#don't get enough chances for that kind of thing

[tech-issues-apologies]

The thing with all of this is that it is the natural result of the systems we are embedded in. People will tend towards meeting their own needs within the perceived and real limits of their circumstances, and the system will try to maximize profit while minimizing cost, often my displacing or delaying that cost or degrading the product or service.

I don't even mean this in capitalist/economic terms when I say this. With almost all care fields and care, ajacent fields have masive labor shorteges. Hell, a lot of chritical fields in general are short on labor relative to the demands. Although all these jobs definitely don't pay well enough to pull in workers, it goes beyond that. Even with competitive pay, the number of qualified individuals is just not there to adequately fill demand. Even if everyone should afford it there is just not enough bandwidth in the system to acomidate the need.

We let the barriers to training get so large that even people who would work in these positions under otherwise ideal circumstances can not get the training or credentials to do them. Due to *gestures to all capitalism and society*, we are making these jobs and nightmare to work in with a lack of material or labor resources. This is leading to the double wamy of retention and recruitment issues. On top of this, a lot of fields do not pay well enough, especially with the cost of credentials, and they are increasingly made to do busy work invented to reduce the chance insurance will pay that takes them away from care.

On top of all this, a lot of these jobs are the kind of jobs that pull from a smaller talent pool than most jobs. Care jobs often need people who have a combination of aptitude, inclination, and temperment to be done well. Then, with society(capitalism) increasing demand more than is nesisary in the pursuit of unsustainable growth and value extraction and control, it all combines to form a perfect storm of capitalism selling a new shinier solution to a problem it had a hand in creating. Telling people not to use ai without addressing the cause is like telling people not to self medicate on moral grounds and then doing nothing to help or adress the things that keep them in pain. If you are not actually invested in them or their outcomes in a tangible way, why would they let you tell them how to live?

There are plenty of people on the internet shouting commands demands and guilt at strangers on the internet, and i think that we can all agree that there are some pretty bad takes online.

I have said it before and I will say it again. Like most things, if you want to stop a behavior, especially one fueled by a precieved or real need, your best bet is to materials change that person's circumstances or provide better options(I like the atempts I saw above even if i think they fall short of what is needed).

Luckily, the bandaid and the permanent cure are almost the same thing. Society needs to change. Part of that involves undermining and replacing a society in which transactionalism as the only way of living is increasingly encouraged and even enforced by the threat of violence or deprivation towards one of voluntary reciprocity and mutual aid. All of us need to push for more equity and care, and part of that also involves helping and lifting each other up. Of proving the validity and workability of an alternative paradime by living prefigurative living. Not only does the current system break people down and make it harder for them to resist, but Intangibility and Lack of Examples of alternatives makes it harder for people to maintain the morale and determination to push for future tech anger and make it in the moment.

A lot of this is going to require learning and using existing skills to help each other. To build those networks of mutual strength. Of putting in the labor and time to conect, build meaningfull relationships and trust, and meet needs they and you can't alone. Some of this is just being there for people. Spending time and helping with normal underrated skills. And the more and longer you do it, the more you build the strength and size of your network. To make those networks work without you. We do this all the time. What needs to change is that we need to strengthen these weekend skills and make them a greater part of how we meet and organize people and get things done.

guys. please

[hitlikehammers]

oh golden boy (don't act like you were kind)

part i : you were mine but—

for @kultiras at the ❄️ Winter @steddieexchange 🖤🩵

Arguably the sharpest knife in his chest about this whole fucking shitshow?

Eddie thought they were doing good.

Like: so fucking good.

Eddie thought they were on the cusp of…that they were building something.

He’s such an idiot. Such a…

A heartsick fucking idiot.

But if he’s gracious—which he’s not, least of all to himself—when he puts all the pieces together, lines the evidence up and analyzes it, thinks of it in terms of a narrative that he can understand and recognize the flaws in, where he’d rewrite the ending or tweak the rising action so everything slides into place realistically, cause and effect in balance just right: Eddie can see that the way this has all shaken out is fucked up. So, so fucked up.

Because there honestly hadn’t been any signs that they weren’t laying the foundations of something long-term, something lasting; that they weren’t in this deep and rooted, strong and committed and serious in a real, tangible way, and, just…

Forever. Eddie was…he was playing for keeps, here. He thought, he just, he thought—

Fuck.

He just…really believed he wasn’t alone in it all.

Again: idiot.

It’d started so fucking predictably, really, because if there’s one thing that Eddie clocked about Steve Harrington from the get-go of actually getting to know him versus operating on the popular-gorgeous-jock framework he’d distilled the guy down to in his head before 1986: the one consistent thing he’d figured from what he’d heard and what he’d seen put together was that: Steve Harrington?

Bastard’s protective to a fucking fault.

So when he blinked back to the land of the living with Steve goddamn Harrington at his bedside? Standing guard, looking a little haggard—like he cared, at least enough to worry—but still fucking devastatingly pretty, good god-

When he woke up to that, Eddie was surprised and also: not at all surprised.

The way he lit up when he saw Eddie was conscious, like world was less before that moment and something right slid back into place? Eddie…Eddie felt like his body was pretty wholly broken but that fucking cracked something down his middle, decimated parts of him in new ways that hadn’t been already devastated on another plane, were sitting ripe for wholesale ruin.

He’d let Steve blame the breathiness that’d overcome him on coming back from the brink of death, because Steve didn’t need to know the sensations, the emotions, that were running riot through Eddie’s veins.

But then it hadn’t stopped.

Steve standing guard at his side became a constant, like Eddie couldn’t quite comprehend save that it felt like his body was knitting itself around the fact of this more-than-good dude and Eddie wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that, save kind of just…poke curiously at the new shape of everything he was for it, and once he worked through the fear of the unfamiliar in it?

To kinda…savor it. Roll around in it and relish.

Probably it was gonna be short lived anyway. Probably it was gonna go away when Eddie finally got out of here. Only made sense to soak it up while it lasted.

And it was one of those early days, where Eddie was soaking it up and before anything possible beyond the bubble of middle-space they were existing in inside Eddie’s hospital room was even hinted at. Steve had gone to check on Max while Eddie grappled a bit to look down at himself a little better under the handkerchief that the hospital deemed sufficient as clothing, and he braced for the worst because it felt like the worst and what he did remember at all from the scene of the inter-dimensional mauling definitely aligned with being ‘the worst’: but it was honestly mostly bandages and pain.

Eddie didn’t…on second thought he didn’t know if he was ready to see what was underneath just yet, so he was actually kinda grateful that his hubris about it all didn’t immediately have a chance to floor him, especially when he was alone because he’d thought it’d be easier to stomach if it was just him—but the prospect, the bullet dodged, lodged in his throat and proved him kinda instantly wrong for the sharp cut of bile rising in him, and the violent jump of his pulse right behind it.

His hand had gravitated to his chest, though, like he could keep his heart from cracking his ribs that way, and he noticed that…even the light pressure ached, so he looked down a little more carefully, didn’t think the little fuckers had concentrated their attacks on the center of his chest so he tucked his chin and tried to see what was causing the sting—maybe just like, general area tenderness after playing buffet table to fucking…flying hellspace rodents but—

No. No: even from this weird-ass uncomfortable angle, Eddie could see the outline, coukd make out the dark stain of a bruise.

In the shape of a hand.

And listen, Eddie wasn’t foolish. He knew that everyone busted ass to get him topside and to a hospital. And that probably involved…stuff he didn’t want to really dwell on too long in terms of the nitty-gritty of his own mortality. He was also very much aware that Steve had played a crucial role, even if the man himself didn’t stand up and declare it. The kids didn’t have any sense of a fucking filter, so.

Eddie knew.

But Eddie then started tracing the splay of fingers on his sternum, his heartbeat so fucking heavy under even just the brush of his nails as he followed the outline of the purpling over, and over, and over, imagined what it would take to make that kind of an impression on his skin because Eddie was fucking pale, yeah, he marked quick—but not that dark.

Not that deep.

“Shit.”

Eddie’d startled, snapped his attention to the doorway where Steve had reappeared, looking a little breathless as he took Eddie in, came quick to his side and leaned to look closer at the monitor next to him and oh: Eddie hadn’t realized that the beeping was so loud, so fast. Hadn’t realized his heartbeat had ratcheted up quite so high.

Not that he was surprised.

“Shit, are you okay,” Steve barely breathed, eyes so goddamn big about it as his hands had kinda hovered, as he’d tried to figure out what to do, how to help, because that was what he was always doing; that’s who he was to his core, and Eddie…

“Oh god, let me call the nu—”

“Don’t.”

Eddie’d half-moaned it, god: scratchy but desperate as he reached for Steve’s hand and he…

He suspected he knew exactly how big that hand was; what shape it’d make to a fucking T. But he needed to see

For sure.

“What are you,” Steve’s brow had furrowed in that way Eddie was becoming increasingly aware he wanted to kiss smooth, and he started to ask it as Eddie grabbed to uncurl his grip from the bar at the side of the bed but Steve gave up fighting quick, focused on stopping Eddie from moving at all instead, from stretching the way he was against the precarious threads holding him together as he reached for the neck of his gown again, still loose enough from where he’d pulled the back up, left his ass out against the sheets to bare his breastbone, the mess of the tattoos on his chest more grisly after everything than any horrors he’d gotten inked before but—

This was a different kind of horrifying thing. Not least—maybe most—because it was entirely possible that it was also the most beautiful, sacred thing to ever touch Eddie’s skin. To ever beat through Eddie’s fucking veins.

“You,” Eddie let go of the last breath he could wrestle out before his lungs seized up too tight, because then he was watching it happen, watching Steve’s broad palm as it hovered over the imprint, shivering when Steve’s warmth made contact: eclipsing the bruise near-perfect, just like Eddie knew deep down it fucking would.

His heart took the hint and started shivering under Steve’s hand immediately, like it had something to prove.

“Ed,” Steve’s voice was wispy, choked a little; eyes too bright and Eddie feels like there must be so many kinds of dying, because he’d felt one keenly under that angry red lightning; this was a wholly other thing.

But felt just as keenly life-or-death.

“You,” Eddie whispered, the words, the truth, the feeling of it all too fragile, too precious to disturb, and he wondered if his heart knew Steve had pushed the bruises down around it to save it, if that’s why it was so unbridled and unabashed in hammering against that touch, that touch—

“I think I heard you.”

