#how hard is it to grasp

[dykedvonte]

I genuinely don't think Curly would be as caring for Jimmy as some people depict him in aus where Jimmy gets stuck and burned rather than Curly.

I feel like the realization would truly hit in that moment of what Jimmy did and how bad it was as Curly desperately tries to get him out of the cockpit. He's trying to break in to save Jimmy, but is he? All the thoughts in his head; Jimmy's trying to kill them all, Jimmy's trapped in the cockpit, Jimmy raped Anya, Jimmy's going to die trapped in the cockpit, Jimmy trying to kill them all because of what he did to Anya, and sort of a final Jimmy did this. Is he trying to save him or trying to figure out why? Trying to finally make him take accountability? You can't hold trial for a dead man. Does he want Jimmy to die? Not really, but it'd be easier than figuring out where they go after this. After they drag him out and get his set up in medical and Jimmy refuses to look at anyone but him.

He's the only one who is truly willing to care for Jimmy. I don't think he's keeping him alive for the same reasons, just he can't bring himself to put him down. He wants answers, he wants to be mad. This is the first time he can talk to Jimmy and not have anything spun back at him but he can't get a response. He's never really been able to but for the first time Jimmy actually has to listen and he'll never know if he's actually listening to him this time. It reminds him too much of not understanding Anya. Anya has to care for him and he doesn't want her too, she shouldn't have to but they can't just let him die, can they? Should they? It's easier than hearing him in pain but that's a reminder he did this... even if Curly allowed it to happen.

No one seems to have thoughts on it but him and Anya. They know the reason he crashed the ship but they don't get the logic. Anya does actually, but Curly has to admit he does to. Has to admit he's always known Jimmy's logic behind things, things that need to be "fixed" but he's always taken responsibility and fixed it himself. The first time he really let Jimmy take responsibility and he couldn't, he can't fix anything and Curly know he can't either. He looks at Jimmy and sees every mistake but now he's wondering how many of Jimmy's he's been tacking on to his own. How different are they?

What should he had done to stop it? Maybe this should've happened to him...

Curly doesn't like those thoughts and how they only come when he's stuck with Jimmy, like he's always done to himself. He's way too gentle when he gives Jimmy his pills, too mindful of teeth that always gave him hollow smiles. A tongue that always told half truths, while he held his own. He holds his jaw too kindly and thinks about all the times he's clenched his and smiled for his friends sake. For Jimmy's sake. Jimmy still swallows the pills and struggles, whines like it's not his fault.

He hoped it hurt.

And he's a little scared that he's a little too okay thinking that.

[killmeinmysleepwithachainsaw]

I immediately thought of them and therefore I had to

[vynnyal]

Making content for all 5 tcf fans out there

Bonus:

[bromcommie]

SKREEEECH.png has entered the chat

[picturejasper20]

Being a Vlad fan can be frustrating because he has a lot of very interesting things but trying to figure out what the writers were trying to get across with his inconsistent characterzation is like trying to play 4D chess.

[cybertron-after-dark]

Being constantly surrounded by the presence of a loving God sounds great until you realize you never know when his freaky fuckin eyes are gonna show up to check on you.

And man. They do it a LOT.

[demigodofhoolemere]

Trying to find nice stuff for Wish but everywhere you go people are being painfully wrong in their interpretations of the movie

[marsuro]

Not me getting my ass into Final Fantasy VII because I saw a new fave lmao

[smolandweirdwriter]

wow ok letty being angry about babel’s cruelty towards women and assuming almost that the others, by fighting against racism, are ignoring sexism is just,,,baffling. they’re intertwined, babe. oppression feeds oppression. colonialism is a snake that consumes itself— that’s the point of the book!! fighting for an end to the imperial domination would work in tandem with bringing down the gendered domination AS WELL. because it’s CIRCULAR.

