#but specifically the two mentioned for some reason

[necroliberty]

So because this is amazing and because I am hyperfocusing on Gravity Falls. Let me share a bit of Amelia's long-lost sister, Kelly Ness. Okay, they aren't sisters anymore, but still.

Kelly fell on the blue grass of a random dimension. She wasn't the type to keep note. The atmosphere was different, somehow safe and dangerous at the time. But again, she didn't particularly keep a note on things like that. Kelly just made a bee line to a mailbox inside either various stickers added to the tin. Mabels had a knack to give stickers to everything. But Kelly just gave them a cursory glance as her right eye gave her the info on each. Giving the coordinate to each stickers place of creation. She should make note of getting stickers for respectives Mabels. Sometimes, it was the only thing that could tell Kelly where to actually send the damm things. Eventually, she opened the mailbox with a specific key and looked through the letters. Some were boring ads that she threw around. No one needed those. Some were Stanfords incredible writings, making sure to say exactly who and where it should be sent. Other times, it was Stanley's doing letters of his own. They were often hard to send back. Mabels were also there. It was obvious with how much stickers and colors her letters had. She practically never had to read the content to know exactly where to go. A bit more, and she was wondering if Mabels just knew the mailbox wasn't actually magic. The rarest were of Dipper and McGucket. For whatever reason, these two either didn't bother make letters or weren't the type to fall in a portal. "Or maybe they both want to be left alone?"

She blinked, and her right eye started to smoke under the intense heat. Forcing Kelly to keel over and grip her eye as the letters floated around her. Smoke from her eye, holding onto them with annoyance. Through her right eye, she could always see something the one who spied. Well, what he saw, to be specific. A mirror was right in front of the demon. A man in his early 20s with brown curly hair broke through by antlers that seemed to either spill ink or petrol from every imperfection in the wood. His eyes were big, staring down the mirror for some kind of stability. Not to mention his long tail swiping at the air behind him. His clothes were still looking like a preacher from a school play. He looked incredibly annoyed. This was a very bad day. "Vulture, do I need to remind you not to insult the likes of me so blatantly."

Kelly wanted to scream that this was stupid, and she was allowed to ask questions. But she also knew better. Days like these, you needed to placate him. So Kelly still held the expression of pain and started to add a quiver to her voice. "I am sorry, I didn't mean for my words to cause harm. I was a fool to even think it in the first place."

The demon stared at his own reflection, closing his eyes too to be able to see her. He vaguely shook his head, making some his hair made of leaves fall to the bed surrounding him. "No, not a fool, just a bad day." He looked down at his hands and feet. His hands were now made of wood, and his feet were deer hooves. He hated this form with such wrath. But his eyes told that he knew better than to take her acting as proof. He didn't trust Bill anymore than she trusted him. He finally closed his eyes again.

Kelly sighed as the pain stopped. She breathed slowly and normally not to let the right eye see her weak. All the letters she had dropped were now safely in her hands, and she looked through them again. Filing them into various pockets in her messenger bag. Making sure she didn't put a letter for the wrong timeline or dimensions.

When she was finally done, she walked away until she could find a loophole in the dimension. Leaving it behind to give letters to family and friends.

This is Kelly Ness as a Mailman. They don't get uniforms because she is the only one.

My smol mini series about the drifting stars au is here!! Ft letters to Dipper!! May do more depending on the reception~

[axxa-the-allikatt]

Soooooo I finally got some free time 😃✊ here’s your order of bllk characters with their short s/o with a side of some suggestive interactions 🤌. I’m making it a short series since I probably can’t finish so many characters in one sitting, so tell me if there is anyone specific you’re looking for. I’m gonna start off with my favourites, humour me.

***

1. Size doesn’t matter. I mean your height- your height doesn’t matter.

-Isagi definitely, but also anyone else who might fit this category like Bachira, Kunigami and maybe Niko + Any character from other shows that you think might fit, ignoring the mention of the bllk program <3

The first time you encountered him, the two of you were around only 11 years of age. You had been walking by the park, back home after school, when a ball had come flying at your face, knocking you squarely in the jaw. You had two broken teeth because of this, and the boy who had kicked the ball, our little sweetheart, had insisted on taking you to his home, bawling his eyes out all the way for no good reason, while you intermittently spat what blood was spilling from your gums, freaked out by the little crybaby.

Once all that confusion and worry had passed by, your parents had been given his address so that they could come pick you up.

And that was how you’d snatched a place in his life. That and the fact that once you had managed to get your hands on his address, you would randomly drop by his house on your way home, uninvited, scare the living daylight’s out of him, gratefully accept what titbits his mother would humorously provide you with, give his father a salute on your way out and never bring up the visit again.

Over the next three years, the two of you had gained a reputation as a pair, and it was a well known fact that wherever one of you were, the other was bound to be close by. So much so that your school teachers often questioned one of you when the other was absent to class.

You had grown fond of the silly boy you had met by chance and had often made him extremely flustered with your quite direct flirting conquests, while he hid behind his hands like maiden.

This was quite hilarious to due to the fact that over the years you had remained a short, skinny kid, where as the other boy had out grown you and was now both taller and more muscular due to his football training.

Your friendship came to an abrupt pause as you were to move across the world for your father’s job, with only a week’s notice to make the most of your time with the other boy.

In a moment of childish desperation, the boy had confessed to you asked you out on a date which earned him a good thwack on the head. For what joy was he asking when you were moving half way across the world in a few days and were going to return god knows when. But you had agreed nonetheless, admitting that you liked him too and that you wanted to make the most of your time with him. Ah. Young love.

Four years passed as you lived your life abroad, finishing high school, making new friends, having fun, not growing any taller, but most importantly, you had kept yourself up to date on the events happening in blue lock. Since when did your silly boy get so… egotistical? It was concerningly endearing.

Finally, you received news that you would be moving back to Japan, back into your old house, by yourself, to pursue your studies in psychology and you desperately hoped that he hadn’t moved in that time. The Blue lock program had ended a year ago, and he might have been selected for a team somewhere across the world.

Your fears dissolved into confusion then disbelief as you were met with the sight of the same boy waiting for you at the airport, with a stupid grin on his face, which was doing nothing to hide how obviously he was trying not to cry like the way you used to tease him about.

The second he laid his eyes on you he broke into a sprint, crashing into you as you tumbled over the luggage, putting your arms around him and spinning him around, bursting into laughter as his feet dragged around behind him. He had annoyingly gotten taller.

The two of you had somehow managed to get to his car before you gently pushed him against the door, crashing your lips onto his as he slid down against the door, lowering himself to your height.