And Steve? Big eyes framed with those feather lashes, stretched wide and all made of shine and earnest fucking feeling?

“You didn’t…want to lose me?” Eddie’s voice had been so small, so so small because he did think he’d heard that, and the wisps of recollection, of a frantic but resolute voice demanding of him: what he was able to collect and try to tie into a whole matched up when he paired it all with Steve in his head, but what if he was wrong?

What if it was all just fever dreams and wishful thinking on his deathbed, what if Steve had no investment in him beyond keeping the Party safe in its entirety, no exceptions; what if Eddie was fucking wrong and showed too much of his hand with this, with Steve’s palm pressed to his thrashing heart and—

Then Steve was brining his free hand to Eddie’s cheek, fucking…cradling it like it fucking meant something, like he could matter and—

“I couldn’t lose you.”

Oh.

“You,” and so many possible ways to end that thought had swam through Eddie’s head—you barely know me, you can’t possibly care if I live or die, I cannot matter one fucking bit in your universe, so why would it matter but Steve’s hand was warm under his, and Steve didn’t pull away, only leaned in, only stayed close enough that Eddie could feel his breath on his skin and Steve could chart the way Eddie’s heart took to pummelling his already-taxed ribs but it didn’t matter, it couldn’t matter because Steve held there, so careful of the pain but nothing short of steady, devoted, a soul-sworn guard of that heart under his hand like it did matter, like Eddie did…

Like Steve ever could—

“Stevie,” Eddie would probably have flushed if the situation had been anything but what it was. If his heart wasn’t racing into Steve’s touch at the chest and just under the jaw where Steve’s thumb pressed almost proprietary, almost like a shield but also like a welcome, like the idea of Eddie’s heart beating into him wasn’t a dealbreaker, and fuck, fuck—

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Steve breathed out against him, prickling dangerous across his skin and Eddie’s heart leapt a little, fuck; more than a little and Steve felt it, front-row-center, couldn’t not feel it but he just leaned closer still, and Eddie was front-row himself to the catch in Steve’s inhale, undeniable and unapologetic as he murmured low, turning into Eddie’s cheek a little and Eddie maybe resented how it forced him to pull away,until his lips brushed the tip of Eddie’s jawbone and drew a whole ass shudder down his goddamn spine.

“Just know,” Steve gasped there, fucking…panted and hell if it didn’t catch in Eddie’s blood like pure bliss; “just know why.”

And fuck, but Eddie could only press in to the warmth of Steve’s lips where they moved for the words alone, let alone what words; what Eddie thought maybe they meant—

“Me too,” Eddie rasped a little, because fuck him, man; this was something…something else, swelling up in his chest so strong and Steve had to be able to feel it where he still held against him, palm to his galloping pulse at the source, feeling the life he coaxed back into the world.

“Does it have to make sense just yet?” Eddie asked, knew he sounded too hopeful, too desperate, more than he’d earned, than was safe but his heart kept knocking against that hand, so fucking insistent and who was he to deny it, to try and wrestle in into being less when he couldn’t even hide it, when it was evident to the man it was leaping at; for.

“I don’t think so,” Steve mouthed more than spoke where his lips dragged wet across the stubble on Eddie’s cheek.

“Then,” Eddie tipped his head, tried to catch Steve’s eyes, aimed to reason, to convince but the moment he moved, Steve dipped his chin just so to take Eddie’s lips, to kiss so hard, so complete with what felt like it couldn’t even be reasoned as less than all of him, because how could less than all feel like this—

Fucking impossible.

And Eddie couldn’t shy away—as Steve kissed him breathless, left him gasping; Eddie couldn’t shy away from the sense that he was being killed and revived all over again, endless and unbreaking, and it was perfection.

Jesus fuck.

And the kicker was that…weeks passed. A whole month, close to another. And if anything changed it was all for the better, for the more and Eddie wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it, if he was entirely honest. He…the bruise healed, y’know? That brand above his heart but—

He didn’t need it anymore. That was the thing. He didn’t need to see.

He was very fucking aware. Every minute of every day. He was…so aware. It could kill him better than those bats, it was so big and so much, and so quick, but with all that, probably because of all that: Eddie’d never felt anything even remotely like what it meant to shake off sleep and have Steve Harrington kiss you to wakefulness, to hold you for the nightmares as much as the news of small victories on the road to recovery: never wavering.

Never leaving.

When Eddie got the go-ahead to continue his rehab outpatient-style, his original conviction that all of this ended at the latest upon discharge was immediately challenged, because Steve had become so much more than he’d started as, but Eddie still worried. Made himself sick over it.

Felt like an indefensible monster as Steve rubbed his back, brought him soup, tended him like Eddie didn’t cause his own suffering, and all for the terror of losing the very man who was there, without question.

Then he signed himself out, and Steve drove him home.

Save that Eddie recognized where they were headed and…he only knew one person in Loch Nora.

“Your uncle’s still in the motel by the plant,” Steve had explained what Eddie already knew but hadn’t put together when Eddie raised an eyebrow in askance, wholly unsure how to process any of this, any of this; unsure how to hope in the face of what he was seeing, held against what he was wishing.

“Government’s being fucking assholes about setting you up with someplace appropriate,” and something in Steve’s tone had made plain that he was not just very clear on what constituted ‘appropriate’, he was probably actively involved somehow in holding the people in question rightly accountable for appropriate, and nothing less.

And Eddie…he did say he didn’t need a mark you could see on his heart, didn’t he.

“You need the room while you get better,” Steve murmured as he killed the engine, and lifted Eddie’s hand to his lips, pressed his mouth on the knuckles, nuzzling a little, eyes closed and Eddie…Eddie didn’t know what to do.

The only saving grace was that he didn’t have a monitor to rat his ass out when his heart started trying to escape orbit—fuck just his ribs, how pedestrian—this time.

They sat in a living room that looked like it was once absolutely pristine and still was, mostly, but up close Eddie could see little snags on the sofa, could feel the texture of the fabric different under his fingers for scrubbing out a stain. He suspected four infamously unmannered teenagers were the culprits. The remaining stiffness of the cushions was good for the way his body was still working through being gnawed apart, but he was gone far enough to kind of immediately hope he’d see how they wore with love and use and maybe something more once they got there, once Eddie’s body cooperated again, because he…Steve brought him home.

And maybe they didn’t have to stop when Eddie left the hospital. Maybe he didn’t have to lose.

He’d only made it shortly past the best fucking grilled cheese he’d maybe ever tasted, and he didn’t think it was only because it was his first meal without an aftertaste of sterile in too fucking long—but he only lasted a little more than an hour before Steve’d helped him to a guest room on the first floor that’d obviously been reworked for him, from the way he could reach the bed from just inside the door, to the fucking posters that he knew for a fact Steve wouldn’t have had on hand, and Eddie’d giggled a little wetly at the Ozzy one, because he figured the man steadying him at his side would never be anything but intertwined with the Prince of Darkness in his mind, now—but Steve, who’d more than proven he was so far beyond any kind of king, won hands down. By a landslide.

And who could have seen that coming?

“Careful,” Steve chided him gently as he guided Eddie slowly down to the mattress and made to tuck him in, and the word was so warm, so warm but Eddie had to…

He had to reach. Again. He needed Steve, he…needed.

The handprint on top of his heart didn’t need to be a thing he could see, but he needed Steve to…know some level of what he was feeling, of how much was inside him already, and growing, the momentum building and he didn’t want to feed it, didn’t want to let it run if he wasn’t going to have someone to catch it, to run with him but he also didn’t think there was any chance to stop it, now, he didn’t think he could trim it back or tame it from consuming him and he wasn’t sure he’d even want to if he actually had the power because it was the best feeling he’d ever known, even if it was terrifying, even if it could hurt him more than anything he’d ever known and—

“I don’t want to be alone,” was what spilled from his lips with Steve’s hand above his heartbeat as it pumped so goddamn hard it couldn’t be denied, it couldn’t be misconstrued, and he didn’t want to sleep alone, didn’t want to lose what he’d rebuilt himself around all these weeks, he—

“Good,” and Steve leaned down, cradled Eddie’s face and tipped him up to kiss him full, hard, one hand still on his chest because that was the mark, the promise, the fight for all that this was and all it could be like a fucking vow and Eddie melted for it on sight, on contact.

“Because I’m not leaving,” and Steve brushed the tip of his nose back and forth against Eddie’s, his smile like honey in his tone as he pecked Eddie on the lips one more time before stretching his hand to follow him across the bed, to crawl to the other side and slide in next to Eddie, to carefully arrange him against Steve’s body, to wrap around him with so much care, to touch nothing too tender and everything safe to hold as Steve tucked his face against Eddie’s neck and kissed behind his ear as he breathed:

“Never gonna leave you all alone again.”

And Eddie believed him.

Eddie believed him.

And when, weeks later when Eddie was hurting less and moving more, perched in the corner of the couch that was starting to give a little under persistent weight, starting to feel like it was meant to be used and lend comfort; as Eddie was poking at campaign notes for the gremlins, pen caught between his teeth, he only paused when he felt the gravity of a familiar gaze settle on him—not immediately, because he liked just existing in it, feeling its heft, but after enough moments to satisfy him he looked up, met those eyes and felt them in his goddamn soul as he asked:

“What?”

And Steve had just kept on staring, the bare hint of a quirk at the corners of his lips spreading to the full sunrise of his smile.

“You fit, here,” and he’d said it so simply, so…much like a truth, a fact of the universe—Eddie Munson fits, belongs in this place, this space, this home, this life—and then the smile dimmed ever so slightly, cloud cover across the shine as Steve shifted a little, crossed his arms loose but still as a barrier over his chest: “if you want to, I mean—”

And Eddie sat up straighter, and he reached both his hands out to Steve because:

“I want to,” it was all he wanted, really; it wasso far beyond his wildest dreams but it was real, Eddie could see and touch it, taste it, feel it through his blood when it pumped, tracking through his whole body, filling up his heart overfull and magnificent and he as just…

“Sweetheart,” he took Steve’s hands and tugged him down to sit next to Eddie, settled him so close; “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want that.”

He leaned back, wholly prone and never once letting go of Steve’s hands, never once doing anything but keeping them laced together and anchored, locked tight and Steve matched him, followed him as Eddie drew him to his healed-enough chest to settle right at the center, to hear Eddie’s heartbeat for the declaration it was, it already was in its entirety:

“You fit here.”

