallic.

“don’t,” he murmurs, consciousness escaping him quickly. “please…?”

“night, dbubs.”

the jungle sleeps.

~*~

far from the jungle, patho lays down in a shallow cave carved from netherrack.

168 fps t: inf fancy-clouds b: 15x15 3 tx 3 rx c: 695/41672 (s) d: 16, pc: 000, pu: 00, ab: 42 e: 15/109, b: 0, sd: 9 p: 27 t: 109 error fc:0 xyz: -11, 987.629 / 30.91778 / 252,896.204 block: -11,987 30 252,896 chunk: -780 15 7,835 facing: east (towards positive x)(1.5/5) client light: 2 (0 sky, 2 block) biome: error:nether waste local difficulty: 6.75//0.00 (day error404 not found) sounds: 5/247 + 0/8

he’s put enough distance between himself and the jungle that he’s confident he can sleep for a few hours before setting off again. the surrounding biome is one he’s well familiar with; barren and empty. with a wall put up to shelter him from mobs, he’s finally safe enough to turn his eye off.

that won’t be the case anymore, once he gets closer to the more populated chunks. the risk of being caught with one eye nonfunctional is too high. it’s just something he has to deal with.

(of course, he could’ve built a cybernetic replacement that simply functioned like the eye he lost, but he thought himself clever and built in a data processor to provide him with valuable information, giving him an advantage over anyone else in his field. so this is the price he pays for it.)

he reaches for his clock. there’s only a couple hours left before the sun will rise, unseen beyond the bedrock ceiling, and dbubs will wake to an empty bed.

but for now, patho tucks the clock to his ear and closes his eyes, letting the steadfast ticking finally lull him to sleep.

~*~

#hermitcraft #hels to pay au #HTP fic #helsmits #pathbubs #my writing

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runawaysiren940 · 3 months ago

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Here's the full script for the most recent video, minus where I ad libbed:

Dr. Moumita Debnath, a 31 year old doctor trainee, was found dead on August 9th, 2024. After taking a break half-way through a 36 hour shift, her corpse was found on a blood stained mattress. Her body bore the wounds of torture, from the wounds to her eyes, her pelvis, genitals, arms and legs. As noted in The Publica’s report, “The post-mortem report also noted that over 150 mg of semen was recovered from the doctor’s body, indicating that up to 30 men could have been involved in the violation of Debath’s body. The normal volume of semen produced by a male upon ejaculation typically varies from 1.5 to 5.0 mg, according to the online medical encyclopedia MedlinePlus” (Biase). Her family was told that she died via suicide, though her wounds made it obvious that this was not the case; however, this claim allowed the principal of the school to avoid filing a police report. The attempts to hide the crime did not succeed, and have resulted in protests across India and the medical industry, both in response to the lack of protections for medical staff, and because of the attempt to hide the crime.

In the aftermath, searches for footage of Debnath’s gang rape have trended, as “According to Google Trends, queries such as “Moumita Debnath porn” and “Dr. Moumita Debnath video” have experienced surges across India, with “Moumita Debnath rap[e] video” experiencing a 110% increase in searches. As of the time of this writing, of all the queries associated with her name, “Moumita Debnath photo video” is the 5th most searched in India, while “Moumita Debath last video” is the 12th most searched overall” (Biase).

This isn’t the only horrific case of gang rape, torture, or extreme violence against women. In fact, back in 2023, Vidya Krishnan wrote an opinion piece published in the New York times on the topic titled, “In India’s Gang Rape Culture, All Women Are Victims”, where she writes:

It is the specific horror of gang rape that weighs most heavily on Indian women that I know. You may have heard of the many gruesome cases of women being gang-raped, disemboweled and left for dead. When an incident rises to national attention, the kettle of outrage boils over, and women sometimes stage protests, but it passes quickly. All Indian women are victims, each one traumatized, angry, betrayed, exhausted. Many of us think about gang rape more than we care to admit.

In 2011 a woman was raped every 20 minutes in India, according to government data. The pace quickened to about every 16 minutes by 2021, when more than 31,000 rapes were reported, a 20 percent increase from the previous year. In 2021, 2,200 gang rapes were reported to authorities.

But those grotesque numbers tell only part of the story: 77 percent of Indian women who have experienced physical or sexual violence never tell anyone, according to one study. Prosecutions are rare.

Indian men may face persecution because they are Muslims, Dalits (untouchables) or ethnic minorities or for daring to challenge the corrupt powers that be. Indian women suffer because they are women. Soldiers need to believe that war won’t kill them, that only bad luck will; Indian women need to believe the same about rape, to trust that we will come back to the barracks safe each night, to be able to function at all. (Krishnan)

Just from recent memory, I can recall several other horrifying cases.

In a rare case of justice, in May 2024, a pair of brothers were sentenced to death for the rape and murder of a 12 year old girl. To hide the crime, they then burned her alive in a coal furnace. (The Hindu Bureau)

In 2012, 22 year old Jyoti Singh was “beaten, gang-raped, and tortured in a private bus in which she was travelling with her male friend, Avnindra Pratap Pandey. There were six others in the bus, including the driver, all of whom raped the woman and beat her friend.” She later succumbed to her wombs, while her friend supposedly committed suicide. (Khan)

Many rape cases end with the woman dead. It is horrifying to me, from across the globe, to know that women live under constant threat of sexual assault, and while all assaults are horrific, the cases which break into the international news sphere from India are especially cruel and disturbing. It is the culmination of a deeply traditional and patriarchal society, wherein the devaluation of women is compounded with caste and religious issues, along with the rise of pornography. Porn is the instruction, and rape is the practice; though clearly, there was no need for instruction.

Famous cases include:

The Suryanelli rape case, where in 1996, a sixteen year old was lured with a marriage promise, kidnapped, and was raped by 37 men during her forty day captivity. Although initially 35 of 39 accused were found guilty, in 2005, all 35 convicted were acquitted of charges.

The Pararia mass rape, where in 1988, at least 14 women were gang raped by the police force, and had their homes looted after they protested against being removed to make way for a damn being built. “India Today reported Sinha's concluding statements were: "It cannot be ruled out that these ladies might speak falsehood to get a sum of Rs 1,000, which was a huge sum for them." (Bonner)

In many caste altercations, women are targeted because to rape a woman is not done just to her, but is meant to be an insult to the community and the community’s honor. In an environment where religious and social conflict occurs, women are especially vulnerable as targets of sexual violence.

However, what the internet has provided is an avenue to share the debasement and horror of gang rape with other men. It prolongs the suffering and harm to the victim and her family; but also serves as a warning to other women, and as an enticement to other men. Come, they say. Look at what we did. See how we were despicable and got away with it? You can too.

A 28 year old tourist and her husband were robbed, then man beaten, and the woman, raped by seven men in March of 2024. Since they have taken down the video detailing the event from their social media, I will not show that here, or go deeply into detail. However, in the reactions to the incident, one can note a pattern of behavior, not just from Indian men, but also women.

The BBC reported:

“The chief of India's National Commission for Women, Rekha Sharma, also sparked criticism after she responded to a post from a US journalist who wrote that while India was one of his favourite places, "the level of sexual aggression" he witnessed while living in the country was "unlike anywhere else I have ever been". He also gave a couple of examples of sexual assault faced by women he knew.

"Did you ever report the incident to police?" Ms Sharma wrote. "If not then you are totally an irresponsible person. Writing only on social media and defaming whole country is not good choice."” (Sebastian)

Victim blaming is constant, and serves as a deterrent from seeking help, reporting incidents, or enacting change. In the aftermath of the 2019 gang rape and murder of 27 year old Priyanka Reddy, Indian filmmaker Daniel Shravan ranted on social media that “The government should encourage and legalize rape without violence,” and, “Girls above 18 should be educated on rapes and not deny the sexual desires of men.” He also went on to say that, “Rapists are not finding a way to get their bodily sexual desires [met],” which is compelling them to kill.” (“After a Woman in India was Raped and Murdered, Her Name Trended on Porn Sites”). Because assault and violence against women is so common in India, it makes sense that victim blaming, from both sexes remains so strong, as “according to Inside Southern, the reason for victim blaming is: “People may blame a victim in order to remove themselves from an unpleasant event and therefore confirm their own invulnerability to the risk. Others may perceive the victim as different from themselves if they label or accuse the victim. People console themselves by saying, “Because I’m not like her, and I don’t do that, this would never happen to me.”” (Ram). In other words, it a pacifier, a way to manage the dread that comes with realizing the ubiquitousness and unpredictability of sexual assault. If there is something you can do to avoid being assaulted, then it must be her fault. And you must be safe, because you don’t make those choices.

That men make up a large contingent of the judges and lawmakers that in turn pass the laws which allow rapists to walk free iillustrates the universal truth that Anna Maria Mozzoni, a popular Italian feminist theorist, wrote about in 1895, “You will find that the priest who damns you is a man; that the legislator who oppresses you is a man, that the husband who reduces you to an object is a man; that the libertine [anarchist] who harasses you is a man; that the capitalist who enriches himself with your ill- paid work and the speculator who calmly pockets the price of your body, are men.”

It’s easy to forget when the violence is not happening in front of you, when you can excuse it, or look away, or claim that there are forces at play that you don’t understand. It’s easy to say that the problem is with a people or a religion-

But the truth is that woman hating is universal. A passing interest in anthropology will only show the manifestations of this hatred in creative ways throughout space and time.

Works Cited

“After a Woman in India was Raped and Murdered, Her Name Trended on Porn Sites.” Fight The New Drug, December 2019, https://fightthenewdrug.org/woman-in-india-raped-and-murdered-her-name-trended-on-porn/. Accessed 21 August 2024.

Biase, Natasha. “Name Of Female Doctor Who Was Gang Raped And Murdered In Indian Hospital Appears On Porn Sites As Men Seek Out Footage Of The Assault.” The Publica, 19 August 2024, https://www.thepublica.com/female-doctor-who-was-gang-raped-and-murdered-in-indian-hospital-appears-on-porn-sites-as-indian-men-search-for-footage-of-crime/. Accessed 21 August 2024.

