#but there's more to herding than chasing the sheep without killing them

[zooophagous]

I may just be a chronic hater but I do get a bit of a mild chuckle out of people who insist their showline herding dog can still work and prove it with pictures of their dog chasing a tiny handful of sheep aimlessly around a small pen.

Like I'm not saying your dog is an inferior working animal because it can win a blue ribbon but uhhhhh that's uhhhh not an accurate measure of what makes a dog a good herder.

[josnashak69]

A 10,000-word long article: The underlying logic behind the success of the incentive system

This article starts from several African legendary stories, elicits the powerful role of incentives, and uses examples to analyze how to set up successful incentive signals. Finally, combined with practical HE Tuber application summary, it proposes strategies such as external incentives, commitment, socialization, and temptation bundling to maintain motivational effect. Let’s explore the logic behind the incentive system!

Have you ever participated in the frequent flyer programs of major airlines and exchanged miles for air tickets?

Or check in the Moments of various English learning software and forward it, and if you insist on it for 30 days, you can get the tuition refund?

Or the year-end performance sprint where you work overtime for the year-end bonus?

We seem to be easily influenced by the motivational strategies designed by others, so how do these motivational policies work? How did it fail? Are cash incentives more effective than honor incentives?

Today, we deeply analyze the underlying logic of the success of the incentive system from the perspectives of behavioral economics, psychology, game theory, etc., and summarize how we apply incentive strategies to help corporate management, help individuals identify problems, change behaviors, and design incentive policies for users.

Whether you are an entrepreneur, product manager or marketer, you can get valuable insights. (The article is very long, it is recommended to save it and read it carefully)

Without further ado, let’s go directly to the main text, Enjoy:

1. Several African legends: The role of motivation is far beyond imagination

What's the incentive? Simply put, it refers to a mechanism that allows others to voluntarily do what we expect them to do by setting a series of reward and punishment rules driven by certain incentives, and solidifying these behaviors into habits through constant feedback.

You may not imagine that incentives can be powerful enough to change a region's centuries-old ingrained cultural practices and traditions. The following legendary stories happened in Tanzania and Kenya in East Africa.

1. From lion hunter to giving up lion hunting

The Maasai are the largest nomadic ethnic group in the East African grasslands and the most representative ethnic group. With a population of approximately 1 million, the Maasai are known as the "primitive people of modern society." The reason why I say this is because the Maasai people still live under a strict tribal system and are managed by the elders of the tribe.

The Maasai people make a living by herding cattle and raising sheep, and live together with African lions in the East African savannah. Lions will occasionally attack domestic animals when conditions are harsh. When such an attack occurs, Maasai warriors chase and spear the lion. The Maasai and the lions have lived in this balance for hundreds of years.

However, due to economic development and population growth, the natural habitat of lions has been lost, and the number of lions has dropped sharply from 200,000 thirty years ago to 20,000.

Lions are not only related to Kenya's international image, but also the lifeblood of the local tourism industry; if their numbers decline sharply and become endangered species, they will also disrupt the balance of the natural food chain and lead to the deterioration of the ecological environment.

Therefore, the government specially invited the Uri Gneezy team from the University of California to try to gently change the Maasai people's lion-killing custom through incentives, and the "Simba Project" was born (Simba refers to lion in the local language).

Traditionally, when cattle and sheep were attacked by lions, tribal elders would gather warriors to chase the lions together. Although this response did not compensate the elders for the loss caused by the dead cattle, it did successfully prevent future attacks on the livestock by lions.

Under the Simba Plan, Maasai elders whose cattle were killed by lions could receive financial compensation, but only if no lions were killed in the area after the incident.

This incentive plan changed the decision-making thinking of tribal elders

In contrast, protecting lions can get more economic returns than killing lions

One key to the plan's effectiveness is how much money to compensate the elders. If Simba planned to provide every elder who didn't summon a warrior with a ridiculously large amount of money, say $1 million, that would certainly be feasible. However, with the death of the first cow, the program goes bankrupt and the problems continue.

Instead, the Simba program takes into account the market value of the livestock in question and compensates based on that amount. Compared with the economic benefits that lion tourism brings to the Maasai people, compensation appears to be an affordable price. This financial calculation is extremely important as it makes the program financially sustainable.

Preventing cheating and insurance fraud is also key. By establishing a verification agency and strengthening cattle and sheep fences, this incentive program can be successfully run. The lions in Kenya have escaped disaster and their numbers have gradually recovered.

[rotworld]

1: Hellhound

you get an unexpected visitor on the night of a hunt.

->explicit. contains gore, murder, feral behavior, very ambiguous consent (consent not explicitly given but you have a good time), and knotting.

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Molly says there’ll be a hunt tonight.

You’re visiting the village market together when she suddenly stops in the middle of the road, the evening crowd parting around her. Her hands tremble at her sides, her head turned towards the sky. “Do you feel that?” she whispers. “That heat? That prickle in the air? Like a storm, but I know it’s not. They’re coming. Herbs—you need herbs. Can’t be out late.” You don’t feel anything but you take her word for it. They call her Mad Molly, but only when you aren’t around to smack some sense into them. Not just anyone survives being stranded outside on the night of a hunt. You’d like to see them try.

“How do you tell the difference?” you ask her. “Between a storm and a hunt?” 

Molly taps her nose. “The smell,” she says. “Storms are wet. Earth and sky. Hunts are something else. Try and see.” 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. Crisp autumn air fills your lungs. You smell the savory aroma of meat pies, the musk of herbs, the sharp scent of pickled vegetables, but nothing like what Molly describes. You trip on an uneven patch of road and she catches you, snickering. Somehow, she’s still twice as graceful as you, even without her eyes.

Dusk settles in the sky by the time you reach Molly’s. She gives you a basketful of herbs from her garden, flowering purple stalks of betony and clary sage. “Put the dill and rosemary over your door. The betony, you’ll want that once the night’s through. Clary sage is for the eyes, but you knew that already.” She sends you off with a stern reminder, “Stay inside. Lock your doors. And don’t get in their way.” She taps the side of her face, the whorls of scar tissue where her eyes used to be. “But don’t be scared,” she says quietly. “They can be surprisingly gentle.”

It’s a long trek home from Molly’s, back through the woods and the village square. The shadows are long and the sky dim. Children chase each other, chickens run loose, and a couple of persistent women haggle with the butcher for cured meats. But when the church bells toll, everything changes. Fear grips the market. People scatter like frightened animals. Stalls are hastily abandoned, artisan goods trampled in the streets. Doors slam and windows are shuttered. A town crier rings his hand bell and shouts to be heard over the commotion. He, too, is running. “Hear ye, hear ye! The hounds come to hunt this eve!” You catch glimpses through the stampede, fur like night sky and eyes like burning coals. The beasts come pouring from dark places, shaking the clinging shadows from their coats. You smell ash and sulfur, see the heat haze fizzling around their claws. The howling starts. You’ve never run so fast in your life.

They’re everywhere, slinking through the alleys and prowling between the trees. You see them watching, waiting, their gazes burning into you as you pass. You wonder if this is how sheep feel under the scrutiny of herd dogs. The crowd thins the further you go from town until you’re alone in the woods, sprinting for the soft glow of a lantern left outside your front door. You’re breathless when you stumble inside, hunched over, legs aching. You realize, belatedly, that you lost your basket of herbs somewhere in the chaos, but you’ll manage without. All you need right now is some tea. 

The water is just starting to boil when you hear an ungodly commotion, a wet sound, a clattering, banging and screaming. It takes you a moment to come out from beneath your table and realize someone is knocking frantically at your door, begging for help. “Please, please help me, please I don’t, I don’t want to die, please—!”

Cautiously, you peer through the foggy glass. You can just make out a young man standing there. You open the door and the sight of him churns your stomach. Vicious claw marks cut through one side of his face, leaving the flesh mangled and hanging limp. That wet sound is the splatter of blood every time he moves, dribbling from his face and his hands. The hounds will smell that, clamor for a taste of it. “I didn’t know,” he sobs. “I’m not from here, I didn’t—I had no idea what it meant! The bells started ringing and everyone ran, and I—I don’t have anywhere to go!”

You let him in. He comes stumbling through and collapses, sinking to his knees against the wall. His cloak is torn and the clothes underneath ragged, everything saturated with blood. The first thing you do is clean the wound and cover him in gauze and bandages, anything to staunch the flow and cover the metallic scent. He croaks miserably, pale as death. You aren’t sure he’ll make it through the night, but you’ll do what you can.

“The bells mean there’s a hunt on,” you tell him, sopping up a red, watery mess oozing from his chin. It makes little difference now, but if it were you, you’d want to know. “The hounds are just doing their job, hunting for monsters and infernal things. But we have to be careful. They’ll attack anything that gets between them and their prey, and blood excites them.” 

“Monsters?” the young man says weakly. “Infernal things? What does that mean?” 

You shrug. “I’ve never seen one. It’s just what I’ve heard.” 

“Then how do you even know it’s true? What if they’re just running amok out there, killing whoever they want?” 

“I just know,” you insist. It’s a common rumor whispered around the village; humans are the real prey. The stories of monsters are just to keep them obedient, never getting in the way of a hunt. But Molly told you it’s not like that. She said she saw something. The hounds, she whispered, weren’t what took her eyes.

“Doesn’t that scare you?” the young man presses. “Not knowing what a monster even looks like? Whether or not you’d recognize one if you saw it?” Thin, bony fingers wrap around your wrist. He has claws, you realize, your heart skipping a beat. “It should,” he purrs. His teeth are inhumanly sharp. Eyes flutter open and shut along the uninjured side of his face, yellow and glowing like a creature of the night. He stands, suddenly steady on his feet. Your blood runs cold as you understand that his corpse-like complexion is natural. More hands unfold from beneath his tattered cloak and slam you back against the wall. 

“Let me go,” you say quickly, a frightened tremor sneaking into your words.

The monster you let into your home leans in close, smirking. A long, forked tongue slithers along your jaw. “I don’t think so,” he hisses. “I’m staying until sunrise. If the hounds come, you will send them away. If you don’t…” His jaw cracks at the joints, unhinging, his mouth opening even wider revealing a maw lined with rows upon rows of teeth. “Then there will be nothing left of you come morning.” Just like that, he drops you, watching you squirm on the floor with cold amusement. “Get up,” he says. “We have to prepare.” He doesn’t wait for you to begin shoving furniture against your door, lifting the heavy oak table as though it weighs nothing. You slowly climb to your feet and stand there, paralyzed.

“It won’t work,” you say.

He stops, dropping a chair and letting it clatter loudly to the floor. You regret speaking when those eyes flutter open in shut again, fixing you with an unnerving glare. Silently, he slinks towards you, backing you into a corner. “It will,” he says lowly. “You’ll turn them away or you’ll die. It’s that simple.” 

You swallow a ball of cold, hard dread stopping up your throat. He doesn’t understand. There is no turning away a hound. A long howl cuts through the silence and you both look at the door. Another howl rises in answer, much closer than the first. A glow like distant fire burns in the woods. The monster grabs you with three hands and shoves you closer to the door. It stands behind you, draped against your back with a claw pressed threateningly against your throat. You hear a beast’s trotting steps, leaves crunching along the path to your home. A large silhouette looms outside. There’s sniffing, and then a low growl. Something scrapes against your front door.

“Huuuuuman,” comes a low, velvety purr.  It almost sounds like a man, distinctly masculine but with a deep, animalistic rumble coloring every sound. “I see you standing there. Good evening.” 

“G...good evening,” you manage to stammer through the shock and fear. You had no idea hounds could speak. You can’t make out a face, canid or otherwise, but you see his eyes glowing in the dark, red and blazing. 

“I smell something delicious,” the hound says. “May I come in? I think you might have an uninvited guest and not even know it.”

You take too long to reply. You hear the sound of flesh peeling, the monster’s jaw unhinging behind your head, and scramble to force out the words, “There’s no one here but me!” 

The hound lowers itself. You hear more sniffing, see unnatural shadows swirling beneath your door and seeping into the house. “Are you certain, human?” the hound says. “I’m not often wrong.”

“I’m sure,” you say, as firmly as you can with hot saliva dribbling on your shoulders. You hear one last frustrated, sniff, a huff, and then the hound’s footstep’s retreating as he slinks back the way he came. Neither you nor the monster can quite believe it at first, remaining perfectly still until the fiery glow dissipates and everything is dark outside. The next howl is far, far away. 

“Good,” the monster mutters, sounding nearly as exhausted as you feel. He shoves you away and begins throwing anything else he can find into the barricade. “Now help me with this—”

He smells it only a second before you do. Sulfur. Burning. Hellfire. The unearthly glow sparks to life right outside your door once again. Time slows to a crawl as the monster turns, looking back at you with a snarl frozen on his half-mangled face. All of his eyes open wide and you hear just the beginning of a frightened whimper before flames erupt from the barricade. The fire is red like blood and the force of it bursting through knocks the monster back, sending him sprawling to the ground where it circles him, engulfs him like a living thing and eats him alive.

You can’t tear your eyes away as the flames take the shape of the biggest dog you’ve ever seen, wolf-like and ferocious, one massive paw on the monster’s chest as its maw tears his belly open and rips into his guts. The terrible, sharp stench of death seemingly burns away, overpowered by cleansing smoke and fire. The screams will haunt you for the rest of your life.

When you come back to your senses, the inferno has disappeared. Rings of scorch marks are seared into the floor around a charred corpse so horribly mutilated you couldn’t begin to guess at what it once was. A man crouches over it, licking his bloodied lips. You know he’s the hound. His wild hair writhes with shadows and the fire is still burning in his eyes. He turns to you, stands to his full height, and you fight to keep your gaze respectfully above his collarbones as you realize he’s completely naked. He takes a step towards you. You take two stumbling back.

“I didn’t want to get in your way,” you say, helpless. If he decides to kill you, there’s nothing you can do. “He told me to lie to you. He threatened me.”

“Lucky for you, you’re a terrible liar,” the hound sneers. He stalks towards you like you’re prey, a snarl pulling at the corner of his lips exposing the teeth that just tore the monster apart. “Did no one ever teach you not to open your door to strangers on the night of a hunt?”

“I didn’t know!” Any further excuses die on your tongue when he shoves you, barely more than a gentle push on his part but it knocks you to the ground. He’s on you before you can squirm away and you realize suddenly just how big he is. He’s enormous, a good head taller, all rippling muscle and faded scars. And he’s—you don’t look, but you can feel that he’s hard. His cock twitches where it’s nestled between your bodies, smearing precum on your clothes. “Please don’t...don’t hurt me.”