Like I said, height doesn’t matter in your relationship. He’s more than eager to kneel to you. You’re the boyfriend.

***

Next up- the boys who think that since they’re taller, they’re the man in the relationship. They get put in their place 🪭. I’ll post it by next week. Probably.

[stardancerluv]

What the Emperor Wants

Part Fourteen

Summary: Passions arrive before tasks of marriage come to the Domus of Geta and Caracalla

Notes/Warnings: 18 & up👆🏻, Very smutty…& squint some angst & fluff!! A handjob, mentions of climax (female & male!) fingering, squint its exhibition since it takes place on a throne. Old, retro mentions/beliefs of old god/goddesses. Retro views of women.

❤️s, reblogs, comments & feedback are always welcome!

“Geta.” His name was your breath as you exhaled with the pleasure his lips brought you.

He glanced at you from around your hand.

You reached and gently, nestled your fingers to his short curls. They were rebellious from the hood that had tried to stifle them. Continuing to hold your wrist, he held you close as he continued to kiss your forearm, occasionally you’d feel his teeth.

“Who knew, the sweetest blossom in Rome could make me feel good just with a mere touch.” His voice had deepened.

“Being astride you, Geta such as this and the feel of your lips makes me feel great pleasure as well.” You kept running your fingers through the fiery curls.

He pressed his lip against your wrist before placing your hand back to where it belonged in your lap. His face grew serious, he looked off to a distance you could not see.

“Geta?”

“Leading up to our ceremony. We will have to be reasonable, chaste even in our relations.”

You had heard what was expected. You had seen of the marriage of one of your brothers and a cousin, and yet all of this was never what would imagined. You were left wondering what now was meant for her or the two of them.

“I will follow and do as you wish.”

His eyes moved back and looked at you. A smile curled his lips. His hand cupped your cheek. “I chose so wisely with you.”

“Thank you.” There was something you were curious about but you knew better now than to question him.

“Speak, blossom.” A soft edge entered his voice making it echo in the small throne area.

You took a breath. “Promise to not take my head.”

You said the words lightly, but there was a small snare of worry.

He rose an eyebrow. “For the moment.” His smile returned.

Good spirits continued to fill him, you mused.

“You have led us down our path. Why can’t we carry on such as that?”

He nodded. “We are very much doing that. Though there are some things that bring us good tidings and blessings to our marriage.”

You brought a hand to his thigh.

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together at your touch.

“Is there anything we should accomplish or relish in specifically?”

His lashes fluttered against his cheeks before he looked at you once more. “We do have some time before a new day dawns. Before we allow the world, the people of Rome are told of our betrothal.”

“Yes. That is true, Geta.”

Taking ahold of your hand he slipped it into the folds of the fabrics he wore. You gasped as he brought you to his arousal.

Your fingers wrapped around his length.

A soft sound came from Geta’s lips.

You looked at him concern filled you.

“That feels as it should. I will show you.”

His breathing deepened and shorten. His much larger hand enveloped and guided yours.

Pleasure began to fill you as you felt as he appeared to grow within your hand. Passion had filled his face, his eyes were aflame.

“Geta, shall I lay down for you?” Though, you truly did not want to lay on the cold stone, and be like a common dog or animal. For him, you did not truly mind. You would always follow his lead, wherever it may take you.

“No, we shall stay here.”

He swallowed, another soft moan poured from his lips.

“It will be our tribute to the gods and goddess as close as we can.”

Your heart squeezed. It made the pleasure you were already feeling twist in an unexpected, pleasurable manner. He was growing more breathless.

Glancing down, seeing his hardness as it slid and move between your fingers and a soft sound escaped from you. You could remember how it felt inside of you.

His hand slipped from yours as his lips twisted into a smirk briefly. “You relish the sight of your emperor, your future husband?”

“Yes.” You swallowed. “You made me feel so good.”

Your fingers tightened before loosing and continuing to move up and down his length.

“Your body welcomed me as it should.” A smile appeared on his face. “I need to look upon my blossom.”

His hands easily, opened your stola. Your breasts, your body was bared to the cool air. Some of your curves were still cloaked by the fabric.

“Does it miss me?”

How he looked at you, made you tremble. Once again your fingers tightened around him. The sound that poured from his lips caused, a pleasurable ache once again to grow in you. It was a pleasure he brought to you. You could never imagine not knowing this pleasure given to you from him and the heavens above.

“Yes, Geta.”

His hand was warm as it rested on your thigh. “Open yourself to me.”

As you opened your thighs, you felt as your cheeks warmed. His hand easily slipped between your thighs. A moan softly, came from deep within you as you felt his finger tips merely graze you. You trembled and shifted on his lap.

“That’s my blossom.” He trembled as you felt his body tightened once again.

When you had felt him like this before while you lying as one, you had felt something. His seed had filled. You wondered if you would feel it now.

“Yes. Relish the pleasure.” You shook as you felt his fingers tease your opening.

You remembered how he had quicken his pace when he was above you. So you moved your hand as such.

“That feels so…” His voice trailed off, his body shook before straining against you. A moan poured from his lips.

You gasped as his seed spurted from him. Several ropes erupted from him, as he moaned and shook under you. His body jolt with each spurt. The sounds that came from him gave uou that pleasurable ache once more. His head tilted back. He closed his eyes, his chest was heaving.

“Geta?”

*************

He licked his lips as his heart thudded hard.

“Geta?” Your soft voice reached his ears.

Opening his eyes, he was met with concern awash on your face. His lips twitched with a smirk as he took you in.

“Blossom. Look at you, I have filled you with my seed and now I have covered you.”

He tilted his head to one side taking in the sight before him.

“I’m yours.”

Eyeing a cloth, on side table he easily snatched it up. Easily, he moved quickly and tidied you up. He tossed away the now soiled cloth.

“You are that.”

He could feel a fresh knot of passion tighten in him. How was he to avoid, being close with you before the ceremony. Looking you over, he swallowed.

He drew close. “Shall I touch you here? As you have touched me?” He made a soft thoughtful sound. “Would it make me weak?”

He felt a slight tremble come over you as he spoke. As you caught his eye, he could see the passion that burned in them.

“Geta, you will never be weak.”

“I cannot allow myself to be ensnared by passions even if it is with a woman who shall be my wife.”

You let a seriousness fall over you. “You make men whither with fear.”

Your breath caught as he drew his hand between the softness of your thighs.

“The man who had the desire to snuff out the flame that burns within you, cowered with fear.”

“That is true.”

He moved his hand so he cupped you. “Your mound, is beautiful like the rest of you. A soft temple of love and passion all for me.”

“It’s yours.”

He enjoying seeing how breathless you grew because of his touch. Remembering how you moved, sounded so he touched your little bud once again.