[ficandkaboodle]

Vaginismus: Secondo x Fem!Reader

Author's Note: So . . . I'm already really bad at these types of things. But I think writing one of these on this type of subject matter is still important. Fanfiction is kind of a very rough place when it comes to acknowledging or writing for sexual disorders. On one hand, I am to assume this is because fanfic, by its very nature, is meant to be like wish fulfillment. Reader inserts are often meant to be the representations of the best versions of ourselves. But . . . I dunno, I feel like that can only go so far when you see representations of all kinds of disorders or issues or even complete non-issues. And yet virtually nothing is ever made with people who have conditions like vaginismus or whatever in mind. I love a good smut but sometimes, reading stuff makes me flinch inward and all I can focus on is the pain I would be in from even a pinky tip trying anything. I just think it's important to try and remind people that PiV isn't the only way to "get stuff done" and that it should be okay if that's a struggle for you. Some people can work their way out of the condition, and some people never do. And I think it should be okay to write about it because all too often it's easy to forget that or feel like you've lost out on being loved or understood over something that, in the grand scheme, is so silly. And since I have the condition and there's a chance I may never get out of it thanks to my fucked up noggin, I think this should be an opportunity to write about it. Hope I did okay. There might be more to follow . . .

Word Count: 2394 CW: Vaginismus and all the lovely self-loathing it entails, reader has a vagina, references to aspects of BDSM ig, MDNI

In your defense, you didn't think it would go this far. Certainly, one could argue that Secondo was a serious man: He wasn't prone to playing with food that wasn't absolutely his to consume. But you supposed you had forgotten that, or maybe you were just high on the the arrogant assumption that you might be a special case. Or maybe it just slipped your mind to intervene when the teasing glances, subtle and overt flirtations, and little talks between you kept going and going and going until --

Now look where it had gotten you: Sat in the office of the most intimidating Emeritus brother, a packet of documents lying on the desk before you, along with an elaborate green and silver fountain pen.

Secondo preferred to use contracts when it came to his potential bedmates he had a particular eye for. Ones he had an especial intention of keeping closer. Longer.

To many, this was an absolute honor. You knew plenty of siblings that would probably kill to be in your place. And as you sat wordlessly before both Papa and his documents, you contemplated throwing yourself onto those swords.

It would certainly be quicker and less painful than ducking out after coming this far.

You could picture it: St. Andrew's crosses, leather, hot wax searing deliciously into your skin, his sharp voice directing wicked degradation before salving you with praises. All the scrumptious things Papa II had gained a notoriety for indulging. You would gladly eat it all up and beg for seconds and thirds.

But you couldn't stop it there; it had to go further. Nobody just. Stops there. Nobody normal, anyway.

The problem was that you didn't consider yourself normal. Which was what made imagining him getting into position all the more mortifying even if in concept. You could picture yourself trying to convert the anticipation you were meant to feel from one of nerves into one of bliss but it doesn't matter. You try so hard to relax and be in the moment but it's a terrible moment!

You'd heard Secondo was blessed. The idea sat in your stomach while its surroundings shriveled in fear and constricted to an uncomfortable degree. Hell, it wouldn't even matter if he were the opposite of blessed: It would all hurt the same. It would still feel as though a needle were shanking its way into your most intimate parts, piercing onward until it struck your lungs and took the oxygen right out of you. And that would only be the beginning of it.

And just thinking that was enough to make the mask slip.

You prayed to Lucifer that the sound of you wordlessly nudging the papers and pen closer to Secondo would somehow be enough to disguise the whimper paining your throat. Unfortunately, it was not.

Your already throbbing stomach somehow made enough room to swallow your heart when you saw the older man's brow quirk.

"Something the matter, Sorella?" His voice, the one you'd grown to swoon into after all these passing weeks, made you want to flinch now. Fuck. You could feel your resolve slipping through your fingers like sand and creating further mess. You just needed to keep it together --

"N-no," you forced out. You tried not to dwell on how tight your voice sounded or how it even hurt just to utter that. A complete opposite to how smooth and natural it had been when you answered his invitation to his office earlier. You weren't even sure why you hadn't expected this to be the reason for such a request. You were so naive then . . .