“I’m not going to,” he says, but it certainly stings a bit when he rakes his claws down your body and shreds through your clothes. He ignores your protests as he shoves the fabric aside and then his hands are on you. He has claws like the monster, but even thicker and more frightening. Somehow, they barely graze you even as he caresses your skin. You flinch when he leans in suddenly, but he doesn’t bite you. He’s smelling you, you realize. His nose grazes the hollow of your throat and he licks you, a rumble building in his chest. “This is what I smelled,” he murmurs. 

You don’t understand. He doesn’t bother to explain, either, but he pulls back far enough to meet your eyes. You expect him to reek of sulfur, but without the fire, there’s only the lingering scent of the forest. His gaze wanders your body and he presses his hand against your chest, right over your pounding heart. 

“I want you,” he purrs. “I’m going to have you.” You nod shakily. What are you going to do, fight him about it? You just watched him burn his way into your house and kill somebody in a flurry of fire and entrails. “Turn over. Let me taste what’s mine.” You hesitate. He doesn’t ask twice. You’re flipped unceremoniously onto your stomach, breath catching in your throat when he tugs your hips higher. 

You feel his breath, scalding like chimney air, against your sex. The wet press of his tongue on your flesh makes you flinch and whimper. It’s hotter than you expected. The warmth is just shy of painful. You bury your face in your arms, face heating in embarrassment, as he laps at your sex like he’s starving for it, saliva dribbling down his chin. You find yourself shivering, moving back against his face, whining when his hands catch your hips and hold you in place. 

You think that growl is pleased, almost affectionate. He adjusts his position ever so slightly, his thumbs pressing into tender flesh to spread you open. And then his tongue is inside of you. You cry out in shock, the sensation foreign and overwhelming. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. His tongue is long and thick, twisting inside of you, opening you wider as he makes encouraging sounds. “That’s it,” he hisses, licking a lazy circle around your entrance. “That’s it, human. Let me in.”

It’s not long before you’re shivering in his grasp, gasping, even begging. You hear a chuckle, feel his tongue leave you empty and wanting. “You’re ready,” he murmurs. You hear a slick sound. His hand on his cock, maybe, but you don’t get the chance to look and see. His claws land heavily on your head, shoving your face into the floor. He’s going to fuck you like an animal. The thought drifts almost absently through your head as he mounts you, blankets your back with his body and begins rutting his hips against you. His length, hot and pulsing, shoves between your thighs in teasing thrusts, letting you feel how thick he is. What can only be a knot drags against your sex, the friction making you whine. “Do you want me, human?” he growls. “Do you hunger as I do?” 

You make a noise, something humiliating, needy, more animal than human. It’s exactly what he wants. With a playful bite to the nape of your neck, he presses his cockhead against you. He pushes slowly, patiently, his hands smoothing along your sides. You hear him speaking against your skin, rumbling into the side of your neck or your shoulder. The words are low and indistinct but you feel the intent behind them, the desire in every sound. “Fuck me,” you beg him. He makes a bestial sound and with a harsh, forward motion, spears you on his cock. 

It’s blinding, the pain and the pressure, but it’s so good, so filling. Your fingers scrabble over the floor with nothing to hold onto. The hound rocks his hips, driving into you harder and faster, building a rhythm that makes you see stars. “Fuck, just like that,” he pants against your ear. “You take me like you were made for me.” He sinks deeper and your eyes roll back in your head. You can feel him in your stomach, can see the bulge of him through your skin. It’s impossible to hold your voice in, every thrust dragging a yelp or a whimper from your lips. “Don’t hold back,” he growls, nipping at your ear. “Scream for me. I want my brothers to hear you. I want the whole village to know you’re mine.” 

You won’t last long, and neither will he. The exhaustion of the night catches up with you, the primal terror, the relief, the lust burning in your veins. You feel the hound losing rhythm as he loses himself to his frenzy, groaning and growling, driving into you with bruising thrusts. He tries to force his knot inside of you and it won’t fit, you’re sure it won’t. You try to tell him it won’t and he makes a truly inhuman sound, a laugh and a bark and a roar all at once. One of his claws lands on your head again, keeping you trapped and still as he rotates his hips and pushes harder, fucks you harder, drives his cock as deep inside as he can get.

The sound is small. The muted, wet pop of something locking into place. But the sensations are too much, too good, too painful. The force of your orgasm nearly leaves you unconscious. You feel him cum, hear him let out a long moan as his hips move in frantic little thrusts against your ass. He stuff you full and collapses on top of you, his legs hooked inside of yours. You gasp for breath as he keeps rutting, still riding the high of his climax. You smell blood. You feel his jaw come unclamped from the space between your neck and shoulder, his tongue lapping gently at the wound. 

He shifts slightly and your hips are dragged with him, the pull on your insides making you wince. “Sorry. We won’t be going anywhere for a while,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your hair. He soothes you with a hand along your side, peppering kisses between your shoulders. “Hunt’s not over. I’ll have to leave as soon as I’m able. Are you well? I didn’t hurt you?”

You don’t feel terrible, all things considered. There’s a deep soreness that might bring regret in the morning, but mostly you’re content. His heat, the fire at the core of his being, dampens the worst of the pain. There must be some magic at work. You can’t believe he’s still inside you. “I’m okay,” you say slowly.

“Good.” The hound nuzzles his face against you, taking in your scent again. You could almost call the behavior affectionate or gentle, a stark difference from how he fucked you earlier. 

Molly’s words come back to you, the strange little smile on her face. You have some questions for her in the morning.

[monty-glasses-roxy]

april fools upgrade #4, just casually crank each and every animatronics' protectiveness to max for the day, how would the employees, and animatronics feel about them being so clingy and protective of EVERYONE.

This would depend on a few things I think, mainly what the animatronics prioritise and who counts as a threat.

If they prioritise eachother, they're stuck to eachother like glue all day. They're never out of eachother's sight and the moment they are, there's a search party after them. The threats would then either be the kids or the staff. Which isn't ideal! Though given their jobs, the threat is more than likely the staff, with the kids getting a wary pass. Even Freddy is growling at the staff now. Maintenance can't get anywhere near them and the staff bots are probably in a very similar, if not the same, boat.

If they prioritise the kids, then they each have a group of steadily growing kids. As soon as a few have to leave, they get anxious and its essentially a sheep herding game. The threat would then have to either be each other, or the staff again, possibly both. Just a big ass robot fight and the staff can't intervene without risking them all teaming up to chase them off. It's chaos.

If they prioritise the staff, then uhhh... well that makes the kids and each other a potential threat. You really don't want them seeing kids as a threat. However, there's potential for robot fights again which is at least dramatic. The staff aren't sure if they regret this one since they're making it harder to do their jobs but also as soon as management talks down to them, there's at least three different growls as a huge shadow looms over them from behind. Vanessa in particular is considering pulling some strings to get whoever came up with this fired but it was at least kind of amusing to watch all of the animatronics try and cram themselves into her little security office.

Like I'm not sure how funny that one would end up being. The protectiveness would probably result in a mess of anxiety from all of them, with various aftermath consequences, and at least two of the possibilities leading to them seeing kids as a threat which is not great!

Alternatively, they could each just latch onto a specific person or other animatronic and just shadow them all day, though that would turn it into a 'if Security Breach was during the day and everyone is trying to kill you' kinda scenario for them. Not fun!

[iluvzfewdnstoreyz]

Never let your child Alone...

This story was told by my grandma and her dad who was my great grandpa, about two little kids possibly the ages between 7-9 years old a girl and boy were told to herd sheep back when my mom was girl herself so they lived out far from neighbors and stores no roads or highways were not made yet. Only trail bush roads back than so the mom, aunts and grandma’s were home they always made these kids herd sheep. The men always were away to store or help other neighbors even medicine man or in ceremonies. One day these two kids followed the sheep all day until maybe mid afternoon playing around after the herd but never knew about the bull. This bull belong to a a guy who was very mean and strict who lived far from them but his cows roamed everywhere along with that bull.

The two kids didn’t know the bull was watching them until he chased them both kids had to climb into a old abandoned hogan where the owner of that place was buried and we were always told not to bother old places where someone was buried inside it. The two kids went in there but the bull dugged after the two kids with his hooves and horn. My grandma told me that the bull had huge horns and hump on it’s back. He was the type of cow that wasn’t scared of horses.

The bull got into the old abandoning hogan and crawled in chasing those kids out of there. They were along ways from home. Just open spaces and hills along with few trees that weren’t even tall enough but the kids possible climbed the tree. The bull rammed over and over until it broke.

The bull got the kids and ate them. Back home the women got worried because the sheep came home without the two kids. The men came home the next day and went to neighbors homes asking if they seen the kids. They search tracking the sheep trails and found the tracks of the bull with kids foot prints. They went to the old hogan and seen that the bull followed the kids and found the kids all in pieces. They scalp and parts even hair were all over the place.

The men gathered and one man saw the bull laying around under a tree with a head of one kid. They knew who that bull belong too and went to that mean guy home. He had to see for himself. Sure enough, his bull had eaten the two kids. They call my great grandpa to help and hunted down this bull. Killed the bull and burned it. I heard it was huge bull who had no fear of anyone. My grandma told me this story because she remembered it all.

I know where that happen and to this day I don’t like see kids walking alone. Never know what animals might be out there. My grandma and grandpa always told us never let your child alone and watch them. It was better told one more detail in Navajo but was scary and sad story for me.

[tarithenurse]

If I succeed - 2

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x fem!Reader Content: Everything (for the series in general). This chapter contains pining, mention of illness, talk of danger and plotting, physical attack. A/N: This got a lot of attention very quickly and I am beyond grateful for the reblogs (I’ve not even gotten through to thank each of you individually yet). Thank you! Want a tag? Send an ask or reblog! I’d love comments and feedback – even if it’s corrections on language or whatever - I’m not picky as long as I know my work brings joy too.​

2. Beautiful together

...   Reader   ...

With the men in the only two beds, you had resorted to curling up in the old rocking chair – the one your father had gotten made for his grandmother before your time. It is not the most comfortable of sleeping spots (except for a quick nap) so you wake at the slightest sound throughout the night and in the morning when the floorboards creek as Jaskier staggers off to do what no one can do for him. Your neck hurts, in fact your entire body is stiff delaying your movements as you unfurl and head for the kitchen to splash cold water in the face. Brrrrrr! Finally awake, the morning routine is merely tweaked to accommodate the extra mouths in need of food.

“Good morning, fair maiden!” Jaskier smiles, a soft tune already on his lips.

Ugh. “Morn'...stir this, please.”

He does as asked without commenting on your lack of morning cheer, quickly adapting the melody to fit the rhythm of the spoon through the porridge-to-be.

Free to tend to the other chores, your top priority becomes Geralt. The trembling hand you place on his forehead is proof of the concern for the man. Blessed be. Although still feverish from the effect of the venom, the skin is no longer scalding and only the lightest sheen of sweat adorns his brow.

Hoisting yourself up on the edge of the alcove it is impossible not to admire the features of the rugged Witcher, and you allow golden memories to soothe your nerves. A few strands of white have fallen into his face and brushing them away, your palm lingers to cup the handsome head. His lips part to release a sigh, barely audible over the distant crackling from the fireplace and Jaskier's humming.

Biting the desire back, you tap the stubbled cheek. “Geralt...it's time to wake up...” Nothing happens, and you figure you might have been too gentle and grab his shoulder. “Come on. You can have a nap later.”

But he sleeps on. How safe is it to shake a Witcher? While considering the conundrum, you lower your forehead to his and inhale the (thanks to your efforts the previous night) clean scent of the man. Next instant, he has got you in a rib-creaking grip, his teeth bared, and fiery eyes locked on you without truly seeing anything.

“Geralt!” What should have been a shout comes out as a croak.

A second passes. Two. Then the muscular vice unclenches slightly, enough for you to breathe as he takes in your form.

“[Y/N]?” Finally, he lets go.

“What's left of me...” You are still winded yet smile at the recognition. “Jask showed up wi’ you last night – both more dead than alive.”

Amber eyes flicker around the cottage eventually aided by listening. “He's alright.”

“I'm gonna have a scar!” the bard hollers from the kitchen through the fireplace, “the competition is on...if you decide to chase skirts ever again.”

You barely catch the last muttering, making it hard to be sure what the young man actually did say...but Geralt's gruff “hrm” does lend some credibility to your suspicion, though.

...   Jaskier  ...

Breakfast is a cozy affair until the gracious, albeit involuntary, host finally demands to know what has happened. The inquiry brings back the harsh reality once more and reminds Jaskier of the bite from the wound as well as the circumstances under which he got it. He has to swallow back something.

Eyes hard like diamond, she watches the men steadily. “Well?”

“T’was a coincidence,” Jaskier blurts out, “we, that’s to say...Geralt, on the hunt for some bloodsucker so we got -”

“Hrmm.” The tired growl shuts up the bard yet it takes a moment before Geralt begins in his usual brief manner. “Y’know there’ wyverns up there?”

“Of course. In harsh winters they seek into the valleys for prey. The herders hate and fear them equally.”

“Right. Some army or tribe’s...domesticating them.”

Even Jaskier’s attention is fully on the Witcher as past events begin to make sense. There had (according to expert commentary) been too many monsters close together at the pass, for one...though one creature already seems excessive to the less aggressive of the duo. Domest- but who would? Or COULD? For a mind mostly occupied with the comfortable indulgences in life, there are too many harrowing implications and they serve to block coherent thinking for the moment.

[Y/N], however, is asking the relevant questions. “Who?”

I’m sitting with my mouth open. Jaskier realizes.

“Dunno yet. Too little light ‘nd then th’idiot got in trouble.”

Idiot? Is he talking ‘bout me? I should close my mouth or object! A few croaking sounds escape the bard before he gives up and snaps the mouth shut.

“Any chance it’s an opportunistic group that will stay up there?”

That’s not how luck works.

“Too many. Too alike.” Geralt leans back, bowl empty and fatigue plaguing his features again. “And y’know there’s nothing up there or eastwards.”

No. You’re not saying what I think you’re saying. Nope. Nuh-uh. Still, even Jaskier knows what the Witcher is getting at.

Allowing his gaze to follow the soft slopes of the valley, the bard’s heart aches at the idea of this peaceful place becoming the passage for a raiding force of wyvern riders. Would the little village be razed to the ground? The glade, vineyards, and fields burned as the herds of sheep and cattle killed to stiffle the hunger of the monsters? He does not even dare imagine the fate of the inhabitants.