And he did. They both did. Their worlds had shifted, grew around the shapes they made together and after not-long-at-all, they fit so fucking well that it was bespoke to their cells, they’d never fit anyone else. It was quick and it was heady and it was fucking right.

For months

And then it all went to shit.

Because Steve decided what should have been expected, honestly—that Eddie wasn’t worth the hassle, that he wasn’t right for Steve, that Steve’s staggeringly-expansive capacity for love was wasted to hell on this low-life dipshit who couldn’t even graduate on his third try at high school, who maybe didn’t have a murder charge anymore in the legal system but would never wash it clean from the court of public opinion, who was…trouble. Always trouble.

Not fucking worth it.

It’s just…Eddie never thought Steve would stop wanting him. He maybe went in reticent at first, but Steve had loved so hard out the gate that as soon as he knew he was allowed, and welcome? Eddie didn’t hesitate to meet that love beat for beat.

He just never imagined his love would ever be unwelcome; that that's how his heart would break.

What breaks in the moment, though—the heartbreak is constant, and unfortunately proving to be kinda fucking unending, really—but what breaks now is…possibly the handle on the front door for the way someone’s banging and jiggling it back and forth like the first time it didn’t give against the lock was just a fluke.

He frowns, considers waiting out whoever’s enough of a dick to knock like that but apparently not so witch-hunty to throw a brick through the window—which: Eddie will take progress, he guesses—but when a concerning creak sounds from near the hinges, Eddie thinks of Wayne, and how his uncle doesn’t deserve a broken front door, so.

Heartbroken or not, Eddie has to drag himself to deal with…this.

Then he’s throwing the door open and…this is—

“We need to talk.”

This should have been expected. There’s really only one little asshole who’d assault his door with that much…determination.

“Henderson—” Eddie huffs, because he knows he needs to set a date for them all to get together, he left the campaign they were in kinda dangling on a thread when he didn’t hold the gatherings at St—

Well, when their regularly scheduled venue became too much for Eddie’s heart to handle.

Which: okay, fine, he gets it but like, he can’t care as much as he maybe should when he feels like this, and the kids need to fucking take a chill pill and if they can’t understand, then at least they can just shut the fuck up for at a couple more weeks while Eddie licks his wounds and sees if they decide to finally scab over enough that he doesn’t keep with busting them back open every time he breathes—

“About Steve.”

Eddie’s heart shudders just to hear the name. He’s avoided hearing it for weeks, now; it hurts too much.

He hears it enough in his own head, in his dreams, in his nightmares when he see the worst, in the cadence of his fucking pulse because his heart doesn’t know how not to be Steve’s, kinda feels like it’s not interested in learning, will never be anything other than what it is now, forever, and—

“We need to talk about what you did to Steve.”

Wait.

Wait, what he did to—

What?

for @kultiras🖤

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divider credit here

[majorlb]

They discuss recruiting a second guitarist, going as far as having tryouts, but no one clicks.

They have to be good enough to keep up with Charles, but also vibe with the rest of the band.

Edwin sits in the back taking notes for everyone as well as writing down contact information and then politely sees everyone out the door as the band discuss when Thomas King saunters into the room.

He immediately rubs Charles the wrong way, especially since the first thing he does is start the flirt outrageously with Edwin. And no matter how much Edwin rebuffs him, he doesn't seem to get the hint.

He's good at guitar, but his personality clashes with eveyone but Niko, who could probably make friends with a rock if she wanted.

Charles doesn't get the chance to say, 'We'll call you', same spiel they've given everyone else so far, before Crystal says:

"Sorry, but I don't think you're the right fit for us."

Causing Niko to look at her curiously and the smile to drop from Thomas's face.

"I'm sorry?"

"Yeah, you're good at playing but the vibes are off"

"The vibes? Are you fucking for real right now?"

Charles has never been happier being Crystals friend than right now.

"Oy, mind the attitude, mate. Crystal is just making sure we're not wasting each other's time, yeah. The vibes are off, and you're not joining. Bye!"

Yeah okay he's kind of rude about it as well, but the cunt flirted with his boyfriend, infront of him, at what is essentially a job interview.

Crystal and Charles grin at each other when King storms out.

"I thought he was good"

"Yes, Niko, but Charles would go to jail for murder if we let him stay"

"That would be bad for the tour...."

[beuxwhoyouare]

Getting Away with It

I almost got away with it. Truthfully, I didn't even know I would go as far as taking him out. But I mean he had it coming, I heard all the horrible things he had done that I could hear through the penthouse walls in the building I worked in. All the times he'd abuse a partner, slur people in the halls, not to mention act like he was a god because he made good money in sales or whatever.

He crossed a line one day, as I saw him nudge someone into the street nearly getting them hit by a bus. So sure was it right to take him out? Maybe not, but did I feel good taking one bad person off the streets...absolutely. Unfortunately, what I did was caught on camera and the legal system takes that narrative with no context and runs with it.

So I mean yeah I almost got away with a drastic good deed. But now I'm here on a life sentence for murder. I like routine in my day and in here the days are so regimented it's not exactly the kind of routine I find myself a fan of. I remained on good behaviour until the guards took pity on me and recommended me for supervised community service aid. Basically, still in jail but instead of working a job in jail, I could go out and help them clean garbage off the side of the road with parolees on the outside and random others doing a "good deed."

That's where I met Jacob. He was on parole for driving while intoxicated. Truthfully, I find that way worse than what I did. Like that feels so selfish...getting behind the wheel while drunk. Despicable. But clearly it's been the catalyst for him to turn his life around. He was in jail for a year and been on parole ever since. He started working out in jail while getting certified as a trainer. There aren't alot of jobs life after lockup that don't discriminate against you for your record so it makes sense that he'd want to do something where you can be your own boss.

We were in the van being taken to the stretch of highway in between developing parts of the city. It's crazy how looking north and south you can see parts of town and smack in the middle there's this road with tall weeds and shrubbery lining it. We were joined by a class of university student volunteers who were advised to keep their distance from us. Something we all sort of ignored since there's so much trash to pick up.

"Hey Lu, I gotta show you this thing this crazy old hippie gave me back in town." Jacob quietly told me as we scoured the brush for bottles.

"Dude we have things to do and I don't really want them to take me off this shift." I begrudgingly replied.

"Nah nah the guards aren't even looking at us they're flirting with the female students over there."

Sure enough our bozo headed guards were chatting it up with some girls that were supposed to be helping us. That's when I glanced over and saw Jacob holding what looked like an antiqued golden coin or rounded stone with a symbol scratched into it.

"The dude gave it to me in a box and said if you hold it in your hand and then make skin-to-skin contact with someone else you like transfer consciousness."

"So I see life on the outside is just as crazy as it is in here."

"You mean to tell me you don't even think it could be a little bit true? C'mon bro this could be your chance to get out out of jail. Shit if you don't try it I might as well. I'm tired of all these probationary restrictions. I just wanna hit restart."

"You're already out. It can't be that bad?" I said as I turned around to see him sneakily hurrying off towards one of the college students.

"Shit what is he doing."

I rushed over to where Jacob was and pulled him by the loops of his jeans to not cause a scene. Stopping straight next to one of the students picking up trash a little bit away from his group.

"Dude I don't know what you're aiming to do but if it doesn't work you're the one that's going to look like the insane paroled convict with an ambiguous item in his hand that could be misconstrued as a weapon."

"Listen, if it works it works, but if it doesn't there's no harm no foul and we can call it all a joke."

Before I could even protest, Jacob turned on his confident charisma to whistle over the nearby student. As the curious student walked closer I could hear the narrative Jacob was intricately weaving pretending to care about what he was studying and if he could tell us both more about it.

"I'm so sorry kid, I didn't even catch your name. I'm Jacob and this is Lu." he said with a devlish smile.

"I'm Mark." he said with a slight hesitance.

"Well Mark you shared so much with me can I share something with you? A party game you can take with you to your friends back at school?"

"Uh sure yeah."

"So you find a smaller coin or stone and one person places their hand on the bottom of it and the other on top. The person with their hand on the bottom has to try to and tap the person with their hand on top without flinching"

These rules made absolutely no sense and why would they Jacob's plan was himbo incarnate. Like it was so dim I could see Mark tense up and begin to shift away back towards his friends. He tried to say goodbye to Jacob but that's when I saw this crazed energy flood Jacob's eyes. The next things that happened felt like a blur in slow motion.

Mark turned around to return to his classmates with haste. Jacob quickly began following without running to not alert the guards yet shouting for him to wait up because it's all good fun. And before I knew it I took off running to stop Jacob from taking advantage of an innocent person.

Jacob leaped at Mark and tackled him to the ground but it's only the moment when I got there to break it up did the guards finally notice what was going on, rushing over.

He pulled the stone out and tried to grasp at Marks leg under his wider legged jean, while I reach out to stop that hand. THEN BAM. Everything became darker and several flashes of light happened.

When I came to the guards were pulling me up. I heard what I thought was Mark's voice saying the one in the jumpsuit attacked him. But I didn't run after him? As things pulled back into focus for my eyes after the darkened haze. I saw Mark being calmed down by a professor and a guard but then I saw who he was point at.....I was my body but I was to the other side.....

My body turned to me matching my confused expression and began crying hysterically asking what was going on. I looked down and saw the confirmation of what happened. I was wearing Jacob's clothing. And if my body's surprised too....then that means....God no!

The guards rangled up the convicts and put them all shackled back onto the van as another came to apologize to the university professor and her class along with "Mark". Another guard came up to me saying he knows that Lu is a murderer and that I didn't start any of this so I was getting a slap on the wrist, especially after "Mark" insisted I tried to stop the attack. The guards left and told the rest of us we could go.

The student approached me with that same devilish smile I recognized from before. His voice coming out unfamiliar in sound but with an all too familiar malice.

"Hey thank you again from saving me from that gruesome murderer mister. I didn't even catch your name. I'm Mark." he said with a wink.

"Jacob what the fuck are you doing?" I frantically asked.

"I'm giving you a way to get away with it all and me a clean start. But I gotta go back to school so here take my number down." the imposter student airdropped his details to me before scurrying away.

I was still in shock from everything that just happened. Like this cannot be real how the hell is this happening. Where do I go okay I can do this. I fumbled through my wallet as I searched for an address to head to. Eventually I made my way to Jacob's place. It was a hotel that was turned into extended stay studio.