Bonner, Arthur. “Pararia mass rape (1988).” Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pararia_mass_rape_(1988). Accessed 21 August 2024.

The Hindu Bureau. “Two get death for raping, burning alive minor girl in Bhilwara.” The Hindu, 20 May 2024, https://www.thehindu.com/news/national/rajasthan/two-sentenced-to-death-by-pocso-court-in-rajasthan-court-for-raping-burning-alive-minor-girl/article68195867.ece. Accessed 21 August 2024.

Khan, Aamir. “2012 Delhi gang rape and murder.” Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2012_Delhi_gang_rape_and_murder. Accessed 21 August 2024.

Krishnan, Vidya. “Opinion | In India's Gang Rape Culture, All Women Are Victims (Published 2023).” The New York Times, 2 June 2023, https://www.nytimes.com/2023/06/02/opinion/india-women-rape.html. Accessed 21 August 2024.

Ram, Anjali. “Never Ending Tales Of Victim Blaming And Shaming.” Feminism in India, 12 December 2022, https://feminisminindia.com/2022/12/12/never-ending-tales-of-victim-blaming-and-shaming/. Accessed 21 August 2024.

Sebastian, Meryl. “Outrage over Brazilian tourist's gang rape in India.” BBC, 3 March 2024, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-india-68444993. Accessed 21 August 2024.

#radfem #radblr #radical feminism #runawaysiren #youtube #terfs do interact

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a-little-unsteddie · 1 year ago

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stuck in your throat || 1.1

[here] | 1.2 | 1.3 | 1.4 | 1.5

ah hello hello :) i have finished chapter two and started into chapter three so i’m comfortable with starting to post the first chapter. idk how many parts each chapter will be, but after i finish posting all of each chapter, i will post the entire chapter on ao3.

i’ll be posting each chapter after i finish another one, so i’ll post chapter two after i finish writing chapter 3, so i always am one chapter ahead :)

this started because @/lexirosewrites followed me ages ago and i was possessed to write an omegaverse fic because of it, as a gift :D hope you enjoy <3

anyway, i think i’ve probably gone on a bit too long now, so enjoy chapter one, part one of stuck in your throat! it’s a bit short, but the next one is like almost 2k so i think it’ll even out :b

Steve sighed as he stared blearily at the screen in front of him, meticulously scanning his resume for what could have been the hundredth time. He needed it to be absolutely perfect before he sent it to any potential employers. He knew he didn’t have the most experience, given that the entirety of his knowledge of nannying came in the form of babysitting Dustin and his friends. Steve hardly counted that, considering the pups were almost all high school age at the time. Even if they were a bit much to deal with at the best of times.

Steve hoped that the fact he went to school to get his teaching license would make him stand out as a candidate.

“You’ve made it as perfect as you can.” Robin said from behind Steve, causing the omega to startle.

“Jesus, wear a bell or something.” he muttered with a grumpy glare in the alpha’s direction. He looked back at his laptop screen and sighed deeply. “No one’s gonna hire some washed up omega,” he threw his arms over his face, speaking with a whine. Robin plopped on their couch next to him and peered at the laptop screen curiously. She took it off Steve’s lap while ignoring his half-hearted protests. She scanned over it with a hum.

“You’re right,” she said with a firm nod, “no one wants to hire some washed up omega.” Steve gaped at her in shock and hurt, until Robin continued. “Good thing you’re applying, so they don’t have to!”

Steve scrunched his face up at her, sticking his tongue out. “Oh, shut the fuck up.”

“Oh, ho ho ho!” Robin said, squinting at the screen with a grin. “Looks like someone’s hiring a fulltime nanny and tutor!” she skimmed over the job ad and nodded firmly. “Apparently you’ll have to sign NDAs to work for them.” her eyes widened as she continued reading the advert. “And traveling? Sounds like exactly what you need. I’m sending your application to them.”

“What? Rob, no! I’m not done with my resum—” Steve scrambled to take the laptop from her.

“Too late!” Robin said, allowing the omega to take the laptop back.

“Robbie!” Steve whined, looking at the ‘thank you for your application!’ message that had popped up on the screen.

“What? You’ve been staring at your resume for like, six hours! It’s almost two in the morning!” she justified, feeling no remorse for pushing her friend to apply somewhere. “You weren’t going to do it, so I had to take matters into my own hands.”

Steve huffed and glared at her for a moment longer before looking at where she sent the application to. “Robbie, this looks like a perfect way to get trafficked,” he said flatly. “I mean, what kind of employer requires an NDA to be signed before they tell you who you’re working for?”

Robin shrugged, then leaned over and scrolled down to point out how much he could potentially make. “I dunno, but I’ll be with you every step of the way because that amount of money…” she whistled, flopping back into the couch.

Steve rolled his eyes, “Any place that requires an NDA probably won’t hire me, Robs. I’ve got no experience.”

“Yet!” Robin insisted, frowning at Steve. “No experience doesn’t mean you’re bad at it!”

“I could be! I don’t know!”

“You won’t be, dingus. Any pup will be better off if you’re their nanny.” Robin said in a rare moment of sincerity. Steve sighed and rolled his eyes fondly.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, but no less sincere. “Now help me pick a few other places to apply to.” he grumbled, knowing that Robin was right.

Someone would hire him, it was only a matter of time.

follow the tag #stuck in your throat or #siyt 🎤 to get notified when i post an update. i might do a tag list, but i make no promises because that seems stressful. i’ll only tag 18+ blogs, so either verify in the tags you’re 18+ or have it in your bio.

#steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie munson (eventually)#eventual steddie #steve x eddie #stuck in your throat #siyt 🎤#tw omegaverse #tw a/b/o #unsteddie writing

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boujiestpoet · 3 months ago

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STARCROSSED (CHARLES LECLERC X OC)

Real Life Chapter 1.5

PREVIOUS CHAPTER. NEXT CHAPTER

MASTERLIST

Title: Cold Morning

Summary: Renee fighting for her life pt 1

FACECLAIM: The extraordinary Tems

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. THE BEHAVIOUR OF THE CHARACTERS DOES NOT REFLECT THE REAL PERSONALITIES OF THE INDIVIDUAL UPON WHOM THEY ARE BASED. I AM MERELY BORROWING THEIR PHYSICAL LIKENESS AND THE PROFESSION THEY HAVE FOR THE SAKE OF THIS NARRATIVE

TW: Cringiness from the writer, grammatical errors (have mercy english is my semi first language)

London, UK

Renee stepped out of the cab, her body heavy with exhaustion. The long flight from Norway had left her drained, but it wasn't just the travel that weighed on her. It was the swirling storm of scandal that awaited her back home. After five months shooting that took all her strenght, she hoped to return to her semi erratic life. But the universe, had other plans for her.

As she tried to use her remaining strenght to drag herself in front of the door, her head began to throb. An ache that started to spread all over he head like a wildfire.

"Fever" she thought " Just what I need right now"

By the time she opened the door, she could barely stand up. Her vision turned blurry and yanked her keys somewhere, promising herself she would come back after a good nap

It was empty and dead silence as she hoped, it was just her and her thoughts followed by the sound of the usual rain in the background, she stepped in her room, and exhaled, she was not anymore in a hotel in Norway, forcing herself to have conversation with costars ,who were half strangers that she only meets during awards season.

She changed and right before collapsing into bed her phone rang

" Are you taking a piss?" she groaned and answered her phone

" Hello?"

" It's me mum" at the voice of her mum she stood back up

" Sorry mum for not texting you........"

" .....how are you?" she asked, behind that stern voice she could hear her breath shaking.

" Everything is alright, just have a fever " she replied, silence fell between them,

it was not like their customary silence, where after being apart for a while hearing each other breathing was a sign that everything was alright. She didn't want her mum hear her crying especially though the phone,and the same was for her mother.

" Don't drink anything cold from now on, cover your neck and head, Ella's been opening all your windows, there should't be no dust. And she stocked your fridge too, no more excuses for you to eat tak eout everyday" she intructed

" Yes ma" she giggled

" After eating take some paracetamol ibuprofen and oranges for vitamin C, take them for a while, slowly the pain will eventually fade away"

" Thank you mommy" her voice cracked, warm tears were falling down her face.

" No problem , do as I told you"

" I love you mum"

" I love you too, bye" and she hang up, she took a deep breath and stood up from the bed.

Renée sat in the dimly lit kitchen her head resting against the cool surface of the marble countertop. The kitchen, usually a place of warmth and comfort, now felt like a cold, sterile environment that mirrored the emptiness she felt inside. Thank to her mother adivce her body was slightly cooling down.

The events of the last few hours were replaying in her head, she had just landed in London and her phone was literally shaking. Her phone was erupting with notifications, dm, messages, calls and posts on social media. Scared that one of her loved ones had passed away, she opened instagram and the first thing that caught her eye was the scathing title.

" Actress Renee Bennett betrayed by boyfriend and best friend"

Photo of Ben her boyfriend of two years, he was laughing and kissing her best friend, they were everywhere, she closed her eyes trying to escape the nightmare.

But it was failing the images were branded on her mind. The whole world discovered her boyfriend was publicly cheating on her before her

The phone sat in front of her on the table, silent now, but it felt like it was radiating a dark energy, taunting her with the truth she didn’t want to face. She had been avoiding it, not daring to pick it up, afraid of what more she might find. But she knew she couldn’t ignore it forever.

With a trembling hand, Renee reached for the phone, her fingers brushing against the cold glass screen. A shiver ran through her, though whether it was from the fever or the dread building inside her, she couldn’t tell. She hesitated, her thumb hovering over the screen. Did she really want to see more? Did she really want to dig deeper into this pit of despair?

The kitchen clock ticked loudly in the silence, each second stretching into eternity. Renee let out a shaky breath and lowered her hand, resting it back on the counter. She couldn’t do it. Not yet. The pain was too fresh, too raw. Seeing their faces again, reading the comments, the opinions of people who didn’t know her, who didn’t know the situation—it was too much.

