#for context DID tends to mask itself

[hungee-boy]

living life normally then youre reminded DID exists then you wake up

[sahonithereadwolf]

I went down another research hole the other night. Y'all might know about "Big Rock Candy Mountain" from O Brother, Where Art Thou...

But it, like most of the songs from that movie comes from a tradition of American folk songs. Big Rock Candy Mountains very specifically this tradition of hobo ballads. And, like setting aside the overtones of American colonialism that purvey all these sort of "there is a dreamland to the west for you to claim" songs, there is a cultural tradition of these. "Life is a struggle but there is a place where it's not if you can find it" is a very human sentiment.

There are plenty of medieval works on Cockaigne, which has a similar kinda tone to it. A land where the harsh realities of a blue collar or peasant class struggle can not exist.

But did you know about the secret gay lyrics of Big Rock Candy Mountain?

After Harry McClintoc recorded his version of this ballad, which he claimed he wrote in 1895 based off the stories he heard as a kid working on the railroad, a bunch of people took him to court because they claimed he stole and took parts of his song from a bunch of other hobo songs in the same traditions. Sweet Potato Mountain, Hobo's Heaven, An Appleknocker's Lament... As part of the court dispute, McClintock was told by the judge to perform the song. As art of the court record we have a last stanza which is not used in the cleaned up version used for records and "reputable venues". This was recorded as:

"The punk rolled up his big blue eyes And said to the jocker, "Sandy, I've hiked and hiked and wandered too, But I ain't seen any candy. I've hiked and hiked till my feet are sore And I'll be damned if I hike any more To be * * * * * * * * In the Big Rock Candy Mountains." Now NO ONE KNOWS what that last lyric is. However we can make some very educated inferences. This is about gay sex.

And it's not like "Big Rock Candy Mountains" is immune to commentary despite the more sanitized versions you'd see later from the likes of Burl Ives.

I'm thinking very specifically: "In The Big Rock Candy Mountains All the cops have wooden legs And the bulldogs all have rubber teeth" and

"In The Big Rock Candy Mountains The jails are made of tin And you can walk right out again As soon as you are in There ain't no short-handle shovels No axes, saws or picks I'm a-goin' to stay where you sleep all day Where they hung the jerk that invented work In The Big Rock Candy Mountains" Going back to the lyrics "The punk rolled up his big blue eyes"

Punk in this context and original use, especially in it's use in hobo culture refers to a younger man or boy being kept for sex and other menial task.

Which, you know, should put a whole new context to see how it's been used against other forms of youth culture. Hippies, greasers, punks,ect. And at least for me makes it's misuse feel even more slapdash and pathetic.

If you doubt this, it is quickly followed up by the term "Jocker" "And said to the jocker, 'Sandy," a slang term of the era referring to an aggressive and usually straight passing dom top, especially in the context of prison.

To be a little flippant, this is a twink grumbling to a daddy.

As I mentioned before, no one actually knows what that missing lyric is. Or at the very least it's never been made public.

But give it's proximity to "sore" and "more" a lot of guess tend to jump to the word "Whore".

Sam Eskin actually interviewed McClintock for Folkway Records and which, when asked about the lyrics said “the ambition of every hobo was to snare some kid to do his begging for him, among other things,”

This is something you see in a lot of early gay panic lit all the way up through the 80's. Especially as the moral authoritarianism of the Hayes code kicked in. But it also found itself in the early pulp lit where queerness could still exist (if behind a little mask and a performative, if dramatic, finger shake)

Queerness and homelessness were intertwined. Still are, both from my own personal experiences and if you look at the statistics. And it's not much of a leap to understand why. ---

But we do have some offered lyrics from other authors: "To be buggered sore like a hobo’s whore,” Is a popular one, which has it's origins from a 2002 folk music site called mudcat and waaaaay too British to read naturally if you ask me.

“And be cornholed till my ass is raw.” is another one you see passed around a lot. Which feels too forum humor.

George Milburn in 1930 offers "To be a homeguard with a lemonade card.” which is naive and sweet to say the least.

The fact is we still don't know this lyric, gay punchline (or at least gay panic) as it might be. All we know is that Big Rock Candy Mountain "Was never meant to be a parlor song" in McClintock's own words.

Well that and the insight it offers into social perceptions of queerness at the time and how it's shaped and shifted in the future.

What do you think this secret gay Big Rock Candy Mountain lyric is?

[herald-divine-hell]

i assume this is a classic question but what are your thoughts on softened leliana vs hardened leliana , both in origins and inquisition

First, thank you for the ask!

I haven’t really explored Leliana all that much in Origins (hopefully my play-through with Amayian changes that). In my only complete run of Origins, I did think I accidentally hardened Leliana, without meaning to, so I can’t really delve into the softened and hardened mechanics for Leliana in regard to Origins.

That being said, I do have a few qualms with the whole system as a narrative concept. First and foremost, I recognized it is primarily a gameplay mechanic meant to stimulate changes in your companions’ behavior, influenced by your character and their actions. I have no problem with that, in theory. In practice though, I think the dichotomy itself is pretty useless to explore the complexities of the human mind and its changes by external forces. Again, it is useful as a gameplay mechanic, but I dislike the idea that Leliana is entirely softened or entirely hardened. She is far more complex than that, but I do understand the limitations, especially when we take into context the times that these two specific games came out on.

That being said, for Inquisition, I tend to ignore the whole softened and hardened idea for Inquisition entirely, in terms of character and narrative exploration of Leliana in Inquisition and with the Inquisitor. For example, according to the Dragon Age Wiki (though how accurate that truly is should be questioned), it states:

I disagree with this statement entirely, that Leliana is hardened by default in Inquisition. She certainly is not. What she really is by the start of Inquisition is emotionally devastated and depress. Hardening revolves, in my mind, being more ruthless, cold. Sure, we can point toward Butler’s conversation to indicate that Leliana has some tendency toward ruthlessness but that is not entirely her personality. As Josie does admit, Leliana is certainly different than the “outgoing woman” she met in Val Royeaux. But that entirely not true, at least she doesn’t hide some hints of her true self with the Inquisitor (or if you want to be meta, the player).

In our first dialogue with Leliana, after the Inquisition is proclaimed, there is sense of amused annoyance from Leliana with Cassandra interrupting her when Leliana was discussing her assets to the Inquisition; and as we see in our first conversation at Haven, it was Leliana’s decision to draw back her scouts, and she fundamentally shames herself and takes the moral responsibility for the destruction and loss of Haven and its residents. She begs the Inquisitor to blame her. That is something a “hardened” Leliana wouldn’t have done. Sure, she may be critical over her decision of not sending out her scouts, but importantly a “hardened” Leliana would have done that from the beginning. We can see that there is still the Leliana from Origins, and Leliana is in that strange gray area, not entirely knowing where she belong, what parts of herself should she indulge, etc.

To continue further, take our first cutscene of Inquisition. A “hardened” Leliana, in my view wouldn’t have halted Cassandra from beating the Inquisitor. You could argue that she only did that to gain easier information from the Prisoner, but I think there is inherently something more complex going on there. In my mind, Leliana might very well have known that regardless on whatever is on the Prisoner’s hand, they aren’t lying. They have no real idea how they got there. And a part of her, especially if you are playing a mage, or a marginalized race, is sympathetic to the Prisoner. Even if it is a brief moment before the mask of the Nightingale returns.

In any case, I think there is a lot of nuance that the hardened and softening mindset that is often surrounding Leliana can’t really navigate. It is not one way or the other. Our actions in Inquisition is less “softening” Leliana but more aiding in her healing growth, to reclaim her sense from the dark abyss of depression she had fallen into with the death of Justinia. In essence, the Inquisitor is aiding to bring back the Leliana that is Leliana rather than making her change personalities, if that makes sense.

[landfilloftrash]

Blood in the Water (part 2 )

***

Warm… 

. . .

. . . ..Warm?

Where warm go. Lost. 

Reach. Find. Cold. 

Cold? 

Missing. 

Missing. 

Problem.

With its mind returning quickly to a semi form of consciousness, the strong taste of heavy copper was in her mouth again while her head pounded. 

Her dreams were always rather vivid, bright and detailed, lingering long into the days to come if it was truly striking— for better or worse; but this one was just fuzzy. Lingering as all of the things within its mind were, as the taste in her beak did now. 

Memories turned to dreams tended to bring the taste to her tongue, but it always remembered the context. Its last one— the last one that struck a chord within her, she should clarify— had it almost gagging on the taste of it in her throat. The tea to settle its nerves had been just as much to wash out the pervasive memory of it in her gizzard. But that had been an odd one out; that didn’t happen often (it had actually never happened before, but it had been too busy as of late to truly file that away), and by the time she woke up, the prevalent taste turned into more of a phantom sense. 

Which then raised the question; 

Why could she still taste it?

Blinking to the waking world was always a tad difficult, but the sheets themselves seemed to be sticking to her. Honestly that could be the case if the material was right, and it forced itself to its claws to maneuver off the bed to find — what was she finding. It looked down to find– ah. Pepper. Pepper was gone. .. And the sheets were cold. The spike of anxiety she pushed forcefully down was going to help no one, and she leaned on the side of the bed to see Ulysses near the edge of it (on the floor. Where she had not last seen him.) pulling himself to his feet as well in exhausted confusion. 

“Where’s Pepper?” were the first sleepy words out of the vampire’s mouth. “I felt them leave.. Tripped ‘ver me. Should’ve been back by now.” 

Its heart began to make itself known.

“Why don’t we go find them,” she replied, easily sliding on a calm veneer as sleep began to vanish.

“Mmm,” Ulysses nodded, looking discomfited, standing with intent to search.

Promptly standing herself, they walked out of the captain’s cabin and gave her a very clear reason why liquid metal rested on her tongue.

That was blood. On the deck. The source was an arrow, struck through two unconscious forms.

Frankly, staring at the darkened wood, the crumpled bodies— winged and horned— and the cloaked, masked figures surrounding their forms turning their heads to gaze at itself and Ulysses, should have gotten her moving, but the only thing that resounded in its head was ‘Get out.’

Ulysses, thank God, had more of a head for what to do in that moment.

“Red Dragon!” he called, drawing his daggers even as he did so, and the ship responded; her riggings snaked and shot through the air with the speed of a loosed arrow.

The seconds ticked slow in its mind. She reached for magic to cast to help with the capture, but the figures— the symbol on the back of their cloaks catching her attention with sword, tree, and other minutia all ensconced in a triangle — threw down smoke, obscuring all of the bodies from view.

As it approached the smoke to see if either Ulysses or the ship was fruitful, the riggings pulled back to reveal an empty noose, and the creaks from the floorboard resembled an apology as Ulysses’ eyes peered up through the gloom with a frantic light.

Gone then.

“Shit,” she hissed, and raced to the top of the crow’s nest with a fierce flap of its wings, peering around the ship in an attempt to see where they had teleported off to— because while a teleportation circle could take them anywhere, a spell could only get them so far.

Her eyes alighted easily upon a ship turning into the fog that surrounded the isle, sliding out of view very rapidly, with its much smaller size.

“Itialuit,” she hissed even quieter, quickly rolling through her options. She could track them. The blood on the deck was fresh enough it lingered in its mouth— but maybe..

Enososin hopped off the crow’s nest as Ulysses sped back up from out of the interior of the ship, slitted eyes wild; “Soleil’s fine, everyone else is fine. It’s only—”

“Pepper,” she confirmed, the distress pitching her voice far too high and loud, “Only Pepper and—” someone horned. Someone horned and knew where to try and find them. “Casanova.” 

Whoever they were, they had her friend and Lockwell’s son. 

If she lost either of them, Lockwell was going to set someone on fire.  So many ‘someone’s.

Ulysses was running a hand through curly hair in clear panic as he paced in an extremely short circle— and his eyes widened as he spun towards her again. “The cubes! Blood! The— The Blubes! Maybe he knows!! We could ask?!”

Ask wh—? Wait. That— maybe he could offer a hand? Or at least advise how to find them?

Rapidly, she patted Ulysses’ shoulder in mute agreement— that could work. That might work.

But before anything could come of their shared thought, she heard grumbling and the clunk of heels; its head swiveled towards the sound. Kallstrom. In any other situation it would be rather endearing to see the clearly exhausted Admiral stomp towards them. Glasses off, hair a mess— the remnants of sleep clinging valiantly.

“What in the bloody hell iz goin’ on?” he growled, tiredly eyeing the state of herself and Ulysses with slight distaste.

Well. Time to shatter that with too much honesty at one in the morning. “Pepper got stolen.”

His eyes immediately popped open– all sleepiness gone as his eyes suddenly blazed in the dark. “What?”

She could only give a rushed attempt at a smile that came out as a wide-eyed grimace instead; things to apologize for later.

Ulysses by this point was babbling something incoherent, and she could only respond to him in equal fervor to try and calm the frantic vampire down a tad as she hustled back into the cabin and pulled one of the cubes out of her cloak; they were put in specific pockets, and Davy Jones’ always felt rather antisocial anyways.

Again, again, again, again. Event after event with no reprieve. 

She folded her legs beneath her and landed in a criss-cross as it felt itself connect to the cube.

The last thing from the ship she heard was Kallstrom cry out, “WHAT IS GOING O–” and then it was swallowed by the sound of the sea surrounding her.

The brief all encompassing silence of the sea deafening her was appreciated— the weight of it not fully resting on her, but an echo of it compressed her projected form.

And then she appeared once more, in this shipwreck, looking at the brightly pink haired man laying in a strung together hammock— many eyes locked onto her as soon as it gathered its wits. 

“They took Cassanova,” she blurted, the first thing that came to mind that would reasonably catch his attention.

He looked over far more intently, pushing himself out of a lounge. “What?”

“A couple of cloaked figures— they took them. Out.” She pointed off in the instinctive direction of where the ship had been sailing.

“Cloaked— Did they have a marking? Were they bearing a symbol..?” he rumbled, his shock morphing into recognition and weariness. “A triangle, with a tree, wrapping a—?”

It began cutting her hands in the air— of course he would know exactly what she was talking about when she had just barely started to put the outer edges of the puzzle together— “Yes, yes. Them. They took Pepper and Cass, and we wanted to know how to track them.”

He shook his head. “Just wait.”

“J–” it paused. She had been calming herself down with structuring thoughts but that easily knocked every ounce of excess panic out of her system. 

“‘Wait’. You want us to wait,” she echoed and eyed his relaxed (if not a tad stiff) posture— realizing it was borne of the easy confidence in knowing what was happening. “You’re sure about this. Why?”