I walked into the foreign "home" that was now all mine. My heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. This can't be happening that poor kid is now in jail. Oh god....wait. I'm not on the run why am I this stressed. Think think how do I fix this. An exercise ball peaked out from the side of the bed. My new athletic stature made me think maybe catering to it's physical senses could help me breath and calm down.

I did a few crunches but still felt a pang of guilt hitting my stomach. Oh god I need to fix this but where is the coin? I can't leave that kid incarcerated, that's robbing him of his whole life. Almost like clockwork my new phone buzzed with a text.

"Hey. Thanks again for saving me stud." the unknown number made itself known with that context.

"Jacob we need to fix this. That poor kid doesn't deserve this."

"Who's Jacob? This is Mark! And I think I deserve all the opportunity I've worked hard to get. Hey by any chance have bodily urges hit you? I'm not gay but after the incident when I saw you I got realllll hard all of sudden. I think this kid's gay or something."

I was furious reading these texts still skirting responsibility.

"Enough! Where are you we have to talk this is ridiculous."

The phone buzzed as I opened to see a location pin as a picture came in...my jaw dropped.

"Oh you wanna meet irl daddy? Come on over."

I stormed over to the location of the pin…I’m not going to let him get away with this.

[wirewitchviolet]

So I was already sitting down to ramble about something, and turns out this post and this big reply under it tie in pretty well, so, here we go.

There are enough bespoke issues trans people justifiably feel very passionate about, and enough different experiences different trans people have that it is damn easy to end up in a huge fight because one person tried to make a nice simple statement for a clueless cis audience, but viewed through another person's lens it reads like some kind of attack. And it certainly never helps that bigots are actively out there constantly trying to co-op messages and sew infighting that any statement no matter how clear and good WILL get weaponized.

Before I get into the above, the go-to example I was planning to use was "you don't have to transition to be trans." There's a ton of ways you can read that which are great and worth echoing. For instance, "hey, if you've worked out that people got your gender wrong, you are trans and can come hang out in the trans clubhouse and ask for advice and all that without proving it through medical intervention."

Or, "hey don't be a weird gatekeeping creep who only recognizes people's gender if they don't jump through a particular medical hoop like taking a particular medication or get a particular surgery, which might not be something they even want due to risks, side effects, or not seeing it as a problem to begin with, and/or might not be something they CAN do anything about, because the typical medical treatment would not work on them for any number of reasons/is prohibitively expensive/too socially dangerous to go forward with in their current situation/is only even done by like a couple dozen specialists in the world who are booked out years in advance and many of whom actively discriminate against all sorts of potential patients."

You can see how it's nice to have a short catchy phrase. BUT it's absolutely a reality that awful bigots these days are going with the wildly bad faith and not even remotely true reading of "it's OK to deny transition-related care to trans people, because they don't actually NEED it!"

And you know, regardless of where you're encountering this phrase, you should always bear in mind those points about being totally valid and welcome in the community without a signed doctor's note, and how it's completely valid to be, oh, a woman who's hung like a horse and proud of it and such women shouldn't be treated like they need to go see someone about that, give people the benefit of the doubt that they're using it in such a sense if there's any chance they are, and at the same time be on the lookout for bad faith creeps misusing it and taking whatever steps are necessary to prevent them from to or about any trans person again unless/until they somehow manage to stop being a hateful piece of garbage and somehow become a decent human being.

Phew. All THAT out of the, way, I take a fair deal of issue with seeing the comment above me saying "the 'not transgender' people in the poster are clearly intersex" because holy hell is that a bad faith reading. All the concerns regarding intersex kids following that jumping off point are super valid and worth mention, of course. Doctors are constantly looking at baby's junk, going "huh, that doesn't look right, lemme do a quick surgery I'm not even necessarily trained in to get this looking more like whichever configuration I personally prefer the aesthetics of here, that probably won't cause any long term memory problems or trauma and there's almost a 50/50 shot I'm guessing right about what this kid'll want things looking like down here in a couple decades!" And that is just incredibly messed up. As is the practice of just throwing, say, testosterone boosters at someone perceived to be a teenage boy who doesn't seem "manly enough" to someone, which is a general queer kid concern, sure.

But none of that is going on in this poster. What's going on is kids getting hit with puberty-related symptoms they do not want (specifically boobs beards and voice changes), clearly stating this, and asking for medical help to make them not happen. If we wanna play Occam's Razor with the kids plainly labelled as "not transgender," boys growing breasts is called gynecomastia and a quick Google search confirms that... it is completely useless as a search engine because it's giving me 20 conflicting reputable-looking sources ranging from 1% to 70% of teenage boys. Facial hair on cis women is also really freaking common, to a point where it being relatively rare if you're white specifically makes it feel more like a racism thing than anything.

The real thing to remember though is that the obvious reason this poster exists is to get people who are completely uneducated on any of this and have been steadily exposed to propaganda from transphobes for their entire lives to the point where they have a hard time imagining trans people as actual human beings to consider the concept of HRT from a clear perspective by taking us out of the equation for a moment and just making them try to empathise with kids dealing with some of the same stuff, and it has to make that point in less time than it takes someone to finish walking past this telephone pole or wherever else someone might place this. And... OK if I'm really honest it's probably still too wordy and reliant on people having SOME idea of what being trans even means, but it's pretty good within those restrictions! Don't overthink it! Really don't project stuff that absolutely is not actually on there onto it! Focus more on actual bigots and doing something about what they're doing than nitpicking people who are doing good effective activism work you'd phrase differently!

This is the first time i’ve seen a pro-trans poster in a long time and i hope whoever put it up is having a good day, it made me feel a little less alone.

Hamilton, New Zealand

[liyue-harbour]

starry-eyed & smug

wriothesley x reader, established relationship

summary: you noticed that wriothesley's been extra busy lately, so you decide to take him out for a picnic after things settled.

the night in fontaine was tranquil, a rare moment of calm after a day filled with the steady hum of city life. the usual hum of the city fades into the background, leaving only the soft lapping of water from the canals and the distant sound of chattering. you and wriothesley had left the fortress to enjoy a moment of quiet, tucked far enough out of sight to escape the endless responsibilities that always seemed to weigh on him.

the picnic was supposed to be a quick, casual thing—just some pastries some tea—but of course, wriothesley insisted on carrying the basket himself. you hadn’t even had the chance to protest before he’d made some smart remark about how it was 'too heavy' for you, even though the thing was light as a feather.

now, as you sat beside him, leaning against a stone bench by the canal, the last crumbs of your pastry scattered between the two of you, the quiet was almost too perfect. there was a full moon tonight, casting everything in a soft, silvery glow. fontaine looked especially beautiful from here, the canals lit up by lanterns and the city alive with a quiet hum from afar.

you’d been stealing glances at him for a while now—sometimes out of the corner of your eye, other times a little too obviously when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. but wriothesley always seemed to notice.

“you’ve been staring at me for the past five minutes,” he said, his tone relaxed but with a hint of amusement in it.

you froze, mid-reach for your cup of tea. crap.

“i wasn’t staring,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out way too fast. you tried to play it cool, glancing back at the distant lights on the canal like they were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. “i was just admiring the view.”

wriothesley raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into that teasing half-smile that always made your heart race. "the view, huh?” his voice was laced with a teasing edge. “not me?”

you quickly glanced away, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny. “yeah, the view. the actual view.” you muttered, but the words lacked their usual confidence.

wriothesley couldn't help but chuckle, the sound rich and comforting in the air. he shifted slightly, closing the gap between you, his shoulder brushing against yours. he didn't need to say anything; the way he was looking at you now told you everything. you were definitely caught.

your heart skipped, and you could feel the flush creeping up your neck. you opened your mouth to protest but found yourself at a loss for words, unable to tear your gaze from his teasing smirk.

“not going to deny it, are you?” he continued, his voice lowering in that calm, confident way that made you feel like you were the only person in the world. "you got a soft spot for me?"

you bit your lip, trying to suppress a smile. “it's not like you don't know... what's it to you?"

wriothesley didn't even hesitate. "nothing at all," he said, the warmth in his voice deepening. "you already know i have a soft spot for you, too."

you swallowed, pulse quickening at his words. even after everything— after all the moments you’d shared, the stolen glances, and the kisses— you still couldn’t get used to how the simplest words from him could make your heart flutter.

for a few moments, neither of you said anything. the silence wasn’t uncomfortable, though. it was the kind of quiet that wrapped around you like a warm blanket. just the sound of the water and the distant bustle of fontaine’s city life in the background.

then wriothesley nudged you again, just lightly this time, and you looked up to find him smiling that knowing smile of his. “well,” he began, voice still soft, “if you're going to keep staring at me, at least i should make it worth your while, right?”

you raised an eyebrow at him, though you sure pretty sure where this was going. “and what’s that supposed to mean?”

before you could confirm your suspicions, wriothesley leaned in, lips crashing onto yours, soft and slow, under the moonlit sky. when he pulled away, one hand brushes your lower lip while the other moves to wrap around your waist. “i’d say that’s worth a few stares, wouldn’t you?”

© liyue-harbour 2024 | masterlist

[v1rtualsalvat10n]

𓆩♡𓆪 for the first time

― luigi thinks of you in his cell. that's it that's the fic.

notes :: thank you for all the support to show my appreciation i would like to throw a rusty screwdriver into your hearts i love u guys!!

The thing they don't tell you about prison is that it's really cold.

No, seriously. It's really fucking cold, even here in NYC where it's already cold to begin with - it's like you're in the back of a deep freezer in a shitty jumpsuit, because you kind of are. It's cold enough that I have to curl up into a ball on my "bed", knees to my chest in order to try and stay warm.

And because I have nothing to do, I find myself staring at the white, emotionless wall, and doing that sort of thing is kind of a surefire way to get your mind to wander. One of the tried and true methods, if you will.

It's lonely here. Sure, the inmates like me, they're nice, but I mean... I'm not really in the mood to socialize with anyone. This whole ordeal has sucked the energy out of me. I've been being thrown around the country for days, ever since they found me.

I don't even want to think about what's happening outside of this place, either. I'm sure people have lots of thoughts and things to say about what I did.

I wonder if she saw it.

The news, I mean. Of course she saw it, who didn't? I bet her and all my old classmates and friends are probably talking about it, about me, what I'd done - right now. Trying to pick apart my motive, maybe grieving about the life I'd thrown away. Guess I had a lot ahead of me.