She knew that she would have to face them and the whole wolrd, the betrayal and the humiltiation. But at the moment she was not ready face the world's judgement and the people that tore her heart.

Instead, she poured herself a glass of water, her hands still trembling, and slowly made her way to the couch in the living room. She needed to rest, to gather her strength. The storm would still be there when she woke up, but for now, all she could do was close her eyes and try to find some peace, even if it was only for a few fleeting moments.

Author's Note: Sorry for the loong chapter I wanted to inclue Charle's povebut I notice it would have been longer soo next chapter. Please advice are wolcome this is the first time I try to write a chapter majority without writing it in italian and then translating

#black!reader #f1 smau #f1 x black!reader #black!oc #smau #charles leclerc #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x black!reader

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otome-obsessions · 4 months ago

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One Day and One Night - [Victor x Kate]

Chapter 4 - Kate

WC: 3866 TW: Predator/Prey, Fear Play, Marking

Victor: "Our game is at an end, beloved. Now, how should I punish a wayward robin who bares this beautiful skin in another man's quarters, hm?"

There's a dark, dangerous energy to Victor's voice when he asks me that question. My plan hadn't been made with any lewd intentions, but it seems Victor is jealous regardless.

Only a few hours ago, the very idea would be laughable. I've never seen Vic get jealous of my time spent around the members of Crown, but I wasn’t pinned beneath that Victor. I hadn’t been running with all I had to escape that Victor. And that Victor had never touched me in a way that made me feel desired in such a primal, vicious way.

I attempt to explain myself, but my voice is trembling as I push out the words.

Kate: "Y-you said I could do anything to escape."

Victor: "Oh, but I never said there'd be no consequences for your actions."

The hand tracing my spine slips underneath my night shirt, pressing lightly on the muscles of my back. I groan at the pressure only noticing a moment later that it's just a distraction from the pull on the waistband of my drawers. I try to wiggle away from him on instinct, but it’s impossible to pull myself from underneath him while he sits on my legs.

Victor: "Be still, love. Trying to escape your condemnation will only make the punishment worse."

Kate: "This just isn't fair. How did you even find me?!"

My voice sounds like the whining of a child to my ears, but Victor hardly seems to mind. Though I can't see him, the gripping aura at my back nearly oozes with arrogant satisfaction. He chuckles as he strokes my exposed backside then answers with an indulgent purr.

Victor: "Your false trail was an admirable concept, but you overlooked one thing."

I feel a tap on my left thigh followed by a steady line of heat down my calf as Victor’s touch directs my senses.

Victor: “You forgot to take off your shoes, dearest. Your damp footsteps and the spots of soil left behind may as well have been breadcrumbs.”

(How could you even see that at this time of night?!)

As that incredulous thought rips through my mind, I feel Victor hook his fingers underneath the band of my sock and slowly pull it down. In a moment that seems to stretch on for eternity, he does the same to my right leg before tugging both shoes off one after the other. The sensation of air on my feet is punctuated by the thump of my shoes being tossed to the side.

Victor’s touch on my damp skin is searing hot, and I bite back a moan as his hands travel back up toward my thighs. My muscles continue their trembling but not only due to fear. That familiar, unnamed something pooled in my belly and radiated throughout my body. As I begin to squirm again, a distant voice within me begs the question:

(What am I struggling for? Freedom? Or friction?)

My breath catches when Victor’s hands land on my bottom, stroking gently on my exposed skin. I know I want this. Crave it, even, but in this moment everything feels too charged, too electric, too vivid. I need a moment to catch my breath. To collect myself if even a little.

Kate: “Vic-”

Crack

It takes a moment for my mind to catch up to my body and actually process the pain blooming on my backside. It takes a second more for me to realize that Victor – kind, silly, jovial Victor – had just spanked me.

Kate: VICTOR!

My voice is shrill and outraged, and I can feel the heat rising in my face competing with the heat radiating from my bottom. His only response is a delighted chuckle, and before I can attempt to protest again-

Crack

Crackcrack

A moan tears through my throat as three more strikes land against both cheeks in quick succession. The pain scrambles my focus before giving way to that maddening heat, and I bury my face into the carpet, hoping it would hide any more indecent sounds I can’t hold back. The very moment my lips make contact with the wool of the carpet, the hand restraining my arms snakes underneath my throat.

In a panic I try to push up from the ground, but a broad, firm heat presses into me, sandwiching me against the floor. My back arches as my chin is pulled upwards and I feel the soft, velvety touch of Victor’s lips at my ear.

Victor: “Believe it or not, I’m trying to temper my hunger for you, but when you call my name and moan like that…”

His sentence trails off, but the low, rumbling grunt that vibrates into me says more than enough. Whatever cold menace remained is chased away as Victor strokes my neck and grazes my ear with his teeth. All that’s left is heady, scorching passion as I lean back into his touch, desperate for more.

Suddenly, his chest leaves my back. He captures my arms again, and I feel a soft, smooth cord wrap around my wrists. Then the world spins as I’m hoisted onto Victor’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes, my eyes cast toward the ground. He glides forward, hardly even jostling me as the hallway begins to pass by.

Kate: “Vic, where are we going?”

Victor: “You’ll just have to see when we get there.”

We travel down the hallway, and when I try to raise myself up to see where we’re headed -

Crack

Kate: “Hngh!”

Victor: “Be patient, Kate. I’m still quite cross with you, so it’d be best to behave.”

Kate: “Vic, I’m sorry, so please…”

Victor: “There will be plenty of time for begging later, dearest.”

A short time passes before a door creaks open, and as we pass through the threshold I see a familiar scene. Everything looks different when tilted upside down and cloaked in moonlight, but after all the time I’d spent happily chatting away here, I can easily recognize Victor’s office.

Just as I put together where we are, the sound of paper being scattered hits my ears and my back meets the firm, wooden surface of Victor’s desk. As I reorient my vision, the dark strands of Victor’s hair cascade around me, and I’m left staring into his blue eyes.

There’s a moment where we simply stare at one another until that magnetic force between us becomes too much to deny. I try to move my hands to bring his face closer to mine only to be reminded of my restraints. The soft cord may as well be cold, iron bars for how frustratingly trapped it makes me feel. A glimmer of mischief dances across Victor’s eyes as he calmly pushes my shoulder back into the desk. He begins to speak in a low, husky murmur while lightly stroking the thin skin at my neck where my pulse beats the strongest.

Victor: “We’re back to where our game began, sweet Kate. The very desk where you sat across from me and offered me anything… When you dashed away from me like a frightened hare, you have no idea how difficult it was to restrain myself. I wanted nothing more than to run you down and devour you that very moment… Does that shock you?”

Mere hours before, I would say yes, but with my arms tied behind my back, my body hoisted up on a desk, and my lover’s dark, lustful expression bearing down on me, I can hardly believe how I’d missed it.

Kate: “... No, it doesn’t.”

Victor’s answering smile is wicked and filled with sweet promise.

Victor: “Oh? Then reward me for being patient.”

His hands cascade down my sides until they catch on the drawers still clinging to my thighs. In one fluid motion, they’re gone and the chilly night air breathes across my most sensitive and private skin. I instinctively try to close my legs, but Victor’s large hands stop me at my knees and firmly pull my legs apart.

I’m thankful for the shadows for hiding what must be a crimson red blush that spreads across my face. A part of me wants to voice the embarrassment that comes with being so indecently exposed, but one look into Victor’s eyes silences that voice. I let my legs relax and fall to the side, compelled by the desire in his gaze.

Victor: “Very good, love. Just lay back, and let me feast.”

As his eyes roam down my body, I assume that he means to feast on the sight of me bare and shivering on his desk, but shock rips through me the moment he dips his head between my legs. The damp heat of his breath is the only warning I get before a hot, firm wetness gently glides across my core.

I gasp as a sharp pleasure rips through me, my back arching off the desk, and my thighs tightening around Victor’s head.

Kate: “Vic- Ahh!”

Any protest or reason is demolished as he continues to kiss and lick my womanhood. I can hardly recognize the words I push from my throat as their meaning is buried underneath the moans of pleasure I can’t hold back.

His tongue teases at the entrance of my sex before slowly plunging inside, and I’m overtaken by the need to tangle my hands in his hair to pull him closer. To force more friction than his measured torment allows. To connect us deeper still.

I sob in frustration as those wretched cords impede me again.

Kate: “Victor, please. Please let me touch you.”

He pins down my hips and raises his head to meet my eyes. His lips are glistening with my arousal, and the desire he sees mirrored on my face clearly pleases him since he rewards me with a smile. It’s an indulgent, victorious grin, and that aching frustration in me is slightly relieved.

(Surely he’s made his point. I’ve been “punished” enough haven’t I?)

Victor: “No.”

Kate: “Huh?”

He’s never denied me like this before. Teased? Yes. Tested? Of course. But to torment me like this with that damn smile on his face… It just isn’t fair.

Victor’s eyes don’t leave me when he returns to his work and takes my pearl into his mouth. The pressure built up in me feels as if it’s only moments from exploding outwards, and when I feel him push a finger into me, I nearly come undone. His mouth leaves me again, and he slowly pushes one, two more fingers inside. I’m stretched beyond what I’ve ever attempted alone, and it feels incredible.

He slowly slides his fingers in and out of me with a steady, measured rhythm until he grazes across something that sends my hips bucking up off of the desk. His fingers curl as he continues to massage that ache inside me, and the air is filled with my moans as I’m pushed back to the edge. When his lips wrap around my clit again, I fall apart.

My legs pull him into me as I ride out the wave of pleasure crashing over every nerve of my body. Only after it ebbs and his fingers leave my core do I realize he’s been murmuring sweet encouragement and praise through the layer of slick I’d left on his skin. As I look down at him through hooded, cum-drunk eyes, I can’t tell if the dampness on his vest is the rain or me.