You tried to push through the pain, tried add on, "I'm just --" but stopped almost immediately. You had no idea what to continue with. Fuck, you were fucking this up so badly! You seriously began to contemplate just standing up and leaving, but then where would that get you?

You still lived here, in the Abbey. Avoiding a Papa was virtually impossible at the end of the day. There was no way you two could carry on as though nothing had ever happened -- the flirting, the gazes, all that junk . . . Oh, Satanas, would you need to relocate? Uproot the life you'd finally managed to create for yourself here, sent off somewhere else just to hide the humiliation of what you were and what you had or hadn't done?

Satan, why did it feel so hot in here? Was that why the air suddenly feel like it was only oozing into your lungs with difficulty?

Clearly, Secondo did not take the silence well. His lips pressed into a thin line. "If I have insulted you, Sorella, I deeply apologize." No . . . "I thought you were aware of my practices." No!! He reached a large, ringed hand out to pull the items back towards him. And somehow, that was the final straw, the final snap before the dam collapsed.

It was like watching your last chance for something being taken away from you, even of your own accord! In fact, it was exactly that: Something you knew was necessary but it didn't have to be that way but fuck, your body and mind were at odds with each other and making it your problem and --

You hadn't even noticed that you'd turned into a crying, hiccuping mess, much less one that talked. It was only when you could see through your tears an actually surprised-looking Secondo (he was capable of shock?!) that you comprehended just what sort of state you were in.

And if it was enough to make the most emotionally constipated man in the Church look disquieted, then you must've been in a sorry state. The room only felt more hot as the burn of embarrassment enveloped you. You hoped it might even consume you in a full-throttle case of spontaneous human combustion as you struggled to swallow back up everything you'd just done.

"I-I-" you hiccuped wetly. It was so hard to formulate words underneath his gaze, which he never took off of you even as he reached for a box of tissues to offer you. You knew it was one of concern, searching for traces that maybe you needed help he couldn't offer you. But for the state your mind was currently in, it twisted it into one of disgust; like maybe all those affections he might've held for you an hour ago were being replaced with ones where all he saw was a madwoman.

It was almost too much. But it was also too late to go back now, wasn't it?

"I . . . My body doesn't work right," you finally admitted in a croaked murmur. Your eyes flew down to your lap in shame, watching your hands twist and tear at the wet tissues you'd just used. "It's a condition. Like my body clenches up down there at the mere thought of penetration. So . . . So sex is off the table, basically. I'm s-sorry . . ."

God, it sounded all so lame when you said it like that. But what else could you really do? How could you communicate to him the physical and mental pain it all caused you? How could you get across to him the embarrassment that came with pap smears, the shame you felt when recognizing how behind your peers you were? Would he sympathize or pity you if he learned that on a good day, you could get the very tip of a well-lubricated q-tip in and have to consider that a victory?

You weren't able to even formulate such thoughts, let alone predict how he might feel besides, perhaps, disappointment. Maybe even disgust.

Secondo liked the finer things in life, after all: How must he feel, knowing he'd wasted so much time and energy on something that was actually broken the whole time?

"I . . . I'm so sorry." At this, your fidgeting froze, your mind beckoning for you to glance up even the slightest. In doing so, even from such an awkward angle, you could see your Papa's expression remain nearly unchanged from before. It was still worried for you, though now with a touch of something more. "I can't imagine how difficult a spot you must've felt you were in . . . And for that, I apologize."

You gave a wobbly expression born of appreciation but also acknowledging the silliness of the sentiment. You gently huffed at the absurdity, "Don't apologize, you couldn't have known." A soft shrug allowed you to upright your position better. "If anything, I'm the one that should apologize. I should've said something in the beginning . . ."