“There’s no way to track them,” he grimaced with a vague little snarl on his lip, “I’ve tried. The only way to find them is to be invited or be— well. Invited in another fashion.” Kidnapping. 

It refrained politely from hissing its displeasure of that entire concept, and instead focused on the fact that, apparently, this was an invitation. An unwelcome one, but an invitation nonetheless. Did they mean to strike both of them, or were they aiming for one, and got two birds with one arrow? 

And that brought along another question.

“Why would they want Pepper?” it questioned, rubbing where its temples would be, “I can take a guess as to why they want Cass..”

“He’s my son,” he mumbled in agreement.

“Yes, that’s why,” she gave a nod, and then gesticulated back more emphatically, “But why Pepper?” “I don’t know anything about the moth,” he shrugged, shaking his head with a grimace pulling his mouth, “except that they’re a moth. So I can’t exactly elucidate you as to why.”

“So what about the moth?” He pressed, “Is there anything you can tell me about them?”

“Ahm,” she squinted in thought. What would be relevant to— whatever the hell these people classified as; a cult? “They’re a bloodhunter– a rogue, as well as a noble.”

His head tilted sharply at that. “What House?”

Her brain whirred through conversations these past few weeks. Had they ever mentioned what their House was? Obviously it was the moth one, but … 

Her brain stumbled as it remembered a very small, and familiar mothkin, on the Red Dragon in place of their bombastic bloodhunter, wearing noble regalia, with far too quiet a countenance. 

Ah. 

God. That was right. 

She had been told by Pepper themself, a very very long time ago. It would hedge a metaphorical bet that the mothkin hadn’t figured that out yet, and she did not see a need to bring it up. Maybe one day, they could laugh together about it, but… Gods, she couldn’t even remember what they had told her… It pushed hard at the memory of the sea and of pilfered oranges shared.

The image of a flower, fuzzy in the memory of time came to mind, as did their Sentiero heritage. “..Flores?”

“Ah,” he drawled, “That’ll do it.”

“That’ll—” it stopped before she continued and pinched between her eyes. It was a very human move, but she’d found it was genuinely a good way to reassemble her thoughts. “Do you wish to elaborate on that?”

“I will, but first– what bloodhunter sect are they a part of?” He prompted.

“Mmm— The Order of the Profane Soul?” If she remembered how Pepper’s blood magic worked, from the pieces she’d seen, at the very least. Celestials aligned in blood; they shared a theme. But where was this going? 

“A particular God they worship?” 

“The Dawn Goddess– Eos?” It asked, as if he wouldn’t know Her. Good lord it was out of sorts.

“Oh you’re not getting them back.”

Hm.

She politely refrained from asking him to smash her head in with her father’s hammer.

It was not going to be asking that, because it was not a helpful thought nor question to have nor ask when— even told there was nothing to be done— her mind was in a time crunch; it would get her nowhere. It inhaled briefly in fortification as she peered at him intently. “Why.”

He dismissed her question with a little wave. “Not willingly at least. You’ll get them back in the morning.”

“I’ll get them back in the morning?” it echoed. She was starting to feel like the magic mouth spell. Shaking its head briefly it tried to assemble more than a monosyllabic question; “Will they be alright? They– They were shot. I cannot imagine that they will be kind to them.”

“They will be alive,” he assured, “Whether or not you’ll get them back in the same state is an altogether different question.”

There was. Such a dissonance in her mind, as she tried to connect the calm and assured tone to something stating her friend– and the man who was speaking’s son— might be tortured or otherwise altered, and she was supposed to be alright with it. Or perhaps not “alright” was the right word, but accepting of it, and simply bearing the roll as given.

Honestly, she should have immediately cast the spell for locating a creature the moment they had vanished from her sight, instead of alerting someone who she thought might have more information, or could possibly lend a hand; they could have learned on the go.

But that would have meant leaving one of their number behind, on this island with its cursed ways, and she wouldn’t have done that before this venture– but especially not after a day like this one.

Instead, it assumed she let her eyes fly around for the moments she processed and digested the new information; turning it over carefully within her mind as she accepted the new facts of another event today while avoiding gripping something probably important to the man and crushing it.

There was a disgruntled sigh and his tone of voice turned pointed. “Stop panicking, girl.”

“I’m not,” she parried sharply. And she wasn’t. There was nothing but that squirming, writhing sensation of anxiety�� the type that would worm its way handily into her bones and rest there, all the while turning its intestines into a gordian knot. But not panic.

It instead had started staring at Davy Jones, sitting in his hammock and felt a tendril of distaste lash out from within the wyrms turning her insides to a furnace. Sitting there, and not worried about his own son. Not visibly or in tone, at the very least; the mind was always a different story. She normally would not fault someone for that, but the fact of the matter was this was his child. No matter if he was to be returned alive, the fact of the matter was that they had been stolen, along with her friend and crewmate, and he sat there placidly. Not sharing in her worry. 

She violently held her tongue from what she thought of that, but she could not hide her expression as her pupils had turned to slits.

The expression of her feelings drew a frustrated scowl from the other as he asked— “What do you want from me?”

She crinkled her eyes in the facsimile of a human smile. “Nothing, I suppose.”

It snapped the connection with a bit more umph than necessary and opened her eyes as the blood cube in her hands’ open connection offered another chance of explaining.

‘Later.’  It deemed, sliding the blood cube into a pocket of her pants, and looked at its crew, or more accurately those awake at present moment. That of which consisted of Ulysses pacing a hole into the wood of the deck, the ship creaking something in his general area, and catching the tail end of Soleil talking to Kallstrom, explaining the situation to focused eyes— which upon seeing her starting to stand, widened considerably.

“Ah!” he crowed out, “You’re alive!”

“Just about,” she creaked out, smoothing the displeased ruffling of her feathers with a hand.

“Thought you had died,” he wryly mused as Ulysses sped over to her with frantic eyes.

“So what do we do!? Do we go fetch Abaddon? Do we just go?!”

“The verdict is, ‘to wait until morning’,” she clicked out, definitively.

The look on his face suggested that she had instead asked him to smash her head in with the hammer. “What??” 

“There is apparently ‘nothing we can do’,” she explained, valiantly keeping its own frustration to the absolute minimum she could wrangle, “so we must wait it out. They’ll be alive. Whether they’ll be in the same state or not, that is not guaranteed.”

“That…” he looked about in a vague horror, “is definitely reassuring.”

“Quite,” she grimaced politely.

The silence in the moments that followed was only slightly broken by a quiet, displeased grunt from Kallstrom.

Morning. What did that entail? Five hours? Two? What counted as morning, and when should she fetch Abaddon so they can go find Pepper— ‘advice’ be damned?

The blood was already drying, to boot, if she wanted to get much of any lifeline from it. So it was either now, or listen to Davy Jones.

It inhaled deeply but quietly, and released gently.

Waiting. It meant waiting.

“In the meantime,” she started, watching three sets of eyes snap towards her, “I feel as though I should perhaps make some coffee.”

Kallstrom raised an eyebrow at her and gestured to the stars. “At this hour?”

“Of all people,” it said, tilting its head amicably, “I didn’t think you’d be one to complain about it.”

“Oh, far from it,” he snorted, following her and the other two into the galley, “I’m surprised at you. Owlin you may be, you seem to prefer the daytime schedule.”

“Diurnal, if you want to get into specifics about my ‘type’,” she grimaced at the phrase, “Day and night don’t matter to me in that way.”

“So you could flip it?” 

“If I needed to, or seriously pressed, yes?” A sneaking suspicion slid through her feathers as to— “Why?”

“No reason,” he hummed.

She gently blinked. Why did her brain immediately turn towards possible implementation of psychological torture methods?

Probably because it was somewhere along that line for him, she thought fondly.

As she slid from one distraction to another, it gently tuned out the others' discussions as white noise, and fixated firmly on the process of making coffee. It was always a task and a half on her brain that recoiled at the taste of it.

The coffee beans themselves aren’t too big of an issue; the smell not too overpowering if she kept her neck tilted at a slight angle, and then grinding them in the mortar and pestle in a cupboard she’d retrieved. Grinding it down and down and down until it was nothing more than fine dust was her goal to achieve, and once it was done, she put it into a large-ish copper pot. Fetching some fresh water, and sugar for this particular method, she poured it in and set it on the stove to start the boil. Normally she’d just set a firebolt to the little area she needed, and set her kettle down happily while keeping an eye on the water’s actual temperature, but she was always extra careful when it came to this particular beverage. A watched pot never boils, but with the rate at which she zoned out with ‘the everything’, it boiled faster than she liked. 

She poured itself a cup and then looked back up at the table. Kallstrom was already making a break for the pot, and she only moved one of the cups closer to him. 

“Want some?” She offered to Sol, who gave a nod.

“Sure, I could go for one. Already up, as it were.”

It huffed an amused sound and then tilted its head towards Ulysses in question.

His face scrunched up in distaste at the silent question. “No thanks. I.. don’t like coffee.”

“Ah,” she chuckled before taking a sip with her next mumble, “a man after my own heart.”

Coffee… was horrible. She understood alcohol dependency better than she understood this particular brand of caffeine addiction the rich and middle class tended to have. The taste was bitter like a loved one’s disappointment and did not smell much better than that— making her quite nauseous in all honesty. Adding milk and sugar or any mix of things did nothing for the taste, less bitter, sure, but making it taste worse more often than not, and that was a feat and a half. But damn was it good for making every bone feel like it was trying to escape her flesh.

“Wait, you—” Ulysses’ brain seemed to break for a moment before shaking it quickly and going back on the attack. “Wait, hold on, you don’t like coffee?”

“Nope,” she clicked, grimacing at the extreme bitterness that fluffed her feathers out, “Not at all.”

“More for me then?” Kallstrom pressed.

“If that’s what you would like, then please,” she gestured gently towards the pot, “by all means.”

He eyed her suspiciously, and then promptly took the rest of the pot with an even squintier look. If he kept that up his prescription was going to need to be upped. Regardless, the admiral made his way back to his corner where he drank his horrid caffeine. It did not look to see if he added anything to it, she was sick to her gizzard as it was.

Meanwhile, Ulysses squinted up at her, watching her feathers flare with clear disbelief. “If you don’t like coffee, why are you drinking it??”

“Tea is soothing,” it hummed, closing her eyes as she sipped some more, “I wish to be tense.”

There was a quiet and tired chuckle from Soleil as she drank her own cup, tail flicking.

Now began the waiting game.

***

It was close to two hours and 12 minutes before something actually happened. Soleil was wearing her pjs by this point— well that was a slight fib; she’d been wearing her pajamas since the cleric had emerged from the Blood Cube, and she was now simply sleepily resting by Eno, its robe draped over her. Kallstrom had returned to bed quite a while back, deeming them fine enough to deal with Pepper’s return, whatever state that may be. Ulysses had been pacing a hole into the deck of their poor lady for about an hour, his steps on the wood clicking in time to the headache that clung fiercely to her skull. Then about ten minutes after the hour mark, the ship had responded by creaking warningly under the vampire’s feet; so Ulysses was leaning on the wall connected to the captain’s cabin as the deafening thunderclap sounded.

Snapping to attention and getting to her feet was such a blur, the blood had absolutely left her head at its speed. She didn’t even have a moment to process who had appeared before two lumps were tossed in her general direction.

Not even a moment of hesitation passed by as she lunged and caught something warm and soft from being tossed unceremoniously, and quite possibly harmfully, onto the ship’s deck. Pulling whatever it was further into her arms had her balk as she peered down.

Looking down in horror at the fact she was holding both Pepper and Casanova, unconscious, bruised, bleeding, and one of Cass’ horns being completely broken.

“I ‘ave had it!” crowed the intruder, “Vith you two ignorant, damnable fools! Ve offer you greatness, glory, a chance to be a book in the library instead of an insignificant scrap of paper, and you ignore it like the blind idiots you are! If you vant to die vith those unworthy, zose that will end in anonymity, zat is none of our business anymore!! You insignificant whELPS—”

As it listened continuously to this man, daring to insult its friend like he had any authority in judging their worth, she felt an inhuman explosion of fury burst from her as she held softly beating hearts. As if he had personally gotten to know their smile or their laugh, the softness of their hands and words, or how they strove to do good despite everything that has happened to them. 

Get out. Get out get out get out get out get out get out get out get out get out get out

GET. OUT.

Pulling together what was left in her energy to rapidly tie the bones of a banishment spell in the space of her hand, tossing it violently fast at the masked man for daring to presume his command on the deck of the ship.

The energy of a counterspell was flung back in lightning fast riposte. It was clearly a reflexive movement of sensing magic being aimed at him, but it nonetheless snapped his attention from monologuing his displeasure at his own invasion all the same.

Attention that momentarily rested silently, but heavily upon them.

Quite suddenly though, the magic in the air began coiling threateningly fast, as if a coral reef snake pulled itself to attention— clearly, the intruder did not take kindly at the attempted banishment.

The magic lashed forwards as all three spellcasters took advantage of the thick tension— but Enososin herself was the fastest on the draw.

Looping her palm into the air like she was wrapping yarn for crocheting she pulled from the churning pool— as it did, it felt the sharp spikes in its hand as Guiding Bolt was thrown into the sudden frantic swirl of energies ready to burst open.

The streak of light hurtled forward, swinging around to slam straight into the man’s chest— shattering into sharp spikes of light, leaving little holes in the man’s flowing robes.

As the invader reeled, from light and damage, it made a quick symbol of faith in the air and cobbled up a small magic symbol of defense near Sol, causing her to shine briefly from the magic settling in before disappearing into a thin translucent shimmer.

The opponent shook his head vigorously and wind whipped as it solidified into something sickly; large snakes were sent in the group’s direction, and while she dodged, Ulysses ducked, Soleil got caught straight on by a multitude of snakes— patterns signifying poison as their fangs sunk into her flesh.

There was a brief moment of Soleil’s eyes flashing in recognition and attempted to pull them off before their could sink their fangs into her, before any venom could take, her teeth gritted— quickly trading off instead trying to steady herself and work through the poison, but it was already too late as it watched the sea elf’s muscles visibly lock up in paralysis.

The man was not done with his assault however, as he now looked specifically towards it, glint in the glass of his masked eye, and made a beckoning gesture with his hand. 

There was a violent pull against her body, pulling her to move forwards. Oh. This part was familiar. She gripped both Pepper and Cass in her arms protectively as she resisted as much as it could, twisting her muscles with the blood flow, only moving ten feet or so, but that was still far too much give in her eyes— she let out a displeased screech towards the masked man that shook the boards beneath her claws.

The glint in the glass grew sharper, as if in delight and the accented voice once more echoed from the confines of his mask. “YOU. You are strong.”