I’m dazed, and he crawls on top of me with the control and poise of a panther. His lips brush against mine almost like a question, and I’m reminded of the rules of our game.

I could almost laugh. It’s such a silly question. How could I ever deny more of this delectable pleasure? How could I ever deny him?

I run my tongue along his lower lip, tasting myself on his skin, and he claims my mouth in response, twining his tongue with mine.

The mix of spit and slick and sin on his tongue is incredible, and I desperately plunge my tongue deeper to taste more. Had I the composure to feel embarrassment, I'd be mortified, but all that matters right now is the feeling of Victor’s skin on mine. How deeply we can be connected.

Just as I’m beginning to completely lose myself in the feel of our lips and tongues melting into each other, Victor breaks away. He traces my swollen lips with his thumb before pressing them open, and I welcome the invasion. I suck hungrily on his thumb as it glides against my tongue, a lovely parallel to how his fingers played with me only moments before.

Victor: “I have one more gift for you, beloved. Or, in light of your previous trickery, we’ll say it’s a part of your punishment.”

His thumb never leaving my mouth – never allowing me to voice a protest – Victor pulls out what looks like a thick ribbon from his pocket. It’s a shimmering, silky fabric so black that it seems to absorb the moonlight more than it reflects it. When Victor’s thumb leaves my mouth and his palm covers my eyes, I realize how that stretch of fabric could be both a gift and a punishment.

Victor: “I’ll take your sight just as you stole mine. My beautiful robin has always been determined to face darkness head on, so you’ll accept your punishment without flinching, won’t you?”

He ghosts his lips over mine once again, asking that same, silly question, and I give him the same answer. This time, our kiss is brief, and it seems Victor has truly run out of patience. His movements are so quick that I hardly notice the transition from his palm to the silky fabric meeting my skin. The ribbon is tied, and I’m truly engulfed by darkness. Not even a single moonbeam peeks through to guide me.

If I’d thought the sensations Victor gifted me before were intense, it was only out of ignorance. Without my sight, everything seems even more vivid.

The cord gently rubbing against my wrists. The cool air breezing past my womanhood. Victor’s insistent hands on my skin. The sound of our rapid breaths in the air. All of it is simply more in the dark. So much more that when I hear the sound of Victor’s belt clattering to the floor and feel him press against my core, I’m sent straight back to the edge of bliss.

My hips rise to meet him, and as Victor slowly sinks into me, I can’t help but whimper and writhe at the feel of him. I'm stretched so full that it's nearly painful despite what a mess he'd made of me. His silky hair brushes against my skin as his hips finally meet mine. We groan in harmony at the connection, the relief of finally acting on our desire.

Victor remains still inside me and trails a line of kisses down my neck. When his lips brush past my breast, I arch into him. His tongue slowly drags against my sensitive skin before he latches on and begins to suck. A hand snakes its way down my belly straight to where we’re joined together. His thumb, still wet with my spit, presses lightly against my clit and-

Kate: Victor! Ahhh!

The slight pain of him stretching me full gives way to a rampant need. I’m at the cusp of a climax, and his hands and mouth simply aren’t enough. When my hips rise off the desk, something in the air snaps like a cord drawn too tight.

There’s a moment of emptiness when Victor leaves me completely. Before I have a chance to protest he sheathes himself even deeper inside. My back is crushed against the desk and he rocks against me, and I’m finally gifted the friction we both desperately need. Victor’s moans melt with my own as his arm loops around my arched back. I couldn’t put distance between us if I tried.

The slow rocking of his hips hastens, and I wrap my legs around his waist, the soft texture of his clothes rubbing against my bare skin. Our chorus of panting moans are punctuated by the creaking of the desk beneath us. With each thrust I feel that the throb at my core build and build until –

Kate: “Nnngh! Ah!”

It’s like a dam breaking as I come undone. My toes curl as the pleasure washes over me. When I come back to myself, I realize I’m achingly empty.

Kate: “Victor?”

A low grunt at my neck is all I receive in response before a hot liquid spreads across my stomach.

(Oh.)

Victor releases my body with a sigh, and without his support at my back I sink into the desk. His. We both catch our breath for a moment before I feel him playing with the hair at my neck. I can feel my body start to sink into a lethargic high. I’m spent, and I raise up off the desk slightly to plant soft kisses on Victor’s neck. I feel the muscles in his throat working as he swallows before he speaks.

Victor: “Are you alright, dearest?”

I hum into his neck, blissfully contented. “Alright” can’t even begin to describe the ecstasy he’d just given me.

Victor: “Good.”

He growls out his answer and lifts me off the desk. This time I’m comfortably lying in his arms as opposed to slung over his shoulder, so I relax into his grip. I lean my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as I sink further into what’s quickly becoming a bone-deep tiredness.

I sway only slightly as he walks to his next destination, wherever that may be. I don’t even think to ask him where we’re going, because surely we’ll be going to bed. Victor is shockingly strong, but even he must be tired after that.

A short time passes before the sound of a door opening pulls me back to my senses. I’m gently laid on what I have to assume is a bed.

Kate: “Vic, where are we?”

Victor: “My room.”

I let out a silent breath of relief and allow myself to relax into the mattress. I’ve rarely visited Victor’s room, but there’s an immediate comfort in knowing that I’m nestled in his space. The faint sent of him clinging to sheets only lulls me further toward sleep. I wiggle my way up the bed to find a pillow only to realize my hands are still bound.

Kate: “Could you undo the rope now, Vic?”

The only answer I receive is the sound of rustling fabric followed by a light thump as something hits the floor.

I don’t hear him coming. One moment I’m alone on the bed, and the next I’m face down, hips up, caged in Victor’s arms again.

There’s no prelude. No reassurances. Just the pull of his hand tugging my hair before his lips crash into my own. His tongue licks at my lips, insistent and impatient. His entire body is coiled like a spring with the tension of holding himself back, waiting for my answer.

When I part my lips to accept him, his tongue invades my mouth.

This isn’t a kiss anymore. It feels like he’s trying to swallow me whole.

Kate: “Mmmh!”

My shrill cry is lost in the tangle of our tongues as Victor slams into me. He wastes no time and thrusts into me rapidly, pistoling in and out with such force that the bed is shaking beneath us.

When he took me on his desk I could call that making love. This is different. The slap of his flesh against mine is too beastly to be called loving. It’s like I’m being rutted by an animal, but the words of praise he whispers into my ear are still so sweet. So painfully affectionate.

You’re doing so well for me.

You’re so beautiful, dearest.

You feel so good around my cock.

Perfect. Heavenly. Divine. Delicious.

Mine.

A sharp pain marks my shoulder, and the sensation of his teeth digging into my flesh sends me over the edge. White sparks dance in the void of my vision, and my legs fail to support me through the ecstasy.

But I don’t fall. Victor’s arm cages me to him, his pace never slowing as he continues to relentlessly fuck his ownership into my body.

It’s too much to bear. I beg him again to release my hands, to let me see him in this moment of total surrender.

Kate: “Please! Pleasepleaseplease, Victor. I need you!”

Victor: “Bloody hell.”

His curse is more of a bestial growl, but when he lets me fall to the bed and pulls my head into his kiss, it’s filled with the adoration he’d showered on me through his words. Without breaking our kiss he unties the cords from my wrists and the blindfold from my eyes. His body weight leaves my back, and I whine at the empty, cold feeling he leaves behind.

Finally free to touch him again, I turn onto my back and wrap my hands around his shoulders and my legs around his waist. Our eyes meet, and for a fraction of a second I lose myself in the deep blue of his gaze. He’s fiercely beautiful in this moment, his unmasked desire as delectable as it is dangerous. With no more masks between us, he’s finally allowed me to see the darkness he’d so carefully hid from me.

(I love him.)

And I need him. I need to feel him sink back into me. To fill me and take me and push me past the edge of the cliff I’m standing on yet again.

That short moment of reverie is broken as the snap of his hips mercilessly grants my wish. My nails dig into his shoulders at the feel of being fucked full, and I rake them across his skin. He answers my assault by trying to pound me into the floor. The sound of the headboard knocking into the wall thumps in time with the wet, sloppy sounds of Victor’s cock rearranging my insides. Everything I have squeezes around him, saying this isn’t enough. Demanding we become even closer.

Everything mixes together. Our breath. Our sweat. Our pleasure. Our pain. In this moment of poisonous bliss I can't tell where he ends and I begin. It's incredible and delicious and powerful and-

My vision flares white yet again as Victor calls out my name, spilling his pleasure deep within me. I scream out my release in harmony with him while my body clamps down on him and milks his cock for every spurt of seed.

The hands caging my thighs release me, and my hands plop to my sides. Victor falls to my side and pulls me into his chest. I feel like a lump of dough that's been thoroughly kneaded as my head swims through the aftershocks of my orgasm. The sound of his heartbeat is the last thing I recognize before my vision gives way to darkness.

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#ikemen villains #ikevil #ikevil victor #ikevil fanfiction #ikevil kate

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mostlyinthemorning · 2 years ago

Text

Okay tumblr, do you want to hear the story of the time I had a live badger under the front seat of my car?

A few of you have heard this story before, but I feel like you might be okay hearing it again.

So.

Mumblety years ago, my first real job after university was working at a wildlife rescue centre. Basically, people would find injured and orphaned wild animals and they’d call us up and we’d nurse them back to health or raise them until they were grown enough to go back to the wild. Most of the time the patients were birds (robins, so many robins) and small mammals, like squirrels, but occasionally we got a more unusual animal.

One day, this baby badger comes in, he's really small, probably about 6 weeks old.

Super cute, kind of like this:

At six weeks old he’s still nursing so we bottle fed him for a few weeks and then eventually, when he started eating solid food like mice, we put him out into an outdoor enclosure. By the end of the summer, he's catching and eating his own food and he's growls super ferociously whenever anyone comes up to the cage.

Ah-ha, we think, we have rehabbed him successfully. He's ready to be released!