“Oh Geta.”

He heard you manage to say before a moan poured from your lips.

“So my fingers can make you feel good too?” He slowed his touch.

You trembled under his touch. Licking your lips, you nodded and whimpered. “Please, please;” You begged. It made the knot in his stomach tighter. “Don’t stop it feels so good.”

“Since you begged me so nicely.”

He watched, as he touched you more firmly like he had before. Your cheeks had a rosy flush and in the flickering flames your eyes shone with your passion.

You trembled and called out, a moan that caused him to bit his bottom lip. It was delicious to his ears.

You were soft and wilted in his arms like flower petals. He watched as you regained your breath, your eyes fluttered open. That feeling, you had brought to him was back. It almost stole his breath. He let his fingers graze the line of your jaw.

“And now, we shall retire for the night.”

You easily got up from his lap.

He adored watching how you fretted over your dress. Standing himself, he said easily pulled you close.

“I am grateful the gods brought us together. May they continue to bless the two of us in our coming union.”

“Yes. The gods have been kind, I send them my gratitude.”

*******

Geta, stopped and went to where he knew some bread was kept. With it in hand, he went over to alter for Vesta. Gathering, his clothes he knelt before. He was pleased to see the candles were alit and flickering. He ripped the pieces of the bread. He laid them down with lowered eyes and murmuring his appreciation of her and what she had planned for him and you.

Not long after he was pleased to see his guards were alert and stood, very straight outside the door of his chambers.

“Gallus. Can you go in and make sure no one is lurking in the shadows.”

“Yes, sire.”

*******

Once back in your room, you went to the window and knelt. Peering up at the crescent moon, you whispered your prayers to the powerful Luna, to grant you fertility in the coming marriage of Geta. You truly hoped you could take his seed. You laid a hand on your belly. Your imagination grew before you. A baby boy of his would look so beautiful. He would have his father’s strength.

Pleased with your prayers, you finally removed the pins and ribbons that held your hair in place. You placed them on the small table that also held your brush and strigil. In a transparent shift, you sighed as relaxation finally came over you. Going over to your bed, you pressed a kiss to the ring on your finger before crawling into the bed.

Moving till comfort finally found you, you let yourself melt into the blanket and pillow. Moments from the day shifted before you; the carriage ride to Dondas coming over to you and those last moments with Geta lingered. You could still feel his touch. With memory of him still fresh; sleep finally came over you.

******

Geta, glanced into his room as Gallus, walked in wide strides around the room. With a sharp turn, he came back to him.

“There is no one. May sleep bring the peace and rest that is needed.”

He nodded. “When the sky turns purple, please take some food and rest. I will want you near, later after the second meal.”

Gallus, clapped his chest and nodded. “Advised, sire.”

Once the door was closed, Geta relaxed. He stripper the last of his clothes. The cool air felt good on hid body. Walking to his balcony he looked out at the expanse of Rome, his Rome. He felt fantastic. Just as he was about to turn and retire to his bed. A flurry of feathers, black in nature settle near him. After some shaking and appearing to settle itself, he saw that it was a crow that had indeed decided to pay him a visit.

“Hello, mighty crow.” He tilted his head and looked at it. It did the same to him. He smiled and the crowd let out a loud cry.

“Thank you for your visit.” He paused, taking in the crow’s beauty. “I will show my gratitude and thankfulness at my alter.”

He glanced over at where he saw the crow, wanting to see it a final time and he did. He smiled. Shortly, afterward the crow shook its feathers and then easily took off into the night that was black as him. The moon barely gave any light tonight.

His excitement had calmed despite you so easily reigniting his passions. Lying down, echos of your pleasure echoed in his heart. You, were lovely and pleasing. You would give him the future of Rome that none other can give.

*******

You do not think there will ever be a day that passes, where you accustomed to life in the Domus of Geta and Caracalla. The bathing was just that more special with the oils that were so pleasing you felt as if you had become a flower yourself or how the ribbons, and curls were twined and twisted in your hair.

You paused by one of the larger columns, to take it all in. The sky was clear, sun’s warmth drifted in and the flowers that drew were flush with their freshness. Their scent making the air delightful. From where you hid, you watched people you had never even see before.

Taking a breath, you gathering yourself. Today was a new day, back in Rome. You could already feel how different it was from the country side.

Today, was your first day as the emperor’s betrothed. You had to take Aelia’s reassuring words given while she looped and twined your hair into a new look. You still did wonder where she had run off in such haste. Life was already so much busier here in Rome than in the country side.

Though, as you reflected back onto your betrothal with Geta, and your spirits already began to loft. It made any of your other thoughts of unease float away.

Feeling as a hand gave you the extra guidance you needed, you made your way to the Triclinium.

“My Blossom.” Geta stood from the sofa he had been reclining on, as you entered. A smile spread across his face.

He ushered you to the sofa beside him. “Plans are already being set in place.” He said once you sat down.

“Wonderful.”

A figure came in with a shadow shortly after you. You looked in the direction. It was Tertia, you had finally remembered her name. Your stomach knotted at the memory. Seeing her once again, did not bring you contentment.

Reaching, you grabbed a plush, and pleasing looking strawberry.

“Is there anything you wish to drink?” Her voice, intruded in your thoughts as you watched as she gave Geta his glass before turning her attention to you.

You were about to reply when Aelia, arrived. She looked flustered

“Yes, Aelia.” Geta took a sip from his glass. “Do you have news from any of the dispatches?”

“We have heard from your mother.” She turned and looked at you. You paused and didn’t take a second bite from strawberry you held. “Yes, we have heard from the village you were born in.”

Your heart quickened its pace.

@honey-eyed-munson @amethyst-serenade @laura-naruto-fan1998 @screaming-blue-bagel @kitkat80 @blondie324 @alyisdead @hellomadamebutterfly @helsa3942 @marrowfrog00 @misspendragonsworld @therealjomarch @deliciousfestsalad @justalittlebitshy @aspiringcokewhore

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[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Human Optimism

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

“I will be direct with you; I was against your coming here.”

Yafin had not expected such a direct response from the head doctor and was momentarily silenced as they continued.

“When I first read your request to interview one of our oldest patients I saw it for what it really was; a puff piece meant to make a name for yourself with no regard for the patient.”

 “Now that’s not-“ Yafin began before the head doctor cut him off.

“But you wouldn’t take no for an answer and decided to go over my head to the hospital board and pitch it which is the only reason you are sitting here today.”

“Dr. Timlock, I want to assure you your fears are unfounded.” Yafin began but he saw from Timlock’s expression he would make no headway there. “Yet as you mentioned the board liked my story pitch and so regardless of what you may feel this interview is ongoing.”