“Come here girl,” he continued, the smile underneath the mask loud and clear as he hissed venom into his tone. “I vant a piece of your BEAK.”

She finally looked at their attacker properly, from boot tip to hat brim; the dark tones of his dressings blended well with the bright accents on his chest, trailing on his robe and arms. The key detail, however, was that this man was dressed as a doctor of death as a beaked mask’s eyes shining bright in the low light of the stars stared back at her. 

It shifted its eyes to slits. “You don’t impress me.”

“Vhy vould I need to impress a speck of dust?” 

As if that were an ‘insult’ it could take to heart; this world was her home. Of course she’d be dust in the wind one day. “At least I am of the Earth; you smell of something ripped from the void.”

He laughed heartily. A missing piece she did not have. “You have no idea.”

“Nor do I wish to learn,” it hissed. 

“Vhat happened to mercy?”  The Doctor mocked, the false concern dripping like venom as a sneer made its way to the front. “To saving every soul?”

How dare he. How dare he? As if the bodies in her hands, precious, bloodied, and unconscious, were not its highest priority. To try and do whatever guilt-trip he was trying to pull, to try and say that because she had no wish to have him anywhere near her, that she would not save who she could? As if getting the one who had harmed them so plentifully away was not among her top concerns. She was not in a state to think of anything but her desire to protect right now, as he threatened something so dear.

It did not care about learning what made this man like this, when they were much better things to be prioritizing, and it hissed with feathers stuck out like icicles in the night. He gestured grandly, as if exhibiting a performance for them all and chuckled darkly. “You are just like your Father.” “Good.”

Once more gathering the ever familiar divine energy, this time, she pulled something a lot stronger, and a lot more energy absorbing than a few sharp bolts; a Celestial made of Light and magicks, pulling from her wish to defend she summoned a creature to attack for her.

More bright light, like the sun decided to instead arise on the deck of their ship instead of peek over the horizon, formed in the air next to her before shifting like liquid and growing larger and larger— until a vaguely humanoid shape evolved into something bearing armor, burning with light within as the final dregs of the spell formed a wickedly curved metal bow in its hand, and the Summoned pulled back the glowing hot string as magic coalesced into arrows.

Ulysses in those moments stolen, using both herself and the Summoned as a distraction, had been making a wide circling move around the masts of the ship— and now promptly came within gunshot range and shot at the back of the Doctor’s head with his pistol, blasting a hole through cloth and flesh; swiftly disengaging as only a rogue could before the man could think to turn around and return the favor. 

But instead of blood, or anything liquid, what flowed out of the now broken mask from the hole in the back of his head was a sickly gas, spilling threateningly the same hue as the accents upon his robe.

This man favored his poisons.

“What the heck is going on— my GOD!” cried an unfamiliar old man. Half expecting another intruder, it turned its head in apprehension, but upon turning its gaze it realized who the voice emitted from; Janglin, looking horrified.

The horror turned into rapid tugging of his instruments off their attachments and a startled stance, as the bard began to play a stumblingly rapid-paced tune; The air once again began to twist and hum with the new addition of a different spellcaster in the deck.

As Janglin gathered himself, Enososin pulled a little more magic from the air into a more stable flowing form–– placing her hand firmly onto Cass; his heart had started slowing as she held him, and that frightened her. Keeping them safe with her body had its downsides, and that was the jostling. The magic zoomed through her hand into his body as she felt that magic wrap inside his blood, keeping it pumping the heart steadily. Stabilized, no longer on the verge of death, she changed the tune of the magic ever so slightly to heal what had been damaged internally as well with a whispered word. 

The Summoned, while she was healing, had been waiting for the moment to strike, moving ever so slightly on deceptively light feet, and taking the second that the Doctor was partially distracted by looking at Janglin and loosed two blazing arrows rapidly into the man’s chest— striking him clean through with some sickening sounding cracks as the arrows dispersed; leaving the wound open.

Soleil started to move once again, her eyes blazing with a quietly furious whisper of; “You motherfucker– oh I’m back.” 

“Oh I’m back,” she repeated, with a quiet voracious glee in the undercurrent of her words. Soleil then pulled her weapon of choice from off her back— the trident seeming to exude the same glee its user contained, and a pulse of water magic from her trident came from the side of the ship and slammed the man as a wall of force into the railing of the ship.

Soleil looked triumphant for a brief moment before something seemed to cross her mind, eyes flicking at the Doctor and then to his feet; Sol looked down with an exhausted, but amused air as she whispered. “You could do something so funny right now.” 

The ship creaked her sly agreement beneath their feet.

Ah. Yeah, that would be rather funny.

The Doctor, now rather damp and body language shifted towards annoyed about it, he turned towards Ulysses, who was right by the bow. Ulysses’ eyes widened in the moments that passed quickly and rapid recognition as the Doctor raised up an arm. He pointed at the vampire while his arm grew bright with magical light, and then brighter still; the metallic substance that decorated it emptied into his palm and then blasted through the air and shot Ulysses through the chest with the force of a cannon shot.

The desperation that flashed in the vampire’s eyes told the cleric all she needed to know on how much damage that had just dealt.

“I am SICK. And TIRED of zis useless jibber-jabber fight!” The Doctor hissed at the lot of them, gripping his fist and pulling it back like someone was challenging him to a bar fight instead, and adjusted his feet to brace for a blow.

“Give me somezhing good!” He howled, and looked at Ulysses with a twist of his masked face. “You look strong, boy. Give me a fight.”

Like a call and response, Ulysses took the man up on the challenge. There was a twist of magic that swirled sharply, jaggedly, as Ulysses rolled his shoulders and tapped one of them in a rhythm; another gleaming glow surrounded his entire arm, and seemed to center in his throat. The light grew glaring as Ulysses’ magic exploded out of his mouth and through the air in a blindingly lightning filled breath.

The lightning latched onto the Doctor with extreme prejudice as the dampness of his clothes did nothing to protect him from the current, ricocheting visibly through muscles, metal and flesh.

Ulysses winked at the Doctor, gave a little salute, and then dropped off the side of the boat with a small thump; clinging to the side then, as no splash sounded off. 

Janglin snapped to attention as the magic swished around and he reached for one of his own spells and plucked an addition to his tune— and the sound of something shattering echoed like a small blast centered on the Doctor.

The plague Doctor growled in frustrated pain and ripped off the fabric and metal combination that once guarded his identity, but now hindered his sight more than helped. It revealed a man– humanoid for sure, but she couldn’t tell the race; the ears were still covered. But what truly drew the eye was the metallic replacements in his face that glimmered in the night, and was etched with runes that highlighted the manic blaze in the Doctor’s eyes.

“Now zis! Zis is interesting.”

Fantastic; he seems to get off on fighting. Or possibly just being electrocuted. Glad to be a contribution, sir, it thought sarcastically.

Pulling her thoughts from sarcasm, the seconds continued to tick by as she focused now on Pepper’s faint heartbeat. It was a familiar movement now, quickly stabilizing them and pulling the active pool of magic to her, gently infusing it into the moth’s skin and flesh as the healing spell  was murmured underneath the chaos.

The Summoned avenger once more took its chance to fire a volley of arrows, striking him in the side— the momentum from the sheer might behind the arms that loosed the arrows, forced the Doctor to stumble and reveal his back to the archer, where another arrow crashed into with extreme power. 

As that happened she adjusted both Cassanova and Pepper to one arm— watching Pepper instinctively clutch the tiefling to them— and picked up her hammer from the start of the fight. Preparation, just in case. 

Soleil’s eyes narrowed as the push and pull of magic once more leaned in her favor, and the crackle in the air gave a brief warning of what the elven duo were joining forces to do. The blinding flash of lightning exploded in its vision once more as Soleil released a bolt that she sent out and shot through the Doctor. The spell should have trailed off the ship but seemed to have stopped at the man himself.

The Doctor had caught it.

She felt the collective recognition ricochet through the entire above deck crew as they all looked at his arm.

He chuckled menacingly, a grin stretching from ear to ear— in the sense that it was supposed to be interpreted as a grin; it was far more accurate to think of it as a hyena about to bite. “Did z’you think? I am not smart enough.. to develop my own prosthetic vith magical-catching capabilities!?”

“That seems like something incredibly stupid,” Soleil grumbled darkly. To which part, it had no clue, but Eno could only snort in shared exhausted amusement.

“Your bird friend.. Ze one you fought in ze Church, ja?” he questioned jauntily. Far too jauntily. “His prosthetic.. Iz my design.~”

If you dare hurt my friend, I’m going to shove you into the ocean and keep you there long after you stop moving.

Taking a deep breath, she gently pulled the barely leashed fury back to the side. Work with it, not against it, with it not against. She spread her wings a little lower, showing the patterns more threateningly instead of releasing a battle cry and slamming the Doctor into sentient planks. This man was doing everything in his capabilities to make sure she stayed pissed the hell off at him without even trying too hard, wasn’t he?

“Of course,” he continued with an ecstatic shout, “I can vield it much better!”

He moved his hand like he was holding something heavy, and turned the lightning bolt into the sky with a graceful but powerful toss upwards.

Soleil looked up at the lightning bolt cast into the sky with a weariness that only other spellcasters could truly understand. “I am fuckin’ too tired for this,” she hissed quietly. “Do I hear.. A chicken? I think I do. He’s going ‘bawk-bawk’ instead of cooking alive as he should.”

Her headache pulsed violently. Why?

“You vere entertaining;” the Doctor continued, clapping hands muffled by the glove he wore, and interrupting her wanderings of thought as he turned his face towards where Ulysses still probably clung to the sides, “let me guess zough. You are going to launch me into ze sea, boy? Going to attempt to vhirlpool me vith your ship, little vampire?”

He shook his head with a smirk and turned his eyes back upon the small group of them, raising his voice to be heard by all of them, should their hearing have been lost in the few minutes they had fought for some inexplicable reason.

“I am going to offer you an accord, meine kleinen Freunde..!” he announced. “You can have your stupid moth and ve can end zis here!”

“Or,” he emphasized with no small amount of glee, “continue fighting me! You might have a chance at killing me, after all…~”

“Vhat say you?” 

He opened his arms with each option presented, gums slipping into his hyena grin.

“Glory or mercy?”

Enososin gazed upon the doctor, using every spare scrap of medicinal knowledge it had to determine what in God’s creation this man’s game was. Luckily, an absurd amount of injuries in your younger years led into a pretty steady hand on what exactly the damage dealt was. 

All in all, the Doctor was rough. Clothes ripped and torn and doused in water, crackling with leftover electricity, and bleeding from multiple places that could not be helpful for cognitive functions. But the casual way he held himself, ready for an encore, told of a firm grip upon his health— it was that or a bluff, but there was not even an ounce of strain she could sense from voice nor posture; he was nowhere near being done, and they had far too rough a day to be able to keep up with their limited amount of spells.

Unless she started going in close for the combat, with deadly intention.

“Get off our damn ship,” she rumbled.

The doctor looked towards her and laughed, tilting his head as he peered at the bodies in her grip. “Godspeed, litl’bug! I hope you have fun back in Kingston~”

Eno blinked a few times in response to the jolly little warning— because that was absolutely what that tone was. What had that been for…? 

Had something happened to their parents?

“Oh, and if z’you reconsider!” He took Casanova’s horn out of his pocket and threw it at her feet, clattering loudly on the wooden planks. “Vell. Seek ze Secrets.”

An echoing thunderclap; the portal reappeared. He stepped into it. Gone.

There was a moment of tension, even after he left. The air thick with apprehension of a falsehood, before a break settled the area. Like too much heat in pottery with hairline fractures; it broke gently. The cleric let out an exhausted and frustrated sigh at the tension’s dissipation. Rude was not even covering the very least of her grievances with the man who presumed to come onto their ship, and it was not about to spare the brain power to list them out right now.

Readjusting the unconscious cargo in her arms to no longer be at an awkward angle for her arm (comfortable for them, not so for her twinging muscles) it realized it could actually take the moment to actually set them down. Gently propping up Cassanova and Pepper on one of the ship’s walls, she pulled the medkit from it being attached to her hip.

“Ok,” she breathed, “Let’s fix you two up.”

As she started pursuing physical injuries, prodding gently for open wounds, disinfecting and wrapping where she could, Janglin had rushed over and sat next to her, fiddling a gentle tune as he played a healing aura for everyone on the topdeck.

Soleil had sat on the floor next to it as the two avians began working. Only a few moments later, it heard some clomping and the sound of a winded vampiric wood elf sitting down next to Sol.

Small stitches and bruises were patched, a dislocation or two were righted (with no wake up from Casanova, which was in actuality far more worrying than the injury itself), and everything that could be physically fixed, had been attended to with as much that could be provided. Only a brief time later they were as healed as they could without resting, where time and sleep would deal with emotional or psychological damage.

She mentioned as much to the small grouping of her still barely awake crewmates.

“Well,” Ulysses mumbled, “now I get to have my last hour of trance. At, like— 3 in the morning.”

A small puff of laughter from herself and a hum of amused agreement from Soleil at the comment. There was a moment of inactivity as all of them seemed to mentally fortify themselves to move once more— Eno especially took a deep breath; Pulling both unconscious victims up into her arms again, she made her way back into the Captain’s quarters— followed by a couple of disgruntled sounds of Soleil and Ulysses pulling each other up and trotting after her— placing them both in the bed as gingerly as she could.   “Pepper’s safe?” Soleil questioned finally, eyeing their sleeping form with concern heavy in her expression if not in voice or stance.

“Aside from any further attempts to snatch them from under our noses again,” it replied, making a brief check behind her at the closed door, “yes. They’re safe.”

As her head was turned behind her though, the both of them met each other’s eyes, and looked at each other in shared spellcasting exhaustion. It was a toss to the wind, but the cleric decided it was worth it to give the attempt a try. “Want to stay?”

“I’m going to go back to bed,” Soleil replied, shaking her head after the fact with the mere notion of another idea popping into her head. “Or just slam coffee– I don’t know.” “Nope, go to sleep,” it chided in amusement, churring a small noise of fondness at the exhausted tilt of the woman’s shoulders at the concession, “Go. Bed.”

Enososin would rather the woman sleep in her own bed, comfortable and safe— weapons within reach and a shout or explosion away from summoning them, than try to sleep, possibly stay awake, and more than likely paranoid within the group. 

This crew had more than a few suspicious and paranoid folk, and the best way to ease that, was simply to let them have that safety to fall back on. “My bones hurt.”

“Rest in the Captain’s cabin– with us,” Ulysses chimed in after Soleil’s partial non-sequitur, “I would rather us not be separated. In case… Y’know.” “Y’know, if they kidnap— another person tonight? I think! I deserve to– t’just —” she made a violently flippant gesture with both of her hands. Point received, if not articulated. “I don’t know, do they play poker or something?”