The wildlife center isn’t really located in badger habitat, but I was planning to travel to visit my parents, about four hours south, and they lived in the country and had lots of gophers for him to eat. Thus, a plan was born. I would visit my parents, I would take the badger with me, he would be happily released into the wild, and my friend and I would go camping, just to round out the weekend.

So, my friend (who also works at the wildlife centre) and I happily load our things and our badger into the back of my very small Toyota Tercel. (You see where this is going, I hope.)

My car was like this, but blue.

You might notice that this is not a very large car. And you’d be right.

Badger safely stowed in the back seat, we head south. I think it’s important to mention that the badger is in a plywood crate with a sliding wood door that goes up and down as this will be relevant later on.

Now, it’s a blazingly hot day, probably 35C/95F and my little car doesn't have air conditioning. It is hot. Even with the windows down. And the badger is annoyed. We can tell he’s annoyed by the loud and angry growls coming from the back seat.

Our plan is to stop about 1.5 hours into the trip to visit a bank and a grocery store. The badger doesn’t care about this plan. He’s still very annoyed.

We pull up to the bank, parking in the shade so the badger won't be toasty in the sun, and we go inside. This is before the days of paying with everything with debit cards so we needed cash. We come back out pretty quickly and open the door of the car and immediately there's a problem. The badger is still growling, but now the growls are coming from under the front seat of my car.

We slam the door closed and try to decide what to do. Because we’re going camping, we aren't really prepared for anything other than opening up the door of the crate and watching the badger run away. We don't have any gloves, or a towel, or even so much as a business card saying that we are allowed to have a live badger in our car. As we're standing there, trying to figure out what to do about our predicament, people keep coming up to us to ask if we've locked our keys in the car. (If only!)

I crack open the door of the car a few times, and the badger growls at me every time. Clearly, he lives under the front seat of the car now. We have to do something. It’s still hot, and now we’re behind schedule and we still have 2.5 hours left to drive.

A guy in a big oilfield truck pulls into the parking spot beside us. Figuring we don’t have a choice, we accost him as he gets out of his truck and ask if he has any gloves we can borrow. He admits that he does, but, of course, he wants to know why.

We explain.

He absolutely refuses to get involved but he agrees to lend us his gloves. Apparently he doesn’t have any reservations about watching two 20-something young women wrestle a live badger as long as he doesn’t have to do it himself. Gloves secured, we open the door of the car.

The growling gets louder.

It's still coming from under the seat.

Now, I don't know if you've ever tried to stick your hand under the front seat of a Toyota Tercel in order to retrieve a live badger. But there's not much room.

The other thing you should probably know about badgers is that the scruff of their neck is extremely loose so that they can twist around if a predator grabs them.

All of this is to say that wrestling a badger out from under the seat of your car is vaguely similar to trying to fish an angry, squirmy cat out from underneath your bed, if the cat had 2 inch claws and the ability to completely rotate in its own skin. In a public parking lot. While trying not to attract a crowd of onlookers.

Finally, after much swearing, we manage to shove the badger out from under the seat, I grab it and slam it back into its crate.

Whew, we think. At least we fixed that problem. But everything is okay now. Back to the plan!

It takes about five seconds for us to discover that the badger released himself by sticking his claws under the sliding door and lifting it up.

At this point, you probably won’t be surprised to learn that long with our lack of gloves, we also don't have any tools that we might use to fix the door of the crate. But somehow we manage to wedge the door of the crate shut.

Whew, we think. At least we fixed that problem. But everything is okay now. Back to the plan!

You might be sensing a theme, and you’d be right. With the hindsight of some years since then, we probably should have turned around. Oh, to be 23 again.

It's still 35 degrees.

The badger is still angry.

We still have 2.5 hours worth of driving ahead of us.

We head out on the highway and the trip gains the soundtrack that I can still hear to this day.

Growl, growl, scratch, scratch.

We turn up the music. The badger growls louder.

I’m already doing ten over the speed limit. I drive a bit faster. Did I mention that the car doesn’t have air conditioning?

Growl, growl, scratch, scratch.

Thunk. Scratch, scratch. Thunk.

Our gerry-rigged closure on the crate has failed and the badger is sticking his claws beneath the door and lifting up the door. It’s only going to be seconds before a hot angry badger is loose in the car. We’re fifteen minutes from my parents’ house.

I pull onto the shoulder of the highway and my friend scrambles into the backseat. Putting all of her weight on the sliding door, she holds it down as the badger scratches furiously. I pull back onto the highway, now I’m going twenty over the limit.

Fifteen long, hot, and exhausting minutes later, we arrive at my parents’ house. I swear the badger's growls can be heard in Ottawa. Gasping a hello to my mom and dad, we lug the heavy crate with the heavy badger out into the field, wanting to release it as quickly as possible.

The growling gets louder. The crate might be the heaviest thing I’ve carried in my life. Staggering through the field, we finally decide we're far enough away from the house. We lift the door of the crate. The badger dashes for freedom—which is to say that it runs ten feet away and turns to look at us.

Whew, we think. At least we made it here. But everything is okay now. We did it!

Heaving a sigh of relief, we gather up the crate and turn to go back the way we came.

The badger follows us.

We walk faster.

The badger chases after us, practically at our heels.

We jump across the creek.

The badger launches itself into the water, swimming after us.

We stop. The badger comes and sits at our feet like the world’s shortest, widest dog. We look at it. It stares back at us. Maybe the badger just needs a moment to consider its life of freedom. We wait. The badger wanders away. We pick up the crate for a second time and try to walk away. The badger is having none of it. It gallops after us. I pick up the wet badger and tuck it under my arm. This is the happiest it's been all day. Clearly, we are not releasing this badger into the wild.

Now, friends, we have a dilemma. We’re four hours from home, it’s getting late, and whatever we decide to from this point forward is going to involve a slightly damp, half-grown badger made of growls.

Our plan, if you can call it that at this point, was to release the badger and then go camping in a nearby national park. This now seems like a bad idea. But we're four hours from home and we have to do something.

So.

We decide to take the badger camping. In a moment of prudence, we forgo the national park and choose a nearby provincial park instead.

We drive to the park. The badger rides on my friend’s lap. There’s no growling.

We set up our campsite. Thankfully, the campground is nearly empty. While we’re setting up the tent, the badger explores the campsite, amusing himself by digging a few holes and making sure to keep us in sight. It was like having a very short, very growly dog who likes to dig.

I’m sure it won’t surprise you in the least if I say that it’s at this point that we realize we’ve forgotten the matches for the stove.

The nearest town is twenty minutes away. The badger will have to go back in the crate for the journey. The badger is not a fan of this idea. But we get him back into the crate—something that’s a lot easier now that we know he’s not trying to eat us—and we head for town, accompanied by the now-familiar symphony of growling.

Now, it's been a bit of a day. So I think I should be forgiven for accidentally going over the speed limit on the way out of the campsite. This is, of course, when I get pulled over. Remember, we don't have a single piece of official wildlife-related ID between us, not even so much as a business card. This was before cell phones so we can’t even phone the wildlife center to vouch for us. We're both convinced that this is it, that we're probably going to jail for wildlife smuggling. And the badger is never getting out of that crate. In the backseat, the badger is growling louder than ever.

The officer comes up to the car window.

The badger growls.

We hold our breath.

The badger growls even louder.

The officer proceeds to absolutely ream me out for going twenty over the limit. The badger growls at every word. The officer doesn't even acknowledge the badger. I apologize profusely. I promise to never ever do it again. The officer gives me a warning. The badger growls. I drive away very, very slowly.

The next day we drive home and I can't even remember the details of the trip, I think I've blocked it out, but I’m pretty sure we let the badger had free-run of the car. When we got back to the wildlife center, we learned that badgers don't leave their moms until they're a bit older. We put him back in his cage, and about four months later, he digs his way out. And every now and then for about a year after that, people would come to the wildlife centre and say that an overly-friendly badger had come up to them on our nature trail.

And this is why I always make sure to carry gloves in my car.

THE END

#houdini tells stories #wildlife rescue is a time let me tell you #badgers are the best

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exitrowiron · 7 months ago

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What to do when your flight is cancelled. (This is a long post, but if you travel you will find it helpful.)

Even though I'm mostly retired, I still fly frequently but I'm with Beth more often. Most flights are on-time and uneventful, but lately we've had 3 of 4 with a problem; the most significant was a cancelled flight when trying to return from Cincinnati to Seattle on Alaska last week.

The plane boarded and took off uneventfully, but it failed to gain altitude and within 10 minutes the pilot announced that an engine had malfunctioned, couldn't be restarted and we'd be returning to the airport. The plane was heavy with fuel for the cross country trip so the landing speed was higher than normal, the roll out was longer and fire trucks met the plane on the runway to ensure that the overheated brakes didn't catch fire - all standard operating procedure.

All the passengers and their carry-on luggage were deplaned and asked to stay close to the gate area while the two Alaska gate agents figured out what was going to happen. Nearly every one of the >160 passengers immediately got in line to speak with the agent at the gate; Beth and I were among the few who sat comfortably in the gate area.

Alaska is a relatively small airline, they don't have spare aircraft and crews hanging around in non-hub cities like CVG, so after two hours the gate agent announced that the flight was cancelled and that Alaska would create a replacement flight for the same time tomorrow and that we'd all be automatically rebooked. The line of 160 people hadn't moved an inch. Within a few moments we received emails with meal and hotel vouchers and the Alaska app updated with new boarding passes for the flight the next day. Our checked luggage was sent to the baggage carousel and we were sent on our way for the evening. The following day we boarded the flight and made it home without any more problems.

Here are some helpful tips:

If your arrival time is very time-sensitive:

Book a direct flight. Yes, you'll pay more but the odds of arriving on time (with your bags) go way up.

Don't check bags. If your flight gets delayed and you absolutely, positively have to be there on time, you may have the option of booking another flight on another carrier, and simply abandoning your original flight. If your flight is delayed due to weather, booking another flight won't make a difference - every flight is going to be delayed.