“We’ve gotta warn them...get them outta here while there’s time, but -” [Y/N] bites her lip in hesitation, and Jaskier cannot help but notice how a pair of yellowed eyes zero in on the gesture, “- I doubt many will leave.”

It takes a second longer than normal before Geralt finds his voice. “They must or they’ll die.”

“Hah.” Humourless. Wry. “If they flee, where will they go? Y’think there’s help to get?! No.”

“Their choice, their funeral.”

[zeehva]

"Everything's going to be fine."

Sams words echoed in Zeehvas head as she heard the screams that pierced the air of Stormwind. Her body froze. Her heart raced. What is happening?! She looked down from the tall Mage Tower to see a horror she prayed she would never have to see again. Alliance citizens running from scrambling undead. "Zee, we need to leave. Now. Before the portals get over run." She felt Ikhaaras hand on her shoulder, trying to bring her back into the tower. But she swatted his hand away, "Mrs. Stanley. She lives right outside the gates, we can't leave her." She said as her heart continued to race. Thump, thump, thump, thump. "Its probably too late for her." He hissed the harsh truth at her, trying to pull her once more. "I don't care. She'd come for me." And with that, she ran past the hordes of people running up the tower. Many of them shoulder bumping her, some nearly knocking her over the edge. Ikhaara was yelling from behind her, "Zeehva! They will kill you!" He was probably right, but she would not be a coward.

Every scream she heard sent her further into panic as she made her way through the Mage District. Blood. Why was there so much blood? How did no one know this was going to happen? Ikhaara ran with her, likely to protect her. He had a better chance at survival than she did anyway. She had her walking stick, while he had actual magic to fight with.

Passing over the bridge into the Trade District, the screams only got louder. "Zeehva.." He warned her again, as if she didn't know the horrors she was about to walk upon. "Let's go." She slowed down, listening more carefully for footsteps. Undead were chasing people down like animals, and she had to just watch as they ran by the tunnel. Once it was clear, she ran behind the auction house. Old Town was just a little bit away, what about Sam? She shook her head. Mrs. Stanley first.

Peeking her head around the corner, Zeehva saw the flood of undead running through the gates. Her heart broke, it seemed even more unlikely Mrs. Stanley would have gone unnoticed with that many undead out there. Guards tried to hold them back. Swords beheading them, arrows being shot into their limbs. "Theres no way you're making it past that." Ikhaara chimed in, sounding irritated they were still here. "We can go up to the gryphon perch, drop down there near the canal water." Zeehva did just that, making her way to the flight master. Though as she rounded a corner, mere inches before her an undead practically tackled a woman and was chewing into her leg. It happened so fast, her screams for help only caused Zeehva to start crying at such an awful sight. She felt helpless in the middle of all this destruction. Ikhaara blasted the undead with a bolt of fire though, forcing it off the woman who was quick to scramble away despite the injury.

"Come on." Ikhaara was leading Zeehva now, pulling her along behind him as he ran for the flight master. Zeehva wiped at her face, trying to pull herself back together but the look of fear in that woman's eyes was burned into her head and it pulled at her heart. The flight master perch was mostly clear, it seemed everyone had left it, understandably so. The duo moved to look out over the gates again. The undead had mostly made their way inside, but many were still outside the gates fighting with the guards that still remained. Just to the right of the gate, Zeehva could see Mrs. Stanley's house.

Without thought of hesitation, she started climbing down to the walkway below. Pulling her walking stick from her back once she made it to the bottom, she was as ready as she would be to fight the undead. However she silently wished she had her trusty pan. Ikhaara silently followed, covering her blind spots as they moved forward. She did her best to help the guards. The best she could do with her staff was push them back off of the guards, like herding flesh hungry sheep. Ikhaara only used magic when he needed to, knowing he'd likely be portaling them out of this mess once they found the elderly woman.

Where it came from, neither saw but in a swift motion Zeehva found herself on her back with an Undead about to take a bite out of her. Pressing her staff to its throat, she held it back enough that it wasn't able to, but she got to watch as it tried. Its rotten teeth chomping away mindlessly at her. Zeehva was too scared to scream, which likely didn't help Ikhaara not realizing what had happened. Though soon enough it was blasted off of her with another ball of fire. He helped her up, and brushed her off. Holding her a bit closer now, "Are you okay?" He asked, but she could only nod as she moved forward.

They were almost out the gates now. From here she went to the right. Leaving the bulk of the undead behind. Perhaps a little careless as she sprinted to the house. "Mrs. Stanley!!" Zeehva called out as she moved to the already open door. Worry began to consume her. Please be alive, she thought to herself as she went inside. "Mrs. Stanley! Its me, Zee!" She shouted, and was met with some floorboards creaking. "Mrs. Stanley?"

- This takes place on the day the Scourge reach Stormwind -

[doberbutts]

This is a thought I had after seeing a dog FB group post- why are people so quick to defend dogs nipping people (saying it’s instinctual herding behaviour, etc.) but also will say that you can’t communicate with dogs the way other dogs would (dominance theory stuff) because they know you’re not a dog?? Like if they can tell you’re not a dog, surely they can tell you’re not a sheep or cow?? I feel like it’s probably just overstimulation that manifests in nipping for herding breeds, I’m curious!

Well, taking this with a grain of salt bc I do not have tolerance for 99% of FB groups nor do I care for the vast majority of herding breeds;

Herding is an altered sequence predatory response, and as a result manifests in different ways than other dogs and breeds without the herding background or instinct. It's important to keep in mind that prey drive (and, as a result, herding instinct) is not linked to a specific animal in many cases but to prey behavior, so high pitched noises and fast, erratic movements and the propensity to run when chased for instance are more what many of these dogs are triggered by rather than simply the presense of prey (livestock)... at least until the dog is trained on the species of choice.

I own a terrier- she's just as likely to pounce on flying leaves and whisps of hair as mice and rabbits. It's not that she doesn't see a difference between them, but more that the fast movements and erratic behavior (whether self-propelled or wind-driven) trigger her instinct to chase, pounce, bite, kill.

In the same way, a border collie puppy doesn't see toddlers and sport games as sheep or goats, but does see fast, erratic movement away from the group which triggers the same (altered) chase, bite instinct.

I am of the opinion that predatory behavior sequences enacted on humans are generally not allowable, and thus that would be something I would put a stop to in my house with my dogs. Whether herding or prey response, dog teeth on skin hurts, so if I don't allow much play biting from even the chihuahua, I'm definitely not allowing anything more severe from any other dog either.

"Overstimulation" is an interesting word to use here because of the implication that a lower level stimulus would not have triggered the behavior. But many herding dogs are notorious for chasing thrown/pushed/kicked inanimate objects specificly just to try and herd them and lose interest once the object stops moving. I would say a better example would be when a roommate tried to adopt a greyhound, and the greyhound saw her small dog run by and grabbed him like he would a rabbit. Thankfully neither dog was hurt by the incident- once the greyhound remembered that her small dog was, in fact, a dog and not a prey item, he spat him back out and was no longer interested in that predatory sequence... it is instinctual, more than a matter of too much stimulus, but still imo not an acceptable behavior at least for my dogs. The greyhound did not become overstimulated and lash out (a common response in my so-beloved terriers)... he saw a fast moving small object run by him and reacted instinctively without thinking or considering what he was chasing might not be prey.

[xellshun]

Feeding The Beast

I stand firm when supporting one of my favorite quotes: Evil is never born, it is created. All things were once good in the beginning, even Satan.

With the developement of my disorder and my descent into becoming a sociopath came many dark traits that I’ve used countless times to calm my urges and impulses. Most of them are fairly common among those with ASPD. But one quality has always stood above all the others.

My desire to victimize as many women as possible.

This post will focus on this trait rather than HOW it came to be but I will share a little bit of my past just to give you a general idea of it’s origins.

Over the course of the last 7 years I went through 3 very traumatic relationships. But before I did, I was a very kind hearted, ambitious, compassionate person with a huge dream of some day finding the love of my life, building a family, and living out the same fairy tale ending that my parents and their parents had before them. I had this perfect image of how my love life would work out and I based it off of what I watched my family build as I grew up. I grew up with a very close, caring, and loving family. So going into adulthood that’s just how I thought things were supposed to be.

I didn’t realize how fucking wrong I truly was and I was no where near prepared for the 7 year long nightmare I was about to go through...

The first of the three stages was when I lost my first true love - the mother of my beloved son. Not only did I loose her along with all my hopes and dreams of having that fairy tale ending. But I lost her while she was still pregnant with my son... So along with the initial pain, my first experience of pregnancy and my introduction to being a father were stripped from me and left me in a state of mind that pushed me into making my FIRST step down the dark I would eventually get lost in. She was what I would eventually call “The First Heartache”

The second stage happened with my next serious girlfriend. She would not only be my second love but would also end up being the girl who would eventually become extremely abusive. Physically, emotionally, mentally - she tortured me. She ultimately become what I called “The Abuser”

At this point, my disorder was born and rapidly growing. Coupled with emotional distress and a newly developed addiction to drugs and alcohol, my next relationship would only escalate the problems. She was a drinker, a drug user, and eventually a cheater. Her betrayal lead me down a path filled with an unending urge to stay intoxicated to cure the pain. And even though I should have left both her and the last girl, I didn’t. I was constantly trying to fill the void in my heart left by the first girl. But this third girl was no better than the last. She eventually became what I called “The Drunk Cheater”

By this point, my son was 5 years old. My relationship with him and my family was greatly damaged. I had come off my ADHD medication, struggled to stay employed, struggled with money, wrecked and totaled my vehicle, got into trouble with the law, did time in jail, struggled on and off with addiction to both drugs and alcohol, lost many of my friends... And above all else...

I lost myself...

And I forgot the feeling of remorse... Of empathy... And love...

The person I became and am now is the total opposite of who and what I was 7 years ago. Me then and me now wouldn’t even recognize each other if they met...

And thus, the sociopath was born... And within the dark pit of inhumane emotions, impulses, and urges.. The strongest one was my unending thirst for revenge...

And with that, the player mentality became supreme. And with it every aspect of my life would shift, change, and become centered around an unending cycle of chasing women. It started out as me just having fun and enjoying the single life and eventually evolved to what I do now.

So what do I do? For starters, I supress the monster underneath, I go out and I hunt women. I will often create several dating profiles, all of which with the same pictures, the same information about myself, and it has quickly turned into a game of seeing how many women I can sleep with in the shortest amount of time.

People would probably tell me “You sound like every other typical asshole player.” And it’s partially true, but in my mind I am a hunter. But I don’t hunt with the goal to kill (or hurt these women). I hunt with the goal of capturing and retaining them. I go out with my sociopathic mask, looking friendly, nice, and emotional. I play the part of a good honest man who just wants to settle down. For each individual girl I would learn her, everything about her, I would research her and read her like a book. I would figure out exactly what she wants and needs in a partner and I’d become that to the best of my ability. Once they are lured in I deceieve and manipulate every situation. Slowly and pateintly I shift the mood and create a large amount of sexual tension. I never come off as the creep, I never make them uncomfortable, and I always wait for THEM to make the first move. Why? Because it makes me feel powerful. And when we finally reach the point of having sex the sexual side of my sociopathic tendencies comes out. You see, I don’t care about finishing. It’s not what I look forward to and I don’t need to finish to be happy. The only thing that matters is HER pleasure. In those moments of intercourse I do everything in my physical ability to fuck them in every way they fantasize about. The porn star comes out and my one and only goal is to fuck them to the point where they are physically sore and trembling from orgasms. I want them to have issues walking the next day, I want to rearange their insides, and turn their intestines into soup. It almost never fails and this newly found dark skill has increased my body count from a pathetic 5 (my son’s mom) to a body count of 52 as of this last weekend.

But do I stop there and leave them in the dust? Hell no! I keep them around, I drag them around, and am constantly looking for new targets daily. I keep them around for many reasons - sex, money, drugs, alcohol, transportation, parties, new friends... And some times I’ll keep them around and create friendships with them so I always have someone to talk to or hang out with.

This way I am never bored and can always feed whatever hunger comes into my darkened heart...

I have done so many messed up things. Slept with more than one girl in a single day, slept with a new girl every day of the week, fucked a girl and then fucked her best friend. I’ve made women cheat on their boyfriends and then turned around and hung out with their boyfriends. I’ve made wives cheat on their poor unknowing husbands. Some would find out and their wives would leave them for me. Others would simply ask me to never mention it. Do I respect their wishes? Of course! Like I said. I never purposely treat any of these women poorly. I do this so that I can retain my image as a good and normal man. But more often than not, it’s the sex that makes them come back. I can’t tell you how many girls I’ve dicked down. I’ve been with all kinds of girls. Blondes, redheads, burnettes, thick girls, thin girls, small boobs, huge boobs, some who could be porn stars, some who were covered in tattoos and peircings, some were cam girls, some were strippers, some were partiers, drinkers, some were moms, some were church girls, some were younger, some were older... I think the only type of girl I have yet to be with is an Asian... Gunna have to change that...

I’ve been all over the place too. I can’t go to ANY surrounding town from where I live without knowing a girl I’ve fucked there. It’s hard enough when I’m out running errands too, can’t go fucking anywhere without the chance of seeing one of my victims.

All in all, it’s the thrill of the chase, it’s the thrill of knowing what lurks beneath the mask while they remain clueless, it’s the feeling of being so cold and heartless yet have the ability to bring them so many emotions I can’t feel, it’s about giving them the best sex of their lives, it’s about the satisfaction of leashing them along like pets, it’s about POWER and CONTROL. The two fucking things I had so little of when this all started during those 3 toxic and traumatizing relationships.

And in the deepest, darkest corners of my sick mind... In these many moments of deception and manipulation... I trick myself into believing that these poor girls I victimize are my exes.. In an attempt to feel some type or form of revenge to dowse the neverending burning fires of PURE HATRED that have turned my entire world into a place of devastation that is now just as dark as my heart...

For me, women as a whole, are my newly developed drug addiction. When I see them, I don’t see people, I see prey that I can use for whatever benefit I see fit. And if those benefits run out I simply take them to the slaughter house and use them one last time. Rejection doesn’t faze me either. If a single sheep manages to escape my fenced in prison it doesn’t bother me, the herde always consists of between 10-20 women at all times. It’s as easy as a simple hunting trip, which I honestly enjoy. After all, it’s always good to get out every once in a while.