“Furthermore,” he added for extra spite, “your patient even agreed to the interview and so your say in the matter has lost relevancy.”

The room was silent as the doctor fixed him with the coldest glare he had ever seen. A chill ran up his spine and he felt the room suddenly become ten degrees colder as the doctor stood up from behind her desk and walked around to him.

“Listen here you little sha’rav,” Timlock spoke through gritted fangs, “you may have gotten this sham of an interview but I am still the head doctor of this facility. If I see your questions making the patient uncomfortable or their heart rate jump even by the slightest of margins I will end it right there and then and have your legs broken.”

“That wouldn’t kill me.” Yafin chuckled.

“I know,” the doctor countered with a devilish grin, “just enough to put you into the hospital. MY, hospital; where I will make sure you don’t leave for a long, long time. Do you understand me?”

Yafin’s amused expression quickly fell away as he nodded in silence.

 “Good.” She finished and began walking to the door. “Let’s go meet your subject.” ------------------

Wayfare Station was the most advanced medical facility this side of the quadrant. It operated as a massive two tier medical institution. The first tier comprised of nearly a hundred levels capable of caring for over three hundred different species and the specific environments of their homeworlds to maximize treatment and care, while the second tier comprised of an equal number of levels dedicated to the most advanced form of medical research and testing facilities for cutting edge treatments.

Dr. Timlock was the head doctor and as such maintained a constant stream of data being sent from both tiers of her hospital. Any other doctor would have been overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information but Dr. Timlock was a Vikarian which meant her advanced neural pathways were more than capable of consuming the information and responding in short order. Everything from material request forms to latest emergency admissions she was kept apprised of.

Yafin strode after the doctor as she led them to the research tier of the facility where his interview subject was being kept for observation. It was easy to tell the transition between the two as the hallways slowly began to thin out in crowds of patients only to be replaced by an ever increasing amount of security checkpoints.

“Is this level of security necessary?” Yafin asked as they cleared the sixth checkpoint in the last thirty minutes.

Dr. Timlock let out a snort of amusement but didn’t bother to turn and address him directly as they continued walking.

“What we do here is ground breaking medical research for the betterment of the universe,” she said as they cleared yet another checkpoint that included viral gene scanning, “there isn’t a day going by that we don’t have some form of corporate espionage agent trying to break and steal that research for monetary gains.”

As if to emphasize the point Yafin cleared the next checkpoint and was greeted with the sight of a technician sprinting down the corridor with a jar of some kind before being tackled by three security personnel.

“Doctor.” One of them nodded as Timlock approached. They tilted their head in the direction of the technician being hoisted up, their hands not in iron cuffs. “Caught this one trying to steal the latest batch of treatments for bay 17.”

 Timlock looked over the spy and scoffed. “Couldn’t even wait for a shift change I see; amateurs.”

She turned her attention back to the security guard. “Excellent work as always; have them handed over to authorities and ask for max sentence to be applied.”

The guard nodded and hauled the spy away as Yafin watched; his fingers rapidly typing out what had happened on his digipad.

“What makes you think the authorities would take your recommendation into account for punishment?” Yafin asked as the pair resumed their pace.

Timlock shrugged as if the matter was now little more than an annoyance. “When you hold the lives of many an injured officer in your hands and bring them back form the cold grasp of death they tend to be generous with gratitude.”

Yafin would have liked to press this line of questioning more when the doctor suddenly stopped outside of a pair of thick green plated doors.

“Bay 233,” Dr. Timlock spoke as she swiped her security badge along the access panel, “they’re expecting you.”

The sound of thick metal bolts withdrawing drew Yafin’s attention and the thick metal doors slowly retracted into the doorway revealing a dark interior lit only by several small floor lights inlaid into the walls.

Yafin made to step forward but felt a tight hand grab his shoulder. He looked to see the Doctor fixing him with her cold gaze once more.

“Remember what I said.” she spoke.

Yafin gulped loudly and nodded. With the understanding achieved the doctor removed her grip and allowed Yafin to enter the room. She stepped in after him and the thick metal doors slowly returned to place sealing the room off with a loud thud that made Yafin jump.

“Security measure.” Timlock replied with a trace of amusement. “Nothing can get out of this room that could endanger the facility.”

Before Yafin could ask what they meant by that the floor opposite the doorway suddenly creaked and a large portion of it suddenly sunk into the floor. It peeled away effortlessly as a large cylinder like object began to slowly emerge from the ground.

“Suspended animation?” Yafin asked as he recognized the device as it continued to rise. Dr. Timlock shook her head.

“The treatment side effect made it so long term suspension was untenable. The tube itself serves as a convenient housing apparatus for the time being.”

The cylinder jerked to a stop as it ceased rising and the floor tiles closed back around it. Yafin approached the tube and with the sleeve of his arm wiped away a portion of the built up frost on the side to get a better look at the occupant inside. As he wiped it away a pair of cold green eyes were watching him from beneath the frost and Yafin let out a yelp of surprise before stumbling backwards.  

“May I introduce you to Mr. Morris Findel.” Dr. Timlock spoke up as she held on to her amused smile. “The longest patient held within our hallowed walls by four years.”

“Three years……362 days…to be….exact.”

Yafin looked around for the voice only to see it coming from a voice module built into the side of the tube. Timlock looked unphased by the correction and took a seat along the wall.

“On our world we don’t have 365 days.” She corrected Mr. Findel.

“I’m….human….” the voice continued with robotic overtones, “Of course….I count….by human….days.”

Yafin straightened himself up and finally got a better look at the subject of his interview and wished he hadn’t.

For a moment he thought the tank’s healing fluids had been corrupted as he could barely see Mr. Findel’s face. Yet upon closer inspection Yafin saw that the black fluid swirling around him was not the mistake of a cleaning system, but in fact swarms of machines clumped together into black masses. He was seemingly naked save for the long breathing tube that descended from the top of the tank and connected to his mouth, but the black swarms made it difficult to tell.  

“It’s…rude…to stare.”

Yafin’s observations were broken as the Mr. Findel was now looking directly at him.

“My apologies.” Yafin quickly replied. To his surprise the voice module chimed with robotic laughter.

“Just….pulling…your…chain.”

Yafin was confused by the dialogue and turned to Dr. Timlock to ask if the machine was broken. “It’s a human saying.” Was all she replied before allowing him to turn back around.

“Thank you for meeting with me today.” Yafin began. “I know it must be difficult with your current condition.”

“Oh?” Mr. Findel inquired. “And what….condition…is that?”

Yafin had not expected this question. His mouth opened and closed several times as he tried to find the words without sounding offensive.