At this, the older man shrugged back. "Perhaps, but I also can understand how uncomfortable that might've made you feel. Telling someone something so intimate can be difficult. Especially if it is like . . . Well." He gestured between the both of you.

You gave the smallest of chuckles (albeit, out of a desperate need to tenderize the mood) as you twisted the shredded pieces of napkin in your lap once more. Yet again, your eyes diverted from their connection with his. "Yeah, well, at least you would've known whether or not to waste time on me."

At that, the mood seemed to slightly change. You didn't feel threatened, but you knew that the breed of seriousness had shifted somewhat. Almost reprimanding. The eyes of Papa Emeritus II were just as intimidating out of the papal paints as they were in them, it seemed.

"I can assure you, Sorella," his normal nature of calmness returned, all traces of hesitancy from moments ago completely evaporated. "I don't see any of the time or what we've done together as a waste. If you have had any partners in the past that might've felt the opposite, then I sympathize greatly with you. But I also know that means you have no experience with anyone worth your time. That is, perhaps, the most disappointing thing of all here."

Damn. What do you even say to something like that? What could you say to something like that? Under normal circumstances, you might've argued in unfortunate defense of past failed connections, pinning the blame on you. After all, that's what made the most sense. or at least, it had. Until now, with the metaphorical mirror being propped up before you by one insistent Papa.

The room fell into silence as you searched for a response -- if you even needed to make one.

"Do you still want me?"

You almost jolted. You hadn't been expecting that to be what broke the silence.

"I . . . Well, yes. Of course I do, Papa." And you did. But . . . "But I don't know if --"

"I didn't ask for specifics, piccolina. I asked you: Do you still want to be with me?"

You struggled with a punctuated inhale. "Yes."

He hummed single low note before taking back the documents and pen. You watched curiously (and perplexedly) as he began to scribble and draw lines at seemingly random places. After what had felt like an eternity, he finally slid the packet back to you.

"Take a look. It's the roughest of drafts, of course, but we can properly revitalize it as needed. If you wish to make further retractions or additions, I give you the freedom to apply them."

Your brow furrowed as you picked up the papers for inspection. Of course, your eyes were immediately drawn to the instances of green ink that now freckled the paragraphs but you took especial time dialing it back and reading in full what these adjustments were meant to even mean.

Acts concerning penetration had been removed or adjusted as necessary, acts concerning outercourse or fondling had been either emphasized or added and asterisked.

"But . . . But Papa, I can't ask you to take away from your own pleasure," you objected. It was bad enough you'd strung him along, even if he argued that you hadn't. This was still quite a lot to grapple with in under ten minutes.

At this, Secondo cracked the first hint of amusement he'd had this entire session. He smirked as he reclined back in his hair. "And what, pray tell, makes you think I wouldn't derive pleasure from doing any of these things, piccolina?"

Porn, smut, the stories kiss-and-tell Siblings would often share in the cafeteria or in the hallways or the quad. Reddit posts.

"Well, I mean," you tried to argue. "They were there for a reason, weren't they? You enjoy those things." You ignored how the smirk on his face only seemed to grow. Hm. Maybe your words didn't have as much umph to them as you'd thought? Still, you continued. "A-and besides: I can't imagine you'd get off as easily from --" You glanced down at a word he'd scribbled in. " -- thigh jobs."

The low chuckle that rumbled from his chest settled your failure of a one-sided debated.

"Oh, Sorellina: You have much to learn about my proclivities," he sighed. "I understand that what the others might talk about may paint a certain picture of me. But I can assure you, any lover worth his salt should know that just shoving their dick into something is far from the end all, be all."

"And besides." The chair squeaked as he leaned in, hands folded on the dark wood of the desk. "It takes a true lover to relish in pleasure's many forms. I am more than happy to show you this, if you will let me."