This is what my life has turned into. A never ending sickening cycle of trying to fill in the void within my heart that they left behind those years ago. But in the end that ONE thing that can fill this whole is the one thing I avoid the most - Love...

Yes, my therapist knows about all of this. It’s great because my therapist is a female so it’s nice to be able to share my stories and brag to a girl who’s job is to help me. She probably thinks I’m a fucking piece of shit and I don’t blame her. But she’s a professional and has to help people like me.

We’ve discussed goals throughout therapy on ways for me to relearn the feelings of empathy, remorse, love, and so on... It’s one of many goals and this is the one I have the most trouble with... Part of me wants to change and go back to being normal. But the other part of me wants to keep doing what I do best because it’s just so much damn fun.

So will this part of me ever change? I think so. I hope so. The only other times I went from being a total man whore to a faithful loving man was every time a girl would come into my life who was strong enough to snap me out of dark ways... So far it’s only happened twice. My body count is at 52 and going up more quickly than ever. I’ve spoken to thousands of women, met hundreds, recieved thousands of numbers, thousands of X rated pictures and videos of these women, I’ve had sex thousands of times, and it’s getting to the point where these women just seem to blur together...

There’s little hope of finding a girl strong enough to pull me from the darkness this time. And honestly, I’m okay with it. I am at a point where the darkness is comforting and feels like home...

So this time around.. Not only does she need to be strong enough to pull me out... She needs to be brave enough to venture into a world of total darkness...

[tisfan]

Terrible Things (You’ve Done)

for @gilajames 1000 - 1500 words

I would adore some fluffy Tony Stark/Victor von Doom werewolf/shifter fic. (With or without Doom still being a villain and doing what he *thinks* is fluffy, but requited love regardless.)

Title: Terrible Things (You’ve Done) Written by: @tisfan Square: G1 - Restricted Dog Breeds Rating: Teen Pairing: Tony Stark/Victor Von Doom Triggers/warnings: none Tags: werewolf AU, dubious sense of humor, first time shapeshift Created for: @bannedtogetherbingo2020 Word count: 1362 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24530134

Summary: Tony Stark is out of time... and he’s done terrible things... Restricted Dog Breeds: the piece that was banned for this discussed information about the dog in question, which are illegal in that township. I thought it would be a cute tongue-in-cheek if this pertained to lycanthropy, which would probably be illegal if anyone believed in werewolves.

Twenty seven days and twelve hours later.

“You can’t be serious, Tones,” Rhodey said. He wasn’t quite blocking the door, but it was getting close to that. He meant well, Tony was sure of that, because Rhodey always meant well, but just this one time--

“Honeybunches, you gotta trust me,” Tony said. “Contrary to what everyone thinks, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“You have no clue what you’re doing,” Rhodey muttered, but at least he got out of the way. Which was good, Tony could feel in his bones that he didn’t have much time left.

He was out of options.

Von Doom was his only hope, and that was terrifying. And yet, the alternative was worse.

“Let me go with you,” Rhodey said, catching his elbow. “If-- Tones, I don’t trust this guy, you can’t trust him.”

“I know,” Tony said. “But if it all goes wrong, I don’t want you anywhere near that shit show. Tell Pepper I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you gonna be sorry,” Rhodey said, dragging Tony into a bone-crushing hug. Or it would have been, Tony thought, if he hadn’t been changed. If there wasn’t something else new and alien inside his body, just waiting for its chance. He could smell Rhodey’s human odor, the way his skin felt under the press of Tony’s face, the way his heart beat. Enhanced, animal senses; he was a predator in a herd of sheep.

It was utterly terrifying.

And yet, Tony knew the longing to shed his clothes and run free.

Run with me.

“Gotta go, prickly pear,” Tony said. 

The motorcar was already started in the drive, Jarvis would have seen to that, turned the crank and made sure the steam engine was fully pressurized. Tony had discovered only a few weeks back that a horse would have nothing to do with him, now. He’d nearly caused an accident the first time, the horses panicking and nearly killing his driver, Happy, in the process of rearing and kicking until the carriage wasn’t much use for anything aside from kindling.

The way was smooth, at least.

Von Doom was many things, probably more myth than man these days, but one of them was a lover of progress.

The roads were paved all the way from the city below to his castle.

That said, the motorcar wasn’t made to drive up a mountain, and it took Tony hours to get there.

The sun was setting and Tony was panting for breath, fighting with everything in him not to-- whatever it was that he was going to do.

He barely remembered the parking brake, dashing from the motorcar to the front entrance of Von Doom’s castle.

Maybe he was expected; the door opened under his hand, and Doom was there, green cloak swirling in the evening breeze, that steel mask showing nothing of the man underneath, no emotion, no surprise, no nothing.

No mercy.

The moon peeked out from the horizon, and Tony felt the change shift in his blood.

There was no time.

*

When Tony woke up the next morning, he felt only moderately horrible. A three of ten on the hangover scale. The room was dimly lit, which was good, and he was laying on something that rather resembled a large dog bed, and he assumed that was bad.

He wasn’t dressed, either, which was pretty uncomfortable.

Despite his expectations, his hands weren’t drenched in blood -- although he did have a few feathers clinging to his skin, and his fingers and toes were filthy. 

He shivered again, trying to figure out where the hell he was.

Scrubbed his hands over his face; fingers came back flecked with dried blood. And there was a heavy, leather collar around his neck.

Right. This was really, really bad.

A moment later, the door opened and he caught a glimpse of a metal sabaton, pushing a basket into the room. The door closed with a boom.

His nose, still wolf-sharp and sensitive, told him there was food in that basket. Eggs and toast and sausage and bacon and steak and berries. His stomach, not really caring all that much about his emotional state, growled.

He edged forward cautiously. He wasn’t sure what he was being careful of. That someone would come in and attack him, or that he would attack someone else.

He didn’t feel crazy, but he also couldn’t remember what had happened, the night before.

There were clothes, too. Soft, clean. Tony pulled them on. At this point, anything was better than being naked and vulnerable.

At someone else’s mercy.

He was just settling in for breakfast when the door opened again.

This time, Doom swept in, a few of his identically clad servants behind him, one carrying a bucket  and some towels, the other carrying a chair, which he sat in front of Tony and then Doom sat down in it.

“You’ve done terrible things, Mr. Stark,” Doom intoned.

Tony looked down at his hands. “Just tell me,” he said.

“First, you were completely disorderly, and got into the chicken coop. You’re just lucky that the rooster chased you out before you could eat more than two of my best layers, otherwise I couldn’t have any eggs for breakfast,” Doom said, and he flipped up his metal mask, looking at Tony with the same disapproval that people reserved for misbehaving children. 

Well, somewhat less disapproving than Howard had, since Doom didn’t really look ready to take a fresh-peeled switch to Tony’s backside.

“And you chewed up my best leather slippers, I’m quite put out. Also, you shed all over the sofa. Do you ever brush your hair? Further, you got into the midden heap. Trash, everywhere! What am I supposed to do with you, Stark? You’re like a badly trained puppy. It’s disgraceful.”

Tony’s mouth dropped open, all the muscles in his jaw refused to work.

Finally-- “What?”

“What did you expect,” Doom continued. “You don’t even know who bit you, it’s not like you’ve been initiated. Can’t expect perfect behavior out of your wolf when he’s got paws the first time. It was smart, coming here. I didn’t expect that, but I approve.”

“I didn’t hurt anyone?”

Von Doom rolled his eyes. It was surprising, really, how attractive Doom was. Tony’d heard the legends his whole life of how the man had gotten a trifling cut on his face when he was a boy and sealed the metal mask over it, still hot, to hide from the world.

There was only the thinnest scar on one cheek, and it didn’t make him ugly. As a matter of fact, he was quite handsome, with silvering hair and amber colored eyes. 

“They’re still telling that ridiculous story?” Von Doom said. “No, werewolves don’t eat people. They don’t track down their loved ones to rip out their intestines, and they don’t become mindless monsters.”

Tony held out his arm where the bite -- now a simple pink impression of teeth, fading. Soon it would be gone, he thought -- had been. “And then how do people become werewolves?”

“Bad luck, usually,” Doom said. “Look, don’t let me keep you from breakfast and then I’ll let you have a bath. Tonight, you’ll meet the were who made you, have your initiation. Meet your pack. It’ll be easier, after that.”

“Who made me?”

“He didn’t mean to,” Von Doom said, not meeting Tony’s eyes. “He was hunting, and you struck a creature with your carriage. Do you remember?”

“I thought it was a--” Tony blinked. He’d thought he’d hit a man, at first, that had staggered, drunk, into the road.

The thing in the ditch was no man, and had lashed out violently.

“You thought it was a man,” Von Doom said. “And so it was.”

A strange, sudden knowing filled Tony’s chest. “Who?”

Von Doom swallowed and looked at him. “I would have thought you’d have guessed. He’s me.” 

[youeverfeelcursed]

On the Narrative of Last of Us Part 2 (3/3)

So this should be the last part on the narrative but I’ll probably post more thoughts on characters, representation, maybe on some details of the gameplay that just made me wish I could design something like this and most likely a text on where do I think this franchise is going to. 

I will also check and fix the previous posts as I know there’s typos and some mismatched data and maybe some timelines confusing. Logically, it comes with posting at my 3am and working from memory and not notes. 

That said, lets just move onto what I hope is interesting enough for people to read these old woman’s ramblings. For anyone still reading, thank you very much for your attention, it’s been a while since I truly enjoyed analizing an art piece.

(Note: I’m marking this post for rechecking as I feel its a bit convoluted. I blame it being 4am.) 

We ended the previous Act 3 (Abby’s Act) with a overhead shot (or aerial if you prefer) of Ellie and Dina on different sides of the shot, close but separated with Ellie being bathed by a red light and both represented in a descending oblique line from Dina to Ellie. 

I find it a wonderful shot that represents Ellie’s story in few and simple details. 

(For those interested, the name in the screenshot is from MkIceAndFire a No commentary channel I follow, go check him out!) 

From here, we jump to what I called the respise intermission, a short part but full of important details for the understanding of the next and final act. 

Like a moth to the flame, or how living sometimes is harder than dying.

The next part of Ellie’s story is as bittersweet as the best coffee you’ll ever have. We find her reminiscencing over Joel’s watch on hers and Dina’s bedroom. Putting it away we get to finally hold in our arms the cutest potatoe I’ve ever seen: JJ! Jesus that child is cute. And it’s obvious that Ellie loves him with all her heart. 

During this time we get to explore the beautiful they both probably restored to live in, in which it specially caught my attention how Ellie surprinsingly gets a full room for herself, whereas Dina seems to have a small space in the living room , where the photo of her sister sits.

I loved this part so much but I could feel that something was wrong, and it is. If we read Ellie’s diary we find out that she’s having trouble sleeping and dealing with people, needing to hide and what’s most likely profound PTSD thats later shown with her breaking down after herding all the sheep. 

A detail that I found important is the fact that she breaks down while having JJ in her arms, which has to be removed by Dina in case she hurts him during her seizure. Because remember that for Ellie protecting those she cares for is very important, so, does she feel she can protect them now?

Stop for a minute and think of how hard is for nowadays soldier to treat PTSD even with psychological support and meds, and how many of those war survivors end commiting suicide anyway. Now imagine that same in a world where violence is constant - yes they live peacefully in the farm but do you really think they don’t have to deal with any straggler? - and there’s basically zero to none mental health support.

Thats where it is important to pay attention to the moment when Ellie is coming back from hunting, how she cleans her face and takes a deep breath and puts her mask on - an obvious referal to her words in her diary - just before going back to Dina and JJ. 

I mean this is not the face of a person fully happy, its the face of a person thats putting her best front but catastrophically failing her inner battle. 

Tommy’s visit manages to break any remainer of the mask she tried to maintain so hard. It is obvious how while he tells her how he found information about Abby that with every word she breaks a little bit more. The trembling, tight shut lips and her open wide eyes that look as hopeful as they look lost. 

If this were another world, one in which I believe Ellie could get help, I would have hated that she left. But she says it herself, she doesn’t sleep, she doesn’t eat, she has a full room for herself so she can have space and even so she leaves for long times alone. She’s not really living, she’s riding the waves as they come but never truly enjoying it because by now her trauma is so deep I would have been surprised that she stayed. 

Because when Tommy talks about Abby, she feels a light, a hope of being able to just pour all of this shit out of her. Abby is not even important anymore, shes just a barrier for Ellie for her own liberation from her demons. Or thats what she thinks. 

She truly does JJ and Dina, but she’s completely broken inside. She’s missing pieces and for her, this is a chance of regaining them. It’s not even about vengeance anymore, it’s about rest. An end. Closure. 

What comes around, goes around. Or how Santa Barbara was the so needed eye opening. 

I was truly happy to see Abby and Lev being kind of silly and well, happy. They are the example of how you can heal when you learn to forgive both yourself and others. A extreme image compared to what we’ll see from Abby next time.

Fast-forward to Ellie after leaving the Rattlers village. Look at Ellie, she’s slightly delirious - Abby, Abby, Abby, Abby... - completely battered, skinny, with a fucked up side, half limping and pulling through out of sheer desesperation. She needs to do this, because if she doesn’t everything she left behind - Dina, JJ, Jackson - will be for nothing. She says it herself in her diary, she cannot think of that. 

And it’s funny. It’s funny there she goes. She helps Abby down and follows both of them to two small boats where she makes a scranny and completely eaten up Abby battle with her in exchange of not hurting Lev. 

The battle is sad. Abby contrary to Ellie had started healing so she didn’t want to battle. But it’s sad, these two beautiful human beings battling against each other as shadows of what they used to be, eaten away by life, hate and stupid decisions. You just feel like being over it because by this point it just feels completely stupid to keep warring. 

And there, Ellie doesn’t kill Abby. We get a flashback of Joel playing the guitar that stops her from killing her. 

And it’s funny, it’s funny because without Ellie both Lev and Abby would be rotting in those pillars. She left her home to kill a woman and ends saving both their lives! Why would she do that? 

We end this Act 4 with Ellie alone, watching the last remains of her flame disappear into the nothing. Rock bottom. You cannot go down further. That’s what it means. She left her family, Tommy is crippled and kind of hates her, Jesse is death, Joel is death, Ryley is death.

 And yet she left Abby leave. But why? 

The answer to all this crazyness is in the last flashback of her and Joel and a few words that are thrown into the night. 

“I was supposed to die in that hospital. My life would’ve fucking mattered. But you took it from me!”