“Judging by how Cass is missing a horn; uhm. No,” Ulysses declared, the horror in his voice being overlaid by the heavy sarcasm, “they do not play poker.” “That’s just an average night at my old family house,” Soleil waved off with a dismissive shake, “it’s fine. They’ve probably got poker.”

Oh. It politely refrained from blinking in surprise. That was a small cannon shell, wasn’t it?

Ulysses apparently agreed, but far more vocally as the trailing horror won over the sarcastic defense. “That is a.. Concerning..?!” 

Soleil was having none of it, however, as she leaned forward and sleepily pressed a finger against Ulysses’ lips. “Shshh.”

As much as she was now curious herself, and more than a bit concerned in the case of the family possibly looking for their gorgeously talented lunar sorceress, Eno agreed with the falling over woman; time to be quiet for a while. “Alright, Sol, it is time for bed. C’mon.”

There was the quietest murmur of “I don’t know.” She wished it knew what Soleil was specifically referring to, as she’d love to lend a hand, but for now, it was simply going to be filed away for hypothetical later talks.

It murmured gently once more. “Get in.” Soleil looked at her with exhaustion and gave a brief nod. Crawling in near Pepper, but not close enough to interfere with Pepper’s unconscious death grip on Cass, Sol hit the cushioning press of the mattress– and Enososin could pretty much see the light turn off in Soleil’s head. Absolutely conked out upon touchdown.

Meanwhile, Ulysses once more got on the floor.

“Aaaand no you don’t,” it mumbled, reaching for Ulysses’ hand to gently tug him upwards.

“No– no–” he shied away from her claws and it let her hand drop back to its side, “let me be on the floor.”

It was too tired to argue. If the man wanted to sleep on the floor, so be it. “Then I am joining you on the floor,” she exhaled, laying down on the floor next to Ulysses.

“No, you are not..!” He protested, as if his words would pause her movements.

“Yes, I am~” 

“Get on the bed..! No you—” she curled up with her arm as a pillow and listened to the vampire get even more exasperated, as she got more and more comfortable; “no! Eno!” 

She opened an eye she hadn’t realized she’d closed. “What?”

Ulysses furiously pointed at the bed, his exasperation mingling with distress. “Get in the bed!”

“Nope,” she clicked the p, “You’re down here.”

He stared at her in pure exhausted exasperation. “Gods, you are frustrating.”

She squinted up her eyes in amusement. Welcome to the club, Ulysses, you’ll find her caretakers already here and having had the same emotion with her at least once. Somewhere, there were muffins as compensation.

“Get in bed,” he hissed, trying to get his point across to deaf ears without waking the crew already passed out, “you’ve wasted so much magic today!”

“Honk shoo mimimi,” she murmured for effect as she reclosed her eyes.

“I have slept in worse places, I assure you! This is comfortable for me!”

It was more than fine sleeping down here, and in fact could probably stretch out more than she could in a bed of any size.

“Honk shoo.”

There was a silence long enough as she laid there that she assumed Ulysses had given it up and simply accepted that she was down here with him, and she let herself begin to drift off.

“If I get in the bed,” he said, snapping her once more back to awakeness, with an added startled blinking awake as a bonus, “will you get in the bed?”

“Yes,” she replied. If he wanted to, that is.

Ulysses sighed huffily and got onto the foot of the bed, looking down at her, waiting for her to make good on her word.

Ah, and she was rather comfortable too. Ah well. She got up with a small exhale of effort, and crawled carefully into a small space not taken by the lovers or Sol’s starfish sprawl. Pretty much just doing her best not to take up too much of the bed. However, she was not ignorant to the tactic of someone coaxing another into a better state before going back into the sub-par condition themself.

So it laid down, with its wing stretched out and resting on Ulysses. The look of frustrated chagrin told her all she needed to know in her prediction, and that he knew if tried to leave again, she’d just go back with him.

“Ughhh… you are infuriating,” she heard as his words drifted. Exhaustion stealing him in equal measure as falling into his elvish trance.

If being infuriating keeps people safe, it thought, as she let itself drop into sleep, then I shall endeavor to be the most annoying owlin in the entire archipelago.

Prologue; One - Two - Three - Four

High Seas; It Begins - Something's Wrong - Blood in the Water pt. 1 - Blood in the Water pt. 2 (here!)

[omegapheromone]

Ok so, between the recent psa about miscecanis scent and reblog of the incels of omegaverse, I can’t stop thinking about how the two would correlate in a verse.

Like, “Chad alphas” could say you need to go buck wild on the Axe so other alphas know what’s “your property” (which becomes yet another omega-repellent because of scent sensitivity). Or even the opposite, where they don’t use anything, like no hygiene At All, because “omegas like the musk” but they just??? Smell like BO?????

But that’s not to say omegas/betas are exempt from this!!!!!! You’re telling me you don’t think some omega incels wouldn’t over-scent all of their bags and shit to like, “allure people in the halls”, but it’s just a Lot and it’s Everywhere. Or even an insecure beta who’s like “can anyone even smell me?????” And it’s like, Yes Buddy, I Promise You We Did Before And Can’t Stop Now

Also just????? The role of actual perfumes in omegaverse. I’m sure they’d exist for so many reasons, but I just wonder like, how they’d be marketed or even placed. Because you’re supposed to place perfume right where scent glands would be normally so I feel like people have a Problem with that while for others that’s The Point, you know?

Idk this just became a ramble. Any thoughts/insights are appreciated :’D

Chai your mind...... this is so good

Niceguy McFedora-type alpha that showers once a month because they think it's unnecessary because your "natural scent" is supposed to be strong to show the "weak and fragile omegas" what a strong and ~healthy~ alpha that will Definitely Treat Them Well you are. (He always has a personal space radius of at least 5 meters or more and doesn't connect the dots)

Or the *ndrewwww t*te type alphas making a point to go to the gym and Not Shower every time they go anywhere in public as some sort of a ridiculous show of dominance and thinking the nasty looks they get from people is because other alphas are feeling insecure and Betas are envious, obviously the Omegas are just pretending to hate it but actually they're all going into heat right now all because of his ~mUsKy AlPhA sCeNt~ (no sir, I know you live in delusion about owning a porsche but this is public transit and your stink is making everyone gag in disgust)

The desperate yet insecure folk of any gender and dynamic buying ridiculously expensive perfumes modelled after celebrities' natural scents (like that one headcanon post) because they think the scent is what made the celebrity famous/desirable/attractive and so if they smell like them then maybe they will also get courted...

And man I'd feel a little bad for the betas thinking they have no desirable scent and trying to "make up for it" because of how much importance society places on alpha&omega scents (that tend to be slightly stronger, sure, but It's not like betas don't have scents!!) And how little betas are talked about in the context of pheromones/scent

Also YEAH on the perfume thing!!!

My own headcanon sort of separates scents into their own cathegories of like, there's the natural scent that's associated with pheromones, it's not the same as body odour from sweat, but also the pheromones are slightly different/separate in that pheromones can affect the qualities of the scent but not the actual scent itself? And then there's obviously body odour, and then on top of that, I think perfumes are often used to either mask or even enchance one's own scent. They'd probably be especially affirming for any transdynamic folks! But also I can imagine some people feeling like their natural scent should be sort of "private" or they just don't want people to pay attention to it, esp if it's very unique? so they'll use fragrances to change it somewhat. Also for people with weaker scents, it could be an insecurity so they'll use perfume to feel more confident?

Oh and I wanna talk more about my headcanon about the pheromone-natural scent relationship! I think pheromones are what cause and are affected by emotional responses, almost like having a sort of... "aura" or "energy" people can read? But pheromones so it's an actual thing. but I also imagine it could affect the actual scent a lot too! I'll use my own peony+peach combo to explain since I know it best, but for example, if I was angry or annoyed, the pheromones would probably make the scent appear slightly "sour", like a sour candy or a flower that's slightly past its best bloom but still emits a really strong scent that starts to smell almost a little "stinging"? Or if I was really content and happy, it'd be like freshly-bloomed peopny blossoms and sweet, perfectly ripe peaches.

Probably in heat the scent would turn more "warm" and "heated" as well as stronger, too, like sitting in a garden of peonies eating a peach dessert during a heatwave in the summer? (Also I just like using that analogy for my own scent a lot. Sitting in a Peony garden and eating peaches. Except in heat it'd be more like a heatwave and much stronger/warmer) Like almost a little overwhelming, but not necessarily in the same way that overusing axe body spray is overwhelming, more like... a heat-scent becomes sort of really thick and warm? And that's why it's so noticeable? Like so ripe it would be "tempting" or something, idk.

For example if someone's scent was "pine forest", and they went into rut, I imagine it'd also increase in intensity a lot. Like... maybe the scent of pine sap really intensifies and gets really "thick"? Or maybe it'd be like... if it rains during a heatwave so the smell is extra strong but also really warm. And maybe someone with a scent like that would smell more like a cold winter forest when they're irritated (which would also be a wonderful way to describe personality through scent- people whose scents turn "cold" and "wintery" being more likely to have that sort of stoic, cold anger than the more explosive hot-headed type bursts of anger...) and when they're content, it'd be like a camping trip in good weather somewhere deep in the woods where you feel safe and relaxed in nature?

Idk man I just like thinking about scents and how scents change based on pheromones & emotions........

I also think perfume could be used to permanently amplify some aspects of specific emotional states in scent. I imagine customer service workers or salespeople using a perfume that maybe doesn't change their scent, but makes them always smell really happy, inviting and nice for better sales results and a better customer experience (especially since I imagine customer service is probably still absolute hell, even in omegaverse... not like they'd actually be feeling very happy to deal with some Karens all day)

Or for people who want others to stay out of their way (bouncers, gangsters, idfk depends on the canon I imagine), they'd maybe use a perfume that makes their own scent always appear a little aggressive/stern, not in the challenging kind of way, but just so people get the idea that it's probably better not to mess with them

But also certain professions having bans on those kinds of things, or even requiring full on scent blockers to be used (especially prevalent in the medical field I imagine)... just. Yeah lots of thoughts on this!

[alexatheris-44]

Grave Lord, Drenched in Blood

Technically Part 2 to this amazing piece by my awesome homie @voidwritesstuff :DD

-

CW: lil bit of blood, description of body horror

Summary: Creation has its Four Horsemen, but the Pale Rider carries the name of Ataraxy… Where is Death? And what company could he possibly be keeping?

> Made for the Against Creation AU !! It’s probably a good idea that you’ve read Darksiders The Abomination Vault before this, not for spoiler reasons (yet) but for more insight on Death’s history. You won’t be missing any important context if you haven’t though :3 (yet)

vvvv Start Reading Below The GIF! :D vvvv

He was there long before the beginning.

From the moment there was light to cast brightness, shadows danced at the edge of all things; a clinging spectre that sowed naught but pain and misery. For all who found their end alone and in the dark, the cruel nature of life to be taken sooner than was ever planned. The restlessness, those brief moments of such despair, felt as the final weight of all that was to be -now to be left undone- bears itself in full upon the soul. The heartache, the bitterness, the loss…

If she was the gentle end of Life, he was the After.

Age did nothing to weather his battle hardened visage, his severity reflected in every line on his face, every crease in his skin. While his face wore his horrid mask -hiding his prominent facial features save for his hollowed cheeks, invoking the imagery of a glowering skull but lacking any mouth or teeth- his permanent scowl was unmissable. He held himself with such certainty, an almost palpable sense of strength. If not visible by his composure then in the sculpted definition of his muscles, only further defined by how taut his skin -the very hue of undeath- stretched over his pronounced frame. He was thin yet indisputably strong, sinewy but long since his last meal. One could mistake him for a living corpse, the reanimated body of a most ancient and formidable warrior now haunting the halls of some lesser lord’s castle he had since painted in their blood.

And yet Death very much still lived in vigor, despite whatever rumours tended to flit about between each corner of Creation. Something about how only four remained of the warmongering race known as the Nephilim; how they rode under the new title of Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and committed a genocide of their own people. He remembered the massacre all too well, scarred into the very archives of his unending memory. The smell of it, the vile taste to the air -simultaneously acrid smoke, bile and blood. Death was rather more familiar than most with the sight of gore, but to know he once called those eviscerated corpses his kin… his brothers…

“Anathem!” Death’s voice barked from his throat under a growl, his hand clenching into a white-knuckled fist against the dark stone table he hunched over.

A sound of stirring came from the shadows of the corridor before him, the scraping of metal against rock following a light-weighted thump, as if something had fallen from the rafters. An odd pattern of footsteps began approaching from the dark; one step carrying the clicking of claws against solid ground, the other just a muffled tap, as if bare, easily missed unless actively listening for it. The reason for this unique footfall became quickly apparent as the individual entered visibility, though their appearance would only call for more questions. His left leg sported the structure and talons of a raptor or bird of prey, while his right appeared much more porcine. This mismatching of limbs also applied to his arms: the left as much flesh as it was bone, sporting spaces in the palm as if a cartilaginous web leading to angular fingers; the right sporting only four spindly fingers that each ended in an elongated claw, thumb and pinky roughly at the same height in their placement on his chitinous hand. In a universe teeming with abnormality -life running rampant to craft itself in nearly every shape, size and colour- it was clear to any whose eyes fell upon this being that this was an abomination, something once -perhaps- born but since unmade. Short and slender horns grew above an otherwise plain humanoid face, unlike any demon ever perceived. He was a patchwork of stolen flesh, so much so that his scars were hardly distinguishable between surgical in origin and a hard lesson learned in lethal combat. Looking at him prolongedly instilled a sense of unease, stirring thoughts of dread at ever meeting whoever so cruelly crafted and carved him into this blasphemous form.

“You called?” Anathem’s voice croaked as he rolled the words from his yet unfamiliar tongue, his most recent bodily acquisition. Death had assured him the tongue of the demon polyglot would give him its proficiency in the infernal languages, and while that proved to be true for the moment it felt as if an unwieldy serpent whipped about inside his mouth when he tried speaking in his native language.

“Tell me there has been a development from our latest endeavour.” The frustration the Nephilim presently felt laced his gravelly tone in a misdirected reproach, as if his current company held any blame to their situation.

“I grow tired of all this inaction.”

Death’s ire was a difficult thing to earn, usually so cold and calculated it would take a true and continuous push of his buttons to evoke the flames of his wrath. And oh how brightly it burned in his fiery orange eyes, twin stars in the midst of collapse for eternity. Despite being the centerpiece upon which fell the Firstborn’s glare, Anathem merely shrugged.