It didn't matter that you had heard him say and gesture far cruder things: Just the words coming from his lips -- lips you had craved the taste of ever since your first sampling mere days ago -- coupled with the sincerity of his unbreaking eye contact. Your face was once again awash with a heat, a pleasant one born from blush.

You wanted to let him. You'd let him do whatever he could with you. You just needed to . . . let him.

Your body made picking up the pen feel weightier than it could've possibly been. But in a way, you were used to it: You were used to fighting your body and mind, always losing the battle so that they and their anxieties could be pacified while the other parts of you remained barren. Unsatisfied, with the conviction that it was only your burden to bear.

You didn't want a story to tell or even a milestone to complete so that you could better fit in with your peers: You just wanted to be understood. Or at least, like you wouldn't get left behind, chained by your own body and mind's complications.

As you stared at the green ink that formed your name on the pristine white paper, you felt a tightness in your throat. Never before had you felt so liberated . . .

[neonhellscape]

okay its no secret i dont buy into marazhai being the persona he puts on. so as i've officially met him in game now, im making a list of all the in-game reasons i think he's a bit of an idiot [which i love btw. i find him far more compelling if he's a bit stupid/weird and he's trying so hard not to be but you just know nobody in commorragh is inviting him to parties]

the very first time you get a glance of him on a rooftop and. 'deal with this' "of course" proceeds to just walk off like 3 seconds after the other two

ambushes you. has you cornered. is in optimal position to kick your ass frankly, high ground and better weapons and utilising shock against you. ...he bitches at you for a while, gets insulted, then runs off into the forest with a maniacal cackle

heinrix fired a mild insult [considering what he's like to everyone else its barely an insult] and he took big enough issue with it to start saying how he'll break him and turn him into a pet. oh sure dude you're responding super well to this mild comment from the guy who accidentally insults everyone and their entire ancestral line at some point

i think it says something that he's learned to speak your language fluently too. that Has to be some kind of Yikes moment to admit publicly in drukhari culture. buried family secret great great grandfather drukhari-georg learned to speak mon keigh and now we claim he just spoke oddly because was shot in the head as a child to prevent the shame

he also knows the mon keigh lore that says youre a super special little guy as rogue trader and actually LISTENS to the fact you're the special little guy as rogue trader. and he does treat you as more equal/with more respect than the other characters. thats not just a drukhari culture yikes thats what gets you checked for a concussion or brain damage

literally socially atrocious enough its believed he's working with you [read: with you. not using you, not manipulating, cooperating. this is a big difference i feel] and only he himself doesnt believe it

ignore the fact he eventually DOES work with you which. is its own follow up statement

challenges you to fight him, to give chase then and there. i made him wait while i went through english government simulator where i queued for multiple days, did multiple day/week voidship trips back and forth, got distracted by accidentally starting jae's romance, pasqal telling me to servitorise her, getting blackout drunk with her, shipwide broadcast tm, giving her a voidship, her getting me a space cat, attacked by pirates, dealt with a plague, explored a few extra systems.......................

he destroys your palace. ...its rebuilt effectively within a week. most of the damage is in bodies which are just sent to the poor district to rot [almost feels worse than the damage done good job imperium]

the throne has claw marks. he could've blown it up or shot it or piled corpses on it but no he wanted to sit on the fancy chair and so turned into a common housecat mauling the sofa arm

how long was he just sitting there lounging on that chair? again see how long i kept him waiting. he was just sitting there trying to find a comfy position on this [for him] kinda small chair JUST so he could briefly taunt, break your window with his space motorbike, jump off the chair in a dramatic [but not gunna lie not that impressive] feat of gymnastics, then fly out. he doesnt even shoot at you as he leaves

i will continue my list as i see more that entertain me

[gomzdrawfr]

coping

[rohirric-hunter]

The way it's called MSG really lends to the impression in the United States (and possibly other English-speaking countries?) that it's some kind of deeply suspect chemical and not like. Seasoned salt

[luna-loveboop]

No undo button, we die like the kings of hyrule

[whetstonefires]

#4 please !