Can't help but wonder what she's thinking. I wonder if she's disappointed in me. Or maybe proud. Why am I thinking so much about what she thinks of me? It was one fling, from ages ago, I can't even remember when... at one of countless parties, and yet I still see how she looked underneath me so clearly.

It wasn't really just a fling. I talked to her about it - about how the system was falling apart (if it was ever together to begin with) and I felt the need to put all this privilege I'd been granted to good use. How I felt like I had to do something. She told me about herself, too, how she'd been fucked over time and time again and how she knew countless others who felt the same way.

Actually, yeah, we spent a lot of time together, thinking back on it. She'd come over on those cold winter nights I remember so fondly and we'd keep warm together, whatever way we could find. She was kind of... below me, I guess. Lower class. Not that I cared that much, though. Didn't make her any less of a lover.

And then I went radio silent. Then I figured out exactly what that thing I had to do was, and I put all my effort towards it. I didn't have time for love anymore. I had to take the chance I'd been given and fix things.

So I started leaving her on seen, stopped answering my door, even when she'd yell that she knew I was there, stopped showing up at the places I'd loved before, I stopped everything. Dropped off the map and left nothing but a ghost in my place.

She probably hates me.

I'd like to think that maybe this brings her solace... that maybe the idea that "it wasn't because you did something wrong" made her feel better, but I doubt it does.

When I get out of here, if I even do, she'll probably have forgotten all about me, because everybody forgets. I'll be old news by the time that day comes, and everything we did, everything we wanted to do - would just be a hazy memory.

I still remember seeing her for the first time. I remember the way her eyes pierced through my soul, and I remember how it made me feel inside.

I wonder if she remembers that too.

[jayktoralldaylong]

Thinking.

Thinking of Viktor sitting in the Council room for the first time as part of the council as they vote in favour of granting indepence to Zaun. Thinking of the little smile he shares with Mel and Jayce; their beaming happy faces at having avoided war and suffering. They're happy. Viktor is happy that he's used the time he has left to do good, even if he is only remembered for this one moment of peace, it is enough for him.

Then Jinx drops a bomb on his head. 😩😭💔

Thinking.

Thinking of Mel, giving up her family name and everything she'd ever known. Eager to take a step forward into the world Viktor and Jayce wanted to create. They'd already given up their council positions, and her name helped fuel her ambition but she was going to forge a whole new path for herself at the sides of those two dumbassess and she was so happy about it. Then a golden glow catches her eyes and she turns in time to note that there's a bomb coming.....and that her dream will always remain that. A dream.

Thinking.

Thinking about Jayce...... Who's usually slow when it comes to this kind of thing. 💀 I don't think he even saw the bomb. One second he was voting for peace, the next second....everything exploded. 💀😭

(It's such a shame that Arcane did not get the chance to explore Jinx literally blowing these three up. Then again, changed, Viktor probably wouldn't have cared, and they all had so much more going on anyway).

[vulpes-nothus]

I'm currently working on a game that is joining in this fight as well, but in a very different way.

Dungeon Plunder Specialists is a game that has a constantly rising number called Stress. Stress is the base target number for all rolls in the game, and goes up whenever a character gets tired, scared, frustrated, or risking the unknown.

Most of DPS is about managing Stress by making sure it never rises too high: plan like assassins and thieves, fight only when the odds are totally one sided in your party's favor, research everything about where you plan to be, take the safest routes to get there, bring fresh food and water, etc. Because once gained, there really is no way to lower Stress without eating and drinking and sleeping far away from danger.

BUTT

Accomplishing things feels good, and lowers Stress. DPS represents this with Ambitions, Aims, and Objectives.

Every character starts with a life or career goal called an Ambition. Completing Objectives that get your character one step closer to their Ambition doubles the Stress removed by completing the Objective.

Objectives are decided either at the start or at the end of a session, and is a discussion of "what do we want to do this(or next) session?" This is necessary, since it both lets the GM know what to prepare, and going without an Objective means screwing yourself over on your chance to remove Stress mid-game, in pretty much the only way that's possible.

Aims are mini Objectives that are blank at the start of a session, and get filled in as Stress rises. An Aim must be a step in a task towards an Objective or else a side task that works toward an Ambition. But remember, by the time Aims are available, your character is already kinda screwed, so it's better to just plan well so you don't need to go off mission.

So, what does this have to do with engagement?

EVERYTHING

Without an Ambition a player has no idea what kind of Objectives they even want to do. Without Objectives the GM has nothing to plan for and might as well not bother, since the players don't even care enough about their character survival to need ways to remove the thing that will make everything impossible to do. And it will be, because players who don't care enough to plan an Objective will not care enough to plan ways to avoid stress in the first place, since they won't stock up, they won't prepare supplies, they won't gather information, they won't scout out routes or check roads, and they will just try to walk in a straight line and get lost and starve and die.

DPS sessions will need players who fucking care, because the game sure as fuck won't.

There's this way of talking about tabletop games that just seems to imagine DMs as someone who isn't playing a game with their friends who they know and like and I don't get it. Are people hiring DMs in enough numbers that this is normal?

Or is the community just so brainrotted the fundamental relationship between players and dms has to be what, aersolised

[shepherds-of-haven]

Hi! I noticed you mentioning that tumblr sometimes doesn't show you the shepherd fan art, fics and all when you serach it. Idk if you know but you can follow tags, like shepherds of haven, shoh fanart, chase trinaeste and all the relevent ones. It should show you or at least increase the chances of showing them on your dashbord when they are posted. I hope this is helpful, if not, sorry! Please ignore! Love your work <3

Hi, thanks for the tip! I do follow all of the tags that you noted, but I'm either not on Tumblr enough to see them on my dash (I'm probably actively browsing for less than half an hour a day) or things get crowded out by other blogs/tags/posts, or both, which is why I try to use the search to make sure I'm not missing things every once in a while, when I can! Unfortunately many of those tags are then inundated with my own posts when using the site search function, lol, but even then, I've noticed that some posts don't show up for me at random times, especially if I'm using the new Patio feature. Hellsite hours! But I do my best every few weeks/once a month when I remember to! Thanks for looking out and for your kind words! :) <3

[justawrites]

(Wip/Sketch) The Resurrection of a Heretic

You can definitely tell I got really tired after the first few pages but! It's done! Kinda! Pencil and paper sketch but it's done!

It's 3:30 AM so I really need to sleep, but tomorrow I'll add a read-more page by page transcription bc I know my handwriting isn't the easiest thing to read. Heavily recommend viewing in a new tab lol.

Had the Lamb chosen ANY other godless than Wren, and done it any earlier than before Narinder married them, Narinder would have been pissed about this. And unfortunately for Wren, being resurrected while being godless leaves its marks.

Anyway, Lamb stop breaking the laws of Faith for five seconds challenge, level impossible

Transcription below the cut

PAGE 1

Lamb: WREN! Hi! Wren: Hello, Lamb. Lamb, falling back into the water: Baa! Wren: Lamb!

PAGE 2

Wren: You are really bad at getting out of that pond... Lamb: It's the fleece. It's heavy when wet. Wren: Maybe you should forego it when visiting here? Lamb: And not look cool? No way! Wren: Almost drowning in a pool in the spectral plane does not sound very "cool," but to each their own...

PAGE 3 (timeskip, after unseen conversation in which Lamb suggests resurrecting Wren)

Wren: I... am not sure that is a good idea, Lamb. I have been dead for a hundred years now. I am not sure I know how to live anymore. Lamb: It'll be okay- Narinder and I will help you.

Lamb: Since you're not one of my followers, I need your actual body. Wren, as a ghost in the living world: My children will kill you if they see you digging up my grave. Lamb: Don't worry- it's handled!

Elloi (Narinder and Wren's middle daughter, all grown up): Not that we do not appreciate the visit, but our Father is visiting with you...? Kallamar: HAHA I missed my nieces, of course! Kallamar, thinking to himself: You owe me, Lamb! (A small text points to Kallamar, reading " "handling" it")

Wren: I am not sure our brother-in-law is up to that task. My girls are sharp. Lamb, offscreen: I have faith in him. Wren: At least one of us does.

PAGE 4

Wren: Also, uh- a hundred years? My body is nothing but bones and shrouds. Oh, and my death mask... Lamb: That's fine, as long as they're your bones, it will work. Wren: Should... I be worried? Lamb: No, no! I've tested it! Wren: Okay, I'm worried. Lamb: Hey!

Wren: Did you just shove my skeleton in your Crown? Lamb: Well I'm not about to walk out with it in my arms. Your daughters would try to kill me then...

Lamb: Think they'll notice the grave is disturbed? Wren: Minuit visits every morning, so yes. Lamb: Hm. So I should finish this before morning. Wren: If I come back as a zombie, I will bite you. Lamb: Promise? Wren: Lamb! Lamb: I'm kidding!

Lamb: I will miss being able to visit you on a whim, though. Wren: ...

Wren: Well, knowing you, me being alive again will not stop you... Lamb: True. You'll never escape me. We're like- spouse-in-laws or something! Wren: ... Not how it works, but yes, I suppose.

PAGE 5

Lamb: Kallamar is distracting your daughters, but the others should give me enough devotion for this- you know, being gods and Witnesses. Wren: I do not know, no. Lamb: Should I invite Nari? Wren: He will recognize a godless shroud. He might not let you go through with it, if he knows. Not to mention my mask... Lamb: Good point... I'm sure he won't mind if we surprise him!

Lamb: Wait, can you teleport? Wren: I am attached to you right now, so I will be dragged with you. Lamb: Cool....

Wren: I will admit, I will miss floating around like this. Lamb: You'd prefer to stay as a ghost? Wren: Now I did not say that.

Wren: It would take a stronger man than I to pass up the chance to touch their husband again...

Lamb: Oh, I see where your mind is~ Wren: Hold on- get your mind out of the ditch!

Wren: Thank you for not just dropping my skeleton. Lamb: Well, that would be rude. Wren: Kind of like shoving it in a bag... Lamb: It wasn't a bag!

Lamb: I need to put a mark on your skeleton... preferably somewhere subtle. It'll still be visible when you're alive again- any preference? Wren: Not really? Just do not be... weird about it. Lamb: Your hand, then.