“Well…..with missing all your limbs.” He finally stammered out.

To his surprise Mr. Findel’s expression adopted one of confusion.

“What….do…you mean?” he asked. “My limbs…..are right-“

Through the black mass Mr. Findel lifted what had once been his left arm only to find it severed at the elbow; his eyes growing wide in shock.

“What…is…..where….is my…arm!?”

Voice modules were notorious for lacking ability to convey emotion but Mr. Findel’s body motions were becoming frantic as he moved his body to check his other limbs and see them through the black goop of machines.

His right arm was completely gone from the shoulder, his right leg ending at the knee and his left leg only having the ball joint in his torso.

“Oh….god….” the machine began to repeat over and over as the human thrashed around in his tube.

“What did I tell you!?” Dr. Timlock’s voice shouted from behind a stupefied Yafin.

“I didn’t mean-“ Yafin began before he heard the door open once more and a pair of security guards entered.

“Get him out of my sight at once!” Timlock shouted as she ran over to the tube and began entering in several keys in rapid succession. Red warning lights descended from the ceiling as the reporter was whisked away, his last glimpse of his would be interviewee being of one of sheer panic and fear before the doors closed shut on the patient and his career. ------------------

“You….think…he…bought it?”

“Oh you really got him good with that one.”

Dr. Timlock grinned from ear to ear as the door closed behind her and the warning lights suddenly turned off. The room was quiet once more with just her and her patient alone to converse.

“I’ve…been…working on…my acting.” Mr. Findel said with an apparent grin beneath his breathing tube.

“Don’t oversell yourself.” The doctor countered as she pulled up the chair from the wall and sat down in front of Mr. Findel’s tube. “You’re no Danika Wade.”

“Everyone…is…critic.” Mr. Findel replied as he let himself be swirled around in the tube by the tiny machines.

Timlock watched this and the amusement of their prank began to fade away as old memories resurfaced.

She remembered the night Mr. Findel was rushed into her hospital. He was an engineer at the time who had been standing inside the engine room of his ship when a grade 3 explosion was triggered by a faulty power coupling. It blew him to pieces and the ship had barely limped to the hospital station before it suffered catastrophic failure and detonated as the patients were being offloaded.

Findel was projected to be die from his wounds within the hour and her lead at the time told her to move on to other patients that could be saved. Timlock had disagreed at the time and had chosen to do something drastic.

Rushing into one of the research wings, she came back with an experimental vial of nano-machines that were designed to repair even the most serious injuries. Her lead protested the usage of the experimental treatment but Timlock had administrated it anyway.

She’d watched as the machines began to repair the wounds, but all took quickly did she realize why it had remained experimental tech.

Without a base template to work off of the machines could not fully repair the body. They did not regrow his limbs to their former length and dexterity, but instead sealed the wounds shut and designated that he had reached stable condition.

Mr. Findel’s condition had stabilized, but he was still suffering from immense pain internally as not all his wounds were fully healed. When doctors tried to operate on him the machines would rapidly undo their work and “Restore” him to their designated default state leaving him in a state of suffering. Even EMP treatment was unable to disable the machines as more often one was left unaffected from the EMP and would rapidly multiply.

Timlock was nearly fired that day had it not been for the fact that to fire her would have meant admitting the hospital was incapable of treating all ailments and would damage the view in which the hospital was seen universally. So it was swept under the rug, quietly.

Mr. Findel was moved to a research wing for further treatments while Dr. Timlock was now assigned as his overseer. She dedicated much of her time to rising through the ranks to eventually have enough sway to divert the much needed materials to finally cure Mr. Findel of his current tortured existence.

“Is….something….wrong?”

Timlock’s dive into the past was broken by Mr. Findel’s voice. She looked up at him floating in a tube of her own making and sighed.

“Was thinking of the day we met,” she remarked, “and how I failed you.”

“Could….be..worse.” Mr. Findel replied as he shrugged his shoulders.

Dr. Timlock let out a chuckle of disbelief. “How? How could this be any worse?”

“Could…be…dead.” He replied almost immediately.

Timlock’s mouth hung open for a moment before finally relenting to a question she had long since wondered herself.

“Do you want to be?”

Findel said nothing and so the doctor continued.

“I’m no closer to finding a way to turn off those damn things and you’ve been stuck like this for four years.”

“Three-“ Findel began but Timlock would not be interrupted.

“Every day you’ve had since then has been nothing but pain and anguish. Don’t you want it to stop?!”

Findel floated in silence as he pondered the doctor’s words. He could see the years of failures to resolve her debacle weighed heavy around her neck.

“Yesterday…” Findel finally began. “I….didn’t know…..you…were bringing…reporter.”

“What does that have to do with anything!?” Timlock snapped back.

Findel’s expression softened. “Today….was….fun…because…of it.”

Timlock watched in disbelief. The fact that this human, this object of near constant suffering, still had some semblance of fun was almost beyond her capability to reason.

“Tomorrow….may..be worse…” Findel continued, “or……it may be.... better. I…..don’t know…..and that’s…why I….keep going….always…the chance….to be….better.”

[sunderwight]

I do want to point out that a lot of really good fanfiction has a ton of interiority. Not just incidentally either. Some of the chief genres of fanfiction are about adding interiority or guessing at what was going through a character's head for a particular scene or event. Character studies, navel gazing, examinations specifically of what drives the relationship between two characters, etc, these are all not only popular but notoriously fanfic-y approaches to writing. Fanfiction is a hobby, so it makes sense that many fanfiction writers actually do like writing for the unique strengths it offers storytelling.

Sometimes the reason why a lot of books read like someone is describing a movie scene is because the author is in fact writing the movie they actually want to make. I vote that this is actually a huge important factor to why so many books read like the author is just describing a scene they're looking at. Because that is what they really want to be making, a movie or a show, not a novel. But movies and shows and even independent internet video series are a lot more expensive to produce than writing, and require a lot more other people to get onboard as well.

I think a lot of people settle for writing as the more accessible medium they can use to tell their story, which causes their writing to read like something that is desperately trying to be a different kind of art. I also think that stories written this way are appealing as prospective "next big novel" style titles to publishers, because... well I mean just look at the series mentioned above. Harry Potter, Hunger Games, Twilight, what's another thing they all have in common, apart from being popular novels for younger audiences that took off with adults too? They all got adapted into lucrative film series. It's capitalism again. Published novels aren't really considered an end goal unto themselves now, they're treated more like the trial stage for intellectual properties that could be translated into movies, shows, video games, etc, the better to keep milking cash from a single cow.