Purpose. 

Yes, purpose. A meaning to her life. A meaning that has been ripped from her hands multiples times in situations out of her control. Is this what she really wants? Her life to revolve around vengeance? Is this what she’s choosing? 

So for once, she decides for herself and she decides that no. She doesn’t want that path. It’s not enough anymore. 

Ellie was supposed to die with Riley, but she survived and found out that’s she’s immune. 

Ellie traveled from one side to another of USA to be the solution to humanity’s problem. To help create a vaccine, whatever the cost. She was ready for it, she was ok with it. But it was ripped from her and lied about it multiple times. 

Imagine thinking you’re immune but that it means absolutely nothing. After getting yourself mentally ready for whatever it would happen, you are told that you’re useless. That you cannot help. That you’re worthless. 

Worthless. 

She ends in Jackson, And learns she’s been betrayed by the person she trusted most, that she could have meant something instead of just living taking care of cows and patrolling. 

It was impossible for Ellie to remain the same even before Joel’s death. Because Ellie is a very complicated character made of survivor guilt, a need to have a purpose in life, too many personal loses and self hating. Not only that, but all of this happens during her adolescence, a time which is hard to deal already without all these traumas piling up. 

Joel’s killing is what makes the bomb explode. Suddenly she can do something, she can leave Jackson and she can revenge him. Again, purpose. She can feel alive because she’s got finally a direction. It’s just not the correct one, because we all know that hate is a terrible guide but for her, is the only guide amids the fog. 

Ellie is a character that has been lost from the moment she learned she could have helped humanity. Chasing Abby was literally the easy path to take to give some meaning to her life. 

When she was with her family at the ranch, I truly believe she wanted her purpose to be to protect her family, but it was something impossible for her to do in her condition. She tried hard, but she couldn’t do it. Her diary again sheds some light on these, on how she feels she has nothing else to give to them. 

We know that, if Joel hadn’t been killed, she could have healed given enough time. She could have forgotten him. She could have find a motivation in Jackson. But there’s so much you can push something until it completely breaks. 

I think that, at the end of the game, when she walks from the ranch she realizes she cannot keep going like this. That if she wants her life to mean something, she has to do it herself instead of just waiting for it to happen. And I feel I know which way she will take next and why. 

Although the ending might seem sad, I found it strangely positive. The circle comes to a end, the guitar that Joel cleaned in the first seconds of the game, is put down by an Ellie lacking two of her left hand fingers impossible, to play it again that way. It is an act of moving on, but not of forgetting. 

Of finally attaining peace of mind, and the chance of recovering herself. 

[the-blomster]

Jello Biafra VS the Forces of Corruption 33

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and all relation to real individuals is done purely for parody purposes. I am not associated with any of the people named in this work of fiction and this is not intended to reflect negatively upon anyone. 

Chapter 33: The Punk Rock Tournament Showdown Part 10: The Finale

    We find Jello awakening from a long, tumultuous slumber. But not just a literal slumber, but also a metaphorical one. Jello had had many deep, meaningful epiphanies, probably. And now, he had emerged from his cocoon a better and stronger person, probably. There is probably no doubt in my mind that Jello has grown a lot as a character. He’s probably learned a lot of very important lessons, such as… um… well I’ll get back to you once I can think of a single lesson that Jello has learned thus far. Either way, I’ve written a lot of words, so there has to be some importance to it, probably. There’s no more getting sidetracked for Jello. He’s failed one too many times. Is this truly the end of Jello’s career? Jello has already failed once, thrusting him downward into the losers bracket of the tournament. He’s already fallen so low. Could he really pick himself back up? All while in a state of delirium? All by himself, cold and alone like a stray dog out in the rain? Alas, in his time of need, Jello’s one true friend returned, bringing with him that which Jello needed the most; hope.

    “Jello?” A familiar voice spoke. “Jello are you alright?”

    “K… Klaus?”

    “That’s me.”

    “Klaus… I’m sorry I ever doubted your judgement.”

    “It’s ok Jello I forgive you, as long as you know how important what you’re fighting for is.”

    “I do. In my state of delirium, I had an epiphany. When I was a young lad, I never quite fit in, and that seriously damaged my ego. But I’ve realized my purpose now. I need to write aggressive, pseudo-intellectual songs in a failed effort to fill the multitude of irreparable gaps in my psyche.”

    “That is precisely correct Jello.” Klaus replied.

    Suddenly, a voice boomed over the loudspeaker. “The fight between D.H. Peligro and Jello Biafra will begin in five minutes.”

    The two looked at each other in misbelief.

    “Well Jello,” said Klaus, “All the belief I had in you just went completely out the door. You’re fucked.”

    “Shit,” Jello replied. Jello moped his way over to the stadium. The announcement was made for the combatants to emerge from their respective waiting rooms. The dejection was visible on Jello’s face. He tiptoed anxiously onto the field, but much to his surprise, Jello’s opponent was nowhere to be seen. An announcement was made. “D. H. Peligro has 30 seconds to make his way to the stadium before he is disqualified.” But nobody came. Those 30 seconds felt like 30 hours, with each second more stressful than the last. Then, just as the time was about to run out, and Jello about to breathe a sigh of relief, a red dot appeared in the sky, being pulled by a herd of reindeer. It was… Santa Claus, also known as… D. H. Peligro!

    “You didn’t think I would skip out on a fight as good as this? Did you?” D. H. Peligro asked as he gracefully landed his sleigh just a few feet away from Jello.

    “I was kinda hoping that you would.” Jello replied sardonically.

    “Got your hopes up eh?” Santa sneered.

    “I guess you could say that.”

    “Well prepare to have more of your dreams crushed!” Upon saying this, Santa leapt off of his sleigh, hitting the ground with such veracity that it instantly caused a 6.2 magnitude earthquake, resulting in the collapse of one of the stands, killing several hundred spectators. The foolish sheep above believe that the cause of all of California’s earthquakes is the shifting of tectonic plates, but really, it’s the untamed wrath and hatred of Santa Claus(D.H. Peligro)! Santa stepped toward Jello, each step resulting in a 1.3 magnitude earthquake. That’s the real reason Santa rides on his iconic sleigh. He can’t even take a step without causing a natural disaster! 

And as Santa lumbered toward Jello, his heart sank further into the depths of fear with every step taken. But Jello stood firm nonetheless. He had faced many opponents before, and he wasn’t about to let this one defeat him with fear alone. 

And so it came time for the first punch to be thrown. This honor was given to none other than Santa Claus, and so Jello buried his heels and crossed his arms in front of his face so as to block the oncoming blow. Jello’s block proved effective, for while the punch pushed him backwards about 3 meters, Jello remained standing and unharmed. 

Santa went in for another punch. This time however, Jello did not block in time. Santa inched closer and closer. The audience could only look on in fear, as though they were witnessing a terrible tragedy, one which would undoubtedly end poorly for our protagonist. 

But then, at the last moment Jello effectively did a Dark Souls dodge-roll out of the way, causing Santa to miss his mark and sending him flailing forward and falling flat on his face. Jello, on the other hand, successfully completed his roll and landed cleanly on his feet.

This embarrassment sent Santa into a blind rage and rushed toward Jello, fist at the ready.

Jello smirked. “I’ve already won.”

“What did you just say to me?” Santa replied.

“You see, when it comes down to pure strength, I’m no match for you, even one as brash as me could recognize that. But when it comes down to speed, I’ve got a definite upperhand. No matter how many punches you throw, I can simply dodge all of them, and eventually, you’ll be too tired to throw another punch. That’s when I’ll go in for the kill.”

“Nonsense! Nobody can defeat me!” Santa threw yet another punch.

Again, Jello dodged swiftly, this time throwing a punch of his own that hit Santa square in the jaw, launching him into the air, landing 7 meters away after which he slid across the ground for another 3 meters.

Jello stood menacingly above Santa. “I told you Santa. I’ve already won.”

Santa smirked. “Don’t be so hasty.” Santa placed his thumb and index finger on his lips and let an -ear-piercing whistle. Suddenly, a parade of reindeer noises rang out throughout the stadium. From the sky descended hundreds of thousands of reindeer from every corner of the earth, heeding the call of Santa Claus. “Get him! Attack Jello!” Santa shouted. The reindeer all zoomed toward Jello.

If Jello didn’t come up with some sort of plan quickly. His signature roundhouse kick would be enough to cover his sides, but what about his head? Jello knew what he had to do. He would perform a series of upward jabs whilst also performing his roundhouse kick. Maintaining his balance while doing so would be difficult. But he had no other option. He began performing the bizarre move. Reindeer after reindeer fell, but with each passing reindeer, Jello felt himself getting weaker and weaker. At the second to the last reindeer, Jello lost his balance, and the final reindeer impaled Jello in the stomach. Upon receiving this injury, a blast of adrenaline was sent through Jello, and he punched the final reindeer so hard that it flew upwards and collided with the stadium ceiling. After this struggle, Jello had single handedly brought the conservation status of reindeer from vulnerable to endangered.

But the fight was not complete yet. Clutching his stomach, Jello faced his opponent confidently. Santa could only face Jello with a look of pure fear. He had lost. Jello punched Santa square in the face, sending him flying to the opposite of the stadium. The crowd stood silent.

“...Jello wins!” Uproarious applause. Jello had overcome what could arguably be considered his most powerful opponent yet. Jello’s victory was so stupendous that he almost failed to notice his own injury. But the adrenaline of the moment was wearing off, and Jello was slowly returning to reality. And the closer he came to reality, the more his vision faded, until soon it had faded to black.

When Jello awoke, he found himself in a hospital bed yet again. There, waiting at Jello’s side, was Klaus.

“I knew you could do it Jello.” said Klaus.

“But just earlier you said that I was completely and totally fucked.” Jello replied.

Klaus glared at Jello. “I was lying.” Klaus lied.

“That’s kind of a strange thing to lie about… Why did you lie about that?”

“It doesn’t matter Jello,” Klaus explained dramatically, “That’s all in the past now…”

“I mean it was like an hour ago…”

“Still technically the past.”

“I mean I guess it’s technically the past, but…”

“Alright alright!” Klaus interrupted, “I get your point, now let’s just cut to the chase, can we?”

“Ok…”

“Good. Here’s the deal. We’ve both made it real far in this tournament. Now we each only have one opponent left… And that’s each other. I may have been helping you up until now, but shits about to get real, real soon. Once this is over, we can maybe go back to being friends, but for now, we’re rivals. You’ll be getting no more help from me.”

“...I understand...,” Jello replied, “... That you’re a petty little bitch!” Jello leapt out of his hospital, shoved his former friend out of the way, and ran out of the door all in one swift motion. Klaus could only manage a bereft sigh.

Jello ran down the hallway, crying, feelings of betrayal streaming through his mind, infecting his being like a disease. But as Jello fled like a distressed animal, he felt a presence; a very cool and epic presence. It was… 6025!

Jello immediately stopped crying. “6025, what are you doing here?”

“I should ask you the same question.” 6025 replied.

“So much has happened…” Jello let out a dejected sigh. “I’ve come so far only to be betrayed by my only friend.”

“Were you really betrayed, or is that just how you feel?”

“It’s not just how I feel. He said it to my face. He’s not going to be my friend until this fight is over.”

“Maybe your friend is just looking out for you. Have you ever considered that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe he’s concerned that if you view him as a friend, you’ll hold back. Maybe he just wants to draw out your true potential.”

“Wow I never thought of it that way,” Jello admitted.

“Well, sometimes when tensions are, it can be difficult to think rationally.”

Jello nodded in agreement. “Thank you for your advice. I’m feeling a lot better now.”

“It’s no skin off my back.”

And so, Jello returned to Klaus.

“What do you want?” Questioned Klaus. “I thought I told you that I’m not gonna be all buddy-buddy with you anymore.”

“I just wanted to let you know, friend or not, that I’m not going to hold back against you tomorrow. The thought never even crossed my mind.”

Klaus smirked. “Good.”

And so the two began training for their fight tomorrow. Who will win nobody knows for sure, but one thing was certain, this was going to be Jello’s most difficult fight yet, and moreover, he was going to have to go head to head against his closest friend. Yeah, it was really difficult… and stuff. But soon, tomorrow would come, and the two found themselves stepping out onto opposite sides of the battlefield. Every second the timer counted down, they glared menacingly into each other’s eyes. And then the countdown hit zero.

The two sprinted toward one another, reeling back their fists for the most powerful punches they could master. When their fists collided, the forces cancelled out, sending them each flying backward in an identical manner. They continued to throw punches in such a manner, and honestly it was kinda epic, but soon all this fighting stuff had caused the two friends to grow tired and weary. And just as the two were about to collapse from exhaustion; losing focus and vision fading, from the sky descended East Bay Ray, laughing maniacally.

“I couldn’t possibly give up on two musicians as skilled as you two,” said East Bay Ray.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jello questioned.

“You both win. You both get to join the band.” East Bay Ray explained.

“So that’s it. It’s just over?” Klaus asked. He seemed disappointed.

“Yep. Get off the battlefield now. It’s over.”

Klaus turned to Jello. “This isn’t over.” He walked off the field.

Jello, taken aback, found himself unable to respond, and so he too exited the field.

And here we leave Jello, now a member of the Dead Kennedys, but strangely more alone than he has ever felt before. Now that the tournament is over, with Jello successful, what is to come for our protagonist? What awaits Jello in the Dead Kennedys? Will Jello and Klaus ever conclude their battle? Find out in the next chapter of Jello Biafra VS the Forces of Corruption!

[wirewitchviolet]

“What can I do to help?”

As I’m writing this, I’m dealing with a rather astounding amount of vicious harassment which is taking a very serious toll on me. Usually when this is happening, I try not to talk about it publicly, because the sort of people who do this love nothing more than seeing evidence that it’s working, but sometimes, exceptions need to be made. And more to the point, as someone who deals with these sort of attacks as a constant presence in my own life, as well as helping others deal with the same in what is arguably a professional capacity, it seems to me the state of things today is at a point where we need a fresh round of public education on how these sorts of attack play out, and what any given person can do to actually help people deal with them in a meaningful way.

Predators and Herds

As a basic fundamental primer here, I’m going to need everyone to start looking at things from the perspective of a herd animal, because not only is it a pretty clear metaphor for a lot of this, I honestly think this is literally the sort of ancestral memory/instinct that drives this sort of thing. Plus there’s an amusing irony in telling people dealing with these sorts of predatory scumbags that they aren’t acting ENOUGH like sheep.