“I only just came back from my visit to Hell's Underground.” The roll of his shoulders disturbed the peace of the ghostly green chains anchored into his shoulder blades, each heavy link rattling only once against one another all the way down to the thick cuffs shackled at either wrist.

“I’d say another day at the most before I hear back. After all, we are hoping for discretion.”

Death’s eyes narrowed sharply, near warning, though Anathem knew him well enough to stand where most others would cower and fold to their knees. The Nephilim let free a hiss of breath as he straightened, a rare moment to revel in his full and towering height -nearly a metre taller than Anathem even if the shorter were to stand on the tips of his mismatched toes- before comfortably slumping his shoulders, clearly making the effort to calm his temper.

“I trust that the message was clear? We have no room for ambiguity.” His tone was now much cooler, near icy if not for the faintest hint of a cruel mirth.

“The severed head of their leader is a hard thing to misinterpret.” As fluidly as a languid housecat, Anathem closed the distance between them and brought himself up on the dark stone table, stepping to its edge to take perch before the Nephilim at eye level.

“As well as their matron’s, just in case.”

“A fine touch,” Death let slip a chuckle. His eyes snagged to the tear in the cloth wrapped around Anathem’s abdomen just below his ribs, something the creature likely would've tried to conceal had he even noticed. Death’s eyes turned sharp again as he grabbed nearly the entirety of Anathem’s waist in a single hand, a finger forcing the fabric to reveal the ugly gash hidden beneath.

“And what is this?”

“A Hellion snuck up on me, must’ve been reckless.”

“You are not meant to be reckless. You are meant to be untouchable, that is how I made you.”

Anathem hissed as Death prodded the wound, a fresh trickle of inky blood oozing from under the weak scab.

“Yet I lived with hardly a scratch,” he stared back into Death’s infernal glare with such an unshaken resolve, his pupils a golden marble completely still despite swimming in the deep-red bloodshot of his eyes.

“As you’ve taught me.”

His fingers raised to brush against Death’s arm, in the best way his inhuman limb could deliver a caress. His fresh bleed had dried about as quickly as it began, once more closing the wound that it may heal into a new scar adorning his pallid flesh. While the manacle at his wrist pressed coldly against Death’s equally chilled skin the chains themselves posed no obstacle or obstruction, their arcane nature merely phasing through any limb or object in the way of their wearer’s intent. Death’s grip lessened only slightly, not yet satisfied to release him just yet.

“I trust this misstep will not be repeated,” he warned, his hold relinquishing the site of injury to reestablish higher against his ribs. His thumb brushed against the scarline of Anathem’s pectorals as he leaned in. Anathem was now cast in Death’s shadow, the warm candlefire of his eyes a beacon in the dark of his sunken eyes and the protruding sockets of his mask.

“Lest I level the Hells before Heaven ever gets the chance.”

Anathem lolled out his pitch black tongue, only to then flick it at the point of the mask’s absent nose. Death practically tore Anathem from the table, pressing himself firmly against the smaller being, feeling his ally’s legs instinctively hook around his midriff. The rattle of the spectral chains played their tune as Anathem weaved his claws in Death’s impossibly black hair, his Frankenstein’s monster of a body ready to take on Death in any form, in all his brutality, and stand all the taller after.

As if an objection sounded by the will of the Universe itself, a shrill cawwing pierced the air in interruption. The sound forewarned the sudden arrival of a large crow beelining to deliver urgent news to its master.

“Finally,” Death’s voice slithered under his breath, eyes tearing away from the being in his grasp to follow the flight of Dust.

“Another time then?” Anathem began to draw away but Death’s iron grip held him in place, his other hand catching Anathem’s thigh to pull it back up over his hip.

“They toyed with my patience, they can be made to wait.” The Nephilim’s rasp rumbled low in his chest -a dark purring- as he bent forward, resting Anathem’s back to the table below. Death could be made to be patient, but only on his own terms. He would not wait for anything nor anyone, had the power and drive to bend the world to his will. Anathem smiled, dusked fingers curling around the edges of the bone mask adorning his lover’s face.

“We will unmake the Balance yet.”

[saleemb]

SSO infection AU :3

(@samanthawd, making an another post because it's lonngg af) (CW// description of corpses and such >:3c) For context; ->Every time a "Najma" and/or "Al Fahr" is mentioned, they're just my OCs, I didn't proof read or anything i had to translate LMAO (from French to English) ->Imane (Jorvik's gazette girl) is the one who keep the journal ->The virus is from Aideen herself, found in a mysterious cave. ->Individuals with Kallters' blood can't be infected.

How it'd spread; I didn't have the will to search correctly, so it's mostly by body fluids, like the flu. Stages of the infections; ->Stage one; Got bitten or infected by contact with fluids from infected individuals (by saliva is the most common case) Experiment is still conscious and lucid, reacts as average as its species. Symptoms take a few days before appearing. ->Stage two;  Experiment starts losing its focus and has an even shorter attention span than the last test. No physical changes except a lack of sensations in the limbs as they start to get purple, black (rotting). It's apparently painful, but the experiment seems to lose consciousness at least 4 times a day. (might be infectious at stage 2, no one can confirm since there is no case reporting an infected from a stage 2 infected.) -> Stage three; IS NOW INFECTIOUS ! If the subject is lucky, it will not lose its limbs, instead, bones are now apparent, if not, the rotting will eat them alive until death( 10% of the infected fails to properly develop and dies from the rotting at stage 2). The apparent bones will remain as the patient will lose all its consciousness, driven by its will to make its body survive. It means feeding itself by any means. Recommended to kill the experiment at its stage before it becomes too powerful. CAUTION; Still infectious and most of the time HOSTILE, please don’t approach any infected alone and without weapons or a mask. ->Stage four; Hostile, will do anything to reach its final stage and find a pack, especially for infected horses. Humans tend to be more… “Lucid” at that state and, most of the experiments tried hiding while hunting for small animals, not being hostile to their cherished ones. ->Stage five; Some experiments survive (up to 10% can pass the fifth stage) to stage 4 rotting and hunting, making them evolve as they can reproduce (Split ?). Highly dangerous and unpredictable. Are always encountered in packs, BE EXTRA CAREFUL! AVOID ANY ENCOUNTER ! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Now a few entries i did in Imane's journal :3)) Lisa and Starshine ; The ones who discovered the first infected, Lisa is being brave about it, I’m not sure why, but she decided to take everything in charge, even if most of us aren’t really reassured by Lisa’s mental health. Starshine fell from a cliff a few days before finding the first infected. He’s injured, but fine. He reassures as much as he can, but I’m not sure he’ll survive this. His left rear hoof is still in bad shape.

Alex and Tin Can ; Take part in every exploration outside Valedale (our shelter) with the team… Tin Can always stay with us, in case something happens… We noticed that their thunder powers are very efficient to kill the infected ! Sad we didn’t get Sabine with us, her fire would’ve been so helpful… Linda and Meteor ; Meteor cheers up everyone with Tin Can, helps Linda and Rhiannon take care of the injured. She been searching a cure with the druids, without much success. Anne and Concorde ; Anne helped the exploration team thanks to her portals, she seems to enjoy the fact that Sabine is missing, and she’s in good shape. Hope she could talk more tho.

Katja and Mortifa ; Barrier helpers and helps to build walls with their ice powers. I’ve never seen a blind mare doing this well in combat… But as for her dark rider… Katja disappeared after everyone was safe in Valedale… No one knew where she was going. Probably trying to find the remains of Sabine and Khaan ? She’s really distressed, always on her nerves… She had at least 3 meltdowns, Jay started to get pissed off at her… I’m pretty sure they regret it. Katja’s fine, isn't she ? Herissa and Nihili (?) ; Nihili is still missing, but Herissa pleads, she still have the connection with her stallion… Najma and Alex decided to search for him. Herissa is a pain in the ass when Sabine isn’t here to put her back at her place… Except this… The girl’s fine, more than fine, she’s jumping everywhere and helps everyone (surprisingly) Jay (Jessica) and Acerbus ; Reported missing after a few days with us, supposedly with M. Sands. Sabine and Khaan ; Both found infected by Najma during an exploration in Jorvik City, DO NOT APPROACH ! Her magic is still active, that’s why Katja still hopes to cure her. Najma and Al Fahr ; (They’re my OCs :3) Al Fahr being a good endurance horse, confident in himself and his hooves,  and Najma being more than determined to find Sabine and bring her back makes them good leaders for the exploration team. Najma’s… acting odd since the infection started, I don’t know how to describe it but… Something’s off, she knows something that we don’t. Rania and Delingr ; Missing. Linda said we should search for her and her mothers… We already found Elaine, she reported that her wife is dead and Delingr brought Rania to security in the Wildwoods. I hope they’re both okay… Imane and Sahara ; Hi ! I’m the girl writing this journal ! Me and Sahara are fine, thanks to Najma and her magic… We were on the ferry for Fort Pinta when we saw our first infected ! Avalon ; He’s fine, his grumpy self… He leads very well the resistance and the druids in it, except for his brother of course. Evergray ; He sadly lost his right arm after  he fought Khaan to prevent the infection. He seems okay though, no symptoms, thanks to Linda and Elaine. M. Sands ; ??? (Linda and Najma are suspicious of him, i don’t know if i should write this…) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ and voilà, sorry for the grammar :(

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

11 and 13 for sad headcanon questions... any of the gang

✧ ━━ 𝐒𝐀𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝙰𝙱𝙴𝙻 ; 𝙼𝙾𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙽 𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙴

11. What does your muse consider their worst failing? ━ Abel is a curious creature because he doesn't experience the same emotional input or output that we humans do - and failure registers differently. "Abel" being a mask of its demonic core, actually did gain somewhat of a personality in its decade of existence - its possibly the longest mask the demon has ever worn. Sandwiched between all of the uncertainties, however, was a strange care he began to "feel" for Robin. Abel and Robin had, genuinely, a very interesting (while toxic) relationship - and Abel's actions to care for Robin went above and beyond what would have been expected of him; even going as far as going to Robin's old home and finding his mother's cookbooks so Abel could make food for him. But to actually answer the question - Robin's death. While it's unsure who was the man that killed Robin, they had some sort of demonic knowledge as they temporarily sealed Abel before performing the act. Once Robin was dead, Abel was dying too - and it used its last will to live to kill Robin's attacker and use the life force as a conduit for Robin to revive; but the demon itself was too weak by then to finish it. Thus became the walking corpse. Abel, shockingly, still thinks back on this moment quite a bit in his modern verse; and he continues to wear his brooch that matches Robin's earring, but he doesn't truly understand why he does it. After all, it wasn't as though he cared for Robin. Right?

13. How does your muse outwardly express their anger? ━ Context is so important for this, as Abel is very talented at controlling his emotions (he did teach Robin that after all), and would think it boorish to lash out at someone or something not worth the explosion to follow. That being said, Abel is incredibly cruel and sadistic - and will mix psychological torture with physical brutality if allowed to do so. He tends to act more like a scolding professor, especially towards Robin and @essencefluxed, and surprisingly he has a harder time being angry with @agonizedembrace; most likely due to their shared demonic heritage. Plus if Eve's mad, its most likely his fault or he's involved somehow and he's most likely enjoying it.

[redd-byrd]

AAAAAAAAAAA I LOVED IT SO MUCH

MY DAD WENT WITH ME AND HE ALSO LIKED IT

I’m so glad the theatre was almost empty, I was so excited that I was doing full-on hand-flapping, which I almost never do, and squeaking and giggling like a crazy person, I was stimming like crazy cuz I was so happy to be there

MASSIVE FNAF MOVIE SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT

And friendly reminder that this is my ✨OPINION✨

This will be long and very ramble-y so bear with me

OK SO FIRST OFF THE ANIMATRONICS

- I loved how they acted like kids??? Like you tend to forget the ghosts are actual children when looking at the games since they’re constantly all “murder monster-y” so I love that they got to act so childlike

- Kids’ drawings being a massive plot point was so cute, I actually didn’t mind how sudden Afton’s defeat was since like,,, they were only on his side in the first place bc the drawing showed that he was their friend, so it suddenly switching around made a little more sense. Probably could’ve been executed better but for what it was I think it was fine

- And of course THE DESIGNS!!!! Holy shit I loved how they looked!!! The prop team did an AMAZING job with both the animatronics and the background props!!!

- The interactions with Abby were adorable, I loved the fort scene because of how goofy it was to watch giant machines dressed like animals put that together

- Also I know we were all skeptical when the red glowing eyes were shown, but honestly the scenes where they DID glow would probably have looked good even if they didn’t change it, though I will say that the final look is really nice by itself

NEXT IS THE MAIN CAST

- Matthew Lillard did an INCREDIBLE JOB as William Afton, when my dad and I came out of the theatre he said that he had a feeling that Lillard would be the antagonist (mind you my dad knew nothing about the games or the movie), which really shows how well he does at playing horror villains and playing up that gut instinct

- I loved how creepy he was in the final fight scene, just creeping out of the shadows with those two glowing pinpricks was SO cool

- Also Afton being retconned to not be British anymore is so funny to me askdjhsjjdhdj

- Abby didn’t annoy me at all, I actually thought she was super cute!! Which is surprising bc I usually find kids annoying but I’d die for Abby

- When I say that I got WHIPLASH from the animatronics being nice to her and later Mike after she introduced them, I MEAN IT (in a good way)

- Mike taking Abby seriously and believing her when she said her “imaginary friends” are actually ghosts was a nice change of pace

- The group that broke in honestly didn’t need that much characterization since the main thing the plot needed was Max, so that was fine

- I am confused about why people aren’t more concerned about the murders that took place throughout the movie??? Like a missing poster in the background would’ve been fine, or maybe Mike reacting to Max being missing?? They don’t give much context on their relationship, I have no idea if they’re friends or if she’s just someone he hired and doesn’t have much emotional investment in, so maybe that wouldn’t work

- VANESSA MY BELOVED

- Vanessa was great, I love her character so much, but idk if I love her by herself or it it’s cuz she didn’t get much characterization in the game,,,, doesn’t really matter ig

ABOUT THE STORY

- Story was really fun, I love the unexpectedness of some of the scenes (dance scene, fort building, Freddy blade mask, etc) I thought it was so funky

- Afton using a separate identity to lure people to Freddy’s was cool, though I have no idea why he’d do that to other people. I can understand Mike, he likely knew about his brother through the last name, but why other people???

- I am a bit sad about Henry n Charlie Emily being left out, considering how big of a part they both play in the game lore, but idk if it’s explicitly said whether they exist within the movie universe or not, so we’ll see in the next movie ig

- THE SPRINGLOCK SCENE!!!!!!!! I loved it <3 idk how they didn’t go off after Afton was bouncing around in it earlier but when they did go off it was SO COOL!!!