Also an author who writes like they're already making the movie is way less likely to throw in significant stuff that's utterly impossible to translate into a visual medium, too. So. If you look at it that way, of course there's been a trend towards this sort of thing.

A lot of fiction these days reads as if—as I saw Peter Raleigh put it the other day, and as I’ve discussed it before—the author is trying to describe a video playing in their mind. Often there is little or no interiority. Scenes play out in “real time” without summary. First-person POV stories describe things the character can’t see, but a distant camera could. There’s an overemphasis on characters’ outfits and facial expressions, including my personal pet peeve: the “reaction shot round-up” in which we get a description of every character’s reaction to something as if a camera was cutting between sitcom actors.

When I talk with other creative writing professors, we all seem to agree that interiority is disappearing. Even in first-person POV stories, younger writers often skip describing their character’s hopes, dreams, fears, thoughts, memories, or reactions. This trend is hardly limited to young writers though. I was speaking to an editor yesterday who agreed interiority has largely vanished from commercial fiction, and I think you increasingly notice its absence even in works shelved as “literary fiction.” When interiority does appear on the page, it is often brief and redundant with the dialogue and action. All of this is a great shame. Interiority is perhaps the prime example of an advantage prose as a medium holds over other artforms.

fascinated by this article, "Turning Off the TV in Your Mind," about the influences of visual narratives on writing prose narratives. i def notice the two things i excerpted above in fanfic, which i guess makes even more sense as most of the fic i read is for tv and film. i will also be thinking about its discussion of time in prose - i think that's something i often struggle with and i will try to be more conscious of the differences between screen and page next time i'm writing.

[furiousgoldfish]

Someone asked me privately 'How to break out of brainwashing', and I thought the response might be useful to anyone else abused and going trough this. It goes into personal experience and osdd, as well as having mentions of suicidal thoughts, so be ready for that if you're reading on.

"I'm unsure that I can tell you exactly how to break brainwashing, because I can only ever partially do it, and only because I also have a dissociative disorder, I think without this disorder I wouldn't be able to do it alone, even partially. I can explain what I did though, and how I think a person might be able to do it with some outside help if it's available.

So for example, when I was small I've been brainwashed to believe I was a demon, and would often be punished for that crime, and I was too little to have any way to suspect that my caretakers would have any reason of lying to me, and a lot of the stuff that was done to brainwash this message into me was done under circumstances of pain. That's how brainwashing usually goes, it's a repeated message that is given to you when you're specifically vulnerable, have no defenses or arguments against it, and often under circumstances of either physical or psychological pain (if you're badly berated, humiliated, treated with contempt, that also causes intense pain that would seal the brainwashing).

So because I have a dissociative disorder (I have osdd), I split into two parts, one who had all the memories, and beliefs from the brainwashing, and was convinced they were a demon, and a second part who had only minimal memories, was completely detached from all of the pain of the situation, but still also believed to not be human because there were no messages received that would lead to any other conclusion. So basically similar, only one part had complete brainwashing, and the other had some, but was detached from the pain situation, because that's how osdd works, it enables part of you to live as if you weren't traumatized. Because this second part did not have the memories of pain, they were able to break trough brainwashing just using logic. It was still painful, because you have to acknowledge awful things like, your caretakers lying to you, for an evil purpose, having to acknowledge that you weren't safe, that you've been exposed to some extreme cruelty, sometimes having to cut your bonds with people you love because you see them for who they are. Your worldview shatters and that can take months or years to make peace with.

But the thought process was just questioning and breaking trough the logic of the situation. I questioned why I feel constantly guilty and ashamed for even existing, and what caused it, and the reason for that was intense shaming, guilt tripping, accusations, character assassination, punishments. I was receiving messages that I deserved only pain and shouldn't exist. So I questioned why was that, and what did I do to deserve that, and it turned out basically nothing severe; I was acting as a normal kid and would get shamed for stuff like, needing to eat, needing resources or money, saying no, standing up for myself, accidentally annoying someone, being perceived as a nuisance when I was just being a kid. So then why the shaming and the violence and being called a demon and punished for it? Because people who raised me were insane and needed some excuses for torturing a normal child who just happened to live there. Studying the situation further revealed that their acts of punishments coincided with when they were in a bad mood or just annoyed at something else and needed to lash out, rather than anything I did or caused.

Now if I was still connected to the emotions and pain inflicted on me during this brainwashing, I would not be able to break trough it using logic and arguments because the pain would completely overcome my logical side of the brain and I wouldn't be able to argue it out with myself because the pain of just thinking about this would make me suicidal. That's why brainwashing is so difficult to break trough under non-dissociative circumstances, it's just too dangerous to be exposed to that level of pain, and non endurable. It's also why brainwashing is usually done under circumstances of severe pain, so that the person trying to break trough it would be stopped by pain from having access to any kind of logic and they would submit to any message being told to them, just to avoid further pain.

This is also why I haven't been able to un-brainwash the part that is still connected to that pain, they cannot under any circumstances accept that they were a kid who was tortured for no good reason because that's too devastating and there's a barrier in their mind stopping the from even thinking in that direction. They won't indulge with logical arguments.

I do think a person who doesn't have a dissociative disorder could break trough brainwashing with some outside help. Brainwashing relies on the person always receiving the same messages about themselves, and on being resistant to any opposite messages; they make you believe that anyone telling you otherwise is trying to hurt you, lie to you, trick you, etc, it makes any opposite messages difficult to accept or process.

But if there was an environment where the person was consistently receiving un-brainwashing messages that counteract what the brainwashing was, eventually their brain would adapt to the new message, even though it would still be very painful, and there would be a lot of inner conflict, going from one view to the other, being unable to see which messages are true, sometimes succumbing to the pain of trying to fight it because the pain is overwhelming. But for example, if someone is brainwashed to not believe themselves as human, but they're in an environment where it's consistently pointed out how they have a lot of things in common with humans, if their similarities are amplified, they're treated as human, and any abuse or ham of them are being depicted as wrong and evil, it would eventually cause the person to doubt the brainwashing. Not right away though, at first you'd just think 'all of these people are fooled and they're just not seeing the reality of what I am' (that was me for years). But after years of consistency their brain would have to consider that maybe they are human if there's overwhelming proof of it and that maybe something was off with the original messaging. They would still have to go back in memories to challenge it and they would need support in fighting those messages.

Sadly the current environment of capitalism doesn't offer many options of breaking such brainwashing because people often treat each other transactionally and as resources and indulge in some level of manipulation and devaluing others to get their way, so abusive messages might just get amplified instead. Which is awful for people who were brainwashed and can't fight that kind of subjugation due to painful triggers that stop resistance.