Some animals are predators. In order to survive, they have to stalk/chase/pin down other animals and kill them in order to eat. Invariably, the animals they target are those that are the most vulnerable. It’s the easiest way to go, and the one with the least risk of anything going wrong. If you’re a hungry wolf, you’re not going to mess with the big beefy ram who can headbutt you and break some ribs, or the really fit sheep you’d have to chase for an hour and still might never catch up with. You’re just going to go for the one with the broken leg, or the little defenseless baby lamb. Those ones you can definitely pick off without much effort at all, and they can’t really fight back in any meaningful way.

Some animals deal with predators by just focusing single-mindedly on defending themselves. If you can outrun the predators, and never let them get the drop on you, or you hide well enough they can’t ever find you, or you know how to really fight back and hurt them badly enough they know not to mess with you, then cool, you aren’t going to get eaten. At least until you let your guard down at the wrong time, or you get injured, or age starts taking its toll. Plus with all of these you’re just living your whole life in this constant state of fear, actively aware that death lurks just around the corner, and you can’t really form any real attachments with anyone else or protect them. It’s no way to live your life, and all of these require you to be able to outperform any predator who comes at you.

The other way to survive with predators wanting you dead is to be part of a herd. If everyone the predators want to prey on are in a big group, there’s inherent safety in numbers there. Not, to be clear, simply because having so many potential meals to choose from means the odds of you being chosen drop. Predators have to weigh the risks now of coordinated defenses. That big tough ram they’d rather not tackle for fear of getting hurt is right there next to that shaky-legged little lamb that would otherwise be the easiest meal to snag there is.

Herds cause a whole lot of headaches for predators, so when they’re a factor, the first step is pretty much always going to be to scatter the herd in some fashion, so all the prey that would be a pain to deal with leave, and the easily picked off targets are left behind to move in on. There’s a lot of ways to do this, and I don’t want to get into too much detail because the metaphor would get too strained, but the real key counter-strategy is to keep the herd from scattering.

Wolves are going to show up, they’re going to show up in packs, they’re going to start snarling and howling and all that, and some sheep are always going to run when that happens, and some sheep aren’t going to be able to. The trick is to have as many sheep as possible stand their ground. If there’s only a couple who do, they’re just going to get picked off along with the ones who can’t run or fight back. But if enough sheep stand their ground to keep those intimidating numbers, nobody’s getting eaten.

There’s our big framework for looking at this, don’t ever let it drop.

How Predators Attack

Now, the next thing to keep in mind here is that people who haven’t been really hit hard by the sort of attacks I’m talking about here tend to be totally clueless about what they actually involve, and even those who have been targeted tend to be really bad at recognizing when other people are being put through the same.

What people imagine to be a “really devastating attack” is when, say, 2000 different twitter accounts all coordinate to hurl violent threats and horrible slurs at a single person over a single one-hour period or something. Don’t get me wrong here. That does happen, regularly, and that’s never a fun thing to deal with, if only because it essentially serves as a DDoS attack, rendering you unable to see any messages from people you want to see things from, but at the end of the day, it does no more harm than having your router go down for a few hours, maybe a day or two in the most extreme cases. It’s also not something that ever really gets sustained in the long term. It’s more like the predators are just holding a pep rally and testing how many accounts they can direct at once.

The really devastating attacks are the effort to drive herds away. They’re a hell of a lot less flashy, generally. They’re hard to point out to others. When really well executed, the target doesn’t even necessarily see anything happening. And what’s happening is elaborately orchestrated character assassination.

I can’t really convey the seriousness of this without some very specific examples. I may follow this up with a roundup of every attack I’ve personally had launched against me, but for now, let me present a very old and famous example, along with the one I’m most recently dealing with.

The classic, of course, from way back in 2014- “Zoe Quinn slept with five guys from various publications in exchange for good reviews of a game.” If this were the first time you encountered this statement, odds are good your personal reaction would be along the lines of “who?” or “who cares?” The goal here isn’t to make everyone hate Zoe Quinn though, just people immediately around Zoe Quinn. The premise of trading favors for good press is something anyone involved in the press is going to take quite seriously, with even baseless claims having an extreme chilling effect. For another crowd, promiscuity is considered a crime worthy of stoning someone to death (and it’s rather telling that the most commonly repeated version of this attack shortens it to simply “Zoe Quinn slept with five guys”). Much more to the point though, the premise that anyone reading this hasn’t previously encountered this line. That message was shouted from the rooftops all over the world for five straight years, over every possible channel.

More recently, I’ve been dealing with... this incoherent mess. This is much less coordinated, with just a handful of people in the think tank, testing every attack live on the fly. You can watch, more or less in real time, as this predator tosses out a variety of defamatory attacks, switching to a new one every time one falls flat. I’m friends with Graham, then I’m business partners, then I’m either paying him or maybe sleeping with him in exchange for promoting some website. I’m a professional journalist (which is a rather weird angle to press as an attack). Then suddenly I’m a “pedophile defender.” A new attack every day.

Now, in both these cases, there’s no truth at all behind any of these attacks. None of these are even stories with two sides to consider. Zoe Quinn’s game was a little choose your own adventure story comprised of a few simple HTML pages linking to each other. No one ever reviewed it to begin with, so the whole thing falls apart. Graham Linehan is a disgusting crusader who attacks children’s charities for daring to provide support to trans children, and quite famously has some weird fixation on publicly attacking me, and I’m a trans woman who hasn’t had any real luck finding work of any kind since coming out half a decade ago. I’ve never run any website that wasn’t a simple blog like this one, or this one which I think puts that last claim to bed well enough.

But again, the idea with attacks like this isn’t to be credible, or even plausible. People don’t make these sorts of attacks based on anything the target has done, it’s all about what will do the most harm if even one person actually buys into it. You want to hurt an indie game dev? Get people to believe they have to bribe people with sex to get any positive mention of their output. You want to hurt a trans woman? Get people to believe she’s friends with and/or sold everyone else out to the king of the transphobes. Someone who does real work to shut down child porn sites? Secretly a pedophile. Etc. Etc. And the success rate of attacks like this is never zero. No matter how transparently false the claim is, shout it at enough people and SOMEONE is going to treat it as ironclad fact, spreading it around in turn and coming off more credible because they’re quoting someone.These rumors spread like wildfire since, let’s be honest, social media sites are all just glorified gossip mills at the end of the day, and all those laughable details from the original lie drop away, replaced with lists of all the very credible people who always know what they’re talking about these scathing claims have been filtered through.

In my experience, honestly it’s the all the most pathetic claims that do the most damage. “Slept with five guys” sticks more than “in exchange for reviews” because it’s such a non-crime that people default to “let’s say that’s true - who even cares?” rather than question the veracity. And I swear all the most damaging attacks I’ve ever suffered really just boil down to baseless claims that I really just don’t like some arbitrary collection of mostly women (a mix of strangers and people I generally view in a positive light).

Having established all of that, we can finally get around to the big question found in the title of this post:

What can I do to help?

Really, the most meaningful and impactful thing you can ever do when someone is being attacked like this is just to do whatever you can to get in front of it. If you know someone has some predator out there trying to convince people she eats puppies, broadcast a big announcement about how that’s happening, along with how and why you’re as confident as you are that she doesn’t, and it’s a baseless hit job. If you have media connections, try to get a story printed about the whole mess, or set up an interview where the victim can talk about how surreal the experience is. If you don’t, just shout about it where you can, so people know not to trust it when word eventually reaches them of all the depraved puppy feasts.

Past that, just be an active support. Tell the alleged puppy eater how you have her back. Ask how she’s holding up. Offer to talk for a bit, or watch a movie. More often than not, attacks like this cost people career contacts and close friends, and cause a lot of trauma. Whatever you can do to help beat the encroaching darkness back helps.

Also? Don’t fall into that trap of granting these sort of BS claims are true to argue the point that they’re stupid reasons to attack someone. They’re always going to be a big deal to someone, and your hypothetical just makes it seem more factual.

Do keep in mind though that these sorts of solidarity moves are going to make the predators real mad. They want to drive you away, and failing that, they’re going to want to take you down too for not running off with the rest of the herd. If we can establish these sorts of defenses as a cultural norm, or you’re personally the sort of person it’s too risky to go after, this is a total non-issue, but if you’re also particularly vulnerable, and nobody else is following suit, be aware of the risks you’re taking.

Finally, make sure you don’t fall into the trap of becoming a predator yourself. So many people get this idea in their heads that the best defense is a good offense, and set out to “turn the tables,” but frankly it just doesn’t work. When you go on the offense, you can’t help but take on those predatory instincts. You end up targeting the most vulnerable people you can find and convince yourself are “the enemy.” I mean that’s almost certainly how the batch of predators you’re trying to fight got started in the first place.

So just... try to be kind. Be supportive. Get out in front of life-ruining rumors. And don’t just do it for people you know and trust. Do it for strangers who are plainly being preyed on. Look for people who just live to tear into people, especially when they keep tearing into the super marginalized. Object to that on principle. And remember anyone can fall into doing it, no matter how long you’ve known and trusted them, or what their politics are.

And some more thoughts on this topic.

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball Z 135

I’ve been kind of half-assedly making a list of favorite episodes in my head as I go, and I think this one might make the cut.    I don’t exactly have any criteria, but I do dig the ones that have clear beginnings, middles and ends, as opposed to just seamlessly carrying on from the previous epsiode into the next.   Vegeta vs 18 kinda starts in the previous episode, and there’s some followup in the next episode, but all you really need is this one to see how it plays out.   

Also, I just like both of these characters.    Vegeta’s my second favorite Dragon Ball character, and I really dig him after he became a Super Saiyan, because he just looks badass as a jerk version of Super Saiyan Goku.    And I like 18 a lot because she completely wrecks his shit in this episode.   There’s other reasons, but that’s honestly one of the big ones.

Oh, and guess who’s on tap for the animation supervisoring?   Yukio Ebisawa, aka Triangle Guy.    Honestly, I’ve heard people complain about this guy for years, and I vaguely understood who they were talking about, but now that I’m keeping track of which episodes are his, I’m noticing a lot of cool episodes got made with him at the helm.    Plus, he technically produced the first artwork of my Dragon Ball OC, so I’m kind of obliged to defend him.    Yeah, his Namek-era Vegeta looked horrible, but now?   Well, something’s going right, that’s all I know.  

The whole time they fight, 17 is mildly impressed by Vegeta’s power, probably because he’s using the same database Gero and 19 had, and so he has no idea about the Super Saiyan transformation.   But where Gero was shocked and 19 was frightened, 17 doesn’t seem particularly concerned about it.    Meanwhile, 16′s more interested in some birds nearby.

When the fight starts, they fly away, and that makes him sad.  

Hey, were you wondering what happened to Gohan, Bulma, and Yajirobe?    No?   Well, too bad.  They’re still flying back home, and baby Trunks just peed on Yajirobe again.  

I don’t know much about babies, but this seems kind of excessive.  

In the manga, Vegeta vs. 18 stays in one place, that highway where they started at.  In the anime, they needed to pad this out a bit, so 18 leads Geets on a merry chase into the surrounding countryside.   Vegeta follows her through a pasture, where an Amish kid is herding sheep.

And they end up cutting a deep trench in the ground.   One way you can tell filler from manga scenes is by certain art cues.   For example, when Toriyama had Raditz appear on a farm, he didn’t use real-world livestock.  It was big pink emus or some weird nonsense like that.    Toei tends to be less imaginative in general, like when they had that dinosaur from the opening credits appear on Planet Namek.   

Then they end up on some busier highway and fight on a truck.   Age of Ultron pretty much ripped off this episode, by the way.   I know for a fact that this was the first ever work of fiction where two superhumans fought on the top of a moving vehicle, don’t bother looking this up.  

Man, this is some great stuff.   

I think this is the only decent shot Vegeta lands in the whole fight, and it’s filler, so it doesn’t even count.   But I love this sequences because neither character has any concern about all the innocent motorists.   They just jump around and Vegeta keeps shooting cars while he tries to hit her.    It’s gruesome and amazing.   

But Vegeta can’t really tell if he’s hurting 18 or not.   That alone doesn’t bother him much, since 19 was the same way.   Speaking of 19...

... he decides to finish her off the same way, using the Big Bang Attack.   Then a truck rolls up and has to put on the brakes because of all these people standing in the road.

I love moments like this, because this truck driver is making perfect sense right now.    Why are people standing in the road like this?    Do they even care if they get run over?   He’s driving a truck, so it makes all the sense in the world that they should move out of the way if they value their lives.  But this is Dragon Ball Z land, so somehow he’s found himself in a situation where he’s the one being completely absurd.  

So Vegeta blasts 18 and the truck, killing he driver, but 18 got out of the way in time.     He recognizes that she’s faster and more durable than he expected, and yet he still hasn’t figured out that he’s underestimated her, and that he’s making a grave mistake.

Meanwhile, dammit.    It’s Maron again.   

She came back to Kame House to find Krillin, three years after they broke up, and then she just never left.    Now she’s windsurfing around the island, and this makes Roshi horniier than he’s been in years.   Really? 

She calls out to “Turtle-chan” and Roshi thinks she means him, but she’s actually talking to Turtle, as opposed to the Turtle Hermit.   

Back at the fight, both fighters admit that they’re not using their full strength.     Vegeta claims that if he went all out, he’d destroy the whole planet.  He also warns 18 that she’d better use her full power while she still can.  

Yeah, how’s that working out for you?  

This infuriates Vegeta, so he charges toward 18 and tries to punch her in the gut.   It looks like he connected...

.... except 18 caught him with a knee to his gut first.  Or maybe his hit landed at the same time and it just didn’t hurt her.    I dunno.  

Then she tilts him into an upright position and smacks him into the hillside.

By the time he climbs out, the Z-Fighters have arrived, but he insists that they’d be of no help to him whatsoever.   

However, 17 does concede that if they all ganged up on 18, they might win, so he might have to help her.    16, on the other hand, wants no part of this, since he only wants to fight Goku.  I’m really not seeing why Dr. Gero had a problem with this guy.  

Vegeta insists that he’d sooner die than accept help from any of these nerds, and 17 congratulates him for sticking to his principles.   He then explains to the others that if they did interfere in this fight, then he would have to join in as well.   

With that settled, the fight continues.   Vegeta seems to hold his own, but all he’s really managed to do is damage 18′s clothes.   She admits that he’s rather impressive, and asks if Goku is stronger.   Vegeta assures her that he’s not.  

And she says that this means neither one of them is all that powerful then.   