If you are deplaned and awaiting a decision about your flight, don't bother standing in line with all the other passengers. Your reservation, along with the reservation of every other traveler is being worked by the airline automation - check your app and email for updates. If the flight is cancelled and the airline has other flights to that destination, they will rebook everyone and unfortunately the passengers with the highest status will be first in line. Again, you may wish to try to book a flight with another carrier, but that will be expensive. Many years ago carriers would cooperate and rebook travelers on competing airlines, but this practice has been largely discontinued.

If your flight is cancelled for an airline controllable issue (ex. mechanical failure) and you are rebooked on a flight the next day most airlines will offer hotel and meal vouchers. Here's the thing, airline hotel vouchers are generally for crappy airport hotels (what other kind of hotel has last minute availability for a bunch of stranded passengers?). The Alaska Airlines fine print says that you can make your own accommodations and send them the receipt for reimbursement. Instead of the 1.5 star Quality Choice voucher hotel, we stayed at Marriott Courtyard. I have status at Marriott so we got a 4:00 pm checkout and didn't have to hang out at the airport all day. The hotel cost $175 and Alaska promptly reimbursed me $150 - that's a great deal for us and surely cost Alaska $100 more than the voucher hotel.

Lastly, Alaska is very generous in providing discounts for future flights as a way of apologizing for service issues. I've flown >1.5M miles on Delta and never received something similar. Alaska sends an email with a discount code for a future flight, but you have to keep the email OR add the code to your Alaska wallet yourself. That isn't a huge burden, but I think they should do it automatically.

In a rare example of bipartisanship, by the end of the week Congress is expected to pass a bill requiring airlines to automatically issue refunds for cancelled flights, rather than requiring travelers to chase down refunds themselves.

From Rolling Stone: On Tuesday, The Lever reported that financial statements from Southwest Airlines and Delta Air Lines suggested that the companies had an estimated $2 billion and $6 billion each in unused flight credits, respectively. According to a February filing with the Securities and Exchange Commission, per the publication, Hawaiian Airlines made $312 million from 2020 to 2023 in unused, expired passenger tickets.

Interestingly Ted Cruz believes that conservatives don't want their money back, “Most consumers, if a flight is canceled, don’t want an immediate refund, they want to book a new flight,” he reasoned, dumping the last vestiges of logic as he explained that “almost all conservatives say, OK, put me on the next flight, and the rule saying no, you gotta give the money back automatically, no matter what the customer wants, that’s frankly a dumb idea.” Not surprisingly, for the 5 year period through 2024, Delta and American have contributed ~ $75K to Cruz's election campaign and leadership PAC.

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whistleclangen · 2 months ago

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Moon 3, Part 1.5

Flarepaw and Rainpaw make their way cautiously across Whistleclan territory towards where the old Whistleclan camp is located. Neither of them wants to be headed in this direction. It’s been three moons since disaster struck Whistleclan, but none of the three remaining members have any desire to return to the place where they watched their clanmates die. Luckily, they shouldn’t have to, they’re just… passing closer to that part of their territory than they have in a while.

They are making the journey to the Glowing Tides, Whistleclan’s Starclan meetingplace, for Rainpaw’s healer apprentice ceremony. Rainpaw is supposed to commune with Starclan and seek their guidance on how to move forward as a healer apprentice without a mentor. And Flarepaw… well Flarepaw is just tagging along for moral support and protection from the many potential threats that lurk in this area of the territory.

It’s early evening, the sun setting low over the top of the cliffs above the beach that makes up most of Whistleclan territory. The ceremony has to happen when it’s fully dark out, but Flarepaw would rather travel at night as little as possible. He is supposed to be keeping Rainpaw safe after all.

Their walk has been silent so far, but now they’ve reached the abandoned twoleg nest, marking the start of the easiest path up the cliffs. Flarepaw gestures with his head and Rainpaw follows him up the slope. They pass the waterfall and start moving into the forest. Rainpaw looks around in awe at this part of the territory, and Flarepaw remembers that she’s never actually been here before. Their flight from the old camp had been along the beach, not the top of the cliffs. This is the first time Rainpaw has seen this many trees at once.

“Whoaa, I didn’t know we had a whole forest on our territory!” Rainpaw breaks the silence between them.

“Well, Thicketclan has most of it on their territory, but yes we do have a section of forest allocated to us.”

“How come you never told me? I was so worried about having to gather herbs out on the beach. I don’t even know what kinds of herbs grow on the beach!” After a pause, she adds more quietly, “I guess I don’t really know what kinds of herbs grow in the forest either… That’s why I’m going to need to learn!”

Flarepaw is charmed and reassured by the younger apprentice’s enthusiasm. He’d been worried that she’d be more, well, worried at the prospect of learning to be a healer without a proper mentor. But he knows she has the guidance of Starclan on her side, and from watching her grow up, he knows that she can do anything she puts her mind to.

“We’re almost there,” Flarepaw lets Rainpaw know. “We just need to cross the river again up ahead.” Flarepaw catches a whiff of the Thicketclan border and reminds himself that this is the first time that Rainpaw will smell the other clans’ scents. He glances over to see her wrinkle her nose.

“What in Starclan’s name is that smell?” She asks Flarepaw, affronted by the assault on her senses.

“That would be Thicketclan scent mostly, mixed with a bit of Heatherclan and Bluffclan too. We’re about to enter neutral territory, which means all the clans’ scents will intermingle.”

“Wow, I know you sometimes joke about how bad the other clans smell, but I didn’t realize you meant it so… literally.”

Finally, after crossing the river once more, the two apprentices reach the mouth of a yawning tunnel into the ground, the entrance to the Echocave where the clans conduct their full moon Gatherings. Flarepaw had only been to one gathering before the fall of Whistleclan, but still, it feels weird to see the Echocave so empty. He leads Rainpaw down into the earth and after a pause, she follows. The cave isn’t all that dark really, despite the late hour. The hole in the cave ceiling lets in enough starlight to see by, although the moon is closer to waning than waxing. It’s certainly no darker than the caves the call home. And then, they reach the mouth of the cave where the Glowing Tides can be reached.

Flarepaw pads to a stop near the entrance and gestures at it with his plume of a tail. “Well, there it is. Briarstar said that no one is supposed to go in there except for healers and clan leaders, so I don’t think I should go in with you, but, well, good luck in there. I’ll be out here if you need anything…” Flarepaw trails off a little awkwardly, not sure what to say to someone who is most likely about to see the ghosts of their dead clanmates.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Rainpaw says quietly, leaning her head against Flarepaw for a moment. “I always feel safer with you around.” She smiles up at him–and since when is she almost at eye level with him, when did she grow up that much.

Rainpaw turns to pad down the tunnel towards the Glowing Tides, but before she leaves the Echocave, Flarepaw calls, “Wait! Uh, if you see, well. If you see, y’know. Just.” He can’t find the words. “Just, say hi from me, ok?”

Rainkit feels tears beginning to well in her eyes, but she smiles at him again, sadder this time, and says, “Of course I will.”

#clangen #warrior cats #warriors #wc #whistleclan #whistlemoon #whistle flare #whistle rain #you don't have to read this to understand the comic's story #also little reminder that asks are open :3 I'd be thrilled to receive one!!

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mansion1of7 · 5 months ago

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Wooden Ocean & games as entities

For the last 41 days I've been obsessed with Wooden Ocean, cause this project speaks to me on so many levels and is an extremely interesting, ever evolving piece of art that I think should be studied and paid attention to, so, here's a rant that'll probably end up way too long w/ heavy autistic overtones!!

Warning: There will be light spoilers, but this post will not be about lore. I will make reference to story elements at times, but I will be examining more the creation of it, the magic of it, or maybe more accurately what it makes me feel and some mentally ill ramblings about how games are complex and beautiful art

Part 1: A Wocean of Content

Wooden Ocean takes place in, well, a sprawling "ocean" of forests (as well as some actual ocean too). This Wooden Ocean is ridiculously densely packed with content. It's an extremely big game to the point I doubt anyone will ever see everything in it with a single playthrough. That's cause this game has been getting constant work and updates almost every month for the last 9yrs, and is designed in a very open "find your own path" kinda way, making it easy to just stuff and expand every corner of the map with new things and introduce new sets of enemies, loot, quests, stories, dungeons, etc.

I was introduced to this game, like most of the recent fans, when a small YouTuber, Worm Girl, dropped an almost two hour long video covering it. I watched about 5min and decided to stop watching and delve into it myself, and I don't regret that for a second (though I highly recommend the video too, it's amazing)

I'm an indie nerd for sure, and I love unique takes and invention in the (J)RPG genre specifically. Probably cause my brain got infected by Undertale as a kid, but there's always something so special about the stories these solo/small team devs tell. I'm a massive Indivisible defender despite the fact ik these kinda projects ain't for everyone, but there's a very unique kinda passion and soul you can find in these type games, so obviously when this absolute gem and constantly evolving work of love and dedication was just handed to me on my feed I felt genuinely blessed

Cracking open and exploring this game is a fucking experience. It's definitely overwhelming, but despite how much stuff there is and how many systems and mechanics there are, the game is still very simple. It's a JRPG. You walk around, you talk, you fight, you loot, you get stronger, you probably fight some deities at some points, and you get attached to the characters you're traveling with. Sure, the text on your starting skill might be something like:

[Magic x 1.5 + Luck x 3 - Enemy Luck x 5]

But that just means "if you have more luck and magic, skill do more damage", so it's one of those things that can look intimidating, but is actually very simple and even helpful. A lot of the game at a glance might seem difficult to get into, but through different difficulties and a big variety of play styles, you can kinda choose if you wanna push yourself to the absolute limits, or if you wanna make damn near every fight end after 2 button presses and fully focus on the exploration and story instead. It's a game you can approach in so many ways, so let me get into that, cause this will be important to the overall point of this chaos

Part 1.1: Variety in Wocean, Elements, Expression

15 elements

8 weapon types + shields

Armours and other equippables with effects ranging from giving you access to new elements, buffing certain stats, trading stats for others, resistances, etc, etc