Now see this could be tricky, because generally if I don't get some key elements written down very quickly the idea flows away again and the 'yet' disappears, even if I remember generally what it was about, but I have one this time! I am still just enough plagued by this vision that it's not out of the question I'll go for the capture, but so far nada.

Idea was basically a Jiang family character study by way of modern au. (So tw canonical abuse.) I started from the reflection, in a modern au very high chance the Jiangs are divorced, because being a divorcee wouldn't necessarily ruin Yu Ziyuan in the modern world, as long as she was allowed to control the narrative enough that she didn’t look at fault, so it might be on the table.

Especially because modern views on child abuse are such that while she'd hold back more than she already does in terms of physical chastisement, Jiang Fengmian would also be under less societal pressure to not interfere in her disciplinary system too much, and both these factors mean he’s more likely to put his foot down.

So, concept: Jiang Fengmian, when his son is eight and his daughter thirteen, forces the issue of taking in his best friends' abused orphan child whom he’s just managed to track down in a nightmarish group home, probably leveraging the fact that wherever their money comes from it's mostly his, something he usually doesn't do, but she has always known he could, and been fucked up about it (reasonable) and hated him a little (less so) and hates him so much more now (understandable but still fucked up).

They were obviously still both pressured into this marriage by their families, because I literally cannot imagine them choosing one another of their own free will, and if they did that would be an au in an even more dramatic way than being modern, and no longer work as a character or relationship study as far as I'm concerned. I mean or it’s a cql-based au, but that’s not the version of this toxic marriage I find compelling.

Situation subsequently deteriorates to the point that when the boys are around twelve some outside party observes and is repulsed or otherwise upset by Yu Ziyuan's treatment of Wei Wuxian specifically--she's emotionally abusive to everyone in the family, canonically, and it harms Jiang Cheng significantly more than Wei Wuxian, which I think is also pretty explicit on the page, but she's more openly antagonistic about going after wwx because he's basically a proxy for her husband, whom she doesn't consider to be someone she's capable of harming.

And ofc in a modern family scenario, being abusive to your foster kid is more plainly personal misconduct than being unfair in how you discipline one of your husband's many students, even if it is his favorite. Which means she's very unlikely to chase him around with a whip, but whatever she does do will sting that much more emotionally.

Anyway the outside judgement provokes a more explicit confrontation than the last four years of maneuver and attempting to balance all the competing needs according to two very different standards. And the upshot is that by the time wwx is 13, the Jiangs are divorced. To avoid making a humiliating spectacle of themselves they present a weirdly united front in court and have a very smooth uncontested proceding, although the closed meetings with their respective lawyers involved a lot of vitriol.

Yu Ziyuan, despite having a smallish trust fund and probably a job of some kind, though one that's more prestigious than profitable like uh. Olympic fencing coach. Idk what they make but it's probably not enormous. She and Cangse Sanren probably competed in the same events back in the day.

Anyway she gets a solid chunk of alimony, the house, and primary custody of both her children, although Jiang Yanli is almost 18 at this point so mostly she just gets Jiang Cheng. Everyone thinks Jiang Cheng wants it that way, including sort of Jiang Cheng; he has this idea that if he has his mom to himself they'll finally have a good relationship, even though he's also terrified of being left all alone with her. He's complicated. Families are complicated.

Also she would never have forgiven him if he hadn't concurred that he wanted to stay with his mother because she was the only one On His Side.

Jiang Yanli ofc does not move out right away when she comes of age, in part because her brother needs her, but she probably does go to college, so she's only around part-time.

Jiang Fengmian, meanwhile, keeps most of his financial assets and Wei Wuxian, and gets his kids on the weekends.