SAD FOR YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!

And they keep fighting.   To Vegeta’s credit, he at least manages to win some respect from Trunks, who’s been dead set against this battle from the start.   He was sure that Vegeta would die, but so far he’s been holding her off pretty well.   I’m not sure why Trunks is that impressed, though.   According to him, he was able to hold his own against one of these androids in his own time.   So this shouldn’t surprise him this much.     Unless he thinks that Vegeta is actually winning.  

And Piccolo puts that idea to rest.    Yes, Vegeta is strong enough to go toe-to-toe with 18, but as the fight wears on, his stamina decreases, while hers stays the same.    So with each passing second, the balance tips more in her favor.   

To put it another way...

To Vegeta’s credit, he’s no hypocrite.   By now, he knows he’s in trouble, but he’s not going to beg for mercy or ask the others to help him.    He keeps trying, but trying is all he can do.  

And then...

Boom goes the dynamite.

This is so friggin’ awesome.   Just the way his arm hangs, with the hand twisted around backwards.     One kick, and he’s completely beaten.    18 just stands there and watched him stagger away in shock. 

So then Trunks loses it.    Without thinking, he just charges in to rescue his dad.   

But what good can he do?    He can’t be much stronger than Vegeta, and look how he ended up.   And there’s still 17 to think about, let alone 16.    What’s amazing is that only a few episodes ago, things were looking up for the good guys, and look where we are now.   

[ruwithmeguys]

Hey it’s the twitter user who just asked for S1&2 arrow reviews. So I just finished rewatching S1 and I’ve been curious about why Oliver went back to Laurel even though he didn’t love her. Did Laurel really understand Oliver? Because I’ve always thought Felicity was the one who understood him

Hithere! WELCOME TO THE REST OF YOUR EXISTENCE.

No,seriously; good luck ever leaving this ship! (Join us, we have all the OTP cookies - hah, I never even used to know what OTP meant)

I’msure there are other people who can answer this better, who won’t do it at workwhen I’m supposed to be, you know, WORKING (I am not a role model). But I wanted to give you a response pronto!

Here we go: Oliver… Laurel… Tommy.

Here’s the thing. There areall kinds of love. Oliver, laurel and Tommy were friends first before any ofthem slept together. The love Oliver had for LL was predicated upon thatfoundation of friendship. They’d been attracted to each other so they decidedto do the natural thing: date.

Now, just because two friendsare attracted to each other, doesn’t make the relationship this amazingshowcase of love or the perfect ship or the forever one and only. Chandler andMonica they aren’t.

They weren’t even Ross andRachel, not even close. And Ross had sex with another women four hours after their ‘break’. What aguy.

Did we see even THIS level of intensity from either side? Nu uh. And I tell you,if I start a show like Arrow and I’m supposed to be sold on their romance because where there’s a hero, there’s always a romance, then I want at LEAST angst.

What I believe - and have beengiven proof from Stephen and from others - is that when Ollie - which wasexactly who he was before the Gambit sank - was with LL, she brought out thegood stuff. But the goodness inside him was coated by his greed, vanity andselfishness. He was a dick who LL thought that simply by being with her, would not be a dick…

Wishful thinking to the tenthdegree. 

She was head over heels and deluded by it (that gif is really creepy - he was sleeping with them both there. Laurel was oblivious. Sara was besotted. Three people and not one understood the other).

But Oliver has felt attractionbefore for many other women and continued to not only feel said attraction, butto act on it; she was just one in the herd. Oblivious to the other sheep. From my count, Oliver slept with Sara, Samantha, Max Fuller’s fiance and, two women he went on a joy ride with whilst dating Laurel. Possibly more. Thedifference being that he and laurel held a history of friendship and care together -that he should have given a shit about - so it deepened the relationship fromsex buddies to boyfriend/girlfriend.

But he still cheated on herbecause it wasn’t this special thing that she thought it was. And he was withoutmuch of an ethics base or conscience back then. I’m pretty sure Oliver knew howmuch of an ass he was; in fact I think he thought he was a worthless pretty boywith mountains of cash, which he used to get his way. Deep down, Oliver was,is, a very good person. But ego, money and pleasure soaked up his view and hemade the worst decisions. Just because he started dating one of his closestfriends, didn’t mean he was going to stop partying and cheating and being said ass.

The fact that LL saw this as agiven is one of her many displays of wilful tunnel vision. She was the star ofher own story and the star doesn’t get treated that way. She was at the top ofOllie’s and Tommy’s and daddy’s and mommy’s priority list: she was a betterdaughter than Sara, Ollie would never chase skirts behind her back - they weregoing to get married and be rich socialites together after all as her originalendgame (S3) was to become a wealthy DA who’s clients were the rich criminalsOliver faces in S1 - Tommy would always be there, and daddy would always beproud.

She had a skewed perception asmany people often do when they’re young, inexperienced, ridiculous and lofty.

She’s allowed to be this way. Oliver was allowed to be a disaster boyfriend.

Your first love is rarely yourlast.

But LL didn’t just see Ollieas her first love: she saw him as her last.

Ollie couldn’t look that farinto the future, as evidenced by how he treated his education, by how hetreated women, by how he played around with Sara, by how he tried hard to bethis constant failure.

So when LL started pushing forfurther commitment - for living together like their other friends and being an‘us’ - Oliver made a run for it and grabbed some TNT along the way. Nothingbreaks up a relationship quite like sleeping with the sibling of yourboy/girlfriend. This way, he could be in a far off land when LL realised hersister wasn’t at college, when one of her friends blab about her, because Sarasaid it herself on the Gambit: she was going to be in so much trouble, whichOliver was counting on.

He wouldn’t have to do any ofthe work.

A real shining example ofboyfriend of the year.

But then the Queen’s Gambitexplodes, Ollie looses Sara and hisfather whilst bobbing around for days at sea and by the time he reaches LianYu… Ollie’s not really there anymore; he’s already altered.

The good in him, the strengthhe didn’t know he had comes out, alongside a heavy coating of self-loathing,violent tendencies and a consideration of turpitude.

There’s a scene that perfectlyencapsulates how Oliver feels for LL in those S1 flashbacks: he’s in the cavewith Shao Fei and he’s staring at her picture. He looks so sad and so guiltyand he says ‘I’m so sorry LL’.

He’s not sorry because heloves and misses her. He’s sorry because he fucked up.

And Oliver had no idea what hehad until he lost it, but it’s made all the worse because he feels like Saradied because of his selfishness. Without that guilt I’m not entirely certainhe’d have been so obsessed with the idea of making it up to her, but yes; ahuge part of wanting to return home was about fixing what he broke. Making upfor his mistakes. Gaining a reprieve from years of suffering.

He’s dangerously close tokilling himself in that first year: sometimes believing you’re at the root ofall evil can help you prioritise. He needed to live to make it up to LL.

He needed to survive.

It’s a defence mechanism. Helatched onto those feelings to keep going. THAT and he isn’t scum: he wanted tobe better. He denied the hope inside him but it was still there, waiting for the right time.

The right person.

Notice he never once tells LLor says to anyone after his return, that he wants to be with her. He’s only ever said that to one woman on the show.Word for word. Not an insinuation: a flat out factoid.

The very few things Oliversays in regards to LL and their former relationship after his return in S1, isthat a) thinking about her helped him survive in that first year, b) that hecouldn’t say he didn’t love her, c) he was genuinely happy that she and Tommywere together, d) he would never ever reveal to her who and what he really iswhich means he’d always be lying to her and finally e) that he was sorry andthat it would never be enough.

Romantic stuff it is not.

Even with that crappy list,there are more holes.

A)   He admits in the S4 and S5 flashbacks that,since he was so changed, he knew the person who he’d become could never returnto LL because he wasn’t the same guy. He said that he kept her picture as areminder of everything he’d done.

Her picture was a source ofshame: his self-inflicted punishment. She would always remind him of hisselfishness. ROMANTIC RIGHT?

B)   Saying that you can’t say you don’t lovesomeone isn’t telling them you do love them. It’s useless after the fact.When Oliver realised he was in love with Felicity he declared it several timesto her even though he thought he couldn’t be with her! The one time Oliver tells LL that he loves her is after her death, in ahallucination in 5.08 where he’s very literally apologising for lying to herand for not being the man she loved. He tells her that they could never have been, because who she loved died and he wasn’t that man.

He couldn’t love her the wayshe’d clearly loved him. He was finally given the chance to gainclosure by telling her ghost what he should have told the woman before shedied. She’d deserved to hear the truth years ago. Case in point, on herdeathbed he could only stare at her when she told him that he’d always be thelove of her life. Loving someone? It is FAR different to being the love oftheir life.

Do you know what being thelove of someone’s life is? It’s being at the source of the most powerful,profound and influential love a lucky person feels in their lifetime. The WHOLEof their lifetime. The person who is the love of someone’s life is the person whothat someone loves the absolute most, the person who changed their lives themost. No other love will come close. Oliver was that for LL. She knew she was not that for him.

C)    Do youknow the most revealing way of being in love with a person who is unavailableto you? Jealousy. Oliver never showed an ounce of it for LL and Tommy. In facthe cheered them on, waving them off with a smile because he was HAPPY for them;as if he was saying, all is well and all is good now. Hot stuff right; it really makes you want to watch thislacklustre rickety canoe progress…

D)    Wantingsomeone in your life means revealing yourself to them. It means sharing thingsyou’re too embarrassed, ashamed or afraid to do otherwise. It takes a lot ofcourage and we know Oliver possesses that trait in spades. And yet, he neverwants her to know his secret - the other half of him - and what plays a big part inthis is her initial reaction to his rage in 1.04. He scares her and she’s not shy in showing just how much. Her back and forth after that fact wouldn’t instil confidence either, never mind that Oliver already knew a relationship between them with the hood in the middle was doomed to failure.

Trust me, ifthe show hadn’t been brave and we’d been forced to watch a relationship thatmade little sense, we’d have gotten a good 12 episodes of LL being afraid ofOliver and overcoming her fear to a manageable basis. THANK CHRIST.

There was never anything to fear with Oliver: Felicity knew that immediately.The hood, the man under it – it didn’t matter. LL didn’t see what was therepast the scary skills and bloody arrows. Under the hood was the man she repeatedly claimed, she knew down to his bones. And yet… she didn’t see him there.

E)   A love powered by guilt is no love at all.There is a difference between the love you have for the people you care for andbeing in love.

Oliver did love LL. But he wasnever in love with her. UntilFelicity, Oliver had never fallen inlove before and it was vastly different to anything he’d felt, thank you WendyMericle.

He even behaves differently once we see it. Falling in love withFelicity made him a better, more hopeful person.

Loving LL in any capacity wasa constant reminder of his ‘sin’.

So when you say that you don’tunderstand why Oliver went back to LL in 1.21… well, wouldn’t you want to beabsolved?

Oliver wanted- desperately needed to hear one thing from all thewomen in his life who have had some sort of emotional sway in it.

Moira Queen: I’m proud of you(who you are and who you’ll become)

Thea Queen: Thank you (forbeing who you are and for doing what you do)

Laurel Lance: I forgive you(so let go of the past, I have: I hope you find happiness)

Sara Lance: It wasn’t yourfault (and what happened gave me purpose)

Shado: you didn’t kill me (amad man trying to hurt you did: let me go)

Felicity Smoak: I love youOliver Queen (I always have and always will be yours)

Being the boyfriend he shouldhave been, being given a chance do it again and do it right – sort of liketurning back the clock – must have felt like a massive relief to Oliver who, inS1, was clueless about what made a relationship work. Relationships based onthe past, don’t last. There’s nothing there to help grow and like the once wiseJohn Diggle once said:

Itisn’t about changing or saving a person: it’s about being with someone who’sthe right fit.

The aim, the goal line whenyou want a relationship with the one you love, is simply to be withthem. To grow with them. Not to makeup for being a jackass in the past. You do that by being a decent person. Not by doing this:

HelloLL, I want to be with you to make up for betraying you! The making of a dream ship, I swear.

If they’d gotten back togetherafter 1.23, the following would have happened:

1.     Oliverwould have been forced to see that they couldn’t hack it as a couple. Friendsand allies yes but not as a couple. It takes complete trust to share your lifewith a person and Oliver has never trusted LL to that degree and there isoodles of proof. He’s admitted to it; in fact he’s alluded to never being ableto do that with anyone other than a certain beautiful IT girl.

2.     Wewould have had to put up with a solid season of a force-fed, lacklustre romanceand then we would have had the dreaded love triangle once Sara showed up whichwould have been so much worse to watch than what actually happened.

3.     OnceLL discovers his secret, and it wouldn’t be because he tells her, he’d break upwith her on the principal that it was the last straw: his last lie to thiswoman who didn’t deserve it and she would vow to prove him otherwise. She’dreach to become BC and they’d have an off again, on again tedious thing thatwould have killed the show in a final, ten episode long, S5.

Tommy’s death led Oliver’s hearttowards the light. 

Tommy wasn’t supposed to die. He was a good guy trapped between opposing forces and in love with a woman who didn’t love him back. When he died, Oliver’s world changed perspective. he saw what should have happened as opposed to what they thought should have happened. 

The love Oliver and Ll thought they had didn’t culminate in this victory the audience probably expected it to be.It was both reborn superfast only to perish in betrayal. Now, LL and Tommy wereover and Tommy had pushed them both away… so why did both LL and Oliver laterfeel like that was exactly what they did? You only feel this, if deep downinside, there’s something wrong, something you haven’t admitted. LL didn’t feelit until after Oliver runs away again,which meant she’d been swept away by another lie once more only to realise, it was another rinse repeat.

Oliver felt it immediately.

Being with LL wasn’t worthbetraying Tommy, wasn’t worth his death. It wasn’t, because his love for herdidn’t match Tommy’s and he flipping knew it. It tainted anything that could have been past the point of noreturn and suddenly Oliver didn’t want to live in the past anymore because whenhe’d tried, he’d screwed things up further and the boy deserved not to want tokill himself so much. The past includes LL, which is why they barely spend timetogether afterwards and it lasts right up to her death.

Because what else do theyhave, except the past?

If their love had been more,then maybe… after time, they could have gotten past this.

It wasn’t.

Oliver didn’t go back to Laurel. He and Laurel tried topick up again right where they left off, withoutfacing what had happened which is what you do when you decide to re-writehistory, which is of course impossible. It’s just another lie. It’s the easyway out.

Let’spretend you never cheated on me!