You choose two elements for the main character (Violet) when starting a new game, and you get to choose one element for each party member (2 by default after the prologue, 2 optional unlockable ones). All these elements are surprisingly distinct and unique. While they follow a formula of "x amount of attack spells, x amount of buffs, x amount of healing spells, x amount of debuffs" that are unlockable, they still all serve different purposes (which is helped a lot by the fact different elements are tied to different stats) and are good at different things with very distinct themes, like "Carbon" which is themed around using flesh and blood magic to make your body stronger or give your enemies an aneurysm, or "Gravity" which is themed around using the defense stats of both you and your target offensively against them

The weapons are all distinct as well, all serving different roles and with different upgrade paths you can go for with it's own synergies and gimmicks. Like great swords that have a lot of attacks that hit multiple enemies, some with different elemental damages (like fire or lightning) attached to them, and self-buffs to make those hit harder, or bows which reduce your chance of being targeted, are great at debuffing single targets in various ways and can spend a turn taking aim for higher damage and critical chances

So combining these things, especially when taking into consideration that you can find weapons and equipment that give you access to extra elements when worn and weapons that got the skill sets of multiple different weapon types + accessories that can have a massive impact on your build, suddenly you have crazy amounts of customisation and options for super personalised builds

Due to the ever changing nature of the games combat with the constant balance patches and updates adding new content and the dev taking player feedback very seriously and acting based on it sometimes the very same day the feedback is given, and the extreme variation, the builds you end up with are an expression of your personal journey through the game, your adaptation to this ever changing and never fully knowable meta, and probably also just something you made cause it's just what spoke to you the most

Despite the game being like an exploration of this one passionate artists mind across years and years, it's still a game where you can heavily express yourself through how you approach it and interact with this world and it's simple at a surface level but complex mechanics, OR you could just buy some very big, infinitely reusable bombs and play the game how the proffesionals do it

Part 1.2: Murda Mentality

So that brings us to Amelia "Murda" Baker and the concept of murda as a lifestyle, spiritual practice and political identity

Amelia is one of those 2 initial party members, the other one being her brother, Alex. They make for an interesting and engaging dynamic with Violet, cause while Violet, a highly skilled witch, is very powerful in her own right, she knows very little about the true nature of the world she exists within, most likely less than the player. But these siblings in contrast have knowledge way beyond what the player does, but not necessarily the desire to sit the player or Violet down and lore dump all at once. This leads to storytelling that kinda naturally lets the player in on things about the world through dialogue, slowly peeling back layers of the mysteries and hinting at new aspects as you explore the game, talk to NPCs, play through quest lines, etc

The writing is also just genuinely hilarious. Dialogue is often written in a way that feels very authentic and natural, despite how absolutely unhinged some of the shit said in this game is, and I think based on having spent time in the community that most players would agree the funniest character in this game, if there was a vote had, would be: Amelia "Murda" Baker

She's a character who treats the game like, well, the game that it is. While she has genuine and emotional moments, a lot of the time she just responds to most situations with the word "murda" with varying tone and facial expressions, and sometimes also with the action of "murda"

You could call her just a comedy character, but I think that'd be unfair as this character and characterisation perfectly represents the kinda attitude you should have towards this experience. Don't take it overly serious, have fun with it, fuck around and find out, kill shit, get loot, explore, murder symbols of authority for being shitty people representing and upholding shitty systems

Now, I'm not saying Amelia "Murda" Baker is The Anarchist Messiah, she can't exactly be said to care too much about the good of the people, in the sense that she eats people, and her catch phrase is "murda", cause she does that to people. A lot. But what I am saying is that she's like a constant reminder to not be taking this world too seriously and have fun first and foremost, without diving fully into a nihilistic "nothing matters" mentality as there are genuine stakes, things and people to be cared about, interesting topics explored and working classes to protect (or alternatively fascist police states to be established if you're a fucking weirdo ig, personally I have nobody working at my town's pig pen and I'm keeping it that way)

Taking things not too seriously, fucking around, experimenting, having fun, enjoying this vast, layered world however you feel like in the moment, is core to keep in mind for:

Part 1.3: Layers Beneath a Vast Wocean

The Wooden Ocean, as I've mentioned, is massive. It's the kind of thing where even going into it expecting it to be big, you'll still be shocked at the size of it. Even if I tell you that the game starts you off on a huge landmass stretching every direction, with multiple layers of interconnected dungeons, caves and sewers all forming a sprawling underground network, and multiple islands and other places to travel I haven't even talked about yet (and I probably haven't found all of myself yet), I would still confidently bet the amount of areas in this game would surprise you if you played it

So far, the only real detailed maps of this game that are available are the ones showcased in the Poetry of Exploration series of guides by the incredible Inky (aka. The Crime Boy), which covers the overworld of the game and is being actively worked on by them with the help of other community members to have more area covered and more detailed information for those areas

In addition to everything I said already, this dev shortly after the recent boost has implemented and will be actively working on a mega dungeon, the most difficult area in the game, that he will develop on a one floor per year schedule, adding to, refining and expanding that one floor throughout the year until it's time for the next one. A dungeon so high level and challenging that it's set to not reset upon entering New Game+ so you can work your way through it over multiple playthroughs

Oh, and that's not even mentioning the couple places you can go in the world where there very clearly will be a lot of stuff, but gives you the message "future content" when interacting, so, as you can see, this game is constantly expanding in every direction at an honestly concerning rate (please take care of yourself too man goddamn)

Now this might again sound overwhelming, but if you apply some Murda Mentality you'll find an experience in some regards reminiscent of Yume Nikki or LSD: Dream Emulator. While this does in some ways have a more coherent world as well as progression systems, clear goals and all that, it's still a very dreamlike, entrancing, free form exploration that's easy to get lost in, with plenty of weird and beautiful visuals to admire and different concepts and ideas explored in a variety of different ways

Now though we're starting to get into the topic of

Part 2: Magic is Real; Art as Spellcrafting

It's not just witches and warlocks!! You too could be eligible for magic!! Find out today, or at your own pace I guess, whatever, idc..

You've probably noticed by now that I might fall within some people's definition of "pretentious", but if I had a great sense of self importance I wouldn't be writing an entire essay on Tumblr about an RPG Maker game at 4am or admit within it that after years of being nameless after coming out, this game is what introduced me to the name that's now me

So, clearly this game has left a very big impression on me and resonates with me on a deeper level than most things. These qualities can be found in all art though, and that's part of the broader point I'm making with this. Emotion is magic, art is made with, inflicts and inspires emotion, you have magic in your veins!! The beautiful chaos at display in The Greatest Expression will force you to face these truths!!

Okay nevermind! Not at your own pace! Not at any sane humans pace! Calm tf down man...

Part 2.1: The Basics of Spellcrafting

Expression is a form of magic that's to an extent innate in humans. While every craft takes practice, even a toddler will have ways in which it expresses itself. Expression is emotions channeled into something that can affect other people, and the most common way humans express emotions, aside from basic communication, is through art

From placing words in specific ways to draw out emotion in text or verbal form, translating the (inherently abstract) images, concepts and ideas in your head into real life using lines on paper, combinations of sounds, movements, personas, working of fabrics or materials, using tools or machines in specific ways, personal fashion, all of this is art, all of this is expression, you all do magic to some degree in your life (even if you're not classified as a witch, warlock, wizard or other similar entity!!)

And now its stealing my lines too... I'm done, I'm leaving, I don't need this rn...

Not all expression is art, but all art is expression, and whether it's corporate copy-paste shit or boundary pushing, inventive indie shit, the creation of art is a form of spellcrafting

There's an endless variety of ways people choose to craft their spells, often combining several of the forms of expression I mentioned (among plenty other ones!!) and often honing their skills at and learning new things about the art(s) involved in crafting that spell during the process. A painter will have a deeper understanding of a brush than anyone without that experience can fathom, the language of it integrates and becomes part of their instincts, the minute movements of it registering in their subconscious which acts accordingly, as extensions of themselves

Now of course that don't mean every painter can use, wants to use or even likes every brush, but just the fact that they can often tell those things just by holding (or even just looking at) a brush shows how this spellcrafting process has become natural to them. Their preferences in tools and the ways they use their tools might change over time, or they might stick to something super specific, but regardless it will become more and more a part of them. Their craft, understanding of it and methods for it will evolve and change as long as they continue to express themselves

Part 2.2: Vessel of the Gods

One of the most important tools in the process of crafting a game, is the engine it's made in. Different engines have different languages, quirks, strengths and weaknesses, so what engine is used and how you modify and alter it is something that will affect the entire work. The engine and how it's used determines what boundaries and restrictions you're working within during the process of turning these smaller pieces of art into a cohesive, interactable realm

It's the vessel through which you get to be the creator of this interactable art piece, so obviously we need to talk about this developers game engine of choice, the legendary:

RPG Maker VX Ace

RPG Maker is a series of game engines designed for making JRPG style games, and are designed specifically to be easily accessible, with little to no programming needed to make a JRPG. They're both beloved and infamous at the same time. On one hand they're the easiest way to make a JRPG thanks to having all the basics already in place for you, and plenty of hit games (at least within gaming spheres) have been made using these engines, proving they can produce great results and that there'd be an audience for the result. On the other hand though, due to being so specialised for that specific purpose, they got a lot of limitations on what's possible to do within them, and due to the engines having such a "low skill floor" so to speak some people have an inherent bias towards games made with them, in some way putting a limitation on the size of the audience too

RPG Maker VX Ace, the 33rd engine in the "RPGツクール" franchise, is the engine this man has been spending so many years of his life learning, working with and using as his main spellcrafting tool while creating The Wooden Ocean. I won't pretend to have a deep understanding of it, cause I really don't. I've played around a little with RPG Maker MV before, but just my knowledge on that one is extremely basic, I couldn't even tell you a single one of the differences between them