So that's all setup for how you have this situation where Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng are entering high school--probably the same school, together, but no longer sharing the commute except maybe Monday mornings--and Wei Wuxian's primary residence is Jiang Cheng's dad's apartment.

It’s really chill. They get a cleaning service in once a week and eat a lot of delivery food, but they do cook at least once a week. The canonical thing where they largely agree about what’s funny and what’s right-or-wrong, and so forth, on the one hand really pops when there’s mostly no external conflict disrupting it, but also probably gains more complexity now that it’s not a thread of positivity fighting for its life against a background of drama. They get to know each other better than they ever had a chance to in canon.

Some of that isn't all that positive, because now they have the space to discover the places where they do actually have the capacity for friction, but both of them are very good at dispersing tension (I do tend to suspect jfm's dad was abusive he sure acts like it), and on the whole it's a good thing.

Jiang Cheng is going to have such a mental health crisis, and Jiang Fengmian is going to handle it so badly. Because of course when his son starts replicating his ex-wife's toxic attitudes and behaviors more now that she has primary custody, he’s going to feel guilty and like it’s His Fault, but he’s going to feel like it’s his fault that Jiang Cheng is growing up to be a shitty abusive person.

And even if he’d never say that the subtext would come through, in the assumptions he made when framing communications and so forth, as in canon, so the thing where Jiang Cheng’s father loves Wei Wuxian more than him, or at any rate likes him better and thinks he’s a better person and prefers his company, would wind up feeding into a self-reinforcing loop.

(Jin Zixuan's nasty public remark about Jiang Fengmian treating Wei Wuxian better than his own children hits Jiang Cheng significantly harder in this scenario, where he's being Tormented by the feeling that all his peers know his dad walked out on him for another son. Wei Wuxian's punch is therefore even more clearly primarily for Jiang Cheng's sake, although Jiang Cheng is probably more inclined to see it as being for his dad's. Jin Zixuan is about halfway between the Jiang kids' ages here, so he's a senior saying this shit to a sophomore.)

So that cycle builds to the point where Jiang Cheng would eventually have one of those rare moments where he resorts to actual violence, because his poisoned feelings are choking him so bad his rationality deserts him.

He’s not going to be nearly as close to actually murdering Wei Wuxian as he was in canon the night the Jiang Sect was massacred, because it’s a less extreme situation, but he still goes for the neck. So Jiang Fengmian is in his home office one Saturday about a year and a half into this new normal, and realizes the boys are fighting. He hears through the wall the accusation you stole my dad. He says to himself, well that’s terrible but interjecting myself into this situation would definitely make it worse.

Then he hears sounds of violence, and then an ominous abrupt silence, and updates that analysis.

And when he opens the door to the boys’ room, Wei Wuxian is being strangled. He’s not really resisting, which is because he’s made the call that that’s way more likely to get Jiang Cheng to snap out of it, and thinks it might make Jiang Cheng feel better to get it out of his system (because he does sort of feel like what Jiang Cheng is going through is all his fault, or at any rate is much worse as a result of decisions made for his sake) and is severely underestimating the dangers of choking, but looks to a third party like he’s already passed out and Jiang Cheng is still at it. Which is to say, it looks like a serious murder attempt on the brink of success.

So that sure made that situation worse!

So yeah that's my idea that I probably won't write but it sure has its teeth in me.

[scoobydoodean]

Oh, I see. You and all your little friends are just too DUMB to understand. Too low IQ. The arguments sure is convincing.

I’m not kidding they really are saying somewhere out there that Kripke couldn’t possibly understand what it means to be blue collar because to do that, you’d have to have read about the value of a linen coat (which is not directly related to any of this btw) from Marx’s Das Kapital. Kripke of course couldn’t possibly have read it, and if you haven’t read it, you can’t possibly understand anything about class. You have to have read Theory™️ to understand what it means to be *looks down my nose at people who I assume Have Not Read All The Books That I Did* blue collar *sips from tea cup with my pinky out, chortling*