Goodidea! Let’s also pretend my alter ego doesn’t scare you shitless and that you don’t secretly hate me for Sara!

Awesome!

LL didn’t want to face thefact that the best time in her life was over before it even started because shecouldn’t move on from the loss of it. Oliver didn’t want to face the idea thathe couldn’t fix his mistakes because it meant acknowledging what he’s alwaysbelieved: that everything that happened after the sinking of the Gambit, was because he’d lived as others died.

You know what the best exampleof being in love is on a TV show?

What it does to the character.

There is never one singlemoment where LL and Oliver make each other better. They don’t ever help eachother in any positive way. He gives her one half hearted lie in 1.21 whichflatters her ego and lights up her libido for cardboard sex and puts women everywherewith two brain cells to string together and a modicum of self-respect, to shame.

This is what happens betweentwo people who never got closure. Once the sex is over, the appeal wears offand reality sinks in and it flat lines.

The exact opposite of what happens when Oliver and Felicity sleep together,just in case you’re wondering what a successful TV romance looks like.

Stephen stated something oncewhen he was asked about his favourite moments in S1. He said that he reallyliked the moment where Felicity said, ‘if you’re not leaving, I’m not leaving’.

He said it stayed with Oliverin a profound way because, deep down, Oliver has always craved that. Havingsomeone who he could lace 100% of his trust in and who would never leave, despite the times he screws up- and screws up hedoes.

And stay Felicity does.

Every single time, even when they’re not together.

We know Felicity saw the realhim. He saw her. There was animmediate connection that neither understands at first because it’s too big. 

Patience is required. 

I firmly believe there was no romance in S1; but anyonewho watches S1 – particularly 1.03, 1.12, 1.15, 1.17, 1.21, 1.22 and 1.23 – can’t possiblybe blind to all the tiny details of building of trust, reliance and connectionbetween two people who no one saw coming.

There is no build betweenOliver and LL in the season which is shocking and it makes you question thesanity of her fans: the sole season that includes romance between the two and it’s barely even played with. The writers didn’t even try to do it the justice it supposedly deserved. No matter how many complaints the fandom has about the writers, they are not THAT obtuse. It was deliberate.

Why try when it’s not worth trying for?

Lastly, remember that Oliver wasso fucking lonely in S1, especially after the five years of hell. The kind of lonely you couldn’t possibly understand. There isn’treally a way to measure that.

If you’re thinking about himand Felicity, it’s like imagining the deepening of the ocean.They both have issues the size of Godzilla; the ocean’s depths have to be at least as deep - you don’t want them together in S1.Let him go find empty sex with LL where they don’t face, fix or talk about athing. Where they just let themselves pretend for a while.

It’s easier.

Something you need to rememberabout S1: the first season is always going to be the season of trail and error.You cast your lead character in different scenarios with different people andyou see what works.

A fact for you that you mightneed to hear: roughly when they started filming 1.03, they revealed 1.01 to theexecutives at WB and so on and so forth and… let’s just say they weren’t takenwith the onscreen chemistry for the relationship between O + LL. Or with KC’s portrayal. It’s difficult to work against a constant barrage of bitterness. There are otherfactors but I’m not talking about them.

Now, the template for the show’sromance was supposed to be this epic love between the two, as it is in thecomics. Now, I have ample experience with my favourite stories being translatedonscreen. What works on a page rarely works the same way on tv and the comicbook relationship was terrible anyway; why replicate it?

Just when they were trying tofigure out what to do… Emily does onescene, lights the place up, gives Stephen the most excellent chemistry I’veseen in years to play off and suddenly they have a path to follow.

They started building Olicityin S1. They’ve admitted it, but they wanted to do it subtly and BECAUSE they didit slowly, it was believable. Between 1.01 and 1.05 – they write 5 episodesahead of filming – there’s this constant, in your face message that laurel andOliver are meant to be. Then there’s this shift. They slowly introduce this ‘behindthe scenes’ thing with Felicity and Walter, interjecting her loosely withOliver’s story at just the right moments (the end of 1.08 is a HUGE indicationof where they’re going), before the scene in 1.12.

It isn’t a coincidence thatthe scene discusses trust.

He doesn’t talk about trustwith anyone in the season, excerpt her AND… Helena.

Helena trusted him with herheart and she realised he wasn’t ready, that he was still hoping to save thepast just as he hoped to save her and his ignorance hurt her. So when Felicityshows trust in him and he in turn. Proves she can… well it’s a huge deal.

You’d think trust would pop upbetween him and Laurel given their history. The fact that it didn’t speakswonders. In fact, it’s stunning how far apart the writers keep them in S1; it’salmost unfeeling. The lead up to their love scene felt way too fast for my tastes and thereason for the sex, shallow at best.Filled with lies. Rushed.

Crappy sex. A reunion of the body but not the hearts or minds.

Not thelove scene you show for this supposed great star crossed lovers thing they weresupposed to be: it’s a massive neon sign post so I wouldn’t think about it asanything more than two people who had no idea what was good for them, doing theonly thing they knew how to do. Have sex.

Let’s face it, they both suckat relationships. Tommy, the bachelor, knew so much more. He had their futureplanned: him and LL and the white picket fence deal and LL was so clueless, shethought a rebound with ‘Ollie’ was preferable. Idiot woman.

Don’t put too much stock inseason 1: I actually love the season because you can see the narrative linesthat will propel the show towards where they are now.

You can see the prison storyin it from S7. You can see Felicity’s importance and the trust that leads to theepic romance of the show. You can see LL’s death. You can see Prometheus andSlade. John Diggle’s eventual rejection of OTA. Quentin’s death. Oliver rising as a hero.

But even in S1, it was alwaysgoing to be Oliver and Felicity. Stephen said it and he meant it and the directors/creators and writers have been backing him up since 2013.

Yet you have to make room for error and Oliverhas to be allowed to learn, even when it’s infuriating and he does senselessthings for the wrong reasons. THAT’S why he goes to LL in S1. It was unfinishedbusiness.

Sometimes you have to go back to move forwards.

Hope that helped. There wereabout a hundred different ways I could have answered this but I had to sort ofrush it out because of work and my fanfics so I hope it’s at least coherent.

(NO GIFS ARE MINE)

[lhunuial]

FFXIV || At Urkhago Kaa

Although the sun had already set, neither Naran nor Zhusai felt like returning to the yurt they shared with their grandmother. The sky was clear and the stars were shining bright. It was the perfect time for a swim in the lake. Both of them slipped out of their robes and jumped into the water. 

The lake was ever a source of comfort to the clan. Not only did it provide them with water, but relief as well when the summers were hot.

Both girls swam towards the statue of Nhaama and the waterfalls, climbing onto the rocks near Nhaama’s feet. It was one of their favourite places to sit. Living in the way they did meant everyone was always together. They didn’t even know what privacy was, nor did they care much for it.

Still, it was nice to get some peace and quiet at times, the space near the statue’s feet was perfect for it.  Their feet dangled in the water and at times they splashed water onto each other. There was a lot to talk about, what with the group of guests the Urkhago were hosting.

Naran had something on her mind ever since they first met their guests. A frown rested upon her face as she thought about it again. “Grandma and you keep saying you remember Salkhi, but I don’t remember anything. I see him and my mind goes blank.”

Zhusai started laughing. “Really? Don’t you remember that time we had to go chase after several sheep, because they left the herd? Salkhi was the boy who was supposed to shepherd them, but he spent most time daydreaming and several sheep walked off. We chased after them for hours trying to get them back. That was shortly before the Adarkim took him.”

Naran’s eyes widened as she finally remembered. “One of them even made as far as Ceol Ahn. I was so annoyed. I did not get back to camp until late in the evening, all the while thinking that one of the other clans would stumble upon me.”

“Grandmother tasked him with something else the next day, something that wouldn’t cost us our livestock.”  The two girls started giggling. 

Naran dropped herself back into the water and swam in a circle. The water felt so nice on her skin and scales.  She suddenly threw a wicked look at her sister. “He has such long hair! His hair is probably just as long as that mysterious redhead that travels with them. And he’s so pretty. Not very tall, but very pretty.”

“Their leader is not very tall either.” Zhusai joined her sister in the water and started floating.

That was true. Many Xaela were taller. “He’s very intense though.” Naran chuckled. “Have you seen the look in his eyes? I have seen the way he looked at us when we stopped our warriors from shooting them. That man has a hunger inside him.”

“I was too busy trying to deescalate the situation to pay much heed to that, Naran.”

Naran splashed some water over her sister’s floating body. “Then you should pay more attention. That wasn’t the only time. There were at least two times more since he arrived in the village.”

Zhusai did notice how Altanur looked when they talked to him about the village and Doman culture from when they went to the frontier towns. It put a smile on her face. The man definitely was intriguing. He still hadn’t really said anything about what he planned on doing once he left the Steppe, but he looked like he was a man with a purpose. 

He was not the only one in his company though. Neither was Salkhi. There were more. “Did you notice how big Tumur is? I heard him tell Tarkhan he used to fight through enemy lines all on his own. And Kiril is apparently a superb hunter.”

Naran nodded. She did hear what Salkhi said about his companions. Looking back on what happened it was quite annoying how the Khoriotoi overpowered the Urkhago warriors so easily, but then the Urkhago men had made the mistake to just rush off and not think things through. Things would have ended quite differently, had they simply let Zhusai and her do their thing. “Speaking of Tarkhan, have you talked to him yet? All I’ve seen him do since we returned to the village is being his moody self.”

They both looked into the direction of the village’s practise grounds. A lone figure was at work there. They didn’t need to be able to see him well to know it was the very person they were talking about. “No,” Zhusai admitted. “He refused to speak to me when I approached him earlier. I’m sure he’ll seek me out when he feels the need to rage at me.”

Naran shook her head and made a few disapproving clicking sounds with her tongue. “That boy has such issues at times.”

“He means well” was Zhusai’s reply. “He wants to prove himself as a valuable member of our clan. He dreams of being Khan one day. You know that.” Still, Tarkhan’s moods were a cause for concern at times and he didn’t seek out the udgan often enough for help.

Her sister nodded. It was obvious, really. That didn’t mean Naran would let him off easy though. Sometimes he really needed to be set straight. She grinned at her sister. They weren’t done discussing their guests, so she was happy to bring the topic back to that.

“What about Khulan then? Have you ever seen a Xaela woman so big? I haven’t.” Naran still couldn’t believe it was possible. All Xaela women she’d ever met were small. How did she get to be so big? It could not be natural. She mistook Khulan for a man at first. The woman never left Altanur’s side and seemed very guarded. “ I wonder if she used magic to get so tall.” 

Khulan was something else. Zhu saw the woman never left Altanur’s side and, while she initially seemed in awe of Urkhago Kaa and the valley it was in, she seemed more guarded and closed off at the clan dinner. “Why don’t you go and ask her?”

“You know, you are right. I should and I am going to.” Naran had her mind made up.This was such a rare situation and Khulan seemed like such an interesting person… It was too good to pass up. The Urkhago knew about many tribes beliefs and customs. They knew about the Oronir’s beliefs concerning Azim and Nhaama. Khulan’s life among them could not have been easy.

The two girls laughed together. It wasn’t rare for the Urkhago to invite guests. In fact, they had a few more guests at the moment next to the Khoriotoi: a couple of foreign merchants and traders they met in the frontier towns. They were picky on who they invited to the valley though. Usually they invited guests to a small encampment they set up. That camp also served as a diversion for the other Xaela tribes, whenever they were on a warpath.

They weren’t done discussing the Khoriotoi yet. It was quite a group and there were two more members. Usha was the most straightforward of them. She seemed kind and very eager to learn about the Urkhago magics that hid the valley from view, as well as the protective spell Zhusai used to cast the barrier during their first encounter.

Arzu on the other hand… Zhusai was not sure what to make of her. There was something about her, something strong that at the same time caused shivers to run down her spine. She wasn’t what she appeared to be, that much Zhusai could tell. That alone was a cause for concern and a reason to stay alert.

“Zhusai!”

Tarkhan stood at the lake’s shores.Even where the girls were swimming they could see his posture looked impatient. The two sisters shared a glance with one another. Apparently their moody friend wanted to talk now. It was about time to head back to the yurt anyway, so the two girls swam back to shore. 

Once they reached the shore Tarkhan immediately claimed Zhusai’s attention, looking straight into her eyes. “We need to talk.” He wasn’t the type of man to beat around the bush, liked to get straight to business.

Naran arched an eyebrow and was about to open her mouth, but when she felt Zhusai’s hand on her wrist she refrained from saying what she initially wanted to say. She gathered her clothes and winked at Zhusai. “I’ll see you back at the yurt. If it takes too long I’ll come looking for you.”

Zhusai chuckled and watched her sister go before she focussed upon the man currently standing in front of her. She mentally braced herself for the storm that was about to erupt. “What is it, Tarkhan?”

He narrowed his eyes at the tone of her voice. “Why did you intervene today? It was my job to deal with our guests.” 

Zhusai tilted her head slightly. That he was quite a bit taller than her, as was normal between Xaela, did not bother or intimidate her one bit. “Was it not obvious? Had I not intervened your men and you might have been killed, because you provoked without reason.”

“They were wearing Adarkim colours and they were close to the glamoured passage. What else was I supposed to do?” Tarkhan crossed his arms in front of his chest, closing himself off to anything she might say.

Sometimes Tarkhan’s need to prove his own battle prowess baffled her. Zhusai was quite done with it. It was late and she didn’t feel like standing here, talking to a man who could just as well have been one of the Dawn Throne’s brick walls. Not only that, they attracted attention. That was not unusual, they were living in a Xaela after all. This time however they attracted the attention of their guests. The Khoriotoi were sitting outside their yurt, still enjoying the remainder of the evening and had a front row seat to the argument.

Zhusai growled slightly. “Had they been Adarkim they would have slaughtered you! Even now they easily overpowered you! You were just lucky they did not set out to kill you.”

He did not like what she had to say.His eyes were ablaze, or rather dark like a stormy sky. “You embarrassed me in front of my men and their whole group!”

“You did that yourself!”

Zhusai had only just finished that sentence when Tarkhan stormed off towards the practise dummies.  A sigh escaped her lips. That went about as well as she expected. No doubt Tarkhan would spend the rest of the night hammering away at a practise dummy, or he would sit around and mope in his yurt. She reached for her clothes and put them back on. The night could be cold in the valley and the temperature was already dropping.

Before she walked back to the yurt she shared with her sister and her grandmother, she threw an apologetic glance at their guests.