While I might be ignorant, after a conversation with Errantstar, an active community member who's been delving into and documenting the inner workings of Wocean (as well as showcasing a whole bunch of obscure games on Twitch), I've become somewhat educated, and the knowledge it provided me during our talk will be woven into things moving forward

The same way an artist shapes their work with their tools, the tools shape the work just as much. While a spell cannot exist without a caster, a caster cannot cast without it's spellcrafting tools. It's a symbiotic, or maybe more accurately a codependent, relationship. Spellcrafting requires metaphysics of a mind merging with the physics of a tool, coming together and forming

Part 2.3: The Shape of Expression

An author writing a novel for publication is restricted in their craft to placing letters within the confines of pages. Those restrictions contribute heavily to the shape of that work. Those restrictions are what make it a novel. An author can use those letters however they want though, and the pages can have variations and alterations to them, like the controlled chaos of the formatting in House of Leaves

So, you remember how big, open, dense and interconnected Wooden Ocean is, yh? And the varied and unique combat system? Well, that combat and the game as a whole has a bunch of complex systems and mechanics I haven't even mentioned, and as we know, RPG Maker VX Ace isn't exactly made for all that

In order to create Wooden Ocean, this developer has had to modify the engine, push and expand it's limits, work within the restrictions while challenging them. In order to follow his vision he had to create makeshift solutions for increasingly more problems, but the further the engine gets from it's inteded purpose, the more volatile it becomes, and suddenly every change he makes or thing he adds could have uninteded consequences affecting other aspects of it

There's been plenty of things he's had to solve, things he's had to just roll with, and there's several upcoming challenges on the horizon. One of those being that he's nearing the maximum amount of things (everything from items to rooms to enemies, etc) the engine allows you to put into a game. Everything he adds comes with something the engine added in a sense, his actions cause both predictable and unpredictable reactions from it, which he in turn has to respond to

This back and forth between this caster and his tools is what gives Wooden Ocean it's shape

Magic is real, art is spellcrafting, and the story of a spells creation can be felt within it

With everything from the beginning to now in mind, let's enter the final stages of this chaos

Part 3: The Greatest Expression

The Wooden Ocean is sometimes referred to by the inhabitants within as The Greatest Expression

How couldn't it be if it's all you know?

But this piece of expression being great wouldn't be incorrect. Despite the chaotic process projects like this go through it's a (mostly) very smooth and engaging experience that clearly has something to say and is one of the most unique and refreshing things I've played in recent memory. The passion on display revealing itself more and more for every step of every cycle across such a vast and intricate journey is an amazing thing to witness and why I love this expression

Something core to every spell is the caster, something core to every world is the creator, so it's time we talk about the deity of this realm

Part 3.1: God

Leif Ian Anderson is the mad god behind this beautiful chaos known as Wocean. A being that can be spotted in places like the Steam forums talking about "murdas" and "blood altars", who shows no semblance of sanity in the inhuman speeds he works at and how he fills the game with characters like this

Fr though, this man deserves his flowers. His dedication is more than paying off. Call it recency bias if you want, but after over a month of playing it almost every day, after having beaten it, I'm still just as excited and filled with wonder jumping back in. Thank you for this expression, thank you for this experience, and thank you for my name Sincerely

Now, I won't pretend to know much about the guy. He got a Scandinavian name and lives in Florida, he makes Wooden Ocean, he probably still works a regular job and that's about all I'm aware of. His presence is very heavily felt throughout all of this game though, naturally, as it's his expression. A display of concepts, ideas and views in the form of a digital museum with an addictive gameplay loop

Despite the heavy use of altered free assets his creativity is on constant display in every corner of the world, in every line of text, in every mechanic. In fact the altered free assets and how he uses them is a big part of what gives it such a unique aesthetic, and even ties into and heightens the narrative and concepts at the core of the experience

This is a god who cares a lot about his world and the people who interact with it. He will respond to (and if possible fix) any problem or bug reported. Almost to a fault as he's known for sometimes over correcting too much, like when a complaint about gravity attack spells being too strong resulted in gravity now being one of the weakest elements in the game. To me though, this is a big part of the charm of this game. It's unpredictable, and everything in it has a story behind it

Despite being the god of this world, his work has a lot of humanity in it. A lot of soul. He might joyfully make some sadistic design decisions from time to time, but simultaneously he will do anything in his power to make this experience accessible to as many people as possible

A merciless and mysterious god

A merciful and transparent god

Part 3.2: Mezra

Mezra is a lot of things in the Wooden Ocean

Mezra is a religion, and also a chara- or, well, several characters. We got Mezra (the witch), Mezra (the architect), Mezra (the angel), Mezra (the artist), and then there's some Mezras not explicitly named Mezra but their names are definitely Mezra, you got an Ezra in there as well for good measure, oh and then there's also Mezra (the author) and, shit, even my name is Mezra!!

Now I won't get into the lore on any of these characters, but I want you to note the hilariously excessive amount of Mezra there is in this game. The game is very self aware of this ofc, with some characters in the game drawing attention to it and finding it just as confusing as anyone would. While it's a good bit, it's also a lot more than that in several ways. The most relevant one to this topic being the theme of self-observation

While these may be different characters, there's always a Mezra observing a Mezra. Deity Mezra is always watching down upon the mortal Mezras, the mortal Mezras are ofc aware of the religion of Mezra, a Mezra might interact with a Mezra, you get the picture. Mezras on every layer, with different viewpoints, observing eachother

If we were to view the different Mezras as one, if we were to think of them as a collective, then the idea of "Mezra" is a perfect representation of Leifs role in this world. He is a deity, a creator, but also an observer to this game. In many aspects he has knowledge way beyond anyone else about his artwork, but in some regards he might know less than a player would about something within it

The unpredictable nature of the spellcrafting process and vast amount of content with so many ways of interacting with it leaves him in a space where he's both a deity and mortal within

Part 3.3: The Entity Known as Wocean

Expansive, ever changing, unpredictable, filled with magic, expression, never fully knowable even to the artist, caster, creator, god of this realm, The Greatest Expression, Wooden Ocean is an entity more than it is a static interactable artwork

Expression is done through it, both by the player and the developer, but it also expresses itself back in a sense. Not to say it's alive or has a mind, but conceptualising it as it's own entity gives a clearer picture of what this work feels like to interact with

It's got a personality that goes beyond what deities and mortals intentionally imbue it with. It's a creation participating in it's own creation. Forever changing itself for as long as the process continues, forever having left an impact on itself whenever it comes time for the process to end

Wooden Ocean isn't the only game with these characteristics, but it's a perfect example, no?

Never before have I seen a game that exists as an entity to this degree, never before have I seen a game that exists as an entity where that fact ties so beautifully into the intended expression

This has been my first love letter to and one of many reasons why I'm so obsessed with

Final Words (Process & Credits)

That number you see in the very first sentence of this post was originally 26. Partially due to being a slow writer, but also due to feeling it would be in the spirit of this expression, I been taking my time with this. 15 days to be exact. Which, like, this shit's extremely excessive ngl lol, but spending my spare time the last two weeks exploring the game further and interacting with and learning from the community while occasionally opening this up in the drafts and putting down some words has honestly been super fun!! I hadn't even beaten the game or watched any Wocean content yet during the writing of anything before Part 2.2, while now I'm fucking around in NG+ and on higher difficulties, still constantly discovering new things, places, quirks, mechanics, etc

Cause of this, in some parts, there might be some small inaccuracies or things left out (like the talent system I never mentioned) and in the latter half some lore nerds might feel a bit peeved with parts of 3.2 for example, but I have it like this intentionally. I've gone over this whole thing and made little edits here and there throughout the entire process, but this ain't a review or a lore discussion, so I decided against being neurotic or adding new info and am embracing the chaos and quirks left over from the process instead of making it just a knowledge dumping post

I wouldn't have nearly as much knowledge of this game as I do if it wasn't for the incredible and welcoming community it has though. Talking about and shitposting about this game with the people over on the Discord has definitely deepened my obsession with and heightened my enjoyment of this experience. Y'all are great, and I'll continue delving into the Wocean with y'all at the very least for the foreseeable future. So, while I'd like to put a spotlight on each individual person I've been interacting with, for my own health and the health of the community I'll stick to just crediting and linking to the people who's contributions I've linked/referenced throughout this somewhat controlled chaos:

Worm Girl as I mentioned is an amazing YouTuber and the one who started this current Wocean wave. Very much recommend her videos on Fear & Hunger and various LISA fangames too

YouTube

Rilks wrote the weapon and element overviews/guides I linked, and has a good little YouTube channel dedicated to Wocean content!! Its also the owner of the current Discord and shows a lot of genuine care for the people in the community. He's almost at 400 subscribers, so go check her out and subscribe pussy!!

YouTube

Deesppumb tbh idk much about, haven't seen em around a lot, but seems very chill and has made some very good funnies (like the one displaying how the proffesionals do it) and got a couple more funnies on this YouTube channel, so, check it out!!

YouTube

Inko, again, is the legend who's been (and still is) putting in work mapping out this chaotic realm, and they been really sweet and helpful in my experience, so go further the Woceanisation of Tumblr by following them on here pls 🙏🙏

Tumblr

Ster was very kind for taking the time to answer several questions (most requiring long answers) just to indulge this bullshit, and does so much to help out the community by dissecting the game and being the closest thing to a Wocean wiki. They also stream very regularly, both Wocean and a bunch of other interesting and barely known RPGs, so go watch and follow you fuck!!

Twitch

Then, of course, Leif Ian Anderson. I've already said a lot there, but fr, like, show this guy some love. He's made something extremely special with this project and it's impossible not to respect his unrelenting dedication to this entity, so, obviously, play the game or at the very least check him out Wooden Ocean is on -25% sale rn until July 19th, so, perfect time to be getting into it now!!

Wooden Ocean | Twitch | SoundCloud | Patreon

Ty for reading!!

#wooden ocean #amelia “murda” baker #indie games #wocean #entities #video games #rpgs #essay

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