- “I always come back” YES HE DOES!!!! LETS GOOOOOOOOOOO

- End scene of him bleeding out in the storage room hinting towards the full Springtrap character??? Loved it

- Also HELLO FREDBEAR??? GOLDEN FREDDY?? YELLOW BEAR???? WHAT

Extra info:

- No Markiplier was not in it, he was too busy with his own movie

- WAITER MATPAT?????

- Corey was awesome, I thought he was so funny for his short time on screen, esp the post credits scene

- THE FNAF 1 SONG MADE IT IN OH MY GOOOOOOOOD CONGRATS TO THELIVINGTOMBSTONE

Random plot holes or inconsistencies I found:

- Foxy had a scene where they forgot to switch the red eyes to the new glowing ones

- Despite the animatronics killing the group that broke in, spilling plenty of blood, they’re perfectly clean afterwards

- My dad found it weird that they didn’t show any part of the kids’ bodies in the suits, since it’s apparently known that they were stuffed inside (or maybe only Vanessa knew??). He thought an arm or a leg poking out would’ve worked. I said I think it’s either cuz the bodies were removed, are kinda mangled and pretzel-twisted to only be in the torso, or it’s just bc they didn’t think to do that lmao

- He was also confused on how Afton was able to jump around and move so easily in the springlock suit when the suit in the back snapped off the broom handle after a single jab. I said I think it’s bc it’s meant to be used to move around in and not harshly screwed with, or maybe it’s another plot reason

All in all, 8.5/10 movie. There were a few times when I was confused on why something happened or why someone behaved a certain way, but none of it was outright bad or boring. There also could’ve been more to the gore, definitely could’ve pushed the boundaries of the PG-13 rating, but it was good for what it was. It was fun, cute, and knew when to be serious :P

[system-of-a-feather]

So hey~ I have done an intro / hello message before, but I'm more so Lin 2.0, or I think the name I chose to make my "full" name (originally after being shitpost / bugged about "what is my secret full name" by our fiance but I unironically like it as a "full name) Qilin.

I primarily identify with my original "Lin" part, but I am a fused part between a deep innerworld gatekeeper and said original Lin part. As Lin 1.0 I had a lot of struggles with verbal speaking and now its more of a "challenge" than a "struggle".

I am also a mostly recovered CSA trauma holder and a middle (16~). I'm comfortable saying that outright, because honestly, my CSA has become (in a good way) largely irrelevant to my life as a part beyond it being context. That indifference doesn't change what I've been through and my experiences though.

I'm a local artsy kid who really just likes art and honestly, I found that I honestly really love living as a system. At this point, I think I consider myself a "new me" despite having not really changed much.

Riku's like my big sibling (for a lack of preferred sibling term) and Ray's my Boss TM. Chunn is apparently my counter balance as a part which I guess I can take.

I really like Vocaloid, Anime Art (not as into anime itself surprisingly), and Korean / Japanese Hiphop

If it comes up, I might participate in some trauma talk (but I might just keep it to my personal blog @/cheshire-qilin), because I really do feel - ironically, but totally understandably - voices and conversations around trauma in DID spaces tend to be either very limited and/or articulated only in an actively triggered state as conversations seem to be largely ran by ANP-leaning and masking parts. While being considered mostly recovered, being a trauma holding part is a part of my identity even though I don't really have PTSD symptoms to that trauma anymore. It's something I don't mind and kind of enjoy talking about, even if its become so negligible at this point that I dont really know what to say on it.

Anyhow, it seems like I am a tertiary host at least for now so hello~

[elliepassmore]

The Ornithologist's Field Guide to Love review

4/5 stars Recommended if you like: romantasy, romantic comedy, light academia, magic

Big thanks to Netgalley, Berkley Publishing, and the author for an ARC in exchange for an honest review!

My rating for this book sits somewhere between 4 and 4.5 stars, though it's hard for me to pinpoint exactly where. My rating is somewhat biased. I didn't see the publisher until after I'd requested the book and so didn't realize how heavily romance-oriented it was going to be (I thought it would be more like Emily Wilde's), and that's not really a genre I tend to read. That being said, once the book got going I began enjoying it, hence the rating still being relatively high.

It took me a while to get used to the narrative style of the book. For one, it's set in the Victorian Era and with that comes a lot of thinking about societal politeness and propriety, which doesn't interest me too much. Then there's quite a bit of emphasis on insta-lust and the feelings associated with that, albeit with a Victorian slant, though as mentioned I should've been more mindful of the drama. However, once things start getting on with the Birder of the Year competition, the pacing speeds up and I stopped noticing/being bothered by those two things. I'd say around the 10-15% mark.

The plot itself was interesting and actually contained more humorous moments than I was expecting. The ornithologists take the competition seriously, and it's clear Beth and Devon do as well, but there's quite a bit of tomfoolery occurring as each ornithologist tries to one up the other, and I found some of the situations to be quite funny. I also think that these moments really go to show how far ornithologists are willing to go in this world, which helps provide some context. There are also some behind-the-scenes machinations going on in the competition, and I did have a hard time trying to figure out the true motivation of the competition. There are really two different things going on, one of them funny and one of them more troublesome, that helped add some tension to the plot.

I like the concept of magical birds and the very extra people who study and trade in them. We have the chance to meet a bunch of different birds over the course of the book, ranging from deadly to pretty. Beth takes her job as an ornithologist seriously and is dedicated to studying and protecting birds from more unscrupulous forces. While he may seem like a scoundrel at first, Devon too is intensely interested in keeping birds safe. Conversely, it's made clear that a large swathe of the ornithologist community are less scrupulous and more interested in the fame and glory than in the birds themselves. It's no wonder the competition ends up being what it is.

Beth herself is the very definition of a Proper Victorian Lady. Beth can be quite shy, though she does her best to get along with people, usually with success (the scenes with the French fishermen might be some of my favorite in the book). Part of her shyness comes from being mocked as a child for being a 'weird know-it-all' who was, and is, obsessed with birds, though another part of it comes from her struggling to find the unspoken social rules others seem to follow (as I was reading I suspected she was autistic, and the author's note confirms that Beth is definitely ND, though Holton doesn't provide specifications). As a result, she's a bit of a people pleaser to start the book, though over the course of the competition she begins to stand up for herself and others more, and by the end is truly a force to be reckoned with.

Devon is both similar to Beth and her opposite. For one, he's much more devil-may-care and rakish, willing to be loud and gregarious when the need arises. However, this also masks someone who spent their later adolescent and early adult years feeling apart from others and lonely. In his own way, Devon can also be fairly shy and at times feels inadequate. That being said, it's clear he feels deeply and has a deep respect from the get-go for Beth. I think Devon's rakishness and sensitivity work well together.

The romance works well between the two main characters. Both of them have a deep love for the same academic subject and few people with whom they can let themselves relax and fully be themselves, both personally and academically. As academic prodigies they've had similar experiences in life and thus understand where each other is coming from and where their needs might be in the relationship. While I'd say the romance is definitely insta-love and insta-lust, Devon and Beth both have a wellspring of admiration and respect for one another, which I think is integral.

Overall, this was a surprisingly funny romantasy and I enjoyed the plot and characters. It isn't really a genre I read a lot, so it did take me some time to get used to the narrative style and the focus on romance vs. action + fantasy elements, but I did have a good time reading it.

[lady-laureline]

I want to get to the bottom of neurodivergent burnout. I feel like there are a lot of people that have no context to take it seriously in, so they don't.

As with a lot of these posts, writing this is my way of ironing out my own understanding - take it with a grain of salt, I'm not a professional. I've tried to keep it general but as I'm speaking from a late-diagnosed audhd experience, it will lean in that direction.

Also, depending on how much you relate, this may warrant a mental health trigger warning? There's self-talk that isn't very kind.

×××

The precursor to burnout is survival mode: a state in which the body doesn't allow itself to fully enter a state of rest, as it is perceived to be "unsafe" by the nervous system. Neurodivergent symptoms aren't always a cause for stress in and of themselves, but people displaying them quickly learn that symptomatic behaviour rubs others the wrong way, even if they lack the intuition to see why.

☁️ People don't like the way I behave.

×

This is compounded by miscommunication.

Say a divergent child says something that sounds neutral to them, but rude to everyone else. They might get reprimanded for hurting someone's feelings, but they don't see how what they said was hurtful. Say this child's requests for an explanation are seen as insolence instead of curiosity.

The adults might come away thinking the child needs more discipline. The child might come away knowing they did something wrong, but unsure as to what that was or how to avoid it in the future.

☁️ I can't trust myself to say good things, even if my intentions are good. If I say a bad thing, it's my fault even if I don't know why it's bad.

×

The more these situations crop up, the more the emotional takeaway morphs into low self-esteem and constant vigilance (to catch mistakes before they happen). As the child grows older and responsibilities increase, they are also faced with a more nuanced picture of society that they're already lagging behind - demanding more nuanced masking, which is already a separate workload - on top of battling those good old sensory issues.

To those who don't know what the fuss is about: you know when you have a fever and your skin is super sensitive? If you separate the tingliness from the discomfort, and then apply that discomfort to the rest of your senses, you'll get a pretty good idea of what sensory overwhelm is like. We don't all experience this the same way (for example, I'm generally fine with food textures but really sensitive to noise) or with the same frequency, but it tends to be both unpleasant and consistent.

These additional energy drains inevitably lead to feeling the effects of hard work without anywhere near the same results of our peers. The easiest explanation, and the assumption most uninformed make, is one of personal shortcomings. Laziness. Selfishness. A "bad attitude".

☁️ No matter how hard I try, it is not enough. I haven't earned my pain. I haven't earned my rest.

×

It's a frustrating experience, and all those feelings need to go somewhere. We learn skills such as silent crying to hide our "overreactions"; we use our anxiety as a driving force for productivity. Many disabled people have the dissociative method down pat. And then there's the assertive emotions.

Displaying anger out of bounds of the neurotypical context is a whole other kettle of fish. When the nervous system is cortisol city, things will boil over eventually. Any witness is likely to be unaware of the extent of the stressors that led up to this outburst, so it can seem to happen out of the blue. Plus, if the inciting incident appears insignificant to the onlooker, they'll probably think it's all a bit childish.

Say what you will about neurospicy social skills but we have a killer radar for cringe. Raise your hand if you smush down irritation on the regular. Better yet, raise your hand if you "never get angry".

☁️ My frustration is misplaced and out of proportion. If I show it, I lose the respect of people I care about.

×

Maybe we've been afraid to feel what we feel our whole lives, but there comes a point where something's got to give. We might even be making a conscious effort to get in touch with our emotions after years and years of ripping them down and sealing them away. It's a Pandora's box situation: once the seal is broken, there's no getting the horrors back inside.

That's usually the beginning of what is widely recognised as burnout. There is so much to sort through, life effectively gets put on hold, at least for those of us lucky enough not to crash and burn the moment we let go of the wheel.

Recovery isn't a matter of a little vacation time: it can take months or years, and it may not look like work but it very much is. The trauma runs deep and we have no choice but to get to the bottom of the trench if we don't want to be stuck in a permanent state of exhaustion. It can be isolating as there's not a lot of energy left for much else - overextend and your body will slap you back in line so fast your head will spin. And no, you do not get to choose what overextending yourself entails.

To anyone actually going through this, try not to keep yourself in check, at least when you're alone. Your psyche does not want to pretend anymore. Pretending has repercussions now.

×

It may come as a surprise that a lot of people don't take kindly to healing. A person in burnout recovery is (by necessity) less accessible, more self-centered, taking up more space and drawing new boundaries. Unmasking may reveal a person your friends don't understand like the contorted version of yourself they got to know. Furthermore - change, when seen as a threat, can cause people to lash out.

☁️ Healing is a punishable offense. It hurts those around me. They don't want me as I am, but they don't want me to change, either.

One of the things I've had difficulty accepting is that there are good, caring people in my life that don't deserve an explanation of what I'm going through. They might have a space in their hearts for the person they think that I am, but the capacity to truly get to know me isn't there, at least yet.

Once I'd been burned enough times, I made a decision to settle for nothing less than sincere interest as a prerequisite for any attempt to make myself understood. From there, it wasn't not far to the bittersweet realisation that the only person's permission I need to grow is my own.

×

I'm not sure how to wrap this up, which might mean future edits (there are always more edits), but the thought is complete enough to post.

I suppose there is no end to becoming one's own person, and even though the line between recovery and living can be blurry a lot of the time, existing with purpose is a decision each of us has to make.

I'm sending a telepathic hug to anyone who needs one right now. Take care of yourselves.

×××

The self-talk of some weird kid:

"People don't like the way I behave. I can't trust myself to say good things, even if my intentions are good. If I say a bad thing, it's my fault even if I don't know why it's bad. No matter how hard I try, it is not enough. I haven't earned my pain. I haven't earned my rest. My frustration is misplaced and out of proportion. If I show it, I lose the respect of people I care about. Healing is a punishable offense. It hurts those around me. They don't want me as I am, but they don't want me to change, either."

(I've included this depressing subconscious narrative because I think it's important to show how little unresolved rejections add up over time. One can put on a dazzling performance to meet social demands while believing all of that, and we desperately need community support that is informed and equipped to help them pick up the pieces once the show falls apart.)

[sonicasura]

I just realized something. Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom Link can also fit the Past/Present/Future Squad too. He was literally made to train to fight by the King Rhoam at age 4! And that same old man came back as a spirit just to send him off with little context to clean his majesty's screw up sooo...

Link (Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom)

The Past member of the group and oldest(slept for a 100 years). He was immediately thrust into his destiny at four years by Hyrule's King Rhoam. Link is plagued by both severe amnesia and feelings of failure. He's the only person with the most experience in elixir brewing, bears various blessings from Great Fairies to fallen champions alongside able to use the Sheikah Slate. Shortest amongst the three with the height of 4'11.

His dynamic is a bit different when it comes to Jim and Jak here! BTW, he woke up with his changed arm so don't worry about any TotK spoilers! Only abilities mentioned are from the gameplay demonstration done weeks ago!

Link is like the glue between his fellow traumatized heroes. Great around machines with Jak and an amazing cook alongside Jim. He's also the one to design various clothing for Daxter as having a massive wardrobe requires personal maintenance lest they break.

Link definitely indulged in Blinky's intrigue with machinery. Using his new mysterious arm to craft various devices whether it be from car parts or nature itself. His biggest project is a massive carriage like train capable of carrying the troll exodus with little issue.