PAGE 6

Wren: That is a strange symbol. What is it? Lamb: A modification of an immortality symbol. For my followers, it keeps them from aging- but this version helps me reverse your death. I think it helps meld the body and soul? It's very different from resurrecting my followers...

Lamb: Took me 50 years to think of this... It would not work before that. Wren: You... have been trying to revive me for 50 years?

Lamb: Oh- should I remove your mask? Wren: I would rather not see my own skull. Lamb: You'll be smelling whatever's inside when you wake up if I don't. Wren: ... Yes, remove it please.

Small text pointing to a cloaked Heket and Leshy reads "can't see or hear Wren."

Lamb: Okay! Ready! Wren, just float above your body! Leshy, Heket, Shamura- Witnesses, around the circle.

PAGE 7

Wren: Oh this is weird. Huh...

PAGE 8

Wren, thinking: What do I... do? This feels...

Wren, thinking: strange. Narinder, thinking: Where has everyone gone-?

Narinder: What. Is that Lamb doing now.

PAGE 9

Wren, thinking: It... worked. Wait, how do I breathe-

Shamura, offscreen: Relax.

Shamura: Your body will breathe on its own. Just relax. My siblings and I have been where you are.

Wren, breathing out: Thank you...

PAGE 10

Lamb: It worked! yes! How are you feeling?

Wren: Like I need a bath. Desperately.

Leshy: And clean clothes I bet. Lamb: Yeah, death shrouds a hundred years old is probably not a great feel...

Lamb: Come on- let's get you cleaned up. Wren: Okay... thank you.

text pointing to Wren reads "first bath in 100 years"

Lamb: Quick question- were you... wanting to keep this? Wren: My death shroud?? No?? It is a hundred years old and decaying... Lamb: Just making sure before I burn it.

Wren: I do want to keep the mask, though. Lamb: Got it. text pointing to the Lamb and the shroud reads "sets on fire"

text above the tub Wren is in reads "dunks head"

PAGE 11

Narinder: Lamb, I need to spea- Lamb: NARINDER!

Narinder: Gah! Lamb: Don't come in! You'll ruin the surprise! Narinder: Why are you short-?

Narinder, offscreen: Lamb! We are married! I have seen you naked before! We have bathed together!

Lamb, offscreen: Sorry, Nari- this is a surprise for you, so- please, just wait downstairs? Narinder: Would this have something to do with that ritual from earlier? Lamb: ... Maybe. Narinder: Fine, I will be downstairs. In the library.

Lamb: Hey, got you some robes- Wren: LAMB! Privacy!! Lamb: Relax, you've got nothing I haven't seen before. Wren: I DO NOT CARE- Lamb: You're gonna ruin your hair drying it like that-

PAGE 12

Wren: If you put your symbol on me I will hit you. Lamb: Too late, it's already on your hand. Wren: I meant that triangle thing, actually. Lamb: Oh- don't worry, the robe is symbol-free.

Wren: So this is permanent? Lamb: yeah, sorry- in all my experiments, removing it did... weird things. Wren: How did you "experiment," anyway? Lamb: Let's not talk about that...

Lamb: I think I liked what you wore in the After better. Wren: Mm, but that was a bit... gravity-defying. Lamb: Bet I could figure it out...

Wren: Being alive feels so weird... Lamb: yeah, I get it.

PAGE 13

Narinder: There you are, Lamb. Now, what did you-

Wren: Hello again, love.

Narinder: Wren...? How...? Wren: The Lamb is stubborn.

Narinder: You died... You are godless... The Lamb should not have been able to... Wren: They would not take that as an answer.

Wren: Besides, you have done the impossible before, too.

PAGE 14

Lamb: Soo you're not mad that I went behind your back to revive a godless person?

Text reads "Grabs"

Narinder: Do not ever do that again. ... But no. I am not mad. This time.

Lamb: Well, if Wren died again, I make no promises... but no one else. Not many ghosts with bodies still around, anyway...

Narinder: You are the most stubborn god I know. Thank you...

[fishbananasstuff]

“I’ll do anything for you”🎀

Additional tags: fem!reader pov, the reader is HORNY AS FUCK, age gap, asphyx!at!on, d!rty talk1ng, thr3at3ning (the reader likes it), violence, hair pulling, br€€ding k1nk, humiliation, heavy degrading, rough s€x, verbal humiliation, my first time writing smut please don't attack me guys

I was your student, a high achiever who tried her best to complete all quizzes, tests, and finals with a near-perfect score. Under that nerdy cover, I am head over heels for you. You’d trust me enough to let me be alone in your classroom, little did you know that—I secretly sniff your trench coat, your tie, your jacket, and your shirt while pleasuring myself with my vibrator. I buried my face into your clothes muffling my moans while inhaling your intoxicating scent. One day you asked me to help you set up the lab materials for the next class. I planned to wear a white blouse, dark grey mini pleated skirt, and black stockings then throw on a white lab coat showing off respectability but under that coat, is this:

(technically I changed my outfit the moment you tell me to come to your classroom)

I enter your lab but you’re not here. Kind of disappointing but I start to set up the laboratory equipment for my classmates.

*door unlocks*

I turned around looking at you ready to say ‘hello!’ instead of seeing your serene look, your face was dead serious not in a good way. The silence grows louder but then breaks by the sounds of your footsteps walking toward me.

"Heyyyyy. How are you doing? I'm almost done setting things up. Want to drink something?" just me pathetically trying to ease down the awkwardness in the room.

"I have something interesting to share with you sweetheart"

You grabbed the collar of my white lab coat scanning it for a second then rip my coat peaks causing the buttons to yank apart. You don’t even give me a chance to react…you cupped my cheek—

“You thought I don't know your little perverted scheme? Hm? Inhaling my clothes, touching yourself—Oh not to mention about that little journal you accidentally left it last class. I found out a lot of interesting things about you…to know more what is going on in your mind” Couple of days ago I lost my small notebook, I was in distress trying to look for it everywhere, straight fear shoot up my brain hoping that no one will look into it but I didn’t expect that it would be you. Tears start to form around the corner of my eyes as I kneel before you in fear, “Please—please don’t tell my parents!! I’m begging you please I know what I did was wrong—I’m sorry I couldn’t help it!” It’s so gut wrenching to get exposed like this especially with my own teacher, I feel like jumping off a bridge right now. You pull a chair over to sit down in front of me

“Are you really that desperate?”

“Y-yes…”

“Anything?”

I nods, small droplets of sweat trailing down my neck

“Well then—prove it” Your shoes nudge between my legs my cunt “Grind on my shoe. Only cum when I tell you to. If you cum without my permission, I’ll make sure you’ll suffer in the worse way possible” I hug your leg and then begin to grind. I don’t care if this is unethical I have been waiting for this moment to be this close to you, feeling my wet cunt against your shoe; riding it. You continued to make eye contact with me so I nuzzled against your pants hiding my face but it was just another excuse for me to inhale your scent.You smell heavenly divine it drives me fucking insane—and I don't mind being perverted as long as it comes to you. I will let you humiliate me anyway, degrade me, inflict any kind of physical pain on me, verbally abuse me, spank me, slap me, slut-shame me, threaten me—literally destroy my—

. . .

Oh.

I slowly turn my head up to look at you; just pure disappointment written on your face.

“Wait—I’m—

I yelp from you stepping on my cunt

“Huh…usually you would successfully complete any tasks that I gave you”you grabbed a fistful of my hair—“you truly have disappointed me. Take this punishment as future references so I don’t have to see this pathetic effort of yours”

Your tone completely changed,“Get up and lay your back on the table” you take off my tie and tied my wrist together.

“Close your eyes.” I feel the fabric brushes against my skin as my surroundings fade into darkness. My calves are tied I’m terrified of what you’re gonna do next but some part of me is kind of into this dominating stuff. I feel your cold hands groping my thighs beneath my red stockings as well then the coldness starts to trail up to my cunt. You forcefully rip out my soaking wet panties, I heard you playfully scoff seeing how horny I am for you. *zip* Oh god. It’s so..huge…I’m now even more terrified. I feel you rubbing the tip against my clit using my juices as lubricant, as if you’re teasing me.

“Huh. H-Hold on—”

You wasted no time in shoving your cock inside me. I let out a deliberate yelp but I remembered I had to stay quiet since school was still ongoing so I bit my lip hard. I listen to you grunting as you thrust deeper, I can feel my cervix being violated. It’s so fucking big I can’t hold in my moans anymore—

“Shhhh…sweetheart don’t be too loud now.”

I feel you pull your cock out and slam it back into me making my head jerk back. I feel like my womb is dripping out—

“Sweetheart…be quiet now~”

A slap delivered on my face after I continued to moan like a bitch in heat

“Aw…does that hurt? You're so cockdrunk that a slap is not effecting you at all—I guess I have to shut you up by force then—”

A strong hand wrapped around my neck with a sadistic smirk, you tighten your grip on my neck even to make me squirm and gasp for breath. My body arches off the table, my chest heaving against the cold, hard surface. Your other hand starts to grope my breast through the fabric of my shirt, eliciting a muffled cry from my constricted throat. My face begins to turn blue as foam and drool start to drip down my mouth. I land some soft pats on your hands to loosen up a bit. You lean in closer, your cock still buried deep inside me abusing my cervix with each thrust, “You like this, you wanted this. I’m just making your fantasy a reality but don't worry, I'm more than happy to oblige. If you can hold your breath for one minute—I will reward you. Don’t you want that from your favorite teacher? Hm?” I continued to main while being to choked like a dragged doll.

“Choking while moaning…What a–” you slap my thighs “–fucking pervert. I would've never thought my student would be an undercover slut” 

You lean back still grinding into me also giving me a moment to compose myself, my heart races as I take a deep breath and nod, willing myself to endure the coming torment. Your hand squeezes around my neck once again resuming violating my hole. You start to count out loud, each number punctuated by a vicious thrust of your hips. The pressure in my lungs builds, and stars dance in my vision. You're relentless, holding my tied wrists while thrusting deeper and harder, each thrust increases my lust for you. “Four... five... six…” I'm getting dizzy, my body desperately craving air, but I hold on, thinking of the sweet release I'll get if I can just last a little longer. “Seven... eight... nine…” Fifty seconds in, “Almost there, sweetheart. “C’mon, you can do it…Imagine me filling up your tiny womb, claiming you, making you mine in every way” The sweet words send a shiver down my spine causing me to clench around your cock involuntarily. 