I'm also not completely out of brainwashing myself, it's still very difficult to conceptualize that I didn't deserve everything that happened to me, and that I was just a kid. When I think about it I have to distance from myself and re-affirm to myself that it was 'a child', I can't think about it as 'me', because I still hold some connotations of having deserved this, or it being correct that it happened to me instead of anyone else. It helped me to find out that similar things happened to other children because it's very easy to see that no other child deserves this, other people are truly human and never deserve anything like this, and I could start comparing myself to them to some extent and grasp the idea that I also don't deserve this, since nobody does. But I still find myself somewhat tainted by it and different on some fundamental level, in which all of this had to happen, even though I wish it didn't. I guess it's complicated! I don't think I am able to completely break out without outside help, but since I don't have any, this is how far I am able to go."

[laswells-ashtray]

Hello again! :D

I'm the one who mentioned about the reactor mission and was ranting about cod, also sorry that I made you have to get your glasses 😅. (I have a really bad habit of apologizing to practically everything even if someone tells me that something I do is fine or for absolutely no reason)

Anyways, I have a question about John Price. Since you've mentioned on multiple posts that his father was not good to him, do you think Price ever celebrated his birthday or was given anything during the occasion growing up? Or do you think that as he grew up he never saw the point about it until accidentally mentioning it to his team or even Mac during his time as a sargent (idk if that's how it's spelled) while extremely drunk. (Also I mentioned Mac cause I remember you saying that you like writing him cause you don't have to go all proper British English lol)

I also have a question for you specifically, what's your favorite color/s and your favorite dinosaur?

Hope you're having a good day or night so far! :)

Also I love the dinosaur drawings, they're adorable. Making me wanna draw them with how cute the little diplodocus is. Just wanna squish their little cheeks.

Helloooooo, you've set yourself up for a rant here so I apologise in advance. Firstly, no need to apologise for me having to grab my glasses I'm just partially blind as shit. I can see the words but without glasses, it's hard to focus on them or process them without the spectacles.

Secondly, I have autism and OCD so my favourite colours are sorted into tiers based on importance as are my favourite dinosaurs. Top tier colours are blue-toned purples, dark red, black [technically not a colour but that's a whole other conversation], teal and forest green. My top-tier dinosaurs are the t-rex, spinosaurus, diplodocus, ankylosaurus and velociraptors. They're basic but they're goated. Sorry, I had to have five colours and five dinosaurs or it'd grate on me.

I am having a relatively good day and I wish the same for you :]

"What is this?" John looks far too taken aback for such a simple gesture. Concern spreads across the young sergeant's face as he looks over Mac's desk.

It's nothing special, he hadn't wanted to overwhelm the younger man with some big surprise party or dragging them all out for birthday drinks. There are two takeout containers, both from the Indian takeaway that John had sheepishly admitted he was fond of one night. On "John's side" of the desk there's a small black box, no name or brand across the packaging.

"It's yer birthday dinner, noo get yer arse on the chair. It's getting cauld."

John closes the door behind him and hesitantly sits down, looking between the takeout container and the suspiciously plain black box beside it.

"What's in the box?"

He offers the Englishman a soft smile as he nudges the box towards his hand. "It's yer birthday, son. Yer supposed tae open it and say thank you."

John had let it slip the last time they went drinking after a mission gone right, mentioned that his birthday was coming up and how he'd never done anything for it. He'd never wanted to the older he got.

The sergeant narrows his eyes at him, a faint hint of frustration visible in the tenseness of his shoulders. There was a reason he'd made it a quiet, one-on-one celebration. The lad would've lashed out in front of a group.

But John, ever the good soldier follows his order and opens the box cautiously. He watches John register the gift and look back up to him, face full of painfully youthful confusion.

"What's this?"

He sighs, eyes flicking between John and the watch he's holding. It's a simple thing, a plain watch with a brown leather strap. Sophisticated but still casual.

"It's a watch. Ma father bought me wan on my eighteenth, ye should've got wan on yours. If yer auld man willnae step up then a'll just huv tae, every gid man deserves a watch. Yours is just a wee bit late."

For both their sakes he pretends not to notice the wet shine to John's eyes before he blinks rapidly and suddenly it's gone.

"Thanks." He utters softly, ever so carefully placing the watch back in the box. He knows the lad will put it on in his own time, try it on and stare at it as if it's some kind of unfathomable gift of riches instead of a simple watch from his superior. That was John's right, something he had to process in his own time.

"Eat up, son. Yer tea's getting cauld."

[giggasnap]

Simon and his situation feels like it's got so so much untapped horror. Simon himself feels like he's the unfortunate protagonist in his own horror story, like James Sunderland (kiiiiinda) or Ethan Winters. Imagine you're not yourself for almost a whole millennia. Not only that, but this person you've become isn't some terrible horror like The Lich, or a cold and intelligent ruler like Princess Bubblegum. You're the mad man that lives in the mountains, unliked and unloved by everyone, the object of all ridicule and self-imposed humiliation. You're not a threat, but you're no one's ally either, even though you try. You're not even allowed to be a caricature of yourself, because the concept of yourself is erased from your mind nearly completely. You're a husk for a thousand years, an unimposing, carefree husk. And then you're shot back into your own mind, and you don't recognize anything around you anymore. Simon is essentially an alien in this new world.

[bumblingbabooshka]

When the only person who might understand what happened- understand. Not sympathize or empathize or comfort you but understand what happened, isn't there anymore. Or: 'A Man Made Me Do Something I Didn't Want To', for when you can't talk about it or look it in the eye [Patreon | Commissions]

[oldkamelle]

Still accepting Ideas? If so, Spy asking advice on Sniper on how to tell Scout that he is his dad.

[nukacoola]

THIS!!!!!! It’s ALWAYS the short-sighted or idealistic or some stupid shit. Every group has ideals and a specific goal they are working towards dipshit!!! And Desdemona and Deacon (two of the highest ranking members) are also very pro-helping humans!!

Dez says "Killing us humans should be the absolute last resort, Glory, not the first." when Glory kills a human while on a mission (in this specific case I kind of agree w/ Glory more but that's a whole other post).

She also talks about how important saving the innocent, human, Institute members is when the RR forms their final plan for destroying the Institute. "PAM believes their destruction is absolutely necessary. But the Institute isn't just populated by diabolical scientists. Families live there. Children. If we destroy them, we're going to evacuate more than just Synths."

Deacon's opinion is very clear. "...my view is that we're really in it to help everyone. Humans, synths, and everything in between." And he even mentions trying to have the Railroad help out both humans and synths. "I wish Dez would green light the occasional mission to help out humans." Desdemona has the final say as the leader but even though she agrees with Deacon they just don't have the resources to try to save everyone in existence at the moment.