Link tends to experience flashbacks despite being in Jim's world. These episodes are intense as his eyes will glaze over and the worst ones he'll unconsciously reenact. Multiple times someone had to restrain Link before he hurts himself or someone else.

Like with his OoT/MM iteration, the Champion's adventuring skills led to an abandoned yet functional Heartstone for the trolls to set up shop. Unlike his other incarnation, Link was more involved in the construction of the new Trollmarket. He did help build Tarrytown after all.

Link is quite protective of his fellow brothers in trauma and more likely to throw hands than his other incarnation. Feral gremlin that will make someone's life hell with everything at his disposal. Link literally bit Merlin on sight and Daxter manage to catch a picture of the glorious moment.

Gnome/Goblin whisperer. Everyone except for Jak and Daxter were flabbergasted seeing Link just eagerly chat with both species like lifelong friends. Blinky learns that the 'dangerous pests' tend to hoard priceless or forgotten treasures since the Champion gets these valuables as gifts daily.

You can't tell me Jim and Jak didn't try on Link's various outfits. That includes the Gerudo outfit used to sneak into Gerudo Town. Outcome? Jim could pass off as female and Jak gets extra food since it became clear he hasn't recovered from the malnourishment of prison life.

Once a warp gate to his Hyrule is open, Link definitely introduced both groups of friends. Blinky adopted Zelda off the bat and both research various stuff together. Everyone agrees she deserves to be a researcher than be stuck with the princess life.

Link absolutely learned to swear in every available language. He mostly tends to swear in Trollish, Precursian, Goblin and Gnome. Link definitely ate troll food than just learn how to cook it. If he can eat rocks and dubious food then you can bet your ass the Champion would devour stolen sock stew.

Jim might've gotten adopted by the Great Fairies. I quote 'He bears a spirit just like us, a fae caught in multiple worlds.' His armor issues are not only fixed but so is Merlin's spell. Imagine Jak, Daxter and Link's reaction when a full troll(Not Beast Jim design)comes out of the Fairy Spring then shifts to a human Jim. Yup, he can shift between all three now with a sunlight immunity bonus to boot.

Link's troll form involving the Glamour Mask is much different from his other incarnation. A Krubera/Gumm-Gumm hybrid whose light peach hide is adorn in burn like black markings, jagged bull horns, armored tail and shaggy mane of golden fur that covers his entire back. Scary looking? Yes but still a feral sweetheart.

Every Link craves a cuddle pile and he's no exception. Blinky has multiple framed photos of the kids fast asleep holding each other. Jim's full troll form is the designated pillow/bed especially if he lays on his back. Link and Jak sleep like a koala right on their larger brother's scruff.

When the events of TotK begin, he has a lot more backup for the approaching battle. Troll allies who can help fight the onslaught in the night and Spargan comrades to assist in the day. For once, Link feels completely ready to face this evil with his fellow brother figures.

And that's it! Until next time folks, I'll see you back at the crossroads because Spargus, Arcadia and Hyrule.

@paradoxical-hermitcrab

[crazycoke-addict]

I think I know who where playing in the FNAF VR Help Wanted 2

I've been watching gamers playing FNAF Vr Help Wanted 2 and like everybody else I'm trying to figure out who is the protagonist in this game. We have 3 likely candidates and they are Cassie, Vanessa and Cassie's father. Out of all the people, Cassie's father makes the most sense.

The first clue we have is the games itself. I've noticed that majority of the mini games feel very job related like food preparation for the chica one, it technician for the caurosel and breaker room, first aid etc. In the 1st vr help wanted, the mini games are well-balanced like in one game you can play a night gaurd than on another you're a child fending yourself from animatronics that have broke into your home. While in FNAF Vr help wanted, it's mostly job related.

I've noticed that gamers tend to have a difficult with games like arts and crafts or the beauty salon and I wonder if that was intentional by steel wool to have them feel like they are the main protagonist themselves but also they feel like a kinship to the main protagonist based off being an adult who works in order to support themselves and their family.

The second clue that I believe this is Cassie's father is the 1983 fall fest poster. I do think this also can give us a certain detail on who Cassie's father may be and that we have met him before. 1983 is an important year in the fnaf timeline. It's possible that Cassie's father was one of Michael's friends more specifically the one wearing the bonnie mask. There's a hidden easter egg in the princess quest mini game, you unlock a chest and a bonnie mask will appear. The player states that the mask looks familiar. I think the bonnie mask is to jog the player's memory on what they've done and how their actions have consequences.

Another thing I wanna point out that the bully who wore the Bonnie's mask could be Cassie's father is that they have similar colour schemes.

This may not mean anything. Another clue that I believe we could be playing Cassie's dad is the occupation itself. In Ruin, it is heavily implied that Cassie's dad was an It technician based off the faz wrench that she said it looks like something that her dad had. One of the things that I feel like people doubt that this is Cassie's dad is that the funtime animatronics are around. I don't think it's that far off to be honest, because the question we have to be answered is if the father was one of the bullies than how long where he and Michael were friends.

In sister location, we are playing as an It technician and there have been cases where there isn't just one but rather multiple it technician. Two of them died that we see. I know that we are also playing Michael Afton but because we are theorising that Cassie's father was one of the bullies whom were friends with Michael. Michael probably kept in touch and asked him to help him out because at this point may be he already has experience in technician. Also the funtime animatronics where in the public at one point so he could've went to the Circus Baby's entertainment when it was open for that day.

I can't explain FNAF 6, but there is a quote that Scrap baby and moon say and that is "what makes you so special". I believe if this was Cassie than Moon wouldn't exactly say this since it appeared that Cassie had a good time in daycare and that the daycare attendent did their job well and had a good relationship with both sun and moon. I think when Scrap baby says 'I recognise you' works in both context because Elizabeth Afton whom was possessing Baby would met Michael's friends when she was alive. I think her saying the lines, "what makes you so special" is that the person we are playing is an important person whom both Moon and Scrap Baby have meant many times but are never seen worthy by them. Cassie's father who is unknown character fits this description.

The last clue that I don't think we are playing Cassie is the condition that the glamrock animatronic are in when we play hard mode of their games. When Cassie meets them again, they are in ruin where they look more like skeletons. But in this game, they are in their shattered versions when Gregory destroyed them to get the equipments he needed to upgrade freddy in Security breach. It is most likely that Cassie's father saw them in this condition because they close the mall down after earthquake since in Ruin, it seems like they were cleaning out the Daycare area.

So those are my reasons on why we are playing Cassie's father in FNAF Vr Help Wanted 2.

[osakanone]

"You got married at some point" "Sure" "Do you remember it?" "Probably" "Yes, but do you? Like if I asked you when it happened, or where you were, could you tell me?" "No, but I can logically deduce that since I remember grieving over a dead husband, I did at some point get married to have a husband and that's probably the person I got married to"

It means playing detective with your own life, every day to mask it.

In my own personal experience, this is closer to how memory loss actual functions: You experience a collapse of connecting context so the emotional cue remains but the origin of the cue is obfuscated.

It goes beyond transience memory loss, which is just naturally forgetting stuff over time which tends to be temporary and becomes a real origin of cognitive impairment.

Imagine knowing you should or shouldn't do something, but having no idea why, and when you try to remember, there's just this deep feeling of dread or that a horrible thing is going to happen to you in the future.

This emotional state actually has a symptomatic name -- "sense of impending doom".

The brain works by finding contexts, and stitching them together with justifications based on your own internal states. When you reason or think, this happens in a recursive loop until you have the level of precision or fidelity or detail you need -- like a render-pass when someone is painting.

This is something everybody does and almost nobody is consciously aware of it, until you've had an experience (be it through trauma, disruption, etc) which makes you aware of the process happening - and even then, you aren't always aware of it.

When I experience memory loss at least, what happens is the gap that the justification has to string together is too big and so my confidence in the result drops. You can think of it as "not having enough slack in the rope" which limits the size of the web I'm able to form with certain experiences, memories or contexts.

This means I can't go as deeply into an experience as others may, or may entirely forget it even happened. Sure I can still hear emotionally "the sound" made on the other side but I can't go there and see what's making that noise.

Stress shortens the amount of rope I get. Prompts, reminders, and friends can help me cross gaps I can't cross alone.

But its enough to disrupt my natural functioning.

A good example is I can't contextualize how time functions properly.

Every moment in the past feels equally far away from me, whether it is from a long time ago, or a short time ago. I don't have the knot-work in my rope to string those feelings and those experiences together.

When this comes up in the context of say, social appropriateness (eg, if its ok to do something when the social statute-of-limitations has expired, or when something has taken too long to do, etc) that's an immediate fail on my part.

Everything feels like it happened 100 years ago. Everything feels like it happened yesterday.

The closest to approximating this I can get is listening to music, which can take me back to a different time and help me remember things connected to the context of the music itself.

In more abstract tasks, like remembering specific days, I either have haunting levels of unwanted clarity, or someone painfully reminds me of something really important that I have absoloutely no awareness of.

Spontaneously I'll talk about something I was involved in quite recently, or that's ongoing and people involved will look around at me like I'm a crazy person.

I then have to stop and think.

That thing happened in the early 2000's.

It made history. It changed an entire generation. It saved lives, and it disrupted a major cult. It mutated into a political organism, that in retrospect, probably ruined an entire generation of men, which wasn't our intention at all.

And I'm talking about it like its a dinky pet project website, which is at best a curiosity and a place to post silly pictures.

And now my friends who I've known for maybe five or six years are looking at me like they've just seen an actual unicorn.

And then I look around, glancing at the hallway wondering where my husband is.

And then I feel there's no ring on my finger.

I look at my right hand, the paralyzed finger.

I remember I slammed a knife into the kitchen counter out of saturation, pleading with him to stop abusing his medication.

My hand shot down the knife, but my grip didn't loosen. The inertia cut the tendon in my right hand's pinkie finger, rendering the final joint completely unusable.

Then I remember he died three months after that of an overdose.

And that, I only know about things like this because I obsessively journal, to try and make up for how at the end of my rope I am.

Pausing, looking at the text-field, I remember this probably isn't socially appropriate to share this.

I write a few more lines.

I'll say what I'm writing is just well researched fiction. That whoever's reading this doesn't need to feel bad about something which I'll insist, did not happen.

I tell myself I'll delete the post in a few days, maybe a few weeks for the sake of privacy, marking it accordingly.

And now I'll click reblog.

Enough of the trope where memory loss undoes the damage or the corruption or whatever. More content where removing memories just removes the context.

The tragedy of needing to grieve and not knowing what or who you lost or why. The angst of having trauma and being denied the awareness that it's trauma. The suspense of being different somehow and left to wonder how and when. The tension of knowing that something is off and you can't find where it hurts. The Adventure Zone gets it. Kingdom Hearts gets it.

There is an aching inside you and you don't know how it got there.

[izzyliker]

some musings about ed, trauma, and ed-the-character as a system

Disclaimer: while I have an undergrad degree in psychology and sociology I am not a psychologist. I have years and years of first hand experience with living with C-PTSD and am married to someone with C-PTSD and who is also the host of an OSDD-1b (ie. one of the dissociative disorders that are associated with systems) system; and I am making this post from primarily a place of personal connection to the character, the way he’s presented, and the way we’re physically shown Ed’s childhood in flashbacks. People often discuss Ed from the context of him having “masks” and the Ed that sings songs and wears robes being “the real Ed” and I think that’s not a very good reading of the text (sorry) and this personal connection is probably why. 

First of all: Tumblr user uselessheretic wrote up an AMAZING post about Ed, trauma, and coping and really succinctly explained the changes in his personality from the IFS model perspective. Blackbeard, Edward, and the Kraken are not personas: they are versions of him with their own specific purposes. They exist for a REASON. None of them are “real” or “fake” and suggesting that Blackbeard and Kraken are “fake” or “performances” when held against Edward because they’re “violent” whereas Edward is “soft” and “gentle” has a whole bunch of terrible implications specifically because a lot of the time complex PTSD (ie. PTSD formed over time from repeated trauma as opposed to ye olde PTSD which is from a singular event with a start and end; eg. childhood abuse vs mass shooting survivor) DOES come with a distinct need to have some form of violence built in as a defense mechanism from abuse, aimed either at your abuser, other people, or yourself. The Kraken is that: Ed didn’t kill his dad, the Kraken did. By externalizing this act to a different person (or monster, in this case) entirely Ed could keep the emotional fallout from the act to the minimum: Ed didn’t kill anyone. His dad is gone. He might have loved his dad like children tend to, even when their parents are unsafe to be around, and he might’ve been genuinely distraught even though his dad was also the cause of his trauma. When the person who took care of the issue is NOT YOU you get to just focus on the conflict of “I’m relieved he’s gone [because he was abusive]” and “I’m upset he’s gone [because he’s my dad and I deserved better]” instead of also throwing in an additional “and also I killed him.” This reactive part doesn’t necessarily disappear and especially not just on its own. Ed, with the life he’s had, almost certainly never was in a place where he felt safe enough to “get rid of” the Kraken. That’s his built in security system. 

And this is where I have to discuss Ed as a system.

The C-PTSD is honestly not up for debate but I acknowledge that the show probably doesn’t mean for us to read him as a system. I cannot stop reading him that way, though, and the Kraken split is one of my main reasons for that. When Ed tells us the Kraken killed his dad I believe he genuinely thought that was the case. When he (the Kraken, and I’ll refer to these alters by those names from now on just for clarity) killed their dad the Kraken was sealed into a completely separate compartment by itself. Ed-as-a-collective remembers it but not consciously. It’s a memory that exists but can’t be readily accessed. When he is triggered by the fuckery presentation of the Kraken he physically falls to the ground from the sudden force of the memory. The way the monster blurs with young Ed, and the way he convulses on the ground completely dissociated from the rest of the world is so over the top dramatic in presentation it’s genuinely shocking to see from him. When we see him in the bathtub he’s not just vulnerable and crying and recovering from a flashback: he is still having it, and he’s not just vulnerable and seeking comfort, he’s regressing to a much more childish state than we have ever seen him or we ever see him again. This is Ed as close to his childhood self as he can get; this is him returning to not only the night the Kraken killed his dad, but probably several traumatic moments across several different points in time that he’s reliving at the same time. Like he’s not just having a breakdown: he’s having a complex trauma flashback, which are often not super clearly centered around a specific event as much as they are about feelings and vague memories blending with how you felt, what you saw, what you smelled, what you heard. This is happening AS HE IS TALKING TO STEDE. Ed is not there “in the moment” because he is being pulled between the past and the present in an extremely distressing way where there is no escape for him in either direction. He can’t ground himself in either world. Watching this scene over and over again it hits me so hard that when Ed says “I’m not a good person” he immediately goes on to say “I don’t have any friends” which is an extraordinarily childish thing to say in this context in the sense that that is what a lonely child in an unsafe living situation without anyone to reach out to would say. Edward, in the present, as he is, wants a friend and is lonely, but on a basic “he is having a flashback right now” level that is him speaking from the perspective and primal fears of his childhood self: Ed, the age slider, who has had contact with Kraken, the protector, for the first time in a very long time. When the Kraken was split (and I don’t know if that would’ve been long before the actual killing happened or if that was the moment it did happen; it’s possible the Kraken wasn’t even remotely the first person to be split to help Ed cope) it was split for a reason: to protect Ed. The Kraken has one task and that is to keep him safe. 