 “Oh, you like that, don't you? The thought of being my little fucktoy, being used by me in every way possible to the point when I am the only person that you can think of when you’re horny. I am the only person you need in this life when I tell you to get down on your knees, you’ll get down on your knees, when I tell you to take my load inside you, you’ll take it without defying me. Do you understand?” I nods multiple times. Tears stream down my face wetting the blindfold, but I refuse to disobey you. You finally finished counting "Fifty-nine... sixty." You release my neck, and I start coughing violently, drool traveling down to my chin and dripping down on the table.  “Good girl…” you praise me with a tone filled with lust. 

“Here’s my reward for you, a big one.” With a final powerful thrust, you release a deep groan filling me with a hot thick load of cum. My body convulses in pleasure and pain; I can't help but cough and moan at the same time. Looks like we found your new favorite pastime," you sneer, pulling out of me and leaving me trembling on the table still gasping for air. After you've had your fill of my trembling body, you finally withdraw from me, your cock glistening with my juices and your cum. You remove the blindfold, and I blink against the harsh light, my eyes immediately drawn to your handsome face. You wipe off my face full of tears, drool, and cum that you shove to my mouth; a stark contrast to the pristine lab coat I wore when I first walked in. You smirk, taking in the sight of me, pathetically sprawled over your desk with my wrists still bound. “Look at yourself,” you murmur, your voice thick with satisfaction. “Such a pretty little slut, all used up…” My cheeks burn with embarrassment, I try to look away, but you grab my chin to meet your gaze. “Don’t be ashamed of yourself, I think I like this side of you” Sweet reassuring words just make me fall head over heels for you even more. “And we're going to have extra tutoring at my place. Be there on time, don’t make me wait, okay?” you land a kiss on my head as an extra reward, I assumed? The reality of my new role sinks in—I'm going to be at your mercy, subject to whatever depraved desires you have. Like an obedient dog who is satisfied with whatever the owner give to them ♡

[cactuskat]

I came here for Scalene and Euclid headcanons but reading your last suggestion I feel like I could add for some brainstorming

If you really wanted cute childhood puppy-love billford:

It might seem a little convoluted, but the more I thought out about it the more I started to love it. Euclydia can be destroyed, be it by Bill's Parents or Bill himself. The Universe's destruction leaves the remaining "space" unstable, creating dimensional tears, time rifts, and the kinds of space-time holes we don't even have names in the universe's husk. Bill isn't destroyed, he is ejected from the dimension (maybe due to his mutation or the pure force it would take to destroy a universe (This also suggests other Euclydean things get ejected but this ain't about them))

Billy could be flung into the multiverse through one these, but going through that kind of unstable opening would leave you a bit "unstable" as well. This could act as an explanation for powers if you want to give him powers akin to canon Bill Cipher, and also lead to the important part of making this work: rifts sort of just appearing around Bill, and he doesn't have much control over it

Bill spends his life in the multiverse, an involuntary nomad, flickering about space an time the little scamp, causing mayhem (He is still Bill, and being dragged around time and space with no parental figures or rules is going to mess you up a little bit). He's on the run from both the Time Police, Inter-Dimensional fostercare , and various other intergalactic/dimensional government entities, your choice on how aware of this he is

Because of the rifts he's been flung through, ping-ponged through time, while it's been trillions of years since the destruction of Euclydia to it's basically only been maybe a decade or so, placing him mentally and physically at 12/13, or whatever the Euclydean's equivalent is

Here's one of my favorite parts: Thanks to Gravity Fall's magnetism to the weird, Billy is naturally pulled towards it, so he more than any other location, Bill just appears in Gravity Falls. This leads to him being sort of cryptid and local legend. Weird little legged-tringle just walking in the woods, disapearing in the blink of an eye, you can't tell me that doesn't sound like a cryptid

With ALLLLL that set up, we can finally get some Billford. Ford is utterly fascinated getting meet/be friends with a real life cryptid (a pleasant break from the usual monsters and chaos that follow the pines twins), meanwhile Bill is thrilled to have someone taking an interest to show show off to

Some Concepts

Seeing Billy occasionally in the background, watching these weird kids

Billy appearing in time travel episodes

Billy joining in on adventures infrequently, but disappearing at the most inconvenient times

Ford's slowly growing crush on Billy, much to Stan's confusion, side-eyeing, and teasing ("I thought you didn't like bad boys" "I- I don't! He's just a fascinating entity" "HEY SIXER WANT SOME HUMAN TEETH CAN I FOUND SOME HUMAN TEETH AND THINK YOU'D LIKE THEM" "Sure! Thanks" "*Stan squiting at Ford* "When am I going to get a chance to examine human teeth" "WHY WOULD YOU NEED TO EXAMINE HUMAN TEETH FORD")

Dipper being distrustful of Bill because of how similar he looks/is to Euclid and Scalene, that could be a whole mini-arch

Bill and his parents being unaware of each other (somehow)

Billy's most consistent appearances being during Weirdmageddon. Seeing his parents are alive, are villains, and are trying to kill his friends. Finally getting control of his rift abilities. Reuniting/having a heart to heart with his parents that seems to get through to them but doesn't, though it acted as a long enough diversion to allow the whole memory erasing plot to get properly prepared

Bill visiting his parents at the Theraprism once he gets over the attempted murder

now that the billford divorce has been revealed

WHAT THE HELL ARE YA'LL GONNA DO WITH THE RELATIVITY FALLS AU??

HUH???

BILLDIP CAN'T BE YOUR SOLUTION!

AND OBVIOUSLY NO BILLFORD

WILL THERE BE NOTHING??

WHAT ARE THE IMPLICATIONS NOW????????????

[bwat5-blog]

The Pitfighter

**Spoilers For All of Arcane**

Two minutes, fifty-nine seconds. That my friends, is how long we spend with Vi during perhaps one of the most significant periods in her character's story. In the beginning of her story, Violet is a character who lives for those she loves. They are her tethers. To protect them and be with them is what drives her on, because as we will come to understand she does not see that she is worthy of that same love and protection. Not in the beginning.

And from the time we meet her after the time jump in season 1 until this point, we are seeing those tethers ripped away from her. The hope she has held onto of finding Powder and making amends, ended with her perched over her little sister as she told Vi she was ready to die, and that she was glad Vi was going to kill her.

Her hope and belief in Caitlyn, who rescued her from that hellish darkness from which she had no chance of escape, for whom she put on the uniform, ended as the only Enforcer to ever show her kindness struck her, and told her she was no different than the woman who killed her mother. Walking away from her as she cried.

Her pride and identity as one of the of the fissure folk, has been tarnished and betrayed by her own hand. She tried to do the right thing, but at the end of the day, she wore the symbol of her people's oppressors, and did violence in the streets of her birth.

There is nuance and depth to all of these situations, but my point in listing them this way is that Vi has had everything holding her together taken away. This period, which there is so little detail about the best I can find for an official length of time is "a few months", is Vi falling through darkness without end.

And as we know, it is from that darkness that she rises stronger and more resolute. She comes to love her sister as the woman she is now, not the ghost Vi was holding onto. She protects Jinx and Isha from Warwick until they get through to Vander allowing their family to know even a brief moment of joy. She is able to trust, and believe in Caitlyn after the time spent seeing the good in her sister. It is not that this period of her life is important because it does not end, but because it does. It is the ending of who Vi was, and the beginning of who she becomes.

"Is there any question of the meaning of what we were shown? It's clear what she is going through and that's enough"

"Some people don't understand the meaning of show, don't tell"

"If you need everything spelled out for you this level of adult media is not for you"

I have seen these points. I have discussed them with some of you, and some of you who have been kind enough to keep up with my writing share some of these beliefs. And that is your right. I don't mean any disrespect to you, or the wonderful and immensely talented people who brought us this story. But, simply and plainly put. I do not, and cannot agree. If all that you require of a story is to understand the plot than I have good news my friends. Hang up your spurs and open Wikipedia. The plot summary should be all that you require.

I understand the value of show don't tell. Truly I do. And its use in this show gives many of our most wonderful moments. The softening of Caitlyn's eyes the moment after she hits Vi... the horror on Violet's face as she sits on top of Jinx preparing to end her life, and sees Powder... There are countless more examples and the creatives behind this have used it to create a powerful story full of meaning that has infinite rewatch value. And I said, it's not that the meaning is not conveyed here.

Her muscle mass is decidedly less as it goes on, showing us she is taking worse and worse care of herself.

There are multiple flashes of Jinx in the crowd, watching her, (in my mind she is watching over her in the best way Jinx can process but I suppose that is up to interpretation)

Vi is ticking away the time on her wall like she is in a prison cell

She stops cleaning off her makeup after a point

None of her hallucinations of Caitlyn are in her strike team phase. They are all of the Caitlyn who was kind and loving to Vi.

There are more details I could list that many others have. Again, and I cannot emphasize this enough, it is NOT that they do not accurately and completely convey the meaning of what is occuring. But that is just not all that matters.

Those of you who keep up with my grouchy unhinged rambling, have seen my use the same phrase repeatedly in one form or another.

"Stand up for the stories that matter"

I believe the story of Arcane matters. Not because of the magic, or the fun creatures, or the cool steampunk technology, but because at it's core, it is quite possibly the most achingly human story I have seen in many years. Each character's story has been crafted with such care, their struggles and hopes and dreams layering together in such a way that they have captured the attention of people all over the world.

I have corresponded with people who have shared truly inspirational changes in their lives, because of the way in which this story connected with them. It matters. And I came here and started discussing this incredible saga with all of you because I have believed that since I was very young, and I always will. So I say this with all of the respect in the world. Feel free to condescend all that you wish, about the need of those who feel as I do to have the story "spoon fed" to us. The desire to fully understand the weight of the heroes' journey, will always be a step to the betterment of humanity.

Let me also say, that I truly have endless respect for those who brought this story to us. I should think it is quite clear from the amount of writing I have done these past several weeks, that I have deep love for what they have done. And I fully and completely admit that in real world application, there are endless complications and restrictions that resulted in the pacing and decisions of season 2, that an average person like myself does not understand. I am not in any way speaking on whatever production decision lead to this being handled in this way. And I can admit that it may be there were such restrictions, that meant it was impossible for this to be handled in any way.

But for the weight of this moment in Violet's story, for its importance in the journey of a character who cannot put herself first to the point it harms her, to sit with her in that moment where all that is left is her pain... two minutes, and fifty-nine seconds.