After the game (given you side with them) Railroad flags appear in Diamond City. This makes me think that their goals have expanded now that they have more people on their side (as evidenced by some dialogue from DC security guards) and don't have to hide from the Institute anymore.

Before the Institute is dead they have to narrow their focus if they want to help anyone. And as Victoria Watts (a member of the Railroad in Fallout 3) says, “...there are others in the Wasteland who assist in the plight of human slaves. Our android brethren have only us."

But the rightwing gamer youtubers don't give a fuck abt the text of the game or the reasoning behind the faction's actions and beliefs. They just care about how cool power armor looks and how fun it is to cosplay being in the military and mow down random NPCs.

There is nothing that infuriates me more than video essay YouTubers who make video essays about how the Railroad is the worst faction in Fo4 without even having played or seen most of the content for the faction!!! The amount of ppl who make this whole essay about how the Railroad sucks and is stupid but have clearly not even read the terminals inside the Railroad HQ is astounding.

[xcziel]

has anybody else thought about how jk could easily manage sofia's parts of slow dance or is it just me?

[loveguts]

i love seeing those advocacy groups that say they’re fighting to protect free speech on campus and i think that they mean advocating for the (peaceful btw) pro-palestinian protestors that have been brutalized by police and arrested and expelled en masse, but then i go to their website and they’re just advocating for conservatives to be able to say hate speech with no repercussions

[kariachi]

Damn this fandom is split on this one. Apparently the only thing fuckers can agree on is that this is not a case of Servantis implanting false memories. Which is a shame because I do think that's the funniest option in the poll.

But I digress, we move on to the breakdown.

Only one person thinks that it didn't actually happen until Ben fucked things up, which i suppose would be a fitting punishment for Argit's part in the whole destruction of the universe thing. But that's only half the people who think that it used to have happened, but Ben- presumably accidentally- absolved him of the crime when he remade everything.

Two people think Argit sold his mom for reasons that either aren't listed in the poll or are just very complicated.

Two people think he didn't sell his mom and instead lied about it for reasons that aren't in the poll or are just very complicated.

And another two believe that either something entirely different happened that isn't in the poll (I tried to be thorough but there's only so much I can do) or the whole thing is a complicated mess that doesn't fall into one category!

And all those three make sense. Selling your mom, or in the case of the latter just Argit's backstory in general, is probably a very complicated situation. There's probably a lot going on.

Meanwhile, three people voted for Argit having lied about selling his mom due to trauma. Which, yeah, we've seen the guy, would not be surprising to learn that there's some shit going that deep. I've seen at least one person elsewhere mention the idea that he lied about it as a way of dealing with being sold by her, which... Would be an option.

Then four people voted for Argit having sold his mom because he's an asshole which, yeah, we've seen the guy. He's an asshole. And it's probably what was intended by canon.

And another four voted that he sold his mom out of desperation, which would make a hell of a fucking story. You don't see too many things with kids getting desperate and selling their parents, normally it's the other way around.

And then, a fucking tie for first place, because of course it is I've seen this fandom with polls.

In Corner A, five people stand for the idea that Argit sold his mom out of a desire for vengeance. They looked at this guy, who lets be real has a lot of shit going on so I don't think any of us would be surprised if he had a crap upbringing, and went 'I bet his mom was so shit he sold her out of a sense of 'fuck you and the horse you rode in on''. Which, valid.

In Corner B, five people hold that it didn't happen, and instead that Argit lied vehemently about it to bolster his ego and standing. Which again, valid, we've all met him. I mean come on, he went into politics of all things, what can we put passed a corrupt politician? Nothing. Again, completely valid take.

So our opinions are spread out, but what does that mean for the baseline concept? Where does the fandom fall on whether or not this guy sold his mom?

If we include the 'Ben changed shit' options, working with the original state of things, and leaving out the 'it's complicated'- 56.7% believe Argit sold his mom, while 36.7% believe he didn't.

If we leave out the 'Ben changed shit' options alongside the 'it's complicated'- 50% believe Argit sold his mom, while 33.3% believe he didn't.

Out of those who think Argit sold his mom and gave specific reasons-

33.3% believe he did so out of some sort of vengeance

26.6% believe he did so because he's an asshole

Another 26.6% believe he did so out of desperation

13.3% believe he did so for some other or more complicated reasons

Out of those who think Argit didn't sell his mom and gave specific reasons-

50% believe he claimed to to bolster his ego and/or standing

30% believe he claimed to as a way of dealing with trauma

20% believe he claimed to for some other or more complicated reason

Overall, when it comes to reasons for Argit's action, whatever they are-

36-56% believe his reasons were likely tied to poor morals (depending on how one classes 'act of vengeance')

48% believe his reasons were likely tied to a tragic backstory (including 'act of vengeance' because, well, you gotta have something to be vengeful about)

16% believe his reasons weren't listed in the poll or were likely complicated

So, there you have it folks. The numbers for our fandom, such as they are. A small majority of us seem to think he sold his mom, and roundabouts half believe that whether he did or not there's probably tragedy behind it. But even then, it's all rather close.

That's fandom for you.

Said I'd do this eventually, get some opinions from the fandom...

[blueskittlesart]

have you ever watch jacob gellers "every zelda is the darkest zelda?"

people constantly recommend video essays and zelda fan content in general to me like this and like. genuinely i understand where you're coming from and i appreciate the thought but. well. i have this thing about zelda content. when you think about these games as much as i do there comes a point where like, almost anything that can be said about these games is something ive already thought about (and i know that sounds narcissistic and like i think im better than other content creators and i PROMISE that's not that. it's just that ive spent like every waking moment since i was 11 doing this. so like genuinely almost anything you can bring up about these games i have spent some time thinking about) and i've also been exposed to so many bad-faith interpretations of these games that at this point i'd rather avoid analysis than end up getting angry at a stranger online. another piece to it is that i don't really enjoy watching video essays on topics i'm already super knowledgeable about--i feel like video essays function better as dumps of information to people who WOULDN'T otherwise have thought about the topic than facilitators of discourse between people who DO care a lot about the topic already. a video essay isn't a conversation-starter, it's a presentation, and presentations are BORING when you already know everything that the presenter is saying. I much prefer talking to people about mine & others' analysis via tumblr like this, because there's a bit more room for discourse and explanation & bad-faith interpretations are less easy to get caught up in!

so tldr i haven't watched it and i probably won't simply because video essays arent my preferred method of engaging with this topic lol. i'm sure it probably makes some good points tho

[stephenrea]

WHO UP BEEFING WITH THE NEVERS WARRIORS IN 2024.