Footnote: it is not a given that a system will have an outwardly violent protector. Protectors form to meet the requirements of the traumatic situation in order to minimize the harm done psychologically and physically: if the situation requires a good fawner or mediator then one will form. If the situation requires someone who can ”want” the traumatic thing in question then one will form. If the situation requires someone who can fight back then one will form. Ed has very specific circumstances where the formation of one makes perfect sense. 

The Kraken is not a senseless violent person; he protects Ed. He does not lash out without reason. The Kraken kills Ed’s dad. He throws away the silk square. He throws Lucius overboard. He cuts off Izzy’s toe. These are all acts that are done to keep Ed safe, either physically or emotionally. The Kraken is not emotional, does not lash out, does not react. The Kraken plans and makes choices where Ed retreats and tries to hide. He is not a mask: when Izzy triggers the Kraken out he’s not forcing Ed to put on a mask, he is the last step in triggering a massive breakdown that had been building up for DAYS at that point. Ed’s been desperately pushing this off and he’s been doing… okay…. But the person that has been out was NOT the person who has been in charge previously: it was Ed, the childish alter, the one who wants to sing songs, the one who wants friends, who wants affection, who openly begs for it. That was NEVER going to be sustainable. He’s out and he’s raw and he should never have been left out alone for so long but Stede leaving with no warning has had him out without anyone else to take his place. This is his second “bathtub moment,” only this time nobody is there to give him the affection and understanding he needs. It’s not just Izzy: he can see how the crew looks at him like he’s lost his mind, and while Lucius tries to help him they are just not close enough for it to ever be feasible. Lucius didn’t promise to protect him and then follow through with it. Lucius didn’t take the only reminder of his childhood he carries with him, his traumatic childhood, the one he only accesses in flashbacks and tell him it’s beautiful. That he’s not ruined and broken for it. That was Stede. To Ed, Stede gave every indication that he was going to stay and be a safe person for Ed to trust and rely on. Would Ed even NEED the Kraken to keep him safe anymore, with Stede? It’s just been Ed, the age slider, the vulnerable child, the person who is the most susceptible to any harm, since probably right after they signed the act of grace. The rapid changes of his mind about wanting to stay vs. wanting to go to China are impulsive, they’re nonsensical, they’re clearly trauma responses to me: adapting to your current scenario quickly without processing it too much, just accepting it as a given, and then coming up with a fantastical escape (hello, the Kraken murdered my abusive dad). When Stede doesn’t show up the person who rows away isn’t Ed, it’s the Kraken. Ed would’ve waited until the British found him and took him back, but the Kraken knows this can’t happen so he takes them back to the Revenge. And then it’s Ed again. 

And it’s not just Ed and the Kraken. We actually see the Kraken only a very limited amount of times: when he kills his dad, when he throws away the silk square & Lucius, and when he cuts off Izzy’s toe. The Kraken is a last line of defense. Similarly, Ed is a highly emotional alter partially because he is the one with the most contact with the emotional parts of his trauma. He remembers. He wants affection. He cannot be left alone because if he is rejected or treated badly he is not built to handle it. He gets triggered out in times of emotional distress, and he’s the one crying and lashing out. Ed never got to grow up, and he’s insecure and emotional because he’s desperate for positive attention. When the French make fun of him at the dinner party it’s Ed that storms out, it’s Ed that finds Stede, it’s Ed who tells Stede he’s going to go back and shoot them all, and it’s Ed who Stede tells he’s going to take care of it, that he’s going to take care of him. They’re the protector and the protected, respectively. They’re highly specialized alters with purposes. 

So that leads us to Blackbeard. As uselessheretic identifies him as, when following the IFS model Blackbeard is the manager. He’s the person who takes care of day to day tasks. He’s the person we see the most. This is different from Blackbeard-the-persona, as in the fearsome pirate image he has crafted with Izzy: that Blackbeard is just a brand. Blackbeard the manager is the person we see the most. He’s brilliant, he’s violent, he enjoys maiming, he enjoys a good fuckery, he’s a hard worker and he’s funny and Stede enjoys being around him and he’s built himself from the ground up. He’s not held back by his trauma (because Ed’s holding onto pretty much all of it) and he’s able to enjoy violence (because the Kraken does what would, for him, be emotionally exhausting, traumatic murder and violence - I think one of the reasons that the trauma unfolding happens at all is because Blackbeard is trying to kill Stede [traumatic murder] AS the Kraken imagery occurs. This is a perfect storm). In some ways he seeks it out as the receiver: he wants Stede to stab him, and doesn’t seem to be averse to it in general. It’s just simply not that deep to him. They lost crew members? Sucks. Anyway, what’s for dinner? He’s practical but he’s not emotionless the way the Kraken is: Blackbeard is a much more “complete” person than the Kraken is. Ed and Blackbeard are people in that they have their own distinct personalities, and they are capable of the full range of the human emotional spectrum. Kraken isn’t, because he has a specific purpose that requires a certain amount of non-humanness, or else he wouldn’t be able to fulfill that purpose. 

But I think there is a fourth person as well: and that is the person that does whippies with Jack, who thinks Jack is just a pathetic guy and a harmless dude, really, who gets fooled by him, who is impulsive and reckless and rambunctious. I actually suspect that Blackbeard ISN’T who was originally in charge after Ed left home: I think this person was the one who had the reins for a long time, and split from Ed somewhere between the murder and before they left to work for Hornigold. I think he’s sort of a proto-Blackbeard in function: more immature, seemingly stuck in an eternal state of frat boy fun, and I think that’s because he IS stuck in that state. I don’t know how to analyze their relationship but I think there’s definitely something really complex there. He seems to trust Jack way more than Jack deserves but I don’t really know what to make of it. It’s a very naive way of looking at people; a childish desire to make friends combined with these desires to understand someone and see deeper within them. Blackbeard is the matured version: more confident, more sure of his authority, someone who knows what he’s doing, and who has a healthy amount of arrogance. This person… is not Blackbeard. This person is a total 180 from any version of him that Stede has ever met, and when he tells Stede “this is who I am” it’s not even remotely what we as the audience have observed previously. Blackbeard pre-Stede was moody, mysterious; impulsive and erratic according to Izzy, sure, but this is not that. This is something else entirely. 

The only way him saying that makes sense is if that is genuinely what he thinks in that moment: I don’t think there’s a tremendous amount of amnesia between switches but I think there is also next to no internal communication between alters and it seems like generally speaking they operate under the assumption that they ARE the same person. And that is a valid way for a system to identify: but this is different from that kind of a conscious choice. In this case there is no conscious statement; it’s an assumption that everyone feels this way, that “this is just how it sometimes is” is the same as “this is the REAL me,” etc. And there is no “real me” – that’s the point! They’re all equally real. Ed-as-a-collective has no solid grasp on his personality or selfhood because he’s completely blissfully unaware of the fact that there’s a good reason for that. Now the issue is that Ed would never have the language for any of this. As I said the amnesia between alters seems to mostly be limited to the Kraken, and when Izzy refers to his increasingly erratic moods I suspect he just means that Blackbeard as the host and the most normie alter is getting bored and depressed and just doing weird shit, though I wouldn’t be surprised if Izzy had come into contact with Ed the age slider and found the interaction(s) confusing and offputting. I don’t think Ed would process these alters as separate necessarily, and the other characters of course would have no idea. So to expect that Stede would need to take care of Ed is both unfair to Stede on the basis that he doesn’t KNOW and on the basis that Ed and Ed& cannot expect to externalize the caretaking onto someone else. Not because it’s unfair to Stede (although it kind of is) but because it’s fundamentally unsustainable on an internal level. The Kraken, as blunt of an instrument as he might be, is built to the exact needs that Ed needs to be taken care of, because that’s how he came to be. Stede is his own external person whose origin ISN’T Ed’s brain as it was when he was experiencing tremendous amounts of acute traumatic events. Ed is realizing this issue now that it’s already too late. 

The thing is that Stede did – and honestly it’s fucking remarkable considering that Stede generally has the emotional intelligence of a spoon – everything right every single time he came into contact with Ed-the-age-slider. I don’t know if it’s because Stede, someone who also has a bunch of childhood trauma, on some level knew that he was seeing a traumatic flashback unfold and KNEW what to do, or if he’s genuinely just fine tuned to understand Ed, but when Ed comes to him with tears in his eyes and tells him they laughed at him and that he’s going to shoot them Stede tells him to stand down, and then with voice soft as a gentle breeze tells him that he’s going to take care of it. I’ll do this for you. You’re hurt and you’re right to be hurt and I love you and I want you to feel safe and taken care of, and I’ll do it because I know how to do it and I want to keep you safe from the fallout. And Stede follows through. Ed stares at Stede with unbelieving eyes the whole time, and then the whole way back to the Revenge. This is a breaking point. This is the first crack in Ed’s shell. This is something that has only ever been done by Ed, or by Blackbeard, or by the Kraken when it was really, really bad. So to have someone else do it for him – no wonder he’s quiet for pretty much the rest of the night, save for like, ten words for the rest of the episode. 

And then Stede sees the memory of his childhood, the little square of silk, the physical reminder of his horrible, traumatic childhood he tries to shield himself from, and he touches it, and he might as well be touching Ed’s heart. He looks at it; the silk being a metaphor for the traumatized child who still exists acutely inside of Ed, the one who feels so many conflicting emotions about his trauma, who blames himself and everyone around him and who just wants to be loved and protected, who in that moment is still distressed and recovering from an intensely upsetting emotional moment; and he tells Ed that it’s beautiful. He goes out of his way to neaten it. He goes out of his way to put it on Ed, where he can see, and he tells Ed that he wears it well. That it’s a fine thing. And I can’t even… Ed, the traumatized child who almost certainly felt like he would just never matter, that his life would always be fear and loneliness, being told he’s worth something not only now, but as a child, too, that he was always lovable, enough so that he shouldn’t hide that part of himself out of fear of being rejected… not around Stede, at least. Not-she-which-burns-in-it wrote a breathtaking post about that specific scene and the body language of both of them and it really haunts me. 

And then in the bathtub Ed is inconsolable, we’re surrounded by mirrors, the cracks in his consciousness, where he’s drifting between flashbacks and real life, where he’s having tremendous issues differentiating reality from memory, and Stede comes in. And here’s what I always think about:

Stede doesn’t try to touch him. Stede sits a fair distance away but his body language is open and he’s obviously engaged and listening. Stede doesn’t accuse him of anything. When Ed admits to the plan Stede doesn’t yell at him, doesn’t leave, he just asks whether it will still happen. Ed tells him he doesn’t have friends, Stede tells him he’s his friend. The mirrors repeat. Ed is still having his flashback sequence. Stede doesn’t leave. He doesn’t push. He lets Ed lead the conversation. And near the end he offers out his arm and Ed reaches for it. It’s Ed’s choice. It’s Ed who has agency. It’s Ed who’s in charge, who gets to share what he wants, who gets to be as vulnerable as he wants, who gets to choose if he’s touched, how close he wants Stede to be. And Stede sits with him until he’s gathered himself, and then they leave together. 

And for me it’s like – at the beach he says “I can just be Ed, and what makes Ed happy is you” and of course on an obvious textual level it just means what it says: he’s just himself, without the need to maintain his image or to hold power or manage others. I just – I know you have to be fairly committed to this reading here but it haunts and vexes me to think about this subconscious admittance of the fact that this vulnerable person who holds probably all of the trauma is safe and happy with Stede to the point where he can be the one front, where he feels safe. That Stede will take care of him, that he can trust him, that he can let his guard down. And of course that backfires almost immediately. 

So like: I don’t know where exactly I was going with this, except just that… regardless of what specific trauma consequence you see him as having these “versions” are highly unlikely to be “fake” or masks. They’re either “parts” or they’re alters; I tend to go with the alter theory. I think Ed as a character is Very consistent with how a system in the 1700s might come across to people who simply do not have the language. And these parts, regardless of how you see them, do have specific roles and meanings and they exist for a reason. As the text keeps telling us Ed has a shit ton of trauma over his childhood and this has affected his emotional processing skills to a tremendous extent. The Kraken does not come across as a “mask” or something Ed is pretending to be: he is (imo) clearly something that already existed in this capacity, and he is completely different from Ed or Blackbeard in every single way, down to the way he moves, his facial expressions, how he carries himself, even his look. Kraken is – yeah, breakdown, but, more specifically, he’s a completely different person entirely, and that’s by necessity. He’s just as real as Blackbeard as Ed. I don’t think the Kraken is at all connected to the Blackbeard image, because I don’t think he would ever come out “casually.” He seems distinctly like a last resort trauma trigger solver, not a party trick. And in the same vein Blackbeard is not less authentic than Ed is: it’s just that Ed is completely saddled with all of the trauma that the person in charge cannot hold onto. This is a balance of juggling trauma and functionality with next to no outside help, and when Ed opened up to Stede to such an extent and imprinted on him with basically no safeguards it’s a sweet moment, but it’s a dangerous one as well. And it’s not a conclusion or a climax to their arc or Ed’s trauma processing: Ed has a lot of very, very complex trauma rooted in his psyche that he has been carrying around for decades. That is the literal first peeling back of trauma. It can be intensely retraumatizing to uncover a traumatic memory without proper safeguards, and Ed is incredibly lucky that Stede was so delicate and gentle with him, because that could’ve gone horribly wrong. Ed is not realizing he can be gentle; he’s realizing that he’d been repressing a memory of murdering his dad for decades, and quite possibly realizing that he’s been repressing enormous amounts of trauma in general. Like: this is a breakthrough moment but not in the sense fandom seems to often claim it is – this is not helping Ed realize he doesn’t have to be violent or that he can be vulnerable in general, it’s him deciding that Stede is safe for him to be around. That has next to nothing to do with Blackbeard or his personality or how he feels about violence, and is wholly disconnected from the Kraken because the Kraken is irrelevant to their day to day operations.

Idk! I love my complex meow meow. He’s out there. Be nice to him