"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you" - Maya Angelou, I know why the caged bird sings (1969)

[brofightiscancelled]

okay ill bite why do u hate kaoru sakuraba sidem aside from the fact that they went from hokuto as a main blue to downgrade to kaoru. to make it less awkward that I’m asking abt sidem on ur osomatsu side blog, what sidem idols would u assign to each matsu ?

i think sideM should collab w osomatsu-san and put them all in Beit so they can all get JOBS!!!!!!

anyways i hate kaoru from idolmaster sideM. i need all my osomatsu-san side blog followers to know that i hate this man. "i need a lot of money fast to pursue an extremely niche medical research track, which is why i quit my stable and high paying job as a surgeon to become an idol while having no soft skills, physical strength or stamina, or interest in getting along with people" are you Stupid??

he's not even using his idol clout to spread awareness of the rare disease he's trying to cure (like SEM does) so it can secure funding, he sees it 100% as a job and refuses to have fun, he is actively unpleasant and uncooperative in every interaction with his coworkers because he's trying to "rise to the top". it seems like the only thing he has going for him are his looks and that he kind of liked to sing when he was a kid. why not become a model at that point when you have the personality of a wet tree trunk. or better yet why not STAY A FUCKING DOCTOR!!!!!

also, i don't like meganes, so write that down.

[greenerteacups]

oooh please someday tell us what you think of GOT

oh, no, it's my fatal weakness! it's [checks notes] literally just the bare modicum of temptation! okay you got me.

SO. in order to tell what's wrong with game of thrones you kind of have to have read the books, because the books are the reason the show goes off the rails. i actually blame the showrunners relatively little in proportion to GRRM for how bad the show was (which I'm not gonna rehash here because if you're interested in GOT in any capacity you've already seen that horse flogged to death). people debate when GOT "got bad" in terms of writing, but regardless of when you think it dropped off, everyone agrees the quality declined sharply in season 8, and to a certain extent, season 7. these are the seasons that are more or less entirely spun from whole cloth, because season 7 marks the beginning of what will, if we ever see it, be the Winds of Winter storyline. it's the first part that isn't based on a book by George R.R. Martin. it's said that he gave the showrunners plot outlines, but we don't know how detailed they were, or how much the writers diverged from the blueprint — and honestly, considering the cumulative changes made to the story by that point, some stark divergence would have been required. (there's a reason for this. i'll get there in a sec.)

so far, i'm not saying anything all that original. a lot of people recognized how bad the show got as soon as they ran out of Book to adapt. (I think it's kind of weird that they agreed to make a show about an unfinished series in the first place — did GRRM figure that this was his one shot at a really good HBO adaptation, and forego misgivings about his ability to write two full books in however many years it took to adapt? did he think they would wait for him? did he not care that the series would eventually spoil his magnum opus, which he's spent the last three decades of his life writing? perplexing.) but the more interesting question is why the show got bad once it ran out of Book, because in my mind, that's not a given. a lot of great shows depart from the books they were based on. fanfiction does exactly that, all the time! if you have good writers who understand the characters they're working with, departure means a different story, not a worse one. now, the natural reply would be to say that the writers of GOT just aren't good, or at least aren't good at the things that make for great television, and that's why they needed the books as a structure, but I don't think that's true or fair, either. books and television are very different things. the pacing of a book is totally different from the pacing of a television show, and even an episodic book like ASOIAF is going to need a lot of work before it's remotely watchable as a series. bad writers cannot make great series of television, regardless of how good their source material is. sure, they didn't invent the characters of tyrion lannister and daenerys targaryen, but they sure as hell understood story structure well enough to write a damn compelling season of TV about them!

so but then: what gives? i actually do think it's a problem with the books! the show starts out as very faithful to the early books (namely, A Game of Thrones and A Clash of Kings) to the point that most plotlines are copied beat-for-beat. the story is constructed a little differently, and it's definitely condensed, but the meat is still there. and not surprisingly, the early books in ASOIAF are very tightly written. for how long they are, you wouldn't expect it, but on every page of those books, the plot is racing. you can practically watch george trying to beat the fucking clock. and he does! useful context here is that he originally thought GOT was going to be a trilogy, and so the scope of most threads in the first book or two would have been much smaller. it also helps that the first three books are in some respects self-contained stories. the first book is a mystery, the second and third are espionage and war dramas — and they're kept tight in order to serve those respective plots.

the trouble begins with A Feast for Crows, and arguably A Storm of Swords, because GRRM starts multiplying plotlines and treating the series as a story, rather than each individual book. he also massively underestimated the number of pages it would take him to get through certain plot beats — an assumption whose foundation is unclear, because from a reader's standpoint, there is a fucke tonne of shit in Feast and Dance that's spurious. I'm not talking about Brienne's Riverlands storyline (which I adore thematically but speaking honestly should have been its own novella, not a part of Feast proper). I'm talking about whole chapters where Tyrion is sitting on his ass in the river, just talking to people. (will I eat crow about this if these pay off in hugely satisfying ways in Winds or Dream? oh, totally. my brothers, i will gorge myself on sweet sweet corvid. i will wear a dunce cap in the square, and gleefully, if these turn out to not have been wastes of time. the fact that i am writing this means i am willing to stake a non-negligible amount of pride on the prediction that that will not happen). I'm talking about scenes where the characters stare at each other and talk idly about things that have already happened while the author describes things we already have seen in excruciating detail. i'm talking about threads that, while forgivable in a different novel, are unforgivable in this one, because you are neglecting your main characters and their story. and don't tell me you think that a day-by-day account tyrion's river cruise is necessary to telling his story, because in the count of monte cristo, the main guy disappears for nine years and comes hurtling back into the story as a vengeful aristocrat! and while time jumps like that don't work for everything, they certainly do work if what you're talking about isn't a major story thread!

now put aside whether or not all these meandering, unconcluded threads are enjoyable to read (as, in fairness, they often are!). think about them as if you're a tv showrunner. these bad boys are your worst nightmare. because while you know the author put them in for a reason, you haven't read the conclusion to the arc, so you don't know what that reason is. and even if the author tells you in broad strokes how things are going to end for any particular character (and this is a big "if," because GRRM's whole style is that he lets plots "develop as he goes," so I'm not actually convinced that he does have endings written out for most major characters), that still doesn't help you get them from point A (meandering storyline) to point B (actual conclusion). oh, and by the way, you have under a year to write this full season of television, while GRRM has been thinking about how to end the books for at least 10. all of this means you have to basically call an audible on whether or not certain arcs are going to pay off, and, if they are, whether they make for good television, and hence are worth writing. and you have to do that for every. single. unfinished. story. in the books.

here's an example: in the books, Quentin Martell goes on a quest to marry Daenerys and gain a dragon. many chapters are spent detailing this quest. spoiler alert: he fails, and he gets charbroiled by dragons. GRRM includes this plot to set up the actions of House Martell in Winds, but the problem is that we don't know what House Martell does in Winds, because (see above) the book DNE. So, although we can reliably bet that the showrunners understand (1) Daenerys is coming to Westeros with her 3 fantasy nukes, and (2) at some point they're gonna have to deal with the invasion of frozombies from Canada, that DOESN'T mean they necessarily know exactly what's going to happen to Dorne, or House Martell. i mean, fuck! we don't even know if Martin knows what's going to happen to Dorne or House Martell, because he's said he's the kind of writer who doesn't set shit out beforehand! so for every "Cersei defaults on millions of dragons in loans from the notorious Bank of Nobody Fucks With Us, assumes this will have no repercussions for her reign or Westerosi politics in general" plotline — which might as well have a big glaring THIS WILL BE IMPORTANT stamp on top of the chapter heading — you have Arianne Martell trying to do a coup/parent trap switcheroo with Myrcella, or Euron the Goffick Antichrist, or Faegon Targaryen and JonCon preparing a Blackfyre restoration, or anything else that might pan out — but might not! And while that uncertainty about what's important to the "overall story" might be a realistic way of depicting human beings in a world ruled by chance and not Destiny, it makes for much better reading than viewing, because Game of Thrones as a fantasy television series was based on the first three books, which are much more traditional "there is a plot and main characters and you can generally tell who they are" kind of book. I see Feast and Dance as a kind of soft reboot for the series in this respect, because they recenter the story around a much larger cast and cast a much broader net in terms of which characters "deserve" narrative attention.

but if you're making a season of television, you can't do that, because you've already set up the basic premise and pacing of your story, and you can't suddenly pivot into a long-form tone poem about the horrors of war. so you have to cut something. but what are you gonna cut? bear in mind that you can't just Forget About Dorne, or the Iron Islands, or the Vale, or the North, or pretty much any region of the story, because it's all interconnected, but to fit in everything from the books would require pacing of the sort that no reasonable audience would ever tolerate. and bear in mind that the later books sprout a lot more of these baby-plots that could go somewhere, but also might end up being secondary or tertiary to the "main story," which, at the end of the day, is about dragons and ice zombies and the rot at the heart of the feudal power system glorified in classical fantasy. that's the story that you as the showrunner absolutely must give them an end to, and that's the story that should be your priority 1.

so you do a hack and slash job, and you mortar over whatever you cut out with storylines that you cook up yourself, but you can't go too far afield, because you still need all the characters more or less in place for the final showdown. so you pinch here and push credulity there, and you do your best to put the characters in more or less the same place they would have been if you kept the original, but on a shorter timeframe. and is it as good as the first seasons? of course not! because the material that you have is not suited to TV like the first seasons are. and not only that, but you are now working with source material that is actively fighting your attempt to constrain a linear and well-paced narrative on it. the text that you're working with changed structure when you weren't looking, and now you have to find some way to shanghai this new sprawling behemoth of a Thing into a television show. oh, and by the way, don't think that the (living) author of the source material will be any help with this, because even though he's got years of experience working in television writing, he doesn't actually know how all of these threads will tie together, which is possibly the reason that the next book has taken over 8 years (now 13 and counting) to write. oh and also, your showrunners are sick of this (in fairness, very difficult) job and they want to go write for star wars instead, so they've refused the extra time the studio offered them for pre-production and pushed through a bunch of first-draft scripts, creating a crunch culture of the type that spawns entirely avoidable mistakes, like, say, some poor set designer leaving a starbucks cup in frame.

anyway, that's what I think went wrong with game of thrones.